Thursday, August 30, 2007

Still Deflating

I have been quite gassy today. A regular windbag, you could say. Really, it started this morning with multiple trips to the bathroom where my ass exploded in diarrhea-ic glory. My downstairs toilet now sits two inches lower in the floor and there are two flip flop imprints in my brand new Serengeti Green wall. I actually crapped until I felt my ass drawing air from my mouth into my lungs. Needless to say, I worked from home today.

After work, I picked up the spawn and we went to Macy's to check out their shoe sale. Fucking calm down people. There will be NO pictures because the sale sucked and I bought nothing. No you don't need to wash out your eyes, you're reading this correctly, the Queen of Capitalism spent zero dollars on her most recent trip to the shoe department. More interestingly is that while I was at Macy's, I smelled a really bad stench. This one was the smell of a 5-year old cadaver soaking in solution (yeah, I have had that pleasure) mixed with a whiff of skunk juice and just a modicum female dog poot (if you haven't smelled that, it will be in a later post). My eyes started watering and my little boy started gagging. We took off to the other side of the store, but we still couldn't escape the horrid odor. After about five minutes, I realized that the rank prison smell was coming from me. I was hissing. It was like the air was being let out of a balloon, but this time the balloon was my anal sphincter and the air was definitely not breathable. I didn't even know that a live human could make such a smell.

After an extremely uncomfortable dinner, we left and came home. While I was driving, my belly started rumbling again and pretty soon it was bombs away! I farted and farted and farted some more. These were not little ladylike toots either, nosiree. These were full fledged man farts. The kind guys get after a long night of beer and chicken wings followed up by a late night gyro from a street vendor. Pretty soon my seat was shaking from the force of all that flatulence and it felt like some kind of Spanish Inquisition Torture was being wreaked on my poor little digestive system. Thank goodness they were the loud dry kind or yet another pair of panties would have bought the farm.

Even now, while writing this, I am occasionally bombarded by mid to lower level gas cramps that make me bear down. I have already squeezed my chair arms so hard they will need to be recovered. I stomped my feet thinking that... I don't even know WHAT I was thinking since that action in no way helped out. I guess I'll just have to ride it out and pray that it ends before my entire body implodes in on itself.

I need a tummy rub. And a shower. Maybe two showers.

Oh and I apologize for being a bad blog buddy and not reading all your blogs as much as I would like lately. I would say that I need a spanking and I probably do, but after this post I don't think that would come off as sexy as I would have hoped.

Wednesday, August 29, 2007


I have a new title - Home Wrecker. At first I was a little concerned and I wasn't going to share this story, but now I am extra special pissed off with a side of I can't fucking believe this shit.

A few months back, I posted about seeing an old boyfriend from high school. If you want to read it, click here. All I can say about Maq is that he was a very special person in my life and I cared about and still care about him no matter what.

So back in the Spring, when we hung out while he was in town, we had a few drinks, a bunch of laughs and reminisced about times that seem so long ago now. My husband was completely aware of who I was with and what we were doing. I had a great time hanging out with someone who I not only dated once upon a time, but also a person that I grew up with. He is one of the few people who knew how horrible my home life was and could commiserate with me about the holy hell I went through.

After Maq went back to the MD, we kept in touch by e-mailing or through myspace. Just random shit like: "Hey, howzit going" and "OMG you won't believe who I saw the other day"... stupid stuff like that. Then a couple of weeks ago I got an e-mail from him marked URGENT. When I opened it up, the e-mail was in fact from his wife. Boy Howdy, let me tell you that the rambling diatribe she sent me was an almost unintelligible string of fragment sentences that was close to impossible to follow. At first my reaction was to be upset that this person that I had never met, but respected deeply for loving someone that I care about, found my behavior inappropriate. But then I thought about it, swore up a blue streak and got pissed the fuck off. I am not going to repost what she wrote to me, but I will say that she called my character into question (shut up! I am not that bad), called my morals as a mother and wife into question and told me that what "WE" had done to her had caused her to seriously rethink her marriage.

Oh... what was done to her??? Apparently Maq conveniently "forgot" to tell her that we hung out one of the nights he was in town. I don't for a second believe that he did it because he felt guilty, but that he was trying to avoid a confrontation like this one. I am not sure how he thought she wouldn't find out since I met him at his mother's house, played with his son, talked to his Aunt and then we drove out to his Best Man's house to watch the fight that evening. I absolutely had nothing to do with him not telling her that we went out and I could care less, to be perfectly honest with you. What I do not appreciate is being pulled into a very childish fight over something completely insignificant in the scheme of things and I told her that in as many words. Well, actually in a lot more words and probably not as nice as I could have been, but I really did try. I told her that while I cared for Maq, it was only in the way that old friends care and that half the time we spent talking was about her and how she turned his life around. I did take umbrage with her accusations against me and rebutted everything she had to say. Blah, blah dee blah.

Did any of it work? She responded to me by saying Thank You. The next day Maq's myspace account was deleted.

So now, I have lost my oldest friend. Literally. And I blame him for it. If he was up front with his spouse, like I was with mine, this would be a non-issue. We either would have met up with her blessing or not at all. Now, I don't feel as if I have the right to speak with him again because then I would be crossing a line that his wife obviously feels very strongly about.

Too bad. He was one of my best friends growing up and I will miss him.

I am very sad )=

*** Oh and FYI - to the stupid fuckhead who let's his children jump on top of other people's cars - I swear to you I saw that this very evening:

If that were my car, I would shoot both you and your hellspawn you ignorant Turdface. You give foreigners a bad rap in this country and I wish there was some way to screen assholes like you right out of the Naturalization process. I fucking hate you with a passion I only reserve for the ugly and infirm. Given the opportunity, I would let my mother in law's demon dog loose on your ass and then bathe in your blood. Get off your cell phone and get your eight children off of the roof of some innocent person's sedan before someone meaner than I am decides to take the lot of you out by using you for redneck 4x4 target practice. You are truly a dickheaded half wit and I am sure I will be seeing your mug shot soon.

Fuck off to all assholes, I have had enough of you. Unless you're funny, then we're cool. Or hot. Or rich. So I guess I need to amend that to say: fuck off to all poor, ugly, boring assholes.

I feel better now.


Friday, August 24, 2007

I Have a Dream

Well folks, it's time to once again visit the internal workings of my crazy stylist's fabulous mind. I thought that when he compared himself to Jesus, anything else that ManHo Cho could say would pale in comparison. Boy was I wrong.

Yesterday, I went to get retouched and trimmed and for the next two hours hilarity ensued. These are the things that were discussed at my two hour appointment last night:

  • My girlfriend KY told ManHo that if he keeps sticking his cock in her face while he's cutting her hair, the next time she's going to grab it. So now my fabulous little princess is nervous that one of his ladies is going to get a little too friendly.
  • ManHo told me he would turn straight for me. He is so full of shit.
  • ManHo has a theory that 80% of the LA population is bisexual. He has no solid proof to back it up.
  • He decided to go through the list of large dicks in Hollywood. Collin Farrel was on the list. I am now trying to find a copy of Alexander for myself since the movie is where ManHo got his visual from. Damn, how did I miss that one?
  • ManHo as taken to wearing his version of Wonder Woman's Metal Bracelets. These accessories are black leather Dolce and Gabanna wrist cuffs with an enormous silver metal D&G logo in the center.
  • ManHo wears more jewelry than Liberace. Last night he had over 50K worth of diamonds on.
  • One of the rings he wears came from an ex-lover. He got it from giving great head.
  • ManHo is caught in a lover's quandary right now. Of course, both of the guys he likes are 19 years old. The one he is "with" is a model who splits his time between LA and Cleveland. ManHo just isn't that into him. The one he really wants is a server at the Red Lobster, but the kid is a huge pothead and keeps blowing him off - not literally, jeez. He asked me my advice. I told him that the guy sounded like he didn't have his shit together and to forget about him. He won't listen to me, I guarantee it.
  • ManHo came up with a new name that took me a few minutes to decipher. Last time he told me he would make me look like Grease Silverspoon. What he meant was Reese Witherspoon. This time he said that we would go blonder like Kristia Alligator. I realized that he meant Christina Aguilara. I almost fell out of the chair. He was washing my hair at the time and when I sat up, there was water and shampoo flung all over the place.
  • ManHo refers to all of his lovers as "she" and "her". I am pretty certain that the jig is up and everyone at the salon knows he is gay.
  • We were making up words for vagina and I came up with Hot Dog Bun. ManHo said that it sounded like gay sex to him. Then I came up with Sausage Receptacle. That one took a ten minute explanation, since he didn't know what a receptacle was. The stylist across from him lost it at the same time. She was laughing so hard she was shaking.
  • ManHo likes to call me his Diva. I am pretty sure he calls half of his clients by this nickname, but I love it anyway.
  • He asked me if I wanted to see a picture of the Red Lobster ex. I reminded him that he showed me the pic the last time. Now when someone asks you if you want to see a picture of their significant other, the appropriate answer is yes. What you may not be prepared for is a full length nekkid picture of a gay guy with his giant dick staring you in the face. Holy shit was that uncomfortable.
  • ManHo likes to make movies. Of his gay sex. Then he burns them to DVD. He offered me a copy. How the fuck are you supposed to respond to that one.
  • I responded by gagging. Loudly. And I laughed so hard I was bent over at the waist. He started laughing too and pretty soon we were both cracking up like a bunch of loons. I declined my own personal copy of his home porno.
  • While I was gagging, ManHo told me that that's the same sound he makes when a cock is too big. That made me laugh even harder. I think my face went 14 shades of red. I guess there is such a concept as too much information between you and your stylist.

This last one is a doozy. ManHo started off by saying "I have a dream...". He stopped and said "Wayare ha I hewd that one fwom"? I responded by filling him in on a little speech that was done a while ago by Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. I explained that this was one of the most famous speeches in American History and that it was the impetus (yeah, try giving the definition of that word to him) for a decades long struggle for equal rights.

You wanna know what ManHo's dream is dontcha? Actually, he also described it as a passion. Apparently ManHo thinks that the worst feeling in the whole wide world is being hungry. OK, makes sense to me and he does have a very kind and caring heart. ManHo wants to give back to the people and he wants to help those who are homeless and hungry. Can't fault him that rationale. It gets a little tricky when he goes into his "plan" to help those less fortunate. He has come up with an unconventional idea, I'll give him that. What ManHo is proposing is to make a calendar and a movie and have the proceeds benefit the hungry. M'kay, I'm still on board. Yeah, a nude calendar and a porno. Uh, rewind and review. Yeah, he said a nude calendar and a porno. Oh and he wants me and KY to participate. His thinking is that by taking women an men who would never, ever, under any circumstances make the above items and getting them to do it for free, that it would be classy and people would want to buy it. This is where I have trouble following the logic. Never mind the fact that the two things just don't go together, the people that would purchase them, aren't going to say: "gee, I could spend my hard earned money on Jenna Jameson porn and Playboy, but instead, I am going to shell out a hundred bucks for a calendar and some porn to help the homeless." After ManHo related his ideas to me, I think that I heard the fabric of the universe start to tear.

I was speechless. This is not something that occurs with any type of regularity. What do you say to something like that? I told him I would help hand out the food. Oh and he has decided that he is going to have a chef make up steaks and lobster and he will drive around poor neighborhoods and hand it out himself. Yeah, if any of you have been fortunate enough to spend time in any kind of inner city setting, I'm sure you can see the pitfalls that could befall a flamboyantly gay Asian guy driving around a big white SUV, wearing enough diamonds to feed all the homeless for a year, handing out platters of steak and seafood. But instead of bursting his bubble, and it really is a very sweet thought in his way, I offered to come up with a name for the porno.

Any ideas? Anyone?

Wednesday, August 22, 2007


I eat like a goldfish. You know that thing where they will gorge themselves on the rainbow colored paper you feed them until they explode. That's what I do when I like something. It's usually fruit or soup that does it to me.

Last night it was the soup. Or more specifically, the scrumdiddlyumptious chicken and rice soup that I created from scratch. Hmmmm, ahemmmm, ahemmmm!!!! Do I have your attention now or do you need to reread the first few sentences? From scratch people. Yeah, that's right: I cook. I am a motherfucking mastermind in the kitchen. A culinary goddess, the likes of which have not been seen since Mrs. June Cleaver. I bake, I broil, I saute, I mash and I fry. And a lot of the meals I make are from scratch when I can take the time to make them. My cooking is stick-to-your-ribs yumminess that I learned from my grandmother AND I quite often cook without using measuring utensils.

Bow down to the Kitchen Bitch and worship my whisks and ladles.

Where was I?

Oh yeah, the bellyache. Well I got that wild hair up my ass yesterday and after I dug around and extracted it, I decided that I would make dinner that evening. But not just any dinner, I had a hankering for some soup. Well that plus the whole chicken I had sitting in the friggie. So I put Miss Cluckers in the big soup kettle and let her simmer for most of the afternoon. Then after some dicing and slicing, some tossing in of random ingredients and spices, I had homemade chicken and rice soup for dinner. I inhaled two GIGANTIC bowls of it complete with extra Cajun spices since I like mine with some legs - the better to kick you with my dear.

Not too long after that there was a deep and distant rumbling. Not unlike what you would hear before a big thunderstorm. When my bowels started tying themselves into knots, I realized that the noises were being made inside of my body. Uh-oh, not good. Of course, I tried to ride it out but no dice. This is what the end result is after chicken and rice soup passes through the digestive tract:

So basically, I shit out a giant rice cake. It hurt. If the new thing is vaginal rejuvenation, surely the anal version isn't too far behind. I'll have to ask ManHo Cho about that one......

Monday, August 20, 2007

A Tribute to Assholes

I am not actually giving a tribute to literal assholes as they are quite ugly, often hairy and give me no thrills whatsoever. Instead, today's tribute is for the figurative asshole. We all fit that role at some point in our lives, some more than others (myself included). Maybe I will make this a monthly thing with different ass-holey subjects, but today's post is limited to one type of asshole in particular:

The Ass Jack, Couldn't Give a Shit Parent

Grrrrrrrr...... I was so pissed at the mall the other day, I literally saw spots in front of my eyes.

I am sooooo fucking fed up with these parents who think that it is perfectly acceptable to let their children run around like a bunch of monkeys high on banana crack. And while it may seem bigoted of me, THERE ARE certain groups of people who have this tendency. I won't name them, but I don't give a good damn what your religious beliefs, color of skin, lack of money or societal mores are, that is no excuse to let your children run around like little heathens tearing shit up and wreaking utter fucking havoc with no concern for those around them or the items that they are destroying. And God forbid someone says something to the little pigs, then you get all pissed off and act like a victim.

Well fuck you and the horse, trailer, burned-out shell of a building or camel you rode in on. You should be ashamed of yourself. And while I do see plenty of people out there with well-behaved children, the increasing lack of respect for both people and things that kids have these days is overwhelming. And where are these parents, I ask? While your 14 children are climbing all over the merry-go-round and coin operated mall rides, you ladies and gentleman are shopping in a store over 300 feet away. I am not kidding you, I saw this with my own eyes. And you think nothing of walking away when your 2, 3 and 4 year old children are left in the care of girl who could be no older than 8. Fuck me. Then when some pedophile pervert steals your kid away or one of them falls off of the giant Teletubby race car, your incessant caterwauling can be heard for miles around. Then you try and figure out who you can sue.

So here's to you and your lackadaisical parenting skills. You should have to go to jail when your kids destroy the entire Mikassa section of Dillards because you REFUSE to keep an eye on them. I hope that one of these days, someone comes right up to you and sucker punches you in the back of the head for being the ultimate dick-headed asshole, you useless void.

AND lastly, the next time you give me a dirty look for reprimanding YOUR fucking spawn children when they come up to my child's stroller and start poking him in the face and laughing, I swear to the Great Almighty that I will do more than glare back at you before turning away. I am sick and tired of these people who feel like they are entitled and who teach their children the same poor lack of manners. I hate you, all of you and I hope that you all move into the same trailer park or urban ghetto and figure out how to kill each other off leaving my area a better place. Teach these little shitheads some manners so they don't grow up to be a drain on MY fucking checkbook. Boo fucking hoo to you and your welfare ass, food stamp collecting, lack of desire to better yourself choices. I WAS in the same position as a lot of people who have it rough now and drug myself out of that hole one stiletto at a time, so I feel no sympathy for you at all. Get off of your lazy assess. If you have two good hands and a strong back, you should be working, not driving around some $60,000 vehicle because you figured out how to cheat the system. You are the ultimate asshole and karma is a bitch. I can't wait to see what she has in store for you and your future felons.

So here's a great big FUCK YOU to the "I could care less what my kids do, as long as it doesn't interfere with my life and when it does, I will then blame everyone but myself for creating a sociopath hell child who burns down buildings and murders animals" parent. It is YOUR fault that there is an ever-increasing population of children and young adults who are so fucked up they pop whatever drug is available into their mouths, spread their legs with no panties on and then when the very people that created them turns their backs on them, they either end up in prison or kill themselves. I am sick, sick, sick of you. Take these kids in hand and TEACH them about life and all of the obstacles out there NOW before it is too late.

Sorry for the rant but I have had just about enough. Now go beat your kids just in case they did something wrong while you were not watching and if you don't have any, beat the neighbor's kid, he probably deserves it.

Loves Ya,

Thursday, August 16, 2007

Goodbye Friend

It is time to say goodbye to someone I admire and adore. His brand of writing and witty sarcasm mixed with poignant stories has touched me from the beginning. I could never strive to be as deep nor as connected with the world around me as this wonderful man. I was both honored and more than a little shocked when he linked to my blog. After all if I am going to set some type of standard by which I judge all other blogs, this sexy, mustached Guatemalan has set the bar irretrievably high. Near unreachable.

There has been a rather large movement away from blogging over the last few months. Some folks with truly wonderful points of view (some I may agree or disagree with, but still read voraciously) have either revamped their blogs/writing styles, taken an undetermined hiatus or all out decided to quit writing and to my ever growing dismay, He is one of them.

Here's to you El Guapo. May life bring you what your heart desires. I hope that you continue writing in some form or another and that when you do, you drop me a line so I can go out and purchase whatever you have created. Your words and the stories they bring to life have touched me, truly. Your style is unique and you have a knack for cutting through the bullshit of life to the heart of any matter with your Spanglish. People from all over the world waited on pins and needles until your next post and I was one of them.

So it is with a sad heart that I say so long and farewell. I am a little weepy now and I may need a full bottle of wine to ease my sorrows. I don't "know" you, but I know you. The blogging world has lost an original in a land of the unoriginal and uninspired (I include myself in with this lot). If you ever decide to return, I will be one of the first to flood your posts with comments.

For those of you who do not know of the devastatingly handsome man from South America, please go here to read his archives. I know that you will enjoy his stories as much as I have.


Until we read again..............

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

BOLO: White Thong Panties

For those of you who have never been associated with law enforcement (i.e. arrested, paroled, etc), you probably aren't aware of what a BOLO is. BOLO stands for Be On The Lookout. In my case, I lost my panties. Somewhere in northeastern Ohio, current whereabouts unknown.

This weekend was my office's annual picnic and company party. We held it out at one of our engineer's houses for several reasons:

1. He lives in a more rural setting, so there is less of a chance that the cops will be called on us.

2. There was enough room to set up tents for people who wanted to stay overnight.

3. The neighbors don't seem to mind the screams, nudity and occasional shotgun blasts that permeate the air after too much Patron.

Seriously, our owners decked the shit out of this thing. Up north they call it a pig roast, but down south my folks call it a pig pickin'. Either way, it was a hell of a time. We had a chef who prepared all of the food except for Porky - some of the guys do it every year as a kind of tradition. There was boozing a plenty. We are a pretty small operation with about 25 employees, but with all of the families and friends, there was probably close to 80 peeps there.

We played volleyball and cornhole throughout the day - by the way cornhole is a truly awful name for a game and someone needs to come up with a new one, preferably one that does not conjure up images of giant turds laced with little yellow kernels. In the evening we played Texas Hold 'Em which we do every few months anyway, but this time we didn't ante in. Instead, each player got a rack of chips and it was winner take all with additional prizes for best bluff, best hand and so forth. I got a little bored with the game and decided to have a few more cocktails. Oh, did I forget to mention that I had a steady conversation with the Captain and some Diet Coke all day? Anyway, I know the host's daughter from a mutual friend, so we decided to have a few shots - I believe Grey Goose. *DISCLAIMER - I am not a complete twat, SuperDiva was still down south with my folks and Little Man had a sleep-over at the neighbor's house* After a while, I was fairly hooched up, so I decided that instead of letting my mouth get me in trouble, I would crawl into the backseat of my vehicle and take a wee nap - one that included donning a child's sweatshirt and covering up with a beach towel.

Eventually Mr. ADW finished playing poker and hung out for a while. After about 2 hours (yes really - 2 effing hours - seriously?) he started to wonder where I was. He looked all around and finally found me curled up in the backseat. Since I was fairly incoherent, he just decided to leave since the keys were already there on the passenger's seat. About halfway home, he apparently remembered that there was a clothing issue earlier in the day and asked me if I had removed my clothes from the running board of my truck. Uh, how about no? Shit. He didn't tell me all of this until the next day.


We loaned the company the use of our Big Ass Waterslide for the party. I figured that we might as well get some use out of it and it was perfect to keep the kiddies occupied whilst us adulty folks had a little fun. About halfway through the afternoon, one of the ladies I work with brought out 250 water balloons that were blown up for the kids. Yeah, not so much. I am not ashamed to say that I started the water balloon fight. Me and my mighty 5" cannons. I lobbed the first volley at one of my fellow staff members and from there it was an all out war. Water balloons were being thrown with deadly accuracy in all directions. Someone gave all of the kids about 20 cans of silly string. Pretty soon it was a slippery, slidey cesspool of neon colored chemicals and mud.

But I couldn't leave well enough alone. I targeted the vice president of our company. Yeah you heard me correctly, one of the guys responsible for my paycheck. The devil that was in me decided that it would be a hoot to try and tackle him into the pool of the waterslide. I have to mention that I am extremely competitive and this day was no exception. I grappled with a stamina and verve that would make Royce Gracie and all of his UFC counterparts proud. I grappled and clawed, pushed, pulled and all out drug this man to the edge of the pool whereby I wrapped myself around his legs like I would imagine Tommy Lee stuffs his dick in his pants every day and somehow managed to upend him into the pool. Since I was already wet, I could have given a shit, but he wasn't. He took it all in stride though and wasn't even that pissed off when he realized he had his cell phone on his belt.

I also thought ahead, knowing how these folks like to party and brought a few extra sets of clothes. I changed in the bathroom and then tried to figure out how I could get my clothes dry enough so that they wouldn't mold in some plastic bag overnight. Being the ever resourceful genius that I am, I decided that I would just lay them out on the running board of my car and let them dry out since it was about ninety degrees that day.

Flash Forward:

The next morning the hubs reminds me that he didn't get my clothes and I was too drunk to remember to get them, so they were probably on the side of the road somewhere. We had to go back to the house to take down the water slide, so I scanned the roads the whole way there to see if I could spot my cute pink top, favorite Old Navy shorts and white thong VS panties somewhere along the side of the highway. No dice. When we got to the house, we looked around in the yard, but we couldn't find them there either.

I have now given up any hope that I will ever find my clothes, but I do have one concern. It would be just my luck that the panties flew off the side of the car on the eighty mile an hour trip home and landed on some nasty pervert's antenna. So now I have this dread that some skanky panty sniffer is going to figure out how to track me from the peaches and cream scent of my underoos and start stalking me. I mean who wouldn't? Until then, I am content in knowing that I had a good time on the first day of my vacation and I once again will live in infamy as the girl who lost her drawers at the company picnic. Oh AND I took down a man twice my size with complete disregard to both my personal safety and the dangers of no longer receiving a salary. I am one crazy ass, mean bitch. Recognize!

Monday, August 13, 2007

I'm Screwed

So I am already in deep shit with the mother-in-law for the Shih Tzu Strangling.

Now I am in even hotter hot water. Is that even possible?

First we need to have a little discussion on my mom. MY mom is the best mom in the entire world. The fact that she did not give birth to me doesn't even come into account. In fact, I think that it makes her even greater (if possible) because she loves Tree and I as much as she does Bee and Vee - the two daughters she heaved out of her womb. My mom is funny and pretty and sweet. She is such a Suthun' Laydee that she speaks with the cutest little accent and wears funny hats. Plus she can't remember anything and she can laugh at herself about it.

BUT--------BUT-------- she really doesn't like animals. I think that after putting up with our beloved Mocha, she has had it. They finally had to put Mocha down a few months back and if anything, her tolerance for crap and piss and vomit has dipped to an all time low. When she found out that we were dog sitting for my husband's parents for a MONTH she about shit a brick. I believe she said "ADW, have you lost your ever loving mind? Why in the world would you WANT to take those animals?" I told her that it was either take 'em now or put up with the whining about how much it cost them to board the fuckers while they were on vacation and I - being the evil genius that I am - took the path of least resistance.

Yeah, real smart. Since last we visited the follies of the Golden Retriever and the Shih Tzu, the big dumb ass one shit on the floor outside of my bedroom. What the mother fucking hell? OUR dogs aren't even allowed to go to the upstairs part of our house. Period. There is no way that those two visiting spawns of Satan would in anyway be allowed to trot their hairy shit-stained, worm infested nasty asses into my sacred domain. But trot away she did and Mags took an elephant sized dump right in front of my bedroom door. I think if she had more than two brain cells, she would have figured out how to nose the door open and leave a steaming pile of turds in the middle of my bed. That would have earned her a forever shot.

The forever shot is my mom's idea of a good time. She actually taught my little man to say the following to my mother-in-law"

"Grandma Jay says that Bailee and Mags need a forever shot."

My three year old!! Great now I think she is trying to start a war with the in-laws. The problem with that is my folks are in Georgia while the hubby's rents are here in Ohio. Do you KNOW how much trouble this is going to cause me? Mr. ADW's parents barely tolerate me as it is. Once they find out that my mom is scheming to get their dogs put down it will turn into an all out loathing and then I'll have to flip the bitch switch - the fall out may even affect Miss Britt and Avi all the way down in the Floridian Nation.

Oh well. Watcha gonna do? So now I have to devise some witty, humorous back story to make up in the event that Little Man remembers what Grandma Jay taught him to say to his other grandma when she returns at the end of the month..... Any ideas?

Sunday, August 12, 2007

It's NOT good to be back

I am back from vacay and I have to say that it sucks. I think that next time I will be taking a two-week vacation, because this beyotch is in no way ready to come back to work.

Later I will post the following:

  • How I lost my clothes at my company picnic

  • Pictures

  • The destruction of one (1) Family Bathroom at the Cleveland Botanical Gardens

  • ManHo Cho and his love life advice

  • KY's ridiculous reason for not being able to light a ciggie

  • My night out with the girls

  • Why I am a house hobbit

  • How my father gets me in trouble with daycare

  • The Lion King and Mustascarfikizuzai versus Simba (Peanut Butter)

  • The Corn Festival

  • Probably some other shit

For now, I am extra super-duper exhausted. Seriously, I love my family and I think I would enjoy living closer to them, but I have some sick piece of DNA that requires that I cook non-stop when people come visit me. Blech!!! I am not cooking another meal for a while. I deserve to be spoiled damn it.

Sorry I haven't had time to read blog posts lately, but I'll make up for it, I promise. Oh, and ignore the whole voting for me thing. I guess it is BS, so no one really thinks I'm great, just another excuse to get someone's site stats up.

More to come...


Sunday, August 5, 2007

I'm Whoring It Out Today

I am officially on vacation. For the next week. Yay for me!!!

As you can see above I am pimping out Blog Interviewer. Apparently, they have me up on their site as an "August" Blog. I'm not really sure what the rules are, but I did read enough to see that I am considered a HUMOR blog. OK. I can dig it. Just go read my interview and give me a thumbs up damnit. Not a thumbs down, I am pretty sure that's not good. Unless of course my readers are closet masochists and they really all hate me and punish themselves by reading my blog. Yeah, that could be it. It's probably also the reason that the large majority of you effers don't comment on my posts.

Anyhoo, please go here:

and vote for me. Remember, a vote for me is a slap in the face to everything good and clean and holy. Oh, and you can vote EVERY SINGLE DAY, so help a bitch out.

I'll leave you with this thought, I offered Mr. ADW a blowjob if he won the game we were playing at my company picnic (post to come later). He choked...... so I didn't have to.

Happy ADW vacation week, it's like Shark Week on the discovery channel with less blood, guts and missing limbs.

Friday, August 3, 2007

And She Shall Be Named The Joy

Today I was on the phone with my sister (way too early to call, Tree) and she told me that she reads my blog every so often. I didn't even know that she was aware of the existence of the Woe. Anyway, she seems to think that I have a knack for combining words into a story and while I take that as a compliment of the highest order, I am content for now to try and chug along in the same vein that I have been following for a while now. That's not to say that I wouldn't luh-uh-uhve to write some widely acclaimed New York Times Bestseller - I can see the headlines right now: ExHootersGirl the First to Use Cumguzzling Twatmonger in Commercially Successful Erotic Murder Mystery, but for now I am content to thrill my tens of readers here on my extremely successful blog (what can I say, I set the bar low).

So lately I have been having a personal issue. Let's backtrack a sec... First I need to introduce you to a member of the ADW family. She is extremely close to me and I have known her for a long time now. While we have had our ups and downs, she has always been there for me and I try to take care of her as best as I can. Sometimes she gets neglected for long periods of time, but these days I have been trying to fit 36 hours in a 24 hour day and some things get left by the wayside and The Joy is one of them. Actually, her full name is The Temple of Delight and Eternal Giver of Joy, but we just call her The Joy most of the time. The full name only gets brought out on special occasions, or when someone important needs to be treated to the haughty imperialistic side of The Joy.

The Joy is also known in hundreds of other synonyms, including but not limited to:

Whisker Biscuit

Honey Pot

Pink Taco

Vertical Bacon Sandwich

Bearded Clam














Yeah folks it's time to talk about my Vagina. At least half of the blauthors that I read regularly have devoted a post or two to either their vagina, or someone else's vagina that they would like to know better and I got a couple a things to say about mine.

First of all, she's a fucking bitch. She has caused me no small amount of trouble with her siren's song and exotic lure. I am pretty sure that she is bi-polar because one minute she's ready and raring to go and the next, she shuts down faster than a whore sniffing out a Vice cop. I have absolutely no control over the moods that permeate the rest of my body supplied by her fanatical whims. Seriously, what the fucking hell?

Second, there is always something going on with The Joy's plumbing, but those issues have been exacerbated by the fact that I had her put on permanent impregnation lockdown a few years ago. I simply cannot go through the complete horror of another pregnancy, so with a fantastic insurance plan, thoughtfully provided by Mr. ADW's company, I trotted my happy ass on over to the local hospital and had the egg chutes shut down for good.

If you have never experienced or known someone who has gone through the banding procedure for sterilization, it mother fucking sucks! Seriously. Plus I am a laugh riot when under the influences of anesthesia. Apparently I told the cutie pie doctor who gave me the happy juice that I would give him a varied and extremely imaginative amount of sexual favors - his choice of course - in exchange for his legalized drug dealing services. When I came out of the OR and started coming to, I experienced the worst pain I have EVER felt in my life. It was a combination of a complete aching body, Satan's pitchfork lancing my abdomen every fifteen seconds and I was permeated with shaking that almost no amount of drugs would stop. My doctor was within minutes of having me admitted to the hospital after copious amounts of Demerol and Morhpine failed to alleviate any of my suffering. It wasn't until the third shot of morphine that the shakes that were wracking by body finally stopped. I had a rough recovery, but my doctor was kind enough to keep my supply of drugs at the "enough to get an elephant stoned" level.

Now I don't care what the so-called doctors have to say about the lack of a link between tubal ligation and having serious problems with your monthly cycle. Before the procedure I was fairly normal and you could set a calendar by my ovulation. After the operation, my entire system has been completely screwed up and The Joy is extremely displeased. Her reaction has been nothing short of astounding. She has now decided that the Curse of Eve will come whenever She is good and ready for it to happen. It may be 28 days it may be 66 days and it may be 14 days. The Curse now lasts anywhere from 4 to 32 days at a time. Don't you wish you could hemorrhage for that long? Jealous, aren't ya?

Oh and the super funnest part of the whole thing? As I now sit here and type this, I think my vagina has now moved to the outside of by body. It would probably feel a lot better if it were. I can't stand up because it hurts too badly. When I do stand, it looks like a cross between a 2 year old's pee-pee dance and the way a new tranny hooker stands to keep her dick tucked in. Quite simply, it hurts. If The Joy ain't happy, ain't NO-BODY happy. My ovaries feel like big hard duck eggs and they throb. The pressure on my taint may soon turn it into a one giant vagasshole. If one more person looks at me cross-eyed, or the inhuman Stepford Cunt from across the street even breathes in my direction, I am going to figure out how to stuff a leafblower up that person's cornhole, turn it on and dance in the sloppy aftermath.

I'm feelin' a little bitchy today in case you couldn't tell. The Curse (or raging Level 4 rapids of doom) was about 2 weeks behind schedule and I think it makes me build up extra bile that spews forth uncontrolled. I hate my Vagina and all of the crappy problems that it has blessed me with. Joy Schmoy. If I could, I would have my doctor remove all of my female apparatus tomorrow with great anticipation. I don't think that it could hurt any worse if the Incredible Hulk took his giant green fist and punched me repeatedly in my not so eager Beaver.

I can't wait to see what kind of search traffic I get from this post.

Nevertheless, I do appreciate my reader(s?), so here is a message from me to you:

Thursday, August 2, 2007

Leavin' on a Jet Plane

She's off. Gone. She won't be back for a week. She will have the time of her life with grandma and grandpa at Disney World, home of her childhood heroes and wonderful rides and imaginary fantasies. I couldn't help but get a little weepy when I sent my little girl, 10 years old and not so little anymore, off by herself on a big bad airplane for the first time. Well she's flown before, but not without me there by her side. She told me that she had butterflies in her tummy, but she was really excited. Then she asked me for ice cream. At seven thirty in the morning.

Yes, SuperDiva is off for a one-week vacation with my parents. She flew into Orlando today and is staying with them at Disney World for two days. Then it's back to Georgia for a couple of days followed by a quick trip to North Carolina where they will stop and pick up one of my sisters. After that they will head on over to Virginia Beach to visit my sister Tree and her husband. Then they head back to Ohio for a week long visit with us. This is a memory that she will have for the rest of her life and while I wouldn't deny her this chance, I still find myself missing her already.

OK, enough mommy blogging for now - blech. Let's talk about something so insidious and spiteful that everyone has probably experienced it at least once: the asshole airline worker. Oh yeah. If you have never flown, then you probably don't understand what I am talking about, so go here.

M'kay back now? Fun's over.

I swear to ever loving heaven that there are more and more of these folks flying the friendly skies these days. Don't get me wrong, there are some wonderful people who work in the airline industry, helpful and courteous and nice. But. But. BUT!!!! They tend to be overshadowed by the supreme douchiness that I call the Asshole Airworker. These folks hate you. They would rather trip you, kick you in the neck and grind their heel into your bleeding body than give you the time of day. They act like any question put to them is some kind of derogatory remark. What the fuck is up with that shit? Seriously. You work in the SERVICE industry. You are required to be around people ALL DAY LONG. Answering their questions and dispensing advice on how to traverse the slippery path of air travel is what you are being paid to do. What does the Orange terror alert mean? Why can't I bring my eyelash curler in my carry-on? When, if ever, do you remove that double ended dildo from deep inside your rectum? Is it OK to masturbate while in flight as long as I have a handkerchief over my lap? Where does my shit go when I flush the trailer toilet you crammed into a closet on this big lumbering bus with wings? I could go on and on, but why do you glare at me so? I am just curious. Asking normal everyday questions that will let me know what actions are and are not appropriate while on your flight so I don't piss you off and embarrass myself in the process.

I do not understand what the cranky, I'm a supercunt attitude does for you? Do you not understand that people hate dealing with you because they automatically assume that you are going to be SuperAsshole #1 and treat them like they are complete idiots when all they want to know is how to get on a connecting flight? A little bit of patience and a smile is all I ask of you. Especially for the mother of a ten-year-old daughter flying off to Florida by herself for the first time....alone. We paid an extra fifty dollars for the ticket, just so I could get past the security gates and see her off myself. A little sympathy wouldn't be lost on me. Just because I was sobbing hysterically as she boarded the plane, yelling "don't let that plane take off" is no reason to be nasty to me.

So... I hope I see you on the street someday. Yeah, you know who you are. I have your face burned into my memory and I will recognize you no matter how you disguise yourself. You can be nasty to me all you want, but I draw the line at snapping at my child. Fuck you, you oversized cock receptacle and the orthopedic shoes you waddled in on. It's not my fault that life has beaten you down so badly that you hate everyone in it. When I see you, you better start praying, because only God Almighty will keep me from fucking you up.

I'm Done.