Why do men... Round Three!

It's Monday, kids! Do you know what that means? That's right... you're probably at work. The weekend is over. tonight you will likely be visited by ghosts, goblins, serial killers, and slutty punk rock princesses. BUT.... today you can be over at Wag Vs. Angie for Round Three!

This week's topic:

Why do men do douche bag things and still try to get in a woman’s pants?


I said: I am so glad we’re covering this topic. I have often ended up with douche bags and wondered why. Now since I’m not a guy, I have to get my data elsewhere. Did anyone ever catch that show The Pickup Artist? The whole premise of the show was to teach men how to pick up women. What I took away from it was, “See how I am a douche bag? Chicks dig it. Now you try.” Read more!

Want to see what Wag has to say? Me either... JUST KIDDING! Read his version here. 

So You Wanna Be Popular

This internet networking thing is pretty great, right? Who said you have to wear pants to be witty and engaging? I bet the most insightful comments and blogs are written by people not wearing a stitch of clothing. Unless you're participating in a conference where the interaction is on cam you could probably get most of this done in your pajamas.

That is exactly how I looked at this blog for quite awhile. I spent the majority of my browsing, commenting, and creative time in some form of slacker gear. It was awesome! It still is when it works out that way. However, all things in moderation they say, so I'm going to start wearing pants... in public! (Gasp)

I'm going to start going out. I might even do stuff when I am out there. There is a chance that I will meet people when I am doing things out there. And so on and so forth, yada, blah, blah, and etc. I'm going to consider this my grassroots campaign for global popularity. This will take some real work, but I've never been one to shrink away from a challenge.

I have to work today, which tells me that my popularity bid is already working. They want ME to work! How awesome am I? THAT.AWESOME. Someone at the office said it's because everyone has to work today. Whatever... haters. What can ya do. All part of being popular I guess.

I have consulted the Interwebs for tips and tricks on how to become the popular girl. I found the holy grail of all popularity on Wiki-How. As a popular girl, I'm sure everyone will want to do what I'm doing so I'll share these tips (well most of them) with you too! I'm going to start assigning myself points for this.

1. Make a good impression on everyone you meet. 
Is it too late to start? Crap! There's always a slim chance that my new circle won't ever meet anyone else who knows me. Right? Alright.. starting tomorrow.

2. Make friends with the popular girls. 
Pffft. Check.

3. Make an effort to stay in style.
They said pick a signature accessory. Last I checked, always wearing the same thing gets you picked on, but okay. Same hat. Every day. Gotcha.

4. Be confident. 
Still reading this article though, aren't I? I'm NEVER going to get this. I am such a fai.. sorry. I mean, I CAN DO THIS!

5. Listen more than you talk. 
F*CK! ~sigh~

6. Be outgoing. 
Doable. I'm all sorts of outgoing, you know except when I don't know people. Or when I think they might possibly be better than me. Or... Wow... okay back to #4.

7. Know the guys. 
Flirting is recommended. RIGHT.ON. Back in the day this was the only rule to being popular. Shit has changed my friends. Shit.Has.Changed.

8. Know what your body language is telling people. 
I've been told my body language tells people to f*ck right off. I will work on that. I am a bit concerned, however, that it will lead me back to what I was told about being popular in the olden days. Still going to try to have better body language with an aspirin between my knees.

9. Use Twitter if you're allowed. 
Maybe it's just me, but I think this might be geared toward someone other than the chick who pays the bills!

10. Stay fit. Try working out a little bit. 
HEY! What the hell are you trying to say? Listen wiki-how, you don't know me!

11. Clothes aren't everything. 
Lies. Lies. Lies. Freaking lies. Okay not exactly a lie. They aren't EVERYTHING, but they are a whole hell of a lot of things. Try pairing Miley Cyrus juniors hooker leggings with a big Hanes t-shirt. Try being popular then dammit! I did try that! SOB! Try getting someone to think you're popular when you're wearing THAT!

There you have it folks. A Wiki-How list of tips on how to be a popular girl. The more I look at it, the more I think I think I might try to just go out more. Maybe I'm only destined to be semi-popular? Who knows. I still bought business cards that list me as "The Right Choice" and "Uber-Popular-Chic". We'll see!

Travel Tips For Protecting Your Privates

Ah the holiday season approaches! I've made the comment on a few sites over the last few days that I'm going to embrace Halloween in the whorish style to which I've become accustomed. As in years past, I will don a costume primarily intended to cause a stiffening of male genitalia. In true Angie's House tradition, I will proceed to prance around my room singing into my hairbrush, sip cocktails, watch scary movies, and fall asleep sprawled out in the middle of the bed... alone. SWEET! If I tipsy text you Saturday night... you're welcome.

All of that is neither here nor there, really. Today I just wanted to remind you that with the holidays comes travel for many of us. Thanksgiving is speeding toward us with the velocity of a frozen turkey dropping from a plane.

Trivia intermission

What popular sitcom from the 70's and 80's gives us the following quote, "As God as my witness, I thought turkeys could fly."  Right... feel free to throw your guess in the comment section for that! 

Anyway, back to the holidays. For some of us the only time we get to spend time with our friends and families is during the holiday season. Unfortunately, this year the standard airline price hikes are being compounded by a little news from Delta. The Today Show announced this morning that Delta is reporting they will be increasing fares and reducing the number of flights to compensate for the increase in cost of fuel. A little pre-holiday cheer there for you! So, if you're planning that holiday get away, you might want to be watching the prices fairly closely.

Now before you go thinking I'm going to leave you with only this dreary bit of "well that's just f*cking great" news, I do have something pretty awesome to share! I know there has been a lot of outrage about the amount of hoops a person must jump through to simply get to your gate these days. I've heard all sorts of complaints.

"Do I look like a TERRORIST?!" to which I reply... "Well forcing me to listen to your bitching is torture so uh... "

"It's a violation of privacy! I don't want to be fondled! Those new machines are just as bad. They show EVERYTHING!"  but I can only say, "Some of us like that pat down, and those new machines don't show anything they can't already see except things you may have hidden on your body. Why the hell are you hiding shit on your body? That sweater isn't hiding the truth, sugar."

Still... for those of you with an aversion to a little public groping, more modesty than my granny, and concerns about radiation targeting your baby making equipment or your breasticles there is relief and it's only a click away. The best part... the makers of this "holy shit! why didn't I think of that!?" product pretended to try to make it practical AND sexy/fun/a joke.

Image courtesy of  http://www.rockyflatsgear.com

You're probably thinking I'm a sexist man-hater that doesn't care about protecting the male right to privacy or the need for radiation free sperm. You might be right (oh quit ya big babies). C'mon I bet a lot of men are sitting there smiling and thinking... radiation make sperm giant like godzira! Rawrrrrrrr! They thought of you too!

Don't ever say I don't love ya. I'm here to protect your privacy and your private parts! Fly safe, my lovelies.

My inside voice is socially unacceptable

If you were to meet me in the grocery store you might think, "Well, she's pleasant!" You might even say something to the person you're with... like, "That was nice. No one seems to smile anymore."  I might have actually meant to smile at you. I'm pleasant that way. Smiling never killed anyone. You're probably thinking about situations where smiling might get you killed. While being robbed, held hostage, when dealing with the mafia, etc., but in those cases your ass was dead anyway. Get over it. 


Where was I? Oh yeah, this smiling thing I do... Sometimes it's just a way to cover up the fact that my inside voice is a bourbon swilling, three pack a day smoking, under-sexed madam from the wild west. It would be  socially unacceptable to say 90% of what I think. If you know me at all you must be wondering what I've been holding back. So, here are a few things my inside voice has said just today, followed by what I actually said. 

1. Bitch that had better not be the last chocolate frosted doughnut in the case. It's a gas station you twat. I want one. You want three dozen.  Go to a f*cking bakery. If jail didn't scare me I would cut you in the parking lot.

Actually said: No, go ahead. You were there first. (smile) 

2. WH*RE! (same lady.. . she took the doughnut OBVIOUSLY)

Actually said: (nothing, because the greedy bag just let the door to the case slam shut as she waddled to the counter)

3. Helloooooo sexy. You go ahead and go in front of me. I don't mind standing back here looking at your behind one bit. No, I certainly do not. I wonder what he does. Traveling salesman? I'd buy whatever it is. Twice.

Actually said: Please, go ahead. I'm in no rush. 

4. No, I can't help you. Do you know why, precious? Because you're stupid. Because you don't write shit down. Because I hate you.

Actually said: Of course I can help! 

5. I should have chosen alcoholism. I chose celibacy? This is ridiculous. I could be drunk AND whorish. Wrong choice, Angie. WRONG.FREAKING.CHOICE!

Actually said: I don't really feel like going out tonight. I have to be up early tomorrow.

6. Listening to you makes me want to stab myself in the eardrums with an ice pick... or cut out your vocal cords.

Actually said: Interesting. (smile) 


I would like to thank my mother for teaching me that if I don't have anything nice to say I should say nothing at all, the business world for giving me the skills to pretend to care, and the internet for giving me a place to let my inside voice say all the dirty bitch whore things it holds back all day. 

I'll ___ your ___ for FV Cash! (No, I won't)

When I was first asked if I had a Facebook page I thought, "WTF? Are you twelve?" My boss, however, was insistent that I join Facebook and while I was at it, that I should join his "kingdom". It was slow at work back then (between projects), and when your boss says you need to get a Facebook page and that you're required to spend your time building his fake kingdom you do it. That's how it all started... and it was GOOD! Well, it was good for awhile.


Knighthood led to Oregon Trail which led to Mousehunt. I've also been Owned, Interested, collected stickers, buttons, flair, played Mahjong, and belonged to a Mafia and a Mob. They were all okay for awhile, but nothing was quite like Farmville. What I am about to tell you is not for those with weak stomachs. Let's add one more vile, disgusting, cringe-worthy admission to my growing list of truths.

I was addicted to Farmville. 

You might not think it's a real addiction, yet I can tell you first hand the similarities are quite striking. It started out as a promise to kick my friend David's ass in less than a month. He'd been playing awhile and was apparently quite good. I thought it was stupid and avoided it as long as possible. When I started I blocked the game from posting anything to my wall. I didn't want anyone to know I was playing. I wasn't a Farmville nerd. I was simply trying to prove a point. Duh.

By the time it was all said and done, I didn't care who knew I was playing. I was sneaking a plow in at the office, telling my kids I was going to take a little "nap", and making excuses not to go out. One night I set my alarm for 3 AM so I could get up and harvest a bumper crop of square melons. Hell, if there was someone giving out FVcash for sexual favors I'd have been all "Heyyyy baby, come on over here. I'll ____ your _____ for $25 FV Cash. Come on. I just need a little. Pleaseeee." But no one carries FV cash, right? Seriously... right? I mean it's not like I want any or anything. (twitch)


I bought $25 worth of FV Cash one time three times because I bought that damn crop duster plane. That was all good and fine, but they fail to explain to you that you have to use FV Cash to fly the damn thing. I also had friends that played and I wanted them all to have the fancy trees you have to use real money to send. If people send you something nice you want to be able to send something nice back, right? Of course you do. We're not animals (I mean in Farmville you can buy a costume that will make you look like a duck or whatever but you're still not REALLY an animal).


I became that fake farmer I had been making fun of only a month before. I secretly loathed other Farmville players who had cluttered farms. If your farm was poorly set up I just harvested your trees, and got the hell out. I would sit and think to myself, "This idiot needs to learn to use the fences. This place is a hole. It looks like Noah's Ark vomited livestock all over the damn place and it takes for f*cking ever to load. Jesus wept. I hate this farm." 

If you didn't help me with a project you could just consider your request for help right up there on the top of my list of shit to never do. People who repeatedly sent me crappy stuff got the bottom of the barrel gifts that you unlock just by having a farm. "Pile of leaves anyone? Yeah that's right, bitch. You are getting the leaves. Thanks for the f*cking watering can. Here's a rusty nail for ya. I hope your crops wither." 

Then one day you find yourself alone in your addiction. It's not enough anymore to just play the game. You start sending invites to your friends. "You should play. It's pretty fun actually. I didn't think I would like it at first, but it's really cool. You should just get a farm. I'll help you. I'll send you stuff. Even if you don't want to actually play can you please just get a farm so I can add you as a neighbor? You won't have to do anything. Listen, don't tell anyone this, but I can get you things. There's a rainbow chicken that costs real money. I'll get it for you." 

After months of downward spiraling, late night harvests, and ridiculous discussions that would have had me committed to a padded room 15 years ago... I received a call from my step-mom that went something like this, "You're never going to level up that way. The cost of your seeds vs. the amount of time they take to harvest is a waste. I finished the grapes you needed on that Co-Op job you opened. Oh and I harvested your chickens." That's right... she said she harvested my chickens. At that moment I realized what I had become. You don't harvest livestock.

YOU.DO.NOT.HARVEST.LIVESTOCK. 

So while some of you absorb that bit of information... I'll leave you with this:

Why can't men pay as much attention to their partner as they do hobbies?

It's time, my darlings, for Round Two of the epic battle between women and men. Today I'm over at Wag Vs. Angie.  The topic du jour (as you might have guessed) is why can't men devote at least as much time to their partner as they do to their hobbies. When you're ready.. take a peak at what Wag has to say.


Come on over, do a little reading, some commenting, hopefully some laughing, and if we're lucky some people might even do some thinking. Just kidding... you don't have to actually think!  

Who's that awesome chick in the G6?

The best part of solo road trips is the amount of time you get to spend inside your own head sorting through the piles of stuff you’ve been storing up there. My thoughts get dropped into one of three piles. The first is “keepers”. This is for all of the happy memories, lessons learned (even the hard way), and beautiful scenes. The second pile is a bit more hodgepodge. It’s filled with all of the things I have yet to work through. Let’s call it the recycling bin. There might be something in there worth some use in the future and I just don’t know what to do with it yet. The final section is for things I’ve decided just aren’t worth my time.

The coolest part is that it comes with a sound track. It’s astounding to me that I’m able to sort my thoughts while listening to music, but I’m getting damn good at it. The music is actually pretty helpful. If a song comes on that reminds me of a crappy memory that I’ve not yet really handled yet, I use the song to motivate me. “Yeah that’s right asshole. Don’t you ever for a second get to thinking you’re irreplaceable. Jerk.”

Other songs just take me back to those times when things seemed so certain. Those years when I knew exactly what my life was going to be like. I knew everything at one point. I believe it was sometime between 1980 and 1988. Good times…

Then again there are the tunes that just make me feel cool as hell. Wearing shades while listening to them makes you look like a rock star, I won’t lie. Use these songs wisely. You don’t need to be chased down by paparazzi who’ve mistaken you for someone famous. It’s just a big hassle.

Best of all… I control the songs, the amt of airtime they get, and I can sing at the top of my lungs. Okay, I sing at the top of my lungs even if other people are in the car. Oh… I also get to dance (sort of). It's like upper body cardio. 

I don’t mean to be all full of myself, but I do get quite a few second glances out there on the open road. It looks a lot like this...

They stare because they obviously think I'm famous. I also think I might have figured out why I am not having much luck picking up hotties at the clubs. Because I should wear my shades there too. Duh.


That's all I have for today kids! Be sure to check in tomorrow for Round Two of Wag Vs. Angie when I ask the big questions and he tries to defend his species. ~eye roll~

Say It With Snark

Halle-freakin-lujah it's finally Friday! I'm wrapping up another week of work then hitting the open road. I decided I've been thinking a little too much lately, so to rectify the situation I'm dedicating today to just frivolous fun.

I'm huge fan of snarky ecard websites, and I've probably shared a few here before. Since Bluntcard allows you to post to blogger, but not in any way that I would find USEFUL... I'm going to steal the cards my damned self and link you right back to their site.

Enjoy!

http://bluntcard.com/images/1270602692shittyday.gif
That's right dammit! Don't forget it either, Bitch! 

http://bluntcard.com/images/1254177780serving.gif
I know a few people that ought to serve up a slice of this! 

http://bluntcard.com/images/1247823524boner.gif
I would order merchandise of this one! 

http://bluntcard.com/images/1243049317skankville.gif
I'm actually not letting my inner skank out to play until NEXT weekend. 

http://bluntcard.com/images/1266621322fake.gif
This is sort of what my blog is like! PERFECT! 

http://bluntcard.com/images/1271028042mysoul.gif
So true. So true. 

And there you have it. Now, everyone go out and enjoy your damn weekend because I said so! I'm not kidding.

Check in Monday for Round 2! 

Helping You Choose a Vanity Plate: I'm thoughtful like that

I have a documented case of road rage. Since I'm all about outing my poor behavior there is no reason to let this one remain closeted. I am the bitch behind you flipping you off when you get in my lane and then slow down for no reason. The lady who is angrily mouthing "WHAT THE **** IS WRONG WITH  YOU?" that's me again. Several times a week I have the urge to follow some idiot into the parking lot they've entered so that I can explain to them why they should ____ off and die. At times I wonder if my rage would dissipate if I actually followed through.

Driving surrounded by idiots does have it's good points though. If I were able to get where I need to go in a speedy manner without having to wonder if the guy in front of me is a really bad driver or merely drunk and dangerous, I might never see or pay attention to some of the awesome vanity plates out there on the road. If you're not familiar with these, a vanity plate is a license plate (tag) that you can pay the state to let  you customize with your own letters and numbers.

Two days ago while driving home from work, I was stuck behind a minivan with DRGNLVR on it's tags. Being the highly intelligent person that I am, I quickly realized it must mean Dr.Gun Lover. I thought to myself, "Stupid. A doctor driving an old minivan? And another thing DOCTOR, how about you put a picture of a gun under the plate instead of a stupid dragon you jacka... oh. DRAGON LOVER. Still stupid." Obviously I'm not the first person to have gotten it wrong or they wouldn't have a picture there to make it more clear.

Because I am a helpful person, I've come up with some great vanity tag ideas for the people I see on the road. I'm sure most of the speed and lane challenged f*cktards I see on the streets have at least considered getting vanity plates. Now they will have some things to choose from!

1. BADDRVR -  There are so many of these around. Should be used regularly.

2. SKNKHO -  We've all seen you lady. Cover your tits and flick that cigarette before you ash on yourself, freak out, and kill someone.

3. WNTSGNL- At least then I'd know that you will slow and veer off without any warning.

4. NOSEPKR-  Do you not have a private place where no one can see you to do that? You're going to make me vomit while driving and cause an accident.

5. DUMBICH - I know a few people I would give this too. Personally. Has nothing to do with their driving.

6. STPDFUK- This is for the a-holes out there who seem to think they own the road. They will pass you going 30 MPH over the limit then tuck back in front of you so quickly you fear you will literally be pulling your nose out of their ass if you can't brake quickly enough.

7. CNTFACE - Again, I know a few of these personally.

8. FKNLOSR - Drives slow then fast then slow then fast. Only looks up occasionally because he/she is too busy texting to really give life and death the respect it deserves.

9. RUBRNKR - Slows, gawks, and drives in multiple lanes at the same time while trying to catch a glimpse of what's going on where the lights are flashing.

10. LILPNIS - Very expensive car, bright fake smile, possibly a gold chain. Obviously overcompensating.

Not only would these tags tell you what to expect, but in a couple of cases could even prevent you from making a dating mistake! What? Like you've never car flirted before? Whatever!

Slap the cuffs on me. I'm guilty.

After the lively debate over at WagTheDad last week, I got a bit of extra feedback on Facebook. One of which was this fun little "She Says/She Means" graphic:

Just as I joked about using sex as a reward for men figuring out our "cryptic" statements like, "We're out of toilet paper", I make light of a lot of the generalities about men and women. So I'm going to own up to my guilt here. You can choose to bash it if you like, exchange of ideas is what makes the world go round, right?

1. I do say fine. Often it means, "It's not about you and I'm working through it." Many times it means, "I don't come to you with my problems because I want to fix them myself and do not want your 7 suggestions on how YOU would fix it." This is a habit. It's a bad one. Yes, occasionally it means, "You pissed me off. I am not ready to talk to you about it." It's still a lie (as Diego pointed out). It's not right.

2. I do things by myself in relationships out of anger. If I asked my partner to help me out (yes, I asked for help sometimes) and he said he would do it, but days went by without any action... I would do it myself and be pissy. I don't ask for help often. If I wanted the lawn mowed 3 days from now I would have said 3 days from now. Again, this is a bad habit. It's also based on a couple of relationships, and I have to fight not to be that same woman next time.

3. I get pissed off when a partner doesn't remember simple things. I don't like onions. If we've shared years worth of meals and I have specifically mentioned many times that I don't like onions, yet he orders me a sandwich and has them throw onions on EVERY TIME... I get pissed. However, I don't mention it when I call to beg him to bring me a sandwich because I was too stupid to remember to bring my lunch. I just figure he will eventually remember. Another bad decision on my part. I still think it's ridiculous that he never seemed to remember.

4. I don't state that I want more from a relationship until I am so frustrated it's too late. This is probably the worst of the whole bunch in my opinion. I reach out. I express my love. If it doesn't come back to me it hurts. When I'm finally asked, "What do you want from me?" I feel like screaming. By this time I've probably been an uber-bitch. I get it. I'm working on saying what I want.

I haven't given up on the entire male gender. Sure, those people who perpetuate the stereotype are always going to be out there. I try to remember that if I don't embody all of the negative stereotypes that are pinned on women that surely there are men out there that can say the same.

The Almost Empty Nest

I was being an absolute b*tch earlier today. 
I'm not sorry about it. 
I did, however, remove it to be posted on another day. 


Today I'm over at BloggyMoms talking about how I might be  am definitely running away from home. 

You MIGHT be a fun sucker

Do you have trouble finding happiness in other people's successes? Are you the miserable bastard that who can't let a moment go without donating a fair amount of piss on someone's dream? Does raining on a perfectly nice parade ease the hollow feeling in your cold empty little heart?  Urban Dictionary calls this person a Fun Sucker.

We have all experienced someone who cannot wait to bring you down, rain on your parade, or piss on your dreams. It doesn't matter how big or small your success, this insensitive jerk is going to do something to try to take the wind out of your sails. If this sounds completely foreign to you, then you either have the greatest friends and family and acquaintances in the entire world or YOU might be that person.

___________________________________________

Are you a fun sucker? Let's examine a few scenarios.

Situation 1: Your friend has always dreamed of pursuing a career in music. At lunch they tell you that after their open mic performance at a local club, they were approached by a representative for a small agency and were told to come in and talk. This could mean more gigs and possibly their big break! You say: 

A) That is so awesome! I've known you were talented for a long time and it's great that someone else it taking notice! Good luck!
B) Well don't get your hopes up. Very few people really make it big. I think you're great but the road to stardom is littered with talented people.
C) Do you know Bob in accounting? He's in a band on weekends and an agent approached him last year. It turned out to be bogus and they wanted money. People aren't always what they seem.

Situation 2: Your partner is on a long needed vacation and will be home in 3 days. You receive a bit of bad news in the mail. It is not urgent and there is nothing your partner can do about it. You get a call from your partner with details of their trip and asking how things are at home. Do you: 

A) Tell your partner things are mostly okay and you'll talk more about it when they are home.
B) Smile and tell your partner you are glad they are having fun because they deserved a break.
C) Explain to your partner that you got bad news in the mail and that you aren't sure what to do about it.

Situation 3: Your brother just called to tell you about a new job opportunity. It's finally something he has been educated to do and something that he enjoys and the pay is a little better. You know that he has difficulty budgeting, and the new job will be paid on a monthly basis. You: 

A) Tell your brother you're happy for him and hope he can manage to get his budget under control enough to make the transition to the new pay scale workable.
B) Laugh and say, "Haha good luck with that. You can't get your bills paid when they DON'T give you all the money at once. You'd be better off staying where you are.
C) Congratulate him. Working in a field you enjoy is something we all want.

Scoring: 
Situation 1: A (3) B (1) C (2) 
Situation 2: A (2) B (3) C (1) 
Situation 3: A (2) B (1) C (3) 

Mostly Threes: You're a supportive person. You believe in allowing people to experience joy without needing to jab your sword of sadness right into the heart of their moment in the sun. You know that there is very little in life that is so urgent that you can't let another person enjoy that feeling of pride or excitement.

Mostly Twos: Maybe you mean well, but it seems like your congratulations always come with a warning. In some cases these sound more like no congratulations at all. Remember... no one asked for your advice. When they do it will sound something like, "What do you think?" or "What should I do?" If you didn't hear those things... leave it alone. 

Mostly Ones: You're really bitter about something aren't you? What is it about someone else's success that just throws you right over the edge and into asshole territory? People tend to avoid you when they are happy because you've proven time and time again that you're incapable of letting a parade go by with only sun or a dream to be dreamed without being pissed on.  

___________________________________________

In short, for the fun suckers out there, try to be a little less of a worthless excuse for a human being. Just because your life is miserable doesn't mean that you have to bring the rest of the world down in your shit shower. Perhaps you're not trying to hurt anyone's feelings or ruin a special moment, but you are not so completely without social intelligence that you don't realize the appropriate response is to be happy for another person's good fortune. Remember, you get back from the world what you put into it. Those Negative Nelly thoughts might just be the reason "nothing ever seems to go right" for you. 

What's So Bad About Contentment

"Awww your baby is so sweet. I've never so much as heard her cry! You're so lucky!" 

"Yes, we are blessed that she's so content." 

You look over at the baby, sitting on the floor surrounded by toys, drool strand dangling and ready to add itself to the small puddle beneath her pudgy little legs. She isn't laughing or crying. She's just chewing on a teething ring and staring at her vast collection of cool and colorful belongings. That baby is truly content. 

image from http://getbetterhealth.com

When did I stop wanting to be content? Why is it so great for babies, but when I could find contentment myself I push it away and opt instead to search for happiness? I look at many of those married for years and see contentment by the boat load. It's working for them, yet when it's offered to me I say things like, "I want to be with someone I am happy with and who is happy with me. I don't want to be with someone who is merely content to be with me. That would feel like I could be anyone. I want to be happy." 

That's exactly what I said last night. I spent my late evening talking to someone who seemed set on convincing me that we should just "give it a try". He could really see himself being "content" with me. It was a striking comment for me because I'd had a conversation Friday about that very thing. In my head it seems to make sense, but in my heart it falls flat. It feels cold. There's not a single shred of desire for contentment.  

Yesterday my daughter informed me that she's engaged. I won't mock this because I remember that feeling. It's a fairy tale waiting to happen. They plan to marry in a few years when they've completed school. Things are tough right now, but together they will make it through. They have the world at their feet. I didn't bring them down with statistics. I didn't say, "Well what will you do when you have a baby, and he realizes he has to sell his bike because you can't put a baby on the back of a Harley?" I didn't say anything like that at all, because they are happy. 

She's eighteen and he's nineteen and they are in love. It's not that I haven't done my mandatory guiding. I have. They are both children of divorce. They know how it could workout... for everyone except them that is. And as much as I worry for their hearts, as much as I want to say WAIT, I hold back now and I let them enjoy being happy. 

Right now she looks like this... and it's hard to argue with that. 

Why can't women just say what they want?

I'm over at Wag Vs. Angie today explaining to Shane why women do the things we do. Come on over and give us your thoughts. We're sure to disagree on those too! 

He said/she rolled her eyes She said/he pretended to listen

Taking Back Sunday Family Dinner

I'm writing over at Bloggy Moms today! Stop on over and find out how I plan to take back Sunday dinner. It's going to be side splittingly full of flavor! 


If you're hungry when you're done, drop me a line and I'll let you know how long the drive is for you to join us! 

Call It What You Want- I actually am a bitch

As shocking as it might seem to some of you, I don't go off on long, hate-filled, ranting, curse-filled tirades very often, and rarely will you see them on this blog. I tend to save those moments for when I've had a few drinks. I love reading the various blogs I follow using curse words, in part, because I try to avoid the big ones. Obviously, I don't avoid them all together. You'll see plenty of partially bleeped words. Still, I try to maintain a modicum of decorum when I spout on my page.

You see my mom reads this. Sometimes people who know my family read this too. I would hate to be that lady who ruined the family image with her filth mouth. I've done that enough without using the amount of curse words I actually think with. For that, I'm sorry. It doesn't mean I am going to change things, it just means that I am sorry I don't always make you the most proud family out there with my raunchy humor and sailor speak.

Today though, I saw something that irked me so badly that I actually let the words flow out of my mouth, using my outside voice... while sitting at my desk at work. Fortunately, I'm working on a project that is frustrating all of us and it fit perfectly. Azra, please forgive me because I'm going to go against something I wrote to you a couple of weeks ago... I'm going to be judgmental. WITH.A.PASSION!

Welcome to the world of blogging. The land of bloggers is heavily populated by people who are amazing writers with a passion for what they do, and everyone hopes to be the next big thing. Many want to be noticed, loved,  and picked up by some publisher or PR agent so they can finally prove to the world that this isn't just a hobby. It's the written version of Hollywood. Each post is your audition tape. It's a game, a way of life, a source of therapy, it's a lot of things. It's not a charity.

Don't get me wrong, there are a LOT of charities out there that use social media and blogging to raise money. The cause is bigger than a single person. If it's done correctly, everyone benefits. If you want to build an orphanage, ping me on Twitter. Same thing for Live Strong, Breast Cancer Awareness, Rett's, and their ilk. I'm game. I don't have a lot of money. I don't have a ton of time. I do however have a sense of community and a heart for giving.

What I do not have a heart for is people who want you to help them when they have made it obvious that they would rather have fun than help themselves. You know what? I'd love to have a luxurious weekend away filled with sex and fun. Most of us would. But if you're having that... and you're broke... and you see a future far off  that includes you needing money... might I suggest something radical? Try this. GET A JOB.

I am a completely reasonable person when it comes to this. If you a single parent and have no family or friends to help you out, I can see you telling people that the only job available around you is OTR truck driving and it won't work for your family. If you're handicapped and cannot work, I complete understand. If you are able bodied and not tied to aforementioned disqualifications.... F*CK YOU.

Guess what kids, male or female there are jobs available. No, they don't suit everyone's preference, but they DO in fact put money in the bank and food on the table. If you're currently not paying your own way because you live with someone else... guess what... BONUS you can take a job that pays you money without all of those pesky overhead expenses. You might be away from home more than a day, but come on... wouldn't you be away from home if you moved half way across the country? Yeah? Okay.

There are OTR trucking jobs all over the damned place. These jobs aren't the ideal positions to take if you're planning your climb up the executive f*cking ladder, but they go a hell of a lot further in paying your expenses and saving up for moving to where you REALLY want to be a hell of a lot better than asking people you barely know to donate to your cause. What do you need? $1000? $2000? Easy mark. If you need a damned link just ask me how to use the f*cking internet, and I'll find you that job if you promise not to purposely f*ck up the interview to get the job. I won't even charge you.

My 18 y/o just lost her job and get this... she went back to ramen for lunch and the items available right here at home for entertainment. She doesn't ask me for money. I would gladly give it to her when she asks, but I see the pride in her face when she tells me what she's cut from her expenses (EVERYTHING) and how she's managed to keep her head above water.

I know a lot of people just through the blogosphere that need money. They have been through the wringer. They are doing their damnedest to make ends meet, and they are working their asses off with no breaks. Don't ask me for a sympathy vote because you won't get it. I'm that hard-ass bitch that just wants you to get a job you're perfectly capable of doing without any bullshit excuses.

Call it what you want. Call me a bitch. Call me unsympathetic. I honestly don't care tonight. There are people out there that really need help and aren't getting it... through no fault of their own.

Working Out Is FUN! (LIE)

One of my friends texted today to tell me all the items she purchased from the store to go with her new weight loss plan. Hydroxycut Max, HCG, Vitamins, and various other tools of the dieter's world. I said, "Get some liquid acai berry. It will clean you out!" She responded, "Tried that and I shit my pants!" To which I replied, "But didn't you feel thinner after you shit yourself? Isn't that your goal?" For many of us that is indeed the goal. We want to look and feel thinner. (raising hand)

Someone out there is going to refute the next line of this post. Working out is not fun. Go on, say it. "Oh, Angie I really enjoy Zumba/Spin Class/P90X! You should really try it!" Save it, sister... or brother... or whoever you are. No one needs your positive attitude wrecking my flow, okay?

It's not fun, we all know it. It IS habit forming if not slightly addictive. It does all sorts of great things for your body. Hell, it's even good for your mental health. You will feel better when it's done. You will look better if you're consistent. But, do you know what it isn't? If you were following along you would know the answer. Fun. It's not that.

Let's take a look at the visual aid, shall we?

You can clearly see that every activity receives more "fun points" than working out. Even the activities that may involve some level of pain rated higher. So why do we do it? For many people it's a lifestyle, a habit, an addiction. If most of us could get the same results without the dreaded workout, we probably would. This is evident in the massive amount of "get fit quick" pills and plans out there. Everyone wants a magical solution to make everything trim, toned, and sexy. It really doesn't exist.

Yet, we have to do something if we're going to splurge on chips, cake, cookies, pasta, and burgers. Still, unless they come up with a way to make hallucinogenic drugs safe, you're probably not going to have a lot of fun on the treadmill or the elliptical. There really isn't a diet alcohol you can drink to make yourself giddy before you go for that run.

How about:
- hiking
- going dancing
- joining a cycling club where you go outside with other people
- long walks with your friends
- surfing
- paddle boarding
- anything you can involve your friends and family in that gets you off your ass and on your feet

It doesn't have to be a "workout" to be healthy. It doesn't have to suck to be beneficial. You don't need to tie yourself to a plan. I saw a picture on Facebook yesterday that said, "You don't have to be great to start, but you have to start to be great." How true. So what's holding you back?

Friday Friday Friday!!! 

Parenting From a Distance

My ex husband owns greasy engine parts, motorized implements of destruction (moped, go kart, random death-trap vehicles) and a Saint Bernard that never fails to remind me of Cujo. I do not have anything that awesome. I have a lawn mower, but it's only a couple of years old and has that nifty safety grip device that keeps you from chopping your arms and legs off. The only time living in my home is dangerous is when I use the orange and almond oil on the floors.

What 15 year old boy wants to risk his life on slippery hardwood floors when there are contraptions to cause immediate death somewhere else? I couldn't blame him for wanting to go. When he left this past spring to explore the father-son side of living, I encouraged him to really give it his best. He deserved this opportunity. I told myself, "If the boy has a father that wants to be part of his life you need to let him go. It will be good for him."

And it was. Over the summer he made new friends, hung out with his dad on the weekends, spent time with my parents (who live in the same community), and enjoyed life in general. If he was anxious about starting a new school, he didn't let on. He seemed to be adapting pretty well. I missed him, but I was glad he was happy.

And then I got the text. THE.TEXT. Da Da DAAAAAA. (I added commas and apostrophes.. sue me)

Son: I'm pretty sad. I told **** today that I was leaving. I needed to get my check from Grandma. I thought if she needed me she could call me. I heard her talking to someone on the phone and she said "Don't just tell me you're leaving. When I hear that I think where's the suitcase!"

Son: I really think why does she say she wants me here when I really don't think she does?

(Insert angry angry mom Oooh, bitch! This is not the first time. Last Friday she chewed his ass for not going out for the night because when SHE was his age she was out every night (I could give my opinion on that, but I won't). My daughter has come home from her trips to visit and told me how this woman treats my son in comparison to her own boys of the same age (that she does not have custody of). My daughter is fuming and about to address it herself, but I cannot.

My job now is to sit back and watch, and listen, and document, and encourage. I have always told my children that if they want to be heard they have to speak up. The same message was relayed to my son last night. "If you can't talk to her about it, then you really need to talk to your dad, hon." Those messages were met with text silence. Phone calls went unanswered, which tells me he was too emotional to speak.

Finally, I recommended to him that he simply ignore her. "Ignore her completely unless she speaks to you directly. Answer only the question she's asked. Do your chores without being reminded. Ignore her like a bully on the playground."

Right now the poor kid is like Cinderella. Well, except that he doesn't have a vagina, singing mice, a fairy godmother, or a pumpkin coach.... Maybe this isn't the best example.

Anyway, to wrap up the evening I sent him a website with 101 ways to innocently annoy someone. There is nothing too outrageous on there. Teenage boys can be a bit annoying as it is. This is just frosting on the cake. Knowing my ex husband, he will ignore the entire situation, but even he will find humor in it. I feel bad for encouraging my son in this way, but at the time it was either that or I drive three hours only to spend the next 10 + years in jail.

Two more days until Smack Down! 

I'm going to need the REAL chocolate

When I was a child I looked forward to Halloween like a burgeoning alcoholic waiting for happy hour. Halloween meant candy. Specifically, it meant chocolate. When you live in the country, you have your choice of neighborhoods to trick-or-treat in. No one knows you so you might as well hit the "good neighborhoods". These are the homes that give out Snickers, Twix, Reeses, Butterfingers, and Milky Way. We wanted real honest to goodness name brand sugar and fat, and we got it. And it was good.

When I met Sue and Lesley I was introduced to European chocolate. Sinfully sweet with a depth of flavor you can't find in its US cousin, even if you manage to slap your hand as it travels toward the sampler lid, you will crave it until it drives you completely insane. You will bargain with yourself and the box will remain 3/4 full while you eye it every day, tempted to reach in and snap up a morsel to savor. When someone offers you a Hershey bar, you will smile politely and say, "No, thank you." You want the real thing not some waxy substitute.

Chocolate is okay in moderation. It's best if it's the dark chocolate loaded with antioxidants, but you still need to be careful. Chocolate can be fattening. Just like anything else, too much of a good thing is dangerous. If used improperly, chocolate can do horrible things to your body.

Some people are like that chocolate. You didn't know what you were missing until you found them. When they've gone you're presented with other options, but you're no novice anymore. Nothing but the real thing will do. So you'll smile politely and say, "No, thank you." The craving will become so great that you consider late night drives to feed the need, but it's a 24 hour drive.

Just like that box of chocolates you made last forever, you find yourself remembering the last piece you had and wondering if they will still have it when you finally get back. It torments you at times and messes with your body.

Remember when waxy boring American chocolate was enough? Remember when you married American chocolate?

Would be rude to put his face there, huh?

I either need an express shipment of European chocolate or a road trip. Seriously. 

Only a couple of days away.... Someone for me to take out some sort of frustration on! 

Pesto is the new black

It was a dark and stormy weekend (I actually have no freaking clue what the weather was like), and like many weekends where you get hungry so did we. This isn't as dramatic as I hoped. Since I honestly don't care too much about Columbus Day, or whatever you call it in your state, I decided to be sort of topical and talk about something Italian.

Back to that weekend...

My daughter was sick and tired of my meals and chose a recipe from a cook book and gave me a list of ingredients. When the oven door opened, my love affair with pesto began.

Pesto Ravioli with Chicken

2 teaspoons olive oil

1 lb boneless skinless chicken breast, cut into strips

3/4 cup chicken broth

1 (9 ounce) package refrigerated cheese ravioli

3 small zucchini, cut into 1/4 inch slices

1 large red pepper, thinly sliced

1/4 cup purchased basil pesto

fresh grated parmesan cheese

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Cut chicken breast into 1/2 inch pieces and toss with all remaining ingredients except the Parmesan cheese. Transfer ingredients into greased 9x13 pan, spread evenly, and sprinkle Parmesan cheese over top. Cover with foil and bake for 45-50 minutes. Remove foil for the final 5 minutes.

Wear stretchy pants. Serve with a lightly tossed Caesar salad and fresh garlic bread.  

Mama Mia! This stuff rocks! 

From that day on, I've been looking for excuses to use pesto on new things. It's become an obsession and a secret ingredient. Is your spaghetti sauce boring? Pesto. Want to try a new twist on the home made pizza? Pesto. Grilling something and looking for a kick to your marinade? Pesto. Tired of plain hummus? Pesto. 

So in honor of Italian Food Day (which is what I'm calling this holiday from here on out), do YOU have a favorite Italian dish? 

Blog Most Likely To... Go... Look... Read...

It's that time again kids. I've slipped on over to the Blog Most Likely page and given you some new links to check out! Congratulations to Dan Perez Films and Gorilla Bananas at The Japing Ape! 


Do yourself a solid today and check out the bloggers highlighted over there. They are both worth the time and the recognition and we can always use new humor and inspiration! 


Since it's Monday, I'll leave you with the following reminder: 


Don't worry about the world coming to an end today. It's already tomorrow in Australia. - Charles Shultz

So he laid his wiener on it

No matter where you come from; Another town, county, state, or country, you've got your own language that you expect everyone else that wanders into it to understand. It became obvious to me this evening that the language changes over time, and if you weren't there when it happened the conversation can seem downright foreign.

"Hell no! You should have heard him. He thought he stabbed a fat sow in the ass!"

What? What in the hell are you talking about? 

__________________________________________

"So are you rubbin' wieners with that guy or what's the deal?"

That's right, there are no safe images for this statement. 

Jesus. This can't be good. 

__________________________________________

"Well, he laid his wiener on that wagon."

Still unsafe. WTF is up with the wieners?

Excuse me? He what? Does Mom know about this?

__________________________________________

And this is how it is when I go home. The conversations start out normal enough, but before long I am sitting in the backseat of someones vehicle looking to the other females to confirm that we've all just heard the same exchange. Generally my sister is giggling and nodding her confirmation of the story, and to the other side my mother is smothering a smile and wondering why the men in her world can't say things without using terms that  sound so dirty. 

I let a few cocktails sink in tonight before I had heard enough and wanted to get some explanation. While I usually have a fairly adequate master of the English language, I'd be hard pressed to decide whether these should be euphemisms or colloquialisms (help a girl out here). Regardless, I had to ask. 

Me: "So now what exactly does stabbing a fat sow in the ass do?"

The locals (fam): "It means they did well. It was great."

Me: "Yeah, I get that from the story, but what happens when you stab a fat sow in the ass? What do you get from it?"

Locals: "Oh you get a nice ham." 

Now that we have that one out of the way, let's address tonight's two others that earned top honors in the "what the hell did they just say" department. 

Rubbin' wieners with: This is a term used to describe a relationship between two people that is mutually beneficial. It is not actually sexual at all. You're rubbin' wieners with the guy down the road when you agree to let him graze his cattle in your pasture as long as you get to borrow his bull when it's time to breed your heifers. 

Laid his wiener on: When I was a freshman in high school and my brother was a senior, he had lunch 15 minutes after me. As my class was sitting down to lunch, his class would be entering the cafeteria line. I recall my brother stepping out of his line and approaching my table, taking the chicken nuggets off my tray, licking them, and putting them back down. He KNEW once he licked them that there was no way I would eat them, thus guaranteeing himself extra chicken nuggets for lunch. He had "laid his wiener on" my lunch. 

We all have colloquialisms, aphorisms, and euphemisms that are unique to our crowd or region. What are your most colorful and indecent? I'm all about learning foreign languages! It's not to late. Tell me whatcha' got! 

He's turned into a MAN ~sob~

For the first time ever, my son has opted out of time with me to hang with the men. I am not sure what's gone on in his life that he has decided guys, combines, moving parts, and boob jokes are more exciting than me, but I suppose it's time for me to accept that he's actually male. The clincher was when I said, "You might want to change clothes so you don't get grease on the new shorts I bought you." Grandma repeated it. I encouraged him to go put on some different clothes, and he just said, "It's okay. I don't care."

The last few years have been wrought with emotion, anger, disappointment, and all that comes with becoming an adult. And that's just for me. Imagine how hard it's been for him.... being so much younger and less experienced in the world! I worked hard to help him overcome that boyish emotion that so many kids carry when raised by an emotional tsunami of a mother like myself. The poor kid didn't have much testosterone around when he was younger and it showed.

These days everything is all grown up with dry humor. If he wasn't my kid I might actually let him be my friend (it's a joke calm down). He's grown into my sarcasm, which is pretty freakin' awesome if I do say so myself. I just need to remember that he's not a girl and that his idea of a good time isn't going to be sitting around with me dishing about who he has a crush on, who is stupid at school, and where the best shopping in town can be found.

Que sera, sera! I suppose I'll just have to learn to enjoy the fleeting moments when he's willing to admit that he has an emotion and cherish the few dinners we can share where I can watch him plow through a giant sloppy mushroom and Swiss burger. That greasy drip down the front of his shirt will be enough to keep the memory of that little kid fresh in my mind.

Relationship Math

Many of us have been there... the relationship is in trouble. We find ourselves thinking or maybe even saying, "How can you do this to me? I have invested myself completely in this God forsaken relationship for __ decades/years/months. I have given all of myself, my love, my heart, my sanity, my body to this, and I deserve better than what you're giving me. You OWE me more than this."

As if managing a bank account or stock portfolio wasn't enough, we quantify every single piece of our lives. This might seem reasonable in the counting calories department, but shouldn't relationships be above that? True, relationships are about give and take: Addition, subtraction, & compromise. So isn't it fair then to quantify or give some investment merit to the time spent?

So often we hear people talking about failed relationships with words more appropriate for a math equation than a matter of emotion and heart. Two hearts - .5 affection + wandering eyes / manipulation x deceit = divorce. The algebra boggles the mind. 

We expect our partner to give equally to the relationship, and when that doesn't happen for one reason or another, we immediately feel it like a slap to our wallets. Out come the banker's words... I've invested. He/She owes me. He/She should be forever in my debt. We expect some ROI. Where is the return on investment for me? After all I've done for you is this the thanks I get? I give and give and give and for what?

Oh, it's not just what we expect to get. It's also what we pay back. It seems when we don't feel we got our expected ROI, we want to make sure the other person GETS theirs. You hurt me, that was your INVESTMENT, well let me tell you what your investment will get you, my bitter and angry payback.

When you show more losses than gains, you can begin to feel your market value has dropped. With each unfavorable investment, depreciation of our emotional assets begins to really stick out on the old spreadsheet. It's enough sometimes to keep you from ever wanting to invest again! You might as well stash your love away under your mattress (or in your night stand). right? These are the things that keep us from moving on, or at the very least moving forward.

I've been there. I have past relationships I still feel owe me a debt of some sort. I've doled out my share of "remember when you" statements like reminder notices from the bank:

Dear account holder, 

On 4/9/09 you initiated an argument that resulted in the loss of my self-esteem, affection, and confidence in you as a person. As of today's date, your account remains in arrears. When you entered this relationship, you indebted yourself to life-long apologies. Please remit ASAP to prevent further action.

Sincerely, 

Love Bank Manager

It's odd that I am so great at tracking emotional debts when I can't do math in my head to save my life. I suppose I should just be thankful I am not emotional bankrupt, eh?