Ass raptor (n): predecessor to the ass ferret. A creature that occasionally attempts to make a home deep in the bowels of a random person causing explosive excrement and the sonorous growl of a wildebeest.
I have been privy to this affliction.
Meh.
It is most unpleasant, causing my innards to feel as though they are being twisted and pulled inside of me by some unseen being. Then the real fun happens. Ass, meet toilet. Toilet, ass.
And no ass raptor would be complete without a visit from a fever. Unfortunately more cowbell is not the right prescription for it.
I may as well get cozy in my bathroom. Gonna be a looooooong night.
Monday, November 28, 2011
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Gobble Gobble, Assholes...My Turkey Is Better Than Yours!
Reflecting on this past week, it is no wonder I am utterly fucking exhausted. It's been too busy, too hectic, too retarded. And here I am, dwelling on it. While sort of watching some stupid show on STYLE Network with a chick who is a "hair fairy." O.M.G. WTF is a hair fairy? And why do I have this fucktasticness playing in the background attempting to lure me into its retarded, perky, trendy abyss? IDK. I really IDK. But I digress.
Anyhoo.
I had my very first Thanksgiving dinner, hosted by hubby and myself at our ghetto fab home. With our newly-painted penis-wall. That's right. I have a penis-wall. AKA, Cabbage Patch Ass, AKA, Foreskin Delight, AKA, accent wall that was accidental due to the fact we ran out of paint. Up close it resembles flesh a la phallus. Far away it adds a warmth to the surrounding ivory walls and crimson drapes. Oh, and did I mention wall art? Can I just state that Bed, Bath, and Beyond is like THE mecca of decorating needs? For reals. For fucking reals, yo! The treasures and troves that are held within the walls of aforementioned store are absolutely astounding and sometimes truly asstastic.
So, wall art, dong flesh, and organized bookshelf aside, Thanksgiving was a HUGE ASS SUCCESS. I owe so much to my bestie. She is a mutha fucking goddess. So much of the dinner's success is because of her. I think I finally grew into wifedom because of her and her amazing time management and multitasking. She is now officially my wife. It's like a bromance. But not.
On the big day, I am happy to report, there was not an ounce of drama. Sooooooo much different than what I had experienced with my own relatives. The key to my success was not having my own relations over. They wouldn't show up anyway because they think I live in the ghetto and they are just too good to travel the literal fucking mile to our house. Let me just state that our home is really clean and homey. It's not like we are hoarders or have roaches or rats or trash laying all over the place with shit stains in the toilet. Nope. Not even remotely close. I'd say our house is pretty damn clean and organized and really cozy. I mean, here I am, curled up on the couch with my kitties on this dreary day, and all I feel is COZY. I look around at the warm walls, neutral furniture, soft lighting...it's HOME. Now, if I get up and walk out to the front porch, it's a little different. More like upper-lower class meets lower-middle class meets Old South End neighborhood. Translation: it's an old neighborhood with that Ellis Island feel and it spans multiple generations. Plainly put, it's a damn melting pot with people in their 80s down to their diapers. We make the best of what we have. Sure, the houses look a little run down, but the lawns are kept, the insides are nice, and the trash is picked up.
We happen to have the biggest house on the block at nearly 1600 square feet, four bedrooms, one huge ass bathroom, and storage space galore. I have a foyer, for fucks sake. And natural woodwork. Granted, the basement is uber creepy, but you can't have everything. So, yeah, my family is too good for my comfy home. They're all fucks anyway. These are the assholes who talk shit about everyone behind their back and pick on people they don't deem worthy of their comfort, as in, hubby. Hence, a huge falling out, virtually no contact since July, and no dinner invite for the fucktards. Enter my in-laws. Who are amazing. Whom I love very much. And my wife and other husband and other stepchildren. And my own stepchildren. It was kind of a hodgepodge and unconventional but it worked.
After reliving the day, why am I suddenly teary-eyed and somewhat missing my own relatives? Oh, because they are fucks and have that guilty effect on people. And I'm over it. I guess you'll have that when you have your first holiday without people you usually celebrate with, get beat down by, and who have absolutely no faith in your success...yet they are the failures at life but can't grasp it so they try to make everyone else feel bad about themselves. But I stopped the cycle. I stood up to those cockblows and because of that I'm a stronger person. I know that Christmas will be a mess. I had no contact whatsoever with my parents; only my uncle texted me. I am utterly convinced I mean nothing to them and for that reason, among others, they are dead to me. The people who were supposed to teach me and help me through life were epic fails. The people I never expected were the ones who became a true family and helped me climb the ladder to success. God bless those bitches and rednecks and overall fantastical peeps who put up with the drama of my relatives, my bitching, my whining...without them I'd be an epic fail.
My turkey was moist with huge breasts. Gobble gobble, fucksticks.
Anyhoo.
I had my very first Thanksgiving dinner, hosted by hubby and myself at our ghetto fab home. With our newly-painted penis-wall. That's right. I have a penis-wall. AKA, Cabbage Patch Ass, AKA, Foreskin Delight, AKA, accent wall that was accidental due to the fact we ran out of paint. Up close it resembles flesh a la phallus. Far away it adds a warmth to the surrounding ivory walls and crimson drapes. Oh, and did I mention wall art? Can I just state that Bed, Bath, and Beyond is like THE mecca of decorating needs? For reals. For fucking reals, yo! The treasures and troves that are held within the walls of aforementioned store are absolutely astounding and sometimes truly asstastic.
So, wall art, dong flesh, and organized bookshelf aside, Thanksgiving was a HUGE ASS SUCCESS. I owe so much to my bestie. She is a mutha fucking goddess. So much of the dinner's success is because of her. I think I finally grew into wifedom because of her and her amazing time management and multitasking. She is now officially my wife. It's like a bromance. But not.
On the big day, I am happy to report, there was not an ounce of drama. Sooooooo much different than what I had experienced with my own relatives. The key to my success was not having my own relations over. They wouldn't show up anyway because they think I live in the ghetto and they are just too good to travel the literal fucking mile to our house. Let me just state that our home is really clean and homey. It's not like we are hoarders or have roaches or rats or trash laying all over the place with shit stains in the toilet. Nope. Not even remotely close. I'd say our house is pretty damn clean and organized and really cozy. I mean, here I am, curled up on the couch with my kitties on this dreary day, and all I feel is COZY. I look around at the warm walls, neutral furniture, soft lighting...it's HOME. Now, if I get up and walk out to the front porch, it's a little different. More like upper-lower class meets lower-middle class meets Old South End neighborhood. Translation: it's an old neighborhood with that Ellis Island feel and it spans multiple generations. Plainly put, it's a damn melting pot with people in their 80s down to their diapers. We make the best of what we have. Sure, the houses look a little run down, but the lawns are kept, the insides are nice, and the trash is picked up.
We happen to have the biggest house on the block at nearly 1600 square feet, four bedrooms, one huge ass bathroom, and storage space galore. I have a foyer, for fucks sake. And natural woodwork. Granted, the basement is uber creepy, but you can't have everything. So, yeah, my family is too good for my comfy home. They're all fucks anyway. These are the assholes who talk shit about everyone behind their back and pick on people they don't deem worthy of their comfort, as in, hubby. Hence, a huge falling out, virtually no contact since July, and no dinner invite for the fucktards. Enter my in-laws. Who are amazing. Whom I love very much. And my wife and other husband and other stepchildren. And my own stepchildren. It was kind of a hodgepodge and unconventional but it worked.
After reliving the day, why am I suddenly teary-eyed and somewhat missing my own relatives? Oh, because they are fucks and have that guilty effect on people. And I'm over it. I guess you'll have that when you have your first holiday without people you usually celebrate with, get beat down by, and who have absolutely no faith in your success...yet they are the failures at life but can't grasp it so they try to make everyone else feel bad about themselves. But I stopped the cycle. I stood up to those cockblows and because of that I'm a stronger person. I know that Christmas will be a mess. I had no contact whatsoever with my parents; only my uncle texted me. I am utterly convinced I mean nothing to them and for that reason, among others, they are dead to me. The people who were supposed to teach me and help me through life were epic fails. The people I never expected were the ones who became a true family and helped me climb the ladder to success. God bless those bitches and rednecks and overall fantastical peeps who put up with the drama of my relatives, my bitching, my whining...without them I'd be an epic fail.
My turkey was moist with huge breasts. Gobble gobble, fucksticks.
Saturday, November 5, 2011
I Need a Wah-mbuger and Some French Cries...
And I also need some cheese with my wine. Meh. Yep. I'm fucking whining. Wah wah fucking wah. While I'm thinking about it, I'd just like to say that five years old is too young to mess with my $200 digital camera. Excuse me. What the fuck. I don't feel like potentially having something that I worked for dropped or messed up by a child who does not take care of his belongings. The joys of stepchildren. And the fact that the father (my hubby) chooses to ask me when the youngest will be old enough to use the digital camera. REALLY? Because apparently in 11 days when he turns 6 then that will be old enough? I'm thinking not. I'm thinking not in the next 9 years. His 12 year old sister can't even take care of a laptop nor her own digital camera. So therefore I do not believe that 12 is even an appropriate age for such electronics. Unless of course there was an ounce of caring and that the value of such property was known.
Digressing.
I feel like shit.
Worked a ten hour day with a migraine/sinus headache from hell and got to deal with retarded people. Story of my life. I'm a tard magnet. Any kind of tard. Retard. Fucktard. Gaytard. Hootard. Asstard. Pusstard. What the fuck ever tard. You get the point. Tards beware when I work...you will be drawn to me like the force.
What the fuck is my kitten doing? Hey, fuck! Quit drooling on my squishy blanket. Quit gnawing on it. None of that shit is allowed. I weaned you from a bottle and now you wanna tear my shit up then do something totally cute like paw pressing? Fuck you cat. Don't forget. In Egypt they used to mummify their felines. Don't think you are exempt.
Peace out, Girl Scout!
Digressing.
I feel like shit.
Worked a ten hour day with a migraine/sinus headache from hell and got to deal with retarded people. Story of my life. I'm a tard magnet. Any kind of tard. Retard. Fucktard. Gaytard. Hootard. Asstard. Pusstard. What the fuck ever tard. You get the point. Tards beware when I work...you will be drawn to me like the force.
What the fuck is my kitten doing? Hey, fuck! Quit drooling on my squishy blanket. Quit gnawing on it. None of that shit is allowed. I weaned you from a bottle and now you wanna tear my shit up then do something totally cute like paw pressing? Fuck you cat. Don't forget. In Egypt they used to mummify their felines. Don't think you are exempt.
Peace out, Girl Scout!
Friday, November 4, 2011
Thoughts....
As I sit here with Baby Kitty bathing on my arm, I realize that I have a zoo in my home and I am, in fact, the crazy cat lady. I have 4 of these fucks.
T.C.--an original name, stands for "The Cat" since we decided "Punkin" was gay...even though my then-4-year-old named him. A.K.A. Big Ginger. He's 6...or 7...and weighs about 14 bills...a big orange tabby with a loud ass meow who has a tendency to hack up hairballs on our bed.
Lucy--my baby girl gray and black tabby. She's my hugger. And she only meows when she sees a bug in the house. A fan of the head butt and is often caught doing something stupid but she tries to cover it up. She is just over a year. A.K.A. Pretty, Baby Girl, Cuddlebug, Purrburger.
Smokey--we really call him Fat but he's registered with the vet as Smokey. He is a month younger than Lucy but is 2.5 times the size. All black with a few stray white hairs. He can't meow. At. All. He sucks his paw when he gets petted. And he is a klutz. I have watched him fail many a jump. A.K.A. Ass, Big Guy.
Harley--our newest addition. He's 4 months old and we had to bottle feed him for a month. We got him when he was 4 weeks old and now he's a fuck. A cute little fuck. That's hubby's buddy. He has torn up my drapes, scraped paint off the wall, eaten my Jimmy Johns, and he LOVES cheese popcorn. Really? What kind of kitten did we adopt? A.K.A. Baby Kitty, Fuck, Asscat, Asshole, Purrburger.
Did I mention I have aluminum foil and cling wrap in several areas of the house because two of these asscats like to, on occasion, leave kitty surprises for me and hubby. Therefore, I have an obsession with cleaning the cat box and making sure the house smells nice. Which are not good things for a person with OCD to be obsessed about as my entire house will smell like a combination of Yankee Candle, Scentsy, and Glade. Olfactory overload. But not in a gross old lady sort of way. Just kinda like you wanna eat whatever is burning.
Anyhoo....I had a totally different vision for where this blog was originally going but since I am ADD I completely forgot and had a squirrel moment. Watch the movie "Up!" if you don't get it. You will laugh your muthafuckin ass off. Same with "Rio" and "Rango." I have kids so I have an excuse to watch these movies without seeming like a sexual predator. Let me tell you, they are fabulous shows. More fabulous than the old Disney flicks that I still love to watch now and again. In fact, if Walt Disney were alive, he'd shoot himself, come back to life, then shoot himself again if he knew what animated feature length films had turned into.
Digressing again...next blog may be about what I originally intended to talk about if I can remember what it was that I wanted to talk about.
Can I just throw in that people suck?
Ok. Peace out, girl scouts....till next time...
T.C.--an original name, stands for "The Cat" since we decided "Punkin" was gay...even though my then-4-year-old named him. A.K.A. Big Ginger. He's 6...or 7...and weighs about 14 bills...a big orange tabby with a loud ass meow who has a tendency to hack up hairballs on our bed.
Lucy--my baby girl gray and black tabby. She's my hugger. And she only meows when she sees a bug in the house. A fan of the head butt and is often caught doing something stupid but she tries to cover it up. She is just over a year. A.K.A. Pretty, Baby Girl, Cuddlebug, Purrburger.
Smokey--we really call him Fat but he's registered with the vet as Smokey. He is a month younger than Lucy but is 2.5 times the size. All black with a few stray white hairs. He can't meow. At. All. He sucks his paw when he gets petted. And he is a klutz. I have watched him fail many a jump. A.K.A. Ass, Big Guy.
Harley--our newest addition. He's 4 months old and we had to bottle feed him for a month. We got him when he was 4 weeks old and now he's a fuck. A cute little fuck. That's hubby's buddy. He has torn up my drapes, scraped paint off the wall, eaten my Jimmy Johns, and he LOVES cheese popcorn. Really? What kind of kitten did we adopt? A.K.A. Baby Kitty, Fuck, Asscat, Asshole, Purrburger.
Did I mention I have aluminum foil and cling wrap in several areas of the house because two of these asscats like to, on occasion, leave kitty surprises for me and hubby. Therefore, I have an obsession with cleaning the cat box and making sure the house smells nice. Which are not good things for a person with OCD to be obsessed about as my entire house will smell like a combination of Yankee Candle, Scentsy, and Glade. Olfactory overload. But not in a gross old lady sort of way. Just kinda like you wanna eat whatever is burning.
Anyhoo....I had a totally different vision for where this blog was originally going but since I am ADD I completely forgot and had a squirrel moment. Watch the movie "Up!" if you don't get it. You will laugh your muthafuckin ass off. Same with "Rio" and "Rango." I have kids so I have an excuse to watch these movies without seeming like a sexual predator. Let me tell you, they are fabulous shows. More fabulous than the old Disney flicks that I still love to watch now and again. In fact, if Walt Disney were alive, he'd shoot himself, come back to life, then shoot himself again if he knew what animated feature length films had turned into.
Digressing again...next blog may be about what I originally intended to talk about if I can remember what it was that I wanted to talk about.
Can I just throw in that people suck?
Ok. Peace out, girl scouts....till next time...
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