You'll make a horrible princess, Mommy.

My daughter just came up to me while I was writing that last post and she handed me a black dress. Told me to put it on in a tone that invited no argument, and then promised me assuredly that I would make a horrible princess. I think it was a compliment.



She skerrs me sometimes....

I've been broken

I finally broke down and went to LOLCatz and took a look around. I couldn't help myself on this one.

I can't WAIT for the LUST delivery!!

Periods are a joke.

I was just stopping by my blog tonight to take a look at my traffic and see where everyone was coming from when they landed on my blog, and I caught a glimpse of my Google ads and what they were all about and just couldn't help but laugh my ass off, and then blog about it. Now I know not everyone gets the same ads, it changes randomly and is sometimes loosely based on what I write about...but tonight, my ads were about jokes and menstruation.

Heavy periods got you down? Have jokes sent straight to your cell phone!


BWAHAHAHAHA! I know that my friends are going to get a little kick out of that. As for me, I don't get periods and I pay a pretty penny every few years for that phenomenon not to take place. Simply put, I love my IUD. No babies. No blood. All for the bargain price of $1000.00 every 5 years.

On a different note. I see that a bunch of people are googling my 25 ways to improve your health. It was an email, folks. I just deconstructed and reconstructed it so it would be blog friendly. I am not healthy. Nor do I have any Zen wisdom on how to be healthy. My idea of healthy is being able bodied enough to get off the couch and get to the Ben & Jerry's in the freezer. You want health tips? Get off the damn treadmill and go have sex. It burns the same amount of calories and has the added bonus of at least one person having an orgasm.

Now if you will excuse me. I am off to enjoy my healthy orgasmic experience with a couple of guys named Ben and Jerry.

Youthful Intuition

My daughter came up to me today and placed her hand over my chest and said, "Mommy, I think you need a doctor."

I asked her why she thought that.

She replied, "Your heart is broken. You need a doctor to make it all better."

If only she really knew why mommy's heart was broken.

As far as the doctor to make it all better....I'll take one that is wildly successful, with lots of spare time on his hands to devote solely to my happiness. Rich would be a great perk. Oh, and he has to be drop dead gorgeous.* Plus he must love me passionately and unconditionally. Yeah...that's that doctor I need right now.








*Preferably hung bigger than a cooked BallPark frank. That would be great, thanks.

Bacon!?!

I was playing with my daughter today and was tickling her and kissing her all over when I told her that she was so cute I could just eat her all up!

To which she replied, "But I don't want to be bacon!"

I was rolling on the floor. It was just so deadpan and she was absolutely serious. She went on to tell me that she tasted like bacon and bacon was yucky. I debated arguing with her that she likes bacon and it is one of the few meats she will actually eat, but I decided to just leave it be. She could argue with a lamp post, and I am just truly no match for her.


It seems the funny in my house is being provided lately by everyone but me. The other night in a fit of niceness (it doesn't happen often) FCB offered to move a dresser for me that I was donating to a needy cause the next day. He took out all the drawers and moved it towards the front door out of my room so that it would be more accessible the next day.

Well the next day dawned bright and early and he woke me up to help him move the dresser to the front porch so it could be picked up. I asked him why he wanted me to help him move it that morning when he did it by himself the night before. His answer was....

"I was younger then."

I can't make this stuff up, people.

Life Backwards

I want to live my next life backwards.

You start out dead and get that out of the way.

Then you wake up in an old age home feeling better every day.

You get kicked out for being too healthy; go collect your pension, then when you start work, you get a gold watch on your first day.

You work 40 years until you're young enough to enjoy your retirement.

You drink alcohol, you party, you're generally hell on wheels, and you get ready for High School.

You go to primary school, you become a kid, you play, you have no responsibilities, you become a baby, and then...

You spend your last 9 months floating peacefully in luxury, in spa-like conditions. Central heating, room service on tap, larger quarters every day, and then, you finish off as an orgasm...



While I realize this is a recycled email, it makes me smile every time I read it and I wanted to share. Life is stupid busy lately, and I am hoping it will get back to normal soon. Especially since I hate cleaning and organizing as well as working. What can I say...I am lazy and disorganized by nature and Chaos is my happy place. Oh how I miss it.

There's a skinny woman inside me screaming to get out.

I shut the bitch up with chocolate.

In case you haven't noticed lately, I have been busier than a one legged man in a butt kicking contest. Or is that a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs? Whatever. Shit is hectic around here. I haven't blogged much, but it isn't for lack of material and y'all better be thankful that I keep notes, cause I got enough funny stuff you to read for many blogs to come.

I'm going to keep this kinda of short with a summary of what has been going on and I promise to update and let you know how things go. Bacardi's now cancer free girlfriend has left him. She left him because she wanted children now that she was cancer free. He told her he didn't want any more kids. (He has a 22 year old daughter, 14 year old son, and then there is my 4 year old whose paternity is still up in the air.) Bacardi is now ecstatic for several reasons. One being that I and my daughter can now openly be a part of his life again. Another being that he has this huge apartment and it is now a little on the empty side. He likes the openness and space. Plus he is just happy to have me back, he says. That he realized that I have been a solid friend for the last 10 years and I keep coming back to be his friend no matter what kind of shite he puts me through (I'm a masochist, what can I say?) and he is just happy to have me in his life no matter what the circumstances. Then he asked my to have his child. I told him I already did. He said he wants another. (Um...hello? Didn't your girlfriend just leave you for this very reason? In his defense, he wasn't that sober when he asked me to procreate.)

I adore his apartment. It has a gourmet kitchen that anyone would kill for. It is in a beautiful part of town, that I also happen to have grown up in, and am partial to if I ever had a true choice about where I want to live. What does this all mean? I am seriously thinking about moving in with him. There are many, many downsides to this scenario, but many upsides as well, and he and I are just going to mull it over a while and see what happens.

Oh, and did I mention that he makes me happy?

I have friends and loved ones that think he is a bad idea on many levels, and that I am thinking with my heart (or my pants for that matter) and not my head, but I can assure y'all that I am taking everything into consideration and going as slow as I can to let my head catch up with what is all going on.

Meanwhile, FCB and I have reached all new lows with our living arrangement/relationship and I am just lucky that I don't own an aluminum baseball bat. We have talked, debated and fought for the better part of 2 weeks. It is getting us nowhere. Other than you could shoot the movie "War of the Roses II" at our house. All that's missing is me standing over his computer and pissing on his keyboard. I'm kidding......................................Not really.

My chain mail and jewelry business is taking off a bit, thanks in part to Meuse (moose) and all her loverly friends and Queens over at the "alternative lifestyle bar/club" that she now works at. I have been showing up over there occasionally and have drummed up some business and sold some pieces while indulging in watching the fabulous and funny drag shows.

Today is the last day of summer school for the Punk. She has matured and grown so much so far this summer and I am just so damn proud of her! I am crossing my fingers and hoping that when she goes back to school in a month, I will have gained some of that maturity and have grown enough not to want to beat the ever-loving shite out of her numbskulled teacher for the THIRD YEAR IN A ROW.

I am also trying to organize a family trip up to the relatives' lake house in GA. This means coordinating between my mom and my sister, and for that feat, folks, I deserve the fucking Nobel Peace Prize. Between work, fighting with FCB, planning a trip, figuring out what to do with the month of having my daughter out of school, traipsing to the bar a couple of times a week to try to drum up business and enjoy a little drag at the same time, enabling Bacardi, packing and/or organizing my life in case I move, and trying to negotiate a peaceful way to co-habitate with FCB until things change, I am also trying to get the Lap-Band surgery done. I am tired of being fat. Fat sucks. I hear exercise can cure this, and I have also heard that sex is exercise. So now I just need to figure out what this "sex" thing is and where I can get me some.

So anyway, I know I said this was going to be short, and now I have just spewed ADD all over you folks. Hope you don't mind too much. After all...a little blog to let you know what all is going on, thrown in with a little sarcasm and humor, and a nice soft towel to wipe it all up with, and y'all should be right as rain.

My New Hero.

I received this email and I laughed for days...now it's your turn...and I can promise that if you're having a bad day, you won't be after reading this.

This is an actual letter from an Austin woman sent to American company Proctor & Gamble regarding their feminine products. She really gets rolling after the first paragraph. It's PC Magazine's 2007 Editors' Choice for Best Webmail-Award-Winning Letter.


Dear Mr. Thatcher,

I have been a loyal user of your 'Always' maxi pads for over 20 years and I appreciate many of their features. Why, without the LeakGuard Core or Dri-Weave absorbency, I'd probably never go horseback riding or salsa dancing, and I'd certainly steer clear of running up and down the beach in tight, white shorts. But my favorite feature has to be your revolutionary Flexi-Wings. Kudos on being the only company smart enough to realize how crucial it is that maxi pads be aerodynamic. I can't tell you how safe and secure I feel each month knowing there's a little F-16 in my pants.

Have you ever had a menstrual period, Mr. Thatcher? Ever suffered from 'the curse'? I'm guessing you haven't. Well, my time of the month is starting right now. As I type, I can already feel hormonal forces violently surging through my body. Just a few minutes from now, my body will adjust and I'll be transformed into what my husband likes to call 'an inbred hillbilly with knife skills.' Isn't the human body amazing?

As Brand Manager in the Feminine-Hygiene Division, you've no doubt seen quite a bit of research on what exactly happens during your customers monthly visits from 'Aunt Flo'. Therefore, you must know about the bloating, puffiness, and cramping we endure, and about our intense mood swings, crying, jags, and out-of-control behavior. You surely realize it's a tough time for most women. In fact, only last week, my friend Jennifer fought the violent urge to shove her boyfriend's testicles into a George Foreman Grill just because he told her he thought Grey's Anatomy was written by a bunch of drunken chimps. Crazy! The point is, sir, you of all people must realize that America is just crawling with homicidal maniacs in Capri pants...

Which brings me to the reason for my letter. Last month, while in the throes of cramping so painful I wanted to reach inside my body and yank out my uterus, I opened an Always maxi-pad, and there, printed on the adhesive backing, were these words: 'Have a Happy Period.'
Are you freaking kidding me? What I mean is, does any part of your tiny middle-manager brain really think happiness - actual smiling, laughing happiness, is possible during a menstrual period? Did anything mentioned above sound the least bit pleasurable? Well, did it, James?
FYI, unless you're some kind of sick S&M freak girl, there will never be anything 'happy' about a day in which you have to jack yourself up on Motrin and Kahlua and lock yourself in your house just so you don't march down to the local Walgreen's armed with a hunting rifle and a sketchy plan to end your life in a blaze of glory.

For the love of God, pull your head out, man! If you just have to slap a moronic message on a maxi pad, wouldn't it make more sense to say something that's actually pertinent, like 'Put down the Hammer' or 'Vehicular Manslaughter is Wrong', or are you just picking on us?

Sir, please inform your Accounting Department that effective immediately, there will be an $8 drop in monthly profits, for I have chosen to take my maxi-pad business elsewhere. And though I will certainly miss your Flex-Wings, I will not for one minute miss your brand of condescending bullsh*t. And that's a promise I will keep. Always.

Best,
Wendi Aarons
Austin , TX


*This woman articulated almost exactly what every woman has felt at one time or another. She is my new hero for the week.

I do my best blogging in the shower.

Now the trick is trying to figure out how to remember it all once I get out. Some people sing. I blog. Well...I sing too. Sometimes I even sing what I want to blog. Don't get creeped out...stay with me here.

I was in the shower today, and I thought to myself: "I have been run through the mill so many times I ought to own the damn thing by now. Heheh. That was funny. I should blog that. I hope I remember it when I get out. I wish there was a way I could blog in the shower without killing the laptop. A dry erase board won't work cause it isn't dry in here. Digital recorder might work if I seal it in a plastic bag. Would it sound muffled cause I recorded through a plastic bag? I should try that in the next shower. I hope I remember that I wanted to try that the next time I take a shower. That joke Moose told me yesterday was hilarious.* I still think it is funny. I should tell Feisty the next time she calls. I hope I remember to tell her. I hope I remember the joke when I remember to tell her. I should go back and edit that blog from the other day about all the stuff that I want in my wildest dreams. I would give up all that shit to not be in pain any more. Fucking dump truck. I hate dump trucks. Dump trucks are the reason I haven't enjoyed a shower in weeks. I should remember that and blog about it."

So that was about the whole train of thought. It was quickly derailed when I was yelled at that I was running out of time and was going to be late for my first physical therapy appointment. I got out, got dressed, hopped in the minivan and booked it to the appointment. I passed a pretty sweet looking Corvette on the way. Yes I said passed. In a minivan. As I passed I saw a lady that looked to be about 112 who could barely see over the steering wheel. Sad. She was in the left lane. Aggravating. With her right blinker on. Infuriating. Going 55 in a 65. Bitch. What a waste of a sports car.

Therapy was a new level of painful hell that I wouldn't wish on the guy who hit...well yeah I would. (Fucking dump trucks.) I get to experience this level of hell and much more twice a week until...

The normal therapy would involve electro-muscular shocks. An evaluation MRI. Lots of other modern day treatments that could make me all better lickety-split. I can't do any of that because of my implanted cardiac defibrillator. (Which can never be removed.) So I get the slow, painful, long and drawn out recovery route. Joy. Rapture. (ShitDamnDoubleDamnMotherFuckinLuck) That makes me feel a little better. A little. Not really.

Sorry this post isn't the usual funny you have become used to when visiting here. I am in pain and I don't like pain. Pain hurts. I will leave you, my friends, with a little wisdom instead.

Friends are like condoms: There to protect you when things get hard.


*If Hooters did door to door delivery, would they have to change their name to Knockers?

I'm Special! At least that's what someone besides my mom said.

See that? That picture over there? It's an award. For me. Really! And no I did not give it to myself! Girl Next Door thinks I'm special, and funny....and "you like me! You really, really like me!"

See...this award started over here at Arte Y Pico. If you click on that link you will see that it leads you to a page full of crochet dinosaurs and other artsy stuff all done in Spanish. I tried reading it. I was about halfway down the page when I realized I don't read Spanish. I barely speak it. If it weren't for Dora and Diego I would be completely fucked if I ever visited a Spanish speaking country/neighborhood/market.

I am going to make some nominations now. All I ask is not to be beaten to a bloody pulp for all the extra work that is is going to take for those I nominate. I made the effort, dammit, buck up and do the same! I also want to openly state here that I am still relatively new to this and don't have that many followers. I follow about 15 people, but I tend to be lurkerish, and comment stingy. I freely admit that at least two nominees are my best friends. What can I say. I suck that way. Here we go.

And the nominees are...

1.) Feisty Irish Wench for being a tough chick who gets the job done. No matter the job. She is witty and funny and takes things in stride, and if for no other reason deserves an award for not eating her offspring after giving birth to them...or at least not strangling them on a daily basis....Plus, she explained hyperlinking to me just yesterday and this award is definitely a test in being able to effectively do that.

2.) Meuse for her obsession with LOL Cats. Her postings of wacky cat tricks and quirky parent stories keep me laughing and sane on days I want to go all baseball bat on certain males that live with me. Plus, she reads everything I write, comments all the time, and best of all provides me with shoegasmic blog fodder.

3.) Tysgirl for so many reasons, one of which is the title of her blog Nucking Futs. She is a brave and strong woman that takes amazing pictures, has a great sense of humor. Plus she reads my blog. I like that in a person!

4.) Johnny Virgil for his amazing humor that makes me snort coffee on my keyboard while simultaneously making me wet myself. He's that fucking funny! I have not even begun to crack his archives and whoa betide my poor laptop and couch when I get around to it...

5.) And last but not least Limpy. Without the abundance of humor he provides, along with all the rest of those above nominees, I would not be nearly as funny as I think I am. They inspire me to be entertainment for the masses. I only hope one day I can be as cool and funny as Limpy. He oozes humor and makes it look easy. I wish it was.

Here are the rules for those that were nominated:

1. Pick five (5) blogs that you consider deserve this award for their creativity, design, interesting material, and also for contributing to the blogging community, no matter what language.
2. Each award has to have the name of the author and also a link to his or her blog to be visited by everyone.
3. Each award winner has to show the award and put the name and link to the blog that has given her or him the award itself.
4. Award-winner and the one who has given the prize have to show the link of “Arte y Pico” blog, so everyone will know the origin of this award (http://arteypico.blogspot.com/)

So that's it. I fulfilled my part. Whether the rest do is up to them. Damn I'm tired. I deserve a nice fruity drink for all this effort. And a cookie. A cookie would be great.

With SPRINKLES!

I popped her clearance cherry!

My best friend called me up this morning and told me we were going shopping. HUH? She hates shopping...loathes it even. I asked her why she was going shopping and what reason she had for enlisting me in this endeavor. She said she needed new jeans and it was either take her mom or take me. She opted for the more entertaining, less naggy individual. Yay me.

Off to the mall we go. Yes, the mall. I started joking with her that maybe Tiffany would be playing a concert in the food court. If we got really lucky, maybe it would be a double header with Debbie Gibson. After embarrassingly dating ourselves, we devolved into bashing celebrities for how old looking they are all getting. Self-esteem boosting sessions are so fun with her.

We headed into JC Penney where she starts ravaging the men's jeans display looking for her size. She likes the way they fit her better than women's. Don't judge. I spent the whole time trying to convert her to come join me and worship at the church of the almighty Croc. Being a bar back and a massage therapist student, she is going to potentially be spending the rest of her life on her feet.

Life Lesson: Be kind to your feet. Love them even. You only get the one pair and being the daughter of a woman who has spent the better part of 40 years on her feet as a hairdresser, I can tell you from firsthand knowledge that the more you pamper your feet, the more they love you for it later in life. Shoes that are the right fit and comfort level are KEY!

So I hauled her halfway across the mall in search of the Croc kiosk. She indulged me. Once we got there and she tried a pair on, she informed me that there wasn't enough arch support. Damn. Lost a convert before she even got a chance to join up. So on the way back out of the mall, we stopped into a shoe store that looked like it had a nice selection of orthopedic money pits. I could tell just by the way the shoes were set up that the median price had to be at least $100 or more. They offered to do some sort of free digital scan of her feet. It was all cute and colorful. (She has small feet.) She looked at a few pairs and tried on a pair of sneakers. She then melted into a puddle. Apparently she just experienced a shoegasm. The first of her life it seemed.

She told the salesman she would take them. Then she looked at the price and turned whiter than my ass (which is practically physiologically impossible.) She got that scared look on her face like she just signed up for more than she bargained for over a quick and unexpected shoegasm. The manager was standing at the register when the salesman brought up the box for the shoes. I asked her how negotiable she was on the price of the shoes. Best friend gave me a puzzled look like I had just asked the woman how many Oompa Loompas she had blown that day.

I was reading in the news how malls all over the country are struggling in today's economy. I figured it was worth a shot to see if I could score a deal for the best friend. Everybody's got rent to pay. A discounted sale is better than no sale.

The manager eyed the best friend up and down and asked if she was still in the military. (Best friend was puzzled at how this stranger knew this. I didn't have the heart to tell her that once you join up, they tattoo a bar code across your forehead that is visible to everyone else but her. Poor girl.) Best friend told the manager that she was no longer active...I saw the discount slipping away quickly. I spoke up and mentioned that she was, however, a student. Manager granted a 10% discount. Woo and Hoo. Sales guy rung up the purchase and it came up less than half price. Seems it was the last pair and rang up as the "floor model." SCORE!!!

Best friend was so excited she asked if I wanted to celebrate by going to lunch...which of course I never deny anyone that wants to buy me lunch. Once we were at the restaurant she asked me why she felt so giddy and warm and fuzzy. I laughed at her and told her she was experiencing a shopping high. She feared for her rep and got a little worried about "going all girly" to which I assured her would not happen. We then toasted popping her clearance cherry with a couple of fru-fru pina coladas. Cheers!

Build a Man! Now open in your local mall!

Just like Build-A-Bear, but with out all the annoying stuffing and fru-fru outfits!

After a clandestine lunch with my one and only ex-husband today, I realized that there was an aspect of him that I adored. He would give me the shirt off his back without even blinking. He would give me the shirts off of strangers' backs if he thought he could get away with it...without a severe beating. He was showing off his I-Phone...I was admiring it...(then I found his porn stash while playing with it and quickly handed it back.) He got that glisten in his eye and asked me if I wanted one, cause he could put me on his plan. Ugh. Taking advantage of him is way too easy. I politely declined. Temptation is such a heartless bitch.

I then asked him what happened to all my stuff that he got when we parted ways over 5 years ago. He says he still has it. All of it. Boxes and boxes of my stuff, just piled up in his bedroom. IN HIS BEDROOM. This room is one of the smallest rooms in his house that he shares with his brother. He kept everything. In case I came back for it one day. I am not sure if that is extremely sweet or incredibly creepy. Ooh. Goosebumps. Nope...still not sure.

So basically what that means is the set of dishes I have been eyeing to replace FCB's dishes but can't afford right now, is a completely moot point. I can have MY dishes back. And my Oneida silverware. Plus my Jr. High yearbooks. Damn skippy. It's going to be like going to a garage sale of all the stuff I ever got rid of in my life. Cooooool. And FREEEEE!!! (cause I already and still own it and all....)

So back to the Build-A-Man...sorry for the ADD moment there...bear(pun intended) with me. I want my Ex-husbands generosity and willingness to spoil me, FCB's financial resourcefulness and willingness to support me, Bacardi's warm and cuddly libido and desire for me as the gooey center, and wrapped in a nice little Hugh Grant (including accent) package. Ahhh....the perfect Build-A-Man.

Oh, and I got an email today that told me I won the UK lottery!! Yay.

To top off this day, I had to do an obscene amount of running around this afternoon. Errands, therapy, FCB's "I forgot my glasses can you bring them to me?" I'm beat. I still also have a double ear infection. I now know what Nemo felt like. Everything sounds like I have a ginormous fish bowl full of water surrounding my head. I am sitting back, finally home and turn on the TV so Punk can watch Sponge Bob. And there he is in all his glory wearing a french maid uniform. A backless french maid uniform. I think my sphincter just curled. (I have no idea if this is possible. I'm cranky. Go with it.)

Oh and therapy? My daughter was good today in school. Polite with pleases and may I's all over the place when I picked her up. We get to therapy and she proceeds to turn into demon child faster that Sybil can say "Who?" I should just start telling the therapist to wear AstroTurf panties in preparation for my daughter walking all over her ass. She let is happen once, and my child has a very long memory for things like this and is loathe to let some people forget it. Now the Punk is reading quietly to herself in her room. Go figure.

Tomorrow should be more sedate. Of course I say that now and something akin to a Broadway production will more than likely step-ball-change through my life. Oh well. I am off to enjoy the quiet while it lasts...while dreaming of my Build-A-Man.

Bright and shiny, polished every Friday.

Not only did I find my long lost set this morning...they seem to have grown.

I was jolted awake this morning (well...actually it was 11am, but hey...still before noon) by the sound of not only my home phone ringing, but my cell phone as well. Literally at the exact same time....weird. I ran to the cell first, hoping FCB would get the house phone (he didn't) only to discover it was the same person who called me last night while we were out spending a wasteful amount of money on pyrotechnics. I don't recognize the number...therefore my logic is...you have the wrong number. (They didn't leave a message either so...)

Back to the house phone to see who hung up on my answering machine. It was the friend I wrote about it yesterday's post. For reference I am going to call him Bacardi. (Since he drinks enough of it he should own stock already.) This same friend, for those just joining us in this blog I call my crazy life, is the possible DNA donor of my daughter and the one time love of my life.

So I called Bacardi back. He started off with an I miss you and a when are you coming over. I returned a resounding, hacking cough. He said I sounded awful. I couldn't catch myself and my usual snarkiness blurted out. "Really, you think so? I was starting to think things were on the mend now that I have coughed up those annoying lungs that keep be alive...."

He didn't quite know how to respond to that, so he went with backup conversation 2. "I'm so lonely in my pants for you. I need you to come over."

Here's where the balls jumped out and chewed his (drunk already at 11am) head off. I told him the corpse of his relationship wasn't even cold yet, AND I am very ill, on the brink of another hospital stay. He needed to be a big boy and suck it up and be patient. That I had been his friend for over a decade through TWO failed relationships, and I was still here. Still his friend. (Even when common sense and the rest of the people that know me have told me to cut bait and run. Oh...and insert random coughing, hacking and loogies throughout that lecture.)

He was again seemingly at a loss for words until he decided at this point...cause he was drunk and obviously didn't care, that he was going with conversation 3. He pulled out the paternity card. "I want to see my little girl, I want to see how big she has grown."

At this point, the balls grew ragged sharp teeth and went for the jugular.

"I can't believe you are even saying this shit to me, Bacardi! Your girlfriend just broke up and moved out on you because her cancer was gone, and she wanted to start having children with you and you said hell no. She is two years older than I am and her eggs aren't getting any fresher. Is that the only reason your relationship failed? Did you tell her about me? (NO) Did you tell her Punk was your daughter? (NO) I realize that your other two children are grown and you had no intention of starting all over again at being a dad, but come on! She leaves you for your refusal to have children, and then you turn around and try to CLAIM the daughter that you have been refusing to acknowledge for the past 5 years? EVERY DAMN TIME I HAVE TRIED TO GET YOU TO TAKE RESPONSIBILITY AND CLAIM HER YOU HAVE BLATANTLY DENIED HER! NOW WHEN IT'S CONVENIENT FOR YOU, YOU WANT HER? cough cough cough hack hack hack loogie."

I then got an apology. He admitted that he was being selfish and an asshole and that he was only thinking about himself and his needs and wants and why did I put up with him and he was such a schmuck and I was too good for him....blah blah....

I told him damn skippy I was too good for him, but I was still his friend cause I am just too damn loyal that way. I reminded him that no matter how drunk he gets, I still put up with his shit. He apologized again. Reiterated the "being a selfish asshole" part, told me only wanted the best for me and my daughter and asked that I give him a call when I was feeling better. I was kind of stunned at this point, because this is the first time ever I have chewed him out, or had him admit not only being a selfish asshole, but also being drunk. I thanked him for understanding, promised I would call someday soon, and told him that he would see me when he sees me. He said that was cool with him.

WOW. Now that I have rediscovered my shiny brass balls, and have brought them out for a spit shine and polish, I think I might just have to do that more often. Most of my friends have told me at one time or another that I am just a black and white kinda person. I am either too aggressive or too passive...never assertive enough. I guess this post is just to let the world know that I have finally accomplished my first attempt at assertiveness.

I'm all growing as a person and shit. Cool.

Ding Dong. I got a delivery of random. Can you sign?

I want a love like they sang about in the 70's.

I want Fate, Destiny and Irony to get off their collective asses and do something different than make me the butt of all their jokes.

If I must be such a doormat I would rather not be such a wide one.

I would love it if the majority of the male population would wake up and realize that there is more to life than porn.

And no I don't want to watch you jack off on your web cam, thanks. I had other plans on how to waste my time.

I wish I had more of an impact on people's lives.

I wish someone would fall madly in love with me and suffer endlessly if they couldn't be with me....no wait...that's what I keep going through...again and again and again....

As a friend of mine used to say..."You wouldn't know what crazy was if Charles Manson was eating Fruit Loops on your front porch."
**********************************************

And the reason for all this random and crazy today? I found out today that the "love of my life" and "possible DNA donor" of my child is now single again.

You may remember me mentioning that his girlfriend had cancer and that he wanted to break up with her. Well it seems he awoke this morning to movers knocking on the door to collect all her worldly belongings. She left him today. And took the cat.

His first reaction to this stunning news?

Emailing me.

Seems he is trying to play that "I need a friend" card which also translates into "I want a celebratory roll in the sack." He then started begging me to call.

What can I say....I blame the plethora of cold meds and pain killers....

I called. Machine answered. He was at the liquor store. AT 11am. She was there collecting the cat and anything else she thought she might have left behind. She heard the whole message I so stupidly left. She tore him a new one when he got home. He is steadily drowning himself in his sorrows/bottle.

The biggest part of me....is completely drowning in mucus. There is a little part of me that wants to run to him and comfort him. (I am an enabler. I'm aware of it. No hate mail please.)

He has sent me 24 emails so far today...and they just keep coming. His grammar, capitalization and punctuation are declining with each email. He is drunk. I am sick. Eh...timing's a bitch like that.

So that concludes this chapter of the insane train wreck that is my life. Stayed tuned to see how many bodies get pulled out of the wreckage....

Oh look...A hot dog vendor just pulled up to exploit the crowds...yay.

I'm Alive!

I am healthy! Got a new heart/liposuction/boob job! I won the lottery! I found the man/woman/house/vehicle of my dreams! I have absolutely no debt! I am infinitely talented beyond my wildest dreams! My entire family is living in harmony and getting along completely! My daughter not only learned potty training, but earned the Nobel peace prize, graduated from medical school/law school/Julliard, won an Oscar, Emmy, Tony and Golden Globe! I have no uncompleted projects! I now wear a size seven shoe! I own an island in the Caribbean! It is completely stocked with hot men wearing fully filled out thongs that are waiting with baited breath to please me in any way! I have a personal bartender that keeps me happy in MANY ways! I can mete out justice to all criminals, especially child abusers, with a snap of my fingers! Hollywood hotshots are all clamoring to do a movie about my life story! Publishers everywhere are throwing themselves at me wanting to make every word that comes out of my blog/mouth into a bestseller! I AM THE AMERICAN IDOL! I am being knighted next week by Her Majesty Queen of England! Hugh Grant/Laurie want to have my children! (I have a thing for the Hughs...don't hate.) I have been asked to be the next President of the USA! I have not so politely declined...heehee. I have millions of readers that visit my blog everyday! I alone have mastered bringing world peace to the um...whole...well...earth. Yeah! Religions have started worshiping me and erecting churches in my name...unfortunately, the churches are spontaneously combusting before they can be finished. The good news about this is some random physicist has discovered that the leftover fumes can fuel any model vehicle indefinitely. Peeps worldwide in my now peacey planet are all jumping for joy and chanting my name! TICKER-TICKER-TICKER!


*None of this has actually happened. But lately when people have been asking how my life is going or how I am feeling, it seems like all I can say is boring, bad, depressing, tragedy queen stuff. I swear it has just been an off year. I am hoping it will get better. PLEASE let it get better.....