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

 

 

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

Why Was I Talking About Dipping Your Wick Into Places It Doesn’t Belong? Ah ha! The Answer At Last!

Hello, all my lovelies!

About a month ago I posted a poll on whether or not you guys thought it was a betrayal to seek sexual satisfaction from real, live people outside of your relationship via phone or computer.

A big thanks to all of you for your thoughtful responses and poll answering.

It was so hard for me not to spew my opinion all over the place when I wrote that post, but I didn’t want to sway anyone’s thoughts on the matter before they had a chance to comment or vote. Of course now, I’m nothin’ but sass mouth on the topic!! ;)

In case you’re wondering, I used the info from that poll to write my latest article for The Acquiring Man magazine.

If you voted or just wanna see the article, click HERE or on the pic below (dang, that chick is hot!).

acquiring man is it cheating

PS: there is one typo in the article that is repeated 4 times that is making my brain itch! But the editor is going to fix them. He added the line because it’s a great summary of the article–I should have included it myself, so I’m glad he added it in. But as you guys know, I can be a grammar nazi, so forgive the missing apostrophe for now. :)

Sucky Customer Service Reps Can KISS MY ASS!

So, I try to never leave the house.couch potato kitty I find staying at home keeps me happy and healthy and less stressed. Plus, if I go out then I have to put on makeup and brush my hair…it’s just so much to worry about. Okay, half-kidding here, but seriously, I’ve spent the majority of my life ripping and running about so it’s nice to be able to stay home a fair amount of the time. And today is a perfect example of why I like to remain on my sofa.

dye job

I got my hair dyed on Monday. While it looks pretty, it’s not what I wanted it to look like. So I got in my car and drove to Sally Beauty supply. It’s about a 15-20 minute drive, but I figured it was worth the extra time in the car during rush hour to get help from the experts.

Well…I coulda asked my cat Moopy and gotten more help.Moopy

I walked into the store and there wasn’t a soul to be seen. I could have robbed the place blind were I so inclined. I said, “Hello,” in a very nice voice and I got a, “Hey,” said back to me. And that was it. I still didn’t see a human anywhere.

So I said, “Can you please help me with some hair color?” She finally comes out of the back room and I explain what I’m looking for (which was a black hair dye with a blue undertone). She said, “I’ve never heard of that. Here use this.” And she hands me bright blue hair dye. I mean solid electric blue hair dye. So I explained I meant blue/black. (Every fuckin’ manufacturer in the world makes it.) She said, “Look, I’ve really got to get back to what I was doing,” and she walks away.

Moments later I hear her say into the phone, “Yeah baby. I’m back (insert grunt here). So, (insert gum smacking noise) what do you want for dinner?”

My head about popped the fuck off. Grumpy CatREALLY? REALLY? That’s what kept you from being even slightly friendly or helpful? You are seriously getting paid to essentially tell me to go fuck myself while you sit in the back room, smacking gum and chatting with your boyfriend about dinner? I wanted to go in there and rip her head off and then shove it up her ass. Alas, I just stuffed my pockets full of expensive make-up and left.

KIDDING!!!!! I’m the kind of person who gives money back to the store if they give me a dime too much in change. But I’m telling you, she wouldn’t have given a rat’s ass if I had. What a hideous employee.

Then, on to my next stop: TJMaxx.

I had to return 2 rings. So I get in the return line, wait for almost 10 minutes, get to the front and the very polite girl says, “Oh, you have to go to jewelry to return it.”

Okay, fine. Not her fault and she was nice, so I was polite, thanked her for the help and went to the jewelry department.

Where I wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Finally after about 8-9 minutes a girl comes up and asks if she can help. She was very nice and smiley, returned my rings with no problem. And when we were done returning she asked if I wanted to see something else. I told her I’d scoped out a few necklaces and rings I wanted to see and was ready to try them on.

About that time a girl walks up to the counter and the chick who’s helping me turns around and talks to her for about 5 minutes about her shoes. Happy feetNOT KIDDING at all. For fuck’s sake. Really? I’m sorry your feet aren’t happy. You poor thing. Mine aren’t very happy either standing here waiting on your rude ass.

Then she finished up her very important, “My feet are sore” conversation and I say, “Hi again, can I please try on a few of these rings?” At which point she turns around, walks to the other side of the counter and starts helping people who had just walked up that moment.

Yet again, WHAT THE FUCK????

Now, for those of you who don’t know me well, or only know me via my sass-mouthed blog, you may not know this, but I am polite to a fault. I mean ridiculously polite. I say excuse me when someone rams into me. I’m a please, thank you, you are welcome kind of person. I always say hi. I usually find a way to compliment someone when doing business because it’s nice to see a smile cross their face. So if you are thinking, “Well, maybe you should adjust your attitude, missy!” just know that I never have one in a store. I really am stupid friendly.

As such, I have no clue why people suck so much!!!! When I’ve worked with the public in the past I’ve done my very best to take care of their every need and make them feel respected and appreciated in the process. Is such an attitude unheard of anymore in customer service?

I’m constantly stunned by the lack of giving a shit so many people have about their jobs and the way the treat people while at them.

I don’t know about you, but I’m thankful every day that I have a job. And so I do my damnedest to do it to the very best of my ability, and 90% of the time with a smile on my face. (Trust me, sometimes it is SOOOO hard to keep my sass mouth at bay, but I do because I’m at work and it’s the professional thing to do.)

Might I make a plea to all customer service reps out there (and I’ve been one before, so don’t think I’m being all accusatory and talking out of my ass without understanding how hard of a job it can be): If you don’t like people or can’t fake that you like people–GET ANOTHER FUCKING JOB! There are plenty of jobs where you can sit in a cubicle and not deal with the public. Do that instead.

There is never any reason to be an asshat to someone, especially if they are being nice to you. I understand if someone is treating you like shit that it can be difficult to maintain your cool, but for the rest of us out there that are kind and treat customer service reps with the respect they deserve, can you please at least pretend to do your job?

For those of you who do that grinding job of dealing with the public and still manage to maintain your kindness…THANK YOU! I know it isn’t always easy, but people like me sure appreciate it. :)

That’s my rant o’the day!heat

Whew! That was exhausting!

Oh, and on top of everything my air conditioner died last night and it’s only 95 degrees this week. Ugh. Kill me! :)

I hope you guys have a good week.

Just Say No to dickheaded people. :)  Hugs!  :)

Mouthy Broad Alert!

Howdy!

Thank GOD it’s Fuckin’ Friday!!! I swear, my poor little noggin has processed more information this week than it knows what to do with. My brain sponge is full and leaking everywhere. I think I’ve lost memories all the way up to 6th grade.

Yes, that means I’ve forgotten the days when this was my outfit of choice:

Nothing But Trouble

 

So, since I’m now worthless and plan on doing nothing but staring at the TV while drooling (and possibly treating myself to chocolate chip pancakes) for the rest of the day, I thought I’d share that you can check out (read, LIVE BY, obey) my new article at Acquiring Man Magazine. (In case it’s not clear, click either “new article” or HERE to go read it. Yeah, I’m a smart ass…no two ways about it!)  ;)

Love you guys! I hope you all have a wonderful weekend full of chocolate, nookie, furry animals and more chocolate.

Wait…that’s what my weekend is going to look like.

May yours look equally awesome!

AND HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!!!

Mom’s kick ass!!

XOXOXOXOXO

Sassy, Slutty and Sentimental

…yep, that about sums it up!

Recently, I did a radio show that asked me to send in a few songs that I thought summed up my thoughts about life. I thought that was a cool idea as it can really help a person define themselves–to themselves.

It was actually quite hard to do because, well, I’m a lunatic as we all know. One day I’m mauling all of my teddy bears and playing house with them, and the next I’ve got on some slutty nurse outfit. I guess that’s the Gemini in me. To say I’ve got multiple personalities is the understatement of the year. ;)

Anyway, I thought I’d share my songs with you. I bought them so hopefully I’m not violating some freaking obscure copyright law by posting them here.

I hope you enjoy them!

Songs for:

When I feel trampy:

 

When I feel like life is just about as awesome as it can get:

 

When I feel like shaking my ass (when no one is home and all the blinds are drawn–eee gawds!):

 

When I feel like kicking EVERYONE’s ass from here to hell and back…then hitting them about the head and shoulders with a hammer…then disemboweling them…then setting them on fire and humping on their ashes:

 

When I wanna sing and dance in my car to the horror of others:

 

Okay, I could go on and on and on, alas, I’m cutting myself off here! :)

Now, I’m gonna say something that sounds all shrinky and shit, but it’s not a bad idea…if life isn’t exactly how you want it to be, find your own songs. Sometimes, hearing how you feel articulated by others can help clarify things for you. I know…that seems kinda silly, but it can work. If your “theme song” is “I wish someone would fuckin’ kill me”…well…that can give you clarity. ;)

I’m off to make spaghetti sauce. YUM!!!!! Yeah, cooking usually sucks, but this is one dish I can make like a mo fo. Plus, the hubby is cutting up all the onions, garlic and green pepper–so really, all I have to do is dump everything into a pot. Ahhh…the good life.

XOXO

 

 

Horrified in the Fry’s Parking Lot!

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Be prepared for 2 things:

  1. My shortest blog post ever!
  2. To be grossed out beyond belief.

While driving out of the grocery store parking lot I stopped to let a woman cross the street and go into the store. Innocuous so far, right?

Well…Oh, the horror of it all!

She was pushing the cart with her belly while picking her nose with one hand and BRUSHING HER TEETH WITH THE OTHER!

What.

The.

Fuck.

I could die tonight and have seen it all. ALL!

Total insanity.

Granted, I’m a visual atrocity fairly often. I go to Starbucks in my pajamas and with no makeup. But someone kill me if I ever walk around with one finger in my nose and the other working a toothbrush.

I don’t even know how she did it. Isn’t it like rubbing your belly and patting your head. Good grief! ;)

Starting Diet. Wanna Die.

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Okay, I don’t actually want to die. But I do want to ask God why chocolate, pizza and french fries can’t have the nutritional value of broccoli? WHY GOD? WHY? It’s just so unfair!!!!pizza frenchfries

In reality, I rarely eat any of that. I bet I have pizza once every 2 months or so. French fries every 3 months or so. Chocolate…well…more than that, but only dark chocolate and only in very small doses.

The big problem is that I’ve had thyroid issues for 25 years and hideous, horrible, ungodly, spend-a-zillion-years-at-the-doctor’s-office cortisol problems for almost 20. I’ve had cortisol problems for so long that when I was first diagnosed no one had ever heard of it. They’d say, “Do you mean cortisone, honey? (like I’m an idiot)” I’d say, “No, cortisol. Your fight or flight hormone??” “What’s that?” they’d say. It used to drive me crazy. And trust me, being in a constant state of fight or flight is a delightful way to live. NOT! ;) (Oh, and the people asking for the cortisol/cortisone clarification were DOCTORS! I don’t expect us regular people to know what it is…but doctors? WTF?)

The way the cortisol stuff all started, almost 20 years ago, is that I went from a lithe 140 pounds to 180 in a month. I kid you not. It was horrible! I didn’t know what the fuck was going on.  I had black stretch marks all over me. I was barely eating. It was a nightmare.

So off to the endocrinologist I went. They tested me for everything. I had to pee in a jug for 24 hours. I had to be drained of blood every few hours for an entire day. I had to do spit tests. I was told that I had Cushing’s Disease. Addison’s Disease. I got over 12 MRIs and CAT scans. I was put on every drug known to mankind. I was told I had a brain tumor. An adrenal tumor.  Which, by the way, I still get MRIs every few years to locate as my doctors think it’s a sneaky micro-tumor hiding somewhere in my adrenals or pituitary. Basically, it’s been a clusterfuck forever.

I’m severely hypothyroid with a TSH of 16 (if you know about TSH you know that’s 4-to-5 times the highest it should be depending on what scale the doc uses) and a T4 and T3 that are a nightmare too. But no drugs work. Oh, and I’m hot all the time, which is the exact opposite of what a hypothyroid person should be.  I have a ton of other nonsensical symptoms that are completely and utterly adverse to my blood work. It’s so fucking frustrating I could scream.

I’ve had endos fire me as their patient before. Yep, you heard me. FIRED by my doctor. The lazy ones get tired of not being able to fix me. They get frustrated by my weird symptoms and apparent resistance to all medication and give up. Lovely right? Anyone ever heard of the Hippocratic oath? Hello?

I even had a doctor accuse me of being a raging alcoholic as that can cause elevated cortisol. Fuck me runnin’. I bet I have 2 glasses of wine a year, if that.

Anyway, this blog could be a zillion pages long as it’s been a total and complete nightmare for over 2 decades, but to save you time I’ll cut it short.

What’s going on is that my weight varies depending on my cortisol which goes up and down like a yo yo. I literally have 6 different clothing sizes in my wardrobe as my weight fluctuates so much. Holy shitcakes is that annoying!

Unfortunately, there’s nothing they can do about my cortisol. It is what it is. Until they can find a reason for it, I just live in kind of a tough physical state, and quite frankly, a sometimes very frustrating and exhausting emotional one too. Oh, and the thyroid doesn’t help. So I basically spend my life going up and down in weight. Sometimes skinny to the point where people tell me I look drawn and sickly. Sometimes a little curvier than I’d like (but I still like having T&A for days even when I am a wee bit on the heavier side). Think Baby Got Back by Sir Mix-A-Lot. “Little in the middle but she’s got much back.” ;)

Preach on, brother!

So, I’m going to do Atkins. Any diet that lets you eat bacon seems counter-intuitive to me, but I do understand the science of protein, so I’m gonna give it a try.

Anyone done it before? Anyone have any suggestions? Helpful hints? Ways of killing myself that won’t leave a mess? KIDDING on that last part…sort of.

Oh, one last thing, with the cortisol I’ve been told by all my endos that I can’t get my heart rate up as doing so raises cortisol levels, so essentially fuck exercise. Yeah, cause that makes everything so much easier. Ugh!

Feel free to send me good luck vibes (and prayers–I happily take prayers) and let me know if you’ve been successful with Atkins. I usually just eat healthy, unprocessed food, but right now my body is in rebellion, so a girl’s gotta do somethin’! :)

XOXOXOX

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! :)

What the Shit is This?

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Dear Cracker Jack people,

You can suck it!

What kind of rip off, jacked up “prize” is this?

Cracker Jack 1Cracker Jack 2

I’ll tell ya, it’s a shit prize. No. It’s not a prize. It’s a turd in a box of cheap popcorn with nuts so hard if you bite on them you’ll break your teeth.

Are you seriously telling me that your gift to me is an explanation I can get on Wikipedia? WHERE’S MY DIAMOND RING OR ACTION FIGURE OR TATTOO!?

I want my money back. I want my childhood dreams of finding a diamond ring in the box back. I want the Cracker Jacks makers to be shamed for their cheapness.

Cracker Jacks Ring

Back in the day there were few things more exciting then when Mom would surprise you with a box of Cracker Jacks and you couldn’t wait to get to the bottom for that awesome prize that you’d cherish until your sister stole it or you lost it or Mom sucked it up in the vacuum.

Now? I wouldn’t wipe my hamster’s butt with your “prize.”

Shame! Cracker Jack makers. Shame! Have some pride in your product please.

Yours truly,

Jodi

(Now a full and complete Poppycock lover! (Heh heh…she said cock.))  :)