Tuesday, October 2, 2012

We Have Health Insurance. Go Buy Glasses.

The following is a recent conversation that I had with PC.  I didn't stab him in the process.  Thanks be to God.

PC:  We're out of toothpaste.

Me:  No, we're not.

PC:  Yes, we are.

Me:  No, we're not.

PC:  This morning, I had to slice the Crest tube open with a razor blade so I could scrape out enough paste to brush my teeth.

Me:  There's toothpaste upstairs in the bathroom closet.

PC:  No, there isn't.

Me:  Yes, there is.

PC:  I looked there.  There's none.

Me:  Seriously.  There's like a shitload of toothpaste up there.

PC:  I'm not going to argue with you, BUT?  I don't think so.


PC:  You THINK you put it there.

Me:  You're patronizing me.  That's kind of like not valuing your life.

PC:  I told my father about how I had to cut the toothpaste tube open with a razor blade.  He thought it was funny!  Hahaha...

Me:  The hell, dude?  Why d'you tell him that?  He's going to think that we live like animals and that I'm a bad wife! 

PC:  WHAT?!  It's funny!

Me:  You're blind.  Nothing funny about that, Chump.

Later that night, when we got home from work, I dragged his ass upstairs to look in the bathroom closet.  THIS is what we saw, people....

If Honey Boo Boo's father had this much toothpaste in the house,
he'd probably still have teeth, y'all.

 I accept your apology, Oh Ye of Selective Vision.

Thursday, August 2, 2012

Beatdown In Aisle Four

Dear Mother-in-Law,

I know you think that your son is all that and a bag of chips, but I need to tell you that, sometimes?  His behavior is completely unacceptable.

Yesterday, after a workday from friggin hell (in which your son and I both had our asses handed to us on a platter) I decided to stop at the grocery store to buy a few healthy food items.  Because we drove to work together,  Sonny-Boy had to go shopping with me.  Oh, the joy.

While I was perusing the produce aisles, deciding what fruits and vegetables I wanted to buy, he---who totally rebels against all things healthy---got bored and decided that he needed to go pee (Um...How old is he?). 

Fine, I said.  Knock yourself out.  I'll be here when you get back.

A few minutes later, I left my carriage near the potatoes and walked over to the deli to buy some cheese.  When I returned to the spot where I'd left my carriage, it was suddenly missing. 

I walked around aimlessly for a few seconds, uttering vulgarities under my breath--while juggling bananas, cheese, and a bag of green bell peppers in my arms.  Suddenly, from the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of your son---hiding behind an end cap of dried beans---laughing his ass off with two other guys who he'd made friends with in the twenty minutes that we'd been in the supermarket.  Bastard.

When I finally caught up to him, I was all, "You're such an ass."  And I grabbed my carriage and proceeded down the next aisle.

Before long, he was following me around, TOTALLY trying to buy crap that I DID NOT want in the house. 

And THAT is when THIS happened.....

PC:  Sal!  LOOK!  If you buy two bags of Hershey's Kisses, you get one free!

Me:  Put that back.

PC:  We should buy them and bring them to work!



Me:  If you bring those bags of candy to our place of employment,  I swear...I will stab you.

PC:   That's harsh.

Me:  Actually, what's harsh is that since I pay ten dollars a week to go to Weight Watchers, and you want to fill my environment with chocolate---WHICH I FUGGIN LOVE---it will probably take me THREE weeks longer to get to my goal than necessary. So technically, what you're buying there is $30.00 worth of additional asscheek that I really don't need or appreciate.

PC:  Hmmm...Well...You could try...um...NOT EATING IT?

MeRight.  I could also try not bludgeoning you to death in your sleep.

PC:   I think I'll put it back!

Me:  Good call.


I thought our little situation had been resolved quite peacefully (in my favor, of course).

But then, I heard PC yell out, "Hey, Sal!" 

Unsuspectingly, I looked up and saw that in lieu of pouting,  PC decided to express his disappointment another way. 

Feast your eyes on this shit, my dear mother-in-law....

Me:  Oh, nice.  REALLY MATURE, DUDE.

PC:  Bahahahahahahaha!

Me:  I swear to God!  You'd better pull your pants up RIGHT NOW!  Those men stocking the shelves don't need to see your junk!

PC:  Bahahahahaha!  What are you gonna do about it?  Tell my Mommy?

Me:  As a matter fact?  That's EXACTLY what I'm gonna do, CHUMP.

Suffice to say, oh Mother-In-Law-of-mine.......

You're son is a punk. 

Do something.

Moochos Smoochos,

Monday, July 23, 2012

He's No Freakin Bobby Flay

Yo, People of the Internet, I'm still here! 

Thank you to all of the peeps who've sent me emails and  Facebook messages asking me if I'm still alive and telling me that you miss me.  If I win the lottery, I'm totally going to hook you all up.  I swear. 

I actually have several blog posts that I'm working on right now, but for today, I just want to share a quick one with you.

Remember last month when I posted a great big Happy 20th Anniversary to my husband, right here on this literary masterpiece of a blog?

Yeah, well I want you to know that I didn't marry the man for his culinary skills, y'all.  Get this....

Yesterday, I had to take Sophia Petrillo (The Mama--who lacks any semblance of a mouth filter) out to make two baby visits.  So, I said to the Husband, who stayed home installing our new dishwasher, "I'll be out most of the afternoon.  There's food in the frig."  And I left.

Fast forward five hours later....

I went home to pick up the Hubs so we could go to a birthday party.  While driving on the highway, we were making small talk when I asked.....

Me:  Did you have lunch?

Hubs:  Yeah.

Me:  Whadja eat?

Hubs:  I cooked.

Me:  Huh?

Hubs:  I cooked.  For myself.

Me:  You?  The man who dry heaves when he sees me pull the skin off of chicken?  You cooked?

Hubs:  Yep!  AND I even took a picture of what I made!  IT WAS DELICIOUS!  Check it out!

*Get ready, people.* 

Those are not ants.

Me:  What the f*ck is THAT?

Hubs:  Only the most awesome sandwich EVER!

Me:  Elaborate please.

Hubs:  THAT is a peanut butter and Fluff sandwich with chocolate JIMMIES on top (Sprinkles, to all of you non-New Englanders)!  And it was soooo good!  It was the perfect mix of creamy, salty, and crunchy... all at the same time!

Me:  *blank stare*

Hubs:  You're in awe of me right now, aren't you?

Me:  Not really, Emeril.

Hubs:  Don't be hatin' on my creativity.

Me:  *sigh*

Wednesday, June 6, 2012

Twenty Years Later.....

Even though I've rubbed elbows with lots of dudes...

Me.....With some guy who kinda sorta looks like Dr. Oz.

Me.....Standing WAY too close to Rick Springfield's genitals (probably).

Me.....Hanging out with Jerry Springer, NOT getting hit in the face with a flying chair.
Who's fancier than me?

Me.....Getting molested by Wayne Newton (SO GROSS).

You'll always be my favorite....

Us.  Then....6-6-92

Us.  Now.
Happy 20th Anniversary to my favorite person.

Monday, June 4, 2012

50 Shades of TMI

When I was a little girl, pretty much all I ever wanted to do was hang around with my big sister, Natty (She's ten years older than me).  As you can imagine, when I was four and she was fourteen, Natty wasn't at all interested  in being my BFF because she was a teenager and I was a lame ass preschooler.

Clearly, she didn't recognize my supreme awesomeness.

To give you some background into my childhood and my somewhat forced relationship with Natty, let me give you a little insight into my past. 

I was the ninth child (and last) born to my parents via immaculate conception (My parents never had sex because that would be gross.  So, shut the hell up).  When I was two, my parents separated and my Mom was basically left holding the bag as a single parent.

Because my Mom was pulled in a quadrillion different directions on a daily basis, many times, she designated Natty to help with my care giving---mainly because she was the next closest female sibling in age to me.

That meant that on many nights, Natty had to oversee my bath time, make sure I ate my dinner, and see to it that I went to sleep at an appropriate hour.

What ticked my sister off to no end, was the fact that no matter how much time we spent together, I never tired of being with her.  I loved her and wanted to be her best friend.  Awww....I know!  I was so fuggin precious :)

Being a self-centered, normal teenager, Natty did not appreciate my clinginess.

And during many of my bedtimes, she would HOVER over me, waiting for me to fall asleep so she could ditch me like a bad habit and go to her best friend, Vivian's house.  She would basically force me to sleep by positioning her face TWELVE INCHES FROM MINE and yelling---KEEP THOSE EYES SHUT--anytime I tried to open them.

Most of the time, I would lay there with my eyes tightly shut, waiting for her to walk away.  But, sometimes it was still light out (Dudes!  FIVE PM IS NOT AN APPROPRIATE BEDTIME FOR ANYBODY!  WTF?!) and I was all,  "Eff this clambake!  As soon as evil, big sister leaves the room, I AM UP AND OUTTA HERE!  MY BARBIES AWAIT!!"

On those days, Natty was on to me.  And when I would open my eyes to see if she was still there, so I could make my escape, SHE WOULD BLOW AIR INTO MY EYEBALLS WITH ALL OF HER MIGHT and yell, "Shut em'!"

So, I did....mostly because they didn't make drops for dry eye back then...Plus, teenage girls were so stupid AND who wanted to hang around with them, anyway?  *sniffle, sniffle*

Dear Self,
It's no co-inky-dink that to THIS DAY, you can NEVER sleep when the wind is really howling.  You should totally make your sister pay for your therapy....Or at the very least, call her in the middle of the night and say, "The wind is keeping me awake.  It's your fault for blowing in my eyes, Muthafugga.  *CLICK*


Recently, I was grocery shopping at the little town supermarket on an early Saturday morning.  While I was perusing the bread aisle, I noticed a woman inching closer to me.  In my head I was all, "Oh, what the f*ck?!  It's like seven o'clock in the morning and there's nobody in this whole freakin store.  Why is this queer lady standing so close to me?"

Turns out?  It was my sister, Natty.  Cheerily, she said, "Good morning!  I wasn't sure if it was you!  Your hair is different!"

"Yeah, it's me."  I said.  "What are you doing here this early?"

That's when she proceeded to tell me that she was having breakfast, with some of her friends, in the market's cafe AND she asked me to stop by when I was done with my shopping, so she could introduce me to her peeps.  About twenty minutes later, I finished my *AHEM* totally Weight Watcher's appropriate food shopping and joined Natty and her friends.

First, she introduced me to Bob.  (HI, BOB!!)

I liked Bob.  He was very nice and I could tell that had the type of sense of humor that I enjoy---dry, with a hint of sarcasm.  I could also tell that he was a tad bit weary of meeting me.  I'm not sure why, but I think it's because (A) he's read my blog, (B) he's read my blog, and (C) he's read my blog.  

The second friend that I met?  Well, um...let's just say that for the purpose of this blog post, I'm changing her name to protect the horny.  I'll call her Lucy.

So, my sister said, "Lucy, this is my sister, Sally.  Sally, this is Lucy."  And we exchanged pleasantries.   Then, Bob chimed in and said....

Bob:  So, Sally!  Lucy is dating a jouster.

Me:  A what?

Bob:  A jouster.

Me:  You mean like a medieval dude who rides a horse and stabs shit with a stick?

Bob:  Yep!

Me:  Really, Lucy?

Lucy:  Well, we're not really dating.  I sold him a car and we've talked on the phone.  But, we're actually supposed to meet each other on Sunday. 

Me:  (Acting all appropriate and shit---as if someone dating a gah-damn JOUSTER---is a normal fuggin occurrence in 2012)  Wow!  That's interesting!

Lucy:  Yep!  He's supposed to come down to see me.  I can't wait!  I've already decided to MASTURBATE before he gets here, so I won't be too excited to see him!



Me:  *COUGH, CHOKE, COUGH* I'm sorry, WHAT?!

Lucy:  Yeah.  I'm gonna have to masturbate like crazy before he gets here.  That's for sure!

Me:  (to my sister)  Um...Your friend, who I met TWO minutes ago, just told me that's she's going to fondle her lady garden.  That's not normal.

Lucy:  Yep.  I'm going to have to!  Or, I'll be WAY too excited to see him!  And then?  I'm going to ask him if he'll help me build a deck on the back of my house.

Me:  (to my sister)  Wow.  I'm kinda at a loss for words here.

Lucy:  He's coming from far away.  I hope he can find my house.  After all, this IS a small town.  It's not very easy to find.

Me:  My guess is, if he knows what you've got planned for him, (pointing to where my wiener would be if I was a dude), his jousting pole will lead the way. 

And so, my friends?

My life has come full circle.

And I'm finally allowed to hang out with my big sister and her friends.

I'm not sure if that's a good thing, y'all.

Monday, May 7, 2012

Looking On The Bright Side

This morning's conversation with a coworker...

Me:  Good morning, J!

J:  Good morning.

Me:  How was your week off?

J:  Meh.  Not bad...I went for my yearly physical. 

Me:  Oh, yeah?  Everything go okay?


J:  I found a lump in one of my testicles.  The doctor sent me for a sonogram.

Me:  Yikes!

J:  Yep.  They told me it was nothing to worry about...just a cyst.  But, MAN!  I was soooo scared that it was going to be something bad!

Me:  Well, look at the bright side....not only are you totally fine, BUT YOU ALSO GOT A STRANGE LADY TO FONDLE YOUR NUTSACK.  That's what you call a "win-win."

J:  *blank stare*

Me:  I know, I know...I always know the right thing to say.  It's a wonder more people aren't trying to be my friend.

JIt's a wonder, alright.

Thursday, April 12, 2012

Wielding A Knife


I just stopped in to write a few quick sentences about accountability.

Mainly?  I haven't been to Weight Watchers in a few weeks because (A) I was too busy to attend my regular meeting, (B) I hate change, so I didn't feel like going to any other meetings, (C) I've been eating like the whole world is coming to a gah-damn end, (D) Mmmmmm...Easter candy, and (E) I am a sloth.

So, today?

I went back to check on the status of my arse size

And guess what? 

I gained two pounds.  Muthafugga.

Like I didn't know THAT was going to happen...

Anyway, I have no excuses.

Actually?  I've only got ONE thing to say....

The quest for a smaller ass continues...

Monday, April 9, 2012

Because He Can

My nephew, Jon (who's ten), spends virtually everyday that he has off from school with me and PC at work.  Because I have no idea how the public school schedule runs, I never know he's coming until suddenly, he comes running in the door at about 9:00 am yelling, "WHOO HOO!  GUESS WHO'S HERE FOR THE DAY?!!!!" 

"Oh, joy." I respond sarcastically and he laughs because he thinks my fake annoyance is just so funny.

On Good Friday, we had a super tight schedule at work, filled with deadlines.  So, when Jon came strolling in, I immediately told him that he was going out with me to do errands because Uncle Paul was really busy and he needed to focus on a job. 

While we driving to the bank, I noticed that Jon was fiddling around with a band aid on his leg.  I asked...

Me:  What happened to your leg?  Did that bratty dog, Maxie, bite you?  (FYI:  Maxie, who is an ornery little a-hole, is Jon's Grandma's dog.  He bites EVERYBODY who looks at him the wrong way.)

Jon:  No.  And anyway, I LOVE MAXIE!

Me:  You love him?  Even though he's so mean?

Jon:  Yeah.  He's funny.  Sometimes, he breaks into Nana's trash and drags it all around the house!

Me:  He bites everybody AND makes a mess?  He's lucky he's not my dog!

Jon:  Why?  What would you do?

Me:  I'd punish him.  Put him in timeout. Lock him in his crate....

Jon:  Do you know what today is?

Me:  Yes.

Jon:  Did you know that Jesus DIED on this day?

Me:  I've heard.


Me:  WHAT?

Jon:  You're being kind of mean.

Me:  If YOU bit people AND trashed your house, wouldn't you get punished?

Jon:  *pondering*  Um.  I guess....


Jon:  Auntie?

Me:  What?

Jon:  I can lick my own armpit.  See?! (YEAH, HE DID)

Me:  That's just disgusting.

Jon:  I know!  Hehehehehe...


Monday, March 19, 2012

OCD, Much?

Last Thursday night, after a thirteen hour workday, PC and I stopped at a local chain restaurant (which we haven't been to in years) to grab a quick bite to eat.  When we walked in the door, the first things we noticed were (A) the INSANELY loud music, (B) someone singing in a voice that would make Simon Cowell want to stab himself in the neck, and (C) a crapload of drunk people.

Yippee, folks!  We'd stumbled upon Karaoke Night with the Walmartians! 

We thought about leaving.  But, because it was so late, we decided that we would just suffer through the music, inhale our food, and get the hell out of there asap.  Quickly, we made our way to a table, ordered our food, and commenced our auditory TORTURE.

Dudes?  Have you ever wondered, IF when people are singing, they realize that they completely SUCK at it?

Well, wonder no more, people.  Because they don't.

Apparently, these karaoke singers thought that having a microphone in their hand made them all that and a bag of friggin chips.  Seriously.

We saw sweaty men--singing, bumping, grinding and walking all around the room--flirting with female barflies, a la Elvis Presley.

We saw teenage boys running around, screeching and jumping, and acting all grungy and shit, a la Kurt Cobain.  

We even suffered through an older woman's (in her 60's) version of Madonna's, Like a Virgin---which cracked me right the hell up because when she started singing, PC was all, "Give me a break!  It's been decades since that woman was a virgin!"  Hahaha!

And SHE was the catalyst for THIS conversation....

Me:  You should get up and sing a song!  That would be soooo funny!


Me:  What if I gave you a hundred bucks?!  Would you do it then?


Me:  You wouldn't sing a karaoke song for a quick hundred bucks?!


Me:  Why not? These people don't even know you!  You'll never see them again!

PC:  It's not about these people.  I could give a crap about these people.

Me:  Then, why not?


Me:  Well, alrighty then....

Thursday, March 15, 2012

No More "Sopranos" For You

Yesterday, Hubby and I stopped at a furniture store to look for a storage cabinet.  While I was taking my sweet time--strolling around every room of furniture--analyzing every knickknack and accessory, PC wandered ahead of me into the bedroom section.  Suddenly, from about twenty feet away, I heard him say, "WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!"

When I turned the corner and finally caught up with him, I saw this:

........which, incidentally, is SUPPOSED to look like THIS (minus the crazy man sitting in it):

At this point I was all....

Me:  Dude, you're making an ass of yourself.  Get out of there before the security dudes put you on YouTube

PC:  What kind of a sick bastard would put a tiny coffin in their bedroom? 

Me:  That's not a coffin.  It's kinda like a hope chest.  Traditionally, some guys offer these to the women they intend to marry so the women can fill them up with linens and crap.  It's kind of like a pre-bridal shower, except you buy your own shit and save it for when you get married. 

PC:  I don't get it.

Me:  When a man gives a woman a hope chest, he is in fact saying to her, I love you and would like to marry you SOMEDAY, but I am NOT ready for a commitment RIGHT NOW.

PC:  That's not what he's saying.

Me:  Enlighten me.

PC:  If a man gives you one of THOSE, he's either saying, "I hope you drop dead, you stone cold be-otch!" OR, "If you get out of line, I'll cut you up into little pieces and bury you in the backyard!"

Me:  *slowly backing away*  Uhhh...okay.  Let's just agree that this matter should be left open to interpretation.


Wednesday, March 7, 2012

Stick With Me, Kid.....And I'll Teach You Things

Last Sunday, PC and I went out for lunch.  While we were eating, we saw a really nice car drive through the restaurant's parking lot.  Its license plate read:  EBAY 1.

THAT was the catalyst for the following conversation: 

Me:  Hey, check it out!  That guy's license plate says EBAY 1!

PC:  I've seen that car before!  That guy probably makes a living selling stuff on ebay.  He probably sits at his computer all day...in his pajamas...drinking coffee...totally unaware of the everyday rat race that normal people have to deal with.

Me:  Lucky bastard...


Me:  Why are we circling the parking lot?

PC:  I'm looking for the ebay car.

Me:  Why?

PC:  I want to see if the car will give us any clues as to what the guy sells.

Me:  That's dumb. If that dude's making a crapload of money selling stuff online, do you really think he's going to give his "secrets" away, so ANY schmo can steal his ideas and cut into his business?  I mean...Do you honestly think that he's going to be ridiculous enough to have a bumper sticker on his car that says, "I SELL DILDOS ON EBAY?"

PC:  *shaking his head*  Really??? 

Me:  What?


Me:  WHAT?!

PC:  Of all the things that he could sell online, the first thing that popped into your head was dildos

Me:  Well, by the looks of his fancy, schmancy car (A BRAND NEW JAGUAR, PEOPLE!), I'll deduce that he must sell a SHITLOAD of stuff.  And because SEX SELLS and people are PERVS, my educated hypothesis is that he's probably the Ebay Entrepreneur of Dildos


PC:   I WILL NEVER, EVER understand you.

Me:  And I will NEVER, EVER understand why you'll NEVER understand me.  I'm really very reasonable. 

PC:  *sigh*

Wednesday, February 29, 2012

"Oooh Baby I Love Your Way." Meh...Not Really.

If you read my last post, you know that my husband spent Valentine's Day morning ducking flying objects.  (Oops!  It just slipped from my hand, Officer!)

To make that up to him, I had a really great Valentine's Day planned.  After work, I took him to one of his favorite Thai restaurants for dinner.  Then, I surprised him by taking him to see Peter Frampton in concert

Now, let me be clear about something.  I know that you're probably all thinking, "Big whoop, Sally.  You got to go out to dinner and watch the concert, too!  Why is that a gift for HIM?" 

I'll tell you why, you cynics. 

Peter Frampton is old.  When his most famous album was popular, my husband was a teenager...AND I WAS SEVEN. 

So you see, sitting through OVER THREE HOURS of Peter Frampton--singing songs that I didn't know--(Oh, alright...I knew exactly three) was a tad bit torturous for me.  But, I did it for love. 

And I did it with grace (I spent the night on Facebook), style (I looked cuter than the toothless guy to our right), and class (I didn't reek of mary-ju-wanna, like the dudes to my left). 

At one point during the concert, I will confess that, according to my husband, I may have lost my shit. 

Here's what happened....

After two-and-a-half hours, I thought the show had finally ended---mainly because the band said GOOD NIGHT, took their bows, put their instruments down, and walked off the stage. But, then, my husband was all, "Stay in your seat!  They're not putting the theater lights on!  THAT MEANS IT'S ENCORE TIME!  WHOO HOO!" 

Then, the dudes came back out and played some more.

After two hours and fifty minutes, I thought the show was FINALLY over AGAIN.  You know...because the band said GOOD NIGHT, took their bows, put their instruments down, and walked off the stage.  But, then, my husband said, "Stay in your seat!  They're not putting the theater lights on!  THAT MEANS, PETER'S DOING ANOTHER ENCORE!  WHOO HOO!"

Then, the band came back out and played some more.

After THREE HOURS AND TEN MINUTES,  I thought the show was FINALLY over.  YOU KNOW....because the flippin band said GOOD NIGHT, took their gah-damn bows, put their friggin instruments down, and walked off the effin stage.

BUT THEN, my husband said, "OH MY GOD, SAL!  THIS IS SO AWESOME!  They're not putting the theater lights on!!!  That means ANOTHER ENCORE!!!!  Can you believe how amazing this is?!!!  We're soooo lucky!"

Lucky, my assI had had enough.

I was tired.  I had to get up early the next day.  It was almost midnight.  And I needed to use to the toilet.

And that's when I allegedly flipped out (The urine I was holding in, for fear of getting crabs from a public restroom, backed up into my guts--causing me to blackout) and yelled, "OH, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, ENOUGH ALREADY!   GET YOUR ASS ON THE F*CKING BUS, PETER FRAMPTON!" 


That night? 

My husband said we were lucky. 

In retrospect, I guess I have to agree.

He was lucky that Peter Frampton put on a show that enthralled him.

And I? 

I was lucky that the hippies around me were too loaded to kick my ass.


Tuesday, February 14, 2012

All You Need Is Love...And Really Good Aim

Happy Valentine's Day, Peeps!

Today, I would like to profess my love for my husband. 

Me & PC

Here goes...

Dear PC,

You da man!  Also?  I'm sorry that I chucked a two pound weight at your head this morning.....even if you were asking for it.



Wednesday, February 8, 2012

And That's What Happens When You Let "Just Anybody" Have A Facebook Account

Normally, I'm not a crazed sports fan. 

However, when one of my home teams is in a championship game, I like to get in on all of the drama.  Being from Rhode Island, I was hoping that the New England Patriots would pull off a Super Bowl win.  Alas?  It just wasn't in the cards because basically, the New York Giants just played a better game.  Whoopty-fugging-do for them (my lame attempt at being a good sport)!

In related news, Gisele Bundchen, who is Tom Brady's wife, has come under fire for making a comment that kinda sorta blames some of the other New England Patriots team players for the loss on Sunday.  I'm not sure of her exact words, but after the game, as she was being heckled, she commented something like, "My husband played well and threw the ball well.  He can't throw the ball AND be there to catch it, too."  OH SUH-NAP, GISELE!

Since Sunday, there have been many posts on Facebook ripping Gisele a new one for being a sore loser. 

I'm not a fan of hers, but I did stick up for her on one post because, you know what?  At the end of the day, she was just a wife, sticking up for her husband. And as a married woman, I can totally relate to that.

Without further ado, here's me...sticking up for Gisele Bundchen (or as my nephew--Brian, calls her, Jinxele Bundchen) on Facebook yesterday.....sort of.....

Sally Araujo CostaEven though I don't think she's anything great, I would have reacted way worse than she did. They'd be all, "Hey Gisele, What happened out there? Your husband choked." And I'd be all, "Shut the f*ck up! Tom's teammates couldn't catch the damn ball! AND Eli Manning may have a ring, but he looks like a damn Muppet! Now excuse me while I go and console my HOT husband with sexual favors, YOU DOUCHEBAGS!"

And this is why women without mouth filters should never be allowed to marry public figures.

Monday, January 30, 2012

How You Feeling? Not So Hot!

This was me, yesterday...

I thought I was having a pretty good hair day (Correct me if I'm wrong, and I will stab you in the neck), so I took this picture--to use as a possible Facebook profile photo-- right before heading out the door for a day of obligatory family bonding.

About an hour after this photo was taken, a family member, who shall remain nameless because she may or may not have given birth to me (I'm still convinced that Sally Field is my real mother)---presented me with a jar of this...

...saying nothing more than, "Here!  Use this.  This company also makes a night creme.  When I go to the store with your sister, I'm going to buy you one of those, too." 

When I got home, I decided to look at my wall calendar---the one where I write down all of my important appointments---to check and see when my mother's last eye exam was. 

It was three years ago. 

THAT fact provided me with the tidbit of consolation that I needed to AVOID eating a pint of ice cream and a bag of potato chips in commiseration of my apparent hagginess.

The poor woman must have some huge-ass cataracts, y'all. 

That's my story and I'm sticking to it. 

Tuesday, January 24, 2012

Slow & Steady Wins The Race...But, Legal Action Could Help

Yesterday, a man who I see five days a week, asked me, "Are you losing weight?" 

Cool, I thought.  All of my hard work is finally starting to show.

Proudly I replied, "Well, YES!  I'm actually working really hard at it."

Expecting a pat on the back or at least a somewhat positive response, he said, "Well.  You'd better not lose too much.  Men like women with a little meat on their bones."


If after all of this time, he has failed to notice how meaty my butt is? 

He should apply to the state for free medical benefits cuz clearly, he is severely visually impaired (or he could just be a crackhead). 


BLOG ADDENDUM:  I have a huge family.  Together, we are always celebrating something (with food, of course).  Despite all of the "family shindigs" that I've been attending, including TWO this past week, Operation Ass Shrinkage is still right on target.  This was the result of today's morning weigh-in:

Of course, I am extremely happy about my weight loss.  However,  I can probably get to my goal much faster if I hang this sign on my house:

This summer, I plan on wearing a bathing suit on a public beach.  I'm not opposed to using restraining orders against ALL of my relatives to get there. 

Thursday, January 19, 2012

Reunited, And It Feels Sooooo Good

Somebody once said (and I don't know who the frig it was), "You have to choose your battles.  Do you want to be right?  Or, do you want to be happy?"

I think about this quote often.  Mainly because?   I like being right.  And, I usually am. 

Around here, it's not very hard, people.

At work, my husband and a coworker, Jim, listen to music on satellite radio.  And all day long, I hear them saying shit like, "Dude?  Who sings this song?"  and  "Man!  This is OLD SCHOOL! When was this song released?" 

So yesterday, when the song "Reunited" came on, this was the brilliant commentary that I heard from my desk...

JimWow.  I haven't heard this song in a long time.

HubsBet you don't know who sings it!

JimYes, I do.  It's that Peabo guy.


JimIt's...um......Ashford and Simpson.


JimHmmm...it's...uh.......let me think.....uh...it's that band that Philip Bailey sang in.


Me (yelling from the front office):  How about it's, I DON'T GIVE A CRAP?!!!

Hubs:  (yelling back) You're just jealous because I KNOW and you don't!  Hehe...

MeThis isn't a competition!  There are no prizes involved!


Me:  Who the hell is it, already!?  Put me out of my misery!

Hubs:  (sticking his chest out, all smug and shit)  IT CAME OUT IN 1979 AND IT'S SUNG BY A GROUP CALLED PEACHES AND CREAM! 

JimPeaches and Cream?  I never heard of them.

MeThat's because THEY don't exist, you DING DONGS!  The name of the band is Peaches & Herb!

Hubs:  *disbelieving stare*

MeYeah, that's right!  Who's smarter than me?  UHHHH...NOBODY IN THIS ROOM!  Bahahaha!

HubsDamn it.  Even when I'm kinda right, I'm wrong.

JimThat happens a lot around here.

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

More Like A "Misfortune Cookie"

Last night, Hubs and I went to a great little Cambodian restaurant for dinner.  Totally aware that today was my Weight Watchers weigh-in day, I decided to have some tea and the Nam Yaa, which is locally referred to as "medicine soup."  It is absolutely one of the most delicious soups that I have ever tasted in my life. 

In it, there's sliced chicken breast, shrimp, carrots, cabbage, noodles, exotic spices like fresh lemongrass and ginger, and various other ingredients that make this spicy soup completely addicting.  Seriously, I could eat it a few times a week.

Nam Yaa (Medicine Soup)

When I was done eating my delicious soup, I felt completely satisfied.  And I thought to myself, "Sally Costa?  You made a great choice.  You ate something that you feel good about AND you didn't sabotage your day of healthy eating---even though there may have been a few things on the menu that almost swayed you in a negative direction  (I'm talking to YOU, Crispy Chicken Wings).  YOU ARE AWESOME."

Just then, the waitress brought us the check...and two fortune cookies.

Hubs opened his cookie first.  It said something about diligence leading to prosperity.

And mine? 

Well, let's just say that mine proved, once again, that the effin Universe is screwing with me....

The fortune cookie people are a-holes.

Friday, January 13, 2012

Let's Get Mikey To Try It!

In my constant quest for an incredibly shrinking ass, I often peruse the grocery store looking for new foods that are both healthy and tasty.  I'm a pretty adventurous eater and will try almost anything once, especially if it comes highly recommended by an outside party--whom I trust to have good judgement in the culinary realm.  We foodies stick together.

Because of my adventurous nature, I have been known to eat stuff that other people might find repulsive.  For example?  I love sushi...and I don't mean the typical cooked stuff.  No sirree.  That shit is for amateurs.  I love anything made with raw tuna, salmon, fish roe, eel, octopus, etc...The funkier, the better. 

I also eat raw oysters / little neck clams, brussels sprouts, periwinkles, spinach, salt pork, boiled dinners, and liver...by choice, y'all.  I credit my Mama for turning me into an adventurous eater because when I was a kid?  No foods were off limits. 

That being said, yesterday, when I was at the grocery store picking up a few things before heading home?  I saw this on a shelf in the canned goods aisle:

I immediately thought three things.

(A) Holy Niblets on a shelf!  WTF is that?!

(B) Canned wiener ain't cheap ($5.49)!

And (C) I am a foodie, but I will NEVER be that adventurous.

Even I have limits, y'all.

Thursday, January 12, 2012

Good Thing I Prefer Ketchup

I am a good friend.  SCRATCH THAT.  I am a GREAT friend.

And I know this because of the way people speak to me. 

Yeah.  Apparently, I am someone who others feel extremely comfortable talking to about absolutely friggin anything. 

Like yesterday, when Lou  called to discuss a business related matter with me, and the conversation turned into this shitshow (Pun intended...you'll see what I mean in a second)........

Me:  Hello Louie!

Lou:  Hello!

Me:  How's it going?

Lou:  Eh. Alright, I guess.

Me:  You don't sound like yourself.  Are you feeling okay?

Lou:  I think I have a stomach bug or something.

Me:  Oh, yeah?  That's too bad.


MeOh, Sweet Lord.  Once again, LEW-ISSSS, you have crossed a very fine line. 

Lou:  You asked.

Me:  EXCUSE ME, but I ASKED if you were okay!  The correct answer should have been, "I think I have a stomach virus or something."  THE END.  I do not need to know that you are squirting WHAT LOOKS LIKE hot dog condiments out your ass. 


Like I was saying?  I'm a great friend....AND I'm a pretty good shoulder to cry on.....unless you want to talk to me about the texture and color of your bodily secretions. 

Then?  I kinda just want to punch you in the head.  Ugh.

Monday, January 9, 2012

"We Are Family. I Got All My Sisters With Me."---Sister Sledge, 1979

Happy New Year, Peeps! 

I'm officially back from my self-imposed hiatus (I'm like a poor version of Oprah!) and I'm ready to enthrall you, once again, with the details of my fascinating life (FYI---If you really think I'm fascinating, you need to get your ass out of the house more). 

Let me start with the answer to a question that I've been asked a bajillion times in the last couple of weeks.  What are my New Year's resolutions? 

In a nutshell, I have none

I never make any because I am smart enough to realize that the transition from December 31st to January 1st, does not make me a different person.  Just because the year ends one day and a new year begins the next day, that doesn't mean that I've suddenly become this profoundly changed person who will choose carrots over chocolateNot gonna happen, people.

That being said, I consider myself to be on a constant quest for peace and balance in my life (Oh, yeah...and a smaller ass).  This year, I'm sure that some days will be great.  But, I also know that some days will have me contemplating the stabation of several people in my life (Hey, Oxford English Dictionary!  I think I just invented a word!).  I do know that whatever happens this year, I'm taking you all for the ride.  You lucky, lucky bastards....

So, I'd like to kick my blogging year off by telling you a heartwarming story about my family---mainly, it's about me and my two eldest sisters.  After all, when you get to know my family, you will understand how they've helped to shape me into the person that I am today today.  Yeah.  Blame them.

Now, sit down, relax, and get your tissues ready.  I said, "heartwarming."  Remember?

Okay, so a few months ago, my sister--J, underwent a very serious surgical procedure to basically repair her guts or some shit.  I know that the surgery involved her bladder, intestines, colon, a net, some mesh thingy, tubes, blood, miscellaneous body fluids, saws, sharp blades, staples, and what my sister affectionately referred to as her piss bag.  Descriptively, that's the best I can do to explain it without barfing my multi-grain English muffin all over my keyboard. 

J's surgery took place in Boston, at one of the best hospitals in the country.  I knew she was in very good hands, but I still worried about her because (A) She's my sister and I love her, (B) She is diabetic, and (C) This was the third friggin time, in a short span, that she was having surgery to correct some major health problems. 

Thankfully, her surgery went well and within a few days, she was home recuperating. 

I spoke to her often, but waited a week before I went to see her at her house because I knew that she needed to rest. 

Finally, one day after work, I told her that I was coming to see her and I asked if someone would be there to let me in because I didn't want her wobbling around unnecessarily and shaking up her newly realigned guts.  She told me to come, and that her husband would be there to let me in.

When I got there, J had lots of company. 

Her husband was there.  Two of her husband's sisters were there.  My sister-in-law, F, was there.  And my sister, G, was there.  Together, we sat with J, in her living room and we talked.  She looked good.  She looked healthy.  She looked relieved that her surgery was over.

A few minutes into the conversation, my brother in-law's two sisters (they are in their 50's) started talking about how they sometimes pee their pants

I shit you not. 

They said that when they laugh a lot, they pee their effin pants

THEN they said that if they wait too long to go to the bathroom after getting the urge to go wee wee, they pee their flippin pants

THEN they said that sometimes when they sneeze or cough, they pee their everlovin freakin pants

The next thing you know, my sister-in-law chimes in and says, "Oh, yes!  That's very common.  It happens to a lot of women as they get older. That's why they sell Depends!"

Dudes.  I sat there in fuggin disbelief. 

I mean, I expected my sister, who just had surgery on and around her pee pee area to have to retrain her bladder and shit.  But, NO ONE told ME---THE WOMAN who still hasn't gotten over the fact that I'm in my effin FORTIES---that I should expect a time to come when I will be peeing my frickin pants eveytime I blow snot! 

WTF is this crap? 

So this means that in my future, I can look forward to hot flashes, growing a beard, and peeing my effin pants?! 


I sat there wide eyed...looking for some comfort...looking for someone to tell me that these were all lies!  Suddenly, I looked at my sister, G, who sat to my right.  I noticed that she wasn't chiming in.  In fact, she was being super quiet. 

Because she is my big sister, who is supposed to be there for me, comfort me, reassure me, and give me advice when I need her to, I looked at her with pleading eyes and frantically asked, "Hey?  Is this bullshit true?  Please tell me that THIS ISN'T TRUE!  Am I destined for adult diapers?  After a certain age, do all women pee their pants?   DO YOU PEE YOUR PANTS, TOO?!"

Without all of the compassion that a big sister should muster, she looked me in the eye, and said, "No!  And don't jinx me, you b*tch."  Hehehehehe....

My family.

They are a window to my soul....and clearly one of the reasons why I'm so awesome....or not.