...and that's why no one wants to know about me

My brother-in-law, Spencer,  got me a book for Christmas called, "All About Me".  While I opened it, he suggested I could fill out the book and pass it on to my kids, or perhaps fill it out and hide it in the attic to be opened by husband with one T and I on our 20 year anniversary.

I was wide awake last night and decided to sleep in Adrian's spiderman bed (he's at Grandma's while he's out of school since she is a teacher and also out of school) because it is 60 degrees in his room and I love the way his guinea pig shit fills my memory with dreams of being a child and also never cleaning up a microgram of rodent feces in my life. Is microgram even a word?


The questions in the book start innocent enough... Name, address, height, weight, etc. My ambien and Reeses peanut butter cups have started to kick in and I think, "am I reading this right?" I turned back a few pages where things were seemingly normal and realized that I wasn't asleep or injured in the medicated brain. I was currently in the middle of answering the question "What is one thing you extremely dislike about your brother?"



Uh. He lives in another country.




Not deterred, I continued until I was well into the section about fruits of my labors.



"What is one thing your best friend has that you don't that you resent her for?"

Uhhhhhhh.....a social life and boobs that haven't sagged yet?




No way Adrian or "Grandma" Me wants to read that...ever.



I skip over some more of the drama-laden questions, realizing I have zero awesome answers for what the book is looking for. It would frequently ask me to choose my favorite meal,  favorite parent,  or favorite fawn (I had to google fawn...at first I was like....Bambi?). Then after asking such a plain and boring question, the book would ask me to describe how difficult it was to answer. Nothing's difficult for me because I am an open book, Book!



It started to mess with my mind.


Name three things you love about your spouse:


Name Three things you love about yourself:


Now tell which one was easier to write...



This got me thinking...."what the hell? DO I HATE MYSELF?" It's really hard to come up with three things you love about yourself OR your spouse when you're sleeping in a twin spiderman bed with a rodent covered in poo because he's snoring and gives off too much body heat. How does the book know I am not only a bad self-hating robot, but also a mean and selfish spouse-haver with no appreciation?



I decided to skip the chapter after it asked me what age I wanted my children to have sex.


I skipped the next when it asked me to describe the moment I felt the most snuggliest with God, and what verse of the bible moves me the most.



I skipped the next chapter when it asked me to describe in detail my most lucid sex dream and whether or not it has fulfilled any fantasy I have/had.

 The only sex dream I have had is about Bob Saget, and I don't want to read about that in 20 years and Ellis and Adrian can probably be okay skipping on that knowledge as well.




Awwww yeah, DT!







(This was a word purge I did for a new group I joined called GBE 2 (Group Blogging Experience). I had to just write what came to my mind without stopping and trying to add comic effect and interesting ideas. That's PRETTY much why it sucks so much. If you're on FB, you should join, too!)

Christmas.

My favorite holiday has always been Christmas. It's very much annoying to lame people. I start listening to christmas songs in the middle of October.

My standard for Christmas spirit is so high, that it has officially turned me into a giant Christmas asshole monster.

Pretty much any time anyone comes at me with some bullshit between the months of October and January, I kick them in the achilles and scream something about Christmas spirit. I take it incredibly seriously. Almost too seriously. I can't tell you how many times I have grumbled... "well merry effin christmas to you, too". To motorists, customers, best friends, husbands, parents, children in the street, etc.

For me, it never honestly had much to do with the gift getting. Sure, my Care Bears bed tent and Frosty the snowconemaker kicked serious ass....but I remember so many other things being what really made me look forward to Christmas.



1. My parents would give us money to buy them presents. This is coming from two people who literally never buy themselves anything. That ten bucks in our hand was our free ticket to the self esteem ride of the century:

"Look, Matthew, I got Mom this badass keychain that changes colors when you blow on it. She's going to love me so much that my hair will fall out of my head."

"I don't think Mom likes keychains, Mary. I got Dad a calendar with Elvis and Sharpei puppies. He's going to think I'm such a good son, that he's just going to kick you in the side of the brain"

We were always wrong. I still, to this day, have never gotten them that one gift that they never knew they really wanted. I promise, Wendy and Steve, one day. Don't die soon.

2. All the rules went out the window. Also, I could do things I wasn't supposed to do and then hide them real quick and say "Don't ask questions! It's Christmastime!" I only specifically remember using this advantage one time...when my mom walked in on me playing Barbies...... when I was.....12. I was so beyond mortified that that is what I was doing instead of watching Home Improvement and counting my nee pubic hairs. It annoyed the hell out of my mom, too.

"What were you doing? You look like you just got caught doing something."

"what? No I was just flossing my cavities"

"What's going on? I'm serious, what are you hiding?"

"MOOOOoooooom. It's Christmastime! You can't any questions. helllooooooo!"

"Mary, it's October and when would you have had time to buy me a present? And with what money?'

"I am not answering any more questions because it will give it all away, SILLY LITTLE GOOSEY"

I spent the next 2 months racking my brain trying to think of a gift I could give her to back up my story. Not realizing, as I do now that I am a Mother, she was probably franctically searching through my drawers while I was at school, looking for my crack pipe or lesbian porn that I am sure she thought I was hiding.

No, Mom. It was just a Barbie. She was going to prom. I  just didn't have very many friends.






3. My brother is less than a year older than me, so it was always double the presenty fun for me. Especially since I was pretty much a dude. I loved sports and racecars and video games. Brother bear always gave in to me too...which thankfully hasn't messed him up TOO much in our older years. I never had to use up my presents by asking for a playstation...because clearly he would get it and then be forced to share it with his sweet younger sister. IT didn't go both ways (at least I don't think it did.) He never wanted to use my electronic diary or BabyPoopsHerself.

4. The music. It's insane. I don't know how all you heartless people don't break into tears and garland when you hear Celebrate me Home by Kenny Loggins. I can't understand how everyone doesn't blast Brenda Lee's songs about sad bells and marshmallows and rockin the Christmas tree. I looooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooove Christmas music.




5.  We would always adopt a family. I remember getting to pick out a coat for a girl the same age as me, and it was more fun than picking out something for myself had EVER been. I can't explain the kindness most kids have in their stinky little souls at Christmas! It's mind-blowing. They just want everyone to feel as happy as they do, even if its only temporary materialistic happiness.

I have passed this tradition on to my own family. Last year Adrian got to pick out a boom box for a child his age. Even husband with one T got in on the spirit.. "Shasta says here she likes fur stuff. This girl is gonna love the shit out of those boots!"



This year, even though our fundage is lacking, we adopted a family of 3. I kept scrolling through the bigger families that weren't getting adopted and wished so much that we could do it. There was one family of 8, and 6 of those 8 people were elderly. Uch. Sorry, I'll stop.

Long story short, I thought if I could get my work to adopt a family, then we could all donate and take over one of the bigger families. I ran it by the higher-ups and sent out an email asking for everyone to donate just $20 for a family of five to have a Christmas they otherwise couldn't have. Donations were due in 6 days. By day 5, we had $60. I cried all the way home. I took it personally, "Does everyone hate me that much that they aren't willing to donate money to a family that needs COATS AND SHOES AND BACKPACKS, simply because it has my name on it?" (Hence the "too much" Christmas Spirit I mentioned above)

The next day, after a reminder email was sent out, everyone stepped up. They donated almost 400 dollars and our company matched it. I got to spend 800 dollars on a family of 5 that had only asked for coats, shoes, warm clothes, and backpacks. Well. We took those requests and met them, then took the remaining 600 dollars and went batshit crazy on present buying! These kids are going to have a bettter Christmas than anyone I know! As corny as it is....I hope it will make them believe in Santa Claus. Because Santa is the one who brings this kind of crazy awesomeness.

 I hope no one gets into any sort of physical or verbal altercation this yuletide. It seems to be rampant on Facebook. The moral of the world is, "Remember when everyone else is wrong, just flip them off and go buy some less fortunate children some warm shit and some fun shit"

Mary Christmas to my favorite followers and readers!

NAILED IT.



NAILED IT



I hope no one is intimidated by my badassness in wax figurine making.

They see me rollin....

I was frustrated that I could not roll my r's so I was trying to teach myself. Husband took a secret video that is INCREDIBLY unfortunate. I thought r rolling was supposed to be sexy?

Warning...I MIGHT say a cuss word or two.

Thinking it through.

I'm the opposite of obsessive-compulsive. I like to call it "careless impulsive". Or in layman's terms:


Not thinking shit through.


I get these ideas, opinions, and cuss words in my head that don't make any kind of logical sense but they make my brain feel like it's on a bender with Santa Claus and marshmallow fluff.

I always shop at Super Target because almost everyone there smells good and doesn't make eye contact. I prefer people with hygiene and snobbery over the friendly non-judgmental faces of Wal-Mart.

Kendal suggested I do my shopping at Buy for Less since it's in the ghetto and it would make us feel good about ourselves. One of my favorite Adrian quotes, "I don't know why they call that place Buy for Less...My Nana spent 300 dollars there." (He wits the shit out of himself for only being 7!)

Walking around Buy for Less is like making out with your wallet while doing the macarena. Their stuff is so ethnic and weird that it immediately made me feel awesome about my culture knowledge and decide to be a chef for the week.

"Kendal, hand me some of those cactus leaves"

"What are you gonna do with them?"

"I don't know, boil them with those little onions that look like knobby penises"

"They're spiky, so why don't you pass on that"

I didn't buy the cactus leaves but that's no hyperbole! They had cactus leaves right beside all their Mehicana spices and roots.

That's when I saw the chamomile. It's actually called manzanilla for those of you who only speak one lame language.

I knew manzanilla was chamomile because I read it on the back of Ellis's baby bathsoap and thought it would be a good name for my band. That I still plan on having someday so don't steal that name.

"Hey, did you hear Manzanilla is selling out the Ford Center? We should totes get tickets because she's hot"

"I'm in, Bro, she's so calming and relaxing and makes me want to fall into a stressless sleep"



Husband loves to use Ellis's babybath whenever he is having a sore neck day, because it so calming and relaxing just like my band.



I decided to buy him some and murder my quest to be a decent wife.



"Here's some homemade soup, some sex, AND a motherfucking chamomile bath!"



When I get home and show him the cluster of peace that cost 99 cents, he looked at me like I had a Disney character growing out of my face.



"What do you do with it?"

"I make you a bath and then you love me a compliment me"

"Wait, the whole weed? You just throw it in the bathtub?"

"It's not a WEED, Mat. It's gonna make you feel like you're 20 again. And it smells like a field of sleeping babies"




He kind of glances at with a look of "meh" and goes to finish his "awesome year of recruitment" on the nintendo. (I call everything a nintendo)



I decide I will use it myself and ramp up my wifeness with some super soft skin, a calm disposition, and a freshy scent.

It's a bundle.. costs $0.99....wrapped in plastic.



I pictured drawing myself a hot bath and raking my long (short) blond (ish) hair into a bun (nub) and sliding my tennis player-esque figure into the steaming water and opening the contents of the cheap plastic bag into the mix. It would float around in its bulk, making a big bathtub of Mary-tea. Once the chammy (that's what I call it since we're close) had seeped to its full potential I would ring out one last bit of its medicinal naturalness and then put it in the plastic bag I had laid beside the tub.



It ended up more looking like I had had a one night stand with a hayride. It definitely didn't stay in its bunch and I tried to fake it like it felt good....but the truth is that I smelled nothing and my skin was itchy and I had pretty much destroyed any possession that the chamomile had touched.




Husband came in, unfortunately, and got a look on his face like he wished he'd married his ex, who loves Jesus and doesn't put weeds in the bathtub jets.

I assured him I would clean it up, hoping he would offer to do the job instead...since he's slightly OCD and starts googling divorce lawyers when I forget to use a dirty-spoon-holder-thing.

No such luck. He said I smelled good and I assured him my skin was soft as a slinky and told him he would be able to enjoy that whenever I finished cleaning and came to bed in upwards of 4 hours.

Then we bickered about my not using enough paper towels...and then we quarrelled about me not letting all the dead flowers and weeds go into the drain....then we had a tussle about my not cleaning up my cleaning supplies very well.

Worst. Bath. Ever.

I managed to fall asleep after my bath but woke up an hour later because my throat was closing up and I was dying. I got up and coughed it out like a champ...I tried to scratch the itch in my throat by chewing exorbitant amounts of gum and Nilla wafers. I ended up after a few hours of being really unhealthy and lame, taking a total of 3 benadryl.

It makes sense. I have horrible horrible allergies and soaked in a concoction of hay and flowers for an hour. Today I feel like I'm swallowing fingernails and I still had to sling those loans like it was paying the bills.

Loofa.... 2009-December 2011








After all this turmoil and disease...I realized the whole time I was thinking about lavender.


 You're supposed to drink chamomille.

An endearing random conversation amongst friends.

All I want for Christmas is a lot.

*Warning. This is not a funny blog at all. This is seriously a list of stuff I selfishly want all up in my arms for Christmas.

1. A white iPhone case.

They don't make these on every swinging street corner. My boss/friend bought two multi-colored cases, then took out the white chunks and put it back together to resemble a white case. I found one yesterday, and it's only 149.99! Yay! It better make sweet love to me and not break when I drop it in a bucket of stagnant water.




Go here and buy for ol trusty Mare




2. This bag speaks for itself. Why does everything I like have to come from somewhere other than Goodwill?

Click here to give Marigold a little materialistic snuggle

3. A camera with a bunch of unneccessary shit on it. Like this.

   MerBear NEEDS things that aren't neccessary to feel good about herself!



4. This. Because I googled "Most expensive eye cream in the history of the world" and I think this shit would make me pretty.

$1650 ain't NOTHING if it get CherryMary some attention

5. A puppy. Always. Take your pick.

I'm so rich and tired.

I have been feeling uninspired lately in the blogger world. Probably because I have been kicking ass and taking names at my real job that gives me money and purpose and a reason to put on mascara.

I was reluctant to share this story because I don't want anyone to think I am a drug addict, a drug abuser, or really really fucking stupid. Mama just has trouble sleeping because I can't stop thinking about important things like new ways to do my hair or how long it's going to take to get an under eye wrinkle on the left side of my face to match the right side.

I got to the point where Ambien was only helping me sleep until about 3 AM, at which point I would get up, eat a bunch of pop tarts, and think my life sucks when it clearly doesn't.

I told my doctor my concerns and he decided to have me try a medicine called Trazodone.

Trazadone sucks.

I took one at bedtime like a good mother/banker and laid there massaging my own thumbs and worrying about homeless dogs and the permanent marker on Adrian's neck.

Two hours later, around midnight, I decided to take 2 Ibuprofen PM because the stress of my lack of sleep was making my neck allegedly hurt. First I googled, "If I take ibuprofen with Trazadone, am I going to die". Google said hell to the no, take that narcotic and don't look back....so I indulged.

Ibuprofen PM is just Ibuprofen and Benadryl. I've been knocking back Benadryl since I was a zygote so that shit pretty much does less for me than a laffy taffy and a cold pillow.

A short while later, I decided to break down and take one of my leftover Ambien. I had to work the next day and I was desperate for some z's. So were the giant bags under my eyes and my work performance.

Woooooo! Partayyyyyyy! Hollla atcha Mammmmaaaa!

Well. Not really. The truth is, I went to sleep. I was sleepy.

I got up the next day and went to work. I was still really sleepy and not real cute.

I checked my email and noticed a few not very fun messages. I had recently gotten a new credit card and was receiving a lot of emails from the credit card company. I opened the most recent one and read a warning about possible credit card fraud done on my account at 3:13 AM, and to please call the company if I was, in fact, making those transactions as an actual human being.

It all started coming back to me. Those of you who take Ambien may understand this...it's not like being schnockered off 4 bottles of wine kind of black-out. It's more like "Oh yeah, that's why my hipbones are sore and I don't fit into my pants." It's a kind of "wha happened?" I compare to both infantile amnesia and dementia. Neither of which I remember having but I imagine it's very similar.

This is all put together by the phone calls and emails I received, along with my browser history and fuzzy memories that were also clouded by lots of cereal-eating.

I apparently decided to go get on my computer at 3:12 (seriously) and order some accessories from Aldo. I remember thinking about what outfit I wanted to wear the next day and wishing I had purple feather earrings. ... I typed Aldo in wrong and it took me to a totally bullshit and everyone knows it website where it said I won $1,000. I apparently believed it and gave my credit card number to 5 different "offers" to qualify for the $1,000 I had won.

I actually kind of remember thinking..."I always see this spam and assume it's fake...but clearly they can't just promise something they don't deliver so what the hell, I will try it! I need and deserve $1,000 more than anyone so it could be at least kinda real."

ALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL Unsolicited sales calls....

I figured out all of this out today because I got an email from best-giveaways telling me "based on the offers you 'qualified' for, click here for your $1,000 gas and grocery rebate". It was basically some ridic form you fill out annually to get a rebate on the taxes you pay for gas and groceries or something.

Just. You know. FML.

 I was looking at my credit card statement and unfortunately remembering signing up for a machine that rejuvenates your wrinkles...and then a monthly subscription to makeup....and then a fake eyelash delivery service....and a credit monitoring services....



I am not kidding. I did all of that ACTUALLY thinking I was getting 1,000 dollars.


I know you're all dying to know where this story leads so it can end happily with me being wrinkle-free and one G richer....but you'll be sad and disappointed....and probably sleepy.
 
The offer kept taking me to more things I had to sign up for to win my $1,000....
 
and I just kept typing in my credit card....
 
I have been researching all the stuff I did today... they're all "trial memberships". On the rejuvenation one, I have to wait until I get it and then mail a written statement requesting a cancellation and the reason I didn't like it and return the machine within 8 business days or else they will charge me $187.89 for the machine.
 
You know how restricting that is?
 
To have to wait two or three days to get it...then keep it for at least one business day so they know I used it....then mail it back (fee on me to mail back) WITH a written explanations...all within 8 business days?
 
That's how they COMPLETELY RUIN YOUR LIFE.
 
 All 5 "offers" I signed up for are the same excruciatingly stupid and awful processes.
 
So... they have only charged me 1.00, .79, 8.74, 1.25, and .05 but they all have these ridiculous stipulations and if I don't correctly cancel them all with the requirements they will charge me 48.95, 18.99, 124.99 (that's the mineral makeup..but oh I get to keep the makeup bag it comes with as my "bonus gift"), and 11.99 per month until it's properly cancelled.




The Trazodone is supposed to make you extremely relaxed and worry free. Apparently, I was so relaxed that I was like..."no way this is a scam! This free shit is gonna be awesome."
 
 
 
 
 
 
Phone call number 3 of 2,145:
 
weird area code phone number guy: Hi is this Mary Brown? I'm from a puddle under a tent in India and I need to verify your account validation.




Mary: um yeah I dunno what that means...I took 2 sleeping pills last night and ordered a bunch of stuff I don't want or need.



WACPNG: Did you order Costolin? Credit Reporting? Bare Minerals?



Mary: Um all of the above sound vaguely familiar. Why are you calling me?



WACPNG: It doesn't show you've cancelled anything?



Mary: I have to wait for all my packages to arrive apparently.



WA: Well. Did you at least sleep good?



Mary: I WAS BUYING SOMETHING CALLED COSTOLIN AT 3:12 AM...WHAT DO YOU THINK?



WACPNG: Well okay Marie. You call customer service when you receive those packages and no stress, okay?



Mary: Okay, love you sugar.
 
 
 
 
I have properly cancelled everything I stupidly did, and my credit card company advised me exactly what to do. I cancelled my credit card and didn't open ANY of the packages I received.
 
Can you believe someone actually has to use a monthly eyelash delivery service? I mean, I look good with some falsies, but if I sign up for a recurring monthly service someone just pepper spray me like an occupier.

Kendal giving me hell. Duh.

Pictures of 2 of the 194 packages I received

I blog for myself because I love myself.

I am the most self-absorbed human in North America.

I tried to write a novel and then I was like,

"Hey novel, I murder you now with my awesome verbage and typing, suck on that!"

And then the novel said,

"Wutcchu talking about playa-hata? You're 64,325 words behind and you just ate 8,500 calories worth of laffy taffys and whoppers. And what..?"

So I bowed down and accepted defeat. My cousin sent me an except of her novel and it was phenomenal. I actually wanted it to keep going. When I was writing my novel, It was so hard to not use made up words and lots of parenthesis to explain my blabbering. But that wasn't the biggest problem.

I don't know how to write about anything but myself. I tried to take a different stance and ended up changing it to half Adrian's point of view and half my point of view. Then I tried to write Adrian's chapter and ended up eating a giant bowl of Honey Kix and putting my new deodorant on excessively and excitedly because that shit smelled like pomegranate and bubble baths.




Speaking of myself, let me tell you more about my...self.






I have been in three earthquakes in the last four days.

(Kendal said it best)

I redid a mortgage for a member three times today because she wanted a "prettier" number.

I'm under a tornado warning right now.

I love how they put exclamations to make my impending death funner.

 My husband left me to go play golf in California.

I just got some new Spanx that make me feel like Ashley Olsen.

Wow. I feel so much better now that I've talked about myself.






Feel free to make me an offer of famousness. Either by writing, singing, or mortgaging.

Love you all.

NaNoWriMo

I will not be blogging this month as I have committed to writing 50k words this month, during National Novel Writing Month! If you would like to follow my novel which has yet to be named, planned, or even thunk about my name on NaNoWriMo.com is justinappropriate... I hope I can stick to this commitment more than dieting, new years resolutions to stop cussing, and operation hot wife. Oh and to stop blogging while driving.

Love you all like I love gas station hot dogs!

Saturday Semi-sensationlism

I'm not feeling very sensational today. Lately, every time I want to blog, I end up reading about Lizzie Borden or Boy A from Japan. or Jesus. Or I read blogs about candy corn with twice as many followers as me and then I want to hammer my face with a....hammer.

The things I would normally tell you about, my favorites, seem annoying and clingy today. Like myself. I'm like a static sheet rubbed on a balloon and affixed to a towel on a hot day. Injected with lethal amounts of crazy.

My favorite candy is Starbursts. But Starbursts are upsetting me today. They're all "eat a lot of me and then go take a nap."

So I listen to my clingy favorite and right before the starburst dies in my throat, it has to be a dick one last time and hurt my teeth.

My least favorite things today are America and Bit O Honey. If either of my kids get ONE PIECE of Bit o Honey in their Halloween buckets I am going to march to that house and force them to eat Capn Crunch Berries until they get at least 5 canker sores on the roof of their mouth.

P.s. My kids are all right.

Just TRY to give me a Bit O Honey

Foreign Exchange Toddler Monkey

Favorite brother with two t's was in town from Ecuador a few weeks ago. If you don't know why my brother is in Ecuador, you've basically just insulted my soul and burned my heart with a cigar. But, you can click here to catch up with all the cool, attractive people.

He has been in Ecuador for a year and a half or so. You would think he has been there since 1996. He was like a foreign exchange toddler.





I got dressed up real-nice for his arrival


Matthew: What dat?

Mary: That's a dog. A yorkshire terrier.

Matthew: Goat?

Mary: NO. A DOG.

Matthew: Okay. Coffee?

Mary: No, no coffee until you learn to use a CELL PHONE.


We were driving home after the bar closed and I was getting a plethora of text messages from my many adoring friends and fans. I was trying to respond to one when I swerved into the curb at Walgreens, which ISN'T an awesome thing to do at 2:30 in the morning. I threw my phone at foreign exchange toddler and instructed him what to write.

Apparently this....

Equals this.....

Matthew:  How do I type?

Mary: Apparently, you don't. How did you even get on that screen?

Matthew: I can't have a cell phone in Ecuador because they just keep getting stolen.

Mary: Oh that's nice. I'm sure things will be a lot more pleasant for you somewhere safer, like Zimbabwe or Palestine.




 We were getting family pictures made (in matching outfits per my mother's strict instruction) when he suddenly realized....

Brother is like 11 feet tall, with no torso. He needed to book his seat on his airline for the next day, and he needed to do it early so he could make sure he got an exit row. But we were knee-deep in JC Penney inappropriate cheesiness and had no internet handy.

I offered him my phone and attempted to instruct him on the intricate navigation of the mythical Iphone. He shrugged me off much like he did in 1988, when he kicked me in the face in the pool and broke my nose.

I sat next to him and tried to help, but he couldn't get the whole "zooming" in thing. Ecuadorians only use their forefingers like a bunch of damn orangutans.



"You're not a goat, Matthew. You have an opposable thumb. Try it out."

He booked the exit row and we all high-fived. Then I looked at my screen and noticed it said "Error reaching URL"



"Matthew, you didn't book your exit row. You didn't do anything. Are you trying to play a game, now?"



He had "Cut the rope" up on my screen now but was frantically chopping the rope as quickly and eagerly as he could. He was so proud, too.



"Yeah, good job Brother. You're doing a great job! What a big AMERICAN boy you are!"



I didn't have the heart to explain to him how truly advanced and difficult the game actually was.

A little view of the chat that inspired this blog:




mattstepflow: Could you not get one through your credit union?


me: I don't want them knowing my business

as jersey shore as that sounds

you probably have never watched Jersey Shore so that's not even funny.

mattstepflow: It's kind of funny, but I haven't ever seen an episode before

me: I feel like you were like a foreign exchange student when you were here..."and this is my IPHONE! Push the buttons. Isn't it fun?"

12:00 PM mattstepflow: I felt that way.

"What's that?"

12:01 PM me: "this is a TOILET. and that's an AMERICAN BABY"

12:03 PM mattstepflow: "Why is the AMERICAN BABY in the TOILET?"

Don't.

I'm frequently reminding myself of what not to do.

Don't cry.

Don't smile with your eyes.

Don't be fake.

Don't cook meat that's been expired for 9 days.

Don't say words like shitcake.





In fact, every morning I take a handful of don't.

1. Don't get weak legs? (I have no idea what the hell b12 does. Good luck finding that answer, too. Apparently it does EVERYTHING and if you stop taking it, you'll turn into a lameass and die.)

2. Don't gain weight.

3. Don't let things get all flammatory up in the muscles.

4. Don't be crazy.

5. Don't have an accidental babykins.


Number five is the most important. I'm reminded of this today as I'm about to google, "Why do fish change colors?" Our fish didn't take pill number five and had a bunch of little bastard children in our pond. Not only do the big fish not care about their unplanned family, they continuously knock them out of the way to get one more piece of dried flaky goodness. One of them is so depressed and lacking in family and social development, that it turned black and is now turning white again.

So, I was googling this question, and google reminded me of the last few times I had started a question with "Why"

I remember the day I googled this. I apparently could not think of a respectable and classy way to ask google why Ellis was plotting against me. The results were not few, either.  Evidently a lot of parents are fed up with their offspring being selfish little fun-haters with no regard.

Mary. Don't call your kid an asshole.

Saturday Sensationalisms!

I've decided I wasn't famous, so I closed my eyes and changed my brain ala Charlie Sheen. I'm starting...................

Since my pageviews on Saturdays are pitiful and sickly, I'm going to use the day to post something of mine that is pleasing to me. I'm kind of like Oprah,  except I'm a medium-sized white girl from Oklahoma who has no money or assets!

My first sensationlistic suggestion (damnit, I should totally have put that on the banner) starts today.... So get excited.


My favorite flower is.........

Just wanted to remind you of the new exciting theme post for Saturdays!





Celosia!

I mean that thumb.

Because I always enjoy flowers more whenever they are living in the ground and not dying on my desk after a fight with husband with one T about which one of us was better at playground kickball.

Celosia(s?) are beautttiiffffuuuulllllll! They look like coral, and sometimes I accidentally call them Cialis. Which is a medicine that makes old men's penises get erect or stay erect. And I don't care who you are, that's hilarious.

My husband ripped my beautiful flowers out of the ground to build a pipe or something and I threw such a fit that he planted 5 more different colors for me this year. But they died because I stepped on them. But the original one he planted came back! It was resurrected like the Jesus of Nazareth of pretty flowers.

It's not even a perennial. How's that for a miracle?

I'm hungry and I'll kill you!

My nightmares are just ridiculous. I wish they would be about actual scary things instead of random inappropriate ADD thoughts like they currently are.

I had a nightmare a few nights ago that Christmas music was playing in my living room, and no matter how much I tried to turn it off, I couldn't.

I somehow came to the realization that the only way I could stop the creepy Christmas music was by killing the naked Cuban angel rappelling on my backyard fence.

I had been reading The Hunger Games before I went to bed. If you hadn't read it, it's about people killing each other as entertainment for rich people. It's super fun.

It got me thinking.

If I was thrown into a situation where I had to survive and kill people so they wouldn't kill me, what skill would I fall back on?

So I made a list of my best skills:



Playing the guitar.



Don't question why I gave myself a rockin bod and a bikini. Just go with it.




Singing.

Figuring out what percentages are using this formula

Crying.

Drawing a stegosaurus.

Making people laugh.

Arguing.

I decided this would be my best negotiation tool in keeping myself alive. Those people may want to stab me with a spear but I think I could probably talk them out of it. Explain why they're wrong in wanting that, what led me to knowing they're wrong and I'm right, and why they should probably team up with me and tell their Grandkids about me.