Thursday, June 28, 2007

Thursdays are for saying I Hate You

Every once in a while I like to let it all out. Ya know what I mean? All of that vitriol that builds up inside needs an escape outlet before my skin starts changing to that hulky shade of green.

And so on with the show:

  • I hate you Thursday for being so close to the weekend, but just far enough away that I know I still have shit to get done before I am rewarded with two days where I don't have to hear my customers whine and complain.
  • I hate you July 4th, 2007. What the fuck is up with you being on a Wednesday? This is completely screwing up my schedule.
  • I hate you random cities who can't figure out the best day and/or time to put off their fireworks. Some are on Saturday, some are on Tuesday. Make up your fucking minds. We should just change it to "Independence Week" and get it over with.
  • I hate the fact that just because they have an X AND a Y chromosome, men think that they don't have to help with party preparations. Are your friends coming? Oh, you invited 30 people from work and golf? Well then they can eat whatever you are cooking and the rest of the guests get to eat all of this fabulous food that I prepared over here. Oh. You WANT to help with the party shit now? We'll see. Mwah ha ha ha ha ha.
  • I hate feeling obligated. You all know what I mean.
  • I hate one of my neighbors. Stupid hawk faced cuntbag. I'll explain why later, just know that I am right and she is a gassed up windbag that should only be used as a fart pillow. I can't fucking stand that stupid self-righteous narcissistic bitch or her steroid rage husband . Guess who is the only person on my street not invited to the Par-Tay on Saturday.
  • I hate cleaning. I am not a neat person by any standards. I'm not dirty, that's just gross, but I do put off for tomorrow what should be done today. Now I am on my twenty fucking third load of laundry in the last two days. This is not a lie or an exaggeration. I want to tie my family up and beat them with a rubber hose. What in the hell is up with using a towel once and then throwing it in the hamper? Hm, hmmmmm? Unless you are bleeding out of your pooter and it gets all over the towel, hang it up and reuse it you little fucks!
  • I hate my husband's dog and am considering feeding her a lovely cocktail of anti-freeze and Clorox. She is a 90 - yes motherfuckingunbelievable 90 - pound FEMALE black lab. Guess what folks - she is shedding her coat. All over my house. We sweep and vacuum and dust and clean some more and every time she lays down, when she gets up there is a CSI outline of her body in coarse black hair. Fuck!! This makes it a little more difficult to keep our house clean.
  • I hate customers who don't understand what they are doing, but pretend. Oh, you want an IP Surveillance system installed by August 22nd? So does every other fucking school in the state. Guess what, I need a PO. What is that? Well, I do a survey, then I tell you what you need to complete the project, then you cut a PO, then I schedule the project. Guess what pigfucker, my schedule is FULL through the rest of the summer. Yeah, we're that good. Well, maybe I can fit you in. But. You. Must. Cut. PO. NOW!!!!
  • I hate dry grass. We need water in a bad way up here in the Ctown area and my lawn looks like it has alopecia. All patches of brown with a few spots of green showing through. Mostly where I accidentally left the water to the hose on and the connector between the two hoses ruptured from the pressure spilling I don't know how many gallons of water into the yard. Well, I guess I'll know how many when we get our next water bill. *Groan*
  • I hate the fact that I am being a shitty friend right now I just haven't had the time or made the time to let my girls and guys know that I still love them. I feel like a shitheel for being like that, but a bitch gotta survive.
  • Any other I Hates will be posted in the next session. I feel better, but this bronchitis shit is still kicking me arse.

I do have an I love. I love all of you guys out there. I cannot believe all of the support and encouragement that I have received from the blogging world. Compared to a lot of you, I am a really shitty blogger, but I am trying. Now I just have to update my links on the side to all of the new people I lurve so much.

Love, Peace and Chicken Grease


Tuesday, June 26, 2007

Still Hurting

Well I still feel like pig tripe, but eh, what's a girl gonna do?

I had a great conversation with my little sister Red this evening. (The one whose child will need years of intense psychotherapy from spending time with her favorite auntie). Apparently my niece's "father" saw her for the first time in 4 years over the weekend, but only because my sister needed to get a medical card from him now that he finally has a job. After the visit he sent her an e-mail requesting that my sister allow my niece to go with him for a weekend. What the motherfucking fuck is he trying to pull?

Seriously. The fuck???

After I ranted and raved and raged for about five minutes, Red assured me that there was no WAY in hell the cum guzzling prison bitch would be allowed anywhere near her. Oh, did you all catch that little tidbit of information download? Yeah. Prisonbitch.

So maybe we need a little back story. Some filling in for the folks at home.

About 5 years ago, Red and PB (prisonbitch) decided to get engaged. The egg donor then kicked my sister out of her house. Having nowhere to go, Red called me up and came to Ohio to live with me. She brought that deep throating sumbitch with her. I love my sister and we were doing our best to help her out. So Mr. ADW and I were already trying to get my grams an apartment by our condo and this worked out really well. My sister would share the apartment with her and help defray some of the expenses. For a while Grams, Red and PB were all living with us. It was then that I realized what a stupid cunt PB was. He did NOTHING. All day. I take that back he did three things. He ate my food, shit in my toilet and slept in one of my beds. Finally, we got them into a lease of their own and out of our house.

Then my sister drops the bomb. Yep folks she's knocked up. OK, I can deal with this. No problem. Meanwhile PB went through fast food restaurant jobs quicker than the Mighty Dyckerson goes through Kleenexes during Desperate Housewives - quick, fast and in a hurry. My sister has a job clerking at a local discount grocery store. Things are not going well, but the train is beginning to move out of the station.

Then one day my sister goes to work. PB takes a load of laundry to the communal laundry room in one section of the apartment complex. Grams waits for him to get back. Red comes home. Still no sign of PB. Dinnertime comes. Still no sign of PB. Guess what people? That wasn't laundry in the basket. PB took off. We ended up finding out that he walked to a bus stop and took the RTA to downtown Cleveland and caught the first Greyhound back to Maryland.

So now I have a devastated, impregnated 18 year old child on my hands. Fuck me sideways. All right. We'll do what we always do and look forward and get ready for this baby. I went to all of Red's gyno appointments with her. We celebrated the holidays. Then about halfway through her incubation, Red decides to move back in with Egg Donor and her father, actually they convinced her to come back. I won't lie and say I wasn't upset. I mean who would pick that white trash mess of a family over me? I am fucking nurturing people! But she had made up her mind and back to Maryland she went. Meanwhile I am already subsidizing part of the rent on the apartment and this was going to put me into a real big hole - I was still in college at the time. I actually told Red that since the egg donor convinced her to move out, she was going to have to front her portion of the rent until the end of the lease. We'll just say that I can be pretty persuasive when I need to be and a check was cut to my grandmother for the remainder of Red's portion of the lease.

I won't bore you with anymore long drawn out drama, but this is why PB is called PB:

- after moving back to Maryland he started selling drugs.
- he then moved into a crack house with a bunch of thugs and hookers
- there was a police raid on the aforementioned crack house
- the dumb fucker had a sawed off shotgun in his possession at the time of the raid
- he went to jail
- he got out of jail
- while on probation, the fucking idiot got caught selling drugs
- he went to PRISON
- the difference between jail and prison is the size of your asshole
- you can usually come out of jail relatively unmolested, but PB came out of prison an expert at Hog Riding and other Hog sports
- his Brown Eye is now approximately the size of a lamp post
- whenever he hears an authoritative male voice, he automatically grabs his ankles and starts praying
- the last I heard, he was diagnosed with loose sphincter syndrome and is once again selling drugs to pay for a re banding operation

And this useless piece of semi-human waste wants to see my niece. Over my dead and decomposing fucking body. Before I ever let that happen, I will find out where he is living, kidnap him from the rusted out trailer he is living in and make his prison stay look like a week at a Sandals resort. But not to worry, he doesn't have a chance in hell of making contact with the little angel. He has no parental rights to the child and were he ever to come up with the dough to take Red to court, I would bankroll that battle in a heartbeat.

Oh and there was no way he came up with the idea. Apparently this punk ass cumguzzling fuckoff got ANOTHER gal pregnant (one who is old enough to know better by the way) and she wants to meet my niece. Um, how about NO fucking way for $400 Alex?

My sister is somewhat amused by the whole thing and is not taking him seriously - he DOES NOT know where she lives at this time - but I am. I may have to make another little quick trip to the MD and take care of bidness. For now, I am coming up with specific plans of action to be implemented in case of emergency. These are the ones I have so far:

1. Call PB up and pretend I am looking to score some fill in the blank drugs. When he arrives at the deserted mountain lookout point, I push him over the edge and watch as his body breaks into a thousand pieces. Then I shit on his head.

2. Follow him to the lovely trailer park he is living in. Wait for the girlfriend to leave for her shift at Lulu's Magic Hands Massage Parlor and Carwash - no innocents will be harmed - and sneak up to the trailer. Once I am assured that the useless prick is napping, I will chain him up, cover him in honey and release the 1,000 bees I bought from a bee wrangler 3 states away.

3. Buy a strap on. Follow PB around until we reach a deserted stretch of Appalachian Mountain road. Run him off of the road into a crevasse. Watch as the car explodes and his body catches on fire. Put the fire out with my travel extinguisher once I am sure he is dead. Wait for the body to cool down. Don the strap on and use it to skullfuck him while the body is still warm.

4. I got nothing yet. Maybe you guys can help me out here. I need at least a total of 5 scenarios to feel like my backup plan has a backup plan.

I proofed this post and realized that I may have some hate/anger issues I need to work out. Oh wait - that's what this blog is for. Free therapy for everyone.

I think this illness is making me say and do things I normally wouldn't. The above scenarios are extremely mild for what that stupid shitface deserves.

OK, I think I'm done now.


Monday, June 25, 2007

I'm Being Lazy

Well, this is the 1st time that I am resorting to bullet points for various reasons. If you don't like it, then fuck off, I could give a shitfuck less.

  • Thanks to all who left comments for NYC Watchdog and thanks to those who donated to the fund. The support for our fellow blogger was outstanding and reading people's comments from all over the world brought a tear to my eye.
  • I am sick. Like either bronchitis or walking pneumonia sick. My doctor actually prescribed my meds over the phone on Sunday. I have man-voice right now and bark like a seal when I cough. It hurts to breath and the physical area around my chest cavity - both back and front - hurts to the touch.
  • I hate most everybody today
  • I had to sit through an inordinately long seminar on drug abuse in the workplace and when I wasn't coughing up blood, I was picturing myself taking my lovely ink pen and stabbing the way too fucking happy to be here registered nurse that was doing our training in the neck with the pen and dancing around in the ensuing pool of blood.
  • Apparently there is a phenomenon called "shy bladder" - mine has never been shy. I don't have a "shy third eye" either.
  • The stupid cuntbag that was supposed to present a new technology to my group (we had people drive in from 2 states for this) failed to show up at the scheduled time and then lied about sending an e-mail this morning to cancel. He was coming in from Chicago. How is it acceptable in a professional atmosphere to cancel a meeting the same day with a company who had people come in the previous night for that meeting? Oh, it's not? Well suck my moose knuckle you dillhole.
  • I drove into work this morning instead of working from home because of the above meeting. I may track that fucker down and torture him like the detainees at Guantanamo.
  • My daughter got sucked into another soccer tournament this weekend. We ended up playing the same team we beat in the last two tournaments in the final. That team's coach is a dirty cocksucker who teaches his 10 year olds how to play illegally and not get caught. I wanted to ball gag him and drop him off in the middle of a maximum security prison yard. What we did instead was beat his team for the 3rd trophy in a month. Take that you stupid piefaced ass jockey.
  • I mentioned above that I spent all weekend at another soccer tournament. My extreme misery was that I was there all weekend and while soccer sucks in and of itself, I am really fucking sick and could not breathe. At. All.
  • They found the body of Jessie Davis. Her baby daddy killed her. Anybody surprised? He will plea down and probably be out of prison in 20-25 years. I hope he gets ass raped every single day.
  • Did I mention I am really fucking sick? Oh and we have a HUGE 4th of July party at our house this weekend.
  • My friends suck at RSVPing. We could have anywhere from 50-150 people coming to our party. I told some people to bring their own chairs.

If there is anything else, I can't think of it right now. I need some serious rest and I hope that my Z-pack kicks in soon because I have about 80 hours of cleaning, planning and cooking to get done by Friday.


Saturday, June 23, 2007

Please take a moment...

The blogging world seems to me like a very close knit community and there could not be a better example of that than how everyone has come together to help a fellow blogger in the face of an unspeakable tragedy. NYC Watchdog lost his small son in an accident and in order to help the family out, two of my fellow bloggers have created a way for us to donate to the family.

As a parent, my heart aches for this man that I did not know. I was only recently introduced to his blog, but that didn't stop me from trying to help out in my own small way.

Please do me a favor and go to Avitable's blog where you can make a donation as small as $5 to help out. Please note that the family did not ask for anything, but it is our way of helping out a great person in our community.

I will NEVER ask you for anything for myself, but 100% of your donations will go directly to New York City Watchdog and his family. Even if you just stop by his site and leave your thoughts, prayers, or well wishes, it would be greatly appreciated.

Also, I would like to thank Avitable and Amy for creating the download banners that you receive with each $5 donation and allowing us to feel like we are helping in some way.

Thank you so very much,


Thursday, June 21, 2007

Jessie Davis

This is a serious post. Now that I have only one reader left, I would like to say that you may have seen on the national news that there has been a tragedy in my back yard. A young woman named Jessie Davis dissapeared from her home last week. Her two year old son was left alone in the home and no one has heard from her since.

Most of you have already heard about this story, but if not, you can go to the following link and read about this situation here.

I just want to say that I am saddened and disheartened over what seems to be an increasing amount of violence against pregnant women these days. The Rae Curruth case from a few years ago is a good example. Here you have a professional football player who was found guilty of conspiring to murder his 8-month pregnant girlfriend in a drive-by shooting and is currently serving an 18-24 year jail sentence. Then you have the Laci Peterson case and subsequent trial where her husband was convicted of her murder. On and on I could go, but in my opinion, we keep hearing about these acts of violence more and more often.

Now it is not my place to place blame or to judge anyone without proof, BUT I know that the Canton Ohio Police Department is currently looking very closely into the actions of Jessie's boyfriend and the father of both her 2 year old son and the child that she is/was carrying. A current Canton police officer, Bobby Cutts Jr. is under heavy scrutiny from both the local and federal law enforcement agencies involved in the case and the news media.

Most recently, there was a newborn girl found on the doorstep of a home about 45 miles away from where Davis lives with it's umbilical cord wrapped around her throat. The authorities are running DNA tests on the child to see if she is, in fact, the daughter that Davis was eagerly awaiting.

I can't express how this has affected the community of Northeastern Ohio, except to say that well over 1,000 volunteers showed up to assist with the last search for this poor young woman. People are passing out flyers and helping out any way that they can. I ask now that whoever and whereever you are, to please take a moment out of your day to say a small prayer for Jessie Davis and her family. If you don't pray, then send some Karma this way because we desperately need it.

Thank you,

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

Hooters Sangria

Summer Party Season is upon us and I thought I would do my friends a favor and post my world famous Hooters Sangria Recipe so the rest of the universe can share in it's awesome wonder.

Now most people think that Sangria is made with wine and some kind of juice and brandy and if that is the recipe that you enjoy, then be my guest, but you won't find that here. My sangria is guaranteed to produce an eternal sunshine of enjoyment. It has assisted in baby making, strip teasing, naked orgies and an awful lot of girly make out sessions. I have been making this particular recipe for a LONG ass time and it never fails to get people in the party mood for several reasons:

1. It tastes great
2. Beer drinkers will usually drink it
3. Liquor drinkers will usually drink it
4. Children love it and it keeps them passed out for hours

OK number 4 isn't entirely true, it actually keeps them passed out through the night. The only people who don't really enjoy this drink are the wine snobs, but hey, you can't please everyone.

The number one thing to remember about this recipe is that it came from HOOTERS, so it has been bastardized down from the original version to a more white trash method of mixology. For those of you who have never passed the entrance of a Hooters establishment, I will share with you some astounding information. Hooters does not serve liquor. At all. They only serve beer and wine. Some will have you believe that the reason is so the patrons don't get so wasted they get out of control, but we all know that after 28 tall drafts, even the most reasonable of men (AND WOMEN) will sometimes get out of hand. No the real reason, in my opinion, is that they don't really want to have to deal with the pains of acquiring and keeping a liquor license. So to appease the non-beer drinkers in the crowd, some genius at HOA (Hooters of America - parent company to all franchises) devised a fruity drink that seems like a cocktail, but contains zero liquor.

The reason I love the stuff is my lack of appreciation for any type of malted beverage. I rarely drink beer and if you are pulling a double on a long, hot day, there is nothing better than having a regular customer sneak you a pitcher or 4 of this delightful concoction. I have spent many a night downing glass after glass of Sangria thoughtfully provided to me by a table celebrating a man's last night of freedom. They were thinking that it would be fun to get me drunk and easy. What they didn't realize was that I was already easy and it takes a lot more than some fruity wine to get me hammered enough to let some cross-eyed slob into my pants. It takes money and lots of it.

So without further rambling, my Sangria recipe - regular and sugar free:

Pitcher - any size, this recipe is by portions, not measurements
Bottle(s) of Burgundy Wine - the best to use are the relatively inexpensive "jugs" you can buy at the grocery store - the bigger the better
2 liter(s) of 7-up
2 liter(s) of Mountain Dew
2 liter(s) of Pink Lemonade - regular will do in a pinch
(you can also use cans but that gets costly)

-For the diet version, change all of the soda to Diet and use Splenda instead of Sugar

Fill the pitcher with ice (you can leave the ice out if you want to add ice to the individual glasses)
Fill the pitcher halfway up with the wine
In the space remaining, fill halfway up with 7-up
Fill the remaining space (except for about 4 inches) with even parts Mountain Dew and Pink Lemonade
Sugar or Splenda - to your taste
Squeeze half of each fruit into the drink and discard the carcasses
Slice the other half of the fruit into wheels like so:

Add the fruit wheels to the top of the pitcher. You can also use them to garnish the glasses.

Drink, repeat and enjoy.

It may take some tweaking to get this to give you a taste bud orgasm, but nothing bad will come from practicing.



THIS is what I serve the Sangria in:

Monday, June 18, 2007

Metrosexuals and The Al-Qaeda Dogs

My mother-in-law painted my three-year old's fingernails this weekend!! Why ADW, you ask, what is the problem with that? Answer: he's a boy. My little baby boy. I don't want him to paint his nails. Ever. Period.

Now don't get me wrong, I could care less if the grown up boys out there want to paint their nails. But if you can't be honest in your blog, where can you be? We all say we are cool with alternative lifestyles and blah, blah, blah, but how many of us would actually prefer our children grow up to be gay or transexual or transgendered or trans anything?? Not me. And if you are honest, not you either. I have gay friends. How can you work in the service industry for 14+ years and not. Guess what people? Every single one of my Mo's said that when they have children, they would prefer that they not grow up gay. I am a hypocrite. I know this as well, but aren't we all.....

Now painting my kid's fingernails is not going to make him gay - duh, I am not an idiot. But it could be even worse. He could turn into a metrosexual, the least manly of all men. If you are offended at this (which means you are a superMetro), then fuck off and stop reading now. Or keep reading and leave me hate messages, I don't really give a shit. My mother-in-law excels at turning guys metro. Take my brother-in-law. He used to be a marine. Now he is an aging male with frosted tips and pierced ears and he looks refuckingdiculous. I can't believe that guys still think it looks good to dress like the "Night at the Roxbury" douchebags. She also encouraged the piercing of my nephew's ears. Both of them. At age ten. And the highlighting of his hair. And the girly haircut. I just don't get it. I want a guy to look like a guy. I do not want the following:

UPDATE - doing one or two on the list is OK, but the issue is when you are so waxed, plucked, loofahed and polished that you longer resemble any type of man who could pick me up and carry me. I like that - A LOT!!!

1. A man who takes longer to get ready than I do
2. A man who uses more product than I do
3. A man who is prettier or would like to be prettier than I am
4. A man who diets - AKA a manorexic
5. A man who won't let me touch his hair
6. A man who meticulously landscapes the base of his joystick
- Caveat: some trimming is fine, but if you give yourself a "fade" downstairs, we've got issues
7. A man who wears ANY kind of make-up - chapstick is fine
8. Any kind of eyebrow waxing - period

Any additions to my list?? Feel free to add.

I have some girlfriends who love the "Gotti Boy" look. They date guys who are so groomed they look like they belong in an Abercrombie window. I personally don't get the appeal. As a female, I am high-maintenance enough. I don't want to have to tell my guy that his ass looks great in his jeans, or comfort him and cajole him to go out at night when he is having a bad hair day. That is what I do and it is his job to reassure me. Now, because of this "pretty boy" look that is sweeping the nation, my gaydar is going haywire. I can't tell up from down, gay from straight and boys from girls. Lucky for me, I have a guy already and don't have to worry about it, but these changes are just making the dating pool more diffcult for the rest of you.

My point is, I do not want my mother-in-law painting my kid's nails. Even if he WERE a girl, I would expect a phone call asking my permission to use nail polish on my child. It is not your place to make those decisions for my kid. I don't think she can help herself, but I told my husband that if he didn't lay down the law with her, I would. I am not nice and I really don't care if I piss my in-laws off, they already hate me, so my feelings on the matter is fuck 'em. So my husband took care of it. Well, he better have taken care of it because if not, and either one of my kids - boy or girl - comes home from her house with makeup or piercings, I will peronally drive over there and administer ancient Osage torture methods handed down to me by my grandfather. It involves an anthill, the sunshine and a piece of wet leather.

On to the second subject of my post:

My parents own a cabin on the St. Mary's River in Southern Georgia. The last time we were all out there, we were introduced to the two stray dogs that took up residence at Huckleberry Place (my mom picked the name out - in the South they name their houses). My mom named the two bitches Snowball and Tiger. I have no fucking idea why she even bothered naming them. My parents proceded to bitch and moan about the fact that the strays decided to take up residence at the cabin, when I had a brilliant question.

ADW - "Dad, are you FEEDING these dogs."
Dad - "Well your mother gives them scraps and water when we're out here."
ADW - "Then quit bitching about the fucking dogs. If you quit feeding them, they will go away."
Dad - "I quit feeding your mother and she stayed around."
ADW - "Ha fucking Ha."
Mom - ...smacks the back of my dad's head and glares at him before walking away

Fast forward to a conversation I had with my dad when I called him for father's day.

ADW - "Hey dad what's up?"
Dad - "Well we went out to the cabin and those stupid fucking dogs each had a litter of puppies. Nine nasty ass puppies were running around my property."
ADW - "What'd you do?"
Dad - "Your mom and your sister and her friends went out and brought the lot of them back here to give away to people. They got rid of six of them and are working on finding homes for the rest. If it were up to me, I would have just put a bullet through their heads. Fucking Al-Qaeda Dogs. Little Commie fuckers. Just kill 'em and get it over with."
ADW - laughing hysterically while trying to drive... "You would not and you know it you softie. You cried when Mocha (our family dog) had to be out down, you faker. If anyone would kill poor defenseless puppies, it would be mom and you know it."
Dad - "Yeah you're right, she would. But I still say those dogs are enemy agents sent to infiltrate the top levels of our government and report back to Osama bin Laden."
ADW - "I love you dad, you are insane."
Dad - "you want to talk to your Mother?"
ADW - "Put her on."
Mom - "Did your dad tell you about those stupid dogs?"
ADW - "Yeah" I relay our converstaion... "and I told him if anyone would shoot the dogs it would be you."
Mom - "I would but I don't know how to shoot. The last time I tried I got knocked on my butt. But you're right, you're father is a big pansy."

I love my parents. They are still REALLY young (my mom JUST turned fifty) and they love to have a good time. My dad is hysterical and when they have a few beers in them, they will tell you stories that will have you falling out of your chair. They can be a little eccentric at times and my mom can lose her car in a 7-11 parking lot, but they are great and I am so lucky to be able to have this relationship with them now that I am older and out from under the thumb of my egg donor.

Hope you all had a great weekend. I am in a shitload of pain from too much exposure to the sun. When you have kids, you tend to slather them in SPF 557 and forget about yourself which is what happened at this weekend's soccer tournament. Thank goodness we have six week hiatus from soccer. Maybe we will actually have a summer this year.


Thursday, June 14, 2007

Wild Goose Chase

I believe that I have previously shared with my 4 readers that I work in technology. To be specific, I am an account executive representing Northeastern Ohio mainly in the educational market. The products that I work with are LAN/WAN, wireless, IP Telephony, Security, Video Streaming, Videoconferencing and IP Surveillance plus a few more.

Now the largest vendor that I partner with is a little company that goes by the name of Cisco Systems. Some of you may have heard of it. If not, please don't get it confused with SYSCO the food services supplier, the tech Cisco DOES NOT think that is funny. Fortunately, I do and when I used to be chief cook and bottle washer of another company and had to deal with service calls, I took every opportunity to spell Cisco like the other SYSCO just to screw with the weirdo tech guys that I had to deal with from Uzbekistan or wherever the fuck tech support is located these days. Those guys are crazy literal and would repeatedly try to relay to me in e-mails that I was spelling Cisco incorrectly which of course I found hysterical.

So my new company (I have been there about seven months now) is tits. Seriously. I only do one thing at this company and I love it. The only serious downside is that Cisco had given us some marketing dollars to use and someone with more power than I decided to use those dollar for a Cisco leads program. Let's rap about that shit for a minute. To break it down, some drone is making cold calls to a bunch of different places in Ohio, sending out postcards IN MY NAME and then prequalifying the leads. Umm, how about no!! Since I am low bitch on the totem pole for now, I am the one who has to follow up on all of this hogshit. Cisco is obviously overpaying their postcard sender outers as I have had over a dozen "return to sender" back to me. They (Cisco) have also conspired with my sales administrator to drive me completely insane by scheduling appointments for me. Again, NO!! And are these meetings with educational or government customers? Why no they are not. These meetings are scheduled with SMB (small/medium businesses) customers whose "IT" person doesn't know a router from a server.

That leads me to the subject of today's post: Wild Goose Chase. That is what I was sent on today. The call that had been set for me was with some filter producing company out west. And by out west I mean a two hour drive through the hillbilly backwoods of Ohio. And by hillbilly backwoods I mean a Deliverance-like setting without all of the fun pig squealing. Normally I love map quest, but today's little excursion has made me rethink that GPS purchase. What was supposed to take me two hours took me closer to three and I NEVER GET LOST!!! The directions that I got from map quest had roads mislabeled and didn't take into account the fixin' up of some of the country roads - with, I think, a mixture of crystal meth and cow shit that was heated up and used to fill the glacial sized potholes littering the countryside.

By the time I got to my meeting, I was already cranky and frazzled. I had to stop at a garage in Arcadia, Ohio to ask for assistance (those guys were really nice - holler!), turn around 12 1/2 times, stop at a gas station, or a please walk in barefoot carrying a screaming baby with a ciggy hanging from your lip to buy a deuce depot, before I could get to where I needed to go. Once there, it took me all of 30 seconds of conversation with the point person to come to the following confusions (No not conclusions - I meant confusions):
1. If you ever want to get a quick high, walk into any part of a filter factory
2. The person who is in charge of IT at this place could only have been put in that position as a stereotype - she is Asian but knew dick about most of the protocols we were discussing
3. All of the lead developers hired by Cisco need to be shit canned.
4. No opportunity here
5. I hate dealing with SMB customers - they are a way different breed than gov/ed. Give me politics and backbiting and drama any day over this shit.

Getting home was a little easier as I had already made all of the mistakes I could possibly make on the way there. First thing tomorrow, me and some upper management need to have a little talk on what the best use of my time is and what the meaning of waste of time is. It's time to flip the Bitch Switch and show these folks my true colors. After all, I made it past the ninety-day and six month marks with flying colors and it's my turn to have an opinion damn it.


Monday, June 11, 2007

Old Man Golfer

This weekend Mr. ADW and I decided to go golfing.

I suck at golfing.

I am faboo at beer drinking.

This makes our relationship work.

We got paired up with another set of golfers, both by the name of Ron. This worked out well because after a few beers, I started calling Mr. ADW Ron to avoid any confusion.

Big Ron was exactly that - a larger man in his early fifties, he was a few months away from retirement from a truck driving company. Since I swear like a trucker, we got along like two old whores with a double-ended dildo. Big Ron had approximately 2 beers for each hole we played. On 14, Big Ron decided that the 200 foot walk to the port-o-shitter was too far and decided to piss in the woods. Gotta love it!!

Old Ron was somewhere in his seventies and he is my most favorite Ron EVER. The dude did not give a flying flip what anyone thought about him - my favorite kind of person. Old Ron farted about 1400 times over 18 holes of golf. He farted when he teed up, he farted when he bent over, when he got in and out of the cart...
He farted while he was walking up to his shot. Each step was a little fart:
pfft, pfft, pfft, pfft, pfft
In my head I was hearing:
"left, left, left, right, left"
By the 18th hole, Mr ADW and I were laughing so hard we had tears rolling down our faces. The Mr. was actually shaking so hard because he was trying to control the great big belly laugh threatening to come out.

I am not a big fan of being paired up with another set of players when golfing. One, I am worse than bad and I could throw a ball farther than half of the shots I take. Two, I swear - A LOT!! It's not that I care if I offend the other golfers, but I normally go to the same three courses because they are realtively inexpensive and since I suck ass, I would rather play there than a really great course and I would like to not get kicked out. And Three, I have to be nice to people every day and suck ass for work and I don't have it in me to fake friendly on the weekends. This time I didn't mind the guys we were with. They were funny, didn't get impatient when I pulled my Happy Gilmore golf hijinks, they liked to drink and swear and fart. Really what more could a gal like me ask for?

Oh yeah - I just realized that I didn't say fuck once in this post so:
fuck fuck flibbity fuck
cuntfuckulicousness fuckbag


Tuesday, June 5, 2007

3' Felon

I've been a little backlogged lately (not in that way Dyck!!) and I haven't been posting, but I wanted to let everyone know how the MD trip went.

Do you remember in the last post how I said that my egg donor was a huge fucking cunt who deserved to be butt fucked by satan himself? Well that still applies after my trip to see my sister - even more so now. When Psycho found out that one of my other sisters in Va Beach and I were going to be there to support our little sister when she had her baby, she refused to watch my niece for the first two days like she agreed and told my sister that she picked "us over her." Now Tree and I are lucky because we have another set of parents to support us but Red isn't so lucky. She has Psycho and her father and that is it and he does whatever Psycho tells him to, so he is no comfort to Red.

So we dealt with it. I went down Thursday night - made it from Cleveland to Rockville (north DC) in 4 hours and 50 minutes which is my all time personal speed record. A friend was watching my niece over night and I stayed at the hospital to be with Red. My new niece was born at 8:37 the next morning and after, I left to go to the Panera across the street to get some work done. Yes I am a frigging workaholic - whatever.

That afternoon I picked H up from daycare and drove her down to Rockville to see mommy and the new baby and then we went to Tyson's Corner. Holy Shit!!! When I told Red where I was going, she asked me if I was going to 1 or 2. I was like, "I don't have to shit, I'm just taking H to build-a-bear for her birthday present." Then Red explained that Tyson's Corner was so big (it is in McLean, VA) that it had a #1 mall - the ritzy one with Nordstrom's and Sak's - and a #2 mall, the commoner mall with Sears and JC Penney. Of course, the bear place was in #1, so that is where we went.

Can I please say that if you ever have the opportunity to go to a Build-a-Bear and are totally into having a psychotic episode, then be my guest. First of all, why would anyone give a child so many choices? It was like giving Whitney crack. She went apeshit. "I want a bear, no I want a puppy, no I want a Winnie the Poo, no I want..." On and on this went until I picked out three bears and gave her the option. But did it end there? No, of course not. You had to stuff it and fluff it and pick out clothes and name it and get a birth certificate. After all of that I was so exhausted that I had no desire to even shop - a freaking miracle people. She was so cranky that by the time we were finished, we just grabbed some dinner and headed back to my sister's house.

The next day Tree and her husband came up from Va Beach and after visiting with Red and the new baby, we checked into the hotel. Now we made these reservations knowing that this hotel had both a pool and a bar. Apparently, this particular MENSA level management group decided that their hotel pool wasn't going to open until AFTER Memorial Day. What the fuck? I promised my niece that we would take her swimming and to be honest, I was looking forward to having some adult beverages poolside.

So I did what any self-reliant woman would do, I improvised. I remembered that when we stayed at a different place down the street for my grandmother's funeral the year before, the hotel had a pool that was in the back of the hotel and you didn't have to have a key card to access it. I told Tree my plan and she went along with it - grudgingly. We got dressed in our swimsuits and drove over to the other hotel where I had the best time of the whole trip. There was a biker rally in DC that weekend and the place was packed with bikers. We went into the pool and weren't there a minute when H said that she had to go pee. Now H is 3 days away from her 4th birthday at the time and I told her if she couldn't hold it to go in the pool. Did she? Yeah. She squated right down at the edge of the pool and pissed all over the SIDE of the pool. We were cracking up until the stream turned and headed right for our stuff, so we moved all of the crap out of the way.

Then we settled in and proceded to get a little sun nourishment. About ten minutes go by and I hear H say, I have to go poopy and she started grunting. We were all looking at each other like "what the fuck are we going to do now?" My bro in law thought I should take her to the lobby. Seriously? If I had an actual room at the hotel, why the fuck would I need to take her to the lobby to drop a turd? We argued about how to take care of this little situation when inspiration struck. I took H over to a little alcove in between two of the structures where there was an ice machine and drink dispenser. She squated in between the ice machine and a brick wall and dropped a little package. Then I did what I do whenever my dogs take a crap in public - I scooped it up with a plastic bag and dumped it into the garbage can. Whoever came out later that day to get some ice after the ninety degree heat was in for a little surprise - hee hee. I know, I know. Totally wrong. But seriously funny. I thought Tree and her hubby were going to piss themselves, they were laughing so hard when we came back. Whatever. Shitting in public isn't a crime - is it?

Now we are finaly enjoying the sun and water. H is bugging all of us to play with her, but she won't move from the steps of the pool and I just wasn't in the mood to freeze my arse off. One of the biker guys, who was from Ohio as well, decided to take a dip and I told H he could be her new friend. I was just joking. The guy sits down to take his shoes off and H starts asking him a million questions. I apologized to him, but he just laughed and said she made him miss his little boys at home. H started in on us again and when we ignored her she decided to use a different tack. She said the following to my brother in law:

"Uncle S, why don't you come into the pool and play with me?"
"Come on H, I don't want to come into the pool."
"Well why don't you come in and play with that guy (pointing to biker dude)?"
"H - boys don't play together in pools. It's just not right."

Later Biker Dude gets out of the pool and H asks him if he likes her swimsuit. While pulling the entire front of the thing open for God and country to see. The guy starts laughing and asks her where she learned to do that. H smiles and says "my mommy taught me." I thought we were going to totally lose it. My sister fell off of her chair she was laughing so hard. I told Red the story later and she thought it was hilarious. Slut!!!! Just kidding.

So to recap, the following things happened within four hours:

1. Broke into a swimming pool so we wouldn't have to pay to go to some nasty ass public pool.
2. Taught my niece how to pee in public.
3. Taught my niece how to shit in public.
4. Threw said shit away in a hot ass garbage can not ten feet away from three hotel room doors.
5. My niece flashed her baby nubs at a forty-year old biker dude and outed her mom for being a dirty slut.

Oh and I forgot one.

6. Apparently H can sit down and scratch behind her ears with her FEET. Just like a fucking dog. What is my sister teaching this child?

The next day, my sister came home from the hospital and I headed back to Cleveland and Tree and Uncle S went back to Va Beach. It's nice to know that while I do not get to spend a lot of time with my family, the time we do spend together is Quality. I just hope H doesn't grow up to be some weird bendy circus freak who flashes her boobs and craps on sidewalks. (=

Thanks to everyone for their kind comments on the last post!!!