Although I’ve pretty much given up on organized religion, I love the commercialism and spirit of the holidays. Everyone seems to be in better moods, stores have awesome sales and no one really gives a shit if you get any work done while on the clock. It’s my kind of season! Well, except for the two weeks where kids are out of school. That part pretty much sucks ass. But, given the fabulous mood I’ve been in lately, I’m sure the kiddos won’t get me down this year… I’ll just ignore them or banish them to their rooms while I sip on spiked eggnog and watch trash on TV in front of a roaring fire.
It wasn’t that long ago that I was hunkered down in an efficiency apartment behind a barber shop with a rosemary bush for a Christmas tree and a toddler who liked to hide in the kitchen cabinets with the pots and pans. Back then, we lit the gas stove burners for warmth. It’s a wonder we didn’t burn the place down! Times were tough, but times were also simpler. There were no mortgages or car notes or designer clothes or private school tuitions to pay. And back then, we took pleasure in each other’s company and didn’t expect fancy gifts for Christmas.
It’s amazing to realize how much my life has changed in such a short period of time. Is it good? Is it bad? I don’t know. What I do know is that now I have more money for better booze… so that’s a plus!
Shit I'm Thankful For...
Tomorrow is Thanksgiving Day and guess what I'm thankful for? Not having to cook! I got a fee pass this year after suggesting that we all meet at Luby's for dinner. What the fuck is wrong with Luby's? Evidently a lot, because sis was mortified at the thought. So mortified, in fact, that she offered to host the festivities this year! And guess what I was assigned to bring? You'll never guess. 2-liter sodas and dinner rolls. I'm making out like a bandit, y'all! This lovely turn of events has put me in the holiday spirit. I'm even doubling up on the anti-anxiety meds and taking my girls to the parade dowtown in the morning!
I'm also thankful for crossing over the mid-30's hump. Evidently, I have exited postpartum depression and entered my sexual prime. After doing some research on the internets, I discovered that I'm late...supposedly 32 is the magical age for women and sexual peaks. But, when I was 32, my youngest spawn was only a year old and already reeking havoc on my life...the last thing I wanted to do was take a chance on accidently producing another hellion. Even with a successful tubal ligation, I had this nightmare that Freddy Krueger would reach his razor sharp fingers into my vagina and pull out another mini-me with firey red hair and shark teeth. It was enough to make me turn celibate. Or lesbian. Or to yank Hubber's pecker off and flush it down the toilet. Anyway, thank the sweet baby Geezus for prescription meds. That shit has saved my life... and the life of the penis that I married.
Tomorrow is Thanksgiving Day and guess what I'm thankful for? Not having to cook! I got a fee pass this year after suggesting that we all meet at Luby's for dinner. What the fuck is wrong with Luby's? Evidently a lot, because sis was mortified at the thought. So mortified, in fact, that she offered to host the festivities this year! And guess what I was assigned to bring? You'll never guess. 2-liter sodas and dinner rolls. I'm making out like a bandit, y'all! This lovely turn of events has put me in the holiday spirit. I'm even doubling up on the anti-anxiety meds and taking my girls to the parade dowtown in the morning!
I'm also thankful for crossing over the mid-30's hump. Evidently, I have exited postpartum depression and entered my sexual prime. After doing some research on the internets, I discovered that I'm late...supposedly 32 is the magical age for women and sexual peaks. But, when I was 32, my youngest spawn was only a year old and already reeking havoc on my life...the last thing I wanted to do was take a chance on accidently producing another hellion. Even with a successful tubal ligation, I had this nightmare that Freddy Krueger would reach his razor sharp fingers into my vagina and pull out another mini-me with firey red hair and shark teeth. It was enough to make me turn celibate. Or lesbian. Or to yank Hubber's pecker off and flush it down the toilet. Anyway, thank the sweet baby Geezus for prescription meds. That shit has saved my life... and the life of the penis that I married.
Greasin' the Palm...
There was this granny at Hubber's old folk's home who was reading palms at their Halloween party. According to Hubber....she's really a psychic and takes this shit seriously. Well, so do I! So, of course, I had to plop down and give her my hand. I got the worst reading EVER, y'all. Basically, I'm going to die young due to some illness....and if that's not bad enough, no one will really give a shit about me and I'll be all alone on my death bed. She even got all teary-eyed telling me this shit...tracing her old, scrawny fingers along the lines on my hand. "That's all I see," she said, and I wanted to smack her down and stomp on her face with my stilletto heel.
Do free readings always suck? Because they're free? If you pay for one is the news better? If so, why didn't that wench have a tip jar or something?
I should have prefaced this post by telling y'all that all my life I've had a feeling that I would die a horrible, violent death - possibly in a car fire / explosion type thing. So, already, I'm all freaked out about dying. This pyschic granny didn't help matters much. Now I'm totally obsessed with palm reading and witchery and whatnot. So, if I start sending voodoo vibes your way, don't blame me... blame that old granny!
There was this granny at Hubber's old folk's home who was reading palms at their Halloween party. According to Hubber....she's really a psychic and takes this shit seriously. Well, so do I! So, of course, I had to plop down and give her my hand. I got the worst reading EVER, y'all. Basically, I'm going to die young due to some illness....and if that's not bad enough, no one will really give a shit about me and I'll be all alone on my death bed. She even got all teary-eyed telling me this shit...tracing her old, scrawny fingers along the lines on my hand. "That's all I see," she said, and I wanted to smack her down and stomp on her face with my stilletto heel.
Do free readings always suck? Because they're free? If you pay for one is the news better? If so, why didn't that wench have a tip jar or something?
I should have prefaced this post by telling y'all that all my life I've had a feeling that I would die a horrible, violent death - possibly in a car fire / explosion type thing. So, already, I'm all freaked out about dying. This pyschic granny didn't help matters much. Now I'm totally obsessed with palm reading and witchery and whatnot. So, if I start sending voodoo vibes your way, don't blame me... blame that old granny!
Penis Schpenis
Well, peeps. I've found some writing gigs. I'm writing for a travel agency in the U.K. about places I've never been to before..... I'm composing marketing materials for a Body Armour manufacturer in New Zeland.... but my most favoritest gig EVER (not) is writing blog posts for a "male enhancement" product re-seller out of Australia. Yes. I now know more than any girl should ever know about penises. Tiny penises, thin penises, crooked penises....there is a remedy for all this shit, y'all. I'm just sayin'. If the guy that owned the site gave me a cut of the sales, I'd tell you where to go to buy this magical stuff. But he won't...so screw him.
It's "Back to School" time, bitches!
This past summer was particularly difficult for me. Since we didn’t go on vacation, the time seemed to drag on and on and on. I had grand plans of bringing J to work with me once a week to volunteer….and plans of working from home once a week to get in some bonding time with J while lil J and Hubber went off to school and work….and plans of sipping on tons and tons of fruity, adult beverages while sitting on a beach for a week without a care in the world. None of that shit came to fruition.
The following happened instead:
This past summer was particularly difficult for me. Since we didn’t go on vacation, the time seemed to drag on and on and on. I had grand plans of bringing J to work with me once a week to volunteer….and plans of working from home once a week to get in some bonding time with J while lil J and Hubber went off to school and work….and plans of sipping on tons and tons of fruity, adult beverages while sitting on a beach for a week without a care in the world. None of that shit came to fruition.
The following happened instead:
- I spent four long, excruciating weeks at home without central air conditioning
- After said air conditioning was fixed, the one in my car went to out. So I spent another 2 weeks driving in 100 degree weather without air conditioning
- Hubber’s car broke down
- We spent all our vacation money on fixing a/c’s and cars
- Our pool pump broke and the water was thick and green for 3 weeks
- J finally got braces
- Our pool was infested with ducks. Twice.
- lil J didn’t say “fuck” once all summer
- When my car was in the shop, I got to drive around in a brand new, pimped-out Tahoe
- Although I didn’t have them on the beach, I did have many fruity, adult beverages
- My dog didn’t die of malnourishment
- My grandma celebrated her 90th birthday
- lil J learned to write her name
- J finally got braces
- My tires are bald, but still rolling
- Now Hubber’s car’s a/c is out. Ha! ;-)
Will Blog for Food
I haven’t posted on my blog in forever and ever because I have spent non-work hours and many sleepless nights scouring the internet for “work from home” opportunities. As it turns out, this is a monumental task. There’s a lot of bullshit out there, y’all. I’m here to give you a little advice on some of the shit I’ve learned so far.
First, participating in paid surveys is totally not worth your time and energy. The average payout is like $1 for 2 hours of your time. Basically, YOU are paying them. And I don’t like paying for shit, so I quit. I did, however, find J a gig through my survey research that pays $60…all she has to do is monitor her snacking habits on a palm pilot (which they supplied her with) for 2 weeks. Don’t ask me where I came across that shit, because God only knows, but she’s kinda excited about earning some extra cash by doing close to nothing. Plus, it’s good for me because she owes me $60…it’s a win/win.
Another scheme you should avoid is this google ad thingy you can put on your blog. See it? Yeah, well, unless you have 9,000 hits a day, that shit doesn’t pay off, either. And, although I’d like to think people are actually reading this shit…you’ll see on the right there that I only have 4 followers. And, at $0.00034 a click, it’ll be 62 years before I see $1.
After figuring that the money ain’t gonna roll in while I sit on my fat ass by the pool with a good book and a pina colada, I decided to get serious. So, while I'm whoring myself out doing contract work and making hair bows in the evenings, I'm still juggling my day job and all the fun shit is falling by the way side. Which is sad, but a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.
I haven’t posted on my blog in forever and ever because I have spent non-work hours and many sleepless nights scouring the internet for “work from home” opportunities. As it turns out, this is a monumental task. There’s a lot of bullshit out there, y’all. I’m here to give you a little advice on some of the shit I’ve learned so far.
First, participating in paid surveys is totally not worth your time and energy. The average payout is like $1 for 2 hours of your time. Basically, YOU are paying them. And I don’t like paying for shit, so I quit. I did, however, find J a gig through my survey research that pays $60…all she has to do is monitor her snacking habits on a palm pilot (which they supplied her with) for 2 weeks. Don’t ask me where I came across that shit, because God only knows, but she’s kinda excited about earning some extra cash by doing close to nothing. Plus, it’s good for me because she owes me $60…it’s a win/win.
Another scheme you should avoid is this google ad thingy you can put on your blog. See it? Yeah, well, unless you have 9,000 hits a day, that shit doesn’t pay off, either. And, although I’d like to think people are actually reading this shit…you’ll see on the right there that I only have 4 followers. And, at $0.00034 a click, it’ll be 62 years before I see $1.
After figuring that the money ain’t gonna roll in while I sit on my fat ass by the pool with a good book and a pina colada, I decided to get serious. So, while I'm whoring myself out doing contract work and making hair bows in the evenings, I'm still juggling my day job and all the fun shit is falling by the way side. Which is sad, but a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.
Not having a properly functioning air conditioning unit in Houston is like TORTURE...
And, when I say TORTURE, I mean it. Literally. It's like poor Daniel Craig in that James Bond movie where he's naked and tied to a seatless chair and some guy is whipping his balls from underneath. It's like that. Except I have no balls. Well, figuratively I do. Anyway... I'm not sure why our shit is taking so long to get fixed, you'd have to ask Hubber. But, after two nights in a plush hotel room, we did a little math and figured we better take our asses back home before we did too much damage to the bank account. So, we bought a couple of window units. WINDOW units. To cool our 2,800 sq ft home. Because THAT would work. Sure. Turns out, those bitches can only cool two parts of the house: the master bedroom and the livingroom/kitchen/dining area. We have to close doors and put sheets up in hallways to keep the coolness in. It's very ghetto. And cozy. I'm shocked that my children haven't killed each other yet. They're sharing the living room...which has turned into a quasi campground of sorts. The sofa bed has been out for days. The big couch is fitted with sheets and stuffed animals. The coffee table is littered with empty juice pouches, half-eaten pieces of fruit, empty chip bags and crumbs. Lots of crumbs. I'm just waiting for the ants and roaches to appear. And we can't cook anything on the stove or in the oven that takes more than 15 minutes or so to cook because that shit will kill the coolness with a quickness. And I've resorted to screaming at anyone opening a door, "CLOSE THE DOOR, YOU'LL LET THE COOL AIR OUT, DAMNIT!" because those heifers can't seem to remember that it's fucking hot in that mofo if you leave a door cracked open!
And, god forbid I turn my blow dryer on! My hair has looked like shitballs for a week now.
And as if all that weren't bad enough, our fucking swimming pool is out of service. And by that, I mean: the goddamned water looks like pea soup! So, we can't even escape the indoor heat by tooling around in the pool. We have to all sit huddled together in front of the window unit air conditioner...all the while getting on each other's last nerves.
And, when I say TORTURE, I mean it. Literally. It's like poor Daniel Craig in that James Bond movie where he's naked and tied to a seatless chair and some guy is whipping his balls from underneath. It's like that. Except I have no balls. Well, figuratively I do. Anyway... I'm not sure why our shit is taking so long to get fixed, you'd have to ask Hubber. But, after two nights in a plush hotel room, we did a little math and figured we better take our asses back home before we did too much damage to the bank account. So, we bought a couple of window units. WINDOW units. To cool our 2,800 sq ft home. Because THAT would work. Sure. Turns out, those bitches can only cool two parts of the house: the master bedroom and the livingroom/kitchen/dining area. We have to close doors and put sheets up in hallways to keep the coolness in. It's very ghetto. And cozy. I'm shocked that my children haven't killed each other yet. They're sharing the living room...which has turned into a quasi campground of sorts. The sofa bed has been out for days. The big couch is fitted with sheets and stuffed animals. The coffee table is littered with empty juice pouches, half-eaten pieces of fruit, empty chip bags and crumbs. Lots of crumbs. I'm just waiting for the ants and roaches to appear. And we can't cook anything on the stove or in the oven that takes more than 15 minutes or so to cook because that shit will kill the coolness with a quickness. And I've resorted to screaming at anyone opening a door, "CLOSE THE DOOR, YOU'LL LET THE COOL AIR OUT, DAMNIT!" because those heifers can't seem to remember that it's fucking hot in that mofo if you leave a door cracked open!
And, god forbid I turn my blow dryer on! My hair has looked like shitballs for a week now.
And as if all that weren't bad enough, our fucking swimming pool is out of service. And by that, I mean: the goddamned water looks like pea soup! So, we can't even escape the indoor heat by tooling around in the pool. We have to all sit huddled together in front of the window unit air conditioner...all the while getting on each other's last nerves.
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