Archive for December, 2009

So I thought we’d do something different with our Christmas lights this year:

And I thought it might be fun to have blue lights because it’s Girlfriend’s favorite color, but now that I look at this picture, I think my little cherry tree looks like the Ghost of Christmas Past is waiting to show me what an asshole I am.  Either that, or it reminds me of that episode of The Bloodhound Gang when there was a mysterious glow coming from the garden and everyone thought it was a ghost, but it was really a bag of fertilizer or something.  Either that or it looks like Jesus is coming to kick Santa’s ass for stealing his thunder.

What do you guys think?

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PS: It’s Toy With Me day!  Tiger Woods is a Total Amateur.

Wow.

That was a busy weekend.

So Mister’s  snippy snippy went fine on Friday.  Thank you all for your well wishes.  It warmed his heart as his balls froze to death under a pile of frozen peas.  I was feeling a little sad about it, to be honest.  I’m not going to have any babies anymore.  Sigh.  But then Homeslice starts bitching and pulling my hair and I am very comforted that I won’t be having any more babies.  Hoo. Fucking. Ray!

And Mister is maybe a little sad that he didn’t have a son to pass on his family name, but I told him not to worry.  Maybe one of the girls will be a lezbeefriend and she’ll adopt some little Chinese babies with her life partner and the family name will not die with him.  It will just become Chinese instead.

(This cannot leave this blog, but between you and me, my money’s on Homeslice.  I mean look at her!

She’s diesel!  And she’s a little, shall we say, overly enthusiastic, about the boobages.  I’m just saying.)

And so right after Mister got home from his appointment, I went to a party because I’m a very caring wife like that and I know you’ve all been waiting for the final count on the theme sweaters and I am very sad and disappointed to tell you that there was only ONE and it wasn’t even that hideous.  What a bummer.  And there was nary a candy cane turtle neck to be seen.  What is wrong with these people?  There were, however, a large number of red sweaters and snow flake pins, so it wasn’t a total loss. I got a really awesome coffee cup that said “Do you have a library card, cause I’d like to check you out.” on it.  It’s pretty awesome, obviously, and so that nobody would Yankee Swap me for it, I rubbed it on my bum.

I like to think that I always bring a touch of class with me wherever I go.  This was no exception.

And then yesterday we did our Christmas tree.  It looks lovely, but can I ask you guys something?  Do you always picture events like these in a glowy, Hallmarkish scene only to get to the tree place and freeze your ass off while dragging a kid who keeps whining “I’m hungry. Can we get donuts?” every five seconds because she knows Home Depot has donuts (assholes), and when she’s not asking for treats, she’s bitching that she’s cold because she left her hat and gloves in the car, and you just want to kill yourself?  And then when you finally get the fucker home and set up in the stand, people wind up fighting and acting like jerks and you end up decorating the tree all by yourself while fantasizing that the Goblin King came and took them all away?

Or is it just me?

Anywho, that’s my weekend update.  It was fucking fascinating, I know.

PS: I got a shipment of wonderful home made bath stuff that I ordered from the lovely Ms. Darkstar.  She sent me some as a present after I had Homeslice and the stuff is just marvy. I bought some as Christmas presents.  She makes awesome lip balm too.  The orange mango (I’m too lazy to get up and go check on the name) one smells just a like an orange Chuckle.  Serioulsy, you need to order some stuff for the people on your list who, ahem, need to smell better.  She’ll hook your shit up.

So yesterday was a nightmare because I intended for the post about sandwiches and lunchboxes to be like, um, I don’t know…FUNNY? And sort of light and meaningless like the one I wrote about cake frosting, but I’m thinking that because it was related to work and most people hate their jobs and/or co-workers, everyone took it more seriously than intended. Or, I did a shitty writing job (to be honest, this is the most likely scenario).

Whatever.

Anyway, yes. It wound up hurting lunchist bigot’s feelings and that’s not what I meant to do at. all. I like lunchist bigot, actually. In fact, I actually LOVE lunchist bigot.  She’s just a pain in the ass about fridge space. And she felt ridiculed by everyone when really, I intended to make light of a silly work fight that to me, was just absurd and meaningless.

I thought that was pretty clear, but I guess not. ( ie shitty writing.)

So anyway, this is my public apology to lunchist bigot.

Sorry lunchist bigot.  Sorry I threatened to put boy pee on your sandwich.  Sorry we said we’d get you a lunchbox (EW) for Christmas, sorry we said you needed to get laid, sorry we said we’d set you on fire.  I’m a douche.

Please don’t tell everyone at the Christmas party that I was the one who gave candy underpants as the secret present.

THEY WERE NOT WORN SHUT UP!

PS: This is exactly like the time when somebody took a shadoobie in the bookdrop and I was THE ONLY ONE who thought it was funny. Everyone else was walking around all horrified and shit. Even Lynne didn’t think it was funny at first. I had to convince her. There is no sense of humor at Schmuckytown Pubic Library. It’s very serious business with the books and everything.

PSS: I can’t believe I almost forgot that today is Mister’s big snippy appointment! And on the phone this morning while I was begging my mom for some babysitting this weekend because I have tons to do and Mister will be moaning and clutching his balls for the next few days, my mom was all “make sure you give him tea and sympathy. He’s doing something Very Special (only my mother would think a vasectomy is very special). It’s nothing like going through 9 months of constipation and puking only to push a watermelon out of your cooch (TWICE!) and then nursing the little fucker off sore tits for a year afterwards, but it’s still important.” “Uh-huh. Thanks mom. That’s…great advice.” And then I got off the phone before she started in with tips and techniques for helping him with those 10-15 ejaculations to “flush out the pipes,” so to speak.

And Mister is already walking around like he’s got an elephantitis (fuck you spell check!That IS how you spell elephantitis, asshole.) of the nuts problem and his appointment isn’t until late today. I think he’s pretty smart actually.  It’s always good to get your Careful Walk down just right BEFORE you’re in actual pain.  You don’t want to have to work that shit out while you’re on Vicodin–just relax and enjoy, amiright?

I got him a present:

except I got him the Large size one because who wouldn’t want to be flattered at a time like this?

So anyway, everyone pray for Mister who is going under the knife for the greater good of humanity or whatever.

PSSS:  Tonight is the library Christmas party.  I will get back to you on the final count of ridiculous Christmas Theme Sweaters, candy cane turtle necks,  and people who were shitfaced on 1/4 glass of wine.  Seriously, I’m only going so I can clean up when people look at thier wine and say “I just can’t handle a whole glass by myself.”  I’ll be all “pass that over here, bitch!”

So I’m involved in a fight, you guys.
It’s at work.
We have a bigot amongst us. A lunchist bigot.
Someone at the library does not like People Who Bring Lunchboxes to work and she has been very vocal about it and by vocal, I mean leaving notes on the magnetic dry erase board that’s stuck to the fridge in the staff lounge. She thinks they take up too much space.
This has been going on for years.
I find this troubling because I happen to be A Person Who Brings A Lunchbox.
It’s true. I am such an asshole, and by asshole, I mean that I am an asshole in the eyes of the lunchist bigot.
And apparently, someone else who is also A Person Who Brings A Lunchbox placed her “luggage” as the lunchist bigot calls it, on top of lunchist bigot’s sandwich this morning which prompted the lunchist bigot to write a note requesting that Lunchbox Person not put her “luggage” on her sandwich anymore. Seems reasonable, anyone would be upset by this and the Lunchbox Person was being inconsiderate, BUT it really ignited the lunchist bigot’s ire as the tone of the note was clearly one of annoyance.
And so I wrote back in an attempt to soothe the tension and suggested lunchist bigot put her sandwich inside the drawer in the fridge to protect it, and then, thinking the note was written by the sandwich smoosher, lunchist bigot replied with something snotty about sandwiches belonging in the fridge and not “luggage,” (in the past, her argument being that lunchboxes are insulated and therefore do not need refrigeration, but anyone who owns one knows the insulation is crap) and therefore she should be able to put it wherever she wants, and then I said that she should lose her lunchist attitude or else Something Unfortunate could happen to sandwiches.
Like, one could wind up in the public men’s room urinal for a couple of hours and then be put back into the fridge say, around noonish?
I don’t like to make such threats but I believe we need to fight bigotry and intolerance in all it’s insidious forms, and if innocent sandwiches have to wind up in urinals to get people’s attention, so be it.

I will fight for peace betwixt the Lonely Sandwich and the Lunchbox peoples! I shall call it The Lunchboxian People’s Front!

PS: Dun-dun-daaaaa…..

PSS: This is pretty much the biggest scandal since The Coffee Mug Incident of 2007 when someone used my coffee cup and never washed it out AND THEN BROKE IT! Boy was I MAD! There were some nasty messages left on the dry erase board that day I can tell you.

PSSS: Shenanigans and Tomfoolery are afoot!

For all you Queefs and Queefettes who have not heard this story yet, go read about How I tried to sell my panties online.

You’re gonna shit!

For those of you who have heard the story, can you believe I’m telling it to the Toy With Mes?  I mean, maybe I should have just let it die, but if anyone will understand, it’s them.

Right?

RIGHT?

Shit.

(Valerie, there’s more about you in there this time.  You’re famous now. You’re welcome. The paparazzi is on their way, so put some lipstick on.)

In other news, the monkey flu rages on.  I have to go try not to die now.

Toodles!

This morning I was downstairs in the kitchen getting a glass of water in preparation for a date with the sweaty lesbian (with a cold! Who rules the world or my living room or whatever?  I DO.) with Homeslice on my hip when

WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING WHY AM I WET IN THE FACEICAL AREA?

The water sprayer was on and it was spraying Homeslice in the face, hitting my shoulder and arm, and spraying the counter top behind me where I had piled library book returns, two Netflix (Secret Life of Bees was too emotionally difficult to watch.  I cried in the first five minutes when her dad made her kneel in grits and was hysterical by the time the housekeeper was beaten by those assholes. I’d totally  forgotten the book, obviously), the remote controls to the tv and the stereo, the laptop, and a stack of catalogs to take to work to look at during my dinner break.

Everything. wet.

And so I shut the water off and grabbed a towel from the drawer and mopped Homeslice off who was just sort of blinking through the water in her eyes and making this huffy sound like she’s about to cry, and then I did the counter and while I was doing that, Homeslice barfed alloverthefuckingplace and so I had to go back and re-wipe what I had already done.

And then I carefully inspected the water sprayer for a rubber band or some tape or something because I’ve seen America’s Funniest Videos.  I know what’s up.  But there was nothing.  I guess the button was stuck down or something and all I can say is that Mister is lucky he wasn’t behind this incident.

His little snippy appointment is on Friday and I’d hate for someone to slip the doctor a $20 and OOPS!  “Sorry about your balls, Mister.”  That would suck.

You can’t really blame me for assuming he had something to do with this because this is exactly the kind of prank he would play on me.  Like the time he pantsed (is that how you spell it?) me in front of people, or the time he put No-Doze in my coffee, or the time he posted a picture of my placenta on the Internet.