I really think I’m on to something here. Or I’m full of shit. You decide.

Ok, y’all. I think I have solved the mystery of the Emo. Now, at times, while I am explaining this, you’re going to think my head is up my ass. I understand, because what other explanation could there be, right? But you have to trust me. I think I’ve solved what can be most kindly described as a sociological puzzle.

This evening the boy came to me asking for a SpongeBob band-aid. I asked to see his boo-boo. He started looking for one and came up empty. He really just wanted some SpongeBob bling and didn’t give a crap if he had the requisite boo-boo or not.

So I told him that he could have a band-aid when he had a boo-boo. I immediately saw a calculating look enter his eyes and that’s when it hit me.

It’s these fucking character band-aids. They are responsible for a generation of cutters.

It starts in toddlerhood. A little Dora, some Blue’s Clues, an Elmo here and there, and then they’re a little older and the drug of choice is The Incredibles or Toy Story or Cars.

By the time they’s 11 or 12, the die is cast. They no longer want the bling, but they can’t stop the behavior that causes band-aids.

Then they start down that rocky road of black nail polish, too much eye liner, streaked hair, and a texting habit that will eventually lead to arthritis. And that’s just the boys.

So I’m heading this kid off at the pass. He got his SpongeBob band-aid. No boo-boo required.

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(For those who are wondering why my son is wearing some kind of fucked up orange lipstick applied in a somewhat haphazard manner, it was Cheetos. That’s right, I give him band-aids he doesn’t need and Cheetos. What’s next? Crack!?)

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(See? No boo-boo.  The little weirdo.)

What’s New Pussycat?

 Before you read this, do me (and yourself) a favor and go read this, especially if you’re new here.  Believe me, it will make a lot more sense and you may even find it marginally funny.  Or not.  Probably not, actually.

Dear Jo,

I finally figured out how to wash your (big, feral) cat.  tiger.jpg

Apparently, the poor thing can’t resist a big hunk of meat.  Who knew?  Anyway, call me and we’ll make you an appointment.   Sadly, as I still have not figured out how to shave your cat without incurring injury to myself, you’ll have to keep up with that task yourself.  Sorry!

Love, Your Cousin. Who loves you.  Maybe even a tiny bit more than you love me. So there.  Bitch.

Now this from a search that led some poor bastard to my blog:

“write one verse without a curse”

Whatever, dude.  Not fucking likely.

Attention Whoring in progress, please keep to the left of the yellow line

I am at this moment attempting to figure out a way to post the audio of my commercial so that I can share it with y’all. Because I had a total of one (1) requests and that’s really all it takes for me.

So in a little while, I’ll either be posting the commercial and then chewing my nails hoping no one says anything mean about me, or I won’t be posting the commercial (because I’m just not the sharpest crayon in the box) and I’ll have taken to my bed with a migraine and an alcoholic beverage. We’ll see.

Update 12 minutes later: This is hard. And also? Not easy.

Update 3oish minutes after that: Ha! I did it! Click HERE. Feel free to tell me what you think. Unless what you think is that I should not give up my day job to take up radio advertising. For the record though, I absolutely agree.

P.S.  Please do not call and ask if we wash cats. It’s been done.  Should you manage to come up with some other bit of animal/sexual organ wordplay, however, please do feel free.

Y’all can say you knew me ‘when’

So I’ve mentioned that we’re about to have some radio ads coming out, right?  Well, I’d written some copy one night (at 2 friggin’ AM) just to illustrate my idea of how to approach the ads.  My idea was to have two girl dogs chatting about this fabulous new spa that one of them had found (when pitching the idea, I may have actually said ‘ you know, ala Sex and the City’, so for that bit of crap, I apologize to the universe at large).

(also, for using the words ‘pitching the idea’ like I’m fucking Darrin Stevens and I’m asking Samantha to clean the house and cook dinner in an hour because I fucking forgot to tell her we were having company for dinner, and also, I disapprove of magic, so do everything the way I want you to do it because I’m a smug prick).

Wow. Did anybody else see the Bewitched  rant coming? Because I didn’t see it coming and I WROTE it.  Lordy Bee. Someone get that girl a valium.
So, anyway, I dashed off a paragraph or two of dialogue and sent it to both radio stations we’re working with.

I’m quite pleased because I found out today that beyond a bit of editing for time, they’re using what I wrote word for word for the ads.  As to the editing, I certainly don’t mind.  It turns out I’m a bit long-winded (go ahead and pretend to be shocked) .

So now I’m feeling all writerly because I wrote something that will be aired on two fairly popular but still small town radio stations.

Pookie isn’t kidding when he says it doesn’t take much to make me happy.  Wait. Maybe what he says is that it doesn’t take much to get me sloppy drunk.

Aw, fuck it.  I’m happy and really, that’s all that matters.

Do y’all wash cats?

Just in case anyone ever wondered just what it is I do at work; well, I put puppies in buckets and take their pictures. Okay, so technically little Cinnamon (Cinny for short) here is my first victim bait subject, but I think I have a knack for it.

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If you can show me a cuter puppy anywhere, I will kiss your ass. (Pookie, do NOT start googling for bulldog puppies. Fair play and all that)

(allow my pure elation at being free to do silly things like put a puppy in a bucket and take its picture while at work to go unspoken here.)

(but I am speaking of it in my head, oh yes I am)

(if you take a deep breath, you can probably smell a burning rubber odor. That is the smell of me thinking)

(it is the smell of optimism and joy!)

(and something else…)

(..tamales?)

ANYWAY. Move on already, bitch. GOD.

There’s been a bit (a small bit to be sure, but still) of interesting dialogue in the comments on the last post. It’s basically about nudity and modesty and being comfortable in your own skin and that kind of thing. So I’ve decided to publish a picture of myself that I would normally never THINK to publish, especially on a public blog. I just wanted to make it clear how I felt on the subject and also demonstrate my willingness to try new things and maybe, just maybe learn a little bit about myself while I’m at it. So without further ado, I present Me in the shower:

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Y’all aren’t really getting the full effect here, since you can’t hear me snickering and snorting and hitting my knee. Pookie will confirm that you aren’t missing anything.

Bite the bullets

In no particular order:

  • J.D. (the 4 year old) walked into the bathroom just as I was stepping out of the shower and drying off. After he asked me what I was doing and I answered him (while covering the nakedness), I asked him to go out and close the door and he said ok. He then popped his head back in and said, ‘You know, you really should get dressed.’  Then I sputtered for 10 minutes (ex: ‘but…he….wait…what?’.)
  • Pookie and I went to see some local bands last night because Pookie loves him some live music. I tend not to care for it simply because to me, live music is the thing keeping me from doing what I enjoy best; nattering on about nothing whilst my companion(s) cast about for some way to discreetly puncture their eardrums. Anyway, we particularly enjoyed one band, so in the interest of seeming ‘cool’ and ‘ with it’ and with the wish to one day be considered a ‘hep cat, Daddio’, I thought I’d link to their MySpace page. They did a hell of a job on Black Magic Woman, but the highlight was definitely the cowbell solo. I’m not kidding.
  • We had our best day so far at the shop on Saturday! Hopefully it’s just the beginning.
  • Speaking of the shop, our little mystery friend came out of his cocoon! I’d about decided he wasn’t ever going to, but there he was yesterday morning. His wings were still a bit wet and he couldn’t fly away yet, so we managed to get some pics of him, but I had to use my camera phone, so only one of them is worth a crap:moth.jpg Isn’t he a handsome devil?
  • This from a post by Mrs. Chili: “…and because I love you all and don’t want YOU to be crazy (even though I’m well aware that it’s too late for some of you – hi, Contrary!)…”, makes me so glad that I’ll have a friend like her when I move to New Hampshire. I won’t even have to break her in!
  • I might or might not have asked Pookie if we “have one of those little drill-y drills”. He might or might not have laughed his ass off. The only thing I know for sure is that there will be no sex-y sex any time soon. Hmph.

I’m Finer Than Frog Hair

 Thanks for asking.

If, like Mrs. Chili, you’ve missed me and wonder what I’ve been up to  but are just too shy to ask, here’s the quick, dirty version.

Business is increasing slowly but steadily and I’m really feeling good about it. (However, if you know somebody who has a wad of cash they’re looking to get rid of, I could use the additional capital. I’m just sayin’.)

It takes a lot more mental energy than you might think.  Even if I’m not at work, all I’m thinking about is work. Which means that I don’t end up having a whole lot to say to the world in general unless I talk about work.

So I’ll talk a little about work.

We’re putting together a radio ad set to air next week.  I’m really excited about it and only wish we could afford more spots.  The spots are only $12.00 per for 60 seconds of airtime, which is a darn good deal, as it’s on their most popular station at prime listening times.  The only problem is that we can only commit to 16 spots right now ($200.00) which will be played twice on both Thursdays and Fridays for the next month.    I’m sure the spots will at least pay for themselves, but I’d really like to see a more than decent return on the investment, so that we can justify upping the number of spots.  So if you have a spare 12 bucks, feel free to send it this way!

Pookie had been keeping up with the yardwork both at home and at the shop, which I only let go on for oh, a month and a half before I decided that was unfair and insisted on doing the work at the shop myself.   So for the first time in 13 years (since I taught Nate how to use a mower) I have used a mower.  It’s amazing to me that I used to make a pretty good living when I was a kid mowing for other people, because it turns out that I don’t like it much.

I’m doing it though, even though I have a husband who is perfectly willing to do it, so I deserve props for that.  Besides, it comes in handy when a dog has an accident and Miranda cuts her eyes at me like it’s  my turn to clean it up.  All I have to do is point to the farmer’s tan I’m getting from doing ALL the mowing, with NO help from her and voila, she’s a poop cleaning machine.    Which is why I’ve refused her repeated offers to help with the mowing.  I much prefer this arrangement.

(has anyone else noticed that this is no longer short and not at all dirty?)

Now, in the My Kid is Weirder Than Your Kid department, Little Man (the 4 year old) spent all day yesterday drawing belly buttons.  Hundreds of belly buttons.  I have no idea what this means, but I’m sure one of his future therapists will be only too happy to tell me.

Ok, for those who made it through this far, you deserve a laugh.   I now present the funniest Lou Rawls video ever. Though, in all honesty, there wasn’t a whole lot of competition.

The first few seconds are in Spanish, but then it’s all English, baby.