Friday, February 26, 2010

I Can't Drive...45???

Guess what?

Sally was pulled over while driving---TWICE in ONE WEEK.

But, wait. There's more! I AM INNOCENT!

Well...I didn't really do anything THAT bad.

The policemen involved were just bored. Seriously.

Altercation numero uno happened one night at NINE-THIRTY PM---while I was driving home from work. I was tired. The day had been l-o-n-g. I just wanted to get home, take a bath, have a snack, and relax for a short while---before getting up early the next morning and facing the same bullshit workload. I was driving through a small Rhode Island town on a one lane road and I was annoyed because Grandpa Moses was in the car in front of me and he was doing twenty in a forty mile an hour zone. WTF?

At the next traffic light, the lane split into two for a short while so I thought, here's my chance to go around Pepere and get out of this senior citizen parade. So, I pulled into the left lane and GUNNED it when the light turned green. I had to act fast-ish because the lane turned back into ONE STUPID LANE in just a few feet. That's when I saw the police lights and pulled over. Son-of-a-bitch.

Mr. Twelve Year Old Policeboy---who was probably looking to make his quota in this boring ass little town---came over to my window and asked for my license and registration. Then he said, "Was that your car that made that loud revving noise?"

I wanted to say, "Sherlock, you are so effin observant."

You know...because the only people on the road at that time were me and the old man that had been driving in front of me.

But, not wanting to push his buttons, I said, "Yep."

Then he said, "Are you alright to drive?"

Oh my fugging hell, Opey.

I rolled my eyes (I KNOW I DID) and responded, "Yep."

He walked away to presumably check on my info and make sure that I wasn't a WANTED criminal or something. Then, he came back and gave me my crap and said, "You might want to take it easy on that gas pedal." I wanted to say, "You might want to buy some Proactive Solution, Opey." But, instead I just said, "Yep."

I was a woman of limited conversation that night. But, I was rewarded with NO TICKET. Yee ha!

Three days later, altercation numero dos took place...SAME FUGGING ROAD...different twelve year old Policeboy.

I'd left work at 11:30PM and I was tired and aggravated. This time the violation was speeding. I was doing 45 MPH in a 40 MPH zone. THAT'S FIVE FUGGING MILES OVER THE SPEED LIMIT. Big fugging whoop.

So, I get pulled over. And blah, blah, blah---Policeboy askes me for my shit AND then he asked my husband for his license, as well. You know...cuz he could be the fugging fugitive that I am harboring in the passenger's seat.

After checking us out, Policeboy comes back and says, "Do you know why I pulled you over?" So, I say, "No." And he said, "You were doing 45 in a 40."

I wanted to say, "ARE YOU FUGGING KIDDING ME? YOU'RE PULLING ME OVER FOR FIVE FREAKING MILES? WTF? THIS IS RHODE ISLAND! SHOULDN'T YOU BE OUT ARRESTING SOME CORRUPT POLITICIANS OR SOME SHIT?"

But, I bit my lip and I rolled my eyes (can't control it). And I just said, "OK."

That was it. OK.

At that point I'm thinking, hurry up and give me a fugging ticket so I can get the hell home, a**hole. I had nothing else to say.

I think this shocked Policeboy. He was expecting a rash of shit from me. I could tell.

But, instead, I said nothing but, "OK."

Realizing that this was a deadend conversation, he handed me back my stuff, told me to SLOW DOWN (Fug you, Opey), and let me and the fugitive (Hubby) drive away---ticketless (YAHOO).

Fast forward to yesterday...and the REAL reason why I'm pissed off.

I went to a local department store to pick up some office supplies.

And when I got there, I saw this car...with NOBODY IN IT...parked LIKE ASS...in a NONPARKING SPOT:


Yet, I?

AM AN APPARENT MENACE TO THE ROADS.

What the hell is wrong with this picture?

Thursday, February 25, 2010

Butter NOT Do That Again!

The following is this morning's breakfast conversation between me and the man I am married to---and want to choke sometimes:

Me (as I am drying my hair): Paul? Can you heat up my oatmeal for me while I finish my hair?

Man I Want To Choke: OK.

A few minutes pass. I finish my hair. I sit down at the kitchen island to eat my oatmeal....

Me: Thanks! It looks yummy. (I take a bite.) Mmmmmm...Nice and warm! Thank you for making it for me.

Man I Want To Choke: Yep. It's just perfect...with just a hint of BUTTER.

Me: WHAT? BUTTER? THERE'S BUTTER IN HERE? YOU DON'T PUT BUTTER IN OATMEAL! WHY THE HELL IS THERE BUTTER IN HERE?!

Man I Want To Choke: Calm down! There's not A LOT of butter in there. There's just a TOUCH of butter because when I was making it, it looked a little clumpy! So, I stirred it with the knife I used to butter my toast.

Me: Why didn't you just use a freakin spoon?

Man I Want To Choke: Because I didn't want to dirty one!

Me: WHY THE HELL NOT? YOU'RE NOT GOING TO WASH IT! THE DISHWASHER IS?!

A minute passes...

Me: SO. HOW MUCH BUTTER WAS ON THE KNIFE?

Man I Want To Choke: Barely any! Geez!

Me: How much is barely any? Like the SIZE OF A PEA?!

Man I Want To Choke: NO! I DON'T KNOW! Um...I think like the size of a half a Tic Tac! You're really making a big deal out of nothing...

Me: (pouting) It's not NOTHING. You know I'm not a morning person. Don't be screwing with my breakfast OR my caloric consumption.

A couple of minutes passes...

Man I Want To Choke: I guess I know who you'll be blogging about today.

Me: You got it, dude! I've got to alert the blogosphere. They need to know that they shouldn't waste their money on food scales, when they can so accurately measure their food quantities in terms of Tic Tacs. Your revelation will amaze them.

Man I Want To Choke: (under his breath) *grumble, grumble, possible eff word, grumble, grumble*

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Evil Is As Evil Does

I threw my husband under the bus today. Figuratively speaking, of course.

I would never really throw him under a bus because I watch Dateline and I KNOW that whenever a married dude mysteriously croaks, the wife usually gets blamed. And I'm not into being any one's Pokey Bitch.

So, what I mean by throwing him under the bus is this...

I went to Weight Watchers today. And I don't think I've ever told you guys this....But, my Weight Watcher's leader? Yeah. Well, she's my husband's aunt (my mother-in-law's sister). And she thinks my husband is soooooooooooooooo wonderful...and sooooooooooooo nice...and suchhhhhhhhhh a goooooooooood mannnnnnnn.

So, today? I ratted on his ass.

She was discussing the importance of having healthy and satisfying food choices in our homes. And she was stressing the importance of ridding our homes of "trigger" foods.

Suddenly, she asked the class, "What are some of your trigger foods?" And I yelled out (at the exact same time as my buddy, Crockpot Dave---apparently, our "inner fat kids" are on the same page), "OREOS!"

That's when Auntie WW Leader looked at me and said, "OREOS! My goodness!" So, I explained, "They're not in the house anymore. I got rid of them yesterday (along with the Girl Scout Cookies, the Boy Scout Chocolate Trail mix, and loads of chocolate). And, NO. I didn't eat them. I gave them away."

Just then, Auntie WW Leader asked, "And why are those things in your house?"

And then, it happened.

I told the truth and threw my husband under the Weight Watcher's bus.

I said, "THOSE THINGS are in the house because YOUR NEPHEW brought them into the house! And he ALSO brought in SEVERAL JARS of peanut butter with dark chocolate chips mixed in!"

And then, as my WW class gasped in horror, I added, "HE IS EVIL."

Auntie WW Leader chuckled and responded, "No. Paul is NOT evil. He is a good guy!"

Damn it.

Not only is blood thicker than water.

Apparently, it's thicker than chocolate, too.

Monday, February 22, 2010

My Pal, Linda :)

Happy Monday, my friends! And thank you for all of the well wishes! I am feeling so much better! Turns out, I had a stomach flu. But I am back to normal today! Well, that's assuming I can ever be classified as "normal."

So, I have to tell you about my friend, Linda. I know you all remember me telling you my Lou stories, right? If not, click HERE. But, put your food and/or beverages down first. What you are about to see is not pretty.....

OK.

Now back to my friend, Linda...She is Lou's wife. And she has written a fabulous book:

It's a book that we can all relate to because it's about choices and how it's NEVER too late to be the person you were meant to be.

The book chronicles Linda's life and follows her through many difficult situations, losses (OMG, I cried SO MUCH when she dealt with her Mom's death!) , and choices that she grapples with and handles gracefully while utilizing her unwavering faith in God.

Along with Linda's book, she also has a corresponding CD with her own song called, It's Your Choice:It's a beautiful song that inspires you to realize your potential and take another road in life if the one you are on is not conducive to the life you were meant to live.

Something you may not know about Linda is that she was a Sister of St. Joseph for twenty-five years. I know! Interesting, right?!

And because I like to joke with her, I often say to her, "Linda? Really? You encourage people and counsel people through some of the most difficult situations in their lives! Yet, when it came down to your own life, you chose this?"
"Good Lord, woman! What were you thinking?"

Hahaha. You'll want to know what she was thinking! So, buy the book. You can get it HERE.

And if you happen to live in the Massachusetts/Rhode Island area, you MUST come to her book signing---not only to meet Linda (AND LOU----AAAHHHHHH!), but also to see me because get this, people!

I am going to be the MC! Oh, yeah! That means me + a bazillion people + my very own live microphone = TROUBLE!

Seriously, Linda! What were you thinking? Hehehehe... *insert evil laugh here.*

Anywho, here is the info:

What: Book Signing for Linda Lambert Pestana
Where: Venus de Milo Restaurant, 75 GAR Highway (Route 6), Swansea MA 02777
When: Sunday, March 7TH, 1-5PM
RSVP: By February 25TH to llpestana@aol.com (Enter "book signing" on subject line)

You will love this book.

I'm asking you to trust me on this.

But, ultimately---like anything else---It's Your Choice (I can't stop saying this!).

Friday, February 19, 2010

Cheater, Cheater, Pumpkin Eater!

Hmmm...Where Is My Scale?


Happy Friday, my friends!

Today's post will be short and sweet because Sally is feeling a bit under the weather. I've taken to speaking about myself in the third person. Apparently, I'm sicker than I thought.

Anyway, I am feeling flu-ish. It came on SUDDENLY last night while I was watching an online webinar (for work) featuring live sinus surgery. At first, I thought the queasiness in my belly was a result of my witnessing so much gore (fugging-nasty- bloody-snot-fest). But, when I woke up this morning, I realized that I still felt like blowing gears (barfing) and my appetite was G-O-N-E. That's right, people. That means I was barely able to force down two saltines for breakfast.

Today, I've been blessed with a NASTY headache behind my eyeballs and a gnawing lower backache that makes me want to tear out my kidneys with my Rachael Ray Furi knife.

And to top it all off, I have the chills one minute and am sweating like a beast the next.

Whew! Good times!

But because I am an eternal optimist (WHAT? You don't believe me?), I've decided to look on the bright side.

I AM TOTALLY GUARANTEED A WEIGHT LOSS THIS WEEK.

YES SIRREE!

I'll take that shrinking ass anyway I can get it.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

Perfect Name For A Porn Star

Remember that blog post that I wrote about yucky last names? You know...the one where I said I would never marry a man named Mr. Ho because I wouldn't want to be Sally Ho?

If you've never read it before, click here. I'll wait until you catch up before I fill you in on the latest.

OK. So, yesterday at work, I got a call from a gentleman who wanted a quote for a job that we may potentially do for his company. I gave him our email address and told him to send me any blueprints/details that I would need to send him the most cost effective quote possible in the timeliest manner possible.

About ten minutes later, I received his email and upon opening it, I chuckled aloud like a teenage boy. Just call me Beavis. What would make me laugh my ass off like the unrefined fool that I am? Well, it's like this. The dude's last name was...Hold on. I think I need a DRUM ROLL PLEASE!!!!

OK....His last name was CREAMER.

Bahahahaha!

And that's not even the best part!

Because, his office? Um...well...it's located on....SOUTH WACKER DRIVE. For real, people!

Mr. Creamer from South Wacker Drive.

Ewwwwww!

As you can probably guess, I wouldn't marry him either.

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

Green Skin + Cat Eyes + Funky Teeth =?

Yesterday, I was one of the lucky people to have the day off due to Presidents' Day.

And I had big plans.

I was going to do all kinds of stuff around the house! I was going to cook all sorts of "good for me" foods! I was going to be productive! OH.YES.I.WAS.

But then, when I woke up, I saw this on my nightstand:
It was all shiny and new and it was calling to me. So I thought, Oh hell. What's the harm in reading a chapter or two? Right?

Wrong.

Because, 475 pages later? I was still in my pajamas. I hadn't brushed my teeth or taken a shower yet. And the only thing I shoved down my gullet all day for a combination breakfast/lunch was SEVERAL chocolate covered strawberries that were left over from Valentine's Day.

WHAT? It's fruit, right?

Later on that night, Hubby and I met some friends for dinner at a Thai restaurant. It's a restaurant that we go to often because the food is really good and it's a really hip place. AND they use black light there to vamp up the atmosphere in the evening...VERY COOL.

But, last night? I was a little weirded out there because our waitress had a funky look to her. Her skin had a greenish tint to it. She was wearing contacts that made her eyes look like a cat. And, her teeth were so white that they freakin glowed!

When we were alone in the car on the way home, I asked Hubs, "Did you notice anything weird about our waitress?" He answered, "She had an interesting look. That's for sure." I responded, "I don't know, dude. She looked like a vampire to me (SHE REALLY DID)." That's when Hubs looked at me and shook his head in silence...like I was Cookoo for Coco Puffs or something.

Alright. I admit it.

I might need an intervention, people.

Maybe y'all should call somebody.

Friday, February 12, 2010

I Vant To Suck Your....Oh, Never Mind.

I have been living under a rock of denial.

I am referring to the PHENOMENON that is the Twilight book series:


See...I've been sort of boycotting this whole vampire teenage love story thing. I was all, I refuse to read that childish crap! I am an educated ADULT! What's with all of these grown women getting all hot and bothered by this lame ass Edward Cullen (the lead blood sucker)? They must all be fugging crazy!

And then?

After all of my denials and my absolute refusal to purchase any of these books? My friend, Jen, gave me Twilight for Christmas. That b*tch (Love you, Jen!)! And that's not all. She also gave me an Edward Cullen bookmark:


At first, I looked at her like she'd been smoking crack. I was all, "Seriously, Jen?" And she was ADAMANT! She said, "Just give it a chance. You are GOING TO LOVE IT. Trust me!"

"Oh, alright," I said. "I'll give it a whirl. BUT I'M NOT TELLING ANYBODY ABOUT THIS (except for you, ENTIRE INTERNET)!"

And because I love, love, love books...Can you tell?....

Sally's Library (I am a dork):



I gave it a chance.

I started it on Sunday. By Tuesday, I was halfway done with it. By Thursday, I was all in an effin frazzle...carrying it with me EVERYWHERE! I smuggled it to work in my briefcase. I read it in the bathtub. I read it while I was on the phone "supposedly" listening to my mother. I.WAS.OBSESSED.

But, in the beginning, the practical side of me was having a hard time with the story line. I addressed this with my friend, Nicole, who is a HUGE fan of the Twilight book series. I said to her, "I don't get it! Tell me how this chick can go to her vampire boyfriend's house to meet his entire vampire family AND NOT BE WORRIED AT ALL that they might collectively poke her with straws and drink her up like a giant bloody scorpion bowl?" Nicole answered, "Sally. You need to stop being so practical and start focusing on the fictional. It's an escape. And it's about love. Focus on that."

So, I did.

And shamefully, I am now hooked.

So much so that yesterday, when Hubby asked me, "What do you want for Valentine's Day?"

I can't believe I said it either, people...but I answered, "I would just fart rainbows and shit Haagen Dazs if you bought me the rest of the Twilight series!"

So yesterday, after work, he did....


And the movie, too!



Guess what we'll be doing on Valentine's Day?!

NO, NOT THAT---YOU PIGS!

I meant watching the movie! And eating a fabu home cooked meal!

Which brings me to this question...

Am I the only one who craves Bloody Marys while reading about vampires?

Thursday, February 11, 2010

I'll Have Me Some "Pretty Sally!"....*hiccup*

I have an obsession with all things personalized.

It started when I was a little kid.

My Mom had me when she was almost forty. I was the youngest of eight children and by the time I was born? Momma was all out of names.

So, she let my siblings pick my moniker. Uh-oh.

Now, when I was born, my parents had only been in this country for about four years. My siblings lead a pretty sheltered life---getting used to their new surroundings, culture, and whatnot. So, of course, when saddled with naming their "new" baby sister, they turned to the television.

The story goes that my siblings had two choices for a girl's name. I was either going to be named Sally or Sandy.

And you are never going to believe what show they chose these names from.

Ready?

Lawrence freakin Welk.

Seriously.

Apparently, I am named after some chick who used to sing on the Lawrence Welk Show, but who left said show to become a nun. Looks like except for the name, we are NOTHING alike.

I suppose I should give thanks everyday for my siblings' choice.

Because when I was born?

My siblings and my parents weren't very well versed in the English language. So, I could have been named WAY WORSE THINGS like Lassie, Rin Tin Tin, Flipper, or Marcia Marcia Marcia---For the love of God.

Anywho, as far as I was concerned, growing up---I never liked my name.

It was a weird name...an old lady name.

And when I was eight years old and I wanted to buy a personalized license plate for my Huffy bike? It didn't happen. It wasn't available. My name wasn't cool enough for the times, I guess.

So, now---Every time I see something with my name on it? I seriously contemplate buying it. It's how I deal with the emotional scars of growing up with the same name as a flying nun and Archie Bunker's daughter.

This brings me to my latest acquisition....

Right before Christmas, Hubby and I went out for dinner to this great restaurant where my friend Jody works.

While looking at the "wines by the glass" list, I saw a Cabernet-Shiraz blend listed called Pretty Sally.

Dudes! I was so flippin thrilled (Like it was really named after me, right?)!

I turned to my husband and said, "Paul! Look! They have a wine named after me! I don't care if it tastes like fermented rat shit in a glass, I'm getting it!"

And? And? And?

I ordered it---only to find out that it was very popular and the restaurant was sold out of it. Son-of-a-bitch.



You would think that it wasn't a big deal and I would drop it, right?

But NOOOOOOOOO.

I had to have it!

So, when I got home, I went online and researched where I could buy it.

Turns out that besides the restaurant, there was only one store about thirty miles away from my house that carried it.

So, I waited a couple of days (when I had some free time) and drove my happy ass to an East Bum section of Massachusetts (THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE, PEOPLE) where the lone Pretty Sally carrying liquor store stands.

And? I bought six bottles! Whoo hoo!

I gave Hubby two bottles of Pretty Sally for Christmas. And he was pretty happy because he really enjoys red wine.

Luckily, said wine received a very high rating from a reputable wine magazine, so I was sure it wouldn't taste like ass. Whew!

I gave the other bottles away as gifts.

Now, one of the people I gave a bottle to is my pal, Homer (not his real first name) LaChapelle. Of course, Homer and I have matching wits. Meaning? He can take what I dish out and vice verse. We joke around ALL THE TIME. So, when I handed the wine to Homer, I was all like, "Yeah. That's right. I am so freakin fabulous that they named a wine after me! How you like me now, Homer?"

And Homer laughed and rolled with it.

Until this Sunday...

When he left a cooler on my doorstep with some fresh little neck clams in it for me (YUM), some coconut macaroons for my Hubby (coconut is gross), and this bottle of wine:


Yeah. OK, Homer. Nice try...

And FYI?

My Pretty Sally bottle could totally kick your fake-out LaChapelle bottle's ass:


I win.

Monday, February 8, 2010

At Least We Have Teeth

So.

It's been a long time.

But, I've got a "Lou" story for ya.

If you're new to Mais Fica, perhaps you'll need a "Lou Refresher Course" before you continue reading this post. Click here if you do. I'll wait.

Okey dokey. So now you know.

My buddy, Lou? Um. Yeah. Boundaries DO NOT apply to him.

He wasn't always this way with us, you know.

As a matter of fact, when Hubby and I first met him? We had a strictly business relationship. But he kept asking, and asking, and asking us to go out for dinner with him. He'd say, "You've got to meet my wife, Linda---I think you'll love her!" So, we finally gave in.

And, HELP.ME.JESUS.

He has been torturing us (OK...just me) ever since.

Our latest outing together (UH-OH) occurred on Saturday night. Lou and Linda bought four tickets to see America's Got Talent at the MGM Grand Casino in Ledyard, CT. And they invited us! Whoo hoo! So, we met at their house, drove to the casino, and had dinner at CraftSteak (owned by Top Chef, Tom Colicchio) before the show.

BTW---The food was sooooo flipping fantastic and indulgent! And I ate like a beast! Remember THAT when I post my Weight Watcher's weigh in results tomorrow and am pissed off to high heaven!

Anywho, after dinner, we made it to the show with ten minutes to spare.

Now, I have to admit. I was never a huge fan of the show. I watched it occasionally. But, I could never get past wanting to kick David Hasselhoff (who joined talent judges--- Sharon Osbourne and Piers Morgan) in the shins every time he opened his fuggin mouth. Seriously.

But, you know...I'm always up for a fun night out so I was super excited to check it out!

OK. So, we walked into the theater and found our seats. And LOW AND BEHOLD! We were in the second row, right in front of the middle of the stage!! EFFIN AWESOME JOB, LOU!!

But wait! There's more! You are gonna shit! I swear!

So, then, THE HOST of the show comes out, right?

And because I teeter on the fine line between refinement and white trash, I ALMOST CRAP MYSELF when I realize that the host of the show is none other than JERRY FREAKIN SPRINGER! Check it out:


And I flip the hell out!

I start chanting, JERRY, JERRY, JERRY! And suddenly, I've got the urge to rip my shirt off, start throwing folding chairs and shit, and beat the living daylights out of the guy next to me!

But, ALAS. I couldn't act on my urges.

Because (A) I didn't want to end up on a Girls Gone Wild video, (B) the chairs were very posh theater chairs that were fastened to the floor, and (C) the GUY NEXT TO ME was my husband AND I wasn't keen on being arrested for domestic violence and being some chicks bitch while I sat in the pokey and waited for my bail to be posted on Monday morning.

Fugg off.

So, instead? I sat excitedly---but quietly, watching the talent show (except for my occasional JERRY, JERRY, JERRY--chants).

The whole show was fantastic! We saw:

The Texas Tenors:

Recycled Percussion:

Last Season's One Million Dollar Winner---Kevin Skinner:

And My All Time Favorite, Opera Singer (AND CANCER SURVIVOR), Barbara Padilla:


After the show, Hubs and I thanked Lou and Linda for including us in such a wonderful night.

But, ALAS...and woe is me...and all of that crap. I was sad. (OK. ALAS? Woe is me? When the frig did I suddenly turn into William Shakespeare?)

Lou could tell that I was sad and he was all, "What's the matter, Babycakes?" Not really. I'm making this part up...I don't know why. Maybe I need meds.

But as we were walking out of the theater, I did say, "Hey Lou. You know what would make my life complete? What would make me the happiest girl in the world? What would tickle my Portuguese fancy?"

He looked at me like I was CUH-RAZY. But, he asked anyway, "WHAT?" And I said, "I would just SHIT A FRICKIN BRICK if I could take a picture with Jerry Springer!"

And just then, the skies parted!

And I swear I could hear harps playing music from heaven!

OK. Maybe that was the wine talking. But, whatever...

Anyway, as we were walking out of the theater, Lou spotted Jerry Freakin Springer! He grabbed my arm and said, "I'll get you a picture with JERRY! But, I'm going to be in it with you!" AND THEN? He dragged me into the crowd and pushed and shoved his way through all of the Junk Yard Dogs that were swarming around MY JERRY, and Hubs got to snap this photo! CAN YOU SAY HOLLA????:

Look at Lou! He's telling MY JERRY, "I swear on the souls of every person who lives in a DOUBLE WIDE! THESE ARE MY REAL TEETH!"


And then, Linda got this picture! Yeah, that's right! Don't be hatin' on us cuz we got TWO pictures with THE KING OF WHITE TRASH TELEVISION! Boo-yah!:

Look at the smile on Lou's face! I swear! I think Jerry was grabbing his ass!


Dudes! I was so flipping excited! Seriously!

And I just have to say that I think...Nope...I KNOW that this experience was the SUMMIT/the PEAK/the ZENITH/the absolute CULMINATION of Lou's and my friendship!

Yep. Cuz it definitely beats the shit out of the time we took a picture with a cardboard Barack Obama!

Hey, Lou!

We're like the the Jefferson's!

Cuz we are DEFINITELY MOVIN' ON UP!

Friday, February 5, 2010

Like A Fart In Church

The following is the response that I received from Dave D., the dude from my Weight Watcher's meeting, who I've convinced to buy THE AWESOMEST CROCKPOT IN THE WORLD for his wife as a Valentine's Day gift:

Sally, I am disappointed that you felt that I was not a believer. I could see the sincerity in your doe-like brown eyes as you espoused the features and benefits of the over-priced kitchen equipment that you so desperately needed and now have. In fact, I'm used to that because, as I told you, I have my own Portuguese-American Princess at home who has become accustomed to the finer things in life.

You had me at Williams-Sonoma!

After our impromptu meeting, I went home and discussed this very subject with "She Who Must Be Obeyed," (I call her "she who must" for short) and she though it would be a great idea to have a $300.00 crockpot in which she could make her Sam's Club meatballs and sauce (Her family thinks she makes it from scratch! Ha!).

I have done my on-line research and decided that I will buy one for her for Valentines Day. Now, I realize that this is something of a risk for me, so as a safety net, I am going to print out your blog and use that as her Valentines Day card (I'm anti-Hallmark, but that's another story).

She Who Must and I have been married for almost 25 years and I have given her some real clunkers for gifts over the years. I am putting my trust in you and your sage advice. If we don't make it to our 25Th in June, it will be your fault.

If this works out, I will arrange for you and She Who Must to meet to discuss your Louis Vuitton needs. She has told me that she doesn't have nearly enough. How about you?


Sally's Response:

Dave! Holy crapola! You have been married for ALMOST 25 YEARS? Does your wife realize that if she'd a killed you in the very beginning, she'd be out of prison by now? WOW!

Anywho, listen up! Do not be afraid! The crockpot WILL NOT go over like a fart in church. I swear.

My husband always says, "Valentine's Day is for amateurs." And you know what? He's right. Valentine's Day turns every idiot into a hero. Think about it. Most men who have been married for awhile don't give their wives gifts or cards for no reason. Hell, they rarely even take them out for dinner! But, all of a sudden, Valentine's Day comes along and every unoriginal bastard in the world comes home with a cheap box of chocolates (FYI---Godiva's are the exception!) and some overpriced roses and acts like he just discovered America! Big whoop!

You are going to be different! You are going to be original! And when you give her that crockpot? You are going to get L-U-C-K-Y! Whoot, whoot! But, listen...In addition to the CROCKPOT O' LOVE, I want you to throw in a nice crockpot cookbook, too (Williams Sonoma has a GREAT one!). And...you know...write her a nice little love note on the inside cover...I don't know...something like:

Roses are red.
Violets are blue.
Your "fake out" meatballs from Sam's Club---the ones that I just told all of the internet that you don't really make from scratch---are hot!
And so are you.


You get the drill, right?

Good.

And? You're welcome.

As for the Louis Vuitton question? A Portuguese Princess can NEVER have enough Louis Vuitton bags. So, I'm thinking that you should buy her a REALLY nice one for your 25TH anniversary! AND you'd better throw in a matching wallet, too. AND you'd better present them both to her while you're on THAT LOVELY TROPICAL CRUISE that you SHOULD be taking her on to commemorate that OH SO FRICKIN SPECIAL DAY when she agreed to love and honor you until death do you part. For the love of God! She gave you TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF HER LIFE! Ger cracking!

Hmmm...That brings up an interesting question.

Until death do us part? Does that mean that AFTER death, I am free to canoodle with John F. Kennedy, Jr.? Whoo hoo!!

My husband says NO.

Funny...

I don't remember hearing love, honor, and rain on your spouse's parade as part of our wedding vows.

I must have selective hearing.

Thursday, February 4, 2010

A Burger With A Side Of SMACK

I have a confession to make.

I nag my husband.

I know. You're surprised, right? Because your thinking, How can such a lovely, timid, introspective, innocent, kind, and pious woman be such a NAG?

Shut up and stop laughing.

I'll have you know that my biggest gripe...the thing that I nag him the most about...is his forgetting to wear his seat belt.

It's the weirdest thing. You see, he always remembers to wear his seat belt when he's driving his truck. ALWAYS.

But he NEVER remembers to put his seat belt on when he's driving or riding in my car. It really pisses me off. And when this happens, which is like ALL THE FREAKIN TIME, I'll wait until we've been in the car for a minute or so and then I'll say, "PUT YOUR SEAT BELT ON! Don't think you're going to CROAK and leave me all alone to deal with YOUR PARENTS/MY MOTHER/THE BUSINESS! Geez, Paul!"

There is one thing, however, that I NEVER nag him about...

Well, not to his face, anyway.

And that is?

The food that he eats, people.

Oh, sure. I'll complain to the internet about how he eats like a beast and never gains a pound. And I'll complain to the internet about how he eats cookies and drinks bucket loads of milk RIGHT BEFORE BED and never gains a son-of-a-bitchin' ounce.

But, to him? I'm all like Oh that's so nice that you are savoring those Oreos while I am enjoying these luscious carrot sticks! Yay, for you!

So, last Friday, when we left work after a VERY LONG day and decided to stop at a burger joint on the way home for a quick dinner, my very accepting, supportive behavior continued....even after he ordered and ate the "Better Call the Doctor" burger (a big, honkin pile of beef, a FRIED EGG, cheddar cheese, smoked bacon, on BUTTERED toast)...WITH FRIES (SMACK, SMACK, SMACK):

...while I ate the Jamaican Jerk GRILLED CHICKEN sandwich with sweet pineapple salsa AND A SIDE SALAD.

After dinner, Hubby asked, "What are you going to do when we get home? Do you want to watch a movie or something?"

So I answered, "Maybe. But first, I think I'm going to comb over your life insurance policy...you know...make sure eveything is up to date and shit."

WHAT?

That IS NOT nagging!

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Boobies As Flat As Pancakes

Howdy y'all!

OK. How the hell did I suddenly turn into Taylor Swift?

I don't know.

Just be glad that I didn't cross over to the dark side a la Kanye.

Speaking of Kanye...I watched the Grammy Awards the other night, mainly because I wanted to see what the crazy b*tch, Lady Gaga, was up to.

And I have to say that I sat in fear for Taylor Swift the whole night.

Every time she won an award, I was like Hurry up, Country Girl! Give your speech before that crazy, mean, Kanye sneaks up from behind and gives you rabbit punches to the back of the head! Seriously. That mofo's not wrapped too tight...

Anywho, back to the reason for my post. On Tuesdays, I usually go to Weight Watchers for my weekly weigh in. But, yesterday, it was a no go. In lieu of getting my ass shrinkage update, I had to (A) go to the dentist and (B) take my Mom to get her boobies squished (Lord.Have.Mercy.On.Me).

My visit to the dentist was pretty uneventful. Chatted it up with my favorite hygienist. My choppers were cleaned. X-rays were taken. Had a nice visit with my new dentist who---I am happy to report is not only professional and friendly, but ALSO has a sense of humor. And how do I know this? He laughed, when after my dental exam, I told him I was going to stop for some cotton candy and a candy apple on my way to work.

So, after my nice, uneventful visit to the dentist, I took my Mom for her yearly mammogram.

Remember how last week, I told you that she...UM...has no mouth filter?

Yeah, well I didn't tell you that LAST WEEK at her regular doctor's office, she was a friggin brat.

First, while we were waiting for the doc to come in, she looked at me and told me I should have worn lipstick. I told her, "I am wearing lipstick." She said my lips looked purple and the color was unattractive (mauve-BTW). So, I told her it must be the lighting because her lipstick looked like poops, too.

How you like me now, Momma?

Then the doctor came in and bitched about her THREE extra pounds, her sugar was high-ish, and her cholesterol was up. And let me tell you...It's because she went HOG WILD over the last six months eating crap.

So, he looked at her and said, "I AM NOT HAPPY." And she said *insert Portuguese accent here* , "I AM NOT HAPPY, TOO."

And then she said she would do better. He said, "I have heard this before! You have to stop eating chocolate, cake, and junk." And she said, "I no eat junk anymore. I only finished the junk I have from Christmas!"

And he said, "And when did you do that?" She said, "I eat the last FIVE chocolates YESTERDAY." And he said, "Haven't you ever heard of throwing things in the trash?" And she said, "Have you no heard that JESUS no likes you to waste food?"

Yeah. She played the Jesus Card...left him shaking his head...and virtually speechless.

So, yesterday, I took her to the Boobie Squeezing Facility. And I was worried about what words of wisdom might spew from her seventy-eight year old lips.

Because, HELLO? She squawks for no good reason!

Put her in a room with an audience of half naked women who are about to get their ta-tas flattened? And, dudes! You know there could be a gah-damn revolt and she'll be its' friggin ring leader!

So, we get to the office, and the first thing we (I) have to do is answer a questionnaire. The first question was, "Are you pregnant?" So, I turned to her and said, "Hey, Ma? They want to know if you're pregnant? BAHAHAHAHAHA!" No response from the peanut gallery, but I did get a dirty look.

A few minutes later, a nice lady came to lead us into the boobie squeezing room. She gave Mom a johnny, told her to get undressed from the waist up, and then told her to sit in the waiting room---which is where I was...holding all of her crap.

Immediately upon undressing, they took Mom into the room with the squishing machine and performed their manipulation of the mammalians. When it was over, she joined me in the waiting room, where she had to wait to get the OK from a technician to put her hooter holders/sweater back on.

So, there we were...sitting in the waiting room...apres boobie squishing...when all of a sudden, MY MOTHER starts pressing on her chest lightly like she was in pain (BTW---been there, done that...so, I know it's no picnic) and says, "SON.OF.A.BITCH. I tink dat lady try to rip my boobies off! All da time, I am so careful not to hurt myself...Now, I come in hee-ya, and dey make my boobies look like pancakes! SON.OF.A.BITCH."

And all of the other ladies laughed, smiled, and nodded their heads in unity.

And I just prayed...

For her to be quiet...

And gave thanks...

That we were not at the gynecologist's office...

Monday, February 1, 2010

Would I Lie To You?

Got a story for all of the men out there who read my blog. And I know that there are like THREE of you. So, in advance, let me just say, you're welcome because you are going to score big if you heed my advice.

The story begins with last my Weight Watchers meeting. The meeting was just about over when a gentleman who attends it regularly came over, sat near me, and said, "Sally Costa...I have a question to ask you. By the way, my name is Dave."

I already knew his name because (A) he is one of the only men who attends my meeting, (B) he is very personable, and (C) every time he has a bad week he says, "Damn it! My inner fat kid got out again." And I think that is funny as shit!

Anyway, I was all, "Sure! What's up, Dave?" And he looked me in the eye in a way that made me think that he thought that maybe I was a bit "unsteady," if you know what I mean, and said, "Um. Your crockpot?"

And that is all it took. I was off and running!

All-Clad Aluminum Insert Crockpot (available exclusively at Williams Sonoma)

I was like, "Oh my God! I got it! And I love it! And it is the awesomest crockpot ever?"

And then I stopped for a second because I realized that he reads my blog and I felt a little weird because, frankly, I always think that I am just blogging to myself and what crazy human being (Yeah! I'm talkin' to you!) would actually invest a few moments of their day to read the crap that spews from my head?

Holy crap! Apparently my readers REALLY DO exist! And they are not JUST my husband, leaving comments under several assumed names just to make me feel good.

But, I digress...

So, anyway, then Dave says, "What is so great about THAT crockpot? My wife likes to cook and I'm thinking that maybe she might like one."

So, I was all like, Oh my God! It is the best crockpot EVER because it has an aluminum insert and you can use the insert on top of a gas or electric stove to brown meats before you cook them in the crockpot! That means you can eliminate a pan! And I am lazy so anytime I don't have to wash an extra pan, I am happy (OK, Dave. Stop looking at me like I'm a whackjob)!

Ooooh! Ooooh! AND? I forgot to tell Dave something else (DAVE? ARE YOU LISTENING?)! But this crockpot also switches from a cooking setting (high/low) to a "keep warm" setting when your food is done! And that is fugging fantastic if you have to work late! Because, when you get home to eat your dinner, you won't have a big, fat Crockpot O' Dried Ass waiting for you! Instead, your meal will be hot, moist, and crocktastic!

Can you tell I'm a tad bit obsessed?

Anyway, finally I looked at Dave and said, "Trust me! You have to buy it for your wife! SHE WILL LOVE YOU!"

He didn't look convinced.

Here's what I'm thinking. I'm thinking that Dave's thinking that if he gives his wife a crockpot for...oh...let's just say, Valentine's Day, she will want to punch him in the head. Because most of the time? Women don't like getting appliances as gifts from their hubbys because said appliances IMPLY that maybe the hubbys are thinking that their wives should get off of their asses and do more shit around the damn house!

This scenario DOES NOT apply to the awesomest crockpot in the world! Plus, if you throw in a great crockpot cookbook with it? Dudes! Trust me! It'll be like foreplay! You know...cuz FOOD IS LOVE!

On the other hand, if you don't take my advice and you are one of those dumb asses who thinks that your wife will just shit herself with excitement because you bought her a new vacuum cleaner for Valentine's Day?

Then, dude! You really are as dumb as a stump.

And for being such an unromantic shlub?

Your woman will want to banish your pee pee to Dingus Siberia...forever.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

****Blog Addendum: Click here for some fantastic crockpot recipes!