Project This!

Today’s new definition is for the word chickenshit. I found this new definition while watching Project Runway earlier this evening.

The new definition is: Flying a contestant all the way to Paris at a moment’s notice only to inform her only moments after arrival that she lost the last challenge and that she now has to turn around and get right back on a plane.

Supposedly, the final decision wasn’t made until they got to Paris because the judge needed to see how the clothes traveled. Bullshit.

The least they could have done was give her a couple days in Paris on their dime. Bastards.

Also, Angela was the one who lost the competition. I would be okay with the loss except for two little things:

1. Vincent is still there. He’s a crazy man whose taste is simultaneously all in his mouth and still living in the past. He needs to go.

2. Angela’s loss provided Jeffrey with way too much joy. He’s such a mealy mouthed little prick. If I wanted anyone to go before Vincent, it would be Jeffrey. I actually like most of his clothes alright, though. If Tim Gunn would just pop him in the mouth, maybe he wouldn’t be able to talk and I wouldn’t have to spew profanities at the television (did you HEAR the way he talked to and about Angela’s mother??).

All that having been said, I am pulling strongly for Michael to win. He’s not only extremely talented, he’s just a good guy. He doesn’t have to put others down to feel better about himself and he has taste to die for. You name me another person who could have made pink hot pants look like high fashion and I will give you a cookie (or something that rhymes with cookie) (wink, nudge).

From the ‘It’s funnier because it’s true!’ files

Hello, nice people visiting from Roo’s place!

I appreciate you coming by, even if it was only to see what kind of freakshow shoots herself in the head..accidently.

As you can see, I’m mostly normal, except for a slight penchant for profanity and a talent for injuring myself in sometimes shocking, and almost always embarrassing ways.

I would point you to the all the posts detailing my boo-boos (that’s a medical term for an injury that won’t kill you, but is a bitch to keep dry in the shower), but, honestly, there are too many and you people have lives.

I will however point you to the post about how I shot myself. Because you deserve the whole story. And because I love you all and really want you to come back and visit again. It’s actually on my old blog, because I still haven’t figured out how to import all my old entries to this blog. Because I am not the sharpest crayon in the box.

So, here it is, in all it’s glory. See how it was an accident and I’m not suicidal? See??

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In my last post, I revealed something to the internet. Something private and kind of scary.

Pookie (my husband, for you lovely newcomers) offered a solution to my …. problem. I forbade him from posting his solution in the comments, going so far as to threaten to delete it if he did. He has found a way around that by going on about how he had a solution, but I wouldn’t let him post it.

Then, when Roo posted a very similar suggestion, he jumped to agree with her and point out once again that he wasn’t allowed to say it.

I would be mad, but I think it’s kind of cute. I would appreciate it if y’all didn’t tell him though, because that will just encourage him.

At least he hasn’t gotten anything pierced


Okay, I know kids grow up fast these days, but my three year old is acting like a teenager.

No, he hasn’t taken to calling me ‘Mother’ in a tone of voice that says he means ‘bitch’. No, he doesn’t eat enough food in a day to feed a small country. No, he doesn’t listen to bad music at high volume. No, he doesn’t steal the neighbors’ cars and go for joy rides.

Which? Let me stop right here and pray for myself in 10 years time.

No, what he does is; he goes into his room, closes the door, and gets absolutely quiet. Almost as quiet as a 16 year old girl who is redoing her makeup and talking to a boy at the same time.

Seriously, y’all? It’s weird. I feel compelled to go look and make sure he isn’t cooking meth in there. But, I have to trust him. He promised me that his meth cooking days are over, after the explosion and all.

Here’s where I admit that it’s kind of quiet and lovely when he’s in his room with the door closed, playing quietly. He’s a good boy, but it’s too hot most days for him to go outside and play, so mostly he works his energy out by running back and forth through the house with the dog chasing him, while he shouts, ‘Stop the Music!’, over and over. Really. The kid needs a new catchphrase.

Oh, and my kid is now officially mutlti-lingual! Ever since he started watching Dora the Explorer , he asks us what different words are in Spanish. Between us (mostly Pookie) we’ve been able to provide the answers. So he goes up to his Dad the other night and asks him how to say ‘dog’ in Spanish. Pookie tells him that it’s ‘perro’. Little man says ‘Nooo, it’s not! It’s dogo.’

He’s decided that as long as you put an ‘a’ or an ‘o’ at the end of a word, it’s Spanish! Which, since it’s no longer English, makes it a whole ‘nother language, which technically makes him multi-lingual. Hah! My kid is a genius!

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Alert: I have something I need to share with the girls. No boys allowed past this point. Especially anyone I’m related to, or Pat K., or Chris from Rudecactus (whom you should totally go visit, if only for his excellent Monday morning Haikus, which always give me the first (and usually only) smiles of the workday.)

Seriously, all boys stop here. I’m telling you this for your own good. Remember Pandora and her box*? Well, it’s like that.

Girls, I have found my first grey hair that’s not on my head, if you get my meaning. Let me just say: Nooooooooooooo. I can take all the other not so subtle signs of aging, but this? This is Not Right. This is, in fact, Wrong. I object. Strongly.

Pray for me Sisters.

* Pandora’s Box. Heh heh, I said box!

Dream a Little Dream of….some really stupid shit


Have you ever been asleep and having a dream so mind numbingly stupid that you realize how stupid it is and wake up in protest?

I have, and let me tell you, it’s really rather irritating.

Now, I hate hearing other peoples’ dreams and have often thought about hari-kari when being subjected to it. However, I feel I must share at least a snippet of my dream with you, so that you are better able to grasp just how stupid this dream was.

I was involve in some of reality contest. A non-televised reality contest. A reality contest in which I had to …make a book of stamps. By that I mean I had to remove pages of stamps from a regular book of stamps and paste them to another book of stamps. The worst part was it felt like I spent HOURS on it and I couldn’t get it done, mostly due to the fact that I kept dithering over whether to use cloth or paper.

THEN, as I was making my way back to my ‘station’ (under a rusty old metal carport) from the ice water stand (refreshing! and also bland and tasteless) I had to avoid the giant bunny. And when I say ‘giant bunny’, I don’t mean biggesh or extra large; this sucker was the size of a cow. You shouldn’t worry though, I made it by the giant bunny easily despite the fact that I was running one legged.

Now, I ask you. Is that not the absolute stupidest dream you ever heard?

Beat that, bitches!

P.S. A quick letter to my brother, whom I love dearly:

Dear Charlie, post something already, you flaky, non-posting bastard.

Your loving sister (who loves you)

Reality Bites

I have recently become a reality show convert. As recently as 3 months ago, I was loudly proclaiming how I didn’t watch reality TV and I never would and by the way, those who did were big losers. Not that I’m a judgemental prig or anything. Ahem.

Ok, so I would watch Cops, but, really, who wouldn’t? Everytime they were called to a trailer park because people were drunk and attempting to kill each other, it was like a family reunion for me. I miss the good old days. Sigh.

I would watch shows like Trading Spaces on TLC, because, OMG they’re putting fur on the walls!!!

But really, that was it for my reality TV.

Now, my TiVo is working ovetime trying to catch all the new shows I’m watching these days.

First, we have Project Runway. I have a really good excuse for why I started watching this show. About a month ago, we were tearing up the carpet in the living room and the TV was on Bravo and we got sucked into the show as we were working. It was a marathon showing of the first season. By 6pm, my floors were naked and I was rejoicing, mostly over the fact that that bitch Wendy Pepper didn’t win (and I am still frankly amazed that she got as close as she did).

Now, every Wednesday evening, I give the TiVo enough time to record it (no commercials!) before I watch it. My feelings on this season so far, in a nutshell: Vincent must go. I don’t give two craps that he sold out his 401K to go into designing. He’s nuts and he sucks. Angela, whom I hated with a burning passion at first, is growing on me.

My next new show is America’s Got Talent. The fault for this lies with my cousin Jo. Now, I can’t turn that awful pile of crap off. Thanks Jo! There is an asswhipping in your future.

Next we have Gene Simmon’s Family Jewels. This show is AWESOME. For one thing, he’s about as old fashioned as you can get while being a playboy who refuses to marry the mother of his children. His kids and ‘wife’ give him grief at every turn and it’s hilarious. A dad who’s a good sport is a wonderful thing to see. Also, I used to be skeered of the guy, but now he just reminds me of my dad, if my dad ever wore make-up and dragon boots. Which, if he did, I would like a picture of that. It’ll come in handy explaining my weirdness when the kids eventually try to have me committed.

And finally, we have Work Out. Mostly for the ‘Oh no, they din’t!’, factor, which is considerable here. The crap her employess pull while she’s out of town is just wrong. Also, Jackie is totally hot and if I was a different kind of girl, well, Pookie would be a very happy man. Heh.

What are y’all watching?

Oh, while I have you here, I wanted to show you something. Our internet service was turned off for a few days because of a little misunderstanding. We understood that if we paid our bill on time, we’d have internet. The DSL company understood that it has absolute power and that even when they make a mistake and turn off someone’s internet, they can turn it back on whenever they want, DAYS later. We also understand that they suck.

So anyway, Pookie sent me an e-mail to let me know we had, well, e-mail (he also left a little hand written note for me, because he knew I wouldn’t actually check to see if we had internet). I wanted to share his e-mail with you because, Good Lord this man is cute.

Subject: Check your mail?

Because you can.

I made this happen.

Because I love.

And also, because I have the power to throw lightning bolts at those
who displease me. Such as, telephone companies.

Hah! They dance for me!

The things you learn, loving me.

I love you.

K.

No, I do not believe he could be any cuter.

It’s Swifferific!

A while back Melanie Lynne Hauser asked me to blog about her book. Now, when I say she asked me , I mean she put a general call out on her blog to see if anyone wanted to read her book and blog about it, and I threw my arm in the air and invoked the spirit of Horseshack to get her to pick me. And it worked!

So, she sent me a book. It was the last copy she had and the reason she still had it was because she’d messed up when autographing the book for someone else. Well, to my way of thinking, that makes it way more interesting that way. Let’s face it, we all mess up, and the mistake makes her a little more human and familiar to me. So she scratched out the mistake and wrote my name in. I’m not too proud, baby.

Plus, free book. She could have written her grocery list on it and I still woulda been on that bandwagon, especially as I hadn’t been able to find the book locally and I really wanted to read it.

So I read the book, titled Confessions of Super Mom, about a nice lady who suddenly finds herself endowed with super powers after a tragic Swiffer accident. Yes, you read that correctly. Swiffer. Who’da thunk it?

This is a very fast paced book. I read it in a day, on breaks at work. Which, if I were a better person, I would admit that I took more breaks so I could read the book. But I’m not a better person, so I admit nothing!

Our protagonist decides to use her powers for good. Of course, her powers are cleaning at the speed of sound and hearing a child in need at great distances. Really, I don’t think she had any choice but to use her powers for good.

I enjoyed this book immensely and cannot wait for the sequel; Super Mom Saves the World due out in March, 2007.

You should also check out her blog, Refrigerator Door. Her real life tales of life with a devoted husband and two typical teenaged boys is hilarious and mushy at turns.