My house has a shank list…


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And I’m apparently on it.

I have an outdoor staircase that it attempting to murder not only myself, but two other people. So far. I have a gutter at the bottom of said stairwell that decided to add a little more pizazz to the falls and pour water in a huge geyser at the bottom of the stairs. You know, so you can get cleaned up from the fall that got you all dirty. I was electrocuted by the house last month. And my heat basically works when it feels like it.

But that isn’t the worst thing the house has done to me in the past month. No, it just got vicious and I want to shank the house right in an electrical socket and watch it burn to the ground. (But I won’t because then my fat kid self would have to get a new house and buy all new stuff with the insurance money that I had to pull out of the insurance company’s fist like a fat kid guarding a Twinkie. And I’d be tired from the fight and have no bed to sleep on unless I went to the store and walked around for years trying to replace all the stuff. I’d become a tent dweller. Or I’d live in my car with Lola.) But back to the worst thing the house has done to me to date.

My ice tastes like broccoli.

That’s right. The ice maker is making ice that tastes exactly like broccoli.

And there’s no broccoli in my freezer.


Sorry, I had to shank my keyboard to stop from shanking the house.

I decided that someone else had to share in my pain of the ice broccoli. I put a cube in Lola’s bowl since she loves ice.

She told me to go get f_ked and walked away without touching it.

Chuck Norris

The living room is about to get crowded…

This week I have a new deep freezer being delivered. And I have nowhere to put it. And no Hubster home to move the big stuff out of my way to put that big freezer somewhere that has other big stuff in it currently.

Did you get that last part?!? No? Me either.

I don’t know how I thought this gigantic upright freezer was going to fit where I wanted it. I may have to put it in the man room and the Hubster will need X-ray vision to see his television from the couch.

I am going to try a last-ditch effort to clear some space for it by utilizing the Goodwill tool. I will load my vehicle with anything I can get my hands on and donate it. There’s only one problem with my plan.

Anytime you purge while under duress, you end up purging stuff you need 3 days later.

But I have no other solution and I’m just hoping that I don’t purge anything the Hubster will immediately notice. He hates purge time, every PCS the Navy sends us on makes him die a little inside. He starts to use stuff for any purpose he can so that when I ask the dreaded “have you used this in the last six months” question he can answer yes.

My favorite time was when the Hubster was using his ammunitions case as a coffee table in the guest room and said we needed it desperately. I asked him to please get rid of the giant case and I’d buy him another when we stopped moving around for the Navy.

He got away on a technicality, he was actively using it. Fucking guy, he’s gotten good at this game and he uses his big, blue eyes to plead his case.

But he’s not here to stop me so I’m going to go a little crazy, cross my fingers and pray the new freezer has somewhere to go.


I was Goliath, or David, oh who the hell knows….


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Yesterday I decided to mow my lawn since it’s been about 3 months since I did so. Since housing planted a weed/moss combo, it’s not like it was actually tall but there were a lot of leaves on the ground and mowing seemed easier than raking.

So I turn the mower on and head towards a patch when all of a sudden a swarm of spiders went running.

There were easily 1,000 spiders running in mass panic. So Lola runs straight for the back door and smacks into the glass. I run after her and get us both inside as we watch these things run everywhere. You could tell they were babies, each one was only about the size of a dime.

There were so many spiders I had 911 cued up in my phone in case things got even worse.

After about 10 minutes all the babies has scattered and I decided to risk opening the door to continue mowing.

And then onto the patio I see the big mother come walking towards me.

She was huge. She was hairy. And she didn’t give one fuck that I was bigger than her. She just headed at me with a deliberate slow pace. Like the one a serial killer uses when he knows your dumbass is trapped since you ran up the stairs instead of out the back door.

Lola came and stood right behind me and she was eyeballing the spider making its way towards us. After about two minutes the spider was within 3 feet of me and Lola decided she’d had enough.

She sprinted back into the safety of the house. Little traitor.

The spider stood still at the 3 foot mark and just looked at me while I stared back at it. And then it happened.

The fucker sprinted straight at me and I freaked the hell out. I stomped that thing with so much force that I broke my slipper (that’s a flip-flop for you folks not from Hawaii)  strap.

I calmly went inside to change underwear before finishing the lawn.

And there’s the Hubster, lying on the couch, snoring.


Get the goat ready…


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So my Tiny Little is defined as tiny due to her age. Physically, she’s quite the little chunkster. I mean, she’s three months old and she’s bigger than her six month old playmates.

She’s chunky and my back knows it daily.

This weekend she learned how to roll from her back to her front. And she promptly realized that this is why chunky kids don’t roll over.

It hurts.

Her ribs are all smushed, her belly is squished to the point where her precious milk comes out and she gets so exhausted it’s all she can do to keep breathing. But she wants to sleep on her belly now that she figured out how to roll.

So the first nap of the day came and the Little rolled onto her belly and started squirming in discomfort. I went over and pulled her rear end up so she could get her knees underneath her.

She slept for a few hours but awoke with the reddest nose and wrinkled face I’ve ever seen on a baby. So at nap time number two we tried to get her sleeping with her face on its side and her butt in the air. That way we could avoid that pug faced look from earlier and any dislocated ribs due to her weight pressing down in ways it never has before.

I’m telling you, none of my skinny Littles have ever had the kind of problems my chunky Littles all seem to have.

So during the nap, every time her face would turn into the mattress she’d start snorting and fighting like a wildebeest. Finally she managed to fall into a deep sleep with her butt up in the air and her face out of the mattress.

And then it all went wrong.

Her butt fell with a huge thud. It may have even caused a small earthquake that resulted in a Tsunami heading towards my hometown in Hawaii. It was just that loud and violent sounding.

Screaming ensued, great big bellows of outrage came out of the crib and her chunky little majesty demanded someone be beheaded for the crimes committed against her.

You can’t reason with these Littles. I tried to tell her that her butt just fell, but she didn’t believe me.

I tried cuddling her but she pushed me away.

I finally put her in the bouncy and as I buckled her in she demanded a Twinkie and a Coke Zero if I valued my life.

Don't touch my fucking cake

I will make a sacrifice to appease the gods of fat kids.

 P.S. I’ll mail a cookie to the first person to leave the correct answer of why the title made sense even though the post wasn’t about goats.


I inhaled a hot dog…


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I was eating those tiny pretzel hot dogs and watching a scary movie with a friend this weekend. It wasn’t supposed to be a scary movie so I thought I was safe to eat. I have a rule, no scary movies while the Hubster is gone and no scary movies while eating foods on the choking list for kids under 3.

But it turned out to be a scary movie and my friend just forgot how much she hated it when she said we should watch it. I think she made it all up and wanted me to suffer how she had to suffer when she was tricked into watching it. So during one particularly tense moment I happened to suck in some air sharply while eating and it all went wrong.

I immediately started coughing and trying not to die. My friend had a mild panic attack before managing to thrust some Coke Zero at me. She was screaming “You have to be ok!!!” like that was going to make the choking stop.

All it did was make me choke harder because I started laughing.

So there I am, trying to hack up hot dog out of my lung, take a breath and drink some soda. At the same time.

And then all of a sudden, the coughing stops. I’m so relieved. My throat is on fire, my voice is hoarse. But I can breathe again.

So I take a deep breath.

And freak out screaming, “What’s going to happen to me?!?! What can happen?!?!” Just like when George Costanza swallowed that fly in Seinfeld.

With every deep breath in and out I could feel this little rattle in my lung from a piece of hot dog. So my friend, being the diligent Heather tamer that she is, googled what happens when you inhale a hot dog in your lungs.

Google said you could develop bacterial pneumonia and die.

FUCK YOU GOOGLE!!!! I didn’t need to hear that shit! I’m already freaked out!

It’s a damn good thing George Constanza didn’t have the internet available to him, he would’ve went insane with worry.

I ended up deciding to sleep and see how that went. Obviously, it went poorly since hot dogs shouldn’t be sitting in your lungs.

So first thing in the morning I called the hospital and they tell me I’m probably good. I’m a healthy individual and have no lung issues that would likely lead this to develop into pneumonia. I ask the nurse about the pain and what to do if it continues. She tells me I can come in but that they will have to “retrieve the hot dog.”

I know what that means. I have a friend whose one year old choked on a popcorn kernel that went into her lung. She had to be put to sleep and they went in to get it out.

I’ll wait to try that until the pneumonia develops. Breathe through the pain.

hot dog

Hot dogs and I are officially on a break.

P.S. It’s been two and a half days since this happened. I am completely congested and am hacking my lungs up. I’m a little worried. I’ll let you know if they need to retrieve the hot dog. And you can bet your ass I’ll ask to take it home as a souvenir. 

The redcoats are coming…


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I recently read an article about food in America versus food in the UK. Apparently, many of our packaged food is sold there, but with vastly different ingredients. The UK has banned many of our ingredients due to health concerns and the American companies obviously want to keep the money flowing, so they adapt their products accordingly.

But only for the countries where the laws prohibit the ingredients.

Meanwhile, in America, we are getting served all the crap that everyone else knows is bad and has banned.

Now, to avoid a whole debate about American politics and campaign dollars on a blog where that shit is not discussed, let’s just skip to the real reason that I think this is happening.

The Brit’s are still pissed about the civil war we wrought on them to become America as we know it today. So they have made a deal with the companies to poison us slowly and make sure that within the next century we once again fall under the rule of Britain because we are so weak from the toxins that we cannot carry on.

Well played Britain, well played.


I’m going to go eat a Twinkie to shore up my strength for the upcoming battle for world dominance.


People watching people watch TV…



Tonight is the season premier of one of my favorite addictions.

The People’s Couch on Bravo.

The show’s premise is very easy to understand: they film people watching TV.

That’s right, I watch people watch TV!

I’ve been told this is a low point in my life but I just laugh because within two minutes of watching, the person who criticized me is enjoying it as much as I do. The show doesn’t have solo people sitting on their couches, they are all groups of people in different homes.

And they are all hysterical. They are laughing at the TV, making fun of everyone, screaming at the dummies on the screen who are doing stupid shit.

Pretty much everything I do when I watch TV.

It’s nice to know I’m not the only nut out there who talks to the screen.

Give The People’s Couch a shot tonight, you’ll be hooked!


My viewing partner for tonight…she likes to watch people watch TV. Namely me.

Lola is an infant…


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No one ever believes me when I tell them this. Let me give you a recent example of the infantile Lola.

I’m on the phone with a dear friend of mine, Lola is napping happily on the floor. After about 15 minutes I realize the snoring has stopped. I look around, no Lola.

The hunt begins.

I track the Lola down in the master bedroom and I find a chewed up cotton ball lying on the ground in front of Lola. Lola is staring at me with her “I’m innocent” face.

I frantically try to recall how many cotton balls I used to complete my nightly routine of taking off my makeup, exfoliating and applying moisturizer. And I start to sniff cotton balls to determine which ones were used for what so I know what Lola may have ingested.

That’s right, I had to sniff cotton balls from a garbage pail.

I finally narrow down that she chewed up and spit out one cotton ball and it only contained a harmless, unscented essential oil. Nothing particularly toxic in that.

I start to breathe easier. The person on the other end of the phone helps to keep me from freaking out.

And then I realize the Q-tips are missing from the top of the pile.

I commence to sniffing and calculating the number used all over again.

Seriously. She’s an infant. You have to lock everything up and watch her at all times. If it is at face level, she will eat it.

Tomorrow I’m buying a covered garbage can for the bathroom.Silly Fat Kid

Who, me?!?! I’m innocent!!!

Road trip baby….


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Tonight I am having an adult sleepover.

It was very weird to write adult and sleepover in the same sentence. And let’s get our heads out of the sewers and keep it PG people!!

We will be pigging out on junk food, watching scary movies that have sharks in it and then attempting to sleep through belly aches and nightmares.

There may be a midnight run to a fast food joint. And that fast food joint might be an hour or more away.

It’s going to be CT all over again!

Which leads me to a story I have for you all. (Did you like how I segued into that?!?! I baited and hooked and you just bit, didn’t you?)

So back in 2008 I was sitting alone during a deployment when I decided I was hungry. For White Castle. At 11:00 at night. And White Castle was over 2 hours away.

Yep. I woke up my neighbor and dragged us both out in the middle of the night in pajamas to drive out of Connecticut, through New York, and into New Jersey where I could get my craving satisfied. We drove home happily with multiple crave cases in the car and a grin on our faces.

Trish, get ready. Who the hell knows where we will end up tonight!!!!!!

P.S. I’ve been craving Sonic. It’s only about an hour away. You may get lucky and get a little more sleep than the poor bastard who had to go with me to White Castle.

It’s been hell…


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A lot of people have been wondering why I haven’t been posting daily. I honestly didn’t know you guys missed me so much when you don’t get your sarcasm and shank fix each day. I was posting every day for a while and I’m trying to get back to that.

No, I am not running out of material. Quite frankly, there’s too much material in my brain and sometimes it is hard to get it out. The moment I declared that I was actually trying to put my book together I freaked out. I am now a drooling mess that is trying to be coherent.

I’m not really sure I am.

I’m also suffering greatly right now in The Land of the Giant. One of the Littles hates my guts, to put it kindly. I talk, he screams. I laugh, he screams harder. I play with the other two Littles and he feels like he needs to call in the Marines to save himself and his friends from my clutches.

It’s been pretty fucking miserable for the past 77 days. I’m deaf, more so than the normal amount I was prior to enrolling this Little. I can’t even wear my hearing aids! I mean, who wants to hear screaming at a higher volume?!?! The other two Littles are bat shit crazy over all the commotion.

The Little who hates me has a hoarse throat that no liquid will ever parch.

So the Little is moving into a new daycare this week and then I am hoping I can find the humor in the whole situation. Sometimes, right when I find the humor, I laugh out loud and the cycle of screaming starts all over again.


And then I shank myself in the ears and try to bleed out.




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