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.

How To Be a Good Husband

1. Don't say mean things to your wife.
                  You should always say things to your wife that are nice things. Like, "You look pretty today" or "You have a solid rack". Occasionally, you can compliment on things she cares nothing about, like how smart she is or how great she is at her job.

2. Don't say too many nice things.
                 Nobody wants a vagina for a husband. Don't follow her around telling her how pretty and amazing she is, when all she wants you to do is throw her against the wall like a rogue grizzly bear.

3. Make a lot of money.
                  Money buys things that husbands want. Like wives with attractiveness. Beauty may only be skin-deep but gym memberships, highlights, and lip gloss can't be paid for with good fathering and a kind disposition.

4. Have a kind disposition.
               Don't be an ass hole and work all the time. Most women would rather have attention and compliments than money.

5. Don't pretend like you don't think other girls are pretty.
              Don't say that you think movie stars aren't hot. It makes women think "If he doesn't even think Sofia Vergara is pretty, then what can he possibly think about me on showerless Saturdays?'

6. Make sure you think your wife is the only attractive human being on the face of the planet.
              You are only going to have sex with one woman for the rest of your life. Make sure she knows that's what you want and you are basically marysexual. Or wifesexual. It's like being asexual, but instead of only being attracted to yourself, you're attracted to your wife. Don't be a horny monkey and stare at the waitress like she's a magic poster and you can't find the sailboat.

7.  Don't be controlling.
              Let your wife do whatever she wants! She's only young once and she needs an outlet for all the waitress-staring you've been doing. If she wants to not wear her ring for a night, tell her you think that's awesome and let her practice her booty poppin on your leg before she goes out with her friends and you stay home and watch the kids.

8.  Be insecure and jealous.
                No woman wants to feel like her husband doesn't care if another man wants some of this. Punch or kick every man who looks at your wife. If he has the gall to speak to your goddess, then end his life.

9.   Be hilarious and awesome.

                Make sure you're always on. It's like Grandma always said. If you can't have a quick wit, then you can't hit it and quit it. That doesn't really apply there, nor do I have a Grandma that would ever speak so harshly. But seriously, be funny and cool. No one wants to refrain from divorcing someone who can't quote Beavis and Butthead. (which, did you hear it's coming back on!? I have excite!)

10. Stop trying to be funny.

                  You're not going to get lasagna or marital under-the-clothes touching by forcing your wife to courtesy laugh for 2 hours. Courtesy laughs make women's face hurt and gives them wrinkles. It also causes a huge decrease in libido and a huge increase in stomach acne.



I hope this is helpful. If you have any more questions, please feel free to email me.          
             
              

What I would do for money.

I just got out of bed because I had forgotten to take the Monopoly pieces off of my McDonalds tea from yesterday. So I dug through my trash to find it. Because, damnit, I want some money and/or a free small chocolate shake.

It ended up being Atlantic Avenue and Pennsylvania Railroad.

Both of which I already have, and both of which get me no closer to getting my scalp massaged or becoming a sugar mama. Also, the tea tasted like a donkey.

Big Hipped Mary-Haters

Most weekends of mine consist of Dateline and pancakes.

But my favorite Matthew (brother) (with two t's) was in town from Ecuador and I was gonna take him to drink some booze and meet some hotties with bodies.

Husband with one T's younger brother, Spencer, came out with us, too. He's gay. Yay! And super fun. He said, as we were leaving, "I'm the only gay one, right? I don't want to have to fight for all the gay attention."

Spencer and I are driving to pick up my brother from my parent's house. My parents live in a family-oriented neighborhood with the word "Farms" in it, even though there are no farms nearby to speak of. A long stretch of the neighborhood road is upon me, and I am happily driving along and thinking about how fun I am. I notice an ugly and probably sexually inactive mother of three, walking with her children. She turns suddenly and shouts something at my car and raises her arm in the air like Harry from Harry and the Hendersons.

I immediately have become concerned that perhaps her hips had exploded. Maybe her kids had an "I'm ugly" stroke or something and she needs to use my cell phone. I stop beside her and roll down the passender side window, leaning over the console to have a sweet conversation.

I wasn't even speeding.

Story tomorrow about a big-hipped Mary-Lover from the same night!