05 Mar

Poor Dinkums…

Surely you remember Dinky?

[Clark has just been pulled over by a Colorado motorcycle cop]
Clark: Hi officer, what’s the problem?
Motorcycle Cop: Get out of the car!
[Clark exits from the car]
Clark: I don’t think I was speeding. Was I weaving or something?
Motorcycle Cop: Shut your mouth, sir! You know, if I weren’t in uniform, I’d split your skull with the butt of this revolver faster than you can say, “police brutality!”
Clark: Well whatever I did, I’m sure I can explain…
dogscene[the motorcycle cop forcibily takes Clark by the arm and leads him to the rear of the car, which has a dog leash still tied to it]
Motorcycle Cop: Explain this, you son-of-a-bitch!
Clark: Oh my God…

Source: IMDB

That little bit of tragic comedy gold…I identify with that little dog. Although I have never pee’d on a picnic basket I have been known to rain on a parade or two…

And very much like that little dog, at some pit stop on this fucking winding road that is my life…I got tied to the bumper when I got out to pee, somewhere around 1973 I think…

I’ve been chasing this damn vehicle since…and I don’t know who’s at the wheel but I hope the have to pee soon so I can catch my breath and then beat them to death with a tire iron…

 

 

 

 

I am tired.

More tired than you know.

 

23 Feb

Cynical inspiration…

It’ll get better.

If I hear it again I swear I will etch that saying into a stick and beat someone with it.

I’m serious.

one-day-things-will-get-better

Look. If you can’t tell me precisely WHEN it will get better then I am calling bullshit on your whole theory that it will.

You said it as though you knew for sure…so it would be reasonable to believe that you not only know it will get better but that you know the precise day, month, year, hour, minute and second that it will get better…

No? Oh…I see. *cough* bullshitter *cough*

____________________________________________

You: “There’s cake if you would like some.”

Me: “I’d love some cake thanks.”

You: *staring blankly at me*

Me: “So…should I help myself…or…”

You: “I don’t know…I was just saying there’s cake if you want some.”

Me: “Is it your cake?”

You: “Oh no…that Universe guy  brought it in…the one with the big chip on his shoulder; standing next to those skanky Fate sisters.”

Me: “Did Mr. Universe say anything when he brought the cake? Like “Help yourselves…grab a slice…?”

You: “No, it is kind of assumed that everyone will get cake.”

Me: ” When?”

You: “No idea…I’m sure you’ll get some…just wait.”

Me: ” Who the fuck brings cake to a party and then just lets it sit there without any mention of eating it? No invitation to eat it? No announcement…”

You: “Oh yeah…he did say there would be cake for everyone.”

Me: “When?”

You: “Like I said…I have no idea…I was only telling you there was cake if you wanted some…just passing along the message…that’s it.”

Me: “Well that’s bullshit…so you’re just standing here telling everyone they’ll get cake without knowing for certain that everyone will get cake.

You: “No I know we’ll all get cake. Mr. Universe said so.”

Me: ” Have you ever seen anyone get cake?”

You: *sighing heavily* “No…I haven’t…look you’re starting to get on my nerves…can’t you just accept that you will get cake and leave it at that?”

Me: “No. You don’t tell people they can have some fucking cake and then not give them specific details on when and how to get that cake…it’s not right. You shouldn’t mess with people like that. That’s an asshole move man. Just sayin.”

You: “Okay…You WILL get cake…why isn’t that enough?”

Me: “WHY isn’t that enough? Well because I need cake, I love cake, I want cake….and it is really shitty to be told there is cake if I want it, and I do, but that there is no timeline for getting a piece…so how do I know…and how do you know for that matter that anyone will even get cake at all. Mr. Universe said so and you just believe everything he says? Do you even know the guy?”

You: “Nope. never met him. Why would he lie?”

Me: “To keep everyone waiting and wanting for cake of course…and to see how many people would go around telling everyone else there was cake that apparently no one will ever get. It’s a vicious fucking circle…everyone walking around wondering about cake and being assured they will get a piece, yet not one person here has a fucking piece of cake!”

You: “For the last time…you WILL get cake! Just go…go about your business…live your life…and you will get cake.”

Me: *incredulous* “W-H-E-N…when will I get cake…when you offer up the cake, the reasonable assumption is that the sharing, dividing of and/ or consumption of the cake is going to occur relatively expediently, and/ or within a reasonable time frame. When you offer said cake to someone you implant the expectation in their mind and the immediate and natural response is to enquire as to ‘when’ said cake will be dispersed…if you cannot answer that one simple question as to ‘WHEN’ then you have no business telling anyone with any level of certainty that they will in fact get cake. It is irresponsible.”

You: “You’re an asshole.”

Me: “So…about this cake…”

________________________________________________________

You see? So when you tell me “It’ll get better.”  and you don’t offer up a time line or present me with a fucking spreadsheet or send me an outlook calendar invitation to the event…I call bullshit.

You simply cannot know it will get better.

Oh….you hope it gets better?

Why didn’t you just say so?

18 Feb

Really?

Shit. You know, making a schedule is a hell of a lot like making a list, and I am notoriously bad at making lists.

That’s not actually true…I am notoriously bad at following lists and/or remembering that I have made a list at all.

My desk is usually covered in bits of paper, with scribbled lists. Like the grocery lists I make, and then forget to take with me when I finally make it out the door to head to the store. Sometimes I’ll remember the list and shove it into a pocket and then forget I have it as soon as I enter the store. Sometimes I remember I have the list but choose to ignore it, foolishly believing I have all the items committed to memory.

I read an article a while back that said most stores will pump pleasing scents into their air to encourage shoppers to buy. I am of the belief that stores pump stupidity into their atmospheres, because it doesn’t seem to matter where I go to shop, as soon as I walk in, I almost always stop just inside the door and wonder, “What the fuck did I come here for?”.

I don’t know what it is.

My greatest fear in life is that my memory will fail me. I actually have nightmares about it, and I frequently take the “Alzheimer’s Test” online. Seriously. I do.

My Mother has lost her marbles, and through the marvel of genetics, marble losing tends to run in families. My Mother writes post-it notes, to remember her post-it notes, to remember her post-it notes… last time I saw her, every cupboard door and her refrigerator door, was absolutely polluted with yellow post-it notes. Most of them were duplicates.

Nu-uh. I use post-it notes to leave love notes for my Husband. That’s it.

So making a blog schedule…I think I’d be setting myself up for a whole lot of irritation and undue pressure. Jesus Christ if I can’t even commit to a grocery list how am I supposed to follow a blog schedule?

I’m still hashing out my intentions for this website anyway. Chaotic and impulsive…loosely structured and full of ideas.

A lot like me.

18 Feb

Do you ever…

Please tell me I’m not the only one.

A kind of weird mental regression that overcomes me, and is enacted before I can even consider the company I am in or the consequences of my actions.

I swear it has to be a form of Turrets or something…

A plain pack of hot dogs sitting on the counter waiting to be opened, becomes worthy of a silly song and a little happy dance.

Sung to the tune of “Hello Mudda, Hello Faddah” by Allen Sherman

“Hello Doggies, Little doggies.

I will eat you, before you get all soggy,

In your squishy, pasty, white bun from the Quicky…”

Then comes the hysterical laughter as I clearly think I am extremely clever, and I add a little happy dance just to make sure I look as stupid as I sound.

My Husband was unfortunate enough to witness this.

I had opened my dogs and was grilling them ghetto-style in the oven, (for those who don’t know, ghetto style is where you put naked dogs on the oven racks themselves to get the “grill” lines. Makes awesome dogs!) Still giggling I headed to the living room to grab my coffee cup for a refill.

My Husband was sitting there, head tilted to the side, grinning…watching me.HotDog

Him: Sooooo…I’m guessing there is now a Hot dog song?

Me:  Yers…dare is. (comedy voice)

Him: Okay. Just so I know…you know…in case I hear it again and you know…wonder “What the fuck…?”

Me: There’s a song for everything Baby. Everything!

It is true. Apparently I have made up stupid songs for just about everything.

Lets see… in addition to The Hot Dog song, there is:

The All Alone song

Everyone Hates Gus song

You Don’t Own Anything Cuz You’re  a Dumb Cat song

Poor Kitty Why Can’t You Grow Thumbs and Go to the Store to Get Cream for My Coffee song

The Gotta Pee So Bad song

The Empty Fucking Coffee Cup song

The Holy Sneezy Face song

Why Does Everybody Call When I’m in the Goddamn Potty song

You get the idea… it’s chronic. What’s worse, is all of them are accompanied by my ridiculous, “dog-shitting-razor-blades” version of the twist, I refer to as My Happy Dance.

I know right?

For the record, nobody really hates Gus. Its just what we tell him so he doesn’t go getting all “Feline-Power” on us…we’re just helping him keep it real. Opposable Thumbs FTW Motherfucker!

My Husband will tell you, he knew there had to be a catch. Pretty, smart, funny…

Poor guy even fancies himself the “lucky one”.

Now THAT should be a song and dance!

17 Feb

Lost and found…

So again I find myself with far too much time on my hands. Aside from looking for work…I really have far too many hours in the day to try to fill with something meaningful and useful.

I found myself wandering around the house today…looking for something. I didn’t know what I was looking for but figured I’d know it when I found it.

I never found it and had no choice but to sit my ass back down and spend yet a few more hours staring at on-line jobs and customizing my resume to send to them.

Makes me go a little snakey…

So I did a little browsing and  googling to kill some time.

I still have a few sewing projects to do that I didn’t have time for when I working from 7 am to 5pm…

I also made a tinfoil hat. More about that later…maybe… I mean I know this is supposed to be where I release my inner weirdo…

All in good time.

17 Feb

If “It” had a voice…

This was a post I had written some time ago…oddly one of the few that did not get lost when my site crashed (with my help).

Men are funny creatures. I like them. My Husband is a pretty good catch I figure, as far as men go. He’s a no pretensions, no apologies, manly man. My Husband is the kind of man, who as soon as he walks in the door from work, will strip down to his underwear, and that is how he’ll remain unless he is forced to put on some cargo shorts.

He’s a mullet sporting, biker type. Mustache with a little “foo-man-chu thing started and a soul patch. Tattooed and rough-looking with a definite edge. Highly intelligent, clever and, in all honesty a big dork. His appearance totally belies the person he is, and he likes it that way. He likes the “shock-factor” when people discover he’s not the stereotypical red neck he appears to be. He’s very fond of the contradiction.

So I’m sitting at my computer the other day, whining that I can’t seem to keep a single thought in my head, long enough to get more than a line or two written. Then I hit delete and stare blankly at the screen.

I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and turned to find my Husband, in his underwear of course, flashing his man-bits at me.

“Hello…I am Mr. Peen…” he says in a low baritone, giving it a little wiggle.

With the slightest smirk on my face,”You’re such a dork.”

He flashes a moustached grin, gives “Mr. Peen” another little wiggle, “I’m not sure why I gave him such a deep voice…?” he questions.

“It just seems like he should have a very deep voice…” tilting his head to the side slightly, obviously now lost in thought about the implications of a supposed and likely vocal quality for his penis…if a penis could have a voice.

I don’t interrupt this thought process, other than to say, “It’d be a little disturbing if it sounded like Michael Jackson…”.

It’s one of those things that doesn’t need a lot of female input. I mean it doesn’t need female input to decide what vocal quality a man’s penis would have if it were to have a vocal quality at all. I don’t really have an opinion on the subject, and really at that point, had it not been so damn hot and humid, I am certain we could have found other things to do with his penis that didn’t involve “finding it’s voice”.

But it was hot and humid and the thought of getting all sweaty and breathless at that moment, although briefly and silently entertained in my head, was quickly dashed by the reality that, when even the action of blinking makes your eye balls sweat it’s too damn hot for nookie. That’s sad. I know. It pains me.

So as he wandered off muttering in various baritones that might suit his peen, and I was left to ponder.

I know damn well that my Husband is not the only man who does this. It has to span the classes. It cannot be a “status” thing or a socioeconomic “trait”. Men from every walk of life, educational background, upbringing and rearing, do this kind of thing. Hell, they have two Ozzy guys that created a live show and tour the world and actually make a living, contorting and manipulating their penis’ for large crowds of people… “Puppetry of the Penis“. They give them voices too…

You know I am betting, that Harper himself has on occasion, approached the Missus, peen in hand and announced, “Say Hello to Mr. Winky!” Disturbing and likely a bit proper…I kind of envisioned Harper giving his penis a proper British accent…not sure why. I could totally see Obama doing it too, he’d make it sound like Inspector Clouseau I figure. Obama seems like the type that would be pretty good at impressions… We all know with almost absolute certainty that Rob Ford does. So then I was off thinking of all the “famous” powerful men who might prance around in front of their significant others, using their penis’ to make commentary or initiate some frisky time.

I am glad that, despite our technological advances in computer enhanced neurosciences, that you are unable to see the images that flitted around in my brain.

As a side note, I don’t recommend Google searching for anything with “penis” in the title. I did try to find other instances of women saying their husbands or boyfriends did this…all I can say is the internet is a weird fucking place. Really, really, really weird.

From a woman’s point of view, I think I speak for all woman here…we are so very glad that penis’ cannot talk. Can you imagine the endless muffled chatter?

“Are you ready now? How about now? Now? Oh nice bend over like that again…I love it when you vacuum…are you ready now? You look hot doing dishes…ready yet? How ’bout now?”

They’d never shut up. Never. Penis muzzles and shock collars and special underwear with noise cancelling “cones of silence” would be flogged on the HSC and doctors all over the world would make a killing at “de-vocalizing ” penis’. Reality Talk Shows would spring up everywhere, and would have episodes with great titles like, “Shocked Into Silence”, “How Fruit of the Loom Stole my Voice and my Innocence”. There would  be rallies and protests, precedent setting court cases. Men would take their own penis’ to court and sue for damages to careers and relationships. Penis’ would counter-sue for undue hardships and inhumane treatment. Penis discrimination would be rampant. Employers and recruiters would have to interview both the male applicant and his penis and the paperwork would create an administrative nightmare!

What if the penis had a speech impediment or learning disability? Can you imagine? (The very thought almost made me pee a little from laughing so hard).

Then there would be the  Annual Penis Pride Parade, because everyone has to have a fucking parade!

Advocacy groups would spring up like dot coms did in the 80’s…Phallic Freedom Fighters, The No Penis Left Behind Campaign, Dicks Anonymous, Shlongs United and The Penis Rights Coalition.

Dating sites for Penis’ would be all the rage, and speed dating groups would gain in popularity as every penis tried to find their soul mate. Men and their Penis’ would have to double date…

It would be mayhem!

I could go on…but you get the idea…

Uhh…well….