I have arrived

I just got followed on Twitter by someone who is looking for no-strings-attached sex.

I'm in the big leagues, yo.

Holiday Failure Bingo [Everybody Loses!]

Need some fun and games in your life after the holiday extravaganza? Me, too.  Enjoy!

Click to embiggen.

I'll Do It Tomorrow.

It never ceases to amaze me that I paint myself into a corner by delaying delaying procrastinating and delaying some more.

I do it with everything. What I can put off, I will. What I cannot put off, I will do, until I realize that I can probably put that off, for a while, too.

I think that's the worst lesson ever learned - that you can put shit off for-fucking-ever [or what feels like it] because unless you are in charge of a shuttle launch or are giving birth, you can delay pretty much everything so long as you have a valid excuse and actually end up doing what you say you're going to do.  I'm not saying I put off everything all the time [maybe 90% of the time], and I'm certainly not saying I will miss a deadline, because unless I am dead, I will have something to you when it's due.  But what I am saying is that I will tell myself that I can fuck around in the evenings and not work on something because I've got DAYS AND HOURS left to dawdle.

It's the self-imposed deadlines that are the worst for me.  Next come the deadlines that are other-imposed, but which you know you can reach so long as you make a big push right before the end.  I am facing both of those right now.

I'd like to be at least half done with writing my novel, but I've given myself until the end of this year [Yes! 8 days!] to have it half done.  And also having a sample chapter of my memoir done.  I've got no agent, no publisher, no deadline.  Except for the fact that I want to be a writer and am realizing, as time passes, I need a job where I don't deal with people.

And sure, my life would be infinitely easier if I spent 10 or 15 minutes each day for the past week or two getting ready to have everyone at my house on Christmas day, but what would I do on Saturday? Relax?

HA.

As if.

So instead, I'll be frantically finishing up gift shopping and wrapping and cookie baking and food making and cleaning and decorating the tree.  And sadly ignoring the holiday cross stitch [Happy Fucking Holidays] that I neglected to make again this year. And, hopefully, writing.

Procrastination.  I think that may be my holiday tradition and my New Year's Resolution all wrapped in one.  It's an ass kicker and a monkey on my back at the same time.

Do you procrastinate? Is there something you haven't finished yet? Tell me I'm not alone.

An Open Letter to My Grocery Bagger

Dear Young Teen Age Boy,

Do I look like The Incredible Hulk to you?

I only ask, because while my skin does have an olive tone, I do not possess the sheer muscle mass required to lift and carry a bag filled with 3 whole tenderloins or the other bag filled to near bursting with 3 five pound bags of flour [King Arthur is on sale, everyone! LET THE BAKING BEGIN!].  I mean, I know this coat is kind of bulky, and I'm not at my binge drinking college weight anymore, but I kind of figured that my being 5'2" tall and the lack of weightlifting medals on my chest would clue you in that my arms are not made of steel.

I know that when you asked, "Paper or plastic?" I answered, "I have some bags here." What I did not know was that you would assume I wanted my entire overflowing holiday extravaganza shopping cart crammed into the 6 tote bags I brought with me.  I have to applaud your Tetris-style skills at organizing every canned good I purchased on the bottom of one bag, and then layering the 10 bags of various chocolate chips on top. 

Thanks, too, for not crushing the several bags of chips.  The husband and the girl could not be happier to be eating fully formed potato products, and I at least had one bag that I was capable of lifting.

Anyway, go back to your flirting with the girl bagger.  You two make a cute couple.  She's way more into you than she is the guy she was talking about.

XO,

Suniverse

Curiosity may have killed the cat, but she deserved it.

It's time to play everyone's favorite game - ANSWER MY QUESTIONS, GODDAMMIT.

Here we go:

1.  If you had to choose between eating a pound of fat or drinking a pound of fat, what would you do?

2.  Paper or plastic?

3.  Is it a lie to color your hair? What about wearing a push-up padded bra? What if you are a man?

4.  Is coleslaw supposed to be sweet or tangy?  Show your work.

5.  Is it wrong to not order your kid's school pictures, because what the fuck are you supposed to do with 18 minis anyway?

6.  Is a haiku or a sonnet the most pure form of poetry?  [Bonus points if you answer in a limerick.]

7.  How many times is too many times to listen to Michael Buble's Christmas CD?

And finally,

8.  What present did you get for me?

XO,

Suniverse

************
PS I'm over at Funny not Slutty today, baking cookies like I'm Hillary Clinton. Or Oprah. [Not that Oprah.]

Tra la la fucking la

 While this isn't my usual thing, I am feeling kind of holiday spirit-y, so I wanted to pass this along:

A good friend of mine started a non-profit organization, KKOOM, that helps Korean orphans. In Korea, many kids who are without family end up living in orphanages until they are adults. In addition to all the other work she does, my friend has spent every Christmas for the past several years at an orphanage in Korea putting together a Christmas party for some of these kids.  It's amazing and if you have a few extra dollars and feel the urge, click over and help.  It's a pretty awesome feeling, and you don't actually have to do any baking or cleaning up.

Now, back to my usual tomfoolery.

My mother-in-law asked me what I wanted for Christmas.  Now, not being Christian, my interpretation of Christmas presents is something you want for yourself, but you have someone else get for you and then you don't have to do the actual purchasing. It's basically asking someone to run an errand for you, which is the spirit of the holiday season, right?

Anyway, my teflon pan is flaking, and if you know me at all, you know that I'm more than a little concerned that I probably shouldn't be eating stuff that's been cooked in it. So I was looking for a replacement and read that a cast iron skillet is a good substitute. Therefore, I told my mother-in-law I wanted a cast iron skillet.

She said, "That's not a present, but I'll buy it for you anyway," and gave me a bag of cash.  I'm counting it as a present, even though I ordered it, because why not? Who doesn't like getting presents?  And she paid for it. That's totally a present.

The skillet came already seasoned, which leads me to my dilemma - how do I, a woman who loves cleanliness above all things and who is already paranoid about food stuff, use a skillet that YOU CANNOT WASH WITH SOAP?

I've already rinsed it in burning hot water, scrubbing it with the fancy scrubby bristle brush I ordered, but I'm a wee bit nervous about using it.

Any cast iron skillet users? And cast iron skillet users who are fucking lunatics like me?

It's sitting on my counter, looking pretty awesome and ready to get a nice crisp on something delicious.  I'd like to use it, but I'm afraid.

There's a *lid*, too!

Help?

Where I Tell You What To Do. Yes, You.

Do you know where I am today?

Fucking A right - I'm over at Funny not Slutty, dropping knowledge.

That's right, I'm telling people what to do and how to live their lives.

BECAUSE I KNOW EVERYTHING.  Including stuff about sex. And droughts. And how they affect you. As seen on this handy-dandy chart:

So, go over there and learn from the best.

XOXOXOXO,

Suniverse

And you thought it was a one time deal

Guess again.

Yes, the month of November was a massive fuckery.  Not only did I neglect my lovers on the internet [hello, gorgeous, meet me around the corner for some really, really nasty good times], but I also missed ANOTHER award I was given by someone who obviously has no idea what a complete ingrate I can be.


Not Winning Mom of the Year [how awesome is that for a blog name?] was kind enough to grant me a Liebster Blog award.  Look.  It's right here:

Jealous much?

So, after I read her comment on November 14th [what is wrong with me and November and my inability to maintain any semblance of internet etiquette?], I was thrilled that Not Winning Mom of the Year was awesome enough to give me this award and then . . . I think I was abducted by aliens, because the rest is just a blur and my butt kind of hurts.

Anyway, she gave me this award and I was tasked with spreading the love, so I'd like you to take this award and post it on your blog and avoid anal probing at all costs.

[I'm pretty sure Not Winning Mom of the Year is taking this award back.]

I was remiss. And now I am Miss Thing. Is that still a thing?

You know how I'm always on top of stuff? And by that, I mean I'm always fucking up and not doing things right? Well, here's another example:

On November 6th [remember November? REMEMBER WHEN YOU HAD OODLES OF TIME TO GET YOUR HOLIDAY CRAZINESS TAKEN CARE OF?], the lovely Alyssa of Adventures in Alyssaland was kind enough to give me a Kreativ Blogger Award.

That's this, here:

This is way too fancy for my dive-y blog, but I'm keeping it.

It's evidently an award given to people who have no space/time skills and can't figure out how to stay up-to-date on stuff.  Or something a really funny, smart person gives to . . . me, who then falls down on the job.

Anyway, part of the award ceremony - besides the whole red carpet rigamarole [Spanx? Is like an iron coffin, people.] - is that I have to share some tidbits about myself.  Well, we all know how much I love talking about myself, because duh, self-involved. So I'm going to share with you the end of my day yesterday that perfectly encapsulates my life:

Yesterday, I worked [like a sucker] and then drove in the snowy traffic to the gym to work out [like a fool].  I spent, no kidding 4 minutes circling the parking lot trying to find a close spot because it was cold and that wet, rainy / snow mixture that sucks ass was pelting everyone who was dumb enough to be outside. I, of course, could not find a decent spot, but it seemed that every yahoo who pulled in after me found a close spot.  I hated them all. I still do.

Anyway, I trek to the gym go in to the locker room and go to change and suddenly realize that I have to pee RIGHT THAT SECOND so I stomp on my tennis shoes and shuffle into the bathroom area and wonder if I'm going to pee my pants and if I do, does that mean I get to go home. But I make it and then I finish changing and then I go to work out with what seems like every retiree in my city.

PEOPLE! If you are retired THERE IS NO FUCKING REASON FOR YOU TO BE AT THE GYM AT 5:30PM WHEN PEOPLE WHO WORK ARE GOING TO BE THERE. GO HOME AND EAT YOUR SOUP AND WATCH THE NEWS AND OH MY GOD, WIPE YOUR OLD PERSON MESS OFF THE MACHINE!!

Also, there was an old lady who was wearing a holiday themed turtle neck and giant fleece sweatshirt while working out.  How cold could she possibly be? I was having heat stroke just watching her.

Since all the machines I liked to use were covered in pensioners, I had to do the elliptical thing the whole time, which is so boring I think time went backward.

And then I drove home only to realize that it was garbage day and while I would generally make the husband bring in the cans and the recycling bin, I was feeling generous [especially since he hasn't had a day off in . . . I think . . . I don't know.  A month?] so I go to get the cans and bin and I grab the upside down bin handle only to find that it was FULL of icy recycling bin water/snow and I yelled, "GODDAMMIT CHARLIE!"* which is my new phrase to say when things are annoying. 

Like when, later that night, I was doing the dishes and SPLASHED DISGUSTING DIRTY DISH WATER ON MY FACE.

Also, I need someone to come and do Charlie Work** at my house.

Goddammit Charlie, indeed.

-------------

*Goddammit Charlie is what Dee et al say on It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia, which, if you haven't watched this show, start at the beginning and be prepared to die of laughing your fool head off.  Also, in the spirit of the holidays, watch the Christmas special, which we are going to do in a double feature with Bad Santa as a holiday tradition.  It's that awesome.

** Charlie Work is the name for the disgusting jobs no one wants to do, like clean the toilet or kill rats or deal with garbage cans***.

*** I also, anytime anything gross happens, think, "Eeeewww, garbage water!" like Homer does on The Simpsons.

Evidently my life right now is ruled by television.  Let's be friends.

I think Alyssa may be regretting this.

It's Raining Fives

Crappy weather. Inability to focus. Too much to do. It's already fucking DECEMBER. It must be the holidays.  In this spirit of short but brief, here are my list of Fives:

Five things you don't know about me

1. My screen saver
2. My weirdest fear
3. The word / phrase I hate the most
4. My shoe size
5. Which one of my lovely online friends is my favorite [Psst . . . Don't tell anyone, but it's you.  Let's keep it on the DL, okay? People get jealous.]

Five things I am knowledgeable about

1. Lord Byron
2. Making chicken soup
3. The best way to fold towels
4. Which lane to NOT be in when you are driving near my house
5. The optimal spot to sit in in any situation

Five things I know nothing about

1. Nascar
2. Fishing
3. Shooting craps
4. Margin trading [shh . . . I don't even want to know . . . so boring . . . snore]
5. The purpose of driving around to see the leaves that have changed colors. What? WHY?

Five things I believe

1. That my kid is fucking awesome
2. That you people are also fucking awesome [But not as awesome as the girl.  Sorry, it's just how it plays out.]
3. That people can be a lot kinder than I think they will be
4. That I am stronger than I think I am
5. That the person who is using the workout machine before you do will not wipe it off.  Asshole.

Now, what I want from you is a for you to share one thing from any of those topics.  I yearn to know you better. YEARN, goddammit.