Conversations With Steve (He wonders how he puts up with me and I wonder how I put up with him)

Sunny Friday. Windows down. Steve driving. Me in the passenger seat....

Me:  Mother frick! There's something on me! It's a bug! Help! Help! Get it offa me! Get it! Get it! GET IT!

Steve:  Calm down. (Swats at it)

Me:  What the hell? What did you do?

Steve:  I got it off of you.

Me:  You swatted it down. YOU SWATTED IT DOWN! You're supposed to grab and remove. GRAB AND REMOVE! You just sent it to another part of my body! Where is it? Oh my God...I feel something in my pit. THERE"S SOMETHING MOVING IN MY LEFT PIT! ALL YOU DID WAS RELOCATE IT TO MY ARMPIT! Do you see it? Do you see it?

Steve:  It's not in your armpit.

Me:  HOW DO YOU KNOW? YOU"RE NOT EVEN LOOKING! I CAN FEEL IT MOVING!! I THINK IT'S STUCK IN MY DEODORANT! I GOT A NEW BRAND OF DEODORANT AND IT'S FREAKIN' STICKY!!

Steve: (Rolls eyes. Slaps his right arm.)

Me:  What was that? Why'd you slap yourself?

Steve:  The bug was on me. (Pretends to throw something out of the window)

Me:  What was that? What'd you just do?

Steve: It was the bug.

Me:  What? You should have shown me the carcass. I HAVE TO SEE A CARCASS! You know that without a carcass I don't believe you even a little bit.

Steve:  What?

Me:  You faked that whole thing just to shut me up. YOU KNOW ME! You KNOW I always have to see a carcass as proof. There was no carcass. I'm SO on to you.

Steve:  (Silence..... Sigh.)

Sunday afternoon. Me sitting at table. Steve enters...

Steve: Have you seen that keychain that has a connector in the middle so you can take it apart and make it into 2 keychains?

Me: I don't think so. All the keychains are in the junk drawer. Did you look in there? I don't remember seeing one like that. When did you see it last?

Steve: Well, I got it when I lived in the mushroom apartments.

Me: Your apartment in college.

Steve: Yes.

Me: In 1989.

Steve: Yes.

Me: Well, I haven't seen it. It's probably wherever my Aqua net, neon headband collection and Poison tapes are. Have you looked there?

Monday. Evening. Driving home from PF Changs. Steve driving. Me in Passenger seat...

Me: Man, I wish I had a time machine so I could go back and not eat so much Changs.

Steve: (Silence)

Me: And then I'd go back and make out with young Elvis.

Steve: (Silence)

Me: And then probably go kill Hitler.

Steve: (Completely ignores me)

Me:  I'm so gonna build a freakin' time machine.

P.S. Update on Whataburger receipt: Steve never mentioned the receipt until after reading my blog post about it (click here),  at which time he admitted that he totally believed that the manager had changed/signed it.  My man is super-duper book smart. But unfortunately he ain't street smart. Like me.

From Now on Every Title Will Have The Phrase "Suck My Balls" In It (Sorry, Mom)

So you know how every so often something really amazing happens? Like one of those miracles where Jesus appears on a piece of toast or something huge like that? And it totally freaks everyone out because they're all like "What? Jesus is on some toasted Wonder Bread? JESUS? As in The Son Of God? Hallelujah! It's a freakin' miracle!" And then whoever was lucky enough to have had a hankering for toast that morning and ended up with a Jesus face on it gets to be interviewed by papers and TV news and stuff and then they paint the toast with shellac and sell it on Ebay to some weird hoarder with disposable income for like $50.000? Well, you guys. Something even more amazing than that has happened: My blog just had its 1 year anniversary! Yes, it's true. I have been writing stupid things on here for 12 months and you guys have been reading all of them. I honestly don't know which is the bigger miracle: That I've been thinking of stuff to say for a year or that people have been bored enough to read it. Either way, since I thought I'd run out of things to say after about 3 months, this is pretty shocking to me. 

So I want to take this time to say Thank You again to all of you guys for reading my really stupid posts, and for sending me really nice email, and for referring me to your friends instead of being embarrassed to admit you're a reader. I also love it when you guys friend me on Facebook because it helps me put faces to the names on my subscriber list, and I like getting to know you. If you're on FB and we aren't friends yet, click the FB button on the front page of my blog and send me a friend request, but don't forget to tell me you're a reader because I don't just accept people willy nilly. If I did I would have taken that guy who I'm 99% sure was a 70's porn star and that girl who was only wearing a bra. But I declined their friend requests because regardless of what you've heard, I do sometimes have standards people. 

So to celebrate my one year Blogaversary, I want to share this thing I discovered last week that lets me track different stats about my blog, because I found a few interesting things.

People are accidentally finding my blog by typing the following phrases into google:

Moms own my balls

Insane suck

Ballerina tapeworm

Loves to suck balls

Paper gown gyno

Mom's who wear fanny packs

Friend Crystal tube porn

Ethan Iceberg Furniture

(And a few dirtier things I won't put up here. See Steve? I do have a filter.)

People in the following places read my blog:

Indonesia, Australia, Italy, Malaysia, Thailand, Finland, Belgium Vietnam, Brazil, China, The Netherlands, Germany, United Arab Emirates, Luxembourg, Denmark, Canada and USA. (I found no stats about Mars or any other alien-infested planet reading my blog, but I choose to believe that it's due to the fact that blogger doesn't have the capability to trace my alien readers, and not because they're not reading. I have a feeling they are my highest demographic.)

"Eat Pray Love Can Suck My Balls" has been the most viewed blog I've ever written. It has been read 75% more than the second place entry, "It's Raining. My Tan Is Fading. My Kid Is Barfy. I Am Annoyed. (Shit List Volume 2)" I'm pretty sure it's because the phrase "suck my balls" is in the title and people on the internet thought it was porn, but I'll take any audience I can get.

Anyway, Thanks Again to all of you guys for reading. Sometime in the next few weeks I will have a slightly new blog design thanks to a really nice photographer and a really nice Graphic Designer who are helping me out FOR FREE even though I offered to pay them. Which is weird, because when people offer to pay me for something I always say yes. I've seen enough Lifetime movies with Tori Spelling and Valerie Bertinelli in them to know that both of these people are probably expecting some kind of sexual favors as payment or something, but I guess I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.

If any of you want to take me to dinner or send me gifts or anything in celebration of this momentous occasion, please feel free to do so. It's not like my blog went to the mall and got me a nice bracelet or bottle of perfume or anything. Although if it wanted to it could have ordered me something off of Amazon because it is a computery programmy internetty magical electronic thingy and I'm pretty sure that all those things have brains of their own and can communicate with eachother and you can't tell me that they all don't know who Amazon is because Amazon is a big deal. But since the UPS man hasn't stopped by I guess I got screwed. Well, maybe if I make it to a anniversary number two I will get something. One can always dream.

I Really Should Have A Chaperone At All Times (Or At Least Once A Month)

So as you all know, last Thursday I was in a deep menstrual-induced psychosis, during which time I went on an internet and chocolate chip cookie binge. Update: Later that night I had 2 more cookies, a jumbo avocado (I have a serious addiction), and 2 Advil PM's. I am writing this on Friday, which is the day after that binge. The day when I told myself it was a new day and a less disgusting day. Well, today I skipped my healthy Friday walk due to the fact that I was having cramps and wanted nothing more than to drink a minimum of 4 cups of coffee (which I did), and when you drink that much coffee you can't go far from home, and I'm fairly certain that my walking partner, Cathy, might frown upon me dropping trou behind the bushes in someones yard. So my lazy ass skipped the walk. After I decided that I had sufficiently caffeinated myself and emptied my bladder, I decided to run a few errands. When I got in my car I was trying to plug my phone into the charger but it was being really difficult and wouldn't plug in. Then I noticed this:

Not my phone, you guys. My remote control.

So after a few minutes of feeling like a dumb-ass, I got over it and went on my merry way. Then while going down Highway 6, I got stuck in traffic behind this dude:

In order to protect his identity (not because I want to but because I think I have to) I gave him a personalized vanity plate.

After 10 minutes of being stuck behind him and fighting the urge to go cut off his nuts, I went to TJ Maxx and tried on a few shirts, and then had some woman in front of me in line tell me that I had Kleenex sticking out of my bra. Which I totally did.  But it's not because I am one of those old ladies who keeps her snot rags in her brassiere, but because I was wearing a low-cut black shirt which shows just a hint of cleavage, because I had period boobs and every girl knows that period boobs are big boobs and since during your period the rest of you looks like ass you might as well show off your big, sore boobs. Anyway, I needed to wear a black bra, and somehow my black bra got dented so it looks like I have some sort of inverted nipple problem or something, so I stuffed it with Kleenex so I wouldn't look like a freak with a nipple dent. But sometime during the trying on of clothes, some tissue got knocked loose so that when I went to check out I had Kleenex hanging out of my bra. Get it? So I just told her I had a cold. Whatever.

After TJ Maxx I had a quick and uneventful stop at Target,  during which I realized I was starving. I have to admit to you guys that although I was almost home, where there is healthy food, I drove through Whataburger. Because I am a loser. But I did order a chicken sandwich instead of a burger. Which is sorta healthy, right? But I just couldn't resist the fries. I'm not entirely sure where Whataburger gets it's french fry salt, but it's super powdery and addictive, and I'm pretty sure it might be some sort of half salt/half cocaine mixture. And their ketchup? What is in that stuff? Maybe it's Vampire blood, which I've learned from True Blood is very yummy and addictive. And also red. So they could mix it right in and we'd never know. But I also learned from True Blood that Vampire Blood makes you feel really colorful and cartoony and you can fly around in rainbow skies and see trails and stuff, which unfortunately did not happen to me, which totally sucks because that really would have helped with my periodness. But maybe Whataburger is only putting in small doses so that people don't get suspicious. Unless you're smart and Perry Masony and watch too much HBO. Anyway, after my fries were gone I searched my house for something else to dip in it, but I couldn't find anything so I used my finger because I am a pig. Unfortunately I had no cash to use at Whataburger so I had to use my debit card. Which means I had to put the receipt in Steve's high priority "Receipt Pile" so that he could log it into Quicken. Quicken is like his Xanadu. As much as I love disco things, shiny things, and totally cheesy things...that's how much he likes Quicken. He really gets off on pie charts and graphs and financial stuff. But since we are trying to eat healthy, I didn't want him to know about the crap I had eaten, so I put the receipt in the pile like this:

In case you can't read it, it says: "Salad! xoxo, Manager."  Since it was signed by the manager I thought he might believe it was official and stuff. That's also why I used red marker.

I must've done a really good job writing all managery and stuff because he didn't even mention the receipt to me. You know, I was feeling very bossy when I wrote it. It's either that or he's just too scared of me to say anything about receipts when he knows that I'm menstrually insane. Hmmm....I think I am definitely on to something here.

Sometimes When I'm Menstrual I Surf The Internet Looking For Stuff That Makes Me Feel Better About Myself

Yesterday I took my friend Anne out to a birthday lunch during which we discovered that we are on the same cycle. No, not bicycle or unicycle (although I would totally ride either of those things with her.) Menstrual cycle. I am pretty sure that this is absolute scientific proof that we are bestest friends. In case you don't have vast amounts of knowledge about menstrual stuff,  women who spend lots of time together get synchronized. What this means is that we are like twins, insofar that our bad moods, bloating, break-outs, sensitivity to Hallmark commercials, cramps, and cravings for junk food and Advil PM are exactly the same. I am not sure of the exact reason that nature does this, but if I had to guess I would say that it's because when we are at our worst (looks-wise and mood-wise) the last thing we need in our orbit is a friend who is perky and pretty. Nature is smart enough to know that if that were the case there would be so many more PMS-related murders going down at any given time.  It's probably all about Evolution. I betcha that in the olden days, especially before there was Midol, Clearasil, Reeses Peanut Butter Cups and Tampax, there were probably tons of girls offing their friends because one was bloated and pimply (murderer) and the other was thin and beautiful (murderee). It makes complete sense.

Today I look like I'm about 5 months pregnant. I have a pimple on my nose that makes it look like my nose is growing another - even larger - nose. My skin is oily. I have cramps. I feel like cussing somebody out and then crying about it. And I baked Toll House cookies today and ate 6 of them. In about 2 minutes. That's 20 seconds per cookie. Well, actually it's about 30 seconds per cookie since I stacked the last two cookies into one giant, mega-cookie. And I am so stupid and period-ridden that I had to use a calculator to tell me those numbers. Things are not good in the Ford house.

On the bright side, since all I've been doing is laying around feeling sorry for myself, I have had plenty of free time to cruise the internet and find things that disturb and confuse me. Enjoy!

This is a photo of a Blob Fish. I don't know what to say other than it looks like WC Fields after a long night of drinking and making out with prostitutes who squirted lube all over his head. It has no muscles and is completely gelatinous. It is a lazy asshole who just floats stationary and waits for food to pretty much swim into its mouth. Actually, this is kinda what I feel like I look like this week, but at least I baked my own cookies and didn't just sit on the couch waiting for someone to shove some into my mouth for me. Also, I have had no alcohol or lubey encounters with hookers (but it's still early so I won't entirely rule it out).

This looks like a giant stuffed shark who maybe saw "Pinocchio" and wished upon a star just like him and became a real shark and ate it's unsuspecting owner, which would totally suck balls because there you are just hanging out and snuggling with the giant stuffed animal your grandparents gave you for your birthday, when all of a sudden it comes alive and decides to eat your plush loving ass. Unfortunately, that is not what happened. What happened is that some weirdo decided that your child might want a sleeping bag that gives them a heart attack because when they woke up in the middle of the night they had forgotten that they fell asleep inside the mouth of a giant shark. I really hope it's machine washable because I give this sleeping bag approximately 6 hours before it gets peed in and/or puked on by a freaked out kid.

No. This is not a crime scene photo. Not unless the crime is spending $40.00 on a "Blood Spill Pillow."  I am not entirely sure what the purpose of this pillow is, other than to ensure that your nap gets totally ruined by police and emergency medical personnel. I don't know about you, but when I settle in for a nice siesta I prefer to not be awakened by someone attacking me with those difibrillator paddle things, or trying to give me an autopsy. It just kinda ruins the whole relaxation point of the nap.

Ok. Brace yourselves people. These are Under-Ease underwear, which are an underwear made especially for people who have flatulence problems. That means farts you guys. The website says they are made from air-tight polyurethane-coated nylon. Polyurethane is what you paint on furniture for durability, so...comfy. The site also says that these sexy undies have a "triangular exit hole" through which the fart is expelled after passing through a replaceable filter which is made from (get this) 2 layers of wool felt, 2 layers of non-woven polypropylene and spun glass, with a center of deactivated carbon. Did I just say "spun glass?"  Yes. Yes, I think I did. So at this point I have, like, a hundred questions. But my main inquiry is this: Just how bad does your gas have to be to cause you to find it necessary to wear big honking, air-tight, rubber granny panties with a pile of spun glass and carbon on your butt? Maybe instead of $30.00 glass-ass underwear, you should go visit your Doctor. Pronto.

My Kid Is Just Like Confucius Except Instead of Chinese He's Super-White and Instead of a Philosopher He's a Smart-Mouthed Weirdo. Other Than That They're Exactly Alike.

The Boy is full of wisdom. Bask in it.


"When you're dead I'm gonna eat 5 Auntie Ann's pretzels a day. Cuz you won't be my boss."


While looking at himself in the mirror he said: 
"This is almost my one hundredth life. I've lived alot of lives. Some I remember and some I don't, and I'll probably live alot more." 


"I never want to go to a privates school! That's creepy. They just make you learn about your privates?"


The Boy: Mom, wanna take a bath with me?
Me: No honey.
TB: Why?
Me: You're a big boy and it's inappropriate.
TB: Well, how about when I turn 21 we get some beer and take a bath together.
Me: I don't think so. That's REALLY inappropriate.
TB: What if we wear trunks? 


"When I'm a man and I get married and have a little girl I'm gonna name her Sal. But for now I'm just gonna call you Sal. Okay Sal?" 


The Boy: (talking to my stomach)  Goodnight brothers and sisters!
Me: There's no brothers and sisters in there.
TB: Yes there are, but they were too slow and lost the race to be born. Tom was in 2nd   place. Makenzie was in 3rd and Joe was a few miles behind her."


"If I  farted fire instead of gas that would be a big problem."


"When I run, I fart automatically.  Sounds like a machine gun."  


"Mommy, some people say rain is God crying, but I think it's God sweating because I  think he likes to run around in those spinning tornado circles.  And next time I'm in a plane, I'm gonna look out the window and if I see him I'll jump out and he'll catch me and I'll say "Hey God,What's up?  Thanks for catching me!" 


The Boy asked The Hub for permission to stab suspicious men if they come onto our property whenever TH is away on business. He said, "I have the power to kill someone if it's an emergency."  The Hub said that maybe he should just stick to calling 911.


"Cold is better than hot because if the hottest thing, like fire, got you, you'd be dead. But if the coldest thing got you, like a giant ice cube, someone could always smash you out with a hammer and you'd be fine."


The Boy was singing "All The Single Larry's."  I pointed out that it is "All The Single Ladies" and he said "Well, I'm Sure there's plenty of Larry's that are single too."
  
"Mommy, I wish you were really fat so I could hug you so tight that you would explode into hundreds of little mommies and then I could hug all of them!" 


Me:  "I smell a toot." 
The Boy: "It was me. That's how I live." 


I just got off the phone with a friend, and The Boy said, "Who was it?  A naked hippie?" 


The Boy came out of the bathroom with a long piece of toilet paper tied in a bow around his weenie and said "Look mom, my weenie has it's own bow tie!  I'm gonna keep him like this forever!" 


The Boy gave me a drawing he had made...  
Me: It's ripped and a piece is missing!"
The Boy: Yeah.  I'm eating it. Everybody does that. Geesh.


"You know, when you die you go to deadland and everything is gold and your skin comes off."


The Boy was playing with a plastic lizard...
TB: You know what kind of lizard this is?  It's a Canadian.  
The Hub: Why is your lizard a Canadian?"
TB: Because he can change colors.


The Boy: Mom, I am a man now. I grew my first man hair!" 
Me: Where?
The Boy:  On my big toe! 


"Mom, there's lots of different names for your nuts. There's nuts, seeds, privates, and atmosphere."   


"Alot of people think I'm not smart because I'm so crazy, but I am proof that you can be both very crazy and very smart." 


"You know I could kill someone w/ my bare hands. I just choose not to." 


The Boy: School is strict. You're not allowed to dance unless they tell you to.   
Me:  Well, do they ever tell you to?
The Boy: Hasn't happened yet!


When your 8-year-old son is caught walking around with his hands behind his back saying in an English accent, "I'm just walking like an old timey English Gentleman" and you haven't even asked him what he's doing, he is most likely hiding something from you, and trying in a very unsuccessful and suspicious way to distract you from said hidden item. Just a parenting tip. Mom to mom.


We saw a truck with a plate that said "Mr. Stuff..." 
Me: I wonder where Mrs. Stuff is? 
The Boy: Unfortunately, she's dead. When I was a baby, I was out crawling around town and I saw her get hit by a car. It was sad. Mr. Stuff has never been the same. 


"Why do we go to school when we're just gonna die anyway?"


The Boy: How old do I have to be to drink beer? 
Me: 21
TB: Man, when I am 21 I am going to be extreme!

"I was gonna try to be good today, but you just make me so bad!" 


The Boy sprayed me in the face with Febreeze because, and I quote, 
"I don't know why I did it!  My brain didn't tell me I was going to do it, but my hands just did it!"