Why I Hate Everything About Madonna

Ok, I don't REALLY hate Madonna. I think she's a very talented, innovative attention whore. She's been a strong force in the music industry since before I was born, I get it - I respect her as a musician; I loathe her as an icon.

It all started my senior year in high school, when I and my fellow pageant contestants were subjected to months of brainwashing tactics aimed at learning ridiculously repetitive moves for our opening number - you guessed it - Vogue.

*Step, Step, turn, step, step, fan your butt like you just farted and don't want anyone to smell it, step, step, turn* (no joke)

I still can't hear that song without cringing and dying a little inside.

Then there's the whole thing of the former Ms. Cone Boobs (yea, like being bra less in an air conditioned place with half naked backup dancers running around isn't dangerous enough) finding religion. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for someone finding faith, but - Madonna + Koballa = Huh? Yea, I don't know.

The final straw however was the widely publicized gag-inducing tongue swap with Britney. WHAT THE HELL? Come on Madonna, really - if you were any more desperate to use Brit for media coverage, you'd be Kevin Federline.

Ugh, and that video with Justin Timberlake (I can't even remember what it was, I tried that hard to block it completely from my memory) - nevermind, I don't even want to think about it.

I have to go take a shower now, I feel icky.

Derailed Diet Excuses That Just Don't Work

This had to pop up sooner or later, what with my making fun of whiny heavy people who are only heavy through their own lack of will power (and I can say that, as I've had to jump back on the diet bandwagon myself because of some poor diet choices - damn you, Hershey's Kisses in 5 billion flavors).

So, I've compiled a list of all the derailed diet excuses that I can and will laugh at if I hear you try to use them:

MY CLOTHES ARE SHRINKING. I'll admit, I've (half jokingly) used this one myself before - but - WHAT? Unless you stumbled across some miracle fabric in the "Beyond" section of Bed, Bath & Beyond - that's your ass growing - not your pants shrinking. Step away from the cheesecake.

I HAVE KIDS. So? So does most of the rest of the world population. If you're feeding your kids lard-slathered pastas and feel you need to sneak bites and finish their plates "so it doesn't go to waste," consult a family dietitian - NOW - or you can count on being recruited for the "families" season of The Biggest Loser a few years down the road.

I DON'T HAVE TIME TO WORK OUT. Sure, you have a job, kids, etc. - but if you can fit in an hour to bake a german chocolate cake, read the latest diva train wreck gossip, or jump in the car for a Big Mac, you have time to work out. Here's a simple 5 step workout anyone can do from the comfort of their own home:

Step 1: Stand up.

Step 2. Walk away from the tv/computer.

Step 3: Grab a trash bag.

Step 4: Open your refrigerator & cabinets.

Step 5: Put anything that looks like it might taste good in the bag; then tie the bag shut.

Congratulations, you've just burned thousands of calories before you even ingested them!

Tip: Make sure the bag makes it to the curb without being reopened or molested. It will be hard - you might even cry - but your pant seams will thank you later.

I HATE TO COUNT CALORIES. Yea, unless your name is Susan Powter or Jenny Craig, that's a big *DUH*. You don't have to count calories, but if you're in a buffet line and the other customers are looking at you all bulgy-eyed, there's a good chance you just might be over-doing it.

If you're reading this, you obviously have internet - so if you're at home and find yourself being seduced by the thought of twinkies and fried chicken, here are some helpful words you can Google beforehand to curb those thoughts:

• Nude obese photos. 'Nuff said.
• Richard Simmons. Yea, this is the guy you might have to consult to shed those twinkie deposits on your thighs and bum. Be afraid - be VERY afraid.
• George W. bikini pics. Ugh, I just threw up in my mouth a little.
• YouTube liposuction. That's what the cottage cheese looks like on the INSIDE. Not pretty.
• Ali McBeal. I know, sickeningly anorexic looking waif - but looking at Ali would make even Kate Moss feel like Shamu and throw away her fork.
• YouTube Salami packaging process. I saw this on the Discovery channel - haven't touched ANY deli meat since. /true story

I'VE TRIED EVERY DIET OUT THERE, NONE OF THEM WORK. Yea, that's because fad diets DON'T work, especially if you're a lazy dieter like most people out there. Drinking 3 Slim Fasts a day won't do you any good if you're still eating steak and potatos with OR in between them. Diet pills don't erase the calories you rack up stalking the donut shop, and pre-packaged diet meals and snack packs are pre-packaged for a reason - YOU'RE ONLY SUPPOSED TO EAT ONE AT A TIME.

That's my rant for the day, happy dieting to all.

Until next time...

If You Give a Mouse a Cookie...

He'll eat it. That simple. He'll eat it, and poop it out in your pantry on top of something not well sealed a few hours later.


Both of my children have a Breakthrough to Literacy program going in each of their schools - which is great, don't get me wrong - but I've read the Cat in the Hat so many times this last week that in real life conversations I'm beginning to sound like I'm channeling Dr. Seuss.


"You should not be in here when your mother is not, quit trying to flush your shoe down the pot!"


I'm not proud of that one, but I did say it. Then there's the second bedtime favorite, called "Peekaboo, I love you!" It's a cute little story about a little bug-boy that gets a new kitten and hugs it too tight, then has to chase it down and find it in the house. By the time he finds it, he's so worn out from looking for it that he lays down with it for a nap (that's my favorite part).


Point is, I've been feeding my brain so many cutesy prose kids books that my ability to hold an adult conversation has almost completely gone out the window. Again.

This is a total digression, but I mentioned Stephen King in the last post - I've got Kingdom Hospital on my television at the moment and there's an injured man laying in a hospital bed being threatened by an anteater. It's not a possessed transsexual broomstick - but I rest my case, at any rate.

What would I do with fame like that, where when you have a lazy day you can just spin out nonsensical bs and people will read it anyway, just because it has your name on it?

.....I'd start a blog.

Until next time...

Life is a Lemon and I Want My Money Back

Ah, Meatloaf.


You thought this was going to be some whiny emo post, didn't you? From me? Riiiight...


Who doesn't love Meatloaf? That is, anyone who's heard of him and doesn't think he's the gloppy red-sauced stuff they serve at nursing homes to people who've forgotten to put their pants on that morning.


Yipe.


It still amazes me, even at 26, how the next generation of kids think that Knockin' on Heaven's Door was a breakthrough Guns N' Roses creation (more recently an Avril Lavigne attempt at something palatable, for those too young to even know who Guns N' Roses is), Whip It was written by Disney, and Gene Simmons is that annoyingly gay Sweatin' to the Oldies dude.


Don't even get me started on Kid Bop. (I know, I know, but seriously - don't.) Or how many blatant Bob Dylan rip-offs there are running around there (besides Knockin' on Heaven's Door).


There's a new Metallica album out, Death Magnetic - and I have to place a disclaimer before I state my opinion of the one song I've heard off this thing (the Unforgiven III) - I love Metallica. L - O - V - E. With a capital *MUAH*.


.... but my God guys, are you even trying anymore? Metallica is to metal what Stephen King is to horror. King could write a crap novel in 10 seconds about a possessed transsexual broomstick that terrorizes people by rolling around goosing them in the bums, and still hit #1 on the bestseller list in a week - just like Metallica spun out this piece of crap, and will probably sell millions from the name alone. Does that make them any good? No.


James, Kirk, Lars, Robert - grow your hair back - it's been downhill ever since you lopped it off. Pleeeeaaase.... Just give it a try, what do ya say?


Until next time....

Here's a Bunny With a Pancake on its Head

Yup, it's another round of deep thoughts.

Is it me, or are kids bigger than they used to be? Maybe the government should regulate the use of Miracle Grow on fruit and vegetable crops.

Does the Disney Channel have a secret laboratory somewhere where they create test-tube babies that are freakishly attractive, talented, bilingual, and marketable by the thousands?

Is George W.'s head lumpy from all those brain farts?

What's the deal with OLEO? Why the hell would someone actually market a product with a warning on the package containing the words "may cause anal leakage"? And who actually buys those products???

Speaking of anal leakage - if a gay man could fly, would his bum whistle?

Can you really see Russia from Alaska?

What were the Burger King ad execs smoking when they came up with the Burger King mascot?

Is it frightening that I'm 26 years old and enjoy watching Hannah Montana? Isn't it even weirder that I just posted that?

*shrug*

That's all for now.

Quick, Hide the Google AdSense, Part 2

Where was I? Ah yes, porn.

Is there a factory somewhere deep in Arkansas that produces peroxide blond women with G-cup silicon boobs and too much lip liner, with their brains lobotomized so all they can say is "Ooooh," "Yeah," and, "Yes Mr. Johnson, I love pie."?

Yea, and plot lines. WHAT THE HELL? Did these people have to graduate from soap opera acting school before they were allowed to star in porn? Do they have one of Jerry's Kids back there writing scripts? It's PORN, people - plot lines in a porn is about as useful as a brain is to George W. Sure, it fills space - but does it really contribute to anything?

"Oh my, is there a fire?"
"Yes, there's a fire - it's in my pants."
Bow-chicka-wow-WHAT?

That's not sexy - it's retarded. If I were busty bimbo #72, I'd be too busy laughing to let Stripping Firefighter Guy into my house, let alone do things with him that might actually - for the love of God, no - produce offspring.

Forget watching this stuff for anything sexual - I want to see the bloopers. I want to see busty bimbo #72 get overzealous trying to put out the fire in Stripping Firefighter Guy's pants and get a black eye. Maybe even knock out a tooth. Or, "Mister Firefighter, your hose is SO bi - " *FART!* ...and you see footage of Iwogima getting nuked.

Now THAT'S entertainment.

...and that is also why I will never be allowed to be involved in any process of editing porn. Blue balls would abound - it would be total chaos.

Until next time...

Quick, Hide the Google AdSense, Part 1

Anyone who's ever written online content knows that keywords are crucial. They help your content get listed in search engines, which brings traffic to your site. The more you use the same keyword in your post, the higher your ranking will be when someone googles that word.

Which brings me to my next subject - sex sells.

It's true! Mention the word "boobies" in one post and *BLAM!* - instant page views.

Granted, I think I may have disappointed a few people with that one, what with derailing their solo spank session and all - my bad.

....but - it made me think. Shaddup. Messing with people is a favorite hobby of mine, so let's go fishin'. *evil grin*

I learned first about sex from a series of uncomfortable conversations with my parents. For my own therapy's sake, I won't go into details. It's an unwritten rule of mental stability - parents and sex should never so much as be mentioned in the same sentence, let alone parents be allowed to mention sex - ever, under any circumstances - to their children.

Especially if any part of the conversation contains the phrase, "Your mother can be quite the wildcat."

@#$&%$$!!!??? OVERLOAD! OVERLOAD! GAG REFLEX ENGAGED, BRAIN TO SELF DESTRUCT IN T-MINUS 10 SECONDS......

This is the kind of thing that causes aneurysms later in life. You can try to suppress it, but it takes root somewhere in your brain and years later, when you least expect it -

*shudder*

Moving on.

I had Sex Ed in the 4th grade, and the only thing I can remember from that class was thinking,"How in the world can such an unattractive woman know so much about sex?"

XXX stores frighten me. All those battery-operated, smelly, vibrating things. So does porn. But that's a subject for the next post, since I've filled this one with traumatic anticdotes that will haunt me forever.

Yea, I'm not going to sleep tonight.

...to be continued....

...and I Shall Call Him George

I've gone another week without posting - I know, I know, shame on me. I'm running out of excuses, so I'll just leave you with this:

...Congratulations, you've just been mooned.

And there, I have accomplished two tasks at once - I've created content for a blog, and I've incorporated pictures into my blog. I've also made you endure one of the lamest attempt-at-a-joke puns ever known to man - but isn't that part of my job?

I bet you're now wondering what the hell the title of this post means. Yea - I don't know either. I know some of you suspect that I keep random retarded lines in a hat somewhere for inspiration on the days I have nothing to ramble about. For the record, I don't. I'm just insane.

Until next time...

Conspiracy Theory #48 - Hereditary Insanity, part deux

Anyone who knows me personally and has ever met my parents knows that my Mother is a packrat and my Dad was a neat freak. You could tell immediately which corner of each room was my Dad's, because amongst the piles of books, paperwork, chip bags, and junk mail, would be a small, spotless space, where "there was a place for everything, and everything was in its place."

What does that mean for me?

I'm a packrat with OCD.

I keep everything, but I have an insanely large file cabinet (ok, eBay box, at the moment), full of bills, receipts, junk mail, and things my children bring home from school. I have stacks of books everywhere, but they're all in alphabetical order by size - and God help you if you put a cd or dvd back in its case without the title being straight and at the top. All dvd's are also in alphabetical order, by genre.

If you attempt to put my canned or boxed groceries away for me, I will hurt you - I have a system, dammit, and that system is not to be tampered with. I'd explain what the system is, but you wouldn't understand.

I keep shoe boxes. Why? I have no idea. But I do know that if I threw them away, I would need them for something. They're in neat stacks of 3 in my bedroom closet underneath my clothes, which are arranged by sleeve length, material, and color - all facing the same way on the hangers.

My children can dump toys all over the floor and I can stand it long enough for them to come home from school to clean it up - but if there's a B dvd in the M section, I will twitch until it's fixed. (Ok, not really, but it drives me crazy, at any rate)

What does all this mean for my girls? I have no idea, but considering that their Dad is a typical male who is okay with throwing anything just about anywhere, it doesn't look good. Being that there are two of them, it's possible that one will be a neat freak and the other will be the packrat.

Let's just hope they won't have to room together for long.

Birthday Bliss

First, my apologies for not posting more lately, but my house has been overrun with midgets and a satellite has intercepted my brain waves, making it painfully impossible to come up with anything original.

Yes, I'm reaching - sorry for that. Next.

Today's my birthday (thank you, thank you, hold your applause), and I'm now officially one year past a quarter of a century old.

Think it's time to start counting back yet? Or be 26 until I'm 80, riddled with Alzheimer's, and don't really give a shit if anyone knows how old I am (that is, if I an remember how old I am, what my name is, or if I put pants on that morning), as long as they're willing to cut up my nursing home meatloaf for me?

Ah, Alzheimer's. Oh come on - you know me, you can't say you really didn't see that one coming.

It's a horrible disease, but for the person who has it, it might actually be kind of cool.

Hear me out before you flag this blog, geez...

• Every day is a brand new day.
• When you see someone, it's like meeting them for the first time - and you can say something really, really tacky, and not have to feel bad about it later.
• You can grab that hot mail person's bum and not get slapped in the face - every day.
• You can forget your pants and no one can say a thing about it.
• You can flip off little kids and get away with it, as long as you're smiling while you do it.
• Even if you have to eat nursing home meatloaf every day for the rest of your life, you'll never get tired of it because you won't remember that you've had it every day for the last 3 years.
• You can leave your house wearing nothing but a raincoat, a shower cap, a flip flop and a snow shoe, and just like the sans-pants thing - no one can say a word.
• There's no endless guilt trip when you forget your anniversary or your wife's birthday.
• If you get bored of a conversation you can just let your eyes wander into space and whoever is talking to you will leave you alone - no questions asked.
• On the same note, you could interrupt them with,"Oh my, it's so nice to have company. My name is (insert name), what's your's?" or even just "Where the hell am I, who the hell are you, and where the hell are my pants?"

So, sick and demented as it may be, there are just a few of the things that might be great about memory loss. Of course, you wouldn't remember those experiences to be able to appreciate them... But the thought is a bit fun.

Until next time...

Deep Thoughts

That’s right folks, it’s out with the mindless trash talking and in with this round of memorable quotes & conversations you really didn’t want to walk in on the middle of - Reality Challenged style.

**Writer cannot be held accountable for sudden bouts of nausea or sinus cavity damage from spewing carbonated beverages through your nose.

Memorable Quotes:
“Seriously - he could be in a dead sleep and I’d lay down in bed and he’d roll over and start humping my leg - that’s why I wouldn’t let the kids sleep between us.” -LM

“Momma, are squids those big pointy things with testicles?”
“No honey, that’s called a man.” -HL & NS

“She pays in pu**y - not to be confused with pesos.” -CC

“Don’t spew your coffee out your nose yet, let me get my camera first!” -LM

Conversations you really didn’t want to walk in on the middle of:
“…she sharted on herself, so she like yanks me behind her and tells me to stay right there, and I was on poop patrol and I was like, ‘It’s ok Mom, I got ya covered.’” *sings Mission Impossible theme* “I am the poop detective.” -JC

“…ain’t nothing’ comin’ near my face if it smells like pee - I’ll take a Q-tip to that phucker if I have to.” -LM

“…hold on, I got my mouth full of camel right now.” -SH

“…he just rolls it up, and it actually stays there.” - SC

I know, I know - it’s not the most impressive list this time, but I’ve been busy doing damage control and derailing imbeciles the last couple of months, so my time has been pretty much monopolized by that and my memory capacity for the redundant was pretty well filled up.

...and yes, it's another lazy day....

Conspiracy Theory #982 - Useless Movie Quotes

I don't know about you, but I can't remember half of what I learned in history class. I can't remember the passages from Romeo and Juliet, Ceasar, or Beowulf that we were forced to memorize in highschool. And I have no idea what our guest speakers were blabbing about at graduation.

I can, however, remember in great detail every movie quote that ever made me giggle. AND, I can annoy any unfortunate individual in my presence with them on cue.

You see this one coming already, don't you?

Don't sit there and pretend you don't do it too. Seriously, just who are you trying to fool?

Yes, it's another list. So sue me.


"I do have a test today. that wasn't bullshit. It's on European socialism. I mean, really, what's the point? I'm not European. I don't plan on being European. So who cares if they're socialists? They could be fascist anarchists. It still doesn't change the fact that I don't own a car. Not that I condone fascism, or any -ism for that matter. -Ism's in my opinion are not good. A person should not believe in an -ism, he should believe in himself. I quote John Lennon, "I don't believe in The Beatles, I just believe in me." Good point there. After all, he was the walrus. I could be the walrus. I'd still have to bum rides off people."

--- Ferris Beuller


....Hmm, I don't think he was bitter about not getting a car, do you?


"Men, you are about to embark on a great crusade to stamp-out runaway decency in the west. Now, you will only be risking your lives, whilst I will be risking an almost certain Academy Award nomination for Best Supporting Actor."

--- Hedley Lamar, Blazing Saddles


"I ran out of gas. I had a flat tire. I didn't have enough money for cab fare. My tux didn't come back from the cleaners. An old friend came in from out of town. Someone stole my car. There was an earthquake! A terrible flood! Locusts! It wasn't my fault, I swear to god!"

--- Jake Blues, the Blues Brothers


"DOG POO??? THAT'S AWESOME!"

--- Bubble Boy


Richard Vernon: False alarms are really funny, aren't they. What if your home, what if your family . . . what if your dope was on fire?
John Bender: Impossible, sir. It's in Johnson's underwear.

--- the Breakfast Club


"When you think of garbage, think of Akeem."

--- Prince Akeem, Coming to America


Buttercup: We'll never survive.
Westley: Nonsense, you're only saying that because no one ever has.

--- the Princess Bride


"We're in the middle of bumfudged nowhere and 'you shore do got a purdy mouth'."

--- Tom, Without a Paddle


"...so not only does he give us directions - my man drew us a MAP."

--- Keitz, Bulletproof


"Human thought is so primitive, it's looked upon as an infectious disease in some of the better galaxies. That kind of makes you proud, doesn't it?"

--- K, Men in Black

In case you were wondering, yes I am having a lazy day today - what of it? :)

Until next time...

Conspiracy Theory #331- "Poetic Liberties"

In the world of fiction, generally a writer will create alter egos for themselves and do little more than change the names of their friends in their stories, and all are based (though sometimes very loosely) on actual events.


That disclaimer you see in front of movies and television shows that says all characters and situations are complete works of fiction and any similarities to real life people or events are merely coincidental - IT'S A LIE.


Don't believe me? Allow me to provide you with examples.


***All content herein is merely a reflection of insanity deep within the mind of the writer. Any statement that proves to be fact in the future cannot be held against said writer. But I will say I told you so.***


1. I agree with Dave Chapelle's theory about the Count on Sesame Street. Clearly someone had an uncle who was a pimp in the 70's - who else would wear a garish purple suit and rejoice over counting so much? The cape confuses me a little, unless said person's pimp uncle was also a cokehead and thought he could fly...


2. Mr. Clean. I'll just say someone had a crush on Ving Rhames.

3. The Wayans brothers in Hot Chicks. Hmmm, Dennis Rodman, anyone? Ok, minus the basketball. And the fact that the Wayans brothers are undercover agents in the movie and Dennis Rodman could never pull off anything undercover, considering he couldn't even pull off being in the closet.

Yipe.

Which brings me to another random thought - Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus - and Dennis Rodman is from Uranus.

Yea, moving on.

4. Ozzy Osbourne in Little Nicky. Er, Ozzy Osbourne. Ok I just had to mention Ozzy because he's awesome. Even when Sharon tries to desecrate his concerts with bubbles. "I'm the phucking Prince of Dahkness Sharon, and you want me to put BUBBLES in my CONCERT???"

Ahaha, good stuff.

5. Karen in Mean Girls. Sure, she was pretty, but dumb as a rock and so proud of herself for her ability to put her whole fist in her mouth. Shave her head and put an umbrella in her hand and she's Britney Spears. Next.

6. The Pillsbury Dough Boy. Marlon Brando? "I'll give you an offer you can't refuse.... You gonna eat that?"

7. Johnny Depp in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. I'm not sure who this character was modeled after (it's definitely a far cry from Gene Wilder's lovable character in the original), but it's just beyond creepy. He's like the 2nd cousin at family reunions that everyone avoids and hides their children from.

Johnny Depp dropped about 100 points on the hotness meter for women around the globe thanks to this character. Good job, Tim Burton.

That's all for now, but you can bet this one will be popping up again.

Until next time....

ConspiracyTheory #769 - Ninja Readers

Ok, I've been paying close attention to my page views the last few weeks - and my page views are jumping, but I'm getting no comments.

Not even anonymous. Not even hate filled, misspelled pre-menstrual rants.

I began to wonder why no one was compelled to respond to my mindless posts anymore.

I know what you're thinking, "Oh God, not another list - PLEASE."

Yoink.

I've thought long and hard about this folks, and since I spend so much time mulling over it, I felt obligated to share with all of you.

Once again, if you hated it that much, you wouldn't still be here, now would you?

Theories as to why no one comments on my posts anymore:

Nobody loves me. I'm not Emo, and I'm just too darn likable. Scratch that one.

Everyone in the world has lost Internet access. Well, I live in BFE and I still have mine, plus online porn is still going strong, so that can't be it. No, I will not add a porn section to this blog. Perverts. You know who you are.

All my readers have found better things to do with their time. Ha ha, that's funny. Next.

I use too many big words and there are no illustrations to help along. Okay, except in reference to a couple of people, I'm just kidding on that one. Besides, do you REALLY want to see pictures pertaining to stupid people, Greenpeace advocates, and doggy potty training? Didn't think so. The bubble wrap could be fun, though - I'll have to work on that one.

My posts make no sense and my readers are too dumbfounded by the end of them to have anything to say. I'm not going to lie people, this is probably the most plausible of all of them.

My final theory, far-fetched as it may be:

I don't have a mascot. Seriously, if this is the reason, you the readers and I the writer will have some serious issues. Don't make me bring in Zed.

You see what you've done here? You've made me resort to blackmail. Leave comments or I will bring in the muse.

Be afraid, be very afraid.

Lol, I can't WAIT to see the Google ads that pop up for this one....

Conspiracy Theory #eleventy-seven - Evil Thoughts

There comes a time in even the nicest person's life where someone pisses you off to the point where you spend ridiculous amounts of hours plotting revenge.

Myself, I have wonderful mental images that will pop up even when I'm talking to a person that annoys me. Sometimes they come at random times completely unannounced, and I float off into my happy place at very unfortunate times.

This is why I am not allowed to operate heavy machinery.

So, here are the top five diabolical scenarios that have popped into my head about people.

1. Driving off a cliff into a lake full of alligators. And pirhanna. And eels.

Think about it. More than likely they'll survive the crash. They'll crawl out of the car, thinking they're swimming to safety, when - *ZAP!*

*ZAP ZAP!*
*ZAP!*

Then the pirhanna - *nibble nibble nibble nibble nibble*

Then comes the alligator - *CRUNCH!*

*ZAP!*

*giggle*

2. The monster wedgie.

This could happen any number of ways. My favorite is a crane hook coming from a construction site while said irritating person in walking nonchalantly down the street. Perhaps they're whistling a nice little tune, thinking about little fairies and sunflowers.

*beep beep beep*
*hook*
*yank*
*AHHHH!*

*giggle*

3. Bob Saget/Full House marathons.

Sure, some people like the show. And it's ok, in small doses. But think about being tied to a chair for days on end with your eyes toothpicked open and your head secured to look only at a television screen showing nothing but that irritatingly syrupy sweet 80's hit show - commercial free.

*How wude!*
*you got it dude!*
*I love you Uncle Jesse!*
*NOOOOOOO*

*giggle*

4. Tom Jones.

Along the lines of that last one, I'm sure that there are people who love Tom Jones in all his innuendo laced disco glory. Do you know any of them? Yea, me either.

Picture the last one with the chair, without the toothpicks, and add very heavy headphones and a cd player stuck on repeat with no shut off button and no volume control.

*It's not unusual...*
*squirm*
*What's new pussy cat...*
*flinch*
*WHOA OOH WHOAH OOH WHOA OH OH*
*piercing scream*

*giggle*

5. Perfect Paranoia is perfect awareness.

I'm sure you have no clue as to the revenge plot behind this one - I'd be more than happy to explain.

First I would find a way to implant a tiny microphone into the collar of every shirt, jacket, and robe they owned. Maybe even going so far as to superglue one behind their ear while they slept.

Getting an idea here?

I'd whisper insane little nothings in their ear at all hours of the day and night, until they go so insane they subject themselves to Tom Jones and Full House marathons.

Whatcha doin?

"Who was that?"

This is your conscience.

"What the - "

If you build it, they will come.

"If I build what?"

Taste the rainbow.

*smacks themselves in the head a couple times* "What?"

Take me to your leader.

"Is this some kinda trick? Dude, this isn't funny."

So you like to see homos naked dude, that's cool, whatever.

"WTF??"

What's new pussycat? Whoa ooh whao oohwhoa oh...

"AAHHHHHH!"

I could go on for days, but I'll leave it at that.

So there you have it, number eleventy-seven. The sad thing about my being able to blog is that it opens the world up to the frightening way mind mind works.

What's even scarier - that ain't the half of it.

Until next time...

Hooray for Boobies

Here's a fun fact: Aside from Oxygen, Silicon is the second most abundant element on Earth. 97% of it is in L.A. 38% of that is under Pam Anderson's shirt.

If I had a nickle for every time one of my guy friend told me they'd never leave the house if they had boobs - well, I'd have a ridiculously large piggy bank.

I don't get it. A good friend of mine nailed it right on the head when she said, "Seriously, boobs and butt are nothing more than selective fat placement."

...to which one of our male friends replied, "HOORAY SELECTIVE FAT PLACEMENT! WOO!" Accompanied by a strange little happy-dance hoe down.

You know why old women's boobs drag the ground as they get older? It's because the fat on their chest breaks down their backs and they can't stand upright. I'm serious - and it's worse the bigger they are. When I was in high school they didn't make bras any bigger than D's (and you were lucky to find those), so I had to have mine special ordered from NASA. When that got too expensive, I opened an account with Omar the Tent maker.

Let me tell you, if a bra strap breaks for an A cup, no one really notices - but if a DD comes loose - they have to evacuate 3 counties.

Think about that the next time you eyeball a big-breasted woman - one wrong move and *SNAP* - Death by Boobies.

Oh, I know what you're thinking guys - "Oh, but what a way to go!"

*rolls eyes*

...and your tombstone shall read: Thanks for the mammeries.

It's a 2 for 1 !!

I know exactly what you're thinking - "Wtf... why didn't I think of that?"










...I wonder if he also dressed up like a construction worker...or an Indian... or Elvis?

I bet editors of the National Enquirer are kicking themselves in the butt right about now...

Talking in Your Sleep

I remember my Dad telling me once when I was a kid that he held an entire conversation with me while I was asleep - about molecular physics and jelly sandwiches.

*shrug*

So, while I was thinking about the most redundant subject possible to blog about, I decided I'd share with you a few of the things I heard and seen people do in their sleep.

...scary, isn't it?

We'll start with the anonymous Dr. Phil, who has a bad habit of starting a completely intelligent sentence while awake and falling asleep, still talking, and integrating a true story with movie scenes, random jokes, and song lyrics. This isn't a direct quote - because what he actually said was too long winded and random to remember exactly - it's just to give you an idea.

"...so then little Johnny stood up in class and was like, 'You want the truth? You can't handle the truth!' and Greenpeace looked at me and was like, 'dude, I'm a fighter pilot!' So then Riddick walks up and knocks the dude on his ass, It was great. And I thought, I should buy a boat! I am the walrus, but even if I was the walrus I'd still have to bum rides from my friends. Coo coo cachoo..." ZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.................

Then we have my sister, with "Don't do that! They're only interested in the spaghetti straps on your carburetor..."

My friend *name removed in the interest of saving myself from being hunted down and beaten* , who didn't actually say anything - he just humped the couch.

My niece, "People. PEOPLE!" *wags her hand around like she's dribbling a basketball*

My daughter, "Give me the COOKIE!"

My friend T, "Oprah?"

My friend C, "I TOLD you it was a bad idea to poke the panda. I'm gonna kick your ass, Fozzy Bear."

...isn't insomnia great? If only I had owned a video camera all these years, I'd make a fortune on YouTube.

Hide and Seek

I'm not sure if I'm the "cool aunt," or if I've unwittingly nominated myself family babysitter, but I've had a substantial rise in visits from my nieces and nephews in the past couple of weeks.

I'm not complaining - in fact, it gives me plenty of extra cannon fodder for my blogs...

I had my niece over today, since her brother and sister had band practice and she doesn't generally relish the thought of tagging along with her Daddy to domino tournaments while he waits for the other kids. Fortunately for me, she's old enough to entertain my girls without giving me another child to chase around trying to make sure nothing gets broken and nobody gets dismembered trying to execute WWE moves off the bunk beds.

She decided she wanted to get my girls together and play hide and seek with their Mommy - only, I'm pretty sure no one ever actually explained the concept of "hide and seek" to my oldest daughter.

The first couple of rounds went well, I found them quietly huddled up under the bottom bunk bed, then next to the couch. Then, probably due to the fact that our apartment doesn't have very many good hiding places, my niece sat me in the computer chair and ordered me to keep my eyes closed until she told me otherwise.

I did as told, sitting silent and completely still until I heard a door close quietly, and my niece's muffled voice telling me to "come find us!"

I played along, standing and walking around the room looking in silly places where they couldn't possibly be, musing aloud something to the effect of "Now WHERE could they BE?"

In response, came my oldest daughter's muffled voice - "WE'RE IN THE CLOSET!"

...followed by a very distinct "ARGH!" from my niece.

So, they piled out of the closet and my niece, looking obviously irritated, ordered me to close my eyes again. They tried hiding behind the chair I was sitting in, but I heard them and they had shuffled enough to bump into the chair, so I guess she decided that was a bust - and moved them back to the side of the couch, where she encountered a spider and came out as quickly as she had gone in, lunging for a shoe.

A few minutes passed, and I guess she figured enough time had gone by that I would forget all about the closet hiding place. I was again ordered to close my eyes, and again I heard them pile into the closet and shut the door as quietly as they could, after a whispered, "DON'T tell her where we're at".

"Come find us!"

Again, I made the mistake of asking where they could possibly be.

"WE'RE IN THE CLOSET!"

"ARGH!"

They all came piling out again, and my niece decided she was done with hide and seek.

So the moral of this story is: if you ever want an honest answer, just ask your kid. Oh, and don't play hide and seek with my daughter. :)

...and if I ever can't find my daughter in the apartment, I'll know exactly where to look.

Until next time...

Conspiracy Theory #34 - Contamination in the Gene Pool

Yea, I might already have a Conspiracy Theory #34, I don't care.

God help me if I ever try to compile my ramblings and put them in numerical order. *shudder*

Today's subject of my senseless rambling, in case you didn't already tell from the title, has to do with the genes our children inevitably inherit that you really sometimes wish you could just suck out and inject into the children of someone you really don't like.

Damn! I'm too nice... I wouldn't REALLY punish a child for their parent's stupidity, but the thought of the irritation inflicted on the parent definitely brightens my day.

WHAT??? Oh, like you've never considered it. Pfft, whatever.

Anyway, there are definitely traits you sometimes see in your children, that you know COULDN'T have come from you, that sneak up and shock you so badly that you're too busy wondering wtf to even correct them on what they're doing.

Still confused? Ever had your child suddenly run down the hallway - for no reason whatsoever and without any provocation - and run smack into the opposite wall, ON PURPOSE? Then, as if that wasn't enough, they pick themselves out of the floor giggling, and run back to do it again. THEN, to add insult to injury, they proclaim loud and clear - usually to a house full of visitors - "HEY!!! WATCH ME!"

*Run, zoom, SMACK!*

*giggle*

Then they sit in the floor gazing at their audience as though they're awaiting applause for their obvious need for a helmet.

You might as well wipe that perplexed look off your face, you're not fooling anyone. Every parent has had this - or something like this - type of scenario with their children. The type of scenario that has you online after your kids go to bed looking up your family tree to make sure your grandparents weren't cousins and there were no documented cases of botched lobotomies or mental illness.

Don't try to point out that a botched lobotomy would have been a surgical procedure and therefore incapable of being hereditary, I'm fully aware of this fact. I'm not referring to the procedure itself, I'm referring to the fact that a lobotomy is the removal of parts of the brain - and people do really, really dumb stuff when their brain isn't fully functional. Like mate with the first medical experiment reject they come across, or drink the water in Mexico. Hand someone a few beers if you don't believe me.

At any rate, I'll spare you the gory details of my own children's' "der der der" moments (save the smacking into a wall thing), but I will say that I seriously hope all that wall smacking knocks something back into place, because if my 6 year old tells me one more time the exact number of bubbles in her head, I'm going to scream.

Until next time...

Why I Will Never be able to Work in Customer Service

I'm the type of person who can work with people, if I absolutely have to, but for the most part I am better suited working in a dark, quiet corner all by my little lonesome. Why? I'm not sure really, but I know that generally if it came down to a choice between a series of painful shots in the kneecaps and dealing with the average customer, I'd inquire as to the exact number of shots.

Kidding! Well, sort of...

But the reasoning behind my inability to work effectively with the general public is that I'm violently allergic to stupidity (seriously - I swell up, start breathing heavily, and occasionally develop a momentary case of Tourette's Syndrome - among other unattractive, unfortunate side effects).

Here's a scenerio: I once worked in the shoe department of the local Walmart. As innocent and monotonous as this may sound, I promise you it wasn't a job for anyone with an IQ above 45 to expect to be able walk away at the end of the day without having lost a few brain cells.

Here's something that actually happened that proves my theory of my inability to cope with most of my fellow human beings:

Customer: "I'm looking for some shoes."

What I say: "You're in the right place," flashing that million dollar "I work at Walmart and I hate my job but I have to smile because I don't want to wind up in the unemployment line" smile, "How can I help you?"


What I'm thinking: No, really? I figured you were in the shoe department because you needed cat food.

Customer: "I'm not really sure what I want... But I want something cute... and comfortable...and not too expensive... that's going to last a while..."

What I say: "Well, let's take a look."

What I'm thinking: ...and you're shopping at Walmart? Still holding that pasted on smile, hmm, I should have brought my Vaseline...

What I Say: "Alright, what kind of shoes are you looking for? Sneakers, boots, dress...? Any particular color?"

What I'm thinking: Please don't say something stupid please don't say something stupid please don't say something stupid....

Customer: "I like pink!"

What I say: "Alright, let's see what we have here... What size?"

What I'm thinking: AARRGH!!!

Customer: "Size 10." Giggling like she's embarasssed, "Okay, 12."


What I'm thinking as I'm smiling politely and trying not to look at her feet: WTF? You're like, 5 foot nothing and can't weigh more than 110 soaking wet... I wonder if she would be offended if I asked her to wear a red nose and make balloon animal's at my neice's birthday party...


Customer: "But not like, hot pink, more of a pastel or rosey color... Ooooh my God I found the CUTEST pair of pink and white tennis shoes at Stage but they didn't have any in my size and they were like, 100 dollars! *ramble ramble blah, like, blah, blah, totally, blah blah blah blah shoes at blah blah blabbity bloo-blah blah blah, so... yea."

(It was at this point that I realized why my Dad's eyes would suddenly glaze over and he'd begin to drool during our conversations once I hit puberty.)

What I'm thinking while pretending to look for a color of shoe I already know I won't find but can't tell the customer because she won't believe me and will make me look anyway: You do know you're not supposed to DRINK the bongwater, right?



What I say: "Well, I don't see anything pink, would there be another color you might be interested in?"


What I'm thinking: There's about 3 pairs of women's shoes in the entire store that are size 12, can't you look for yourself?


Customer: *Heavy sigh* "I was really hoping for pink..."

What I said: "Well, I can look in stock and see if we have something there, but I can't promise anything..." I really did try to look as disappointed as she was.

What I was thinking while I eyeballed a pink highlighter: I wonder if she'd notice if I snuck back a pair of white ones and colored them? *Reaching for highlighter*

...This is where I had that moment where the little devil me popped up on one shoulder and the little angel me popped up on the other...

Devil: She won't notice.
Angel: Doesn't matter.
Devil: Not until she gets home.
Angel: It's not right.
Devil: By then you'll be gone.
Angel: Uh-uh
Devil: C'mon, you know you want to.
Angel: Nope.
Devil: She'll go away.
Angel: She'll be back, and unhappy.
Devil: Come to the dark side.
Angel: It wouldn't be moral.
Devil: We have cookies.
Angel: They'll go straight to your hips.
Devil: Chocolate chip...
Angel: Really?


Ah, crap...


So to make a long story short, I can play nice with the best of them, but if I work in a customer service industry for too long, I'll get fat and go to Hell for making fun of innocent people and plotting to deface store property just to get rid of them.


I will, however, refrain from mentioning all that in my future resumes....

Conspiracy Theory #11 - 5 Things That Will Kill our Conversation

You all know there are plenty of things that annoy me, or just plain piss me off due to the sheer stupidity of the matter.

...and yes, I know that I spend WAY too much time blogging about things that annoy me and piss me off due to the sheer stupidity of the matter.


But guess what? Look to the left of your screen. See the name there? SANDRA. Sandra's blog. I have an insane amount of opinionated aggression, a keyboard, a Blogger account, and a Publish button - and while I may not possess the ability to use them tactfully, I do have the ability to use them - and giggle about it later, while still being able to sleep like a baby at night.

...It's sad that I'm so proud of my authority over a blog that lives in a minuscule corner of the internet, but humor me, will ya?


I've already been over the retarded cliches that, if used, will irritate me enough to either walk away from the person using them or chase them down the road pelting them with random sticky pastries - so I won't go back over those, but if you missed them, you can find them here.


No, what we're covering today are subject matters (different thing, I swear!) that will make my eyes glaze over and roll into the back of my head (picture Dan Ackroyd in Coneheads after his daughter has told him that she's in love with her boyfriend Ronnie).

• WOMEN, DON'T COMPLAIN ABOUT YOUR WEIGHT. I know, I know - it's that time of the month, your jeans feel 3 sizes too small and you're retaining more water than Niagara Falls. I'm not talking about general conversation or genuinely looking for weight loss advice, I'm talking about women that fall into 2 categories - the skinny heifers fishing for compliments, and the all-you-can-eat buffet preferred customers. Don't aim your hate-mail trigger finger just yet - I fully realize there are people that can't help their weight due to a medical condition, and women who've just had babies (been there, nothing makes you want to cry about your body like 3 feet of loose skin and your intestines feeling like they're going to fall out your bum) - this one doesn't apply to you.
  

Skinny heifers - if you fumble with the half a millimeter of "fat" on your side, trying to pull it out to illustrate how disgustingly obese you are, I will slap you. Just for general purposes. Then I will tackle you, hold you down, shove a funnel in your mouth, and force-feed you pasta, milk shakes, and croutons.

Buffeters - if your weight bothers you so much, STEP AWAY FROM THE FORK. Simple as that. Don't gripe about how big you are while you're stuffing cheesecake down your throat - try this amazing aerobic move I like to call "PUSHING YOUR CHAIR AWAY FROM THE TABLE." If you like food too much and can't do either of these, then try being comfortable with who you are and not worrying about what anyone else thinks - because if I see you mouth the words "God I'm so fat, I shouldn't be eating this" around a mouthful of masticated chocolate cake, I will take you seriously, and I will steal your fork and make you cry.

• MEN, NO ONE CARES ABOUT THE SIZE OF YOUR TROUSER SNAKE, OR YOUR PAYCHECK. Same difference, in my book. I shouldn't have to explain this one, but for some of you out there - I don't just mean literally. Anything that refers to the amount of Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders you can bench press, the amount of phone numbers you can collect in any amount of time, what kind of car you have parked in the parking lot (imaginary or not) - all amounts to a giant, testosterone-driven, ego flexing pissing contest. I may be a chick, but that doesn't make me a bimbo - and despite popular belief, a woman's clothes won't magically fall off if you mention a 7-digit salary. Well... mine won't, anyway.
  
• If you're over the age of 15, don't gossip about celebrities. Especially if you're a guy - and DEFINITELY if you're a straight guy. Seriously. Do you golf on the weekends with Sean Connery? Do you go on umbrella bashing marathons with Britney? Odds are, no. If you don't know the person, and I don't know the person, I really couldn't care less who's dating, who just had a baby, or whose newly released controversial sex video you just downloaded.
  
• It's one thing to talk about some icky oozing disease you caught from a public toilet, but please don't try to show it to anyone. I don't know why on Earth one person would want to tell another person that they have some icky, oozing disease in the first place, complete with exactly how many salves and creams they require and how many times a day, and how itchy and burny it is (and yes, believe it or not, I have had a few people who, for some ungodly reason, thought they needed to tell me these things) - but rest assured, the mental image is disgusting and nightmare-inflicting enough. DO NOT, under ANY circumstances, think that it's even close to okay to disrobe any article of clothing - and don't be too surprised if I just quietly walk away as soon as you tell me that little tidbit of information, pouring sanitizing hand cream on myself from head to toe as I go.
  

On the same note, no one needs or wants to know too much about any of your bodily functions. If you have Irritable Bowel Syndrome and fart like a howitzer, I'm pretty sure everyone already knows. Don't bring attention to it - let's try to keep the friends you have, shall we?

Last but definately not least -

• Don't be a kiss ass. I know, you're thinking, "WHAT???" Seriously. If I look like shit, I KNOW I look like shit - so don't insult my intelligence and tell me how great I look. I also have a pretty highly tuned bullshit radar - I'll know if you're lying to me, and I'll probably have a pretty evil double-edged response waiting, complete with a syrupy sweet smile.
  

Hey - roundabout's fair play.

Until next time...

My Blogger's on Crack

Yea... So now my Blog is telling me I need to put up new posts or it's going to do it for me, apparently. I was finishing up moderating my comments when I got to a screen that said, "Your blog has been published successfully!"

Wtf?

Now if only I could get it to do that and publish more than just a couple nonsensical symbols, my job would be a whole lot easier.

I'll have to come up with a disclaimer though, just in case my automated Blogger decides to get all opinionated and nasty...

**All views posted herein are the result of a pissed off Blogger account and do not represent the views of the writer.

Think anyone would believe that? Didn't think so.

Time for Plan B.

I Think I might be Psychic

No, really.

That's not a typo, I really meant "psychic," not "psychotic."

Why? Allow me to explain.

It could be the psychosis of parenthood or sleep deprivation, but I get Deja vu constantly. For instance, the other day my youngest daughter refused to stay in her bed at nap time. She came out into the living room and stood in the same spot at least 7 different times, each time with the same excuse - and the kicker? I knew she was going to do it. I know, right - freaky stuff.

The other night I had a dream I was being dismantled by a pack of ravenous wolves. The next day, the phone rang - it was a bill collector. The next night, I had a dream about being lost in Lilliput, with midgets frolicking crazily all around - that next day, my sis asked me to watch her kids so she could run some errands. Then I had a really weird dream about being chased by a giant rear-end trying to eat me alive - and of course, the next night my soon to be ex husband showed up to pick up my girls for his weekend.

Ok, I lied about that last one and, inappropriate as it may be, it's funny and I really don't care.

At any rate, there's a series of weird things too strange and numerous to mention here - and I don't even want to get into the whole pudding thing.

You can chock it up to coincidence or power of suggestion, but I'm calling the Sci-Fi Channel. Maybe I can get my own series.

I see a lot of rolling eyes and hate mail in my future...

Nautical Nonsense and Other Time-Waste Worthy Rants

I hate cartoons. I loathe Nickelodeon, the Disney Channel, and Cartoon Network.

It's not the stream of redundant cartoons that my children insist that HAVE to watch 24 hours a day, no matter how many times I tell them no or try to lure them away with crayons, swimming, or a semi-educational game of Candyland. It's not even the increasingly obnoxious theme songs that get stuck in your head after your children run screaming them through the house for hours (F is for FRIENDS who do stuff toGETHer, U is for YOU and ME... N is for ANYWHERE and ANY TIME AT ALL, DOWN HERE IN THE DEEP BLUE SEA...HA HA HA HA HA, HA HA HA HA HA, HA HA HA HA HA HAAAAA....).

CURSE YOU, SPONGEBOB SQUAREPANTS!!!

No, it's the endless advertisements that are thrown unmercifully throughout each and every program, chock-full of "OOH SHINY"'s and "Tell Momma, 'I WANT THAT!'"

...and of course, they do.

The problem is, they don't just tell Momma they want that. And that. And that. And that... First they tell me. Then they tell me again. Then they argue with me when I say "no," or "not right now."

As if that weren't enough, my children have become walking ad agents for product slogans everywhere. I made waffles the other morning for breakfast - when I went to serve them, my oldest daughter said, "Momma, leggo my Eggo!" We made a trip to McDonald's a couple days later and she proclaimed to the cashier, "I'm lovin' it!"- complete with the "Duh Duh Duh Da Duh..."

Who lives in a pineapple under the sea? My television, after I shove it up Spongebob's absorbent, yellow, porous, nautical nonsensical bum. Why just Spongebob (and yes, I do realize that Spongebob is just a cartoon character plucked out of some sicko's depraved mind)?

I don't know exactly, but something about that squeaky machine gun laughing little fool just pisses me off.

Okay, not really - but you didn't really expect a grown woman to publicly admit that she actually LIKES watching Spongebob, did you?

Oh, crap......

This Week's WTF?? - Alabama Voters Barking up ANY Tree, Apparently...

I think it's great that we've reached a point as a society where a woman, a racially mixed man, and a mentally challanged person can run for president without upheaval from closed minded bigots -

What's that? George W. isn't mentally challenged? My bad.

*dials lawyer & readies auto-respond system on comments*

But I must say, the world of politics is becoming a little too lax in their standards if we're nominating canines for the role of mayor. If I were Hillary or Barrack, I'd be pissed. In fact, I think if I were a resident of Fairhope, Alabama, I'd be dumbfounded at the very least. Then I'd move.

As it is, I'm a bit frightened.

Fairhope, Alabama - you should be ashamed. Or should I say, "Woof woof, woo rawr woof." Timmy's stuck in the well and he's too embarassed to come out.

I think I'll adopt a chihuahua. If a good trainer can make one talk and land a deal with Taco Bell, surely I could get my lil' pooch into politics, right? Might as well take my own slice of the insanity pie.

Until next time...

No Update Needed

So my apologies to everyone for being gone so long, been a lot of bs going on and no internet acces to be able to vent about it. I got my girls back, that's all that matters - pretty funny, considering what a "crappy mother" I am and all.

Anyway, I'm done with the useless name calling and nonsense, so let's move on, shall we?

Where to start... I got into a fight with a chair in my girls' room and lost - landed the stinking thing onmy big toe, so now my toe is reminding me by the second what a dingbat I am for picking up the chair instead of sliding it.

On a grosser but wierdly funny note, my 3 year old serenaded me with "wipe my butt" to the tune of "Brother John" earlier. I'm standing there in stunned WTF mode, and she's just singing away, "Wipe my bu-utt, wipe my bu-utt, wipe my butt..." and THEN proceeds to shake her nekkid little booty to the tune of it.

This is only hours after her trying to redecorate my tile floors with crayons and me making that wierd Mom noise to make her stop - her response? "MOMMA... we already played Babble Like an Idiot."

Yes, yes we did. And here I've done it again...

It's good to be back. Until next time...

My Apologies

In my attempt to satisfy those that write to Sandra via comment, I, Levi, have published comments that she was wanting to comment on before publishing them. I apologize whole heartedly to anyone who is waiting for a response. But she will be back online shortly and I'm sure that she will have responses to all comments so please wait until she comments back before sending her more.

Sincerely,
Jonathan Levi Matthews

Deep Thought for the Day

I've written 2 very, very funny posts offline since I last had Internet access, and I plan to share them with you.

Unfortunately, I forgot them at my sister's house, so you'll just have to settle for second-rate idle babble until I can actually remember to bring them with me the next time I have Internet access.

Not that that's anything NEW or anything, but still.

They say laughter is the best medicine - and that's a LIE! Laughter's great, don't get me wrong - but if it were a medicine at all, the medical community would have already seized it and figured out a way to tax the shit out of it.

/true story.

...and that's my deep thought for the day. I never said it would be intelligent or insightful, just deep.

So yea, from now on when you see a post titled "Deep Thought for the Day," you might want to roll up your pants legs. ; )

Conspiracy Theory #12 - That Damn Lack of Internet Access

I know, I know, I said something about withdrawal in the last post... but dammit, I'm having some major issues here.

No comments from the peanut gallery, thank you.

I got some really cool messages and stuff while I was away though. Special thanks to my bro for the voodoo doll, it might come in pretty handy - you wouldn't happen to have any Super Glue, would ya? And Doctor, I'm glad you're in, because I need a lot of anger management therapy right about now. Damn all that pent up aggression....

((I had to retract this paragraph. If that's upsetting, forward all your hatemail to Chris.))

So I started my new job on Monday, doing housekeeping at a local motel. To anyone who lives in this area - YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED OF YOURSELVES. Seriously. That's all.

Conspiracy Theory #723 - Text Messaging Wars

Once upon a time, in a galaxy very, very near, a lone band of intelligent people fought in a war for sanity via the wonderful advancements in telecommunications we know as *DA DA DAAAA* TEXT MESSAGING (Sorry I can‘t give you streams of rogue paragraphs floating through space, Blogger’s broadband width couldn’t handle the HTML).

I lost my access to Internet, so excuse the extraordinary amount of stupidity. As it is, I had to hijack my sister’s computer and save this in Microsoft Word, just to get it out of my head. I’m suffering some major internet withdrawals - I tried creating a “patch” for myself by duct taping a router to my arm - not only did it not work, but now I have a giant, bald, red spot on my arm because I misgauged the amount of space between myself and a door jam in my sister’s house.

You don‘t even want to know how I short-circuited the monitor cable.

Speaking of saving this on my sister’s computer - I know you’re reading this while I’m gone Sis, regardless of the fact that I stuck it into a folder clearly labeled SANDRA’S. Get back to your Canasta and quit being so damned nosy, gawd. (KIDDING! :))

I know I’m going to get short-sheeted tonight for that, but hey, it was worth it.

Back to the subject at hand, I want to point out to a certain 2 foot tall Atheist dwarf brother of ours that “I’d love to, but I’m building a pig from a kit” is NOT a proper response to “Sorry I won’t be at school today.” Seriously dude, Dave’s not here, and if you can’t find the 11 on the phone to dial “911” because you somehow managed to get your goofy butt stuck in the phone, maybe we should buy you some pudding. Don’t you know you can’t put a porcupine in a barn and burn it, and expect to get lime JELL-O? GEEZ.

While I’m on the subject of snowshoes - somehow I missed National Take your Gerbil to Work Day. I took my hamster instead, and boy, was THAT a disaster. I’ll spare you the gory details, but let me tell you - they should put a warning label on stuffed monkeys. Poor Hammy’s never going to be the same…

Until next time, live long and perspire. Or something like that.

Later :)

Quick Thought for the Day - the Phuckitol Pill

Ever have those days when you want to beat the crap out of someone (or ANYONE), smack your head against a wall, or wrap people in bubble wrap and poke them with sticks? Forget Prozac and the "chill pills" or "happy pills" - give me a Phukitol.

What's that? There's no such thing? No freaking way!

I think I'll create one. I'll keep a good stock for myself, and sell the rest on eBay. Oh, and they'll be free to friends and family - double priced for exes and midgets.

Yea, that's all for now, have a great day all... and when life gets rough, Phuckitol.

Conspiracy Theory #401 - the Twilight Zone

I REALLY need to start keeping track of my own Conspiracy Theories - I'm running out of numbers.

I found out that I have fans. They leave me comments telling me how funny I am, and sometimes giving me ammo to write about. It's great, but everyone leaves comments as "Anonymous." So, what does that mean?

"I love reading your mindless banter, and I care enough to comment on it, but I'm not going to let you know who I am or where you might find me, crazy lady." /runs away

And, you know, I can't really blame them.

I just found out that my "adopted brother" is a 2 foot tall Dwarf atheist (swear to God). When exactly did I get sucked into the vortex that transferred me from regular life to Lilliput? Is that even a word or a place? I have no idea, but it's in print, so you as the reader have to believe that I might actually know what I'm talking about.

*YOINK*

Also, I have to place a disclaimer - I marked "Bless you" as one of the top phrases that annoy me... and then was reminded repeatedly by several choice smart-alecky people of that fact EVERY TIME I slipped up and said it. Never mind that it was a JOKE, people, let's hang Sandra on a technicality. That, and the fact that I remembered that not everyone believes in God, or the same God, so it gets a little tiring trying to figure out the proper deity to use in that statement. So, because of those simple facts, I will forgive you for that one little offense if you make it.

You're welcome, I knew you'd be so incredibly grateful.

Speaking of using terms that annoy me, "don't even get me started" on how my divorce is going and how it fits into my Twilight Zone state of mind. It's not pretty, so I'll spare you the gory details. All I have to say on that subject is: I like toast. I think that sums it up quite nicely, don't you? Thanks to my nephew for that one.

Apparently insanity is very, very contagious.

Ah, bullbutter - I think I'll go make some pudding.

Conspiracy Theory #'s 42 & 43 - the Junior WWE and YAHOO! Messenger

In the land of Parenthood, you would think it would be safer to have girls than to have boys.

...but you'd be wrong.

Aside from the endless excuses and weepy kissy faces, nap time in my house also marks the beginning of our own little sports show, the Junior WWE. If this sounds a bit far-fetched to you, let me illustrate what I hear every day, much like an episode of the old Batman tv show:

*WHAM!*
*giggle*
*BOOF!*
*giggle*
*SMACK!*
*giggle*
"GET ON YOUR BEDS!"
"Yes, Momma (or Daddy)."
*shuffle shuffle shuffle*
*giggle*
*WHAM!*

We've removed all folding chairs and toys, and pretty much everything but the beds from their rooms. We've padded the floor, and short of dressing them in helmets and body armor before bed, there's not a whole lot more we can do on this one.

Maybe we should just give up and sell tickets.

As for the YAHOO! Messenger thing, I just want to say that it's great for people like me who loathe telephones, but I still hate it. Why? It's retarded. It also removes any chance of really knowing if that smart ass remark your friend has just made was a joke, or if they're really trying to piss you off so you log out and leave them alone.

Also take into account that I am the Queen of Sarcasm and making stupid remarks without thinking, and there's a huge potential for arguments or the silent treatment (which I have to admit, in some cases, isn't really so bad). Example:

Friend: hey, u there?
Me: No, I implemented a new program on my messenger that auto responds to messages.
Friend: lol
Me: lol
Friend: so what's up?
Me: not much, you?
Friend: OOH I just got a new cover for my XBox 360
Me: woot
Friend: yea, *bunch of tech nerd stuff* it's great :)
Me: nice. OOH I got new socks.
Friend: um...woot?
Me: yea, they've got stitches and cotton and that new sock smell, it's great :)
Friend: lol?
Me: lol.
Friend: I need to buy new socks, one of each pair keeps disappearing.
Me: lol I just got a mental image of a cranked out cousin of the Cookie Monster. "ME WANT SOCKIE! NUM NUM NUM NUM NUM!"
Friend: WTF?
Me: what wtf?
Friend: you went off on this weird thing about a sock monster
Me: what? no I didn't.
Friend: Yea you did, scroll up
Me: wth are you talking about?
Friend: SCROLL UP.
Me: you've smoked yourself retarded.
Friend: (copy/paste) Sandra: lol I just got the mental image of a cranked out cousin of the Cookie Monster. "ME WANT SOCKIE! NUM NUM NUM NUM NUM!"
Me: lol, wtf
Friend: wtf?
Me: yea, you just went on this wierd thing about a sock monster.
Friend: no I didn't.
Me: yea you did, scroll up.
Friend: that was u
Me: the prime rib minister spoke at the Vatican today, and my tiny little nipples went to France
Friend: WTF???
Me: ?
Friend: WTF HAVE YOU BEEN SMOKING?
Me: wtf is wrong with you? you've been going on and on about nonsense this whole time
Friend: you're crazy
Me: No I'm not. But I was Crazy once
Me: locked me in this little tiny room
Me: it had rats, I hate rats
Me: rats are crazy
Me: I was crazy once
Me: locked me in this little tiny room....
Friend has just logged out.

Works every time.

Conspiracy Theory #90 - General Stupidity

Why does Blogger send me an email when I respond to a comment on one of my own posts? Does it think I don't know that I've posted a response? Is it checking to make sure I've thought through my responses so as not to make an ass of myself?

Yea, little late for that.

At any rate, there are countless things in life that never cease to amaze me - America's obsession with spoiled, crazy, rich people; the fact that George W. was actually able to father children; and Will Ferrell's ability to keep making movies - and actually sell them.

What gets me the most though, is the never ending cycle of stupidity I see spewing from everywhere. It's like a bad B horror movie, just when you think you're safe - *WHAM* - Stupid pops up and gives you a big, fat, mental wedgie.

"I see dumb people. They're everywhere - and they don't know they're dumb..."

*shudder*

You guessed it - I've compiled a list of some of the sayings that annoy me most. Why? Because I can.


"The proof's in the pudding." - What the -??? I don't even know what that means. I've been subjected to marathons of Law & Order, and never once have I seen a DA pull a box of instant pudding mix from their little black briefcase and parade it in front of a panel of stunned jurors as Exhibit A - "Here's all the proof you need - PUDDING!" *gasp* *DUH DUH DAAAAH*. "The counsel rests."

I guess there really IS always room for J-E-L-L-O.


"Two wrongs don't make a right." - Umm... DUH. I'm not even going to go into this one. Two wrongs may not make a right, but I hear in San Francisco, 3 lefts do.


"It was in the last place I looked." - Yea, I'm going to take a Carlos Mencia stance here and say, "DEE DEE DEE." Of course it was in the last place you looked, you phucktard, or you'd still be looking. Next time, try looking in the pudding.


"There's more than one way to skin a cat." - Who the *profane* came up with THIS little gem? Was there some crazy person running around at some point skinning cats, eagerly trying new methods, who suddenly had an epiphany that, "Hey, my psychotic habit could be a source of inspiration for people who find a task difficult! If one method doesn't work, never fear - there's more than one way to skin a cat!" If I hear you use this statement, I can and will call FEMA on your crazy ass - after I smack you in the head.


"The exception proves the rule." WHAT? No it doesn't, that's why they call it an exception. Are you still scratching your head? Here, let me clarify -

• ex·cep·tion [ik-sep-shuhn] noun - something excepted; an instance or case not conforming to the general rule.

You really shouldn't try to use words you can't spell, anyway.


"Don't even get me started." - Thanks for the warning, I won't. Now take your pointless pre-menstrual rant elsewhere, please.


"I could care less." - Really? Then why are you even mentioning it at all? The correct sentiment here is, "I couldn't care less," you mook.


"nucular" - I know, it's not a sentence, but it's one of those mispronunciations that twists my panties so far in a knot that I want to strangle the person that said it with their own stupid shoelaces. Yes, I did just refer to my unmentionables in print, what of it? It's nuclear. NU-KLEE-ER. I'd stock up on dictionaries for Christmas if I thought anyone would actually use them.


"Over yonder" - Before anyone gets their hate mail trigger finger aimed, I want to point out that I live in the South and I fully realize this is a very common colloquialism*, but this term doesn't annoy me as much as it eludes me. It's the descriptive for the location of everything from Bubba's house to the nearest EZ Mart - "It's over yonder, cain't miss it." (Yes, I misspelled that on purpose.) How, for the love of God and all that is Holy, is that going to help ANYONE know any better where something is? Is "yonder" a unit of measurement? Perhaps somewhere between "everwhichaways" and "ovair"? *sigh* I just don't get it.

*I provided a link to the meaning of the word colloquialism, just in case. See? My posts aren't just ramblings of my insanity and annoyances, they also provide valid information. You're welcome.


ANY "PC" Term - By "PC," of course, I mean "politically correct." "So-and-so is 'African American/Italian American/Asian American, blah frickity blah blah-" they're AMERICAN, you closet bigot, get it right. "So-and-so has an 'alternative lifestyle.'" So? So-and-so is GAY - if they can say it, why does it make YOU so stinking uncomfortable? If you're looking for a descriptive, try using their name. You'd be surprised how well that works. If you must bring up their race, sexual preference, religion, or whatever else secretly makes you nervous in each and every conversation to or about them to broadcast how "okay" you are with "their differences," maybe they don't need you as a friend anyway. Go toot your horn elsewhere.


"Bless you." - Again, before anyone gets up in arms, please allow me to explain. You're not God, stop running around "blessing" people. The proper statement here would be, "God bless you." Although, I'm not sure God takes too kindly to orders either, but at least you're giving Him credit for the blessing.


"Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies." - So...you're a liar. Thanks for getting that out of the way up front, now I know where we stand.


"Better late than never." - Oh, really? Adopt that attitude at work, I'll be the one laughing at you when you're standing at a stop light with a squeegee and a bucket of water, you lazy, unimaginative bum.


My biggest pet peeve, the thing that makes me grit my teeth and flare my nostrils unattractively, is people who use words completely out of context. Don't laugh, I'm serious. If you don't know what a word means, don't attempt to use it - it just makes you look like an uneducated clod.


...and for any of you smart-alecks out there who think it will be funny to use any or all of these phrases in my presence just to annoy me, I have one thing to say to you - I have bubble wrap, don't make me use it.

The Cat's on the Roof

These last couple of weeks have been full of drama and overall strange occurances, and being the realist that I am (no comments from the Peanut Gallery, thank you), I have to take time out to take a step back and look at both sides of every situation in order to fully appreciate the Big Picture.

Okay, I seriously have nothing better to do, humor me, ok?

So, here are the highlights of the past couple of weeks, condensed into Good News/Bad News format:

GOOD NEWS: I haven't been beaten to death or wrapped in bubble wrap and poked with a stick.
BAD NEWS: While that certain friend managed to escape captivity, he's emerged in shock, traumatized, and obviously delerious, which is why I was laughed at instead of being beaten or wrapped in bubble wrap and poked with a stick.

GOOD NEWS: We have our own Dr. Phil at our disposal to help rehabilitate our delerious friend.
BAD NEWS: He's so brilliant he got into a fight with a shovel and smashed his thumb, did something to his back, AND he knows where the bubble wrap is... Hopefully there's no "anger management" therapy for Mr. Greenpeace in the future, or I'm in trouble.

GOOD NEWS: My girls are getting over whatever monster virus they caught out of nowhere.
BAD NEWS: It took 3 days of head-spinning and pea soup spewing to get there.

GOOD NEWS: The puppy's actually grasping the concept of pottying OUTSIDE.
BAD NEWS: He's retarded, so he'll forget by tomorrow. Three cheers for Special Ed.

GOOD NEWS: My ex and I are actually getting along.
BAD NEWS: One or both of us has either been sick or sleeping the last few days.

GOOD NEWS: I'm losing weight.
BAD NEWS: It's all in my bra. *CENSORED* you, Estrogen.

GOOD NEWS: Mr. Greenpeace survived the flood.
BAD NEWS: It wasn't a flood, Einstein drove into a creek.

GOOD NEWS: I get away with surprising amounts of harassment and just plain meanness, all for the sake of entertainment.
BAD NEWS: I'm a firm believer in Karma. Do I really have to say more?

I think I'll start my little yellow list now, while I'm thinking about it.