Girl, Corrupted.

Houston, we have a problem.

2012-02-13T18:01:00.002-06:00

Let's be clear about something. I know that without a doubt I will die in some completely ridiculous jackass fashion. Drunkenly stumbling on the stairs thereby cracking my melon and dying spread-eagle in the foyer of my home? Sure. Driving off into a ravine headfirst because I'm texting "gonads!" to my friend Ben? Likely. Bleeding out from a massive head trauma after convincing my pal Jane that she could totally shoot a PBR can off of my head with a potato gun? You bet.

Any of these scenarios could be more like premonitions but please, LORD, please...do NOT let me expire in the bathtub. I cannot think of anything more demoralizing for me or scarring for those who discover my bloated nekkid body. Face down in a toilet of my own vomit? I'LL TAKE IT. Just please, not wet and nude and splayed out in the tub.

Of course I'm referring to the tragic circumstances of the death of pop legend, Whitney Houston. By all accounts a heartbreaking ending to a troubled life. You can't help but wonder when someone who seemingly "has it all" is so unstable and self destructive, yet you see it time and time again. Amy Winehouse. Michael Jackson. John Belushi. Kurt Cobain. Folks who have all the fame and fortune most of us covet but find happiness and peace so elusive.

We won't know the whole story for some time but the reports of the days prior to her death are pretty ~~awesome~~ nuts.

The paparrazi photographed her leaving a nightclub and her legs appear to be scratched and bleeding. Now this is not that uncommon. I have left a bar or two in my day in that exact state due to some unfortunate quasi-violent dance moves/convulsions to Nine Inch Nails' "Head like a hole". In fact, I'm sure I probably bruised others with my flailing mad dance skillz.

Other witnesses report Whitney doing drunken handstands out by the pool at the Beverly Hilton. Now what exactly is wrong with that? Yours truly has been known to do some magnificent impromptu cartwheels after a few jager bombs back in the day. I *may* have even done one in my office. Luckily this was in the glorious days before YouTube. YouTube ruins everything.

Whitney was reportedly slurring and sweaty and still intoxicated the next day after her nightclub sighting.

Give me a very large break, folks. What do you expect after a good old fashioned bender? Being slightly still drunk beats being hungover anyday! My good pal Jessica once had to escort me off an elevator at work one morning for being in such a condition*. I thought I was doing pretty well to be at work, but evidently my toxic breath and wet hair were a dead giveaway. I remember Jessica being stern about the severity of the situation but I also remember me being really giggly. Clearly I am a child. I thought the whole thing was pretty funny but by lunchtime that day I recall NOTHING being remotely funny. The going got rough. My head hurt, my stomach lurched and I managed to barf the two gallons of Gatorade I'd downed during the morning. Still, all in all it was pretty rock-star.

So, upon review I guess what I'm saying is that my dumbass just needs to stay away from the bathtub. One could argue that at one point in my life I could have been headed in that direction. Not so. This gal likes her cocktails, but knows damn well that she's too stupid for prescription pills. Math is hard and I know that if one works, fourteen will prolly work better, so I just stay away altogether. I know how my crazy pea-brain works in certain scenarios. My friend Ben and I convinced ourselves once that it was the lining in the cans of Keystone beer that got you so fucked up. Shortly thereafter, Ben and I also *may* have put a dead squirrel into a lunch sack and given it to a friend on Mother's Day. Allegedly.

As for Whitney, Godspeed to your sweet soul. There's truly nothing funny about her situation or sad passing.

I know what it's like to want the wheels to stop turning, Whitney. I also know what it's like to want to sleep forever. There but for the Grace of God.

* in my defense I had spent the prior evening partying with a rock-star, Juliette Lewis. That gurl can throw down, yo.

2012-02-10T08:12:00.003-06:00

Bloggety blog blah.

So these past weeks have been a whirlwind of activity. If we get any more irons in the fire we're gonna have to build a bigger fire. My Father in Law is still in the hospital and we've nicknamed him the Yo-Yo man for his up and down daily status updates. It's not much fun and my poor Mother in Law is really taking the brunt of all of the stress and worry. The future is uncertain so the "one day at a time" adage is our current mantra.

Went up to Michigan last weekend to visit my 105 year old Granny, who still looks fabulous and is sharp as a tack. We took her out to lunch, had a nice visit and even watched the Superbowl together. On closed captioned tv, of course.

Look at her. Jack Daniel's in one hand, hanky in the other. That's how we roll.

"Yes, I was 5 years old when the Titanic sank. What of it"?

I love her dearly and cherish every visit. I keep telling myself this could be the last time I see her, but luckily, I've never been right.

LEAP AND THE NET WILL APPEAR

Johnny and I are looking into starting our own business and I am excited and terrified, simultaneously. We're both tired of working for the man but yet this volatile economic climate seems a dicey time to be making such a bold move. Our financial situation is less than stellar so there's a lot of floor pacing going on in the Corrupted household. If we do in fact go forward then I need to turn in my notice at my current job and that little detail is giving me sleepless nights and loose bowels. It's not that I want to stay there permanently, but they've been such wonderful folks to work for that I hate to disappoint them.

TRIPOD

Mr. Cooper has done something to his front left leg and cannot seem to put any pressure on it. Mind you, he is a 75 lb dog so when he galumps down the hallway, you can't help but hear/feel it. Poor guy. He is not in any pain however and is smiley, hungry and playful so we're just trying to wait it out and hope that it works itself out. $200 for an x-ray to tell me it's just a sprain is NOT in our budget. I have been sleeping in the guest room with him though as I don't want him navigating the stairs with a bum leg. The best part of this is that Johnny didn't so much as raise an eyebrow when I informed him I'd be sleeping with the dog. I doubt there'd be much surprise if I informed him that I'd be giving the dog a kidney, if the need arose.

HAPPY HAPPY

On a brighter note I celebrated my 44th year on Tuesday. Woot! We went out for Thai food and I had a super spicy yellow curry. Johnny gave me some lovely gifts and we came home to enjoy chocolate cake, whiskey shots and we may have even listened to some John Denver. A perfect birthday.

SHUFFLEBUTT

At Kroger the other evening I noticed a somewhat disheveled man in a suit shuffling down the aisle. Literally shuffling. I didn't really pay much mind but encountered him again in the produce section. As I looked him up and down I noticed he was missing a foot. I shit you not. He had one completely normal foot (well, I assume it was normal it was in a regular shoe) and then he had what appeared to be like a little feed bag strapped to the bottom of his other leg. Nothing protruding from the leg. Shuffle shuffle.

He wasn't scary or unpleasant but there was something unsettling about his deliberate shuffle. My imagination works overtime in these situations so instead of immediately feeling compassion or sympathy, I got all freaked out and went to the other end of the store to complete my shopping. About twenty minutes later I was loading my groceries into the back of my Jeep when I heard it. "Shuffle shuffle shuffle". I looked up and there he was in the parking lot. Fuck.

A SIDE NOTE TO ANDERSON COOPER

Anderson, I love you, I do, but your MOTHER does not count as a "guest" on your show. Maybe the first time, but certainly not every week. Your programming folks are kind of phoning that shit in, don't you think? LET'S ALL TRY HARDER, shall we?

The Drunkard went down to Georgia.

2012-01-30T08:03:00.004-06:00

This weekend was a wee bit different than last whereas instead of being surrounded by opulence and debauchery, I was surrounded by a lot of stinky animals and poop. Wait, maybe these weekends are more similar than not.
Did I mention that last weekend someone *may* have thrown up in the hotel sink because the toilet was already occupied? I didn't? Oh. Well, never mind then. YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE.

Anyway.

I bopped down to Georgia to visit one quarter of the infamous DB's, Schell. She and I didn't get much time to catch up last week and I can always use a road trip, so what the heck? We converged on Schell's parents Emu farm for a night of laughs, Mexican food, companionship and yes, even a little goat smooching. My soul always shines a little brighter after I spend time with my pal Schell.

They were out of town for the weekend so we decided to watch over the place and get a little R&R. Her folks own and operate a gorgeous 50 acre farm in Northeast Georgia and it's a little piece of quiet heaven.

Well, most of the time. This guy can be really loud when he douches out. He's a Rhea, pronounced "ree-uh", not "ray-uh". You know, like "diarrhea". And he's nasty. Striking, but pretty darn aggressive. He makes a crazy booming sound that you'd have to hear to believe.

Asshat.

Then there was this little gal. She *almost* came home in my purse. Seriously, if I could have figured out a way to keep this cutiepie secret from Johnny, I'd would now be hiding her in my sock drawer and in my pillowcase.

I've kissed worse.

This little gal is having a hard time nursing and we ended up feeding her with a baby bottle. Evidently her mother is about as maternal as I am and keeps flinging her away when she tries to suckle. As Schell relayed this predicament to her Mother via phone, I tried to stifle my laughter when her Mother inquired if I had ever milked a goat. She must have heard my giggles because the next thing I heard was "No, Jen. It's not the same. It doesn't get bigger when you touch it".

BUUUUUUUURN! I was utterly mortified and totally impressed, simultaneously.

It was a lovely night. It was cool and crisp, but we were snug in the farmhouse and there's a certain peace to night time in the county. The sky is incredibly dark, not like in the city dark, but a deep blackness that is hard to describe unless you've stared up at it. Dusk is beautiful as well. I enjoyed every moment of this escape.

I'm home where I belong tonight but am well rested and happy to have had such a relaxing and joyous opportunity. From the bright lights of Vegas to the stillness of a country farm in just seven days. What a lucky girl I am.

Also, I will have to totally plug Emu oil at this point. It truly is a miracle worker. Schell and her Mother have introduced me to all products Emu.

I had no idea it was such a natural cure-all. It will treat Eczema, Psoriasis, burns, dry skin, fine lines and wrinkles, and even insect bites and Rosacea.

I use it under my eyes and on my cuticles. I've recently been using it on my feet as well and you can ask the other DB's, I have "hooves" really more than feet. I've been plagued by a lifetime of ashy, cracked and dry heels and let's not even get started on my toes. I've seen better looking feet on a 90 year old man. In a casket.

Well, I'm pleased to announce that thanks to Emu oil, my precious little ballerina feet have never looked better.

See for yourself!

BEFORE

AFTER

Told ya it works miracles.*

Thanks to Schell and her folks for a wonderful getaway. The fresh country air made my heart happy and my soul, as always, is a little shinier.

* if any of you would like to order any products from the farm please let me know and I'll be more than happy to get you ordering information!

Nothing unusual here. Nothing at all.

2012-01-26T09:02:00.000-06:00


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Budget

1,047

Food

1,096

Exercise

-309

Net

787

Under

260

Breakfast: 205

English Muffin, Whole Wheat

3/4 Each

100

Egg Substitute, Original

1/4 Cup

Salsa, Cilantro

8 Tablespoons

Melon, Cantaloupe, Fresh, Cubes

1/3 Cup

Coffee, w/ Cream, No Sug

9 Fluid ounces

Lunch: 353

Mixed Salad

1 Serving

200

Fish, Tuna, White, w/ Water, Drained, Can

2 1/4 Ounces

Seeds, Pumpkin & Squash, Whole, Rstd, Salted

1/4 Cup

Dinner: 405

Mixed Drink, Martini, f/ Rec

4 Fluid ounces

106

Mixed Drink, Martini, f/ Rec

4 Fluid ounces

106

Whiskey, 80 Proof

1 Fluid ounce

Whiskey, 80 Proof

1 Fluid ounce

Whiskey, 80 Proof

1 Fluid ounce

Snacks: 133

Mandarin Oranges, Clementine, Fresh

2 Each

Soybeans, Edamame, Ckd

1/4 Cup

Exercise: 309

Running

5 mph (12 min mile)
35 Min

309

Beer and Loafing in Las Vegas.

2012-01-26T07:59:00.000-06:00

Because I was on a super secret assignment last week, I was unable to keep you guys abreast of my plans and whereabouts. The jig is up now though so here's the skinny. You remember the DB's, I'm sure. Me, Jane, Stacy and Schell. Lifelong friends that have been thick as thieves for almost 22 years. You've read about our travels and the Red Shirt Diaries.

The Fabulous Palazzo Hotel

(I'm told this is where we stayed)

Well, we added another chapter to the book this past weekend with a surprise visit to Las Vegas to surprise dear Stacy on her 40th (about damn time) birthday. It was a whirlwind trip, to say the least. I was there a little bit shy of 48 hours. That's a long way to go for less than two days, folks, but it was worth every hangover and dark under eye circle.

We ate at Wolfgang Puck's fancy-ass steakhouse. We shared a room with two of our gay BFF's from Hollywood so you can imagine the hilarity there. GOD HELP ME. We hit the Strip. We danced at Tao. We gambled. Well, I tried anyway. We, and by we I mean me, may have passed out ( I prefer to call it a "disco nap") on Saturday afternoon and upon waking up at 8PM, thought it was 8 o'clock the next morning. Oops. Now I'm not going to blame this solely on the drugs and the midget we picked up, after all a 3 hour time difference is a big jump when you're talking Vegas nightlife. I was exhausted the entire time I was there and maybe drinking at breakfast wasn't a good idea. Maybe.

So, I've spent the last few days detoxing, catching up on sleep and "un-tagging" myself in waaaay too many Facebook photos. Bitches.

Let's be clear. I am, by no stretch of the imagination, an adult. And neither are my friends when we're together. Did I fail to mention that Ben and I *may* have gotten the giggles inside the Titanic exhibit? How's that for class? People love it when you get hysterical in a somber watery grave, let me tell ya. We are clearly bad people. Bad people that found the replication of the Titanic horn to be awfully close to a really loud obnoxious belch. And this, we would know.

But now I'm back to reality and back to my diet and exercise program and although I tried to kill myself in a scant two day time frame, think I'm ready to roll forward, engorged liver and all. Yay me! Also, to anyone that came within a 3 ft radius of me on any of my flights or in person, I apologize. I must have smelled like a smoky drunken Orangutan . At least that's how I looked.

Clearly, I need rules and constant supervision. Happy 40th Stace!

And so it begins.

2012-01-14T09:35:00.000-06:00

A few weeks ago we had some drama in the Corrupted household. Seems our 5th grader, Lily, had a little bout with a boisterous lad in the cafeteria.

Story has it that Lily and her friends were enjoying their lunch when this young imp approached their table.

"Do you guys like fishsticks"?, he inquired.
"Um...not really", Lily answered.
"No, they're gross", said her friend Lucy.

"I do"!, said her other friend Chloe, which gave the young Steve Martin the opportunity he was waiting for. Word has it he gleefully danced about their table pointing at his private area yelling something wildly impolite about his "fishstick".

Now, upon hearing this it was ALL I could do not to collapse into gales of laughter. The school informed us what had happened and Johnny was rather dismayed that this type of thing was "starting already". "Please", I said, "when I was in 5th grade Joey Fletcher asked me on the playground if I'd ever kissed a rabbit between the ears".

"What the hell does that even mean"? Johnny replied.

I quickly pulled out the pockets out of my jeans so that the white insides were exposed and pushed my lower half out and pointed to my fly.

"Oh, good grief", he laughed. "Exactly", I said. "Wake up. Penis humor has always started young".

Now, of course, The Fishstick Incident is two fold. The poor lad who thought it was his night at the Improv ended up with two days in-school suspension. Parents were called. Evidently they sweated him down and he gave up two of his other accomplices in the plan as well and their parents were called. It was quite the scandal. Of course I think this type of thing should be addressed. I don't want this kid growing up to be some sort of bully and threatening high school girls on bus benches or the like.

However, on my lowest level I do want to be able to appreciate a good (mostly harmless) penis joke. I don't want us to be so politically correct as to not see some humor in this juvenile silliness.

We've laughed (privately) about The Fishstick Incident quite a bit. We want Lily to know that she did the right thing by telling her teacher and that his behavior was very inappropriate. Funny as hell, but inappropriate.

The other morning I was half awake and thinking about the day to come. Johnny was stirring and I nudged him and reminded him that he had promised me breakfast the night before.

Johnny: *sleepily* I did?
Me: Yes. You did.
Johnny: Um. Okay. What do you want?
Me: I dunno...eggs? Toast?
Johnny: How about a fishstick?
Me: *growling* Um, no.
Johnny: No?
Me: No.
Johnny: It comes with a side of hush puppies!

See? It may start young, but it never really goes anywhere.

It's getting better all the time.

2012-01-07T21:31:00.001-06:00

So, as I posted below, this last week has been somewhat of a transition for me.
I'm on a health kick/lifestyle change (yawn...again) and it has kind of ~~sucked~~ been a challenge. I've been tracking calories, exercising daily and snacking on all things raw. No booze. No nightly sundaes as big as my head. No eating breakfast and then going back to bed. No sir.

Just when I thought that my week was going to end with my chewing off my left foot, I turned a corner. Friday finally rolled around and I felt...different. I felt more energized and well rested. My head felt clear and focused. My body had seemingly found it's groove.

Yesterday Johnny and I drove up to the mountains and took a little hike up to a waterfall. It was brisk but it felt great. It started to rain and while we may have wavered for a moment, we both decided to keep going and it was well worth it.
The mountain air was refreshing and although we were soaked and my hair looked like an old yarn mop, we both really enjoyed ourselves. We ended our day with a home cooked dinner, football and a cozy fire. I headed to bed early with my book. I joked with Johnny, "geez, we're like an old married couple"! He laughed and then reminded me that we are, in fact, an old married couple.

Today has been more of the same. Early morning coffee. A long walk with the dog. A crock pot full of homemade chicken tortilla soup. Another quiet evening as we gear up for the work week ahead. We both joked on Friday at how we were going to "rock" this weekend and you know what? In our own little way, we totally did.

I apologize for the sap, I really do. I imagine I'll go back to being the surly girlie you all know and ~~love~~ tolerate soon enough. For now though I'm enjoying the quiet comfort of simplicity. Good healthy food. Being outside. A warm bed, and most of all, a clear head.

HUNGRY LIKE THE WOLF

2012-01-05T20:54:00.003-06:00

Okay, so I'm on day 4 now of the new diet/lifestyle augmentation. It's going okay. And by okay I mean it's fine that I'm constantly .03 seconds away of punching everyone in the throat. I'm finally getting into a sleeping pattern, which is good. The first few nights I just tossed and turned. I didn't realize I relied so much on my nightly cocktails as sleep inducers. Bad girl. Anyway, that part has seemed to remedy itself and I'm eating all sorts of good healthy natural foods. I'm snacking on almonds and making smoothies. I'm hitting the treadmill every day and have checked into a new fitness group here in town. I'm committed. Thing is, I feel like I need to BE committed.

It's notsomuch a bad mood as it is moody. I have the desire to not really be around anyone. I don't really want to chat. I'll pause while you get back up. Seriously though, I'm sure it's some sort of depression or other douchey symptom of this dramatic revision but I just really want to be left alone. I want to read and sleep and walk my dog. I want to cook and flip through magazines. I want to listen to music. I am not my bubbly and exuberant self.

My emotions are running a little close to the surface and there's no better example of that then this morning when a fitted sheet almost reduced me to tears. Not kidding. There also *may* have been an incident with a Campbell's "Soup at Hand" cup that involved my calling it a motherfucker and throwing it across the kitchen because I couldn't remove its rubber cap in order to heat it up. Ironically, I had tried stabbing at the cap with a knife and unbeknownst to me, actually had indeed punctured through to the foil so when I spiked the cup into my cupboards, cold soup splattered everywhere.

What flavor you ask? Tomato, naturally. It looked like Rachel Ray had Norman Bates as a guest in my kitchen. Ugh.

I went through a period like this when I quit smoking. I know it won't last forever and I'll come out the other side a healthier happier person. If you change nothing, nothing will change, right?

On the upside of things all these vitamins and smoothies and whole grains are really helping out the Corrupted gal's colon. Turns out a daily diet of jalapenos and vodka aren't really the way to go. See, it truly is the simple things, isn't it?

Why is it when everything is irregular I suddenly become...regular? Figures.

Twenty Twelve

2011-12-31T17:40:00.001-06:00

So another year in the books. Johnny and I will be kickin' it at a rock show tonight with friends and ring in the new year in style. We're not usually New Year's folks but this year we're gonna pretend we are.

So, once again I'm going to attempt to become a better person and have a bunch of resolutions to prove it. I will satisfy with your curiosity with my rundown. Maybe it will help with my accountability.

In no particular order, here we go. Here's to 2012!

1. Lose 20 pounds. Here we go again, I know. I was 145 lbs when I got married and I'm 165 lbs now. It wouldn't even be so awful if it was evenly distributed but instead it is right around my middle. Like a life preserver. Only not as cute.
So, it's back to the treadmill, whole grains and stability ball. XBox Zumba, here we come. Salads step in and my "potato juice" takes a back seat. I'm going to make my belly my bitch this year. Enough already!

2. Be a better daughter, wife, friend and stepmom. I do "okay" on most of these fronts but I want to have more patience. More grace. Listen more. Judge less.
Much like Charlie Sheen, I never seem to run out of words. Dumb stupid words.

3. Read more. I've always loved to read and never seem to make it a priority.
I have a wish list that I've been dying to tackle and starting next week I'm going to read nightly before bed. I've joined a book club to boot. Can't wait to get started on my first read "The Family Fang" by Kevin Wilson.

4. Go to church occasionally. Don't get all judgey on me now. I have my personal opinions and gripes with religion but all in all I like the notion of taking some time out to say thanks and appreciate a little hope and practice a little faith.

5. Write a book. Not really even a good one but a book of some sort. I certainly have enough material. Watch me.

6. Learn a foreign language. Just kidding. Why would I do that?

I have a zillion more things I could add. Get outside more. Eat more fruit. Hug more folks. Gossip less. Hand write more cards and letters. All of it I wish to accomplish. We'll see how much I actually do. I think that living a more authentic and healthy life is an inspiring and lofty goal. I encourage you to do the same.

It won't be easy. But it will probably be funny. Thanks always for reading and remembering that I'm still here.

Cheers to 2012!

Mark has met his match.

2011-12-28T17:58:00.001-06:00

So, I totally forgot to tell y'all that I actually got a job! Well, sort of. It's still a temp job but it's a long term assignment lasting through March. It's nice to go to just one place every day and have a little consistency and structure.

Believe it or not, I'm working in a showroom for a home and hearth store. I have spent the last three weeks learning all things fireplace. BTU's, accent lighting and brick refractory, don't ya know. There's a big learning curve that comes along with this new assignment because up until now, having a fireplace in my house was the extent of my knowledge of fireplaces. Now I know all about gas logs, inserts and wood stoves. Sound boring? It's actually not. You know how much I love to prattle on and bullshit, now I'm getting paid to do so!

Folks wander in all day long and I try to educate them into making the best decision for their homes. I actually tagged along with a sales rep today to watch her measure for a unit. It would have been really interesting and educational if I hadn't developed a grisly case of explosive diarrhea minutes after walking in the customer's door. That's a story for another time.

Anyway, I work with a real honey badger of a guy who I've heard is no stranger to the HR department at the Corporate office. My boss is a real sweetheart of a guy and has expressed some trepidation with my working with this guy, Mark. Mark's got a foul mouth and doesn't seem to give much of a shit. This, as you can imagine, is so not a problem for me. However, my boss doesn't know that I have a honey badger streak running through my core as well. This guy Mark is my favorite co-worker. He's testing me and it's hilarious. I'll give you a little example of one of his shock value grenades.

A few days ago two ladies came in to look at some merchandise and it was obvious they were a couple. Not a problem, Mark and I assisted them and they ordered an fireplace for their home.

I was in my boss's office and Mark strolled in with his clipboard. Speaking to my boss but looking directly at me he says "So, I've scheduled the installation for the lickalotopus' job". My boss froze in horror. For those of you unawares this is the silly punch line from an old joke that starts with "what do you call a lesbian dinosaur? Of course I know this. There was dead silence in the office and I could tell my boss wasn't sure what his next move should be. Mark was sitting there with a big shit-eating grin on his face and I turned to him and said, "you do know those dinosaurs were vagitarians, right?"

My boss couldn't look up at either one of us, but Mark smacked his gum and offered me a surprised "nice one!" look and quick wink. I relieved my boss of any further awkwardness by walking out of his office giggling.

I know. I shouldn't encourage him. I'm a "lady". It's the workplace. Whatev.

As I was left work tonight my boss walked me out. It's my third week and I was thanking him again for the opportunity for it's a great leap of faith on their part and extensive training. "You're welcome", he said, "more I get to know you,
I think you're a perfect fit".

As I jumped off the loading dock, he threw in "or maybe you're Mark's sister".

2011-12-19T17:40:00.000-06:00

Whew. Y'all things have been nuts at the Corrupted household so again I apologize for my absence.

First of all, my Father in Law has been hospitalized and it's been a day to day situation. In a last ditch effort to save his life, his left leg was amputated last week. He's stable, but we are just taking it one day at a time. Secondly, I got rear-ended (and not in a good way) a week and a half ago so I've been dealing with all of that nonsense. Body shops, insurance companies and oh, this.

PT Cruiser - Ghetto Version

This is what the car rental place gave me. Seriously? Talk about looking like you're a total douche, driving this thing removes all doubt. I hate it and I tell myself that people inherently know it's a rental and no one is judging me, because seriously? WHO WOULD DRIVE THIS ON PURPOSE?

Last week we had to attend the "Gingerbread" program at the elementary school as our youngest was participating. I'm notsogood at these things. I find them incredibly painful. Mostly it's because the only thing I like less than children are their parents. As soon as the program started everyone's arms raised and there were iPhones and recorders everywhere. Really? You people actually want to live through this again? Because it was all I could do to not slam my forehead into the cinderblock walls that were holding me up. Clearly I am a drunken hillbilly with a heart full of hate.

In other news, the other day Ella (age 6) was coughing her head off so I instructed her to grab some cough syrup from the bathroom and bring it to me to administer. She came back befuddled as we have quite a selection. I glanced up from my magazine and said " honey, the one with the shot glass on top".

She immediately brought me the correct syrup. The one with the MEASURING CUP on top. Jesus. Stepmom of the year, here!

I have so much more to tell you but it will simply have to be another post. Let me leave you with this ridiculous thought.

I'm not sure what terrifies me more, Tilda Swinton or the McRib sandwich. I'm oddly fixated with both these days but know that I don't want either one near my mouth.

Peace out.

Stars and stripes forever. Not kidding.

2011-12-01T16:53:00.001-06:00

As The Doors song says, "people are strange". Usually I find them delightfully so.
Sometimes I find them infuriatingly so. This last week a few crossed my path so I'll share.

We had a problem with our bathroom sink that seemed a bit over Johnny's head so I called a plumber. He was a big hulking man with a genuine smile and a firm handshake. I liked him immediately. We got to know quite a bit about each other as he spent about 3 hours fixing said sink. He was a talker and y'all know what a chatterbox I am. We were discussing raising children and how today's world seems infinitely more complicated than when we were being brought up. Cell phones, Facebook and "Glee", oh my!

He mentioned that he was raising his three children with traditional values and I shook my head in approval.

Me: I think that's great - not enough parents are doing that!
Plumber: I know. We say the Pledge of Allegiance every single morning.
Me: *bemused* Oh, like before breakfast or something?
Plumber: When we are standing at the flag pole.
Me: *blink*
Plumber: When I get them up every morning we go outside and raise our flag in our front yard. Then we say the Pledge. Every night we go out and lower the flag and fold it accordingly and bring it back in the house.

Me: You must be a total gas on the fourth of July.

Because seriously? I appreciate his level of patriotism, but what got me tickled is the thought of 3 sleepy children being drug out of bed to stand in a wet dewy yard every morning. Can you imagine when they're teenagers? Because nothing is cooler than standing out in your front yard before school saying the Pledge of Alliegience around the family flag pole. GOOD TIMES.

Then again, maybe they'll grow up like those creepy Walton kids and race each other out the door in all-American delight to see who can hoist it first. I'm not sure which is worse.

Tune in tomorrow for more strange strangers!

Bring a chair for Rigor Mortis to set in!

2011-11-24T17:50:00.001-06:00

This past week one of Johnny's closest friends lost his Father. Johnny was good friends with him and it was hard to see him go. Having said that, I was somewhat delighted at the opportunities that this presented.

I've mentioned before that I have a teensy obsession with death and the subsequent ceremonies. Don't get me wrong, I'm never happy that someone has died, but I'm keenly fascinated with the aftermath. How they became dead isn't of interest, but everything after that completely captivates me.

Johnny came home on Monday evening and moped into the kitchen. "You ready to go to the visitation"?, he asked.

Now here's where I should have bridled my enthusiasm.

"Are you kidding?", I chirped, "I've been looking forward to this all day"!
Before I could help myself I eagerly grabbed Johnny's arm. "Oh, honey, I hope it's open casket"!

Oops.

It was indeed open casket and I found myself fighting back the urge to just reach out and touch the deceased. Nothing too outrageous, just like a stroke of his finger or something. C'mon, I wasn't going to reach out and beep his nose, for the love of God. I was able to contain myself, thankfully. But I couldn't stop staring. I'd give anything to sit in on the embalming procedure.

How I love a funeral home. The hushed and revered silence when you walk in. The peach carpet coupled with the kiwi davenport. The artificial flowers. The caretakers and funeral directors themselves. They are usually older gentlemen and have almost a mafia-like presence. They are deaths ushers, and a unique society. They comfort and console. They give the deceased respect and dignity while their mortal remains get to their final destination. I adore the entire procession. There's just something lovely about the ritual of death.

I'll be the first to admit that I almost didn't make it back to my house when I picked up my Dad's cremated remains. I remember being taken aback at just how heavy the box was. I think "ashes" are misleading. It's more like a box filled with clumpy sand and bone parts. I was surprised at this. There was really nothing macabre or gory about it. Slightly disappointing.

The above video is a wee bit inaccurate, but still hilarious so we'll go with it.

My Dad was the Sexton of our hometown cemetery and often I would tag along with him to work. I suppose that's where my love of the dead began. There was just something about the peace of the cemetery and the artistry of the headstones. I used to ride my bike throughout the cemetery and often look for names I recognized. My parents drove a big black hearse dubbed "Lucy" around that time. They also owned an antique store and it was even roomier than your standard station wagon for transporting vintage finds. My little brother and I loved rolling around in the back in the 1970's - no seatbelt laws! I've often wondered if I missed my calling and should have pursued a career in Funeral Services. I think it's mainly a male dominated field but I feel like I'd have been good at it.

Then again, I can just picture it.

Widow: Well, he looks good.
Me: No kidding! What with him being dead and all.
Widow: *blink*
Me: Don't get me started on the "stiff" jokes!

Maybe I should just stick with riding my bike through cemeteries.

So, so wrong.

2011-11-23T16:48:00.000-06:00

Well, there goes sleep for the rest of my life. Seriously. This is wrong on so many levels that I may never rest peacefully again. I'm no fan of fish in general and/or any TYPE of sea life but this is taking it too damn far. The thing is, you've got the ENTIRE ocean, you slippery fuck. Why in God's name would you decide to slither out of your natural habitat and get land-bound? You don't even have any bones, you stupid overachiever. WHY ARE YOU "WALKING"?!?

See, I thought we had an agreement, I'll stay out of the ocean and you stay IN IT.
Like an octopus isn't creepy enough this is just a blasphemous slap in the face.

I feel like I'm going to throw up.

It's a good thing I wasn't around when this was filmed because seriously? I would've grabbed a tennis racket or a shovel or a crow bar and you'd be sushi by now. KNOCK IT OFF, octopus. Knock it the hell off.

I'm watching your slimy ass, you abomination.

Girl, Corrupted.

Three Years

2011-11-22T14:01:00.000-06:00

Last week Johnny's job required him to travel to the great city of Atlanta and subsequently, spend the night. He's not a big fan of Atlanta traffic or having to go to company-related dinner activities, so I was kind of bummed out for him. However, duty called so we pressed khakis and packed up a duffel bag. The next morning he departed and I reported to my current temp job. It was mid-morning when it hit me.   Holy shit, I'll have the house to myself tonight.

Folks, as much as I love my dear sweet husband, I was positively giddy with this realization.   The possibilities were zinging through my head at warp speed. Where to start? I'll do my nails...at the coffee table. I'll eat pita chips and edamame for dinner! I'll watch Sex in the City on my computer while simultaenously watching "Under the Tuscan Sun" on the flatscreen. I will spend the night in Johnny's sleep pants and my fleeciest frumpiest sweatshirt. I will make a dirty martini and listen to Sigur Ros and Kelly Clarkson at a volume that is ridiculous.   And? The ultimate forbidden treat? I will let my sweet stinky dog sleep in the bed with me! Pure Heaven, I tell you.

Of course I would prefer to have Johnny home with me but you folks that cohabitate know what I speak of.   You rarely get an entire night to yourself to treasure and do whatever you like. There's dinner and laundry and the news and grocery lists and the mail, etc. Getting a night to yourself is a guilty pleasure. In my single days it wasn't a concern as it was just life, but nowadays a night alone is as rare and uncommon as a sober Charlie Sheen.

After work I came home and put on my cozy attire. Now, I'll be honest. This part of my routine is commonplace. Johnny often laughs when I jump off the couch donning sweatpants to go put on something more comfy, ie: pajamas. "Aren't you wearing pajamas right now"?   Um. no. These are yoga pants. Duh. I don't know how people come home and stay in "real" clothes. I cannot do it. When in my home I see no reason for shoes. Or say, a bra.

The next order of business was a cocktail.   Okay, that's notsomuch unusual either. I surveyed the situation and flipped on the tv. After a cursory glance I quickly realized there was really nothing on. I plopped down at my laptop and did some Facebook stalking for a spell. Yawn. Time for another drink.   Okay, maybe some music will get this party started. I grabbed my iPod and put it on the docking station set to my awesome "girlz rule" playlist. Funny, I never noticed before how whiny Brand Carlisle can sound. Adele sounds preachy. I cannot listen to anymore Gaga as I have over-saturated myself in her fabulousness. Strike two.

I know!  I will phone my gay BFF in Hollywood and we'll dish! Strike three. Voicemail. He's out being fabulous, it appears. Well, I guess I'll have another drink.

As I was again flipping through channels I saw a hilarious Cottonelle commerical. I've posted before on my affinity for this toilet paper. I laughed out loud and thought that's hysterical! You know who would find that hysterical? Johnny! Oh, that's right. Not here. I decided to make a snack. After a glance into the freezer and panty I came to the sad realization that I had neither pita chips nor edamame. What I had was some stale bread, some leftover tandoori and a string cheese.   Total dinner fail. This evening blows.

My evening ended with my drunk ass sitting on the couch shoving a sackful of Krystals* coupled with chili cheese fries into my gullet while sullenly watching the first "Twilight" movie. Kind of like my single life, really. Now, don't get me wrong, three years ago this would have been a perfectly delightful night for me. Booze, bad tv and even worse food. A trifecta! Now, however, my house is just a house when Johnny's not home. See? It's a home when he's in it.

Ya'll know how non-romantic I am but you can see what I'm going for here.
I wasn't lonely before Johnny came into my life. It was when he came into my life that I realized the difference. It's like the difference between black and white and color television. Everything seems brighter when he's around. I miss him when he's not. A night to myself just wasn't the treat I thought it would be. Although, I'll admit, I totally love spooning that stinky dog.

This was seriously our wedding dinner table. I obviously had nothing to do with it, notice the absence of plastic and tv trays. It was so lovely. Thanks Granny Sharon!

Happy anniversary, Johnny. Three years ago you gave me a home and a family and I love you more now then I did then. I'm sorry I let the dog use your pillow.

* In the interest of full disclosure I admitted that but in no way do I endorse or recommend eating Krystal's, but if you are hitting the sauce and getting a bit peckish those little square sliders are Heaven on a bun. I can eat five in less then 6 minutes. I'm totally bringing sexy back.

Martinipants

2011-11-09T19:25:00.001-06:00

I *attempted* to join a book club tonight so for you booky bitches that I drunkenly gave my blog name to, welcome to Girl, Corrupted. I assume I'll never see you lovely ladies again. How is it I forget that this blog details things like anal bleaching and my poop habits when I meet new people?

Long story short. I move here. I have old friends. My old friends know a very cool very pretty chick that lives here. We finally meet. She introduces me to her book club. Her book club kicks her out. The End.

Okay, they haven't kicked her out yet but I bet they're still at the restaurant discussing it.

In all seriousness I was privileged to meet a really cool group of women tonight. Smart, savvy and successful. Very pretty and well accessorized. Remember that game from Sesame Street? That game where one of these things is not like the other? That was me. The Other.

Totally the fat turd in the punchbowl, me.

In my infinite wisdom I decided to limit myself to three martinis, lest I start "being myself". I think I did alright. I didn't drop an F-bomb, I actually read the book and besides making my napkin into a sort of origami penis, I think I pretty much behaved.

This IS my best self, folks. You know I have no filter. I left out my usual conversation starters like how do you best itch your crack in public and general opinions on buttsex. Winning!

Johnny may have a different opinion though. I know he thought I was kidding about the napkin penis. He could tell by my triumphant face that I was not. He just kind of shrugged and placed his hand on my shoulder. "You're making some serious progress, honey".

Well, then. Maybe there's a reason my last book club met in a maximum security prison. Ahem.

Gore and More!

2011-11-02T19:33:00.003-05:00

I have always loved Halloween. Back in my Hollywood days we'd go all out and hit West Hollywood where it's practically a Gay National Holiday. Costumes, parades, and bars packed with costumed folks tripping the light fandango. I adore all the gross disturbing and theatrical fun things that go along with Halloween. Gross food. Horror movies. Fake tombstones and huge cottony cobwebs.

Johnny doesn't get it. Halloween is for kids, says he. Wrong.

Me: How can you not love Halloween?
Johnny: Because I'm an adult.
Me: C'mon. You get to put on a silly outfit and run around and eat candy and pull pranks on folks and act like you're ten years old!
Johnny: You mean like you do...every night?

I'm not sure I know what he means. Bygones! Anyway, this year I kicked off the holiday season in style with a run for charity....with zombies! Me and my two faithful undead companions ran around Nashville zombie-fied chasing actual real runners and all in the good name of charity. I was delighted to see how many folks really took the cause to heart. Check out this guy.

The super cool thing was that the teeth on the outside of his face moved when he spoke. Creepy? Very. Awesome? MUCH.

And this guy. To his credit he never spoke to me when I approached him for a picture. Staying in character he just grunted and groaned. Excellent.

After a delightful afternoon of chasing the living I attended a Halloween party hosted by some of my dearest pals. Thanks to some dude dressed like a coach I ended up doing jager shots and found myself dancing with Gloria Gaynor, because he had it written on a clipboard and it was his "game plan". All in a day's work, folks.

The next day led to more Halloween shenanigans. We went trick or treating with the girls and saw some fantastic costumes. This mini-Michael Myers did not appear to give a shit, so of course I totally loved him. Seriously, the kid was as delightfully blank and nonplussed by the whole thing as the real Michael Myers.

I don't need no stinkin' candy bag.

I made appetizers for the gang. Gross dirty band-aids, anyone? AWESOMENESS.

All in all it was a great holiday. Johnny said he might even be on board next year for some good natured Halloween inspired festivities. I think he may have turned a corner this year when he saw how much fun everyone else was having.

So, BOO TO YOU, Girl, Corrupted readers! Happy Halloween!

2011-10-28T20:03:00.001-05:00

Night night, sleep tight.

Don't let the bed bugs bite!

Yet again I am so behind. Behind. That reminds me. A few weeks ago the DB's reunited once again. We chose Atlanta this time for convenience purposes which ultimately ended up not really being convenient at all. Schell (the adventurous DB) has recently moved back to fabulous Atlanta and we all agreed that 1. Atlanta is a kick-ass city to visit and 2. Now we have free board. What we did not count on was Schell actually moving apartments four days before our visit and subsequently not having gas. Gas is no big deal as it was warm enough but four women without access to hot showers is another deal altogether. So that led to our staying at the fabulous Westin on the Perimeter. Well, I say it was fabulous but there were jizz* stains on the throw pillows in the lounge and we had a wonky shower that required a very old repairman to visit our suite at a very early** morning hour.

Now they did have a helluva a good breakfast, I'll say that. Also, one of the highlights of the trip was Jane getting a verbal smackdown from a lippy waitress. Jane and I were at the table the final morning helping ourselves to the wonderful breakfast buffet and when our server came over to get our drink order I suggested to Jane that she went ahead and ordered hot chocolate for Stacy, as that's what she always gets and we were in a hurry to make our flights. (run on sentence warning!) I overheard Jane ask the waitress if they indeed had hot chocolate and therefore I thought it was a done deal. Notsomuch. The waitress came over with our coffees and juices on a lovely silver tray.

Waitress: Here are your drinks, ladies.
Me: Thank you!
Waitress: You're very welcome.
Me: *noticing that Stacy's hot chocolate is missing* Jane, I thought you ordered hot chocolate?
Jane: I DID.
Waitress: No ma'am, you did NOT. You asked me if we HAVE it. You did not, in fact, order it.
And with that, she spun on her skid-resistant shoe and left the table.
Jane: *blink*
Me: Wow. That waitress totally made you her bitch.
Jane: Well, I obviously didn't know I had to be so goddamn specific.
Me: *collapsing under table in gales of early morning uncontrollable laughter*

Delightful! We had an awesome trip and more than three times a day we laughed
until 1. we cried, 2. snot came out of our nose and 3. we pooped a little in our pants.***
The beauty of our friendship is that even though we are technically grown adult women, we tend to regress into 14 year old giggly pre-pubescent teenagers within minutes of seeing each other. Seriously, between the "that's what she saids" and the double entendres and my showing my butt, it seemingly never ends.

Now we start out with the best intentions, truly, but often the conversation veers off course.
A classic example.

Schell: So, what do you guys think about these "Occupy Wall Street" demonstrations?
Jane:I think it's a good thing. They're bringing together people of all sorts of political position.
Stacy: I think all positions in politics are occupied with assholes.
Me: You know what's new in assholes? Anal bleaching!****

And so it went.

Over the last twenty (!) years I have infamously bent over with my pants pulled to just below my butt and then pretended to "look" for something while simultaneously asking the girls if they've seen said item, with of course my back and bare butt turned towards them.
For instance, I'll be in the hotel room with all three of them and pretend to bend over and look in my purse for my lipstick. I'll keep muttering to myself about where could it be, what did I do with it, etc until one of them looks over and WHAM! bare ass! It gets them EVERY TIME. You'd think they'd be onto me by now but it's hilarious each and every time. Then I get a barage of "OH JEN" or "GROW UP!" "GROSS!" or whatever. It doesn't stop me.

Anyway, I was bent over the tv "looking" for the remote last weekend when Jane finally piped up (after the initial bare ass assault) and said, "Damn Jen...you have the longest crack". I told her that I respectfully disagree, that when bent over your crack naturally elongates. This led to two GROWN ASS WOMEN (with a bottle of Chardonnay in their bellies) racing into the hotel bathroom and backing up to the mirror (over the sink) on their tippy toes in order to have other two (somewhat mortified) friends indeed measure their respective cracks.

Sadly, this is a typical scene from one of our vacations. I may grow old folks, but I totally refuse to grow up. Luckily, I'm in very good company.

* okay, they probably weren't jizz stains but still I like saying "jizz". But really? Cloudy white stains on a bar pillow? Ew. I don't care if it's creme de Menthe, it might as well be the cream of some young guy.

** it wasn't that early really but with four women one has to start showering at 6:00am and then in alternative half hour increments with thoughts and planning into hair drying, make-up applying and shit-taking.

*** It was totally me that *may* have pooped a little in my pants. You're not surprised.

**** I was duly informed (by Jane) that anal bleaching is not only NOT new it's quite old hat in the porn star world. How embarrassed am I?

Just Desserts

2011-10-23T08:26:00.001-05:00

Last week I had a temp assignment at a local hotel. They are traveling seminars, basically. I assist the speaker at the site. I do quite a lot of these and really enjoy them because 1. they're easy and 2. folks are friendly and 3. I usually get a free lunch. Naturally when I heard this was my next assignment, I was stoked.

I arrived at 6:45am to help the speaker assemble the greeting table. This is basically placing out manuals and teaching tools and getting their sign in-out register ready etc. It is also my job to make sure that the hotel has breakfast set up in the meeting room, etc.

My speaker is Dr. Greenberg and I spot him coming towards me in a speedy fashion. He's wearing a button-down and tie and black jeans. His hair is grey and his brows furrowed. From a distance I can tell he's flummoxed.

I extend my hand to introduce myself and he flies right past it, and me. Great.

He spins on his heel and turns around, glaring at me. "Where are my books?", he demands. "Um...good morning, I'm Jenny", I stammer.

"Yes. Yes, Jenny. Where are my books? They were supposed to be delivered to this hotel yesterday". "They are no where to be found"!

Since I had just arrived, I wasn't exactly sure what he was talking about. Turns out, the good Doctor had shipped his own personal books (for sale) to the hotel and the hotel up to this point, had not been able to locate them.

Doc sent me up to the front desk to raise hell with the clerks up there. After around 30 minutes of my trying to locate said books upstairs, the elevator opens and here comes the good Doctor. By now his brow is so furrowed that his Karl Malden-looking eyebrows have actually become one.

"STILL ...nothing"!?!?, he bellows at me at the rest of the early morning staff.
The hotel manager tries to calmly explain that she is doing her very best to locate this package but again, she's as befuddled as he is to it's whereabouts. This is where the good Doctor makes an absolute scene. He rants and raves and demands a complimentary breakfast (due to his obvious pain and suffering) and then proceeds to pretty much tell us all that we're a bunch of drool-covered mouth breathing idiots and he should have expected as much dealing with so called "professionals" in the South.

I had decided about an hour prior to all of this that I'm not paid enough to give a shit so I don't take this tirade personally. I do however feel somewhat embarrassed for the hotel manager and her staff. I feel somewhat better when she slips me a wink after he storms off. She obviously deals with this kind of thing quite frequently.

Later that afternoon the hotel manager locates me outside of the ballroom. She's carrying a package. His package. Her face reflects controlled delight. She gives me the package and explains the circumstances. I can barely control myself.

I find the good Doctor on break and approach him with package extended.
"Well, it's ABOUT TIME", he booms, making sure his students hear our exchange. "Where in God's name was it"!?

"The freezer", I reply. He cocks his head and gives me a puzzled look. "Apparently when you packed these books up at your last engagement you forgot to cross out the "KEEP FROZEN - Coconut Creme Pies" stamp on all FOUR sides of the box. The hotel has had this in the freezer since yesterday's delivery."
"
He just stood there, mouth agape.

I handed him the icy cold box. Better open 'em up and thaw 'em out!", I said, giggling just enough that he could hear it.

I only make around $10 an hour for these gigs. His teeth-gritting silence? Priceless.

First "Twilight", now this. I'm officially going backwards.

2011-10-09T18:26:00.002-05:00

In life, there are certain things that you never want to admit. Embarrassing behavior, silly habits or bad decisions perhaps. I've been desperately wrestling with something. Something that I don't want to admit. Something that has shaken me to my core and made me ultimately question my own sanity.

It's embarrassing and wrong. Yet I am powerless to resist its intrigue and appeal.

It's........

Lady Gaga.

I know, I know. There ought to be some sort of support group for this affliction.
Let's make one thing clear; I never wanted to like her. I adamantly resisted.
I have been somewhat outspoken in my detest for her "look at me" persona.

Yet here I sit humbly before you as her newest fan. It took awhile, but she wore me down. Here are the irrefutable facts.

1. She can sing.
2. She actually plays real instruments.
3. She actually writes her own music.
4. She can really dance.

Say what you want about her costumes and get-ups and whatnot but let's not forget that Alice Cooper, Ozzy, KISS and Marilyn Manson all did the exact same damn thing.

5. In every interview I've seen and/or read, she seems like she's a nice gal who's very down to Earth. She's not a conventional beauty. She's smart, business savvy and unique. She was born this way, y'all.

I find myself busting out the "RAWR RAWR rawr rawr rawr!" at the weirdest times. I'm belting out "You and I" in my car and I cannot sing. I'm picturing myself accepting a gold medal for ice skating every time I hear "Edge of Glory". I'm in deep, friends.

I can hear you guys deleting Girl, Corrupted out of your bookmarks right now.
I can't say that I don't blame you but remember, part of the healing and rehabilitative process is admitting that indeed you have a problem. I've done that.

Please forgive me. I need your help. Well, in a few minutes. Right after I buy every single Lady Gaga song off of iTunes. I've got a one-way ticket on to Lady Gaga's bandwagon.

More tales from The Temp

2011-10-05T20:04:00.002-05:00

YOU'RE SO VAIN,
YOU PROBABLY THINK THIS POST IS ABOUT YOU

So today I've been brought in as a temp to help out in a busy medical office. A real Doctor's office, not like the quack from below. This office is the hub for all the ancillary clinics. It is one busy-ass place. My one rub with this assignment is that out of 200 actual employees here on site, about half of them ask that you "announce" their calls. Really? You're that important? So, I have a list in front of me listing all employees. If their name is in bold, their calls are to be announced. So. Annoying.

Here's how it goes;

1. Answer phone.

2. Look to see if name is regular or bold. If bold, ask caller's name and office.

3. Buzz said pretentious employee and announce who is on the line.

4. Pretentious employee then 1. takes the call, or 2. (my personal fave) Tells me to put them in their voicemail. This means I have to go back to the caller and give them some bullshit about his/her not being available or in a meeting and can I offer them their voicemail?

Oh, good one. I bet they totally bought that.

MIND YOU, calls will automatically go into voicemail after three rings. So. My suggestion to these holier than thou's is that let's say I just put the call through (horror!) then if you see the number and don't know the number or don't want to speak to the caller then let it go to voicemail DIRECTLY. Why do I have to play tag between you and whoever the F it is you don't want to speak to? This is totally counter productive anyway as the other lines are usually ringing off the hook when I'm going back and forth between the hotshot employee and the unwashed masses.

HIGH SCHOOL ALL OVER AGAIN

So on my lunch break today I mosey back to the kitchen with my new Rolling Stone magazine and phone in tow. I sat both down on one table (out of eight) in the entirely empty kitchen and went to warm up my matir paneer in the microwave when a group of ladies arrived. As they were bustling around the kitchen and preparing their lunches, one lady addressed me. She was standing at my table with her lunch looking down at my things as if someone had taken a dump on the table.

"Are these yours"?, she asked, her face pinched. Seeing as how I was the only one in the kitchen prior to their arrival I found this to be kind of dumb. "Why yes", I replied. "Well, I'm sorry sweetheart but this is our table". I slowly looked around the kitchen at the seven other empty tables. She continued, "This is just where we sit. It's a habit".

Suddenly I'm Ally Sheedy. Mind you, by this time they are all circled around the table holding their lunches and staring blankly at my stuff. I dramatically stomped over to the table in my clicky work heels and scooped up the offending items with a huff and some extremely obvious eye-rolling. I loudly placed them on the next table over and giggled at the absurdity of it all. Seriously, this is how four middle aged women decided to act to a complete stranger? I'm sure my heart was blessed the minute I walked out of the lunchroom.

Whatever. Tomorrow I'm gone and they still work in this silly place.

Insert smug look here.

The Doctor is indeed out. Of his mind.

2011-10-03T14:56:00.000-05:00

So, last week I was sent to a "doctors" office on a temporary assignment. I was there to answer the phones as the chain-smoking gal that currently holds that position was out with chest pains.

As I arrived I couldn't help but notice that this wasn't a typical doctor's office. Not like one I've ever visited, anyway. First of all, it was kind of dirty, but in an odd way. The carpet was stained and the decor was like someone went to a clearance sale at Kirkland's. Thirty years ago. Baskets with dusty fake flowers. Faded wall "art" of clowns and kittens. A candy dish filled with hard candy circa 1977. The doc himself seemed awfully old but was pleasant enough and showed me where I'd be sitting. As I settled in I felt like I was going back in time. There was an old school matrix printer. A beat up fax machine. A shiny "gold" clock that stopped at 10:30.

Finally he motioned for me to join him in the therapy room. He nonchalantly showed me the equipment I'd be working with that day. He showed me how to attach the patches to the patients and how to increase the "juice" until they say when. He showed me how to turn on the therapy table and adjust the rollers. I just stood there, mouth agape. First off, we all know that I'm an drool covered mouth breathing idiot and have no medical training whatsoever unless you count the fact that I can quickly deduce the amount of sleeping pills one can take with the amount of vodka one's ingested and still wake up.

Secondly, would you want A TEMP with around 7 minutes of training putting electrode patches anywhere on your body and then upping the "juice"? That's what I thought. Me either. I'm starting to have chest pains.

And lastly, this is not the type of clinic where you'd really want to touch anything, let alone anyone. His ~~oxycontin addicts~~ clientele was a little on the rough side, you might say. And by "rough" I mean, "would gladly amputate a limb for a prescription". Nope. Not kidding. One of the gentlemen that came in seriously resembled a wild animal. His long hair was dyed Wynonna red but it was really thin and you could kind of see through it. His eyes were wild and darty and his teeth (what few he had) looked to be grey and pointy. I called him "sir" about thirteen times as I threw a pen out the reception window for him to fill out some paperwork. No way was wolf-boy sticking his snout or claws over the counter towards me.

There was also no way I was getting in a 3 foot radius of this guy, let alone hooking him up to any machine.

I sprinted back to the Doc's office and I blurted out something about having "lady problems" and ran to the bathroom down the hall. I also told him that there was something in the waiting room that appeared to be one of his patients.

I called my temp agency from inside one of the stalls in sheer revulsion and terror.

Temp Office: He has you doing what!?!
Me: *terrified whispering* I'm like his flunky assistant! He wants me to treat people! I think they're people, anyway. They're really gross. Get me out of here!
Temp Office: Okay, calm down.
Me: You wouldn't be so freakin' calm if you saw the dude that just came in! He looks stabby!
Temp Office: Stabby?
Me: Shut up! You are not paying me enough to touch people that are so dirty they actually look shiny!
Besides, I shouldn't be touching anybody! What kind of "doctors office" is this, anyway? Welcome to the "Drugs and Thugs" clinic? What if I accidentally kill someone?
Temp Office: Look, I'll call his corporate office and get this straightened out. Just hang tight.
Me: I hate you fuckers.
Temp Office: Noted. Have a great day!

I stayed in the bathroom for a ridiculous amount of time. I was pitted out and puckered up the rest of the afternoon. I had sweat stains under my arms and had a nervous tic whenever I heard the door open. Yet somehow I finished the day. At the stroke of 5:30pm I gathered up my belongings and raced back to his office to bid him adieu and get the hell out of that building. He was slumped over onto his chest and snoring loudly.

Well, hell. I leaned my head in and whispered "nighty-night, Doc" and went home where I immediately filled up my bathtub with twenty gallons of antibacterial hand sanitizer and soaked for three days.

I spend a lot of time trying not to scream.

2011-09-29T17:51:00.000-05:00

I cannot tell you how much these commercials irritate me. Irritate isn't quite accurate, really. These horrible spots fill me with the kind of inexplicable rage it would take to kick a kitten through a fan. Actually, let's say a puppy because I don't really care for cats so I'm more apt to kick one through a fan in the first place. I'd never kick a puppy through a fan. Well, maybe a poodle puppy because I hate poodles but I'm getting off track here.

The opposite of beating your meat.

Seriously, how incredibly disturbing. I can't believe these things are still on the air. Jesus.

On a lighter note I ended a temp assignment today just in the nick of time. I say the nick of time because I was seconds away today from gouging someone's eyes out with a mellonballer. Maybe even my own. My coworker that initially was amusing quickly turned annoying. At one point yesterday I was expecting Ashton Kutcher to jump into the lobby with a camera crew. I seriously thought I was being punk'd. Oh but no.

Loud obnoxious yawning. ALL AFTERNOON. Repeatedly remarking about how tired she is. Over and over and over. And then again. Smacking her lips and licking her fingers while eating all day long. Popcorn. Corn-nuts. Cheetos. Sucking on cut lemons from a styrofoam cup. Really. My give a shit broke yesterday and I couldn't really be bothered to listen to her or do as she asks. The job itself was irritating enough but I think I just had a little bit of enough of the whole debacle.

Me: *streaming the Emmy's*

Her: You shouldn't be doing that.

Me: Why?

Her: Because we have policies here about the internet.

Me: It's the Emmy's, not porn.

Her: Don't matter.

Me: Don't care.

Me: *continued streaming Emmy's and increased volume*

Because seriously? If an alien came down here to Earth and followed me around for a day it would probably not even bother with abducting me because I am so lame. People weren't meant to sit in cubicles all day and stare at the world outside all the while taking phone call after phone call wishing their life away one minute at a time. I'm not lazy. I'm not afraid of hard work. I'm just not interested in this kind of work. Johnny and I have to figure something out and soon because really? This is how the story ends? We have this kick-ass love story/reunion story and it ends with both of us sitting behind shitty desks? No sir. I'm not buying it and I'm certainly not going to live it.

Bullshit Squared.

2011-09-14T20:29:00.001-05:00

Yammering. Still.

PETS OR FOOD, YOU DECIDE

So. This past weekend Johnny and I went to the county fair. Jesus help me.

Bad hair, missing teeth and horrible tattoos. Obviously, I loved it. There's just something wonderfully cheesy about a fair. The carnies, for one. I've wanted to make out with a carnie since "Two Moon Junction". I'll say, the real life carnies aren't nearly as sexy. And they smell like cheese. But not in a good way. I love the rides which are totally put together with duct tape and gum. By drunks. The ridiculous food, ie: fried cheesecake. Tacos in a bucket. Potato chips doused in liquid cheese and a dubious chili mixture. Awesome.

I took a picture of this trashcan because he looked like he wasn't completely cool with what you might be shoving into his pie hole.

Oooooh..wait a sec! Um, what whas tha cream fillin, dog? Dubious. Just sayin'.

As we were checking out the rabbit exhibit I noticed that many of the bunnies were for sale...and cheap. Like $5. Of course I wanted to buy every bunny in the place but Johnny was the voice of reason stating that the last thing we need in our home is something else that eats and shits. As we were walking out I noticed a bunch of signs/pamphlets hanging about the exhibit. As I looked closer I realized in slow horror that they were recipes. I kid you not. Rabbit recipes.

Look at that last one..."shake rabbit pieces". OH DEAR GOD.

Who in the hell is rolling up to the fair to buy rabbits to eat? Are they going to take them home and wring their furry little necks? Wait, don't answer that. I'm sure people do. Yig.

JUST STOP IT

Wanna know what's pissing me off these days? Of course you do.

People, if you're wearing these shoes you're a douche. Period. And you're advertising that exact fact.

There is a woman in our neighborhood who I see out and about and she's always wearing these damn things. I am always wearing cowboy boots. She's going to rue the day when I run into her in the wrong mood and proceed to stomp both of her feet to bloody bits with my boot heel. There is no reason to wear these "shoes" at all except that you want attention. So 'effing dumb. I realize in the greater scheme of things I should be all live and let live and why let something so silly bother me but I feel like someone should tell these people that those things aren't cool and neither are they. Oh, and I want to hobble them a la Kathy Bates in the movie Misery.

OFFICE SPACE

I am working a temp job right now that makes me wish for home by 9am. It's awful. Phones ringing and ringing and ringing. All at once and all day long. There is literally no downtime. It's a cubicle farm and people make my eyes bleed by asking me asking me to order more pens. And to fax things. And to coallate. I feel like my life is ending one minute at a time. I actually long for the foul mouthed truckers of my last assignment. At least they swear and aren't "politically correct", two words I abhor. I was reprimanded the other day when I was asked what I would like to order for lunch and I replied "whiskey". Seriously. They found that to be "unprofessional". Shoot me in the face.

My partner is a heavy set black woman who calls me "baby girl" all day long. That part I like. Suffice to say that something has to give. I need to win the lottery, write a best seller or go back to stripping.

On a final note. Who wouldn't want their child to cuddle this doll every night?

Michael Jackson with what looks like a serious camel toe.

Yig.

2011-09-06T17:00:00.000-05:00

Hey guys.

This corrupted girl has been way busy the last few weeks. I once again apologize for my lack of posting the inane drivel you've come to expect when you visit.

Here's things in a nutshell.

Working a 3 week temp job doing data entry. This in itself is enough to make me want to take my own life but it gets better. My partner is a 24 year old virgin. Preacher's kid. Prays at work kind of thing. Y'all know I love the baby Jesus, my gripe doesn't fall with her religious views, it falls into the I don't have shit to talk about with this person category.

She's never smoked a cigarette or tried booze. She's never ridden a motorcycle.
She's never skinny dipped. She's never said the F-word. Now, it's not that she's never done these things that irritates me, it's that she doesn't want to.

Clearly I'm a bad person. Each day I'm around her I want to get her blind drunk, make her snort a line of blow and take her to a donkey show in Tijuana. What's more, is I feel like I owe it to her. How's that for a screwed up sense of entitlement. Who am I, Denis Leary?

Moving on.

Speaking of Denis Leary, his phenomenal series, "Rescue Me" is coming to an end this Wednesday. If you read this blog than you know how much reverence and admiration I have for Denis Leary and this show. Firefighters are close to my heart and with the ten year anniversary of September 11th, I feel like it's a fitting tribute to a gripping, smart and somewhat painful run. Tommy Gavin is Irish, angry and has a severe drinking problem. How could I not love him? He's flawed beyond belief and his own worst enemy. Yeah, I don't know anyone like that.

An everyday typical brilliant scene. How I will miss this show.

Rest in peace, Truck 62.

One more fucking thing.

The other day I was at this Target that I hardly ever go to and as I was turning a corner I ran smack dab into this lady who was overweight and looked haggard. She had her hair slicked back in a ponytail but her dark roots were at least an inch long, maybe more. She looked tired. Her complexion was awful and her shirt was gaping between the buttons because it was too small.

At the exact same time I said "excuse me" the mortifying realization hit me. I had just run into a mirror. It was my OWN REFLECTION, folks. I look sallow and exhausted and overweight. Yet again.

So, this corrupted gal is about to embark on yet another attempt at healthy eating, steady exercise and limited booze intake. Some would call this a lifestyle. Me? I call it "hell on earth" but clearly, I have to do something.

And as usual, I'll bring y'all with me.

The Temp

2011-08-18T18:00:00.002-05:00

I've recently returned to working for a temp agency to help our bank account while I look for a permanent job. Johnny thinks I'm insane. My darling doesn't like change much, and I totally understand but there's something really liberating about being a temp.

I love bouncing from place to place. Getting a transient peep into the world of others. Meeting new people, using different skill sets, imagining someone's life by what is on their desk or in their workspace.

I arrive and exude confidence and aptitude. I assure them that the assignment will be completed accurately. I assuage their worries and let them know they're in good hands. I can handle whatever project they throw at me. A phone system with 66 separate lines? Bring it. A seminar at a downtown hotel? I'm your girl.
Drive to another city and collect money? Sure. Front desk at a busy television station? Love it. I love the variety in the assignments and in the people.

I also like the impunity that comes with being a temp. More often than not I'm under-used. The Temp doesn't need to know everything, she just needs to know enough to "make do" until so and so gets back from vacation or maternity leave or from being ill...whatever. If I screw something up, well hell, I'm just a temp!

Sometimes I'm assigned to a project and not filling in for anyone, just filling a need. That's cool too. Stuff envelopes? Where's my iPod? Copy files for a day? Why not?

The banality off it doesn't escape me, but more often than not I just enjoy meeting new people and walking into a completely unknown environment and knowing that I've got this. The beauty of being a 43 year old temp is the secure knowledge in that whatever they throw my way, I'll handle. Sometimes I can actually see the relief on their faces when I show up. It's as if to say "Oh, thank God. Someone that might actually possess common sense."

This past week I've been in the customer service department of a major truck stop location featured nationwide. In other words, I'm talking to pissed off truckers all day long. I had no idea so much was riding on 18 wheels. Every day I come home with an awesome new story. You should hear what I hear.

Actual quotes.

1. Why don't you carry the ranch flavored taquitos anymore? You know what?I'm going to come down there and beat your ass with a hammer.

2. I've got three things in life that I live for. My Lord, my wife and your coffee.

3. You sure got a sexy voice. How'd you get such a sexy voice? Smoking? Is that so? Well, if you get lung cancer it was worth it, you sound really good.

and the winner...(not for the easily offended)

You ain't gonna believe this. Some dirty sonofabitch has come down here and jerked off in one of your stalls and done left his baby batter all over the walls. Think I'm gonna put this on YouTube.

Finishing this assignment this week. Can't wait to see what's next.

RIP Jani Lane

2011-08-12T22:20:00.001-05:00

Back in the day my gals and I hung out at a dive bar called "FM Station"...located in the heart of the San Fernando Valley. Jani Lane and his boys were regulars there and they befriended my pal Jane. Jane and Jani were quite the duo back in the day and we often would joke about whose hair was bigger. Who could drink more. Who was going to end up playing tambourine for Kip Winger.

There were many shots of Jager involved. Just sayin'.

We'll miss you Jani. Well, Jane will. Godspeed you headbanger.

Like mother, like daughter.

2011-08-07T17:24:00.000-05:00

Me: So you're back from Michigan! How'd it go?
Mom: Alright. Granny is a little shaky on her feet but still full of it.
Me: Good to hear.

Mom: Susan was supposed to pick me up at the airport. I phoned her to tell her my flight was delayed and it was a good thing too, as she was in Chicago.
Me: What?
Mom: She forgot she was supposed to pick me up and booked a trip the same weekend.
Me: What'd you do?
Mom: Well, I called Rundi and she said she could pick me up.
Me: Oh, that's good. Why was your flight delayed?
Mom: They said that our plane was coming from Baltimore and that there was bad weather. I don't know if I buy that or not.

Me: So, what time did you finally board?
Mom: 10pm.
Me: 10pm?!? You were supposed to board at 5pm! You sat in the airport for 5 hours just waiting for your plane?
Mom: Yes, but they gave us a free cocktail when we boarded so that was good.

I apologize in advance.

2011-07-25T16:22:00.000-05:00

And I can't stop laughing.

Mulva!

2011-07-24T18:31:00.000-05:00

So Tuesday morning I have my annual gynological appointment. GOOD TIMES.
My Doctor's office sends me an online form to fill out every year so that they can address any "updates" in my health, etc.

I decided to have a little fun this year. Here's a random sampling.

4. Are you menopausal? Nope. Just bitchy by nature.

6. What is your preferred method of birth control? Birth control pills, birth control patch, cervial cap, condoms, diaphragm, etc? How 'bout a vasectomy? Can I get a hell yeah?

8. Have you ever been pregnant? Good God no. I've been good and drunk and sometimes for weeks at a time but I feel sure that I would've remembered giving birth.

10. Do you have any sexual problems you'd like to discuss? No offense, but I have girlfriends and vodka for that.

13. How many abnormal pap smears have you had? FYI, I would like to start an all female punk band called "Pap Smear". I'm guessing that's not helpful.

16. Have you ever been depressed or suicidal? Hospitilizations or surgeries? Not unless you cound the time I got drunk and tried to commit suicide by wrapping a dry cleaning bag around my head and wouldn't you know, I dorked that up too. Totally still alive.

20. Do you think you have a problem with drugs or alcohol? Um. No. Drugs and alcohol are really no problem. My problem is huffing paint and you don't have an option for this. This is troubling. I have an addiction without a check box. Great. It's bad enough as it is, going to work with that tell-tale ring around my mouth. Ugh.

The Woman's Care Clinic is totally going to love me. I just know it.

If I could be rendered speechless, this would have done it.

2011-07-03T18:44:00.008-05:00

Last night Johnny and me and 50,000 other friends descended upon Nashville to witness what proved to be a magical evening. We went to see U2 on the final leg of their 360 Tour. Look at that damn thing. The "Claw" is unlike anything you've ever seen. The stage design features a large four-legged steel structure that holds the speaker system and cylindrical video screen and hovers above the performance area. The stage is surrounded by a circular ramp, which connects to the stage by means of rotating bridges. It stands 164 feet in height.

It is, short of a better adjective, absolutely amazing. Say what you want about U2, they are the biggest band in the world and deservedly so, in my opinion. Their 30 year career has had its ups and downs but they are still one of the tightest, musically talented bands in existence. Can Bono be a majestic douche? Sure. My favorite quote of the night was "U2 is in town! I can see Bono's ego from my porch"! Hilarious. He's an easy target but all in all Bono is gifted, genuine, and has a big heart. Check out this video from last night. A blind fan asks to play with the band at the end of the show. Not only does Bono indulge, he lets this lucky fella keep the guitar. He makes no mention of the mans blindness, either.

We only found out later that he was visually impaired via the media.

What good sports. Larry gets back on the drums and they give this guy the night of his life. "You say... you'll give me... eyes in a world of blindness" is a line in the song. The gentleman wanted to play that song for his wife. I hope she was wearing waterproof mascara.

Another favorite moment - Commander Mark Kelly says hello and has a message for his wife, Congresswoman Gabby Giffords (shot in the head in January in an assasination attempt) while giving a nod to Bowie's "Space Oddity". I had tears streaming down my face. It indeed was a Beautiful Day.

Their set list was a fantastic hodgepodge and I never once sat down. We sang along, we danced, we hugged, we high-fived and for one night, we were all One.

On their second encore they launched in to "With or Without You" and Johnny reached over and grasped my hand. Is it possible to laugh and cry at the same time? You bet and I did.

All in all it was a spectacular show. They were humble. They were funny. They were engaging. More than that, they were absolutely incredible. It was hotter than hell and we were packed in elbow to asshole but the moment the first note emanated from The Claw, we were part of something bigger than just a concert.

Epic night.

Pinch me.

2011-06-30T14:54:00.001-05:00

So as you know I've been taking various temp assignments lately in hopes of landing a full time job. Today's assignment sent me to a local television station to fill in for the receptionist who has a back injury.

In five minutes I will be getting PAID to watch OPRAH.*

*I'm going to find out where this woman lives and push her down a flight of stairs.

Oh, c'mon. I kid!

I'm going to start drinking my dinner.

2011-06-29T17:49:00.009-05:00

So you guys have been with me on a few of my journeys like boot camp and long distance bike rides and a few diets. I think I'm starting on another one.

Last week I was working as a temp in a warehouse. On my lunch break I popped into a Subway, and got my usual: an oven roasted chicken breast sandwich on whole wheat with all the trimmings. On my second bite I saw something a little wonky in my sandwich. I'm trying to type right now despite my gag reflex. It looked to be a little tube. I attempted to pull it out but it ran the length of the "chicken breast". I nearly puked. It may sound ridiculously naive, but I seriously thought that my "oven roasted chicken breast" was actually a chicken breast. It's more like the "parts is parts" type of chicken. A big nugget made out of whatever they squeegee off of the floor. Okay, I made that last part up but it's probably close to the truth. It's no more a full breast of chicken than a Whopper is a burger from a singular cow.

Yig.

I recently watched the new documentary, "Forks over Knives".

It's funny that my viewing of this movie coincided with my chicken tube experience. I'm reconsidering once again, my daily diet. It's been two weeks and I've not ingested meat of any kind. It's not going very well. I'm hungry a lot and cranky to boot. I need to find a balance of whole grains, veggies and pasta.

Fast food now completely grosses me out. ALL OF IT. It's becoming inconvenient to be so self-righteous about my diet.

Remember Rocketman? He was a vegetarian and I thought I did pretty well to accomodate his culinary needs but going it alone and full-time if a bit of a different matter. I've done veggie burgers. Quorn products. Fruits and veggies and a lot of tofu. I have always liked tofu, I just need to find out how to cook it properly at home. It always ends up all soggy and shattered.

So, dear readers...any suggestions? I'm doing the soy milk thing. It's okay but I miss my 2% regular stuff. I'm eating trail mix and Indian food and have even tried a Burger King veggie burger. I'm just not in the groove, however. I need more tips, suggestions and recipes.

The vegetarian thing doesn't really spark from a PETA standpoint, it's more like a health issue. The chemicals, the hormones, the general grossness of it all has led to this attempt. Now let's be clear, I'm not interested in that Vegan craziness but I really do want to change my eating habits for the better. A plant based diet makes sense to me but I'm finding it more difficult that I thought.

Thank God vodka is vegetarian. Wish me luck on once again trying to reinvent myself.

Heckling and Panty Parties. Aren't you intrigued?!?

2011-06-23T17:32:00.000-05:00

So, I participated in the Tour de Cure recently. It's a bike ride with all proceeds benefitting the American Diabetes Foundation. It was hotter than the hinges of hell and I struggled with the last twenty miles. I had gone thirty-five miles but that was in the morning and as it crept past lunch the sun was blazing down mile after mile.

I came upon a large hill and started out quite optimistically. Half way up I realized I wasn't going to make it. I also discovered that 3.7 mph is the exact speed you can go uphill without actually falling over onto the road. My legs were aching and my breath labored. "Screw it, I'm walking", I yelled up to my cycling partner and proceeded to get off my bike.

Now y'all, let me make this crystal clear. I had trouble WALKING up this hill. My calves were sore and my hamstrings were tight. I had to stop a few times and refocus because the hill/mountain was winning the fight. Just when I thought I couldn't be any more miserable, a car approached descending the hill up ahead of me. It was an old Pontiac Grand Lemans. I know this only because I wrapped one around a telephone pole when I was in college.

As it slowed down I could see three rural "gentlemen" inside. God knows I'm a sucker for a shirtless man driving a filthy car. As they approached me I offered them a weak smile. The driver manually rolled down his window and blurted, "get your fat ass back on your bike"!

Ahem. You sweet-talker you! It's too bad I'm married because I'm guessing this dude is totally single. Anyway, the whole thing made me double over in laughter because 1. it was SO RUDE and 2. because my ass is NOT fat. Now, had he remarked about my muffin top that would have been way more accurate and somewhat insulting. Good grief.

Moving on.

So. You guys remember me joining the "meet-up groups" right? You know how they can post stuff online that's supposed to be cool and interesting and empowering, right?

Notsomuch.

Here was my "meetup" for today. It was seemed interesting at first because of the tag line. It read "panty party" and I thought...hmm...weird. It got worse.

Basically, each guest brings 3 pairs of cotton panties in any size. (Not the expensive Victoria's Secret type and please leave the price tag on them – I’ll explain later) I will deliver the panties to the center. They will provide them to victims after an assault.

My challenge to you is to find some of the wildest, craziest patterned panties you can. (They will certainly give an assault victim something to smile about, even if only for a moment.)

There will be a competition and a prize for the winner!

What? Seriously? Are you guys kidding? Let's say I've been assaulted and more than likely violently raped. Guys, the teddy bears on my new panties aren't going to make me turn a corner. I'm gonna need a "Silkwood" shower, a gallon of vodka, some Valium and probably around ten plus years of therapy. Whimsical panties? NOT SO FUCKING MUCH.

No assault victim is going to giggle/smile/chuckle/smirk after what she's been through at some stupid panties from the clinic, trust me. Jesus. Staggeringly inappropriate says I.

But then again, I could be wrong. Either way, I've decided to decline that "party".

What say you fellow readers?

We've finally got power back on after 3 days. I'll be blogging/bitching about that tomorrow. Stay tuned!

Not so smart huh, smart guy?

2011-06-20T20:40:00.000-05:00

So awesome.

You're welcome.

Glad he was my Dad.

2011-06-19T19:34:00.002-05:00

As most of you know, I lost my Father in the summer of 2007. I've written many posts about him, ad nauseum. So, today in honor of Father's Day we here at Girl, Corrupted are going to keep it light. He'd like that. Instead of blogging about his death, his life and both of their affects/effects on me, I'll just do a Letterman-esque Top Ten of things my Dad loved.

In no particular order.

1. Shit on a shingle. This, evidently, is something you eat. From what I gathered as a kid it was "chipped beef" microwaved and then poured over a waffle. I remember that it smelled like ass and my Dad absolutely loved it. If Mom worked late or he had his druthers, it was shit on a shingle for dinner. Vomit.

2. Patriotic music. My Dad was a Marine. He certainly loved our country but moreso he seemed to love really dramatic music. Patriotic ballads are a perfect blend of both. I cannot tell you how many school mornings I awoke to " from the halls of MONT-E-ZU-MA to the shores of TRIP-O-LI" as loud as he could sing it. Fortunately, that was the only verse he knew.

3. Whiskey. Bourbon. Beer. My Father was a hard drinkin' man but I have very few memories of him ever being drunk. He enjoyed nightly cocktails and drank a good 6-pack during the day whilst working outside or building anything. I wasn't sheltered from this but yet it wasn't lauded, either. It was just life. A cold beer in the summer and a shot of Lord Calvert in the winter. As he got sicker in his old age we enjoyed our cocktails more. In number and frequency. I think they made us both feel better.

4. Practical Jokes. My Dad has been called a majestic asshole. It's a fitting title, not a badge of dishonor. He loved a good joke and moreover, a good practical joke. He scared the living shit out of me weekly. He'd hide in a closet, under a bed or wherever. He put a pot of ice cold water teetering precariously on top of my bedroom door to catch me coming home late from a date in my teens. It worked. I was late-water fell-I screamed-he awoke-I was busted. He laughed.
The madder someone got at his folly, the funnier he thought it was. Majestic Asshole.

5. A good fight. He could participate, or watch. He could recount or daydream. He loved boxing and war movies. He loved Clint Eastwood and John Wayne. When I watch "Fight Club" I think of him when Brad Pitt's character says "how much do you know about yourself if you've never been in a fight?!?" My Dad believed those words. He'd been in many...some, brutal and disturbing. Others, silly. He once knocked the front teeth out of a colleague for snapping him in the ass with a towel. He enjoyed a good fight. Unfortunately, sometimes I do too.

6. The Lord. The Baby Jesus and The Virgin Mary. This may surprise you guys but my Dad was raised Catholic. Wha???? Kidding. Of course he was. You could joke about a lot of stuff in our home but notsomuch with God or Religion. My Dad still had his original Rosary although I'm pretty sure he had no idea on what to do with it. Still, he knew it was holy and not a necklace. This was enough.

7. Animals. My Father had a weird way with animals. Horses. Dogs. Cats. Birds. Rabbits. I have an awesome picture of my Dad atop his horse, "Boy" that I need to scan and post. He surrounded us with dogs. He fed baby rabbits with an eye dropper. He had a bird sanctuary. In his later years he learned to embrace cats, but only enough to not kill them.

8. Photography. You may or may not know my Dad's story and it certainly doesn't matter but that guy loved to pick up a camera. Growing up I found it annoying. Now, at 43, I have my entire childhood documented. Awesome. He used to make my brother and I pose and it was so embarrasingly cheesy. Then again, it was the 1970's. Our "impromptu" shots were always staged. This made us laugh. He was a remarkable photographer though, he truly had an eye for image.

9. Sweets. Ice cream. Candy bars. Frozen Yogurt. Chocolate. Cookies.
My Dad would get up in the middle of the night ( I shit you not) and sit on the toilet having his nightly constitutional with cookies and milk. Every. Night.
On top of that, he and I would enjoy dessert almost nightly - Ice cream + chocolate syrup + marshmallow cream = heaven. My Mother is lactose intolerant so this worked out well for me.

10. Us. He loved me. My brothers. My Mom. He didn't always show it in conventional ways. My older brothers totally got the shaft. My younger brother may have gotten shafted on occasion. Some of his ex-wives got an unfair turn as well. But for me, his daughter, on this day? I'm grateful that he was my Daddy. I truly believe in my heart that he did the best he knew how at the time.

So, Daddy - here's to you. Thanks for always being there, always making me laugh and always making me feel loved. I hope I did the same for you.

Happy Father's Day~!

your shitbird

The Language of Laughs

2011-06-09T16:06:00.003-05:00

Years ago my Mother came over to my apartment on Christmas Eve for a little get together. She came early to help me with the food and whatnot before the other guests arrived. Inexplicably, she managed to drop around 5 "f-bombs" in the first five minutes of her visit. She normally doesn't talk like that. Granted, my Mom will use colorful language, but usually it's pretty PG rated.

She had wandered over to the mantle over my fireplace and had picked up one of my decorative nutcrackers. As she held it her hand I decided to comment on her sailor talk.

Me: Mom! What's with the language?
Mom: What do you mean?
Me: You're all "let's have some fucking wine" and "what the fuck is wrong with your deviled eggs"? What's going on?
Mom: (grabbing the handle on the back of the nutcracker and slowly moving his mouth to answer me with a total hillbilly accent) "Well, fuuuuuuuuuuck you".

I'm still not sure what was going on that night but this is the result. My Mom and I still to this day use the word "nutcracker" in substitution for "f-you".

Now you may ask, why in the world would a mother and daughter use those awful words on each other? Glad you asked.

For instance. We're visiting Grandma and it's after dinner. Grandma asks if someone is up for a game of cards. My Mom knows damn well that I abhor card games and even so, chirps "Oh Mother I'm too tired, I think I'll read in my room...but Jenny would LOVE to play"! She is pure evil.

Me: Mom? NUTCRACKER.

So it should be no surprise that my husband and I have developed our own secret language as well.

When Johnny and I were dating I was quite new to texting, and not very good at it. I'm still not thanks to my big fat hot dog fingers. Anyway, we'd have cocktails on the phone in the evening and sometimes before I'd go to bed I would text him and tell him that I love him.

Turns out that many of the times I texted him I actually typed in: "I loue you". Evidently I have a hard time with the "u" versus the "v". He told me eventually and we shared a good laugh. I had no idea. So now? We'll say "I loue you" when we're feeling silly.

Another one is loblolly. For two years in a row we borrowed a friends beach house on Hilton Head. One of the streets there is named Loblolly, which is evidently a type of pine tree. For whatever reason this tickled me. Everytime we'd pass the street I'd yell out LOBLOLLY! at the top of my lungs. It's a jubiliant expression and one we still use. It's totally fun to say, too. Getting your taxes back? LOBLOLLY! Got a great parking spot? LOBLOLLY! Vodka on sale? LOOOOOBLOLLY!

PC LOAD LETTER

This is stolen from the 1999 smash hit "Office Space". We all know how frustrating office equipment can be. This video rings so true you can't help but laugh. In the movie the guys take a baseball bat to a fax machine and completely obliterate it. We've kind of taken PC load letter to signify that something annoying is about to get destroyed. Like the filter in my vacuum cleaner. I've tried to replace it but every single one of them douche out and my vacuum cleaner doesn't suck like it should. I ripped the filter from the vacuum screaming "pc load letter pc load letter"!! and I promptly slammed in down on the kitchen island repeatedly until the plastic frame shattered into pieces. Take that, filter.

Sometimes nothing is as satisfying as beating the shit out of an inanimate object. My Dad once ripped a phone out of a wall and destroyed it simply because he didn't like what someone on the other end of the line said. I'm not quite like that. My vacuum filter clearly had it coming.

So readers - I throw it back to y'all. Tell me your secret language. I know you have certain words that represent something to you. I'd love to hear them. And you can borrow "nutcracker" whenever you need to.

You're welcome.

Faux Pas

2011-06-03T11:15:00.000-05:00

So my "boss" was standing at my desk this morning when a gentleman walked in with his rent check.

Me: Good morning!
Dude: 'Sup? Here's my rent check.
Me: Great - would you like a receipt?
Dude: Cool.
Me: *looking at check* Seriously? Your name is John Holmes? That's awesome! Hee! That's funny!
Dude: What's so funny about my name?
Me: *ahem* Nothing. Nothing at all.

Boss: *shaking head* What is wrong with you?
Me: Everything, obviously.

Slumlords and Strippers

2011-06-02T11:12:00.000-05:00

Alright. Turns out my tongue hole was a little bit bigger of a deal than I had anticipated. It's been a week to the day and I can still feel the soreness, especially when I eat. There wasn't so much as a "snipping it off" as there was a "digging it out" and it's no fun.   The good news is that the doctor's office called and informed me that it was totally benign so if I am in fact dying, it's not from mouth cancer. So, there's that. I fretted and moaned about it enough this past week that I'm sure Johnny had wished they'd removed my entire tongue instead of just the lesion/ulcer/cyst/tumor.

I'm currently working as a temp for a local staffing agency. This week they have placed me in the crappiest part of town working at a low-income property management office. I can officially cross off one of my life's aspirations. I'm a slumlord!

Seriously though, this is one ghetto assignment. Of course, I'm one block away from the homeless mission too so I never know when someone strolls (or stumbles, more like it) into the office if they are going to give me money, or ask me for it.   There's also a bus bench right outside my window and I can't tell you how much entertainment that has given me. This morning there was a drunk guy lying on it singing Miley Cyrus's "The Climb" at the top of his lungs. What's even better is that the bus didn't stop for him...just blew past him and kept going.   Awesome.

A distraught and confused woman came in yesterday. She was wearing a paper-thin tank top with what looked like an old timey (yellowed and dirty) corset on underneath. She was not slight of frame. Whatever she had had, she'd had too much of it because she could barely stand and her eyes kept rolling back in her head as she spoke. She was carrying a box of Clairol hair coloring in her hand. Random.
I couldn't understand her very well when she spoke but she kept digging in her pockets and pulling out wads of cash. When I asked her if she was a tenant she informed me that no, she was homeless.

Where in the hell was she going to color her hair? The bathroom at Wendy's?

She kept asking me what she should do with her money and I replied like anyone else would..."booze and smokes"! Kidding. I know the money she had wasn't going to buy her a house or help with much but it probably couldn't hurt to go ahead buy a new bra and possibly some teeth.

I know I sound heartless and awful and for those of you that know me you know that I'm totally a bleeding heart liberal but this week long assignment has turned me a little sour. Truthfully, she was so pitiful she actually got on my nerves.

What else. Um yeah, this weekend I'm attending my 25th class reunion. Where does the time go? If you'll recall it seems like just yesterday Rocketman was escorting me to my 20th.   This year everyone has wised up and they're actually hosting it at a bar. Thank ya. At our 10 year everyone had to boast about their jobs, their spouses or their kids. At the 20 year everyone was either divorced or on another marriage and they hated their jobs and their kids were ungrateful, drop-outs or gay. The 25th might be even better. I think that the older you get the less of a shit you give, really.

If anyone asks I'm totally going to tell them that after a lot of soul searching, I've decided to return to my first love, career-wise...stripping. That ought to lead to a lot of awesome awkward silences. With that I will cheerfully give them a hair flip and chirp "you just can't keep me off the pole!" and I'll skip gaily up to the bar.

Fast forward to six drinks later and I'm on top of the bar shouting/slurring "who wants to see my tongue hole"?!?

You just never know.

But you will. Because I'll tell you next week.  For now, peace out.*

* I'm street, yo.

Oral Fixation

2011-05-26T16:47:00.000-05:00

I am totally dying of oral cancer.

Okay. Let me back up. Over a month ago I felt like a sore had developed inside my mouth. A sore spot, not unlike a canker sore had appeared under my tongue.

I didn't think much about it but it absolutely refused to go away. I made Johnny look at it with a flashlight but that led nowhere, just like with my hemorrhoids.
I decided to go online and do a little research.

Here's a tip - NEVER, EVER, EVVVER search Google images for "mouth sores". You'll totally regret it. Jesus, I know I did.

On the other hand, it did give me some comfort knowing that at least I didn't have a 4 lb tumor growing out of my mouth. There's that.

Anyway, I finally decided to make a Doctor's appointment because it's just not getting better and it's kind of painful. I went online and found an Ear, Nose and Throat specialist here in my town.

I cheerfully bopped into the Doc's office this afternoon for my 2 o'clock appointment. After mounds of paperwork, they called me back to the examination room.

The Doctor came in and I shit you not, he had one of those old school shiny round things on his head. What are they even called?

Seriously?

I immediately felt at ease. NOT. What the hell is next? Leeches?

Anyway, he took a brief cursory glance inside my mouth and announced, "mouth ulcer, no big deal. we'll numb it up and snip it off and off you go"! So cavalier!

Snip something OFF OF MY TONGUE, you say? Um, back up Dr. Giggles.

Numb it up? You mean like, with a needle? A needle IN MY TONGUE?!?

Turns out, that's exactly what he meant.

So, there I was. Sitting and stressing and awaiting tongue "snipping" while sweating like a nun in a cucumber patch. He sprayed something in my mouth that tingled and then left me for a few minutes. Not good form. In those few minutes I had visualized my grotesquely deformed tongue, post snipping. I had thought of what would happen if he missed the mark, gouging out too much of my poor tongue and thusly leaving me with a speech impediment.

By the time he came back I was a bit of a wreck. He assured me everything was going to be fine and mentioned that if I was a good girl there was a sticker in it for me. Now we're talking.

Have you ever had a total stranger hold your tongue outside of your mouth with a 4x4 piece of gauze? It's not only uncomfortable, it's unnatural. As in, your muscle reflex is to jerk your tongue say, back INSIDE your head. Weird. Luckily the lady holding my tongue had done this many times and her other hand was holding mine while Dr. Snippet injected my tongue twice (!) with some sort of numbing agent.

I had a good time talking after that. I sounded like Fat Albert. Of course I found this to be absolutely hilarious. I started talking like someone in an episode of "Cops". This completely cracked me up, and as it turns out, my Doctor as well.

He dubbed me his "most entertaining patient of the day". By the looks of the waiting room, I won by a landslide.

I survived the shots. I managed to breathe while he cut out my tongue ulcer. I did not enjoy seeing the crimson soaked gauze he pulled from my mouth afterwards. He on the other hand, was all shits and giggles. This is his thing.

The real deal? Well, as you may or may not know, I was a smoker back in the day and Doc decided to be on the safe side and remove said ulcer and send it to the Path Lab. I'm embarrased to even type that now but our past is our past, correct? He said it was 99% benign from what he's seen so I think those are pretty good odds.

Regardless it was a pretty amusing day. I'm home now with a crazy-ass hole in my tongue. It is literally black from being cauterized to stop the bleeding. Oh goody! If I didn't love you guys so much, I'd totally post a picture.

But, he made good on his promise.

I got a sticker.

Ultimate Dog Tease

2011-05-14T10:37:00.000-05:00

Stole this from Dooce, although it's all over the 'net right now. Deservedly so.

Hilarious!

Our World. Assholes. My Dad. We're connected.

2011-05-07T19:52:00.003-05:00

Go see this movie. Now.

Sure, it gets a little preachy and pedantic at times but all in all, a fantastic message and what would seem to be an absolute truth. I'm just thankful that Tom Shadyac decided to start the conversation. It's worth your $8 bucks.

Watched Shania Twain on Oprah last week. We're down to 13 shows left folks and I'm already in withdrawl. I know, barf, but I do love me some O. Here's the thing - I like Shania just fine. Now I don't own any of her music but I think she's an okay gal. She opened up about her divorce and the heartbreak and betrayal of her husband's affair and subsequently announced her new marriage. To the dude that was married to the woman who had the affair with her husband. Read it again, I'll wait.

Now, I suppose these things happen. Maybe more often than not, perhaps. You fall together for comfort and consolation and the next thing you know, you're in each other arms. I for one, am waaay too immature for that. I'd be badgering the dude relentlessly about the ex. Now I realize she IS Shania Twain and all but her man still stepped out so I'd want to know what that skank had on me, you know.

I realize this is not healthy. Or adult, really. They basically swapped partners and I just can't see how that shit doesn't come up on a daily basis.

I kinda call ridiculous on the whole thing. Of all the men in the world you decide to marry the one that was married to the woman that helped to break up your marriage? Well then, one could also say the same about dude. Shania's husband is now married to that dude's ex-wife. Hmmm. I'm starting to confuse myself. I tell you what, if Johnny and I don't work out I'm gonna give chicks a try. Oh good grief, I totally want to delete this entire post but whatev.

So, did you watch the Royal Wedding? Me either. I do see that Pippa Middleton's ass now has a Facebook page. An "appreciation" society has developed for this young lady's posterior. I told my friend Renee that indeed my own ass should also have it's own FB page declaring it's fabulousness and she retorted, "me too! well, mine might need TWO pages". Hilarious. Moreso if you know Renee. She's as big as a minute and weighs as much as my left leg.

Lou Reed

I'm somewhat embarrassed to admit that I heard this song for the very first time on local college radio last week. Lou wrote some songs about Andy Warhol, back in the day. He's kind of an asshole if you are familiar with a lot of his work. I say that with utter reverence and appreciation for Lou's talent and his way with words. He's actually singing with the typical "middle finger" toothpick hanging out of his mouth. I heart Lou Reed.

I've always had a soft spot for the assholes of the world. Lou Reed. Denis Leary.
Don Rickles. Jillian Michaels. Archie Bunker. Hunter S. Thompson. Mike Ditka.

My Dad was once dubbed a "majestic asshole" by my brother, and no truer words have been spoken. Like those before him, he filled the role with pride and chutzpah. He didn't *try* to BE an asshole, it was just in his DNA. He hadn't a choice in the matter inasmuch as his Arthritis or his propensity for Gout. A true asshole isn't a jerk, or a mean person. I think a true asshole stands up for what he believes in, even when it's wrong. A true asshole will voice an unpopular opinion. An asshole will call you out when you're making a bad decision. A true asshole won't give you a break. A majestic asshole will call bullshit when there is indeed bullshit present, without fail.

My Father would have been 90 years old today. He indeed was a majestic asshole. In this day of politically correct polite bullshit society, he would be a gem. I'm not saying he'd be popular, but he'd surely have a ball.

So, happy birthday, Daddy. For you, I go on.

"the first thing we saw was the smell"

(best quote ever)

Down the Rabbit Hole

2011-04-24T17:11:00.001-05:00

Happy Easter! Oh, wait. Uh oh. Waaaaamp wammmmmmp.

Okay, that's a bit much but you guys already know that I'm clearly a bad person.

The above picture is more like a representation of what was my "career" at the local cafe. I haven't posted for a few weeks because I wasn't sure what to say. Things took a downhill turn between me and the cafe head manager, one could say. I tried, I really did. I worked hard and was dependable. The staff and clientele all took a liking to me. I didn't complain when she gave me an awful schedule. Closing at night and then opening the next morning. Three days straight. I could stomach it all because I really liked the job. Until.

Oprah often says that we teach people how to treat us. It's completely true. If someone treats you with disprespect or condescension and you allow it, then you're essentially telling that person that it's okay. Me?

Notsomuch. I let a couple barbs fly without comment but you've got to remember that I'm forty three years old. There's no cause for berating or belittling me. What made this even more awesome was when this occured, there was always an audience, be it the staff or (even more awesome) a CUSTOMER. I can't tell you how incredibly embarrassed I was for my manager when she recently scolded me in front of a patron. I simply caught the eye of the customer and loudly said "I'm having to dig pretty deep right now".

Suffice to say I became Jenny Paycheck yesterday when I waltzed into the joint and told her that she could take this job and shove it. Hard. Okay, I didn't actually say that but I thought it. REALLY HARD. I used the sage words of the Judds and simply said that this job "isn't going to work for me". Brilliant.

Freedom. Just like that. I slept better last night than I have in two weeks.

I had it in my head that I was going to unload on her and let her know that she's unpleasant, unprofessional and downright mean. Something told me that she's heard this all before, and isn't bothered. So, I took solace in that karma can be quite a bitch indeed, so therefore I need not be. I am on to bigger and better things.

Let's start fresh, shall we?

That's much better.

I gotta tell ya, I love this dog but he's pretty much worthless when it comes to watching guard over his kingdom. For example, last night a large rabbit inexplicably entered our home and left eggs, chocolates, baskets and goodies EVERYWHERE. There was a basket for me at the end of our bed this morning. Johnny found a basket upstairs filled chockfull of his favorite things as well. Two little girls followed a trail of chocolate eggs throughout our home to find bunny shaped baskets overflowing with treats. Candy, bubbles and wildflower seeds just to name a few.

After that fabulousness, I donned my Easter bonnet* (my bike helmet creatively decorated by Lilly, age 9) and hit the trail with my friend Crystal. We rode 12 miles through a rolling greenway and enjoyed every minute of such a beautiful morning. I came home and made a hot pineapple casserole and we headed to the in-laws for a huge Easter feast, complete with egghunt. Now it's time for cocktails on the porch and then later, a spaghetti dinner and a lazy night. Could I have had a better Easter? I submit to you, I could not.

I know that Easter isn't about the bunny anymore than Christmas is about Santa.
I know the reason behind the holiday and it didn't pass me by on this beautiful day. Resurrection is a powerful word and I think it's going to play out a lot in my future. I'd like to think that my place is in the light and no one is going to take that away from me.

* I realize in the above picture it looks like I have more chins than a Chinese phonebook but I think it's more the dumbass tongue move I've got going on. What a tool. Oh, and those are yellow crepe paper streamers attached to the rear of my helmet that totally caught air while I was riding.

She works hard for the money.

2011-04-10T15:53:00.001-05:00

The other day.

Customer: I'll have a turkey and avocado sandwich with fries instead of chips.
Me: Sure! What can I get you to drink?
Customer: Ice tea.
Me: Great - your total is $10.62. Out of $20? Here's your change.
Customer: Thanks!
Me: Oh, here's a number for your table. Make sure you put it up on the stand!
Customer: Why?
Me: Because that's how they'll find your table with your food! Plus, if you don't I'll get in trouble. *wink*
Customer: Um?
Me: Well, one could argue that a 43 year old working a cash register may indeed already be in trouble. Ha! Get it? I crack myself up.
Customer: *crickets*

So this last week has totally kicked my butt. I almost collapse every night upon returning home. I come home stinking of cheese, capers and sour cream. I'm busting my behind daily...working upwards of 11 hour shifts and hardly ever stopping but to sip a quick drink or use the bathroom. On Wednesday I worked a 10.5 hour shift and never even sat down to use the bathroom. Why, you ask?
because I didn't have time to pee. Seriously. I wash my hands until they're raw. I feel my mascara start its downward avalanche every morning around 11am when the ovens get cranking before our lunch rush.

Friday was kick-ass in that Stella (me) finally found her groove. I worked a completely crazy Friday lunch shift and it was amazing how fast it went by.
Everything just clicked for me. I sashayed through a packed dining room with upwards of five plates balancing on two sturdy arms. I gave balloons to children. If you know me in real life you know that I dislike balloons even more than I dislike children so this was a real feat. I kept my staff moving and in check.
I gave directions, made recommendations and was a temporary member of the Chamber of Commerce on more than one occasion. I am an ambassador, yo.

The GM of my shop even commented on my agility and ability. Huzzah!
At the very worst point of my day when the kitchen was slammed, orders were wrong and customers were getting fussy, one of my cooks came thru the rail with a mop and mop bucket to clean up a disaster out front. " Look out, this is going to be a tight squeeze", he bellowed as he parted the dining room traffic like Moses.

I glanced over at my stressed out co-workers and offered, "that's what she said"!

After we quit giggling, we all knew we'd make it. For God's sakes, it's not a hospital, it's just a fairly busy cafe in a little town in East TN. No one is going to die if their order comes out wrong, but trust me, they'll act like it.

It's a big jump from the Legal Dept. in the field of Emergency Notification Software, I'll give you that. But isn't that what life is all about? Change. Moving forward. Learning. Trying new things. Plus, at my old job they didn't really embrace my "that's what she said" jokes.

At least I've found my audience.

All was good at Dollywood.

2011-04-05T19:46:00.000-05:00

As you guys know, I now have a full-time job managing a little cafe in my East Tennessee town. This last week has kicked my ass. I've closed up shop three nights in a row. Good times. The fun parts of restaurant work are quickly compared and weighed against the sucky parts of restaurant work. Constant cleaning. Cleaning the slicer. Dish washing. Wiping down tables. Dish washing.
Re-stocking and prepping for the morning shift. Dish washing. Labeling goods and putting them back in the walk-in cooler.

It's not rocket science, clearly, but it can render you speechless at the end of a nine hour shift. A nine hour shift where you NEVER sat down, you forgot to eat and you served over 600 people. Yes. You read that correctly. Yesterday I grinned and greeted and spoke to over 600 folks. My sleepy town hosted an art festival and a marathon in the same weekend and I got my 43 year old ass handed to me.

I came home last night to a sweet sleepy husband curled up on our couch. He just couldn't get in bed without me. Of course I came home smelling of cheese and sanitation water. And wound up. I was ready to par-tay and tell him all about my evening. At 2:00am.

Notsomuch. We collapsed into bed and woke up this morning and guess what we did? No, not that you dirty billygoats, we did this.

This roller coaster, simply put, is RUDE. SO RUDE.

We decided to go to Dollywood sans kids and be kids ourselves. HILARIOUS.

This wooden roller coaster shouldn't be legal. It's rickety and loud and jerky and when we both disembarked, our legs were shaking and my eyes were watering.
Seriously, I screamed the entire time and even started to pray at the very end. It seemed really unsafe. Good God, I'm getting old.

We had corn dogs. And fountain drinks. And ice cream. And plenty of sunshine and laughter. It was exactly what we both needed after a very busy week indeed. We rode rides and laughed and held hands and then arrived home only to grill out some blue cheese burgers and hang out by a fire pit listening to our favorite tunes.

Now I realize this isn't exciting or earth-shattering for anyone else, but for the two of us hard working folks? It was perfect.

Now, here we go again. Too bad every weekend can't end up on ThunderHead.

Girl, Working.

2011-03-27T18:58:00.000-05:00

Hang on to your hats, guys...Corrupted Girl finally got a job!

Woot!

Yessir. I'm an assistant manager at a local cafe in the hub of my little town. Now, I never expected to head back into the food service industry after a 15 year hiatus, but I find myself here now and loving it.

I have worked at my share of restaurants and bars. Loved it. I liked the camaraderie, the irreverence, and the crazy ass personalities of those that choose this unpredictable lifestyle. I'm pleased to report that nothing much has changed.

I've been working for two weeks now and every day presents its own challenges and victories. The average age of my staff is approximately 20 years old. This I like. I can talk "Twilight" while cleaning the soda fountain and get paid for it.

Awesome.

If you've ever worked in the food service industry, you know that if you're leaning, you're gonna be cleaning. Still true. I am wiping down kettles, I'm stocking cups, I'm cleaning bathrooms and I'm working the register. I'm running food out to tables and I'm prepping the salad bar. I'm greeting and grinning and loving every minute of this fast-paced-never-know-what's-gonna-happen industry.

The staff are hilarious. You've got your not-give-a-shit cooks and the back of house guys. The Nigerian dishwashers and the Expo guys. They have filthy mouths and don't mind getting dirty. My kind of guys. Honey badgers.

Then you have the front of the house gals...petite, pretty and always talking about boys. Fun stuff.

I will tell you that I have busted my 43 year old ass in the last two weeks. I have not sat down save to pee. When was the last time you were on your feet for 8 hours straight? Seriously. I theoretically should be able to lose a few pounds but I gotta tell you, as a manager, I get a free meal each shift.

Waaamp. Waaaaaaamp.

Last night's was a mushroom and swiss burger topped with avocado and jalapenos. Not exactly diet fare. I told myself that I ran off all of those calories on a packed-house Saturday night. I probably did. However, I may want to lean more towards the soup and salad menu.

I'm having such a great time. Talking smack and joking all day long, and working until I have sweat stains and coming home dog and bone tired. Last night I walked in the door at 10:30pm and Johnny just started laughing. I looked down at myself and saw a shirt stained with grease and cheese. My knees had stains as well from cleaning out the sham oven. I laughed. Johnny laughed as well as he picked shredded lettuce out of my hair and gave me a welcome home kiss.

My favorite cook is in a band, of course. They played last night at a local pub and he invited me to the show. They were going on around midnight, he informed me. Mind you, I could be his Mom. I told him I was flattered, but that I was taking my old ass home to my husband to collapse.

"Dat's cool", he muttered, 'we're playing a bunch of shows this month". As in he thinks I'll make one eventually. And you know what? I will. Inviting your new boss to your punk-ass show? Good form, my brother. I need to buy some big ole Granny panties to throw up on the stage.

I am working my ass off and laughing my ass off at the same time.

Win-win.

Awesome.

2011-03-25T23:33:00.004-05:00

Now, THIS is how you get kids excited about music.

I dig some Rage Against the Machine. Clearly, they do too.

Love it.

Courtesy of my Mother

2011-03-22T06:57:00.003-05:00

Three ladies were walking down the beach when they happened upon a man sunning himself. Oh, and incidentally, he had no arms or legs.

Lady #1: Hello sir! Have you ever been hugged? No? Oh, I'll hug you!
Lady #2: Hello sir! Have you ever been kissed? No? I will kiss you!

Lady #3: Sir...have you ever been fucked?
Sir: *smiling* No, ma'am!
Lady #3: Well, you will be when the tide comes in.

THANK YA!

Happy St. Patrick's Day

2011-03-17T16:24:00.000-05:00

Sleeping like a baby. A precious wee liquored-up baby.

I know I posted this picture last year as well but I still find it hilarious. My parents didn't give a shit, did they? Got a one month old child? Dress 'er up!

Here's to you guys on this lovely day. Cheers!

These guys are more Scottish than Irish but this is still one of my all time favorite songs. I've often said that I'd like it played at my funeral. Right after that song by Justin Beiber. Priorities.

Eyegore.

2011-03-10T15:52:00.000-06:00

Mr. Cooper is one scruffy dog.

Let me just say that last night was a fine evening indeed. Colin Hay was funny, engaging and humble. His self deprecating sense of humor was delightful. He told many whimsical stories in between his songs and dazzled us with his unique voice and brilliant songwriting.

Here's a little snippet of last night's show. He was phenomenal, truly. I was fortunate enough to meet him afterwards and he was a true gentleman. I kept hugging him much to Johnny's mortification. I showed him my concert ticket from 1983 and he seemed genuinely tickled. Then I asked him to marry me. Turns out he's married. Turns out, so am I. Oh well, the show was still kick-ass.

I awoke this morning to find that both of my eyes had somehow swelled shut. I looked like Rocky Balboa. I finally got the left one open enough to drive - that's fun perspective-wise, let me tell you. I went to the Minute Clinic and the Doctor took one look at me and said "I don't know what's happened to you, but I can't fix it". She sent me across town to the Urgent Care facility. The Doctor there prescribed a steroid pack and gave me some topical cream. No one is sure what caused it and I must be nuts to post this picture but it makes me belly laugh each time I look at it. I'm not sure why I decided to document it but it seemed like a good idea at the time.

Isn't that awesome? What the hell is that black thing on my lip? It's just too damn funny NOT to share. It doesn't help that I had just gotten out of the shower. When you're me, you gotta check your ego at the door, folks. Whew.

So, after vacuuming up my weight in dog hair, I took Mr. Cooper for a proper hair cut. Not only does he look like he's lost weight, his head looks to be too big for his body. He loves his new 'do though and has been prancing around like Pepe LePew in the back yard all afternoon.

My name is Mr. Cooper and I have a large dome.

Normally you can't even see his collar because his hair is so wiry and thick. He looks a little "special", but that's okay...obviously, I DO TOO.

Hay Day.

2011-03-09T23:13:00.004-06:00

There we are. I totally met Mr. Colin Hay. Notice I'm holding my 1983 original ticket from my first concert. I knew he'd dig that. It was every bit as exciting as I thought it would be. Total review to come, but right now? I'm just loving life.

Who can it be now?

2011-03-08T22:01:00.006-06:00

What's Australian for awesome? Colin Hay.

Simply cannot wait for tomorrow night's show. He's fantastic and I'm totally a creepy-ass stalker so that should make for a fun evening for him. Seriously though? I'm putting an original ticket from my first concert in 1983 in my back pocket. Men at Work were a fun 1980's act but Mr. Hay is a truly gifted singer and songwriter. It's been 28 years, and I'm still a huge fan. I have an uncanny feeling that somehow, some way, we're going to meet tomorrow evening. I'm going to pull out that ticket stub and Mr. Hay will be speechless. He'll embrace me with a tearful grin and we'll run off together into the blissful Australian horizon.

*cough*

Now, let's hope I don't *accidentally* put my tongue in his ear this time.

Not that it's happened before. Outside of my dreams, that is.

Cheers. Girl, Corrupted will be down under if you need her.

We had a blast, but we smelled like ass.

2011-02-28T17:28:00.001-06:00

Finally, day 28 arrives. So, here are my stats. I didn't post on four days in the month of February so that averages one per week. Not too bad. I tried to focus on quality more than quantity but I'm pretty sure I didn't achieve that, either.

My Oscar picks were spot on! I knew Winter's Bone wouldn't get the nod for best picture but I still beat Johnny in our little home contest so he'll be taking me out for fajitas in the near future. If he were to win I had to pick up sticks and branches in our back yard for two hours. Don't even get me started on how wrong that wager was.

So, my gal's road trip was a resounding success. Harrah's Casino was everything I thought it would be. Dark, loud and smoky. You know I'm for any place that encourages cocktails and reserves no judgment. This place is ridiculous. People everywhere, lights flashing, bells and whistles blowing and everyone was in the party spirit. My favorite sight was an older lady sporting a big blonde Dolly wig wearing a skin-tight zebra striped dress and bright red vinyl boots. She also had on blood red lipstick that matched her cowboy hat. Fabulous.

Want to hear something disturbing? As we visited the restroom my friend pointed out the "medical waste" receptacle on the sink countertops. I didn't get it. "Diabetics", she informed me. Oh good grief. They were filled with spent insulin syringes. I'm glad a life altering disease isn't keeping anyone from the craps table. Priorities, people.

The night ended with a pizza delivered to our hotel room and two happy gals donning pj's and headbands watching Oh Brother Where Art Thou? My new friend did in fact bring some mace so I'm guessing that she was equally as worried about my bludgeoning her to death. Actually, she was rightfully more afraid I'd crawl into her bed and spoon her in a drunken stupor. We shared a lot of laughs and I hope this is the start of a lot of fun to come. I'm at an age where I need low maintenance, or ideally, no maintenance friendships. We both are very casual gals and that works out famously. Our new friendship is a no drama zone and it's refreshing.

So, here's to a new month. I'll try to have something remotely interesting to post about but I gotta tell ya, there's not much entertaining about a 43 year old unemployed housewife. Well, maybe I'll fall or something. That's certainly always a possibility.

I've got an Oscar Buzz.

2011-02-27T15:40:00.001-06:00

I'm back in one piece after my casino adventure. Say what you want about tacky crowded casinos but I love 'em. Everyone is smoking and drinking and throwing money around carelessly. These are my people. More later.

The countdown is on to the Oscars this evening. I know the whole thing is a pretty douchey debacle but this year I'm actually kind of interested. While it gets somewhat old watching narcissistic celebrities celebrate themselves, sometimes you actually get a breakout performance worthy of celebrating. I feel like this year sports a bumper crop of such performances. Thanks to unemployment I've actually seen most of the films nominated.

Girl, Corrupted 2011 Oscar Picks

Best Actor - Colin Firth. The King's Speech overall was not a powerhouse of a movie, in my opinion, but his performance certainly was. He's adorable and charming. I loved Jeff Bridges in True Grit but he'd won the statue last year for pretty much the same performance in Crazy Heart. A grizzly old drunk. I didn't see 127 Hours but I hear cutie-on-duty James Franco did a spot-on job. Then again, I'd watch him mow his lawn for two hours. No one saw Biutiful. No one.
Jesse Eisenberg is also adorable and charming, but this isn't his year.

Best Supporting Actor - Christian Bale. I love Geoffrey Rush as much as the next gal, but Christian Bale gave a stand-out performance portraying the dirty and cracked out Dickie, in The Fighter. He was physically transformed in the role and just looking at him made me want to take a shower, and not in a good way. Like, a Silkwood shower. Blech. I'm saw The Kids are Alright and I'm not sure how Ruffalo got nominated in the first place. His performance was just that. Alright.

Best Actress - Natalie Portman. This was a really a toss up for me because I thought Nicole Kidman was achingly beautiful in Rabbit Hole. However, I think Natalie deserves the gold for her creepy descent into utter madness.

Best Supporting Actress - Melissa Leo. There is a scene in The Fighter where Melissa Leo is walking down the street with a cigarette dangling out of her mouth wearing leggings and house slippers. Her bad blonde dye job is teased high on her head and her make-up is garish. Johnny leaned over and whispered "where did they find this woman"?!? If you didn't know that this woman was a professional actress you would've sworn you just saw her at a flea market in South Jersey. Knock-out performance. Pun intended.

Best Picture - Winter's Bone. Charlie Sheen has a better shot at sobering up than this picture does of actually winning the Oscar, but it was hands down my favorite movie of the year. Then again, I may have been the only one to see it. It's dark and disturbing and absolutely riveting. If anything, I hope being nominated gets it the recognition it deserves.

So, there ya go. We'll see how I do later this evening. If nothing else it's bound to be fun to watch. These days I embrace any show that doesn't involve Lady Gaga.

Thelma has met Louise. Maybe.

2011-02-25T15:43:00.003-06:00

Dammit. I missed yesterday after JUST SAYING that I would not. I am clearly not a responsible person. So, this weekend I'm embarking on a bit of a journey. I've got a new friend and she's invited me to a concert at Harrah's casino. The dude is Gary Allan. I think he's haute country, sort of. I've not heard any of his music but he's easy on the eyes from what I hear. We're driving thru the mountains and having lunch at Paula Deen's new restaurant. We're attending the concert and spending the night - a true gal's road trip. I'm excited of course, and a little bit nervous. I don't know this gal very well but what I do know is that she's funny and not afraid to swear, so that's win-win for me. It used to stress me out to share a hotel room with a stranger but that was before vodka. Plus, I'm bringing my iPod in case she snores. I'm guessing that the people watching will almost outshine the concert. I'm betting on 40-something women donning leather pants and tube tops and that's just me.

So, it's a big event for me. Road trip, concert, restaurants, etc. I think it may even involve a brunch on Sunday. Unless of course she bludgeons me with my own flask and leaves me to bleed out in the hotel room. It could happen.

Okay, I want to introduce you to my two new BFF's, Garfunkel and Oates. Thanks to my friend Fred for clueing me into these geniuses. I cannot get enough of them, seriously. Poor Johnny had to watch each and every video of them last night. TWICE. I'll post this video for now, but it would be worth your while to go to their site and watch This Party just took a turn for the Douche. Awesome.

Also, check out their song Pregnant Women are Smug, because aren't they?!?
Yes, they are. Most of them, anyway. Of course I will never be and have never been pregnant and that makes me smug, ironically. What the hell am I talking about?

Anyway, enjoy the video. Enjoy your weekend and maybe this road trip will give me some interesting blog material because clearly, I need it. Thanks for reading and staying tuned in despite my lameness. I sincerely appreciate it.

The Heart of the Home

2011-02-23T17:31:00.002-06:00

Okay, since I've been slacking hard lately I'm going to try to round out the rest of this month by posting daily as I said initially said I would. Going back to the "things I love" idea makes this easier. I should have stuck with that to begin with but my empty head is constantly filled with fluttery moths and dusty cobwebs and I tend to write about whatever tangent said moth lands upon.

Things I love. My (our) kitchen. I love love love kitchens. Have you ever noticed that in any party or gathering, the social hub of such always becomes the kitchen, usually by accident. There's something about a kitchen that's primal and of course, nourishing. I love to cook. I always have although in my single days I found it frustrating to have leftovers for an entire week after making spinach lasagna, chicken enchiladas or a big crock pot of chili. I love growing spices and picking warm tomatoes off the vine. I peruse recipes and cookbooks like they're porn. We received a Cuisinart for a wedding present and it brought me to tears. I love to cook.

So, when we got married and moved into Johnny's (dilapidated farmhouse) home, I was crestfallen.

This... is a kitchen?

Brown walls and black cupboards. A washer and dryer in the middle of everything. Rotten shelves and dirty cobwebbed windows. A really gross stove.

Yuck.

It matters not how/why things were like this and I'm certainly not pointing any fingers. It was an old farmhouse that was to be eventually restored, you see. I'm a gal that know exactly what happens when you stop caring. So. Let's move on to this. Our new kitchen!

Yes, it's the same island. Amazing what a coat of paint can do.

Oh glory days! Light! And clean countertops! And LOOK AT THAT STOVE!

Here's another view.

Sunlight and sunflowers and a lava lamp and clear windows, oh my! Fresh fruit and healthy plants and new life and new love in this new place. Can you imagine the difference this has made in my life? I'm a cooking fool (johnny says I'm half right) nightly and I adore this wonderful warm welcoming kitchen. We've spent many a night as a family and as a couple preparing lots of yummy meals. Tacos, lasagna, burgers, salads and gourmet cheese and fruit plates. Steaks and crab-legs and so much more. NOMNOMNOM.

It's truly the heart of the home. And this kitchen has a permanent home in my heart.

He doesn't give a shit.

2011-02-22T22:10:00.000-06:00

I know, I'm a terrible blogger and an awful person. I'm breaking promises right and left, aren't I? However, just for tonight please enjoy this little tidbit of wildlife known as the Honey Badger, narrated by my new hero, Randall. Thanks to many of you out there for bringing this gem to my attention. I watch it daily. I kid you not. It gets funnier the more I watch it. Then again, I don't get out much.

Enjoy.

My Party is totally Portable

2011-02-20T16:35:00.000-06:00

I went out the other night with a few girlfriends and received a belated birthday gift from one of them. How thoughtful, I thought as I unwrapped it and then upon laying eyes upon my treasure, I was speechless.

A flask! Complete with attached funnel on the chain to the left.

I was thrilled, of course, at such a fun and functional gift. Then I got to thinking, perhaps there's a patten here. So, last night I dug around in my kitchen cupboards. Here are the results.

Wild Turkey Flask

This bad boy is at the head of my collection firstly because it was a gift from my Father and secondly, because he's the largest. He comes in handy at football games, concerts or say, church. I found that it's incredibly hard to take photos of most flasks because of the reflection, so bear with me. He's got a glass lining and is scratched to hell as you can see. My Dad used him for years before handing it down to me and he's seen a lot of nonsense, I'm sure. I'm not sure where he came from and what's more amusing is that my Father wasn't a Wild Turkey drinker, either. Then again, we Irish will drink about anything if push comes to shove. It wasn't his preference, but I'm sure he wouldn't have turned it down.

That brings us to our next fella.

Jack Daniel's flask

This little guy is one of my favorites because of the engraved detail, just like the label on the bottle. He also has a funnel. That totally comes in handy when one's pouring ability may be a little shaky. He's a pocket flask and will easily slip into the side of a cowboy boot. He was a gift from a friend years ago and he was very instrumental in my meeting one of the Indigo girls years back. Thanks to this fella and his contents, I had no problem literally chasing Amy Ray down in a crowd and professing my undying love to her. Now there's a restraining order that prevents me from doing such things, but it was totally worth it.

That bring us here.

Wedding Flask

Again, I apologize for the picture quality. A few years ago I was asked to be in a wedding and by "be in the wedding", I mean I was asked to be the greeter and hand out the programs to the arriving guests. Thankfully, no one is crazy enough to ask me to be a bridesmaid. Anyway, I guess it is customary for the bride and groom to give gifts to the bridesmaids and groomsmen etc, as a thank you for their participation in their big day. I wasn't expecting anything, of course, but I was totally gobsmacked when the bride presented me with this flask, bearing my (then) initials. Evidently the groomsmen had all received one but instead of giving me the traditional bridesmaid gift, she opted to order another flask for me. I'm not sure what gift she gave the bridesmaids, but I know it wasn't nearly as cool as my kick-ass flask. Thanks Bets! This one also has a clasp for the lid which comes in really handy when my ninja-like motor skills aren't at their finest.

What wouldn't Jesus do?

Okay, I worry a wee bit about this one and my karma but what can I do? It was a gift. I've posted before about my friend Ben. He's crazy. Crazy hilarious fun. This was a Christmas gift a few years back and it's a real crowd pleaser. And really? Jesus started that whole "water into wine" thing so I don't know that he'd take offense. This one is truly my church flask.

Wedding Flask, 2

This was a gift from a former boss and mentor. I have nothing but adoration and respect for this man and when he presented it to me at my going away party I got teary. This man believed in me when no one else would and put me on the path to a successful career which I totally had for 8 years until of course, I married Johnny. Love isn't just blind folks, it's also broke. Anyway, it's perfect for Titans games (which we tailgated regularly) and every time I see it or sip its warm whiskey goodness I think of my friend. Slàinte, Tim.

There is one flask missing from this post. The most important one, really. My Father had a life long flask. It was round and had the words, "Here's a smile to those I love", engraved on the front. It was so well-worn and used that there was actually a groove along the backside where his thumb fit perfectly. An indentation that fit my thumb as well. He passed it down to me somewhat reluctantly years ago. It sat atop a shelf after that in proud display. About ten years ago I decided to take it out of retirement and use it on a camping trip.

I thought my Dad would like that it was being loved. On a tubing trip down the Adams river I lost my grasp on the flask and it toppled into the water, sinking with more speed than I could swim and the current simply carried me away.

I threw up from heartache. I never told him that I had lost it, either. I'm at peace with it now. I can't see it or hold it or feel it's warmth, but I know it's there, somewhere. Just like my Daddy.

Oh, wow. That took a dark turn, didn't it? Jesus. Well, the point of this post is that you can't go wrong with a good flask. Now a woman that owns six? Well, I'd suggest you invite her to your next party. Trust me, she's a lot of fun.

No Speedy Gonzales, here.

2011-02-17T20:09:00.001-06:00

This, folks, is our friendly neighborhood taco truck. Or as we used to call them in Los Angeles, our local "roach coach". Last nights' dinner came from this place. It's a rolling portable taqueria! The guy that operates this thing is a one man show, lemme tell ya. His name is Arturo and he's hilarious, kind and completely engaging. He's also in no hurry whatsoever, if you know what I mean.

This taco truck had been making appearances all over our fair city and word on the street was it was good stuff. Johnny and I found that this traveling delicacy was going to be parked in our jurisdiction last night and we took full advantage of said fact.

Arturo was pleased to see us, and that's an understatement. This gentleman speaks english, but I wouldn't say it's completely understandable, and he's well aware. He's animated in his conversations so that helps. We ordered a tamale, a chicken taco and two burritos and while we were waiting, Arturo offered us each a plate containing what looked to be a taco, but contained what I like to call God Knows What.

Johnny and I looked at each other and back at Arturo. "What's this?", I offered.
"A promotion"! Arturo laughed. He then said, "no Taco Bell, senorita"!
I had to agree. The only Chihuahua around was clearly inside of this tortilla, but damn, it was yummy. It was pork (?) I think and some sort of bean sauce, topped with fresh onion and cilantro on what was clearly a homemade tortilla.

It's clear that not only does Arturo loves what he does, he's also very talented. He certainly enjoyed our company although I'd say we were just as smitten with him. He's a man that loves people, and undeniably enjoys cooking for them as well. What a gift to have that passion and be able to enjoy it daily. I'm a little bit jealous.

Authentic as it comes, I'd say. He's such a sweet and genuine man. He also is very proud of his food, and he should be. He has a serve yourself salsa bar that's impressive. Habanero, Jalapeno, green chile and rojo sauces, just to name a few.

So, there we stood, next to the taco truck, under the twinkling Christmas lights, eating tamales and shredded chicken tacos adorned with fresh cilantro. A chatty hispanic man with missing teeth regaled us with stories as we waited for our burritos and even though it was certain that he may have missed a few dentist appointments in his time, his was the most genuine and sincere smile I've ever seen.

The Earth laughs in flowers.

2011-02-16T16:28:00.001-06:00

I realize it's still February but I've got a wicked case of spring fever. I enjoy all the seasons for what they offer but this winter has seemed unusually long to me.
I cannot imagine what it would have been like if we still lived in the old farmhouse. I probably would have burned the place down trying to stay warm by placing our outdoor fire pit in the living room. That place was as cold as a grave.

I digress.

I took a stroll through my backyard today and found these.

Hurray! Spring is on the way! We moved into this house last summer so we're not even sure what flora our yard contains. Mr. Cooper and I explored the back yard and it would appear that we've got plenty of lovely things to anticipate.

Hey, wake up! Winter is almost over.

This is our guitar playing frog. He hangs out in the back yard and keeps our grill company. We've also got a few assorted gnomes, a statue of St. Thomas, five wind chimes, one birdhouse and one bird feeder. I can't wait until the weather is warm enough to open the door to the patio and enjoy our little paradise. The yard is fenced in and completely private. We have a little table that is just begging for some citronella candles and a carafe of wine. Our fire pit sits covered, but waits patiently for our first early evening fire.

We also have 6-8 rose bushes that bloom every color in the rainbow. They are really exquisite. I'll post some pictures as they start to appear. Our kitchen window faces our backyard and as I stood there this morning and sipped my coffee, I couldn't help but smile and revel in the view. The morning sun was illuminating each and every emerging bud and there were robins, cardinals and doves sharing their breakfast on and around the bird feeder.

Someone else was enjoying the sunshine as well. He has his very own doggie door that leads out into our backyard and he surveys his kingdom hourly and runs the perimeter daily. He takes his responsibilities very seriously.

I love this old scruffy dog. And I love our backyard.

Whammy to yo' Grammy!

2011-02-14T17:32:00.002-06:00

How about them Grammy's? Did you watch? Did you care? Did you barf?

Girl, Corrupted statements/observations/random musings:

1. I don't enjoy Eminem near as much now that he is clean and/or sober. Slim ain't shady no mo'.

2. Lady Gaga clearly has "omglookatme" disease. Oh, and she can totally clean her ears with her "shoulder points". Yawn. Get back in your egg you loathsome rube.

3. Lady Antebellum is the best? Really? Hmmm. Sound familiar? Give your grammy to Mr. Parsons and his project you big cheaters.

4. Bob Dylan would sound better perhaps if he had a trach.

5. Muse has one song. That's it.

6. Wow, there's a black guy dressed up as a multi-colored turkey(?) and there are some muppet puppets "singing" and "performing". The only way this could get weirder is if Gwyneth Paltrow shows up. Oh wait, never mind.

However, I'll end this on a positive note. I thought that the Avett Bros, Mumford and Sons and Mick Jagger were exquisite. Of course you don't have to agree with me and I relish any and all feedback, either for or against. That's the beauty of this platform.

Oh, and let's be honest. Who the %*&($ is Esperanza Spalding?

Jeffrey!

2011-02-12T20:45:00.003-06:00

Okay, okay. I stumbled yesterday. My sincerest apologies but sometimes my friends, life just gets in the way. Not in a bad or good way, just in the way. Try as I might to post last night, my forehead kept hitting the keyboard with a soggy thud and I'd wake up to see this on my screen:

dfjksdfaskkkkkkkkkkkkkgjhkkkkkkkkkkkkkkka;lruiiiiiiiiiiiiiiighhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Anyway, I hope this post makes up for it.

A few weeks ago I was doing a little downtown shopping. I'd bopped into a couple locally owned stores and was saving my favorite store for last. It's an old fashioned General Store that holds two floors of treasures. Assorted candy, housewares, Life is Good attire and so much more. They carry jewelry, homemade jams and spices. Downstairs in the store lives all their outdoorsy stuff. Tents, backpacks and hiking boots. It's a seriously delightful store.

I had milled around upstairs for a bit and decided to sneak downstairs and check out some footwear. There's a large staircase that descends into the outwear area and it's divided in the middle by a big brass railing. I was to the right of this railing and actually holding onto it (thanks crappy right knee) when I noticed a lady coming up the stairs to my left. She was wearing khakis and had on a big white poofy down jacket. I only noticed this because it was a tad warm out for such a wintry coat. She had medium length brown hair and was quickly ascending the staircase.

Almost as suddenly as I noticed her, I noticed him. There was a gentleman coming up the stairs behind her with a big grin on his face. He was taking the stairs at a quick pace, clearly trying to catch up to her. Just as he reached her he stuck out his arm with his index finger extended and promptly stuck it in the bulls eye of her rear end. This wasn't a "goose". He was going for it, if you know what I mean.

The rest of this happened in slow motion. He popped his finger into her butt and she spun around with such force and aggression it was quite obvious that there had been a mistake. Suddenly I heard another woman shriek. "JEFFREY"!!!
Just as she cried out the woman on the stairs slapped the living shit out of who I then assumed to be Jeffrey. I spun around again to look for the source of the voice. There, at the bottom of the stairs, was a woman with medium brown hair, wearing khakis and a puffy white down coat.

Oh no, Jeffrey.

The two women locked eyes. The woman who had Jeffrey's finger violate her rectum immediately knew what had happened, but still didn't seem to care all that much. She stormed ahead and I assumed, out of the store. Jeffrey was still standing on the stairs, stunned, with his arms out and his palms facing upwards like what the hell just happened? He was red-faced from the force of the slap and Mrs. Jeffrey down below was red-faced out of sheer mortification.

The whole thing was such a terrible and wonderful misunderstanding that I couldn't believe I'd witnessed it. It was something out of a sitcom. Like something that would happen to Ross and Rachel. Hilarious. Then again, it's totally something that would happen to Jen and Johnny.

In fact, since I've shared this glorious event with Johnny, my beloved has been known to "goose" me and yell "Jeffrey"! simultaneously. Ah, sweet romance.

Man at Work

2011-02-10T21:41:00.004-06:00

Beautiful World

Alright, for lack of subject matter I am falling back onto my initial idea of posting about things that I love.

I heart Colin Hay. Yes, that Colin Hay. The singer from Men at Work, which incidentally was my very first concert and but he is also a wonderfully talented songwriter and performer.

You've seen him on Scrubs. He is brilliant and I'm certainly a lifetime fan. I saw him a few years ago at an Australian Festival and he was phenomenal. He's coming to my city in March and I've already secured tickets. I suggest you do the same if he comes within a 500 mile distance of your whereabouts. He's worth it.

Mr. Hay comes from a time when entertainment didn't mean crazy outfits and pyrotechnics. He strums a guitar and sings. Oh, and he sings songs that he actually wrote. He's genuine, sincere and such a veritable talent. He's engaging, funny, and worth whatever penny you have to spend to be in the same room with him.

Do it. And buy his new album, Gathering Mercury on March 29th. If not before.

Friends, FAIL.

2011-02-09T21:02:00.000-06:00

The unacceptable photo. Dammit.

I *tried* to apply to an online group this afternoon that touted sisterhood and camaraderie and plenty o' good times. I'd been reluctant in the past because of an online questionnaire that was required before member acceptance but today I caved and filled out said registration form. I just received this reply.

_____________________________________________________________________

Your request to join our club was declined.

The person who declined your request said:

Hey Jen:
I LOVE your sense of humor, but we need to keep this site
diplomatic and classy. Your answers were pretty cute, but
please, for the sake of first impressions (for other members)
and the group on a whole, remove the "porn", "ass" and "gay"
references/words.
Also, we have a strict rule that says every member must have a
clear, easily distinguishable photo of themself as their main
profile photo, sans sunglasses. Please update and reapply.
You sound like a blast and we'd love to have you in our club!
Thanks,
Debbie

_________________________________________________________

Wamp. Wamp. (the sound of failure)

Meh. Oh well. I guess it's sweet that she's encouraging me to re-apply but I'm totally not diplomatic or classy. Plus, I thought I totally cleaned myself up on the online application. Come on, I made no mention of diarrhea, boogers or the time I accidentally ate some maggots.

I'm glad I have you guys. You understand me. You get me. And if I can't use the words "porn", "ass" or "gay" then it's unlikely that I'll be able to put together a sentence at all, really.

Where's the beef?

2011-02-08T16:46:00.001-06:00

Someone didn't care for his veggie burger. Subtle, huh?

Last week I tuned in to Oprah to find that she and her entire staff had gone vegan for one entire week. Well, 77 people dropped out but all in all, the experiment was a tremendous success. Over 400 pounds in total were lost and everyone reported healthier and more frequent bowel movements. Hurrah! More pooping!

The vegetarian menu for me is more health based than it is part of my moral compass. Of course I don't enjoy watching a video filmed in a slaughterhouse,

who would? At the same time however I believe that eating meat is a very natural human characteristic. In the past few years I've heightened my awareness of organic meats and where our food actually comes from. It has opened my eyes, you could say. It seems incredibly ignorant to me that I've lived most of my life with no knowledge of what I'm actually putting into my body. (that's what she said!) Sorry.

Seriously though, how did I blindly trust fast food corporations without question?

How was I that naive? What's next? Am I going to start watching Fox News?

God help me. I knew fast food wasn't terrific from a caloric perspective, but the bigger picture completely eluded me.

I often opt for a vegetarian selection in my daily meals. As some of you may remember, Rocketman was a vegetarian so whist dating him I quickly took a crash course on all things veggie. I approached Johnny with trepidation about going meatless for one week. My beloved LOVES steak. And pork. Don't even get me started on his frightening obsession with bacon. I didn't expect him to be on board but surprisingly, he agreed immediately. Okay, I'll admit, he did indeed agree but I wouldn't say it was enthusiastic, really.

I initially suggested we mirror Oprah's challenge and go Vegan, but Johnny shot that down right off the bat. Taking away his meat is one thing, but you can't do that and take away his cheese as well. Or butter. Or sour cream. So, we compromised. No meat for one week, but we're keeping cheese, eggs and dairy. I tried to sneak tuna in there as well, but meat is meat, I suppose. No food with a face, as Phoebe from "Friends" used to say. Damn.

We began yesterday. So far, so good. We went out to a mexican restaurant last night for my birthday ( I know...again) and ordered meatless choices. Mine was a spinach and cheese enchilada, and his a veggie tamale with a cornmeal crust. Both were quite yummy.

We've lined up a menu for the week including a tofu stir fry and spinach lasagna.

We're making a meatless chili tomorrow night and we'll do grilled cheese and soup over the weekend. Thursday's Taco Night is being altered with black beans as a substitute. I'm anxious to see how we feel at the end of the week and see what changes this might encourage in our daily eating habits.

Somehow I think my next Monday, Valentine's day, Johnny will be ready to eat the ass end of a Unicorn. Me? I'm thankful for the potato. And it's juice*.

*vodka. it's what's for dinner!

To hell with cake, where's the vodka?

2011-02-07T16:20:00.000-06:00

Grab a dirty martini, y'all - today is my birthday!

I had a fantastic birthday weekend, I must say. Johnny and I saw comedian Ron White on Friday evening after a gorgeous steak dinner. We shared a bottle of wine and ended the meal with chocolate molten cake. The steakhouse we went to is one of the finest in our city and is a little bit on the outskirts of town. It's on a very busy stretch of road and the parking lot is located behind the restaurant on a steep incline. Why am I tell you these details? Just you wait.

As we finished our dessert, Johnny paid the check. Our waitress brought back our receipt and wished us a nice evening. As she left our table she said "be careful pulling out"! Before I could even look at Johnny I heard a voice loudly chirp, "that's what SHE said"! Johnny and I stared at each other and burst into laughter, not completely sure we'd heard that correctly. For a moment I thought that although I was thinking it, I indeed had said it aloud without my knowledge. We turned around to see another waitress laughing all the way across the room. Upon seeing our reaction she jumped up and came to our table. "I'm so sorry", she gushed, "I just can't help myself". Johnny and I assured her that we were not in the least bit offended. I have often said it myself in similar situations. That's because my maturity level is that of a 10 year old boy. Oh, and I have Tourette's.

We are the only couple I know that can go out for a romantic candlelit dinner and end up on the floor laughing at a "that's what she said" reference. Awesome. That waitress totally made our night.

You know what didn't make my night? Wait, let me back up. I decided to dress a little sassy for my birthday dinner and in lieu of a dress I choose jeans and high heels. I wore a black low cut sweater ( like I have boobs) and over that I wore a cropped brown leather jacket. I had my hair rocked out a bit with long waves and I donned red lipstick, something that's rare for me. I felt pretty damn good about myself, really. As I turned off the bathroom light, I took one last look in the mirror. "Not bad for 43", I thought.

I was standing in the kitchen as Johnny came in to grab his car keys. He looked me up and down and quipped, "alright rebel with menopause, you ready to go"?
Alright, I gotta admit, it was pretty funny. I giggled about it after I kicked him in the 'nads.

So, we're off for one more birthday meal this evening and I'm excited to see what 43 holds for me. Like I've said before, I don't mind getting older. There was a time in my life when it seemed unlikely given my insane and foolish lifestyle.
I didn't settle, mind you, I just settled down. It was safer for everybody. (smile)

Go Packers!

2011-02-06T19:30:00.000-06:00

I love Superbowl Sunday.

Now, I know I'm not the biggest football fan. In fact, if the Titans aren't playing, I'm pretty much not interested and now that Coach Fisher is gone, I may not be that enthralled with their 2011 performance, either. I digress.

Superbowl Sunday is one of those fantastic American traditions that I cherish.
It just doesn't get more American than the Superbowl. Sure, it's gluttonous and over-done and ridiculous. But it's also the best of America, too. The steadfast determination of the underdogs. The National Anthem. The ceremony of what for one incredible night, is more than just a football game. It's like prom for football players.

Now don't get me wrong, I'm all about a Sunday evening boozefest as well as the wildly unhealthy Superbowl menu. Artificial cheese. Pizza rolls. Copious dips and assorted chips. Chili. Jalepeno poppers and mozzerella sticks. White Castle dip. Yes, you read that correctly. Thanks to my pals Jim and Mindy, I'm now privy to this dangerous concoction. Thanks Facebook! It's too late for this years Superbowl but I totally might make it for breakfast tomorrow.

The Superbowl is one of those yearly events that just makes you happy. You get to gather with your friends and eat and drink and smack talk and laugh at multi- million dollar commercials. It's like a holiday, but nobody really has to be on their best behavior. Or eat a fruit log.

No, I'm wrong. It IS a holiday and we celebrate being fans of a truly American sport. It's about being the best at what you do and basking in the glory that comes with it. Silly? Maybe. Fun? Always.

Like I need an excuse to eat food that's bad for me and drink too much and yell at a television. Please! I heart the Superbowl!

You asked for it.

2011-02-05T18:33:00.002-06:00

I've been getting a little ribbing in the last few days for my recent shiny happy posts. Evidently, some folks think this corrupted gal has been on antidepressants or some such nonsense. I suppose most of this stems from deciding to post once a day for a month about something I love. I admit, I've been a little soft in the last few posts and I haven't mentioned pooping, burping or farting - some of my usual favorite subjects.

You're welcome, Mom!

Mom, quit reading now. Go make some chicken enchiladas. (totally worth a click if you haven't seen this before)

So, here we go!

Here's yet another thing I love:

It's like crack...for your crack!

This is far and away my favorite toilet paper, full stop. Given my lifestyle (vodka, jalapenos and Indian food) I have become quite the connoisseur of toilet paper over the years and yes, one could say I've become a bit of a toilet paper snob. Back in my younger days I bought whatever was the cheapest. If I ran out, I would use whatever paper towels I had on hand. I'll be honest, it hurt to actually type that last sentence. *shudder* What a rube.

I've tried every brand out there, trust me. I won't give a review of each but I will tell you the two qualities are the most offensive, in my professional opinion.

1. Any toilet paper that touts containing "aloe" or "Vitamin E oil". Folks, this is just wrong on so many levels. Have you actually used this stuff? I suppose it's okay in theory really, but use it and see how clean YOU feel. First off, it feels like you are literally just smearing everything around when you wipe. Isn't feeling clean a big part of the wiping experience? To rid yourself of the offensive (fecal) matter?* It is to me, anyway. Then, after you finally feel like you're good to go, you wind up walking around feeling a little "slick" back there for lack of a better word. I don't care if I'm as chafed and chapped as Charlie Sheen in rehab, I want to be dry back there when I'm done. That's just me.

2. One-ply toilet paper. Now, I can't believe I even have to address this one because seriously, if this is what you're using, you ARE on crack. Occasionally I run into this diabolical affront in public restrooms usually of a gas station nature. I don't care how many feet you rattle off and gather into a little "nest" before you wipe, you're going to end up finger-painting at some point. NO THANK YA.
Plus, this 1-ply shit is usually so abrasive that you might as well wipe your butt with a corncob. You have a sore ass and you still feel dirty. (that's what she said)

See, the beauty of Cottenelle is that it's almost like using really soft corduroy in which to do your business. There's a grainy weave that makes you feel that no matter what you've got going on, this t.p. can handle it. A friend of mine and I once had a discussion about what she dubbed the "test wipe" - I know you guys know about this, even if you haven't pinned a name to it. This is when you poop and you're not exactly sure of the damage. You wad up your paper and go for the "test wipe". This is where you either hit clay or your hand flies halfway up your back before you can control it.

Now you know what you're dealing with. Turn the paper over and give it another go, or start over completely with another wad. I'm a fan of the double flush when need be. Just sayin'. You do what you have to do to get the job done.

So, my vote is for Cottenelle regular or Ultra. Double rolls or whatever. It's good stuff. I heard some foolery about Cottenelle being bad for the environment or ruining ancient forests or something but I refuse to look further into those rumors.

Look, I recycle. I live a fairly "green" lifestyle. I bring my own grocery bags to the store. I am doing what I can do reduce my carbon footprint but please don't take my toilet paper away from me. Some things are just too crucial to my existence, and my rectal happiness.

When I googled images for this post this cartoon came up and I had to admit, it was pretty original.

So, happy wiping my cyber friends. You're welcome.

* Fecal Matter is totally the name of my next band, FYI.

Tater Salad

2011-02-04T09:37:00.001-06:00

This is the real deal.

Ron White.

Y'all know him? He is one of my favorite comedians of all time. I grew up in the 1970's when some of the finest folks out there launched their careers. There was Gilda, Chevy, and Eddie. There was Billy Crystal, Robin Williams and Whoopi. George Carlin, Richard Pryor and Steve Martin. There were a litany of greats back then. I realize I'm leaving out a few decades of excellent comedians, but I'm trying to get to my point sometime today.

Ron White. Listen to this. I know the pixels are off and the quality isn't great, but this quick snippet really brings home the humor I so adore in Mr. White.

He's irreverent and cynical. He's a cigar smoking drunk and downright obnoxious, and I love him with every fiber of my being. His unapologetic deliveries slay me every single time. Ron is not for the faint of heart or the easily offended. Of course, I've never been accused of being either. He's hilarious, blasphemous and rude. He's one of my all time favorite comics and I'm thrilled to tell you that we have tickets to his show this evening. I cannot wait.

He catapulted to stardom after years of doing stand-up by joining the Blue Collar Comedy tour alongside Jeff Foxworthy, Bill Engvall and Larry the Cable Guy. I'm not much for the Blue Collar ensemble but I will say their interactions together are pretty amusing. In my humble opinion, Ron is an old school classic comedian. There are no props or magic tricks. There really aren't any "jokes" as far as definitive one-liners. Ron White simply gets up on stage and brings you into his world, one hilarious story after another. For my money, he's what comedy is supposed to be. You couldn't pay me to see Robin Williams, I'd probably have a seizure.

His first show sold out so quickly that the theatre added a second performance at 10pm. This is the show we're attending. It could kind of go either way. He's famous for sippin' on scotch before, during and after one of his 1.5 hour shows so he could be blind drunk and pretty sloppy by the time the 10pm show rolls around.

That's alright, that'll make two of us.

Don't worry, be happy.

2011-02-03T15:16:00.003-06:00

Words to live by. Or *try* to, anyway.

This is the print that hangs over our fireplace in our living room. When Johnny and I were first married, I moved into his home in the country. You long time readers know how well that went. The farmhouse was in a state of disrepair and much of it was left barren and empty where his ex-wife had departed and taken her belongings. There were walls filled with nails and nothing more. Dishes were mismatched and haphazard and there were old and broken toys littering the floor. Simply put, the house was sad.

The first year I lived there we decided to use what little money we had to purge the depressed home and bring back life to its dark empty walls. We filled two dumpsters with rubbish. We cleaned and then cleaned some more. We washed windows and bought new curtains, ridding ourselves of the heavy and dirty mustard yellow drapes that hid the sunlight from our living room. We painted. We purchased new furniture and rugs. We bought an entertainment center and filled it with our combined treasures and pictures of our new little family.

One lazy Sunday we were strolling through the galleria and we spotted the above print.

At the time we had a simple antique mirror hanging above our fireplace and that was perfectly fine. However, once we both spotted this picture, we knew it was absolutely ideal for our new home, and it would become our new mantra for living.

Happiness, often, can be a choice. There have been many days when being a new blended family was stressful for each and every one of us. It can be challenging and frustrating at times and all four of us have had to make adjustments and compromises.

Sometimes in our daily lives when our love becomes an effort, one of us will mention the print to the other and on more than one occasion I've looked at Johnny and vice versa and we've said, "today, we're choosing happiness".

It's so easy to get bogged down by the mundane minutiae of day to day life. Jobs, bills, groceries, kids, extended families and daily chores. For starters. Glancing up at our fireplace print never fails to gently nudge us to remember what really matters. Love, laughter and health. Knowing that no matter how trying our day has been, we made it through and we're home. Together, and as a family.

Sure, sometimes it's hard to find the good in what you're going through, but if happiness is a choice or option in your life, even when you're struggling, I recommend choosing it every single time.*

*now, if happiness is indeed not a choice, then I highly recommend a top shelf vodka.