28 Truths of Everyday Life...take 2

Continuing my series on 28 Truths of Everyday Life…today I’ll tackle:

10. Bad decisions make really good stories.

This entire blog is a testament to that truth. In fact, it's the way I live my damned life. I’ll share a little different kind of story with you this time…

My friend Willow has a chronic and severe case of foot-in-mouth disease. She’s not a mean person but she just has a way of saying the exact wrong thing to the exact wrong person at the exact wrong moment. She’s really more of a victim of bad timing.

She has a knack of asking how you like your new car right after you’ve totaled it or how your job is going right after you’ve been fired or how your marriage is doing right after you’ve found out your husband is cheating on you or…well you get the picture.

Case in point…

Willow loves most anything to do with Christmas. This includes an almost fanatical love Christmas music. She knows all the songs…religious, secular, good, bad, and ugly.

One year at her job they were talking about different Christmas-related songs. She pipes up and says something about how she really doesn’t want to hear the song “Please Daddy Don’t Get Drunk this Christmas”. (See I told you she knows them all. She doesn’t like them all but she knows them all.)

She said everyone got really quiet. I’ve always envisioned that everyone’s mouth was agape and their eyes got as big as saucers as they stared at her in horror while she slapped her thigh and threw back her head letting loose a horse laugh that rattled the walls. You see…she was the only one laughing.

Bad decision…good story.

Someone pulled her aside and ask if she knew that one of the girls standing there had an alcoholic father. Of course she didn’t but with her track record she should have….what are the chances that Willow is going to start belting Please Daddy Don’t Get Drunk This Christmas at any time, much less when the daughter of an alcoholic is standing right in front of her.

This would never happen to a normal person but for poor foot-in-her-mouth Willow plagued by bad timing? She could be standing in Brazil, make a crack about Coca Cola, and somehow offend a long lost relative of Thomas Fucking Jefferson. Really…it would happen to her!!!!

Chick out…

The art of vacuuming

Last week my mother informed me that in order to vacuum adequately you must make 3 passes with the vacuum cleaner. Whattttttt theeeeee hellllllll??????? She's always been a clean freak but now I'm decided that she's out of her fucking mind.

I work at my job 9+ hours so I can take off every other Monday. On top of that I commute 40+ miles each way through hellish traffic. So...I'm doing really well to run the bastard of a vacuum cleaner even once over any of my floors in a given week. In fact, if I'm able to complete that feat I feel like a damned olympic champion! Hell, I march around feeling all high and mighty whenever I don't have clumps of dog hair clinging to the baseboards or covering my coffee table.

Three passes with a vacuum? She's certifiably crazy.

At this very moment I can shove my hand down in between any of my couch cushions and come up with a handful of stuffing from a stuffed animal. Why? Because I unhook my cushions and vacuum underneath them about twice a year. Whenever I do it, the dogs come running and try to grab the stuffing and run off with it before the vacuum can suck it up. I feel that it's best to just leave it hidden!!

Guess how often my mother vacuums her couch.....every week...and she never even sits on it!!!!

It takes her hours to vacuum her house. I'm not going to tell you how long it takes me to do the deed but let's just say it can be measured in minutes. Of course, "Alice" vacuums my entire basement so that saves me some time.

For those of you that have never met "Alice"...she's a Roomba and I love her dearly. It takes that little robotic bitch about an hour to vacuum down there so I guess she follows my mother's rule of thumb.

I try not to watch her because she makes me feel like an inadequate housekeeper. She spins and whirls around like a maid on crack. She doesn't get hung up on rugs, never knocks things over, and gets up all the crap on the floor which is better than I do.

And guess what...I've noticed that she makes 3 passes. Bitch!!!

Chick out...

28 Truths of Everyday Life

Someone recently emailed me a list of 28 truths about everyday life. They were so funny that I was inspired to address them on the blog in a series of 28 posts. Today I’m going to start with…..

#26. There’s no worse feeling than that millisecond you’re sure you are going to die after leaning your chair back a little too far.

I think we’ve all flipped over backward in a chair but I once took it one step further.

When I was about 4 or 5 years old I came up with the idea to sit on top of a broom handle. I’m not sure where this not-so-bright idea came from but in my weird and crazy little girl imagination I just knew I could do it.

I got our broom, which was a straw broom like this:

I then grabbed a stool and climbed on top. I thought I was going to be able to stand the broom up and sit on top of the handle just like you’re sitting on a chair. Straight back and knees bent. Just like this… Oh year...that makes a lot of fucking sense. Let the fun begin!!!!

At that young age I didn’t understand the physics of balancing a child-sized ass on a stick that was about an inch and a half in diameter much less the possible implications of sitting an ass that has a hole in it on top of that stick. On top of a stick that had about a foot of straw bound the bottom.

Did I think I was a fucking illusionist?? Sit on top of a broom handle like I’m sitting on a chair?? I’m not even sure David Copperfield could master that feat without damaging himself.


So back to the stool. I stood there and steadied the broom beside of me. Keeping my hand on the the broom handle, I eased by ass back and sat down, removing my feet from the stool. Almost immediately, the broom bristles collapsed and I went flying backward. I thought death was near! My ass hurt from the broom, my head hurt from crashing into the floor, and my pride hurt from not being able to do the stunt. Had I fallenl through the floor I would have crawled off in shame underneath the house and died like an injured rat.

I had been undergoing this venture in privacy, of course. My parents would have stopped me immediately and probably whacked my ass with the broom. They both came running as soon as they heard the crash and found me sprawled out in front of washer and dryer with my culprits: Mr. Broom and Mr. Stool.

What was I supposed to tell them?? Yes, Mother…Father, I was trying to sit atop a broom handle. Uh yeah but I think it sounded more like: Yeah..sniffle…I tried to sit on the broom..sniffle.

They didn’t really care about how it happened all they wanted to know was if I’d hurt myself. Did I hurt myself? Hell yeah, I was nearly sodomized by a broom handle and my body slammed into a hardwood floor at roughly the speed of sound. However, my reply was No, I’m okay.

A few hours later I finally confessed that my butt hurt but I wouldn’t even verbalize it. I just told my father that I had indeed hurt myself and pointed to the pained lump of flesh that was my ass.

I was an idiot! Hell, I still am! But at least I learned a great lesson that day...unless you want shove a broom up your ass and poke a whole in your bowel never try to balance yourself on the end of the broom.

Chick owwwwwwwwwt…

Father's Day

I lost my daddy to cancer at 12:35 am on December 17, 2005. Every year on Father's Day I get in a funk. This year I decided to try and shake it by checking out Justin Halpern's blog "Shit My Dad Says".





Gotta be honest with you...it worked!! I laughed till I thought my bladder was going to turn wrong side out. I might have actually cracked an ovary but I'm not exactly sure.



I've added it to the elite list of blogs I follow. Check it out in my Super Cool Blogs box to the left. It's totally worth it.



By the way, Justin has released a book and has a half hour sitcom starring William Shatner coming out this fall. Both carry the same title as the book. Funny, funny stuff!!!



Chick out and remember...hug your daddy today. :)

Sharts, zombies, and various other Nonsense

The other night I dreamed that I was trying to get my friend Willow to go in halfsy with me to buy a piece of property to build a cabin on. While we were looking around, I sat on a tree stump and farted and shat my pants. So I actually sharted. The realtor was there and I was afraid she would smell me. She never did...or she acted like she didn't smell me.

Then.. we ended up in a store with our friends Talullah and Leilani. Willow was telling me she couldn't afford her half of the $500 per month it would cost to buy the property and I was trying to figure out how I could swing the entire amount. We were looking at used books at the time.

Then...I was somehow transported to a restaurant in my hometown where I talked to a man that I used to work with here in Maryland. Then a guy whom I went to high school with crept over beside me, sat down, and layed his head on my shoulder.

Then...I got up and went in a back room where they were decorating for a baby shower. I looked around and thought, 'These are the cheapest decorations I've ever seen." Talullah was there and as we walked out of the room we encountered another guy we went to high school with. She hugged him and I ignored him. I was afraid I had offended him.

Then...I decided to take a shower (remember I did shit my pants a while back) but the shower stalls were in the middle of the restaurant and the shower curtains were too tiny to cover me. I decided to keep my clothes on and wash only my hair. Three men were watching me and I yelled at them. I finished washing my hair but my pants were still full of shit.

Then...Willow, Leilani, Talullah and I all ended up together again and we left the restaurant. As we got in our car (a Thing...remember those?) we were attacked by three zombies. I realized that one of them was only acting like a zombie so I kicked him in the face...while I was driving. I was actually steering a Thing, working the gas and break with one foot, and kicking a faux zombie in the face with another. It was like a Will Smith movie.

Then...my alarm clock went off and I woke up.

Whew!!!! This one was crazier than the one I had a few weeks ago where someone tossed a woman into the air and she turned into a human sized tongue depressor!!!

Holy shit...what is wrong with me???

Chick out...

Talullah and her sarcophagus

The technical definition of a sarcophagus is a stone coffin usually bearing sculpture or inscriptions. In the case of my friend Talullah, a sarcophagus is a structure she builds around a public commode and it’s made of toilet paper. Layers and layers of toilet paper. So much so that I envision that by the time the sarcophagus is completely built she only has to lean against it to do her business.

Poor Talullah suffers from a genetic disorder…she can’t squat or hover over a toilet seat. I’m not sure if she doesn’t have the leg strength or her legs are too short or she doesn’t have the balance or what but she cannot do it.

Have a mentioned she’s a bit of a tad bit of a germaphobe?

Did you know that cheap, single ply toilet paper will protect you against any germ or virus growing on a toilet seat? Me neither but if you use enough of it, it apparently forms a germ tight barrier between the seat and your ass, which everyone knows is the cleanest part of your body. Right?? That’s exactly why you must build the toilet paper sarcophagus...to protect the cleanliness of the part of your body that expels turds and pee.

That’s not all….oh no….

She also constructs a toilet paper mitt around her hand to wipe herself. One time we were out and had to go to the bathroom. Unfortunately, there was no toilet paper in her stall. I passed her a roll that probably had enough to wipe my patootie nine or 10 times. She looked at it and said, “This isn’t enough!!”

Why does she have to encase her own hand to wipe her own ass? How does she get the toilet paper mitt off without getting “stuff” all over her hands? How many toilets has the girl clogged during her lifetime? Questions I’m not sure have answers.

So that’s my friend Talullah. She resides in a different kind of world. A world where her ass is cleaner than a public toilet but not so clean that she wants to chance ever touching it. A world where she closes the stall door on a public bathroom and whips toilet paper around like a rhythmic gymnast doing a ribbon routine at the Olympics. A warped world but she loves it there.

Chick out...

The African Ted Bundy??

This past weekend I went to one of my least favorite places in the world…Home Depot. I hate Home Depot but I’m not going to go into that here because that’s boring and has nothing to do with my story. However, for the remainder of the story I will refer to it as The Devil’s Crotch…that’s how much I hate it!!!

I specifically went to The Devil’s Crotch to pick up some plants for my backyard. I parked near a corral for carts (or buggies as we call them in the south) so I wouldn’t have to go into the store to get one. I drag the buggy out and head over to do some shopping.

As I round my car I see an employee of The Devil’s Crotch coming toward me. I smiled and said hello like I always do because I’m southern and we speak to everyone. This was his reply in a low, creepy voice with an African accent:

“I like yo figger.
Some li the boooone but some li da meat?

Translation:

“I like your figure.
Some like the bone but some like the meat.”

You’re probably wondering what I did next right? Well I just said, “Alrighty then”, walked on to the store, and bought my damned flowers.

What was I supposed to do? He reminded me of an African Ted Bundy. All he needed was a fake cast on his arm and a Volkswagen bug with the back seat taken out.

No thanks…he can like the meat all the likes he just can’t taste it.

Chick out…