Golden Spammers

It’s been awhile. And when I say awhile, I mean it! Sorry I’ve been away so long. I’ve been quite busy. But what better way to come back than with a Spammer letter. And this one is just as golden (wink, wink) as all the others!
Dear Sir/Madam, We are Africa Gold Miners from Kisangani Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC)in Central Africa. I don’t recall asking what the heck you do or where you’re from. But, congratulations all the same! We have huge quantity of alluvial Gold Dust for sale at a considerable price of $16,500USD per kilo,Nuggets $27.000USD per kilo,bar $28.000USD 22 Carats at 93-98 purity which is below world market price because we recently decided to expand our business scope internationally and are on the move of building our customer and partnership network. We want only reliable and serious buyer or broker for a long term business relationship. 

Let me get this straight. You have a HUGE supply of GOLD DUST. Like the dust from the Gold Rush days that everyone and their brother was rushing to the West for back in the 1800’s? Back when they had pack mules and gold essay offices? And where exactly do you think I’d take this dust to now-a-days? And you have bars of gold. AND you have 22 carat gold. Gold at 93-98 purity. Did you know that 22 carat IS 98% pure gold? Or did you think that I wouldn’t know that so you threw some high numbers in there hoping I’d think, “Wow! This is fantastic! Some guy from Africa emailed ME! From the 300 million people in the United States, he wants ME!” 

Yeah. I mean, no. I’m not stupid. But I’m sure you can find some stupid schmuck in our population to help you expand your business scope internationally since you are on the move of building your customer and partnership network.

 If you are interested,do not hesitate to get back to us as soon as you receive this mail so that we will prepare and send you our full co-operate offer (FCO). Even if you are not prepared to buy our Gold now but can get a buyer for us, we pay 5% commission per kg to Agent/Mandate or Intermediary.

 I am not interested now or ever. Not if you have a full or even a partial co-operate offer. I wouldn’t do this if you paid a 100% commission. This just plain sucks. 

We look forward in doing a long lasting business transaction with you. N.B Prices are negotiable depending on KG Best Regards Africa Miners Gold,Diamond,Minerals Kimunya Patrick B.P 747 Kisangani CONGO (DRC) Email:kimunya.patrick@gmail.com SYKPE:Africaminersgroup 

 Don’t look forward to anything, especially a long lasting business transaction. Nothing is negotiable. I wouldn’t email you for all the coffee at Starbucks and oh DEAR GAWD! I just threw up in my mouth thinking about SKYPING you!

 If I could, I’d have you arrested, thrown behind bars and the key melted into your forehead, you scum-bucket-spammer! 

 But since I can’t do any that, I’ll just have my fun typing this knowing my friends will get a chuckle and knowing they too won’t be stupid enough to fall for your crap.

 

Now I Have A Police Record

I’ve had dogs all my life. I’ve also trained my own dogs. My boxers were the best. Not only were they quiet, as in they barely barked, they were also smart. They did all sorts of tricks, Kommit even sneezed on command. They stayed in our yard without leashes too. Many people walking past our house asked if we had an electric fence. We don’t.

 Madea, our German Shepherd mix, is also intelligent. She barks but only if she thinks there’s a threat. Berra is smart. But she thinks leaves blowing in the back yard are a threat. The bitch darling thinks everything is a threat. And she knows I don’t like her yipping because she’ll bark then duck her head as if to say, “Oops, my bad, Mommy. But I just couldn’t help myself.”

 Berra also likes to test me by leaving the yard. She walks out of the driveway and barks at people pushing their baby strollers. I don’t know why she does this, because she’s anti-social. People will put their hands down to greet her and she’ll back away with her hair sticking up and bark as if she’s the meanest dog on earth. Except she only attacks moths and stink bugs.

 I have to watch her like a hawk when we’re in the front yard because as soon as I turn my back, she heads for the street. Almost like she’s pissed the plants are getting my attention. And if dogs are smart enough to cut off their noses to spite their faces...Berra did just that.

 The other night I received a call on my cell phone. It was from the Chief of Police. He asked, “Is this Pam?”

 Of course I said yes.

 He proceeded to tell me that he received an anonymous complaint about my dogs going into the street and barking at people who walked by. I had to clarify dogs, as in plural, because Madea doesn’t do that. She stops at the end of our driveway and she doesn’t bark unless she’s in the house and someone comes to the door. However, Berra barks at everything and she has gone into the street and barked at people.

 Damn her.

My perfect record was shot.

 I explained to the Chief that Berra was a yipper and it pissed me off but I didn’t leave her unattended, ever. Although there were a few times she did get out of the yard but she’d never hurt anyone. I told him I did understand that a barking dog in the street could scare some people when they didn’t know the dog and from now on I would leash her when we were out front. He was pleased with this solution.

 After the call ended I looked at Berra and said, “You got me in trouble. And now you’ll be on a leash.”

 She wagged her tail.

Probably because I was talking to her...again, or would that be still?

 Then it dawned on me, the Chief called my cell phone and never used my last name.

 He must’ve gotten the information from the NSA.


 

More Dumb Ass Spammers

Hi! It’s been awhile since I’ve posted. You know how it is. Work, husband, kids, dogs—what can I say? I’m totally blaming my lack of time management skills on other things. But those sound better, don’t they?

 Anyway. I was going through my spam messages and realized I haven’t shared Idiot Spammers with you lately. That’s mighty rude of me. So I’ll be generous and spread the stupidity.

#1. Hence, adequate attention is required to build up the identity that your business aims for. If you are done with your schooling, you can get admitted for diploma or under graduation in the course. There are many email marketing consulting companies but they are good in talking and telling you what to do. Also visit my webpage The Design Entrepreneur 

 Dear Design Entrepreneur, Hence, it’s apparent as a wart on a witch’s nose that you’re the one in dire need of schooling, not I. Not only do you need a diploma, but you are in sore need of basic common sense. The post you commented on was sarcasm, as in humor, and it’s about Barbie dolls. Therefore telling me about email marketing companies is just plain idiotic—Barbie’s don’t email. Plus you made a grave mistake in thinking I want someone to tell me what to do. If you knew me, you’d know that I am the bossy one. So I won’t be visiting your website anytime soon. 

 #2. Write more, thats all I have to say. Literally, it seems as though you relied on the video to make your point. You definitely know what youre talking about, why throw away your intelligence on just posting videos to your site when you could be giving us something informative to read? Also visit my blog post; workouts to increase vertical leap

 Dear Workout, take a vertical leap off a bridge. But that’s not all I have to say. Literally, you’re a total dumb ass. I have never used a video on any blog post since I began blogging back in 2007. Apparently you have no intelligence to speak of so why bother pretending you can read? Again, take that vertical leap and save all Bloggers the torture of seeing your pitiful comments. 

#3. Howdy would you mind letting me know which web host you're working with? I've loaded your blog in 3 completely different web browsers and I must say this blog loads a lot faster then most. Can you recommend a good hosting provider at a reasonable price? Thanks, I appreciate it! my web-site webcam sex 

Oh.Dear.Gawd! Are you serious? Your web-site is about webcam sex and you have the audacity to ask me about my web host? Ever hear of Google? And no, it’s not a sexual position. Pig. The only thing I will recommend to you is to drop off the end of the earth. And take your webcam with you.

#4. certainly like your web site however you have to check the spelling on quite a few of your posts. A number of them are rife with spelling issues and I in finding it very bothersome to inform the truth on the other hand I will certainly come back again. my site; How To Write Guitar Solo 

 Dear Guitar Solo, you’ve got some gonads. In the blogging world it’s rude to point out spelling mistakes. But I’ll bet dollars to donuts that my posts aren’t rife with them. However, your spelling and grammar are horrendous. Maybe you should get a Beta reader before polluting comment sections with your garbage. And NO, please do NOT come back.

#5. Great post. I used to be checking constantly this blog and I'm impressed! Very useful information particularly the remaining section :) I maintain such info much. I used to be seeking this particular info for a very lengthy time. Thanks and good luck. my web blog; Permanent tattoo removal 

 Dear Tattoo, I’m glad you’re impressed. But I’d rather you be absent much. If I may make a suggestion? Rather than seek sarcasm, search for Rosetta stone, preferably English. Or better yet, use some of that permanent tattoo removal on yourself. Thanks and goodbye. 

 There you go, folks. Idiotic-stupid-dumbass Spammers who just plop sentences and links into your comment sections which don’t even pertain to your post. They are annoying but they are also amusing.

 Go ahead, poke fun at them.

 Too bad we can’t poke them with marshmallow sticks.

 

Don't Play With The Equipment

I went to a doctor’s appointment the other day. And guess what? I had to wait. I know, I know, you’ve never heard of such a thing. That’s why I’m telling you about it.

 Over the years, I’ve waited about twenty or thirty minutes for this doctor. So Tuesday, after forty minutes, I tapped on the receptionist’s window and asked, “Is there a problem? I’ve been waiting forty minutes.”

 She replied, “I don’t know. The doctor must be running late.” (Oh, duh. Ya THINK.)

 I pointed to the sign that hung on her window that read:
IF YOU ARE FIFTEEN MINUTES LATE, YOU MAY BE ASKED TO RESCHEDULE
 And said, “Because if we’re fifteen minutes late, we have to reschedule.”

 I don’t think she liked that very much.

 Within ten minutes, I was called back to the examination room. Where I waited.

 And waited.

 After fifteen minutes I was so damn bored.

 Then I saw it.

 The gooseneck examination lamp.

 I reached over and switched the light on and off, and on and off. Then I twisted the gooseneck up and down and around and back again. Then I dropped my hands and swung my legs and adjusted my lovely paper nightgown. But my eyes were drawn back to the lamp.

 I switched it back on and aimed it toward the wall where it cast a bright circle of light. I placed my hand in front of the bulb and tried making an animal shadow puppet. I sucked at that. But I was good at making a pretend mouth, though.  So I made it talk.

 It said, in a deep tone, “Doctors shouldn’t make you wait and if they do make you wait, they should let you know if they are going to be longer than forty-five minutes. And if they are longer than forty-five minutes, you sh—”

 The nurse walked in and looked at me as if I had three purple heads.

 I flicked off the light, dropped my hands back to my lap, and said, “I had to amuse myself somehow. You don’t have a television back here.”

 “There’s some magazines,” she said, pointing to a stack of dog-eared magazines, at least a year old.

 “I don’t like magazines. They’re crap.”

After giving me another strange look, she told me the doctor would be with me in a few minutes.

 The doctor came back in forty-five.

 I guess my definition of few and the medical profession is completely different. Too bad I can’t apply their few minutes to my daily life and mine to doctor’s appointments and work.

 Oh, and if you expect me to wait, and don’t want me to play with the equipment—install a television with cable.

 

Catch Me & Please Pam

I told you my husband is a clown. He’s always joking around. Even when I tell him something serious. I also think it’s a gene he passed on to our sons. The monsters darlings will ask me why I don’t joke around more. My answer? Someone needs to be the adult in the house.

 However, I do get a kick out of my husband’s texts. It’s been a while since he’s sent me any I could lol about.

I think he’s part bear. He doesn’t hibernate in the winter, but he should, because he’s grumpy. We don’t have warm weather yet here in Pennsylvania but we’ve noticed something rare in the sky lately. It’s big and yellow and it radiates light. Oh, wait, I remember now, it’s the sun! And I’m pretty sure it’s making my grumpy husband happy, because when I sent him a text Friday asking if he wanted to go out to dinner, here’s what transpired…

 David: Sure. I would capture all the sun’s rays if it would please u. 
Me: I’d rather have moon rocks. 
David. I’m on my way. Not sure if I will be back in time 4 dinner. 
Me: No excuses for missing a dinner date. 
David: I’ll be there. 
Me: Ok. But no more playing. I have to work. 

 Now Dr. Laura says a man loves you if he’s willing to swim through shark infested waters to bring you an iced tea. I’m betting a man loves you if he’s willing to get close to a 10,832 degree ball of fire merely to please you.

Although a vanilla latte would be nice.

 I’ll put in my order via text.

 

Should's And Win-Win's

I think we should be able to drive with our eyes closed and get where we’re going safely. Think about that. If you have a long commute to work, you could catch up on your Z’s. Driving the kids to soccer or football practice—snooze away. You wouldn’t even have to worry about those pesky red lights or stop signs. Or the idiots who text while driving. You wouldn’t have to look at those dumb asses anymore—your eyes would be closed! Sounds like a total win-win, to me!

 I think we should be able to eat while lying down and not choke to death—hear me Mama Cass? You wouldn’t even have to get up in the morning. Just lie there and have someone shovel those eggs into your mouth! When lunch rolls around—open wide and shove that peanut butter and jelly sandwich right on in. If you’re hunkering for a snack, well, you can lie there and toss some Oreos in the air and catch them with your teeth—never getting off your back! You want milk with that, you say? Just rig up a cup and straw on your bedside table. See? Another win-win.

 I think female dogs should be born spayed. Unless you want your female puppy to grow up and breed, of course. But in my case, I haven’t had a minute to get my female puppy to the vet—except for her shots— and yep, you guessed it—she’s back in her hot pants. So if girlie puppies were born already unable to have puppies it would save people, like me (who lose track of time for various reasons I won’t go in to right now ) a lot of aggravation. Therefore, female puppies already sterilized is a win-win, in my world.

 I think that television shows should be filmed and then run consecutively. Waiting a week in between shows, or in the event of the Oscars or a stupid sporting event, puts a major cramp in my style. There are a bazillion television stations in this century, why must they interrupt my shows? And why must I wait to see what happens to my make-believe characters? I want to see the plot, conflict and mishaps right.now.all.at.once. So for me, that would be a win-win.

 I think that we should be able to use electrical devices while taking a bath without getting dead. Image that for a few seconds—or minutes, if your brain is operating in slow-mo like mine this time of year. If you could lounge around in your tub—with bubbles and candles—with your laptop, or even your Kindle or other E-reader. That would be fun! Or what if you wanted to do your hair with a curling iron? Or maybe you want to sand a piece of wood with your handy-dandy wood sander. I mean, come on, there are tons of things you could do in the tub with electronics. But let’s face it. If you did, you’d get zapped and you wouldn’t be able to read my blog. That’s just not right. We have the technology to take out terrorists without setting foot in their country. We can spy on our own citizens while they lounge around their house in their underwear. Heck, we cross breed dogs, plants and fruit. But we can’t bathe with electronics without getting zapped? That’s a problem. I think we should fix that into a win-win.

 And last, but certainly not least, I think Mother Nature should stop delaying spring. Or at the very least, we should be able to kick Punxsutawney Phil’s furry ass. I’m sick of the cold, the wet and the dreary and if I don’t get warmth and sunshine soon—I’m gonna go ape shit on Mother Nature AND Phil. And THAT would FEEL like a win-win right about now.


 

Dumb Ass Spammers

Blogger does a good job of catching Spammers. The comments automatically go into a spam folder, where you can view them then either post them or send them into the web ether, where they’ll float around—invisible and unseen by anyone, except you— for eternity. That’s a good thing, otherwise your comment section could get cluttered with useless jargon that doesn’t even pertain to the post at hand, and you’d be wasting precious time trying to delete the annoying advertisements when you could be posting, reading or Flirting Playing With Non-Friends. However, there are just some spam comments, that are so freaken priceless, one simply cannot send them into the web ether without first sharing! What kind of Non-Friend would that make me?

 Over the past six months or so, my Happy Birthday Austin post has been inundated with Spammers. None of them make sense; they’re trolling for hits to their stupid-ass sites. But if I could respond to their dumb-as-they-come comments, this is what I’d say:

 Dumb Ass Spammer #1: Write more, thats all I have to say. Literally, it seems as though you relied on the video to make your point. You definitely know what youre talking about, why throw away your intelligence on just posting videos to your weblog when you could be giving us something informative to read? Here is my web site - rid of acne

 If that’s all you have to say, then it’s apparent you have no intelligence. Because I don’t have a video on that post. Or any of my posts, for that matter. So, you’re just too damn dumb. And on another note, did you even LOOK at my son’s picture? Your web-site is to rid of acne. My kid doesn’t have ONE pimple! Like I said, you’re just too damn dumb...literally.

 Dumb Ass Spammer #2: I always spent my half an hour to read this weblog’s content everyday along with a cup of coffee. My web blog - tattoo removal cream

 Holy crap! If you spend half an hour reading my blog EVERYDAY, you really need a life. Especially since you posted this on January 11, 2013 and I haven’t posted consistently since last July! And tattoo removal cream? Really? If I purchase that, do you have some swamp land in New York City I can buy, too? Because I just don’t have enough places to waste spend my money.

Dumb Ass Spammer #3: Thanks in support of sharing such a fastidious thought, article is nice, thats why i have read it completely Also visit my weblog tattoo removal cost

 Oh.Good.Gawd! Do you really think that because you utilized the word fastidious I would click your site? Did you bother to check your grammar? Because it sucks. I mean, dude, take a gander at the letter “i”. And where’s your punctuation? Where are the periods? Apostrophes? How about you forget the tattoo removal and go learn you some English?

  Dumb Ass Spammer #4: magnificent points altogether, you simply gained a new reader. What might you suggest in regards to your put up that you simply made a few days ago? Any sure? Review my homepage - propertyinturkeyforsale.net

 Okay, wait. I don’t think I simply want to gain a new reader. Especially one who wants to sell me property in TURKEY! It’s only a bazillion miles from my family and, oh, near Syria and the Middle East, where it’s ON FIRE and crawling with fucking terrorists! And yeah, I’m very any sure!

  Dumb Ass Spammer #5: An impressive share! I’ve just forwarded this onto a friend who has been doing a little homework on this. And he actually bought me dinner because I stumbled upon it for him... lol. So allow me to reword this.... Thank YOU for the meal!! But yeah, thanx for spending some time to talk about this matter here on your site. Feel free to surf my blog :: immobilienalanya.net

 Really? Your friend is doing homework on MY son’s birthday? And he bought YOU dinner because you stumbled onto my blog post? Wow, what the hell would he buy you, if, say, you stumbled into a worm hole? Let me rephrase that. lol. (And I’m laughing AT you, not with you). You’re welcome. I like writing about MY son’s birthday. I guess because I was the one who carried him inside my body then pushed him out of my hoo-hah. Maybe your friend should buy ME dinner. Actually, I’ll take you leaving me alone as payment in full. 

 There you have it, guys and gals. Spammers who will try and leave hyper-links in your comment section regardless of whether it relates to your post or not.

 Feel free to poke fun at these dumb asses in MY comment section!

 

Flirting with Friends – Part Two

I told you how I began playing Words With Friends and some Yo-Ho wanted me to send him a picture, cuz he wanted to see what I looked like. Needless to say I was disgusted and of course I didn’t send him one.

I resigned that game and found me a new opponent!

Well, it was someone called D-boy. As soon as our game started good ‘ole D-boy messaged me asking me where I lived. I rolled my eyes and thought, Jesus H. Christ. Not another one. I typed: Washington. I lied. I live in Pennsylvania. He messaged me back that he lives in California. Like I gave a flying shit. Then he asked me how old I was.

Here’s the exchange:

I showed this exchange to my husband and sons. My fifteen year old said, “Mom, he likes older WOMAN." The guy’s 28 and doesn’t know proper grammar! 

 Then my three males went on about how disgusting it was that SOME males have to ruin it for LADIES, like me. Aren’t they sweet? Not only am I married to a gentleman, I raised TWO gentlemen!

 So, back to D-boy.

He just wasn’t giving up.

When I read THAT exchange to my guys, they were REALLY mad! I’d bet if D-boy lived within our vicinity, they would’ve hunted him down. And trust me, my boys are HUGE. They are weight lifters and very protective of me—I’m their Princess. Yes, I’m SO bragging. I just eat that shit up.

 D-boy is gone, along with that other ass-wipe. But then there was a Roberto. He asked me how I was and I said, “Fine.” He resigned the game. I’m just going to cut these idiots off at the pass, so to speak.

 But I’m lucky because I am playing with my niece, a friend from my fan-fiction group and my friend Bubbe! We found each other through a little brain-work—we’re so smart!

 The best thing to do when these ass-wipes message you for your age and photos—resign the game. Don’t encourage them. Have innocent fun with REAL friends! Or fake friends, because not every opponent is a disgusting jerk.

 

Flirting With Friends - Part One

I don’t play a lot of games, especially on-line. Not because I don’t like games—I do. I just don’t have time for them. However, when I heard people rave about Words With Friends, I was curious about the hype, especially since I love words. Plus, I got a Kindle Fire for my birthday this past July, so, I thought I’d give it a try.

I finally figured out that I could actually play with more than one opponent, which made it a whole lot more fun. At first I was sitting there with one opponent…waiting and waiting and thought, Holy hell, THIS is the most boring ass game I’ve ever played! People get addicted to sitting here WAITING? Then I saw the little plus sign, pressed it, and Voila! I now have about a dozen opponents at any given time! That’s fun.

 So, it was going along really well. I even had a few people send me messages saying things like Wow, that’s a word! Who knew! And stuff like that. Which was perfectly fine with me—I’m not playing this game to make friends. Which is kind of ironic since the name is Words With Friends.

 Well, the other day I was playing a game with a Mr. H and he sent me a message and said hello and thanking me for the challenge and told me he lived in Texas. I said hello back and I thanked him for the challenge and I said I lived in Pennsylvania. But really, what the heck difference does it make where we live?

Well, I soon found out. Here’s the messages:

After that, Mr. H resigned. Go figure, the dork was looking for PICTURES! EW! All I could think of was Congressman Anthony Weiner.

 What the hell is wrong with these men? And I’m sure I should ask, what the hell is wrong with women who fall for this shit? Are they really that stupid? Or are they just desperate? Maybe it’s a combination of both. Who the heck knows! Certainly not me! I just want to play a word game.

 But stay tuned for Part Two. Mr H isn’t the only dork out there and it’s quite annoying that you can’t play an innocent word game, with or without friends, and not be harassed and grossed out!




 

Shingles, Black Cats & Voodoo

Guess what? Saturday afternoon, Dalan’s Jeep broke down on the highway. This was another event in our string of bad luck since his accident ten weeks ago.

 I truly don’t know what the hell is going on, but I’m about ready for an Exorcism or a Voodoo Priestess. 

 My head isn’t spinning around and I’m not spitting green pea soup, but damn, wouldn’t a Priest still be willing to sprinkle a little Holy water and wave a cross to help a gal out? And hey, I’m all for some woman dancing around my house in a long robe, with a bone through her nose, chanting in tongues, if it will remove this curse…or whatever the hell it is. 

If I’m not cursed now, I will be, since a black cat ran in front of my Jeep the other day. Then a day later, a white cat ran in front it. I’m not superstitious, but I might reconsider if the white cat cancels out the black one. If not, get me the Priest AND the Voodoo Priestess! 

 And do it before my husband or I get Shingles. Because the other night, we were watching television and we saw a commercial for Shingles and determined, with our luck, one of us will get it. 

 “Oh great,” I said. “I had chicken pox as a kid. With our luck lately, I’ll probably end up with Shingles!”

 “No you got it backwards,” my husband said, “I never had chicken pox. So I’ll get the Shingles.” 

 Both of us giggled, even though it wasn’t really funny. 

 “Remember?” David asked, “I used to get poison ivy and how I was allergic to it?”

 I palm slapped my head and said, “Oh that’s right! Duh. Since I never had poison ivy and we’ve been SO lucky, I’ll end up dying from some poison ivy disease that doesn’t even exist.”

THAT would be our luck. 

That and Berra not being just chubby… 



 

Flying Hot Pants

When it rains, it pours, they say, and boy are THEY right!

 You all know that Kommit passed away Saturday. Well, my husband has been worried about me lately (with everything going on) and wanted me to call him when I arrived at my parent’s house. So, I did.

 “I’m here,” I told him when he answered the phone.

 “You’re not going to believe this,” he sighed.

 “You’re fucking kidding me,” I said none too quietly.

 “Don’t worry, it’s not TERRIBLE. But Berra’s in heat.” 

 “Of course she is.” I was still sitting in my Jeep and wanted to slam my head off the steering wheel. “Wait, I thought they didn’t go into heat until six months…oh shit, she’s nine months old!”

 “I put her in the cage in the garage. Don’t worry I cleaned it out first. I just wanted you to know,” he explained while trying to make me feel a little better about the situation.

 “Okay, I’ll buy her some pants on my way home.” What the hell else could I do? Time had slipped away once again and I hadn’t gotten her fixed and now I had to deal with it.

 And so did she…

 Berra is now the proud wearer of fuchsia and purple pants which make her look like a Super Dog.



Funny thing, she already thinks she can fly.

When she jumps off something she jumps OUT rather than DOWN.

Which could pose a problem...

Our deck is about five feet off the ground and we didn’t get the railing on AGAIN this year. If this dog even THINKS she can fly with her new hot pants...




I’m taking a fucking bridge with cement shoes.


 

Cottage Cheese Please

Lately, as you know, I’ve had one freaken crisis after another. I feel like I’m walking…well running like hell…and the black cloud is racing to be over top of me pouring buckets of rain and golf ball size hail down on my head and my umbrella is useless because it blew inside out due to the hurricane winds.

 I haven’t laughed in weeks, with good reason, and that is simply NOT healthy. I ran out of Vitamin D—along with just about every other damn thing in my pantry since my husband has been slacking with the grocery shopping— so I bought some more, along with Magnesium/Calcium and Probiotics. Magnesium because I used to take it all the time and it’s supposed to be a natural pain reliever, but I got tired of popping them. Probiotics because I read that if you ever took antibiotics you should take Probiotics to replace your GOOD bacteria. 

All of that sounds a bit nutty, but hey, I never claimed to be sane. And besides if I can’t laugh myself into good health then damn it I’ll take vitamins and minerals until my stomach bursts. Something is gonna get me— no one gets out of this alive. 

 As far as my husband slacking with the grocery shopping…he totally sucks at it lately. What the hell is up with all the potato chips, cookies and snack bars? We had no strawberry jelly, yellow mustard, sour cream or cottage cheese! All of MY favorite items, mind you. Is he giving me a hint?

 “We’re out of strawberry jelly!” I said as I shut the refrigerator door.

 “You have that jam your blogger friend sent you.” My husband told me not looking up from the paper.

 “That’s not the point. You didn’t buy me MY jelly. Did you get yellow mustard?” I knew he was partly correct but I needed to make a point.

 “I forgot.”

 “Those are your famous two words ya know,” I told him lightly although inside I was a bit ticked.

 “I got you your ice cream bars.” He batted his baby blue eyes at me almost as if he sensed my irritation from across the room and thought THAT action and some ice cream would make it all better.

 “I didn’t ask for those and besides, everyone eats them. What about my sour cream?” I pouted like a four year old who wanted a toy.

 “Ah…I forgot,” he smiled sheepishly.

 “See.” I pointed at him in affirmation.

 “I’ll get it this weekend.”

 “No you won’t. You’ll forget. I’LL get it THIS week.” I told him half laughing but in all seriousness, he and I both knew I would end up at the store for MY items.

 We ended up laughing about it, which I guess means I DID in fact laugh, but it wasn’t a deep belly laugh.

See! Lately I just can’t win. But a laugh is a laugh so I should just be thankful for what I can get. 

I’m human though, which means I can have a selfish side, so would someone get me some damn cottage cheese please!




 

I'm Not A Coffee Connoisseur

I’ve been a coffee drinker since I was thirteen.

 I think I’m a coffee connoisseur.

 My husband, however, says I have NO idea what coffee tastes like since I douse it with Coffee Mate and Splenda.

 For years we went round and round with me saying I can tell the difference between a GOOD cup of coffee from a BAD cup of coffee and him saying I can NOT tell the difference.

One day a few years ago we were having our good vs. bad cup of coffee debate and I insisted that I absolutely without a doubt could tell the difference.

 “Pam, I know for a FACT that you do NOT know the difference,” David said as serious as a heart attack, which made me a little nervous, since he normally injected sarcasm or some stupid ass joke into just about every conversation we had.

“HOW do you know?”

 “I just KNOW,” He repeated.

“Okay then tell me.” THIS ought to be good. Facts in David-land sometimes make me batshit crazy, as if I need any help.

 “One day while we were having our coffee on the patio and I went up to the kitchen to refill our coffee cups and there was only enough coffee for one cup. Since yours had a little bit left I added warm water, cream and splenda just to see IF you’d notice. I gave you the cup and you drank it without saying a word.”

 “No you did NOT.” I was horrified!

 “And Pam. I did this TWICE. Not in the same day. But it happened two times.”

 “Oh. Well. I guess I don’t know what coffee tastes like then.” I shrugged my shoulders. What else was I going to do? I was busted.

 “You aren’t mad?” He was staring at me, I guess waiting for me to blow my top.

“No. Why would I be mad? I may not know a good cup of coffee but I sure as hell know a good cigarette! So don’t go messing with them!” A woman’s logic ALWAYS wins in the end.

So there you have it. There REALLY is such a thing as a little coffee with your cream and sugar.


 

If U Can’t Laugh AT Your Kids ~ Don’t Have Any

I mentioned that I took my son to a doctor’s appointment last Tuesday. This particular doctor was near a shopping center that I frequent however I only go there when I need to hit more than one store hence multi-tasking and saving gas. It just so happens that the stores I needed to hit this time were all female related: Sally’s Beauty Supply, Ulta and Cosmo Prof, although my oldest son is a shopper and LOVES Ulta because HE uses more cologne than a French whore, my youngest is NOT a shopper and prefers if I just pick up what he wants or needs, and since he’s low-maintenance and rarely wants or needs anything, he saves me a fortune, which is a good thing considering my oldest wants just about everything he lays his pretty blue eyes on.

 I digress, a little.

 Even though Austin isn’t a shopper, he did agree to accompany me on my errands. Needless to say, I was thrilled! Not only did I have someone to cart my crap around the store and to the Jeep but it also gave me one-on-one time with him. Car-time is the best time to get the low-down on his life, you know like girls and stuff—things he might be a bit reluctant to talk about at home, but in the vehicle listening to his favorite radio station, all chilled out, he’s not anticipating my stealth-like-mommy-questions and answers without any hesitation.

Again, I digress, a little.

Our first stop was Sally’s where I grabbed nail files, nail glue, false eye lashes, lash glue, a powder brush and an eyebrow wax pencil. Unlike Dalan who leaves me to my own devices so he can find his own stuff, Austin just followed me around while I grabbed my doo-dads and hickey-ma-bobs, which didn’t take very long, so it wasn’t excruciatingly painful for him.

 The second stop was rather easy too. We got into Ulta where I went right for Pureology hairspray (I can’t find it in the professional supply stores) handed it to him to carry (because I make my kids WORK when I shop) then I went to Ulta’s bath and shower gel aisle. I use that for hand soap in my kitchen (it smells SO good!). I also like that they have a sale—buy one get one free or on this particular day, buy two get one free.

 Alas, we were done. Except for standing in line, which was long, for a Tuesday. Although we had fun talking about Politics—he’s a hardcore Conservative even at the young age of fifteen and we joked about Liberals (all innocent fun y’all)!

 After that we headed for Cosmo Prof where you need a professional license to purchase goodies, which I do have, by the way. There I got two different types of shampoo and conditioners, because I’m anal and like to switch it up, plus I hate the stuff I had just recently purchased.

I also wanted to try yet another new hairspray. I know, I know, if I could get back all the money I’ve spent on the hairspray I hate I could take a nice weekend trip! But this Paul Mitchell hairspray was in a big ass can for only eight bucks, so I just HAD to give it a shot (I reason with myself).

Then I wanted to get a new flat iron. Mine is ancient—over ten years old. And while I spent a king’s ransom on that damn thing, it just doesn’t work the way it once did, hence the reason I wanted a new one (notice I did NOT say NEED).

 I couldn’t find a two inch Hot Tools Ceramic flat iron but I did find it in an one inch size. I held it in my hand as I continued to search for one in a two inch size. Austin pulled a box off the shelf and said, “Here’s a two inch one, Mom.”

“No, that’s a curling iron, I’m looking for a flat iron,” I explained.

 “Oh my gawd! I am so not having a daughter!” He huffed as he placed the curling iron back on the shelf.

I began laughing so hard that I had to kneel down and hope that I didn’t pee my pants. “What do you mean you aren’t having a daughter?” I asked in between fits of laughter.

 “Curling irons, flat irons, all this fancy shampoo. There’s no way I could handle it. No way I’m having a daughter.” He told me shaking his head.

“Austin, the male determines the sex of the baby.”

“I don’t care. Still not having one.” He had that determined gleam in his eyes that he would get when he was four and would throw himself on the floor in a hissy-fit.

“I think you AND Dalan are both having ALL girls. You know, as payback for all the shit you put me through.”

“I’ll kill myself.”

I began giggling once again because he was so darn serious. The sales ladies in the store came over to see what was so funny and I told them what he had said and they both started laughing too.

Austin didn’t think it was too damn amusing, but hey, if you can’t laugh AT your kids, don’t have any!



 

I Scared A Man Out Of A Restroom

Yesterday I took my son to a doctor’s appointment and of course on the way to the vehicle I had to find a restroom because my bladder is the size of a chickpea.

 Walking down the hallway I saw a sign for “Restrooms” and practically danced my way into the room. Upon entering I noticed a urinal, however, I didn’t give a crap (no pun) about THAT as I made my way to the stall, doing a jig as I went.

WHY do I wait so darn long to find a restroom? Or maybe the question should be WHY do I drink gallons of coffee which makes me have to empty my bladder every twenty freaken minutes?

Anyhow, as I was hovering over the commode I heard the door open, someone come in but then leave again. My thoughts immediately went to Oh no did I enter a men’s room? Or is this one of those unisex restrooms? Then I thought I don’t care, it’s not like I’m a bathroom stalker who watches people pee.

Once my business was complete, I washed up then went to the door to leave. It was then that I saw a piece of paper hanging on the door that read LOCK THE DOOR SO OTHERS KNOW ROOM IS OCCUPIED. Oops.

Meeting my son in the hallway I said, “Guess what?”

 “You should’ve locked the door.”

“How’d you know?”

“The guy that went in after you came right back out and said she should’ve locked the door.”

“Oh poo on him. It’s not like I get my jollies watching men pee. Besides the darn sign that said to lock the door was crinkled AND it was behind me when I entered. I didn’t see it until I was leaving.”

 So, there you have it. My three and a half inch white pumps beneath the bathroom stall scared a man out of a restroom. I just hope HIS bladder has better storage capacity than mine and he was able to find a restroom that wasn’t inhabited by a woman who has a bladder the size of a chick pea who could also care less if it’s a unisex restroom or a men’s room!

 Cuz when ya gotta go, ya gotta go!


 

The Daughters I Never Had

I’m not afraid of aliens or ghosts, snakes or any kind of bug. I save my fear for crazy stuff like knives in the sink that beckon me to grab them and stab someone. Or inexplicably coming down with amnesia and turning into a bag lady that lives under a bridge and my family will never know hence never find me and I’d spend the rest of my life eating left-overs from a trash can.

 Now my husband and sons believe in aliens and ghosts (and Big Foot) and they are afraid of bugs, especially spiders, which makes me the official Spider Killer of our household. Although I don’t always kill them. Sometimes I just shoo them away then I tease the hell out of my scaredy-cat-estrogen-filled males about how the spiders are gonna get them while they sleep.

 Thursday morning, my son Dalan said that he and his brother Austin had to kill Godzilla the Bug the night before. I wondered what all the ruckus was about! It sounded like they were wrestling Andre the friggin’ Giant. But since no one was screaming, and the dogs weren’t barking, I didn’t get out of bed to investigate.

 “Mum it was huge!”

 “How big was it?” I was expecting to see him measure out two feet with his hands.

 He measured an inch with his fingers.

 “You’ve got to be kidding me. It took TWO of you to kill a one inch bug?”

 “Mum, it was Godzilla the bug.”

 “I’m gonna start calling you Daylinda and Austina, the daughters I never had.”

 “Go down and look at it.” He pointed to the floor indicating he wanted me to go to the powder room downstairs. “We saved it for you.”

 “No you didn’t. You were just too scared to pick it up.” I did go down to see this bug that took two strapping young lads to kill it. At first I couldn’t find it. You would think with the name, Godzilla the Bug, I wouldn’t have had a problem. However, it was barely an inch long as it was a freaken millipede, so it was barely worth the effort of walking the stairs let alone picking up its corpse with a piece of toilet paper and tossing it into the commode. Godzilla the Bug my butt.

Then Thursday afternoon, my daughter son and his friend, Devon, helped me with some yard work. There were leaves piled up behind the shed along with some lumber and blocks. I wanted it cleared out and organized. Daylinda gingerly picked up the leaves with his fingerstips as if he was picking up poopy diapers with well-manicured fingernails.

 “What are you doing? Grab a handful and throw it in the wheel-barrel,” I said as I heaved a bunch of leaves and weeds to show him what I meant.

 “Mum there could be spiders in there.”

 “They don’t eat much, Daylinda, now come on!” I goaded him as I grabbed another handful of leaves then shouted “SNAKE!” and threw it at his friend, Devon, who jumped when the leaves landed on him. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of snakes!” He wasn’t, I just startled him. Daylinda said he wasn’t afraid of snakes, either, just those fucking spiders.

Then why in the heck wasn’t he wearing gloves? I rarely wear gloves, which is stupid on my part because I do have well-manicured fingernails, however, I don’t complain if I break a nail and I’m not afraid of spiders. 

 We did manage to get the leaves and weeds cleared out and the lumber and blocks stacked up nicely. Daylinda came through without a scratch or a spider bite.

 Me, I ended up with a damn splinter.

 Later that same day, I was doing more yard work while my husband, Daisy, was in the kitchen cooking and washing dishes.



 

Faux Paws

A faux pas means a blunder, however, it’s now widely used to mean just about anything unacceptable.

Berra has committed quite a few faux pas, or as I call them,  faux paws, since she has four, but her most recent faux paw was very, very BAD, even by my puppy-loving standards.







What was her blunder? What has she done that I consider EXTREMELY unacceptable?

Well, get comfy in your chair while I share that with you!




She ate my wall.





Yep, she peeled and ate the paint and spackling off my wall.

Either she has a new career as an Interior Designer and it was her not-so subtle way of telling me that she hates the current beige color. OR she was ticked that I was tapping away on my keyboard and ignoring her (the little girl has become so spoiled and wants ALL the attention) and what better way to garner Mommy’s attention than to eat her wall?

The scariest part, I can’t find all the paint and spackling. I think she actually swallowed some of it. I can’t imagine that it was tasty, however, I'm not a grass or poop eater either, so who am I to judge.




 In any event, this is what a bad puppy looks like now that she’s seven months old…













 

Magic Visors

Almost two weeks ago I got a new vehicle, well, a Jeep…a Patriot to be specific. I mentioned that it took me four days to decide to even get the darn thing. My plan was to wait until next year, but as many of us know, plans change and we need to go with the flow. I gave my other vehicle, a 2002 Jeep Liberty, to my oldest son. It only has seventy-four thousand miles and is in VERY good shape because I babied that Jeep— I LOVED that Jeep. But, as I said, plans change, so I got a new one and now my son has a more reliable one which he better baby or deal with mommy wrath.

However, I haven’t been IN LOVE with my Patriot but
it has more interior cubic feet—yea
it doesn’t have more ground clearance—boo
 it gets better gas mileage—yea
it’s not as rugged as my Liberty—boo
 it’s still a red (burgundy) color—yea
it has Sirius radio—who cares…I mean—yea
 it has heated seats—double yea

 See where I’m going with this? If you don’t, let me explain.

My Liberty is a rugged vehicle and even though I’m a girlie-girl, I’m a tom-boy. I guess I’m a girlie-tom-boy, but my Patriot is NOT a rugged vehicle, although it has what I need. It’s not a car, because other than a Bentley Continential, I don’t like cars (I feel like I’m sititing on the road). I like four-wheel drive. Actually, I like big ass trucks, but I don’t need a big ass truck, hence the SUV—a rugged looking SUV which the Patriot is not, however, it is a bit bigger, better gas, heated seats, Sirius radio. All in all, I gave up something to get something. 

 Got it now? Okay, good because I think I confused myself.

 Anyway, even though my Patriot isn’t rugged (my most favorite feature that I don’t have anymore) I fell in love with it today.

I was sitting at the bank drive-thru and used my visor mirror for the first time (yes, I was applying lipstick) when I noticed two little arrows etched on my visor mirror cover. I was like, What the heck are the arrows for, there isn’t a light on the outside of this visor mirror. Upon further inspection, I realized the arrows indicated that the VISOR SLID on its rail!

 So, me being the inquisitive little bugger that I am, I slid the visor and pushed it forward and popped it out of its holder then I pushed it toward the windshield, and then I SLID the visor to the right. OH.MY.GAWD! The visor blocked out the sun that managed to shine between the visor and rear view mirror! There was NO gap!

Excitedly I pulled the visor back toward me and then pushed it toward my left window pretending there was sun that was frying the left side of my face. Once there, I SLID the visor on its rail and it moved further along the window, which meant it will NOT fry the left side of my face or get into my left eyeball!

This was WONDERFUL! This was MORE than wonderful. This was FANTABULOUS! I was so tired of being blinded by the sun, not to mention I was afraid I was going to get into an accident because I couldn’t see!

 When I got home, I ran upstairs (well, I walked really fast) and told my husband, “I LOVE my Patriot now!”

 “Oh yeah. Why?”

 “Come outside and I’ll show you!” I threw my purse on the kitchen table, kicked my shoes off, and bounded back down the steps to the drive-way.

 He followed me, although he didn’t bound down the steps. Once outside, I instructed him to sit in the passenger seat as I demonstrated my fantabulous visor. “Isn’t that wonderful!” I asked after my demonstration.

“That’s why you love it?” He asked as he looked at me like I had grown two heads.

“You know how I can’t stand the sun in my eyes. Now I won’t be blinded!” I didn’t let his poopy attitude get me down. I had MAGIC visors!

“It doesn’t take much to make you happy.”

 “I keep telling you that!”

“I’m glad you love your Jeep now,” he told me with a chuckle.

After he went into the house, I vacuumed the carpets and cleaned my windows because I’m a clean-car-freak, by then Dalan got home, so I had him sit for my visor demonstration too. He was just like his father—laughed at me.

 Well, I took pictures to share with YOU, my blogging friends who won’t laugh at me, because THIS is MAJOR news and it only took me twelve days to figure it out! 


So, if you have a car and need to find any secret compartments or magic hickey-doo’s, let me know. I’ll sit in your car and apply some make-up and let you know as soon as I find any goodies!


 

Car Advertisement

Are you looking for a unique vehicle to call your own...or Beauty or Mustang Sally...? 

Well look no farther! This car is for YOU! 

Do you want to eject "back seat driver's" out the side door when they tell you how to drive? No problem! 

Do you want to chop off your passenger's hands when they switch your radio station? No worries! 

There's NO room for passengers! Just your trusty heating system, which will keep you so toasty in the winter and let you roast marshmallows all while you drive! And in the summer, if you're ever hungry, you can heat a hot dog on the go. 

This car is the bomb if you like privacy. Plus with no passengers you'll have room to stash your s'mores and hot dog supply. 

Don't miss this opportunity. For a mere $1,000 this beauty can be YOURS. 


Call 412-555-1212 today-- it won't last long!

************************************************************

  I got this idea from a writing prompt here. It said: You need to sell this vehicle. Advertise it in an enticing way. 


I don’t know about any of you, but I don’t believe there is any way anyone could entice ME to purchase THAT vehicle, even with s’mores, hot dogs or a years supply of Starbucks lattes thrown in! 


Since there’s already a guy sitting in that car, I think it can go without saying (even though I’m writing it) there’s an ass for every seat.


 

Fun With Search Keywords ~ Part Two

It’s Search Engine Keyword time. I wrote about some of them a little while back and let me tell you, it IS possible for their weirdness to escalate! But some are also funnier too.

Before I get to the weird ones, I have to tell you that for some reason people are still searching for Bubs Daddy Bubble Gum. Now, if you are as old as me, you’ll remember this gum from the seventies. I wrote a confessional post about it (don’t judge, I was a freaken tween at the time!) so when someone types in Bubs Daddy Bubble Gum, my blog is one of the top links that pops up! I’ll bet people are jacked when they click my link and find out I stole the shit and they can’t buy it or really find out any information other than it cost about ten cents back in the day.

 If you were having a difficult time NOT judging, here’s your chance. What do you think of a person who types child throwing into a search box? I don’t think that’s a sport. Plus I have no freaken clue how someone would get directed to my blog as I don’t recall posting anything about throwing my child—or any child, for that matter. Suffice to say, though, that I’m not a perfect parent and have had bad days, although I don’t recollect ever wanting to throw my child, however, I have wanted to throw a tantrum or hundred two. As a matter of fact, I did throw many some of those, so did my youngest son. We had tantrum contests. I think I won. But if you ask him, he’ll say he did.

I somehow doubt tantrum contests is how someone found my blog but it’s a whole lot better than little boy beaten to death! I’ve never beaten my kids to death, nor within an inch of their lives even. I’ve never written about it either. I may have been tempted…I’m sure I was tempted even though I don’t have a short temper, I just have a quick reaction to bullshit, no, actually, I don’t, but someone who found my blog does.

 Although I do have a quick reaction to dog poop (remember I can’t call it shit. I only say shit if I’m cussing). I have three dogs and they each poop at least once a day so I have to clean up after them all.the.friggin.time. Damn-poop-machines. Good thing I don’t have a bull because his poop piles would be huge and he would probably poop more than once a day then I would get tired and sluggish which would then make me not have a quick reaction to bullshit or dog poop for that matter.

That probably didn’t make any sense. And neither does searching for live well laugh often love much and live well love much laugh often. WHAT? I suppose that person didn’t realize that changing the sequence of a word or two wouldn’t give them different results. I think that could qualify for insanity. I’m just sayin’.

 I’ll bet what if I’m dying of anthrax probably qualifies for at least nuttiness. Unless the person really does have Anthrax and is dying in three days. Unlike me who was just a ball of self-induced nerves with an over-active imagination who needed her father to talk sense into her thick head. And if that didn’t work then I probably needed to go to the slap zone.

I’m sure my idiot family…I mean loving family thinks I need to be in the slap zone more often than not. Does someone actually think that Google can help them with their idiot family? You can pick your friends but you can’t pick your family and you certainly aren’t gonna change them. Love them for who they are or disown their asses.

 Speaking of asses… I’m too stupid for him. Alrighty then. I’m not sure what to say to this chick—well, I’m assuming it’s a chick, so just go with me here. Why in the world would she think she’s too stupid for HIM? Just the mere fact that she typed it into a search engine makes me fear for my gender. What did she hope to find? Scarier still, she found MY blog! But I wasn’t giving relationship advice. I will now— Dump him girlfriend. If you’re too stupid for him, imagine how dumb he IS!

 Madea i don't like you say something else smart to me. THIS cracked me up. My German Shepherd mix, Madea, yes, her name is Madea, is a vocal dog. She is always whining or yelping about something. AND the brat talks back to me! It’s like having another child. I tell her No you can’t have a treat right now (because she’s sitting next to the treat container) and she starts yelping at me as if to say You aren’t my REAL mom and I want it NOW damn it. When I saw this search keyword sentence I couldn’t help but think it could be ME talking to my dog, except I wouldn’t be so grammatically INCORRECT!

There are many more like Starbucks (my favorite), horseshoe, blonde moment, which I do have many of, and most adorable mixed babies. I’ve heard of adorable babies and I’ve heard of mixing, but it’s normally with alcohol. I just never heard of adorable mixed babies. Could that be babies with a shot or two of Tequila? 


All in all, Search Keywords are a lot of fun. I don’t use them for stats, I use them for giggle-filled blog posts!


Call me weird. 


Wonder if that will pull any Search Keywords.