This will come as a surprise to absolutely no one

Online Dating

(as seen on and stolen from Fauve’s blog)

Fucking A, it is.   At first I kind of forgot my own URL and left out the ‘very’ in verycontrary and it came back that my blog was G-rated.  I might have literally exclaimed out loud, “What the fuck??”.

Then I realized my mistake, fixed it and got my NC-17.  Yeah, baby!

From my rating:

   This rating was determined based on the presence of the following words:

  • fucking (6x)
  • shit (4x)
  • bitch (2x)
  • prick (1x)

Is it wrong that I’m kind of weirdly proud of this?


Last evening we had a heck bastard (gotta keep my rating!) of a storm here.  One of our trees split down the middle and crushed our fence, but only after knocking down the power and phone lines in the backyard.

Let me tell you, if a storm ever knocks out your electricity, pray that you have a live wire loose in your backyard, because those people from the power company take that shit seriously.

They said, “We’ll be there ASAP.”  And then they were!  Usually ASAP stands for  “All we care about is getting your money, So shut the fuck up and enjoy the next week living by the light of kerosene lanterns And eating Pizza every night because everything in your house is run off of electricity. Dumbass.”

So thank you, Situationally Helpful People at the Electric Company!


The Clampetts go to the Big City / Adventures with Flying Machines


My daughter left last Monday for a 3 week visit to Atlanta. She flew out of Dallas. Depending the traffic, we are either 3 1/2 hours or 17 hours from DFW. The absolute drama involved in getting her on the plane on time was worth at least two blog posts and a couple sessions with a psychologist. Now before you read this, you should know that I’ve only flown once, when I was 12, and my daughter had never flown before. We don’t know how airports work. (Hell, we just got the new fangled flush toilet last year, but Pa keeps clogging it up with the Sears & Roebuck catalog.)

Due to our own poor timing and judgement concerning where to stop for lunch ( a story for another time), we arrived at the airport about 25 minutes before her plane was due to leave. Thanks to no less than five American Airlines employees, she was able to make her flight.

Here they are, in chronological order:

Dear Ancient Curb-side Check-in Guy ,

When we came up to you, stupid and confused and ready to give you a fistful of wadded up bills to make it all better, you refused the cashola and instead, after learning the flight time, told us to get our bony asses into the airport right fast. Ok, you didn’t say bony asses, but we both know that’s what you meant, Ancient Curb-side Check-in Guy.

Dear Random Guy Who I’m Not Sure What Your Job Is Exactly, But I Think You’re Swell Anyway,

You spotted us trying to print off a boarding pass at one of the self help machines and obviously realized two things simultaneously. One, that we weren’t very smart and two, that it was too late for us to do self check-in and we needed to see the agent at the desk. You kept thing One to yourself (and we appreciate that), but told us thing Two, thereby saving us the precious minutes we would otherwise having wasted on that infernal contraption.

Dear Desk Agent Who Is So Very Pretty,

While getting the boarding pass ready to go (which you did in what must have been a record setting time, btw), you realized that we would not be able to check my daughter’s bag, and that she would have to carry it on in order to assure that it got to Atlanta when she did. This may not seem like a lot, but I shudder to think what my baby would have done if she’d gotten to Atlanta and she couldn’t have her skinny jeans and new black pumps.

Dear Security Guy Who Was Obviously Raised Right And God Bless Your Mama and Daddy For That,

Upon realizing that daughter had packed for her luggage to be checked and not carried on, you did something rather extraordinary. You walked my daughter over to us and helped her sort out what she could and couldn’t take on board, thus sparing her from having to throw a lot of stuff away. Then, you expedited her back through security, all the while telling her that she was fine and that everything was going to be ok. Basically, you were the person that every parent hopes their child will run across while making their first forays out into the world by themselves. You cared for my child the way I would have. You soothed her fears and let her know that she wasn’t a lone goober in the wilderness. I think I’ll miss you most, Scarecrow.

Sadly, I didn’t catch anyone’s name, because I was too busy freaking out (Oh Lord, please let her catch this plane. Dear Lord, please don’t let this plane crash. Dear Lord, do you know where the bathrooms are?). I regret that I didn’t take the time afterwards to find out their names, because my daughter plans to write a thank you note to American and would have loved to have been able to spotlight those folks.

Oh, the funniest thing about the whole deal was that 3 of these people told us that my daughter would never make the flight, yet they never slowed down helping us.

American Airlines: All that and a big ass bag of chips.

It is to laugh, yes?

 Pookie has a fraternity brother who holds a yearly swimming party at his home for the brothers and their families.   Pookie got the date and said we ought to head up there (‘there’) being several hundred miles from ‘here’) for the party.  Which I was cool with until he told me the date.  July 21, 2007.   Can anybody tell me why this wrong? Anybody?  Bueller?

July 21, 2007 is the day that the last Harry Potter book comes out.  The book that will answer all my questions while it leaves me begging for more.   On July 21, 2007, I will be at Books-a-Million at midnight, exchanging my pre-paid ticket for my copy of the book, then I will be reading the book. Depending on how big the book is, I could be occupied through July 22,2007, if I allow for meals and sleep.

So needless to say, we won’t be going to the pool party.

I’m not very well socialized and I don’t always play well with others, but I’m by God well read and my vocabulary is out of this world, yo.

In other news:

Things have been going swimmingly at the shop of late.  If things keep up the way they are, we’ll be able to pay all our own bills soon, instead of relying on my Sugar Daddy (aka Pookie) to foot the bill.

We’re seeing lots of boarding business, which is great, because if the boarding will just pay the bills, then all the daycare and grooming money is lagniappe.

The local dog show is this weekend, so I will be networking my little heinie off. Plus, they have nachos. So that’s good.

Anyway, here’s another cute puppy picture for y’all.  Sadly, this puppy is not in the bucket, even though he FIT, because he is a BAD puppy, who does not care how much I WANT him to stay in the bucket.

Anyway, here’s Asher, the bad puppy.  I’m expecting to hear he’s joined a gang any day now. The little delinquent.


Bedside Manner, Schmedside Manner

I found this video (read: I stole it from someone who stole it from some one else who in turn thieved it their own damn selves) and just had to share it with y’all. It’s a deleted scene from the new movie Knocked Up.

Before you click on it, you should know that it’s not remotely safe for anyone to view. Ever. This goes especially for bosses and children. Oh, and old people. And innocent little puppies and kittens.
So go watch the howlingly funny video and then come back and tell me about your odd/funny/illegal/immoral/just plain silly experiences with doctors.

Oh, and for you impatient motherfuckers out there, it starts slow.  It gets good about 45 seconds in.


Current addictions:

1) Cash Cab on The Discovery Channel.   Even if I end up feeling incredibly stupid by the time it’s over. Which I always do.  I’m obviously not smart enough to care.

2) Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Fudge Brownie.   The only complaint I have is that there is not enough brownie.   I’m not sure what Ben & Jerry have against brownies and the people who love them, but I wish they’d get over it already.

Current  Irritations:

1) People who use utensils to eat when they’re eating pizza or fried chicken or corn on the cob.  Stop it.  I’m not fucking kidding.

2)  A certain 4 year old person who thinks I won’t sell him to the Gypsies right stinkin’ now if he doesn’t go to bed and stop doing that fake whining crap.

Current reasons to celebrate:

1) My oldest son, Nate, will be coming home for a visit in mid-July and staying for almost 3 weeks.  It’s just now coming up on a year since we’ve seen him (except for the web cam, which we LOVE), and I miss the little snot.

2) Ok, so I’m not celebrating this one so much, but my kiddo is.  My daughter, Sarah, is going to spend three weeks in Atlanta with her BFF, Lisa.  Lisa and her family moved away quite some time ago, but the girls talk and IM every day and miss each other like crazy.

Currently reading:

1)  The Outsiders, by S.E. Hinton.   I have been in love with Darry since God was a pup.  I was in love with Darry before they ever had the movie. Seeing Patrick Swayze  play the role on the big screen did nothing but fuel the fire, baby.

However.  Um.  This book totally sucks.  Which took me quite by surprise as I remembered it being a kick ass book, all deep and shit with all that talk about sunsets and being golden, blah, blah, blah.   It’s crap!

The main problem with it is that even though it’s written in first person, with our protagonist being a 14 year boy, it was actually written by a 16 year old girl (S.E. Hinton).  Could you find two more opposite creatures in the world?

Some actual text where the protagonist (a 14 year old boy, remember) is referring to his brother, Sodapop:

In a moment his breathing was light and regular. I turned my head to look at him and in the moonlight he looked like some Greek god come to earth. I wondered how he could stand being so handsome. Then I sighed.

What. The. Fuck.

Now, aside from the fact that 14 year old boys are pretty much the most unenlightened beings on the planet, that shit is wrong, right?

At least I’m still cooler than him. (Now edited for your clarification!)

I’m calling my brother Joel. It’s 10:30ish on a Saturday night:

Him: h’lo?

Me: Hey, what’s up?

Him: Who is this?

Me: Your sister.

Him: Who??? (you could HEAR the multiple question marks, y’all)

Me: Your SISTER, dumbass. You awake?

(this is where I explain that usually if I suspect I’ve woken someone with a phone call, I end the call quickly with an apology, but this is the same motherfucker who woke me up about a week ago to talk about our family’s genealogy and would not let me off the phone no matter how many times I said ‘I’m asleep’. What goes around comes around, is what I’m saying here)

Him: What time is it!? (you can just hear him getting worked up. He’s ready to blow a gasket and call me names that I’m too polite to use here)

Me: 10:35. On a Saturday night.


Me: (silent snickering)


Me: (still snickering, only not so silently)

Him. Oh. Crap. So I’m just really lame and old then, right?

Me: Why, yes. Yes, you are.

Him: You’re gonna put this on your fucking blog thingie right?

Me: Well, duh.

I think I’m gonna get him the big bottle of Geritol for his birthday.

This is the part where I bring the clarification smackdown: What made it funny (to us, anyway, since Joel was cracking up every bit as much as I was), was how wound up he was getting, so sure that I had called him at 3 AM.    I guess you had to be there. Which…y’all weren’t!   So sorry.

(To Mrs. Chili: If you love that I call my brother a dumbass, you should hear the other shit I call him and my other brothers.  You would be MOST amused. Trust me)