Sooooo.....
It's summer.
It's hot as shit outside.
We live in the air conditioning like couch blobs or in the water like floating blobs.
And that's pretty much what's going on around here.
Man....seriously. Human beings were not meant to live in places with upwards of 100 degree temps. The Grand Designer should have made us unable to withstand anything higher than, like 80 degrees. If that was always as cold/hot as it ever got, life would be so much nicer. Well, at least, less "sweatier" anyway.
You know, I don't really have a problem with sweating in general, but I feel like I should be doing something to earn my sweat, you know? Like working out, or running, or trying to put on skinny jeans in a non-air-conditioned dressing room. Those times? Totally "sweat-worthy". But just sitting?? Sitting on your ass outside? You should not just sweat. There's just something wrong about it.
I think the main reason I have an issue with it is that (brace yourselves) I sweat like a frickin' MAN. Seriously.
It rolls down my back, off the tip of my nose and between my boobs. It's not "glistening" or "perspiring", it's flippin' SWEATING. Like a whore in church.
But at least I don't have the trouble that my husband does....he tends the sweat in all the same places (minus the boobs), but also in other, more, um...delicate....areas. (And no, before you freak out, I'm not going *there*)
So yeah...sweating...on your butt....(Sidebar: In your butt? No that totally sounds disgusting. Hmmm...sweating out of your butt?? Holy Lord! Even worse...not sure what the appropriate terminology is here kids....moving on before you just click off this blog and forget you ever even read it...).
Anyhoo: butt sweat. Referred to by my husband as "swamp ass". Never heard that? Okay, think about this: you're outside, it's 7:30 am...cooler weather and all that. You start working. Next thing you know it's noon and by this point you are sweating pretty good. So you take a lunch break, cool off, grab some grub whatever. Back to work....and this is the HOT stretch...1 pm to dark...it's HOT...like 104 degrees hot. But you make it through, jump in the truck and head home....cooling off with that nice AC. By the time you get home, you've now sweated and cooled off about 4 times throughout the day. Your underwear/jeans/shorts are now the bearers of "swamp ass".
Get the picture?
And the ever-so-helpful Wikipedia defines it as as common Marine Corps terminology and says: swamp-ass – unpleasant collection of sweat soaking undergarments.
Well....they made it sound so much simpler.
Think Swamp People get swamp ass??
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
And now for your daytime viewing pleasure...
I’m just not that into daytime TV. And when your job allows you take extended amounts of time off in the summer, you have (for some unknown reason) chosen to settle in a southern state with temps upwards of 187 degrees and you have no pool, there’s not all that much else to do.
I’m not a huge fan. My roommate in college was a die-hard (and I mean, die-hard) General Hospital fan. Like she recorded it on our VCR everyday while she was in class and then before she headed out to study group or whatever (because she was ridiculously smart and majored in biochemical engineering or some such nonsense and was ALWAYS freakin’ studying), she’d watch the day’s episode and eat dinner. I have to say, I kinda got into it after a while. I mean, if your TV is going to be high-jacked while you’re eating, eventually you start paying attention to what’s on it. But after college, you know, my soap opera phase ended….along with my Doc Maarten’s phase, my plaid shirt phase and my maroon lipstick phase. The 90s were over, I had to deal.
I do, however, enjoy a good trashy talk show as much as the next person. I spent many afternoons studying….erm…vegged out on the couch, royally hung over, eating Sonic and watching TV (sorry, Mom). I saw so many transvestite love triangles on Jerry Springer that I started suspecting my neighbor of being a cross-dresser who had a secret relationship going on with his roommate who was actually cheating with the weird, short kid that came over to “study”. Seriously, Jerry Springer can warp anyone’s world view.
Alas, my days of Jerry Springer viewing are over. My daytime TV viewing after the kid was born consisted of Super Why, Between the Lions and Curious George. (Gotta love the educational PBS line-up!) Those days, if it didn’t have a spelling lesson, at least one puppet and some sort of moral, I hadn’t seen it.
Fast forward a few years and few hundred conversations with my husband about why I don’t want satellite and why he does later, and now my daytime TV viewing consists of Disney channel on loop showing the same 30-minute, “I have a problem, I made a bad choice to solve it, oh-no! now I have to apologize to my friend, whew glad everyone learned their lesson here” storyline. But strangely, the wardrobes are slightly reminiscent of Jerry Springer...anyone else notice that?? Weird. AND, can someone please explain to me the shorts/boots combination?? I mean, for Alex Russo, I get it...a good place to stash her wand, but Bridget Mendler's character on Good Luck Charlie?? No point. But the absolute worst thing? I can sing all the damn songs that come on...Lemonade Mouth, Selena Gomez, Hannah Montana....
I’m starting to miss the puppets.
I’m not a huge fan. My roommate in college was a die-hard (and I mean, die-hard) General Hospital fan. Like she recorded it on our VCR everyday while she was in class and then before she headed out to study group or whatever (because she was ridiculously smart and majored in biochemical engineering or some such nonsense and was ALWAYS freakin’ studying), she’d watch the day’s episode and eat dinner. I have to say, I kinda got into it after a while. I mean, if your TV is going to be high-jacked while you’re eating, eventually you start paying attention to what’s on it. But after college, you know, my soap opera phase ended….along with my Doc Maarten’s phase, my plaid shirt phase and my maroon lipstick phase. The 90s were over, I had to deal.
I do, however, enjoy a good trashy talk show as much as the next person. I spent many afternoons studying….erm…vegged out on the couch, royally hung over, eating Sonic and watching TV (sorry, Mom). I saw so many transvestite love triangles on Jerry Springer that I started suspecting my neighbor of being a cross-dresser who had a secret relationship going on with his roommate who was actually cheating with the weird, short kid that came over to “study”. Seriously, Jerry Springer can warp anyone’s world view.
Alas, my days of Jerry Springer viewing are over. My daytime TV viewing after the kid was born consisted of Super Why, Between the Lions and Curious George. (Gotta love the educational PBS line-up!) Those days, if it didn’t have a spelling lesson, at least one puppet and some sort of moral, I hadn’t seen it.
Fast forward a few years and few hundred conversations with my husband about why I don’t want satellite and why he does later, and now my daytime TV viewing consists of Disney channel on loop showing the same 30-minute, “I have a problem, I made a bad choice to solve it, oh-no! now I have to apologize to my friend, whew glad everyone learned their lesson here” storyline. But strangely, the wardrobes are slightly reminiscent of Jerry Springer...anyone else notice that?? Weird. AND, can someone please explain to me the shorts/boots combination?? I mean, for Alex Russo, I get it...a good place to stash her wand, but Bridget Mendler's character on Good Luck Charlie?? No point. But the absolute worst thing? I can sing all the damn songs that come on...Lemonade Mouth, Selena Gomez, Hannah Montana....
I’m starting to miss the puppets.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
It's like my second job, but without a paycheck.
Because pretty much all I have to talk about these days is tee ball, shuttling the kid to tee ball, who made tee ball all-stars and why we even *have* tee ball all-stars when we don't "officially" keep score, or how insane work is right now, I'm going to bring up something that has been on my mind for a while and still confuses me.
Namely: why my husband still attempts to initiate sex with me in the morning when he knows that A) I don't like it and B) I am *always* running late to get out of bed, shower, get the kid up and get everyone where they need to be on time. Well, at least reasonably on time...give or take 15 minutes. (Sidebar: I swear they've started keeping a "tardy note tab" on my kid at school and I'm sure she's going to have to like, make up hours in kindergarten d-hall where they'll make her sit and think about what a bad parent I am for not being able to get my kid to school on time or make her write pages of multiplication tables like my principal did when I was in elementary school. Except that may have not happened until I actually learned my multiplication tables....hmmm.... Anyway, I'm pretty sure the school secretary hates me.)
Back to the topic at hand....Ronnie's actually come up with a fairly convincing argument, which is pretty much, besides locking the child out of the house (and really, how obvious is *that*), there's just no other time of day that works. We all get home from work, school, ball practice in the evening, have dinner, do bath time and watch some TV or read books (okay, mostly TV...don't judge me) and then we all crash. Well, except for the "I'm never going to sleep again and you can't make me" kid that we created. But Ronnie and I? Totally out. Exhausted. Done.
So it's kinda rare for us to get the opportunity in the evening or at night.
Which leaves the morning.
Bleh.
You know what I do in the morning? Get up, shower, drink coffee, get ready, get the kid up, get her ready, load the car and go to work. You know what I don't do in the morning? Talk.
Ever. Well, at least until I've had one cup of coffee. And then only if it's something really important like, "I think the house is on fire". Other than that? Not so much a morning person.
So if we don't get a date night soon? I may have to resort to getting up early to have coffee and brush my teeth before he busts his move.
Jeez...my mom wasn't kidding when she said marriage took WORK.
Namely: why my husband still attempts to initiate sex with me in the morning when he knows that A) I don't like it and B) I am *always* running late to get out of bed, shower, get the kid up and get everyone where they need to be on time. Well, at least reasonably on time...give or take 15 minutes. (Sidebar: I swear they've started keeping a "tardy note tab" on my kid at school and I'm sure she's going to have to like, make up hours in kindergarten d-hall where they'll make her sit and think about what a bad parent I am for not being able to get my kid to school on time or make her write pages of multiplication tables like my principal did when I was in elementary school. Except that may have not happened until I actually learned my multiplication tables....hmmm.... Anyway, I'm pretty sure the school secretary hates me.)
Back to the topic at hand....Ronnie's actually come up with a fairly convincing argument, which is pretty much, besides locking the child out of the house (and really, how obvious is *that*), there's just no other time of day that works. We all get home from work, school, ball practice in the evening, have dinner, do bath time and watch some TV or read books (okay, mostly TV...don't judge me) and then we all crash. Well, except for the "I'm never going to sleep again and you can't make me" kid that we created. But Ronnie and I? Totally out. Exhausted. Done.
So it's kinda rare for us to get the opportunity in the evening or at night.
Which leaves the morning.
Bleh.
You know what I do in the morning? Get up, shower, drink coffee, get ready, get the kid up, get her ready, load the car and go to work. You know what I don't do in the morning? Talk.
Ever. Well, at least until I've had one cup of coffee. And then only if it's something really important like, "I think the house is on fire". Other than that? Not so much a morning person.
So if we don't get a date night soon? I may have to resort to getting up early to have coffee and brush my teeth before he busts his move.
Jeez...my mom wasn't kidding when she said marriage took WORK.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Redneck GPS
The other day my husband and I were driving to a crawfish boil at a person’s house that we don’t know very well. (Sidebar: Okay, that sounded weird. In our defense, he’s one of those “friend of a friend” type people. We don’t make a habit of gate-crashing all crawfish boils in the surrounding area. Although, now that I think about it, what a fantastic idea! Hmmm...must consider all angles on this one....)
Anyway, so we’re driving to a town that’s about 45 minutes away and having to navigate the streets of suburbia…which for two rednecks is like driving through a bowl of spaghetti. I can find my way somewhere using only county roads that may or may not be paved quicker than I can navigate my way out of Carriage Ridge of the Hills Subdivision (or whatever lame name is given to neighborhoods that generally do not house any carriages, ridges or hills whatsoever).
Enter the oh-so-handy GPS.
Seriously, I. Love. Her.
But Ronnie? Hates her with a passion.
And then he’s like, “Why can’t she just give you normal directions like a normal person? Like, ‘Hey, you’re going to turn right up here, but stay in the left lane'”.
Thus was born my idea….Redneck GPS. (Think "Larry the Cable Guy" voice.)
"So you’re gone go past where Bubba got his truck stuck and round the curve by Ol’ Man Jones’ place and then you’ll see this big ol’ bull in the pasture. Don’t worry…he’ll be there…he’s always there cuz Ol’ Man Jones don’t let him in with his cows till night time. Turn right."
"After you turn right, look for one a’ them big bass mailboxes, that’s where SherryLynn lives since she moved out of her momma’s place after her momma ran off with the preacher from the Trustin' Love Fellowship and stolt all her money from workin’ down at the Dixie Mart. Turn left right past that."
"Go about 2 miles as the crow flies and that dirt road you see on your left with the dead catfish heads on it? That’s my brother Jim Bob’s place where them crawfish are boilin’. "
And now I know exactly where I’m at.
Anyway, so we’re driving to a town that’s about 45 minutes away and having to navigate the streets of suburbia…which for two rednecks is like driving through a bowl of spaghetti. I can find my way somewhere using only county roads that may or may not be paved quicker than I can navigate my way out of Carriage Ridge of the Hills Subdivision (or whatever lame name is given to neighborhoods that generally do not house any carriages, ridges or hills whatsoever).
Enter the oh-so-handy GPS.
Seriously, I. Love. Her.
But Ronnie? Hates her with a passion.
- In 200 yards, turn right. Then, bear left.
- In 150 yards, turn right. Then, bear left.
- In 100 yards, turn right. Then, bear left.
- In 50 yards, turn right. Then, bear left.
- Turn right. Then, bear left.
And then he’s like, “Why can’t she just give you normal directions like a normal person? Like, ‘Hey, you’re going to turn right up here, but stay in the left lane'”.
Thus was born my idea….Redneck GPS. (Think "Larry the Cable Guy" voice.)
"So you’re gone go past where Bubba got his truck stuck and round the curve by Ol’ Man Jones’ place and then you’ll see this big ol’ bull in the pasture. Don’t worry…he’ll be there…he’s always there cuz Ol’ Man Jones don’t let him in with his cows till night time. Turn right."
"After you turn right, look for one a’ them big bass mailboxes, that’s where SherryLynn lives since she moved out of her momma’s place after her momma ran off with the preacher from the Trustin' Love Fellowship and stolt all her money from workin’ down at the Dixie Mart. Turn left right past that."
"Go about 2 miles as the crow flies and that dirt road you see on your left with the dead catfish heads on it? That’s my brother Jim Bob’s place where them crawfish are boilin’. "
And now I know exactly where I’m at.
Friday, April 29, 2011
So two plus two is five?
Things that don’t quite add up:
-A bottle of Dasani water out of the machine in the breakroom at work costs $1.25. A bottle of Dasani water in the cafeteria costs $1.00. Really? Is the Dasani out of the machine better? Or do I get a discount since I walked farther to get the cafeteria water?
-If I drive to the DMV, my truck registration costs $80.00. If I mail it, it costs $81.00. Is someone getting paid $1.00 to open the envelope at the DMV? Can I get *that* job?
-If I pay my water bill over the phone, they charge me a 2% credit card fee. If I mail it, no fee. So lemme get this straight…if I get you my money faster, it costs more? But if I take longer to get my money to you, it’s cheaper? Hmmm…thinking I’ll just hold on to it for a while, then.
-Gasoline at the Shell station near my house costs $3.52 a gallon. Gasoline at the Shell station 2 miles up the highway costs $3.60 a gallon. Did they just not get the memo from Shell that gas went down a bit? Hello?!? Isn’t there some sort of “gas station owner website” with this type of pertinent information on it?
-If I am completely caught up or ahead at work (yeah, right), my boss has assured me there are other places I can go help out with people who are not caught up or need assistance. However, if I am struggling to meet deadlines, she has also assured me there is support out there to help me stay on track. Sooooo….work harder and then do more work or work less and then get help? I don’t get it.
-A bottle of Dasani water out of the machine in the breakroom at work costs $1.25. A bottle of Dasani water in the cafeteria costs $1.00. Really? Is the Dasani out of the machine better? Or do I get a discount since I walked farther to get the cafeteria water?
-If I drive to the DMV, my truck registration costs $80.00. If I mail it, it costs $81.00. Is someone getting paid $1.00 to open the envelope at the DMV? Can I get *that* job?
-If I pay my water bill over the phone, they charge me a 2% credit card fee. If I mail it, no fee. So lemme get this straight…if I get you my money faster, it costs more? But if I take longer to get my money to you, it’s cheaper? Hmmm…thinking I’ll just hold on to it for a while, then.
-Gasoline at the Shell station near my house costs $3.52 a gallon. Gasoline at the Shell station 2 miles up the highway costs $3.60 a gallon. Did they just not get the memo from Shell that gas went down a bit? Hello?!? Isn’t there some sort of “gas station owner website” with this type of pertinent information on it?
-If I am completely caught up or ahead at work (yeah, right), my boss has assured me there are other places I can go help out with people who are not caught up or need assistance. However, if I am struggling to meet deadlines, she has also assured me there is support out there to help me stay on track. Sooooo….work harder and then do more work or work less and then get help? I don’t get it.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
I think we should start seeing other people. It's not you....it's me.
I have a love/hate relationship with my car.
Seriously. She’s kind of a bitch. But then I can’t help but love her. It’s almost to the point of being abusive. Just when I get fed up, she does something nice that reels me back in.
I spend $84.00 to fill her up? She responds with plenty of room for the kids, the luggage and the dog for our road trip to Louisiana. And then she sweetens the deal with the built-in DVD player.
Dammit.
Now I kinda like her again.
I can’t resist her feminine wiles. Is this what it feels like to be a dude?
And just when I feel like we’ve turned the corner and are on our way to healthy relationship full of mutual respect for one another? The stupid gas light comes on. “Fuel Level Low”.
Oh, hell no.
Check washer fluid? Change your oil? Buckle my seatbelt? Rear hatch ajar?
What the hell is wrong with you, Lolita? What? Am I not good enough for you anymore? You know what? If you think you can do better, then why don’t you just go out there and see! I keep you (sort of) clean, dig the crusty French fries out from under your seats, make sure the sweaty tee-ball equipment doesn’t stay in you overnight and program your radio stations to nothing but cool music! But, no, really, go ahead…maybe you’ll find someone who will condition your leather and vacuum your carpets. Seriously…be my guest.
Oh what was that? You have a cool front-end replacement bumper with kick-ass KC lights? 4-wheel drive? A towing package?
*sigh*
I picked the wrong year to get involved with a Tahoe.
Seriously. She’s kind of a bitch. But then I can’t help but love her. It’s almost to the point of being abusive. Just when I get fed up, she does something nice that reels me back in.
I spend $84.00 to fill her up? She responds with plenty of room for the kids, the luggage and the dog for our road trip to Louisiana. And then she sweetens the deal with the built-in DVD player.
Dammit.
Now I kinda like her again.
I can’t resist her feminine wiles. Is this what it feels like to be a dude?
And just when I feel like we’ve turned the corner and are on our way to healthy relationship full of mutual respect for one another? The stupid gas light comes on. “Fuel Level Low”.
Oh, hell no.
Check washer fluid? Change your oil? Buckle my seatbelt? Rear hatch ajar?
What the hell is wrong with you, Lolita? What? Am I not good enough for you anymore? You know what? If you think you can do better, then why don’t you just go out there and see! I keep you (sort of) clean, dig the crusty French fries out from under your seats, make sure the sweaty tee-ball equipment doesn’t stay in you overnight and program your radio stations to nothing but cool music! But, no, really, go ahead…maybe you’ll find someone who will condition your leather and vacuum your carpets. Seriously…be my guest.
Oh what was that? You have a cool front-end replacement bumper with kick-ass KC lights? 4-wheel drive? A towing package?
*sigh*
I picked the wrong year to get involved with a Tahoe.
Friday, April 15, 2011
A Rastafarian proctologist walks into a bar...
Boy...those dudes who work at The Washington Post have been busy lately. Glad I don't work there, because apparently they're expected to, you know, work.
The Washington Post has published the winning submissions to its yearly contest, in which readers are asked to supply alternate meanings for common words. (As with the previous Washington Post post, I have no idea if this is legitimate and I don't care enough to investigate, so if you're burning with the need to know, call The Washington Post and find out. But they probably won't answer because they're super-busy with all their word contests and stuff. All I know is, don't believe everything you read in an email, because I'm still waiting on my $700,000 from the King of Narobi and Her Majesty's Royal Bank of Bankdom.)
And the winners are: (maybe...then again, maybe there was not even a contest. Either way, these are fun.)
1. Coffee, n.. The person upon whom one coughs.
2. Flabbergasted, adj. Appalled by discovering how much weight one has gained.
3. Abdicate, v. To give up all hope of ever having a flat stomach.
4. Esplanade, v. To attempt an explanation while drunk.
5. Willy-nilly, adj. Impotent.
6. Negligent, adj. Absentmindedly answering the door when wearing only a nightgown.
7. Lymph, v.. To walk with a lisp.
8. Gargoyle, n. Olive-flavored mouthwash.
9. Flatulence, n. Emergency vehicle that picks up someone who has been run over by a steamroller.
10. Balderdash, n. A rapidly receding hairline.
11. Testicle, n. A humorous question on an exam.
12. Rectitude, n. The formal, dignified bearing adopted by proctologists.
13. Pokemon, n. A Rastafarian proctologist.
14. Oyster, n. A person who sprinkles his conversation with Yiddishisms.
15. Frisbeetarianism, n. The belief that, after death, the soul flies up onto the roof and gets stuck there.
16. Circumvent, n. An opening in the front of boxer shorts worn by Jewish men.
The Washington Post has published the winning submissions to its yearly contest, in which readers are asked to supply alternate meanings for common words. (As with the previous Washington Post post, I have no idea if this is legitimate and I don't care enough to investigate, so if you're burning with the need to know, call The Washington Post and find out. But they probably won't answer because they're super-busy with all their word contests and stuff. All I know is, don't believe everything you read in an email, because I'm still waiting on my $700,000 from the King of Narobi and Her Majesty's Royal Bank of Bankdom.)
And the winners are: (maybe...then again, maybe there was not even a contest. Either way, these are fun.)
1. Coffee, n.. The person upon whom one coughs.
2. Flabbergasted, adj. Appalled by discovering how much weight one has gained.
3. Abdicate, v. To give up all hope of ever having a flat stomach.
4. Esplanade, v. To attempt an explanation while drunk.
5. Willy-nilly, adj. Impotent.
6. Negligent, adj. Absentmindedly answering the door when wearing only a nightgown.
7. Lymph, v.. To walk with a lisp.
8. Gargoyle, n. Olive-flavored mouthwash.
9. Flatulence, n. Emergency vehicle that picks up someone who has been run over by a steamroller.
10. Balderdash, n. A rapidly receding hairline.
11. Testicle, n. A humorous question on an exam.
12. Rectitude, n. The formal, dignified bearing adopted by proctologists.
13. Pokemon, n. A Rastafarian proctologist.
14. Oyster, n. A person who sprinkles his conversation with Yiddishisms.
15. Frisbeetarianism, n. The belief that, after death, the soul flies up onto the roof and gets stuck there.
16. Circumvent, n. An opening in the front of boxer shorts worn by Jewish men.
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