Thursday, March 31, 2005

People Who I Wouldn't Trade Places with for $1 Million

A man went on a business trip without his wife and decided to call a hooker to help him ease the stress of being in away from his friends and family...and that's when things went horribly wrong!


A couple are suing their home-builder for allowing subcontractors to habitually urinate in the $300,000 home they were building.


If it smells like shit, it probably is shit - unless it's a Fecalgram!

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_'s fun to laugh at other people's misery!

Wednesday, March 30, 2005

Duh! Most American Adults Sleep Poorly...

So now on top of everything else I have to worry about, I have to worry that I'm not getting enough sleep! I didn't need a multi-million dollar study to tell me this. The hefty bags under my eyes tell me this every time I look in the mirror.

What I want to know is why I practically fall into a coma every time I go to sleep? When I lay down, I can feel myself sinking into the bed and becoming heavier as I drift off to sleep. Once I'm asleep I am dead to the world -- except to the cries of my son. There could be a massive thunderstorm shaking my house into tiny splinters and I wouldn't wake up, but if my son starts to cry in the night I leap out of bed like I was fired out of a cannon. Well just to clarify, it used to be that I'd leap out of bed at the slightest peep from The Boy. Now that he's a bit older, however, I've learned to differentiate the "I'm just rolling over" cry, from the "AAAHH! Cobras are trying to eat me!" cry. Needless to say, the first cry doesn't disturb my slumber anymore.

Tuesday, March 29, 2005

More Incredibly Inane Things to Ponder...

...while I waited in the Line of the Damned at our local sandwich shop that's just too convenient to where I work that I put up with the inexplicable lines at 3:00 in the afternoon. You know the one, it's name starts with S and ends in Y and the inside is painted a yellow so bright it will make you sterile if you stare at the walls for more than 15 minutes?

Well, as I stood in line between the crazy artist type and a nursing student who was about to leap over the counter and strangle the hapless trainee who couldn't keep our orders straight to save her life (believe me she almost died this afternoon amidst the shredded lettuce and 4 different kinds of cheese), I had plenty of time to ponder one of the more puzzling news stories I'd run across earlier in the day:

I heard on the news this morning that Scott Peterson has been receiving quite a lot of marriage proposals whilst sitting on death row. Yes, you read that correctly. Scott Peterson, the man convicted of murdering his WIFE and unborn SON and who has been sentenced to die by lethal injection, has been getting proposals from women who have read about him or seen him on TV.

I know, I know, this happens all the time to death row inmates. Crazy women write to them and want to marry them. I'm sure there's a whole field of psychology that deals with this issue. I have a name for this particular psychosis that I came up with all by myself - no psych degree for me - it's called: Really Fucking Stupid or RFS for short. It's not new. I'm sure it's been around for thousands of years - maybe even millions of years. That's it! Maybe these "death-row groupies" are throw-backs to the Neanderthals and they're not RFS, they just never evolved enough to develop a regular brain like the rest of us. Of course, I'm aware that I may be offending the various Neanderthal Rights groups by lumping them in with these crazy bitches. If so, I apologize.

It boggles my mind how any sane woman would offer herself like a salb of meat to this butcher. Because let's face it, that's what he is. He murdered his pregnant wife, hid the body, fucked his mistress, and blithely carried on with his life. He seemed genuinely shocked when the police started to suspect him. I was pregnant at the time this case was all over the news so I admit that this became way too personal to me, but it still turns my stomach when I think of what he did. I find him so repulsive that I'd like to see the old "death by firing squad" method brought back for one special encore performance.

Monday, March 28, 2005


International House of Pestilence, that is.

First The Boy came down with something, then he passed it on to The Man, and then The Man passed it on to me. Whatever it is, it's ruthless and taking no prisoners. Snot has been a daily visitor to our house for the last two weeks and I'm really tired of it. So if you were wondering why I haven't been posting anything in the last two weeks, that's the reason.

In the immortal words of that big blue superhero, The Tick:

"Eww... mucus, the scourge of mankind!"

Wednesday, March 16, 2005

"You just can't trust these hired killers. You never know when they're FBI agents!"


Read the whole story here. I don't know if I can do justice to this sordid little tale, so I'll just leave you with this quote from the original story:

"She didn't want to share custody, for whatever reason. Now she's looking at some serious stuff here. I'm happy nobody's dead."

Tuesday, March 15, 2005

mommy's little redneck

mommy's little redneck
Originally uploaded by Chai Goddess.
This is the toddler I took into work today. Do you see the trouble he's contemplating even here??? Ishould have known this was a doomed effort and started drinking heavily as soon as I got to work.

Bad Idea #3,458,998

I have no babysitter today and no minions to take my place at work until 11:00 am. So for almost 2 hours now my son has been with me at work - destroying my office, running down the hallways, and scaring all of my childless co-workers. Alert Tim LaHaye - the end of the world is nigh.

I've almost given up hope. The DVD I brought doesn't work, the plastic Lego train lasted about 25 minutes before it was thrown across the office, and now he's playing with my keys. I gave him my keys fully cognizant of the fact that "keys are not toys!" Hey, as long as he keeps the roach traps out of his mouth I'll be happy.

Sanity, you are a harsh mistress!

Monday, March 14, 2005

701 days!

The Boy is 701 days old. He is 1 year, 11 months, and 1 day old - that's got to be of some Kabbalistic significance, right? Anyone have Madonna's number so I can check on it?

Before you have a baby you have all these ideas in your head of how your life is going to change. Well, I did, anyway. I thought about the sleepless nights, the diapers, that special bond we would share, the diapers, the cute little outfits he would wear, the diapers, etc.... Do you see a trend? You see, I can count on one hand the number of diapers I changed before I had my son. Now, of course, I'd need one of those super-computers at MIT to compute how many dirty diapers have passed through my hands. It's funny, though, how little that phases me anymore. I used to think that would be one of the worst things about having a baby (other parents, please insert your hearty laughter here!).

As soon as he was born, however, all of my previous worries about having a baby flew out the window. I no longer fantasized about cute little outfits. I was suddenly a Parent (note the capital P). I had in my possession a squawling newborn who was intent on making his presence known to the world -or at least to the entire maternity ward. All of the pain of labor vanished. No really, I'm not kidding, it vanished. When the doctor handed me my son everything I had ever done or experienced up until that point in my life just vanished. It was like I had suddenly developed tunnel-vision and the whole world had become a blurry background for this one small human being.

It seems like I've been trying to redefine my world vision ever since. The Boy remains at the center of my universe. The fuzzy edges of the universe, however, are beginning to coalesce into vague shapes. Right after my son was born I became severely depressed. I didn't know what I was doing. I kept looking for advice on the "right" way to parent. I read books, I asked friends, I scoured the internet looking for information that would unlock the secret of "good parenting." Up until this point I had been a reasonably well-adjusted adult. I had a wonderful husband, a college degree, a good job, and a nice house in the suburbs. (Of course, so does every other psychopath you read about in the papers!) Why couldn't I figure out how to soothe an 8 lb. baby? Why was I having such a horrible time breastfeeding? Why wouldn't he go to sleep when I put him down? Why did I feel such anxiety and loathing whenever my son started crying?

What I finally figured out - and this took far too many tear-filled nights and painkillers for me to piece together - was that there wasn't anything to figure out. There was no answer to why my son didn't want to sleep on a schedule or why he cried at certain times. He was a baby and babies don't follow anyone else's rules - not even Dr. Spock! I know, I know, this isn't exactly rocket-science. Even though I had read about these things happening to other parents, it just wasn't real to me until I had experienced it myself. There is a certain level of ambiguity and tension that parents have to learn to deal with on a daily basis and nothing can prepare you for it - at least nothing could have prepared me for it! I will never have a definitive answer as to why my newborn son could be soothed by the sound of the computer humming, but NOTHING ELSE could soothe him. I will never know if he would have been free of jaundice had we been able to stay in the hospital one more day. I will never know if he meant to smile and grab my hand that first day or if it was just an involuntary reaction. You know what? I don't care. I had to let go. I've finally become ok with the uncertainty of parenthood (well, for the most part) and the blurry edges around my universe.

Friday, March 11, 2005

Road Rage

It's come to my attention that I carry around a lot of rage within me. Most of the time my rage reaches its peak while I'm driving. Just this morning I caught myself about to unleash the f-bomb on some unsuspecting (althought thoroughly deserving) ass-wipe who couldn't figure out which lane she wanted to be in. I carefully avoided that trap by substituting "frick" for "fuck" so those little ears in the backseat wouldn't be burned off.

Where does this rage come from?

I've always thought of myself as a pretty mellow person. While I've been known to mutter "ass-hat" under my breath after certain unpleasant encounters, I've never been one to pick a fight or verbally abuse someone (to his or her face, at least). The Man, on the other hand, could deliver quite the verbal beat-down in his day. That was one of the things that attracted me to him in the first place. He had earned a place in history before I even knew him for delivering the infamous "Turbo-Bitch" speech - which quickly became known as one of the nastiest, and funniest, verbal beatings to ever take place in our dorm. In fact, I believe the subject of his venom, the actual "turbo-bitch," moved out of the dorms shortly after that speech.

I, on the other hand, have never been very good at expressing my rage verbally - unless I'm in the car. It's kinda' like people who can't sing unless they're in the shower. Put me face-to-face with someone who has been annoying me all year and I'm more likely to clam up and glare at them than I am to say anything. Put me in a 4,000 lb hunk of metal hurtling down the road at 60 mph, however, and I'll let the profanity fly. There's something about being in an automobile that unleashes my inner Andrew Dice Clay: "Ay! I'm talkin' to you, you fuckin' dickwad! Do ya' think I want you ridin' my ass like a $20 whore? Why don't you come a little closer, huh? I'll butter your fuckin' popcorn! OH YEAH!"

Thursday, March 10, 2005

PDAs, I'm not talking about the yuppie-swine-loving"let's do lunch"-type Personal Digital Assistant. I'm talking about Personal Displays of Affection, you know, the behavior that got you detention in high school when your guidance counselor caught you making out with your boyriend before homeroom. Or when your little brother spied on you for hours trying to get a glimpse of you lip-locked with your boyfriend just so he could shout, "EEEWWWW!" Ahh nostalgia! Now I'm the one shouting "EEEWWW!" and shaking my head in disgust at those young whipper-snappers engaged in public tongue orgies.

Today I was forced to witness two young lovers exchanging wet, sloppy kisses in front of my office building. Now, I know that passion can just overwhelm your senses (and good judgment) at any time! Boy, do I know that! Why the fuck do you think The Boy looks like the mailman? (Just kidding honey!) Is it really necessary, however, to proclaim your love / lust to the whole world by slobbering all over the newspaper stands in front of the main entrance to my building? Geez, if this is what's going on outside the building I REALLY don't want to take the stairs anymore.

Tuesday, March 08, 2005

Is that your crotch I smell, or are you just happy to see me?

OK, let me premise this bizarre post by saying that I am - and have always been - VERY sensitive to odors. The Man can testify to this fact as I have on numerous occasions been alerted to the fact that The Boy has a poopy diaper way before he notices. This can either be a gift or a curse. With my built-in "poop-early-warning-system" (or PEWS) I can discreetly sniff the air and, should I smell something amiss in the diaper, make a hasty retreat leaving The Man with poop-disposal duty. That is truly a gift!

Of course, being super-sensitive to odors has its downside, too. At my job I interact with over 100 different students a day - from various hygienic backgrounds. Some (bless them!) think of showering as a daily ritual, while others (curse their filth!)... don't. Let's just say they view bathing as an optional activity. Unfortunately for me it's usually the unbathed ones who are the close-talkers. These are the students who like to get up close and personal when they talk and have little understanding of personal space. Today, for instance, I had the pleasure of talking to a female student of the latter category. Luckily I hadn't had lunch yet or I might have thrown up and I don't know about your job, but here throwing up on your students can be seen as a career-ending move. Crazy, huh?

Now there's b.o. and there's B.O. This was screaming, eye-watering, sterility-inducing B.O. with a little crotch funk thrown in for good measure. Let me tell you it's hard to keep a blank face with those kind of smells threatening your very existence. Some smells are so strong they start to take on physical shape. (These particular smells morphed into minor demons from the Seventh Circle of Hell.) I managed to keep it together, though. I helped her figure out her class schedule and sent her on her way with a smile. Do I get karma brownie points for this? I certainly hope so because I don't remember reading anything in my job description that mentioned having to put up with crotch funk smell. EWWW. So, gentle reader, if I can teach you anything it's this: WASH YOURSELF. EVERY. DAY. Please don't expose others to your funk. Thank you.

Monday, March 07, 2005

Happy, happy, joy, joy!

If you've ever been to a toddler's birthday party you know what I mean when I say that kids' birthdays are freakishly funny - especially toddler birthdays.

Q: What do you get when you mix 8 toddlers, their parents, grandparents, and a few single people who still think they'd like to have kids in a small room for 3 hours?
A: Instant birth control.

People laugh when I tell them I only want one child. They always say, "Oh, you'll change your mind" or "Children are such blessings! Of course you'll want more!" To which I say, "What a load of shit." I have one child. Yes, he is a blessing and I love him more than I ever thought possible. He can, however, be a tremendous pain in the ass, a drain on my pocketbook, and a whining/screaming/shitting ball of pure rage (all at the same time!). I applaud folks who have 2, 3, 4 or even 10 kids. More power to them! It's funny how people think it's perfectly all right to tell childless couples and couples with one kid how much better their lives would be with more children, yet those same people would never dream of walking up to a woman with five or six kids and telling her how great her life would be if she just got rid of one or two of them! Maybe I'm wrong - maybe people do walk up to large families and tell them they ought to "thin the herd" a bit. Lord knows I've heard people say stupider things.

Anyway, the birthday party we went to yesterday was interesting in a "watching a car accident happen" kind of way. With 8 toddlers there was always at least one having a meltdown. This then led to the parents swooping in on their respective progeny and trying to over-analyze the problem which inevitably led to more meltdowns as the kids picked up on the worried tone in their parents' voices and responded with histrionics of their own. Note: Toddlers melt down for no apparent reason- usually in public where they're more able to embarass their parents. They could be happy and laughing one minute, then "BAM!" their whole world comes crashing down. There is no warning. There is no cure. There is only endurance. The Boy maintained his composure reasonably well. He only had one meltdown towards the end of the party and by that time The Man and I were barely able to hang on either. For the most part The Boy was happy as long as there were trucks to play with and an empty space to play in. He didn't really care if there were other kids around him or not just as long as they didn't interfere with his study of the trucks. "All hail the Playskool Truck and bow down before it's magnificence!"

Friday, March 04, 2005

Tampons Are Satan's Cotton Fingers!

There are just WAY too many appallingly funny things on this site!
"A Godly woman is only to use a Maxi-Pad," Mrs. Crockett stated. "Why, they even have them with little angel wings now!"

Is it lunchtime yet? After a hard morning of internet-surfing and instant messaging I'm all tuckered out! This whole "work-thing" is for shit.

A Pic of Me in the Morning

Thanks to this awesome chick for the morning mental masturbation - I created a lego version of ME!!!!!

Hosted by

Thursday, March 03, 2005

"...and a liter of cola!"

If anyone other than The Man gets this movie reference I'll be pleasantly surprised! Here's another hint!

More Things That Make You Go "Hmmmm..."

Almost every morning I stop at the local bagel place to get my usual 9-grain bagel smothered in low-fat cream cheese - and if that doesn't scream "YUPPIE SWINE!" I don't know what does - and, as usual, there's this strange man sitting in the corner huddled over his notebook. Why is he strange, you ask? Well, pull up a chair while I recount the many 'weirdnesses' this guy possesses.
Whenever I walk in I see him scribbling in his notebook, head down, eyes glazed over, humming to himself. On the table next to him is a cup of coffee (because, you know, he's not wired enough as it is), a mini-Bible (like the ones they give away outside the mall sometimes), and some notebook paper that he's torn out and crumpled up into little balls. I can only guess that he crumpled them up because they contained some heretical thoughts transmitted to him by one of Satan's minions through the microchip in his brain. If I had to describe him in one word I guess I would say he's "intense." Although that falls a teensy bit short of the hee-bee-jee-bee vibe I get whenever I look over at him. Which might explain why I try to NEVER establish eye contact.

I keep thinking that one day he's going to fly into a rage, hurl his notebook at me, and start screaming in tongues. At least I hope that's all he does, because in the other scenario that runs through my brain he pulls out his AK-47 (while screaming in tongues) and starts spraying the bagel place with bullets. In which case my ass is dead - shot dead in a bagel place by a lunatic whose non-fat latte was too foamy for his liking. Of course, this IS Texas so the odds that another patron of the bagel place is packing heat too are pretty high. In which case my odds of survival increase as long as I stay out of the line of fire.

Wednesday, March 02, 2005

"Don't You (Forget About Me)"

I am not ashamed to admit that I OWNED this particular soundtrack (on cassette no less -back in my day we didn't HAVE CD's sonny!). I probably still have it somewhere under the piles of mix tapes I made as a moody teenager with a dual-deck cassette recorder and too much time on her hands. Yep. Angst-ridden dweebs like me had a LOT of time on our hands to make brooding mix tapes filled with spoken word poetry interspersed with saccharine-filled pop songs by such stunning lyricists as Simple Minds, Howard Jones, and OMD.

Anyway, this particular song has been playing in my head all morning as I wait for word from our tech guys about the fate of one of my computers. One of the computers in the (EXTREMELY) busy lab I run as my karmic penance for some past-life misdeed has been in their tender care for over a week. I keep calling them to check on it, you know, to see when it can come home. The tech guys don't care, though. I think they fixed it long ago, and now are just hiding it in their office to torment me. Evil, evil tech guys. Now I must torment YOU by leaving 1,000s of messages on your voicemail with The Breakfast Club soundtrack in the background! Muhahahahahaha!

Tuesday, March 01, 2005

Why George W. is a Good President...

..."for me to poop on!"

"The Man" (just to clarify: MY man, not THE MAN) has started his own blog! It's fantastic! It's magnificent! I laughed, I cried, I saved $10! To quote from the master:

Mental masturbation at its finest since the odds than any other human on the planet ever reads this are slim and none.

Please visit and comment (all 3 or 4 lonely souls out there who might be reading my blog!) - just so he'll be proved wrong!