Perpetually Peeved


The phone! The phone is ringing!

What sound is more annoying than an unanswered phone?  Okay, besides your kids whining, your mother-in-law bitching (not mine, love her!), or a car alarm going off for an hour?

Not many, let me tell you.  So, this morning I go into work, I’m drinking my coffee and getting settled for the day – and I hear it – RING! RING! RING! RING!

Peeved: [The phone! The phone is ringing! – ah, shit.  Now, I’m going to have that song in my head all day]  Who’s phone is that?

RING! RING! RING!

Peeved: (to co-worker) Do you hear that?  Is that your phone?

Co-Worker: No.  I don’t hear anything.

Peeved: Come here.  Do you hear it now?  I think it’s in that empty office next to mine. You know, the one with the incense that smells like a geriatric’s bathroom.

RING! RING! RING!

Co-Worker: (with ear up against empty office door)  No.  I don’t think so.  It does freaking smell, though.

Peeved: It’s got to be somewhere.  Come in my office.  It’s like it gets louder.

Co-Worker: It’s definitely louder in here.  It sounds like it’s coming out of the air duct.  Maybe someone is stalking you and forgot their phone.

RING! RING! RING!

Peeved: Yeah, I can just picture someone walking around their house calling and looking for their phone.

Co-Worker: Maybe it’s in the hallway.  It’s definitely louder back here by your desk.

Peeved: [The phone! The phone is ringing!…. GD it!  ANSWER THE PHONE ALREADY!]  I’m going to look in the hallway.

***

RING! RING! RING!

***

Co-Worker: So?

Peeved: Nothing in the hallway.  I think someone is trying to torture me.

Co-Worker: This is so weird.

Peeved: I’m going to have BossLady open that empty office.  It’s got to be coming from there.

***

Peeved: Hey, BossLady, would you mind coming and opening the office next to me?  Someone’s phone is ringing incessantly and I’m going to go bonkers!

RING! RING! RING!

Peeved: Do you hear that?  It’s been going on for like 20 minutes.  Seriously.  I’m going to lose it.

BossLady: (opening office door)  Nope, not in here… but DAMN! it stinks in here.  I have to talk to her about this.

Peeved: That is SO WEIRD!  Come here in my office… doesn’t it sound like it’s right in here…  oh… um… wouldn’t it be funny if it were my phone?

BossLady: Please tell me you’re joking.

Peeved: Oops.

Guess who's the turkey this Thanksgiving! (photo from igourmet.com)

 



When good intentions go bad

I think whether parenthood is something planned or not, that most people go into it with good intentions.  When people find out they are going to become parents they secretly think they are going to be the best parent ever. 

Our parents?  They knew nothing.  I mean, they let us run around until the streetlights turned on.  We would drive hours on the interstates with no seat belts and at least one sibling lying across the hump on the floor of the car.  Baby teething?  Slip him some whiskey.  Teenager backtalking?  Feed her some soap.  Broke your arm?  Quit crying or I’ll break the other one. 

Yeah, I think most people’s’ visceral reaction to finding out they are going to have a child is, “I’m going to do it so much better than my parents did.”

So, what the heck happens?

photo from belch.com

Not too long ago, I was at the zoo with Biggie and Smalls.  A lot of people had those cute little monkey leash backpacks for their children.  Which, I will be honest, I’m not a huge fan of.  I mean, call me old-fashioned, but I just always held my kid’s hand or strapped them in the stroller.  That wasn’t my problem, though.  I understand why people have them.  It’s a scary thing to bring a non-verbal, squirmy toddler out to a crowded place where they could disappear in a heartbeat.  I get it.  I still watch my 12-year-old go to the top of the driveway to get the mail.  The thing that made me literally bite my tongue was the sight of a mother dragging her toddler behind her.  Pulling away like she was towing a wagon or something.  Um, lady, you dropped something.  Oh wait, that’s YOUR KID!  Cripies!  I’m thinking she didn’t see a little pink plus sign on a stick and think, “I’m going to be the best mom ever.  When little Timmy gets tired at the zoo, I won’t rent him a stroller, I’ll use my super-mommy strength to drag his ass from cage to cage.”

Hmm... I wonder why Timmy can't focus in school.

I was getting Smalls into the car at her daycare one day and was having a conversation with a woman who had a young son (about 4 years old or so).  She was complaining about how he just wouldn’t sit still and he wouldn’t stop talking and he can’t pay attention to anything for more than a few seconds.  As she’s saying this, she is loading him into a carseat positioned directly in front of a 10 inch DVD screen which she promptly turns on (with her remote start button).  “It’s just so difficult,” she shouts over the cries of the Wiggles, “is it possible for a four-year old to be diagnosed with ADD?”  No, darling, it isn’t any more possible than diagnosing his mother with a bad case of stupidity.

Clean up on Aisle 9!

See that angelic four-year-old holding on fiercely to a freshly Clorox-Wipe’d shopping cart, minding her own business, humming a song for her mommy?  Okay, now see that hooligan child lying on the ground kicking over the end cap display with her feet and mopping the dirty linoleum with her hair?  Okay, now see that lady halfway across the store, seemingly by herself minding her own business and shopping?  Isn’t she doing a great job of ignoring the toneless WA HA WA HA WA HA fake ambulance sound emitting from the mophead?  She’s not even looking around like I was to see where in the world the little critter’s mother was.  Hmmm…  she must be shopping for mirrors. 

And the nominees for Mother of the Year are…



Bananas in pajamas

Have a death wish?  Then, may I recommend shopping the Black Friday sales.  If the crazy lines and caffeine-hyped soccer moms are not enough to scare you off, then maybe this is:  people wear their pajamas. In public.  With slippers.  I’m not kidding you.  I can handle the jerks that try to nudge their way up to the caution tape in front of you just so they can get their hands on the latest, greatest Zhu Zhu.  I can even handle the ones that climb pyramids of computer monitors and start tossing them down to their grandmas standing by the carts.  I’d go so far as to say I would put up with the velour-jumpsuit clad Mother of the Year nominees who bring their children to sleep in shopping carts at 4:00 in the morning.  However, every time I see one of these pj-clad people I just want to lay down on the linoleum and die.  All hope for humanity leaves my body.

I would sooner wear MC Hammer pants than don my flannel candy-cane pajama bottoms to McDonalds.

The worst part?  Some of these people aren’t even slobs.  They are showered, their hair is done, their make-up is on, they are sipping on $5 Starbucks coffees.  Do they think we won’t notice that they FORGOT TO PUT REAL PANTS ON?  I know there is a fine line between Ugg boots and bunny slippers, but if your shoes have eyeballs you shouldn’t leave the house in them. 

Thank Santa for Cyber Monday!  And, if you’re looking for some comfortable bottoms to shop in, I suggest the Hanes over in Aisle 5.



Wednesday “What the…?”

Yesterday was full of weird stuff I didn’t have pictures of.  Today, I’ve got proof.  It’s the weird, wacky, wondrous, Wednesday “What the…?” – Enjoy, folks.

1.  What the… are you trying to say?

That might be hard to read, let me tell you what it says.

          XXXXXXXX@YAHOO.COM

          Is this a valid email address for you (for your protection, the email address has been partially masked)?

Um, there is no X in my email address.  So, by partially masked do you mean completely obscured?  WTF Your Security Levels Are So High You Even Tell Me I Got My Father’s Middle Name Wrong On The Security Questions?

2.  What the… are you wearing?

Have you ever been going through old photographs and come across something that makes you go WTF?  Well, here’s a classic case.  Even Smalls is trying to figure out what’s going on there.  I guess stereotypes have to come from somewhere.  WTF Mr. I Buy My Outfits Out Of a Catalog Called DING!DING!DING!?

3.  What the… is that?

I sure hope they’re paying you.  WTF Hello Krazy Kitty?

4.  What the… kind of school do you go to?

(driving home from school yesterday)

Biggie:  Aren’t you going to ask me what new Connections (this is a fancy word for electives) I got today.

Peeved:  Sure, but the last 3 times I asked you, you told me you didn’t know yet and to stop asking you.

Biggie: Well, I got Music Appreciation and Family and Consumer Science.

Peeved:  Family and Consumer Science?  That sounds cool.  What’s that?  Budgets and stuff?

Biggie:  No.  You cook stuff and you get to carry around an egg and stuff and, like, pretend it’s a baby.  It’s really cool.

Peeved:  You mean you got Home Ec.

Biggie:  No, it’s called Family and Consumer Science.  Home Ec is, like, when they teach you budgets and stuff.  They don’t call it that anymore, Mom.

Peeved:  Family and Consumer Science?

Biggie:  Yes.

Peeved:  Where’s the science in it?

Biggie:  Cooking is science.  And, so is having babies.

Peeved:  Sounds like Home Ec to me.

Why does everything have to have a fancy name now?  It’s no longer English, it’s Language Arts.  It’s not Gym, it’s Exercise Science.  WTF Fancy Pants School – Why Don’t You Try Teaching Them How Eggs Get Fertilized Now That You’re Calling It Science?

5.  What the… kind of backwater town are you from?

 
 

This is what you get when you cross a mullet with a helmet bang.

 

 When wearing flip-flops with pants and no pedicure is the least offensive thing you’ve got going on, you’ve got issues.  WTF Ms. I’m So Country Even My Hairdo Is Inbred?

6.  What the… is wrong with you?

Some days, I wish I had one of those jobs that don’t do random drug testing.  You know, like pizza delivery guy, waiter, Xfinity writer, garbage man.  Either someone likes to wake and bake, or they have a sick sense of humor.  WTF Is Afroman Doing As My Garbageman?

I’ve got $50 that says the owner of the gold Toyota would, in fact, jump off a bridge if all of his friends did first.  WTF Doublemint Douches?



Well, You Don’t See THAT Every Day…

Our first Halloween together, Mr. Peeved and I dressed up as Elvis and a showgirl. 

Yes, I made both costumes and I vowed never to iron a tiny metal dot onto polyester again.

The costumes were a hit and Elvis lives on to this day in the form of an employee who has “borrowed” it and keeps finding occasions in which he needs to wear it in to work.  I digress.  Later that same year, it came time for Mr. Peeved’s place of employment’s annual employee appreciation party.  Each year, these parties have a theme and everyone goes all out.  Apparently, that particular year, our Halloween costumes inspired a Casino Night theme.  Everyone kept telling us we had to wear our costumes again.  And, we did.

*****

(driving in the car in comfortable silence… until…)

Peeved:  BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA….

Mr. Peeved:  No way.

Peeved:  You don’t even know what I’m laughing about.

Mr. Peeved:  Of course I do.  No way.

Peeved:  Okay.  BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA.  Please?

Mr. Peeved:  No.  Forget it.

Peeved:  Okay, but it would have been damn funny.

*****

(later that week, shopping in the maternity section of Target for an XL black tank top)

Peeved: BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Mother of a Toddler: Honey, stay over here by mommy, sweetie.

Peeved: BWAHAHAHAHA!!

*****

(putting mascara and lipstick on Mr. Peeved at the hotel room)

Peeved: BWAHAHAHAHA!!

(putting a long blonde wig on Mr. Peeved at the hotel room)

Peeved: BWAHAHAHAHA!!

(putting bobby pins with disco beads and feathers glued on them onto Mr. Peeved mandals at the hotel room)

Peeved: BWAHAHAHAHA!!

(putting feather butt boa skirt on Mr. Peeved at the hotel room)

Peeved: BWAHAHAHAHA!!

(walking out into the hotel corridor dressed as Elvis and holding Mr. Peeved’s hand)

Peeved: BWAHAHAHAHA!!

Male half of little old Jewish couple walking towards us: (turning to wife) Well, you don’t see that every day!

Little old Jewish wife: Hmmpf.

Peeved: BWAHAHAHAHA!!

(walking through the lobby of the hotel with Mr. Peeved sashaying around his feather frocked butt)

Peeved: BWAHAHAHAHA!!

One of the two big meatheads at the check-in counter:  (while simultaneously smacking his counterpart on the shoulder to get his attention)  Ah, Shiiiii…..

Peeved: BWAHAHAHAHA!!

Mr. Peeved:  Hi, Sugar!

Seriously, this guy will wear the costume anywhere.

The point of this story, you ask?  Well, today I encountered more than a few things that were borderline bizarre.  However, like the old Jewish couple and the meatheads, I didn’t have a camera handy to snap a shot.  So, in no particular order, here are the weirdo things I saw on my way home today:

  • A bischon frise wearing sunglasses.  Not shades that a vet would give you if you had eye issues, but full-on, designer-looking sunglasses.  His owner had a matching pair.
  • A Christmas tree lot.
  • A man brushing his teeth while driving his car.
  • A sign at the adult “toy” store advertising a “BLOW-OUT” sale on videos.
  • A man playing air drums… while riding a bike… without headphones in.


Flops & Mops
November 1, 2010, 2:17 pm
Filed under: General Peevery

Here it is, folks – another case of something completely inocuous causing me to break out in hives.

photo from x17online.com

What is so confusing about the fact that if it is cold enough to wear a SWEATER, you should not be wearing FLIP FLOPS?

Now, I don’t have any issue with flip flops in general.  That is, unless you need a pedicure or are a man (mandals trigger my gag reflex). However, I feel we’ve reached a pivotal point where we either set some fashion rules down or be subjected to this bipolar attire disorder permanently.  I’m about to head to Southern California next week and I just know the minute the thermometer hits 60 degrees, the girls will be throwing on their ski parkas and flip flops.  Lord help me.

And, for the love of all things sweet and cuddly, put some damn shoes on your child!

On a related note, have Uggs officially gone out of style now?  Because if I have to see one more skinny chick in a tank top, mini skirt and sasquatch feet, I’m going to gouge my eyebals out with the closest sharp object.

Ugh -- It looks like you wrapped some Swiffer pads around your ankles and are about to scrub the kitchen floor.



Wednesday “What the…?”

These Wednesdays just keep getting here quicker.  While our daily dose of WTF is fun, I don’t want you to think I’m not peeved enough lately.  In fact, I’m posting this from my iPhone right now because the douche otherwise known as Comcast – sorry, Xfinity – is incapable of providing me continuous service despite the fact that I provide them with continuous (over)payments.  I don’t know if you’ve ever typed a long message on an iPhone before, but I liken it to having a bad case of bad diarrhea and cheap toilet paper.  In other words, a pain in the ass.  That said, here we go…

1.  What the… Are You Selling?

WTF Was Wrong With Some Bodywash and a Loofah?

2.  What the… Are You Wearing?

Last night, Mr. Peeved was helping me out and decided that if the kids laid out their clothes for the next day, it would make my life easier in the morning.  A good theory.  The problem here is in the execution.  The pic above is of the outfit I pulled off the dresser this morning.  First, it is October 20th.  And, while we are having a bit of an Indian Summer here in the South, a short-sleeved shirt and mini skirt may be pushing it a bit.  Second, and most importantly, a green shirt, a jean skirt that has red piping, aqua socks and clownfish shoes – yep, I’m pretty sure when you look up “clash” in the dictionary this is the image you see.  His defense?  “She picked it out herself.”  Mmm-hmm.  Thank the heavens I was too mortified to actually let her wear it.  It was picture day and I had forgotten.  WTF Mr. Bet Your Parents Blamed Your Bad Outfits and Bowl Cuts on You, Too?

3.  What the…  is that?

As seen outside the local strip club.

Yes, breakfast at the strip club.  WTF Kind of Idiot Would Order the Crabcake Benedict?

4. What the… is wrong with this picture?

I don’t actually do any physical activity (unless you count running my mouth), but isn’t protein powder supposed to help you gain weight?  WTF Mr. Unless You Are Smuggling Out A Can of That Crap Under Your Shirt, I Really Don’t Think You Need To Be Buying It?

Eyelift? Check.  Thinned out nose? Check.  Plumped up lips? Check.  Hmm… no, something tells me the girl who would buy this shirt wouldn’t have stopped there.  WTF Would Possess Someone To Wear This Shirt Besides a Sponsorship Deal to Buy Some New Boobs?

WTF Mr. I Bet You Like To Think Outside the Box and Color Outside the Lines, Too?

Can you say “creepy?”  WTF Is That Doll Looking At?



Wednesday “What the…?”

Another day, another “what the…?”       

1.  What the… are you selling?      

It’s that time again, folks.  Picture day at school.  How will I spend my $150 this year?  Step 1) pick a pose; step 2) pick a background color; step 3) pick options.  Options?  Well, this is new.  Add a CD?  What for?  I’ll just get an 8×10 and scan it.  Add the kid’s name to the wallets?  Sure, why not.  I get so many wallets I start handing them out to strangers.  They’ll need to know her name.  Add retouching?  Back up…

 Yes, folks, for just $12, you can buy your kid some false self-esteem.  The photo retouching applies to the yearbook picture as well.  WTF You Can Turn Molly Ringwald Into Angie Everheart, But Anthony Michael Hall is Shit Out of Luck? 

2.  What the…  are you wearing?   

 How can you tell if your skirt is too short?  Simple.  If it’s wider than it is long, it’s too short.  WTF Store Did You Buy This Pink Velour Atrocity From Anyway?

3.  What the… is that?      

Apparently, high school football games are a great excuse to let your children run rampant and torture other, more responsible parents who are stupid enough to actually watch their own children.  Biggie was cheering at the homecoming game and awesome mom that I am, I got a front row seat.  Well, almost a front row seat.  I would have been able to see if every bratchild in the arena was not standing directly in front of me.  I kindly asked them to sit the feck down at least three times.  Finally, when they ran to concession stand, I snuck up and stole the first row.  I stood up and leaned forward to get some shots of Biggie, sat down, then stood up again to get some more shots.  Something felt weird.  Something felt weird on my butt, to be more precise.  What could it be, you ask…  Hmm… it feels an awful lot like a saliva-covered sour straw.  Just as I was thinking, “No, you’re being paranoid, Peeved,” a fit of giggles and some “she did it,” “no she did it” erupted from the bleachers behind me.  WTF Would I Have Given to be Able to Discipline Those Children Myself at That Moment!

 

kandkkandies.com

 

4. What the… kind of backwater town are you from?      

 

Yes, down in the South we spell phonetically.  Yes, down in the South, that IS spelled phonetically.

If you’ve already become a friend of Perpetually Peeved on Facebook, you’ve seen this photo.  If you haven’t, WTF Are You Waiting For?

 5.  What the… is wrong with you?   

 This week was a great week for material from third parties.  Here is an actual email I received from a good friend:

From:  IWanna Gag

To: Peeved

Subject: If I wrote a blog and I don’t

Message:  I would write about the woman in the bathroom at work who continued her conversation with me while she pooped.  Loudly.  She was not deterred and she would not let me go without more questions which she had to shout out to be heard over the pooping sounds.

WTF Ms. Shit Coming Out Both Ends?

*****

In other news, a friend was at the airport waiting for a flight when she noticed a gentleman “picking a winner.”  Disgusted, she decided to stare at him, assuming the attention would make him abandon his digging session.  No such luck.  Not only did the guy keep digging, he got himself a good one.  A nice, gooey, sinus infection looking booger.  Don’t worry – he didn’t eat it.  At least not at first.  First, he rubbed it all over his lips, like mucus chapstick.  Then, he licked it off slowly.  That’ll teach her to stare.  WTF Mr. Salty?

Not that I'd know anything about that...



Putting the “I” in “Team”

I have a few guilty pleasures in life: good books, good wine, Tim Riggins and reality TV.  Don’t judge – Taylor Kitsch is actually almost 30 and when I say reality TV, I mean good reality TV.  No Jersey accents, wife-swapping or speed-engaging dating allowed.  Anything on A&E, Survivor, Amazing Race, Project Runway, some Real Housewives (NY & CA only), and maybe a dash of Bad Girls Club just because it makes me feel better about my potty mouth. While most of these shows are not ones I would want to find myself on (Hoarders, Intervention, Celebrity Rehab), I do often wonder what it would be like to compete on one.

Survivor is a definite no-go.  I don’t like people.  I would definitely not like people if I were stuck camping with them in the middle of a mosquito-infested forest with no air mattress, no deodorant, no toothpaste and no food.  Something tells me someone would end up in the fire and it wouldn’t be because they passed out from inhaling smoke.  Project Runway is also a no-go.   While I love to design and sew, I couldn’t sacrafice my own personal taste just to try and get a smile out of Michael Kors.  Have you seen some of the stuff he likes? 

Not to mention he is so botoxed it would take a qualude and a crane to get his cheeks to move. Seriously - are you constipated or smiling? (AP Photo)

No, dear readers, there is only one show I would want to be on.  The Amazing Race.  Travel around the world with your best friend and compete against other people?  I am so in!

*****

[lying on the couch watching football last night]

Peeved:  So, today, I was on my moms group online and there was this post about The Amazing Race and someone asked the question if you went on that show, who would want to go with you.  So, who would you want to go with you?

Mr. Peeved:  Um, let me think about that.

Peeved:  Well, I’m just asking because people were saying they would go with their sister, or their father, or their sister-in-law…  Would you go with your dad?

Mr. Peeved:  No.

Peeved:  One of your brothers?

Mr. Peeved:  I don’t know.  Who would you go with?

Peeved:  I said I would go with you.  Because you are pretty amazing and also the only person I know that would put up with my crap.

Mr. Peeved:  [laughing] Of course I would take you.  Why would I go with anyone else?

Peeved:  I don’t know.  Some of the people said they think it would be stressful on their relationships and they didn’t want to fight on national TV.

Mr. Peeved:  You just have to work as a team.  I think we would do great together.

Peeved:  You do?  That’s sweet, baby.

Mr. Peeved:  The problem people have with working in a team is that they don’t just let one person make the decisions.

Peeved:  What?

Mr. Peeved:  That’s the problem.  People think everything has to be equal in a team.  If they just let one person make the decision and then everyone else supported that person, they’d make a much better team.

Peeved:  That’s not really a team.  I understand having a lead and coming up with a strategy and sticking to it, but having one person dictate what the others do is not teamwork.

Mr. Peeved:  Yes it is.  It’s the only way a team works effectively.  It’s like a golfer and his caddy.  The golfer needs his caddy.  But, the golfer decides what they are going to do, confers with the caddy and then does it.

Peeved:  What?  I can’t even talk to you abou this. 

Mr. Peeved:  But, baby, you’d make a great caddy.  You always have my back.

Peeved:  Watch the game.

Mr. Peeved:  You could take your mom.

Peeved:  What?

Mr. Peeved:  Well, you’d be famous, that’s for sure.  Everyone would know your name.

Peeved:  No kidding.

Mr. Peeved:  Forget fifteen minutes, she’s good for at least 15 days.

Peeved:  Infamous, even.

Mr. Peeved:  They’d be like, “cut!” — No, really, “cut!” — “Ma’am, can you please stop talking now?”

*****

I don't think I'd make it past Boston without trying to slit my wrists with the clue envelope. Photo from TVsquad.com

[later that night, lying in bed]

Peeved:  Do you really think a team is like a golfer and his caddy?

Mr. Peeved:  Yes.

Peeved:  That’s ridiculous.  The caddy just carries the golfers clubs around.  He doesn’t get a jacket if the golfer wins.  They aren’t a team.

Mr. Peeved:  You know what?  You go research it.

Peeved:  I don’t need to research it.  I’ve seen that Legend of Bagger Vance crap.  It’s not a team.  He doesn’t get a jacket.  No one even knows his name.

Mr. Peeved:  You don’t need name recognition and a jacket to be a good team player.

Peeved:  Ugh.

*****

Peeved:  I think it would depend on the task.

Mr. Peeved: What?

Peeved:  Who got stuck being the caddy.  I think it would depend on the task.  Like, you could be the golfer on any of the tasks that required strength, or fixing things, or building things, or eating nasty stuff.

Mr. Peeved:  Nice.  I don’t get to do any of the tasks that require intelligence?

Peeved:  Fixing things and building stuff requires intelligence.  It’s called engineering.

Mr. Peeved:  mmm-hmm

Peeved:  So, what kind of tasks would I be the golfer on?

Mr. Peeved: Oh, you know…  anything that had to do with sewing…

Peeved:  There is no sewing on Amazing Race.  Jackass.

Mr. Peeved: [stifling laughter] Okay, okay, anything that has to do with marketing or graphics…

Peeved:  Dipshit.

Mr. Peeved: [stifling laughter] Okay, for real?  You could lead the tasks that have to do with navigation – you’re good at that, you know giving directions.  Puzzles, showing your tits to get us in to places…

Peeved:  Nice.

Mr. Peeved:  No, really, they can get us stuff.  “Excuse me sir, I need two tickets to Sri Lanka, stat…”  “Ah, for you Ma’am, sure thing!”  “Thank you”…  “Hey, why’d he give us four tickets insead of two?”

Peeved:  You can carry your own damn clubs.

allmoviephoto.com



Friday “the fa…?”

Okay, so I’m a total slack-ass and missed Wednesday “what the…?”  Readers (all 2 of you, you know who you are) can now stop stalking me for posts.  I’ve got plenty of stuff for you today, folks.  Get prepared for Friday “the fa…?” – it’s like Wednesdays, only better.  Remember that song by C&C Music Factory?  Start humming it.  Okay, now substitute “hmm” for “the fa?”  Now, keep that on in the background.  Here we go:

Actual nutritional label on the back of a can of mixed nuts.

In other news, coffee is hot and if you are allergic to shellfish you shouldn’t order the crabcake po’ boy.

This is what happened to all those dirtbags who used to smoke pot in the commons in high school.  Xfinity has locked them in a room and tasked them with writing movie previews.  The saddest part?  This is probably the most entertaining thing on television.

The following Friday “the fa?”s have been brought to you courtesy of a trip to the “country” (an hour and a half outside the big city) for some pumpkin picking and apple frittering…

Yep, I think this one speaks for itself.  If it doesn’t, pat yourself on the back you are a better person than me.

There is only one place this outfit would be even marginally acceptable: a walk for breast cancer.  A monochromatic jogging suit? A PINK monochromatic jogging suit?  Head-to-toe pink? A jogging suit to a family outing?  Replete with spring-action PINK Nikes?  Monochromatic sweats are not slimming.  They make you look pregnant when you are not.  They are not appropriate under all but the smallest of circumstances. At least it’s not velour (*cringe*).

When Just for Men goes bad...

Maybe he was just trying to be festive.  Or, maybe he was hoping the bozo haircolor would distract people enough to not realize he is carrying his wife’s purse.  At least, I hope that’s his wife’s purse.  Can you say “pumpkin-whipped?”

I will be blowing this up, cutting it out and hanging it on my wall for the Halloween party.  I like to call her “Frankenmom” – that hair puts Kate Gosselin to shame.  To shame.

Pumpkin roll, anyone?

Um… I think you put the emPHASIS on the wrong sylLABLE, or something like that.

Happy Friday y’all!




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