DON’T READ! YOU’LL DIE! OR GO BLIND! OR EXPLODE! OR IMPLODE! IT’LL BE A HORROR! AAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!

Okay, to say you’ve been warned is an understatement. I did an entire preemptive blog post about NOT READING THIS! ;)

It really is sinfully inappropriate and has VERY bad cuss words (yes, including THE worst word as far as women are concerned). So, if you read this, read at your own risk.

Now that the disclaimers are on the table, let’s get down to the good stuff. :)

I had a job a while ago and hired a wonderful man to work for me. He is the funniest, smarmiest Brit and we got along famously from the moment we met. Of course, as a boss I was initially such a good girl around him (meaning I didn’t say, “Fuckedy fuck fuck fuck” and kept my sass mouth to a minimum).

Well, one day while in the studio one of us (I don’t even recall who) slipped and said Fuck and no one cared (duh…). All I remember thinking is that it was such a relief to know that we could talk like normal people and not worry about our language.

Well…from that point on it just got wonderfully worse and worse. Then we started hanging out outside of work and became even better friends.

Even though he was technically my employee, I certainly considered him more of a coworker as we busted ass together everyday to get the job done. I became “Boss Lady” and he became “Minion.” We still hang out and have the most egregious conversations that make me laugh and laugh and laugh.

So, we finally got to the point where our one liners would make us giggle so hard that we created twitter pages and would post the awful things one another would say. But the good part was that what we’d say was still totally organic and not for the sake of posting it. We just kept on like we always had, but occasionally documented the craziness. Below is a sample of the hideous shit that would come out of our mouths. I’ll start with my unforgivable sassiness, then move on to his.

I hope this actually makes you laugh as none of it (well, 98% of it) doesn’t have a single mean thought behind it. It was all just for comic relief as we worked in a fucking nut house and needed to let of steam lest we burn the place to the ground.

Enjoy!

FROM ME TO MY LOVELY MINION

“I rule. Never forget it lest ye be reminded in unpleasant, analy intrusive ways.” (Really, just a general observation that anyone working for me should believe down deep in their heart.)

“Go masturbate to midget porn in the parking lot.” (I figure sometimes a man needs an unusual kind of release!)

“I will dress in all vinyl and lick shoes.” (On how I could launch a fetish website where I don’t actually show any body parts but charge a fortune to pervs who like shoe licking.)

To another coworker: “Bitch, I will knock you out.” (And I will, dammit!)

“I’m the girl that goes to Albertson’s to take a shit.” (God…I can’t believe I’m not deleting this one. Well, any of you who’ve read my Intimacy book already know this. Someone kill me, please? I share way too much.)

“With a little ketchup, children taste like chicken.” (Yeah, I don’t know. I’m a horrible person.)

“I’m nothing if not offensive.” (Ain’t that the truth!)

“I think my boobs grew overnight. They won’t stay wrangled today.” (THEY WOULDN’T! Sometimes it feels like either elves came in during the night and tailored my bra a size smaller or God went “Ding!” and grew them a size while I slept. I’ll never understand but woo hoo to big boobies!)

“I have no dignity, it’s all been raped out of me.” (Yep. Truly horrible. But we giggled like school children in church.)

“The number of old men that have seen my boobies…” (Okay, I don’t really think there are that many…but for some reason the comment seemed apropos at the time.)

“She’s so douchey I can smell vinegar all the way over here.”  (Honest to God, that bitch was such a douche that I wanted to start calling her Eve…as in Summer’s…)

“Go gay. You can share clothes.” (I think this is a great idea for everyone!)

“Cantaloupe, my friend. I’ll bring in a wig you can stick on it tomorrow.” (Okay, side story to this one. I always think that if I were a guy I’d stick my pecker into all sorts of things. I think I’d start with a warm cantaloupe. Cut out a hole and have at it. Seems perfect! So, I used to share that philosophy with some of my friends at work and even created a Ms. Cantaloupe name plate with her photo on it—a cantaloupe with a blonde wig, big blue eyes and pouty red lips. Needless to say it was just wonderfully horrifying. So, I said that lovely comment to my wonderful minion when he was whining about not getting laid enough. Ha!)

“Fuck a duck.” (An oldie, but a goodie.)

“My dear, you are so sweet and I appreciate it, but FUCK THAT TWAT!” (In response to my lovely minion apologizing to me about a situation we got into at work with the girl that smelled douchy. Tee hee hee. She is/was/will always be a major twat!)

“I’m going to bring a dick to work, just so you can suck it.” (This is one of my all-time favorites. I thought my minion was going to choke to death he was laughing so hard.)

FROM MY MINION TO ME

“I’m not into water sports, but whenever I see Fergie I kinda want to pee on her. Is that weird.” (YES that’s weird, you fucktard! But a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.)

“Had a dog assplosion. On my way.” (A text explaining why he was late to work. He was usually late and I didn’t care, but I loved this particular excuse.)

“In one sentence I cock blocked the dude she was with and made her cry. WIN!” (Horrible man! Though the girl to which he is referring was a total hosebeast, so I can’t fault him too much.)

“In the words of a wise woman I USED to like, ‘Eat a bag of dicks.’” (Quoting me, because I say horrible things! He only USED to like me cause I left and went to a new job, stranding him with all the asshats we used to take on as a team. Poor thing…)

“Kill me plzthxbye.” (I’m always willing to lend a guy an ax…or hammer…or some other device for killing. I’m that kind of friend!)

“Dear Jesus, thank you for Soma and weed… Without these things I would surely scalp my current boss and violate her corpse in a fit of rage… Which might create a bit of a legal snag.” (After I left my job, my wonderful ex-minion texted me this about his new boss. Ha! I felt so loved and missed!)

“My mother just asked me if I’ve seen my father’s penis. I really want to die right now.” (I kinda wanna die too.)

“Buses? How the fuck do you spell the plural of buss?!?! I need another drink.” (Yep, not always sober at work. ;) )

“…other than the fact that you like to encourage me to make love to inanimate objects, you mean?” (Look, if a man is having a dry spell I’m all about encouraging the use of alternative forms of relief. I’m non-judgmental like that!)

“Because you’re a sick cunt.” (While you might think this is just horrible, that shit made me laugh soooo hard!! Who says that?? To their boss? It was awesome. God only knows what I said to warrant such a comment—probably something equally horrible, if not worse. ;) )

“I just bought a mentally challenged guy a whiskey. That makes me a philanthropist, right?” (Good Lord…this is wrong in so many ways…He’s clearly going to Hell.)

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.” (Yep, you can see why I like him so much! That kinda talk is right up my alley!)

“Jesus Herbert Christ.  Women are fucking horrible (present company excluded).” (Hey, at least he excluded me, though I’m sure I’m often quite horrible.)

“I want to kill anything that has a vagina.” (HA! I know I’ve wanted to kill all pecker-having creatures before, so I totally get this sentiment.)

“Know this: I am the most awesome guy you ever met.” (His humility is his most endearing quality.)

“Hoarders” totally ripped off my show “Silverfish Charlie and the Cat Pee Kids”. (EWWWW!!)

“Why am I always the ruiner of lives?” (Because he’s so good at it?)

“Do you know anyone that makes and/or sells moonshine?” (Yep…there may be a drinking-related problem there. ;) )

“For the record, I didn’t start the fight.” (Yeah, yeah…that’s what they all say.)

“I now have one less item on my bucket list. Just watched a deaf girl sing karaoke.” (Bless her heart! I’m a total karaoke chicken—I could take a lesson from such a brave girl!)

“What in the name of Jupiter’s asshole is True Cloud?” (Does Jupiter have a butt? I learn something new everyday.)

“Portable studio? Rape dungeon? No one can hear you scream.” (Rape dungeon! Holy shit. You’d think this might make me scared of him and the millions of hours we’d spend alone at the office…alas, it just made me pass out laughing. This was in reference to us getting a functional recording studio that could move around at the whim of a bunch of bosses who think letting you stay in the same fucking desk area for more than two weeks is a shit idea. Fuckheads.)

“There’s something sinister about eating eels that just came out of your own asshole.” (Honest to God…I don’t want to know. Isn’t eating anything out of one’s backside kinda fucked up?)

“Is it weird that I’m erect now?” (I assume all men are erect all the time. So no. Not weird.)

“Okay, I’m going to find a ram to sacrifice for you.” (How sweet! I’ve never had anyone sacrifice anything for me before. I feel all special.)

“Why are they killing our cube?” (Yep, yet another example of bosses moving us around for no good damn reason. Whoever wrote the business book“Who Moved My Cheese?” should be shot and killed. I can only imagine that businesses have spent $10,000,000,000,000,000 simply moving their employees from desk to desk to desk because God forbid anyone get comfortable at the office. It might actually lead to an employee being happy on occasion. PS: For those of you who know that piece of shit book, I one time had to dress up like one of the mice and perform like a trained monkey at a sales conference. It was horrible. I did NOT get paid enough money to make such an ass of myself. Total SUCK!)

“If it weren’t for alcohol, I’d probably be a serial killer. I’d only target morons though.” (I’m pretty sure he is a serial killer. He gets this look on his face that thrills me and terrifies the masses. I know he’s a kitten on the inside…way, way, way, way down deep.)

“I’m awesome, but I’m not a prostitute.” (Then, my friend, you are not awesome.)

So there you have it. While I do NOT miss that job one tiny bit (wanted to die everyday), I totally miss the insane amounts of fun my minion and I had together. We worked hard but managed to take the edge off with truly horrible discourse. Love him for making my days brighter through inappropriate behavior. Woo hoo!

Hope you aren’t all disgusted beyond belief, but remember, I warned you so NO GUFF! ;)

Love ya! Have a great weekend! XO

PS: My minion is the same person who turned me onto Angry Birds. FUCKER! At least I finally kicked that habit…now if only Candy Crush would explode and die. ;)

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! :) :) :)

To all the Smokes I’ve loved before…

…you can go suck it because I beat you!!!!

I am SO PROUD OF MYSELF!!!

I’ve been more stressed the last few weeks (as you guys know) then I’ve been in a looooooong time. And even though hari kari was calling my name and I kept eyeballing the shotgun and taser, I managed to NOT SMOKE even a single drag!!!

It’s been 4 months, 28 days and 9 hours since I had a puff on a cigarette (not that I’m counting). Yay!! And it was TEMPTING!! That night my sister was my superhero and I sat in my car crying and screaming on the phone to her, there was a pack of unopened smokes just sitting in my glovebox. I keep them there to prove to myself that I don’t need them. And it worked.

Quitting cold turkey after smoking since I was 14 (with a few breaks here and there) wasn’t the easiest thing I’ve ever done, but I’m so excited that I managed to say no to the Yummy Sticks. Yes, I call them Yummy Sticks. Honest to God, smoking is one of my very favorite things on earth. I almost never drink (maybe 2-3 glasses of wine a year), I don’t do drugs (unless you count Valium to go to the dentist) and so smoking was my deliciously wicked vice. Now I have no vices! I can’t even be a slut cause I’m a married old broad. KIDDING! I never was much for the slutty behavior (but I love me some sluts, so if you are slutty I love your slutty ass).

For those of you who have been or who are smokers, you know exactly what I’m talking about. For those of you who have never been smokers, you are truly blessed to not know the misery of not being able to light up. I’ve heard quitting smoking compared to giving up the needle and it doesn’t surprise me one bit!

See, here’s my best friend and me enjoying a nice, yummy smoke after a delicious dinner a couple of years ago. We look so joyful and happy to be alive! Ahh…the good ole days…

So that everyone out there understands why I used to like smoking so much (and I will again if I’m ever terminally ill, dammit!!!!) I’m going to put a little video clip here from the TV show Frasier. This scene PERFECTLY describes what is so tantalizing about a cigarette.

The whole clip is funny, but if you skip ahead to about 1:06 (the clip’s about 3 minutes long) you’ll get to the heart of the true smoker’s dream.

Enjoy! And NEVER start smoking if you aren’t a smoker now. Why put yourself through the hell of quitting? It totally sucks balls. :)

XOXOXO

Broken teeth, drugs, blog coma

Hello my dear blog buddies!

I know I’ve been a bit absent and I feel bad that I haven’t responded to any comments in the last few days. I broke a tooth a couple of weeks ago and have been in and out of a torture chamber (read that as dentist and endodontist offices) non-stop ever since and still am not done being slowly killed by needles, drills and partially removed teeth. OUCH DAMMIT!! I’ve been medicated on Vicodin and now steroids to try and calm down the raging nerves and just haven’t had the energy to do anything except pray for a quick death.

I promise I’ll be back soon to thank all of you for your amazing help with the Superhero Challenge. I appreciate all of the help you’ve given Liz more than I can say.

Tip o’the day: Do NOT chew on olives with pits. The pit always wins.

This is representative of both how my tooth and I feel about EVER going back to the dentist!

This is representative of  how both my tooth and I feel about EVER going back to the dentist!

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! ;)

Can a pedicure be a cluster f*ck? Worst fear realized!

The answer is YES. A pedicure can double as both a cluster fuck and a Guantanamo torture session. I learned this lesson just tonight and I promise to be a good girl from now on if the universe promises to never do that to me again.

First, let me set the stage. I’m not a candy ass. I’m a pretty tough chick with a fairly high threshold for pain. So, before you think, “What a baby!” know that I’m one hard bitch. ;)

Second, for those of you who’ve not had a pedicure, this is how it is described in the spa brochure: Relax your feet in a therapeutic, aromatic soak of warm, bubbling water before your nails and cuticles are gently and expertly groomed. The soles of your feet will be delicately buffed to silky softness and your lower legs and feet exfoliated during a relaxing and delightful massage. The finishing touch is your choice of polish color and a one-of-a-kind, artistic design to compliment your pretty feet. Wow! That sounds pretty damn good, right? WHO THE FUCK WOULD HAVE THOUGHT???!!!

So, I stroll my tired feet and half-polished toes into the spa prepared for an hour of delightful relaxation. I have a Starbucks in one hand and the massage chair controller in the other and I’m ready to be pampered. Here’s how it goes from there.

  1. I prepare to put my feet into the pedicure basin, which is so pretty. It has a rotating LED light in it so it turns all these pretty colors and lights up the bubbles. Ahhhh… In they go. FUCK MOTHER FUCKER FUCK FUCK! I yank those suckers out as fast as I can because the water was not hot, it was just this side of boiling. Water droplets went flying everywhere and when a few landed on my pedicurist she hollered, “Ouch!” Yep, even after traveling through the cool evening air, the water was still hot enough to burn her when it landed on her arm. As I looked at my scalded feet there were red splotches all over them all the way up to just past my ankle. Yep, that shit hurt like a mo fo.
  2. After she drains the cauldron and adds normal-hot water to it, I stick my feet in (now, of course, they are tender and overly susceptible to sensation), lean back and relax. She takes my right foot from the water, sets it up on the foot perch, removes the mostly missing nail polish and then starts manicuring my cuticles. Sounds good, right? NO! She attacked my feet with those nippers like she was being paid for every drop of blood she leached out of my toes. With one deft move she dug under my big toenail, pulled the razor-sharp nipper across to the top edge of my nail and yanked it out of the cuticle. WHAT THE HELL!!! I can only assume it’s some trick to make sure you don’t get ingrown toenails, but with the onslaught of blood I’m guessing she did not do it correctly. (For those of you who previously read my post about my biggest fear on earth being kicking my pedicurist in the face, know that my knee-jerk reaction almost realized this fear. I’m going to call it the “twitchy foot” so that I can easily refer to it throughout this post as it happened quite a few times.)
  3. Now that I’m bleeding, she digs into her kit and pulls out what must be a bottle of salt mixed with acid and applies that to my bloodied toe. SON OF A BITCH! (Twitchy foot.)
  4. Once I stopped crying (on the inside) she continued torturing, I mean, cutting my cuticles until there was no skin left on my toes.
  5. Then comes time for the callous remover. Now, keep in mind you pay EXTRA for this. I paid her to do this to me. She put the callous removing lotion all over the bottom of my feet and then started shaving off my skin. Yes, shaving. SHAVING! Which is fine as long she pays attention to what she’s doing. Alas… at that very moment there infiltrates my nose a smell that is a combination of burning wood and rotten eggs. What in the unholy fuckin’ hell is that stench!!!!??? Then I see the woman in the seat next to me with a mortified look on her face. Yep, she dealt the lethal anal air blast and now realized that the smell was worse than burning flesh. Good gracious God. I thought I was going to choke to death. And lucky for me, the smell not only distracted me from my boiled and bleeding feet, but it distracted my darling pedicurist who got into a loud and raucous conversation (in another language) with the pedicurist doing the feet of Fart Woman and while not at all watching what she was doing sheared off a slice of my heel that had my twitchy foot jumping all over the place. Somehow I managed not to kick her in the fuckin’ head, but it was a struggle. I didn’t see any blood drip (yet) so I thought, “Eh, fuck it, I’ll stick it out. How much more damage can she do?” What a dumb ass I am.
  6. Finally, the skin shaving is over (it was like some scene out of Criminal Minds for God’s sake!) and she places my feet back in the water-filled basin. FUUUUUUUCK!!!! Where I was missing skin from the razor debacle the hot, soapy water burned like someone was branding me with a cattle branding thingy (I don’t know what the fuck those things are called…a branding iron maybe?). Again, I got me the twitchy foot.
  7. Okay, so now it’s time for the salt scrub (again, I pay extra for this) which I dearly love getting–any kind of rubby massage is my idea of heaven. But apparently, Mrs. Fart inspired my pedicurist and her neighboring pedicurist to engage in a fun and jovial conversation that was seemingly without end and again she is distracted and not even looking vaguely in my direction as she begins. So, as she applies the gritty, chunky salt to my right leg she’s so swept up in giggling that she forgets to add water to the mix and starts grinding the flesh off of my leg with what feels like the roughest sand paper ever. This SUCKED! It did not feel good, but to be quite honest, at this point the pain was actually starting to get funny. I just kept thinking that it couldn’t keep going on and on and getting worse and worse. Again, I’m a stupid fuck. After about 3 of the longest minutes of my life she realizes that she’s not added any water grim reaper(though she sure as shit added more salt) and adds a bit of water. Whew… that must be what it feels like when giving birth and the baby finally comes the fuck out. Such relief that the worst of the pain is over. Oh, how could I have neglected to mention that the water-free salt scrub probably wouldn’t have been SO damn agonizing if she didn’t have the bony fingers of Death itself. It was like being massaged by the Grim Reaper. Her fingers were small razors of pain.
  8. At last, we are coming towards the end of this and so far I have yet to kick her, call her a bad name or outwardly cry. Total miracle, my friends. Total miracle. As she starts wiping down my legs with a warm towel (mmm…something finally didn’t hurt like hell) I start to relax and then BAM! She does some kind of finger snapping thing on my toes and cracks my baby toe knuckle. Yep. That was it. That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I HATE HAVING MY KNUCKLES CRACKED! I lost all control over my foot and where it went and I snapped it away from her as fast as my lizard brain could and missed kicking her in the face by maybe a half a centimeter. Yep. Worst fear realized. She just missed a broken nose. I didn’t do it on purpose. It was like when the doctor taps your knee with the hammer to test your reactions. You can’t help but kick out your leg. That’s what happened to me. I’d been boiled, bled-out, and sliced with a razor. I’d had my leg skin removed with a salt/sand paper massage and suffered through the worst smelling butt assault in recorded history. And dammit, my survival instinct FINALLY kicked in and I kicked out. Good news is that I didn’t make contact–but just by the hair of my chinny chin chin. So, when she asked me moments later if I wanted her to paint a design on my toe I of course agreed out of horror for almost having broken her face. I paid $10 for this:

My poor, poor toes

Do you see a beautiful design? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? Bueller? Is there ten dollars worth of design on my big toe nails? NO! She covered up most of the design (6 stripes of black paint–yep, that is just so special and beautiful and custom and artistic) with the sparkly top coat I had requested and assumed like a fool would go under the design like it has 5,000,000 times before. And I’m not sure if you can tell, but the edges of my big toes are all red and inflamed where she, well, killed them. Ultimately, this pedicure ended up costing me a fortune and I left gimpy, bloody, smelling of chick farts and wanting to die.

Here’s what I think about their pedicure description: Relax your feet in a therapeutic, aromatic soak of warm, bubbling water (LIE! SCALDING IS NOT RELAXING!) before your nails and cuticles are gently and expertly groomed (LIE! BLOOD DOES NOT EQUAL GENTLY, NOR DOES IT EQUAL EXPERTLY). The soles of your feet will be delicately buffed (WITH A RAZOR AND ALL THE WAY DOWN TO THE BONE) to silky softness (EXPOSED MUSCLE IS NOT SILKY SOFT) and your lower legs and feet exfoliated (SKIN REMOVAL TO THIS EXTENT IS NOT EXFOLIATION, IT’S WHAT ANCIENT TRIBES USED TO DO BEFORE EATING YOU) during a relaxing and delightful massage (THE CRYPT KEEPER DOES NOT GIVE RELAXING AND DELIGHTFUL MASSAGES). The finishing touch is your choice of polish color (THE ONLY TRUE PART OF THIS BLASPHEME) and a one-of-a-kind, artistic design (REALLY? REALLY? 6 BLACK STRIPES YOU CAN BARELY EVEN SEE QUALIFY AS THIS??) to compliment your pretty (BLOODY AND SORE) feet.

Good gracious Lord…I think I need a drink. :)

PS: Forgive any typos. My nails are way too long and I can’t type worth a shit, but I was not about to let her have at my hands after all of this!!! ;)

R.I.P. sweet little hamster

 

Well, dammit.

Less than 24 hours ago I was counting my blessings, including the fact that my old ass hamster was still amongst the living. Little did I know he only had 8 hours of life left.

I love you Hamster. Mommy and Daddy miss you tremendously. There will never be a fuzzy-butted little hamster anywhere near as wonderful and sweet as you.

Little Hamster’s first day with his new family. SWAK!

Daddy, after a hard day’s work, playing with the little guy. He loved little Hamster too.

Our sweet little baby his first night in his new home.