Today is the last day of 2008. And you know what that means?
Now, let's be honest, most resolution (ahem, mine, in particular) generally last till about noon New Years Day. Because they are unreasonable. Seriously, like I'm EVER going to stop drinking so much and start exercising more? Don't make me laugh.
So this year, I've decided to make a realistic resolution.
Drink more and exercise less!
Who's with me?
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Monday, December 29, 2008
Have y'all seen that movie "Christmas With the Kranks"? No? Well, it sucks. But that's not my point. I know, right? Shocking that *I* of all people should start a post with a sentence that has nothing to do with anything and possibly isn't related even one itsy-bitsy bit to the post.
What was I saying? Oh yes, Skipping Christmas. That's the book that movie was based on I think. I haven't read that either, but I think if I were the author I'd be glad that people didn't associate my likely passable or possibly even stellar literary genius with that crapfest. I mean, really, with as hard as it is to get published, let alone have a book that translates well into film, would make you think you'd be pretty pissed if someone did THAT to your baby. And believe you me, a book is a lot like a baby. It makes you want to kill yourself at least once a week because you can't sleep at night and also? It makes your ass fat.
This post has lost the plot entirely.
WHAT I WAS GOING TO SAY is that this year, we skipped Christmas. Well, not exactly skipped it, more like showed up late and then ducked out early. Like the birthday party that you go to because even though you don't like the birthday person, you know the booze will be flowing and food will be tasty. So you eat, drink and bail. That's what I did, this holiday season. I strung one row of lights around the porch and wrapped the mailbox with tinsel garland and that was exactly it. No tree, no cookies, no giant pile of shredded wrapping paper. We cooked the big meal, broke out the booze and watched The Dark Knight on television while Uncle Chuck dozed on the sofa.
As a result, the 8lb 6oz Lord Baby Jesus gave me the plague.
Because he's like that.
So, I spent the rest of the weekend in my pajama's sniffling into a paper towel because we were out of Kleenex and foraging through the left overs for sustenance and drinking a boat load of whiskey n' honey because we ran out of NyQuil sometime Saturday.
The only upside, if there is one, is that I have learned that you can burn 9,000 calories! from coughing.
The line to make out with me forms to the left.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Me: Holy shit, that girl at the bar is gorgeous!
Mel: (turns to look) Oh my god. Wow. She's got the body, the hair, the face and look at those boobs. Damn.
Me: I know, right?
Mel: (contemplating current seedy location) I bet she's lost. We should offer to help her. Like, slip her a note that says "wink twice if you've been kidnapped".
Me: Then, when we get her in the parking lot, we push her in the mud puddle.
Mel: HIGH FIVE.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
My favorite part about the Christmas season is the movies. Not your typical "Miracle on 34th Street" or "It's a Wonderful Life", no what I love is that the movie channels break out the classics. Things like "Breakfast Club" and "Mary Poppins" and the Christmas Eve traditional showing of "Sound of Music". My mother in law and I liked to sing along to that one, back in the day when we lived in the frozen tundra of the north. We had to sing loud to drown out the incessant yelling of things like "Is that a cat in heat outside?" and "I think the kitchen window just shattered". But did that stop us? NO IT DIDN'T!
I have to say though overall my favorite movie that seems to only be shown this time of year is "Top Gun"
I was 11 when Top Gun hit the theaters and my BFF Heather and I begged and bribed and whined until her brother agreed to take us to the Bay Theater in his orange Chevy Nova and buy us tickets. Because we simply had to see it. Even at 11, I was a sucker for a man with a uniform.
Oh, I swoon to this day over perfectly pressed pants and a crisp shirt....
but let's not digress there, because we'll never come back from my cataloguing the virtues of a well kept man.
I remember sniffling and wiping my eyes on the sleeve of my sweatshirt when Goose died,
trying to act cool but then totally losing it when Meg Ryan hugged Maverick and told him to fly anyway; that Goose would have wanted him to.
Mostly though, I remember leaving that tiny, filthy theater with the unwavering desire to be Charlie.
I begged my mother for permission to cut and perm my waist length stick straight hair. I colored over my blond eyebrows with mascara swiped from my mom's makeup case and I practiced saying witty things like "Hemlock, is it?" as I donned men's undershirts liberated from my fathers drawers.
I studied up on things like her car (a Volkswagen Karmenn Ghia, that I would STILL love to have to this day!)
and I dreamed of afternoons lounging on the porch of my adorable beach front cottage
spent with boys fresh from the volleyball pit
How, exactly, I planned to accomplish these things was irrelevant. Dreams often lack specifics in my experience.
But oh how the weight and substance of those dreams carried me through many an angsty junior high night.
I think that's what this season should really be about, don't you? Not presents, not huge dinners, not rushing to and fro and stressing about how much it's all going to cost. The spirit of Christmas, to me, is the possibility that one day, all your dreams are going to come true.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
One of my very most favoritest bloggers from Myspace has been seduced over to Blogger. I suspect it's because I promised him I would tell you how awesome he was. Which is true. Both that I said I would say that and also that he is awesome. Really, really funny shit that makes me snort out loud in a decidedly unladylike way. For example songs about dead midgets and a pictorial review of his slovenly room. And lots and lots of posts that reference porn in some fashion. No doubt you can see why I adore him.
Good thing I didn't offer him cash or anything to come over here. Because then people would die. Or so he says. But sometimes he lies. He's like that.
So y'all go visit Roth and enjoy the warped world he brings to the Blogger table.
Or I'll be forced to blog pictures of my boobs again and we all know that leads nowhere good.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Raise your hand if you haven't finished your Christmas shopping yet.
Now raise it if you haven't even started.
Am I the only one with my hand raised?
Fine then. In the interest of being or at least looking productive here are some things you might get from me at Christmas. And by "christmas" I mean "some time next summer."
A kit to turn your glasses into a spy camera!
Think of all the fucked up shit you see all day that you wish you could show people!
The perfect tee shirt the people in your life that whine all the time
OR maybe this for all those times when you wish you could just hug some pork products
That's right, it's a stuffed bacon pillow! The perfect gift for the baconophile in your life.
Because nothing says love like saying what you mean there is always this
A perfect gift in so very many ways....am I right?
Normally, I don't talk about my work here, on line, where I could potentially be Dooced for it, but it bears explaining. And by "explaining" I mean "ranting about". I'm okay with doing it here simply because I've already said basically the same things (though likely with fewer swear words then you're about to read) to my boss.
Some of you know that I am an accountant. I work for a small finger of a very large company. My finger manufactures custom vehicles. An industry that is not surprisingly being adversely effected by the current economy. As a result we've had to lay off a substantial number of employees, we've cut our hours and we've got a few departments soliciting outside work to supplement cash flow. It's simply not bringing home the bacon.
Yesterday, my boss announced that we would be closing for the next two weeks and no one would be getting paid for it.
What the fuck? It's a week before Christmas and he gives twenty people three days notice that they're losing a half month's pay? That's pretty fucked up.
Yes, I get that we're in a pretty dire economic state, I do the books, believe me, I've been freaking out for months now. And if we're being honest, I was expecting hours to be cut further. I was expecting notice though. I would have expected the boss to have been the one to break the news. I would have expected to have answers to things like "will the doors even reopen?" and "what about my health insurance deductions?" and "how the fuck am I supposed to pay my mortgage?". But I have answers to none of those things and despite my tiny black heart, I feel like an absolute asshole telling someone I know is living paycheck to paycheck that they should trust me, things will be okay.
So I'm not. I'm telling them to get their resumes' out there. I'm telling them to hedge their bets. I'm telling them Merry Fucking Christmas, love The Boss.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Me and M went to Mervyn's last Sunday to spend J's money on crap that was Up to 70% off including, but not limited to a back pack, a giant fuzzy pink pillow and a bunch of socks.
Now, me, I'm a simple girl. I'm not a sock fantasist who can only wear Champion socks or what have you. No, if they're clean and relatively the same design then they're fair game. I've even been known to wear one with a grey toe and one with a grey footbed, because really, who is looking? And matching all those damn socks? SO BORING.
However when I buy new socks I think when they should match when I take them out of the package. Even when they are 50% off.
The pair that I put on this morning though? Well, look for yourself.
They aren't even close to the same size. Now, lest you think that I just have one scooted up all weird or something, here is a picture sans shoes
see how the sock on the right is a totally different size? WTF?
Also WTF, why didn't you people tell me that no matter at what angle one attempts to photograph their own feet, it's going to look like you have freakishly fat calves?
Unless, it's not the camera angle and it IS my freakishly fat calves. At which point, then it's WHY-T-F didn't someone tell me I have such gihugent calves? LOOK AT THOSE THINGS. We're into circus side show territory here, people. If I didn't have such a nice rack, I'd probably join a convent that still wears the floor length habits.
Except that, you know, I'm not Catholic. Which I guess might be a hitch to this plan, but SERIOUSLY for good cankle coverage? I would convert. Provided that the habit had a nice v-neck, of course.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Monday, December 8, 2008
Friday, December 5, 2008
Hiya Chickens! I've spent about the last 24 hours and the hospital, and if you've been reading my twitter updates, you'll know that as of yet, there is no progress. And by "no progress" I mean that the baby mama is still at 1cm and 0% effacement. Which means no adorable squishiness today either.
But, we do have two contest winners! Yay! Contest winners! Because I'm on the hospitals computer I couldn't do anything fancy like Miss Lorrie Veaseyalways does, so I randomly wrote down two numbers between 1 & 33 (33 being the total number of comments received) and with out further ado, that makes our winners
RPC (with the stellar suggestion of DUCT TAPE as next years must have) winning the flower clip
Melaina25 (with the dubious, though no doubt sadly accurate prediction of PEEP TOE GLADIATOR BOOTS. A trend from which I, for one, will not partake, thanks just the same) winning the cocktail ring!
If y'all would be so kind as to email me your mailing addresses, I'll drop your goodies in the post some time next week.
Now, I want to make sure that you kids are aware that tomorrow is one of the most important days of the year. It's a day second only in it's glory to the date of my own personal birth. It is perhaps more glorious though because everyone gets to celebrate it with equal vigor. It's
WOOT! That's right! It's the day of the year when every woman should be escorted by her significant other to the nearest jewelry store and be allowed to chose what ever her heart desires. This brilliant day says to the lady of your heart "I know I'm an asshole, but here's something shiny to help you forget it." Acceptable Sparkly Day gifts include all manner of jewelry, new cars, designer hand bags and should the love of his life so chose, perhaps professional home remodeling. Basically, whatever Mama wants, Mama gets.
I recommend all you girls tell your husbands/boyfriends/wives about this, the most special holiday of the year. Gentlemen, you know what needs to be done, so unsheathe the credit card and get to it.
And lastly, since wee baby Gianna is being a pill, I thought we'd have a little fun. In the comment section, leave your best guess as to the day, hour and minute of her arrival. The person closest to the correct time will win....something. Oh! I know, I have one last flask-and-booze prize sitting on the shelf.
SO! Guess away and happy Sparkly Day to all y'all!
Thursday, December 4, 2008
So here we are on Thursday, about 36 hours AFTER when Baby should have made her appearance and have we seen said baby? Not hide nor hair. And why? You may ask. (Let's assume that you DID ask, because otherwise I will have to come up with a new blog topic.)
Because there were 19 babies swimming down stream yesterday. 19 of them. And the day before that there were 17! Do you know what that means? It means people in this neighborhood can't keep their damn pants on, that's what it means.
What it also means is that today's post, which was meant to feature adorable newborn squishiness is RUINED. Thanks a lot, humping neighbors. Do I ask you not to park 3 cars on your lawn? No. Do I ask you not to play polka music at top volume at 3 am? NO. Do I even ask you to take down your Christmas lights by September? Of course not. The ONE little thing I needed, a blog topic that doesn't involve my boobs in anyway and you fuck that up for me.
Thanks a lot. Just for that, I'm going to have to post a picture of my boobs on the internet again.
See what you've made me do?
Can one of you helpful invisible internet type people explain to me why it is so damn hard to find a good tee shirt? one that doesn't make me look boxy, lumpy or vulgar? Seriously. I thought I'd found it at Old Navy this weekend in their "perfect fit" tee shirt and since it was only $5 I bought several of them. So then, I check myself in the mirror the other morning and I think, "HEY! This IS a perfect tee shirt! I LOVES IT!" and go to work. But first, I stop at QT for my vat of ice tea because hello, Mama needs her caffeine, and the construction workers were all very solicitous and that was nice and even the ones that weren't directly at eye level with my boobs smiled at my in an only mildly leering fashion and so I go on about my merry way, all day, wandering around in this tee shirt and then, at like 5 pm, I catch a glance at myself in fluorescent lighting and HOLY MOTHER OF PEARL that shirt? It's not opaque. You can see the Twins right through it. And I'm all NO WONDER that guy stuck $5 in my pants!
So I went and bought another tee shirt. What can I say? Work what the good Lord gave you...
PS. Don't forget to go enter the contest!
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Guess what I'm doing today! You'll never guess. GUESS! Why aren't you guessing? Don't you like guessing games with random answers? No? Okay, fine, I'll tell you. I'm sitting around waiting for my friend to extrude her womb fruit! Doesn't that sound fun? I mean really, what's NOT fun about watching something the size of a grape fruit try and shove itself out of a hole the size of a lemon? nothing that's what. Unless, I suppose it's your own personal hoo-ha that's being torn asunder by a little bald headed parasite. However, in this case, it's not my hoo-ha, I just get to take the day off work. So, you know, win for me!
So I thought, in honor of the expulsion of wee Gianna from her uterine playground, we'd play a little game! Doesn't that sound like fun? I know! Now, I know y'all are used to getting alcoholic prizes from me, but I thought we'd mix it up. Call it my own little Oprah's favorite things. Only, you know, Oprah is still caged up in my basement and I can't afford to hand out a car, so it's Thystle's Favorite Things. Almost as good, but much less classy. Like me!
And there's only two things being given away. Because I'm cheap like that. But that does mean that there will be two winners ! Hooray for winning shit!
Prize number one is a flowered hair clip. These things are starting to pop up all over and I predict they're going to be big this year.
Prize number two is an adjustable cocktail ring. Those of you that have been around the Thystle Patch for a while may recall that last year at this time, I vowed to bring cocktail rings back into fashion. So I used my powers for world domination instead of mayhem for a bit and bada BLING they're everywhere this season! Score yours!
Now for the part where I see just what y'all are willing to do to get a prize! Email a naked picture of yourself, posing with a garden gnome, a bottle of red wine and a....JUST KIDDING. Gosh, relax. There are somethings I just don't need to know about you. Like that you have three nipples or your middle name is Herman. Things like that. Also, I don't need to know that once, in third grade, you puked in the parka hood of at that little boy that was mean to you all the time. Actually, I take that back, I totally want to know stuff like that about you. In fact, that will be next weeks Favorite Thing contest question! Remind me next week, okay?
Now I've lost the plot entirely....oh yes! For this week's contest, in the comment section leave your prediction for what next years MUST HAVE item is going to be. It can be anything. On Friday, I'll draw two names at random from the submissions and announce the winner.
Not to leave the male readers out (either one of you), should a man be selected (or I suppose should the selected winner prefer) then something manly will be substituted. What this manly thing might be will just have to be a surprise, but it will probably come from Home Depot or Best Buy or some other place that manly men shop. I'll have to ask a manly man where that might be should the occasion present itself, because I'm not a very manly girl. Except for the gun. And the truck. And, you know, my vast collection of porn.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
M: Is an oral surgeon some who does surgery on genitalia?
Me: What the hell are you talking about?
M: Oral surgeons? You know like oral sex? Only surgery? See? "House" confronts an oral surgeon....
M: I'm wrong aren't I?
Me: (laughing, harder)
M: (resigned) you're going to blog this, aren't you?
Monday, December 1, 2008
Right, so this weekend.
Mostly, I took a nap. Like, for the whole weekend. To the point that on Friday, I didn't even put on pants until like 5pm. For real. That's like, some kind of record or something. If it's not, it should be.
Now, WHY did I take a nap for the weekend?
Because I'm depressed, chickens. For reals, even. Not like OMG I'M SO GOING TO KILL MYSELF WHILE I LISTEN TO COLDPLAY AND STARE AT MY EDWARD CULLEN POSTER depressed, but like, bummed. Out of sorts, one might say. And by "one" I mean my Gram, because that's the kind of thing she says. She also says "Lord Love a Duck" which has nothing to do with anything it's just cute, so I thought I'd tell you. But back to me? I'm depressed in the way that means you stand staring at your closet, and then walk away still wearing your pajama's because the prospect of a shirt? JUST TOO DAUNTING. Lucky for me, I work at a job wear no one would bat an eye if I came in wearing a bunny costume, vampire fangs and roller skates. Which, lets be honest, would really be kind of awesome. Like Bunnicula goes to Xanadu. True story, I used to know a girl named "Xanadu". She was a slut. I don't know if that's related to being named after a rollerskating musical, but it could be. Best that those of you expecting to spawn soon keep it in mind, just in case.
Anyway, there's some crapola potentially, maybe, possibly about to be, going down in my world. Nothing major, just, you know, craptastic. Also, it's nothing I can really talk about here, on the interwebs. But if I COULD talk about it, I'd say that if you happen to have advanced knowledge of this weeks winning Powerball numbers I'd totally cut you in because otherwise I might need to borrow some of your old clothes to hang out in soup lines and at freeway on ramps and places.
I'll be fine, I promise, but just for today, I'm going to sulk a bit.
And take a nap.