Archive for the ‘cursing’ Category

Dating 101

December 12, 2008

First wanted to say that I have been gone for a bit and kind of like the new WordPress layout. I hope they have not changed too much.

Single and Dating…

Not me…  I am attached to the love of my life and whether he knows it or not, I am his life-long appendage.

My best girl buddy Kelley is single and she loves to share her dating adventures with me.  Kelley is a beautiful, independent young woman. She has no trouble getting dates. Her problem is being asked out on a second date.

Actually, it is not much of a problem to her as she has not been very impressed with the first dates lately. (I think she is content with being single and only goes on dates for entertainment at her date’s expense.)

Last night Kelley was on a big girl – play dress up – classy restaurant type date.  Her date was waiting at the restaurant when she arrived. He graciously pulled out her chair and made sweet attempts to make her feel special.

Kelley threw out some witty conversation starters (that is what she called them, but I am a bit skeptical because she loves to throw out gems that leave a person wondering WTH?)

Kelly said her date began to squirm in his chair so she took off her metaphoric boxing gloves and asked him straight out, “Why are you so nervous? Just be yourself. Most people try too hard and at the end of the night are left standing there with their dick in their hand, so-to-speak.”

She said the guy turned beet red and asked her to please refrain from being so crass.

And Kelley, being Kelley said… “Sure, but if you want this date to progress in a more positive manner you might want to pull the stick out of your ass.”

Of course I had to ask her how her date responded to that gem…

Kelly said that she was actually surprised when he got up and left the restaurant. She thought this one might actually have a bit of spunk.

She asked me, “Do you think he is going to call me back for a second date?”


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.

Sensitivity Training

November 10, 2008

Alrighty, I admit it. I need it… Or something to help me learn to be more tolerant, more patient, less apt to call a putz a putz.

I came to this brilliant realization the other day when a coworker peeked his head in my office and said he needed to go home because he was not feeling well. I was a breath away form asking, “What’s the matter, your pussy hurting you again?”

Not all my fault. You see I have been hanging out with the guys and they say that every time one of them complains about an ache or a pain. It is their way of calling the other guy soft for whining.

Still, I have absolutely no business using such delightful terms of endearment with my coworkers.

I decided I needed a refresher course and church would be a good place for me. So, I slipped on a dress and headed out the door. Just five minutes into my 20 minute drive I almost turned my car around and came home. Five minutes… and I was cursing like a sailor at the inatentive drivers who had taken over every lane of the road.  

I was sure that the Pastor would be able to feel the evil cloud that was permeating from my soul.

I slipped into an empty pew, hoping to remain invisible and unapproachable. Why do fellow church goers feel the need to reach out and try to make you feel welcome? I did not really want to be noticed. I simply wanted to hear the message and slip back out…

(note to self: come in during the opening hymn and slip out during the closing prayer)

OK, it was not that bad… and the message was very moving, he talked about the commitments we must make as couples to stay together in these trying times. I really think Mr. J needed to be there as well cuz the guy was telling the husbands to compliment their wives on the little things, like dinner. (and Mr J needs a refresher course on that one)

In fact he needs a course on eating whatever I cook and telling me it is delightful. (waiting until I turn my head and then spitting the crap into a napkin or a house plant.)  I will see if the Pastor will bring it up again next week and take Mr. J with me.

All-in-all it was good for me.

I didn’t curse at one person on the drive home!

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.

In The Beginning…

June 11, 2008

… There was light.


Oh wait, I am talking about my beginning. Sometime around the first part of February in 1963 my parents made passionate love… (I really do not know the details as they chose to never disclose them with me) So, they may have had a session of grudge sex, or I might have been the result of a ‘quickie.’


It really does not matter all that much at this point, but don’t we all want to be the result of some wickedly hot sex? Anyhow, nine months later… Waaalaaaah, I am here.


That is not where I was going with this post, but thought it would be rude to leave out the real beginning.


Fast forward a few decades…


This is my Official 100th post and thought it appropriate to share with ya’ll how this particular blog came about.


The Beginning…


About a year ago, the wonderful, funny, strong, intelligent, sexy, gifted, and fantastic mother and friend, Ms LL at Chromed Curses (did I leave anything out?) asked me how I was doing. So I sent her an email and pulled no punches. She told me that the email should really go in a blog…


… And so it began… How-to-start-a-blog


Today, I wanted to thank LL, SK, and all my new blogging buddies for helping me laugh at the crazies.


Hugs to each and every one of you. Ya’ll ROCK





Mini Rants

May 28, 2008

Wednesday is my normal bitch and moan day… However, I did more than my fair share yesterday. So today I am going to throw out some mini rants.

***Edit: No more emails… That is not an actual picture of MY teeth. In fact every picture on this post was borrowed from the net. (even the genius in the last picture… I know, I know… looks so much like me)

1. My teeth ~ Oh woe is me. I have sacrificed the pearly whites to years of coffee drinking. They became a lovely shade of mocha latte.

Which is very cool if I am trying to match fall colored outfits with my teeth. This past year my vanity got the best of me and I had them puppies whitened. I love my smile again…

Now for the whine/rant/woe fest… I am helplessly addicted to brushing my teeth. I am so afraid of stains that I brush a minimum of 6 times per day… sometimes 8 or 9 times. (I lose track) Alas, a well meaning co-worker ruined my high by telling me that I am destroying the enamel on my teeth with all the brushing.


2. Iron ~ Is it helping me or poisoning me. The doctor said I need it desperately to ensure oxygen is reaching my brain. From some of my posts, it is painfully obvious that I am low on oxygen. So now I find out that I may be poisoning myself with all the iron. My liver may have tons of it stored up causing many of the same symptoms of a person with low iron.

 The other thing to note is that hemoglobin is not iron! Yes, you are anemic if your hemoglobin is low but that does not necessarily mean your iron is low. Indeed, what might be happening is that the iron is collecting in storage instead of going into hemoglobin. You are actually iron-loaded and need iron removed despite the anemia. The anemia should be treated with B vitamins, especially B12, B6 and folic acid. Many patients with anemia are dying of iron overload, and some are hastened to their death by their physicians who give them more iron.

Even a small amount of excess iron can damage heart and brain and other storage sites in the body and lead to heart attack or stroke.

WELL FUCK ME! What is it Doc?

3. This is not really a rant, more a grimace at my poor dieting attempts. I AM going to lose the 10 lbs by the first of July, even if I have to remove a limb… The weight is coming off. Last night I decided to go thru the house and rid it of all the junk food. Chocolate, Potato Chips, Ice Cream, Girl Scout Cookies… etc.

But I had to stop about half way thru because I was getting full. hehehe… OK, I didn’t really eat ALL of the junk food, only the chocolate. There is no way in Hell I could ever justify throwing away Chocolate. A bag of chips and some ice cream, maybe.

Anyway today is day two of my almost strict eating plan. Last night I made baked chicken and steamed veggies. I also made Mr. J some smashed taters (he is not on a diet)… and I was good… ALMOST. I did lick the spoon, but it was not my fault. I had to make sure I had added enough cream and butter.

4. I have a fairly decent grasp of the English language, yet certain words get tripped up in my head. I am cool if I am reading the word. But, trying to think of certain words as they float just out of reach is driving me batty. Last night I asked Mr. J if he would pick me up some of my special tea and I could not for the life of me pronounce the word MEDICINAL. For some retarded ass reason the word kept coming out meCIDinal. I knew it was wrong, but couldn’t wrap my brain around the correct pronunciation.

I often have the same problem with the word Cathedral… For some odd reason it wants to come out as CATHedrawl… short e, with the emphasis on the first syllable.  This one is more an issue when I see it in print as it follows no logic in the English rules. (there are rules, right?)

5. And the last mini rant is merely another *sigh* point in my life. Once upon a time, long, long ago. I was asked to participate in a study. I went thru a series of IQ tests. I was not told the results at first, instead I was called back in for more tests. Surprisingly my scores ranged from 155-171. Over the years I have received numerous mailings from Tulane University asking me to help with various research projects and inviting me to alumni events.

This has always been a J family joke. When we hear that Tulane is playing any Texas college, I have to cheer for Tulane. Last week I received another request asking me to come in for more tests… I am going to pass. I am sure my brain could not even throw out enough guesses to score me a 43. I will continue to pretend that I am a genius… or as we like to say, a purty good guesser.


A Weekend in the Hood

May 27, 2008


Let me try to recap my weekend. Saturday was lovely. Mr. J took me for a drive to Galveston. With the rising prices of gas, this is becoming more and more of a luxury. We don’t often cruise just for the fun of getting away for a few hours. We are much too consumed in tucking away every penny for our move out of the hood.

The  East end of Galveston was congested and the streets were tough to maneuver. We had packed our cooler with drinks and goodies and travelled on thru to the West end of the island. We cruised up and down the streets of Jamaica Beach, Sea Isle, and Bay Harbor… getting out and looking around the homes for sale. No, we are not moving to Galveston as the commute would bankrupt us. But, we had a blast acting as if we were looking for a potential weekend vacation home.

I wonder how it would be to have a vacation home on the Island. A home that could very easily be wiped out each and every hurricane season… and having enough money that you simply rebuilt the home with a shrug… because, after all the beauty of the ocean is worth the price at any cost.

We cruised over the little toll bridge that connects the West end of the island to the land mass East of Freeport and cruised the long way back home again…

Back to the hood.

Back to reality.

Back to the nonstop drug deals, the petty thievery, the street fights, the angry glares, the nervous walkers, the loud stereos, the barking dogs…

Craving a few more minutes of waves crashing and gulls screeching over fish in the bay.

We sat on the back patio and grilled beef for fajitas and sloshed down a pitcher of margaritas and dreamed of a vacation home on the beach.

Sunday Mr J had to go into work for a few hours. I crawled out of bed and cooked him breakfast and crawled back under the covers falling back to sleep. It was sinfully magnificent. About 9am I sheepishly threw the covers off and faced the day.

I caught up the stack of laundry and straightened up the piles of ‘stuff’ that seem to accumulate thru the week. All day long listening to my dogs barking as each doper came to the neighbor’s house for a fix. We try to tell each other that it is ok, as long as the crap does not effect us personally. As long as the crack heads don’t vandalized our cars or try to rob us for drug money… As long as bullets don’t fly in our direction… As long as they don’t come to the our house looking for drugs… As long as no one kills our dogs to keep them quiet… As long as no one hurts US!

But it is tough to sleep thru the barking, not knowing if this time someone is stealing a car stereo, or jacking up a car to steal the tires, or syphoning the gas out of the tank…

One can only take so much before they crack… We are so close to that stage and there is not enough tequila to smooth out the rough edges in our hood.

And then there was Monday… Memorial Day. A day when we should have reflected on the sacrifices of those who gave all for our country. A day when we would normally go to Uncle Joseph’s grave and put a flag and a wreath on his head stone.

But, we spent the day trying to refuel emotionally from the crazies in our lives. It was a good day…

Until the sun went down…

7:30 it all started again, the dogs were going nuts, leaping against the tall wooden fence. They were whipped into a frenzy. And so it began…

Mr. J would go out and talk to the druggy as he was trying to get Mike to come out and sell him some shit. Mr. J would stand there, making small talk, knowing Mike would not come out with him watching. It is almost funny having a drug dealer around who is scared of his own shadow. He puffs his chest out and carries his big 44 Magnum around, trying his best to act tough… But, Mike will run and hide at the first sign of trouble. I can make Mike duck his tail and run… Mr. J makes him piss his pants in fear.

This went on for a couple hours until I had had enough of the show and crawled into bed. Shortly after turning out the bedroom lights and relaxing into an almost sleep state, I am jarred by the familiar glare of helicopter search lights coming thru my window.  Fuck! This is going to be one of those nights.

About once a month or so, they bring out the police helicopters searching for a fool in my hood. The helicopters are shining the spot lights in the trees, bushes, around vehicles and, it appears, in my bedroom in search of the perp.  

This all gets my adrenaline pumping and it will be impossible to drift off to sleep so I wonder back down stairs to play solitaire, hoping  to lull myself back to sleep.  All the while my dogs are going crazy…

As soon as the helicopters move on, Mr. J went back out to see what was going on.

One of our neighbors was being beaten… Severely… In our driveway. He was being beaten to the point where he was no longer holding his hands up to deflect the blows. This man probably deserves a good ass whoopin or two, as he has a bad habit of stealing from the hood. He will break in and take your stove and refrigerator if he thinks you are going to be gone long enough. He has no problem filling his gas tank with the gas from your car… Or taking your screens for his house.

Mr. J stepped in and pulled the man off of George. “Man, it just isn’t worth it,” he told him. He helped George find his glasses and his shoe. I am not sure how he got the shoes beaten off of him…

“George, go home,” Mr J insisted. All the while, Mike and two of his drug buddies were crouched down behind the fence. It was only after Mr. J broke it up that they came out and said they were prepared to help if things got out of hand.

Out of hand? You stupid mutha-fuckas (excuse me… but, I have not slept all night and am a tad bit bitchy this morning) George was being beaten to a pulp and you stayed hidden while Mr. J faced an anger crazed man by himself.

Mike drove off with a man crouched down in the seat beside him… (We wondered what was up with that?)

We went back in the house and shortly after the dogs went off the hook again. At this point we are tired and just want them to shut up. It is almost midnight and we both need to be up by 4:00am.

Mr. J stepped out front, wanting to walk around the house and surprise the fools out there. Looking down the block in the direction of George’s house, we see George laying in front of his house… the same man was again beating him, this time using a can.

I hollered out, “Honey, be careful. The cops are on the way.” The guy dropped the can and took off on foot. At this time George’s wife opened the front door and helped him in. She had been too afraid to open the door. Maybe I am psycho, but I know I would have killed someone who was beating my husband in the head with a can.

We still have no idea why George came back outside after Mr. J helped in the first time. Was he trying to seek revenge? Was he out looking for the shit that had been knocked out of him the first time?

About this time, dumb ass Mike pulled back up. He was alone. Mr J asked him what was going on… Where did he go? Who was the guy in the truck. Mike explained that the guy in the truck was hiding from the police because he had just held up the corner store. (The helicopter in the hood earlier had been searching for him) All thru the first fight, he had been hiding under Mr. J’s truck and the son of a bitch was armed.

Mr J said, “Mike you know you just aided and abetted a criminal fleeing from the police. You are an accessory… You are a dumb ass.”   

Mile was so scared… “Uh No, Mr. J… I had to or he said he was going to shoot me.”

“Mike, I’m not stupid. This is your buddy. You are selling him shit every week. He is not going to shoot you.”

Mr. J came in and we had hot cocoa and tried to lay down for an hour…

We both fear this issue is not settled. George has too much insane pride and will try to kill the guy. The guy will be back to see if he can finish George off this time. The fool hiding from the police will be back to buy more dope and Mike will be out peddling.

Mr J will be out intimidating the fools who drop by and I will be lurking in the shadows with my gun, just in case he needs backup.

As we layed in bed I giggled, “Honey we are living  The Wire. 

He paused for a moment and said, “No Shit!”



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!

Ten Reasons that they stopped by…

April 24, 2008

Funny searches and my side notes. I almost feel bad for those who stumble in, unaware of what they are in for. Bawahahahahahaha…. My Bad.



1.) “what is the name of the little balls”

Well now, that could be any of a number of names; golf balls, nuts, gonads, testicles or testes, scrotum, walnuts, nads, man tonsils, knackers, stones, cojones  … or was the person looking for a proper name such as Harry or Salty?


2.) “warm stream of pee”

I am just saying for the record, Anyone who is searching for “warm stream of pee” has issues that only someone who is equally twisted should address. Y’all know who you are. Step up and address this persons needs. 😉



3.) “notknowing where things are made”

Honey, don’t feel bad. I don’t know where they are made, where I put them, or even what it is that I am looking for half the time. Perhaps you should lower your standards to – “Does It Taste Good?” … and just let the rest of the issues slide.


4.) “sexy suckling babies”

To whomever was searching for the Sexy Suckling Babies, please contact me directly. Daddies can be sexy and Mommies can be sexy. However babies are not, nor can they be considered SEXY. Babies are sweet, cute, beautiful, adorable, snuggly, and loveable. They are not, I repeat, NOT SEXY. That is sick dude, in the worst way.


5.) “she peepee dance;

I love this one! Some people like to waltz, others might do the jitterbug. But, I am the queen of the PeePee dance. Step, step, squeeze your knees together… step, step, side hop. Come on now, Everybody do it with me… Step, step, squeeze…


(If you are not very good at the PeePee dance, you can always get into #2 above)


6.) lil will my dung”

What the… I have been scratching my head all morning trying to figure out what this person is really looking for. Perhaps dung is a pet name. You know, like saying “Mr. J, my love.” But this person said “Lil Will, my dung.”


It is kind of sweet, in such a way that it is unique and inventful, although not so much in painting an aromatic picture of  romance. 


7.) “take texans seriously”

Come on… This goes without sayin. Not just because we are a tad bit crazed and will open the can of whoop ass just to watch ya squirm. No, it goes much deeper than that. Oh Hell, I’m not ‘splainin to nobody whyz or howz of us Texans. I’m just sayin, Take us seriously or don’t. Juss don’t be runnin to us all cryin an shit when you get yur lil self hurt. Just sayin. (spoken in my bestestest Texan)


8.) “my son has just run off with my tampons”

Momma taught me, Judge notlest you be judged. But I’m just saying, “Honey I think you might have been feeding your boy too many fruitloops.” He done went “Coo-Coo for Cocoa Puffs” on ya.


For your own needs, ya might want to start getting him his own box and keep yours locked up… Just sayin.


9.) “i did a striptease in front of my dad”

Girl???  (I am assuming you are a girl) What the hell is wrong with you? And What the Hell is wrong with your daddy? Shit, I can almost hear Dueling Banjos playing as I read this. When it comes to turning your daddy on, just say “NOOOOOOOOOO.”  Make him go to the strip club with the other daddies. 


10.) “turned on by my doctor”

hahahaha… What woman does not get a slight flush at the idea of her doctor examining the adventure park? Say it isn’t true and make me feel like the only other perv. I am going back again soon, just to be felt up in a sexy clinical kind of way.

They say that it takes all kinds to make the World go ’round. I am happy that y’all are coming here for your information! Y’all iz crazy.

Laughing at our Expense

April 2, 2008

This is just in case you thought I was too bitchy on my last post. This beautiful, heartfelt video explains my angst.

Turn your speakers up and sing along with me…