Are "Escorts" Just "Prostitutes" in Disguise?

I've been busy, y'all.  Those who know me personally know that although I'm a struggling writer, I'm also a gainfully employed (on a part-time basis) heifer who collects a steady pay check in spite of her bitchy attitude and poor interpersonal skills (maybe that's why they've banned me from the office unless there's a staff meeting).  But, the gravy train is running on empty.  At the end of the year, after fifteen years, they're giving me the boot.  Right in the ass.

So, I've been spending the last couple of months trying to figure out what the fuck I can do to make the same amount of money without going back to work in an office full time.  Freelance writing doesn't pay shit, y'all.  (Just sayin'... in case it wasn't obvious.)  Aside from prostitution, diaper changing or serving as a drug mule, I'm pretty much open to anything.  Running an escort service would be awesome... but then I'd be a pimp and probably end up in jail.  I'm too damn cute for jail.

Anyway... I've been dabbling in some genius-ass stuff, y'all.  If it all works out, I'll fill you guys in on it.  Until then, we'll be munching on Ramen Noodles, Lone Star beer and generic peanut butter in a mobile home park that smells like piss.  Feel free to send us some charity.

My spawns get tired of me complaining about our lack of money.  The youngest spawn has even VOWED to never find herself in my pitiful situation when she's an adult....

Spawn:  I'm going to have lots of money when I'm grown up!  I'm going to be able to buy everything I want all the time!

Me:  That would be awesome.  You could even buy me a bunch of stuff.

Spawn: Yeah!  I'm going to marry a billionaire.

Me: Huh?

Spawn: Billionaires have a hundred bazillion dollars.  They never run out of money.  That's the kind of husband I'm gonna need to get me all the stuff I want.  And, I won't ever have to tell MY kids that they can't have all the awesome stuff THEY want.

Me: Sounds like a plan!  But I would rather YOU were the rich one... go to college and become some great, fancy doctor or something.

Spawn:  Oh, I'll be rich, too... but I'll save all my money in case my husband dies.

Me: Nice.  Well, it's good to have goals.

I have raised that heifer well.  My work here is done.

Celebrate Good Times, C'mon!

I've been celebrating all week! Celebrating the fact that my kids are finally back at school.  It was the longest fucking summer break in history; and I survived!  That shit was cause for celebration.  There were many times during the past couple of months that I thought I was fixenta lose my shit, y'all.  Once, when my medication reached it's maximum threshold for patience, I had to lock myself up in the closet under the stairs (like Harry Potter) to cry my ass off. If the NFL Pre-Season hadn't started when it did, I'm pretty sure I'd have flipped my lid and gone homicidal up in here. Those football booties saved some fucking lives.  I'm really not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

I guess it's good because I didn't end up in jail.  I'm too cute for jail.

So now, my life is "back to normal"... meaning I'm back to regular "work" hours.  I've taken on a few new projects which I hope prove to be lucrative; but in the meantime, I'm still writing boring-ass bullshit for idiots who think they're smarter than I am. I'm also still working part-time for "the man".  But... AT LEAST MY KIDS ARE BACK IN SCHOOL!  I thank the 6lb 8oz baby Geezus for that shit every day.

Did I mention that football season has started?

Don't move, Honey, I'll be right there!!



Yes, I'm STILL broke... don't let the fancy vacation fool ya

Tomorrow we leave for Panama City Beach, Florida. NO, that does not mean that we suddenly came into a windfall of cash.  No one died and left us their fortune.  We did not finally hit it big in the lotto.  Hubber isn't faking his death so we can collect his life insurance money.  And, no one suddenly decided to pay real money for my writing.  That's not the kind of luck we're having.  But... we are lucky, y'all.  Lucky to have some awesome family members who love us enough to foot the bill for our portion of a fancy beach house rental.  Woot, woot!

Don't be jealous.

Or, do be.  I don't give a shit.  Alls I know is that I'm fixenta get the fuck outta dodge for a few days.  I'ma be sitting my large behind in some soft, powdery white sand this time tomorrow.  Yes-sir-ee.  Know what I say?  I say FUCK the murky waters of Galveston!  Momma's gonna soak up some sun with an adult beverage in tow only 2 feet away from crystal clear, blue ocean water... complete with dolphins, boobs, pirate ships and whatnot!

If it rains one drop on this trip, I'm going to use the Lord's name in vain. Twice. And, I'm not going to apologize. End of story.


Weiner Cleaner and other shit that's kept me from blogging...

Yes, I'm still alive.  The spawns have been yanking on every nerve this summer, but they haven't broken me yet. Medication helps.  A lot. Well, at least until you run out and the pharmacy screws up your prescriptions and you turn into a crazed lunatic and get kicked out of Walgreen's.

I didn't really get kicked out.  But, I will wear a disguise next time I go in, just in case. I need one of those nifty mustaches that are so popular now.  And, a little orphan annie wig. I wonder if my sister will let me borrow some of her ass-jackin' hooker heels?  Hmmmm.

Anyway... my point here is that my kids are driving me bat shit crazy, but I'm still functioning on some level.  Summer seems to be taking for fucking ever to be over, though.  I've been trying to busy myself with working, writing, daydreaming, drinking adult beverages and soaking up some rays.  Although, I think I overdid it with the sunbathing because my belly button is burned to a crisp right now.  It ain't a pretty sight.  It looked pretty gnarly before - all caved in with fat rolls and decorated in bright white stretch marks.... now it's bright red and stinging.  And, to top it all off, the fucking stretch marks didn't change color.  That shit doesn't tan??  WTF?!  What's the use in tanning to look 10 pounds thinner if those mofos stand out worse than they did when the skin around them was ghostly white?! If I get skin cancer, I'ma be really pissed.

The combinatin of motherhood and poor dieting has fucked my body all up.

But, I digress.

In my "spare" time, I've been busying myself by whipping up homemade facial creams and body wash concoctions. (This Pinterest shit is the devil.)  My family members have served as guinea pigs in testing out my products; and so far, none of them have died or contracted that oily, anal discharge that seems to be a common side affect of shit sold on TV.  As a matter of fact, the face cream seems to be "selling" like hotcakes. (I put that shit in quotations because nary one of these biznatches have actually traded CASH for the stuff. Yet.)  One batch of the body wash was awesome.  But, another one turned out kinda slimy.  I have 2 gallons of the slimy stuff.  And, no one seems to want it anymore.  SOOOO.... I'm repackaging that shit (I do have a background in marketing, y'all) and selling it as....

WEINER CLEANER!

....because every weiner needs a good cleaning.  Plus, you don't need a washcloth or spongee thing to get the job done.  Simply, squirt some slimy weiner cleaner into the palm of your hand and get to strokin' that bad boy clean! 

Wanna buy some?  Momma's selling that shit here:  GET YOUR BOTTLE OF WEINER CLEANER TODAY!


Summer is almost here. Shoot me now.

Fuck.  School is almost out for the summer and I still have no plans for the littlest spawn.  What the fuck am I gonna do, y'all?  I have no money and no imagination.  And, pretty soon, I'm going to have no sobriety. Not that THAT is a huge departure from my normal life, but I may be sprawled out on the floor, drunk off my ass, foaming at the mouth with pee running down my leg in two weeks if I don't figure something out quick.  The spawn is cute...but she was put on this earth with the sole purpose of torturing me.  I like her best when she's sleeping or raising hell at least 1 mile away from me.  I can't even talk to her. Every conversation we have turns into a plea for her own cell phone.  She's five.  She's out of her mind.  And, she never shuts her mouth.  She yammers on and on and on and on until my ears start bleeding and my eyes roll around to the back of my head.

This is what someone without
a cell phone looks like.
My stomach hurts just thinking about the 3 months of togetherness I have to look forward to.

Spawn:  Mommy!  You and I are going to have the best Summer ever!

Me: Uhm. ??

Spawn: I can't wait to hang out with you EVERY day... we can go to the park, we can have play dates, we can buy me my own phone so we can text each other!  It's going to be awesome!
Me: You are not getting a phone.

Spawn: That's not fair! Even my pretend friend has a phone! 

Me: Yeah, well, borrow HER phone!

Spawn: I just did.  Did you get my text?

Me: Nope. 

Spawn: It SAYS, "Mom, I need my own phone." I'm the only person in this entire house that doesn't have a phone!

Me: You're also the only person in this house without a job.  Get a job and you can have a phone.

Spawn: I'm too small to get a job.  Look at me!  I'm tiny.  Who's gonna give me a job?  The only thing I know how to do is play!  Who's gonna pay me to play?!

Me: Maybe you can go to work with your Dad and play with the old folks.

Spawn: I bet the OLD FOLKS all have phones!  And, none of them have a job.  All they do is sit around and drool all day! They don't even have to wipe their own butts!

This is how our conversations go, y'all. They never end.  How the hell am I supposed to survive an entire Summer with this little heifer?  HOW?! 

As I type this blog, she's sitting under my desk singing, "I like big butts and I cannot lie... blah blahdy blah blah blah deny... when a girl walks by with a itty bitty waist with a round thing in your face you get SPRUNG!"  She just stopped to ask me how she can get sprung like the guy from the song. 

Shoot me now.
 

Shit You SHOULD NOT Buy Your Mother for Mother's Day

It's hard buying shit for your mother... I know.  I have one, too.  Moms always seem to have EVERYTHING, right?  But, if you listen closely (without trying to read between the lines), she'll tell you exactly what kind of gifts she would love.  But, don't read too much into what she says.  She's usually quite blunt with her wishes.  For instance, when she says, "I sure would love a face lift," it does NOT mean she'll settle for one of those widely popular Japanese Face Slimmers:

This doesn't say, "here's a great way to get a face lift,
Mom!", it says, "here, Mom, start giving blow jobs for
a living to raise your own money for a face lift."

This shit is NOT jewelry! 
Instead, take up a fucking collection...or have a barbecue plate benefit event to raise the money it'll take to send her to get a real face lift, or botox, or a fucking gift certificate for a spa day. Splurge a little, for crissakes!  I mean, she probably needs a face lift because YOU aged her beyond her years!  Show a little gratitude!
And, whatever you do, DO NOT buy your mother crap that she can "use" around the house.  If she wants a new vacuum cleaner or a fancy feather duster, she will buy that shit for herself.  If you want to contribute to her household, shower her instead with gifts of wine, cocktail mixers, ice cream and bacon.  You could even throw in a maid service if you're so inclined.

The Slipper Genie?  This shit will
not fly unless you plan on scooting
your ass around her house cleaning
the damn floors yourself.
Yes, a weekly pre-paid maid service will ensure that you will be (without a doubt) her favorite kid for the rest of her life.

Here are a few other things NOT to buy your mother for Mother's Day:
  1. Exercise videos/equipment (this is a no-brainer)
  2. Clothes (let's face it, you don't know what the fuck her size is, let alone what she likes)
  3. Generic lotion/body wash gift sets (she knows you bought that shit at Walmart for $1!)
  4. Fake flowers (just because "they never die" doesn't mean she wants that shit collecting dust in her house)
  5. Cleaning products (unless a free french maid comes along with that shit)



Chinese Restaurant Websites - Shit proofreaders' wet dreams are made of...



This shit was just too much of a sparkly gem not to share it with my peeps.  Let's break this bad boy down line by line.


Welcome to Chin Tao Restaurant!
THANK YOU.  I'M JUST HERE TO SEE IF YOU HAVE AN ONLINE ORDERING SYSTEM.

Located in the beautiful city of HOUSTON,our restaurant has been dedicated to offering the most memorable dining experience for you.
NOT THE BEST SENTENCE; BUT OK.  LET'S MOVE ON, SHALL WE?

We pick ingredients carefully and use only the freshest and nature ones to prepare every dish, and have been trying to cook them in a healthier way to provide the most nutritious food. Much attention has been attached to ensure you a cozy and inviting ambiance where you could enjoy not only the great meal but also the authentic atmosphere.
WE'RE GOING TO HAVE TO TAKE THIS ONE LINE BY LINE, Y'ALL.
"NATURE ONES"?  I'M ASSUMING THEY MEAN "NATURAL".  THE QUESTION IS: DO OTHER RESTAURANTS USE UNNATURAL INGREDIENTS?
"TRYING TO COOK"? LET'S JUST HOPE THEY TRY HARD.
NOT SURE I'M COMFORTABLE WITH ANYONE ATTACHING ATTENTION ON ME...SEEMS BORDERLINE STALKERISH.
ARE ATMOSPHERES AUTHENTIC?
 
The owner and all staffs in Chin Tao Restaurant will greet you with the warmest welcome, whether you are a habitual patron or come for the first time. We have made painstaking efforts to create the tidiest and cleanest dining place, and guarantee you with friendly and timely service. Every of your demand and feeling will be cared in our restaurant.
STAFFS?  HOW MANY DO THEY HAVE, I WONDER?
THE ONLY PLACE I'M A HABITUAL PATRON OF IS MY RESTROOM.  ALSO I'D LOVE TO CUM, I MEAN COME, FOR THE FIRST TIME AGAIN.
"PAINSTAKING EFFORTS"? TO BE CLEAN AND TIDY?  REALLY?  DID SOMEONE DIE IN THE PROCESS?  DO YOU KEEP YOUR STAFFS CHAINED AND GAGGED IN THE STORAGE CLOSET?
EVERY OF MY DEMAND AND FEELING WANTS TO PUNCH EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU PEEPS IN THE TACO. WITH A HAMMER. TWICE. THEN PULL YOUR HAIRS FOR GOOD MEASURE.

If you have any commend or suggestion, or want to get more specific information about us, feel free to contact us at 281-469-0103,or browse our's Website 'www.chintaochineserestaurant.com',we will be delight to hear from you any time!
OH, I'VE GOT A COMMEND!  GET SOMEONE WHO KNOWS ENGLISH TO PROOFREAD YOUR SHIT!
OUR'S?  REALLY?!  THAT'S THE BEST USE OF AN APOSTROPHE I'VE EVER SEEN.
OH, AND THANKS FOR THE WEBSITE ADDRESS... I THINK I FOUND IT WITHOUT YOU TELLING ME WHERE THE FUCK IT WAS.
"WE WILL BE DELIGHT"? MAYBE THEY MEANT: WE WILL BE DEE-LITE.  LIKE THAT SONG? REMEMBER? GROOOOVE IS IN THE HEART.....! I REMEMBER DANCING THE SHIT OUTTA THAT SONG IN HIGH SCHOOL!

Welcome to experience the best meals in our fairyland!

FUCK.  MAYBE I SHOULD HAVE DINED IN INSTEAD OF ORDERING FOR DELIVERY.  I BET THEY HAVE UNICORNS THERE.  I WANNA RIDE A UNICORN.  

Turns out my parents are into some kinky, sadistic shit!

The older I get, the more I wish I was still an ignorant kid.  For some fucked up reason, my parents feel the need to share WAY too much information about their personal lives.  Overhearing a conversation between me and my sister about lady boners and taco rubbing isn't an invitation for my mother to share her favorite foreplay activities.  I do not want to know that old people bump uglies. That's the shit nightmares are made of!  (Or blog posts, as the case may be.)  I also don't want to see my dad squeeze my mom's boob or smack her ass while we are ALL in the kitchen preparing MEALS FOR CHILDREN!  Get a room, mofos!!

But it wasn't until the other day that I first realized that my parents are a lot freakier than I could ever have imagined.  It all started when my mom, sister and I were waiting for my dad to be wheeled back into his hospital room.  He had just had spinal surgery.  When they brought him in, he was still dopey from the anesthesia.  Sis and I were all like, 'oh, poor dad...'.  But not mom.  Oh, no.  That heifer waddled (she uses a cane) over to his bedside and started thumping him all over his face saying, "Babe, are you awake <thump>.... Helloooo <thump>.... can you hear me <thump>?" 

Sis and I just stood there shocked, mouths gaping open.  WTF?!  She was THUMPING him!

Sis:  Uh.  Mom?

Mom: <ignoring us>  Baaaabe... can you hear me?

THUMP.

Sis:  Mom, why are you thumping him??

Mom: What?  Oh, you mean this: <thump>?  That's not a thump, that's a love tap. 

A. LOVE. TAP.  On a man who just had spinal surgery and was laying there all pathetic and helpless.

That's when I first thought, 'something just ain't right' with those two.

But, it's what happened the next day that made me realize I was raised by sexual sadists! 

So, there I was sitting in Dad's room chatting about how he was feeling.  He was out of bed, sitting in a chair.  He was feeling great!  Then, Mom and Sis walk into the room.  We say all our "hi's" and "good morning's".  That's when Mom waddled over to hug Dad.  We weren't concerned for his life or anything... it's not like she's some serial killer... she's just a 4'11", cute, petite little thing.... what kind of damage can her hug cause?  I mean, really.  But, she had it in for him.  She went right over, hugged him and patted him on this back. Hard.  Four times.

HE JUST HAD SPINAL SURGERY.

He screamed out in pain and she was all like, "What's wrong??"  We had to tell her that she just patted him roughly on his back WHERE HE HAD SURGERY.  "Oh. Sorry, Babe," she said and thumped him on the cheek.

And, y'all wonder why I'm all fucked up.

Is it weird that I want a mounted jackalope head?

It's not animal cruelty if an animal dies naturally BEFORE you whack his head off and mount it on a plaque.  Am I right? And by naturally, I mean, accidentally shot by a stray bullet meant for a wild boar or some other nasty animal.  Because, I can't imagine ANYONE purposely killing any of these little fellas:

The center ones were murdered whilst humping, I think.
That's what one of the walls looks like at our neighborhood Ace Hardware store.  I immediately fell in love!  I wanna hang one up in the Winnie... and one in my office... and one over the fireplace.  Hubber wouldn't buy me one though.  He's an a-hole when it comes to adopting new furry things.

Me:  It's not like I want the ones posing for a rape scene!

Hubber: Don't you have enough pets?

Me: Yeah, but THESE pets don't pee and shit all over the place... AND they don't require feeding!

Hubber: AND, they don't make any noise...

Me: See? You get it!  Now buy me three!

Hubber: Hell no, they're too creepy.  What the hell IS a jackalope, anyway?  Have YOU ever seen one?

Me: I'm seeing a shitload of 'em right now.  And, they're not creepy! The're cute... and oh, so soft!  Ahhhh.... Here, pet 'em!

I believe that's when he walked off and left me there, all dreamy-eyed, petting each jackalope an equal amount of strokes so as not to make the others jealous.

One of these little guys WILL be mine!

Shaving incidents and other shit that happens when you're poor

So... you know now that I'm being frugal and all, I've had to cut back on some things.  Things like regular shopping trips for shoes/handbags/panties, uppidy hair stylists, massages, professional pedicures, and..... waxing.  And by waxing, I am referring to the waxing of unsightly body hairs. The kind of hairs that have been known to cause rug burn... the kind of hairs that will poke your husband's eye out in the middle of the night.

Yes, now that I'm a poor, starving writer... I'm hairier than I used to be.  So, once a week (or so) I perform the world's longest shaving ritual.  First the pits... then the legs... then the nether regions.  I've survived mostly unscathed for over a year now - until today.  Today I was destined for pain and suffering.... and lots of blood. 

I shaved a quarter of my left pinky nail off accidently.  Don't ask me how that shit happened.  IT JUST DID, mofos.  I need two hands when I'm grooming down there... and that darned pinky just kinda got in the way.
I think I lost two pints of blood. And, some of my sanity.
I'm convinced that some other snarky bitch had it in for me and made a voodoo doll outta my hair and boogers with every intention of shaving off my entire hoo-ha from the inside out!  But, I am more powerful than that bitch.  I sensed that evil shit coming my way and I thwarted it with my left pinky!  Cheap-ass voodoo is no match for my pinky.  No, sir.

Although, now I'm afraid that my hoo-ha will be a little gun shy about having a razor get too close.  I might have to start a waxing fund on my blog.  Would YOU contribute?
proof that no matter how much pain I'm in,
Hubber can still find a way to be a perv

Sex Pornstar Coupon

According to my blog stats, searches on google for "sex pornstar coupon" directed people to my blog a total of 5 times last month. Not only do I not provide pornstar sex, if I did, I wouldn't be giving out coupons for that shit! I would charge a premium!  I wonder how sad these pervs were when they landed on my bullshitty blog full of parental bitching and moaning and starving artist rants?  Oh, well... fuck 'em.  If they don't like it, they can keep moving.

Also, WTF is a sex pornstar coupon? 

If I were ever to attempt to make money in the sex industry, I've already decided that I'd take a clue from Irena Palm.  Except, I'll be the pimp.  I'd drill a hole in my garage door and let pervs stick their peckers in for a lubed-up handjob performed by senior citizens looking to supplement their social security income.  I'd disguise them as Betty White for that "star" quality.

How much would YOU pay to stick your pecker in a hole for a handjob from Betty White?!

Other interesting google searches that led folks to my blog last month:
  • black sucking bitches
  • skittles not shittles
  • spring break 2012 asses
  • zombie princesses
  • kids are assholes
  • mommy juice
  • go rving