Crazy fuckers always find me...

Long back story short – I work for a buffalo rancher. We market the meat on the internet so most of our business is done outside of the local area. We get all kinds of weird calls, but today I got one that I think tops them all. So sit back and be amused, people. Or I’ll hunt you down and kick you in the junk.


And trust me, this motherfucker can KICK.

*points thumbs at self*

Ask my brother if you don’t believe me. Any time we fought as kids I fell to the floor and kicked that asshole like I was doing the backstroke. Why? He’s bigger than me, and my legs are my best defense. Although, strangely enough…my worst attribute. Two words: cellulite and cankles. (Thanks a lot for those wonderful genes, dad. I mean, let’s face it – I didn’t get flabby legs from my mom because she’s a freakin' amazon. So damn you and your stupid sperm. I got totally screwed on that one.)

So anyway, I was at work this morning…minding my own business. Because I don’t mind the actual business. Because I’m a model employee!! So anyway I was on the computer checking my Facebook and the phone rings. This dude on the other end had a pretty strange and specific request. He wanted us to ship him a buffalo head. Not a skull – an entire head. Eyeballs, skin, hair, horns, tongue and all. Yeah. A real winner, this one.

*sigh*

Why do the fucking weirdo’s always find ME?

But wait – it gets better! I didn’t bother asking what he wanted it for…because frankly, I didn’t want to know. But he offered up that information anyway, as if it was crucial to the sale. It wasn’t. He wanted the head for a Halloween display – he wanted to stick it on a pike in his yard and wire it so that it was spitting blood out the mouth like a fountain. He already had a deer head and a goat head….but he wanted something bigger. Of course! I totally shoulda had that figured out. I mean it’s common sense, right?

*gagging*

Upon finding out what his (not at all fucking WEIRD) intentions were….my facial reaction was probably something like this:

Except there was no horse in my face, and no shit in my pants.


I got to thinking: and if I saw this shit in someone’s yard while trick-or-treating as a kid I would have had nightmares for weeks. I’ve always been really squeamish, even as a child. Preparing raw chicken for dinner literally makes me gag…but for some reason I have no problem eating it. Probably because I’m a bomb-ass cook and you’re totally jealous.

I remember when I was younger, I went on vacation with my dad and his evil shrew of a wife to Myrtle Beach. One night before we went out for dinner my dad was watching this old western movie on TV. A Native American woman had been shot in the back, and a cowboy was using a knife to dig the bullet out of her back. I couldn’t eat for 2 days. Yeah, I have problems. So does your mom. So shove it.

Forceful Personal Hygiene

So by now you all know of my 3 year old, Peanut. Lately we have been having some personal hygiene issues. Why, you ask? Well, Peanut doesn’t like to brush her teeth. Or wipe when she uses the bathroom. Or wash her hair. She likes to play in the dirt and eat bugs. In short - I have a dirty, dirty child. And when you’re like me (I know, you totally wish you were) you can’t stand seeing dirt under someone’s fingernails. It just totally grosses me out. Wash your hands once in awhile, yo!

Anyway, today I’m talking teeth. See, it is a perfectly normal morning ritual for me to load toothpaste on Peanut’s little mermaid toothbrush, sit on her lap, hold her arms down, pry open her mouth, and brush her teeth. She hates it. She screams open mouthed, while spitting foam like a rabid animal. She cries like I’m torturing her. And sometimes she laughs because “the toofbrush tickles, mommy!”

It drives me nuts. I really wish she would just take the damn brush and do it herself. I mean, the toothpaste tastes like bubblegum! It’s delicious! I could eat it on some crackers with a nice mouthwash chaser. It’s that good.

So, I’ve been trying to make brushing your teeth look cool so she will be more inclined to do it herself.


I’ve tried: “See how funny it sounds when you try to sing while you’re brushing?”

And: “Its fun to DANCE while you’re brushing!”

And: “Only cool people brush their teeth. So that means I’m cool and you’re not.”

Her response to that last one: “That’s ok, I don’t need to be cool. Because I’m already AWESOME.” -She surely is her mother’s daughter.


I’m fairly certain that the only conclusion she’s come to is that her mother is an idiot who dances with a toothbrush hanging out of her mouth, spraying toothpaste everywhere while singing Paula Abdul’s greatest hits.

I can’t wait to do that in front of her friends when she’s 16.

*evil cackle*

That must be why my mother embarrassed the shit out of me in high school. Like the time she pulled up in front of the school in a run-down truck with a stove strapped to it, screaming my (first AND last) name and waving like a maniac. Mother’s revenge….I must have forgotten to clean my room or something. Or maybe it was because I got suspended for swearing in German at the substitute teacher. (And I totally would’ve gotten away with it if the assistant principal didn’t speak fluent German.) Meh, whatever.

Conversations with Dishes

Everybody has certain quirks, right? Like...my brother likes to stare at me and drool like a retard whenever we’re in a car together and I’m driving. My boss stretches and says “OKAAAAAYYY” really loud about 5 times a day. (I think it’s a thought-gathering technique. At least I hope it is.) Every time I visit my Grandma, she sends me home with a full bag of groceries from her kitchen. My daughter has to scream “I’m wiping FRONT to BACK mom, just like you said!!!” every time she uses the bathroom – even in public. You know, totally random shit like that.

Well just today I noticed a certain quirk I never really realized I had: when I go to the kitchen to get a drink, I have to take a moment to choose which cup I want to use.


I open the cupboard and simply ponder in my mind:


“I’m not in a plastic kind of mood, plus the only clean plastic cup is neon orange. Ew I hate that one.”

*moves cup out of the way*

“I could go for a glass, but I don’t want the one with Christmas shit on it, and the other ones are really small and I’m thirsty as hell.”

*push to back of cupboard*
*pick a booger*
*fling said booger*

“I would use a mug but I’m not drinking something hot and that just feels wrong…and my favorite mug is dirty too. Shit, I really need to do the dishes. I wish I had a dishwasher because dishes are stupid and they can burn in hell. Where’s that pretty glass that’s shaped like a tulip?”

*peering in cabinet*
*rubbing chin*

“Oh shit, I broke that one a couple days ago. Dammit.  I guess I’ll use one of these fancy ones with the stem on the bottom. Yeah...I’ll sip my strawberry flavored Clearly Canadian like it’s champagne, and I’m a fancy fancy lady with a bidet and a backyard pool and diamonds and shit.”

*smiles approvingly*

“This’ll do quite fine. Ya done good, kid.”

*pats self on back*

Congratulations, people. You’ve just experienced a moment within my mind. Scary, isn’t it?

WTF, Illustrator?

So, I went to Dollar General the other day…because I’m cheap and I can get a full cart of groceries there for $40. Don’t judge me. So while I was there I told Peanut she could pick out ONE toy – and that it couldn’t be more than $5. (I guess I forgot that NOTHING in that store is more than $5.) Peanut picked out a little watercolor set that had 3 paint-by-color pictures in it, and she couldn’t wait to get home and paint. And I couldn’t wait to scrub it out of the carpet when she was done. Really, I was giddy with anticipation because cleaning rocks hardcore.

*rolls eyes*

So, when we get home and I got out all the stuff in the box, I looked at the pictures….and there are no words.  Check it out:

Seriously, wtf? Why is the caterpillar wearing a cast?

And what does a caterpillar have to do in order to break a leg?

Motorcycle accident? Sports injury?

I’m stumped.

Then there was this little gem:

… I don’t even know where to begin.

Why is the dog wearing a Santa hat?

What is the pudgy cat doing with fish bones, is that some kind of weird voodoo ritual?

And what in the HELL is up with the tiny mushroom house?

I simply don't get it.  I have come to the conclusion that this illustrator was almost definitely on acid.

The Fucking Ocean, Dude.

So…last week was shark week. I spent the majority of my evenings watching hour after hour of insane shark attack footage and crazy shitheads that think it’s FUN to swim with sharks. And let me just say - being in a shark cage isn’t gonna keep you safe, pal. Just like that snickers bar that slipped through the lining in my purse last week. Oh, I’ll get that sonofabitch. I’ll get it.

This is why I don’t swim in the ocean. (The other reason being that I live in fucking KANSAS.) I don’t have any desire to get into any water when I can’t see what is swimming around me. I am terrified of the ocean. I will watch it on TV, and I really do think it’s fascinating and beautiful. But I will NOT get on a boat. I will NOT surf, and I will NOT scuba dive. Not in this lifetime. There have got to be all kinds of species in the ocean that we haven’t even discovered yet. Who knows what their migratory habits are like, or whether or not they relish the taste of human flesh?

I have thisWii game that I love to play, called Endless Ocean. It is exactly what it sounds like – you are a scuba diver and you play the game by exploring an imaginary sea and categorizing animals that you find. I enjoy playing the game, since scuba diving is something I could never do in real life. But there is one section of the sea in this game that is called “The Abyss”. It’s…well, a fucking ABYSS. It is this huge dark hole in the ocean floor, and I’m expected to go down there and find the kind of ocean critters that dwell in the deepest parts of the ocean. Uhhhhh…fuck that. I won’t even swim my little scuba chick over it. I did try to go down there once, and maybe got a little less than halfway. And out of the pitch black this HUGE sharky/eel type thingy came right at me and I freaked and got the fuck out of there. And sometimes when my scuba chick is just swimming along, a fucking whale comes out of nowhere and scares the shit out of me. Those bastards are sneaky. So, my fear of the ocean knows no boundaries….including imaginary oceans, apparently.

You can't honestly tell me that THIS ugly fucker

popping up in front of your face wouldn't make you shit yourself.

Hopefully someday I will get over my strange and deep fear of the ocean. I would like to travel someday, and being on this particular planet….if you go far enough, you really can’t avoid it. But don’t expect me to jump in the water. Don’t expect me to put on a mask and flippers and a breathing tank and look for shit on the ocean floor. I don’t particularly feel like donating my leg to the Feed-A-Shark foundation. But if you want to go diving – be my guest. I’ll be the one holding the video camera and saying “I told you so” when I capture your loss of limb on tape. And then I’ll submit the video to shark week so I can see myself on TV. That sounds like what we call a win/win, baby! Booyah!

Sorry about your leg though, I’ll totally help you shop for some wicked cool one-legged pants. Wait, do they even make those?

Aaaaannnd….guess who’s going to spend the afternoon finding out.

*points thumbs at self*

Yay Google!!

There Is Something Seriously Wrong With Me.

My mind is not like other people’s. Last night, I had one of the weirdest dreams I can remember ever having. I literally woke up saying “What the fuck?!” and scratching my head. It was that strange.


So, let’s jump right into it. I dreamed that I was me, at my age, and that my mom had written a musical for a production at the Junior High she works at. (Well, she used to. Her position got eliminated and she got moved down to first grade. It’s a bunch of crap because she was an AWESOME teacher for that age group. But that’s a story for another time.) It was entitled: No More Bonnets! An Inspirational Story of Change.  It was about a group of Amish people who were protesting their boring clothes, and wanted to have the freedom to dress as they choose. Some of the songs titles were as follows:


“I Got Manure on my Jimmy Choos”

“We Want Booty Shorts”

"What's Wrong With Thongs?"

“Farming in My Air Force 1s.”

And last but not least…

“Pimped out Buggy”


I was the lead in this musical. (Because a 23 year old starring in a Junior High play totally makes sense, right?)  In the dream I had performed the entire show once before, but when the curtain opened on a full theater…I froze. I forgot every single word. I couldn’t remember how to sing or act, and I totally lost my cool. Which isn’t that surprising in my case, since I don’t have much to lose in the first place. I pulled a copy of the script out of my pocket, and started to do the show with the book in front of my face – hoping that the rest would come to me after a few minutes. It didn’t.

I was so nervous I couldn’t sing anywhere near loud enough – and some bastard hecklers in the audience were screaming shit like: “We can’t hear you!” and “You suck!” which didn’t make the situation any better. I was off key and didn’t know the notes to the song…but I knew the dance moves! I was doing jazz hands like nobody’s business. I did the chorus line can-can and I “raised the roof”. Because that’s how Amish people dance, of course. But I was so nervous and outright terrified that my face probably read “impending heart attack” instead of “theatrical enthusiasm”.

My mom was whisper\screaming at me from backstage: “You can do this! Relax! DON’T RUIN MY SHOW, YOU LITTLE ASSHOLE!!” And about this time is when I looked down, and noticed that my shoes fell off. Not sure how, when or why…but those bitches were gone. Dancing in socks was difficult.  I was slipping and sliding all over the stage, I couldn’t have kept my footing to save my life. And then I fell off the front of the stage and landed directly in Lebron James’ lap – who happened to be sitting in the front row. I stood up, looked around in humiliation, and ran from the room in tears. Then I woke up.

I usually remember my dreams for a few hours before they’re gone – but I have a feeling this one’s gonna stick with me for awhile. So….lesson learned. I will never eat Cheetos before bed again, if this is what will happen.

I totally don’t remember how to make friends.

I used to have all kinds of friends, but nowadays I don’t have any. I believe I’ve mentioned that I am from Ohio… and well, I do have several friends there. But, if you’ve ever moved before you’ll understand me when I say that it’s just not the same. Talking to friends online or on the phone isn’t as fulfilling as having someone you can invite over for a few beers and video games. Plus I hate talking on the phone for long periods of time. Because when I’m on the phone, Peanut decides it’s the best time to crawl all over me and demand my constant attention and do stuff like scream: “MOM! MOM! HEEEYY MOM! LOOK AT MEEEE!” -While waving her cute little arms like she’s trying to land a 747.


I used to have friends in Kansas, but unfortunately I’ve had a hard time finding GOOD ones. You know, the kind that actually like me and don’t talk shit behind my back. I usually don’t have a problem making male friends (it’s probably the big ol’ boobies) but they only want to sleep with me. (Go figure.) What I want to find is a good, honest girlfriend; a girl close to my age that likes my company and who shares common interests with me, and who needs a “BFF” as much as I do.

Herein lies the problem: I’ve forgotten how to make friends. I’ve never been overly confident, in fact I’m pretty socially awkward. I have the pure inability to approach a stranger and say “Hey, let’s be friends!” And that would probably come across as weird, anyway. (And really, the fact that I consider that socially appropriate proves how horrible I am with people.) And when looking for female friends I find myself having to throw out the disclaimer that I’m totally not gay – I just need a friend. And then they walk away, while looking over their shoulder to make sure I’m not following them.

*sigh*

Dammit.

I’m a really nice person, once you get past my shy exterior. Really, I am! But I’m also a total weirdo. I don’t say normal things. I don’t enjoy the typical female 20-something activities. These things make it hard to find someone with common interests. I’ve had a few friends in the past that I have nothing but fond memories of…and they were weird too. Super weird. We acted like total idiots and laughed our asses off on a regular basis. …I miss them. I miss the company of funny people that are easy to be around. The kind of people that don’t try to bring pressure or complication into the friendship – they just like to have a good time. But they also genuinely want to be there for you when life gets to be not-so-funny.

So, I’ve been trying to find some new things that will help me branch out and meet people. To clarify, I’ve spent the last 2 years or so being pretty much totally cut off from the world. I mean, I go to work and stuff, but outside of that I don’t really leave the house. It’s difficult for me to venture into the world, or to even spend time outside with Peanut. I have developed the inability to make commitments or connections. I am terribly afraid of people, since the majority of them in my life have done nothing but hurt me and then leave. And not necessarily in that order, either.

I’ve thought of trying to get into a local book club – I checked with the library, but they don’t have a program like that. So then I thought I’d take a class at the local gym; something like yoga or self defense, or a mother/daughter dance class…but that was a no-go too. (Damn small towns.) My only other option with the gym is to join the adult volleyball or basketball team…which I think would end up creating more enemies instead of friends, because I royally suck at sports.

So I have signed up for cafemom.com, which I’m hoping will help me open some doors to new friendships. And I’m going to sign my daughter up for a toddler tumbling class, so maybe I can meet some other moms there too. And if any of you reading this have any other ideas, hook a blogger up! Help me find my place in the world. Or I’m just gonna give up entirely and take out an ad in the local paper that says something like this:

Lonely Loser Seeks Lifelong Friendship

 23 year old brunette; totally weird, kinda pretty, very funny. Trustworthy and genuine. Smart but not too smart, so you know I’m not an uptight bitch. Accepting and open minded, supportive and kind.

Likes: Video Games, Junk food, Laughing so hard you pee.

Dislikes: Stupid people, Exercise, Crowds.

Need not apply if you are:
-Overly religious (and by “overly” I mean trying to convert me)
-A “Negative Nancy” (Don’t drag me down, yo.)
-Smelly
-A Serial Killer – (not sure why that’s fourth on the list)
-Two-Faced (no drama allowed)

Apply by email ONLY. I don’t want to get flooded with phone calls from a bunch of fruitcakes. If you don’t hear back from me it means I don’t like you. Nothing personal. Ok, so maybe it’s a little personal.