I stole an SUV and drove 1000 miles

Then I drove all over the Twin Cities for a week, then another 1000 miles to get home when I had just become comfortable with… well, when I had become used to navigating around so many crazy drivers. It’s something I have to relearn every time I visit. As Mom says, living out here has spoiled me.

*Warning: This post will waste approximately ten minutes of your time, and that’s without leaving a comment.

I had been secretly planning this trip for months. Okay, the only secret about it was when we would arrive, which was just in time to surprise my sister Jessica for her birthday. There was a 50/50 chance she’d actually read my blog so I couldn’t say exactly when I was leaving. Well, maybe a 5% chance but I didn’t want to risk it.

Her birthday was Saturday June 21st so I planned to leave on Thursday the 19th, drive all night, and get to the Twin Cities on the 20th. Then we would show up at my sister Melissa’s house for the party on the 21st and surprise the birthday girl in person. It was a solid plan and absolutely nothing could go wrong…

Problem 1: The Bratmobile. The week of our planned escapade my vehicle started giving me shit. Well, the engine caught on fire after it had already been to the auto repair shop. When I took it in the first time I specifically told them I smelled gas under the hood. They thought I was just smelling the exhaust because they’re mechanics and trained to pretend to listen. So I dumped $350 into it, just for them to tell me there was no gas leak.

*The good news: I got my Suburban back and they did their job. You can’t tell the engine was aflame. And they found the gas leak. It was in a spot that was hidden pretty well, so I’m not upset or anything (until I get the bill). The bad news: I will eventually get the bill.

Back to problem 1… After the Suburban caught on fire they took it back, but they were too “busy” to work on it that week - the week I was planning to leave. Monday they said they’d look at it on Tuesday. Tuesday they said there was a lot of wire damage and they’d get to it on Wednesday. Wednesday they ordered parts, so it was too late to push it down the road to their competitors. Thursday they said they’d work on it Friday. I had to leave Thursday night! so I called up a friend Wednesday and asked if I could rent an SUV from her. I was seriously not expecting her to say, “Sure!” but surprisingly, she was willing to loan it out for 9 days. She only asked for $100. I gave her $200 and still felt like I should be incarcerated for grand theft auto. I was certain she’d have a change of heart and I’d get pulled over somewhere on I-94. I know I could defend myself in prison but it would really hurt to know the kids were in their father’s custody. I’m just grateful my friend was so desperate for my money.

*I returned her SUV with a half a tank of gas and had received it on “E”, so that makes me feel a little better.

Problem 1 solved...

Problem 2: Getting there alive. Up to this point I’d never driven overnight anywhere. There were times I’d tried it and ended up checking into a motel along the way. I just couldn’t do it. But this time I was determined and the pressure was on. If I didn’t pull this off I’d have no time to rest before Jessica’s party and all this planning would have been in vain.

We left Billings at 8:30 pm, and I estimated we’d be in the Twin Cities by noon Friday since the kids would be sleeping during most of our journey. It was fool-proof.

We made three pee stops before we even got out of Montana. Well, one was a gas stop and I bought a bunch of food thinking it would help knock the kids out. My teenaged sons stayed awake most of the trip so that didn’t work out too well. We spent the next few hours in North Dakota fighting over music choices. Mine were right, and they refused to acknowledge that. Eventually I was so steamed I was ready to drop them off at the next rest stop and let them hitch a ride back home. That would make my vacation cheaper and they could listen to whatever crap they wanted (if they made it back). That would sure “man” them up in a hurry. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but ultimately I ended up lecturing them on how I never argued with my dad over music in a moving vehicle. I lovingly told them, “He was paying for the gas and he was driving, so he controlled the tunes. And I respected that! I’m trying to drive here at 75 miles per hour, in the dark, in a flipping SUV that isn’t even ours… And you guys want to argue with me?! So everyone better be quiet, starting right now, unless you want us all to end up in a fiery crash. You can’t hear music when you’re dead.”

They not only shut up, but one of them even apologized.

At around 4 am the trees off in the distance started to look like evil creatures doing some sort of sacrificial dance, so I pulled into a rest stop and took a nap. The sun woke me up an hour later and we were off again. Then at some point, maybe 7 am-ish I couldn’t keep my eyes open and had to pull over again. The boys went off to explore in the trees nearby, ignoring my warning that they were bad trees, and woke me up 45 minutes later. Then the girls woke up and needed to pee every few hours.

We finally made it to our destination at 2:30 pm, but we lost an hour due to that stupid time zone change. I’ve never been so ecstatic to climb into bed. Well, not since the last time I got laid. And I slept like I’d just had an hour of sex and four orgasms, which means I slept pretty damn good.

And we all were very much alive.

Problem 2 solved…

Problem 3: The surprise. While my sister Melissa and I were planning this party with a large family attendance for Jessica, her best friend was also planning a party with a bunch of friends for her. Luckily it was scheduled for the night of Friday the 20th so it wouldn’t interfere with our party the next day. Well, I hoped it wouldn’t. It was a party which would include alcohol so Melissa worried about Jessica being hung over and not making it over to her house for the family party and her surprise (me). So in trying to coordinate all of this, Melissa’s husband later told me that she had spilled everything to Jessica’s bff. I would not have approved of this move. Just wanted to mention that. So, Jessica’s bff got drunk at her party and made the mistake of telling her she had a secret. That was all it took. Jessica then proceeded to beat it out of her. So, before the night was over she found out I was coming to surprise her and was so moved she literally sobbed like Tammy Faye...

Whatever her last name is. Was. Anyhow, this was the first time I ever made my sister cry without pain involved.

I knew all along Melissa would eventually tell some one who couldn’t keep a secret, but my guess was way off the mark. I had assumed she’d tell our mother. Apparently my repeatedly telling Melissa not to tell her paid off. Mom was very surprised.

At least some one was. I guess that counts.

Problem 3 solved…

Problem 4: Being in two places at once. The plan to surprise my sister on her birthday came about back in March when my best friend of 22 years (Regina) invited us to her daughter’s graduation party, which was also on June 21st. Her party was in the evening and my sister’s party started at noon, so I had no doubt we could make it to both parties. Well, in a perfect world…

A few days before we were scheduled to leave town Melissa tells me the party will start at 1:00 instead of noon. I realized that would cut down the amount of time I could be at Jessica’s party before heading out to the graduation party, but I didn’t foresee any problem with that. The evening party would be from 5:30 till 10 pm so that gave us plenty of time. Besides, Jessica’s party was being held at Melissa’s house, so who was I to argue? I was only traveling 1000 miles after all, and had to nearly be in two places at once. But I kept my happy face on, knowing if things didn’t work out I could always make Melissa feel guilty in the end.

It’s now Saturday, June 21st, and we are ready to party. Traffic was a bitch and a half so we got there at 1:30. It turned out Jessica was hung over after all, and hadn’t beaten us there. At this point I didn’t know she had already learned of the surprise through the grapevine a.k.a. Melissa’s mouth, so I was pretty excited and just couldn’t wait to surprise her. At 2:00 everyone was starving and tired of waiting for her, so lunch was served. At 2:30 the whining started... "When is she going to show up?"... And I’m not ashamed of that. At 3:00 her vehicle pulled in and I made the kids hide in the garage so we could jump out and surprise her. That’s when a chain of relatives passed along the phrase, “She already knows Alicia is here!”

So, word got to me before she even came within hugging range. She had asked some one if I was at Melissa’s place yet. I was… so… shocked… that she already knew…

When Jessica saw me she started to cry again. As I already mentioned, she had cried a freaking river the night before when she found out I was coming to surprise her. Then, later on I started to feel like a real bitch for wanting to get out of there to go to the graduation party. So I tried getting family members to follow us out to the party but they were all drinking and didn’t want to go anywhere. Great. So I put it off as long as possible. When I was finally ready to go, Regina told me the party would practically be over by the time I got there so I should just stay with my family and make the most of it.

Now I really felt like shit because Regina and her kin are just like family. Even better, because they aren’t blood related.

As soon as I got off the phone with her I slammed another beer. Then I drank numerous cans of Pepsi to sober up. I drove over to Regina’s house later on and we crashed there that night. I mean, we all went to sleep on her numerous sofas and whatnot. That made her feel better.

Now that problem 4 was solved in a weird and unwanted way, we were free to enjoy the rest of our vacation. We fucking did. And I gave Regina’s daughter 50 bucks for her graduation present, as well as the original baby pictures I’ve had of her for 17 years (which are the only baby pictures she now has of herself due to a bad divorce between her parents), so… she loves me.

Down in three seconds

A lot of time has passed since this went down. Actually, it’s been months…

I still like to roughhouse with my sons on occasion, even though they’re teenagers now and could really take me out if they wanted to... I like to take advantage of the fact that they respect me enough to back off when I‘m obviously losing the battle, whether it‘s a pillow fight or a wrestling match. And I guess old habits die hard and I think I‘m better and stronger than I actually am. You see, roughhousing with the boys has always made me feel younger - even back when I was 21 (and wished I was 16). Well, now I’m 34 and even though I’m in good form I knew it was only a matter of time before one of them accidentally kicked my ass…

I had been listening to Metallica and was in a playful mood. I was feeling unusually energetic and indestructible, like I usually do when I’m PMSing. Add heavy metal to that and maybe you can see where this is going. The boys were in the kitchen raiding the fridge, and I was all wound up and in the mood to rumble with someone. I decided to go after the kid who is always roughhousing with his sisters or starting it with me, and he also happens to be the only son still shorter than me so, a fair fight is a fair fight. I figured it was his turn to be caught off guard.
It turned out that I had picked the wrong time to stir things up. Just a warning - if a teenager says he’s hungry and tells you to leave him alone so he can eat in peace, step away and save the fight for another time. Trust me on this one.

I ignored him and we started to tussle. I was attempting to get him into a headlock and he tried to knee me in the stomach to get away…

Well, I had originally thought that was what he was doing and didn‘t give it enough lift, but the truth is he was wildly trying to fight me off in any way possible without paying attention…

His knee went directly into my crotch, and I was down in 3 seconds.

1. “Ooooo, ohhhh.” That’s all I could say as I bent over.

2. I grabbed the counter, but couldn’t hold on.

3. I was on my knees with both hands on the floor, repeating the phrase “god, god”… and couldn’t move for a few seconds.

I was nauseated and getting sweaty. I tried to stand up, grabbing the counter again, and it was slow going. Meanwhile, my sons are standing around me in shock and complete horror and now that I think about it, the look on their faces - just priceless. In fact, the offending son will have to live with the fact that he brutally hurt his mom’s vajay not once, but twice in his lifetime.

As soon as I stood up I felt dizzy. Somehow I made it to the bathroom and my ears were ringing. I thought I was going to die! I’m not going to tell you what happened in there. After a few minutes I got my hearing back and made my way to the couch, where I stayed the rest of the night. I kid you not, I’ve never felt this kind of pain before, and I’ve been in plenty of fights in my day. Not even childbirth prepared me for this. I’m not one who likes to sympathize with males, but if this is anything close to what you men go through after a hit to the genitals, I certainly have a new level of respect for you. And I’ll never say that again, just to be clear.

Now that the lump is gone I can look back on this and laugh, because the one who took me down in three seconds was the last one I would have ever suspected. Needless to say, I don’t call him a pussy anymore…

There was that one time when he was a tot and got his dad in the family jewels during a roughhousing session. I laughed, privately, but karma must have overheard me. Payback’s a bitch.

And when this same son was in 5th grade he got hit in the nards by a baseball. Now I know why it happened.

What's that in the sink?

Grandma Jones is looking after her grandkids at their house, and it's a beautiful morning. She has just entered the bathroom for a long session, when she is suddenly distracted by something... Something absolutely dreadful...

Grandma: Oh my gahd. Kids, come here! What is this crap in the bathroom sink?

Susie: Ewww. I don’t know. Maybe Dad got really drunk again. Gross.

Timmy: No, it looks more like the baby’s ass exploded in it. Disgusting.

Mike: It’s not puke or baby poop. It was me.

Grandma, Susie, & Timmy: What?!

Mike: I used Listerine Smart Rinse after brushing. Heh heh, I guess my mouth was really dirty. Want to meet my hook... I mean, girlfriend? Hey Stella, come ’ere!

Grandma: Hi, Stella. You want to watch the kids while I finish my morning business? I'll give you a few dollars...

This could've been a really cool story

I’m trying to plan a vacation, and before every long trip I get the family vehicle readied for it. For me and my crew, driving is still the cheapest way to travel. And I’m sure the people on the bus will appreciate not waiting behind a line of kids for the bathroom.

It’s been two years since our last stint so I needed a lot of work done. I took the beast down to the shop Friday for a tune-up and oil change. I mentioned the muffler was smoking. I knew I needed a new one but have been putting it off since we usually don’t drive very far. It’s just a few blocks here and there. I also told them I recently started smelling gasoline under my hood and was worried there might be a leak. I trust these guys since they’ve been taking care of my vehicles for an eternity. They run an honest business, are semi-attractive, and make an effort to attempt to listen to whatever I’m saying.

When they were all done working on it they said the gas smell was due to the old muffler. That was odd, but good to hear. It seemed I’d be saving a little money. They referred me to the muffler shop, so I set up an appointment for Monday. Meanwhile, I drove the beast around town all weekend without any problems. Well, no problems other than the gas smell, smoking muffler and carbon monoxide poisoning.

I knew there had to be a reason for my goofiness. Now we know.

Yesterday was the first hot day we’ve had in a long time. It was around 80 degrees. After lunch I asked a friend from work to meet me at the muffler shop so I could catch a ride back, since the place is a few miles away. As I drove along I didn’t notice anything strange. But just as I pulled into the shop driveway to park, I noticed smoke. It wasn’t much, but enough to get my attention. I popped the hood and hurried around to investigate. When I got close enough to lift it I heard crackling noises and decided against it. It sounded like something was busy burning under there and more smoke was pouring out. So I ran into the shop and asked the two guys if they had a fire extinguisher. I told them I thought I had a fire! under the hood.

They followed me outside and Big Guy says, “Are you sure? It looks like steam. Maybe you’re overheating.”

He lifted the hood, and flames shot up. “Oh boy.” He turned to Old Guy. “Better go get that fire extinguisher.”

In a flash Old Guy reappeared, armed and ready. He muttered, “I hope I can figure this thing out.”

It took him less than a minute to pull the pin, point and shoot, and put out the fire.

My very first engine fire.

Looking back, it would have been something special if I could’ve been the one to put out that bitch, but Old Guy hogged all of the fun. And damn, that looked like a lot of fun. Right after he was done I saw him smile for a second. He even let out a little chuckle.

No fair! I have to pay for this shit, and I don’t even get to enjoy any of it?

So… what do I do now?

Well, I can assure you I’m putting ‘fire extinguisher’ on my shopping list. Never again will I let some one I don’t even know steal my fun away.

And this could’ve been a really cool story to tell the kids. It sucks that I can’t say, “The flames were shooting up from my engine - taunting me. I was all alone… Just me, the heat, and the possibility of massive explosions and/or certain death. Did I panic? No. I grabbed the fire extinguisher and put out that bastard. No fire is ever going to fuck with me, I tell you.”

But for now, sadly, I just don’t know what it’s like to operate a fire extinguisher and describe it in great detail.

So here’s the happy ending…

Big and Old Guys couldn’t take care of my muffler. They didn’t want to risk driving my vehicle into their shop for fear of more flames and whatnot (pansies). So I called the mechanics. Then my friend, who waited patiently through all of this, told me how much worse it could’ve been.

Well, she didn’t say she almost ditched me. Walking back to work and showing up even later is one way I could imagine it being worse…

While we conversed on the way back I told her the name of the mechanic who had originally worked on my flaming hell-beast, and found out she was kind of related to him. Awkward.

The mechanics couldn’t tow the smoky hellion to their shop until just before closing time, and it’s anyone’s guess when they’ll have it finished (for real). When it is finished, for real, I’ll have to dish out more (real) money. Awesome!

Then I’ll have to go back to the muffler shop.

This might turn into a week-long event.

I really need a vacation.

And a fire extinguisher. I think the first thing I’ll do when I get one is make a bonfire out of repair receipts.

No more baggage

I’m revealing my hatred for all baggage.

Baggage = Ass






I used to think one of society’s worst problems was crystal meth. But now I know the truth… it’s crack.

How come most jeans are still baggy in one way or another? I was ready for the fad to end right about the time it started. Sometimes I have to break down and wear a belt (grr) to keep the suckers up on my waist where they belong. If I downsize the jeans so they fit my waist or legs, surprise! Camel toe is not cool, and I wouldn’t be caught dead in it… unless the funeral director is a total moron.

Let me explain why I’m such a horrible shopper. The story behind the baggy story.

• I like to go in, grab something in my size, and get right out of that trap baby. It’s really simple, shopping = broke. The longer I’m in there the less money I have to piss away on gasoline, and steak. I can always bank on spending at least $100 an hour if I‘m not playing offense.

• They fail to put warning labels on women’s jeans. If they’re relaxed fit, they should be clearly marked “belt required”. If they’re going to ride low they should say “crack alert”. If they have extra long pant legs they should be pre-rolled and sewn up into place so I can bypass them altogether. I’m not gonna look like a milk maid.

• It always looks good hanging on the rack. It never fails; I just can’t trust my own eyes. I’m playing the odds every time, and they‘re usually against me because I‘m always in a hurry.

• I don’t like to try on clothes at the store, it eats up precious time. Yes, I value my time more than I should. I’m a single working mom, go fig. And I hate changing rooms. Not because there is always a woman sporting a mullet and a creepy smile guarding the entrance. Well...

• I usually have kids with me. All kids have a breaking point after spending time in any store. This differs depending on the store, the child, and how much authority you actually have over the child. I prefer to avoid reaching that point when they start getting bored, restless, hungry, tired, whiny, and covetous. Because I have a fear that if I’m in the store too long with the kids I might hear something like, “Mom, little sister is crazy-out-of-control on a bike and people are running and calling security.”

Or, “Sorry Mom, I guess you’ll have to pay for these Doritos, Cheetos, BBQ Lay’s and Skittles now. We‘re still going to the steakhouse, right?”

Or, “Mom, we found little sis passed out in a chair covered in Cheeto dust. Oh, the chair is orange too, and that lady over there who says she’s the manager wants to talk to you.”

• When I buy crap, I keep it. If it doesn’t fit right, too bad. I can always find some one or some thrift shop who will take it. I’m not gonna go back to the store and do an exchange. Then I‘d have to go into the changing room, as hypocritical as it sounds. After going through the trouble of exchanging it, I’d have to make sure I‘m getting something that won‘t slide down and show my business. And I can’t help it if I have an irrational fear of “mullet woman”.

• I like online shopping. Basically, it’s to avoid everything mentioned above. And…I always get a warm and fuzzy feeling whenever I get a package, like some one just sent me a present. By the time my orders arrive I‘ve already forgotten about them, so it‘s like Christmas year round. Since I never get anything for Christmas it just makes it that much more special.

I don’t mind being the one to sass the ass crack. I’d love it if jean makers could go back to the way it was. By the way, are they still making plus sizes while they‘re producing all of these huge-waisted jeans? Why?

Baggage = Weight

The kiddies and I like to take trips. But when it’s time to load up the bags I always end up doing a double take. I wonder why our bags outnumber us by 4-1. So I end up wasting precious driving time going through each and every bag, making sure the kids aren’t trying to sneak their friends along. Who wants to be accused of being part of a child-smuggling ring?

And after all is said and done, I reach the conclusion that no one got overzealous with the packing, and we DO need all that baggage, and I just have like… too many kids. Then I make them load up the bags…

Baggage = History

Every man and woman who has ever been in a serious relationship that came to an end has some baggage. But you can lose it in order to move on. Just take it to your nearest airport.

How do you feel about baggage?

Is it summer yet?

I awoke this morning to my 6-yr-old daughter waving a little package of Scooby fruit snacks in my face. She said, “Mommy, this is the last one. Can I have it?”

Damn, those are some good fruit snacks. Really sugary, but they sure are packed full of flavor. I liked the green ones best.

What was even more surprising than their yumminess and my daughter's graciousness was seeing the sun shining brightly through the curtains. Yes, the sun is back. Finally. It’s been too long. Days and weeks of nothing but clouds and dark skies. So I peeked outside and now the sky looks like this…



And everything is green. It's lovely. So today when I drop my “ride” off at the shop to get it all spruced up for our vacation (it has to be at least drivable) I’ll walk home with the sun shining down on me. This is good. Up until I saw the forecast last night I was expecting rain and hail like we had just a few days ago. I’m much too delicate to get caught in a cloudburst. Well, not really. But my daughters are. And they’re stuck with me today, so it helps that the weather is cooperating. It’s kind of windy out there but that’s alright. It’s supposed to get up to 75 degrees F. I’d take 70 at this point. It’s been too cold for too long. I’m hoping eventually I won’t have to run the furnace at night just to stay warm. Is it summer yet? Could it be? We’re usually a toasty 80 or 90 degrees by now. I can’t remember the last time it snowed in the mountains during June. I’m glad I'm not in the higher elevations right now. Ha ha, those suckers. I hope they have satellite dishes or something to help pass the time during road closures. Arts and crafts, perhaps? They probably just drink a lot of microbrew in their cabins and have sex all day long, to the romantic sounds of Hank Williams.




So anyway, it’s been really cold here, especially at night and my furnace runs on heating oil. When we first moved in this place it was cheaper than our natural gas bill had been, and way cheaper than electric heat. But the cost has been mirroring the gas prices and increasing the same, so when I filled up the tank the last time it was nearly $4/gal. Woah. Normally I’d be set until January of 2009. But I’ve already burned through ¼ of the tank, so now I might make it to December. “Guess what kids? You get heat for Christmas! That’s right, you get a warm house! Isn’t that awesome?”

Is it too late to impeach Bush? I think we’ve got about what, seven months left before he leaves office? Hmm. Don’t tell that to Dennis Kucinich. He might be on to something. Wouldn’t want to break his spirit or anything.

How about that Al Gore? I think I’m starting to see a pattern here. Do you see it too? It’s good to be Independent.

I had a few different blogs going on in my head yesterday at work, then I came home to do more work, and the next thing I knew I was on the couch falling asleep with the TV on. Shhhh, don’t tell Al Gore. I’m really trying to be green. Is this a good look for me?



I think the ruffled puffy blouse is so gay. Country girls wear plaid.

Disney is a curse

I’m serious people! If you came here looking for Miley Cyrus you came to the wrong place. Get out! Now! What is wrong with you? For one, she’s underage (perverts); she can’t act, sing or dance; and her dad is Billy Ray. Need I say more? Ok then. Disney is giving her two minutes of fame, and giving her father his two more minutes. Oh, and one more thing. Hannah Montana is no Joe Montana. Got that? Do you comprehend? So for the love of gahd, stop googling “Miley Cyrus Vanity Fair”!!! Okay? I just had to get that off my flat chest.

I have this theory that Disney is a curse to talented actors and actresses who seem to have a bright and promising career in the business (Miley excluded as there isn’t any talent there). Of course, just like every theory (e.g. golfing causes death by lightning strike) there are going to be some exceptions to the rule, or it just may sound completely ridiculous. After all, Tiger Woods is still alive (barely). And the careers of Tom Hanks and Robin Williams were not destroyed by their work with Disney. I can’t think of any other exceptions right now who really stand out so I’m running with this.


1) Hilary Duff



She became famous among children on the Disney channel show “Lizzie McGuire”, which my sons watched when they were young. I think she was their first TV crush, and they’d still probably lay down and die for her if it meant they could meet her in person first, but that is just a side note and an obvious exaggeration. She has always been a talented actress. After quite a few good movie roles she negotiated a recording contract with Disney and lost so much weight she soon adopted the look of an anorexic or heroin junkie. Not to mention (when she’s in makeup) she resembles that singer Duffy so much it makes me dislike her as a performer even more.



Hmm, it could just be the name. Anyway, Duffy has one hit song that I’ve actually heard and the woman’s voice is really high. Not in a good way. It sounds like she’s on helium or trying to appeal to dogs. So I investigated the name Duffy. And this is what I found… Duffy was a dog. Duffy was Woody Woodpecker’s little adorable beast that liked to bite the dog catcher in the ass. What a coincidence.


Screen shot from “Hot Diggity Dog” (lantz.goldenagecartoons.com)

To Hilary’s credit she broke away from Disney, but I’ll always remember her as the Disney Kid. And sadly, as long as Duffy is hitting the charts I’ll always think of Hilary in a negative light. I’m not saying there’s no hope. But it may take many years or a Grammy or Oscar to convince me that Disney wasn’t a curse for Miss Duff. And you just can’t argue that she should have a bag over her head if she wants to go out in public without any makeup. Next to her, my nerdy close up shots (makeup-less) are pretty damn easy on the eyes.


2) Rick Moranis



If you’re in your twenties (or younger) you might only know him from the Disney films, “Honey I Shrunk The Kids” and so on and so forth. But he was in some funny movies in the 80’s (my favorites were Club Paradise and Spaceballs) and he had a great career as a comic actor, which all started in Canada with SCTV. Then, Disney happened. Damn it all! Curse you, Disney!


3) Lindsey Lohan



Maybe bad parenting is to blame here, but I like to think Disney played a role in that train wreck.


4) Britney Spears



That is just sad. Oh alright; I’ll blame that whole catastrophe on Britney's mother. But I still kind of think the Tigger suit is damning evidence against Disney.

"Just Say No" to your boss

It’s not easy for me to just say nay when my boss is in a tough spot. If I’m needed I can usually be counted on to nearly run myself into the ground for the company. But yesterday when I was asked if I wanted to work the substitute day off I was given for working through the weekend to cover for another employee, my aching body told me I needed a day to recover. So I turned it down. It was a tough split-second decision but I’m happy with my choice.

So today I was home with a sore back considering why I have such a hard time just saying NO. After some reflection and nearly shattering the mirror in the process, this is what I learned about myself.

I like the extra money… I like bigger paychecks. Sure, the extra money gets spent on things I wouldn’t need to buy if I weren’t working so much. Things like frozen and fast foods, and toys for the kids to ease my guilt.

But still, it looks good on paper and seems wiser (in theory).


I like to prove my loyalty. I don’t know why this is an issue with me. Why do I need to prove I am loyal? Isn’t the fact that I show up on my scheduled work days proof enough?

A boss has never actually said anything like this to me, “I don’t think you are loyal enough. Why don’t you prove it by working your days off this week. If you don’t, we’ll know you are nothing but a loose cannon.”

This is reality… My boss simply asks me if I can work and I say yes. Seriously, I need to grow a pair.


Most of my jobs have had room for growth. And I like moving up the ladder and getting the few more ounces of respect and pay that come with it, only to eventually quit because I have to move, or give birth and nurse a child for a year. Okay, that was a lie. I’ve never breastfed a child. I've tried but things didn't operate like they should have, and I still feel like less of a woman.

But this job is different - it’s a small business. There isn’t any promotion available that I’d actually want or need. I don’t want to take over while my boss is on vacation. She works from 8 am until 10 pm, seven days a week! What kind of life is that? I can’t see any real benefits from becoming boss number two, even if it is just for a few days. The hours I put in are enough as it is, thanks.

So now that I’ve realized promotion isn’t a factor here, I need to learn to implement “just saying no” more often.


I’m a nice person. I need to work on this before it kills me.


I have a fear of losing my job. I’ll start with the story of the last time I lost a job because it’s slightly relevant. Okay, it’s not really relevant at all. The true reason I fear losing my job is the fact that any work is hard to come by in a small town and I can't really afford to commute 100 miles per work day, but I really want to share this story anyway.

I used to work in an office for a guy who started up a small business, and it went very well in the beginning as far as sales go. But it wasn’t enough to support his family and cover the expenses so his credit card became his best friend. He ended up starting another business in a more profitable field and in the meantime ruined some important client relationships with the first one - not delivering the finished products on time. Running two businesses was too much for him as he couldn’t be in two places at once. It would take too long to train a new employee to do this specialized work, which was a difficult and dirty job.



I was only good at the secretarial stuff and (still) had no manly muscles, so I wasn’t a good candidate. The one guy he had spent months training became a party animal so you can just imagine what that was like. After losing clients he finally threw in the towel and gave up production. Since we had become good friends while I worked for him he asked me if I wanted the business in its new form. At this point he had already informed me he was shutting down the office, so I’d be losing $300 per week. I knew I had to find another job. But if I took over the business and ran it from my home, on the side I could make an easy $50-$100 on every sale (at least), so I thought I’d be a fool to say no. He signed it over to me for nothing and I became a dealer. Now that production was no longer an option, he sold the equipment and got a little money out of the deal.

So, the company that supplied the product to me for resale would now handle the production. This raised the final prices, and made it more difficult to entice customers. The market is an extremely small and competitive one in my area as it is. And rising fuel prices haven’t helped any as costs in the industry have gone up dramatically (rather than slightly) every year since 2004, which just happened to be the year I was handed this so-called business opportunity.

There have been some good times, though. I secured a client on my own for a couple of years and it helped pay some bills. But he was having too much difficulty turning a profit and it didn’t make financial sense for him to stay in it. Funny, I wasn’t making a killing either so I couldn’t lower the prices for him. It was fun while it lasted.

So instead of being a proud profiting business owner, I work another job and bend over on a regular basis for fear of losing that job and having to rely solely on my flailing business. What’s so wrong with kissing the ass of someone who is turning a decent profit and can afford to keep you fed?

Forget I said that. It could really be misinterpreted.


Has it ever been tough for you to just say no to your boss?

Awkward Moments: Wee Willy Winkie

The first time I ever saw a mini wiener I got an unsuspected two-fer on a family trip. During the first sighting the kid was older and didn’t even speak English. The second incident was much more intimate, and the kid was my age. This happened within a few days' time. Before you start thinking I was a little peeping pervert, hear me out. That didn’t come until about ten years later, I swear.

I was five on this occasion when my mom, dad, little sister and I hopped into the van and traveled from Minnesota to Arizona where we had lived up until the previous year. My parents had a lot of friends there and my grandparents were still together and living in Tucson. The journey itself was a lot of fun. This was back when seatbelts weren’t a requirement. So when we weren’t staring out the back windows watching other cars and making funny faces at old ladies, my sister and I were sleeping comfortably or sitting on our parents laps up front learning how to drive. Well, not really driving, but we experienced the thrill of learning how to steer a moving vehicle going 55 mph down the highway. Dad was a good teacher; and I admit it was a real power trip, knowing if I let go of the wheel we’d all surely die.

My dad loved the two-seater van and spent a lot of time pimping it out in the mid to late seventies. He insulated it, installed woofers all over the place, built and installed a bench, not to mention built a bed in the very back. We spent a lot of time in it as it was our ride and doubled as a camper. But then the new laws went into effect and the van went into permanent park mode. There wasn’t any sense maintaining it anymore. Hello station wagon! It just wasn’t the same. Safety really put a damper on things.

Many rest stops and homemade sandwiches later, we got to Tucson and went straight to Grandma & Grandpa’s. Nothing odd happened there. Well, that’s not entirely true. Someone decided since we were so close to Mexico, why not hop the border (legally) and visit my great-grandparents who didn’t speak one word of English. Cool! Little did I know just how much “cooler” it would get. So the next morning my grandma hopped into the van with us, which was kind of important since she was the only one in our little group who was bilingual. I wonder what she was saying when she’d mutter things under her breath in Spanish and look at my mother. I’ll never know for sure but I can just imagine.

We got to the shack for the very first time in our lives and couldn’t believe our eyes. It had a tin roof, wood stove, no electricity whatsoever… and an outhouse? Up until then I’d thought everyone had indoor plumbing. What insanity! Have you ever had to urinate or defecate into a hole located in what resembles a closet but is much smaller? The toilet seat is just there for show. This is nothing like a toilet! It is less frightening and probably more sanitary to use a bush, but there was no wilderness to be found; just rows of shacks surrounded by barbed wire. To protect what? I don’t know. Maybe the Virgin Mary statues and hoards of candles.

I assumed they’d be a cranky old pair living in such poor conditions, but since this was all they really knew they were surprisingly content. But I was kind of frustrated in this foreign land; it was a bitch not being able to understand my own kin. What was even weirder was trying to mingle with the kids in the barrio. They ignored us whenever we said, "Hi."
Surely they could understand that much? Nope. They would just stare and talk amongst themselves as they passed by. So my sis and I played with our dolls out in the heat under a shady tree and hoped we’d be leaving soon. And preferably before we’d have to pee again.

After what seemed like an all-day-long-eternity but was probably an hour (I did not enjoy playing with AKA babysitting a two-yr-old) two boys who looked about eight and ten walked by and made a beeline right for our van. They disappeared around to the other side of the unlocked van, where the sliding door was located. Little five-year-old me thought they might be up to some trouble. All I could think was I had to defend our van and figured yelling at them in English would scare them away. So I boldly ran over and just as I turned the corner of the van to tell them off, I stopped dead in my tracks about two feet from where they stood. One of the boys was zipping up and the other still had his dinky out. They both turned to find me standing there with very big eyes. They promptly ran away, leaving two fresh puddles behind them. So my plan worked after all; and I didn’t have to make a sound.

*****************************************

Back in Tucson either the very next day or shortly thereafter, we went to visit a couple who were my parents’ friends. They had a boy my age and a girl my sister’s age. The boy immediately began to creep me out. He just stood there and smiled at me. Our parents suggested we go play together. Considering it was either that, listen to a boring adult convo or play with the younger girls, I went off with the little urchin.

We went to his bedroom and I had a look around at his playthings. Toy trucks? No. Action figures? Maybe. TV set? Now we’re talking. So I turned on the TV, but then he told me he had something he wanted to show me. I wasn’t prepared for a show and tell session so I was a little perturbed. All of my good stuff was back at home. But I followed him into the closet anyway, thinking he had some cool new toy flashlight that projected an image of Spider Man’s web, or maybe even the Bat Signal. Back home my only male friend and I would role play Super Heroes, but somehow I always ended up being Wonder Woman. There really weren’t any other options for me.

I get into the closet and he tells me to close my eyes for a surprise. So I covered my eyes with my hands and waited for a few seconds. “Open them now,” he said excitedly.

He was standing right next to me and had yanked out his little sidekick. He held it in his small hands and looked at it, then up at me. “Do you want to touch it?”

I never saw him again after that…

King interviews Mrs. Obama

Welcome. If you missed King interviews a moody O.J. you can purchase a copy of this very short but inspiring headache at our online store for only a few hundred dollars. What a bargain! You get O.J. and myself in a rare interview without commercial interruption or a goofy intro. And best of all, for every copy sold I get a night of peaceful sleep without a gang of armed thugs breaking into my house to pillage my hard earned cash-stash, which I keep in my detachable robotic arm. By 2020 I should be a full fledged robot. I swear I couldn’t do this job without my pills. Tonight we have a horriterrific lineup that will be broken up into parts because we will run out of time. All of these lovely ladies wanted to be here on the same night because, well, they are stalking each other. First up, Mrs. Obama has left her week long celebration party to grace us with her presence. Then Mrs. McCain will join us. Finally, we’ll clear the set to speak with Mrs. Clinton as she wouldn’t have it any other way. And then, a surprise guest! You just never know what will happen on this awfullicious show. Whew, let me catch my breath for a minute. Why don’t we go to commercial? We’ll be right back after these messages.



GRAB LIFE BY DA LEMONS




Five minutes and ten shots of whiskey later…




Welcome back, lonely old people and bitter Republicans. Michelle Obama has joined us! Mrs. Obama, you must be excited now that it’s official and your husband has a real chance at winning the Presidency. Are you so excited you just can’t hide it? How are you feeling right now?




I’ll tell you Mr. King, it’s surreal. I’m in shock.




Fifty four contests and we won! Yippee! But we’ll be in the White House before you know it, making it black. Yeah!




So what you’re saying is, when you get to The White House it will be called The Black House? I thought your husband had a white mother. Is he black enough to change America for the better? When will he tell the hip hop industry their music has been (for the most part) total crap the last ten years?




My, that is a lot to answer at once. I’ll do my best to make this brief. Yes; that’s true; of course; on the day of his inauguration.




Wow; what an overachiever he is. Taking on a ceremony and entire music industry in one day! But let’s talk about you now. I hear you’ll be guest hosting on the popular daytime talk show “The Spew” in the near future, right alongside the infamous Barbed Whiskers. Is this true, or is it just a rumor? And is it possible for Barbed to tell one story and stick to it?




I think she prefers to be called “Barbie Whiskers” and I really don’t blame her. Some of us aren’t blessed with the best names, after all. And I cannot confirm or deny whether or not I’ll be co-hosting on The Spew. Anything could happen. I’d much rather talk about my husband. That’s why I’m here. And I know nothing of Barbie’s secret love affairs with Rosie O’Mygod and Ronald Frump. As far as I know “The Ronald” is no longer fighting with Rosie over Barbie, and it’s all in the past where it should be.




Well then, I think this one-on-one is over. Sike! I’ve got smelly hard lemonade on the brain, what can I say. Anywho, since you want to talk about your husband so badly, how about that new campaign slogan? Can we get a shot of that?




Here’s the million dollar question, Mrs. Obama. Ba Rock star, or God?

Well we know he isn’t God. That’s Oprah. And he isn’t a rock star. Bill Clinton won that title in the early 90’s. So I’d have to go with… Super Hero.

And a fine one he is. What exactly are his Super Powers?

Healing the sick and underinsured with his magical touch, teleporting troops home with his anti-Republican mind power, getting kids to college with three blinks and an ear wiggle, and helping Mrs. Clinton’s campaign out of debt by the power of Grayskull. Just visit the website; it explains everything.

Goshes, we’re out of time. It was wonderful conversing with you my dear, and best of luck with the campaign. But stay right here! Mrs. McCain will be joining us after a few automobile commercials using popular tunes of times past to tell you little to nothing of what you can expect from their vehicles. At least it’s rock and roll and hey, someone’s gotta pay for this.

Three minutes and ten whiskey shots later…

Oh, fudge packers. We’re entirely out of time now. We’ll continue here on our set and bring the rest of the interviews to you later. It will be just like live, only not. Stay tuned.

Ruining your kid's life begins at birth

Well, if you’re right on top of things you can at least ensure they are raised as ultra-spoiled cretins who are doomed to a life-long battle with drug/alcohol addictions, depression, not fitting into society, or all of the above. But that’s only if you’re leading by example or your kid knows his/her nanny better than they know you…


Usually spam doesn’t annoy me. But it has in the past. I’ve reached the point where I just delete it and don't give it a second thought. It’s like living with someone for so long they eventually get boring and predictable, and aren’t able to grab your attention like they did in the beginning, which is one reason why I like being single (or just alone). But today I got spam from Apple. You know, the company who gave us the iPod. And when I saw the sender’s name, Apple, glaring at me from my inbox the first thing that popped into my head was that Gwyneth Paltrow gave her first born kid that name. Yes, she named her daughter after a fruit. Not to mention she married that guy Chris Martin of Coldplay, the one band whose name I always forgot until they won a Grammy. Now that I’ve looked up this useless info on Wikipedia I’ll probably never forget it. Anyway, the reason I remembered a celebrity kid being named Apple: I saw her announce to the world on Oprah some odd years ago that she picked the name because it was biblical and clean (and that's when I changed the channel).




Look at Eve’s arms. Apparently they had steroids back then. Or some kind of Super Apples…


I’m sorry, but since I like pointing out the obvious… People who think of an apple in biblical terms probably aren’t thinking clean, innocent or wholesome. But they could be thinking of how Eve tempted Adam, how he took the bait, and they were banished from paradise. They could be thinking things like, from that point on (until the hippy movement) men were punished with working for food and women were cursed with pain in childbirth. So for those people, “apple” obviously isn’t going to conjure up nice happy thoughts, unless there is a savior named Apple who gives everyone free pie and/or crisps for eternity with the promise of zero weight gain. I could support that. I would tithe for that shit.

They named their second child Moses, who is probably the biggest star of the Old Testament. It is like a Christian naming their kid Jesus (then again, every other Mexican family has one, so maybe that isn‘t a good comparison). But if you’re going to pick a biblical name, at least pick one that isn’t 2 parts per million. Just some advice if you’re planning to do so. I’ve never heard of a Moses (but I‘ve never lived in the South 100 years ago either). I was starting to doubt his existence, so thanks Martin family for proving it once and for all. The name Moses rocks, and if he wasn’t a sheltered celebrity child he’d probably be pummeled with them daily in the schoolyard. Unless maybe he lived in the South. Then it would just be weekly.

I’m spotlighting this family only because I received that spam email from Apple (the corporation and not the savior). And there is some kind of celebrity movement out there to give kids the most ridiculous names on the planet. They probably hire people to seek out or make up these terrible things, don’t even give it a second thought, and then pay them for services rendered.

These people definitely have a sense of humor.

McCain attacks Barack Obama, and it smells poopy

Now that it’s official, McCain is wasting no time attacking Obama any which way he can, which is in the rear since McCain is behind him in the polls. It turns out Obama has a fundraising friend who was convicted yesterday of fraud and some other things, and now McCain is using this as an opportunity to imply that he wouldn’t be a good President based on this friendship. Actually it was the Republican Party’s national committee who were responsible for the negative statements, but it’s probably not a stretch to assume McCain is pulling the strings or at least having a good evil laugh over it. I could easily imagine him stabbing an Obama voodoo doll in between its cloth buttcheeks for some reason. Back when this issue first came up, Obama donated more than $150,000 raised by the friend in question to charity. I guess McCain and his friends can’t find anything of real substance to use against him. When I look at it that way, the whole thing is pretty damn amusing.

I live in a town where most of us know each other, so life would be very different for me if everyone judged me by my friends. I wouldn’t have any friends if that were the case. For example, I have a couple of friends who smoke pot. Now they try to keep it on the DL, but it’s impossible because word gets around. It’s almost as if everyone in this town knows who made a poopy and when they did it. Personally, I don’t care what my friends do when I‘m not in their company. Their poop is their business. But let’s just say for the sake of comparison that they decided one day to start throwing poop at people. And that this went on for a period of time without me knowing about it. Random poop attacks in the night on passersby. And let’s say I found out when they were eventually arrested for their poop rampage. How can I, a law abiding citizen, be held accountable for their poop? That would stink.

Today's Forecast: Sarcasm Storm Rolling In

First: CNN hosts and company, while covering Obama’s win I don’t think you’ve uttered the word “historic” quite enough yet. Maybe you should say it another hundred times in the next few minutes just to get the point across.

And if Hillary had won the nomination, I guess you wouldn’t be saying the exact same thing.

I think it’s pretty obvious she is in fact, a woman. I think she does indeed have lady lumps. Whether or not they are lovely is a matter for Bill to debate with himself.


Number 2: It’s not just shorthand for “making a poopy”…

Why are so many guests on CNN saying that Clinton is diminishing Obama’s victory? I tune in and tune out like a monkey with ADHD. Seriously, there is no punch line here. I’m asking a legitimate question.

I want to know what you’re thinking. There are some things you can‘t hide. I want to know what you‘re feeling. Tell me what‘s on your mind.


Thirdly: Why are you political junkies suggesting it is somehow wrong for Clinton to hang in there like the trooper she is? How dare you. You can’t read her mind. You don’t know what is preventing her from conceding. She just might have some kind of agenda, like becoming our next President, perhaps. I just can’t put into words how I feel about you wolf… er, wolves. I am shocked that you’re wishing an end to the longest running delusion in nominee history. Unbelievable.


And last of all: This wasn’t even really a post, but rather, a bunch of jibberish with some Information Society lyrics thrown in for the hell of it. I apologize. I’m also sorry if you were deceived by my title. I know I promised you a “sarcasm storm.” That was very thoughtless of me and extremely inconsiderate. What can I say, I am a woman. But I’d really like to make it up to you. So, here you go…






















I never said I was an artist.

We're lucky they left the house intact

I was really baffled about a week ago when some brake pads came tumbling down our roof. After posting about it I came to the conclusion it was the roofers. It just had to be one of them. No one else has ever had that kind of access to the peak in our roof. I know it still doesn’t make much sense but who else could be to blame? There is just no way they could’ve dropped from a plane. No one heard any THUD and the box was found in close proximity to the discs. And when heavy boxes of metal objects fall from the sky I’m guessing they cause some kind of damage. We haven‘t found any pieces of the house lying around. By George, or, Great Scott, I’m starting to feel like Sherlock Holmes (minus the penis). Oh, and minus the cocaine too. The History Channel is a good source of info when it comes to famous dead people. But I already kind of knew he wasn’t a girl.

So, after determining who was to blame, I have to admit I got a little upset thinking about what could’ve happened. What if the kids had been playing outside at the time? I can tell you, they may be small auto parts but they are heavy little bastards. And that peak in our roof is at least one story high. I’d assume it would leave a pretty good lump on an adult’s head, so who knows what kind of damage it could do to a child’s noggin. My kids are very active and somewhat daring but I haven’t yet had to take them to the E.R. This wouldn’t have been the best first time visit either.

Doctor: So you say some auto parts fell off your roof and this is why your daughter now needs stitches?

Me: I know, it’s crazy, isn’t it? I mean, I have no idea who, when, why or how those things got up there…

Doctor: Um, yeah… No worries, but expect a visit from the Child Welfare Dept. soon. It’s strictly routine. I don’t disbelieve your story but I’ve never heard anything quite like this before. So you’ll have to understand there could be legal ramifications if I turn a blind eye…

Me: I understand. I’m just sorry when I was in a hurry to get urgent medical care for my daughter, I didn’t think to pick up the soggy box and brake pads and bring them here with us. Silly me! I can’t wait to miss a day of work so I can visit with that person who knows nothing about my family but has the power to turn us into complete strangers. Do you think they’ll believe it? I mean, I can barely believe it happened myself…

Doctor: Are you on any prescribed medications, ma’am?

Me: Not yet. You got anything good?


Not to mention my bloody child would be writhing in pain. So lucky for us, this was not the scenario.

I was beginning to forget about this whole fiasco, but then I see one of the leading stories on the internet. It just happens to be about these menacing workers called roofers. It has been determined they are to blame for the Universal Studios fire in Hollywood. I have to tell you, I’m really not at all surprised. In fact, I’m now convinced that roofers are the devil’s workers sent up here from hell to wreak havoc.

Devil: I am really bored. How can I cause more mayhem for those idiots up there on Earth? They think they’re so rad. I know, I’ll use a group of people who society doesn’t really like or respect… hmm… Prostitutes? Already did that one. Politicians? Oh yeah, that was my best work! Shit, I think I’ve already depleted my most valuable resources. Oh wait… I got a new one… Roofers! And no one will ever suspect I’m behind it. *Evil laugh*

Just jokes. But I’m glad all we got were falling discs out of the deal. And as afraid as I am of heights, on the next clear day I’m going to force myself to go up on that roof, just to make sure there aren‘t any other forgotten items that could slide down and maim someone. If I live, and find anything unusual, I’ll be sure to let you know about it.