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.

Monday, October 4, 2010

Intervention Wanted: MUST NOT Be In The Form of Chocolate

Dear Loyal and NONJUDGMENTAL Friends,

I've got some interesting posts planned for you. Unfortunately, I am sooooooo swamped at work right now, that I only have time for a quick confession.

But, I promise...

As the week goes on, I'll have stories for you about several interesting topics including, but not limited to...

*Me, my Mom, and a big pile of bird sh*t
*Me, my pal Linda, and our evening with Dr. Maya Angelou
*Me, the Hubby & friends, a BYOB restaurant, TOO MUCH FREAKIN WINE, URI students, and how I got shellacked into being a designated driver for a man with a garlic sauce stain on his right nipple (THANKS, LOU)

I know. I know. My life is riveting.

As for my confession? Here goes...

Dudes. I don't know what the hell is going on with me lately. I don't know if it's the craziness / long hours at work? The impending business relocation? STRESS? The lack of time in my days for meal preparation? The lack of structure/schedule? The contractors that I want to punch in the face? The money that our new building renovation is costing us (BUDGET? WHAT THE CRAP IS THAT)? The weekends that have been filled with work instead of REST?

OR, ALL OF THE ABOVE?

But, I've got to tell you...

My behavior lately has been ABHORRENT. HORRIBLE. BEASTLY.

I really want to explain myself better here. But, honestly? I can't.

What I can do is illustrate what I'm talking about with a picture. Here goes...

Lately? This is me....in canine form:


AND I NEED TO BE STOPPED.

Y'all better call somebody before my ass needs it's own zip code. Seriously.