I Warned You

Remember back here, when I threatened you that if it didn't liven up around here I was gonna pull out the Right Stuff.



Maybe now you people will believe me. There are crickets up in this joint. Tumbleweeds. Lindsay Loweight's career.

Next time you won't be so lucky, next time I'm pulling out the Flock Of Seagulls. And then where will you be?

You'll be stuck wearing legwarmers and doing the cabbage patch.

So the question you need to ask yourself is: Do I want to be stuck wearing legwarmers and doing the cabbage patch to Flock Of Seagulls or do I want to comment and assure Mia that she is as awesome as she thinks she is, even if I don't mean it, even if it's just to fill her comment box, even if I really think she is a paranoid megatwat who immediately panics and thinks she broke her blog if there isn't a comment in six days...even if all that.

And the answer is no. Always no.

I mean yes.

Please? I have candy.

Did I break this thing?

Dear Monkey Fucker in the Blue Towncar,

You're car is falling apart. We can all see that. Who the hell are you fooling? You've either blown out the shocks on the back end or your smuggling over immigrants from Guadalajara, cuz that piece of shit was scraping on the ground. You have four unmatching rims on your tires, the "blue" color looks more like a smurf exploded on a Lincoln, and as if I needed proof that you are a total waste of air, you had a license plate frame that looked like barbed wire.

Now that I have your attention, I just wanted to call you on a little mistake you made this morning. You seemed to be having a problem distinguishing between which lane was yours to use. I understand you pay taxes for both sides of the little white line...that does not mean you can use both sides at once. You have to pick and choose. Like you do with your Ho's...at least I'm assuming you pick and choose your Ho's, if your bumper sticker that said "Where's My Money Bitch" is any indication.

Another thing I was a bit confused about is your use of the gas pedal. It seems like you have either a mechanical issue with your fuel injection, or you are just a mindless fuck who can't distinguish between the short fat pedal on the left and the long skinny pedal on the right. Just because your car only operates in slow and stop, doesn't mean you get to sit at the red light and dick yourself for twenty minutes. Also, when after the 20 minutes of dicking I get impatient and I honk my horn at you to get you to move your Ho Wagon out of the way, you decide to stick your big fat hairy arm out the window to flip me the bird, make sure you use the right finger. I'm sure that in Stupid, they use the second finger, but here on Earth, we use the middle one. I'm not sure what you were trying to tell me with the use of the second, perhaps we could discuss this on our next encounter.

Anyway, I just wanted to clear up those few things, I realize your a very busy man, what with the immigrant smuggling, and the ho's and the money collecting and all, but I just wanted to thank you for being a valued part of our community. I'm sure the property values will never be the same.

With all my contempt,
Princess Me

WTF Wednesday or The One Where I Talk Politics...And Beyonce

Ok so, the "I'm Not Gay" Senator. Idaho senator Larry Craig (we're so proud). Ummmm right. He says that he didn't do anything wrong in that Minnesota bathroom. That his foot just happened to touch the other guys in the stall next to him...that he didn't travel halfway through the city with his pal Nancy McFancypants looking for the prime place to receive an illicit blowjob from a man who is not your wife. He's not gay. As in remember what happened to that guy in Jersey when he said he was gay? Not gay.

A few questions arise from this. First, how the hell do you just happen to touch another guys foot in the stall next to you....those stalls are like four feet wide, the dude would practically need to do the splits, and while Mr. Remember-I'm-Not-Gay probably has some sprite left in him, I don't think bathroom calisthenics are really in his arsenal.

Also, not one mention of resignation. Now I'm no pundit, but wouldn't it have been a smarter thing for the GOP to say, Look Mr. Remember-I'm-Not-Gay, you've done a swell job for us, up till now, but there is still another year left to your term, and while we have no problem with office shenanigans we'd prefer to get a new guy in the office who is better at hiding them from the general public. Isn't this going to give the democrats a leg up in the new election? Friggin republicans.

And finally, I would like to volunteer my services to his campaign should he stay in office...that press conference was a friggin mess...in case you missed it, it went something like this:

Mr. Remember-I'm-Not-Gay: I'm NOT GAY! AHHHHHHHHHHH! NOT GAY NOT GAY NOTGAY I LOVE MY WIFE NOT GAY! Oh and I'm innocent, and scurred!

Yeah that doesn't go over so well...If I were in charge of his speeches it would have gone something like this:

Mr. Remember-I'm-Not-Gay: I apologize for this fiasco...now what are we gonna do about Michael Vick?

DEFLECT DEFLECT DEFLECT!

In other news...Beyonce is coming to Idaho.

The fuck?

Bee Gees - Night Fever

Loa'a Poop?

So, this morning after dropping Liz off at her middle school, Kennedy and I are waiting in line at the stop sign. It's a long line, so we're usually sitting there for at least 5 minutes. I usually spend these few minutes catching up with the child, finding out what she dreamed about the night before, what she's looking forward to in school that day, checking in on what happened on the latest Suite Life...general catching up. I cherish this time with the kid, it's some of the rare minutes during the day when it's just me and her with no distractions. That is the normal morning. That wasn't this morning. This morning went something like this:

Kennedy: Mooooooom look that sign wants to know if we have poop!
Me: The hell?
Kennedy: BWAHAHAHAHAHA*SNORT*HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA*SNORT*
Me: Dude, what are you talking about? Poop? Who wants to know if we have to poop?
Kennedy: No, not if we have TO poop, if we HAVE poop.
Me: Sure, I see the distinction. Now, what the holyhell are you talking about?
Kennedy: That sign! It's talking about poop

I spend the next minute looking around frantically to get a glimpse of the poop sign before it's our turn to go through the stop sign.

Me: I don't see any poop sign, Kennedy.
Kennedy: No look, on that van...it's says "Got Poooooey"!

I notice the van in front of us with license plates from Hawaii. The bumper sticker said "Got Poi?"

Me: (holding back my laughter) Kennedy that's a food in Hawaii. Poi.
Kennedy: The people in Hawaii eat poop?

And so it goes...

Like I said, I cherish these moments.

No Doubt - Just A Girl

Weekend Bullets!

Busy busy weekend. I'm pooped. I've gotten absolutely no work done since Friday morning, but I have had oodles of family time, which was needed. I'm so pooped that I don't want to write a regular post, so you get a bunch of random weekend revelations in nifty bulleted list format. Exciting, no?

• Yesterday we decided to take the girls to an old ghost town outside Boise. Tons of fun, lots of photo's added in my flickr, feel free to browse through those. We even got one of those groovy old time photo's of the girls in period costumes. Kennedy wanted to be an "outlaw", Lizzy was just appalled by my making her participate in something so horrific.

• My husband got stung by a bee while we were in Idaho City, and he was certain that his leg was going to fall off.
  
• I got this in my netflix. I'm gearing up for a night of mature television.
• Honey Roasted cashews are my new favorite thing.
• I've decided my favorite Lionel Richie song is Running With The Night.
• I've got laundry everest piling up in my laundry room. Ugh
  
• And for a little shameless self promotion...It's almost the end of the month, and that means my $29 blog redesign sale is almost over. Email me if your interested in a new design, or go here to take a look at my premade designs being offered. That $29 includes the installation and work hours.

And now....I'm off to do something productive. Like eat cashews and watch Strongbad. Hope you all had as good a weekend as I did! I promise I'll put some effort into a post tomorrow.

Luniz - I Got 5 On It

A-HA!

So, I'm just sitting here talking to her in Yahoo and balancing my checkbook...the doorbell rings. I hop out of the chair and run through the entire house to get to the door with my foot entirely asleep. And while doing so, I managed to run into the wall and shove a ballpoint pen into my leg producing blood.. Thus causing me to use a string of very colorful obscenities including the word "Pig-Fucker" very loudly, while I limped my ass to the door to come face to face with two mormons who quickly decided I was Satan reincarnate, handed me a pamphlet on how to find my salvation and ran to their bikes.

So that's how you do it!

Dr. Hook - Cover Of The Rolling Stone

First Day Of School N' Stuff

Today was the first day of school. I'm a bit at a loss for words. Too quiet. I've discovered I can't function in my entirety without kids screaming and yelling and stomping and fighting and tv's blaring and Panic At The Disco rattling my eardrums and and and....what was I saying? Oh right...you get pictures today.

Starting with last night...this is my new friend Charolette. She lives in the tree in my front yard. Charolette is bigger than my dog. Charolette everybody. Everybody Charolette.

And the sky last night was the most amazing shade of pinky orange. I immediately thought of Vanilla Sky.

This morning was a little more than hectic...pants that were too big and too small all at the same time, because in seventh grade "noooooooothing fitssssssssssssss", and shoes that weren't comfortable because in fourth grade you need to wear your shoes "for at least a month before you can play soccer" and we all know that's the important thing...breakfast's were scarfed in record time, nobody lost an eye...and the result is two kids who are too cool for school:

Doesn't her face just scream seventh grade? That bag she has I need to mention because it's an official Panic At The Disco bag...off the official site. I should have got it on a payment plan. WTF is with official merchandise these days. Dayum. The price of that thing made me Panic At My Checkbook.

My baby...fourth grade. A part of me weeps.

And finally...wise words from the desk of Mia and her Happy Bunny sign book...because maturity is my strong suit:

Dre - Let Me Ride

Highly Flammable

I am pretty sure that my family, in a cooperative effort, is trying to kill me. This includes my dog. Every damn person in this house has gas that could peel paint. It seriously smells like something crawled into the walls and died. I swear to geezus. It started last night and there has been no reprieve. I was tempted to sleep in the living room last night, I was certain I was gonna wake up with curly hair. Good Gawd.

I have tried air freshener and lysol and even pouring some bleach, pretty much anything with a strong enough scent to cover the rancid gas floating around...nothing is working. I was going to light my loverly apple spice candle, but I'm afraid to spark a match, for fear that it will turn into a roman candle and melt my face off.

I just walked by my sweet, innocent puppy and he cut one, and I swear he was aiming it right for me. It was like hitting a wall of stink. Some big smelly shit brick wall. Oh. My. God.

I'm living in the bog of eternal stench right now.

On the bright side, I think I'll be able to save on electricity...with all the toxic gas floating around, things are bound to start glowing green.

Aren't you glad I shared?

Brandy - Best Friend

It's Irregardless

When the hell did that become a word? I've been seeing it everywhere today. In people's comments, in blog posts, I swear I even heard someone on CNN say it. The fuck? It's annoying. And it's not a word. It's like saying "ironical". Or "intensive purposes" instead of "intents and purposes". You don't get any more accomplished by adding extra syllables onto your words...it just makes you sound like you left your special issue retard helmet at home.

Stop it.

Stop it now.

Or die. One or the other.

This has been a public service message from the Elitist Bitch Organization.

The Jacksons & Mick Jagger - State Of Shock

August 20th 1978

Happy Birthday to me! Not only was 1978 a great year because it was the year that I was brought into things...it will also from here on out be known as the "Year Of Style"

The Bee Gee's Night Fever was the number one single of that year. Disco was king, Cocaine nosejobs were all the rage, and men in skin tight pants and turtlenecks were revving womens engines:

And speaking of engines...The Chrysler Cordoba was a big selling car...and seriously who could not be a chick magnet riding around in this thing! Imagine all the room in that thing! You could fit all of Studio 54 and Steve Rubell's ego in the backseat:

And Kim Bassinger modeled for the sewing pattern industry. Because nothing spells success like sewing patterns. And a big floppy hat.

As for me? I was chillin out in my hospital incubator thingie:

And smoking cigars:

And now? I'm off to get some work done, and then do absolutely nothing for the remainder of the afternoon. It's my birthday, it's cool like that.

Blogger Beta Can Parse My Ass

After about 36 straight hours of coding my brain feels like lime jello. Ugh. I'm starting to write xml that looks like this:

{ variable name="fuckall"
description="suck it hard"
type="vomit"
default="#crap"
value="#dick" }

And if it wasn't for her calling me right now to remind me not to freak out over a stupid dumb shitty piece of flaming guano that is Blogger today...well I may have chucked this fuckbox out the window. I heart her. Hard.

And now...we meme. Thankya Ragdoll for giving me something that isn't code.

1. Your real name?

Mia. Really.

2.Your GaNgStA Name: (first 4 letters of real namE)
There aren't four letters in my blog name or my "real" name. Ummmmm Mia?

3. YOUR SPY NAME: (fav color and fav animal)
Green Seal.....fear me.

4. YOUR SOAP OPERA NAME: (ur middle name and street u live on)
Michele Arrowhead. I would so fit right in Genoa City...or Salem...or some soapy place.

5. YOUR STAR WARS NAME: (the first 3 letters of your last name, first 2 letters of your first name)
Grami....Grami? That isn't very intimidating. I must have come from Tatooine.

6. YOUR SUPERHERO NAME: (Your 2nd favorite color, and favorite drink)
Blue Diet Coke...Lamey Lamington.

7. YOUR IRAQI NAME: (2nd letter of your first name, 3rd letter of your last name, 1st letter of your middle name, 2nd letter of your moms maiden name, 3rd letter of you dads middle name, 1st letter of a siblings first name, and last letter of your moms middle name)
Iamlvdn. Oh, what the fuck is that? Even the middle east uses vowels.

8. YOUR WITNESS PROTECTION NAME: (parents middle names)

Ann David. That's a good one. Can't get much more blah than that.

9. YOUR GOTH NAME: (black, and the name of one of your pets)
Black Gizmo. Bwahahahahaha.

10. YOUR PORN STAR NAME: (the name of your first pet & the name of the street you grew up on)
Roni Johns....I still say I have the BEST porn name eva! You are no competition for that one.

And now...I'm going to sleep, before I pass out on this desk.

Who Wants To Go With Me?

Know where we're going? Leave your guesses in the comments and I'll post the answer tomorrow.

I'll even reward those brave enough to guess with an entry to win a free design by me, if you're on Blogger/Blogspot, or you can give it to somebody who is on Blogger if you aren't....I know what I'm doing...trust me.


Spandau Ballet - True

Women Are Like Apples...

The best ones are at the top of the tree. Most men either don't see the good ones or don't want to reach for them because they are afraid of falling and getting hurt. Instead, they sometimes take the apples from the ground that aren't as good, but easy. It takes a few bad apples before the men realize that the climb is INDEED worth it. When the brave gets to the top of the tree and finally scores one of the top apples they are indeed...amazing.

Now men, on the other hand... are like a fine wine.

They begin as grapes, and its up to women to stomp the shit out of them until they turn into something acceptable to have dinner with.

What? I'm just sayin....

Michael McDonald - I Keep Forgettin

Have You Hugged Your Weiner Today?

There is a plethora of dick in my life this week....and not in the good way. In an entirely disturbing, I need a shower kind of way. Yesterday, in what I thought was a once in a lifetime kind of thing, this homeless dude on the offramp was jerkin it. In a way that I'm sure was hazardous to his health. I've seen less violent wanking in John Holmes flicks. Dude was fierce, and thank the lawd my kids weren't in the car with me. And where the hell are the cops when you need one? Mr. Homeless Wank dude seriously needed to dry out.

Then this morning when I was going to put the mail in the box, this bum-ish looking guy goes walking by with his pants hanging halfway down his legs, like somebody had just interrupted him peeing on the train tracks, and he just happened to forget to pull up his smelly ass old guy pants. Dude looked right at me with this big ol toothy grin, completely oblivious to the fact that his wang was blowin in the wind.

Maybe I'm just really hot this week and the bums just can't help themselves. I have been known to have that effect on smelly old guys with Gin breath. It's a talent, really.

Frankie Valli - Grease

I'm A Jonathan Girl...

What do you get when you mix a fairly successful actor of today, a couple of Jersey boys, a muscle head, an underage squeeler and one shy quiet type?

Heaven.

Ok, maybe not heaven but it definitely was to me at my daughters age (11/12). It blows my mind the kind of music she listens to. She's into the Panic At The Disco, Fall Out Boy, and AFI's. The girl get's all weak in the knees when you mention Pete Wentz. What the hell? I don't have a problem with the music itself...not long after growing out of my boy band age, I was listening to Metallica and Pantera, but not at 12. Not at my daughters age. Or was I? I guess I'm not so sure of the age I lost that NKOTB innocence, but my daughter seems so young. Is this a forecasting of her teen years? Will she be one of those brooding, depressed, always wearing dark colors, dating boys on skateboards with their underwear showing and a chain holding their wallet? Will she write sad poetry about the color black, tear drops, and lost love? Will she not want to come out of her room for years, and loose her desire to give me hugs and kisses every time she sees me? Will she come to realize I'm not cool anymore? So many questions.

I played this video for her the other day and she almost died of horror. She couldn't believe that I would or could ever have been so lame as to like a boy band, and worse than that, the first "real" boy band. She cursed them for making way for Backstreet and N*sync...told me how stupid the music was, how winy their voices were and how Pete could beat up my beloved Jonathan.....

Fine, maybe I'm lame...and weak for caving to my boy band obsession. Maybe so. New Kids were the shit back in the day, and definitely part of my childhood soundtrack. If you had asked me ten years ago if I ever listened to New Kids, I would have laughed you out of my house, so I could hide my Hangin' Tough CD. I was in the closet. But now, at almost 30, I think it's safe to admit my uncoolness, my deep seeded crush on Jonathan Knight (not to be confused with Jordan Knight, I hated Jordan), and my curiosity over Donny Wahlberg in a Public Enemy shirt. The hell?



And yes, this is from my own collection...yes, there is more where this came from, and yes if it doesn't liven up around here I'm gonna hafta pull out The Right Stuff.

Oh oh ohohoh.

Mono?

I think that I had 24 hour mono. Is that possible? If it is possible, that's definitely what I had. I've slept about 18 of the last 24 hours. Tuesday night I went to bed about 9, slept until 8 yesterday morning, had to be over at my mothers to wait for the repair guy, was back home by 10, asleep by 10:30 on the couch...napped until 2, back up to make dinner, talked to the man for awhile, back asleep at 6 slept until about 9, asleep for good for the night at 10, and woke up this morning at 9. Holy shit. That takes some skill. I don't think I've slept that long over a 24 hour period since I was pregnant. Don't even go there, it's not possible.

I think I was probably fighting off a bug of some sort. I felt kind of crappy on Tuesday, and then yesterday with all the sleeping, and the general yuckiness feeling. I think all my sleep performed a once over on whatever bug was trying to get at me. That'll teach it.

Ok, I'm even boring myself now...off to catch up on all the work I slept through yesterday.

Billy Idol - Hot In The City

Neighborly Love Hate

We live in a nice little neighborhood. On the average day I don't have too much to complain about, regarding my living situation. Sure, I'd like a bigger place with a hot tub, and a mailbox in the shape of a duck...but then who doesn't? We do have our average everyday annoyances, bratty kids, loud people who don't speak english screaming at each other at 2 am, guys that look like the Bushwackers screaming for their pit bulls and the occasional freak from the 7-11 down the street. But on the whole I can't complain too much.

That being said, lately there have been a lot of things going on around here that need to stop. The mowing of the yards and using power saws at the asscrack of dawn. Why? There are 24 hours in the day, and alot of them occur between 10 am and 6 pm. There is nothing like waking up to the WHIRRING sound of drills, saws and lawn mowers first thing in the morning. Yeah, I love it. That needs to stop, mmmmk thanks.

Also, the christmas lights. Please take them down. I don't like to be reminded of the holidays in August. Please? I'm no scrooge, but it's time. Let them go.

Stop letting your dog shit on my porch.

Bratty asshole kids who like to come knocking on my door at 7 motherfuggin am on a Tuesday to see if my girls can play. No they can't play at 7 am. They like to be clean and fed before they play. And they don't like you anyway, you smelly peanut butter faced midget. Go home.

Yeah, I'm done now.

Billy Joel - I Go To Extremes

Back Dat Ass Up

I don't understand clubbing. Especially at my age. I have some friends who go to the clubs every damn weekend. Some of them have kids. Not that there is anything wrong with getting your drink on when your a parent, do whatcha do and all that....but every weekend? And at the "club"? That's what inspired this post, I just got off the phone with a friend of mine who told me all about her club hopping over the weekend. She's 35.

*blank stare*

I have NEVER in all my almost 29 years understood the allure of clubs. Is that even what they are called anymore? Who knows, they probably have some cool new name. It used to be that people went out to a Bar...then Club...now it's probably something entirely different. I dunno, I'm just not that cool.

But back to what I was saying, I've been to one club in my entire life. I was 18, and that was all I ever needed to convince me that it was not my bag. They are like gangster/dork meeting grounds. No thanks. And every guy in the joint thinks that they are the hottest thing eva...doing that whole pointing ass shaking move straight out of an R. Kelly video. 9 out of 10 guys in the joint looked like one of three:

Long Duck Dong from Sixteen Candles

Milhouse from The Simpsons.

Or Ashtray from Don't Be A Menace To South Central...

I'm whiter than Elmer's Glue and I could do a more convincing booty dance.

There was a point to this post....

Oh yeah, I was gonna ask, do any of you go to clubs and if so, what the hell is the attraction?

Mmmmmk Thanks.

Huey Lewis & The News - If This Is It

Explain This To Me

Why is it that I have no patience with most anything. I don't like to wait at a restaurant, if there is a line at the gas station, I will drive right on by even if I'm almost on empty. If there are lines at the store, I will switch lanes 102 times until I find the "shortest" line....I have no patience when I help my girls with their homework (yes, I'm working on it), I usually end up putting myself in timeout a few times...and when my hubby goes to run an errand for me, and it takes him longer than half an hour, I can feel my blood pressure raise.

So why is it that I will wait 18 minutes for a god damn Iced Mocha from Starbucks? I swear they lace those things with smack, there is no other explanation for my behavior. Eighteen farkin minutes, people! I could have roasted the beans myself in that amount of time.

Mmmmmmm Mocha.

Culture Club - Miss You Blind

It's Better Than A Shank To The Head

Some people are getting all in a huff about this. Personally, I think it's awesome. Imagine the discipline it took, the camaraderie between all the inmates. I'm sure they felt a serious sense of accomplishment after getting this whole routine down. And the way I see it, the time it takes to learn something like this was time not spent butt looting in the showers, and stabbing people with plastic forks.

Inmates of Cebu Provincial Detention and Rehabilitation Center in Philippines performing the Thriller dance.



Happy Saturday people...it's a good thing.

Let's Go Outside

I'm tired of living in secrecy. I'm not going to hide it anymore.

I love George Michael.

I do. I love the man...and I'm shakin my groove thang to him right now...

"I think I'm done with the sofa. I think I'm done with the hall. I think I'm done with the kitchen table baaaabaaaay...."

Rebirth Of Slick

That's my husbands new nickname for me...Slick. For so many reasons. Let's take a little yearly review in Mia's clutziness, shall we?

1. About a year and a half ago, I managed to poison myself by eating windex laced meat. Yup, I cleaned the counters, sprayed all around my dinner, and thought I was gonna die. Stupid I know.
2. I broke the pinkie toe on my left foot by stubbing it against the wall. And just so you know this pain was unbelievable.
3. Next week, I broke my tailbone by falling. And I thought the toe hurt.
4. Week after breaking my ass, I break the pinkie toe on my right foot by stubbing it against the curb at the store.
5. Fast forward a couple months, to January of this year and I almost cut my finger off. Gross, pain, omg...but it's healing quite nicely, aside from the nasty scar.



Then yesterday, I decided to go ahead and finish up the bathroom remodeling. I'm so close to being done, and excited to be able to put all the finishing touches on the wall. One of the last things to be done is to scrape off all this black glue-y stuff left on the wall from when my mirror fell off and shattered into a billion pieces, and what better way to get that off the wall then a big ol box knife. Right? RIGHT?

Yeah, not so much.



I slid that knife right into my hand and made a puncture wound and cut so deep the blade was completely buried in my hand. I was seeing meat people. That's twice now I've been able to see into my own hand. It looks alot better today though, after the two stitches, but it's beginning to hurt a bit from all the typing.

That would be my cue to exit this box.

Slick Out.

Pulp Muppets

Just when I thought that my beloved Pulp Fiction couldn't get any more perfect...I see it done with Muppets.



Also starring Eric Stoltz. Waka Waka.

Thanks Franci.