It’s December which means it’s MY BIRTHDAY MONTH!
AKA: THE MONTH OF PATTI.
Oh, and Christmas.
That Baby Jesus has been stealing my spotlight for 42 years and I’ve had just about enough.
Can’t it be all about me for once in my life?
It’s always been about that baby or dead people (If you don’t know WTF I’m talking about then read THIS).
Did you read it?
Baby Jesus is watching.
Or is that Santa.
Oh well, one of them is gonna be pissed.
But as I was saying…
IT’S MY BIRTHDAY MONTH!
And I want to give you guys some free crap.
Has Baby Jesus ever given you free crap?
You might say “Well, he gave his life for my life so…yeah.”
Has he ever given you a David Thorne book and a blanket with his mom on it?
But I rock and this whole birthday month situation so I’m going to give away both of those things.
After David was kind enough to send me an email telling me that he read my blog and it made him laugh (Yeah, bitches. THAT happened.) we’ve been best friends and each wear lockets with half a heart on them and talk on the phone every night until we fall asleep and stuff like that, so he was awesome enough to send me a book to give to one of you guys. And the blanket? I saw that at the Wal-Marts and I bought it my damn self because I love you all.
So if you want this dynamic duo then all you have to do is this:
Remember my contest a couple of years ago where you guys molested holiday decor for my pleasure AND the chance to win a prize?
Well we’re doing it again!
Send a photo of yourself doing something embarrassing (but not disgusting or I’ll tell The Baby Jesus) to email@example.com by Thursday December the 11th and I’ll post the winner on the 12th.
Remember the last winner?
That’s Jeremy making The Grinch his bitch and making me fall in love with him.
Now it’s your turn.
And if you don’t follow David Thorne then (a) you’re an idiot, and (b) GO HERE AND DO IT NOW!
Well, when we were there we also tried to get some Franklin Barbecue because the hype about this freaking meat is making me turn into a starving and ruthless animal.
This place has been getting a lot of press and the word on the street is that they have THE BEST BBQ on the planet.
Now, I’m not one to get into this kinda thing. I’m sort of like “If everyone else wants it then I don’t want it because I’m cool like that, yo!”
But they got me.
So we went.
But when we got there they were out of meat.
WTF? I come to get some sweet sweet meat and am DENIED?!?!?!?
Ummm…Screw you, Franklin.
So I turned on them.
Yeah, I still wanted the meat, but I didn’t WANT to want it.
Then I went all googly up in here and read that you could pre-order a shit ton of meat online and pick it up with no wait.
So I got online to oder enough to theoretically last me 3 months, but realistically last me through one lunch.
And guess what?
SOLD. OUT. ONLINE.
So I was all “GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER, FRANKLIN!
BUY A CALCULATOR AND CALCULATE THAT SHIT!
BUY MORE MEAT, ASSHAT!”
Yet still, I could not give up.
Oh yeah, I knew what they were doing: Make the meat hard to get and everyone will want it more.
I. Get. It.
That’s the motto of every douchebag on the dating scene.
Yeah, I KNEW WHAT THEY WERE DOING.
But still, it was working.
So Rach and I made a plan that later this summer we will do an early as shit, pre-dawn road trip in our PJ’s to achieve our meat goals with the caveat that if we went though all of that and DID NOT GET THE MEAT, we would riot.
I’m talking a nationwide, news worthy, PMS-ing hungry moms FREAK OUT.
Then a few days later I went to the movies with The Hub and we saw “Chef.”
I was LOVING this movie.
I totally dig Jon Favreau and Bobby Cannavale and I was totally digging the whole thing.
Then it happened.
Jon’s chef character went to Austin to eat some freaking Franklin BBQ.
And guess what?
HE DID NOT WAIT IN ANY FLIPPIN’ LINE.
And did they have enough meat for him?
Well, well, well…YES THEY DID.
In fact, they had enough meat for him to take with him to make sandwiches for hundreds of people.
What a crock of poop.
So I started freaking out in the movie and telling The Hub that THAT was the place that denied me the damn meat.
I started punching his arm just because I was frustrated and he shushed me and if I, like a 4-year-old, cannot use my words, I use my fists.
My body was exploding with (some may say ridiculous) rage (I blame PMS).
THOSE MOFOS DENIED ME THE SWEET SWEET MEAT AND NOW THEY ARE IN A MOVIE?!?!?!?
But I calmed down, thankfully, after a few days when my bloat and cramping went away.
And then one morning last week, it all came back.
This morning I got my coffee, sat down to relax and watch my Today Show, and what the frick do I see?
Obama eating some g-damn Franklin BBQ and buying enough for everyone in line behind him.
Yep. Franklin is getting even MORE famous,which is only gonna make it more difficult for me to get the freaking meat.
Thanks a lot, Obama. Why can’t you just go to freakin’ McDonalds like Clinton?
Momma wants her meat.
And she wants it with as little effort as possible.
But if I have to run for and win the presidency in order to get that flipping meat, I will.
I WILL DO IT!
Then after I eat enough meat to require hospitalization, I will force them to make enough for everyone in the USA FOR FREE.
All day err day.
Or at least until I get impeached.
Which should be about 3-7 days after I am sworn in.
It was dark so I couldn’t tell what it was.
All I could tell was that it had legs and was big and there was no way in hell that I was gonna try and get all murdery on something that was a mystery to me.
What if it had fangs? Or wings? Or laser beam eyes? WHAT IF IT HAD ALL THREE???
I have enough trouble getting murdery on spidery things that I CAN see. I spazz out and freak out and 9 times outta 10 it ends up getting away and then I have to sing a few verses of Motley Crue’s “Don’t Go Away Mad (Just Go Away)” in order to properly commemorate the moment that I totally effed up and let an angry spider loose in mi casa.
You might be wondering to yourself why I didn’t just turn on the light so I could get a better look, and if you ARE wondering that then I can totally tell you’re a newbie to the world of insectual intruders.
Even though I’m spazzy I have enough bug killing experience to know that turning on the light can make a bug run away and hide and meet up with all of the other gross and mysterious insecty things so they can gang up on you and stage some sort of coup d’etat, all while you are trying to live a normal life in a house where you know there is a mysterious thing that got away and is lurking somewhere waiting to lay some eggs in your b-hole.
No freakin’ thanks.
So I put a container over the gross thing and then weighted it down with a heavy candleholder and I figured I would tell The Hub to finish the job when he got home later.
Well, even though I was freaked out, I totally forgot about it about 10 minutes later.
I scare easily, but I also forget easily. So it’s always a surprise which one is going to win out.
(I also surprise easily, so basically my life is just a non-stop clusterfuck of multiple emotions.)
So later that night I went back into my bedroom and paused and thought “Oh Yeah! There was a gross thing!” And I looked down on the floor and my homemade bug jail was gone, so I thought “Oh no! Where is the gross thing?” And I freaked out for a minute imagining a band of angry mystery bugs who, sensing that one of their own was in danger, totally banded together to get him out of trouble and performed some sort of eloquently executed jail break and then ran off to plan my demise. Then the thought crossed my mind that The Hub had happened upon my detainee and handled the situation. In my spider phobic mind, this seemed like the less likely of the two scenarios. But just in case, I went to ask him about it.
Here’s how that went down:
Me: So? Did you find my bug jail?
Me: Well, did you find the thing in it? Was the thing still in it? Tell me the thing was still in it!
Me: What was it?
Him: I don’t know.
Him: I. Don’t. Know.
Me: Okay…well…was it a creature or was it a ball of lint that just looked like a creature? Because that’s happened before.
Me: I KNEW IT! Okay. Was it more buggy or spidery?
Him: I don’t know. It was something.
Me: Was it some sort of a stink bug thing? I thought it looked kinda stink buggy but I don’t really know what stink bugs look like so maybe it didn’t. And it was dark. So I don’t know. But was it? WAS it a stink bug thing?
Him: (sighs) I don’t know.
Me: How could you not know? You picked it up!
Him: I saw all that crap piled up on the floor and figured you had a bug in there, so I just killed it.
Me: With your shoe or with a tissue?
Him: With a tissue.
Me: Did you wrap it in the tissue or did you wrap it in the tissue and then crush it? Wrap? Or wrap and crush?
Him: YES. I crushed it.
Me: Then did you open the tissue to look at it?
Me: WHAT? If you didn’t open the tissue and look at the body then how do you know it was dead?
Him: I SQUISHED IT.
Me: Did you feel it squish? Like, did it crush and make crunchy noises?
Him: I don’t know!
Me: Then it might not be dead?
Him: IT’S DEAD!
Me: Where did you put it?
Him: In the trashcan.
Me: You didn’t flush it?
Me: Oh my GOD! Why would you not flush it?
Me: Which trashcan?
Me: Holy hell! What if it wasn’t dead? We don’t even know what it was! How could you not even look and see what you were killing? HOW???
Him: Okay. I’m done talking about this.
Him: I’m not talking about this anymore.
Me: Excuse me?
Him: You heard me. Done.
Me: But don’t you love me?
Me: I love you and if there is something that you’re afraid of I will not poop all over it. Even if it’s dumb and I don’t get it I will be like “That’s so sucky for you” and try to help and stuff.
Him: That’s nice.
Him: I’m done talking about this.
Me: Okay……………………………………………………………………………………………..But do you really think it’s really dead?
Me (To The Boy): Hey! It’s trash night!
The Boy: I know! I already took it out!
Me: Did you get the trash from our bathroom?
The Boy: No.
The Boy: It’s not full.
Me: Take it out anyway!
The Boy: I don’t take them out when they’re not full.
Me: Take it out!
The Boy: There’s only like 3 things in it!
Me: GET THE TRASH FROM OUR BATHROOM! GET THE TRASH FROM OUR BATHROOM!
The Boy: OH MY GOD! OKAY! SHEESH! (eye roll)
Me: Man, I hope that whatever was in the tissue IS dead because now our son’s life could be in danger.
The Hub: (Totally in his own world now and had entirely tuned me out)
Me: Oh well, he was a good boy.
Last night I’m pretty sure I heard him using a table saw followed by a nail gun and then I think I heard a few hookers pop by for a quickie.
Things are happening in there, you guys. THINGS.
This morning it was nice and quiet until I went to have my morning constitutional.
I was sitting there, reading my Entertainment Weekly magazine and singing a song to The Cat about what a creeper she is with all the staring at me while I poop, when suddenly I heard it: A squirrel sized table saw.
The sound continued behind the mirror for awhile and The Cat went over and jumped up to check it out and tried to claw through the mirror like a delusional psycho.
Then it stopped, so I got back down to bidness.
Then the sounds reemerged in the ceiling.
Above my head.
Over the toilet where I was sitting in a compromising and vulnerable position.
NOBODY CAN FEEL TOUGH AND FIGHTY WHILST SITTING ON A TOILET, YOU GUYS.
I’ve practiced doing my Karate Kid Crane Kicks from the toilet but it really doesn’t work out too well in the end.
So anyways, I sat there looking up at the ceiling and then I heard what sounded like 3-5 squirrels jumping up and down on the little ventilation fan and I convinced myself that at any moment, angry construction guy squirrels were gonna fall onto my head WHILE I WAS GOING POTTY, so I screamed and finished up my business as quickly as possible (Because you can’t take off running in the midst of your business. I mean, you can, but it would be gross), all the while screaming bloody murder, then vacated the premises, closing the door behind me so that when they fell through the ceiling they couldn’t scamper all over the house with their little hammers and chain saws trying to brutally kill me.
I am about to go back in and see what’s up.
If you don’t hear from me soon, send in backup. Or try to lure them out with an Alvin and the Chipmunks album on loudspeaker.
It’s a little known fact that squirrels HATE chipmunks due to the fact that they are considered to be adorably charming and cuddly while squirrels are considered to be assholes. It’s called JEALOUSY, people. So if you play The Chipmunks they will come running at you like those dudes in Braveheart. Just be prepared to capture them before they reach your jugulars.
And P.S. Some of those bitches can fly, so be cautious. I got Face Herpes from one once, so trust me on this.
And P.P.S. DO NOT use the Chipmunk Rock album. That one really pisses them off. Especially their version of “Whip It.” You play that one and you won’t stand a chance.
And the reason that you have to say it so much, is because kids are idiots.
And before you get all pissy with me and unleash the BOLD CAPSLOCK FURY all over my blog, let me elaborate: We are ALL born idiots and our parents are here to keep us alive and well until we learn to NOT be idiots. We can’t help but do idiotic things because we don’t know any better. Everything is a new curiosity to us and we think we’re invincible. Little by little we grow and learn to stop trying to lick floors and stick random things up our noses. And sometimes, well…sometimes we don’t grow out of it. Just sit down and watch a few episodes of Tosh.O if you want proof of that.
I recently posted a Facebook status where I said that I had to tell The Boy to stop trying to shove The Cat down his pants.
The Boy is 12.
A few months ago he asked me if he and his friend could video tape themselves jumping off of the roof.
So the growing out of it? It’ takes awhile.
Ever since he could crawl I’ve been calling him out on his idiotic behavior. The amount of things he’s tried to do that could have injured or killed him is staggering. And the amount of things that he’s done that have made me want to vomit, are even more so. “Stop eating that dog poop!” was just one of sooooo many.
Anyways, after I posted that status about The Cat in the pants (that sounds like the name of a kick ass kid’s book), I asked my readers to tell me some of the things that they’ve had to yell at their kids recently.
I was not disappointed with the results.
THINGS MY READERS HAVE YELLED AT THEIR KIDS
-Stop eating the stick of butter.
-Do not microwave the cats.
-Don’t sniff your brother’s butt.
-Stop licking the stove.
-Please don’t lick the dog.
-Did you just eat bird poop?
-Stop trying to hump your brother.
-That hole is NOT for fingers.
-Don’t bite the couch!
-Stop biting the dog!
-Get your finger away from the dog’s butt.
-Quit doing Gangham style naked.
-Stop trying to pull your brother’s penis off!
-Please don’t pee on your sister.
-Take garbage out of your mouth.
-Don’t bite the cat.
-Get your finger off the cat’s butt pucker.
-Cat Chow is NOT an afternoon snack.
-Get your hand out of your pants.
-Don’t try and pull the dog’s tail off.
-Don’t you shit on my carpet!
-Stop licking the television screen.
-Stop licking the side of the house.
-Why are you naked and trying to shove a cupcake in my mouth?
-Don’t make balloon animals with your balls at the dinner table!
-Stop licking your brother’s butt!
-No, your poop isn’t going to be chocolate flavored no matter how much chocolate milk you drink so please don’t try it.
-DO NOT pee on the dog!
-Don’t rub your french fry on the floor.
-Stop putting your sandwich in your shoe.
-No, you may not take the peanut butter into the tub with you.
-What’s in your nose? Is that poop?
-You can only be naked and touch yourself if you go in your room.
-Don’t let your brother eat your toes!
-Quit painting with your poop right this minute!
-Don’t eat your shoe.
-Don’t wipe your nose on the dog/cat/me/fork/any other usual household object.
-Stop rubbing your forehead on the carpet.
-Please stop playing with the dog’s vagina.
-No, the cat doesn’t want to be blue.
-Quit singing songs about titties, farts, buttholes, and privates!
-Stop trying to put your buttholes on each other!
-Don’t put that up your nose!
-Stop trying to put the cat’s head in your mouth.
-Where is my cat? What do you mean she’s in the dryer? How long has she been in there?
-Get your finger out of there. (“There” could be ANYWHERE.)
-Who licked the butter?
-Why did a spoon just come out of the icemaker?
-Why is there bologna and cheese in this pillowcase?
-That’s not bacon, that’s CAT HAIR! Keep it OUT of your mouth! (My two year old pulls hair off the cat and says “Mmm bacon!” and eats it.)
-Don’t beat your brother in the head with Mr. Potato head. You’re gonna wake him up.
-Don’t rub grilled cheese on your head.
-Can we please not freeze mud and sticks in mommy’s coffee cups?
-Why is your blankie in the freezer?
-No, you cannot ride the skateboard down the staircase railing.
-Stop licking your armpit!
-Please do not touch the puppy’s “lipstick.”
-How many times have I told you not to use your moose as a weapon?
-Stop licking people.
-Stop hitting the cat in the balls!
-Don’t sit on your sister’s head.
-Don’t pour your orange juice on the dog.
-Stop peeing on the dog!
-Don’t swear at nana.
-Don’t put the pencil in the cat’s butt.
-Don’t pee in the heat vent.
-Do not sniff the dog’s butt to say “hi.”
-No, you can not go out the doggie door and pee with them again.
-We don’t hang off of the fan blades!
-Stop trying to flush the cat down the toilet!
-What do you mean the cat fell out the window?
-Take the cat out of the microwave.
-The dog will poop out your tooth and we will find it and wash it off so that the tooth fairy can bring you a dollar.
-Get your toothbrush out of the oven.
-Stop licking the van.
-Please don’t swing the poo.
-If you hit your sister make sure you have a reason.
-Stop! There’s poop on the umbrella!
-Stop eating snow off the bottom of your boots!
-Stop putting things in your butt. It’s not a pocket!
-Stop twerking in the dog’s face.
-Sleeping with tacks on your pillow might not be the best idea.
-Don’t eat your sister’s boogers.
-Get your butt off your sister.
-We don’t touch other people’s heinies. No. I don’t care that they are squishy and make you laugh. Just no.
-Take all those bandages off the cat.
-Get that sword out of your nose!
-Stop putting your hand in your butt crack.
-Underwear does not go on the Christmas tree.
-Don’t put your sister in a suitcase.
-Stop biting the recliner!
-Stop sniffing the dog’s butt.
-Stop licking the dog’s teeth.
-Please get your finger out of your butt.
-Quit playing peek-a-boo with your penis.
-Don’t lick the cat.
-Get your tongue out of your nostril.
-Don’t color your sister’s vagina.
-Don’t put your light saber in the toilet.
-Don’t eat food out of your sister’s shoes.
-Don’t sniff your cousin’s genitals!
-Get the hamster out of your pants.
-Stop rubbing your wiener on the door frame.
-Let your sister out of the dog cage.
-Why is there poop on the wall?
-Mommy doesn’t want Graham crackers down her pants right now.
-Don’t put chap stick on the dog.
-Don’t pry open the dogs mouth and reach your hand down his throat to get your gum back.
-We do not put rubber bands on our penis.
-No, I will NOT sniff your finger!
-Please don’t poke your finger up my nose.
-Your hair is NOT a napkin.
-Do not drink out of the toilet!
-Get the cat out of the dishwasher!
-Keep your penis away from my computer!
HUGE thanks to all of my hilarious and amazing readers for sharing with me. xoxo
My pregnancy with him was high risk, and having suffered the loss of a pregnancy before, I was immediately overprotective and paranoid.
I did everything my doctor told me to do and some things he wished I wouldn’t, like renting a monitor so I could listen to his heart beat every morning and every night and obsessing about it constantly.
When he was born I put him in a bassinet next to my side of the bed, propped myself up on pillows, and stared at him.
All. Night. Long.
Soon I was overprotective, paranoid, and completely out of my mind insane from lack of sleep.
And I was also a bit funky.
Not funky as in having a good dance rhythm, or funky as in Cold Medina, but funky as in “Holy hell woman, how long has it been since you bathed?” Because guess what? I was afraid to be away from him long enough to take a shower.
I was a psycho.
Finally, The Hub took the bull by the horns, or the crazy zombie lady by the greasy, tangled, hair, and said “I think it’s time to put The Baby in his crib in his own room because woman, you be losin’ your shit.”
Or something like that.
Don’t worry, as the years went on I got better.
But I’m still a little overprotective and paranoid.
The other day when The Boy asked me if he could stop wearing his bicycle helmet because it’s “nerdy” and “none of my friends have to wear one!” I said a great, big, “Hell to the NO!”
And again he called me overprotective and paranoid.
But ya know what? WHATEVER. I don’t care. There’s no way in hell I’m giving the go ahead for him to remove something from his head that could save his life.
That’s me being overprotective and paranoid.
But if he decides to disobey me to fit in with his friends, then I can’t stop him. He will do what he’s gonna do.
And that’s me getting better.
As parents we all want to protect our kids no matter what.
But things are always gonna happen that we can’t control.
A few years ago he climbed a tree and he fell and broke his elbow.
A few years before that he fell off a couch (of all things) and broke his arm.
Shit happens. And most of it isn’t terrible: Bumps and scrapes and various mild injuries that they easily heal from.
But still, as a mother who thought she might not ever become a mother, I am on overprotective and paranoid. He’s all I’ve got and all I’ll ever have.
He’s about to turn 13, and although I’ve loosened up a good 70% or so since he was born (or before), I’ve got another 20% to go.
Yes, that’s only a total of 90%, but a mom can never truly stop being overprotective and paranoid, so shut up.
But I know that I can take all of the precautions that I take, and still something could happen, and as a parent, that’s my worst nightmare.
There are millions of overprotective parents out there who were on paranoid high-alert like me, and something still happened that they couldn’t control:
Their kids got sick.
Did you know that this year more children will die of cancer than all other diseases combined?
Before the age of 20, 1 in 300 boys and 1 in 333 girls will be diagnosed with cancer? And worldwide a child is diagnosed every 3 minutes.
But with enough money we can find a cure.
That’s where you come in. And I come in. And all the other parents who have felt what it feels like just to deal with your child having the flu, or getting a broken arm, come in. Take THAT feeling and multiply it by infinity and you still don’t even come close to feeling what these parents feel.
No matter how much you worry and try to protect, cancer can sneak up on you. There’s no helmet that can protect from that.
My friend Sheila, who writes an amazing blog called Mary Tyler Mom, knows this feeling all too well. She lost her 4-year-old daughter, Donna, to cancer. I don’t know how a mother makes it through something like that, but she did., and she came out on the other side having honored her daughter by writing about her journey and starting organizations to raise money to find a cure.
I stayed at Sheila’s house while I was in Chicago last summer, and from the minute I walked through the front door where Donna’s dance shoes hang, until the minute I left, I felt her spirit. Sheila keeps Donna’s spirit alive by talking about her journey and turning Donna’s illness into something that helps others.
Today is Donna Day. It’s a day where we honor Donna’s memory and raise money to help others. You can click HERE to read about Donna’s Good Things and to donate under her team name. You can also choose to be a TOTAL BADASS and shave your head for charity through ST. Baldricks by clicking HERE if you want.
If you’re too big of a wussy (like me) to shave your head, you can order these really cool t-shirts HERE and support St Baldricks by wearing one while tossing around your luxurious, wussy, mane.
Please help if you can. Even if you just share this post, THAT in and of itself would be amazing. I mean, not as amazing as growing some balls and shaving your damn head, but hey, it’s something! The more people that see this the better. Every dollar counts, and in 2 years the blogging community has helped to raise over $195,000 for this cause, so HELLO we are ALL capable of amazing things.
And if you haven’t met my friend Mary Tyler Mom, introduce yourself to her by reading THIS as well as he entire collection of posts called “Donna’s Cancer Story.” because it’s totally and completely amazing and will put everything into perspective for you. I know it did that for me.
I’m slowly realizing that I can keep on being protective of The Boy, but I should also let him live a little because life is a gift and I can’t waste it by keeping him from doing things. I can’t control everything. None of us know how much time we have and living isn’t living if you can’t fall out of a tree once in awhile.
Although it was weird that my feline was outside, I kinda shrugged it off because I had a lot of shit to do today and no time to worry about The Cat and whether or not she had magical traveling powers or anything, so I went inside. When I opened the door I heard Tejano music coming from The Hub’s boom box. The only time Tejano music is playing in my house is when Gabriella, the Queen of Cleaning, is here. But Gabriella wasn’t here, so I was like “Well, maybe when she was here yesterday she accidentally set some kind of stereo timer or something. And that’s totally possible because she’s never used that particular boom box before and when I showed it to her and told her she could use it she thought I was giving it to her and it took 5 minutes to clear that miscommunication up and I almost DID give it to her just because I was so exhausted.”
So I went into the dining room to turn off the music and noticed that my kitchen table and chairs were totally set up in my entry way. Never mind that I came into the house through the kitchen door and walked RIGHT PAST the empty area where my table and chairs usually are and didn’t even notice that they were missing.
But after I DID notice them I thought “THE PORN NEIGHBOR RETALIATES!” So I went next door to ring their bell and accuse them of lame retaliation, but my neighbor had no idea what I was talking about, and I could tell she was serious. So we came back to my house and went in and I showed her what was going on.
That’s when we noticed that there was one coffee cup on the table and one on the floor. There was also water spilled all over the floor in 2 puddles and one had napkins on it like someone had tried to mop it up. And there were two open magazines on the table, so we started reading the pages for clues.
No, I didn’t notice that my table was missing from my kitchen when I first came home, but yes, after that I suddenly got all CSI about napkins, magazines, and water. My brain works in mysterious ways and doesn’t work in even more mysterious ones.
The literary clues told us that Tori Spelling recently left her husband because he cheated on her and Sean Penn is doing Charlize Theron and Halle Berry buys toilet paper “Just Like Us,” but what does that have to do with Tejano music, moving tables, and Patti MURDER?
I also started thinking about the Tejano music. If only I spoke Spanish I could have deciphered the message behind whatever was playing when I walked in! DAMN me and my inability to learn Foreign languages! It was probably a very important clue to finding my future murderer!
My neighbor was all “Don’t touch anything! Don’t move anything! We have to call the police!” And I was all “One of my internet stalkers has finally found me, learned my daily routine, and decided that my furniture need to be moved to odd and undesirable locations in my home! I KNEW THIS DAY WOULD COME! There’s probably a murderer in here right now who wants my supple skin for an ottoman! And they let me go to Pilates before the murder because they wanted to be all stabbing me or whatever while I yelled ‘I worked out for nothing! You could have at least killed me before I wasted time working on my abs! A nice murderer would have spared me the unnecessary exercise because dead people don’t need firm butts. YOU’RE A FREAKING MONSTER!'”
Then my neighbor was like, “Would anyone else have done this?” And I was like “No. You and Stephanie are the only ones with keys and she doesn’t have a car today. There’s no way she would hitch a ride over here just to move my table, read some trashy magazines, and dance to La Bamba. She’s weird but not that weird. Plus, if she woulda come in here to play a joke she woulda done something with Flat Reedus. Not just moved my table and looked at Us Magazine.”
So I text The Hub and I know he’s thinking Oh shit! This is what she gets for telling the world about her poop habits and every other private thing in her life. I knew her attention whorey ways would finally end her life in disaster. Then he says “STAY AT THE NEIGHBORS HOUSE. I WILL CALL YOU!”
So I’m about to call the popo even though it means they will search my house and probably find all the porn that I never wanted my neighbors to know I have because then I will no longer be able to hold their mis-delivered porn over their heads and make fun of them for being degenerates.
But my life depended on it, so I figured that losing the upper hand with the neighbors was worth it.
Then I say, “Before we call the fuzz let me call Stephanie to make absolute sure she didn’t somehow get over here and do this.”
So I do.
And she did.
I was like “WTF? Why are you trying to give me a heart attack?” And she was like “I assumed you’d know it was me and Renee.” And I was all “No…I didn’t think it was you because you don’t have a car.” And she was all “We were on our bikes and we stopped by for a drink and you weren’t there so we went in and rearranged your furniture.” And I was all “WHY?” I figured it had been moved to make a murder room like on Dexter, or perhaps Gabriella is dead and her ghost wants to clean my house once more before it crosses over into Heaven. Or maybe cleaning my house IS her Heaven because it smells like me, AKA bubblegum and happiness, and even my dirt is amazing. BUT THE POINT IS, I ALMOST HAD A HEART ATTACK!
So we started talking about what they’d done and I said “Why did you drop a mug of water on my floor and let it lay there? And then start cleaning up one of the puddles with napkins but leave them on the floor?” And she was all “We didn’t! I would never do that. Maybe Renee did and I didn’t see her?” Then Renee called and said “I would NEVER do that! I swear. I’m so sorry. We didn’t spill stuff on your floors! But now I’M THE ONE WHO’S SCARED! That’s freaking me out! And we didn’t let your cat out either. I KNOW we didn’t! I think you DO have a house ghost!”
Here’s what I think:
I think a psycho internet stalker killer broke in and was waiting for me to get home from Pilates so he could get all murdery up in here, and when he heard Stephanie and Renee coming in, he went to hide because he didn’t wanna waste any or his murdering energies on anyone but me because then they woulda gotten all good and fancy murdered and I would get all lazy sloppy murdered and my murderer wants me to get his best murderiness. Then when they were done doing whatever weird things they were doing with water and magazines, he came out of hiding and threw their mugs around the room because he was angry that they interrupted his murder prep time, and made a mess. Then Ghostly Gabriella started cleaning it up because she knows that pooling water on wood floors is nothing but trouble. Then the murderer saw the Ghostly Gabriella and he freaked out and ran away, because just because you’re a murderer doesn’t mean you can’t be scared of shit just like everyone else. Murderers can be scared of anything they want to be scared of, except for murdering people. Then I came home while Ghostly Gabriella was in the midst of cleaning up the spill, and she didn’t want me to ask her to clean The Boy’s toilet again, so she went POOF and disappeared.
At least that’s how I am choosing to decipher all of this. Because if my friend’s broke into my house and missed the opportunity to do something strange with Flat Reedus, or Bieber’s head, or my Lord of the Rings PEZ dispenser collection, or my open laptop (which was open to my Facebook), or any other of the various oddities that I have lying around my house, and instead chose to move a table and read US Magazine, then I gotta spice it all up somehow. That’s how much I love my friends.
I kinda get it.
After I got married I decided to get rid of all my hair and get a sassy little pixie cut, which I loved, until some dude called me sir, and if I hadn’t been so shocked and depressed after that I woulda done a lot more than put his mail in the wrong box. One of those things woulda been showing him my boobs, and another woulda been kicking him in the underballs.
So yes, I totally get why the mailman lady might be kinda ticked from time to time.
But maybe the woman thing isn’t the issue at all. Maybe she just hates us and thinks out catalogs and magazines are stupid, so she’s playing puppeteer and manipulating us into finding out each other’s business and creating drama for her own amusement. Maybe she has cameras hidden in our homes so she and all the other mailmen can watch their own little Truman Show type thing.
I DON’T KNOW.
All I DO know is that I get other people’s mail and other people get my mail, and it puts us all in some perpetual state of forced nosiness.
For example, I know that someone on the next cul-de-sac over gets letters from prison, and they know that I get lots of stupid entertainment magazines. Magazines which I suspect they read while pooping, then give back to me (because that’s totally what I would do in that situation). And whether they actually took my magazines into the crapper or not, I’m never gonna be able to stop thinking that they did. And it kinda ruins the entire magazine reading experience for me when I’m trying to enjoy a story about some douchey thing Kanye did and all I can picture is my neighbor reading the same story while going poop.
But last Friday I found out about something better than prison love or hair club for men: I found out which of my neighbors orders porn.
And it’s awesome.
Now most people -if accidentally given some of their neighbor’s porn mail- would probably either throw it away or casually slip it into the correct mailbox so that their neighbor would never know that they know that they’re a freaky porn addict.
But I am not that neighbor.
This is what the porn catalog looked like when I returned it to them:
Man, my neighbors are all so lucky to have me.
Psst! Can you guys even believe that those wank-holes haven’t read about Flat Bieber? I mean COME ON! Half the crap I’ve talked about for the past 12 months is built upon the Flat Bieber Foundation. It’s like they’re not even trying to get me! I mean, seriously. Put in a little effort and do your homework, amiright? Sheesh.
Oh you’re back? Cool! You’re super awesome! We were so bored while you were gone. All we did was talk about knitting and periods. But now you’re back and all caught up and we can continue. Yay!
So I’ve had Flat Bieber for a year and we’ve had lots of amazing times together. Then this year my friend Becky gave me Flat Reedus, and you guys all know how much I LOVE me some Reedus (and if you don’t there’s just seriously no hope for you). I was immediately in love and SUPER excited to bring him home and introduce him to my family.
But it didn’t go exactly as planned…
Now excuse me while I go do my Drummer Boy dance.
So I’m doin’ it.
I sifted through about 100 photos and narrowed it down to 14 because that’s my favorite number. NOW I need you guys to vote on the one you like. Please post your choice (by #) in the comments. Voting closes Saturday the 14th at midnight central standard time. I will post the winner in Facebook Monday and email them privately. If I don’t hear back within 24 hours the prize will go to the runner up (and so on and so on and then eventually I’ll just keep the damn prize for myself because holy crap, you guys, you need to get your shit together).
Please vote only once or we will all think you’re a douche-hole and Santa will send his reindeer to poop in your yard.
(P.S. The Rogers family are not part of the contest but they will totally be getting something from me too.)