Exercise & Rockin’ Vibes!
I have officially speed walked/jogged/run/whatever at least 3 miles a day on the treadmill for three days in a row now, & I Am Kicking Ass With Christmas Boots!!! What a great feeling!!
I’m young, not at all overweight & I don’t *look* like I’m in bad shape – a fact which inspires within me a sense of real gratefulness, as well as a karmic expectation that I’m suspiciously overdue for an episode in which I just stroke the f#ck over next week. “Hmmm, she’s jiggly… *tooooo0* jiggly.” Cue Inception sound effect.
I loathe exercise, but this is a new year & I’m planning to get my shit together a little bit better. My ability to procrastinate could hold up Charon himself for days…
“Cool it, Char- I just need to find my lipstick. …K. I’m also not getting on any boats without snack packs. Where can I find some Nabs in this joint?? Oh, & I’ll be needing to run & go grab a couple magazines…”
so I’m really proud of myself for making some kick ass moves & getting off to a great start! I think most of us usually tend to give ourselves more criticism than praise & most of us could really benefit from a few more pats on the back from ourselves. It’s healthy, and the better & more balanced we feel within ourselves, the better we are for those around us. So, on that note, I just wanted to take a minute to trumpet- and hopefully spread- some positivity & self love.
New year, new start, no reason not to spend it kickin’ ass!
…Ya Know What Really Chaps My Ass?
The wind and weather on my skin when it’s continuously below 10 degrees outside.
And actually it’s not my ass at all, I just adore the flowery sense of feminine fragility evoked by that expression. But seriously, my hands look like a couple “wing slices” of dry-ass, roasted, Thanksgiving turkey made by Aunt Bethany- a once smart, attractive, young woman who is now senile as shit & riding the razor edge of blind & deaf- who forgot she had that 6 pound beast in the oven overnight, cooked the holy shit out of it, & brought it to Thanksgiving anyway because she doesn’t know any better anymore.
This thing’s beggin’ for mercy. Much like my hands.
And do treat yourself to the knowledge that they’re rougher to the touch than they are on the eyes. Sending “shit-outs” to winter …& Aunt Bethany.
Babysitting. It’s bad for your health.
I’m up later than I should be and my mind wanders to those random places it does when one engages in things like sleep deprivation.
I f#cking HATE babysitting!!!!
“whine, whine, I need more white grape juice. It has to be white. That’s the wrong sippy cup, I don’t want this oneee, it has to be Ariel and it has to be whiteeee.”
“Listen, baby bigot, it’s the exact same shit & you can’t HAVE more white grape juice because you’re already treating this establishment like a goddamn bouncy house & I’m on the brink.
You can have like an eye dropper full of grape shit mixed into a glass of water in whatever cup, old soup can or Tupperware I can find, & while you glare at me, begrudgingly sipping like a first world ingrate, you may also reflect on your momentous luck in my belief that your intolerable ass would fetch less money on the Cambodian black market than your parents will give me if you’re still alive when they get home. Don’t make me start rounding up.”
I’m just not a fan of being in the company of children for more than an hour or so in general, so babysitting has never been my jam, but BATH TIME is a special hell unto itself.
Anybody feel me??? It’s the Worst!!!
This one particularly grievous little Piranha by the name of Olivia (if that’s even her real name) who I used to nanny takes the cake, though. Bath time: do you want help in there or not? Mind you, bath time is the time at which either her parents or the sweet release of death are due to be walking in the door at any minute.
Maybe I’m just an awkward person, but I feel like being around any kids over the age of about 5 who are naked and not related to you is uncomfortable as shit. As I’ve amply expressed, I have no sort of personal interest, excitement, particular affection, or any other form of pleasant feelings toward kids, but I feel like the general scene just begs “Chris Hansen, Dateline NBC” to waltz in at any second, kicking off an epic “it’s not what it looks like” scene.
…I digress. This little asshole can never decide if she wants help in the tub or not. Her parents just say to make sure she gets a bath. Being of the sentiments I am, I run the water for her, make sure she has everything she needs, then back out slowly, closing the door behind me and advising “I’ll be right outside if you need anything.” No luck, no peace. Ever.
First, she says in no uncertain terms that she can do it herself & she does not want help AND she wants her privacy. Excellent! 3 minutes later… “Thalia?! I think I need help!” Great…
And there begins a tenuous shit show that may last 45 minutes or a lifetime (can’t say for certain because it always ends with me sporting more wrinkles & less hair than I had at commencement) in which this little d-bag oscillates continuously between begging me to help her wash her hair & yelling like a wronged banshee for me to get out & leave her alone.
She’s in that sort of “fuck you for the sake of fuck you” stage. Don’t get me wrong- this little gremlin adores me & never wants me to go home, but she’s in this stage in which she thrives on unnecessarily/aggressively asserting herself at random. I suppose she’s just discovering the ferocious power of autonomy for which she has my full support. But seriously, kid, do you Have to pick the one time you’re required to be starkers & I’m required to be around you to unleash hell?
Do you have any idea how insanely awkward that is?!?!?!!! And more importantly, how insanely awkward that LOOKS?! I was always just waiting for the glorious day when her dad would arrive at precisely the right moment to hear resounding shrieks throughout the house for me to get out of the bathroom, & enter a scene of his child naked in the bathroom, yelling at the babysitter to leave her alone.
Even now, I’m sure if I were to brush my hair while thinking about it, the brush would emerge looking like someone had glued a wig on it & my head would be left cold, breezy & looking like a bald cap.
“nah, I’m cool”
….. Babysitting. Jesus F Baby!!! Ya know?!
If anyone’s up for sharing, it would do my prematurely aged heart good to hear tales of similar hells.
Eat This, Turkeys.
Can you make me work in this hotel all by myself on Thanksgiving Day? Yes.
Can you stop me from rooting around where the continental breakfast items are kept, locating the industrial size bag of Lucky Charms, fixing myself a whopping bowl comprised solely of all the marshmallows which I’ve now carefully plucked out by hand, leaving only a dry, flavorless wasteland of an excuse for cereal in the bag? No. No, you cannot.
Happy Thanksgiving.
Westboro Baptist Church Thinks Self Righteousness is a Sex Organ, & They’ve Spent Their Entire Lives Just Diddling It.
It occurred to me this afternoon that the members of Westboro Baptist Church are like a bunch of toddlers in their Freudian anal fixation stage. Except they never grow out of it.
They are obsessed with these nutso concepts to the point that not only does this obsession dictate their narrow existences, but their blind servitude often causes the mongering of these concepts to [fairly] come off as completely nonsensical. (They are surely breeding themselves stupider.)
I’ve noticed their constant jam is to construct their pitiful, limp, micro-dick, little signs out of an arbitrary string of hot words that ultimately come out to sad/ “wtf”, at best.
Take these gems for example. Don’t be shy to freakin’ FEAST your eyes on these little slices of egregion; I assure you they are real.
Ok, I did make up the word “egregion” (noun form of egregious), but wtf is a Bitch Burger?! 
Lemonade? Wait, I didn’t even know that delightfully refreshing beverage was mentioned in the bible. When did lemonade make the shit list?!
And then some of their handiwork is just plan confusing…
There’s another WBC pic of them holding a sign that says “YOU Hate God.” So, wait- does God hate me, or do I hate God? …I’m confused, cuz I didn’t even know about this
(back left) What’s God’s rod? And why are we talking about rods? Doesn’t that seem unnecessarily “fag-like”? Is this a subtle attempt at coming out, or did that little gem just bust the f#ck out of the closet by itself?
Well, looks like Whitney’s in hell. Damn.
Aaaaanddd the queen of England has secretly been the queen of fags the whole time!
Soft and Sweet
I came across a badly injured rabbit in the road today and it looked like it still had some fight left, so I hopped (pun deliciously and obnoxiously intended) out of my car, scooped it up, wrapped it up in a fuzzy, purple robe, and took it home.
There will be no inquiries regarding why I was rolling around with a spare robe in my car; I like comfort, sue me.
Old girl was riding shotgun so I could keep tabs on the situation, and also because she called it before I could open the door. I love animals, but I am so horrifically aware of the movements of tiny, erratic ones (like BATS, God Forbid!) and I was mildly petrified that she was going to hyper-animate and attack me at any given moment. I sucked it up and drove home as fast as humanly possible.
As of now, she resides in my kitchen with ample water and a Golden Corral’s worth of veggies, waiting for fate to make its decision. …I hope she makes it; either way, she’s too precious not to share.
The little Sweets nestled into her robe
People of Walmart: In-home Safari Edition
So, this morning, I was fortunate enough to observe this little critter in the kitchen. The live-in boyfriend in his natural habitat. These creatures are extraordinarily rare and usually only allow themselves to be sighted in this exemplary state after you’ve dedicated at least 3 years to tracking them and observing their behaviors.
Once they’ve become accustomed to your presence in their environment, they may grow comfortable enough to display some of their atavistic preferences, natural inclinations and primal behaviors. (For instance, the live in boyfriend may produce confusing vocalizations indicating that it wants to have a sexual relationship with you, even though it is 3pm and if you scour its preferred area of the lair, the careful observer will note that its crudely crafted toothbrush is still dry as a motherf#cking bone.)
During mating season, the creature will often hike its pant leg up to let other males see that its feet are serious, and fan out its decorative laces to attract females.
Note the great lengths it goes to in order to camouflage itself into the grunge of its current surroundings. Nature has flawlessly equipped its body with the precise and distinct features it requires for survival in hostile terrain. Marvel at how its feet are endowed with natural roach stompers, ready to spring into action at the first sign of a threat. Why, this particular pair seems stout enough to defend against even large game, should an errant moose appear without warning.
Note the speed and agility with which the specimen reacts when it senses roach-approach
Many people will go a lifetime without beholding this proud, beautiful animal. Although nature is the true artist of this scene, and I but a mere painter, I consider myself blessed. And deeply humbled by the things I’ve seen.
A Tirade For The Turtle Man
This afternoon I took a short- but ultimately inspiring- stroll out to my humble back porch.
After having bonked my head on a left over deer leg on the way down there, I soon found myself spacing out in a lawn chair, smoking a cigarette and ruminating on the fact that my back yard looks like a real piece of “Live Action.”
Shank of Culprit (My boyfriend hunts.)
…And that’s when I encountered thoughts of The Turtle Man…
The legend, himself
” Yee, yee, yee, yee, YEE!!!! ” This man is Amazing!! Old boy tools around rural Kentucky plunging his mitts into snake infested death traps and swimming around in shit swamps looking for Shit-Snappers to pluck out of peoples’ homes and land with his bare ass hands!
—And not just Shit-Snappers, either; this man is a FULL Critter Bustin’ Squad! (Bustin’ Makes Him FeeeeL GooOooD!)
I’m talkin’ Opossums, Raccoon, Foxes, Bobcats, Zebras- you Kentucky-name it! I have seen this man rub down his own face and entire body with living, flapping, nasty ass chickens just to neutralize his scent…
And for all this, he gets a handsome compensation of………. JACK SQUAT!!! Let me break down the client payments from a few episodes of the show:
Big Ass Snake Removal of a M#therf#cking TOILET SNAKE For an Elderly Lady : $35 + an apple pie
Double Skunk Removal Including Crew, Head Protection & Stench Blankets : $22+ basket of potatoes
Removal of a Shit Snapper From a Man’s Family Pond & Giving Personalized Lessons to the Man on How to Turtle Hunt for Himself : $0
Raccoon Removal From a Makeshift Well Which he Repelled Down into Using Only a Broken Ladder & Got Bitten By an Albino Raccoon in the Process : $35
Are you freaking serious?!! This is elephant ass!!! …And on that note, at the rate it’s going, I wouldn’t be surprised if Ringling called him in next week to do their elephant colonoscopies for a couple sticks of sugar free gum. “Thanks, Turt; we owe ya one. Please accept this pack of Nabs as a token of our gratitude. …You enjoy those, buddy- don’t eat ’em all at once!”
You’re welcome.
After a skunk spray, it takes more than $22 just to get smellin’ right again! — And old boy bathes in rain barrels and TUPPERWARE! He couldn’t even eat the bonus potatoes- he had to use them in his tupperware bath to soak up the skunk smell!!! Egregious.
Turtle bath
Have MERCY, people! The man has NO TEETH for GOD’S SAKE!!!! Come on!! Help a backwoods brother out!!!
For SHAME!
Welcome To The Real NPR”
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"Pull The Van Around." 