Friday, October 30, 2009

An Ass For Every Seat

I have been told that I can talk a dog off a meat wagon.

I have been told that I sometimes lack a mouth filter.

I have been told that I talk WAY too much.

Hey, what can I say? I'm a talker. So sue me.

But sometimes, on those ultra rare occasions, even I am at a loss for words.

Like yesterday, when I saw this personal ad in my local newspaper (Step away from the cream donut and pay attention...Blech!):



Dudes! What can I say?

I mean...holy crap...to put himself out there like that! Man this guy's got BIG ONES! Sure, they may be leaking and oozing mysterious liquids. But make no mistake about it, they're huge!

Ewwwwww!

Oh, well.

You know....When referring to relationships, my father-in-law's favorite saying is: There's an ass for every seat. Translation: There is someone for everyone.

And since love is a basic need for all of mankind, I sincerely hope that Mr. Drippy Balls finds his love connection. Seriously.

PS. Interested in submitting an inquiry to Mr. Drippy Balls? Contact me and I will give you the e-mail address and phone number of my local paper. Hey...Who am I to stand between true love?

P.S.S. If you ARE interested in Mr. Drippy Balls, please be sure to take note of the last part of his ad which states that the relationship he's looking for may "possibly lead to something serious." Cuz if you're not careful, that something serious may lead you to become a citizen of Drippytown, too. Just saying....

Thursday, October 29, 2009

But Wait! There's More!

Yesterday was my friends' anniversary.

You remember Lou and Linda, right? (Click here if you need a LOU Refresher Course)

To GET SOME REVENGE commemorate their special day, I wanted to buy them something really FABULOUS.

You know...something personal and thoughtful...

Oh, HELL!

No I didn't!

I wanted to get them a CRAPPY gift to make up for all of the ca-ca gifts that they've bought me!

So, I thought about it and thought about it and thought about it.

And I asked myself, "Self? What is the lamest gift that I can buy those two PAINS IN MY ASS lovely people?"

And I came up with....wait for it.... Tada!

The Snuggie:


Only one freakin problem....

I was aiming for a little satisfaction...a little revenge of sorts. Instead?

They loved the freakin Snuggies!

They loved them so much, they were deliriously giddy!

But, wait! There's MORE!

No, there isn't. I'm just kidding. That's what all of the infomercials say...Hehehehe...

Anyway, here's a little Snuggie-licious anniversary video of Lou and Linda.

Clearly they must not have many friends OR receive many presents.

Because, SERIOUSLY! They were WAY too excited with their Snuggies ( I should have bought them a bucket of Oxy Clean, too! That would have totally pushed them OVER the edge!).

See for yourselves:


Oh, well. Let's just hope that they don't sit near any open flames while wearing these bad boys.

Hmmm...Did I forget to mention the Snuggie Flammability Factor?

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

Stop Your Whining, Bitch.


Sunday into Monday, there was a flood at my work.

Monday afternoon, said flood caused all kinds of problems with my computer network.

Tuesday afternoon, my main computer...the one I do EVERYTHING on (including writing my blog) ...CRASHED and burned, people!

Crashed and freakin burned!

And I? Was like an effin crazy lady!

The computer tech that we always use came quickly. And when he saw me, he looked very scared.

Why?

I'm not really sure.

My husband said maybe it's because I was running around yelling and screaming Why? Why? Why? a la Nancy Kerrigan when she got cracked in the leg with THE pipe.

Hmmm...I guess that'd do it.

Anyway, yesterday, after such an exhausting two days of dealing with a messy clean-up and computer bullshit at work, I went out for dinner with my friend Heather and then to do some shopping.

While at the mall, I briefly spoke to my friend Lou on my cell phone and he proceeded to tell me about his niece who is in her forties, has three small children, and yesterday? As I was stomping about all day (during and after work), huffing and puffing about how much my day sucked?

She was at the hospital from eight o'clock in the morning until seven o'clock at night...getting the first chemotherapy treatment in her battle against lymphoma.

BAM!

Nothing like being bitch slapped back to reality.

Gratitude, people.

Live it. Learn it.

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

You Wish!

Today, my husband beat me in our weekly "In Your Face" weight loss challenge.

I stayed the same weight.

He lost three pounds.

Booooo!

Lucky for him, he didn't get all cocky about it. He was all, "You stayed the same. That's good! It's better than gaining weight, right?"

PPPPTTTTTT!!!!! That's me, giving him a spit soaked raspberry.

WHAT? I never said I was mature!

Anyway, he may be a bigger "loser" than me, but I can tell you who he's not...

Here's the rundown:

Friday afternoon at work, I was finishing up some paperwork at my desk when I heard Hubby suddenly BLARE the music from the other end of the building (he has XM radio at work and thinks he's cool...but, whatever).

I noticed that the song he was blaring was Rick Springfield's Don't Talk To Strangers so I thought, Oh isn't that cute? He knows I love Rick Springfield so he's blaring that song for me! What a guy!

What a guy, alright! Just as I was thinking this through, he yelled from THE OTHER END OF THE BUILDING, "Hey, Sal! Look!"

So, I peered around the office doorway and saw him...at the other end of the room....standing SHIRTLESS on top of a table singing into a fake microphone and playing the AIR GUITAR!

I am not even freaking kidding:

Then he asked, "WHO AM I?"

I knew what he was getting at.

And you know, too. Right?

He was making fun of him:


Punk.

So, I said, "I don't know who YOU THINK YOU ARE. But I do know one thing. You're gonna be the DANCING FOOL on my blog next week!"

And then, CLICK! I took his picture (a sneaky blogger ALWAYS has the camera ready).

Nobody makes fun of my Rick Springfield.....

Nobody
....

Friday, October 23, 2009

Skanks, And Douchebags, And Ho's...Oh My!

So, lately I've been reading Dr. Wayne Dyer's book, The Power of Intention.

I can not summarize this book's content in a few sentences. But, I can tell you that if you want to live a positive, abundant, and grateful life, you definitely want to read it. It is that good.

I am, however, struggling with one of the book's concepts.

In it, Dr. Dyer expresses that you should not judge people because judging others creates negative energy. To be more specific, he says, "When you judge others, you judge yourself."

I'm having a hard time with this concept today.

You see, this morning, on the way to work, I was listening to the news and they were talking about John Edwards.

NO, not the one that talks to dead people, the one that's a douchebag.

Apparently, that rat bastard---John Edwards, has rented a bazillion dollar home for the two bit skank that was/is his mistress.

Yeah. And do you know what else?

Not only is John Edwards putting her up in a 3,600-square-foot seaside home just down the beach from the Edwards' Wilmington, N.C. home (Honey! Meet our new neighbors!). But, he's also paying $6,550.00 a month to do it.

Dudes! Some people don't make that kind of money in a year!

You know what I think?

I think John Edwards is a big, fat scumbag.

Seriously.

I mean. Yeah. Life is not always easy.

But, when you marry a woman, build a life and raise children together, share the loss of a child, have the loyalty of your wife as she follows your lying, cheating ass all over the campaign trail....And then? As your wife IS BATTLING TERMINAL CANCER, you have an affair with a filty skank who hangs outside of your hotel like a two dollar crack who-a waiting for her John (Ooooh! I love a good pun!)?

Dude! You are a major a**hole.

Oh, and because I am an equal opportunity judger, let me just say that the skankola mistress, who knew that John Edwards was married and knew that his wife was terminally ill because HELLO? THE WHOLE FREAKIN WORLD KNEW THAT SHE HAD CANCER?! Well, she is just the epitome of a money grubbing, home wrecking, hosebag.

I'm sorry Dr. Dyer.

Apparently, I still need to work on this judging thing.

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Pee Me A River

This is a story about him:



His name is Little Bastard (No, not really. That's MY pet name for him). And he sometimes wanders into my office when I leave the door open.

He belongs to a dude that owns a business in the same yard as mine and sometimes he escapes and comes looking for treats and adventures.

I used to love him.

I used to think he was so damn cute and funny.

Not so much anymore. But, more about that later.

Anyway, recently one of my friends told me a freaking hilarious story about him. You see. She works for his owner. So, she gets to see this doggy (that I used to love) all day long.

Now, let me warn you. If you are eating or drinking anything right now, put it down. You'll thank me later. I promise.

OK. So, this puppy that I used to love? He's a trash picker. And not a discerning trash picker, either.

Recently, he went into the ladies room at his owner's company and dug through the garbage. The next thing everybody heard was as bunch of grown men yelling and screaming and dry heaving and pleading for someone to HELP THEM!

Why, you ask?

Because evil little trash picking doggy was running around the warehouse with a used feminine product hanging out of his mouth! I know! Blechhhh...Right?

But the funniest thing ever, was that a bunch of grown men...tough guys, if you will...were running and screaming and freaking out about a little dog running around a big manly warehouse with a tampon string hanging out of his mouth!

Dudes, I know that's gross. But, c'mon! That is some funny shit!

Anywho, finally a woman came to the squealing men's rescue and wrestled said used feminine product from the doggy's mouth. I think she needs a promotion! And you?

Hahahaha.

So, when I heard this story? I loved this doggy even more. I just thought he was so freakin adorable and hilarious.

Then, one day he came to visit me and my feelings for Little Bastard changed.

You see. I am nice to him. I always have treats for him. I always pet him. I always play with him.

And the last time he was here, how did he repay me for my kindness?

HE WALTZED IN. CAME OVER TO MY DESK. SAT ON MY FEET.

AND?

THE LITTLE F**KER PISSED ON MY RUNNING SHOES.

And not like a little tinkle, either! Like a big, giant river of doggy urine all over my running shoes!

Now, I don't know how much you know about me. But, I am a neatnik. I don't have pets because I am ascared of anything that has the potential to poop, pee, puke, or shed on my hardwoods. I guess you could say that I am a tad bit OCD-ish.

So, when the dog released his bodily fluids on my most favorite running shoes? Dudes! I freaked out! I was all these shoes must be incinerated...ASAP!!!

So, anyway, now I am having an anxiety attack and the Hubby walks over and I tell him what happened and he wags his finger at Sir Pees A Lot and escorts his urine soaked little ass out of my building.

I whipped off my shoes and THANK YOU JESUS my socks were dry.

Good thing or I was going to have to take some 60 grit sandpaper to my toes. Seriously.

Luckily, I had a spare pair of sneakers in my trunk so the Hubby went and got them for me. I put them on and said, "Throw those sneakers away! They're tainted!"

But, the Hubby said he would wash them THREE times because I said that ONE time would NEVER be enough to make me comfortable enough to wear them again. GROSS, GROSS, and GROSS.

And he did:


Some women unrealistically dream that their Prince Charming will come along and rescue them.

I'm just happy when mine washes dog pee from my favorite shoes.

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

The Heathen

I have a great idea for a reality show. It has no premise (yet), really. But, I already know what it'll be called.

Here's my inspiration:

The Hubby and I went to a funeral for our friend's father.

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking how in the frick did this crazy chick garner inspiration for ANYTHING at a funeral?

And all I'm saying is give this crazy chick a second to splain, por favor.

See...I was sad at the funeral because my friend lost her Dad. And even though he was old and even though he'd been sick and suffering for a very long time, it is always sad to lose one of your parents. And no matter how old you are when you lose a parent? You always revert back to feeling like a kid...like an orphan of sorts.

And so I was really, really sad for her.

Anyway, after the funeral, my friend invited all of the attendees to a local restaurant where we would gather for lunch after the services. The Hubby and I got to the restaurant before most of the others. So, we walked in, chose a table, and sat down to await everyone's arrival.

A few minutes later, a priest walked in and came over to our table (which was a table for six). He asked, "Is it OK if I sit here?"

"Of course," I replied. So he smiled and made himself comfortable.

A few more minutes passed. Then, another priest came in and seeing the first priest, he too came over to our table. He asked, "Is this seat taken?"

"No, it isn't," I replied. So, he sat down at the table with me, Hubby, and Priest #1 (I am not even kidding, people).

A few more minutes passed and I swear to all that is sacred and holy, another priest came over to our table. He quickly sat down and said with a smile, "I guess this is the priest's table!"

I smiled back and replied, "I guess it is!"

Now, in the meantime, the restaurant started filling up with all of the other funeral attendees, many of whom are my friends. And as they walked by our table, they would poke me in the shoulder, motion to the priests and say things like, "You'd better behave yourself, Sally." And, "Fathers, looks like you'll have your hands full with this ONE (pointing at me)."

And under my breath, just loud enough for my friends to hear me BUT not loud enough for the priests to hear me, I responded, "Bite me." And then I flashed my angelic smile.

Hehehe *Insert evil laugh here (YES, even in the midst of three priests)*.

Anyway, once everyone was seated and the waitstaff started serving the food and beverages, Hubby and I began our chat fest with the three priests.

That's when I got it.

NO. Not the call to religious life. The idea for the reality show.

And? I voiced it.

Aloud.

To my husband (who was silently praying that I would not embarrass him).

And to the priests.

Here's what I said:

"Fathers! I just got a brilliant idea for a reality show!" I pointed to myself and then to them and said proudly, "Beauty and The Priests!"

Oh.Yes.I.Did.

The reaction?

Um. Let's just say that I'll be adding them to the ever growing list of people who don't think that I'm at all funny.

Amen.

Monday, October 19, 2009

I've Done Everything For You!

Ahhhh. It's Monday morning and I am happy to report that I had a fabu time at the Rick Springfield concert! AND while I danced in the aisles and on the chairs with people I didn't know, I did not get into any real trouble. Whew!

So, let me give you the rundown. The evening started with the Hubby and I picking up our friends, Steve and Janet, who by the way, just recently got married and are always telling me not to blog about them but I am TOTALLY going to blog about them today because I live in America and it is a FREE country and I am implementing my right to freedom of speech.

Whoo hoo! Blogging is power! Hehehehe *Insert evil laugh.*

Anyhow, so we picked our friends up and headed to a new burger bar that was en route to the concert. After dinner, we made our way to the venue and when we walked into the lobby, this poster greeted us:


And this is the name tag that I am wearing in the picture (made it at work when I was supposed to...UM...be working...hehehe):

Now for the record, all night long, the Hubby and Steve were trying to act all cool and like they thought Rick Springfield was lame and shit. And they were ONLY at the concert because Janet and I wanted to be there and they were being all supportive and crap because they are the best husbands who ever roamed the universe.

Let me just say that they were full of shit.

Because when they didn't see me looking, I saw BOTH OF THEM...drinks in hand, dancing and swaying and tapping their feet to the rhythm of the 80's groove.

They're just lucky that I didn't catch them on video because if I had? I'd a outed their Rick Springfield loving asses right here!

Anywho, here they are...in all of their denial...

The Hubby (Happy to be there...Trust me):


Our friends, Janet and Steve (Even though Steve refused to stand near the poster, you can clearly see how excited he was to be in Rick's presence):


More show pics:

Me and Hubby (notice my flashing COME HITHER light...used to get Rick's attention):

Me and my new peeps...They sat behind us. We danced together and stormed the stage together. But, I didn't get their names. Fun girls!!


Rick...In all of his 60 year-old glory! Seriously! He is 60! Can you believe it? Dudes, now THAT is what I call BEING IN SHAPE:



And? The shirt comes off! Whoo hoo!



And finally, a short Rick Springfield video...

I present Rick, singing "Wild Thing" exclusively to me...of course.

Hey it's MY damn fantasy. Suck it up and humor me.


So that was my Rick Springfield Concert 2009! Hope you enjoyed the recap!

Oh, and to my Hubby and our pal, Steve?

Remember guys! Real men love Rick Springfield.

Hmmm...I don't know.

But you both sure looked like you were ready to join the fan club! Hehehehe......

Friday, October 16, 2009

I Am Jessie's Girl...Take 2

Happy Friday Friends! I apologize for not blogging much this week. Unfortunately, the Hubby and I have been CRAZY busy between work and renovating the new building that we bought two weeks ago (to move our business to). I promise, next week I'll be back with a vengeance (Be afraid...be VERY afraid).

Anyway, I absolutely need to share something with you.

I am so excited today that I could just fart rainbows! Seriously.

You see...Today, I am going to be reunited with my 80's crush. I'm going here:



To see him:



And YES. That is me in the background acting just a tad bit overexcited. But I'll have you know that THAT was three years ago and I am SO MUCH MORE MATURE now that I am totally confident that I will be able to refrain from such behavior tonight and TOTALLY keep it together and not get arrested for stalking or anything. Well, plus my husband and two friends are coming with me and they've made me promise not to get into trouble and shit...like I'm some crazy lady or something. WHATEVER.

Anywho, something Hubby and the friends don't know? DUDES, I've got some surprises planned for tonight! I can't disclose them here. But come back and see me on Monday for a full recap....UM...ASSUMING I DON'T END UP IN THE POKEY or something...Officer, I swear! When I dragged Mr Springfield into my car and handcuffed him to the shifter I TOTALLY thought he was my husband! They look so much alike!" Hehehehe.....

(To read more about my Rick Springfield obsession, CLICK HERE)

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

In Your Face!

Woke up this morning to the Hubby happily shouting, "It's weigh-in day!"
(For an overview of the last weigh-in day, click here.)

Then he got out of bed, ran his happy ass over to the bathroom, and hopped on the scale. The next thing I heard was, "OH WHAT THE HELL?! ONLY A HALF A POUND! THAT"S IMPOSSIBLE!"

The next thing he heard was me, hiding under the covers, giggling and rejoicing in his HALF POUND weight loss. YES, I thought. I've got this week ALL SEWN UP!

Fast forward to later in the morning at my Weight Watchers weigh-in. I was waiting in line with a big shit eating grin on my face just knowing that I HAD beaten the Hubby in weight loss this week.

It was finally my turn. I smiled at the receptionist, hopped on the scale, and awaited my prize. A few seconds later, she smiled back and said, "Good for you! You're down 1.2 pounds."

YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSS! I win.

After my WW meeting, I ran to the car, pulled out my cell phone, and called the Hubby at work. Before he could get a word in, I yelled, "I lost 1.2 pounds! In your face!"

His response?

"Uh, Sal? How can it be in my face when you're telling me over the phone? Doesn't it make more sense to in my face me in person?"

"Hmmm...I guess so. OK. I'll see you in a few minutes," I replied.

Did I mention that we work together? And every joy filled workday is filled with rainbows and unicorns (NOT)!

So, I drove to work, ran into the office and yelled, "In your face!"

And?

The Hubby looked at me like I was crazy and responded, "Too late. The momentum is gone. Good for you, though." And he went back to reading some blueprints.

Damn it. After all of my hard work, I can't get no satisfaction.

Now I understand what Mick Jagger was really talking about.

Friday, October 9, 2009

A Lesson In Statistics

Hello peeps!

In lieu of my usual, ultra educational blog posts (C'mon! Who else teaches you about Hose Monsters?), I'd like to share with you an email that I received from my good friend, Barbara.

Here you have it:

WOMEN'S ASS SIZE STUDY

There is a new study about women and how they feel about their asses. The results were pretty interesting:

*30% of women think their ass is too fat

*10% of women think their ass is too skinny

The remaining 60% say they don't care. They love him, he's a good man, and they wouldn't trade him for the world.


Hahahaha.

Here's wishing you all (and your asses) a very Happy Columbus Day weekend, my friends!

Thursday, October 8, 2009

Labels

I recently had some calling cards printed up with my blog address on them.

I don't refer to them as "business cards" because there is nothing businesslike about this blog. It's merely a place where I blab about my life...purely for shits and giggles. Seriously.

When someone says to me, "Oh, I read your blog post the other day about how you wanted to force feed your husband Twinkies," I still feign amazement because most of the time, I really think that I'm just talking to myself.

Anyway, the cards...

I had them printed up because lots of times, during conversations with friends, family, and acquaintances, the subject of my blog comes up. And I am usually asked what the web address is. It's much easier to hand someone a card then to write down your web address on a cocktail napkin.

When deciding what to print on my cards, I had to ask myself, what kind of a blogger am I? I mean...bitching about my butt size and the a-hole who invented chocolate dipped cheesecake on a stick does not a weight loss blogger make. That's for sure.

So, I came up with this:



*Life (includes my Hubby, my friends, my family, my experiences, and my Mother...who clearly lacks a mouth filter)

*Liberty (the occasional freedom to eat a cannoli and bitch about it later)

*And the Pursuit of a Smaller Ass (It's never ending, people.)

I'd say that pretty much sums me up. No?

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

Let Them Eat Cake (I'll Eat Broccoli)

So, yesterday, I told you about my plan to lose more weight this week than El Hubbo does. Right?

Yeah, well since announcing it, I think he's formed a coalition with the dark and evil forces of butt fat...or at least those friggin fortune-cookie-writer-people.

You see. Yesterday, we worked later than usual. So, we decided to stop at a local Thai/Chinese restaurant for dinner on the way home from work.

I had my usual chicken and broccoli. He had FRIED SESAME CHICKEN (I know, I know. You want to beat the crap out of him, too. Don't ya?).

Anyway, when the bill came, I pushed it across the table to him and grabbed my fortune cookie (which I never eat). Upon cracking said cookie open, this is what I found :



Can you believe this shit?

So, I slammed the fortune cookie on the table and said, "The person who wrote that fortune can kiss the fattest part of my ass."

Hubby, who had zero idea why I was so perturbed, picked up the stupid fortune, read it and chuckled, "Hahaha...That's funny."

Yeah.

So freakin funny.

Of course you KNOW I couldn't stop thinking about cake for the rest of the evening. Right?

Damn those fortune-cookie-writer-bastards...

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

Highway Robbery

Today makes one week that I have faithfully worked out on George Clooney.

No, not the MAN, you Perv. The treadmill.

In case you didn't read this blog post last week, I have renamed my treadmill, George Clooney.

I don't know why. But, since I've stopped referring to it as that piece of shit in the basement, I feel more motivated. Sounds crazy. But, whatever works. Right?

Anyhow, this morning, after busting my hump all week on George Clooney (I just can't stop saying it), I went to Weight Watchers to weigh in. The result: my butt is down 3.2 pounds. Nice.

Now, I've said it before and I'll say it again. I am always happy with a weight loss.

But, I am also pissed at the injustice that is the male metabolic system.

You see, this morning, the Hubby jumped out of bed and yelled, "It's weigh in day!"

Yep. You guessed it. He's been eating what I'm eating (except more of it) and pretty much doing what I'm doing...EXCEPT FOR WORKING OUT ON GEORGE CLOONEY (or at all, for that matter).

And this morning, as he jumped on the scale in the bathroom (which, by the way, I refer to as that piece of shit in the bathroom), I heard him whooping it up and yelling, "Oh my God, Sal! I lost SIX pounds!"

Yep.

Hubby: -6 pounds

Sally: -3 pounds

Gotta freakin love it.

Anyway, this situation has inspired me to work even harder to lose weight this week. I am seriously going to work my freakin ass off.

And next week, on weigh in day?

I AM going to lose MORE weight than the Hubby.

And when that happens, I'm not going to yell, "Oh my God, Paul! I lost XYZ pounds (like he did to me)!"

Nope.

Instead, I'm going to yell, "DUDE! IN.YOUR.FACE!"

Yeah.

I guess you could say that I'm a tad bit competitive.

Monday, October 5, 2009

My Knight In Shining Armor

I swear. The older I get, the more my sense of humor resembles that of a thirteen year old boy.

For example....

This weekend, the Hubby and I went to two birthday parties. At one of them, there was this middle aged biker chick who was dancing like she'd lost her stripper pole but still expected dudes to shove dollar bills down her crotch.

Seriously, when you looked in her direction, all you could see was a world wind of boobage and Bon Jovi hair gyrating to the sounds of Bobby Brown (Crack is whack!) on the dance floor (80's music! What can I say? The birthday boy turned 40!).

Anywho, I love to dance. So, I was up there "getting jiggy with it" with the rest of them, while the Hubby hung out with some family members and babysat my purse.

After dancing for awhile and sweating my arse off, I ran over to the Hubby and asked him to get me a cold drink. Upon returning from the bar, he was off and running with this doozy of a conversation:

Hubby: Um. Are you going to dance some more?

Me: (sipping my soda....nodding yes)

Hubby
: Do yourself a favor. Don't dance near that crazy lady over there. People are going to think you're with her.

Me: What crazy lady?

Hubby: That one (pointing nonchalantly). The one that's dancing like a HOSE MONSTER.

Me: (laughing uncontrollably like the aforementioned thirteen year old boy)Hahahaha....Hahahaha....Hahahaha....HOSE MONSTER....Hahahaha....I haven't heard that in years! Since I was in high school, I think! Hahahaha....

Hubby: Well, I'm just saying. You don't want people to think you're with her.

Me: Uh-huh. Thanks for the warning (guzzling my soda).

Hubby: (smiling) No problem. I'm just making sure that you don't get labelled a HOSE MONSTER by association.

Oh jeez.

***Addendum: For the definition of a Hose Monster, click HERE.

Friday, October 2, 2009

You Were Always Enough

Many years ago, when I was in college, I had a friend named Nancy (name changed to protect my own butt). We were part of a clique that studied together, did projects together, hung out together, and really just supported each other throughout the years of our "teacher" training.

I liked Nancy very much. She was absolutely hilarious, smart, resourceful, and just an all around great person.

One thing that I didn't like about Nancy was her boyfriend, Paul (his real name). Paul was an ass. He was condescending, verbally abusive, and quick tempered. He was always telling Nancy that she was stupid, ugly, and could never do anything right.

During the end of our senior year in college, Paul proposed to Nancy...with one stipulation. They had to elope to Las Vegas on the very day of our college graduation. He stated that he was more important than her college commencement and if she wanted to get married, that was the deal. She could have her diploma mailed to her at a later date.

One day during a study period, Nancy told me of her plan to run away and marry jerkhole Paul. I.Blew.A.Cork.

I told her that she should postpone her wedding and go to her college graduation to accept the diploma that she busted her ass for. She worked hard for four years to attain her degree and all of her hard work was finally going to be acknowledged and I was so proud of her and if that douche she was marrying really loved her, he could wait another week to marry her.

She was upset that I wasn't more supportive. But, I had seen enough of what Paul had done to her and to the smidge of self esteem that she barely had left.

College graduation day came and went with no Nancy in sight.

About two months later, Nancy called me.

She invited me and two other college friends to her new home for dinner.

On the day of our visit, I found that she looked very unhappy. She seemed to be walking around on eggshells and we asked her why she was so uptight. Was everything OK? She told us that everything was fine but WE had to be careful not to make a mess because if Paul came home from work and found anything was out of place, she would be in big trouble.

Then she went on to say that Paul was always telling her that they lived in HIS house because HE was the one with the big paying job and she was just a glorified babysitter (she taught elementary school special education).

Can you believe this shit?

Finally, I said to her, "You know Nancy, you are such a beautiful person inside and out. You are pretty and smart and a great catch. Why do you let Paul talk down to you? You deserve so much better than that."

I didn't get much a response from her.

As a matter of fact, weeks later, when I called her just to chat and find out how she was doing, what I got was THE BRUSH OFF. She told me not to call her anymore because I made her feel bad about herself.

For the record, that was never my intention.

I just wanted her to stand up for herself...to know what a wonderful person she was...to not allow her controlling douchbag of a husband to suck away every ounce of self respect that she had left.

I couldn't defend what she didn't want to acknowledge. So, I let her go. I never called her again.

You're probably wondering why I am suddenly rehashing all of this stuff.

Simple.

A few weeks ago, after not seeing or hearing from Nancy for sixteen years, I got a friend request from her on Facebook. At first, I was like are you freakin kidding me? I made you feel so bad about yourself that you bailed from my life for SIXTEEN friggin years! And now you want to be my friend? What gives?

So, I thought about it for awhile. And finally I thought oh why not.

We'll never be close again. But there's no harm in getting back in touch...from a distance.

Plus, I wanted to read her Facebook profile to see if she was still married to that jerkhole douchebag, Paul. And you can't read a person's profile if you don't "friend" them. So. Yeah. That was my ulterior motive.

Immediately upon "confirming" her as a friend, I pulled up her profile. And YES she is married. But, NOT to that asswad, Paul. She's married to a new guy! And she is happy.

True, we will never be close friends again.

But, I'm OK with that.

I'm just glad that she finally met a man who knows that she is smart enough. And pretty enough. And good enough.

Oh, and I'm also really glad about one more thing:

I get to post this blog entry on Facebook. And even though I'm not using her real name, Nancy will know that I wrote this for her. So, I'd like to conclude my story with this:

Yo Nancy,
Remember back in college when I told you that your boyfriend Paul was a big scumbucket and he didn't deserve to lick the soles of your shoes and you kept making excuses for his assholiness? Yeah? Well....I TOLD YOU SO.


God. I love being right.

Thursday, October 1, 2009

Some Ideas Just Suck

Last night, I was lounging around in my flannel pajamas reading a copy of Real Simple magazine, when I came across a page that discussed saving money by utilizing household items in ways that NORMAL people would NEVER fathom.

Now, I'm all for saving money.

And I know that the economy isn't the greatest (to say the least).

But, I really think you have to draw the line SOMEWHERE. Because there is a big difference between being a frugal saver and a crazy-ass EL CHEAPO.

Seriously. This kind of extreme frugality would send me right over the edge:


Dudes! Any idea what this is?

It's an elephant made out of ***wait for it*** DRYER LINT!

Now come on! I used to teach small children (Yeah, I really did!) and we used to do all kinds of artsy fartsy projects with popsicle sticks and paper towel tubes and shit. But, DRYER LINT? What's next? Are we going to petrify dog poo, finger paint it, and turn it into sculpture?

Puh-lease.

I'll have you know that I'm saving my money. I'm recycling my cans. I'm even eating out less (more to save my ass size than to save money). But, I am NEVER, EVER going to collect, save, or utilize my damn dryer lint!

Well...Unless I can figure out how to turn it into a chocolate chip cheesecake.

What can I say? Food motivates me.