Early Morning Brush with Death....

No Shit! There I was.....minding my own business, taking a shower...and even though Josh is not here, I still decided I should shave my legs (it's waay too hot here for fur)! Well, as I was singing into the razor (NO! That didn't happen, but if it did...MY GOD that would have been even worse!! I see the danger now...), I decided to do a little happy dance to go along with the happy tune I was singing. (for the record, I have no idea why I am happy on a morning when I have to go to work. I can only assume I am still drunk or something). Anyway, while I did my happy dance, I somehow managed to drop the razor onto my foot. (This is not the first time this has happened to me. In fact, I'm starting to think it might be a regular hazard and I should probably take appropriate protective measures. Like hire someone to shave my legs for me. Okay Josh?? It's for SAFETY!)

Anyway, as all you girls know, it didn't hurt at first - simply surprised me. But as I stared at it, I realized that the razor somehow managed to shave off a what appeared to be replica of Sudan off of the top of my foot!!! Naturally, at this point, I stood very still and stared at it. The longer I stared, I could start to feel a little sting and then I knew what was coming.....

OH THE HUMANITY!!!

It was like a scene from Psycho! Naturally, all I could think about was the stupid stories my friends who are retired police detectives tell me constantly about how all the dead people they found in their career were always naked. That's right!! You heard me: NAKED.

My two biggest fears: Being found dead naked and/or dying in a food related incident. Or, worse yet: Dying in a food related incidient WHILE naked. OMG I just freaked myself out a little there.

So not only did I lose what appeared to be 3 litres of blood (or it might be something else, I can't really figure out the metric system! Although snaps to me for spelling it all British-like...) I now have an open wound that pretty much opens the door for Africa to not only touch me, but to just stroll on inside.

Welcome Africa!! Parasites and Amoebas to the left; flesh eating bacteria, please move to the right....No pushing...there's plenty of room for everyone.

SWEET, SWEET VINDICATION

Okay, so remember how I have continually been telling you how I am sweet, innocent, and simply misunderstood since I started this blog - and (frankly) how I have been wronged on so many levels and yet I just persevere through my everyday life? How I give and I give and I give and all you guys ever do is take, take, take?? Remember that?

Well...yesterday was my Grandpa's 100th birthday party -- and yesterday my name was cleared of a hideous crime for which I was not responsible!!! Yesterday, the truth came to light (and I missed it)!! Oh, how I wish I could have been there so that I could walk up to my parents and say, "What now smarties?!!?! Feel kinda child-abusey don't cha?"

I must admit that I was kinda bummed that I would miss it (not really because grandpa was 100 - I totally visited him like 2 times when I was back in the states -- in old people world, that's like 14 mos of visiting -- but because I have so many opinions to pass onto my family. Many are raising kids without the benefit of my child-rearing assistance. I am sure they would have appreciated my advice...), but then I received the email where we were told we had to pick up our color-coded shirt so that Grandpa could tell to which kid of his you belonged (we're a catholic family). There were literally hundreds of people there (to put it into perspective, I have 33 first cousins).

Ergo, there would be a bunch o'people I never met and then I would have been forced to explain - I'm Rod's kid - and the old ones would think I'm my mom and then it is just awkward when they ask if I am still dating that one guy from Wilbur and I have to explain that I am that one guy's daughter. Although, I must admit it IS fun to say that I'm that one guy's love child -- that nobody knew about until today...it's a family scandal! They're old...they totally would believe that shit.

Good times...

ANYWAY, today my cousin David cleared his conscience! He admitted to framing myself, my sister Mel (who frankly was a co-conspirator, but I'm willing to let it rest -- for now), and my cousin Doug! Wanna know how?? Okay, here you go:

It was circa 1977, my grandparents had installed a fancy new all glass shower and they were very proud of it. They invited mom, dad and aunt Dorothy and uncle Darrell to see it. Unfortunately (for my grandparents) they toted their kids along for the visit. Doug and I were about the same age - as were Mel and David, only older . Mel and David used to pick on Doug and I mercilessly. Doug and I were saints. We would sit quietly and color until my parents came back to get us. That's just how good we were. I do believe if the sunlight hit us just right, you could see our little halos.

One day, as Doug and I innocently colored our pictures to give to our parents, illustrating how much we loved them by drawing a mural of our families, Mel and David came running into the room and told us that we were needed in the newly remodeled bathroom! Doug and I protested that we were only going to sit here quietly and color until our parents were done visiting. But they would not let it rest! They FORCED US (at gunpoint I believe) to go with them to the bathroom.

Once we were there, they locked Doug and I in the shower, holding it closed from the outside. Doug and I only wanted to get out - but Mel and David (as they laughed manically) wouldn't budge! Then, David (unprovoked) threw himself at the door and totally broke that shit.

David (seeing the writing on the wall) then ran into the front room and threw the three of us under the bus. He told our parents that we were goofing around and that he had told us to stop, but we didn't listen to him and then we broke the shower door.

The three of us were spanked. David looked on with his Damien like stare....

Fast forward to September 2009, and David finally comes clean. That he was the one who actually broke the shower door. Although he still claims that we were also involved, he tried to pretend like he was the better kid by fessing up to his involvement.

Well David, we have your confession on tape!!! My sister Mel sent me a copy. I have already contacted my lawyer (I met her on the internet, she has a great blog) I am already looking for how to sue you for punitive damages for wrongful spanking or, perhaps, childhood trauma-induced post traumatic stress disorder --as I'm sure I have both of those. I'm also suing you, mom and dad - for wrongful punishment and slander.

Now I might be talked out of filing my lawsuit if, say, a box of snacks and maybe some pedicure products arrived at my house within 30 days. I'm just saying, a bouquet of pedicure products goes a long way toward healing childhood trauma. FYI, I prefer a deep-hydrating foot masque.

And for the record, I can totally fake all kinds of trauma! I was in Iraq during the war. Therefore, don't try to buy me off with any of that Walmart pedicure product. I won't accept anything less than Aveda! It's 30 years of trauma!! I have a whole shitload of highschool angst I can blame on you.

I think we can all learn a valuable lesson from this....NEVER, EVER admit to shit on videotape. There is always one jackass in the family who will hold it against you.

Well David, Meet Jackass!

Today, My Glass is Half-Empty!

Damnitt Sudan! It is LABOR DAY WEEKEND! What the hell is wrong with you guys?? Granted, I'm not really seeing much "labor" on other days , but you would think that you would really get behind this holiday (much like myself who also does not actually labor the rest of the year) and celebrate the shit out of it by resting. And when I say "resting," I mean resting from Ramadan and giving me some damn food! Let's face it! Three days on my own, unattended, and with nobody to offer me suggestions, I simply sit in my house and think about how hungry I am, but how I really don't want to cook anything! -- Ergo, I'm on day 2 of peanut butter and honey sandwiches. Not that they are not good and all - they were - however, now they kinda make me want to gag.

Also, what the hell is with the scratchy bread?! WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO IT?? It feels like you're eating a Brillo pad, which special chunks of rock thrown in for good measure. I assume you do the same kinda stuff we did in my family whenever dad would make spaghetti -- if you were unlucky enough to get the whole bay leaf, you had to do the dishes (Although now that I am out of the house and they are no longer the boss of me, I think I can safely say that there was more than one time I fed that shit to our dog in a lump of spaghetti. She had no idea. Her tummy told us later, mind you -but it was fool proof because there was more than one leaf in that sauce! Ha HA Mel. Suckah!) -- this little memory of me plotting, planning and implementing my plans makes me wonder when it was that I went from trying to take over the world, to lazy person who hates people and simply bitches about stuff? Hmmm...oh well. Guess we'll never know.

Back to my bitching...

Why the hell is America the only country that can make a coffee cup that is decent sized!? And when I say decent, I mean gallon sized. The size that coffee should be served in. I mean we count our daily serving in pots, right?? I do believe that the doc asked me how many cups of coffee I have a day and I converted my answer into pots for him. It's simply too difficult for him to have to do the math and figure out the accepted answer. 3 pots sounds so much better, don't you think??

PLUS, Please stop serving me hot drinks in small juice glasses! OR, because I'm not irrational, if you do not have access to "cups" (probably because of the sanctions, I can only assume or else why the hell would you put yourselves through that?), please invent some sort of finger pot-holder thingey so that I can retain what has not been burned off of my fingerprints from trying to drink your hot drinks.

And finally (for now), What the hell is this?



These are NOT dates! (Although it could be that dates are not the things I think they are - which is entirely possible.) I mean, it kinda tasted like a date at first, but then had this hideously crunchy sour inside! WTF fruit and veggie man!? What am I supposed to do with this??

Also, could you please be a lamb and make sure the stuff I buy is washed and bundled and could you attach some sort of sticker to them for me? I am not really sure, but I'm almost positive that placing some sort of label makes the stuff better. It's not just you, Mr. Veggie Man, just like like Mr. Meat Seller-Man (do you know him?) that I found not far from you on that one street with the Giant pile of burned up tires.... I also asked him to ensure that my meat is put on Styrofoam and wrapped in plastic wrap, with a price tag stuck to it...

I also made him promise that none of my meat would actually look like what it was...We had a very awkward moment there when he tried to sell me a leg of lamb that still had its feet attached. I think we both would like to forget that day ever happened!

I wonder if there is any peanut butter left??

Downside to Hiring the Lowest Bidder....

I really hate to say this....but, my mother was right!!

It IS important to be able to read and write English.....Turns out, something could go wrong...

I Moved to the Ghetto to Get Away from the Hounding Reporters...

In the ghetttooooooooo......And his mama cried.....(Shit! now that stupid song is stuck in my head!)

Poor little baby child was born in the gheettoooooooo.....in the gheeeettooooooo...

But alas the do-gooders have found me!! Unable to leave me in peace, the so-called investigative reporters have outed me. Frankly, I am disgusted by what mascarades for journalism today! There are sooo many other stories that could and SHOULD be told -- why just the other day, I found a lady who I swear was an al-Qa'ida beautician here -- she was TOTALLY using enhanced brow removal techniques (in clear violation of the Geneva Convention -- or what I imagine should BE in the Geneva Convention if I had ever actually READ the Geneva Convention -- but seriously, when is that ever going to be applicable?? )

I will admit though, this al-Qa'ida beautician, was good. My brows were scared straight! That Bitch got them in line -- and believe me, they had it coming! Therefore, I'm not going to create much of a fuss. I WILL, however, demand anesthesia if/when my brows ever start to act unruly and I am forced to visit her again. I'm just saying...so her methods are unorthodox and maybe you don't want to know about them but she gets results! I need her on that wall (of brow threading material)!

So basically, because America is full of greedy, scandal hunting "investigative reporters" this lady and her chamber of torture continues threading willy-nilly...and me sweet, innocent me am being libeled (or is is slandered? WTF? I can never remember which is which - and it is really awkward to try to storm off in a huff if you have to hem and haw over which baseless accusation to throw out before you do!) by Amy and her crack team of reporters and peeping toms.

Do yourself a favor! Go read Amy's slanderous libel (ha! how 'bout that!?!) And then tell me you are not disgusted with the state of the American press these days!?

You will thank me for it.

Correction to My Last Post...

Okay, from the comments and emails from my last post, I clearly have to correct what I said - that post was from an Email that Liz forwarded to me off of the internet, not a story of a life-event that Liz told me in tears!! (Although, why you guys suddenly feel all sorry for Liz now, I have NO idea....) For the record, Liz is actually quite pretty! A drunk would never call her ugly. He might call her a "Beotch" (lord knows I do, even when sober) -- but she would probably have it coming.

As I have told you guys time and again, Liz is married to an orthopedic surgeon. Ergo, she is not ugly -- she is crafty! I have frequently asked if she wanted to trade husbands with me, but then she pointed out that three kids come with Dan, and then the deal didn't sound so great - so then (being the true friend that I am) I offered to simply trade hubby salaries. She said no.

It's really hard to find good friends these days.

Anyway, even despite that, Liz is my BFF and go-to grooming buddy. Back in the day - back when we both lived in the US of A and had access to state of the art grooming facilities staffed by foreigners who usually did not speak English, but could understand my beauty-gesture sign language, we would go get something done almost every weekend. (Apparently, both of us are descendants of Sasquatch) Obviously, I've always got Carnie side-show freak as an alternate career option should this whole foreign service thing not work out.

HOWEVER, when the hell did you guys get all PC on me?! Where in the blogstitution does it say that I have to be NICE to people.

I cannot work under these conditions!!!

When I told Liz about how you guys were a bunch of bleeding heart pansies (not you Blognut! I would never accuse you of that) she laughed and said that you all would DIE then if you knew about the work-conditions in the office back in DC.

-- I interviewed a young man for a position in the office. The last question I asked him was whether he liked cake and, if so, did he insist on having the corner piece? He answered that he loved cake and always took a corner piece because it has more frosting.

I threw him out of my office.

-- After some hooligans who were already government employees (and therefore could never be fired unless God wrote no less than three memos asking it to be done) cut out four corners of a birthday cake that Liz and I brought into the office and hid them from us.

I made them all sign and witness contracts stating they would never EVER pull that kinda crap in the office again.

-- I told the contract employees that they were technically not considered "people." Therefore, in the event of a fire they were not supposed to clog up the stairwells unless and until all USG Staff employees were safely out of the burning building. I also asked them not to use the restroom on the off chance that I might need to use it. (I don't like others in there with me.)

And, for the record, if you were not aware, contractors make a lot more money than me because they claim to be educated and a "specialist" in something or other -- therefore, I think we can all agree that (much like Canada) they got it coming.

-- I declared 07 April as "Sucking Up to Michel Day." Anyone who didn't suck up to me appropriately would be punished.

-- I named the office's pet fish "deputy chief." I put him in charge when I was out, rather than one of the aforementioned hooligans who took the corner piece of cake.

Now, I think I have adequately illustrated that my last post where you thought I was insulting Liz was really no insult at all. You should save your pity for the unfortunate people who have to work directly with me on a daily basis.

I suspect they have started some sort of support group and you can probably donate to it via the Combined Federal Campaign.

Tonight, I'm Tired....

Therefore, I'm simply going to post something my dear friend Liz sent me. She is always charming.

Enjoy!

I was shopping at the local supermarket where I selected:

-- A half-gallon of 2% milk
-- A carton of eggs
-- A quart of orange juice
-- A head of lettuce
-- A 2 lb. can of coffee
-- A 1 lb. package of bacon


As I was unloading my items on the conveyor belt to check out, a drunk standing behind me watched as I placed the items in front of the cashier.

While the cashier was ringing up the purchases, the drunk calmly stated, 'You must be single.' I was a bit startled by this proclamation, but I was intrigued by the derelict's intuition, since I indeed had never found Mr. Right.

I looked at the six items on the belt and saw nothing particularly unusual about my selections that could have tipped off the drunk to my marital status..

Curiosity getting the better of me, I said , 'Yes you are correct . But how on earth did you know that?'

The drunk replied, 'Cause you're ugly.'