As if you don't already pity me.

Let me tell you about my day yesterday. It was going along just fine, la la la. THEN, I decided to try and figure out my own taxes before I go to the tax guy, so that I will know whether or not I can do it myself next year, or if I'm a complete retard. So, I just basically copied my taxes from last year, filling in the new numbers and complying with the new laws. (Love the new deduct-all-your-sales-tax thing.) Before I started, I thought I'd probably get around $1500 back per usual, give or take a few hundred. WRONG. I get back NOTHING. Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck. This is the year I needed a return. Jim has no job. There is no food in the refrigerator. I can't go anywhere or do anything. I owe everyone I know money. My hair is turning brown. THE HORROR. Enter bad mood.

THEN I went to the Post office on my lunch break and my "YOUR ENGINE IS GOING TO BLOW UP" light on my car's dashboard turned on. Super. Perfect. I called a mechanic, and he told me to go make sure I had my gas cap screwed on tight. (Apparently, he thought I was an idiot. A common mistake.) Yes, the stupid gas cap is on, fool. So, I had to get the car in right away. Long story short, I wrote a check for about $350 dollars that my bank account doesn't have. Yeah, that's right. Bad mood turning to panic.

After that, it was time to go to kickboxing. After writing the rubber check, I had developed a major migraine. Since it was only 4:30, and kickboxing wasn't until 7:30, I figured I could just go take a nap in between. I didn't get all the way home before I needed to stop driving and LAY DOWN. HEAD NOT GOOD. GOING TO PUKE. I parked in the grocery store parking lot across the street from the gym to rest. Of course, the place I decided to park just happened to be the next hang out for the local dumb-ass kids who have nothing else to do but hang out in the grocery store parking lot. Loud thumping music. Loud stupid kids. Crazydogmama pissed. I moved the car to a different spot, all the while my head is pounding so hard I can't even see. I am thinking at this point that kickboxing probably isn't a good idea tonight. (duh, ya think?) I start to cry. Not a little whimper or two, but BAWLING so hard that my face puffs up, snot is running out my nose and my mascara is running down into my bra. I have no Kleenex mind you, and my headache is getting worse with the pathetic wailing.

My cell phone rings. It's my kickboxing buddy calling to see if I'm still going. I sound like a train wreck, and she asks me what the hell is going on and where I am. She comes and picks me up and takes me to one of our other kickboxing friend's house. Since I am a big loser this evening, everyone decides we are not going to kickboxing. They give me a drink. It is Dr. Pepper and Malibu rum. I am in no mood to argue. Don't ask. They give me headache drugs. Much better. I still looked really pretty, though, with raccoon-face.

Today has been "I gotta find money to put in the bank" day. So far, I've come up with 170$. Only 180$ to go!

Are you realizing my whole "February" issue yet??

I hate February.

Anyone who knows me, knows I hate February. Most of the *really* bad things that have ever happened to me, have happened in February. (I have big issues with Valentine's Day especially, but we're not talking about that.) I basically just hold my breath all month waiting for a bomb to drop. This year, however, I am optimistic for the first time since I was 16. So many icky things happened in January this year that I think I may skate through February unscathed. Maybe. You see, January is usually a great month for me, but not this year. Maybe it is taking February's place. It might as well, there is weirdness everywhere, and I mean weirdness. Are any of you experiencing weirdness too?? Dreams, feelings, people doing and saying bizarre things, etc. There is a guy at work that tiptoes down the hallway. He is not trying to be funny. It's that weirdness I'm telling you about. Yesterday, I saw a guy walking down the street with a wig on crooked. A normal, suburban street. I am living in the twilight zone. Either that, or I need to chill on reading all those freak-ass articles on the internet about aliens and Bigfoot.

My Husband's Diet

When Jim dropped a Fire Cheeto on his pot roast last night, I thought to myself, "I need to blog this.". Jim is the freakiest eater on the face of the planet. This is a man who ate fig newtons EVERY. DAY. For two years. Then, he went through a bagel phase. When I mean phase, I mean breakfast, lunch and dinner for an indefinite period of time. I'm pressed to eat *anything* twice in the same DAY, unless of course it involves iced mochas or pizza. He also does this really bizarre combo-thing, too. (Like spicy Cheetos and pot roast.) Yesterday this is what he ate in the time frame of 3pm to 8pm:

Frozen pot roast "Life Choice" dinner with green beans and spicy Cheetos.

Pork pot stickers with soy sauce.

Huge-ass piece of lasagna.

Chocolate brownie with white chunky sugar things in it.

More pot stickers, and more spicy Cheetos.

"Smart Ones" frozen chicken and pasta stir fry.

Please tell me this boy doesn't need some food-therapy. Did I mention he had SPICY CHEETOS WITH POT ROAST?? Yuck.

Someone needs to take the internet away from me.

It's a hopeless, dangerous addiction that gets me into to more trouble.

Currently, there is a rescue Cairn Terrier who needs adopting in my area. Crap. This little 6-month-old DOLL needs me, people. My husband is bugging me about getting her, but I keep telling him we can't because he needs a JOB FIRST. Dogs are expensive, I already have two dogs, I have to work a lot, blah, blah, blah. I know. But it just breaks my heart. I am the ultimate sucker. Jim walks his unemployed ass around the house all day telling Lou & mags they're gonna get a "sister". He gets them all riled up. Then he gets me all riled up. I keep saying no, but I'm gonna break, I'm telling you. As soon as he gets a job, I'm gonna break. He has an interview Tuesday for a good job that he is perfect for. Keep your fingers and paws crossed!!

I smell like a boy today.

For some reason the hand lotion I am using + the perfume I put on this morning combine into what smells like a very pleasant MEN'S COLONGNE. I keep wanting to flirt with myself, and I keep smelling my hands.

In other news, I was in bed all weekend with the flu, and when I was driving home on Friday on the very scary Highway 2 (nicknamed the "highway of death"), this old white van suddenly swerved head-on into my lane. I closed my eyes, swerved to the right thinking "I'm dead" and for some reason (most likely divine intervention), I completely avoided both a head-on collision and hitting the guard rail that would send me straight into the river. I must have a purpose on earth because SERIOUSLY FOLKS, I SHOULD BE DEAD. I walked into the house in shock and told my husband he was talking to a ghost. Then, I took a bunch of NyQuil and went to bed for 48 hours.

Does it even surprise you anymore?

This is the picture that my tax person has on the front of his brochure:



All I can say is, that pup better get me a helluva return this year. I need it BAD. I'm running out of 20$ hair conditioner, my nails need to be done and my car needs to be detailed. (All the dog hair.)

Adding Insult to Injury

As if you're not sick of my whining by now, in addition to all the crap happening to me, Maggie pooped in the hallway today and Louie peed under the coffee table. I almost cried. Almost. Usually I would just flail-about and scream "OUTSIDE! OUTSIDE!", but today was one of those days where I could cry over not enough chocolate in my iced mocha. I really, just really need a happy day. Things are so fricking crazy right now, it's scary. Even the weather has lost its mind. Last week we had an ice storm, and it was in the 20's. Today, we are flooding all over the place and its nearly 60 degrees. 60 DEGREES PEOPLE! IN JANUARY! I'm sure the world will be ending soon, or pigs will start flying.

I have to say, though, as bad as my 2005 is going so far, I still have to be thankful I'm not in SE Asia. I read an article today saying that 225 THOUSAND people are dead, and you know they are under-reporting the numbers. It is estimated that a possible 200 thousand more could die from disease. That is just downright depressing. Makes me want to go hug everyone I know.

Guess what?

CrazyDogMama fell down a flight of stairs. Yep. My ankle is completely messed up and I look like I have many things shoved up my ass when I walk. Last week was just fabulous, let me tell you. Unemployed husband, bruised and battered body, and a new boss. What a stellar start to 2005. Somehow, though, I'm still going to go to my new boxing class on Wednesday. So help me GOD.

Pass the Valium, Please.

Nothing seems bleak when you have a full stash of "happy pills". Everyone keeps asking ME (not my husband) how it's going. Apparently, I'm the high-strung one. My friends understand me, though. Our motto is, "Create your own happiness". I am trying not to self-medicate with peanut butter cups, though. Prescription drugs are much easier on the ass and thighs.

It's going OK. I tend to want to freak out thinking about the situation too much, but truly, there is nothing I can do. I have my husband doing all kinds of projects at home. Fix the vacuum. Take down the Christmas lights. Wash the dogs. Steam clean the carpet. Yep, I have a house-boy. I may even have dinner waiting for me when I get home. *Grin*

Murphy's Law

What happens when you quit smoking, get back on track with eating clean, start going back to the gym 6 days a week and, just basically, start kicking ass?

Your husband loses his job.

Now I just want to lay in bed with a pack of cigarettes, a rum and coke and big stupid bowl of cookie dough.

Well, crap.

So, I went back to work on Monday. I put up my new calendar, checked all my bazillion work-emails and had 6 cups of coffee. In walks the Vice President. He wants to talk to me. Holy Shit. I'm not on the internet, I swear! He wants to speak in private. Oh Gawd. It's only a few hours into my day, in the new year, and he tells me, "I've just laid off your boss". What do you say to that? I just blinked. As my boss packed up his office, I was given a stack of work taller than my desk. I have been told that the company is being "reorganized". Yeah, whatever. I'm a peon here, so I'm not in jeopardy right now. I don't think. I don't make the big bucks.

So, being boss-less, here I write in my blog. I better get to work.

Whoa.

Can you say blog sloth? Yeah, that's me lately. I have just not been in the mood to type or do anything requiring brain power. Not that I use my brain when blogging, mind you. There has not been anything blog-worthy going on anyway. We raked it in at Christmas and have been lazy peanut-butter-cup-eating grumps ever since. I'm throwing out the cigarettes on Monday, (again) and I'm scared shitless that I will gain weight. I have enough weight, thank you.

For New Years, I'm working at the restaurant. (Insert sympathy, here.) While everyone else gets to party, I'm the one serving YOU. Remember that. Remember the next time you go out on a holiday, and you're all dressed up and drinking yourself into a stupor...someone made that drink. Someone is making sure YOU are having a good time. Tip them accordingly. Thank you. Done ranting.

I know I'm in a crappy mood. It's just that my computer crashed, and I have to go back to the other job on Monday (the 10-hour-a-day office job) after having 2 weeks off. It's been great, but the whole going-back thing sucks. One can get very used to doing nothing. Especially me. I'm really good at it.

Happy 2005 to y'all, hope its a great year for you!

He *really* wants to open a present.

I won't let him. Mean Crazydogmama.

Merry Christmas Everybody!

Consider this your Christmas card.

OMIGOD!

For any of you who have been reading my blog for any length of time, will know that this video is SO TOTALLY ME ON THE TREADMILL. You will die laughing. I did.

https://youtu.be/l3keGElnSh4

Just get your coffee and leave me alone.

So, at the coffee machine today someone said to me: "You look tired today." I said:

My vacation is getting closer.

In four days, I will embark on a 17-day MUCH NEEDED vacation. My brain is almost completely fried (and NOT from substances) and I just don't think I can take much more. I have been working 7 days a week for a month now, and I'm starting to hallucinate. I couldn't even get out "24 oz triple iced soy mocha with whip, please" this morning. Thank God they already knew what I wanted. This is serious, folks.

When I woke up this morning, I didn't know what day it was. I knew to go to work, though. Sad.

What do you think?

Thanks to Annie for this one.

Holiday Eating Tips:

1. Avoid carrot sticks. Anyone who puts carrots on a holiday buffet table knows nothing of the Christmas spirit. In fact, if you see carrots, leave immediately. Go next door, where they're serving rum balls.

2. Drink as much eggnog as you can. And quickly. Like fine single-malt scotch, it's rare. In fact, it's even rarer than single-malt scotch. You can't find it any other time of year but now. So drink up! Who cares that it has 10,000 calories in every sip? It's not as if you're going to turn into an eggnog-aholic or something. It's a treat. Enjoy it. Have one for me. Have two. It's later than you think. It's Christmas!

3. If something comes with gravy, use it. That's the whole point of gravy. Gravy does not stand alone. Pour it on. Make a volcano out of your mashed potatoes. Fill it with gravy. Eat the volcano. Repeat.

4. As for mashed potatoes, always ask if they're made with skim milk or whole milk. If it's skim, pass. Why bother? It's like buying a sports car with an automatic transmission.

5. Do not have a snack before going to a party in an effort to control your eating. The whole point of going to a Christmas party is to eat other people's food for free. Lots of it. Hello?

6. Under no circumstances should you exercise between now and New Year's. You can do that in January when you have nothing else to do. This is the time for long naps, which you'll need after circling the buffet table while carrying a 10-pound plate of food and that vat of eggnog.

7. If you come across something really good at a buffet table, like frosted Christmas cookies in the shape and size of Santa, position yourself near them and don't budge. Have as many as you can before becoming the center of attention. They're like a beautiful pair of shoes. If you leave them behind, you're never going to see them again.

8. Same for pies. Apple. Pumpkin. Mincemeat. Have a slice of each. Or, if you don't like mincemeat, have two apples and one pumpkin. Always have three. When else do you get to have more than one dessert? Labor Day?

9. Did someone mention fruitcake? Granted, it's loaded with the mandatory celebratory calories, but avoid it at all cost. I mean, have some standards.

10. One final tip: If you don't feel terrible when you leave the party or get up from the table, you haven't been paying attention.

Ok, I'm feeling festive now.