The Hookers Gave Me Some Disease

Hello, Wifers.

I am sick.  I suppose one should assume that one will pick up some kind of disease at a hooker convention, but still, I was taken off guard.  I am now hacking up a lung regularly, much to the great joy of my co-workers and dining companions.

So last Friday morning I packed up all of my hooker equipment (rug hooking, for the newer readers) and set off in the swagga wagon for Lenexa, Kansas.  It is a seven hour trip from my house to Hooker Heaven, and while I managed to have a mostly uneventful trip weather-wise, I did have one stereotypical Missouri moment.  I need to fill up the tank and get a Diet Coke, so I took the next exit that had a gas station.  Oddly, most of the pumps had a bag over the handle, or a tag on it, but I finally found a pump that seemed to be operable.  I put it in and got back in the van to wait.  I few minutes later, I look out of the window, and the pump says I've only registered about $2.15 of gas in the tank, so at $3.26 a gallon, something has gone awry.  I look up, and there is gas flowing from the top of the hose at the very top of the filling station area, so there is gasoline running down the hose and onto the ground. 

My first thought was "I'm gonna blow this mother sky high."

But then I realized most of the gas had soaked into the snowbank around the pumps, so maybe I had a chance.  I got out of the van, replaced the pump handle, and moved the van.  I walked into the station to tell someone about the flammable liquids pooling around the ground around their gas station.  I looked around the room, and realized something terrible had happened in this town.  I'm going to start a charitable foundation for these people.  I'm going to go all Erin Brokovich on their asses, because they had obviously grown up on a toxic waste dump of some kind.

• Midget?  Check.
• No one with more than 12 teeth?  Check.
• Humpback? Check.
• Mullet as predominant hairstyle?  Check.
• Everyone sitting at a table and smoking eating Funyuns? Check.
• The strains of Deliverance playing in the background?   That might have been my head.

I said, "Hey, the gas is pouring out of the top of the pump onto the ground!"  They all slowly look at me, and the young gal/guy with the mullet said, "Huh."  I said, "So....you might want to shut it down or something."  And they said, "Huh."  And I said, "Okay then...thanks..." and backed slowly out of the door while they all sat and watched me until I pealed the hell out of there.

At the hooker convention, I made a big mistake - I wore black pants at a place where hooker wool was everywhere.  You heard me.  I got Hooker Wool all over my pants.  There are guys who would pay big money for that on the internet.  I made new hooker friends, drove home in seven hours and finished my last hour of the trip on the interstate in freezing drizzle and starting to hack my lungs out.

So I've just dosed on Nyquil for the third night in a row, I might have to join a twelve-step program to quit.  Particularly when I stayed up to watch the Oscars, and then had a Nyquil-induced dream about Colin Firth sending me a tool kit in the mail (for the hooker equipment) and asking me to run away with him, but I told him as much as I would love to, REALLY, he had a lovely Italian/Spanish-type wife and I had Current Husband, and it wasn't meant to be.  I'm hoping for similar Nyquil results tonight.  Wish me luck.

Bragging Mom Alert

So I've mentioned the Variety Show last Friday at our elementary school.  The Son lives for the Variety Show - he just loves it.  This is funny because I don't consider him a particularly showy kid.  He isn't the class clown or the ham, and while he isn't shy AT ALL, he isn't a Look At Me kid - until the Variety Show comes around.  A couple of years ago he told Current Husband and me that he wanted to do the dance from Napoleon Dynamite at the Variety Show, and I balked.  I thought, "someone is going to want to kick his ass."  And don't we all want to avoid having someone want to kick our kids' asses?

But CH, of all people, convinced me that it would be okay for him to do the dance.  It's just a grade school Variety Show, big deal, right?  Still, I worried.  I've posted this here before, but here it is again, because I am annoying like that:


And it was pretty cute.  Last year, he did the McDonalds Fast Food Freestyle from You Tube, which was cute, but not quite the same.

This year, he decided to do The Evolution of Dance from You Tube, and I have to say, I think he kind of nailed it.  The show is supposed to have acts limited to 3 minutes, and The Evolution of Dance is about 9 minutes, so we cut him off around 4 minutes.  You can't really tell because the stage lights are so bright, but he is wearing an Orange Crush t-shirt just like Judson Laipply.



The screaming is coming from a pack of 5th grade girls, but if you think they are screaming loud for him, you should have heard them screaming for the boy who sang "Love Me" by Justin Beiber before him. Back off, ladies, this one is mine for a little while longer.


His moves come from his father - I have no skills, but the baby Daddy can breakdance, even though he'll deny it. It's why I married him. (CH, you know it's true.)


Hope you are all having a great week - I'll report over the weekend on the Hooker Convention I'm attending this weekend, called a "Hook In". So THAT'S what they're calling it these days.

Hello? Is This Phil McCracken?

I think I may have mentioned before that my maturity level can dip to dangerously low levels.  Once, when Current Husband and I were out for drinks with another couple, they asked us what we thought our "spiritual ages" are.  I believe CH said his was somewhere around 30 - he may have been around 30 at the time - and I thought mine hovered somewhere closer to 17.  I'm going to be 42 in April, and yet, I still fall in love with bands, and have to listen to their music constantly; I eat complete junk with no regard to the fact that my metabolism has abandoned me completely; and I still laugh at farts and make sexual innuendos wherever I go.  Sometimes these traits are charming, but most often, they're just annoying to the adults in the room.  And I know a LOT of adults.

This is why I love me some Jon Stewart.  He has the intellect of an adult, but his sense of humor can frequently be of the nudge-nudge/wink-wink variety I love so much.  Last week, this segment was on his show, and I was literally crying with laughter.

The Daily Show - Harry Baals Government Center
Tags: Daily Show Full Episodes,Political Humor & Satire Blog,The Daily Show on Facebook

Oh Jon.  How I love you.

This bit reminds me of three things:

A)  I know someone whose maiden name was Sue Hunt, and she has a brother named Mike.  Really.  Perhaps it is his community center they speak of.

B)  In college, when I lived for a summer in the Lambda Chi fraternity house with a couple of my friends, a group of us stayed up one night making phone calls to people asking for Sharon Peters, Phil McCracken, and Anita Cox, just to name a few.  Oh, the hilarity.  I also remember a lot of beer being involved, a song written about a man who ate a whole shaved ham, and lots of pretend calls to 9-2-2, better known as the number for the WAAmbulance, as in, "I'm tired, I'm going to bed", and then "Someone call 9-2-2, she's bailing on us" and everyone says, "WAAAAAA!!!!!".  Honestly, that was the best summer of my life, because every night was just complete random hilarity.  And lots of beer - did I mention the beer?  I love my life now, but there is something special about being 21, single, responsibility-free and still believing the world is your oyster.  And thinking nothing of wearing a bikini. The last summer before reality set in.  *sigh*

C)  I owned a retail gift/home decor store for four years, and about six months after I opened, a woman wrote a check for her purchases.  Thankfully, I stuck it in the drawer without really looking at it, because that night when I was cashing out the drawer, I saw that her name was Sharon Peters.  And if I had seen that when she was standing there, I would have laughed out loud, and then probably tried to start a conversation with her about it.  I can't imagine that would have gone well.

I'm sorry about Friday's lack of Whoreticulture, I did have the Variety Show for our school that night, and it went about like you would expect a Variety Show to go...microphones running out of batteries, bad stage cues, and the finale song accidentally being switched to an instrumental CD instead of the one with the lyrics, so I had to walk on stage, interrupt the finale, and say we were starting over.  There goes the Oscar.  But the kids were cute and had fun, and the parents who volunteered on it with me were awesomesauce and they came over for a drink afterward to commiserate about our technical difficulties, so it all ended well. 

However, one tip to parents - when your child is in a show where multiple parents have put in numerous UNPAID volunteer hours, and your child hasn't shown up for ONE rehearsal?  And you admit you never checked your e-mail or your child's backpack for information about the show? Don't make your first comment to the coordinator, 10 minutes after the show has ended, about how you think it could be more organized and you'd like to offer some suggestions and bring a group of people in next year to help.  Because the coordinator JUST MIGHT be thinking about stabbing you in the calf.  That is all.

I'm going to try to post a video of The Son doing 4 minutes of Evolution of Dance in the next day or two, I think he is pretty awesome, but I'm slightly biased.  Happy Monday, and have a terrific week!

Stage Mom From Hell

It's official, I've become the Stage Mom from Hell.

This isn't because I want my kids to be famous, or to even be on the stage so much - it's because I'm the mom who coordinates the Variety Show for our elementary school.  This is my fourth year of involvement with the show, and every year I think,

"WHO IN THE HELL LET ME BE IN CHARGE OF ANYTHING?!?!"



I am an incredibly well-intentioned disorganized pre-Alzheimers perimenopausal woman.  It's a miracle some days that my own three kids get fed, clothed, and sent to school, so being in charge of other people's children scares the beJesus out of me.  I don't know how teachers do it.  It's harder to yell at children you aren't tied to by blood.  You can't say things like, "Practice lip-synching that Taylor Swift song better - I'm not your personal DJ!" or "Clean up that act, I'm not your maid!" or "Mommy needs her wine right now".

So the dress rehearsal is tomorrow night and the show is Friday night, at which time I will be walking around with huge red hives on my face, swimming in my own sweat and considering throwing up.  I don't know why I get so worked up about it.  I guess I'm always a bit of a PTA reject, and I enjoy the kids, but I fear judgement by other moms.  You think you're done with all of that craziness in Junior High, but I've learned that the mean girls are just as mean at 40, they're just more sly.  Most of the moms are great, but there's always The One.  I tend to make a spectacle of myself and then go home and think "WHY WHY WHY" while drinking my wine.  *sigh*  Then I hide for another year and come out of the cave when the Variety Show starts again.

I'll try to get Whoreticulture Friday in yet this week, but it might end up on Sextastic Saturday instead.  I hope you're all having a great week!!
 
p.s. The Son is doing "The Evolution of Dance" from You Tube, right down to the Orange Crush shirt, and if I may say so myself, he is nailing it.  That kid cracks me right up.

Happy Valentine's Day, Bitches!

Honestly, I have no idea why I just said that, but I'm going to tell you that for some odd reason, it felt good.  I swear that I am 100% sober.  But I am drunk on blog love.

Nigella Lawson said on NPR today that she is to Valentine's Day what The Scrooge is to Christmas, and I have to say that I'm a bit the same.  I love Current Husband, he loves me, that's super.  So why is it that I get irritated every Valentine's Day?  Let me give you my rundown of irrational reasons I'm bugged by Valentine's Day:

1. Flowers.  My sister-in-law owns a greenhouse, and this is one of her busiest days, so I hope you all buy flowers from your locally owned florist.  That said, I get really pissed at the pressure put on people to order flowers.  I would much rather get a random bouquet of flowers during the year for no good reason than to get flowers on V Day or birthday.  I did get flowers today, for probably the third time total in the 20 years I've been with CH, and they were lovely, but I was the only woman in the building who got them, and honestly I felt a little guilty, like I had to say, "No, really, I'm usually totally disappointed with the rest of you today."  Anniversaries, however, are flower occasions, especially on anniversaries divisible by five.  There were flowers at the wedding, it seems like a nice reminder.
2. Candy.  Sweet Baby Jesus, how much candy can I stuff in my craw in one day?  After Halloween, I ingest more chocolate today than during the rest of the year combined.  It's because everyone is getting chocolate, but no one wants to eat it all because we're all on the downside of eating ourselves into a coma from Thanksgiving through New Years and we're all thinking, "Oh hell, I'm fat again and swimsuit season is coming - please someone else eat the rest of this chocolate!"
3. Music.  I have to listen to the Top Hits station because of my teen/pre-teen, and have you heard some of what passes as relationship music?  Rihanna's new song is about S&M, it actually repeats "S S S S and M M M" and the chorus says "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but whips and chains excite me".  I'm sorry, aren't you the girl who was beaten silly by Chris Brown?  Who is your manager?  Then the rest of the songs are "Let's get drunk and crunk and glitter on the floor and take off our clothes and ride the disco stick".  But whatever you do, DO NOT KISS OR RESPECT ME.  Because then I will tire of you.  My God, I'm old.
4. Porn. I love the ads for Doctor John's porn shop or whatever it is, and they say, "Come here for all of your sex toy and fetish needs" and "It's Valentine's Day all year here!"  Yes!  My idea of Valentine's Day is a gag ball and leather studded chaps.  Giddyup, Valentine!  Now spank that ass!  And how many husbands are saying, "Yes, I need to get my special lady friend a Valentine's gift AND I  like porn, so I can hang out in this porn shop for a few hours, and then buy her a gift that says 'I intend for you to pleasure me this holiday'." Brilliant.
5. Dinner.  This one is Nigella's, not mine.  She said today that one reason she hates Valentine's Day is that some couples use it as the one night a year they go out for dinner, and then you end up in a restaurant with 20 couples who have nothing to say to each other.  I don't necessarily agree with Nigella on this one, because I am always up for an excuse to go out for dinner, but I do avoid VD because you can never get in anywhere because of the Valentine crowd.  I like to dine on the Thursday after, because it's quiet then.  Happy Valentine's Day, food.  I love you.

I'm not trying to bust St. Valentine's chops.  I think it's sweet and wonderful when someone takes a moment to appreciate the ones they love.  I just get annoyed when it's contrived because Hallmark and FTD guilt people into it, and then there are these expectations that can never be met.  And the guys who use it as an excuse to hang out in a porn shop and buy crotchless underpants for their 2-month girlfriend.  However, crotchless underpants after being together 20 or 30 years says, "Hey, I'm still curious about what I can talk you into" and shows interest.  Wanting to see someone in crotchless underpants at 45?  That's love, people.

Happy Valentine's Day, Wifers!  I give you all a big sloppy kiss!  And crotchless underpants!

It's Whoreticulture Friday! Issue 57

Whoreticulture: The industry and science of whores and whore-related topics. Whoreticulturists work and conduct research in the disciplines of OB-GYNery, Brazilian waxers and shavers, adultery, personal hygiene mavens and easy women. The word is composite, from two words, whore, from Greek meaning "harlot" or "dear", and the word "culture". Like NPR's Science Friday, Whoreticulture Friday exists to educate and spark discussion on the science of Whorology. Whoreticulture Friday is not for children. Or squeamish people. Or Mother-In-Laws. Or people I work with. Or neighbors who are raising feral cats. Or the people who read this post last year.



Today's topic: I'm lame. Ditto.


I'm sure many of you are thinking "Ditto? Oh goody, it's a post on Patrick Swayze in "Ghost"!" but unfortunately, Wifers, I am not that clever this evening. This day started at 6:30 a.m., I hit the ground running, and it's 9:40 p.m. and I just got home from running kids and I haven't had dinner and I'm on Day 3 of God's Punishment for Eve and no one did the dishes and I'm gearing up for one of my famous "Martyr Mom" performances in about 10 minutes.


SO. I'm going to re-post last year's Teddy Bear post from Valentine's Day. Because I liked it, because I need to remind Current Husband not to get me a teddy bear, and because I am lame-O. However, I will leave you with this one small Oldest Daughter Teen Nugget Of Wisdom before I plagarize myself - we were talking about cliques at school, and she said that it was the majority opinion that many of a certain group of girls in the school are 'whores'. I said, "I thought most of those girls go to church regularly" and she said, "Mom, the only difference between the church girls who are whores and the non-church girls who are whores is that God is watching the Church Girls with more disappointment." From the mouths of babes....

Happy VD, Wifers!

Today's topic:  I love Teddy Bears!

Valentine's Day is upon us, the most whorish of all holidays, because if you don't find a meaningful way to profess your love to the one you're with, you could get dumped.  And while I love flowers and sex, I actually don't like to get either on Valentine's Day because it feels so contrived.  I do, however, love seeing the commercials that come out around VD to let us know how exactly we should be sharing our feelings with each other.  

I've learned that you can never, never go wrong by giving an overpriced teddy bear in lieu of a professional massage or nice jewelery or a lovely dinner or a nice bottle of wine.  That bear will be there forever, reminding you that someone cared enough to get you a stuffed animal.  And nothing gets a guy laid faster than a grown woman getting a teddy bear in boxer shorts or with a parrot on its shoulder delivered to her office in front of her peers.  When you pull up in your 1988 Econoline van with the blacked out windows to pick her up she won't be able to keep her hands off that bear...or you.  That bear says, "This guy is a keeper".  Because what woman older than 25 DOESN'T have a teddy bear on her wish list for Valentine's Day?  We all do.  Every one of us.

DISCLAIMER:  To those of you receiving a teddy bear for Valentine's Day, that's super, really, and you are probably getting more than I will, but I can't help but poke some fun.  Teddy bears are sweet.  Like puppies.  I'm just a bitch that way, and I am sorrier for it than you will ever know.  CH is likely going to read this and return my teddy bear, and I won't get anything but "I read your blog, you insensitive bitch".

A Valentine's Teddy Bear says "I am mature" or "I think you're 14" or "I'm almost ready for commitment" or "I love you almost as much as my mother" - but it can say so much more.  For just $50-$300, plus shipping, you can decide what message you want to send this Valentine's Day:

 

The "I Plan to Abuse You" bear, $49.95.

 

The "Be in My Polygamy Compound" bear, $49.95.

  

The "Devil Worshiper Who Still Needs An Adult Diaper" bear, $59.95

The "I'm Not Giving Up Porn After We're Married" bear, $200.

The "I Actually Love Another Woman" bear, $65.95

 

The "I Am More Masculine Than You Think I Am" bear, $59.95

 

The "I Still Play Dungeons & Dragons" bear, $74.95.

  

T

The "I'm Actually Gay" bears, $200.

 

The "I'm Likely To End Up in Prison" bear, $75.95

 

The "I Expose Myself to Children" bear, $95.95

 

The "I Hate You So Much I Bought You a Redneck Bear" bear, $49.95

The "Date Me Or The Puppy Gets It" bear, $54.95

The "Stick Your Hand In My Candy Bag And See if You Find a Sucker" bear, $125

 

The "Guess What's in Her Right Hand" bear, $250

and last but not least,

 

 

 The "I Don't Know How To Tell You Your Coochie Stinks" bear, $300

Happy Whoreticulture Friday, and Happy Valentine's Day!

Beef...I Wish It Was for Dinner

Last fall, I jumped back into the world of full-time employment.

First, I worked at the Full Time Job I Couldn't Blog About, which was as much fun as walking through Jerusalem with a t-shirt that says "Free Palestine" on one side and "God Promised it to Isreal" on the other.  But my co-workers were terrific, so that was the upside.  Now, I market equipment to hookers.  Rug hookers, that is.  And both the job AND my co-workers are terrific, so it's a win-win.  Plus, I will be a bona fide hooker in a month.  Current Husband can't wait.

However, as it goes with Moms Who Work, some things have gone by the wayside:

• Laundry
• Dishes
• Thank yous
• Role playing sexual adventures
• Getting children's paperwork to school on time
• Home cooked nutritious meals

I actually love to cook and I love to eat and I love to have family dinner, but who has the time?  When I get home from said full-time job, I usually have about 20 minutes before we have to head back out the door for cello or piano or dance or basketball.  Tonight, I registered Oldest Daughter for high school (sweet baby Jesus, that's its own post).  Tomorrow night it's the piano/dance combo hours.  Thursday night it's my turn to drive the cello carpool.  Hello, Drive-Thru muffin top...will you hold my vanilla latte for a minute?

Where I used to cook lasagne or homemade chicken noodle soup via Barefoot Contessa or French Dips, we now have pizza or eggs or waffles or soup.  Most meals involved some sort of chicken or tilapia, now we contemplate Papa John's as gourmet fare.  Compounding matters is the fact that Oldest Daughter is a vegetarian.

Where I come from in Nebraska, if you didn't cheer for the Cornhuskers, you were taken to South Dakota, and if you didn't eat beef, you were dumped at the Colorado border.  I am a willing red meat eater - bring me a medium rare bacon-wrapped filet smothered in onions and mushrooms with a loaded baked potato and a beer and I will walk through the fire pits of Hades for you.  Bring me a Quarter Pounder and I will walk through the McDonalds parking lot for you.  Bring me tofu and I will say, "What the hell am I supposed to do with this?"

About a year and a half ago, Oldest Daughter announced she was becoming a vegetarian.  We asked her for a good reason, and she said she was grossed out by eating fish because they pee in the water and then breathe it and eat it, and that she just didn't like the texture of meat.  Okay.  I thought she was just being trendy.  Go then, Teen Vegetarian!  Take your two week sabbatical from meat and then come back to embrace a pork chop with me!  However, she never really came back to meat.  She will eat my crab rangoon, because it IS irresistable, and she will occasionally eat chicken in Chinese food (an odd choice of cuisine to go back to the meaty side), but otherwise she has stuck with it.  Which is great for her and bad for dinner.

So I have the following people at my table:

1. CH - he is allergic to shellfish and seems to be both gluten and lactose intolerant.  Or, he is just simply Intolerant.
2. OD - vegetarian, not a fan of vegetables, likes cheese.
3. The Son - eats what is on his plate and then has four bowls of cereal before bed.
4. Youngest Daughter - won't eat anything, says she needs to avoid healthy food because she wants to "stay little" so she won't have to "do chores" and can "fit in small spaces".  Which leaves
5. Me, who ends up eating all of the extra stuff.

Why don't I come home from work to Marion Cunningham or June Cleaver setting the table and bringing a big roast out from the oven?  Why doesn't Alice pop around in her blue maid's dress and get something healthy together?  Where the hell is the Judy Freaking Jetson oven I've been asking for for years?  Sometimes I get tired of cooking four variations on the same meal to fit everyone's needs, so I've been succumbing to the "Breakfast for Dinner" or Frozen Pizza rut, and frankly, I'd like some broccoli.  Cauliflower.  Mashed potatoes and gravy.  Dinner rolls.  But most of all?

BEEF.  I want it for dinner.

Prilosec Sunday

This blog is on Monday hiatus due to a large ingestion of cheese and chips and salt and fat and a little bit of beer.  Go Packers!

And, just to throw, some pop culture in, I loved the ad for the Passat with the little Darth Vader, and I also thought the Eminem ad for Detroit was pretty damn awesome.  I know it was for Chrysler, but really?  The City of Detroit should be giving Eminem a key and a KISS Greatest Hits CD, because even though I know Detroit is about a lot more than Eminem, that ad actually gave me chills a bit.  I also liked his Brisk commercial.  It's interesting that he hasn't really ever whored himself out to advertising, and now he ends up in two Superbowl commercials, and they were both pretty spot-on with his personality.  Talk about owning your brand!  What were your favorite ads? 

I thought the Peas kicked it at halftime, I loved the lighting, and the whole thing was great except for the Sweet Child O Mine bit, which had me cringing just a little.  I love you Fergie Ferg, but that part was not a keeper.  And you are with Josh Duhamel, so grinding against Slash is not convincing.  I know what you snack on at home honey, and it ain't a whiskey-fueled middle aged guitarist.

Hope everyone had a great weekend, I'll be back when the Prilosec kicks in.

It's Whoreticulture Friday! Issue 56

Whoreticulture: The industry and science of whores and whore-related topics. Whoreticulturists work and conduct research in the disciplines of OB-GYNery, Brazilian waxers and shavers, adultery, personal hygiene mavens and easy women. The word is composite, from two words, whore, from Greek meaning "harlot" or "dear", and the word "culture". Like NPR's Science Friday, Whoreticulture Friday exists to educate and spark discussion on the science of Whorology. Whoreticulture Friday is not for children. Or squeamish people. Or Mother-In-Laws. Or people I work with. Or neighbors who are raising feral cats. Or the Pope.


Today's topic: Hooker Rant

Hello Wifers!  The first order of business today is to give a big inappropriate invasion of your personal space hug to the new followers to ADITW,  and thanks to the recent terrific comments and blog awards - I'm a total loser and I don't post blog awards here anymore because I'm essentially a lazy person, but I really appreciate the shout-out!  You're all wonderful and I think about each of you in the shower.

Second order of business - Today was unusual in that I had a frustrating day at work.  I REALLY want to rant about it, but I sort of have a policy regarding work-related blogging, in that it could be harmful to my employment, and I actually like my job.  Conveniently, it is Whoreticulture Friday, so I'm going to rant about my day at work using metaphors.  It's like a game!  Yay!  See if you can detect what is real, and what is a carefully hidden object of workplace rage!

So yesterday, we had an order for a bunch of condoms to go out to the hookers.  The hookers have been asking for these condoms for a long time, and they've been finding it hard to work without them.  Hookers are patient, but when they don't have the right equipment, they start losing money.  When hookers start losing money, they call and start yelling, or worse, make Big Daddy call and yell.  Because I really hate the yelling, I tend to try to see how we can get the condoms out the door faster.

I went into the condom distribution area, and Sushi, the main condom packer, said she was just overwhelmed because the order from our biggest hooker in New Hampshire was "too big an order" and Sushi and her people just couldn't build the condoms fast enough.  Plus, there have been a few reports that the condoms are breaking, and that is REALLY pissing the hookers off.  Of course, Candi, our New Hampshire hooker, had placed her order in December, and the Johns have been lining up, so she wants her damn condoms.  Like yesterday.  Keep in mind that there are about 60 other hookers who are also busy turning tricks after Candi, and they want their condoms too, even though they don't have as many as Candi.  But Sushi is just overwhelmed by Candi's order, even though it's been on the board for 6 weeks and by my count, we already had 2/3 of the ticklers, ribbed for her pleasure, and ultra-thins available to ship.

So I go into the Trojan shop, and I say, "Hey Sushi, are you ready for a packing list for these condoms?" and Sushi says, "No, it's too big an order, we're not shipping Candi her rubbers" and I say, "Well we have to ship something to someone, because there are unwrapped glowsticks all over the Eastern Seaboard and I don't want my bitches getting STD's" and Sushi said, "Well I don't got nothin' to send" and I said, "Yes, you do.  If Candi's order can't go out the door, then we're going to take a few condoms out of her order and send boxes out to five hookers in California and New Mexico because they only have one or two condoms each, and then we will at least get some hookers off our backs."

And we shipped five boxes of condoms, thus saving California and New Mexico from a horrible oubreak of viral hepatitis, as opposed to the ZERO boxes Sushi was planning on shipping.  From a list of over 60 hookers who have no protection and rely on clean vajayjays to do their jobs, whose orders are now over 30 days.

What does Sushi do?  She goes to Big Daddy and says she just can't produce the Trojan Magnum Ultra-Sensitive as fast as she should because I'm making her do too many things.  I can totally see the logic - without me in the condom factory, we are shipping ZERO boxes, syphillis everywhere.  With me IN the condom factory, we are shipping boxes, and at least some bitches aren't getting bacterial vaginosis. 

So.  If you end up with abnormal swelling, itching, and oozing in the next 30 days, don't blame me.  Blame Sushi. 

Thanks for the rant.  I can now go to work with a smug smile on my face and spring in my step because I have vented all over the internets.  And if you are a hooker, know I go to work every day to fight for your rights....to party.

Happy Whoreticulture Friday, and have a great weekend!
 

Snowpocalypse Now!

Snowpocalypse Now!

DATELINE: FEBRUARY 1, 2011


LOCATION: IOWA


TIME: 10:20 p.m. CST


Time to lay off the Blizzard Boozing, I think I'll still have to work tomorrow, which effing SUCKS.  I mean really, I'm not a brain surgeon, no one will die tomorrow if I'm not available to write ad copy or make a brochure for rug hooking equipment, or talk to hookers on the phone.  If UPS can't make it to your building, perhaps you shouldn't either.

Uh oh.

I had to pull the bottle of Cab from bottom.  
Wine is down to dangerously low levels.

In light of the impending wine disaster, I decided to send out for reinforcements. I picked my best retrieving resource.

WTF, George the Superpet?

You have failed me.

No Snausage for you!

I have to say that so far the snow here is a little disappointing.  When you've been sold on 18-20 inches all day, and you've only hit half that level, it feels like maybe the storm isn't trying hard enough.  Really, snow?  That's all you've got? 


Our piano teacher, the very one who gnaws on blocks of Sharp Cheddar during the kids' lessons, called tonight during the blizzard to tell me that lessons tomorrow night ARE still on, and that she's sure it will taper off at midnight and be FINE, so be sure to drive to HER HOUSE in the aftermath of the storm, there will be NO MAKE-UP LESSONS, and don't forget to bring your check tomorrow night to the lesson you WILL. NOT. MISS. *gulp*


Just went to tuck in The Son.  He is in his bunk with binoculars, and told me the people across the street watch a lot of South Park and Fox News.  I asked him to get this data in a spreadsheet, and I'd like reports on the other neighbors as well.  What else are you going to do in a blizzard?  Oh.  Right.  Make babies.  Um, put the binoculars down, Son.


Goodnight, Wifers.

Snowpocalypse Now!

Snowpocalypse Now!

DATELINE: FEBRUARY 1, 2011


LOCATION: IOWA

TIME: 8:31 p.m. CST

Old Man Winter has 8 inches. 

Oh yeah.  I went there.

The Snowpocalypse started around 3 p.m., and it's now 8:30, so it's been snowing for about 14 hours.  Oh, wait.  Five?  The newsroom tells me it's been just over five, but it feels like a week since I found out there isn't any chocolate in my house.  I've had to get my Survival Kit together:

My wine, my Blackberry, and my lucky pomegranate.

If I had some Flavor Flav fried chicken

and a brownie, I could handle anything.

Family members are turning on each other.  Wii Mario Kart is turning into a Hit and Run bloodbath. Current Husband can't find Iowa State basketball on TV, and he is muttering to himself at his computer and trying to find it online and he is hangin' with The River Baron:

Admitting you have an olive problem

is the first step to recovery.

Am trying to figure out a way to hack into work computer system to tell everyone they have the day off and a $100 bonus for not driving anywhere tomorrow.  In the interim, one creature in our house would like to go outside:

Poor George the Superpet. 

At least he still has his polar bear coat on.

Snowpocalypse Now

Snowpocalypse Now!

DATELINE: FEBRUARY 1, 2011

LOCATION:  IOWA
TIME:  6:57 p.m. CST

This is Julie the Wife, reporting to you from the Snowpocalypse.  Since this storm is so unique to me, and "I'm snowed in!" stories are so original.

The prairie is quiet right now.  Pa is waxing his violin (so THAT'S what they're calling it these days) and Ma is busy doing everything else to help us survive "Just in Case".  In the last 3 hours, we've had 54 inches of snow and one broken wineglass.  I've decided which child to eat if necessary - it's the 41 year old.

Swagga wagon, sans the swagga.

Now it's the SnowMobile.

We have no chocolate in the house, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to have to work tomorrow morning, because my company is apparently on a "If there is any chance you can make it in, we'll be expecting you" policy.  I'll check back later.  I hope you are all warm and well-stocked.