Christmas Sweaterious?

Yep, you guys finally made me do it!  You drove me crazy with your incessant need to wear Christmas sweaters!  As if the bling encrusted all over every house and wrapped around every light post isn't enough, you have to bedazzle yourselves!  I actually saw an 80 year-old, History professor wearing one of the ridiculous things.  That's when I knew things had gone too far!



I think the Christmas sweater "trend" has been perpetrated by teachers.  I have never met a teacher who didn't love a Christmas sweater.  I talked my friend into wearing a terrible Christmas sweater to a party. She actually borrowed one that I wore to a bad Christmas sweater party.  Guess what?  She was complimented by the hostess of the party who is, you guessed it, a teacher!  Only at a party full of teachers can one get away with wearing a Christmas sweater and not being laughed out of the room. 

Even wearing Santa earrings!

Normal me and Nitro

I mentioned I own a Christmas sweater.  I bought it to wear to a Christmas sweater party.  The most obnoxious sweater won.  I can't remember what the prize was.  We were drinking the entire time.  Here is my transformation from Me to Christmas sweater me.  I look like a teacher, right?

 What started out as a rant has evolved into a theory.  Clothing trends come and go but the Christmas sweater seems to be here to stay.  At first, I thought maybe it is because of the limited wear time.  Now, I'm not so sure.  I think the staying power of the Christmas sweater is really about laziness.  This laziness is perpetrated by teachers!  I can (sort of) understand wearing a Christmas sweater to school if you teach young kids.  Once home, it should be immediately removed!  Instead, someone got ballsy and decided it would be a good idea to wear it to a party.  Then, like a mad rush of fat people to a buffet, they all decided to do it!  The flood gates opened and that's how we ended up with the Christmas sweater!

Globesity

We are fat.  We are fat and getting fatter by the day.  We all know this. Why are we fat?  A person with one ounce of common sense might say it's because we eat too much. Unfortunately; that small, lone, voice of common sense is drowned out by the chorus of fat apologists who come up with any excuse other than that one. If I have to hear it's glandular one more time, I'M going on a Ben & Jerry's binge!

Of course it's glandular!

I'm in line today at the convenience store minding my own business when I hear this labored, wet, rattling sound. At first, I think the beer near the exit has spontaneously sprouted holes. I immediately discount this theory as there is no stampede to drink any beer that might be escaping. I look around and see the source of the noise. There is a huge lady behind me in line. The sound is her labored breathing. Now I'm nervous because my CPR certification is expired, like I'm confident the lady behind me is going to at any second. This was not just mouth breathing. I have a cousin who was the most obnoxious mouth breather ever. He could NEVER sneak up on anyone. You could hear that asshole coming a mile away. This sounded like someone who had just finished sprinting and had a nasty cold. I'm eying the length of the line trying to figure out if I can make it through before the fat lady goes down. I have a bit of a Lemonhead addiction and I'm on a tight schedule. I've got to stay where I am and hope this lady can continue to move the sludge she calls blood through her clogged arteries a bit longer.

Don't mind me, I'm just an innocuous pizza stuffed with extra cheese.  Nothing to see here!

I nonchalantly glance at the items she has clutched in her chubby fingers. Chips?  Of course, salt and vinegar.  Candy bar?  You got it!  It's a double size Butterfinger.  Drink?  Hell yes!  Can't eat all that without washing it down with a HUGE Mountain Dew!







I pay for my Lemonheads and leave. I pass the woman as she waddles to her car THAT IS PARKED IN THE HANDICAPPED LANE!  Really?!

That's our problem.  We eat too much and don't move enough.

Generally repugnant

The big story now is General Petraeus banging his biographer. I almost can't fault him for that because how else can you ensure a fawning biography?  Of course, I guess now he's rethinking that "logic". Rather than get into the usual topics surrounding this kind of thing, I'd like to look at a part of this story that will probably go unexamined. Why in the hell do men send naked or semi-naked pics to women?!  Granted, Neither Petraeus nor General Allen did this (that we know of). Apparently, one of the original FBI investigators in Tampa sent shirtless pics of himself to the lady who contacted him regarding strange emails she received that she found vaguely threatening.

 Let me reiterate, a lady went to a friend who worked for the FBI because she was worried about her safety and what did he do?  He implemented an investigation which has already led to the downfall of the CIA director and, oh yes, SENT HER DOZENS OF PICTURES OF HIMSELF WITHOUT A SHIRT ON!  Who does this?

It's never the hot guy sending out pics. It's always the fat hairy one!

 More to the point, why do men think this is attractive to women?  First of all, once these pics leave your possession, they are out there for all to see. Just ask Anthony Wiener.  They will get passed around. If you are too old or stupid to figure out twitter, don't post pictures of your junk on your twitter account. Guess what?  That chick you know only from her profile pic?  Maybe not really someone you want to hold your political future in her hands.

Back to pictures of chests or junk not attractive to women. Chances are, if you feel the need to send inappropriate pictures of yourself to women, you are neither hung like John Holmes nor do you have the chest of Vin Diesel.  If that is the case (and it always is), STOP BEFORE YOU HIT SEND!  It will save you future heartache and possible dismissal from your job.

Skilleroic

It's midnight and I'm doing what most people are doing at midnight; sleeping.  Granted, I'm sleeping on the sofa in my den because Bo is sick (again) and I don't want to catch whatever he might have. I am awakened by a banging on the door. Immediately, the dogs go batshit crazy;  barking, jumping on the door, etc.  At first I think they just heard a dog bark outside because WHO THE FUCK POUNDS ON YOUR DOOR AT MIDNIGHT?  An excellent question which, as I see a silhouette in my window, is immediately followed by an even better question. WHAT KIND OF RAGING DOUCHEBAG WITH A DEATH WISH POUNDS ON YOUR DOOR AT MIDNIGHT DRESSED AS FUCKING SERIAL KILLER JASON FROM FRIDAY THE 13th?

It is close to Halloween but still the facts are; midnight, lights off in house, STRANGER DRESSED AS SERIAL KILLER banging on the door. A smarter person would have called the cops immediately. I went to the dining room window for a better look. There he stands, Jason, in all his glory (or gory, rather). I missed an important item when I saw his silhouette in my door. HE'S CARRYING A FUCKING BLOODY KNIFE!  He looked something like this:

Hey!  I'm here for the party!

We stare at each other through the window. I'm trying to decide whether to run to the phone or the gun. One would think that if the man at the door happened to not be a serial killer, now would be the time to realize you just woke up the lady in the pajamas, maybe you should take off the fucking bloody ski mask and do some splaining. Not this guy. He just stares at me through bloody eye holes.

Enter Bo, stage left...Actually, I went upstairs, woke him up and DRAGGED him downstairs to take care of this!  Any normal person would have taken off by now, but our serial killer is hanging tough, still waiting on me to open the door. I guess he had a hard night of breaking into houses and decided it's time someone just offered herself up to him.

Bo is fresh off a double dose of NyQuil, so he stumbles into the room like a centipede missing 98 legs. I forgot about the gun, so I'm on to plan B. B means Bo.  Push Bo into serial killer, grab Nitro, run out the front door and hope I'm not in that Jason vs. Freddie movie.

As I prepare for flight (I've got Nitro's leash, a bag of treats, and his favorite toy), Bo engages Jason in conversation. He is sure that we are having a Halloween party tonight. The evidence of our Halloween party is all over the place; the dark house, two cars in the driveway, barking dogs, two disheveled people in pajamas. Finally, they agree there is no party here. Jason wants to know if there is another party on our street. I look at Bo standing there in his underwear, dosed up on cold meds and decide it's up to me to end this once and for all.  I give the nice young man in the costume the address of someone I can't stand. I assure him they have the same costume party every year. That's got to be the one he is looking for...

Subway the condom of fastfood?

If your first question when someone mentions they are eating at Subway is "are you dieting", it means one of two things. 1) Subway has been successful in their campaign to convince consumers they are the diet food of the fast food industry or 2) Subway is half-assed fast food.

Ever since Subway literally rolled Jared's formerly fat ass out as their spokesperson, they have been known as the healthy fast food.  They post the nutritional value of their offerings everywhere from the counter where you order to the napkins you use to wipe the fat free Ranch drippings from your mouth.  They have something for all dieters; low fat, low sugar, low carb, low calorie. It's a brilliant marketing campaign. How does any of this tripe support my hypothesis?  Here goes...

Mmmmm, Nitrates!

Have you ever looked at a Subway tomato?  They are usually pale and tasteless. For most people concerned about the food they put in their body, lunchmeat is a no no. It's full of salt, sugar, wheat and sodium Nitrate. So, you sit down with your low fat (code for high sugar) sandwich and feed your incipient type two diabetes as well as any number of tumors just waiting for a hospitable environment in which to grow. Kind of like Russian Roulette with extra bullets, isn't it?  If your food can kill you, shouldn't you at least enjoy it?  Why take the half assed approach when you can go whole hog, so to speak?

Did somebody call for a heart attack?

If you are going to be bad, be really bad!  Why eat tasteless shit that will kill you a tiny bit slower when you can double down?  Who can't get behind KFC's intoxicating combination of fried chicken, cheese, bacon, and mayo?  Tasteless it's not.  I hope the genius who threw away the bun to add extra chicken is a wealthy man. Lets face it, only a man could come up with this wonder.


How does this tie in with condoms?  Did I just use the condom title to draw you in (and possibly raise your ire)?  Not at all!  Men have long complained that condoms take most of the feeling out of sex. They aren't talking about emotion. While condoms do lower the odds of an unwanted pregnancy, they aren't 100% reliable for preventing anything. Whether it is operator error (these are the dumbasses who fuck up & add more dumb kids to the world) or a mistake at the condom factory, even while using condoms you still get pregnancies and STDs while lowering enjoyment. Why eat at Subway when you could have the heart attack at KFC?

Disney: the great Satan? Or 5 things to be aware of when visiting Disney

                                                   




Having just spent a miserable five days at Disney, I feel qualified to answer this question with a resounding YES!   Here are five things to know before you head out to Disney World.

1.  COFFEE (or lack thereof):  There is no, I repeat NO good coffee at Disney World!  I'm not a coffee snob but if I'm to be inundated by children and cartoon characters all day, I need decent coffee in order to survive. Most of the resorts offer unlimited cups of Nescafé. I assume Nescafé is a sponsor of Disney. With the exception of Epcot, you will rarely find coffee that is not Nescafé so plan accordingly.

2.  BUFFETS:  if you are a fan of buffets you are in luck. If not, good luck avoiding buffet "dining".  With the exception of Las Vegas in the 90's, I've never seen so many buffets. All of which seem to have Mac & cheese...

3.  ENDLESS BUS RIDES:  Be ready to spend a lot of time on the bus. My husband points out that it's better than trying to find a parking place. I have a hard time agreeing when I'm standing next to a child that just shit itself. Most of the bus rides last between 15-30 minutes. During your captivity, you will be subjected to a barrage of information on where to spend more money. Which brings me to number four on our list...

4.  MERCILESS MERCHANDISING:  Did you see a particular piece of Disney merchandise you neglected to buy?  Never fear, you will see it OVER AND OVER AND OVER AGAIN!  Not only do the parks & resorts sell every Disney item you can imagine (and some you never saw coming)  you have an "opportunity" to buy them after each ride. You exit through a store with the theme of whatever ride you are leaving. Take special note that Disney purchased the rights to Star Wars. The cross merchandising is actually creepy.

5.  FAT PEOPLE ON SCOOTERS:  While at Disney, you will walk...a lot!  This is a good thing. Most people don't get enough exercise. Most people in the United States are overweight. Might this be a vacation where some of these fatties get moving?  Of course not!  Enter, the scooter!  While these should be used for people who actually need it, sadly this is not the case. You end up with a bunch of fat people bumbling around on scooters & getting in the way. Even on scooters, they are slow!

I feel this list is complete but my husband asked me to add one thing. Do not dress to impress because no one else does!

BloodyMaryland

According to gogo inflight wifi, I'm blogging from 35,000 feet.  I'm also blogging with Bloody Mary number #2.  Why am I only on my 2nd drink you might ask?  Well, the beverage truck didn't make it. We waited for it!  Oh how we waited!  To no avail!  As there is only so much ice to go around, we did it the old fashioned way and I don't mean women & children first!  I also don't mean blowjobs for ice. That would never work as the flight attendants are all women.  The original old fashioned way, it went to the highest bidders. I was lucky that my husband, in his infinite wisdom, made sure I am in first class this trip. The reason why is another blog post. Let's just say squished in coach doesn't make for a happy marriage. He also wanted to make sure I didn't bail at the last minute because...wait for it...we are spending the next five days in Disney World!  If you know me, you know that I would rather have a root canal sans pain meds than be around one child.  How in the hell am I winging my way towards the happiest place on earth?  It gets worse or better depending on if you like me or not. My mother-in-law decided that for her birthday we needed to add to the misery in the world by taking a family trip!  She's almost 70, so I figured I could suck it up & do a weekend trip. Oh no!  Not miserable enough!  No, we have to hit up Disney World with the mother-in-law, the step father, the step brother, his wife, & their two evil children who have been on ADHD meds since they were birthed!  As an aside, the step brother's wife got new tits, so I'm sure there will be an unveiling (if I can get a pic, consider it posted)!  I know neither the ages nor the names of the two kids. One thing of which I'm sure, they are both boys.

Bo had to be in Orlando a week before me. He knew I would take any excuse to get out of this trip. He also knows me well enough to know I an unable to turn down free alcohol.  Here I sit...



                                                   

Vibratorship

I still can't believe they make these!

I will admit to not being the most tech savvy person in the world.  What can I say?  I'm old and I have an English degree.  Neither of which is conducive to mastering technology.  On the advice of a friend, I started blogging.  Such a gentle push: "If you don't stop sending me inane text messages every day, I will block you"!  Anyway, that is neither here nor there.  So, I start blogging.  I figure no one reads but at least it's out of my brain and I can go on with my day!

Enter Blogspot.  I AM of the instant gratification generation.  I've got a gmail account.  I can be blogging in five minutes!  I realize that I need to add pictures.  A picture is worth 1000 words or some such bullshit.  I get all the google stuff confused.  I open a Google+ account.  I find Facebook and Twitter very easy but for some reason Google+ confuses and annoys me.  I don't dwell on it.  I create my account and forget about it.  NOW, I can upload photos to my blog.  How are the two related you might ask?  I don't know but at the time I thought I needed Google+ to upload pics from my phone to my blog.  I hope that I was drinking at the time but I'm pretty sure I'm just stupid.

This happens to coincide with a friend's milestone birthday.  This friend, who we will call Bashley, has coulrophobia.  Do you know what this is?  Neither did I.  It's a fancy name for clown phobia.  I've always found clowns to be pretty creepy.  I'm pretty sure that most people who work in the clown industry are either pedophiles, drug addicts, or serial killers (John Wayne Gacy).  Anyway, it's Bashley's birthday and she makes the stupid stupid mistake of admitting to a bit of coulrophobia.  I do what any friend would do.  I start sending her pictures of clowns.  I start slow with a good looking clown stripper and end with John Wayne Gacy in a clown suit.  Bashley is kind of pissed.  Mission accomplished, right?  Wrong!  I decide to take it to the next level.

Who knew they really do make a clown vibrator?!  I'm kind of impressed!  I guess I need to amend my statement that you can make a magnet or bong out of anything to you can make a vibrator, magnet or bong out of anything.  Unfortunately, I don't discover the clown vibrator until it is to late to actually give it to Bashley as her birthday gift.  It's on back order.  She will get it for Christmas.

What do Google+ and the clown vibrator have to do with each other?  In most instances, nothing at all.  Unfortunately, I saved the picture of the clown vibrator to my phone.  I wanted to be able to torture Bashley with it until I gave her the real thing at Christmas.  Sort of as a warm up to the main course.  Through sheer dumbassery I managed to not only save the picture to my phone but it also posted on my Google+ account for all to see!  I didn't realize this for a long time.  Because Google+ is completely incomprehensible, I have no idea how to get rid of it.  I check my circles hoping they are empty.  No such luck.  I've got a couple of friends to whom clown vibrators are par for the course.  Then it slaps me in the face, an old couple I know through a friend.  All of whom would be mortified if they saw this and recognized it for what it is.  It could be something else, right?  Maybe a thin clown statue with an on/off switch?  Shit!

I call my sister for help deleting the damn thing.  She just laughs and laughs.  I even called Bashley for help.  She said, "you reap what you sow, bitch!"

Shit! Now I have to plan for reitirement!

Allie, me and our brother, Tommy

As long as I can remember, my sister, Allie, was preparing to go into the medical field.  As a small child, she was smart and obsessive about her school work.  She used to stay inside at recess to finish her work.  We were stoked!  Great!  A prodigy!  A goldmine!!! 

With this in mind; I changed diapers, babysat, and listened to hours and hours of her banal chitchat (she talked at six months which at the time seemed great).   So what if she told a long, exceedingly boring story that ran off our guests one Christmas eve?  It will all pay off in the end.  Except it didn't. 

Allie had great grades in elementary, middle and high school.  She was on math team, etc.  As she graduated from high school, she seemed ready to take the bull by the horns and make math and science her bitch in college.  She was pre-med the first year and a half in school.  Over Christmas break, she came to us to have a talk.  She looked like someone had died, which in essence I guess is what happened.  Allie changed her major to history with a minor in religious studies.  What the fuck?!  I told her that she doesn't need a degree to work at McDonald's.  Why do this?  Over the past year or so, she had been teasing me with an interest in plastic surgery.  An interest that I share, however, I prefer to be on the receiving end.

I went through the stages of grief, spending most of my time in anger.  I wiped her ass!  I hate kids!  All the papers I helped her write (or that I wrote for her) in High School!  All these things with the clear understanding that she would be a plastic surgeon!  In my rage, I went back and forth between suing her for breech of trust or fraud.  She misrepresented herself right out of the womb!

Allie has now graduated with a degree in history.  Who knows what the future holds for her?  The fast food industry?  Employment as a customer service representative?  The world's oldest profession?  Whatever it is, I'm sure I will be there to wipe her ass...

After reading this, Allie asked that I mention she changed her mind about the religious studies minor.  She possesses a  minor in German.

Realwomenacing

Am I crazy because I don't want to see fat and/or ugly people on TV?  The TV people who are pushing this travesty tell me I am but I don't know one person who thinks this is a good idea. Maybe I just have shallow friends. I think it should be across the board beauty though.  None of this ugly guy, beautiful girl thing.  Come on!  A little discrepancy is okay but Jonah Hill and Emma Stone?  No way! 

Does this make you want to buy Dove products?

I think it all started with the Dove commercials. Apparently, when someone mentions "real" women they mean fat and/or ugly.  I'm pretty sure it was some smart ass at Dove's ad agency. It had to be a man. He was probably out late the night before, drinking, waiting for inspiration to strike.  Instead, he's hungover from last night's debauchery reeking of stale beer, cigarettes & some fat chick who gave him a beej in the hallway by the men's room. He's facing the Dove executives, wondering how he's going to pay for his condo when he hears himself say, "Dove doesn't need gimmicks.  Dove is above that. Dove is about 'real' women."  The Dove executives like it. Real women cost less than models. They can save money and appear to take the high road at the same time. If they use women who already work for the company maybe they don't even have to pay them!  Of course, why a BEAUTY company would want to "celebrate real women" (meaning here are pics of unattractive people, enjoy) is beyond me.  Unattainable beauty is every beauty company's bread and butter.  If you show me a beautiful woman with gorgeous skin and tell me that I can achieve this if I try hard enough, I will spend crazy amounts of money.  If you show me some chick who looks like shit and has adult acne, I'm not buying ANYTHING you are selling!  Proponents of this movement say that putting the beautiful (photo shopped) women in ads gives women unrealistic expectations.  Hello!  We want unrealistic expectations!  In fact, we thrive on them!

If I want "real", I'll go to Wal Mart!

Sistalker?

Ever get a piece of vital information about a family member via social media?  Of course you have!  Such is the world in which we live. Imagine my surprise when my aunt tagged me in a Facebook post

mentioning that my sister was planning on meeting some girl she met online. At first, I figured  she was kidding. When I thought about it, however, I realized it sounded just like something my sister would do. My brother set the example last year when he met a stranger at a gas station to buy a copy of P90X. He said it was safe because the he found the item on Craigslist. Anyone remember the craigslist killer?  Neither did my brother. With this example in front of her, Allie set out to do something even dumber. 

Hi Allie!  I'm a 25 year-old girl!

I'm up with insomnia, check my Facebook and there it is. Message from aunt asking me what in the hell Allie is doing. Is she really going to meet some "chick" she met online?  I know nothing about this so I do some investigating which consists of looking at Allie's interaction with said aunt. There it is!  Allie is apparently going to Atlanta to meet someone she met online. At this point, it's 3:30am and I have more immediate problems to handle (Gordon has decided to bark at the haunted, bleeding wall in my den).  I send Allie a cursory text message that goes something like this; "please tell me you aren't planning to meet someone you met online in Atlanta."  Then I get the items needed to calm Gordon & whatever the hell is in my wall as well.

I get up in the morning, hopeful that reason has asserted itself and Allie is NOT going to meet some stranger. I loathe talking on the phone but I figure this requires an actual conversation. 

ALLIE:  Hello (groggy)

ME:  what the fuck are you thinking meeting someone you don't know in Atlanta?  You know this "girl" is really a fat, sweaty, bald 50 year old man with a violent criminal record!  Did you wake up this morning and decide you were going to offer yourself up to a serial killer?  You are going to end up in some creepy old man's trunk hog tied with a couple pairs of pantyhose and duct tape over your mouth!  Normal people don't do this!

ALLIE: She's legit!  I promise!  

ME:  how do you know?

ALLIE:  we FaceTimed!

ME:  you are dead...

Further probing revealed that my sister met this sweaty, fat, bald 50 year old man claiming to be a girl on you tube. A few you tube comments later, their friendship moved along to twitter.  They tweeted a bit and became Facebook friends. After that, the friendship really got rolling.  Yep, you guessed it, texting.  The final step, the face to face meet. 

One of the first things kids are told is don't talk to strangers. This is a hot topic from pre kindergarten on up. One would think that even the dumbest of  children cannot fail to grasp this concept:  STRANGER DANGER!  Has social media blurred the lines?  Definitely. Is meeting some stranger in person that you know from you tube and being chopped to pieces natural selection?  Absofuckinglutely!

Whoever said it takes a village was right. I am thankful that Allie chose not to meet her Internet stalker alone. At least when they met AT FREAKING DUSK IN A DESERTED PARK she brought an extra victim. What are the odds that both Allie and her friend could be dispatched quickly?  In all likely hood, one of them would get away to be taken down, civilization almost in reach.

The meet is going down as we speak. Allie's friend is sending me updates via text. So far, I know that the stalker really is a girl in her early 20s. That established they are heading out to hit up the bars. 

incompetency, thy name is...me!

Cranberry Cosmo!

Today, Delores sends me to Big Lots for ONE MEASLY THING!  I think she does this because she knows: a) I can't be trusted to bring back more than one thing and/or b) she thinks it's funny to give me a task that I can't possibly complete while laughing at my ineptitude.  Anyway, for those of you who don't know, Big Lots is a big warehouse with inexpensive items.  You can get anything from holiday decorations to automotive stuff to (and yes this does exist) premixed drinks in a container shaped like a shoe!  On the plus side, they have cleaning supplies at reasonable prices.

I was at work when I realized I had neglected to get the stuff on the list Delores gave me last week.  I stop at the store to pick them up, hoping against hope, that I can get in the door, put the supplies away, then lie my ass off and say they were there all the time.  Instead, I get busted obviously trying to hide stuff.  I think this is what precipitated the trip to Big Lots.

Delores coldly appraises me.  She looks at the cleaning supplies that are half sticking out of my "hiding" place, smirks, and asks me if I have time to run pick up some kind of duster.  She says it's on sale at Big Lots and she can tell me exactly where it is.  

Delores and I have a long history of this.  She will give me a detailed description of whatever it is she needs.  I write it down, take it with me and return an hour later with either nothing or the wrong item.  These days, she gets the stuff herself and I reimburse her.  She only sends me on an errand if I screw up and say, forget to have things in place so she can do her job.

I'm wandering aimlessly around Big Lots looking for what I'm sure is a fictional product created by Delores to make me feel like a dumbass.  I finally manage to locate the cleaning supplies but have no idea what I'm looking for.  I call my sister for help.  She's not much in the brains department but she has TONS of experience talking me down from situations like this.  Here is a sample of our conversation:

Allie:  What are you looking for?
Me:  something long with a thing on it to get cobwebs off the ceiling.
Allie:  You mean a Swiffer duster with an extender?
Me:  huh?
Allie:  What do you see right now?
Me:  Godiva dark chocolate bar with raspberry, Toblerone & Lindt dark chocolate with sea salt.
Allie:  Goddammit!  Get out of the candy section and go to the cleaning section.

****5 minutes of silence punctuated by Allie's exasperated sighs as I try to find the cleaning supplies.

Me:  OK, I think I found them.
Allie:  You think?  Do you see stuff you can actually clean with?
Me:  kind of...
Allie:  I'm hanging up!
Me:  OK, OK, I'm in the cleaning supplies.
Allie:  Too late!  I just texted you a picture of a Swiffer Duster with an extender.  You can use it or ask an employee to help you. Bye!

I put down the really cool glow in the dark 6ft Halloween skeleton (I was nowhere near the cleaning supplies) and hightail it to the cleaning section.  I STILL can't find the fucking thing!

I do what anyone thrust into that position would do; leave!  I did grab a dark chocolate Godiva bar on the way out...

Humpetitive

That's right!  She's all mine!

Gordon, sofa & his occasional 3rd, the cow

I've had my hound, Gordon, for about 4 years now.  He's your standard boy dog.  He humps everything that's not nailed down.  Who am I kidding?  He even humps stuff that is.  Over the years, he has shown a taste for overstuffed upholstery aka fat chicks.  Yeah, my hound is a chubby chaser.  My living room sofa is safe.  It's too skinny.  The red sofa in our den?  Look out!  Gordy humps the shit out of it several times a week.  If he's feeling extra frisky (about 1/2 the time) he brings in a 3rd.  He loves his phallic cow.  Add a little Barry White and it's on like a pot of neck bones!

I'm not saying Gordon doesn't occasionally stray.  He's been known to hump the ottoman (remember overstuffed = fat chick) just to get a little strange.  Once or twice, he's nailed one of my Baker armchairs (Baker would be mortified).

get out!

As time goes by, I notice that Gordon doesn't hold the same ardor for the sofa.  Did she get old?  Fat?  Well, fat wouldn't be an issue.  Boring?  maybe.  For whatever reason, Gordon doesn't seem into her anymore.  He's spiraled into a depression.  He will still sleep on her, of course, but they just don't have the physical connection they once shared.  He doesn't have the same gleam in his eye when he "accidentally" pees on the floor.  He doesn't take pleasure in sneaking into the living room to take a dump on my favorite Oriental rug.  His zest for life seems to have faded.  What to do?

After careful consideration, which consisted of two bottles of wine and a very one-sided conversation with my understandably disgusted husband; I decided it was time to take action.  We need to find Gordon a new piece...of furniture.  This brings up another issue.  How do we chose?  We want to pick out something he will like.  Something he can use for years to come.  Unfortunately, he's not allowed in furniture stores.  Even if he were, They wouldn't let him "try out" the merchandise.  I don't want to rush anything, so I start slowly.  I bring home a flyer with a chair on it every so often.  Maybe once a month, I leave out a fabric swatch.  I casually leave furniture catalogs scattered about the house.  Gordon either is too dumb to notice or too trapped in the depths of his despair to care.  I continue to try.  Finally, just last week, as I'm looking at a circular from Pier One; Gordon takes interest in a chocolate velvet club chair.  He whispers, "I'd tap that."

No more illegal driving for Liz!

 This is a letter I wrote to my friends who forced me to replace my social security card and driver's license after they (along with my lovely Yves St. Laurent bag) were stolen.  Enjoy!

Me, my handbag & my brother

A wise person (or a raging smartass) once said, "the longest journey begins with one step."  While this quote is generally used by the self-righteous. In this case, I feel it is germane. I have successfully succeeded in obtaining a social security card which is but one step towards obtaining a valid driver's license.

While I am proud of this accomplishment, in no way did I do this alone. I was assisted along the way by many caring friends and family members. I would like to single out a few who went the extra mile by putting their collective feet to my ass and pushing me kicking and screaming (literally) into the Social Security office. The first person to take on this monumental mission was Dayna. With her no nonsense engineering background she thought she was up to the task. She also has 10+ years of marriage under her belt so she figured she could bring nagging to bear if needed. She did not anticipate, however, the lengths to which I will go in order to avoid bureaucracy.  About the time Dayna gave up in disgust, Kelley decided to throw her hat into the ring.  She decided that I just needed someone to give me a little "push" in the form of actually getting a copy of my marriage license so I would have proof of identity.  Kelley even went into debt in order to achieve this goal!  A lesser person would have paid Kelley back and run to the nearest Social Security office!  Thankfully, I'm NOT a lesser person.  After stiffing Kelley $4 bucks, I let said license languish in my kitchen for two weeks.  Kelley, being the mother of a teenage boy, still didn't give up!  She continued to "encourage" me to obtain a "legal" form of identification.  Her encouragement might, by others, be seen as a threat but I knew she would never call the police and tell them I was driving without a license.  It was her version of tough love.  Unfortunately, Kelley is in school and working a full time job.  She didn't have the time to physically grab me off the street and force me into the Social Security office to start the process. Exit Kelley, although she is always just a text away (if she's still taking my crazy text messages).  Throughout all of this, my brother was available to lend encouragement.  He often would call and tell me to get off my fat, lazy butt and go to the Social Security office.  He well knows my aversion to government bureaucracy.  He is also aware of my disdain for the smellier denizens of the general public.  He knew my aversion to these two things would be very difficult to overcome.  He took various tacks over the months but almost succeeded on Sunday afternoon.  While browsing in Target after church, I saw a seasonal pumpkin beer that I wanted to try.  Not being the possessor of a license, I was unable to buy the beer.  I asked him to buy it for me and he refused.  This caused me pause.  I could see a definite advantage to having a license.  I guess you could say that I had an epiphany in the beer and wine section of Target.  I realized that a valid picture i.d. could make my life easier (and isn't that what life's all about?).  I guess that's when I started to realize that six months was long enough to drive illegally and probably too long to continue to sit outside liquor stores and pay bums to buy alcohol for me.  I was going to wait the extra few months until Allie turned 21 and then just take her license and pay for her to get a new one (her time is less important than mine).  Thank you Tommy for unwittingly helping me understand the NEED to resolve this issue.  Of course, need, while impetus for some often should be accompanied by another motivator.  In my case, that motivator was greed.  Enter my wonderful husband, Bo!  Last but definitely not least!!!  Of course he has been gently encouraging me since April to replace the items stolen.  He even offered to buy a new handbag if I did so.  While this was appreciated, it was not the stimulus I needed to leap into action.  Even his loving words could not help me break out of the sludge of torpor into which I had fallen.  He would often tell me he worried for me if he had to be away for any length of time.  I cannot even deposit a check without valid identification.  While I understood this in a vague way, I also realized the odds were in my favor so I continued along my identificationless path.  Bo finally broke through my haze two nights ago!  He mentioned that he wants to go to New York City for Thanksgiving.  It cut through my lethargic haze immediately!   While the final credit goes to Bo, I have to admit that all of you played a part.  In the end, I was as worn down as a cucumber in a convent.  I had to admit that all of you were right so I took that important first step...

Taboonies

Yesterday, I was on a quest to find a new Crossfit gym. They are in a temporary location in a town adjacent to mine. I don't live in a bustling Metropolis but we have a few hundred thousand people. The place I'm going is in bumfuck. Thanks to my gps, I find the gym with no problems. Trouble is, the gym moved. I walk across the street to get directions. People are not kidding when they talk about country directions. These people were so nice to help me out but there are no street names. It's more; turn left at the big rock, go aways (sic) until you see farmer Ted fucking his goat, then turn left. How I wish I were kidding...

Bright side:  I did eventually find the gym!

Locosmetic

I went to a birthday dinner last night and found myself seated next to this chick who reeked of neediness.  It literally came out of her pores. Or would have, had her pores not been completely clogged by the make-up slathered on her face. As I looked at her thick, black eyeliner, I had an epiphany regarding a new cosmetic line. Starting with the black eyeliner (she actually may have used a sharpie), I began to develop this product line. It's all in the names: Black kohl eyeliner called Desperation; bright red lipstick called Unstable; hot pink liquid blush called Insecure; finally, a four pack of eye shadow in various blue hues called low self esteem.

Of course, I think it's brilliant, so I consult a friend with actual marketing experience. She says it's funny as shit but make-up is supposed to make a person feel better rather than proclaim their inadeqacies. She makes an excellent point.

Imagine the awesome ad campaign.  We go with a celebrity. Obvious choices would be Kristin Stewart or Britney Spears. With K Stew, you have pics of her getting oral from the creepy old guy who directed her in Snow White & the Hutsman.  Her eyeliner, Desperation.  For Britney, you have to go back a few years to the head shaving incident. I'm pretty sure the lipstick she is wearing is Unstable.  I think the poster girl for my cosmetics line is Jennifer Love Hewitt. She is the whole package!  Not only does she have an engagement ring on standby at Tiffany, she also asks guys out via talk shows. I think the clip from the Ellen tv show with JLH asking a freshly dumped Adam Levine out would be perfect. Jennifer wears all my products.  Bitch is crazy!