Why Burritos Are Not An Acceptable Form Of Payment

Once upon a time... there was a very hungry boy who desperately wanted a big burrito. He summoned the fairest girl in the land, who was stupid enough to blindly follow directions.

BOY:  Can you go to the Mexican grocery store and get me something?

GIRL:  Sure, I was hoping to randomly go to the Mexican grocery store today.

BOY:  Follow my instructions. Enter the store, take a left at the enormous cans of frijoles, then go straight back. You will see a big Mexican standing by a grill.  He doesn't speak English. Shout "BIG BURRITO" while holding up one finger.

GIRL:  That sounds awesome. I was hoping to order a burrito from a real Mexican today.

BOY:  Hurry I'm hungry.

So, the girl does as she is told. She made it out of the store with the $6.99 burrito in a to-go container, feeling happy that she has followed the instructions. Eager to please the boy, she drives recklessly back from the store to give him the beloved burrito.

Proudly, she presents him the burrito, along with the receipt.  She briefly paused, waiting for the boy to pay her, yet she sadly walked away empty handed.

The birds and the mice sang her a song, sewed her a dress, and sprinkled fairy-dust around her... but nothing took the place of the $6.99 she spent on the beloved Mexican burrito.

The suddenly, the door opened.  A bright light filled the room.  The boy had entered.  Surely he was bringing her the $6.99.

BOY:  Here is $2.50 and the remainder of my burrito that I couldn't finish.

GIRL:  WHAT?

BOY:  I'm full.  That was a big burrito.  I think $2.50 and 1/3 of the burrito makes us even.

Moral of the story: 

Burritos are not an acceptable form of payment. 

Not even in Mexico.

A Documentary of Random Strange Things At My Mom and Dad's House

I wouldn't even call this entry a "blog".. its pretty much a documentary of things that I noticed at my mom and dad's house when I was visiting a few weeks ago: (if you click on any of the pictures, it opens them up bigger.. if you feel you need to examine more closely...)


#1 - Elmo christmas stocking with another Elmo  - picture speaks for itself.  It looks like little Elmo is being completely violated

#2 -Completely bizarre Nativity scene.  First, the *ANGEL* that apparently was hanging at one point.. obviously is no longer hanging.  So she's laying spread-eagle on the edge of the scene.  Then, its more than apparent that all those people are way more interested in looking at the shepard-dude holding the lamb.  They are all looking at that damn lamb.  6.8 pound Baby Jesus is sittin' all in his swaddling clothes saying:

"HEY, look over here.. its me! I'm baby Jesus! Look at ME.  Stop looking at that stupid lamb.  I could snap my fingers and that little lamb would be DEAD because I can do cool shit like that."  

Ok, I don't think that's what baby jesus would say, but this whole Nativity scene seems a little "off" to me.  And, there is a small picture of a nativity scene  infront of the shepard dude.  Its like my mom needed a picture to remember what the scene was supposed to look like, yet she still failed to deliver.  (FYI, I didn't touch anything, this is how I found it.)




#3 - This toy was staring at me when I was peeing in the main guest bathroom.  I don't even know what that thing really is, and why is he sitting on the edge of the tub, eye level with people's crotch, right infront of the toilet?  Disconcerting.

#4 - My mother's mailbox.  This mailbox was mentioned in a previous blog (My Mother Opposes Everything)...   I have a regular white mailbox, with a little red flag.  That's it.  This mailbox has clearly been violated.  And you see on the left side that they had the house numbers in red, however, they put a clip over it... so it makes perfect sense to then put numbers on the right side.. because it wouldn't make a lick of sense to just move the clip.  And I don't think you can put your house number too many times on your mailbox. Or put too many clips on there, or bumper stickers, or names.  Lots of names.  Perfectly normal. (This is also proving to you DOUBTERS that my mom's mailbox IS, in fact, NOT RIGHT.) 

#5 - My mother has too many ladles (numbered in red.. and I think there is one missing).  How many things could you possibly ladle at the exact same time?  What makes you buy another ladle?  Are you walking throught the kitchen utensil aisle at WalMart and you pass by the ladles, and you say, "Hey, I only have 3 ladles!  I think I shall purchase another ladle!"   Really?  But, dear GOD!  How many spatchulas does one woman need?. HOW many things to you need to spatchula at the same time.  There are SIX spatchulas labeled in green.  And to top it off.. THREE wooden spoons (numbered in blue).  Its just a lot of utensils. 

#6 - There is a gianormous pile of books on a dresser in the hallway outside of the bathroom.  And they are partially covering up the "wall of pictures of ME."  Rude.

#7 - My mother has framed her highschool prom picture and it sits on the dresser in my parent's bedroom.  The guy in the picture is NOT my dad.  Then, to make things "even", she has a picture of my dad with his high-school girlfriend (taken at a high school reunion.)  This seems perfectly normal to them.

#8 - My mother obviously has a fear of running out of salt and pepper.  There are probably 20 different salt and pepper shakers randomly distributed throughout the kitchen.  Here is a picture of some on the table.  I feel particularily *sad* for the snowman salt shaker.  He is without his partner.  I think the other salt/pepper shakers are mocking him.

#9 - If I'm at my parent's house for more than 20 minutes, something bad happens to my mind, and everyone starts looking funny and I get an overwhelming craving for burritos, xanax, and bourbon.  Here is a picture of my sister and my 2 neices.. Yes, this is what happens if you spend too much time there. 

There, I'm done.  This concludes our walking tour of  "A Documentary of Random Strange Things At My Mom and Dad's House."  Thanks for stopping by.  Tell your friends or my next blog will be about your momma.

The Secret To Surviving A Colonoscopy

I had a colonoscopy before it was the “IN-THING” to do.  Now it seems like everyone my age is getting one and then they tell two friends, and then they tell two friends, and so on and so on, and before you know it, every *rectum* in the universe has been violated in the name of health. 

My personal opinion is that we are just creating smarter polyps.  They are mocking us.  They’ve learned how to hide when they see the garden hose coming their way – scurrying like bugs from the Orkin man.  My personal opinion of polyps is not in any way related to this story.

I went to Mexico when I was 21-years-old and somehow contracted some dreaded Mexican disease (No, it was not related to tequila).  As a result, I lost a gianormous amount of weight, and gained other unpleasant side effects that I will just leave up to your imagination.  I had no health insurance, but my Aunt Pat worked for a group of doctors and one of them apparently went to school for years and years to learn how to stick a garden hose up my ass. 

*The Doctor on Star Trek had virtually no training to look at Spock's ass.   Look at the horror on everyone's faces...*

For all of you who have had this experience, you know the day of the procedure is not a pleasant one.  After 439 enemas and drinking a liquid that was surely eating the lining of my esophagus, I was as clean as a chickenbone on an anthill.  Because I was getting a FREE colonoscopy, I had the LAST appointment of the day.. so I was cleaned-out, hungry, and nervous.

Yes, I was VERY nervous, because, quite frankly, I am a believer that my body part scheduled to be violated should be reserved for *out-going* only.  That's just ME. You may feel differently - It's all good.

 I was cleansing myself at my great-aunt Flora’s house because for some reason I thought it would be an awesome idea to let a 103 year old woman drive me to my death. 

She saw my anxiety, and explained that she had a “cure” for my nerves.  She left the room, went into her closet, and pulled out a purple velvet bag with her crooked, old fingers.  I think I heard angels softly singing as she slowly she removed the magical cure, and poured me a shot of Crown Royal. 

OK.  Weird.  I’m not sure I’m allowed to have alcohol before this procedure; however she assured me that everyone drinks heavily before medical procedures.  WHO KNEW?  After about 8 shots of Crown Royal, and no food, I felt confident that I could give myself my own colonoscopy. 

I show up in the waiting room and saw the remnants of very very very old people.  Wrinkled, unattractive old people.  They stared at me.  They whispered.  I think they thought I was in the wrong place. I may have appeared to be a bar-wench, temporarily lost.  I stumbled over to an empty chair and picked up an AARP magazine.  In my state of drunkenness,  I was on the verge of tears looking at my own bleak future sitting in a waiting room with old people… waiting to be violated.

YAY!  It’s finally my turn.  As I lay on the table, stripped down to my bare soul, I took the garden hose like you would expect a drunk, 21-year-old would. 

Slurring my words, I turned my head towards the doctor and enthusiastically announced:

“I BET thizzz izzz probabbably the NICEST ASS you’ve seen   ALLLLLL day.”  

I'm not sure if he was amused, but he knew it was true.  I’m sure that Blanche and Gertrude’s asses weren’t even in the same league as MY 21-year-old ass.

Good news is that he didn’t find anything up there.. not even a side-ways stuck taco (I ate a lot of Mexican food).  And afterwards, I did feel magically healed.  I strongly believe my cure could be directly attributed to that delightful Crown Royal my great-aunt gave me.  That’s when I learned a valuable life lesson:

  Crown Royal CAN be your friend.

My Mother Opposes Everything

I moved out on my own when I was 18, and my mom needed a hobby.  How about jigsaw puzzles or learning a foreign language?  Nope.  My mom had a different idea on how to spend her free time.   

On a sunny, unremarkable day in 1986, I received a phone call from a friend, “I just saw your mom on the news!” he exclaimed. 

*Actual picture of my mother's waiving her pimp-slapping hand *

I'm pretty smart, so I immediately recognized that this was not a good sign. Did she finally take revenge on the neighbors that let their dogs crap 478 pounds of excrement in their front yard for the last 15 years by slapping them with her 3 pound, tennis ball sized Avon cocktail ring?

“Why was she on the news?” I asked, fully expecting a story of carnage complete with the ranting of a crazed middle aged homemaker.

He replied, “Apparently she’s leading a rally opposing 2 Live Crew.”

That’s ridiculous.  She doesn’t even know who 2 Live Crew is. 

For my own entertainment and curiosity, I went to the casa-de-chaos to get to the bottom of this mystery. A direct approach was necessary...

ME:  Heard you were on the news.

MOM:  Yes, I’m opposing 2 Live Crew.

ME:  Do you even know who 2 Live Crew is?

MOM:  They are a bunch of horrible, horrible men that can’t even sing – they “rap” about killing their mothers and teachers and girlfriends.    And puppies.    And nuns.

ME:  Can you tell me the name of one of their songs?

MOM:  (long pause) No.  But they’re all horrible.

ME:  If the lead singer walked through the door right now, would you recognize him?

MOM:  Yes, because he would look like a horrible hoodlum criminal.

Ok, good.  That was a start. 

*As you can see, 2 Live Crew is clearly upset at my mother's opposition to them.*

I thought this new opposing-business may have been an anomaly – a momentary snapshot in time.  But alas, this was only the beginning.  My mom discovered her *love* of opposing.  She turned opposing into an art-form.  There was no stopping her… This marked the beginning of my mother opposing strange random things.  

On my following visit,  I couldn’t help but notice bright yellow garbage bags sitting out front by the road.  They had the word PORN written on them as pictured:

Wow, this was new.

ME: What’s up with the PORN garbage bags out front?

MOM:  I oppose pornography.

ME:  Wow, I’m sure the garbage-collectors will appreciate your enthusiasm.

MOM:  I’m letting everyone who drives down the street know that I oppose pornography.

ME:  I think I saw the neighbor going through your trash.  Maybe he thinks you’re throwing away all your porn.

This slip-up didn’t deter my mom from continuing her craft of opposition.  She would get better, she would be the best opposer ever….

A few months later, a new opposition appeared out of nowhere.  On the inside of the lid of rusty mailbox that is mounted by the front door, my mom placed a bumper sticker that said

“I oppose the liberal media.” 

 Maybe it says to not believe the liberal media.  Whatever.  Either way, she opposed it.  The only person who sees that bumper sticker is the mailman who lifts the lid to put in the mail.  They’ve had the same mailman for 30 years.

I’ve now compiled a list of various things my mother has opposed:

• Public Urination
• Returning Christmas presents
• Technology
• Yoga
• Figment (the purple dragon from EPCOT)
• Hemorrhoids
• Low Flush toilets (she blames Al Gore for inventing them)
• Fun
• The movie Grease
• Pedicures
• Satan
• Matt Lauer and Katie Couric

 (This really isn’t a comprehensive list.) 

Her most-recent opposition is the INTERNET.  She said that she wanted to take an axe and chop-up every computer in the whole world.  THE.  WHOLE.  WORLD. 

(She’s still working on her opposition skills…..)

Feeling Conflicted About The Grinch

Its that time of year again – where everyone is full of Christmas cheer and holiday spirit.. and every single Christmas movie ever made is on TV and I feel strangely compelled to watch them all.  This won’t be a long blog, but I’m going to tell you people right now that I am conflicted about the Grinch That Stole Christmas.  I know why the Grinch is pissed off and I don’t blame him for hating those crazy Who-holes.  Don’t worry, I’m not going to come to your house and steal your shit, so don’t go all crazy.

I’m keepin’ it real.  Little Cindy Lou Who is annoying.  And so are her parents.  And so are all the effing happy little Who-holes that live in Who- ville.   What is going on there??  It’s like they are all peeing rainbows and shooting gold nuggets out of their cornholios.  I find it unrealistic that those Who-lios are that who-happy.

And does Cindy Lou Who have NO common sense?  If some green dude came to my house in the middle of the night – who looked like he ate a SATANIC Keebler Elf…  I sure as hell wouldn’t be all lovey-dovey with him.  Cindy Lou Who should have picked up her happy-frickn-phone and dialed 911.  That’s what a reasonable Who-viller would have done.  (that kind of rhymes.  Read it again in your Dr. Seuss voice.)

*Hello evil-looking-satanic stranger. I would like to be your friend.*

The Grinch just wanted some peace and quiet.  He was sick of all their singing.  Do you want to hear people singing ALL THE TIME when you’re trying to make strange inventions in your dark cave?  NO.  No one does.

 *Note: The Grinch continously uses a toothpick which indicates good oral hygene*

And, I can tell you right now that if I woke up on Christmas morning and all my crap was gone, and I ran outside… and all my neighbors realized that all their crap was gone too… I BET you that we would not be holding hands in a BIG circle singing :

"Fah who for-aze! Fah who for-aze! Dah who dor-aze! Dah who dor-aze!"

What does that even mean?!?

When I was a kid and I was watching the Grinch movie, I remember thinking… WHAT THE CRAP?  Why doesn’t Santa Claus come down and open a can of  Santa-style-WHOOP-ASS on the Grinch.  Santa was all-knowing, all-powerful, and all-loving.  If Santa was too busy, he could have sent about 10 angry elves.  Ten angry elves could EASILY whoop the Grinch.  Especially if it was a surprise attack.

*a collage of Christmas helpers that could potentially kick some Grinch-ass. Especially top tow, 4th over from the left.  Not sure that's really even a Christmas character.  Maybe Santa brings him along when he's delivering to the hood.*

Finally, why did the Grinch steal JUST Christmas?  Why not Kwanzaa? Kwanzaa is supposedly near the same time.  Does NO ONE in Who-ville celebrate Kwanzaa?

Who-ville is very confusing.  This is where I feel compelled to interject that a few Christmases ago, my mother threw all my sister’s Christmas presents in the front yard and screamed:

“GO TO HELL!” 

It’s like our own little Who-ville. 

*Now, if the Grinch stole the cookies, we'd have ourselves a problem. ..

No one steals mamma's cookies*

This Blog Is Sponsored By The Letter “K”

A few years back my mom decided (for no apparent reason) she wanted to divide up all her worldly belongings while she was still alive.  She wasn’t going to give us anything right away, but at least we would all know who’s getting what.  My mom’s reasoning sounded logical to the untrained person– “I don’t want you to fight over my stuff after I’m dead.”

*Actual picture of me holding my sister... right before I squeezed the life out of her and beat her with the snorkel behind us  (not really) *

So, we were going to meet with a lawyer to draw up a will, right?  NOPE.  My mom had a MUCH better idea than any legal type of document.  WE DIDN’T NEED NO STINKIN’ LAWYERS..

*not actual lawyers*

She pulled out two black sharpie markers and handed one to me and to my sister and instructed us to put a “K” underneath the things that I wanted, and my sister would mark her things with a “T”.   Yes indeed, this was MUCH better than having a last will and testament.  Silly lawyers.

However, I immediately recognized flaws in my mother’s system.

Suddenly and without warning, it was like a crazy Japanese game show exploded in my mom’s living room. 

 My sister morphed into a crazed-flesh-eating-monster … scratching “T”s on all the good stuff.  Momentarily dazed and confused, I erratically pushed through the maze of mom’s stuff... shoving small children and old ladies out of my way…  I thought I saw something valuable in my peripheral vision… I lunged towards the china cabinet... grabbed the alleged valuable artifact.. turned it upside down and was just about to mark it with a BIG FAT K… and damn if there wasn’t a T already there.  There were T’s everywhere.  Panic set in.

*actual picture of my sister *

Flustered, I grabbed a worthless piece of crap to make my mark, and much to my amazement, there was already a K.  WHAT?  I didn’t mark this… That’s when I realized that my sister was marking the ALL THE CRAP STUFF with a K… just to make sure that she wouldn’t be stuck with it one day.

*examples of crap that I did not want*

*side note: don't email me to tell me that these things are valuable*

I needed a life-line to win.  Could I phone a friend or use my street shout-out?   There was no time. 

*not actual picture of me*

All the good stuff was COVERED with T’s.   There was confusion, mayhem, TOTAL ANARCHY… and that’s when I realized….  My mom’s ultimate plan was to see us fight over her stuff while she was ALIVE.   HA! We had been outsmarted by the lady that doesn’t even have an email address.  HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?

Good news is that we think that most of the stuff in my mom’s house came from SteinMart or Target.  So, neither of us really won the lottery that day.  Although, we did get some good excersize.  And everytime I go to my mom’s house, I like to randomly pick up one of the chachkies and look underneath just to see what’s there.

I have also figured out how to make a “T” look like a “K”.

My Mom Loves Pamphlets

My mom loves pamphlets.  Colorful-shiny-FUN-SUCKING pamphlets.  She carries various pamphlets in her purse and can whip them out quicker than Paula Deen’s chicken pot pie out of an oven.

*examples of pamplets*

SIDE NOTE:  I am not sure that the way to heaven is on a rusty playground swing

FOR EXAMPLE:  If you were at an Italian restaurant and you can’t decide between the spaghetti with meatballs OR with clam sauce… *WHAM*  She could extract a pamphlet from her oversized-Baptist-purse that would tell you something bad about clams.  Or meatballs.  It all depends.  It’s like having an iPhone app...but a crunched-up, colorful app. 

When I was in college, I had a boyfriend (who shall remain unnamed) coming to stay with my family for the weekend.  I don’t remember the details of why this was happening, so I can only assume that I hated him and wanted him to be miserable. We spent the day my family doing various non-sexual activities, and then it was time for nighty-night. 

Of course, we had to stay in separate bedrooms with no sneaky-peaky, hanky-panky. 

He went to the guest room, pulled down the covers, and there it was: The dreaded pamphlet...

The title was:
SEX IS NOT LOVE

Thanks mom.  That was awesome.

For those who know my family… being around them makes you NOT want to have sex.  Ever.   Essentially, that pamphlet was not necessary. 

*replica of pamplet*

I was a 20-year old girl trying to have a boyfriend because of my Baptist requirement was to get married ASAP to someone that could fully support me so I could procreate and stay at home and do all the laundry and grocery shopping and cooking and cleaning, and I had a tight time-frame. 

"I can't wait for my husband to get home so I can have LOTS of sex"

Leaving pamphlets under the covers for my boyfriend was NOT HELPING…WHY WOULD SHE SABBATOGE her own plan to marry me off?? 

Whatever.  The pamphlet DID had some useful suggestions; however, I chose to ignore almost all of them.

At this time, I would like to take a second to give a shout-out to my SECOND-PLACE favorite pamphlet... and the award goes to:

CHOOSE A DATE THAT WOULD MAKE A GOOD MATE

My Mom's probably reading this right now thinking:

“HA!  You may have been annoyed at my feeble attempt to keep you on the straight and narrow; however you REMEMBERED the names of the pamphlets.”     

Well, of course I remember.  I think you framed them and hung them on my wall.  Or, I could be imagining that. 

*This pamphlet covered everything that I should never  do, including giving cigarettes to a cat*

Either way, I remember being annoyed.  In fact, it annoyed me so bad that it made me WANT to have LOTS of SEX with someone that I didn’t love and that would make an awful mate.  HA!  I showed you!  

Then, I wrote my own damn pamphlet:

  DIVORCE IS AN AWESOME ALTERNATIVE TO MURDER

I Can Only Excersize With Celebrities

I am not a fan of exercise, but I do it anyway for all the stupid reasons that everyone knows about… so I won’t bore you with all that stupid crap.  

I’m a member of a little gym that next to my work.  The gym is small -only 4 treadmills, 3 ellipticals, 2 stationary bikes, and the standard weight equipment.  I normally try to exercise on my lunch break so that I can make my co-workers think I’m all-healthy, while I’m sticking an entire sleeve of thin-mints into my pie-hole.

My schedule got a little wonky a few months ago, and I had to go the gym AFTER work.  I put on my low-budget gym clothes and hopped on the treadmill. There was no one else there.  I felt like I was stuck in a weird purgatory run by Richard Simmons.

Then suddenly, someone hopped on the treadmill next to me. The treadmills are VERY close together - only about 16 inches apart.  Because of the close proximity, I always feel the need to make an acknowledgement - like when someone gets in your elevator. I figured it may be a co-worker from my building, so I did my cursory glance and nod.  Hmmm, this person does not appear to be your average-disgruntled-government worker…  I glance again.  Weird.  I have to turn my head ALL THE WAY to get a good look-see… and damn if it isn’t Kirstie Alley. 

Here we are.  Me and Kirstie.  Work-out buddies.  Except for she’s got like a whole entourage of people doing things for her.  Someone brings her water, someone sets her treadmill, someone sets up her TV channels.  I keep looking around for someone to bring me water.  No one comes. 

*her entourage is full of really cute guys.  My entourage is full of just me *

Now, I know what you’re thinking.  Is Kirstie as fat as she looks on TV?  The answer is no.  She looks pretty good.  Especially for her age.  I tend to “freeze” people into the age they were when I first saw them.  So, if I met you in 8^th grade, you will ALWAYS be 13 years old to me.  I saw Kirstie on Cheers when she was in her early 30’s, so that’s what she is to me.  However, in REAL LIFE, Kirstie is SIXTY (60) years old.  I KNOW!  WHO KNEW?

So, everyday for two weeks, I would get to the gym, and there was Kirstie.  Sometimes we held short yet intimate conversations.  Once she said to me “I think that elliptical isn’t working right.”  Then I said, “Ok, thanks.”  

 

I bought new gym clothes, jewelry, and made sure my hair and makeup were looking good.. just in case TMZ or Entertainment Tonight showed up at the gym unexpectedly for an exclusive Kirstie Alley workout segment.  Or, as I started calling it – the “Kirstie and Kelly” workout. 

As our relationship grew, I found myself excited about going to the gym.  One particular day, as Kirstie and I were working out together, she took a cell phone call and sat on the Pilates table right next to me.  I turned down the volume on my headphones to listen to her talking.  (oh please, like you wouldn’t do it too.)

She would be considered a loud-talker, and her conversation included monkeys, traveling gnomes, and general famous-people-insanity.  I was so engrossed listening to her conversation, that when it was over, I realized that I had run 6 miles on the treadmill.  This had become the only way I could exercise.  Having her at the gym was my “magic pill.”  I needed her.

*Me falling off the treadmill without Kirstie*

One morning I was packing my gym bag getting ready to drive to work, I saw on TV that Kirstie Alley was going to be on the Oprah show.  It was a re-run… and I had the most super special awesome idea EVER.  I was going to watch Kirstie Alley on Oprah at the gym WHILE working out RIGHT NEXT TO KIRSTIE ALLEY.  Oh my GOD!  How brilliant is that?  I will be watching her on TV simultaneously while being right next to her.  It was sort of confusing, yet awesome.

I was excited as a fat-guy at a KFC Buffet.  I couldn’t wait.  It was like all the stars were aligned.  Then, it started raining. Then it started lightning.  WHAT IS HAPPENING GOD?  Will this weather keep Kirstie away?  Surely the gods of health and exercise were happy with me…  what is going wrong?

At 4pm sharp, I got to the gym.  NO KIRSTIE. 

I tried to work out.  But I couldn’t.  I needed you Kirstie.   I.NEEDED.YOU.

I’ve never seen her there again.  Surely she misses our time together.  The gym used to be magical and fun.  Now, it’s a vortex of pain and horribleness.