Wednesday, December 31, 2008
So I’m wondering, is there an Exlax specifically for bloggers? Because I have been backed up for some time. After Mr. Big Momma and I discussed my masturbatory habits for an hour or so tonight (another post, kittens, I promise!), I was telling him how neglectful I have been with my blog. And how I wasn’t really neglectful because I have 5 posts saved in Word that I just haven’t posted. He was curious as to why I haven’t posted them (see future, already written post to be posted someday…). I told him that I haven’t posted them because I wasn’t feeling them. The foundation was laid (you: mind, out of gutter, please), but the details weren’t falling into place. He then told me that sometimes you need to settle with “B” work. Ha! “B” work is not part of who I am, unless I am posting six beers in.
So here I am, 3 beers in and feeling the urge to post. I’m half way there. So for tonight, you get random thoughts.
Random thought #1: If you play tennis, you should have full sight. There is this woman on my tennis league who I really think is blind. I say this because her eyes seem unable to focus on a human being. Now it would be really interesting if she was blind and able to play tennis. I am fairly certain that she is not blind because every week she shows up and does in fact play tennis. But her googly eyes still are troubling to me….
Random thought #2: The best shot in tennis, if you are playing at the net, is to hit the ball directly at the person playing the net on the other side of the court. Even though my tennis skills are somewhat lacking, I still can do this from time to time. Every time I do it, I apologize. I did it to my tennis coach on Saturday and of course, apologized profusely. She told me to shut the hell up. So when I was telling this to Mr. Big Momma tonight, I told him that sometimes in sports, you have to take a ball to the face. I am so willing to do this. Take a ball to the face and congratulate the person who hit it for hitting the perfect shot. Unfortunately though, many of the women on this league to do not feel the same way. Maybe because I have been married for 10 years, I am just used to taking balls to the face. Thanks Mr. Big Momma for the prep work. And again, just a reminder, please get your mind out of the gutter. You are really sick. Sick, sick, sick. Tee, hee, hee….I just said balls, like, 80 times. Balls, ha, ha, ha!
Random thought #3: There is woman that I met several months ago who is almost certainly the future me. The me at 55. And I have to tell you that I love her. Not just because she is cool as hell, but because she calls me “kiddo.”
Random thought #4: My best gay calls me kitten. I love this moniker. In fact I told him several weeks ago over a brutal Uno game that he doesn’t call me kitten anymore and that I thought we were no longer BFF’s. In this case, BFF=best fruit fly. Because he is my best gay, he immediately kittened me all up and all was right in my world. Best gay’s can do that to a girl.
Random thought #5: Mr. Big Momma asked me tonight to choose my best moniker: kitten vs. kiddo. As if! I cannot and will not choose.
Random thought #6: Holy shit, it is almost 2009. Scary shit. Don’t even ask me about New Year’s resolutions. Too much FUS (fucked up shit) wrong with me to even consider.
Random thought #7: I swear, one of my resolutions is to post up the crap that I have socked away. Your NY resolution is to be very, very afraid.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
In case you forgot to mark it on your calendars, today was my big day. And Britney Spear’s Birthday, in case you forgot that too.
My BIG FAT SHOCKING DAY.
If you have no idea what I am talking about, please scroll down a few posts. That post (and this one too, I imagine) is not for the faint of heart. Don’t say that I didn’t warn you.
So this morning at 8:30, I had the pleasure of getting anally raped by a tube, all while being catheterized. Plus I had enough electrodes on my ass to jump start a car. Kind of like a modern day, kinky Bride of Frankenstein.
The only good part of the procedure was the end of course, and the hug that I got on the way out from my nurse. I think that was the least she could do after violating me six ways to Sunday. I would have preferred to cuddle with her and share a smoke, but beggars can’t be choosers. And I really needed that hug.
All of this torture to find out that my urethra is too small. This is, unfortunately, the only small thing on my person. Big butt, big boobs, big hips, big mouth. I am starting to feel cursed. My small urethra prevents me from fully emptying my bladder. Basically, I am a walking bag of urine. A pee sack if you will.
The remedy is to have my urethra stretched, which I will not comment on because the reality of this hasn’t sunk in yet. I’m just keeping my fingers crossed that they will give me the good drugs for this procedure. The good drugs and lots of them. Excuse me while I go burn out a few Hail Marys.
When I got home from the doctor’s office, I changed into my sweats, curled up on the couch and got to working. I had Footloose on in the background in order to sooth my soul. About half way through the movie I came to the conclusion that having my urethra stretched is a lot better than not being able to dance. See, sometimes you need to put in all in perspective. I also ate a half pound of Anthony Thomas chocolate and I think that helped too.
Later I did some internet searching to find out a little more about this urethra stretching business. And let me tell you, I could not believe what I came across. Here is a rundown of the more interesting results that came up on Google, in no particular order.
Listen to urethra stretching radio. Sorry Kevin, no music for you!
A youtube video of Tom Urethra. I was too chicken to take a look. Plus, I was on my work laptop.
Urethra itchy diseases. ???
Urethra stretching, free dating: singles and personals.
Your urethra, the Portal of Evil. Amen to that.
Penis plugs. Not in my urethra you don’t.
Shopping for urethra stretching? You will find the best price at Apple Laser Toner Cartridge. See honey, always saving you money!
There were a plethora of websites talking about how “arousal” could be “enhanced” by 1. stretching your urethra, 2. inserting a vibrator into it or 3. inserting a penis into it. Oh my holy god.
The internet, although marvelous in its vast knowledge, sometimes scares the bejesus out of me.
I did come across this foxy lady on one of the sites:
She looks fiesty. And happy. I bet her urethra is of nornmal size. Bitch! After a second look, I'm not even sure that this is a woman. Geriatric drag queen, maybe.
I also came across this which I thought was kinda funny, given the day I had:
I bet she just had her urethra stretched.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
So please vote for your favorite damsel in the comments section. Our marriage thanks you.
P.S. Just as an FYI, the internet told me that Vanity was SUPPOSED to play Appollonia in Purple Rain. But please, don't let me influence your vote.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Or at least that is what I keep telling them.
In my constant efforts to mature, I have shifted my stalking efforts. See, I'm a big girl now! I am now a Facebook stalker. What is even more remarkable than this confession is the fact that I DO NOT have a Facebook account. That is where the stalking comes into play.
You see while in Chicago this summer visiting my friend T introduced me to The Facebook. Because I am a stalker, I memorized her username and password. You really can't trust me with anything. But, in my defense, T knows that I have been logging on as her and peeking around. During our weekly calls, we generally do a Facebook recap. There are a few high school friends that usually dominate the conversation. I guess not much has changed.....
I have thought many times about starting my own Facebook account, but I doubt that I ever will. Really, do I want to know what people from high school are up to? Not so much. The people that I want to keep in touch with, I already do. And I really have no desire to spark up a friendship with someone now, that I didn't even speak to in high school.
But what I do want to do is fuck with The Facebook. Understand that when I say want to do, I mean will never do. But I just can't control the evil part of my brain. Now just because I would never violate T's Facebook trust, doesn't mean I don't have a detailed laundry list of exactly what I would do with my own Facebook account.
Once logged into Facebook, you are encouraged to type something. There is a friendly box that states "What are you doing right now?" The something that you type there shows up on the pages of those you are friends with. In case you are not familiar, here are some examples of what people type:
Joe is waiting for his children to fall asleep.
Tammy is glad that tomorrow is Friday.
Billy just finished power washing his dog.
Blah, blah, blah. You get the idea. Here are some of my ideas:
Big Momma just squeezed out a dump in the shape of Mr. Potato Head.
Big Momma got sick of her son whining, so she bound and gagged him and locked him in the closet.
Big Momma is watching gay porn.
Big Momma just drank a case of beer and followed it with a percocet chaser.
Big Momma is hoping that none of her high school classmate fucks contact her here.
And so on, and so on. Oh the fun that I would have.
Another thing that Facebook shows is who you are friends with. For example, Tom and Sue are now friends. This drives me nuts. Who gives a shit, who gives a fuck?
It also can announce events others are attending. "Betty is attending a help me find my G spot seminar on Tuesday." You go girl. Please be sure to tell us when you find it.....
....cuz I'll be anxiously awaiting, while I stalk the pages of Facebook.
Technology. A curse and a blessing all in one neat, stalking package.
I'm pretty sure they took this picture in my honor....wishing me the best for my December shock therapy.
Am I the only one counting the days until this moron is no longer prez?
Thursday, November 6, 2008
I am shockingly cute.
And I pee a lot.
If they started “Peeing with the Stars,” I would totally dominate. Eventually I would become a judge because I so rule and I promise you that I would go Paula Abdul on their asses. Would you expect any less?
Unfortunately there are no contests or prizes for the most pees in a day. You can trust me on this one; I have searched long and far for them.
A few weeks ago I have my quad-annual physical. Not only do I pee a lot, but I am really lazy. My Doctor recommended that I visit a urologist. We had tried solving my problem several months before by limiting my fluid intake and with drugs, but neither worked.
So today at 3:15, I had the pleasure of visiting a urologist. I should have known while I was filling out the paperwork that I was in trouble. I actually took some notes of the more interesting questions that the paperwork asked me to answer:
Do you need pressure against your vagina to have a bowel movement?
Um, what? Honey, I’m trying to take a shit….I need some help!!!
Do you lose urine without any warning?
Lose urine???? Honey, have you seen my urine? I can’t seem to find it….
Do you ever wet the bed while asleep?
In case you were wondering, my answer was no.
Do you have reduced self-esteem, depression, frustration or nervousness?
Because I pee more than 20 times per day (TMI? If you think this is TMI, trust me, you should stop reading this right the fuck now!), I am in the severe category. They basically start at the top of possibilities and work their way down. There are many things that could be wrong, from an irritated bladder lining, neurological problems or maybe leprechauns may have taken up residence in my bladder. So, the doctor gave me a different drug to try and is having me come back in for a Urodynamic Study.
Sounds interesting. Very scholarly. A study. A dynamic one at that.
So on my way home, I was telling my sister what I had found out. She asked, “What does a Urodynamic study mean? What exactly will they be doing?” I told her what the doctor had told me: stop taking your anti-pee meds 2 days before the procedure and come with a full bladder. Easy peasy!
Then I remember that I was stealthily handed a piece of paper on my way out. I thought maybe this would have the answers and boy did it. Talk about TMI. Here is what it says of the procedure:
And I quote…
First you will be asked to void (can’t they just say pee) on a special commode (how official! I feel like a queen!) where we can measure how fast and how much you urinate. We will then place a catheter (ouchy) into your bladder, and one into your rectum. We will put tiny surface electrodes on either side of your anus. (????)
And it goes on and on…..the torture that is. McCain style.
So I’m wondering now, what does my ass hole have to do with this? Can’t they just leave it alone? Isn’t the pee hole catheter enough? And don’t even get me started with the tiny surface electrodes. ON MY ANUS.
Baby’s got back, but not enough to surrender to anal electrode torture.
I think I’m going to get a second opinion….
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Unless of course, she had just taken out a big life insurance policy in your name.
On Halloween the gang went down to the Short North for the Halloween Highball, where they actually served highballs. I didn't realize that highballs made it out of the 70s. Or maybe this was some weird gay reference that I don't know about. I'll have to ask my best gay.....
....who unfortunately ditched us for bigger (hopefully) and better things. Hey best gay, we did pour one out for you. And I think that C made out with a drag queen in your honor. It was kinda hot....
Anyway, just wanted to throw up a picture that I snapped, which proves that prostitution is alive and well in Cbus. I just wonder how much these two really rake in.....
....hopefully they still have day jobs.
Dem some skanky ass hoes, damn!
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Thursday, October 30, 2008
The exact words my BIL uses to describe Halloween. And I have to say, after visiting several costume stores, he is right.
Halloween is an excuse for men to see holes and women to see poles. Are you picking up what I am putting down? If not, you should leave this site immediately and douse yourself in holy water. Holy water that has been blessed by the pope. Actually, if you stay, you should still probably douse yourself in holy water anyway, just to be safe. I hear it is like chicken soup for the soul. Oprah told me so.
A few weeks ago one of my girlfriends and I went to a Halloween shop, hoping to get inspired. We knew that we were going down to the Short North for the big Halloween partaaaay this year, but at that time, had no idea what our costumes would be. And I'll tell you that neither one of us were divinely inspired. We were shocked at the choices.
Paris Hilton. No adjectives required.
Slutty Freddie Kruger. Don't you know guys did chicks with long nails? I blame Alanis Morissette.
Slutty Pippy Longstockings
And on and on and on. What would Pope John II think?
So with empty hands we walked out of the store. Neither of us was down with the slutty vibe. Even if we were, neither of us was down for spending $60 on a costume. Everyone knows that slut costumes, because of their lack of fabric, should be at least 30% off.
So what am I going to be for Halloween?
Big Momma in a pink wig. That is all I have the energy for. Plus, I've always wanted pink hair, cut into a short bob. And my hole will not be showing. Just in case you were wondering.....
Happy Halloween people! Don't eat too much candy!!!
Monday, October 27, 2008
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
After they kicked our butts, Mr. Roid came up to me. Now I have never once spoken to him and I truly don't even know his name. Here is how our conversation went:
Mr. Roid: "Big Momma, I just want to say keep up the good work."
(This is said as he grabbed and held both of my hands.)
I had no idea what he was talking about. At first I thought that maybe he was complementing my tennis game....
Mr. Roid: "I just wanted to say keep up the weight loss. You look really good."
Fade to black. Big Momma walks away, wondering what just happened.
I seriously felt like he knew about my secret past. That Richard Simmons had once rescued me by forklifting me out of my bed and delivered me on a flat bed truck to fat camp. He then forced me to wear really small athletic shorts and "deal my meals," while sweating to the oldies.
I will admit, while I have never been grossly overweight, I struggle with my weight, as most 35 year old women do. I will also admit that I joined Weight Watchers in September and am closing in on losing 10 pounds. For the last 10 years, I have participated in WW on and off. I mainly do it when feeling a little chubby and when I know my portion sizes have gotten out of control. My goal was to lose 10% of my body weight and I am nearly there.
So why did I take such offense to his comment? I will sum in up right here. It is really obnoxious to say to someone, even after losing a few pounds, "Boy, you look really good." It implies that you looked really bad before. I thankfully do not suffer from a poor body image. I did WW to primarily work on my health. It FORCES me to eat better, knowing that each and every week, I get weighed by a stranger. The fact that I have to pay $12 each week helps too.
So in order to move on, I would like to rewind and respond with any of the following:
Mr. Roid: "I just wanted to say keep up the weight loss. You look really good."
BM: "Thanks, chemo will do that to you."
BM: "Thanks, the side effects of binging and purging are AMAZING."
BM: "Thanks, go fuck yourself."
BM: "Thanks, go fuck yourself you roid infested, shrunken ball loser. I hope your dick shrivels up and falls off. In your wife's mouth."
Thank you, I'm officially over it.
Monday, October 13, 2008
This week our host is 9 Acres and here is her challenge:
Your job is to doodle this week. Start with the number 9, for Nine Acres, of course. Draw the number 9 in red and then use a different color for the rest of your doodling. That way we can all see where the original 9 was in your doodle. It is up to you how you incorporate the 9 into the doodle. It can look like something we know, or it can just be shapes. It can be colorful, or can be one color, besides the red 9. When you are finished with your doodle, take a picture of it or scan it and post it on Monday.
I don't very often doodle because I am in front of customers all day. I think though that some of my more, shall we say uninterested customers, probably wouldn't even notice if I started doodling in front of them. Some of them might also not notice if I striped down and did the polka in front of them while singing the Star Spangled Banner. Professors tend to be a boring and sometime side-tracked bunch. Now if I striped naked and danced while reciting the elements of the periodic table, I might get their attention. And a large book order.
So, given that I don't doodle often, when I do doodle, it is always the same doodles. You can view my doodles by clicking here. I will caution you that watching me doodle is a slow and boring process. Not at all like my nude Star Spangled Banner number. But lucky for you, there is a button which you can push to speed up my doodling. I would recommend speeding it up unless you are fresh out of Tylenol PM.
Once my doodling task was complete, I was to visit this site so that they could be interpreted.
Here are my findings:
My doodles prove what I have known for years: that I am a psycho who needs daily therapy sessions. And piles of Xanax and Lithium, just like Britney Spears. More specifically they reveal the following:
I am aggressively ambitious, yet romantic, with a strong desire to blossom and be fruitful in life. Kinda sounds like a description of a fine wine. Apparently I am a hermaphrodite because I not only doodle the most popular female doodles, but I also draw boxes which are manly doodles.
The mystery comes into play with my ‘house’ doodles. Now I don’t draw them because I want to draw a house, I draw them because it is a game I learned in 6th grade. You must draw the house, without lifting your pen from the paper. As you can see from my live doodle feed, I am very good at this. I am not good at fractions, because I was a bit too preoccupied with the house challenge. But please don't tell my 6th grade teacher. My sister and I were her favorite students....I would hate for our images to be tarnished.
So there you have it. A bit of insight into all that is Crazy Big Momma. Now go make your Monday fun and visit the rest of the participants!
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Monday, September 29, 2008
I can't wait for the VP debates. Set your TiVo's people, it is guaranteed to be good and worth a replay or two!
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Thursday, September 11, 2008
green poop and stomachaches
Posted 02.18.2004 by Poonurse (1313)
My five year old has had bright green bowel movements for about a week now and has also complained about stomach aches quite a bit. What do you think?
Hi, and thanks for the question!
Maybe it's just me, but I would take her to a doctor. There is no way to know over the internet what is wrong with her, and especially no way for a site such as PoopReport, which deals comically with poop issues, to give you any other advice.
Hope she is ok! Look carefully at what she has been eating over the past few weeks.
Please be advised that I am only a Poonurse. I am NOT a medical doctor. Any advice I give should be taken moderate skepticism. Please consult a REAL medical doctor if you feel you have a serious medical condition.
Poonurse is an RN with 25 years experience in labor and delivery. Her qualifications include seeing a lot of poop, and owning a computer. Also, she works in Michigan, which she calls the asshole of the universe, so that's another bit of credibility. Got a question for her?
Holy Shit! I've missed my calling. I had no idea that a Poonurse was even a career option. I have to agree with her advice, mainly because she admits that Michicagan is the asshole of the universe. Go Bucks!!!!!
Friday, September 5, 2008
Beer + Syringed jello shots (seriously, my nurse friend is bringing these) + a 35 and older crowd = crazy party animals that don't get out of the house enough who will barf all over themselves and my dog and probably tumble to their death at the bottom of our ravine.
I can't wait.
Thankfully, I have 911 programmed into my speed dial. I may or may not call, depending on who falls over. I may in fact just leave the carnage in hopes that it will decompose and transform my shitty clay soil into soil that is worthy of Mr. Green Thumbs.
***** ***** ***** ***** *****
Actual convo between my mother and I tonight:
BM: Hi Mom.
MOBM: Hi BM. Are you drunk yet?
BM: No, I'm just getting things ready for tomorrow.
MOBM: Wow, that is a first. Don't you know that it is beer thirty? How are things going?
BM: OK, but I am worried that I don't have enough food.
MOBM: Tell me what you have. And please tell me that you got me a bottle of Yager. You know I can't get down with my bad self without a few shots....
BM: I've got ten pounds of burger meat, 20 brats and 20 cheese infused sausages. I also made cole slaw and a few other sides. One L (sister) is bringing her world famous cheesy taters. A few others are bringing appetizers. You think that will be enough?
MOBM: How many people?
BM: About 30, give or take.
MOBM: Well, I don't know. Maybe you should go out and get some more meat. And make some potato salad. People like potato salad.
And so on and so forth. You get the idea.
Both of my parents, but especially my mother, are famous for making 100X more food than necessary for a party. My sister and I have inherited this trait from them. I have never done a Punnet Square to prove this, but I have enough empirical data to prove it. I am going to start a support group for this: Overfeeders Anonymous.
I have come to the conclusion (because I'd rather sit down with a beer and not worry) that if we run out of food tomorrow we will have the following choices:
1. Cannibalism. I know of at least one small child who will be attending. Everyone knows that children taste good. Like veal.
2. I will channel Jebus and have him turn my ten pounds of meat into enough to feed millions. Hopefully he will provide us with some delicious bread as well. It might be kind of awkward though, when I ask him to leave the party post-miracle. You see, he didn't RSVP. Plus I don't want to hear all night how there is no hope to save my soul from the eternal fire of hell since I frequently say his name in vain, in nasty, albeit creative ways. The guilt I got from attending 10 years of Catholic school is enough to last a lifetime, thank you very much.
3. Raid neighbor's garden.
4. Order pizza.
5. BBQ the dog. But she is old and probably not very tender.
So there you have it, I'm moving on. Even though I am still torn between option 1 and option 4.......
***** ***** ***** ***** *****
Yesterday I was working in Mansfield, and then Marion, so I stopped at a farmer's market in order to get a few things for the party. I picked up 2 watermelons as I am making a delicious watermelon salad. They were the mini ones that don't have seeds. When I got home and carried them into the house, I actually held them up to my existing boobs and imagined what life would be like with huge, melon sized fun bags. I seriously wonder sometimes if I am in fact a 15 year old boy.
Monday, September 1, 2008
On Friday, we packed up the family truckster and headed to Chicago. My city. The city that I love more than Dove Chocolates and cookie batter. The city that I love even more than Dove Chocolates dipped in cookie batter. I haven't seen my niece and nephew in many months, so we paid them, and the rest of the Big Momma clan a visit.
One of the reasons I love Chicago is because of the food. So many choices, so little time. The only thing I didn't eat was my niece and nephew and not because I didn't try. They are so very cute and yummy looking. I told Mr. Big Momma that I wanted to melt them down and spread them on some delicious, crusty french bread and nom, nom, nom, nom them until I couldn't eat another bite. But, thankfully for my clan, Mr. Big Momma shoved an Italian Beef in my mouth and I quickly went on with my day.
My BIL E is the master of restaurant selection. Not that he could really pick a bad spot in Chicago, but he truly looks at it as an art form. Saturday night we went to ZED which is one of those Brazilian meat places. For the bargain price of $55 per person, you can eat as much delicious meat as you can handle. There are magic rocks on the table, that when put next to your plate, POOF, meat shows up. I thought that I must have died and gone to heaven. At least until the next morning when Zed died a gruesome death inside my tummy. I got the died part right, but heaven it wasn't. Next time I will need to show some restraint or master the art of binging and purging. Not sure yet which I will choose.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Today 2 guys came to replace the valve. After they left, I call Mr. Big Moma to tell him that his sweaty days and nights are over: the AC finally works! Here is the actual conversation:
BM: "Hi honey. The AC guys just left."
MBM: "Is it working?"
BM: "Well, my nipples are hard!"
MBM: "Sweet. How did you pay them?"
(This question shocked me because the 2 of us searched the entire house to find our checkbook, which seems to always be missing even though we hardly ever write check.)
BM: "With sex."
MBM: "Good girl. Always saving me money. Love you shit head."
BM: "Love you mother fucker."
Sunday, August 17, 2008
What is one thing you would like to ask your readers? Come up with a question to pose to your visitors and throw it out there on Monday. As we’re all visiting each other’s Fun Monday posts we should answer the various questions we come across.OR Show&Tell me about a bird, I’m easily made happy.
Now I would love to chicken out and show and tell about a bird, but sadly, on my list of fears, birds rank #2. This is a tough one because I'm almost certain that the only people that read my blog, outside of the traffic on Monday, are a few friends and family members. Reaching international blogging fame is high on my list of hopes, but it hasn't happened yet.
I will say that this challenge reminds me of a topic that comes up frequently between my mother, sister and myself. As we sit and chat, ok, gossip about others, we always ask, "What do people say about us?" We are not necessarily a catty bunch, but we have come up with nicknames over the years for those who interest us the most. A few of my favorite:
The Breads: Big Bread and Little Bread. They are brothers who grew up eating nothing but white bread and cheese. Even at Thanksgiving. Even when my Uncle took us to McDonalds.
Big Head Bread: My cousin and cousin of Big & Little Bread. I'm positive that her head weighs more than her entire body.
Alice Cooper: Mother of BHB. When people ask who this so and so is, we will say look for Alice Cooper. They always pick right. And then laugh hysterically.
Tire Gut: Mother of Big and Little Bread. I guess she ate all of the normal food in their house and it took its toll on her waste line.
Little Head: some guy that my mom sees at a local pub. She doesn't know him from Adam.
I could go on, but I think you get the point. So for this FM challenge, I am going to cheat a bit and use a slight variation on this theme.
Here are the things that I would like to ask my readers:
1. Does anyone outside of my friends and family actually read this?
2. Who do you perceive me to be? A mean, nasty and bitter woman who swears too much? A total neurotic that needs to be locked up ASAP? Someone who uses entirely too much hand sanitizer?
3. What would you like to know about me that you don't already? Would you like to know what I look like? Do you wonder if my butt really is that big (I do look like one of those rap guys girlfriends)? Does you wad or fold your toilet paper before wiping? How does your husband put up with your crap? Don't blow your wad asking this one. I can tell you the answer: percocet. Lots of percocet. Washed down with vodka.
I know what you are thinking, too many questions. They call me the Quiz Master for a reason. So I guess my point is, ask me anything that you want. Other than asking my true identity. Because if I told you that I'd have to kill you. And that would be unfortunate for me because then I'd have one less reader. And I promise you that I don't have any to spare!
A few quick shout outs.....
Today is Mr. Big Momma's birthday. He is 29 plus 12. And not a gray hair on his head. Lucky bastard.
This is my 100th post! Yeah me. I hope you can see the confetti flying.
Friday, August 15, 2008
Times Ru Paul
Minus Oprah to the Oprah power
Equals a weekend that I won't forget!
Monday, August 11, 2008
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Friends like T are hard to come by. Not only is she one of my closest friends, I have been friends with her longer than another else in my life. We went to high school together, college too. In fact, the first time I had sex, I was wearing a skirt (yes, I was that scared…I didn’t take off my skirt during the act) that I borrowed from her. At that time, T and I were the last of the virgins. I remember going over to her house after doing the deed, giddy with excitement that my teenage body had done a very womanly thing. A thing that had scared me for so long. Even after the first time, I was scared. Scared that I would become addicted to sex, drop out of high school and whore myself about town. Mostly though, I was afraid that I would get preggers and not be able to go to college. This would hurt my parents so terribly, that they would glue my younger sister’s legs together and never let her leave the house. The fear of this caused me to hold off on my budding sexuality. I just wasn’t ready for the consequences. And beside, I found out like most girl do, that the first time isn’t that good. And if you are still thinking about me doing the nasty with her skirt, I did have it dry cleaned before I gave it back to her. That is just the way I roll.
It has been over 10 years since T and I lived in the same city. Thanks to Alexander Grahm Bell, we have never let the distance separate us. So I am super duper excited to be visiting her, in her new home of Chicago, for the first time. In many ways, my adult friendship making has been hindered by the relationships that I have with those close to me. Those people being T, my sister, mother and husband. The last job I had, I traveled about 60% of the time. I didn’t work out of an office, but out of my home. I had no idea how difficult it would be to make friends as an adult. My new job, one that requires very little travel, has changed all of that. I now know that I will be home every night and am able to commit to things that I couldn’t before. Tennis is my favorite of those things. I have met so many people over the last few years from tennis. There are a few that I am getting to be rather close with. But friendship takes time. And I have to tell you that sometimes I get impatient. But I have to remember that the friendships I have with my inner circle (very George Clooney, don’t you think?) took many years to develop. Besides, if you remember, George got his start on The Facts of Life, long after it had jumped the shark. I guess there is still hope for me.
After: Award winning friend of Brat Pitt...
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
1. Ho. Every time I say ho to Mr. Big Momma he always replies, "Ho problems." Apparently there is some dude in Florida that has a van with an 80's style mural on it and it says "Ho problems." Mr. Big Momma was lucky to have seen in a few years ago while in Florida for business. I'm even told that there is a picture of it that one of his colleagues took. If I had it, I would so post it for everyone to enjoy. I'm nice like that.
2. Last night the Krazy Krushers had their first game of the playoffs. It didn't look good at first, but we were able to pull it off. I started to wonder if our poor spelling skills were coming back to haunt us. I guess not, for now.
3. After tennis last night, we went, as we always do to O'Reilleys to indulge in some free pitchers. Thankfully we have a bar that sponsors us. Our old bodies rely on the beer buzz. I really think that beer has healing powers. Even Miller Lite. One of my teammates, who I do not know very well, was getting text messages from some married dude that she is screwing. He actually texted her, "wanna fuck?" How romantic. I am so glad to be out of the dating pool and not faced with the harsh reality of text dating. Or text booty calls. Or pervy old ho men who might think that a message like that is a turn on for a gal. Seriously guys, a little romance goes a long way.
4. I am a little sad that I won't be on the couch with Mr. Big Momma this Friday to watch the opening ceremony of the Olympics. This has been a tradition of ours for many years now. The Olympics is like crack, for dopey nerds like us. Go USA!
5. My next Fun Monday post is a really cool one: to post your favorite picture. This is a really easy one for me. My favorite picture is on my fridge. I look at it hundreds of times each day and it always brings a smile to my face. It is of me and Jr. when he was about 3 years old. I was in grad school and working on the weekends for a vet hospital. The vet had just gotten 2 lab puppies and asked me to watch them for the weekend while he was out of town. The picture shows each of us with a lab in hand, laughing. The kind of laughter where you are laughing so hard that your head tilts back. Jr., being an absolutely gorgeous boy has this cute little scrunchy face thing going on. Every time I look at that picture, I almost expect it to come to life. I expect to look down and have that adorable three year old standing by my side. Sadly, this never happens. Sometimes it seems like it was taken ages ago, other times it seems as if we took if just a few days ago. When I see it I also remember the follow up picture of Jr. napping on a pile of unfolded laundry with a puppy on each side of him. The three slept so peacefully. I wish he could get that kind of peace back in his life. I know that I am blowing my wad by telling you, the internet, about this picture. The reality is that I would never post it here. I have chosen to be an anonymous blogger, outside of the few family members and friends that know about it. Not only do I want to keep my identity out of this blog, I'd like to do the same for Jr. So, I'm back to square one, trying to come up with a suitable picture. I feel like I am in college again, searching for answers that don't seem obvious with a deadline looming over my head.
Well, enough thinking for tonight. I need to shut it down. Goodnight brain.
Monday, August 4, 2008
1. I am shocked that my sister did not post to this. Not only is she an excellent crapper and a DADS veteran, her lifelong nickname is POOP. I couldn't make that up if I tried. No one seems to know why she is called Poop, but we do know that it is short for Poop-ca. I told you my family was weird. She also has one of the best poop stories for your money. I won't tell it since it is hers to tell, but I will tell you that it involves beer, beds and cupcakes. All of the makings of a great story, at least in my family. Love you guys!
2. My thoughts earlier today began transitioning from poo to pee. You see our Vet has asked for a pee sample from Sasha the wonder dog. I was a bit worried about how I would get this, even for a professional pee catcher. Many years ago as a grad student at Ohio State, I was involved in a study with the vet school. And when I say "involved," I mean I was their bitch. The vet school was trying to see how long certain enhancement drugs lasted in the urine of various animals. Every morning, I would have to get up and go collect the pee of 20 fat, poo splattered, lazy pigs. In order to do this, I had a long stick with a cup holder on the end. I would put my sample cup in and wait for a pig to pee. As soon as one would crouch, I would stick my cup stick under their pig business and hope for the best. I had to get up at the butt crack of dawn so that I could drive the 45 minutes to the farm and be there before the pee fest began. Pigs, much like humans, have peeing as their number one prioritory as they start their day. Sasha does not like to have someone watch her when she does her business, so I was fearful that all of my pee collecting experience would go down the drain. But, I was a successs right out of the gate. Yeah me...not all that I learned in grad school is a loss.
3. If it rains tonight, you have me to thank since I watered my flowers today. What a sad bunch they were. I hope they perk up by morning.
4. I am shit shocked that I wasn't tossed out of the Fun Monday group.
5. I have to go to campus tomorrow, so it most certainly will be raining. You can thank me or curse me, your choice.
6. I also have a great story about collecting horse semen, but I'll save that for another time. A time when you might be less grossed out. I think I have exceeded the gag limit for today.
Goodnight all. Sweet dreams. Hopefully mine will not be excrement filled. Unlikely since I ate sausage for dinner.
P.S. I typed pig, picture and peeing into Google and all I got was a bunch of nasty porn sites. And that is my public service message for the day.
Sunday, August 3, 2008
There are many reasons why my husband and I get along so well. One of them is due to our shared love of the same word. It is a word that is heard frequently in our household (at least when Jr. isn’t over) and although some use it in a negative way, for us it is a term of endearment. However, because I have been asked to write a G rated post, I’ll have to go in another direction.
Which leads me to the last four hours. Four painful hours of having to think of my favorite word. Admittedly, I have been procrastinating. I’ve loaded the dishwasher, regrouted the bathroom and cleaned the dust that has settled between the keys on my laptop. Mr. Big Momma was out golfing, so I wasn’t able to tap into his witty helpfulness. When he got home, I told him of my challenge and of course he came up with the word that I mentioned above and will refrain from mentioning here. Darn. So like I frequently do when I am blocked, I ventured into the bathroom. My thrice daily duties (see where I am going with this yet?) and continued suggestions from Mr. BM (another clue) lead me to my answer.
Drum roll, please….
Now I know that many of my Fun Monday counterparts will probably come up with intellectually stimulating answers that will required me to dig out my dictionary. I however, am not this gifted. I am not a writer. I am much more of a talker who struggles to get my talk into words to which I can post on my blog. It wouldn’t surprise me at all, if after this post, I get a polite request from the people at FM asking me to leave their group. But, I have never been one to shy away from speaking my mind. And if they do ask this, I will revolt by starting my own group, Fun Tuesdays, where only R rated posts will be accepted.
Anyway, why poo? I love the word poo for many reasons. It makes me laugh when I say it. “Aww poo is a nice alternative to awww s***, for those G rated moments in life. “Holy poo” is another variation. Not only do I enjoy saying it, I very much enjoy doing it. This phenomenon, for you non-poo people out there is called Poo-phoria. I learned of this phenomenon by reading the book “What Your Poo is Telling You” by Josh Richman and Anish Sheth, M.D. This is a brilliant book that provides insight into your health by examining your poo. Not really a book suitable for your coffee table, but a great addition to your bathroom reading. I truly am a better and healthier person because of this book. It is a great way to pass the time while pooing and provides countless laughs to those who visit my loo.
I grew up in a family that frequently discussed our bathroom antics. My whole family is a poo loving bunch! You might even say that poo is the glue that binds my family together. “Family” was my first choice for this challenge, but talking about poo is so much more fun. At least for me. Over the years, as we have discussed our poo at great length, we were never savvy to the official language of pooing. The book WYPITY has now allowed us to more succinctly title our favorites. Some of them are:
The Chinese Star
D.A.D.S. or Day After Drinking Stool. This one has been a frequent topic over the years…
Deja Poo, which is also called “Haven’t I seen that somewhere before poo.” As corn lovers, this is another frequent poo topic that we enjoy during the summer months.
The Streak. Embarrassing when you go to a non-family member’s house, but a badge of pride with my clan. I have seen some award winners from my father. He is a true champion of poo. Olympic quality, gold metal poo.
So there you have it. Poo. Embrace it.
Update as of 11:16 pm on Sunday night. I'm starting to think my favorite word is lawyer, after seeing all that Mr. Big Momma is going thru with his ex tonight. I'll leave that to another post.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Rain to the left, sunshine to the right State
Thankful for Deodorant State
Too far from home State
Hola, como esta State
The Depends State
Florida is not my favorite place to go. We always seem to go here for our summer meetings. It would make more sense if they sent us here for our January meeting. But, since I am the low Momma on the totem pole, I have no say. A few thoughts for the day:
1. I had made plans to go to dinner with a work friend tonight. She called a little while ago and suggested we make the short trip to Miami and eat there. With some of her other friends. I opted to stay in my room because 1. I hate driving with someone I don't know and 2. I hate being at the mercy of someone else. Plus, I am kinda tired of socializing.
2. For those of you who I told I was going to Orlando, you are probably wondering how above friend suggested we drive to Miami. They are not crazy.....I am an idiot. We are not in Orlando, but in Hollywood, Florida, where open containers are legal. Who knew? I only realized this while getting my boarding pass at the airport. Sometimes I scare myself.
3. I'm not sure, but I think I might have unknowingly joined a cult. At least it is a cult that sends me a paycheck every two weeks.
4. While checking into the hotel, they had all of us sign an official document stating that we would be checking out on 7/31/08 and that we would not ask to extend our stay. I found out yesterday that the reason for this is that they have a big, international convention meeting here tomorrow. Avon convention? No. Something really important and interesting? Important, no. Interesting, definitely. The International Swingers convention begins tomorrow. If only I knew that before signing the waver. Just kidding Mr. Big Momma...you are already more than I can handle!
5. I just got my next Fun Monday assignment. It is interesting, but the hosts are requesting that our posts be G rated. A true challenge that I am not sure I'm up for. Especially with those swingers on my mind.
6. My first thought regarding the swingers was: "Exactly what does one do at a swinger's convention." Um, duh, they swing! I just hope they sterilize the sheets....
Saturday, July 26, 2008
If you were ruler for a day/week/month/year (your choice on the time) you would...
And p.s., I’m posting early because I going to be in Florida, starting tomorrow for a work trip. Mr. Big Momma will be home all week, so don’t even consider breaking into my house to steal my stuff. And beside, we have ADT on our side. Ooh and don’t forget to visit the rest of the Fun Monday group at http://blog.mommywizdom.com/. It is after all, Monday…what else do you have to do?
My one simple rule: abolish stupid people. Ever day of every year. I would reign supreme.
In my heart, and per The Ohio State University, I am a geneticist. Charles Darwin is one of my heroes. So much so that I have a C.D. magnet on my fridge. Serious, huh? I don’t joke. For those of you who have been out of the loop for the last 100 or so years, Charles Darwin coined the phrase “natural selection” after doing many years of boring research on pea plants and the like. Not a very exciting man but a brilliant one none the less. Natural selection can be defined as:
“The process by which favorable heritable traits become more common in successive generations of a population of reproducing organisms, and unfavorable heritable traits become less common, due to differential reproduction of genotypes.” Thank you Wikipedia!
For those non-scientists out there, this basically means that as we, uh, get it on, if you know what I mean, the good live and the bad die. I’ve probably made this too simple. But really, it is a simple scientific concept.
I am sure that Darwin would applaud me in how I will use his scientific discovery to make my decision on what I would do if I was large and in charge. Hell, we would probably even get a paper published in “Science.”
To go back to this definition, and to get to the point, we will describe his terms in the following way:
Favorable heritable trait=intelligence
Unfavorable heritable trait=stupidity, or white trash, depending on when you ask me
Differential reproduction of genotypes=you don’t need to know as it won’t be on the quiz
A quick experiment to help you understand…..
Big Momma and Mr. Big Momma, after a wild drunken night at Bob’s Bar come home, tear each other’s clothing off and engage in a wild night of swing from the rafters sex. Because I am a terrible speller and he can’t seem to ever shut a cabinet door, our offspring would fail out of first grade and end up as a divorced adult because his/her lack of cabinet shutting skills would drive his or her spouse to the brink of insanity. Said child would die, thus not be able to reproduce (no swing from the rafters sex for you!) and these terrible traits would not be passed on to inevitably torture future generations. Whew! Assuming these traits did not exist in either of us, said child would be able to splice genes, leap tall building in a single bound (I am an excellent jumper despite having flabby triceps....you wave at me and I'll wave right back!) and build cabinetry that would shut itself. I say that only because Mr. Big Momma is a brilliant architect. Got it? Good.
Based on all of this scientific mambo-jumbo, I am sure you all are asking “why do stupid people continue to exist?” They should, based on Darwin’s ideas, have been weeded out long ago. I can assure you they exist because of alcohol. Drunk people have sex. Reckless sex. Which produces reckless, dumb offspring. Reckless dumb offspring continue to reproduce reckless dumb offspring. And so on and so on. You've seen Cops, right? This is where I come in. In a wave of my hand or a crinkle of my nose, I would wipe out those who swim in the shallow end of the gene pool. As a result we would have a world in which there was no war, no hatred, no credit card debt, and no mullets. No abusive spouses. No idiots talking on their cell phones while driving on the highway. And most imporantly, no flower pots made from old tires. Sounds good, doesn’t it? Welcome to the world of Big Momma. I hope you enjoy your stay.
The man, the myth, the legend, Chuck Darwin. Kinda hot in a nerdy way. I totally dig dudes with mutton chops, hence my infatuation with Elvis. The position of his left hand is a little creepy, don't you think? I wonder what he is hiding....the pea in his pod perhaps?
And his oh so fascinating peas! They look good enough to eat!