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



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."


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!


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.


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


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!


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!


Lou: Shut up!


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!


*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...


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.


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.


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.


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.


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,

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."


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.