Friday, July 31, 2009

Go Shorty...It's Your Birthday

Happy Friday Peeps! I'd like you to know that I am officially over my birthday meltdown. And from now on, you can look forward to blog posts from a kinder and gentler Sally. HA! Just kidding! No worries, people. I am still me...just one year older and perhaps just a tad bit more vulgar. I'm sure you can take it. Anyway, I wanted to turn my birthday festivities into a learning experience for y'all. Because, well...I think you can learn something here. So here goes, dudes. I present to you: The Ultimate Birthday Pictorial...Live and Learn, People

When buying the birthday girl a cake, never reference her age in frosting. But always address her as royalty: Unless you want an ass whipping, never buy these gifts for the people you love...

Bad Gift #1: a customized gift basket filled with rotten, moldy (Mmmm...furry srtawberries! Yum!), fruit fly infested, already been bitten, rancid fruit... THANKS LOU. Bad Gift #2: This stupid sign! Also doubles as a skull cracker...THANKS LOU. Bad Gift #3: Pre-scratched loser scratch tickets...THANKS LOU...Anybody else seeing the BAD GIFT pattern here?

Now, aside from the above nastiness (THANKS LOU), I would also like to acknowledge the BEST of the great birthday presents that I received. Take a lesson, dudes.

Great Gift #1: CASH!! WHOO HOO!! One size fits all, people!! Thank you to all of the people who contributed to my stash! I see some MAD shopping in my future ;) Great Gift #2: Bond No. 9 Perfume...Thank you Hubs! If you've never smelt it, you must! It is heaven in a bottle... Great Gift #3: Gift certificates...especially this one specifically for my favorite cannolis (THANKS STEVE)....I know, I know. BAD for the butt cheeks...BUT, OH SO GOOD FOR THE SOUL!
And finally, THE BEST ULTIMATE BIRTHDAY GIFT EVER: My great niece, Avery! Who was born on my birthday!! Whoo hoo!! Her parents don't know it, yet. But they will be hosting my birthday parties at their house from now on!

I'd like to conclude my post with a shout out to my Mama who gave me the funniest birthday card of the year:

And finally, this post would not be complete without the "outing" of my stinkin whore sisters...You know...the ones who put my Lordy Lordy, Look whose 40 picture ON THE OBIT PAGE OF THE PAPER ON MY BIRTHDAY! Here they are, people! Privacy be damned, BITCHES!

From Left to Right: Evil Sister Natty, Evil Sister Aida, Evil Sister Gee, Evil Sister Jenny, my Mama (How did she birth so many evil women?), and ME...the good one.

Thank you to all of my bloggy friends for being loyal readers and to all who sent me birthday greetings, cards, gifts, and prayers...You guys rock! SERIOUSLY.

Thursday, July 30, 2009

Fish Heads, Fish Heads, Roly Poly Fish Heads

It is 10:00PM and I have had one HELL of a long day.

Just wanted to let you all know that I made it through my birthday day relatively unscathed.

I will post birthday related pictures and give you the rundown tomorrow. Because today, I am just too damn tired (Crap...this age thing is catching up with me already! *kidding*).

Anyhow, before heading to bed, I'd like to share a troubling thought with you. It's been plaguing me all day.

Remember my picture in yesterday's post? The one that my evil sisters put on the obituary page of the town newspaper?

Well, yesterday it was local news.

Today, it is probably being used to catch parakeet poop on the bottom of some old lady's birdcage.

Humbling....Isn't it?.

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

Forty...The Ultimate F Word

Today is my 40TH birthday. And I had big plans for this post. I really did. First, I was going to write about how may times in the last month I have heard people say, "40 is the new 30." Which of course is a total crock of shit because 40 is 40 and 30 is 30 and if you think that these two milestones can be interchanged in any way, shape, or form, then you are clearly suffering from early onset dementia and you'd better get your happy ass to a doctor so he can put you on the necessary medication that will halt the progression of your brain rot. Seriously.

Then, I was going to discuss how many times in the last month people said to me, "You're only as old as you feel." OK. Puh-leeze. Do I look like I'm borderline or something (don't answer that)? Um, hello people! I don't really give a rat's hairy ass how you feel. You're only as old as YOUR DAMN BIRTH CERTIFICATE SAYS YOU ARE. Hmmm...And if you were born on July 29, 1969, that would make you 40!

And finally, I wanted to address the numnuts who have been telling me, "40 is just a number." UM, NO. Completely untrue. You see....eigteen...yeah, it's just a number. Twenty-five, is just a number. Thirty-two, is just a freakin number! Forty? IS A SHITTY NUMBER.

Now, like I previously said, my intent was to discuss all of this mumbo jumbo in this, my 40TH birthday blog. But, some people have thrown a HUGE monkey wrench in my day! I hate it when that happens. You see, aside from my husband and my mother, I rarely speak of my family....not because they don't do shit that is TOTALLY blog worthy. But, because I try to respect their privacy. And this privacy thing? Today, and long as we all shall live? Is now completely shot to shit....totally out the frickin window, dudes. Wanna know why? Of course you do! Well, in honor of my 40TH birthday, which I am dealing with, but am NOT particularly excited about (Did you know this?), my sisters put my first grade picture in the local newspaper. Please observe the work of Satan's sisters:

Oh, oh, oh! And besides the humiliation and mockery behind the intent of this public display of poo, wanna know what else? Do ya? Well, look a little closer, por favor:


You know that saying, You can pick your friends, but you can't pick your relatives? Um. I'd like to amend that to: You can't pick your sisters. But, you can annihilate the stinkin whores on your blog.

Happy Birthday To Me!!

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

Who Done It?

Today is the last day that I will be in my thirties. Out of respect for my fledgling youth, please indulge me by partaking in a brief moment of silence.


Thank you.

OK. Now, let's get down to the business at hand. I need your help, people. You see, I'm trying to solve a mystery and I'm looking for your input. On Friday, when I went to my mailbox, I found this rude card waiting for me:



As you can see, it was sent to me anonymously because I'm assuming that the sender is a coward who knows that I am less than thrilled about turning forty and doesn't want me to bust his face because he has been taunting me for a MONTH. Anywho, of course I have been trying to get the culprit to FESS UP. But, thus far all I've gotten from him are some lame ass denials and some finger pointing at innocent people. So, I will leave matters to you, my fine friends. Tell me, do you think, like I do, that the man in these photos (LOU) is capable of such an act? Observe and decide for yourselves:

The Alleged Culprit...showing his fruity side

The Alleged Culprit...showing his pervy side (Please forgive me for subjecting you to this abomination, my friends...But, I am only trying to prove my case against this crazy, crazy man.)

The Alleged Culprit...showing his macho side (Jesus, please help us to digest this image and not be scarred for life.)

The Alleged Culprit...trying out for American Idol

The Alleged Culprit...Um. Smelling his own butt gas?! Clearly he has issues. No?

The Alleged Culprit...totally hammered on the public streets of Boston

Now tell me, you fine people of the blogosphere! Is this man GUILTY or NOT GUILTY of sending me this vulgar, ass laden card?

And remember! If the diaper fits (*blech* see above), YOU CAN'T ACQUIT!!!

Monday, July 27, 2009

Can You Hear Me Now?

My husband is brave man. Let me explain.

On Saturday night, the hubby and I attended a lovely wedding. The mother of the groom, our dear friend Barbara, handed us (and everyone else at the wedding) some cards that we were supposed to fill out with some "advice" for the newly married couple. Her plan is to utilize these cards in a scrapbook of sorts to remind the happy couple of their special day and all who were there to celebrate it with them.

When Barbara handed the hubby his own card, he looked at me and said, "Oooh! I get my own? And I can write whatever I want?" And just between you and me, he seriously seemed way too excited for his own good. "Um, yeah. You get your own. Knock yourself out." I replied.

And when he finished writing, he looked at me with a big shit eating grin and handed me the card so I could read it. It said:

Best Wishes Marc & Bethany! Always remember that the secret to a happy marriage is SELECTIVE HEARING.

He's just lucky that I left my taser at home.

Anywho, thought I'd share some pics from the wedding reception:

The groom, Marc, and his mom, Barbara

The bride, Bethany, kissing her mother-in-law (That's right, girl. Only GOOD can come from kissing up to the MIL)

Me and my dear friend, Barbara (by the way, if you know what's good for you, you will never refer to her as Babs)

The hubby and Barbara (He's known her since he was a teenager. And FYI, that was a HELL of a long time ago)

Did you know that it's bad luck if you don't eat the wedding cake? No?? That's because I just made this little tidbit up....Call it justification...

The accomplice in cake:

Hubby and I truly enjoyed ourselves at Marc and Bethany's wedding. They are a lovely couple and we wish them both a very happy, healthy, and long life together....filled with selective hearing.

Friday, July 24, 2009


My husband is a chick magnet.

Um, let me reiterate that.

My husband is a geriatric chick magnet. Seriously. I don't know what it is about him. But, the old ladies LOVE him. Recently, we went to a fundraiser with some friends and he ended up sitting across from me at a very long table, smack dab between two of the Golden Girls. And let me just say that they were all over him like Barack Obama on a stimulus package.

At one point, I had to pee. So, I went to the ladies room, did my duty, reapplied my lipstick and made my way back to Geritol central. I swear. I wasn't gone for more than ten minutes.

When I got back to my seat, Rose Nylund (to his right) was hugging his arm and Dorothy Zbornak (to his left) was holding his hand. AND, get this! They were fighting over who would get him if I was dead! For real, people. For freakin real.

So, I said, "Um, hello ladies?! I'm right here! I'm still alive and kicking!" Dorothy Zbornak replied, "Oh, we know, honey! But he is just such a nice boy (yeah...that would be a 45 year old middle aged boy, but whatever). And we just LOVE his pink skin and blue eyes!"

And the whole time? The hubby stared at me pleadingly. It was hilarious....especially when he looked into my eyes and mouthed the words, Get them off of me. I thought I was going to bust a gut.

Another funny incident occurred at a wedding we went to a few weeks ago. There was a woman present, of the senior citizen variety, who was very smitten with Hubs. When I went to get a drink at the bar, she stopped me and said, "Your husband seems nice...and he's very handsome." I replied (smile on my face), "Yes. He is nice. Thank you."

A little while later, I ran into her in the bathroom. Again she said to me, "I like your husband. He's cute." Again, I smiled and replied, "Yes, he is. Thank you."

About two hours later, as we were walking out of the wedding reception, she waited for us at the exit door. As we approached, she said, "You're leaving already? You should STAAAAAAY LONGER (batting her eyelids at the hubby)!" "We would love to. But, we can't. We have another engagement to attend. But, it was very nice to see you," the hubby replied.

To this, Grandma Big Balls leaned in and stated (and I quote), "YOU KNOW...IF I WAS YOUNGER AND YOU WEREN'T WITH HER (scowling in my direction), YOU'D BE ALL MINE!"

The hubby, totally creeped out by Horny Hortense, smiled politely, grabbed my arm, and practically dragged me out the door. When we got in the car, he sat back, sighed and said, *wait for it*
"Holy shit! That old lady needs an ice pack in her shorts!"

And I laughed my ass off.

Ah.....Sex appeal. Ain't it a bitch?

Thursday, July 23, 2009

New Friends Wanted

The countdown to the big 4-OH is on. I have five days left.

Oh, man. I seriously sound like a loon, don't I? Kind of like, I HAVE FIVE DAYS LEFT! AAAHHH!!! RUN FOR THE HILLS!

Like something really bad is going to happen to me on July 29Th, besides the fact that on that day, I will consume birthday cake for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

Anywho, today's birthday gift from my friend Lou's Birthday Basket of Horror was this:

It's a picture of the hubby, rolling his eyes as he devours MY FAVORITE cannolis. I actually took this picture awhile back and emailed it to Lou to make him jealous of the fact that we were eating at his favorite cafe. Months later, that evil bugger had the picture framed and gifted it to me this morning with a note saying:

A picture for your desk...and a constant reminder that Paul can eat anything he wants AND NOT GAIN WEIGHT!!!!

I seriously need to make new friends (and weed out the rat bastards).

Do I have any takers?



Wednesday, July 22, 2009

Just Do It?

Yesterday, I went to Weight Watchers for my weekly meeting (FYI, 4 pounds gone in 2 weeks). And I was listening to a woman who was disappointed with her weight gain. Thus far, she has lost 45 pounds in maybe 6 months. Yet yesterday, she was beating herself up about a 2 pound gain. She proceeded to explain to the whole room about how disgusted she was with herself and she confessed that she didn't know what came over her. But, she binged like hell last week and the only explanation she could give for her behavior was that her inner fat girl got out...again.

I liked her explanation. Seriously. I got it.

I am not a stupid person (no objections, please). I know that an apple is better for me than a piece of cake. Yet, there are times when I've chosen that damn cake. I'm the only one, right? There is no rhyme or reason to it. It's irrational. It's insane. But, for various reasons (stress, emotional, hormonal), it just is.

To make our fellow Weight Watcher feel better about herself, we celebrated her accomplishment so far. Dudes, 45 pounds?! That is major! Then, we gave her a pep talk and told her that we could all relate and I think she left the meeting feeling more motivated and hopefully, like she wasn't alone in this bullshit struggle.

Can I get an AMEN?!

On another brief tangent, last weekend the hubby and I met up with a person who never really reads my blog but sort of got caught up on it before our get together. At one point he said to me, "Gee, you write an awful lot about having and/or getting a smaller ass."

And said person's tone? It was condescending and well, it didn't impress me much. It was like, You are weak. If you want to lose weight, why don't you stop bellyaching about it and just do it already!

Clearly, said person is a twig and has no clue. I wanted to respond (but didn't), I'd rather be me...just the way I am, than be a pompous, arrogant butthole just like you.

Seriously. I can lose weight. But with his personality, he will always be a bigger ass than the one I'm carrying in my pants.

My condolences to his wife.

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

The Black Sheep

My friend Lou has really been harping on me about turning 40.

He has been taunting me, really.

Three weeks ago, Lou and his wife Linda (who is merely guilty by association) gave me a basket filled with birthday presents (one for everyday this month). These presents have included (but are not limited to) a mystery meat log, a shot glass that says Beauty Enhancer, and yesterday's ultra thoughtful gift, a Barack Obama Stimulus Package Condom. Nice.

I wanted to thank Lou for his *cough, cough* generosity. So, I sent him a thank you this envelope:

That's right, peeps. I may be approaching 40.

But at least I'm not the town freak (according to the U.S. Postal Service).


Monday, July 20, 2009

I'll Have A Glass Of Hemlock With My Tofu

I consider myself to be a tad bit introverted. That's why I don't understand why I seem to have that kind of face. I don't know what it is, really. But no matter where I go, questionable people (as in batshit crazy) strike up conversations with me. I can sit quietly, reading a book in the doctor's office awaiting my appointment, and a dude sitting nearby will feel the need to discuss his leaky rhoids (as in hemor) with me, like a give crap about his itchy pustules and the fluid they ooze.

Saturday's episode of crazy stranger trying to converse with me was exceptionally unappreciated. You see, I was in the midst of having dinner with the hubby. In case you didn't know this, eating out is our hobby. I, more so than the hubby, am extremely TIGHT with food. I am a self proclaimed foodie, hence my constant pursuit of a smaller ass. So, unless you want me to stab you in the neck with my butter knife, please do not bother me when I am eating. Just saying.

Any-who, during dinner, I noticed a woman annoyingly staring at me. Every time I looked in her direction, she was watching me. I looked away and asked the hubby to take a glance in her direction to see if he recognized her. He said no. Oh well, I thought. Maybe I look like someone she knows. Whatever.

As I continued eating my dinner, I suddenly heard her say, "You shouldn't drink that." I looked in her direction and OF COURSE you have to know that she was talking to me. I responded, "Excuse me?" This time she pointed to my can of Diet Coke and said, "That. You shouldn't drink that. You are killing yourself with that. It's poison. Do you know what kind of chemicals are in that? Ugh!"

Now, let me just say that I can be a tad vulgar (oh alright, maybe a smidgen more than a tad). But, I am not judgemental. I eat and drink most things in moderation. And I do not judge others by what or how they eat. Seriously. I don't care about that shit because I am not the food police. Whatever floats your boat....That's my motto. However, when Gigunda Ginorma is sitting not far from me ingesting a huge plate of FRIED FISH AND FRENCH FRIES TOPPED WITH ONION RINGS (I am so serious!), it is completely unacceptable for her to preach to me about what is healthy and what is not. What the hell?

So, I took a deep breath, looked at Mary Fish Fry and pointing to her plate I said, "What about that! Do you think you should be preaching to me when you are eating a heart attack on a plate? Seriously! You should mind your damn business, sister."

Just then, the hubby began to slink down into his chair, hoping that this exchange was over. And it was. Fish & Chip Frannie gave me a good glare and turned away (Ooooh...I'm shaking in my slingbacks). Bi-otch.

After about twenty minutes, Fish Head left the restaurant. She gave me one more dirty glance before she walked out and seizing the moment, I held up my can of Diet Coke and said, "Cheers!" Then hubby looked at me and said, "Why does this shit always happen to you?"

I don't know. I guess I just have that kind of face.

Friday, July 17, 2009


This morning, when I went into the bathroom, this was hanging on the mirror:

The hubby, who left for work before I did, posted it there to greet me as I made my way to do #1. TMI, I know. Sorry. Can't help myself.

Anyway, when I saw it, the following thoughts came to mind:

*Awwwwww...Isn't that cute?

*The visual of Hubs walking around in his work clothes wearing lipstick is, like we say in Rhode Island, wicked funny!

* That shade of lipstick is lovely! I'll have to find out which one he used (I have a gazillion)!

And finally, a disconcerting thought:

* There's a sort of creepiness factor to this whole thing. Hmmmm....I hope the Hubs isn't getting TOO in touch with his feminine side.

If my underwear starts going missing, I'll let you know.

Thursday, July 16, 2009

A Chip On My Shoulder

It's no secret that the hubby and I work together. Often times (REALLY OFTEN), when people find this fact out about us, their reaction goes something like this: "I don't know how you do it! I could NEVER work with my husband/wife! How can you spend all day together and then go home and spend more time together? I would go insane!"

And then, we deflect their negativity by justifying our situation (I don't know why). We tell them that we like working together because we are both focused on the same goals. Plus, we get along really well because we are alike in so many ways (can you say anal?).

One day, I left a blurb on Facebook saying something about the "bad" day I was having. A friend of mine responded, "You mean working with your husband isn't all sunshine, rainbows, and unicorns?"

Um. No.

Any work environment can get TESTY for a variety of reasons. You know the drill....SHIT HAPPENS and sometimes you can get under each other's skin. Case in point:

Today, during lunch, I was getting mucho aggravated trying to make a computer graphics program do what I wanted it to do. Just as I was getting ready to punch my fist through the screen, my husband (who was eating his lunch) initiated this conversation:

Hubby: This is cool! I wonder if I can get any money for it?" *snicker, snicker*

Me: (totally annoyed) "What are you talking about?"

Hubby: "Come here. Check this out."

Me (*grumble*): WHAT?

Hubby: Check out this chip (yes, as in POTATO). It looks like a cowboy hat.

Me: Oh, Sweet Jesus. And how do you think you're going to make money with that?

Hubby: UM...HELLO...EBAY?! A potato chip collector!

Me: Yeah right...a potato chip collector...because they're a dime a dozen....Ooooh, maybe Garth Brooks and Kenny Chesney will get into a bidding war over your chip. Hee, hee, hee (me, walking away and giggling at his ridiculousness).

About 15 minutes later, the hubby, determined to prove his case, called me over to his desk to prove that he could win this argument. Apparently on eBay, he found these odd shaped potato chips currently up for bid:

The Michael Jackson Chip (You are evil, eBay seller!):

The Heart Chip: Starting Bid: $100.00 (Are you friggin kidding me?):

The Monkey Face Chip (WTF?):

And last, but not least....

The Jesus Chip (You are SOOOO going to Hell, eBay seller!):

I shook my head and said, "OK. Fine. You win. You've proved your point. There are imbeciles out there that buy, sell, and collect potato chips. WHATEVER..."

And just as I started to walk away, hubby yelled, "Wait! Look! I've got one more! If you don't want to buy these, you can buy this!"

And then he showed it to me:

I know. Just what you've always wanted...a chicken nugget shaped in the likeness of Abraham Lincoln.....

I don't know about you. But, MAN I am SO proud to be a member of such a progressive society.

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

Weight A Minute!

I did Pilates last night for the first time EVER. This experience inspired me to formulate the following list:

You know you are REALLY out of shape when:

1. You find yourself praying mercilessly during the entire in, "Help me, Jesus." and "Lord, PLEASE save me from the wrath of this soulless stick figure (that would be the instructor, people)."

2. The fitness instructor tells you to step it up JUST ONE MORE notch and as you are gasping for breath you think, "Screw you, bitch."

3. You find yourself giving said fitness instructor the finger when she's not looking (OK, more than once...But, she never caught me).

4. After exactly 56 minutes of Pilates, your face is the exact same color as that organic tomato that is sitting on your windowsill.

5. The morning after your workout, the only words you can mutter when you get out of bed are, "Ow, Ow, Ow."

That's me.



Tuesday, July 14, 2009

Buff Stuff

Addendum to yesterday's blog post....

I saw this picture today and it made me feel a little better about turning 40:

Yep. This just happens to be the very buff and lovely 46 year old Demi Moore frolicking with her MUCH YOUNGER husband.

Dudes! I don't know about you, but I have NEVER looked this good in my whole life!

True, some people say that she may have had some help in the surgical enhancement department.

But, I don't judge (I'm vulgar, not judgemental. Remember?).

Because, she is still one skinny bitch.

And that means that she may have paid Dr. 90210 to lift her boobies and smooth her face. But ultimately, she is the one who has the willpower to step away from the cheeseburgers.

You go, Demi.

Speaking of going, I'm a going to do Pilates right now for the first time EVER.

Pray for me.

Cuz I know it ain't gonna be pretty....

Monday, July 13, 2009

The Conspiracy Theory

By now, you must all know that I am less than thrilled about my upcoming 40Th birthday. I hate to keep rehashing my inability to kiss my 30's goodbye. But, I need to warn you about something. I think there's a conspiracy going on. I don't know whose responsible. But, I know they must be stopped.


It started last week. I was craving Chinese food, so the hubby took me out for some chicken and broccoli. When we were finished eating, the waitress brought us the check and two fortune cookies. I never eat my fortune cookie. I always break it in half, read the fortune, then hand the cookie to the hubby for his consumption. On this day, the routine was no different...except for the fact that my fortune SUCKED.


Lovely. The fortune cookie people are cleverly informing me that my transition into the 40's will absolutely turn me into a judgemental shrew. I've got nothing to say to that except that the fortune cookie people can bite me.

And if you ask me, I'm far from being judgemental. I'm actually more vulgar. There's a difference, Confucius. Get it straight.

After my Chinese dinner, I asked hubby to swing by the pharmacy. I had PMS (hence the salty Chinese food craving) and needed to purchase some girlie stuff (I know... TMI, right?). I always go to the same pharmacy because I like to utilize my extra care card:

If you're not familiar with the extra care promotion, it basically entails signing up for one of the store's cards. Every time you make a purchase at one of this particular pharmacy's stores (CVS), the cashier scans your card and you earn cash rewards for your purchases and receive discount specific coupons upon checkout.

On this particular jaunt to the pharmacy, I handed my goods over to the cashier, she scanned my card, I paid for my thingies, and THEN, I was rewarded for being a loyal customer with these three coupons:

Seriously, CVS? Friggin seriously?!

What the hell? You shower me with coupons for GasX, Maalox, antacids, and friggin Metamucil? All on the same shopping trip? Dudes! Are you trying to push me over the edge or something?

Come on! Where the hell are my coupons for Maybelline Great Lash Mascara, lip gloss, and maxi pads?! I'm still only 39, you buttholes!

Extra Care, my ass.

It's a conspiracy to make me feel old, I tell you. And when I find out who's freakin responsible, SOME HEADS ARE GOING TO ROLL.

Friday, July 10, 2009

Do You Want Some Boogers With Your Coffee?

Sally's Life Lesson #6,754:

If you enjoy socializing with your good friends over dinner and cocktails, and you want to continue said friendship, NEVER order food that you can not pronounce.

For example, this is a Portuguese (and Spanish) dessert called FLAN:

FLAN is a gelatinous dessert that is very sweet and similar to custard.

On the flip side, PHLEGM is not a Portuguese dessert.

It is actually a grotesque combination of snot and mucous that comes out of your nose and/or throat when you hock up a loogey.

For the love of all that is sacred and holy, puh-leeze do not confuse the two...lest you make everyone in your company want to blow chunks at the dinner table.


Thursday, July 9, 2009

It's The Devil

Last month, I saw this hilarious picture on my friend, Rapunzel's, blog:

It really cracked me up. And it also made me think about the foods that I crave.

As far as being food venturous, I will try almost anything once (meat log excluded...*blech*). But carbs? Those are probably my downfall. I won't elaborate on this topic because I am currently of the "Weight Watcher" frame of mind. But, I will tell you that I never met a loaf of bread I didn't like.

Actually, if you want me to be your best friend forever, just give me a warm loaf of fresh bread, a nice hunk of quality cheese, and a full bodied glass of wine and I will follow you to the ends of the Earth.

God, I am such a cheap date.

Anyway, you're probably wondering where I'm going with all of this. In a nutshell, I have a new theory...and I think you're going to like it.

Yesterday, as hubby and I were driving home from work, I spotted a new sign on a building nearby. I immediately yelled, "Oh my God! Turn the car around! I need to take a picture of that sign!" The hubby, completely used to my ramblings and sudden outbursts (poor, poor man), did a u-turn on the road a la Dukes of Hazzard (he's good at this) and I quickly got my photo op. Check IT out:

Dudes! The minute I saw this sign, everything suddenly became so CLEAR to me!

OF COURSE, bread is the devil! How could it not be? It's baked by whores!

OK...I'm grasping, here. But, you know me...always looking to blame someone else for my weaknesses...

Wednesday, July 8, 2009

The Black Hole

This is Priscilla (yes, she has a that a problem?):

She is my favorite pocketbook. I got her last year for my birthday and I take her everywhere because she matches everything that I wear.

My husband thinks that my pocketbook is a black hole. This black hole theory doesn't only apply to Priscilla. In his warped opinion, it applies to every single pocketbook that I own.

Case in point...The following is this morning's conversation between me and the hubby:

Hubby: Sal, I can't find my truck key.

Me: Really? Well, when did you have it last?

Hubby: I don't know. Do you have it?

Me: No.

Hubby: Are you sure?

Me: Yes, I'm sure.

Hubby: Are you POSITIVE it's not in your pocketbook?

Me: YES, I am positive! Why do you always do that? Every time you loose something it MUST be in my it's the great abyss, for Pete's sake! Jeez!

Hubby: Well, I just thought it MIGHT be in there....Forget it. I'll look for it later.

Me: (under my breath) *grumble...grumble...*...Always blaming me...*grumble* my damn pocketbook is a flippin black hole...*grumble*...Why don't you look for your cordless drill, your laptop, and your tennis shoes in there, too....while you're at it? *grumble...grumble*

Flash forward to 12:00pm.

I left work and went to the store to buy a small fan for hubby's desk. The clerk at the register bagged my purchase and said, "That'll be $18.02." I opened my wallet, gave her a twenty dollar bill and said, "Hold on. I'll give you two pennies." As I was digging around in my coin purse for the change, guess what I found?

Yep, in my change purse, at the bottom of my POCKETBOOK, was hubby's TRUCK KEY.

Damn it.

I hate it when he's right.

(FYI...I am totally going to sneak it back into his possession....SHHHHH!)

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

Sausage Logs: Not Just For Breakfast Anymore

I went to Weight Watchers this morning. I've gained three pounds since the last time I was there, two months ago. Crap.

But on a positive note, I've also gained some motivation, some new recipes, and some much needed camaraderie. I don't care what anyone says. It's is much easier to conform to a healthy lifestyle when you know that you are not "going it alone." So, if you are one of those naturally skinny bitches who eats whatever falls off the ice cream truck and still looks like a beanpole, move the frig on. I can't be your friend right now. Sorry.

Anyway, it's a freakin good thing that I hopped back on the Weight Watchers' wagon this morning. Because, when I got home from work today, I opened the Day 7 present from the birthday basket that my friends, Lou and Linda, gave me. And look at what birthday surprise awaited:

Uh-huh. A big nasty stick of compressed, congealed pork parts.
*blech...that's me barfing*

Now, because I am a Weight Watcher (yes, I am) and my meat log (God, I never thought I'd utter those words) probably contains 10,724 points and 7,579 grams of saturated fat per serving, I would NEVER even attempt to taste it. Well, that plus I want to throw up every time I see meat logs, hot dogs, sausages, etc...I don't know. Is it me? Or, is there something very wrong with compounding processed meat into the shape of a phallic symbol? Gross.

Anywho, please know that while I won't be eating this utterly disgusting sausage stick, I think I TOTALLY found a great use for it.

You see, when hubby and I got home from work this evening, this was waiting for us in the driveway:

No. You are not seeing things. And yes, it is a large steaming pile of dog poo.

FYI, I do not own any dogs.

My douchebag neighbor, who is the douche-iest douchebag EVER, does. Oh, did I mention that he is a cardholder of The Douchebag Society? Actually, he's not only a member. He's also their president. But, I digress.

Anyhow, said neighbor (the D.B) is an asswipe who completely lacks social skills. And he obviously thinks that the Leash Law doesn't apply to his stupid ass. So, I was thinking that I could utilize my Birthday Sausage Stick to beat the crap out of him (pun intended) as I force him to clean the ca-ca from my front yard.

Thank you very much for the weapon, Lou and Linda.

Oh, and I was wondering...Does whacking my douchebag neighbor around with a sausage stick gain me any Weight Watchers' activity points??