Thursday gets a list

I couldn't just choose one thing for this shitty week- so a little list of people who can Fuck. Off. And. DIE!

~The principal of the school, who after skipping the application for my child to be in a multiage class, called here to placate me by telling me it is not done on first come/first serve basis, and she is in a good class, and a bunch of other bullshit... Thanks for the sunshine party up my ass. I hated you anyways, so FOAD.

~The asshole doctor at LRMC GYN- Dr H- a big fuck off and die. I can't believe they let some people call themselves "Doctor".

~The SLOW little old wrinkled ass man who kept stopping right in front of me, and some how kept getting back in front of me in the aisles at the commissary yesterday making the trip take 3 times longer than it should have... You can just fuck off- given your advanced age- you'll kick soon anyways.

~In fact- for whatever reason that the geriatrics descended on the commissary yesterday... maybe the old folks bus, or the manager sending out flyers... fuck off to the driver who brought those slow mutha fuckas in there on my shopping day and made my bad day a little bit worse.

~Fuck off to the German contractors who have to start that hammering bullshit construction at 6:45 in the morning on the sidewalk right below my bedroom window. If you bastards worked later in the day instead of going for a beer break- say, work past 3PM - you wouldn't have to give me a pounding fucking headache before 7:30 AM.

~FOAD to the doctor at Ramshaft Flight Med with the very creepy office'o'faces. You have a tiny mind and what I can only guess are shriveled little balls- given your attitude towards women and menstrual pain. Here's a tip jerk-off, if she comes in with a condition serious enough to warrant major surgery- she is probably in real pain. Stick your Motrin in your ass, and fuck you.

~The son of a bitch who felt it necessary to park so god damned close to my drivers side door yesterday at the Vogelweh BX, that I literally had to slide to the door sideways- and then stuff myself through a tiny crack in the door to get into my car. Sorry about that scratch on your $45K car, I really had no choice. I hope you liked my note on the window about the can opener. Assholes like you should take the bus. FOAD, I hope parking 3 spaces closer was worth it for you, you prick.

~I would like to extend just one more Huge, Massive, Bigger-than-life FUCK OFF to K. Greene- the whorebitchcuntmonster who I posted about on the 27th. I hope you get hit by a bus and end up in traction, you fucking beast.

Have a nice weekend folks! Or don't. I don't give a shit either way, really. ;)

Return to me

Tomorrow, my beloved returns home. Hopefully when K2 hits that door, I will be feeling better- the zithromax will have done it's job and healed my sickened body. More than likely, that will not be the case, and he will come home to find a woman with a red runny nose, a hacking cough, and a sore throat... perhaps passed out on the couch, kleenex held limply in her fingers...

Then he will tell me how beautiful I am, and fall at my feet, dumbfounded by my comeliness...? *Ahem*. He will be suffering from terrible jet lag, and looking upon the only sex a married man can get. He will be attracted to me, wether I am all dressed up pretty in lacy underthings, or half dead with dog shit smeared on my face... so long as I have a pulse. Despite my glassy eyed vision from being sick, he will look like fucking Adonis coming in that door, travel grime and all... Just 'cause he's mine. After the inaugural 90 second wonder sex (hey, it's been a month)- he will most likely fall dead asleep in MY spot on the couch.... and I will let him get away with it. For a little while.

These last three weeks have been both blissfully productive and dreadfully boring. During the days, I got some projects accomplished in the house, I found some contracted sewing work, and I got the kids all ready and shopped for school... I spent the nights playing fucking pogo, surfing BE, and watching reruns on AFN for lack of anything else to do. I know there are nights when we hardly do more than grunt at each other from across the room- but just his presence is comforting... I kinda miss looking at the side of his head as he sits at the desk ignoring me; making me wish I had a rubber band gun. Yes, I think he mostly ignores what I say about my day, and my shit- but he pretends to listen- he sits there quietly- nods and smiles. He seems to pick out the important details from the droning white noise of my constant bitchery...

He makes me laugh- very imporatnt, he puts up with my shit, and he's great in bed. What more could a woman want?!

Scariest. Doctor. Ever.

I finally broke down and went to the doctor for pain relief and something for my cold. I was more than a little tired of crying like a bitch from the cramping everytime I coughed- and the hacking was becoming a constant companion. I made an appointment with my PCM, Dr. Kazmar.

Now, I have never seen this guy before, and as requested I show up 15 minutes before my scheduled time of 9:20.... and of course this asshat was running way late, so I didn't get in to see him until 10:10. Had I known what I would find, I wouldn't have been in a hurry to go in.

I shit you not, I jumped back 3 feet when I walked into his office. Wood paneled walls- as anyone who has been in a military treatment facility will tell you- that's weird in it's own right- but the wood was a gorgeous dark cherry color, and he had the matching desk, matching chairs, complete with victorian upholstery, of course, and the little table in the middle.

That was the end of the odd, then we got to the really scary part.... On his walls are pictures. Not landscapes, not family, oh no...THIS fucking guy has his walls covered with 8x10 "Service Pictures"- (pictures of people in dress blues, flag behind them, blah blah blah). Not a few of them- not 5 or 10 photos of friends from the past.... ALL FOUR FUCKING WALLS of a 20x30 foot room covered. Ceiling to floor. With officers in dress blues, and each of them signed with a silver or gold pen. (No enlisted men. Just officers... I don't think he likes stripes.) If I had to take a rough guess, I would say 250 head shots were glaring back at me from the walls of this freak's office. Each of them in a wooden frame, spaced about half an inch apart from each other on all sides, and they were all looking at ME! WIGGINS! Big wiggins. That's 500 eyes watching me, as I sat there.... squirming.

Jesus Jumping Christ on a trampoline! While waiting for him to come in, I couldn't do anything but stare in abject disbelief and horror at those walls... and they stared right back. It was like some sick headhunter's trophy room. Floating decapitated heads, trapped and preserved behind glass, and stuck on display.

You know he had to ask these people for these pictures, because who gives an 8x10 picture of themselves as a gift to a doctor? Who gives out these pictures anyways? Most people I know only display these images in their homes- for their families. I bet he keeps the silver and gold pens to sign them with in his desk, and probably has a back-up box of frames stashed somewhere... not that he has room for anymore on the walls.

Amongst the scary faces- I counted four women. Four, out of 250. Fucking beautiful. I can't wait to tell him about my cramps. Whoopie! Hadn't even met the dickhead yet, and I knew I was gonna get that "You're a pussy" look. Looking in the faces of all those fucking people- they told me "You're right. He's gonna treat you like an asshole." I swear I started hearing them whispering.... They were saying "Run away! Run! Now!"

Yes, he was a discompassionate male doctor when it come to my cramps. Bedside manner of Ebola locked in a man's body. I can draw only two conclusions. He is either incredibly insecure- and needs all that shit on the wall to bolster his sense of accomplishment. Or, he is terribly arrogant, and wants to make sure all his patients KNOW he is as great as he thinks he is before he comes in the room... It says so, right there... on the pictures.. in gold pen.

I will be calling tricare today to be reassigned to a new PCM. Not wanting to go back and be trapped in the twilight zone with Dr. Weirdo. I'm not sure, but I think I barely got away today. OMG, do you know how much money I could make for sneaking people down there for a peek- like a freak show? You'd pay to see that, right?

Gonna have a drink before bed- to stave off the nightmares of hundreds of faces staring at me through windows. I may never recover.

Why men shouldn't do that job

I am pissed off and in pain- so try to follow along.
Although I just stopped my bitch cycle last Tuesday, for some reason, 6 days later, my uterus felt I needed another one. I could bite it- gazing longingly at the big red circle around the date of my hysterectomy on the calendar....

I could- if I hadn't come down with this ass ripping cold that has me hacking up gooey green goodness every other breath. Seems that coughing aggravates an already bad condition of cramping. I spent yesterday afternoon on the couch, curled in the fetal position around my heating pad, crying like a fucking bitch. I couldn't take it, so I took a horse-pill of Motrin. Not only useless, but I booted it, with the hot dog I ate, 20 minutes later.

Time to call GYN for some help. I put in a T-con for the doctor there, as my fabulous wonderful Dr. T wasn't there. This is where it got good...

"What's the problem today?"

"Blah, blah, incredible pain, blah, blah, scheduled for hysterectomy, blah blah, terrible cough, blah blah, adenomyosis, blah blah, need help. Pain Management."

"It is not my style to prescribe narcotics over the phone."
(I never asked for narcotics. I said pain management, I would have taken any viable options, but whatever...He could have stopped with "I don't do that", and I would have been understanding about it.)

"I saw that you have had narcotics in the last six weeks."

"No, I haven't. That's not right."

"Well, I don't have your file here front of me." (WHAT?! Then why the fuck are you calling me, and spouting forth this shit from your noise-hole? You can't even open and read my file at the same time as talking down to me?) "You have been given 100 pills in six weeks, that's a lot of pills."

"But your information is wrong. I haven't been given anyth..."

"Again, I don't have your file in front of me. You should go to the ER IF it is THAT bad." (Yes he had that shitty condescending fucking tone in his voice.)

"I can't. My husband is TDY, and I can't very well take my kids to the ER with me if they want to do a pelvic. I have a pelvic ultrasound scheduled for tomorrow, anyways. I can make an appointment with y'all?"

"We don't have any appointments available. When do you see Dr. T again?"

"Ummmm... in a month for my pre-op"

"If you can hold out for your US or your next appt with Dr. T..."
(I am supposed to hold out until an appointment with radiology What the fuck is radiology going to do!? Or an appointment with Dr. T in a month for cramps this week? Did I hear that right?!)

I hung up, and went on a crying jag. No, it is not like me to get all weepy'n'shit- but being in pain, and alone... It was called for. Then I took rotations of aspirin, tylenol, and aleve... Cramps were still just as bad- but I did get a nice distracting case of heartburn on the side.

For the record- I haven't had any pain meds since I had my IUD pulled out- THAT was six weeks ago. I had been given Percocet from June 9th thru July 18th, PRIOR to the IUD removal. 39 days- and about 100 pills... that works out to WAY below the prescribed recommended amount of 1-2 pills every 4-6 hours.

So I am incredible pain, running a temperature of 101, and being made to feel either like the world's biggest pain pussy, or an addicted crack whore looking for a fix. Fucking hell. The only thing I can relate this to in man-speak would be- imagine being dick-kicked every 15 minutes for 5 days, and see if you weren't acting like the world's biggest pussy. The stomach pain, the backache, the cramps so intense that they make the skin on the outside hurt. Yep, I think that's about right- let me use your sack for a speed bag for a few days, then you can understand what this is like.

I did not go to the ER- fear of being made to feel more like shit- especially in front of my kids- rather made me prefer the searing pain to seeing another swinging dick in a white coat... I might end up in prison for choking said prick with his stethoscope.

A man being a gynecologist is just fucking wrong. They can't understand the experience that is being a vagina owner. Why would a man pick that field anyways? He just loves babies? Bullshit! It's so he can look at twat all day. Isn't that like letting your mechanic fuck your car?! I am calling patient advocacy this morning and telling them what a cocksucker this doctor is... I can't believe they gave this bastard a license to practice medicine. (He didn't even have my file open?!) Asshole!

2 Years

It's been two years.

On August 27, 2004, my best friend, Kristian Kramer, whom I loved very much, killed himself. Instead of facing another day on this planet, he decided to string himself up in a garage. The person whom he loved, and supposedly loved him, was in the next room passed out on the couch, after having a fight with him.
He made a very bad choice. Knowing her as I do, she drove him to it.

It may not be Thursday, but I am dedicating a whole week of FOAD to that horrible, empty, shallow, hopeless, heartless, one handed, speed-freak, manipulating, cumguzzling piece of shit, cunt-bitch that he lived with.

Instead of just breaking it off, she felt it necessary to keep him around as some sort of backup plan, whilst making sure to keep him just far enough out. Her way has always been to make sure she has everyone in her life just where she wants them... her useless life thus far has been wasted seeing how many people she can use and get what she wants from. She did it to me years ago... and in the end, she led to the loss of my best friend.

What kind of woman lives with her "boyfriend" in the same house as the father of her kids... and off and on sleeps both beds, as it suited her?! WTF kind of woman talks her boyfriend into peddling narcotics to earn money, then moves in with the ex? What kind of horrible waste of flesh lets him get thrown into rehab, then does nothing to help him when he's out- except let him die with a clean tox screen, and then offer no explanations to his parents?? Fucking hell- what kind of person calls the best friend (me) and asks for a favor-piggybacked on a guilt trip- when she knows damn good and well I hated her YEARS before Kris was found dangling from his own belt in her house?

Do I sound bitter? Misplaced anger perhaps? No, dear bitch-breath. I am pissed at Kristian too, for not being man enough to beat your short, stupid, one handed ass and walk out... I am angry at him for taking the cowards road out of this life. I can honestly say- he would NEVER have done that had I not been 6000 miles away. Maybe one day I can forgive him his pain and destitution, and the choice he ultimately made.

K.Greene: You're a fucking failure as a human being. I pity your children for having to grow up with a skank like you as an example. May there be salvation to be found for them in their father's influence. May they grow up normal and happy- having become immune to your whiney, "I'm the victim", sob sob, whimper, cry, bullshit.

Fuck you, you worthless bitch. I hope you don't die... so you have to live a long life knowing that, at least once, your suck-ass way of living your life extinguished the light of a life more worthy than yours.

Today's Thursday...

I don't know who is in charge of such things... my supposition is that it is some high and mighty dickwad who lives OFF base and has heat whenever he walks to the thermostat to turn it on. I would like nothing more than to shove my ice cold feet into the center of his back while he sleeps... and push him on the icy floor.

So, Mr. Heat-nazi, please take this with the most sincere regards- (right before, during, and after you quote me some shit on "That's our Policy")- You can fuck off and die... while I huddle on the couch under a thermal blanket and shiver.

Be Ashamed

So I was surfing around BE earlier. I stumbled on an ENTIRE blog dedicated to playing games on pogo. Now, I play games on pogo too- but I don't tell the whole fucking world about it. She calls the players Pogoites!! Shit, fire and save matches!

Playing there is something you do when you need time killing, a little mind numbing to help cure that insomnia... Being a pogo player is like being a Raiders or Cardinals Fan... you do it, but you keep it a secret, unless you hit the jackpot.

You sure as fuck don't make a WHOLE blog site dedicated to announcing to the world not only that you play- but WEEE- we can get this badge this week... and ain't that cool? Damn lady.... I mean... DAY-UM.

Creamed Christ on toast! Show a little self flagellation for your lameness. Avert your eyes like the shifty closet video game player you are, slump down in your computer chair, and look ashamed that you have no life, like the rest of us do while we pop those balloons.

Politically Unfunny

Tom and Jerry are under attack.

How stupid... They are going to censor cartoons made in the 40's. I remember watching shit blow up on Tom's head when I was a kid, and he came back in black face. They don't show those cartoons anymore, as they offend the fine sensibilities of the politically correct. If they show those cartoons, those scenes are edited out. Example? The Fourth of July Tom and Jerry... I remember Tom stuck his head in in a teapot with a firecracker, and he brought his mangled head up looking like a daisy in black face. It was funny, and kids don't know what black face is... they just think it's funny shit. Ha-ha, yuck-yuck and all that fine shit. Black face is such an OLD insult that it doesn't mean anything anymore. It was from Vaudeville. Almost all gun references are now missing from MGM and WB cartoons... Did removing these from the classics result in fewer accidental gun deaths among children? Probably not... Parents using gun safes and educating their kids about guns would.

Now they are going to edit out smoking from the cartoons. So when Jerry is standing on the toy train tracks blindfolded waiting for his inevitable doom... that will now be a scene missing from the cartoon. What's next? No more bowling cartoons, so that kids don't hit each other with bowling balls in the head.... No more pool cartoons, so kids don't think it's okay to use pool cues like javelins?

Those cartoons are classics. They are untouchable, at least they were for the first 50 years that kids and adults got to enjoy them. I know kids need to be molded and taught right from wrong- but if Tom and Jerry are what old mom uses to teach moral responsibility in the first place- more than likely that kid is gonna be a smoker, or drug dealer.

This ain't Joe Camel- it's Tom and Jerry for Christ's sake. I can almost guarantee is was some religious zealot mother's and watchdog group with their panties wound too tightly who started this asinine crusade; maybe even the same group of asshats who tried to get Harry Potter books banned from schools because they promoted witchcraft. I wonder if these dickheads watched these cartoons as children and thought they were they were great fun then.

The article also states that Turner will be going thru Scooby, the Jetsons, and the Flintstones for said same content. SCOOBY-DOO? Although they never actually showed Shaggy smoking that bowl, we all know he is stoned off his ass. I know that NOW... didn't as a kid.

Don't you fucking people have anything better to do with your time and energy? Why not attack the crime problems, overcrowding in prisons, or health issues like AIDS or MDRTB. What a waste of resources, and of a great classic - being hacked to death by a P.C. generation. Maybe they will find a DVD market- like "Girls Gone Wild" where they can rate the looney toons R and sell them "Uncensored". I'd buy that!

(Here is a guide to how they have already hacked up classic cartoons in the age of Political correct bullshit.)

Sorry IE Users

I, with the generous and fabulous help of Placebo, am fucking with my code again...it looks great in Firefox, Opera, Safari... Pretty much anything but IE 6.0... and as IE is a shitty browser straight from the bowels of the ninth ring of hell, we are having some trouble.

So bear with us.

UPDATE: I think it's finally looking the way it should... I think. This all started with me wanting the right sidebar collapsible- and look at that, bitches! It is! Weeeeee!
Thanks Placebo for your help in our fixing it, blowing it up, fixing it, blowing it up..... (And I still don't see a white stripe!)

Freaked Out

I got the unique pleasure of my heart jumping into my throat last night, and then swallowing it so that it quickly plummeted into my asshole.

The TV stand that was mounted on my daughters wall decided to commit suicide last night. IN the few seconds it took me to get from the laundry room to her doorway, horrible scenes flashed through my mind of the carnage and bloody, broken, body of my daughter I would find. The screaming echoing down the hallway only fueled my panic... One would have thought a banshee had invaded my house.
The TV and DVD player laid in a heap on the floor- and the wires pulled taught had almost brought her bookshelves down on her.

Yes, she was fine... other than being quite convinced that her daddy was going to be mad and "Hate her." It took me an hour to calm her down and convince her that he would just be glad she wasn't hurt. Brenden even got into the act of comforting her... She was pretty badly shaken.
Today Rachel is bummed the fuck out- as she has no TV. It tragically lost it's life in the fall, may it rest in peace. Her disappointment is bleeding into my sanity, as now she feels she has some claim to the big TV to watch Toon Disney. I think I hate Danny Phantom... No, I am sure I do....

Monday I will be trekking down to the store to find her another relatively cheap TV... the bastards don't show looney toons or Tom and Jerry anymore (I could get down with some classic toonage)- so I must away with these shitty modern day abominations of animation. Now I know how my mom felt about Voltron and the Thundercats.

It's Thursday Again- So FOAD!

Fuck Off and Die Thursdays
I just outed myself- I'm a girl who likes football....
With the looming of football season, I have to send this Fuck Off And Die Thursday out to Adam Vinatieri.

He was my favorite Patriots player (FAY_VOR_IT!), and he left to go to the one team I despise more than any in the NFL, the fucking ass sucking Colts.

Peyton Manning is a bitch, and an ugly one at that- Looks like his face got in a fight with a cast iron skillet and lost. Of all the teams A.V. could have gone to, he chose THAT one, and offically hit the top of the asshole list in my book.

Now I know how my husband felt when Johnny Damon went to the Yankees.
I hope you break your foot, you traitorous prick.

So here's a big fuck you to kicker Vinatieri- you money hungry whore. Let's throw an extra Fuck Off to Peyton Manning, while we're at it.
CUCK the FOLTS!!!

First times

Today my daughter lost her first tooth- and she cried for 45 minutes- grieving the loss of her tooth. She even went so far as to say she was going to miss it, because the tooth fairy is going to take it away.

Through the luck of life- I was also fortunate enough to capture the first time my daughter told me to screw off by giving me the finger. How many moms have a picture like THAT for their scrapbook?

Praying Child

Got a disc with the pictures from my mom's wedding- the ones that "other" photographer took.
Although I do make it a point to not get religious on this blog- (as I have pretty much divorced the Catholic Church from my life)- I did have to share this as the cutest thing I have seen in awhile. Notice how my daughter is about the same height as Mary? Wow, people sure have gotten a shitload taller in the last 2000 years!

(And yes, I got all mommy-blogger today... I do that from time to time.)

p.s.
Found a disc labeled "Old Pics" and see that cute little thing up there in front of the Mary statue? It used to look like THIS- I believe it was her first strawberry jelly experience...and this is one of those pictures I get to keep and show to her first serious boyfriend when she brings him home to meet the folks. I can't wait for the blackmail to ensue admidst the whining cries of "MOOOOOM!"

Alone and Pissed

My son is ignoring me, (Skip-to-my-lou) my daughter is showering (skip-to-my-lou) the cat pisses on the floor, (skip-to-my-lou), and the husband is out of town....
As of late, my children only come to see me to be fed or cry at me about the woes caused by their sibling. They hate me.

Mother nature was kind enough to help me get over my cold- but just in time to torture me with the biweekly punishment of cramps, so fuck her. She hates me too. At this point all those fears and doubts I had about having my uterus pulled out are assuaged. No more do I dread the surgery, never again will I regret losing the possibility of pregnancy- I have been liberated by the agony I go through every 16 days. This fucking sucks. I can't WAIT for October.

I especially hate going through this alone. No pity party for me when the husband is not home- as I find it incredibly difficult to sneak off for a long soak in the tub with the kids running about. I tried it and was lulled by the sound of a fight over who got to watch what channel, and who was going to sit on what pillow. I haven't tried again since. Best not tempt fate when Daddy's not here and they both know where the sharp knives in the kitchen are.

On a side note:
Dear Assholes in the Vogelweh heat plant,
It's fucking COLD at night- turn the heat on, would ya, Edith- huh? It's below 60 degrees- closer to 50ish, and we live in concrete buildings that don't tend to warm up during the rainy, cold, windy days. My nipples are so hard I could chip ice with my tits, and I am considering pitching a cot and pillow in the kitchen in front of an open hot oven tonight.

Stingy fucks. Send up the heat!

Too. Damn. Late.

It's after 2 am. I'm exhausted, I'm frozen and I have so much snot in my sinuses that any minute now my face is going to puff out like a cartoon character and explode.

I want to be in bed- but I can't, as I have to stay up to make sure HE gets up to leave for his mini-TDY to Minnesota. He doesn't trust that I would get out of bed with the sound of an alarm to wake him as he dozes on the couch, and he would therefore miss his flight. I don't suppose the thought occurred to him to come to bed and set his own fucking alarm.

I am so drag ass tired that the first NE Patriots game since last years playoffs is on TV, and I can't pay attention well enough to watch it. It pisses me off to no end- as I will be getting to bed around 5 am- and I will no doubt be awoken by my demon spawn no later than 9 am...

At which time I will still be exhausted and stuffy-faced. The warmth problem solved, I will be hard pressed to drag my big ass from the comfort of my bed, only to come to the beckon of my children and be driven fucking insane by their endless antics and in-fighting.

I hope it doesn't rain tomorrow- as the statement of "Go outside and play" will be my last bastion and refuge from what will be a very long, long, long, (Did I mention long?) fucking day. Maybe I can catch the replay of the game on TV while I am curled in the fetal position on the couch.
HE better appreciate this... As I look at him sleeping on the couch this very second, I am tempted to do that long overdue test of the smoke detector.

FOAD Thursday

Today's FOAD Thursday goes out to the asshats at the on base Vet Clinic...
2 weeks ago I called them to make an appointment for my incredibly stupid cat who *I* think has a UTI. I think this because he now pisses NEXT to the cat box instead of in it. Not hard to figure out if you know what you are looking for. So 3 or 4 times a day I get to scrub the floor with various chemicals.

When I call to make the appointment, the ignorant wretch at the desk asks me to get a urine sample. WTF?! "A urine sample... from a cat?" I say. "How am I supposed to get a cat to piss in a cup?"
This was the stupidest shit ever said... "Well, can you wait for him to go pee and sneak up behind him and catch it?"

Jesus Jumping Christ! Sneak up behind him and catch it?! Has this asshole ever seen a cat? In spite of myself I started laughing and asked the guy if he owns a cat. I think he lied when he said yes. So I called mom, the vet tech, and asked her how to accomplish such a thing, and she told me.
ANYways- Last night I scrubbed the shit out of the floor with bleach and such, and 5 minutes later Loki pissed a lake in front of the box- so I did what my mother- the vet tech- said I should- I got 4 Q-tips, got a good sample, put it in a ziploc bag and then put said bag in the refrigerator.

This morning, I went to drop off said sample at the vet clinic... and they told me they can't use it. "It might be contaminated." From sterile Q-tips, a bleached floor and a refrigerated sample? Note there was a little puddle in the bottom of the bag- certainly enough for a slide.

No, no- these fuckheads want to make sure they can charge me the extra $25 dollars for the catheterization. Either that or they are dumb asses who don't know how to work a centrifuge, or sweep a cotton swab across a slide. Of course, I didn't get to talk to the lab tech- only the snippety bitch at the front desk who wouldn't know piss from lemonade.

The last time I went there I asked them to sell me some soft paws (which I was told they sell)- and somehow that shit was beyond them... Unless I paid them to put them on- I couldn't have them. Every time I go in there- I run into some complication born of stupidity.

So today's big Fuck Off And Die Thursday goes out the the asshats at the Vet Clinic. I am sure when I have to take my cat back later today to be traumatized, you will no doubt do something else asinine, just to piss me off.

MOVE IT!!!

If you are someone who feels the need to socialize with the Police guarding the gates to the base- Could you pull it the fuck over and come back for your chat- instead of sitting your ugly ass in front of me, forcing me to listen to my children ask 300 fucking questions about why it is taking so long- then breaking out in a fight over the issue?

This also applies to dumb shits who don't know how to get to the BX, commissary, or shopette. Here's in idea Einstein- Go through the gate, stop and walk back to ask Mr. Nice CopMan where the shit is- or better yet- go find someplace else to ask. I don't need to sit in my car behind your ignorant anencephalic ass while you figure out where the fuck you are going.

I am not letting the chatty-cathy cops off here either- if you are giving directions- see above suggestions for making it go quicker. If you feel the need to strike up a conversation with your buddy- get in the damned passenger seat and drive away, fuckstick. It infuriates me to no end to see you sit there and have a chuckle over the latest joke in the donut shop, while I sit idling in my car when gas is approaching $3.50 a gallon. Bad Cop- No Donut!

Then they wonder why I am not on the friendly express when I get to the gate... They say, "How are you doing ma'am," and I say nothing, or growl out a forced "Fine". That's me being nice instead of imbedding my id card in your fucking forehead, moron. It's rush hour, asshat- keep the traffic moving- as right now it is stacked into the road WAY BACK THERE.

I fucking hate people sometimes, I really do.

Not my week

I'm sick. I have a cold. I am the only asshole I know who gets a cold in the summer. Didn't help when we went from 100 degrees to 65 in a span of 2 days. Kevin caught it too... SO....

My illustrious tenth anniversary was spent sneezing, hacking and bitching while watching Alton Brown re-runs.

That's okay- we'll make up for it tonight... OH WAIT... no we won't. He has to work late, and then he is going to meet up with some assclown he worked with while he is here visiting so he can... Actually I don't know what he hopes to accomplish. I didn't give a shit enough to ask.

There is always tomorrow night... DOH! Nope. Tomorrow is softball night, and as much a I love K2- I am not going to go to dinner with a sweaty ass man in cleats who is covered in red clay dust. Nasty.

So, Friday... we'll go Friday. What do you have behind door #3, Johnny? It's a poker game! YES...You, your husband and family will be attending what has been dubbed "The Last Hoorah" before Scott and Heidi leave. It's an all expense paid trip to hangover land! Sounds like fun- but not really the romantic thing I had in mind. The romance should have been taken care of before the Friday night plans... and yet....

Saturday- I dine alone. The Masshole is leaving on a jet plane at 5 in the morning for some classes in the states. He will be gone for a month, and though I am looking forward to the time to get some projects accomplished while he is gone, I do not relish the idea that my last chance to do 10th Anniversary stuff just got toileted.

I am feeling somewhat fucked up the go'tas here. Not that I don't want to go party with our friends- or want him to play softball... but WTF- where's mine? He has offered lunch tomorrow. How romantic- NEH. I am all about consolation prizes and compromise, I just thought that the number 10 was a big fucking deal... Well, it was to me.

Not to worry. It's more a heavy sigh kind of thing than an anger thing... I'll get over it... someday.

10 Years Later

It's a busy ass week in my nuthouse.

August 5, 1954- My mother was born. As I can't be there to take her out to dinner and rub her being over 50 in her face- I sent flowers and called her. Despite my best efforts- she is far less sensitive about her age than I am about mine... and she makes sure to rub the shit right back in my face every chance she gets.

August 6, 1973- My best friend was born. He would have been 33. "Would have" because he made a stupid and selfish decision to hang himself in this fucking manipulating bitch's house that he was living with at the time, 2 years ago. He was in so much pain that he had to, I guess. If I had to live with her, I would have killed her, not myself- in the very least I would have called the cops on her meth snorting ass.
Yes, I am bitter and angry with him for what he did... I am also still somewhat in denial- I think that stems from the fact that living 6000 miles away from Vegas, I haven't been afforded the opportunity to go to his grave. Maybe one day I can forgive him. Not today.

August 7, 1972- One of my other friends was born. She just turned 34. We still talk online a lot. Odd relationship history we have, as she used to be my boyfriend. (Don't ask.) She has been depressed as of late, and I hope she snaps out of it. Happy Birthday anyways.

August 8th, 1996- I got married. Today is my 10th wedding anniversary. Holy Shit! Ten years is a long time. It's not always been perfect or everyday fun- but it has been just what I needed in my life. Who wants a Stepford Wife life, anyways. People who live like that fill their days with pretension- and never get the fun of watching their husband pass on the tradition of the Fart Game to their son.

My Masshole, my love, my husband... Thanks for everything. I can't say much else that expresses the last decade except thank you. Thanks for the laughs and the fun, thank you for our gorgeous kids, and for putting up with crazy-as-a-shit-house-loon me. I know I am not easy to live with- but we're still here, and that says a lot for the couple who got married after 7 weeks of "crash course" dating. I don't know anyone who thought we wouldn't make it this far- but if anyone did- fuck 'em.

A toast (his favorite)- "Here's to you, and here's to me, and if we should ever disagree- fuck you- here's to me." Except- here's to here's to them, and here's to we...

I love you, Kevin, and that may not be all it takes- but it helps a whole hell of a lot. How about 10 more?

(Ain't he a good looking guy?)

Okay enough with the big mushy. On to life as usual around here- fucking crazy with kids and husband and the military life we lead.

Mini-haha

As I am short of inspiration today for a full blown rant- The only thing that is pissing me off today I can't post about- SO...

Q: What does it mean when a man is in your bed gasping for breath and calling your name?
A: You did not hold the pillow down long enough.

Q: Why do men whistle when they are sitting on the toilet?
A: It helps them remember which end they need to wipe.

"It's just too hot to wear clothes today," Jack says as he stepped out of the shower, "honey, what do you think the neighbors would think if I mowed the lawn like this?"
"Probably that I married you for your money," she replied.

Yes, there is a theme here of "Fuck Men". It is intentional, however not permanent. In my experiences, I have found men are emotionally retarded. Testosterone- it is cognitively crippling. So- this is me taking a deep breath and a step back- and finding humor in the fact that it is a common dysfunction and experience shared by most women who live with these poor, sad creatures we fall in love with.