Redundant Redundancy is Repetitively Vexing

Okay, if you yourself use this expression then may I say two things:

  1. I’m terribly sorry if I offend you. You know that I while I live to horrify, I don’t live to make anyone feel bad.  I love me my peeps!
  2. STOP FUCKING SAYING IT! (Okay, that was harsh…but please stop. Please?)  :)

The expression “multiple different” makes me wanna shave my head, grab my gun and go a wee bit postal.

This is how I feel every time I hear it used:

Otter

Let’s see what dictionary.com has to say about these two words.

Multiple: consisting of, having, or involving several or many individuals, parts, elements, relations.

Different: various; several (Yeah, it’s the 3rd definition, but you get my point!) :)

So, if I’m understanding these words correctly, from both a denotative and connotative perspective, “different” implies things that are not alike. Things. Plural. As in multiple–more than one. You can’t be different from something if there isn’t something to be compared to–to be different from (yep, preposition at the end of my sentence. Suck it!). Therefore, something that is different from something else indicates a plural.

Along comes “multiple”. Ummmm…multiple doesn’t just imply more than one. That’s actually what it means.

Now, I’m fully aware you can have multiples of the same thing. For example, I have 3 Daisy Cow teddy bears. There’s Daisy Pockets, Doppel Daisy and Counterfeit Daisy. They are all multiples of the same thing. But I would say, “I have multiple Daisies.” I also have a bunch of what we call Doppel teddies that are all the same kind of teddy, but are different colors. (Think doppelganger.) So those are all different Doppels.  As in, “I have many different Doppel teddies.”

But let’s pull this apart as it may be used in a business sense.

Let’s say you have a product. Let’s go with an mp3. You may have multiple copies of the same mp3. You may have multiple versions of the same mp3 (think remixes, most of which usually suck). Is there really a need to throw the word different into any of that? Was I not clear? Isn’t saying “multiple versions” communicating the exact same thing as saying “multiple different versions” only in a much more intelligent way? Doesn’t the idea of “versions” imply variants?

So, someone please tell me how “multiple different” makes any sense?

I hear it all the time and it makes me bonkers!

Can we agree to ban that expression from Planet Earth? I’ll give you a dollar. :)

PS: Just so you know, I’m fully aware I say annoying things and have annoying habits of writing. I make up words and use prepositions improperly. I’m not too hideous a hypocrite. I’m just sayin’…multiple different is a pet peeve! ;)

Have a great weekend in a multiple different variety of ways! XO

Oh, and one of these days I’ll visually introduce you to the Daisies. They are truly awesome in their awesomeness! :)

ADULT EYES ONLY! Don’t read this. Blind yourself. Smash your computer. Search term antics gone awry!

I thought it was about time for another “search term” blog. I swear, I laugh out loud when I read the list of search terms people use and then somehow end up on my blog. I mean, not only do I find it odd that some of these terms bring people here, but I find it even more peculiar that people search for some of these terms. I know it takes all types, but good grief, some of this shit is messed up.

In order to make this post interactive, I’ve tried to figure out which of my posts the searchers were linked to based on their search terms. So, in most cases the bolded text below will also be a link to the corresponding post on my site. Those of you who are new here can read all the horrifyingly inappropriate crap that I’ve written that brings these whacko searchers to my front door.

But before you read below, please know that it is horrible and filled with hideously foul language. It is NOT for the sensitive amongst you. This is a post for people with strong stomachs and rogue senses of humor. If you don’t like 4-letter words, turn back now.

You have now been officially warned and I don’t want no guff about my language! Got it? Got it. ;)

I hate cleaning: Well, if there has ever been a truer search term that would bring someone to my blog, I don’t know what it could be. ;)

I hate the word trending: Fuck you, trending.

Not in my wheelhouse: Fuck you too, wheelhouse!

What’s in my wheelhouse?: Stupid damn wheelhouse. SHUT UP about your wheelhouse. NO ONE CARES ABOUT YOUR WHEELHOUSE!

Adult eyes only: Well, they came to the right place for that!

Bad grammer sucks it: Yep. Bad “grammEr” does suck it. ;)

Correct grammar for this wonderful life dear lord, im forever thankful: Ummm… the amount of errors in the “correct grammar dear lord” search is horrifying. Pot calling kettle?

Tiffany Granath: Love me some Tiffany Granath and Playboy SiriusXM.

How to do sex:  I gotta say, if you can’t even ask about it properly, how do you expect to do it properly?? I guess that’s why they are asking! ;) Man, I’m a bitch.

If you muff a woman that’s on the pill: What exactly is muffing a woman? Since when is “muff” a verb?

Jodi Ambrose sex sex Jodi: Sorry to let you down, but there will be no Jodi sex videos. Nope. Nada. Nil.

Author Jodi Ambrose: That’s me, baby!

Jodi wise: Hell yeah, I am. Every 5th Tuesday in February during a Leap Year.

Spanked battleaxe: You tryin’ to say something? Battleaxe?? If I find you…

Jodi arias sex pics: God why did she have to have my first name even spelled the same way? Ugh.

i+want+to+sex+you: No. You may not. I will not be sexed by you.

Kicking ass and taking names: Yep. That’s my job description.

Toilet monster: YOU’RE a toilet monster! So there!

Good blog sassy: Why thank you! I love that this search term brought them here. I guess I have to send a check to Google for being so nice.

Jodi sucks it: Okay, since I’m not technically a hooker I can only assume they are talking about a different Jodi. Unless my past has come back to haunt me.  ;)

Jodi Beth Ambrose: How do you know my middle name? Are you a stalker? Should I be worried?

Massengill medicated powder: Can we quit it with the Massengill please? Why is it always about rotten crotch?

I’m positive you’re a douche: No, I’m positive YOU are a douche.

I licked my mom’s douche: God…that freaking story is going to follow me around for the rest of my damn life, ain’t it?

I want more sex: Who doesn’t? Here’s a tissue. Get in line.

Women sexy feet finger toes death: So…uhhhh…yeah…I try to avoid necrophiliacs. Please go away.

Hello Kitty having sex: Fucked up. Period.

What do strippers smell like: I know! I know! Read here to find out.

How to smell like a stripper: Does one usually WANT to smell like a stripper? Though I imagine many of them smell quite good.

Guess my muff: Guess your own damn muff! (I love the word muff.)

Guess my snatch: Guess your own damn snatch!

Monster muff: Can we please not admit to having a monster muff in public? That’s what confession is for.

Rape butt cry: Can someone get me a cop? Please? I am disturbed.

Sadistic torture pulling out toenails: Ummm…what the fuck? Please stay off my website, blog and planet. I’m frightened.

Stupid TV Bitches: Nice. Didn’t your mama teach you that if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything? Oh. Wait. My mom taught me that. I guess I just didn’t listen! ;)

Snuffaluffagus: SEE! They searched with all “Fs” because his name should NOT have “Ps” in it. Stupid P ruining my childhood memories.

Unicorn peeing a rainbow, unicorn vomiting rainbows, unicorn pooping rainbows, unicorns sex, unicorns with shotguns, unicorn with rainbows out of ass: Lot’s of unicorn awfulness going on here. Why unicorns, you sickos? Oh, wait, I think I Googled “drunk unicorns” and “puking rainbow unicorns” trying to find my own inappropriate unicorn picture. I am no better.

Lions and tigers and bears: Oh my!

Furry feet chickens: Ain’t nothin’ better than a furry footed chicken!

Impoliteness sneak a chicken: Is it impolite to sneak a chicken? Into where am I sneaking the chicken? A movie theater? Someone’s house? An orgy? More specifics please.

Otter toes: I love me some otter toes!

Otters a sexy: Sick freak.

Owl and no fucks were given that day: Hmmm…the owl gave no fucks that day? Or no owls nor fucks were given that day? Be clear, dammit!

Ninja chicken: Hell yeah, ninja chicken!

Turkey country women porn: Wha? What kind of image or story was this person imagining finding?

Girl peeing toilet, girl in toilet while on phone, sucks off in toilet, girl using bathroom on the phone, pee on girl, big ass girl on loo: Wow. That’s a lot of wanting to see girls on the pot. WHAT IS SO HOT ABOUT WATCHING A GIRL PEE??? I don’t get it. I’m slightly horrified. Gross. Oh, wait, I do recall posting a picture of a girl peeing while talking on the phone. I’m perpetuating this, so I can’t complain.

Happy father’s day dad who’s in heaven: Awww…this is a sweet one. Happy Father’s Day to all the daddies out there!

Peeing on teddy bear: That is wrong. Just wrong. You need to go fuck yourself. Who would pee on a teddy bear? Car teddy would be PISSED! (No pun intended.)

Ducks without beaks: Yet again, that is so very, very wrong. Who wants to see a duck without a beak???

Who started the whole duckface pose thing: FUCKING DUCK FACE HATE IT! Dang, I need a valium.

Boob spider: Okay, yeah. I wrote a blog about a muff spider. I can see how this search term would bring someone here. Good Lord…

Slut searchers: Ya know, I’ve often been a Slut Searcher. It’s like looking for Big Foot, only significantly easier.

Chicks in slutty dresses hen: I know I dressed a bit wild when I was young, but this person seemed to be looking for chicks as in chickens that are dressed sluttily. I didn’t know chickens dressed like that. Mine just run around naked.

Drunk puke slut pics: Okay, so I have one or more of those in my photo album. Who doesn’t?

Slut newsletter: Is that what you think my blog is? Mo fo!? Well…maybe sometimes…

Women’s naked fat boobs and balls for boobs: “Balls for boobs?” Sounds like some kind of perverted charity.

Needle giant boobs: I’m picturing “needle” boobs being 2 feet long and about an inch wide. I guess those could be considered giant.

Snoring man angry woman: Is there any other kind of woman when a man is snoring?

Clapping your hands and snoring: Now THAT is a skill and is one that will get you killed in my house.

Road rag fuckn aye: I’m going to assume they meant, “Road rage, fuckin’ a?”

Angry birds fucking pigs laughing blog: STUPID ANGRY BIRDS I HATE THEM DIE ANGRY BIRDS! ;)

Wedding vows that combine pagan and Christian themes: That’s what my hubby’s and mine did. Shockingly enough, it worked out quite well.

How honest should online dating profiles be?: VERY! DAMMIT! NO LIES! DAMMIT!

Stupidity will be dealt with accordingly: Preach on. Mama does not suffer fools very well.

Two ears one mouth shut the fuck up cartoon: Ha! That’s almost the exact same search phrase I used to find a picture like that!

Well I love fucking erotic cakes but I am considerate of others and clean up when i’m done: This is one of my all-time favorites. God bless someone who cleans up after themselves. But how in the hell did this search term bring them to my blog???

Why does my chicken yell when it poops?: Why do any of us?

And just in case you are curious, yes, this post took 1.2 million years of my life to write, so I hope like hell you enjoyed it! :) :) :)

I like big words and I cannot lie! (But NOT if they make no sense, dammit!!!!)

.Big Bootie!

I’m shakin’ my ass all over the place now that the Big Butts song is stuck in my head!! ;)

Alas, I digress. Let’s get down to it!

Good grief. People drive me bonkers.

All of you guys know that I like to rant and fume about grammar, punctuation, word choice, etc… I find it fun (if not horribly hypocritical since I make mistakes all the time!) to throw fits over the ways that people speak and write. I’m a hideous person. I know.  ;)

I  also know that I like to occasionally use words that are longer than 6 letters. Not because they are longer than 6 letters, but because they fit with what I’m trying to say. I’m an old (stress the word old) English major, so I’ve read a bunch and know a fair amount of words.

BUT!!!! What I do NOT do is throw in 25 cent words to try and make myself sound smart because guess what? It doesn’t make anyone sound smart to use big words for the sole purpose of using big words and confusing people. It only makes the person speaking (or writing) look like an insecure asshat when they use words, especially buzz words, to sound all fancy.

This drives me insane: “I’m smarter than you because I said, ‘wheelhouse, out of the box and quorum’ all in one sentence! Don’t you feel dumb that you didn’t understand my sentence at all? You should, because I’m smart and use words in a way that no one gets because I’m brilliant and you are stupid.”

I swear, people who speak like that make me want to pull my hair out for several reasons. 1) Stop being a pompus ass! 2) You aren’t communicating effectively, you retarded moron 3) You are clearly incredibly insecure because you are trying to sound smart by confusing everyone with your idiotic words.

If no one understands you, then maybe you shouldn’t speak? What’cha think about that? I personally like that idea.

If you say this sentence, “I think we should meet on Friday to discuss the project,” like this, “I am in favor of uniting a quorum of individuals to address which artifacts should be discussed in our iterative meeting  based on the developmental progress of our deliverable on the last day of the work week,” I immediately want to kill you. And not just kill you, but KILL YOU kill you. Painfully. With malice. Some kind of medieval or Shakespearean kind of death.

Why oh why does anyone think they sound smart by speaking like that? Why? Help me understand. I don’t get it. It’s so annoying and frustrating and makes me feel sorry for you. I think to myself, “Awwww…that poor fucking idiot must feel so small and stupid that they think speaking like a research paper being graded on a per-word basis makes them sound smart.”

Sorry, I know that my filter removal is at an all-time high (especially the death threats) but I’m constantly surrounded by people who do that and it makes me want to jam pencils into my ears while screaming, “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

ScreamingOtter

Communication, effective communication, is all about speaking or writing in a way in which people are able to, wait for it… understand what you are saying. If you aren’t effectively communicating, then why bother speaking?

My heart goes out to people who are so insecure. I want to both shake the shit out of them and pat their little insecure heads and tell them it’ll all be okay.

Alrighty, I’m done. All these words have worn me out. I’m going mono-syllabic for the rest of the day. (Right!!) ;)

Horrible, inexcuable language here. Don’t read this rant. It’ll shorten your life by at least a year. I greatly dislike fu*kheads.

.

So, the other day I ran into the rudest fucker ever at the Starbucks. And I do mean EVER.

When they called his drink they should have called it like this: “Venti double mocha, salted caramel douche bag for Fuck Face. Fuck Face, your drink is ready. Fuck face?”

You guys know me pretty well, right? I take most things with a grain of salt. Not very much actually makes me mad (except road rage, horrible grammar, snatch monsters and sadistic pedicurists–but really, even those things don’t make me mad, they usually make me laugh). So, for me to be livid is, in all sincerity, pretty rare. But this guy…THIS guy…ugh. I wanted to set him on fire and toast marshmallows in the flame.

What, you may be wondering, has me so annoyed? Well, here it is.

I’m behind this guy in line at Starbucks and after he places his order the Starbucks chick (who is super sweet) looks over to me and asks, “Venti caramel frappuccino light with sugar free caramel, two Sweet&Lows, no whip, no drizzle?” I congratulated her on her awesome memory and told her how nice it was that she remembered (I get between 1-2 Starbucks a week, so it was especially nice that she remembered). The guy, who’s about 65, wearing a running suit, missing a fair amount of hair (though the rest was dyed) and not missing about 30 extra pounds, says to me while looking down his gin blossomed nose, “Wow, that sounds like an awful lot of calories for you to drink. And you probably have one a day, don’t you?”

OH. MY. GOD.

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME, YOU JUDGMENTAL, SHALLOW, STUPID, ASSHOLE MORON PRICK FUCK FACED ASS HAT!!???

DID YOU JUST REALLY SAY THAT AND ASK ME THAT????

DO YOU WANT TODAY TO BE YOUR LAST DAY ON EARTH?

IF I LET YOU LIVE, DO YOU REALLY WANT TO HAVE TO DRINK THROUGH A STRAW FOR THE REST OF YOUR MISERABLE DAYS!?

Yeah, I was irate. But, instead of saying what I just so delicately wrote above in all caps, I said, “Actually no. It’s about 100 calories and no fat. The fat-free milk accounts for about 60 calories. The mix counts for about 40. Then the sugar-free caramel has 0 calories, as does the ice and Sweet&Low. It’s a great way to have a treat without ingesting 500 calories and 30 grams of fat, and it’s delicious.”

The reason I didn’t let this complete asshat HAVE it was that he wasn’t worth it. Here’s what I saw when I looked at him (and it made me sad because he clearly wanted to be something other that what he was):

  1. His attire screamed: “I want to be 30 years old again!” Not that men over 30 can’t wear running suits, I think they should! :) You’d have to have seen him to understand. Think of older women who dress like 15 year old hoochies and you’ll understand how this guy looked.
  2. His hair screamed: “I want to be 30 years old again!” as it was clearly dyed. I’m all about dyeing hair–I dyed mine yesterday. But I think he needs to reevaluate his color choice.
  3. His attitude screamed: All women should be perfect looking all the time, be 5’8″ and weigh 120 pounds and anything less than that is unacceptable–so I should try and make this frappuccino-ordering woman feel bad for wanting a treat.
  4. His demeanor screamed: I wouldn’t date a woman over 22 because anyone over that age is ugly, fat and used up. I’m a man, spelled M. A. N., and I only date super models and porn stars because I’m THAT good.

Under normal circumstances I wouldn’t have given any thought to how he looked. People have the right to look however they want to without being judged. But since he was the complete fucktard that he was and clearly casting aspersions at my not-rail-thin-self, I thought his “clamoring to look younger appearance” was relevant.

So, let me explain something to him and to anyone else that expects perfection.

  1. No one is perfect.
  2. No one should be perfect. It’s our imperfections that make us special and unique.
  3. 42 year old women are not supposed to look like they are 17. Everyone ages. Aging is okay. Aging is natural. Aging gracefully is a beautiful thing. Being happy with aging will help keep you sane as NO ONE can stop the aging process.
  4. Our bodies change as we age for a reason. From a strictly “keep the species from becoming extinct” point of view, women in their late teens through their mid-thirties look the way they do to attract the male of the species for the purpose of baby-making. That’s when we are typically the healthiest, our eggs are still young and plentiful, and childbearing should not kill us. As we get older our bodies start to change (so do male bodies, Mr. Starbucks Asshole). The shape of our bodies change due to the loss of estrogen after menopause and how the body reacts to that loss. Gravity starts to get the better of us. Our hair starts turning gray. These changes indicate to the male of the species (at the most primal level) that we are moving from child bearing age to another era of our lives. AND THAT IS OKAY!!! Why would a body that has been on the planet for 50 years be expected to look the same as a body that’s been on the planet for 20? Do most 30 year old cars look the same as they did the day they came off the showroom floor? Likely not. SO GET OVER THE DELUSION THAT WOMEN SHOULD LOOK YOUNG AND SLENDER FOREVER, EAT ONLY SALAD WITH JUST A SPRITZ OF LEMON AS DRESSING, AND AREN’T GOOD ENOUGH IF THEY DON’T!

We all have things about ourselves that we’d like to change. Everyone who reads my blog knows I gained about 10 pounds making (and EATING–yum!) all the food for the cookbook. And while I’m watching what I eat in order to lose those 10 pounds, I’m not sitting around measuring my ass and crying over it. I like how I look, curves and all. I’ve always had curves. Even when it wasn’t cool to have them (think the 80s), I still liked having curves. From any angle, I definitely look like a woman.

Here’s me at 16 and 17 going to my junior and senior proms (good grief–that make-up and hair!!!):

I've never been that tan again!

I’ve never been that tan again!

Yep, I gots me a tush!

Yep, I gots me a tush!

Curves everywhere in the mirror reflection

Curves everywhere in the mirror reflection

Here’s me now:

Baby still got back! ;)

Baby still got back! ;)

HA! Look at that furry cowie!!! I had no idea cowies could be that furry!!!

Anyway, my point by putting in cutie cowie is that I don’t have anything to prove to anyone, especially some ass face at the Starbucks. You guys all know what I look like–you can’t escape my silly self on the Internet. And even if I had rounded out to the point of becoming bovine, so what? Why should anyone care? As long as I like who I am and as long as you like who you are, who else should judge?

So please, let’s all let ourselves and others off the Perfection Hook a bit. Okay? When we die will people at our funeral say, “Wow, I would be sadder if only she’d been 10 pounds thinner…” NO! Ultimately what do we want said at our funeral. “She was so thin her whole life–she held up well, even if she was a bitch because she was hungry all the time.” Or, “I will miss her so much. She was sweet and funny and showed love to others every day of her life.” I don’t know about you, but I’d pick the second option any day. ;)

Unless your weight is making you unhealthy, don’t sweat the pounds so much. Who said everyone had to be skinny? And certainly don’t sweat the pounds of others. First off, it’s nun-ya as my hubby would say (as in none of your business). Second, who is anyone to judge anyone else’s weight? Third, you never know why a person is big (or thin). It could be a love of cupcakes or it could be emotional trauma or it could be a physical issue. But regardless of any of that, who cares? There are so many other things to consider about a person–their ass being one size larger than they may like shouldn’t be at the top of that list.

Good grief, I’m exhausted!!! So to end all of this let me throw some cliches at you, since I’m flat out of creative things to say.

  1. Shut your fucking piehole if ya ain’t got nothin’ nice to say.
  2. Those without sin, cast the first stone. Then choke to death on a pig’s foot, please.
  3. Quit being a fucking prick or Jodi will end you with a hammer and a potato peeler.

Okay, I’m done! :) Have a good night and love your muffin top! ;)

Snatch Monster, Muff Mauler and Road Rage. A Rant for all Seasons! :)

Alrighty then…since I’ve used absolutely no tact in my title, I might as well follow suit in my post. Prepare yourself for a flurry of fucks, a smattering of shits (wow, that just sounds nasty) and a bombardment of bitches! ;)

How, you may ask, do muff and road rage go together? Well, I’ll tell ya. Being a girl, I’m blessed (cursed!) to have girl parts. As such, I must make a yearly trip to the snatch monster to ensure that said girl parts are still in one piece and functioning according to warranty. Is this a fun trip? No. Do I enjoy it? No. Could I do without? Yes. Though I must admit my snatch monster is simply delightful. I love her. So, I guess if one has to endure such humiliating things as, “Put your feet in the stirrups. Scootch down a little further. Now spread ‘em. A little more…even more. Thanks,” all the while watching her move a spotlight onto my goods while praying no one is peeking through the crack in the venetian blinds, it’s at least good to love your Snatch Monster.

Just so you know, fellas, I really, really, really hate you for not having to suffer the equivalent junk misery every year of your life. I mean, I love men, but I resent the shit out of having to endure all this muff torture while you just sit pretty with all your external parts. It’s just not fair. I know, I know, life ain’t fair. That doesn’t mean I can’t bitch and whine about it though! ;)

So, that adventure is what took me out of the house yesterday and led me to my first batch of road rage–which we’ll get to in a minute.

Today, I had to go back to the doctor, but this time for the Muff Mauler. Yep, I’ve been violated by a Monster and a Mauler all in the course of 24 hours. I mean, really…what the fuck? Is not once a year bad enough? Twice in as many days? That is just unfair. This visit was to check out my girlie organs and make sure all is well (all is well, thank God!). For those of you who don’t know how this is done, they take a thigh-sized implement of death and jam it in you until it feels like it’s in your esophagus and then they root around like they are mining for gold. YUCK!!! NOT FUN!!! It’s not horribly painful, but it ain’t a walk in a field of lavender either. This visit, of course, is the reason for my second foray into road rage.

Here’s what I think about other drivers (keeping in mind that I’m doubly annoyed because of the muff violations):

  1. If you are scared of driving, GET THE FUCK OFF THE ROAD!!! Good grief. I’m terrified of jumping out of a plane, so guess what? I don’t do it. Maybe you should consider the same thing in regards to driving. Unless you’ve recently been gut-shot by a large caliber weapon and are driving to the emergency room, or have just gotten out of the hospital from 3 horrible surgeries and every piece of gravel on the road is torturous to your poor little healing body, you have NO EXCUSE for DLAT (driving like a twat).
  2. If you can’t drive AT LEAST the speed limit, or preferably 10 miles over it, then GET THE FUCK OFF THE ROAD!!! There is no excuse for driving 30 on a 40 mph road. The accelerator is your friend. Use the fucking thing before I run you over and dance on your mangled corpse.
  3. If you are on the freeway DRIVE FAST ASSHAT as that is what the freeway is for. If you want to drive 45 miles per hour, get on a side street. I’ll never understand why people get on the freeway and drive like they are getting paid for going slow. It makes me want to ram into you, cut you off, side swipe you and then call you a fuckface over and over again until I’m hoarse.
  4. If you are going to turn or merge into another lane, USE YOUR SONOFABITCHING TURN SIGNAL! I hope there is a special level of Hell for people who assume that at 70 mph I can read your mind and know exactly when you plan on merging in front of me with only 3 feet to spare. Can I say asshole????
  5. If you are driving on the freeway in rush hour at 30 mph and all of a sudden the lanes open up (which I’ll never understand why or how that happens) then SPEED THE FUCK UP! Why do you keep going 30 mph in a 65 mph zone when there isn’t a car in front of you? WHY? Why God, why do they do it??
  6. If you see me coming, just move the fuck over and let me by. That way, we can all be happy and safe. ;)
How people really feel while driving!

How people really feel while driving!

Whew, that was exhausting! Driving these last two days in rush hour (I have to make my appointments late in the afternoon so I don’t miss work) has made me 4,000,000 times more thankful that I have a job where I get to work from home. I’m not sure that I could do the whole rush hour thing daily. I used to have to drive 75 miles each way in rush hour and I don’t know how I’m not in prison.

Thank you, as always, for putting up with my horrible mouth, my unending sarcasm and my delight in ranting. I feel SO much better now that that is all off my chest (doesn’t it always look weird when you have “that that”  in a sentence?).

Have a great weekend! Hugs!

Utterly Random Babbling from a Fruitcake

Actually, I don’t like fruitcake. I do like banana nut bread though. Mmmmm…banana nut bread. Now I want some. I do think I’m going to make some funnel cakes this weekend. Talk about yummy and SO healthy!! ;) Lord, my ass grew 3 inches just thinking about funnel cake. :)

Since a bunch of you have asked where I ran off to last week and why I haven’t been around its because the hubby and I went to visit his family last week in Minnesota. The weather was AWESOME! Nice and cool and cloudy and the trees were so colorful. It was just beautiful. Why someone like me, who hates heat and the awful torturer known as the sun, lives in AZ is beyond me. I’m not bright, I guess.

Okay, so for my rambling thoughts (and they are rambles, let me warn you!! As a matter of fact, no one should even read this. Run from your computer now!!!).

  1. People who are dickfaces can suck it. How’s that as a start? ;) I say this because in the last couple of weeks I ran up against a dickface. (Ooohhh, that sounds dirty…) I try to never surround myself with such people because my normally agreeable, fairly sweet self gets stuffed into a jar and the “Don’t fuck with me or I’ll cut you” side of me comes bubbling out. For example, back when I used to party in Scottsdale some of the funnest times I had were slowly disassembling cocky assholes at bars until they were fetal and crying for mommy. I just can’t take it when a guy comes up and essentially says, “I’m the shit (ummmm…no). I’m hot (they rarely are). I’m rich (they never are). I’m drive a fancy car (leased and paid for by them and their 9 roommates). I only like girls with fake tits (mine are real, douchebag). I don’t like girls with opinions (as that means you have to actually think to have a proper conversation). I’ll buy you a drink, but expect head as a thank you (on this they are never kidding). Everyone loves me–I know you do too (not in your wildest dreams, mo fo).” While I’m sure a better person than me would just blow them off, every one and I while I get a little hot in the blood and have to verbally throw down until my opponent is decimated. I know this makes me a bad person (it doesn’t happen that often!) but I just cannot suffer fools and people who behave like that just fuel my fire. I know there is the female equivalent to my bar guy, so gentlemen don’t think I don’t understand that chicks can be just as annoying. :)
  2. If you are not happy with your life, change it. I know this is WAY easier said than done. I know there is no magic wand that we can just wave and BING! we’re rich, happy, healthy and built like a brick shit house. But there are things one can do to make life a little happier. All this constant sulking and blaming and whining and blah blah blah is so pointless. Don’t get me wrong. I occasionally sulk and whine. Everyone gets to do that every once and a while. But to just live life like that is a waste. First step to a happier life? Cut the people who make you want to kill things out of your life. If you can’t stand them or they make you unhappy, choose to not be around them. If they don’t like that, tough shit. They need to be nicer or then can go screw.
  3. I need a ranch. Yep. One of these days, I’m going to have a ranch with chickens and goats. I want the little pygmy goats that are black and white and look like cow-goats. Then they’ll also look like my Moopy kitty. I’ll have a Moopy Cat and Moopy Goats. Ahhh…sounds like heaven.
  4. While I love traveling in first class, there shouldn’t be one. I got Grant and myself an upgrade on the way to Minnesota and it was HEAVEN!!! You can see how much we enjoyed it by the pic. Even the teddies were in heaven. Yes, we travel with teddies. But I digress. If they could just give everyone a speck more room and treat everyone with a little more dignity, then we could ALL be happier on a plane. I understand they can’t give out free food and drinks to a plane full of people. They’d go bankrupt. But if we could just get a little more space and not (in most, but not all, cases) be treated like a chore, then those sitting in coach may not want to burn down all of first class.

    Tick Teddy and Dopple Bear having the time of their lives! DRUNKS!!

  5. I miss my furries when I’m away from them. I guess this is how people with kids must feel when they are away from the kiddos for an extended period of time. I wanted my little kitties in my lap while I was out of town. I missed their stupid retardedness so much. I love me a FuzzyButt and Moopers. :)
  6. I”m never happier than when I’m at a zoo with my honeypie. :) That one kinda speaks for itself.

    Grant and me on our 5 year 1st date anniversary. :)

  7. I’m going to be a photographer at a wedding in 2 weeks. Woo Hoo! I’m terrified that I’ll fuck it all up, but deep down I know I won’t. I usually take pretty darn good pictures, so hopefully I won’t go blind between now and then. A friend of mine has been with her guy for 17 years (and she’s only like 35!) and they are finally tying the knot. Can you see why I’d be scared to death to have that responsibility? But I figure if I take 2000 pics, I can find at least 10 that’ll be presentable. Keep your fingers crossed, please!! :)
  8. Quartz countertops stain. DON’T BELIEVE ANYONE WHO TELLS YOU THEY DON’T!!! Liars!!! We just redid our kitchen and when deciding on a countertop I told the lady that we needed something that wouldn’t stain. I was willing to get a super-dark counter (even though the white is so pretty and clean looking) if it meant that it would be worry free. The LIAR told me that I could let coffee and red wine sit on the white quartz for 2 years and it wouldn’t stain. Ummmm…NOT TRUE! My brand new, expensive countertop SUCKS. The countertop inspector guy is coming over in an hour to look at it. I can only hope he can figure something out because if I have to sue Home Depot, I will.
  9. I have THE best Mommy ever!The more I hear people’s stories, and see first hand, what other people have had to deal with when they have moms that aren’t so sweet and loving, I appreciate my mommy more and more. I’m pretty sure my mom has never said an unkind word to me in my entire life. My mom is a sweet little Southern Baptist and when I was in my teens I dressed like a street whore and listened to AC/DC. She never once made me feel judged or unloved. Ultimately, I was a pretty good girl. Yeah, I drank my share and may have puffed off of a few things that burned, but I was always a nice kid and never got into really bad things. I mean, I never went to school, but I ended up pretty well in terms of education. Through all of this, my mom never criticized me. Don’t get me wrong, she was tough. We couldn’t cuss (can you IMAGINE????). We had ridiculously early curfews and got severely grounded if we were late. She didn’t put up with any backtalk or any bullshit, but she understood that we were individuals, so she let us fly high our freak flags. :) God bless a good mommy.

    Yep, that’s me 100 years ago with a can of Busch beer and no, that is not cigarette smoke in the air.

    Okay, I’ve got to go get ready for the kitchen inspector. If you actually stayed the course and read this tome, bless your heart. I was just having Random Thought Friday and thought I’d share. :) Have a great weekend, everyone! :) XOXO

    PS: I know “countertop” is two words, but it should be one word, so I took a stand! ;)

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!!!!). :)

Monty Python? A Girl’s Greatest Lie?

Okay, ladies. I have a question for you. Don’t feel left out, gentlemen–I have one for you too.

I have sat through many a Monty Python in my life. MANY. With a whole host of men over the years. Yes, the cheese shop one was funny. The dead bird one made me laugh. That one song about men being glad they have a penis? Yeah, that’s funny too. But that is THREE FRIGGIN’ SKITS OUT OF A MILLION! Every time I’ve ever started dating a guy, within the first few months I always end up suffering through Life of Brian or some other Python thing. Not that those guys aren’t talented–I’m not questioning that. But, I freaking hate those movies. HATE them! Now that I’m old and don’t give a shit what anyone thinks, I refuse to sit through them anymore so that I seem like “The Cool Girl.” I simply refuse.

My thought is that women suffer through Monty Python to bond with their man, not out of an undying love for it. This came up the other day with the hubby and he was horrified that I’d ever say such a thing. After all, isn’t Monty Python the funniest thing on planet earth?

While I realize the answers to these questions may be different for people in the UK (yes, Mondrak, YOU!) I have to know these things:

  1. Ladies, do you really really like Monty Python or have you suffered in silence while your man passes out with laughter?
  2. Gentlemen, what makes you love MP so much???? WHAT??? I NEED TO KNOW.

I know what I’m hoping the ladies’ answers are because I want to say, “Ha ha, told you so!” to the hubby (kidding, I wouldn’t be THAT awful–well…).

Help me understand if I am just missing something, am a complete dullard, or if I’m just one of many women who suffer through it while praying all the while that either Jesus will come back or an asteroid will land on my house. :)

Fight Fairly? Oh, I see, we’re off to LaLaLand!

In addition to living an insanely funny life (as you can tell by my bizarre posts), I am also very blessed to live a peaceful life with very few urges to grab a baseball bat and start swingin’! But that minimization of violent urges didn’t happen overnight. :) Something that has greatly helped me over the years is learning how to fight with my mate in a way that actually accomplishes something other than blood shed, calls to 911, short stays in prison, etc…

Below is a chapter from my Intimacy book. I hope it helps you the next time you find yourself carrying a cast iron frying pan and in your best Jack Nicholson voice calling out to your honey. :)

17. Fight in a fair and constructive way

When a fight is over, it’s over.

This may be one of the most difficult things to do, but it’s also one of the most important. No one, including us ladies, likes to have things they’ve done in the past thrown in their face. It’s not fair (I hate that expression, but it holds true here) to keep bringing things up time and time again when you are angry with your man. Let me assure you that when you say the following things, your man immediately either gets angry, defensive, offensive or tunes you out completely:

  • Why do you always…
  • Every time you…
  • Remember 6 months ago when you…

Believe me, from the moment you utter those words, he’ll be mad and worse yet, dismissive of everything you say from that point forward. Once a man is in this frame of mind there is no point to arguing with him because nothing you say will get through to him and the whole point of an argument is to try and resolve something. If, in his mind, he’s thinking, “La la la la la…football, porn, video games, I wish she’d shut up…” while you are berating him for things he’s done in the past, you aren’t going to accomplish your goals.

So, how can you fight in a constructive way?

Here’s a solution that works with most men. Yet again, it’s about figuring out how and when to talk to a man. If you need to have “a talk,” make it a bulleted list, not a screaming, crying dissertation. If he walks in the door from work and you launch into him (even if it is sorely deserved!), he’s not going to want to deal with you. Or, even if you wait until he’s had his first beer and is relaxed, if you come at him cursing and yelling and crying, you’ve already lost the argument. He may say tons of things to placate you (read that as: make you shut up), but ultimately, most things accomplished by a long, drawn out, weeping, yelling battle are only temporary solutions. What you want is a real solution. So, how do you get that?

While this may feel completely unnatural, especially when you are piping-hot mad and looking around for some sort of blunt object, try arguing like this and see how it works with your man.

1) Ask him, “Honey, do you have a few minutes?”

  • Whatever you do, don’t tack “To talk” onto the end of that sentence. That immediately puts a man on edge as they fear those two words more than prostate cancer.
  • By asking him if he has a few minutes, rather than telling him you need a few minutes, you’re allowing him the opportunity to say yes or no. If he says no, then ask for a specific time when the two of you can chat.

2) When you are both ready to start this conversation, take him somewhere private, other than the bedroom or the living room. Outside or the kitchen can be good places.

3) Once you’ve both sat down, reassure him that you love him and tell him that you want to discuss something with him.

4) Slowly, calmly and quietly explain what your concern is, without attacking him personally.

  • “When you do X, I feel Y,” is a great way to start. It’s not accusatory, it’s explanatory. And there is a HUGE difference between the two.
  • For example:
    • When you drink until you pass out, I feel worried and scared.
    • When you are short with me, I don’t understand why and I start to wonder if there is more to it than you just being in a bad mood.
    • When you come home late from work without calling, I worry that something has happened to you.

5) Then let him talk. Let him fill in the silence. Don’t feel the need to do that yourself. Allowing him time to think of his response is critical. Chances are you’ve been plotting this discussion for hours, days, weeks, etc…but he’s just now hearing about it, so he may need a few minutes to figure out his answer. That’s okay. Silence is okay. Plus, he’s busy trying to think up his defense anyway, so any talking you do is falling on deaf ears.

6) When he does respond, listen to him, even if what he says is total bullshit. Give him a chance and then calmly explain your side of the story in greater detail. But don’t call him names or raise your voice or tell him he’s a knuckle-dragging pig that you wish you’d never met (even though you may be DYING to say that!).

7) Once you’ve discussed what the issue is, end the discussion with “Thanks, baby, for listening to me. I really appreciate it,” and then some kind of physical contact—a hug, a kiss, a held hand.

Now, I know you may be thinking, “ARE YOU CRAZY? I want to rip his nuts off and choke him to death with them! That bastard deserves to be drawn and quartered!” Believe me, I understand that urge. But this is all about how to have a healthier relationship with your man. If he dreads “the talk” or you yell, cry and call him names during “the talk” then he’s going to do everything in his power to never have “the talk” with you again.

Unfortunately, him not wanting to suffer through “the talk” doesn’t mean he’ll necessarily stop doing the things that make you want to kill him. Instead it means he’ll make “the talk” such a miserable experience for you that you’ll stop wanting to even have them. Slamming the door of communication like that is one of the worst things you can do in a relationship.

It takes patience and practice to have an effective argument. There is a lot of trial and error, and as every man is different, you’ll have to tailor your argument style to suit your man. Some men give in if you subtly guilt them. Some men give in if you are a solid boundary-drawer. Most men will listen if you just lay it out, in a verbal bulleted list without all the (what they perceive to be) “lady-drama.”

It’s important to know that this doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to cry during an argument. Sometimes, you just can’t help it. But be aware of how your man will react to your tears when deciding (if that’s even possible) whether or not to show that kind of emotion.  While there are many types of reactions men have to tears, I’ve identified a few of the main ones. Try and figure out which type of man you have and that’ll help you know whether or not to really fight the urge to cry during an argument.

  1. The Placater: This guy jumps right into “fix it” mode where he will say anything to make you stop crying. Unfortunately, what he says won’t necessarily happen once the conversation is over. It’s typically just a salve to get you to not cry anymore. He may even be well-intentioned in the moment, but quite often he’s just grabbing at straws to stop the flow of tears and probably won’t even remember half of what he said an hour later.
  2. The Deer in the Headlights: This guy immediately shuts down and becomes a mute. Your tears terrify him and he has no idea how to deal with you, so he stops interacting completely. This type of communication shutdown keeps the conversation from moving forward even an inch, and then you have to try and recover from it and start all over again.
  3. The Jerky Prick: This peach of a guy thinks, “GREAT! Here come the waterworks!” It may be that he sees your tears as manipulative and/or melodramatic, so he dismisses them automatically. When he dismisses your emotions like that, there is no way any continuation of the conversation will help you at all. (My suggestion is, if possible, to run from this type of man as fast as you can. If he sees your true emotions and scoffs at them, he’s probably a jerky prick in a lot of other areas as well. Why suffer the rest of your life with that???)
  4. The Self-Pitying Child: This type of guy gets defensive as they perceive your tears as a personal attack on them or they feel so instantaneously guilty that their reaction becomes knee-jerk instead of calmly responsive. Once they start to sulk and give you that, “Yeah, I know, I’m horrible and I hate myself,” routine, the real forward progress of your conversation has come to a screeching halt. They are too buried in feeling sorry for themselves to actually process anything you are saying.
  5. The Attentive Sweetie Pie: A good and loving man will see that you are truly in pain and will want to really work through the issue with you. Your tears will be an indicator to him of just how deeply hurt or angry you are and he’ll want nothing more than to resolve the issue with you. (God bless this type of man and I hope most of you ladies have this kind of guy.)

Regardless of which type of man you have, even if he’s not listed here or is a combination of a few of them, just remember that your tears have power and if you cry wolf with them, they lose that power. Tears should always be a genuine display of emotion, not a manipulation tactic. When you are real and honest with your emotions, you set up an environment where it’s safe for him to be real and honest too.

A final thought on this subject. While the Golden Rule of Communication is to treat others as you want to be treated, the Platinum Rule of Communication is to treat others as THEY want to be treated. Knowing that men are such different creatures from us, you have to keep in mind what is most effective in speaking with them. Keeping calm and rational may drive you crazy, especially when all you really want to do is hit him in the head with a cast-iron frying pan while weeping hysterically. In the end, however, it will help you better resolve your arguments (I prefer to think of them as “discussions”) and isn’t that the outcome you are hoping for?

 

 

Image procured from http://www.123rf.com/clipart-vector/hitting.html