The Universal Hot/Crazy Matrix

A friend came over the other day and showed me this video. Apparently, it's already pissed off women everywhere. As a female, I am appalled that these women are proving the matrix right! Not really, I don't give a crap. I think it's funny, and I can appreciate the thought the guy put into all this. Maybe we shouldn't take ourselves so seriously all the time.

P.S. I'm a unicorn.

A plea to Daniel Goddard

Last week, something monumental happened in my life. There I was, playing HayDay, when I got a Twitter notification on my phone that said these words:

Daniel Goddard is now following you

My first thought was that it probably wasn't the real Daniel Goddard. After all, I have the fake Daryl Dixon following me. Well, Daryl Dixon is technically fake anyway, but the one following me is faker than the real one. My point is, I knew the Daniel Goddard that was following me was probably some dude sitting in a wife beater and underwear in his mom's basement. Not THE Daniel Goddard.

But I looked anyway, just out of curiosity. And there it was...the magical blue checkmark symbol indicating the legitness of this Daniel Goddard.

I looked over at my husband, who was eating Cheezits and watching Man vs. Food.

"Daniel Goddard is following me on Twitter." I told him, beaming.

"Who's that?"


My husband doesn't watch the Young and the Restless, but he has been made to sit through several episodes because I record them and have marathons on the weekends.

"Oh." he said, turning his attention back to his Cheezits.

Oh? OH?! Had he not heard me clearly? Did I st-st-stutter? I couldn't believe his dismissal of my awesome news. Dum-dum, I thought. I stared at the screen for about an hour. I have achieved one degree of separation with one of my favorite TV characters. HELLO. Kind of a big deal.

Now, if you go on Daniel Goddard's Twitter, you'll see something like this:

You shouldn't pay any attention to the column where it shows how many he's following. You should only focus on the fact that he follows ME. That's what's really important here. On top of that, I didn't request a follow, beg for a follow, or cyber stalk him in any way. It was totally organic which means I'm more awesome than I was the other day.

My hope is that somehow Daniel will see this post and know that his one follow totally made my year. And I hope that he will leave a comment on this post...something from his heart. I've provided a couple of canned statements that he could copy and paste save time in his busy day and all. Here Daniel...I've prepared these for your convenience:

Journey, I'm your biggest fan, and not just because you're so beautiful and awesome.

Journey, you are so funny and beautiful and sometimes I secretly wish you were Lily.

Journey, I've been waiting my whole life to follow somebody as awesome as you.

Journey, I'll suggest to Joshua Morrow that he should follow you also, and then we can fight over who your biggest fan is.

These are just a few suggestions for you, Daniel. I'm here to help. It's what I do. So go ahead...feel free to leave a comment, or even better - make a difference in a life today and share this post on your Twitter feed. I can pretty much guarantee you'd go to heaven, and I would be more awesome by proxy. And isn't life about making a difference in another life, Daniel? I knew you'd think so. You're Daniel Fucking Goddard.

Ignorance is bliss

Thursday my husband found a scorpion in our house. He declined to tell me about it because, as we all know, ignorance is bliss, plus he didn't want to put up with me freaking out. It's common knowledge that if I see, hear of, or speak of a spider of scorpion, they manifest themselves in my dreams and show up in real life to kill me dead.

My smartass son just couldn't let me live in peace, so he told me about it. Scorpions are right up there with spiders, demons, and clowns. Fuck those guys.

Sure enough, when I drifted off to slumber the other day, my dreams of rainbows and unicorns were interrupted by over-sized, hairy scorpions. They were knocking shit over and running after me. In my dream I had just cleaned my floors too. I remember thinking, this is some crap. I'm about the get the shit killed out of me by a scorpion and the last minutes of my life were spent washing the fucking floor. For NOTHING.

You know that window of time where you open your eyes but your really still dreaming? Well, when I opened my eyes, a scorpion was running across me. I gave it the hardest whack I could. I didn't kill the imaginary scorpion, but I did almost knock my nipple off.

Nipple update: The swelling has gone down some.

There's a lesson in all of this. It's all about what you choose to believe. For instance, right now, my husband is spraying Demon around the house to restore my peace of mind and because it's the only way I'll shut up. Before, I believed that one scorpion meant there was an entire fleet of them. Yet instantaneously, now that's he's sprayed, I believe every scary thing is dead and my dreams will be right back to fluffy kittens in pink outfits. Strange how the mind works.

Today, I encourage you to believe only the happy, good things that make you feel warm and fuzzy. If that's the death and destruction of the entire arthropod community, then so be it. Don't believe in shitty stuff that makes you injure yourself unnecessarily. You only get two nipples, people. Use your thoughts wisely.

This past weekend the family and I went up to Austin to visit with my husband's cousin. She's a nice girl who lives on an estate with, like, at least a thousand little donkeys. Most of them are full grown but they're fun sized, no bigger than a baby regular donkey.

Here are some things I bet you didn't know about fun-sized donkeys:

  • If they kick you, it will still break the shit out of your leg.
  • They are as cute as a bug in a rug.
  • They make a very unattractive noise that immediately makes them less cute.
  • It's creepy when twenty of them surround you.
  • If you see a baby donkey you will want to bite it because it's so cute.
  • Donkeys warn other donkeys when there are visitors. It makes you wonder what they're hiding.
  • There are such a thing as show donkeys for the really sexy ones. These donkeys get special places to live indoors and the rest sleep outside with the other ugly donkeys. Just goes to show it's all about looks.
  • The donkeys I met were really polite yet mysterious.
  • The girl donkeys are separated by size. What this means is the fat girls all live together and the slim girls all live together. If a skinny girl gains weight, guess what? They move her fat ass over to the other field. Another fat girl voted off the island.
  • Donkeys do not discriminate based on the color of ones fur.
  • The donkeys didn't bite us, but they did bite each other, and have you seen the size of their teeth? It makes you never want to piss off a donkey.
  • If they didn't make that noise, I would consider befriending a donkey and dressing it up.
  • My husband will not let me have a donkey with it's voicebox taken out.
  • If you meet a donkey and you aren't nice to it, if it ever sees you again it will remember and kill you.

Do you know any more facts about donkeys that I've left out? If so, please enlighten me. I live to expand my knowledge to the expert level. And anyway, what else is there to do?

Sexy. Mysterious. Seductive.

Sexy. Mysterious. Seductive.

Giving tragedy the finger

Recently a friend of ours cut off two fingers and part of his thumb while building an apartment for his daughter. He's not exactly sure how it happened - just that one minute he had a perfectly intact hand and the next, his thumb hit him in the forehead. No shit. In the forehead. Talk about insult to injury.

The doctors were unable to reattach the fingers because they let five hours pass before treating him. And if his day couldn't get any worse, they wouldn't even let him keep his fingers. Just ignore the fact that it's a little weird to want to keep the fingers, and focus on the fact that it's total bullshit. They are still HIS fingers, after all, and the doctors who didn't even take good care of him just confiscated them, like, screw you dude, these are OUR fingers now. Muahahahaha.

Gary's owie

Gary's owie

There is a point to this story, and I'm getting there.

After all that Gary went through, the next day he went out to continue building that apartment for his daughter. He didn't let a few missing phalanges hinder him from being productive and keeping an upbeat attitude. It got me to thinking about how people respond to the terrible tragedies in life.

On one hand, you have your Garys, who persevere and continue on through life stronger than ever. On the other hand, you have the Mes of the world. The people with bacon lodged in a fat roll who become hoarders with dead cats under the couch.

I like to think of myself as a pretty positive person. Positive I would be a total piece of shit if that happened to me. How would I type? My life would be over. How would I change the channel if I had wine in my other hand? How would I fix my hair on the off chance I was trying to look decent?

Thinking about all the disadvantages does lead me to the advantages though. For instance, I bet the nail place would only charge me half. And I could scare babies. And I could get out of all kinds of boring events, like weddings and baby showers by saying, "I can't. Remember...I don't have any fingers." and they'd go "Oh shit, I'm so sorry, what was I thinking." It would be a permanent pity party in my honor. P.S. I'm a really bad person.

I love that there are people like Gary out there in the world who are truly inspiring and give the rest of us hope that maybe one day we won't be so sucky. It's a stretch, but it could happen. What kind of person are you? Do you shatter in the storm, or do you give tragedy the finger? Tell me all about it.

It's all in a day's work

Boy: I think something's wrong with two of my fish. They're just like, floating there with their tails stuck together.

Me: No, they're fine. They're just enjoying a little afternoon ardor.

Boy: What?

Me: Just turn on a little Marvin Gay and give them a few minutes alone.

Boy: I don't get it.

Me: You know...they're doing the romance. Making babies. Getting their grooooove on.

Boy: You make everything so awkward.

My work here is done.

How to ruin your chi

I've been a little stressed out lately. I haven't been my usual cuddly, passive aggressive self. Just a very not cuddly variety. When my husband said I was turning into him, I knew it was time to make a change.

Normally, I'm a green tea drinking, salt bathing, essential oil making, vegetable eating, coconut oil using, kitten loving, positive attitude preaching wino. But here lately I haven't done any of the things that relax me or give me perspective. I've been like a drunken toddler. You can't reason with those people.

Yesterday I decided it was time to get back to my hippy ways, all of which really did make me a happier person. OK. I didn't actually decide that. My husband decided that for me, because he said he couldn't live with himself anymore. That being said, I figured I'd start today out with a nice salt and vinegar bath. Yeah yeah. I know it sounds kind of gross, but it's the cure-all for bad days, sick days, or sore muscles. So what if you end up smelling like a potato chip. You'll be an awesome potato chip.

So I did that. I made my bath. I got in. In was magical.

I felt a little something on my back. Bubbles. Of course bubbles. I continued my positive thinking exercises. What are positive thinking exercises you ask? Well I'll tell you.

It's when you say things to yourself so your subconscious will be tricked into believing them. I'll give you an example. Our usual self speak goes something like this: I'm so fat. Life sucks. I'll never have any money. I'm getting old. Not very productive. So the trick is to replace these lies with better shit. But there's a right way and a wrong way to do this.

Wrong way - If you begin to tell yourself things like, I'm skinny. Life is wonderful. I have all I need. I'm am spry and youthful, your subconscious can argue with that. "Bitch please. You been telling me for 20 years you're fat. And your broke ass has wrinkles so don't even try that shit." This method won't work. You'll end up on the kitchen floor slathered in rocky road and crying for your mommy.

Right way - The trick is to say things that your subconscious can't argue with. Like, say, health, wealth, success, happiness, kittens. These are just words. They aren't making a statement that your inner bitch can contradict. Pick out your special words, say them enough, and watch your attitude transform. That's true shit.

So anyway, there I was saying my happy words and enjoying the bubbles on my neck. The issue here was that this wasn't a bubble bath. This was just a standard old bath bath.

The tickling on my neck intensified. These were some hardcore bubbles for a non bubble bath. Something didn't seem right. I lifted up and looked back to find...


The spider was the size of a miniature pony. I jumped out of the tub prepared for battle.

C'mon bitch, he taunted.

The reason they're so mean is because they're so unattractive, and there are no magic words to fix that shit.

"You can either commit suicide by jumping down that drain or you're a dead mother fucker." That's what I told him.

He smirked. It doesn't really matter what happens next. Your chi goes right down the drain with me. Spiders -951, you - zero.

That's when I sprayed him with Scrubbing Bubbles and then beat the shit out of him with my loofa.

The only thing I hate worse than hate is spiders. And the only thing I hate worse than spiders is spiders who are right. That one was right. My chi went right down the drain with his dead, fucked up little corpse. After that, none of my magic words worked. All I could think about was that spider was ON MY NECK. Hell naw.

Now I have to figure out a way to wash my brain out and try to get back to my happy place. There's little joy in fact that he's down the drain. He has family in this town. They'll come for me, probably when I'm sleeping, and bite me right on the face. Then when I wake up I'll see the mark and know they can get me anytime they want. That's the message they'll intend to send.

We have your chi, bitch. Come and get it...

A special tribute to the 4th of July

I was trying to think of what to write to celebrate 'Merica's independence, but then came across a few videos that literally left me speechless. As we all know, the most important thing about July 4th is what it stands for. This video is a testament to the commitment and pride of our fellow Americans.

In addition to reflecting on the true meaning of this day, we always want to remember to include Jesus in our holiday festivities.

Now that we've fully grasped the magnitude of what July 4th means to us, it's time to get hammered and shoot fireworks from really clever places. This is a monumental display of patriotism, don't you think?

What a brave American.

Really, all that stuff I said before was bullshit. The finale is the most important thing about July 4th. Everybody knows that.

Now that we've properly celebrated our freedom, let's wash our brains out with adorable images of fuzzy, patriotic kitty cats. You're welcome.

Happy 4th everyone! Be safe out there, but if you aren't, please provide videos.

The proper care and feeding of vaginas

It's no secret that I'm convinced I was born into the wrong body. There was some sort of confusion that day in heaven, because though I was supposed to be a boy, I woke up with a vagina installed instead. You can imagine my horror.

People in possession of penises have it way better than the non-penis variety. Having a vagina is the Anti-happy. When men say that women should just be thankful that they only have to deal with men and not women, I beg to differ. The vagina is not only a woman, but she is the High Priestess of Don't Piss Me Off For I Will Ruineth Your Lifeville. We are merciless to her moods and temper tantrums, and it never stops. Ever.

The penis is of simple design and purpose. They are convenient, versatile, and each comes with its own built in smiley face, because they're so damn happy from the get go. There are no special care instructions, no maintenance regimen, and no PH to balance. It can take a beating and still show up in a party hat ready to do the Hokey Pokey. It's a dependable little guy who rarely causes any problems, and if it does, nine times out of ten it can be blamed on the owner.

The vagina, on the other hand, is a delicate, complex, and self-sustaining ecosystem; a world within a world. There's a lot going on in there. If you look at microscopic photos, the activity is the equivalent to that of Tokyo. Imagine 34 million little bacteria, microbes, and other critters colonizing, building cities and techno dancing. Now imagine that they all must get along, work together in complete unison and harmony, and share and say please and thank you. We know this is impossible. Humans can't do it and neither can vagina dwellers. So, as in all cities, the nefarious minority- the bandits and opportunists - ruin it for everyone. 

In this environment, if one - even one - of those little bastards does something wrong, like say, steal a hotdog from a street vendor, it's nothing short of the butterfly effect. The siren sounds in downtown Vaginaville. Shit has done hit the fan. The critters begin to scatter and prepare for the violent uprisings to come. After all, they've seen this all before. Madam Vagina will tolerate no tomfoolery. As the cities start to crumble to the ground, the bacteria lift up their swords and multiply, trampling the microbes in a murderous path beneath them. Yes, it is war, and in the days to come there will be much turmoil and gnashing of teeth. 

All because you went swimming in a fucking lake.

After all, we can't disturb the utopian society; the perfect balance that the High Priestess demands. In your time or sorrow, you'll try to bargain with her, to no avail.

Me: Why are you mad at me?

She only cuts her eyes and stares off into some far away place.

Me: I won't do it again, but I have to know what I did to upset you.

I shouldn't have to tell you, you should just know, she pouts.

Me: Look, I'm sorry. I'll do anything to make this right. You want a bath? I'll make you a bath.

High Priestess: A bath, you blundering beast? she hisses. What the hell is wrong with you?

Me: OK. about a nice cup of vinegar? You like vinegar.

High Priestess: Too little too late. You should have done that in the first place. <she looks away, arms folded>

Me: I can't fix it if I don't even know what I did wrong.

High Priestess: You've known me for forty years. Forty years, yet you don't know me at all.

Me: Shit. I'm sorry. You're just so...complicated. I can't read your mind.

High Priestess: Well, until you figure it out, I guess you just need to stay away from me.

She then hangs the "Keep out" sign on the front door, slams it, and we don't speak for another week. She starts the rebuilding process - AGAIN. I want to remind her of Katrina, but I don't want to piss her off any worse than I already have. The cities slowly go back up and all the critters find their balance once more. There will be peaceful days to come before all hell breaks loose again three months down the road, again, for no apparent reason.

The vagina has a lot of high expectations and lofty requirements that I have yet to understand. Just when I think all is right in the world, she flips the script. The truth is, after all these years, I still can't figure that bitch out. I don't know anything about the proper care and feeding of vaginas. Or maybe it's just that mine is particularly bitchy, because, like me, she's doesn't like who she got partnered up with. I can understand the frustration.

7 Home Remedies for Urinary Tract Infection

5 things that happen after 40

Four days ago I woke up with an uncontrollable twitch in the fingers of my left hand. I thought, what fresh hell is this, because much like midnight, nothing good happens after forty.

I'd heard all the cliches when I was younger, and of course thought, bullshit - won't happen to me. Thirty year olds are so cute.

Today I'd just like to reminisce a little about the experiences I've had since turning like curdled milk. Listen up, kids. You're gonna need to know this shit.

  • The first thing that's going to happen is you'll go blind. Go ahead and masturbate - that doesn't cause it. Middle age does, though, and before you know it, you're holding books and labels as far away from your face as your poor little arm can stretch, yet you still can't make out the side effects on the bottle of medicine the doctor gave you to treat your new middle-aged hives. Does that say "may cause swelling of the liver" or "may cause bleeding of the rectum"? Can't tell. Fuck it. Take two for good measure, perhaps paired with a nice Merlot.

  • I was always the skinny kid growing up. The too-skinny kid, who took weight gain supplements and cried when people called me "Bones". People warned me this would change but I didn't listen. I just knew my skeletal stomach would stay that way forever and I would just have to learn to live with it. What a douche. While that bitch was eating cheeseburgers and gulping lard smoothies, this one is suffering the consequences. Not only did my body change, but little did I know back in the day that I would have my dad's all too familiar apple shaped body. What this means is the chicken legs are still there trying to balance the big mass of belly fat and boobs gellatinizing on top. I want to baby-shake young me, but I wouldn't have listened. It's just one of those things you have to learn for yourself. So eat up sluts.

Goodbye, friend.

Goodbye, friend.

  • Allergies are a cute joke that age plays on a person. You may go your whole life rolling in meadows of poison ivy and eating cat dander for snacks, but one day, when you least expect it, you'll eat a kernel of corn and mutate into the elephant man on your first date with Mr. Wonderful. Don't worry, he'll still like you, and one day he'll place a chocolate diamond dream ring on your finger and ask you to marry him. You'll look deeply into his eyes, and as they begin to swell shut, you realize you are now allergic to gold. Ah yes. No dream ring for you. No ma'am. The ring of gold goes back to the jewelry store and you return with the silver medal. I said silver. Jesus. But now the guy loves you even more because suddenly you've become a cheap fucking date. Congratulations on your new found diet of boxed wine and broken dreams.

  • After you get fat, go blind, and start sporting sexy, oozing rashes, things will start hurting for no apparent reason. In my case it was my lower back, which I never mistreated or did anything bad to. I went from running marathons to a geriatric who couldn't get out of bed. OK. That first part isn't true. I never ran a marathon, or even watched one on TV . This is the kind of quality care my back received. I didn't want to spook it with all that jostling around, so I made sure it rested and didn't do anything stressful. This is the thanks I get.

  • Aesthetically, you will begin to go to shit. At first, the gray will begin to creep in. Oh sure, you can color your hair, until you discover you're allergic to something in the dye mix and 3/4 of your hair falls out. But don't worry, even though you look like Gollum, your husband will still tell you that you're pretty, but only because he's afraid not to. As pointy shoots of hair start re-growing straight out like a porcupine helmet, the wrinkles on your face will deepen and weird spots and red patches will appear. No one, including your doctor, can offer an explanation. A kind friend will reach over though, pat your knee, and tell you to soldier the fuck up. She'll tell you to stick those three hairs on your head into a pony tail and slather some cream on that shit because we're going shopping! This is the first time you'll actually scare a child in public, and it will be the only joy you experience all year.

Listen up. These are just the warm and fuzzy ones I'm sharing with you today. I can't wait to see what these uncontrollable tremors are all about. Best case scenario, I've been impregnated with an alien spawn and it's getting ready to hatch. Honestly this is the only option I'm willing to consider at this point. I'm totally willing to go down like that. Just not from middle age.

A boy's perspective on soap operas

The Bold and the Beautiful is riveting television - I don't care what anybody says. However, I was interested to hear my son's commentary as he settled into the couch to watch an episode with me; a victim of summer boredom, no doubt.

Boy: What's her deal?

Me: She was married to Ridge and I don't think she likes watching her sister kiss on him.

Boy: Well if she was always walking around with that look on her face then what did she think was going to happen?

Wait a minute. Didn't he jump out of a helicopter last week?

See, he fell.

See, he fell.

Me: No, he fell.

Boy: We should go back and watch that episode. I think he jumped.

Me: Why would he do that?

Boy: I don't know. I don't think he likes the sister all that much either. Maybe he was trying to get away from both of them but they looked too hard and found him.

Me: Maybe.

Boy: Why would you marry your sister's husband? That's gross, because now he's your brother.

Me: Yes, it's gross.

Boy: Who names a kid Ridge anyway?

Me: He has a brother named Thorne.

Boy: That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard.

Me: Remember when you wanted to change your name to Avalon Steve Centrifuge?

Boy: Yes, because that's awesome.

Me: Be quiet, I'm trying to watch the show.

Boy: And this lady. Oh my gosh, she belongs in a straight jacket, with little straight jacket gloves and matching boots.

Me: Yeah she's crazy.

Boy: Why doesn't anything good ever happen on this show?

Me: It does. They found Ridge safe and sound.

Boy: Yeah but now she's plotting again and she's the reason he went missing in the first place, with that weird selfie she took, which I totally don't get because why would you take a selfie with some naked guy sleeping next to you? Like...he couldn't even say cheese or anything. That's weird. <30 seconds of golden silence>

What's her name anyway?

Me: I forget. She's Wyatt's mom.

Boy: She's a mother? Oh no. If you acted like that, I would go find a helicopter and jump right out of it. And then, wherever that island is out in the ocean, I would meet up with all the other guys who jumped out of helicopters trying to escape women, and then we would tell the stories. Kind of like a bar I guess, except with coconut juice and probably no cigarettes unless they really planned ahead. They would have to vacuum seal them or use a really good baggy. But then I think, if they're already making so many life changes anyway, why not just go ahead and quit smoking?

Me: You know too much about life, kid.

Boy: You can learn a lot by watching the Bold and the Beautiful. Not always, but sometimes.

How to lose a job in 30 days

If you're a regular visitor to this site, you know I haven't written much at all in the last month or so. I was busy - off trying to be a productive member of society and shit. Turns out that was STUPID. After a little over a month at a job, I quit on Thursday. Now, you may be thinking that the title of the blog suggests a different outcome. Trust me, I would have been fired this week, and since I'm such a proactive person, I took the initiative and went ahead and packed my shit up. I even sent my letter of resignation via email from my phone while wrapped up in the blankets of my bed. I'm good like that. But don't worry, I learned a lot from my experience at Shawshank, and as usual you can count on me to share my wealth of knowledge. So without further ado, here are five ways to lose a job in thirty days:

The kiss of death.

The kiss of death.

1. The first ingredient is to take a lot of stuff up to work. This was a rookie move on my part, but for whatever reason I believed the rule just wouldn't apply to me in this case. I toted my Keurig up there, 19,000 little K-cups, three plants, lots of decorations, a fan, food, and of course the killer - the MINI-FRIDGE. That's what did me in. In the distance I heard what I now recognize as the sound of the Universe laughing it's ass off. At the time, I mistook the laughter as actual happiness for me. What a douche.

2. The second ingredient you must have to ensure your rightful place in the unemployment line is that you have to genuinely like all of your coworkers and they like you back. This should have, of course, been a red flag for me, as the Universe just isn't going to allow this kind of shit. Somehow that sort of harmony in the workplace throws something else off in China and causes tsunamis and possessed babies to be born. You have to harbor actual hate in your heart at the water cooler before the Universe is satisfied that you are exactly where you need to be.

3. Of course the third ingredient is money, and a lot of it. It's no fun for the Universe to toy with your life if you're only making minimum wage. Losing seven bucks an hour just doesn't have the desired amount of sting. You have to be in the best financial position you've ever been in before she pulls the rug out from under you. Those are the rules.

jealousy and bitterness.png

4. Being an overachiever can really be a detriment to a career, and best case scenario it'll piss off the wrong people. You can't just walk in a company where your boss isn't doing shit and start doing shit. It quickly becomes evident to the people who are doing shit that there's a weak link in the chain. The problem is that it's the guy who isn't doing shit that has all the influence and gives the big boss the best mouth hugs.

5. The fifth and most important ingredient is that the owner of the company must be a sociopath who'd apparently suffered a brain injury via pool cue to the temple. True story. But in order for it to all come together, he must work offsite so he truly has no fucking clue what's going on in his own company. It's only then that you get a call in your first week of employment and every week thereafter where you're cussed and screamed at by a seventy year old man throwing a two year old tantrum. This is a barrel of monkeys, let me tell ya. The last phone call of this nature came last Wednesday. It went something like this:

Sociopath: Why the fuck did you send those documents without my signature?

Me: I didn't...

Sociopath: Let me tell you why the fuck. Because you're fucking incompetent, that's why!

Me: I...

Sociopath: Let me make myself clear, if you can understand it. You're fu-cking in-com-pet-ent and should probably start looking for another fucking job!

Me: Ok.

Sociopath: Even a goddam simple dog can understand simple fucking commands like 'NO, DON'T DO THAT'...

Me: Yep.

Sociopath: I'm not signing this fucking shit! I'm sending it back! Click.

He's a warm and fuzzy guy, that one. So much so that my husband told me I wasn't allowed to go back there and that was fine with me.

When I first started, I thought my coworkers were mean when they actually made statements like "I wish he was dead" or "we're just waiting for him to die". Even after all the shit I put up with, I don't wish was dead. That's just wrong and not Christian.

When I get upset, I like to think about kittens to calm me down. In this case, the kittens are eating Mr. Sociopath after he suffers a terrible fall caused by a unicorn with dishonorable intentions. But he's not dead because I'm the boss of this fantasy so he never gets to die. And any fantasy with kittens or unicorns in it counts as Christian. Those are the rules.

Long story short, it was a big, fat, stupid waste of time and energy. Now here I sit, combing through Monster looking for the next big, fat, stupid waste of time and energy. And a waste of time and energy is OK with me, as long as it isn't run by a big, fat, stupid waste of space.

Close encounters of the dad kind

My dad is a notorious story teller, and always has been. If he could spell, he could write some killer children's stories, though the publishing companies would have to edit out all the instances of "those sombitches" when referring to the Democrats ruling Fairy Lake. Until I got older, I always bought into his tales, but the following is one I had to call bullshit on about three-quarters of the way through. *Keep in mind my dad is an apple-shaped seventy-eight year old man.

Dad: You won't believe what happened to me this morning.

Me: What happened?

Dad: Well, I got up to have my breakfast and morning coffee...<my dad wakes up about 1:30 am to have breakfast and coffee>...and while I was sitting out here on the porch, I saw these bright lights up in the sky.

Me: What was it?

Dad: Well who's telling the damn story? Now listen. Here I am having my coffee when I see these lights off in the distance, and as they get closer I see that they're cylindrical in shape like a saucer of some sort.

Me: No shit.

Dad: No shit. So as it gets closer and closer, I realize, well sombitch, it's coming down to land in our yard, and it's the biggest alien spaceship I've ever seen!

Me: You've seen many alien spaceships?

Dad: Now look shit ass. Do you want to hear what happened or not?

Me: Yes. I want to hear what happened.

Dad: So as I was saying, it's coming down to land down there near the pond at the bottom of the hill. So I head a little ways down the hill to get a closer look. Now keep in mind I've got my pistol on me; you have to always be aware of your surroundings and be prepared for anything. You never know what can happen, see.

Me: What happened all the other times you saw spaceships?

Dad: You're a bad listener. A very obstinate listener. You'll never be successful in your career if you can't listen and soak in what the speaker is saying, kid. You want an example? This same thing was a big problem with Eisenhower when that sombitch -

Me: Get back to the aliens. I'm listening.

Dad: Well anyway, I've got my pistol out, and as they land, all this thick smoke barrels out. I can't see shit. But when it starts to clear, I see these little human-like forms standing outside the ship.

Me: Whoah...

Dad: Well YEAH whoah. So I move a little closer, and one of those little fuckers starts to make a move, see...

Me: busted a move, or it was going for a light saber? What kind of move are we talking about?

Dad: <gives ultra dirty look> Are you going to take this serious or not?

Me: I am taking it seriously, but aliens probably like to dance too. I thought maybe it could be his way of breaking the ice.

Dad: Well no. He wasn't trying to break the ice. And light sabers are science fiction. Jesus. <shakes head in disgust>. You think Star Wars is the real deal? C'mon kid. Get a grip. The aliens have much more advanced technology than that.

Me: Oh. Sorry.

Dad: So he makes a move for his laser apparatus, and keep in mind it's bright as shit out there, so I can see everything these shady little bastards are trying to do. See, I ain't stupid. I was on to them. Before the little one in front could get me, I got his ass. When I shot him, purple blood spewed out, and that's when the rest of them started shooting. You outta seen it! Sparks were flying all over the yard, so I hid over there behind that barrel.

Me: The barrel with no holes in it?

Dad: You don't even know what you're talking about. Do you understand laser technology? I didn't think so. So anyhow, there must have been seven or eight of them, and I got most of them - there were purple pools of blood everywhere, but then I ran out of bullets...

Me: Oh shit...

Dad: Yeah. So the closest gun I had was up the hill in my shed. So I take off running up the hill...

Me: Stop there.

Dad: What?

Me: This just got a little far fetched for me. You didn't run up any damn hill. This whole story is bullshit.

Dad: Shit ass.

I never did hear the end of that story, or see any evidence of purple blood, but he assures me I'm too simple minded to get it. Instead, I heard the story of how all of Eisenhower's problems stemmed from not listening. Halfway through that story I killed myself, so I never got to be a better listener.

Stay tuned for the next installment, when my father enlightens us as to how my mother's rear view window got busted out. Happy hump-day everyone!

Love is a terrible reason to get married

This weekend my husband and I celebrated one whole year of marital bliss. Reaching this tiny benchmark made me think about the reasons why people get married and what it takes to make a marriage work. And last.

I think the dumbest reason people get married is because they say they love each other. Big fucking deal. I love chicken nuggets. Alot.

Love is the most emotionally charged word in the English language, yet we make critical, life altering decisions based off of it. Doesn't that seem irrational? That's like shopping when you're hungry, or killing someone when your blood sugar is low. Once the smoke clears, you can't take that shit back.

Love isn't even a good reason to do nice things, like save a baby from a run away train. That's just shit you should do, because DUH.

Besides that, ever heard the saying love hurts? That's right. When I eat too many nuggets I experience this. People in love do shitty, terrible things to one another every day. Just watch 48 Hours. They have some real eye opening, romantic stories on that show, let me tell ya. Love doesn't seem to prevent cheating, lying, deceiving, and worse.

The sad reality is that people love each other until they don't. Then they dismember your body with a wood chipper and leave town with their lover in their new Corvette. No shit.

Don't get me wrong. I love my husband, even more than chicken nuggets, but that's not the reason I married him. I thought long and hard about it, and for me, what it came down to was how much I liked him.

I really do. I like spending time with him and we have fun together. I want to leave work so I can come home and we can drink a beer while he tells me about his shitty day. I think genuinely liking the person you're with keeps you from wanting to do anything that would hurt them. Like stuffing them in a wood chipper.

If you've ever loved anybody, you know without a doubt that you don't have to like a person to love them. You can indeed despise the shit out of someone you love, and that's why no one should make any decisions based off that criteria alone. Once the initial shine wears off, and they start chewing loudly and throwing their clothes in the floor, there had damn sure better be something you like about them. Love won't keep you from punching them in the face, but like will.

It always makes me nervous when I see young people getting married. Their deep feelings of love combined with heightened hormones mask the red flags that would be otherwise evident if they weren't in an irrational, emotional fog. For instance, does she keep a wood chipper parked in the driveway? Does he shoot snot out of one nostril in parking lots? Love causes us to overlook shit like this, and that's bad. Love is blind, after all, until you come out of the fog. It's only then that you're able to make an informed decision. You can see things clearly for the first time. Now, his jokes aren't funny, and her laugh makes you want to impale yourself on a rusty spoon. It turns out he's not very nice to animals and she chews like a rhinoceros. These things matter.

So today I celebrate the intense like I have for my wonderful husband and I look forward to many more years by his side. Not because I love him, but because I like being there.

And because he doesn't own a wood chipper.

The heart wants what the heart wants

Warning: Today's subject matter is graphic and contains salacious adult content. OK. Not exactly, but it may make you feel uncomfortable and perhaps a little confused, and if so, contact your local family guidance counselor. They can work through those feelings with you.

I have a few favorite videos just like anybody else. Most of the time I look at cat videos, because I have mental problems, but sometimes I think outside the box and type in something different. Today it was "turtle having sex" - a total shot in the dark. I never really expected for anything to come up. But it did.

I like anything that makes me think. I thought a lot about this video, as it taught me many things and inspired so many questions in my mind. Here are the reasons why this video is one of my new favorites:.

  • I thought turtles laid eggs, or perhaps mated telepathically. I had no idea they actually did the business. I thought they were so innocent. I am fascinated.
  • While doing the business, turtle's do the equivalent of Meg Ryan's "When Harry Met Sally" scene. Badass.
  • As you can see, turtle's are just like people, looking for love in all the wrong places. I can imagine this little guy went out on the town and knocked a few back, then when he woke up was like..."Oh shit. I hope I didn't give that shoe my phone number..."
  • Or maybe I'm wrong on that last one. Maybe turtle's don't see color. Or species. This little guy was just walking along, minding his own business, when the sun shone just the right way on those shoe strings from across the room. It was magic. Their eyes met and the rest is history.
  • Or maybe I'm wrong on that last one. Maybe this turtle's just an everyday pervert taking advantage of what he views as a vegetable, helpless against his masculine wiles. What a piece of shit! And to think those people sat idly by and laughed as the rapist screamed his obsenities. That's a turtle I just don't want to know.
  • Turtles have really big dingalings. WHO KNEW!
  • The turtle was unsuccessful in inserting the wiener in any sort of workable crevice. Come to think of it, that's probably what all that screaming was about. Sexual frustration. Poor guy.
  • Turtles have SEX. Weird.

So as you can see, I learned and thought a lot today, and that should be everyone's goal in life, because knowing things is fun. And knowing really ignorant things is even more fun. Google something odd and be fascinated while learning something new today. You won't regret it. You can thank me by sharing your favorite videos. Happy Monday!

The fundamental problem with the jitterbug

This past weekend I happened upon a conversation my husband and dad were having about gay men.

Dad: Yeah. I knew a bunch of those gays back in Hollywood. You outta seen 'em do the jitterbug. Jesus.

At that point he gave his very best gay man jitterbug impression. If you ask me, it was a little too spot-on, especially for a 78 year old right wing extremist. Makes you curious about a guy's extracurricular activities, if you know what I mean. Just kidding dad. No I'm not. But seriously, no I'm not.

My husband eyed him closely.

Husband: So I wanna make sure I understand what you're saying.

Dad: It's pretty straight forward. <looks at husband like DUH>

Husband. Okay. So you're telling me that gay men should do the jitterbug like - what - real men?

Dad thinks about that for a second.

Dad: "Shut up."

If I had a penis...

It's no secret to anyone that I have a bad case of penis envy. This all began at birth and has long since endured. Because I sit around and think about strange things all day, I started to wonder what I would do if I actually had been lucky enough to have one. Here's what I came up with...

If I had a penis...

  • If I ended up with a respectable one, I wouldn't drive some conspicuous four wheel drive truck with duel exhausts and forty three spark plugs to indicate that I was packing a gherkin. (The fact that I said forty three spark plugs clearly indicates that I'm packing ovaries).
  • I would name my penis Ragnar Lothbrok. (My ovaries are named Lagertha and Ragnar, in order from left to right). C'mon people. Watch Vikings on History Channel. It's important to know your history.
  • I would pee on trees, tires, fire hydrants, in front of Sears, near little old ladies...everywhere except on the toilet seat. Holla.
  • I would never pee next to a kindergarten, because gosh.
  • If I ended up with a gherkin, I would buy a big conspicuous four wheel drive truck with duel exhausts and forty three spark plugs, because honesty is the best policy.
  • I would never walk around naked with a cat in the house.
  • I would run a business where I'd just go around opening jars and killing spiders for girls.
  • I would still be afraid of spiders.
  • I would be able to watch Kodak commercials without crying.
  • I would still Google "kittens" and spend 2 1/2 hours a day going "AWWWW".
  • I would happily date fluffy girls, because shit. I get it.
  • I would never date a girl that squealed and said things like "Like, OMG!!!". Because if I did, I'd throw up in her Caesar salad and make her pay for her own food.
  • I would never, under any circumstances, wear skinny jeans.
  • I would date some girls and then cry out to God to please return my vagina ASAP because I can't deal with these crazy mother fuckers.

There you have it. At the beginning of the list, I had no idea I'd end up full circle. I guess it just had to be put on paper for me to appreciate my good fortune. What about you? What would you do with one, and if you already have one, what did I leave out? I'd love to hear your input. Happy Saturday!

Life's little disappointments...

You can find all sorts of things while trolling the internet. While I usually either Google "cats" or "weird people", a few weeks ago I stepped outside my comfort zone and just followed the links where they took me. My recent favorite find is the La Jolla Art Blog, featuring original art by David Wiemers. Below is his painting, appropriately titled "Life's Little Disappointments". Enjoy!

The end of the goddess era

This week marks the end of a fabulous four month vacation I was blessed with the unique opportunity to have. While I'll mourn the loss of these days at home spent writing and regrouping, I'm also going to welcome the new challenges coming my way. But today I'll talk about the things I'll greatly miss as a domestic goddess.

  • Firstly, I'll miss never having to get dressed. This is a major, major life benefit. If a company would let me wear pajamas to the office, I would work for half the pay. Back in the day, women who wore pajamas in public were considered to be the most affluent of society. Why has this changed? Why shouldn't my reindeer pajamas signify to others that I'm of well-heeled stock? This decline in civilization is bullshit. The end of the world is near when this sort of degradation is taking place right before our eyes and we do nothing to stop it. Edmund Burke said it best: All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing. Join me in my fight against the fascist tyrants who want you, me, and all generations after us to be uncomfortable. That's not nice.
  • Another thing I'll really miss is spending the morning with my husband. He makes me potatoes, bacon and eggs and we sit together and watch episodes of Frasier. This is precious, kiddo-free time that is now over with. Not only am I losing this time with my super cute husband, but I'm also losing the breakfast and Frasier. Three giant losses is more than one person can reasonably be expected to take. Don't be surprised if you see me on the nightly news: Woman found dead from eating her own cooking.
  • When I began staying at home, what I found was that it actually is possible to keep the house clean when people aren't in it. I was able to enjoy four whole hours of cleanliness before the others came home and trampled the shit out of it. Now, I won't even have those sweet four hours to gaze upon the shiny counter top, clean sink, or ramen-free kitchen floor. My new life will mean coming home to a house that looks like hobos have been squatting there since 1987. Because everything else is such chaos here lately, having a clean house is really important to me. After all, cleanliness becomes more important when godliness is unlikely. -P. J. O'Rourke
  • I'm going to miss not having to drive. This one is a particular bummer for me. I HATE driving. Maybe I wouldn't feel this way if I had a hovercraft or some such apparatus that would make the commute less stressful. It's also annoying to me to spend an hour a day in a car when I could be doing other things, like sleeping or drinking wine. If I could have a superpower, it would be to instantly blink myself places. Think about that for a minute. If you could blink yourself somewhere else, no one could ever kill you! That's a kick ass super power that I feel people don't give enough recognition to.
  • Finally, I'm going to miss having so much time to blog and work on my book. I'll join the majority of other writers in their quest to find a good work/creativity balance and I will probably fall flat on my face, but then I'll get back up, brush myself off, cuss a little bit, and get my shit together. That's the way these things work.

I'll get myself a proper office, I will ignore the compulsion to watch my Young and the Restless recordings, and I'll put on my big girl pants and act my age.

Pft. None of that's going to happen. Did you believe me? Jesus. Let's not get crazy.


I'm super glad I got the opportunity to be a domestic goddess and I'll truly miss it. On the other hand, I'm looking forward to getting to know a whole new group of coworkers so I'll know who I can prank and who I can't. Some people you can't. Human Resources was happy to go over the guidelines with me. The conversation went like this:

Human Resources Manager: What were you and Julie talking about that made Bryan uncomfortable?

Me: Penises.

Human Resources Manager: Why don't you just go ahead and give me your version of the conversation.

Me: OK. Well me and Julie were having a private conversation, and Bryan was listening in so he came over and told us that we were making him uncomfortable.

Human Resources Manager: And what did you say to that?

Me: I told him maybe he'd be more comfortable if he took his pants off.

Human Resources Manager:


Human Resources Manager:


Human Resources Manager: Right. Let's refresh ourselves on the guidelines, shall we?

Me: Sounds great!


See, work life doesn't have to be boring.

Are you a psychopath?

Today I read an article called Psychopathology and Abnormal Behavior that I found on Monday Blogs. It talks about how to know if someone (including yourself) is a psychopath, and it even has a test you can take to find out. I felt compelled to take the test because what if I'm a psychopath and didn't even know it?

On the one hand, if it came out negative for psychopathy, then I would be super happy and celebrate with a glass of wine; on the other, if it came out positive, I would call my husband and tell him that he's married to a fucking fruit cake and I would just laugh and laugh. Ahh. Good times. And then I would celebrate with a glass of wine.

I did take the test and it turns out I'm not crazy. A part of me was disappointed, but it's probably for the best. I feel like I'd make a substandard criminal, and I really try to be the best at everything I do. 

Take this test for yourself and if you score above thirty, you're crazy as a bed bug. Let me know your scores; I need to know who I'm working with here. As for me, here are my results:

P.S. If you fail the test and it turns out you're psycho, you'll be inclined to lie about your score because that's what you people do. It's OK. You can tell me anything. I don't have my phone on my lap with the cops on speed dial. Promise.