Why Is This Child SO Stubborn... and Gross?

Let me just share a moment from our busy morning here at Blognut Manor… and then you can tell me again why little boys are gross.

Me: Did you brush your teeth?

The Boy: Yeah.

Me: Really? You know I catch you on this all the time?

The Boy: I brushed my teeth, Mom.

Me: I’m gonna go feel your toothbrush.

The Boy: No, you won’t.

Me: Yes, I really will. Did you brush your teeth?

The Boy: I BRUSHED my teeth, MOM!

Me: (heading toward the stairs) I’m checking.

The Boy: BYE!

Me: I mean it.

The Boy: Go already!

Me: (pounding up the stairs threatening to twist his head off under my breath)

(feeling toothbrush) I'll be darned! It’s wet.

(pounding back down the stairs two-at-a-time)

Yeah, ok. It’s wet. You just wet it without brushing, didn’t you?

The Boy: (sheepish grin) Yup.


The damn kid’s teeth are going to rot right out of his head!

This Is The Last I'll Say About It

‘Tis the season for crankiness, apparently. This past weekend I wrote a post where I intentionally dropped the last name of the subject with the initials MJ, starting with Michael. I did that because I hoped to avoid the crazies who are out googling every piece of info they can read about the deceased. Why? Because I know I have a biased opinion on the subject and I really didn’t want to outrage any of his zombie followers.

So I wrote that post while standing up high on my soapbox and getting all preachy about how hard it can be for survivors of childhood sexual abuse. In particular, I was thinking how hard it would be when the abuser is a famous person who bought his way into the lives of those kids and then bought his way back out of them. And finally, I was thinking about what it must be like for a child to turn on the TV and see crowds of people gathering around and building a shrine to Michael, when that child is likely struggling just to get out of bed in the morning as a result of his horrible choices. Seriously, it’s a long road back for these kids and I wish them love and luck.

And then? I climbed down from my soapbox and deleted most of it in an attempt to remove emotion and stick to the facts as I see them, albeit not necessarily as they were legally presented and/or supported during his trial. I tried to be fair to the fact that the man had his own extremely difficult history with which he contended on a daily basis, and I tried to nod in the direction of his well-deserved fame for being a rare musical talent. I thought I did that pretty well.

Then I got a couple of emails – not blog comments – but emails. Here is an excerpt from each of them:

I hope you realized that Michael was never convicted of the crimes that you accuse him of. I thought we had a justice system that said ‘innocent until proven guilty’ around here, but maybe your not from here. Your probably one of the uppity bitches that go around in a lynchmob with other uppity bitches. I’m sick and tired of people bringing up all this shit to slander his good name now.

The man is dead and you could of left him that way. My mama always told me not to speak ill of the dead and maybe you should’ve listened to yours.

I do realize that he was not convicted of his alleged crimes. I also realize that he paid out huge dollars to keep it that way. I realize that kids who come forward and make these allegations are rarely lying and I realize that if he did nothing except for the things he admitted to doing, he was STILL way out of line. If he were a school janitor, he’d most likely have gone to jail. Now what are the chances that he admitted to everything he did?

Lastly, in my own defense, I will say that I can be a bit bitchy when the need arises, but I don’t have a posse of uppity bitches and I don’t travel around in a lynch mob. I welcome comments from readers, and I don’t require anyone to agree with me, although I admit that I like it better. However, I do appreciate it when those comments are left by people who behave respectfully and who can appreciate my right to express my opinion on my blog. Even if I had posted the original version of what I wrote, complete with suds from my soapbox and emotion from my heart, I still would have been well within my rights. It is still MY BLOG.

And now? I am done with this topic. It’s had enough air time as it is, and I’m a little tired of it.

To My Children

You all know how much I hate to go to the grocery store, right? So imagine how thrilled I was today to learn that special joy would be mine. But did I whine out loud or complain out loud? Oh, no. No, I did not.

I set about the task like any good soldier would do. I vowed not to be crabby about it and I attempted to prepare for my trip to hell the store by thoroughly investigating the contents of the cabinets and making a list.

At first I was relieved to know that I didn't need that many things. I thought it would be a quick trip for a handful of necessities, and then I'd be able to go about the business of relaxation on a Sunday afternoon. After all, we had five boxes of cereal, one box of graham crackers, two boxes of granola bars, four bags of chips, two boxes of Capri Sun, bread, milk, and all kinds of regular things. I figured I'd be in and out of that store in the blink of an eye.

And then? I remembered who my children are, and I returned to the cabinet. I picked up those five boxes of cereal and found approximately four flakes in each box. I picked up the graham crackers and found NOTHING in that box. I shook the boxes of Capri Sun and those were empty, too. There were two slices of bread (the end pieces), and there was about 1/4 cup of crushed chips in the bottom of each bag. Oh, and don't forget the milk! There was at least one teaspoon of milk in the carton.

And the best part? The part that really sings the story of your collective pigginess? The wrappers. Oh, how I loved finding that the granola bar wrappers were in the granola bar box, minus the granola bars! What the fuckity fuck fuck?

All previous vows to not be crabby? Yeah, OUT THE WINDOW!

Is it really so hard to flatten the empty boxes and put them in the recycling bin? Do you realize that the trash can is literally two steps away from the pantry door, and that granola bar wrappers are actually happier in the trash can than they are when they're left alone in the dark, empty box? Is it possible that one more teaspoon of milk in your glass would have put the whole thing over the top? Or, were you saving that teaspoon of milk for the next person because you didn't want them to be completely without milk?

And since I'm a reasonable person, I'm totally going to take responsibility for not knowing that those Capri Sun boxes in the cabinet were actually empty. I should have known because I'm quite certain that I've picked up at least 20 empty juice pouches and straws in the yard this week. So, yeah, that one is on me you little shits.

I realize that you're busy, and that you have a lot of pressing business to tend to, but I need to impress upon you the importance of removing the empty boxes from the cabinet as you go. To that end, future meals will consist of empty plates and empty glasses. And if you should happen to find a lock on the pantry door? HELLO! Consider that my gift to you.

Remember - Mama loves you!

Goodbye Michael, Now Disappear

I was not going to talk about this because I don't quite know how to say it, and I'm sick of hearing his name. But, it's my blog, so I guess I'll just say it.

I don't wish anyone dead, and I am totally sensitive to the amount of suffering he may have had to endure while he was alive, (and probably did endure), but he's not a hero.

Talented, gifted even, and one of the best singer/dancers I've ever seen, but he also hurt children.

That's enough for me. Call me what you will, but insensitive is not going to fit me; not here, not this time. I'm extremely sensitive to the children who have to live their lives with a ridiculous amount of pain because of this man.

He had a sad life, but that's no excuse. Someone has to listen to those children and I'm willing to do it.

Answers Revealed

Now class, if you all would please put down your pencils and turn your papers over, we will go over the answers to our little pop quiz from the last post.

Just for shits and giggles, in yesterdays post, I decided to turn Sherri’s information-gathering endeavor into a quiz to see if anyone was paying attention to me and it looks like you’ve all done very well.

1. Folgers or Starbucks? STARBUCKS. Venti, triple-shot, Skinny Cinnamon Dolce Latte, OR non-fat Banana-chocolate Vivanno with a shot of espresso. No, not a vodka shot. Although… maybe?
2. Cardinals or Cubs? I don’t much care. I choose the Cubs because I like to watch sports and they're a Chicago team, but really, I don’t live or die based on the outcome of a stupid baseball game. Plus, I have trouble with people named Pooholes, or Puholz, or however the poor guy spells it to try and make it look less embarrassing.
3. Morning person or night owl? What is this morning thing? I don’t trust anyone who is happy before 10:00 am. I’d really prefer to cancel mornings all together.
4. Name brand or generic? The cheapest. I’m brand loyal on only a couple of things. Like ketchup. Do not substitute Hunts for Heinz. Just don’t do it. I will spit it out. Oh, and toilet paper, too. Don’t get cheap there or I’ll probably leave skid marks on your carpet or use a guest towel.
5. Dylan or Rolling Stones? I can’t understand a single word that Bob Dylan says, although I credit him for being a good musician. I like the Stones better, but I don’t love them either.
6. Mountains or Ocean? BOTH. You’ll read more posts about the ocean because I’m a beach lover, but we blognuts like our mountain trips, too.
7. Talker or Listener? I chatter incessantly about nonsense, but I am also known for shutting the hell up and listening, so we’ll say BOTH on that.
8. Math or Literature? Both. I love the logic of math, so long as you leave geometry out of it ‘cause, really, who gives a shit how big the circle is or whether the corner of the triangle is an obtuse, or an acute, angle. And literature? Yeah, give me that, too.
9. Books or Movies? BOOKS. ALL DAY LONG.
10. Meat and Potatoes, or Casseroles? Casseroles give me nightmares. I keep my food separate on my plate, and I finish one thing at a time. So, don’t be stirring my food into goulash, or presenting me with a scary casserole.
11. Summer or Winter? Summer, summer, summer. But really? Fall.
12. Coffee or Tea? COFFEE!!! I can’t be more clear about this.
13. Cats or dogs? Doggies, doggies, and more doggies. I love doggies. I won’t be mean to a kitty, but kitties make me itchy, bitchy, sneezy, snotty, and wheezy.
14. Rock or Country? Rock. 80’s hair band rock, preferably. Loud.
15. Pepsi or Coke? Heh. Diet Pepsi it is, and just hook that shit up to my IV.
16. Beef or chicken? Seafood. I’d probably give up beef entirely if it weren’t for cheeseburgers. I gotta have ‘em. And chicken? Meh, it’s all right but I could totally live without it.
17. Leader or follower? I tend to lead, even when I don’t know where I’m going.
18. Pink or Red? Red, please.
19. Stilettos or sneakers? Sneakers. I only put up with heels when I am forced to don a banker’s costume, but it wouldn’t be my choice. I’m way more casual at home then what I appear to be when I am working.
20. Homebody or socializer. I’m happy at home, but I’m a social blognut, too. I need both, but I don’t want to be in a big crowd where I can’t really enjoy the people with me.
21. Short or tall? Vertically challenged.

So, how did you do? If you got them all right, I will reward you with my unending adoration and an autographed, life-sized picture of me. Clearly you’re already stalking me, so the photo should be a welcome addition to your collection. Just send me the address of the institution where you’re kept, and I’ll get that right out to you.

Because People Want to Know... and I have nothing else to say

I have absolutely nothing of value to share with the world today, so I am answering questions so Sherri can sleep tonight.

Only, because I like to be difficult and break rules at every opportunity, (not that there were any rules), I'm going to let you guess first. I'll answer the questions in my next post, but I'm curious to find out if you're paying attention and you really know your blognuts.

You don't have to guess at all of them, or any of them, but if you think you know how I'm going to answer, go ahead and let me know in my comments.

1. Folgers or Starbucks?
2. Cardinals or Cubs?
3. Morning person or night owl?
4. Name brand or generic?
5. Dylan or Rolling Stones?
6. Mountains or Ocean?
7. Talker or Listener?
8. Math or Literature?
9. Books or Movies?
10. Meat and Potatoes or Casseroles?
11. Summer or Winter?
12. Coffee or Tea?
13. Cats or dogs?
14. Rock or Country?
15. Pepsi or Coke?
16. Beef or Chicken?
17. Leader or follower?
18. Pink or Red?
19. Stilettos or sneakers?
20. Homebody or socializer?
21. Short or tall?

Sorry to leave you twisting in the wind, Sherri! I'll answer them soon, 'k?

Here's The Deal

Okay, here's the deal. Besides being just plain crazy, I'm really busy at work, so this is one of 'those posts' where I haphazardly throw something together just so you don't forget about me, or think that I'm neglecting you.

I'm here - still reading you when I need a break from the real world - but I'm a little too much of what you might call 'brain-fried and preoccupied' to be of much writing value to you today.

But, since this is my lucky day, some schmoe here at work is running around with pictures, so you get to see what a working blognut looks like at various stages of the day.

Here's the way a blognut looks when the day starts:



Here's the way a blognut looks in the middle of the day:



And, finally, at the end of the day:



blognut photo provided by 'Working Joe' with a crappy camera
photo site

Anybody Got a Wood Chipper?

Would you LOOK at my tree?



Up until yesterday, THIS was the tree of all trees. It was the tree that all of the other trees on the block only dreamed of becoming, and they writhed in jealousy every time they turned their leafy little heads in our direction.

And now? It is only 1/2 a tree. It actually looks like someone sliced it right down the middle, and I'm pretty sure the whole thing has to come down. I think it was a conspiracy. I think all of the other neighborhood trees joined forces and sent the lightning and wind after our tree. What a buncha jealous Sons of Bushes.



Blognut Manor will not be the same without that tree.

And yes, those are my dogs. They will no longer have that tree to pee on, and you can see how upset they are by having to pee in the grass instead.

Consider Yourselves Warned

1. My crystal ball contains nothing but glitter. I really can’t see the future in it, no matter how much I shake it. Sigh.

2. If you use anti-bacterial hand sanitizer on your hands, and you have a paper cut on your finger, you will most likely set your finger on fire and say a bad word. Loud.

3. If you immediately put the flaming finger into your mouth to suck on it, (c’mon, it’s a natural progression), and you have 7 cold sores on your lip, you will wish you were dead. And you almost will be dead. And you will swear like a sailor, and quite possibly jump up and down.

4. If you jump up and down in 4” heels, you may lose your balance and catch yourself by grabbing onto your desk. And when you do, you may accidentally knock over the gallon-sized mug of coffee you were drinking. And it may spill onto the board reports that you’ve been working on all week. And you will continue your swearing rant. And you will learn that coffee-soaked Kleenex turns into a mucous-like substance and that Kleenex really isn’t an effective way to clean up a large puddle of coffee.

5. If you’ve had a really rotten week at work, and you’re functioning on a cumulative total of about 8 hours sleep for the week, you might actually want to sit down and cry when all of this happens. Except you might also be laughing because this shit really would have been funny on a different day, or if it had happened to someone else, so laughing, tears, hysterical snorting and swearing will all combine together and make you look like a raving lunatic.

So… my bloggy buddies, if you can learn from any of this and actually use this information to avoid having to live through the domino effect I have laid out for you here, at least my life will not have been in vain.

I’m SO glad it’s Friday!

Would You Like Some Wine?

Okay... I totally lured you in with the promise of alcohol and I feel really guilty about it. What I should have asked you is, "Would you like some whine?" Honestly, it was a simple spelling error and I'll be sorry about it until the day I die.

I invited you here because I need to subject you to more of my incessant whining. What am I whining about today?

Thank you for asking.

Cold sores. Seven of them, to be exact.

See, the thing is, I get cold sores from exposure to the sun, stress, other people with cold sores, etc. And last week? SUN. Tons of it. So now my entire bottom lip is on fire. Seriously! It is swollen out to...................................HERE. I've been bumping into things with it, and yesterday I almost shut it in the car door.

I tried whining about it for a few days, but it didn't help. So I put some medicine on it and I've been walking around with a huge, swollen, white, shiny bottom lip. I won't even tell you what I said about THAT because my 'gross shit' post was yesterday, but I will tell you that it even made Diane wince and she is usually un-wince-able. I'm telling you these friggin' things are still breeding! And don't worry, Diane, I will keep my herpe lip on my side of the brain.

If it weren't for the disgusting puss-covered scabby shit on my lips, you'd think it was a horrible incident of Botox gone bad; but only on my bottom lip. Now I'm all mis-matched and subject to some kind of cosmetic citation because my top lip is practically non-existent. I look like a pouting pig.

Plus, this whole lip thing is just uncomfortable for everyone involved. People can hardly figure out where to look when they speak to me. I was thinking of getting myself some of those wax lips like I had when I was a kid, figuring that it would mask the problem. Then I thought about just getting a mask. Then I thought about just getting a brown bag and cutting out eye-holes, but that's been done.

I so hate to be called a copy-cat.

WTF Wednesday - Some Shit On the Beach!

I am one of those people who cannot resist a nighttime walk on the beach. I always spot some pretty cool stuff, and I usually manage to find some pretty gross stuff, too.

Today, in honor of WTF Wednesday, I will share some of the gross stuff that I've been saving for you. Isn't it nice of me to always be thinking of your entertainment?

Let's get started!

This, my friends, is a dead turtle. See the bleediness going on there? When we first saw his holy hugeness on the beach, we went running over to him thinking he would be the coolest thing we ever found on a beach. He would've been a lot cooler if he wasn't dead.

(I say 'him' but that is what I only guess him to be, because I really have no idea at all how to tell the sex of a turtle and I figure it's not that important to me as long as the turtles can tell.)


And this? If that doesn't make you say WTF, I don't know what will! It was enough to keep my ass out of the ocean the following day, I can tell you that.




This little guy and about 999 of his best buddies live in the rocks along the marina near Nueva Vallarta Beach. You won't see a single one during the day, but nighttime is a whole different story.



And this thing? And whatever ate him?
I was pretty sure that anything in the water that would take a bite out of a snake would likely also take a bite out of a blognut. Me and my fuzzy, blue ass will be staying in shallow water where we can see all the way to the bottom from now on; or at least until I repress the awful memory of almost stepping on that friggin' thing. If I had actually stepped on it, I would've had to be institutionalized for the rest of my life.



This little bugger didn't deserve to be washed up on the beach. He was still alive when we saw him, but he was on his last breath. At least he didn't have to die alone.


These guys didn't exactly wash up on the beach in quite the same way that the other stuff did. However, technically speaking, it does look like they 'washed up' on the beach. And do you think that Gilligan knows this lady who stole his hat?


And these folks here? The ocean pretty much barfed them right up onto the beach one night, and we got stuck taking them home. We still don't know what they are, but they eat a lot and they spend all of our money. They're the biggest WTF of all!


That concludes today's fuckery. Your takeaways from this post are:
1. Watch where you step.
2. Snakey things in the ocean have sharp teeth.
3. If you find unknown creatures at the beach, don't bring 'em home.

You Get To Have an Opinion Today

As I said in the title, you get to have an opinion today. I mean it. You don't even have to agree with me, but you probably won't change my mind, either. :)

I had a few ideas for today’s post, but I’m pushing them to the back burner because I have a question for the blogosphere – and possibly a bit of a rant to share as well.

If you saw my first post after vacation, you saw a picture of my son zip lining in Mexico. A great picture, right? Here it is again:



I put up a ton of pictures in Facebook showing our entire family zip lining and rappelling. (Okay, I may have left out most of the pictures that showed ME doing those things, but that’s because nobody likes a fat piñata.)

Anyway, one of my old friends saw the photos in Facebook and sent me a message asking what kind of parent allows their child to participate in such a dangerous sport. I’d say she was kidding, but she sent the message privately, rather than leaving it as a photo comment, and that’s really all she said. I think she meant it, and I replied, “Are you serious?” but she hasn’t responded yet.

Here’s the thing; if the question is, “What kind of parent allows their child to participate in such a dangerous sport?” I can answer it.

The kind of parent who encourages her children to LIVE LIFE, TEST FEARS, and GROW into their own individual, wonderful, beautiful selves.

None of my children were forced to participate in this activity, and none of my children gave it a second thought when we offered it. If one of them had not wanted to go zip lining, I would have stayed behind with them and never uttered a word of complaint either. I leave it up to them – plain and simple.

I encourage my kids to live, not to sit idly by and watch the rest of the world have all the fun. I encourage them to try different things and to have a little variety in their lives, but ultimately I do believe that they will have to make these decisions for themselves. The way I see it, whenever possible, I will give them the opportunity to experience life. Whether or not they do it, or choose to do it again once they’ve tried it, is entirely their choice.

And if you are going to be the kind of parent who, at all costs, restricts a child from participating in anything remotely dangerous, where will you draw the line? Do you let them go in the swimming pool? People can drown in there. Do you let them eat popcorn? People can choke on that. Do you let them ride a bike? People can fall off or get hit by a car doing that?

I have to let my children live.

So – I ask you – am I screwing up the blognutians? Am I placing them in ridiculously dangerous scenarios? Notice I did not strap my son to the front of a train, or drop him from a helicopter into a raging sea of sharks.

I do believe that I will make mistakes with my kids – and it’s entirely possible that they’ll all end up in therapy someday because they were raised by a blognut – but I really don’t think I’m a bad parent for letting them zip line.

My Warm Welcome Back to Work!

Dear fellow employees of Bumblefuck Bank & Trust,

I would like to take this opportunity to express my gratitude for your efforts in snapping me right out of my vacation-induced state of relaxation and for immediately disabusing me of any fleeting notion that I missed you.

To those of you who dedicated yourselves to ignoring my in-basket in favor of some asinine horizontal filing system, I am eternally grateful. It is so nice to return to not one, but 632 separate piles of crap on my desk. I'm especially thankful to those of you who believed that whatever bit of intestinal overflow you had for me should take immediate priority over anything else that was there before it, so you kindly left it on my chair. Guess what I did with that stuff?

And, once again, may I remind you all that I much prefer an email over a sticky note left on my desk, chair, coffee mug (WTF?!), or the window to my office.

Special love goes out to the mental giant who transferred customers to my voicemail while I was on vacation. I loved getting their urgent messages this morning; especially those that required my immediate attention last Tuesday. Really, folks! So good of you to help those poor people without whom the bank would not need YOU at all. Stellar service. We'll talk more about that soon.

I'll be holing up in my office now so that I can go through all of these piles and prioritize things in a way that makes sense. Also? I'd appreciate it if you'd all stay close to your desks since I'll be returning a lot of these gifts right back to the gift-givers. You know how much I like to share the joy!

Have a nice day!

Warm regards,
Blognut

There's No Place Like Home

I’m back! Did you miss me? Yeah, ok, no need to be hurtful… just lie to me say ‘yes’ and we’ll all move on with our day.

We have so much to talk about, but not today. I’ll hit the highlights for you so you can eagerly anticipate my stories begin to write your list of excuses for not visiting my blog.

I DID have a fabulous time hanging out at the beach.

I DID sunburn the holy hell out of my hooters. And no, I was not topless on the beach at least not that I can recall, I just really burned that sensitive space between ‘the girls’ and I’m all blistered and cracked and uncomfortable. Oh My!

I DID sunburn the tops of my feet in spite of repeated efforts to avoid this plight, and repeated applications of 70spf. Perhaps I should have worn an astronaut suit to the beach instead of a swimming suit. Sigh… next time.

I DID go zip lining where I flew through the forest at heights of more than 400 feet. I DID really enjoy seeing my children suspended like piñatas hung by hooks, too. That’s well worth every penny. Do that if you ever get a chance.

I DID learn a valuable lesson while zip lining and rappelling. Put simply, a thong is not your friend during this activity. Borrow your grandma’s voluminous undies, or stop by your local Target and get your own, but DO NOT put on a climbing harness while wearing a thong or you will suffer untold injury and, quite possibly, require some sort of surgical procedure in order to retrieve them. Just sayin’.

I DID find myself snorkeling through a sea of tiny little jellyfish. They were adorable, and all about the size of a pencil eraser. And? They will sting the shit out of you anyway, even if you do think they are cute and provide them with compliments to this effect. Furthermore, a jellyfish sting in your girlie parts is unpleasant and should be avoided at all costs.

I DID learn once again that drinking while baking my brains away in the afternoon sun can backfire on me. And by backfire, I do mean that there is an evening from my vacation where I perfected my z-pattern walk that I can’t really recall at all too clearly.

Now that I’m back, I have a ton of things to do and I’m planning to be a bit cranky all week while I get caught up at work and with real life. Today I will be conquering Mt. Laundry while working my way through the flower gardens and the overgrown lawn with a machete. I fear that I may have a trip to the grocery store in my future as well. I friggin’ hate that place, but I'm not really complaining much. In spite of a great vacation, I am happy to be home.

What? A Whole Week Without Blogging?

As previously disclosed, we are vacating Blognut Manor for the week and heading out for a brief vacation. Seriously, booking this trip seemed like a good idea at the time. Then, when the realization that I would be off blog, off email, and off the phone for an entire week settled upon me, I started to shake and sweat.

However, in spite of the obvious pain I will be in while I'm out on the beach drinking a foo foo drink with an umbrella in it, I will push through it and do what must be done.


Also, since we're going to Mexico, you'll be proud to know that I've been studying up on my spanish. I've just about nailed all of the things I will need to be saying while I'm lounging about on the beach.

¿Dónde puedo conseguir yo a un chico de cabaña para la semana?
Where can I get a cabana boy for the week?

¿Puede traer me usted un margarita frío por favor?
Can you please bring me a margarita?

¿Puedo conseguir yo que en un vidrio mucho más grande?
Can I get that in a much bigger glass?

Hay un hombre allí que está más peludo que un wookie. ¿Puede enviar usted alguien fuera dar ceralo por favor?
There's a man over there who is hairier than a wookie. Can you send someone out to wax him please?

¿O quizá justo lo envuelve en cinta de conducto y entonces tirón?
Or maybe just wrap him in duct tape and then pull?

¡Mis amigos de bloggy me prometieron que yo no sería la señora más gorda en la playa!
My bloggy friends promised me that I would not be the fattest lady on the beach!

Por favor no haga pis en el océano.
Please don't pee in the ocean.

¡Petimetre! Los hombres verdaderos no llevan speedos. Hombres especialmente "pequeños".
Dude! Real men do not wear speedos. Especially 'little' men.

Perdóneme, yo tengo una grieta llena de arena. Yo no siempre escojo mi extremo.
Pardon me, I have a crack full of sand. I don't always pick my butt like this.

If you can think of anything I've missed, let me know. I'm leaving Saturday morning, but I can always study on the plane if I'm not too drunk.

Take care of yourself, Blogosphere. I'll see you in about a week.

Love,
Blognut
XXOOXX

photo site
translation site

Little Things to Make a Blognut Happy

Fhina bit tagged me to write about six unimportant things that make me happy. By that, I guess unimportant things would be the same as little everyday sorts of things, not the big importanty things like husbands and children. 'Cause that would be lame a given for most people and nobody wants to come over here and read down a list of names. Kinda like reading Genesis, isn't it? You know that part... Machmad begat Bumblebuzz, and Bumblebuzz took him a wife and begat Whoz-da-shit... and so on until you go cross-eyed and don't care where you came from or how you got here. That always happened to me, and I don't want to do that to you, my bloggy boredbots.

Never mind. I am SO easily distracted these days.

Now then, tagging 6 people who might actually do this because I've seen them do things like this, and knowing Fhina did not tag them already:

She - because you know you don't wanna

Michel - because you know nothing makes you happy

Dar - because everything makes you happy

Dizz - because you make everybody else happy

Sherri - because you're so darn happy you're bordering on psychotic :)

Mo – because I’m pretty sure that whatever makes you happy will scare the shit out of me

Moving on to things that make me happy in no particular order:

Teasing children. You know… not enough to make them cry or anything. Just enough to blow up their tiny little brains.

Long, lazy, sunny, summer days because… hello, lazy :)

Bloggy pals make me way happy because, well, you’re all nuts. And so am I. So, hey, doesn’t that work out great?

Rainy afternoons spent scouring the bookstore with a cup of coffee in my hand.

John Hiatt’s song – Feels Like Rain – I’d embed it for you, but I can’t pull up videos at the moment. Go listen to it though – it’ll make you happy – and horny.

Work. Work makes me so freakin’ happy that I can hardly stand to accept a paycheck for it. Really… I should be paying them.

And there you have it. There are lots of other things that make me happy, too. Really, it’s not that hard. Just give me my way, do my bidding, bring me nice things, etc. I’m not too tough to please. So, if I ever come visit you, this list should give you a nice start for making sure that I have a good time. Because it IS all about me. As it should be.

WTF Wednesday and the Questions I Must Ask

Okay, NOW it's really WTF Wednesday, but I went all WTF Wednesday on Tuesday and now I'm even more WTF I'm all out of fuckery.

But, you are in luck my dear readers. I have random questions pinging around in my head, and who better to discuss them with me than the likes of people who hang out in places called "More Mindless Rambling," and talk to fuzzy, blue people who go by Blognut? Who?

So... here we go -

Considering that my co-workers know that I'm leaving for vacation this Saturday, why are they coming up with all of these last-minute questions and projects? Suddenly, even though they've been living with an issue for weeks or months on end, it has become absolutely crucial that we stop what we're doing and solve it right this minute because I'm going to be gone for a week. WTF? Dude! Live with it another week, it hasn't bothered you all this time and I'll have angels flying from my ass before I drop everything and open that can of worms now.

Where do all of the sock orphans come from? (<--- And that 'from' dangling there at the end of the question is totally bothering me more than it's going to bother the teacher who regularly reads my blog.) But I digress, it's probably more appropriate to ask not from where the sock orphans come, but where do their mates end up going? Are they sunning themselves somewhere with a bunch of other mateless socks? Do we have Mo's stripey-orange sock hanging out with one of Donny Osmond's purple socks? And if so, is this not the very definition of anarchy? Where's Cate with her rubbermaid bin of drugs when I need them?

Why is it that sometimes macaroni and cheese, the box kind, sounds so freakin' ridiculously yummy until you've made it and eaten about four bites? And then? It tastes like a big bowl of toe jam.

And why is it that I can only eat spaghettios (the kind with the unidentifiable meatballs) at room temperature, straight out of the can? I used to think I was really odd for liking them that way, especially because I was the only person I'd ever known to do that. But I know it's not strange now because Diane does it and it isn't one of those situations where it's just the two of us acting crazy again. Nope. Not this time. Admit it.

Finally, why make it a point to tell me about horrific plane crashes when you know I'm getting on a plane this Saturday? I don't necessarily hate flying, but I do feel a little unnatural up there in the sky. What, with my having no wings, and no beak, and no aerodynamic micro-mini body, and all that. I just don't feel like I belong in the sky. I'm not nearly as 'at home' up there as I am, say, right here on the ground... or in my chair... free to come and go as I wish. So these stories about planes crashing and people dying, save those for your pre-schoolers when you're putting them to bed at night. Tell me stories about margaritas, and beaches, and happy people with big, floppy hats and tacky tourist shirts, black socks, and sandals. That's all I want to hear.

Thank you for your time. If you have answers to any of these questions, please feel free to share with the group.

WTF Wednesday Tuesday

I have nothing to add. Nothing at all.

Work = big freakin' pile of people with more questions than answers.

Or, more likely, Blognut = big freakin' pile of crabass with little sleep and no patience.

That's probably closer to the truth.

Tomorrow is another day.