The Prototype...

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Those of you who are familiar with language construction of various cultures and ethnicities know that there are, within one language, many times, several dialects. I have discovered that within the Americanized, bastardized version of English, we too, have different dialects. I am going to create a new standard for dialect detection. It is called "listen to an asshole on their cellphone in public." It is stunning, to me, how many people think that they are the only ones within hearing distance of their conversation.

I spend quite a bit of time in and around the general public. My hope for retirement is to move to a deserted island or mountaintop where there are no cellphones or people who can speak. The only acceptable community will be a mute one. The greatest irritant in regard to cellphone use, is when you are in a confined space, with no exit strategy. For example, I was on an elevator yesterday, and an Asian woman entered while talking on her cellphone. By talking, I mean screaming in a language that I could not understand even if I had a lifetime of study to perfect. I was married to a Chinese man for ten years, and the only thing that I retained was how to swear, and count to ten. That being said, I can also tell you that the Chinese language is one that is spoken at a higher volume than many others. It always sounds like they are pissed off, yet they could be wishing someone happy freakin birthday. This woman was no exception. I wanted to take her phone and shove it so far up her ass that she would need Roto Rooter to get it out. Hey lady, the accoustics in an elevator are NOT condusive to screaming. If the person on the other end of the phone was not deaf before you called them, they are now. There were several other people on the elevator who also seemed to be agitated by her conversation, yet you never hear anyone speak up and tell them to SHUT THE FUCK UP! My guess is that she got a free pass because it was assumed that she would not understand them. Wrong again. SHUT THE FUCK UP, is universal, give it a try once, you will see. Ten bucks say that she speaks English when THAT flies out of your mouth!

When I think of public confined spaces, elevators are the number one social anxiety trap. There is a close second, and that is ANY form of public transportation. I have to ride a small shuttle bus from my place of employment to my parking lot. This ride is, on average, twenty to thirty minutes long. I would like to introduce you to who I have designated to be "the prototype" for EVERYTHING that irritates me about the American social climate. This twenty something woman is the bane of my existance everyday at 3:40pm. I want you to remember one VERY important fact. The ID badge that is clipped to her shirt reads "RN", as in, REGISTERED NURSE! This is the woman who cares for you, and is your lifeline to the doctor that will potentially save your life. Be afraid, be very, very afraid. She enters the shuttle, on her fucking phone. It never fails, she sits right accross from me with her oversized bag/purse/luggage carry-on, whatever the hell it is. I know that you could easily pack enough food to feed a small third world country in it. She always sits in the seat by the window, and places that ugly piece of animal hide on the seat next to her, thus preventing anyone from sitting with her. She then crosses her legs, forcing one knee into the back of the seat in front of her with NO regard for the person sitting there. Her makeup looks like she just walked head on into a wet painting. She holds her oversized phone to her ear and taps her acrylic nails on the case, as if she is sending Morse Code to the other person. The bad news is, they couldn't possibly decipher it over the incessant verbal diarrhea that spews from her bright pink glittery lips. I can't even describe the torture that is felt while she inanely shares every minute of her pathetic existance with the other person. Because of this woman, I have developed an aversion to the word, "like". I know that you are nodding your head in agreement now. We have all heard teenagers abuse the word, but come on you dipshit, you are NOT fifteen anymore. PLEASE develop some form of coherent communication skills, because if I have to hear THIS ONE MORE TIME....

"So, like, I was like so tired last night. Then, like, Travis called and like was like pissed off cuz I didn't answer my phone. Then he like texted me like thirty times like in a row. Then, I like told him that like I can't always, like, answer my phone. I am like, a good friend, but like, I have my limits, like you know? So anyways, like when I like finally talked to him when I was done working, like he said that like he was looking for a job and like that he was thinking about finding a new place to like live. I was like, well, Travis, you like have no money and all that. Then like he had the like nerve to like tell me to like mind my own business! YEAH! I KNOW! So anyways, like when I was done talking to him I like got a text from Abby, and she like told me that like Travis was like pissed at me and all that. I was like, whatever, he is like so immature."

Now, continue that line of thought for another twenty nine minutes, or so. Is this a new dialect within our language that I am unfamiliar with, or is this just more of the same uneducated stupidity that runs rampid in our society? I am going with option "B". I came to that conclusion by putting all of the pieces of the puzzle together. Combine blatent disregard for other people with over self absorption, and you have a nurse who wears pink sweat pants that say "PINK" on the ass. We know they are pink, asshole. OH, you want us to look at your ass? Ok, then get off of the fucking phone, go to the gym, and tone that thing up a bit. THEN you don't have to draw attention to it with print, moron.

I swear that one day soon, I am going to walk up to her and ask to speak to the person on the other end of that phone. I want to ask them two things, firstly, how the fuck do you listen to this everyday? My guess is that the response will be, "Like, who is this?" Then secondly, I will ask her to PLEASE tell this stupid bitch to shut the hell up! I am assuming that it will not pan out so well for me. I know this because of the "birds of a feather" thing. I couldn't bear THIS as a response...

"Like, I don't know who you like think you are, but Alicia is like my bestest friend in the whole world. We like grew up together and like she is so totally the best friend I like ever had, so like, if you don't like her then, like that ain't my problem. Like, I don't know anyone else who like can wear Crocs and and sweatpants and like STILL look good, you know what I'm sayin? So like who don't you like just mind your own business and like leave her alone."

I would LOVE to mind my own business, bitch! That is the problem here, I CAN'T because my head is all clogged up with cheap designer perfume, and the word "LIKE". Stupid twit.

I used to think that texting was stupid and pointless. I now see the necessity for it. We have regressed to communication via the written word after decades of developing technology that allows verbal, personal communication. Why would we do that? Ask "Like Chick". Better yet, ask the people who suffer through the idiotic rantings of her loosly developed vocabulary. Given the choice between hearing one more story about Travis and hearing the beeping of the text, I GUARANTEE they will choose the beeping. Congratulations, "Like Chick", you have become more annoying than a rythmic pattern of beeping and clicking. You ARE the prototype for everything that is wrong with our society, you moronic, self absorbed, obnoxious, ignorant fool.

Who needs talent, when there are Britney and "T"

I made a serious error in judgement this past weekend. I actually tuned in to MTV for a short period of time. I would like to thank the mindless, no talent, freaks who produce this crap for giving me a few more lines on my forehead. I sat there, entranced with my head tilted like a dog who just heard a high pitched noise. Was it the staggering amount of natural talent and charisma of the performers that entranced me? No. Was it the quality programming of the "shows" that balance the sheer genius of the performers? No. I am actually having a difficult time processing and explaining what I just witnessed. However, I will remove the brain to mouth filter, and give it my best shot. (Hey, Lady Ga Ga and Kanye West, that means you.)

I would like to know who determined that, in order to be a singing and dancing performer, that you don't actually have to possess any of those traits, or abilities. Britney, would you PLEASE get the hell off of my television and out of the news! For the love of everything good in the world, would you just admit that you have NO TALENT and a good plastic surgeon who rebuilds you once every two years? You are one more dye job and peel away from Joan Rivers, for gawd's sake. You are NOT hot. Let me say that again. The only "men" who find you hot are children who still look under their sister's Barbie Doll's skirt, HOPING to find an explanation for why they wake up with sticky sheets. Was that to the point enough for you? You are a horrible performer, your looks were always mediocre, at best, you are a disgusting pseudo engineered human being, and the whole world laughs at you. I think that you and Kanye West could have a beautiful relationship, if you moved back home. Call the mother ship, your time here is done.

Now, I understand that the pop culture music industry is sorely lacking any semblance of real talent, but for the love of FUCK, how the hell do you justify filling the empty space between Lady Ga Ga and Chris Brown with a show entitled, "Jackass". For those of you who have not seen this show, I will briefly attempt to describe it. I want you to imagine every person, in your life, who you said "He is going to wind up dead, in rehab, or prison." and put them all on one TV show. That pretty much sums it up. Oh, except for the fact that they also staple their own balls to their legs and drink horse semen. You read that right. I will give you a minute to digest that. (pun intended). Are you back now? Good, because I want you to realize that our society has devolved to a point where the most idiotic of people have become "famous", and have gathered a following greater than Farrakhan's million man march. Maybe if T Pain had thought of it, more than half a million people would have shown up. Speaking of no talent. T Pain, honey, please listen to me. We know why you have to use that microphone. You suck. (you should be thankful, you got off easy.) Actually, I lied. T Pain you suck SO much, that I feel the need to continue. I think we need to take a look at just a small part of one of your works of pure art.

YEAH!
yea, yeah!
Woa, Ohh
nuh-nuh nuh Shawty
nuh-nuh nuh Shawty
nuh-nuh nuh Shawty
Don't chop me, Shawty don't screw me
Shawty don't chop me, Shawty don't screw me
Shawty don't chop me, Shawty don't screw me
Yeah
yea, Yeah

You guys think that I made that up, don't you? I didn't. The credit goes to the pure genius of the music industry combined with the limitless talent of "artists" like T Pain.
Look at those freakin lyrics, people. First of all, I would like to know the difference between "Yeah" and "Yea". Is that just so it LOOKS like there are actually more words to this "song"? Why the dash between the first set of nuh-nuh and not the second? I don't mean to insult your artistic license, T. Can I call you T? I think I will. You managed to make an entire verse of music using exactly four words that actually exist in the english language. That is very impressive. By the way, T, unless your "girlfriend/wife" *translation* "Shawty" is short, what the FUCK does that mean? I give up. I should have just stuck with, "you suck". You do.

Pop culture has it's place in this world. It can provide cheap entertainment, (unless you want to see them live or buy anything with their "designer label" on it) for those who don't really like to put too much thought into what is quality and what is not. There are BRILLIANT musicians and talent that knows no limits, yet we are indoctrinated and obsessed with idiots like Britney, Kanye, and, as I like to call him, T. What happened to music being a respected and revered form of communication and expression? I can tell you, it still exists. It is out there, people. Get the hell away from the boob tube, and PAY ATTENTION. There is an entire world of unique and beautiful talent out there. I know that many of you also thought that Bob Ross was an AMAZING painter, but trust me, Van Vogh would cut YOUR ear off for saying so.

I think my good friend, T, said it best,

Now you've officially been chopped and screwed
screwed-screwed, chopped-chopped and screwed
You've officially been dance-dance screwed
And ewed-ewed, chopped screwed-screwed
You've officially been chopped and screwed

*applause*

Holy shit.

Balloon Heads

FORT COLLINS, Colo. – A Colorado sheriff said he was pursuing criminal charges in the case of a 6-year-old boy who vanished into the rafters of his garage while the world thought he was zooming through the sky in a flying saucer-like helium balloon.
The boy's parents, Richard and Mayumi Heene, met with Larimer County investigators for much of the afternoon, but Sheriff Jim Alderden didn't say who would be charged or what the charges would be.
Alderden didn't call Thursday's hours-long drama a hoax, but he expressed disappointment that he couldn't level more serious charges in the incident, which sent police and the military scrambling to save young Falcon Heene as millions of worried television viewers watched.
"We were looking at Class 3 misdemeanor, which hardly seems serious enough given the circumstances," Alderden said. "We are talking to the district attorney, federal officials to see if perhaps there aren't additional federal charges that are appropriate in this circumstance."
He said deputies were seeking a search warrant for the family's home, and there would be more information at a news conference Sunday.
After the sheriff went inside, Richard Heene and his wife walked out. As reporters yelled questions, all Heene said was, "I was talking to the sheriff's department just now." He then walked to his car with his wife and a friend, and they drove away.
The Heenes were expected to speak to reporters outside their home later Saturday, after a strange day that began with Richard Heene knocking on the windows of journalists camped outside his home and promising a "big announcement." A few hours later, he did an about-face when he told reporters that they should leave questions in a cardboard box on the front doorstep.
As Heene walked away, a reporter shouted, "Can you tell us once and for all if this is a hoax?"
"Absolutely no hoax. I want your questions in the box," Heene said, waving a cardboard container before going back into his home. A circus-like atmosphere formed outside, including men holding signs and occasionally yelling "balloon boy." One sign read, "Put balloon boy on TV: America's Most Wanted."
Other gawkers carried aluminum-foil stovetop popcorn makers that resembled the silvery balloon launched from the family's backyard Thursday, with 6-year-old Falcon Heene believed to be onboard.
While Richard and Mayumi Heene were at the sheriff's office, the couple's three sons remained home, apparently being watched by sheriff's officials. Authorities wouldn't comment on what was happening.
Alderden had said that he wanted to re-interview the family after Falcon turned to his dad during a CNN interview and said "you said we did this for a show" when asked why he didn't come out of his hiding place. Then Falcon got sick during two separate TV interviews when asked why he hid.
The balloon was supposed to be tethered to the ground when it lifted off, and no one was supposed to be aboard. A video of the launch shows the family counting down in unison, "3, 2, 1," before Richard Heene pulls a cord, setting the balloon into the air.
"Whoa!" one of the boys exclaims. Then his father says in disbelief, "Oh, my God!" He then says to someone, "You didn't put the (expletive) tether down!" and he kicks the wood frame that had held the balloon.
Falcon's brother said he saw him inside the compartment before it took off and that's why they thought he was in there when it launched. Heene said he had yelled at Falcon before the launch for getting inside.
Alderden said earlier that he thinks it's likely that Falcon ran off because he was scared of getting in trouble, later falling asleep in his hiding spot. He said he doubted that such a hyperactive boy could be ordered to stay quiet for the five hours he was missing.
Over the years, Richard Heene has worked as a storm chaser, a handyman and contractor, and an aspiring reality-TV star.
He and his family appeared on the ABC reality show "Wife Swap," and the show's producer said it had a show in development with the Heenes but the deal is now off. TLC also said Heene had pitched a reality show to the network months ago, but it passed on the offer.
Despite his attempts to get on TV, Heene insisted Saturday that he didn't know what kinds of questions were being asked about him because he didn't have cable.
"I'm going to place the box out front. Please write your questions down, because friends are telling me they're saying this and that. I have no idea what the news is saying," Heene said.

______________________________________________________

I guess that since this stupid crap won't die, I will comment. Where do I begin with this one? Can you say, ATTENTION WHORES???? Let us look at the facts here. This "father of the year" and, apparently mute wife, have attempted on several occasions to get their moment in the national spotlight via "reality TV." Well, I have to tell you, this is about as unreal as it gets. I would LOVE to know what this moron pitched as his idea for his "reality show".....

"Hey, uh....I have an idear. Y'all can come here to Colorada, and bring them thar movie cameras. I got me a big Jiffy Pop thingy, and I was fixin on launchin my yungun up in it. What y'all think?"

That balloon is not the only thing full of hot air. The concept of a mother and father having a "final countdown" to launch, but yet NOT doing a headcount of their children, is well, insulting to anyone with an IQ over 75. Let me get this straight. This idiot prepares to launch the balloon. He KNOWS that his son is ,apparently, proned to climbing aboard. Then he procedes to swear at his other son for not tethering the stupid balloon. I just read that again, and the song from Munchkin Land ran through my head. "Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain!" Coincidentally, the "missing child" just HAPPENS to be alseep in the rafters. Huh? Is he Anne Frank for god's sake?

This, unfortunately is not the funniest (by funny, I mean disgusting) part of this sideshow. There are people ACTUALLY camped outside of his house, and their only purpose there is to mock this family with Jiffy Pop. Come on, that's just a LITTLE funny. What I wonder is, where do these groups of people come from? This can't be the way that these "onlookers" form together...

"Hey Bill, what are you doing today?"

"Oh Jed, I was just gonna mow the lawn, then I was headin' over to that "balloon boy's" house with some Jiffy Pop. You wanna come? It should be a real hoot and holler!"

"Hell yeah, Bill! I will make me some signs that say "balloon boy"., and maybe we can get on TV too!"

"Aight Jed, see ya there! Bring the yunguns, they can fetch the beer!"

I shudder to think of any other possibility.

Come to think of it, I wish that I had made the trip, myself! I can tell you why. I would LOVE to see the questions that the media representatives put in the cardboard box on the front "stoop". I would have turned it into a "suggestion box". My first suggestion? Don't breed again. Thank you. That is all I have to say.

This is not worth further attention. Thank you for wasting the last 3 minutes of your life that you will never get back.

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/ap_on_re_us/us_boy_in_balloon

You're An Idiot

There are just certain things that make me shake my head, and say, "Wow, you are an idiot." Bumper stickers are stupid. Let me say that again. Bumper stickers are stupid. I am not so bored in traffic, nor am I so feeble minded that your idiotic sticker means anything to me other than to point directly to the fact that you are, indeed, an idiot. Now pay attention, people. This sticker, "God is my co-pilot", makes me want ro ram into the back of your car, causing severe injury and trauma. The reason is simple. You don't have a co-pilot. Nor are you flying an aircraft. It is a 1998 Oldsmobile. God wouldn't be caught dead in it. BUT, I am very open minded, so I am thinking that you can prove your contention by praying hard enough to stop my truck from demolishing your car and causing you permanent injury. Want to give it a try? I didn't think so. Take the stupid sticker off. Idiot.

This one is one of my favorites, "God is pro-life". Really? What is the infant mortality rate, again? Is your God taking a lunch and his substitute has limited powers? What is your rationale for the deaths of countless impoverished newborns brought into a life of suffering and pain? I only ask because the last time that I checked, LIFE means just that. It means not dead. People die, therefore God is NOT pro-life, but actually his business is booming, thanks to death. Huh, who would have thought. I KNOW, anyone who isn't a moron. Idiot. I will only make you suffer through one more, in that same line of thinking. This particular sticker says it all, folks. "God bless America and our troops". Are you serious? Do you even realize what that sticker says? First of all, why tack on "...and our troops" at the end? I thought your God was all knowing and all powerful. I am confused as to why you have to remind him that we have troops that may not actually be living in America right at this moment. Secondly, please stop blessing the country that prides itself on it's cultural and religious diversity with your feeble God that can't even keep track of where all the people are that he is to be blessing. By the way, what the hell is "blessing"? Whatever it is, he must be doing a piss poor job, because our troops keep dying. Sorry to state the obvious, and show you what a simpleton you are. Idiot.

If I see one more "My child is an honor's student at BLAH BLAH middle school", I am going to lose my mind. Listen, you moron. I don't care. As a matter of fact, YOUR kid is an honor's student because we have dumbed down our education system in this country so that your stupid little Connor and Kaitlin can make the freakin honor roll. Are you even aware of how far behind other countries we are in educating our youth? I bet that you aren't. The only thing that matters to you is making sure that your baby has a "feel good" moment when you put that stupid sticker on your car. Well, I have news for you. I hope that little Connor has taken a second language. He is going to need it when one of the many higher educated countries take our stupid asses over. Then maybe he can work at McDonalds. Put THAT on a sticker. "My son is manager of McDonalds". Be proud. Idiot.

Now, I understand that you are, and should be, ashamed that you voted for Senator McCain for president. However, you have NOT redeemed yourself by simply cutting HIS name off of the sticker on your car, and leaving PALIN behind. Read that sentence again. Do you see the ending? Here, I will point it out for you. "....leaving Palin behind". That is what the rest of the country has done. Try to keep up. Idiot.

Bush '04. For the love of everything unholy, would you PLEASE take that off. We know, he won. We know, you voted for him. Is this really a fact that you are proud of? Let me tell you what that sticker means to me. It means that you were an idiot then, and you are an even bigger idiot now. I know this because BUSH IS AN IDIOT! Put this sticker on your car, "My Pet Goat". Now there is a Bush accomplishment that we can all be proud of. Idiot.

You DO know that you are driving a car, right? I am just checking because, for the life of me, I cannot grasp how "Save our planet" belongs on a vehicle that pollutes our planet. How would you like me to save it? How about I take your keys from you, and you can peddle your stupid ass to where you are going! Don't preach to me about our planet by displaying such hypocrisy. You are making the people who actually practice what they preach look bad. I should cover your sticker with "God save our planet". Then you could fit in with the idiots on the other side of the fence. Moron.

Is there a website or a store that sells a "Conservative Idiot Kit"? I am asking because there has to be a rational explanation for why I see groups of the same stupid stickers vomitted all over beat up trucks. Now, focus you jerk. Could you PLEASE explain to me why you have the following stickers all over your truck? A black and white "POW" sticker, a "Bush '04" sticker, that stupid sticker that looks like an offical seal, but is actually just your membership to the NRA, "God, Guns, and Gold", a sticker featuring a little boy peeing on a Ford/Chevy emblem, a confederate flag, and a decal of some antlered animal that you plan to shoot. Does any of this really make any sense to you, or did you just get a good deal on your kit? How many proof of purchases from SKOAL did it cost you to get that stupid bunch of crap? Basically, all it says to me is, "I like to kill stuff, and I want the POWs returned unharmed." Think about that. It also says, "I am a racist bigot, and I would like to pee on your vehicle because it is different than mine." Now there is one more statement here, "I voted for Bush, and now our country is broke, and I have turned my assets (tractor and beer cans full of change) into gold." WTF???? Idiot is not a strong enough word for you. I will have to get back to you later when I think of a better one.

So, I think that I have made my point about bumper stickers, but there is just one last thing that begs to be said. WOULD YOU PLEASE, AT LEAST, PUT THEM ON STRAIGHT??? Holy hell, people. You bought the stupid thing because it was a message that you JUST HAD to display to every person unfortunate enough to be stuck behind you. Why, for the love of hell, can you NOT pay attention long enough to put it on the car straight? That adds an extra degree of stupidity to this process. People who put bumper stickers on their cars and trucks are idiots, but YOU are in a class even below them. If it isn't important enough to you to put it on the car straight, how about you just don't bother? Idiot.

Bottom of the food chain

I have come to a harsh realization recently. I, apparently, am the bottom of the food chain in my house. This realization came by way of my fish. Yes, I said fish, as in, my pet Oscar fish. I can’t tell you his name, nor are my children allowed to say it. I will leave that up to your imagination. I would like to digress for a moment. How is a fish a pet? The word, pet, is originally a word suggesting action. Does anyone actually pet their fish? If you do, you seriously need to get out more.

Back to the topic at hand. This stupid fish hates me. I know what you are thinking. How can a fish “hate”. I don’t know. However, you don’t know that they can’t, so hush up and listen. My desk sits right next to his tank. It is an 85 gallon monstrosity with one angry Oscar inhabiting it. (There used to be four of them, but he ate the others.) This psychotic creature spends all day staring at me with his creepy googly eyes. If I dare to get up, and walk over to the tank, he opens his mouth as wide as he can, and charges the glass. This is why I call him a stupid fish. It is glass, idiot. What, exactly, do you think you are accomplishing with this behavior? Just once, I would like to scoop his nasty ass out of the safety of his water and drop him on the floor. The only problem with that is how pathetic it is for me to tower over a flopping fish taunting him about who is the tough one now. The real fun ensues when I attempt to feed him. He jumps out of the water, and has grabbed my finger on more than one occasion. Now, I know that this ornery thing does not have teeth, nor does he hurt me. However, I will scream like a little girl every time he does it. This is greatly amusing to my children. The reason is simple. He doesn’t behave this way with any other member of the family.

I have to ask my children to feed the fish, because I fear an animal that lives in a glass box full of water, and doesn’t have teeth. Even as I type that, I wonder what happened to put me at the bottom of the food chain here. I blame the kids. From the time that they were born, it has been me who has fed, clothed and kept them safe. They, however, have no problem with allowing me to dwell in the primordial ooze that is the rank and file in our home. Having said that, we also own two male Great Danes. (I know. I am insane. Just wait, it gets worse.) These dogs easily outweigh and overpower everyone in the home. I will give you three guesses who is viewed as the weakest link. That’s right, me. My children are all boys. I have three sons, ages 14, 12 and 10. (Pity me.) They are very playful and full of snark and spunk. Like all children, they love to taunt me. Their favorite time for this behavior is when I am busy working on my laptop. My middle son enjoys nothing more than coming up behind me and giving me a “wet willy”. For those of you who own civilized children, and don’t know what that is, I will explain. He licks his finger and sticks it in my ear. Charming behavior, that is for certain. When I react to his behavior, it is apparently, the cue for the other two children to join in the mayhem. They have a secret weapon. The dogs will not allow me to, in any way, do anything that they perceive as harm to my children. So, when I attempt to grab my son up, and give him a taste of his own medicine, the dog reminds me that it was a bad idea. My 185lb Great Dane will knock me down, and stand over me while my children taunt me from across the room. The dog is very gentle, but reminds me that he will tolerate any harm coming to his little humans.

Do I need to remind these stupid dogs that I gave birth to those rotten little vermin? I tried that. He didn’t care. The only thing I got for my efforts of communication was a big, wet tongue down the side of my face. I would prefer the “wet willy”, thank you very much. The other Dane will stand guard near my children, just in case I am creative enough to escape the other one’s clutches. Once I have lowered my voice, and the children say that it is ok, the dog will allow me to get up. This is not a good situation for me. Let me explain a bit about my dogs. They are beautiful, loving, gentle creatures. My children sleep on top of them, and they fiercely guard their little people. I love that about my dogs, but they must not have gotten the memo that I am the boss here. They are brilliant animals. They can open doors to let themselves out, and close them when they return. They can turn on the faucet to get a drink, and operate the ice maker on the refrigerator. We have to spell most of what we say, and then we have to begin to spell it backwards just so that the dogs don’t know what we are saying. It is safe to say, that they are more intelligent than the average human male. Oh, don’t get all in a snit over that, the truth hurts, I know. Here is my logic in regard to that issue. The dogs have trained the human males in my home to meet their every demand. I, however, am not so vulnerable. They keep me in check because they know that I am smarter than them. (Yeah, just go with it, people. It makes me feel better, so shut up.)

So now, I rank below the fish and the dogs. The children are next in line up the food chain. From the time that they were very little, I have been robbed of my ability to consume an entire meal. It is true, and every mother reading this knows what I mean. When they are infants, and I was breastfeeding them, they would decide it was time to eat EVERY time I sat down to feed myself. Then they became able to eat the same food that I did. Great, now they have the same freakin thing on their plate that I have on mine. Why is it that food always looks better to a child when it is on the adult’s plate? I swear, I could have put a pile of crap on a plate, and as long as it is in front of me, they would eat it. Come on, you have all done that. You take the toddler’s food, and put it on your plate, pretend to eat it, and the dumb kid falls for it the first 30 times. Again, the dogs learn faster than that. Now we enter the teenage and pre-teen years. Have you ever ordered a pizza, and then had to answer the phone? I have. The concept of “save some for mom” seems to elude them. I think they actually eat it faster, just so that I don’t get any. And who do they give their crust and scraps to? You guessed it, the stupid dogs. I give up.

I would like to introduce you to the top of the food chain in my house. His name is Brad. He has the role of step-father to my sons. He holds this title simply due to his gender, and ability to entertain them. The boys idolize him, and he can do no wrong. The favorite phrase heard in my house is, “Don’t tell mom.” He spends endless hours bonding with my sons, and conspiring against me. I had no idea that the ability to do a back flip on a trampoline could earn such undue admiration and respect. If only I had been a gymnast, I may have stood a shot at being held to that level of awesomeness. The dogs greet him at the door, after work, with wild excitement, and if he leaves they whine until he returns. The children tell him their deepest, darkest secrets and trust him with their hearts and lives. I can’t even get an honest answer to “who left the seat up?????” I bet it was Brad.

So, although I have the stretch marks and circles under my eyes, even though I have fed all of the creatures in my home, even though I have endured hours of mindless drivel and scooped countless piles of poop, despite the fact that I have anguished over the bills and found a way to pay them, even after countless visits to the school for endless nonsense, in spite of the fact that I have scheduled doctor and vet appointments and shuttled their ungrateful asses there, I am the lowest member of the food chain in my home.

I give up. That stupid fish is staring at me, the dogs have to pee, and my son needs a ride to a birthday party. I have to go now, the masters await. Where is Brad, do you ask? Oh, he is out playing disc golf with my boss. I am not kidding. You envy me, don’t you?

TRY THE TRUTH

Why don’t people ever just say what they mean? We teach our children not to lie, but what we are actually saying is, “just lie when it is a NICE lie.” If we are going to be honest, then just do it already.

I was in an elevator the other day, and a pompous ass backed up like he didn’t see me when he got on the freakin thing in the first place, and stepped on my foot. He didn’t even bother to turn around when he mumbled a half hearted, disingenuous “uh, sorry”. Now sir, if you are reading this, I would have been perfectly fine if you had just said what you thought, which was, “how dare you insignificant cretin be standing in the way of where I need to stand, after all, I am me, Dr. Whatever, and I have more value than you.” You see? Then I could have responded with, “Your cologne is gagging me, please move forward.”

Frankly, this whole thing is an enigma to me. How many times have we all done the same things? You are in the grocery store, or at the bank, or porn store, whatever, and you see someone that you haven’t seen for years. I bet there is a reason why you haven’t seen them. Nine times out of ten, it is due to the fact that you no longer had the desire to do so. So why in the hell do we say “oh, hello, it is so good to see you again!” (insert forced excitement at the word “so”) Listen, neither one of you want to say it. You both want to just pretend like you didn’t see the other person. So, if you are just compelled to say something due to the awkward nature of the situation, tell the truth. Try this, “Oh shit. I thought that I would never see you again, and frankly, I was unprepared for seeing you now. I am not going to hug you with the phoney pat on the back. I am just going to walk away and spare us both the phone call to our friends later just to say, ‘ugh, guess who I ran into today.’” Now, doesn’t that sound better? Then you can still call your friends and describe the look on the other person’s face. Trust me, that is a much more entertaining call to make.

If you get your hair cut and change the color, and your friend says, “Oh, you cut your hair? I love the color, it compliments your skin tones.” Well, that means to look like shit. When they notice your haircut and state it in the form of a question, that is their way of avoiding the statement that they actually want to make, and that is, “What the hell were you thinking, as if you didn’t look old enough with that wispy, mousy, out dated hair-do that you had before, now you look like my grandmother did when they laid her out for her viewing.” Then when they compliment your “skin tone”, trust me, they wouldn’t know a complimentary skin tone if their lives depended on it. I know this because of the multitude of women running around with the wrong color foundation on their faces. It is just something that they say because they heard someone else say it, and you really can’t question it because YOU don’t know what the hell a complimentary skin tone is. Try this, “How much did you pay for THAT? You should get your money back, and I really hope that you didn’t tip the stylist. Please don’t ever do that again, on occasion I have to be seen in public with you, and then I look like an ass for not telling my friend that they look awful.” She may cry. But really, you are saving her the embarrassment of hearing it from her mother-in-law.

Now that is a truthful creature right there, the mother-in-law. I have come to the conclusion that is the reason that so many people love to hate their in-laws. There is a profound truth that is carried within the separation of an in-law. By separation, I mean that they can re-direct their short-comings, as a parent by pointing out the failures of yours. The sad thing is that most of the time, they are right. So, the next time your mother-in-law asks you why you don’t visit more, instead of telling her that you are too busy, or the kids are sick, try this, “If you would ever just enjoy our company, and the company of your grandchildren WITHOUT your constant reminders that you did a better job with your kids than I am doing with mine, maybe we would visit more. Oh, and by the way, I talked to grandma *insert her in-laws last name here* and she says the same about you.” It may cause some strain at the next holiday function, but hey, the other in laws will secretly love you more, I promise.

So you are thinking that I am just trying to stir up some shit, huh? Nope. I am telling you that we have convinced ourselves, as a society that to be “polite” is ALWAYS the best policy. It isn’t. It promotes bad behavior. You perpetuate it every time you tell one of those “harmless little lies”. This all feeds into my “some people just suck” theory. If they can’t hear the truth, and feel that they maybe should modify their behavior accordingly, well then, they are just people who suck. We need to know who they are! Since tattooing them with “I SUCK” isn’t a viable option, then we just have to sort it out for ourselves on an individual level. The only way to do that is with the truth. The truth reveals so much about a person, whether it be good or bad. I firmly believe that relationships, friendships and family would be a more appropriately matched if it is based on the truth. Try it.

The next time a lady rams into you with her cart in the grocery store, even though she clearly saw you there, and says “excuse me.”, then just say, “no, you ignorant, self absorbed jerk! I bet you park in the fire lane, and handicapped spots because you just have to ‘run in for a minute’, don’t you??? I will NOT excuse you, because you saw me, and ran into me anyway. Go around me, and watch out for someone else who doesn’t care that you are in their way.” At least she will shut up for a minute, and the rest of the day, she will think twice about parking in the handicapped spot.

Suburban Hell

I find myself in a world unfit for those possessing even the most remote amount of sanity. I live in suburban hell. Now, I am an atheist, so really hell doesn’t even exist for me. Yet, I can’t help but ponder the idea that hell is very real, and that just possibly, I live in it. This has become quite a dilemma for me. So, I decided to do some research. I bypassed all of the things that promote rational thought, and went straight to the bible. This book poses quite a little problem, all in itself. But, I digress.

I skimmed past the story about the naked couple that ate ribs and fruit. Then there was some nonsense about a guy and a big dingy with pairs of animals crammed into it. Then I scrolled through the mundane tales of everything that is pure common sense, you know, like the lesson about not killing your brother, or fornicating with a goat. All very useful information, however, as it turns out, I was in the wrong damn book. That was a complete waste of twenty minutes of my life, that I will never get back. As it turns out, they wrote another book. That would have been useful information as a footnote in the first one.

Now, I have finally found what I am looking for. I scroll through the pages with the same open minded objectivity given by those who believe in it. This is what I found. Apparently, there was an angel that ticked God off. So, being the all forgiving God that he is, he kicked his ass out of Heaven. I suppose the angel got upset about it, and took it upon himself to singlehandedly take down anyone who dared to not take his side in the argument. It all seemed very petty, to me. But, who am I to judge, that job has already been taken and I am pretty sure that I don’t want to end up like that angel guy. So now, we have a choice, God, or the pissed off angel. I choose none of the above, the way that I look at it, I am screwed either way. Hell, apparently is full of fire and brimstone. Heaven is full of happiness and clouds. I am afraid of heights, and fire hurts. I have decided to keep my options open, just in case another option arises.

I have to say that the information that I found very much suited my theory. I would like you to indulge me for just another four, or five hundred paragraphs. Hell is described in the following way, as you already know, the head of this place is a vindictive, spiteful creature who got very upset because of a lost argument. This creature, the Devil, has many mignions who do his bidding. Basically, they are just very rude and don’t understand personal boundaries. I know this because of the whole “possession thing”. I also found that he is a very efficient multi-tasker. Did you know that the Devil can command his minions, fight with God, travel at the speed of light, create war, death, destruction, poverty, lust, create wealth, destroy wealth, keep the fires burning in hell, and still have time to have sex, and create a child. That is impressive. Here is another side note, once you visit the Devil, you can’t leave. Ever.

Let us get back to suburbia for just a moment. I will describe it for you, in great detail, and see if you can make the connection. A suburb is made up of people who want “more” than the city can offer. Within suburbs, you will find even smaller gatherings of mignions, they exist in what is referred to as “housing developments”. Once you enter a housing development, you can never leave. I mean that literally. Have you ever tried to find your way out of a housing plan that has all of the streets named after trees? I have, it isn’t pretty. So, while you are lost in the development, you decide that since you can’t leave, you might as well move in. Welcome to suburban hell. There is always a head of the development. I will refer to her as the Devil. She is otherwise known as the president of the civic association. Now, this devil commands her mignions with blinding efficiency. Housewives dutifully invading everyone’s privacy. Their methods are really quite slick. It all begins with the lowranking minion bringing you a casserole. I will refer to that as the ribs, and apples. Soon following that, you will have their children knocking at your door selling everything from cookies to magazines. Like a fool, you buy them, thus depleting your wealth. Now it is time for the neighborhood fundraiser, so upon the visit of another loyal follower, you agree to volunteer, thus creating wealth. At this point, you are trapped. They have fooled you into accepting their ways, and the next thing you know, you are hosting a candle party. After all, we must keep the fires of hell burning. I am going to stop and ask you a question. Did you know that suburban housewives have sex toy parties? Neither did I, until now. It all sounds a bit, I don’t know, lustful, maybe?

So, I decide to attend this gathering, purely for the research aspect of my theory, and wouldn’t you know, there was more evidence to be found. The party is never held within walking distance of your home. You always have to get in your car, and drive there because they choose the house furthest from convenience. On my way there, I was almost sideswiped by the devil in her rush to get her child home from cheerleading practice. Have you ever seen how fast suburbanites drive? Literally, at the speed of light. I find it curious that the devil is absent from our little suarre. I was informed that she was unable to attend due to a death in the family. I always knew that she wasn’t fond of her mother-in-law. It turns out that the poor old woman mysteriously had her pills mixed up, and her son and daughter-in-law inherited a fortune when she died. Oh well, some folks have all the luck.

Returning to the party now, I learned that someone had made a mistake with the invitation list. I found this puzzling, because my invitation was signed by the devil herself. But I am sure that it was purely an oversight that the woman who was sleeping with her neighbor’s husband was invited to the party hosted by the wife of the man she was sleeping with. Well, as you can imagine, a war was begun. The entire party was ruined and I never had the opportunity to purchase the penis shaped ice cube tray. I was very disappointed. I went home that night, and I had an epiphany. It dawned on me that ever since the devil’s divorce, she seemed a bit vindictive, and angry. The connection became clear. I sat straight up, grasped my heart in despair, and realized that I was trapped in suburban hell.

There is a moral to this story folks, now pay close attention. When you feel the temptation to enter the land of perfectly manicured lawns, when you see the quaint little homes all in a row, when you see the children gleefully playing in the well nestled cul de sac, there is something that I would like you to remember. It may appear to be beautiful. It may appear to have all of the charms of peace and happiness. I have seen the depiction of an angel. I imagine that you have seen the same. Remember, things are not always as they appear, after all, it was one pissed off angel that started this mess in the first place. If you do not heed my warning, do not look for support from me when you are trapped in suburban Hell.

WTF?

How do we adopt these stupid sayings that actually contradict each other????

Such as...

"birds of a feather stick together"

and

"opposites attract"

Then there is...

"an eye for an eye"

and

"do unto others as you would have others do unto you"

*ok, I know where those two come from..hhahah*


this cracks me up....

"NO Trespassing" <----THAT nailed to a tree

and this on the doormat...

"Welcome to my home"

MAKE UP YOUR DAMN MIND ALREADY!


This one..

"he sees the world through rose colored glasses"

and this...

"he has such a chip on his shoulder"

wtf does either of those mean????......geeeesh. Other than Elton John...who the hell wears rose colored glasses..and how does that make anything look better??? What the f*** is a "chip"???? How idiotic!


"you can't judge a book by it's cover"

and

"If it walks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, chances are..it is a duck!"

hahahha

maybe the duck had a bear book cover on it!


"the greatest things in life are free"

and this...

"there is no such thing as a free lunch"

looks like we are fucked. Just sayin...


"if you put the shoe on the other foot...."

and this...

"not until you have walked a mile in his shoes...."

but the big question is...which foot do I put HIS shoe on???


"don't look a gifthorse in the mouth"

and this...

"if it seems too good to be true, it most likely is"

um....what if it is a REALLY nice looking gift and the horse is friendly?


"don't kill the messenger"

and this...

"beware the bearer of bad news."


"only the good die young"

and this...

"respect your elders"

"what goes up, must come down"

and

"reach for the stars"

um...cuz eventually you will be the highlight on "one hit wonders".

"the sky is the limit"

and

"keep your feet on the ground"

wtf???


"take it one day at a time"

and

"plan for the future"


"The good of the many outweigh the good of the few"

and

"No child left behind"

um...I guess our government never watched Star Trek. hahaha


"outer beauty fades, inner ugly is forever"

and this....

"it is what's INSIDE that counts"

um...uh oh.

"we must not repeat the mistakes of our past"

and

"We The People....blah blah blah"

hahahhah...that'll piss off the righties...giggle


"If you die in your nightmare, then you are really dead."

and this..

"at least he died peacefully and in his sleep."

oh holy shit!


"all men are created equal"

and this....

"behind every great man there is a strong woman"

and this....

"what's good for the goose is good for the gander"

makes my head spin.


"the color of money makes the world go round"

and this...

"WE ARE GOING GREEN!"

anyone see a connection? giggle


"let a sleeping dog lie"

and this...

"fight the good fight"

I think in order to do that, you may have to wake up the freakin dog.

speaking of which...what the hell is with our obsession with animal analogies???

"reflexes of a cat"
"swims like a fish"
"climbs like a monkey"
"the heart of a lion"
"protective like a mother hen"
"hungry as a bear"

and yet...we call ourselves "superior" to those we emulate...and pretty poorly at that.

just a thought.

I'm a Landscaper DAMMIT!

My life.

Part of my highly prestigious position at work is the honorable and highly respected responsibility of cleaning the FUCKING PARKING GARAGES in dozens of hospital buildings.

Kill me now.

I am a damn landcaper. Someone didn't get the memo. But, bills keep coming...and well, money is the ONLY acceptable way of paying them. This is unfortunate. I would like to return to the barter system. "I will trade you one slightly used rocking chair for the crappy satellite service that YOU provide....whenever there isn't a cloud overhead, that is." (btw, I tried that, it didn't work.)

Where was I? Oh yes..parking garages.

I have a question for anyone reading this.

Have YOU ever had to shit so bad that you felt the need to shit down the wall in a public parking garage? I only ask this because I find this at least once a week. Then there is the mystery of WHY they think that Kleenex will IN ANY WAY HELP this situation.

I have news for you, it does not. You are just making a paper mache shit ball for ME to clean up.

Next on the list are the people who like to have sex in the garage. Yeah, I know, it is dark in the corners...there aren't any cameras there...and you don't want your wife to find out. SO, I have a suggestion for you.....STOP LEAVING THE USED CONDOM AND UNDERWEAR BEHIND! I swear, I will pay for the damn testing myself....and i will find you. Now, I am happy thet you are practicing safe sex, and all. Lord knows we don't need another mistress knocking on the front door, you can only buy your high maintenance wife so many facelifts before she gets pissed about "the other women". I am just trying to help you out here Dr. *insert name here*.

You like Mcdonalds? I used to.

Then I found this.

A rat.... dead in a Mcdonalds bag. THAT can't be a good sign. I am just sayin....

and while I am on that subject...why the hell do you people leave your half eaten lunches in the freakin garages???? How about this...why don't you walk your fat ass to the trash can that is 10 feet away, and try to burn off some of the artery clogging sludge that you just ingested..that BTW KILLED A RAT!

geesh.

diapers, tampons, and sanitary pads are NOT decorative! Let me repeat that....NOT DECORATIVE! What the hell is wrong with you? WHO changes a tampon in a parking garage???? Not only do you change it there, but then you find the need to throw it on the ground like a candy wrapper. Now, I understand that litter is litter....but holy hell...A TAMPON???? Yeah, your baby's diaper smells awful.....um....well, I gotta tell you....it is not exactly an air freshener after it has sat in a 100 degree parking garage over the weekend.

ok...this one bewildered me this week.

an entire gallon of spoiled milk.

WHO has THAT riding around in their car???? Please tell me why you have it...and why you felt that the garage was a good place to "drop it off". I only ask this because FOR THE LIFE OF ME, I cannot think like a person who totes around a gallon of milk and then it suddenly occurs to them that MAYBE THAT is the smell eminating from their backseat. Are you retarded???? Don't answer that, because if you are, I will feel bad for calling you retarded...on second thought...no, I won't. You are an asshole...not just retarded.

ok now listen closely...

urine samples are to be left with the nurse in the hospital.

NOT IN A SPRITE BOTTLE OR A 40oz BEER BOTTLE IN THE DAMN GARAGE!!!!

Ok, so your nurse was pretty. Good for you. Does that mean that you have to jerk off all over the handle in the stairwell??? Here is a little known fact for y'all. Goo Gone is the ONLY thing that will take hardened semen off of a painted railing.

just in case you wanted to know.

ok.....so now that you have read all of that....FOCUS!

Someone has to clean up your disgusting messes. No matter where you think it will be "hidden". No matter what you think is just "providing us job security". No matter what you think is just your right or entitlement to be a douche bag....there is someone who hates you cleaning up after your disgusting ass.

Now, did I mention that I get paid more than the average nurse? I also make more than many of the "medical professionals" that leave these messes behind.

So, the next time you look down your nose and chuckle when you do something like that..remember this...I hope pigeon craps on the end of your upturned nose..and I most likely make more money than you.

HA!

did I mention that I am a landscaper? Yeah, exactly what I was thinking. WTF??? and HOW did I end up with THIS mess?

welcome to the blue collar world, folks. We make life civilized for the uncivilized. Enjoy those beautiful flowers and trees...they were planted and nurtured by the same person that is sweeping up your used rubbers.

holy crap.

Back to School Week

It has been peaceful on campus the past few months....I was not sad to see the college kids leave for the summer. The last impression that was left with me before they returned home to their over-indulged lives with Mommy and Daddy was the following....

A "young lady" standing IN THE WAY, as usual, talking on a cell phone to one of her many adoring and lifelong friends <---snicker ....

she was dressed as if she were selling and invitation to observe all that could be seen under the laws of decency.

You know the outfit... shorts that are WAY too short.... a tight babydoll tee shirt with some stupid reference to how cute she thinks she is on it.... two tone hair that just flabbergasts me that they think we don't know that those "highlights" were not made by the sun...but by a chemical squeezed from a tube. Her "muffin top" hanging delicately over her waistband..and the clear bump from a belly ring poking through her overstretched tee. AND OF COURSE... a tramp stamp tattoo in the shape of a flower, sun and moon. No college outfit is complete without the sparkly flip flops that show off thier pudgy toes and "cankles" with toenail polish that says... "hold on here".

Now that you have the visual....and don't forget the over done eye makeup that shows the utter vacancy of thought beneath those tinted contact lenses.....

she only made one statement that I could hear...

ready?

"Yeah like, I went to the party last night, and like... they had booze and drugs and sex and stuff!"

ok.

I wanna know what the "and stuff" was.

I felt like calling her father and telling him to think twice before he writes that next tuition check.

Soooooo, they are back now. Sighhhhhhhhhh

They swarm the campus with their air of stench from the multiple scented products eminating just beneath the pungent odor of the overpriced perfume that carries the name of some no talent "singer" with blonde hair and caps.

And the boys....

omg.... did you shower today, guys? I know that the girls wear enough smelly crap to cover up your scent as soon as the rub all over you... but come on now.... you still have to wash your "stuff" once in a while.

Now, the "young lady" that i just described comes with a name... one that is given by the young men that have conquered them... "cum dumpsters".

Yup.... true.

So a gaggle of these future lawyers and doctors (hahahha) were walking past the hospital and the young man that works for us for the summer said ..... "look, there goes a "cum landfill"!!!"

So, they are moving into their dorms this week. I don't know how they are going to pass their physics classes when they cannot grasp the concept of larger items on the bottom. The vacant expressions and the snotty frustration directed at their WAY TOO OLD parents who are lugging their shit into their dorms...makes me want to smack all of them right upside their heads and ask "what the f*** do you major in???"

My guess is basket weaving 101.

You can see the mating rituals beginning as the lure of the dozens of bars surrounding the campus beckons them like the Pied Piper. Oh, the dreams of youth...

to wake up on a strange floor with your "cutie" tee on the table....your shorts around your ankles....your face resting peacefully on the old smelly carpet stained with the vomit of skanks before you... all the while tasting the sticky sweet drink that carried the "ruffy o desire".

ahhhh, future memories in the making.

and our sons... the future.

no thanks... I'll just die. (Thank you, Jeff Foxworthy)

Because if it is up to a man who cannot pull his pants up, wears clothing that looks like it was worn by the homeless, yet costs $300 dollars an outfit, and had no handle on the English language other than the abbreviations used while texting... to be a man and keep this country running smoothly... (gawd knows "ruffy chick" doesn't stand a chance)...

I fear for the future.

tuition.....$60,000
room and board....$15,000
"grocery money"...(beer and drug money)....$6,000
a credit line at Abercrombie and Fitch.....$25,000

an overall GPA of 2.1, and an uncle in a high power position that will employ him/her combined with the ability to say "my son/daughter is a _____ alumni"...

PRICELESS!

The "Growing" Trend

I had an epiphany this past weekend. For a change, my other half and I went out to dinner and then on to a local dance club/bar.

Now...I am not young anymore. So, I thought that I would feel a bit out of place in there. I was right, but not for the reasons that you are thinking.

I only weigh 120 lbs.

I say "only" because THAT is my perspective.

I entered this club and looked around. Do you know what I saw? It was horrifying.

EVERY female in that club was AT LEAST 50 lbs overweight. I was stunned.

Now, I look around at people all day long...and i have noticed a "growing" trend. (pun intended) People are freakin FAT!

Now I know that isn't "pc" and all....but I don't care.

Let me tell you about my evening. Upon entering the club, I walked up to the bar to buy 2 drinks. (mine was Pepsi..hahaah...so I am sober when making these observations, thank you)

Two gargantuan women approached the bar from my left. I felt like i was on a safari.....or a picnic...not sure which. I say that because one was EASILY 300 lbs, and she was wearing a black and red checkered...um....shirt? I dunno what you would call it...but on her, it looked like a table cloth draped over a picnic table. The other 350lb behemouth was wearing a shiny floral printed shirt that crisscrossed over the fat bags that some may refer to as breasts that HUNG off of the front of her. Good thing she has those too, because it was the ONLY way to tell which side is the front. Her back went straight into her ass...just rolls upon rolls of blubbering fat.

Does all of this sound cruel? Too bad.

These two creatures ordered 3 drinks each. The drinks were full of sweet syrupy goop, and NEITHER of them tipped the bartender. (apparently the change is for the dollar menu at Mcdonalds). The first one had one drink consumed before she got back to her table...that was BTW, 15 feet from the bar. HEAVEN FORBID they walk further than THAT.

The other sow guzzled down two drinks before she was able to cram her fat ass into a chair suitable for a rhino.

They were both wearing some kind of stretchy material capri pants under thier tablecloths.

All I could think was how the hell their feet supported that weight...and why the hell they thought that all of that makeup would help. I mean really....does blush and concealer REALLY hide that fourth chin???? NO!

I thought that this was an isolated incident...gagged...and proceded to the dance floor area. OMG! They were not alone.

I became concerned for two reasons...one being the support system under the floor..and the other was the vision that I had of me being roasted over a spit because they didn't serve food.

So, I learned that it takes somewhere between 20 and 30 small drinks with a lot of syrup to get cattle drunk.

The men who entered this club looked like someone had just stolen their favorite toy. They walked in, looked around....seemed confused...then went to the bar.....lather, rinse, repeat.

The looks of disappointment, confusion, and deperation were both pitiful, and HILARIOUS!

I am SO tired of hearing that "fat" is a disability, and that they have a "thyroid problem". Give me a freakin break. These hogs can make it to the bar...dance( or whatever that was), smear their faces with layers of makeup, and they APPARENTLY are able to make it to the grocery store.

How is that a disability????

There are some clothing styles that should not even EXIST in a size XL or larger.

Let me help you...I will list them

1. ANYTHING containing "Lycra" or "Spandex". FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYTHING UNHOLY....PLEASE spare my delicate retinas with that shit!

2. Anything that crisscrosses in the front OR back and ties in the middle. Holy hell....you aren't hiding ANYTHING by making the "waistline" out of a thin piece of string tied somewhere between rolls one and twelve.

3. NO SEQUINS OR GLITTER! Jesus jumped up f***...I feel like staring in on a chorus of "Saturday night fever" when I see A round shape sparkling under a strobe light.

4. Thongs. enough said.

5. ok ladies...the tattoo that is located just above your ass crack...you know the one...it is refered to as a "tramp stamp". I have to tell you that on your fat ass...it is a "hog banner".....and it isn't going to help in any way shape or form.

6. mini skirts....ESPECIALLY ones made of lightweight material....now listen to me....I don't want to see that...I MEAN IT! When your legs are so fat that the shape from your hips to your feet resembles the shape of an hourglass.....we don't wanna see it. How do your knees even hold together under that kind of pressure? You are also allowing the scent to escape...if you know what I mean.

7. cordouroy. OMG...are you trying to start a fire???? swoosh, swoosh, swoosh.....ugh...like fingernails on a chalkboard (I am changing that saying to "like cordouroy on a fat girl)

8. fishnets. yeah, I know..this one is easy.....SOMEONE CUT HER LOOSE AND THROW HER BACK ALREADY!

9. anything patterned with checkerboard, florals, and stripes....please I don't want to have a picnic, walk through a VAST meadow OR sleep in a tent....ok?

10. spaghetti straps. OK you can't even call them that when they are more like "fat floss"....let me explain....the strap disappears in gthe shoulder fat...UGH...gross.

The sad thing here folks, is that most of these women were in their twenties. How much have they shortened their lives...and how many excuses do we need to make for our irresponsible lifestyles??? You are NOT disabled...you are fat....and disgusting, sloppy, smelly and repulsive.

Yeah, I know..."Oh how mean".

WRONG! If you eat yourself into oblivion, it was your choice...and I will say what I like...just like the fat chick can tell me to eat more because I am too skinny.

Get up off of your fat ass and MOVE! Then try eating less in one day than the Dallas Cowboy football team....maybe then you can breath without sounding like every breath is your last.

We need to stop coddling everyone's damn self esteem...and say it like it is.

We are lazy, fat, and irresponsible.

There are NOT that many "thyroid disorders".

sorry...not buying it.

eat less....move your ass....and the LAST thing you need is a license plate that allows you to park CLOSER to the damn grocery store...if it were up to me, you would have to walk from home.

The "In Memory of....." stickers that cover the rear windshield.

Are you serious?

What the hell is "in memory of"? THE CAR???? um....ridiculous...sorry but a 1989 Ford Bronco is not a fitting memorial. It probably would have been cheaper to bury them in the car than to buy that idiotic sticker. Be serious people...do you need to let the entire world know that someone you love died? Hey, it happens to all of us....and you know what else I noticed?

These stickers always show the birth and death date...and they are always young...usually in their 20s. OK. THAT is the definition of ATTENTION WHORE!!!!

First of all, I DO NOT feel bad for you...I feel bad because a kid is dead....and his/her lasting mark is on your stupid car.

Second of all, if you feel the need to have your car be a mobile mourning place....buy a damn Hearse.

Thirdly....are you trying to depress people? These damn things read like a headstone...RIP...loving brother blah blah....

Why do people dwell in death with ABSOLUTELY no purpose in it? I can see keeping a memory..and sharing it because it can change someone's life....but a damn sticker that reads like a headstone?????

Get a grip.

What a Waste

So, I was in the bathroom last night...AND I noticed that there are flowers and hearts stamped on my toilet paper and it sparked a rant. I wondered how much extra I paid for those hearts and flowers on my toilet paper...and it pi$$ed me off. There are so many things that we pay for, one way or another, that are completely unneccesary.

like the following...

1. Papertowels packaged in plastic, then individually packaged in another plastic wrap. Then there is the stamp telling us that it is recycled. WTF??? They recycle, but double wrap the papertowls in plastic????

2. Garbage bags packaged in a box. You take the last garbage bag, and where do you put the box? Yup, in the bag. package them in a damn garbage bag...no waste. Does the picture of sh*t being crammed into an overstuffed bag that you can't even carry REALLY sell the product?

3. "ergonomic" kitchen sponges with fish and seashells stamped on them. IT IS A KITCHEN SPONGE!!!! first of all, do you REALLY use it so much that you need to avoid carpel tunnel syndrome? Oh for the love of everything unholy...if your kitchen sponge needs to be "pretty", you need help.

4. Cleaning products that are tinted to match the scent. Leave the damn scent out too...it still smells awful...just like an awful flower.

5. The fake picture in the picture frame. Do you buy the frame for the picture in it? NO! geeesh.

6. The hangers that hold the clothes in a department store. I DON'T WANT THEM!!! Quit asking me that. Take them back, use them again...and charge less for the damn clothes.

7. All the crap in the shoebox. Good gawd...tissue paper wadded up EVERYWHERE..silica gel, the plastic stick thingy, and all the printing on the box...by the time we see the box...WE ALREADY DECIDED TO BUY THE SHOES!!!!!

8. DVD'S!!!! Do I need to say more here? Ok, I will. ALL WE WANT IS THE DAMN MOVIE!!! BUT we pay for the outer plastic shrinkwrap that NOONE can open. Then there are the 3 damn "security stickers" that keep it sealed IN the damn shrink wrap. Then the cardboard case that the plastic case slides into...WITH THE EXACT SAME IMAGES AS WHAT IS ON THE PLASTIC CASE!!!! Then FINALLY we get it open after unlocking the little tabs on the plastic case. Then what do we find? At least 2 alarm tags inside. HOLY CRAP! Listen people, if someone wants to steal it...they will. Noone will notice the alarm going off anyway.

9. The stamp of the brand ON the bar of soap. OK. It came in a box, or plastic wrap that had the name on it already. Now it is open, and we are getting in the shower with it. I KNOW WHAT IT IS!!! I do not need the name stamped on the soap. ACTUALLY, the soap has been removed to put that name in it...so I got less soap, so that you can tell me who made it. Holy crap...necessary? NO!!!

10. Receipts. ugh....how many trees has to die for you to print a three foot long receipt with coupons that NOONE uses at the end of my receipt. I bought one thing and I have to roll the receipt to get it in my purse. STOP IT! I know that I am paying for that...one way or another.

Top 10 Requirements for Dating My Sons

1. Please do not call my house 10 times a day, giggle...and hang up. It irritates me, and feeds his over developed male ego.
2. When you are in my home, I have a very strict 5 times use of the word "like"....unless used properly in a sentence, of course.
3. Please repect my son if he says "no". Then let me know, so that I can call the local news to let them know that hell has frozen over.
4. If he doesn't open the door for you, don't get in the car.
5. If he tells you that he loves you, while in the front seat of the car (that I pay for)....remember this....he said the same thing to me when he wanted me to buy him his own car. I didn't fall for it, and neither should you.
6. If I am not in my home, then I did not invite you in.....therefore you shouldn't be there.
7. Please scrape the top three layers of make-up off of your face....that's not where they are looking, anyway.
8. I am getting older, so my memory is not as good as it used to be. So, once I get used to referring to you as Jonas’s girlfriend, please do not make me have to remember that you are now Nathan's girlfriend.
9. Know this, he will NEVER put the seat down....I tried, I am truly sorry.
10. I have raised my son to love and respect women who love and respect themselves. If he forgets, I will be right there to remind him...with my foot.

I Have a Theory

I have a theory. I firmly believe that once every five years, every person in this country should be required to work one week in the retail or food service fields. I don’t mean stocking shelves, taking inventory or washing dishes. I mean working directly with the general public, at large. At some point, most of us have had that experience in our youth. If you have not, then I am fairly sure that I have met you, or dealt with people like you. For those of you who have had this experience, how quickly you forget.

For several years, I was employed by a small local garden center. During the difficult financial times, I would work day shift at the garden center, and night shift as a waitress in a local bar. I would like you to listen to the following story about one day in my life, and then I have a question for you.

My day began with “the coupon lady”. You know who I am talking about. She holds up the line for ten minutes looking through her enormous purse, searching for that expired coupon. I just want to know what part of “expiration date” it is that people don’t understand. This, of course, spawns a five minute long argument about why I cannot accept a coupon that expired three months ago. People, pay attention now, this is not like the fine print on your credit card agreement. It is printed very visibly so that you are aware that it will expire. It is not there just to try to “trick you”. We mean it. There is no loophole, or hidden agenda. It is simply just a date that means that you can’t use it anymore!

Just at the point that I was beginning to recover from the coupon lady, in walks the “I know that it was MY fault that the product that I purchased failed, but I am going to return it, throw a tantrum, lie and generally ruin your day” lady. Now remember, this is a garden center. We sold live plants. Well, at least that is how they left our store. This lady repeatedly tried to convince me that the plant that she had purchased died because WE didn’t inform her that she had to take it out of the heavy black plastic pot before she planted it. How do you argue with that kind of logic?

Immediately following the joy of her company, in strolled the cherry on the sundae of my day. I affectionately refer to her as a “serial complainer”. I know this because she began screaming and complaining before she even got close enough for me to smell her overpowering cheap perfume. She has her performance perfected into a skilled art. Her M.O. is to attempt to intimidate whomever is unlucky enough to be her targeted victim. Today there was a fatal flaw in her plan. That flaw was me.

After her performance, which included many aggressive hand gestures and sneers, I had a pretty good idea of what she was after. Basically she wanted the cost of her plant reduced because we did not have “exactly what she was looking for”. What she did not know, was that I had the power to grant her request at my discretion as a customer service. So after her repeated insults and nasty innuendos, something funny struck me, and I could not help myself. I said, “Excuse me ma’am, but do you have any idea how many boogers you have eaten over the years?” Her expression was priceless. She was frozen like a deer trapped in oncoming headlights. She replied is her usual snarky tone, “EXCUSE ME? WHAT is THAT supposed to mean?” So, I explained it to her this way, “Ma’am, you are one of those people that complain and yell at your waitress BEFORE you get your food, aren’t you? So, I ask you again, do you have any idea how many boogers you have eaten over the years?” She demanded to see the manager. I gave her more bad news. I was the manager. She briefly stuttered a few more insults and stormed out the door. I still wonder, years later, if that woman thinks of my words whenever she looks at the meal placed in front of her by the waitress with the suspicious smile.

As my day at the garden center was winding down, it was time to begin my shift at the local bar. It was a typical night of fending off unwanted advances, and dodging the staggering drink sloshers. It was typical, that is, until the local Don Juan in his polyester Hawaiian print shirt ordered a flaming shot. For those of you who do not know, that is a shot that is literally lit on fire. He proceeded to spill it all over his highly flammable fashion statement, thus lighting himself on fire. In a matter of moments, a man who could barely speak or walk a straight line, was stark naked in the middle of a crowded bar. His animal print underwear really did clash with his Hawaiian print shirt, by the way.

That night was the end of my waitressing career. I turned in my apron, and realized that there was no way that they paid me enough to deal with that after working a twelve hour shift at another job. Now, here comes the question that I would like you to answer. If you bear any resemblance to any of the unsavory people that I just mentioned, I have to ask you this. Do YOU have any idea how many boogers that you have eaten over the years?

Fireworks!

There are moments in life when you just have to stop and ask yourself, “What was I thinking?” I experienced one of those moments last July fourth. One could easily say that this was a comedy of errors that could have carried dire consequences. Luckily, only one man truly suffered. My poor neighbor committed the worst offense possible. He said to his wife, (who was six months pregnant) “Everything will be fine, I know what I am doing!” Then he did something so, typical.

Every year, this poor man buys hundreds of dollars worth of illegal fireworks. He lights them off during his annual July fourth cook out that is held in his backyard. We always have a great time, and he has a huge turnout. This year was no exception. He approached me and explained that his backyard held too many people and that his wife was “getting all paranoid” about the fireworks being lit off. I can’t imagine why! Her brother is missing his thumb from the infamous “M80 incident” when he was a teen. So, he asked me if he could light them off in my yard so that they were farther away from the tent and guests.

Here is that moment, folks! Like a fool, I said, “Yes.” Do you know how you just feel a bad thing coming in the pit of your stomach? Well, I just chalked it up to eating too much potato salad. I was wrong. Everything went well, until I breathed a sigh of relief as he lit off the grand finale. There were five large mortars set up on a board in the grass. He lit all five at once. The blast of the first one tipped the board, aiming the remaining four at my family room window. Needless to say, the “grand finale” went off in my family room. That is, of course, after they blew through my brand new window. Then there was the astute observation of my one inebriated neighbors who said, “WOW! That wudda have been rully cool if the blinds weren’t down!” The other, slightly less inebriated fools thought that they could put the fire out with a garden hose. Too bad it was about seventy five feet too short! Luckily, one man had the presence of mind to grab the sofa cushions that were on fire and take them outside.

That’s right, as luck would have it, all that I lost was a fifteen year old sofa and an insured window. My neighbor, on the other hand, lost much more than that. When I arrived home from work the following day, I saw my window boarded up, and lovingly wrapped in clear plastic. Then there was an even more pitiful sight than that. My neighbor was on his hands and knees picking up every single minuscule piece of paper from my yard. Anyone who has lit off fireworks knows the mess that they make, and he had lit enough to consume three hours of entertainment. His wife stood over him with her arms folded and planted firmly on her ample belly. The look on her face, as she pointed to every piece of paper that he had missed, could run a man’s blood cold. I looked at his dejected demeanor, and I realized that he had lost more than just his pride that day. He had lost the ability to ever win another argument with his wife. I think that, all things considered, my damage was much less than his.

There is a lesson here for all those who want to hear it. The phrase “famous last words” didn’t come about accidentally. That man will remember those words for the rest of his married life. I have only one piece of advice for him. You better buck up honey, it is going to be a very long forty or fifty years!

FOOTBALL ANNOUNCERS!!!!!!

I am watching the Super Bowl, and what do I hear???
FOOTBALL ANNOUNCERS!!!!!!

Ok, the qualifications of this job are? here are my guesses...
– you must be able to drone on endlessly without catching your breath....
– all the while being very deft at not tripping over the ramblings of the shmuck next to you....
– you must be able to interject conjured excitement, even though you really could not give a
damn who wins...
– you must be able to ALMOST pronounce the player's last names...
BUT this one is my favorite...
– YOU MUST HAVE A GIFT FOR STATING THE OBVIOUS...

for example...
“look at that Jim, it looks like the ball slipped out, and caused an accidental fumble!!!!”... ummm, is there any other kind?

“Well, here's what they are gonna wanna do here, either move the football up the middle, or along the sides...”
really? not backwards... you sure?

“Ok, it looks like they are going to do one of two things, either pass the football down the field, or hand it off...”
you sure they don't want to just hold it?

“Now, what the defense wants to do here, is stop forward momentum...”
hence the term DEFENSE......geesh

“One of these two teams will be the winner....” WOW!

“Now their goal here, is to continue to move the chains forward...”
ok, even they know this one is stupid, so they try to hide it with chains, and not BALL!

“He's gonna wanna get into the endzone on this next play....”
after all, that IS how you get the most points... right?

“They are gonna want to get good field position on this kickoff return...”
hey, you don't know that, maybe they like a challenge

“they are really going to need to limit the amount of penalties in this game...”
again...obvious self explanatory terminology here

“he's gonna want to make sure he kicks that ball through the uprights, here...”
seriously?...it's not just a performance, void of point value?

Ok...so...hold on...I heard this one... just now.
“oh, he's going to regret throwing that interception there...”

HAHAHAHAHAHHAH!!!!!!!! GO STEELERS!!!!!

Living in a man's world

I live in a man’s world. My entire life, I have been referred to as a “tomboy”. I was an athlete, an artist, and the girl that was always there to answer questions about how to fix their latest screw ups with their girlfriends. From the time that I was very young up to present day, my closest friends have always been male. My employment has always been in a capacity that deals with a male dominated field. Although I have to tell you, even I was not prepared for the testosterone overload that would come with my current job.
I am employed in the general maintenance department located in the largest hospital complex in my state. I was nervous about taking this job because I would be the only female ever hired in a labor capacity for that department. Our crews work out of two areas within the hospital. One is located in the bowels of the boiler room, and the other is tucked away in the recesses of the parking garage. I have always wondered why the people in these positions are so well hidden from view. Now, I know why.
I will tell you a bit about these men. They range in age from twenty four to sixty. When I first began my tenure here, I knew that they were apprehensive about having a woman working with them. The conversations were awkward and they rarely made eye contact. I miss those days. Now that I have been accepted into the “burp, scratch and high five club”, I see the inner working of the male mind, and it isn’t pretty.
Women are stereotypically “catty” and “backstabbing” creatures who gossip and chatter their work day away. Well, I have news for all of you. Men are not any different. You can also add posturing and marking their territory to their list. I remember watching the boys play on the playground when I was young. First, they would push and punch each other while they waited in line to go outside. Did you know that full grown men will wait in line to punch in and out from a work day? I am sad to report that they still have not learned to keep their hands to themselves, and to use their “inside voices”.
After the teacher opens the door and allows the children to run free and frolic on the playground, they would gather into smaller groups and “claim their territory”. Well, things have not changed much. Within the maintenance department, there are plumbers, electricians, carpenters, engineers and groundskeepers. It is definitely still acceptable to be shoved into a locker if a plumber has the gall to take the electrician’s hammer. I do not mean that metaphorically. I mean it literally. Unfortunately, a fifty year old man with a beer belly does not fit in a locker the way that he used to. Duct tape is the Holy Grail to these men, but even that will only buy a few minutes when trying to restrain an angry plumber.
We have all driven past crews working on the side of the road. We sit in traffic for what feels like hours, just to see a gaggle of men standing around a hole, looking down. Have you ever wondered what was so intriguing in that hole? I have the answer. There is absolutely nothing of any interest in there. I have learned that they will exhibit the same behavior over a bundle of multi colored wires, a leaking pipe, or a simple pile of lumber. Next time that you are curious, stop the car, get out, and listen to them chatter and cluck around that hole. It will suddenly become clearer why the roads are never fixed properly, and why you have to call the plumber back four times for the same repair. Just the way that women have to go to the restroom in groups, men apparently require a group in order to form a coherent thought. There is only one major flaw in that plan, and that is posturing. Basically, it does not matter which man had the best idea or solution to their problem, it only matters which man was able to convince the others to implement it. He will be crowned “King of the mountain”, and be the first in line to go down the big slide.
As my day winds down, the smaller groups begin to merge back into one mass of testosterone. Now, I have spent my entire day with these men. I have listened to them giggle at the thought of having gas in a crowded elevator. I have watched them injure themselves repeatedly on the same pipe, tool, wire or piece of lumber. I have witnessed the ceremonial gathering around the hole. So, when we form our line to punch out, I have to wonder about this end of the day ritual that ensues. To listen to these men, you would think that they have just engineered and built the great pyramids of ancient Egypt. They are exhausted and full of aches and pains. Every task that they have “completed” that day was the most difficult one ever in the history of mankind.
Now that I have infiltrated this secret society, I feel that it is my duty to inform women of two things. The first thing is that if you ever have the opportunity to enter a workforce like this one, take it! It will be, bar none, the easiest job that you will ever do. I swear that if men had to give birth, the human race would have ceased to exist a long time ago, or they would have invented a tool to make it easier. (They just would not be able to find that tool when they go into labor, and have to go buy a new one, or borrow his buddy’s.) The second thing goes to the wives that are reading this. When your husband comes home and tells you about his day, simply smile and nod your head. Remember this, when your children come in the house from a long day of playing, are they sweaty and dirty too? Yes, they are. Trust me ladies, they are not too tired to mow the lawn or fix that leaking faucet. If he tells you that he is utterly exhausted from his long, hard day, simply make this statement. “It’s alright honey, I will just call Bill to fix it for me. You just rest.” He may react harshly, at first. Just remember to smile and remain calm. You will get the task accomplished. Because after all, he does not want Bill to be the first one to go down the big slide!

Pee Pee Dance

There are many lessons to be learned over the years when you are raising three sons. When my husband and I had our first son, everything was so new to us. We did all of those things that new parents do. We bought all of the new and improved baby gadgets and paraphernalia. We made our home so safe, that we could no longer open cabinet doors, plug in an appliance, or lift the lid on the toilet bowl. We had done everything right. We did everything possible to provide the safest and cleanest environment possible for our little bundle of joy.

Then we had not one, but two more sons. By the time that we had our third little boy, we had removed all of those annoying safety locks from everything and duct taped those poorly made, inconvenient, modern convenience, baby gimmicks back together. You see, there comes a day when you realize how ridiculously you behave when you have your first baby. It was our oldest son who taught us that lesson.

It was a late evening, when he was just four and a half years old. My son would, on occasion, sleepwalk when he was very young. My husband and I were sitting on our front patio chatting with some friends. The front door was wide open, giving us a clear view of the entry hall and closet. My keenly aware Mommy radar detected what sounded like a panicked scrambling of little footsteps. I looked down the hallway just in time to see my son coming down the stairs in a rush with a glazed over expression on his face. I turned to my husband and told him that the child was sleepwalking and to please carry him back up to his bed.

My husband did what so many parents do. He decided to finish his conversation, being as this hardly constituted an emergency. My son rounded the corner from the stairs, and I noticed that he was doing what every parent recognizes, and we called “the pee pee dance”. Uh Oh. Now, we have one of those safety latches on our entry closet door because that is where we keep the umbrellas. Heaven forbid one of our little darlings should pinch their finger in a deadly umbrella.
My son manipulated that lock in under a second like he was David Copperfield. He flung the door open, and began pulling his pajama bottoms down. Now I am up, but my husband (who is still chatting away) is closer to the door. I yelled for him to get up and “get the boy!” NOW he pays attention, and gets up just in time to see our precious son, for whom we took every precaution to keep safe, peeing in the closet and all over his father’s briefcase and shoes. My husband stuttered the only words that he could muster up, “BOY! BOY! HEY!....WHAT THE…..BOY?” My son looked up at him and said, “Oh, hey Daddy. I had to pee. Good night, I love you.” Then he scratched his rear end, and toddled off to bed.

My view from the patio was perfect. It was as if I had front row seats to the greatest show on Earth. My husband’s reaction was a contorted expression that appeared puzzled, intrigued, angry and shocked. It was like watching a primate who has been given a toy filled with peanut butter, but he just couldn’t figure out how to get to it. He looked from the lock on the door to his briefcase, clearly bewildered by how this could happen. When I recovered from my laughter, I looked at my husband and said, “Don’t ask me, he is your son!” He said, in a very defiant voice, “NO! That is YOUR son!” I laughed even harder, and replied, “Ok fine, the kid that unlocked the door is my son, YOUR son peed on your briefcase!”

The following day, we removed all of those adult proof safety locks and outlet covers, and gave up the battle. My four year old son was able to undo that lock in his sleep, even though he was so disoriented that he thought that the closet was the bathroom. Kinda puts it all back into perspective, doesn’t it?

-Roberta Heart