In which I talk about my feet

Feet are disgusting. There is no arguing against that. If your feet are not baby feet, they are gross. And if you’re an adult with baby feet? Welp, chances are that if I see them, I’ll be hauling ass far, far away from you. As much as I loathe feet, I would actually like mine to not look all dry and nasty and cracked. I’ve always painted my toe nails. ALWAYS. The only time I haven’t was when I was pregnant and that was only cuzz I couldn’t actually reach my toes. Hell, I couldn’t even cross my legs.  o_O

Since I would like my feet to look normal, or at least like I was able to get regular pedicures or something, I decided to try something that a friend of mine told me about. Seems slathering your feet in Vaseline and wrapping them in plastic wrap over night is supposed to make your feet nice and soft looking. Since I don’t think my feet have appeared to be nice and soft for a number of years (possibly over a decade), I decided to give it a shot. After all, it’s not like it’s gonna kill me or anything. Right?

So, last night around 7, I remembered that I had wanted to attempt this Vaseline thing. Miss Squish was happily kicking shit in her crib, The Ginger was in his room doing… something, and Greg was on the couch trying to find something to amuse him until the Tigers game came on. I figured that since no one in the house needed anything, I should probably wrap my feet before I forgot again. I got the plastic wrap, the Vaseline and some paper towels so I could wipe the sliminess from my hands. I was thinking ahead on that one.

As soon as I sat in my chair, Baby Mae decided to get very interested in what I was doing. Apparently, seeing me sit down with those three items and take off a sock piqued her curiosity a bit. She sat on the window sill looking at me like I was being the slowest person ever born. I found this amusing. I started doing everything super slow, just to see if I could send my normally docile cat over the deep end. She simply stared at me and I lost interest in pissing her off being slow after a minute or two. As I’m slathering my feet at a normal pace, I notice that Baby Mae is ever so slowly moving to sniff the Vaseline. It would seem that my cat thinks as long as she moves like a snail, I won’t see her. She also does this when I’m eating ice cream. You’d think after 5 years of not being fooled, she’d catch on. Anyway, I notice that she wants to smell the Vaseline, so I just hold my hand up to her nose. She sniffs it for a couple seconds and the next thing I know she’s LICKING IT OFF MY HAND. I started laughing and ended up letting a glob fall off my hand. Luckily, I had somewhat anticipated this happening as well and I happened to have some paper towel on the carpet just in case. Yes, I really AM that awesome.

After I entertained myself with that for a minute, I decided to just hurry up and be done so I could go about my business. I slathered and wrapped both feet, wiped off my hands and sat there, wondering if this was going to work. I’m not sure why, but I think I might have been expecting to feel, like, a tingling or something? Logically, I knew I wouldn’t, but logic has been wrong before in my world. My feet felt squishy, but that was about it. I decided to put on some socks just in case the half roll of plastic wrap I had just used hadn’t been enough and decided to venture outside for a cigarette.

Now, I’ve documented some of my smoothness here in the past, so I’m sure there is someone, somewhere who has just pissed their pants at the thought of this.

I stand up and my feet feel squishy. I could actually kinda hear the squishing, too, which made me think of Miss Squish’s Eeyore blankie thing with the crinkly ear and then I giggled a lot. After the giggling, I got my cane and started to move forward. HOE.LEE.WEIRD. y’all. I felt like I was slipping without actually slipping! In order to combat the slipping, I walked around like a little old lady. That only helped a little bit. It was one of the weirdest feelings evAr!

Since I’m blogging, I obviously managed to not hurt myself. I kinda wish I had, though, so I could make another I’m Ultra Smooth post, but alas, ’twas not meant to be. My feet don’t look HALF as dry as they did before this, but they still look dry and you can tell their cracked. I even sanded them down and soaked them in the shower a bit before hand in order to make sure the Vaseline could soak in. That didn’t happen. The only difference is that there appears to be less dry skin if you don’t look hard enough.

I think I’m gonna try one more time this week and if it doesn’t work… Well… If it doesn’t work, I guess I’ll be wearing closed shoes all summer.


In which I have the crap scared out of me over something that probably doesn’t scare most people

Miss Squish has decided to sleep longer than usual this morning and I decided to take advantage of that by dinking around on the intarwebs. I’m pretty sure I was actually a bit productive as I found out what I want to get Greggles for his birthday in a few months, but we’ll just keep that to ourselves.


I was sitting here, minding my own business and playing some game on Facebook. I was pretty zoned into it cuzz it’s one of those find the shit in the picture kind of games. Kinda like Where’s Waldo, but without the little douche in the stripey shirt. So, I’m drinking some coffee with my face inches away from the computer screen, cuzz getting closer will make me find things quicker, and then I was suddenly staring at a black screen. This pretty much stopped my heart. I immediately thought that I blew up the computer, which would probably get me put to the curb (I tell Greg he’s gonna get put on the curb on the regular, so it’s ok if it happens just once to me). After I started to breath again, I realized that I was no longer listening to the window air conditioner or GMA. I also registered that the kitchen light was no longer on.

Fuck. The power was out.

Right away I started to try to figure out how I could see when I made a payment. I knew it had been recently, like within the last week or so, but I wasn’t sure if Consumer’s Energy (also known as GDE – Ginormous Douchebag Energy®) decided to register that I had given them money. Then I heard a loud BOOM! and the power came back on.

(Side note – I think that I wrote about this in here somewhere, but I am FAR too lazy to go looking through my past posts to make sure, but we pretty much get shut off notices exclusively from Consumer’s. When we first moved into this house, we had to get a stove, but couldn’t buy one right away. Thankfully, my ex-husband’s parents let us have one of the stoves they had used as a replacement when they would have to take a stove out of one of their rental places to fix it. We didn’t realize that the connection to the gas wasn’t big enough and that it was actually leaking gas for about a month and a half or so. Once we realized it, we would only turn the gas on when we absolutely needed to, but since it had been leaking for so long, we ended up with a $700-ish bill for one month. Kinda hard to pay something like that off when you bring in maybe $50 more than that a month and you kinda need to pay rent and other things in order to have a place to need to electricity and gas for. There was also an issue regarding the fact that our meter wasn’t read for a couple months, but that will be an entirely different post.)

Now that you have a little backstory, you can see why I automatically thought that I was going to be on my phone until my battery died, trying to prove that I did actually give Consumer’s roughly$300 just to keep my power my on this month. Once the power came back on and my heart began to beat again, I started to wonder what the BOOM! was. I’ve heard transformers (and possibly Decepticons) explode before and the BOOM! sounded like that, but the fact that the power came back on leads me to believe that that was not the cause. I’ve also heard similar noises when cars have decided to take out utility poles, but again, the power came back on.

I’m probably going to spend the rest of the day wondering what the hell made my power go out. My heartbeat is still a little fast, which makes me feel like I can move mountains right now, so I should probably take advantage of that before I crash and don’t want to get off my couch.


In which I want totally inappropriate food for breakfast

So, I get really random food cravings. Like right now, I would kill things for some sauerkraut. And by kill things, I mean that I would be willing to maybe clean my house and kill some germs or dust bunnies or something. There doesn’t even need to be anything with the sauerkraut! I don’t need it to be added to a sandwich or to have smoked sausage with it or anything like that. JUST sauerkraut. Though, I wouldn’t pass up a sandwich or smoked sausage with it either.

I have always gotten random food cravings. I’ve never thought anything about throwing down on some spaghetti or pickles and cheese for breakfast. I’ve been known to throw down on ice cream for lunch and oatmeal for dinner. I’ve just always felt that if I wanted to eat something, the time of day shouldn’t prohibit me from eating it. Who says you can’t eat chicken parm in the morning?

I’m waiting for the, “Oh noez! You be’s preganant and shit!” comments. They always come, even when I told the world I had been told for years that I couldn’t have kids again. If I posted about wanting something weird in the morning, I would get a billionty pregnant comments. Yes, I am well aware that my doctors were pretty much wrong since I got knocked up with Miss Squish and all, but still. (Rest assured, I AM NOT PREGNANT AGAIN.) Thing is, when I was pregnant, I didn’t get weird ass cravings. Both pregnancies had me craving beef, but unless you count oranges (with The Ginger) and ice cream (with Miss Squish) as weird, my cravings were pretty tame.

When I was growing The Ginger, I had to eat beef ALL.DAY.EVERY.DAY. or things would get really ugly. Apparently, I was quite the bitch on a good day when I was pregnant with him, so I can only imagine how mean I would get if I didn’t have my daily cow. (Seriously, I probably made a lot of beef farmers incredibly rich in those 9 months.) My doctor kept telling me she was glad she had put me on the iron supplements cuzz my iron levels were really good whenever they ran blood work. Thing is? She never once told me to take iron. NEVER. It was all thanks to my insane need to eat cow with every waking minute of the day.

With Miss Squish, I didn’t need to have anything all that badly. I always wanted beef, but it wasn’t the be all and end all of everything ever made like it was with The Ginger. With Miss Squish, the only thing I had pretty much every day was ice cream. Mmm… Ice cream. Damn I wish I could go to the store.

Anyway, I guess my point is that I don’t understand why everyone automatically assumes that you’re pregnant if you want to eat something at an odd time or in a weird combination. Yeah, I get that pregnant chicks tend to have weird ass cravings and all, but I’m willing to bet that there are just as many people out there who just want to eat some mother fucking sauerkraut at 0730!

Wait. It really is just me? Well then…

(I so wanted to go all Samuel L. Jackson in Snakes On A Plane up there, but I’m only half way through my pot of coffee right now, so I’m not all that creative. If anyone would like to comment like Mr. Jackson on this, please do!)

(And also? This seems really short to me. I feel like I haven’t rambled enough. Oh well, I suppose I’ll need to get over it. I should probably finish that load of laundry I started anyway…)

In which I am THRILLED

So, I was being all “I wonder how many views my blog got since I decided to randomly resurrect it?” and went a snooping in my little account here. I had over 100 views yesterday! That’s the most views I’ve had for any blog I’ve ever written. COLOR ME FUCKING THRILLED, YO! I have now been inspired to update every morning, regardless of whether or not I have anything of actual interest to write about. Well, I shouldn’t say EVERY morning. I do go churching on Sundays and my intarwebs time is pretty much non-existent throughout the day. Saturdays may be hit or miss, though I’ll be more likely to be on the computer during the morning. Thank goodness Miss Squish is pretty reliable when it comes to her morning nap.

So, yeah. I’m super fucking stoked that so many people looked at this little corner of the blogisphere that I occupy. And I was very amused to see which posts got the most hits. It would seem that most of the people who read yesterday liked seeing me bitch about people getting in my personal space or generally being assholes. Sine there is probably not going to be a shortage of people who don’t know how to keep the fuck back or to treat people with general respect and/or courtesy, I’m pretty sure that I’ll have plenty of material. Well, when I am able to venture out of the house on a regular basis, at least. Then again, my street does seem to have more than it’s fair sure of assholes, so maybe I won’t need to leave these four walls.

I’m not sure if I ever mentioned that there is a house full of drunk people just a few houses away or not, but there is one. There were, like, 5 or 6 different people living there and every last one of them were drunk ALL.THE.TIME. which is, in all honestly, a pretty sad existence. I mean, being drunk every once in a while isn’t a bad thing, but when you can’t control yourself and you basically live in a cloud of booze fumes, well, what kind of a life are you really living?


So, there’s a house that I like to call Drunk House®. Not only were there a bunch of drunk people living there, but there were 2 drunk dogs living there as well. Not sure if the dogs were actually drunk, but you know. There were all sorts of nifty little things that went on at Drunk House®. For instance, when the drunk dogs would get loose, one of the drunk people would attempt to get them and bring them home. How, these dogs looked pretty bad ass. One looked like it could’ve been a pit and the other was possibly a rott, but every time I ever saw them off their chain and wandering around the street, they appeared to be sweet dogs. I never saw them do anything more than piss on a tree. Or a fence. Or a car. Basically, drunk dogs liked to pee on things is what I’m getting at. I guess there was one time when one of the drunk dogs got into it with another dog, but I didn’t see it. In fact, I’ve never seen the other dog that was supposedly attacked by drunk dog. The only reason I even know something happened with dogs is cuzz I could hear the screaming that ensued. At 0600. (Seriously, the people on this street have NO concept of time. I’m pretty sure they don’t give a shit, either.)

Ok, so now I’ve told you about Drunk House®. Well, this past weekend, Greg and I had come home from churching. He was mowing the lawn before the storm came and I was on the computer doing… Something. Probably looking for another house to live in. Miss Squish was laying in her bassinet thingie and it was relatively quiet, except for the TV and lawn mowing. Heh. I wasn’t expecting to hear someone pounding on my screen door, though. Since Greg was home, the big door was kinda open, and I could see a chick standing there. I’m thinking, “Great. She probably wants to call the cops again cuzz her boyfriend was beating on her and breaking her phone and lighting her clothes on fire”.

Oh, did I forget to mention that little gem? A couple weeks ago, drunk chick pounded on our door, asking to use the phone to call the cops for that exact problem. Now, I’m not so callous as to be annoyed by something like that. If someone needs help and they ask me for it, I’m not going to be all pissy about it or anything like that. We let her use our phone and she stayed outside to wait for the cops. What got me was that after her frantic plea to use our phone and the call to the cops, she was back over there within five minutes, screaming at one of the drunk dudes about getting her shit back. She then went inside the house and whatever happened in there happened. THAT is what made me roll my eyes when that chick knocked on my door. If you want help and want out of a bad situation, cool. But don’t taunt the dude/chick/whatever that is beating you and then go back into the house 5 minutes after calling the cops like everything is ok. (Also? The cops never showed, which leads me to believe that they’re frequent callers. No, I don’t think that’s a reason for the cops not to show, but it is what it is around here.)

Hmm… Sidetracked. Let’s continue.

So, there was a chick pounding on my screen door. I go over and answer it, trying to think of a reason to not hand over my cell phone (when we let drunk chick call the cops, we let her use the house phone. We use magic jack, but forgot to renew the yearly whatever, so it’s down until we remember to float the $20 over). Imagine my surprise when not only was this a different drunk chick, but that she was with ANOTHER drunk chick and was smoking a little cigar. I opened the screen door a little bit so I could hear what she wanted to say and was instantly assaulted with the little cigar smoke. (Yes, I am a smoker and have been for damned near 20 years, so smoke doesn’t really bother me all that much. However, to blow that shit in my face when you’re on MY porch? Well, let’s just say I wanted to stab a bitch in the throat with my cane.) I backed up a little and realized that not only was the little cigar stinky, but there was also a nifty odor of ass and armpits wafting into my home.

Drunk chick proceeds to tell me that she and her friends had JUST MOVED IN down the street and she was introducing herself to all the new neighbors. Ok, I can see wanting to do something like that, but not in this neighborhood. And the fact that she told me she had just moved in and pointed to Drunk House® only made me incredibly curious as to what type of bullshit I was going to have to deal with now.

She decided that it would be a good idea to cough at me and then tell me to not mind her voice. Um… Ok. She then tells me that she and her friend were asking the neighbors if they would like to have the numbers for their houses painted on the curb “so cops and bambulances and shit can know where to go when you call them”. Heh. This is not a bad idea, per say, but when you say “bambulance” like that’s actually what the vehicle is called and you infer that I will be calling emergency personnel on the regular, well, I’m going to think that you’ll be doing a less than stellar job painting numbers on a curb. I mean, it seems like a simple enough task, but so is knowing that it’s pronounced AMBULANCE and that not everyone calls 911 every single day. She then tells me that my neighbor down the street is going to let them do it and points to one of the EMPTY houses with a For Sale sign in front. Mhmm. I bet they’re letting you paint their curb. Being that they’re invisible, I’m sure that they’re fucking thrilled that you wanted to paint their house number on the curb for them. She THEN informs me that she normally charges $10 for such a job, but since I am her new neighbor and I am nice, she’ll do it for $8.

Ok, I know times are tough and I totally commend her for coming up with something useful to earn money doing. I really, REALLY do, especially considering that a lot of people in this city have taken to breaking and entering as a way to make a living. Had she approached me differently, I very well may have told her to go ahead and would have made sure to go get some cash (we don’t keep cash on us anymore since my purse was stolen last year) for her trouble. But, if you want someone to actually take you seriously and want to compensate you for a service (ew, get your mind outta the gutter, pervs!), you might want to wait until you’ve finished your smoke and are sober. That last one there is pretty fucking huge. BE SOBER.

I declined by telling her that we didn’t have any cash on us (which we honestly didn’t) and that we were going to be moving, which is something that we are looking into. HARD. She was nice enough about it, even sympathizing with me when I told her my purse had been stolen and we’d been pretty much shit on ever since then. She said that if I changed my mind, just to stop over and she’d be happy to help me. She and her friend then left and went back to their house. That was when I noticed that there was all sorts of furniture and garbage out on the curb in front of Drunk House®. Now, I’m not sure if the original drunk gang got booted out and different drunk people moved in or what, but the normal drunk gang hasn’t been anywhere around there in a few days. They’ve always managed to find their way back home before, so I think one drunk gang moved out and a brand new one moved in. The new drunk gang likes to be outside all the time, which wouldn’t be a big deal except that, for some reason, when people are outside around here, they don’t seem to understand that they don’t need to yell every.fucking.thing.they.say.

So, long story long, I have a feeling I’mma have LOTS of fodder for blogging. If this summer is anything like last summer, there should be plenty of entertainment. And since there is an ambulance base at the end of the block, I’m pretty sure that it will be much more interesting. After all, drunk people and drama whores LOVE to call the “bambulance” for (mostly) bullshit. Factor in full moons and I am certain there will be something to write about. I’m almost sad to say that White Trash Dinner Theater® seems to have been canceled, though. Heh.

(You know, I’m not sure this up to my normal awesometacular blogging skillz. I’m probably trying too hard since I saw so many people looked around yesterday. Give me a day or two and I’ll be back to my normal writing ways. I hope.)






In which I attempt a resurection. Again.

So, once again, I am full of the suck when it comes to this poor little blog of mine. Once again, I am going to attempt to write on a more regular basis. I figure that I can do some writing in the morning while Miss Squish is down for her morning nap. It’s either do some writing, or continue to be the Bingo Blitz whore that I’ve become over the recent months. Super special THANK YOU to the chickie who introduced me to THAT game. Yes, you know who you are.



Recently, I’ve been toying around with the idea of joining a gym. I’ve still got a nice chunk of weight I’d like to tell fuck off to and working with a 5 pound set of ankle weights and nothing else isn’t really helping me meet that goal. Sure, I managed to lose all the baby weight I gained from the girl baby, but I have yet to lose the weight that the boy baby made me gain damned near 11 years ago. Yes, I am still blaming my fat assedness on that pregnancy. I could also throw in the fact that I have a bad case of The Lazy®, too, but I really think that would be overkill.

So. Joining a gym. This is something that would help me to not only get rid of excess weight, but it would also get me out of the fucking house more than once or twice a week. I love being able to stay home with the baby right now, I really do, but I need to be able to do something outside of babies and kids and cats. Greg scraped his leg the other day and I looked at him, and asked completely straight faced, if he had a “boo-boo”. That is definitely a sign that I need to be out amongst adults for at least an hour.

The problem? Lack of funding. I don’t have the money (or room) to get exercise equipment for my house and I don’t really have the money to join a gym. Sure, there’s one by the mall that’s only $10 – $15 a month, but it’s got a weird boy-girl schedule and I’d like to be able to go to a gym every day. I’d also like someone to go with me, but my friends are just as broke as I am. I guess living in the most dangerous city in America is really only good for bragging rights.

I have wanted to take a spinning class forever or to at least get one of those bikes for my house, but to no avail. Yes, I bought an Ab-something-or-other one year and then never used it, but in my defense, I am not the most coordinated of people and Greg managed to hurt his back using it. If he hurt himself, there’s no telling what my fat ass could have done. I mean, I could have managed to make my liver fall out or something! (Seriously, I’m the chick who managed to chip her front teeth SNEEZING for shit’s sake.)

At any rate, I need to get my ass out of the house more often (I’m still debating on whether or not I should count going to church as leaving the house. Technically, yes, I am out amongst other people, but at the same time, I’m still doing pretty much everything I do while I’m home. I’m just doing it out in public) and joining a gym would give me a reason and a place to go. And I could also turn myself into a smoking hot chickie, too. (I thought about using the MILF term, but I hate that term and it makes me want to punch myself in the throat when I use it, especially since I don’t particularly care if I’m a mom someone else would like to fuck. While it’s nice to know dudes think I’m hot, I really don’t want or need to know much beyond that, ya know?) Oh yeah, and it would make me healthier so I could run in marathons and blahblahblah. I’m not really all that keen on running right now, but I might decide I like it if I can join a gym and drop some weight. Maybe. Again, my whole being as coordinated as a drunk hippo thing comes into play here. 

So, yeah, that’s where I’m at right now. Wanting to join a gym and get out of the house. Also, I would LOVE to be able to move the fuck out of this city, like, yesterday. I thought that might be able to happen soon, but now I’m not so sure. It would really be nice to feel safe in my home again. Ugh.


In which I recycle an old post

So, I’ve decided to recycle an old post I put up in the notes section of my facebook a couple years ago. I was inspired to do this after reading a blog about how spiders are scary. Since they are totally and completely scary and trying to kill me on a daily basis, I thought that I would repost my EPIC BATTLE tale about how I tried to slaughter one of these beasts. What follows involves A LOT of cussing, so if you’re frightened by chicks who say things like “shit” and “fuck” repeatedly, you should probably have turned back as soon as you saw that I am the author of this blog. Mhmm.



~originally posted on April 3, 2009~


(So, if you read my status updates from last night, you’ve probably noticed that I fought a spider last night. This is the tale of that fight. I may have embellished a bit, but not much. After all, it’s common knowledge that spiders are evil and like to feast on humans. Enjoy.)

Now, I’ve always made it known that spider are my mortal enemy. Ok, maybe not to THAT extent, but it’s a very common fact that spiders and I do not get along. AT ALL. I have the hardcore spider fear going on to the point that I can’t bring myself to even kill the fuckers with out freaking out and sometimes flying into a full blown panic attack. And when I DO happen to grow some balls and kill one, I must document the hell out of it. (As demonstrated in the following link.

So, I was sitting at work last night, calmly watching Law & Order: Criminal Intent, when I decided that I was curious about the time. I looked up at the clock (0113 to be exact) when I saw it. A ginormous fucking spider just hanging out next to the clock. STARING AT ME WITH HUNGER IN IT’S CREEPY ASS EYES!!! (I can’t swear to it, but I’m damned near certain that the scary fucker was drooling a little.)

Now, being the low-key and sensible person that I am, I immediately exited my chair and went into the kitchen. And by that I totally mean I flew out of that chair and into the kitchen with all the grace of a drunken hippo.

After I caught my breath and started cussing, I began to think of ways to get rid of flesh eating creepy crawly. My first instinct was to grab a Swiffer, as I did in my previous EPIC BATTLE. (See the link above if you’re somehow confused) I was all sorts of jazzed up when I realized that the only Swiffer at work happened to be one of those Swiffer duster things. A duster would offer me no protection and would have little to zero smashy effect on the beast. I glanced over and saw the fly swatter that was hanging on the wall.

It was at that point that the creature decided to play it’s trump card. Bitch started to move DIRECTLY TOWARD ME!

I screamed and retreated further into the kitchen area and began furiously texting Becky. See, I knew Becky was awake cuzz she had decided to taunt me earlier by calling me and holding her phone up so I could hear a song I loathe being played by a band that apparently isn’t all that sucktacular.


I start texting Becky with the quickness cuzz she was awake and she was well versed in my Spiders Are The Spawn Of All Things Evil mentality. (How she managed to live with me as long as she did, I’ll never know.) Instead of offering to come save me from the monstrosity, she merely laughed and told me to smash it. Becky KNOWS how I feel about smashing spiders. Becky was being a mean head and she knows it.

At that point, my friend Mohawk Chris started to text me. I told HIM of my plight and while he DID offer to come play smashy for me, I didn’t get a chance to tell him to do just that. See, that was when the little fucker decided to play his other trump card and began to descend from the ceiling.

I screamed and jumped back again. It descended about halfway down when it decided to turn around for reasons I can not begin to imagine. After all, it seemed that it was going to make it’s move and devour me right then and there. I grabbed the fly swatter and inched out of the kitchen area. And that’s when it everything took a different turn.


Seriously. Granted, it wasn’t chasing me on the floor or anything. See, the thing was far too smart for that. Oh no, no, no! It decided to chase me around on the ceiling in what I can only imagine was an attempt to keep the upper hand and drop into my hair where it would be closer to my brain that it was surely drooling over.

At this point, I decided that the fly swatter wasn’t good enough. I began to panic a little. I thought about the crew downstairs and wondered if they were actually sleeping. I decided to take my eyes of the beast and run downstairs to check. Sure enough, they were sleeping and would probably have fed me to the spider if I woke them up. (EMS crews value their sleep and would kill you and everyone you love if you wake them for anything other than a call. Ask them, they’ll tell you.)

I went back upstairs and found that it hadn’t moved from the spot it was in when I went downstairs. I ran past it, back into the kitchen area, to try and come up with a different plan. I needed a new weapon, one that wouldn’t force me to get too close to the thing. After all, by this point, it had tasted my fear.

I looked into the bathroom and saw the mop. I grabbed it and tested it against the floor for smashyness. I realized quickly that it would not provide the smashyness that I needed. (It isn’t one of those flat sponge ones that gets all solid after you use it, other wise I’d have been set!) I scanned the kitchen area quickly and saw an orange cup. I grabbed it, jammed it onto the end of the mop and tested the smashyness again. It was awesome.

I moved out into the office and we stared at each other. Then it began to stalk me again. We moved in circles around the office, it glaring at me with pure blood lust in it’s grody fucking eyes and me threatening to smash it with my new found weapon. We went round and round like this for what seemed like an eternity.

Then it stopped. It just stood there over my chair, staring at me, DARING me to just try to play smashy. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear the shithead gave me the finger. Being that spiders don’t have fingers, I could be mistaken about that, though.

Finally, I managed to grow some balls and I made my move. I lunged at the thing, driving my cup-mop into the ceiling with all my might! I know I wounded it, there was no way it could have dodged the attack. As I began to twist my cup-mop to make sure the smashy was successful (and to leave a nifty spider splotch so I could show off my smashy skills), it managed to jump away. I saw it fly in the direction of the computer and phone.

And then I didn’t see it anymore.

Panic began to wash over me as I cussed and jumped backward. I timidly began using my cup-mop to move things around on the desk, just in case it happened to be taking shelter amongst the very tools I needed to use to do my job. It wasn’t under anything.

After about a half an hour, I decided that I must have mortally wounded it and it had gone back to it’s den of grodyness to die. I began to calm down and eventually sat down at my desk again. A few minutes later, an emergency call came in and I had to put the battle at the back of my mind.

I didn’t see the spider for the rest of my shift.

It fought well, effectively wasting damned near 2 hours of my shift that I could’ve spent watching infomercials or dinking around on FaceBook. I feel that I can claim victory, since it never got the chance to taste my flesh, but merely drool over the notion that I would be a tasty spider snack indeed.

And that is the story of my EPIC BATTLE. I was victorious in keeping myself from being devoured by a ginormous spider. Hopefully, it really DID go off to die cuzz if I see it tonight, I’m gonna drown that fucker with the can of hairspray I’ll be bringing in to defend myself. O_O

(Heh. Looks like I just need a good spider battle and I can write a story with the quickness. If only I could start writing my poetry again….)

In which I… Bleh. I’m sure it doesn’t matter

Holy flying crap nuggets I suck at blogging anymore. Believe it or not, there was actually a time when I would update on a regular basis, even when I didn’t have anything to write about. I could just make up a post about something like The River Of Whore® and ramble on for paragraphs. (Actually, thinking back, that was merely one of many things in a list of crap I had randomly googled and posted the pictures that came up. It was actually pretty fucking funny.)


These days, I find myself exhausted for no reason and procrastinating when it comes to doing ANYTHING. Sure, I can blame it on being big fat pregnant (and believe me, I totally do), but I’m pretty sure it’s cuzz I am also full of the lazy. That and I still haven’t managed to get passed the damned writer’s block that I’ve been plagued with for the past few years.

Stupid writer’s block.

So, basically, the only thing I have to really talk about at the moment is the pregnancy itself and that is nowhere near as exciting as I try to tell myself that it is. Seriously. I sit, drink water, crave food (and beer and cigarettes cuzz that’s OBVIOUSLY something I should crave right now), push on my ankles to see if I’m swelling, and attempt to walk around without looking like a penguin or like I’m in massive amounts of pain when I stand up. (The baby has decided to drop already and she seems to be attempting to kick her way out of me. I feel bruised and standing makes it worse.) Tonight, I have the added bonus of trying to keep a cat in heat off of me long enough to maybe toss her on the floor. Smokie has Super Do Me® strength or something, though, cuzz when I try to pick her up, if she manages to grab hold of the couch or chair, I can’t pull her off. She’s seriously the size of a kitten, but she is AMAZINGLY strong, which is actually pretty damned creepy. Oh, and she’s already woke the boy once with her constant meowing for a boyfriend. Thankfully she doesn’t go into heat very often.

Wow. That was some brilliant writing right there.

Now that I have determined that I want peanut butter cups (but do not have any peanut butter cups cuzz I ate them earlier this afternoon), I have realized that Squishy has decided to kick the shit out of my bladder. I’m thinking that’s my cue to get of the damn laptop and attempt to make the sleep. Stupid pregnancy insomnia kicking in. Bleh.

Oh, if you couldn’t tell, I’ve resolved to write more in hopes that I might just conquer my writer’s block this year. I kinda feel like that was the same thing I did last year, but I can’t remember back that far due to the baby brain and whatnot.

And no, I do not plan on writing only about being pregnant. That would be boring to me, so I’m sure it would be boring to others as well. And I also have friends that can’t have babies that read this and I would hate to be “That Chick”. I can remember reading blogs where the author found out she was pregnant and that became the only thing she wrote about. I used to get upset reading those blogs cuzz, uh, getting knocked up isn’t a walk in the park for everyone. Then I would feel like the biggest bitch in the world for being upset that the author was so happy and I wasn’t cuzz I was told that there would be no more babies for me. I don’t want to be the cause of someone else going through that cycle cuzz it sucks. It really, really sucks.

And now I’m off to pee. Yeah, I know you’re jealous. 😛