Oh, Sleep, where art thou?

When my dad's dogs had a litter of puppies last month, and we decided it would be a good idea to get one for the kids, I had forgotten how much was involved when you bring one of these little shits home.

I'm suffering from a lack of sleep. I like sleep. Sleep is fucking lovely. I miss that bitch called sleep...so much! Since I live in Louisiana, we're not having much of a winter. Yet. But the first night we had our new boxer baby, Duke, a cold front blew through, and when I brought him outside to do his business at 2:30 a.m., it was cold. Like 20 degrees colder than it was when I'd brought him out just 2 hours earlier. And all I could think of was, "This is just a cold front...what the HELL am I gonna do when winter finally comes to the South, and I'm fuh-reezing...for real?"

Anyway, he's a good puppy. Very playful, and super cute. But I'm tired (pun, intended) of getting up every two hours to bring his ass outside! He better love me the most!



Awwwww....

"They were hemmed up like a pair of pants in the 70's!"

So, I got this email forwarded, and I must say it's the funniest thing I've read in a long time. The original poster is one funny guy.


Last weekend I put an exhaust fan in the ceiling for my wife's grandfather. While my wife's brother and I were fitting the fan in between the joists, we found something under the insulation. What we found was this:



A JC Penney catalog from 1977. It's not often blog fodder just falls in my lap, but holy hell this was two solid inches of it, right there for the taking. I thumbed through it quickly and found my next dining room set, which is apparently made by adding upholstery to old barrels:


Also, I am totally getting this for my bathroom:


There's plenty more home furnishings where those came from, however I'm not going to bore you with that. Instead, I'm going to bore you with something else. The clothes.

The clothes are fantastic.

Here's how to get your ass kicked in elementary school:


Just look at that belt. It's like a boob-job for your pants. He probably needed help just to lift it into place. The belt loops have to be three inches long. And way to pull them up to your armpits, grandpa.

Here's how to get your ass kicked in high school:


This kid looks like he's pretending to be David Soul, who is pretending to be a cop who is pretending to be a pimp that everyone knows is really an undercover cop. Who is pretending to be 15.

Here's how to get your ass kicked on the golf course:

This "all purpose jumpsuit" is, according to the description, equally appropriate for playing golf or simply relaxing around the house. Personally, I can't see wearing this unless you happen to be relaxing around your cell in D-block. Even then, the only reason you should put this thing on is because the warden made you, and as a one-piece, it's slightly more effective as a deterrent against ass-rapery.

Here's how to get your ass kicked pretty much anywhere:

If you look at that picture quickly, it looks like Mr. Bob "No-pants" Saget has his hand in the other guy's pocket. In this case, he doesn't, although you can tell just by looking at them that it's happened - or if it hasn't happened it will. Oh yes. It will. As soon as he puts down his matching coffee cup.

Here's how to get your ass kicked at the beach:

He looks like he's reaching for a gun, but you know it's probably just a bottle of suntan lotion in a holster.

How to get your ass kicked in a meeting:

If you wear this suit and don't sell used cars for a living, I believe you can be fined and face serious repercussions, up to and including termination. Or imprisonment, in which case you'd be forced to wear that orange jumpsuit.

How to get your ass kicked on every day up to and including St. Patrick's Day

Dear God in heaven, I don't believe that color exists in nature. There is NO excuse for wearing either of these ensembles unless you're working as a body guard for the Lucky Charms leprechaun.

In this next one, Your Search For VALUE Ends at Penneys.

As does your search for chest hair.

And this -- Seriously. No words.

Oh wait, it turns out that there are words after all. Those words are: What. The. Fuck. I'm guessing the snap front gives you quick access to the chest hair. The little tie must be the pull tab.

Also, judging by the sheer amount of matching his/hers outfits, I'm guessing that in 1977 it was considered pretty stylish for couples to dress alike. These couples look happy, don't they?




I am especially fond of this one, which I have entitled "Cowboy Chachi Loves You Best."


And nothing showcases your everlasting love more than the commitment of matching bathing suits. That, and a blonde girl with a look on her face that says "I love the way your junk fights against that fabric."


Then, after the lovin', you can relax in your one-piece matching terry cloth jumpsuits:


I could go on, but I'm tired, and my eyes hurt from this trip back in time. I think it's the colors. That said, I will leave you with these tasteful little numbers:


Man, that's sexy.

Halloween's coming!

My hand's cramped up from carving a pumpkin today, and I've got another one to do.

Pumpkin number one:


We've got the costumes ready. You already know that Kennedy is going as a geisha.

Boy will be Joe Dirt.


Rhiannon is Little Red Riding Hood.


Can't wait to hog the kids' candy! Bwahahahaahaaa

Shot Pong, the 13th Gate, and internet friends

So, last weekend, Blaine and I went to Baton Rouge to meet some girls I've been posting on an awesome message board with for 4+ years. Jen drove in from The Woodlands, TX, and then we headed to Niki's house near Baton Rouge.

We had so much fun...drinking and cutting up during dinner. We went to a haunted house called "The 13th Gate" and had the doo-doo scared out of us. I threw my drink (accidentally, I swear) on a cop while waiting in line. He was pissed...oh well, he should have let me hold on to it until we got closer to the entrance! I caught a charlie horse in my calf as we got back in the car, and it was all caught on video.



Then we ended up back at Niki and Mike's for a round of beer pong. I don't drink beer, so we improvised and used Malibu and pineapple juice in each cup. Yum. I must say that Jen and I kicked ASS!

And LSU made a comeback during their game and beat Auburn.

Woke up the next morning a little hungover, and had beignets and went shopping!

All in all it was a blast, and I can't wait to do it again!

My little "China gull"

Kennedy is the only one of my kids that has any idea of what she wants to be for Halloween. She originally chose a devil, but I told her she couldn't be something she already was every day. So, when she saw this costume, she had to have it.

"I want to be a China gull," she told me.



My gull...I mean, girl...looks so sweet here. I've become appreciative of being able to capture innocent moments like this on camera!

Smells like Teen Spirit?

No. It smells like Secret Platinum Jasmine Orient scent.

What's that delightful smell? Why, it's my pits, of course! My new deodorant is awesome. I didn't have a problem with the body odor before, but with this, I can be sure I won't! I do the stretch and reach just to get a whiff of my splendid armpits numerous times a day.

Mmmmmmm.

Hey! Speak Engrish!

"Herro! Weh-come to China Wok! You prace orduh?"

"Um, no, I'm here to pick up an order I called in...for Kim."

"Okay, you buy nudduh egg-row?"

"No, ma'am. Just the General Chicken and the egg roll that comes with it. Thank you."

Her husband comes up and they start speaking to each other and they each giggle a little. I wish I could understand them! I know they're talking about me! Probably saying, "Oh, she thinks she's getting General Chicken, but it's really our neighbor's cat! Ah ha ha ha." Fuckers.

I'm gonna learn the language one day.

That way, when I go get a pedicure and the little Asian women start chattering back and forth about how overdue my feet were for said pedicure; how they need more tools; or how they should raise their prices because of feet like mine, I can tell them, "I know what you just said, Ming-Ling and Mai-Tai! And there went your tip!"

This video fits here:

You're right! I don't like you!

As I lay in bed last night, not able to fall asleep, and not wanting to count sheep because they're too damn noisy, I thought about something Blaine tells me people say about me: "I don't think your wife likes me very much." And they say it quite a bit. And not just the same person, but numerous different people.

The thing is, they're right. Anyone who knows Blaine irl knows that he is a popular guy...especially in the places we frequent. He has people come up to him constantly...someone he made friends with the last time we were out...that he doesn't remember. He'd make friends with the oak tree outside if I'd let him. I am not the same way. I don't like people. Some assume that because Blaine is their friend, that makes me their friend.

Uh-uh.

So when they come up to me with that fake, high pitched, "Ohhhh, it's so nice to meet you...I've heard so much about you...blah blah blah...," I simply say, "Okay."

I don't smile at them. I don't raise my voice three octaves, and say, "It's so nice to meet you, too, like...ohmigosh!" I don't continue on a conversation with them. I simply say, "Okay," and turn the other way. Then they get all butt hurt and go tell Blaine, "I don't think your wife likes me very much." Good. Then my point came across nicely. Because I don't like them. I don't care who they are or what they do or who they're with. I am very selective about who I allow to remain in my life. I say, "remain" because lots of people come into my life, but not everyone gets to remain there.

I have a lot of friends. I love my friends. I even have internet friends....people I've never met, but I love just the same. I make friends easily, I simply don't allow "just anyone" in.

So, to some, I am rude, and I am a bitch. And I don't care.

Flush it!

So, I realize I've been missing from the blogging world for over a month, but I have a valid excuse: I've been busy, dammit. School started, and I've been on stand-by just in case Kennedy unleashes Hell in her Kindergarten class. Blaine was home for an extra week while making the transition into a new job. We had a birthday...my baby turned five. We started Cub Scouts, too.

Anyway, I come back to the blogging world with the topic of "poop."

I just opened the lid to the toilet to find a turd the size of a Dachshund. Seriously. We have one bathroom in this house. And I had to use it...like, bad. But I couldn't. Because there was an anaconda floating in my commode. I retched. Nearly lost last week's lunch.

I knew this did not come from one of my kids. Something this size would have positively sent them to the emergency room. It was the 12 year old neighbor girl who was playing (and evidently shitting) at my house. What the fuck? Who does that kinda shit (no pun intended)?

Four flushes, it took. Four flushes I had to flush because she had left already. And I'm doing the pee-pee dance, trying not to piss myself while gagging.

To think...I really liked that kid. Now, she is on the top of my shit list. Pun intended, that time.

Doo-doo da doo-doo!

The pinkeye has proven itself to be viral, and not bacterial, so the eye drops won't cure it. And the motherfucker has spread to my left eye.

I'm speaking of this evil pink bitch as if it were a true being...some figure from the bowels of Hell itself. And it might as well be...it's a huge pain in my ass! Well, in my eyes, really...

I've been in the house for 4 days. I refuse to leave it since I look like a hideous conjunctivitis poster child. So, I needed some cheering up.

And this did it...

Just great!

Fuck pinkeye up it's pink fucking ass!

I woke up this morning with my right eye itching, burning, and leaking some shit that bodies should not leak. Rhiannon had it two weeks ago, and somehow...even after spraying Lysol all over God's creation...I still got it. Luckily, I still have some of the prescription eye drops that Rhiannon had.

So...off to "instill two drops in affected eye."

So...I know I've been MIA

It's been a long week. Pinkeye and strep. Fevers and puking.

A friend of ours was found dead yesterday. Sorry if that was a little morbid. Didn't know how else to say it.

I haven't had the time or energy to post anything new.

It's been raining, so I'm finding it hard to take pictures to blog about.

Hopefully this week will be better.

It's too quiet

Rhiannon and Colton aren't here. Blaine went offshore this morning. It's just me and the monster I often refer to as "Kennedy" sitting in this house.

There's been no tattling. There's been no whining. There's been no screaming or arguing. And still, I miss my other two kids. They will be home tomorrow afternoon.

That's when I'll be wishing for this peace and quiet that I have going on now.

She almost got me

I have to pull Kennedy's hair into a ponytail or braid each night at bedtime. If I don't, she wakes up with a mess on the back of her head. She comes out of her room looking like she did her hair with a firecracker.

So, last night as I was brushing her hair, the brush gets stuck in a segment of her hair.

Me - "Did you get something in your hair?"

K - "I was eating it."

Me - "You were eating your hair?"

Not until then did it occur to me what it could have been. I smelled the hair.

Me - "You got gum in your hair, didn't you?"

Without missing a beat, she said, "No, it's sticky tack from Rhiannon's room."

Me - "Sticky tack that smells just like Spearmint Extra....the exact same kind of gum that Daddy brought home from offshore for y'all?"

K - "Yes."

Me - "Do you think I'm stupid?"

Pause.

Me - "Nevermind, don't answer that."

I could see it in her bright little eyes...she was going to say, "Yes."

"Talk Dirty to Me"

That was the name of the Rock of Love episode I just watched. Have you seen this shit? Bret Michaels...yeah, the 80's hair band Poison's Bret Michaels...has a house full of bimbos vying for his love. Each episode, he will eliminate a given number of girls until he is left with "the one."

Gag me with a fucking spoon.

That being said, I already have my DVR set to record the series, because as stupid as it is - as much as the idiot, catty bitches on it make me cringe - I must watch this train wreck of a show. It has sucked me in.

I found myself wondering how a few of these girls actually functioned in the real world. They have to be putting on for the camera. Have to be! The rocks at the end of my driveway serve more purpose than some of them...at least I can kick those around some.

These chicks' parents must be so proud. Their daughters are fighting over a rock star, hanging from a stripper pole, bouncing their silicone tits in front of the cameras, and drinking themselves into a blubbering mess....on TV! If my daughter made a donkey out of herself on television I would kick her ass every day for the rest of my life....no matter how old she was.

And even though I threw up in my mouth a record 12 times during tonight's episode, I can't wait until next Sunday night when the new one comes on. Because as many times as I've been called "White Trash"...I will never be the garbage that these hooches are!

Yeah, he was born with it, because it ain't Maybelline!

Women pay for lashes like these! They buy high dollar mascara...none of that clumpy I-have-a spider-riding-on-my-eyelids kind of stuff. They buy fake lashes and glue them on. There's even eyelash extensions for those who really like to shit their money away.

And look! My son....my son...has lashes that women would go nuts for.

It's. Not. Fair.

My dad's wife is a moron.

My dad called me two days ago asking if I knew anyone that wanted a dog...a pit bull. His pit bull. The dog bit someone, and he decided he should get rid of him since his grandkids (my kids) are over there one weekend out of the month. Doesn't want to take any chances, you know? Anyway, I told him I knew of no one.

So, the step-mom calls today...full of pain-killers and muscle relaxers, because that's how she rolls, evidently. (Here's a mental image for you...my eyes were just about to roll right out of my head when I typed that last sentence). "Boohoohoo, we have to get rid of Rico...your dad said we should have him put down...but I just can't do that...boohoohoo." I'm thinking to myself: This dog is a product of inbreeding (yeah, his mom and dad were brother and sister)...that's not good to begin with. Then he bit a grown ass man and drew blood...who's to say he won't latch onto one of my kids? I told her, "I'd feel safer if he wasn't there." Then she proceeds to make excuses for the dog..."I think he was probably just trying to protect me," "He's only ever growled at the kids," (yeah, you read that right..."only ever," but what if he goes further than growling next time...?). "I could keep the kids away from him, blah, blah, blah." How? By keeping him locked up in a room, so his inbred mind can think of the way he's gonna maul his next victim? No, thanks, bitch. Go take another pill and shut the fuck up.

At least she knows where I stand on the dog, but I still feel like I was talking to a brick wall...covered in Lorcets.

My attempt at this whole Blogging thing...

I don't know how this will go...time will tell. I'm going to try to remember to update this place daily. Maybe I'll get a wild hair up my ass and post more than once a day. I have a lot to say...a lot of shit on my mind...some days.

Anyway, here we go...