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“This is Jezebel in hell…”

Published on March 12, 2013, by in Alcohol, It's What's For Dinner, General Bitchiness, Hoda, More A Cautionary Tale Than A Role Model.

(or Reasons Why Traveling For Work Ain’t So Glamourous!)

  • “I went to jail for nothin’!” NOT what you want to hear a fellow passenger say into his cell phone while you are waiting to board your plane.
  • Picking up the in-flight drink menu and realizing you just laid your hand on something on the folder that is sticky. And yellow.
  • Then realizing you left your hand sanitizer in your checked bag.
  • Having a hot flash at 30,000 feet and wanting to peel your tights off but you can’t – this is the one late night flight everyone decided to stay awake for.
  • Going to the bathroom in flight and getting up to flush. And seeing the toilet lid up. You sat down to pee on what about 350 guys before you pissed all over the past 2 days. (You KNOW they don’t clean that shit!)
  • Worrying for the rest of the flight about possible STDs contracted.
  • And realizing how incredibly lame it will be to explain them away by saying, “I got it from a toilet seat.”  Note to self: Take a Silkwood Shower when you get home!
  • Knowing for certain from the last late night flight you took that they won’t serve you more than three cocktails on a 2 1/2 hour flight.
  • Even if your mommy and daddy are picking you up at the airport.
  • Well, HELL, guess they changed it to two. At least that’s what they told me this time.
  • Idiot at airport exit holding up toll lane.  Our toll lane. The one I told my parents would go faster.  Me: It’s some fucktard amateur traveler, I’ll bet.  Doesn’t know what they are doing. Why oh why do I decide to travel during Spring Break week?  Mom:  Shhh! People will hear you.  Me:  I don’t care, I hope the fucktard hears me and HURRIES THE HELL UP.  It’s freaking midnight! Me: I bet it is some bitch.  I swear, most bitches don’t know how to drive.  (Pause) Me: Look! It is some dumb bitch . You can tell by her fat hands.

Don’t hate on me because of the “fat hands” comment.  If I adore you, I don’t care what the flying fuck you look like.  You could have three ugly, slimy, green horns growing out of your left elbow and I’d still love the shit out of ya. But if you piss me off, watch out. I’ll find the first, most obvious thing to say to be mean because, well because just don’t mess with me! Besides, she had her damned arm hanging out the window for ten fucking minutes and I couldn’t help but notice.  She didn’t have fat arms, though.  I really wonder if she was just retaining water.

And don’t hate on me because of the “most bitches don’t know how to drive” comment, either.  I base this on the soccer moms and clueless airheads I see zooming around Dallas traffic, trying to kill me and everyone else in their paths.  I don’t care for most truck drivers, either. I’ve had too many run me off the road. Okay, so I’m biased. It’s my blog, I can be :)

I’m obviously jet-lagged and Daylight Savings Manic so goodnight all.  I’m going to go hose my naughty bits off with some Lysol!

P.S. I really did go wash my ass area. Still having heebie jeebies from that airplane toilet episode. Ick!

P.P.S. These are my popular search terms? Get more creative, assholes.  This also explains many of the comments I DELETE within the first 3 seconds:

angel in an earth suit,  histrionic girlfriend,  best name for a liquor store,  sexy highschool girlfriend, best way to drug a dog, best way to drug a boyfriend

Oh hell. I made those last two up.

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“I’m on a highway to hell…”

Published on March 3, 2013, by in Alcohol, It's What's For Dinner, General Bitchiness, Hoda, More A Cautionary Tale Than A Role Model.

Yeah, that was me up until an hour ago.  There isn’t enough vodka in the world to make me forget the road trip to and from hell this weekend.

First, I started Atkins yesterday, Day One of Two Day Road Trip, so of course, I had to be snarky AND difficult when choosing where we’d stop for lunch because sorry, scrambled eggs and nothing else really doesn’t last that long in your belly. I tried, though.  I did eat breakfast before we left.  Three fucking scrambled eggs. And some pistachios on the trip down south. I needed a goddamned SALAD.

Then, my obnoxious brother kept interrupting me all the way there and my lovely non-BF, who is WAY too nice to say, “Shut the fuck UP, dude!” like I would have (and did, quite a few times) just contributed to me getting more and more pissed off at him. My brother. And yes, sometimes the non-BF.  And probably you, if you had walked by at the wrong moment. Hell! I wanted some bread in the worst possible way!

By the way, I really don’t get the appeal behind road trips?  You are stuck in a car for hours.  There are accidents and traffic jams, and the restaurants that are close to the major highways? Ick.

Nope, plop me on a fucking plane and serve me cocktails and make me forget that yeah, I’m 35,000 feet in the air and we, as humans, are really NOT supposed to be doing this shit.  And please, Baby Jesus, don’t let my plane be the one in 3,000,000 odds that crashes.  Did I just see the captain or pilot or whateveryoucallhim taking a drink? Was that gin? Oh hell, hand me a Xanax!  *Note: I am TOTALLY over that stage in my Traveler Life now.  I don’t even flinch in horrible turbulence when others about the cabin are turning green. But there was a day when I did…

I knew someone who only went on vacations where they could drive (no, not my parents, even though, yes, that would be them as well).  Wow, how limiting.  Where are you gonna go when you’ve seen everything in America??  It’s not even about the money – it’s all that TIME spent in a car just getting there. AND they went to the same place every year.  “Hey! Maybe it’s changed since last year? No, wait, still the same.” Give me a new adventure any day.

So back to this road trip.  I volunteered to drive back. We are heading out of the destination city today, driving home.  When I-35 decides to back the hell up like me on Thanksgiving, where I start reliving the past six hours of overeating, but in a physical way, not in a nostalgic way, unless you count throwing up in my mouth “nostalgic,” the non-BF and I decided on the 281 Detour.

281 Ways to Delay Your Trip

281 Minutes More Than You Should Have Spent On The Road

281 Reasons Why I Won’t Be Visiting San Antonio Anytime Soon

Six and a half hours later, I am home.  He still has a road trip to get him home.  I’m just glad I don’t have to be sitting my ass behind a wheel, braking to make the assholes behind me slow down and speeding up to pass the asshats in front of me who don’t get the Left Is A Passing Lane, Motherfuckers! rule.

I’m way too angry to go on a road trip.  Staying home next time.  Just bring me a souvenir ;)

 

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“I’m An Angel In An Earth Suit”

Published on March 1, 2013, by in ADD Much? Hey, Look! A Squirrel!, Alcohol, It's What's For Dinner, General Bitchiness, Hoda, More A Cautionary Tale Than A Role Model, Shopaholics Anonymous...What's That?.

Gary Busey is seriously cray.

I can’t believe I just wrote “cray.” God help me.

Random Shit From Today:

  • So I go shopping at lunch today, because what better way to lose weight than not eating? and yes, shopping IS exercise (at least the way I do it is, ha!) so because I am currently a Chunkster, I wear a pair of black leggings and this cute sweater tunic I bought at LOFT then I get to the store and I’m all shedding puffs of beige all over the place and it’s like I’m wearing a fucking mountain goat or an alpaca or something, oh wait, I think the sweater is part alpaca!, well, hell, no wonder!
  • P.S. Longest run-on sentence in here yet. I think. Not even trying that again. Whew!
  • I had to remember all of that (above) because when I go back to my self-text from lunchtime, this is what my mentally-challenged Siri got out of it:  “So go shopping at lunch today because what better way to lose weight and did not eat half the shopping is great exercise at least the way I do it is so because I’m a Chuckster these days I want my black leggins and decided on this week cute I bought sweater tunic I bought at lost when I get to the store now up shedding them think that little bar all over it so I’m wearing amount of fucking mountain goat.”  FAIL.
  • I am in a never-ending battle with Wormy Kitty.  Now that she has her own bedroom (let’s just stop here and note that my fucking cat HAS HER OWN BEDROOM), she likes to push her catnip mice under the door.  I notice, keep sticking them back under, return five minutes later and there are THREE mice on the floor.  Now the dogs have taken to playing with the catnip mice.  I read that it won’t hurt them, and that some dogs do indeed get a little “frisky” from that shit.  I know the New Dog does.  He’s been caught humping a blankie after a vigorous round of Smash The Catnip Mouse. Never a dull moment around here, nope.
  • I’ve started calling the furbabies “Nachos” when I leave the house.  Like, “See you later, Nachos!” and “I’m Nacho Momma!” Don’t ask me why – they don’t resemble a chip, sour cream, guac or even a jalapeno.
  • Siri? You seriously SUCK ASS. How on earth did you get “they don’t resemble a chip Tetterton are shredded cheese sour cream free to helping you weird like that”????
  • I give up.  I need to just pull the fucking car over and write this shit down!
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“You’ll Never Know What Hit You When I Get To You…”

Published on February 27, 2013, by in Alcohol, It's What's For Dinner, Awkward Sexual References, General Bitchiness, Hoda, Let's Talk About Sex Baby, More A Cautionary Tale Than A Role Model.

WTH is a “chicka cherry cola,” anyway?  And why did we all just LOVE that song when it came out?

Confession:  I still do.  Feel free to judge me now.

*****

Texting the non-BF, asking for money because I’m still fucking clueless about sticking to a budget.

Me: “Help me, I’m poor!” Can I borrow some money? (Translation:  Will you GIVE me some money?)

The non-BF: Sure, what happened this time?

Me:  Wormy Kitty knocked over that glass of wine on top of my iPhone, ‘member? And so I had to pay the $200 insurance to get a new one and blah blah blah (Translation:  I totally went out of control at Ulta and now I have six different scents to wear and five new hair products, one of which has gone back because it sucks.)

The non-BF: Want to come get the cash?

Me: Nope, just PayPal me, please.  Thankyouverymuchyouarealifesaver! Now I won’t overdraft! (Translation: Now I can buy some wine!)

It’s not that I don’t make a good living – I just have this shopping, um, PROBLEM.  I even gave him all my credit cards to be a good girl.  (Note: If you have to say “all my credit cards,” you probably have too many.)

The non-BF: Goods? Or Services? Hee! I’m choosing “Services”!

Me: Can you put a memo in there? That would be so funny if you could!  “Thanks for last night!” Hee!

Ding – you’ve got mail! “The non-BF sent you $.”

So I go to transfer it to my bank account and…”This may take 3-4 days, depending upon your bank.”  Well, just FUCK.

Me:  That was totally a waste of time.

The non-BF: Why?

Me: Takes bank 3-4 days to transfer the money. PayPal can suck my left one!

The non-BF: Get it the old fashioned way – come by. I left it out for you.

Me: You are the nicest non-BF!

Fast-forward 20 minutes, and I’m working on something when I get another text…

The non-BF: When you stop by for the money, can you bring the step stool? And my shirt? That could be your “services” – hahaha.

Me: Sure.

The non-BF: Don’t do it if the step stool is too heavy.

Me: It is light. One hand job.

The non-BF: The services will be one hand job?

I totally walked into that one.

*****

Another completely different text conversation today.  We are talking about dinner plans for Thursday night.

The non-BF:  Okay so 7:00 for dinner?

Me:  Yeah. You picking me up?

The non-BF: Yep, I will pick you up although you realize I can walk to the restaurant now. (He just moved)

Me: Yeah, but it is last Bad Day so I want a cocktail.  Austerity Campaign starts tomorrow.

The non-BF:  Lord, every day is last bad day…it’s like a drinking Groundhog Day!

Me: LOL!

The non-BF: I hope you shot milk out of your nose on that one.

Me:  Nope. Vodka.

 

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Yeah? Well Go Stick THIS In Your Happy Place!

Published on February 21, 2013, by in ADD Much? Hey, Look! A Squirrel!, Alcohol, It's What's For Dinner, General Bitchiness, Hoda, More A Cautionary Tale Than A Role Model.

Some Of The Things I Hate, In No Particular Order:

  • Being the last one to get the joke
  • Walking around all day wondering to yourself, “What stinks?” and realizing it has been you
  • Waking up early thinking you’re ahead of the game and what a great start to the work day only to find out it’s Saturday
  • Grocery shopping at 2:00 p.m. on a weekday when all the old people are there
  • Getting stuck behind two of them chatting right in the middle of the fucking aisle and they won’t move
  • Random, weird comments I can never approve…get your shit together, will ya? – you know who you are
  • Gary Busey trying hard to be weirder than he is already – dude, that shit is futile; you’re bat-shit crazy already, why give it so much more extra effort??
  • Sitting through three horrible commercials before you realize you are watching something you DVR’d
  • Sneezing so hard, something in your head pops and you aren’t sure what it was
  • When the doorbell rings – on the TV – and the dogs start barking; when the doorbell rings in real life and they don’t
  • Being on an allowance and never going through the entire shopping cart experience with “place order now” – it’s like having Shopping Blue Balls or something
  • Waking up in the middle of the night and Wormy Kitty is sitting on my chest, staring at me…that shit is creepy!
  • Going out with girlfriends to tie one on and not being able to get drunk.  At all.  Not even tipsy.
  • Having a Good Hair Day when you have absolutely nowhere to go
  • That commercial with Eddie Money in it where he’s in a travel agency; it gave me nightmares the first time I saw it
  • Diets, forced counseling and assholes who think they are entitled
  • That stupid window that pops up and asks me if I want to allow the system to install Java
  • Gaining five pounds and finding none of your pants fit, then realizing you gave away all your Fat Jeans
  • Shitting your pants
  • When you say, “Jesus H. Christ!” and someone asks, “What does the “H” stand for?

Well, hell.  It’s as if that wedding sucked all that was snarky and bitchy right out of me.  Fuck that shit, I am going to bed.

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