Thursday, December 31, 2009

Happy Last Day Of 2009!!!

Hello My Friends!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thursday, December 24, 2009

A Crocktastic Development!

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

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

Anyway, check it out:

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

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

Love,
Barbara



Subject: Re: Dear Paul

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

Love,
Paul



Subject: Re: Dear Paul

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

Love you both very much,
Barbara



Hahahaha! I love it!

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

Wednesday, December 23, 2009

Like Your Face, Traditions Are Made To Be Broken.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I sure hope the in-laws like microwave popcorn.

Oh, what the hell! It's Christmas!

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

Tuesday, December 22, 2009

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

Dear Santa,

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

Why am I being so nit picky about this?

I'll tell you why, Brutha.

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

And I ain't playin, Fatso.

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

XOXO,
Sally

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

Monday, December 21, 2009

Bite Me, Jack Frost.

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

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

But, in the winter? It seriously sucks ass.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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






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

Friday, December 18, 2009

Little Pig, Little Pig, Let Me In!

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

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

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

And then this morning?

My bubble burst.

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

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

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

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

Thursday, December 17, 2009

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

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

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

Yeah. OK, Grizzly Adams.

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

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

Yeah, I thought so.

Back to the rat race, it is!

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

WWJ Really D?

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

You see...

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

AGAIN.

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

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

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

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

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

ps, slander is illegal be
carefull:)


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

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

Your Momma must be so proud.


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

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Lying Sack Of Poo

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

Let me start at the beginning....

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

But last night, this situation finally changed.

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

So, I decided to call them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, it even gets better.

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

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

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

OH.MY.GOD! I was seething!

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

UGH! I was so effin pissed! Seriously!

Anyway, you know what I figure?

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

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

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


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

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

Monday, December 14, 2009

Peanut Butter And A Punch In The Head

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

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

This:

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

Help me, Jesus.

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

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


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

Friday, December 11, 2009

Rat On Your Relatives And Win A Prize!



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

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

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

What is the shittiest present you've ever received?

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

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

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

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

Thursday, December 10, 2009

Trailer Trash Love

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

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

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

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

**NOW BACK TO OUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED PROGRAMMING**

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





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

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

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

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

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

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

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Ho, Ho, Ho, You Ho.

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

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


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


Dear Santa,

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

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

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

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

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

Sincerely, Johnny



Hehehehehe....

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

Tuesday, December 8, 2009

Oops! He Did It AGAIN.

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

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

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

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

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

Hubs: HELL-OOOO SEXUAL CHOCOLATE!

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

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

Then?

He called me. And this conversation ensued:

Me: Hello?

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

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

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

ME: Paul?

Hubs: WHAT?

Me: Please tell me she's white.

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

Me: *sigh of relief*

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

Me: Be brave little buckaroo. Bahahahaha...

CLICK.

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


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

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

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

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

We're not freaks, I swear!

Well, maybe he is. Hahahaha...

Friday, December 4, 2009

See You Next Year, George Clooney!

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

The bad news?

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

Inside:

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

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

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

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

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

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

OH PLEASE, Y'ALL.

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

THE PRINCESS

Oh, yeah. And one more thing...

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

See what I mean?

Thursday, December 3, 2009

The Tiger Is A Pig

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

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

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



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

YO, TIGER?

A word of advice for ya....

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

Seriously.

Wednesday, December 2, 2009

Sally: 1, Mofo Bug: 0

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

I hate bugs.

No, really.

I HATE BUGS.

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

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


And I also got this:

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



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

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

Sike.

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

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

BUT WAIT! THERE'S MORE!

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

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

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

He's the man alright.

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

So, yes, my friends...

He electrocuted his right ass cheek.

Sniff, sniff. Do I smell something burning?

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

Behold the brilliance that is my husband. Hehehe.


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

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

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

This is my bathtub:

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

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

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

YOU TALKIN TO ME?

Um, I don't think so.

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

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

AAAAHHHHH *insert blood curdling screams here*!

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

Not so fast. people.

You see. The Hubby?

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

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

I call it his jimmy rigged redneck temporary shower.

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

Voila:


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


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


The water finally empties out into the laundry sink:


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


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


Even I have to give the Hubby credit.

No, he can't boil water.

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


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