FUNDIES

I think that must be the bug spray, she probably has the biggest problem with insect swarms in the vicinity of her funky floss...

Casseroles & Asserholes

We had our Christmas pot luck lunch at work the other day, I brought this cheesy potato dish. It has a STICK AND A HALF of butter in it. It's nutritious and delicious. I had no choice but to bring it over to the witchy weeble wobble's apartment to have it warmed up. It was either that or everyone would have to warm up their servings individually in the microwave. So I take a deep breath, square my shoulders, and trudge next door. And what to my wondering eyes should appear, but two very large men and their bellies of beer. Inside I was retching. "Hi" I say. This guy with her abdominable boyfriend was actually more disgusting than him, I didn't think that was possible. He was fatter, which makes him a candidate for his own reality show on Discovery Health. He was also one of those people who's really fair skinned with hair so red it's orange. "Whatcha got?" They're bursting out of the sides of their warping plastic lawn chairs, craning their necks (what's left of them) to try to peek at my parcel. It's not like they would actually put forth the effort to get up, they would've brought their seats with them anyway. "It's a potato dish- with cheese, sour cream, butter- you know." "Like an Au Gratin." "Sort of. I guess." I knock and Humpty opens up to take my dish, and I hightail it out of there. Again, I didn't eat any of the spooge surprise she brought to the shindig. It was some kind of noodle thing with sauce on it. The possibilities for what could've been lurking in its depths are endless.
We chipped in and got the docs gift certificates for 60 minute massages at a nearby salon. I think they really liked them, my boss said he's never had one, and he could definitely benefit from it. It was funny because the the gift cards came in hot pink bags, I apologized to him explaining that was all they had, and we knew he was manly enough to handle it. Anyway, limp lungs from next door didn't contribute, she said she'd give me her share after payday, BUT she had gifts for them from only her, these nasty salami log and cheese chunk baskets. Whatever Repulsel!
Ohhhh, when I was at her apartment trying not to run away screaming, I saw something I will try to get a picture of tomorrow. You see, she hangs out her laundry to dry (sometimes for days- it may be laziness, or it's quite possible it takes their stuff that long to dry), and I spotted some sumo slingshots hanging close to the front door. TH-TH-THONG-THONG!

The Picture Bandit

Tatum isn't allowed to use the camera without permission and close supervision. I guess I'll have to start hiding it.

Speaking of Girl Goatees...

One time I was at work typing away, and my co-worker, a flamboyant male friend, was sitting at the station next to mine babbling away at my profile. He stopped mid-thought, said "What the?!", reached under my chin and yanked out a sapling by its roots. It seems like every woman I know suddenly started sprouting face fuzz at some point in their lives. Why didn't they warn us about this one? I'm definitely going to give my girls a heads up so they don't think they're turning into a werewolf or chubaka or something.

Don't You Just Love it When....

...you discover you missed the same hair the last 5 or 6 times you shaved? It had to be at least that many, this one was about ready to double as a jump rope. Okay and that's a sock, not my underwear, get your mind out of the gutter. Can you believe I almost ran for the razor instead of the camera? Luckily I came to my senses in time.

Why bother?

I guess people started their New Year's resolutions early, because the gym was jam-packed when I went today. It really irritates the shizzle out of me. I got stuck with an old, creaky, shaky treadmill, with the short, narrow belt that makes you almost step on the hard plastic. Why?! Because the good machines were full, primarily with pasty, paunchy plodders. WHY can't they get on the CRAP treadmill that's obviously better suited to their turtle shuffle? I mean, if you're not going to sweat, why bother? I'm not knocking chubby people trying to get in shape, I used to be one. But the idea is to INCREASE your heart rate.
Oh, and I saw the worst example of self-lust I've ever seen. You know what I'm talking about, the guys who give themselves long side glances in the mirror while subtly (THEY think) posing and flexing. This dude was walking towards the window- you can see yourself in them at night- smiling and striding towards it with real purpose- I honestly thought someone he knew was on the other side- then he stops just short of the glass and starts studying his features. What a douche. I wouldn't have been surprised if he started making out with his reflection. Get a room with yourself wanker.

The Christmas Questions

Wrapping paper or gift bags? Wrapping paper for Christmas, but I definitely use gift bags for everything else because I'm leeeaaazzzy. And to top it off I stink at arranging that tissue paper on top.
Real tree or artificial? Real. We like to go pick it out at the Christmas tree farm and watch them hack it down. YeeHaw!
When do you put up your tree? Hopefully we are heading out to get it this afternoon.
Do you like eggnog? Not especially.
Favorite gift you received as a child? I used to complain that my stocking was smaller than my siblings, then one morning I came downstairs to discover one almost as big as me.
Hardest person to buy for? My brother in laws
Easiest person to buy for? My kids
Do you have a nativity scene? No.
Mail or e-mail Christmas cards? I'm not organized enough to accomplish either.
Worst Christmas gift ever received? I'm with Hippie on this one, I plead the fifth.
Favorite Christmas movie? It's a toss up between It's a Wonderful Life and A Christmas Story. I love both of those for different reasons.
When do you start shopping for Christmas? I haven't gone yet.
Have you ever recycled a Christmas present? No, but I have recycled birthday presents.
Best Christmas traditions? We usually work on a 1-2 thousand piece puzzle
Lights on a tree? Twinkly multi-colored ones
Favorite Christmas song? I like to torture my kids with Santa Claus is Coming to Town. "Oh, you better watch out!!!"
Travel or stay home? We stay here, and mom & dad head our way.
Can you name Santa's reindeer? Grumpy, sneezy, bashful...oh, wait- what Hippie said.
Angel or Star? We have a star.
Open presents Christmas Eve or Christmas morning? We open all of our presents from each other Christmas Eve and do stockings in the morning
Most annoying thing this time of year? Really, I think it goes on too long and too strong
Favorite Ornament theme or color? We've got it all
Favorite Christmas dinner? The usual
Favorite Christmas breakfast? Christmas dinner
What do you want this year? A podometer. Some new bras. But mostly my big happy family.

This Place Is A Zoo

We went to the one in Jacksonville today, and we had a great time. We haven't been since Reese was a baby. Other than some minor whining and throwing the occasional punch at each other, the kids did great. I took an assload of pictures of course, which all seem really cool and exciting when you're there doing it, then you get home and look through them and you're like "Yep, that's a giraffe alright. No mistakin' it." I took a few I felt were interesting enough to share. Enjoy.
Okay, this is in the vulture cage, it's actually a feeding trough made to look like a zebra carcass they're pecking away at. Pretty sick.

It's always a thrill to see an animal in an enclosure that wasn't actually put in there by zoo staff. Here we have a run of the mill giant sewer rat waddling around in one of the water fowl exhibits.

This one WAS put in by zoo employees, they flung it over a log after they whacked it with a hammer, so the resident hawk could eat it without getting any scratches or nibbles. (Reese wanted me to hold her up to watch until the hawk ate it.)

This was in the rhino pen, so we are assuming it's a mountain of their excrement.

AAWWWW, the puddy tats wuv each utha ( I figured I should have one feel good photo).

LADIES AND GENTLEMAN, stay glued to your seats, for below we are unveiling the piece de resistance of our slide show, the winner of the blue ribbon.....

AND......

You may THINK you know what you're looking at, but you would be WRONG. One of the zoo workers, a monkey expert if you will, happened to be standing there when we were ogling this poor beast, and she told us this is what the FEMALES look like when they're ready to breed. Holy mud flaps, batman! Can you imagine what it would be like if that happened to us?! We'd have to wear MC Hammer pants the whole time and pee in the tub. And link like 5 tampons together like sausages if we wanted to have any hope of finding the string again. Aye caramba! I missed a pose that would've been an AWESOME shot, it was the monkey on that same post she's on in the first picture and she's touching her toes, butt in the breeze. By the time I fumbled my camera into position it was over. I'm SURE I was getting some dirty or at least weird looks because I was hopping around all jazzed and giggling uncontrollably. Can I help it if they have no sense of humor?

Gobble This

OKAY THEN. So this is my Thanksgiving blog finally, I forgot my new fancy camera on an important OUTING so I had to wait until I had a chance to get my SISTER'S camera card so I would have the TOOLS necessary to produce a THOROUGH and SATISFACTORY entry. There are more pictures here than you have ever seen before, and I suspect I will never put this many on at the the same time again.
My parents and my brother and his family drove many miles to join us for the holiday. We had a smurfy time. Below is a picture of the men folk slaving away at a card game, while the ladies enjoy some free time cooking, cleaning, and taking care of the kids. I'M KIDDING. The ladies played too, except me. The family card game, passed down for generations, is complicated and does not interest me, therefore I refuse to learn it. Ueker, Youker, U-KER- I don't know how to spell it. I told my husband he'll have to teach it to the girls so the tradition lives on. They also played poker. I personally prefer board games, I actively participated in those. Scattergories and Taboo- that's what I'm talkin' about!
I had a better picture than this but my brother is making an obscene finger gesture, so I deemed it inappropriate.

Here we have all of the pint-sized grandchildren- and my sister. I love how my niece is doing the dead weight thing off of my sister's lap.

The kids always become best friends immediately, even though they only see each other like once a year.

My nieces brought their DSS thingies, the likes of which my kids have never seen. They spent hours bent over them mesmerized....
Have you ever seen "The Grudge"? Creepy....

I love how Reese sneakily sidestepped into this picture...

It reminded me of this picture....

....although Cranky the Sour Patch Kid there is considerably LESS cute than Reese.

We went to a place called Leapin' Lizards on Friday to celebrate my nieces' birthdays. It's kind of like Chuck E Cheese only with lots of GIANT blow up jumpy things.
I whooped my sister at air hockey TWICE. OH YEAH! WOO HOO! I'M NUMBER ONE! I'M NUMBER ONE! I'm a sore winner.

These pictures are awesome. Kung Fu Tatum...
There was one slide in particular that none of us could resist, even mom.....
I got some pretty wicked burns on my elbows from that one.

The whole weekend was swell, and we wouldn't have changed a thing, even though we were pretty worn out by the end of it...


HOPE YOU AND YOURS HAD A TURKIFIC DAY.

Fiber One Breakfast Bars

I wouldn't recommend them unless you have no plans and no one is coming over to visit. Yeah, they taste pretty good, but you'll be tuba-riffic for the better part of the day. I suspected it last week, I ate my first one in the morning right after I got to work, and a few hours later I was flexing and doing the backward bubble. I did the cheek sneak in the bathroom a lot that day. I thought I'd confirm my suspicions today since I didn't have to work. And I certainly did. My sister came over and we had Thanksgiving left overs, when she walked in I made sure she knew that if something smelled like a fart in here it was me. And I'm not talking flutes here, this is the brass band. They must be for the seriously old and constipated. So if you know any petrified poopers, you can feel confident in suggesting these to assist them in their quest for a crap. Otherwise stick with something that doesn't make your mid-section look like a scene from Alien.
The older Grimace gets (my dog), the more he excessively licks his weiner. My husband just walked through and said "Enough Grimace, you keep lickin' that thing and it's gonna be gone." Which made me laugh and reminded me of the old tootsie pop commercial. "How many licks does it take to get to the center of Grimace's peter?" A one, a two, a thrrreee. CRUNCH. A thrrreee.

It's a Hard Knock Life

I figured since I didn't have a picture of the upchuck I would take one of the offending hound. As you can see she's no worse for wear.

Foamy Footwear

So we're running late this morning, and I'm standing in front of Reese's closet holding her so she can inspect her wardrobe and decide what to wear (she drives me INSANE), and I hear the telltale "HORK! HORK! HORK!" sounds coming from the living room. I haul butt out there, but I'm too late, Indy has already made a deposit on the carpet. She only vomits like once a year, and it would make perfect sense that it would be the day after I cleaned the carpets. I shout at her and kick her outside, then peer at the mass of material plopped by the baseboard- yes, it was RIGHT up against the wall too. She wanted to make sure the bile was able to seep down into the crevice. So it's one my socks, all slathered in slime and yellow ooze. I'm like "You should've been able to pass that!" Stupid dog, doesn't she know what'll fit through her poop shoot?! Then I go to pick it up, and realize there is a little pink sock adhered to the other side of mine. Ahhh, so that explains it. If I hadn't been so agitated, I would've thought to take a picture of it to put on here. As a matter of fact, it would've made a perfect "Guess what this is" entry. Next time.

Battle Scars

Cutting releases all of my pain and anguish, and makes me feel alive and free. BUT REALLY, you're thinking, "Oooh, some vicious cat was using your arm as a scratching post." THINK AGAIN. I would say 7 out of 10 scratches I receive are from screeching, nervous vermin trying to pass themselves off as dogs. The biting, shaking, poo and pee-making variety- teacup, miniature, toy, and pocket breeds. They are the bane of our existence and our bread and butter. For some reason people can't get enough of them. These bug-eyed, spastic freaks that look like Fraggle Rock rejects have become all of the rage. They're just not natural.
The "dog" that did this to my arm was a pomeranian. If you are not familiar with them, they look like you should be shoving them between your blinds for dusting, not buying them kibble. This particular animal was not mean, but it was doing something common for these little guys when you're holding them for exam. He had his toothpick forelimbs wrapped around my arm, clinging for dear life like a monkey on a tree branch. I didn't even realize what happened until we were done and I had put him up. I remarked " Gee, my arm kinda stings." Then I look down and I'm like "Holy S**t!" I guess his little dagger nails were so freaking sharp the pain didn't register until after the fact. They were oozing bright red blood and my skin was curled up at the ends of them like pencil shavings. We were sending him home some ointment for a sore on his tail, and I used some of it on my arm. "It's the least the little bastard can do for tearing me up", I explain to my co-workers.
This new injury reminded me of my favorite scar:
This is my leg just above the knee. This crescent shaped disfigurement was a gift from an evil entity we were having to keep at work to medicate. He had suffered some bite wounds from another dog ( I can't imagine why this dog didn't like him), and his owners were unable to flush his wounds at home (imagine that). We had him on tranquilizers for the duration, but he seemed to become more resistant to them with every day that went by. I thought I had his treatment down to a science. He would let you get him out of his kennel okay, but I used the rabies pole so I would have better control of him when it was time to muzzle him. The rabies pole is a metal pole with a loop on the end of it. You put it over their head, and you can tighten and release it with mechanisms on the other end. It allows you to keep a distance between you and the beast. ANYWAY, I would take him out with that thing on, then I would sneak up behind/over him while others distracted him and CLAMP my knees at the base of his skull with lightning speed. Then one of the other people would use a long piece (really long) of stretch gauze with a loop on the end of it to put over his nose and pull it tight, THEN we would slip a regular muzzle over that. This worked well for a while, but our luck ran out one day. He managed to twist his head around even in my powerful leg lock (picture the exorcist) and clamp his incisors into my quad. One of my fellow employees marveled at how much it looked like a little kid bit me. This canine was a Basenji, not a little rodent breed, but worthless just the same. Other breeds to avoid- chihuahuas, shih tzus, american eskimos (and spitz), chinese cresteds, and min pins. I'm not saying there aren't exceptions to the rule that these breeds suck, but why take the chance? Just say no.

Cheerleading Copetishen

She is really into it, drawing pictures, talking about it all the time, constantly practicing for some make-believe game that her non-existent squad of which she is an invisible member is cheering for! She reminds me of Stuart on MAD TV. "Look what I can do! Look what I can do!" She's got the splits down- something I was NEVER flexible enough to do, even in the womb- and she's the cartwheel queen. She does the several in a row thing, like she's a tire on a bicycle or something. Now I COULD do cartwheels at one point in my life, and the sad thing is that I probably STILL could, IF I wasn't afraid to straighten my legs all the way out. It's like I'm afraid if I do I'll bend the wrong way and break my back, or rip my feet off at the ankles on some extremely low hanging tree branches. I also can't swing anymore because it makes me dizzy. Pathetic. She's currently working on forward flips, which at present are a scary combination between a somersault and a body slam. She gets her legs up and then whips over and lands with a "thump" on her back. I cringe every time attempts this feat. She seems dead set on this thing, and I'm REALLY trying to coax her down another avenue. She's good at baseball, which is coming up soon I think, so I'm pretty sure this will be her first joining of an actual organized activity. Then if she likes it well enough, she'll forget all about pyramids and pom poms. RIGHT??!! She also got invited to her 1st slumber party. Which means I'll have to talk to and meet with parents/people I probably wouldn't associate with otherwise, pretend like I'm friendly and interested in them, so I can assess their mental and emotional health and determine whether I want to trust them with my firstborn! AND SO IT BEGINS. What a nightmare.

Overshare

We are really gross at work, as you all know. We witness disgusting things, we discuss disgusting things, we dwell on and celebrate all things disgusting. But this one employee (who quit this week by the way), took things to a level that made the rest of us uncomfortable. There's really no limit to our nastiness, but most of us have a similar sense of humor, and many of the things we accuse each other of and claim to partake in are only in jest. This particular person wanted to fit in and join the conversation, so out of left field her comments would fly, without the comedic timing and with total honesty. For instance, we were discussing alternative routes some people take when engaging in you know what I'm talking about don't make me elaborate. Several months ago, one of my favoritest co-workers said "Don't knock it til you tried it." She was only kidding, but of course I haven't let more than a day or two go by without reminding her. She sets herself up for it, what can I say. SO ANYWAY, the aforementioned former employee informs us that's the way she and her husband do it most of the time, because that's the only way she can "get off." Silence. Then she says that the only other people that know this (aren't we the privileged ones) are her husband and her DADDY. Apparently he was in the delivery room when she had her kids-not sure what this has to do with backdoor entry- but whatever. Another one of my favorite co-workers (when I say "favorite", I actually mean it in this blog), proceeded to ask her if her kids came out of her butt. I still laugh EVERY time I think of her saying that. On a previous occasion, we (me, creepy kinky girl, and kidsfromanus pal) were eating lunch in the break room and we were talking about how we liked food that makes our breath stink- garlic, onions, etc. Soggy sphincter told us she LOVES onions, and her husband tells her she smells and tastes like one "down there" when she's eaten a lot of them. Check please.

Pick On Someone Your Own Size

I'm not the world's greatest mother, nor do I claim to be. There are times I rely on the TV a little too much, I slack on the housework, I let my kids say mommy 20 times sometimes before I'm like "WHAT???!?!" But I can't stand people who do not take the responsibilty of being a parent at all seriously, who do not realize what a wonderful precious gift they are, and how important it is to put forth your best effort at least MOST of the time. They are innocent and defenseless, relying on the adults in their lives to provide the love and sustenance they need to grow into people who are healthy physically, mentally, and emotionally. We're all going to make mistakes, but to knowingly do things or not do things that could damage their kids permanently makes me VERY ANGRY. SMOKING and/or DRINKING while pregnant?! If you're too selfish to put the baby before yourself when it hasn't even been born yet, motherhood's obviously not for you. And the best thing about people like this is that they are so ignorant and uncaring, that they do this OVER and OVER again, so we have all these kids in this country that are pretty much screwed from the start. The person or people who are supposed to be the most involved in their lives and have their best interest at heart- who should be kissing their boos boos, reading them stories, making them eat their vegetables, and telling them they love them at least 20 times a day- are completely apathetic when it comes to raising that impressionable little package that THEY brought into this world. I wish I had an idea for a solution to this problem, but I'm at a loss. You can't force losers to quit breeding. You could chew their ass out (which I've been tempted to do lately), but it wouldn't make a difference. You can't MAKE someone get a clue, they either have one or they don't. This has been bothering me a lot lately because I'm witness to it EVERYDAY right now, so you'll have to excuse the tirade. But I know everyone reading this feels the same way I do. OFF WITH THEIR REPRODUCTIVE ORGANS!

Happymerry Hallowgivingeastmas!

I know it's hard to believe, but we're not very motivated or creative when it comes to outdoor holiday decorations. So when I arrived home one night a few weeks ago to find our most high tech Halloween accessories carefully and artfully arranged in the front yard, I was very excited.

The Jack O Lanterns are wrapped around the front of a group of trees in a semi-circle, and the bats are strung up between them. They all light up. My husband put a lot of time and effort into this display. SO I was thinking....Jack O Lanterns are in fact pumpkins, and people eat pumpkin pie, pumpkin cake, pumpkin rolls, etc, on Thanksgiving and Christmas. And there are bats living around the country everywhere all year long. And those witch hats on the Jack O Lanterns could easily be mistaken for pilgrim hats. And if someone were to put little Santa Hats over those the day after Thanksgiving, why, they'd be all ready for the arrival of jolly ole Saint Nick! And let's just say I got some candy canes and used packing tape to adhere them to the bat wings. Ready to swoop down with a yummy delivery for all the good little boys and girls! For Easter, I'm picturing flying rabbits and jack o lantern eggs painted in pastels.......

Dude Looks Like A Lady

So another Halloween has come and gone, and the kids were very cute (except for the inevitable end of the night "I've had too much candy and excitement" meltdown). In the tradition of true Halloweeners, we froze our unmentionables off trekking through the neighborhood for over 2 hours. My hands were so numb I could barely unwrap my candy (but somehow I managed). I don't mind the hayrides and such, but seriously, the parents who literally drive their fat, lazy kids from house to house while endangering the lives of die hard trick or treaters really hack me off. I want to wrench off their sideviews and stick tacks under their tires. ANYWAY, Reese was a kitty....

Tatum was a freaking cheerleader (what else)......

But the real belle of the ball, the show stealer, the winner for the scariest and hairiest costume was my beloved.....

He came up with the idea of going as the bearded lady, which I readily agreed with. He tried to sidestep to schoolgirl, which I explained was entirely too creepy for someone who already looks like a predator. So I'm in Wal-Mart looking for a cheap, ugly old lady dress, and I'm having no luck. I guess even well-insulated women prefer pants in the winter. Then I spot the sleepwear-hmmmm.....After I located the perfect nightgown, the slipper and hair roller ideas quickly followed- big ones in the hair, little ones in the beard. Then my brother-in-law and my husband decided he needed droopy hooters. They put apples in the bottom of tube socks and tied them behind his neck. The neighborhood loved it. He received more wolf whistles and "hey sexy"s in that one night than most women get in their entire lives. He also had many date and phone number requests, to which he'd coyly reply " You have to pay for this kind of action." "How much?" they wanted to know. He repeatedly showed his captive audiences where his breasts go when he's on his back, and one man even put his arm around him and told everyone to tell his wife he found someone new. I'm only one of many people who took his picture, so you may find him on other areas of the Internet......
And look at that shine and volume after the curlers came out! Honestly, it makes me sick, he looks like a Pantene commercial and my hair's all scraggly and sucked dry. It's so unfair.

A Prince in Bigfoot's Clothing

My boisterous, burly husband surprised me with a gift today. When I went in to take a shower I found it wrapped with a card and everything, sitting on the toilet. I guess he figured I wouldn't miss it that way. And the card was FILLED with sweet and funny commentary- thanking me for all I do, apologizing for being a pain in the ass- the standard stuff. ANYWAY, it's a digital camera!!!! He saved up and bought me one. I can't tell you how many times I wanted to take a picture (often for this very blog), and didn't have the means. Sometimes you just CAN'T blog something without a picture to go with it. So thank you Meaty Bones! You're the bees knees!

Hooray For Tooth Decay

I know it's been awhile since you've heard anything about my favorite co-worker, Rotunda- Evil Queen of Doom And Destitution. Well here's a charming tale. Once upon a time, in a land not so far away, there lived an Evil Queen named Rotunda, and her faithful sidekick King Frontbutt III. King Frontbutt spent his days eating the finest cheeses and meats from vats made of solid gold, followed by dessert fit for royalty- Little Debbies and candy corns. One day, as he was chewing an especially tasty wad of steak fat, a shooting pain traveled from his tooth to his greasy scalp! He summoned the Queen, who determined upon closer inspection that his tooth was rotten and in need of immediate removal. She made haste to the vet clinic next door, where she borrowed the DENTAL INSTRUMENTS WE USE ON DOGS to extract the offending molar. After that they were able to eat, smoke, and stink to high heaven as they've always done, in their Crusty Castle on the hill. They lived heftily ever after. THE END
It's not like she ASKED if she could use them, it was all done on the sly. NOT that I'm concerned about pet germs in his mouth, I'm more concerned about HIS germs in pets' mouths. We sterilized them all of course. One person caught her in the act and she spilled her story, and inevitably we all knew by the end of the day. REALLY, it's vomitous. I mean, brush your teeth on occasion. I know it's hard to believe, but that buttery fuzz on them is not the enamel.
We had that pot luck lunch I mentioned in an earlier blog today, and she had signed up for cake. She was the only one signed up for dessert when I left Friday, so I brought regular food AND a dessert, because there was no way I was ingesting something that came out of that roach motel. Anyway, we were all discussing this towards the end of the day and I was like, "I decided to eat a piece." And they were like, "No you didn't." And I said, "Yeah I did, and his tooth was in it."

Fun With Fake People

This bronze bimbo was at the entrance of a park we went to recently, and I couldn't resist. My two most (let's face it ONLY) commenting compadres will remember the Houston photo shoot featuring us posing playfully with a bunch of similar stiffs.


I'm proud to say my little Future Mocker of America insisted on having her picture taken too.This kid is loaded with potential. As a parent, I want her to achieve above and beyond what I have, and I'm confident she is well on her way....

THE SOUP

Watch it. Love it. Laugh until you cry. I know I do.

Joel McHale is my hero.

Well, him AND my parents......

.......for different reasons, of course.

Betty Ray Cyrus

It used to be all one length right past her shoulders. Even though she looks like trailer trash toddler she's still CRAZY cute!! And just plain crazy- one of the many things I love about her. The expressions on her face are as priceless as the hairdo surrounding it. And YES, she's on the toilet in most of these pictures.

A Picture's Worth a Thousand Sperm

I hate having my picture taken, 99,999 times out 100,000 I look nappy and haggard. We have several digital cameras at work, supposedly to take pictures of our patients so we can put them in their medical record in the computer. While this is a rare occurrence, we do put our cameras to use in other ways. We like to take pictures of disgusting things of course- a uterus filled with infection, a huge blistered spleen, a monstrous tumor that looks like a brain- you get the idea. We'll also make an exception and take the patient's picture if that particular patient happens to be especially ugly or deformed in some manner. We also like to take pictures of each other, only attained when the person has no idea it's coming and it's too late to look away or run in the other direction. My evil glare and wispy hair were made a screen saver on every computer in the clinic at one point. They also made a mock brochure with me in it one time. "Hey Jen, what do you think about the new clinic brochure?" I look it over and....ha ha ha. I looked like I pull the whiskers off kittens and eat puppy tails with chip dip.

The most recent modeling gig took place last week. I saw her in time to avoid it, but I decided to use all of my energy and anger to toss a look so powerful in her direction, she would be struck down and maimed by it. The next day, around every corner, on every door, in every drawer and cupboard, I found this:

I'm saying "Who wouldn't want me to touch their animal...I love my job."

I can't decide if I look more like an 80 year old woman with no teeth, or the skinny guy from Road Trip. Someone told me I look like him once, and I never thought so until now.....so THANKS!

And yes, it is Technician Appreciation Week, something none of us would've been aware of if not for a doc I work with that's always reading vet magazines. She had the idea of a pot luck lunch to celebrate and recognize our hard work. While I appreciate the sentiment, we all have to sign up to bring something. I was like "Uh, since it's supposed to be in appreciation of us should we really be slaving over a hot stove? We should have it catered." She responded with "good luck with that." or "yeah right." While I still feel as though a gourmet buffet is in order, I see her point.

Back to the pictures, the above doc and I have something in store for the main perpetrator of my chicken neck head shots. We FINALLY convinced her to neuter her dog- "Do you want him to have a big butthole and anal tumors?"- and she insisted on staying with him through the entire process. "Why don't you go mix up your formaldehyde?" I say. She wanted to take his nuts home in a jar- if you don't know we're sick by now you're not paying attention- so she left to prepare the vessel. While she was gone we took pictures of his skin chandeliers- outside of the pouch of course- for our planned retaliation. We're going to make a MISSING flyer with a big picture of his nuts, with a little poem under it . It starts out " I just woke up, and to my surprise, there are no balls between my thighs." And then another line is "Since I have no nads to lick, I'll guess I'll settle for my d**k." You get the idea. The reward will be one hump for any information leading to their whereabouts and two humps if they're safely returned. I can't wait!!! heehee. I suppose a picture of them would be going too far. I mean you have to draw the line somewhere. After all, there's a difference between a little disgusting and downright disturbing. Screw it.

The image below may not be appropriate for all audiences. Viewer discretion is advised.

REVENGE!

Personal Space and Pooch Privates

I took a chart off of an exam room door today, the reason for the visit was "swollen penis". I showed it to my co-workers who responded in the usual manner. "Ooo, I know why you picked that room." "Massage it and see if that helps." "What have the owners been doing to him?" and so on and so forth.
Nine out of ten "swollen penis" complaints turn out to be the same common ailment. A boner. This room was no different in that respect. "I came home and let him out of his crate, and I noticed these two lumps on either side of his penis, the size of ping pong balls!" she cries, making the thumb and index finger on both hands into a circle. "And his penis looks really raw, like hamburger!"
I explain to her that the "ping pong balls" she's seeing are normal for a dog who's "excited". "But he's neutered!" she exclaims. "They can still get excited, they just can't do too much about it." "But he was just sitting in his crate!" "What were you thinkin' about in there?" I ask the dog. Yes, I really did. This lady's kooky so I see no harm in being a little off center myself.
So she's still concerned he has a chafed wiener (probably from all of the self satisfaction she now thinks he's engaging in ) and I tell her I'm going to take him to the back for the doctor to check it. We do the majority of what I call the "rude stuff" in the back- temperatures, fecal collection with our handy dandy poop loops, anal gland squeezing- basically anything that involves actual brown eye penetration. The owners and the pets seem to be more comfortable that way (plus we use plenty of lube).
So I start pulling the dog in the direction of the door, and he digs in and starts backing up. I try to coax him towards me, but he wants nothing to do with it. He's wise to the ways of the "back room". I ask the owner to walk with me to the door, usually then they think they're leaving and will start down the hallway, then once their owner's out of sight they'll willingly follow. A rotten trick I know, but you do what you gotta do.
So she gets up and says, "Here, I know how to get him to go with you." "Great" I think, "Wow me with your inability to control your own dog." I'm not sure what she's going to do but I have a few ideas, none of which she actually does. She ACTUALLY walks right into me, full body contact, WRAPS her arms around me, LAYS her head on my shoulder, RUBS my back, and says "Nice, nice, she's okay, see it's okay, nice, nice." For a full 30 seconds. It seemed like hours. If she'd been looking at my face instead of at the dog she would've seen the absolute horror plastered all over it. My arms stayed flat and stiff against my sides for the duration, but I think I recovered from the shock enough that I didn't look too aghast when she FINALLY released her grip. "That's how you give someone your seal of approval, eh?" I say. Of course the dog still won't go with me, so she has to walk him to the door anyway.
She's what I'd call "earthy" looking- 50s, really short graying hair, tank top, shorts, flip flops, not fat but she definitely had extra meat on her bones- enough that she had breasts that engulfed mine when she pressed into me. I'm not sure if she's just one of those touchy people or if she was just an old pervert.
I'm NOT a touchy person. Only family or very good friends- but even then my friends aren't touchy people either- so physical contact is rare. WHICH IS FINE BY ME.
Anyways, the dog's stupid peter was fine. They're usually a bright red or pink shade. When a dog has his rolled out while he's being restrained we point it out to the technician that's handling him and say " He has his lipstick out, isn't that your color?" It doesn't rub off and it makes your mouth sparkle.

Joe Dirt

That's who Reese looks like, she sculpted her own hair into a marvelous mullet the other day. When I gasped and pointed, she looked behind her to see what all of the commotion was about.

Her teacher apologized profusely, without me saying anything about it, so I know it was sincere. I guess she's forgiven- this time......

So Tatum comes home from school and tells me that she cried when she found out I was there and left. Apparently the teachers are not only incompetent but sadistic, they told her I came and they sent me on my merry way. First grade Nazis!

Overreacting

Yeah, I am and I don't care. I went to Tatum's school today because they're having their book fair, it's open 8-2 all week and parents are invited to come shop with their kids. I went to the front and the principal is there (she's very nice), I give her my name and tell her why I'm there. "Oooo," she says. "The teachers are asking me to tell parents to come during lunch or recess, it's the end of the 9 weeks and they're testing. Let me call her class for you and see if it's okay." So she does, and the teacher requested I come back later or the next day during during lunch/recess. I do not want to interfere with their classes or my daughter's education. I'm fine with coming at certain times so I don't interrupt anything. Which is why I wrote the teacher a note 2 DAYS AGO asking if I needed to set up a time or if one part of the day is better than the other. She wrote back to come up at any time and they'll call Tatum to the office. @#$%*@**@#@&%*#!!!!! That really pisses me off! Of course I didn't say anything, because if I had the principal would've said something to the teacher, then SHE would've been pissed (for no good reason because she misinformed me), then she might treat my daughter differently because of it. Oh, she might've seen me at some point and apologized for it, while visualizing jabbing ice picks into my voodoo doll. You know what, pay attention and do your job right the first time, or at least take a little constructive criticism when you screw up!!! We're having this issue with someone at my job, so maybe it just hit a little close to home. Also, I'm BLOATED and CRAMPY which may be making me more irritable. But I feel better now.

My Secret

No, I'm not about to share something from the deep, dark recesses of my mind. I'm referring to the deep, dark recesses of my armpit. I was reaching up to get something off of a shelf at work today, and I caught a faint whiff. I buried my nose into the bottom of my sleeve for closer inspection, and sure enough there was a musky aroma normally kept at bay by a daily application of my powder fresh deodorant. Apparently, I forgot to put in on. It always baffles me when things like this happen, shouldn't it be such a habit that I put it on without having to think about it? How do I go through the motions and miss something? Luckily, I'm not one of those people who super stink ( does deodorant really help them anyway?), you'd really have to be trying to smell my pits to find the stench, so it wasn't too big of a tragedy. My co-workers murmured their sympathy after I spread the word, I got one deodorant offer and politely declined. (actually I was like "I don't want to use something you already rubbed around on your armpit, nasty!") Why don't I just borrow your toothbrush and your monistat applicator while I'm at it! BLLEEECHHH....

U-TOE-PIA

I wasn't with him when it happened. He could've tossed it and kept his feet hidden from me in socks and under blankets, and I never would've realized it until it was too late.
I arrived home from work a few nights ago, and he says (looking a little smug), "Go look on the corner of the entertainment center." I squint at him suspiciously and slowly proceed in that direction- I've been on the receiving end of enough of his little pranks to use caution. I lean forward from a few feet away. "EEEWWW! Cool! Let me see your toe! Nasty!" I KNEW that deep down he wanted his toe's metamorphosis to be captured and immortalized on my blog! He still tried to deny it, but the pictures don't lie.

The cocoon cracks open...

......and the butterfly emerges.

Snakes And Snails And Puppy Dog tails

So my oldest seems to have discovered the opposite sex a little too early for my tastes. Actually any time within the next 20 years would probably be too early. She's been telling me how the boys chase her on the playground everyday. Today when she got home I brushed her hair back and said "It must be pretty hot on that bus, you're all sweaty." To which she replies "It's hot on the playground too, with the boys chasing me everywhere. They call me "Tater tot! Tater tot!" She's rolling her eyes and acting all exasperated. I hate this subject. "Why don't you stop running and start talking to someone else? Just ignore them and they'll leave you alone." "No, they won't." Big sigh. There's one kid that I've heard mentioned occasionally since Pre-K. His name is Guy. What kind of name is GUY? Why didn't they just name him "Boy" or "Dude"? Today she informs me "Guy doesn't like me." "Okay." "He l-o-v-es me, he told me. I told Shanley and she said she was going to tell the teacher and I said if you do I'll be mad, yadda yadda, etc." I'm listening and trying to muster a weak smile, although I'm sure my lips look more like they're trying to suppress VOMIT because I feel nauseated. She is so YOUNG and IMPRESSIONABLE. If she wasn't I would say, "You know Tatum, you should just give boys the evil eye and treat them like garbage because most of them are rotten scumbags that aren't worth the time it takes to crap. Some of them make good friends and once in a blue moon you'll meet one that's worthy of being more, and hopefully you'll know when that is. " I KNOW she's six!!! And I'm sure these boys who are still occasionally peeing their pants and picking their nose and eating it pose no immediate threat to her, but I don't care! (wait- do they ever stop doing those things?)The day is coming and I dread it with every ounce of my being! I just hope hope hope I'm raising her with the self confidence and self esteem she'll need to get the respect she DESERVES! And being skilled in the arts of sarcasm and disdain doesn't hurt either. I'm not actually knocking boys, if I had boys you'd be reading a similar rant about the wickedness of little girls. I guess we just love them and guide them, and hope for the best. Having a large hairy hubbie with a sawed off shotgun might come in handy too.

My Annual Eye Violation

I went to the eye doctor today, about 2 months later than I was supposed to. I always feel this nervy pressure when I go, and not just from the blast of air they shoot in my eyes. But really, I can't even keep my eyes open for pictures half the time, let alone when their machine is turbo farting in my orbs. It's like a game show or quiz show where the clock is ticking down in the speed round and I will LOSE if I don't respond quickly and correctly. "Okay, look at the black dot, and when you see something to the side so faint and fast even superman's x-ray vision wouldn't spot it, push the button." I see the little shimmery disco squares most of the time I think, but I'm so stressed out about it I screw up. I hold my breath, I tense my shoulders, my itchy trigger finger occasionally hits the clicker without my consent.
They make me take out of my contacts. The only time I'm not wearing contacts or glasses is when I'm sleeping, because I am BLIND and I hate that feeling. Others in my predicament also know when you can't see as well you can't hear as well either. So he mutters some mumbo jumbo from across the room and I can see some blurry movement, for all I know he's insulting my momma and making obscene gestures with his hands. "YOU CAN WAIT OVER HERE." he enunciates loudly after I stare blankly in his general direction from my position on the "rest your chin here" chair. And I'm pretty sure he's using both his arms in a full range of motion to indicate the chairs by him.
So then the doctor calls me in, and asks the dreaded questions. "How long do you wear your contacts?" "Longer than I should, heh heh." "HOW LONG?" "3-4 weeks. Um, except this last pair, I've been wearing them longer." "And how long are you supposed to wear them?" "Two weeks." "Mmmm."
And then the pressure's on again. "What's clearer- one or two? Two or three? Three or four? Four or five?" Sometimes there's an obvious difference, but sometimes I'm just guessing. "I don't know, five? Is that right? What do you think? Can I call a friend? CAN I BUY A VOWEL?" Oh, I'm sorry time's up. The answer is four. You don't win the trip to Vegas, but we do have a nice oven mitt made from authentic polyester that's yours just for playing.
I just know the day is coming when they're like "Okay, we can't give you a prescription anymore because judging by your tests your eyes are completely unreliable, making their use a danger to you and everyone around you. Here are some dark glasses and a seeing eye dog. Have a nice day."

One Dog's Toenail Is Another Man's Treasure

Isn't it a beauty? I know, I know, you're rendered speechless by it's magnificence. I was too when I found it. We were all at work on a SUNDAY a couple of years ago cleaning and doing inventory. I was bored and feeling sorry for myself when I happened upon this diamond in the ruff on a high windowsill I was dusting. I squealed with glee and summoned all of my co-workers over to view my prize. One of the docs recognized it immediately, she had trimmed it off some poor pooch months before, and placed it on the sill with the intent of returning for it later, but got busy and forgot about it. Understanding my fascination and joy (she shared my love of the grotesque and disturbing), and being the generous gal she was, she entrusted me with this encrusted jewel. She has since found other employment, but her memory lives on forever in this splendid spiral. I've cut my fair share of overgrown canine claws, but they NEVER get this long. They always break off first or grow into the crippled critter's pads. I've considered making it a necklace or a charm on a bracelet. Or maybe I'll start saving more and paste them into a picture, like arts and crafts with elbow macaroni. I'll have to think on it.

Funny side story. My husband and I were chatting the other night and I mentioned how I still had to take a picture of the toenail. "Screw you!" he says, all full of angst. I start laughing because I realize he thinks I'm talking about HIS toenail. "The DOG toenail, ding dong!" He's still perturbed that he was part of the plant piece. You see, he has a toenail that he hurt at some point (one of his BIG toes), and now it seems as though it's going to fall off. Only it's not black/blue/purple like you'd think it would be, it actually looks like it would glow in the dark. I would love to snap a pic of it and put it on here, but the fact that it's attached to six feet of angry mountain man makes that unlikely. Although he's a pretty deep sleeper.....

Beverly Overthehill 90210

I had to watch it and see if it was as cheesy and tardo as the first one, and it's even more so! I didn't think it possible. There's nothing like watching an hour's worth of stuck up skanks and skeezers grappling with issues that plague so many of today's teens. For example, one girl went on a date with a boy in his private jet without telling her mom, and she got in BIG trouble. I remember when I used to do that! My mom would punish me by taking away the porsche for a week. It was such a bummer having to drive the BMW! Kelly & Brenda are back. I guess they didn't make the cut for any celebreality shows, I think they had to audition alongside Screech and Flavor Flav, and their acting skills suffered in comparison. Kelly is teaching at Beverly Hills high, she is a single mom of a 4 year old boy (the bastard child of Brandon or Dylan I'm sure we'll soon find out). Brenda is staying in town for the next month, apparently she's in a play. I'm pretty sure the person who opens and closes the curtains isn't really considered IN the play, Brenda. We all KNOW why you're in town! To steal the boyfriend Kelly's about to have! And I for one, will be watching.

Disaster diverted! Hannah has passed us by to wreak havoc on some other podunk town. The only hurricane that's gonna be swirlin' in my house is the mini one in my bathroom! It's like a category 5 though, you should see the logs it drags down with it.

Hurricane Smurricane

So evidently, there are three hurtling towards us at the speed of light. It seems like the worst of them will probably miss us, I'm going by what I hear around me as it's a constant topic of conversation. Current events come to me 5th hand, since I never watch the news. My boss passed out these handouts to everyone about what to put in your "Evacuation pack" and how to purify water. I threw them away. He asked me where I was going to go if we had to leave, and I said "I dunno, probably Pennsylvania where I have family." He said "That's pretty far." And I was thinking, shouldn't that be the goal? To be as far from the Shite Storm as possible? But anyway, the bad thing is I cannot MAKE myself worry about it. When I was little kid I went through a long period where I worried about EVERYTHING. Nuclear war, whether I was going to hell, if I was adopted, getting my homework done, my evil 5th grade teacher- really, she was a nun with big, floppy boobs to match her big floppy nose, and she would yell at us calling us horrible and selfish. She would make dollar signs all over the board while telling us we were greedy, chalk dust and spit flying. She'd throw our books on the floor, and make you stand with your face smashed up against the blackboard if you had our face too close to it while you were writing on it. She taught us the "I love me" song, let me know if you're unfamiliar with that one. My worries would keep me up nights and make me actually physically ill sometimes. I'm not sure when it happened, but I quit worrying, I probably went too extreme in the other direction as a matter of fact. If there's something that should be concerning me and it's something I can control, I deal with it or make a plan to deal with it. If I can't control it, I shove it aside and focus on other things. I've developed a very effective mental block. I won't fret about Hurricane Hannah until my white knuckles are gripping the skids of a rescue chopper while my toes are skimming the flood waters that are covering the roof of my house. But that's just me.

The Black Thumb Strikes Again

Our knack for nurturing plant-life isn't limited to our lush lawn and beautiful bushes. We've had a parade of seemingly healthy plants enter our home, only to leave (no pun intended) crisp and shriveled by way of the trash can. You wouldn't think it would be so difficult to take care of a twig in a chunk o' dirt, but somehow it alludes us. I thought we'd given up on the botany thing until my husband came in several weeks ago with a perky green thing, full and happy, waving its little vines in celebration. Me: "Is that fake?" Him:"No." Me: "You know it's going to die." Him: No it won't! I'll take care of it. And they said it hardly needs any light or water." Me: "Just so you know, I'm not doing anything with it." Him: "You don't have to, mumble, grumble, arrr, grrr, ack." So he hangs it in the corner of the kitchen, by the big window, the one with the blinds we rarely open. Many days pass, and I don't give a second thought to the wig of weeds by my ceiling. As a matter of fact I forgot about it completely, until I caught sight of it out of the corner of my eye cleaning the kitchen one day. Feeling generous, I decided to take it down and bring it outside for a gulp from the hose and a little old fashioned sunshine. After I had it below eye level, I realized there were dried up parts in it, so I picked those out after I got it into the back yard. When I got done it looked like I had just jumped into a pile of raked up fall leaves, and the plant had like five scraggly things drooping off of it. It reminded me of a mostly bald guy sporting the comb-over. When I told my husband the good news later, he got really upset, blaming any and all outside forces for Wispy's downward spiral. When he found out I planned to take a picture of it for my blog he threatened to throw it out before I could, which I warned him would make me VERY mad. Then he realized it was still clinging to life, so he hung it back up. This was like a week ago, so who knows what condition it's in now. I just wish I would've thought to take a picture of it when he first brought it home.

Toil and Trouble

Over the last few years, I've been eating better and exercising more. And how does mother nature repay my effort to be healthier? My body makes gas by the gallon. Today, I had happen what happens way too often when I start running. I realize a minute or two into it that I have to float an air biscuit. It's like it was sitting in there chillin', planning to make it's leisurely exit at some point that day, and then I started jostling it around, and it's like "Whoa, I'm outta here!" I have to pinch my already straining gluteals to prevent the bubble from bursting. It gets exhausting doing that every few minutes, but once I start running I refuse to stop. Plus, even if I did, and took a trip to the can or outside to let one go, it's likely it would build right back up again once I got started. But the bubble isn't enough. It's builds and builds, so eventually it's like a boa constrictor in my intestines, gyrating and poking at my ribcage. I start to sweat and it's not necessarily from running. The pressure becomes so intense I not only have to pinch but suck, and I do so with such gusto I'm surprised the equipment behind me doesn't come flying forward and velcro itself to the back of my shorts. Next, it gives my lunch a good shove back, and I'm tasting a half-digested delicacy and rumbly belching. I HAVE TO, otherwise I would implode. I feel bad if the people around me catch a whiff, but if they knew what was brewing down below they'd be thanking me. There are people who release SBDs without a second thought to the safety of others, one guy in particular. He's ALWAYS red, whether he just got there or has been running an hour, his head looks like an overripe tomato. One time he slid one loose right next to me, and I thought I was going to suffocate. I mean, you have to breathe deeply when you're running, so you have no choice but to inhale the green cloud and do probably permanent damage to your lungs. I'm not going to subject those around me to second hand poo smoke. I can't wait til it cools off and I can run around the neighborhood more. Then I can blast away all I want! Maybe it'll make me faster, like nitrous.

I don't know about every gym, but the one I attend (YMCA)has TVs lined up along one wall. Obviously all of the cardio epuipment is facing that direction. There's never anything good on- news, news, and more news. I don't watch the news, it's always depressing, covering all the violent, horrible things that happen to individuals and/or groups of people. Or it's Obama or McCain yammering on. Watching them reminds me of writing papers for English class in highschool. Saying the same things over and over in different ways so it seems like something new. They don't have the sound on, but it's all captioned so you're reading it even if you don't want to plug in to hear it. The only thing I plug into is my Ipod, almost as loud as it will go, so that A) I can't hear the lame muzak playing overhead B) I can't hear the diarrhea-of-the-mouth non sweating socializers blah blah blah-ing C)no one tries to converse with me. I always try to get the treadmill in front of the history channel, at least the news they report is old, ancient even, and they often have realistic reenactments performed by the world's best actors. Today the topic involved China, there were a lot of battles and bloodshed. At one point, they were all in armour hacking away at each other with their swords, and the caption said (shouting in Chinese) with the english translation "AAAHHH! AAAHHH! AAAAHHH!" What does "aaahhh" sound like in Chinese exactly? For once I wish I would've been plugged in.

The Leisure Activities of Losers: Part Deux

I know this is what you've all been waiting for. As I said, she lives right next door to our place of employment, so it's on the other side of this fence. I took this one in a hurry because it's almost perpendicular to their front door, so I was a lot more likely to be spotted than I was snapping a photo of his aluminum corpses. If he saw me who knows what kind of instrument of death he would've cut me down with! I risked life and limb to report the truth! I find it hard to believe that he cut this stump himself, he must've found it this way. The axe is obvious, what is almost impossible to make out (sadly), is the ninja star below it. When he completes his training, he'll be sent on dangerous missions to assassinate squirrels and soda cans selling government secrets.