Friday, December 24, 2010

Who You Callin A Ho?

Ho! Ho! Ho!

In betwixt all of the hustle and bustle of this holiday season, I just wanted to pop in for a sec to wish you all a very Merry Christmas!!

I've said it before and I'll say it again, folks. I am so grateful that you take time out of your busy schedules to stop by and read what I have to say. Because, without you? I would be talking out my ass. And that would just suck.

Anywho, before I go, I just wanted to show you this CUSTOM Christmas card that I sent to that bastard, Lou and his wife, Linda:



If anything suspicious happens to me? Please submit it as EVIDENCE.

I love you peeps more than George Clooney! (Um...not really...I'm just trying to make you feel good in case you bought me something awesome for Christmas. I know what side my bread is buttered on.)

Merry Christmas!

XOXO, Sally

Thursday, December 23, 2010

Spare Me The Fruitcake. My Septic System Can't Handle It.


THE FOLLOWING IS A PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT BROUGHT TO YOU BY THAT FUGGING, NASTY-ASS FRUITCAKE THAT YOUR GRANDMA LOVES (SERIOUSLY, PEOPLE! UNLESS YOU'RE EIGHTY, FRUITCAKE IS NOT A "CHRISTMAS PRESENT." IT'S A WEAPON OF MASS DESTRUCTION...).

THIS FACEBOOK STATUS (WHICH WAS POSTED THIS MORNING) IS THE CATALYST THAT STARTED IT ALL:

Teresa P....is really, really not going to be on Facebook for like 24 more hours. Seriously. I mean it. I have SO MUCH TO DO--like make a fruitcake (#$%^*&), send out Christmas cards, and um...I only logged on to get addresses, so shut up.

David D: First of all: Nobody wants your fruitcake, so cross that off your list. Second: The only people who are going to recieve your Christmas cards in time for Christmas are people who live in your town. So go take 3 minutes to say Merry Christmas to them in person (you don't have THAT many friends) and then get back on FB and quit stressing about it.

Sally Araujo Costa: The world must be coming to an end because, for once? I have to agree with Dave. Fruitcake is the equivalent of "colon blow." Gross. Once, my mother-in-law baked us a loaf and we used it as a doorstop at work. For reals.

Teresa P: But...But. I LIKE fruitcake & I already bought all the ingredients last week :( AND I have 4 boxes of really cute cards that I bought in OCT. I am sitting here in bed typing this in my sleep! I have to TRY TO QUIT FB FOR 24hrs!!! & YOU ARE NOT BEING SUPPORTIVE.

Sally Araujo Costa: Dude. We are being supportive in that we speak the truth. Fug the fruitcake. The people you give it to are going to smile at you nicely then regift it to their grannies. Grannies love that crap. So, if YOU love it, bake some for YOU and call it a day. As for the cards, TOMORROW is Christmas Eve. NOBODY is going to get them on time. Just send everybody on your list a nice email. Done. Pressure off. Ho, ho, ho.

David D: God help me...Teresa, Listen to Sally....uhhh...I'm gonna throw up :(

Teresa P: No. I want to argue about this more. I thought there was like a grace period for cards--I mean WHERE is it written that the damn things have to be RECEIVED by the 25th? I'm being dead serious - if you got a card from me next week would you reject it? Of course not! Would you judge me? Well DUH.

Teresa P: BTW, Sally - I need your address ♥

Elizabeth B: ‎...colon.blow...

Teresa P: And the people I was going to give my fruitcake to are looking forward to it! For REALS.

David D: What would be the point in a Christmas card that says "Merry Christmas" AFTER Christmas??

Teresa P: Nobody gets me :(

Elizabeth B: Just send 'em if you really want to. No one cares when they get them. And T, I need to introduce you to my friend, Jon's, mother. Now SHE does fruitcake. And I've actually had it and it's not bad (she's British and there must be some sort of secret ingredient that prevents colon blow).

Teresa P: I am pretty sure they say Happy Holidays. HOLIDAYS ARE THE DAYS OF HOLI--NOT EXACTLY ONE DAY.

Teresa P: Fruitcake is full of dried fruit and FIBER and it's good for you.

Sally Araujo Costa: Dave and I are agreeing! Baby Jesus! It's a Christmas miracle!

Teresa P: Sounds to me like some of you are a little backed up and that's why y'all are being so ANTI.

Sally Araujo Costa: T--I'll give you my address if you PROMISE not to send me some fruitcake.

Sally Araujo Costa: And Elizabeth? Christmas is a time to help your fellow man. Stop encouraging the fugging fruitcake.

Teresa P: Promise :) I'm only going to post pictures on FB.

Teresa P: Ok, people. I'm not coming on FB until I've completed my tasks! See you all next week ♥ Starting NOW !!! Ready set go. Here I goooooooo...

Sally Araujo Costa: How you gonna get my address if you're exiling yourself? Hmmmm.....

Sally Araujo Costa: I'm gonna miss her. God bless her little fruitcake loving heart.

David D: Poor confused soul...

Jennifer B: Are you all kidding me? She can't stay off FB. She WILL be back. Sally, thank you for you use of the word "fug", I'm going to have to use it...right away!

Sally Araujo Costa: Jennifer, I am such a positive influence. You're welcome :)

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

Holding It Together

Remember when my husband built that lame-ass SURVIVOR SHOWER in our basement (It's STILL THERE, PEOPLE!)? Yeah, well, APPARENTLY? He's not the only resourceful man in the world.

Last Friday, like a bazillion other people, I was out scrambling for some last minute Christmas gifts. As I was getting out of my car in the mall parking lot, I noticed this interesting car, which was apparently being held together by duct tape:



I went into the store, bought some crap, and returned to my car about fifteen minutes later.

When I came back out?

I almost crapped myself when I saw this:



DUDES! Another car being held together by DUCT TAPE!!! WHAT THE??

The lesson here, ladies?

Don't bust your crackers (or your wallet) looking for the ultimate Christmas for the special man in your life!

Buy him some freakin duct tape!

Apparently, that shit can move mountains (or at least keep your car's hood from falling the frig off)....

Monday, December 20, 2010

A Bra For A Boob

I got a comment from one of my readers (and fellow blogger) suggesting that I punish Lou for that whole lame-ass Walmart bra incident. She told me that I should take pictures of him wearing the cheap, fugly bra on his head AND THEN post said pictures on this here blog.

Being that my readers are brilliant, I took her advice. AND I went to see Lou at work. AND I told him that I was still pissed off. And I told him that the ONLY way I would forgive him, is if he did EXACTLY what my brilliant reader suggested.

Only one problem, y'all.

The bastard wasn't phased OR TRAUMATIZED in the very least! Damn it!

He's such a freakin ham.....





Are you thinking what I'm thinking?

Yeah...His wife must be sooooooo proud.

Friday, December 17, 2010

George Clooney RULES.

The lady who owns the business next door to ours came over to give us a WELCOME / GOOD LUCK gift. It's a fish, y'all....a Japanese Betta. My husband is so excited with it. I have no freakin idea why....

Hubby: WOW! This is so cool!

Me: *YAWN* It's a fish.

Hubby: It's not JUST a fish! It's a Japanese FIGHTING FISH!

Me: Who's he gonna fight with?

Hubby: Nobody! But, he has to be kept in a bowl ALL by himself! If you put TWO betta fish in the same bowl, they will EAT EACH OTHER!

Me: Great. So what you're telling me is that our neighbor gave us a CANNIBAL fish. That's lame.

Hubby: It's cool!

Me: Whatever......And just so you know? I'm NEVER cleaning poopy fish water. Gross.

Hubby: That's fine.

Me: What are you going to name him?

Hubby: What do you think I should name him?

Me: George Clooney.

Hubby: I'm NOT naming him GEORGE CLOONEY.

Me: How about John F. Kennedy, Jr.?

Hubby: Sal?

Me: What?

Hubby: Please stop talking.

Me: FINE...WHATEVER. But remember something! Without a cool name, HE'S JUST SUSHI.*


*He will NEVER get the last word in. Just sayin...

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

The BIG Hooter Edition

I'm baaaaack! And if you know what's good for you, you'll pretend that YOU even KNEW that I was MIA! Thank.You.Very.Much. In my own little convoluted mind, I'd like to think that I was missed. Humor me, peeps.

So, where to begin...

Ooooh. I know! Let me tell you all about the latest chapter in the saga I like to call: HOW LOU PISSED ME RIGHT THE FRICK OFF...THE HOOTER EDITION

Last week, Lou had his company Christmas party (he owns a business right near ours) at a local restaurant and he invited me and Hubs. Originally, we weren't really sure that we even wanted to go, but Lou basically forced us at knife point, so we gave in because we weren't into celebrating the upcoming holidays with punctured lungs.

Okay. So picture this....

There I am at Lou's party having the best time. I ate a GREAT meal. I had ONE glass of wine (and diet soda the rest of the night). And I DANCED AND LAUGHED MY ASS OFF with some super fun people.

At the end of the night, when Hubs and I were getting ready to leave, this guy comes up to me and says, "Sally? I don't mean to be inappropriate..but, can you tell my wife WHERE YOU BUY YOUR BRAS? You have great lift."

Um. Okay.

So, I picked my chin off of the floor, put my eyeballs back in my head and said, "Um. Nordstrom. They have a bra fitter there."

All of a sudden, I look over at Lou, WHO MAY HAVE HAD A TAD BIT TOO MUCH WINE, and he is laughing hysterically! He was all, "THAT'S SO FUNNY! THEY WANT TO KNOW WHERE YOU BUY YOUR UNDERWEAR! BAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Bite me, Lou.

So, I was like WHATEVER because I know what it's like to have big boobs and I know that sometimes it takes a village to lift them up to where they should be. So, I was totally cool with people admiring my hooters.

Now, WHAT HAPPENED NEXT IS WHY I WANT TO PUNCH LOU IN THE HEAD.

The afformentioned Christmas party was on Friday.

On the following Monday, I was at work minding my own frickin business, when my UPS man came in and dropped off a package for me. It was a purple bra (you'll see it in tomorrow's blog post) and it was in this fancy, schmancy box:



And it came with a note that said:

Hi Sally,
Many thanks for your input on Friday night. I know I should have been at your table from the beginning of the evening...We lucked out! Took your advice and went to Nordstrom and they were fantastic! Thanks for all your help. Enclosed is a little something from me to you. Hope you like it!!!

Your new blog friend, S



Dudes! I was soooo forklempt! And, I'm not even Jewish! I couldn't even believe that this girl, who I barely knew, would go to Nordstom and buy me a bra BECAUSE HELLO? You practically have to take out a home equity loan to buy ANYTHING at Nordstrom, right?!

So, right away, I went on Facebook and posted this message:

Sally Araujo Costa: Friday night, at a holiday party, a guy asked me, "Can you tell my wife where you buy your bras? You have nice lift!" Um, ok. So, I told her to go to Nordstrom because they have a bra fitter there. TODAY? I got an unexpected present...a brandy new purple Nordstrom bra delivered to me at work from a grateful woman with... uplifted hooters. So cool! MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ME AND MY BOOBAGE!

And then? I called that son-of-a-b*tch, LOU.

And I told him all about the bra...And wasn't that so nice of her? And can you even believe it? And yadda, yadda, yadda....

And he was all like, "Wow. That was nice of her. Was it the right size?" *RED FLAG #1* And I responded, "Well, NO. It's friggin humongous and I can probably wrap it around my body three times and wear the cups as hats, BUT THAT'S NOT THE POINT. The gesture was nice and I'll return it and get my real size and yay freakin me because I get an expensive mutha fuggin bra for FREE! WHOO HOO!"

And the whole frickin time, Lou's quietly listening to me *RED FLAG #2* intently as I rambled on and freakin on about the bra and the nice gesture.

Finally we hung up and a few minutes went by. Suddenly, my cell phone rang and when I answered it, Lou's wife, Linda, was on the other end LAUGHING HER ASS OFF.

WTF?

People? GET THIS.

Linda confessed to me that Lou sent me that bra as a joke AND HE BOUGHT THE EFFIN THING AT WALMART FOR $7.00. AND? IT WAS A SIZE 47HHH! AND? He was going to LET ME take it back to NORDSTROM to try to exchange it. FUGGIN BASTARD.

I WANTED TO CHOKE HIM.

So, instead? I went back on Facebook and posted this message:

Sally Araujo Costa: Dear FB friends, I've been scammed! The bra was sent to me by LOU PESTANA pretending to be that nice girl from the party! AND THAT CHEAP SON-OF-A-BITCH bought it at WALMART! Bastard! I want you all to email him at llpestana@aol.com and tell him what an evil troll he is! BOOBIES UNITE!

And to make matters worse?

That Facebook thread had something like FIFTY responses!

AND people were all like, "LOU IS BRILLIANT! LOU FOR PRESIDENT!"

Seriously, you Facebook asshats?! FREAKIN SERIOUSLY?!

Y'all? I'm warning you! And I think I can count on you. I need some sympathy here. Or else....

(*Photo borrowed from thebloggess.com)

Monday, December 6, 2010

Partners In Crime


Yesterday, Lou and I made a deal.

I know what you're thinking.

Making a deal with Lou is like making a deal with the Devil.

And usually? You'd be correct.

But this time, there's something in it for me. So, I'm going for it.

Here's the deal...

Lou and I are BIG TIME foodies. And more times than I care to admit, we are partners in crime (Um...like yesterday, when we were dipping Rice Krispy treats into chocolate fondue!).

Our collective behaviors are negatively impacting the SIZE OF MY ASS and the SIZE OF HIS BELLY.

And we need to do something about it. PRONTO.

To kick start our quest, Lou proposed that maybe WE, along with our spouses (Don't get any shady ideas, you sick bastards!) should go on a trip to Aruba in July.

NOW GET THIS, DUDES.

This impending trip?

Yeah, it will serve as my motivation to fit into a bikini.

Yeah. You heard me.

I SAID A BIKINI.

I KNOW! RIGHT? WHAT THE HELL HAVE I BEEN SMOKING?!

Also, said trip, will also serve---GOD HELP US ALL---as Lou's motivation to fit into a Speedo (Hold on while I throw up a little in my mouth for a second...), without having the beach goers of Aruba threaten to harpoon his ass.

So, here's the deal.

On January 2, 2011, Lou and I are going to become cliches. We're going on a lifestyle change (I HATE the word "diet"!). We're going to begin eating better. We're going to exercise. AND? We're going to motivate each other.

BUT? We've made some provisions...just in case.

For instance, LET'S JUST SAY that during our weight loss quest, we are SUDDENLY captured by aliens and are forced to consume nothing but chocolate cake, ice cream, pasta, and red wine---for six months. And instead of losing weight? WE GAIN MORE.

Yeah, well...

We've decided that we'll STILL go to Aruba, anyway.

However, in lieu of bikinis and Speedos?

We'll be the TWO chunky-butts parasailing in our Snuggies, y'all.

Thursday, December 2, 2010

Hey, I Didn't Pick Em'

Yesterday's telephone conversation with my friend, Rosemary:

Rosemary: Hi Honey! How are you?

Me: I'm great! How are you?

Rosemary: Fine. I was just calling to find out how your sister's doing.

Me: She's doing much better. She's been fitted for a back brace and MIGHT NOT need surgery after all. Fingers crossed!

Rosemary: Now, is THIS the sister that used to BLOW IN YOUR EYES to make you to go to sleep at night?

Me: No. THIS is the sister who cut all of my Barbie's hair off and made her look like Billy Idol.

Rosemary: Hmmmm...You have interesting sisters.

Me: Yeah. And I never told you about the one who used to eat dirt.

Rosemary: OH, DEAR GOD.

Tuesday, November 30, 2010

They Might Responsible For Bed Bugs, Too.

Dear Center For Disease Control,

Heads up, Dudes.

Recently, I went to visit a client at his office.

As I walked through the building, I happened to glance over through a glass window at the lunchroom, where I saw an electric grill sitting on a table.

Needless to say...

You know that illusive stomach virus that strikes millions of people every year?

The one that gives people belly cramps that makes them cry like babies?

The one that gives people the Hershey Squirts so badly that every time they wipe their asses, they think their anuses are going to explode?

The one that makes people puke themselves silly and leaves them lying in dry heaving masses on their bathroom floors?

You know the one, right?

Yeah, well I think I discovered it's origin. Check this shit out:





I KNOW! GROSS, RIGHT?!

I think you may have the potential to curb an epidemic here! Y'all better call in a Hazmat Team to investigate!

Seriously.

Signed,

A Concerned And Emotionally Traumatized Citizen

PS. I didn't have the balls to look in the lunchroom's microwave or toaster oven because the last friggin thing that I need is for some freaky ass organism to jump out at me, bite me in the face, and give me Ebola---all in the name of science. Eff that shit.

Monday, November 29, 2010

Thank God For Small Favors

I had a revelation this weekend.

I'm turning into my mother.

Yeah. You heard me.

It all started on Saturday morning when my sister, Natty, called to tell me that one of our other sisters had fallen and suffered a pretty serious back injury. Apparently, she'd been on her way to the hairdresser, when she took a nasty spill in her driveway, and actually CRUSHED several discs in her back. Good Lord.

The thing about my family? We're really tight. When one of us is sick or hurt? It's like we all feel it. No joke. News like this sends us all into a tizzy.

So, immediately after hanging up with Natty, I went to pick up my Mom and we drove over to the hospital to see how my Big Sister was.

Thankfully, by the time we got there, she was all hopped up on pain meds. And I say THANKFULLY, not only because I didn't want to see my sister in pain, but also because there is NO ONE on this Earth who has a weaker stomach than me. Seriously, dudes. If I see someone flinch because of a splinter in their finger? BOOM. I'm either out cold or throwing up on my shoes. For reals.

So, anywho, we get to the hospital, find her room, and find that Big Sister is feeling NO PAIN thanks to some lovely druggage. Whoo hoo.

Now, like about a bazillion people before me, I start questioning Big Sister. I wanted to know the details surrounding her accident.

Exactly HOW did she fall? Who was there to help her? How long did it take for the ambulance dudes to respond? What did the doctors say? What's going to happen next?

And then, my friends?

For a very brief, but entirely scary moment, I turned into my mother, as I sat in the chair at the foot of her bed, looked her in the eye, and said, "I hope you were wearing clean underwear."

OH.YES.I.DID.

The good news is that she's like me (I know! Lucky for her, right?). And she was all, "I know! I thought the same thing! They're not the newest pair that I own, but they're clean. AND? I shaved my legs, too. Whew."

Y'all? Clearly, we are the apples that have fallen from the same tree.

Now, take a lesson from us.

Remember that life is unpredictable.

So, go out and buy yourselves some new underwear.

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

I Know This Much Is True

***Random Musings***

My nephew's fiance is a nurse. Recently, when we were having lunch together, she told me about a woman---a patient on her floor---who had a mad case of hemorrhoids, which required her to spray medicated foam up her butt. Even though said woman could definitely foam HERSELF up, she always insisted that the nurses do it for her. Then, she would dictate, "Now you have to jiggle my butt cheeks to reeeeeally work it in!"

Nurses don't get paid enough money, y'all. Just sayin...

*******************

I stopped at the local pharmacy to pick up a prescription for the Hubby. Since it wasn't ready when I got there, I decided to meander around and check out the Christmas stuff. While wandering around, I found this:


I pretty much walked around for the rest of the day yelling, "You ARE NOT the father!" to random strangers. I really need to stop watching Maury Povich.

********************

On the same trip to the pharmacy, I also saw this product in the vitamin aisle:


Immediately I thought, "Hmmm...A dude who has the gumption to pay for this shit in PUBLIC may have a limp willy, but he's ALSO got some majorly big balls."

********************

I love where I live. But, in order to live where I live, I have to pay an ASSLOAD in property taxes.

Like most towns, the majority of our tax budget is allocated for our schools. And you know what? That's okay. Because I know that children are our future.

All that aside though, last week? Hubby and I stopped at the town dump to drop off some trash. While I waited in the truck, I noticed this sign on the building there:

Dudes! The person who made this sign needs to learn how to spell. AND? If said person is a product on my town's school system? I WANT MY FRIGGIN MONEY BACK.

********************
Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. And I am so thankful for so many things...

I'm thankful that I don't have to blow hemorrhoid foam up random strangers' butts (see above).

I'm thankful that I truly have the best husband that anybody could ever ask for (Christmas is coming. Gotta kiss up).

I'm thankful to have a really great family. Sure, there are days when I would enthusiastically consider trading a few of them in. But ultimately? I would totally give them a kidney if I REALLY HAD TO because then I could walk around FOREVER holding that shit over their heads, saying things like, "You should really bow when I walk into the room. Cuz if it wasn't for me, you'd be dead. Your welcome."

I'm thankful to have wonderful friends (who are like my family).

I'm thankful to have a nephew, who is currently serving this country as a U.S. Marine, so that I can enjoy the freedoms of this great nation.

I'm thankful for my loyal, funny, and very smart blog readers and commenters, who come here to read the crap that I pull out of my arse. Sometimes I forget that you're out there and I say completely inappropriate stuff, but you keep coming back anyway. You realize that THIS makes you just as whacked as I am, right? Okay. Good.

********************

Finally? I'd like to leave you with this....

It's a sign that I saw yesterday at a little Portuguese market and it pretty much sums up how I'm feeling these days:

Translation: Live life to the fullest WHILE YOUR ALIVE. Because you're going to be dead for a long time.

Live in the moment, my friends!

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Am I Missing Something?

I consider myself a pretty smart person. Yet, right at this moment? I am stumped.

I'm in my new office and I'm trying to act all independent and shit by putting a small piece of IKEA furniture together by myself. But, I don't understand a portion of the directions.

Clearly, the IKEA-INS are trying to tell me that I should NEVER, under any circumstances, do this:

(Am I the only one who doesn't know WTF this means?)

Um. Excuse me, IKEA people, BUT, just for the record?

All I ever wanted from you was a cute, affordable (but stylish), little table that I could display some magazines on.

It was NEVER my intention to dry hump said table--with my hands behind my back--until it crumbled into pieces.

Y'all are some freaky ass people.

Friday, November 19, 2010

You Can't Beat Toasty Buns.

Last night, Lou called to ask us if we would go with him to look at a new car that he wants to buy. Originally, I said, "No. We have to work late." But, then he bribed us with Mexican food and margaritas. So, we caved.

What can I say?

We're food whores.

So, after our yummy Mexican fiesta, we drove over to the Lincoln dealership to check out the new Lincoln MKX. Lou and my Hubby are IN LOVE with these vehicles. I swear. Both of them were all but licking the cars as we walked by them.

At one point, I said to Lou:

Me: Louie! This car is AWESOME! I definitely think it's the car for you. All I ask is that you buy one with backseat ass warmers.

Lou: Really?

Me: Yes. Actually, if you expect us to socialize with you, I DEMAND that you buy one with backseat ass warmers.

Lou: YOU DEMAND?

Me: Yes. Otherwise, we will only go out with you in the Summer. I hate the friggin cold.

Lou: YOU DEMAND?

Me: You heard me, Chump.

Lou: Hmmmm....

*****************************

A little while later, Lou, Linda, me, and the car salesman, Michael---were all sitting in a blue MKX---reveling at all of the cool options it had (Hubby was off licking some car).

I was in the backseat, testing out the ass warmers to make sure that they met my warm buns standards when suddenly, Lou started asking Michael about all of the voice activation crap that the car had.

DUDES! Did you know that in these cars, you can turn on the radio, use the phone, and turn on the heat just by TELLING your car what you want it to do? It's SICK!

(HEY LINCOLN? I'M PLUGGING YOUR CAR! YOU SHOULD PAY ME!!!!)

Anywho, so there was Michael, seriously explaining all of the cars' features, when all of a sudden Lou says, "I have a question. Can I use the voice recognition technology to tell this car to EJECT the GIANT PAIN IN THE ASS IN THE BACK SEAT?" Can you believe that bastard?

Very nicely, Michael smiled and replied, "No, Sir. It can't do that." "Hmmm...too bad." Lou replied.

Then Lou marveled at the fact that he can start the MKX by merely pushing a button:

Lou: I love that! I looked at another car that was FIFTY GRAND and you had to TURN THE KEY IN THE IGNITION TO START IT!

Me: OH THE HORROR!

Lou: Shut up!

Me: Seriously, DUDE! HOW LAZY DO YOU HAVE TO BE TO NOT WANT TO TURN A FRIGGIN KEY?

Lou: Michael? Are you sure we can't eject her from the car with the push of a button?

Michael: No, Sir. Sorry.

Me: You want me out? You'll have to physically remove me. And I know THAT won't happen, Lazy Ass. Hehehe...

*********************************

In conclusion, I'm pretty sure Lou's buying this car. AND? It has backseat ass warmers.

You know what that means, right? Yeah. I win.

The following is an actual picture of Lou at the car dealership. He's so EVIL, he glows!!!

Friday, November 12, 2010

Who Do I Look Like? Heidi Friggin Fleiss?

Hello, my friends! I've missed you!

As you may have noticed, my blogging has been unusually sporadic lately. That's because Hubby and I have been working like jackholes last week and this week, moving our business to our new building. I am exhausted. But, I'm also super excited about our new state-of-the-art facility!

And guess what?! At work, I NOW have my own wicked nice (a Rhode Island term) bathroom that boys are not allowed to pee in! I feel like Weezy Jefferson cuz I AM MOVIN ON UP!

Check it out! My terlet even comes with a top secret code:






The men around here are not sure why I'm so thrilled about having my own toilet. They OBVIOUSLY don't understand how LAME it is to have to HOVER your ass over a drippy toilet bowl FOR FOUR FRIGGIN YEARS because MEN can't aim their WINKLES into a bowl hole the size of a freakin canyon!

Seriously, dudes! WTF?

It's kind of like throwing a gumball through a friggin hoola hoop!

Gentlemen? WHY IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS SACRED AND HOLY, CAN WE PUT A MAN ON THE MOON, BUT Y'ALL CAN'T AIM YOUR DINGYS IN THE RIGHT DIRECTION? Good grief.

*Okey, dokey. Tangent over.*

So, you all know how I work with the Hubby, right? And I've told you before that working together is like filling our days WITH RAINBOWS AND UNICORNS, right?

Yeah, okay. Whatever...

Well, I'd like to say that in this past week? I've NEVER wanted to taser him more. But, I didn't...because I've learned something, y'all. If you kill your spouse? You can't collect his life insurance. DAMN FUGGIN SMALL PRINT.

But at least I have a crap load of stories for you.

So here we go, dudes...STORY #1...

Otherwise known as WHY I ALMOST TASERED MY HUSBAND, PART UNO...

Okay so, my office is the first thing that customers and vendors see when they visit us at work. So, I knew that I had to make our reception area look professional and inviting. This involved picking out some nice artwork that I felt was appropriate for the space.

One night, I went shopping for said artwork. AND? I brought the Hubs with me. While walking around a very nice department store, I heard Hubs say:

Hubs: This painting is cool! We should get it!

Me: (walking around the aisle to see what he was talking about) Huh?

Hubs: Check it out! Isn't it cool?

Y'all? he was talking about this:



Me: Dude! It's a chick in her bra and girdle...MULTIPLIED BY TWELVE! That's soooo not appropriate for the office!

Hubs: You don't think so?

Me: Uh. NO!

Hubs: Why not? It's cool!

Me: I'll tell you why not! Because the look I'M NOT aiming for is WHOREHOUSE CHIC.

Hubs: Well, I like it.

Me: Yeah. And if we were running a brothel, I'd like it, too. Moving on.

Hubs: Not fair.

Me: Totally fair.

Hubs: You're censoring me.

Me: So, call the ACLU and file a complaint.

Hubs: Maybe I will.

Me: Whatever...

******************************************

In conclusion? I won.

Check it out:




You SERIOUSLY didn't think it would end any other way, did you?

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Thick Headed

I don't think I've ever told you guys this before but, my pal, Lou?

Yeah. He's a bit accident prone.

Actually, scratch that.

He's more than a bit accident prone.

He's pretty much a King Klutzo---always falling down some stairs, lying on the pavement, or cracking his skull open.

See?



One of the latest documentations of Mr. Klutzo's antics, happened when he bludgeoned his own damn head open on the hatchback of my father-in-law's SUV.

I have no freakin idea how the hell it happened.

All I know is that after the fact? Lou kept walking around in circles, blotting the blood from his head while saying, "I'm gonna sue! I'm gonna sue!" And I was all like, "Go ahead! It wasn't MY freakin car! What do I give a crap?"


Behold Lou's big, busted-up noggin (That's Hubby in the background):



FYI, when I took this photo, we (Me & Hubs, Lou & The Wifey) were at a cool jazz bar in Providence, indulging in some cocktails after work. And all night long, I kept looking at Lou saying, "Dude. You remind me of someone. Hmmm...."

"Really? Who?" King Klutzo replied.

And then IT CAME TO ME.

Lou, with his busted up head, reminded me of this guy:

Mikhail Gorbachev

So, OF COURSE, I spent the rest of the night calling him, Gorby.

Hehehehe...

I know. I know. You're thinking that I'm just sooooo supportive of my peeps, that you wish you were lucky enough to have a friend like me ;)

Don't fret, people. There's plenty of me to go around.

Monday, November 8, 2010

Maturity Is Overrated

Before any of you read this AND send me an email or leave me a comment saying, "You're a grown woman! You should've known better!" Let me just say one thing.

No sh*t, Sherlock. I plead temporary insanity.

Saturday morning, I went to the bank to do my weekly banking crap. When I got there, the place was pretty empty, so I took my place in line and waited to be called over by the next available teller.

While I was standing there, I noticed this old lady (80-ish) at the counter, discussing her transactions WHILE trying to discipline her little bastard of a grandson, who was repeatedly stabbing her in the leg with his foot long kazoo/flute thingy.

*PAUSE*

I'd like to take a moment to acknowledge all of you lovey folk who will respond to this post by telling me that ALL children are a gift from God and blah, blah, freakin blah. Whatever. Let me just remind you, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, that you were not THERE and clearly did not witness that the child in question, is probably in fact, a direct descendant of Satan.

*PLAY*

Okay. So, there I was watching this kid STAB his Grandma AND run amok in the bank. He was running circles around the waiting area, jumping on the chairs and the coffee table. He was stabbing his grandma in the leg like she was a piece of poultry. He was yelling and growling at people who looked at him. And when his grandma told him to quiet down...to STOP blowing on that effin kazoo? He told her to "SHUT UP!"

Dudes. You had to see the spectacle. The bank tellers were all like, WTF? They didn't know what the hell to do. So, they did nothing. They just kept looking at each other and then back at Satan Jr. again and again as if he was a friggin mirage or something.

Finally, I got to the front of the line and I was thinking, "Good God! If I EVER behaved like that as a child, my Mother would have reddened my ass cheeks! I wonder where the hell his parents are?"

Just as I was pondering this question, MINDING MY OWN DAMN BUSINESS, Mini Satan comes up to me---FOR REALS, PEOPLE---puts his hands on his hips, looks me in the eye and says, "I DON'T LIKE YOU!"

Huh! The nerve of that little kazoo tooting punkass!

So, I put my hands on my hips, raised my eyebrows, and responded, "REALLY?! OH, REALLY?!" Cuz that's all I could muster, people! That little bastard totally took me off guard!

Then, he looked at me, shook his head as if to say, "OH.YES.I.DID! What are you going to do about it, BE-OTCH?" And he growled at me and ran away.

Ooooh. I wanted to pinch him!

Just then, it was my turn at the teller's counter. I walked up and told the nice bank teller---who was nervously watching DEVIL BOY---what I wanted.

All of a sudden, Devil's Spawn starts yelling at his Grandma, "I WANT CANDY! TELL THE LADY I WANT CANDY! I WANT A LOLLIPOP!" So, the Grandma looked at the teller, and smiled.

But before she could ask, the teller---who I know was thinking, "Bullshit, Grandma. That Devil Kid is not so much as getting a fuggin paper clip from me," smiled and said, "Oh, I'm sooooo sorry. But, we're out of candy."

Hehehe. Take that, Satan Jr..

But you know what?

The little bastard wouldn't take NO for answer.

So, guess what he did.

Go ahead. Guess! Guess!

I'll tell you what he did....

He came OVER TO ME (Grandma was oblivious)!

AND? He stabbed me in the leg with his effin weapon of mass destruction, that DAMN FUGGIN KAZOO! Then? When I looked down at him, he had the little balls to ask me, "DO YOU HAVE ANY CANDY?! I WANT CANDY!"

So, I bent down...you know...cuz it's always better to relate to a child at HIS OR HER OWN LEVEL. And with the most authentic smile I could muster, I responded, "Why YES! YES I DO! *PAUSE* But, you're not getting any...cuz I DON'T LIKE YOU!!"

And I'm not proud of this people, but then?

I growled at him...the same way he previously growled at me.

I know.

Shame on me.

I'm a grown woman.

I should have known better.

All I can say is...

The Devil made me do it.

And it felt pretty good. Hehehehehe....

Thursday, November 4, 2010

A "Nad" For An Eye

Last week, I went shopping to buy a birthday present for my friend, Linda. I hadn't been to this particular mall in awhile. So, when I got there, I was quite surprised to see this:



Now mind you, I've been to this mall a bazillion times AND it's really quite upscale. So, I was a very disappointed to realize that this sign went up to warn people, like me---who actually work for a friggin living, that they'd better hide their sh*t, or risk being ripped off by some douchebag losers who have nothing better to do than to dream up ways to screw people.

Anyway, I was a woman---AT THE MALL---on a mission.

So, I did what the sign told me to do. I locked my doors. I took my keys (duh). And I hid my radar detector, NOT THAT I'M A SPEED DEMON OR ANYTHING, MR POLICE OFFICER.

Then, I went into the mall to look at the mall map, so I could find the location of the store that I was looking for.

Incidentally, make no mistake about it. This blog post is TOTALLY about douchebags who steal from innocent people and the innocent people (ME) who want to bash their heads in.

HOWEVER, I have to take a brief moment to share with you the name of a store that I saw listed on the mall map. Because, dudes?! I'm thinking that THIS STORE is destined for failure:



Love Sac. Coming soon. N-A-S-T-Y.

Anywho, after grossing myself out with the ballsack mall map incident, I FINALLY made my way to the store I was looking for (Pandora) and bought Linda Shminda's birthday present. When I got back to my car, I put the present in my trunk, got in the driver's seat, and proceeded to back out of my parking space, when I noticed that I'D BEEN ROBBED.

Yeah. Some scum sucking bastards stole the passenger door mirror right off my car.

The WHOLE FRIGGIN mirror. Like totally off my car.

What the hell's next? My bumper? My headlights? My flippin sunroof?

Geez Frickin Louise!

I.WAS.SO.PISSED. But all I could do was (A) report the incident to mall security, and (B) call my friend, Pat---who works at THAT mall, to tell her that she works in the gah-damn hood and should fear for her friggin life everyday of the fricken work week.

Okay. Maybe I'm a drama queen. But, whatever.

Then? I stopped and took some deep breaths to calm myself down.

And I prayed, y'all. Something like this...

Dear Jesus,
IF IT'S NOT TOO MUCH TROUBLE, PLEASE STAB THE DOUCHEBAGS---WHO STOLE MY CAR MIRROR, SQUARE IN THE NADS...WITH LIGHTENING BOLTS...HARD ENOUGH TO DRAW BLOOD. Thank you. Amen.


Then, because my Mama didn't raise a fool, I prayed for forgiveness.

I think I'm all good, dudes.

Monday, November 1, 2010

Maybe Next Time, Slick Willy

Yesterday, Bill Clinton came to Rhode Island to campaign for Frank Caprio, the democratic candidate for governor of Rhode Island.

Unless you've been living under a rock for the last week, you know that Mr. Caprio is the same dude who last week, was a little out of sorts when President Obama came to Rhode Island to rake in some cash, but NOT to endorse him, his fellow Democrat.

Mr. Caprio was ticked off. So much so, that he told the world ON LIVE RADIO that the President of the United States could take his endorsement AND JUST "SHOVE IT."

Oh.Yes.He.Did.

And so, to TRY and make up for some of Mr. Caprio's decline in the polls (due to his outburst), Bill Clinton (Slick Willy) rode into town to schmooze with the locals...ON HALLOWEEN, y'all.

And that gave me a super frickin idea.

You see?

I just happen to own a BLUE DRESS.

I also happen to own a beret.

And some red lipstick.

You see where I'm going with this, right?

So, I posted this as my status on Facebook:

Sally Araujo Costa: Hmmm....Bill Clinton...rally on Halloween @3:00, Veteran's Memorial in Providence...for his pal, "Shove It Caprio." Thinking it might be fun to go dressed as Monica Lewinsky.

In response, I got a sh*tload of support.

I had people offer to come with me dressed as STAINS, CIGARS, and HILLARY. Hahahaha! It was brilliance in the making!

But then?

I told my sister about my impending plan. And she was all, "Just remember something. If you get arrested? Yeah. I'll bail your ass out. BUT, If you end up on the news? Mom is going to kill you."

Suffice to say, her reasoning was enough to make me chicken out.

Because, dudes?

I'm not ashamed to admit it...

My name is Sally. I'm forty-one years old. AND? I'm still ascared of my Mother.

If you ask me, that's the mark of some great parenting, people.

Friday, October 29, 2010

Jerry Springer Trucking Co.

Vandalism is never funny...

UNLESS...

You're driving down the highway, minding your own business, being all serious and obeying all of the road rules and sh*t...

When suddenly? This big ass truck pulls up on the side of you:



Then? It's friggin hilarious! BAHAHAHA!

Have a great weekend everybody!

I love you more than chocolate!

Um...Well...

Maybe not MORE than chocolate...but at least EQUAL to chocolate. Seriously.

Thursday, October 28, 2010

What's Wrong With A Paperweight?

Has anyone ever gone on vacation and brought you back one of those stupid t-shirts that read something like, "My Aunt/Friend/Mother went to Aruba and all I got was this lousy t-shirt!"

If your answer is YES, consider yourself damn lucky.

You see, my friend---Lou, just got back from his vacation in Palm Springs. And he brought me a souvenir.

Actually, I shouldn't call it a souvenir. It's more like a snack....for crazy ass people who are capable of eating sh*t, if somebody puts it in front of them:


At first glance, I was all like, "Holy sh*t, Lou! I didn't even realize that frogs had such big balls! I might be adventurous, but you couldn't pay me enough to eat some froggy's nuggets, you nasty bastard!"

Turns out, they're not real froggy testicles after all.

Whew.

They're actually spicy, pickled, brussel sprouts that cost NINE BUCKS a jar!


Upon receiving this gift, I said, "Lou, PUH-LEEZE. Next time you go away, save your money and just sent me a freakin postcard." He responded, "I did that, too! Didn't you get it?"

"Um...Nope. Not yet." I said.

And then I went home....

And found this in my mailbox:



I just have to say...

Growing up? I never expected I'd be friends with Satan, y'all.

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Penance Pants

***The following interaction is real and absolutely true. I should probably be embarrassed by it. But clearly, I am not. I MIGHT have an issue conforming to boundaries. Eh, whatever...

This morning, I put on a pair of pants that I haven't worn since last Winter.

They were too tight.

They weren't tight all over (not in the legs), just constrictingly (Hmmm...I think I just made this word up...) tight in the ass cheek area.

So you know what I did?

I tortured myself by wearing them anyway.

I considered this a punishment of sorts...you know...kind of like my penance for failing at Operation Ass Shrinkage 2010.

When I left my house, I decided to stop at the bank on my way to work. When I got to the bank, there were too many cars in the drive through, so, not wanting to be late for work, I decide to waddle my way into the bank wearing my Penance Pants.

When the lucky bank teller who was going to have to deal with ME called me over, I waddled over to her section of the counter, hoping that my ass wouldn't suddenly explode on the way. She smiled at me courteously and asked, "How are you today?"

Dudes. If I had EVER possessed a mouth filter, you'd never know it. I looked at her and said, "Not good. My pants are too tight."

BLANK STARE

Clearly, Ms. Bank Teller did not realize that her silence would not deter me. I am the youngest child in a family of eight. I am quite used to talking to myself.

So, I continued, "Yeah. I haven't worn these pants since last Winter. They are soooo tight on my butt. WHEW (deep breath). Almost hurts to breathe!"

BLANK STARE

Again, I continued, "And you know what the worst thing is?"

BLANK STARE

"The worst thing is, these pants USED to be the perfect length. But NOW, they look like high waters. I'm walking around looking like I'm expecting a freaking flood."

BLANK STARE, SLIGHT NERVOUS SMILE

"Must be my extra assage (Made this word up, too. I am brilliant and am sure to be credited by the Oxford English Dictionary people VERY SOON)...causing my pants to lift." I hypothesized.

When Ms. Bank Teller concluded my transaction, she nervously asked, "Is there anything else that I can help you with?" Translation: Is there ANOTHER banking transaction that I can help you with, you crazy freak who shares too much information with strangers?

"No, thank you. That'll be all. But, do me a favor. Don't look at my butt on my way out. I'm feeling self conscious enough about it already." I said.

"OH. Um. I won't." Ms. Bank teller responded.

But, I know she did. Because I totally would have.

I wonder if after I left her post, Ms. Bank Teller thanked her lucky stars that this morning? I wasn't suffering from a yeast infection or hemorrhoids, y'all.

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

With Fifteen Grand, You Can Feed An Army

In March and April of this year, stormy weather caused the state of Rhode Island to experience its worst flooding in history. Many people lost their belongings and their homes. Many businesses had to close. People lost their livelihoods. The unemployment rate, which was among the highest in the nation, rose even higher. It was all very, very disheartening.

During that time, President Barack Obama came to Boston, Massachusetts to attend a fund raiser. Because Massachusetts is virtually a stone's throw away from Rhode Island, many people speculated that the President would cross the border into Rhode Island to come and offer support and witness the devastation that was facing the smallest state in the union. He did not.

But, yesterday?

After most of the dust had cleared and most of the mess had been cleaned up and most of the battles with FEMA were over, he decided to come....one week before Election Day.

He came to raise money.

He came to make a withdrawal. Ka-ching.

He came to charge people $15,000.00 per couple to have dinner in the same room with him.

I never blog about religion or politics.

I like to keep things light around here.

But, today? I'm annoyed.

I'm annoyed that when it really counts, my little state is overlooked and treated like it's a pimple on the ass of Massachusetts.

As Americans, we're blessed. We get to spend our hard earned money any way we want to.

And you know what? If I had an extra fifteen grand lying around...just burning a hole in my pocket?

You can bet your ass that THE LAST thing I would do is use it to have dinner in the nosebleed section of a room---with the President.

Instead?

I'd use that money to feed the hungry.

Then, I'd park my tuckus at home and make myself a grilled cheese sandwich...proudly made with American cheese, of course.

Monday, October 25, 2010

A Monday Morning Ego Boost

Hello, Peeps! Long time, no blog! Right?!

I know. Blame my real job. It's cramping my style. I need to get a friggin union in there.

Anywho, I'm baaaaack!

And I want tell you about what a freakin rocket scientist I am.

I spent part of my weekend cleaning and organizing at home. One of the areas that need special attention, was my closet. So, I decided to sort through my clothing and get rid of crap that I didn't like, didn't wear, or made me look like a hooker.

When I was done, I dusted the shelves, organized the shoes, vacuumed the carpet, and put this handy dandy, brand new air freshener in there to make my closet smell nice:

Cinnamon Sugar Air Freshener From Yankee Candle:


Only one problem.

Usually, when I wake up in the morning, I am famished (like TODAY).

Seriously.

So, when I walked into the closet this morning to get my slippers, the cinnamon sugar air freshener filled the air with the aroma of freshly baked cinnamon buns.

Dudes! Immediately, I started thinking, "Oh.My.God! I MUST have a cinnamon bun for breakfast! Where the hell can I get one on my way to work?!"

And I stood there for a few seconds, taking in the scent, while seriously analyzing my course of action.

Suddenly?

Reality smacked me square on my ample ass, when I glanced to the left and contemplated this section of my closet:



Dudes? These are the articles of clothing that I love, but can not fit into unless I butter myself before getting dressed, like a Thanksgiving Day turkey.

Ho, hum.

Pass me the friggin oatmeal, damn it.

Monday, October 18, 2010

What The Shuck?

A Love Letter To My Husband...

Dear Paul,

You know the other night when you asked me if I wanted a snack and I asked you what you had in mind and you told me that it was a surprise but that it was something that you had to shuck and I was so flippin excited because I LOVE raw oysters and little neck clams and I assumed that THAT was what you were preparing for me in the kitchen because YOU KNOW how much I love SHELLFISH, but you also know that I can't shuck anything without losing my finger skin and/or major amounts of blood?

Yeah, well, for the record?

Where I come from? Pulling the wrapping off of mini Reese's Peanut Butter cups and presenting them to me on a friggin paper plate DOES NOT constitute SHUCKING.

Also? How would you like it if I asked you, "Do you feel like getting lucky tonight?" And then, when you said yes, I CRACKED YOU IN THE HEAD with a metal horseshoe and stuffed a rabbit's foot down your throat?

Yeah. It's called misleading your spouse. And it's kind of like what you did to me...minus the concussion.

God...You're soooo lucky to have a wife who's always teaching you important life lessons. I hope you realize that.

Me Love You Long Time,
Your Awesome Wife, Sally

Thursday, October 14, 2010

I Am A Ray Of Sunshine. Disagree, And I'll Stab You.


You know all that stuff you hear about attracting positive energy into your life by channeling positive thoughts? Yeah...Well, yesterday? I wasn't feeling it, dudes.

As a matter of fact, I was so vulgar, vicious, and stressed out, that I was hearing things. The following telephone conversation that I had with my pal, Lou, illustrates my attitude perfectly...

Me: Hello?

Lou: Hi honey! How are you today?

Me: Pissed. Stressed. Ready to stab. How are you?

Lou: I'm GREAT!

Me: Bleh...whatever...

Lou: Listen, I'm going to be swinging by your work shortly to drop off some stuff. Can I bring you a &$#@&*% iced coffee?

Me: Can you bring me a WHAT?

Lou: Would you like me to bring you a &$#@&*% iced coffee?

Me: DUDE! WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?! I TELL YOU THAT I'M HAVING A SHITTY DAY AND YOU ASK ME IF I WANT YOU TO BRING ME A F*CKING ICED COFFEE? DO YOU HAVE A DEATH WISH OR SOMETHING?

Lou: HEY! STOP YELLING AT ME AND CLEAN OUT YOUR FREAKIN EARS! I SAID...DO YOU WANT ME TO BRING YOU A PUMPKIN ICED COFFEE?

Me: Uh...Oh...Um. Sorry, Louie.

Lou: That's right you're sorry! AND YOU'RE A GIANT PAIN IN MY ASS!

Me: Hmm...If I only had a dollar for every time I've heard that.
**********************************************************

And, on a completely unrelated note, Lou and his wifey are currently on their way to California for a much deserved vacay. To any of my readers on the west coast? I apologize for his behavior in advance. Let us collectively pray that he keeps his clothes on. Seriously...


Have a great weekend, everybody! Oh, and if any of y'all are looking for some fun this weekend (and you live in the area), I've got access to Lou's house (um...maybe not legally) and his brandy new Cadillac, which, by the way, has front AND backseat ass warmers, people! We can cruise around town with toasty buns!! Or, we can just party in his hot tub and drink his fabulous wines! Your call! HOLLA!!!

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

Dumb As A Stump

Yesterday, my husband blew a brake line on his truck (Dear Life Insurance People, I HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH IT. I swear!). The following is the conversation that I had with the AAA truck driver who came to tow it to our mechanic's shop:

Truck Dude: Okay. It says here that you have a basic membership. That means the first three miles I tow it are free. Extra miles are $3.00 each.

Me: Okay. So what do I owe you?

Truck Dude: Well, your mechanic is NINE miles away. You get the first three miles FREE. That means you have to pay me for SIX miles. You owe me TWELVE bucks.

Me: How much is it a mile again?

Truck Dude: Three dollars.

Me: Alright. Well, SIX miles times THREE dollars a mile is EIGHTEEN dollars. I owe you eighteen dollars.

Truck Dude: *pondering and COUNTING ON HIS FINGERS like I'm trying to screw with his dumb ass* Wait. Is that right?

Me: Dude! I don't have time for this! I have to get back to work! I owe you EIGHTEEN dollars! Why would I lie about that?

Truck Dude: *shrugging*

Me: Look. Here's a TWENTY. Keep the change. *PAUSE* Um. THAT means you get to keep TWO dollars (just in case he couldn't figure that sh*t it out).

Truck Dude: Thanks!


Let's hope he puts that two bucks towards his enrollment in an entry level math class, y'all. Geez.

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

Jesus Knows I'm Not A Trollop

Ever since the big, lame renovation got underway at work, Hubs and my schedules have been all out of whack.

People are noticing, y'all.

And? They're starting to talk.

Case in point...

Every Saturday afternoon, Hubs and I used to take Sophia Petrillo (my Mama's alias) to church. But because he's working his bag off on Saturdays so we can FINALLY relocate our business, he's not been able to go with us.

Apparently, said change in our weekly schedule is causing many an OLD geezer at church to speculate as to Hubby's whereabouts.

When I'm not near her, people will go up to my Mother and nosily ask, "Where is your son-in-law? I haven't seen him in a looooong time. Is he sick?" AND she'll reply, "No. He's working!" Then, after mass, we'll be in the car on our way home, and she'll say, "You know that lady that sat in front of me in church? She asked me where Paul was! She probably thinks you're getting divorced!" And I'll shrug and respond, "Who cares, Ma?." And she'll say, "I do!"

Well, this week? Things at church took a turn. And my Mama came to my rescue.

Don't frig with me, people. She'll kick your ass, too.

You see, there's this old lady (80-ish) that sits on the opposite side of the church from us. And in the past, we've heard through the grapevine that she is a psychic.

Word on the street (or in the pew or whatever) is that she's a fortune teller and people go to her house and pay her to tell them what's going to happen to them in the future.

Not my cup of tea, but whatever.

Anywho, Psychic Lady NEVER talks to me. EVER.

She'll walk by and give me a smile AND I'll smile back, but that pretty much sums up the extent of our friendly exchanges over the years.

So, after church last week, I'm standing near the back door getting ready to leave and Psychic Lady walks over to me, looks me in the eye (oooohhh...she's creepy) and demanded, "WHERE IS YOUR HUSBAND?"

Immediately, I thought Oh, no! Not another old geezer who things I'm a churchgoing whore who left her husband for George Clooney! What the frig?

But, before I could muster the same ole' answer? My Mama jumped in and rescued me.

She looked at Sheba (I don't know her name. But, that sounds like an appropriate fortune teller's name to me. No?), stared her down and said...*GET THIS, PEOPLE*...

She said, "You're the psychic. Why don't YOU tell US where he is?"

BAHAHAHAHA!

And the confrontation was OVA! Don't mess with me, dudes. My Mama's got my back. Fo shizzle.

Let's hope in the aftermath, Psychic Lady doesn't put a hex on my ass. I'll let you know if I suddenly wake up one day with a set of hairy boys or some sh*t.

Thursday, October 7, 2010

You Ain't Never Caught A Rabbit And You Ain't No Friend Of Mine

WARNING: THE FOLLOWING POST CONTAINS TMI. DON'T SAY I DIDN'T WARN YOU.

I love Halloween.

What I mean by this statement is, I love spooky crap---including scary movies, t.v. shows, decorations, locations (HELLO!! SALEM, MASSACHUSETTS! I'M TALKIN' TO YOU!!!), and books/stories.

This morning, when I got out of bed, I spotted a magazine on my nightstand that had a vampire on it. It's a locally printed--free magazine, that I always pick up when I can find it. Apparently, Hubs brought it home with him last night and put it by my bedside, while I was snoring away.

I was psyched to see it! So, I rolled out of bed, grabbed the mag, and headed to the terlet (that's "toilet" in white trash speak) to pee and give myself time to fully awaken.

Now, let me just say that even though Hubs leaves for work before I do on most days, and even though I know that I am all alone in the house, I ALWAYS shut the bathroom door when I go potty.

So, there I was, sitting on the bowl---peeing, reading a story in said magazine about a cemetery in Rhode Island that is haunted. Apparently, there's a specific grave that belongs to a 19 year old girl who died of Tuberculosis way back in the 1800's. Some say she was a vampire and to prove it (or disprove it), her father let the local coroner dig her up and remove her organs which, even after she was dead for a long time, still had blood in them! WHAT THE HELL? Riveting stuff, right?

So there I am...sitting on the bowl...house dead quiet...reading about how this young girl is apparently still haunting a local cemetery, right? AND.I.AM.ENTHRALLED.

All of a sudden? The large bath towel that was hanging on the hook on my bathroom door WOOSHES to the floor...just fell out of NOWHERE, about ten minutes after I'd already been sitting on the porcelain throne!

Dudes?! IT SCARED THE EVER-LOVIN GAH-DAMN SH*T OUT OF ME! (Figuratively, not literally. Because I only had to pee and not poo and you should NEVER try to force yourself to poo because if you do, you are destined to have hemorrhoids the size of walnuts!) I threw the magazine in the air, clenched my chest, let out a yelp, dodged to the right, pressed myself against the bathroom wall, AND NEARLY HAD A FRIGGIN PANIC ATTACK.

And after I gave myself a moment to recoup and get my heart rate back to normal, I stopped to thank Jesus for not actually giving me a heart attack right there and then.

Because, dudes?

Who the eff wants to go down in history as the chick that died on the toilet...just like Elvis?

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

Fish Heads, Fish Heads. Roly Poly, Fish Heads.

Last Friday, Hubs and I made plans to meet our friend---Jim---for dinner at a super yummy BYOB Asian restaurant. As we were getting ready to leave work and make our way there, I got a phone call from Lou:

Me: Hello?

Lou: Hi Honey! What are you guys doing tonight?

Me: We're meeting Jim at Mr's M's for dinner. Why? What are you doing tonight?

Lou: Eh. Nothing much. Just hanging home, I guess. *HINT, HINT*

Me: Do you want to come with us? Jim would love to see you guys!

Lou: Sure! Sounds like a plan. Oh, and if you guys are bringing wine, don't bring any for me. I'm not drinking tonight.

Me: Yeah. Okay. Whatever.

****FAST FORWARD TO THE RESTAURANT****

So, we're at the restaurant and we're all trying to decide what to order, when Mrs. M, the owner of the place, comes over and says, "I just want you to know that TODAY we have a very special addition to the menu! We have a fresh FOUR POUND bass that was caught locally! It is perfect for two people to share! It is very special! And the chef will prepare it for you using wonderful spices! It will be a masterpiece!"

Now, y'all?

I've been to this restaurant before.

And I absolutely LOVE the food there.

But, once? I saw the whole fresh fish presentation. And let me tell you. IT.WAS.NOT.PRETTY.

So, I said to Lou and Jim, who were the only ones contemplating getting the fish masterpiece..."Dudes! That fish is going to be scary. Don't do it! Its' eyeballs are going to be staring at you the whole time you're eating it. YOU WILL have nightmares."

Lou addressed this situation with Mrs. M.

He said, "Mrs. M? Jim and I WOULD LOVE to try that amazing fish that you speak of! There's only one problem. I can't eat anything that's looking back at me. Can the chef do something about that?"

"Of course he can!" she replied. And she walked away, chuckling eerily.

Now, before I go any further, let me ask you a simple question.

Have you ever imagined what would happen to the fish in the sea if there was a nuclear catastrophe and the oceans filled with radioactive waste?

Yeah. Me neither.

But, if I EVER DID ponder this thought for any length of time, I'm sure I would eventually hypothesize that upon a nuclear catastrophe, all of the fish in the ocean would suddenly look like Lou and Jim's dinner:

(If you REALLY want to scare the crap out of yourself, click on the photos to make them bigger!)




Yeah.

Mrs. M had the chef remove the bass's eyeballs, alright.

AND? He replaced them with maraschino cherries...CUZ THAT makes the whole crazy ass presentation a little less traumatizing, right?

Anywho, Jim and Lou LOVED their "special masterpiece." They said it was the BEST fish they ever had.

I, on the other hand, continue to have nightmares about a demonic porcupine fish that repeatedly swims into my house via my toilet bowl, and bites me in the ass every time I pee.

Fuggin lovely.

All in all, Hubs and I had a very fun night with our friends (we always do). Here are some less scary photos from the remainder of our evening.

Brace yourselves...

Our friend, Jim, hacking up the fish from hell...(YIKES! Look at Jim's eyes! Now, he's radioactive, too!)



Lou, eating the fish from hell....



Lou's wife, Linda...traumatized by the fish from hell...



What used to be the fish from hell...



Me and Linda Shminda (I call her that all the time. Not sure if she likes it or not. But, I have some information that I am currently blackmailing her with, so I don't expect any resistance. God! I love power!)



Remember how Lou professed that he would not be indulging in alcohol consumption on this evening?

Yeah, well he was full of crap.

Because three bottles of wine later?

He had a garlic sauce stain on his right nipple, he elected me THE DESIGNATED DRIVER (good thing I only drank diet soda), and he and his BFF'S were feeling the love (That's Hubs on the top of the love pyramid, followed by Jim---on the left, and Lou---on the right)...



And, as if that wasn't enough?

Lou kept pretending to go to the bathroom. And he was taking a really long time. So, on his third trip, I went to look for him. And do you know what he was doing?

NO. Not THAT, you PERVS.

He was schmoozing with a large group of University of Rhode Island students!

AND? They loved him! They even invited him to have a few drinks with them at a local bar!

HEY GUYS?! DIDN'T YOUR PARENTS TEACH YOU NOT TO TALK TO STRANGERS? ESPECIALLY CRAZY ASS ONES WITH STAINS ON THEIR NIPPLES?!

Here he is with them. Note the bald guy, sandwiched between the two girls....waaaayyyy in the back:



I'd like to give a shout out to these URI students! They were great sports and seemed like really nice young adults. One weird thing about them, though? When I asked if I could take their picture and put it on my blog, they said "YES!" THEN? They all posed and yelled, "HUNAN!" while making weird gangsta signs with their hands:



I'm not quite sure what the hell this means.

But, if I find out it's something NASTY? I'm driving to URI and getting my revenge....by leaving this guy on their doorstep:



Fear me, dudes.