I'm a douche bag. You can call me what you will but I sometimes enjoy listening to.....gulp...light radio. There, I said it. Now I don't enjoy every little song they play, I draw the line at John Tesh, Phil Collins, or any Celine. But today I was blown away by my "safe channel" (no racial slurs or F-bombs on this station). It is November 2nd, as in nearly two more months till the jolly fat dude descends down my chimney. So what the hell is going on when they are playing ALL holiday music ("Welcome to your Holiday LIGHT!") from now till New Year's.
So do I boycott? Do I pick an acceptable date to begin embibing on 24 hours of "Jingle Bell Rock" and "Do They Know It's Christmas?" (although the latter will forever make me swoon, thinking of Duran Duran, Bono, and Sting belting out this classic little number)? Do I wait till Black Thursday where the insane Walmart shoppers get trampled at 5am for a $50 DVD player to switch my radio over to the Holiday LIGHT? I'm so perplexed.
Every year, in my overzealous talktative way, I lament with other shoppers about all the holiday decorations popping up in stores earlier and earlier each year. I swear it was 90 degrees and I was still in back-to-school mode when I spotted giant inflatable Santas on Harleys and aisles of holiday cards. Bite me, I hate motorcycles and I make my own cards. I am not caving in when it comes to buying all this shit when I'm still sporting tank tops and shorts. Oh, but those baby pink maribou feather mini trees with Swarovski crystals are to DIE for!
Christmas will forever be my favorite holiday. I am incredibly sentimental and nostalgic so it stands to reason. My parents went all out when it comes to Christmas and I am loving doing the same for my kids. Christmas was so much damn fun I STILL believe in Santa, at least a little bit. One year, my parents put a piece of red ripped felt with fur trim in the fireplace doors, as if Santa's fat ass got stuck and his pants tore. They stamped a footprint with soot on the hearth. The packages were all cleverly addressed, from Rudy and the Boys, Mrs. Claus, even Old Saint Nick himself. How can I not lose my mind when the stores bring out the shiny ornaments, cards, garland, and sparkly gift sets?!
My addiction to shopping, coupled with the legitimate need to buy gifts, is a win-win situation in my book. It makes me giddier than Elton John in a feather boa, I tell you. I have to be aware of all public restrooms this time of year because The Curse hits me hard this time of year (please refer to prior post if you don't know what the hell I'm referring to). Lots of calories, alcohol, and bling-a-licious shoes this time of year. My first pair I already purchased is absolutely FABULOUS and I don't even know what I'll wear with them. But that's how I roll, bitches. Shoes first, outfit later. Hell they are so cute maybe I'll go naked. No...don't want to make the whole dance staff vomit at the Christmas party this year...I can't wait. I get so excited about everything this time of year--the baking (and gorging myself silly on Buckeye cookies..), the shopping, the decorating, the crafts, the card-making, the socializing. And apparently there's a radio station who feels the same. Well deck my halls with boughs of holly......
Friday, November 2, 2007
Buffet On Wheels
Right now when I drive I feel like I'm inside a pinball machine. How is this possible, you ask? Well if you give 1 fidgety 5 year-old 1 large-sized box of Gobstoppers candy, turn 1 too many corners, and combine with 1 chatty, taunting 7 year-old sister, you have the recipe for disaster. Isabella dropped her entire box of candy, which quickly rolled and dispersed itself into every nook and cranny in my minivan. I can't see these marble-like candies but every time I drive I can hear them rolling around like a load of ball bearings. Initially I thought it was some odd mishap in my engine, pehaps even something "fishy" concocted by my shady neighbor who loves me so much to begin with. It sounds funny but every time I turn a corner I feel like I'm stuck in a giant maraca minivan. Not festive, very frickin' annoying.
Now the tendency for random food items accumulating on the floor of my car is not a new phenomenon. My husband often wonders how so much shit can trash up my car so quickly. Have you ever driven two kids around to school, dance, playdates, shopping, out to eat, to the bank, and Girl Scouts for years? I don't think so. Daddy's car stays more pristine because I am the primary bus driver in this house. If we were trapped in our car for some freak reason, I believe we could survive for a week or two thanks to all the food remnants my kids have dropped onto the floor. Upon vacuuming my own car (the dumb-ass carwash has decided vacuuming your car is just extravagant enough to be considered the ULTIMATE wash so now I do it myself, and poorly at that) I discovered a treasure trove of (stale and half-melted) treats.
*At least a full sandwich baggie of Goldfish crackers, some smashed to bits, some soggy.
*Rolos chocolate candies wedged under the seat levers. Several had melted and re-solidified into foil nuggets. Don't know how I'll get those loose.
* At least one small serving of McDonald's french fries. These are a tad crunchy. Might need lots of chewing to digest.
* 5 ketchup packets, thank God still unopened. Might rehydrate those fries....
* 14 chewed pieces of gum. Putting it back into the wrapper, which gets tossed on the floor, would be too logical. The wrapper's down there, I'll just toss the gum down there, too! Slobs. I am raising slobs with no manners..
* 3 petrified gummy worms
* a baggie of what used to be pear slices. They are now black, orange, furry, and I think it might talk if I open it. Not edible in the slightest.
* 1/2 bottle of flat Sprite
* 1/4 crusty peanut butter sandwich
* 2 Blow Pops that were once sucked on then discarded. They now have hair, sunflower seed shells, and dirt all over them. And they're stuck to my carpet.
* assorted Smarties, Dum Dums, M&M's, licorice, and peanuts. Too many to count.
This did not just happen one day. It is a cumulative effect. Men do not understand this. See, we head out with a clean car. We go the grocery store. The kids get a cookie they do not finish. We go to the dry cleaners. Lollipops that aren't the best flavors get tossed. Lunch at Burger King means slushie cups and loose fries in the cars. Old snacks from backpacks get fished out and baggies galore litter my car. When it's time to come back into the house, who carries all this crap inside? My maid? My butler? Sorry, it's just good ol' mom. So I have groceries, dry cleaning, backpacks (my kids have Tyrannosaurus Rex arms and can't seem to carry their shit back where it belongs..),my purse, my dance bag, and a travel coffee mug. Anything else that's left can kiss my ass. Hence, the Buffet of Crap on my floor and throughout my car. If you are a mom, you get it. If you are a dad, you will not. That's okay, I've clearly explained it all to you right here so kindly take my mom van to the carwash and splurge for the Ultimate this time, okay honey? Or I could just drive your car...
Now the tendency for random food items accumulating on the floor of my car is not a new phenomenon. My husband often wonders how so much shit can trash up my car so quickly. Have you ever driven two kids around to school, dance, playdates, shopping, out to eat, to the bank, and Girl Scouts for years? I don't think so. Daddy's car stays more pristine because I am the primary bus driver in this house. If we were trapped in our car for some freak reason, I believe we could survive for a week or two thanks to all the food remnants my kids have dropped onto the floor. Upon vacuuming my own car (the dumb-ass carwash has decided vacuuming your car is just extravagant enough to be considered the ULTIMATE wash so now I do it myself, and poorly at that) I discovered a treasure trove of (stale and half-melted) treats.
*At least a full sandwich baggie of Goldfish crackers, some smashed to bits, some soggy.
*Rolos chocolate candies wedged under the seat levers. Several had melted and re-solidified into foil nuggets. Don't know how I'll get those loose.
* At least one small serving of McDonald's french fries. These are a tad crunchy. Might need lots of chewing to digest.
* 5 ketchup packets, thank God still unopened. Might rehydrate those fries....
* 14 chewed pieces of gum. Putting it back into the wrapper, which gets tossed on the floor, would be too logical. The wrapper's down there, I'll just toss the gum down there, too! Slobs. I am raising slobs with no manners..
* 3 petrified gummy worms
* a baggie of what used to be pear slices. They are now black, orange, furry, and I think it might talk if I open it. Not edible in the slightest.
* 1/2 bottle of flat Sprite
* 1/4 crusty peanut butter sandwich
* 2 Blow Pops that were once sucked on then discarded. They now have hair, sunflower seed shells, and dirt all over them. And they're stuck to my carpet.
* assorted Smarties, Dum Dums, M&M's, licorice, and peanuts. Too many to count.
This did not just happen one day. It is a cumulative effect. Men do not understand this. See, we head out with a clean car. We go the grocery store. The kids get a cookie they do not finish. We go to the dry cleaners. Lollipops that aren't the best flavors get tossed. Lunch at Burger King means slushie cups and loose fries in the cars. Old snacks from backpacks get fished out and baggies galore litter my car. When it's time to come back into the house, who carries all this crap inside? My maid? My butler? Sorry, it's just good ol' mom. So I have groceries, dry cleaning, backpacks (my kids have Tyrannosaurus Rex arms and can't seem to carry their shit back where it belongs..),my purse, my dance bag, and a travel coffee mug. Anything else that's left can kiss my ass. Hence, the Buffet of Crap on my floor and throughout my car. If you are a mom, you get it. If you are a dad, you will not. That's okay, I've clearly explained it all to you right here so kindly take my mom van to the carwash and splurge for the Ultimate this time, okay honey? Or I could just drive your car...
Thursday, November 1, 2007
Does She Ever Shut Up?
I admit it, there is some euphoria that passes over me when my kids are at school. I really enjoy being around them, for the most part. Aside when they are beating the crap out of each other or whining for the 279th time about why I'm so mean for not buying them another puppy stuffed animal, motherhood is pure bliss. But once Isabella steps on that afternoon school bus, my whole aura changes. I get a little zip in my step. I start to smile. I can choose to clean my house (HA!), lay on my ass and watch Food TV, thinking of what I WON'T be making for dinner, or just go shopping.
Today I decided I needed to hit Target for a few necessities and perhaps any other items that caught my eye. There is WAY too much tempting shit at Target to just run in to buy tampons. Hello, Christmas pageantry is in full effect with it being November 1st and all. Nothing worse than a mom with time on her hands and a full array of new dollar section Christmas shit at Target. Don't bother looking for the cute assorted holiday gift tags, I bought them all. Now I will probably put them somewhere logical and totaly forget where that is by the time wrapping insanity (that is Christmas Eve) in my house ensues.
Part of my happiness to be free of children results in my willingness to talk to total strangers about whatever the hell I want. I chatted with a poor unsuspecting woman about which shoes I should get, the sassy sparkly holiday ones (they're classy, don't worry. I'm making them sound like a pair Dolly Parton wore in 1984) or the plain black patent leather ones. She seemed startled to have me busting out in conversation with her but she helped me make my choice. And my husband should thank my because I did NOT buy both. See, being friendly sometimes makes me think logically!
I had a chat with a lady in the checkout about children, shopping for birthday gifts, school, kids' ages, the phases they go through in believing in Santa/Tooth Fairy/Easter Bunny, ease of shopping without kids, etc. And she wasn't even buying that much crap! She seemed genuinely interested as she blabbed on as much as I did. The checkout lady was my next conversation victim. I turned into the clerk on the Saturday Night Live skit, referring to "Terrrgit" and all its unique items for sale. I was telling HER which aisles to find my cute holiday shoes and sassy monkey PJ's for my little monkey 5 year-old.
You may question my level of caffeine intake before making my jaunt to the store. Not any, thank you very much. This pep is sheer joy of freedom, baby. No caffeine, taurine, crack, or Red Bull. If you see me smiling like a spaz with a gleam in my eye, be forewarned. Unless you've got 30 minutes to spare, don't take the risk of talking to me. I cannot shut up. I am like that most annoying children's toy your daughter ever got for her birthday. The batteries never run out and there is no off button. If you would like to purchase some they are in aisle 16 at Target, in case you wondered.
Today I decided I needed to hit Target for a few necessities and perhaps any other items that caught my eye. There is WAY too much tempting shit at Target to just run in to buy tampons. Hello, Christmas pageantry is in full effect with it being November 1st and all. Nothing worse than a mom with time on her hands and a full array of new dollar section Christmas shit at Target. Don't bother looking for the cute assorted holiday gift tags, I bought them all. Now I will probably put them somewhere logical and totaly forget where that is by the time wrapping insanity (that is Christmas Eve) in my house ensues.
Part of my happiness to be free of children results in my willingness to talk to total strangers about whatever the hell I want. I chatted with a poor unsuspecting woman about which shoes I should get, the sassy sparkly holiday ones (they're classy, don't worry. I'm making them sound like a pair Dolly Parton wore in 1984) or the plain black patent leather ones. She seemed startled to have me busting out in conversation with her but she helped me make my choice. And my husband should thank my because I did NOT buy both. See, being friendly sometimes makes me think logically!
I had a chat with a lady in the checkout about children, shopping for birthday gifts, school, kids' ages, the phases they go through in believing in Santa/Tooth Fairy/Easter Bunny, ease of shopping without kids, etc. And she wasn't even buying that much crap! She seemed genuinely interested as she blabbed on as much as I did. The checkout lady was my next conversation victim. I turned into the clerk on the Saturday Night Live skit, referring to "Terrrgit" and all its unique items for sale. I was telling HER which aisles to find my cute holiday shoes and sassy monkey PJ's for my little monkey 5 year-old.
You may question my level of caffeine intake before making my jaunt to the store. Not any, thank you very much. This pep is sheer joy of freedom, baby. No caffeine, taurine, crack, or Red Bull. If you see me smiling like a spaz with a gleam in my eye, be forewarned. Unless you've got 30 minutes to spare, don't take the risk of talking to me. I cannot shut up. I am like that most annoying children's toy your daughter ever got for her birthday. The batteries never run out and there is no off button. If you would like to purchase some they are in aisle 16 at Target, in case you wondered.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Trick or Treat
Excuse me but I believe that in order to receive a TREAT, whether it be a roll of Smarties or a full-size Hershey bar, you need to have put at least an incling of effort into your costume on Halloween. A black hooded sweatshirt, jeans, and a gnarly pillowcase to catch your loot does not qualify for diddly squat in my book. Also, if you are 14 years-old, you should be babysitting or passing out candy. Just my opinion. I think your greedy asses have had plenty of years collecting candy so give the little ones a chance.
We had the misfortune, due to my naivete, I suppose, of an entire huge spooky plastic cauldron of delicious candy disappearing in under 10 minutes. I left it out on my porch as I took the kiddos around from house to house, with a friendly little note asking for each kid to take one piece each. Not even four houses down I was informed I was out of candy. Little bastards. I returned home quickly to discover my cute cauldron flung upside down in my tree and not so much as a Snickers wrapper left on the sidewalk. That's what I get get for giving them the good stuff. That was a few years ago and I have learned since then. Or so I thought...
The little fuckers who were klepto maniacs with my candy even bragged about it on the bus. Grrr. So this year with the hubby being out of town (thank you to all the gay, childless asswipes who felt it was IMPERATIVE to have him in Orlando for the third fucking week in a row for some more "very important meetings". Away from his CHILDREN. On Halloween. And yes, I am pissed about it.), I had to either do the bucket on the porch routine or have no candy at all and leave the porch light off. I initially left a clever note and decent candy. It read, "Please take two pieces--Be honest, Santa is watching!" It was like taunting a bully in scholl by saying, "Nah-nah-nah-na-boo-boo!" Those little dillholes actually ran up to my door, not more than 1 minute after I taped the cocksucking sign up, and dumped handfuls of my shit into their bags. Within 5 kids visiting my house they must have nabbed 200 pieces of candy. Are you fucking serious?! Do your parents teach you any manners, you little 5th grade boys with bigger tits than the girls and little girls who aren't so little with your chub rub in your pirate costume that SOOOO does not fit you. Cover that gut, Chubella. Take two pieces and don't be such God damn greedy pigs!!!!!!!!!
Next year will be different. If you have a costume that includes makeup, a hat, or a mask, an actual outfit of some sort which matches the ensemble, and a candy receptacle that is not a plastic grocery bag from under your sink or a stained pillowcase, your score. You will get two pieces of decent candy from me. If you have a mask on that you've been wearing for the past three years and that is your only effort in costuming, I will offer you two shitty Dum Dums suckers in Mystery Flavor. If you are a complete asshole and are in a group of kids who have no costumes whatsoever, I will laugh at you and maybe have my dog poop on your shoe. If you are 14 or older and are not babysitting you little siblings, get your ass home and work on that Algebra. You don't need any candy. If my porch light is off, it is 9:30, and you decide to ring my doorbell anyways, I will punch you in your flabby gut with a broom handle because you just woke up my kids, made my dog bark his spastic little head off, and interrupted my Tivo'd episode of Oprah. Now pardon me while I dunk my Twix mini candy bar in Bailey's....
We had the misfortune, due to my naivete, I suppose, of an entire huge spooky plastic cauldron of delicious candy disappearing in under 10 minutes. I left it out on my porch as I took the kiddos around from house to house, with a friendly little note asking for each kid to take one piece each. Not even four houses down I was informed I was out of candy. Little bastards. I returned home quickly to discover my cute cauldron flung upside down in my tree and not so much as a Snickers wrapper left on the sidewalk. That's what I get get for giving them the good stuff. That was a few years ago and I have learned since then. Or so I thought...
The little fuckers who were klepto maniacs with my candy even bragged about it on the bus. Grrr. So this year with the hubby being out of town (thank you to all the gay, childless asswipes who felt it was IMPERATIVE to have him in Orlando for the third fucking week in a row for some more "very important meetings". Away from his CHILDREN. On Halloween. And yes, I am pissed about it.), I had to either do the bucket on the porch routine or have no candy at all and leave the porch light off. I initially left a clever note and decent candy. It read, "Please take two pieces--Be honest, Santa is watching!" It was like taunting a bully in scholl by saying, "Nah-nah-nah-na-boo-boo!" Those little dillholes actually ran up to my door, not more than 1 minute after I taped the cocksucking sign up, and dumped handfuls of my shit into their bags. Within 5 kids visiting my house they must have nabbed 200 pieces of candy. Are you fucking serious?! Do your parents teach you any manners, you little 5th grade boys with bigger tits than the girls and little girls who aren't so little with your chub rub in your pirate costume that SOOOO does not fit you. Cover that gut, Chubella. Take two pieces and don't be such God damn greedy pigs!!!!!!!!!
Next year will be different. If you have a costume that includes makeup, a hat, or a mask, an actual outfit of some sort which matches the ensemble, and a candy receptacle that is not a plastic grocery bag from under your sink or a stained pillowcase, your score. You will get two pieces of decent candy from me. If you have a mask on that you've been wearing for the past three years and that is your only effort in costuming, I will offer you two shitty Dum Dums suckers in Mystery Flavor. If you are a complete asshole and are in a group of kids who have no costumes whatsoever, I will laugh at you and maybe have my dog poop on your shoe. If you are 14 or older and are not babysitting you little siblings, get your ass home and work on that Algebra. You don't need any candy. If my porch light is off, it is 9:30, and you decide to ring my doorbell anyways, I will punch you in your flabby gut with a broom handle because you just woke up my kids, made my dog bark his spastic little head off, and interrupted my Tivo'd episode of Oprah. Now pardon me while I dunk my Twix mini candy bar in Bailey's....
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Geese Gone Wild
It's spring break here in the mid-West. Even though the leaves are falling off the trees and the temperatures are plummeting, the geese migration resting spots are all over the place here in Bolingbrook, Illinois. They squack like a group of Jewish mothers at the Filene's Basement bridal sale, announcing their presence from miles away.
In cliched greeting cards and pictures you see birds hanging out in Florida, pina coladas in hand, wearing sunscreen on their beaks. Wait, birds don't even HAVE hands so how the hell can we think that's cute? Apparently my locale is considered far enough South to be vacation territory. It is like a goose convention here, they come in at all hours from the sky, shit all over the roads and sidewalks (and goose poop is pretty substantial bird dookie), and hang out in corn fields, next to water retention ponds, and wherever they can cluster in groups of 500 or more.
I have categorized their vacation spots. The primo locale is the man-made lake, surrounded by pretty nice homes. I liken this to perhaps Aruba or Cancun. It's exotic enough to be tropical and out of reach for many spring breakers parents' budgets. Lots of jealous geese who couldn't land here. Across the way is a small retention pond. Still on the water but a little seedier area. This reminds me of Daytona Beach. Warm, by the ocean, but plenty of cheesy guys who drink Coors Light trying to score. No dice, Rico Suave'. Down the road is an even bigger lake but no posh homes surrounding it. This is maybe Ft. Lauderdale. The majority of geese hang here. Then across the street there are several corn fields, no water, and lots of mud. These are for the geese who couldn't afford spring break so they take the bus to Chicago from Minnesota. It's still cold, not much to look at, but hey, they're away from home right?
These huge birds lay out in the sun, soaking up the rays. It's like an episode of MTV spring break but without 50 Cent or Rihanna coming to sing their new single to promote their album while getting pummeled by beach balls and empty beer cans. If geese could talk I think this might be what they talk about while on spring break..
Daytona Beach Pond:
Tammy Lee: Oh my God! Did you SEE how Bobby Dean was making out with Cindi Sue? She was getting her lipgloss all over his Dale Ernhardt beach towel! What a skank!
Ginny Rae: I know! Let's forget about them. I'm heading back to Motel 6 so I can freshen up before that jello wrestling contest. I am SO gonna win that shit this year!!
Ft. Lauderdale Pond
Britney: I soooo wish my whole sorority could have come. We totally would have won the "best jugs" contest by a landslide. And then Rick could see that my tits are definitely real!
Peyton: You are so right! Let's do a shot of Jaeger and make out!
Aruba Resort Beach
Kimora: I cannot even believe that Aubrey brought the same Prada clutch as me! She SO wants to be me. Excuse me but WHO was on "My Super Sweet Sixteen"? Yeah, that's right, bitches! Yours truly! Gaaawd! Her dad only could spend 5 G's on her lame ass birthday....
Anastasia: You are SO right on, baby. Hey, can I borrow your True Religion jeans tonight. They make my ass look HOT with that Gucci top I brought..
Cornfield Breakers
Beth: Chicago is so much fun! Who cares if it 29 degrees! I can't wait to go to Water Tower! Michigan Avenue is like the best shopping experience EVER!
Liz: Let's totally go to Hard Rock Cafe for dinner! We can wear our new Gap jeans and pretend like we live in the big city!!!
So as you can surmise, there is a lot of fucking geese hanging out near my home. And perhaps it is I who could really use a vacation for me to pontificate on all this madness. Jesus I need to get a life...
In cliched greeting cards and pictures you see birds hanging out in Florida, pina coladas in hand, wearing sunscreen on their beaks. Wait, birds don't even HAVE hands so how the hell can we think that's cute? Apparently my locale is considered far enough South to be vacation territory. It is like a goose convention here, they come in at all hours from the sky, shit all over the roads and sidewalks (and goose poop is pretty substantial bird dookie), and hang out in corn fields, next to water retention ponds, and wherever they can cluster in groups of 500 or more.
I have categorized their vacation spots. The primo locale is the man-made lake, surrounded by pretty nice homes. I liken this to perhaps Aruba or Cancun. It's exotic enough to be tropical and out of reach for many spring breakers parents' budgets. Lots of jealous geese who couldn't land here. Across the way is a small retention pond. Still on the water but a little seedier area. This reminds me of Daytona Beach. Warm, by the ocean, but plenty of cheesy guys who drink Coors Light trying to score. No dice, Rico Suave'. Down the road is an even bigger lake but no posh homes surrounding it. This is maybe Ft. Lauderdale. The majority of geese hang here. Then across the street there are several corn fields, no water, and lots of mud. These are for the geese who couldn't afford spring break so they take the bus to Chicago from Minnesota. It's still cold, not much to look at, but hey, they're away from home right?
These huge birds lay out in the sun, soaking up the rays. It's like an episode of MTV spring break but without 50 Cent or Rihanna coming to sing their new single to promote their album while getting pummeled by beach balls and empty beer cans. If geese could talk I think this might be what they talk about while on spring break..
Daytona Beach Pond:
Tammy Lee: Oh my God! Did you SEE how Bobby Dean was making out with Cindi Sue? She was getting her lipgloss all over his Dale Ernhardt beach towel! What a skank!
Ginny Rae: I know! Let's forget about them. I'm heading back to Motel 6 so I can freshen up before that jello wrestling contest. I am SO gonna win that shit this year!!
Ft. Lauderdale Pond
Britney: I soooo wish my whole sorority could have come. We totally would have won the "best jugs" contest by a landslide. And then Rick could see that my tits are definitely real!
Peyton: You are so right! Let's do a shot of Jaeger and make out!
Aruba Resort Beach
Kimora: I cannot even believe that Aubrey brought the same Prada clutch as me! She SO wants to be me. Excuse me but WHO was on "My Super Sweet Sixteen"? Yeah, that's right, bitches! Yours truly! Gaaawd! Her dad only could spend 5 G's on her lame ass birthday....
Anastasia: You are SO right on, baby. Hey, can I borrow your True Religion jeans tonight. They make my ass look HOT with that Gucci top I brought..
Cornfield Breakers
Beth: Chicago is so much fun! Who cares if it 29 degrees! I can't wait to go to Water Tower! Michigan Avenue is like the best shopping experience EVER!
Liz: Let's totally go to Hard Rock Cafe for dinner! We can wear our new Gap jeans and pretend like we live in the big city!!!
So as you can surmise, there is a lot of fucking geese hanging out near my home. And perhaps it is I who could really use a vacation for me to pontificate on all this madness. Jesus I need to get a life...
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
You Think You Look Cool?
For the life of me I cannot figure out what has happened to cars these days. People crap them up with bumper stickers, those douche-bag Calvin and Hobbes decals, graphics, giant all-American bald eagle murals, R.I.P. mantras for their lost (gang member) loves ones, fake bullet holes, and super shiny giant rims on their tires. You all look like huge assholes so pardon me while I laugh at you when I drive by.
I cannot stand these green, earth-loving, anti-Bush, anti-fur, anti-meat, anti-war, anti-disposable tampon folks who preach their 789 missions in life all over their mini, rusted out cars. Your hemp mobile looks like a cartoon. You have more bumper stickers than actual paint on your car. Go smoke a bowl of kind and chill. Don't get your bamboo undies in a wad. Don't take life so fucking seriously. I don't think you are wrong for having all these beliefs, I just don't need to read about them ALL or explain them to my kids when I'm waiting for the light to change behind you. Summarize in a T-shirt and if I have any questions, I'll ask, okay?
To those young guys who think it's so hot to put crazy-ass graphics all over their little cars, with those 2 foot-high air-foil spoilers on the back of their trunks, you look like bigger tools than I do driving a mini van. And I'm just assuming you have really, really small dicks, judging by the way you have to compensate by over-accessorizing your car. It looks like a retarded shark on wheels.Do you honestly think you'll get more pussy with that car?
And to you, Mr. Gangsta (livin' in the burbs), with your ridiculously expensive spinning rims, your tinted windows, your massive SUV, and your booty-pumping bass stereo system that almost gives me an orgasm when you are behind me in the left-hand turn lane (okay, THAT part's not bad), what are you trying to prove? Do you secretly think 50 Cent will be driving through BOLINGBROOK and think, "Hey, that is one bad-ass motherfucker. I think he'd be dope as hell to chill wit on my tour. Those rims is SICK!" Sigh. You poor, poor freak. Now that I am DEAF from you playing your rap music loud enough to register on the damn Richter Scale, I have to learn to sign to you, "Turn it the fuck down!!" By the way, you are white, wear khakis from the Gap, and enjoy watching Desperate Housewives. Gangsta you is NOT.
I am all about this war bullshit being over. The ribbon fad was good. But a plethora of magnets in every rainbow color and cause all over the back and sides of your car? Really? One or two, fine. If you already have the decal with the stick figure drawing of your family, along with their names, your daughters cheerleading squad, your son's football team, your college alma mater, your dog's groomer, and your plastic surgeon's website, you have too much fucking shit on your car. And if you can fit ALL that crap on your car, your SUV is way too big. Downsize to maybe a sedan then you won't be tempted to buy some nifty bullet holes and one of those fake baseball breaking the window things. Good God.
Aside from the over-crowded cause-worthy bumper stickers, because 90% of you are moms, the offensive car crapper-uppers are shitty drivers. Some of you moms drive like jackasses but I categorize myself into that group. I multi-task when I drive (screaming at the kids, turning on the AC, turning down Hannah Montana so I can think, chugging my Red Bull) so I get distracted and often drive below the speed limit. So sorry if you're ever behind me. Why must the rest of you go 75 miles an hour at 4pm? Is there really someplace that special to get to? In suburbia? Seriously? Is there a sale at Bed, Bath, and Beyond? A run on camping gear at Sportmart? Turkey jerky 5 for a dollar at Gas City? Get a life and slow down. Your magnets are flying off your car.
I cannot stand these green, earth-loving, anti-Bush, anti-fur, anti-meat, anti-war, anti-disposable tampon folks who preach their 789 missions in life all over their mini, rusted out cars. Your hemp mobile looks like a cartoon. You have more bumper stickers than actual paint on your car. Go smoke a bowl of kind and chill. Don't get your bamboo undies in a wad. Don't take life so fucking seriously. I don't think you are wrong for having all these beliefs, I just don't need to read about them ALL or explain them to my kids when I'm waiting for the light to change behind you. Summarize in a T-shirt and if I have any questions, I'll ask, okay?
To those young guys who think it's so hot to put crazy-ass graphics all over their little cars, with those 2 foot-high air-foil spoilers on the back of their trunks, you look like bigger tools than I do driving a mini van. And I'm just assuming you have really, really small dicks, judging by the way you have to compensate by over-accessorizing your car. It looks like a retarded shark on wheels.Do you honestly think you'll get more pussy with that car?
And to you, Mr. Gangsta (livin' in the burbs), with your ridiculously expensive spinning rims, your tinted windows, your massive SUV, and your booty-pumping bass stereo system that almost gives me an orgasm when you are behind me in the left-hand turn lane (okay, THAT part's not bad), what are you trying to prove? Do you secretly think 50 Cent will be driving through BOLINGBROOK and think, "Hey, that is one bad-ass motherfucker. I think he'd be dope as hell to chill wit on my tour. Those rims is SICK!" Sigh. You poor, poor freak. Now that I am DEAF from you playing your rap music loud enough to register on the damn Richter Scale, I have to learn to sign to you, "Turn it the fuck down!!" By the way, you are white, wear khakis from the Gap, and enjoy watching Desperate Housewives. Gangsta you is NOT.
I am all about this war bullshit being over. The ribbon fad was good. But a plethora of magnets in every rainbow color and cause all over the back and sides of your car? Really? One or two, fine. If you already have the decal with the stick figure drawing of your family, along with their names, your daughters cheerleading squad, your son's football team, your college alma mater, your dog's groomer, and your plastic surgeon's website, you have too much fucking shit on your car. And if you can fit ALL that crap on your car, your SUV is way too big. Downsize to maybe a sedan then you won't be tempted to buy some nifty bullet holes and one of those fake baseball breaking the window things. Good God.
Aside from the over-crowded cause-worthy bumper stickers, because 90% of you are moms, the offensive car crapper-uppers are shitty drivers. Some of you moms drive like jackasses but I categorize myself into that group. I multi-task when I drive (screaming at the kids, turning on the AC, turning down Hannah Montana so I can think, chugging my Red Bull) so I get distracted and often drive below the speed limit. So sorry if you're ever behind me. Why must the rest of you go 75 miles an hour at 4pm? Is there really someplace that special to get to? In suburbia? Seriously? Is there a sale at Bed, Bath, and Beyond? A run on camping gear at Sportmart? Turkey jerky 5 for a dollar at Gas City? Get a life and slow down. Your magnets are flying off your car.
Energy In a Can
I have to admit I succumbed to the latest craze of over-priced energy drinks that now take up half of the soda aisle at the grocery store. Although I am a gimmick whore, these little beverages pack a punch. And by punch I mean "wakin' my ass up so I have to drink 1/2 a pot less coffee today". At my age, I need all the legal chemical intervention I can get my hands on.
I remember when our old pal, Britney Spears, used to favor Red Bull and vodka and I had to see what all the hype was about. Okay, do any of you out there really drink Red Bull because it TASTES good to you? Really? 'Cause I think it's about as nasty as it comes. And the sugar free shit tastes worse than cough medicine. Rockstar also makes a sugar-free one that literally has to be gagged down because it is carbonated Robitussin, and that shit is the nastiest liquid medicine I can ever remember having to take. In fact, whenever my kids bitch and moan about having to take their grape-flavored shit (tastes like Kool-Aid to me), I make them take whiff of Robitussin and it shuts them up pretty damn quickly.
So why on earth would a discerning consumer such as myself not merely enjoy, say a latte from Starbucks or a few cans of diet Coke? Buzz factor, baby. If you can get past the flavor, and with some of these varieties it can be a spit or swallow situation, you will become as energized and agile as a tap-dancing monkey in the circus. Your heart is not pumping and you don't want to rob a liquor store like you're whacked out on meth (not speaking from experience, just saw enough episodes of Cops to get an idea of what that shit makes you do), but you do feel like you can accomplish your list of errands at least with a little zing in your step and enough energy to even smile at the lady who tells you your photographs are still not ready at Walgreen's...even though you e-mailed them your pics 5 days ago. No worries, I'll just have another can of (booty-flavored) crack juice!! And I gravitate to sassy cans (not the ones in my bra) the way I'm drawn to clever book covers at Barnes and Noble. Things that look good tend to be better all around. I liken it to going to the bar. Do you pick any random guy who makes eye contact with you? I hope not. You look for Mr. Hottie of The Month and figure out how to get him to buy you a drink, perhaps even a Red Bull and vodka!
I don't understand how these people can charge $2.50 PLUS per can for this shit, though. I know most of them contain taurine, which I'm sure the FDA will discover causes lip and earlobe cancer in a year or two so yet ANOTHER product will be banned from our shelves. Not sure what taurine is but I know what 1500 milligrams of it DOES to my exhausted self on any given day. It makes me want to dance a big Broadway number, with big feather boas, ball gown, diamond jewelry, lavish fountains, and 50 tap-dancing men in tuxedos. Or just be able to not drive off the road from another night of insomnia because Sultan's traveling, either choice is good with me. If the FDA does decide this shit is toxic, and I know it's gonna happen, I will be sad and confused. Ex-squeeze me but aren't CIGARETTES toxic? Don't they already know they cause cancer and emphysema? But hey, it's the consumers choice whether or not to buy them and consume them. Shit, I used to be a smoker many moons ago. I was aware they weren't exactly vitamins but did I care? Hell no. I had a gynocologist who was a Harley-riding, bad-ass who smoked a ton. Of all people HE knew that shit was bad. As grown adults, shouldn't we be able to make that choice on our own? I'm not asking that they openly carry ephedrine on the shelves again, Lord knows it's so much fun having to promise your first born child and identify you last 5 addresses, blood type, and favorite sexual position just to buy a box of 24 Sudefed these days. Just trust me, if I want to kill myself by pumping my body full of harmful, energy-inducing toxins, piss off. It's my (saggy/jiggly/wrinkled) body, dammit. As of yet the government doesn't own THAT.
So even though I consume many cups of coffee every morning, I will continue to embibe on "the juice" as it's known on the streets. If you see me cruising down the street in my Windstar, my over-sized Nicole Ritchie-esque sunglasses shining, and me belting out "All That Jazz", complete with jazz hands (I can steer with my knees), please wave and say hi. Although I do have enough energy to audition for Cirque de Soleil, I am simply going to Petsmart, the grocery store, Mailboxes, ETC., and Target...all in about 20 minutes. Who says efficiency doesn't come in a can?
I remember when our old pal, Britney Spears, used to favor Red Bull and vodka and I had to see what all the hype was about. Okay, do any of you out there really drink Red Bull because it TASTES good to you? Really? 'Cause I think it's about as nasty as it comes. And the sugar free shit tastes worse than cough medicine. Rockstar also makes a sugar-free one that literally has to be gagged down because it is carbonated Robitussin, and that shit is the nastiest liquid medicine I can ever remember having to take. In fact, whenever my kids bitch and moan about having to take their grape-flavored shit (tastes like Kool-Aid to me), I make them take whiff of Robitussin and it shuts them up pretty damn quickly.
So why on earth would a discerning consumer such as myself not merely enjoy, say a latte from Starbucks or a few cans of diet Coke? Buzz factor, baby. If you can get past the flavor, and with some of these varieties it can be a spit or swallow situation, you will become as energized and agile as a tap-dancing monkey in the circus. Your heart is not pumping and you don't want to rob a liquor store like you're whacked out on meth (not speaking from experience, just saw enough episodes of Cops to get an idea of what that shit makes you do), but you do feel like you can accomplish your list of errands at least with a little zing in your step and enough energy to even smile at the lady who tells you your photographs are still not ready at Walgreen's...even though you e-mailed them your pics 5 days ago. No worries, I'll just have another can of (booty-flavored) crack juice!! And I gravitate to sassy cans (not the ones in my bra) the way I'm drawn to clever book covers at Barnes and Noble. Things that look good tend to be better all around. I liken it to going to the bar. Do you pick any random guy who makes eye contact with you? I hope not. You look for Mr. Hottie of The Month and figure out how to get him to buy you a drink, perhaps even a Red Bull and vodka!
I don't understand how these people can charge $2.50 PLUS per can for this shit, though. I know most of them contain taurine, which I'm sure the FDA will discover causes lip and earlobe cancer in a year or two so yet ANOTHER product will be banned from our shelves. Not sure what taurine is but I know what 1500 milligrams of it DOES to my exhausted self on any given day. It makes me want to dance a big Broadway number, with big feather boas, ball gown, diamond jewelry, lavish fountains, and 50 tap-dancing men in tuxedos. Or just be able to not drive off the road from another night of insomnia because Sultan's traveling, either choice is good with me. If the FDA does decide this shit is toxic, and I know it's gonna happen, I will be sad and confused. Ex-squeeze me but aren't CIGARETTES toxic? Don't they already know they cause cancer and emphysema? But hey, it's the consumers choice whether or not to buy them and consume them. Shit, I used to be a smoker many moons ago. I was aware they weren't exactly vitamins but did I care? Hell no. I had a gynocologist who was a Harley-riding, bad-ass who smoked a ton. Of all people HE knew that shit was bad. As grown adults, shouldn't we be able to make that choice on our own? I'm not asking that they openly carry ephedrine on the shelves again, Lord knows it's so much fun having to promise your first born child and identify you last 5 addresses, blood type, and favorite sexual position just to buy a box of 24 Sudefed these days. Just trust me, if I want to kill myself by pumping my body full of harmful, energy-inducing toxins, piss off. It's my (saggy/jiggly/wrinkled) body, dammit. As of yet the government doesn't own THAT.
So even though I consume many cups of coffee every morning, I will continue to embibe on "the juice" as it's known on the streets. If you see me cruising down the street in my Windstar, my over-sized Nicole Ritchie-esque sunglasses shining, and me belting out "All That Jazz", complete with jazz hands (I can steer with my knees), please wave and say hi. Although I do have enough energy to audition for Cirque de Soleil, I am simply going to Petsmart, the grocery store, Mailboxes, ETC., and Target...all in about 20 minutes. Who says efficiency doesn't come in a can?
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