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.

I Did That Thing Where You Tell Someone About Your Blog And Then They Have To Read It

I do this thing when I get drunk and tell people about my blog. And then I always regret it the next day. The good news is THIS TIME, I don't regret it at all. My friend Tiffany is going to be reading and I'm sure SHE will regret that shit soon.

But I know her husband and I know that she has a lot more to regret in life than this.

However, she's probably going to be confused about a few things.

Let me provide a little key to reading my blog. I write about a few things a lot.

Zombies - I have a weird fascination with zombies. She'll understand, she knows Mr. Boom's when he's been drinking.

Robots - They are crazy cool and when they take over the world I want to be on their good side.

Shivs - When robots take over the world, or I end up in prison because of something Jason has done, I will want to be as schooled on shivs as possible. So I talk about those a lot. I'm still not down with how to keister stash one though.

Joaquin Phoenix - I don't know. He's just really weird and cool. That's all.

Teen Wolf - Teen Wolf will be saving the world when the robots take over. It's the only explanation for why Teen Wolf has had a resurgence and this is the Year of Teen Wolf.

Air-punching - It's the universal signal for kicking fucking ass. Who doesn't get this?

Being a rail riding, breakdancing hobo who is a master of skullfuckery - Wow, that's kind of a long story.

Billy Idol - The king of air-punching.

Saying things about Jesus that are bad.

Other random things:

Kenny Rogers
Foreigner
Journey
Wolf Nuggets
Monster Squad
Nards
Mr. T

You know, looking over this list I now realize there is no real help for me. My mind is a strange and dark place. Which is mostly okay by me, but if you're reading my blog and enjoying it, you are screwed.

Nefarious Acts Committed Under The Cover of Darkness

I now present you with a dramatically drawn hypothetical reenactment of alleged activities, supposedly committed under the cover of darkness, theoretically.



[Close Scene]

I Crushing Your Head Because Lassos and Invisible Jets Are Played Out

I lay in bed, working and stretching out all of the kinks that always work themselves up overnight and hang around until my medicine kicks in about an hour later. So I stretched and did the very same thing I've done every morning since I was a little girl.

I reached my arm out and took my fingers and did the "I crushing your head" move to something across the room.

If you don't know what I'm talking about, well... You need to check your freaking life. You've fucked up somewhere along the way.

So I lay there and I do things like pull my drawers open from across the room. And I pick up things that are on the shelf, way over in the bathroom. I even do it with my foot and kick imaginary holes in the wall. I can actually see the sheet rock crumbling.

And that's when I realized that this? THIS? Would be the most awesome super power EVER!

I just don't know what to call it when I finally get asked what super power I'd liked to be assigned. I kind of think I just made it up.

I am, however, absolutely positive that if a hipster was going to have a super power, this would be the one, because you haven't seen this before. And if you say that you have? You are a fucking liar. Or you spent a lot of time in Europe, whatever.

People Are Such Babies About Being Coughed On

My kid, "the carrier", has pretty much recovered from his mutant viral strain of malaryia, tuberculosis, the plague, shiv in germ form and leprosy.

His father and I? Not so much.

I'm positive mine has morphed and mutated further into some weird typhoid/zombie like thing. I refuse to acknowledge the leprosy mostly because I look horrible in rags, nothing has fallen off or doubled in size yet and I hate Mother Teresa. Besides, leprosy is just zombie in a less cool form.

And with that, I locked down my place in Heaven. Look out Heaven, it's going to be a special kind of party when I get there. Mostly, because I'm anti-social and drunk a lot.

Evidently, when you are coughing a lot and have strange colors of phlegm evacuating from your face at regular intervals, your dentist is a little iffy about digging around in there. Also? People don't like it when you sit next to them in the weekly staff meeting. So I coughed on every chair around me and made myself comfortable.

Let me drop some science on you, right here. Some remedies that apparently have no effect on this particular strain of death on wheels would be Miller Light (I refuse to type LITE seriously), tacos, fajitas, shrimp nachos, Dayquil, Nyquil and Robitussin. And in regards to the Robitussin, Jason displayed some crazy mixed martial arts madness to get that shit down my throat. Robo-nasty.

Actually? I'd rather swallow something called Robo-nasty. It sounds robotic and honest.

So I'm thinking that the person who left me the love note, wishing that I would die, just might get their wish, which is what I get for being such a fucking people pleaser.

You're welcome.

You Know How You Do Someone A Favor And Then They Turn Around And Treat You Like An Asshole?

Sure you do. If not, then meet Rassles.

So yeah, I should have learned my lesson when I guest posted last week. Click on over and read the last guest post I'm ever going to write.

Sometimes you just have to know when to Never Say Die* and other times you just have to know when to fold them**.

I'm totally shanking her when she gets back to the mid-west.




*Teen Wolf
**Mr. Kenny Rogers.

I'm Going To Be A Toothless Old Hag...

This morning I went into the dentist's office and I was all, "hello world, lets dig and scrape at my teeth this morning. I cannot think of one single, solitary thing I'd rather do. Other than perhaps poke myself in the eye or better yet? Prostate exam!"

I know, but I would rather have someone dig for my imaginary prostate.

So when they asked if I had any concerns about my teeth, I offered up that I had a huge gaping hole in the middle of one of them. Oh and I had broken off more than half of the tooth as well. "Should I poke myself in the eye now? No? Wanna see my prostate?"

"What is that you ask? How long ago? Oh about two-weeks." Because December totally was two weeks ago. I remember it being two weeks.

And then the dentist went at my face with a shiv and I wasn't even excited. He scraped and hacked. He dug and poked my gums, who didn't even see that shit coming. Then asked me the questions he always asks about my wisdom teeth that I have not yet given up, because you read me, you know I need that shit. The wisdom, that is. Teeth are kind of optional.

And as it turns out, they really are optional. Early this morning my dentist made me weigh out the pros and cons of teeth having. It's not something that I ever really pondered before that very moment. Honestly, there really isn't enough caffeine to make that feel easy or even normal. I had the option of dropping a ton on a crown that MIGHT last 5 years or having it removed. I could pay for a filling in a wisdom tooth that is useless or I could have it removed.

In the end, my dentist was very sad to hear that I would have the uncrowned tooth yanked. He said they like to save teeth. However? I was totally not fooled by his pouting face. Because have you seen the difference in cost between a filling and crown and just having a tooth pulled? No? It's the difference between a robot that pours you beer, cleans your toilets, makes cheeseburgers, BACON CHEESEBURGERS and looks like Teen Wolf and the Omnibot 2000. I mean the Omnibot was righteous in it's time, but a complete let down.

It was apparent when his dollar sign shaped eyeballs went crashing to the floor that I had just omnibotted his cha-ching dreams. Oh but you should have seen the glow return to his eyeless face as he spout out the joys of bridgework and better yet! Dental Implants! Yeah, we're having fun now, kids.

I spent the entirety of my ride to work smiling into my rear-view mirror. And, unless I smile like a freak (shut up) there is nothing to worry about. I won't be flashing my hole at people.

Not even if you ask.

Weirdo.


PS - My husband is super stoked at the idea of having a toothless wife. He said we can drive through trailer parks without weird looks now. And when we want to go to pawn shops or swap meets, people will stop asking us if we're lost. Also? The DMV and Wal-Hell will now accept me as one of them.

My Radio And The Car Guy Thought I Was A Jerk

Disclaimer: I'm pretty sure this is how this call went yesterday.


The rad thing about owning a Honda is that when your battery dies, you have to reset a code or you don't get the privilege of listening to your radio.

The rad thing about working in the Honda service department yesterday was talking to me.

They got to do it twice.

Me: Hey, uh yeah. So I have this car and it died. And now the radio is just looking at me like I'm a jerk.

Honda Guy 1: What?

Me: My radio, looks at me like I'm a jerk. Am I supposed to have some kind of code? You know, I had to jump start my car now the radio does not work!

HG1: Oh, well yeah, there's a sticker in your glove box with a code on it.

Me: That's negatory.

HG1: What?

Me: No sticker.

HG1: Well lady without that sticker I can't help you much now can I? Besides, we don't give codes over the phone.

I knew this was total bullshit and this guy was just annoyed.

HG1: Are you in your car now?

Me: No.

HG1: Can't really help you.

Me: Can't really like you.

He didn't care.

Yeah, so I go out to my extremely moody car that just looked at me like what now? Haven't we been through enough? And I flip open her glove box and she was all, "Really? We have to do this now?" And there is a freaking sticker with a number in there that I guess Jason couldn't find the last time he needed it.

So I called Honda back. They were stoked.

Me: Yeah, so it's cold, I'm sitting in my car. It's screaming at me for a code and I have this code so what do I do?

HG2: What?

Me: My CAR! It wants some kind of a code, I have a code, you tell me what to do with it?

HG2: You push it into the presets.

Me: Right and how do I do that?

HG2: YOU. PUSH. THE. BUTTONS. If it says six, you push six.

Me: Thanks Honda Guy, but here's the thing, there are like nines and eights. How do I make that magic happen?

HG2: What?

Me: Nines and EIGHTS! They come after seven and before ten. My presets go up to six.

HG2: Where did you get the code.

Me: I can't help but think if you were a robot this would be easier. From the sticker inside my car.

HG2: Oh, that's something else, I put that number into my smart box and it spits out a code.

Me: Is the smart box a robot?

HG2: No?

Me: Is it smarter than you or me?

HG2: Possibly.

Me: SEE! Robot. Watch out for that thing it's going to take over the world.

HG2: Uh... the code is blah blah blah.

Me: Okay, pushing it in and nothing.

HG2: Nothing?

Me: Okay, error message.

HG2: Lady, this isn't hard you just push the buttons.

Me: I can't push the buttons any differently. I push buttons all day long, these buttons hate me. Can you even imagine the devastation this is causing my very vulnerable psyche? I can't imagine that you and your smart box do.

HG2: Okay, yeah, I can't help you right now. You have to pull the fuse or the battery. If you want help with that, come on in.

Me: If I come in will you be happier and more robot like?

Click.

So it turns out that I just entered that code one more time and it worked. I wanted to call Honda Guy back to let him know.

Honda Guy didn't answer the phone.

UPDATED! My Car and Wednesday Conspired Against Me - Jerkoids!

Last night my husband came upstairs and said, "You know you are going to end up on one of those shows on the I.D. channel because you killed me, right?"




PS - Last night at the end of my work day, I sat in my car, put the key in the ignition and all I got was the middle finger and a heavily Japanese accented voice that said, "Fuck You!"

I yelled back, "This wouldn't happen if you were a fucking robot."

Jason picked up my prescription on his way home.





PPS - Seriously - I've been told this might not be entirely clear. Let me clarify:

My husband thinks I should kill him. Or that I'm going to, I'm not sure which. He yelled something else about life insurance.

My car wouldn't start. I'm not sure how that wasn't clear when I said it gave me the finger and talked to me.

If it was a robot it might do the same things but it would take me where I wanted to go. It's a car robot, it has too.

Meds people. The crying, they help the crying.

Why do I feel like I will have to explain this again?

Robots And Why They Are Awesome

Awesome Disclaimer: I am going to abuse the word awesome today like Sean Penn abuses the cool asshole stereotype. I will use the word awesome so many times you will never want to read the word awesome or excitable variations like kickass or even just good again, you will however, want a freaking badass robot and you will never question just why a robot MIGHT be cool. Swear it.

Oh and I might be exaggerating.


Today is going to be a breathtaking 78 degrees. I love March in the Midwest. With the words of, gasp, sunshine and warm air still clinging to my local meteorologists lips, I sprung into action.

Crazyman was going to rock his mega kickass robot shirt and plaid shorts today. When I pointed out what was on his shirt, he screamed "Bot!" with glee and off he toddled to show his dad, who was in the shower, his awesome Bot-wear.

Poking his head out of the shower, Jason looks at me frankly and then uttered six words I NEVER thought I would hear, "What is so cool about robots?"

I actually gagged. He did not just say that. No way in hell. Oh but he did. I was all, "seriously, did you not grow up in the 80's?" And this conversation should have ended with, "Mork and Mindy totally did a robot episode and that = awesome. End of discussion."

And really it would have because he would just look a me like, "how did I not notice you getting drunk this early in the day?" But I was deeply disturbed by this sudden awareness of how NOT AWESOME my husband thought robots were.

I started to explain how when we were kids we completely thought robots would be ruling the world right now. We would just be able to be all, "Robot Jeeves, do my laundry. Rosie, make my breakfast. R2D2 make me a drink!" Robots would alert us to "Danger, Danger!" Our cars would be robots and we could just sit and listen to the entire 'Violator' CD on our way to work while sipping some drink from the future we don't even know about yet and it would all be good. And when things happened, like that Mustang that didn't see that traffic was entirely stopped and put the skid on his brakes so scary hard that the car in front of him had to move to the shoulder to avoid getting his ass end handed to him, that would not be my problem. It would be Rhonda the Honda's problem.

It's all so obvious right?

Jason just looked at me, shut the shower door and said, "I'm a robot." And that's when I said, "You totally would be a robot, they are devoid of all emotion. Oh except anger. They feel anger and then turn on the humans and REALLY take over the world in awesome hateful ways. Hello Matrix, right? Terminator??? " And I may have been wrong on that, but ssssshhhhh. It doesn't matter.

In the end, unless a robot has a vagina he totally doesn't care. Or boobs. Robot boobs.