Face it, ladies...chivalry is dead.

The damn hippy feminist movement screwed everything up for us. Men don't buy dinner...they don't buy flowers...hell, they don't even open doors for us anymore! Sure, I believe in equal rights and equal pay and shit like that...and I consider myself to be pretty independent...but damn, it sure would be nice to feel the love once in awhile. Ladies, we need to start making it harder for men to get into the panties! Make them bend over backwards...lift heavy boxes...open doors...do car maintenance...pay for the pleasure of our fabulous company! Shit like that! I mean, what is up with the world these days?! THIS HOO-HA COMES WITH A PRICE, DANGIT!

I'm talking shit, but I find myself opening my own doors....opening my own jars...getting my oil changed in my car...buying car batteries and getting car brake checks. I find myself buying my own damn flowers...hoisting my own heavy boxes up and down stairs. There is something wrong with this picture. Now, if the men in my life were answering my phone for me...taking my messages...washing my clothes...buying my groceries...bathing my kids...scrubbing my toilet, etc. etc. then I wouldn't be complaining so much. I would be accepting this flip flop in expectations and moving on with my damn life. But, shit is NOT going down like that. Shit is all messed up. And men are lazy fucktards. And we're dumb ass bitches for letting them get away with it. We need to start a new movement...one involving men on their knees, groveling, ready to be at our beck and call. Yes. That's what we need.

I know we can't change them all overnight, though. But, we can start small...using Hubber.

When there's nothing else better to write about...

I can't think of one damn thing to write about except for my new favorite word, "fucktard" (thanks, Clay!). Everything is now fucktarded and everyone is now a fucktard. (Except, of course, for me and anything I do. But, that probably went without saying...since I'm perfect and my shit don't stink. Duh.)

The jackass in the black truck who blocked two lanes of traffic on Jones Rd. this afternoon trying to make an illegal left turn, causing me to swerve and almost friggen kill myself due to being smashed to bits by oncoming traffic....fucktard.

The cop who thought it was prudent to ride up my ass for 5 miles just waiting for me to goof up so he could flash his lights (which let's face it, might as well be his big blue balls up there waiting to explode around his pencil dick)....fucktard.

The pimple-faced-idiot working the cash register at the pharmacy who thought it was ok to ask if the tampons I was buying "work good"....fucktarded fucktard.

The doctor (and master of the friggen obvious) who likes to point out that I'm overweight like I'm so goddamned delusional that I couldn't figure that one out for myself....fucktard.

And finally, the genius with the wrong number who keeps calling my cellphone just in case it magically turns into the number of the poor bitch he's desperate to talk to...fucktard:

*ring...ring*
Me: Hello, again.

Genius: Jennifer?

Me: Nope, you STILL have the wrong number. Face it, buddy, that chic played you.

Genius: Are you sure there's no Jennifer there?

Me: Uhm...let me check AGAIN....yes, I'm sure.

Genius: But this is the number she gave me.

Me: Ok...well, she gave you the wrong number. Sorry.

Genius: Really? I don't think so. Let me try it again. *click*

WTF!? Is this fucktard for real? Maybe he has some loose screws...the lights are on but no one's home...he's not the sharpest knife in the drawer....

*ring.....ring*

Me: Dude. YOU HAVE THE WRONG NUMBER.

Genius: Is Jennifer there?

Me: AHHHHHHHHH! You're a fucktard.

Genius: Huh?

Me: A fucktard.

Genius: Is Jennifer there?

Me: *sigh* Nope, she died yesterday....she had massive hemorrhoid flare ups that ruptured and killed her.

Genius: Oh my god. I'm so sorry. Is she going to be ok?

Me: Yeah, she's chillin up there with baby Jesus. She said to tell you to fuck off.

Genius: Can I leave a message for her?

Me: Not with me, honey...I'm probably going to hell. *click*

I blocked him from calling when I finally gave up trying to convince him that he's a fucktard. Some people are simply clueless and don't have the capacity to understand just how fucktardish they really are. A guess that's why I'm here...to enlighten all the fucktards. Hell must be a million dollar mansion full of super hot men and bad ass fat chics with tattoos and killer handbags.
Missing Old Folks

If it weren't for the fact that Hubber works for an old folks home....excuse me, "assisted living community"...coupled with the fact that because he works with these people I get to hear all about how INSANE they are which scares the crap out of me because this is what we will all become some day and I need to give them a break because when I grow looney, I would expect the same the same kind of break...if it weren't for all that, those damn Amber Alerts on the freeway signs during rush hour would send my ass over the edge.

For some reason it doesn't bother me when the signs relay messages about missing or kidnapped children, but when the "elderly missing" signs are flashing at 5:15 p.m. just as I'm determining whether to get on the freeway ramp or take the feeder or back route home, it gets me all worked up! Why can't those damn old farts stay put? Why the hell do they get the urge to wander all over creation at the precise time I'm counting on the traffic signs to actually relay TRAFFIC news?! And it sure seems like they're getting loose more frequently these days.

I blame Hubber for this sudden surge of awol old farts. Everything is his fault. He's letting them loose just to drive me nuts and make me late to work and late coming home...he gets his kicks when I'm all crazy pissed and mad at the world.

Hubber: Hello?

Me: Tie those fuckers up, damnit!

Hubber: What the heck?

Me: Tie their wrinkly asses to their bed posts so that I can make it through traffic without losing my damn mind. Shit!

Hubber: I believe all our residents are accounted for.

Me: Nope...one's loose, driving a blue Buick LeSabre evidently, and heading towards friggen Austin on 290!

Hubber: I didn't think Buick LeSabres still existed.

Me: Who cares! Get your ass on the phone and tell Transtar you found the guy so they can clear the signs!

Hubber: I'm sure the missing guy's family wouldn't appreciate that.

Me: He's probably dead in a ditch or something anyway...you'd be doing half of Houston a favor.

Hubber: What if it were your mom missing?

Me: My mom can't DRIVE.

Hubber: Or my mom?

Me: Seriously? Don't make me answer that.

Hubber: good bye. *click*

Uhm...so, I guess I hit a dead end. I can always count on Hubber to ruin my day by working for old farts.

Further Proof That I Like Dogs

Would an obsessively paranoid mother who hated dogs allow her child to get this close to the face of a 70 lb Mastiff?


Meet Harley, the newest member of our completely insane family. She's only 9 months old and is already weighing in at over 70 lbs! I know, I know...after all the ranting and raving about poop in my yard (see previous poop stinks like shit post), here I am, contributing to the cause. The only way Hubber would agree to such nonsense was if I promised on a stack of bibles that I would be in charge of poop scooping. I've decided that once scooped, I'll either fling it over the fence into the yard of a clueless neighbor or stockpile it and spread it ever so generously in the yard of the yip-yapper-dog-neighbor who I detest....I will call it returning the favor. Just when I thought lil J's poopy diapers would suffice, along came the largest dog EVER...who, in a matter of months will bless us with the hugest, most stinkiest, closest to the size of elephant dung mountains a girl could only dream of. It will be the sweetest revenge.

Husbands Plotting Murder

Last night there was a story on the news about a woman who “fell” off of a cruise ship into the ocean and has not yet been found. Her husband, who is not a suspect in this case, reported her missing. Uhm. Ok. First of all, I’m sure she didn’t FALL off the damn boat. And, second of all, do we really think her husband is NOT a suspect? C’mon. You know that sonofabitch pushed her off the damn boat. It’s always the husband. Always. Hubber didn’t agree…

Me: now THAT is why I’ll never go on a cruise with YOU!

Hubber: huh?

Me: You know what I’m talking about! The only reason husbands take wives on cruises is so that they can push them overboard.

Hubber: You’re crazy. If I wanted to push you into your drowning death, I wouldn’t PAY to take you on a cruise first! I’d do it the cheap way and just dump your ass over a bridge or something.

Me: SO! You’ve thought about it, have you?!

Hubber: or….when we’re in Destin on the 10th floor of that condo building, I’ll just push you off the balcony!

Me: The balcony is not over the WATER!

Hubber: …minor detail….

Me: I’ll never go anywhere with you again!

Hubber: or….on the drive to Destin, there’s always that long bridge in Louisiana….hmmmm….

Me: I hate you. No sex for you.

Then he mumbled something under his breath that I couldn’t quite make out but that I’m sure had something to do with how different sex would be without me when I’m dead…he’ll be sorry.
Holidays and New Starts

Well, the holidays are almost behind us....just gotta make it through New Year's Eve unscathed. Thanksgiving was mostly uneventful, unless you count the fact that I hosted it this year and we had 23 gazillion people sloshing around in our house. And we had two Christmas parties here since then. I'm all partied out. And I miss our housekeeper who's been on vacation for what seems like years...the dirt is piling up and there are remnants of Christmas morning buried deep in rugs and carpets. I honestly don't know how we managed to survive so many years without her weekly cleaning. We must have lived like goddamned pigs. One more week without her is going to force me to do the unthinkable...clean my own house. God forbid.

Celebrating Christmas with lil J was more fun this year than last. She seems to have a grasp of the whole concept now...singing carols and whatnot. And it's nice to have fresh blood in the house who still thinks Santa is watching her every move. J has been hip to us for awhile now...but lil J is still a sucker and we took full advantage of that shit in getting her to behave her damn self. It worked, most of the time. Except when we were at J's choir concert at school. Lil J didn't give a rat's ass if Santa was watching her by god...she was going to sing along with the choir and act a damn fool in front of a few hundred people if she damn well pleased. Some people thought it was cute...others were totally annoyed because they didn't drag their asses to school at 7:00 at night to watch some 2-year-old singing prodigy, they were there to watch their kids sing Silent Night in sign language for crissakes. Me...I was mortified. Needless to say, Hubber sat alone for the second half of the show and lil J and I excused ourselves (loudly, I might add) to the parking lot where more toddler singing and dancing took place. This child has way too much energy for me.

She's a monster, I tell ya!

Anyway...

I haven't taken much time off work for the holidays...which is a damn good excuse for a shitty looking house. I've been working my tail off. And, I've actually been going TO the office since it's been quiet with all the people gone...I'm even getting shit done for a change. I've almost managed to clear all the clutter off my desk in anticipation for a clean slate for the new year.



They say that clutter is a sign of genius. I believe it.
Labor?


It's labor day weekend and I vowed to observe the holiday spending four labor-free days at home, lounging and what-not. Yes, FOUR days. Whenever possible, I make it a point of taking full advantage of 3-day weekends by extending them. There were plans for many coconutty adult beverages and much pool lounging.


My labor-free plans were soon foiled. Evidently, powers much bigger than me had something else in store for my labor-free weekend. Not only did I find myself connected to my employer more often than I would have liked, Hubber somehow managed to wrangle me into helping him with...dare I say it....yard work. Not the fun, re-potting plants kind of yard work, either....I'm talking the back-breaking kind that only an all-night alcohol binge can cure. Which I was too darn tired to have, by the way...because of broken backs and swollen hands and blistered feet and other things that make me groan in PAIN. We need to hire yard guys.