Martini Cartwheels

In the early post dawn hours, when you think all your neighbors are still in bed, what do you wear to bring out the trash on trash day? How far will you go? Will you venture down the driveway in your pajamas? In your bathrobe? Here was my garbage chic inspired outfit for this morning: So CJ. Who are you wearing? I'm wearing my own design, one that accentuates the incredible bed head I woke up with this morning. Black slip on shoes, the pair I typically wear to work, accented with red M&M boxers, a flannel shirt (Walmart's best), and a Seahawks* football t-shirt  combined beautifully to create this amazing ensemble. Neighbors - you are welcome. You all now realize just how good you look today. For added bonus trashy girl points, we are giving away this gently used suitcase which is your for the taking at the end of the driveway. *I am totally a Patriot's fan but on a recent trip to Seattle, we picked up Seahawks t's as we needed something to sle...

Meanwhile back in western Massachusetts.... I believe this rubber object is supposed to represent male genitalia. I say this with some uncertainty for a couple of reasons.  I'm pretty sure they are not usually blue unless they are on the verge of exploding. This set did not explode the whole time I was watching them. This thing looks dirty and stretched out, like it has been around the block and broken a few times.  It moved freely, swinging from left to right and back again, almost like it had a mind of its own. It was attached to something even more unattractive than itself. Wait a minute, I think I just answered my own question. 

Have you ever tried using positive psychology on yourself when you are in an uncomfortable situation? For example, when stuck in traffic during the work commute do you ever say either aloud or in your head "I love my job, I love my job" ? Prior to the snownami we were supposed to have last week we were in BJ's Wholesale Club picking up some extra supplies. You know, important stuff like 100 rolls of toilet paper, 10 packs of deodorant, and 120 ounce bottles of body lotion. Needless to say everyone else in western Massachusetts had the same idea. The store was packed. The checkout lines weaved around the registrars and down the aisles. There I was trying to convince myself that it wasn't crowded, that the lines would move quickly, and that the urge to strangle people was only temporary. And in my head I heard "I love BJ's, I love BJ's". Positive psychology is a bunch of bullshit isn't it?

And the winner for best sanitary product dispenser decoupage is: Hmmm. Do I want a napkin, a tampon, or a garden?  I'm wondering what's on the condom dispenser in the men's room. Bags of fertilizer?

Wow. This really put a damper on my bathroom stall plans. After cleaning up with some wipes, I had hoped to wash my hair, get rid of some expired aspirin, dispose of that bacon grease I had been carrying around in my jacket pocket for weeks, and finally say goodbye to the boxes of books I had in my trunk. But seriously, I don't think this bathroom edict goes far enough. I would add other items one may have in the car and want to toss at the interstate rest stop toilet area.  These items include cigarette  butts, vodka bottles, chatty passengers, pizza boxes, old lottery tickets, and ex-husbands (I threw that one if for my pal Stiffy). So remember, when you stop to relieve yourself in Massachusetts, you can park your ass but don't flush your trash.

Why oh why do I feel compelled to look under the lid of the septic? I should have learned my lesson the last time it was pumped. But no, I had to stand around and watch the whole process again. And by the time the nice young man with the brown stains on his jeans had just about vacuumed it dry and refilled it with water for a second pumping, I was almost dry heaving on the lawn. And the whole time I kept thinking, what if I drop something in there that needs to be retrieved? What if I tripped and fell into Lake Poopiecaca? Is that stench really not the septic at all and actually the result of my not having showered yet?

You would think riding down the giant slide with Stiffy would be more dangerous than walking, given her twisted position on that burlap sack and our hand holding technique. However, I find walking to be quite treacherous, especially when there are no obstacles in my path. Thank goodness there was a first aid office at the fair grounds.

Is there a name for those parties where a product line is demonstrated and then folks have the opportunity to purchase items? I love those parties. But you may not want to invite me to your next one for the following reasons: Are you going to have lots of tasty snacks? Yes? Great. Because I don't cook. And since these parties tend to be held on a Sunday afternoon sometime between lunch and dinner, I will be starving and hit your cheese and cracker platter like I am going to the electric chair. Will there be some sort of punch with a kick? Or wine? No worries if there isn't any. I will bring my own. Back to the timing of these parties - what better way to not let your Sunday spoil your Monday than to get your drink on. This is the reason you will want me to attend. See that bullet above? Because of that punch or wine I will buy a lot of product. And by a lot, I mean half the catalog. I love live demos, newfangled gadgets, and anything that makes my life easier. Bring it! ...

I was just out skimming the pool, thinking how horrible it would be if I fell in because it has been less than 30 minutes since I ate those crackers. Growing up in the 70's I was never told by my parents to wear a bike helmet or to use sunblock. What I did learn however, were the dangers of swimming, either in a pool or the ocean, without waiting 30 minutes after eating. Apparently several things can happen if you do not obey this law of nature. You will immediately sink to the bottom with no chance of survival. You will be able to swim fine for the first minute or so, but shortly thereafter cramp up so bad that you will sink to the bottom. Again, with no chance of survival. Your tunafish sandwich will decide to "repeat" on you, travel up your esophagus, spill over into your windpipe,  and choke the living shit out of you until you sink to the bottom.  NCOS.  You will suffer a gas pain so debilitating that you will fold over in two like a clothespin, lose all se...

We keep getting a bill for $1.00 from the Jesus dentist in Ludlow. I call him the Jesus dentist because he has a a picture of Jesus on the sign outside the office. About few years ago, Blondie went to him for a routine visit. After they hygienist said all looked well, the dentist came in and said she need 5 fillings replaced. A second opinion and 6 years later, the original fillings are still in and all is well. Hmmmm. About a year and a half ago, the bills for $1.00 started to arrive. Month after month, I get this bill, I rip it up, and I throw it in the trash. Jesus dentist has spent more on postage then on the actual bill.  I'm at the point where I may I set up my own payment plans, 1 penny at a time. Don't be fooled by dentists with similar tactics. If they have a picture of a saint, a leprechaun, or a giant molar it could be trouble. You go in for a cleaning and the next thing you know you are paying for a full set of dentures. I speak the tooth.

Cookie swap, cookie swap, oh cookie cookie swap. It's that time of year again :)  Time to pick out our cookie for the annual cookie swap for our good friends McCheesy and McMeaty's party. Last year was an epic fail on my part.  Rum ball cookies that looked like dirt balls and tasted like shit balls. This year I am going to let Blondie pick out the recipe. I'm hoping she ups her game and does not choose the dreaded Potato Chip Cookie again. While no where near as bad as the Extra Rummy In My Tummy Rum Balls, they were not the hit you would think they would be. It's stressful. There is some tough competition at this event. But after one or two bottles  glasses of wine, I start to relax and just enjoy myself. So all your Julia and Martha wanna bees, what's the treat that can't be beat?* *While technically there is no competition involved here, I consider our cookie to be a winner if 1) I  don't cut myself with any sharp implements during the prep...

I'm in Mass Pike hell. I'll repent if it will clear up the traffic jam (see mud flap). They cook, they dance, they're probably locked in this truck. Rolling. Rolling. Rolling on the Mass Pike. Don't worry. A running child is going to make it to my place of employment a lot faster than I am. Can't get run over it the car ain't moving.

St. Patrick's Day events always bring out the best in me. So I'm not so good at using a port-a-potty after drinking beer. It's hard. You have to balance yourself while hovering over the seat on your tippy toes, not getting your face too close to the urinal, all while wearing a winter jacket. I'd like to see you do it.

That's our mailbox. And that's your mirror. The one that fell off you car when you rode your vehicle up onto our property and sent our mail receptacle flying onto our neighbors lawn. I retrieved your mirror from the street just in case you need it. It's sitting on top of the mailbox, just above your balls, which I also retrieved from the road. I think you threw them out the window as  you sped away. I didn't think you would miss them, since you don't appear to be using them.

Our neighbor and friend McMeaty alerted us to a bear siting that occurred on our street last night. This is a real bear, the kind that rambles along on four furry legs and not the usual bare that you see at the The Wet Spot* during the summer months. That bare has the same furry legs but only has two of them and is not usually spotted until after nightfall. I was thinking about what the heck we would do if we were walking down the street and saw a bear. The old adage "does a lesbian shit in the woods when she sees a bear" came to mind. I don't think one can outrun a bear and I know I couldn't certainly climb a tree to escape.  So if your popping over for a visit please take care that no wildlife, other than that which resides in this house, is lurking over your shoulder. And remember, whether it's a bear in the brush or a bare with a bush, you should never pet or feed these creatures. *The Wet Spot is the name of our pool. Also know as the hole in th...

I was watching one of those dooms day prep shows while working out on the treadmill in my basement. These people had a year's worth of food, enough guns and ammo to start a small war, pickle barrels for storing water that they were somehow going to turn into a heat source,  and just about any other survival supply one would need. Are we ready to handle the earth's the next pole shift?  Since I was already in the basement, it was the perfect time to assess the situation. Off to explore the storage shelves I went. What the hell was I thinking? This looks like trouble, real trouble I thought - until I looked on the shelf below. Yup. All good. I'll be sitting in my lawn chair on top of the hill on our back 40, drinking Jameson's and watching the fireworks. Enjoy sitting in your bunker Doomsdayers.

Some people see Angels in the clouds. Some see Saints in stained glass. Some even see the Pope in their toast. Guess what I see? Ladies and Gentlemen take my advice, be careful not to choke on the boob made of ice.

Need a little incentive to start the New Year's diet? Let me cook for you. Rum balls are easy! Rum balls require no baking! Rum balls look like goat poop when I make them: Apparently unlike Captain and Coke, more rum is a bad thing when added to this mix. And just for reference, below is a picture of some beautiful cookies, baked by the ladies of the Ventura Street Cookie Swap.  I was able to salvage a few of the rum balls to add to this mix. By supplementing with some store bought cookies, I could actually contribute to the collection below. So how 'bout that new diet? Looking for a personal chef? Call me!

Holy  REO   Speedwagon  Batman, it time for me to fly to my class reunion again. The following is an excerpt from a blog post I wrote back in 2007, slightly revised. Here goes my practice run: "Hey  CJ , I have five boys. What about you, any kids?" "No, I hate kids. You can't legally crate them like you can dogs.  Ughhh , what I meant to say was I just plain forgot to have them. That's why I look so much younger than you.  Ummm , no really, I love kids. It's just that I have awesome great nieces and nephews and I can play with them when ever I want and then I can return them. ( CJ  thinking - I'm in really deep you know what now). Hey, that's a great dress you're wearing. Husband? Oh no. None worthy. Actually I like girls. Yeah, it was a shock to me too. ( CJ  thinking again - Oh &^%$*, why did I bother coming here). Springfield College. No, I didn't major in PE. Correct, I said I had dogs, not cats. Why yes, this is the same hair sty...

It seems like every post lately starts with "wow, I can't believe it's been this long since I blogged." Things got a little crazy with work the past couple of months. I pushed myself too hard, got run down, and then got pneumonia*.  I'm still feeling the effects with my energy levels but I'm trying to be good by going to bed early and not putting in so many hours at work. Anyway, enough with the boring stuff. Let's move on to a really exciting topic. Here's Bo Bo the Trash Mouth Clown. I was afraid to throw anything into his cake hole for fear he would grab onto my arm, pull me into the bowels of his soul, and eat me. Oh he's colorful and certainly catches your eye. I'll give him that. But I've seen one too many movies where it's not all about balloon animals and tiny cars. No thank you Mr. Bo Bo. I'd rather take my chances with the the big green plastic barrel surrounded by hornets. *Pneumonia can decreases the amount o...