RSS Feed

Don’t make me eat you.

Well, folks, I did it.  I joined a cult. Sure was nice knowing you all. I’ll be giving away all of my baggage soon!

Kinda.

I joined a weight loss group…One that I shall not post their name to give them any more credit, and well, advertisement but they sound like Plate Archers. (Get it? I’ll wait….C’mon… You totally can hear that spokesperson singing, huh?) (HELL no I’m no giving them any more advertisement.  They took my money, that’s enough stuff I’ve done for them.)

Anyway.  I’ll be 30 next month (30 FOLKS! A BONA FIDE ADULT!), and my ass isn’t getting any smaller, despite all that I’ve done to sit on it. It was time. Hell, it’s past time.  But you know me, I may be late but I’m down to party. Screw it, I’m always late.  (SHUT UP.)

Can I admit something?

It’s not that bad.  I actually kinda like it.  Lets see.  You eat better, you can still eat the normal stuff you’ve been eating, but you make the effort to control yourself. You make an effort to eat better.  Like that’s a bad thing?  Not the last time I heard. I’m starting to feel better, all the way around.   My clothes fit better already, and I haven’t even been on it a week.

But just in general, I feel better. My whole….self?  Gone are the sluggish feelings. Gone is the,”HOLY CRAP I THOUGHT THESE PANTS WERE THE ONES THAT FIT!” feelings. This is something I will be able to stick to, its too easy not to.

SO, you want my baggage I’m giving out?  You can have it.

The Never Ending Bot Battle

You may have seen people with blogs, twitter, websites, well, even TV complain about bots. These are little programs designed to… well…annoy the ever living shit out of you. Well, today, I’m going to show you some examples of bots.  These are what I encountered today when I looked in the spam folder.

Some bots are designed to phish for passwords and accounts.

Some are designed to promote a business (usually porn), and get you to go visit a website, which well then probably phish for your credit card thereby ruining your chance at a decent life, and ruin your credit, and make that chick you were crushing on really dislike you. (Don’t say I didn’t warn you. ) (Yeah, I heard about you.  She told me everything, you nasty!)

Then there are these assholes:

Clicky clicky to read it biggie biggie.

But what it says is:  “Hello, you used to write fantastic but the last several posts have been kinda boring. I miss your great writings. Past several posts are a little out of come on!”

Okay, I’ve had trolls.  I don’t know anyone that hasn’t that pleasant experience.  But what you can’t see there is that it’s on a post ABOUT MY DEAD COUSIN. Yeah. So. Uhm. thanks for that?

The one under that’s a weird one too. Talking about over population ON MY DEAD COUSINS POST. Awesome. Great. Fantastic. So, whatever.

The top post there is an example of just a random bot. ” Hey go here and your blog will go straight to the top! YAY!” (YAY! Here’s my credit card information too! I’ll give you my first born as well, if you promise it’ll stay on top.  I mean, I haven’t been able to *stay* pregnant long enough to actually have a first born, but that shouldn’t matter to the internet gods right?)

That second one? That’s one that I’m gonna keep for agesssssss…….

  • Among the many misdeeds of the British rule in India, history will look upon the act of depriving a whole nation of arms, as the blackest.| An error does not become truth by reason of multiplied propagation, nor does truth become error because nobody sees it. | An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind|An ounce of practice is worth a pound of preaching

Deep, right?

The first three are Mohandas Gandhi quotes, with the last being a Proverb quote.

Gandhi…Remember him?

I want you to go ahead and look again at the picture I have uploaded of the quote.  Go ahead and make it bigger and look at the NAME on the comment. Too much of an effort? FINE! (Lazy ass!)

Some days it just doesn’t pay to look at the spam folder.  Some days it does. Today, I can’t tell what I think at the moment. (I mean, other than dirty)

Husband, I hope you step on a Lego. (Nothing Personal.)

Dear Husband,

Hi. Remember this morning how I told you I fixed your lunch, and I had to leave early to get Cinderella, as today was an early out? I know you had to go fix your license place light because, thankfully, the cop that pulled you over gave you a warning and told you to fix that rust bucket. So, I’m glad you fixed that, honestly I am.

The fact that I told you on your way out the door, that I wouldn’t be home when you left for work, so don’t forget your lunch, probably made you kinda annoyed with me.  I get it.  I repeat myself a lot.  Only on weird days like this, sure, because it’s out of the routine for me, so I annoy myself (a lot) and repeat crap to myself (a lot). Don’t feel bad.

The note that I left on the Notepad app on the computer saying to TAKE YOUR DAMN LUNCH, was that over kill?

Because, I want to know…

WHY THE HELL DID I WALK INTO THE HOUSE AND SEE YOUR LUNCH STILL ON THE COFFEE TABLE?

The Second Time I Almost Got Kidnapped…

It occurred to me last night that I have never really wrote down that I’ve almost been kidnapped.  Twice.

Sure, I’ve told my husband the stories, but really in passing.  Like that happens to everyone. Little Johnny was almost picked up by a stranger today, isn’t that hysterical?? I remember when my first kidnapping happened.  Ahhh! Memories!

Yeah, no.  Not even close.

It started one morning when I was walking to the bus stop. Completely like any other morning, I hated the fact that I had to go to school… I hated the fact that I had to walk to the damn bus stop. Again. Didn’t I do that crap yesterday?  I mean, Gosh, *hair flip*,  Do they expect me to continue this injustice? We lived out in the boonies by the standards of the locals, but to be honest, now that I am grown, I realize it wasn’t really that far out of the city limits. I had to walk, like half a block to the bus stop, and since my brother had already graduated, I was flying solo.

My momma, bless her, is awesome.  She’d be in the middle of getting ready to go work, or having her breakfast, but she’d stand outside on the porch and watch me and make sure I got on the bus safely. Hopefully, it was to see that I got on the bus safely, and not that I was ditching.  But, I wasn’t that kind of kid so I don’t think that was something that she would even think of. (Shut up! I was a good kid. Weird, right?) I’d climb in the bus and she’d go about her business. Easy, peasy.  Okay, there were a few times she’d have to stop what she was doing when the crazy bus driver would drive right past me because she didn’t see me and high tail me to school, but that’s another story.  That bus driver was nuts.  Think like an angry bus driver that smokes. Probably weed.  Think the bus driver from The Simpsons but a woman, and mean and always angry.

(Isn’t weed supposed to like..Calm you down? That just hit me.  What the hell was her problem then?)

I’m almost 30 years old and still to this day, that driver was a person I don’t want to meet on a dark night in a alley.

(Okay, sometimes I did.) (Want to that is…I didn’t actually go and meet her in a dark alley and throw down like some weird fight club.)

(Wouldn’t that be hysterical?  Bus driver fight club!)

(If any of you bastards take my idea, you have to give me monies. And a mention.  And if it goes into a movie or something, someone HOT better play me.)

(If you get someone like Octo-mom to play me, we’re gonna box. Me and you.  Yeah, you.)

Anyways, I’m getting lost here. Back to the story:

One morning, I had arrived to the bus stop early. TOTAL miracle there, by the way. My M O was to arrive just as the bus was arriving so I wouldn’t have to wait.  I was too “cool” to stand around waiting for the bus  to stop. My mom and I had a total system, because the bus would pass and go to the end of the street, turn around and then start picking up kids. When the bus passed the first time, my mom would yell that it’s passed and then I’d hurry my butt up to the corner (*snicker*) and usually I’d meet the bus as it was pulling up to the stop. Anyway, while I was standing there I remember some guy in a suburban drive past me, and I’m, of course, off in la-la land staring off into space. I remember the suburban thing was blue and white.  (That’s all I remember at the moment of the truck.)

Just about the time I started to wonder where in the hell the dang bus was, the blue suburban pulled up in front of me. (He had went down the street and turned around and slowly inched down the road.) Like, literally an inch from my feet.  Think that set of any alarms? NAH! We lived in a small town, I just figured they wanted to know directions or my luck, they were someone I was related to that were wanting to talk. (I had family that lived on that corner. See? Small town.) But no.  This guy was a young, sweaty-nervous, Hispanic guy with a cap on.  He wanted to know where the golf course was. That’s what set the alarms off. You could see the damn golf courses from where I was standing! So, because I was second guessing that feeling in my stomach, quickly told him,”Two blocks up, and hang a left. You’ll drive right into it.” Which that was true.  Instead of saying okay, thanks and driving off, things got hinky. He told me to get in.

Like a damn after school special, he actually told me to get in his vehicle while he looked around. I did the most insane thing that I could have done at the moment. I got incredulous. (By the way, totally proud of myself that I spelled incredulous without getting spell check yelling at me. *snicker*) I laughed,”WHAT?”  (Oh my God, I laughed at a kidnapper. Such an idiot.) When he repeated his demand, I pointed over my shoulder.

“You see that woman over there on the porch? That’s my mom.  She’s about 2 seconds away from getting in her car, coming down here and you’ll have her to deal with.”

He took off.

I turned around and waved to my momma until she waved back and got on the bus.

And that was the second time I almost got kidnapped.

P.S. The reason I remember what I told him is because frankly, my family was annoyed/shocked that I had the balls to actually say that and I’ve had to repeat that story so many times that it kind stuck. *shrug*

I totally will pretend it happened.

Well, it’s happened.  The most awesome of awesome.  You really don’t want to know just how long I’ve been waiting for this book.  Okay, so like when she first mentioned it, I was down.

The Bloggess

The Bloggess‘ book has hit the shelves.  Well, it’s hit my iBooks shelf this morning…and am I a happy camper! It’s pretty amazing that I downloaded this book at 9am, and here at 3pm, I’m more than half way through the book.  In fact, the only reason I’m typing right now is to SLOW MY ASS DOWN. Geez.  I have this horrible habit of just simply DEVOURING a book (thanks Ma’!) once I start  reading, and apparently its true.

Sure, I would get all frowny when she would take a week or two off from the website to go into hiding and write, but I knew it was for the best. I had to..I had a favorite blog now! I had never in my life had a favorite blog, but after reading her post about the 80 body parts she received in the mail, I was hooked.  (Oh, go ahead and read that post.  If you are in need of a giggle, this is it.  Trust.  I’ll wait.)

Okay, you’re back? Wasn’t it worth the interruption?

Anyway, if you haven’t bought the book, do it.  Zombies will pass your house when the time comes because you’re an awesome person.  Truth.

It’s nice to know that someone else in the world had a family member that was certifiable to others, but down right adorable to you.  I had an uncle that, after reading this book, I know that he and Jenny’s dad would be the best of friends. (That sounds weird, but…I RELATE TO THE BOOK, DAMN IT. DON’T YOU JUDGE ME. You know, if my uncle hadn’t have died in ’99. (Woah, morbid.  I didn’t mean it like that. I think I need to shut up  now.)

While, sure, my uncle wasn’t a taxidermist, he sure the heck did show up at my house  at the weirdest times with a carcass of some sort, deer usually, and string it up happily cleaning a deer like that was totally normal thing to do at 6:30 am on a Saturday.   I won’t even get into the time he gave my mom a goat to keep on the land she owned so we could eat it, like 4 months later on the 4th of July.  Dude, we had to totally feed and take care of this goat For. Freaking. EVER. (Okay, I don’t remember just how long it was but when you’re a kid, a weekend feels like it takes foreevvvveeerrrrrr..so that counts right?) only to have the  fourth come and go.

Well, my brother and I thought we were safe, you know? We played with the goat, fed and watered it, so we figured we just  ended up with a goat as a pet, as if that was totally normal.  That is, until the man showed up like a week later, and slaughtered the damn thing and cooked it up like everything was cool.  NOT. COOL. UNCLE ED! NOT COOL. Can’t say that the man didn’t warn us that is was a meal, not a pet.

For the record, I didn’t eat the goat.  I haven’t had goat since.. but I heard it was tasty. (Side note: I need to drink more Monkey Picked Oolong tea.  Because damn it.   I’m wired, and well, it is pretty damn tasty.) (I don’t think its really supposed to wire you but I’m weird, obviously.) (Shut up.)

Well, obviously I did go into the goat story. *face meet palm*  I still get crap over it cause I was severely bummed out about the dead goat.  (Again, thanks mom!) So, I’m just going to quit now, and go back to reading the book. You should read it too, because then baby unicorns will totally be found and survive and junk, and your hair will be all thick and shiny, and stuff like that. Yep.

P.S. I refuse to  tell you how long it took me to remember how to add that damn apple picture because wordpress is being an asshole and not working the way it normally does.

P.P.S. It was like five minutes..well, less than five minutes.  But still, it wouldn’t work.

P.P.P.S. Dear WordPress, please don’t get pissed off and delete this post.  Or, like my entire blog. Please? I mean, that wouldn’t be cool, and I’m sure you’d feel bad if I, like cried or something? Friends?

P.P.P.P.S. Asshole.