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.))  :)

Consider yourself WARNED!!!

Yep, this is the first time I’m doing a preemptive strike blog post! :)

I’m working on a fun little post full of the most horribly inappropriate things ever. It harkens back to a day when a former employee of mine and I would have SO MUCH FUN at the office. He was (and is) one of the coolest people on earth, and like me has little-to-no filter.

I’m not done with the post yet, but when I do publish it in the next few days and say, “DON’T READ THIS OR YOU MIGHT GO BLIND, INSANE OR END UP SUCKING YOUR THUMB IN A RUBBER ROOM” I just want you to know that I mean it. ;)

Honest to God, it’s just one of those things that struck he and I funny (I don’t think “he and I” is right, but “him and me” seems wrong too!) while we worked our assess off and were in need of some comic relief. We managed to jot down some of the funniness and that’s what I’ll be sharing. But is has so many horrible cuss words, sick and fucked up thoughts and seriously non-PC stuff in it that I just wanted to give you fair warning.

I don’t want to burn anyone’s retinas with what they’ll read, nor do I want any guff about how hideous some of the one-liners are. ;)

So, consider yourself forewarned! (Though I think most of you who visit me here often will enjoy it as we are all a bit fiesty!)

PS: Here’s what you might look like as you read through my next post–though I’m guessing there might be a giggle or two in there too. XOXOXOXO

Shocked

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. :)

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!!) ;)

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! :) :) :)

Massengill, Vagisil, Preparation H, Gold Bond Medicated Powder, Charmin, Always and Stayfree, can you PLEASE SHUT THE HELL UP???

Yeah, you know I really wanted to say, “Shut the fuck up,” but I thought I’d leave the REAL cursing for the post rather than the title. Believe it or not, I don’t want to constantly offend the entire world. Well, on most days at least. ;)

Let me tell you a little story. Back during the summer between 7th and 8th grade I’d go to the pool all the time. I was just starting to blossom into womanhood and was uncomfortable enough with periods and new boobs and boys and weird hair and wearing deodorant. It was all a little overwhelming when puberty struck. Anyway, that particular day I was off to the pool with a friend of mine and we had to show our pool IDs to the pool ID guy. As it turned out, the pool ID guy was one of the hottest guys in our town. His name was Ricky and every girl (and I’m sure plenty of guys) wanted to be his sweetheart. He was simply beautiful. Drool… Anyway, I digress… So, Ricky had a little black and white TV up at his ID checking station. Since he couldn’t see the pool area from his post and check out all the hot bodied girls, he needed something to occupy his time, right?

Well, there my girlfriend and I are, passing him our IDs and trying to make small talk with this heavenly god of a boy and all of a sudden a maxi pad commercial came on the TV. SHIT!!!! What should I do? I can’t stay here and let him think that because I’m a girl that I have to deal with those things. I don’t want him thinking of me as a bleeder!! NOOOOOO!! ARRRRRRGH!!!! So, what did we do? We ran screaming into the girl’s locker room. Yep, the most mature thing we could come up with was running away like our hair was on fire. In all honesty, I was blushing so bad it felt like my face was on fire. How absolutely horrible to have the fact that I have girl parts that do oogie things thrown into Ricky’s face as we all stood there scantily clad in barely-there bikinis. It was quite simply too much to bear.

After hiding in the locker room for about 10 minutes and getting our breath back, we ventured out to the pool. We were both still so embarrassed about the pad commercial that we stayed at the pool, turning into deeply suntanned raisins, until Ricky’s shift was over. There was NO WAY IN HELL we were going to walk past him that day. Nope. No how. No way. Unh unh.

Now, I realize that may seem like an overreaction in today’s world, but remember, this was back in 1983. Girls and boys did not discuss the kinds of stuff that we now feel free to openly discuss with the poor mailman or the chick at the Gap. Back then, we had a bit more decorum. Obviously, I got over some of that. But NOT ALL!!! There are still things I would no sooner discuss with my husband than I would with the Pope. There are certain things that should remain a mystery. What happens south of the border should be among those things. So, in case you haven’t figured it out, here’s my beef: I am sooooooooo sick of hearing about the foulness of body parts I could vomit until I passed out from exhaustion. Damn, that’s a lot of vomiting. ;)

Let’s address these disgusting products with at least a modicum of truth. :)

  1. Massengill. NO ONE WANTS TO HEAR IF A WOMAN HAS A “NOT SO FRESH” FEELING! For fuck’s sake, how gross and disgusting can a commercial be? Gentlemen, please believe me when I say that women do not bond over discussing such things while skipping through a field of lavender wearing bonnets and free-flowing white skirts. I’m going to say that no woman (as far as you know) has ever encountered a not-so-fresh feeling because our nether regions are yummy like an ice cream sundae. But on the slim-to-none chance that one ever did (which I doubt) they sure as shit would not have a conversation about it like is depicted in those stupid commercials.
  2. Vagisil. Ummm…women KNOW what the hell you are good for. Must you spell it out like we are retarded? Honest to God, I was eating dinner the other night and nearly puked up my food when I saw one of their commercials. I’m a GIRL and I nearly upchucked my dinner. I can only imagine how disgusting it is for men to have to suffer through them. GROSS!!! Here’s my real issue with it: Women know if something is amiss and know (unless sheltered by parents who refuse to admit that their daughter has girl parts) how to go about getting it fixed. We do NOT need details on the icky issue and we do not need to know every symptom to be on the lookout for. Because if you remind us of all the gross symptoms on NATIONAL FUCKING TV DURING DINNER, how on earth do you ever expect a man to wanna go down there again??? Generally speaking, we like a man to crave our body parts. We want men to dream about that wonderful spot and long for it on a daily basis. We do NOT want them reminded that sometimes there is a “Closed for Business” sign on it for one reason or another. Can there be no mystery left???
  3. Preparation H. Good Lord have mercy. Yes, I’m sure having the issue that needs the attention of Preparation H is not pleasant. I can only imagine that it sucks. But Preparation H has been around since the dawn of time and I’m fairly sure most of us know what it’s used for, so MUST we go into detail on the itching and burning? Really? Must we? I mean, gross. Can you just say, “If you are having problems with your back door, use Preparation H”? Do the commercials really have to get as graphic as a visit to the proctologist? Ugh. Ick.
  4. Gold Bond Medicated Powder. Info on this should be passed down from dad to son, or uncle to son, or health class teacher to the boys. Just like men don’t want to hear about Vagisil, we don’t want to hear about men’s spicy, itchy man sacks. Just as our girl parts are like an ice cream sundae, your man parts should remain a fun playground for our enjoyment. I don’t want to wretch thinking about all the symptoms Gold Bond relieves.
  5. Charmin. My husband was so horrified by the most recent Charmin commercial that he made me sit through it just to horrify me too. It’s nice how couples do that kind of stuff! ;) This particular one was a cartoon of a Mama bear peeking into her baby bear’s undershorts and grimacing by what she saw, while baby bear peeks in the window watching her inspect his undies. It was sooooooooo gross!! Do they really think that by softening it up with cute, animated bears that it is any less disgusting? Can’t we all agree that we ALREADY FUCKING KNOW what TP is for and don’t need it shoved in our faces in such an icky manner. I mean, really, who wants to picture what she was seeing in his underwear? But you can’t help but visualize it in your mind’s eye. Seriously, that is soooo nasty. Can we please bring back Mr. Ripple and the “Don’t squeeze the Charmin” ads? So much less filthy and nasty.
  6. Always and Stayfree. I’d venture to say that in this day and age, with the Internet and a much-lowered filter (I’m guilty of not having much of a filter!) that a great percentage of girls and certainly all women know what a maxi-pad is. Do we need to actively remind everyone what women have to suffer from, in graphic detail, every month? Is it not enough that Eve ate the damn apple and cursed us with Aunt Ruby’s monthly visit? Do we need to show with liquid how much more absorbent one pad is over the other. It’s all marketing bullshit anyway, so is it that important to have demonstrations? I guess I should just be happy that they use blue water instead of red. ICKY!!! ;) Worse yet are the tampon commercials. Those show women doing the splits on a trampoline so they can give us a crotch shot to prove that there’s no string hanging out and no leaks. Again–GROSS!!! Those commercials are a crotch-fest. I’ve never seen so much poon outside of a porn. What got into their brains that they thought this was acceptable??? Just wrong, I tells ya. Wrong.

Whew! That was exhausting! ;)

Now, I full on realize that I am fairly filter-free. I pretty much say what I think, using whatever coarse language I want. But here’s the difference: if you don’t want to read my mouthiness, you don’t have to. You can say, “Good Lord, but that girl is foul!!! I’m never reading her blog again!” And you’d be all set. You’d never have to be horrified by my sass-mouth again. We don’t have that option with today’s commercials. They are served up to us, so often during the dinner hour, and we cannot escape them quite as easily as you can escape me. If these commercials would cut down to 15 seconds and just tell you the basics at a very high level and then for more info you can visit their website, I could live with that. Then they could overwhelm you with any gross thing they want on their website that you voluntarily went to. But to force it down our throats while we are watching TV in mixed company is just awful. Especially, if you are watching it with a mother- or father-in-law. Or a grandparent. Yicky!!!

Okay, that’s my rant of the week. I’ve thought these things for 30+ years and it’s so nice to finally have an avenue for spewing on and on about it!! :) For those of you who stuck it out through this diatribe, bless your sweet and patient hearts! XOXOXO

PS: If the conversation in this video ever actually happened, I’ll eat my hat. :)

TIRADE TIME! Oh yeah, it’s ON! Don’t read if you don’t like cussing for the sheer fun of cussing. :)

Me at 4:00am

Okay people, I’m going to throw a fit here. A BIG, impolite fit. But before we get into the nitty gritty of said fit, those of you who know me know that there isn’t a mean bone in my body. I’m caustic, sarcastic and mouthy but only when being playful (well, 95% of the time). So, while I’m going to yell and scream and pitch a hissy, please know that if you fall into any of the categories of people I’m about to rage about that I still love you and mean no harm. It’s just that what I’m going to whine about has happened 5 times in the last 2 weeks and I’m DAMN sick and tired of it. So please forgive me ahead of time. How’s that for a disclaimer? :)

Let’s start out by me sharing with you that I’m a night owl. Always have been. Always will be. When I was old enough to sneak out of my crib I’d crawl down the stairs, turn on the TV and watch static in the middle of the night. I’ve hated mornings since birth and wish that I never had to be up before noon. Of course, I always have jobs which make me get up at the crack of dawn. ICK! It just ain’t right!

When I was young, my wonderful mom let me sleep in late on the weekends. She wasn’t one of those “You’re wasting your life in bed!” type moms. Thank God. She understood that my body clock works on a different schedule than a lot of people’s. I just start being creative and perky around midnight. As I got older and moved out on my own, for whatever reason people started calling earlier and earlier in the morning to chat about their drunken adventures the night before, their despicable boyfriend and his weird sexual habits, or just to say, “What’s up?” WHAT’S UP? WHAT’S UP? I’m fucking sleeping, that’s what’s up. Unless someone in your immediate family is dead, you are in the hospital or my house is on fire, don’t fucking call me before 2:00pm. I care about nothing and no one before early afternoon on the weekends. Unless it’s an emergency, shut up. Period.

Once I moved to Arizona it got even worse. Because stupid Arizona doesn’t do stupid daylight savings time, we are 3 stupid hours behind the East coast (where I’m from) for almost 8 months a year. What does this mean for people like me? That people, be they friends or business associates, DON’T FUCKING PAY ATTENTION TO THE TIME DIFFERENCE and call and text me starting at 5:00am. I’ve usually only been asleep for an hour or two at that point, and only because of an over the counter sleep aid as God doesn’t seem to want me to sleep like a normal person. So when my phone makes a noise because someone has rudely thought “Well, I’m up. Why shouldn’t everyone else be up?” I want to smash it with a hammer and then drive/fly to whoever has disturbed my impossible-to-get sleep and smash them with a hammer too.

These early morning calls were even worse when I was deejaying at a club. I didn’t get home from work until 3:00am, and I was all hyper at that point and didn’t get to sleep until 6 or 7 am. Then my phone would ring at 9:00? What the hell? Everyone knew I worked until the middle of the night. What on God’s green earth could be so monumentally important that I needed to know about that early in the day? NOTHING DAMMIT! NOTHING!

It got so bad that I eventually put a song on my answering machine instead of a personal message (yes, I’m old–I’m sure you youngins’ probably don’t even know what an answering machine is) to announce to the world that they should not call me early. It was a tune called “Up all night, sleep all day” or something like that, by the band Slaughter. (Side note: Stupid band name, but the singer and drummer were easy on the eyes!) ;) So, instead of hearing me say in my chipper little voice, “Hi! You’ve reached Jodi. I’m sorry I can’t take your call right now, but if you leave me your name and number I’ll get back to you as soon as I can, ” they’d instead hear a blaring heavy metal song that essentially told them to STOP FUCKING CALLING ME IN THE MORNING!

I realize I may sound awful here, but think about it this way, especially if you are a morning person: what if I called YOU at 1:00am to tell you about the great sushi I had for dinner? There you are, all snuggled into your bed, finally asleep and I call you to bullshit about nothing and then you can’t fall back asleep ever. You are done. You are awake until the next night when you crawl your morning-person-ass back into bed at 9:00pm. Would that suck? Yep. It would. You would think I was a horrible, selfish douche bag. Then why is it acceptable for people to do that to me?  Your 1:00am is my 8:00am.

Do I wish I was a morning person? Yes.

Have I tried to be a morning person? Yes.

Has it ever worked? No.

Am I sick as shit of people saying, “Your sleeping your life away…  I get more done by noon… You’re missing out on the world… You’re lazy, get out of bed…” YES! I’m sick of it!

Luckily, even though I have a morning person hubby who is voluntarily out of bed by 6:30 am even on the weekends (WTF???), he understands my insomnia and sleep issues and is silent as a mouse when I’m asleep. His considerate ways get him many, many brownie points. :) Right now, he’s been asleep for 5 hours. It’s 3:19 am and I’m bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. If I never saw the sun again and could exist only in moonlight, I’d be good to go. Stupid, overly-bright sun. Yuck. Oh, and I too am silent while he’s asleep. Consideration goes both ways in our happy home.

So, may I just say, if you are a morning person, and lord it over other people’s heads like it makes you special, shut it. It’s not nice to be a prick about the fact that you love getting up early. Good for you. I’m glad your body clock works normally. But some of us suffer from hideous insomnia and a reverse body clock and have had to endure going to work and school for 35+ years at the crack of dawn when doing so is as unnatural to us as you going to work at 2:00am. Wouldn’t that suck, you morning people, if you had to get up and be all happy and chipper and at the office at 1 or 2 am? That’s how I feel having to be at work at 7:30 or 8. It’s simply awful. But I do it. I’ve done it for a million years and I’m even nice to people that early. I don’t take my morning-hating-misery out on anyone else as that would be impolite.

Last but not least, and then I’ll wrap up my hissy fit, if you live on the East coast and have friends or business acquaintances who are towards the West coast, please keep in mind the time change. It’s just so awful when the phone rings before the birds are even chirping. The first thing I think is “Who’s dead or dying?” Not a nice way to wake up after a mere few hours of sleep. Especially, since once I’m up, I’m up. I can rarely get back to sleep and all I do is lay there and plot how to kill you and not go to prison.

And for those of you who are thinking, “put your phone on silent or don’t bring your phone into the bedroom” I don’t have that option as I want to be available to my sweet mommy if something comes up in the middle of the night. I’m not so selfish as to be unavailable to people who may actually need me for something real and important. And why should I have to leave my phone in the other room just because other people are rude??? That is total shit.

Whew, I’m exhausted!!! That is over 40 years of pent up hostility regarding living in a world where night owls have to suck it up and adjust to everyone else’s schedule. I feel so much better. I hope I haven’t made you all so fuming mad you could kill me. Really, this wasn’t a “Bash the morning people and East coasters” post. It was a “Bash the morning people who think everyone should be on THEIR schedule and inconsiderate East coasters” post. So, if you aren’t a dick about it, then this doesn’t apply to you at all and we can still be friends. ;)

Okay, I’m done. I wish I could say I was sleepy and heading off to bed, but I think a round of Angry Birds is calling my name (DAMN THOSE FRIGGIN’ ANGRY BIRDS!!!!). :)

Good grief! Sometimes I even gross myself out.

This is going to be the shortest post ever. Believe it or not, I’m not always verbose! :)

The Visual: I’m sitting cross-legged on the sofa, with my chin resting on my fist, my elbow resting on my thigh, with my laptop in front of me.

My Reality: You know you are in a mind-numbing meeting when you are sitting there and all of a sudden feel something wet pooling on your thigh and your arm feels damp and cold. You look down and realize that you’ve drooled all the way down your arm until you have a nice wet spot on your jammie pants.

Oh my word…that shit is just wrong.

 

 

I love ranting yes I do, doo dah, doo dah. I love ranting yes I do, all the doo dah day!

I’m hoping you sang along with me as you read the title of this blog. I think a old timey, out of tune song now and again is a good thing. Of course, my cats ran away shrieking at the sound of my rather off key voice! BRATS! No more food for them, ungrateful mongrels!

So, while I indulged my brain in a nice computer-free vacation, I got to relax around the TV set. I hate to admit it, but I do love my boob tube. Man, were there a lot of boobs to look at (both boob-boobs and intellectual boobs).

While lazing about the house and putting a permanent ass-dent in the sofa I noticed a few rather irksome things in my trash TV. Things that got my editor brain aching with pain. Things that got my innate dislike of The Man all riled up. So, I thought I’d share.

Here are two things that made me pause the TV every time they happened (constantly) and say to my husband, “What the fuck? People are stupid and corporations can eat me. Ugh!” He’d chuckle, pat my head, and turn right back to his video games. He’s so patient. ;)

ONE: What ever happened to the “LY” on the end of an adverb? Did I miss a memo that said that people no longer had to use LY? Is it sooooo difficult and time consuming to speak with even a modicum of intelligence anymore? Apparently, the answer to that question is yes. Now, don’t get me wrong–I have typos sometimes. I’m sure I say things incorrectly. I’m no saint and even might be a slight hypocrite, but if you are going to be on TV can you at least attempt to speak somewhat properly?

Here are some examples:

  1. “Wow, you performed beautiful.”  Doesn’t that just sound wrong coming out of your mouth? Doesn’t your brain register that something is missing?
  2. “You did that careful.” NO! He did it carefulLY!
  3. “I waited patient. He took forever.” No You Di’int. (Typo intentional. ;) )
  4. “He spoke so arrogant.” NOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Don’t use big words if you don’t know how to use them proper.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! My internet connection just went down and I lost the last half of this damn post. SHIIIIIIIIT POOP ASSFACE %$#^$%%!!! This sucks!!!!  Someone please find the owner of Cox and kill him. Please? Well dang. It took forever to write and now it’s gone. Okay, it’s never as good the second time I write something, so expect this to suck. ;)

TWO: As if television shows aren’t challenged enough in maintaining my suspension of disbelief, do they really not think it completely goes away when they insert a commercial into the script of a show? I’m not talking about regular commercials. I mean actually written into the script. Argh! The moment they do it, I’m no longer involved in the story because they are rudely (LOOK! an LY!) reminding me that the entire purpose of the TV show is not to entertain, but to make money. I know that in part of my brain, but I like to at least have them fake it for me by not shoving products down my throat with scripted dialog.

  1. Rizzoli and Isles, corpse cutter interacting with meddling mom. The mom is about to wear high heels for the first time in years and the friendly body chopper has the solution to her impending foot pain. “I have a solution for you. Use these Dr. Sholl’s shoe inserts. You’ll be able to wear you shoes all day and be comfortable. Dr. Sholl’s make your feet happy.”
  2. 90210 (SHUT IT! I know…I should be ashamed.) Pretty blonde girl talking to pretty brunette girl as they get ready to go out on the town. Pretty brunette girl, “Wow, you always look so great.” Pretty blonde girl, “I know. It’s because I use Rimmel mascara. It makes my lashes long and lush and my legs pliable and gappy. You should go buy some. Rimmel is amazing.”
  3. Bones, yet another corpse cutter (do I have a thing for corpses??) talking with Mr. Tough Guy FBI Dude. They are driving somewhere in the car and she’s concerned about finding the location. Luckily for them, they have… “This great GPS system that will help us find any location. With my in-dash TomTom, we can get anywhere quickly and easily. TomTom even gives blowjobs, so I no longer need you. Now GET OUT!”

Okay, so there was some SLIGHT embellishment there, but you get the point. As soon as one of those in-script commercials happens, it take me 5 minutes to get back into the show. Now, I understand that with the invention of the DVR that we are no longer forced to watch regular commercials which compel us to eat McDonalds (mmmm…fillet o’fish!), suck on Dilly Bars (mmmmm…ice milk…), buy fancy cars (mmmmm…Hyundai. Oh, that one’s not so great), or go on those dream vacations we cannot afford (vacation? yeah, right). But to actually write them into the script? C’mon people!

We’ve all endured product placement for decades and decades. All you have to do is watch last week’s True Blood to see a group of illiterate murders sitting around a HUGE 12 pack of Old Milwaukee (seriously? Old Milwaukee?) prominently displayed on an end table to know that some CEO at “Flat Piss Beers R US” paid a million dollars to hawk his wares at us. And that’s bad enough. But do I need to see one of our IQ-challenged murderers pick up the 12 pack and say directly into the camera, “Drink Old Milwaukee. Chicks will give you hummers if you do. And it cures male patterned baldness too.” No. I don’t not need to see that. At least TB didn’t stoop that low.

Well, that’s my rant. I had a really good concluding paragraph earlier before my Internet crashed and since I just cannot come up with anything half as witty as what I had written before I’m not even going to try. ;)

Oh, I AM going to post a HORRIBLY (see, LY again!) inappropriate picture to go along with the first part of this post. I mean, it has language in it that make the F-word look like child’s play. It is AWFUL and you should NOT read it if you don’t like terrible cuss words. I mean it. Don’t give me any guff for this picture because I know it’s foul. My sister sent it to me a while back (she’s a language freak like I am) and I laughed until I thought I’d die. But I like horrible language, especially when it’s done in a clever fashion, so prepare yourselves before you read it. I’m not going to put it in this post because I want to put a HUGE warning in the title so innocent people don’t read it and get all offended. But I sure hope you guys like it! ;) Peace out.

I have laryngitis…of the fingers? What?

This is NOT the face I wanna see in the mirror! ;)

I didn’t even know this was possible! Laryngitis of the fingers? Who ever heard of such a thing?

Well, me. That’s who’s heard of it. :)

I’m going to take a little vacation for a week or two and rest my little brain. The demands of the day job, coupled with all the rest of the insanity has me a bit brain fried. Since my brain has become the kind of mush that I’m sure my cats would love to gnaw on, I think it needs some time to heal. Then I can revert back to my snarky, cussing, sassy ways and feel like a human again. Plus, with 18 hour a day work schedule, my cookbook is not getting written. Eee gawds, no! MUST. FINISH. BOOK.

So, my lovely, wonderful peeps, I will be back soon. I just need to get a little rest. And I’ll be out of town on business all next week anyway and wouldn’t have had much access to the craziness that fuels me anyway.

Much love to you guys and I’ll see you in a couple of weeks. I promise to have at least one ridiculously naughty/crazy/whack-a-do story for you when I return.

XOXOXOXOXO