Blogging Break OR I Won't Be Blogging For a Few Weeks

 

 

Yes, fabulous readers, without whom I would be hopelessly lost, I'm taking a brief blogging break to rejuvenate.  Also I'm getting my tax information together so I can give Uncle Sam my 30 percent this year and further the cause for all Democrats and Republicans.  I may be hitting my head against the wall on the side of my house just to shake things up.

 

Be back soon.  Feel free to read old blogs.  There are some very funny ones.

More Random Stuff

This is the squirrel who hates me.  He was waiting for me when I left the house this morning.  He sits on the broken branch and makes loud noises at me.  (I'm pretty sure it's something like, "Get away from my nuts, house bitch!" in squirreleze.  Or something like that.)

You can see it in his little beady eyes.  He waited for me to come out in the morning so he can chitter at me from this tree.

Wait.  Here's the more realistic shot:

Onto something else.

Whoops.  Random subject change.  I suppose I should warn people but hey then the blog would be predictable and that would be boring.

Pain in the Ass Man made a brief reappearance this week.  (Pain in the Ass Man is also known as HIM the man to whom I'm married.  I'm not supposed to mention his actual name in the blog in case Chinese communist spies are reading it or so he won't be overly embarrassed.  One or the other.)

I forgot the cape on this one.  Plus he's got hair, which well,
he doesn't.  He is bald Pain In the Ass Man.
(But it's cool.  Bald is good.  He's like a rocket scientist
Kojak without the lollipop.  "Who loves ya, baby?")

I went into the bathroom (not my bathroom) and noticed it was stinky poo.  (Here's where I'm going to embarrass my 8-year-old daughter.)  Okay.  Someone had not flushed the toilet.  I said to HIM, "The upstairs bathroom is stinky."  Without hesitation, HIM said, "I don't use that bathroom."  One needs to consider the statement.  He snapped it out like Indiana Jones with a red-hot whip.  "I don't use that bathroom."

Here's a better image of PITAM.  (Pain In The Ass Man.)

Here it is in bold and red and over sized:



"I don't use that bathroom."

But HIM does use that bathroom.  In fact, I had seen HIM using that bathroom the night before I had to scrub the toilet with extra-strength stink-be-gone.  (Twice.  The toilet cleaner smells like Pepto-Bismol.  I swear to God, the toilet cleaner smells like Pepto-Bismol.  I could do a whole shtick on what the business developers were thinking when they decided that people want toilets that smell like Pepto-Bismol.  I mean, it didn't say on the friggin' label that it smells like Pepto-Bismol.  I wouldn't have bought it if it had said that.  But I digress.  I done digressed.  I done be digressing all over the place.)  (At least I don't have to clean up after digressing.)

Back to the above statement.  "I don't use that bathroom."  This is not true.  HIM does use that bathroom.  Maybe not as much as the other bathrooms, but hey, HIM is an equal opportunity pooper.  What happened above was that HIM automatically threw his own daughter under the bus.  "I don't use that bathroom." means that only our daughter uses that bathroom.  If she is the only one to use that bathroom, ergo, she stunk it up.  Ergo, it's her fault.

There's something about a talking toilet that just
appeals to me.  You could program it to say
things like, "Hey, were you born in a barn?
Shut the lid?" and "That's gonna need
a double flush."

I wasn't really mad at this.  I think I was more irritated that the toilet wasn't flushed.  But when HIM said those immortal words, I felt obliged to blog about it.  It wasn't something I had a choice in.  I had to do it.  Automatically.  HIM automatically blamed someone else.  (This is what the police called the Some Other Dude Did It defense.  The police is used to this.  Am I comparing myself to the police in my house?  I suppose I am.  My own husband is so afraid of me that he automatically tosses our daughter to the wolves.  "It was three other big people who peed in the toilet and left it unflushed, dearest sweetie honeypie.  I can describe them for the sketch artist.  They ran in, peed in the same toilet and then ran out.")  Who got to clean the toilet?  Well, it wasn't some other dude, that's for damn sure.

Enough of that rant.  What else is there?

I know!  I know!  I'm on Diet No. 1 of 2013.  Oh, that crazy first diet of the year.  You mean so well.  You have such good intentions.  Then you go by Buffalo Wild Wings and remember they have Garlic Parmesan Boneless Buffalo Wings on sale and it goes to hell in a hand basket.

Haha.  I haven't gone by Buffalo Wild Wings yet.  I'm on Day 2 of Diet No. 1.  You see I have to see the doctor at the end of the month and if I go in and I haven't lost weight I will have to explain to him why I haven't lost weight.  I will have to say things like, "Um, err, four fat people rushed up to me and force fed me Cheetos and Chunky Monkey ice cream." or "Aliens did it.  Instead of probing me they fed me biscuits and gravy.  Lots of gravy and it was good gravy.  I had an IV of gravy.  In fact, I just had an IV of pure lard."  (This is a lot like "I don't use that bathroom," except with weight.)  Do you think I want to say these things to a medical doctor?  No, I do not.  Also I want to live past 50.  And my last year of fortysomething is coming up.

Diets suck.  They (HIM and Cressy) wanted pizza tonight.  I had three pieces.  (Which isn't on the diet.  Or at least it isn't on any diet that I know of.)  Plus the kid wanted donut holes.  At least the moron cat doesn't eat stuff that tempts me.  And the squirrel is outside laughing at me.

Monday Morning Blog OR Randomtivity Happens

What can I say?

Recent happenings:

-  I have been sick.  Very sick.  Pneumonia type sick and stuff has not been done.  In fact, I feel like I have been put through a wringer and then kicked off a cliff and then told I'm fired.  Or something like that.  This is the third time in my life I've had it and I don't know if it's because I'm older or fatter or because Obama was reelected, it just seemed worse.  (Damn.  That was a good one.  Democrats everywhere are shuddering.)  (I'll try to equal out the balance by slamming a Republican later in the blog.)

- We recently went to a movie.  We saw Skyfall.  I could say something about the movie.  I didn't think it was as good as say, Casino Royale, although it was much better than Quantum of Solace, which had a weird name as well as minimal plot.  Several other things I could mention happened in the movie but I don't want to spoil it.  (Someone dies.  Someone important dies.  I mustn't say more.)  Bond gets shot in the beginning by a very cute girl who I recognized as being one of the survivors in 28 Days Later.  (Good role for her.  Zombies to Bond.  Nice.  And she's buff.  But then so is Bond.)  (And can I say that while I like Daniel Craig, he is the ugliest Bond ever.  He's like super craggy face.  I like his Bond.  He can act.  He can wear a tailored suit, but he's definitely the ugliest Bond.  Sorry.)  We were the only ones in the theater.  (Early matinee because Fat Woman needs an afternoon nap these days.)  So maybe I was a little vociferous.  Hey, I didn't even turn off my cell phone.  In fact, when we left there was a single employee there to clean up the theater and I told him, "Don't worry, we didn't mess it up."  He didn't believe me and went in to check.  And I was all like, "Is it me, or have plots got incredibly predictable?"  I could have written this James Bond movie.  I knew what they were going to say before they said it.  (Javior Bardem was a baddass Bond villain but I didn't get the need for him to be blond.  However, his opening lines were really good when he told the story about how his grandmother taught him how to kill rats.  You have to see it to appreciate it.  I didn't predict that part, so kudos to the writers for getting that part right.)  Anyway, my sister said to me, upon my complaint about the predictability of the movie, "You want another The Usual Suspects."  She's totally right.  I want to watch the damn movie.  Then go back to the beginning and say, "I have to watch that again to figure it out because Keyser Soze effed with my mind."

Anyway, I told that whole story because when we got out to the car HIM looked at the tickets and said, "The kid charged us a senior citizen rate."

That's how sick I've been I guess.  I look like a senior citizen and I'm not even 50.  Irony has been bitch-slapping me around.

- Our daughter's 3rd grade science project is now in the works.  (Either we will blow up the house or get it finished by the 23rd of January.  Either one.)  She shall determine whether or not frozen candles burn slower than unfrozen candles.  Here's a suggestion for everyone.  Have a fire extinguisher ready for this one.  No, she didn't light the house on fire.  But be ready.  No, she didn't light the cat's tail on fire.  Just be ready.  In my house, the person who isn't ready is the one who ends up with Sharpie comments written on the crotch of his jeans.  (It was a smiley face.  Totally innocuous.  I should have taken a picture but it wasn't like he was asleep or anything unconscious-like.)  (What does that have to do with a 3rd grade science project?  I don't know but I segwayed (segued) into it.  Now I have to go see how to spell segwayed properly.  (Segued.  A Segway is something completely different.)  I should have been prepared.  I should have had a fire extinguisher AND a dictionary.  What was I thinking?)

- My birthday is coming up.  I suspect I won't get anything exciting.  I think HIM and my daughter are afraid I'll have a heart attack or something if they get me something exciting.  I want a stripper.  I want a man dressed in a gorilla suit who strips off the clothing over the gorilla suit and then has neon-target lighted underwear.  Wait, I'll try to find a photograph.  No, wait.  I don't really want a stripper dressed as a gorilla, but that would have been funny.  Once HIM sent a clown to my work.  The clown kissed me on the lips with greasy paint makeup that would not come off no matter what.  (Where was my stripper then?  No friggin' clown strippers, either.)  (I've decided I want a Segway for my birthday.)

Okay.  I admit this blog is strange.  It's especially strange since I couldn't put any images in it.  Blame Blogger.  Their shizz was broke.  It wouldn't let me do anything including insert weird photos of bunnies and kittens riding on a scooter together.  (My right hand to God, there is such a picture.)  Wait, I'll post the link.  See here.  Kitties and bunnies.

I'll stop before it's too late.