From Fabulous to Fucked Up in Two Days

My parents left on Friday morning. By noon on Sunday, my life has been spun around. It's nothing serious, but it IS irritating that you can write someone out of your life completely and then turn around and have them pop up, out of the blue, and throw a bagful of wrenches at you.

My Incubator (AKA the hyena who gave birth to me) sent a message to me through one of my sisters. God this is such a convoluted mess, but please bear with me.

1. Incubator and my dad marry and have two children: ADW and Tree
2. Incubator pulls a preying mantis and they split up.
3. Incubator gets custody (AKA child support) of ADW and Tree.
4. Incubator remarries
5. Incubator and StepTard have three children: Jay, L and III

I also have two sisters from my dad and mom, but that is another story.

The only sibling that I speak with from step 5 is my sister L. We are fairly close and I usually see her 3 or 4 times a year.

L called me up today with a fantastic tale, but to understand the new saga, you have to get a little backstory. About 6 months ago, Tree and I went to visit L. Apparently the incubator had approached L with some paperwork that she wanted us all to sign off on. This paperwork was for a deed to some property that was placed in our names.... sort of a place where you have memberships and the elected of the owners govern the rest of the owners kind of thing. How my name, as a minor, ever got placed on that piece of paper is beyond me. I suspect that there was some kind of tax break or clause (Incubator is crazy, but wicked smart and a huge schemer) and that is why all five of us were placed on the paper as property owners. Anyway, The Bator asked L to please have Tree and I sign off on the deed so that she could then sign it over to Jay and her new husband.

Answer? Anybody? Bueller?

Yeah. Fuck off cuntface. Tree and I both laughed. Poor L was stuck in the middle, since these are the only parents that she has and she still tries to maintain a relationship with them even though they are complete cockwads to her.

So the signing off on the deed was a no go.

Fast forward to today.

L calls me with yet another request for Tree and I to sign off on the deed. Of course the Bator couldn't call us herself. I have not uttered one word to her since my grandmother's funeral and I do not have anymore words for her that aren't of the curse variety. She knows this. In fact, if I could have, I would have had her sent to prison on manslaughter charges of neglect. I even contacted the local Sheriff's department and State Police to see if there was anything that I could do. To even have moved forward on the issues would have been next to impossible, so I just focused on grieving and my family. I should have made the bitch rot in prison.

Anyway, this time the story is that she wants my brother III off of the deed and in order to do that, Tree and I have to sign some paperwork in the next six days and have it notarized. M'kay, follow along:

1. I do not sign random paperwork..
2. Especially not from crooked asshatchets like the bitch that birthed me.
3. The previous paperwork was, I GUARANTEE, written by her in some gobbledygook legalese that she probably made up. I laughed when I read it sitting in L's kitchen the first time.
4. No way in hell is that cracked out Ogre getting access to my signature. Ever.
5. How come this time the deed needs to be signed off on for a different reason? In another 6 months, what's the reasoning going to be? Someone is dying of typhoid fever and they need our signatures to save them?
6. 487 other reasons not to trust this person

L told them all of this. My brother called her up and told her she was a "stupid bitch." Yeah, abusing the ONLY member of your family that Tree and I have anything to do with in order to get us to do what you want is not really the greatest idea you moron.

Anyway, I told L my answer. Period. No go.

An hour later my phone rings. Guess who? That's right ladies and gentlemen..... dummmmmm, dum, dummmmmm....... The Incubator.

My husband answered the phone and brought it upstairs all excited by the drama. He proceeded to tell me that "Now you can tell her what you think of her." I responded by saying, with the mouthpiece and receiver wide open, that I had already said everything that I needed to say and had nothing further to discuss. Then I pressed the end button on my cordless phone.

Fifteen minutes later, my phone rings again. I let it ring. I checked the message about an hour later and the gist was that if we didn't want to sign off on the deed that we could start paying the dues and she would assume that we would want to start taking responsibility, etc, etc, etc.

Can anyone say bluff? I NEVER signed a document as an adult giving anyone permission to place my name on anything but my mortgage. If she wants to have a pissing contest, we can go right ahead because I drink Captain and Diet and I can outpiss a fucking camel.

In fact, I NEVER signed any documents for this deed now that I think about it. Interesting.

I will keep you appraised of the drama, but I have one thing to say:

Bring it on Bitch!!!

Where to Begin?

I really don't know where to start in describing the wonderful Christmas/birthday that I had this year. Abstract Jenn sent me some wonderful artwork (Thank you so much I love it and have to find THE MOST PERFECTEST SPOT for it) and even thought I didn't know gorillas had access to the Internet, one sent me a box of my favorite chocolates along with the following message:

"Happy birthday bitchcakes. You're old now. Time to let yourself go!"

One more truffle, and my ass is going to burst the seam in my stretchy pants.

Here are some bullet points from the past few days:

• My brother-in-law told us all about how he shit his pants on the way home from a Japanese steakhouse. The smell of crap made my sister, who was driving and is pregnant, puke her guts up all over the dash of the car. Afterwards, he figured since he already crapped himself that "fuck it" he was gonna piss too. When they got home, they stripped down in their back yard and hosed themselves off. My husband laughed so hard he started crying.
• Someone accused my mom of being a little "tipsy" last night. She said the we would know when she was drunk because her clothes would start coming off. I didn't have the heart to point out that she took her shirt off in exchange for one of my tank tops because she got a little warm...
• We played Apples to Apples on Christmas Eve. If you have never played the game, it is a cockful of fun. We came to the conclusion that Schindler's List trumps any other card played.
• Somehow, this morphed into our naming of the Turkey ceremony where my dad and I decided to name the Turkey Oscar Schindler. My mom and sister were horrified. I pointed out that we were just honoring a man that saved thousands of Jews during the Holocaust..... Then my mom pointed out that we were ROASTING the turkey in an oven. OK. Not my greatest moment of triumph, but the name stuck.
• We then decided to name the Ham. Actually I decided that. I named him Saffron Longshanks.
• In two days, I made the following items: 20 lb turkey, 10 lb ham, stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy, sweet potatoes, asparagus, butternut squash casserole, green bean casserole, more fucking cookies, salad, rolls, blah, blah, blah.
• I received a knife set from my husband for Christmas. I have wanted a really good set of knives for a long time. I sliced a finger open before they were completely out of the packaging. Dumbass me.
• My short attention span contributed to my picking up the turkey lid that I sat on top of the stove while checking the turkey, with my bare fingers, burning my thumb and three of my fingers.
• My mom and I snuck out into our garage about an hour before dinner prep and polished off two bottles of champagne.
• I got a sot's pint of Captain Morgans in my stocking. My husband is such a funny man.
• It was a wonderful Christmas and even the in-laws coming over later that evening did not ruin it. Our friends, who live next door, came over with their daughter and ate dinner with us. It was fun and peaceful at the same time.
• I won $2 on a scratch off ticket.
• My mom and I spent all day today shopping out little hearts out.

I have been offline for most of this week and probably won't have much time to spend online until next week.

I hope that you all had a wonderful Christmas and that you have an even better New Years. Stay safe and enjoy the people you love.

ADW

Pissed Off

My three year old told his sister that she was "pissing him off" the other day. My husband and I had to walk away so he wouldn't see us laugh. The kid looks like an angel, but can come up with some doozies.

I came home last night to the family straightening up the house. When I walked in, the little one was hiding behind his dad. My husband nudged him forward and told him to tell me what he did. He hemmed and hawed, but wouldn't say it outright. Finally, the hubs told me to look in the bathroom. Apparently, Peanut Butter was supposed to be "cleaning" the bathroom. Instead he decided to put band aids all over this Indian Elephant that I have sitting on top of the shitter. He knocked the statue over, so when I walked in, I saw the elephant missing the top of his head, but he was covered in band aids. It was so absurd that I started laughing. I just couldn't help myself.

I am so up and down these days. I get a little despondent every time Christmas rolls around. I miss my grandmother all of the time, but especially during the holidays. She was the only one who made them special for me growing up, so I recognize my feelings for what they are: normal.

I also feel so blessed to have so many wonderful readers and friends that I have met while blogging this past year. I can honestly say that when I started writing it was more for me to have an outlet than anything else. Now, after nine short months, I am amazed at the love that I have seen in the blogging world. Through the comedy and tragedy, the laughter, tears and terrors, one thing stands true. There ARE people out there who truly care. I have received Christmas cards from quite a few of you and you have no idea what that means to me. In this information and technology age where IRL stands for "in real life", I don't know that that is true when describing us. Whether it is someone posting about abuse, the loss of a loved one, or just driving down the road singing to old pop songs, we all recognize a little bit of ourselves in others.

We may be white, black, Asian, hairy, skinny, chubby, Republican, Democrat, Green, Independent, Atheists, Christians, Muslims, Agnostics, single, married, with kids, without kids, cat lovers, dog lovers, ice cream lovers, gorillas or monkeys, but we have all connected. I have never had a bad day and not been able to read some hilarious post, or get an e-mail or IM from a buddy that didn't make that day a little more tolerable. That is the best gift of all. An open heart and a willingness to listen to my tyrannic bullshit blathering. My long-winded diatribes filled with every combination of cuss word known to man where people not only understand and are sympathetic, but they applaud my moxie. Yeah, I said moxie... you wanna make something of it?

So to all of you out there, thank you so very much. To the bloggers I have gotten to know well, I really do adore you. To those I am just getting to connect with, I am excited to learn more about you. And to the lurkers, leave a comment. I may be a stone cold bitch, but I have ALWAYS been nice to my first time commenters. It's the sophomore comments that can get a little hairy. To those of you who read and think that you can't blog, go ahead and give it a try. There's nothing to lose and a whole world of friendships and perspectives to gain.

I guess I am in a reminiscent mood and not at all like my title up there. I truly believe in the Christmas spirit. I think that there is so much that we can do for others out there and all it takes is a kind word. So here is what I want you all to do. Go off to a blog site that you haven't been to before, preferably one that is newer. Leave a comment for them. Now, now children, you have to be nice. Tell them that they are doing a good job and encourage them to blog more. It will make someones day and is just a little something nice that we can do.

Now I am off to bake more cookies and sing Silent Freakin' Night at the top of my lungs. My kids and the pets will most likely hit the ground and army crawl away quicker that you can say Tango Charlie, but ask me if I care.

Lady of the Manor

Well Lah-di-fucking-dah!! I have gone and done it now. Yes folks, I have taken your advice. *GASP* You read me correctly. I have hired someone to come and muck out the stall that is my house. We have a kick-ass new cleaner at our office and I will be the fourth person to have her come clean my residence. After the last few weeks, I have had more than a few people tell me that I am a dumb ass jizz stain if I don't get someone to come help me out. So there you are. Happy now?

But what, oh what, will you bitch about now ADW, you ask? Well, these are the following things left to bitch about:

- Inlaws
- My vagina
- Waxing
- Idiots
- Dickweed drivers
- Snow
- Ohio sports teams guaranteed to choke even if they make the playoffs
- My husband
- My kids
- My pets
- My neighbors
- People who should be there when you need them, but aren't
- Small Penises
- Speaking of the above: SPAMMERS
- Russians and why they never visit me
- Tom Cruise
- Dildos
- Cooking
- Anal Bleaching
- Hooters
- Mastubation
- Camel Toes


Need I go on?

The list is endless. And it's not me, it's them.

Oh and over the course of 36 hours I baked 35 dozen cookies. And I am not done. Here is my cookie list:

1. Chocolate Chip
2. Double Mint Chocolate
3. Pecan Tassies
4. Kolaczkis
5. Cinnamon Chip Cookies
6. Sugar Cookies
7. Gingerbread Men
8. Peanut Butter Cookies
9. Peanut Butter Blossoms

What I have left to make:

1. Buckeyes
2. Russian Tea Cakes
3. Oatmeal Raisin Cookies
4. Andes Mint Cookies
5. More of the ones I already made.


See!!! I cook. Suck on that one.

The Comforts of Childhood

Sitting here, I am thinking back to some of my fondest childhood memories. While there are some fairly (more than) shitty ones filtered in there, my grandmother (who is now a freaking SAINT now) gave me some of the best ones.

There was that time that she was making these cookies that had like every chip known to man in them plus molasses and peanut butter and nuts and shit, when she got a phone call. My sister and I managed to snag the batter bowl off of the table and proceeded to eat every last drop of batter by the time she returned. Boy did we get our asses beat for that one. Good times.

Then there was the time my cousin's mom called be a nasty name for beating the shit out of her pansy-assed little boy and I made a rotten concoction out of flour and water and some other shit and dumped it over her head. She chased me around the campground for like an hour, but as I was not yet a smoker (I think I was about 12 at the time) I managed to elude capture. The entire time she was swearing at me in Spanish, being from Mexico, I taunted and laughed at her until she finally gave up to go home and make tacos.

But today my little lovelies, I want to talk about my favorite thing from childhood: Grape Dimetapp. Holy fuckballs did that shit make everything all better. As I sit here, wracked with chills from the latest viral infection to invade my holy temple of awesomeness, I am reminded of the many times that I was ill and my grandma said to me: "Baby, just get down some of that medicine from the cabinet and we'll make you all better." She would give me a healthy swig of the divine nectar and cuddle with me until I slipped off into the netherworld of waving colors and disco music. I never realized that Grape Dimetapp was addictive. All I knew was that when I was sick it made me feel better and DID NOT taste like the inside of a hippo's cooter like that shitty ass other medicine. So in reality, my grandma was the first person to get me high, but it made me feel better. I can't remember what the original ingredients in that medicine were, but I remember hearing that they eventually had to redesign the recipe and it soon lost all potency. If my imagination serves me correctly, I do believe that it was made up of equal parts rum, speedball, Blue #17, cacao beans eaten and then defecated by rhesus monkeys, and water. I could be wrong though. Whatever it was, I sure wish I had some now since what I thought was a three day long hangover from red wine, was in actuality the bubonic plague.

Now if I could only garner up the energy to clean my cunting dirty house. Stupid fucking thing. I am sooooo sick of cleaning. I hate it. I would rather give myself a brillo pad douche than have to clean the mess that is my house before my family gets here. I am fairly certain that my laundry loads are going to beat my last record of 22. I am positive that I am going to have to scrub my floors. And by scrub I mean get down on my hands and knees with hot, Clorox water for the first go round and regular hot water for the rinsing. In my opinion, floors aren't clean unless they are cleaned with Clorox. Then for my wood floors, I will repeat, but replace the Clorox with vinegar. Plus I have about 478 dozen cookies to make with my kids this weekend, food shopping for the holiday meals, more cleaning, three soccer games, homework with SuperDiva, Christmas Card addressing, present wrapping, gift shipping and a whole cocksucking load of other shit to get finished. Arghhhhh!!!!

And let's not forget my new project: THE MANCARD GAME. Avi and I came up with the basic premise, but I need to think about it some more before we put it out there. Sounds like fun doesn't it? I am sure I will get to that about the same time I finish up my perverted Pinocchio story that is way past due.

Oh and I am pissed at RWA. How dare he post about a radio interview regarding HOOTERS and not even think about inviting me. Me? ME????? Seriously? Does he not know what I did for a living for three years? Don't worry though, I called him out on it. Now I am busting his balls here as well.

Happy Weekend Dear Ones!!!

This Can't Be Good

I took a test.

The results are not what I would deem good.


95%ALCOHOLIC

100% Free at JustSayHi


That said, I was a bartender for many, many years....

And, go check out the T-Shirt the Zen Wizard created for me. What a lovely stocking stuffer that would make. Thanks buddy!!!

12 days until I turn 30. Fuck it, I am going to enjoy this. No I'm not. Yes I am. No. Yes. We shall see.

Cocksuckers Everyone of Them

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WE are PISSED OFF

Arghhhhh!!!



First of all, we would like to thank you for the lovely and hilarious comments about OUR turning 29 +1 in a few short weeks. WE have also decided that WE will be regal and royal with OUR advancing age and will, in turn, treat ourself as royalty demands. This means new shoes and referring to ourself in the third person. Don't worry too much, since WE should be taking English as a second language and WE will fuck up the references often enough to lose interest in this undertaking.



WE are very pissed off today. OUR Holiday plans are not going well and the blame lies solidly in the corner of the In-Law area of OUR life. WE are sick and tired of always being away from OUR family every ever-loving holiday and special event in OUR life. So WE have been planning an amazing Christmas celebration with OUR family flying in from down south to enjoy it with US. However, the in-laws are not cooperating. WE are certain that you know all about the Thanksgiving fiasco since you read US every day and you already know where WE are going with this.

To be short and precise about it, WE shall say that when things don't go OUR way, WE tend toward the desire to lop off someone's head. WE are sharpening OUR lopping knife this evening.

Sick and tired, tired and sick. Can WE have this one thing go right this time? Just this one?

WE called the rents last night to tell them of the horrid happenings that are occurring in OUR life, and the father person was bouncing off of the walls. The mother person should really stop giving him caffeine after 4:00 PM. He did give US some good advice to ignore the others and just enjoy OUR holiday time with OUR family. WE shall strive to fulfill that wish and if anyone else has a problem with that, then can go bugger themselves.

This week is going to be very, very hectic for US. WE have a bid response due on Thursday and just received the request this past Friday. Working weekends is so much fun. WE will attempt to keep up with OUR blog reading, but can make no promises about that. In addition there are two Christmas plays to attend, decorations to put up and a room to finish painting. If WE were really royalty, WE would have servants to take care of the more mundane tasks, but alas, WE are only royal in OUR own mind, so WE shall scrub floors in a tiara this week. WE have one in the basement. And a feather boa.

WE shall leave you with two of our father person's quotes:

"You deserve what you tolerate."

"Pain is vastly underestimated as a positive motivator."

Have a great week and please send Xanax!!!!

Love you,

Queen ADW

aka Empress of the Universe and Beyond

It's The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Point 1 - To clarify my last post, it was my 100h post, but a few were lost in the shuffle, so it looks like I am only on ninety-something if you look at my archives. Which you all should because there is some early blogging gold in there.

Do you all LOVE Christmas?????????

Yes
No
Yes
No

The whole time I was growing up I loathed Christmas. For several reasons. First off, growing up with and living with the "Incubator" until I left home at seventeen was not the best of times. There was constant fighting and bickering at Christmastime. My sister Tree and I quite often felt left out because it seemed that the half-siblings got better, more, yadda, yadda, presents than we did. Those memories are so far past that I can't really remember if that was the case or not, but I wouldn't be surprised if it was. I ALWAYS ended up getting into trouble over the holidays and was grounded (that was getting off lucky) for some made up infraction of THE RULES.

I always envisioned this lovely dinner with the family, singing carols and opening up presents. The reality of the affair was that we opened up our gifts on Christmas Eve, not because we had anywhere else to go, but most likely so we wouldn't wake Cruella and her minion up at the ass crack of dawn. We were also not allowed to believe in Santa Claus. What, you say? That is correct. As I child, I missed out on the pleasures of the story of Saint Nick and the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy and leprechauns and unicorns and all of that other awesome kid shit. I was also not allowed to play with barbie doll and it wasn't because the witch was a feminazi or anything. Come to think of it, I am really not sure why I wasn't allowed to play with them, but one Christmas, my stepfather's sister gave us barbie dolls and La Bruja threw them away as soon as we left the step-aunt's house. What a cunt.

I am rambling, which is normal, so I no longer worry whether my readers will stick it out.

Christmasses were never filled with the happy family times that I kept praying for, but sometimes, I think that prayers go unanswered for good reason. Now, I am making memories and traditions with my family that I hope are passed down to their children and so on. And these memories are even more special because they help to erase the trying times of my childhood. Don't get me wrong, there were good times, but they were always (in my memories) due to my grandmother or my siblings. I don't have many fond memories of the hyena who gave birth to me and four other children. To be honest, she must have struggled against her natural instinct to eat us at birth, so I am glad to be here.

To address the Santa Claus issue, I think that we weren't allowed to believe in him due to some kind of religious beliefs, but I don't get that. How can the belief in a man who does nothing but good for small children be a bad thing? I constantly struggle with my religious views and I almost never discuss them with others, because.... well it's religion and never a good topic. Plus I do not push my faith on others or judge them for believing in different things from me, or not believing in anything if that is their wish. Most people are quite surprised to find out that I have a religious faith and even that I attend church services, on occassion. I don't know why that is, other than the feeling that many people tend to judge you on their interpretation of what they think a representative of a specific faith should be instead of realizing that we are all who we are regardless of what we believe.

Going back to other unpleasant thigs, the other reason that I disliked the holidays as a kid was my birthday. Birthday!!!!! Yeah. On freaking Christmas freaking day. Oh sure, the whole world celebrates on that day. I get to share it with a really important person. But guess what? I got the shit gipped out of me.

I started writing this post the other day and decided halfway through "fuck it".

My fucking birthday is on Christmas day = SUCKS Hemorrhoids

My FUCKING 30th Birthday is THIS CHRISTMAS DAY = Kill me now

Seriously.

I have learned to love Christmas. Not so much the birthday.

AND I AM TURNING 30.

For those of you who are younger than I am - KISS MY FLABBY ASS!!

For those of you who are older than I am and are THINKING about leaving a condescending comment on how not bad turning 30 is and it will just get worse, et cetera - GO FUCK A RHINO

Anally

I hate my birthday.

I don't wanna turn 30. Waaaaaaaaaaaa.......

21 more days. I see the lines. I see the sag. I see the cellulite. I see the crow's feet. The end is near.

Just shut up and let me pout before I take out my virtual Uzi and spray your asses with it.

You better all - EVERY Single one of you, including the lurkers - BETTER leave me a comment. Tell me I am pretty and I look like I am 22. Tell me that I have skin like the lovelist golden pearls. Tell me that I am so NOT getting chubby.

GIVE ME COMPLIMENTS AND LOTS OF THEM. NOW.

ADW

*****PS****** I want a love link from all youse bitches. Ya hear me.********

Today's Post is Brought to You by the Number 100

That's right fuckeroonies, this is my 100th post. I almost wish that I had something profound and insightful to say, like they do on TV. The 100th episode of any television show is cause for celebration with a big ass cake and a bunch of candles. Someone loses their virginity, does drugs, gets drunk from their parents' liquor cabinet, gets knocked up, et cetera, ad nauseum. But here in hoo-ha land, we're gonna keep it simple. There *gasp* may be some swearing in this post, so tuck the kiddies off to sleep.

I spent the most of Sunday and all of Monday and Tuesday in bed with a raging case of the clap, er I mean bronchitis. My musings/ponderings from my forced bed rest lead me to believe that the nastiest taste in the world, aside from fecal ice cream, is bronchial induced phlegm. I can't even explain the taste, because it is a vintage all its own, but it is quite bitter with hints of bile and just a note or two of garlic. I also realized that if you cough twenty times in less than a minute and open your mouth realllllyyyyy wide, that you can catch a glimpse of your lung. You can only see one at a time though, so that is kind of shitty. I've seen more watching my own Upper GI, but still, after watching the Real Housewives of Orange County for 20 hours straight, a gal needs something to look forward to before pure boredom sets in.

I went back to work today to find out that one of my customers passed away the day before Thanksgiving. It came as a huge shock because he was still very young (early middle age) and he had a massive heart attack that killed him. I am so sad for his family and his wife. They were still newlyweds and my heart breaks for her and the rest of his family.

I also got to deal with what may be the stupidest person in the world today. Sometimes, I struggle not to laugh when dealing with this creature because if I start, I may not be able to stop until I keel over, or I give in to my fantasy of taking a chair leg, or some other handy device, and braining the freak with it. How someone, who may be illiterate, acquired the rank and title that this borderline brain dead IQ haver received is beyond me. I get sick to my stomach every time I have to deal with this person and by the time it is over, I just want to crawl into the fetal position and suck my thumb. Instead, I rely on a steady supply of sarcasm and the knowledge of my greater intelligence to get me through. However, one of these days, my internal monologue is going to go on the fritz and I will just start blurting out what runs through my head every time we meet. Namely things like: "how do you stand upright?" and "Is your ass starting to eat the rest of your body?" and "Is it possible for you to have more than one application open in your brain at any given time, no, didn't think so." When that day comes, YOU WILL ALL HEAR ABOUT IT. Probably along with the notice that I was fired from my job, but we can't win 'em all.

Thank you all so much for your sweet words and encouragement from the last post. As I mentioned before, I was sick for the last three days, but I did read all of your comments. And to clear one issue up, I am not epileptic, but I do have seizures. For the last seven years, I have suffered from seizures that started from a severe concussion. They are like epileptic seizures in some ways and are different in others. The first time I had an episode, I actually lost the ability to speak and I had to teach myself how to speak normally again. I stuttered horribly and I would have sometimes more than a dozen seizures in a day, which would reverse my progress. The first two weeks were the worst. Slowly but surely, I started having less and less seizures as time moved on. I went from multiple times a day to once or twice a day to once or twice a month over a period of 6 to 8 months. Finally, they subsided almost completely. Now I normally only have a seizure if I am at an extreme point of exhaustion, sick or very upset. I do know when I am getting ready to have a seizure because I get what is called an "aura" which is a pre-seizure indicator, so I can prepare myself. Sometimes, I can even fight them off, but not always. It's something that you learn to live with, and it could have been a lot worse than it actually ended up being, so there.

Being my 100th post, we will celebrate in true ADW style with another foreign language swearing lesson. This time, we are going to learn how to swear in Mongolian. Those Genghis Khan freaks with the high foreheads never come visit me, even though I am 1/1689th Mongolian. Dickheads.

Chatsag - Diarrhea

Nusaa chirsen pizda - Snot Dragging Cunt - WTF?

Umbuu - This is the word cow when used as an insult

Muu altsaasan yanhan - This means "dirty spread-legged whore" as opposed to closed legged whore

Iruugai avaj nuruugai maijmar, ilgai avaj bogsoo archmar - THIS ONE IS MY FAVORITE -

Take your jaws and scratch your back, and take your liver and wipe your ass


I know that I am way behind on my Pinocchio story, but I have been sick, so shut up!!!

Plus, there is a very important day coming up, one you will all be celebrating. I need to think up a suitable post or six to devote to my very favorite day of the year.

Now to leave you with my favorite saying that I used to sign Hooters T-Shirts with:

"Let me sit on your face, so you can eat your way to my heart."

ADW

The Post With A Ton Of Shit In It

Holidays.......

See, to me, holidays are meant to be spent with your family. Not your in-laws.

I had not one but TWO turkey dinners to eat on Thursday because my mother-in-law refused to go to my sister-in-law's house for THEIR dinner because her family would be there and since her mother just died about six months ago MY mother-in-law felt uncomfortable being around the SIL's dad during his first holiday without his wife. (See how everything gets turned back around to what the MIL wants, feels, needs, desires?) So since WE committed to going to the first Thanksgiving, the MIL and FIL pulled the: "Well I guess we'll go OUT to eat for Thanksgiving this year since no one is coming to our house" card and started WWIII. So we ate at two and then had to pack up and drive 30 minutes for a second dinner that no one really wanted to eat.

I was disgusted. Seriously disgusted.

Oh and I forgot to mention the lovely seizure that I had at my SIL's house. Freaked my husband's brother out but fucking good. No I don't need anything. No don't call the ambulance. My husband has it all under control. Leave me alone.

Then my sister-in-law in all of her snarky glory says:

"You ain't getting out of going to the second dinner with this one sister!"

She cracks me up. Plus we have the added bonus of both being hated by my mother-in-law, so it helps us bond. Since I had the seizure AND I was planning my BLACK FRIDAY SHOPPING EXCURSION extraordinaire, I couldn't drink. I think my SIL did enough of that for both of us.

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The BLACK FRIDAY SHOPPING EXCURSION did not go as smoothly as it has in the years past. In fact, it was almost unbearable. I woke up late and started crying - seizures make me a little over emotional. I blamed my husband for me waking up late..... and he was supposed to help me wake up. It wouldn't have been so bad, but he rolled his eyes at me. That alone is reason enough for me to beat someone's ass. So I told him that he could do all of the Christmas shopping this year since I do it ALL BY MYSELF every fucking year and I buy all of the presents for HIS family who FUCKING HATE ME ANYWAY!

Somehow I managed to crawl out of bed and make it to Kohl's, but my shopping plan was shot to hell. As I maneuvered around, looking for a parking spot, I just started crying. I missed my family. I didn't have anyone to share the holy day of shopping with me. I know that most of you stay FAR AWAY from the stores on Black Friday, but I love the chaos, confusion and fun that you can have on that day. Last year my baby sister came up from Maryland for the holiday weekend and we had so much fun. I found a pair of Bubba Teeth at the WalMart, opened the package, put them on, and smiled at unsuspecting strangers all day long. It was a great way to break the ice and joke around with people while waiting in lines. And the year before, my girlfriend and I went together and then had a long lunch, replete with frozen cocktails afterwards.

I guess what I am saying is that I didn't have anyone to share that with this year. I spent the night before outlining my store shopping schedule, circling the items that I wanted to find and purchase, totally exited at the prospect. But when I pulled into the first store's parking lot, I was already four hours behind schedule. How was I supposed to save A THOUSAND DOLLARS, like I did last year? We have a huge extended family and by shopping on Black Friday, I manage to save a ton of money every year. Plus I enjoy myself and the melee that I throw myself into. So there I was, pulling into a space approximately fourteen miles from the store's entrance, with tears in my eyes and a broken heart. I was missing my sisters and my parents. My husband's family doesn't name their turkey every year like we do and I was missing that. I didn't get to drink wine with all of the women in my family while we went about preparing our feast and here I was alone and sad.

What did I do?

I squared my shoulders and marched off into the mess. I hit Kohl's and Toys R Us, Walmart and Macy's, JC Penneys and every other store in between. Except for SEARS, but you all know why I hate those mother fuckers. After standing in line at Kohls for close to an hour, I called my husband up on the cell and asked him to please send in a SCUD missile strike to our location to put me out of my misery. I listened to the two crackerjack dimwits in front of me, who were probably friends for 38 years, end each and every sentence with either "REEEEEEAAAAALLLLYYYYY" or "Oh My Gawwwwwdddddd". I was pushed and bumped, tussled and bruised, mostly by angry old men. I came to the realization that the only men out by themselves on Black Friday morning are either over 60 or gay. Period. I realized that just because every other dickweed dillhole loses all semblance of manners on that day that I didn't have to do so. I remained pleasant and gracious and remembered that those folks ringing up my purchases had to get up at two in the morning to go to work that day and deal with the aforementioned fuckwads and I was very polite to them, thanking them and wishing them a Merry Christmas. I shopped until my feet went numb and then I shopped some more. I did not eat or drink anything lest it affect my digestive or urinary systems while standing in line. I did save up some gas so I could CROP DUST anyone who was acting like an asshole to others. I got it done. But it wasn't the same.

Still, I did get some good bargains and my husband met me for lunch later that day and we took the little one to see Santa Claus. There were zero people in the line, so we walked right up to him and my little Peanut Butter chattered on and on about what he wanted for Christmas, looking so serious as he told that jolly old fellow about his dreams of getting an Optimus Prime Transformer (one of the items I lost out on due to my lateness) and his desire for a Power Rangers cell phone that will transform him into the Red Power Ranger at the push of a button.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Later that evening, we attended the benefit for our friend Dakota and the Cure Tay-Sachs Foundation. The outpouring of support from the entire Cleveland area was nothing short of amazing. I truly admire the Bihn family for standing up and doing something to bring awareness to a disease that kills so many children yet only receives 85,000 dollars a year in research funding. Most people think that Tay-Sachs only affects Ashkenazi Jews, but in reality 1 in 50 Irish Americans carry the same gene. The hardest part of the evening was listening to Ken tell their story with Dakota in her mother's arms knowing that our little friend is dying. But the evening was a huge success. The silent auction raised a huge amount of money and I won an Ohio State Gift basket. Yay!!! We danced with our friends and drank cans of beer - yuck, but it was all donated and the proceeds went to the foundation and my only other option was a boxed wine White Zinfandel and that was ten times worse than Miller Lite in a can. Even my scrooge of a husband was more than happy to spend money buying raffle tickets for the cause.

This morning I woke up with a huge headache, a little happy and still a little sad. I can't tell you all how much I am looking forward to Christmas and my family's visit.

More on that later....

Love,
ADW

Thankful 2007

I am such a copycat, but I am doing a "things I am thankful for" as stolen from The Cherry Ride.

See Cherry, I told you that I would give you your proper.

1. My vagina - she flips, she spins, she makes grown men whimper
2. Captain Morgans - makes #1 more amorous
3. All other Rums - in case they are out of Captain Morgans
4. Capitalism - money, money, money.......MONEY
5. Technology - Makes me money, money, money......MONEY
6. Preparation-H - helps millions sit easier every day
7. Urban Dictionary - yeah
8. Swear Words - Where would we be people, without the ability to cuss a muthafucka out
9. SpongeBob Squarepants - keeps child #2 occupied for hours
10. The power of the boob - keeps the big kid occupied for hours
11. Mechanical Bulls - keeps me in a steady supply of #6
12. Tom Cruise's crazy ass - makes me laugh, shake my head and wonder at the supreme idiocy of Hollyweird
13. Other Bloggers - I heart you hard core
14. Trailer hitch bull testicles - Have you ever seen these flapping about while driving down the highway? It's a site for the ages.
15. People with a sense of humor
16. Gay hairdressers
17. Kickboxing class - it has kept me out of both jail and rehab. Totally worth the 39 bucks a month.
18. Baby wipes
19. High heels
20. Short skirts
21. The fact that both #19 and #20 supply me with #2 for free
22. Turkey
23. John Madden's fat ass on screen eating Turducken every third Thursday in November.
24. Our men and women serving in the military.
25. My family
26. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid
27. The space program
28. The human body's ability to fart
29. Ice Cream Cake
30. Fat babies
31. Great friends
32. Better enemies
33. People who say what's on their mind and don't give a fuck who cares.
34. The Declaration of Independence and her sister the Constitution - we're not perfect, but I still live in the greatest country on earth.
35. AstroGlide
36. My Eager Beaver and her sister the Wascally Wabbit
37. Singapore Slings
38. The word cunt
39. Parents who like to drink
40. Neighbors who RAWK

I am sure there is a bunch of other shit I am missing, but for now, it's good enough.

I will leave you all with this conversation I had with the Mr the other day:

I was leaving the house Saturday morning to go to my kickboxing class. I was running late and grabbed Mr's old, ratty ass Ohio State sweatshirt that is quite possibly older than I am.

I kiss the hubs on the cheek (he is asleep in bed) and start to walk down the stairs. I am halfway down when I hear this:

Mr - "Hey you! Get back up here a sec."

Me - Walk back into the bedroom "What?"

Mr - "That's what I thought I saw. Take my sweatshirt off."

Me - "Are you serious?"

Mr - "Look Ohio State is playing Michigan today and I have to wear my sweatshirt. So take it off and find something else to wear"

Me - ????? Glaring "Seriously?"

Mr - Just stares

Me - "FINE!!! But this sweatshirt won't suck your dick" I take it off and throw it at him.

Mr- After looking at me and then at the sweatshirt. "Well you don't either"

Me - "Point taken"

And since OSU stomped that team from up north's ass into the ground, I have a feeling that I will never be allowed to wear the sweatshirt.

One more thing:

How do you keep a Michigan player from masturbating?

Answer:

Paint his dick Scarlet and Grey, he won't beat it for years.

A ha ha ha.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

Muck Fichigan

How much do I love this weekend? Way more than last one, that's for sure....

The Ohio State Buckeyes spanked Michigan AGAIN!!!!

Good idea coming back for your senior year just to beat Ohio State guys... bwa ha ha ha!!

Browns beat the Dirty Birds in OT......

And a conversation between me and Mr. ADW (Still employed and thank you for your support everyone!!!)

Me - "Let me hit you"
Mr. ADW - "Uh.... no"
Me - "C'mon, I want to see if my kickboxing is working"
Mr. ADW - "Uh.... no"
Me - "A real man would let me hit him"
Mr. ADW - "I guess I'm not a real man then"
Me - "Seriously. I need to see if I could actually hurt another person and I need a dummy to try my punching out on"
Mr. ADW - "OK, if you hit me, it's gonna start WWIII up in here. It will send a signal to my brain and I can no longer be responsible for my actions"
Me - "Pussy"

Come on people. I want to find out if my new found strength would work in real life situations. Who better to practice on than my husband. But noooooooooooo. I would have only hit him once. Or twice. Just to be sure.

Fuck.

Any volunteers?

Drive, Drive on Down the Field

Men of the Scarlett and Gray

This last week has been ultra, super-duper hectic. I was in Columbus for a conference and did not get home until late last night. Suffice it to say that the trip was interesting.

I was groped, propositioned, ingested about 14 gallons of rum, saw a decapitated cat, stayed at a hotel right by the horseshoe, attempted to steal a signed hockey stick from a random Lexus salesman and had a hell of a good time.

Today was the ultimate day from hell. Really, really bad. A former employer is trying to give me a hard time, but has my "best interests at heart." To this I say: Suck on a Rhesus Monkey cock you fucktarded shitstain!!!! I LOVE my new company. I no longer go to work every day with lead bricks in my stomach. There are no more weekly confrontations where I am genetically predisposed to stand up for myself. I am HAPPY!!!!! For the first time in a long time I am really Happy!!! I just celebrated a year with my company and I look forward to many more to come. Then, I heard from my husband that there was a massive lay-off at his company that came out of the blue to most people including upper management. He works for a place that employs over 30,000 people and the estimates are running as high as a 10% lay-off rate. Not good. So far he has avoided the purges and since he is a dedicated employee, I hope he keeps his job, but there are no guarantees and apparently, no rhyme or reason to the purge since they have let anyone from part timers to 25 year+ employees go. Scary shit.

But the end of my day was good. A project that I have been working on for over 10 months has come to fruition and I am ecstatic, so while the day started off poorly and just got worse, the ending couldn't have been better.

I know that I haven't been around much lately, but I am trying and I hope to stop by and visit everyone in the next couple of days.

Love, Peace and Chicken Grease

ADW

We Interrupt Your Regularly Scheduled Program...

Sorry guys and gals, but no Pinocchio today. Yeah, yeah, I am like so sure ya'll are disappointed in that one.

The fact is, I have nothing to give right now; at this very minute in time. I am empty.

Work is crazy busy right now which has both good and bad issues associated with said business. Yesterday, I went into the office after a morning meeting, ate some pizza and proceeded to spend about 30 minutes in the bathroom puking. I knew I wasn't feeling good when I ate it, but I was hungry and it was there. So there I am, with my face pressed into the tile floor, struggling to get my nylons off and I just started crying. I hate being sick and since no one else got Puke-face from the food, I figured that it was just me.

I got home at about 6:30 last night and was in bed an hour later. But I couldn't sleep. My tummy hurt!!! And then, as I laid there in bed, stomach rumbling, something on television reminded me of my grandmother and I started crying. God I miss her so much it takes my breath away at times. It's been about a year and a half since she died and while it has gotten better with time, the grief sometimes sneaks up on me and grabs me by the throat.

So there I am, in bed, sick, miserable, pukey and crying. What a day! After 3 or 4 hours of stomach cramps and self-flagellation, I wanted some toast. So being the diva I am, I picked up the phone and called my butler, AKA the hubby, on his cell phone. He was laughing as he answered the phone:

Mr. ADW: "Um, Hi?"
ADW: "What are you doing?"
Mr. ADW: "I was in the bathroom, and then I heard my phone ringing, so I answered it."
ADW: "Can you make me some toast?"
Mr. ADW: "Sure, I'll bring it up in a minute."

5 minutes later, he walks upstairs with my toast. I eat my toast, start to feel a little better and fall asleep.

Sometimes love is just there. And even if the person who loves you doesn't know it, their love for you, put into action, can make it all better.

I want to apologize for not commenting on your posts. I do read them as often as I can, but my schedule sucks major ass right now, and having some kind of stomach bug on top of it isn't helping. I have to be in Columbus this next week and I won't have much, if any time to visit you guys. Hang in there with me if you can.

See you soon!!

Oh, and go visit my friend Britt and lift her spirits as well. She is fucking awesome and if you live under a rock and don't know her, get over there and leave a few nice words for her.

Peni-Poke-e-o Round 2

So, fuckers. Here we are for another round of "How fucking twisted can that stupid bitch be?" Starring me!!!

Onward Hoes

Page 5

When Geppetto awoke, he could not believe his eyes. "My wish has come true!" he shouted. "Pinocchio is alive!" Although Geppetto soon realized that Pinocchio was still made out of wood, it mattered little to him.

"I shall love you just the way you are," he told Pinocchio. Then he explained that Pinocchio had to go to school, like all boys. And so, that very morning, Pinnochio happily set off.

When Geppetty rolled out of bed after taking a few toots of the pixie dust he keeps around the shop, the first thing he did was wrap his chubby little woodcarver arms around the toilet and pray he didn't puke up his Cecum. As he stumbled around the room looking for some coffee, or a little smack to wake him up, he noticed that the puppet he stuck it to the night before was moving around.

"Fuck me, that dust was some good shit. I'm gonna have to get another eight for later."

Then Geppetty realized that the wooden puppet was actually alive. To his dismay, he saw that while it walked and talked like a real boy, he was still going to have to watch out for those splinters. But Geppetty didn't care, he would still love up on the tot like he was a real boy.

After ten minuted of listening to the kid's incessant whining, he had a better idea.

"I pay fucking taxes like all of these other fuckers. I'll send his wooden little ass to school with all of the other little boys and they can watch him all day."

So off to school Pinocchio trotted, never knowing what was in store for him.

Uh, is it just me, or did you all notice that in this sleepy little village, no little girls go to school? What?

Page 6

Pinocchio hadn't gone far when Gideon, a cat, and Foulfellow, a sly fox, saw him.

Foulfellow thought, "A wooden boy with no strings. I'll bet Stromboli, the puppeteer, would pay a pretty price for him."

Foulfellow convinced Pinocchio that acting was the life for him and sold Pinocchio to Stromboli.

So off Pinocchio hobbled along to school, keeping the pace slow as to accommodate all of the soreness. He only made it a short distance when he saw a mangy old pussy and some red furry thing with a top hat and cane.

"Who would want anything to do with some haggard ass Pussy?" Pinnochio wondered aloud.

Just then, the two hairy beasts gave him the bum rush. Before he knew it, Pinocchio was tied up like a Christmas turkey and tossed in the back of a black panel van.

Right before he lost consciousness, Pinocchio heard his kidnappers discussing their plan to sell him to one of Geppetty's enemies; another slaver named Stromboli. His last thought was that the guy sounded like something on the menu of a pizza parlor. Then it all faded into black.

By the way, why do these people not have real jobs? I mean a woodcarver and a puppeteer? Please. Quit sucking off the federal teat, grow some balls and forge some iron.

Page 7

That night, after Pincchio had performed to rounds of applause, Stromboli locked him in a cage.

"How am I ever going to get out of this horrible place?" said Pinocchio, sobbing.

Just then a voice called out, "Don't worry, Pinoke, I'll save you!" It was Jiminy Cricket! He had followed Pinocchio to Stromboli's caravan. Now Jiminy pulled, pushed, and shook the lock on the cage. But he couldn't get Pinocchio out.

That evening, a big hairy ape named Stromboli made Pinocchio dance naked on stage for a bunch of old men. After collecting all of the money that he earned, Stromboli called Pinocchio his little bitch, slapped him on the ass and locked him in a cage just big enough for a small boy.

Pinocchio started crying. "Better the devil you know that one you don't," he thought as his sobs got louder and louder. Stromboli the Ape came back into the room and tasered Pinocchio to shut him up.

After Pinocchio awoke, he saw that the cricket, Jiminy, was still in his shirt. Pinocchio watched with amazement as the little bugger scratched and clawed at the cage, trying to help him escape, but he just wasn't strong enough to do it.

Did you dickheads see my reference to a CHRISTMAS TURKEY? Huh, did you?

Stay tuned to see how Pinocchio gets rescued by the Blue Ball Fairy.

Pinocchio ADW Style

So, by a count of eight to seven, my take on Pinocchio won the "next blog story."

Here you go:

Pinocchio (With comments by ADW)

Once upon a time, long ago, the wishing star shone brightly in the night sky. Its beams formed a shimmering pathway to a sleepy little village below. Only one house still had a light burning in the window, and that was the workshop of Geppetto, the kindly old woodcarver. Geppetto was happily finishing a puppet he had made out of wood.

First I would like to address the wishing star. Where is this village with a wishing star and how soon can I fly my broke ass over there? Are there limits to the amount of wishes that you can get from the star? Are there any sacrifices that need to be made to the star in order for it to grant the wisher's request? If so, I have a couple of useless, pain in the ass dogs and one wicked witch of a neighbor that I would be happy to sacrifice for the just cause of making myself deleriously wealthy, with the body of a goddess.

Why is everyone in the fucking village sleeping? I think that this is probably a fishing village, later proven correct in the book, and that they need their sleep for a long day of hauling in crabs, haddock and tuna. But, if this is indeed a blue-collar kind of place, what do they need an old wood carver for? Haven't these folks ever heard of scrimshaw?

"The kindly old woodcarver" has got to be another way of saying creepy, dirty pedophile. I am as sure of this as I am the fact that I am the sexiest person in this room right now. Certain I tell you. We shall see.

Page 2

"The only thing left to do now," said Geppetto to the puppet, "is to give you a name. Let's see... I shall call you Pinocchio!"

"What a grand name for such a handsome boy!" Jimminy Cricket said with a chirp.

That night, as Geppetto lay in bed, he looked out at the bright evening star and made a wish. Geppetto wished that Pinnochio were a real boy. Then he drifted off to sleep.

Here is where I insert how the story really should be written.

Crazy old Geppetty (a much cooler nickname for a loony-tune) started talking to the puppet, which is not much of a surprise when you take into account the fact that he is off his rocker. He told the puppet that he was going to name him Pinnochio. Probably so he would remember what name to call out when he was getting splinters in his dick.

Geppetty saw a cricket in the corner. "Oh look," he cried out! That is my friend Jiminy. "What are you saying," asked Geppetty?

Jiminy Cricket looked at Geppetty and rolled his eyes. "Crazy old fart. I ain't got nuthin to tell you 'bout nuthin. I'm outta here before I have to watch you violate that poor little puppet."

Geppetty looked at Pinocchio and then made a wish on that wacky evening star. (As opposed to the one that hovers about midday.) Geppetty wished that Pinochio was a real boy; there wouldn't be anymore splinters that way.

Page 3
By now I have realized that this is going to have to be a multiple part post, because I don't have the time or inclination to do this shit for 14 more pages right now. Not one more person could have fucking voted for me to write my fucking Christmas fucking story? Not one? I'm a hunt you bastards down who voted for this fucking Pinocchio story and fart on your faces. You sons of bitches.

Fuck!

Suddenly the Blue Fairy appeared in Geppetto's workshop. "Good Geppetto," whispered the fairy, "you have given so much happiness to others, you deserve to have your wish come true." Then, with a wave of her wand, the Blue Fairy brought Pinocchio to life.

"A-a-am I a REAL boy?" Pinicchio asked the Blue Fairy.

All of a sudden, a cracked out tranny appeared in the window of Geppetty's workshop/white slavery headquarters. While stumbling about, looking for some cash or easily pawned items to sell and score a quick fix, shim slipped and fell on something wooden.

At that moment, the shim, AKA the Blue Ball Fairy, farted, spewing semen and taint juice all over the puppet. And something magical happened. The puppet became animated from the con-cock-tion of man juice mixed with a little PCP.

"A-a-am I a real boy?" Pinnochio asked the Blue Ball Fairy.

Page 4
I have the stamina of a ninety-year old oil billionaire trying to keep his willie up. Fuck I'm tired. And all kinds of screwed up from this DST bullshit. Fuck.

"No, Pinnochio," she answered. "First you must prove yourself brave, truthful, and unselfish. You must also learn to choose between right and wrong. You conscience will help you."

"What's a conscience?" asked Pinocchio.

"That's the small voice that people don't always listen to" Jiminy Cricket answered.

The Blue Fairy made Jiminy Cricket kneel down before her, and she dubbed him Pinocchio's Official Conscience. It would be his job to see that Pinnochio did only what was right. Then the Blue Fairy vanished.

I just have to say, ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME HERE? Seriously.

"Uh, I'm not real sure about that one little buddy. Maybe if you do some good things, you won't turn into a tricked-out, crack-head freak like me. Maybe you should follow your..... Oh shit, what was that thing called? It's the angel that sits on one shoulder. Fuck. Oops. Hee-hee. Guess I shouldn't swear in front of a kid...ish. Oh yeah, a conscience."

"What's that?", asked the little freakazoid.

Just then, Jiminy Cricket hopped up on the table and did a little jig. Then he told the boy-freak that a conscience was what helped you figure out right from wrong.

The Blue Ball Fairy, waved his willie at the cricket to make him go away. Bugs fucking creeped him/her out. But the fucker wasn't going anywhere. Then he/she thought of a better idea. He/She told the freak-boy that the cricket was his conscience.

Since there wasn't any cash or anything else worthwhile laying around, the Blue Ball Fairy high-tailed it out of there, looking for another house to break into.



OK fuckers, I'm done for now. I believe that this will be a 3 to 4 part post, which allows me to take a break and gives me a few more blog posts without having to think of anything else.

I hate you all. Well, not the ones that voted for the Christmas story. It's much more interesting than this made up shit.

But seriously? I was reading this story to my little peanut butter the other night and I was giving myself chills thinking of alternative dialogue in my head. Creepy.

Can I Unscrew My Ears?

I would like to remove my ears for a while. Not forever, but just for the next, um....... how long until the day after Thanksgiving?

I called my parents' house last night and my sister Vee was down visiting from North Carolina and she answered the phone. I mistook her question: "how are you doing?" as a reason to launch into an expletive filled diatribe over Christmas Music.

Let me explain.

Or maybe I don't need to explain.

Is it just me or is everyfuckingbody playing Christmas music now? I am the type of person who puts things in places and for me, Christmas music belongs in the very defined area of The Day After Thanksgiving until New Year's Day. Period.

We went to the pumpkin patch, a grand old ass raping by the way, to pick pumpkins last weekend and I was walking through the corn maze with Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer playing a loop through my brain. It was then that I realized that it wasn't the first time I had heard Holiday Music before the denoted Holiday Music time frame. What. The. Fuck?

So now I am much more susceptible to the prevalence of all things Christmassy. The decorations that are already out. The fact that Kohl's already has Christmas Ornaments on sale for half off. The gearing up of the local and national retailers for an all out warfare on consumers this year. And the everlasting fucking music.

But here is a little secret that I want to share with you all. I LOVE CHRISTMAS!!! It took a long time for me to exclaim this fact, loudly and proudly, due to some unfortunate circumstances surrounding the Christmases of my childhood. Ones that I will share with you all in due time. But now that I am an adult with a family of my own, I find the true joy and meaning in the Holidays and the Christmas Spirit. In fact, for the last 10 years or so, I have even refrained from kicking homeless people during the aforementioned Christmas Carol/Holiday season. An outstanding feat of selflessness that should be recognized damn it!

I am a rambling mess in this post, but I hope you all can understand that it comes more from the aggravation of getting present requests this early in the year and the pressure that is building up inside of my head from ignoring the urgent desire to sing an unbridled version of "Walkin' Round in Women's Underwear" than from any of the other multitudes of demands on my life, time and sometimes blood flow.

The cool thing is that I took today off. Not because I wanted to, but because my little Peanut Butter has an ear infection and it made him throw up all over the place this morning on our way out the door. Since daycare tends to frown on parents arriving with children smelling of Amoxicillin vomit, I stayed home with him today. We laid down on the couch and watched the Fantastic Four. He is in love with Jessica Alba. I don't blame him much for that. Now he is napping, dressed up in his Spiderman Halloween customer, with a little smile on that cute face.

So, with or without the Christmas Music pressure, I am one happy, sappy lady today.

Oh and you guys get to choose my next post:

1. An explanation into the ADW version of Christmas and the nightmares surrounding it growing up half-billy style.

OR

2. An insight into the story of Pinocchio. By me. 'Nuff said.

Feedback Please.

Boo Bags

I got Boo-Bagged the other day and before you fuckers look it up on Urban Dictionary, it is nothing like being Tea-Bagged.



We were eating dinner or poking our houseboy with a stick or trying to figure out if the chicken or the egg came first when there came a knock upon our door. This sent the dogs into a barking frenzy, jumping about and knocking shit over. SuperDiva went to the door and found a cute little bag that said Boo! on it. She said she saw our neighbor D running away as she opened the door, so we surmised, through obviously brilliant reasoning, that D left the bag. In it was a bottle of wine, uh yum, some candy, scarecrow poop, some spooky socks and a kitty cat pen. Later I found out that I was to share these items with the kids. Boo! indeed.



So being the skanky bitch that I am, I decided to pay it forward and I put my own Boo! bags together for three ladies that I like. I included my favorite Menage-A-Trois in along with stamps and Halloween cups for their kids. Oh, and candy of course. Apparently one of the other neighbors is a real nosey twat and saw me leaving the bags and decided to spill the beans because Sunday we went to a Pumpkin Carving Party at an old neighbor's house and one of the ladies I Boo'ed was there. As soon as I walked in, she said "I love that wine. Love, love, love." I asked her how she found out it was me and she told me that manspout drinker from next door told her. Great! Way to ruin my surprise you dildohumping, mantywearing shitsniffer!



Anyway, I do believe in that old adage of what goes around comes around. Or is it a reach around. Never mind, I paid it forward. And it made me feel good about myself, so bonus.



Anyway, Happy Halloween. Now all you pimps and skanks go on and "rock out with your cock out."

P.S. My neighbor came up with a great item for a bag for the Stepford C - "How to Win Friends and Influence People"

Thank you Dale Carnegie!!!

Ah ahahahahahahahah!!!1

Halloween in Stepford

I may have previously mentioned that I live in Stepford. I really do. There are so many folks here who are so worried about keeping up with the Joneses or the Reynoldses or any other eses that it sometimes makes me want to weedwack their heads off. But I studiously try to avoid those people in favor of the other folks here who are like me. In fact, in the last two years, we have managed to make some pretty good friends in the area and I enjoy hanging out with them. But the other folks make me shudder. There is just something too creepy about some of these robots. I imagine that behind closed doors, one of them is beating the other while beating off or that they sacrifice chickens to Zoltan, god of the allmighty dollar. I am sure that they are just so different from the kind of person that I am, that I have a hard time understanding them, but to be honest with you, I could care less about that touchy-feely, share myself while understanding others crap.

So really, it all comes down to me again. And my dislike for so many of my species.

Now Halloween is tomorrow and while I am looking forward to the kiddies having fun, what I am not looking forward to is conversing with people I either don't know, don't like or outright loath. Yes you have spawn. Great, so do I. Oh, you don't work? Well I do. What? Why are you sniffing at me? I work. I like my work. Maybe you should try it sometime. Oh? You are too busy running after your kids, making playdates, scrapbooking, creating one-of-a-kind greeting cards that serve no purpose other than to let EVERYONE know how well your children are progressing, cleaning your house all day, running around to KinderGym, blah, blah blah? Do you see my eyes glazing over? Do you see them bleeding? So you see the utter lack of interest on my face? Please take your candy and go far, far away from me before I decide to be obviously nasty and grab you by your hair while kicking your ass down my driveway.

(Please note that I am not judging others who live like this and are cool, just the fucking twats who think that they are better than you because you work outside of the home. Trust me, if I could, I would.)

OK, I am not being fair. There are some cool people out there that I have not yet met. There has to be. With about 800 homes in our development (more like a small town), I am absolutely certain that I will make a new friend tomorrow. In my fantasy, this is how it will happen:

I walk up to a house, spawn in tow for another round of candy grabbing.

Hot chick dressed in a nurse's uniform..

"Hey, you're that famous blogger chick from 1234 Pop My Cherry Lane, aren't you?"

Me: "Uh, yeah, but not so much famous as infamous."

Chick: "Mike and I have two kids exactly your kids' ages and an older one who loves to babysit for free."

Me: "Cool, we should hang out sometime."

Chick: "Sounds like fun, but I have to warn you, my husband loves to pay for everything and won't let you spend a dime. Plus, we really like to drink and we have a vacation home on the beach in Mexico where we like to go for long weekends. Mike's company flies us out on their jet, but you will need a passport."

Me: "I'll think about it and let you know. Maybe we could start with dinner. Oh, I'm ADW by the way."

Chick: "Great name. I'm Calliope."

Chick: Handing me a beer from a cooler on the driveway.."here's our adult 'candy'."

Me: "Thanks, why don't you guys come over for the Buckeye's game this Saturday."

Calliope: "We'd love to, but we have tickets for the game. Hey, you wouldn't want to go with us, we have two extra tickets?"


......Don't you just love a girl whose fantasies involve other girls, drinking and sports?

Well Slap My Ass And Call Me Chappy

Yeah, I'm in a bit of a foul mood. Surprising? No, probably not.

Honestly!

You know when you feel like things are finally beginning to turn around and head in the right direction and you feel fantastic and fabulous and gay? And then the other shoe drops?

In my case, there really is no other shoe. Just life. And the living of it. I swear to the Almighty that I think Miss Britt and I are related somehow.....

Anyway, it all started with a bad hair day and went downhill from there. (I ripped this from a book, but it works) Instead of a bad hair day, mine happened from a rolled ankle. From kickboxing you ask? No. Oh no. This little medical malfunction came from my usual course of stupidity and clumsiness. I really have no idea how someone who can be so coordinated in some areas is a hopeless klutz in others. I don't have enough time in this post, and you aren't bored enough to read it anyway, to go into my medical history, but most of my hospital visits were from my inability to place one foot in front of the other, or intoxication. Sometimes both.

Where was I? Oh, I remember. I rolled my ankle. Sitting down in my overstuffed, ubercomfy chair. Are you fucking kidding me?

I went to hop into the chair to read and veg out last night and kind of stepped on my own foot. I did feel something twist, but I ignored it since my whole body has been a bundle of aches and pains since I started kickboxing. Later on, I went out to the garage and noticed that my ankle was tender. I still ignored it. (Anyone see a pattern here?) I hobbled back inside and told the hubs that my ankle felt funny. Then I decided to look at it, so I rolled up my pants. Ohmyfuckingeverlovingjudaspriest! My ankle was the size of a softball. So I guess I did hurt myself.

So now, a day later, I am still in some pain. I bought an ankle serape and wrapped it up tight, but every time I take it off, it swells up again. Shit! If it doesn't get better by tomorrow, I guess I'm gonna hafta haul my one-cankled self over to the doctor. She's great. I may even get some drugs out of it.

But seriously. Now, I doubt I'll be able to work out this week and I'm out of town next week. I feel like all of the effort I have put into working out these last three weeks is going to go down the drain.

Now I am feeling sorry for myself. I am like a guy in many ways and my inability to deal with pain or sickness is one of them. And last night, instead of being at Avitable's Halloween party, where all of the great bloggers were, I was laying in bed with a heating pad, whimpering and whining.

So the moral of this story is:

If you have the chance to fly to FLORIDA in late October and you are from OHIO where it is forty degrees out, for a rip-roaring drunken Halloweenie good time, for the love of money, go!!!! If you don't, something bad will happen to you.

I should have been drinking, instead I hurt myself sober.

That is a direct quote from me to you and I may have this printed up on a T-Shirt for posterity.

I Can Rock A Pole Like A Cunt Stain

Ha! Let's see how many site searches this title brings me, but I was serious.

My new lady love Shrinking Kitty posted a pic on her blog that conveniently enough my hubby sent me last week. I wasn't sure if he was joking or not:

So, to live up to my husband's expectations of me, I set out to prove him correct in his theory that I am an accomplished pole slider. After my night out with BBS this past Saturday, I phoned home and requested that he have a Captain and Diet Coke waiting upon my arrival. You see, while I had a few beverages that evening, I was driving and didn't want to overindulge and I thought we could have a few drinks together before retiring for the evening. Of course it was close to 2:00 AM when I sauntered into the house, but that is neither here nor there.

Much to my surprise, he did have my drink waiting for me. Through the inner mechanisms of my mind, I decided that just one drink wouldn't do. Oh no! I force fed him a few beers in rapid time - he does not drink that often. Then I proceeded to mix up a few dozen shots for us.

By 3:00 AM we were fairly snookered and I was in the MOOD. You know, that mood. I also decided that it would be a bang up idea to treat him to a little show. He was amenable to my suggestion and even provided himself a chair to sit in and enjoy my gyrations. After fumbling around a bit to find just the right music - Christina Aguilera to be precise - I changed into knee high stiletto boots and gave him a rip roaring good time.

Well.... except for the part where I stomped on his feet. And then when I kicked him in the head trying to shimmy shake around him. And of course I shan't forget about almost breaking his penis. Apparently I feel that I have superhuman strength after my seventeenth shot. Alas, I did not and my poor husband was on the receiving end of the abuse.

Oh and it was Sweetest Day. Another farking Hallmark Holiday that is, I believe, only celebrated in certain areas of the country, including the Midwest. I do not partake in that crap, but I did stop off that evening before going to dinner and pick up a few toys from a sex shop. I gave them to the hubs. There's your Sweetest Day baby!

The next morning, I was perky and joyful. Not so much my drunker half. He had a hangover the size of Duluth and was sporting copious bruises about his midsection. If I were any type of considerate person, I would have provided him with an ice pack for his balls, but instead I laughed.

Oh c'mon, you would have too.

Well, until the kids came in to hop in bed with us and SuperDiva asked why my office chair was in the bedroom. I can't quite remember how I worked around that. But I did also notice that the bag from the store was laying out on the bedroom floor. Oh shite!!!

Me: "Um... hey what's that on the floor?"

Hubs: "I put all that stuff away."

Me: "Great. Good thinking. Pssstttt.... *whispering* How's the cock?"

Hubs: "Shut up. Just shut up."

So here's to all of the ladies who like to have a good time and pass it on!!! Just remember to lift your leg OVER his head. It works better when you do.

Halfway To 50

This past Saturday, I went out with BBS to celebrate her birthday. And what a celebration it was. Crap on a Cracker, we had great time. It started out as just the two of us for dinner and then we went to a honkey tonk for a night of good old fashioned country bumpkin fun. Yeah I said it. Country. That's right people, I have a huge hard on for country music. I have been dancing for over ten years and I love nothing better than to go listen to music I like and dance. I two-step and swing, cha-cha and chaddish and everything in between. BBS loves country too, but for some crazy ass reason, she was too much of a fuckin' pussy to go out on the dance floor that night.

Later on in the evening, one of BBS's other friends stopped by with her boy toy to hang out and party. They wanted to learn how to dance and it has been decided that I will host my first line dance slumber party. This is basically an excuse for us to get together, drink Sangria and dance around in our underoos. We're fun that way.

Liz and K work together and the clued me in on the most annoying laugh in the world. I practiced for a half a second and had it down pat. Shocking, I know.

I think the most fun we had all night was people watching. Some chick-a-doodle was staring at BBS (she is 6'1" and BUILT). So this is what comes out of BBS' mouth:

"Keep looking. Of course, you could have changed out of the sweatshirt BEFORE going out!"

I swear to you, right now, that one day I am going to get into a fight defending her honor. Fuck!

So, I am tired, cranky and sore right now and I don't have much more to share other than the fact that we had a few adult beverages, danced our asses off (I wish that literally) and had a hell of a good time. I do have to bitch about the fact that we had quite a few people bail out on us that evening after committing to it weeks ago, but I will save that for another time.

Here are the pics:

The start of the evening, don't we make a great couple?

Me, Liz and K

Yeah, I am a farking douchenozzle, but what else is new?

P.S. I have gum in my mouth and I look like an asshole.

I am not fucked up. Really. It's not Captain Morgans' eye. Seriously. Don't you remember that I said I had an eye growth?

Damn, I am a squinty little beyotch.

Uh......

End of the night?

'Nuff said.

I Feel Better About Myself When:

I Feel Better About Myself When:

• I go to WalMart. Trust me, unless your family tree has no branches, it will make you feel better too.
  
• I shop. Shoes, clothes or accessories. It doesn't make a difference. It just makes me feel good and retail therapy is cheaper than sitting on the leather couch.


• I spend more than 10 minutes at the MAC counter. This means that I am getting my make-up done and I love it.


• I see ManHo Cho. Invariably, we will gossip and natter about all of the shit we hate and make fun of celebretards.


• A woman complements me. It means way more than when men do it and I get all glowy for a while.


• I use my rapier wit and sharp tongue to take someone down a few notches. Seriously, why are you such an asshole? Is there an appointment committee and if so where do I send my resume because I guarantee that I am better at it than you are.


• Someone tries to hire me away from my current position. I'm not going anywhere, but it is nice to be desired by other companies.


• I sell shit. That = $$$.


• My clothes fit. That's one of the reasons that I am working out now... not to lose weight, but to slim down and tone up.
  

Things I shouldn't feel good about, but I do anyway:

• Using my boobies, booty or any other feminine wiles to get my way with men. It is trite and the feminists are going to get all militant on my ass, but men are simple and if they want to give me shit, who am I to stop them?


• Kicking ass at Trivial Pursuit. There are very few people who will play this with me and one of my friends even accused me of pre-reading the questions. Aren't there like 2.6 million different questions in those boxes? I know I don't have a life, but I am not that bad.


• Seeing people that I went to high school with and making damn sure that they know how well I turned out. I went from nerd to "look at me now" and while you were busy teasing me unmercifully, I made sure that I studied hard and made something out of my life. Now here I am and there you are and, well, honey I'm sure you did the best you could...


• When certain people in a certain someone's family who don't particularly care for me, fall flat on their faces - AGAIN!!! You treat me like something you scrape off of your shoes, but we all know who the fuckups really are. I would love it even more if you didn't have kids who depended on you, but YOU are the ones fucking them up, not me.


• I see other people trip up a flight of stairs. That shit is always gonna make me cackle. It's just funny. 'Speciall since I do it too.
  

I don't have "it" today. You know that mojo that makes everything that comes out of my mouth sound funny..... What I do have is a fun little eye problem and I am now on steroids. My right eye will soon be able to lift a car off of the ground.

Peace Out Fuckers!!

BONUS PIC:

WENT OUT FOR BBS' BIRTHDAY...

MY NEXT POST WILL BE ALL ABOUT IT

HERE'S A TEASER

P.S. I LOOKED EVEN MORE LIKE AN ASSOLE IN THE OTHER PICS..