Public Service Announcement: Laptops

The following is a Public Service Announcement about laptop usage.

WARNING: Laptop usage may be hazardous to your health. Recent studies have shown that prolonged usage of a laptop while resting on a bed may cause a condition known as Lard Ass Disease Laptop Edition. LADLE has been associated with serious ailments such as severe muffin top-itis,

Make mine a double.

 cottage cheese thigh-opathy,

You can get a whole tub of this stuff at Sam's Club.

 inflammation of the bat wings,


 and multiple chin syndrome.

Apparently, there's a website that just gives people double chins. I wonder if they take donations?

 These conditions, while not fatal, may cause:
1. confusion over why your jeans don't fit
2. intense fear of swimsuit shopping
3. continuous chair breakage
4. the wearing of long pants and sleeves in the summertime
5. repeated embarrassing questions from small children such as, "Mommy, why is that lady so fat?" and "She's not going to sit on me, is she?" and worst of all "When is Mrs. Claus supposed to fly back to the North Pole?"

Please be aware of the dangers of LADLE. It is a progressive disease. It sneaks up on you when you least expect it. One minute you're blogging away at 150 pounds, and the next you're blogging away at 170 pounds with a donut stick hanging from your mouth like a cigarette. Children are losing their parents at an alarming rate to LADLE. They're finding that their parents no longer want to play Dance, Dance Revolution on Wii. No one is playing catch in the back yard with their sons. Little girls are forced to have tea parties alone. Teenagers are cyber bullying and having sex right under their parents' noses and it's all going unnoticed.

Please. If you can't do it for yourself, do it for the children.


That is all.

Has anyone else been diagnosed with this disease? Just me? Damn.

Anyway, now that the whole world knows that my New Year's Resolutions are right on target, I want to thank two of my awesome friends for bestowing upon me the LOL Award.



Somehow, Jumble Mash, and The Tame One got the idea that I occasionally make people laugh. I don't know about all that, but I am tremendously grateful for their kind words and the amazing award. Thank you, ladies! These ladies have been known to make me laugh my ass off, which, as I told Tame, is a good thing because I've got plenty of ass to spare. I usually blow off choose not to do the award conditions just because the friends who award me have most, if not all, the same friends I have in the blog world. I try not to make you read the same post over here that you've already read at about ten other blogs because I want you to keep coming back. That's not to say I'm ungrateful. To the contrary, I am still amazed that there are people in this world who not only enjoy reading my bullshit, but also think it's award-worthy. Please don't stop showering me with awards. I love them. I love you. But I don't want people to skip past my post because they think they're going to read the same old thing. Not that I do that to anyone...

So even though I will not be telling you seven things you don't already know about me (let's face it, if you read this blog long enough, you will know every freaking thing there is to know), I will pass this award on to seven other blogs that I find hilarious.

So here they are, listed in the order that they appear on my blog roll (if you've already received this award, suck it up. You're getting it again and you're gonna be fucking happy about it):

A Vapid Blonde
Absolutely Narcissism
Can U Relate?
Dribble.....
Jumble Mash
Make Daddy a Sammich
Rants from the Hormonally Challenged
Simple Dude in a Complex World
stupid stuff i see and hear
Suldog
the bitchy waiter
The Ranter's Box
This and That (As I Bounce Thru Life)
Thoughts of an Oxymoron
Unsound Reasoning

What? I like funny. Also, I don't follow rules because I'm bad ass like that.

If you want to list seven things about yourself, and link the award back to me, and pass it on to seven people, and notify them on their blogs, go right ahead. If you don't, you have my permission to simply enjoy the fact that I find you so incredibly, gut-bustingly funny, that I thought you deserved to be recognized.

Or you could send me fifty bucks.

Whatever.

And the Nomination Goes to...

I know I promised to tell you the story of why I don't go to the dollar store on Friday mornings, and I will, but not now. I did something today that I hope each of you will also do and that's nominate your favorite blogs for the 2011 Annual Weblog Awards at this website.



Okay, that's an Oscar. Same thing. Here are my nominations:

Best Australian or New Zealand Weblog:
1. Dribble..... (Not yet because I haven't gotten her permission. Her blog is anonymous, so I didn't want to nominate her if she wasn't comfortable with it. But as soon as I get the okay, the nom is hers).
2. ~Core Blimey~

Best Parenting Weblog:
1. Absolutely Narcissism
2. Thoughts of an Oxymoron

Best Topical Weblog:
The Well-Fed Spirit

Most Humorous Weblog:
1. Simple Dude in a Complex World
2. stupid stuff i see and hear
3. Visions unto myself

Best Writing in a Weblog:
1. The Long Journey to the Middle
2. The Well-Fed Spirit
3. This and That (As I Bounce Thru Life)

The Best Kept Secret Weblog:
1. A Bitch Called Mom
2. Can U Relate?
3. The Ranter's Box

Best New Weblog (started in 2010):
1. Jumble Mash
2. Rants from the Hormonally Challenged
3. Unsound Reasoning

Lifetime Achievement:
Micael Chadwick

Weblog of the Year:
1. The Bitchy Waiter
2. The Ranter's Box
3. The Long Journey to the Middle
4. The Well-Fed Spirit

All of the people that write these blogs deserve an award. Some people have no idea the time, effort, and research that goes into a well-planned, informative, and entertaining blog. If you have not yet had the pleasure of reading any of the blogs mentioned above, stop what you're doing and get your ass over there. I tried to include as many of my favorite blogs as possible, but if I missed you, please don't take it personally. Sometimes the decision has to be made to select the best of the best and that's what I did. I'm not just blowing smoke up your ass, either. I don't follow blogs that I don't find interesting, entertaining and/or non-offensive. A blog has to "do something" for me in order for me to follow it.

If you're over 30, you can also go to Studio Thirty Plus where they are also doling out blog awards. No babies allowed, so if you're 18-29 years old, in the prime of your life, with no sagging skin whatsoever, you're not invited.

Stay tuned for my Dollar General story. It involves anger, guns, laundry detergent, and a decision that saved my life.

I Ain't Afraid of No Ghost

Have you ever scared yourself shitless? I don't mean you're in the house alone and you walk past a mirror and startle yourself (I've done that, too btw). I'm talking Nightmare-on-Elm-Street-afraid-to-take-your-ass-to-bed scared. No? Too bad. I do that to myself all the time. Last night I did it to myself by taking pictures in the dark. Let me explain.

Ever since I was a little girl, I've been fascinated with all things spooky: ghosts or if you prefer, spirits, the supernatural, the occult. I started reading Stephen King novels when I was eleven years old and I haven't stopped yet. There was this urban legend that if you looked into a mirror in the dark and said, "Bloody Mary" three times, she would appear in the mirror behind you and kill you. I did that. She didn't come. Let's not talk about the fact that I had a death wish as a child. I absolutely love being scared out of my mind. Don't ask me why. So, fast forward today to my 29-year-old self (shut up) and I'm still doing things to scare the hell out of myself.

I have some friends who go ghost hunting once a month. They have been trying to get me to go for awhile now. Yeah. Good luck with that. Going to a graveyard at night and taking pictures in the dark is a little too up close and personal for me. They take their digital cameras and some thingy that lets them 'hear' and 'talk to' the spirits. Then they come back and show me pictures with thousands of orbs in them and suck me in with their ghostly tales. I love to flip through all their pictures and hear their stories when they come back, but going to a graveyard? At night? I think I'll pass.

A couple days ago, one of my ghost hunting friends suggested I take pictures in my backyard. Since it's pitch black out there at night, it's a perfect setting to catch orbs flying around. In case you don't know or haven't at least figured it out by now, the orbs are spirits, ghosts, the dead floating around undetected until you take a flash picture of them in the dark. And she wants me to do this in my backyard? Has this bitch lost her mind?

Apparently not because I did that shit. I saw two orbs floating their happy asses around my yard without a care in the world.


Can you see them? One is directly in the middle of the picture and the other one is off to the left. That one, technically, is in my neighbor's yard. I got so excited that I decided to take some pictures inside my house. Dumbass. What a stupid, stupid thing to do.

I tried to point them out, but it's really tiny.

AND

Right beneath the picture on the wall. There's also one on the curtain. 

Okay, I suck at the picture posting/paint thing, but they're there, dammit! And not one word about my messy ass house.

What was that? Oh, the cat just walked up the stairs.

Anyway, now I know that there are spirits floating around in my house. I always suspected 'cause weird shit happens in here all the time, but suspecting and knowing are two entirely different animals. The doorbell rings and no one is at the door. My kids leave the satellite receiver on and when I go to turn it off, it turns off by itself. Why the hell does the 'spirit' let me walk all the way over to the receiver if 'it' is going to turn it off itself? I know I need the exercise; I don't need some fucking entity from another dimension to tell me that. And now I see these orbs flying around. I think I'm about to jump on the bandwagon with my friend Mynx and look for a new house.

It was about 12:30 AM and I was sleepy as all hell, but I was afraid to go to sleep. Hubs was working the second half of his double shift, so it was just the kids and me. The kids were knocked out in their own beds, in their own rooms. Even the cat didn't want to be anywhere near my ass. He looked at me like, "You did this shit to yourself, bitch. You're on your own." I had visions of spirits dancing above me while I slept and making noises just to fuck with me. Actually, I did hear the floorboards creek a few times. Finally, I got too sleepy to care and fell asleep. I awoke in the morning wondering what the hell I was so afraid of. There's just something about morning that makes everything seem okay. It's so...non-threatening. So unlike the evil nighttime.

I'll give you until the end of the day to stop laughing at my dumb ass. Then pray to every god you know that I manage to fall asleep tonight.

Chitty Chitty Bang Bang

You remember that childhood rhyme, right? "Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, sittin' on a fence, tryna make a dollar out of fifteen cents..." Yeah, now you remember. I hate that bitch. Well, I don't hate her so much as I hate that I've become her.
 I don't know what the fuck this pic is about. Just found it on Google images.

Wait...is CCBB a prostitute? I just realized mid-thought, that I'm pretty sure that bitch was a whore. I mean, who the hell else sits on a fence? Tryna make a dollar out of fifteen cents? And how would anyone else, who had nothing better to do than hang out on fences actually make any money? She has to be a whore! I can see it all in my head (insert dream sequence)...

An eighty-two pound crackhead dressed in skinny jeans, a dirty lime green t-shirt that says I ♥ the 80's, high top Reeboks, and a red feather boa sits atop a rusted and damaged chain-link fence. Her legs swing side to side as the tremors begin to kick in. It has been two whole hours since her last hit and in that time, she hasn't managed to convince anyone to let her earn the money she needs via a toothless blowjob. She absentmindedly rubs her front right pocket. The dirty imprint of the only money she has in the world strains against the denim of her tight jeans: three nickels. She must be losing her touch. A toothless BJ used to be like, well, crack.

A familiar cloud of smoke engulfs her. She raises her head to the Heavens and inhales deeply. Damn! She simultaneously loved and hated the smell of crack smoke. Burning diamonds and poverty. It was both titillating and depressing; exhilarating and sickening. Her tremors, a combination of crack cocaine withdrawal and the sting of the cold night air against her bare arms, grow increasingly violent. She watches impatiently the stupid whores who jump at their pimps' becks and calls. Yes, daddy this and no, daddy that. She hated them.

"Stupid bitches," she thinks. "Why would any sane whore work so hard just to give her money to some clown-ass pimp? Fuck that. That money could be pulsing through my veins right now. Must be nice to be so mutha fuckin' smooth that you can charm a bitch into working to feed your ass...clothe your ass. Must be one sweet mutha fuckin' ride..."

Inspiration strikes as she begins to think about just how nice a gig pimping must really be. She could smoke crack and shoot heroin all day and all she'd have to do in return is protect her whores. "I can do that! I protect my damn self all day everyday. It ain't no easy task, either. These mutha fuckas try to catch a bitch slipping every chance they get."

She hops down from the rusty fence and takes off in the direction of the neighborhood. The gears in her head work furiously as she calculates both her brilliant plan and all the rewards she will surely reap. She races past overflowing dumpsters, crying babies, city buses, and an illegal craps game. She sees none of those things. Her focus and attention are on her new business venture.

"Hey, Chitty! Chitty! Bitch, don't you hear me calling you? Oh, that's how you goin' be? I was bout to pay your crackhead ass to hook me up with one of them toothless brain drains, but fuck you now! I'll spend my money elsewhere."

Somewhere in the recesses of her brain, she hears this one-sided exchange and thinks to herself, Why would I suck your nasty dick when I can get some dummy to do it for me? Then she spots her. The one woman in the neighborhood that's worse off than she is. Sure, Chitty was a crackhead, but Little Red Riding Hood was a stupid crackhead.

"Hey, Red! What you up to tonight?" she asks as she sidles up to the unsuspecting Little Red.

"Girl, not a damn thing. Jonesing like a motha fucka, though. These dudes ain't tryna do nothin' to help me out.   I need my shit, Chitty. I don't know what I'ma do if things don't turn around tonight."

Music to Chitty's ears.

"I was having a bad night, too, 'til I came up with my idea. That shit worked like a charm, too."

"Chit, please tell me what it is. I need some help. Hook me up, bitch."

"All you gotta do is go fuck one of these young dope boys for money to get your hit."

"Bitch, that ain't new! What the fuck you think my ass been out here tryna do all night? I been walking these streets practically begging these dudes to fuck me. I told you that shit ain't working."

"Naw, bitch, you doin' it wrong. You can't beg mutha fuckas; you gotta make them beg you."

"How I'ma do that, Chitty?" Little Red asks, scratching her lice-infested weave. Her face bears an unexpected air of innocence.

"It's all about confidence, bitch. If you think you're the sexiest whore in the world, so will they. Dudes'll be coming out of the woodwork tryna fuck you. You might be desperate and at your wit's end, but you can't let them know that. You gotta be confident."

"Well, it's not exactly easy being confident when you ain't washed your ass or shampooed your hair in a week. Ms. Johnson at the halfway house used to let the whores come in there to get clean and fresh a couple times a week, but now you gotta pay her. You know that bitch charging fifteen cents a day now?"

"Is that so? You know, I just so happen to have fifteen cents left to my name. I already been to Ms. Johnson's today so I'm good. I could lend it to you...if you want."

"And what do I have to give you in return? Bitch, don't say you want me to eat your pussy, 'cause I don't swing that way."

"No, nothing like that. I'm all dick, all the time myself. Come on. Let's talk about it on the way to the halfway house."

And that, my friends, is how Chitty Chitty Bang Bang finally got her ass off that fence and turned her fifteen cents into a dollar. For several years to come.

I hope you enjoyed my impromptu story. I really did come on here with something completely different to bitch about. I guess the gods got tired of my ass complaining and decided to give me something different to say.

I am truly grateful to them.