A Post Where I Talk About Getting Nothing Done

I can barely contain myself today. We're going on 26 hours til SWMH Club - Cinco de Drinko commences and I am STOKED. 26! Hours! To! Go! SQUEE!

So many things have killed my productivity this week. Our office is being removed of it's hideous 16 year-old wallpaper, then textured, then painted. There are several strange men wandering through the office who don't speak a lick of English but they do know how to drop nose hair burning ass bombs in our bathroom and listen to Tejano music REALLY LOUD.

Then there's this new game I've been playing on my iPhone (Did I not tell you about my new iPhone? Oh, my bad. CAUSE I GOT A NEW IPHONE AND IT IS EVERYTHING I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE AND MORE. It's like kittens and raindows and lepracorns and chocolate and nerdy bliss all wrapped in one beautiful touch screen case. Lovelovelove to Thomas for hooking his woman UP.) and the game is just ADDICTING and I can't STOP playing it. So I'm trying to pretend I'm getting something ANYTHING done at work and I'm playing games on the phone (in case you may have forgotten it's an iPhone. Which is awesome.) and emailing Elle and Princess with nothing but "SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE" , it's been an exhausting day. SQUEEing takes a lot out of a girl.

26 hours to go.26 hours to go.26 hours to go.

Two Days

TWO! DAYS! Twotwotwotwotwo daysdaysdaysdaysdays.

I'm so excited I might just wet my pants.

48 hours from now I'll be about to board my plane, headed towards my gurls. Land of sun, fun, and drunk bitches. 72 hours from now? God knows what I'll be doing but I have a feeling whatever it is my liver will be screaming, "MAKE IT STOP. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD ENOUGH ALCOHOL ALREADY".

Two days, bitches.


P.S. Princess and Elle: I apologize in advance for the cards I'm giving you. Hallmark can eat a fucking dick.

Guns, Visiting The Naughty Store, And Playing With Baby Pigs

Warning: This post was written after several cups of coffee and an energy pill. The poor grammar and puncuation may make your head explode. Read on at your own peril.


I'm never surprised anymore where Thomas and I seem to end up on the weekends. One moment we're at the gun show looking for ammo, the next we're walking out with Thomas smiling from ear to ear cause he's got a new bang-bang toy, and then we end up at an "adults only" store laughing our asses off at butt plugs and giant dongs, and THEN we're at the mall making fun of fake plastic people and King of the Gingers (for real, the dude had a ginger fire red fauxhawk that was like 2 feet tall and arms so long he could've scratched his knees without bending over) and then we LOL'd all the way home. Also, the mall on a Saturday night? Filled to the brim with hormonal teenagers and you could smell the cheap perfume, Proactiv, and pheromones as soon as you walked in the door. You couldn't PAY me to be that age again.

So Sunday morning Thomas and I head out with a couple of friends to the renaissance festival of awesomeness where we proceed to spend more money on beer and games than on food and I got to hold a baby pig (seriously, baby pigs are adorable and I want one now and I almost CRIED when I held the little pink one. You can see the GLEE on my face) and I took video of Thomas shooting a bow and arrow and I fed a llama and Kimberly cried cause of the haunted dungeon that her husband forced her to go in to and I saw a lot of nerds and hippies and women who were bearing their midriffs when they really REALLY shouldn't have. We took a helluva lot of pictures and we laughed all day and then we had Chinese food and went home and crashed hard core. So I'm gonna stop with my horrible run-on sentences and finally post the damn videos and pictures. ENJOY THE AWESOMENESS.

Renaissance Festival - April 2009 - Picture set



Oh Em GEEEEEEE baby piggehs!!!!


Thomas is SO the new and improved Robin Hood.


Heh heh, I said "Whack it"


P.S. 3 days till my ass is in Arizona chillin' with my girls and basking in the hot ass sun and laughing our butts off on the porch. WOO!

Ugh

No lie I have about a gajillion (that's a lot) of those ouch-less hair ties at the apartment and at least a dozen strewn about the Jeep. So why is it that when I am sitting at my desk and I need one to tie back the The Hair there isn't a single effing one in my purse? WHY? And yesterday when I thought my newly acquired bangs were the best thing since sliced fucking bread? Well it's HUMID and they are FLAT now and THEY.WON'T.STAY.OUT.OF.MY.EYES. Jaysus. Next time I think it would be such a great idea to get bangs I wish someone would just slap me across the nose with a rolled up newspaper and say, "No, Mo. NO. Bad idea. Bad."

Facebook Addicted Vain Dirty Whore

First off, isn't it amazing what a good haircut will do for the soul? I'm vain enough as it is and stop to look at myself in every mirror I come across but it's just getting ridiculous now. When your rear view mirror is permanently pointed at you instead of at a position to you know VIEW THINGS BEHIND YOU so that you can gaze at your gorgeous mug every few seconds and correct your fabulous shiny lipgloss if necessary and play with your newly acquired bangs then you know you've got a problem.

I think I'm officially addicted to Facebook. Just when I think I've checked out every app and every quiz and every status update BOOM! something new comes along and then I spend hours (HOURS!) of my day either messing with it or sending it to the 11ty million people in my friends list. Most of whom do not give a flying rat's ass how many people I'd like to punch in the face (Rachael Ray, Bob Costas, Paula Abdul, Michael Moore, and slow drivers), or the top five things I think I'll need if zombies attack (my gun, a flame thrower, a water purification system, a pink Hummer, and an unlimited supply of protein bars), or even that I sent them a piece of fucking flair (My current favorite, "I'm why the rum is gone" LULZ) but do you think I care? HA! I do not. You're still getting those damn app invites whether you like it or not. Also, don't forget to either like or comment on my recent status update kthxbai.

In other news, I *heart* Texas weather. It was in the 90's here yesterday. THE 90'S! IN APRIL! GOD BLESS GLOBAL WARMING. It won't be long now and my ass will be poolside, throwin' back the Miller Lite like it's going out of fucking style.

8! DAYS! TIL! SWMH CLUB! CINCO DE DRINKO! AUGHT NUEVE! RE-COG-NIZE.



That up there? That is gonna be on the front of our new sweet ass SWMH Club t-shirts. And THAT was drawn by Elle with her bad ass paint skillz. Again: re-cog-nize. Oh and it's not the picture playing tricks on your eyes, my boobs really are that small, especially compared to the other two cause that's how it is in REAL LIFE. I am NOT even kidding. Them womens have got some tig ole bitties but I'd be proud of that shit if I were them and show them off at 3 in the morning in the middle of a goddamned Circle K while virgin clerk boy looks on (surprisingly un-amazed) and Princess yells about kitten burritos.

8 days til I get to see those two fabulous women and when I do I'm going to hug them and squeeze them so hard that they're going to be all like, "Mo, dear, I love you but let me go for fucks sake. I can't breathe." And then we'll LOL and drink beer and eat meat pizza and lay on the bed and talk about what dirty whores we are.

Is it just me or when you see someone crying in the car next to you do you just want to roll down your window and ask them what's wrong? Maybe I'm just nosey.

Daytime Television Sucks

I got out of bed this morning, kissed Thomas off to work, and hobbled right back into bed. Hunched over and feeling like I had been hit by a Mack truck somewhere between Saturday morning and this morning. That Mack truck? Her name is Janae and she is a former gymnast now personal trainer who has been put on this Earth to cause me misery and constant pain. She's evil. Cute, but evil. You want to walk around like an 80 year-old woman with bad hips and a hump on your back? Hire my trainer for 30 minutes. You won't be disappointed. So here I am, at home. One dog on the bed beside me snoring quite loudly, but adorably, and the other buried under the covers, also being adorable.

I did manage to get out quite a bit over the weekend, even with the hobbling and the looking like an old lady with osteoporosis. I almost fit in perfectly at the casino yesterday. The only thing I was missing was my electronic wheelchair and oxygen tank. However, the cigarette and steaming cup of coffee was present. Winning $200 helped ease the pain for about five minutes til I realized at some point I would have to get up from my slot machine and make my way back to the car. Some people spend Easter with family looking for hidden decorated eggs and stuffing themselves with chocolate and green bean casserole. Me? I spend it with Thomas and his family sitting around poker tables, drinking, and fighting my urge not to knock out the woman next to me who had never played blackjack before in her life yet she chooses to play at my table and fuck up two of my hands before I get up and go back to slot machines where I belong. Don't get me wrong, I prayed to Jesus several times yesterday and on the great day of His rising He proclaimed that it was indeed my lucky day and I was blessed with mad cash yo. Thanks, Jesus. You rock.


Come on, mama. Let's take another nap.