Archive for the ‘Bitchy’ Category

The Jury is still out…

December 1, 2008

Deliberations will continue as there is still a certain amount of doubt derived from his claims of innocence.

Let me take you back to the scene of the crime…

Yesterday I made a valiant attempt to clean the mounds of leaves from my flower beds. The daunting task was made more miserable by the cold swirling winds which redistributed the leaves nearly as fast I piled them. Not to be defeated, I learned to rake and speed-scoop in a fairly effective manner.  

Feeling slightly guilty for watching football while I toiled in the wintry storm, Mr. J would occasionally come out and offer advice. (not help… just creative words of wisdom) Such as; “You should hold the bag so that it fills with wind as you are dumping the leaves in.”

Alas, the cold got the better of me (it must have dropped close to 60 degrees) and I went in for hot cocoa.

It was about this time that the Chargers BF’d another game and the slew of potty-mouth verbage could be heard throughout the house. I decided that now would be a good time to start dinner.

Alas, I looked at my kitchen floor and being that I am easily distracted decided to sweep my floor before cooking. I had left my dustpan outside and needed to retrieve first… Once I was outside, I decided to put the last pile of leaves in he bag…

About halfway thru my scooping I heard the back door open and thought the fabulous Mr. J had come out to give me a hand. No such luck – I once again heard the backdoor close and knew he had gone back inside. No problem, I should only be another 5 minutes and I would be inside as well.

WELLLLLLLL…. That is how it should have ended. As it turned out, I reached the back door and tried to open it. It was locked!

I did the logical thing; I knocked and I knocked and I knocked. I then proceeded to knock on all the windows downstairs, peeking into the windows that had the blinds cracked. Nadda…. Being that I was still very logical in my thinking; I grabbed the net for the pool as it has a 10 foot pole on it and I began tapping on all the upstairs windows.

All my efforts were in vain. I did not even see a curtain move inside. So, I moved on to plan “B” I began hollering at various windows. The only response I received were curious looks from the elderly couple across the street. (Damn, I was hoping to refrain from becoming the circus attraction in our new neighborhood.)

I had now been outside for close to 30 minutes. Because I had not intended on making it an outside adventure, I was no longer wearing my shoes and the cold was making me a tad bit irritable. I eyed Mr. J’s truck in the driveway and contemplated breaking out a window so that I could have a semi-warm place to sit during my banishment.

Ah-ha! I was in luck (well if you discount the fact that I was locked out without my shoes and Mr. J appeared oblivious) his truck was unlocked. I honked the horn a couple times, thinking that might draw his attention to my perilous circumstances. Nadda, nadda, nadda. Only more stares from my neighbors.

Well Hell… Feeling more than a tad bit unloved and forgotten, I decided that I might as well finish cleaning out the remaining flower beds. Sooner or later Mr. J would get hungry and come look for me. Or if he ordered a pizza I could slip in with the delivery.

About halfway through the last flowerbed, Mr J came out and asked if I minded taking a break to cook some dinner. (you do not want to know the ugly words that crept into my brain at that moment)

Mr J claims that he thought I was upstairs taking a nap when he locked the door. It was only after he got hungry and went upstairs to check on me that he noticed I was not in the house.

I am not buying his story… I think he was sneaking from room to room watching me knocking and yelling for help, all the while laughing his ass off. I think it was only his stomach begging to be fed that had him coming to my aide.

The best part… (depending on how you look at it) was the questions he asked me: “Why didn’t you have your keys with you.”

Why would I take my keys with me when I go to the back yard for a dustpan?  

“Why didn’t you have you cell phone with you? You could have called me.”

Uh yeah, I often go to the backyard and call you on my cell phone. It makes a lot more sense than coming inside and talking to you in person.

I was only going out for the fricken dustpan….. Grrrrrr….

In case you wondered, I used extreme restraint and I stopped myself from dropping his chicken on the floor a couple times before dinner.


Customer Service…

November 5, 2008

Last night I got a call from the Houston Chronicle, the local newspaper. Before I go into the phone call I will take you back to the 14th of October:

Oct 14: I go on-line and subscribe to the Chronicle paying in advance for 20 weeks of delivery.

Oct 15: I receive email confirmation of my order.

Oct 16: I wait anxiously for my first paper to be delivered… drats, well maybe it will start tomorrow.

Oct 17: Again, nothing in my driveway, so I venture out to see if the paper might be in the bushes or on the roof… Nadda.

Oct 18: I sit patiently and wait for the paper guy to drive down my street hoping to catch him when he delivers my neighbor’s paper. He drives by too quickly … drats.

Oct 19: still no paper, but I receive a lovely letter from the Chronicle thanking me for my order and confirming that my delivery was to begin on the 16th. I call the number listed in the letter and explain that I have not received the paper yet. They are very sweet and assure me that I will receive a paper in the morning.

Oct 20-30: A bad rendition of Ground Hogs Day… No paper, I call them, they promise it will start the next day, the next day comes and goes without a paper.

From time to time when I called them I would ask flippant questions such as, “Is my carrier afraid to deliver to my house because I have a tree?”


“Will my carrier deliver if I sit outside and offer him breakfast?”


“Does the carrier accept bribes?”


“My carrier does realize that he is blowing his Christmas tip doesn’t he?”

 It did not matter how many times I called, I NEVER received one copy of the paper. I know that they still print the news on paper cuz a co-worker brings one in to work in the mornings.

Well, I gave up. I called and asked them to cancel my subscription and refund my money. That was on the 31st. Which brings me to last night’s call:

The caller wanted to know why I was dissatisfied with the Chronicle and IF I would consider a couple weeks free delivery to once again become a customer.

I calmly explained that a year’s worth of free papers would do me no good because I would NEVER receive them. Oh heck, make it two years worth of free papers that I never receive.

She said I sounded irrational and that she was merely trying to remedy my problem. She then went on to ask me a series of questions: (my answers in bold)

On a scale of one to five, five being the highest, how do you rate the service of your carrier?

“Um, you have got to be flipping kidding me, RIGHT? You do know I did not receive any papers, right?”

She continued: Did your paper arrive in a timely fashion?

“I am going to say no, unless by timely fashion you consider three weeks and still waiting to be acceptable?”

She paused and asked, “Three weeks of what?”

Good Grief, she is going to make me curse aloud. “Three weeks of never receiving the paper. Do you see a pattern with my answers?”

She responds with this gem: Perhaps you would be more content to only receive the paper on Sundays as many customers state that they do not have the time to read the paper daily.

I know by this time that my teeth are clenched because my jaw is beginning to ache… and I fight back the urge to slip into a Chris Tucker role and say, “Do you understand the words that are coming out of my mouth?” I gave up…

From that point on the remainder of the conversation was blah, blah, blah, something, something-else.

I was almost afraid that I would wake up this morning and actually find a newspaper in my driveway. Not to worry, my carrier did not let me down.

Drugs are Bad, mkay…

July 2, 2008

For the past three days I have been on mega doses of Benadryl, fighting an allergic reaction to pineapple juice.

*Note to self – When someone says they don’t think a particular food is in something that they want to sell, walk away. No, run away… What they really mean is that it probably is in their product, but they really need to sell their shit and your possible death should not get in the way of them making a sale.

I knew better than to sample something if I was not positive of the contents, yet I took a swig.

Sunday I was in the ER getting diphenhydramine injected into my butt cheek to stop the swelling of my bronchial tissues. It also worked wonders on the itchy eye lids, throat, ears, lips, nose, fingers, stomach…

Today, I am still taking Benadryl but in smaller doses… It is the side effects that are tough to deal with.

The Head Aches, Chills, and Dry Mouth; I can handle it…

The Dizziness, Confusion, and Sleepiness; Well, that is me on a regular basis…

BUT—– The Nausea andIRRITABILITY (bet you couldn’t tell I have been irritable lately…) have been hell for me and those in close contact with me. By the way, puking only makes me more grumpy.

Yes, Drugs are bad… even when they are prescribed. The good news is, tomorrow is my last day on the Benadryl and just maybe… I won’t puke or bite Mr. J’s head off on the way to the cabin.

Poor Mr. J… I might need to stop by the toy store and pick up some of those yummy eddible undies for the trip. Of course his cannot be flavored with pineapple.

At the end of this  clip  Jon Stewart shares a tip on enjoying edible underwear.

Overlook me for a few…

July 1, 2008

Warning: Today’s post is a rant… it is not pretty nor is it witty… Just getting shit off my chest.



Joe Horn Cleared by Grand Jury


I give Mr. Horn two thumbs up. It is because of this case that we have made pacts with some of our neighbors. We will shoot to kill to protect each other and each other’s property.


For those of you who live in Mayberry neighborhoods, I am very happy for you.

We don’t and we are not going to sit idly by while criminals continue to molest our neighborhood.


Last month we had three murders in as many weeks within two blocks of my front door and numerous home invasions, robberies, and car thefts. Between rivaling gangs, illegal aliens, and Katricians we have had enough.


If a son-of-a-bitch breaks into my home or my car, he better pray that neither I nor my neighbors are home.


Until criminals realize that we are not going to back down, they will continue to hold us hostage.


For those who ask, “Do you feel robbery is a justifiable reason to kill another person?” I say yes.


I do not allow the mosquito on my arm to steal my blood without trying to kill it. Neither would I allow the leaches to society to steal my property without trying my best to eliminate them. 


I will change my stance when a more viable solution is implemented which deters such acts. Perhaps we should take something from third world countries and lop off a limb??? 


This was not always my stand… But I am tired.


I get up every morning and go to work, rain or shine. I would prefer to sit on the sofa and sip Mimosas while flipping thru the morning news paper. I would prefer to spend my afternoons in the park watching the squirrels chase each other around the trees.


Alas, I have a mortgage, a car note, a light bill, and the desire to eat without relying on what is found in the dumpster behind Fogo’s. Short of going on welfare, I will need to work for another 15 or so years. I am ok with this…

But, I am tired.


I am tired of watching my back for thugs who are preying on the inattentive. I am tired of double checking my locks when my dogs are going nuts. I am tired of criminals being handed light sentences and then being set free to continue on their path of robbing, burglarizing, raping, and killing the unsuspecting.


I sincerely hope a four day weekend of Mimosas and S’mores will adjust my attitude and put me at peace… Right now, I just don’t see it happening.

Does Not Play Well With Others…

June 9, 2008

Mr. J is threatening to take away my playground privileges. He said that I do not play well with others. I wholeheartedly disagree. I am a sweet kitty batting the mouse around the room before I eat him.



(this picture was ganked from Quiet Places )


His latest threat came about when I told him my plan to mess with Wal-mart. Over the weekend I did some light shopping at ‘Hell’-mart. I know, I reap what I sow. For years I have been pulled in by their low prices, sacrificing quality and customer service.


For years, I grumbled over the lack of customer service when trying to locate an item. Shopping at ‘hell’-mart is the equivalence of trying to get a quality dinner at McDonalds. You are saving a few bucks but getting something that barely resembles food.


Well, at ‘hell-mart, the same store I have shopped at for the past six years, I was told that they would no longer accept my husband’s credit card. (It is the same method of payment that I have used for the past six years.) They have a new policy that the ID and credit card must match. Alrighty, this makes sense in order to deter fraud.


I think my aggression came about because this has been my method of payment for many years. I show them my driver’s license and a nifty reduced copy of my marriage license and they let me proceed. No such luck this time.


To avoid a major issue I told the manager I would write a check. This is the first time I have ever written a check at ‘hell’-mart. The manager then asked to see my ID. What the Hell?


I looked at him as if he had just asked me to give him a blow job. I asked why he needed to see my ID and he responded, “I need to see if your name matches the name on the check.”


“Dude, my name has not changed since I showed you my ID two minutes ago for the credit card.”


He said it didn’t matter he needed to see it again.


It was at that very moment that I wished I had several fake ID’s in my purse. I would have laid them all out on the counter and asked, “Um, which name is on the check?” “I don’t remember which account I used.”


Mr. J said he will not bail me out of jail if I try something like that… I seriously want to get four or five fake ID’s and each time they ask for my ID, I hand them a different one.


(This picture was ganked from Quiet Places )


“What day is it today? Wednesday, Oh I am Theresa on Wednesdays. No wait on Wednesdays I am Karen. Or is Karen for Fridays and Melissa for Mondays?”


“Just tell me who you want me to be today, OK?”  


For my own personal sanity I told the ‘hell’-mart manager that I was taking my future business to H.E.B. where they know me and call me by name and they never leave me feeling like I have been picked out of a police line-up.


Yes, I will be paying higher prices, but I will also be buying better quality meats and produce.


Mr. J… Get the bail money ready, cuz I may never be able to play nice with others.  



(This picture ganked from Hyphen Magazine )


Rebel Without a Clue

June 6, 2008

Today’s post might be tough to follow as my thoughts are kind of flighty jumbled this morning. I am dealing with both inner and outside turmoil leaving my brain in utter chaos.


We have been throwing several ideas back and forth as to the location and type of home we want to move to. Ideally we would be living on our own back forty with a pool and plenty of room to stretch out.


However, if we opt for acreage we will only have enough left in the budget for a home like this:


Even that would beat the feeling which our neighborhood gives us that we are trapped in this:



Perhaps we will be able to find a quiet neighborhood something like this:



Stewing over the choices we took a break and watched one of my most favorite movies; “Rebel Without a Cause.”


The conflicts portrayed in the movie have lain heavy on me today, refusing to ease up.   



I spent the better part of the night researching the writing and directing of the movie. It is FACINATING stuff.


I especially love the words of the director, Nicholas Ray, who in speaking of James Dean said:


The conflict between giving himself and fear of giving in to his own feelings; a vulnerability so deeply embedded that one is instantly moved, almost disturbed by it.


… Adding to the already cluttered thoughts of the movie and finding the perfect home, are the anger and frustration felt when a ‘heffa’ (Texas ghetto slang for stupid ass bitch) tried not once, not twice, but three times to run Mr. J and me off the road last night. I could tell Mr. J’s blood pressure was elevating to a dangerous level. This woman tried repeatedly to ram the side of our car. We stopped to let her move on and she stopped and backed up to us. We took a few pictures of her erratic behavior and called the police. I have no idea if they did anything other than take our info… But, it was frustrating.


I did manage to chuckle under my breath when Mr. J said, “If she were a man I would beat the shit out of her.”


So today I am rebelling against life in general. There is nothing else for me to do because my mind is refusing to rationalize. How does a sensible business woman rebel the ass-backwardness of life? Shit, I do not have a clue. So I am rebelling via my wardrobe. Today there are no high heels, no fancy suits, no pantyhose… I am wearing saggy-baggy blue jeans and a uuber soft T-shirt.


Yes, I am sticking it to the establishment. I am a Rebel. A Rebel without a clue. All that I do know is I am not going to do it. I have absolutely no clue what it is I am not going to do, but no one is going to make me do whatever it is I am not going to do. I am serious… Well, kind of.


The Twisted Sister song just jumped into my head. “We’re Not Gonna Take It” …


This is an excellent theme song for the new rebel in me.


I wish I could write scripts for people’s lives and hand them to the cast to be acted out as written. I would hand the police their script today.


Act One; Scene One… (This is a short piece)


Police Officer knocking on the door of aforementioned ‘heffa’: Ma’am, we have been contacted by the Cracker Jacks Corporation and they have rescinded your driving privileges. You will need to hand over the license which they issued to you.


You have the right to remain silent. We are asking that you exercise this right. We do not want to hear your foul mouth. Do you understand? If you do not understand a roll of duct tape will be provided and applied.



Scene fades out…

… And another quote by Nicolas Ray:

“The imagination is a pretty precious source of protection.”

Day Ten

June 4, 2008

Here it is, day ten of the diet from Hell. It is confirmed, the process involved in losing weight sucks. Lettuce with lite vinaigrette dressing sucks. Grilled or baked chicken and fish suck. Steamed Veggies… yes, they suck as well and I am not talking about the sensual term. I am talking about suck ass.


Sure, I have dropped five of the ten pounds that I was going for… But, is this crap worth it?


I used to be a sweet, and delightful, some naïve persons might have even referred to me as a pleasant girl. (Quit laughing, I was once.) Then I decided to diet and became a food deprived bitch. I would like to offer up a big FU to Miss Jenny Craig and the bunch. I need mashed potatoes smothered in butter and gravy; pasta with pesto – pasta with marinara – pasta with a creamy alfredo sauce.   


 (This picture was ganked from )


I long for garlic bread with fresh grated Parmesan cheese. Ooooooh and Pizza


And don’t think about getting me started on the deserts that are begging to be eaten. It is fricken criminal to deny myself of cheese cake.


Ya’ll will have to excuse me while I graze over to my disgusting bowl of rabbit food and TRY to curb the cravings.


I swear I can smell doughnuts in my sleep.


All this torture, just so that I can feel a tad bit less self-conscious when we head to the lake, is it worth it?


If my willpower dips much lower I will fold. Then I will either let the spare jigglies hang out and scare the small children or go swimming in my ski gear



(This picture was ganked from )


Just wondering… If we truly are what we eat, will I look like this in a few more weeks?















(This picture was ganked from…/the_lettuce_dilemma.html )

My Shit Don’t Stink

May 14, 2008

I used to be uncomfortable typing curse words. It was not that I thought I was too pure. I may have used the word shit on an occasion or two. It just looked so crass in bold print.

I am a closet “Potty Mouth.”  When I am alone, I can belt them out just like one of the guys in a high school locker room! (I will not even mention what the girls locker room sounds like. As I would hate to ruin our image.)

However, when I am around other people I cannot spit out the vile words. Have you ever been extremely angry at someone or something and your scream out ~ “Go to Heck!”

It just does not have the same effect. Unless you are attempting to smooth over the situation with hysterical laughter.

Last night, I was very ticked at my beloved hubby. (I can love him and still want to put a pillow over his head, while he sleeps, right?)

Anyway, I was thoroughly pissed off and I wanted to yell something to the effects of “You STUPID (which is a really really bad word in our house… Worse than profanity) – Mutha Fucka.”

However, it came out… “You are such a Fart Head!”… Close… But it did not carry the same punch. I know, my mouth shows my mental maturity.

It is so much easier to make up later when you chose ever-so-slightly less ugly names to yell out. Such as Butt Wipe. Or a favorite of mine cuz my hubby is so macho …  Girlie Man.  Or, thanks to the Orbit gum commercial, Lint-Licker.

Our arguments would make for an interesting sitcom. We are both extremely talented at the adult version of “You touched me first” routine. My favorite type of argument is the silent treatment game because, I personally love the quiet and I always win. “What, you aren’t going to talk to me? Does that mean I don’t have to listen to you anymore? Oh, Goody!!!”

Back to our delightful argument last night: Like most of them, we cannot remember what the “mental bash” was all about. For the record, I was most likely right.

However, Mr. J. Threw out one of his favorites… “You think your shit don’t stink?”

I cannot stay mad when he says this. I have such a smart mouth … “Of course my shit does NOT stink! And I can prove it. Come kiss my ASS!”

Ok, do you see how our arguments go? We are both laughing like the loonies we are.

Some things should never be uttered in a serious argument. (If you want to win!)

Such as, “I’m not as dumb as I look!” My reply has to be, “I have to be honest with you… You look pretty darn slooooooooooooooow to me.”

To which he will say, “You are such a smart ass”

And I will reply, “You would not have married me if I was a dumb ass.”

For the record, I am not a fighter. It takes way too much energy. That is not to say, I wouldn’t stand up for issues that I believe in. If you want to take me on, there are a few things to consider:

1.) Do you have any good comebacks – and can you sling them fast? I grew up in a family of WAY too many smart alecks.

2.) Is the issue one that may touch a sore spot with me? A childish issue will have me insulting you. A Raw-to-the-Nerve issue will have me looking for a place to hide your body.

3.) Can you out last me in the event of the Silent Treatment? I have no problem tuning out ignorance.

A favorite quote of mine is –

“Never argue with an idiot. They drag you down to their level, then beat you with experience.”

I am not really flushing ranting today. Just telling the world that I won the argument last night. Whatever it was. And for the record, I don’t sit and analyze the aroma of my body’s recycling products.

I flush before the intoxicating scent reaches me!


May 8, 2008
No more will you feel my breath on your thigh
nor the warmth of my lips as we kiss.
A teasing of tongues…
while hair falling softly
caressing my breasts, you’ll too miss.

You have shredded my heart and crushed all my dreams
I am hollow and void of emotion.
The day will soon come
when you search for my love.
What you’ll find is old porn and some lotion.





 (Kiss this)


April 28, 2008

Saturday we had to have a plumber come over and unstop the kitchen drain. There are numerous reasons why this makes me uncomfortable.

1.) I don’t like strangers in my home. Not ever. I barely like friends and family in my home. It is my space, where I can walk around naked if I so choose. I don’t do it often, but the option is there. I am anti-social to the max. I don’t like small-talk chit-chat and can only smile politely at people for so long. There is no reason to take the chance of my face freezing like that.  

2.) My dear friend Mario  has retired and is not physically able to make house calls. Not that I would ever bother him with my chores. He has enough on his plate as it is.

3.) It burns me up that I cannot reach the point of the clog with my basic tools. I even disassembled all the pipes under the sink, up to the point where the plumbing leaves the house. Grrrrrrrrrr…

4.) I hate being dependent on others.

Because of all the reasons listed above, I refused to call a plumber for three weeks. Three weeks of heating water on the stove and washing my dishes in dishpans on the counter, and tossing the water down the toilet when I was done. Mr. J asked me on several occasions to call a plumber. He felt bad that I had reverted to hauling water. I would shrug and say, “Our ancestors had it much worse.”

Crazy, I know. But, that is how much I hate strangers in my home.

Finally I relented… Only because Mr. J was going to be home as well.

I am happy that the drain is fixed and that I can once again run water in the kitchen. BUT, it was a painful experience. This guy will not be invited back. He proceeded to walk thru the downstairs area and verbally critique our entire home.  (his actual comments in bold)

“… Your TV is CRAP.”  Yes, that is what he said. “It is too big for the room and the quality sucks.” Excuse me? WTF? We know our TV is outdated. It was ok when we bought it 10 years ago. Way back in time before LCD and Plasma. I don’t give a damn what you think about it. I scrimped and saved our pennies and surprised Mr. J with a 64″ TV when we didn’t have the money for such a luxury. Now get your opinionated ass back into the kitchen and work on the drain…

“You need to stain your cupboards mahogany.”    … No, I don’t. Mahogany is too dark for my small kitchen. They are stained a beautiful shade of teak to match the flooring. “Teak is too light. It shows the wood lines.” Those are called grains, and I love seeing the grain of the wood. Dammit, if I wanted the wood grain to be hidden I would have painted the cupboards.

“You need a new microwave. One that mounts above your stove.” No, I don’t. I like my microwave that sits on the beautiful teak microwave cart. I like my kitchen. I like my house. What I don’t like is your opinionated ass walking around my home telling me what I need to change. Even my own mother does not do that to me.

He would not shut up the entire time he was there. I think he could have been finished in 30 minutes had he shut his mouth and worked. I am glad that I was being charged by the job and not by the hour. He  ruined almost 3 hours of my day.

On the way out he had to get in a few more digs… “Why do you bother with burglar bars? You don’t have anything that a real burglar would want to steal.” I explained that I was more worried about the crack-heads in the area than experience burglars.

“I doubt the installers put the burglar bars up correctly anyway. They need to install steel bars into your 2X4’s.” Dude, they are installed correctly. They will slow a person down enough for either my husband or myself to empty a clip on them.

“Bah, women do not shoot guns. They will end up shooting themselves first.” At this point it took every thing I had in my reserve tank to stop from proving him wrong. 

Mr. J had been watching a basketball game thru all of this. I heard him chuckle under his breath from time to time. But, he left me alone to deal with our charming plumber. However, he knew I was getting riled and came to my rescue.

The plumber tried to get in one more dig… “Who drives the Porsche?” Mr. J was so sweet in explaining that it was my car. The twit laughed and said, “You let her drive this?” Mr. J had to hold me back….

ARGHHHHHHH….. I hate people in my home! I swear, if the toilet ever plugs up we will be pooping outside.