This is why I would have never made a good Dentist

There are a few things in life that just freak me out. We're talking totally spazzing out, running in the opposite direction while screaming like a little girl type of freaking out. Here they are in no particular order.

1. Spiders. Sure most people don't necessarily like spiders, but I take my dislike of spiders up a notch or two.

2. Loose teeth.

3. Seeing Oprah Winfrey sans makeup.

Clearly this post today will touch on loose teeth and my inability to deal with it.

Now then, anyone with small children know that loose teeth are inevitable. At around age 5 you can expect baby teeth to loosen and eventually fall out. If I could send my children away to some sort of boarding school for kids with wiggly teeth, and then welcome them home whenever their adult teeth were firmly in place, trust me, I would.

To say that wiggly teeth freak me out would be a great understatement. In fact, the worst words my kids have ever said to me is " HEY MOMMY!!! Look!! I have a loose tooth!! *wiggling said tooth back and forth wildly* It's about this time that I run off in the opposite direction while yelling for Brent to take a look at the amazing event.

"Oh DEAR GOD!! Ahem.. No, that's great baby. Now go show Daddy quick! I know he really wants to see that because it's SO exciting!"

Does this make me a horrible Mother? I mean, shouldn't I be able to sit down with my kids and be excited about them losing a baby tooth? Shouldn't I be able to help them *GASP* pull it out if the need were to ever arise?

The answer to those questions would be HELL NO! The way I see it, I grew their little asses inside of me and gave them life for 9 months. Then I had them attached to my boobs for several months after that. I refuse to feel guilty about not partaking in the various loose teeth celebrations around the homestead.

In the past couple of weeks Aidan has let me in on the horrible news that he has 4 loose teeth. I smiled and acted excited, then I assured him that I didn't need to see the evidence. One tooth in particular was very loose. It was his front tooth. When he smiled it looked as though it was hanging on by a thread. Then a few days later actually began to hang lower than his other tooth.



In other words, it began to look ridiculous. He would talk out the side of his mouth and eat food on the side of his mouth. I though that he was only moments away from talking with a whistle like that annoying gopher in Winnie The Pooh.

Wiggly tooth phobia be damned. Something had to be done. So we decided to play a little game. I was the dentist, and Aidan was my patient. Yes, I was able to summon the courage to pull the tooth that was practically dangling to the floor. The problem is, when I gave it a good yank, the damn thing didn't budge. I was so grossed out that I had to run out of the room shivering violently the whole way. Then I had to call in the other "Dentist" that was on call. Brent went up to the room to get the job done right, or so he thought. Turns out he sucks as well. Fail number 2.

What the hell? How could that damn thing be so firmly attached still? Teeth are fucking stupid!

Anyway, Aidan was sufficiently scared by those events so we decided to give it a rest for the next couple of weeks. I instructed him to keep wiggling it (when I wasn't around) so that it would continue to get more loose.

Well it did get more loose, and Aidan began to essentially look like 6 yr old hick. I mean, short of sporting a mullet while listening to bad country music at a NASCAR event, and smoking a pack of menthol's while simultaneously downing a 6 pack of Bud, he couldn't have been more hick if he tried. I knew I had to pull out the big guns.

Mommy of the year- You know Aidan, you really should try pulling your own tooth. It looks loose enough for a light breeze to knock it right out of there.

Aidan- No it's not!

Mommy of the year- Fine. All I know is that the tooth fairy isn't going to go digging through your poop when you end up swallowing your tooth.

Aidan- I'm sure she has gloves that she can wear.

Mommy of the year- Yes, but your tooth will lose it's value if it's covered in poop.

So anyway, I'm not sure what it was that encouraged Aidan to want the tooth to finally come out, but he was finally ready. Brent the Dentist did the extracting just in case you were curious. As you can see, the patient was very happy about finally losing his dangle tooth.



Good news is that we can repeat this event several more times.

Am I the only psycho that gets freaked out over loose teeth?

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Doo do do do. Do Do. Do do - U Can't Touch This!

As I sit here today, I contemplate what the bigger indication is of my growing into a decrepit old person. Is it the fact that dancing my ass off to MC Hammer will now render me completely dyspnic? By the way, that song is four minutes and seventeen seconds long! Don't hate! OR maybe it's because I can no longer move my damn neck the day after my big dance off?

Some of you may not even care about my petty contemplations. The majority of you are probably asking yourself why in the hell I was dancing to MC Hammer to begin with. Well, the answer is simple. U Can't Touch This is the best fucking song, like, EVER! With Ice Ice Baby coming in a close second just in case you were wondering.

The real reason I was shaking my money maker is so that my kids can grow up knowing what it's like to live in a house with a REAL dancer. Seriously, this isn't your typical white folk dance moves where you simply sway back and forth. I SO don't think so! I break it down with moves like you've never seen before. For the novices, I do recommend wearing a sports bra or two before you drop it like it's hot. Trust me on this.

Anyway, what's involved in my dance performance? Just alot of ass shaking, hip gyrating, and limbs flailing about. By the way, I can still totally kick my legs above my head (one at a time of course). I mean, I may find it difficult to walk normally for a next few hours, but it can be done! And just when you think you've seen it all, the part of the song where MC Hammer does his back and forth typewriter move approaches, and then I have to totally break it down up in this bitch.

The kids just watch me totally mesmerized. Seriously, they can't even take their eyes off of me. I know that they are super impressed with my moves, and If I didn't know any better, I think they secretly hope that some day they can be as good of a dancer as I am. See for yourself.


So even though I can barely hold my neck upright, or look to my right or my left without excruciating pain, entertaining my children with my bomb like dance moves is totally worth it. . . I think.

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If you wear scrubs to work, you might want to read this.

I was recently approached about doing a review for a company called Blue Sky Scrubs. Of course I was more than happy to oblige, so shortly after replying saying I was on board with the review, I received my $60 voucher code to order my new nursing scrubs.

The website itself was easy to navigate through. After doing a little reading I noticed that these designer scrubs are supposed to make you feel "beautiful" and "great about yourself". Well, hello?! Who doesn't want that? Apparently their scrub tops are tailored for a slimmer fit, so gone are the days when you have to go to work looking like a shapeless hag. I was a fan already!

After looking at the two different styles of scrubs for women, I went ahead and chose the original scrubs. They have some detailing on the pocket that I thought looked nice. However, if I wanted more of a plain look, I could have gone with the "simple scrub" option. Anyway, they had a variety of solid colors to choose from. Unfortunately I can only wear royal blue or white to work, so royal blue it was.

I had no problem using my voucher code and believe it or not, less than 24 hours later a UPS man was bringing my new scrubs to my front door. They came from Austin Tx, so that may have had something to do with it, but I was still impressed with the extremely fast turnaround AND the complimentary medical scrub hat. Thanks!! :)

By the way, Taylor didn't want to model the hat, but once she was bribed with an ice cream bar she suddenly changed her tune. She totally takes after her Mama!

Now to be honest, I didn't have high hopes that the scrubs would work out. I know, I'm such an optimist aren't I? First of all, I didn't think that they would A) be long enough since they didn't have an option to buy TALL scrub bottoms and B) I didn't think they would fit period. Scrubs are no different than anything else in the clothing world. One brand will fit me like a glove in one particular size, and another brand that is the same exact size won't be able to be pulled up past my knees. Iguana Med, I'm talking to YOU assholes. I'd really like to know who the hell you size your scrubs after. Anorexic midgets?

Anyway, after collecting my package I ran to my room to try on my scrubs. To my surprise they fit! Not only that, but they were long enough! Turns out I didn't need a tall option after all. Praise JEEEEEEZUS!!! The material is really soft and comfortable, and I liked the detailing on the scrub top in addition to the nicely tailored fit. The jury is still out on whether or not I like the the scrub bottom pockets. The stitching is really white, so they sort of scream HEY LOOK AT MY ASS CHEEKS!!!! However, I was so excited that I wasn't going to go to work looking like I was wearing Capri's, that my ass didn't matter much after that.

So here is where my honesty is going to show through, and really, what's a review if it isn't honest? I DO like Blue Sky Scrubs. They are nice. They are comfortable. They also fit well. Would I pay $30 bucks for a scrub top and scrub bottoms had they not been free? Probably not. I've got only two brands of scrubs that I buy on a very regular basis. I do not sway from Urbane scrub bottoms, like ever. They come in tall, and they come in a variety of colors. I also happen to like the way my ass looks in them. They real kicker is that they only cost $19.99 a pair. I think it's safe to say I wouldn't all of the sudden feel the need to spend almost twice that much once shipping is factored in there.

I also wouldn't spend $30 on the scrub tops because while they do fit well, I can get a similar fit from my 2 standby brands, and they come in a variety of different styles to choose from while being cheaper to boot. They run around $20-$25 a piece and they are super cute mock wrap tops, that also give a slimming look and not the "Hi I'm your nurse, and I'm shaped like a fucking box. How can I help you?" look.

Bottom line is this. If you are going to charge a considerable amount more for a product, you need to be above and beyond the competition. Have a greater selection to choose from. Have more styles to choose from, and different fabrics and prints and whatnot. Not everyone just wants solid color scrubs. I don't think Blue Sky Scrubs needs to have a cheesy Tweety Bird printed line or anything, but something other than solid colors might attract more customers, and that may be what causes someone to spend more than average on scrubs.

I also would suggest having more available sizes to choose from. As of now, if you aren't XXS, XS, S, M, L or XL you are shit out of luck. Not an issue for me, but I'm just thinking of my other fellow nurses/medical professionals who don't happen to fall under those categories.

Phew, now that I finished that long spiel, if you are in the medical field, live in the USA and happen to wear your pajamas, I mean, scrubs to work, would YOU like to do a review of Blue Sky Scrubs? If so, either shoot me an email (it's on the about me page) or comment leaving some contact info and I'll hook you up. You MUST have a blog (be prepared to give the URL) and you must be willing to do a review.

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Guess what hippo butt?

So today we had our dreaded yard sale and let me tell you, it was a blast! Things started off slow at first because Brent put up some crap signage that ended up pointing in all different directions after they were blown in the breeze. So when 8am rolled around and the freaking crickets were chirping out in our yard, I recommended that he go and check out the situation. I've done this long enough to know that people never wait to show up on time. If you say your yard sale starts at 8am, you can bet your ass someone will show up at 6am. So he fixed the issue and then they came in droves after that. Huge non-English speaking droves.

Just as an aside, I want to let it be known that I'm no moron.

Yeah, that's right Lupe, Enrique, and Juana. I'm talking to you! This stupid gringa is on to your lame tactics. You probably speak more fluent English than I do, yet you know that everyone is a sucker for a cute kid with ginormous brown eyes, even when they are low balling strangers for their loot. You essentially pimped out your kid to get a huge pile of my belongings for 10 cents. Congratufuckinglations. You're an asshole.

Again in Espanol. "Felicitaciones a su idiota "

Anyway, all bitterness aside, it's nice to have all of that mess out of the way and a few extra c-notes to show for it. I was sad to see some of the stuff go, but I did manage to keep one thing.

Hippo butt will always have a home! *sniff sniff*

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So much to do. So little time to do it.

I'm having a yard sale tomorrow, and instead of price tagging things furiously, I'm posting this blog instead. I'm sorry, but I couldn't tag one more thing without going completely apeshit! It's frustrating to know the amount of money that I spent on clothes, shoes, etc for my spawn, only to turn around and sell their brand new, never worn or barely worn things for 50 fing cents.

Not only that, but I'm getting rid of all of their baby clothes that I have been holding on to all of this time. I walked into the garage and stared at the neatly labeled according to size and gender stacks of Rubbermaid bins and shed a tear. I'm not even ashamed to admit that either. So there.

I'm not just getting rid of junk. It's really adorable little itty bitty baby clothes. They are MY babies clothes. But more than that, it's the memories that will forever walk away for next to nothing tomorrow morning starting at 8am. (who am I kidding. The asshats will show up at the ass crack of dawn)They're all going to be trudged through and tossed around tomorrow by people who just don't get it.

I tell myself they are just things. Clothes. Really cute tiny little clothes. I was saving them for a rainy day. You know, just in case we decided to give it one more go and add to the family dynamics. We would be set with boy clothes AND girl clothes. I wouldn't even have to purchase anything! Okay, that's a total lie.

There is one outfit in particular that will be so hard to see go. It's a newborn outfit that Taylor wore. It was pink and white, and there was a hippo face on the butt. It was so cute! So cute in fact, that I cried when I found out that I was having a boy the second go around.

"But he will never be able to wear the hippo butt outfit!" I sobbed. Yes, I was hormonal just in case you were wondering.

So I really don't WANT to get rid of all of the baby things, but I will so that I can fit my vehicle in the garage finally. Not only that, but Brent has written in blood that he won't bitch when I have to buy everything from scratch if we decide to have a third child.

SUCKA!

By the way, so help the person that tires to get me to sell the hippo butt outfit for 10 cents. I will stab a bitch in the pancreas!

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Trimming your bush can be fun! Who knew?

Seriously? You people need to get your mind out of the gutter.

Focus!

Anyway, the weather has been absolutely gorgeous here lately, (meaning, it hasn't been hot enough to make you wish you were dead) so I took this opportunity to do a little work in my flower beds. I told Brent my master plan, and he responded with "I'm sure the guys that mow our lawn will be more than glad to do that for you". As you can see, great outdoorsman he ain't, but I refuse to let him rub off on me. (your mind is easing back over to the gutter again......)

As I was driving down my street, I was thinking of the supplies that I needed to do my yard work. Then it happened. I saw some man trimming his bushes too! What a coincidence!!

Wait a second! What the fuck? Dude was trimming HIS bushes with an electric trimmer! They make those now? Why in the hell have I been breaking my back trimming my bush with some non-electric, carved from stone, handheld trimmer? Who am I? Laura fucking Ingalls? Oh hell no!

After I made my grand discovery, I called Brent up to tell him I was on my way to Lowe's to buy myself an electric bush trimmer. I also wanted to know why I wasn't made aware of this great invention earlier. Turns out he was concerned that I kept all of my fingers intact. Apparently they are important or something. Whatever. I was going to get my handy dandy electric bush trimmer anyway.

Now I was SUPER excited about trimming my bush. I knew that I was about to cut my yard work time in half. I also figured my neighbors wouldn't be looking out their window in pity of me any longer. I could just hear them.

"Hey Roger. Come look at the poor dear across the street. She's been trimming her bush for like 5 hours now. She looks pretty pissed, too."

So I walked into Lowe's and I was immediately asked if I needed any help. Then I was walked back to the bush trimmers, where I then got schooled on the various models. Talk about your fine and friendly customer service. Bloomingdale's staff could learn a thing or two from these folks. Anyway, I got my perfect bush trimmer, and some random plants, and I headed home.

Brent greeted me with a smile and an extension cord, and then he gave me a brief tutorial on how to operate the trimmer. He evidently thinks I'm a retard, because he pointed to the blade and then told me to keep my hands away from it. I won't say what I told him, but I'm sure you can probably figure it out.

So I started that bad boy up and then the dog and Brent immediately hauled ass. Fine. I didn't need an audience anyway. I was in the bush trimming zone, baby! Leaves and shit were flying everywhere. Bushes were being trimmed. Perfect little round green bundles of bush joy. Right there in my flower bed. All in under 15 minutes. I will say that I almost chopped my leg in two when I got all overzealous trimming my bush one handed. Apparently that's not a good thing for control, so yeah, lesson learned.

Fair warning. I admit that it's easy to go a little overboard on the bush trimming. I took a little off of one bush here. I took a little more off there. Stood back and visualized my work from afar, and then decided to take a little more off the top. Now I essentially have a fucking stick on one side of my flower bed, but that's okay.

It'll grow back, right?

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I'm pourin one out for my homie, Gidget.

First David Carradine led the celebrity death march by getting a little too overexuberant while choking his chicken. Then other celebrities followed suit by kicking the bucket from one thing or another in rapid succession. Now as it turns out, famous animals are not exempt from the death march.

That's right, bitches. Yo quiero Taco Bell dog is El Croak-O. Poor Gidget (that's her real name by the way) has succumbed to a stroke at the age of 15. Probably due to all of the saturated fat in all of those damn chimichangas, if I were guessing.

By the way, do you think the owner paid for an autopsy? I mean, how else would they have known how she died? And really, who cares? The dog was like 937 in people years for fucks sake. Bury the poor thing and move on.

My final words for the dearly departed.

Rest in peace, Gidget. You were an ugly little shit anyway.


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Luckily Steven Tyler has a big mouth, because he sucked balls last night.

So I wrapped up my weekend with a ZZ Top/Aerosmith concert last night. Talk about your slightly different change in crowds after my last two hick concerts. Jesus Christ! I estimated that I was about 50 tattoos, 5 inches worth of dark roots/fried hair, and one good case of lung cancer away from fitting in with those folks. I will also say that roughly half of those asshats could have definitely benefited from rehab of some sort. These 2 guys should have been first in line.

By the way, I just noticed the guy with the really sexy pasty white legs and blue flip flops in the background. Please stand by while I go and rub one out, because I'm clearly too excited to carry on. . .

I'm back.

ZZ Top was ZZ Top. Still 2 white dudes with an extreme amount of facial hair that like to sing and play guitar. They also still walk and move in unison. I would imagine that their choreographer gets paid top dollar to put their shows together due to the difficulty alone.

"Okay, now both of you take two steps sideways and then stop. Good. Now take one step back."

"NO NO NO, Dusty. You fucked it all up. One FULL step back. Not a half step. Now get your beard out of your ass and do it again!"

Anyway, they sounded great and they played all of the songs that I expected them to play, so I was happy about that.

Then it was time for Aerosmith. . .

But before we get to all of that, why is it that I have this uncanny ability to purchase seats surrounded by total idiots? There was a lady directly behind me that had her 4 younger kids along for the ride. They were pretty well behaved except for the miniature asshole that decided to bring his tambourine. Yes, a TAMBOURINE. What parent allows that? Here's what I wanted to say.

"Newsflash lady! I came to listen to ZZ fucking Top and Aerosmith. NOT your offspring shaking his goddamn tambourine (offbeat nontheless) in my ear all night. Now mute that action or little Timmy will be shitting that motherfucker by morning!"

Moving on...

lets get back to Aerosmith. Dude still looks like a lady, just in case you were wondering.

Now I've seen these guys in concert before, and they were great, so I sort of assumed I would have the same type of experience. The stage setup and the light show was very impressive. Steven Tyler's performance, however, was not. He never once engaged the sea of people that spent a decent amount of money to go and see his wrinkly ass. To top it off, he spent the majority of the show with his back to the crowd while he serenaded his drummer. AND there were about ten long ass guitar solos too many, so that obviously cut into the time, further limiting the amount of really popular songs that they SHOULD HAVE performed, but didn't. Not only that, but there was no encore. Who doesn't do an encore????

What the fuck, Steven? You can feel free to kiss my ass with those massive lips of yours!

Want my advice? They sounded great, but the performance itself blew, therefore, you can essentially get the same experience just by just cranking up their old CD's at home. Not to mention the booze would be much cheaper and you wouldn't have some little jackass playing his tambourine in your ear.

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Here's a little tip from me to you

When you plan on meeting a friend in some random part of the city for a Saturday night of drunken fun and debauchery, make sure you know for CERTAIN where you will be meeting. Do not rely on gadgets like GPS navigation to get you to your destination, even though it probably would work just fine for the majority of people who aren't completely directionally challenged like the both of us are. In fact, we are essentially ...

I admit that I'm absolutely horrible at getting from point A to point B. I CAN NOT read a map. It's just never ever going to happen. I also have a difficult time following directions. Therefore, if I don't know where the hell I'm going, odds are good that I'm going to get lost. When I do get lost, I usually find myself in really cool places that most logical people wouldn't dare to go during daylight hours, much less night time.

Just as an example, when Brent and I were dating, I was in the Army and living in San Antonio at the time. Brent was living in Dallas. Typically he would drive down to see me on the weekends, but eventually I worked up enough nerve to make the drive to see him. I was nervous about the drive, but I did it anyway in the name of love and all of that shit. If you think I made it perfectly to my destination, you would be way off. After missing a critical sign or two, I ended up taking a little detour downtown to Martin Luther King Blvd.

After having a nervous breakdown, I finally found a place that was safe enough to make a phone call because I didn't have a cell phone at the time. I was terrified that someone was going to break out a AK47 and bust a cap in my ass. I'm pretty sure when I called Brent I was in a frantic state. I was probably also crying. There even may have been a snot bubble or two, but I can't remember for sure. Just know that my trip took a good extra 2 hours due to my inability to follow directions.

So now that you know this bit of information about me, let me fill you in on something else. My friend is WAY worse than I am when it comes to driving directions. During our conversation I could hear her nav system yelling at her in the background.

"Make left turn now"

"Go one quarter mile and make a legal U-turn."

"NO really! Turn here!"

"Are you fucking kidding me? TURN FOR CHRIST SAKE!"

"Screw it. Find it yourself."

Turns out she passed right by where we were supposed to meet up but "the GPS didn't tell her to stop". So she ended up back on the toll road, where she went back and forth through the same damn toll booth a total of FIVE times. We were on the phone during all of this, but unfortunately I was unable to tell her what to do because I only knew how to turn around and get back to my house. Needless to say, I was about as useful at tits on a boar.

Eventually we were reunited and all was well. I'm just glad to know that there is someone out there more directionally challenged than I am.

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I apparently need to start a new blog post theme

You know all of those little cute themes floating around in blogland that mostly everyone participates in during the week? You know, "not me" Monday? It's where you blog about things you didn't do on Monday, but in reality, you actually did do them? Then there is "turn the tranny out" Tuesday. That's when you blog about how you obviously turned that tranny out. I don't know many transvestites, so I guess that excludes me from that, now doesn't it? Then there is "wordless" Wednesday. Apparently this is when you post a picture of something or someone, and then you refrain from getting all verbose, because if you did, then it wouldn't be "wordless", and that sort of defeats the whole purpose. Clearly I can't participate in that because I talk to much.

Of course then you have HNT. Better known as "half naked" Thursdays. If I'm being honest, it took me a while to figure out what HNT stood for. I'm not sure what gave that away. Probably seeing a shitload of people posting pictures of themselves in various positions half naked... every Thursday. I've never been known for my fast firing neurons, people. Oddly enough, I've refrained from this theme as well. My main reason behind this decision is because I'm not anonymous, and if I ever decide to get another job some day, or run for public office, I'd rather not have my potential new employer or fellow constituents knowing what my tits and ass look like. Then again, I think if a potential employer or fellow constituent would stumble across my blog regardless of that fact, it's a pretty safe bet that I'm fucked anyway, so who cares?

Now where was I? Oh yes, the blog themes. There is one particular blog theme that I would love to participate in. Hell it could already exist for all I know, but just in case it isn't, I hereby start the ~ CELEBRITIES I WANT TO FUCK FRIDAY~ (CIWTFF)

After tonight's events, I'm ready to add one more to my list. This guy.

Bradley fing Cooper. Mmm. Just look at him. Seriously, take a minute to bask in his glory. I'll wait. He may look familiar to you. He's one of the funny guys in The Hangover, and he's the single biggest reason you should go and see this movie. I mean, assuming laughing your ass off wasn't a good enough reason to go and see it. At least now you also have this lovely piece of eye candy to stare at. Let's face it, Fat Jesus and the toothless guy weren't really going to do it for me.

Anyway, if you haven't seen the movie yet, go see it. It's great. The last 3 minutes were the best by far though. It made sitting next to the rude cow that shoved popcorn in his pie hole through the whole damn movie well worth it. Brent now has my heel lodged in his eye, but it's not my vision, so who gives a shit? ;)

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I just bought a new toy, and NO it doesn't vibrate!

So I've had my eye on a fancy new SLR camera for quite a while. Ya know, I figure I can't even operate my little Canon point and shoot out of auto mode, so I'm evidently ready to upgrade to something much bigger and better, right? Yeah, I thought so too. Plus, I need to have a serious hobby to take up my time once I convince Brent that I'm ready to retire by 35.

So after countless hours (minutes) of in-depth research and deliberation, I finally decided between 2 cameras to purchase. I informed Brent of my plan, and after he briefly shit his pants, he began to quiz me on what SLR even stood for. I rocked my answer, just in case you are wondering. I will admit that I have totally forgotten what it stands for since then, but I knew at that very moment, and that's all that matters. Then he went on to ask me what a megapixel thingy is, and what it means as far as picture quality goes. Since I had JUST read about that, it was fresh on my mind, so I once again nailed it. I could sense that he was impressed with me. To be honest, I think he was kind of turned on my vast knowledge and intellectual geek speak in general because after my POP quiz he suddenly became more open minded about my new purchase.

So today was the day I wanted to go and pick up my new baby. Was it going to be a Nikon or a Canon? I wasn't sure, but I knew I had to get up close and personal with them both, and even fondle them to figure out which one I liked best. You know, sort of like everything else in life.

Me-"Wow, This camera fits in my hand perfectly! I love it. Here, you try it." Ladies, it's always important to get your man excited about your purchase. Make them feel involved even if you could give a shit less if they actually are. It's imperative!

Brent- "No thanks. dammit! What's wrong with that Canon that you were sporting wood over the other day?"

Me- "I don't care what the reviews say. It doesn't fit right in my hand, and the lens feels cheap. "

Brent- "Jesus." he turns away

Me- "Come back! Let me take some pictures of you with this Nikon. Work it baby! Wooooooork it! Ooooh yeah. Just like that."

Brent- (walks away again mumbling something)

So after much fondling of camera equipment, and rejecting roughly 5 different Best Buy employees that didn't know their asses from their elbows, I went with a Nikon. She's a real beauty, and I got all kinds of cool toys for her as well. Filters, an additional cool zoom lens, memory cards, and some goofy ass bag for it all to go in. Oh, and by the way, I made small talk with the manager and totally got a memory card for free because I'm just that good. I'm convinced that had Brent not been along for the ride, I could have gotten at least half off of that damn zoom lens, but he was all cock blocking me.

Brent pointed out that getting a $50 memory card for free is a moot point when you blow your budget by over $900 bucks, but I disagree. He also stated that if I'm not taking pictures like "Ansel fucking Adams" within 2 months then I'm in deep shit. So now I'm going to sign up for a photography class at a local college around here, because clearly I have some learnin' to do.

Anyway, I think I have what it takes, so if I were you I would go ahead and book me well in advance for those special occasions that you want photographed. Family portraits? I'm down. Weddings? Pay for my transportation (hopefully to a tropical locale) and I'm there. Bachelor and Bachelorette parties? Not sure why you would want evidence of all of that, but HELL YES! Sign me up. Pregnancy portraits? Uh, I'll pass.

All of that will come in due time. Now I just need to take the camera out of the box and figure out how to put the damn thing together.

If you are into photography and have any tips, websites to visit, etc, I'm all ears.

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Apparently I'm running behind on my own personal tune up

I'm not sure what's going on, but as I get older I'm less gung-ho about visiting various medical professionals for routine check-ups and whatnot.

Gone are the days when I would rush out to the dentist every 6 months like clockwork to have my teeth cleaned. I have also apparently gotten over my hypochondriac tendencies that caused me to visit my primary care physician yearly for physicals in my early 20's, because OH MY GOD, I was surely going to die of this, that, or the other debilitating disease.

Then of course there is my own personal favorite routine check-up. The one I like to refer to as "getting checked underneath my hood". That's right. All the ladies know what I'm talkin' about. The dreaded PAP SMEAR.

Let me tell you something. You just haven't LIVED until you go to your OBGYN and place your vagina on display, while you simultaneously have odd and uncomfortable conversations about the weather, shopping, (I have a female OBGYN by the way) or something equally mundane and stupid. This is pretty much how this particular visit goes for ME.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now I'm sure some women would go in for their yearly visit without so much as a single solitary consideration for hygiene, but I do NOT happen to fall into that category. When my legs part on that examination table, I want the heavens to also part and the birds to sing. My OBGYN needs to be wafted with the aroma of.... Hmm. I'm drawing a blank here. What smells REALLY good? All I can think of right now is freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. Frankly, it would be weird if my vagina smelled like freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, so how about freshly cut flowers or something nice like that? You know, the kind that don't smell like disease or rotting fish. I'm sorry, I'm having Vietnam type flashbacks to roughly 80% of the pelvic exams that I chaperone in the ER, so please excuse me. I do apologize.

Anyway, this requires a thorough cleaning. More thorough that I would normally do when I don't plan on having my vagina 2 inches away from a virtual strangers face. So after 2 hours in a hot scalding shower, I place the bandages where necessary and I make my way to get my yearly inspection of the lady bits.

The first part of the visit includes some 400 pound woman taking my vital signs, and then inquiring if I have a history of high blood pressure. I typically respond with something like this.

"Well, I don't usually have high blood pressure. There's just something about knowing that #1. You are about to put my fat ass on a scale and #2. I'm about to have my vagina stared at, poked at, and generally felt up. If I were guessing, that probably has quite a bit to do with my increased blood pressure at this time."

Either giggles or glaring generally ensue at this point, and then I'm walked back to a room cold enough to hang fucking meat. Then I'm asked to strip all of my clothes off and replace them with some lovely paper gown that wouldn't even fit Mary Kate or Ashley. I'm typically told that the Dr will be right in, and I'm pointed in the direction of the magazine rack for my viewing pleasure.

9 hours later, my OBGYN comes into the room to examine my hypothermic and frostbitten vagina. Small talk is in full force now as I scoot my ass to the very end of the table. The most degrading part of this whole process is when I have to put my feet in those horrible stirrups. I always want to ask her if she could just do me Indian style, but I reluctantly put my SOCKED feet in the stirrups anyway. At this point I secretly wonder if she's thinking to herself that I've got the best smelling vagina that she's ever examined. Then I know without a shadow of a doubt that's EXACTLY what she's thinking, and I begin to relax a bit.

Then we have "This is cold" "You're going to feel some pressure" and "Does this feel uncomfortable at all?" convo, and then I'm pretty much done. It's probably good that it doesn't last any longer than that because I'm always afraid my vagina is either going to get sunburned, or develop melanoma from the fucking fry lamp that she had placed one centimeter away from my "good girl" during the examination. Needless to say, going home with a hypothermic or frostbitten vagina is no longer an issue.

Next, the doc basically says "See ya in a year assuming you aren't dying!", and then I get to finally wipe things off and go home, where I then spend the rest of the day wondering if she left an open bottle of KY stuffed up in my vagina, because seriously? What. The. Fuck?

So I guess after all of that, it's no wonder that I've been putting this visit off for so long. I refuse to apologize for the fact that I don't have that woman on speed dial.

I would much rather stay current on facials, highlights, and mani/pedi's. I mean, that's technically upkeep as well, right?

Alright fine, damnit! I'll make the freaking call! One physical. One teeth cleaning. And one check up under the hood, coming right up!

Shoot me.

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Here's a pretty good indication that you feel like shit

Okay, so remember that time I had my wisdom teeth yanked out my head, and my friendly neighborhood oral surgeon prescribed me pain medicine and antibiotics, right along with some Phenergan that she expected me to evidently shove UP MY ASS? If you managed to miss that post, please reference this event here, and then come right back immediately.

You know, I guess I'm still a little bitter about all of this, because when I think of this situation I have a gut reaction that automatically leads to increased blood pressure and severe anger. I suppose I was never able to understand her train of thought.

"Okay, I'll give her some Lortab PILLS, Clindamycin PILLS, and some Phenergan that she can lovingly shove up her poop shute. Yeah, she'll dig that."

So as you may have guessed, I never actually used the Phenergan. However, I was hesitant to throw them out. I mean, you never really know when you will end up having nausea to the point you're desperate enough to slip something up your own ass. And since I have been debilitated by crippling nausea before (due to too much drinking, and another time when I took the kids down the lazy river at the pool. Shut it. I get motion sickness quite easily!) I decided to save my butt medicine for a rainy day.

So a little back story. For the better part of a week I've been sick. Not the kind of sick where you can't get out of bed, but a functioning even though you still feel like shit sick. It all started with a dry and tight cough. Then it has progressed to me coughing up my fucking alveoli on a regular basis. Seriously, I think I have black lung or the whooping cough. I may even have Emphysema because I sound as though I've just finished smoking my 900th carton of unfiltered Lucky Strikes. Yesterday everything in my face began to hurt. My cheeks (I said FACE), my forehead, even my teeth hurt. There is so much pressure behind my eyeballs that I feel like they are going pop out of my head and I'll be left with 2 gaping holes in my face leaking putrid mucous. Now how's that for sexy?

I think Brent has spent over 30 bucks at the store purchasing random medicine that may as well be placebo, because that shit just ain't cuttin' it. So on my way home from the concert last night I began to go downhill. I don't know if it was the booze, my bubonic plague, or what, but I began to feel nauseous. Luckily for me, this feeling has continued on for most of the day today.

Then all of the sudden a light bulb went off in off in my head, and then I began to have this weird internal dialogue with myself.

--------------------------------------------------------

Me- You know Candice, you shouldn't sit here and suffer like this. It's just not necessary.

The other me- Fuck off and leave me alone. I'm about to puke!

Me- You know what you need to do. You've still got that ass Phenergan. Remember? It's a shame to let good drugs go to waste.

The other me- Oh yeah....

Me- Well, are you going to take it?

The other me- I really feel like shit, so I probably should shouldn't I? Then again, that would require me sticking something up my ass though, and well, I just don't know.

Me- Brent would be more than willing to help you out in that area.

The other me- Stick it up your ass!

Me- What do you think I'm trying to do?

---------------------------------------------------------

Anyway, I guess what I'm trying to say is that you know life sucks when you're seriously contemplating shoving medicine up your own ass.

I'll be sure and update you all on my decision as soon as I figure that out.

Please tone down your excitement.

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Hick concert #2 and one reason why you should respect MY AUTHORITAH!

Last night was my second "Country" concert to ever attend. I'm not sure how I managed to live in Texas the majority of my life and only have 2 hick concerts under my belt, but it is what it is.

Remember when Rascal Flatts popped my Country concert cherry not too long ago? Well, I do, and I wasn't impressed by their performance. I was left at the end of it saying "That's it? That's all you've got Rascal Flatts? What the fuck??" However, all was not lost. I was schooled on the proper country attire, attitude, and lingo. I was definitely going to be ready to go for hick concert number 2.

So last night I got to see my future baby daddy, Keith Urban. Sweet baby Jesus, that man is just, Oooo WEEEE! Ahem, I'm fine really. He's just very fucking talented and I can appreciate that in a man.

Anyway, upon getting to the venue I was shocked to see that this attire was still so very popular among the ladies.

I still do not own a pair of these lovely things, so I wore some heels that came about as close as I could get to those shit kickers. I think I deserve an A for effort, right?

So after purchasing some alcoholic beverages and a bag of 20 dollar peanuts (It was an odd craving. Shut up. They came in handy later.) we made our way to our seats. Then the opening act came out. I still have no idea who this dude is.

Jason Aldean?

*crickets*

*crickets*

*yawn*

Finally they got off of the stage so that the real talent could entertain us all.



I must say that I really enjoyed this concert. Here are the following reasons why.

1. He's hot.

2. He has a great voice.

3. He's got great stage presence and he's very energetic. (He went to the very back of the audience to perform on a little mini stage for the people with really shitty seats. He did that on either side of the stage as well. All I know, is if I was standing near that mini stage, I would have had to cop a feel on that ass. I probably would have roamed "down under" a bit as well. It would have totally been okay to do that, too. Brent and I have this little thing where we agreed that it was okay if we were ever in a situation like that with a celebrity. I mean, I haven't yet actually spoken with him about this, but I'm sure he would be totally fine with it. No worries.)

4. He's hot.

5. He's got a sexy accent.

6. He plays the guitar extremely well.

7. He's probably hung

8. He's hot.

9. He writes his own music.

10. Doesn't really matter if he's hung or not, now that I think about it. He rocked it regardless!

I was enjoying the hell out of the show until some asshat decided to stand the whole time and block my view of the big screen. You see, our seats kind of sucked, so I was relying on the screen to see my goddamn BABY DADDY! See what I mean?

It was at this point that I remembered the overpriced peanuts in my purse. Now you may not agree with me, but I think that I was fated to buy those peanuts. I'm not the kind of person who just craves peanuts, folks. It was in my destiny to pelt that fucker in the head with my peanuts, so.........

That's exactly what I did. Oh, I was nonchalant about it of course. Come on! He deserved it. If for nothing else, he was wearing sunglasses on the back of his head!That alone deserves much more than he got from me. No matter, I got what I wanted. Sir Knob finally decided to park his ass, and I got a better view of Keithy-poo.

Not to change the subject or anything, but if they weren't before, everyone around my house is respecting my AUTHORITAH now. That's right bitches. My new sunglasses are finally in my possession.

Wait for it...





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Craigslist - Since it worked so well last time.

Remember my last ad that I placed on Craigslist? No? Well read it here since your memory apparently sucks.

It was a complete success. After numerous emails, some because they were interested in the lawnmowers, and others for, uh, various other reasons, both lawnmowers were gone within 2 days. I was super excited!

So now it's time to unload more shit, so that I can finally park INSIDE of my garage.

I now present Craigslist ad # 2.
---------------------------------------------------

Buy this lovely couch and change your LIFE -

Okay fine, so it might not "change YOUR life" per se, but it will definitely free up more room in my garage, allowing me to park my freaking vehicle inside of it. And THAT, my friends? Will change my life. Gone will be the days when I have to send my poor husband outside to start my vehicle to blast the AC prior to my driving away in it. This preemptive action keeps my makeup from immediately running down my face upon entering my stifling vehicle. Then there is also the other little issue of flame broiling my internal organs, because instead of living in Dallas, I apparently missed the memo that I actually live in the bowels of HELL.

Those of you that live here surely can feel my pain. So basically, it's time for the couch to go. We've been storing this lovely piece in our garage for the better part of 2 years thanks to my Mother. I refuse to get into the reasons WHY, but lets just say she lives about 7 hrs away and loves to shop on Craigslist in Dallas. So she buys things, and when she decides that she doesn't want what she bought, we get caught storing said item. Nice right? I SO can't wait until I pick out her nursing home. She will pay dearly, trust me.

Anyway, it's a fabulous couch. Very comfy and stylish and whatnot. I don't think anyone was killed on it or anything. There are no hypodermic needles stored in the couch cushions that I can see. If I had a place for it in my house I would probably use it. Of course I would steam clean it prior using it since it's been in my garage, but still.

So who wants it? Email me if you're interested. Oh, and to the fellow that lives in Nigeria, no you can't have it. I also do not plan on delivering this couch to anyone in the DFW area. Sorry. I want it gone, but not quite that badly.

One more thing. Cash only. :)

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Mirror mirror on the wall, who has the strongest VAGINA of all?

That great honor would go to this Russian woman, 42 year-old Tatiata Kozhevnikova.

She broke her own vagina weight lifting Guinness world record by hoisting 31 P-P-POUNDS with her mighty lady wallet, folks. Are you impressed yet? I'm not even sure I know what to say other than, WHAT. THE. HELL????

Seriously?

To be honest, I'm all about keeping my "Gina" in shape and whatnot. Just in case you're wondering, I mean, not that it's any of your business or anything, but I partake in kegels daily. Sometimes hourly just to make sure she has good cardiovascular functioning because I realize how very important that is. But weight lifting? I'm not sure that I even want to go there. I mean, I wouldn't want people talking shit about "Gina". Saying things like....

"Have you SEEN Gina lately? She's getting all ripped."

"Yeah, I know. She needs to lay off the Ben Wa balls and weights. She's starting to look all butch and veiny. Her voice is also getting too deep."

"Tell me about it. Do you think she's roiding out or just upping her protein intake in addition to the weights?"

"Hell if I know, but she needs to stop before she never gets laid again."

Speaking of getting laid, Titiata says "It’s enough to exercise your vagina five minutes a day, ladies, and in just one week you’ll be able to give yourself and your man unforgettable pleasure in bed.”

Um, yeah. I'm not so sure about that. See, if I was a dude, I wouldn't get my penis anywhere near a vagina that could bench press a small child. I would be fearful that I would pull back a bloody nub, and the rest of my member would be reduced to small pile of penile dust. It would just be tragic, and I'm seriously sitting her mourning the loss of my pretend imaginary penis. I can see now how you men get so attached to yours. Not only that, but my imaginary penis was really, REALLY hung as well, so that's probably why I'm so upset about my junk getting all torn up in the vagina shredder of love in this particular scenario.

Over it.

So here is what I want you to do. Share your thoughts with me on this story. I want to hear what you think. Especially you men. Would you even consider a romp in the hay with this lady and her incredible hulk vagina? Why or why not?

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I fold like a cheap suit

It finally happened.

I caved.

I'm not sure what it was that sealed the deal. Was it Taylor's persuasive argument on why she should be a proud new fish owner? Or maybe it was her sad "fish art" that she had taped to the front of her empty fish bowl?

Regardless, she now has these things.

I now introduce you to Dead and Deader. Okay, so their real names are "Sunny" and "Shadow". You can figure out which is which.

Now I wouldn't be a very good Mom if I didn't let Aidan in on the action. So now HE has this...

This fine specimen of a fish is named Mr. Mysterious. Well, that's the name that I suggested for him, but Aidan thought that was lame. So now his name is Perry, because Perry is so cool and shit. Seriously, who wouldn't name a fish Perry?

Perry's cool new crib

As you can see, Aidan is pretty depressed about his newly acquired pet. I really hope he doesn't get too attached. I give this little dude about 2 weeks of survival under Aidan's care. Primarily because he likes to power feed him.

We even decided to introduce Perry to Bailey the dog. As you can see, the introduction went swimmingly.

Shall we take bets on how long it takes for these fish to bite it?

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Just in case you're wondering, my children are more brilliant than yours.

Just when you think you have kids that have reached a certain age where your watching their every single move is no longer necessary, they engage in behavior that makes you realize that you are pretty much screwed until they move out of the house. Hopefully at around 18 yrs of age if you're lucky.

Over the past couple of days my lovely offspring have been trying to outdo one another by seeing which one of them have the least amount of brain cells.

Exhibit A
























That's right. My 9 year old has decided, without any input from her dear old Mom I might add, that it was time to shave her legs. Ah yes, it's basically a rite of passage that every girl goes through eventually. I just sort of assumed that I had more time.

I got the news delivered by, you guessed it, a text message while I was at work.

Brent- "Yeah, so YOUR daughter decided it was time to shave her legs tonight. We're out of band-aids by the way."

Me- "You're shitting me?"

Brent- "Nope. She'll be needing skin grafts tomorrow. Oh, and she also shaved her arms as well.

Me- "What the fuck? Who does she think she is? Michael Phelps? Jesus!"

Brent- "No worries. The bleeding is under control. She asked me if you were going to be mad. Now she's concerned that you're going to laugh at her."

Me- "Yes. Because she now has flesh and 9 yr old girl hair in my new Venus razor and yes. Absofuckinglutely. Gotta go. Morphine to dispense."

Exhibit B
























So the next afternoon when I woke up, I was fully prepared to have a little chit chat with my leg amputating 9 yr old, but first I was greeted by my son who had apparently taken it upon himself to write on his own freaking forehead "I'm going to Will's house". Nice. Since when did he start printing out his itinerary on his head, you ask? Hell if I know.

Make me feel better. Those of you with kiddos, feel free to tell me about something they've done that made you question if they were switched at birth in the hospital.

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Tweet THAT, biatch!

Sometimes I surprise myself by thinking about something totally random and off the wall. Then I will spend more time wondering if I'm the only one who has thought of this particular off the wall thing. You know, because who else would spend time and energy thinking about something so stupid!?

Are you following me?

So this exact scenario happened when I got home from work this morning. I did my usual decontaminating with my wire bristle brush and scalding hot water in an effort to scrub all of the nasty hospital germs off my body. While I did this I thought about how comfortable my bed is, and how good it's going to feel to be comatose in it. I was also thinking about this guy.



As I lay my head down upon my pillow (which just so happens to be a flat piece of shit. Note to self. You need a new pillow!) and settle in for a nice long nap, it happened.

What's that?


Tweet ta tweet tweetle tweet tweet tweet. Chirp.

You've got to be freaking kidding me?

Chirp cha chirp chirp. Tweet ta tweetle tweet!

Well I'll be a son. of. a bitch!

So I got up out of my warm cocoon of blankety goodness and I stormed to the door that leads to our back patio, and I opened it to see if I could figure out where the offending bird was. Then I slammed the door in an effort to hopefully get it to fly off and finally shut the fuck up. I really was wanting to be a card carrying member of the NRA at this point because popping a cap in his ass was on the top of my agenda. NOBODY messes with my sleep. NOBODY!

Tweet ta tweet tweet. Chiiiiiiiiiiirp cha chiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiirp.

Yeah, so clearly my door slamming technique didn't work.

It was obvious to me at this point that I was going to have to dust off the trusty ear plugs. So I popped them in and I was pissed because now I could hear myself breathing, and I could hear my own heart beat. I was essentially annoying myself. Perfect.

Then I started thinking what kind of retarded bird stays up in the middle of the night? Do birds not need their sleep too? What kind of point was this asshole bird trying to get across? Was this particular bird a dude? Was he trying to impress all of the lady birds? You know, trying to get a little bird ass perhaps? Maybe a bird booty call type of scenario, if you will?

If I was a girl bird I would not have been even the slightest bit impressed. In fact, I'd spread the word to all of my bird girlfriends to NEVER have sex with that particular douchebag bird due to the fact that he likes to be the only goddamn bird to make all kinds of noise in the middle of the night when every other logical fucking bird is asleep! I'd also spread the word that he's desperate and a male bird whore. . . and he has small wings. You know what they say about a bird with small wings right? Yeah, I thought so. His reputation would be ruined. I would ruin him! He would think twice before he opened his big ass beak before the crack of fucking dawn again!

Then he would be a lonely bird. He would have no lady bird friends and he would spend the remainder of his life masturbating on the telephone wire, and all of the other birds would point and laugh, er, tweet. The only birds that would even consider giving up the booty to this assclown would be the transvestite birds who were missing half of their feathers and infected with Avian flu.

Ha! Sucka!! Tweet that shit!

Ya know, I could have continued on with this train of thought, but I knew that I had to get some sleep. And finally, sleep I did, with the help of my trusty ear plugs.

Now tell me this. Have you ever thought of something so off the wall, or do I need some type of counseling?


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Hey kids, it's another gym story for ya!

I woke up today to the scary realization that I will be going on vacation in 43 days. FO-RT-Y THREE! Remember operation hard body? You know, the one where I was supposed to look like this by then?


Uh, yeah. Not so much. I mean, from the neck up I've pretty much met my goal, but since Brent isn't going to be carrying around my head on the beach, I've got some serious fucking work to do. So I've got this new totally attainable goal to lose roughly 102 pounds in the next 43 days.

I'm so motivated to make this happen, I managed to get myself to the gym this morning for a little workout. Spin class specifically. Yes, I do think I'm a glutton for punishment, and I figured a little bike seat wedged in my ass cutting off the circulation to all of my "action", while I simultaneously rode this little stationary bike so hard that my heart was going to explode, would be the perfect way to start my day and eventually meet my goal.

So I walked into the room to quickly find a bike. I notice that I have two options left. Sit by the lady who had pretty bad body odor before the class even fucking started, OR sit by the hot dude in the corner.

Would you like to take a guess at what I chose? Okay, take a minute. I'll wait......

Cue the Jeopardy music.

"Who is Mrs. Funky, Alex?"

"Oooooh, no sorry. She chose the hot dude in the corner."

I know, I know. Patrick Swayze always said, "nobody puts baby in a corner", but it was a no-brainer really. To the corner I went. Unfortunately, I figured out that I definitely chose the wrong bike about 5 minutes into the hour long class

WHAT A NEANDERTHAL that dude was! Seriously, I've never heard so much groaning, moaning, and grunting in all of my life!

"UGH. UGH. AGGGGGH!!!!"

"OOOOOOH. AHHHHH!!!! UGH UGH."

"AH. AH. AHHHHHHHHH. UGH UGH"

So I looked (glared, actually) over at him just to make sure I was hearing what I thought I was hearing. You know, cause in times like these I never really know for sure. I was just thinking to myself, is this dude over there whacking off, or is he spinning, because really, WHAT. THE. FUCK? I just wanted him to shut up. And I know what you're thinking. No, I didn't want to kick him in the balls or anything. What I really wanted to do was lean over to the side and Billy Blanks his bitch ass with a roundhouse kick right in the head. That's right. No focus on south of the border today, baby. It's all about the kick to the head, specifically the mouth region.

After I visualized laying a beat down on hottie neanderthal, I then looked across the room longingly at Mrs. Funky. I saw all of the peace and (quiet) harmony over there, and I was more annoyed with myself for the crap decision I had made. Sure she had a PePe le Pew smoke cloud emanating from her body, but I didn't give a damn at that point. She was quiet. Period.

One more annoying thing about HN is that he was sweating like a hooker in church. It was pouring off of him. Literally. He also didn't have a towel, so when class was over there was a huge puddle all around his bike. I know this because I damn near busted my ass in it. GAG!

So my next spin class I will wear a freaking slicker suit and earplugs.

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