Thursday, February 28, 2008

Help, Can't Breath

I hate kickboxing. I was going to post about the awesomeness that is "Wicked", but I can't. Why? Because I have a kickboxing instructor who is an undeniable sadist. I feel like my whole body is made out of jelly. He kicked my ass tonight and singled me out for it. He made me a team leader, so he watched me like a hawk to make sure that I didn't slack off.

We did running drills, kicking drills, punching drills and I am pretty sure I got drilled at one point. Right in the pooper. AND THEN!!! After class was over, I was standing by the open door with steam LITERALLY rolling off of my body and he took one look at me, laughed and then told me I would thank him for it later. I responded by telling him that I hate him.

Note to kickboxing instructors - Do not look at a woman that you have abused for an hour and laugh at her while her soggy hair is plastered to her head, her legs are bowed from 192 fucking lunges and her arms are laying limply at her sides because she can't lift them higher than her kneecaps. If you work someone out until they look like a wounded, oozing Ebola Monster and then laugh at them, it won't matter how many degrees you have on your black belt. There will be one bitch out there with just enough adrenaline left in her to kick your ass from here to next week. Please read one bitch as this bitch and know that I tend to get a little emotional when my heart rate goes over 300 beats per minute. There should never be that much adrenaline in a woman unless she has to lift a car off of one of her kids.

One woman told me that I shouldn't stand out in the cold air because I could get pneumonia. After growling and doing my own version of an exhaustoglare at her, I told her that at least it would put me out of my misery. Then I left the dojang wearing nothing but my dance pants and a tank top. In below zero weather. And I drove home like that.

I really had steam coming off of my body. How does that shit happen?

As I lay my head down to sleep tonight, I will say the following prayer and I would appreciate the rest of you saying it with me:

"Heavenly father, please forgive me for all of my sins; many though they are. Please watch over our men and women who are in service to our country both here and abroad. And pretty please, give Master S...... a bad case of the shits. Pretty, pretty please with cherries on top. I know you have way more important things to do, like laugh at a Congress that places more importance on whether baseball players are taking steroids than oh... say everything else in the world. But I would really like one week of working out where I can still walk the following day. Thank you. Amen."

OK, maybe I won't have the energy for the first part, but I am definitely slipping the last little bit in there.

Maybe I will stop shaking by tomorrow morning.

My kneecaps hurt.

So do the tips of my ears.

At one point, my toes went completely numb, but the feeling is back. Also, I can finally hear in my right ear again. I went deaf for a while.

Maybe I shouldn't drink a large coffee right before working out. That can't be good.

I hate working out. It's the worst part of aging.

Good night now.

P.S. Blogger is being an asshole and I can't spellcheck and I am not proofing this. You get it as is and if you don't like it, tough cockhairs.

Wednesday, February 27, 2008


"You're gonna be pop-u-u-u-u-la-a-ar."

I am off to see Wicked tonight. Ha mothafuckers. Ha.

I am so freaking excited. Not as excited as if I were going to go see..... oh, say an NHL game, but pumped nonetheless.

I have heard nothing but good things about this Playsical, from both guys and gals and the traveling cast that will be here in Cleveland has gotten rave reviews.

Oh and as for transportation.... I will see if I can hitch a ride with a snowplow.

I don't know how many of you (especially you Floridian assmunchers) watch the weather channel, but it has been snowing like crazy up here in the Cleveland area. They cancelled school for the second day in a row. People are rioting in the bread aisles. There are clan fights breaking out in the street over car accidents. But it sure looks pretty from the inside of my 73 degree heated house.

So getting from my residence into downtown Cleveland should be fraught with danger and adrenaline highs. I for one am voting for a Zamboni rental, just to say I rode a Zamboni through a snowstorm. Zamboni, Zamboni, Zamboni. It just sounds good as it rolls off your tongue, doesn't it? It sounds like something an Italian DOES with his tongue. Mmmm.....

So if you flip on the news and hear that some crazy chick drove a Zamboni right through the Terminal Tower or the Hard Rock Cafe and you don't hear from me in the next few days.... well, it means that I am in jail.

I'll let you know how the play goes. If I make it.


Thursday, February 21, 2008

Goodbye Ugly Rosebush

When we first moved into our house, there was this rosebush at the start of my sidewalk that leads from our driveway to the front of our house. The previous owners must have bought it at 90% off because it was the fugliest thing I had ever seen. The flowers on it were white with splashes of pink, but they almost looked like a freaky Jackson Pollock painting, however not as interesting. Every time I walked past that bush, my stomach turned. Now I am not much of a flower person, what with my black thumb that destroys most living things, but everyone agreed that it was an out of control eyesore and that I needed to do something about it.

A few months after we got settled in, I decided that I could no longer stand to look at the organic shitstain ruining the aesthetic of my home, so I set about removing it. I took a pair of giant gardening shears and started snipping away. Snip, snip, snip. It took me almost an hour, but I completely decimated the bush. De-fucking-stroyed it people. There was nothing left but a little nub in the ground that I meant to dig up but I never did.

Less than a month later, the bush started sprouting again. Huh? When I say I hacked that fucker to bits, that is exactly what I mean. I am good at destroying plants. I can do it with an ease that if bottled up could be used to destroy small planets and asteroids. Maybe even hemorrhoids. But up it sprang, mocking me with its very existence.

Then it started to get cold out, freezing cold. I figured that there was no way that the plant could survive a frigid Ohio winter since it was only about ten inches tall. I forgot all about the bush.

Until Spring came. And the snow melted. And the bush was there, yet again mocking me with its ugliness. Of course I am very lazy and I quite enjoy a battle of wits with a non-intelligent species (see any reference having to do with men and sex), so I ignored it. See if you win this war you insignificant plant! Hah! Your mockery will not do me in. You will not bend me to your will. I laugh at your petty attempts to incite my temper. (I was also too lazy to lug out the garden shears and hack away again.)

Summer came and went with its two months of warm weather and here I was again faced with the coming Fall. My days often ran into one another until one Saturday night I decided to go out and let loose. So the hubs and I get a sitter and we head out to a place where I used to tend bar. There we met up with a friend of mine who was celebrating his birthday and I helped him and a lot of other people celebrate. Many shots later, I was rip roaring drunk. So was my friend. So the hubs, being the only sane and sober one, drove my friend home. While still in the parking lot, I thanked my husband for allowing me to have such a good time by getting it on with him.... and possible the gear shift, but the memories are hazy at best.

About an hour later, we arrive home. As I am stumbling towards the house, I feel a rumbly in my tumbly. Uh oh. Maybe the 17 shots of Red Headed Slut mixed with a bottle of Grape Goose was not such the grand idea. I made it to the start of the sidewalk and was hideously sick. I remember hearing my husband saying something along the lines of "Oh my God ADW, you are going to hurt yourself and I don't feel like a trip to the hospital tonight." I didn't understand. Yes I was puking, but unless I have massive abs of lead, I am not going to hurt myself by doing so. Anyway, I finished cleaning out the digestive tract and he managed to get me into the house and up to bed.

The next morning I had a hangover from Hell. Little demons were doing an Irish Jig on the inside of my skull while keeping time with the pointy ends of their pitchforks. I took a shower a la the Crying Game (or Ace Ventura) complete with 20 minutes of dry heaving. I did not leave the house for the rest of the weekend.

By Monday, things were looking up and I managed to haul myself into work. Once I got home that evening and started up the walk, I realized what my husband was trying to tell me that night. Apparently, I puked in the rose bush. No, not ON the rose bush, but IN the rose bush. Whole head inserted into thorny branches until all that could be seen of me was my neck. How someone who is the world's biggest klutz managed to not only complete the act without serious damage, but ended up with nary a scratch on her is one of my greatest mysteries. So here I am, staring at this bush that is still covered in the residue of Jagermeister and premium vodka and I just start to laugh. I mean really. Priceless. And just another notch in the ADW stupid actions belt.

Two weeks later the rose bush was dead.

It never grew back.

So, the moral of this story is:

If you ever have a wayward plant that you want to get rid of, don't go buying any of them there fancy chemicals. No siree. Just get a tootful, let it swish around for a few hours and then expel it all over the plant. I have only tried it once, but I imagine that a large man could probably take down a small oak tree with the same process.


Tuesday, February 19, 2008

Holy Shit!!

I have mad crazy news that is both flattering and intimidating. I don't even know what all of this means. I am so confused.

I thought my life was moving in one direction and BAM!, someone throws a wrench into the works. I can't really go into details right now, I don't know when I could, but suffice it to say that this was totally unexpected. If things keep going this way, I just might end up winning the lottery tonight.

Or, this could totally tank and take me down to the bottom of the ocean with it. That is the thing about an extreme high, it always has an equally extreme low on the down side.

I called my mom to talk things over and she was super supportive. No matter what is going on, I can call her and she will give me positive feedback.

Since I can't really tell you guys what is going on, I will leave you with this:

My husband ran my Yorkie over with his car last week. Someone was looking out for her because she didn't get a scratch on her. The car ran right over the top of her. Freaky.

Sunday, February 17, 2008

The Ghost

Congratulations to Kelly "The Ghost" Pavlik. A northeastern Ohio and Youngstown native, he beat Jermain Taylor in a unanimous decision last night, a few months after he won Taylor's WBO-WBC belts with a TKO in the 7th round of their first meeting.

I love promoting Ohio and I really enjoy watching an exciting boxing match. Since they were fighting up a weight class, Pavlik wasn't risking his newly earned belts, but watching these two pound it out on the mat was still thrilling. We left a wedding reception a little early so that we could find a place showing the fight. Apparently the bar at the Holiday Inn doesn't show pay-per-view boxing matches. Go figure.

It was difficult to leave the reception for the entertainment value itself. Some crazy blond chick who thought she was God's gift to mankind took it upon herself to teach us all just how to not behave at a respectable function. Now I can totally understand getting snookered and making an ass out of yourself for one song, but the ENTIRE time, she was dancing or attempting to dance. Someone had to come pull her off a few times so that they could do the bridal dance and the father-daughter and mother-son dances. Where were her friends? Neither the bride, not the groom claimed to know her, so she had to have been the date of someone.... First date? And if so, why didn't her guy make her control herself? But I am glad he didn't. We had a great time watching her shimmy and shake all of the dance floor. But the best part was that she totally didn't fit the bill of someone who gets shitfaced and stripper dances her way through a reception. She was about 5'10", 100 pounds, super-bony and she was wearing this horrible granny print dress that most librarians would have a hard time wearing. But, crappy clothes or not, she persevered and managed to make us all laugh, so I guess it was a job well done.

We ended up watching the fight at a place where I used to bartend. We lucked out and got to sit next to the ONLY Jermain Taylor fan in the place. Who was also a Michigan fan. How do I know? Well he was rooting for Taylor quite loudly throughout the fight and then after Pavlik won and the DJ played Hang On Sloopy (the official rock song of the State of Ohio and an old standby for any Buckeye fan), he started yelling out Go Blue. Uh, dude. I don't know if you realize this, but boxing tends to bring extra testosterone out in men. So if I were you, I would keep my mouth shut before 300 rednecks in mullets slam their fists right into your face making you as toothless as they are. Yes you are within your rights to root for whomever you like, but you don't go into another man's house and fuck his wife and you don't go into a local bar and cheer for the opposition. You just don't. I have a vagina and even I know these incorruptible man rules.

So anyway, congrats to Kelly Pavlik. Here's to a successful bid to unite all for belts in the next two years. I think you can do it.


Wednesday, February 13, 2008

V Day

Valentine's Day is a huge load of horseshit.

Oh, elaborate?

OK. Anything for you, my dear reader(s?).

I hate the thought of a single day out of the year (or two if you are from Ohio and celebrate Sweetest Day) where two people who care about each other are pressured by card companies and other retailers to buy crap that they probably can't afford for a grossly overpriced sum of money. Why can't we do that anyway? Of course, if the big box companies and jewelry stores figured that out, they would come up with a "just because" day. Seriously.

When did people stop being spontaneous with the ones they love? How hard is it to buy that special someone a card one day to tell them how much they mean to you? I just don't comprehend a day where you and your significant other feel like you HAVE to buy something, but you're broke from Christmas, so you put a spending limit on the item that it supposed to show the other person how much you love them.

My perfect present:

1. It has to be a Surprise - and by surprise I mean a real one. I am the hardest person in the world to surprise, but when it is done correctly, I love it.

2. A road trip to Pittsburgh, Columbus or Detroit. .............I can hear the gasps from here. Why would I want to go to any of those places?

3. For a hockey game of course. I love watching live hockey. It is probably the most difficult, athletic, fast paced professional sport around. Watching it on TV? Pfft. No go. But haul my lard ass to an arena filled with beer guzzling, foul mouthed assholes and I feel right at home. The speed, the agility, the hot men, the missing teeth, the ten dollar nachos..... I'm getting a little misty. My EYES are getting a little misty.

4. Follow the hockey game with a late dinner, some cocktails and a hotel room that we can destroy by having hot, sweaty monkey sex.

5. Wake up the next morning and eat breakfast at some greasy spoon.

That is my perfect special day.

I just realized that I have started growing testicles.

Oh and someone named my penis Juwan last week. I will have to save that story for another time.

Now I must fill up 67,000 bags of Valentines Day candy so that my little one can take them to school for his friends. Gah. Why me?


I need a new vulgar catchphrase. I have used up my other ones and they are starting to get stale.

Love, Peace and Chicken Grease!


P.S. If you see any errors, I apologize. It seems that my spell check is not working with my new Vista platform. Crap.

Sunday, February 10, 2008

Hanky Panky


When is the hanky panky?

Before or after the cleaning of the house, the homework, the pet care, the sports practices and games, breakfast, lunch, dinner, grocery shopping, bathing....

Maybe the video game playing. Maybe if we cut out the video game playing, the hanky panky would return.

Oohh, oohhhhh. I know. Pick me! Pick me!!!

How about not tiling your parents' bathroom floor all weekend? Maybe if you instead, hmmmmm, I don't know, did some shit at our house, the hanky panky would return. But no, mommy and daddy call and we spend all fucking weekend at their house tiling their floor so that they can sell their house at a better price. (And by we, I mean you, since I no longer grace them with my evil presence.)

Yes, we can do all sorts of manual labor for them, but when I need to be taken to the emergency tomb on my doctor's orders and you call your mother to drive all of 20 minutes to watch our son and she asks you if you "tried the neighbors," well that is a load of horseshit.


Honestly. It is a huge joke with men that once you marry, you might as well put your pecker away since there is no longer a need for it, but the joke's on you. Women get just as frustrated with the lack of copulation. Sure we need the correct humidity, timing, words and so forth, but we needed them before. You didn't notice at the time because you were too busy trying to get us to drop our panties as often as possible.

What is it about the increase in expenditures that go along with cohabitating that are directly proportional to the decrease in bumping uglies? Someone needs to do an economic study on that one. I swear to you that it would grant that person an immediate doctorate. Really.

This is such a common occurence with women that it has now reached epidemic proportions. We need some kind of ribbon to bring awareness to the cause. Like a big fat penis ribbon.

Holy shit! I just realized that my mom now reads my blog. Oh well. She knows me.

Anyway, back to me. I find it constantly amusing that men seem to think that they are the only ones who are presented with married sex issues. In truth, it is way worse for women. We are not only expected to continue sleeping with you, but we are expected to do so under less than desirable circumstances. We no longer look/act/feel the same as when you married us? Uh, look in the mirror brother. That boat travels both ways on the river of love. We get to hold down careers and have children (which hurts you non-sympathetic assholes) and make you dinner and juggle 72 other balls in the air all while you expect us to lick the two that are attached to your body.


MAYBE if you actually took us out to dinner or a movie or even pretended some interest in our lives, we would be more inclined to let you back into the crevice of pleasure.

I am sure that I will get a shitload of grief from all you guys out there, but I could give a fuck. Sometimes, when life gets mighty frustrating, the free-association vent is what a girl really needs. As I was thinking and writing, this subject was the first one that really caught my attention. I am sure that I haven't explained this nearly as eloquently as I thought it in my head, but that's how it works with me. I write and I don't really think of the words as I do. They just flow out of me like venom.

So, the next time you are trying to get some ass, ask yourself if you couldn't have done something to entice your woman. Try telling her that she is beautiful at random moments in the day. Kiss her hand. Open a car door. Ask her what is going on in her life and actually LISTEN to what she says. Turn the TV off and play a game of backgammon. Make dinner for fuck's sake. Do something. But please, please, do not expect to cuddle up to us after an eighteen hour day spent dealing with everything thing that life throws at us and poke us in the back with your man tool and then wiggle it around. Unless we are extremely hard up, we would rather floss our teeth with barbed wire than bounce on your penis.

The End


Wednesday, February 6, 2008

Viral Influenza

= So much fucking fun...

I have been down for the count for well over a week. We're talking 103 degree fevers, an ER visit, antibiotics and various other illness related things.

Oh and in typical ADW style, I told an emergency room doctor to fuck off.

He was bored and I was not in the mood to play doctor and pincushion. So I left. The end.

See ya when I'm back to 100%.