I have officially seen it all. Good grief.

Okay, so those of you who know me know that as far a I’m concerned, women never have to “use the bathroom” for anything besides powdering their noses.

I don’t like bathroom talk.

If I could, I’d pretend bathrooms don’t exist.

I don’t wanna know what goes on it one, why I shouldn’t “go in there for 20 minutes” or anything else related to bathroom things. It’s just gross.

Otters

In Heaven I WILL ROLL AROUND WITH OTTERS!!!

You guys have heard me before say that my idea of heaven is that when I die God will let me play with a truckload of non-pooping otters. It’s not heaven if they poop on you.puking dog

So, needless to say when I saw the latest Cottonelle ad I almost threw up in my mouth, out of my mouth, on to the cats and all over the floor.

Seriously, don’t we all know the purpose of toilet paper?

I kinda wanna kill her. ;)

I kinda wanna kill her. ;)

Do we really need a commercial where a girl in white pants, who has clearly snorted too much blow, asks a man if he thinks this new TP  is so good that he can go commando? (Cause there are just so many new fangled things one can do to TP to make it tons better—ugh, idiots.) And I love that they picked someone with a delightfully cheery British accent…does that somehow make it more proper to discuss your bowels and what they do?? Good Lord…

Anyway, apparently, rippled TP is the first and only difference between having a poopy butt and not having one. Does this mean we’ve all walked around nasty our entire lives until this particular TP? Yay! Saved by new TP! Now I can have a friend or two because I’m not basking in my own glorious filth all day, every day.

While I am loathe to give this gross and disgusting company any publicity, click on Miss Poo’s jolly face to watch the revolting video where, when you get down to it, she’s asking strangers, “Can you wipe your ass well enough to not get filth all over the inside of your pants?” I mean, c’mon people? Really? Is NOTHING SACRED ANYMORE!!!???? Must we talk about mookie stinks making a permanent home on your panties in such graphic and disgusting detail on television???

So, here’s what I vote for.

Below is the kind of TP ad I wanna see (though I’d rather see none at all!).

The TV screen would be all white with a still shot of a roll of pristine TP (and maybe an otter or two) and it would have a voiceover that read:

Hi.

This TP is not made of razor blades.

This TP will not cause you to bleed, get herpes or go insane.

Use it like you’ve been using TP for decades and it’ll do about the same thing that all others do.

Oh, it’s a little softer, if you like that kind of thing.

Now, go back to your happy life and forget I’ve just spent 15 seconds talking about your ass and its relationship with TP.

Thank you and good night.

That’s all I need to know, dammit!

I need nothing more than that and I’m good.

So can we please just say no to these kinds of ads?

Plus, I’m a Charmin girl anyway.

I had an 11th grade student of mine 100 years ago when I taught high school write a poem about me and my butt being squeezable like Charmin*. Lordy, those kids were wonderfully inappropriate. Anyway, I’ve been a Charmin girl ever since cause it still makes me giggle.

Okay, no more butt talk. I’m out.

*Click here to hear Mr. Whipple yet at women for squeezing the Charmin. ;)

And the past returned with a punch and a giggle

Honest to God, I just had THE MOST surreal experience of my life.

As I spend, literally, about 40 hours a week on the phone doing work crap and radio stuff, I decided to get a land line. Does anyone under 35 even know what one of those is? This is what the one on my mom’s nightstand used to look like:

rotary phone

So, I knew I had an old cordless phone system in a bag somewhere, so I dug around in the Closet from Hell and finally found it.

It is an answering machine/phone combo and when I plugged it in I saw I had 21 old messages.

Well, of course I had to listen to them! I hadn’t used that answering machine for almost 10 years and was dying of curiosity.

Wow…what a blast from the past that turned out to be.

The first few were from a guy I used to work with a million years ago that tried everything possible to get my knickers on the floor, to no avail. It didn’t matter how many times I told him to go fuck himself, he just would NOT get the hint. Just hearing his voice again made me want to go take a shower. Thank God I haven’t had to talk to him in over a decade. Ugh.

Then there was one from my oldest friend on earth, Brenda. We’ve known each other since we were toddlers and her message made me laugh and laugh. Apparently, I’d left her some hideously obscene and funny message on her answering machine and she was just getting home from the hospital and heard it. Her laughter at hearing my message warmed my heart. There is no greater thing in the world than making someone giggle. I’m going to save that message forever.

Next was a message from a dear old friend of mine–with whom I might have been naughty many, many years ago. Again, hearing his voice was wonderful. He’s the kind of guy that most of the time has a smile in his voice and it’s always such a blessing to be on the receiving end of that kind of warmth.

Then came the guy I met at the Phoenix Art Museum. Good grief. We’d exchanged a few calls, then he disappeared for a couple of weeks and by that time I’d forgotten he existed. Apparently, he didn’t care for me not returning his calls upon his return. It was so funny listening to his, “Sorry, I was out of town…love to hear back from you…” to “Remember me? I’m the great looking guy you met at…” Ugh. It was like listening to a used car salesman giving his best pitch. Total riot.

After that was the guy who I was really good friends with, but never “did anything” with. This is a quick story I’ve gotta tell. An old girlfriend of mine and I were at Alice Cooperstown in downtown Phoenix when we met these 2 totally hot guys. We sat together all night and had a blast. Then they walked us out to my car and, like always, the first thing I did when getting into the car was to put on some music. So, we shut the doors and I turned on the headlights and all of a sudden one of the guys appears in front of my car in the beams from the headlights and starts STRIPPING to the sexy music that was pumping from my car’s speakers.

HOLY SHIT! It was one of the single most sexy things I’ve ever seen in my life. My friend and I both just sat there, drooling down our chin and totally stunned. Who’d have thought that would happen? It was AMAZING and when the song was over he left and we didn’t even know what to do. We were both dumbfounded and quite randy. My friend didn’t even smoke and looked at me and said, “Lemme have one of those.” Ha! Now that made me laugh.

So, Mr. StripperPants and I hung out all the time and while said hanging out was occurring I had to be admitted to the hospital for emergency surgery. Totally not fun. While I was there he called one time and said to look out for flowers coming my way the next day in the hospital. They never arrived and neither did any more calls for about a week. WTF? He and I hung out about 5 times a week and now that I’m down for the count, no calls? Well, to me that’s not a friend. So when he did start calling back I ignored him. Never took one more call. All his messages were apologizing, making excuses, blah blah blah. I have no patience for that shit. And the thing is, I don’t give a rat’s ass about getting flowers. What bothered me was that if you say you are going to do something to someone who is literally holding hands with the Grim Reaper, then fuckin’ do it. It was the disappointment that hurt. Apparently he didn’t do well when other people weren’t perfect, healthy and available on his terms. Can we all say it together, “Fuck that!” I don’t and never did have time for fair-weather friends. (That may make me sound like a bitch, but the relationship was deeper than 3 paragraphs can describe and that kind of abandonment was not appreciated one bit. I forgive super easy, but I learn from my mistakes and I know when to run away from a bad, one-sided relationship.)

Next, were some random calls from guys whose voices I didn’t even recognize. That’s nuts to me because I rarely gave out my number to men. How on earth can I not recognize their voices? Totally weird as apparently I knew them well enough for them not to say their names on my machine. But the calls were sweet and reminded me of what it’s like to be single and how crazy navigating single men can be.

Lastly, was the ex-husband. I won’t go into detail on those messages because they are private and hurt my heart to hear. But they were right after the divorce and not easy to listen to. I hope with everything I have that he’s found love and joy in his life.

What a crazy 15 minutes listening to those old messages. I’m so glad they somehow still exist because they remind me that I’ve had one hell of a fun, crazy, exciting, maddening, loving, and lunacy-filled life.

They also remind me that I’m so very thankful to have wonderful friends and a spectacular husband. Even though some of those old days are dark and grim, I wouldn’t trade one of them because everything I’ve ever experienced has brought me to where I am today–and for that I couldn’t be more blessed.

 

Amazing Kindness

Sometimes people do things that are so thoughtful and kind that it just blows my mind.

I’ve been the blessed recipient of kindness like this and I’m so very thankful.

After a post of mine a few months ago where I was talking about my Pink Teddy, the wonderful, sweet and talented Lisa at blondiesBEARista made for me the most adorable gift and then made the gift a big sister too!

LOOK AT MY NEW, WONDERFUL AND ADORABLE PINK TEDDIES!

Are they not the most precious things you’ve ever seen???

I mentioned that as much as I love teddies, I’d never received one that was homemade.

Well, Lisa took care of that! And I got TWO!

SONY DSC

Look at their adorable and happy faces. their little scarves and bonnets. I just wanna eat ’em up!

I told Lisa that they’ll be drool colored within a year, but that’ll just go to show how much love they’ll be getting.

Lisa, dear friend, you made my heart melt with your kindness and love. That you would do something so special and above-and-beyond for me leaves me almost without words (and we all know how hard that is to accomplish!). Every time I look at them it just fills me with joy. To know you would take the time (and the money as I’m sure the materials and shipping weren’t cheap) to do something so precious means more to me than I could ever fully articulate.

Just know, sweet girl, that these two teddies will receive tons of love and always be looked upon with a smile and an overflowing heart.

Thank you, so very much, for giving me two new little buddies and making me feel loved. You are truly one of a kind.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

 

My first blind date in 10 years

Yep, I was nervous.

I hadn’t been on a blind date in 10 years and I’d been waiting for this one for a couple of months. That first meeting always makes me wanna puke with nerves, but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. :)

All the things that run through anyone’s mind were running through mine.

What am I going to wear?

I hope I make a good impression.

Man, this bad hair day sucks!

What perfume should I wear? I want to smell good.

Good grief I have to shave. My hair is growing its own hair.

Do these pants look good on me?

I hope I’m not too chatty.

When it comes time to get nekkid, I hope everything is in its proper working order.

After all that build up, the time has arrived.

I have to work all day first and it’s in my mind on and off during all my endless meetings.

Finally it’s time to get ready, so I get up, take a shower, shave til my razor is dull, fix the hair, put on make-up, spritz on some perfume, check the mirror more than once as first impressions are lasting ones. Then it’s time to go.

I hop into my car and put on some head-banging music to get me in the right mood.

When I arrive I go up to the girl at the front to let her know that I’m here.

Finally my blind date is ready for me, so I go back to our reserved area and after a little playful conversation I get a few minutes of alone time and then start stripping off the clothes.

Shirt first. Then bra. Then pants. Then panties. Always in that order, though I don’t know why. If you’re gettin’ totally nekkid, why does the shirt always come off first? Makes no sense.

Then a knock at the door and it’s time to party…well, as much as you can with your new gynecologist.

Yep, I’m not cheating on the hubby! I love him! Though my new gyno now knows me as intimately. Good gravy, nothing is left to the imagination.

As I was getting ready to head to my appointment I realized that going to the gyno is like going on a first date. You’re all nervous and hoping that he/she isn’t a dickhead. You hope they’ll be gentle with all your girlie parts and not make you limp for a week. You hope they’ll be sweet and really listen when you talk.

It’s just like a freakin’ date. Though most of my first dates over the years haven’t ended up with me naked…well…most… ;)

Luckily, she was awesome and fun and super friendly and I only limped for a day or two.

GynoGod bless nice gynos. I had one when I was a teenager that was the most wretched bitch on earth. It’s as though she delighted in trying to rip me a new muff. But I was a teenager and she was the only female choochie-doctor around, so what was a girl to do?

As a matter of fact, when I thought back on her while writing this post, a very special song came to mind. Cartman, on Southpark’s very first Christmas special, sang a song which is a perfect description of my ex-muff-punisher.

Watch at your own risk as it is in no way polite, un-gross or politically correct. Actually, no one should watch this, but I’m gonna put it here for your viewing pleasure anyway. Click on “Cartman” below.

Have a great weekend, my friends!

Cartman

The Horrors of my Noggin and the Related Panic Attack

I’m telling you, life is NEVER dull. ;) Not that I wish to be bored, but c’mon, a little peace now and again is a good thing.

So, 3 weeks ago I got my hair dyed.

It’s pretty much been every color in the rainbow over the last 30 years.

My very first “boyfriend” told me one day that, “You’d be perfect if only you were blonde.” Of course what did I do? I immediately went and dyed it blonde and just as immediately realized that blonde is NOT a good look on me. Eeeee gawds, it was a nightmare. Especially with my personality.

If some guy said that to me today I’d verbally cut him until he crawled home crying for his mommy, dragging his entrails behind him. But I was 14 then and always concerned with being as perfect as possible. Thank God I don’t worry about that shit anymore. Take me as I am or fuck off. I rather like that mantra! ;)

I went to get the blonde nightmare fixed a few days later and ended up with 3 different colors of hair. I don’t know why the fix-it hair dyeing adventure turned into such a fiasco, but the good news was that my mom understood that I couldn’t go into public and she let me skip school for a week until I could wash a bunch of it out of my hair. Best Mom Ever Award for that! :)

Over the years it’s been light brown with highlights, black, dark brown, that purpley-red color, accidentally green (yep, that sucked as much as you’d think), red, and so on. I get bored easily with my hair color. Now, the style’s been the same for 20 years and will probably be the same until I die. But the color? That I like to mess with.

So, when I got my hair dyed a few weeks ago I went with a blue black. I wanted that shit dark dark dark. My chick used the same brand of dye she always does and everything seemed okay.

Then a few days later I noticed this weird thing on my forehead right by my hairline. It looked like a skin-colored scrape about 1/3 of an inch in diameter. As I was looking at it thinking, “Please God–no skin cancer. I know I tanned my ridiculously white skin a lot when growing up, but I haven’t had a tan in 20 years. Please spare me skin cancer…” I noticed all these black dots on my scalp. What the fuck? Hmmm…they didn’t look like the typical dye blotches that appear on my scalp after a hair color. These were tiny little specks like someone took a Sharpie and put dots on my noggin.

Well, whatever. I’ll just scrub my head harder next time I wash it to get the dye off.

Uhhh…the dots didn’t come off after the next shampoo. Or the next 5 shampoos.

Finally, after 3 weeks I’m like, “What in the ever-loving shit is on my fuckin’ head?” As we know, I’ve been dyeing my hair for 30 years. I’d never seen anything like it. So I had to investigate.

Can I just tell you…NEVER NEVER NEVER NEVER NEVER Google something like “black spots on scalp.” NEVER! It’s horrifying.

I went from “Hmmm…that looks odd” to “HOLY FUCKING HELL WHAT THE FUCK OH MY GOD I’M DYING THIS IS AWFUL HOW DID THIS HAPPEN WHY ME SOMEONE KILL ME THIS FUCKING SUCKS.” Yep…all one sentence.

When you Google “black spots on scalp” you learn that you’d be better off dead than with the host of things that come up as possible diseases or conditions.

Keep in mind that I typically stick to sites like WebMD or Mayo Clinic for medical advice as I feel they are likely a bit more accurate than, ‘Jodi’s dumb ass blog on weird stuff,” but even those scared the shit out of me.

Some of the suggestions were: Mold (WHAT THE FUCK???). Fungus (I WANT TO DIE). Ringworm (This is when the panic set in).

All of the sites also mentioned itching. My head didn’t itch before I read that. Now it was as if spiders were crawling around on my head. I know, totally psychosomatic, and I kept trying to rationalize it, but I was scared shitless, so a bit of irrational was starting to slip through.

Then Grant gets home and I tell him what’s going on. He grabs a flashlight and tells me I have black dots ALL OVER MY HEAD!!! I thought it was just that one small spot, but nope. They are EVERYFUCKINGWHERE! Oh, the horror!

So, I immediately got on the phone to schedule an appointment with a dermatologist. If I fucking have any of those things I wanted it diagnosed immediately and then I wanted someone to decapitate me.

Of course, out of the 6 I called, 3 didn’t answer the phone (I’m thinking their businesses are covers for drug running, otherwise how do they stay in business?), 2 sent me to voicemail (how can they close on a Tuesday before 4 pm? Must be nice…) and the last one kept me on hold for, and I kid you not, 15 minutes. 4 times people picked up the line and I’d repeat, “Hi, I’m calling to make an appointment as a new patient,” and they’d always say, “Just a minute,” and I’d wait 5 more. I wanted to smash something violently. First off, what shitty customer service. Secondly, I’VE GOT MOTHERFUCKING FUNGUS, MOLD OR WORMS ON MY MOTHERFUCKING HEAD. SOMEONE NEEDS TO HELP ME BEFORE I PASS OUT FROM HORROR!!!

And of course in the meanwhile I’m terrified to touch my head, lean it onto a pillow, let my husband anywhere near me. I made him throw away his brush cause I’d used it earlier in the day. He tried to hug me and I yelped, “NO! You’ll get the Mange!”

Finally, the idiots at the dermatologist’s office get back on the phone and they can’t see me for a week.

Ummmm…no. That’s too long. I’ll run into traffic by then. I’ll shave my head. I’ll die of terror and fear!

So, I make the appointment anyway and then rush out of the house to go to Urgent Care. By now it’s after 5pm and no doctor in the state is open except Urgent Care. And I was sincerely starting to have a panic attack at the idea of a foreign body making its home in my head. God bless Valium.

When I get to the first one, I open the door to what I can only assume was an outbreak of The Plague. So I said, “Uh, fuck this,” and left and went to another one where everyone looked like they were suffering from Ebola. Damn flu season. So, fuck that one too. I just went home and wouldn’t let anyone or anything near me until I could get in to see someone in the morning.

Finally, morning comes ’round (after a lovely night chocked full of wormy, fungus-filled dreams) and I get an appointment to see a doc.

I go there at 10:30 and they are so nice and lovely. The doc comes in and I explain what’s going on.

She looks at my head and says, “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

Great. I’m a medical mystery full of fungus and mold and worms and God knows what.

Then she plays a bit with my noggin and determines that the dye (which is some stubborn-ass dye) had grabbed hold of all the new baby hairs growing out of my scalp and gotten kind of stuck at the follicle (if you’ll recall I mentioned earlier in the year that I had a bunch of hair loss due to thyroid and iron/protein deficiencies). The hair was just a tiny bit of a millimeter long and hardly even out of my scalp yet, so the dye clung to those tiny pieces of hair and went down a bit into the skin. This was why it wasn’t easily washing off in the shower.

Can I tell you that I have rarely been more relieved in my entire life? EVER! I wanted to hump her in thanks for her awesome diagnosis.

She said she could see why I’d have been terrified, but that I’m good to go and that she wished all her appointments ended on such a happy note.

Whew!!!!

What an absolute cluster-fuck. I had told Grant that I just could not take one more medical issue and was going to snap from the stress. Luckily, I have a wonderful hubby who was supportive even when we did think I had The Funk. Thank God it was just some weird dyeing anomaly and I am worm-mold-fungus free! Yay!!!!

So, that’s my saga. I’m just happy that my noggin is good to go. I’m quite certain I couldn’t have handled any other outcome because they were just too damn gross!

Have a happy weekend, my friends! XOXOXXOXO