Category Archives: Rants

May 17 2013

Mmmmmm…food…

Howdy everyone! I’m so thankful it’s Friday I could weep like a sad kitten! sad kitten

Since it is hot as friggin’ hell out here in Arizona (someone kill me) I thought since I’m staying inside (never to leave the house again until November) that I’d do two things.

  1. Give you a lip-smacking, damn good recipe from my cookbook.
  2. Give you a link to vote for Rants From My Crazy Kitchen as being one of the top 25 Foodie Moms. You’ll remember her not only from her awesome blog, but she contributed two delicious recipes to the cookbook. Yummy drool drool! Click HERE to vote for her and her awesome blog. I’m sure she will be very thankful you took the time. :)

RECIPE TIME!!!

Okay, so you guys know that I’m a cookbook writer that HATES HATES HATES to cook. Yeah, I know. I’m a whacko. Anyway, I’m going to give you a recipe for one of THE BEST desserts you can ever make and I kid you not, a blind hamster could make it–it’s THAT easy! It’s the perfect cake to take to a BBQ. It’s the perfect cake to take to bed and eat with your hands until you pass out (at least you are already laying down–less likely to get injured).

This recipe is good for a few reasons:

  1. It’s cheap to make.
  2. It’s easy as hell to make and takes about 4 minutes to throw together.
  3. I’ve never met anyone who didn’t want a second helping.
  4. I’ve never met anyone who didn’t want a third helping.

I’m going to give you the recipe straight from the book, little story and all (each recipe has its own story because I talk too damn much!). :) I hope you love it! Oh, and GO VOTE for Rants!! She’s awesome and I’d love to see her make it into the top 25 Foodie Moms again this year. :)

Dump Cake

Let me say that on their own, I don’t like many of the ingredients in this cake. The first time my mom made it and handed me a piece I thought to myself, “GROSS! Cherries and pineapple? Vomit. Must. Keep. Smile. On. Face. While. Gagging.” Then I took a bite. Then I took another. Then I took 20 more and ended up eating 3 pieces of it. Somehow, all the flavors come together into this conglomeration of co-mingled delights in a way that I never would have expected. Of course, anything with a stick and a half of butter is bound to be delicious. Besides which, it truly is the single most easy homemade cake you will ever make. Ever. Period.

Below is Mom’s recipe from 1978. Thank goodness that she saves everything. I sure know who I get my pack rat tendencies from.

 dump cake

The list of yum yums:

  • One 18- to 20-ounce can of cherry pie filling—the extra cherry kind if possible
  • 1 – 1½ sticks of butter
  • One 20-ounce can of un-drained pineapple rings
  • 1 box of yellow cake mix

 Dumping it all together:

  1. Preheat the oven to 350 °F.
  2. Butter the bottom and sides of a 9×13 glass dish.
  3. Place a single layer of pineapple rings on the bottom of the dish and pour the juice over the pineapple.
  4. Pour the can of cherry pie filling on top of the pineapple and spread so the cherries are distributed evenly.
  5. Pour the dry yellow cake mix over the pineapple and cherries and level it out. Don’t mash the cake mix, just gently level it out and make sure it’s evenly dispersed.
  6. The take a stick or stick and a half of butter, slice it into 1/8-inch thick slices and put it over the entire cake top about an inch apart.
  7. Bake at 350 °F for about an hour or until the top is crispy brown.

I can’t even begin to describe how tasty this cake is. And seriously, have you ever read an easier cake recipe? It’s even easier than boxed cake. I would serve this cake to a chef. A president. A Nobel Prize winner. There is no shame in serving this cake to anyone and everyone. It may have taken you 3 minutes to make it, but no one would ever guess that in a million years. It is absolutely fantastic.

Enjoy everyone! Have a fantastic weekend! :) Luv ya!

May 5 2013

I Gots Me the Buzz Muff! Don’t read this. No one should read this. You’ve been warned.

Well, well, well…I can’t believe how many of my early readers emailed me and suggested that I post this again. You guys are just too adorable and I really appreciate that you took the time to email me. :) I guess my horrifying childhood memory post spawned a desire to reread some of my very early, new-to-blogging posts. As I live to please, I thought I’d go ahead and post it. It is truly awful though, so honest to God, no one should read this. You’ve been warned twice!! :)

So, what is the Buzz Muff you ask?The Buzz Muff

Lemme tell you a little story…

I used to have to travel for work all the time. I was the consummate Road Warrior! I had 2 sets of makeup. 2 curling irons. 2 of everything so I could just grab a suitcase and go. About 2 years ago I was traveling back and forth to Florida every week for about 8 weeks. Kill me. That is a LONG ASS flight, especially in coach. Total suck. For those of you who’ve spent a lot of time in a plane, you know that when you unfold yourself out of those teeny tiny, made for 90 pound 4 foot tall people seats, that your body sometimes rebels. This is such a story.

Having finally arrived in the ungodly miserable heat and humidity (my damn glasses always fog up the second I walk outside and I’m essentially blind for 45 seconds) I head to the car rental place. It was right at the terminal, so not a bad walk. While standing there I all of a sudden felt this “buzz” in my nether regions. WTF??? What the hell was that?? Is my phone in my pocket? 10 seconds later: BUZZ!! 10 seconds after that: BUZZ. What on earth??!!!  Maybe it’s some vibration coming up through the floor since we are still at the airport. Maybe the close flying planes cause the floor to blah blah blah. I had NO clue what the hell was causing it. I was looking for any excuse to grab on to as I’d never before had the Buzz Muff.

I get my rental (BUZZ) car. Put my luggage in (BUZZ) the trunk. Start driving to (BUZZ) the hotel. Now I realize that I cannot blame this on any kind of floor vibration climbing up my leg and landing in my, ummm…girl parts. And while some of you out there may be thinking, “HOW AWESOME!!! It must be like having a “personal massager” on demand every 10 seconds,” let me assure you: NOT FUN! Especially when you don’t know what in the hell is causing it. My brain is thinking: Spinal injury; caught some ungodly worm or mite from the bathroom in the plane; my muff is going to fall off; clearly I’m dying and this is the first throe of death. It was funny and horrifying all at the same time.

Eventually, I find my hotel, get (BUZZ) checked in and unpacked. I call the hubby and say, “Ummm…honey. I gots me the Buzz Muff.” He was like, “What in the hell are you talking about (while laughing his ass off–I still owe him a small stick in the kidney with an ice pick for laughing so hard!). I try to explain to him my muff insanity, but it was hard to explain! All I could relate it to was the time I was swapping out a regular outlet for a GFCI outlet and turned off the wrong breaker. I got a hell of a shock with that and that is exactly how this felt.

So, on to the next day where I have to train a handful of teachers from 7:30am-4:00pm and then another group from 4:30pm-8:30pm (my bosses are clearly child labor enthusiasts!). This is to be my schedule for the next 3 days. And right on time, every ten seconds, BUZZ! Can I even begin to express to you how incredibly difficult it is to train 30 teachers how to use computers in the classroom while BUZZ is happening with every 5th word I utter???

On day two I called my gyno and said to her, as she is awesome, “What in the fuck is wrong with my coochie??? I’m going to tear it off and throw it in the ocean if it doesn’t stop!” She too cracked up laughing! Bitch. ;) She came up with many scenarios including this one which is my favorite: “Well…could it be that…ummm…could Grant have, you know, left something in there by accident?” OH MY GOD!!! That made ME die laughing. No. That is not what happened. She told me that happens all the time. She told me this right as I was taking a long drink of coffee and I spit it everywhere!! How does one “forget” an object like that in a place like that??? Good Lord have mercy. Alas, she has no answer for me. Dammit!

On day three I called my boss. I said to her, “I don’t think I can finish this training. I gots me the Buzz Muff.” Yep, you can guess her response. And yes, I told my BOSS that. Why not? We’re all chicks. She told me that if I needed to come home early that she’d understand. Of course, her being so understanding made me stay and finish out the week because I didn’t want to let her down.

On day four I finally get to go home. I’ve gotten NO sleep. The thought of “returning from a business trip” sex makes me wanna puke. I’m quite certain I’m dying of some hideous nerve cancer or some other horror. But I persist and get on the plane. I fold myself into my 2 square feet of space, take 2 sleeping pills and pass out. There was NO way I’d have made it on the plane for 6 hours with the Buzz Muff hounding me without tearing open the emergency exit and jumping to my delightful and wished-for death.

We finally land. I stand up to stretch and while doing so I feel no buzzing. NONE! Where’d the Buzz Muff go? I say out loud, “THANK YA JESUS!” The lady next to me says, “Yeah, thank God that flight is over.” Pretending that was what I was talking about I concurred and then stood there reveling in the fact that my muff had returned to its previously happy state of well-being.

The following week I went to the doc and he told me (through not-so-veiled giggles) that while he had NEVER, EVER heard of the Buzz Muff  that I must have pinched a nerve on the plane on the way to Florida and unpinched it on the plane back. It was his only solution to my ever-curious girlie parts.

Since then, everyone at work either called me Buzz/Buzzy or would walk by and make a buzzing noise. I guess word travels fast when it’s one’s who-ha in crisis! ;) I don’t even work there anymore and some of my old coworkers STILL call me that. Never dull…nope, life is never dull.

If any of you have suffered the Buzz Muff or are doctors and would like to share with me your theories, please feel free. It is still the Great Unknown Muff Adventure and a little insight would be awesome. :)

Apr 17 2013

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

Apr 3 2013

In Honor of my Funny, Smart, Beautiful and Supportive Sister

So last night I’m having a nervous breakdown. The kind that comes once every 10 years or so. To say that I was apoplectic would be an understatement. This is how I felt: bill the cat 2

I was laying in bed, feet twitching, hands twitching, left eye twitching (but luckily no muff twitching–recall the buzz muff anyone?) I had my Kindle in my hand and was jumping back and forth between a book, a word search app, Sudoku and a game called Paplinko (think Plinko on the Price is Right). I couldn’t focus on anything for more than a few minutes and I realized that if I didn’t let off a little steam (by that I mean FREAK THE FUCK OUT) that I was going to go nuts. It was to the point where I was thinking to myself, “Do I take my sleeping pill now so that I can just go into a coma for the next 8 hours or do I try and stay up as late as possible because taking the sleeping pill only makes tomorrow come that much faster?” That is me at my most stressed.

Even though it was 2 hours later in the state where my sister lives, meaning it was after 1:00 am, I texted her and asked if she was by any chance awake. She was! Yay! And not only was she awake, she was bright eyed and bushy tailed. Truly a gift from God. Had she been asleep I don’t know what I would have done.

So, I went out to my car and screamed and cried (soooooo not like me!!) for over an hour on the phone with my sister. I used a combination of 4-letter words that would shock the fangs off a snake. What did my precious little sister do? She made me laugh. It was wonderful. She showed just the right amount of quiet support, outrage, humor and understanding…it was just what this girl needed.  I can’t even remember the last time I cried on her shoulder. Probably 25 years ago. But there she was, helping me out long distance and doing what no one else could–getting me. She gets me. I have friends who “get me”. My hubby does amazingly well. But there is something about a sister that gets you in a way no one else can that is so reassuring. For that, and for her, I am incredibly thankful. I sincerely don’t know what I would have done without her last night. She was my Wonder Woman and an otter all wrapped up into one incredible woman. To say I am truly blessed would be the greatest of understatements.

Now, my dear friends, there is no need to worry. I’ll be fine, everything will work out, it’s just a temporary thing. But I felt the need to let the world know that I am so deeply grateful to have a sister who was there for me in the middle of the night. She offered to fly out here. She offered to have me fly out and stay with her. She did and said everything right.

Thank you so much, sweet Beck-a-boo, for loving me and for being the best sister anyone could ever want. I love you so much and am so glad I have you.

And just so the rest of you can see this fantastic woman who is my Sissy, here are a few pics of her and me (I’m 99% positive that shouldn’t be “she and I”) from over the years. See how lucky I am?

So sweet that she was giving me my favorite pacifier rather than smothering me with a pillow!

So sweet that she was giving me my favorite pacifier rather than smothering me with a pillow!

Jodi and Becky

She’s looked the same since birth. What a pretty little face. :)

Jodi and Becky Big Boobs

Who knew we could foresee the future at such a tender age?

We ain't 'fraid of no snakes!

We ain’t ‘fraid of no snakes!

Me attacking her when I opened her Christmas present where she gave me the money to cover my pet deposit--allowing me to get my very first kitties!

Me attacking her when I opened her Christmas present where she gave me the money to cover my pet deposit–allowing me to get my very first kitties!

Happy Christmas Campers last year.

Happy Christmas Campers last year.

Isn’t she just lovely?  I Love My Schmeckers!!

Apr 2 2013

In times of trouble I fantasize…

…about otters.

Okay, and other things too.

Every once and a while I have to do a post which doesn’t get down to brass tacks. It is not easy for me to do that. It about kills me. But I’m going to give it a go here. I’m going to put my solution to an anonymous problem here instead of ranting about the problem itself.

When I want to kill myself or others with a hammer, cheese grater, potato peeler or other hideous implement of death (for whatever reason) these are the things I think about in an attempt to keep sane:

  1. Otters. Yep, always at the top of my list.
  2. The fact that I have all 10 fingers and type pretty darn fast (though my keyboard has 2 keys which you really have to press hard on: S and Shift. Drives me CRAZY as it gives me unwarranted typos sometimes and you know how I am about my own typos!!

    Mom shoulda known if I was dressing like this at 11, then I was going to be NOTHING BUT TROUBLE once I hit puberty!!

    Mom shoulda known if I was dressing like this at 11, then I was going to be NOTHING BUT TROUBLE once I hit puberty!!

  3. I still have a wonderful mommy who loves me and has never judged me once in life (even when I used to dress like a total hooker in high school–but I was a good girl, I promise).
  4. I have a precious hubby who cherishes me and is kind every single day to me (no disclaimers on this one!).
  5. I have a wonderful sister who will listen to me bitch and whine and cuss like a truck stop whore without complaint (God bless her!)
  6. I have amazing blog buddies that always make me smile (especially when you cuss a lot for no reason–giggle giggle).
  7. I have loyal and loving friends who put up with my occasionally hibernating ass without complaint.
  8. I have billions of teddy bears that I have a tremendous amount of fun playing with (yeah, I bonkers…I know).
  9. I can always pop a sleeping pill and venture off into LaLa Land (I do NOT recommend this and am really about 98% joking…okay, 97%).
  10. I can go wander around Walgreens. I don’t know why I love doing this. It’s not like the stock changes. I just love to wander the aisles of Walgreens. Yep, I’m a doofus.
  11. Overall, I’ve had a dang good life. There has been tons of heartache and pain, but God has blessed me with the ability to bounce back, and for that I’m eternally grateful.
  12. I could have been born with two noses.
  13. And the all-time best thing my mom ever taught me: This too shall pass.

There are about 100 more items I could put on this list, but my laptop is literally sitting on my lap and is 4000 degrees and catching my muff on fire. Since I don’t want firebush, I’m going to have to stop my list at lucky 13.

HUGS!!!

Mar 19 2013

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!!) ;)

Mar 4 2013

In Honor of a No Profanity Law, I Hereby Declare Myself a Soon-to-be-Jailbird Mo Fo

So, I’m watching a show called Beyond Scared Straight (I know…I know…feel free to judge) and the youth offenders in this episode are particularly foul mouthed. Towards the end of the show one of the prison guards informs the mouthy young ladies that public cussing in that state is punishable by a fine of $1,092.50 or 30 days in jail.  WHAT IN THE HOLY HELL???? I’d be spending the rest of my life in lock up if that was the case here in AZ.  After hearing this crazy statement, I had to look it up and alas, it’s true! I’m removing the name of the state from the bill amendment because I’m quite fond of this state and its inhabitants and don’t want anyone to think I’m saying anything bad about it. After all, all states have crazy laws, but usually they are left over from the 1950s and no one has taken the time to remove them. This one about public cussing is from the last few years. Shocking!

Before I share the bill with you, you know I always like to point the finger at myself first, or in this case at my own state. So here are some insanely whackadoo laws in AZ and my thoughts on them.

  1. Donkeys can not sleep in bathtubs. (Well, shit. I guess there’s enough room in the bed. Donkey show, anyone?)
  2. It is illegal to manufacture imitation cocaine. (Ummm…wha? What is considered imitation coke? Baby powder? If so, Johnson & Johnson is fucked.)
  3. It is unlawful to refuse a person a glass of water. (This has to be because we live in Satan’s backyard. I have my damn A/C on right now it’s so warm. But seriously??? Illegal? What if I want the person to die from dehydration?)
  4. No more than six girls may live in any house. (Sorry guys. There go all of your college girl pillow fight fantasies.)
  5. You may not have more than two dildos in a house. (Well, if there are 5 girls living in a house, since 6 is illegal, I’d say this limit of 2 fake-man-junk-devices is being violated every moment of every day by every household across the state.)
  6. Women may not wear pants. (Okay guys, you may not be able to have 6 chicks in nighties wrestling around on a bed in AZ lest they face prison time, but you can rest assured that the 5 that do live together and wrestle playfully will be naked from the waist down!)

Yep, I’m pretty sure I’ve now heard it all. Well, except for the fairly new cussing law.

Here’s the bill:

“TO AMEND THE CODE OF LAWS OF SOME UNNAMED STATE 1976, BY ADDING SECTION 16-15-370 SO AS TO MAKE IT UNLAWFUL TO COMMUNICATE PROFANITY IN A PUBLIC FORUM OR PLACE OF PUBLIC ACCOMMODATION.

Be it enacted by the General Assembly of the State of Unnamed State:

SECTION    1.    Article 3, Chapter 15, Title 16 of the 1976 Code is amended by adding:

“Section 16-15-370.    (A)    It is unlawful for a person in a public forum or place of public accommodation wilfully (yes, they spelled willfully wrong in a legal bill!!) and knowingly to publish orally or in writing, exhibit, or otherwise make available material containing words, language, or actions of a profane, vulgar, lewd, lascivious, or indecent nature.

(B)    A person who violates the provisions of this section is guilty of a felony and, upon conviction, must be fined not more than five thousand dollars or imprisoned not more than five years, or both.”

Holy cow! I’m just stunned. Can anyone say First Amendment? Now, granted, I don’t think it’s appropriate to go into a nursery school and make it your goal to teach all the 3 year olds how to say, “You fucking cow.” But, c’mon…really?

So, this law that I just learned about prompted me to write a post that I’d been contemplating for the last few days (which I’ll include here). I wasn’t sure whether or not to write it because it just seemed like such a gratuitous use of bad language (not written by me, but stolen from a TV show) and you guys are always so tolerant that I didn’t want to seem like I’d gone off the deep end. But now I feel it is my duty to share with you the wonderfully horrible and foul scene from a TV show the hubby and I just recently watched.

The show is an HBO show called The Wire. It’s a cop drama set it Baltimore (where I went to college) and so far I’m enjoying it. One of the things about it being an HBO show is that there is no language filter like you’d find on Network TV. I commented to Grant how I’m quite sure they use the “f” word even more often than I and he giggled and said that wasn’t possible. ;)

Then along comes episode 4 and for one of the first times in recorded history my jaw dropped to the floor from the sheer, unadulterated, intentional use of cussing written to clearly make a statement about censorship. Apparently, when the show first began airing it received some flack for the copious amount of “fucks” thrown into the dialog and the producers in return decided to stick it to the language dissenters. When we saw this almost 5 minute scene in the show we both about died laughing as it is so clearly the producers flipping the bird to anyone who doesn’t approve. Prepare yourselves. It truly is shocking.

Let me set the stage. Two cops go to a crime scene that had been poorly processed by the first team of cops. They are now checking it out for themselves and are more than shocked by what they find. Before you click “Play” know that this is not a scene for those with delicate ears or for those easily offended (of course, you wouldn’t be reading my blog if either of those things were true!). :) Also, there are a few crime scene photos which quickly show boobs. I’m not one to post things with nudity, but the pics are as far from sexual as they can possibly be. Consider yourself warned as this clip is not for the faint at heart–though the hubby and I laughed our asses off after about one minute when we realized that the entire scene contained only 2 words but lasts almost 5 minutes. Enjoy the insanity! :) :) :)

Feb 5 2013

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! ;)

Feb 3 2013

THESE ARE NOT WORDS, &*%*&#^!!!!!!

   .

First and foremost let me say that I make up words all the time and/or use words incorrectly (usually on purpose though). If the King’s English doesn’t give me the word I want then I’ll create my own.

For example: Flarmp. That’s not a word, but I bet it gets used in my house at least 10 times a week. To the hubby and me, the word Flarmp means the act of a kitty just dropping and rolling in a very deliberate way and usually next to our legs in order to smush against us to get love. There is also the Force Flarmp where WE Flarmp the kitty so that we can give it love. I don’t even know how we came up with the word–it just seemed to fit the act of kitty love dropping.

Also, I make up words in my blog sometimes. Yesterday, I used the word “smartassedness” in a comment. I even mentioned how it wasn’t a word, but it just fit perfectly in the sentence so I used it anyway.

But, there are certain words roaming around out there in the public that are either not words or are words being used incorrectly that make me wanna pull my hair out when I hear them.

Now, please believe me that I’m not trying to be a douche bag here. If any of you use these words, please know that I’m not trying to be a meanie. I’m just putting out there that maybe using words correctly and/or correctly pronouncing words may be beneficial. Especially if you are in a job interview or some other important situation–you want people to know how wonderful and smart you are without getting hung up on the little things that didn’t come out quite right (as people tend to do).

In order to let you know that I am sincerely not trying to be mean, let me share with you a few of my colossal word fuck ups. And just so you know, I’m well aware that I probably have a ton of grammatical errors, punctuation mishaps and stupid word choice issues in this very post, so know that I cast the first stone at myself! Lord knows I screw up all the time! :)

  1. Exorbitant: I always said it as “exorbiNant” and thank God someone finally corrected me.
  2. Veranda: Which is a font but not a font anyone knows because it’s actually “VerDaNa.” I’ve been weirdly dyslexic for oh about 20 years with the name of that damn font and NO ONE ever corrected me! I’ve just sounded like an idiot for 20 years. Ugh. I’m incredibly thankful a coworker corrected me the other day. I felt like such a doofus, but at least I’ll say the word correctly from now on.
  3. Purview: For some reason I got it stuck in my head that “purview” and “view” could be used interchangeably. Had you asked me if they meant the same thing I’d have said no and told you why. But for some reason the “come up with words quickly” part of my brain told my mouth to say “purview” before I had time to stop the “pur”. No clue why. I think I may have beaten that outta my head at this point–hopefully. (See, I’m pretty sure I used the word “hopefully” incorrectly.)
  4. Sammich: I know it’s sandwich, but my grandma used to say “sammich” when she was being playful and so when I say/write it that way it reminds me of her.
  5. Good vs. well: I intentionally use these incorrectly sometimes if I’m trying to put across a certain emotion. For example, if someone asks me how my day is going and it has been the day from hell, I’ll sometimes say in specific tone of voice, “Good, good…how’s yours?” If I said, “Well, well…how’s yours?” it would just sound weird.

Okay, now here’s the list of words/non-words that drives me insane:

  1. Boughten: No one has ever “boughten” anything. Ever. Period. You either buy something or you have bought something. You have never boughten anything in your life.
  2. Anyways: There is NO “s” on the end of that word. I used to say it with an “s” also and my mom harped on me EVERY DAMN TIME it came out of my mouth incorrectly. I am soooo (another incorrectly used word of mine as “so” only has one “o”) thankful she did. I want to do the same thing every time I hear someone else do it, but I don’t as I’m sure that is a justifiable cause for murdering me.
  3. ConversAted. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! You conversed with someone. You had a conversation with them. You are conversing with them. You have never conversAted anyone, anywhere.
  4. Medium: Wait, that is a word. But it is NOT a substitute for the word “median” and when I hear traffic people say that there is a car up on the medium so traffic on Scottsdale Road is slow I immediately want to find their helicopter and blow it up. It’s bad enough if we normal people use it incorrectly, but your JOB as a traffic person is to know words that relate to traffic and roads. Median is a pretty important part of road construction, so please use that word from now so that you don’t sound like a complete moron.
  5. HeightH: I understand that it’s “widtH”, breadtH” and “lenghtH” but it is not “heightH”. There is no H on the end of “height”, only a T. So quit it with the TH sound. Please?
  6. Supposebly: It’s “supposedly.” Just say it correctly from now on, please.
  7. Expresso: Is there an X in espresso? No. I didn’t think so.
  8. Probly: IT’S “PROBABLY” DAMMIT ALL TO HELL!!!!
  9. Axed, warshed, wrassaled, greazy and pissa: I totally understand that these word pronunciations are dialect-driven. My mom is southern and says things like “Geminee” for “Gemini” and though the “ee” pronunciation is the 2nd way to say it as listed in the dictionary, it still makes me go insane especially since I am a Gemini. My step-father of a few years came from somewhere where pizza was pronounced “pissa” and greasy was pronounced “greazy” and I’d want to scream every time I heard him say either word. So, in these cases I totally get that it’s dialect-driven and probably what someone grew up hearing so it seems completely normal to them…but can we please break the cycle of word-abuse? Please?
  10. Cra-cra: Okay, the word “crazy” has 2 syllables. So does the un-word “cra-cra.” So, can we please just go back to crazy? I’ll give you a dollar. ;)

Last year I did a post on words like: ginormous, trending, wheelhouse and other annoying as fuck words, so I won’t repeat them here, but please stop using those too. They are simply horrible.

I think from now on I’m going to make this face when I hear any of the above words being used. In an effort to NEVER see this disturbing face again, maybe people will stop using them? Maybe? Please God…

Jodi Crazyface

And, just so you know, I’m aware that a language needs to change or it will die–just like a shark needs to keep swimming or it will become fish food. We need to keep adding to our language or it will go the way of Latin. But can we at least use common sense and a wee bit of caution before we bastardize it to the point of being unrecognizable? I just cannot hear this anymore, “Me and him were conversating about trying a expresso and new that it would probly taste badly, but we boughten it anyways.” Pardon me for a moment, I’m going to go hang myself.

 

PS: for those of you in the United States–GO RAVENS!!! (I’m actually a Redskins chick, but if it can’t be them then I hope B’more kicks some ass! :)

Jan 31 2013

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!!! ;)