A fellow blogger, Lisa is battling cancer. For the third time. And she is not currently winning the fight. I don’t know what to say, or what to do for her…she has kids and a husband and a life and friends and cancer is trying to take it all away.
Go say something to her. Anything….just pray, if you are a person who prays. Light a candle, send good vibes, do anything.
Fuck Cancer.
Caca, poop, doo-doo, shit, feces, number 2, whatever you call it.
I prefer “drop a deuce”.
I want to talk about poop. Because I haven’t been able to do it for 4 days. Yes, folks, I am literally full of shit.
Stephanie’s Shit List (hehe)
Granite Poop: The poop that tears at your ass, causes minor bleeding, and also causes you to hang on to both sides of the seat, brace your feet against the opposing wall, and strain till you’re Elvis-bound.
Power Stream Poop: When your belly cramps, you run to the throne, and as soon as your ass hits the seat (hopefully), you shoot a straight line of diarrhea with so much power it riccochets off the bowl and sprays your ass.
Clean Out Poop: This is the crap-fest (literally) that forces you to remain in the bathroom for at least 45 minutes, repeatedly emptying your bowels until you feel your sides sink in from lack of substance left in your body.
Bowl Bomb Poop: The poop ball that is hard to push out, then when it comes out, it feels like a softball just shot out of your ass…making a HUGE “plomp” sound when it hits the water. Very effective in cleaning your ass from the bowl-spray.
Corn/Peanut Poop: Ew.
As of this moment in time, I am officially 12 years old.
And constipated. That is all.
10. The women in the Pantene commercials. Because I have never in my entire 38 years of life seen a woman in real life with hair that perfect and shiny. Silicone hair…I think it’s their secret.
9. Boob sweat.
8. Ovulation.
7. Little tiny facial hairs ALL OVER THE SINK BEHIND THE FUCKING FAUCET that are apparently invisible to my husband.
6. The warmish last swallow of Diet Pepsi from the bottom of the can.
5. Mascara clumps.
4. Nipple clamps.
3. The word, “panties”. :::shudder:::
2. The Golden Girls.
1. Sally Field. Because she made a commercial for Boniva (an Osteoporosis drug) that has her looking all incredulous, saying that her “friend” told her that she has to SET ASIDE TIME ONCE A DAY to take her osteoporosis pill. How fucking much time does it take to open your mouth and insert a pill and swallow? She should be horse-whipped, tarred, and tiny Boniva pills should be thrown at her tar-laden body.
P.S. I’m on the rag.
As you were.
Men…you may want to step away from the blog. We are going to talk today about two of the most painful, horrifying, demoralizing aspects of the female hygiene process.
Yes, we’re going to talk about eyebrow maintenance and facial hair removal. One of the most heinous and terrifying 20 minutes a woman has to spend.
Ladies, am I right? (said ala Paula Poundstone, circa 1984)
First of all, any of you women who say you have no hair on your upper lip are lucky mutants, or lying fuckers. Stand in whichever line applies. Let’s set up the bathroom.
On the sink vanity: The box of Hair Removal Creme (for the upper lip area), the hot wax (for the brows) , the tweezers, a washcloth, cotton swabs, and tequila.
First, and this is just my process, I have to be clad only in a bra and underwear. The less clothes I have on, the better. I don’t know why, maybe it’s the female version of Adam’s insistence that men should shit naked. Whatever.
Second step…warm the wax, in hot water, in the sink.
Now we will go with step by step instructions. Or in other words, 20 Steps to a Beautiful You.
1. Take a cotton ball, and apply the hair removal creme to the upper lip area, going all the way down to the corners of your lips. Wrinkle nose in disgust at the smell of swamp ass wafting up into your nostrils.
2. Sip tequila. Curse as some of the hair removal creme gets on the edge of your shot glass. Hurl the shot glass at the tub, shattering glass fragments all over the floor.
3. Get applicator ready, and squinting your eyes, mouth agape, apply the hot wax to the (hopefully) proper area under the brow line.
4. Curse wildly at the pain of hot molten wax being applied to such tender skin, as tears course down your face from the pain.
5. Swig from the bottle of tequila, since you have broken your shot glass.
6. Yell at hubs to tell you when 3 minutes is up, so you don’t forget to remove the lip creme.
7. Apply hot wax to the other brow area, curse, and throw the applicator at the mirror, where it sticks and hardens.
8. Wipe the tears from your face, effectively smearing the hair removal creme across your cheeks, thus enabling possible future abnormal hair growth spurts in that area.
9. Gag at the smell of rotten eggs, and go ahead and prepare the strips of paper to remove the eyebrow wax.
10. Curse, because the wax has hardened, and may not all come off.
11. Swig from tequila bottle again, and partially vomit in your mouth because somehow you have some of the lip hair removal creme in your mouth, and realize with some degree of horror that the implications of that are just TOO FUCKING AWFUL to imagine.
12. Yank the first hot wax strip from your eyebrow region. Scream, curse, and fling the hairy slip of paper at the mirror, where it sticks next to the hot wax applicator.
13. Swig tequila. Sway every so slightly.
14. Yank off the second strip, amazed at the lack of pain. Realize lack of pain is because the wax is still on your eyebrow area because it cooled too much. Pick it off with the tweezers.
15. Swig tequila, stagger backwards, and step on the broken shot glass.
16. Swipe off the rest of the lip hair removal creme, and throw the cotton ball in the toilet, where you will forget about it and the smell will funk up the toilet so bad the hubs will ask you later if you ate Indian food for lunch.
17. Throw all the creme, wax, and other paraphenelia away. Pick up the shards of broken glass, leaving a blood trail across the ceramic floor from the wound on your foot.
18. Emerge from the bathroom, dragging your bleeding foot, with cotton stuck to your upper lip, hot wax particles hanging off your right eyebrow, smelling like chemical ass, drunk as hell, clutching the bottle of the tequila, stagger past your hubs, and mumble something about doing it all to be beautiful for him.
19. Hubs asks what the smell is, and then says, “Oh yeah, the 3 minutes are up, babe.”
20. Take pictures for the trial. No (female) jury in the world will convict you.
On my old blog, i had told stories of my crazy assed neighbor, who I affectionately call CrazyP. Looney as batshit, that woman, but then most people that live in Hickville are crazy fuckers.
On the other side of CrazyP is another nutjob, we’ll call him MethFace. Mind you, about 5 years ago he set his garage on fire somehow, which led to a long night of praying the fire didn’t travel. I’m still pretty sure he was cooking up something out there, but can’t prove it.
CrazyP has shot at our house trying to kill racoons, hung out her bedroom window topless and shrieking, and crept around the outside of her house mumbling and twitching at all hours. So you will understand why I keep all the windows and doors on that side of the house closed, locked, with shades drawn. I honestly cannot remember the last time i looked out anything on that side of the house.
Well, for the past week, they have all been setting off fireworks. Constantly, day and night, over and over, at all hours of the day and night. These people have barely any teeth, apparently don’t own shoes because they are constantly barefoot, have rusted out cars and soggy furniture on the lawns, and NONE OF THEM WORK, yet they have got to be spending hundreds of dollars on fucking fireworks.
If I go outside and step on one more spent shell, or find anymore burnt out bottle rockets on my lawn, I swearfortheloveofallthatisgoodandholy I am going to buy about 20 M80’s and set them off in a huge chili pot under her bedroom window at 12noon. Since she will still be sleeping at that time of day.
She ought to know better. After all, I am the one who put the rotting possum corpse on her roof…you know, the one she shot RIGHT UNDER MY DAMN WINDOW at 2am with a high powered shotgun, blowing it in half, and leaving it to rot in the summer sun for 3 days until it was teeming with maggots, and the hubs having to go shovel it into a trashbag, dryheaving all the while. She seemed stunned to find it on her roof, under her dormer window.
You better recognize, Bitch.
We planned this wonderful weekend at home, no running around, we went to the market Wednesday, worked late Thursday, and then planned on not leaving the house till Monday morning. Gas is too expensive, we are trying to save money, and it’s going to be hot and stormy all weekend. We laid in a good supply of food, drink, toys…wait…
Anyway, we are sitting here today, we slept in, spent quality time together (hehe), made a delicious carb-laden lunch of cheese stuffed tortellini in creamy chicken parmesan sauce, with homemade garlic cheese stuffed breadsticks (as my ass expands even further), and enjoyed a couple of movies. I did some laundry, cleaned the kitchen, got rid of some clothes that are too big (WTF?), and by 6pm I was bored to tears and ready to go out.
(Pardon the hugely long run-on sentence above)
What is it about Americans (or maybe it’s just us) that we feel the need to be entertained or busy all the time? I enjoy the down time, absolutely, but I tend to get bored very easily. I surfed my blog roll, downloaded some stuff, worked on some accounts, and STILL I am bored.
Guess I need to shop. Or cook. Or go find the hubs…better make something more protein-laden tomorrow, so he’s not worn out. From shopping, you pervs.
Do you get bored easily? Or are you pretty laid back?
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| tampax running |
There are no words.
I’ve seen the “wordless Wednesdays” and all the other daily crap people put on their blogs. Since I never know how to shut up, I can’t do wordless. So I’m going to do WTF? Wednesdays. To follow you will find the top 5 things that made me stop and say “WTF?” this week.
5. The Loaded Steakhouse Burger at Burger King. 970 calories, 55 grams of fat, 2190 mg sodium.
4. Round-abouts. Have you seen these? They are putting a ton of them in Northern Indiana…to aid the flow of traffic. All they do is confuse the hell out of stupid 4foot tall women in gigantic SUV’s.
3. Gas and milk now both cost $4.19 per gallon.
2. I have lived for 38 years without a drivers license. That will change in the next 2 months.
And the number one thing that I learned this week that made me shout, “WTF?!?!?!” is………
1. Giraffes have 21 inch long tongues.
I refuse to comment on #1. Talk amongst yourselves.
Well, since the url to my blog is ShoeWhoreWhoCooks…I guess I should talk about cooking at some point? Blech…i’d rather talk about shooeeeessssss!! (run, run away male readers…there is a lot of estrogen coming your way.)
First of all, I made this rockin pizza this weekend…TJ’s Wheat crust, homemade tomato/basil sauce, real packed buffalo mozzarella cheese, shredded parmesan cheese, sauteed mushrooms and shallots, and spicey Italian Sausage. Ummmmm…..pizzzzza.
The rest is pure, unadulterated porn…shoes, beautiful shoes. That is all. Seacrest Out.
