Sometimes Blogger Sucks Balls. Sweaty Hobo ones.

Blogger has gone insane. Sometimes this happens, you guys. I don't know why. Maybe it's having trouble at home. Maybe it's meds need to be adjusted. Maybe it's having PMS. I don't know. But what I do know is it's pissing me off. Yesterday I couldn't get on it at all. And who knows what I woulda written for you if only Blogger wasn't being such an a-hole? It was probably gonna be my masterpiece. It was probably gonna be the blog entry that would finally have made Paul Rudd notice me. Thanks a lot Blogger. Thanks for being a dick.

So at least today I can get onto Blogger, but when I did I noticed that for some reason it sent out an old blog to some of my email subscribers. If it was gonna do that I wish it would have at least had the decency to send a good one. But no. It had to go and send a boring one. And not only that, it took the liberty of deleting my last blog about how nerdy Steve is. It's almost like Blogger and Steve are in some sort of cahoots. Dear Blogger, Did I mention you suck?

Anyway, I apologize for the repeat blog. Even though I shouldn't, because I had absolutely nothing to do with it. But I am super considerate like that. That's one of the many reasons I manage to put up with myself.

And also, since it deleted the Nerdy Steve blog I had to re-post it which means you are all gonna get that one in your in-boxes again too. So just ignore it. Or read it again and feel sorry for me. Whatever. What really really super sucks is that Blogger actually deleted it from my records too, so thank God I had it in my inbox still or it woulda just been gone forever and future generations would never know the nerdiness of Steve. And that, my friends, would be an awful shame.

So since I am digging around in Blogger trying to thwart any future conspiracies, I thought it was a good time to post a list of some of the recent phrases that people have typed into google and ended up on my blog:

insane vagina
barefoot to jury duty
crazy mom brains
uses for cat hair
insane mom big brother scream
furry castration
wife wants sex and ass spanking
actual vagina
moms who are not normal
moms with adhd
menstrual cup love

And I wonder why I attract weirdos...

How Nerdy Is My Husband? There's A Graph For That.

This weekend my sister's boyfriend is borrowing our mini-van to go to Kansas City to pick up a bunch of my sister's crap and move it to Houston. Oh yeah...my little sister is moving to Houston. The one who taped cat hair to her face. Yes, there be two of us. But she is younger, taller, smarter, prettier and talented-er.

Anyway, my sister said that her BF wanted to know what kinda highway mileage the van gets. And since after 21 years together I am still too stupid to predict The Hub's extreme nerdiness, I asked him. I soon realized I just shoulda made something up. 298 MPG sounds pretty good. Why oh why didn't I just pull a random number out of my ass? I. Never. Learn.

So I see The Hub tap tapping away on the computer and I ask "What are you doing?" and he says "I don't wanna tell you." So I assume he's looking at midget porn or something. But no. He's making these (and I woulda totally preferred the midget porn):

This, Ladies and gentlemen, is , and I quote: "A scatterplot of Sienna Mini-Van gas mileage for the past 3 years with a linear regression least squares fit. BTW the r squared value is very low but the trend is correct." WTF???

And then there was this:

This is, and once again I quote, "A bar chart of Sienna Mini-Van gas mileage over the past 3 years , broken down by quarter to get a higher level view of the trends. For some reason it appears that gas mileage is getting better as the car gets older. Currently averaging about 21.5 mpg primarily highway driving." Then Steve told me to ask my sister to ask her BF if he drives with one foot or two, and what his average highway speed is. Swear to God.

Now I'm just gonna pause here and give you guys a moment to feel sorry for me. The girl who once asked her husband (back in 1999 when we were still saving for our first house) if I could buy some jeans and he showed me a pie chart of our finances/living expenses and told me to look it over and see if I thought I should buy some new jeans. Take your time..............................................................................................................

Done? Alright. This is what I deal with, people.

So I tell Steve that he is a dork. Which is way beyond true. And I suggest that while we are at it we get some  testing done on the BF's bladder to see how many ounces it will hold, ask him how much he plans to drink on this trip, and come up with some algebraic equation to figure out the right amount of liquid he can drink vs. the amount of gas he will use so that he can plan his pee stops with gas tank filling points. And he looked at me like I was the nerdy one. But I could tell he was thinking about how to do this. Cuz he just can't stop himself.

So today I made this pie chart to explain how I feel about this aspect of The Hub's personality. This is my first and last ever pie chart. And it's not actually a pie chart, insomuch as it is a super-amazing donut chart:

Mother's Day. Keep Your Flowers and Gimme A Dead Lizard. Any Day.

Last weekend we did a Mother's Day/Ethan's Birthday combo trip to Austin. We went on one of the bat cruises, during which a spider crawled all up on me because they now obviously have some sort of state-wide spider communication system with which to let every spider alive know that I am in the vicinity and it's time to attack. So anyway, when it crawled onto my arm of course I  screamed "Holy Balls!" and totally embarrassed Steve, but gave our tour guide a new phrase to use. Which he seemed to totally appreciate. And ok...I'm pretty sure he was stoned. But still. 

And the next morning we went to eat this:

And in the interest of full disclosure, I must tell you that I not only ate a fourth of this donut, but also a kolache and a fried cinnamon roll. And I washed it down with chocolate milk and cappuccino.

But then I worked off/sweated off every calorie doing this and seeing what my future will be like when I finally get bitten by a radioactive spider and have my own awesome webbing system:

But after flying around and burning off those donut calories, I ruined it all by ingesting even more calories by having this:

Some women want fancy dinners and jewelry and crap like that for Mother's Day.  I want Beer and fried pickles. Oh, and I also want this:

Which The Hub didn't actually buy me. Choosing instead to ignore me while I talked about my deep and abiding love for it. Sure, it's a really crappy example of taxidermy:  He looks like he got in a street fight and got a hand and a foot eaten off. And maybe some of his organs harvested for a black market lizard organ harvesting ring. Which is probably a huge thing somewhere. But I think that gives him character. And since The Hub didn't dig the lizard, I woulda been totally happy with this too:

But once again, he kept walking when I stopped to fawn over it's awesomeness.

And I DID want to ride in this:

But by the time the bat cruise was over it was too late. Which The Hub was not so secretly happy about. Like maybe it's not manly or something? Whatever. (And BTW...I'm taking my sister to Austin this summer and WE WILL ride the crap outta this mofo. Whilst singing love songs to each other. And we will possibly get the stoner tour guide to go with us. I promise.)

And I got this refrigerator magnet. Which is pretty amazing. Especially since The Hub is the one who found it:

Diamond earrings? No. The opportunity to hold a dead lizard and stick a totally inappropriate magnet on my fridge? Yes.

Best. Mother's. Day. Ever.

-By the way, and totally un-related: I LOVE when you guys friend me on FB. It's a great way for me to get to know you, and for me to annoy the crap outta you on a daily basis. Whenever you send me a friend request, please tell me you're a blog reader. That way I know you're not some weirdo FB stalker ex-convict. Just a weirdo who likes my weirdo blog. Which is just a little less frightening. Just write "blog" or "not a murderer". THANK YOU!!-

Just Say No Or I'll Totally Embarrass The Hell Out Of You. Oh Wait...You've Done That Yourself.

Can we please, for the love of Rudd, all agree that we ARE NOT going to do this? Okay? Last summer I was all up in arms about these stupid things, and this summer I thought for sure they wouldn't be back. But they are back. Like hemorrhoids. Or herpes. Or Madonna. And as I've said before, rompers are for girls who have yet to get their monthly visitors or grow boobies. They are not, under any circumstances, for adults. Well, unless you're in prison. Or you're a mechanic. Or you're filming a re-make of Three's Company. Or you just rode a sweet-ass Delorean back to 1975. Plus, if you wear a romper and have to pee you have to get totally nude. Unless these have crotch snaps. Which they might. I'm not sure. Cuz believe it or not I'm not in the business of investigating the crotches of pants at Macy's. But only because I've never thought of it until now. Not because I'm too ladylike for crotch investigations. And ladies, crotch snaps are only for kids that still wear diapers and hookers who are really obsessed with speed, but aren't into skirts. And I assume those speedy hookers are getting paid by the job and not by the hour. Which is really stupid of them. When I was a hooker If I were a hooker, I would charge by the hour and wear something with lots of lace-up corsets, and buckles, and petticoats, and layers and layers of fabric, and start the clock before I started undressing so by the time I was naked I'd have already made a ton of money, and then once I was actually naked I still wouldn't be naked because I'd have my Wonder Woman costume tattoo by then so I'd be like "Ha!" and the John would get pissed and try not to pay me but I'd totally lasso him and then let my Pimp kick his ass. And anyways, I know I've mentioned this before, but Drag Queens LOVE to wear rompers. After spending endless hours on hair removal, make-up, hair styling and weenie-tucking, I think it's just easy to pull on a romper. Drag Queens are still men. At least partially. And men are all about simple. Rompers are like the Pert 2-in-one of clothing. Easy Peasy George and Weasy. Plus, they leave a little room in the crotch for a couple of balls.

So in conclusion: If I see any of you wearing one of these, we're gonna have a talk. Before which I will take photos of you that will be posted on this blog. And unlike that pussy Glamour Magazine, I will not put a black box over your face. I'm doing this for the public. I'm all community servicey like that. Why I don't have some kind of trophy or medal or key to the friggin' city is beyond me, and you should all probably get off your asses and write The Mayor some letters about that.

Don't get too excited. This is not a real blog. It's an ad. That I'm doing for freezies. Because I loves me some Pilates. I loves me some Phillip. And I deserve to be in their ads.