Dear People For Whom I Am Housesitting: Volume 2

Dear People For Whom I Am Housesitting,

Whoo hooo, I'm house-sitting again!  This is great, but seriously...Why did you invite me back?

I know.  You're related to me, and as we've all learned from that Davidian Sect...INBREEDING IS WHERE ALL THE LOYALTY'S AT.

Sorry.

Was that too much? 

*sigh*

Whatevs.

Anyways.... I thought about reminding you of what happened the last time I house-sat, because I’m clearly not up to the challenge of responsibility.  But then I remembered that I currently live in my old childhood bedroom in my parent’s house.

So...of COURSE I'll house-sit your house-ness and your animals and safeguard all your valuables and...yeah…all that stuff...AGAIN....UNSUPERVISED, despite my previously established irresponsibility **.

YOU'RE WELCOME.

As per usual when I'm in charge, many interesting things happened whilst you were gone but NONE of which demonstrate irresponsibility on my part including, but not limited to:

1) Who exactly was in charge of the garbage bins?  That part was unclear.  And, in fairness, the garbage bins that appeared on the curb on garbage day were super, totally, like, for real, similar to the ones that were collecting your garbage in "general" and which used to be in your side yard.  And, they were very similar to your own...only they never reappeared.  It should be noted that, according to the movie ‘Men In Black’, some aliens feed on garbage, so I wouldn’t entirely rule that out as a possibility for this garbagecan=-napping...especially in lieu of blaming me.

2) I may have accidentally downloaded some soft core porn on your Netflix account.   A few things of note here: First of all, what qualifies as “porn” EXACTLY?  I mean, I think you may need to lower your standards-just speaking in generalities for no real specific reason or anything.  And also, *SIDE NOTE*, I was rather innocently searching for the most recent episode of Tori Spelling’s latest reality show (Donna Martin 4 EVA!!!) , for which I may have entered  a combination of words that inadvertently led to pornographic videos.  THROUGH NO FAULT OF MY OWN.  Who knew Donna Martin was into kink?!  NOT ME.

3) One of the Guinea Pigs disappeared.  Nevermind, I found it.

4) That incident where the alarm went off did NOT happen because I forgot the code and decided it would be a good idea to crawl in through the deceptively large appearing kitchen window.  In my defense, time has not been kind to my hips, as it turns out…but that’s neither here nor there since this all happened while I was out running a FIVE MILE marathon with your dog and thus was totally not my fault….since I wasn’t there and all.

5) The other Guinea Pig disappeared.  Nevermind, I replaced it found it.

6) OH! You have plants!  Those probably could have used some water.  I didn't notice though, on account of how I kept the blinds drawn to preserve energy whilst using the air conditioner because I'm SUPER responsible about energy use.

**See here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, & here for further evidence of my irresponsibility...

Wordy Wednesdays: Man Meat

Learned another new word this week y'all:  Man Meat.

Need to hear it in a sentence?  ALLOW ME....

Me (to my client): So, remember how I kept nagging you about birth control?
Client: Yeah.
Me: And I was all, like, "you should probably use it or you'll end up with a baby" and you were all, like, "I don't need it, I'M GOOD".
Client: Yeah...So?
Me: And then you got pregnant anyways...
Client: *blank stare*
Me: So, then you, like, gave birth?
Client: *blank stare*
Me: To a baby...you know (pointing to said baby sleeping in stroller over yonder).
Client: *more blank staring only now with skepticism and disbelief*
Me: So I'd like to revisit the birth control conversation. On account of how you don't actually have any income or parenting skills to speak of and since child welfare is all up in your craw about you not really taking care of the kid you already have that they want to take away this one...
Client: Oh, you mean like birth control pills.
Me: I think you should probably use them. 
Client: I don't want to put poison in my body.  My body is a temple.
Me: (Ignoring the "FAMILY SIZE" bag of Flaming Cheetos) Ok, well there's always condoms.
Client: Oh no, I don't like anything on my man meat.
Me: *blank stare* What?
Client: *reciprocal blank stare* What?
Me: I'm sorry, did you just say 'man meat'?
Client: Yeah, man meat.  I like it plain.
Me: OK.  Um...Well, I guess I have no idea what to say to that.
Client: See?  How do you like it?  I mean, do you like your man meat all wrapped up an' shit?
Me: I think you may actually have a point.
Client: Thank you.
Me:  I'm unsure of how to proceed from here.
Client: You could offer to buy me a cookie.
Me: No.
Client: Fine, whatever.  I don't need your cookie.  I have my man meat.

Aaaand, lest you think I'd let my good friend Google off the hook....

May I present to you: Man Meat

How To Avoid Commitment...

When attempting to avoid a date is best to have an excuse that you can blame on OTHERS...

OR to at least have a "reasonable" religious excuse...

 

 

 

FYI, that's what I went with...When all else fails, blame Jesus.

Texy Tuesdays: Dating FAIL

My friend Rachel is sweet...its not her fault that I am a helpless loser...

Texy Tuesdays: Awkward Autocorrect Fails

Yeah, I said Autocorrect fails in the plural sense--as in more than one fail.

I'm sure you're SO surprised that lil ole me has used inappropriate words so much that autocorrect now makes really EMBARRASSING corrections that I don't notice until after I hit "SEND"

SURPRISE.

Seriously though, WTF autocorrect?

WHY ARE YOU SUCH A BITCH?

I feel like autocorrect is like that really hot side piece that you don't want your main piece to know about only it can't keep it's damn mouth shut about anything so it keeps ratting you out to your friends and before you know it EVERYONE knows all your business. 

I know y'all know what that's like you sluts you.

Recently my coworkers & I scheduled a Dim Sum lunch date. 

I was particularly looking forward to the pork buns. 

So much so that I skipped breakfast, AND my mid-morning snack AND my mid-mid-morning snack so that I could save room for the pork buns.

As the agreed upon time approached one coworker was missing in action.

Eager to indulge my love of pork buns I was approaching the state of HANGRY.

Hangry=when you get so hungry your blood sugar drops & you become simultaneously hungry AND angry.

Hungry + Angry=HANGRY

So I texted her to see WHAT THE FUCK IS TAKING SO LONG.

Said coworker arrived shortly thereafter...

Me: OMG, sorry dude.

Coworker: How many times do you have to use the word "porn" exactly before autocorrect just assumes that's what you mean when you enter "P-O-R" into your phone?

Me: Well...

Coworker: Because for me it would automatically correct that to be "PORK", not "PORN"...

Me: Well, I guess that's what we would call a difference in priorities...

Then there was this time...

 

I just can't win.

 

Fucking autocorrect.

Wordy Wednesdays: Wednesdays....WORD.

New blog feature! 

Need a minute to recover from the excitement? 

Ok.








Ready?

Great.

Occasionally I will post a new word I learned.

I will post this on a WEDNESDAY because alliterations are awesome and I'm desperate for any kind of gimmick that will make people want to read my blog....

Wednesdays Word is: DENTAL DAM.

I learned this new word at work (of course), via my favorite cubby mate-we share a row which totally makes us, like, total BFF's y'all...especially because I'm socially awkward and making actual BFF's is damn near impossible when you're afraid of, like, all people....

Your word, my friends is: DENTAL DAM.

Imma give you a minute to look it up...I recommend you Google it, but be careful to ensure that you click on "images" before hitting the "google search" button. 

Trust me.

I know of this which I speak.

Go ahead.  I'll wait....

Sorry, I couldn't wait....OMG LOOK:

I just...

There's no telling, y'all...the internet is just not a safe place. 

And then there's this...

 

I don't even want to know what's going on here...

 

Lest you googled "dental dam" for the purposes of aversion therapy there's this image that should make your vagina recoil:

I also found this:

Sorry, my friend, it's not your FINGERS that are supposed to trigger your gag...unless this is how you pre-game? Also, good job with the sunglasses though...no one will EVER recognize you that way...Genius.

But for God's sake, don't SWALLOW...

 

 

 

Even the Pope himself is a fan....

 

 

 

Oh Google....you so crazy. 

 

Lest you think I'm anti-dental dam...

 

 

Ok, I'm SORRY but if that doesn't make you want to go out and shove someone's dick in your mouth then-ugh, I CANNOT HELP YOU and this whole blog is a giant WASTE OF MY TIME.

 



HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!!

My birthday happened, again. 

Someone is OVERWHELMED.

 

I asked for two things for my special day: a cake & some tequila sangria. 

This was my cake (note the fingerprints).

I wonder which SOMEONE helped themselves?

 

It's a mystery.

But WHO CARES because I found this giant vat of tequila sangria in my sisters fridge....

I said, "Oh shit!  Who else is coming?"

She replied, "No one...that's for you."

*sigh*

My sister...she really gets me.

I did NOT let my 2 year old niece have any...I SWEAR.

As usual, my little town threw a parade in my honor.

OH, town...you shouldn't have.

You especially shouldn't have this...

 

Um...What IS this anyways?

Is that Roy Orbison?

NO matter.  I'm too drunk to care anyways...

Conversations: My Niece

This is a conversation I had with my niece, whom I shall call "Niece" and who is 4 and half.

For 4.5 years I have been telling her that the 4^th of July parade we go to each year is thrown for ME, in MY honor, to celebrate MY birthday. 

This year for the first time, that lie has backfired. 

More proof that getting old SUCKS ASS.

Me: You know what’s happening in two weeks?

Niece: Christmas!

Me: What?  No dude, it’s June. 

Niece: Ice cream!

Me: No, better.

Niece: *blank stare*

Me: My birthday!

Niece: Again?

Me: What do you mean again?

Niece: Aren’t you old enough yet?

Me: I deeply resent that but it’s ok, you can make it up to me by getting me something awesome for my birthday.

Niece: I know!  For your birthday, I will get you three packages that you can mail to me!

Me: What?  How does that even work?

Niece: I don’t know, but you could just do it ok?

Me: Whatever. That’s lame.  It’s my birthday, I’m supposed to get the packages, not you.

Niece: Well, you get the parade.

Me: Dammit.

Man Eating Vaginas, Magical Penises & Cat Murderers: NSFW

In case you live in a cave or are blind you missed the most awesome vagina story EVER this week.

Some moron an American exchange student got trapped in a giant vagina whilst touring Germany.

Need a visual?

ALLOW ME....

What's that, you say?

Hard to tell that this otherwise unassuming young man is trapped in a giant vagina sculpture? 

ALLOW ME....

The offending vagina:

Confused?

So was he.  Apparently.  Which is why he though he could crawl all up in there and find the Holy Land.

So am I, frankly.

I mean, what the hell kind of vagina is that?

Does YOUR vagina look like that?

ME NEITHER.

Has the artist who created this sculpture ever actually SEEN a human female vagina?

*sigh* I DIGRESS.

The REAL story here is what happened after I became obsessed with vaginas over the weekend.

Frankly, this whole "GIANT VAGINA TRAPS MAN!!!!" sensation that swept the internet TOTALLY kept me from doing any real work whatsoever.

Damn those giant man trapping vaginas.

(FYI: the whole purpose of this particular blog entry is to use the word "VAGINA" as much as is possible in one blog post...YOU'RE WELCOME)

So, naturally, I spent an inordinate amount of time this week googling vaginas.

Didn't you?

You would be surprised at how many people have done strange things to their nether regions and then taken pictures of them which they posted on the internets.

Or, maybe you wouldn't--WHO AM I TO JUDGE.

Either way, I strongly suggest you take moment to google, "GIANT MAN TRAPPING VAGINA"

I found the following...


I know.

I hardly know where to begin. 

Let's begin with magical penises, shall we?  THIS picture is of Huang Jianjun, of Guangzhou Guangdong Province, China *insert boring picture here*:

He apparently has a very special penis which traps ghosts. Or at least so he said to a woman who withheld her nether regions on account of how they are haunted.  

Haunted vagina INDEED...Clever gal.

Here's a picture of a man posing with dead "pussy's" for no real reason except that when you google "giant man eating vagina" you risk getting pictures of cats as a metaphor for vaginas....and sadist cat murderers, apparently. 

 I could go on for DAYS people.

DAYS.

*sigh*

God Bless the internet.

Pee Problems.

Took my sister's youngest to the water park recently. 

The day began with my sister dropping her two youngest off on my porch with a few bags full of swim stuff hollering behind her as she bolted like the devil for her car walked calmly back to her vehicle, "Have fun!"

After feeding them both lunch, I went to put the swimsuit on the 2 year old when it occurred to me that she wears diapers.

Having spilled many a beer on my own lap I am familiar at this point with the laws of absorption, therefore I knew I couldn't put her swimsuit OVER her diaper, but I figured there must be some genius somewhere who'd created a solution.

Sure enough.

Enter: the Swim Diaper.

A diaper with apparently SUPER diaper powers.

To absorb PEE.

Buuuut....my sister didn't have one of those. 

Don't worry, she said when I called her--swim bottoms in one hand, wriggling half naked baby in the other--to ask, "WHERE ARE THE SWIM DIAPERS?!"

"Oh," she says.  "You can buy them at the park for $3."

WTF.

I am not buying a glorified wad of cotton to shove in between a toddlers legs so as to absorb PEE at a WATER PARK for $3.

That's highway robbery y'all.

We're going to a WATER park...where she'll be in a POOL OF WATER*.

So I put the swim bottoms on sans ANYTHING and extracted a promise from her to NOT pee in my car EN ROUTE to the waterpark.

I know. 

Sometimes I also like to hold scissors and run at the same time too.

I'm kind of a rebel like that.

 None the less, there I was at the water park with said child tolerating the squealing enjoying the day when I hear....

"I go pee."

I turn around, "What?"

She repeats, "I go pee," this time pointing helpfully at the puddle by her feet.

"I go pee," she says helpfully pointing.

*OH SHUT UP.  I know y'all done peed in the shower/bath/pool/waterpark before do don't go JUDGING me JudgyMcJudgerstons.

Sugar Lips

Turns out I can't even be trusted to babysit Guinea Pigs. 

Five minutes in my care and I've got Sugar all tramped up like a total harlot.

 

 In my defense, bold lips are totally in this summer....

What. The. Fuck.

Do you ever sometimes notice something about yourself, and you're all like...

What.  The.  Fuck.  Is.  Happening?!

And then you do the math in your head and realize AGE is what's happening.

You are approaching OLD.

I do.

About once a week these days.

This week I noticed the two horizontal lines on my forehead that don't go away despite my best efforts to relax my face.

I also noticed 37 gray hairs. 

I plucked 17 of them before my ADD got the better of me and I lost focus.

Some things about aging I like. 

SOME.

Most I do not.

I do not like:

-gray hair
-achy joints
-that I have to stop and wait for my hips to adjust when rising from an extended sitting period
-wrinkles
-age spots
-decreased brain plasticity
-mammograms
-worrying about retirement plans
-fucking EVERYTHING

Which brings me to what I DO like about aging....

I'm sorry, what was I talking about?

I'm so old I can't remember.

Naked Floaty Riding

Just another Friday night babysitting my sister's kids...

Watch out neighborhood.  There's a pants-less, floaty riding cowgirl running amok....

I can only do so much.

Chasing after her might cause me to spill my wine.

Auto Correct Fucks Me Over...As per USUAL.

I have a love/hate relationship with autocorrect. 

Who codes this shit?  Because sometimes when I'm typing and autocorrect replaces a word for me I'm super grateful, like, "that's EXACTLY what I was thinking!!!  THANK YOU Autocorrect for saving me three extra finger swipes!"

Other times...autocorrect is like that dumb friend who accidentally blurts out the shit you told her in confidence which she SWORE to keep to herself only she's really stupid and so it comes out anyways because she can't help it on account of her generally below average intelligence....

Dog Shaming

So I've noticed that there's this new internet trend called dog shaming, have you seen this?

I LOVE IT.

I have PMS.

When I have PMS, it is NO JOKE. 

Who in their RIGHT MIND talks to me when I have PMS?  WHO?

People, apparently.  That's who.

NOT acceptable. 

You know how some women are turned off, or otherwise offended by people (mostly men) who do that thing they talk super carefully and tiptoe around you like they are handling a loaded weapon or are otherwise overbearingly fake nice when they think you have PMS?

I am not one of those women.

In fact, that is how I prefer ALL people talk to me all of the time FOREVER.

Talk to me like you think I'm holding a loaded weapon to your head.

ESPECIALLY when I have PMS.

So simple people.

I just would not mess with me when I have PMS. 

I would not mess with me or otherwise interact with me at all, for that matter.

AT ALL FOLKS.

I don't think this is so difficult to understand.

See, this is me regular:

Me: (explaining something very simple)
Other person: I don't get it.
Me: (re-explaining whilst apologetically using smaller words)
Other person: Um...
Me: Oh, AHAHAHAHA, Ok, well can I just do this for you then?
Other person: OK, YAY!!!!
Me: I'm SO HAPPY TO HELP YOU!

This is me on PMS:

Me: (explaining something very simple)
Other person: I don't get it.
Me: (re-explaining in more simple, simpler terms and also v  e  r  y     s   l  o  w  l  y)
Other person: Um....
Me: I don't understand why  you don't understand.
Other person: *blank stare*
Me: Ok, well, I would draw you a picture but I don't have any fucking crayons so I DON'T KNOW HOW TO HELP YOU ANYMORE.
Other person: *blank stare*
Me: You should just give up your very existence and throw in the towel already, ok?
Other person: *blank stare*
Me: And also walk away before I cut you up into tiny pieces and eat you AAAAHHHHH!!!!!

Pagan Sex Talks

Easter conversation:
Me: (to my very Catholic 15 y/o neice) You know Easter is a pagan sex holiday, right?
Niece: What?
Me: Yeah. I read it on the internets so it must be true.
Niece: Ummm...
Me: *pulling up the internets on my iPhone* see.
Niece: Whoa.
Me: I know, right.

Poppin' Cherries...Catholic Style

Just a heads up y'all...

If you are at a 'Presentation Ball' with your Catholic sister for your Catholic niece's Catholic school and the priest asks who is a "first-time" attendee...

DO NOT raise your hand and yell

"Woo Hoo! Poppin' my cherry tonight!" really loudly.

You will embarrass the Catholics.

FYI.

Irrational Fears

Any day now I'll outgrow my irrational fear that there are giant hairy spiders hiding in the toilet bowl when I have to pee in the middle of the night…right?

That should come right after I stop worrying about the under the bed nonsense....

Any day now.

Swear Jar=I am FUCKED.

It's finally happened people.

My sister (she of the FIVE children), has implemented a Swear Jar.

This, in and of itself will bankrupt me, OBVIOUSLY.

But on top of having to contribute to the Swear Jar for your standard (and I use this term loosely) "swear" words, such as: fuck, asshole, shit, dammit, turd etc....my sister has also implemented an "inappropriate things" clause that applies ONLY to me and me alone. 

Meaning that anything she deems "inappropriate" that I mention within her earshot in front of her children ALSO warrants a contribution to the "swear jar".

Obviously I object as this means that virtually EVERYTHING I say EVER will result in a financial contribution to the aforementioned socially restrictive and free-speech-oppressing "swear jar".

Particularly as "inappropriate" basically means anything that my sister has not, thus far, mentioned to her children which includes a WIDE variety of topics including EVERYTHING.

Just the other day, for example, the subject of vibrators came about which, apparently, my sister had never mentioned in front of her children.

I got blamed for the introduction of this topic, as per USUAL.

And, if I may add, just because my sister hasn't mentioned something to her kids does not automatically mean that they first heard it from ME.

These kids are in PUBLIC school, after all.

They may very well be retaining information from other sources that are NOT me.  So how does my sister know for sure that when I mention something, her children are hearing it from me for the first time? 

Thirdly, I would argue that an impartial judge should be appointed to determine objectively what IS or IS NOT "appropriate" because by my sister's definition everything on EARTH is inappropriate.

How can I take responsibility for all of the topics on the whole of Earth?

Case in point...tonight the following occurred:

Meg: Oh!  I bought you an early Valentines present!
Me: *crossing all of the fingers on both hands and saying OUT LOUD* Oh please let it be a naked man. Oh please let it be a naked man.
Meg: (outraged) That is NOT what it is!
Me:  *crossing all of the fingers on both hands and saying OUT LOUD* Oh please let it be a WELL ENDOWED naked man.  Oh please let it be a WELL ENDOWED naked man.
Meg:(even more outraged)  THAT IS NOT WHAT IT IS!  STOP IT!
*spoiler alert.....it was a wine bottle shaped magnet that said "Wine time is Any time" and was NOT a naked man at all*
Me: What?
Mia (my 10 y/o neice): What does that mean?
Me: It means-
Meg: NO!!  Stop.
At this point my very helpful 13 y/o nephew appeared at my right hand with said "Swear Jar/Inappropriate Things Jar" in hand.
Joe (my 13 y/o nephew): Here. 
Me: *outraged* What?!  How is that "inappropriate"?
Joe: (patting my hand sympathetically) Here's a few nickles to get you started.
Me: *still outraged* What? NO. I do NOT need charity nickles.  How is that inappropriate!?

Apparently using the words "well endowed" warranted an "inappropriate thing" contribution.

WTF.

Then later, when discussing Justin Bieber's recent DUI/DWI/dragracing/resisting law enforcement officers arrest, it came up that Bieber himself is the result of a TEENAGE pregnancy.

To which I--being the RESPONSIBLE Aunt that I am--pointed out how to PREVENT pregnancy.

I suggested condoms & spermicide.

And you can guess what happened next. 

I'll be broke by Easter for sure.

Monsters/Spiders/Bats etc.

I just dropped something under the bed, but since I'm pretty sure there are monsters or spiders or bats under there I'm probably going to just leave it.

Like, FOREVER.

I Must Be Ovulating...or something.

At work today...

Me (to supervisor): Hey.
Supervisor: What's up.
Me: Nothing.
Supervisor: Okay....you sure?
Me: Yup.  I thought I'd just pop in to say, "hi" and see how YOU are doing for no real reason except that I care.
Supervisor: *staring blankly*
Me: What?
Supervisor: Are you ok?
Me: Yea.  I guess I must be ovulating or something because I'm feeling slightly nurturing for some weird reason.
Supervisor: Wow, really? Nurturing.  Huh. That's weird.
Me: I know.
*crickets chirping*
Me: You're plant looks like it needs water. 
Supervisor: Yeah, that's because I don't water it.
Me: *no response*
Supervisor: You wanna water it for me?
Me: *rolling eyes and sighing LOUDLY* Oh for crying out loud, I'm not feeling THAT nurturing...Jesus *leaves dramatically*

Happy Easter. Here's a rabbit's ASS in cake form.

Happy Easter internets...

My mom bought this cake.

My dad made approximately 4 inappropriate jokes about this cake.

My sister replied to each one of his jokes, "I don't get it."

*sigh*

 

 



Upper Holes...your best guess.

The following may make NO sense to you whatsoever.

Rest assured, it makes no sense to me either, and I was THERE, soooo....clearly YOU have a problem.

No.  Just kidding.

Not really. 

Aaaanyways....here's the scenario:

If a 7 year old child came to you and advised that you should use the term "upper hole" (whilst you were drinking gin at your sisters house and therefore couldn't really remember what you had said just immediately prior to this declaration)....what would you think he meant?

YES!  Me too. 

And then my sister was all, like, "um NO...weirdo.  That's NOT what that means."

Which, naturally, prompted me to ask said 7 year old what exactly did they mean by  "upper hole"...which prompted renewed protests from my sister (who is a GIANT prude ).

See, I had assumed they meant "mouth" or, perhaps "ears"-as the ears are parallel to the mouth and I was interpreting "upper" in the most literal sense of the word.

Turns out the kid meant butthole. (which FYI is actually the LOWER most hole, but what the f*ck do I know I've only been sticking things in my holes for, like, 20 more years than this dumb kid...LOSER)

BUTThole. 

Turns out the kid meant BUTThole.

Which made me wonder that the f*ck I said to prompt this dialogue to begin with I immediately pointed out is NOT the upper most orifice on his person at which point I proceeded to name all of the orifices on said child's person beginning with the nethermost hole.

My prudish sister objected immediately.

Well, says I...what else would you like me to call it, a "wee wee"?

Meg: I don't want you calling it ANYTHING.

Me: just out of curiosity, does he know that he has two OUT holes down there?  I mean, provided he's not-

Meg: NO.

Me: I'm just saying that while most people consider those both an OUT only, there are some-

Meg: NO.

I swear.  Sometimes I think my sister was put on Earth to spoil all my fun.

Conversations on the Job: Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire.

Recently I met with my client, Joe, and his mom.  Mom really, really, really wants her son, my client, Joe, to find gainful employment and get the HELL outta her house.

My client?

Not so much.

He's failed out of  quit three job programs so far (or maybe four, whose counting taxpayer dollars at this point...NOT ME).

So here we are...again.  Another year, another failed program. 

Mom was mad.  I mean, real mad. 

Joe was cool as a cucumber. 

I asked him about each program he's quit failed so far.  For one program (culinary school) he said that he developed an allergy to flames.  For another (janitorial work) he said he got bursitis.  For another, (loss prevention at a department store) it was straight up discrimination yo.

This whole time mom is shaking her head and making disbelieving noises (impossible to adequately describe here so use your imagination).  Finally, Mom had enough.

Mom: This is BULLSHIT.  He needs to get a job.
Me: Well Joe, what do you want to do?
Joe: I was thinking I'd like to be a CIA agent.
Me: That's very noble.
Joe: Thank you.
Me: You know what the number one skill you need to have to be a CIA agent is, right?
Joe: What?
Me: You need to be a good liar.
Joe: Oh I can lie.
Me: Oh, I know you can lie.  You done lied to me about four times so far this last half hour, but that's not what I said.  I said you need to be a good liar.
Joe: What?
Me: That means you need to lie & get away with it.  You're not so good at that Joe.
Joe: Oh.
Me: Soo...
*uncomfortable silence*
Joe: Well, I guess I'll be a massage therapist then.
Me: Good plan.

Why I Should Not Be In Charge...EVER.

The problem with taking 2 kids to the Zoo in these t-shirts...

 

 

 

...is that people inevitably want to know what happened to “Thing 1” & “Thing 2".

Apparently the WRONG response is any of the following:
 

1. Oh, we’re polygamists...

2. I sold them

3. OH SHIT

4. *exasperated sigh* I don't know, I can only keep track of 2 AT A TIME
 

5. Who?

6. Well *insert dramatic eye roll* I had to give the Tooth Fairy SOMEthing in return now didn’t I?

7. Last time I saw 'em they's a playin’ over there by the Chubacabra habitat..
 

8. Oh, they were Aliens so I returned them…

9. My Shih Tzu ate them

10. It was Obamacare. Obama magically evaporated 2 of my children with his "liberal agenda".

Fucking Lemurs...

So...I took my two youngest neices to the Zoo for a day of innocent fun...

Except that then this happened....

Fucking Lemurs.

Conversations on The Job: An Actual Conversation

Welcome to the "Conversations On The Job" series on this here blog that no one reads, in which I will chronicle actual conversations that actually happen at my job which I shall call: Conversations on The Job.

I have an...interesting  job. 

Frankly, for most of my life I have had "interesting"  jobs.   

Which is to say that I have held jobs wherein things happen to me that NO ONE believes actually happened. 

Like the time when I was working on an ambulance and picked up one of our local homeless guys who'd passed out taken a nap on a local train track and had his ASS run over by a train. 

Only his ASS. 

The right cheek to be specific.

No joke.

I don't know how these things happen.  I just report on them after the fact.

To be fair, it sounds like a bigger deal than it was.  It was mostly a flesh wound (your ass is very fleshy) and so we took him to the local hospital where they cleaned up the wound, slapped a bandage on it, prescribed some antibiotics and released him a few days later.  

For the next two months  this man called 911 over and over and over again because he NEVER filled his antibiotic prescription and his ASS wound kept getting infected.  Every time  the infection became severe he'd call 911, we'd take him  to the hospital, they'd debride the wound in surgery, slap a bandage on it, prescribe an antibiotic and release him. 

This man apparently NEVER ONCE swallowed ONE SINGLE antibiotic tablet because the cycle repeated.

Over and over and over.

The thing is, that EVERY TIME the surgeons would debride the wound, this poor man ended up with less and less of an ASS than he had before.

So,  every time we picked him up, his ASS was smaller and smaller and smaller until he had one full ASS cheek and one concave fleshy bit that used  to be the other  half of his ASS. 

It was like the case of the disappearing ass.

NONE of my non-ambulance working friends believed me when I told them that story. 

And such is the case now when I tell my non-social worker friends stories about my current job as a social worker. 

Nobody believes me when I tell them stories of things that ACTUALLY happen to me at work. 

Every day I'm having conversations with my clients during which I'm thinking to myself, "Damn.  This is hilarious, and/or otherwise unbelievable, but NOBODY is going to believe me when I tell them about it."

Like the time one of my clients, whom I shall call 'Bob', called me frantic one afternoon because he'd utilized the services of a "lady caller"-shall we say-and then didn't pay her for her hard work which, naturally, caused some problems for her booking agent (aka: Pimp).

The conversation went something like this:

Me: Hello?

Bob: I need you to explain to my friend that imma gonna pay him when my social security comes in Ok?

*loud banging noises accompanied by loud yelling*

Me: What's that noise?

Bob: What?

Me: The banging & the yelling...What is that and why is it happening?

Bob: Oh well, I mean...I just need you to explain to him that my social security only comes on the fifth.

*more loud banging & yelling*

Me: Bob, I'm having trouble hearing you over the yelling.

Bob: I need some money.

Me: Ok, well I can't help you with that.  Who is yelling and why?

Bob: I had a date.

*banging & yelling continues*

Me: Ok...

Bob: And, well Imma hold the phone up to the door & you can just explain it to him, ok?

Me: Explain what?

Bob: Why I can't pay him right now.

Me: Pay who?

Bob: I had a DATE.

Me: *no response*

Bob: You know...

Me: Wait...did you pay for this date?

Bob: No.

*banging & yelling*

Me: Were you supposed to pay for this date?

Bob: *no response*

Me: I think I see what's going on here.

Bob: *no response*

Me: You picked up a prostitute, didn't you?

Bob: She agreed to come over!

Me: Because she thought she would get PAID Bob.

Bob: Well...I meant to pay her.

Me: Did you tell her you'd pay her?

*no response*

Me: So now her pimp is mad at you because you didn't pay...right?

Bob: l told him that Imma pay him on the fifth when my social security comes.

Me: Well how's that working for you Bob?

Bob: Can you just tell him that I'll pay him on the fifth?

Me: This isn't Pretty Woman, Bob.  They don't work on commission.

*no response*

*banging & yelling continues*

Me: That's her pimp isn't it Bob?

Bob:  Can you just tell him Imma pay him on the fifth?

Me: No. 

Bob: But if you could just explain to him that Imma pay him on the fifth...

Me: Bob...

Bob: Please?

Me: I cannot help you with this.

Bob: Oh....Ok

Me: Word of advice?

Bob: Yeah?

Me: Pay up front next time...

Public Service Announcement: Bad words

This is a Public Service Announcement.

The following is a list of words that I have learned the hard way one should NOT use in front of children.

I know this because when I used these words in front of children one of the following occurred:

1) I was immediately yelled at by a nearby adult.

ie: the time I used the words "firecrotch" and "ratchet" in front of my sister's children (turns out those words are not commonly used in pre-school-FYI)

OR

2) Said child asked questions regarding my use of the word in a sentence indicating that they had no idea what the word meant which resulted in my having to explain the word in more detail than I was comfortable which made me realize said word was WAY above said child's level and led to my regretting having used the word in the first place on account of how I had to scramble to explain the word in ways that resulted in more confusion.

ie: the time I scolded my 4 year old neice for scratching/grabbing her vagina OVER her fancy new dress. 

Me: don't grab your vagina with your dress!  You'll get vagina juice all over it!

Neice: What's vagina juice?

See?

Totally awkward. 

I ended up offering her candy and taking the dress off of her instead of explaining what vagina juice is.

Explaining vagina juice is not really a conversation I want to have with a 4 year old.

Here is a list of words that I have learned the hard way should probably NOT be used in front of children (YOU'RE WELCOME):

firecrotch
ratchet
hooker
cunnilingus
ass-hat
mother fucker
uncle fucker (not to be confused with mother fucker...two TOTALLY different things)
fuckbag
buttplug
transvestite
Oh, what base are you at? (to your 13 y/o nephew re: his announcement that he has his first "girlfriend"-HUGE NO NO)
sugar daddy
porn
transvestite
transsexual
man shaft

I could go on, but I think you get the picture....

Duck Crack

My sister got me hooked on Duck Dynasty like it's pure crack. 

So from now on I will be using "y'all" as much as possible, dropping consonants, referring to people as "sissy rednecks" and demanding all y'all refer to me as "Miss" to get me through the withdrawl periods in between A&E marathons. 

I apologize ahead of time to my family & friends....

Attention Earth: WARNING.

Attention Earth:

Though I have it based on no real authority, reason nor factual information whatsoever, I am pretty sure that these puppies:

are laced with PURE crack and are part of some kind of Obama-care/left-wing liberal agenda conspiracy theory that, once consumed, will secretly coerce you into a GAY marriage as well as lead you towards sympathy for other LIBERAL leaning agendas such as the proliferation of LIQUID nacho cheese at sporting events, universal admiration of The History Channel, and the acceptance of “Crocs” as appropriate footwear. 

May God have mercy on your soul.

Meme Monday

OMG PEEPS, IT'S A NEW POST THEME!!!!! 

Meme Monday's!!!!

HURRAY!!!!!   Are you excited?  Yeah, me neither.  But I will post funny meme's on Monday's none the less so you should at least get used to it....OK?
GREAT.

Here you go bitches:

Why I Should Not Care For Living Things

It turns out I only appear to be responsible. 

Or, you know, as responsible as a grown up person who lives in her childhood bedroom in her parents home can appear to be.

That is, so I thought. 

Until my entire sense of self worth was thrown into an abyss of uncertainty after an unfortunate near-death experience  (see The Weekend I Almost Killed My Dog On Accident).

Upon reflection, I've realized that I actually have an extensive history of irresponsibility—specifically as far as other living creatures or organic materials are concerned.

Just ask my Ficus plant. 

This is what a Ficus plant should look like

This is what my Ficus plant looks like after 5 years of tender love & care...

Note the adorably whimsical sign my very helpful work cubby mate attached.

 

 

I rest my case.

WTF Wednesdays: Emergency Room Deceit

Dear All People Who Work in Emergency Rooms,

Wearing scrubs when you don’t have the credentials to administer morphine is mean and should be illegal.  PLEASE STOP.

Thanks,

The Cranky Bitch in Room 2

p.s.
STOP SMOTHERING ME WITH YOUR EFFUSIVENESS AND CHEER. 

Conversations on the Job: Bob, again.

Welcome to a new series on this here blog that no one reads, in which I will chronicle actual conversations that actually happen at my job which I shall proudly call: Conversations on The Job.

You may remember my previously documented interactions with my client, Bob.

Well, I ran into Bob again.

And, again, he was in need of some "female advice".

Bob: Alright, so I got this girl, feel me?
Me: No.
Bob: Well, she be workin, you know? So I gotta decide if imma smash or pass.
Me: Smash what?
Bob: Huh?
Me: Are we talking about marijuana?  Because I saw that movie where Chris Rock is all like, "puff puff GIVE!  You're fucking up the rotation!" Is that what we're talking about?
Bob: *staring blankly*
Me: You know.... by "pass".  Marijuana?
Bob: *more blank staring*
Me: I'm sorry, I forgot myself.  Go ahead.
Bob: So...
Me: Oh, wait!  I get it!  She's a prostitute.
Bob: I don' like ta play it like that.
Me: I don't understand
Bob: I mean, you know...
Me: No. I don't know.
Bob: *sigh*
Me: *no response*
Bob: Man, you gonna help me or not?
Me: Probably not.
Bob: I'm for real.
Me: *no response*
Bob: So I got this girl...
Me: The prostitute?
Bob: Now you aint even payin' attention...
Me: What? I'm paying attention!
Bob: Nah.
Me: Ok so I may have drifted off a little bit.  But NOW I'm paying attention.
Bob: *side eyeing me*
*uncomfortable silence as Bob side eyes me*
Bob: So i got this girl...
Me: Who is NOT a prostitute.
Bob: Well, she and we smashed, you feel me?
Me: Smashed what?
Bob: Nah, I aint tryin' ta play it like that, you know?
Me: Not really.  I don't know what any of this means. You got to white it up for me Bob.
Bob: A what?
Me: I'm a white girl Bob.  I grew up in *insert very white suburb here*.  I don't know what any of this means. 
Bob: Oh.  I feel ya.
Me: See?
Bob: Yeah. Okay, lemme break it down.
Me: That'd be great
Bob: so I got this girl, feel me?
Me: So far, so good.
Bob: And she be gettin some attentions.
Me: Nope
Bob: What?
Me: You've lost me.
Bob: Oh forget it.
Me: I think that's for the best.