How we frightened the taco man

Note to self, “Filter you suck”. 

Ass Sphincter says what??

So, I have always had a problem with my internal filter, and when I have a few cocktails the internal monologue which escapes my mouth always bites me in the ass.

Like the time I told one of my girlfriends that I thought her husband looked “gay”.  (Yeah, I did).  And yes, I am jealous, jealous of the way that he puts outfits together!!  I mean this man, he has more fashion sense than any of those two bit fashionista hookas on Project Runway.  If he could sew, and I am afraid to ask, I can only imagine he would give Tim Gunn a run for his money.

Bedazzling.....not just for the ladies any longer

He is just perfectly coiffed, like all the time…..and I am jealous!  So the other night, my jealousy reached its peak, when I noticed that my other friend’s husband was rockin’ jeans trendier and fancier that mine.  WTF…..??? Seriously, WHAT THE FUCK?  So of course, my filter went a little wonky and I just had to ask, “Did you accidentally put on (Insert Wife’s Name) jeans?” 
 Which I thought was way funny……so did my other girlfriend, but just because we brought our own booze to a birthday party, our perspective might have been slightly skewed.

Well, I know it was skewed, because the “Taco Man” (man who made taco’s for the party) caught us outside when I was trying to show her how hubby humps my back when I bend over.  Enter scene:

Me:  What is with the back humping, why do they feel the need to hump your back when you bend over?

R:  Yeah, what is with that shit?  (bends over to mix a drink from our secret drink bag)

Me:  (Humping her back)  Woo HOO….ain't this sexxxxxie!

R:  (Snorting and laughing and trying not to spill her drink while I am feverishly humping her back)  AAAHHAAAAHHAAA…Dude you are gonna make me spill my drink!

Me:  (Dismounting and Laughing)  Yea….(As I start to finish my sentence, I look over and see the Taco Man staring at us, mid spatula and taco in hand, eyes wide with a back away from the crazy white girls look.)

R:  Hey Taco Man,  Como esta?  Sus tacos son Buenos!  (The irony here is that she is speaking Spanish with an Oklahoma accent). 

So for a fashionista Monday….lets take a look at some of these…….

Everyone was kungfoo fightin' YA..fast as lightening

Jazz Hands

When showering Sally met the nut

You know when you have one of those stories…it might be about you, about a friend, about family.  But it just one of those stories….that all kinds of crazy shit can be raining down and this story still makes you laugh.  It’s one of those stories that you can’t let go much to your family’s dismay. 

You see, I have one of those stories.  It some of the funniest shit that I have ever known to go down, and it deserves to be re-told.

I love this place

So a few years ago, my brother was planning to propose to his fiancée during a family vacation in Hawaii.   My Mom, Dad and Grandfather rented a beautiful house on a stretch of ocean front property that is just about the most gorgeous part of Hawaii known to man.  My brother and his (now) wife, didn’t want to be so close to the family, so they camped a little bit away at a campsite on the beach.  It was there on the beach that my brother wrote “Will you Marry Me?” on the sand.  Awww, he is so romantic, and of course she wasn’t foolish and knew a keeper when she had one, and said yes!

There is da man, playing in the waves

After the romantic part, my brother goes to play in the ocean while my sister in law heads to the house on the beach to shower and clean up. 

As she enters the beautiful cottage, she notices that my Grandfather is asleep on the couch, not wanting to disturb him; she maneuvers around the couch and goes into the bathroom. 

Let’s step back here at take a moment to say that my Grandfather was da bomb, old school military, former Political Science College Professor and in general the most awesome guy that you could ever meet.  So when he is sleeping or doesn’t feel well, we all pretty much cater to his needs.  And that is how my Grandmother treated him, so after she passed away, it was expected that we do the same.  We kept her tradition alive!

So here is my sister in law, giddy with excitement and in the first blush of love taking a shower in the beach house.  How can this shizzle get any better.

(Wait, did you hear the music??) Da, dun, Da dun….stealthily approaching the shower…da, dun, da, dun.  (Just Kidding)

So while my newbie sister is washing that man right into her hair, across the way is my Dad.  He has just spent the day, gloriously hacking at little balls on the driving range, while my Mom suntans her beautiful body on the beach.  ( I would just like to say, thank GOD for those genes, one day I hope to look JUST LIKE her).

But wait, what is that???  Was that a gurgle, a pucker, no, no, no…it was a turtle!  Startled, my Dad realizes that if he doesn’t hop foot it back to the beach house he is going to shit his pants on the driving range.   Teeth clenched, sphincter sucked into ass cheeks to prevent leakage, he hurdles his ass onto the golf cart and goes tearing back to the beach house.

Running (naw, he is too gimpy, it’s more of a Texas two-step shuffle) he enters the house, blowing past Grandpa snoozing on the couch, tears open the door and begins to reign a shit on his porcelain god, so bad was this poop that even angels and small celestial beings would of cried due to the stench. 

Realizing that someone is in shower, my Dad says, “Hello”.  A small feminine voice responds, “Hello”. 

It’s during this time that my sister in law, while engulfed in the green fog, has proceeded to wash her hair over a dozen times.  Each time, she brings down the shampoo to cover her face so that she can inhale hibiscus scented old man funk.  She is slowly counting the moments for her eyes to stop burning, chanting to herself that nose hairs will grow back, breathe through your mouth, short pants…its OK….ITS OK…OMG…MAKE IT STOP.  (See, she thinks it my Grandfather and wants to be all respectful and not shout out, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD STOP DROPPING YOUR FUNK ENLACED DEUCE.

Just keep washing, just keep washing

And what is the first thing that you do when you have dropped a bomb of that magnitude?  FUCK YEAH, you shuck your clothes and wash that ass. 

Now, let’s take another pause – see there was an incident…..yeah…..my Dad twisted and lost something…..something that causes us to go into fits of hysterics when we get tanked at the holidays.  Let’s just say, that two walnuts are always better than one.  One is funny, one is scary, one is a lonely number.

Okay, so here is the deal…..She’s in the shower making a gas mask out of shampoo and the old man is naked, ready to get his funkafied ass into the shower for some cleaning.  He pulls back the curtain, and steps into the shower. 

They make eye contact……..the shit literally hits the fan!  She screams, and tries to cover her parts…He screams….tries to hop out of the shower…hopping on one foot with one (snicker snicker)…He screams my Mom’s name and runs out of the bathroom. 

He runs into the bedroom slamming the door and in walks my Mom.  “WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN, WHERE THE FUCK WERE YOU, OHMYGOD…(insert my Mom’s name).  HOLY SHIT.

So my sister in law runs furiously back to her tent and to my brother.  OHMYGOD, she tells my brother, OHMYGOD.

Dinner that night was an awkward affair, well for two of the parties.  My Mom and Brother spent most of the evening desperately trying not to snicker.

So every time we get together, this is my favorite story….and really it’s my husband’s favorite story and my brother’s favorite story, and my Mom’s favorite story (deep down she admits it).  We tease my sister in law mercilessly, asking her what one walnut looks like, we torture her with telling her when we are going to the bathroom or shower, and you know what that hooka takes the jokes.  She is a fabulous sport!  (Next time will tell the story of her getting into bed with me and my hubby…just kiddin sista).

Until then I will leave you with a teaser for when my other sister in law met dead penis.

So BIOTCHES, whatcha got to top that?

Twinkie my winky you ho-ho bitches

Its a sad day when those bike bitches are faster than me

So as many of you know, I have a serious commute to work.  It can vary 45 minutes to 2 hours each way, and its not that I am all like, “OHHHH, I love my job”, “OHHH, I am a serious professional, hear me ROAARR”, it’s like, “OHH, I like shoes”, “OHH, I just dropped a shit load of money at Costco”, “OHH, we need two incomes to make the house payment and everything else”  and finally, “OHHH, I love my ankle biters, but I like work and the fulfillment it gives me in between head bashings.”

That out of the way, during one of my commutes, I heard the following commercial on the radio for a singles and/or dating website.  Now, I already have a beef with Ashely Madison, essentially the twinkie defense for cheaters. 

Where else is there a place where you think you can get all your pie with no consequences?  Hmmm…need a little summer fruit?  Well, dip your wick into our succulent peach pie, ma friend.  Hmm, feeling a little adventerous….try the coconut cream pootie pie….need some more missionary in your life, apple pie is for you!  If you want reverse cowboy, then throw some a la mode and caramel on that shit. 

And if you get caught…..then you can stuff yourself with the zinger zapper!   Now that I have thoroughly exhausted my repertoire of Dolly Madison double entendres, I will continue…

I heard an advertisement for the following “new” dating site, its called “What’s your price.com”  Yeah, I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried.  Seriously, that is what it is called.  Naw, it should really be called… “Hookas, how much Shiz for your Biz?”

So, some of the tag lines are, “Tired of wasting your time dating losers?”  Yeah, cause you know you are not gonna find fuckin loooooosssers here!  “Successful and generous people will pay for the chance to take you out on a first date”  Yeah, they are called “Johns”  “Here we have thousands of generous singles who are waiting to bid for your affection”  Yeah, smarmy jackass, they are called prostitutes.

I guess if I have to take my preferences of ‘Hos, instead of messing up my street corners they can just pimp themselves out on the net.  I wonder if the Better Business Bureau is going to get involved to regulate da hos?  I can totally see the head line now, “I paid $500 for that Twinkie Winkie and she didn’t even suck out the filling”

Seriously, I want to hear from you if you tried this!

Goodbye pink nipples

New Year’s Resolutions…….what a crock of crap.

And here is the science behind the mirror….. Around 40-45% of all Americans make one or more resolutions each year.  Roughly around 75% of them are kept the first week of the New Year, after two weeks the number drops to 71%, one month 64%, after six months only 46% of you jackasses are keeping your resolution.

What does that say about us?   And before you answer with the typical lazy, lack of motivation, too difficult in our busy lives, good god why me…….blah, blah, blah, blah…bullshit responses, maybe the way to look at it is that we are making the WRONG type of resolutions. 

Maybe, every year we should resolve to start saying “goodbye”

Goodbye whack-a-doodle personality that causes me to feel unlovable sometimes

Goodbye constant feeling of having to live up to “some” type of stereotypical image

Goodbye filter, you know you really didn’t do your job anyway so why the fuck did I keep you around?

Goodbye listening to other parents when they “try” to give me parenting advice

Goodbye wine and beer – Hello Kirkland brand vodka (which is really good and ½ the price of Gray Goose) and Scotch (when my Gram died, she left me a whole case of really expensive scotch, I should do her the honors and use it really well this year)

Goodbye young boobies, how I will miss your perky bobbing, your lovely small nipples and high aspect ratio.  I will learn to embrace kindergarten eraser nipples that now are brown in color (ok, stop here…I didn’t tan them (well maybe) but it’s not as if I was totally GTL and I got tanned nipples…why did they go from the perky pink to brown??)  I will be thankful that their still semi firmness will help to alleviate the change in aspect ratio.

So this year, instead of trying to make some commitment to the gym, healthier living, or losing weight, I am going to give myself the gift of lost baggage. 

In the dark, dark, blog...

No post today peeps......we are going dark to join in the protest to stop the Internet censorship bills, SOPA and PIPA.  Want more info - check out the link   SOPA Strike


The ability to post that people are asshats and douchecanoes are all part of what makes this country great.....

Ho's and Mo's

So recently hubster’s and I have had a couple of close calls with the Ankle biters, which just means that they are growing up (sigh).

Not so long ago, hubs and I were feeling a bit of the afternoon Sunday Friskiness and snuck up to our room while the kiddies were glued to their crack tube.  If I have to hear the theme song to “H20” or “House of Anubis”, I am going to uzi those mother fucking Australian/British bitches like there is no tomorrow.

If I have to hear my 9 year old speak in a fake Australian accent I will jab my eye with a spork (while encouraging her creativity)

Anyway, back to the fornication…so hubby and I are getting in on and we are getting close to the good part, when there is furious banging on the door.  This usually signals that one of two things have happened….(1) the little witches are in an all-out brawl that need our superb referee skills or (2) they have jacked up the remote control and still lack the memory skills on how to fix it from the last time.

While the furious banging and chorus of “Mom, why is your door locked, what are you doing, why can’t you open the door, I can see you under the door, can you see my fingers under your door, why is the door locked, I need to you to fix something, I am hungry, can we go to the yogurt store today, can we ride our bikes, why is your door locked, I need you, can you see my fingers….MOOOOOOMMMMMM”  ….and in a fake Australian accent (just kidding, kind of..)  

I seeeee youuuu

While all of this is going on, I am desperately trying to hold on to the sexy image and get my socks rocked off and tune out the voices……and done.

Now it’s time to do the dismount and open the door before the cattle herd stomps it down. 

Did I tell you that I love my husband?  If I didn’t, let’s get this out of the way…..I love my husband.  He is the ying to my yang….the sun to my moon, the stars to my nights…the peanut butter to my jelly….the fuck to my you.  He is also the most passive aggressive mother fucker who will run at the drop of the hat when the situation revolves around “girl stuff” or what he considers “indoor chores”.

That being said, that bastard opened the door and ran outside with an , “I’ll get that fixed  right away for you baby” and left me holding the post-nookie bag.

And here we go, “why was your door locked?  What were you doing?  I was calling for you and you didn’t answer, why didn’t you answer, why were you making noises……” 

During this time, I am making those non-committal noises and trying to wash my hands and clean myself up.  It’s during my hand-washing that I see her over by my bed…..my heart is dropping into the pit of my stomach…..ohmotherfuckingshitdontgooverthereohmotherfuckinggoddidIcleaneverythingup…oh..fuck. 

The small hand reaches over to the bed and takes a swipe at the bodily fluids on the sheet….I swear to the good Lord, you would think that I was in a time warp, I couldn’t move fast enough….The hand goes to her face and yep, it’s the ole Mary Katherine Gallagher (Superstar, bitches) move….and the hand goes right to the nose, inhaling deeply….”What is this smell?  WHAT……IS……..THIS……….STUFF….? 

Ohhh, can't you smell that smell

I have seconds…..my brain runs through all of the scenarios that don’t seem to end well…I have seconds…what the fuck am I going to say…PANIC……..seconds….do I over react…..PANIC….PANIC….(please don’t put it near your mouth)…..SECONDS….PANIC………..

Me:  AB#2 – get over here and wash your hands!!  Jeez, what do you think your Dad and I were doing?  We were having a spit fight?  Man, you sure are silly.

AB#2:  AHHHH, gross Mom, I have spit on my hand!

Me:  Yeah, let’s get it washed off and fix the TV ok.

AB#2:  Ok, then can we ride our bikes to yogurt?  OY, that sounds like a plan, right mate?

Me: Kill me now.

Mo’s and Ho’s

AB#1:  Daddy what are Ho’s?

Hubby:  They are people who live in Hotels

AB#1:  Oh, that makes sense!   So who lives in Motels?

Hubby:  The Mo’s do.

AB#1:  Daddy, you are so smart!  I’m calling Grammie right now and tell her that Ho’s live in Hotels and Mo’s live in Motels…..

Me:  Fuck

It's MONDAY BIOTCHES

It’s Monday BIOTCHES….and for some a day off. 

So, today is a day off for most people, but not me.  Nope, I am stuck at work while the rest of my family is out there playing.  Well, let me tell you my version of what they are doing…

Hubby…left his ass early this a.m. chillaxin’ in his recliner watchin the news. 

AB#1…..sleeping in her beddie like the little angel she is (insert said photo)

Aww, cutest thing ever

AB#2……that lilttle minx, she is of course spread out like some tropical starfish in the middle of my huge king size bed.  (She does look cute)

She can fall asleep on anything!

Then…..around 9 a.m. or when hubby gets tired of their lazy asses, he will wake them up.

(and then here comes the debate)……We have 2 girls, who for the majority of their lives have gotten a shower and/or bath every night.  Now that they are a litte older and want to be more independent, we can only “monitor” the cleaning process. 

For AB#1 that usually invoves making sure that she either showers in the a.m. or the p.m. (or both).  AB#1 nickname is Dirty Hairy….you see AB#1 will take a half day shower, relegating us to shivering in the shower and only doing the bare minimum while she exits all pink skinned and steaming.  But wait, what is this……is her hair washed….ummm…no, no, no, she forgot??  Shit girl, how the hell do you “forget” to wash your hair when you have been in the shower for hours??  Hence the name “Dirty Hairy”.

AB#2…her name is PIB (Poo in da Butt), this is due to her unfailing ability to NEVER, EVER, NEVER wipe her parts.  And I do mean NEVER.  What??? There is a floater in the toilet with no paper…it’s PIB.  What????  There are chonies on the floor that cause you to scream, jump and then say, “WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT???”  It’s PIB.  What??  Hey, AB#2 can you grab that for me (she bends over) …umm…what’s that smell...??  It’s PIB. 

It’s a sad state of affairs, when AB#2 says, “Umm, Mom, yeah, umm, I got some PIB, but I SWEAR I washed my hands…”  Really, really AB#2 you washed your hands??  “Umm, I’ll be right back Mom.”

After everyone is presentable, they will head out to our favorite breakfast joint.  It's nice to live in a semi-small town in California where you can sit and have breakfast and chit chat with your locals. 

After breakfast they will do their La-De-Das, "la-de-das" are what we call errands.  'Cause what kid wants to hear you say, "Get in the god damn car, buckle up, stop fighting, and no more talking while we do Mommy's errands!!!"  La De Das, sound like fun (psyche)

While they are out.....they send me pictures like this.....

Bitch, I be waitin for my Starbucks

Mom, I promise, I PROOMMIISSS I will feed this one

HAWT!  But Daddy said to play inside

Daddy just sighed and gave up on what to wear to the Grocery store

Umm, Mommy the puppy pooped under your table and Daddy is gagging

Mommmmyyyy....sissy wrote me a note and put in on my door (shrill screaming...YES YOU DID)

At least someone gets to have fun ridin da train

"Cough, Cough".....I think I have a fever....it might be time to go home and join in on the good times.

Ummm. I have no words

What the FUCK???  No seriously, what the fuck! 

To preface this, let’s just be clear that I am not trolling the Internet for this shit (I troll for other shit)  I do however, have very long commute to and from work and spend most of my time listening to satellite radio.  I enjoy Cavino & Rich and Jay Thomas, in between the “newsie” channels.  I had to stop listening to Nancy Grace because the urge to punch something was getting way too strong.  It’s not pretty when I am yelling “fucking stupid whore” and the little Grammie in the car next to me gets all discombobulated because of me and Nancy thrownin’ down.

Anyway, last night while I was driving home, I heard about this new cookbook on the radio….it’s a cookbook whose main ingredient is sperm.  Nope, you heard me correctly – sperm, gizz, love sauce, splooge, salty tylers, calcium rockets, and any other cutsie nicknames that boys want to give to their juice.

Insert said photo:

Now, if you want to cook with the salty splooge – go for it, but here is my problem…(well I have many)…Don’t make it look appetizing!  I have really fucked up friends who would try to be all funny and make one of these dishes to see if we could all tell what was in it.  I would like to hope that they wouldn’t let it go so far as to have me taste one (gag) but you never know when they get all tanked up and think this will be SOOOOO Funny, they actually might take it this far.

Just to double check the "authenticity" of this book, it is available at Amazon and B&N for all you crazy motherfuckers.

I feel dirty, I feel like Crème Brule….(too soon?)

Organized sports....punishment for parents

Have you noticed lately that coaches, dance teachers, sporting directors, etc are going slightly crazy?  Or is it that it has always been this way and I am just now noticing it because my kids are getting more involved in sports?  For example, my first ankle biter (AB #1) is really involved in sports and other related activities, and during one of her outings of "Sport X" my husband and I noticed that it event wasn’t really organized.  So, being the proactive mommy, I offered to help out (as much as possible while doing my full time job).  I figured that I couldn’t just complain about the lack of organization if I didn’t try to help.  So after a month or so of helping, my girlfriend called me to let me know that her kids wouldn’t be attending practice due to a big family event.  I said, ok I don’t think that the practice is mandatory but I will let the coach know that you will not be there.  OMG, you would of thought that we just declared WWIII!  Holy Shitballs, it was like we just revealed that the Pope is secretly Jewish….and the amount of shit storm e-mails that went around were fricking incredible.  After a couple more months of shitty attitude from the Coach and her own lack of following the standards/commitment that she was requiring of the kids, hubby blew his lid. 

Hubby and I, we have been together for a long time, and in our relationship, he has always given me the freedom to run wild.  He likes the fact that I handle my own shit and I don’t run to him every time it hits the fan.  But when he reaches the end of that slow burning fuse, motherfuckers watch out!!  He called the coach and sent her the best e-mail ever…..

“From: Pissed off Hubby
Subject: Sport X
To: Coach
Date: Monday, January 9, 2012, 8:28 AM

Coach What I mean about the events from the other day, means that when I arrive 10 minutes prior to the practice and the doors are locked, nobody in the parking lot, and a note on the door stating that the gym, which Sport X utilizes the facilities, is closed until January 9th, and finally, another parent with a daughter in front of me came to the same conclusion, should not result in a phone call to my house after we have returned home that was less than understanding of the circumstances. According to the other parents that you mentioned, they stated that you didn't arrive until after 10:00 in the morning. I don't expect my daughter or the team to be at the level of a competition team, but I do expect at a minimum that you are teaching them responsibility. When you have told both parents and girls that they should arrive 10 minutes early to practices to be ready to begin at the set time, I would expect their coach to be there even earlier. After you begin practice late and then want to hold the girls past the end time, causes scheduling conflicts with other parts of everyone's lives. For us, this was not the first example, in my opinion, of your lack of leadership you have displayed and while I am paying your salary, I would expect some professionalism when communicating with the parents and leading by example for the girls. So yes, AB#1 is done as of this past weekend with Sport X. If you need anything further or would like to call, please contact myself in the future.” So what is up with people lately?  Sports should be fun and teach kids the meaning of teamwork and competitive sportsmanship.  They shouldn't be so complicated and full of strife.  I love when Hubby is coaching AB#2 sports, we have the best time with the parents and everyone is so respectful.   I just can't get over the fact that I was paying over $250/month to deal with this shit?