Letters to Mother Nature

Saturday, June 30, 2012

Dear Tree Hugging Whore,

It’s only the beginning of July.  Turn on the fucking AC, you evil twat, before I punch you in the throat and stab you in your eyeball.  Please and thank you.

With sweaty regards,
The South

P.S.  The gentlemen of the South would like to kill thank you for their mossy balls. They make a haiku for that.

moldy, mossy balls
stinking up your underpants
no blow job for you

mother nature hates
all men’s balls, both big and small
bitch gon’ neuter you


It’s me or you, pal. And just for the record, I never lose.

Sunday, July 31, 2011

Just to prove that I’m not exaggerating about the mutha sucka (the trainee who sucks his teeth CONSTANTLY), here’s an IM conversation with a co-worker today. She has to sit right beside him, and she hasn’t killed him… yet. She must have some good drugs. I need to find out.

Coworker says: Is M deaf or oblivious? (our other co-worker, who is a guy, doesn’t seem to notice the sucking sounds)
ME says: yes, but mostly oblivious. his book is so good he’s lost his hearing. (MS sucking teeth – really long and loud) wow… it never stops. i quit. you can tell bossman why.
CW says: I know , I know….. you and I need to move or he needs to move…..over by J
ME says: oh… em… gee! (he just sucked a diddy through his teeth) no, he needs to move OUT!!
CW says: (sending a pretend email from boss) It has come to my attention that there may be some issues with distracting bodily noises while on the floor. Please be aware of your surroundings and any body sounds whether conscious or not and be considerate of your teammates
ME says: I’m sending it to boss to use as a template. (another LONG, LOUD sucking noise – followed by several more in a row) REALLY?!? every 5 seconds now???
CW says: He just finished some choc and peanut butter, he has stuff stuck maybe it will get better in a min
ME says: that could take a while… peanut butter is tricky. OMG… i miss peanut butter
CW says: especially that kind in butterfinger
ME says: now i have a reason to hate him. well, another reason.
CW says: maybe I will sit over here and eat and smack really loud and he’ll hear me and say something and I’ll be like OMG how could you hear that with that chipmunk slurping sound you have goin on. omg or better yet let’s all start making the same sound and maybe he’ll get annoyed
ME says: i seriously tried that the other night. every time he made the sound, i did, too. he never noticed. or if he did, he didn’t care.
CW says: omg, you so did not! maybe he has a pet cricket in his pocket
ME says: so, i should kick him there?
CW says: that would be better than sitting in his lap and all
ME says: ewwww…

And now… NOW, not only is he making the teeth sucking sound… he’s added snorting! You know? That sound when someone is sucking all the snot out of their nose so they can spit it out? UGH!

I seriously need some tranquilizers. And not for me.

Silence!! I keel you!

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Oh. Em. Gee. I may be in jail by the end of this work day. For reals.

One of my trainees has this habit that is urging me to down a bottle of Jager and go on a killing spree. He sucks his teeth. You know? That irri-fucking-tating slurpy-sucking sound like the person making it is trying to pull a small woodland creature through their mouth bones?! Well, it’s one of my pet peeves. I HATE that noise. And he’s making it. Over and over and OVER. AND OVER. Like every 30 seconds.

I’m already extremely stabby today. It’s my Friday, but it started off rotten, and keeps getting worse. Slow traffic, stolen parking spaces, sucky emails, broken badge, and now… THIS. And he keeps doing it! Gah! Ever heard of floss, pal? WTF is stuck in there?!?

I don’t think this asshat is gonna last long. Right now, he’s making me want a couple of candy bars. One to schkoff and one to shove down his fucking throat. If he’s choking, maybe he’ll stop sucking his mutha-fuckin’ teeth. Maybe he’ll pass out from lack of oxygen and make the rest of my day awesome.

Ah, blessed silence, I long for you so.

Fuck it. I’m going on a hunt for duct tape. See if he can suck through that.

FYI – I drop the F bomb a LOT when I’m cranky-pants. Just in case you hadn’t already noticed.

I like my noodles on the al dente side

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

So my thoughtless, evil sibling calls me up yesteday and leaves me the following voicemail: “Mom’s been rushed to the hospital again. She’s bleeding profusely (he actually used the phrase “bleeding like a mutha-fuckin’ sonofabitch”) from her nose and ears.” Click. The end. No explanation. No follow up.

So naturally, I’m freaking out. I’m thinking, “It’s a toomah!” I’m thinking brain hemorrhage. I’m thinking alien parasites. I’m thinking nanite-sized Hobbits are using their big-ass crusty, hairy feet to turn me mums noggin of al dente spaghetti into soggy pasta pudding. (Sounds like Orc mischief to me!) But mostly I’m thinking, “I don’t wanna drive 4 hours! Waaahhhhh! I’m tired!”

Does that make me a bad daughter? Yeah. I thought so.

By the time I arrived, it was nearly over. She had lost 3 pints of blood (from her nose!) and looked like a homicide victim. Turns out it was a ruptured blood vessel in her nose, and her new arthritis med (which shall remain nameless, but is in the NSAID category) was keeping her blood from clotting. And she was NOT bleeding from her ears. My brother is a squeamish drama-queen.

Aside from losing a new robe & nightgown to unsightly stains which will NEVER come out, the mumster is fit as a fiddle. She even got a nice set of scrubs out of it.

What did I get? Nothing. Nada. An aching back from driving 4 hours there and 4 hours back. Well, that and my mom’s okay. So I guess that’s something. Heh. Bad daughter!

Happy Misjudgement Day!

Sunday, May 22, 2011


If you’re reading this blog, you’re like me: a big, fat, warty, nasty, vile sinner, who eats babies for breakfast! Congratulations! Welcome to the club! Have some cake! It’s free! We unrepentant heathens looted goodies from all of the empty bakeries! Because, everyone knows, all bakers go to heaven. Where else would someone who knows how to make cake, pie, and pastry go? Hell hath no need of sugar! Or so the scriptures sayeth.

What’s that? No one was saved? God didn’t drop by for tea? Are you sure? Because it was a preacher who said he was coming today, and well, you know, men who claim to be of God are never wrong. Or so the scriptures that they themselves wrote sayeth.

Seriously, could someone please tell the religious nutbars of the world to just man up and drink the punch? It would be totally awesome if there were fewer asshats getting my hopes up about the post-rapture looting. Sigh. I sooo wanted a new flat screen TV. For FREE.

I thought my mom, being the devout Christian she is, would have jumped on that shit-wagon holding high the cross of Christ, but apparently, once 6pm rolled around and she discovered that the Jesus Train had passed her by, she saw the sham for what it was, and finally laughed at my “don’t drink the koolaid” message on her answering machine.

This Rapture, it would seem, was a quantum faux pas. Like this blog.

You wanna know what the true Rapture is? It’s this life. It’s this fucked up, messy, hard, emotional shit we all go through on a daily basis. It’s family who loves you even if they think you’ve screwed up your whole life, and possibly theirs, too. It’s my totally amazing cat, Princess Fuzzybuns Beardlicker, who I love with a fierceness that rivals that of any parent, and who loves me just because I pet her and feed her, and makes me smile every single fucking day just because she’s awesome. It’s friends who love you unconditionally, even if you fight and argue more often than not, and won’t abandon you even if you can’t agree on something as mundane as who should win American Idol.

That’s TRUE Rapture. Fuck anyone who says it isn’t.

Ahem. I really didn’t mean to get all serious, but I’m celebrating my rapture with Jagermeister, Guinness, and pancakes. I think it’s the Jager (diva!) talking. I know it’s not the pancakes ’cause they’re all fluffly and shit.

Sunday funday? Not so much.

Sunday, May 8, 2011

I hate it when someone promises me something and then backs down. I especially hate it when the broken promise was to come in early for work in order to relieve me. I’ve been here for over 10 hours now, after less than four hours of sleep, and I WANT TO FUCKING GO HOME ALREADY!!!

Aaaand… just as I was typing that she called and said her alarm didn’t go off and she’s on her way. Awesome. No one has to die.

Here’s some haiku to honor all you muthas!

(the first one’s dedicated to my brother who had to spend the day with preacher mom – better him than me! snort!)

preaching on sunday
does not a happy day make
pass me the muzzle

(and this one’s to me mum)

only mom i know
you didn’t give birth to me
you gave me much more

Faces of FIRE!

Sunday, April 17, 2011

Earlier this year, I self-diagnosed myself with Rosacea. I’m sure when I next go to the doctor, she will confirm my expert diagnosis, because I researched the shite out of my symptoms… and if you saw my face without makeup (sometimes even with), you’d have to agree.

It’s not pretty. When it flares up, I look like a pizza-faced tween. In fact, I originally thought I was suffering from adult acne. But all of the products designed to treat acne burned my skin (more than they should have), made my color an even brighter red, and caused the bumps that I thought were pimples to multiply. Soooo not cool.

In researching this condition, I found that there are certain foods, conditions, and products that can trigger flare-ups. Here are some of those things.

Cheese. Just knowing that makes me want to eat a whole block of sharp cheddar – by itself. I hanker for a hunk of, a satisfying chunk of, I hanker for a hunk of cheese! Stinky!

Chocolate. Huh. Expect a flare up, like, now.

Beer. Sigh. I will forever look like I’m going through puberty.

Spicy foods & vanilla. Is vanilla not the polar opposite of spicy foods… AND chocolate?! WTF?

Sun. Wind. Cold. Humidity. When the fuck is it okay to go outside? And who’s gonna tell my boss I have to work from home now because the outside is bad for me?

Hot baths. So are cold showers okay? Nope. THAT can cause a flare up, too. Of course, not being able to bathe pretty much cements the need to work from home.

Excessivley warm environments. Hello? I live in the deep south!

Stress & anxiety. So much for working from home. Or working period.

MENOPAUSE. Can someone please tell me how to avoid THIS?

You can see I’m gonna be a whiny little beyotch about this this is going to be a nightmare for me. Sure, it’s not some terminal illness, but, right now, it feels like a too-mah.

That said, there IS a shining beacon of hope in this otherwise dark and dismal time. There is yet one more thing I must avoid in order to limit flare ups. And that thing is… EXERCISE!!

I have a legitimate, medical reason for not working out now! I have a license to be a fatty-fatty-booma-latty! I can be a card-carrying member of the honkey-tonk ba-donka-donk club – guilt free! My face might look like a Santa suit on fire (after all that chocolate I just ate… along with the beer to wash it down), but I feel like I just hit the jackpot.


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