A Rant About Stuff

I seriously planned to be in a good mood this week. I was gonna be all done being pissy about stuff, and I was gonna go around with a smile on my face if it killed me. (Which it totally might have, but I was willing to try it for the good of all mankind.)

But NO. It’s over. I’m not even going to pretend and I refuse to smile and be nice to people. I have a stuffy nose, a cough-y cough, achey ears, a headache and a hurt-y chest. I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR MY ACTIONS WHEN I DO NOT FEEL WELL.

There. It’s out. It’s an ugly truth, but we’re all going to have to live with it.

And so, it only stands to reason that everyone else is stupid today.

And tomorrow.

I know they will be totally stupid again tomorrow, too. There’s no way around it.

All those people at work, and all those customers who should know better than to show up at Bumblefuck Bank & Trust when I don’t feel well, are UNREASONABLE with their needy little selves. RIDICULOUS.

I DON’T CARE if they don’t like service charges. Who the hell ever said banking was not-for-profit? We have plenty of free accounts and free services from which to choose, so if you don’t like service charges, may I suggest maintaining a POSITIVE balance in your account? ‘Cause really, an overdraft is just an unsecured line of credit without your bank’s permission. Guess what? Did you ever get a free loan? NO. NO YOU DID NOT.

Okay. I’m done. Sorry. I’ll try to be more reasonable next week. And yeah, I’ll totally reverse your overdraft charges.

Feel Those What-Do-You-Call-Its

As you know, October is National Breast Cancer Awareness Month. (Should month be capitalized? I’ve seen this both ways.) (Heh. Month goes both ways.)

Ahem. Grow up. Where were we?

Oh yeah, I was saying, it’s almost Feel Your Boobies Month. (And if you don’t have any, then for God’s sake, feel someone else’s.) Cheri did a post yesterday and also followed up with an email reminding me to schedule my smash-o-gram, so I called right away and was able to get in there this morning due to a cancellation, and now it's done.

The tech that played peek-a-boobie with me made me laugh. Seriously, she was standing there with my boob in her hand, and she asked me if I had implants. Ahem. A little honesty here? They aren't that big, and they certainly don't give the impression that anyone has made a financial investment toward improving them. They just don't. So I lied. I said, "Yes. Yes I do have implants. I bought the really expensive and realistic ones that let your breasts roll into your armpits and/or drop to your knees the minute you whip the underwire off." I think I made her day.

And the rest of you? Can totally make my day by doing two things.

1. Pick up your phone and schedule yourself a good old-fashioned hooter honkin’ mammogram RIGHT NOW, and then keep the appointment. Also, if you're worried about the cost, there are probably a couple of free breast screening opportunities in your area in October since it's Breast Cancer Awareness Month and all. Make some phone calls, you hear me? It's important.


And, no, this is not the kind of free mammogram I'm talking about at all. In fact, I am pretty sure this is Otin. Don't fall for this. (Otin, don't trick the girls this year, okay love?)

2. Humor my inner child and leave me comments with some slang words for breasts, mammograms, and/or bras because that kind of stuff really amuses me. I’ll pick out the funniest ones and send the winner a duffel bag full of dog hair. (But you’ll totally have to send me your own duffel bag, which I will gladly fill FOR FREE with only the softest and highest-quality dog hair that money can buy.)

WHO WILL BE THE BIG WINNER?!!

I’ll start you off with a few words –

Yabbos
Boobage
Gedoinkers

I AM SOOOOO IMMATURE!!!



**Our friend Diane, the owner of the other half of my brain, is participating in the Breast Cancer Walk in Washington DC in just two short weeks. Are you ready, Diane? ‘Cause I heard it’s going to snow. Heh. If anyone wants to make a last minute donation toward Diane’s goal, click on the pink ribbon icon in my sidebar right over there <= and make her day.

Sanity has Abandoned Blognut

I've had a rather tenuous grip on my sanity these last few days and it finally just up and left me. I am kinda needing to borrow someone else's for a day or two. You know, just until mine grows back or something.

I won't want to keep it forever. I'll return it, I promise. My fingers are only a little crossed right now, too, so you can tell I totally mean it.

I'm asking nicely. Anyone? Pretty please?

WTF Wednesday and Another Acronym that Applies

I took a Facebook quiz called, "What's Your Mental Disorder?" the other day. It confirmed what I already knew, just in case you were doubting that I am a smart blognut.

I've always said I have self-diagnosed Attention Deficit Disorder, and now I have Facebook some-moron-wrote-a-diagnostic quiz-and-I-nailed-it ADD.

So it must be true.

Wait! What were we talking about?

Here's what they say about it on Facebook: Though you aren’t really crazy, you do have issues. You are impulsive, hyperactive, and not to mention easily distracted. You can’t sit still and you don’t exactly think before you act. You just need to learn how to chill and everything will be good.

Yep. That's me.

The Unwelcome Guest

We had company this past weekend. The little bastard showed up, uninvited, unannounced, and unwelcome. I know what you're thinking. It wasn't my mother, but it was almost as bad. LOOK!

A friggin' scorpion, Africa-bug, satanic cult-leading, vengeance-seeking asshole of a spider.

Look at him! He knows I hate spiders! He's mocking me. Do you see it? He's all, "See me over here taking over your kitchen, Blognut?" And I'm all, "Do whatever you gotta do 'cause you don't scare me and I'm not getting down off this counter until your ass is cold in the ground," on the outside. On the inside, I was all "Mother of God, get that effing cockroach eating bastard of a mother-humping asshole Oh my God, do you think he's a scout? furry backed killer OUT of HERE!"

But I couldn't say all of that out loud because the blognutians were there. I mean RIGHT THERE. They were up on the counter, too. Blognutians do not fall far from the Blognut Tree. See? I have proof.


But before you start thinking I can get wise and try to blackmail them with pictures of them huddled on the counter in fear for their very lives, you should know that they are proud of their fear. They own it.

You should also know that the picture up there shows Girl #1's cell phone lying on the counter. So while I was busy documenting their fear, they were busy documenting mine.



That's me. Huddled on the kitchen desk fearing for my life. (Notice I saved my Diet Pepsi, too?) Those are my white knuckles. I might have been screaming. They might have been laughing. But one thing is certain, we were all keeping an eye on that spider until Mr. Blognut slayed the little bastard and saved the day.

And that is how I shall deal with all unwelcome guests from now on.

Hey! Don't Pull That!

Remember how I mentioned a while back that I was getting old? And how I mentioned that I started growing a mustache to celebrate my getting-oldness? And how I threatened to start keeping tweezers in my car because, seriously, that’s like the onliest time that I can ever actually SEE the hairs growing on my upper lip? And how, even then, the only ones I can actually see are the hairs growing on the left side of my upper lip because the sunlight is hitting them directly?

Did I really tell you all of this, or did I maybe dream it? ‘Cause if I didn’t tell you, I’m sure I meant to.

So. Here’s me driving down the road this morning, having been told only moments before to stop texting, (because my friend She was totally looking out for me), when I turned my attention to the sunlight shining in on the left side of my upper lip. Yep. There it was again. A mustache. Or, half of one. I can’t really be certain.

Either way, full or half, I leaned in close to the mirror to inspect the problem, and reached for the tweezers which now have a permanent home in my console. (Because somehow, She, tweezing while driving is waaaay safer than texting, and I get too bored in the car to focus my attention on just one thing; like driving.) I went to work with a vengeance on that blonde shrub and that’s when I saw the horrifying black hair.

I assumed it wasn’t mine. It couldn’t be mine, could it? I mean, after all, up until now there has never been a black hair of my own on my entire body. (TMI?) And this one? Appeared to be growing out of my nose.

I figured I must have inhaled someone something hairy. What else could it be?

So I grabbed it with the tweezers and gave it a yank.

CHRIST on a POGO STICK! That effing hurt! It wasn’t actually growing out of my nose. No, it had to be growing out of my brain. Maybe I absorbed my black-haired twin in utero and the hair actually belongs to her. I do not know. All I knew was that hair was somehow connected to something and now it was on fire. And? I had tears streaming down my face from the searing pain of the experience.

Now that a few hours have passed, I’ve had time to accept a couple of things. First of all, I am not becoming an old woman, I am becoming an old man. Secondly, the greater purpose of my time on this earth is to serve as a warning to others. You’ll want to cut those hairs if you grow them, not pluck them. Just sayin’.

Carry on – my work here is done.

I'd Feel Better If You Knew

I have a confession to make. You know how I broke up with Starbucks last week? And how I implied that I needed to learn to regulate my caffeine intake? And how I blamed Starbucks for trying to boost me up to a six shot habit?

Well…um…er…this is really hard to admit.

We’re still seeing each other.

I forgot that it was Pumpkin Spice Latte season, and that Peppermint Lattes are right around the corner, along with Gingersnap Lattes and Eggnog Lattes. As soon as I realized the gravity of my error, I was all WTF? and how do I fix this?

Breaking up is probably a bit harsh, don’t you think? I mean, after all, it’s not like Starbucks cheated on me or anything. I don’t have to make any rash decisions, do I?

Also? Michel totally went out of her way to convince Starbucks that I didn’t really break up, and I can’t have her efforts going to waste. What kind of friend would that make me?

So I decided that I would give Starbucks another chance, at least for the next several months until we get through the special seasonal beverages, and then I’ll figure out what this relationship means to me.

Meanwhile, I’m going to drown myself in Pumpkin Spice Lattes and pretend to be happy in this relationship. And? I won’t really be pretending. Pumpkin Spice Lattes make me very, very happy. They also give me an orange tongue and make me look like I’ve been licking an Oompa Loompa, but it turns out that's a good look for me.

Happy Friggin' Monday

Blognut would like a day of rest today. Do you know what Blognut’s weekend looked like? Or why Blognut has stepped outside of her round blue head and started referring to herself in the third person?

I think it’s an illness.

An illness brought on by exhaustion and blognutian overload.

The Boy had three soccer games in three different towns this weekend, and The Girls had a cross-country meet in a place so far south of Blognut Manor that Blognut actually glimpsed a Confederate flag and a gun rack in the back of a pick-up truck.

In between all this running around to the four corners of the earth to dutifully cheer on the blognutians, Blognut tried to get some work done; tried is the operative word. For each time Blognut was able to focus her ADD-infested round blue head on a task, the back door to Blognut Manor would crash open to the sound of The Boy bellowing, “M-o-o-o-o-m!” almost as though he were being chased by an axe murderer or by someone carrying a huge platter of steamed brussel sprouts.

Although Blognut is well aware that there is no axe murderer or brussel sprout-carrying lunatic chasing her son, this wail from the back door is enough to send her over-caffeinated ass into a spin. It’s especially frustrating since Blognut is also well aware that The Boy is merely missing something of great importance, like a shoe or hockey stick, or that The Boy is simply hungry and would like her to set up the peanut butter and jelly buffet for him and six of his friends.

And so Blognut has arrived here on Monday morning without ever having sat down this weekend, and feeling as though there may not have been an actual weekend at all. Blognut has been robbed.

The Break-Up

Dear Starbucks,

I should really thank you for opening that Starbucks right near Bumblefuck Bank & Trust, where I work, because, had it worked out between us, it would mean that I could actually arrive to the office with hot coffee. However, in spite of your best efforts to accommodate me, I am afraid that we have to break up.

Sure, we can still get together occasionally for buddy sex coffee when I really need it bad, but our regular gig is over. I’m sorry to tell you like this, but it has to be this way. Your new store is expensive-y and your employees are kinda scary.

Yesterday, when I pulled up to the squawk box and ordered my triple-shot venti skinny cinnamon dolce latte, they gave it to me on ice. Hello? Who would drink that shit on ice? I said latte not frappuccino. So I told them of their grievous error and they were really good about fixing me a new drink and they even let me keep the cold one.

And now? I found out who would drink that shit on ice. Me. I will totally drink that shit on ice.

And? It tastes like tar.

Also? I drank every last drop of it anyway.

Why? Hello? TRIPLE-SHOT!!! I need all the caffeine I can get because I? Do not sleep.

So today I gambled. I went back to that same Starbucks and ordered the same latte I asked for yesterday. MY DRINK. And? They did it again. I left with an iced tar beverage in addition to the coffee I actually asked for in the first place.

While I appreciate flying high on six shots of espresso for the 2nd day in a row, on top of the two cans of Diet Pepsi I had while getting ready for work this morning, I am beginning to question my own ability to self-regulate my caffeine intake. You see, I am totally drinking tar again today simply because I cannot stand to see three good shots of espresso go to waste.

It tastes like ass. I'm actually slugging it down in great big gulps and then shuddering from the awful taste of it. And yet? I'M DRINKING IT.

What if my body gets used to this? What if it starts to require this much espresso every morning? Do you see the danger this puts me in? Do you also see me racking up a tab equivalent to the national debt?

It has to end here and, believe me, it hurts me more than it hurts you.

So long,
blognut

A Peek into Blognut's Workplace

If you’ve been around here much, you probably know that I work for a bank. It’s a relatively decent place to work and I have a nice comfy office with all the necessary toys of the trade; such as bubbles, bouncy balls, and crayons.

I get to work with some pretty interesting people, so I thought I’d take a minute to let you meet a few of them. You know, so you’ll feel more at home around here.

There’s FF himself, he’s the CEO and also my boss. He carries files around and disappears into the bathroom for hours at a time. NEVER let him hand you a file! Make sure your hands are always full, and just tell him to set the file on the corner of your desk. You’ll want to pick that baby up with rubber gloves on, and anti-bacterial gel at the ready. Just sayin’.

There’s Supply Nazi, who, among other things, is in charge of most of the ‘ordering and getting’ around the workplace. She does lots of other important-y things, too. It’s best if we just do whatever we have to in order to keep her happy because she understands that I need special things in order to function. We wouldn’t want her to stop ordering my pink or purple legal pads, would we? I can’t use yellow legal pads; that’s so run of the mill.

There’s the requisite moley lady. Every workplace seems to have one of these. She’s a sweetheart, but she’s got this scary mole thing going on and it plays right into my ADD. I really have no idea what we’ve ever talked about because all I can do is THINK ABOUT the MOLE. And? The HAIR. It’s the stuff of nightmares.

And we have this one teller that is almost 80 years old. She’s really crabby looking, but she’s got a heart of gold. I greet her everyday with a, “Good Morning, Beautiful!” and she just beams. She can’t hear for shit, so I have no idea if she knows what I’m saying to her, but it seems to make her happy anyway.

You’ll also want to know about our loan processor. You’ll never actually get to meet her because she only comes in for a brief landing on Thursdays, and that’s just to refuel her energy supply. She’s all jacked up on Mountain Dew and you can’t understand a word she says because she talks a mile a minute. If, on the off chance, she tries to talk to you, just tell her to send you an email because it’s the only hope you’ll have of actually finding out what she said to you.

Of course there are lots of other people around here, too. There’s Lazy-Ass Lender, Other Lazy-Ass Lender, Slacker-Jack Banker, Detail Devil, Compliance Cop, Princess Panic, Drama Dan, and a host of others. It’s a lot like our own nutty little community right there inside of Bumblefuck Bank & Trust.

And I? Run the asylum.

WTF Wednesday - Smart Kitty

I didn't know cats could sit up.

A Glimpse into the Pre-School that is Blognut Manor

I suppose, for various reasons, one could say that I have no patience at the moment. And I suppose that if one did say that, they'd probably want to do so from a distance.

So why is it that when I have no patience, my kids act like three cats in a sack. (Do not call PETA, I did not put my kids or anyone's cats into a sack.)

You would think that name-calling by a nine-year-old could be mostly ignored by his intellectually superior older sisters, even though they did totally deserve it because they were antagonizing The Boy with their evil mind games. But, NO! No way, baby! Instead of ignoring him, the two teenagers decided to lodge a formal complaint and seek justice against their attacker.

And since I'm a little crabby and I have no patience for this, I opted to tell all three of them to pack their bags and move out that they needed to work this one out on their own because I really don't think they would end up liking my form of justice.

Because? Frankly, in my humble opinion, fair punishment for calling two teenage girls, "Butthead Junior," is a popsicle and a trip to the movie store.

Also, if I were them, and my little brother would not stop calling me names, I'd pull his boxers into a wedgie that went right up over his head.

And? If I were him, and my two teenage sisters would not stop trying to blow up my inferior little boy mind, I would soak all of their bras and throw them in the freezer.

Case closed.

WTF Wednesday - The Dentist

Dear Dr. Death,

We need to chat again. I love you, you know that. Where ‘love’ equals ‘I wish you had actually gone to, and then passed, dental school’ instead of actually just driving by it one sunny afternoon.

I know I whined a bit that one time when you did all those hurty things to my teeth and then sprayed ice water directly onto the nerves that lead to the swearing part of my brain, and I’ll admit that I whined some more about the whole invisible braces thing a couple of weeks ago, but today’s little episode was extra-special and I’d like to take a moment to bring it to your attention.

See, there’s a little-known fact about blognuts and I’m going to share it with you right now since we’re so close and all. We do not actually like it when you say you’re getting floss, then you return with a piece of steel screen and proceed to grind away spaces between our teeth without first offering either a numb-y medicine or four shots of vodka.

Also, when that steel dental floss slips and you cut through our gums all the way to our nasal passages, that kinda hurts a little bit and we are known to take flight around the room and say words like, “Fuckity, fuck, fuck!” right in a row like that. We do not mean to offend, but it is beyond our control. Try not to look so shocked when that happens and maybe avoid scheduling school children to be in the office at that time, ‘k?

And one other thing? Try to remember that you have stuffed all manner of gauze into my mouth, along with pointy objects, squirt-y things, and suck-y things. If my cell phone rings, do not hand me my phone! Whoever it is can call back when my mouth is no longer occupied by a sadistic nut trying to shave my teeth with a power-tool.

That is all, thank you.
Blognut

It Lives

Hello, my bloggy buddies. Thanks for your emails wondering things like, "WTF?" and "Where are you?" and "Are you okay?" I know I disappeared on you for a few days, but I am alive and all is well. I am sorry to be unreliable. :)

Where have I been? Right here at Blognut Manor. I've missed reading your blogs and I'll make my way around to see you in the next day or two.

Can I ask you all a question? WHY can't you learn to take a few days off when I do? Seriously, it's only polite. I have, like, 9,672 blog posts in my reader and I am loathe to hit the "Mark all as read," button but I think I'm going to have to in order to preserve my sanity. What the hell went on with all of you this weekend that you had so much to say? Is this what happens when I'm not watching you?

Oh, wait a minute! I think I understand now. You were talking about me, weren't you? CRAP! Now I gotta read all this stuff to ease my paranoia?

Here's how you can make it up to me. Leave a brief summary of what I have missed in my comments today - don't tell any lies, either. And be sure to tattle on your fellow bloggers if there is something I should know.

Like, for example, tell me who Dar has been roasting. Did Diane really get drunk and unruly this past weekend? What has Michel been bitching about? Have I missed anything enlightening from Braja or Pastor Sharon? Is Vodka Mom drinking in front of the kindergarten class again?

The only blogger I know who wasn't out stirring up trouble this weekend is She, and I only know that 'cause she was right here at Blognut Manor where I could keep an eye on her. (And did I tell you that She is awesome and I love her? And you should totally get yourself one of these She's to keep around your house, too.)

All right now - enough said. Give me the gossip. Go ahead, you know what to do....