I’m buying a shotgun tomorrow. Period. People sure can suck.

So, I just got home from a wonderful night with my mommy. We made cookies and yummy homemade Fettuccini Alfredo for the cookbook and had such a relaxing day. As I pull into my driveway my neighbor comes up to my car and asks me if I knew that someone broke into my car at 2:00am on Wednesday night (Thursday morning). WHAT?????? Ummmm…no.

Apparently, our other neighbor gets home from work at 2:00am and saw a man bent into the driver’s side door of my car, rifling around in it. Being the ballsy chick that she must be, she shouted over for him to get the hell out of my car. She called the cops and her husband came out and chased him down the street. He followed him all the way to an old Nova and when the guy realized that he was caught, he jumped into the Nova, waved a gun and took off. HOLY SHITCAKES!

When I went out to my car on Thursday I noticed that when I opened the door it didn’t give me the normal resistance–kinda like it wasn’t shut all the way, but I figured since it was 6:30am that I was just still half-asleep and imagining things. I guess not!

What I want to know is why the fuck didn’t my car alarm go off? What is the point of having one of those damn things if it doesn’t work? And, nothing is missing, not that there is anything to take other than two 9-packs of Charmin, a happy-faced umbrella and some trash. And, it’s a 7 year old Hyundai Elantra. What in the hell did he think he’d get?

The thing that really freaks me out is that I sit in my car in the middle of the night all the time playing Angry Birds (evil fuckin’ game! :) ) and listening to music. I was out in my car THAT night around 1:30am. I’d sit in the backyard to play instead of the front yard, but if I go out there late at night my rooster wakes up and starts cockadoodledooing like it’s dawn. I don’t want him to wake up the neighbors so that they complain and make me get rid of my beloved chicken.

Now I’m completely and totally unsafe feeling. My hubby travels all the time for work and I’m here alone (stalkers of the world, now you have more info than you need). We are well-armed in this house and I came in first place in my concealed carry weapons class, so I can shoot a damn fine shot, even in dim lighting and under stressful circumstances, but I’d really prefer to not shoot anyone.

Shit. This blows. I’d say it’s high time for a LOT more outside lighting. My house is going to be so brightly lit at night it’s gonna seem like daytime.

Man, I fuckin’ hate shitty, bad people who make me feel unsafe in my own home. I do believe I’m now in the mood to kick some ass. Oh, and I’m off to the gun shop tomorrow. You can get a shotgun in about 60 seconds out here in the wild west and there’s a gun shop 3 minutes down the road.

Total suck. Yep. I’m pissed.

Because I wanna! I LOVE OWLIES!!!

Okay, so I’ve been a ranting lunatic lately. I know, I know. In an effort to not seem like I’ve gone completely bonkers, I’m going to do a sweet post about furry things that I like.

I didn’t take any of these pics, I procured them from around the web (hope that’s okay!). But they were just so adorable and made me smile, so I thought I’d share them with you. All these little furry baby owlies remind me of the picture of the furry chicken I took and posted several months ago. You guys remember him? It was hard to even tell he was a chicken. I love him.

Enjoy the cuteness!

No, oscifer. I haven’t had anything to drink today. (Hiccup!)

Please don’t turn the oven on! I’ll be good from now on!

 

It wasn’t me. I didn’t do it. I swear.
How could something as tiny and precious as me have done that?
Love me?

 

What the hell IS that thing?
I can’t even tell if it’s real or a teddy bear. :)

I am so damn cute. You know I am. At first I hated my human for putting me in a hat.
An owl in a hat? What the hell? But then I looked in the mirror and yeah, I’m freaking adorable. Oh, and look at my tootsies. Tell me you’ve ever seen anything more edible? Nope, no you can’t.

Yes, minions. Bow before the Great and Powerful Owlie!
RUN! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!

Yep, me and all my furry awesomeness are better than you will ever be!

Awwww…man. I am one hit too high.
Me too. Where are we? Wait. Did you say just say somethin’?

I hope you enjoyed Owlie Adventures! I wanna eat them all (in a non-eaty way of course)!!

TIRADE TIME! Oh yeah, it’s ON! Don’t read if you don’t like cussing for the sheer fun of cussing. :)

Me at 4:00am

Okay people, I’m going to throw a fit here. A BIG, impolite fit. But before we get into the nitty gritty of said fit, those of you who know me know that there isn’t a mean bone in my body. I’m caustic, sarcastic and mouthy but only when being playful (well, 95% of the time). So, while I’m going to yell and scream and pitch a hissy, please know that if you fall into any of the categories of people I’m about to rage about that I still love you and mean no harm. It’s just that what I’m going to whine about has happened 5 times in the last 2 weeks and I’m DAMN sick and tired of it. So please forgive me ahead of time. How’s that for a disclaimer? :)

Let’s start out by me sharing with you that I’m a night owl. Always have been. Always will be. When I was old enough to sneak out of my crib I’d crawl down the stairs, turn on the TV and watch static in the middle of the night. I’ve hated mornings since birth and wish that I never had to be up before noon. Of course, I always have jobs which make me get up at the crack of dawn. ICK! It just ain’t right!

When I was young, my wonderful mom let me sleep in late on the weekends. She wasn’t one of those “You’re wasting your life in bed!” type moms. Thank God. She understood that my body clock works on a different schedule than a lot of people’s. I just start being creative and perky around midnight. As I got older and moved out on my own, for whatever reason people started calling earlier and earlier in the morning to chat about their drunken adventures the night before, their despicable boyfriend and his weird sexual habits, or just to say, “What’s up?” WHAT’S UP? WHAT’S UP? I’m fucking sleeping, that’s what’s up. Unless someone in your immediate family is dead, you are in the hospital or my house is on fire, don’t fucking call me before 2:00pm. I care about nothing and no one before early afternoon on the weekends. Unless it’s an emergency, shut up. Period.

Once I moved to Arizona it got even worse. Because stupid Arizona doesn’t do stupid daylight savings time, we are 3 stupid hours behind the East coast (where I’m from) for almost 8 months a year. What does this mean for people like me? That people, be they friends or business associates, DON’T FUCKING PAY ATTENTION TO THE TIME DIFFERENCE and call and text me starting at 5:00am. I’ve usually only been asleep for an hour or two at that point, and only because of an over the counter sleep aid as God doesn’t seem to want me to sleep like a normal person. So when my phone makes a noise because someone has rudely thought “Well, I’m up. Why shouldn’t everyone else be up?” I want to smash it with a hammer and then drive/fly to whoever has disturbed my impossible-to-get sleep and smash them with a hammer too.

These early morning calls were even worse when I was deejaying at a club. I didn’t get home from work until 3:00am, and I was all hyper at that point and didn’t get to sleep until 6 or 7 am. Then my phone would ring at 9:00? What the hell? Everyone knew I worked until the middle of the night. What on God’s green earth could be so monumentally important that I needed to know about that early in the day? NOTHING DAMMIT! NOTHING!

It got so bad that I eventually put a song on my answering machine instead of a personal message (yes, I’m old–I’m sure you youngins’ probably don’t even know what an answering machine is) to announce to the world that they should not call me early. It was a tune called “Up all night, sleep all day” or something like that, by the band Slaughter. (Side note: Stupid band name, but the singer and drummer were easy on the eyes!) ;) So, instead of hearing me say in my chipper little voice, “Hi! You’ve reached Jodi. I’m sorry I can’t take your call right now, but if you leave me your name and number I’ll get back to you as soon as I can, ” they’d instead hear a blaring heavy metal song that essentially told them to STOP FUCKING CALLING ME IN THE MORNING!

I realize I may sound awful here, but think about it this way, especially if you are a morning person: what if I called YOU at 1:00am to tell you about the great sushi I had for dinner? There you are, all snuggled into your bed, finally asleep and I call you to bullshit about nothing and then you can’t fall back asleep ever. You are done. You are awake until the next night when you crawl your morning-person-ass back into bed at 9:00pm. Would that suck? Yep. It would. You would think I was a horrible, selfish douche bag. Then why is it acceptable for people to do that to me?  Your 1:00am is my 8:00am.

Do I wish I was a morning person? Yes.

Have I tried to be a morning person? Yes.

Has it ever worked? No.

Am I sick as shit of people saying, “Your sleeping your life away…  I get more done by noon… You’re missing out on the world… You’re lazy, get out of bed…” YES! I’m sick of it!

Luckily, even though I have a morning person hubby who is voluntarily out of bed by 6:30 am even on the weekends (WTF???), he understands my insomnia and sleep issues and is silent as a mouse when I’m asleep. His considerate ways get him many, many brownie points. :) Right now, he’s been asleep for 5 hours. It’s 3:19 am and I’m bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. If I never saw the sun again and could exist only in moonlight, I’d be good to go. Stupid, overly-bright sun. Yuck. Oh, and I too am silent while he’s asleep. Consideration goes both ways in our happy home.

So, may I just say, if you are a morning person, and lord it over other people’s heads like it makes you special, shut it. It’s not nice to be a prick about the fact that you love getting up early. Good for you. I’m glad your body clock works normally. But some of us suffer from hideous insomnia and a reverse body clock and have had to endure going to work and school for 35+ years at the crack of dawn when doing so is as unnatural to us as you going to work at 2:00am. Wouldn’t that suck, you morning people, if you had to get up and be all happy and chipper and at the office at 1 or 2 am? That’s how I feel having to be at work at 7:30 or 8. It’s simply awful. But I do it. I’ve done it for a million years and I’m even nice to people that early. I don’t take my morning-hating-misery out on anyone else as that would be impolite.

Last but not least, and then I’ll wrap up my hissy fit, if you live on the East coast and have friends or business acquaintances who are towards the West coast, please keep in mind the time change. It’s just so awful when the phone rings before the birds are even chirping. The first thing I think is “Who’s dead or dying?” Not a nice way to wake up after a mere few hours of sleep. Especially, since once I’m up, I’m up. I can rarely get back to sleep and all I do is lay there and plot how to kill you and not go to prison.

And for those of you who are thinking, “put your phone on silent or don’t bring your phone into the bedroom” I don’t have that option as I want to be available to my sweet mommy if something comes up in the middle of the night. I’m not so selfish as to be unavailable to people who may actually need me for something real and important. And why should I have to leave my phone in the other room just because other people are rude??? That is total shit.

Whew, I’m exhausted!!! That is over 40 years of pent up hostility regarding living in a world where night owls have to suck it up and adjust to everyone else’s schedule. I feel so much better. I hope I haven’t made you all so fuming mad you could kill me. Really, this wasn’t a “Bash the morning people and East coasters” post. It was a “Bash the morning people who think everyone should be on THEIR schedule and inconsiderate East coasters” post. So, if you aren’t a dick about it, then this doesn’t apply to you at all and we can still be friends. ;)

Okay, I’m done. I wish I could say I was sleepy and heading off to bed, but I think a round of Angry Birds is calling my name (DAMN THOSE FRIGGIN’ ANGRY BIRDS!!!!). :)

My Sweet Daddy was a Military Bad Ass!

So, I’m at my mom’s today reviewing some old family folders full of stuff and she tells me a little story that I didn’t know about my dad.

Apparently, while serving in the military, an officer asked my dad and his fellow soldiers to volunteer for an undisclosed “something.” My dad, never one to sit by and let life happen around him, volunteered. As it turns out, he volunteered for the 101st Airborne Screaming Eagles! I had no idea! I knew my dad had an incredible and scary time during his service, earning a Purple Heart and a couple other medals, but I did not know he trained to be a Screaming Eagle! How freaking cool is that?

It’s amazing that almost 32 years after his death that I still get to learn new things about my dad. I always knew he was brave, but to jump out of a plane? There isn’t enough money in the world for his wimpy daughter to do that.

I’m proud of you, Daddy. What an amazing man you were.

Daddy and me about 35 years ago

Angry Birds is my Mother F*&;^ing Nemesis!

I’m telling you, if I’d worked as hard in high school as I do now on Angry Birds, I’d have been able to skip college entirely.

They say the first step towards solving a problem is admitting there is one. Well, here I go. I’m an Angry Birds junkie. Full on, tap the vein junkie. When Angry Birds first came out a few people showed it to me and it looked so boring that I had no interest whatsoever. Then one day, while fucking off and wasting time with my Minion (my awesome employee at my last job), I played it for a few minutes on his phone. After what felt like 5 minutes, but was more like 19 hours, he was finally able to wrench his phone out of my fearsome clutches. Each time, prior to his phone’s eventual release, when he’d edge closer to my drooling, glassy-eyed self, I’d growl through gritted teeth, “I’ll give it back you when you take it from my cold, dead hands.” Charlton Heston and I make quite the formidable pair. :) He wisely backed away until he had no choice but to risk life and limb in order to retrieve his phone. I only stabbed him once, so I think he fared pretty well.

Since then, I’ve played and played and played until my fingers hurt, my eyes crossed and my patience sapped. Those sonofabitching pigs!!! Why are they such nasty little bastards? Why, when lazily relaxing in a block of wood, can’t they just DIE when they tip over? WHY? Is God punishing me??? ;)

Here are my thoughts on each evil, time-sucking, life-draining version:

  • RIO: HATE IT! Refuse to play it. Those damn laughing monkeys can all die in a bath of acid. HATE THEM SO MUCH!
  • SPACE: Cannot get enough, though I often want to kill myself while playing it. When I first saw the floating pigs I was all excited. Then I realized that some of them actually run from you. They have artificial intelligence. It FREAKS ME OUT! Then the damn doughnut episode came out and the damn birds could bounce off of little patches of gum or some such crap. Gotta get just the right angle or you’re screwed. Ugh! KILL ME!!!! Little rat bastards.
  • SEASONS: I swear, some of the episodes in this were designed by sadists. Pure, unadulterated schadenfreude mo fos. Every once and a while, when I just can’t figure out how to kill the little asshats, I go and watch YouTube to see the solution. Then I try it and it still takes me 200 attempts. And if you know me at all, you’ll know it’s me attempting to get all 3 stars. Screw one or two stars. It has to be 3 or I simply cannot live.
  • THE ORIGINAL: Yep, this was the little shit that lured me in. It starts all nice and easy with a red bird and one pig. Now I’ve got 342 kinds of birds, 298 pigs zipping across the screen at once (laughing at me whilst doing so, the little fuckers) and carpal tunnel syndrome.

My hubby and I will sit outside in the backyard, playing one version or another on our phones (which is MUCH harder than playing on a computer) and all anyone who might overhear us would hear would be, (stop reading if you don’t like cuss words!) “Damn son of a bitch fucker! I’m going to fly to Rovio and kill all those whores for ever writing this program! I hope they all die in a shitstorm of, well, shit. Why didn’t their mothers drown them in the tub when they were infants??? DAMN THESE PEOPLE!! ARRRRRRRGH!!!!” Then, when I’ve gotten 3 stars on everything there is to get 3 stars on I say, “DAMN those people at Rovio! Why can’t they churn this stuff out faster? I don’t have any episodes left. What am I supposed to do now? Do you know when the next release is? I need to look it up to see if I can find out. Yeah, there has to be one soon.” All of this is said with imploring eyes and a little spittle caught in the corner of my mouth (icky!).

I’m quite sure that depiction rivals any other kind of junkie. Angry Birds is my smack. There is no doubt about it. I have it on my Kindle Fire, my Nook, my phone, through Facebook. And when my last phone was dying a horrible death I refused to get a new one until I could find a way to back up my Angry Birds games so that I didn’t have to restart them from the beginning. I’m quite sure doing so would have landed me in the looney bin.

After all this confessing and cussing, I think I feel the need to go play some Space to see if I can beat my own high scores. Those pokey puppies at Rovio are taking their SWEET ASS TIME releasing any new levels, so a girl has to do what she has to do–revisit what I’ve already conquered. It’s like when a single girl wants nookie but doesn’t want to add any “numbers” to her growing list of partners. She can just go back to where she’s been before, have some fun, but keep the same count. (Ladies, you know what I’m talking about here!) I’m going to go do the same thing with Angry Birds, though it is slightly less satisfying I must admit.;)