Well, I bought kashi honey and cinnamon today and I was right, it doesn't taste like sawdust!
Taking back my apology
-t.Weezy
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Kashi Redux
Hey, remember how I made a mistake and said kashi oatmeal tasted like sawdust and it wasn't even really kashi and then I apologized to kashi at the end and said it probably tastes better than the other oatmeal and then i wrote a really long run on sentence?
Well, I bought kashi honey and cinnamon today and I was right, it doesn't taste like sawdust!
Well, I bought kashi honey and cinnamon today and I was right, it doesn't taste like sawdust!
Friday, February 25, 2011
Aunt Flo and Cousin Red went to Wal*Fart
I know, I already posted once today. Bite me. It's a funny story..at least to me. Cuz if you don't laugh when things like this happen to you....you might literally crack up.
Had to make a trip to the hillbilly Wal*Fart today, ran out of cotton harpoons. How can you run out of those? You're a girl, you need these every month! To my defense, I thought I had an emergency stash in my purse but I deedent.
Hop in car (that we finally got back after 3 weeks and less $3571 in our checking account) wearing a humongous super-sized mattress in my panties.
Get out of the car, adjust the mattress, and walk into the store. Get harpoons, smaller mattresses, and liners. Spend a small fortune on said items. Realize I need to get a few more items. This can be tricky. Why, you might ask? It's day two. I don't know about you fellow menstraters but for me it's:
Pray it doesn't slide out. Make it to the door. Monsoon outside. I can stay inside and risk throwing clots or make a dash for it and hope nothing tragic happens. I make for the car. Curse myself for parking far away (to get exercise) Make jerk off hand gesture just for amusement. Throw groceries in the back, shove cart in the corral, and go to slide in the drivers seat. I think I might make it. One leg in and
Had to make a trip to the hillbilly Wal*Fart today, ran out of cotton harpoons. How can you run out of those? You're a girl, you need these every month! To my defense, I thought I had an emergency stash in my purse but I deedent.
Hop in car (that we finally got back after 3 weeks and less $3571 in our checking account) wearing a humongous super-sized mattress in my panties.
Get out of the car, adjust the mattress, and walk into the store. Get harpoons, smaller mattresses, and liners. Spend a small fortune on said items. Realize I need to get a few more items. This can be tricky. Why, you might ask? It's day two. I don't know about you fellow menstraters but for me it's:
Major chance of spillage. I should have played it smart and bought the items first, changed, and then shopped but I was in a hurry. Feel me? So I make my way over to the food section which is like two football fields away.
*drip drip drip*
Speed up, push that cart like it's NASCAR. Also, activity increases blood flow. Bonus! Make my rounds. Remember I need something at the back of the store. Head that way. It starts to pour outside.
*drip drip drip drip*
Try doing a really long kegel. Fail. Get in the checkout. Lady in front of me drops carton of eggs. How ironic. She apologizes, I give her a little smile but secretly death ray her brains out. I'm bleeding to death here, can we put a rush on it?!? She gets her replacement eggs and leaves. I get rung up. Go to push the cart outside.
*drip drip big 'ol jelly blob* (you're welcome for that visual)
Pray it doesn't slide out. Make it to the door. Monsoon outside. I can stay inside and risk throwing clots or make a dash for it and hope nothing tragic happens. I make for the car. Curse myself for parking far away (to get exercise) Make jerk off hand gesture just for amusement. Throw groceries in the back, shove cart in the corral, and go to slide in the drivers seat. I think I might make it. One leg in and
bleeding to death on the inside
-t.Weezy
Mother of Pearl!
If my neighbors don't stop opening and closing their front door...I swear I will saw the fucker off it's hinges, bitch slap them with it, then slam it on top of their heads and pretend surf the Serengeti with their fat corpses. I just googled Serengeti to see what it was and apparently you can't really 'surf' the Serengeti. It actually looks pretty, pretty, pretty dry there.
So change of plans. Since I can't surf them, maybe I can like paddle their bloated bodies up a small creek or something. What the fuck are they doing? Waiting for a crack delivery for fucks sake? Know what's outside our front doors. Snow and trees. What in thee m effer are you looking at?
Know what else sucks right now? Waiting on a call back for a job. Welcome to the last two days of my life:
Have to take a dump. What if she calls? Take my phone with me. What if I'm in the middle of pushing out a deuce? I'll have to cut it off. She'll hear the echo in the bathroom and know I'm talking to her while on the toilet. I can't flush so I'll have just have to cut it off, dry wipe and move outside the bathroom stealthily. That's a lot of work and Lord knows I don't need any help in the poop anxiety dept.
Need to do laundry. What if she calls? Take my phone with me. What if I drop it in the washer then she tries calling? What if I don't get a signal in the basement. Should I leave it upstairs? What if she calls and I can't hear it because of the washer? Mad dash into the basement without the phone to start load of wash. So preoccupied by thinking about the phone call that I put the detergent in the fabric softener hole. FUCK! Rip that apart, rinse it out and start over. Surely she's called and I've missed it by now.
Nope.
Check phone sixty hundred billion times. Drain battery doing so. Verbally bash anyone that calls who is not the prospective employer. Piss off the 'dude'. Says I'm not paying attention to him talking to me. Ask him to repeat what he just said because I was looking at my phone. Obsess if I wrote the right phone number on my resume. Well no matter, I have my email address on there as well. Obsess if that's wrong too. Check resume. Nope, all good.
Have to go grocery shopping. Get a real shitty signal there. I just know she's going to call. The reception will be all choppy and I'm going to sound like a moron. Screaming 'Hello?! Can you hear me?' into the phone twenty times will surely get me the job. Pull up to the grocery store, wait 20 minutes in the car hoping she will call.
She doesn't call.
Boyfriend breaks up with me because I stop doing any of my girlfriendly duties or taking showers. He moves out. I starve to death because I won't leave the house. Coroner shows up and pries the phone from my cold dead fingers. Still no phone call.
Piss on it. Employment is overrated.
Oh and this
Digging a hole out back
-t.Weezy
So change of plans. Since I can't surf them, maybe I can like paddle their bloated bodies up a small creek or something. What the fuck are they doing? Waiting for a crack delivery for fucks sake? Know what's outside our front doors. Snow and trees. What in thee m effer are you looking at?
Know what else sucks right now? Waiting on a call back for a job. Welcome to the last two days of my life:
Have to take a dump. What if she calls? Take my phone with me. What if I'm in the middle of pushing out a deuce? I'll have to cut it off. She'll hear the echo in the bathroom and know I'm talking to her while on the toilet. I can't flush so I'll have just have to cut it off, dry wipe and move outside the bathroom stealthily. That's a lot of work and Lord knows I don't need any help in the poop anxiety dept.
Need to do laundry. What if she calls? Take my phone with me. What if I drop it in the washer then she tries calling? What if I don't get a signal in the basement. Should I leave it upstairs? What if she calls and I can't hear it because of the washer? Mad dash into the basement without the phone to start load of wash. So preoccupied by thinking about the phone call that I put the detergent in the fabric softener hole. FUCK! Rip that apart, rinse it out and start over. Surely she's called and I've missed it by now.
Nope.
Check phone sixty hundred billion times. Drain battery doing so. Verbally bash anyone that calls who is not the prospective employer. Piss off the 'dude'. Says I'm not paying attention to him talking to me. Ask him to repeat what he just said because I was looking at my phone. Obsess if I wrote the right phone number on my resume. Well no matter, I have my email address on there as well. Obsess if that's wrong too. Check resume. Nope, all good.
Have to go grocery shopping. Get a real shitty signal there. I just know she's going to call. The reception will be all choppy and I'm going to sound like a moron. Screaming 'Hello?! Can you hear me?' into the phone twenty times will surely get me the job. Pull up to the grocery store, wait 20 minutes in the car hoping she will call.
She doesn't call.
Boyfriend breaks up with me because I stop doing any of my girlfriendly duties or taking showers. He moves out. I starve to death because I won't leave the house. Coroner shows up and pries the phone from my cold dead fingers. Still no phone call.
Piss on it. Employment is overrated.
Oh and this
-t.Weezy
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
This is what happens when you get a divorce Pt. 1
*slurp* Ahhhhhhhh....just got in from shoveling our parking spot, it blizzerd here last night and sat down to drink my dark sensation hot chocolate, while preparing this post for you lovely folks. Felt like sharing a little story with you about my youth.
You know...the good 'ol days. Back when it was cool to wear your bathing suit every single day of summer without ever washing it. Crotch rot much? It's a miracle how I never managed to grow one of these in my bathing suit.
This story happens in my mothers apartment, well revolves around it..kinda. When my parents got divorced, (yes I'm one of those kids) my mother moved from our family home into an apartment in a not so great neighborhood. My brother and I visited her on weekends and shared a bedroom. Saint preserve us.
Our bedroom window faced a 'shady' corner and included a payphone. Now remember, this is back in the day when payphones were the shiznit. So this corner was a happening spot. This may or may not have been due to the payphone and more because of the drug dealers and prostitutes but whatevs. You get the picture.
Sticking our heads out of our window on warm summer nights became our ritual. We'd people watch, cackle, and make fun of the dope dealers and cracked out hoes. One day while performing this activity, I had an epiphany. If I put my chewed up gum in the coin return people would leave their quarters in there because they wouldn't want to touch my gum. Then after they left, I could sneak across the street and snatch them out. Score!
We thought (well more me than my brother, he was an idiot) that we would have a better chance of not getting get caught if we did it at night under the disguise of darkness. See how smart I was back then? Darkness ensued and we began to chew.
I figured to my smart little self that I would take the first risk of putting the gum in the slot and that I would force my little brother into picking out the change later. Rationalizing that I'd only have to run across the street once and he would have to make multiple trips. Again, see how smart I was?
Sneaking down the steps and out the door, I slithered across the front porch on my stomach. When I made it to the railing directly across from the payphone I stopped. I was scared. Heck, even being outside after dark was a risk in itself. I had two options really.
1. I could jump up, mad dash across the street, stick gum in slot, and run back inside the house in a span of 20-30 seconds.
OR
2. Slowly stroll across the street, go through the motions of pulling a fake quarter out of my pocket, putting it into the payphone, pretending the call didn't work, press the coin return lever and when I was supposed to be taking the quarter out, I would ingeniously stick the chewed up gum in there instead.
I chose option one. I sprinted across the street, did the deed, and ran back upstairs to our bedroom window where my brother was waiting. He took one look at my wild eyed maniac face and we both dropped to our beds, howling with neurotic laughter.
Game. On.
Writer Note: I had no idea this story was going to be this long so I decided half way through writing it, that I would break it up into two posts. Hell, I previewed the post, and even didn't feel like reading all the way through it. So pork chops and applesauce to you, if you made it to this point. I appreciate you, and really that's all that matters.
ABC Gum
-t.Weezy
You know...the good 'ol days. Back when it was cool to wear your bathing suit every single day of summer without ever washing it. Crotch rot much? It's a miracle how I never managed to grow one of these in my bathing suit.
 |
| Pay no attention to my sweet knees. Also, I'm pretty sure I wasn't that hippy at 9 |
This story happens in my mothers apartment, well revolves around it..kinda. When my parents got divorced, (yes I'm one of those kids) my mother moved from our family home into an apartment in a not so great neighborhood. My brother and I visited her on weekends and shared a bedroom. Saint preserve us.
Our bedroom window faced a 'shady' corner and included a payphone. Now remember, this is back in the day when payphones were the shiznit. So this corner was a happening spot. This may or may not have been due to the payphone and more because of the drug dealers and prostitutes but whatevs. You get the picture.
Sticking our heads out of our window on warm summer nights became our ritual. We'd people watch, cackle, and make fun of the dope dealers and cracked out hoes. One day while performing this activity, I had an epiphany. If I put my chewed up gum in the coin return people would leave their quarters in there because they wouldn't want to touch my gum. Then after they left, I could sneak across the street and snatch them out. Score!
We thought (well more me than my brother, he was an idiot) that we would have a better chance of not getting get caught if we did it at night under the disguise of darkness. See how smart I was back then? Darkness ensued and we began to chew.
I figured to my smart little self that I would take the first risk of putting the gum in the slot and that I would force my little brother into picking out the change later. Rationalizing that I'd only have to run across the street once and he would have to make multiple trips. Again, see how smart I was?
Sneaking down the steps and out the door, I slithered across the front porch on my stomach. When I made it to the railing directly across from the payphone I stopped. I was scared. Heck, even being outside after dark was a risk in itself. I had two options really.
1. I could jump up, mad dash across the street, stick gum in slot, and run back inside the house in a span of 20-30 seconds.
OR
2. Slowly stroll across the street, go through the motions of pulling a fake quarter out of my pocket, putting it into the payphone, pretending the call didn't work, press the coin return lever and when I was supposed to be taking the quarter out, I would ingeniously stick the chewed up gum in there instead.
I chose option one. I sprinted across the street, did the deed, and ran back upstairs to our bedroom window where my brother was waiting. He took one look at my wild eyed maniac face and we both dropped to our beds, howling with neurotic laughter.
Game. On.
Writer Note: I had no idea this story was going to be this long so I decided half way through writing it, that I would break it up into two posts. Hell, I previewed the post, and even didn't feel like reading all the way through it. So pork chops and applesauce to you, if you made it to this point. I appreciate you, and really that's all that matters.
ABC Gum
-t.Weezy
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Jesus Dots
Me: I feel bad. He'll sit in that apartment and die alone.
Bro: Jesus dot say that
Me: Jesus dots? Are those good?
Bro: Actually...Jesus dots are what the holy rollers call the herpes. So no, they aren't very good.
Bro: Jesus dot say that
Me: Jesus dots? Are those good?
Bro: Actually...Jesus dots are what the holy rollers call the herpes. So no, they aren't very good.
Monday, February 21, 2011
I have a confession to make
I have issues. Issues in the bathroom. Issues that I was afraid to tell anyone about. Before I moved in with the 'dude' I lived alone. I liked living alone. Wanna know why?
I could crap. In the morning, right after waking up. In the middle of the day, WITH the door open. Pretty much I was a free-range crapper, a care-free crapper if you will. I lived the good life. No pressures. I could take a dump whenever the mood struck.
Now? I'm a handi-crapper. I'm cursed. It used to be it only happened when I went away from home. Like to visit family or stay at the 'dudes' house for the weekend. I can remember racing home on Sunday nights, driving the 97 miles at break neck speed, clenching my butt hole the whole way. It was like as soon as my bowels knew we were headed home to our crapping sanctuary, it wanted to evacuate immediately. Uhhhhhh...no can do friendo. Can't do gas station restrooms either. Pull over and cop a squat? No way, whorehay.
Picture it. Me, the radio blaring, and my asshole clenched to the death, riding the highway of hell. I'd pull into the driveway at break neck speeds, slam it into park, and turtle walk my crap happy self to the throne. Ah business as usual. Then comes the joy of playing catch up the next couple of days.
So back to me now living with the 'dude'. It's uhh been interesting. I've had to employ various strategies to disguise my poopies. If some of you are unfamiliar, let me help you get familiar.
There are different kinds of shy poopers. Imma break it down. We have the:
Shy Butt: Described as the inability to drop a deuce with anyone else in the house. This also leads to other issues. Such as making me do a:
Shit and Brush: Which is the act of pretending to be brushing your teeth when you are actually dropping brownies. I have done this act of shame many many times. Usually when there is more than 1 person in the house. This takes a bit of practice to get the flush just right.
Shy Poopie: Described as, feeling you need to poop but you just sit on the toilet unable to go. Usually happens when I'm being rushed to go somewhere. Then I get into a panic that I can't go now and will have an episode when I'm out later. Mostly causes constipation.
Flusher: Act of using the noise of the flush to disguise the sounds of crapping. Frequently happens in public restrooms. If you were in the restroom with me, you might hear my toilet flush 2 or 3 times and me quietly saying 'Damn automatic flushers!'. I have also employed this tactic at home. Warning..you can usually only pull off 2 flushes and get away with it here.
This one goes along with the:
Closet Crapper: The ability to only crap when you are in the public restroom alone. Which sometimes, as we all know can lead to some real quality toilet sitting time. I usually pick the last stall in the row. That way I only have to worry about one stall beside me. This can cause serious issues if you run into another Closet Crapper. Then you'll have to revert to being the Flusher or playing 'who can stay in the stall the longest and wait it out.'
So if any of these relate to you, you are NOT alone! Handi-Crappers Unite!
Update: During the writing of this post, I have crapped 3 times. I also timed the shits to him shooting in C.O.D. I guess you could say I'm partly healed or a genius.
Happy Crapping!
-t.weezy
I could crap. In the morning, right after waking up. In the middle of the day, WITH the door open. Pretty much I was a free-range crapper, a care-free crapper if you will. I lived the good life. No pressures. I could take a dump whenever the mood struck.
Now? I'm a handi-crapper. I'm cursed. It used to be it only happened when I went away from home. Like to visit family or stay at the 'dudes' house for the weekend. I can remember racing home on Sunday nights, driving the 97 miles at break neck speed, clenching my butt hole the whole way. It was like as soon as my bowels knew we were headed home to our crapping sanctuary, it wanted to evacuate immediately. Uhhhhhh...no can do friendo. Can't do gas station restrooms either. Pull over and cop a squat? No way, whorehay.
Picture it. Me, the radio blaring, and my asshole clenched to the death, riding the highway of hell. I'd pull into the driveway at break neck speeds, slam it into park, and turtle walk my crap happy self to the throne. Ah business as usual. Then comes the joy of playing catch up the next couple of days.
So back to me now living with the 'dude'. It's uhh been interesting. I've had to employ various strategies to disguise my poopies. If some of you are unfamiliar, let me help you get familiar.
There are different kinds of shy poopers. Imma break it down. We have the:
Shy Butt: Described as the inability to drop a deuce with anyone else in the house. This also leads to other issues. Such as making me do a:
Shit and Brush: Which is the act of pretending to be brushing your teeth when you are actually dropping brownies. I have done this act of shame many many times. Usually when there is more than 1 person in the house. This takes a bit of practice to get the flush just right.
Shy Poopie: Described as, feeling you need to poop but you just sit on the toilet unable to go. Usually happens when I'm being rushed to go somewhere. Then I get into a panic that I can't go now and will have an episode when I'm out later. Mostly causes constipation.
Flusher: Act of using the noise of the flush to disguise the sounds of crapping. Frequently happens in public restrooms. If you were in the restroom with me, you might hear my toilet flush 2 or 3 times and me quietly saying 'Damn automatic flushers!'. I have also employed this tactic at home. Warning..you can usually only pull off 2 flushes and get away with it here.
This one goes along with the:
Closet Crapper: The ability to only crap when you are in the public restroom alone. Which sometimes, as we all know can lead to some real quality toilet sitting time. I usually pick the last stall in the row. That way I only have to worry about one stall beside me. This can cause serious issues if you run into another Closet Crapper. Then you'll have to revert to being the Flusher or playing 'who can stay in the stall the longest and wait it out.'
So if any of these relate to you, you are NOT alone! Handi-Crappers Unite!
Update: During the writing of this post, I have crapped 3 times. I also timed the shits to him shooting in C.O.D. I guess you could say I'm partly healed or a genius.
Happy Crapping!
-t.weezy
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Whore*Moans
Know what I hate:
Didn't we just do this like 28 some odd days ago. Shit's getting old. Now please, go sell crazy some place else, we're all filled up here.
 |
| THIS |
Didn't we just do this like 28 some odd days ago. Shit's getting old. Now please, go sell crazy some place else, we're all filled up here.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
I was ambushed yesterday!
ME:
More on this later, I am bitchass tired.
Oh and you guys are totally 16 bitches on bitch bike for not doing my coffeethingie.
Doesn't matter anyway, after I douched that parole hearing interview, I used the card and bought myself a huge ol coffee as a pick-me-up.
Ta-Ta!
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Teaching my dad to text < Anything
Just picking my nose sitting on the couch minding my own and I hear a familiar chime:
Dad: Hello hun. Wanted to let you know i have free texting. So text away. Love you.
Me: Cool beans, love you too.
Dad: Thank you
Me: For?
My phone rings, it's my dad. 'What's up and what are you thanking me for?'
'For telling me you loved me too and I just thought I'd call you. It's a lot easier and I don't get this whole texting thing.'
'Uh then why did you add unlimited texting...never mind.' Hang up.
Dad: Hi Weasel. What ya doing? (he calls me weasel, hence t. weezy...t is my first initial)
Me: Sitting here eating cupcakes (yes the raw batter ones) What about you?
Dad: Just finished eating prime rib. Wished i had a cupcake.
Me: Wish I had prime rib :)
Phone rings. It's Dad
Me: I'm making dinner, Dad.
Him: Sorry. Just wanted to know how you made the smiley face.
(Ohmygeeze no he didn't)
Him: o o . u .-------- What do u think of this? LOL!
(I have no idea what to think of that, I don't even know what it is)
Me: It's okay I was just letting you know why I couldn't answer the phone.
Him: O. K. Call when your finished. (Are you kidding me!!!?!?)
Me: You use the colon : and then the parentheses ) together, like this :)
Him: I can't find the paranthesis. Don't even know how to spell it. (what the cuss...shoot me now pls)
Him: Found it. : )
Me: Cool
Him: Way
I was raised by this person? Well that explains a lot.
Sidenote: The job interview went swell (still one to go tomorrow) AND the Starbucks giveaway is still going on...I guess no one really does like free coffee and now you're like 12 bitches in a bitch bus.
Dad: Hello hun. Wanted to let you know i have free texting. So text away. Love you.
Me: Cool beans, love you too.
Dad: Thank you
Me: For?
My phone rings, it's my dad. 'What's up and what are you thanking me for?'
'For telling me you loved me too and I just thought I'd call you. It's a lot easier and I don't get this whole texting thing.'
'Uh then why did you add unlimited texting...never mind.' Hang up.
Dad: Hi Weasel. What ya doing? (he calls me weasel, hence t. weezy...t is my first initial)
Me: Sitting here eating cupcakes (yes the raw batter ones) What about you?
Dad: Just finished eating prime rib. Wished i had a cupcake.
Me: Wish I had prime rib :)
Phone rings. It's Dad
Me: I'm making dinner, Dad.
Him: Sorry. Just wanted to know how you made the smiley face.
(Ohmygeeze no he didn't)
Him: o o . u .-------- What do u think of this? LOL!
(I have no idea what to think of that, I don't even know what it is)
Me: It's okay I was just letting you know why I couldn't answer the phone.
Him: O. K. Call when your finished. (Are you kidding me!!!?!?)
Me: You use the colon : and then the parentheses ) together, like this :)
Him: I can't find the paranthesis. Don't even know how to spell it. (what the cuss...shoot me now pls)
Him: Found it. : )
Me: Cool
Him: Way
I was raised by this person? Well that explains a lot.
Sidenote: The job interview went swell (still one to go tomorrow) AND the Starbucks giveaway is still going on...I guess no one really does like free coffee and now you're like 12 bitches in a bitch bus.
Monday, February 14, 2011
I'd rather be eating brains
But instead I've been using an image editor all day rather than spending time with the 'dude'. He's pretty pissed at me, but I'm happy and that's all that really matters. Besides I already gave him Valentine's Day sex twice today, so in my book I should be pissed at him or something like that. And he totally didn't get me this card that would totally showcase his love/zombie hunger for me. Jerkface
Nor did he get me a bag of these sweet Reality Hearts:
And he certainly didn't take me shopping here:
Side note: I leaned over to ask him a question and he answered me by burp talking in my face.
Me: Why did you just burp talk in my face? Is it because I farted on your wang a few days ago?
Him: Yep, I'm totally hung up on that.
See? Jerkface
Also don't forget about my Starbucks giveaway. Unless you don't like free coffee, then you're like 8 bitches in a bitch boat.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Sweet Mojo CoffeeMochaJesus (don't pay attention to the words before this)
Remember when I posted about these jobs? I quickly canned the whole working with sex offender, thing. Although on second thought it could have provided me with a shit ton of writing material and/or ritual rapings but I digress.
While I was waiting to hear from the other job for crappier pay, I got a call for another job that pays about 6k more. So now I have 2 interviews scheduled for next week. Good mojo would be mucho appreciated.
Also because it's the heart holiday tomorrow and I feel lovey (or woozy from licking raw batter), I will be giving away a gift card to Starbucks* on Wednesday.
If you'd like to be entered to win, it's simple:
If you follow me you get 2 entries
If you Twitter about this post you get 1 entry
If you link to this post in your blog you get 1 entry
And if you comment on this post and tell me how awesome I am, you get 1 entry and I may not murder your face!(totally kidding)
Make sure you leave me a comment telling me you have done so, so I can tally up the points. Then I will hold the drawing on Wednesday the 16th (with photographic) evidence and name the lucky schmo. Sweet deal, eh?
If you hate giveaways, as I usually do (who doesn't like or could use free coffee tho), then don't do anything and ignore this post. Except the part about sending me good mojo. Don't be a total ass maggot, k?
*Disclaimer: I was not paid to do this post nor was the gift card provided to giveaway. I bought the card. Starbucks gift card total value: Five whopping American dollars!
While I was waiting to hear from the other job for crappier pay, I got a call for another job that pays about 6k more. So now I have 2 interviews scheduled for next week. Good mojo would be mucho appreciated.
Also because it's the heart holiday tomorrow and I feel lovey (or woozy from licking raw batter), I will be giving away a gift card to Starbucks* on Wednesday.
If you'd like to be entered to win, it's simple:
If you follow me you get 2 entries
If you Twitter about this post you get 1 entry
If you link to this post in your blog you get 1 entry
And if you comment on this post and tell me how awesome I am, you get 1 entry and I may not murder your face!(totally kidding)
Make sure you leave me a comment telling me you have done so, so I can tally up the points. Then I will hold the drawing on Wednesday the 16th (with photographic) evidence and name the lucky schmo. Sweet deal, eh?
If you hate giveaways, as I usually do (who doesn't like or could use free coffee tho), then don't do anything and ignore this post. Except the part about sending me good mojo. Don't be a total ass maggot, k?
*Disclaimer: I was not paid to do this post nor was the gift card provided to giveaway. I bought the card. Starbucks gift card total value: Five whopping American dollars!
This one time I licked raw batter...and forgot what I was going to post
I want to start this post by saying that Kashi blueberry oatmeal tastes a lot like sawdust with a singular dehydrated blueberry thrown in for taste. Vom.
Also, how is it that every time I make cupcakes I think the batter looks different and somehow I've made it wrong? I use the god damn same cupcake mix every time! The entire time I'm mixing it, I'm thinking, this looks too runny, they are going to turn out terrible. I have some major cupcake making anxiety. Running to check them every five minutes. They always turn out da bomb diggity but still....there could be that one time they sneak a secret ingredient in and then the 'dude' will be all like, 'Uh these are disgusting, what the hell?'
Also I'm bad with measurements, like really bad. Like remember when in school they had those measurement word problems? I took one look and already knew I was fucked, so I just doodled in the margins and made farting noises with my mouth. Okay I didn't do the last one, but I thought about it.
Me today while making cupcakes: 'Is 1/3 bigger than 1/4?'
Him: 'You're kidding right? You asked me this the last time. You really don't know?'
Me: 'Uh no I didn't ask you that. I asked which was bigger 3/4 or 1/4. Duh. Now who's the retard and maybe if someone bought me measuring cups we wouldn't have to go through this every time.'
Really people. I do not need the added stress. Then you get to: fill the cups 2/3 full. For the love of all things holy! Do you fill the cups with 2/3 cup of mixture? How exactly are you supposed to find out what 2/3 of a paper cupcake liner is? Do you measure the length of the liner with a ruler and then figure out what 2/3 of that is? Why is this so difficult?
This wasn't supposed to be a post about baking cupcakes but life is weird..for real. I mean look how hard it is just to bake cupcakes....*sigh*
Also while baking the second batch I accidentally licked my finger that had batter on it. I'm may be dying as I type this. I mean it says right on the box: 'DO NOT LICK THE RAW BATTER OFF OF YOUR FINGER OR YOU WILL DIE' or something really close to that. Immediately I spat in the sink, grabbed the nearest paper towel (that probably had raw batter on it from when I wiped the counter down) and started jumping up and down screaming.
The 'dude' looks at me, rolls his eyes and continues to murder people in his little fake war. Like really? You see your girlfriend, clutching a paper towel to her tongue and screaming and you don't say anything!?! I could have bitten my tongue off, or sliced it on a knife. The fact that I didn't do any of this is regardless. Finally I take the paper towel away and yell, 'I licked my finger that had raw batter on it!' His reply? 'Gargle with Clorox.' Srsly. He should really start sleeping with one eye open.
Update: The oatmeal brand was not Kashi , so I apologize to the makers of Kashi for saying their blueberry oatmeal tasted like sawdust. I'm pretty sure Kashi tastes a lot better than sawdust. Well, like 17% sure.
Back to the reason for the post....well I forgot the reason and it's most likely because I licked that raw batter.
Update: The Vegetable Assassin totally dissed my measuring skills. Rad!
Also, how is it that every time I make cupcakes I think the batter looks different and somehow I've made it wrong? I use the god damn same cupcake mix every time! The entire time I'm mixing it, I'm thinking, this looks too runny, they are going to turn out terrible. I have some major cupcake making anxiety. Running to check them every five minutes. They always turn out da bomb diggity but still....there could be that one time they sneak a secret ingredient in and then the 'dude' will be all like, 'Uh these are disgusting, what the hell?'
Also I'm bad with measurements, like really bad. Like remember when in school they had those measurement word problems? I took one look and already knew I was fucked, so I just doodled in the margins and made farting noises with my mouth. Okay I didn't do the last one, but I thought about it.
Me today while making cupcakes: 'Is 1/3 bigger than 1/4?'
Him: 'You're kidding right? You asked me this the last time. You really don't know?'
Me: 'Uh no I didn't ask you that. I asked which was bigger 3/4 or 1/4. Duh. Now who's the retard and maybe if someone bought me measuring cups we wouldn't have to go through this every time.'
Really people. I do not need the added stress. Then you get to: fill the cups 2/3 full. For the love of all things holy! Do you fill the cups with 2/3 cup of mixture? How exactly are you supposed to find out what 2/3 of a paper cupcake liner is? Do you measure the length of the liner with a ruler and then figure out what 2/3 of that is? Why is this so difficult?
This wasn't supposed to be a post about baking cupcakes but life is weird..for real. I mean look how hard it is just to bake cupcakes....*sigh*
Also while baking the second batch I accidentally licked my finger that had batter on it. I'm may be dying as I type this. I mean it says right on the box: 'DO NOT LICK THE RAW BATTER OFF OF YOUR FINGER OR YOU WILL DIE' or something really close to that. Immediately I spat in the sink, grabbed the nearest paper towel (that probably had raw batter on it from when I wiped the counter down) and started jumping up and down screaming.
The 'dude' looks at me, rolls his eyes and continues to murder people in his little fake war. Like really? You see your girlfriend, clutching a paper towel to her tongue and screaming and you don't say anything!?! I could have bitten my tongue off, or sliced it on a knife. The fact that I didn't do any of this is regardless. Finally I take the paper towel away and yell, 'I licked my finger that had raw batter on it!' His reply? 'Gargle with Clorox.' Srsly. He should really start sleeping with one eye open.
Update: The oatmeal brand was not Kashi , so I apologize to the makers of Kashi for saying their blueberry oatmeal tasted like sawdust. I'm pretty sure Kashi tastes a lot better than sawdust. Well, like 17% sure.
Back to the reason for the post....well I forgot the reason and it's most likely because I licked that raw batter.
Update: The Vegetable Assassin totally dissed my measuring skills. Rad!
Friday, February 11, 2011
I flashed Wal*Fart today
Insert SD card.
Scanning Media for Images....................
BLAM!
Scanning Media for Images....................
BLAM!
What the cuss people? Why does this shit happen to me? Eighty bajillion pics on the SD card and this is the first one that pops up? Yeah. Cool. Lest I remind you dear folk, I live in Amish & Mennonite country. I could have been burned at the stake or a barn raising. Whatev.
Have you ever used one of these machines? You try and press the cancel button and the little sand timer pops up, it freezes and won't do anything. My pits start to sweat, my mouth goes dry as people start to walk behind me. I cough really loud, jump up, and lean across the computer monitor, laying my arm conspicuously across the offending image. I start jamming my index finger on the cancel button so fucking hard it almost breaks. I dart my eyes back and forth looking for a god damn power cord. I will shut. this. bitch. down.
I'm pretty for certain that alarm bells and whistles are going to go off and a bunch of guys with walkie-talkies and ear bud thingies are going to start sprinting over to me and take me away like the perv I am. I contemplate yelling 'THIEF!' at the top of my lungs and pointing in the direction of the old lady that just walked past me thus diverting attention away from my person. What? She probably did steal anyways...little old people are like that.
What feels like eleventy thousand hours later, pictures minus the wang are printed and paid for. Situation lockdown.
Me: Guess what I just did?
Dude: No.
Me: Well it could have made you famous. Well if a porno director happened to be walking by.
Dude: What did you do?
Me: I used the instant photo printer and your wang popped up right on the big 'ol screen.
Dude: You have dick pics on your camera?
Me: Duh! You were there when I took them. Why aren't you laughing? It was hysterical.
Silence. Shifty eyes.
I know what ya'll are thinking. Like you haven't ever taken wang pics? Geesh.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Crappin' on dangly bits & Texts from Bro Namath
Me to the 'dude' this evening while I'm sitting on his lap:
'Have you ever crapped on your wang when you were like taking a dump?'
'What?'
'You know, has crap ever gotten on your junk?'
Thinks for a moment. 'No.' (I can't even believe he can keep a straight face when I ask him questions like this. He doesn't even ask the thought process it has taken me to get to this point.) It's cool though, I am kind enough to inform him. I return to running my fingers through his hair.
'Cuz you know I was thinking about if a girl has ever crapped on her tampon string.'
Now he gives me a 'what the cuss' look.
'Well, it is in sorta the same spot. It could happen. Like when you have explosive diarrhea.'
Srsly. I've put waaaay to much time into this thought. I really want to know. So if anyone has and wants to fess up, I'm all comment ears.
'Have you ever crapped on your wang when you were like taking a dump?'
'What?'
'You know, has crap ever gotten on your junk?'
Thinks for a moment. 'No.' (I can't even believe he can keep a straight face when I ask him questions like this. He doesn't even ask the thought process it has taken me to get to this point.) It's cool though, I am kind enough to inform him. I return to running my fingers through his hair.
'Cuz you know I was thinking about if a girl has ever crapped on her tampon string.'
Now he gives me a 'what the cuss' look.
'Well, it is in sorta the same spot. It could happen. Like when you have explosive diarrhea.'
Srsly. I've put waaaay to much time into this thought. I really want to know. So if anyone has and wants to fess up, I'm all comment ears.
Now on to the latest greats from my younger bigger brother:
Me: Hey remember when you had a rat tail?
This could of been my brother*
Him: Hells yeah!
Me: I was telling the dude and he was like no way, and I said oh yes. Didn't you have a mullet too?
Him: All not my choice by the way but I was pretty BADASS if you ask me.
Me: Yeah you rocked those cut-off shirts and short shorts from the 80's too.
Him: I left dad to wear the cut-offs so short that not only were the pockets hanging out of the bottoms but you could also catch a glimpse of his ball fro from time to time. But let's not forget the fact that they were so tight, you could not only count how much change was in his pockets, tell if they were heads or tails, but almost be able to make out the year on the quarters.
Me: I almost threw up. Srsly.
Him: Welcome to my world, just don't do it in the shower. You might pass out and shit on yourself.
Me: Stop I can't breathe
Him: That's how it starts, next thing you know your laying in the rubble of what's left of your bathroom crapping out what looks like chicken broth cause your body has nothing left but vital nutrients your brain obviously isn't getting cause it's confused and has now decided it's a good idea to evacuate them out of your sore, angry, probably bleeding asshole allowing you to feel the sting of sweet relief.
People...dear people, I wish everyone knew the likes of my brother. Through the passage of time and his texts..you will.
You can thank me for it later.
I'll leave with this tidbit for next time I do a Texts From Bro Namath:
Him: You ever been able to tell what color your poop is by the feel of it?
I kid you not.
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