Blame Shifting, Cough Syrup and Schmuley

So, I started getting better, kind of, and re-read the last post, and found the first three paragraphs SO choppy that it's a friggin' miracle that anyone read the whole post, which may have been subliminally intentional since I told everyone how I went over my bandwidth by streaming porn, to which 'Anonymous' commented that I probably picked up a virus instead of actually going over watching the streamed porn videos, so I checked it with a program that my suspected 'Anonymous' tip giver gave me, and sure enough, I picked something up... except I told hubby that he did it, cause I kept going to ONE site and checking out a whole lotta things, whereas he went to so many sites he was making me dizzy so I left the room, which may have been intentional on his part. Besides, he didn't care that I was dying, as long as I got up and cooked him something to eat, so he deserves the blame on principle alone.

Do you like how I justified the blame-shifting? If any of you new brides want personal lessons, contact me for class times and fees.


Anyway, I've decided not to write any more posts after swigging cough syrup like vodka. Unless I've also taken Benadryl, because that would be either beyond hilarious or very helpful if printed out and distributed to AA and NA groups as a cautionary tale of warning. But for your sake, I ran out I haven't had any in the last three hours today... and by today I mean Wednesday, September 30th because it's like 1 am. So there you go, from the land of sobriety.

Not like I was Tuesday morning when Kathie Lee and Hoda welcomed Michael Jackson's friend, the Rabbi Schmuley, which just had me nearly wetting myself on the couch cause that name cracked me up, which is totally wrong and I am so going to hell... but hey, at this point, I've pretty much got a standing reservation... yeah, I didn't ruin the couch though, I only put the cough syrup to it's most strenuous test via non-stop laughter while attempting to not cough up a lung or two for that matter.

While I managed to keep my lungs, I did find myself completely exhausted and passed out fell sleep soon after... still snickering to "Schmuley" in my head. Poor guy, you know he went though absolute hell in school... at least he would have in my school; and I grew up in a town that was over 90% Jewish. True story. In my world as a kid, the term JAP had nothing whatsoever to do with being of Asian heritage OK?

Actually, The Today Show is totally stepping up to the plate lately. First they talked to the woman who got pregnant while she was already pregnant, which, to me sounds like the worst kind of karma ever... as in you did something so heinous that you have to give birth two months apart. Any woman who has given birth knows how bad that would suck. Like bowling ball through a garden hose suck. Then of course, Rabbi Schmuley, then Meredith sneezed which was so newsworthy it made the website. Matt's just glad she didn't give him Swine Flu because that would have rumors flying like when he was in the last days of co-hosting with Katie the human Kewpie doll...at least she was until she started doing the nightly news, now she's more stressed looking than Kate with sole custody of her eight. Just sayin.

I, on the other hand, look in need of having my roots done and gastric bypass surgery. I guess stressed is better than being looped on cough syrup and laughing your ass off at the name Schmuley and then filling your blog post with the name Schmuley because it cracks you up almost as much when you're sober but lacking sleep after 1 am... Then there's the ability to post the picture more than once!

Oh, yeah, and one other thing...

Schmuley.

I think hubby being home all these months made me 12 too. Actually, that's that blame-shifting thing again, because my sister can attest to the fact that I have had these juvenile bouts of silliness on and off for my entire life.

Schmuley.

It Doesn't Pay To Be Dying From Swine Flu In This House

Jim Henson via last.fm

It only helps to have Swine Flu when dealing with people outside your home, because inside your home people don't care if you die of no-antibiotics-prescribed-Swine-Flu and the obvious heart failure that you're totally going to have just like Jim Henson and John Ritter even if John Ritter actually had an undiagnosed congenital heart condition. Whatever. I'm still going to die and no one here will care until they run out of every single dish in the whole house, but then they'll just buy paper plates and my son will be lucky to get his diaper changed like every 9 hours or so, as long as music isn't playing.

So I'm kind of feeling better today, in part because I slept pretty much all weekend long. Seriously. Well except at night, but I'll tell ya more about that in a minute.

But outside the house, I get the Swine Flu sympathy vote which earned me two blog awards, which I'll post separately later this week in order to fulfill the proposed 'rules' of acceptance so I'm not just a taking skag, cause that's so, so rude. Anyway, I don't even mind that these are sympathy awards, just like the Irving G Thalberg award that they give to people who are less than a click from dying on the Oscars, the ones that they wheel out and can barely hold the microphone because they're so weak. So to you Kaye and DG, I thank you profusely with my dying breath. And yes, I am using my dying breath to thank y'all because you show appreciation which is way more than people sharing my home address do. Even though I do so much more for them than sporadically write a blog.

Ahh the love... That I don't get... It's underwhelming.

Like when I showed hubby how we could stream porn now that we've got high speed internet. You think he'd be thrilled to have a wife so cool about that kind of thing and fall to his knees in gratitude after I showed him all the best clips to watch sites to go to.

So what happens today, when we check the usage for the 3G card, which, I have to tell you, we've only had since the 11th. The one that the Blarney-Gifted salesman assured us would take like forever to get up to 5 gigs... Yeah, two weeks and three days later, we're OVER USAGE. Holy fuckballs he was homicidal upset and accused me of going over because I'd spend night after night streaming porn.

Unbelievable!!! Just cause I totally did I got lucky and found a couple of primo things to show him he thinks I spent all my bandwidth watching people with much better figures than mine doin' the kind of do that I, with my current state of whale like fattness back problems can no longer do, not to mention that hubby won't come near me cause I'm dying of Swine Flu and when it's our sick son sleeping in our bed, it doesn't matter if he gets it, but from his wife, no fucking way... even if I offered to wear a dust mask like they show everyone in Mexico wearing. So, for my part of the world, it's almost fashionable, and shouldn't my husband be thankful that I'm worried about my fashion sense on my deathbed AND I'm offering him sex. I slept all day because I'm dying and he just doesn't care.

Neither hubby nor my body give a damn that my hormones are pre-menopausal making me hornier than a 16 year old on ecstasy. My vajayjay doesn't care if I'm dying of Swine Flu. It doesn't even care if my lungs are so congested that I can hear myself wheezing over the moans piped into my earphones, which, I'm thinking is another good indicator that I'm millimeters from death cause I had the volume turned WAY up so there's no way that I should be able to hear the death rattle of my lungs over someone experiencing 12 inches, OK?

And besides, hubby should totally be understanding because I gave him first dibs I'm dying, duh. And there were so many programey-type things we couldn't download until we had high speed so it totally could have been any number of things that caused us to go over. It wasn't necessarily porn because that really was only two nights, since my hormones got in line with my Swine Flu and now I'm just hot flashing or possibly having the sweats from my body trying to fight off this beast of an infection...

And besides, I'm dying.

LMFAO Friday ~ Swine Flu Edition

Happy LMFAO Friday! I'm still battling Swine Flu, so I'll just get down to it this week and wish y'all a happy weekend!

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This is how you handle moving buddies that get drunk while packing the vehicle.




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The plate of a budding porn king...




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I'm thinking this won't make the commercials...




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I gotta see those mutant babies!




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It was originally supposed to be a picture of Porky Pig, but he mouthed off to Bugs Bunny and, well, you know how it goes...




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It depends... which one has a higher street value right now...?




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It's gotta be in Vegas. Where else would they put up signs for an 'adult only' playground?




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The real reason Fred agreed to take on the yoga class...




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I think it's pretty easy to see that Maybelline's company credit card no longer covers hookers for the marketing department.

Proud to Be From Jersey (part 1)

A huge thank you to my mother for this email, that I, in all good conscience as a native New Jersian, must pass along.


After having dug to a depth of 10 feet last year, New York archeologists found traces of copper wire dating back 100 years and came to the conclusion that their ancestors already had a telephone network more than 100 years ago.
Not to be outdone by the New Yorkers, in the weeks that followed, a California archaeologist dug to a depth of 20 feet, and shortly after, a story in the LA Times read: "California archaeologists, finding traces of 200 year old copper wire, have concluded that their ancestors already had an advanced high-tech communications network a hundred years earlier than the New Yorkers."
One week later, The Jersey Journal, a local newspaper in New Jersey, reported the following:
"After digging as deep as 30 feet in his back yard, Vinny 'Bada Bing' Manziano, a self-taught archaeologist, reported that he found absolutely nothing. Vinny has, therefore, concluded that 300 years ago, New Jersey had already gone wireless."

Just makes me proud to be from New Jersey.

So proud, in fact, that if you have a Jersey laughable, send it to my email: ariazink at yahoo dot com with NJ in the subject line. If you have a site or blog, please be sure to mention it in the email, so I can give you a shout out AND some linky love to boot!

Swine Flu in the Old Lady House

Well, it's official. We took the munchkin to the doctor Monday, and he's on the back end of Swine Flu. Of course we found this out after he'd played with every single kid in the waiting room and gone up to every adult and said, "Hello!!" because my child is nothing if not social.

I, myself, woke up Tuesday morning with a very sore throat and a kinda snorkiness in my head and think it's quite possible that I'm on the front end of Swine Flu. Yay. Combined with the backache I've had for three days due to the rains coming in, I'm just havin' a grand ole time over here! That was sarcasm for the uninitiated.

But, aside from that, our good friends, D&D were here over the weekend (if y'all get Swine Flu, bitch at hubby he invited you for this weekend, instead of waiting a week like I'd originally suggested.) and Lady D was telling me that she got rid of all their bugs (they too are a Texas country household) by putting out moth balls.

She swore, no spiders or mosquitoes or tree roaches any of which, in Texas, are both par for the course, as well as large enough to abscond with your toddler and sell him on the black market.

Image via Wikipedia

Needless to say, with my pussy ghostly white Irish-non-Texas-saddlebag skin, getting rid of the mosquitoes made my ears perk up, but when she mentioned the other bugs that she no longer had in her home, I was all, smell hell, I'm gettin' me some moth balls!

So I did... OK, I'm lying. I had hubby get them cause he owed me for sabotaging my Sunday

So it is that I'm sitting here typing this in a Swine Flu ridden home that smells just like old lady, except, I must have only known 'hip' old ladies, because I never knew any who had a house that smelled like this.

I think my sore throat is getting worse from the smell.

Happily, though, munchkin and I are new-mosquito-bite free. That's huge because they've been FIERCE since the rains started. In fact, I'm pretty sure that picture above is life-sized.

But, I'm confident I'll live. As long as no more flying-monkey-sized mosquitoes feast on me, thereby inflicting mortal wounds; and Swine Flu doesn't kill me, cause in southeast Texas, they don't give you antibiotics for Swine Flu. Which, just, ya know, as a deductive hypothesis, may be why the mortality rate for Swine Flu is kinda high in the Houston area. Just sayin'.

But, I haven't hit the lotto yet, so I can't die.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Till I'm floating above my husband who is picking out my pine box. Then maybe I'll consider believing otherwise.

Maybe.

Sabotaged Sunday

Call it my upbringing. Call it my continuing fantasy that Sundays are for family time and football and pot roast. Whatever. That is my deluded little Norman Rockwell wish for my Sundays, even if they very rarely turn out that way.

I want to wake up Sunday morning and snuggle up with my husband and my munchkin and lazily get up to make coffee and a big egg and bacon breakfast which we all eat together joking and smiling over our coffee mugs and sippy cup at each other basking in the amazingness of the kid(s), making phone calls to distant relatives while I do the dishes and we settle into the couch to watch football on TV and our son runs around the living room with his Nerfball shouting "GOOOOOO!!!!" until halftime when I get up to start the dinner which has never in all my housewifing years been pot roast btw which will be done by the time the game ends, but will keep if there's overtime and then we'll all retire to the dinner table to eat and talk bout various subjects and praise the cooking and hard work of the chef (me). Afterwhich, we'll play board games or cards and then possibly watch a movie complete with popcorn and put the kid(s) to bed and retire to sex and sleep to face another grueling Monday and all that entails...

Here's the problem, aside from the obvious things like hubby not liking football and not owning any board games...

We'll call him Sam. Sam is the roommate I've referenced over the last month plus. And by all that is holy, as of Friday, we managed to clear out the camper and give Sam his own place to stay. He has a bed, space to put his things, privacy, electricity and even his own fridge. He still has to come in to use the bathroom and wash his dish(es) but, by and large, he's self sufficient... You. Would. Think.

So, imagine how perturbed I was to wake up, come out to the kitchen and find Sam in my spot on the couch hawking for coffee. WTF?

First I get no snuggle time on a Sunday morning, but now, I'm greeted by someone I thought I didn't have to have in my house 24-fucking-7, sitting in MY spot on the couch, the one I wanted to crash into while waiting for coffee to brew and watch a movie with my husband while my son ran around like a mini-maniac-on-a-sugar-high, but no. I have to see muthereffing moocher ass Sam.

Ya know, when you rent an apartment, you don't go to the landlord's apartment every morning for coffee and then leave your coffee mug there to be washed. You don't use the landlord's washing powder to do your laundry and you don't hawk around the landlord's place waiting for them to feed you. You also don't constantly ask the landlord to run you to town because you're such a fucking looser that you can't get your car fixed and registered in THREE YEARS but you can use it to go to work making just enough to pay your child support because otherwise you'd go to jail, a pittance in rent, and keep yourself in beer and cigarettes.

You would if you weren't a mooching fucking looser taking advantage of the kindness shown you by your friend handle your shit the best way you knew how, keep respectable friendly boundaries by not being in someone else's house every waking hour you're not at work, set up a budget and save up to get your car fixed so you could quit treating your landlord like a taxi service, get a job that pays more so that you could move out into a decent place of your own and buy your own food and coffee and washing powder, which you should be able to do well before you got into the above mentioned place of your own.

So, I call hubby into the bedroom after starting coffee to gently no, honestly, I was trying to be kind about it cause it's his 'friend' even if that's not how I'm seeing it so much anymore put my case to him, and you know what My Husband does? He hears two sentences and Blows Me Off to go back out and watch movies with fuckhead while the coffee brews.

Yeah, I see me not being real gentle about the Sam situation anymore. I see me turning into YankeeSuperBitch WhoDoesn'tBelieveInHospitalityOrCompassion AndDefinitlyNotCookingOrAnyOtherKindOfWifelyDuty. That's what I see happening.

He. Chose. Poorly.

LMFAO Friday ~ OMG It's Quiet Edition

Image by karmablue via Flickr

So, most of the time, parenting a two year old without siblings in the same residence, is a whole lot of THIS along with this and this picture, which, incidentally, is not my home. So imagine my surprise when I looked up and didn't see the munchkin, so I called for him and nothing... so then I go on the hunt... only to find him all the way under my comforter out cold asleep curled up next to his dad, cause the munchkin got us both sick, so it's nice to have a little break during the day... in fact, I'm writing this and going back to bed.

So, enjoy y'all, and Happy LMFAO Friday!

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Seriously, if it weren't for the yarmulke, I'd SWEAR this was my son!




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Hello, officer, come and get me, I'm at 102 Main Street and I'll be here all night.
Thanks much!




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Just don't kick their tires, that would be mean.




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Hello, Mr. Editor, if you're wondering why your advertising revenue keeps dropping...




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They obviously saw the IKEA commercials...




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This may be one reason why the Houston Texans keep loosing. Just Sayin'.




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God said, "Do it again."




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Something tells me he's got a kickback deal with the cops...




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One burn out too many can lead to Car-B-Q's...




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China's secret plot to keep American children dumb.




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That sign was ticketed later in the day...

My Childhood Keeps Dying

All summer long, my childhood has been dying.

First it was saying goodbye to to Ed...

No more joking that he was going to show up on my doorstep with a check, or discover me on Star Search... At least Johnny has his intro-man back...

Then it was saying goodbye to Farrah...

The Charlie's Angel I had the doll for, the one I totally wanted to be, with her head of huge winged hair. The one who first introduced me to the plight of abused women and burning beds and turning the tables on a psychopath inside her own home. And she fought her illness like a warrior, but none the less, a warrior that was eventually defeated.

And then, of course, there was Michael...

Who's never-ending-death-coverage almost made us crazy enough to forget the Thriller album in the basement played so many times it was damn-near see through by the time you moved onto another album. Or the incredible breakthrough of We Are The World and it's British predecessor Live Aid and all that life was in the early 80's...

Then there was Walter...

Who'd been off the air for a while, but was still the icon of American news that I remember watching on the evening news in my youth at my grandparent's house.

Then, to throw a "What? Are you serious?!?" into the mix, John Hughes...

Who made us all want detention and taught us the right way to play hooky, and how to deal with foreign exchange students and geeks who want to borrow our underwear and all the angst that occurs when you lust after someone who's out of our socio-economic class or your name is Ducky or you look like Kelly LeBrock...

Then Teddy...

Who we grew up with... our last link to Camelot even if we all knew he wouldn't be president because of what our parents whispered about Chappaquiddick but still turned into the elder statesman and an incredibly effective member of congress... "The Lion of the Senate" roars no more...

And now, this week, it was Patrick...

Who made us young girls all wish we were Baby taking dance lessons and sitting in a corner (even with that nose OMG) and later on, made us want to punch Willie Lopez and take up pottery just to figure out the why of his untimely death and watch him descend to heaven... and now he has. For real. And I'm pretty sure he isn't haunting Whoopi Goldberg this time.

Thank you for my many, many memories, I'll miss you all.

Goodbye childhood and all the people you're taking with you...