Quit being a fucktard

Seriously, I’ve tried to write this post 50 times and keep deleting it.

I’m trying to be delicate and inoffensive (which, I know, is rare!).

But I’m just going to say it.

People have a right to be who they are. Period.

If you don’t like it, don’t look at it.

If you don’t like it, don’t go to their parties.

If you don’t like it, don’t invite them over for Sunday dinner.

If you don’t like it, tough noogies.

I can GUARANTEE that no matter what kind of clean-living life you think you lead (and by you, I mean everyone on earth), there is someone on this planet who despises your faith, your politics, your sexuality, the color of your skin, etc…

It is sad that people hate so quickly and easily for something as little as where someone else sticks their dick.

Who the hell cares?

All of us have done or do things that others wouldn’t approve of, but we don’t want to be judged.

So, here’s an idea, don’t judge others either.

There will always be people you don’t like. I can name a few off the top of my head that I’d like to see eaten by prairie dogs. But it’s not because of who they sleep with, what church they attend, how much or little melanin they have in their skin.

If I hate a mother fucker it’s because they treat people like shit. It’s a personal kind of dislike that is rooted totally in the fact that that person makes a conscious effort to ruin other people’s lives in a direct, person-to-person way.

A transgender couple in Alabama is not mean to me, therefore I hope they are happy and live wonderful lives.

A biracial couple raising biracial kids in Washington is not mean to me, therefore I hope they are happy and live wonderful lives.

A gay couple getting married because they are in love is not being mean to me, therefore I hope they too are happy and live wonderful lives.

What I can never understand is why people latch onto things that they personally think are unacceptable because they fall outside of their own view of the world, and then choose to rail on about how bad, evil, against God, unnatural, blah blah blah those ways of life are.

Honest to God, one of the best things anyone can do both for society and for themselves is learn that a world full of happy, loving, tolerant, non-judgmental people, who spend their time doing things to BETTER the world rather than spitting venom into it, is a better world in which everyone can find their bit of joy.

I remember once being preached at by someone about how gays are ruining the world. Meanwhile, this person was married and having not one, but two, affairs.

Hmmm…I think that those without sin should chuck that first rock. The hypocrisy about killed me. But then everyone can find ways to defend their own lifestyle choices, while condemning others’ right to make their own.

My mantra is this: Wake up. Hurt no one. Go to sleep. Wake up. Repeat.

To me, and only to me as everyone is allowed their own opinion, that is the way to lead a truly happy life.

I don’t worry about who fucks who.

I don’t worry about who prays to what God.

All I care about is that we are kind to each other and try to create a world where our children will grow into happy, healthy adults where the word “tolerance” isn’t even a part of their vocabulary because allowing someone to live a life different from their own isn’t “tolerating” anything. It’s just how it is and all’s good.

I know there may be people who read this and say that I’m trying to choke my own thoughts down their throat so aren’t I a big ole fucking hypocrite? Well, if me sharing that I want people to live wonderful, judgment-free lives where differences aren’t only tolerated but celebrated, then I’m okay being labeled a hypocrite.

I hear all the time from people defending their right to hate somebody that “MY God doesn’t approve of that,” when it comes to the way some people choose to live their lives.

Well, let me just say this. My God is loving. My God sacrificed his Son for our sins. My God judges lives when you walk though the Pearly Gates–so that means you don’t have to do His job for Him.

When it all comes down in the end…when you look back on your life…do you want it to be full of antagonism, prejudice, hate, intolerance and judgment?

Or do you want to look back and say, “I did my best to create a good life, bring people around me joy, and now I can die knowing I did the best I could.”?

I vote for the second option.

In those last moments will you think about all the people you hated or will you think about the love you’ve been blessed enough to know?

If the answer is “the love” then why wait until your final moments? Why not live that life now?

But better people than me have written about such things, and so here are words from a very wise person about The End.

In my rear view mirror the sun is going down
Sinking behind bridges in the road
And I think of all the good things
That we have left undone
And I suffer premonitions
Confirm suspicions
Of the holocaust to come.

The rusty wire that holds the cork
That keeps the anger in
Gives way
And suddenly it’s day again.
The sun is in the East
Even though the day is done.
Two suns in the sunset
Could be the human race is run.

Like the moment when the brakes lock
And you slide towards the big truck
You stretch the frozen moments with your fear.
And you’ll never hear their voices
And you’ll never see their faces
You have no recourse to the law anymore.

And as the windshield melts
My tears evaporate
Leaving only charcoal to defend.
Finally I understand the feelings of the few.
Ashes and diamonds
Foe and friend
We were all equal in the end.

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.

 

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

Favorite New Crap to Buy

Howdy and Happy New Year! 

Yep, the sentiment is a bit late, but I still hope you all had and will have a happy one.

Now for the scoop.

Every once in a while I do a post that details some fabulous product I’ve come across. This time you get 2!

First is something my sister got me last year and again this year. It’s a face powder foundation that kicks ass!

Lancome Dual Finish PowderI wore foundation and powder for the past 30 years and never thought I’d do anything else, but this shit rules!

When my sister gave it to me she said, “I’ve found the best foundation powder ever and I can finally get some for you. They just came out with their Corpse Line of Colors and they have one light enough for your white ass.”

Well, my white ass was also a dumb ass because I totally believed her! Ha! Little snot.

While there is no Corpse Line of Colors, I do have to get the very lightest one they sell. I’m a pale mo fo!

Two caveats to keep in mind with this stuff:

  1. You should wipe down your face with some water and a washcloth to get any sleepy crust off your mug (mine is usually trails of dried drool and eye boogers).
  2. Use a moisturizing cream under it, but LET IT DRY COMPLETELY or you’re fucked. This powder will turn into some kind of impossible to remove sludge if you have ANY dampness on your face.  I use Estee Lauder Hydrationist Maximum Moisture Cream and while it reminds me of old ladies with fancy creams sitting on doilies on their antique dressing tables, the shit does work. And since I never wash my face, it has quite the job to do. Luckily, it does it well. But I wait about 10 minutes after applying the cream before I put on the powder.

I get compliments all the time on my skin and how smooth it looks. I give 75% of the credit to getting my mom’s genes and 25% credit to Lancome. None of the credit goes to me.

Next product (this one the guys can use too!):

Who out there has feet that you wouldn’t want to take a picture of and use as your profile pic?

Got the Crusty Heel Blues?

I get a pedicure every 4 weeks or so, but since I’m a barefoot mama and try to avoid shoes at all cost I still get feet that are a little rough around the edges. I can tell when I need a trip to the pedicure chair when at night, on my satin sheets, I can hear my feet scrape across the satin and pill the material. That is just fucked up. Ewwwwww!!!

Good news is that I discovered this kick ass, at-home foot belt sander that make my feet feel like the feet of an infant.

If I could and not be weird, I might kiss my own feet all the time like you kiss a baby’s cause they are soft as can be.

And the fun thing is you get to watch all the skin powder from your foot fly up in the air while you sand off the calluses. Yeah, I know, gross. But it’s totally fun too!

foot sanderIt’s the Emjoi Micro-pedi Battery Operated Callus Remover and I got it on Amazon for $30.

I use it for just a minute or two a night and I’m telling you, my feet are delicious now! Plus, I can get cheaper pedicures because I won’t need the callus remover treatment anymore, so this thing will pay for itself in less than 2 pedicures.

Pretty freakin’ awesome, if I do say so myself!

If you guys get them, let me know what you think. I love love love both of them and even sent my sister one of the footie things as a surprise present.

Anyway, those are my post-Christmas treats that I just had to share (along with a few pics below of our Christmas fun!).

Have a great weekend everyone!

HUGS!!

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