Oh, fuck off Martha Stewart.

Do you ever have one of those days where you want to jump and down laughing, sob like a little bitch, have a drink, dance and laugh and kick an unsuspecting elderly person down a flight of stairs while coolly calling after them "I'm doing you a favour" all at the same time? I am having one of those days.

I am really in a place of self discovery right now. It is both amasing and awesome and also really licks hairy balls on a hundred and four degree day.

In other news a big hand gesture to Martha Stewart. Know why? For being so goddamn rad. I am sick with envy at her creative skillz as I explore making my space in the world one I adore and look forward to spending time in. I am disorgansied, have ADD like a test monkey and have generally no ties with the term "Cohesive" when it comes to matters of life. In my online idea searching/resulting reverie I see a lot of Martha Stewart themes and products. Damn that is one clever old bitch. Thumbs up, Martha.

Oh Martha, you feisty minx, you.

I am going to drink tonight, perhaps almost certainly in excess. I need to just relax and laugh and be silly and since stupid Ripper has to stupid sleep and we have this stupid five thousand miles and eight hours between us I need other means of being light and thoughtless for the time being. Enter in my new best friend...

Whipped- a concept enjoyable in several mediums.

Our city is having it's annual local celebration; AKA excuse for all between the ages of 21-80 to be publicly intoxicated without retribution, gotta' love small towns. I think I'll head down there with the beanlets and consume a corn-dog and probably a shaved ice. Naturally I will not begin my decent into silly until after they're in bed so no children will be harmed in the making of this cocktail.

Falling from cloud nine.

Yes I'm referencing a Katy Perry song and yes I'm waxing all existential today. 

My day began with a phone call from Ripper. He'll be here this next Friday for two whole weeks of randomness, fornication with yours truly and other types of debauchery yet to be determined. As we were talking I get a call waiting beep from a local city office. Ex is in jail. DUI, hit and run and driving on a suspended license. As it would turn out the DUI was on suspicion only, he passed a breathalyser and suffers from BiPolar disorder among other issues and can become borderline delusional as of late. I won't bore you with the details but needless to say it was emotionally jarring. 

To get my head straight I took a nap and then took the beanlets swimming. I always feel so free in the water and it did a lot to clear my head. Then, because I can't do anything planned and straight forward I decided on the drive to get some dinner we were going to see "Brave" at 10pm. Best Disney "Princess" movie EVAH. Even if you don't have children, don't like children or ever plan to have children this movie is well worth getting butt raped by the theatre on popcorn and soda to go see (Yes, of course I sneak in my own candy, pfffft. What do you think I am? Honest?)

Speaking of sneaking candy into a theatre, I shall mention that I got the candy from Target and while in Target treated myself to this

I have this unnatural addiction to bedding sets. I love girly looking themes which is odd because I'm not exactly all lace and etiquette myself. I also bought a ton of Scentsy that arrived so tomorrow I'm going to make my room all beautimous and nest like again, a proper shelter from the storm. 

I need to say out loud today how much I fucking loathe my ex mother in law. She is a cold, unfeeling, mentally unwell individual and it is my sincere dying with that the fleas of 1,000 camels infest her pubic hair.

So I am closing out this horrible fucking day with images of Ripper and I getting up to all kinds of shenanigans, my ex mother in law being eaten alive by tiny parasites and cosied up in my new bedding with my other new addiction- 50 Shades Of Grey. Good God is that some good porn reading. 

I will leave you with my current anthem to enjoy at your leisure

 

I must have ran over Jesus' cat in a past life.

Today has been shit. Absolute, large steaming pile type SHIT. 

I'll spare you the details and instead will provide a brief recap:

- Had to drive over the mountain pass East on a Friday.

- D's shoe/sandal thingie broke in a Subway.

- Pugnacious (my pug) got heatstroke on the way over.

- Ex had a hose go in his truck and needs said truck to transport my beanlets home tomorrow. Guess who     footed that bill? No, not Warren Buffet, he cut us off when we were still married, but ME! Fantabulous. FFS.

- The nearest auto parts store was 2 hours each way so Ex needed my car, and gas, to purchase said part ... with my money. Don't pent up that awesome

-Sat with the beanlet's for over 4 hours and tried to entertain them through my rage that would have fueled me with enough hatred to kick a Special Olympics athlete in the shin as they closed in on the finish line of a relay race. 

-Drove home on a Friday night amongst intoxicated campers (I am seething with envy- fuckers) and stoned teen-age townies with every cop in Washington roadside and me with one headlight driving like a douche with my brights on the entire way home (which is about 100 miles one way).

My sweet lil' Nacious and her life partner, the vicious Pitbull, Nemo

                                                           

Now here I am in bed with my water- a pretentious breed of fad health product, Smart Water and my doggies asleep on my footsies eating a smore's bar. Nothing caps off a winner day like today better than empty calories that will only turn to fat as I sleep. 

On the another note tomorrow's blog will be chalk full of photos, product reviews and musings. I have a special story time for us tomorrow. On top of white mold beard guy, I have a tale of fuzzy green slipper feet woman (also mold induced) so we can enjoy those special moments on a cosy Saturday which I may well spend drunk.

I'd like to thank Ex for this, my first night without both of my children in 9 months. It was made extra enjoyable having spent it bailing him out of his own shit even in divorce and driving no less than 7 hours today with a hyperventilating pug; that in itself is it's own kind of fun.

And my 'J' key keeps sticking. Goddammit. I'm going to bed.

Please enjoy this YouTube tribute to this- this most craptastic "day off" ever.

Thunder and human remains.

A kitten is chewing on my toe, my dogs are on the bed and barking and D is in bed next to me muttering very adult style complaints as he pulls the shades in a weak attempt to quiet the mutts. It's 7am.*Yawn* 

Sleep is finding me again, the kitten has moved onto the dog for teething relief. I'm just tucking back into my lover down pillow when the phone rings. WTF? It's 7am, someone better be dead or dying. As it turns out it's Ripper and as it turns out someone has died and he's collecting ashes for two bodies on his way home so we'll get a couple of precious hours to talk.

Okay, I'm up. Sort of.

I decide if I'm going to be any sort of good listener for an early bird chat time with Ripper my ass needs some caffeine and sugar, STAT! I tell him I'm running to the corner store in search of unhealthy, but legal, levels of stimulants. On my way to the car what sounds like bombs exploding booms nearby. Okay, put heart back in chest and proceed to the car; if it IS bombs I'm DEFINITELY going to need an energy drink as it's clearly going to be a long day. But no... another crash identifies itself as nearby thunder. All hope of having a quiet morning is gone as my dogs will surely be shitting themselves and I'm no Temple Grandin (Wiki link enclosed for those of you who've been living under a rock), there's no "Hug Box" in my house to shut the fuckers up. Plus, my son will be awake and glued to a window somewhere hoping to witness something catching fire by lightning; a life long dream of his. Good man. 

What appears as an energy drink to most is life blood to me.

I drag myself back inside and listen intently while shotgunning my "Health drink" (YOLO!) while Ripper introduces me to Brian and Ruth, both of which now have lives that are contained to tupperware containers in a plastic shopping bag to be delivered to a funeral shop Monday. They will sit in a Kia van over the weekend and...well, they won't be doing much of anything. 

Maybe it's like Toystory but with human remains. Maybe they'll have a drink over the weekend and wind up drunk shouting obscenities at passerby's while snickering as people look to see who is shouting at them. 

 I was on the phone in Ripper's pocket while he sat at the hospital waiting to collect Brian and Ruth and let me tell you, if someone once told you there's dignity in death, there.is.not. Ripper sat casually chatting with some bloke about the week's events, his upcoming trip to see me, etc. Nobody is respectfully handing over beautiful urns with somber faces; most of the time nobody even acknowledges these deceased except to verify they have the right sack of bones.

This reminds me: STORY TIME! Grab your blankey and a mug of cocoa and snuggle in boys and girls!

So when I first met Ripper I was enamored with what he did for a living and how different it was from what I'd always imagined. One of the first stories he told me involved a three month old frozen corpse, a lazy mortician, ill sized coffin and a hairdryer. Do I have your attention? Alrighty.

Ripper was preparing a coffin for an upcoming "contract" funeral; contract funerals are paid for by the UK Government and often have no attendees. This usually means no family *pauseforthesadnessyoushouldbefeeling* No? Yeah, I usually don't, either. In this particular case the guy had been dead three months and frozen at the public mortuary. Ripper had pulled his freezer open and taken rough measurements for the coffin. The day arrives for burial and he goes to pick the guy up and stuff him in his box. Somehow, his foot had frozen at an odd angle and he wouldn't fit into the coffin. The mortician, well adept in these matters says casually "Oh, that's no problem." He busts out a hair dryer from somewhere near by and aims it at the poor bastards foot; he's being DEFROSTED! HA! Ripper stared on in silence and slight disgust as the mortician made small talk and cooked Mr. Poor Bastard's foot. A putrid smell filled the room as three months of thawing decomposition filled the air. After a few minutes the mortician turns off the hair dryer, having slightly burnt the guy like a pop-tart and shoves the now floppy foot into the coffin looking all pleased with himself. 

The lesson here is...well, there is no lesson. Maybe make sure you're in a comfy pose when you kick the bucket lest you become an overcooked drumstick when you meet your maker? Yeah, that sounds good. Let's go with that.

Well, that's all I have time for. Next time on story time I will share the story of dead Father Christmas- the beard of white mold.

The Public Pool and Other Horrors of society.

                     

So it's 45343243 degrees Fahrenheit. Your child is melting at the family computer uttering   such favourites as "I'm BOR-ED" and "What can I DO?!?" Meh. Climb a tree! Find a stick and   poke something, kid! To prove my motherly point I myself venture outside. It was about 4 seconds of sunny bliss before the rivers of sweat started infiltrating my lady bits and hairline. Okay, D, you win this round. A duffel bag and a change of attire left us pool ready and off we went.

We graced a Wendy's with voracious appetites for square, thin, greasy beef and *angelchorus~here~* Frosties. Let me say a few words about Frosties for those not in the know. They are nectar of the God's and I could eat those fucker's three, perhaps four meals a day. If you've not partaken- do. Now. Like, get in your car and go get one; open until 1am or later people, you have no excuse.

If I could fornicate with a food product, it would be Frosty here.

So we munch and arrive at the public pool. A swarm of hormonal teenage boys hoping to catch a glimpse of nip scatters the parking lot and I *sigh*, not because I am annoyed by them but because I am no longer the slip of of boob they seek. A moment of silence, please.

Fun was had by all in our watery playground of bacteria laden public showers and foam noodles with unsettling amounts of bite marks. What do the lifeguards DO when we all go home? Just when you think you're safe in the water in marches Poolzilla. You all know her, she haunts all cheap admission public water centers and yet...only grows larger and crankier. I suspect she feeds on children but I'm no expert. I'll Wiki that shit later. Here is a visual aide so you can fully appreciate my pain:

What's funny to me is this woman looks happier than those I've encountered but I suspect that's how she lures her prey. 

Poolzilla is not defined by any one attribute; not always heavily overweight nor exceedingly old but rather a general combination of larger size, middle aged or older and most importantly- MEAN. God forbid she nearly knock you to the ground while barging through a set of pool stairs because you KNOW that shit is your fault. She hates children yet surrounds herself with them and can often be found eating Pringles and (Irony alert) Diet Coke poolside after a busy day of grunting and acting generally miserable. 

In other news Ripper was particularly clever today. Let me note that 5pm my time is 1am his time.

4:57 pm

R: ~Skype rings three times and he hangs up as I answer~

Me: *Messaging* Baby, did you try and call me?

R: No, my Skype crashed. Not sure what's going on with it.

Me: Why are you up at 1am?

Me: I started a blog!

R: What about?

Me: Don't have a clue yet. Shit. Stuff.

R: Well good luck with that endeavor.

Me: Who the Hell spells endeavor correctly out of a dead sleep at 1am?

R: The same guy who spells it incorrectly at 4pm.

Well played sir, well played. I love this guy.Wish him luck today slugging corpses around and trying to yank pantyhose on someone's 82 year old grandmother. 

• On a side-note: If you lose a loved one, and you liked them in the least, don't defile them by thinking giving the Undertaker pantyhose or bras of any kind you think they should be wearing. Trust me when I say you do NOT want to know what it takes to get Aunt Cathy into those precious pink stockings.

Wow. Another Blog. On the internet. Mindblowing.

But no- really, it will be mindblowing when I actually manage to reign in my ADHD for the better good of the world and make more than a three week commitment to something- something besides Ripper. 

So here's my STATS because you know- you people don't give a shit about me...yet.

First there's Ripper- he's my guy. We totally met online like the nerds we are. Oh, and I should mention he lives in London and my always practical self resides in Seattle.

Then there's my Beanlets- we'll call them D and Abba Zabba, because I'm wicked clever like that and make up THE BEST nicknames evah. 

I also have found one female who can put up with my Shenanigans- we'll call her Dena. Not to be confused with her actual name, Dena Bobeena (what did I say about the nicknames?)

I am currently livin' la vida loca with my giver's of life. My mom is nuts- but usually in a tasty brownie with prailines kind of way. My dad's name is Lyle. He is just like you'd suspect a "Lyle" to be.

And lastly I must make mention of the person responisble for paving the way for my rise to success back at mom and dad's this past year- Ex. That's all he gets and I'm sure the name speaks for itself. 

My activities include (at the moment- 'Ooh something SHINY' depending) but are not limited to:

• Talking in egregrious length on Skype to Ripper who is an HONEST TO GOD Undertaker in London. Beautimous story material yet to come. Stay tuned.
• Shopping for vintage inspired clothing on Modcloth.com and Pin-up girl clothing. I promise to share my very limited fashion knowledge and bargain expeditions- can't give all the goods away at once.
• Writing smut and occasionally bits of substantial thought. They may or may not appear here; "may" being the more likely of the two because I can't keep anything to myself worth shit which is why I started a blog. To spare my loved ones.
• Reading anything and everything.
• Baking- yes there will be photos like one of those pricks who takes pictures of their food. Because I am.
• Pets- this isn't so much an interest as a sinking pit of of financial loss with little return. I have an elderly pitbull, a pug who is literally the visual example of $400.00 worth of stupid. Two kittens adopted from a family practicing the "quiverful philosophy"- thoughts to follow. A black cat and a deceased lop rabbit that I still mention in unhealthy quantities. 

But enough about me- tell me about you and what YOU want to read about and I'll do my best to procure, provide or make-up whatever my adoring public fancies.

Thanks for giving me a chance and please- LEAVE A COMMENT *sobs*. I'm okay...just look away.