Thursday, December 31, 2009

Happy Last Day Of 2009!!!

Hello My Friends!

I'm sure you are well aware that I have been MIA for a week!

WHAT? You didn't even notice? WHAT THE HELL?

Hehehe...Just kidding...I think.

Anyway, I have been on vacation. No, I didn't go anywhere. Just stayed at home sleeping late, watching TV, eating with reckless abandon (that means chocolate for breakfast, people), and reading for the fun of it (Can you say SMUT?).

I've missed you all and I want you to know that tomorrow, I will be back...blogging with a vengeance.

Of course, the hubby and I are ringing in the new year with our pal CRAZY LOU, and his lovely wife, Linda...as well as our friends, Pam and Bob. So, here's hoping that I'll actually be around tomorrow to blog and not be spending the weekend in the pokey due to LOU'S antics. Please pray for me.

And with that, my friends, I'd like to wish you all a very Happy New Year! I appreciate y'all more than you'll ever know and I wish you all the best in 2010! Peace out, my friends!

*(If you haven't already done so, today is your last chance to enter the Mais Fica Blog Giveaway! Winners will be announced tomorrow!)

Thursday, December 24, 2009

A Crocktastic Development!

Guess what? Looks like the in-laws are eating REAL food for Christmas! Bring on the shrimp! Bring on the ham! Bring on the turkey!

Why the sudden change in the menu? Well, I just happened to intercept some email correspondence between my friend, Barbara, and my Hubby. Can you believe that they think I would bitch, moan, and groan for MONTHS ahead, if I did not get my beloved crockpot for Christmas? Whatever gave them that idea? Hehehehehe *insert evil laugh*

Anyway, check it out:

Sent: Tue, Dec 22, 2009 8:40 pm
Subject: Dear Paul

Mother of God.......
Please buy her that crockpot. In fact, I think you should buy her two.
I do not think I can take reading her ranting for the entire month of January and quite possibly right through June.

Love,
Barbara



Subject: Re: Dear Paul

Barbara,
Do you think I WANT to listen to her? Don't worry. Santa's got it covered.

Love,
Paul



Subject: Re: Dear Paul

I knew that, Paul. God has a place right by his side for you! That is for sure. Please DO NOT tell her I said that. I do not want to hear her either!

Love you both very much,
Barbara



Hahahaha! I love it!

But, now I'm thinking...If I knew that people were going to put the pressure on Hubs to by me what I really wanted for Christmas, maybe I should have set the bar HIGHER. It's 8:35am on Christmas Eve....Do you think it's too late to add a Cadillac Escalade to my list???

Wednesday, December 23, 2009

Like Your Face, Traditions Are Made To Be Broken.

This morning's conversation---as I was trying to brush my teeth--- between me and Hubs:

Hubs: (standing over my shoulder): I hope you like what I got you for Christmas.

Me (mouth full of toothpaste): mmmshriwllll *translation: I'm sure I will.*

Hubs: I hope so. Because you can't return it.

Me (mouth still full of toothpaste): Whhrrry nttt? *translation: Why not?*

Hubs: Because I washed my pants with the store receipt in my front pocket.

Me (spitting toothpaste foam): Hmmm....Well, If you bought me that crockpot that I want more than life itself, that shouldn't be a problem.

That's when he walked away....shaking his head....a worried look upon his face.....

I sure hope the in-laws like microwave popcorn.

Oh, what the hell! It's Christmas!

Maybe I'll be a sport and expand their Christmas dinner menu. I'm thinking I'll throw in some Doritos and tap water, too.

Tuesday, December 22, 2009

I'll Pout! And I'm Telling You Why!

Dear Santa,

I know that I'm forty (WHA? When did that happen?) and you typically don't get letters from women like me. But, I really, really, really want something for Christmas...So, I'm appealing to you because if I don't get what I want?

Dude, somebody's going to get hurt around here.

OK. Here's the deal. I want you to make sure that my husband brings me this for Christmas:



This is the AWESOMEST crockpot ever! It's made by All-Clad and it is available exclusively at Williams Sonoma. Click here Santa because I know that you want to read all about how awesome it is!

Now, I know that we are in a recession. And I know that you are probably thinking, "Holy crap! This crockpot is a lot of gah-damn money!" But, you know what? I don't give a sh*t. I WANT IT.

Please take note that I am not asking for a car. I am not asking for diamonds. I am not even asking for perfume, cash, gift certificates, books, a trip to Grand Cayman, or the Wii Fit.

Of course, if you'd like to send me any of the aforementioned thingies IN ADDITION TO the crockpot of my dreams, I would happily accept them because I am gracious like that. But MAINLY, I JUST WANT THIS FRIGGIN CROCKPOT.

Now, here's the deal. I need you to get my husband to bring me this perfect specimen of an overpriced crockpot for Christmas. It must be in my hands by NOON time on December 25th, 2009.

Why am I being so nit picky about this?

I'll tell you why, Brutha.

This year, I am making Christmas dinner for my husband's family. We are scheduled to eat at 1:00pm. IF I DO NOT RECEIVE THE ONLY THING THAT I REALLY WANT FOR CHRISTMAS before dinner is served? Christmas dinner will consist of microwave popcorn and whatever condiments are on my refrigerator door.

And I ain't playin, Fatso.

Well, thanks for your help! And have a very Merry Christmas, Santa!

XOXO,
Sally

PS. Seriously, dude. You need to step away from the flippin cookies.

Monday, December 21, 2009

Bite Me, Jack Frost.

By now, y'all probably know that I live in Rhode Island.

Otherwise known as the Ocean State, Little Rhody is probably one of the most beautiful places to live.....IN THE SPRING, SUMMER, AND FALL.

But, in the winter? It seriously sucks ass.

Hmmm...I know it's not appropriate to generalize. So, let me reiterate that.

IN MY OPINION, Rhode Island Winter's suck major ass...especially once the friggin snow starts falling.

I'm sure y'all heard about the first major snowstorm that hit New England this weekend, right? Yeah...Well, over at my house, the grand total of snowfall? An UNGODLY 22 inches, people. And while all of the diehards are all Oh it's so pretty! We're going to have a "White Christmas" after all!

I'm all like Son-of-a-bitch, if Bing Crosby was alive I'd hunt his happy ass down and bludgeon him to a pulp with my snow shovel.

Eff the snow. Eff my frozen thighs after four hours of cleaning the wretched snow. Eff the boogers that froze to my face as I was pushing that mofo snow blower through waist high drifts of snow. And eff those family members who never offered to help us...especially during an effing BLIZZARD, even though we have endlessly helped them. I hope Santa brings them diarrhea for Christmas.

Sorry, peeps. Once my fingers thaw and my nose unreddens,I will get back into the Christmas spirit. I promise.

But for now, I'll leave you with some pics of what HELL REALLY LOOKS LIKE:






Ho, ho, ho?! My frostbitten ass...

Friday, December 18, 2009

Little Pig, Little Pig, Let Me In!

Last night, I met two friends---Pam and Joyce---for dinner (I met Joyce last night for the first time...Loved her!) at a very cozy little tavern in the country. We talked and laughed. We commiserated and listened. We drank wine and ate good food. It was really so much fun.

One of the things that we talked about was being forty and how we've changed since turning forty. Joyce said she liked being forty. It was really no big deal. Pam said, "With forty comes wisdom." And I? Well, I didn't really say much about the topic except that maybe I've noticed that since turning forty, my patience for other people's drama and negativity is at an all time low (they agreed).

I have to admit that last night? Pam and Joyce had me convinced that forty was fabulous. As I was driving home from the restaurant, I was thinking, Man...it's not so bad being a Cougar! There are benefits! We still look good. We feel good. We're wiser. And we're at a point in our lives where we're not willing to take on anymore of other people's bullshit! As long as we surround ourselves with positive people who are like us...people who share our values...people who are the same age that we are and feel the same way that we do, THEN, MAN! I'm liking it!

And then this morning?

My bubble burst.

I was washing my face...applying my moisturizer...smoothing in my eye cream. And I thought, twenty-year olds don't have to slather themselves with eye cream...bitches. And then? I noticed it. I inched closer to the mirror to get a better view. Was I seeing things? Was it really there?

You bet your effin ass it was. Right there, mocking me...was a fugging hair on my chinny chin chin. WTF?

And right there, after tweezing that sucker, reality bit me in the ass as I realized the secret. And I'm going to share it with you all...because I'm your friend.

The SECRET to COPING with being forty is surrounding yourself with those who can and will commiserate with you. It's that whole misery loves company thing. And the SECRET to actually being HAPPY about being forty? It's called Chardonnay, people.

Thursday, December 17, 2009

Make My Own Jam? They Sell That Sh*t At The Market!

This morning, overwhelmed by (A) having to venture to work in the FRIGID cold, (B) that stupid renovation project at our new commercial building that is never ending, and (C) the sixty quadrillion things that we still need to do to get ready for Christmas, Hubby came up with a fantastic idea *insert sarcasm here*.

He said, "You know what we should do? We should sell everything we own and buy that little cottage that's for sale down the road. We'll totally simplify our lives...we'll burn fire wood! We'll live off the land!

Yeah. OK, Grizzly Adams.

So, I looked at him---Mr. Metro sexual who walks around the house in Ugg slippers---shook my head and said, "That is ridiculous. Seriously. You want to live off the land? You---who wants to THROW up when you watch me pull the skin off a chicken? You---who can't live without power tools, satellite radio, or high speed Internet? Dude! They don't have those kinds of things ON THE LAND. ON THE LAND, they rough it...They kill their own food...grow their own vegetables...milk their own cows. Do we look like we belong on Little House on the freakin Prairie?"

He thought about it for a split second (as he was staring at his big mutha television and his beloved Tivo box---which, BTW, they don't have ON THE LAND, either), nodded his head in agreement and said, "You're right. Screw that shit."

Yeah, I thought so.

Back to the rat race, it is!

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

WWJ Really D?

Today I spoke to my lawyer about Mr. Fake Law Office Dude (from my previous post).

You see...

Yesterday, after some of my readers called Mr. Fake Law Office Dude (Thanks Guys!) to blast him about his ridiculous telemarketing bullcrap, he called me.

AGAIN.

Awwww! And can you believe that he was ang-wee with me? Dude! How does it feel to have people you don't know call your ass and invade your privacy? Huh?

Anyway, my lawyer, who by the way---works for a REAL LAW OFFICE---told me that I CAN continue to use Mr. Fake Law Office Dude's real name (if I want to). Yay! But, it is probably "a good idea" to take his phone number off of my post. Boo!

So, yesterday, guess what else Mr. Fake Law Office Dude did? He left a comment on my blog! Oh.Yes.He.Did. I didn't publish it because I wanted to post it right here in all of its eloquent glory:

Anonymous has left a new comment on your post "Lying Sack Of Poo":

get a life people!!! do you have anything better to with your life then to talk shit, pay your bills and that is that!dead beats..
And thier is no god at any atty's office so good luck seeking god people! call me if u find him lol

ps, slander is illegal be
carefull:)


Isn't Mikey (sort of his real name) something? Now he's back to pretending that the mythical Stacy Costa owes somebody at the Law Office of Douchenuggets (the fake place that he works) some money for a fake legal judgement that they pulled out of their asses....in the name of sharing the New Testament with heathens. Dude! This shit's getting old.

Know what, Mikey? You're little comment just proves one thing. It's time for you to broaden your horizons. I'm sure that somewhere in the vicinity of your trailer park, there's a learning annex. You might want to check it out. Because an important man, such as yourself, really should learn how to read and write proper English. Moron.

Your Momma must be so proud.


PS. I'm reporting you to the Attorney General's office. That's where REAL lawyers work.

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Lying Sack Of Poo

I need to tell you about something that happened to me last night. I am still pissed about it.

Let me start at the beginning....

During the last two months or so, I have been getting these weird messages left on my answering machine. Basically, they are from a law office that is looking for a woman named Stacy Costa. They always leave this drawn out message about how Stacy Costa has to contact them immediately about a judgement that is pending against her. I have wanted to call these people to tell them that they keep calling the wrong number, but their call back number never gets recorded because they talk too long and the answering machine hangs up on them.

But last night, this situation finally changed.

They called again while I was at work. This time, they left a phone number, a contact name, and a case number for the mysterious woman who I don't frickin know, but who they think lives at my house.

So, I decided to call them.

The first red flag occurred when I dialed their phone number and they answered, "Law Offices!"

I was like OK, this is weird. Law Offices of whom?

So then, I told the man on the phone about the answering machine messages that I keep getting for a woman who doesn't live at my house. He asked me for the case number and the contact's name that were left on my machine and then he put me on hold.

Then, the stupid bastard came back on the phone and started arguing with me saying, "We know that Stacy Costa lives at your house! It says so on your answering machine!"

Ooooh...Now I'm pissed off because this douche is calling me a liar, right? So I said, "MY ANSWERING MACHINE SAYS, HELLO! YOU'VE REACHED THE COSTA'S! We have the same last name! But there is no Stacy Costa at this address!"

Then, Mr. Douchely asked if he could put me on hold again. By now, I am so flippin pissed off because I was trying to help them by calling them back in the first place! Now they think I'm lying AND they're waisting my time?! Grrrrr....

Well, it even gets better.

Suddenly, Mr Douchley, comes back on the phone and he says ***GET THIS PEOPLE***He says, "Ms. Costa, we are not really a law office."

What the hell? So, of course I cautiously ask, "WHAT?"

And he said, AND I ABSOLUTELY QUOTE, "Ms. Costa. We are actually a religious group and we are trying to get the New Testament out. We'd like to begin by sharing the New Testament with you."

OH.MY.GOD! I was seething!

So I said, "You devised this elaborate scheme to get me to call you back only to try and shove your religious bullshit down my throat? I'm an Atheist (NOT)! Remove me from your call list immediately!" CLICK.

UGH! I was so effin pissed! Seriously!

Anyway, you know what I figure?

If these people can call my house for two months and leave bullshit messages on my answering machine, thereby invading my privacy. I can return the favor.

The guy who called me? His name was (*REMOVED BECAUSE MY LAWYER MADE ME). The bullshit case number he gave me was (*DITTO). And you can reach him at (*DITTO), extension (*DITTO). Tell him that the mythical Stacy Costa referred you.

Oh, yeah. And one more thing...Tell him that Stacy Costa said he is a crazy, lying zealot.....


Blog Addendum: I got another call from Mr. Fake Law Office Guy today. Aw, man. He's upset with me because he heard through the grapevine that I was talking THE ABSOLUTE TRUTH about his fake law office's lame telemarketing practices. I've just got one thing to say to him....

***Dear Mr. Fake Law Office Guy,
I'm pretty sure that Jesus isn't very impressed with you right now.

Monday, December 14, 2009

Peanut Butter And A Punch In The Head

I've been getting a lot of emails and comments about the post that I wrote regarding my husband and his redneck shower stall (click here if you haven't read about it). Most of these comments, to my dismay, report that my readers think he's just so freaking brilliant. Spare me, por favor.

Wanna know what Mr. Brilliance brought home last week, my friends?

This:

In case you've never seen it before, it's peanut butter (the full fat kind that latches right onto your ass cheeks as soon as you eat it) that is INFUSED WITH DARK CHOCOLATE CHIPS (loads of em')....AND??? IT.IS.THE.DEVIL.

Help me, Jesus.

This morning I finally said to Hubs, "I'm throwing the rest of this peanut butter out...NOW!" So, you know what he did? He leaned against the kitchen counter with a big smile on his face, opened the jar, grabbed a BIG MUTHA shovel, and ate the rest of it (LIKE FOUR HEAPING SPOONFULS).....like IT WAS DAMN PUDDING or something. Did I mention that the little bastard eats like a beast and NEVER gains an effin pound?

Listen up, people! I need you to STOP with the "you're husband is so brilliant because he built a trailer park shower" emails! Right now, I want you to tell me how much he deserves a punch upside the head! Grrrrrr......


***Don't forget to enter the Mais Fica Yankee Candle Giveaway! Click here for more info!!

Friday, December 11, 2009

Rat On Your Relatives And Win A Prize!



Happy Friday, friends! As you can can tell from the e-mail that George sent me above, he and I are really getting into the holiday spirit! Can you believe that Christmas is only two weeks away? Holy crap!

So yesterday, I told my friend Heather that one of my holiday plans is to publicly "out" anyone who gives me a shitty Christmas gift this year...right here on this blog. I'm hoping that this will deter people from giving me crap...like the time that I got a white, one-piece pajama jumpsuit thingy with a tomato sauce stain on the boob. Seriously, Snake Lady! You really couldn't put your meatball sandwich down while you were wrapping my gift, you whore?!

OK dudes! Now it's your turn. I want you to humor me. Tis the season for sharing, right? So, I want you to fess up and tell me:

What is the shittiest present you've ever received?

And because I am a giver, I'll be entering all commenters into a drawing (winners chosen scientifically at random) to win ONE OF THREE large Yankee Candle jars! WOW WEE!!! I love free stuff, don't you??

Please note that all three winners will be announced on Friday, January 1st! Why January 1st, you ask? Because that is the one year anniversary of this blog! OMG! Can you even believe that you've been listening to me ramble my ass off for a whole freakin year? Um...HELLO? You're still listening, right?

So get cracking, people! Spill those beans and win a prize!

(There's nothing like bribery to get people to talk....)

Thursday, December 10, 2009

Trailer Trash Love

Whoever said that romance is dead, is a big fat liar. And I've got proof.

Last night after work, Hubby and I had dinner at our favorite Chinese/Thai restaurant. Before submerging myself in my bucket of soup (yeah...it was big), I went to the ladies room to (A) pee and (B) wash my hands.

When I walked into my bathroom stall, as I was squatting and doing my business...

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! CLICK HERE! BEEP! BEEP!
**WE INTERRUPT THIS BLOG POST TO BRING YOU A VERY IMPORTANT PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT: ATTENTION ALL LADIES! IF YOU WANT TO AVOID A CRITTER INFESTATION OF YOUR COOCHIE, ALWAYS HOVER AND SQUAT WHILE USING ALL PUBLIC TOILETS!

**NOW BACK TO OUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED PROGRAMMING**

Like I was saying, I was squatting and doing my thang. And then, I noticed it on the stall door:





Listen up, people! This chick? Yeah, well she loves Dana H (lucky dog) MORE THAN NETHING IN THIS WORLD!

Um...and that's like...ALOT...I think...I'm not really sure....But, I'm not making fun...mostly because she knows people who are snitches and are in prison and shit. And I'm ascared of...you know...anyone who qualifies to take part in a Jerry Springer smackdown.

But, anyway. My point? And I do have one, people.

My point is that romance is alive and well! Forget the flowers and chocolate, you unoriginal bastards. You wanna convince someone that you love them more than nething in this world (WTF?)?

Then remember that there is NOTHING more romantic than professing your love on a wall in a place where random strangers piss and shit.

I don't know about you, my friends. But the whole thing just melts my freakin heart.

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Ho, Ho, Ho, You Ho.

This is the EXACT Christmas card that I sent to my friend, Lou. He is a pain in the ass and he deserved it. Oh, and because the text in the photo is so small, I have transcribed the entire front of the card below.

WARNING: The following text contains vulgarities which may not be suitable for tight asses (GET OVER IT...YOU'VE SAID WORSE). Before you e-mail me telling me that I should wash my mouth out with soap (FYI...there is NO amount of soap that could do the job), keep in mind that these are Little Johnny's words. Not mine. So, relax.


Front:
Inside:
(Yeah! I signed it! Because I am not an anonymous card sending coward, Lou!)


Dear Santa,

You must be surprised that I am writing to you
today, the 26th of December. Well, I would like to clear up certain things that have occurred since the beginning of the month, when, filled with illusion, I wrote you a letter and asked for a bicycle, an electric train set, a pair of roller blades, and a football uniform.

I destroyed my brain studying this year. I had the best
grades in school, and no one in the neighborhood behaved better than me. I went on errands for my parents, I helped the elderly cross the street. There was virtually nothing within reach that I would not do for humanity.

What balls you have for leaving me a fucking yo-yo, a lame whistle, and a pair of ugly socks. What the fuck were you thinking, you fat prick? As if you hadn't fucked me enough, you gave that little shit across the street so many toys he can't even walk into his house.

DON'T LET ME SEE YOU TRYING TO FIT YOUR BIG, FAT
ASS DOWN MY CHIMNEY NEXT YEAR. I'll fuck you up. I'll throw rocks at those stupid reindeer and scare them away so you'll have to walk back to the north pole, you fat slob.

FUCK YOU, SANTA. Next year you'll find out
just how bad I can be, you fat cocksucker.

Sincerely, Johnny



Hehehehehe....

My fourteen year old male alter ego laughs out loud every time he reads this.

Tuesday, December 8, 2009

Oops! He Did It AGAIN.

I'm not supposed to tell you this. But, I am laughing my freakin ass off right now and I can't hold it in. It's just too damn good.

My husband left work to go to the dentist for his six month cleaning/chopper checkup. As he was leaving the dentist's office, which is about a half hour from work, he called to ask me if I wanted him to buy us lunch at a fabulous local sandwich shop. I told him what I wanted and we hung up the phone.

Immediately upon disconnecting our call, Hubby's cell phone rang.

Now, let me just tell you that Hubby has an IPHONE that he loves. The wall paper on his IPHONE is a picture of me that he took when we were on vacation in Las Vegas. Often times, this picture poses a problem. You see, every time Hubby's phone rings and the phone number of the person calling him is PRIVATE, my picture shows up on the screen because I AM HIS IPHONE WALLPAPER. He doesn't understand this! And that means that he sometimes answers his phone INAPPROPRIATELY because he thinks I am calling him, when in fact I AM NOT.

So, this morning, right after I hung up with Hubs, his phone rang. Thinking it was me because he saw my face on the screen but didn't notice the words "Private Caller" at the bottom of the phone, he wisely answered the phone like this:

Hubs: HELL-OOOO SEXUAL CHOCOLATE!

And the person at the other end of the phone replied, "Uh. Um. Uh. Mr. Costa? This is the dentist's office. We accidentally overcharged your credit card. Can you come back so we can rectify the situation?"

And Hubs answered, "Uh. Um. Uh. Um. OK."

Then?

He called me. And this conversation ensued:

Me: Hello?

Hubs: OH MY GOD! YOU ARE NOT GOING TO BELIEVE WHAT I JUST DID!

Me: Oh, Lord. What now? (Because with him, the possibilities are endless.)

Hubs: THE GIRL FROM THE DENTIST'S OFFICE CALLED ME AND I HAD JUST GOTTEN OFF THE PHONE WITH YOU AND I THOUGHT IT WAS YOU AND OH MY GOD! I CALLED HER SEXUAL CHOCOLATE! AND NOW I HAVE TO GO BACK THERE AND LOOK HER IN THE EYE AND I AM SO FREAKIN EMBARRASSED!

ME: Paul?

Hubs: WHAT?

Me: Please tell me she's white.

Hubs: Oh my God! I didn't even think about that! But, yeah. She is.

Me: *sigh of relief*

Hubs: Alright. I gotta go back in there. I can't believe this shit!

Me: Be brave little buckaroo. Bahahahaha...

CLICK.

About an hour later, Hubby came waltzing into work, still shaking his head in disbelief. He immediately sat down and changed the wallpaper on his phone to this:


FYI: For those of you who are unfamiliar with Randy Watson and Sexual Chocolate, they are a band in Eddie Murphy's movie, Coming to America. Click here to watch the hilarious clip!

And NO! We don't walk around calling each other that!

Well...maybe once in awhile....

But just because we think that movie is so damn funny!

We're not freaks, I swear!

Well, maybe he is. Hahahaha...

Friday, December 4, 2009

See You Next Year, George Clooney!

The good news is---I have resolved my issues with my jerkhole mailman and he has resumed his normal delivery of my mail. Don't get me wrong. I still don't like him. But, he is no longer in danger of me stabbing him in the neck with a butter knife.

The bad news?

Yesterday, I received this ANONYMOUS card in the mail.
Front:

Inside:

For those of you who don't know the story, I have renamed my treadmill. I used to call it that piece of shit in the basement. Now, I call it George Clooney. I thought if I forged a personal relationship with it, I would like it better...respect it more.

Turns out that's a crock of shit. I still hate it.

Anyway, I used to rock George Clooney at least five days a week. But then, I started working longer hours. The Hubby and I started a renovation project from Hell. And the holiday preparations were in full swing. And basically? I tossed George Clooney under the bus for an extra hour of sleep every morning. Up yours, George.

Now, I'll have you know that even though I have not rocked George Clooney in awhile, I haven't gained a pound. Stayed the same. Holding my own. Whatever you want to call it....

So, to imply that my ass is any bigger than it was just a month ago? Well, MR. ANONYMOUS CARD SENDER...THAT IS JUST WRONG! And you are an EVIL LITTLE TROLL. And you can bite me.

You're probably wondering how I know that the anonymous card sender is a man.

OH PLEASE, Y'ALL.

You should know by now that there is only one little bastard in my life who does shit like this (if you haven't read about him before, click here). His name is LOU. But, I like to call him:

THE PRINCESS

Oh, yeah. And one more thing...

THE PRINCESS? I'd like to tell him that he can kiss the fattest part of my ass. But I won't. Because he's a Perv. And he'd probably enjoy it WAY too much....

See what I mean?

Thursday, December 3, 2009

The Tiger Is A Pig

I got a funny e-mail from my friend, Barbara.

It's a reproduction of Tiger Woods' 2009 Christmas Card.

I thought it was kind of funny and thought you would appreciate it, too:



I don't know about you. But I am in TOTAL shock over this whole Tiger Woods/Whorey Vegas Cocktail Waitress-es-es-es-es (multiple skanks involved) Thing. Man! Can you believe that another overpaid athlete got caught cheating on his wife? The shock!

YO, TIGER?

A word of advice for ya....

Your club and your balls belong in your golf bag. If you value your bazillion$$, you might want to keep em' there.

Seriously.

Wednesday, December 2, 2009

Sally: 1, Mofo Bug: 0

Last night, I was reading in bed minding my own damn business, when I noticed this gargantuan furry bug flying around the room.

I hate bugs.

No, really.

I HATE BUGS.

I hate em' so much that last year for Christmas, I asked for and got this:

The Bug Vacuum (For Those Hard To Reach Little Bastards): Sucks Em' Up And Fries Their Asses In One Fell Swoop


And I also got this:

The Bug Zapper: One Swing ( For Those Airborne Mutherfuggers) And They're Toast....ZAP! Electrocutes on contact!



So anyway, there I am...all toasty in bed...wearing my favorite jammies and reading Shakespeare... or was it Oprah magazine? I don't remember now. Suddenly, this hairy, wretched bug flies by my head and scares the ever loving crap out of me and I'm all, Damn it BUG! You are going down! Except that I was all warm and toasty and feeling like I didn't really want to get up and shit.

So, I did what every other self respecting woman who has a husband who just happens to be in the next room would do. I SCREAMED. And because Hubs is so predictable, he came running. "WHA? WHA? WHA?" He said. And I yelled, "SAVE ME, SAVE ME, SAVE ME!"

Sike.

What I really said was, "Get the Bug Racket and FRY that SUCKA!"
So, he did.

He FRIED the mofo bug that was trying to kill his beloved. BZZZZZZZT!

BUT WAIT! THERE'S MORE!

You see, my friends---After coming to my rescue and zapping said bug in midair like the bad ass hero that he is, the Hubby pulled a Clint Eastwood.

Remember in the movies, when Clint would "take out" some bad guy and then prove his coolness by pointing his gun up and BLOWING on the tip like, Yeah that's right...I'm a bad ass mutherfugger...Don't mess with me?!

Yeah, well Hubs...who I forgot to mention was barlicky bare assed when I yelled for him because he had just gotten out of the shower...ZAPPED that bug AND THEN, to prove that he was capital B-A-D? He turned around and smacked himself on the tuckus WITH THE BUG RACKET, as if to say I'm the man!

He's the man alright.

What he didn't realize was that the BAZILLION VOLT juice-age was still running through the bug racket.

So, yes, my friends...

He electrocuted his right ass cheek.

Sniff, sniff. Do I smell something burning?

I've said it before and I'll say it again.

Behold the brilliance that is my husband. Hehehe.


DISCLAIMER: For all of you bug lovers, I am soooo deeply sorry for any pain that my actions may have caused you. Please refrain from sending me hate mail, as even though I am a FIRM believer in the Survival of the Fittest, I swear I was only acting in self defense against a bug who could have, if given ample opportunity, taken my eye out. Also, please note that said bug was given a respectable funeral and is now lying in state in our septic tank. God rest his soul.

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Behold The Brilliance That Is My Husband *insert sarcasm here*

This is my bathtub:

It's a reproduction of an antique claw foot tub and it's the effin bomb.

Why do I love it so? Dudes! It holds SEVENTY-TWO GALLONS! It is so damn big that Hubby had to buy me an actual weighted foot pillow (I tuck my feet under it to keep me from floating) because every time I soak in it, my boobs---which are...um...ample, keep acting as flotation devices. Seriously.

Now the Hubby? He doesn't believe in taking baths. He says, "I can't understand why people take baths. It's like festering in your own filth."

YOU TALKIN TO ME?

Um, I don't think so.

You see, Dear Hubby...If I was a filthy pig that only bathed like once every two weeks or something, then YES, I would fester in my own caca. But NORMAL people (YES-- I SAID NORMAL!), like moi, bathe everyday. And since I don't work in a sewer or shovel cow shit for a living, a daily bath is just fine for me. Thank.You.Very.Much.

Recently, KARMA came to my house and bit my Hubby-Rub-A-Dub-Dubby square in the ass. And Oh my Lord in Heaven! He had to face his bathtub peeve HEAD ON because his beloved shower was BROKEN!!!

AAAAHHHHH *insert blood curdling screams here*!

Yep. We had a leak. And the tile in the shower stall had to be regrouted. And the tile on the floor around the shower stall had to be regrouted. And the shower doors had to be removed, replaced, and recaulked! OH MY FREAKIN HELL! CALL THE AUTHORITIES! MY HUSBAND IS GOING TO HAVE TO FESTER IN HIS OWN DIRTY BUM WATER!

Not so fast. people.

You see. The Hubby?

He is the most resourceful little bastard who ever roamed the state of Rhode Island. And when faced with adversity (Oh calm down! It's a bathtub, not a septic tank!), he comes out fightin.

He mulled over his options, ran out to the store for supplies, and returned home about one hour later. Shortly thereafter, he called me down to the basement to see what he constructed.

I call it his jimmy rigged redneck temporary shower.

He calls it his: SURVIVOR: RHODE ISLAND shower (Too much reality TV, ya think?)!

Voila:


A sump pump in a kiddie pool sucks the water out:


The sump pump is attached to a garden hose which travels along the basement floor:


The water finally empties out into the laundry sink:


The redneck shower head? Yeah, that would be the garden hose nozzle:


The redneck shower walls (two shower curtains clipped together) are attached to hooks that have been screwed into the rafters:


Even I have to give the Hubby credit.

No, he can't boil water.

But, he turns into MacGyver in the blink of an eye.


Blog Addendum: The REAL shower is fixed! Hubby no longer uses the redneck shower. But, he refuses to take it down because he thinks it's cool and he calls it his "conversation piece." I think he needs meds.

Monday, November 30, 2009

We All Have One, Right?


Happy Monday, Peeps!

Notice how cheery I am and how freakin thrilled I am to be back at work after a four day hiatus! Whoo hoo!

Too much?

Yeah, I thought so.

Clearly you know me better than that.

The reality is that I didn't want to drag my sorry ass out of bed this morning for all of the Rick Springfield sightings in the world. Me no likey Monday mornings. Me thinky they suck big ones.

So, speaking of sucking big ones (How's that for a lead in?), let me tell you about something that happened to Hubby and me on Thanksgiving.

You ever notice how leading up to this holiday, everyone's all---I am sooooo thankful for my family!?

Yeah, well...YOUR HONOR!! I OBJECT!!

See, I love my family.

But, some of them?

Well, I like them as much as I like Monday mornings. And having to deal with them on the holidays just sucks the life out of me. Seriously.

Here's this year's example:

Picture it: I am sleeping in on Thanksgiving morning because I am not saddled with the cooking for the day. Suddenly, the phone rings at 9:00am and I look at the caller ID. I don't recognize the number but I answer it anyway.

On the other end of the phone, I hear the voice of a long lost family member who hasn't called our house IN LIKE TWO YEARS! And I think to myself HOLY CRAP! Holidays really do bring families together! Right?

So, then Long Lost Family Member says, "Happy Thanksgiving!"

And I am in shock that he even thought about us on this day and so I respond in amazement, "Happy Thanksgiving! Oh my God! How are you?!" Because I am being sincere and ASSUME that he is, too.

And then he says (BRACE YOURSELVES!), "Good. I'm good. Um...
Can I borrow fifty bucks?"


How's that for a kick in the pants?

Thanks for shooting that arrow through my heart, a**hole.

Family...

You gotta love em' (It's a law or something)....

Even if you don't necessarily like them very much.

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Gobble, Gobble!

Hey Mr. Turkey! Get in my belly!

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving! Whoo frickin hoo!

I'm a foodie. You get that, right?

Anywho, today, one of my customers at work (no, I'm not a hooker) asked me, "Hey! Did you see that story on the news last night about the woman who's trying to raise TWO THOUSAND DOLLARS so her pet turkey can have cataract surgery?"

You have got to be shitting me.

Nope. He wasn't. Click here to read all about it.

I should contact this woman....tell her that I have a cheaper, more effective way to cure her turkey's cataracts.

It's called a butter bath....and a long, slow roasting at 350 degrees.

Yeah. Tomorrow? I'll definitely be one of those people wearing elastic waist pants. Bring it!

But I will definitely lay off of the pumpkin pie.

Because THIS is how it's really MADE:

Hahaha....

Sorry. Couldn't resist.

Happy Thanksgiving, y'all!

From the bottom of my heart, I wish you all the best! Seriously.

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Won't You Please? Won't You Please? Please Won't You Be My Neighbor?

I have a confession to make.

My neighbors? They pretty much suck.

I have lived in the same neighborhood, in the last house on the street, for thirteen years. Everyday, I drive past several of them. Everyday, they pretend they don't see me.

And it's not just me.

They do it to each other...antisocial motherf*ckers.

You know what I think? I think they take themselves way too seriously.

They're all like...I'm a lawyer! I'm a doctor! I'm a stock broker! I'm a business owner! I'm an executive! And I am wayyyy too important to wave to the likes of you because I shit Haagen Dazs!

Um...Not my flavor, a**hole.

Once, during a snowstorm, my dumb ass neighbor, who we lovingly refer to as Bernie Madoff II, and who usually likes to pretend that we don't exist, came over and asked us if he could RENT our snow blower.

I wanted to say, "Hey Bernie...you stupid mofo, how come you have two BMW's, but don't own a snow blower?" But I didn't. I exercised my mouth filter. Because I have one....Stop snickering.

Instead, I replied, "NO. You can't rent our snow blower. But you can use it for free. You're our neighbor. That's what neighbors do."

Today, he still pretends that we don't exist...so I'm thinking that the next time we get slammed with snow, he'd better have his blower ready. Either that, or he'll be plowing that long driveway with his teeth. Jerkhole.

Wanna see what he looks like? Look up the word douchebag in the dictionary. I'm sure you'll find his picture there.

Bite me, Bernie. OK. Moving on...

Anyway, everyday on my way home from work, I drive by a certain house which makes me smile and say to myself, "Self! Now these people would make great neighbors! THEY totally have a sense of humor!"

Check out their picture window:

Dudes! It's a full size leg lamp like the one featured in A Christmas Story!

And? They keep it in their window year round!

Fun neighbors, right?

Now that's what I'm talking about, people.


Blog Addendum: To my neighbor D: When I say that my neighbors suck, I am not referring to you, as you know that there are exceptions to every rule. Therefore, we would appreciate it if you would refrain from unloading any M80's in our backyard as retaliation. For your cooperation, we will reward you with chocolate cake and tequila.

Monday, November 23, 2009

I Hope There's Chardonnay In Hell

The following is a recent Facebook conversation between me and my friend, Judi. She's my Soul Sista.

11:01pm Sally
I don't care what anyone says. Rick Springfield is still HOTTTTTTT!

11:02pm Judi
I cannot believe he is SIXTY!!!

11:02pm Sally
I know! WTF?

11:03pm Judi
I never thought he was that much older than us. And I also forgot that he is Australian.

11:03pm Sally
He is 20 years older than us!

11:04pm Judi
Well I must listen to him on Oprah right now so I can hear his accent.

11:05pm Sally
You can't hear it. He hides it.

11:05pm Judi
F*cking hell.

11:05pm Sally
Right? That accent is a powerful tool! And he hides it...the dumb ass.

11:05pm Judi
I know, WTF?

11:05pm Sally
To women, it's a verbal aphrodisiac! Fool.

11:06pm Judi
Well clearly he's got some other tools he's using!

11:06pm Sally
You're lucky. You can hear a sexy Irish accent anytime. Just shake your sleeping husband!

11:06pm Judi
I don't hear it really...I'm so used to it. I know this sounds insane to you. But after a while, you just don't hear it anymore.

11:07pm Sally
No, that doesn't sound insane. After a while, we all tune our husbands out. Hehehe.

11:07pm Judi
Well his mumbling makes it easier, coupled with my deafness. We are such a fun pair. How is Paul Costa? And his Fall River accent?

11:08pm Sally
Hahaha. He's fine. A pain in the arse, just like your husband---Hotty McAccent :)

11:08pm Judi
How's George Clooney? Still riding him every day? LOL!

11:09pm Sally
YES. I hate that MOFO!

11:09pm Judi
Dreadmill.

11:09pm Sally
Piece of shit in the basement! But I did tape George's face to it ;)

11:10pm Judi
I take zumba class twice a week---dance to Latin music. It's like being at the Portuguese American club, w/o the moonshine.

11:10pm Sally
ZUMBA! That's "cougar" exercise!

11:10pm Judi
Well...

11:11pm Sally
Moonshine! You are proud to be Portuguese...even though you're Irish. Hahahaha!

11:11pm Judi
My results were that I am 100% Portuguese on the FB quiz! I told someone I am from the Lost Portuguese Island of Osmozia. They didn't get my joke.

11:12pm Sally
Hehehehe. You are definitely Portuguese by osmosis, my friend.

11:12pm Judi
I like to think so. So how about my kid and the Answer Me Jesus?

11:13pm Sally
She is too funny. And she knows how to work it.

11:13pm Judi
I may need to hide him before she starts telling them at CCD that we have one.

11:13pm Sally
Yeah. Or smuggles him in for Show and Tell.

11:13pm Judi
Well, it's bad enough that my car has an "EVE WAS FRAMED" bumper sticker on it.

11:14pm Sally

Hahaha. That is funny!

11:14pm Judi
Yes, we always park right near the door!

11:15pm Sally
At church a couple of weeks ago, we had a freaky mean visiting priest. Not friendly AT ALL! I tried to make conversation with him. But, he was not having it. I told someone he was kind of mean to me and then I said, "Geez...You'd think I was shoving apples down all the men's throats."

11:15pm Judi
Oh, Sally, that is a line for the ages! Can I steal it?

11:16pm Sally

Steal it and work it, Sista!

11:16pm Judi
Shoving Apples: One Man at a Time

11:16pm Sally
Hehehe. I guess we should be happy that they made women out of one of Adam's ribs and not his balls.

11:18pm Judi
Just like I say, "Be thankful the Shoebomber wasn't the Undiesbomber."

11:18pm Sally
LOL. Judi & Sally: Hell Mates Forever

11:19pm Judi
We should get tee shirts made up like that.

11:19pm Sally
Yes we should!

11:19pm Judi
Oh, and just so you know, I don't care if you blog about me. I notice a lot of people are like, "Don't blog about me." This is not a problem I have. LOL!

11:19pm Sally
Uh-oh. Be very afraid!

11:20pm Judi
LOL!

11:20pm Sally
Well, my dear, I need to get to sleep...UGH...Why wasn't I born rich instead of beautiful?

11:21pm Judi
This plagues me, too. See you soon Hell Mate!

11:21pm Sally
Later Hell Mate!


Sally & Judi....

Friends since high school....Hell Mates, forever.

The Devil?

Yeah. He's screwed.

Friday, November 20, 2009

Do I Smell Bacon?

Last night, after work, I went to Macy's because they were having the BIGGEST, HUGEST, MOST EARTH SHATTERING SALE of the century!

Which, by the way, is a big steaming pile of bullshit propaganda because they have those sales like once a month. But, whatever.

So anyway, I'm at Macy's wandering around the kitchen gadgets, when I noticed these displays of beautiful, hand painted dishes from Spain. Seriously, they were stunning! The coffee mugs were big and chunky and just perfect for ginormous vats of Godiva Hot Chocolate....HOLLA (Who's a chocolate whore? I am! I am!)!!

Anywho, just as I'm glancing over all of the beautiful and colorful ceramic pieces, my eyes caught these CANDY DISHES on the top shelf of the display.

And? Well...

I took a picture of them because I thought they were so freakin funny, which proves that even though I am a college educated, refined woman (Let me believe it, OK?), I actually have the sense of humor of a teen aged boy.

So, without further ado, this is why I was busting a gut...at Macy's...all by myself...like a dumb ass:



This little piggy went to market.
This little piggy stayed at home.
This little piggy had roast beef.
This little piggy had none.
And this little piggy cried,
"wee wee wee," all the way home....
right after he took a dry humping in the poop shoot.


Call me Beavis. I don't mind.

Thursday, November 19, 2009

Oh.No.He.Didn't!

Last night, the Hubby asked me to hang out with him for a bit at our new business condo because he was nailing down a new floor on the second level. Basically, my job was to jump and stand on the plywood sheets until they shimmied into their correct spaces. Then, the Hubbs would nail down the sheets with his scary ass, big mutha, Stanley Bostitch framing nail gun.

Try saying that ten times fast.

Anyway, suddenly, the scary ass, big mutha, Stanley Bostitch framing nail gun? Well...It just stopped working!

Wanna see a grown man pitch a hissy?

Yeah. Me neither.

But I had no choice.

So, I walked over to him and said, "What's the matter?" He responded, "This stupid piece of shit keeps getting stuck! WTF?"

Then, like the big fat idiot that I am, I asked, "Is there anything I can do?" Much to my dismay, he answered, "Yes. I need you to go to Home Depot. Go to the power tool section and ask the guy that works there for pneumatic oil for a nail gun."

Oh my f*cking word. Home Depot. I hate f*cking Home Depot.

I would rather go to the gynecologist for my annual cooter / fun bags probe than go to Home Depot. THAT is how much I hate that wretched store.

But, I could see that Hubby needed my help. And he was working so hard. So, I bucked up, drove to Home Depot, and took one for the team.

The first thing that happened when I got there was Big Beula met me at the door to gruffly inform me that, "Home Depot will be closing in ten minutes and is there anything I can help you with or could I point you in the right direction?"

OK Big Bertha. I know you want to go home, but you need to step the frick back because I am not comfortable with manly bitches taking up my personal space.

Seriously. Ever notice that all the women who work in Homely Depot look like lumberjacks? Is wearing plaid flannel a job prerequisite? WTF?

Anyway, so I say to the Big-un, "I need pneumatic oil for a nail gun." And she looks at me like I have two heads because she doesn't know what the crap I am talking about. So, she calls Trevor over.

My Lord. I never knew how greasy teen aged boys could be.

Anyway, I tell Trevor that I need to buy some pneumatic oil RIGHT NOW or I will slit my wrists immediately. He giggles and leads me to the power tool section where I am introduced to Bruce.

So, again. For the THIRD f*cking time! I say, "I need some pneumatic oil for a nail gun." Finally, Bruce hands me a fat, plastic bottle. It reads: Pneumatic Oil For Power Tools.

Praise Jesus Christ in Heaven. They have finally seen the light!

Put the brakes on, Sally Costa.

Because, suddenly, I noticed that the fat, plastic bottle was...UM...really fat? And I wondered, "How in the hell is Hubby going to get this oil into that skinny, little gun handle?"

So, I say to ButchBruceBanjo, or whatever the frick his name was, "Oh. Do I need a...a...a?"

HELLO! SALLY, YOU MORON!

The word you're looking for is OILCAN!

But, all I could think to say in that senior moment was, "Don't I need one of those thingies? Like the one they used to lube up the Tin Man in the Wizard of Oz?"

So, ButchBruceBanjo looks at me, smiles, and says...WAIT FOR IT...He says, "Thingy? Is that a technical term?"

Oh.No.He.Didn't.

So, I looked at him and said, "NO. IT'S NOT A TECHNICAL TERM! But, I know that you know what I mean! Now, point me in the right direction before I slit my wrists in this store and you and your crew will have to stay here all night while the police investigate and Servpro cleans up my blood."

I wanted to tell him to, "Go suck goat balls."

But, I didn't.

Because I'm a grown up.

And I have a mouth filter.

Stop laughing.

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

From Kindergartners To Cougars

Sally & Deb, June 20, 2009 (MY GOD! Aren't we lovely?!)

The following is a recent email correspondence between me and my friend, Deb. I was the the Best Lady at her wedding in June and we have been friends since we were four years old. Together, I think we could rule the world (or at least, kick some serious ass).


From: Deb
To: Sally
Sent: Thursday, Nov 12, 2009 12:53 PM


Hello Mrs. Costa,
In obits today, Bob Smith died.
How are you? Anything new?
Mrs. D


From: Sally
To: Deb
Sent: Thursday, November 12, 2009 1:17 PM


Agnes,
Yes, I heard. My mother told me yesterday. He was a meanie. God rest his soul (you always have to say this after speaking of the dead---no matter how mean and nasty they were...it's like a law or something). Anywho, there is nothing new here. We are working a ridiculous amount of hours between regular work and construction at the new place. Other than that, I've got nothing...And you? Let me live vicariously through you! Throw me some excitement. Will ya?
XOXO Tilly



From: Deb
To: Sally
Sent: Thu, Nov 12, 2009 1:41 pm


I remember you telling me he was mean, Tilly. I think I recall some parking situations in front of the store. But, we’ll be nice and wish him a peaceful rest.
Still working loads huh? That’s gotta be sickening. I’m not sure that you want to live vicariously through me! We were off yesterday and I painted the hallway while Hubby did some freelance work. This weekend, I’m going to re-caulk the tub! Joy! We’re hoping to meet up with Steve and his girlfriend next weekend, though. We can probably live vicariously through him!! He just got back from Thailand. He interviewed a man for a portrait that he's painting. Wacko. Ya gotta love Steve. He’s our age and has no full-time job. He lives in a nice apartment and he’s friends with his landlord, which must help. I doubt he makes the rent every month. He considers himself an artist and just goes with it! BTW: Did you get the wedding photos?
Agnes


From: Sally
To: Deb
Sent: Thursday, November 12, 2009 1:45 PM


Agnes,
Oh yes! I did get the photos! They look very nice, but confirm my assessment that I have fat arms. Coodish (Portuguese swear word). WTF? Tell me...How can Steve (A) attract a woman, (B) afford to go to Thailand, (C) have a nice apartment...when he has no effin REAL job? And what about health insurance?


From: Deb
To: Sally
Sent: Thu, Nov 12, 2009 1:52 pm


Lol. Actually, I couldn't say what your arms looked like, I was fixated on my own fat arms and that pudge between armpit and boob (What the hell is that??) that kept displaying itself in MANY photos!! As for Steve, he (A) found the girlfriend online, (B) somehow got a frickin’ grant to go to Thailand and (C) has a nice apartment, but it could be condemned for lack of housekeeping efforts. Health insurance? Steve thinks he shouldn't have to pay for health insurance and was pissed to learn he had to when he worked at his old job. Now that he’s mostly unemployed, he probably does get it FREE through Commonwealth Care. We’re doing something wrong Tilly!! I’m SICK of working!!!


From: Sally
To: Deb
Sent: Thursday, November 12, 2009 2:53 PM


I hate armpit pudge! WTF was I thinking wearing a sleeveless dress?????
Damn work! We pay $638.00 a month for health insurance! That's it! I effin quit!



From: Deb
To: Sally
Sent: Thu, Nov 12, 2009 4:02 pm


You’re too hard on yourself...Your arms were fine! I quit too! I’m going to find a psychiatrist and tell him that I just can’t deal with people or public places, then I’ll start shaking and plucking out some hair from my head, and see if I can get disability.

From: Sally
To: Deb
Sent: Thursday, November 12, 2009 4:19 PM


Don't forget to drool, too. And maybe it wouldn't hurt if you started chewing on a red crayon....

From: Deb
To: Sally
Sent: Thu, Nov 12, 2009 4:20 pm


And, I’ll pee on his chair.

From: Sally
To: Deb
Sent: Thursday, November 12, 2009 4:31 PM


Ooooh...and pick your nose and wipe it on his desk! I think that about covers all the bases.

From: Deb
To: Sally
Sent: Thursday, November 12, 2009 4:35 PM


I’ll have to be careful not to overdo it and be committed! Though a quiet rest might not be so bad...

From: Sally
To: Deb
Sent: Thursday, November 12, 2009 4:43 PM


Amen, sister.

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Manscaping: Just Do It

It's been a long time, people.

I haven't written about my friend---Lou, in a l-o-n-g time.

He's been kind of quiet, which makes me sort of nervous.

You know, it's kind of like the calm before the storm.

Recently, Lou and his lovely wife---Linda, came back from vacationing in Palm Springs.

And?

They brought us presents. Whoopee frickin doo da!

For the Hubby, something every man needs:

I LOVE MY PENIS Fruit Flavored Gum


And for me:

Does This Gum Make My Ass Look Big? Fruit Flavored Gum


I know what you're thinking. They are just the most thoughtful friends EVER! Right?

Yeah. Right.

You know...Since I'm on the subject of Lou, I've been waiting to share some photos of him that I took at a dinner party at his house.

You see...Lou? Well he loves the finer things in life. One example of his indulgences is he LOVES himself some good, quality, port wine. And? He loves to drink it out of his very special, very dainty (kind of gay) port wine glass.

Observe:


Only one problem.

After overindulging a tad on the finer things, he starts sweating. I think it's a man thing because the same thing happens to the Hubby. They get together, drink wine, and sweat like beasts.

But the worst part of the scenario? Well, in the Hubby's case, he drinks the wine, gets all flustered, rolls up his sleeves, and deals with it. But Lou?

Um...well...he loses any inhibitions he had (which are virtually nonexistent anyway) and takes his shirt off:



Special, ain't he?

You know...These photos make me wonder...

I'm probably not going to make it to Palm Springs anytime soon.

Does anyone out there in the blogosphere know where I can buy Lou some:
I LOVE MY MOOBS (Man Boobs) Fruit Flavored Gum?

Monday, November 16, 2009

You're Scaring The Children!

This morning, I got to work late because I had to go to the town post office to discuss my a-hole mailman who is still holding my mail hostage because he is too effin lazy to get his fat ass out of his car to put my mail in my mailbox.

Lazy mofo.

So, I walk into the post office and ask to speak to the post master. She comes to the door and OH MY HELL! I almost shit because I was expecting to see someone who looked...um...professional.

Instead? She looked like this:

I am not kidding.

My post master looks like the cracked out version of Courtney Love.

So I thought, g-r-e-a-t. This ought to be good.

And I wasn't disappointed.

Basically like the jerk hole I complained to a couple of weeks ago, Cracked Out Courtney told me that my mailman doesn't get paid to get out of his car to deliver my mail.

He is a rural carrier. And he will get out to deliver my mail ONLY IF HE WANTS TO.

Nice.

She did tell me that I could have the post office hold my mail and I could pick it up everyday until the town public works department comes back to pave the spot in front of my mailbox (in two weeks). She also told me that by holding my mail for pickup, she was DOING ME A HUGE FAVOR. Because "they" don't typically allow townies this sort of privilege.

Hooray for me.

To return the favor of ALLOWING me to go OUT OF MY WAY to retrieve my mail, I would like to offer the post master some beauty advice.

You know...because I'm nice like that.

Here goes:

Dear Post Master,
You seriously need a makeover. I'm not picking on you because you are incompetent (even though you are). I'm just trying to help you because when I saw you today, you seriously scared the shit out of me.

The Courtney Love Crack Whore Look does not belong in the work place....unless you're walking the beat on a street corner. But, whatever.

When you show up to work with your big 80's bleached blond hair and your blood red lipstick, people will not take you seriously.

And? You will scare the children! I saw the way the little girl in front of me was staring at you. Dude, she thought you were a vampire! But that's only because she was too young to know what a crack whore looks like.

Geez.

Do us townies a favor and tone that shit down. It's a post office not a strip joint.

Oh, and thanks for nothing.

Peace Out,
Sally


Whew (loud exhale)....I feel so much better now.

Friday, November 13, 2009

I Accept Your Apology

This morning, as I was brushing my teeth, I heard Hubby in the kitchen laughing his ass off. When I went downstairs, I saw him leaning on the kitchen counter reading my blog entry about the Great Reese's Peanut Butter Pie Debacle, otherwise known as the day I wanted to bust my husband's face.

He was practically keeled over the counter, he was laughing so hard. And when I walked into the room, he looked at me and said, "Hahaha...This is so freaking funny. Hahaha."

Yeah. He thinks he's funny. Apparently, he had no idea how close I came to smothering him with a pillow as he slept that night. But, whatever.

So, I rolled my eyes as I walked past him and responded, "Oh, yeah. Hilarious."

A few minutes later, the Hubby, done busting a gut over his ice cream pie-scapade, left for work in his pick-up truck.

About a half hour later, I left for work (a little later than he did because I had a morning appointment that I had to get to). I grabbed all of my paraphernalia (briefcase, laptop, lunch) and headed into the garage. I put all of my stuff in the trunk, plopped myself in the car, and noticed this card that Hubby left for me on the steering wheel:


Now, before you go all "ooohing and ahhhing and isn't that cute?" over it, I have to tell you that the card? Not the best part...

Nope. The best part was the envelope:


Yep.

Guys? You want to get out of trouble with your wife who has convulsions every time she walks past the freezer because she knows that there is a big, fat chocolate ice cream pie in there THAT YOU BROUGHT INTO THE HOUSE and she just happens to LOVE chocolate almost as much as she loves the air she breathes and she wants to beat your ass because WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING bringing that THING into the home of a woman who is constantly in the pursuit of a smaller ass?

Deep breaths, Sal. Deep breaths.

Shit. I lost my train of thought.

Anyway, here's the moral of the story:

Calling your forty-year-old wife a P.Y.T. (Pretty Young Thing) will definitely stop her from wanting to stab you in the neck with a sharp instrument.

That's about it in a nutshell.

Thursday, November 12, 2009

Do Your Ears Hang Low?

My Mom goes to the hair salon once a week. She's been doing this ever since I can remember. When I was a little girl, I used to go with her on Friday nights. I remember sitting in the salon...coloring, reading, or sometimes when her hairdresser let me, I would sweep hair off the floor or remove perm rods from little old ladies' heads.

While at the salon with my Mom, I always paid close attention to all of the adult conversation because...you know...I was a nosey kid (REALLY?) and I was hoping to learn "adult" stuff.

Turns out, her weekly hairdo posse, was really quite humdrum. They discussed recipes. They talked about shopping and what stores had what items on sale that week. And once in awhile, they vented their frustrations about their kids and/or husbands.

B-o-r-i-n-g.

These days, things at the ole' hair salon have changed.

Now that I have unruly, biggish, graying hair myself...I go to the hair salon every four weeks. And my salon? Well, let's just say that my Mama would shit a brick if she heard what we talk about about.

Case in point: Last week, I was sitting under a dryer at my salon, baking on my "naturally" brown hair color...When all of a sudden, a debate ensued about the consensus that the older men get, the more their pee pee areas resemble sea urchins.


WHA, WHA, WHA, WHAT?

Yeah. From what I understand, gravity does not just take it's toll on women as they age (How are your boobs hangin?). But, apparently, men? Yeah, things with them...um...they start to enlarge, stretch, sag, elongate, and go south, too.

Well, alrighty then...

Anyway, I would like to clarify that I have (well...more like used to have---Thanks K!) zero knowledge about this...um...topic. I am oblivious. And? I would like to stay that way. So, please. All geriatric males are to refrain from sending me any photos of their "sea urchins." I don't wanna know.

Oh. And you're probably wondering how the hairstylists know about this little "situation."

Apparently, several of them were on vacation together and were swimming at a resort pool when they noticed Grandpa Pervie sitting on the pool steps with his "stuff"...um...How can I put this delicately?

Oh, hell. His junk was hanging out of his bating suit leg and practically scraping on the swimming pool floor.

The girls? They're still traumatized.

And then they shared this information with me. And now? I'm traumatized. Thank.You.Very.Much.

Anyway, one really funny thing that happened during this most informative hair salon gabfest was...At one point, my hairdresser asked an elderly woman who was under a hairdryer if the whole old man wee wee thing was true.

She inquired, "Mary? Is it true that the older men get, the more their packages resemble sea urchins?"

Mary responded, "How the hell do I know! When mine left me, IT was still young!"

Hahahahaha...

Let me conclude this post by publicly thanking my hairdresser (She reads my blog...expect a crazy comment!) for enlightening me with the graphic information that will make me have nightmares for a good, long while...and for making me afraid to swim in the ocean...sea urchins...Ick.

Dudes, I don't know about you, but I'm thinking my blog deserves an award.

Seriously...

Where else can you get this kind of education?

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Happy Veterans Day!



Happy Veterans Day, y'all!

Just wanted to give a shout out to all of the brave men and women of our armed forces who have protected and served this fine country in the past, who continue to serve it in the present, and who will be ready to serve it in the future.

As Americans, it is sometimes easy to take our freedoms for granted.

Today, make it a point to give thanks to the people who protect the democracy that guarantees our rights as Americans.

Freedom....The ultimate "F" word.

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Sometimes Violence IS The Answer

Yesterday, on his way home from a very late night at work, Hubby called me from his cell phone to ask me this:

Me: Hello?

Hubby: Hey, Sal. I'm on my way home. Do we have any ice cream?

Me: Yes. We have Skinny Cow Chocolate and Vanilla Truffles.


Hubby: That's not what I mean. Do we have any REAL ICE CREAM?

Me: If you mean fattening crap, the answer is no.

Hubby: Well, I'm in the mood for some. I'm going to stop and buy some on the way home. Do you want anything?

Me: NO! DO NOT BRING ME ANYTHING!

Hubby: OK. I Won't. Bye.

Me: I mean it, Paul. Nothing for me...

Hubby: OK! BYE!

Me: Bye.

Fast forward one hour later.

I assumed that Hubby would stroll into the house with MAYBE a pint of Haagen Dazs or Ben and Jerry's...You know, just the perfect size container for ONE person to eat out of as they curl up on the couch and watch the telly...not that I've ever done that or anything.

Anywho, I should know by now not to make any assumptions. Because his idea of ice cream for ONE was this:



I know! You want to punch him in the head for throwing temptation in my path, too. Right?

Oh, and you know what the best part of this GIGUNDA GINORMA REESE'S PEANUT BUTTER ICE CREAM PIE IS? The horrendous nutritional information, which, by the way, is for ONE FIFTEENTH OF THE EFFIN PIE!



WANNA KNOW HOW MUCH HE ATE? AT ELEVEN O'CLOCK AT NIGHT? WHICH HE WASHED DOWN WITH A BUCKET OF MILK? RIGHT BEFORE BED?????!!!!!

This much:


That's right, my peeps. He ate ONE QUARTER of the pie.

Oh, I don't know. By my calculations, that means he ingested something like fifty thousand bazillion calories and twenty thousand quadrillion grams of fat.

And FYI? About a half hour later, he was in bed. Snoring. Not a friggin care in the world.

Smack, smack, smack, smack, smack. That's me. Beating the crap out of him....in my head.

It's called a coping mechanism, people.