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I Will Always Love You….Always

13 Feb

Hi!  Did you hear that Whitney Houston died?  Craaaaazy!

The news hit me particularly hard because, like so many other young women my age, it seems like only yesterday that I was teasing my hair, painting on my frosty green and blue Wet n’ Wild eyeshadow, taking a lighter to my Cover Girl jet black eyeliner (you know, the one that came in a red pencil), slathering on the frosty pink lipstick, zipping up my tennis skirt, making sure my socks were perfectly and symmetrically folded inside my white aerobic sneakers, popping my collar, blasting “I Wanna Dance With Somebody” and lip syncing it in front of my mirror using a tennis racquet as a guitar. 

Since I was the only brown skinned girl at my elementary school, I could get away with planting the seed that I looked just like Whitney Houston.  No one ever questioned it.  You know….because I was the closest thing to a black girl we had at my school.  It would have been racist to disagree.  It was one of the perks of not looking like everyone else.  I looooved it.

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What I Thought I Looked Like

 

 

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What I Actually Looked Like...But Not So "Put Together"

I was at my sister’s house for a Vino/Vinyl party on Saturday when I heard the news about Whitney.

SIDE NOTE:  A Vino/Vinyl party is one in which the guest brings a bottle of a wine and an LP vinyl record.  The wine is open and set out for guests to embibe as they wish.  The vinyl gets assigned a number which then gets a corresponding number in a hat.  The hostess has guests pick a number from the hat.  If your record is chosen you can either chose which side of your record you would like played or defer your record until later.  You know… in case it’s too early in the evening for Iggy Pop….or too late in the evening for Iggy Pop.  It should be noted that my record was Janet Jackson’s “Control“.  I challenge you to pick only ONE side of that record to play after you’ve polished off a bottle of white you hid on the bookshelf behind your nephew’s class picture.  It wasn’t easy, but I ultimately went with Side A.

So, I’m at the party when someone walks in and announces, “Whitney Houston died.” so casually that I have to ask him to repeat it:

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Did you say that Whiteny Houston died? How very silly.

What followed was a lot of wine, a lot (but not enough) of Janet, Miss Jackson if you’re nasty, some cheese, and dancing.

Flash forward to Monday morning when I’m talking to my friend, A, about the tragedy:

Me:  Did you hear that Whitney Houston died?

A:    Shut up.

Me.  I know.  Seriously, though.  I was at my sister’s Vino/Vinyl party when I found out.

A:  Your sister had an albino party?

Me:  Viiiiiiinoooooo/Viiiiiiiinyl.  Wine and records.

A:  *Laughing hysterically*  I thought you said albino

Me:  Yes, she had an albino party.  I didn’t feel like getting my dress dirty, though, so instead of painting my arms white, I wore fancy white satin elbow-length dinner gloves….and a bald cap.

A:  *Laughing* Wait.  What?!  Albinos aren’t bald.

Me:  I know.  I just wanted an excuse to wear a bald cap. 

Then, I got a visual of myself at my sister’s Albino party, hearing of Whitney’s death……………

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Goodbye, Whitney. Goodbye.

 

 

 

 

Are You There God? It’s Me, Dumbass

26 Jul

Due to a nasty storm which resulted in hail damage, the house is getting new siding.  I’m excited, but due to my almost constant state of annoyance, the whole things has been a bit….annoying.

I had worked myself up into an annoyed tizzy just thinking about it while watering my flowers the other morning when I heard a buzzing in my ear.  Thinking it was a bee getting ready to fly into my ear, have millions of bee babies that would sting my brain, and then all fly out my nose after killing me, I instinctively swatted it away.  I used the same hand I was holding the garden hose in.  I ended up spraying myself in the face:

Nice

I looked around to make sure no one *clear throat* Hubby saw that.  I was in the clear, and so continued to water the plants.

I was giving the rose-bush in front of our diningroom window a good soaking when I noticed that the shutters could use a fresh coat of paint.  “I wonder if they would paint the shutters when they replace the siding”, I wondered….out loud. 

*SIDE NOTE:  I talk to myself…a lot.  It’s not really talking to myself.  It’s more like thinking out loud.  The problem is that I tend to ramble.  Imagine what that looks like to a normal person.  A bit cray-cray.

Just then I heard a soft muffled voice say something like,  “I can’t believe this.”  The voice sounded distant.  The neighbors must have had their radio on or something.  Oh well.

I was working my way to the flowers at the back of the house when the hose got knotted on something.  That put me over the edge:

SON OF A BITCH! I hate this g-damn hose!  Why does it always get knotted?!  You would think they would have invented something that stops hose knots.  Actually, they probably have something at Home Depot.  I should look the next time I go.  I think we need AA batteries, too.  And, I think they have a sale on charcoal.  I’ll have to call mom.  She always knows when there’s a sale on something.

My tirade was interrupted when I was startled by “the voice”.  This time the voice was a little less muffled.  It sounded like it was coming from my butt.  Maybe I had butt dialed someone? I panicked at the thought of having gotten my phone wet.  I reached for my back pocket (wait for it)  with the hand holding the hose.  Good news:  My phone was in the house.  Bad news:  My face and my ass were totally soaked. 

The voice:  How long?….Again?  Seriously?

Me:  Hello?  Hubby?

The voice:  …..all day.  Moron. 

Me:  Whatever!  I’m almost done watering the plants.  Keep your pants on…for now. *chuckle*

The voice:  What?

Me:  Did you go to the store yet?  Can you check if there’s something that prevents garden hose knots?  I’ve been having technical difficulties out here.

The voice:  Hello?  Ma’am?

Me:  (Confused)  Hello?

The voice:  Hello?  I’m up here. 

Just then I looked up to see a man sitting on our very steep roof and a very looooong ladder laying on the ground with my garden hose knotted around it.   Then, I realized that it was Saturday.  The insurance adjuster was coming on Saturday to survey the damage on the roof and siding.  He was coming early, was going to climb up, inspect the roof, and leave.  We wouldn’t even notice he was there.

Me:  (Mortified.  Staring straight ahead.)  Hiiiiiiiiiiii.  You must be Tom from the insurance company?

The voice:  Yeah.

Me:   I suppose you need this ladder to get down?

The voice:  Yeah.  I do.

Me:  How long….

The voice:  A couple of hours.  I hoped to get your attention when I saw you come out to water the plants, but….

Me:  Soooooo…you saw?

The voice: (beyond annoyed and terrified by the crazy lady who talks to herself) Can you just get the ladder, Ma’am?

Thankfully, (for Tom) we haven’t had to deal with each other since that day.  When Hubby asked me why he was suddenly fielding the calls from Tom the Insurance Adjuster, I just told him that Tom was probably being sexist and would rather deal with “the man of the house.” 

Hubby’s not buying it.

From the Fourth Stooge

24 Jun

Dear Readers:

Thanks for checking out the blog this week.  I still can’t believe people actually read this.

I have received a few blog awards from fellow bloggers as of late.  Thanks to all who think this blog warrants an award.  I appreciate it. 

First, please know I appreciate the shout-outs.  Please don’t think I’m a complete a-hole (I mean, I am, but you know what I mean). 

The thing is, I’m a complete dickhead I’m sort of OCD, and like to have complete control over what I write about it.  I also highly value the anonymity of this blog.  Believe it or not, I’m sort of shy.  I’m sort of weird about putting too much of myself “out there” (the moon landing never happened, the “man” is always looking over your shoulder, Area 51 is no joke). 

Yeah, I’m weird.

That being said, thanks again to all who have nominated me.  I really appreciate it. 

Please take a minute to like my Facebook page and/or follow me on Twitter.  I’ll follow you back.

Have a great  weekend.  I’m planning on smearing myself in peanut butter and lip syncing Search and Destroy.

DMTF

Last Will and Testament of The Coolest Guy Eva’

21 Jun

I had another post all ready to go for today about bathroom phone calls and dealing with the inevitable flush, but then I read this new story, and thought I would share the heartwarming, heartbreaking, tear-jerker with you. 

Here are the CliffsNotes (do these even exist anymore?)  for those of you who just don’t have the energy to move the cursor to the link and double-click, for those of you who are reading this at work while your boss is on his phone in the bathroom and want me to just hurry the F up and get to the point, and for those of you who just don’t car fer da’ readin’ (what are you doing here?).  The article is about a 24 year-old British Royal Marine solider who was killed in Afghanistan.

In his will, this British Royal Marine solider (who I love without ever having met him) left approximately $150,000 to his friends for a big Vegas send-off.  He asked his friends, who have been grieving for over a year, to take the money and do it up gangsta’ style in Las Vegas in his memory.  He asked them to spend every dollar, rent the most expensive room, eat at the best restaurants, go out and party, and remember him while they’re doing it.  (If you’re not at least tearing up yet, please check the battery on your robot heart).

Or course there are those who have a problem with this.  But, I don’t care about those losers.  This kid also left his family money, and left a significant chunk of change to his favorite charity which helps disabled veterans.  So, suck it losers.

This young man put his life on the line everyday and realized, more than others, that life is a gift, and that it is way too short.  If he wanted to treat his friends to a weekend full of drinking, debauchery, gambling, dancing, Cher, and a possible orgy, then who the hell are we to judge?!

Personally, when it’s my time, I want people throwing themselves on my coffin-  because they’re really drunk and they know I would be cracking up at such a spectacle.  I would also want my friends to attempt a gospel version of  Madonna’s “Like a Prayer” while really pouring on the “soul” during the choir part.  I’m laughing just thinking about it.

How would you want to be sent off?

*A-hole-ish P.S.:  This is not a forum for you to debate your political views.  We all have our views, and we are all entitled to them.  The thing is, I just don’t want to read them here.  If I have offended you, then let me remind you that this is an a-hole-ish P.S.  Get over it.

The Rapture is Just Days Away. What to Wear?

19 May

Holy shit, you guys!  I totally almost forgot about the mother f-in Rapture (when some say believers will be taken to heaven and others will be left on earth for about five months of torment) this weekend!  I’m posting this a day early so you don’t make the same mistake.  You’re welcome.

I can’t blame my End of Days forgetfulness on work, finals, and alcohol, though. I blame Target.  They’ll probably start putting their Christmas stuff out tomorrow, but do you think they had their Dooms Day decorations out?!  No, they did not.  I’m sorry, but isn’t The Rapture just as important as Sweet Baby Jesus’s birthday?  I would think so.  Way to go, Target.  Just for that, I hope there’s no Target in heaven (I don’t mean that).

Also, I’m sorry, but I was originally told that Judgment Day would come on September 6, 1994 which was really annoying, because I planned a huge Heaven, Earth, Hell party back in ’94.   I didn’t appreciate going through the trouble of making sure I had all the music, food, booze, and drugs in order only to have everyone but the guest of honor show up.  It was embarrassing and it was rude.  So, you’ll have to excuse me if I don’t roll out the red carpet out for JC on Saturday. 

Finally, I understand that some people really do believe that Saturday is “the” day.  But, before you go and stock up on hundreds of cans of creamed corn and bottled water, I want you to really think about this.  

Please don’t send an email to your boss on Friday night asking him to kindly suck a fat one.  I’m just trying to save you that  “drank until that guy at the party looked more and more like Bradley Cooper, had sloppy drunk sex with him, passed out, and didn’t know where you were in the morning walk of shame feeling” when you wake up on Sunday and realize, “Shit.  I’m pretty sure I”m fired.” 

I don’t want anyone to panic, though.  I’m fairly confident we’ll all still be here come Monday morning.  At least, I hope so.  I have gift certificate for a spa appointment that expires on Tuesday, and I was really hoping to get a mani/pedi.

*Thanks to J for the title.

Your Comments Make Me Better

6 May

As most of you know, I love reading your comments.  You guys are funny, and I love to laugh.  

Here are some of my all-time favorite spam comments:

Nolan Drehobl at Schley10951@gmail.com had this to say in response to my Lost in Translation post in which I talk about buttholes and Spanish accents:

I’m still studying from you, while I’m trying to reach my goals. I easily love reading all that is written on your blog. Keep the stories coming. I loved it!

Nolan, why are you studying buttholes from me?  I’m not an expert. I don’t really know much about my own butthole.  I don’ t feel comfortable teaching you about my anus.  I hope you reach your butthole goal, but you’re going to have to study from another ass master. Good luck, though.

Promotional items at aooce@aol.com was really impressed with my Earth Day post in which I make Mother Earth sound like a drunk floozy.  This is what Promotional Items had to say:

This is the perfect blog for anyone who wants to know about this topic. You know so much its almost hard to argue with you (not that I really would want…HaHa). You definitely put a new spin on a subject thats been written about for years. Great stuff, just great!

Thanks, Promotional Items!  Although I’m no anus expert, I do consider myself an Earth Day guru.  Also, punctuation much?  And, no, you wouldn’t want to argue with me.  I’d cut you.  (HaHa). 

Here’s a comment from Tnfgkgag at puqywd@nkinjc.com regarding my No Old Woman No Cry post in which I bitch about a night out with my sisters:

RNvHWl nnhusabgodsv, [url=http://lpypbmdiitrn.cadl/]lpypbmdiitrn[/url], [link=http://ibeqnwipijqq.cox/]ibeqnwipijqq[/link], http://dsntfsdlgordcom/

That may be true, Tnfgkgag.  Don’t forget, however, that an indefinite military presence isn’t very practical for long-term peace.  

Finally, here’s what Miami Beach Condos at Fukuda8@gmail.com (I like what you did there) said about my Excuse Me, I Have to Poop post about someone I was dying to get away from at party:

I just check the demographics of Miami dade Fl it looks like there less and less foreclosures every month . In 3 Years In febuary we finnally saw it be less than 1000 .

Excuse me, Miami Beach Condos, but I have to poop.

So Many Princes, So Little Time

26 Apr

Please note I wrote this post dressed in my royal wedding attire- my wedding dress from 1998, black finger-less knit gloves that I’m pretending are dainty white lace gloves, the Easter bonnet I wore when I was five, and a black paten leather purse Wuelita gave me sits gingerly on lap.  Instead of a cup of tea, however, I’m drinking a pint of Guinness out of my 1995 Homecoming Queen mug.  I’m also a little drunk.

I’m into the royal wedding.  I admit it.  Don’t judge… or do.  I would.

First of all, well done, Waity Katie.  Well done.  *slow clap*

You’ve waited eight loooong years for your day.  It’s so close you can taste it.  I bet it tastes like chocolate covered strawberries or really smooth tequila. 

If on the off-chance the Royal CIA finds out about your booze-filled stripper days before you and Will have a chance to make it official (getting knocked up would seal the deal- just saying), here’s a list of Princely alternates:

Prince Harry:

Pros:  First of all, good for Prince Harry!  He he had the whole ginger thing going against him, but he was able to overcome adversity to become the hotter brother.  He’s also a little wild as far as English monarch aristocracy goes. 

I love me a bad boy. 

Cons:  He’s a ginger.  His name is Harry (perhaps you’re more mature than I am, and can overlook that).  He also once dressed up as a Nazi for a costume party.  The Royal Etiquette police really dropped the ball on that one, wouldn’t you say, chaps?

Prince Charming

Pros:  He can slay a dragon.  He’s incredibly handsome.  He’s charming.

Cons:  His tendency to wear tights and break into song makes me think he sort of leans toward the pink end of the man spectrum, if you know what I mean.  Don’t get me wrong, I love the gays, but I wouldn’t want a husband that’s prettier than me. 

Prince of Darkness

Pros:  He lives in warm climate.  The two of you have become really good friends since you cemented your business deal- the one wherein you sold your soul to him in exchange for a crown. 

Cons:  He’s the devil.  He can be temperamental.  He’s clingy.

Prince Chunk

Pros:  He’s cute.  You would look really skinny standing next to him.  He’ll want to cuddle afterwards.

Cons:  He’s lazy.  He’s Harry hairy.  He’s a pussy.

Prince (as in the artist)

Pros:  Too many to  name.

Cons:  He’s prettier than you. (*See Prince Charming*)

Congrats to the royal couple.  I look forward to years of stalking and judging you.

Cheerio!

In Lieu of Gifts, Please Send Gifts

22 Apr

WHAT’S UP BEOTCHES!!???  WOOO-HOOOO!  Like, it’s me, Mother Earth! 

I’m wasted!  I’ve literally been up since the crack of dawn celebrating my day.  It started with beer bongs with my boys in New Zealand (call me!).  

I totally forgot that I promised by boo, DMTF, that I would guest post for her today (oops).   It’s a good thing I brought my phone with me.  I didn’t want to bring it because I have a tendency to drunk dial when I party, but I’m like sooo glad I brought it.  DMTF would have killed me if I didn’t post.  She totally loves you guys.  She’s like completely obsessed. 

So, Happy Earth Day, bitches!  It is all about me today.  If you plan on celebrating my Super Sweet Sixty Million Birthday Bash, you better do something really big for me….or with me (I’m such a slut.)

Oh yeah!  To all the hippy tree huggers out there, you get V.I.P. access at my party in Vegas tonight- even if the chicks don’t shave your armpits, and the dudes smell like beets.  I love you guys.  I totally have your back.

Finally, I want to apologize to my peeps in Wisconsin.  I know I’ve been behaving sort of shitty with you, lately.  The thing is, my boyfriend, who goes to UW-Madison, just broke up with me.  I found out that d-bag was cheating on me with that Slutty McSlutbag, Mother Nature.  I am so mad you guys.  

He said I was too “needy” and a little psycho because I went through his phone one night and deleted every contact with a girl name.  I was all like, “Whatever. Sensitive much?”

I don’t really care, though.  He’s a total coward.  You know how I found out he was breaking up with me?  He changed his Facebook status to “It’s complicated.”  Ummmm, whatever.  You want complicated?  How about October weather in April?  How about snow on Easter?  Is that “complicated” enough for you? 

Well, I gotta run. I have tons of appearances to make and I promised Snooki I’d go tanning with her before my Western hemisphere parties.  Plus, she said she’d do my hair in a poof.

Don’t forget to do something nice for me to today. 

Peace and Love,

Ma’ Earth

XOXO

Is That A Snake In Your Pocket Or Are You Just Happy To See Me?

29 Mar

I lost my keys the other day.  It was very frustrating because my husband had the other set with him at work, and I was stuck at home.  I found them under the couch cushion two days later.  That sucked. 

I also once lost $20.  I didn’t even know it was missing.  I found it when I was switching purses.  That was awesome. 

You know what I probably wouldn’t lose?  A deadly Egyptian Cobra

It’s my understanding that the snake is still on the loose.  Before I offer the zookeepers at the Bronx Zoo my suggestions of where to look for the missing snake, I have to ask a couple of questions. 

First, are you sure that you’re missing a snake?   I’m serious.  I imagine snakes are hard to count.  They get intertwined and their heads look like their butts.  Miscounting the number of snakes is just as likely as actually losing onePlease recount. 

Second, was it a man or a woman who confirmed that the snake was missing?  I ask this because if male zookeepers are anything like males in general, it is possible that the snake was sitting right in front of the male zookeeper’s face.  The only way the male zookeeper would have known the snake was there was if the snake would have bitten him.  Literally.

Yoo-hoo! Like, here I am.

 Ok.  After you’ve recounted, and Sally the zookeeper confirms the snake is in fact missing, here are my suggestions of what to do next:

  1. You should call that slutty little ho’bag that stole my boyfriend in 8th grade.  She’s a snake; she might know where to look.
  2. Look for a chick hanging out by a tree trying to feed her boyfriend an apple.  The snake may be hiding out there. 
  3. He’s not in my husband’s pants.  I checked last night.  The only thing in there was a trouser snake!  Ya-cha-cha! *jazz hands*
  4. The missing cobra is on Twitter (he’s hilarious).  Has anyone bothered to look for a snake using a computer or on a smartphone?  Come on people!

The good people of New York shouldn’t worry, though.  I heard the snake will eventually reappear…when it gets hungry or thirsty.

As Long As I’m First Wife

25 Mar
I was laying in bed yesterday with the TV on, delirious with fever, puking my guts out, and begging Takeo to please get me a refill on my Sprite and a cold wet rag for my forehead.  I was too weak to change the channel.  HBO aired the series finale of Big Love several times throughout the day, and I had an epiphany.
 
Maybe it was because I felt like I was dying yesterday, but I think that if Hubby would have walked in the door with a Laura Ingalls Wilder look-alike sister-wife for us, I would have welcomed her with open arms.  Then, I would have asked her to please put on my Quantum Leap Season 1 DVD, get me a piece of toast, and tickle my arm.

Welcome, Sister Alma Mae!

My raging, blinding, and irrational Latina  jealously makes welcoming a sister-wife into my marriage slightly less likely than welcoming a brother-husband, but hypothetically speaking, a sister-wife wouldn’t be so bad.  The way I understand it, a sister-wife would:

  1. Help with the housework.  Obviously, since I work full-time and attend school at nights, a majority of the day-to-day housework would fall on Alma Mae.  However, the way I see it, Alma Mae should be grateful for the opportunity to prove herself invaluable to her new family.
  2. Contribute financially to the family by selling homemade jams at a roadside stand.  This would allow me to quit my job and continue with school full-time.  It is for the greater good of the family, and I know Alma Mae has the family’s best interests at heart.  She would want to earn her keep.
  3. Make household repairs.  I’m useless when it comes to fixing anything around the house, and Hubby doesn’t always check his Honey Do list as often as I would like.  I’m sure that Alma Mae picked up a thing or two about caulking, auto repair, and window sealing from her 18 brothers.  I’m sure she would be more than happy to take a look at the Honey Do list!
  4. BJ’s.  I would make a chart, like a chore wheel or something.
  5. Be our designated driver…for life.  Seeing as though Alma Mae’s religion prohibits her from drinking, Hubby and I could always count on her to come pick us up from date night.  She would get out of the house for a while, and we would get home safely.  It’s a win-win.

I made my argument to Hubby last night and waited for a smartass response.  I expected something like, “Hell yeah!” or “Do I get to pick her out?”  Instead, what I got was, “Are you kidding?!  Two wives?!  Forget it.”

I’m going to pretend he meant that in an “I could never love another woman the way I love you” sort of way, but something tells me it was meant in more of an “If  I had to deal with two of you, I would go insane” kind of way.  Either way, he gave the right answer, and I love him.