Saturday, April 30, 2011

Inspired By A Meatbag

13 COOOOOOMMENTS! Now you speak up!
Sending a shout out to my pal, Organic Meatbag. (Glad yer pup is enjoying spring!)

Question for you all:

What's the difference between a white plastic bag and Michael Jackson?

Wait for it...


What's the difference between a white plastic bag and Michael Jackson?

One's white, plastic, and dangerous for children to play with... and the other is used at the grocery store.

I suppose there IS suffocation risk...

WHAT?!?! Too soon? Not soon enough?

You Know I'm Bad, I'm Bad-
You Know It
(Bad Bad-Really, Really Bad)

You Know I'm Bad, I'm Bad-
Come On, You Know
(Bad Bad-Really, Really Bad)

And The Whole World Has To Answer Right Now Just To Tell You Once Again,
Who's Bad . . .?

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Tuesday, April 26, 2011

StephanieC's Car Tips

20 COOOOOOMMENTS! Now you speak up!
Car Tips for Savvy Women (& Men)

(Also refer to: Top 11 Tips: Become An Awesome Winter Driver!)

- Mechanics do not find it particularly cute or endearing when you refer to car problems with the words "thingy" "light thingy" "exclamation point light thingy" or "touchy brakes". You may also discover that you feel like a tool when uttering these words/phrases. They are also thoroughly unhelpful.

- Thank the gawds for that beeping noise "thingy" that reminds your stupid arse that you have, once again, forgotten to turn off your headlights.
Note to HONDA: Please make a similar noise for leaving the trunk open for longer than, say, a day, so as to avoid missing coffee with a friend because the driver was too stupid to realize she [read: ME] left the trunk open for two days in the garage with the intention of removing a bag of dog food. (Resulting in a dead battery. OBVIOUSLY).

- Some people use a parking brake.
Note this.
When you are trying to figure out why your car will not move from it's holdless parking spot in front of the mechanic's, stop revving and think for a moment. Then check the parking brake. Put the car BACK in PARK before removing the parking brake. Drive as normal.

- Always have a set of jumper cables. Never depend on your significant other for them, especially if he/she travels, isn't home very much/avoids you/points and laughs when you leave your trunk open for 2 days.

- Be sure to call your father and ask how to connect the jumper cables/generally what to do/find out how you managed to be so mechanically and automobile inept, despite his mechanic's license and your sister's penchant for shop classes.

- Believe the "low fuel" light. That shit doesn't lie. Usually.

Confucius say: "He who does not see low fuel light will walk a long road to understanding". Okay, I totally made that shit up. OBVIOUSLY.

- Do not agree to flash your boobs for a free ride to the nearest gas station, when proposed on the side of the road. The offering party will likely snicker and drive off without you.

- Make sure your cell phone is charged. Don't rely on your car charger, especially if you've left your trunk open for days.

Look Ma, no hands... operating the car. Also? Smooooooth phone.

- Remember that a bluetooth headset is NOT hands-free if you must search for it for 15 minutes, in order to fish it out from the bottom of your purse with one hand.
(It is also not hands free if you need to unlock your cell phone with a series of numbers, navigate through a menu, select a synching option, and mess around until it is finally functional all the while driving.)
Plan ahead for crap like that, idiot. Also, be aware that many GPS units have built-in bluetooth.

That's it for now.

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Friday, April 22, 2011

How Do You Know? Trust Me, I KNOW.

26 COOOOOOMMENTS! Now you speak up!
So, in what can only be described as a loss of 121 minutes of my life, Feyoncé and I watched the unusually-stabby-rage-y-feeling inducing crap film called "How Do You Know" last night.

It had all of the components a few of the components  a component  some of the components to make a decent film:

  • Paul Rudd
  • Reese Witherspoon
  • Owen Wilson

I love Reese! I love Paul! I am happy that Owen is doing much better, after his suicide attempt a few years back.

I know that you will want those 121 minutes of your life back.

But it WAS.JUST.AWFUL.  For the first 40 minutes, I kept telling Feyoncé that the line/idea/segment/part of the movie was unnecessary, ridiculous, pointless, not-at-all believable, painful to watch, or out-of-line and/or slightly demeaning in some ways to the strong character Reese plays.

My personal opinion? About the first 100 minutes of the movie were what you normally see in the "deleted scenes" special edition section of a DVD, because it was irrelevant and boring.

The last 20 minutes were bearable. Owen had a few pretty funny one liners. That was it.


It brought out rage close to Michael Bublé levels.

And we all know THAT can't be good for me. Or Feyoncé. Or you, dear friends.

Quick summary of all that is StephanieC:
  • I have been feeling very shitty emotionally and physically the past few days.  
  • I have been searching for literally hours and hours and hours and hours trying to find a honeymoon that fits for us, that is unique, and it is driving me crazy(ier).
  • I ordered my bridesmaids' dresses.
  • Some door-to-door asshole rang the door THREE times on Good Friday morning, while Feyoncé was on a work call in the basement and I was trying to get my bearings while falling out of bed.                You would think a large, unruly Great Dane STANDING UP ON THE INTERIOR OF THE DOOR would deter someone from at least the SECOND doorbell ring, but, NO.  You have no idea how much effort it takes for me to try to get him wrangled and locked away, just to tell you that I am not interested in your cookbooks/religion/fundraising sausage/overpriced chocolate bars/notice that there is a potentially-fatal gas leak and we need to leave the premises immediately . It's not worth even answering the door.  Once Feyoncé got there (while I was restraining the great beast) she asked if he had been sleeping (well you didn't really give a shit one way or the other, didja now?? HMM?)!

Don't bother to ring a second or third time. Just run.

He's sweet inside, but even I would run from a face like that looking back at me AT EYE LEVEL, if I was schlepping door-to-door.

  • Icing on the cake? Feyoncé hasn't been feeling well either, so he went to lay down for a bit. And someone else came by door-to-door.  A ringin' away.  *CUE DOGS BARKING THEIR HEADS OFF*.   I struggled beside Schultz to get door-front window real estate, so my face was visible in the doorway and I waved the guy off.   That's right.   Made a *shooing* motion.   At least it worked, and he didn't have to see my pajama pants. Or smell my breath.
I'm holding out on writing any more blog stuff until I get out of this mental pissy state.
Or until Cesar Milan can come here and teach me calm assertive leadership when it comes to strangers at the door.

That last picture of Schultz is sort of helping a bit...

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Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Glade, Febreze & Britney = Poison To The Senses

18 COOOOOOMMENTS! Now you speak up!

Now, first off, I'd like to say that I am pissed that my secret boyfriend happened to produce a segment on his show making fun of air fresheners on the very same day that I was mentally compiling a post about the same thing.

I'm also pissed that his show aired twice and I only happened to see it last night (I still love you, Stephen Colbert).

The item(s) in question? Air Fresheners. I will also take it a step further and include "fabric refreshers".

Now, I have a sensitive nose. I can smell smoke from miles away, nasty perfume from quite a distance, chemical and cleaner smells make me feel ill.

That leads me to question ... who the hell willingly and intentionally sprays some combination of potentially toxic (or at the very least, probably not HEALTHY-TO-INHALE) chemicals into the air and takes a huge, lung-filling breath of that air?

You've all seen the commercials. To me, it's a better-perfumed version of spraying Windex or Fantastik cleaner, then leaning in to suck up all that is unnatural/chemical based/potentially toxic.

Those Febreze fabric refresher commercials show a mom sniffing her nocturnal-emission-aged son's sheets, showing a face of disgust, then being promptly informed she can freshen that shit up.

KID: "UUUh Mom?" *squirms in chair* "You might not want to pur your face in that..."

Would you ever consider spraying a can of chemicals and immediately inhaling? Unless you were George Carlin using whipped cream and doing "whippits"? No good can come from this.

Also? Last I checked you can wash coats, and bath mats, too. Man, this commerical AND PRODUCT pisses me right off.

Are you that fahcking lazy you need to spray down your coat? Seriously? I mean, really?
Mind you, my house always smells like dogs (and sometimes fried onions/omelletes), but I'd still rather spare myself exposure to a can full of "vanilla lavender" chemicals in a can.

And no, I don't wear perfume, either.

Febreze on anything other than an attempt to conceal the urine smell on a chaise that a puppy may or may not have peed on is just not okay.

Also? Mattresses that have that aroma that Rihanna talks about in her latest song. HA! Just kidding.

Finally, that Britney Spears and Rihanna combo is awful. Someone took pity on Britney and included her in S&M, and let's just say that Rihanna has a real right to be pissed off. The song has been butchered. Someone needs to tell Britney to unplug her goddamned nose when she sings.

Be prepared for ear bleeding:

Listen to the atrocity here.

So there ya go. Nice random post for a Wednesday.

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Saturday, April 16, 2011

Samuel L. Jackson to Disney: "I've had enough of these motherf*cking cats on this motherf*cking plain!"

23 COOOOOOMMENTS! Now you speak up!
Oh that's right babies.

First, someone made the mistake with snakes.
They made Samuel L. Jackson mad.

VERY mad. With snakes.

Samuel L. is pissed... at motherf*cking snakes on his motherf*cking plane...

Don't you remember? Clip NSFW:

Snakes on a plane.

So now, of course, when Disney needed a narrator for their nature movie about two cat families in the African Savannah, who did they call?

That's right bitches: Samuel L. Motherf*cking Jackson.

Really Disney?
For CATS on a PLAIN.

I saw the commercial preview as I was about to do the 30-day shred (more like the "90-day Shred" if you only do it every 3rd day)... and I couldn't help but laugh and make that immediate connection between his last movie involving creatures.

Even the animals are surprised at Disney's choice of narrator.

On the bright side... everybody together "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaw":

Cats on a motherf*cking plain. Hey... wait a second...

Please tell me someone else finds this amusing, too?


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Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Someone Thinks I'm Versatile! (Everyone Else Just Thinks I'm Crazy)

18 COOOOOOMMENTS! Now you speak up!
So through random algorithms produced by the interwebs, Sam over at A Redhead Named Sam felt it fitting to bestow the Versatile Blogger award on little ole me.

I have most certainly been called worse...  ;-)


Sam has described me, and I quote:

"Random is right...there really isn't a cohesive theme to this blog unless you consider humor and randomness a theme. I guess, in that context, it is. Anyway...moving on. If you like The Bloggess, you'll probably enjoy this one too. *I* enjoy it - if that influences your decision at all. ;)"

Thanks for the award, Sam!

I am supposed to:
1.) Tell all of you 7 facts about myself.
2.) Tag 7 of fellow bloggers to do the same.

Facts Away!

1) I can always tell what kind of silverware I am pulling out of the clean dishwasher rack before seeing it, just based on the weight (e.g. knife, spoon, fork). I am eerily accurate. It is a totally and completely useless skill. And apparently my number one fact about myself

2) Lately I have not felt the slightest bit funny, had the slightest desire to blog, nor feel that I have had any quality content. I have also failed to deliver two guests posts.

3) I consistently scratch the crack of my butt with my engagement ring. It's big and sharp and continually reminds me that I should be using a washcloth. Also reminds me that I will likely blind small children and puppies with this bad boy. (Look out, Ella!)

4) I love love LOVE Stephen Colbert and think he is hilarious. Only in character. The only time I like him out of character is when he is still technically in character, but is cracking up laughing trying to stay IN character. He consistently makes me laugh and I love it. I've also seen Jon Stewart in stand up comedy twice, and the first time, I laughed so hard that my stomach was killing me and my cheeks hurt from smiling for so long.

Stevie boy is on the right. I LOVE him!

5) I watched 3 seasons of True Blood over the course of a long weekend, non-stop back to back. I ate, slept, dreamed everything Bill and Sookie. It's so bad it is good. I love True Blood. (Do the things I like count as things about me? No? Too bad).

6) =

(Ella, the puppy, typed that one for me).

real #6: I am dying to go to one of those gorgeous over-water bungalows in Bora Bora where you can walk right from your hut into the water. They are stunning and RIDICULOUSLY expensive. A girl can dream.

This goes into the mother-frikken OCEAN. It's pure paradise in Bora Bora! Me want!

7) I always ask Feyoncé to play online Scrabble, then bitch and moan the ENTIRE time because I have shitty letters/no idea what words to make/am losing/know I will lose/used to kick his butt, but never do any more.

The following are 7 neat blogs that you should check out if you haven't already:

1) D'Artagnan ("Dee") over at Support Your Own Agenda
2) Mrs. Hyde over at A Bitch Called Mom
3) Brucie over at JADIP
4) Kage over at Sex, Sequins + Sociopaths
5) Jewels over at Jewels Turning 30 (aka Turning 30: A Journey of Self Exploration)
6) Oilfield Trash over at his accurate 10% theory blog, Make Daddy A Sammich
7) Jeff over at Content Unrelated

Check 'em out.

Later gators.


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Friday, April 8, 2011

Freebie Friday: Funny Stuff That Isn't Mine

16 COOOOOOMMENTS! Now you speak up!
Here it is,

mah lame Friday post. Free e-cards that are frikken hilarious (and are totally not mine).

Thank you SomeECards!

Don't deny it. Mine even overheats. Control your jealousy.

It's true. I hate funerals.

This is true for every blogger Narcissist.

I say do one thing, and do it well. This is mine.

And on that note...

Happy Friday!

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Wednesday, April 6, 2011

Hoarders - The Beginning

23 COOOOOOMMENTS! Now you speak up!
First off - Hello to all the new followers and visitors to the blog! Let me wow you with some mundane shit  crazy-talk  ridiculousness  stuff.

So, Feyoncé wanted to do some purging and cleaning and sorting.

Apparently this is "all the rage" during "spring time". And yes, I have put spring in quotes, because this mother-effing snow won't piss off, so it's a pretty questionable spring time if you ask me.

Anyway, I immediately became defensive and wanted to save every extra toaster, bread bag plastic tie and odd-shaped glass container that I own... you know... just IN CASE.

In case of a large influx of 50 loaves of bread that show up without closure tags    in case of really impatient company and not enough bread slots, resulting in exceptional delays of toast delivery    because plastic is the devil and I am one crazy bitch.

You know, just in case we need it some time. It's so much easier if it is already around, as opposed to having to go out and buy new stuff.

So then I took a look around, and realized that some stuff was piling up ridiculously. The stuff you see all of the time, but your mind sort of cancels out the ugliness/ghetto-fabulousness/clutter/dirt/fur pile-up, just because it's always there. Like the great dane drool all across the walls.

I present to you Exhibit A of how I am becoming a Hoarder. The famed "junk drawer":

Prepared to tie bread, open wine, cut a bitch with a utility knife, and plug a sink with a warped drain stop.

I had every single bread bag tie that has ever entered this house since 2007. I Why? I have no idea, because I also had every single elastic band that has ever made its way through the door. And twist ties, too, for good measure.

I tried to throw a bunch of shit out, and made some progress. I cleaned off some cupboards and re-organized (though, admittedly, didn't actually get RID of too much stuff).

Seriously, who gives a shit about my junk drawer? Really?

Oh well, at least ONE SINGLE FREAKIN' DRAWER has been cleaned. And Feyoncé did a drool wipe-down.

Does that count as spring cleaning? I say yes!


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Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Win & Fail

31 COOOOOOMMENTS! Now you speak up!
So, sometimes I feel like the ultimate shitty blogger.
No good thoughts, no witticisms bringing the house down with lols, ROLFLOLs, or people choking on their chicken wing and dying due to my hilarious content.

I realized today that I promised to guest post at two other bloggers' sites... Bruce at JADIP and Krissy at Talkative Taurus.

I went all wedding-y and did stuff, and was sick and down and out in between, then went to California, was in hospital, came back home, now suffering nightmares and unable to sleep through the night. I never guest posted.

Full of the AWESOME.

I have also been given an award by Sam at a Redhead Named Sam, chosen at random, but have yet to make mention of it. So... I get a big helping of FAIL for that.

On the other hand?

I WIN on Wii.

I am currently ranked #1 on all of Rock Band 3 for "Blow At High Dough" by the Tragically Hip (an awesome Canadian band who never were able to crack North American mainstream). I did vocals solo on expert. Boo-yah.

The smarter it gets, the further it's gonna go. #1 on Rock Band 3

I also did 10-fucking-straight-minutes of hula hoop on the Wii fit. I'm sure I broke no records, but people. 10 MINUTES OF HULA HOOP. That has to count for something, right?

10 minute Wii hula hoop: Not for pussies the weak.


Okay, so the actual number of spins is about that number divided by 5 (What?!? They throw 5 hoops at you and add it to your total... not my fault!)



Fine, here is an adorable picture of my sleeping puppy Ella (with me trying to protect her lady-like-ness):

Sleepy puppy with some class.

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Sunday, April 3, 2011

Have I Mentioned I Hate Cleaning?

21 COOOOOOMMENTS! Now you speak up!
So, I rolled my lazy ass out of bed somewhere around the noon-mark yesterday (mothers everywhere, feel free to hate on me).

As soon as I was up, Feyoncé was already cleaning up papers, putting crap away, doing laundry, saving lives and giving money to the poor.

I felt like I had enough energy to eat. Maybe, MAYBE even go to the store to get fruit to have with my wheat and dairy-laden waffles and coconut yogurt.

After I bravely faced the hoardes of slow-moving elderly shoppers at the jam-packed grocery store, fought through same drivers in the parking lot, grabbed a coffee and made it home, I was ready for a nap again.

What did I end up doing, you ask?

Well, Feyoncé was talking about this "spring cleaning" phenomenon that I am vaguely aware of. He went to the store and ran some errands.

I ended up cleaning the front entrance way.

On my mother-effin' hands and knees.
Using a mother-effin' toothbrush to get all the dog drool and dirt and grossness that couldn't be reached with regular, upright cleaning methods.

People, a MOTHER-EFFIN' toothbrush.

I inhaled all kinds of "Fantastik" cleaner, I Swiffer wet-jetted that vinyl flooring like no other assault it has likely ever seen in its life. I think I vaccuumed before washing about 3 times, just to be sure. And I used that weird pointy, funnel-down-to-a-point edge attachment.

Yes, I used central vaccuuming ACCESSORIES, I was so hard core.

The soundtrack to this wondrous (if not atypical) cleaning event?

It's pure gold... bellbottoms.

Oh yeah, Abba, on full blast, so as to hear it over the vaccuum, scrubbing, swearing, sweating, and brushing. (As in mother-effin' toothbrushing the wood floor trim).

Feyoncé came home. I could tell the music was jarring to him. So while I was on my hands and knees, Feyoncé literally said the music needed to be turned down.


But... they're so HAPPY, honey... it's ABBA?!?

I'm on my mother-effin' knees cleaning the mother-effin' quarter-round wood trim, and he DARES to try to soften/quiet/stop the ABBA?

I was angry... I need the music to motivate.  (p.s. I would have been much happier playing with a kite instead.)

Anyway, the poor guy ALSO worked his butt off doing the mile-high stack of dishes, to the only slighty-quieter ABBA soundtrack.

I later found out that he truly, deeply hates ABBA, that it was an awful experience for him, and, when asked, he was hard pressed to tell me ANY OTHER POSSIBLE MUSIC I could have played that would have been worse for him. (My apologies on the abuse of the comma there).

Anyone else need loud music to clean?
Clean their floors/rim with a toothbrush?

Anyone else think Swiffer is total BULLSHIT, since it makes it LOOK clean, but makes it sticky, which will ultimately just attract more dirt, requiring you to Swiffer again, causing an endless vortex of swiffer-squirting-then-sticking-then-resquirting?

No? Just me? 



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