wal-mart can lick my butt-hole

ah the lessons you can teach your children everyday.  the most important one that mine learned recently is that if you tell a customer servicey type person to lick your butt-hole you should expect to be "escorted gently" from the premises.  

bob barker made me do it

dear kittie,

i am so sorry to have to tell you this but next week some mean old man-who i am paying a lot of money but since you are a cat and have no concept of money-just blame it on the mean old man, is going to cut off your furry man bits.  i am so sorry, but not really cuz there's nothing like curling up with your fluffy little kittie only to realize that kittie's BIG FURRY BALLS are reclining on your arm. eeeeeeeeeeeeeeewwwwwwwwwwwwwwmcmuffin!  i am sure that in the last year you have spread enough seed throughout our neighborhood to start your own grey kittie colony and take over the world so i do not feel that i am robbing you of any potential progeny.  and kittie, i hate to tell you but all of our friends are afraid of your balls.  that's the first thing they notice when they meet you, "aw, what a beautiful cat.......HOLY SHIT DID YOU SEE THE SIZE OF HIS BALLS!!!!"  let's face it, they gotta go.  i told hubby to see if the vet would let me keep them, i thought i could make them into a key chain or hang them from my rearview mirror.  is that weird?  no, what's weird is grey furry man bits on your arm.

our friends are all tattooed punk rock foul mouthed alcoholic freaks-PURRFECT!

if momma ain't happy ain't nobody happy, now get those bloody stumps off the clean floor!

i just love the funky pattern on this.  don't really know what i'm gonna smosh in it though.  i think i will just keep it where the midgets can see it and tell them it's a finger-grinder.  that should get momma 2 minutes of silence while i'm trying to pee.

ooooooo and this:

i love me some purses!  at one point before the deevorce i had a whole wall covered with them-i'm artsy like that.  these are my new addiction, basket purses.  although in practicality i wouldn't really be able to use one when i went out cuz one shot of jag and my fat ass would squash the bejesus outta it.  lovely buy however, lower north $1.50

i also found this

a kick ass 1930's feed sack quilt with original wool batting.........A MAY ZING! hubby wants to know why i need a wool blanket in may.  i want to know why hubby needs to be a douche. 

salt and pep in effect!

eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! i found these little lovelies at a garage sale this last weekend.  hubby thinks they're scary.  i think they are going to protect my kitchen from rogue aliens who want to steal my dr pepper. that peace of mind alone was worth the $1.

two years ago today i met the man that has made me happier than a pedophile in miley cyrus' closet.  he puts up with my wackiness, lets me get away with being grumpy when i'm hungry, doesn't turn me into the coppers when i tell the kids i'm going to lock them in a box, lets me bite him when i have the urge and saves me (or tries to at least) from dangerous rabid ceiling fans.

thanks for being here

uh kids...........

There's No A In Gerbera

It happens every Spring.  As soon as Mother's Day is done rearing it's ugly head and the flesh wounds have started to puss over I make my inevitable "I Want Everything Green and Pretty!" trek to the garden store.  Last year I didn't really do any damage because Hubby and I had just moved into the Big Yellow House and I had no idea what the sun patterns were or what exactly I wanted (aka-we just bought said Big Yellow House and we were tapped.) The year before I hadn't purchased any pretties because the midgets and I were living in the teeniest duplex apartment post divorce and I was drastically short on time, money and green space.  And so this year when I crossed the threshold of the local garden store with the scent of green and dirt filling my freezer-burned nostrils, my brain went a little wackadoodle.  I was so high on green that I started helping other herbaphones.  One lady, her hubby and 4 year old midget had their cart over-flowing with annuals when they stopped to admire a Star Jasmine when I totally pulled the long since retired retail goddess outta my ass and told them how it was the most amazing plant-it'll bloom all summer and then you can bring it inside for the winter and it will continue to grow and then will go crazy with blooms a few weeks after you put it outside again. They were amazed and all looked at each other with glazed over eyes and nodded like a bunch of Republicans at a fetish convention.   They were piling the jasmine on the cart with their other treasures when they turned and asked me how long I had had mine.  That caught me.  "I had it for 3 years," I said,  "then I got divorced and My Douche Bag (sorry kid) is still holding it hostage, but I drove by yesterday and waved at it on his front porch."  Silence. Awkward stares. (That seems to be what divorce does to you, makes you the star of endless awkward stares-well me at least, but that might just be because I'm a foul-mouthed clumsy stuttering weirdo.)   And so, on the way to the check-out with far over my budget of plants that will be dead clumps of wilty browness in 6 months, I paused for a minute and then turned back and hauled the biggest, fullest, most yummy smelling Star Jasmine I could onto the tippy top of my cart.  Sometimes budgets are made to be broken and sometimes they are made to be shattered. 

Conversations in the Original Mini-Van or

Why falafel makes me gag

I remember roasting like a pink pig in the back of the family Volkswagon Van.  I waited in the parking lot of the grocery store while my mom took the other three demonic sibs in with her.  It wasn't because I was bad.  It wasn't because I was missing any appendages.  It wasn't because my Dorothy Hamill mushroon bob frightened the blue hairs.  It was because with four kids under 10, my mom had to make choices.  More often than not, her choice was to leave her eldest in the van saying, "It's too damn hot out here and there aren't any good spots left.  Just sit here by the window and twitch a little and kind of roll your eyes back like that time you choked on your falafel burger at The Malt Shop.  A little drool too, that's good.  Not too much or they'll think your having some kind of seizure and I am not in the mood to talk to social services again today! If anybody asks where our handicap sticker is just tell them you ate it."

I know it's time to go to bed when they start running the Girls Gone Wild commercials.

Hubby is making me a new kitchen. I love my new kitchen.  I love my Hubby.

Why Danielle's Butt Tingles

Half-naked Barbie dolls.  Worn out BVD's with skid marks.  Grandma's collection of Englebert Humperdink albums. Enough clip-on earrings to accessorize the entire state of Florida.  If you read the above items and get a tingle in your butt, then you are one of "My People."  The few, the brave, the true garage salers!  We are a breed apart.  As a whole, we are blessed with a little extra something in our otherwise normal DNA, a little appendix hanging off one of our chromosomes that makes it impossible to drive past those flourescent orange sirens that sing to us from almost any street corner from April thru October (even if that involves a wild goose chase for 4 miles down crazy country roads only to realize that some lazy bastard forgot to take their signs down from three weeks ago.)

I'm a horrible person.

When I go to work I get to stare at tits all night, people give me money, I get to keep my clothes on and I can drink all of the Coke I can fit into my over-caffeinated body and I still don't wanna go.  I'm just an ungrateful wretch.

Does this fat make my fat look fat?

So Hubby and I just got done meeting with our lovely friend Eric (check out his awesome work at www.creativelight-photography.com)who will be the photographer for our upcoming nups in August.  Gee funny me never put together the fact that having a photographer at your wedding would imply that you actually HAVE TO HAVE YOUR PICTURE TAKEN!?! Having my picture taken is seriously one of the worst things my crazy little mind can endure.  I hate it.  It hurts.  Something completely un-wonderful happens to me somehow when my image is captured on film.  Somehow I go from looking like me, or what I thought I looked like the last time I checked, to Natalie from The Facts of Life.  It is a real phenomena-ask Danielle-it's been wellllll documented.  

And so, on August 16th I will be the blushing bride hiding behind toilet.  

An open letter to the a** face that stole my bike:

Dear Sh!t Head,

Thank you so very much for bringing me back to reality from that fuzzy marshmallow yummy place that I had been occupying.   Thanks for the one-way-ticket to Suckyville mister!  Here I was, believing that one of my most prized possessions would be safe from sticky-fingered little bastards if it were parked ON MY OWN DAMN FRONT PORCH!!  Silly me.  I guess you must have woken up that morning after a meth fueled clown molesting drinking binge the night before and heard those demons in your mulleted head telling you that all would be well as long as you could find a mint condition vintage Schwinn in a beautiful orange with starbursts, a bell and a mighty handy removable basket on the front.  Did you stop and question yourself as you walked up my front steps with the intent to physically remove my property?  Didn't that drunken over-medicated and under-educated mother of yours teach you anything?  You don't f@ck  with a man's car and you don't f@ck with a girl's bike.  Take that little tid-bit of advice and stick it where the sun don't shine man, that is if you can get the 13 gerbils and midget you stole from the circus out of there first.  I hope you realize that there is a special place in hell for the low-life bottom-feeders like yourself who steal other people's bikes-it's on the same block with people who drown puppies or have sex with goats.  Well, at least you won't have to make new friends!

And so dear motherhumper, if your world is so terrible that the only way you have to get your probation meetings is by riding on a stolen bike then I wish nothing for you but this:

I hope you wake up tomorrow to the fact that a rabid wolverine has gnawed off your manhood and has eaten it for breakfast only to decide that you taste like sh!t and has regurgitated it into your mouth and when it dawns on your pock-marked brain what has happened and you go to ride to the hospital before you bleed to death from your bloody mangled crotch, you realize that someone has stolen your bike.

Everybody hates me

A Conversation with my Dude while he cries on the toilet

Dude: Everybody hates me! (sob, sob)

Me: Nobody hates you!

Dude:  Yes the do!  They don't love me too! (sob, sob, sob)

Me:  No, we all love you!

Dude: Everyone is sooo mean to me! (pouty lip, sob, sob)

Me:  Why is everyone mean to you?

Dude: They just are.  Nobody loves me. (pouty lip tear wipe, tear wipe)

Me:  You're being silly!

Dude: Do you love me? (goo-goo eyes filled with tears)

Me:  Of course I do!

Dude: Really? (sniffle)

Me: Of course, why do you think that nobody loves you?

Dude: Cuz they won't help me. (sniffle, sniffle)

Me: That's silly.  Mommy loves you.  Mommy will help you.  What do you need help with?

Dude: Wipe my butt?

Don't tell Hubby, but yes I did it.  Sometimes love is wiping a 5 year olds butt.

Conversations with the midgets in the mini-van

Why I am taking a sabbatical when the midgets are teenagers

Bunny: Did you know Zoey 101 is pregnant?

Dude: What's pregnant?

Bunny: That means she is going to have a baby.  She's only 16 years old!

Dude: How does a 16 year old get pregnant?

Bunny: I dunno.

Dude: Mommy do 16 year olds have babies?

Me: Yeah, sometimes but it's not a good idea.  That means she didn't listen to her parents.  Zoey 101 is baaaaad!

Bunny: Bad like when I put purple nail polish on my who-ha?

Dude: Bad like when I pooped my pants and hid them in the dresser?

Me: No, bad like if you two ever do it I'll kick your a**es!

Dude: Mommy said a**!

Bunny: If you can say a** why can't I say a**? The same reason I can't say f@ck?

Dude: You said f@ck!

Me: Enough!  Saying f@ck and a** are bad and so is having a baby when you are 16!  No more baby a** f@ck talk.  Now we're playing the quiet game until we get home!

Silence

Dude: F@ck!

Bunny: A**!

So apparently Mariah Carey got married and the ring that her hubby gave her was the same one that he had already given to his last fiance!  Damn, that takes balls you can bowl with!

Thanks to Karl for turning me on to The Ettes-they are quite lovely. The lead singer totally sounds like Viva from Filthy Divine me thinks.

http://www.theettes.com

After much prodding and poking (and not in a good sexy dance kind of way) I have finally decided to get of my ever increasing arse and do this blogging thing.  I love to write, it's far easier for me since then no one knows that more than three words in a sentence makes me stutter and I don't have to mess with the whole eye contact thing (although I don't actually do that when I'm talking either-FYI peeps, I'M LOOKING AT YOUR CHEEK!)  At present my life is a little like a sit-com, but even as a sit-com it would seem insanely contrived...................

Tonight on NBC: "I Think I'm Wearing Underpants" (Re-Run) A hilarious romp featuring a 30-something divorced mother of two who is engaged to be married to a non-practicing interior designer and become a step-mother  to a teen-age boy who thinks she is the anti-Christ in a pony-tail.  Antics insue as she tries to juggle her day-job as the sole employee of a staffing agency and her night job as a waitress at a strip club, raise three kids with no volume or bowel control and the vocabulary of a bunch of drunken sailors, tries to convince the man of her dreams that she isn't crazy-just a tit bit off and off is FUN, contend with a mother with a garlic addiction and who is convinced that a tribe of Indian (feather not dot) ghosts live in her attic, keep from killing an ex-husband with a penchant for dating college freshman and the nasty habit of telling anyone that will listen that our hero is a drug-addicted/bi-polar/manic-depressive/anxiety-riddled stripper, and defend herself against a cat who tries to gnaw her feet off while she sleeps. Language, Nudity, Violence.

And so peeps, welcome to the jungle..............