Super Whine-tastic

And I only WISH it was the kind that you drink.

I am seriously having a bad fucking day. Not the kind of day where someone dies or anything that terrible, but the kind of day where you wonder why the fuck you even bother?

You know that kind of day, right? Where it starts out with say, damp towels and no toilet paper then leads on to getting thrown under the bus at work and spirals onto revelations of things that everyone THOUGHT you knew and no one bothered to mention until it was past the point of repair and then slides into ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME WITH THIS BULLSHIT?

Seriously. I heart you imaginary Internet friends because the people in my FTF life suck some serious balls. Sweaty, hairy, salty goat balls.

Balls like these

That's right, I posted GOAT BALLS on my blog. That's how you know I'm serious. I am risking a thousand Technorati Searches for Goat Porn to show you that I mean it for REALS.

The only good thing to happen today? While I was Googling "Sweaty Goat Balls" I found these;

See how desperate the situation is Chickens? The only thing between me and a Clock Tower Rage is two guys with Mohawk and some schmuck with a dildo IN HIS EAR.

Marco Polo

We always danced around each other. I had a boyfriend and you liked me. You had a girlfriend and I lusted you from afar. You and she became "The Couple". He and I were "so cute". Finally, years go by and you are alone and so am I. The Boy plays in the next room singing a song about nothing while we get high in the living room and listen to Ella Fitzgerald.

You're leaned back against the mismatched pillows and I have my head in your lap, legs dangling over the arm rests. You pet my hair and pass me the joint. I miss the way she folded the towels you say at last. I tilt my head back, looking up to you as always. You blow smoke through your nose and stare at the ceiling. I have nothing to say to this but I know that you have told me something profoundly heart breaking. I should have had her show me how she got them all to be the same size; you say, I should have paid attention. You looked down at me then, eyes red and I understood what love was.

Do they serve whiskey at those early bird dinners?

Have y'all seen this picture of me?

Not bad right? Aside from the weird angle that it was taken at I look pretty cute. Except for one thing....well two things. When the hell did I get wrinkles? Are you fucking kidding me? Look at those bad boys!

And dark cicles too? Sweet Baby Jesus.

Someone bring me the hairspray and my rat tailed comb, a bottle of champage, a box of Godiva and a string of pearls, it's time to get to working on my Beehive hair-do.

Hotness

It's 107* here right this minute (which, incidentally is 6:33pm). For those of you not familiar with Fahrenheit temperature measurements, that's roughly ten degrees hotter than the face of the sun.

Currently, I am sweating and that's really all I have the energy for. I have coated my entire body in a paste of sun screen and Anti Monkey Butt Powder and am lying on a bag of ice chips.

Earlier, I think I saw Moses parting the sea of children in an attempt to cut in the Ice Cream man line. He bought a cherry snow cone. I didn't see Jesus however, which is odd, since this is North Mexico and all residents are required to be named either Jesus or Juan. Unless you are a girl, then you may be called Juanita, which translates to "That Juan Girl".

Mexicans are the opposites of Eskimos. While Eskimos are well known for having three hundred and eleven words for snow, Mexican's (a very succinct group) have one word for heat and that is Caliente. Caliente can be literally translated to "Someone Turn on the Gosh Danged A/C this minute before my burro craps in the refried beans….too late!"

Here in the Southwest, we have many ways to deal with the heat. One of them is to take off as many pieces of clothing as possible and lie in front of a fan. This is best done in ones own home. I know this because apparently Wal-Mart has some silly rule that says you can't stand in the fan aisle in nothing but what your mama gave you. You think that they would have POSTED that somewhere! How was I to know?

Another tip is to go find some place cool to sit. Again, apparently you are not supposed to do this in public places like fountains, golf course lakes and the walk in beer cooler at Quick Trip. Really. I didn't know that either until my Quick Trip boyfriend Kevin (I see him every morning. The way he combs his three hairs makes me moist…or that could just be swamp ass*, but either way) told me that it was "NOT okay to lie on the cases of Bud Light" and "No one believes that (you) are a temperature control specialist with a specialization in beer coolers" and "Freezoni machines are NOT toys". I'm thinking of breaking up with him, he's just too judgmental.

The best tip I have for you today is "underpants are just extra pants". This is key. See, if you are wearing pants and drawers, you have two layers of fabric covering your ass. This makes for extra hotness. This can be avoided by a) wearing no panties or b) wearing no pants. Clearly, the only option is B) wearing no pants. You wouldn't want to be wearing no panties, just in case you're in an accident. And it's just too Paris Hilton for nice girls, if you know what I mean.

If you MUST swath your nether regions in some sort of outwear (rookies!) you should opt for something like a terry cloth sarong. This look can easily be accomplished by even the most novice of fashionista! Simply take a large rectangle of terry cloth, wrap around your waist and tie two corners together at the waist. Voila! Terry cloth sarongs can be found in the bath aisle (I have no idea why they have skirts in with the wash rags, but whatever) of your favorite retailer. They come in a variety of sizes from "guest" ( guest is a euphemism for whore) to "sheet" as in "Sheet, this sure is a HUGE sarong!" and almost any color. I just got one yesterday that has Dale Earnhart Jr's signature on it! I didn't know he was in to fashion design. I bet it's because he's so much prettier then that Kasey Kahne girl, she is NOT HOT at all, but she is a good driver. Although, what's so hard about left turns, I have no idea.

Any who, it's time to go make Popsicle salad and Ice Cream Sandwiches for dinner, so I've got to motor.

Stay cool, Peeps, stay FROSTY.
*Swamp ass is the hot, damp feeling you get in your nether regions when it's really, really hot. Most likely to occur during/after a ride in a non-air conditioned vehicle or after sitting on anything made of vinyl, plastic, leather, metal, wood, Naugahyde, leatherette, suede, stone or wool. To simulate the experience, pour about a 1/4 cup of warm water down you butt crack.

In Which I Lay My Shame Before You

I have a confession. It's the kind of confession that I am loathe to make, as I fear that it will cause you my imaginary Internet friends to judge me with the same harshness in which I have judged others.

I would offer an explanation for my actions, but they would merely be excuses and there is no excuse that will excuse what I have done. My house was not on fire, there was no baby unicorn in need of mouth to mouth, the ice cream truck was not handing out hundred dollar bills; I just did it because I could and I am so very sorry.

I left the house wearing leggings as pants.

I understand if we have to break up now.

Why I should Get My Own Room For Mother's Day

My husband can't understand why I am so cranky in the morning. It's because I do not sleep well. Not because of nightmares, not because I don't go to bed early, but because I'm never, ever comfortable.

Let me give you an illustrated version of why (you can click on the pictures to see them in detail)

Fig 1 - 10pm

See? I look pretty comfy don't I? I have plenty of room, plenty of covers and a comfy sleeping position. But, then there is;

Fig 2 10:30pm

Now, I am less comfy, but still not too bad. I still have most of my half of the bed, still have all my covers. Keep in mind Dog A is a rottweiler, so this drawing is to scale. Sometime later though, lucky me, comes this development;

Fig 3. midnight

Note that Dog B is almost the same size as Dog A. Also note that J has not moved an inch yet has managed to steal half the covers.

Still, I could deal with this. I mean really, I have learned to sleep through the sounds of Law & Order SVU reruns played 24-7 by a certain teenager while she listens to the Jonas Brothers at near top volume and talks on the phone because like OMG, can you believe how CUTE Joe Jonas is? LIKE NO WAY is Nick cuter! He is NOT! You are so way beyond, like CRAZY! So I can just scooch a little this way and scrunch a tad that way and I'll be fine. Right? Yeah. Not so much, because then there is this;

Fig 4. 12:15am

This is how I spend the rest of the night. Uncovered, being butt-cuddled by the Puppy, scrunched up to avoid crowding Dog B while both Dog A and my soundly sleeping husband blissfully saw logs.

P.S. Would someone please print this out and save it? My defense attorney might need it for the trial.

P.P.S. To all my mommy peeps, it's competely fine to check yourself into a 5-star hotel for the weekend and subsist entirely on champagne and chocolate for the next two days. Or two weeks. Or until they finally track you down and drag you home because they are all out of socks and you're the only one who is capable of working the washing machine. And also, can you please make 3 dozen cupcakes by tomorrow morning at 7? OH, and um, about that smell...see the thing is Dogs and entire boxes of cookies aren't compatible after all. And we're out of milk. And no one knows why there is glitter in the carpet. And the ceiling fan has always made that noise, so it's definately NOT because we tried to use it to fly. Also? Um..you might need to call a plumber. No, you don't want to know why. LOVE YOU MOMMY! Happy Mother's Day!

One More Restaurant We Can't Go Back To

Red Lobster Waitress: Are you all finished, sir?
(sees that plate is empty except for shrimp tails)
RLW: I guess you are! Unless you want to munch on the tail
J: I love to munch on tail

Is That Your Final Answer?

The fact of the matter is I want to look cute in headbands, but I don't. I don't know if it's the shape of my head or the size or what, but it's probably about time that I just accept that headbands aren't for me.


Over the years I've tried wide head bands (slid off the back..made me look like a Klingon), Alice Bands (make me look like I've got a tournequet on my head) fabric bands, stretchy bands, bands that trail a scarf down your back (dog ate...not a tragedy) and on and on and on. I don't know why I just can not accept that I will never be Buffy the Preppy Accountant, but I don't and I can't and well, I probably won't.


So when I saw these new rubber head bands at Target I just had to try them.







See? Not too bad? Right?

(and if you could ignore my messy kitchen that would be great)




But all day, I was pretty sure that my hair looked stupid. So when I got home I asked my husband.

Me: Does my hair look stupid like this?
J: Do you want it to?
Me: Uh, NO.
J: Okay then.
Me: That's not an answer.
J: Yeah, but I might want to have sex with you someday so, um, what's for dinner?

I think that's husband-speak for "Yes".