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.


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:


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 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 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

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

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

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 Macy's...all by 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


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?"


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?"


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

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'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?

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

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.


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.


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

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.


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.


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,

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:


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 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.


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.


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 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 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" 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!"


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.


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?


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!


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 my head.

It's called a coping mechanism, people.

Friday, November 6, 2009

Mother Theresa...Eleanor Roosevelt...And...Um....ME?

Yesterday, someone read my blog on Facebook and left a comment calling me "an angry troll."

I thought that was funny.

Later on, while I was talking to my friend Heather about nothing really (because that's what friends do...they have long drawn out conversations about nothing), she called me "Satan's sister." That's her term of endearment for me. Hahaha....

Anyway, again, I thought that was funny.

Then last night, I got a phone call from a very dear friend whom I love to pieces. And she told me...Um...


OK. She told me that I, Sally Costa, the woman who was earlier labelled "an angry troll" and "Satan's sister"....the woman who was told by her friend---a priest, that ELO's Evil Woman should be her theme song....the woman who overuses the terms "bite me" and "douchebag" WAY TOO FREAKIN MUCH...Yeah, that woman...ME?!


And to top it all off? Not only is this friend of mine the sweetest, kindest person I know....



I am single handedly causing the good and kind people of humanity to cross over to the dark side.

OK, Peeps! I'm not sure WHO...

But, y'all better call somebody....


Thursday, November 5, 2009

Bite Me, Cliff Clavin.

I just got off the phone with the town post office's Big Boss Man

And I am pissed.

You see, on Monday morning, the town sent its street fixer-uppers or whatever the hell you want to call them, to my street where they dug up and replaced a sand catcher that is RIGHT IN FRONT of my mailbox (WHY? I have no flippin idea because there was nothing wrong with the old one!).

After replacing the sand catcher, they filled the hole around it with dirt and placed four orange cones on it to keep cars from driving directly over the freshly replaced soil.

Now, my husband says that the town is going to wait until the ground around the friggin sand catcher settles. Then, they will come back and tar the area.

In the meantime, I haven't gotten any mail in four days BECAUSE my a-hole mailman refuses to get his lazy ass out of the mail truck, walk TWO WHOLE STEPS, and deposit my mail in the mailbox. Did I mention that he is a lazy ass and he leaves my mailbox open EVEN in the wind whipping pouring rain because he is a blockhead?

So, I called his supervisor and told him that my mail is missing and that's really weird because I am the Queen of junk mail and it is not my fault that Lard Ass Mailman needs to get out of his truck to put said mail in my box AND when I lived in the city, ALL MAIL CARRIERS walked their mail deliveries to people's doors.

And do you know what the Post Office Boss Man said?

He said, "Mam. I'll have to check with your carrier to find out where your mail is. I'm sure it's an inconvenience for him to have to park his truck and get out to deposit your mail. But, he will resolve this issue."

So I, being of unsound mind and a large mouth said, "Well, it's an inconvenience for me to pay taxes. But I do it anyway. Tell Cliff Clavin to thank me the next time he gets a paycheck."



Anyway, to make myself feel a little better, I'd like to say...To my lazy ass mailman and his jerkhole boss, THIS ONE'S FOR YOU:

Keep my mail.

Bite me.

Who cares if you don't deliver my electric bill and my lights get shut off?

I'm resilient.

I'll light candles.


I have a wireless laptop!

That means that without electricity, my food will spoil, I'll have unruly hair, and I won't be able to watch television. But I'll still be able to tell the world that YOU ARE BIG, FAT WANKERS!

I love the internet. Seriously.

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

Is That The Boogie Man?

You know what's awesome?

When you're in a deep sleep, and it's 2:38 in the morning, and you wake up to pitch blackness because you hear weird noises and you think somebody is busting down your front door to rob your shit and hack you to pieces!

And you reach over to the right side of the bed to wake up your husband and he's not there so you panic because you think Son-of-a-bitch, the dude that broke into the house to rob my shit has already carved up my hubby like a Thanksgiving Day turkey!

And then, you squint and see that the alarm light is lit on the keypad, which means that the shady drug lord who's trying to break down the front door to steal your shit and kill you dead hasn't actually got into the house, yet.

Then suddenly, you become more alert because you are finally adjusting to the fact that you are not dreaming. You switch on the nightstand light and then you see HIM.

Who is him, you ask?

Um...That would be my frickin husband...last night...sleepwalking and walking into the same corner of the room over and over again trying to find his way to the toilet in the house that we've owned for THIRTEEN FLIPPING YEARS!

Dudes! He was like a mime! Bumping and slamming and feeling his way around the same corner of the frickin room over and over again! What the hell?

Exhibit 1: Slam to the left, slam to the middle, slam to the right...

Exhibit 2: The route he should have taken...

So, finally...I figured out what the hell was happening. I got my unhappy ass out of bed, grabbed him by the arm, led him around the corner, shoved him into the bathroom (WHAT? I turned the light on first!), and shut the door.

NOTE TO JESUS: Thank you for not letting Hubby pee on the floor. I owe you one.

He did his business. Came back to bed. And went right back to "normal" sleep, completely oblivious of the fact that he scared the ever lovin crap out of me.

So, there I am. Tossing and turning. Listening to him snore.

And? I could not fall back to sleep....

Like I said in the beginning of this post...You know what's awesome?

Walking around at work with big fat bags under your eyes, wanting to punch everybody who gets in your way in their face because you are sleep deprived from the night before. While? Your husband, who kept you up last night AND who you work with, walks around all chipper and shit, whistling and singing and smiling because he slept so well.

He is soooo lucky that I don't have immediate access to a taser.

Because if I did? Today, the next time I heard him sing, whistle, or display any sign of positivity, I would fry his ass.


Monday, November 2, 2009


When I'm getting ready to go out for dinner, an occasion, work, or routine goes like this:

1. Bathe
2. Floss
3. Brush Teeth
4. Apply Full Make-up
5. Dry & Style Hair
6. Get Dressed
7. Apply Perfume

My routine usually serves me well. However, there are always on Saturday.

On Saturday, I had to get a little more "dressed up" than usual. And because I was wearing a dress, this situation included pouring myself into the Spanx.


And y'all know how much I just LOVE wearing the body sausage, right?

So anyway, there I am, hair perfectly coiffed, fully made-up with my red Mac lipstick perfectly applied...and I?

AM WRESTLING SAID BODY SAUSAGE OVER MY THIGHS (Lord.Have.Mercy! I can't breathe!) and s-t-r-u-g-g-l-i-n-g to pull it up over my arse, when SUDDENLY, the frickin sausage casing snaps out of my right hand as I am yanking it up over my torso and BAM! I punched myself in the face!

And the worst thing? I didn't just punch myself in the face! I punched myself in the mouth...And? I smeared all of my lipstick UP MY FACE, UNDER MY NOSE, AND ALL OVER MY RIGHT CHEEK.

I looked like a cheap floozy who'd been making out with some horny dude in the back seat of a Camaro. Seriously.

Don't ask me why I felt the need to share this episode with you. I could have just swept it under the rug. Maybe I'm just hoping that some of y'all will tell me that this kind of shit happens to you, too.

No? Well alrighty....Just me then.