nobody poops sunshine and rainbows

Well, everyone is crap-their-pants-excited over having an extra day this year, but the universe is punishing me with the worst headache I’ve ever experienced. Granted, it could always be worse. I could have been the woman at the grocery store this morning puking up her scrambled eggs on top of the avocado display. No! Not the avocados! Anything but the avocados! (I know y’all are thinking it. I sure as hell was.) Or I could have been the guy in my friend’s office who sharted at an important business meeting last week and had to waddle out clutching his ass cheeks so nothing escaped through the bottom of his pant leg. A headache? That’s all you’ve got? No problem. Bring it on, universe. You miserable bitch.

stepbrothers

I keep hearing that people feel the need to be productive today. Even Facebook told me to “Enjoy your extra day. Use it wisely.” Well, I took its advice and slept. All fucking day. Let’s be real – if you are an adult sleeping all day is the only way to truly enjoy it. Between naps, I did the wisest possible thing and deleted my account. Thanks, Facebook. Good idea.

I’m so damn tired of reading about people’s perfect lives and their gifted kids who poop sunshine and rainbows. Gone are the days of being forced to see posts bragging of new cars, jobs, vacations, and every goddamn time they check into the gym. Nobody cares about the perfectly grilled steak laying on a bed of vegetables and bullshit you got at fancy restaurant for dinner. What the fuck are y’all trying to prove? And to who? Nobody’s life is as perfect as they portray on social media. No one’s. 

So, I’ll just be sitting here Facebook-less on my own island. Driving my 5-year-old car to anywhere but the gym. Taking my vacation an hour away by car because I’m too cheap/afraid to fly. Yeah, I’m not anywhere close to perfect and neither is my life. And I’m okay with that. 

 

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put your pants troll away

catvshumansSometimes it’s completely justifiable to drink wine straight from the bottle and spend the day on the couch hiding under a pile of cats. Maybe even necessary. Doctors really should prescribe things like that. Of course, issues might arise if you don’t have a cat, but you could always just borrow your neighbor’s. Forget what the Bible said – get over there and covet your neighbor’s pussy. Guaranteed to make everyone involved feel better. Just what the doctor ordered.

This weekend has been dubbed sit-on-your-ass-and-do-nothing in my house. After a stressful week of news and various appointments, we think we are owed a relaxing weekend. Plus, I’m an adult. I can do whatever the hell I want, right? Cinnamon rolls for breakfast? Yes, please. A full pint of Ben & Jerry’s for lunch? Don’t mind if I do. Laying on the couch and catching up on 8 hours of recorded TV? Well, if you insist. You’re so kind. This is what successful adulting is all about, folks. Screw everything else.

I’m in the market for some new TV shows to get addicted to. I normally stick to the same ones, but I’m trying to expand my horizons. Anything on Netflix y’all recommend? Hulu? Regular TV? I like anything as long as it goes well with wine.

PS – Does anyone else get seriously bothered by the whole ‘Netflix & chill” saying? I don’t like being interrupted. I take that shit seriously. If I was single and someone invited me over with that prompt, I’d be pissed as hell when they whipped out their pants troll. Put that shit away. ALADDIN IS ON. What in the actual fuck?

I hope y’all have a relaxing weekend.

i don’t want your organs

I recently stumbled upon a blogger who was reviewing a local restaurant right down the road from me. It made me pretty excited, so I posted a comment and tried to connect with her. I really had no intention of meeting this person, I just wanted to tell her how much I agreed with her good review and next time she should get the Bacon & Pimento Cheeseburger because it will give her a mouthgasm. (If you don’t know what Pimento cheese is, you’re not living life.)

harleyquinn

Well… she never responded to me. I figured I might come across a bit crazy in my writing, so I thought reaching out to her in an email would clear my name and make her feel more at ease:

“Hi!

I commented on your post recently and I’m worried I came across weird and freaked you out. Don’t be scared. I didn’t want to meet up with you or anything like that. I know I come across a little crazy on my blog… but I assure you I’m more of a “I made my 8-year-old niece try a dog treat crazy” rather than a “I’m going to find your house and harvest your organs crazy.” Speaking of your house, the one on your Bio page is so cute. So is your dog. If you want to be friends, I’m just down the road.

-Blair”

 

Pretty sure I made it worse. You win some, you lose some right?

 

Lesson of the Day : If you want to make new friends off the internet, don’t mention living down the road from them and harvesting their organs in the same paragraph.

PS – I promise… I’m really not crazy! Well, not serial killer crazy at least.

 

 

(Photo Credit goes to sal0)

a lemony-fresh shitstorm

“When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.” I hate that saying. Screw making lemonade. Why not do something actually enjoyable when something goes to shit – like hurling them at unsuspecting kids? You know, like Buddy the Elf does when he mows down a bunch of bullies with snowballs. Now that is fun. A sure-fire way to turn your day around.

buddytheelf

 

Have you ever spent all your energy making sure something was absolutely perfect? Then, something out of your control happens and everything you worked so hard to accomplish doesn’t matter anymore. Like buying expensive wine and spending all day cooking for a dinner party just to have your friend’s 2-year-old rip off his diaper and smear shit all over your curtains. Or planning the perfect day-trip to the beach. You’re laying there, soaking up the sun, beer in hand, thinking life couldn’t get any better right now. Until a minute later when you realize there’s a used condom crusted to the bottom of your foot. Lemons! Lemons everywhere, goddammit. 

Why does crap like that always happen? Why can’t things ever go as well as you imagined? Plan for perfection – experience a shit storm. A metaphor of my life.

shitstorm

Random-ass Update: Today begins the design of my self-hosted site. Hurray! Hopefully it goes as planned. If not, at least I’ll get the opportunity to pelt some lemons at people.

PS – Don’t throw shit at kids. It’s just a joke. Okay? That’s not cool. Not cool at all. 

time for a beatdown

There are very few things in life that make me angry enough to want to rip somebody’s face off and wear it as a diaper. Very few. Actually, I pride myself in knowing how to take a joke and rarely being offended by things. Well, yesterday I had one of those moments where a face-diaper almost became a real thing, generously coupled with a swift kick to the balls. (I was in a giving mood… what can I say?)

Guys… telling a woman she shouldn’t wear yoga pants in public because she’s overweight is something that should never happen. Especially when you follow it up with the fact that it’s nothing to do with how it makes her feel, but she shouldn’t wear them because it’s hurting YOUR eyes. I don’t care if you meant it as a joke or not. You’re a prick and fuck you. Seriously, what the hell is wrong with people? What’s happening to common sense and manners?

bodies

I truly hope I never overhear something like this again. If I do, there’s a 95% chance I’m going to take a crap on your face. Watch out you sad little shit.

Do you find this joke inappropriate or am I the only one? If you overheard a comment like this would you say something? It really bothered me, but it’s highly possible I’m a bit crazy.

hey, you gotta pay for that!

It seems like the caliber of friends I’ve met through blogging is a lot higher than the friends I have in person. That’s the best part of blogging, really – the people. All my friends want to talk about in person is their marriage, kids, work, or how long it took their mother to shovel all the boringdrinkersnow off her balcony in Maine so Fido can get out to poop in case it’s urgent. Blah blah blah blah blah. Enough is enough already! For the love of God – no more. I’d rather hang out with the majority of fellow bloggers I’ve talked to over my friends in person. Crazy, right? (Hey… I’ve given y’all fair warning that I’m weird.)

Well, I’m finally getting back to sharing guest posts that I’ve been slacking on lately. And, don’t worry – this blogger is a lot funnier than my friends in real life. So, you’re welcome. Make sure you’re you visit Lady Dickson on her blog. She is piss-your-pants-funny. Or diaper. Don’t worry… this is a judgment-free zone so we embrace all differences.

Let’s get on with it then:


 

In 2013, my husband and I went on a 6 month tour of Europe. On our stop in Portugal, we decided “hey, let’s go to Morocco since it’s right there” and off to Morocco we did. Gotta love last minute decisions like that. Here’s the thing, I’ve been to third world. I went to Thailand in 2008 and it was a friggin blast. But this seemed like a completely different kind of third world. Whilst in Thailand, I could use the public bathrooms whenever I wanted without paying. Coming over to Morocco, and a lot of Europe I might add, I had to start paying to urinate.

What the fuck is this nonsense. I ate your food, I drank your water, I paid my bill, and now you want me to pay to extract all dis bidniz you supplied out of my body? That shit cray.

Naturally, as I am not used to doing so, I forget to bring my change purse with me to the bathroom of this one rooftop restaurant located in the centre of Marrakesh. Thankfully, there was no one on guard to give money to so I figured this was a rare free washroom. SCORE. I know where I’m coming from now on to drop trou.

During my healthy dump, I hear a woman screaming at someone in Arabic and think “oh man, I would hate to get yelled at in a language I don’t know.” Turns out, she was yelling at me but I was completely clueless of it. The second I stepped out of the stall, she was all up in my grill pointing at her dish beside the door. Naturally, I looked like a deer caught in headlights and threw my hands in air and kept repeating “I don’t know what you’re saying…” Obviously, I needed to leave some money in the dish beside the door.

MY BAD.

Now I had to somehow tell her I don’t have money on me.

Me: I don’t have any money on me.
Woman yelling in Arabic.
Me: I don’t….have any…money on me. *flipping my pockets inside out*
Woman yelling in Arabic.
Me: Not…sure where to go from here.

So I just try to leave but she barricades herself against the door. Perfect, this is going well. I just fold my arms, look at her, and tap my foot on the ground. With how long this is taking, my husband must be thinking I am murdering this toilet.

Finally, I had enough of this. I started screaming my husbands name in a zero percent passionate way. I mean, this was not the womans fault. Some white chick who doesn’t know how to follow the rules popped a squat all willy nilly and girlfriend needs to get PAID. I was willing to pay her, I JUST NEEDED MY GODDAMN COIN PURSE.

After screaming my husbands name for about a minute, she finally gives in. She moves out of the way and lets me out of the bathroom. As I’m leaving, she starts yelling at me again and I just sprint up the stairs to the roof, grab my husband and we gone.

My coin purse never left my side after that..

ladydicksonRight before the hostage shituation.

get out of my house

kneelingforgodLast week, I was asked by a friend to go to mass with her on Ash Wednesday. I’m not sure if she felt like I was in need of some holy intervention or she was just being friendly but, after much hesitation I figured, ‘why the fuck not?’ What’s the worst that could happen? The communion will give me diarrhea and I’ll have to step over everyone while they’re kneeling in the pew? I’ll trip and my boobs will accidentally fall out of my shirt in front of the poor virgin priest and his ragtag band of alter boys? I could survive those, right? No problem.

Well… I made it about twenty minutes in before I was convinced I was dying.

Me: Do you think it’s hot in here? I’ve got some swamp ass brewing.

Friend: No… I’m actually kind of chilly. Are you okay?

Me: Well… this is it. I’m dying. I’ve crossed into God’s house, and he’s striking me down and it’s only a matter of time until I burst into flames. This was bound to happen. I’m a terrible person.  Yesterday I stole an extra cracker from the sweet old lady handing out samples at Publix. It wasn’t even good but I couldn’t help myself. Who does shit like that? WHO?

Random Guy Next To Me: Everyone. Everyone does that.

Me: Oh. Really? That makes me feel better. Do you also try to secretly grope your spouse in public when you think no one is watching? God could be pissed at me for that. I’m pretty handsy. Do you do that, too? It would make me feel a lot more relieved if you did. You seem like a regular here and God hasn’t smited you yet.

Guy: Uh… can you stop talking to me?  You’re making me uncomfortable.

familyguygod

I don’t think I’m welcome there anymore. 

Do churches give you anxiety? I grew up in a religious family and I’m pretty familiar with them. Yet… they still scare the shit out of me. What the hell?

Everyone stay safe out there. There’s some bad weather brewing.