Gonads, Ice Picks and Husband-Eating Zombie Wives

If Hubber begins one more sentence with, "Since you'll be at home all day doing nothing, could you..."... I'ma pluck his eyeballs out with a rusty ice pick and squish his gonads between my freakishly strong toes. Then, I'll pull his hair.  And for good measure, I'll scrub the toilet with his toothbrush.

For some strange reason, Hubber seems to think that I roll out of the bed each morning and assume this ritual:
  1. slurp down a cup of coffee
  2. stumble into my house slippers
  3. drive starving teen spawn to school
  4. get back home and crawl back under the covers
  5. take magically dressed, sugar-filled kindergartener (with shiny clean teeth) to school
  6. get back home and crawl back under the covers
  7. take a two-hour nap
  8. turn the tv on and watch soaps and talk shows while munching on Cheetos and drinking rum and coke
  9. roll back out of bed to frolick around in the backyard with the dog
  10. "play" on facebook until it's time to pick teen spawn back up from school
I wish, mofo!

Instead, shit usually goes down like this:
  1. fall out of bed
  2. try to spruce myself up a bit to look alive
  3. scream at teen spawn to hurry the hell up
  4. beg tiny spawn to get up
  5. answer a few work-related emails
  6. plead with teen spawn to eat/drink something before we leave
  7. argue that we do NOT have time to go to McDonald's on the way to school 
  8. drag tiny spawn out of bed kicking and screaming
  9. pile kids up in the car and drive to the high school
  10. halfway there, teen spawn freaks out that she forgot something at home
  11. more arguing takes place
  12. drop teen spawn off at school
  13. get back home to get tiny spawn ready for school
  14. fight with tiny spawn regarding hair/teeth brushing and NOT having a popsicle for breakfast
  15. remind her that panties and socks are essential on school days
  16. answer a few work-related emails
  17. take tiny spawn to school
  18. sit in the car line for at least 10 minutes while other jackass parents figure out how to fucking drop their kids off and move the hell out of the way
  19. get home and let the dog out
  20. scream at dog for fighting with neighbor's dog
  21. feed animals / clean litter box
  22. make FIRST cup of coffee
  23. answer work-related emails
  24. return a couple of calls
  25. work
  26. wash some dishes
  27. work
  28. throw a load of laundry into the washing machine
  29. work
  30. sit in on ridiculously long conference call while catching up on some writing
  31. pay bills
  32. run to the grocery store
  33. work
  34. look at the time and freak out that I only have 10 more minutes until I have to pick teen spawn back up from school
I'll stop there because what comes next deals with carpooling... arguing with teen spawn... running (literally) in the direction of tiny spawn's bus stop so the bus driver doesn't get mad at me for being late again..... getting write-up from teacher because my kindergartener can't behave at school... arguing with tiny spawn about her television priveledges... trying to get more work done... etc. etc.

Then, Hubber gets home all tired, wondering what the fuck I did all day and why we're having cereal again for dinner and why I didn't wash a load of whites.


2011: It's a Wrap!

2011 was a tough year for my family. 

It's been nearly a year since my grandma started hangin' loose with the sweet 6 lb, 8oz baby Jesus in heaven.  And, it seems we've all been stumbling through the year making up new family traditions for ourselves without her.  Shit just isn't the same without that ol' gal.  But, the world keeps turning and life seems to be going by at full speed.

On the homefront, we had to adjust our lifestyles to my new career move. You know, THE MOVE. The one that resulted in less income but more freedom.  The one that relieved me from stress and restored some of my sanity.  The same move that has injected me permanently into the daily lives of my children.  Yeah, that one.

I've watched my teen spawn mature a little.  She appreciates having me at home and has been a real trooper when it comes to budgeting for material things she was accustomed to getting at the drop of hat.  I'm one proud momma.

I think I've had to adjust more than anyone else. I haven't bought myself new clothes or shoes in over a year. The funny thing is that I didn't even realize that I have been going without until I was cleaning out my closet the other day.  Some things just aren't THAT important.

Also, I've learned that "working from home" isn't as easy as it sounds.  You still have to bathe, shave, manage your time, juggle "work" and "home", and deal with dumbasses on semi-regular basis. 

All in all, though, life is good.

Happy Holidays!  May 2012 bring great adventures!

We're More Like the Griswolds Than Cousin Eddie's Peeps

Although telecommuting isn't always all it's cracked up to be, the one constant positive thing about it is that I can work from anywhere.  And by "anywhere"... I mean ANY FUCKING WHERE!  Like here, for instance:

Hellooooo, Minnie Winnie!
That's right, people! The Hancocks bought a second home...and this bad boy has wheels!  His name is Minnie Winnie.  Like a small weiner.  (But, we all know, size doesn't matter. Besides, Minnie Winnie has very ginormous balls.) 

So, why did we take the plunge?  Well, Hubber had an itch.  I guess it's the caveman in him.  The last time he had this itch, I nearly died... and in order to live through his itch this time, we decided a motorhome was the way to go.

The first itch took place several years ago when Hubber introduced me to his kind of "roughing it."  It was loaded with nature, tents, sleeping bags, fires and more nature.  Momma don't like too much nature, y'all.  But, I'll try anything once... so I was a good sport about my first camping trip.  Mother nature, however, wasn't too keen on my dabbling with her affairs.  First, it was hot and muggy and mosquitos were everywhere.  Next, it was so cold I thought my nips would break right off the ends of my boobs.  Then, it rained.  All night. As I lay in my tent. Dying.  I kid you not.  And, to make matters worse, in the middle of the worst rain storm in history, my toddler decides to contract explosive diarreah.  Climbing (but mostly slipping and sliding) a half mile uphill in the dark of night to find the restroom nearly killed us both.  It's a miracle that I lived to tell the tale.

So, when Hubber got the "we really need to go camping" itch again... the solution was either DIVORCE or buy a motorhome.  We figured a divorce would be too taxing on the children so we opted for the latter.

Which makes the entire family happy.  The "real campers" can pitch a tent if they want to, but Momma's gonna be warm and cozy inside her Minnie Winnie; banging away on the laptop, sipping coffee and watching trash on television.  And, when the explosive diarreah stikes (and it WILL strike), the toilet will only be 6 feet away!

Although I sure hope that when the shitter gets full, Hubber doesn't turn into this guy:

I can't make this shit up, y'all....

For the second time in my entire history of motherhood, I attended a Thanksgiving Feast with my child.  The first time, was with the oldest spawn when she was in 3rd grade.  I was in the lunch line with her when some loud-mouthed jackass kid asks my her, "Hey, is THAT your mom?  She's fat!"  In my mind I reached over there and kicked him in his teeny tiny nutsack.  In reality, I shot him the bird and he turned right around and minded his own business.  After that most joyous day, I realized the older kids got, the assholier they got, too.  So, I figured that would probably be the first and last time I'd go and have lunch with my kid.

Fast-forward 6 years and my youngest spawn is in kindergarten.  At this age, kids are still kinda cute so I figured I'd probably be safe against verbal attacks.  Also, my youngest would proably kick someone's ass if they talked smack about me to her face.  So, when I was invited to have a Thanksgiving lunch with her, I said, "sure, let's try this shit again!"

Everything was fine.  Great, as a matter-of-fact.  I chit-chatted in the lunch line with some parents.  I sashayed my fat ass around like the confident heifer that I am.  It was all cool.

That is, until we sat down at our assigned spot at the lunch table.  Directly across from us was another kid and her mother - a police officer in full fucking uniform.

Here's where shit went downhill fast.

Spawn: What does that badge say on your arm?

Cop Lady:  It says, "police officer."

Spawn:  YOU'RE a policeman?!

Cop Lady: Yep.

Spawn: Do you have a gun?

Cop Lady: Yeah... it's right here, see? (tapping her hip holster)

Spawn: Cool!  My mom doesn't have a gun.

Cop Lady: Really?

Spawn: Nope.  But, my dad does.

Cop Lady: Really?

Spawn:  Yeah.  He's a boy.  He likes to shoot stuff. Especially bad guys and SQUIRRELS!

Cop Lady: He does, huh?  (glancing at me)

Spawn: Yeah.  He hates them because they drop a lot of acorns in our pool. Also, they make a mess by the back door.

Cop Lady: Hmmm. (staring a hole in my head)

Me: Hey, don't look at me... I don't even know the guy.

So, there goes our family's reputation with this group of parents.  By the time my tiny spawn gets to 3rd grade, this story will be exaggerated to astronomical proportions.  I'm sure that by then, Hubber will be a convicted felon who kills cute, tiny, doe-eyed puppies and eats their hearts raw. 

The funny thing is... he's never even actually hit a squirrel with his bb-gun. :)


Sex Toys Are Your Friends (and mine)

All Stand and APPLAUD, Damnit!

It's a proud moment in Snarky Heifer-ville, y'all.  Momma got her first advertiser!  That's right!  Someone is actually PAYING money for a slot on my website! CHA-CHING!  I didn't even have to turn a trick; which makes Hubber a happy camper.

Nevermind that my advertiser sells adult toys.  They're still legit (because the check didn't bounce)... and cool as shit in my book. At first, I was tempted to trade them some ad space for loot.  But then I realized that my cupboard is bare and my peeps need milk and eggs before Hubber needs a blow up doll.  So, I opted for the cash.  Smart, huh?

Another good thing about my newly acquired [best] friends is that I've learned a lot more than I ever thought possible about the adult toy businesses.  There are contraptions for everything, y'all.  Turns out, I don't know shit about kinky sex.

For example, what do you think THIS is?:

No, it is not an attachment for your kitchen blender.

It is a vaginal/anal bi-polar ElectraProbe.  And, if that isn't snazzy enough for you... you POWER it up with one of these things:

I'm dead serious about this shit.  Kinda scary, if you ask me.  Pretty sure I don't want anything inside my hoo-ha that uses electro-thingamajigs in order to operate.  With my luck, my goodies would turn toxic and Hubber's dingaling would fall off in two months. Eeek!

But, wait!  Don't let that stop you from visiting my advertiser's lovely store!  They sell a bunch of normal shit, too.  I promise!  Go check them out: www.PerpetualPerv.com

I ain't no hillbilly, but I sure as heck can write like one!

Just when I thought I couldn't stoop any lower in the writing-for-money arena, I was offered a new gig writing in "hillbilly speak" (which I took without hesitation... duh).  I am getting PAID for using bad language, poor grammar and crappy spelling.  It don't get much better than that, peeps! 

Let me just say, there are some weird ass websites out there, y'all.  This one site is targeted at hillbilly-types who can't afford indoor plumbing but somehow own a computer (with internet access) and want to make money online by clicking on all those bullshit ads and surveys.  The crazy thing is that they have over 9,000 members!  NINE THOUSAND people believe they'll make a living off of clicking on website ads and being bombarded with pop-ups and spammy emails.

I know first-hand that that shit don't work.  Yes, I tried it - many, many moons ago.  But, just to make sure shit hasn't changed since last year, I decided to try it out again for tackling this writing project.  In a matter of 30 minutes, I was able to accumulate $0.05 and 20 wooden nickles.   Five cents don't go far in my world, y'all... and at that rate it would take me 654 gazillion years to accumulate $5 for some Marble Slab icecream.

I think I'll stick to writing.

How do you like yer possum, fallin' off the
bones tender or with a little fight left in it?

I understand the concept of COOKING and CLEANING - just not as it applies to me...

Contrary to popular belief, I did not pull a bait-and-switch on Hubber.  Before I became his ball-and-chain, I made extra sure that mofo understood that I do not like to cook or clean.  I also don't like a messy house.  And, I love to eat.  So, basically, he was hitting the jackpot! 

No problemo, he said, "we're two gainfully employed adults - we can hire help and eat out!"  Back in those days, I had a housekeeper to do the dirty work; and I had all the take-out restaurants on speed dial.

Three moves, a few new jobs, two kids and 6 pets later we're eating Ramen noodles and covered in dog hair. Also, our pool needs to be completely drained of funk, our toilets need a good scrubbing and every inch of carpeting needs to be set on fire.

My house looks like shit, y'all. It seems that at some point after reducing my salary considerably, firing my housekeeper, and letting the youngest spawn take over the house, this shit just got away from me.  My peeps are lucky to have clean dishes and clothes. 

Well, usually. 

We all know I hate doing laundry.  It is a never ending fucking menace.

Me:  Hubber, please tell me you have clean panties for work tomorrow.

Hubber: Are you EVER going to do the laundry?

Me:  Yes or no, Hubber?

Hubber:  If I say no, will you do the laundry?

Me: Probably not. But, I MAY go to Target, in which case, I'll buy you a few new pairs.

Hubber: (rolling eyes) I keep a few spares for times like these. 

Me: Damnit.

I think he's on to me.  He can outlast me and the spawns when it comes to clean clothes!  I wonder if he has a mistress somewhere scrubbing away at his dirty panties in secret?  Anything to keep me from making an extra trip to Target.  Jackass.  I bet he has secret burritos stashed away for days when I don't cook, too!

In case of fire, grab some panties!

Teen Spawn:  Mom, if our house was on fire, what three things would you be sure to grab on your way out?

Me: Is this a trick question?

Teen Spawn: No.  Seriously.

Me: (playing it safe) you, your sister and your father.

Teen Spawn: besides people.

Me: my dog.

Teen Spawn: What about the cats and the lizard and the hermit crabs?

Me: Nah, just the dog.

Teen Spawn: (disgusted) Ok, what three things would you grab besides people and animals?

Me: My purse, my phone and my external hard-drive.

Teen Spawn: YOUR PURSE?  It's full of trash and alcohol!

Me: Exactly.  Oh, and some panties.

Teen Spawn: Panties?

Me: Yeah. What if I burn to death on my way out of the house?

Teen Spawn: How would panties save you?

Me: They wouldn't.  But, see... the house would probably burn down in the middle of the night when I'm in bed.  So, I'll be sans panties.  I can't be caught dead pantiless!

Teen Spawn: You've been caught ALIVE pantiless... what's the big deal? Also, do you even OWN a pair of panties?!

Me: It's different when you're dead... your stuff probably shrivels up and looks gnarly.  I don't want my gnarly stuff hanging out for the neighbors to see!

Teen Spawn:  Are you sure I wasn't switched at birth and my REAL mother isn't some sane person?

Me: Nah, you're mine.  You were the only white baby born that day.  Besides... someday you'll be just a fucked up as I am. Just wait. This shit doesn't really set in until you're around 25.

Teen Spawn: (rolling eyes) Why do I even ask you anything?

Me: Hell if I know.  I thought you knew it all.

Teen Spawn: I hate you. 

Me: Join the club, Sista!

I laugh in the face of stupid writing!

For today's blog, let us take a look at a few online ads for writing gigs. We'll start with this one:

I don't need time wasters, either, honey!  And, you just wasted MY time with this jacked-up ad.  What the fuck is "mix words"?  And why do you assume everyone reading your piece of shit ad is a GUY?  And what's with your requirement for "perfect English"?  YOU are going to judge MY English?  I don't think so.  Also, you're a jackass for thinking that $0.01/word is an excellent rate.  ONE CENT. This ain't the Phillipines!

Moving right along, let's check out this one:

I have a problem with every other fucking word in this ad. What you need is SOME writer to proofread your ads before posting.  Research thinks?  Huh?

"Please let me know with the starting work as "SEVEN"." Uhm. WTF are you talking about?  So far, 14 people have bid under budget on this job.  I am shocked.

Finally, there's this one:

This person likes UNIQUE stuff, that's for sure.  What IS a unique, original writer?  Aren't we ALL unique and original?  I ain't writing 1 page for this weirdo, much less 10.  He/she is probably the dope fiend that got Roger Clemens in trouble.  No thanks.  I have a reputation to uphold, people.

******************* update**************************
You heifers need to quit pointing out the fact that I didn't proofread this entry before posting it!  You can all suck my left tit! Bitches. 

Top 5 List of Stupid Things I've Done That I'm Not Even Remotely Sorry For....

5. Spawn two children. Although my fat rolls and stretch marks would probably beg to differ, I am not sorry in the least.  It was a stupid and crazy thing to do, I know, but deep down, I really love these little heifers.  Plus, who else can I boss around when I'm too lazy to fetch my own glass of water (yes, WATER) or wash my dishes... or paint my toenails?

4. Get married.  Who else would take out the trash, do my yard, clean my pool, eat my taco, stomp on bugs and change the oil in my car?  Not to mention that I have someone who actually signed on to listen to my rants and raves till death do us part.  Hubber does all these things with no hesitation.  Well.  Maybe he hesitates a little.  Nah... he loves being my beck-and-call-boy.

3. Perm my hair. Yes, I know it's not 1985 and that perm chemicals will dry my shit out, so STFU.  Momma loves her some curls.  They're loose and bouncy... just like Hubber likes his women.

2. Adopt a really large dog.  Part mastiff, part boxer?  SURE, I'll take her!  Her poop piles are the size of cow patties; but I don't care!  I call it fertilizer. Also, she eats 60lbs of food every month?  So?  No problemo, I say!  I can buy that shit at Sam's for $30.

1. Exchanged my full-time, good-paying job for a part-time gig with crappy pay.  Who cares if I have to pimp people out on the side for money?  Not me!  I get to stay home and "work", bitches!  Also, I get to spy on the neighbors and make up stories about their comings and goings.  I've already pegged the pedophiles, swingers and drug dealers.  Which reminds me, I need a new pair of binoculars. And, a bb-gun.
I've got my eye on all you beeeyotches!

Don't worry... we didn't sell his testicles.

I decided to go "minimalist" in my house by getting rid of all the unnecessary crap we don't really need. And what better way to unload my crap than by having a garage sale?  My trash is YOUR treasure!  That's my motto for this weekend.  Nevermind that this decision was another masked attempt at supplementing my shameful income.  And speaking of shame... one thing I am not ashamed to do is exploit my children for cash.  I planted those two little heifers at the end of the driveway with a lemonade/popcorn stand; looking all cute an inviting.  It's a shame my girls aren't old enough to be "hooters girls", otherwise, I would have had them out there prancing around wearing next to nothing and washing cars!  This was the best I could do:
The little one dressed herself.

...and it worked like a charm!  We raked in enough cash to start working on our bathroom remodel!  And, the girls even raised $50 selling lemonade!  Not too bad for one day!  I mean, it ain't gonna send them to college, but it'll pay for all the Halloween crap they've been asking for. (Please don't tell them I snagged a twenty out of their tip jar for a bottle of booze.)

I also make a killing off of stuff Hubber doesn't need anymore.  He was a little pissed at first because he's so attached to his crap, but he got over it.  Mostly.

Hubber's Quote of the Day: "Do you wanna sell my testicles, too?!  We can put the left one on the 50-cent table!"

Also, purses are always a big hit at garage sales.  I unloaded about 20 of my old bags!  Hubber was so concerned that I was getting rid of too much...

Hubber: You're getting rid of all these purses?  Do you even have any left?

Me: I kept about five.

Hubber: Wow.  I'm shocked.

Me: Now I have tons of room for new handbags!

Hubber: Oh.  Now, THAT makes perfect sense *shaking his head*

It's taking every ounce of willpower I have in me not to swipe $100 out of the bathroom remodel money for new handbags.

There is no limit to the extent of my pimping...

I am one determined heifer when it comes to "working from home", y'all. I've said it before and I'll say it again: I will pimp anyone out for some cold, hard cash.  I even tried pimping myself out, but for some reason, I'm not as good at that.... I guess because I know all my faults and I probably wouldn't even hire me if I were in the business of hiring.  Which I am not.  Well, except for my snazzy logo up there.  I did pay for that.

(Need a graphic artist?  This guy is the shit!)

Anyway... recently, an opportunity presented itself to me.  I was just sitting around, staring at my youngest spawn (who was explaining to me the logic behind her poor conduct reports in school) and wondering what the hell I ever did to deserve such a sassy, smart-assed, loud-mouthed rugrat.  God is one cruel mofo.  As I watched her mouth move and completely tuned her out, my mind was racing with ideas on how I could pawn her off on some unsuspecting soul for a little peace and quiet.... that's when it occured to me.  She's smart.  Real smart.  Too smart, actually. WHAT IF she was destined to be Doogie Houser, Jr.?  At the rate she's going with reading and math and logic, she could be competing with the minds of college students in three years. Tops.  It was at that moment that I realized I needed to get to pimpin' HER ass out.

College is expensive, y'all.  And, although I'm not adverse to child labor, she's only five-years-old and pretty useless.  However, she's a budding artist and her artwork is highly sought after.  And, we've just been GIVING that shit away!  Well, no more of that nonsense.  I've started a gallery and I'm selling her shiz to raise money to ship her ass off to college when she's eight.  Go buy some fantastical art, people... one day she'll be famous and you can say you knew her when...


Why the fuck am I working today?

The mail ain't running today... the kids are off of school... the bank is closed... and everyone's trash will be stinking to high heaven at the curb until tomorrow.  All because it's Columbus Day. Big fucking deal!  We don't celebrate this "holiday" in my house because Columbus could not have actually DISCOVERED a place that had already been discovered.  HELLO? THERE WERE ALREADY PEOPLE HERE!  It's one of the dumbest national holidays.... right up there with MLK day. Don't get me started, people.

So, anyway... here I am working and wondering what the fuck is wrong with me.  I should be plastered in front of the TV like my kids are... or snuggled under the covers in bed with a trashy novel.  Or, better yet, I should observe "Columbus Day" in the proper, most common-sensical way by barging into someone else's house and claiming it as my own.  Where can I find some vials of small pox?

But, sadly, I'm not doing any of that fun stuff.  I'm working.  I've got deadlines to meet today; shit to write and asses to chew on.  I'm sure that halfway through the day, I'll decide I've had enough bullshit and pour myself an adult beverage and chillax a little.  And, when 3:00pm rolls around and I decide to go out and check the mail because I've forgotten it's a damn holiday, I'll be pissed off all over again because my Netflix delivery won't be there.  Christopher Columbus was an asshole.

I Hate Kindergarteners Who Can Read

Specifically, my own kindergartener.  Now that she can kinda-sorta read, I can't lie about shit.  Like when she wants a quarter for a gumball machine.... I used to say, "See that sign right there?  It says, 'out of order'."  Then there's my favorite non-existent sign posted outside of Chuck-e-Cheese that says, "Sorry, we're closed...all the people parked in our lot are at the store next door." I can't pull that shit on her anymore because she can sound words out and use context clues and whatnot on the words she can't quite figure out.  She's too smart for her own damn good.  Or, for my good.  Either way, it's annoying as hell.

What's worse is that the tiny spawn can now half-assedly read my text messages and emails!  So when she's playing "Top Model" or "Monster Farm" (or whatever nonsense is popular that hour) on my iPhone and a text comes through, she turns into a nosey little heifer.

Spawn: MOM! Hubber Hancock just texted you!  .... uhm.. .is "m-o-f-o" a bad word?  Muffu?  Moofoo?

Me: Give me my phone!

Spawn: Please, please, please let me text him back for you.

Me: Fine. 

Spawn: What should I say?

Me: I don't care... go away.

Spawn: Cool!

So = saw and Yo = You.  Kinda cute, huh?  I guess I don't hate it that much.  I guess.  But, this lil heifer needs more schooling on using punctuation properly. 

Zombie Princesses Rule, Y'all!

I applied for a writing gig recently that I thought would be fun.  I shoulda known my creative genius would be wasted on those damn Canadians.  But, when they flashed some dollars around and promised lots of work, I couldn't turn it down.  'Cause I'm a whore for money, y'all. Anyway... so as it turns out, I'm now a ghost writer for some weird-ass princess persona who represents a chain of pawn shops in Canada.  She's like their mascot.  My first assignment was to write 5 blog entries... they were all returned for major edits...

Canadian Boss Person: The princess doesn't drink alcohol - she needs to appeal to an audience of moms and families.

Me: Canadian moms don't drink booze?

Canadian Boss Person: What I'm trying to say is that we're "family oriented."

Me: The only reason I even like my family is because I drink.

Canadian Boss Person: Oh.  Uhm.  Can you just take that part out?  Oh... and no sex, either.  The princess isn't married... we want her to be appealing to men.

Me: So, no booze and no sex.  Remind me again why people like her?

Canadian Boss Person: She is fun and sassy.

Me: Can she be a zombie?  If she can't drink and she's a virgin, she can at least eat brains.  THAT would make her cool!

Canadian Boss Person: Are you drunk?

Me: No... I'm high.

Candian Boss Person: What?!

Me: Just kidding. Kinda.

Canadian Boss Person: Are you still up for this project?

Me: Are you still paying?

Canadian Boss Person: Of course...but the message has to be exactly what we want... with a rated-G sense of humor sprinkled in.

Me: I think I need a raise.

At first I thought the gig would be pretty badass...but now, it's just sad.  And, dumb. Seriously. There isn't anything remotely cool about buying used shit from a boring-ass mormon princess.  Canadians are dumb.

I think I need to start another pawn mascot....maybe someone in AMERICA will appreciate my geniusness.

Ridiculous Shit I Write About for Money

There is no shortage of website content writing projects available out there these days.  What with all the "search engine optimization" and blogging, I've got clients coming out the yin-yang.  The only issue I usually have is related to the subject matter.  You never know what kind of nonsense you're going to run into in this business.

Sometimes I write for doctors...which requires lots of research and fact-checking.... because, in case y'all haven't noticed, I am not a doctor.  I will say, though, that doctors suck at writing.  And, spelling. OMG.  I thought I sucked at spelling. How the hell did these people make it through all those years of schooling without knowing how to spell or put a proper sentence together?  And to think they're the ones cutting people open and fiddling with their brains and spinal cords.  Scary. 

Sometimes I write for marketing firms....which doesn't require as much research, but usually involves really stupid content... like organic fabrics, male "enhancement" products, gocarts, plastic surgery, potato peelers, dog breath and goat milking.  Oh, and weight loss programs.  That shit is the worst because it makes me want to try all the ridiculous diets.  But, of course I don't; which makes me feel extra fat and hopelessly lazy. So writing about weight loss ain't fun.

Sometimes I write product reviews.  Yep.  For products I have never purchased or tried.  Ever wonder who the hell takes time to review products online?  Have YOU ever reviewed a product?  No one does it.. y'all... unless: 1. the product sucks and the consumer is pissed and wants the entire world to know about it... or 2. someone PAYS for the review. People in the Phillipines will write a 150-word review in jacked-up English for less than $1 for someone desperate enough to pay for cheap, incorrect shit.  For awhile, I wondered how these Filipinos could afford to work so cheap... turns out one dollar in their country is like $50 to us, apparently. That's some sad shit. So... whenever I can, I like to throw bones their way.  I'll take a job that pays $20/hr... subcontract it to them for $2 (which is like $100, y'all!) then I edit the shit out of it and call it mine.  It's a win-win situation.... and I feel good about helping the Filipino economy.  I'm like that Tom guy who buys shoes for shoeless African kids!  Except cuter.

CDs and other stuff that has gone extinct in our house...

Five years ago, after strapping Hubber down and gagging him with an 8-ball, "we" got rid of all our VHS and cassette tapes. It was no easy feat. In fact, he went down kicking and screaming. And he still cries about it to this day... even though he has nothing to play the damn things on anymore. Now we have a gazillion DVDs and CDs... but it's time for some of that shit to go, too..
so, before Hubber births a cow, I'm putting all the music on a hard drive before getting rid of the CDs. I'm torn between being nostalgic about it and being thrilled at the prospect of finally getting my linen closet back. There are no fewer than 700 CDs in our media [soon to be linen] closet. SEVEN HUNDRED. And to think that their contents all fit on one teeny, tiny, wallet-sized contraption now is amazing.

Hubber isn't impressed with the new gadget. Nor is he happy to be losing his "media storage room" (soon to be linen closet).

Hubber: It's going to take a shit load of movies and stuff to make up for all the space the CDs take up in the media storage room.

Me: Uhm... we are not purging in order to start collecting junk again. Besides, that's going to be the new linen closet.

Hubber: The what?! What do you need linens for? You just want an excuse to go shopping!

Me: I already have linens... they're piled high in the game room closet... they're even touching the light bulb in there... damn, I hope they don't start a fire.

Youngest Spawn (interjecting little know-it-all that she is): You need to have a smoke alarm in there... and put a ladder in the window in case there's a fire.

Hubber mumbled something under his breath at that point which I couldn't quite make out but probably had something to do with the fact that he was bailing out on a losing battle. Now, not only was he losing his precious "media storage room" to household linens but he now has smoke detectors to install. Oh, and I thinkn I need some extra shelves hung.

Back to School... The Bitter and the Sweet

Today, our family hit a milestone... or two.  The oldest spawn started high school and the little one started kindergarten.  They were both very excited to start these new life experience.... all the while, their mom has mixed emotions.  Yesterday I was counting down the seconds until things would be "back to normal" and my kids wouldn't be pestering me all day long.  But, today... I feel a little differently.

I feel old.  I have a kid in high school.  Where the hell did the time go?  And how did my other baby get old enough to go to kindergarten?  Wasn't I pregnant last year?  I feel like I just blinked and POOF, five years passed me by.

But, regardless of how OLD I feel right now, I'm not SAD that they're gone during the days now... I do love my "alone" time.... I can work and write and piddle around the house in peace and quiet.  For the first time in a LONG time, I feel like I'm my own person.  No one is depending on me to do this or that or whatever.  I can just BE. And, I love it.

Summer Vacation: Day 2

Location: Disney's Fort Wilderness Resort & Cabins
Quote of the Day: "You'll always be a loser as long as you're with me." -Hubber
Mood: It's raining; but I've got sunshine in a bag

We made it to Disney World today; but not before stopping at a Waffle House for breakfast.  Hubber counted 362 kazillion of those suckers on the way here so we figured we were probably missing out on something if those things were THAT popular. We were right. That shit is good, y'all. And CHEAP!  We fed FIVE people for $25.

But I'm not here to talk about waffles and hashbrowns.

Our first day in our Fort Wilderness cabin was fun!  This place is huge... and amazing.  But you know my peeps are never happy.  We decided to go resort hopping for dinner... we trekked on over to Animal Kingdom's resort (which is lots more fancier) to see how the other side lives. It was great... and if it hadn't been for the thunder and lightening, we would have totally free-loaded and splashed around in their pool. Damn that mother nature! 

Summer Vacation: Day 1

Location: Alabama/Florida State Line
Quote of the Day:  "Goodness gracious great balls of China!" - Lil J
Mood: Thankful

I'm very high tech, y'all.  I've got a wi-fi hotspot on my iphone... so at this very moment, I'm sitting in the car typing away on my laptop as Hubber cheaufers us to Florida. We're headed to spend a week in Disney World!  So far, the road trip has been nice and uneventful.... aside from the occassional demonic outbursts from the brattiest of all children, Lil J.  We stuck her in the 3rd row seat so that we could pretend we couldn't hear her from all the way up front.  It works fine when we have our headphones on.  Well, sorta. Between the adults and the devil child are two teenage girls.... they have hardly made a peep.  Mostly, they sleep, watch TV or listen to music; they're totally oblivious to the drama occurring behind them.

I have to admit, though... I couldn't be happier.  I've got my family around me.  We're on our way to a happiest place on earth, y'all!  I'm thankful.  I'm annoyed.  But, thankful, too.  Maybe I'm lightening up in my old age?

My Fantasy Involves Football...

This year I’m playing Fantasy Football for the first time.  Draft day was an event in my house…. I taped my kids’ mouths up and made Hubber) sit next to me so that there would be more than my one-ounce of football brains involved in my picks. However, while Hubber was busy pointing and hollering about which players I need to add to my watch list (and warning me about bye weeks and whatnot)... I ended up with mostly boyfriends; like Chad Ochocinco (because he’s a dancer), Peyton Manning (because he’s so funny in those commercials) and Andre Johnson (because I gotta keep my homeboys in the mix).  And, just to balance things out a bit, I chose the Chicago Bears kicker who has a face only a mother could love.  That being said... I'm pretty confident that I have a winning team.

Momma Needs a Football Jersey That FITS

Momma needs one of these in an XXL
 I recently started writing for footballnation.com.  I bet you peeps didn't think I knew anything about football, huh?  I live to keep you people on your toes.  Anyhow... all the football research and writing has gotten me all worked up about the NFL season.  I don't care so much about the lockdown and collective bargaining crapola.... the thing that has me all in a tizzy is the fact that cute football shirts for large women are so damn hard to come by.  I want to represent as much as the next guy does.... but unless I want to squeeze into a women's medium-sized jersey sold at Academy or swim in a men's boxy jersey, I'm shit outta luck. 

So, you can imagine my surprise and cries of joy when I saw an advertisment on NFLShop.com for a new line of women's jerseys!  We're talking pink and blingy, y'all!  I was all beside myself as I clicked the link. But, as my luck would have it... the only size available in the Texans jersey I could afford is MEDIUM.  All the skinny girls and all the fat girls done bought up all the good stuff.... and the fucking line just opened!  Also, how does the NFL run out of jerseys in their store?  It's like going to McDonalds and ordering french fries only to be told they are "all out".  It's nonsense. And, it pisses me off. 

I think I owe Hubber an apology...

...maybe more than one apology... and maybe I KNOW I do (rather than THINK it).  You get my drift. Anyway, not that he's perfect or anything, but he sure has put up with a lot of shit from me over the last few years.  I won't get into specifics, but I will say that he's a trooper like no one else I've ever known.  Also, he doesn't fart around me and I appreciate that, too.  I love him for sticking by me through thick and thin... and for being stronger than I could be when I needed it most (and for knowing he needed to).   I think he might have saved my life. I love him a little more every day. I wouldn't trade him for the world. I guess I'll even keep his kids, too.

Oh, the joys of "working from home"....

Being a "contractor" can be fun but it also comes with its own set of complications.  Here's what I've learned in the past 6 months:

The good:
  1. You only need one roll of duct tape to secure a 5-year-old to a chair AND cover her mouth.
  2. Coffee tastes good in the morning... but booze helps you make it through the entire day (an added plus is that there's no need to "drive intoxicated"...which means I'm probably saving lives here, people!!)
  3. You can dedicate your life to embarrassing your teenager by prancing around in your housedress all day while friends come and go.
  4. You can spy on your neighbors during the day.
  5. You can save gazillions of dollars in gas money!
  6. Your office can sometimes be poolside...while you piddle away with two feet in the pool and a glass of wine in one hand.
The bad:
  1. You can't buy groceries with promises of wealth to come "someday in the future".
  2. You can write your ass off... but it doesn't mean anyone will read what you write or even give a shit that you're a badass writer.  Thick skin comes in handy.
  3. Clients are always right... even when they're dumbass pieces of shit.
  4. Having a dog and a toddler (and now a cat from hell) as co-workers is not all fun and games.
  5. All those gazillions of dollars you save in gas money is now spent on electricity and entertainment.... oh, and booze.
  6. Working poolside is not all that fun in 100-degree weather.
The ugly:
  1. You can't go home to get away from the office when the office is in your home.
  2. A virtual assistant living in the Phillipines with a college degree will work for $1/hour, but they won't be able to speak or write a proper (or even half-assed) sentence in English. 
  3. It's really hard to justify buying a new pair of shoes every month.
  4. Just because you work from home doesn't mean you're a goshdarned housekeeper!


Rapture Smapture

When I wasn't here posting blogs, the world was still moving.  Shocker... yes, I know.  And to make things more freaky, we had a bit of a scare on May 21st when for a minute (or two) we all thought (not really) that the world was going to end.  But, we're all still here; the Earth is still spinning and there is still work to be done, mouths to be fed and debauchery to partake in.    So, if you didn't spend all your life savings on bottled water, bomb shelters and zombie-killing weapons, it's time to bust that wallet open and get ready to start buying me lavish gifts!

How many steps are there in a mile?

The answer is 2,000.  No, I didn't count them... well, I tried, but I kept losing track and making numbers up.  Yes, I have a pedometer.  But, it's a cheap piece of crap that sometimes misses steps, so it's not to be trusted.  Instead, I trust the google search results... because that shiz is never wrong. 

TWO THOUSAND steps.  That's what I've been walking every day (except for yesterday because it was raining). 

At first I was feeling all proud of myself.... thinking, "hey, self, you're pretty badass to be walking a mile every day!"  But then, some jackass on TV tells me I should be walking 10,000 steps if I want to lose weight.  Needless to say, Dr. Oz is NOT by boyfriend anymore. And, when I was all heartbroken over the loss of my boyfriend, I see on my Facebook Newsfeed that one of my girlfriends rides 50 miles a week on her bicycle.  FIFTY MILES!  And, that's when she isn't working out in gyms for hours on end.  So, I sat here wondering if maybe I should push myself more and get off my toosh and walk a few more steps today.  It took me 20 steps to get this:

My workout is over.  Cheers!

Work and other things that make me tired...

Since I've been "working from home", I've realized something... when you work from home,  you never leave work. And, even when you physically remove yourself from home/work, it's usually to get groceries (work) or tote kids around (work), or to help others with something (work).  I got away from one job and took on 21 other jobs... and it pays less... and there aren't many perks, except for maybe this:

Ok, so it's not ALL bad...but still.  Momma needs some adult stimulation.  That doesn't necessarily mean I need my adult parts stimulated, either.  It means... I need conversation that doesn't require me to say, "You wanna go outstide to potty," or "Wipe your own ass!" or "Can't you see I'm on the phone!?" or "No, you cannot have another popsicle," or "no scissors on the couch!"  Besides myself and the little voices inside my head, it seems all I do these days is talk to animals and small children.  I guess it beats the alternative. I could be this guy:

1 tequila... 2 tequila.... 3 tequila.... FLOOR!

Happy Cinco de Mayo, y'all!  Drink responsibly, people, or you might end up like this gal. Also... what in the world is she wearing?  Did she go back to 1988 and ransack Madonna's closet? White shirt, black bra.... bandana headband... black tights, ankle boots and a strange belt.  Oh, wait. That style is coming back, huh?  Scary.  And, although I hate talking smack about people's hair because I may jinx myself and have all my hair fall out.... what is up with the fried and bleached mop she's got going on there?  No wonder she drank herself into oblivion.  Poor thing.

Also... Happy Cinco de Mayo!  Or... "Pico de Gallo", as one of my friends says.... she likes to celebrate May 5th with some Mexican food and extra pico de gallo.  And... do you know what goes good with Mexican food?  Tequila! So, throw a few back today in honor of.... Mexican Independance from ...???  the Alamo?? (Damn, I hate history).


Before I took on this "social media marketing" project, I had no clue that there was more to social media than Facebook, Twitter and blogs.  Momma is learning lots of stuff these days... like affiliate networking; writing one press release 10 different ways ("say the exact same thing but make it different," says client); hubpages; and my new favorite thing ever... SQUIDOO.  The name alone won me over.  I'm easy that way.  But, the funny thing is... I don't really know what the heck to do with it... sure, I created a squidoo page, but now what??  There wasn't even a category remotely related to the business... or other similar crap that people are supposed to be "searching" for when they accidently stumble upon us.  And speaking of... I think stumbleupon is another thingy I need to get hip to.   My head hurts now. I'm having social media overload.  It was hard enough keeping up with two facebook pages and two blogs, but now we have squids and stumbles and hubs and tweets and who the hell knows what else.  I'm just one person, damnit!  Momma needs minions, y'all.

Is it just me....

.... or does it seem like all of the loudest, most obnoxious drivers on the road are the same ones sporting cars plastered in WWJD bumper stickers, chrome fish emblems, "choose life" license plate holders and church logo window decals?? Or are those just assholes driving stolen cars that once belonged to church-going/heaven-bound folks?  Maybe police officers should start targeting all the crazies posed as Jesus lovers, pull 'em over and haul their butts to jail.  I say do it and ask questions later.  I really don't think Jesus would stick the finger at a 80-year-old woman driving slow on a Sunday. Nor do I think Jesus would lean on his horn at someone for not passing through a yellow light.  I think the question we should all ask ourselves here is: What Would Jesus Do for a Klondike Bar?  Steal a car?  Possibly.

This is how you piss people off at the grocery store....

1. Hog the entire aisle.  Park your cart on the left and stand in front of oncoming traffic and act like you can't find whatever it is you're looking for.  Also, act like you don't see anyone trying to get around you.  If they really wanted to get by, they'd say, "Excuse me."  Right? Right.

2. Put a bunch of crap in your cart and stroll around putting it all in places it doesn't belong.  Put some bacon near the canned goods.... frozen broccoli near a loaf of bread... toilet paper near the prune juice.  Wait. That last one kinda makes sense.

3. Bring the loudest, most annoying toddler with you to the store and either: a.) let them run around knocking crap over and leaving kid snot all over the non-perishables; or b.) strap them into the the cart seat and ignore them while they scream at the top of their lungs and pester the living shit out of everyone around you.

4. Whip out the coupons when you go to check out.  And when I say coupons, I mean STACKS of those badboys!  Everyone loves a good deal... sure, it'll piss the guy in back of you off, but when you save money at the grocery store, you have more cash for booze and whatnot... so screw it and get to clippin'!

5. Pay with a check.  Who the heck still writes checks these days?  You. That's who. And, you write slooooow.  Make sure to take some time rummaging in your handbag for a pen... and screw up and void at least one check before starting over...that will really set the next guy in line off!


I thought I'd take a moment to clarify a couple of things about my blog in the very RARE instance that readers don't realize that this blog is meant to be HUMOROUS.  I don't actually spread my legs for followers; nor do I hate my children (usually).  I'm just a normal, everyday kind of gal who is stumbling through life WITH A SENSE OF HUMOR.  It's a shame we all weren't born with one of those, huh?

I'm officially a whore...

Damn.  I have FOLLOWERS!  I'm famous!  Who cares if my family and friends had to pimp me out all day?  I'll be a hooker for some blog followers.  No problemo.  Also, I found out yesterday that my pornstar name is Frisky Silkhole.  So, all you followers are lucky to have me!  You're welcome.  I take tips. 

And, now that I have followers and real live people reading this, I need to get a stripper pole installed.   What's a hooker without skills, y'all?  A broke hooker, that's what.  Momma's got mouths to feed...and shoes to buy... did I mention I take tips?  I accept paypal.  And cash. Tell your friends.

Happy Hump Day, Y'all!

Back in the day when I worked a 9-5 office job, I remember liking Wednesdays because it meant the worst of the week's bullshit was behind me and it was all downhill from there. Nowadays, though, everyday is like Wednesday....without the humps.  My days all seem to crash into each other.  Sometimes, my Friday is on everyone else's Monday because I anticipate the whole taking-youngest-spawn-to-school-and-getting-her-outta-my-hair thing that goes on Tuesday mornings.  Unless there's a staff meeting at the REAL office that day.  Then... it's like fate is playing a really cruel joke on me.... saying "HA! You only thought you were FREEE... but no, you're a prisoner for LIFE, Beeeyotch!"  Those are the times when the homicidal tendancies surface and all the idiots around me better get to running!  It's those times when I start counting down the days until all these writing gigs finally start  paying off and I can cash in and cash out!

Some people go to church on Sundays...

....this heifer does laundry.  Loads and loads and loads of stanky laundry.  I'm still not sure how two children accumulate so many dirty clothes in one week; but it seems to be a never ending menance.  I'm trying to decide now whether I loathe doing laundry or cleaning floors more.  Or cooking.  Or dusting.  The older I get, the more I realize that I'm just not cut out for this "susie homemaker" crap.  It's just too much responsibility for a free spirit like me who would rather be sipping on an adult beverage under an umbrella on beach in the Carribean somewhere.... with a hunky pool boy carrying a plate of fruit and a fan made from palm fronds. A girl can dream, can't she?! 

Anyway, as the raunchy stench of reality drifts into the room, I am reminded that another load of laundry is ready for the washing machine.  And, while I'm washing clothes, I think I'll go and do some internet surfing.  I wonder if craigslist has postings for hunky pool boy services!

I need to get urbanized

I was accused recently of not being hip becuase I don't listen to "black people music."  I've lived in a texa-fied suburbian bubble now for seven years and the last "black people music" I remember listening to is Biggie Smalls and Tupac. And those assholes are both dead now.  I was told that Eminem, the Beastie Boys and the Dirty Heads don't count so now I'm feeling particularly uncultured.  I grew up in Houston's 1st Ward ghetto, for crissakes!  I'm a disgrace to my poverty-stricken people.  For shame.  All I know about Jay-Z is that he's married to Beyonce.... Usher is a cutie-pie.... James Brown is dead.... Michael Jackson was badass when he was black, but turned white and he's dead now, too.... and Snoop Doggie Daaawg is promoting Justin Bieber. Justin Bieber ain't black! Also, whatever happened to Kid 'n Play?

Anyway, my point here is that I'm on a mission to get cultured.  Leave me a comment and let me know WTF I should be listening to and why. 
Biggie, Biggie, Biggie can't you see, somehow your words just hypnotize me.... and I just love your flashy ways... I guess that's why they're broke and you're so paid....

Momma wants to get paid!

what's the DEAL with the sudden influx of nautical stuff in the fashion industry?

According to Dolce & Gabbana, the martime/nautical trend in fashion went out when the 2009 fall seasonals came out.  Yes, I'm sure. I looked that crap up just now.  So, WTF is going on with all the anchors and stripes in all stores these days?  "French Chic" my fat ass! Did they not get the memo?  Who is in charge of this stuff?  I would like to pluck their eyes out with rusty garden shears.  Big gals like me can't pull off the horizontal stripes, so crap like this just pisses us off.  And, when a big gal gets pissed off everyone else gets pissed on.  That's just how it works. So, before I get all ghetto ass on the people at Old Navy, I'm going to go ahead and jet.  If you need me, I'll be out shopping at my favorite stores.... you know, the ones that don't sell sailor suits and miscellaneous horizontally striped and ridulously unflattering getups. 
I hate volunteering at my kids' schools. What's the deal with all the psycho moms who pretend to enjoy that crap? I hate baking cookies and cutting stenciled crap out of construction paper and I wouldn't be caught dead in a mini van with those dumbass kid sport stickers on the rear windshield.  Don't even get me started on the "honor roll" kids. 

Oldest Spawn:  Look Mom, I got an honor roll sticker for your car!

Me:  Uhmmmm.

Oldest Spawn:  Where shall I stick it?

Me:  You don't REALLY want me to answer that, right?

Oldest Spawn: Mooooo-oooom!  Aren't you proud?

Me:  Of course I'm proud, but that shiz is not going on my car....

Youngest Spawn:  Your sticker is dumb, Sis.

Amen, mini-me!  Finally, someone who understands.

Maybe my problem is that I suck at cooking.  And, my crafting skills are pretty limited.  Also, stickers don't stay stuck to my car's window because the glass is too dirty.  If it weren't for the gazillion dollars I'm going to make pimping out these clients, I wouldn't have much going for me. Need a pimp?

did someone say Vegas? DEAL me in!

I'm not really a gambler, but I do love to watch other people blow their dough.  Vegas is perfect for that.  Most airlines have great deals on flights and hotel rates are discounted all the time.  So, when my sister asked me if I wanted to plan a trip to Vegas with her, I was all over it like flies on dog crap!  Where's my favorite pair of skank-ho heels?!  Also, Momma needs a new handbag.  I wonder if the Thunda From Down Unda are still shaking their dingalings?  I better take a stack of dollar bills with me, just in case.

are they SOCIAL site lurkers or peeping toms?

Some call them lurkers, I call them Peeping Toms.  Whatever you call them, people who stalk others online are creepy.  I did one of those "see who's looking at your profile" things on Facebook today and the results were disconcerting. Are those things even accurate?  Don't answer that. I believe in them, just like I believe in my horoscope and the amazing clients I write for.  Anyway, as it turns out, all my best, good buddies don't give a rat's ass about me.  My number one peeper was a cousin of a friend's husband... my number two was my third grade teacher and my third was Arian Foster.  None of whom I have chatted with ONCE since friending them.  I went ahead and defriended the first two - just in case they have homicidal tendencies.  Mr. Foster can peep all he wants!  Who cares if he looks like he's posing for a mugshot in most of his pictures?!

Momma's got a brand new blog

I don't get PAID to write entries in this blog.  This is my OUTLET... my escape from all my fabulous clients... the ones who pay my bills and keep snazzy shoes on my feet.  So, you won't find me pimping out any weird companies here...nor will you find me linking to random crap I think you need to buy.  Instead... we shall have FUN here, people!  You hear me?  FUN!  So, let me vent and feel free to tell me to shut the hell up whenever I get carried away. (That will probably never happen.)

I DO blog for money, too, though.  But, since I get paid for it, I can't necessarily attach my name to it because then all my fans will think I'm square.  And, Momma ain't square, y'all... she can just write like a square.  Now, that right there is TALENT. 
Serious Client:          Every blog posting should use keywords relevant to what we do.

Me: Well, duh.

Stern Client:  I mean it.  No one cares about your slobbery dog or your snot-nosed kids.

Me: Seriously?  Everyone cares about that stuff.  They even want to know what I eat for breakfast, how I take my coffee and what color my toe nails are painted.

Stern and Serious Client: Stick to the KEYWORDS.

Me:  Keywords are overrated. I'm the world's next BIG thing!  I'm like Mandonna (except I can't sing and my arms are flabby) or Christina Aguilera (except I know the words to the National Anthem) or Fergie (except I don't have a ding dong in my pants)!

Client with $$:  Keywords or you’re fired.


Me: You’re the boss!

That's how shit goes down when people are paying me to write.  I do as I'm told.  Momma needs new shoes and handbags, and that stuff doesn’t just buy itself, you know.  I need these jobs.  And, for the record… my dog doesn’t slobber that much and my kids only have snotty noses when they’re sick or when they sleep under a ceiling fan covered in dust bunnies.

New Job = New Blog

So, I landed this one big writing gig.... and just as my ego was inflating to astronomical proportions, I was brought back to Earth where I am merely one of 376 gazillion other writers who are probably way more qualified than I am to be doing this.  It happened the other day when I asked my new client to help me write a little ditty for an upcoming press release about my skills (because having ME as a contractor is freakin' newsworthy, y'all!).  Here was his reply:

Meet our newest writer:
Tamara is a snarky heifer who is lucky to have found us.  She curses and screams and rants and raves about the silliest, most nonsensical crap you can imagine.  How she has managed to remain gainfully employed all of these years is beyond us.  Anyway, we decided we would “man-up” and do the world a favor by taking her off of the unemployment market.  We now monopolize all her free time with tasks related to managing our corporate communications. She’s not the best person money could buy, but she is certainly one of the cheapest – for a start-up company, saving money is essential. Plus, she’s kind of cute when she prances around in her tiara, she rarely trips over her own two feet and most times she even finishes a complete thought when she writes.  Also, she can wiggle her ears and chew with her mouth closed; both outstanding qualities in an employee.  That being said, we won’t make any promises of enlightenment or life-altering experiences through her writing.  Enjoy!  And, please send comments, complaints, suggestions, hate-mail, and/or threats directly to her at tamarah0809@hotmail.com If she breaks the law or offends anyone, we don't know her.
Yeah.  So, at first I wanted to punch him in the throat for his so-called compliments... until I realized he had done me a huge favor!  He blessed me with the name for my new blog.... SNARKY HEIFER.  Thanks, dude!

That's "Princess Snarky Heifer" to you!