Monthly Archives: April 2012

Wanderlust


i’m going to apologize now.
for the convoluted bullshit that will follow.

my weekend was filled with poor choices, revelations, and vodka.

oh, and cupcakes and pork.

it never fails that i make the bold statement that i will go an entire weekend without drinking.  but then that gets totally fucked because someone simply asks me if i’d like to go grab a drink.  which turns into six drinks and three shots.  and then golden tee.  and then home.  to drink more.  and then watch mortal kombat.  i know.

at the time, it makes perfect sense in my head.

but if that happens on friday night (which it did this weekend) then i’m fucked for the entire remainder of the saturday.  because it involves me going to work at foy’s and laying there feeling sorry for myself while trying to trap the cat that smells like a diaper so i can snuggle him.  and then i go home.  and shitler says something along the lines of, “we should really clean out the fridge.”  and i don’t know about anyone else, but when shitler says “we” he really means “me.”  which is total crap.

it usually goes something like this:

“we should really get caught up on laundry.”
“we should really vacuum up all the dog hair.”
“we should really clean the kitchen.”
“we should really go grocery shopping.”
“we should really go clean up the pillow that mac destroyed in a fit of rage.”

and then i respond with this:

“yea, i’ll do it tomorrow.”

except i rarely do it.  and in shitler’s defense, the fridge really did need to get cleaned out.  mainly because the stench that was living in there was so bad that neither one of us ever wanted to go into the fridge to get anything (which is why i moved my vodka to the cupboard) and in the event that one of us did open the fridge the other would frantically yell “CLOSE THE FUCKING FRIDGE!  GOD!  WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?”  

but i digress (plus that’s just an example of what usually happens every weekend).

i responded with my normal answer.  which did not sit well with shitler.  and he snapped at me and claimed, “you only do what you say you’re going to do 3% of the time”  and i was like, “no, that’s not true.”  but then i thought about it.  and it is true. so in an effort to improve my stats i did clean out the fridge.

not bad for a 3%’er.

the fridge is sad.  and we look poor.  which we are.  but there’s tabouli in one of those containers.  so it’s like i’m attempting to be multi-cultural on a budget.  but then shitler comes over and he’s like “did you do the doors of the fridge?”  and i looked at him and said, “yea, i’ll do it tomorrow.”  but i never – did so now i’m back down in the 3%.

but in my defense – i was hungover and i just wanted to nap.  which never happened.  

the truth of the matter is that i had no intention of drinking that night after work.  until b and the super fox showed up and we dined and then hit the bar with shitler.  which was a shitshow.  please enjoy:

the super fox loves to anally rape with a pool stick

but the super fox hates titanic.

a tender moment.

the super fox must have caught a whiff of shiter’s fart.

shitler suggests they laugh about it.

the super fox has other ideas.

*a quick aside –  the series of the super fox and shitler reminds me of the neverending battle between good and evil.  which means in this case that the super fox represents everthing good and kind and shitler is the epitome of everything oppressive and tyrannical.  end of aside.*

shitler is a fucking creep.

the cunt. and the super fox.

so things look enjoyable, right?  it was.  and then it got a whole lot more enjoyable.  at least for me and b.  please see below:

shitler: i think i need to shit.

me: uh, you can do that here.  they do have a bathroom.

shitler: but i forgot my phone at home.  what am i supposed to do – stare at the wall?

me and b: *silence*

time elapses and shitler emerges from the bathroom looking fucking pissed.

me: what’s wrong?

shitler: you would not believe what just fucking happened to me.

me: what?

shitler: so i was taking a shit.  and two guys were standing outside the stalls and one of them says “dude, watch this.”  AND THEN HE KICKED IN THE FUCKING DOOR.

me and b: HYSTERICAL GODDAMN LAUGHTER.

moral of the story: shitler wasn’t happy.  not with the door getting kicked on him when he was taking a shit, nor with my mine and b’s laughter at his expense.  but c’mon – that’s fucking hilarious.

but my night ended much like friday.  going to bed way too late, getting up way too late, drinking too much coffee and then feeling like my heart is going to beat out of my fucking chest because coffee is coursing violently through my veins.  and with that much coffee in me – i get wildly obsessed with things.  like making three batches of cupcakes and pork.

i know.  it didn’t make sense at the time and in hindsight – it still makes no sense.  and looking back on this post it has absolutely no point.  so i guess if you go away with anything you should maybe go away with this shredded pork recipe.

ingredients:

pork shoulder (however fucking much you want)
a jar of pepperoncini
a can of beer (for us poor folk, i used nati light)
a shitload of cloves of garlic

directions:

throw it all in a crockpot till it’s done.  shred it and throw it on a fucking kaiser roll.   

i need to wrap this up.  because it has been a complete and utter waste of your time.  so i leave you with the cupcake recipe if you would like and this:

today at work i got the urge to sneeze while sitting at my old manager’s desk.  i manged to have my hand make it to my nose in time but unfortunately the snot flew straight threw my fingers onto the floormat:

you’re welcome.

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I Can Only Assume Shitler Commits Crimes in His Sleep


mainly battery.

and robbing banks.

those would be my best guesses.

the face of a hardened criminal.

it’s when things like last night happen that i don’t know whether to get violently upset or laugh hysterically.  

both of us fell asleep at a reasonable hour.  

but i was rudely awakened when i took a punch to my fucking nose.
i turned; prepping myself for battle as i looked over at shitler to find that he was violently tossing and turning and screaming,
THE VAN!!!  GET IN THE FUCKING VAN!!!”  


so i simply rolled over and went back to sleep.

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So What If It Looks Like a Smurf Jizzed All Over My Fingers


i’m covered in batter and frosting.  and it’s caked on and sticky. and after i find a patch of it and wash it off i find more.  it’s never ending. 

but i guess that’s better than actual smurf jizz.

things got a little out of control in the cupcake department tonight.

and i decided to do something outrageous with the cupcake batter:

i blue myself - a la arrested development.

smurf jizz cupcakes.

i was excited about smurf jizz cupcakes until shitler suggested i do this:

so now i have brewers cupcakes.  which is ok – because they won tonight.

but i also have a shitload of cupcakes.  so it’s good that i bought this cupcake tote (something i never thought i would say) during my frenzied shopping:

more importantly, shitler kept eating the frosting (sometimes by the spoonful).  then he ate a cupcake.  after he ate like five tacos.  then i made him eat another cupcake because i had cut it open and wanted to take a picture of it and i didn’t want it to go to waste. 

he protested. 

but caved. 

then he made love to it.

then he said he was going to puke. 

then he got up and took a shit.

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Random Shit That Made Me Happy


in the form of three pictures.

my sparkly nails. and vodka.

these flowers that i bought for myself and my inconveniently sized vases.

my new fucking glasses. finally.

that is all.

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Rape? Really?


this will be quick.  and questionable.

like most of my life.

i was looking at my stats and shit for this blog.  here’s a snapshot of search engine terms that bring people to my blog:

uhhhh.

interesting.  and eclectic. 

the only thing that i have a question about is the “anticipated rape.”
mainly because i don’t get it.
can you anticipate rape? 

i do like that “charles manson” is right beneath it.

call me crazy.

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DMX Is In Couples Therapy.


here i sit.  it’s not 5 o’clock and i’ve polished off the last of the open bottle of champagne, painted my nails with sparkly polish, and eaten too many champagne cupcakes.

and it feels good.
like i was meant to do this.

but more importantly – everyone needs to make these goddamn cupcakes.
they’re
delicious.

i’m no professional and my process is the worst – where i destroy everything in my path until my end goal.

but they were perfection.

pink and perfect.

my attempt at decorating leaves something to be desired.

the champagne i’ve been drinking all afternoon was mediocre.  but it looked lonely – like it needed someone to drink it.  so i did.

my cuticles are gross.

here’s the recipe for those delicious fucking cupcakes.  oh, and here’s the link – so you can see how they were actually supposed to look.

champagne cupcakes

1 box betty crocker super moist white cake mix
1 1/4 c. champagne
1/3 c. vegetable oil
3 egg whites
4-5 drops of red/pink food coloring

champagne frosting

1/2 c. butter or margarine, softened
4 c. powdered sugar
1/4 c. champagne
1 tsp. vanilla
4-5 drops red or pink food coloring

heat oven to 350.  place baking cup in each of 24 regular muffin cups.  in a large bowl, mix dry cake mix and champagne.  add oil, egg whites, and food coloring.  beat with electric mixer on medium speed.  divide evenly among the muffin cups.  bake for 17-22 minutes.  cool completely.  in a medium bowl, beat frosting ingredients with a mixer until smooth.  frost cupcakes.  sprinkle with garnishes!

also i’m watching tough love and some twat just told a dude that she likes vodka in her wine.  my kind of lady. 

and seriously.  dmx is in couples therapy.  i know this because i’ve been watching vh1 all afternoon. 

and that’s how you know you’ve watched too much vh1.

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Textual Feeling: No, You Can’t Stick Your Finger In There


a quick aside.  in that my day is crap.  but then it gets a little bit better than crap.

when i was little and had pink eye or some other eye infection shit and needed eye drops put in my eyes – all bets were off.  one parent had to hold me still, while the other had to use their fingers to stretch out my eye and put the drops in.  then i would scream like they were dropping acid in my e yes.  to this day, i’m terrible with eye drops and anything eye-related.  which is why i don’t wear contacts.  but then i don’t always wear my glasses so then i get massive headaches and my eye sight just gets worse and worse.  but i just continue suffering rather than do something to remedy the situation.  like just wear my fucking glasses.

is this going somewhere, you ask?

yes.  it is.

for some fucked up reason i could not sleep last night.  it was awful.  the type of “you can’t sleep” that has you staring at your significant other like you’re going to murder them in their peaceful slumber because you’re so goddamn jealous.  

anyway, i slept for an hour.  which was pointless and i should have just stayed up all night because the hour of sleep didn’t do shit except make me crabby, whiny, and psychotic-looking with my red, irritated eyes.  

miraculously, i found eye drops in my purse.

and tried to administer them at my desk.

which was a terrible idea.

because i drained half the bottle because i keep freaking out and missing my eye and squirting it all over my face so it just looked like i was hysterically crying.  

happy fucking friday.

but then seriously.  happy fucking friday.  because i forgot i had this in the freezer:

but now i have gut rot. because i ate too much and too fast.

b: sweet mullets?

me: i want to make cupcakes first.  i’ve had a rough day.

b: can i come over and stick my finger in your better?

me: butter or butthole?  i’m confused.  i’d be pissed either way.

b: batter.

me: no, i forbid it.

b: that’s awfully ride.
b: rude.  goddammit!

me: good job.

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Cupcakes, Champagne, and KFC


i called shitler this afternoon.  with a purpose.  to inform him what time we were going to my grandparents for dinner.  when he called me back – it was to tell me that he had KFC for lunch.  like i gave a shit.  he launched into the specifics of his meal.  

2 piece original recipe, macaroni and cheese, and a biscuit with honey.  

to which i reacted with disgust.

me: honey is gross.

shitler: no, it’s not  it’s good.  i didn’t even know.  they didn’t have any jam – so i was all, gimme some fucking honey!

me: i have to go back to work.  this has been a waste of my time.

shitler: i’m going to fucking kill you.

me: k, byyyyyyyyyyyyyyyye.

it’s like he bluffs for a living.  and makes empty threats.  whatever.

it’s not kfc – but it’s liver sausage.  and i’ve never met anyone that loves it more than shitler does.  he would eat it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner if he could.

but that’s neither here nor there.  i’m going to make these cupcakes this weekend.  only because it gives me an excuse to buy champagne.  one bottle for cooking.  two or more for consumption.  a twitter/college friend is going to as well.  and then we will battle it out via pictures.  although i’m the most concerned with how much champagne she can consume.  and perhaps how many cupcakes she can eat without puking.  so stay tuned.

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An Homage to the Fact That We’ve Been Together Too Goddamn Long


16 and 15 respectively.

a tad sassier.

because i thought he would look good with corn rows and apparently my smile is trying to eat my face.

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A Series In Poor Choices


i just wanted to lay in bed all day and watch bedknobs and broomsticks.  but no.  it’s wednesday.  and i had to work.  while hungover.  severely.  

so severely that i ate my lunch before 9am.  so severely that i didn’t even heat it up – just dunked a cold hamburger patty in lemon poppy seed dressing.  i’m a fucking wreck.

in my defense – it was shitler’s last night of bowling and i can’t tolerate being at that fucking place when i’m sober.  so i indulged.  and now i’m paying the price.  here’s a few ridiculous fucking pictures from last night:

me. and the wheez.

because normal pictures would be too easy.

oh, good news.  shitler is the champion of his fantasy football league.  

also, he got a trophy.

what’s that?  you don’t care?  ya, me either.

but i do like trophies.

and shoving them up people’s asses.

and apparently shitler and i can take a decent photo together:

you’ll have to excuse me.  i need more bayer advanced strength.  and another gallon of water.  if there were a contest for being the most dehydrated – i would win.

but today wasn’t all bad.  i remembered that i did hit the eight ball in to win a game of pool last night.  i only won because b was my partner and he got every other ball in.   i’m not even joking.

and then my friend the super fox sent me the best text in the world.  seriously.  it was this and only this:

but now i’m concerned.  does jeff have cancer?  and why is his hair like that?

also – i would post a picture of the super fox and me but i don’t have one.  and upon thinking about it – i don’t know if i do want one.  because she’s infinitely gorgeous and i am infinitely not.  

also – my hand smells.  that is all.