Things I've learned today:
I've learned that my dog can, does and will literally lick the snot out of a 2 year olds runny nose. I've learned further that both parties seem to find this activity deeply enriching. I may never sleep again. And I will DEFINITELY never again have oysters.
I've also learned today that both Traci Lords and I will turn 40 this year. I'm not sure why I find this so staggering...but I do.
I've learned that I think that every single politician in this country is either a big fat liar or a piece of shit. The scariest ones are those who are lying pieces of shit. They are the kind who would sell their mother to get elected to whatever office they want. It's depressing. In fact, just typing this paragraph has made me want to eat something unhealthy and go to bed. Sigh.
Lastly, and I think we can all agree that this comment has no business being in this blog entry (yet I push forward AT ALL COSTS), I find myself wondering why some women put enormous bows in their daughters' hair. What the hell is UP with that? I saw a 4 year old running around with a bow the size of my wallet on her head. She looked like she might fall over at any point from the sheer weight of it. I've heard the phrase "bow girl" thrown around lately. In fact, I was chatting with another parent at my kids' school and she said something like, "Well, you don't seem like the kind of mom who'd have Bow Girls." And I was pleased that she noticed. My chest kind of bowed out and I nodded sagely, "It's true. We don't really 'do' bows in my house." And then I smiled a little smile the whole way home, reassured that I haven't completely fucked my kids up because I don't tie enormous bows around their heads.
Huh. I think it may be time for sleep. I've stopped making sense to myself. Crikes. The next thing you know I'll be in a Scientology video talking about why when I, the fake scientologist, drive by an accident I HAVE to stop - not like "regular" people - because I am the ONLY ONE who could really DO anything. Obviously.
Monday, January 28, 2008
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Thought of the day...
Just a thought...the next time a 2 year old runs toward me yelling "YUCKY! YUCKY!" I won't instinctively reach out to take whatever he's handing me and/or give him a hug. Especially if said two year old has a spectacularly gross runny nose.
Yep. Next time, when I hear the words YUCKY I will dive for the paper towels. Because I am pretty sure that I can see the Virgin Mother in the schmear of snot on my shoulder. And you know what? She looks kind of pissed off.
Maybe you should go check out something funny on Humor Blogs.com.
Yep. Next time, when I hear the words YUCKY I will dive for the paper towels. Because I am pretty sure that I can see the Virgin Mother in the schmear of snot on my shoulder. And you know what? She looks kind of pissed off.
Maybe you should go check out something funny on Humor Blogs.com.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
News Flashing
Ugh. I just read the news headlines today. And now I'm SO depressed. Jeez...Heath Ledger is dead??? WTF??? Dude didn't even make it to 30. That really sucks. Oh, and speaking of sucking, can we talk politics for a minute? Oh! Wait, I forgot...I'd rather slam one of my hooters in a car door. (And yes, ladies and gentlemen, I've nursed three babies. It can be done.)
My disdain for all things political aside, there was a funny clip this week. I don't know if it hit the mainstream media or not but, as I live in Atlanta, Martin Luther King Day is a big deal around here. There was a celebration in Dr. Kings church (Ebenezer Baptist Church) and sitting behind the podium was our favorite First Gentleman Hopeful, Bill Clinton. Who fell asleep. It reminded me of any class I took in high school and college that pertained to math. The chin resting in an open hand. Elbow, on the arm rest. Head, occasionally nodding. Eyes, closed (although every now and then you could see that the eye brows were trying to pull them open). The only thing missing was the head snapping back in an impromptu snore. That would have been awesome. I wonder if he was dreaming about the I Have A Dream speech during his nap. That would have been ironic, no?
It makes me wonder what Kanye West would say. And in case you don't follow rap and hip hop like Yours Truly, he's the guy who shocked the hell out of Mike Myers by stating, "George Bush doesn't care about black people" during a televised fundraiser for those who lost their homes in Katrina. George W. is probably thinking, "Oh REALLY. I don't like black people! That's RICH. At least I didn't take a nap during a celebration of the life of Dr. Martin Luther King!!"
This picture was taken right after Kanye said it. I felt like I could literally see the color drain from Mikes's face. "ehhhh...hmmmm?" Classic.
The last thing I read in the news was about something that transpired in Australia. A guy was looking for Crocodile eggs (seriously...WHY???). It really shouldn't have been much a surprise to anyone when he was attacked by a Crocodile. The funny thing is that his friend came to his rescue. I guess in all of the excitement that goes along with watching your mate get chewed on this guy got a little careless and shot his friend with a gun. While a Crocodile was trying to EAT him. This, my friends, is when it's time to go home. The party is over. It's officially a Bad Day.
I must admit, though, the friend did EXACTLY what I would have done in the same situation.
Step 1: point your loaded gun at the crocodile.
Step 2: Squeeze your eyes shut tightly.
Step 3: Fire off every available bullet in the animals general direction while screaming an incoherent stream of obscenities.
In my quest to find a scary picture of a crocodile to show you guys I found this little gem. If it weren't for the pink silk pants and blouse ensemble (with gold trim) I'd swear this guy was from the South. His last words MUST have been, "HEY! Watch THIS!!!" Again...WHY? Did he lose something? Perhaps he just had to know if the email he received about crocs having wicked halitosis was just an urban legend?
My disdain for all things political aside, there was a funny clip this week. I don't know if it hit the mainstream media or not but, as I live in Atlanta, Martin Luther King Day is a big deal around here. There was a celebration in Dr. Kings church (Ebenezer Baptist Church) and sitting behind the podium was our favorite First Gentleman Hopeful, Bill Clinton. Who fell asleep. It reminded me of any class I took in high school and college that pertained to math. The chin resting in an open hand. Elbow, on the arm rest. Head, occasionally nodding. Eyes, closed (although every now and then you could see that the eye brows were trying to pull them open). The only thing missing was the head snapping back in an impromptu snore. That would have been awesome. I wonder if he was dreaming about the I Have A Dream speech during his nap. That would have been ironic, no?
The last thing I read in the news was about something that transpired in Australia. A guy was looking for Crocodile eggs (seriously...WHY???). It really shouldn't have been much a surprise to anyone when he was attacked by a Crocodile. The funny thing is that his friend came to his rescue. I guess in all of the excitement that goes along with watching your mate get chewed on this guy got a little careless and shot his friend with a gun. While a Crocodile was trying to EAT him. This, my friends, is when it's time to go home. The party is over. It's officially a Bad Day.
I must admit, though, the friend did EXACTLY what I would have done in the same situation.
Step 1: point your loaded gun at the crocodile.
Step 2: Squeeze your eyes shut tightly.
Step 3: Fire off every available bullet in the animals general direction while screaming an incoherent stream of obscenities.
In my quest to find a scary picture of a crocodile to show you guys I found this little gem. If it weren't for the pink silk pants and blouse ensemble (with gold trim) I'd swear this guy was from the South. His last words MUST have been, "HEY! Watch THIS!!!" Again...WHY? Did he lose something? Perhaps he just had to know if the email he received about crocs having wicked halitosis was just an urban legend?
Monday, January 21, 2008
Waxing Poetic...
I love getting pedicures. There is a little place near my home where I go. One day, about a year ago, I was in there getting my toes a little TLC. Suddenly, and out of nowhere I might add, a Vietnamese lady screamed across the crowded room, "DO YOU WANT YOU LIP WAX, TOO???" It was with shock and horror that I realized she was addressing ME.
My hand instinctively covered my mouth and I mumbled, "what?" She repeated her question and I felt all eyes upon me as I contemplated her offer of ripping hot wax off of my upper lip. I shook my head in what I hoped was the universal sign of, "NO! I do not require this service because I don't have a hairy fucking lip!"
I suffered through the rest of my pedicure but I'll tell you, I couldn't wait to get home. Finally I was done and went home to do what any other red blooded woman would do: I kicked my husband in the balls. He said something like, "What the hell was THAT for?" So I told him, "THAT was for not telling me that I have a lip so HAIRY that a woman offered to WAX it for me today!!!"
I was angry because here I was, in my mid thirties, and didn't know that my lip appeared hairy to others. He's assured me that I do not, in fact, have a hairy lip and that these women are just trying to up sell me their services. But now EVERY damn time I go in there they ask me. In fact, one of them even said, "Well...OK, but you know, you have a lot of hair there...."
So now I poll everybody. Should I or shouldn't I? I have yet to have anyone say yes, but I can't be too careful.
I've become a real delight at cocktail parties, "Oh, yes, I've read that book, too. Wonderful. Just w
onderful. Oh...and speaking of wonderful, do you think I should start waxing my lip? It's just these Vietnamese ladies are INSISTENT that I need to and, well, I just didn't KNOW that and my husband thinks I'm fine but you know how THAT is...but if YOU think I should then I would consider it..."
On the drive home my husband stares at me out of the corner of his eye. He's either thinking about what a lunatic I am or, more likely, he's imagining me twirling my handle bar moustache.
After writing the above I got into the Handlebar Moustache Mood (HMM) so I did a little thing on Google and came up with the above picture. It was (obviously) taken from the Handlebar Moustache Club in the UK. It is entitled "Stag Night" although it appears (to my untrained eyes) that it is just a Tranny dancing with a dude with a GIGANTIC handlebar moustache. Or maybe the British call enormous strippers Stags. At any rate what do you suppose our friend is grabbing for? Maybe it was Testicular Cancer Awareness month and he was demonstrating the self check? Or maybe they were playing pin the belly button on the tranny dancer (not to be confused with Tiny Dancer). Perhaps I'll submit this to my peeps at humor blogs and ask them to decide. It's important that we find out the TRUTH. It's out there somewhere...
www.rqmitchell.blogspot.com
PS My husband read this at work (in between important projects, I'm sure) and called me up, concerned that I had left the impression that I do indeed need to wax my lip. So this is my disclaimer: I do not need to wax my lip. I have repeatedly confirmed this truth with my girlfriends and relatives (to their delight, I'm sure). Besides, if I really needed to wax my lip my mother would have tackled me long ago and done it herself. She's not the kind of woman who would allow her daughter to walk around all hairy like that.
Put another way, this is not what I look like:
In fact I don't even know her. But if she were here, in the South, people would say, "bless her heart" whenever her name came up. It's not exactly a compliment.
My hand instinctively covered my mouth and I mumbled, "what?" She repeated her question and I felt all eyes upon me as I contemplated her offer of ripping hot wax off of my upper lip. I shook my head in what I hoped was the universal sign of, "NO! I do not require this service because I don't have a hairy fucking lip!"
I suffered through the rest of my pedicure but I'll tell you, I couldn't wait to get home. Finally I was done and went home to do what any other red blooded woman would do: I kicked my husband in the balls. He said something like, "What the hell was THAT for?" So I told him, "THAT was for not telling me that I have a lip so HAIRY that a woman offered to WAX it for me today!!!"
I was angry because here I was, in my mid thirties, and didn't know that my lip appeared hairy to others. He's assured me that I do not, in fact, have a hairy lip and that these women are just trying to up sell me their services. But now EVERY damn time I go in there they ask me. In fact, one of them even said, "Well...OK, but you know, you have a lot of hair there...."
So now I poll everybody. Should I or shouldn't I? I have yet to have anyone say yes, but I can't be too careful.
I've become a real delight at cocktail parties, "Oh, yes, I've read that book, too. Wonderful. Just w
onderful. Oh...and speaking of wonderful, do you think I should start waxing my lip? It's just these Vietnamese ladies are INSISTENT that I need to and, well, I just didn't KNOW that and my husband thinks I'm fine but you know how THAT is...but if YOU think I should then I would consider it..."
On the drive home my husband stares at me out of the corner of his eye. He's either thinking about what a lunatic I am or, more likely, he's imagining me twirling my handle bar moustache.
After writing the above I got into the Handlebar Moustache Mood (HMM) so I did a little thing on Google and came up with the above picture. It was (obviously) taken from the Handlebar Moustache Club in the UK. It is entitled "Stag Night" although it appears (to my untrained eyes) that it is just a Tranny dancing with a dude with a GIGANTIC handlebar moustache. Or maybe the British call enormous strippers Stags. At any rate what do you suppose our friend is grabbing for? Maybe it was Testicular Cancer Awareness month and he was demonstrating the self check? Or maybe they were playing pin the belly button on the tranny dancer (not to be confused with Tiny Dancer). Perhaps I'll submit this to my peeps at humor blogs and ask them to decide. It's important that we find out the TRUTH. It's out there somewhere...
www.rqmitchell.blogspot.com
PS My husband read this at work (in between important projects, I'm sure) and called me up, concerned that I had left the impression that I do indeed need to wax my lip. So this is my disclaimer: I do not need to wax my lip. I have repeatedly confirmed this truth with my girlfriends and relatives (to their delight, I'm sure). Besides, if I really needed to wax my lip my mother would have tackled me long ago and done it herself. She's not the kind of woman who would allow her daughter to walk around all hairy like that.
Put another way, this is not what I look like:
In fact I don't even know her. But if she were here, in the South, people would say, "bless her heart" whenever her name came up. It's not exactly a compliment.
Friday, January 18, 2008
SHOUT it out!
Well, today has been, thus far, quite enlightening. I swear, I only took my eyes off of the boy for 2 minutes. Suddenly I realized that it was deafeningly quiet in the house. Which, of course, means that the little shit was Up To Something. I walk into the laundry room to find him with my beloved bottle of Shout. The bottle had been full and was now pretty much empty. He had sprayed it all over the fridge in there. It was also oozing out of his mouth and onto his shirt (which I'm guessing is going to be SPARKLING clean the next time I wash it).
So I assumed the 'Oh Shit!' position (which is, in case you don't have a 2 year old boy, mouth and eyes perfectly open, hand grasping for phone to call 9-1-1). 911 put me through to Poison Control who asked me to read the label to him. I did and he put me on hold to figure out what I needed to do with my idiot, detergent eating son (and in the mean time I demonstrated my multi-tasking skills by changing a poopie diaper that smelled like Old Death).
I'm already thinking a few steps ahead of this guy...we'll probably be sent somewhere to have him looked at. I hope they don't need to pump his stomach. I'll need to get someone else to get the girls from school. I guess this means that I now need to interrupt my husband at work.... The guy gets back on the line and says, "Well! I looked it up and it turns out that Shout is really pretty much just water. It has a TINY bit of detergent that, at the worst, might irritate his skin a bit if you don't rinse it off. So, he's gonna be fine. Don't worry about it! Have a good day and feel free to call us again if anyone else eats something stupid."
Naturally I'm relieved. I put Thing 3 down for his nap and sat down to let you know about my day. But now that I'm thinking about it I'm starting to get pissed off because apparently I have - FOR YEARS - been diligently pre-treating our many laundry stains with WATER.
I'm suddenly very thirsty. For vodka. Maybe I'll throw a little Shout floater on top to see what happens (my prediction: nothing).
www.rqmitchell.blogspot.com
Humor-Blogs Link
So I assumed the 'Oh Shit!' position (which is, in case you don't have a 2 year old boy, mouth and eyes perfectly open, hand grasping for phone to call 9-1-1). 911 put me through to Poison Control who asked me to read the label to him. I did and he put me on hold to figure out what I needed to do with my idiot, detergent eating son (and in the mean time I demonstrated my multi-tasking skills by changing a poopie diaper that smelled like Old Death).
I'm already thinking a few steps ahead of this guy...we'll probably be sent somewhere to have him looked at. I hope they don't need to pump his stomach. I'll need to get someone else to get the girls from school. I guess this means that I now need to interrupt my husband at work.... The guy gets back on the line and says, "Well! I looked it up and it turns out that Shout is really pretty much just water. It has a TINY bit of detergent that, at the worst, might irritate his skin a bit if you don't rinse it off. So, he's gonna be fine. Don't worry about it! Have a good day and feel free to call us again if anyone else eats something stupid."
Naturally I'm relieved. I put Thing 3 down for his nap and sat down to let you know about my day. But now that I'm thinking about it I'm starting to get pissed off because apparently I have - FOR YEARS - been diligently pre-treating our many laundry stains with WATER.
I'm suddenly very thirsty. For vodka. Maybe I'll throw a little Shout floater on top to see what happens (my prediction: nothing).
www.rqmitchell.blogspot.com
Humor-Blogs Link
Obi Wan Kenobi; You're My Only Hope.
This morning I wanted to head over to the humor blogs website to see how I'm ranked (usually somewhere between 35 and 65). When I dropped in I saw a stack of unintelligible data.
Then I suddenly felt implanted into a Nancy Drew novel as there was a warning followed by an intriguing invitation, "An unhandled exception occurred during the execution of the current web request. Please review the stack trace for more information about the error and where it originated in the code. "
Oh. That's optimistic. Maybe this is something that I can review and make sense of. So I allow my eyes to drift down in search of anything that could be a "stack trace" or "code". Hmmm... Ah-ha! Found it. Let's read it, shall we??? I feel very confident that this will be illuminating.
Stack Trace:
WHAT THE.... It could be a subliminal message because now all I want to say is Na Nu, Na Nu. Needless to say I don't speaky the language. So unless you have a decoder ring in your pocket I say let's hang this shit up for the day. I can always check back tomorrow to see if I'm going to receive the coveted 53rd place ribbon.
Just for shits and giggles, here is the remainder of my "Unhandled Exception". And for the record - because we both know you were wondering - I ALWAYS handle MY exceptions. So obviously this computer doesn't know what the hell it's talking about. Stupid computer.
www.rqmitchell.blogspot.com
Server Error in '/' Application.
Exception Details: System.Data.Odbc.OdbcException: ERROR [42S02] [MySQL][ODBC 3.51 Driver][mysqld-4.0.13-max-nt]Can't open file: 'web_sites.MYI'. (errno: 145)
Source Error:
Stack Trace:
Version Information: Microsoft .NET Framework Version:2.0.50727.1433; ASP.NET Version:2.0.50727.1433
Then I suddenly felt implanted into a Nancy Drew novel as there was a warning followed by an intriguing invitation, "An unhandled exception occurred during the execution of the current web request. Please review the stack trace for more information about the error and where it originated in the code. "
Oh. That's optimistic. Maybe this is something that I can review and make sense of. So I allow my eyes to drift down in search of anything that could be a "stack trace" or "code". Hmmm... Ah-ha! Found it. Let's read it, shall we??? I feel very confident that this will be illuminating.
Stack Trace:
[OdbcException (0x80131937): ERROR [42S02] [MySQL][ODBC 3.51 Driver][mysqld-4.0.13-max-nt]Can't open file: 'web_sites.MYI'. (errno: 145)] |
WHAT THE.... It could be a subliminal message because now all I want to say is Na Nu, Na Nu. Needless to say I don't speaky the language. So unless you have a decoder ring in your pocket I say let's hang this shit up for the day. I can always check back tomorrow to see if I'm going to receive the coveted 53rd place ribbon.
Just for shits and giggles, here is the remainder of my "Unhandled Exception". And for the record - because we both know you were wondering - I ALWAYS handle MY exceptions. So obviously this computer doesn't know what the hell it's talking about. Stupid computer.
www.rqmitchell.blogspot.com
Server Error in '/' Application.
ERROR [42S02] [MySQL][ODBC 3.51 Driver][mysqld-4.0.13-max-nt]Can't open file: 'web_sites.MYI'. (errno: 145)
Description: An unhandled exception occurred during the execution of the current web request. Please review the stack trace for more information about the error and where it originated in the code.Exception Details: System.Data.Odbc.OdbcException: ERROR [42S02] [MySQL][ODBC 3.51 Driver][mysqld-4.0.13-max-nt]Can't open file: 'web_sites.MYI'. (errno: 145)
Source Error:
An unhandled exception was generated during the execution of the current web request. Information regarding the origin and location of the exception can be identified using the exception stack trace below. |
Stack Trace:
[OdbcException (0x80131937): ERROR [42S02] [MySQL][ODBC 3.51 Driver][mysqld-4.0.13-max-nt]Can't open file: 'web_sites.MYI'. (errno: 145)] |
Version Information: Microsoft .NET Framework Version:2.0.50727.1433; ASP.NET Version:2.0.50727.1433
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Something... funny.... It's gotta be around here somewhere...
I'd like to find something funny to write about. A real knee-slapper, where you laugh so hard that no noise comes out of your mouth but you might accidentally fart kind of laughter. But now I'm THINKING about it. Thinking too hard, methinks. So I tell myself to calm down and just observe life. Hmmm...life.
I go in search of Thing 3. My son sees me seeing him. Our gaze is locked, neither of us smiling. He slowly inserts his index finger into his nose and holds it there for a moment. He then, with startling speed, withdraws it and shoots it into his mouth without ever losing eye contact. That's fucking terrific. I somehow thought that since the first two kids weren't booger eaters I'd gotten away without having to deal with THIS. And, even worse, it's not funny. Not yet. It'll possibly be funny when he is a world class brain surgeon. But then again, maybe the fact that my kid can eat a booger faster than I can say, "NOOOOOO!! It'll stunt your growth!" will never be funny.
OK. So he's not funny right now. I walk into the kitchen in search of the puppy. She's always doing something worthy of a chuckle. I walk in and she's sitting (with lovely posture, I might add) with her back to me. Suddenly she drags herself 5 or 6 feet in her still-sitting position. She looks over her shoulder at me with a look of total desperation on her face. What the...?! Ah. She's scraping her ass onto the kitchen floor. Definitely not funny. And now I have to take the puppy to the vet as her worms are apparently back PLUS I have to mop the fucking floor.
Perhaps I will work on humor tomorrow. I'll tell you what. If you want something funny go check this out: 15 minute lunch. It's a blog written by someone I don't know but I think he's hilarious. I bow to the master...
www.rqmitchell.blogspot.com
I go in search of Thing 3. My son sees me seeing him. Our gaze is locked, neither of us smiling. He slowly inserts his index finger into his nose and holds it there for a moment. He then, with startling speed, withdraws it and shoots it into his mouth without ever losing eye contact. That's fucking terrific. I somehow thought that since the first two kids weren't booger eaters I'd gotten away without having to deal with THIS. And, even worse, it's not funny. Not yet. It'll possibly be funny when he is a world class brain surgeon. But then again, maybe the fact that my kid can eat a booger faster than I can say, "NOOOOOO!! It'll stunt your growth!" will never be funny.
OK. So he's not funny right now. I walk into the kitchen in search of the puppy. She's always doing something worthy of a chuckle. I walk in and she's sitting (with lovely posture, I might add) with her back to me. Suddenly she drags herself 5 or 6 feet in her still-sitting position. She looks over her shoulder at me with a look of total desperation on her face. What the...?! Ah. She's scraping her ass onto the kitchen floor. Definitely not funny. And now I have to take the puppy to the vet as her worms are apparently back PLUS I have to mop the fucking floor.
Perhaps I will work on humor tomorrow. I'll tell you what. If you want something funny go check this out: 15 minute lunch. It's a blog written by someone I don't know but I think he's hilarious. I bow to the master...
www.rqmitchell.blogspot.com
Friday, January 11, 2008
Country Apple ('Tis of Thee)
This morning I was digging around under my bathroom sink. I was actually looking for any kind of hair product that might help tame the beast (my hair). And then I found something so unexpected...so strange and unique...that I actually forgot what I was doing in the first place. And, without further ado, here it is:
In case you can't read it, this is body lotion that smells like Country Apple. (As opposed to Inner-City Apple, I guess.) Where did this come from? First of all, I'm pretty sure I didn't buy this. And I KNOW that I haven't used it. Yet it's almost all gone. Hmmm...peculiar. I wonder if my husband has anything he'd like to tell me.
The other thing I was wondering about is how this product was made. There must have been a Research and Development meeting in the hallowed halls of Bath and Body Works where R & D folks were pitching the scent they thought women wanted to smell like.
"No, no, no! Our focus group showed conclusively that women want to smell like flowers!" said the craggy old-timer who always follows by the book.
The new guy worked up enough courage to throw his idea in the ring, "Umm...what about Apple?" he said, while wiping beads of sweat from his brow. There was a deafening silence in the room. Eureka! It's brilliant!!! Women DO want to smell like apple! I mean, think about it! How many times have you taken a bite of an apple, pausing to smell its appley goodness. It never occurred to anyone that you could wear its' scent! Discovering this is like being the first guy to say, "Hey...what if we made the wheel round? It might roll more easily."
And the Apple Scent Industry was born. Now if we could only get them to discover a product that could tame crazy, frizzy, puffy hair in 5 minutes or less.
This blog may (or may not) show up at the Humor-Blogs site...check it out!
www.rqmitchell.blogspot.com
The other thing I was wondering about is how this product was made. There must have been a Research and Development meeting in the hallowed halls of Bath and Body Works where R & D folks were pitching the scent they thought women wanted to smell like.
"No, no, no! Our focus group showed conclusively that women want to smell like flowers!" said the craggy old-timer who always follows by the book.
The new guy worked up enough courage to throw his idea in the ring, "Umm...what about Apple?" he said, while wiping beads of sweat from his brow. There was a deafening silence in the room. Eureka! It's brilliant!!! Women DO want to smell like apple! I mean, think about it! How many times have you taken a bite of an apple, pausing to smell its appley goodness. It never occurred to anyone that you could wear its' scent! Discovering this is like being the first guy to say, "Hey...what if we made the wheel round? It might roll more easily."
And the Apple Scent Industry was born. Now if we could only get them to discover a product that could tame crazy, frizzy, puffy hair in 5 minutes or less.
This blog may (or may not) show up at the Humor-Blogs site...check it out!
www.rqmitchell.blogspot.com
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
See You Again...maybe...
Oh my god. I need help. Make that HELP. I have the radio on and a song came on that I was kind of jamming to. It's called See You Again. Nice hook, good beat, I'm shakin' my ass...and then I hear the smarmy DJ voice, "...and that was Miley Cyrus with her hit, See You Again...." And, in case you aren't blessed with pre-teen aged daughters, Miley is also known as Hannah Goddammit Montana.
Oh HELL no! Say it ain't so!!! Somebody PLEASE tell me that I wasn't just dancing around in my underwear to a song sung by the teen aged daughter of Billy Ray Cyrus. You know who that guy is, right? He used to sing Achy Breaky Heart back in the 80's. He was the Unchallenged Mullet King "back in the day". Business in the front, party in the back! Can I get a "yee haw"???
Hello, handsome...
Monsieur Mullet, circa 1985
And then here he is as he looks now...
I think I just threw up in my mouth a little. Anyone know of a 12 step program for serial hair straighteners?? I'm no expert but I'd wager he has AT LEAST four products in his hair PLUS used a straightening iron to achieve this "look". Doesn't this guy have a wife to tell him when he looks like a total jackass??!
Ugh. I give up. Next thing you know I'll be rocking out to Jamie Lynn Spears when I think nobody is looking. Fuck.
www.rqmitchell.blogspot.com
This blog is posted on the Humor-Blogs site.
Oh HELL no! Say it ain't so!!! Somebody PLEASE tell me that I wasn't just dancing around in my underwear to a song sung by the teen aged daughter of Billy Ray Cyrus. You know who that guy is, right? He used to sing Achy Breaky Heart back in the 80's. He was the Unchallenged Mullet King "back in the day". Business in the front, party in the back! Can I get a "yee haw"???
Hello, handsome...
Monsieur Mullet, circa 1985
And then here he is as he looks now...
I think I just threw up in my mouth a little. Anyone know of a 12 step program for serial hair straighteners?? I'm no expert but I'd wager he has AT LEAST four products in his hair PLUS used a straightening iron to achieve this "look". Doesn't this guy have a wife to tell him when he looks like a total jackass??!
Ugh. I give up. Next thing you know I'll be rocking out to Jamie Lynn Spears when I think nobody is looking. Fuck.
www.rqmitchell.blogspot.com
This blog is posted on the Humor-Blogs site.
Think Before You Ink
There are many people out there who have tattoos. I think that many of them were acquired during the late teens or early twenties. Back when you couldn't see yourself as an old person. Whenever I see a frat boy with a lightning bolt zagging around the circumference of his biceps I slowly shake my head, thinking of his arms frail and sagging as an old guy. Women may come and go, but he'll always have his tattoo...
So why I thought it would be a good idea to get one on my ass is - I suppose - a mystery forever. I wish that I could blame my ass tat on the poor judgment of a teenager. But, alas, I was thirty years old. I couldn't imagine that I would have three children (gah! it's still hard to believe!). And I certainly couldn't foresee that I would have three c-sections with three different anesthesiologists commenting that if only the tattoo were a few inches higher it could have been a bulls eye for my spinal tap.
The tattoo is actually higher up than I had intended which means that in the right pair of pants it peeks out like a sun rising on the horizon. The reason for its' misplacement is pretty dumb, too. When I went out that night I knew that there was a good possibility that I'd come home with this thing. So I thought it through and decided that I shouldn't wear a pair of granny panties to get a tattoo on my ass. After all, I'm a Classy Chick! Obviously. So I did what any other self-respecting woman would do - I wore my Asking For Trouble black lacy thong. Nothing says I'm Interested in Making a Bad Decision Tonight like a piece of lacy Lycra up the ass.
At any rate, the thong rises up in the back higher than some of my other panties and I hadn't really thought of that. I told the "artist" that whatever he put back there had to be below my underwear line. He complied with my request but neither of us were thinking about my Other Underwear. In fact, he was thinking about something else altogether. Seeing as how I was in the mood for some bad choices he tried talking me into piercing my tutu. He had a pierced tongue and seemed to think this is exactly what I needed to spice things up. I mean, seriously. Almost every time I put on a sweater my earrings catch on the material. And it hurts. So I should get one in my pants, too? I don't think so. Besides, one bad idea is really about all I need on a Saturday night.
So here I am, 8 years later and a tattoo on my ass. And I'm ready to have this fucker lasered off. I looked into it and it will cost me about $2,000. That's twenty times more than what it cost to get this stupid thing! I just can't rationalize using family money to get Mommy's Sun off of her ass. I'm thinking about starting up a collection. Maybe I could get some of those big clear jugs and leave them at the area gas stations with a sign on them:
Or maybe I deserve to go through life forgetting that I have a tattoo back there, until I bend down to pick something up and hear someone behind me say, "ahem." And in case you don't know about these things, that ahem means, "Holy shit! I had no IDEA that you had a tattoo on your ass! That's hilarious!!!" Of course the truly bold will simply tell me, "Excuse me, Ma'am?? Your poor judgment is showing..."
By the way, Saturday Night Live did a hilarious skit about lower back tattoos. If you've never seen it, click here.
And when you're done over there why don't you go see if any of the other kids at humor-blogs.com exercise their poor judgment options as much as I do.
So why I thought it would be a good idea to get one on my ass is - I suppose - a mystery forever. I wish that I could blame my ass tat on the poor judgment of a teenager. But, alas, I was thirty years old. I couldn't imagine that I would have three children (gah! it's still hard to believe!). And I certainly couldn't foresee that I would have three c-sections with three different anesthesiologists commenting that if only the tattoo were a few inches higher it could have been a bulls eye for my spinal tap.
The tattoo is actually higher up than I had intended which means that in the right pair of pants it peeks out like a sun rising on the horizon. The reason for its' misplacement is pretty dumb, too. When I went out that night I knew that there was a good possibility that I'd come home with this thing. So I thought it through and decided that I shouldn't wear a pair of granny panties to get a tattoo on my ass. After all, I'm a Classy Chick! Obviously. So I did what any other self-respecting woman would do - I wore my Asking For Trouble black lacy thong. Nothing says I'm Interested in Making a Bad Decision Tonight like a piece of lacy Lycra up the ass.
At any rate, the thong rises up in the back higher than some of my other panties and I hadn't really thought of that. I told the "artist" that whatever he put back there had to be below my underwear line. He complied with my request but neither of us were thinking about my Other Underwear. In fact, he was thinking about something else altogether. Seeing as how I was in the mood for some bad choices he tried talking me into piercing my tutu. He had a pierced tongue and seemed to think this is exactly what I needed to spice things up. I mean, seriously. Almost every time I put on a sweater my earrings catch on the material. And it hurts. So I should get one in my pants, too? I don't think so. Besides, one bad idea is really about all I need on a Saturday night.
So here I am, 8 years later and a tattoo on my ass. And I'm ready to have this fucker lasered off. I looked into it and it will cost me about $2,000. That's twenty times more than what it cost to get this stupid thing! I just can't rationalize using family money to get Mommy's Sun off of her ass. I'm thinking about starting up a collection. Maybe I could get some of those big clear jugs and leave them at the area gas stations with a sign on them:
Please help this woman! If she doesn't get her tattoo nuked off of her soon she's going to look RIDICULOUS at the Garden Club Meetings she's destined to one day attend! Any amount will help...God bless!
Or maybe I deserve to go through life forgetting that I have a tattoo back there, until I bend down to pick something up and hear someone behind me say, "ahem." And in case you don't know about these things, that ahem means, "Holy shit! I had no IDEA that you had a tattoo on your ass! That's hilarious!!!" Of course the truly bold will simply tell me, "Excuse me, Ma'am?? Your poor judgment is showing..."
By the way, Saturday Night Live did a hilarious skit about lower back tattoos. If you've never seen it, click here.
And when you're done over there why don't you go see if any of the other kids at humor-blogs.com exercise their poor judgment options as much as I do.
Monday, January 07, 2008
What Smells So Bad?
My two daughters, Things 1 and 2, recently alerted me that their brother was in need of diapering attention. They did this in their typically elegant way...they made choking noises and screamed loudly, "MOMMMM!!! Thing 3 made a STINKY!!! Ewww....GROSS." I must say that I find this reaction fascinating from people who NEVER flush the toilet. In fact every morning I go on my Potty Rotation to flush all of the toilets in the house so that if, let's say, the exterminator makes a drop in visit he doesn't write on his blog about what a fucking skank I am.
Anyway, back to my diapering duty...as I was scraping you-know-what off of his you-know-what I thought to myself, "Self...this sure does smell bad. And it's so strong...it's like it's not completely contained within his...oh dear god...." This is when I noticed that he had Something all over his hands and forearms. And I'll bet his nose was itchy. I could tell because he left evidence there that implied he had been scratching it. Super Duper. As I was frantically going through a dozen or so wipes to get him clean my 8 year old (Thing1) strolled up to us and said, "WhatSmellsSoBad? WhatAreYouDoing? WhyDoesHe HaveStuffUp HisArmLikeThat?" I, of course, was frustrated because I was trying to hurry this process along before it got any worse (actually, is that possible??) so I tried to shut her down with, "Thing1! What does it look like?!"
Apparently they haven't yet covered rhetorical questions yet in the second grade because she answered me, "Well, from over here it looks like he stuck both of his arms up his butt and then wiped it around." I find myself wondering if there is a finishing school on the planet that could help us.
And so much for my self-imposed moratorium on fecal themed blogs.
www.rqmitchell.blogspot.com
Anyway, back to my diapering duty...as I was scraping you-know-what off of his you-know-what I thought to myself, "Self...this sure does smell bad. And it's so strong...it's like it's not completely contained within his...oh dear god...." This is when I noticed that he had Something all over his hands and forearms. And I'll bet his nose was itchy. I could tell because he left evidence there that implied he had been scratching it. Super Duper. As I was frantically going through a dozen or so wipes to get him clean my 8 year old (Thing1) strolled up to us and said, "WhatSmellsSoBad? WhatAreYouDoing? WhyDoesHe HaveStuffUp HisArmLikeThat?" I, of course, was frustrated because I was trying to hurry this process along before it got any worse (actually, is that possible??) so I tried to shut her down with, "Thing1! What does it look like?!"
Apparently they haven't yet covered rhetorical questions yet in the second grade because she answered me, "Well, from over here it looks like he stuck both of his arms up his butt and then wiped it around." I find myself wondering if there is a finishing school on the planet that could help us.
And so much for my self-imposed moratorium on fecal themed blogs.
www.rqmitchell.blogspot.com
Saturday, January 05, 2008
Nobody Ever Expects a Bat Attack!
I'm truly not one to brag on myself. But I have to say, I'm feeling pretty good. I had a really nasty tummy bug the other day and lost a few pounds. And yesterday I had my hair done (got some sassy highlights, too!) which always makes me happy. So today I woke up and was inspired to put on makeup AND a bra - and it's not even my anniversary!
My husband and I had fun with the kids today and ended things up with a wienie roast in the backyard. I loved it and was feeling great. Until Thing One - my first born - said, "Ugh, Mommy. You have a Bat. In the Cave. Gross. It's really big."
In case you are unfamiliar with our vernacular, a "bat in the cave" means that you have a booger that is technically in your nose but is visible to anyone within 500 feet.
I've never been known for my huge ego. And it has been suggested to me that I could possibly suffer from Low Self Esteem. But I never thought I'd see the day when an 8 year old suggesting that I have a mammal in my nose (when in fact I do NOT have a mammal in my nose) could make me feel SO low SO fast.
The worst part came when I looked into the mirror and confirmed, for the record, that I did indeed have a ginormous bat in the cave. So I did the only thing I could. I blew my nose and reapplied my lip gloss. And then I went in search of a third glass of wine. :)
www.rqmitchell.blogspot.com
My husband and I had fun with the kids today and ended things up with a wienie roast in the backyard. I loved it and was feeling great. Until Thing One - my first born - said, "Ugh, Mommy. You have a Bat. In the Cave. Gross. It's really big."
In case you are unfamiliar with our vernacular, a "bat in the cave" means that you have a booger that is technically in your nose but is visible to anyone within 500 feet.
I've never been known for my huge ego. And it has been suggested to me that I could possibly suffer from Low Self Esteem. But I never thought I'd see the day when an 8 year old suggesting that I have a mammal in my nose (when in fact I do NOT have a mammal in my nose) could make me feel SO low SO fast.
The worst part came when I looked into the mirror and confirmed, for the record, that I did indeed have a ginormous bat in the cave. So I did the only thing I could. I blew my nose and reapplied my lip gloss. And then I went in search of a third glass of wine. :)
www.rqmitchell.blogspot.com
Friday, January 04, 2008
The Dunkin Donuts Dilemna
I am always amazed when I leave my home in the early hours of the morning and there are people out and about. I can barely see the runners (as the sun isn't yet passed the horizon) but they are hoofing it up the hill. Don't these people know that they should be home - in bed - snuggled up???!
So you can imagine my surprise when, at 6AM, I saw the impressive line at my local Dunkin Donuts. But we were heading out of town on a road trip with 3 little kids (all under 8) and a 2 month old puppy. I know what you are thinking...WHY??! We very anxiously wanted to travel for a little bit of more pain - AKA my 20th High School reunion. Maybe more on that later...
As if this all weren't bad enough, my husband and I had been to a party the night before and I had just the slightest headache. So I needed coffee and like all reasonable people I went to the Dunkin Donuts because their coffee is THE BEST coffee anywhere! Starbucks can kiss my lilly white! But I digress...
So I get in the line and wait. There are two people in front of me and they are both Older. Not that there is anything wrong with that, I'm just saying. There are 2 young women behind the counter working hard to serve all of the crazy people who are up and looking for a really unhealthy breakfast. Suddenly, a third employee shows up behind the counter and asks if she can help me. The Older Lady at the counter says, "I am PRETTY SURE that I was next!"
The third employee says, "Oh. Ok. What can I get you?"
Older Lady, "This is ridiculous! I have been waiting here forever!!"
Employee, "Ummm...sorry about that. I didn't know you were next. What can I get you?"
The Older Lady is very clearly pissed off and quickly is approaching irate. I have no idea why, as I've just arrived. But she gets so pissed that she says, "You know what?! Never mind!" And she storms towards the door stating how ridiculous this has all been.
The third employee looks into the mounting crowd with a wry smile and slowly shaking her head, "I have no idea where that came from."
The Older Man chimes in, "You would know EXACTLY where that had come from if you had been standing here with us!" He, in the meantime, has been arguing the entire time with the other two employees because - get this - he doesn't think he's been charged enough for his coffee and donuts. And he REALLY wants to pay the full price.
This is when the Crazy Shit started happening. The Third Employee said, "You know what? My mom is in the hospital and I DON'T NEED THIS. I DON'T NEED THIS AT ALL! You know what? FUCK YOU! FUCK ALL YA'LL!" (Did I mention that we are in the DEEP South? We are. Big time.)
It suddenly became very quiet. The rest of us began discreetly staring at each other and/or the floor. I could read the expression on the guy behind me. He was thinking, "Fuck her? or Fuck me? Is she telling ME to fuck off? What the hell...."
So then the Third Employee takes her left hand and in a violent manner throws everything off of the counter in one sweeping motion. This action seemed to have further emboldened her as she really started screaming for us all to fuck off. Ya'll. (Clearly, she was well educated. And classy. Nothing says 'I'm Classy' like losing your shit in the local Dunkin Donuts.)
By now she was standing in front of the long line on our side of the counter. We are the only thing standing between her and the only exit in the building. I've never seen human beings move so quickly. We parted like the Red Sea for this crazy broad.
And then there were two. The two remaining employee's looked quite stunned and there was a moment of silence as we all recovered from being repeatedly invited to Fuck Off. I mean, it wasn't like it was my first time that this was suggested to me. But usually people who tell me to fuck off know me A WHOLE LOT better than she did.
After what seemed like an eternity, the Older Man broke the silence, "Ma'am. There is no way that all of these donuts and coffee cost only $6. There is just no way. I'm not going to ask you again. Please re-add it, though, because this MUST have cost more like $7 or $8." Employee's 1 and 2, neither of whom had a complete command of the English language, starred at each other and then at him repeating, "Six dolla please." He shook his head and started mumbling to himself. I leaned over and said, "Dude! Just take it and go!"
He started mumbling, "this just ain't right. it just ain't." And I thought to myself, 'Old Man! Employee 3's meltdown is going to seem like a visit with Mother Theresa if I don't get my fucking coffee PRONTO! Take the goddamned donuts and get the fuck OUT OF HERE!' But I didn't want to be rude. So I just bore a hole in the back of his head with my dagger eyes until he left. You have to draw the line somewhere, you know?
Truthfully submitted by www.rqmitchell.blogspot.com. Oh, and I also sent a link to those Humor Blogs people.
Internal Medicine
A couple of months ago I went to my twentieth high school reunion. I hadn't seen most of these people since the day I accepted my diploma. One exception was a guy named...well, let's call him "Joe" in case he doesn't want to be discussed on a public blog. Anyway, I bumped into "Joe" several years ago on Bourbon Street in New Orleans around 11:45PM on New Years Eve. I don't know about him but we had been drinking since that morning so I didn't remember much about the encounter.
So when I saw him at the reunion I brought up the New Orleans thing and we laughed about it. We started making small talk and he said that he was, in fact, a medical doctor. I thought that was pretty cool. After all, this is someone with whom I'd sit at parties and bang heads with while listening to heavy metal bands. And look how nicely he turned out! I asked him what kind of medicine he practiced and he said, "uh, internal." Well, I'm no doctor (nor did I sleep in a Holiday Inn Express last night) but that seemed...a bit vague. A bit like bullshit. So I asked him to pinpoint it and it turns out that he's a proctologist. For those of you who've never had medical issues requiring this particular expertise, this is someone who checks out your lower intestines. He will, for a fee, drug you and then put a 6 foot long tube with a camera on the end of it into your arse.
I've started thinking about this and I have to say, I'm curious. I wonder at what point he had thought, "Screw cardiology! I think I'd like to give colonoscopies for a living."
What's that you say? You've never had a colonoscopy? Really??? Well let me enlighten you: The first thing that happens is a doctor examines you Down There. And then he delivers The News - "I'd like to get a better look at this." Leaving you to think, "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN BY THAT?!" He pats you reassuringly on the shoulder, gives you a prescription to fill and sets an appointment.
So you go to the drugstore to get your prescription. The store clerks give each other Knowing Looks as they try to find a shopping bag big enough to fit the gallon jug into. You can feel beads of sweat appearing on your brow. But hey, you're tough, right? You can do this.
So you take your gallon jug home and read the instructions. In the instructions it informs you that this stuff tastes significantly better if it is cold and advises you to put it in the fridge for a couple hours. That's nice, isn't it? Really thoughtful. So you chill it, take a bath and try not to think about tomorrow morning.
It's time to drink the gallon of fluid. You get it out of the fridge and read the label again. "Lemonade Favored". I always did enjoy a nice glass of lemonade...
You take a tentative sip and immediately suspect that those bitches at the drugstore have poisoned you. This shit tastes like battery acid. And you have to drink a shot of it every 10 minutes for HOURS. It makes you wonder what it would have tasted like had it not been chilled. About 45 minutes into this process you hear something boiling. You look around, alarmed by the sounds intensity. Suddenly your alarm grows as you realize that the sound you hear is emanating from your STOMACH. About this time you double over in pain from the stomach cramps. You sprint to the toilet (hopefully) just in time to enjoy the explosive diarrhea.
There will be no sex tonight, ladies and gentlemen. I don't care WHO you are.
The next morning you wake up and look around for diaper cream to put on your ass as it is chafed from expelling water all night. You aren't allowed to eat anything but this really isn't a problem...you are so grossed out from your experiences you think that you may never eat again.
By now you just want to get this thing over with. So you submit to the ridiculous gown they make you wear. You lie on the hospital bed, all prim and proper and wait DESPERATELY for the narcotics to kick in. The door to your room opens and a few professionals walk in. They are at work and happy, discussing the reality TV show they enjoyed the night before as you were shooting foam out of your butt. They smile at you, ask how "it" is going. Some one puts his hand on your shoulder and invites you to roll on your side and grab your knees.
They tell you this won't hurt and start the procedure. The only problem is nobody told you that this procedure blows gas up "there". They do this to inflate the intestines so they can look around. And nobody told you that this feels EXACTLY like you are 2 seconds away from MAJOR - I'm gonna knock the back of the toilet off - styled diarrhea.
Now don't forget, there is a crowd behind you. And they are all looking in the general direction of your ass. So you start out with a polite warning, "Ummm...you guys...yeah....you might want to...umm...yeah, I think I need to go to the restroom...uh-huh...I'll just be a sec...ummmm....please, you guys....I'll be quick...uhmm, you guys????....Doctor! No, it doesn't hurt, but I...really...ummm....I would like to go to the bathroom...nope...this can't wait... could I just, uh...mmm... Uh Oh. Look out! She's gonna blow! Clear out of there! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD....SAVE YOURSELVES!! SHE'S GONNA BLOW!!!!"
And right here, in the middle of your personal lifetime low point, you do the unthinkable. You fall asleep. When you wake up you are all tucked in the hospital bed like nothing ever happened. There is no medical personnel carnage on the floor. You haven't sprayed shit all over the wall. Hmmmm. Was it all a dream? The doctor comes in and smiles at you. I'm thinking that keeping a straight face at this point MUST be the most difficult part of his job. He tells you that it was a false alarm and that there is nothing wrong with your intestinal track. You may get dressed and go home. Woohoo! You are a little woozy from the drugs so you don't even realize that you are walking funny, kind of like a drunk cowboy. But at least you don't have that tube up your ass anymore.
Back to my friend Joe, I wonder at what point he decided that this is how he wanted to spend the rest of his life. Perhaps he somehow discovered that he was really good at keeping a straight face after someone makes a total idiot out of herself. I guess I'll have to wait for my 25th reunion to find out.
www.rqmitchell.blogspot.com
PS As you might have guessed by this blog, a colonoscopy is not one of my favorite pastimes. BUT guess what, people. It's a hell of a lot better then colon cancer. So if you need one GET one. There. I've met my unsolicited advice quota for the day.
Oh. And I sent a link to this uber sexy story to the good folks at humor blogs to see what they'd do with it. I'll keep you posted.
So when I saw him at the reunion I brought up the New Orleans thing and we laughed about it. We started making small talk and he said that he was, in fact, a medical doctor. I thought that was pretty cool. After all, this is someone with whom I'd sit at parties and bang heads with while listening to heavy metal bands. And look how nicely he turned out! I asked him what kind of medicine he practiced and he said, "uh, internal." Well, I'm no doctor (nor did I sleep in a Holiday Inn Express last night) but that seemed...a bit vague. A bit like bullshit. So I asked him to pinpoint it and it turns out that he's a proctologist. For those of you who've never had medical issues requiring this particular expertise, this is someone who checks out your lower intestines. He will, for a fee, drug you and then put a 6 foot long tube with a camera on the end of it into your arse.
I've started thinking about this and I have to say, I'm curious. I wonder at what point he had thought, "Screw cardiology! I think I'd like to give colonoscopies for a living."
What's that you say? You've never had a colonoscopy? Really??? Well let me enlighten you: The first thing that happens is a doctor examines you Down There. And then he delivers The News - "I'd like to get a better look at this." Leaving you to think, "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN BY THAT?!" He pats you reassuringly on the shoulder, gives you a prescription to fill and sets an appointment.
So you go to the drugstore to get your prescription. The store clerks give each other Knowing Looks as they try to find a shopping bag big enough to fit the gallon jug into. You can feel beads of sweat appearing on your brow. But hey, you're tough, right? You can do this.
So you take your gallon jug home and read the instructions. In the instructions it informs you that this stuff tastes significantly better if it is cold and advises you to put it in the fridge for a couple hours. That's nice, isn't it? Really thoughtful. So you chill it, take a bath and try not to think about tomorrow morning.
It's time to drink the gallon of fluid. You get it out of the fridge and read the label again. "Lemonade Favored". I always did enjoy a nice glass of lemonade...
You take a tentative sip and immediately suspect that those bitches at the drugstore have poisoned you. This shit tastes like battery acid. And you have to drink a shot of it every 10 minutes for HOURS. It makes you wonder what it would have tasted like had it not been chilled. About 45 minutes into this process you hear something boiling. You look around, alarmed by the sounds intensity. Suddenly your alarm grows as you realize that the sound you hear is emanating from your STOMACH. About this time you double over in pain from the stomach cramps. You sprint to the toilet (hopefully) just in time to enjoy the explosive diarrhea.
There will be no sex tonight, ladies and gentlemen. I don't care WHO you are.
The next morning you wake up and look around for diaper cream to put on your ass as it is chafed from expelling water all night. You aren't allowed to eat anything but this really isn't a problem...you are so grossed out from your experiences you think that you may never eat again.
By now you just want to get this thing over with. So you submit to the ridiculous gown they make you wear. You lie on the hospital bed, all prim and proper and wait DESPERATELY for the narcotics to kick in. The door to your room opens and a few professionals walk in. They are at work and happy, discussing the reality TV show they enjoyed the night before as you were shooting foam out of your butt. They smile at you, ask how "it" is going. Some one puts his hand on your shoulder and invites you to roll on your side and grab your knees.
They tell you this won't hurt and start the procedure. The only problem is nobody told you that this procedure blows gas up "there". They do this to inflate the intestines so they can look around. And nobody told you that this feels EXACTLY like you are 2 seconds away from MAJOR - I'm gonna knock the back of the toilet off - styled diarrhea.
Now don't forget, there is a crowd behind you. And they are all looking in the general direction of your ass. So you start out with a polite warning, "Ummm...you guys...yeah....you might want to...umm...yeah, I think I need to go to the restroom...uh-huh...I'll just be a sec...ummmm....please, you guys....I'll be quick...uhmm, you guys????....Doctor! No, it doesn't hurt, but I...really...ummm....I would like to go to the bathroom...nope...this can't wait... could I just, uh...mmm... Uh Oh. Look out! She's gonna blow! Clear out of there! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD....SAVE YOURSELVES!! SHE'S GONNA BLOW!!!!"
And right here, in the middle of your personal lifetime low point, you do the unthinkable. You fall asleep. When you wake up you are all tucked in the hospital bed like nothing ever happened. There is no medical personnel carnage on the floor. You haven't sprayed shit all over the wall. Hmmmm. Was it all a dream? The doctor comes in and smiles at you. I'm thinking that keeping a straight face at this point MUST be the most difficult part of his job. He tells you that it was a false alarm and that there is nothing wrong with your intestinal track. You may get dressed and go home. Woohoo! You are a little woozy from the drugs so you don't even realize that you are walking funny, kind of like a drunk cowboy. But at least you don't have that tube up your ass anymore.
Back to my friend Joe, I wonder at what point he decided that this is how he wanted to spend the rest of his life. Perhaps he somehow discovered that he was really good at keeping a straight face after someone makes a total idiot out of herself. I guess I'll have to wait for my 25th reunion to find out.
www.rqmitchell.blogspot.com
PS As you might have guessed by this blog, a colonoscopy is not one of my favorite pastimes. BUT guess what, people. It's a hell of a lot better then colon cancer. So if you need one GET one. There. I've met my unsolicited advice quota for the day.
Oh. And I sent a link to this uber sexy story to the good folks at humor blogs to see what they'd do with it. I'll keep you posted.
Thursday, January 03, 2008
Who wants to make me a sandwich???
I am feeling very myopic today. All I can think about is how much I want a BLT and a bowl of cream of tomato soup. Did I mention it's only 9:30 in the morning and I haven't even finished my first cup of coffee? Enough about me...down to business. The bacon would be very crispy. The bread - thick, white and lightly toasted. The tomato will need to be a very high quality tomato. And it will need to have salt and pepper applied liberally to it. The lettuce....hmmm....I can go either way...iceberg, romaine...doesn't really matter. Add a liberal schmear of mayo and you're in business, baby!
So seriously, does anyone want to make me a sandwich???
So seriously, does anyone want to make me a sandwich???
Wednesday, January 02, 2008
Surprise!
Why is it that kids don't realize it when they are getting ready to vomit? When I'm nauseous I feel like shit for at least 10 hours before yakking.
Today I was driving around with three kids in my backseat (yes, I know, I was begging for it). Suddenly I heard something violently strike the back of my seat. It was a funnel of death. My sweet six year old daughter was at its' epicenter and she literally never even took her hands out of her pockets to perform this travesty. She puked on the back of my seat, filling the floor and my babies diaper bag. She also coated herself and the seat belt. I drove home with great haste, kind of like I had a nuclear bomb on board.
When we got home I turned to look at her. Licking her lips...check. Hands still in pocket...check. Other two siblings staring at her with something between horror and respect...check. Seat belt hermetically sealed to sweater...check. A smell so bad that the back of my neck began to sweat and itch...check and check.
Time to call it a night, folks. Who the hell knows what tomorrow will bring. Let's hope that "projectile" is not in the headline.
www.rqmitchell.blogspot.com
Today I was driving around with three kids in my backseat (yes, I know, I was begging for it). Suddenly I heard something violently strike the back of my seat. It was a funnel of death. My sweet six year old daughter was at its' epicenter and she literally never even took her hands out of her pockets to perform this travesty. She puked on the back of my seat, filling the floor and my babies diaper bag. She also coated herself and the seat belt. I drove home with great haste, kind of like I had a nuclear bomb on board.
When we got home I turned to look at her. Licking her lips...check. Hands still in pocket...check. Other two siblings staring at her with something between horror and respect...check. Seat belt hermetically sealed to sweater...check. A smell so bad that the back of my neck began to sweat and itch...check and check.
Time to call it a night, folks. Who the hell knows what tomorrow will bring. Let's hope that "projectile" is not in the headline.
www.rqmitchell.blogspot.com
Rollin' Thru Kroger
Tonight, when my husband got home from work, I said, "That's IT! I'm outta here!" So I made my stand and went to the grocery store for milk and bread. The saddest thing is that I really enjoyed myself. I took my time, browsing around. Hmmm. Do I want the Natures Own 7 Grain Bread or the Whole Grain Wonder Bread?? The Organic or regular milk? It was great...not once did anyone ask me to wipe their ass or nose.
As I finished up my shopping I found myself presented with yet another option - did I want to deal with the what I'm sure is a stellar Kroger employee or would I prefer to ring and bag up my own stuff? You guessed it...I decided that if anyone was going to drool on my groceries it would be me and I rang up my own stuff. As I was waiting for a self-serve terminal I noticed the two women in front of me. The first thing I noticed is that they were taking FOREVER. I've refinanced mortgages in less time than it took them to ring up 11 items.
The second thing I noticed about them is that one of the women had HUGE gold curlers in her hair. At 9PM on a Thursday. I began to wonder...what would it take to get me in Kroger's with rollers in my hair? This means that she left her home - I'm assuming on purpose - got into a car and drove around. She pulled into a large parking lot, got a shopping cart and carefully chose a handful of items to purchase. Was she in the self service line because she thought fewer people would see her? Somehow I think not. She wasn't slinking around. She was acting normally.
Perhaps this is one of those litmus tests - will you or will you not cheat to get ahead? What about go to a grocery store with curlers in your hair? I will not. First of all, I could count on my right hand how many times I've even PUT curlers in my hair. So that alone cuts down my Curler Shopping Opportunities. Second of all, I happen to know that I look like a lunatic in this condition. So I purposefully get seen by NOBODY. If my house caught on fire while I was curling my hair I would run down the stairs pulling wildly at curlers. In fact, I think that it is far more likely that I show up at Kroger in my underwear AND a twig up my nose then with curlers in my hair. Further, it is fair to say that if you EVER see me with rollers in my hair that I am, at a minimum, under severe duress and probably in need of some kind of medication. So be sure to help a sista out, will ya??
As I finished up my shopping I found myself presented with yet another option - did I want to deal with the what I'm sure is a stellar Kroger employee or would I prefer to ring and bag up my own stuff? You guessed it...I decided that if anyone was going to drool on my groceries it would be me and I rang up my own stuff. As I was waiting for a self-serve terminal I noticed the two women in front of me. The first thing I noticed is that they were taking FOREVER. I've refinanced mortgages in less time than it took them to ring up 11 items.
The second thing I noticed about them is that one of the women had HUGE gold curlers in her hair. At 9PM on a Thursday. I began to wonder...what would it take to get me in Kroger's with rollers in my hair? This means that she left her home - I'm assuming on purpose - got into a car and drove around. She pulled into a large parking lot, got a shopping cart and carefully chose a handful of items to purchase. Was she in the self service line because she thought fewer people would see her? Somehow I think not. She wasn't slinking around. She was acting normally.
Perhaps this is one of those litmus tests - will you or will you not cheat to get ahead? What about go to a grocery store with curlers in your hair? I will not. First of all, I could count on my right hand how many times I've even PUT curlers in my hair. So that alone cuts down my Curler Shopping Opportunities. Second of all, I happen to know that I look like a lunatic in this condition. So I purposefully get seen by NOBODY. If my house caught on fire while I was curling my hair I would run down the stairs pulling wildly at curlers. In fact, I think that it is far more likely that I show up at Kroger in my underwear AND a twig up my nose then with curlers in my hair. Further, it is fair to say that if you EVER see me with rollers in my hair that I am, at a minimum, under severe duress and probably in need of some kind of medication. So be sure to help a sista out, will ya??
Tuesday, January 01, 2008
New Year Resolution
Happy New Year!
Father, forgive me. It's been like two weeks since my last entry. I took a vacation and I didn't even notice. Typical.
So I've been thinking about 2008 quite a bit lately and have, specifically, been thinking about any Changes I might want to make. You know, Resolutions. There are a few that are obvious. Quit dropping the F bomb. Lose 10 pounds. Fine!!! Make that fifteen pounds. Be sweeter to my FABULOUS husband and my darling kids.
But that's just so...expected. This year I want to really spice it up. Go for the unexpected! This year I will aspire....(drum roll please)...to... win the HGTV Dream House! YES! This is what I REALLY want. Oh please oh please oh please! I want it I want it I want it! I feel like a 6 year old on her first visit to FAO Schwartz. Gimme gimme gimme! I will be a good girl. I won't (any longer) pinch my husbands nose shut when he's sleeping and snoring loudly to see how long it takes him to stop breathing and roll over. I will start making REALLY super duper dinners with green leafy veggies all over the place! I will take my kids to the park MORE often! I will stop buying Chai Lattes at Starbucks that cost $4.19! When I take my aerobics classes I will stop faking sit-ups by pretending that I need a sip of water! I'm telling you...I will be SO good you just won't believe it!!!!!!!!
Please? Pretty please??? With a martini olive on top????!
www.rqmitchell.blogspot.com
Father, forgive me. It's been like two weeks since my last entry. I took a vacation and I didn't even notice. Typical.
So I've been thinking about 2008 quite a bit lately and have, specifically, been thinking about any Changes I might want to make. You know, Resolutions. There are a few that are obvious. Quit dropping the F bomb. Lose 10 pounds. Fine!!! Make that fifteen pounds. Be sweeter to my FABULOUS husband and my darling kids.
But that's just so...expected. This year I want to really spice it up. Go for the unexpected! This year I will aspire....(drum roll please)...to... win the HGTV Dream House! YES! This is what I REALLY want. Oh please oh please oh please! I want it I want it I want it! I feel like a 6 year old on her first visit to FAO Schwartz. Gimme gimme gimme! I will be a good girl. I won't (any longer) pinch my husbands nose shut when he's sleeping and snoring loudly to see how long it takes him to stop breathing and roll over. I will start making REALLY super duper dinners with green leafy veggies all over the place! I will take my kids to the park MORE often! I will stop buying Chai Lattes at Starbucks that cost $4.19! When I take my aerobics classes I will stop faking sit-ups by pretending that I need a sip of water! I'm telling you...I will be SO good you just won't believe it!!!!!!!!
Please? Pretty please??? With a martini olive on top????!
www.rqmitchell.blogspot.com
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