Apparently I have an inner skinny kid…

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And she is currently kicking the shit out of my fat kid self.

On Saturday I was laid low with the plague of all fat kids.

Vomit.

Now, any true fat kid will tell you that vomiting is the worst, absolute worst, thing that can happen to you, in your life. Food is our friend. How dare our food betray us and jump out of our body in ways that scar our throats and make us not want to eat?!?!?

By midnight on Saturday I was cursed with a fever.

By Sunday afternoon I was praying for death.

Then the ray of hope started shining. The fever let up, the fire in my body started to subside and the world was looking golden, once again.

Until my skinny kid came out and smacked my fat kid. I couldn’t eat or drink without an insane paranoia that everything would once again go terribly wrong. I spent Monday avoiding food and barely drinking enough liquids to stay alive.

And I had zero hunger. I spent Monday night dreaming of food and then freaking out at the thought of eating it.

Oh god fat kid, come back!!!

I woke up this morning and thought I had beaten it all. I ate six wheat thins.

Six.

And then the skinny kid punched the fat kid and I walked away from the beacon of hope.

I guess I’ll survive on air.


So I had a little chat with my mother. The last time I vomited I was in the eighth grade. 1997.

17 years ago. (Don’t get me wrong, there were many close calls, but no actual vomit in those 17 years. I lock it down and refuse to puke, I don’t care what happens to me!)

We distinctly remember that my mom was working at the ER and I was at home from school. I called her to complain that she wasn’t home and her response to me was “watch tv”. I asked her which tv since the living room tv had sprouted into two and I didn’t know which to aim the remote control at. It was at this moment that my mother’s coworker, Bonnie, decided that I was being tortured. You see, Bonnie and I shared a mutual love for cheese. She knew I was suffering the plague that kills fat kids.

And my mother just couldn’t understand.

Since I didn’t document the exact date of the 1997 vomit, like Jerry Seinfeld, I will document this vomit.

And it shall be a testament to my personal willpower to make it another 17 years or more without another vomit.

Because, my fat kid will win!

 

 

You haven’t really lived until…

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I recently taught Lola a new game to play. Since she has spent the past three years shadowing me, The President (of her chubby butt), I decided to use her love of Secret Service Dog and make it interesting.

I mean, there’s only so much potty monitoring you can handle before you start closing the door on your animal.

I started by walking into a room and yelling out “bye, Lola” at the top of my lungs and then closing the door almost completely.

Within seconds the little fur ball would charge through like a hippopotamus and stand at attention looking at me like I was demented.

After doing this in every room of the house I started to make it interesting. I turned on the light in the spare bathroom and pulled the door almost shut. Then I walked into my bedroom and did the same to the master bathroom. I walked in the master closet, kept the light off and the door shut and called out “bye, Lola” at the top of my lungs.

I hear the Lola hippo bust into the spare bathroom. I wish I could have seen her puzzled face. She races back out and checks the living room. A few seconds later she’s in the master bedroom and busting in the door of that bathroom.

Puzzlement, and this time I can see her thanks to the crack in the door. I almost died trying not to laugh out loud.

Lola flies out of the room and starts sweeping the house looking for The President. As she makes her way back into the bedroom she seems to realize the closet has been overlooked. She barges in to find me.

We had to halt our game here because Lola got smart and wouldn’t let me walk anywhere without being right behind me.

Literally. I could feel her feet hit my legs as I walked.

I give it a few hours and decide to do it again. I set up some rogue traps designed to fool her. Then I get into my bathtub, lights off, and am lying down with the curtain closed.

Ten minutes later and I am really questioning this decision to hide here. I keep calling out to Lola and she keeps checking the bathroom. She even nudged at the curtain but not enough to see that I was lying down.

Finally, I got what I had coming to me. Lola bum rushed the tub and jumped her full weight on top of me.

Fur went flying, human ribs took a beating and a shower curtain may or may not have needed to be replaced.

But it was all worth it.

A few hours later Lola got up and walked away from me in the living room for no reason. She never leaves me, especially since the Daddybeast was not home. I wander to the back room to see if she’s camped out on the man couch.

Nope.

I go to our bedroom to see if she’s trying to determine if this is the time she makes that leap onto the bed by herself.

Nope, no Lola.

I wander for a few minutes, trying to decide what she’s up to. I’m envisioning some sort of poop revenge for the game I played. And I find her.

She’s lying on the far side of the guest bedroom, wedged between the wall and bed frame.  She’s in a little ball, next to the brown curtains and almost completely unnoticeable.

And as I spot her she bounces with glee and runs away from me snorting.

There’s a possibility that my dog is too smart and will eventually take over the world.

Too Close Lola

She’s such a cute little bulldog.

It can’t be funny all the time…

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I am laughing over all this outrage “the public” has for Ray Rice and the NFL.

Don’t get me wrong, I consider domestic violence to be the worst offense committed, second only to child abuse. It needs to be stopped.

But the mass amount of people who are “outraged” need to put their money where their mouth is. I’m talking total boycott.

No attendance at stadiums, no televisions tuned in, every single team, every single game, until the NFL fires the head idiot and they come up with a concrete minimum penalty that is immediate dismissal from the league.

Immediate.dismissal. You can always be reinstated if an investigation shows you were innocent of the claims (If that happens, you make need to rethink who you have close to you, they sound like assholes if they’re falsely accusing you of things).

Don’t keep telling the internet universe how much you “deplore” domestic violence but your “beloved team” wasn’t part of that so you can continue to support them. Every NFL player, every NFL owner, every NFL viewer is part of it. Your dollars tell them it’s okay to carry on with what they are doing.

Now that I’ve addressed that I’d like to take one more serious moment here.

13 years ago my country was bombed by terrorists. We made it through as a country and are doing pretty good. While you’re thinking about those who were lost on this day 13 years ago, think about those who are currently being killed at this very moment in terroristic acts all over the world. Don’t fool yourself by avoiding the news, it is happening.

Send up a thought, prayer, smiley face emoticon or whatever else you believe in for their safety.


Now on to the funny part of the day.

I only have two Littles in care today and they were both soundly napping. All of a sudden, I see both heads shoot up at the same time and they start wailing. I get them both lying down again and they fall back asleep.

5 minutes later, it happens again. Same time, both heads shoot up and they scream.

Nothing seems to be causing this to happen. It must be the gravitational pull of the Earth. I’m going to need the Earth to stop rotating for the next two hours please. The Giant relies on nap time to make it through the daycare day.

I wonder if infants are swayed by bribery involving Twinkies?!!

It’s about to blow…

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Someone is going to get shanked in the throat very soon.

I don’t know who, or when, or even why.

You’ve been warned.

Feed me a Twinkie and I may let you live.

Or better yet, send me some Spam, I’m desperate to try the Chorizo flavor. Damn thing is hard to find in stores and online you have to order a case of 12.

That’s a fuck ton of Spam that may turn out to be disgusting.

Why don’t you invite me over….

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Fall is here; it is rainy and bleak and chilly outside.

I freaking love it!!! Thank you WA state for being so dreary and grey, you make me love you more when you’re like this.

Pumpkin Vomit

But let’s talk about the horrors of fall.

I hate pumpkin. And spice. And I even hate orange by the end of September just due to the sheer volume of orange hued home decorating everyone is vomiting all over their homes.

And Pinterest.

Fuck.you.Pinterest!

You and your ideas on how to incorporate more pumpkin, more spice and more orange into every aspect of living for the next three months. The entire neighborhood smells like a big pumpkin pie! I walked outside my front door yesterday and the smell of pumpkin and spice smashed into my face and drove me back indoors.

Enough already! I’m losing it here!

So here’s my personal mission. Every time I walk into a friend’s home that is pumpkin and spice and orange EVERYWHERE, I am going to steal something. Something pumpkin or spice or orange. And I’m going to bring it home and take a picture of the little kidnapped object and then torture you with it on my blog.

I sense I will not get invited to many places for the next few months.

Which serves my purpose well, since I freak out after more than a few minutes in any home where pumpkin and spice smells are being piped in through the ventilation.

 

I would’ve made a great Roman empress…

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I’ve always been an organized person. I remember being a child who would fold her Barbie doll clothes and put them into the little pink Barbie suitcase for safekeeping. Shoes went in the trunk of the Barbie Cadillac. Hair accessories went in their little yellow organizer.

Life was good.

And now I am sharing something with you all that I have never shared with anyone who has not come into my home to play original Nintendo with me (yes, I still have it and it still works).

These are the memory game guides I made for Super Mario Bros. 3 when I was a child. You know, back in the day before game guides and the internet existed.

I made my first set of guides with stickers from the comic book store. And then when the internet and computers became a thing I made it in a Word Document. Feel free to use them, they are every single possibility you will encounter in the game.

One piece of advice, I labeled them with world titles just because I could, the actual game will be picked at random.

Screen Shot 2014-09-08 at 7.32.18 AMScreen Shot 2014-09-08 at 7.32.25 AMScreen Shot 2014-09-08 at 7.33.05 AM

You’re welcome universe, you’re welcome.

Yesterday I came to the startling conclusion that I may need therapy to overcome my need to organize. I mean, I cannot even play a virtual farming game without an excel spreadsheet to track my crop inventory.

I listed all the crops that can be grown (by hours needed to grow), I listed all the machines that make those crops into other products (like ketchup) and I even listed all my animals and what they need to eat to make their milk, eggs, etc.

And my spreadsheet is beautiful. I am seriously in love with it. It is color coordinated which just makes me grin.

And that’s when I realized, this may be an illness. So I’m going to seek therapy.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

I had you going there for a minute, didn’t I?!?

Yeah, I’m not going to therapy. I’m going to go make some more spreadsheets. The first one I may make is listing my friends by gullibility.

And I may eat 50 pizza rolls while I compile my spreadsheet.

Because I like everything in excess.

 

Stifle the laughter…

I can literally go days without a single funny blog to post. Days. I mean, I’m funny in my head all the time, but sometimes when you write it down it just reads stupid.

And not funny stupid, but regular old stupid.

And then there are nights like tonight. My brain hit the motherload and I am just trying to get my fingers to keep up.

The brain that has been uselessly wandering around for days with nothing of interest going on now won’t shut the hell up. And if I laugh at myself one more time I think the Hubster is going to have me committed.

So, I’m going to put my brain to sleep right now, but you guys should have a few exciting reads coming up.

Stayed tuned.

I need to learn Russian…

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Today I scared myself shitless. I had to call a friend to talk myself down from the ledge.

She was too busy laughing at me to do it.

The day started off normal enough; I played my farm game app on my iPad before daycare. Checked my Facebook. Read a few tweets. Sent off some iMessages.

It was business as usual.

Within 3 hours I noticed that iMessage was completely down. I couldn’t send, couldn’t receive, there were red exclamation points all over. My phone hates me. I go to the iPad; it hates me also. iMac, check mark, it hates me most of all.

I don’t panic. I try to get into my iTunes account and it just sits there, halfway in, halfway out. Stupid progress bar, those things could drive you crazy!!

Why is nothing working today?!?!?!

I continue my day sending out text messages instead. I try to get on Facebook. It’s not working. iPhone, iPad, iMac, nothing at all. Facebook is dead. It’s a bit disturbing but I’m hanging in there.

I go to Twitter. Dead. Okay, that’s a little suspicious.

At this point I think it must be the modem. I mean, it shows all lights green but who the hell knows what tricks that demon modem is concocting. So I reset my system.

Doo do, do doo, doo doo do, doo do do do do, do do do do dooo ….That stupid Jeopardy theme songs kicks in any time I have to wait.

Internet still not working. Okie dokie. Let’s call Wave Broadband and see what’s up.

I call into Wave and the stupid, useless customer support gives me nothing.

Customer Support

 There is no outage that they know of so it must be my hardware.

A few minutes after hanging up with support I get a text message from a friend in CA. She is desperate to know why nothing is working. She can’t get on the internet. Nothing is working!

 HOLY SHIT, THE RUSSIANS ARE TAKING US DOWN!!!!

I almost started evacuation procedures. I planned on calling Jason once I got to Canada.

I decided to call a friend and the first words I say to her are “I know this is going to sound all conspiracy theory and stuff, but I need you to hear me.”

Conversations that start with that sentence are going to spiral out of control in a hurry.

So I start speed talking to her, she can’t get a word in. I am telling her that she needs to put the events together starting now and working backwards.

-The whole goddamn Internet went down

-My farm went down

-Twitter went down

-Facebook went down

-iMessage went down

-Celebrity nude photos were hacked, possible all of iCloud is now in danger

-Home depot had a massive breach and data was stolen by the truckload (figuratively) by the same Russian hacking group that stole the Target info

I mean, connect the dots damn it, THE RUSSIANS ARE COMING!!!!!

At this point I am flat-out babbling on the phone to my friend. Like the trooper she is, she manages to stop laughing long enough to tell me to breathe deeply before I have a heart attack. Since the electrocution I suffered on Friday already gave my heart a scare, thinking about Russian invasions is not a good thing.

But I can’t stop. I mean, Internet is step one. Take out the Internet has been checked off their list. The next step is utilities like electric and water. Holy shit, it’s like that Die Hard movie with the hackers. AND I LOST ELECTRICITY ON FRIDAY!! Remember, the electrocution?!?!?! Sure, they (who is they? ponder that!) said it was “routine, scheduled maintenance” but that shit was supposed to happen at 0800 and it happened again at 1300. I bet the Russians cut power the second time to see if it’d work and they (who is they?!) didn’t want us to panic.

 IT’S ALL COMING TRUE!!!!!

This is where I practically had an aneurism. I had to hang up the phone before my friend’s laughter turned into alarm and some lovely military policeman showed up at my door with a straight jacket.

I take a few minutes to process my thoughts and decide to call Wave again.

And their phone number is disconnected. The one I had just called earlier to verify if there was an Internet problem on their end.

FUCK MY LIFE!!! It’s really happening.

I am then beset with a moment of clarity. I turn the Wi-Fi on my phone off. And I can actually get onto the Internet.

Thank you 4G!

So I hit up Google and it seems like people all the way from WA straight down to CA are having issues and can’t get on the Internet.

Phew! It’s not the Russians AND it’s not the entire US.

My relief disappears as quickly as it came about. In the Die Hard movie they took down the East Coast before going after the rest of the country. But would the Russians follow that formula?! I mean, starting on the west coast makes more sense.

Oh god. Shut up brain. SHUT UP!

Taking out the west coast since that’s where all the big techies live and then the Russians are able to really take down the east coast without much problem.

And if you take out the west coast first people might not put two and two together and realize they are following the plot of the Die Hard movie.

They’ll fool people into thinking the outage is just normal and affecting the one area.

Like they almost fooled me!

Well, I’m not buying it. My brain is a powerhouse and it refuses to shut up.

If you need me, I’ll be in the corner trying not to die.

P.S. I had to write this post in a Word document because, obviously, the Internet is down. I can’t get onto my blog. If for some reason the US doesn’t make it, I hope whoever inherits my computer will publish this for me.

I finally got to use my creative cursing book…

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So a third airplane in two weeks has landed unexpectedly due to a fight over leg room.

Let’s all take a moment to think about the fact that there are 3 people in America who have physically fought someone over leg room on an air plane.

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!?!?!

Alright people, time for you to hear the truth.

Start disciplining your kids. Discipline. Doesn’t mean smack them around with a belt or back of the hand. It means teach them that not everything in the world is theirs and that sometimes we will be uncomfortable and that’s just the way life is.

People also need to start realizing that we as a world are doing something important and you should jump on board.

Costanza pointing

“You know, we’re living in a society! We’re supposed to act in a civilized way.”

And here’s the final truth. It will be pretty profanity filled so skip this paragraph if blood makes you squeamish.

Stop getting so fucking pissed off that the nut dangler in front of you is reclining the fucking seat they paid good damn money for! I know you paid lots of fucking money too. I hear you, you raging sack sniffer. I also know that if you were feeling even a TINY bit fucking sleepy you’d throw your seat back without giving a shit about the twat twister who’s behind you. But no, you just want to throw a fucking hissy fit because the testicle beater in front of you is fucking sleepy at a different time than you are. Well, you are a raging cooch wad. Buy a first class seat and shut your fucking dildo hole. And if you can’t afford a first class seat you should not be flying at all you, rectum wipe.

Okay, I got that out of my system. Now that paragraph above is fine knowledge to have. That’s what I do when flying. I get squished in the seat and just let the hatred in my head fly around. The public doesn’t need to know every upset you have in life. Sit down, buckle your fucking seat belt and enjoy the flight we’re all stuck on together.

Or at least shut up about it while you’re in the tin can with the rest of the sardines.

P.S. A few years ago I had an insane urge to kill a motherfucker during a flight and since then I’ve been booking first class seats. It’s worth the price you pay. If not for those seats, I’d be on the no fly list by now. Know your limits people.

 

My new nickname is official….

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Base housing had another “scheduled” power outage in housing. By “scheduled” I mean they send you an email and tell you the power outage is from 0800-0900 and then at 1300 everything in your house shuts down.

So there I am, playing around on my $2,000 iMac when all of a sudden, I hear a pop and a faint burning smell.

And I become enraged.

Damn you base housing!

I immediately call the housing office and they inform me that they were notified last-minute (read: we forgot to tell the residents that the plan changed and we don’t want you to scream at us like a psycho) and sent out an email saying that the power outage would continue later in the day. Unfortunately, I got no email, neither did 4 neighbors I asked.

And we all have smartphones, we checked our email again.

So the housing office tells me the power may cycle on and off and that we need to unplug our electronics to avoid killing them.

That’s some useless, late advice lady.

So there I am, walking around the house and unplugging everything. I reach for the surge protector that the computer is plugged into and, as I touch it, sparks fly out of the socket and shock the shit out of me. Power cycled back on at the wrong moment.

Thank you office lady. I hate your motherfucking guts.

At this point I call my dad. He was a nuke on submarines for decades and he’s now a plant supervisor at an electric company. All in all, he’s my electricity guru.

He runs through the procedure for turning the stuff off at the breaker panel to avoid any rogue problems. Like shocking yourself. So I launch into the story about how I just got shocked. He starts to ask questions about what happened and he immediately tells me to have someone come over and watch me (I still had a daycare kid in the house) and I should get to an ER. Or call 911. But something needed to happen.

I desperately try to locate the Hubster who is lost on a submarine that I apparently have no phone numbers to.  No friends can get to me to take me to the ER and I frankly got too worried to logically process thought once my mother (the ER nurse) calls and orders me to an ER immediately or she is calling 911 and sending them to me. Apparently my sweating, rapid heart beat and arm tingles were a terrible sign. Once she threatened to get on a plane I knew I had to get moving.

The Hubster was located and kicked off the boat and he arrives home to start a lecture that ran the whole way to the ER. Circuit breakers, electric panels, outlet safety…blah, blah, blah.

Apparently, I’m now going to be subjected to some Navy safety course about electric shocks. And I’ve got a hundred bucks that says it’s a PowerPoint.

Yay me!

But the best part came as I was getting into the car. I went to plug my phone into the car outlet and the Hubster looks right at me and says

“What are you doing, Sparky? You’re no longer allowed near plugs. And I hope I get to watch them hook a defibrillator up to you, that’ll make it worth losing so much time at work.”

God I love that man.

P.S. I’m fine, I had an EKG and it was normal. See, one area where I’m normal! Though I do have to rest for 24-48 hours due to my freakishly high blood pressure and racing heart beat. I told the doctor, “I’m chubby, own an English Bulldog and have an iPad and Apple TV. Sitting on the couch is my forte.”

 

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