This is why I don't go to church
My mom convinced me to go to church on Sunday. Wait. Actually, she GUILTED me into going to church (typical Catholic bullshit). Evidently, it was my aunt and uncle's 40th wedding anniversary and they were going to get blessed or something. And, as if it weren't bad enough that mass started at 8:00 a.m. (which meant waking up at 5:30 to pick Mom up at 7:00 to be there on time), Mom conveniently forgot to tell us that the shit would be in SPANISH and that we had to sit in the second goddamned pew (which meant no texting or bubble game playing). When my sister and I spotted the damn mariachis approaching, we knew right away that they weren't planning on singing shit in English. Sis gave me a terrified look and I glared at Mom, who acted dumb founded like she had noooo idea what our problem was. See, we don't mind going to mass once in a while, but when we are tricked into it, that shit better be low key and in ENGLISH. If you've never been to a Spanish mass, those people get all crazy nuts with the singing and crying. And they like to hug and kiss and whatnot. It ain't fun, y'all. It borders on being creepy and twilight zone-y. And, when your fluently spanish-speaking mother leans over to you and asks if you understand what the fuck the priest just said, you know you're in trouble. Needless to say, it was the longest hour E-V-E-R. And we couldn't even sneak out of there after the damn wedding blessing because the damn priest saved that shit for the end of the service to torture the hell out of us. He must have know we have the devil in us... I bet he was trying to exorcise us or someshit with all the mumbo jumbo that even Mom couldn't understand. And who the hell stays married for FORTY effing years these days?! WTF is my aunt/uncle's deal? They haven't even lived together for an entire year straight through at a time...so I don't think it counts. They just friggen lied to baby Jesus about the big 4-0. And one of my other uncles FELL ASLEEP during the homily. My mom poked ME and pointed over to him so that I could see he was asleep (and snoring softly) and she smiled. Like she thought that shit was cute or something. I asked her if she thought I should tap him or something...and she was all...noooo...leave him alone, poor thing. WTF?! When we were kids and we fell asleep in church or acted up, we got pinched. And I ain't talking a soft gentle pinch, I'm talking one of the titty-twister pinches that bring tears to your eyes and makes you pee your panties a little. It was payback time, damnit! So, I reached over and pinched the shit out of his arm...and twisted. Heh. I didn't expect him to scream and let out a fart, though. Yeah. I hadn't figured on that happening. Then one of my cousin's kids laughs his ass off and the whole goddamned congregation stared at us. My mom was mortified. My sister acted like she wasn't related to us. Then, my grandma let out some snoring snorts because that bitch was asleep, too!
I'm soooo sorry, 8 pound, 6 ounce baby Jesus. I didn't mean to offend the sanctity of the mass, but shit! Those fuckers weren't even paying attention to the gospel...someone had to do something about it. It's just a shame it had to be me. You're welcome. I did my duty for the year. Don't expect me there at Christmas.
Lipstick Lesbians and Tractors
Each night, at the dinner table, I ask members of my family how their day went. The best stories, come from Lil J, of course.
Me: Lil J, what did you do at school today?
Lil J: I went to my new class and played and I was very nice to my teacher. (I take this to mean that sometimes she isn't so nice)
Me: Did you have fun?
Lil J: Yeah, except Justin didn't want to share with me. (Which means she probably snatched a toy out of that poor kid's hands and made him cry)
Me: Ohhhh, is Justin your boyfriend?
Lil J: NOOOOO! I don't like boys, I like girls!
At this point in the conversation, J choked on her drink, I laughed and Hubber was all, "yeah, that's good!" He obviously was thinking like a daddy who didn't want his little girl to like boys because boys are trouble. J and I immediately took it to mean that maybe Lil J is gay... like a lipstick lesbian who likes tutu's and dresses and make-up and purses, but who also has a strong attachment to tractors and dump trucks and fire engines and toy cars. I don't care, either way. I think she'd make a good lesbian.
Each night, at the dinner table, I ask members of my family how their day went. The best stories, come from Lil J, of course.
Me: Lil J, what did you do at school today?
Lil J: I went to my new class and played and I was very nice to my teacher. (I take this to mean that sometimes she isn't so nice)
Me: Did you have fun?
Lil J: Yeah, except Justin didn't want to share with me. (Which means she probably snatched a toy out of that poor kid's hands and made him cry)
Me: Ohhhh, is Justin your boyfriend?
Lil J: NOOOOO! I don't like boys, I like girls!
At this point in the conversation, J choked on her drink, I laughed and Hubber was all, "yeah, that's good!" He obviously was thinking like a daddy who didn't want his little girl to like boys because boys are trouble. J and I immediately took it to mean that maybe Lil J is gay... like a lipstick lesbian who likes tutu's and dresses and make-up and purses, but who also has a strong attachment to tractors and dump trucks and fire engines and toy cars. I don't care, either way. I think she'd make a good lesbian.
I Have A Feeling Prayers Don't Work This Way
Over lunch today, a friend and I chatted about what we thought the best punishment would be for our a common enemy. We decided that if we prayed hard enough, maybe he would come down with a serious case of explosive diareah. This would make us so happy we'd consider going to church more than once a year. But, should this bout of squirts occur on a plane, mid-flight, we would be so ecstatic we might even put up a nativity set at Christmas!
His experience would be compounded in the air due to the altitude and cramped quarters. We pictured him, sweating his ass off, tortured, on a tiny toilet seat, trying to steady himself as the plane experienced turbulence. Then, as he tried to return to his seat and everyone was staring at the culprit who stunk the place up, an explosion would occur in his pants and drip down his leg. Then, people all around would start vomiting on him as he tried to reach his seat.
And we'd be thanking 8lb, 6oz baby Jesus for answering our prayer!
Over lunch today, a friend and I chatted about what we thought the best punishment would be for our a common enemy. We decided that if we prayed hard enough, maybe he would come down with a serious case of explosive diareah. This would make us so happy we'd consider going to church more than once a year. But, should this bout of squirts occur on a plane, mid-flight, we would be so ecstatic we might even put up a nativity set at Christmas!
His experience would be compounded in the air due to the altitude and cramped quarters. We pictured him, sweating his ass off, tortured, on a tiny toilet seat, trying to steady himself as the plane experienced turbulence. Then, as he tried to return to his seat and everyone was staring at the culprit who stunk the place up, an explosion would occur in his pants and drip down his leg. Then, people all around would start vomiting on him as he tried to reach his seat.
And we'd be thanking 8lb, 6oz baby Jesus for answering our prayer!
TMI Thursday: Pubes, blood and poop, oh my!
Hello, reader! And I mean that quite literally, as I’m afraid I only have one reader. Besides myself, of course. I’m not THAT pathetic. Geez.
Anyway, I’m going to try something different for this post by following the instructions of one of my favorite bloggers. On Thursdays, she asks people to share a story that others might consider to be TMI (too much information).
Hello, reader! And I mean that quite literally, as I’m afraid I only have one reader. Besides myself, of course. I’m not THAT pathetic. Geez.
Anyway, I’m going to try something different for this post by following the instructions of one of my favorite bloggers. On Thursdays, she asks people to share a story that others might consider to be TMI (too much information).
So, here we go.
Someone using the ladies room at my place of employment love, Love, LOVES to deposit DNA samples on the toilet seats for others to admire. And, I ain’t just talking blood here, people – although the culprit has left globs of red, gooey chunks on the seats, too – I’m talking HAIRS. Not head hairs. Gnarly, pube hairs. Long ones. Which makes me wonder, first of all, why the hell are these hairs so long? And secondly, how do they just FALL out onto the seat? I don’t get it. Does this person rub on their doodah as their standing to button their pants? I have also found shit streaks on the toilet seats. SHIT STREAKS. Like right where an ass crack would be. So, either someone pooped standing up and missed the hole, or they didn’t wipe properly and their shitty ass rubbed up against the seat as they were standing. Who the hell does these things?! One day I walked around the office sniffing everyone to see if any of them smelled like shit. Also, before I sit in ANY office chair, I check for stray pubes. No sense taking chances.
Someone using the ladies room at my place of employment love, Love, LOVES to deposit DNA samples on the toilet seats for others to admire. And, I ain’t just talking blood here, people – although the culprit has left globs of red, gooey chunks on the seats, too – I’m talking HAIRS. Not head hairs. Gnarly, pube hairs. Long ones. Which makes me wonder, first of all, why the hell are these hairs so long? And secondly, how do they just FALL out onto the seat? I don’t get it. Does this person rub on their doodah as their standing to button their pants? I have also found shit streaks on the toilet seats. SHIT STREAKS. Like right where an ass crack would be. So, either someone pooped standing up and missed the hole, or they didn’t wipe properly and their shitty ass rubbed up against the seat as they were standing. Who the hell does these things?! One day I walked around the office sniffing everyone to see if any of them smelled like shit. Also, before I sit in ANY office chair, I check for stray pubes. No sense taking chances.
Hmmm. Maybe this guy is roaming our building...but it doesn't explain the pube hair...unless he hocked up a hairball....a pube hairball. Where has his mouth been?!
I'm SOOO Classy with the Sex, I Amaze Even Me
I think the REAL reason Hubber married me is because I had instituted sexual implications for each day of the week (SDOTW = Sex Days of the Week).
- Bottoms-up Sunday (_*_)
- Eat-me Monday :-p(l)
- Boobie Tuesday ( . )( . )
- Humpday – this one didn’t take much creativity (<)===
- BJ Thursday :-p<======
- 69 Friday (not sure how to draw that)
- Free-for-all Saturday (that’s like a free spin on Wheel of Fortune)
Now don’t get all excited thinking that we get it on every night of the week…because we do not. I repeat: WE DO NOT. And, not that doing so would be such a bad thing, but a girl needs leverage these days. When the hubber isn’t behaving to my satisfaction, I can say, “Alright Hubber, Humpday is out and BJ Thursday isn’t looking very good for you.” This sometimes gets me two helpings of Mondays…which is AWESOME. But, it’s even better when it gets me new shoes, handbags and cold hard cash. Money starts falling out of the damn sky when BJs are involved. Men will pretty much pay anything for them. They’d give up their first born child for the prospect of getting weekly BJs. Am I right? Dang, I just noticed how long the peepee is in my BJ Thursday drawing up there. Wow. And it’s skinny, too. Kinda like a pencil. Hmmm. Maybe if I would have drawn it like this <[[[[[[[[[ it might have looked more real. But, that looks too much like condom ridges. We don’t need no stinkin condoms in this here house, people. Hurray for TUBAL LIGATION! I’ll stick with the pencil pecker.
So anyway, what was I saying? Oh yeah, we don’t bump uglies daily. I just like to talk like I do. Makes me feel more attractive. (As I needed help in that department). But, having an SDOTW schedule helps us decide what activity would be appropriate for that day, should we decide to partake in the nasties.
I hope this post helps someone turn their sex life into something more classy. You’re welcome. Happy Tuesday – let the boobies free!
Update: I've had some time to think about this post and I think I may be guilty of soliciation and false advertising. I'm badass.
Reminiscing about the pets of my past and present
Having a large, lazy dog is the bomb-diggity. I remember years ago when J was a baby and we were living in a 4-plex in the Heights, a friend of mine thought we needed a dog…a puppy, no less…one that J could “grow up” with or “bond” with…whatever. We were presented with a rat terrier. I didn’t know a whole lot about dog breeds back then, but if I knew then what I know now, I would have told this friend to stuff the terrier where the sun don’t shine. We named him Cosmo, or as J used to say, “Choocho.” His name should have been Satan, though. He was soooo hyper…and annoying as hell… yip-yapping at all hours of the day and jumping around like a goddamned retard. And damn, that dog tore up everything! I mean EVERYTHING (my bras were his favorite….and I don’t know HOW the hell he got a hold of them most of the time). Wait, not everything. He had this little stuffed animal (a bear) that he dragged around everywhere…he didn’t tear that thing up. Anyway, to limit the damage, we used to lock him up in the bathroom when we weren’t home. But, my cousin thought it was cruel because there were no windows in there. So, we bought a baby gate. We would leave the bathroom door open and prop the baby gate there instead so he could “see out”. One day, after returning from work and such, we entered the apartment and stepped into WATER. There was water everywhere! I stared at that little fucker with murder in my eyes as he sat in a kitchen chair licking his ass. Turns out he had chewed through the hose connecting the toilet to the wall and water was gushing all over the place! In his haste to save himself and his teddy bear, he chewed a hole through the baby gate. He saved himself, but he couldn’t get his bear out – so there it was stuck in the hole in the gate, half in half out with its head almost completely decapitated from all the pulling and yanking Choocho had done to try to save it from the flood. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or kick him in the ass. Needless to say, that was the end of Choocho.
I swore off pets for a long time after that. Well, as long as it took to erase the hate. Which, as it happens, was about 3 years. That’s when we got Kali…a calico from the SPCA. Kali was not hyper like Choocho. Instead, she was anxiety-ridden. That cat would lose her hair if ANYTHING changed. I mean, seriously…if you moved a piece of furniture, that freak cat wouldn’t eat or drink or sleep for DAYS and her hair would fall out and leave these gross bald spots. God forbid you introduce her to another animal! Which, we did, of course, because we love to punish the weak. We adopted, Rosie, who looked like a cat but acted like a dog sometimes and a squirrel at others. Oh, those were the days.
So, now all the cats are gone and we have Harley. She’s the ideal dog…big, loveable and obedient. The only problem is that she is scared shitless of Hubber. We still haven’t been able to figure out why. I think it’s because he smells like evil. And, dogs can sense that sort of shit.
Having a large, lazy dog is the bomb-diggity. I remember years ago when J was a baby and we were living in a 4-plex in the Heights, a friend of mine thought we needed a dog…a puppy, no less…one that J could “grow up” with or “bond” with…whatever. We were presented with a rat terrier. I didn’t know a whole lot about dog breeds back then, but if I knew then what I know now, I would have told this friend to stuff the terrier where the sun don’t shine. We named him Cosmo, or as J used to say, “Choocho.” His name should have been Satan, though. He was soooo hyper…and annoying as hell… yip-yapping at all hours of the day and jumping around like a goddamned retard. And damn, that dog tore up everything! I mean EVERYTHING (my bras were his favorite….and I don’t know HOW the hell he got a hold of them most of the time). Wait, not everything. He had this little stuffed animal (a bear) that he dragged around everywhere…he didn’t tear that thing up. Anyway, to limit the damage, we used to lock him up in the bathroom when we weren’t home. But, my cousin thought it was cruel because there were no windows in there. So, we bought a baby gate. We would leave the bathroom door open and prop the baby gate there instead so he could “see out”. One day, after returning from work and such, we entered the apartment and stepped into WATER. There was water everywhere! I stared at that little fucker with murder in my eyes as he sat in a kitchen chair licking his ass. Turns out he had chewed through the hose connecting the toilet to the wall and water was gushing all over the place! In his haste to save himself and his teddy bear, he chewed a hole through the baby gate. He saved himself, but he couldn’t get his bear out – so there it was stuck in the hole in the gate, half in half out with its head almost completely decapitated from all the pulling and yanking Choocho had done to try to save it from the flood. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or kick him in the ass. Needless to say, that was the end of Choocho.
I swore off pets for a long time after that. Well, as long as it took to erase the hate. Which, as it happens, was about 3 years. That’s when we got Kali…a calico from the SPCA. Kali was not hyper like Choocho. Instead, she was anxiety-ridden. That cat would lose her hair if ANYTHING changed. I mean, seriously…if you moved a piece of furniture, that freak cat wouldn’t eat or drink or sleep for DAYS and her hair would fall out and leave these gross bald spots. God forbid you introduce her to another animal! Which, we did, of course, because we love to punish the weak. We adopted, Rosie, who looked like a cat but acted like a dog sometimes and a squirrel at others. Oh, those were the days.
So, now all the cats are gone and we have Harley. She’s the ideal dog…big, loveable and obedient. The only problem is that she is scared shitless of Hubber. We still haven’t been able to figure out why. I think it’s because he smells like evil. And, dogs can sense that sort of shit.
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