Memory Lane

Here I am circa 1990 or so, on a steady diet of "Munch 'ems", beer and cigarettes. I also look very confused. Gee, what a surprise.

Ezmerelda

Finally! A pic of Ezmerelda (my SUV)! I loves her, she's pretty and has a butt-warmer.

Brain Food

See, I told you ice cream was good for you!

My Precious

The company that is slowly conning me out of my retirement.

Fajitas!

Lunch! MMM, fajitas.

Where I live.

My home away from home, or basically where I live. This is where the blogging magic happens, people.

Dirty Mind

The whiteboard at work. We build robotic penises.

Don't Call Me Stupid.

That is my thing. Do not EVER call me stupid. (In a serious way, not like "Come on, stupid! Let's go!) You can call me ugly, fat, blonde, crazy, bitchy, sarcastic, whatever, just not stupid. GOT IT? I will pound on you. HARD. Until you are a quivering mass of pounded flesh. You could say that I will "get medieval on your ass". If you call me stupid electronically, I will pound you electronically. Or find you and pound you physically. I have my ways. and you know I could totally kick your ass with all that anger and adrenaline I've got going on. Plus, I drink enough caffeine to raise the dead.

Why, you ask? I don't know. It's just a thing with me. I see red, go berserk, flip-out. Now, I realize I'm not an Einstein over here or anything, but I have a college degree and all that blah, blah, blah. (Don't expect me to type complete sentences and use correct grammar in my blog, though. K?) It just really BUGS THE HELL OUT OF ME. Them are fightin' words.  It has only happened a few times in my life, but still, I'm just sayin'. Now that the entire world knows how to piss me off, I'm probably doomed.

Oh, and don't hurt my dogs. That, my friend, would be Armageddon for you.

(SIDENOTE: Out of the blue, ask one of your co-workers how to spell Armageddon and watch their reaction. LOL!)

I don't know squat.

So, yesterday when driving the hell-commute home, I found out that the 6-mile road to my house was closed due to a head-on collision. Neat. That means not getting home any time in the next century. I could have stopped for a bite, or gone shopping, but no. I went to the gym. I was trying to avoid that; I even had a list of excuses in my purse. But I went. Like a good girl. I haven't been for a while, and I knew going in that my muscles would retaliate, and they did. Can't walk today. I may have gotten a little over-zealous with the squats. All 60 of them. That may not sound like a lot to you out there who are workout nazi's, but I've truly been a lazy ass this summer and haven't done SQUAT. Ha! Anyway, I have to admit it did feel good to get back into the groove, but now I have to start all over again with the can't walk up and down stairs or sit on the toilet without excruciating pain. I kept making Jim get me things last night so that I didn't have to move. You know when you feel all rubbery and shaky 2 hours after your workout, that you will have HELL TO PAY in the next couple of days. Oh well. No pain, no gain, or in my case, pain due to no brain.

Apparently I need to chill.

My husband, who thinks I'm a lunatic (but loves me anyway), says I need to stop going to all the earthquake sites and such, trying to figure out the next national disaster, but to instead relax and have a beer. You have to understand, I don't get all freaked out over this stuff, it is just interesting to me. I'm not the tweaky type. I'm what you might call an 'earthquake geek'. HOWEVER, according to my husband, I scare the shit out of everyone ELSE. OK, well, I'm freaking sorry, OK? I should have been a scientist or something. I sometimes get these emails that say something like "Oh my God! I thought I was going to see cute doggies and stuff on your site and all I got was so scared I want to cry." Weenies.

Something is wrong with me.

I know that is stating the obvious, but seriously, something is wrong with me. I have been doing nothing but SLEEPING. I go to work at 8 am, get off around 4:30, then go home and sleep until the next morning. I also sleep all weekend. WTF? I only have 1 job now; you'd THINK I would have more energy, but no. Total and complete laziness. My house is such a mess right now it makes me twitch, and I can't remember what my husband looks like. Could it be the heat? Am I depressed? I don't know. I feel like an uber-sloth. I haven't worked-out in days (that could be the problem) and I just don't feel like doing shit. I've tried to make myself do stuff, but I end up all whiney and crabby. I am going to go get some blood drawn to make sure I'm not anemic or something. Coffee isn't even working.

I'm melting.

It's too freaking HOT. It's like 100 damn degrees here today. I know some of you who live in Texas or Arizona are like, "Yeah, so", but I can't handle it much above 75. I get all dizzy and pukey. I have no pool, no air conditioning, no nothing. I have a small redneck window air conditioner in my bedroom that is sputtering because it can't handle the challenge. I'm all crabby and sweaty. The dogs wouldn't even go outside today. It's really hard to get excited about working out in weather like this. The gym has air conditioning, but just the thought of getting UP OFF THE COUCH sounds like entirely too much work. I feel like I have peed my pants, but it's not pee. YUCK.

Maggie the Statue

So, last night after coming home from work, I proceeded to join my hubby on the back porch for a nightcap. It is there where Maggie, my very strange dog, stared up at moths hitting the porch light for an hour. AN. HOUR. Without moving. Just standing there, staring UP. I tried to look at the light for about 5 seconds to try and capture the magic, but all it did was make me see spots. How could she even see anything? I kept telling her that the moths were too high, but she just ignored me. I could have been wearing a porkchop necklace and she still wouldn't have budged. It was kind of funny, though, watching her act like a statue.

I want to be sedated.

You know, the Ramones song? Yeah, I'm listening to that right now, and its true. I spent 7 hours (7 HOURS!) cleaning the carpet in my front room yesterday, and today I WANT TO BE SEDATED. I got up at 9 am. We went out for breakfast at 11 am. We came home at noon. I went back to bed. Just woke up. Shit, now I won't be able to sleep tonight. The carpet looks good, though.

I haven't posted a pic of my new SUV yet because it's always dirty (and its black), so that simply won't do. So, this is pic of me enjoying my sunroof instead.

Now I'm listening to "Creep" by Radiohead.

You're so fucking special
I wish I was special
But I'm a creep
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doing here
I don't belong here

Yeah, it's that kind of night.

Linkage

OK, I totally wiped out my links somehow. Whoops. I've tried to put the list back together based on who has linked me and the ones I can remember at the moment, but I'm sure the list is not complete, SO DON'T HAVE HURT FEELINGS. If you want me to link you back, and you don't see your site, just let me know.

Ding, Dong, My Dumbass Neighbors Are Gone!

They moved, they moved! You remember, the neighbors that drove me nuts? The ones that did all the breeding and were snobby and mean? They're GONE! Hooray! I probably ran them out. Now we just need some TEQUILA to celebrate, MOM.

My Mom

Hi Ma! I know you read my blog, so this entry is for you. I promise I won't use any swear words. Before I start, I want to say, "I love you!" because I do.

Thank you so very much for bringing the yummy Margarita mix and tequila to my little 4th of July party. We had a great time! Also thank you for leaving the margarita mix. However, you took the tequila home. YOU TOOK THE TEQUILA. What kind of mom are you?

Headline: "Neighborhood woman seen holding her dog at gunpoint."

At squirt-gunpoint, that is. Let me share with you how squirt-gun training has progressed with Louie. Jim was trying to get Louie to "shake" last night. He learned "shake" when he was a puppy. Louie was apparently in a pissy mood last night and was refusing to "shake" for my husband. I said, "Watch this.", then I grabbed the squirt gun, pointed it at Lou (without squirting any water) and said, "Shake!" The paw went up. I repeat: THE. PAW. WENT. UP.

Later that night, I let the dogs out potty. Louie was dawdling. I got the gun and pointed. "Potty! Now!" Sooner or later, someone is going to call someone about me, I think.

Bad Sushi

I declare now: I will never EVER eat sushi from a grocery store again. EVER. I am now recovering from what can only be called food poisoning from hell. Monday afternoon I ingested spicy tuna rolls from the grocery store deli section. A few hours after lunch, I began running to the bathroom at work, and bad things were coming out both ends. Monday Evening and all of Tuesday I continued to violently vomit and deal with the worst diarrhea known to man. I have bruises on my knees from kneeling over the porcelain. My stomach hurts and is in knots. I thought my eyeballs were going to pop OUT OF MY HEAD on several puking occasions. I am still afraid of solid foods. I am still sweating. I am still shaking. (I am having my own private earthquakes.) I have never been that sick in my whole life. It hurt BAD. I will not need an ab workout for a week or so. If I even SMELL seafood, I will hurl.

Patience?

Yeah, I don't have that. I have a story, instead. I have been pondering lately about some new ideas on how to get my dogs to listen to (and not totally ignore) me. So, I bought some squirt guns. When I say "No!" or "Stop it!", or whatever, and they DON'T LISTEN, I squirt them! Pretty soon they should be little angels, right? Well, as good as an idea that was, I did not take into consideration the personality of Louie. For the record, I have to say that it works great on Maggie.

Louie is a spiteful little fucker who uses his great intelligence to send me right over the edge.

Squirt-gun training, day 1. Louie is eating something foreign in the yard.

Me: "No!" "No, Louie!"
Louie: Continues to eat foreign object without even looking up.
Me: Squirt, squirt.
Louie: Jumps 5 feet in the air.
Me: Giggle.
Louie: Glare.
Louie: Goes back to eating foreign object.
Me: "NOOO!" Squirt, SQUIRT, SQUIRT.
Louie: Spins around to look at me again and walks away with tail between legs.
Me: I win.

Squirt-gun training, day 2. Louie is barking for no reason whatsofuckingever.

Louie: Woof! Woof! Woof!
Me: "Shut UP!"
Louie: WOOF! WOOF! WOOF!
Me: SQUIRT. "I said knock it off!"
Louie: Runs.
Louie: Pisses. Spitefully. On carpet.
Me: "OH YOU LITTLE MOTHERF......." running with squirt gun in hand cussing so much and so loud that husband is wondering if he should call my therapist.
Louie: Running faster, wagging tail.
Me: Running, tripping over things, and squirting the squirt-gun at Louie, at the furniture, at the walls, still cussing. (It's a great visual, is it not?)

Squirt-gun training, day 3. The milligrams on my anxiety meds are getting a boost.