The Four Way Stop

Is there anything more of a cluster fuck than a four way stop during heavy traffic???  I don't think so. Never are people more indecisive.  Do I go first?  Should I let them go first?  Who goes first?  Who knows?  Nobody knows, that's who.

So what happens?  Everybody tries to go at the same time.  Start, stop.  Start, stop.  Okay, you go.  No, you go.  Okay, I'll go.  No, I'll go.  It's a total cluster.  To be fair, the rules of the road are vague.  Who ever (or is it whom ever?) gets to the intersection first has the right of way...and if more than one vehicle the vehicle on the right goes first.  But if four vehicles get there at the same time who's on the right?  Isn't everyone on the right of someone?  Personally I think someone with a penis must have come up with this rule.

When everyone gets there at the same time, nobody knows what to do...everybody starts hesitating, and the impatient "waving on" begins.  Everyone starts waving the other cars to go ahead...but they all start waving at the same time and the cluster begins anew.  Until...one brave soul feels the stirring of testicular expansion from rasinette to full fledged grape and barrels through the intersection studiously avoiding eye contact with everyone lest they see a middle finger raised in opposition.

You'd think, with my little road rage problem, that I'd be an aggressive driver...not the case.  Sadly, I am never that brave soul barreling through the intersection.  I want to be...but, truth be told, I'm a wimpy driver.  I may, in fact, be the wimpiest of the wimps.  So wimpy am I that I actually TRY to be the last vehicle at the intersection so I can be sure, deep in my heart, that I am legally bound to go last.  I want no confrontation, no middle fingers raised in my direction, no ugly glares from fellow drivers...I basically just want to get through the intersection physically and emotionally unscathed.   How friggin' wimpy is that???

My friend, Smellie Noellie, is a bold driver.  Years of traveling on L.A. freeways have made her fearless of driving conditions that make me cringe.  Smellie knows no fear and is oblivious to glares and raised middle fingers of fellow motorists.  Any hesitation on the part of others is an opportunity for her to take control...which she does instantly.  I wish I could be like her...although she is a bit of a car snob preferring BMW's to any other vehicle on the planet.  I don't really care what I drive as long as it doesn't break down and the heater and air conditioner work.  I'd like the radio to work too but it's not as vital to me as the other two are.

Since it's a new year, I'm going to try to be more a more assertive driver.  Maybe 2013 will be the year my rasinettes turn to grapes and I finally stop deliberately getting to the intersection last.  Maybe 2013 will be the year my road rage will cease to exist and I'll stop calling fellow drivers "fuckhead", "asswipe", "dickhead", "fuckin' asshole" and/or any combination thereof.  Maybe 2013 will be the year I'll actually try to eat healthful foods.

Even better...maybe...2013 will be the year I win the lottery and can hire Smellie to drive me wherever I need to go.  Then I wouldn't have to worry about silly things like being wimpy, and dreams of testicular expansion...it's the stoopidist thing.

WTF???

It could've been the popcorn...or the fudge...I think that's the only thing I've eaten, except for a couple of Baby Bella cheeses this morning.  I have no idea what all of a sudden causes gas to fill one's body to near bursting.  I swear if I looked in the mirror I'd see the Michelin Man...or in this case...Michelin Woman, staring back at me with a "WTF" look on her face.

Fortunately, I'm alone...The Husband hasn't gotten home from work so it's just me and the animals. They don't really mind suddenly expelled gas...no big deal to them.  If there's any noise involved they look a little surprised, but that's about all.  Except for Briley, The Cartoon Dog,...she has a nose that guides her every move.  I'm forced to give her a pizzle chew to keep her from following me around sniffing.  The pizzle stick is usually the foulest smelling thing in the house...not tonight...tonight I hold that honor...although it shames me to admit it.

It started at work right before quitting time.  I went running to the bathroom...actually I walked...really fast, but not so fast that it looked like I was in a hurry...people tend to notice other people running to the bathroom and I didn't really want to draw attention to myself.  I thought I was going to have to be a Sneak A Pooper so I was actually relieved to just have a giant fart trapped inside me...and thank the Lord, it was a SILENT one.  Who'd a thunk I'd be happy to be farting in the bathroom at work???

At this point, I'm thinking I should probably just go home after work & skip riding.  The bathroom at the barn is old and what if I end up having to be a Sneak A Pooper at the barn and the toilet won't flush?  This is oddly one of my worst nightmares...being somewhere having to Sneak A Poop, and the toilet won't flush.  What can I say?  I know it's stoopid but I can't help it.  Pooping is just "at home duty"...

So far so good...fortunately I don't smoke real cigarettes anymore...I use the fake electric ones.  I'd be afraid to use a lighter anywhere around me...scared I'd catch the air around me on fire.  I used to know guys who'd deliberately light their farts.  I've never done it and I'd hate for them to find my charred body and surroundings burnt to a crisp from  accidentally igniting the methane spewing from my hiney.  I also have to admit I don't know what "burnt to a crisp" means.  Does it refer to the texture of the item?  Or is there some kind of item that's a crisp?  I think I've heard Karl Pilkington talk about crisps on An Idiot Abroad.  I think they were some kind of chips in a bag.  But why not call them chips then?  Why call the bathroom a loo?

Too many whys for me...for now, I have to change my location.  The air around the computer smells really bad...it's the stoopidist thing.

Sneak-A-Pooper Fail

I got a text message from OF yesterday (Old Friend of undesirable snackage fame).

  OF:  OMG!  I went to Wal Mart with BBQ sauce all over my freaking face.  Nobody said anything.

  Me:  Funniest thing I've heard all day.  Would've been better with pictures...just sayin'.

  OF:  I could not believe it when I saw it in the rear view mirror.  I looked like a 2 yr old.  Nobody               said a thing in the store

  Me:  OMG, The Princess said she just thought she saw one of my friends at the store w/stuff all over           her face but was too embarrassed to say anything.

  OF:  Lol you liar.

  Me:  She has pictures...you'll be in the next "People of WalMart" email...

It made me laugh out loud.  I always love it when stuff like this happens to other people.  Usually these little humiliations happen to me so it makes me feel good to know that I'm not the only one.

I was even more glad it wasn't me this weekend at Bunco.  The monthly game was at the SIL's (Sister In Law) house where the hostess with the most-ess prepared a feast fit for kings...or in this case queens...because we're all women...not flamboyant gay men...in case I need to clarify that point.

OF, Scari, Smellie and I met at OF's house and all hopped into OF's car for the long ride into old folks land in the hills.  OF hosted a party at her house the night before for people from her office where they consumed mass quantities of food and adult beverages...then broke out the karaoke machine...personally, I don't think you could get me drunk enough to sing in public...and I really don't want to test this theory.  Anyway, it was a busy weekend for OF whose stomach is apparently not made of cast iron as was previously thought.

When we got to the SIL's, we spent the first thirty minutes drinking and stuffing our faces.  The SIL had a bottle of Iced Cake Vodka...sounds really good...and it was...just a little too sweet.  I mixed it with citrus punch to try to cut the sweetness to no avail.  It reminded me of drinking sloe gin and orange juice when I was in high school.  Like the latter, it made me feel like I was going to throw up after a little while.  Note to self...avoid cake vodka in the future.

We got through the first round of Bunco fine, but during the second round as we were nearing the end, all of a sudden OF says to her partner "You're going to have to roll for me"...as she jumps up and practically runs from the table.

We finish the round...sans OF...when everyone decides to take a break so we can stuff our fat faces even more than we previously had...and use the bathroom.

"Oh, someone beat me to the bathroom" bemoans poor Smellie while the rest of us stuff our faces.  The bathroom door is right off the kitchen where we're all gathered and you can see from the light under the door that the room is occupied.

Smellie's easily distracted by food and chatter for a few minutes when she turns back to the bathroom and sees again to her dismay that it's occupied..."Oh I missed it again"  she says, thinking that whoever was in there came out and some other lucky full bladdered party goer slipped in before her. Smellie's now on a mission to be the next person in the bathroom come hell or high water.

"Who's in the bathroom anyway?"  yells Smellie to no one in particular.  The bathroom door remains shut...

At this point I get the giggles because I know that poor OF is stuck in the bathroom pooping her brains out wishing with all her heart that we'd all just magically disappear from her world so she could exit the bathroom with some shred of dignity...but noooooo....

"Hey, who's in there?"  Smellie continues her verbal assault...(In her defense, had she known the circumstances she never would have said a word...and I'm sure she felt bad once she made it into the bathroom where her keen sense of smell told the story of the previous occupant.)

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the bathroom door opens and OF, looking six feet tall, is framed in the doorway...all eyes turned...it was an E.F. Hutton moment (there's a blast from the past).

OF musters as much dignity on the walk of shame from the bathroom as is humanly possible.  I start laughing again because every time I get embarrassed or nervous that's what I do...and I'm totally embarrassed for OF...and soooo thankful that it wasn't me.

We, at least me and most of the women I know, get so embarrassed by having to poop in public.  It's like we think people don't really know we poop if we only do it at home.  With the exception of Smellie, who worked in sales for years and spent her days travelling and who proudly declares herself "an indiscriminate pooper" who will poop anywhere, anytime, everyone I know is mortified at the thought of pooping in public.  When most of us are forced to Sneak-A-Poop, we do the courtesy flush to cover sound and try to eliminate smell...everyone knows what you're doing...but we still do it.  Someday maybe I'll be mature enough to poop and fart loudly and proudly.  So far, I'm still an immature wimp.

Most men, and I say most because I'm sure there are exceptions, couldn't care less where they poop. If they gotta go, they go.  They may get embarrassed but if they are, they just cover well by making jokes "better light a match, ha ha ha"etc.  Which, by the way, doesn't work...it only leaves an unpleasant sulfur smell on top of the poop smell.   So please don't think, if the bathroom lacks air freshener, lighting a match will do any good.  Everyone will just know you tried to cover the poop smell with a match.

There is, however, a new wonderfully fabulous product called Poo-Pourre.  You spray it in the toilet before you poop and it magically eliminates the poop smell.  And, unfortunately for OF since she didn't have one, comes with a handy purse sized sprayer...which I will now carry with me wherever I go in case I'm forced to be a Sneak-a-pooper.



I try to get The Husband to spray before he poops.  So far, no luck.  He doesn't even think of it. He comes out of the bathroom and the whole house (which is really tiny) stinks to high heaven. 

"I put that Poo-Pourre on the window sill right by the toilet so that you'd use it"  I tell him in between gag reflexes.

This is his reply..."Well, don'tcha want to know when I've been there???"...Um, no, not really...it's such a guy remark...and it's the stoopidist thing...

A Backwards Hick Story

I started buying these Sassybax bras a couple of years ago.  They're similar to a Genie bra, no hooks, you step in to them...and they kinda fit like a sports bra but not quite so boobage flattening.  The underwire style is great for riding...less bouncing boobage.  I usually buy the underwire style but on a lark, I bought a couple of the wireless kind to try.  They're like an amped up version of the Genie...the fabric isn't quite so stretchy.

So yesterday morning when I'm getting dressed for work, in the dark as usual, I throw on one of the wireless Sassybax, top it with a tee shirt and a pullover sweater.  Fat dumb & happy I feed the critters and head down the hill to work.

My first stop was a jail in a neighboring county where I had to have an inmate sign some documents. When I got there, the inmate was dressed in striped pants...he looked like the little guy in the Monopoly game on the Get Out Of Jail Free card.  I almost laughed.  I always have the urge to laugh at inappropriate moments...at some point I may need to seek professional help for this problem. Truthfully, I didn't know they still had clothes like that in jail.  I mean, we're way out of Sheriff Joe's territory....the jail in our county gives them bright orange clothes but at least they're solid colored.

So anyway, these documents had little sticky arrows pointing to where the guy was supposed to sign and date the form...and in true dunder fashion, he signed completely backward...signing where he was supposed to date, and dating where he was supposed to sign...this isn't the first time this has happened, but truth be told, they don't end up in jail by being the sharpest knife in the drawer, now do they???

After a hard day at work...okay, not that hard...I run to the feed store to get pelleted feed for the old guys (geriatric horses) and run it over to OF's house (Old Friend of undesirable snackage fame). Then off to a barn with a covered arena where I rented a stall so I'd have somewhere to ride during the winter after work.  No one was in the barn when I got there and it was dark so I ended up just turning my Girlie loose in the arena for a while watching her kick up her heels...that's her name, Girlie...I don't like to waste a lot of time thinking up original names.

By the time I get home, get all the critters fed, and stuff my fat face, I'm ready for a long hot soak in the tub.  Off with the sweater, off with the tee shirt...and WTF???  I have my bra on backwards!!!  I've been walking around with my bra on backwards and I didn't know it.  Unfilled cups were hanging off my back all day long.  And I thought the guy in the jail was a dunder...geesh.  Good thing I never took to a life of crime...I'd be signing on the wrong line like all the other dunders.

This is what was hanging off my back all day (minus the tag...I swiped the photo from an eBay ad)......it is the style without the underwire and my hope is that if there was underwire that I would have felt said wires digging in my back and noticed my mistake before I made it out the door in the morning...but who knows???

Swear to God, this was my first thought...Thank God I didn't get in an accident and have to go to the hospital.  You know how your mom always told you to wear clean underwear in case you get in an accident?  That's what I thought about.  Never once did I hear my mom utter the words "make sure you put your bra on with the boobs in the cups".   Mom obviously never thought she needed to tell me to put my bra on with the cups in front.  And why would she?  Even the most moronic among us know the cups go in front...I mean, why bother otherwise?  Okay, some very large people may have overhanging flesh in the back that could fill a cup...or two, but they have other compression garments to combat that particular problem.

One time I made fun of OF for doing something like this.  I have these underwear I love, they're boyshorts.  I was telling OF about them and how wonderful they were...yadda yadda...so when I got a new pack, I gave her a pair to try.   She said she went shopping with her sister, one of the Sister Wives, and when she was trying on clothes, she told her sis that she didn't see why I liked these underwear so much because she wasn't impressed...her sister looked at her in the dressing room and told her "it might be because you have them on backward".  I thought that was sooooo hysterical....hahaha  "you had them on backward"?    "How could you not know?"  

Well now I know...it's the stoopidist thing...

P.S.  I think I would've felt the Melvin from the backwards underwear...at least that's my story and I'm stickin' to it. 

Bacon Mac & Cheese

I went to another town yesterday with Smellie Noellie and we stopped at a little sports bar (The Happy Viking) for lunch that has one of her fave Mac & Cheese dishes...Bacon Mac & Cheese to be specific. We’ve gone a couple of times before and I’ve gotten hooked on the Bacon Mac & Cheese that Smellie forced me to eat...really...she actually shoved it down my throat despite all my protestations that I shouldn’t be eating such a high carb meal. It was heaven...the Mac & Cheese...not the shoving down the throat part...okay, she didn’t really shove it down my throat...and I never really protested about eating high carb anything...but it was her idea to go there originally.


So yesterday I’m in heaven savoring each bite of the cheesy macaroni with smokey bacon knowing there’d be a bunch left over so I could eat it last night. Then the unthinkable happened...

After work, I went to OF’s (Old Friend of undesirable snackage fame) house to ride and I put the container of precious Bacon Mac & Cheese in her fridge. It seemed like a good idea at the time and I didn’t want to leave it sitting in a hot car where it might spoil and give me some horribly gross stomach problems since I would still probably try to eat it...it’s that good.

I was about half way home when I realized I’d left the container sitting in OF’s fridge. Shit...oh well, I’ll just get it tomorrow...I thought.

My phone rang about 7:30 last night. It was OF...

OF: “Hi”

Me: “Hey, what’re you doing?”

OF: “Standing at my sink eating Mac & Cheese”

Me: “It’s good, isn’t it?” “Fuck, fuck, fuck”....I shout silently to myself.

OF: “Yes, what’s in it? Bacon?”

Me: “Yes, isn’t it wonderful”. I’m dying a little bit inside at this point. I want to shout “don’t eat it”...but I can’t.

OF: “Well, I just had a little, I didn’t heat it up, I wanted to make sure you left it for me.”

Me: “You have to heat it up” resigning myself to the fact that my scrumptious snackage is lost to me...really, how can I say “NO I didn’t leave it for you...I’m just stoopid and forgot to take it home”.

You’d think that I’d been starved as a child by my obsession with food, wouldn’t you? Nothing could be further from the truth. I’ve never been hungry a day in my life. I don’t know why food is such a big thing for me. It’s the stoopidist thing.

Me & My Husband Day

The Husband has spent the last several days getting ready to go on his annual "hunting" trip.  I hesitate to call it a hunting trip because he never actually brings home any game.  Well, he did once, but that was a long time ago and since then, nada, zip, zero.  But the hunting trip is the only time he actually relaxes, so I'm happy to see him go.  It's the getting ready part I have a problem with.  I suppose it's not really a problem but it would be if I had to be personally involved.  As it stands, I pretty much just observe his comings and goings during the planning/prep stage of his annual jaunt. The Husband runs back and forth to town several times a day for important things he forgot the last time he went.

Occasionally I'm pressed into service for some chore that requires more than one person.  This is a rare occurrence because The Husband hates to ask me to help him do anything.  Why?  Because I tend to offer helpful suggestions as to how he might do something faster, easier, or better. Since I don't have a penis, my suggestions are never taken seriously.  I've learned to accept this and truth be told, it gets me out of a lot of stuff I'd rather not have to do.

We had to hang new blinds in the bedroom and put up a new outside light before The Husband left for his adventure.  The blind job was first and most important since the ones currently hanging were ancient and had broken spots all over.  Totally white trash...but if the shoe fits...

Since I'd hung blinds before, I knew you didn't have to be a rocket scientist.  I ordered the kind that fit inside the window casing to make it even easier. You just butt up the bracket on each corner, attached it, insert the blind, and you're done.  Easy peasy.  I took the old ones down, threw them away, and laid out the new ones.  The small blind was unpackaged and all the parts needed were opened.  I'd glanced at the directions and they had great pictures...I'm a visual learner...if I can look at something and see how it works or visualize it in my head, I'm good to go.  Not so with The Husband. I don't think he's a visual learner.  After all these years, I'm still not really sure what kind of a learner he is.  He may have reached his maximum learning capacity...for my sake, I hope not.

Into the house comes The Husband, armed with his cordless drill, level, and a step ladder.  Man Stuff. He sees the long blinds on the bed still wrapped, completely ignoring the smaller unwrapped blinds and tells me "You need to get these unwrapped"...like I hadn't done my job...jeez, I was just trying to make it less confusing for the old guy by having one window laid out ready to go...next time I'm going to unwrap everything and have it in a big pile and let him sort it all out...I'm very mature that way.

I point to the small unwrapped blinds and hardware and calmly reply "This is everything we need for this window".

Having been through this before and knowing that there's metal around the inside of the window casing I add "You'll probably need a drill bit to start holes for the new brackets".

"No I won't" he says as he unscrews the old brackets.

I hand him the new bracket and the first thing he says is..."How does this work?"

Instead of being snarky and saying "Well you have the penis, don't you know?"  I say "You just butt the bracket into the corner with the opening facing out...it doesn't matter which one you use, they're interchangeable."

He takes the bracket and one of the screws and tries to attach it...but it won't screw in.  Down the ladder he comes and heads toward the door...and I can't help myself..."Where are you going?"

"I need to get a drill bit" he mumbles heading for the tool shed "I thought it was a self tapping screw but it's not."  I'm sure he added this last bit of information to let me know that he could have been right..if the stoopid blind company had given him proper screws...I'm also sure he hated having to get something to start the hole after me suggesting it to begin with.  I have to smile to myself.  Will  there ever come a time when he'll listen to me?  At this point, I don't think so...but I continue to hope.

After blind hanging we went to Home Depot to get a new outside light for the back door.  The Husband broke a light bulb inside the light and couldn't get the metal part out.  When we look at the light selection, he points to the ugliest light they make and says "That's the light I'm getting".

The light in question is painted white with a round globe that has to be removed in order to change the light bulb.  "I don't want that one, it's ugly" and I point out "and you have to take the globe off to change the light bulb".

"I'm leaving the bottom off" he proudly says...like he's just invented electricity.  "Then I can just unscrew the light bulb".

"Why not just get one with an open bottom?"  I ask...thinking it wouldn't look so white trash if we had a complete light instead of just a bare bulb hanging outside our door.

"No" he snapped "this is the third light I've had to replace because the bulbs break off inside and they were all open from the bottom."  He's really pissed off about this whole light thing.  I'm kinda stunned because I had no idea we'd had three different lights...guess I should pay more attention.  I don't have any problem changing the bulbs...I just have to get a chair to reach them so it's a pain in the ass.

Since I don't really care what kind of light we get and since he obviously does, I keep my trap shut...until we get in the car.   I'm driving, as usual, and when we turn out of the parking lot I can't help but say "If you've had to replace three lights because you break the bulbs off doesn't that tell you something?"  The inference being if he'd didn't squeeze the fragile glass bulb in a vice like grip it wouldn't break.  I have to also add "I've never broken a bulb off in the light".

"That's because you never change them" says The Husband "you always have me do it".  Which is true...when he's home.  But he works out of town...a lot.

"Who do you thing does everything when you're gone?  Elves?"  is my standard reply...

The Husband, bless his heart, is unable to come up with a witty retort so that's apparently the end of this conversation...it's the stoopidist thing.

Little Things

Little Things That Bug Me

People who say "No Worries"
What does that mean???  Does that mean they have no worries and are trying to flaunt their fabulously wonderful life in my face?  Are they trying to imply that I have no worries?  Because if they are, let me tell you, they're fucking wrong.  Is the English language becoming a spoken version of texting filled with misspelled or abbreviated words and incomplete sentences?  Are they subtly trying to give me an English test?   Next time someone says that to me, I'm gonna ask them exactly what they mean.

Thursday Night Football
Do we really need another day with a football game?  Isn't all day Sunday, Sunday night, and Monday night enough?  It really screws up my DVR scheduler when they have football games that start Sunday afternoon and go into the evening.  Truth be told, I actually like football, but I hate watching Monday night since they took Hank Jr. off.   It's just not the same without his song.

Mocha Anything
Simply calling it "Mocha" doesn't mean it stops tasting like coffee.  I hate coffee and I'm kinda sick of people trying to get me to taste "mocha" flavored treats that they say don't taste like coffee.  All things mocha taste like coffee to a coffee hater.  I know this is weird, but I've never actually had a cup of coffee in my life...and I'm not even Mormon.

Thong Underwear
I even had to be specific in the title because it could have been confused with the thongs you used to wear on your feet.  You know, the ones that they now call "flip flops" instead of thongs so they don't get confused with the Melvin inspired underwear of the same name?  Basically that's what they are...a continuous Melvin.  Everyone remembers a Melvin, right?  When someone would sneak up behind you, grab the back of your underwear and yank it up the crack of your butt?  Do you know a single person who left the Melvin in place?  No, we all did a little dance pulling the underwear out of the crack of our butt.  Now there's millions of people willingly giving themselves Melvin's via their choice of underwear.  Why do they call them Thong's anyway?  Maybe they should call them Eterna Melvin, or Melvinesque, or Melvinitas.   Who thought up this stuff anyway?  If you don't want a visible pantie line, don't wear panties.  Easy peasy.

Stale Butterfingers
You're all ready to take a bite out of a fun sized Butterfinger and when you're teeth sink in, instead of the sweet crumble buttery confection, your teeth make contact with a cement like substance that makes you worry that they're going to break.  Not only do you have to worry about breaking your teeth, but as you chew, the cementish interior packs itself so hard into your teeth that you 're afraid to pry it out for fear that your fillings will come out with it.  This ruins the whole Butterfinger experience for me.  You'd think with today's technology that they could make a Butterfinger whose inside wouldn't get rock hard wouldn't you?

When I stop and think about it, there's lots of little things that bug me.  Some of them are so petty, that I'm too embarrassed to even admit it.  I don't know why I let little things bug me, but I do.  It's the stoopidist thing...

P.S.  There's lots of little things that I love too...