Tuesday, July 31, 2007

Stress and the energizer bunny is no where to be found...

Ok..I'm going to confess that the last two days have been hell.
I don't want to get into it, but there's been a lot of crying and hair pulling (not the enjoyable kind of hair pulling either).
There has been...
Self-doubt...
Self-loathing...
More crying...
and then a couple Bloody Mary's with a shot of Tabasco sauce.

I think that I was Hitler or Pol Pot in another life and God is punishing me with teen aged daughters. See...there is no such place as Hell...God just throws you back into the gene pool, then gives you teen aged daughters on top of it. So if you're reading this and you have the daughter drama, then you musta pissed the big guy off pretty bad in your previous life.

Yep...hell...

I would tell you what happened but I don't kiss and tell and I certainly don't get ass raped and tell (which is how I felt afterward)So...I will leave it at that.

Besides....I'm pretty resilient and very forgiving.

Tonight I'm just anxious, frustrated and my hubby is already sleeping. So I checked my drawer for my relaxation vessel,which during it's last use incidentally caused me to get body fluids on my new WVSR t-shirt (don't tell Jeff)...anyway...the secret socket-to-me-rocket was all out of juice so I began to tear the house apart looking for..ahem...fuel.

I mean, there must be batteries somewhere...

I checked the remotes...all except the one clutched tightly in my hubby's sleeping fist were empty.. (did I mention it's been very..VERY stressful over the past two days?)
I checked the kids hand held games...nothin...

Hmmm....

I took a trip out to the garage and checked a few checker-a-ma-jigs that my husband holds up to stuff while looking puzzled and then finally says, AHA!
I don't know what they're for but the damn things take C batteries. Same thing with the flashlights...

I can't help myself!!! I can't fall asleep in this condition!!! I'm going to have to wake him up...
Wait!!
I can't do that. He'll never get up in the morning and he has to work a double shift tomorrow.

ACK!!!

I need an AC adapter. Do they make AC adapters for things like my distress drainer?

I have lots of special names for it...heh heh...

I read RennRatts blogs about Maine and it made me think of a few home stories I could write. I too am a Maine-iac!!
Much thanks to my friend the Evil Twin's Wife...The post did make me laugh and I appreciated you pointing it out to me.

I need to go see if my neighbors left anything electronic outside...like the garage door opener!
DAMN!
WE HAVE A GARAGE DOOR OPENER!!!
WHY DIDN'T I THINK OF THAT BEFORE???

*Grin*

Friday, July 27, 2007

Lick them fingers!!!

Yesterday was a complete bust. I tried to get something done and spent most of the day fighting off the urge to drink.
My teen-aged daughters are going to either send me to the nut house or an AA meeting. If they're not fighting, they're destroying everything in their path...or eating. Man they can eat!
I have started to lock the door to my room. Mainly because they take all of my stuff and I have almost nothing left. No amount of screaming, begging or torture can stop them either.
The other day I went to get dressed and had no underwear.
None...
What the hell is up with that?
I know who the culprit is, but I don't understand what's happening to all of her underwear. Why is she stealing mine? Are they disintegrating as she wears them?
Ewww....
And am I the only one who thinks it's nasty that she steals my panties?
I had to go commando the other day and even though it was a pleasant experience, it still pisses me off that all my panties are missing.

"Hi. My name is Tammie and I'm an alcoholic."

Yep...those girls are a sobriety challenge.

I do have a plan though...
When my adorable daughters move out and get their own homes, I will visit them, taking turns of course and live with them for months at a time.
I will bitch non-stop and complain about EVERYTHING from the weather to the decor to the vile sex noises they make at night that keeps me awake. I will dip their toothbrushes in the toilet because I know they do that to me when they're pissed at me and I'll steal their damn panties.
I'll shit my pants (wearing their panties of course)and sit in it, claiming I'm too old and feeble to change myself.
I will refuse to eat their food and throw huge tantrums for McDonalds instead.
Oh yeah...I will use their credit cards to buy useless items like oxygen and a snow blower (if we're living in the south) and watch them pull their hair out of their heads when the bill comes.
And just in case that's not enough payback, I'll accidentally forget to put clothes on and walk through the house. Things should be pretty scary looking by then, so I think it might be sufficient enough to make one lose their appetite.

They have no idea what a horrid future they're making for themselves. Every god awful thing they do to me generates a new devious plan...BWAHAHAHA!!!

In other news, they Rib Fest is in town. I dropped by last night to check out the yummies. Looks pretty darn tasty too. The only problem that I could see is that the beer garden was too far away from the food and the bathrooms and there were way too many perverts there. I licked BBQ sauce off my fingers and suddenly there were forty men staring at me and following me around.I made a mental note that if I go again tonight, I'm bringing wipes....gheeee....creepy shit, you know?

The itchy scratchies are there too. Now don't get me wrong. I have nothing against the carnival, I've just always referred to it as the itchy scratchy show ever since my friend's older brother brought home a case of the crabs after hooking up with a girl working the carnival. It's one of those things that just stayed with me.
Anyway, the kids want to go and I'm tempted to see if they'd be interested in the pantie stealing daughter. I mean, I'm trapped in pants and shorts as long as she lives with me. I always fall down and expose my ass when wearing skirts or dresses so I'm not taking any chances.
My son has been begging my husband to take him over there all morning, so I might be able to dodge that bullet. I'm hopeful anyway...

One last thing....yes...the picture of me is indeed me. It's what I really look like and no...I did not steal it from a travel brochure for Sweden. To the person who emailed me and asked me about that I hope that answers your question.

Thursday, July 26, 2007

TMI...but I can't help myself. It's a sickness you know?

I'm horny.

I'm always horny anymore...

Ok..I don't want to frighten anyone so I'm stopping...right now.

BUT!!!...I think I am turning into a adolescent boy...first the facial hair and now this...

I need some handcuffs for my husband...he should repay me for the cracker torture ok?

IF HE CAN TORTURE ME WITH SHOPPING THEN I SHOULD BE ALLOWED TO TORTURE HIM WITH LOTS OF SEX!!!

I think there is a role reversal going on in our relationship....

???

Wednesday, July 25, 2007

Hysteria....

I almost had a full blown anxiety attack yesterday.

I made the mistake of going to the grocery store with my husband.

I shall share with you the special time we spent together....
We enter the store. He peruses the fresh veggies, I linger only long enough to check out the cukes...(the reason shall remain unwritten...hahaha)..then I make my way through the fruit. I take a reasonable look at it all and pick out a few juicy pieces. Then I begin to walk toward the bread...
Where is my hubby? He hasn't made it out of the vegetables yet! He's still looking at mushrooms.
This means at least ten more minutes in the produce section.
I say screw it and go over to check out the magazines.
After looking over all of the magazines,(except the top shelf because let's face it..what would any of that appeal to me for?)I make my way back to the produce section. I'm relieved to find he's not there. I move on to the bread section. He's not there either.
Feeling rather giddy at the prospect of getting out of the store in under an hour, I rush toward the first isle and stop dead in my tracks.
He is looking at canned vegetables.
I walk over and ask him what he's looking for.
He tells me he's not sure, he's just looking.
So we stand there, as he looks.
And stand there...
And stand there....
Finally I dance to the Muzak that's playing for our shopping pleasure.
Some old lady with a goats head walks by and snorts disapprovingly. It is Tuesday people...Elderly Hell Day!
I keep dancing, hubby keeps looking at veggies.
After what seems like forever, I leave and walk toward the Deli. I am in luck. Some of the people who work there are taking their lunch and I sit with them.
They share pizza with me.
I tell them my story of woe.
They nod their heads in sympathy and tell me about the guy who comes into the store that had multiple personalities. They have met all three of them and say that he..er...they are all very nice.
I finally get up to go seek out my man.
He's walking down the condiment and salad dressing isle.
Thank god!!!
I decided to join him again and we enter the cracker and cookie isle.
I pick up a package of the kids favorite cookies and he grabs them and puts them back.
"Let's pick out some healthy cookies."
WTF???
Is there such a thing as healthy cookies?
I stand and watch as it takes him f-o-r-e-v-e-r to pick out a package of cookies.
He moves slowly down the isle.
He stands in front of the crackers and looks....AT EVERY SINGLE FREAKING PACKAGE!!!
I stand and wait...humming to myself...rocking back and forth. I feel like my brain is growing too big for my head and it's starting to leak out. I cover my ears with my hands and moan...a low throaty moan...still rocking back and forth.
The goat lady comes by and snorts at me...
I just can't stand it....10 minutes...15 minutes...20MINUTES!!!

I finally run to the bathroom...panting...sweating...
I splash cold water on my face and emerge to the concerned faces of the people who work there.
They sit me down and give me candy.
I love them...

Finally after an hour and a half we leave. We bought mushrooms, crackers, fig newtons, a can of greens and coffee creamer.
I am at my wits end...
My hubby is oblivious to my distress.

"Gee honey, we need to go to the grocery store more often."
"Next time though, I promise not to hurry through the store like I did today."

NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!

Tuesday, July 24, 2007

Smarter than your average average?

If I had my druthers today, I'd wrap myself in a big diaper and fill a bottle with vodka and lie in bed. I'd drink and pass out and wake up and drink and pass out again.
I mean, what else is there to do on a Tuesday?
I'm trapped at home because it's Elderly Hell day and I dare not venture out of my abode.

My two teen daughters are fighting non-stop and the last time I checked in on them, they were still going at it.
One is missing chunks of hair and the other can't find a bra to wear because all of hers have been cut to pieces.
Evil, evil girls...

I'm not really in the mood to write. I'd rather be surrounded by a few man whores who would do my bidding wearing nothing more than dog collars. I'd have them lavish me with vodka surrounded by jello in cute little cups while massaging my body with warm honey....

Hey..I'm truthful anyway, you know?

I tried to go to the pool yesterday and relax. I thought maybe if I took the boy and fled to the pool, I'd get some rest. But no..it wasn't meant to be. I ended up getting a phone call of the utmost urgency and had to leave the pool to take care of it.
That sucked, considering it's supposed to rain the rest of the week. Yesterday was the only day it is supposed to be nice out this week and I ended up having to leave.

It was as irritating as a dull razor...

Oh yeah...apparently I look smart when I wear my glasses. Guess I'll have to take a picture for you of it and see what ya think....
I'm thinking anything that might make me look smarter can probably help...LOL...

That's all I have...I've sucked every last word out of my brain for now...Bleh...

Friday, July 20, 2007

Smelly man hair....

I love my husband. I really do. And I love everything about him. I love the way he blathers on and on about powder horns and muskets. I love his endless marathons watching the History channel.I love his sharp wit and his sharp swords. And who needs crystal candlesticks when you can adorn your coffee table with petrified tree roots?
My husband is different. I am too (in case you hadn't noticed) and so we get along great.
And I have to admit that I'm totally in love and lust with him. He is fantastically sexy and I get weak in the knees every time he kisses me. (even after 17 years together)
So....it's not uncommon for me to roll over at night and kiss him countless times on the lips and neck and tell him I love him.
But sometimes,I miss. I end up planting a big one on his chest. That's not too bad really. It might start something (hubba hubba)but other than that, it's no big deal.
It's when I get a mouth full of armpit hair, that I start rethinking the late night mooches. It's not bad if there's still some Old Spice hanging around and I actually have grown fond of Old Spice. Seventeen years of it has turned me into an Old Spice junkie of sorts.But on the special days when there is nothing but a mouthful of skunk piss odored armpit hair,I swear I won't kiss anything in the dark again.
I'm not complaining about my sweet man's personal hygiene. I know I have my own troubles in that department. He is normally as mouthwatering as a hot fudge sundae with nuts (no pun intended.) But occasionally, there is a break down in the tastiness department. Mainly it's on real long days where no matter how hard you work and no matter how long you work you just can't get finished. So you fall into bed exhausted.
Smelly man hair is not the norm...it's the exception...
I, of course look delicious every morning when I awake. The sun shines on me and the birds sing and everything is right with the world...
Umm....ok.
When I wake up, my breath smells like I've been chewing on a cat turd all night and my hair resembles a clown wig. I normally climb out of bed, kick up one leg and fart then shuffle to the bathroom in the nude, allowing him a great view of my ass, which after squirting out four kids is probably not a pretty perky picture anymore. Then as I return from the bathroom, he can get a full frontal view.(We won't even go there except to say if you're planning on breast feeding be aware of the distance between the baby and your breasts.Them things ain't made of rubber and won't bounce back when you're finished so don't try stretching them out so you can nurse and drive at the same time.)
Ahem...as I was saying...Returning from the bathroom,I'm naked and I'm probably still farting, but more quietly and with more rhythm because they are released with each step. I may or may not be scratching my nose and/or my bikini area.( The hair growing back itches like the chicken pox and I have had too many unsuccessful waxes so I have to shave. I'll tell you about the eyebrow and a half story some other time.Then you'll see why I don't wax.)
I'm sure my nose is wrinkled up and my mouth is half open, hoping for someone to pour coffee in it.
Very beautiful I'm sure....
But regardless of how I look in the morning, he still loves me. And for that I am grateful.Especially when he catches me grunting on the toilet or talking to the cats in my Elmo voice.

It's the special moments like these that make our relationship hot after all these years.

I'm looking forward to the weekend.There is always more time for us on the weekends. Last night we went to bed early but we were both tired. We watched TV and fell asleep. But tonight, if he gives the old armpit an extra swipe of Old Spice,you can bet I'll be smiling in the morning while I'm farting and scratching and brushing the snarls out of my hair.

Ain't love grand?

Thursday, July 19, 2007

The wonderful world of cheap stuff and the Interstate death trap....

I dropped one of the girls off to practice this morning and made my way to the Dollar Store.
God I love that store.
I went for hangers and cleaning supplies but found ALL KINDS of treasures!!!
All stuff I need too...er...well stuff I kinda need.
The sidewalk chalk was sooo pretty and well, you never know when the front of my house might turn into a crime scene. If I have to keep doing all the housework WITH NO HELP, it could happen tomorrow. And if it did happen, what would the police do if there was no chalk with which to out-line the body? (I happen to be friends with several of the police in my town and I know for a fact that they all eat chalk, so yeah...it is a possibility there might be a chalk shortage.)And the victim, most likely to be my second oldest daughter would be horrified to think that she might be outlined in plain white chalk..so I got the pretty colored kind.
It's a good thing I plan for stuff, you know.
Specially at the dollar store.
*wink*
I bought a GIANT tub to put stuff in. Ok...I mainly bought it because it was cheap and pretty, but I know I can use it for something. Besides, there were no kiddie pools and what else can I use to bathe in Jello?




Anyone for Jello wrestling?

So yeah...I bought twenty five dollars worth of stuff. Good stuff. I just know I'm going to need that polident stuff. It was only a buck you know...

As I left to go home, I decided to just get on the interstate.
BIG MISTAKE!!!
It started with the tractor trailer truck convoys pinning me in from every side. They were all a bunch of LOOKERS...(You know what I'm talking about. The guys who ride in big trucks and look in your car to check you out.) Well let me tell you, I wished with all my heart I hadn't been wearing a bra cause I would have folded the bottom of my shirt up and given them a freakin look. I bet they would have backed off REAL fast when they'd caught a glimpse of my nipples resting on my thighs. Dumbasses!!!
They're jeopardizing my life for a flash of skin? Idiots I tell you!
As I made my way out of the perv pileup, these mid-size sedans pull up on all sides. They are everywhere, surrounding me, but only briefly.As fast as they zoomed in to surround me, they were gone again. I believe, by the quick glance I got at them, they were sales people. They were all driving 90 while talking on the phone, using their laptop and eating lunch at the same time.... (I swear one guy looked like he was driving with his Johnson, if you know what I mean. He had coffee in one hand and a cell phone in the other and he was DIALING! I mean, I'm happy he's excited about his job and everything but really...)
As the pack of sale people left, I had a moment of relief until I almost rear ended an old Oldsmobile.
I could tell the guy driving it was a gawker...they always drive 25 in the traveling lane.He was whipping his head from side to side looking at everything BUT THE ROAD!!! You'd think he'd never been out of the damn house before. I carefully made my way around him and finally got off the exit, thankful to be close to home. The only other thing left to encounter was the guy at the stop light. You know what I mean. The guy picking his nose and extracting it for everyone to see before popping it into his mouth. There's always one of those guys at the stop lights...*shudder*
I was happy to get home without wrecking or throwing up (although I had a giant tub just in case..I LOVE the dollar store.)
I mean, I'm no chicken when I'm driving, but who needs the stress?
Sooo...that's my day this far. Now I need to go put my treasures away. Maybe I should keep some chalk in the car for a bribe in case I get pulled over for speeding? Damn...I knew I should have bought two packages....

Wednesday, July 18, 2007

Duck butter = Boob sweat




I have this friend...it's this friend in the picture (guess which one is me?)

Anyway...her daughter calls boob sweat, "Duck Butter".

WTF?

I don't get it. Someone needs to explain this to me. What do ducks have to do with tits? And butter...sweat...butter...sweat?
Ummm....

I ponder these things. I don't know..it's a strange quirk I have. Most times I get it. I can get the jokes and I can get the analogies of things, but this duck butter one stumps me.

By the way, did you hear about the baby boy who was born without eye lids? They managed to fix it though. When he was circumcised, they made eye lids for him. The only thing is, the doctor said he would be cock-eyed the rest of his life.

I'm a sicko...I know it but really, I didn't make that joke up. It was some of my friends who don't nearly get enough credit for corrupting me. I know people think I'm the one corrupting others but I'm not.

I'm actually a very sweet, shy girl.





ok...so maybe I do corrupt a few people, but they like it so it doesn't count against me.

I'm not wearing a bra today. I hate bras and quite honestly, I think it soaks up all the duck butter and I'm planning on a little experiment.
What kind of experiment you ask?
I can't tell you yet. It would be too humiliating for me if I failed at it. I'll just hope for the best and share with you later.

I would actually never wear a bra if I could get away with it. But if I don't wear one, not only do I sag but one boob is lower than the other. It looks like my chest had a stroke and one side never recovered. I guess it all boils down to the working one arm more than the other. Your right boob is always firmer and smaller if you're right handed and the same if you're left handed. I've always wanted to check this theory out but the only friends I have who are women that are left handed would never allow me to look at their chest long enough to access whether this theory is correct. I've tried to sneak a look, but they've caught me and have refused to be alone with me for months...chickens.
So anyhow I've been working the supporting muscles of my boobs but hard as I try, I can't get it to even out. I have tried writing with my left hand and it looks like I've been writing while in a boat on a stormy sea but there's been no boob liftage. I try eating with my left hand and I end up with fork prints in the side of my face and still no perky boob. I drive with my left hand but what exercise is that? You just grab the steering wheel and steer. I suppose I could try steering with my left boob? Nah...
They would just get tangled up in the steering wheel and I'd wreck. How would I explain that one to the State Trooper?

Umm..."You see officer, I was exercising my left boob in order to make it as small as the right one, because it's bigger and everything, so I was steering my car with it. And it was going fine until I had a hot flash and then there was duck butter EVERYWHERE and the steering wheel slipped and slid beneath my boob and I lost control of the car."
"What is duck butter you ask? Well officer it's boob sweat really but boob sweat sounds so yucky that I think someone gave it a name to make it sound nicer. Women over the age of forty need a nice word for boob sweat. It happens a lot to us and we still need to feel pretty."
"Yes officer, I know it sounds like it would go with Chinese food but it doesn't."
"No officer, it's called Duck Sauce and that's not what it is. I know you have an egg roll in your cruiser but...just forget it and give me a ticket please.."

Yeah...

Anyway...I can't wait to be able to tuck my boobs in my pants. I had thought maybe I would prefer to make the boob propper grow and wear jeans that button up instead of an elastic waist but I've changed my mind...

I hate bras....

Tuesday, July 17, 2007

I'm a whore....more..more....more....


You know, I have more than one blog going. I have three actually. One I write in all the time, (like every day..it's crazy)then another one that is my "angry blog" and no one sees that one..well..a select few...and then there is this one.
As far as I know, only a couple of people who read my other blog read this one as well. That's a good thing. The other one is read by a lot of people in the town I live in. Do you know how unnerving it is to walk into the grocery store and immediately asked if you're wearing the panties that give you a wedgie when you wear capris?
It's like my life is an open book and I'm a sick individual because I keep doing it. I keep writing. I keep pouring my guts out like someone might actually be interested in the chaos that is my life.
I am a blog whore....
I prostitute myself on web sites and give it all away for free.
I think it's a sickness...

Like right now for instance. I want to stop writing about this. I don't want people to know the severity of my addiction to these places, but I'm unable to stop.
I tell everything I know...mostly...
I bitch about things I don't like, knowing full well that someone will read it and instantly be offended.
I can't stop myself though...
I'm sick I tell you.
I blab about my body and it's attributes and faults.
I openly discuss my farts and drinking habits.
Man...that is just wrong!

I need help. I really need help. But as far as I know, there is no support group for journal addicts. Blog whores anonymous...maybe I need to start a group.
But how to do that?
On an online journal site?
Wouldn't that kind of defeat the purpose?

My head hurts from thinking about it.

I think that's all I have...I need to poop.

(see what I mean? I tell EVERYTHING!! It's a sickness)

Friday, July 6, 2007

House for sale....

If I'm not mistaken the house next door is for sale...again.
The people who bought the house signed the papers the last week of June. So WTF?
Less than one week living next door to me and they can't take it?

I wonder...could it be the loud screaming and slamming of doors that is driving them away? (I have two teenage daughters. There is going to be both those things happening in my house..period. Oh yeah...especially during the period.)

It could be the naked dancing around the fire. My husband I have this little thing we do as a preclude to the horizontal ChaCha. No one else in the neighborhood has complained before, except the cop who lives out behind us and he really didn't complain, he just put up a privacy fence.

Or is the smell of dog poop that wafts from our yard into theirs because the kids "forget" to do their chore and pick it up? I normally catch their "forgetfulness" a couple days after they're supposed to have done it.

Maybe it's my drunken wantonness. It can't be helped. I can't function without a little down time. For the most part, I don't remove any clothing in the front yard or during the day (except for that one time) and I don't sing or yell. Yes..I make noise, but you haven't lived until you have heard the echo of a naked fart between the two houses. It is extreme to say the least.

Ok..so maybe it could be the farting. We all fart in my house. That's five asses and their poisonous gasses. Perhaps the noise, combined with the smell is what they just can't live with. But really...we have been good over the last week and most of the more exciting fart moments occurred before they even moved in.
For instance, there was the time my husband lit a naked fart and singed his ass hair. He howled and ran to extinguish it while I laughed until I snorted and pissed myself.
How could they possibly know about that?

Eh...it doesn't matter.
They're selling.

Anyone interested in being my neighbor?

Won't you please, won't you please....please won't you be..my neighbor?

Thursday, July 5, 2007

GRRRRYYYYAAAKKKK!!!

I'm annoyed.

Ever have one of those days where you're just really pissed off at the entire universe and want to squeeze cream filled things between your hands while jumping up and down screaming?

Oh yeah...you know what I'm talking about.

I've been too busy to write in here and quite frankly I haven't really been able to see the lighter side of life recently. Normally there is always something funny in everything I see or do. I think humor is what keeps us all from slitting our throats, but lately...there's been nothing funny about anything.

At least not to me.

The worst of it really boils down to this....

You bust your ass to do something and some fucking retard always has something shitty to say about it...or you.
If they're not sitting on their fat ass bragging about all the shit they've done and how they've put in their time while you're still busting your ass and have outworked them ten times over, THAT pisses me off.
If you don't want to work...FINE.
Just shut your festering gob and sit on your ass, but don't run your mouth and criticize others.

As for the popularity contest...I'M NOT FUCKING INVOLVED IN IT!!!
I don't really care about shit like that. Don't compete with me, because I don't care.
Life isn't about who gains the most friends, or the most stuff. That stupid bumper sticker that says, "The person with the most stuff when they die, wins" is the most idiotic and truthful analogy of humanity that I have yet to see.

The problem is...I don't want to be like everyone else.
I want to be myself and not be restricted by all of this bullshit posturing.

If I want to jump in mud puddles...I'm going to do it. I don't give a rats ass if I'm 41 or not. It's fun, I only live once and I'm going to do it.

If I want to rock out to Metallica , I'm going to do it. If you don't like it, tough shit. It doesn't bother me that you wear spandex and still wear big hair from the 80's.

I don't have a problem with your individuality.

I don't have a problem with you doing the best you're able to, as long as you don't put down others for doing the best they are able to.

I'm just disgusted.

Disgusted with people's righteousness...

Live and let live damn it...