Cardboard is good for dancing on and writing love notes on... Not for being made out of

I know this person who is so very stiff. She's so stiff that when she thinks something is funny, I'm uncomfortable.

Why?

Because it's weird...

To see cardboard laugh. And what does cardboard laugh at? Uh, well, things that most of the people in my life would say without a second thought. Because a second thought would imply, oooh, I was just funny right then.

The thing that pisses me off about cardboard people? Is that they are judgy. Judgy and usually a tad mean. Or a lot mean.

Hey cardboard people! You are only interesting when someone else puts something on you. When someone else's imagination and wonderment is projected onto you.

So don't judge me, cardboard people.

Also? You probably shouldn't blog, tell jokes or act like you are better than other people.

You should eat dry, plain baked chicken and white rice. Both things that are delicious, when imagination and wonderment are thrown all over them.

So yeah. Suck it cardboard, plain chicken, white rice people.

I think I should dub this "Suck it" week.

Eat your heart out Shark Week.

Although you? Shark Week? You are righteous too. I bet even cardboard people love you.

PS. This? This is one way that cardboard is delicious and precious.

Watch BoomTube or Tranny Bong Monkeys Will Take Over Blogher And Most Of Chicago

Just because I'm on vacation doesn't mean I'm not giving up the goods.

Join Jason and me tonight for BoomTube Live. Sign-up for a USTREAM account so you can chat with us live on the air.

9PM Central, 10 Eastern, 7 Pacific, 8 Mountain



Things you could learn about:

Tranny Bong Monkeys
What my husband thinks of Jason Stackhouse
and more!



And don't forget to tune into Skankelodeon directly afterwards. I've linked it over on the side.

Of course, Droppin' The Boom will be on Saturday night as well. Info on the side again!

I've Gotta Do It My Way, Or No Way At All

Yeah, I HAVE been on a weird Foreigner kick. So just turn me loose, okay?

This week I'm in the weirdest fog ever. It's like my brain is just like, "Seriously? This shit is bogus and I'm so fucking out of here!" And I still have 9 days until vacation. Brain. Brain! Do you hear me, I need you to check back in and get the hell back to work.

The worst is when I'm in the car. Driving back and forth to work I've had to literally slap myself in the face to stay awake. Which, if that is what I have to do, then so be it, but the people at stop lights next to me are looking at me a little strangely. In any case, it's clear, I either have Mono or Narcolepsy.

I know this because a symptom of both of those is clearly the tingly, itching feeling I have on the back, right side of my head that feels like my brain might just burst out of it at any moment like the Alien. It feels fuzzy and twitchy and like it's directly connected right to my left eyeball.

Also? Someone on Twitter said that perhaps I should think about writing a dictionary because I said, "I'm getting ready to interview a guy named Stiles, how Teen Wolf awesome is that radness?" She said, "Who says that?"

Erm, me, I say that and that is totally clear and something you'd hear on any given day in any given place, right?

Sure it is.

And just to hammer the point home, I guess. I had an email exchange with The Slackmistress the other day that ended really, really well.

You know, if you're discussing unicorn farts.

I kind of didn't have the heart to tell her that it was a totally normal conversation for me. Mostly because I didn't want to scare her.

Another One Bites The Dust Is A Badass Jam And Hopefully Not a Running Theme Around Here

Ennui. I have it. Of the blog variety that is.

I don't think I'm alone, I've noticed it going around the blogosphere a bit. We're writing less, we're looking less. It's the dog days of Summer rearing their ugly heads. I'm actually okay with it, but I'm not going to pretend that one day, soon, you're going to show up here and find brilliance in writing.

Oh you might, in a month or two, but probably not right now. No, right now the best you can hope for is that I'll show up, punch the clock, drink a Diet Coke, fiddle with a paperclip, send a text message, take my lunch, screw around for another hour, think about checking the mail and then call it a day.

And, that, my friends? Is total bullshit. You should really expect more from me. You should pull me aside and get all up in my face, wave your finger around near my nose and say, "Look, asshole, get your ass in gear. Whip yourself into shape and give us something! Anything! Christ, it's freaking sad around here. You are fucking lazy! I've seen more action from a half salted slug."

You'd be right to do it. But, the problem is that I'd probably just shrug and say, "You're right." and then wander off like a dejected 14-year old boy that was just turned down for date to the dance.

I'm still here. I'm still around. I'm just asking for some lenience for the rest of this month. Hang with me, be my friend, enable my sad ass. I'll write when I can, when it comes from within, but I just can't handle all the GAWDDAMN pressure already. Jeez, get up off me, you freak!

Good news.

BoomTube is still in full force and will now be broadcast live every weekend.

Wait. Did you catch that right? Freaking A right you just did! You can now spend your Friday nights, with me. Look, the world just lost Michael Jackson, right? It's my turn to give back and spread this awesomosity out in full force. It's Human Nature. And I promise, it will be Off The Wall.

Gah, will I just fucking stop already?

Friday nights, 9 PM Central, 8 PM Mountain, 7 PM Pacific, 10 PM Eastern - you got that? You can find BoomTube right here. And just to make that easy for you, I'll put a button on my sidebar that you can just click on to tune in. You'll be able to chat with us (and amongst yourselves) live during the broadcast and if you can't make it, well you can watch anytime your little heart desires.

That? Is not grody by any means people.

Some of you may notice that is the time slot directly before the greatness that is known as Skankelodeon. That's right. BoomTube is a warm up act. Which means two hours of freaking fantastic every Friday, just for you. Which I cannot find the URL for right at the moment, but I promise I'll have a button for that too.

You might get something a little grody from that show.

Whew, this is getting exhausting. But don't go yet because I've got one more for you.

As some of you may know, my husband is a retired House DJ with 14 years of experience under his belt. He took a hiatus from spinning and playing around the country to do a little thing called starting a family. But now that he's used to us and maybe even a little sick us, he's ready to get back at it. He's heavily influenced by 80's Synth Pop and the Chicago and San Francisco House scenes. I know because I edited the bio.

So we've taken care of your Saturday nights too and you can find him and his radio show, Droppin' The Boom here. (Scroll to the bottom for the full scoop.) Midnight Central. You do the math on the other time zones. I gave you the formula earlier. And you know I'll be giving y'all a button for that as well.

Woah, I just laid a hurtin' on your world, didn't I?

Someday you're going to realize just what a genius I am, but not today

Because for today all I'm going to give you is this. BoomTube is changing.




















And, Jason has this going on:

















More info to come.

I'm putting the words Juke Box Hero in the title because the song is bitchin' and I just want to

I'm edgy today and every time I start to write it turns into a laundry list of exhaustion. Even right now, I'm willing my fingers to not go into the tirade that includes how just stepping into my office six days a week is eating my soul alive.

But look, I did it again.

Tsk, tsk.

I'm unpleasant. I'm plastering this mucked up smile on my face today whenever anyone just looks in my general direction. Behind it, I'm seething and ugly. Frustrated and just edgy. It's nothing more than that hormonal freight train that smacks me square in the gut every month. By tomorrow, I'll be better but in the meantime...

- My two year old named his teddy bear Paul. We don't know a Paul. He doesn't know a Paul, yet Paul it is. Because it was either that or Two. He knows when strangers say things that are upended in his general direction, he typically answers "Two!" So now we have this thing known as Paul Bear that must be looked after and I find it so endearing I've darn near chewed his face off and squeezed him silly.

- My likeness is on a bottle of hot sauce. I use likeness loosely because this cartoon chick is incredibly hot. A portion of the proceeds go to various Fire Fighter charities. I'm sure all of you want my face looking at you over your eggs in the morning. I'll be pimping this out more when my mood lifts.

- I have 17 days until my vacation starts. I spent the first few minutes of my morning, sitting at my desk, counting little boxes on a bigger box that said 'July' at the top. And my rush to get to that last little row of boxes is kind of pissing me off as well.

I'm sparing you because I like you.

A good rule of thumb today is: Keep your nuts, shins and throat away from me. Hell, your thumbs too.

PS - Rush should probably get off of my radio and put Foreigner back on. You know, if they know what is good for them. Stupid Rush.

Today's Tom Sawyer is getting changed to another station.

PPS - I'm really not as edgy as my blog would lead you to believe. But I did take the week off of posting because this is the only kind of crap that I could come up with and I don't want any of you to throat punch me so, you know, I try to keep it to myself.

BoomTube, Episode Five, Just go to your room and don't come out until you can apologize, missy/mister

Let me apologize upfront for the use of the word "awesomosity", repeatedly. As well as the "fingerbanging" wink and sound. I. Am. So. Stupid.

Look, I said right up front that I'm undermedicated. You totally deserved that and you know it. Okay, I'm sorry. Really, I'm sorry. Jeez.

Things I have to say, the "sponsors" demand it:

RainyDaze79 Twittered: Shout out to Austin and are they real?

So uh shout out, Texas people and the answer is real expensive. I feel uncomfortable just typing 'shout out', saying it would probably do psychological damage. I'm fragile you know. Like a animal testing lab monkey. You never know when I'm going to blow and bite your face off with my freakish teeth, ala Outbreak.

I've not actually watched that movie, so if that was inappropriate, I'm again, apologetic. I read a book titled 'Outbreak', I enjoyed it. I'm not sure if the movie is based on the book, but the rule is, if the book was good, the movie ain't. So why chance that shit? I'm not a gambler with things like big chunks of time.

Also? I just looked up the plural of vagina, because I needed to know if there was a bag of them sitting next to me on the couch if I would say, "Oh, look at that bag of vaginae" or perhaps, "Oh, look, there is a bag of vaginen." Oh there is that gambling with chunks of time thing.

So, Miss Merry said: It's valium time.

Okay yeah. Looks like it. Care to send me any? The answer to that is... no. No, you won't, because if you have it, you keep that shit to yourself. It's like the land of milk and honey. I know that doesn't make sense, but it makes sense to me. And NOOO OOOONNNNE else around here pays attention.

Obviously. Ahem.

You can watch The Dude get "Hasseled" by the Hoff. And, of course, you can look at boobs until your heart explodes. (I'm still number 24.)

Oh, come back, I still love you...

But less than I did before. My heart grows stingy.

Wait, does stingy grow? Eh.

BoomTube, Episode Four, I don't remember the links at this point...

So I don't remember all the links I promised at this point but I will watch and THEN remember, because I'm mostly awesome like that.

Also? The audio in this video might not be safe for mixed company such as your young children or your cubicle neighbor. Uh, or your mother in law.

Or Ms. Manners.



So uh, the links.

Let's try this.

And the other link I will put up when we launch the design and prepare for the design giveaway.

I hate giveaways, but this IS my own business, so you know.

Anything else I promised in the video, I'll post tomorrow. When I am sober.

Love,
Betsey

Look at me, I'm pimping myself out. But I've been mouthy so now I have to go take care of business and bitch slap myself.

I mean, not that I promote violence of any kind, but seriously? Have you ever had to deal with me?

Perhaps you've noticed that I haven't been around as much lately. My posts are fewer and my comments are even worse off. Or, perhaps you haven't because you never really cared about me to begin with and have simply been toying with my emotions.

In which case, you are a little hussy, aren't you?

I'll forgive you, just buy me something nice.

Oh, wow, looks like I've lead you right up to the point where we discuss buying nice things. And, where I tell you what I've been up to.

About two weeks ago, I contacted another blogger because I totally loved her blog and as Mr. Booms said, "it was big time". And, then he told me that I needed a big time looking blog design too. When I asked if she could help me out, she let me know that she kind of rigged her own blog but didn't feel comfy rigging others.

I frowned, I was sad. I totally understood. And, my normal blog designer is so busy now, not to mention pulling in the big bucks, so I didn't feel right asking her, nor do I have a budget for such things. So I set off on a journey to make myself over.

And I did. A couple different times already.

And then, once I did that, I thought, you know, that wasn't so very hard but that's because I know like some caveman level code, but I know a lot of other people don't. So then, I did this. She just let me pimp her blog out, pretty much anyway my heart desired within her tastes. When that was so well received, I did this. He wanted dark and blasphemous.

Those were simple, free blog templates that I just remixed a little to suit the blogger's personality and wants. Then I expanded and I did this. She wanted hockey and girly.

Again, totally well received. So I went on and did this. She didn't know what she wanted, but I think this is pretty awesome.

Those were not free templates. While they were composed of free elements, I basically scrapped and remixed their blogs for them.

The awesome part? I love doing this.

I know custom designs are big bucks these days. I know code isn't the easiest of puzzles to figure out.

So if you need a little help with yours for an extremely low price, please just let me know. You can email me at BetseyboomsAtGmailDOTcom. I'll be happy to give you quote for a customized blog design of your own.

Come on, you know you wanna.

He's Got A Face That Only A Mother, The Camera And The World Could Love

This was the best thing that happened this weekend:



He will insist that we keep clicking, over and over and over again:



When the camera comes out, he will give you hours of good face:




Other than the steak tacos that Jason made to cure my craving, the rest of the weekend was pretty much crap and I'd kind of like to crawl back into bed and sleep the sucker off.

Oh and if I don't stop eating things, you know things, I'm going to end up on TLC or the BBC. And they will be using a wench to get me out of my bed, or better yet, off the couch. The good news is we will find the remote that has been under me for months, the bad? We'll find Cheetos and lint too.

And pudding. We'll probably find pudding. But I don't really like pudding, it's just that ice cream melts, so we wouldn't actually find any ice cream, just the ice cream stain.

Updated: The Muppet Babies Are Going to Make Me Work Out

Last night I decided that I had had enough of THIS (waving my hand all around in front of my beer gut). It's been a long time coming and you know how with heroin you have to hit rock bottom before you get that monkey off your back? And by rock bottom I mean you find yourself dressed up like Cinderella in the bottom of a dumpster with a can of tuna on your head like a pillbox hat. And when you try to remember how you got there the only word you can come up with is 'robots' and you're pretty sure that wasn't really how you got there. It was a lot like that only less "found in the dumpster Barbie" and more "oh my God, I'm gross and have nothing to wear".

I've just been decidedly uncomfortable. I've been slowly creeping out of every pair of jeans I own and when I bend over I actually have this ball of belly flub that hangs over the top of my pants and let me tell you, that has never happened to me before. I'm not even convinced that it is ever going away. I'm more easily convinced that there is a just a rather large parasitic donut growing in there that is actually some seed for a master race of aliens that will come and take over, but more than likely it's just, you know, beer and french fries.

Mmmm, fries. Especially with chili and cheese. Oh, oh and onions.

And, now you see my problem.

So last night I went down in the storage room and dug out my favorite work out video that has been sitting in there since we moved in the house and evidently, I've been discouraged at finding it because it was all like in a box, that was taped shut and everything. I was sure it was going to be 30 whole minutes of digging, scrounging and pretending I'm on a geological expedition in South America all Muppet Babies, let's imagine style, and it was actually in the second box I looked in. Which just made the last two years of my life seem more disgusting than they actually were before I set foot in that storage room.

The video itself is super embarrassing because, and get this, it's totally Buns of Steel... FOUR! Buns of Steel Four. I got it for a dollar and the last time I used it, I ended up wearing a bikini in Mexico. I'm pretty sure that will never happen again, but then I also came up with that bullshit about alien donuts and Muppet Babies, so you know, it's a toss up.

Anyway, I worked out last night and when I was done, my head was insanely sweaty and my face was beet red, but you know what? I felt really freaking good.

And, then I got up this morning and my pants still hate me. So evidently you have to do this shit more than once. So I think I'll try again tonight.

Oh and PS - The hobo dance club has removed the cushionless couch and added a dirty mattress with several pairs of dirty jeans, a door knob and a kids toy box sitting on top of it. I'm not sure, but I think it just became a hobo strip club.

PPS - and now that I wrote that and then read out loud back to myself, that all seems even weirder than I initially thought.

And, my co-workers want to know why I'm mumbling about hobos, but not in a real concerned for me way, mostly in a selfish, is she going to shank me way.

And yes... Yes I will, back off.

PPSS - When I said I ended up wearing a bikini in Mexico, it wasn't like waking up in the bottom of the dumpster. I remembered flying to Mexico and everything. The video had nothing to do with it and absolutely did NOT slip me rufies or anything.

Twitter Is Going To Kill My Blog

Anything I have worth saying, I seem to say on Twitter these days. I will have more for you tomorrow. For today, I have mindless Monday fluff for your viewing pleasure.

And you know, if you don't do "the Twitter" then this is all new to you.

The Booms go New Wave:



There is something about this shot. The dude coming and dad going, that tugs my heart strings in ways I didn't know they could be:



Oh and I bedazzled a jock strap for my friend (warning: He's not necessarily safe to view at work) to wear after his vasectomy. I'm thinking I can start my own Etsy shop and call it Jocks of Love. For the recently neutered man in your life. What do you think? Solid idea?



And then? I made the dude model it, because that is just too good to pass up.



My mom was hanging out while I was gluing away, she informed me I was the ONLY person she knew that would bedazzle an athletic supporter. I told her that she either didn't know her friends well enough or she should invest in some new ones, because this? Is where it's at.

Because You Can Never Have Enough Shirts That Say Fingerbang Or Have My Face On Them

You know how some days you wake up and you're pretty sure that TODAY, this day is going to be the best day of your life?

Well, if I had woken up with that feeling I'd be absolutely correct. Because the lovely NATUI at Not Afraid To Use It created this just for little ol' me:



If you are so inclined to wear this piece of awesome art and tell the world what a true hipster you really are, you can find it here.

But if you buy one for yourself, please send one my way as well.

My life is complete. I'm fingerbangin' my way through the day. You hipster trash, you.

It's Not Hobo Humping, It's Flank Steak, Subs and Naked Time

For some unexplained reason, my husband wanted to eat a sub sandwich naked today. Actually, I can totally explain, so excuse my lying ways. He wanted to have sex while eating a sub sandwich.

Look, I'm not saying anything here he didn't already allude to on Twitter.

The thing is, I'm all about eating a sandwich while getting it on. You know how people are always all, "strawberries and whip cream"? I've always been more of the, "throw a steak on his chest and let's get this thing done!" kind of girl. Which seems maybe just a little weird, but I'm married to a man who wants to do it with a 6 inch on wheat in his hand. So your opinion of weird might not jive with mine.

I met him at the sub place for lunch and because I wasn't wearing a skirt today and we were in broad daylight, I couldn't swing the naked time. Not even partially naked but as we sat down to eat, I took my first bite and said, with my mouth full, "This? Would be sooo much better with your penis in me."

He was completely not amused.

And then? We went and bought flank steak.

And then? He almost hit a professional baseball player with his car while yelling at him out the window.

It was close to the best lunch ever.

Oh, and I have to go the whole weekend without making even one hobo joke. I feel myself getting ready to explode already.


PS - Now I have a post it on my monitor that just says "MEAT" on it so I don't forget to take home the meat. People are looking at me weird in my office.

PPS - Weirder than usual.

I Don't Have The Balls To Speak For My Entire Gender

I guess you can call this a counter point: In case you missed it, Dell Computers launched a new site directed at women. Meet Della.

Della is evidently pissing women off everywhere. And, those women are saying something about it. Loudly, boldly, and all over Twitter. Running the risk of offending somebody, I'm just going to go ahead and say it. Kindly shut up.

All day long I hear women bitching that marketing isn't directed at women. Women who make the majority of the buying decisions in households across the country. And guess what! When Dell does direct marketing at women they then bitch that it's insulting.

It reminds me of the pain reliever campaign that tried to speak to the mommy world and insinuated that maybe, just maybe they had back pain from carrying their little ones in slings all day long. Mommy's everywhere railed against it and how insulting it was.

Really? Was it insulting? Or did your back actually hurt from carrying that little bastard around all day long. Because I don't know about you, but my kid is heavy and my back is a mother fucker at the end of the day, thank you, I will have a pain reliever with my beer when junior goes down for the count.

So, yesterday I tried to dig in a little bit and find out what was so insulting about Della. I'm not going to name anyone here, because I'm not representing anyone else, I represent my opinion only. But I was told that this site assumes that we're not as bright as men. Really? Is that what it is saying? Or is it saying that we like things in pretty colors? Because that's what I think it's saying.

And guess what? I fucking love pretty colors. And, when I clicked on the button to build my own computer guess what that sonofabitch did! Just guess? It started asking me technical questions, just like I was, dare I say it? A man! GASP!

Yes, once you go to order a computer on this site it asks you all kind of questions about what you want your pretty pink laptop to have for brains.

I guess what I'm saying ladies, is please stop speaking for our entire gender. I never felt like Dell was telling me I needed to have a huge set to order from their site. I felt like they understood that yeah, I like my shit pretty. Just because I bleach my hair, have boobs and wear the color pink every fucking day of the week, does not mean that I don't understand the tech world. I don't understand the tech world because I just DON'T! So when the tech world gives me a site where I can pick out whatever I want, just like a man, but with pretty colors all around, well... I'm kind of pleased about it. When the marketing world realizes that yeah, my back kind of hurts from lugging my big kid around, well gee, thanks for noticing.

They never said that I was less of a man because of it. They just told me they get it and if I don't like it then I'm more than welcome to strap one on and use the regular old site just like any dude, or any woman who just doesn't dig the Della site.

And, someday I hope that I can stand up for our gender and say, "yes, I like to bake, yes I like Hello Kitty, yes I want a free spatula with that, thank you! And now, I don't give a shit how much ram I have, can I get on Twitter? Can I blog?" Because I'm just a dumb shit girl who likes what I like.

Just like all the fuss over Twitter this week with their change in reply views, I have this to say: It's all free folks! It's free! The Della site is a choice, you don't have to see it. Twitter is a choice, you don't have to use. And frankly? I think you'd bitch if they hung you with a new rope.

Let's take it down a notch and realize the intent was not to insult. So don't treat it like it was:



Oh and PS? I work in marketing. Shhh.

Honestly, I Didn't Really Mean To Use So Many Words Referring To Male Genitalia

In the past week a few things have happened, but somehow I cannot seem to cobble them together to form one streaming, composed thought.

So as much as I'm not a giant fan of the bullet points, I'm going to go ahead and shoot a few at you:

• When your accountant husband sends you an email at the end of the day, that happens to come at the beginning of the month, and in that email he says, "I'm pissy". Do not, under any circumstances reply with, "Oh good, my favorite!" It doesn't go over well.
  

• After I railed on what a complete dick my kid has been, and by after I mean literally like two hours later, he transformed himself into the most charming child in the world. Leaving me to look like the dick. Well that and the "my favorite" comment pretty much sealed the deal.

• On top of being charming, last night I managed to give him a bath that did not resemble a concentration camp "shower". Seriously, you'd think I was tattooing numbers on his arm and shaving his head instead of merely taking off his clothes and diaper. Granted, I had to drag him in there kicking and screaming but once I was done washing him, I walked just outside the door where he couldn't see me and he played sweetly. Until he saw me again and then his mouth opened up and locusts flew out and the skies caved in, and his head spun on it's own little toddler axis, but I call that a success.
  

• As you know, Sunday was Mother's Day. We all got together at my Mom and Dad's house for a bbq. Both of my grandmothers were there. You should know, one of my Grandma's was raised as a Quaker. The other, was not. Getting them together is just a little like placing a urine caked, foul mouthed hobo in the library. Someone is going to be shushed and someone is going to piss on the magazines. Once my brother-in-law shouted "boner" and we recapped my neighbor kid's dog with the "bleeding cookie", oh and Grandma Betsey talked about woody's, I thought "other grandma" was going to have a coronary.
  

• And finally, someone in my husband's office powders his balls. Every day Jason goes into the bathroom and every day there is baby powder on the seat. Which makes me wonder how sweaty your balls have to be that powdering them at home is not enough. You have to repowder at work? Does he just blatantly walk in there with a bottle of powder or his he discreet? And, is it really baby powder or is there some sort of musty ball powder? So now thanks to him and Twitter, I'm walking around his office looking for suspect trails of baby powder and sniffing in the general direction of all their balls.

Which I swear, really is different than the norm.

But I Love Him, Why Is He Doing This To Me?

The Dude turns two in two weeks.



In the past two weeks he's mastered the temper tantrum fit from hell.



I cannot believe a sound so horrible and soul punching can come out of something that I love so entirely.



I'm kind of starting to feel like I can't function anymore. He just won't stop being a jerk.



It's like its his thing now. Like being a total dick is his hobby. He's not a dick, he's an adorable little boy with a solid streak of naughty running through him. And, I love that naughty monkeyness. I just wish it didn't come with the sound of a pterodactyl being drawn and quartered along with it.

I swear, I've never shin-kicked a toddler before, but he makes it seem tempting.

Instead? I just hold and love his little evil self.

Even when he crawls into my bed in just a diaper on Mother's Day with Jason prompting him to say the much practiced "Happy Mother's Day", he instead screamed "NOOOOOO!", hit me in the face and then laid there half naked, tweaking his baby nipples.

I'm not sure I can all the glamour associated with being his mother.

Is It Still Called My Happy Place If There Are Shivs and Shin Kicking Gnomes Involved?

This week has found me saying "a-hole" more than the average amount. Whether it was in the rain-soaked traffic or muttering it under my breath, just out of ear shot of my almost two-year old as he threw his 800th fit of the day. Yes, I called my adorable son an asshole. Because he was. Being an asshole that is.

What I'm saying is I've had it with all you assholes out there. And, I don't know if that means you, but if you think that it might then just stop being an asshole and we'll all be okay.

Monday started the week in fine form with layoffs in my office. We all sat around waiting to see if we could kiss our asses good-bye, so by the time they got around to telling you what percentage your pay was going to be cut, you were dancing for fucking joy that you still had a paycheck. It was only later that you stopped and thought about it and went, "Hey! I just got screwed!"

After wading through the mounds of COBRA paperwork and making sure I was all up on the new COBRA stuff (which would be more fun if I could be all hip hop and singing, "I'm all up in your cobra stuff"), I sat around with shaking hands for the rest of the day to drive home to Young Wheezy and his full-on fuck you attitude.

And then? The rest of the week went like this:

* The kid stayed sick and wheezy and grumpy and just schmucky and junior douchey in general. This morning he laid on the floor, face down and screamed for an undetermined amount of time.

Undetermined because by that point, I ceased to care about whatever it was that he completely invented on the spot to get pissy about.

* Jason went into Monk's room with a box of trash bags and went to town. Now our garage is filled with bags and bags of all things pink, glittery, fluffy and girly until she goes through it all and decides what it is that she can't possibly even think about going on living without. And, because "the puberty" is imminent she's been a joy to be around.

* Proofreading multiple replacement window brochures, multiple times. Who knew you could write 20 pages on windows? Well I know, I also know that degrees MUST be spelled out and for the love of all things zombie, why the fuck can you not stop hyphenating that fucking word? I circled it over 100 times already.

* Ants, fucking ants. Why? Because the people in my office drop things like pecans on the floor and then just leave them there. Simply so they can come up to my desk and whine about all the fucking ants in the kitchen.

* And apparently eating all those fucking pecans makes them stop up the toilets which then again, becomes my problem because evidently no one can wield a plunger except for me.

* Speaking of toilets, it's common courtesy to put the toilet seat down in shared bathrooms. I mean unless you're a hobo. And if you're a hobo then go piss in the alley where all the hobos take our trash out of the dumpsters and just leave it there so we can hand pick it all up. I don't want to touch the toilet seat every time I take a whiz. Seriously, it's just a little like touching every ass in this office and I'm not down. Especially because it seems you are hobos, dirty, hobos. Besides, there is trash in the alley I have to go pick up now. Scooping up old spaghetti and used tissues is just my idea of a righteous time.

If all of that wasn't enough, then my red, swelling, itchy eye and my also swelling fat ass should be. Because as it turns out, I also eat when I'm stressed out. Which meant that, yet again, this morning as I went to put on my jeans all they did was groan and say "fuck you, lard-o". Being curvy isn't always grand. Actually, it's mostly not grand. Also? I didn't know that denim could actually groan and creak, but look at that, it just did.

I am now sitting here, fashioning plunger handles and pecans into shivs. Pointy-ass shivs. I've gone on to create a hobo assembly line, with all those dirty, drunken hobos just a whittling away. Because if you're going to do it, you do that shit right.

You Can Take The Boy Out Of Texas, But You Better Keep Frying His Food

Spending the last two days at home with the dude, now known as "Young Wheezy, gave me the opportunity to do something I don't get to do very often.

Make dinner.

I know. I'll be the first to tell you that in this arena I am one spoiled princess like girl. Not only does Jason cook daily, but he is a fantastic cook. Always coming up with new ideas, everything is always tasty and in no way pushes the lame envelope.

And, I used to be a great cook. I can still whip up some sauce that is high on the rad scale and and some mean, mushroom cloud laying enchiladas, but the thing is, I'm completely out of practice from being Mrs. Booms. And chubbier, I'm decidedly chubbier from being Mrs. Booms too.

Looking back on yesterday, I should have stuck with that box of stroganoff I almost put the hamburger slam on. Instead? I opted for lemon pepper talapia, pasta in a creamy Parmesan sauce and steamed green beans. Chances are this meal would have been pleasing to anyone else. Well anyone not from the state of Texas:

Me: What is that look on your face about?

Jason: (carefully not letting his tongue actually touch the fish) Nuffin'.

Me: Really? Could have fooled me, you hate it right?

Jason: (finally gulping it down his throat) Um, no. I mean, yeah. No.

Me: Oh hon, you are a red meat guy. I'm sorry.

Jason: It's okay, I just don't think I'm a "fish" guy.

Me: Really? What if it was fried and oh, I don't know, called catfish?

Jason: Good point, you can fry anything and I'd eat it.

Me: Well how about those turkey corn dogs with the multi-grain coating?

Jason: I'm not touching those.

And that's fine by me, I like to eat them and pretend I'm a drunken hepatitis ridden carnie that runs a dangerous ride that's never been inspected.

I'm just a dreamer like that.

Because Sometimes My Email Is As Freaky A Place As My Mind

I'm all frisky this morning just like my five pound Yorkie Poo after she gets groomed. Probably because my hair is nearly the lightest shade of platinum I could muster without turning it blue (actually it was blue for a moment), and I'm back to my awesome bangs. I couldn't handle that side swept, get a hair cut already, bullshit I was sporting.

What I'm saying is my ass is wagging around like I just found a ball I totally forgot about under the couch and it's the coolest shit EVER!

Also, I came into some fantastic email love from Miss Yvonne and sometimes you realize you can touch someone's life even if the entire state of Oklahoma separates you from them. Check it:

Depeche Mode came on XM this morning on my way to work and it made me think of you, and then right after that Billie Idol's Dancing with Myself came on. For reals. I was air punching the shit out of my drive today. It was like you were there, except you weren't and I was by myself shoving my fist into the air and curling my lip and then the lawn guys at my office saw me and started laughing and I was all "fuck you, lawn guys! You don't even know how cool I am...I'm Miss Yvonne, assholes!" and then I did a double air punch just to spite them.

And, you know that touches me in a special place I call my heart. It's like feeding little hungry children and shaking hands with lepers. Only the kids are still hungry and there isn't enough hand sanitizer in the world to make me touch those zombie freaks.

It's okay, lepers don't have feelings so don't get all crazy on me.

Inside of the little oasis that is known as my email is also an email exchange I had with the Dirty Pirate Hooker, in which I offer up some fantastic parenting advice she in no way actually asked for:

DPH: Omg, my kid is Hitler this morning. I refuse to sieg heil.

Me: Well you should, or she's probably going to rape you and throw you in the gas chamber and that would be all kinds of wrong.

DPH: I'd take a violent rape and gas chamber over her attitude today.

Me: Holy shit. What the fuck is the matter with you?

DPH: I don't know. I haven't had enough coffee yet.

Me: Well apparently. You're kid is a tool of the devil. Pretend like you don't even notice.

DPH: I wish I could video her rants in the morning and show her why I'm a drunk in 10 years.

Me: Can't you just get her up from bed at like 10:00 at night and show her that you're a drunk now?

Oh you said show her WHY! My bad.

And that is why I'm watching episodes of In Treatment lately. I need to brush up on listening/advice giving skills.

The moral of today's story. If you send me an email, it might just make it to my blog. Actually, more than likely it will. My life is a little on the slow side. And, if we're all not careful, our kids are going to get video of us looking like David Hasselhoff with a cheeseburger.