Auto correct at its perviest

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From the “Life is never dull” perspective, here’s a text I sent to the hubby a few minutes ago. :)

“I have the sliding glass door open, big titties are glued to the screen and want to go outside, the house is freezing, and the only thing that is missing is my sweet baby to keep me warm. I just noticed that auto correct somehow auto corrected the word “kitties” to “big titties.” HA!!! What in the fuck is auto correct thinking? Total riot! Love you!”

How in the hell did auto correct do that??? Where did “big” come from? Is the expression “big titties” typed so often on Verizon phones that they don’t auto correct the word “kitties” to just “titties?” They have to chuck “big” in there too? Totally funny.

autocorrect

Christmas Tree Update!

So, you guys recall that I was whining about how half the lights on my tree went out. Well, I bought a ton of both multi-colored lights and warm white lights (LED so they’ll last for at least a few years) and I fixed her up!

Yay! Now the tree isn’t a sad little Charlie Brown tree anymore. It’s all kinds of lit up. I think, in total, there are 1400 lights on it.

I know…whacko…

ChristmasTreeNewLights2014

And in case you are thinking that I am also insane for all of those presents (they are all from me to family and I’m not even done wrapping yet) know that some of them cost about $2.00. We just like to unwrap stuff at Christmas, so one of those presents is a 6 pack of Charmin with a $5 bill taped to it for my mom.

What can I say…clearly we are all nuts.

Love you guys! XOXOXOXOX

Nooooooooooo! The Beginning of the End.

Well, it’s confirmed.

I’m older than Methuselah!

And I’m able to document when my ancient-ness started to the exact day. How many people can say that?

So, there I am, putting on a little makeup before the man gets home so that I don’t rival the Crypt Keeper for ugliest freak show on earth and I see something in my eyebrow.

“What on earth is that?” I ask myself.

Then I flip the mirror around to the 10x magnification side (eeeee gawds, don’t ever do that!) and saw this monstrosity:

Eyebrow from Hell 2014What in the ever-loving hell is that?

Who ever heard of such a hideous thing?

Half luxurious black. Half Jodi-is-old-as-dirt gray.

What the fuck????????

I’m too young for this!

Oh, and add to the grayness the fact that that eyebrow hair is 300 feet long.

It looks like a 90-year-old man’s nose hair.

Hmmm…what shall I do to cheer myself up?

I’m thinking a splurge of pizza for dinner.

Yep, that’ll heal what ails me.

:)

Hope you guys are having a good week! XO

 

 

It’s time to get down and get funky! (Updated! Yay!)

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No, I don’t mean to roll in the dirt and get smelly! Though that does sound like fun. ;)

I mean that tonight I’m going to be on LA Talk Radio! The show is called Modern Male Radio and starts at 8pm Pacific time, 11pm Eastern. Woo hoo!

And is it going to be a show!

UPDATE: Here’s the link to listen to the show: KICK ASS YAPPING. Wow, they are fast! Listen to the one dated September 18th, 2014.

Senior Citizen Sex

Not only is it hosted by an incredible author and man about town, Jarod Zavistoski (he’s great!), but co-hosting is Nick Hawk from the Showtime TV show Gigolos.

We’re going to dish about all things relationshippy and how to have more luscious nookie and happy intimacy.

Can’t go wrong with that. Well, unless you hate sex and don’t like people to be nice to you.

If that’s the case, ummmmm…yeah…I got nothin’! ;)

Click HERE or on the pic below to get to LA Talk Radio’s site.

Listen in, my wonderful peeps. We’ll have a great time!

XOXOXOX

My Internal Dialogue While Being Tortured

WARNING!

If you don’t care for terrifically prolific cussing, walk away from your computer right now. This one is going to be a doozie! ;)

So, you guys know I love me a good massage. I live for them really. I’d marry a massage if I could. And I have an amazing therapist, Grayson, who rules the school. But before I met Grayson, I’d bought a Groupon for a 90-minute massage somewhere else and I got it today.

Upon arrival and meeting him, I told him that normally I’m pretty tough but that I was super sore from having to dump about 150 buckets of water away from my house’s foundation earlier in the week due to all the insane flooding. (Almost 6 inches of rain in less than 24 hours!) As such, I asked him to go super easy on me because everything hurt. He said to just let him know if the pressure was too much or too little and he’d adjust. So far, so good.

I strip, get up on the table, he comes in and the very first thing he does is push on my back SO FUCKING HARD that my poor boobies smash into the table (ummm…sir, the table is fucking hard and my DD boobs ain’t got nowhere to go). And that’s how the internal dialog began. Prepare yourself.

Action: Boob smashing

Internal Dialogue: WHAT THE SHIT! OUCH! Only a man who has no boobs would smash a woman who obviously has tremendous ta-tas into a table with the force of 3 gorillas. Dip shit.

 

Action: Digging his bony-ass fingers (similar in appearance and pain-dealing to the Grim Reaper’s) into what I’m pretty sure was bone and not muscle in my shoulder blade.

Internal Dialogue: FUCKING FUCK FUCK FUCKITY FUCK THAT HURTS!

External Dialogue: Can you please reduce the pressure you’re using. I’m quite sore from earlier this week and that hurts. I’d really appreciate it.

Result: Applied more pressure because I’m sure his internal dialogue was, “Fuck you lady, I do what I want.” (In the voice of Cartman from South Park, of course.)

 

Interim Action: 10 more minutes of excruciating pain from which there is no salvation.

 

Action: More digging of his pain-inflicting finger knives into the small of my back and around to my sides.

Internal Dialogue: YOU ARE FUCKING MASSAGING MY KIDNEYS! WHY? WHY GOD? WHY? OUCH. DIE YOU MOTHER FUCKER! DIE.

External Dialogue: Would you mind going lighter, please? Like I said, I’m really sore so I’m a bit more delicate than I’d usually be.

Result: Not only did he continue to massage my fucking kidneys through bone, muscle or whatever the fuck is between a kidney and your skin, I’m pretty sure he used a dull, rusty pocket knife to actually remove one. Possibly for sale on the black market.

 

Interim Action: 15 more minutes of, honest to God, abject misery. Shouldn’t a massage therapist inherently know that when their client is making a fist over and over again and making squeaky “I’m clearly dying” noises AND has asked him multiple times to use less pressure, that they should STOP FUCKING KILLING THEIR CLIENT????

 

Action: Uncovers the back of my thigh (which I specifically mentioned before we started was incredibly sore) and takes those daggers he calls fingers and starts strumming my hamstring like he’s playing the fiddle in The Devil Went Down to Georgia. Seriously, like the freedom of his soul depended on tearing out my hamstring and tying a bow with it.

Internal Dialog: THAT FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCKING HURTS!!!! You Hitler mother fucker. Did you get your license JUST TO TORTURE people? Did you wake up this morning, throw a dart at your schedule and decide, “Yep, it’s Jodi Ambrose today. I’m going to make her wish she died in a violent car accident on her way here. Heh heh heh (insert creepy, evil laugh).”

External Dialog: Seriously, you gotta lighten up on me. Just pretend I’m an arthritic 90-year-old with osteoporosis and a low threshold for pain.

Result: NOT ONE MOTHER FUCKING OUNCE OF LESSENING UP ON THE HORROR!!!! Not even a little. NONE. WHAT THE EVER-LOVING FUCK?

 

Interim Action: More abject misery. Me trying to figure how to get the fuck outta there without jumping off the table and having my ta-tas flying all over the place and my ass shining up in the air. Me wishing his balls would rot off in a leprosy kind of way. Me wondering why in the hell I haven’t freaked out more on this fuckhead. Me thinking that somehow all this “deep tissue” fuckin’ nightmare will, in the end, be good for my aching muscles. Me praying for a meteor to fly down from Heaven and kill both him and me immediately (preferably just him, but I figure a meteor would be too big to target just him–I’d be collateral damage and I’d be okay with that).

 

Action: Asks me to flip over onto my back. Then asks me if I want my pectorals massaged.

Internal Dialog: If you even think of touching my tits I’m gonna fucking brain you with a hammer. You got that, old man? YOU FUCKIN’ HEAR ME??? I’LL KILL YOU AND YOUR WHOLE FAMILY!

External Dialog: No, thank you.

Result: I did not have to kill the mother fucker because he did not touch boobies. Hence, I am not covered in blood and being processed by the police. I think of that as a win/win.

 

So, finally, this God-forsaken nightmare comes to a close. I asked him no less than 8 times to ease up. He literally NEVER did until the last 5 minutes–I’m guessing because that’s when he’s starting to think about what kind of tip I’m going to give him and he wants to go out on a high note. Well, here’s a tip, you fuck-headed fuck fuck: Don’t ever let me see you crossing the street when I’m driving.

There’s my saga du jour. I was soooooo looking forward to getting all of my sore muscles rubbed out. Now I need a Vicodin and another massage to survive the one I just PAID GOOD MONEY to endure.

I’m going to go with pain being a character builder in order to find a silver lining. But in my deepest, darkest and not-so-private thoughts, all I can think is, “You are very fucking lucky that real life isn’t like that movie The Purge where murder is legal for a day. You’d be at the top of my list, fuck face.”

With that, I’m off to fry up a bagel and watch me some Project Runway!!

Have a great weekend everyone! :) XOXOXO

I’ve turned into Martha Stewart! Someone save me from myself!!! ;)

Who on God’s green earth ever thought that I would be Jodi the Happy Homemaker?! ;)

You guys know I run from all things domestic. Really, it’s the only time I run. I prefer to sit. Wasn’t it Winston Churchill who said,

“Never stand up when you can sit down, and never sit down when you can lie down.”

I say, “Preach on, brother!”

Alas, I have a cute little way to dress up, of all things, your toilet.

Yep, I said toilet.

Martha Stewart and Hints from Heloise move over!

So, you know those little caps that cover the screws that hold your toilet in place? Half the time they are just gross. Eww!!! The other half of the time they have been lost–like those damnable missing socks that the dryer eats.

Where the hell do they go? It makes no sense. It’s not like someone would steal your toilet screw covers. Well, maybe they would. Maybe they lost theirs so they then stole yours. Hmmm…makes one think. ;)

Anyway, I have the cutest solution ever.

And while it seems like a non sequitur, but isn’t, I always have a million salt and pepper shakers. When I have folks over for dinner I like everyone to have their own cute little set. I have birdies, froggies, squirrelies, turtles (no way to really add “ies” to the word turtle).

Well, I recently discovered that I have more salt and pepper shakers than I ever do have dinner guests.

About 2 minutes after making that discovery I walked into my bathroom and saw those ugly, uncovered screws and voila! An idea was born!

Here’s my solution to ugly toilet screws:

Toilet Birdie Decor 1 Toilet Birdie Decor 2

Ta dah!

Isn’t that adorable? Okay, maybe more goofy than adorable, but still–it looks a hell of a lot better than a nasty old rusty screw. :)

If you live anywhere near a Cracker Barrel restaurant, that’s where I get all my salt and pepper shakers. They are only a dollar and if you just take the little rubber thing out that holds in the salt/pepper, you can stick the cute little guy on the screw and have a happy toilet!

Okay, that’s all the domesticity I’m gonna have for a while.

If you do this, send me pics! I wanna see other people’s toilet decor!

:)

 

 

The “It takes 3 minutes to make a delicious dessert” Recipe

TGIMFS! Yes, that’s my spin on TGIF with a few extra choice words chucked in. ;)

Here’s another bit of yum for you guys this weekend!

Move over fancy schmancy desserts that take 19 hours and 4 chefs to make.

I have something even better.

But you have to visit the awesome and amazing Bernadette at Rants from My Crazy Kitchen to get the recipe!

That lovely lady has just posted my second recipe designed to let you spend less time cooking and more time enjoying your holiday weekend.

It’s sooooooooooo yummy! It has 4 ingredients. That’s my kind of cooking.

And while I took many wonderful pictures of this batch of yumminess, I forgot to put my stupid memory card into my camera. Can we all say it at the same time? “Duh….” What a dumbass I am! Yep, wiping the drool off my chin right now.

Anyway, I procured a picture that’s similar to what this delicious concoction looks like when finished. Here it is. SLURP!

Pineapple Cherry Dump Cake

Just imagine a bit of pineapple at the bottom of the rest of the lip-smacking goodness and there you have it.

Okay, so time to go over and get the recipe.

Check it out HERE.

It’s also in my cookbook, Darn Good Eats, so if you have that, you have the recipe whenever you want it.

Enjoy!

Have a great weekend! Love you guys!

 

img credit: tammileetips.com

 

Mmmmmmmacaroni Salad Yumminess!

Hot damn! The lovely Bernadette from Rants from My Crazy Kitchen is posting 2 guest posts from me this week with some easy and delicious food you can make for Labor Day (for those of you in the US).

For the rest of you, it’s still dang good yum yums!

You may recognize her from both her awesome blog and she contributed 2 recipes to my cookbook Darn Good Eats.

Go check out the first recipe by clicking HERE.

Then later in the week she’ll post the dessert recipe.

HUGS!

Soooooooooooooo Sad

My little Tick Teddy has gone missing.

Tick teddy being eaten by crabs Ocean City, Maryland May 2013

Tick Teddy being ravaged by crabs in OC, Maryland. I always told him hanging out with a bad crowd would give him crabs!

The Hubby took him to San Diego for a business trip and he must have somehow got caught up in the bed linens and carted off.

Grant’s been in communication with the hotel every day for the last week and no one can find the little guy.

Any prayers you have that the hotel or their laundry service can find him would be so very appreciated.

Grant sending me Tick Teddy Love from Florida

The Tick sending Mommy love letters all the way from Florida.

I know I sound like a nut, but I’ve had that little guy for over 20 years and he is one of my very favorite critters.

He travels all over the country with both Grant and me and we are just so sad that no one can find him.

We even offered a reward to any hotel staff that can find him.

Please send critter-finding-vibes and prayers. My heart is just broken and the hubby is so sad.

Tick teddy loving the cannoli Ocean City, Maryland may 2013

I likes the cannoli! What can I say?

Thanks guys…

My Very Favorite Thing

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I would like to introduce you all to my favorite thing on earth (save for things that breathe).

Drum roll please….

(Yes, you can click below to hear an actual drum roll. Yes, because I’m a doofus!)

 

Pink Teddy

I LOVE MY PINK TEDDY!

Yeah, I know. I’m creative with my naming conventions. And, believe it or not, she used to be pink.

Now she’s more the color of dirt, sweat, dust mites and other things that you find in a bed. EWWWWW!!! Poor little Pink Teddy! She’s seen (and participated in) things much worse than Car Teddy.

The hubby tells me that the reason my skin has stayed so nice, even though I never wash my face or take off my makeup, is that all the mites run off her while we sleep, crawl up onto my face and eat off all the dirt and makeup. It’s like microdermabrasion via teddy bugs! Yep, I am so gross!

I’ve had my beloved Pink Teddy for about 36 years or so and have slept with her almost every single night of those close to 4 decades.

She’s been with me to the beach, to the lake, and all across the country. I remember running into one of my former bosses at the airport once and her head was sticking up out of my backpack. He was like, “WTF is that?” I figure he travels with his golf clubs. I travel with my Pink Teddy. I consider that a draw. ;)

Here she is with my sister and me on my first day of college in 1988!

Jodi Becky College 1988

She used to be soft and plush. Now…well…you can see for yourself.

I finally got her a little furry coat for a baby and put it on her to help protect her remaining fur. She’s shockingly not thread-bare yet, but she was getting close. Now she kinda looks like a gangster teddy. I love that about her.

I love so much about her really. Not only is she smushed in just the right way to fit into my chest perfectly as I sleep, but she’s seen me through every dark day I’ve ever had. And every wonderful one, too. I can look at her and see how over the years she, like me, has become a bit rough around the edges. She has plenty of scars to show she’s endured for a very long time and has seen a lot of things.

While you may shiver in slight horror over her rather beat up countenance, it’s one of the things I love so much about her. And I also think it’s one of the things that helps me understand that growing older and getting those rough edges is actually a wonderful thing.

I look at my precious teddy and I know we’ve been through a hell of a lot together, but we’ve both survived. She’s my little inspiration and I’m so happy that a million years ago my parents got her for me for Christmas. She was immediately my favorite and while I have hundreds of teddies that I love, she’s the one cuddled into me every night.

Thank the good Lord I’m a hell cat in bed or I don’t know if my men over the years would have taken so well to her intruding in the boudoir.  ;)