Absolute Evil

UPDATE:  This post is in no way political.  Dick Cheney’s evil is based solely on his looks. Because I am that superficial.

Not too long ago, I did a post about things I think are an absolute good.  Like breakfast and such.  Now it’s time to talk about the other side, the side that lives in Wondergirl’s soul.  I’m kidding.  She has no soul.

1.) Clowns.  All of them. The Joker isn’t evil because he’s a psychopath; he’s evil because he’s a clown.

2.)  Heartburn.  Heartburn is evil because it only comes from delicious food.  I have never gotten heartburn from lima beans.

3.)  My house.

4.)  The Internet. The internet is entirely responsible for my failure to accomplish anything, ever.  I would be a somewhat productive human being without the Internet making me waste my time looking at lots and lots of crap that I can’t afford.

5.)  People who hate Dragon Ball Z.  Look, I’m not saying you have to love it like I do.  Being indifferent is okay as well.  But if you can look me in the eye and tell me you hate Dragon Ball Z, I’m pretty sure you also kick babies and slap cake out of people’s hands.  Evil.

6.)  Flesh colored leggings.  Gross.

7.)  My scale.  I don’t even know why I let it live here.

8.) That guy who put a lift kit and 24s on his new Camaro.  He should be killed for committing that hate crime against that poor car.  I’m not even a Chevy girl like that, but you get a Camaro because it’s fast and it’s supposed to be low to the ground and why oh why would he do that?  Because he’s evil, that’s why.

9.) Jerry Jones.  He has to be evil; he’s obviously been dead for like, three years.   See also:  Dick Cheney.

10.)  Dick Cheney.  He needed to be on here twice, because he’s too evil for just a side note.  The man is terrifying and I’m pretty sure he’s the Boogeyman.

I'm not sure what facial expression this is, but I'm sure whoever he's looking at is now a pile of bones somewhere.
I’m not sure what facial expression this is, but I’m sure whoever he’s looking at is now a pile of bones somewhere. He ate them, is what I’m saying.

11.) Popeye’s Chicken.  Everything up in that joint is terrible for you and they know it.  So they make it smell extra good (try driving by Popeye’s with your window rolled down) and taste extra good so that so you don’t even notice your thighs and heart getting bigger while you’re still eating.  See also:  Krispy Kreme.

12.)  People who drink decaf.  They’re obviously trying to throw my addiction in my face and that’s a pretty evil thing to do.

13.)  Money.  For never being in my bank account.

Let’s start this Monday off right.  What’s your absolute evil?


Refried Revenge.

You guys.  Oh man.  I have not been well.  And it is all because I can’t say no to bean dip.

That’s right.

So a few nights ago, I made a delicious bean dip with the works: salsa, sour cream, etc. Here’s how that went:

Bean Dip:  Hey.  I’m pretty freakin delicious over here, right?

Me: Om, nom, nom.  Crunch. Gulp.

Bean Dip:  That’s right.  Cause you don’t used reduced fat nothing.  Keep eating, chunk-o.

Me:  Well, I’m full, sooo…

BD:  Noooooo!

So I put it away in the fridge because for some reason I have a refrigerator that presumably keeps things cold and out of the food-poisoning temperature zone.  At least that’s what I thought.

So the next day, I have the munchies and who do I see?  My old friend, Bean Dip.

Me: Hey, BD.  I’m so happy to see you!

BD: Oh really.  Is that why I’ve been in there kickin it with Milk and Riesling?  I’ve seen you hang out with Riesling twice since the last time we talked.

Me:  Oh, well, I’ve been really busy and stressed out lately, so…

BD:  Whatever.  You’re here now. (strange laughter)

You guys.  This is important.  Never mess with a bean dip scorned.

Bean Dip woke me up at five a.m. with a punch to the gut.  And then another.  Tears were streaming out of my eyes, but I couldn’t move out of the fetal position.

Jean Claude Van Damme IS Bean Dip.
Jean Claude Van Damme IS Bean Dip.

Then Bean Dip apparently had been talking bad about me to my friends, Stomach and Colon, who passed the word on to a gang of their friends, aka the Digestive System.  So now, they are all pissed off at me.

I tried to placate Stomach with gifts.  Small ones, at first, like crackers.  She just threw them right in the toilet, the ungrateful heifer.  Bean Dip is long gone, but seems to have left behind some friends to keep up the gut punches.

Colon just kept screaming over and over again.

The Digestive System gang refused to settle down.  They just kept fighting amongst themselves to see who could inflict the most pain on my body.

I tried everything.  I even prayed to their porcelain god, kneeling before her, crying and heaving.  I asked her why she liked seeing me suffer this way.  “WHY?” I sobbed.

She whispered, “Bean Dip was a good friend of mine.  Now you will pay.”

Wait a minute.  Now I will pay?  What was happening the last five hours? Obviously nothing, because Stomach taught me the true meaning of the words I have nothing left.

Fifteen days minutes later, I used my last bit of strength to throw myself into the shower, where I cried some more about Bean Dip’s cruelty and betrayal.

Clean, and but a husk of my former self, I army crawled from the bathroom into bed and passed out for several hours.

When I awoke, it was to the sound of the Big Man’s ringtone.

“Hey, you think you can go get the kids? And what’s for dinner?”


Headed to Match.com

I was doing laundry today, and I was thinking about how much I hate doing laundry.  I thought, ‘Wouldn’t it be great if I could hire someone to do this for me?’

When I was doing the dishes, I thought about how nice it would be to have a maid.

Then it dawned on me.  I don’t need a maid.  I need a wife.

Hear me out on this.

Whether you’re a SAHM or you work, there are certain things that most women do.  ( At least the ones that I have regular contact with.) Yeah, it may be sexist, but really, a lot of us do the cooking, cleaning, laundry, etc.  And a lot of the male partners that I know, when they do this stuff, they call it “helping out.” Which infuriates me almost as much as when they are home with their own children and call it “babysitting.” Like, mad-enough-to-wonder-what-widowhood-is-going-to-be-like infuriating.

My husband has never asked me to help him with the dishes.  Because it’s unspoken that dishes are what I do.  Or order the kids to do.

Here’s how a friend of mine who’s the primary breadwinner in her household put it (they both work, though):  “I have never referred to his job as “helping” me pay the bills.  It’s assumed that it’s both of our responsibility.  That would sound so awful to me if I said ‘Hey honey, thanks for helping me with the water bill this month.’ So why if he folds two towels, does he need me to acknowledge his “help”?  That should just be both of our responsibility as well.  I just want to scream at him: YOU LIVE HERE TOO!” She’s got one heckuva point.

And, yes I have read about how much money it would cost to pay someone to do everything I do.  But the Big Man doesn’t pay me.  (Oh, he’ll make some smart remark in the comments about this.  He’ll be wrong, as usual.) So, since the pay is lousy at my current gig, I need to do what the Big Man did to get some help around here.

I need to get me a wife.

I need someone who will run this house because she loves us and doesn’t want CPS sniffing around even though Kid Sensation still ends up looking homeless half the time. She’ll cook tasty, nutritious meals according to the tastes of the family but within a budget tighter than two pairs of Spanx.  She might even finish the laundry, so she’ll be a better wife than I am.  Note to self:  Make sure you’re prettier than new wife.

Sooo....not her.  We look too much alike, anyway.  #lies.
Sooo….not her. We look too much alike, anyway. #lies #ifIlookedlikethisI’dneverwearclothes

What will I do?  Oh, I’ll “help” her out, of course.  I might meander by every once in a while and you guys I just realized that I can’t think of anything housework-related that the Big Man does.  So maybe I don’t have to help at all. Yeah, I know Big man, you pay the bills around here.  Putting your shoes away would still be kind of awesome, though.

Okay, I’m through griping.  My family is pretty great.  I’m just saying a wife would be pretty great, too.

Absolute Good.

I was having a discussion with Birdie a while back about things that are an “absolute good”–meaning that there is no down side, or that they are good enough that the down side is negligible. Of course, the first thing that comes to everyone’s mind is bacon.  Here’s a few more:

1) Breakfast.  Because it is the meal most associated with bacon, I have to say that breakfast in and of itself is an absolute good.  You can pretty much have whatever you want for breakfast, and at anytime of day.  I have heard people say they don’t eat breakfast, meaning they don’t eat a meal in the morning, but I have never heard anyone say they don’t eat breakfast food.  That’s because everyone on earth has a breakfast food they enjoy.  Eggs–they can be cooked any way you want them.  Cereal–uhh, Cinnamon Toast Crunch, anyone? Pancakes–all yum, all the time. Croissants? Flaky, buttery horn-shaped heaven.  I dare you to say there’s not at least one breakfast food that you like.  I dare you.

2.) Sleeping.  It’s fun, it’s free and it passes the time.  You even have entertainment while you do it–they’re called dreams.  You can pretty much sleep anywhere that you’re not operating machinery or driving (although that self driving car definitely has some possibilities).  Also, when you’re sleeping and someone wants to bother you, a lot of the time they’ll whisper an apology and back out of the room.  Unless their name is Kid Sensation.

3.) Batman.  I have never heard of anyone who doesn’t like Batman.  I’m not talking Batman movies,  mean the Batman.  He doesn’t have any superpowers, he could just be some rich cornhole who just goes around spending astronomical amounts of his money like some jerk named Richard Branson.  But no, he fights crime and despite all his money continues live in crime-infested Gotham instead of moving to the Gotham suburbs.  If you don’t like Batman, I’m not sure I want to know you because you’re obviously some type of hardened criminal who specializes in swindling old people.

I'm not calling him a jerk.  I'm just saying look at the guy.
I’m not calling him a jerk. I’m just saying look at the guy.

4.)  Denzel Washington.  See also:  Leonardo Dicaprio.

5.)  The Empire Strikes Back.  If you don’t love this movie you parents failed you somewhere.  I’m looking at you, Big Man.

6.)  T-Shirts.  They’re comfy, they come in colors, they stretch (handy if you’re boobs have their own area code, like mine do), you can dress them up, and when the sad, sad day that is the end of a t-shirt’s wearable life comes, it becomes an awesome rag. The Big Man’s T-shirts make great curtains.  Oh, t-shirt, is there anything you can’t do?

7.) Thriller.  Not the video that traumatized me as kid, but the album.  I know the entire Beat It dance.  I know all the words to every song on that album–and so does everyone I know.  Including people under 10 that do not live here.

8.)  Prayer.  Cause sometimes you have to talk to someone without anyone else around.

So give it up!  What’s your absolute good?

Tuesday Musings

So I was kinda bored today and I decided to keep track of my random thoughts.  Although, upon reading them back to myself, this may be a horrible idea.  Dah well, I got nothing else going on. Keep in mind this is the stuff that doesn’t make it out of my mouth–which isn’t much.  Enjoy:

I hate Adam Levine.  There, I said it.

They’re all gonna pay. ( I have no idea what this was about.)

I should fill up the kids pool, play in it, and let all the water out before they get home.  They won’t be able to prove a thing.

You know what, I didn’t make this mess, and I refuse to clean it up.

I am having a really good butt day.  (Twerks in the mirror.)

We should make dinner together tonight.  The kids will like that.

I JUST washed a bunch of his socks.  Where the green beans did they go?

At first I thought this was kinda funny.  Now I find the idea of sentient hobo socks a bit terrifying.
At first I thought this was kinda funny. Now I find the idea of sentient hobo socks a bit terrifying.

Oh wow! Viola Davis looks amazing.  (She’s on the cover of Essence.)

Somebody shut that dog up. (It was our dog.)

I should really vacuum now.  Or maybe in a few minutes. 

(Looking at the neighbor) Where is she going–zomygod I forgot about the kids!

JAYSUS that’s an ugly dog. I mean, GOOD LORD somebody get that thing off the streets.

I’m raising a genius! (About the Destroyer.)

I’m raising an idiot! (Again, about The Destroyer)

Can you not tell from my one-word answers that I don’t want to talk right now?

NOW who’s screaming?

I am surrounded by idi–oh wait, that was my bad. 

Kid Sensation is making weird noises in the other room.  Best not to get involved.

What are you lookin at? (To the dog.  He then comes and licks my face.  He knows I can’t stand him; yet he refuses to care.)

I am ash-shee. (But the lotion is upstairs. The olive oil is down here though…)

Did both knees just crack when I stood up?

Taraji P. Henson irritates me.  Oh no, will they let me stay Black?

What is Kid Sensation running from?  Best not to get involved.

Why should I be the one to drive away and never come back? They should be the ones to go! (I don’t really think this.  Most of the time.)

Why am I poor?  (Looking at boots for fall.)

Oh yeah, Big Man?  Well If I was like my mother, my house would be clean.

I heard a crash and a lot of shushing and whispered apologies.  I should stay out of it.

This was all by four p.m.  You guys, I may need to see a professional.



Sing it. Part I.

Every once in a while, the planets align just right and I get to be in car alone.  Which means I get to listen to the music I want without someone saying that “this is for old people”.  By the way, when did Soundgarden and Outkast become “for old people”?  My kids have no taste.

So that made me think of my favorite song lyrics.  Like every other person on the planet, what I listen to is dictated by my mood.  Bad mood? Tool, all the way.  Horrible mood? DMX.  Great mood?  Big Boi from Outkast or Metallica.  Cleaning mood? Old R and B.  So on and so forth.  And sometimes it just comes down to the lyrics:

1) “I’m trying to stay sucka-free

but look where all the suckas be

can’t get out from under me” –Otis remix, DMX

This one is for when I’m annoyed by the general population. 

2) “I smell sex and candy” — Sex anc Candy, Marcy Playground.

Two awesome things make a good mood better.

3) “Move your body up and down

     Make your booty touch the ground” — Bootylicious, Destiny’s Child.

Okay, so this entire post could consist of Beyoncé and Destiny’s Child quotes.  But Bootylicious makes me feel sexy and fun.

4)  “Some say the end is near

      Some say we’ll see Armageddon soon

      Certainly hope we will

       I sure could use a vacation” –Aenema, Tool

If you’ve ever had to deal with idiots on a full time basis, this really needs no explanation. Especially if you’ve worked customer service.

5)  “So when you say that you need me

       That you’ll never leave me

       I know you’re wrong

       You’re not that strong

       Let me go”  –One More Try, George Michael

This is for when I’m already in my feelings anyway and I’m walking around the house being pitiful.  This adds the right amount of “everyone is against me” to “I can’t have anything” which adds up to me feeling sorry for myself until I can find some salty, fried potatoes.

My face pre-French fries.
My face pre-French fries.

6) “Well, whatever, never mind.” Smells Like Teen Spirit, Nirvana. 

This line is basically how I feel about everything the rest of the time.

What about you?  Please share.

I’m not Beyonce, but I woke up like this.

Have you ever woken up irritated? Like so irritated that you knew you were going to be an awful human being that day and no one was going to want to be within 50 feet of you and the thought of it made you GLAD? No? You think you’re better than me? Huh?

Let me backtrack. We’ve gotten through the first week of school. You know that week where you’ve already spent god knows how much money and yet the kids seem to have nothing so you have to spend more money that you don’t have? Yeah, that week.

It’s also the week that you find out exactly the toll having your spawn home all summer has taken on your house, and so everything has fallen apart at exactly the same time. So now you have to do a bootleg job of holding your furniture together with duct tape, string, and a few paperclips. And staples. I’ve gotten to where I can’t relax when I sit in our recliner because I’m waiting for it to collapse under me and I want to be able to spring off of it like cat so I don’t have a recliner-related death.

I will look exactly like this.
I will look exactly like this.

The dishwasher keeps thinking it’s cleaned dishes that it hasn’t. That blinking “clean” light is actually the dishwasher laughing at me. So I’m washing dishes by hand like I live in a third-world country.

We now have a gopher razing our yard to the ground. I don’t have Bill Murray’s number. If you do, please tell him to contact me about a rodent and some dynamite.

My kids’ stomachs are actually black holes—infinite and unfillable. Of course, the Big Man is quite confident he can give me ten bucks to feed the family for the week and is astonished when I come home with potatoes and ramen instead of steak and asparagus. I kid, I kid. We can’t afford ramen after buying shoes for the Destroyer. Or after paying for school lunch.

Kid Sensation fell into a depression because he couldn’t wear his new school jeans and sweatshirt in 90-degree heat. He told me his summer clothes looked raggedy. I told him they look a heckuva lot better than heatstroke.

Good news: Wondergirl save her first altercation for the second day of school. Baby steps.

So after all that, Friday rolls around and I woke up irritated. And I plan to be pretty terrible today. At least until wine time.






Maybe She Doesn’t Want to be Friends Anymore.

So my friend thinks that I am a TV snob because I don’t tend to watch a lot of the shows that other people do. It’s not that I’m a snob, it’s that all the good cartoons don’t come on anymore.

Anyhoo, she dared me to watch a reality show. Which isn’t really a big deal, some reality shows aren’t staged horrible fakery. (Well, I’m sure that they are all staged fakery. Some just aren’t horrible.) Then she threw down the gauntlet—she dared me to watch the Bachelor in Paradise.

I started breathing heavy. I got chest pains and anxiety. I didn’t think I could do this. But I wasn’t going to back down.

You guys, I wish I had backed down. Or that I was smart enough to invent time travel so I could eradicate the person who first thought of this show Terminator style. But misery loves company, so of course, I’m sharing my observations with all of you. You’re welcome.

1) Two girls named Lacy at the same place. This shows how old I am because Lacy was the name people gave their daughter when the already had kids named Candee and TerriLynn. I didn’t bother to learn anyone else’s name because learning names is for people you plan on seeing again.  I will never, ever, purposely lay eyes on any one of these people in this lifetime–maybe if I die with my eyes open while channel-surfing, but that’s it.

2.) Everyone is super-tan. I get that they are supposed to be on a desert island, but the sun doesn’t turn people this shade of orange. Not that I’m against spray-tanning, I just don’t think it should be Crayola brand spray-tan.

3.) I understand that not everyone knows the difference between stalactites and stalagmites. There is no such thing as a stalaglite, though. How did this come up? They sent two of these people into a cave—presumably after making them sign waivers that absolve the network from responsibility for any and all deaths and injuries resulting from stupidity. I would have loved to see that waiver—I bet it read like Hop on Pop.

4.) There were bats. Dumb girl who went into cave with Dumb Guy shrieked about her dislike of bats, which are animals that live in caves much like the one you agreed to go in, Girl-who-wasn’t-named-Lacy. Or maybe she was named Lacy.

5.) Dumb Guy wants to get freaky in bat cave. Yuck. But then, he was kinda Yuck just by standing there and breathing.

6.) They have cocktails in the batcave. What kind of cave is this?

7.) Everyone is in love or has a crush on everyone else. So I guess all it takes is proximity for love to be in the air.

8.) I haven’t heard the word crush used so much since 8th grade. And that was only because I was still in the same school as sixth graders.

9.) Someone said “I’m not a person who openly shares–“. Stop right there, sister. You’re on a reality show about swapping partners with everybody else there to find the right partner for you. All. You. Do. Is. Share.

10.) Everyone keeps talking about being “real”. You know, while having cosmos in a cave.

11.) The Destroyer pointed out that they say “like” every other word. He is twelve.

12.) These men are wearing tank tops so tight I can see their heartbeat. One of them is wearing one with a pocket. It’s pretty hilarious.

13.) Kissing in the ocean=relationship. Who knew?

14.) Another girl who is not Lacy is perpetually confused. How do I know? Because she keeps going around saying so. “I’m just so confused,” “I’m confused right now” and so on. I think she may have the word “confused” mixed up with the words “dumb as a bag of hammers”.

Image courtesy of Rose Cooper.
Apparently the fly was agoraphobic.

15.) This sentence: “Lamb makes me nervous.”

Anyway, I failed the dare. (And really, do friends make friends watch stuff like this?  I have obviously done something to upset her and she felt the need for revenge.) I made it to the halfway point of the show and then went to the kitchen to start comfort-eating to cope with the trauma. You guys, I have to come up with an idiotic reality show idea so I can make millions off of some dumb suckers who think they belong on TV. Help me out here.