Friday, September 27, 2013

Creepin' wit' my boyz

Yo, yo, yo! What up, homies? I bes with my boyeez tonight. A shout out to Keli and Robin, my peeps from the crib. We fo'shizzle bonded tonight while chillin' at the mall and spendin' some cheddar for homecoming. Robin is fly like a G6 and rocked the purple label (well, at least the purple shirt). He's dressed up to the nines and Keli lookin' flawless mafioso in a silver satin shirt and purple satin tie; hell yeah playahs! Fo' shizzle my nizzle, they be lookin' fine! We got to the hizzle and they sported their swag and mamma was like “ya'll be sick”! They gonna swing it up the dance floor. While we were cruisin' the racks, we didn't even need an umbrella fo' drizzle (as it didn't rain). It only took a couple make a deal, then we spent the green like it don't mean nothin' and holla'd back at the hottie runnin' the register-izzle.

Then my man Keli was straight trippin'. He's all “yo, we need some grub bizatch”. And I'm all, “Oh no you di'n. I ain't down wit' that homeslice” and Robin's all “man, I want some Chinese!” and so I was like “dude, that's a win”. So we hit the gas for the King Buffet and threw down on some phat lo mein. They had some bitchin' pepper shrimp and the egg rolls were hella good! The fried rice was all on, man and we were straight hopped up on the sauteed mushrooms. But, for real yo, they were straight trippin' with those stale wontons. I was all like that ain't cool bro. I ain't mad atchya, but that ain't dope, you know? Straight up though, we shut the room down! We tipped the Asian honeys and rolled out da club (restaurant).

But dawgs, ya'll gotta know while we creepin' the strip, Robin threw down some mad beats. Keli chilled in the back with some earbuds and his own tunes, but Robin and I tore it up! We seat danced to everything. My main man, JT brought sexy back, and we raised several roofs and bobbed our heads and tore up the night. I twerked in the driver's seat and got retarded up in the Caddy (Mazda). He rocked it with Tenacious D and we both knew that Ursher had the voice that made our booty go – uh.

So man, hangin' with my peeps really made me realize how down they are and I think I straight up got that bond man. Like that deep love that gets you in the feels. We tight now. I'm pretty sure they think I'm the shiznit now and I've totally got this thug life down. Imma roll out for now, but I catch you later, cutie! Stay bitchin'! (That's good).

Wednesday, September 25, 2013

Log of a Warrior

Captain's Log 00:00 hours
It is always 00:00 hours here in this desolate cave, as no one has bothered to set the microwave since the last power outage. This makes telling the time easy. It's been a long day and I've killed a wild package of Country Style Ribs and put them in the primitive crock-pot along with feral potatoes and untamed onions. Rations for my troops will be ready at 00:00 hours.

Captain’s Log 00:00 hours
As I reached for a cabinet door this afternoon, a crazed stink-bug landed on my hand causing me much consternation. In fact, said insect having found it's way onto my person made me slosh my tomato basil soup out of the bowl I was carrying. I find I am not so much disturbed by the amount of soup spilled as the principle behind the thing. I have noticed for several days that these persistent creatures continue to invade my personal space and the areas around my personal space. Two nights ago one tried to climb into bed with me, but even out here, I have better morals than that. Must find defensive measures.

Captain's Log 00:00 hours
After long deliberation during which the 00:00 blinked many times, I have come up with a solution to the enemy bug problem. I have charged my Dirt Devil v600 machine and have attached the clear nozzle to the end. I will suck these intruders into my machine and never let them go. It will be a long and drawn out death, but I am confident I am in the right in this conflict.

Captain's Log 00:00 hours
I have cleared the kitchen area of four of these insects and one stray yellow jacket. Suction is powerful and insects seem unable to hatch an escape plan. I have tracked down two more of the wily creatures in the living room and though I am currently unable to find one in the bathroom, I know they are often in there. Meanwhile I have sucked a vicious corner dwelling spider into my vacuum of doom. He should feast well tonight.

Captain's Log 00:00 hours
Today has been a successful day. So far the rebels seem to be regrouping and have not yet launched a counter attack. All current troops are hidden away and I am unable to locate them. At first this made me wary, thinking they might be planning an evening assault, but as time drew on I found they had no such intentions. It is now 00:00 hours and all is silent. Should new foes arise, I have my Dirt Devil recharging and ready to go. In my opinion a night time assault would be cowardly on the part of my enemy, but I cannot expect that they are in any way civilized. Note: I have noticed these stink bug beings have wings and therefore are capable of an aerial assault. Upon observing the pilots however, I have noted that they seem to have particular difficulty in landing and usually crash into whatever object is in the way of their flight path. It makes a fearsome noise, especially in the depths of my quiet cave. However, my having discovered that they must land with their face gives me an advantage that I will put to full use.

It's time to retire now. As I put out my fire I turn my thoughts to my loved ones and troops and say with a full heart “God speed”.  I will emerge victorious.

Sunday, September 22, 2013

Oh no, I won't go!

Today I have an exclusive interview with a woman who refuses to go to hell. Susan Alderman, 43, has been told repeatedly by family and neighbors to go to hell, but she is adamant that she won't go. I sat down with her today in her modest ranch house in the mountains of Virginia and have tried to faithfully record our interview.

Susan came into the breakfast room of her well kept home wearing a blue button up blouse and white tan slacks. She had long chestnut brown hair with streaks of gray that made her blue eyes sparkle. She was wearing a simple strand of pearls around her neck and pearl stud earrings. She has a winning smile and a dusky voice.

I asked her how all of this business about not agreeing to go to hell happened and she told me that, she has just one reason for not obliging those who want her there.

It started out in 1953 when she married James Alderman. At the time he was a dashing young man with Hollywood good looks and a bad-boy reputation. She describes him as having hair so black that it almost looked blue in the sunlight. He had deep brown eyes and a seductive mouth. She had been raised by a southern minister and she was looking for any way at all to rebel. She laughs at the recollection of seeing James Alderman and her heart seemed to just stop instead of beating rapidly like everyone describes love at first sight. My heart just stopped, dead, she says. Six months after meeting James, she ran away from home and eloped, breaking her father's heart and becoming the town scandal. “After that,” she says, “things went from bad to worse”. She had just figured that James would quit his bad boy behavior once they were married, but to her chagrin, he didn't. He became a notorious drunk and a womanizer. He impregnated two women in town and “never even apologized” according to Alderman.

She and James would get into fights all the time; screaming and yelling at each other. He would swear he was going to leave her and when she said fine, he'd stay at home just to aggravate her. In 1955, she finally told James Alderman to go to hell and he said he was sure he was headed there anyway. She told him she wished he'd hurry up then, and they began to fight again. For sixteen years Susan told James Alderman to go to hell and he would smile and tell her to join him there every time. That was when she decided “If James Alderman is going to hell, I won't go there. They won't be able to drag me there with wild horses. I won't stay”. Finally James Alderman died. He got terribly drunk one night while they were visiting the Grand Canyon and while standing at the edge of the cavern Susan looked at James and said “I bet you can't fly over this”. James responded with “Oh yes I could”. Susan then told him she didn't believe him and that he'd have to prove it, so in front of twelve witnesses James Alderman jumped off of the edge of the Grand Canyon and landed lifeless in the bottom of it. Susan said she knew she was right. No crime was technically committed and nothing held up in the court of law, so Susan was allowed to go back home and live a new life without James Alderman.

From that day on she never married or lived with a man again. She has maintained a peaceful life in her sprawling Virginia neighborhood, but doesn't always get along with the neighbors and people she meets in general. “There seems to be something about me that turns people off”, she candidly admits, “but when they tell me to go to hell, I let them know right then that that is something I'll never do”.

Susan has prepared as well as she knows how to avoid hell. She became a Christian and a Buddhist and a Muslim and joined the Jewish faith immediately following her husband's death. She's a member of the local Catholic church and the nearby Baptist Faith Ministries. She has also joined the 2nd United Methodist church, the Morman Church, and the Presbyterian Church on 10th street. She has become a Jehovah's witness and is also adept at handling snakes. Her will also adamantly states that she is not to be sent to hell; this is also a recurring Facebook status for her.

Susan Alderman knows she won't live forever, but she “doesn't plan on dying anytime soon either”. She just wants to live her life and when that life is over, she will take on the Devil himself before she will submit to being sent to hell.

I guess the lesson in this for all of us is simply this: Please be careful of who you tell to go to hell. They may already know some people there.

Saturday, September 21, 2013

Mother of the Year Goes to...

*Today's blog is not for those under 18. So, go away. Shoo. There, I've done all I can do

So when people ask me what I gave my daughter on her birthday party, I can say with pride, a reason to have a therapist. Not every parent is able to give their child this gift, and I can understand that. I, however, happen to be one of the few lucky ones blessed enough to be able to give this to my daughter even though she's only sixteen.

It kind of started out as her fault, really. That's my story anyway. She was texting her brother – on her new phone, now that it's September – and he asked her if she was going over to her boyfriend's house after the party. She said yes and kids being what they are today, he started making birthday-sex jokes. Now, this would normally freak a parent out, but I don't have a normal teenage daughter. She actually worries me because she isn't into sex or drugs or weird music or drinking or any of the things I was actually prepared to handle. Nope, she's just well behaved and there was nothing in the child psychology books I read when she was little about that. I was prepared for Teenzilla! She's more responsible than I am.

So, anyway, her brother is making birthday-sex jokes about her and her boyfriend, and she's texting back things like, “yeah, you know me, we're going to have a wild night”. Then they start up with her needing to wear protection because they don't want to get the boyfriend pregnant, ha ha!” Keep in mind, both her and her boyfriend are virgins and – at this point anyway – intend to stay that way until marriage. So she's tossing crude sexual banter back at her brother and I, being the parent that I am, say “Why don't you ask Keli if you can borrow his strap-on”. Now, I know Keli would know what this is, because kids these days just know way more than they are supposed to. They generally know more than adults these days. My kids and I have always had a bizarre sense of humor and we joke about things, that probably should not be joked about between kids and parents, but that's our kind of relationship. So, Alexis looks at me in a perplexed manner and says “Strap-on? What, like a feed sack for donkeys? You have to tie it on?” She still looks confused and I say, “You know, a strap-on.” I realize at that point that she is picturing a strap-on condom. I realize this because she says “why would you need to strap a condom on? What, it's gonna come off?” Oh God. Well, now I've stepped in it. She's picturing a feed sack for donkeys, and I'm way off. Now, I have to explain this device to her in a way that won't blow her innocent mind. So I explain it this way: “sometimes when two women love each other... they want to express that love... so they... need something... to... help... feed the donkey”. Oh. My. God. She gets it then and sort of – gags.

So, that's what I gave my daughter for her birthday. I gave her a mental picture she can never get out of her head. A lifetime of scarring brought to her by her mother. This is prime Dr. Phil stuff. I can just see it now:

Me: But Dr. Phil, we've always just joked around like that.

Dr. Phil: And how's that working for you?

Me: I didn't mean to, you know – I thought she knew! (I'm sobbing)

Dr. Phil: You though she knew? What kind of mother are you?

Me: A HORRIBLE one. (I run off the stage crying)

So, yeah. Please write in when you see me on the show. I'd like to at least think I made good ratings.

Thursday, September 19, 2013

Now that I'm old

Last night it finally happened. I actually said “kids these days”. There it was, out there in the universe and I was unable to suck it back into my mouth. In my defense though, I had, what I thought, was a pretty good reason. There is a convenience store down the road from my house and my son called them to see if they were still open. So he calls them and he's standing at the foot of my bed and looks at me and says “Something's wrong with the phone. What does this mean? There's like a beep (pause) beep (pause) beep (pause) beep”. I looked at him not really believing he had asked that and said “Robin, honey, that's a busy signal”. He had no idea what I was talking about. Honestly. Didn't have a clue. I had to explain to him that back in the old days – 1991 – earth people would only have one phone in their home. During that dark age, if one person called the home of another person who happened to be on the phone, the caller would get that funny little beep which indicated the callee was already talking on the phone and the caller would need to try again later. My kids had never experienced a phone that didn't have call waiting up to that time! Kids these days!

A couple of weeks ago I was telling my daughter that she could not continue to take her cell phone into the bathtub with her because she has ruined her last 4 phones by texting on them while she showers. She looked at me, and with a serious face asked me if I had any idea how embarrassing it would be to tell someone she had to get off the phone so she could take a shower? Really. It is a faux pas to tell your friends “I have to chisel the phone out of my hand now so I can go practice good hygiene”. I tried really hard to look sympathetic, but I had a hard time stifling my laughter as I told her there was a point in time in my younger days that I had to not only say “I have to get off the phone now because I have to shower”; sometimes I even had to say “ I have to go now, because mom says I have to go to bed”. Yes, my children I had a bedtime. My therapist helped me through the scarring. The reason I had to tell my friends this was because there was one phone in the kitchen and one in the living-room and neither of them would have reached into the bathroom; even if it had one of those super long cords that was 10 feet long and would twist into innumerable knots. It would really horrify them to know that if I didn't get off the phone to come to dinner or go to bed or do whatever I had been told to do, my mother would pick up another phone in the house and tell me to do it in front of my friends. I'm not sure kids these days would believe a story like that anyhow.

I kind of feel sorry for kids these days when it comes to being on the phone. Remember how satisfying it was to get really pissed off and hang up on someone? You could whang the daylights out of a phone receiver and it kind of made you feel better. My mom would call me and tell me it was time to come home or I couldn't stay the night with a friend or I had been caught smoking at school again and we'd get in this big argument and I'd slam down that receiver BANG and hang up on my mother. That was what real power was all about, being able to shut your mother up with a slam and just walk away. Of course when you got home, she'd kill you, but we'll save that for another post. Anyway, it didn't matter who you got to hang up on, it was very fulfilling. But nowadays if you hang up on someone you must softly touch the screen or risk sticking your finger through it. At most you get to push that little button with the picture of the red phone on it to end your call. You simply cannot slam that button down or angrily tap your screen. It just doesn't work. So now, even if your mother calls you and tells you she is going to hack into your Facebook account, you have to be satisfied with yelling at her and then lightly tapping the 'end call' icon to disconnect the line. Not satisfying at all. Poor kids these days.

And while we're at it, we must not to forget to comment on what happens when the kid of today loses their phone or has to put the phone in for repairs since they insist on showering with it. My sweet baby girl needed a new phone at the end of August but the upgrade wouldn't be available until September. The day I'm talking about is August 27th. Being the uncaring and insensitive person that I am, I said “Oh, no problem babe, we'll just get you a new phone in a few days”. What I failed to grasp was that she cannot go without her phone for a few days. This isn't possible. I was a cad to even suggest such a thing. She went into hysterics. Literally, crying until her eyes got all red and swollen and she started hiccupping. How was she going to talk to her boyfriend? He doesn't live near here! She wouldn't be able to talk to him during his work breaks! She couldn't text her friend! Her friend would think she was mad at her! I started to say “Well, honey, when I was your age, if I had called my friend or gone over to her house and announced every time I had a yummy hot beverage, she would have thought I had some bizarre narcissism disorder and would have probably had her parents call mine”. Realizing this was not the time or place, I did not impart that little bit of information to my daughter. But this poor child had clearly developed a deep and committed attachment to this phone, and it was breaking her heart to think of not having this phone or any other for a grand total of maybe four days. There is a dependence on this machine comparable to that of a life support machine. She really believed she would die without it. I tried early on to curb this kind of phone dependence by insisting from the time my children got their first phones that there would be no phones during dinner. No texting, talking, nothing. They deal with it, but are clearly not comfortable with it. Four days though, was not going to happen. My poor child grabbed ice cream and crawled in bed in her Star Wars jammies and covered up and cried herself to sleep. I am not making this up. Finally her boyfriend gave her some tips to make her phone work until we could replace it. In four days.

Kids these days.

Sunday, September 15, 2013

Ripped TP

Okay, here is an issue that isn't from the shower, but close. It's in the same room. I happened to notice that my toilet paper roll looked odd somehow on my toilet paper dispenser. I wasn't sure what the problem was, so I just took a moment to really look at it. Then I saw it. My toilet paper seemed small. Like instead of a toilet paper sheet, I have a toilet paper ribbon. I scooted the roll over to the far right side and sticking out of the left side was a whole lot of dispenser bar – that little plastic thing that squeezes in between the decorative roll holder. Huh. That is exactly what I said to myself: Huh.

The brand I bought was Charmin 2-ply; the one with the red label. You know, if the bears think it's a good toilet paper, it must be. In fact, this is the same toilet paper I blogged about earlier having spent $40 on. I bought four packs of this Double Roll Charmin at $9.99 per package so I could get my two $5 gift cards from Target. So, I decide to do some very scientific research and I Google the words Toilet Paper Dimensions. One of the first sites to pop up is The Toilet Paper Encyclopedia at Knowing “encyclopedia” is a very long word that means I can trust their website to be the last word in toilet paper, I open the site. The first bit of information that I find is that standard toilet paper sheet size is 4.5” x 4.5”. The site does caution however that some toilet paper brands are sneaking in as much as a 15% cheat and only making their sheets 4.5” x 3.8”. I am, needless to say, aghast. Who can you trust anymore? I mean really, all joking aside, I always figured I was getting my dollars worth when it came to toilet paper. I just figured that standard toilet paper was something every American was entitled to. Well, it seems I am wrong. There are actually companies out there who are cutting as much as 15% of your toilet paper off of the roll, yet charging you the same amount of money. This is so dishonest! I have blindly bought toilet paper for years! Well, I had to see exactly what the size of my Charmin sheets were, so I grab a measuring tape and head for the bathroom. After making sure I had the ruler in exactly the right place and figuring out what number to call the little line that the toilet paper measured exactly in the middle of and writing all of this down I realized the sheet size is written on the package and tossed the ruler. According to Charmin's own packaging, my toilet paper sheets are 3.92” x 4”. They are even smaller than the ones the Toilet Paper Encyclopedia warned me about! They have cut a half inch off of the length AND the width of my toilet paper! They did not take even .50 off of the price. Nope, they charge me a good amount of money for their double roll toilet paper ribbon. Charmin is expensive! Angel Soft is cheaper and as I recall, the roll fills up my toilet paper holder. And Cottonelle is just lovely, but still kind of pricey, but I bet they haven't cut half an inch in both directions off of my toilet paper.

I don't really know what can be done about this. One never hears of toilet paper lobbyists or an army of TP Regulators, but it seems to me that something should be done. The worst part is, I just bought this toilet paper. I have a whole package and most of another package to get through before I can take a stand (Har!) and buy a new brand. Every time I spin that little dwarven roll of toilet paper I am just going to grow more and more resentful. I know now that I have seen the measurements on the package, I cannot un-see them. Every time I get a new roll out of the package, my eyes are going to travel to that hateful little set of measurements: 3.92 x 4. I will always wonder “who does this?” and how can they look at themselves in the mirror. I would just like the chance to ask the CEO of Charmin what kind of toilet paper he or she uses in their own home. Are they satisfied with a little toilet paper ribbon streaming from their half filled dispenser? I highly doubt it.

Saturday, September 14, 2013

Ninja Mouse

A war has begun in my home. In my kitchen pantry to be precise. Three days ago I went to get my glass container of spaghetti off of the pasta/ stuffing/ boxed goods shelf in my pantry. To my absolute horror I saw a scattering of mouse “gifts”. I was not a happy camper. Now, I live in the woods in the mountains in the middle of nowhere and an occasional field mouse will wander in uninvited. Especially during the change of seasons, which is what's happening now with the transition into fall. So, Okay, the little varmint had managed to escape my five outdoor cats and my one indoor cat. This isn't really surprising as they are pampered and spoiled within an inch of their lives and probably find mouse hunting rather beneath their dignity. It also evaded two main dogs that live outside and two backup dogs that live inside. He even got past the goat. It was pointed out to me that maybe the mouse got confused, and thought he was at the zoo; there is some logic in that. However, this mouse has never offered to wash the dishes or make a mortgage payment, and therefore must be escorted off of the premises in any manner possible. So, I found mouse traps, got one, dabbed some peanut butter on it and finally figured out how to work it. I am happy to report I did not break any fingers although I thought I would several times before I got the thing set. I didn't mind that it was so hard to set though, it had a hair trigger reaction. I set the trap where the largest concentration of poopies was located, gingerly scooted it back with a pair of scissors and closed the pantry door, secure in the knowledge that the mouse would be gone by morning.

The next morning however, there was no mouse. Just a trap sitting on the paper towel I laid under it in case things got messy. There were a couple of new “presents” around the mouse trap and on one other shelf, but I figured he was snooping around, scoping out the new item and that was just fine. I'd be able to toss him out in the morning after another night of him curiously nosing about. I shut the door again and made dinner out of things that were in the fridge and freezer.

Day two. I got up and swallowing a guilty lump, went to get the worst part of my day over with. Not that I would have actually touched the squished mouse, no, that's why God invented men, but I did have to check. Softly – out of respect for the dead, I suppose – I opened the door and peeked inside. There the mousetrap sat. It hadn't been set off. Still just sitting there waiting to break a finger. No, wait. There was something different about it. Why, there were new mouse poopies and two of them were on the mouse trap. Right near the edge of it, but definitely on the trap. What! Then I realize I am not dealing with an ordinary mouse. No, I am facing Ninja Mouse. He had the gall to come up to my well planned death trap and POOP on it and walk off smug and no doubt chuckling to himself. Well, now it's on! There is no way I am going to let some rodent poop on my parade or my rotini box. I got two packs of mouse traps. I set ten traps through the pantry, four around the pasta boxes it seemed to be so interested in, according to it's little nuggets. Then I found a live trap; this big metal thing with two doors in it and the mouse can go in, but can't come out! Being from the south, I have grits in my pantry even though they are never actually eaten, and I opened a package and dumped some in the live trap to entice the little bugger in there. I spent a good fifteen minutes yesterday setting traps in strategic places, devising obstacle courses and covering any navigable paths. As my son says “come at me bro”!

A few hours later I went to shower so I could go out. I was having really a delightful shower, smelling my pretty bath soap smells and flowery shampoo smells and I had shaved and felt silky and smooth and what the hell is that smell? I dry heaved and thought “Oh God, the septic tank has backed up”. I quickly stepped out of the shower, onto my fuzzy bathmat and peered around the corner wall to the toilet. It looked normal. Nothing that looked like anything had gone awry. I looked back down at my feet to place them back in the tub and noticed on the fuzzy bath mat, there was a stink bug – well, a Stink Bug – because it was the size of a beetle. This was by far the biggest stink bug I'd ever seen! Oh. My. God. That is what that smell is? Sure enough, it turns out that the Ninja Mouse has a Stink Bug land force army and sent a scout out to inform me he would not surrender or go down quietly. I got back in the shower, rinsed off and promptly got my Dirt Devil Dust Buster and sucked up Ninja Mouse's militant little friend, and have no current plans to release the hostage. As a tactical maneuver, I have also gone around the house with the Dust Buster and sucked up many of his guerrilla Stink Bug troops and they will all be punished for their war crimes. I have also taken down his air force WASP unit with a simple can of Raid. This mouse is no match for me.

As I have had things happen that have prevented me from finishing this report, I have an update for you. On day 4 of Ninja Mouse War I, I woke up at five in the morning for no reason I could figure and went to the kitchen in search of midnight eatables. At only a few minutes after 5am, I heard a loud SNAP in the kitchen pantry. Realizing I had caught the Ninja Mouse, I rubbed my hands together, villain style and walked towards the pantry very slowly. RATTLE RATTLE RATTLE! My heart stopped for a second and my brain tried to pretend I hadn't heard anything. RATTLE, RATTLE! OH MY GOD, IT'S STILL ALIVE? I could not believe this had happened to me. I went back to the kitchen island and grabbed the longest knife out of the knife block (always have a bread knife when confronting a ninja mouse) and I climbed up on the table and with the tip of the knife opened the right cabinet door slowly. All the traps were still set and sitting peacefully – RATTLE RATTLE BANG! Oh God, Oh sweet baby Jesus. I scooted over on the table and as quietly as I could opened the door with the tip of the long knife. I hear “RATTLE – BAM!” And the mouse trap flies out the door and lands on the floor. At this point I am doing that scream where you don't make any noise audible to humans and your mouth is stretched out as far as it can go across your face and your lips are cracking and those tendons in your neck stick way out. I open the door the rest of the way and … nothing. No mouse, no rat, no ectoplasm, nothing. Just an empty mouse trap that has been thrown on the floor. This particular trap was placed snugly in between two boxes in the pantry. There was no where for this mouse to go once he stepped on this particular trap. The only conclusion is: He got out of it. There were no body parts left hanging under the tripped trap wire. There was no fur pinched in it. This mouse simply got into this trap and then got himself back out of it.

So my question is simply who in the hell is this mouse? He is clearly a more evolved mouse than the rest of them and possibly should have had a starring role in any of the Harry Potter movies. I know he wasn't the rat that played Wormtail, because that was an animatronic mouse. They could have saved themselves some money though, and simply hired this mouse. This mouse probably is bilingual at the least. I know for a fact he speaks Mouse and Stink Bug, and can read English. I think this mouse is probably the leader of the biggest catnip cartels in the world. He knows what he's doing, that's certain. Also certain is the fact that I will never quit. I will never stop fighting. He may have won the battle, but the war, my friends, the war is mine!

Saturday, September 7, 2013

Breaking News

In today's news, it finally happened; the fifth dentist caved and now they all recommend chewing Trident after meals. The first four dentists had always known it was a good idea and eagerly supported the movement. The fifth dentist however would not agree on any terms until now. Sources close to the fifth dentist say that he had, in fact, agreed all along, but the other four dentists were mean to him in dental school and he wasn't about to agree with those jerks. The fifth dentist told us in an exclusive interview, however, that he honestly didn't think it was a good idea. “There was not enough solid evidence that chewing Trident after eating was better than chewing any other sugarless gum. Now, out of your sugar based gums, sure, Trident is a winner, but that's as far as I saw it. I liked that chewing gave your mouth something to do, but I couldn't be sure that Trident was the only way to go”, the Houston based dentist has said. Until very recently he would chew any sugarless gum he happened to have on hand after a meal and said he thought it worked just fine. He stood by his beliefs even when the first four dentists threatened him with an unnecessary root canal. Finally, two of the first four dentists apprehended the fifth dentist and held him at gun point for ten weeks, forcing him to chew Trident after each meal. He states, “After a while, I got to where I liked it. Especially those layered pieces, the kind with two flavors to them. I guess I could see where these guys became so passionate about this Trident thing. It really is a good gum. Effective too”, he quickly adds. During his time in captivity he was fed a variety of foods including a roast beef and assorted root vegetables, all of the common Italian foods including lasagna, spaghetti, ravioli, rigatoni, and “those twirly shaped noodles”. He was also fed baked trout, shrimp bisque, salmon patties and fried catfish. “That gum took care of all the food smells. I produced so much saliva in my mouth, nothing stood a chance in there. I was really thinking I'd have them with the Peking duck, but that gum just wiped all that out”, claimed the fifth dentist. Before he was released however, he was made to write and sign a public statement avowing that he, the fifth dentist did now also recommend chewing Trident after meals. He states he is embarrassed by his reluctance to agree for all of these years and now sees the error of his ways.

Unfortunately, seeing the error of his ways now, may be too little too late. Due to the public backlash his agreement caused, he is now facing several lawsuits. An 87 year old woman in Detroit says that because of his negligence she has lost all of her teeth. “If there had just been a consensus, I would have known better” she laments through her dentures. A small minority even go so far as to say the fifth dentist should spend some time behind bars. One man says “he neglected every US citizen, he mislead us and took us for fools. He should have to pay”. The fifth dentist is already coping with the fact that his dental license is under review and may be revoked if the findings show that he deliberately misled American citizens as well as those in Canada and surrounding territories. His wife pleads on his behalf that he wasn't sure. She begs not to have his license revoked as it would mean he would no longer be able to support his family in the way to which they have become accustomed. She points out that no father would knowingly endanger the teeth of his children, and the fact that he didn't make them chew Trident should be a clear indication that he did not perceive the benefits. “Right now, all we can do is hope the American people and the justice system wont let us down”, she states. But this author asks, what about when the fifth dentist let us down? Where is the justice in that? Those American's that looked to him for guidance were all let down, how will he pay back what he so carelessly stole?

Thursday, September 5, 2013

Retail Therapist needed

I have recently started a new hobby. I don't collect buttons or stamps or bake home made bread; I coupon. And no matter how you pronounce it, coo-pon or kew-pon, I have become obsessed. I really blame my friends for this. As a kid I was aware that my friends would try to get me to drink and smoke pot, which they successfully did. No one ever told me however, that when you grow up, your peers will pressure you to save money. My friend Tena started me on this quest, then Kandi jumped in and now I hear how Vickie goes to Costco and spends $65 on $200 worth of groceries. I just can't stand it. I want my free stuff too! I have become addicted to shopping at Target. I bought $40 in toilet paper the other day just so I could earn $10 in free gift cards. Yes, I will use the toilet paper, and I split it with my mom, but that wasn't my main concern. I wanted that gift card. Target has started giving gift cards away for special purchases. Last Friday I bought four packages of toilet paper, four bottles of shampoo and conditioner, too much laundry soap and overpriced lady razors because I wanted those gift cards. Now, I grant you, I left with $25 in gift cards that I can use whenever, but I was still unsatisfied because I could think of no reason to buy a no-contract phone from them just for the big $20 gift card. There are five people in my home, all of who have phones. My mother also already has one. I had no reason to buy a hundred dollar phone, and I was a little disappointed. There is bound to be some kind of therapy for this. Oh! And to make my shopping experience worse, I had my son pick out $25 worth of under shirts so that I could use a $5 off coupon that the pharmacy printed out for me when I picked up mom's medicine. Guess what? Yes, I forgot the coupon. I got all the way home, reached in my pocket and found the coupon. So now then I am faced with this dilemma: do I throw away a five dollar coupon? OR do I go back to the store and purchase another $25 worth of undershirts? I can't bring myself to not use that coupon! I only have 8 days left until it expires and it's hanging on my fridge, staring at me every morning. It taunts me. “Wouldn't you like to save $5 with your eggs?” “Hey, while you're grabbing that diet coke, you could be saving $5.” Now, do not point out to me that if I just didn't buy any of the undershirts, I could save $25, that's irrelevant. The point is, I have a slip of paper that says I am entitled to a discount that other, everyday, common shoppers are not entitled to, and I want to use this paper. I want to flaunt it. I want to see the five dollars get subtracted from my total on the receipt. That way, I can see in black and white that I am saving money.

I cannot just run to the grocery store anymore. A grocery store run is a week-long coupon and discount marathon. I start out loading the in-store grocery coupons to my handy store card, that card thing all stores make you have now and no one knows why. Then I get online. I go to all of my coupon sites and print hundreds of coupons. I check mark everything I might ever want to use or see my grandchildren use, even though I'm only 34, and I print everything. Did you know, sometimes, if you buy two bulk mayonnaise jugs, you can get a third one for free? It's true! And I only buy what I can find a coupon for. Tena taught me that. So my pantry may consist of three jugs of bulk mayonnaise, three different brands of yogurt, overpriced gourmet cheese and store brand canned peas, ten for ten dollars! I am perfectly aware that my family does not need three boxes of General Mills cereal and two boxes of Post cereal every single time I go to the store, but it doesn't matter, I have a coupon! I am totally aware that buying the Malt-o-Meal cereals in the big bags is cheaper. My brain knows this. But I don't have a coupon for Malt-o-Meal, so I cannot buy it. I just can't. I have prenatal vitamins. I am a 34 year old mother of three teenagers, I DO NOT NEED prenatal vitamins, as there will be no natals within one hundred yards of me if I can help it, but I have the vitamins for it. I take them actually. They are still pretty good for you, and I got them on sale with a coupon. It was like a tiny miracle for the day.

Oh, man, those are the exquisite days! When what you are buying is on sale anyway, and you have a coupon for it! And if you really want a truly orgasmic experience, have the product on sale, and you be in possession of a store coupon AND a manufacturer's coupon! You can actually hear angels when the cash register finishes. A warm glow follows you through the store as you look at those other pathetic, tool shoppers who just bend over and take anything put in front of them. Poor stupid fools, they have no idea that with just a little patience and seven hours on the computer, they could save .75 cents on their Ziploc bags. Oh, sure they may have one coupon, they may even be lucky enough to hit the sale also, but do they have TWO coupons? Nope. They are just throwing their money out the window while I am reaping the profits and sticking it to the man. It doesn't matter that I have spent well over two days online tracking down every purchase I will make for the week. It doesn't matter that I have driven to five stores in three different cities. The blisters on my hands from cutting real coupons from the paper are of no importance. The important thing is, I saved one and a half dollars on these batteries, and you – You did not!

Wednesday, September 4, 2013

Nobility in Worms

Dear Internet,

Thank you for being a constant source of delightful information that I will never need. So, this was from the BBC today: Soil Samples Show Richard III Suffered From Roundworm. It's an article written by Melissa Hogenboom. She is a reporter who has so little to write about, that she wrote an article about a scientist who has even less to do than she does. So, the story is basically that they tested the soil in the area where King Richie's intestines “would have been” and found a ton of these ringworm eggs. To validate their findings, they also tested the soil around his skull and around the entire grave and found no eggs where his skull was and very little around the entire grave. It was all concentrated where “his intestines would have been”. That is so... informative. My favorite quote from the whole article reads thus: “It might seem surprising that Richard – who had a very noble background – was infected with roundworm, but this is something that you can pick up very easily through faecal contamination”.

I can just see this roundworm discussion, a rouge roundworm named Sammie, starts the conversation:

“Okay Tito, I say we invade a King for once”

“Dude, no way, he's nobility

Yeah, well, I'm sick of peasants. You wanna live on corn forever? Hell no man! I can't even get a decent piece of venison out of those poor starving bastards!”

I'm just saying, man. He comes from a whole long line of nobility. We could get into some serious crap for that!”

Hey man! I been dying for some serious crap!”

Sammie, I'm serious! What if they find us?”

At this point a hot roundworm chick slithers by. She's wearing a black leather jacket. Her hair is in a bouffant. “What if who finds you doin' what, Sammie?”

I'm tryin-a get Tito to hitch a ride in the king, but he's bummin' me out”.

Tito, you're such a loser. I'd go witcha Sammie baby. I'll go. You wanna go?”

Sammie and his girl light up tiny cigarettes and wriggle off to find the king. Tito is left standing alone, friendless.

But in the end, Tito did the right thing and stuck to peasants. Not only did Sammie and his girl get found out in the end, but their entire family did. They led their whole family down a dangerous path, a daring path, only to be unearthed in the 21st century and to have their dirty laundry aired on the internet for the entire world to see. Shame on you, roundworms. Shame. Never the nobility.

I have no idea where I was originally going with this article. Have a great night!