Facebook Twitter Gplus E-mail RSS
formats

“You’re The Devil!”

Published on August 5, 2012, by in ADD Much? Hey, Look! A Squirrel!, Dogs, General Bitchiness, More A Cautionary Tale Than A Role Model, Shopaholics Anonymous...What's That?.

We went out to eat for my younger brother’s birthday today and instead of Abuelo’s (chain), Baby Bro wanted to go to On The Border (another chain).  I hate chain restaurants but I thought the lesser of two evils would be better.  However, since it was his birthday we were celebrating, he got to choose.  On The Border Of A Letdown it was.

While the waiter was very nice, the service was shitty and whoever was managing that restaurant must have been off today or else really didn’t know what they were doing.

  • Took FOREVER to get menus, and it wasn’t that busy when we were seated.
  • Ordered the Live Guacamole (they make it at the table) and queso for appetizers because yeah, we ALL needed to eat an insane amount of chips before our greasy Tex-Mex dinners.  We had to ask for plates for the appetizers (what? are we all going to eat out of the same fucking bowl?) and had to wait about 8 minutes for them to arrive – they passed our table three fucking times after we asked before we finally got the plates, while chips kept breaking off in the guac – and even though no one double-dipped (I know, I was watching), it was kinda gross being all communal like that.
  • Against my better judgment, I ordered the “new!” shrimp ceviche.  According to dictionary.com, ceviche is “an appetizer of small pieces of raw fish marinated in lime or lemon juice, often with onions, peppers, and spices.”  So I wanted to make sure it was really a shrimp cocktail (like I saw in the photo in the menu) and asked the waiter if the shrimp were cooked.  He gave me a funny look.  I asked if the shrimp were boiled and he responded, “No, they are kind of sauteed.”  I don’t know what “kind of sauteed” means but the first one he brought out had the texture of poorly cooked calimari.  I HATE rubbery food, so I told him I didn’t want it.  He offered a replacement and I told him “only if they prepare it the correct way.”  By this time, the chips/guacamole/queso were kicking in, and that rubbery unpleasantness left my appetite lacking.  Five minutes later, some chick brings me the second attempt at shrimp cocktail/or ceviche, as OTB calls it.  Worse than the one before.  I really wonder if they just rinsed off my Tabasco sauce and gave me the same shit.  Or else all of their shrimp is overcooked.  Good thing my friend and I are taking Baby Bro out for dinner tonight because I’m hungry.  Hell, I could have just bought some Doritos and Bean Dip and stayed at home.
  • I had to “borrow” some water from my mom’s glass because no one ever came by to fill up my iced tea.
  • They stationed us at a table that was in the middle of the path of every waitperson in the place.  I’m surprised I didn’t end up with a nacho in my hair.
  • The music was so loud that I couldn’t hear anyone except those two people on either side of me.  For the second time in one month, I just grinned and agreed with whatever anyone was saying, which is SO unlike me.

This isn’t Yelp!, I know, but hell, worst dining experience I have had in quite some time - I had to get that shit off my chest!  In the future, I am (ahem) “suggesting” we go to Oak Cliff instead and get some real Mexican food.

I drove myself to this feast since I had an errand to run after, so I headed off before the others left the restaurant and went to this ghetto fabulous mega beauty supply store on the way home.  On the way back out to my car, I saw this:

Then for fun, I drove by the Crazy House in my town so I could present you with this:

Next stop was my parents’ house, where we had Present Time and cake (because we needed cake after all that Tex-Mex, and oh yes!, my lunch consisting of chips, queso and guacamole), but I declined because I don’t really like cake.  I knew what was coming after this…everyone would go off and take a nap.  Lightweights!  But no, they decided instead to listen to my older brother snore loudly while watching “Close Encounters” because none of us have seen that movie 100 times yet.  No fucking way I was staying for that.  Especially when my mom kept getting pissed because I was Googling “naked Adam Levine” on her laptop.  Decided to take the niece shopping so we could somehow salvage what had become of the day.  (Well, the cake and Present Time parts were good – if you like cake, and if you got presents – neither of which applied to me).

Since the birth of my niece 17 years ago, I have been waiting with baited breath for the day she would want to go shopping with me.  (I think I got mixed up with some other baby at birth because who are these people and why don’t they like to shop?)  I was so excited she wanted to go.  I’m such a girly girl and she really is starting to be one, too.  Turned out to be a good idea, since we got to chat quite a bit, and we both got presents (her a silver ring and me a Swarovski crystal bracelet, yay!).

Oh, and I introduced her to Tiffany jewelry by forcing her to go through hundreds of necklaces, pendants, bracelets and rings on the website when we got back home.  She found about 20 pieces she wanted.

Older Bro?  You’re welcome.  This is for holding me down and dropping loogies on my face when we were kids.  I’m the devil, heh heh.  Payback’s a bitch, ain’t it?

Tags: ,
formats

Sweat, Baby Goats, Sweaty Baby Goats and Drunk Texting

Published on August 2, 2012, by in ADD Much? Hey, Look! A Squirrel!, Alcohol, It's What's For Dinner, The non-BF.

I am in the Tenth Circle of HELL, also known as Dallas in the Summer.  Hot fun in the summertime?  Not much.

Evidence:

I swear, I could stand outside for about 45 minutes and the Booze Belly probably wouldn’t be a problem anymore.  If I sweated fat, which I don’t.  But it is a lovely daydream.

*****

Today, I ran across an article about a jumping goat.  Given my obsession love for baby goats and goats in general, I had to read it.  Naturally, there was a video.

Buttermilk!

That’s one bouncy-ass goat!  I have watched this video maybe 30 times already (isn’t she taking a piss at one point?).  Then I learned that bouncy-ass Buttermilk has her own Facebook page.  Of course she does. Now I will be checking on her probably every day.  Because damn it, I want a fucking baby goat!

That video is almost as good as this:

Baby Monkey

But instead of buying a baby goat, I will be “fostering” a kitten [is there Goat Rescue? Adopt, don't shop! is what I say about dogs and cats, but now I'm curious if people rescue goats, too].  And by “fostering,” I mean I will end up with the kitten because that is exactly how I ended up with Rainbow, Mr. Tail and Mr. Swirly (RIP).  My younger brother feeds this stray cat and the little slut got knocked up [I also believe in spay/neuter and went all ballistic on his ass about it, but I'll bitch about that in another post].  She has six kittens and he has only one taker so far.  Being the softie that I am, I decided I would take one and try to find it a good home.  Asked for help naming her on Facebook, but then it hit me - Bubbles!  What a fucking awesome name for a kitten!

Being the worrier that I am, immediately I began wondering how my choice in kitten names would affect her when she grows up.  Went to The Tribunal for some advice:

So what do y’all think?  I could just name her Clara, but she might grow up to knit, collect knick-knacks and “Tsk, tsk!” me every time I drop a F-bomb.  I could just name her Beverly.  Except I guess that only applies to DOGS.

Note:  I have absolutely NOTHING against the names Clara and Beverly.  Those are my first and middle names.  Not really.  Oh, and I don’t have anything against knitting.  Knitting needles make excellent weapons.

*****

With no one around to chaperone my crazy fun ass last night, and because the non-BF isn’t starting his Austerity Campaign until tomorrow [bastard was all "I'm at the Flying Saucer!" knowing full well I am not drinking to try and lose weight!], I ran to the store and grabbed some Pinot Grigio.  Unfortunately, I started drinking it before the photography webinar began.  Hell, I probably needed it, since the chick moderator was driving me crazy on the first night.

Now, I give you Evidence why I should have a breathalyzer on my cell phone:

[I grew up with SO much positive support!] 

You know I’m gonna have some more tomorrow.  High school would have been so much more fun had they allowed me to drink during class!

*****

And now for my DYAC of the week…

Notice he didn’t even bite?  I must be losing my sec sex appeal.  Or else he is so used to seeing “sex” in my texts to him, it doesn’t even phase him anymore.

*****

OMG y’all!!!!!!

Tags: , , , ,
formats

Keeping Up With A Train Wreck

Published on August 1, 2012, by in ADD Much? Hey, Look! A Squirrel!, All About Me, General Bitchiness.

Let us start this with:  I’ve been at home for two fucking days. 

First of all, yesterday was meant to be a day off and turned into a sick day where I spent most of the day bungee-corded to the toilet.  I know, MORE THAN YOU WANT TO KNOW.  Oh, and for all of you out there who are sick and tired of bloggers talking about bodily functions, you can leave now, it doesn’t get much better.  Thanks, baby!  [P.S. Shitting and farting are normal.  I say, come to grips with your Ass Issues and then give me a call.  Love ya!]

Then, it was more than I could do to leave my bed, and I was sort of dehydrated and really couldn’t lift my arm to press the button and change the channel, so it was stuck on the E! network.  The grilled cheese I ate at my mom’s house never really kicked in.

So basically, I just spent two days in bed with Kim, Kourtney, Khloe, Kris, Rob, Lamar and Bruce.  It was the one place I never thought or hoped I’d be, and yet, I couldn’t look away.  By the way, the two teenagers weren’t allowed in.  They dog-sat my furbrats. I am ethical and I do have standards. Unlike the Kardashians. (My GOD, why are those girls even allowed on that show, I ask you???)

Normally, I only watch Giada on the cooking channels and maybe some Law & Order reruns (SVU, because I still love Elliot, and the regular one, because of that unfortunate crush I have on Sam Waterston).  I was kind of held hostage by my weakened state, so I spent hours (literally) listening to them whine and say “like” a lot.

(I tried counting the number of times Kim said “like” in only one episode but gave up and started punching myself in the face.)

I’m a pretty smart girl.  I know that shit is NOT real.  But somehow, in my less-than-normal state, I started getting into that fucking show.  I even came up with clever nicknames for all of them.  (The only one I can say in here is “Dickface” for Scott.  He reminds me of all the assholes I wouldn’t date in college.)

I’m just so very glad to say that my Bowel Problem, the one that caused me to live in my bathroom for over a day, well it’s GONE.  Tomorrow, I go back to the Land of the Living and leave the zombies to eat them (if the Kardashians don’t eat the zombies first!).  I really hope I never, ever see another Kardashian in print or online again.  (Can I say here that I really kinda dig Khloe?  She is the only one I would trust to watch my purse or drive me somewhere.)

P.S. Bruce, honey?  I still think you are kinda cute but ditch those earrings and we can talk.  I certainly don’t yell as much in my LIFETIME as Kris does in one episode.  Food for thought, baby. Food. For. Thought.

Tags: , ,
formats

Totally Random Tuesday (Several Hours Late)

Published on August 1, 2012, by in General Bitchiness, Totally Random Tuesday.
  • Day Two of Austerity Campaign or No Booze No Bread For 30 Days.  It fucking sucks already.
  • Thank GOD the non-BF is on a similar food campaign.  I don’t want to be the only sober motherfucker around here.
  • I am taking a webinar photography class with the non-BF (started last night) through Friday night.  So far, so good.  Except for the chick moderator who really needs to shut the hell up asking the instructor if his wood is hard or soft.  Don’t ask, you don’t want to know.
  • However, I haven’t been able to fall asleep since it ended at 11:00 p.m.
  • Hypoglycemic people really shouldn’t wait until the last minute to eat because then they will grab the lowest hanging fruit.  And by the lowest hanging fruit, I mean a packaged sandwich from a convenience store.  Two hours of throwing up and other gastrointestinal “issues” later (at least I made it to the bathroom, or this would have become another Shitting My Pants Post), I called my mommy and asked her to make me a grilled cheese sandwich.
    • I don’t care how fucking old I am, when I get sick, I turn 8 all over again.
    • And shut the fuck up, yes I know I ate bread today.  I fail.
  • I was watching videos of Bob Ross make some Happy Paintings the other day (I swear, his voice is like an opiate for me), and what do I discover while wandering around the blogs today?  The happy little clouds were my favorite!  (And thank you!)
  • Other internet education while I couldn’t sleep:  I see that Gore Vidal died and Snoop Dogg has changed his name to Snoop Lion. He will be singing songs that children and grandparents can listen to.  La la la, I have nothing else to say about that.  Except that I want what he’s been smoking. Well, NO, not really.
  • I thought it would be fun to create a fake eharmony profile to see who I got matched up with, but then thought better of it since they’d probably set me up with a serial killer and a Jehovah’s Witness.
    • Plus that damned questionnaire is too fucking long

  • For some reason, I found this funny. Maybe Elle Woods could step in and help them out?  (This is news, People?)
  • I guess we know which team Reese is on.
  • Outlook.com – love it or leave it?
Tags: , , ,
formats

“Order me a piece of cake. I’m gonna go throw up.”

Published on July 30, 2012, by in ADD Much? Hey, Look! A Squirrel!, Alcohol, It's What's For Dinner, Dogs.

For some reason*, I have not been able to keep anything down since Sunday morning.  Vomiting made me think of my teenage years.

Those very few friends who read this blog (step it up, bitches!) might not know I fought an eating disorder for years starting when I was a teenager.  It wasn’t Karen Carpenter Bad, but I’ve always been obsessed with how much I eat.

(Note:  I did starve myself when I was 14.  Hid food.  Threw up what I ate (which wasn’t more than 100-200 calories a day). Wore baggy clothes.  Ate laxatives like they were candy. Then my mom rubbed my back one day and felt my McRibs through the sweatshirt I was wearing to hide how much weight I’d lost – in the summer, in Texas, for fuck’s sake!  She threatened to put me in a hospital where they would “hook an IV up to your arm and you’d have to gain weight,” so I started mainlining tubs of Pillsbury chocolate frosting.  And boxes of Ding Dongs.  I finally went from 85 pounds to 105.  And got five cavities.)

I never really did get over it completely but I generally manage to talk myself down from the ledge these days.  And while I am pretty small, I am not in any way skinny (but feel free to tell me, “Oh, but you ARE” because I love compliments and am not one of those idiots who won’t accept them. Okay, “skinny” might not be a compliment to some, but it is to me.  Hence the eating disorder. Well, that and the control freak part of my personality.)  People have asked me, “Aren’t you embarrassed to tell people you have/had (whispered – St. Elmo’s Fire reference, wonder who will get it) an eating disorder?”  I feel like everyone who knows me already pretty much already knows I’m a nut job anyway (or realizes it five minutes after meeting me), so what difference does one more thing make to that reputation?  Does a heroin addict tell others, “Oh, I’m sorry, I have to shoot up now?”  NO.  So why should I hide my crazy light under a bushel?  Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine!

Even though I’m not on that crazy train anymore (it’s more like a crazy cross-town commuter bus these days, or a quick crazy taxi cab ride), I still study labels like a motherfucker.  I wrote in an earlier post that I had to Google “how many calories in a bottle of wine” – that was part of the 80% made up shit.  I’ve known for YEARS how many calories are in a bottle of wine.  I also know that it’s a huge mistake to drink sweet alcoholic beverages (more sugar, dumbass! plus a really nasty hangover) and that a really good bar will carry diet tonic water.  I tell people I typically don’t eat my carbs, I drink them.  (P.S. Someone told me about a carb-free vodka.  I may be doomed to buy a liver off the black market.)

I mentioned going on my Austerity Campaign re: food and drink – that was supposed to happen after vacation.  Of course (very predictable!), it did not.  That reunion was coming up and I knew I’d cheat (not on food but yeah, booze).  So tomorrow I am attempting to go on the straight and narrow. Again.  Lofty goal:  three months (the non-BF can stop laughing now).  More realistic goal:  one month.  No bread, no booze and I have to start eating salads again (I love veggies – should not be a problem).  I will miss those fucking Pillsbury Grands biscuits in the mornings, though.

It’s not like I’m one of “those people” who keep a bottle in their car (not like you could in Texas anyway) or in their desk drawer.  Hell, I don’t even have a liquor cabinet.  Or a liquor shelf.  (The non-BF says it’s because I would drink it as soon as it got there, but he’s just exaggerating.  A little. Hon, those two bottles of white wine you left here on Saturday?  Well, they are gone.  I swear, the dogs must be drinking again!)  And I won’t drink something just because it is there (proof – five bottles of red wine sitting next to my Vita Mix for over a month now because I really cannot stand that shit.  The red wine, not the Vita Mix. I like my Vita Mix.)  I just love dry white wine.  It’s like grown-up Kool-Aid to me.  I’ll drink vodka but I am not as crazy about it as I am about gin (see Evidence below).  In fact, I may name my next pet Juniper Berries just because it would make me smile to yell out its name for shitting on my floor.

So tonight, wine is having its Farewell Tour at my house.  After this past high school reunion weekend, my Check Liver light came on and I really need to lose some weight before vacation later this year.

Oh hell, my cousin reads this shit.  Now he will think I’m a lesbian as well.  Not that there is anything wrong with that.

Since this is in no way a diet blog, going forward, my detoxing/weight loss program will be the elephant in the room.  We will all be aware of it but no one is to speak of it.  The bitchy mood I’ll be in could cause me to go off on y’all.  But since I’m from the south, I’ll be all polite and shit about it.

[I'm proactive for the most part, so anyone who wants to send me hate mail for making light of a serious subject like aneroxia nervosa or heroin addiction, feel free to do so.  nongf@non-girlfriend.com  If you can't laugh about something bad you went through, you'll really go crazy.  Besides, sharing my story might help someone else and I'm all about that.  Feel free to email me about this if you want to talk about it.  The eating disorder, that is, not the heroin addiction. And if you are addicted to heroin, talking to me won't help at all. I'm not licensed and I don't really want to deal with all of that, sorry!  P.S. You haters better use correct grammar, punctuation and spelling, or I'm going to have a field day with your ass!]

Oh, and on a totally different subject…for the record, proof that I am and always will be The Original Non-Girlfriend.  Look at those little fuckers!  Aren’t they cute?!  And yes, the swirly dog is the dead one.  RIP Buzzy.  Sadie is still hanging in there but she is blind as a bat and about five pounds thinner.  She is still the most beautiful dog I’ve ever seen.  Bitch.

It so fucking SUCKS dogs don’t live as long as we do.

*Evidence

Tags: , ,
© © non-girlfriend.com