The Husband is obligated to commute for his job. As a commuter, and a person with a penis, he became obsessed with finding the perfect commuter car. Since he's old and practical and past the age where chicks are going to be impressed with him, he was torn between the Prius and the Jetta, two veritable chick magnets to be sure.
Being thoughtful and logical, much like our President, The Husband decided to do some "research" before deciding which vehicle to choose. Many months were spent on "research" before a decision could be reached. Truth be told, I'm fairly certain he didn't actually "do" any of the "research" himself, but rather "read" the research of others. Which is, to him, doing research, and to me, reading. When I work in the yard, I'm "puttering", when he sprays Roundup, he's "working". This is but one of our many differences.
(As I'm writing this, Jennifer Hudson is on VH1...and she looks absolutely wonderful. She's gone from fat to fabulous. She's now such a thin mint...I'm so envious.)
I have a grown son from a previous marriage who also commutes and I was telling him about The Husband's quest for the perfect vehicle. When I told him The Husband was considering buying a diesel Jetta, my son said "Mom, only gay guys drive Jetta's". The Husband, like most men of his generation, would usually shudder at the thought that someone might think he was gay. I debated telling him about the Jetta/Gay connection thinking it might be more fun to tell him "after" he bought one. Then I could spring it on him...in a good way, of course..."Sweetie...is there something you're trying to tell me by buying that Jetta???"
The choice to preserve my marriage won out and I told him about the conversation with The Son (This makes it sound like I'm referring to Jesus, doesn't it??? Guess I'll have to come up with another Stoopid name for him). Now, I was pretty sure that The Husband might be swayed by this bit of information, but again he surprised me "I don't care" he said "I'll just get a bumper sticker that says NOT A HOMO". Cracked me up. I now refer to his beloved Jetta as the "Homobile" (I know it's politically incorrect, but the name just...fits)...behind The Husband's back, of course.
The reason for this lengthy discourse...if there is one, is that the Homobile is a constant source of friction between me and The Husband. The Homobile is his "baby". He washes it, vacuums it (he never vacuums the house), waxes it, and would probably blanket it at night if he had a down comforter that would cover it. Every time I drive it we seem to get into some sort of argument. I drive it too fast, I use the brake too much, I bump into curbs...the list of crimes committed against the Homobile by yours truly is a mile long. And each crime can and is intimately detailed by The Husband long after the original occurrence.
Last night we went to a local restaurant (I had liver & onions...yum...most people hate it) for dinner. I drove as is usually the case, because frankly, I'd like to get there before midnight, and The Husband is and has always been, a Booberdoober (one who drives consistently below the speed limit).
As we leave the parking lot, The Husband feels the need to point to the parking curb in the space we've just exited and warn me for the umpteenth time that I need to be careful not to run into those because it could rip the bumper off his precious Homobile. We immediately exchanged words.
Me: "I didn't hit it"
Husband: "I didn't say you did...I'm just telling you" as he does every time I drive the royal ride.
More words ensued in this exchange and he even said, after being spoken to harshly by me, "I'm not gonna censor myself". Here I become impressed that he used the word correctly however I'm also certain that were he to spell in in a sentence he would spell it "sensor". (Just a little dig but it made me feel better)
The rest of the ride home was filled with complete silence...not a single word was spoken the entire way. Fortunately it was dark when we got home and I was tired, so I put a load of clothes in the washer, took a bath, and went to bed. Yes, I punished him by going to bed early and giving him complete control over the remote control. It was very mature of me and I'm sure he was heart broken to get to watch the Weather Channel for the rest of the night (which he L O V E S). I showed him...boy howdy.
When we have a disagreement, our house is quiet. Neither of us are yellers, we both clam up, so there have been days of silence in the past. They pass...eventually...this too, shall pass.
In order to resolve this continuing conflict, I've decided henceforth, to boycott the Homobile. No longer will I opt for fuel efficiency even in these days of outrageous gas prices. No longer will I enjoy the comfort of heated seats (I'm really gonna miss those) and the non commercial satellite radio. I will be a martyr and will suffer in silence. (Unless, of course, I really need to go somewhere and that's the only car available...I mean come on, I can only sacrifice so much...)
I'm also quite sure that The Husband will not even notice my boycott, so in effect, I'm cutting off my nose to spite my face. But I'll know...
I'm also going to secretly get a rainbow bumper sticker and put it on the back bumper of the Homobile...so when he drives it, people will really think he's gay. I realize it's probably the height of immaturity to do this....but I don't care...it's the stoopidist thing.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Friday, April 8, 2011
The Washing Machine
The other night I came home from riding after work. It was about 8 pm. Still daylight thanks to the time change, which I love, love, love. I hate it when it gets dark at 5pm. It's dark when I go to work and dark when I get off...it's annoying. I don't really know why they don't leave it on daylight savings all year long. They do in AZ, why not here??? Things would be different if I were king, let me tell you.
Anyway, when I drove in I could see that The Husband had already fed the other horses (I rent a stall in a barn with a covered arena during the winter and swap the horses out so I can ride after work...works great and forces me to ride and not be a big friggin' baby about inclement weather). Bless his heart...he really is worth his weight in gold...most of the time.
So The Husband ambled up (he doesn't walk...he ambles...s l o w l y...drives me crazy) and walked into the house with me. Having gotten home before me, he had already been inside at least once...probably more than once...
We always use the side door that goes through the laundry room. Actually it's so small it's more like a laundry closet and the addition of the new giganto bright red (I actually strayed from all white...boring appliances) front loader washer & dryer make actually doing laundry physically challenging...so I do it as infrequently as possible...that and I'm lazy. I'd rather be doing just about anything than housework. Root canals are the exception...actually any dental procedure is worse than housework. Oh God, I'm off track again...(must focus)
I followed The Husband in and immediately noticed the standing water on the floor. The Husband, of course, was oblivious as he splashed down the hallway until I pointed it out.
Me: "What's with the water??"
Husband: "What water?...huh...these are all wet" pointing at the clothes laying on the floor next to the washing machine waiting to be washed.
Husband: "Did you turn on the washing machine before you left this morning?"
Me: "No" as I'm grabbing towels to sop up the mess.
Obviously there's a problem with the washing machine. There's some "FE" code flashing on the digital display. It means nothing to me or The Husband.
I manage to get towels down and start getting the water soaked up...but it's also seeped into the hallway which has carpet...which is saturated...which is impossible to dry out...which The Husband, who never wipes his feet, is now making mud on.
Men, being only slightly removed from their caveman predecessors, feel compelled to "take charge", to fix things...even if they really don't know how. It's my personal belief that the possession of a penis gives them a false sense of superhuman power...I could be wrong...but that's how it seems. As was the case with The Husband here...bless his heart.
While I'm standing to the right of the washing machine in front of the dryer sopping up water on the floor, he opens the door of the front loading washing machine...a word of warning...never, never, do this without first looking to see if it's full of water...which it was...which added a good several gallons to the water already standing on the floor...which also filled my boots lined neatly against the opposite wall...which are about 24 inches from the washing machine He did manage to get it shut before it completely emptied its contents onto the floor...bless his heart. It was like that TV commercial that shows a house flooding...the closet door opens and out pours a closet full of water carrying the contents with it. I started laughing...the look on his face was priceless...besides what else is there to do???
I finally manage to get most of the water off the floor in the laundry room. I'm now trying to soak it off the carpet with towels...no wet/dry vac for me, no sir...too easy...plus it was way down in the barn...and as I've already established...I'm way too lazy to walk all the way down there.
While I'm sopping up water with towels, The Husband has managed to walk in and out of the house a couple of additional times...looking for the owner's manual for the washing machine. "Please God, please don't let him find it." My prayer goes unanswered...or the answer is no, I don't know which...personally I'd rather think it just didn't get heard rather than I was told no. I hate being told no...even by God...which I'm sure is probably some weird sort of blasphemy that will keep me out of heaven.
Now it's almost 9 pm and I still haven't eaten. Water is finally gone from the laundry room floor...the carpet is as good as it's gonna get for the night.
Husband: "I read the manual and found what "FE" means. It means there could be a faulty water valve" as he starts to open a little door on the front of the machine.
As I'm typing this I vaguely remember the sales person showing us this little area...I'm guessin' there was probably a significant reason he took the time to point this out...I obviously didn't pay attention.
Me: "You know, now is probably not the best time to try to fix it" said as diplomatically as possible.
Husband: "Why not?" I can see Tim the Toolman itching to get out...I expect him to start grunting soon.
Me: "Because it's late".
Husband: No answer...just starts fiddling with the little door and unhooking a tube. Basically I'm being totally ignored.
The Husband puts a five gallon bucket in front of the little door and turns a handle that starts to unscrew the filter. As he unscrews, water starts pouring out...all over the just dried floor...a few drops actually made it into the bucket. This does not please me but do I say anything??? No...I exhale loudly...heavy sigh...does The Husband hear it...of course not...he's deaf...and even after all these years, completely oblivious to my not so subtle signs of displeasure.
After the initial flood, this is mild by comparison. The Husband thinks he's fixed it. I throw a pair of jeans in and run it through the cycle. It's not fixed.
Husband: "I'll do some research tomorrow and see what I can find".
Me: Dead silence.
Before my mom passed away, we moved a little mobile home on the property for her next to our house. And...it has a brand new washer & dryer in it!!! Score! So I start lugging sopping wet towels over to the mobile home and throw them on the porch. Loads are washed and order is restored to the laundry situation.
Now most people wouldn't see this for the treasure it is.... If I'd been an organized, Johnny on the Spot type, the mobile home would have long ago been sold and moved by now. My sloth like ways and tendency to procrastinate in all matters have paid off...big time...I don't have to lug laundry to a laundromat miles away...and I feel so...vindicated.
It makes me feel better to know that procrastination isn't always the evil trait it's made out to be. It's the stoopidist thing...
P.S. The Husband's "research" consisted of finding the number of a local repairman....Thank God he was here...what would I have done without him?
Anyway, when I drove in I could see that The Husband had already fed the other horses (I rent a stall in a barn with a covered arena during the winter and swap the horses out so I can ride after work...works great and forces me to ride and not be a big friggin' baby about inclement weather). Bless his heart...he really is worth his weight in gold...most of the time.
So The Husband ambled up (he doesn't walk...he ambles...s l o w l y...drives me crazy) and walked into the house with me. Having gotten home before me, he had already been inside at least once...probably more than once...
We always use the side door that goes through the laundry room. Actually it's so small it's more like a laundry closet and the addition of the new giganto bright red (I actually strayed from all white...boring appliances) front loader washer & dryer make actually doing laundry physically challenging...so I do it as infrequently as possible...that and I'm lazy. I'd rather be doing just about anything than housework. Root canals are the exception...actually any dental procedure is worse than housework. Oh God, I'm off track again...(must focus)
I followed The Husband in and immediately noticed the standing water on the floor. The Husband, of course, was oblivious as he splashed down the hallway until I pointed it out.
Me: "What's with the water??"
Husband: "What water?...huh...these are all wet" pointing at the clothes laying on the floor next to the washing machine waiting to be washed.
Husband: "Did you turn on the washing machine before you left this morning?"
Me: "No" as I'm grabbing towels to sop up the mess.
Obviously there's a problem with the washing machine. There's some "FE" code flashing on the digital display. It means nothing to me or The Husband.
I manage to get towels down and start getting the water soaked up...but it's also seeped into the hallway which has carpet...which is saturated...which is impossible to dry out...which The Husband, who never wipes his feet, is now making mud on.
Men, being only slightly removed from their caveman predecessors, feel compelled to "take charge", to fix things...even if they really don't know how. It's my personal belief that the possession of a penis gives them a false sense of superhuman power...I could be wrong...but that's how it seems. As was the case with The Husband here...bless his heart.
While I'm standing to the right of the washing machine in front of the dryer sopping up water on the floor, he opens the door of the front loading washing machine...a word of warning...never, never, do this without first looking to see if it's full of water...which it was...which added a good several gallons to the water already standing on the floor...which also filled my boots lined neatly against the opposite wall...which are about 24 inches from the washing machine He did manage to get it shut before it completely emptied its contents onto the floor...bless his heart. It was like that TV commercial that shows a house flooding...the closet door opens and out pours a closet full of water carrying the contents with it. I started laughing...the look on his face was priceless...besides what else is there to do???
I finally manage to get most of the water off the floor in the laundry room. I'm now trying to soak it off the carpet with towels...no wet/dry vac for me, no sir...too easy...plus it was way down in the barn...and as I've already established...I'm way too lazy to walk all the way down there.
While I'm sopping up water with towels, The Husband has managed to walk in and out of the house a couple of additional times...looking for the owner's manual for the washing machine. "Please God, please don't let him find it." My prayer goes unanswered...or the answer is no, I don't know which...personally I'd rather think it just didn't get heard rather than I was told no. I hate being told no...even by God...which I'm sure is probably some weird sort of blasphemy that will keep me out of heaven.
Now it's almost 9 pm and I still haven't eaten. Water is finally gone from the laundry room floor...the carpet is as good as it's gonna get for the night.
Husband: "I read the manual and found what "FE" means. It means there could be a faulty water valve" as he starts to open a little door on the front of the machine.
As I'm typing this I vaguely remember the sales person showing us this little area...I'm guessin' there was probably a significant reason he took the time to point this out...I obviously didn't pay attention.
Me: "You know, now is probably not the best time to try to fix it" said as diplomatically as possible.
Husband: "Why not?" I can see Tim the Toolman itching to get out...I expect him to start grunting soon.
Me: "Because it's late".
Husband: No answer...just starts fiddling with the little door and unhooking a tube. Basically I'm being totally ignored.
The Husband puts a five gallon bucket in front of the little door and turns a handle that starts to unscrew the filter. As he unscrews, water starts pouring out...all over the just dried floor...a few drops actually made it into the bucket. This does not please me but do I say anything??? No...I exhale loudly...heavy sigh...does The Husband hear it...of course not...he's deaf...and even after all these years, completely oblivious to my not so subtle signs of displeasure.
After the initial flood, this is mild by comparison. The Husband thinks he's fixed it. I throw a pair of jeans in and run it through the cycle. It's not fixed.
Husband: "I'll do some research tomorrow and see what I can find".
Me: Dead silence.
Before my mom passed away, we moved a little mobile home on the property for her next to our house. And...it has a brand new washer & dryer in it!!! Score! So I start lugging sopping wet towels over to the mobile home and throw them on the porch. Loads are washed and order is restored to the laundry situation.
Now most people wouldn't see this for the treasure it is.... If I'd been an organized, Johnny on the Spot type, the mobile home would have long ago been sold and moved by now. My sloth like ways and tendency to procrastinate in all matters have paid off...big time...I don't have to lug laundry to a laundromat miles away...and I feel so...vindicated.
It makes me feel better to know that procrastination isn't always the evil trait it's made out to be. It's the stoopidist thing...
P.S. The Husband's "research" consisted of finding the number of a local repairman....Thank God he was here...what would I have done without him?
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Stoopid Thing I Did
Actually it's more of a stoopid thing I said. And now I feel guilty...and I'm not even Jewish...and why is it that guilt is always associated with being Jewish??? Why not Catholic or Protestant? Is it an ethnicity thing or a religious thing??? Something for greater minds than mine to ponder I guess.
This is what happened. I was talking to a woman at work the other day and I was describing a man to her. I called him a big fat slob. As it so happens the woman I was talking to was a large woman, okay, I'll say it...fat. As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I knew it was the wrong thing to say. So what did I do? I ignored it. I went on like it didn't happen and was no big deal while all the time inside I was silently praying, as usual, that God would open the ground and swallow me up. It seems like every time the opportunity presents itself, I happily comply and shove my foot as far down my throat as it'll fit. Why don't I think before I speak? Will I ever learn??? At this late stage in my life I'm thinking it's doubtful. How is it that some people always manage to say the right thing at the right time? And why can't I be one of those people? Do they sit around and plan appropriate responses? I don't want to have to watch what I say every minute of the day...but then again, I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings either.
Is it really wrong to use the word "fat" around someone who is "fat"? Or do I just feel guilty because it seems wrong. I mean if you're fat, you know it...my unbuttoned pants while I sit here typing will attest to that fact. I don't have a problem using the word "skinny" around skinny people so why the big deal about fat? Should I have said large? Have you ever called someone a "Large Slob"? I don't think so. Wouldn't it seem weird to call someone "large" around a fat person? Wouldn't they immediately know you were only using the word "large" because they were fat? This is the kind of stoopid shit I think about.
Having some extra girthage myself I think I'm fat. But compared to some other women I know (like the one I was talking to) my girthage can't hold a candle to their girthage. Then I feel guilty if I whine about my girthage around someone with way more girthage than me. Someone with twice the tonnage wouldn't think I'm fat, but I am. I have fat thighs, a fat butt, and since I hit my 50's, fat spilling over the top of my jeans...charmingly called a muffin top...but I don't know why they call it that...there's nothing sweet or cute about it.
So now my dilemma is do I apologize to a fat person for calling someone else a fat slob around them? Should I have apologized then ? What if she didn't notice and now I go and apologize for using the "f" word (as in fat...not fuck)? Will she now think I'm drawing attention to her fat by apologizing for using the "f" word? I don't really know this person that well...at least not well enough to gauge if she'll be offended more by the apology or by the original faux pas. Is this what they call a conundrum?
I hate confrontation....worse than almost anything. I get almost sick to my stomach at the thought of being involved in a confrontation of any kind. What if I apologize and she starts telling me how much I offended her...what do I do then? Cry??? Puke??? Or worse...get a giant case of nervous diarrhea?? Which would involve me being a sneak a pooper at work. I'm almost making myself sick just thinking about this. Maybe I could just avoid her for the rest of my life..this actually sounds like an option I would choose...sad, but true.
Of course, I realize the whole incident could have been avoided had I been nicer. If I hadn't originally been such a bitch and called some poor schmuck a big fat slob this never would have happened...it's the stoopidist thing.
This is what happened. I was talking to a woman at work the other day and I was describing a man to her. I called him a big fat slob. As it so happens the woman I was talking to was a large woman, okay, I'll say it...fat. As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I knew it was the wrong thing to say. So what did I do? I ignored it. I went on like it didn't happen and was no big deal while all the time inside I was silently praying, as usual, that God would open the ground and swallow me up. It seems like every time the opportunity presents itself, I happily comply and shove my foot as far down my throat as it'll fit. Why don't I think before I speak? Will I ever learn??? At this late stage in my life I'm thinking it's doubtful. How is it that some people always manage to say the right thing at the right time? And why can't I be one of those people? Do they sit around and plan appropriate responses? I don't want to have to watch what I say every minute of the day...but then again, I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings either.
Is it really wrong to use the word "fat" around someone who is "fat"? Or do I just feel guilty because it seems wrong. I mean if you're fat, you know it...my unbuttoned pants while I sit here typing will attest to that fact. I don't have a problem using the word "skinny" around skinny people so why the big deal about fat? Should I have said large? Have you ever called someone a "Large Slob"? I don't think so. Wouldn't it seem weird to call someone "large" around a fat person? Wouldn't they immediately know you were only using the word "large" because they were fat? This is the kind of stoopid shit I think about.
Having some extra girthage myself I think I'm fat. But compared to some other women I know (like the one I was talking to) my girthage can't hold a candle to their girthage. Then I feel guilty if I whine about my girthage around someone with way more girthage than me. Someone with twice the tonnage wouldn't think I'm fat, but I am. I have fat thighs, a fat butt, and since I hit my 50's, fat spilling over the top of my jeans...charmingly called a muffin top...but I don't know why they call it that...there's nothing sweet or cute about it.
So now my dilemma is do I apologize to a fat person for calling someone else a fat slob around them? Should I have apologized then ? What if she didn't notice and now I go and apologize for using the "f" word (as in fat...not fuck)? Will she now think I'm drawing attention to her fat by apologizing for using the "f" word? I don't really know this person that well...at least not well enough to gauge if she'll be offended more by the apology or by the original faux pas. Is this what they call a conundrum?
I hate confrontation....worse than almost anything. I get almost sick to my stomach at the thought of being involved in a confrontation of any kind. What if I apologize and she starts telling me how much I offended her...what do I do then? Cry??? Puke??? Or worse...get a giant case of nervous diarrhea?? Which would involve me being a sneak a pooper at work. I'm almost making myself sick just thinking about this. Maybe I could just avoid her for the rest of my life..this actually sounds like an option I would choose...sad, but true.
Of course, I realize the whole incident could have been avoided had I been nicer. If I hadn't originally been such a bitch and called some poor schmuck a big fat slob this never would have happened...it's the stoopidist thing.
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Reality TV
I hate to admit it but I'm a reality TV show junkie. It started with Survivor, went on to the Amazing Race, and now I'm pretty much hooked on any reality show that comes along. I have been know to watch marathon Bridezillas (thank the Lord they invented Tivo/DVR...I don't know what I did before this miraculous invention), marathon Real Housewives, marathon Idiot Abroad (my current favorite show of all time), and now on the Oprah Winfrey Network I've been watching "Behind the Scenes".
Personally, I don't know how ANY of the girls on Bridezillas have managed to get some poor schmuck to marry them. These women display the most spoiled rotten, self centered behavior I've ever seen...and I'm glued to the TV. The "C" word was invented for girls like this. Can you believe people actually behave like that? Who would want to marry someone like that??? They must just be on extra bad behavior so they can be on TV. It says something about our society I suppose...I do know if I had ever talked to my parents the way those girls talk to theirs, I would have been picking myself up off the ground. I wonder if they look back and have the good grace to be embarrassed by their behavior? And why do all the heavier girls always wear skin tight dresses????? Why would you wear a dress that accentuates every single roll of fat on your body? I mean, let's face it...white isn't the most slimming color to begin with...it's even less attractive when it's got a tonnage of human flesh squeezed in between seams threatening to pop open at any time. It's gotta come out somewhere... usually with boobage becoming part of the neckage under the chinage...I'm just sayin'...it's not real attractive.
I love all the Real Housewives. Again, bad behavior on this show is the norm...but they all look so fabulous while behaving badly that it doesn't seem so bad. They have housewives for pretty much every big city, Orange County (okay I know...it's not really a city), New York, Beverly Hills, Atlanta, Miami..I don't think they have one from Dallas yet, do they? If they do, I missed it, and I find it hard to believe I could miss something like that. I think they should do a white trash version of the Real Housewives. It could show us shopping at the local WalMart telling our friends how we really got a good deal on Kraft Macaroni and Cheese and now we got us enough to last us for most of the year. Add a box of Moon Pies and a bottle of RC cola and we got us a feast in the makin'. I think some of us have already been seen on Hoarders...do you think they'd let us be on two shows at once? (...every time I watch that show I have to throw something away...I seem really normal compared to those folks)
On the current Amazing Race right now is an Asian father/daughter team. The father is a complete dickhead. I like the Cowboys. They get along and aren't assholes. The mom & deaf son kinda got old. I realize it must be hard being deaf...but come on. What a mamma's boy...I wanted to slap him. Quit your cryin' ya big baby...I know that's being completely insensitive but I can't help it...I also kinda like Asperger Boy (that's what I like to call him...I think I just like saying it) and his brother. Ultimately, I hope the Cowboys win.
On to my current love...Karl Pilkington. What can I say??? An Idiot Abroad is my current favorite show. I would rather watch an hour of Karl Pilkington (don't ya just love the name even??) than just about anything. Just the looks on his face make me laugh. My favorite episode was when Karl was in Mexico and ended up being a masked, caped crusading wrestler. That's some funny shit. I hope they have Season Two in the works. Head like a fuckin' orange... it's soooo true. Remember the old commercials for MTV?? I want my M T V. Well I want my Pil king ton. I can't help it...it's the stoopidist thing..
P.S. I hope Boston Rob finally wins a Survivor. After all this time he deserves it. He's a pretty funny guy. And that weird Phillip...Mr. Special Agent Man? WTF??? Talk about a fruit loop. Jeff Probst is right. They should bring Coach & Phillip back to team up together.
Personally, I don't know how ANY of the girls on Bridezillas have managed to get some poor schmuck to marry them. These women display the most spoiled rotten, self centered behavior I've ever seen...and I'm glued to the TV. The "C" word was invented for girls like this. Can you believe people actually behave like that? Who would want to marry someone like that??? They must just be on extra bad behavior so they can be on TV. It says something about our society I suppose...I do know if I had ever talked to my parents the way those girls talk to theirs, I would have been picking myself up off the ground. I wonder if they look back and have the good grace to be embarrassed by their behavior? And why do all the heavier girls always wear skin tight dresses????? Why would you wear a dress that accentuates every single roll of fat on your body? I mean, let's face it...white isn't the most slimming color to begin with...it's even less attractive when it's got a tonnage of human flesh squeezed in between seams threatening to pop open at any time. It's gotta come out somewhere... usually with boobage becoming part of the neckage under the chinage...I'm just sayin'...it's not real attractive.
I love all the Real Housewives. Again, bad behavior on this show is the norm...but they all look so fabulous while behaving badly that it doesn't seem so bad. They have housewives for pretty much every big city, Orange County (okay I know...it's not really a city), New York, Beverly Hills, Atlanta, Miami..I don't think they have one from Dallas yet, do they? If they do, I missed it, and I find it hard to believe I could miss something like that. I think they should do a white trash version of the Real Housewives. It could show us shopping at the local WalMart telling our friends how we really got a good deal on Kraft Macaroni and Cheese and now we got us enough to last us for most of the year. Add a box of Moon Pies and a bottle of RC cola and we got us a feast in the makin'. I think some of us have already been seen on Hoarders...do you think they'd let us be on two shows at once? (...every time I watch that show I have to throw something away...I seem really normal compared to those folks)
On the current Amazing Race right now is an Asian father/daughter team. The father is a complete dickhead. I like the Cowboys. They get along and aren't assholes. The mom & deaf son kinda got old. I realize it must be hard being deaf...but come on. What a mamma's boy...I wanted to slap him. Quit your cryin' ya big baby...I know that's being completely insensitive but I can't help it...I also kinda like Asperger Boy (that's what I like to call him...I think I just like saying it) and his brother. Ultimately, I hope the Cowboys win.
On to my current love...Karl Pilkington. What can I say??? An Idiot Abroad is my current favorite show. I would rather watch an hour of Karl Pilkington (don't ya just love the name even??) than just about anything. Just the looks on his face make me laugh. My favorite episode was when Karl was in Mexico and ended up being a masked, caped crusading wrestler. That's some funny shit. I hope they have Season Two in the works. Head like a fuckin' orange... it's soooo true. Remember the old commercials for MTV?? I want my M T V. Well I want my Pil king ton. I can't help it...it's the stoopidist thing..
P.S. I hope Boston Rob finally wins a Survivor. After all this time he deserves it. He's a pretty funny guy. And that weird Phillip...Mr. Special Agent Man? WTF??? Talk about a fruit loop. Jeff Probst is right. They should bring Coach & Phillip back to team up together.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Bathroom Emergency!!!
I've complained frequently about the bathroom in the building where I work. Its an employee only area that is "fragrance free" area and as such usually smells like an outhouse. Sometimes it's so bad the smell wafts down the hallway. It is truly disgusting. Not the point today...
Yesterday before I left work I had to pee. I usually try to use the extra large handicapped stall since the other ones are so small that your elbows practically touch the walls on either side. I'm a little claustrophobic and the bigger one is just more comfortable. In a pinch, I'll suffer through the smaller ones though...sometimes you just can't be too choosy. I was really happy that the big stall was empty when I walked in the bathroom. I know it's pathetic that something like having my favorite stall free makes me happy...it's even weird having a "favorite" stall, I know. Then, something caught my eye...there was something on the floor in front of the toilet.
I couldn't believe my eyes...there was a pile of shit on the floor! I'm being literal here...not just a pile of "stuff"...it was actual human fecal matter. Now I'm old and my eyesight's not as good as it once was and...this is embarrassing to admit...I bent down in front of it to see if it actually was what I thought it was...and it was! Thank God nobody came in and saw me bending down in front of the offending mass...it may have looked like I was paying homage to a pile of shit or something.
WTF!!! Who would shit on the floor in a restroom with the toilet an inch away??? And who wouldn't clean it up if it was an accident? I mean, there's been times when everyone's been dancing in place trying to get their pants down before the poop starts shooting out. Why is it that it's always harder to get your pants down when you have to pee or poop really bad? You can never get the door unlocked quickly either if you're trying to get in the house after a mad dash from town...why is that? Now I can understand there can be some urgency involved in the whole "process". But usually when something like that happens, the outpouring is, shall we say, more fluid...more explosive...this was definitely a turd fully formed.
To make matters worse, whoever did it stepped in it...at least I hope it was the pooper and not some poor schmoe who actually walked in to sneak a poop and ended up stepping in someone else's poop. How friggin' horrible would that be? Nobody wants to poop at work, least of all me...that's strictly "at home duty" as far as I'm concerned but there are occasions when even I've been a sneak a pooper.
So I did what any good concerned employee would do. I rushed back to my office and grabbed the Princess and made her go look. There we were, two grown ass women, one old, one young, standing in the women's "fragrance free" bathroom laughing hysterically at the disgusting fact that someone pooped on the floor. Every time someone came in we made them look too...very mature...every one else laughed too...thank God we weren't the only ones. It would have made us look really weird if we were laughing at it and everyone else was horrified and serious.
The "poop on the floor" incident generated several emails throughout the administration. Everyone was horrified that someone would do that...then they laughed. Personally I think a loud speaker announcement would have been wonderful.
Can't you imagine hearing on an intercom system "Whoever just pooped on the floor in the women's "fragrance free" restroom (we must be specific about location lest there be other floor poopers in other restrooms) report to your supervisor's office immediately. We have your DNA...we know who you are. You stepped in it and we are calling in the CSI gang with magic chemicals that will track your footprints to your desk."
At this point, everyone would be looking around at each other wondering who the pooper is...rumors would start to fly...everyone would be suspect...okay, not the men because they have their own bathroom...everyone else would be fair game though...
I still can't believe someone actually did this and that my friends and I got so many laughs out of it...it's the stoopidist thing.
Yesterday before I left work I had to pee. I usually try to use the extra large handicapped stall since the other ones are so small that your elbows practically touch the walls on either side. I'm a little claustrophobic and the bigger one is just more comfortable. In a pinch, I'll suffer through the smaller ones though...sometimes you just can't be too choosy. I was really happy that the big stall was empty when I walked in the bathroom. I know it's pathetic that something like having my favorite stall free makes me happy...it's even weird having a "favorite" stall, I know. Then, something caught my eye...there was something on the floor in front of the toilet.
I couldn't believe my eyes...there was a pile of shit on the floor! I'm being literal here...not just a pile of "stuff"...it was actual human fecal matter. Now I'm old and my eyesight's not as good as it once was and...this is embarrassing to admit...I bent down in front of it to see if it actually was what I thought it was...and it was! Thank God nobody came in and saw me bending down in front of the offending mass...it may have looked like I was paying homage to a pile of shit or something.
WTF!!! Who would shit on the floor in a restroom with the toilet an inch away??? And who wouldn't clean it up if it was an accident? I mean, there's been times when everyone's been dancing in place trying to get their pants down before the poop starts shooting out. Why is it that it's always harder to get your pants down when you have to pee or poop really bad? You can never get the door unlocked quickly either if you're trying to get in the house after a mad dash from town...why is that? Now I can understand there can be some urgency involved in the whole "process". But usually when something like that happens, the outpouring is, shall we say, more fluid...more explosive...this was definitely a turd fully formed.
To make matters worse, whoever did it stepped in it...at least I hope it was the pooper and not some poor schmoe who actually walked in to sneak a poop and ended up stepping in someone else's poop. How friggin' horrible would that be? Nobody wants to poop at work, least of all me...that's strictly "at home duty" as far as I'm concerned but there are occasions when even I've been a sneak a pooper.
So I did what any good concerned employee would do. I rushed back to my office and grabbed the Princess and made her go look. There we were, two grown ass women, one old, one young, standing in the women's "fragrance free" bathroom laughing hysterically at the disgusting fact that someone pooped on the floor. Every time someone came in we made them look too...very mature...every one else laughed too...thank God we weren't the only ones. It would have made us look really weird if we were laughing at it and everyone else was horrified and serious.
The "poop on the floor" incident generated several emails throughout the administration. Everyone was horrified that someone would do that...then they laughed. Personally I think a loud speaker announcement would have been wonderful.
Can't you imagine hearing on an intercom system "Whoever just pooped on the floor in the women's "fragrance free" restroom (we must be specific about location lest there be other floor poopers in other restrooms) report to your supervisor's office immediately. We have your DNA...we know who you are. You stepped in it and we are calling in the CSI gang with magic chemicals that will track your footprints to your desk."
At this point, everyone would be looking around at each other wondering who the pooper is...rumors would start to fly...everyone would be suspect...okay, not the men because they have their own bathroom...everyone else would be fair game though...
I still can't believe someone actually did this and that my friends and I got so many laughs out of it...it's the stoopidist thing.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Stoopid Thing I Did
Today I had an appointment with a young man I'd never met in the lobby of a large government building to have him sign some papers. I took the Princess with me since she had some things she needed to do and more importantly, to keep me company...(it is all about me, after all). We walk in all fat, dumb & happy and go to the end of the waiting line for service. There's one young man in front of me so I thought I'd see if it was the guy I'm there to meet. This is our conversation.
Me: "Hi, are you Matthew?"
SHE: "NO"
Me: Please God, let the ground swallow me up (to myself)
Me: Silently mouthing to the Princess "It's a girl!!! Did you see?...I just asked
that girl if she was "Matthew"....
Princess: Trying very hard not to laugh out loud at me obviously being a moron "mouthing" what I'd just done...like she didn't hear me while standing a whole six inches away from me..
I do shit like this all the time...it's the stoopidist thing.
Me: "Hi, are you Matthew?"
SHE: "NO"
Me: Please God, let the ground swallow me up (to myself)
Me: Silently mouthing to the Princess "It's a girl!!! Did you see?...I just asked
that girl if she was "Matthew"....
Princess: Trying very hard not to laugh out loud at me obviously being a moron "mouthing" what I'd just done...like she didn't hear me while standing a whole six inches away from me..
I do shit like this all the time...it's the stoopidist thing.
Food For The Day - Monday
I've decided to start over and actually try to curb my sugar, fat, carb, caloric intake. Looking back I think I can see where I'm going wrong...it's all the crap I'm shoving in my face. Maybe if I'd just keep the pie hole shut and stop shoving junk into it all day long my pants would fit. Just a thought. I may be wrong...first time in 2011 (just kidding).
Diet Pepsi
1 Container of Activia Yogurt (I'm not going for the intestinal benefits here, I just like the taste...please, please, please don't make me poop at work.)
I walked by the bowl of jelly beans and almost grabbed some. I want them really bad.
I ate a cheese stick...Colby cheddar. Immediately following I ate two York Peppermint Patty's...I can't believe how weak and spineless I am. I have no will power whatsoever. WTF is wrong with me??? I didn't even really think about it when I ate them. Okay, I didn't think about the first one, but I did think about the second one.
One orange followed by six Triscuits and a piece of Havarti cheese. (I'm trying not to let my stumble earlier affect the rest of my day...I still really want to dip into the bowl of jelly beans....they're calling me.)
I ate two more peppermint patty's at work. And about 10 almonds.
Once I got home, I ate 3 chocolate chip cookies...and, get this...another Lean Cuisine. I should have gone riding after work...I wouldn't have eaten so much. But the dogs got out of the yard and I went home to fix the radio fence. Lately things have been going wrong...collars quit working...the receiver box quits working...there's breaks in the wire...I dunno...
So I get home and trudge down to the pump shed...gonna fix it...
I have to say here, The Husband loves to build sheds. Some people live on property dotted with beautiful shrubbery...I live on property dotted with sheds. I told him the next shed he builds has to be a two story shed. At least it would be a little different...a shed with character. Pretty soon I expect him to build connecting covered walkways between his sheds. Kind of like the Winchester Mystery House...the white trash version. I figure it's the natural course of events to come at our house. But it makes him happy and we're old and this is one of the few things he can still do...we have to take our happiness where we can find it...
Anyway, I go into said shed (I could go off on a Seussian session here...but I won't) and unplug the radio receiver box, unhook the wires and hook them all back up the way it was. Pretty thmaaart don't you think??? I turn the dial (which sets the boundary limit) and immediately hear the Cartoon Dog yelp...guess she was too close...at least I know her collar works. I turn the dial the other way and start over...another Cartoon yelp...now I feel really bad. I've shocked the poor dog twice in a row...but...at least the light is out and I think that's my goal. At least it was with the old box.
Hiking back up to the house, I'm looking for the Cartoon Dog. There she is hiding under the trailer. I feel really bad because she's the only one who stays in the yard even when she doesn't have her collar on...and she's the dunder who gets shocked. I swap collars and put the one I know works on little one eyed Jasper. Roxie is over at the neighbors visiting the Hooligans (that's what I call the neighbor's dogs). When she comes home, she'll sit patiently outside the fence waiting for me to come remove her collar so she can cross the boundary. She's pretty smart. She knows how to beat the fence. It may be time to put up a real fence to keep her in. We shall see.
The fabulous part is I only ate one, count 'em, one fudge bar tonight...it's the stoopidist thing.
Diet Pepsi
1 Container of Activia Yogurt (I'm not going for the intestinal benefits here, I just like the taste...please, please, please don't make me poop at work.)
I walked by the bowl of jelly beans and almost grabbed some. I want them really bad.
I ate a cheese stick...Colby cheddar. Immediately following I ate two York Peppermint Patty's...I can't believe how weak and spineless I am. I have no will power whatsoever. WTF is wrong with me??? I didn't even really think about it when I ate them. Okay, I didn't think about the first one, but I did think about the second one.
One orange followed by six Triscuits and a piece of Havarti cheese. (I'm trying not to let my stumble earlier affect the rest of my day...I still really want to dip into the bowl of jelly beans....they're calling me.)
I ate two more peppermint patty's at work. And about 10 almonds.
Once I got home, I ate 3 chocolate chip cookies...and, get this...another Lean Cuisine. I should have gone riding after work...I wouldn't have eaten so much. But the dogs got out of the yard and I went home to fix the radio fence. Lately things have been going wrong...collars quit working...the receiver box quits working...there's breaks in the wire...I dunno...
So I get home and trudge down to the pump shed...gonna fix it...
I have to say here, The Husband loves to build sheds. Some people live on property dotted with beautiful shrubbery...I live on property dotted with sheds. I told him the next shed he builds has to be a two story shed. At least it would be a little different...a shed with character. Pretty soon I expect him to build connecting covered walkways between his sheds. Kind of like the Winchester Mystery House...the white trash version. I figure it's the natural course of events to come at our house. But it makes him happy and we're old and this is one of the few things he can still do...we have to take our happiness where we can find it...
Anyway, I go into said shed (I could go off on a Seussian session here...but I won't) and unplug the radio receiver box, unhook the wires and hook them all back up the way it was. Pretty thmaaart don't you think??? I turn the dial (which sets the boundary limit) and immediately hear the Cartoon Dog yelp...guess she was too close...at least I know her collar works. I turn the dial the other way and start over...another Cartoon yelp...now I feel really bad. I've shocked the poor dog twice in a row...but...at least the light is out and I think that's my goal. At least it was with the old box.
Hiking back up to the house, I'm looking for the Cartoon Dog. There she is hiding under the trailer. I feel really bad because she's the only one who stays in the yard even when she doesn't have her collar on...and she's the dunder who gets shocked. I swap collars and put the one I know works on little one eyed Jasper. Roxie is over at the neighbors visiting the Hooligans (that's what I call the neighbor's dogs). When she comes home, she'll sit patiently outside the fence waiting for me to come remove her collar so she can cross the boundary. She's pretty smart. She knows how to beat the fence. It may be time to put up a real fence to keep her in. We shall see.
The fabulous part is I only ate one, count 'em, one fudge bar tonight...it's the stoopidist thing.
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