Conversation Overheard at Home Depot

Home Depot worker #1 who is on a huge ladder getting something down from high above: "Hey (to Home Depot worker #2), can you help me with this?"

Home Depot worker #2: "You can do it - just switch (this thing) with (this thing)."
Home Depot worker #1: "I don't understand what you're saying."
Home Depot worker #2: "Oh, come ON Dude, it's not Rocket Surgery!!"
Crazydogmama thinks to herself: "Rocket Surgery?"

All work and no play makes CrazyDogMama a dull girl.

Seriously folks, I am about dead. I only have one more 70-hour week, but still. Wah. I'm getting all kinds of whiny email from people who need an update. Well, here's your frigging update. More earthquakes. EVERYWHERE. Icebergs ramming continents. Volcanos rumbling and erupting. My period was 3 weeks late. (No pregnancy - probably just solar/magnetic activity. No shit.)

I drank SlimFast this week. I know, I know. Stupid. It's just that I'm sick of my regular Pro-Complex and Muscle Milk.

I bought Louie and Maggie new collars.

I got a new scale that measures weight, Body Fat AND hydration level. 55 bucks to tell me I'm too fat and dehydrated. Awesome.

I washed my pillowcase covers last week and still haven't put them back on the pillows.

I killed a huge-ass fly in my office today, but I was too grossed-out to pick up its mashed carcass off of the carpeting, so I made one of my co-workers do it.

I have $1.04 in my checking account.

Happy?

Definition of a sad day.

It is a sad day when you have to blow your nose in a maxi pad because you have no Kleenex.

I scare people.

OK, so two jobs weren't enough. Three anyone? I self-mutilate. Leave me alone. I started a new part-time job at another restaurant in the hopes of replacing the other restaurant job where they make we work weekends and expose me to THE BEAST. (See a few posts back for explanation if you just can't stand not to know.) I want to work 4 days a week. That's it. I will have to fit 48 hours' worth of work into those 4 days, but whatever. Having three days off IN A ROW is necessary right now for my sanity. I started my new job last night, and the girl who was training me asked "Do you have any kids?". A normal response would have been: "No, none of my own but I do have a stepson." However, since I am not normal, (Who knew?) I said something like: "OH HELL NOOOO", to which her response was laughter and a comment like "Wow, I've never gotten a response like that before. It doesn't sound like you're GOING TO HAVE kids, either." Apparently, my vocal cords spasm and contort when asked if I have kids.

GARAGE: A Photo Essay

Also known as, a lame Thursday night. To most I am a "neat freak". I am the one you'll find scrubbing the base boards and taking almost a year to finish all my paint touch-ups. Well, not every room in the house is under such scrutiny, namely, the GARAGE. We refer to the GARAGE as "Man-land" or "husband-land". You will see why. Brace yourselves.

In the first photo, you'll see "the table". This holds such items as Crown Royal, Tequila, empty protein shake cups, empty beer bottles, Tinactin, cigarettes, ashtrays, lighters, chip clips, old mail and other miscellaneous things that are way too heavy to move to the garbage can. Note the remote that is disguised as a golf bag.

In the second photo, you'll see a big pile of boxes. Some say we have a problem; I say we just like pretty silver and red boxes.

In the third photo, you'll see the heavy bag I use to practice my kickboxing on. Tonight, while sporting red slippers, I commenced to practicing after a little Tequila. (OK, OK, a LOT of Tequila) My husband knocked over several beer bottles after laughing at me KICKING OFF MY SLIPPER, and watching it SAIL into the wall and back down. HARD. I did do a nice roundhouse, though, without falling over. YOU try that after 4 shots.

In the fourth photo, you'll see red slippers with little Scottie Dogs on them. I am a total BADASS in these.

In the fifth photo, you'll a nice TV, and a guitar. Warmth and entertainment. We ARE civilized, I'll have you know.

In the sixth photo, you'll see dogs. What garage would be complete without fuzziness? Here Lou is saying "Mom, can we PLEEEZ go back inside? You are acting like total white trash!"

In the seventh photo, you'll see my darts, pre-tequila. Jim said to me, "Nice Cluster". Yeah, I TOTALLY closed out 1's. Hehe.

In the 8th and final photo, you'll see my darts, post-tequila. Oh, just shut up.

Adult Supervision

So the other day, being the good and concerned stepmom that I am, I asked my stepson if he was still going to gym. He said not really cuz his mom had been busy. Since we go to the same gym, I told him that I would go with him and supervise if he wanted. He told me "Cheryl, you are the one that needs supervision." Little fucker. and I mean that in the nicest, most loving way ever. :)

I couldn't resist.

So, for all you fuckers out there that roll your eyes every time I start blogging about earthquakes getting worse and NEOs (Near-Earth-Objects), have you been listening to the news lately and seen all of what is happening? Hmmm? An 8.7 earthquake killing possibly 2000 people, and scientists worried about Yellowstone? I'm telling you, something it up, you just won't believe me.

More new jobs and my general well-being.

So, that job I told you that my hubby got? Well, it didn't work out. BUT, he got ANOTHER new job and THIS one is cool. It is totally outside of the field he was in before (which was woodworking). This new job incorporates all of his manliness, and he loves it. He came home yesterday and was all like, "and today...at work...I got to do this...and see that..." - you get the picture. (And...one time...at Bandcamp...)

My work, however, is just not as exciting. I do have kind of a funny story, though. Yesterday, my boss asked what my official title was, and after I told him I said, "but that's not really my title according to some." He is a bit of a smartass himself and he said, "I know." That raised my eyebrow and I said, "It better be a NICE title, damnit." and he said, "Well, it has the word Goddess in it." I can live with that.

Happy Easter?

For our Easter this year, it was off to the in-laws with the kid. After a nice Easter prayer was said by my husband, and during a very lovely ham dinner, I decided to have some champagne. Mistake.

After offering some champagne to my stepson as a joke (to which he respectfully declined), I spilled a little gravy on my shirt. (Not a surprise.) I went to the sink to wash it off and then had a large water stain on my boob-area. When my husband said something or other about my "wet spot", I of course, giggled and said something like, "Are you talking about my vagina?" My stepson almost shot apple cider out of his nose and THEN I SAID TO HIM, "Yeah, you're probably thinking to yourself, I wish I had said yes to that fucking champagne right about now, aren't you?"  Laughter erupted from my stepson and myself, and I'm sure I will be disowned from the family by Tuesday.

Chipmunks and Kickboxing

Apparently, when I'm kickboxing, I look like a chipmunk. That's right folks. Last night at practice, my ever-so-loving ho-bag of a friend said that when I'm punching and she is holding the mits, I have this very chipmunk-y front-teeth-over-my-bottom-lip thing going on. It's my concentration, OK? Anyway, she did an impression of me, and I started laughing so hard I couldn't breathe. You know, the kind of laughing where your mouth is open, but no sound is coming out and tears are flying down your face and your stomach hurts? I'm sure we entertain the rest of the class. So, now that she has made fun of me in public, I'm going to plaster her name all over the internet. MARYANN, MARYANN, MARYANN. So there!!

Blog Hell

It's been so damn hard to post lately. I don't know why. Is it laziness? Perhaps. Is it that nothing interesting is happening? Nah. Is it that I'm too busy? Probably. Anyway, I have bloggers-block, I think. I start writing and it just sounds like blah, blah, blah, blah. The dogs haven't even done anything blog-worthy lately. I could post more about the crazy world events that are plunging us into Armageddon, but again, nah. I could tell you about my scrapbooking, but that's boring. How about the fact that my new boss is making me work so hard that I go home and go right to sleep? Yeah, that would make YOU go right to sleep. So, here we are. Nothing. I did start drinking OJ again after reading Skwigg's post. Maybe that is what is blocking my blog abilities. Whatever. Crap. This is quite possibly the stupidest fucking post EVER. Sorry. I'll try to do better later.

Stepkids and Crazy-Ass Dogs

My stepson (in the middle) just turned 13. He is a total goofball (we get along great) and here he is with his fruitloop friends. He has his first girlfriend now (not shown in picture cuz he would kill me) and her name is Hope. OK, 1...2...3...Awwww.



Here is Maga-dog. It never fails when I am on the floor taking pictures, there WILL be a dog nose print on the camera.

This Just In

Stan Deyo Issues Warning! March 7, 2005

This evening on Steve Quayle's Q-Files Radio Program, Scientist Stan Deyo issued a Warning about a possible building Cascade Subduction Zone 9.0+ Earthquake that could produce not only a 9.0 Quake but also resulting multiple tsunamis' that could last 8 to 10 hours, washing back and forth, causing much destruction.

Deyo reported that the Juan de Fuca Plate is starting to buckle and puts British Columbia at great risk; also threatening Washington, Oregon, California and basically the entire West Coast of US. Deyo reported that he has never seen these type signals ever off the West Coast of US, but they're there now!

Deyo believes that the other Scientists that should be warning are being muzzled by their governments to avoid panic. Steve Quayle stated he has reports that Russian Scientists are warning of a 10.0+ off the US West Coast. Deyo did report that this involves not only Seismic Quake activity but also volcanic at Mt. St. Helen's and under the ocean off Vancouver Island.

This is a very serious Warning to the United States & Canadian West Coast area. Included in the interview was reports that Scientists are rushing to the northwestern and Canadian area to investigate the current spike of events and danger signals. Deyo reported that local northwest advisories are advising a Go-Bag with 72 hours provision and advise to flee the area if anything happens.

Mountain Go Boom

Mt. St. Helens erupted during my commute home yesterday. I am too far away to see any of it, but it is always exciting when you get about 5 cell phone calls from friends and family saying, "It blew again". Everyone I know, knows that I love following all these kinds of events - volcanos, earthquakes, etc., so when something happens, I am all of sudden very popular to talk to. The last few weeks have been rather eventful, too. All kinds of shit going down. My skeptical husband who always rolls his eyes at me, said to me yesterday "You know, something is not right. Too much stuff is happening, and something is not right." My paranoia has finally rubbed off! LOL. :) The dogs have been all twitchy, too. Last night Louie started howling, and this morning Jim said they were all lovey. SOMETHING IS DEFINATELY WRONG FOLKS.

Employed!

FINALLY! Jim got a job! I was laughing at him this morning because he works at 5 am in the morning and he was dragging ass. I have been getting up at 4am for as long as I can remember, so I was not so sympathetic. LOL. Apparently, my teasing ticked off God, though, because after Jim left, I spent a half-hour looking for my stupid fucking keys - making me LATE for work with my new boss. THEN, I got a call from Jim, and he told me he was being sent home early because there was a minor earthquake that his new job was at the epicenter of. Stuff was all over the place that they were having to clean up, and the machinery was out of calibration rendering it useless. Figures.

Have you noticed the increase in earthquake activity lately?

The Beast

There comes a time in everyone's life (especially females) when paths are crossed with vile creatures. The vile creature that has recently crossed my path will herein be referred to as "The Beast".

The Beast started work at the restaurant last week. The Beast was cleverly disguised as a bubbly, girlie-girl waitress with a lot of experience. Oh, but no. Underneath that horribly fake blonde hair with lots of bling-bling in it, there resides evil. Evil that makes the devil shutter. The Beast decided that she would kiss as much ass as possible to try and "get" my job. I'm not sure why she wants it, but nonetheless, she pursues. The Beast is a money-grubbin' whore. If there were a 20-dollar bill laying on the floor, and you were in the Beast's way, she would stab you with a butter knife to get to it, I shit you not.

Thank the Lord I am not the only employee to feel this way. Apparently, I don't hide being annoyed well, and a private discussion was had on what to do about the situation. We decided to grit our teeth and bare it for now, and let life take its course. Boy, did it. The Beast let her evil out by phone call at a quarter to midnight on Saturday. I was still working, and just happen to answer. The owner witnessed the wrath of the Beast.

The call was about how she was all pissed about having to "share" her tips with me and two other employees that night, although she disguised this real reason as "I need to know exactly how much I made so that I can write it down for my taxes, and I know I made more than $75." Whatever. We don't usually have a tip-pool, but due to a large banquet party, it was the fairest route since we all busted our asses. I am in charge of the dining room and made the command decision to make an even split of the tips. You have to keep in mind here that this was her third night of work, and she was technically still in training. She is lucky she got ANYTHING. The Beast demanded copies of her tickets. (She apparently didn't look at them before she left.) She went on to tell me that when she was hired on, she was told that all servers made individual tips, and if this not how it was going to be, then she was going to have to quit. (Oh well! So sad!) She said she didn't like sharing because she is "used to making better tips than her co-workers and it would not be fair to share them". Say WHAT? Excuuuse me, but I've been waiting tables for 17 years, BITCH, and have bigger tits than you. The Beast even witnessed me making a 65$ tip on a $145 tab the other night, yet she still had the nerve to say this to me. I am the only other server there. I concluded she was pissed because she made a bee-line for the door to seat those very same good-tipping customers in her section on Saturday night. They are regulars, MY regulars. I was a little miffed to say the least. Who the hell does she think she is? She is certainly not CrazyDogMama, damn it.

The Beast also likes to show off by bringing in her own wine accessories and such and give the owner all kinds of "suggestions". It gets on my damn nerves. But, as it turns out, it gets on the owner's nerves as well. (Insert evil smiley face here). It will be interesting to see where this goes. Stay tuned.

Update

You are all so great. Thank you for all the personal emails...I wasn't really mad, I just wanted to stir the pot a little. Hehe. All of the blogs I read daily really cheer me up and keep me going. I actually feel guilty for not writing in mine. I know I am all twitchy when my favorite bloggers go on hiatus.

Jim is still on the job-hunt, but he decided to go with a staffing agency for now to just get something to keep us going. He is wanting to get out of the woodworking business, but that will of course take some time and soul-searching. In the meantime, we need stuff. Especially me. I'm a stuff-needing-girl. The greedy little bitch that I am. My close friends keep telling me to snap-the-hell-out-of-the-depression. They don't let me get away with whining a whole lot. Especially when I try to get out of working out. Picture 3 women dragging a fourth to the gym kicking and screaming holding onto a brownie while smoking. That's me.

Louie and Maggie are on serious vacation. When I come home last night, all three of them (Jim included here) are laying T-U on the floor lounging with the TV blaring. Bones laying nearby, and bags of Cheetos. That is when I go into my B-movie routine of how I am working so hard the flesh is falling off of my fingers and where's my dinner? Get-the-hell-up-before-I-kick-you!

Things are looking up, though. I am in a silly mood today and I was brought an iced mocha. Oh, the Joy.

Total Slacker

That would be me. I have watched my blog stats sail downhill the last few weeks; no doubt due to my lack of updating. Well, you know WHAT? BITE ME. No one has emailed me to ask if I'm dead, and there have been no words of encouragement. So, again, BITE ME. The depression and total pity-pot attitude I have had lately has turned to cynicism, sarcasm and anger. So, basically, I'm back to normal. But APPARENTLY you don't miss me, so BITE ME.

Day 17 of No Days Off

It is the aftermath of V-D. (Valentine's Day for all you warm and fuzzy freaks out there.).Holy Crap-O-Rama. The restaurant I work at was sold to a new owner last December and this was the first REALLY CRAZY night we've had. My body aches this morning, and I swear I'm getting varicose veins. Gross. Anyway, I have 5 more days until I finally have a day off. What will I do that day, you ask? SLEEP. EAT. SLEEP. REPEAT.

Louie is being really sweet and loving and cute and fuzzy. I'm wondering what the hell is going on in that little doggie brain of his. I'm waiting for the bomb to drop.

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??