Ball hair

I just spent five minutes groping the wall for the light switch. Then realized the switch was on the other side of the wall, in the room I was trying to go in to. Then I thought, what a dumbass. But then I realized that while I was trying to find the fucking switch, I was getting mad at J. Who designed this house? What moron wouldn't put a light switch RIGHT HERE!? A switch should be where ever my hand happens to be touching the wall. A wall of switches. 

Like I said, I'm a dumbass. 

A wall of switches. I still always turn on the garbage disposal when I'm trying to turn the light on. That's only 2 switches!! A whole wall?? Someone would lose a hand, because I was trying to  turn on the bathroom light. 

Ahhhhh. Thanksgiving tomorrow. My least favorite holiday. Mostly because of the food. Sweet potatoes, stuffing, pumpkin anything. Gag. Me. It's gotta be a texture thing. I don't trust food that I can't chew. I eat a sliver of turkey, and a shit ton of rolls. And cranberry sauce?? Blech!!! My grandma would always put out a plate of it, and it was still perfectly shaped like the can, ridges and all. And it just tasted bad. She ordered me pizza. Now I have to eat turkey, and force my kids to eat it, because it's my Devine right as a parent to force my kids to do all the horrible things I had to do. Like reverse revenge. Like how I cut kid 2's hair. Because my mom cut my hair. With at least one ending badly. That's how kid 2 ended up with the bowl cut, which she called her "ball hair". Which I just now realize is about the worst thing she could've called it. 

Douchey Spider-Man

J was kind enough to inform me that the editor of a movie is the person who puts all the scenes together. Not the person who watches the movie and tells the writers/directors or whoever that doesn't make any sense, or why is that guy wearing a wrist watch in the 10th century, or this is embarrassingly horrible. THAT'S the job I want. Because I could be so good at it. There are parts to even my favorite movies that I can't even watch. Tombstone. Love it. That scene where Wyatt goes into the creek to fight curly bill, but they slo-mo it, and he says NO!! Way too many times!? I hate that part!! It's embarrassing. Braveheart and Mel gibson's patented crazy face? Love  the movie. Hate when he makes that face. My point is, someone really should've informed the makers of Spider-Man 3 that douchey Spidey was going to make everyone hate Spider-Man. If they would've make him a dick, knocking old people off the sidewalk, littering, asking girls for their numbers then dropping them on the ground. A dick. But he was a douche. Z was all about Spider-Man. And he was embarrassed. And he was 3 years old. Strutting Peter Parker was just bad. Could've been a great movie, but no one told them that douchebag Spidey, even tho it was really the venom suit, was going to make everyone root for sandman. Regular dorky Spider-Man was ok. We could handle that. 

Really. The job of telling movie makers and commercial makers their product is crap , should be MINE. 

Being a woman is not awesome most of the time.

I discovered I had a UTI this morning. As did everyone else in the house when I was yelping from the bathroom. Meds on the way! Then kid 2 informs me that it burns when she pees. And I'm like-huh. So after I take her to urgent care for a UA,  and the doc leaves the room to get her prescription, I start telling kid 2 about all the various aspects of a gynecological exam, because she wanted to know what that big lamp on a telescoping pole was. I told her-that's the navigator eye. Told her first, they make you get naked, except your socks. If you're not wearing socks, I does feel like your more naked, oddly. Then they give you a bounty paper towel to cover up with. Not a problem if you're thumbalina. So you'll try to decide which part to cover, for about 20 minutes. That's standard procedure waiting time for OB/GYN doctors. When they grace you with their presence, they grope your chest, then pull out the stirrups. If you're lucky, they'll have little pads on them, advertising some wonder drug. If not, foot on metal. The doc will tell you to scoot farther down, several times, until you're about to fall off the table. They'll talk casual while they ram their fingers up your front butt and press on your stomach with all the power of Thor. Then......out comes the speculum! It's like a cold steel seagull. After squirting a tube and a half of KY on that sucker, it's time to turn your vag into a wind tunnel. Instinct tells you to push it out on the floor, but they frown upon that. You'll feel the heat from the glare of the navigator eye. Then she'll stab you with a giant pipe cleaner. All done! Now you figure out the bounty paper towel is for cleaning the 16 ounces of lube off your crotch. All for naught, too, cuz you'll still feel like the selected recipient in a circle jerk for the rest of the day. 

Scary, right?

She says-it sucks to be a girl. Why don't guys have to do that stuff?

Good question. They do, I tell her. When they're 40, doctors have to stick their fingers up guys butts. 

That's it?? 

When dad had his vasectomy, he had to use the stirrups. 

Vasectomy?

Yes, vasectomy. 

Oh! You mean when they cut Dad's ball off?

Don't say balls! And they didn't cut them off! 

She asked me why I didn't get "spayed", and first I explained to her that I wasn't a dog. Then I said, what if something happened to dad, and I met this wonderful guy who wanted to have more kids? She said she wouldn't want me to marry anyone else...........unless he was rich. 

Girls learn young, don't they?!

No better way to cover up your personality flaws than with hundred dollar bills! 

I'm kidding, of course. That would be deplorable and vile. 

A credit card can go so much farther. 

Anywhooooo she eventually asked when you have to start going to that doctor. I told her-when you have sex. You have to go every week. 

I think I made my point. Kid is scared into celibacy. 

Talking to Siri is like arguing with a teenager.

I got into a fight with Siri, tonight. She is a smart mouthed bitch. Someday soon, I'm going to figure out how to post our conversation. I'm guessing the leading cause of cracked screens is from blunt force trauma inflicted after asking Siri a question.  She only hears what she wants to hear. I said-how is a robot woman a smart ass? She said I said-how is a robot smartest. So I said it again. She said-why thank you, The Most Beautiful Girl in the Room. ( which is what I told her to call me a long time ago) Only she didn't speak that part, it was only on the screen. So I told her-I told you to call me the most beautiful girl in the room. She said-I did call you the most beautiful girl in the room, the Most Beautiful Girl in the Room. Only she spoke it that time! Our argument got worse. But I can't figure out how to save it, and I can't remember anymore. Just take my word for it. Siri is bad news. 

I went to goodwill, today. Looking for amazing prizes for our party. It did not disappoint. But I felt like an asshole. Because there were all these people really shopping in there, and I was in there looking for shit no one would want. And laughing at it. People! Some stuff is just garbage! They have A-tracks! Who the fuck buys an A-track?! I should go get some...that would be an awesome terrible gift. And if you're in the market for an ugly Christmas sweater, get to goodwill fast. I could've spent $50 on ugly sweaters, just because they were so fucking ugly. 

Ah, goodwill. 

Fantasy football and lawn ornaments

Fantasy football makes me angry, and I don't even have the power to go and grab Pierre Thomas' face mask, and tell him he is an under achieving piece of shit. He should be paying me a salary, cuz every time I leave him on the bench, to teach them a lesson, he becomes a fright train that mows down defenseman like they were a bunch of plastic Santa Claus lawn ornaments. 

It's a stupid game. No one should ever play it. Not tackling lawn ornaments, I mean fantasy football. Tackling lawn ornaments sounds kinda fun. Up until the moment you lunge for the concrete lion that's held in place by a 5 foot deep post engulfed in cement. That would not be fun. Funny, if it was someone else; but fuck you guys for laughing, if it's me. 

Lawn ornaments. They really are ludicrous. I can kinda get the Christmas ones, but only one winter of being pelted with blowing snow and ice, and Santa looks like he could use some Botox. Buy a new one. Don't store that shit. But really, the gnomes, and the geese in raincoats, and the Disney characters??? Come on. A-it makes you look like an asshole. And B-you're practically begging me to kick it over. Who doesn't want to kick a gnome in the face?! Or a goose? Especially if it's dressed in a Santa coat and beard, because that just makes you let your guard down. Then BAM! It's still a pissy, bacteria infested goose! It'll chase you and bite your ankles, and you'll be like-Santa Goose, stop! I love you! But it doesn't care, because it's a goose. Then you want to kick it in the face, but if you kick a real goose, even if it's wearing clothes, you're an animal abuser. So it's soooo much better to kick a plastic one! Hmmm. I've changed my position on lawn ornaments. There should be at least 10 in every yard across the country! At least just in my neighborhood. I'd like to kick one, tomorrow. 

I just turned on Batman: the Movie. Adam west batman. It's so wonderfully awful. I watched Batman everyday with my dad when I was little. I LOVED it! I was so in love with Adam west. Every time me and Amy would play house, I was married to batman. She always had to be married to robin. Sometimes she would say it was her turn to be married to batman, then we'd fight. I hope she forgives me for this. I'm realizing, right at this moment, what a colossal turd Robin is. Probably a horrible husband. The Joker is creeping me the fuck out. It's the cheap poorly done makeup. You can see his mustache under the white makeup. I am personally loving how every singe gadget and machine in the bat cave is labeled. "Magnifying lense" over a giant, gasp, magnifying lense. Are they trying to teach people to read? I don't trust guys who don't know what their own equipment does. Nooooope. 

I had to turn it off. Now I'm going to watch Eddie Murphy raw. Eventually. 

First, I must tell you, my life saving friend M(that's not her name, but you know, secret identity. Even though I'm pretty sure I mentioned my kids by name...by fake name? Yep), anyway, she ran a mini marathon.  I'm immensely proud of her. I envy her perseverance. We met her at mile 11, to run the end with her. I made it a mile. Fuck the wind, fuck the cold, fuck my knees, I'm out. She had just run 12 miles, and I'm calling for the medic after 1. So, fuck running. M is the shit! That was tough stuff. 

Damn. Eddie Murphy's outfit is just silly. I thought it was animal print. But it's paisley swirlys. With a scarf. 

He just reminded me of a point. Flamboyant gay men, I mean ascot and eyebrow pencil using flamboyant, and black women talk the same way. The flamboyant gay is mimicking black women. If a white woman talked that way, someone would call an ambulance. People would think that she was having a stroke. So my conclusion is, flamboyant gay

Men want to be black women. Amazing. 

College Elementary

Learned two things in class yesterday. 1. When john Wayne died, they removed 20 pounds of fecal matter from his colon. 20 fucking pounds of shit. My first thought way-damn. That is one big shit baby. It's not even a baby, anymore. A shit toddler. He must've felt bloated as fuck. My second thought way-why?! Is that common practice when you die? They clean your colon? And weigh it?! Or did they just want to see the kind of epic shit John Wayne kept in his rectum? Maybe they were expecting to find the corpses of outlaws. I don't get it. I declare, here and now, NO ONE is to weigh the contents of my colon when I die. Or ye suffer ten thousand curses. 

Second thing learned. I have to do a research paper on a disease caused by some kind of bacterium. Ok. Normal. I ALSO have to do a poster to go along with it. A mother fucking poster. Are you wondering if I'm in 5th grade?? A fucking poster! In a college microbiology course! And the pasts years posters are actually hanging on the walls at school. And I walk past them, and laugh. Glitter letters, puff paint, hand drawn diagrams. The whole nine yards of an elementary school art show. If I have to make a poster, I'm going to pick the sickest disease ever, and the whole poster will be a print out of a giant, flesh wound oozing pus and blood. Or I'll make it the most obnoxious thing ever. Like I'm running for student body president. Maybe some LED lights....

I am not making a fucking poster. Not gonna do it. Read my lips. 

And that, ladies and gentleman, is what I learned in college. 

Ask me a question

I don't have too much to say, this freezing fucking cold evening. But if anyone who reads this nonsense would like to ask me question, to ponder at a later salad smoking event, please do. If you ask me a serious question, like prolife pro choice shit, I will call you out as being a buzzkill. A simple question. Like-do you prefer peanut or regular m&ms? Why? I'll tell you why. Because peanut m&ms are more filling. But I'll elaborate more that that, I'm positive