Sometimes I Like to be Annoying

So… having brought up the 80’s yesterday, I learned that most of us are old big fans of the music from that era. I loved the 80’s music and am known to listen to it even today.

I lived for those big haired boys with tattoos and I am fairly certain that each and every one of those singers loved me best. Especially Jon Bon Jovi, ‘cause he still loves me today and you don’t even need to pretend that he isn’t singing directly to me when I go to his concerts. Be quiet, Chris. He was totally looking right at me through the whole concert and you know it.

Anyhoo… what was I saying before I started fantasizing got distracted? Is it warm in here?

Even though I wasn’t a big fan of most of these, all this 80’s talk got me remembering the one hit wonders and I need to know if any of you are still waiting for Kajagoogoo to come out with another song. Are you? DO you remember singing TOO SHY? Oh, I think you do.

Here are some songs from the 1980’s Parade of Horribles:

99 LUFT BALLOONS - Brings back memories of an embarrassing pom dance.

TWO OF HEARTS – What ever happened to Stacey Q?

LET THE MUSIC PLAY – Only Shannon never really played music, did she?

BOOM BOOM BOOM, LET’S GO BACK TO MY ROOM – I think we just liked singing these words; it wasn’t music at all.

WE DON’T HAVE TO TAKE OUR CLOTHES OFF - Oh, but we did, didn’t we? Time and again.

DA BUTT – There was no excuse for this ridiculous song!

DER KOMMISSAR – WTF?

ANGEL EYES – Kill me now.

And let’s not forget that Eddie Murphy once tried to sing – PARTY ALL THE TIME!

All righty then, this should just about do it. You must know at least one or two of these songs. If I have managed to plant at least one of them in your head for the rest of the day, my work here is done! :)

WTF Wednesday - We Will Never Have Time Travel

I was cleaning out a drawer in my kitchen tonight and I came across a picture of myself from the 80’s.

*shudder*

One thing was immediately obvious to me, and I thought I’d share it with you to see if you agree with this theory.

Old pictures completely prove that time traveling is not, nor will it ever be, possible.

Why, you ask?

Because if it ever really happened, there is no effing way that I wouldn’t have gone back to the 80's and told myself to get rid of that humongous feathered hairdo.

Oh, yeah! I totally would’ve mentioned the shoulder pads, too. WTF!

Ten Reasons Why I Can't Win the Contest

Assuming that you are a living, breathing person, you are aware that Jane is having a 100th post celebration over at her blog and giving away really cool stuff. And if you know Jane at all, you know that she has some crazy ass work ethic that I have, like, totally never heard of and she had this notion to make us actually work for the giveaways. (No, I do not know what she was thinking either, I am just as confused as the rest of you.)

So instead of buckling down to the task, because, you know, homework really isn't my thing, I decided to make excuses list the reasons why I couldn't get this done.

1. Michel cheats and has some poor Sudanese embassy worker finding the answers in between carrying buckets of sand up to her rooftop so she can have a homemade beach.

2. Damn, this scavenger hunt is really hard and I'm not good at finding stuff.

3. I can’t find my own ass in the dark with either hand (but I’m not too particular about who else does...).

4. The dog ate my homework.

5. And my computer.

6. And the desk it was sitting on.

7. I’m blowing up inner-tubes for Michel since she can’t remember how to build an ark and I’m too lazy.

8. I’m working my way through a box of Little Debbie Zebra Cakes.

9. And then I have to go brush my teeth.

10. I never win anyway.

Okay, I'm off to find some more answers and see if I can cheat off of Pastor Sharon's paper. You know she found some divine version of "Scavenger Hunting with God" book and got a head-start on the rest of us, don't you?

What's That In My Pocket?

I was just sitting here catching up on the news around the world tonight and I read a story about the scandalous put pocketing going on in and around the London area.

I’m outraged! Once again I am in the wrong place at the wrong time. Not that I have ever been to London, mind you, but I totally meant to go there. I would have gone there if I had known there was a chance that I would be ‘victimized’ by a sneaking scoundrel putting money INTO my pocket rather than picking money out of it.

Who objects to shit like that?

Big dummies, that’s who, and they are! Big dummies are complaining that they’ve been violated. Oh, please! Violate me! Where do I sign up?

Here’s what I recommend to all of you living and working in the London area, and you’ll have to admit that this is damn good advice if I do say so myself. If you don’t want to be victimized by having someone put money into your pocket, staple a sign like this one on your lower lip. Let me know how that works out for you, too.


(What? Don't look at me like that! If they're dumb enough to not want free money, they ought to be labeled so we can all steer clear of them.)

If you are given money that you do not want, please go ahead and forward that to me. I will be happy to take that off your hands and I promise to put it to a good cause.

There's Something In My Mouth

WHAT THE HELL'S IN MY MOUTH?

I'm going to be whining for the next two years and that's all I have to say about it. I'm far too old to get braces of any sort, and frankly, I think some of you should have warned me about it before we got to this point. You all seem to have forgotten that the entire purpose of this blog is to provide me with needed guidance. Blognuts should not make decisions for themselves, and should be left lounging about eating grapes and drinking wine while the rest of the world takes care of all the hard stuff.

I mean, really, whose day was it to watch me?

My mouth is ten kinds of hurty and I am pretty sure that my teeth are swollen. Also? I'm starving to friggin' death. In a way, I suppose that is a good thing, but if this keeps up the whole time I have this torture device of Satan's own design stuck on my teeth, I will weigh 12 pounds.

So... here's how you can make it up to me. 'Cause, really, if I could get this, I would reconsider the incessant whining. I promise, 'k?



Can you hook me up?

Update: You know Jane is totally gonna let me win the contest now because she will feel sorry for me and my hurtiness. That lady has a heart of gold.

Style Points

I'm always the first to admit that decorating isn't really my thing. I don't care about the "latest" in anything, I just want to be comfortable. Also? I'm mostly just lazy. Honestly, I'd probably care a whole lot more if funds were unlimited and someone with an eye for this sort of thing just came in did it all for me.

Just to give you a little taste of my "lack of taste," here are some style shots from Blognut Manor.

Here we have the latest in pointless toss pillows...



sculptures...


(If you're thinking that is a soccerball wearing one shoe and a weird hat, you're exactly right. It makes perfect sense to me.)

and, finally, wall art (or in this case, ceiling art for The Boy)...



Honestly, who wouldn't want to sleep in the shadow of someone named Undertaker?

There you have it. Can someone please call Oprah now and have her come and give Blognut Manor a makeover? I think I've made my case.

The Audacity of Certain People!

You know how there's this one blogger who happens to be stuck in Sudan for, like, twenty-two years? And how that blogger has a blog where she says facts are strictly optional?

Well, I hate to break it to you, but she's been telling lies again.

She wrote a whole post yesterday trying to convince everyone that Jane at Gaston Studio has called off her contest next Monday. Seriously, are any of you going to believe someone who admits to omitting facts whenever it's convenient?

So you know what I did? I called Jane up on the phone immediately and she told me that Michelle, Michael, Mitchell, how the hell do you really say her name?, um...er...Michel was being all pouty and holding her breath, but that she did NOT say she was cancelling her contest or her 100th post.

Ahem. Michel? Is there something you want to say to the group? You know you will be smoted again if you keep up this senseless lying. Do you WANT more time on the floor with Toilet Brush and Rug? Because I spent some time with those two this week, too, and they told me that you weren't exactly friendly to them. Next time they're going to be very hard on you.

Besides, trying to call the rest of the class away from the contest would only hurt you because you know you were going to copy the answers off of someone else's paper, anyway. The contest questions are going to be waaaaaay hard for you and since when do you do your own work? You work for the government, for Pete's sake!

All right, I think I've made my point now and your own guilt will be enough punishment. However, I do want to point out that you are indeed a great friend to me in time of "falsely cancelled contest sorrow" and you granted me this awesome award. (See, you really are made of great stuff but you can't tell anyone I said so.)



Thanks, darlin'! I owe you one, but only if you can give up your evil ways and try to walk the straight and narrow for a little while. Okay?

WTF Wednesday

No time today - had to drive to a stupid meeting filled with stupid people in a stupid town 75 miles away.

And I got stuck in an express lane for 40 minutes by the airport. I had to pee. I mean I REALLY had to pee so bad I could taste it. It's like cosmic justice for something I've done in my past because that happens to me whenever I get stuck in traffic.

I was already an hour late for my meeting because I had an unforeseen incident here at home this morning and it played hell with my schedule. But yeah, you know me, I totally would have been late anyway. And really? If you're making me drive 75 miles so you can bore me to tears for 6 hours, I don't really mind walking in late. It's part of my "It really is all about me," charm.

However, because not everyone understands that it really is all about me, I was courteous enough to call in to the conference line and participate in the meeting from my car. I am nice like that.

So when traffic finally started moving again, and I was clear of that miserable express lane, I popped over to the next lane and floored the gas just as the car in front of me had exactly that same thought. So I did what always do in that situation, I let out a big holler.

I said, "FUCK! I have to pee! Get OUT of my way!"

And then I heard laughing.

And then I saw that I did not have my phone on mute.

It's My Turn, Dammit!

You know how there’s always a blog out there with a contest or a giveaway of some sort? And they’re always giving away something large mostly without purpose awesome that we should all want to add to that shelf in the closet have for our very own?

Yeah, I never win any of that shit. It hurts my feelings, too.

I get up early in the morning that’s a lie to seek out all of the contests and I’m always the first tenth ninetieth person to enter. Also, I give all some hardly any of the right answers to their contest questions.

It can’t be fair, can it? Don’t you think I should win just on the basis of my cute round blue head? I mean, seriously, hardly any of you can say that you have a round blue head and I think that should stand for something. After all, it IS all about me. What? It’s not? SHUT UP!

So, I got a double-secret advance warning clue heads up yesterday when I read Jane’s post over at Gaston Studios, that she is celebrating her 100th post and is hosting a giveaway next Monday. She totally said she was going to let me win that I had to play fair and square and could turn in my entry whenever I wanted give all of the right answers first, and then I’d get to be the big winner.

And you? Should play nice, where 'nice' means you shut your computer off right now and give me a fighting chance to win. In fact, unplug the damn thing and put it back in the box until the contest is over.

Like Finding a Needle in a Haystack

I had the misfortune of having to go shopping for back to school supplies today. Can I get a, “Kill me now!” from the group?

The Boy’s supply list is so painfully specific that I get stressed out and frazzled just reading it. I get exact descriptions of the things he needs right down to the size and color. It’s like a cruel scavenger hunt designed by some sadistic nut who is now sitting there laughing at all of the parents as they run around Target like rats in a maze getting crazier and meaner with each aisle that fails them.

I had to find 6 different colored pocket folders without prongs, and 4 with prongs. If I get 10 with prongs, and we just don’t use the prongs in 6 of those folders, does The Boy flunk 4th grade? Or, better yet, have I stumbled into Mother Fail?

And why 2 pink erasers? Why can’t they be blue or white? Do they not perform the same function? Do you realize that the stores are overflowing with blue and white erasers, and there’s not another pair of pink ones within a 40 mile radius? Do they do this to us on purpose? Is it so that the teachers know right at the start of the school year which children have parents who put off buying school supplies until the last minute?

“Oh, look out for that Johnny! He’s got blue erasers so it’s clear that his parents don’t care about his education.”

What about the crayons, markers and colored pencils? Is there some evil planning meeting where the teachers scheme to ask for 6 ½ crayons, a box of 16 colored pencils, 13 broad tipped markers, and 9 thin tipped markers? Because seriously, they don’t sell any of those products in the size you have me looking for, and I think you’re mocking me. Can I buy bigger boxes and just take out what he doesn’t need? Will he get extra credit for more color choices, or will he be thrown into Nazi Art Class Jail for trying to be too creative?

Next year I’m going to pay somebody to go find all of this stuff for me and I’m going to sit down and have a drink.

How Did THIS Happen So Fast?

Somewhere along the way, I blinked. And this?


Became this.


I want to know what the hell happened to my baby!

I Guess It's Better Than Dead

Tomorrow is my 41st birthday. F-f-f-forty-one? Oh, hell. I’m half-done, aren’t I? If anything deserves a ‘WTF?’, that does. Am I too old to bother with now?

Speaking of bothering, normally birthdays do not bother me, especially when they’re yours. However, this one is a little annoying. In all honesty, I am not ready to be forty-one or forty-anything. I guess I always thought that people in their forty’s knew who they were, where they were going, and how they were going to get there. Is there a milestone where these things should all fall into place for me?

While we're on the subject of milestones, I seem to have hit a few. WTF? I accepted the gray hairs. I accepted the aches and pains. I am working on accepting the deep laugh lines around my eyes and the despicable chicken neck growing out of my shirt collar. And now? A mustache. There it is. A fine, blonde fuzz growing along my upper lip, and the occasional long eyebrow sprouting up there making me look like a leprechaun. WHY, oh WHY do eyebrows grow longer now? They didn’t grow longer when I was a child! If they had, I wouldn’t be able to see a thing by now.

And how 'bout that not being able to see a thing? I can’t. I am effing blind. I know we’ve discussed that before, but how annoying is that? I can’t even see to put on my make-up.

And speaking of make-up, if I start caking on orange lipstick so thick that it bleeds up my nose like all the other old ladies do, slap the poop out of me.

And while we're talking about poop, promise me, please, if you love me at all, you will put me out of my misery if I ever get so old that I start worrying about when I last pooped. Especially if I start popping laxatives by the handful.

Seriously… that is way older than I want to be.

Holy Water Park Hell

I’m leaving tomorrow morning with Mr. Blognut and the Blognutians, to spend a few days at Holy Water Park Hell. Prior to my arrival, I would appreciate it if someone would distribute the following information to the rest of the parents who are planning to be there this week. Perhaps the hotel could make it part of the welcome packet?

7 Simple Rules for Parents and Children at Holy Water Park Hell

1. Watch your own friggin’ kids. If they go wandering off, go with them. Blognut is not responsible for your kids.

2. If you give your child a drippy ice cream bar, find the child a place to sit with it until s/he finishes it. Blognut does not like to have your child standing over her, dripping sticky shit on her head. Blognut will launch both you and your child into the nearest body of water if this occurs.

3. No, you can not have a drink from my glass. I realize my drink is big and looks yummy, and it is, but I have no plans to share it even if it is my fourth one. Also? That pretty umbrella in there is MINE, I will not give it to your child when I’m finished with my drink. See rule #4.

4. Children who play with those little drink umbrellas almost always use them to poke people. I do not like being poked. If you allow your child to poke me, be prepared to hear your child scream.

5. Blognuts like waterslides, but do not like the 14 story staircases that must be climbed in order to enjoy them. So… to make this part of the day more bearable, please help your child carry his/her raft up the stairs. I do not like to climb up 14 flights only to be knocked back down the stairs by Little Johnny or Suzy smacking me with their raft.

6. You are at a water park. You will get wet. I don’t want to hear about your hair, and I don’t want to watch you doing some crazy-assed dog paddle thing all day trying to keep your hair dry. Put on a damn hat.

7. It’s called a LAZY RIVER for a reason. Get your asses back up onto your raft, shut the hell up, and relax. It’s not a goddamned race track.

Okay, then. That should do it. I’ll see you all sometime this week, perhaps Wednesday.

Turning Over a New Leaf... Again

If you’ve been around a while, you’re probably familiar with my driving record. If not, you can get the background here if you’re interested.

You back?

So… yesterday morning while I was driving to work, I may or may not have been emailing someone via my cell phone. And I may or may not have been drinking coffee. And I may or may not have been steering with my knee.

I may or may not have been driving on a highly-congested I-55, and I may or may not have been traveling at high speed. I may or may not have typed in the words DODGE and WEAVE when the person I was emailing asked me if I was driving.

What I do know for sure, no matter what any of you say, is that driving had my complete and undivided attention. Oh, yes it did!

So when I went to exit off of I-55 onto a different interstate, I was all WTF because there was a huge truck BACKING DOWN THE RAMP. Not to worry though, I was not caught out unaware. I was painfully aware of every detail on the side of the truck. I know that someone had written “Wash me,” in the dirt, I know the truck did not appear to be moving, and I know that I shouted a word that starts with F. I had time to remember that my brakes are in desperate need of repair, and that Mr. Blognut hardly even gets mad at me anymore when I wreck cars. I also had time to wonder how I was going to look on the side of that truck.

Fortunately there was one more emergency stop left in those brake pads, and there was just enough shoulder available for me to keep one tire on the road and one off of the road, because otherwise your blognut would have been smushed to a grease spot.

I sat there on the shoulder for a few minutes, gathering my wits and finding my phone picking up my belongings, while assessing the situation.

My coffee? Spilled.

My phone? Airborne.

My briefcase? Ass over tea kettle.

Me? I managed not to soil myself, but I was suffering from puckering in my netherparts, for sure.

I may or may not have emailed my friend and told her that I almost got myself killed after I pulled out into traffic. She may or may not have said STOP EMAILING WHILE TRUCKS ARE TRYING TO RUN OVER YOU.

And then I may or may not have come to my senses and vowed once again to stop playing with my phone while driving.

What Does That Say?

I admit it, I have horrible handwriting. It's some freakish blend of cursive and print and, if I'm not careful, it's teeny tiny. Honestly, it might make a person think I had the fine motor skills of a drunk on a 7-day binge. Sometimes I pick up a note I wrote a day or two before, having absolutely no idea what it says, and I think, "Huh, who wrote this with their toes?"

Why am I telling you this? Because I just saw a note from my son and I had no idea what he had written. I can't even complain to him about it because I have no right to criticize.

Last year when The Boy brought home his mid-year report card, he had been given an 'unsatisfactory' in penmanship. In my endless need to drive the child to perfection look for constructive ways to help the child improve his skills, I wrote the teacher a note asking if she could recommend any practice exercises or a good workbook I could pick up for The Boy. (Not that he would do them, but I'd feel better knowing I had purchased a solution whether I actually made him practice or not.)

I waited several days, but I never heard back from her.

The following week I was chaperoning a class field trip and I asked the teacher if she had gotten my note. Laughing, she said when she saw it and realized what it was about, she wadded it up and threw it over her head, all the while thinking that she'd cut The Boy some slack because poor penmanship isn't his fault at all.

Oh yeah, he got a 'satisfactory' on the next report card.

If Only I Knew Magic

At various times throughout the day...

The Boy: Mama, where is my other shoe?
Blognut: I don't know. Hop along on one foot 'til you find it.


The Boy: Mama, have you seen my green soccer ball?
Blognut: Nope. Did you check in between the red one, the blue one, the white one, and the yellow one?


The Boy: I can’t find my game charger. Do you know where it is?
Blognut: Heh. I wouldn't tell you if I did!


The Boy: Mo-o-o-o-m! Where are my swim goggles?
Blognut: Geez! I don't know. Did you look in the refrigerator?


In my head, I’m really waiving my wand and saying the magic words while waiting for his stuff to appear out of thin air.

“Magnum, Ramsey, Trojan, Sheik!”

And…poof! Nothing!


Crap! If I’d said those words in the first place, I wouldn’t be standing here looking for The Boy’s things, would I?

And that? Would be so sad.

Google Sent You Here Again?

So... I was checking out my stats the other day and I saw you lurking. Just so you know, I have spy tools. I know who you are and I know where you live. I don't mean to scare you, but it's a fact. Leave a comment once in a while and I won't hunt you down.

Just sayin'.

Anyway, I digress. I didn't go to my spy toolbox to keep an eye on my lurkers, I went to find out which google searches were sending people to my blog lately. It's a shame that people enter search words on google in the hope of learning something useful, and land right here at Blognut Manor. Google loves to mess with people's minds and direct them to the land of the mindless rambling.

Seriously, land of the mindless rambling actually brought some poor, unsuspecting soul right here to my blog and, as far as I can tell, he's still here somewhere. Poor old schmuck. Run my little friend! Run for your life.

And? Run my little friend landed some other goofball here last month. I wonder what our little friend was trying to run from, don't you? Perhaps he or she was afraid of being deported for being mentally ill?

Because deporting all the mentally ill people is another search string that brings up my blog. And NO, I never said that was a good idea. I'm pretty sure I never said it at all. Maybe it was Diane. (Just kidding, she wouldn't suggest that either and she's not even here to defend herself.)

It's just that a search for Diane's addled ramblings actually landed here, too. Seriously folks, she has her own blog. Although we do share a brain, I don't keep her here, but I can give you directions. Just scroll down my sidebar, you don't even have to ask.

Although you don't even have to ask is another search string that may have brought you here. And? You absolutely DO have to ask for most things here at Blognut Manor. In fact, you may even have to pay.

Because you will pay, when entered into google, can land you right here, too. I accept cash, credit cards, and certain trades if pre-approved. Failure to pay up may result in you being hit with a bat.

And getting hit with a bat is rumored to be one of the many services I provide, but I probably won't hit you unless you say something mean about my hair.

Which google did when it sent someone here who searched for bad hair and I just want to say that I take offense to that. Do you think it's easy having fuzzy blue hair all over my round head? This name-calling makes me feel a little bitchy.

Although google attempted to make it up to me by bringing someone who searched for skinny bitch to my blog, I know that's just sarcasm. However, google was halfway in the right on that one, I'll leave you to figure out which half actually applies but do keep in mind that I have already admitted to being round. That's all I have to say about that.

Seriously, that is all I have to say appears to be a popular phrase here, too. At least it is if you ask google.