Monthly Archives: January 2011

Part 2 of Whatever I Titled Yesterday’s Post

Seriously, work can just suck it for a minute.  I’m finishing this up to-day! (Surely all of these new hires aren’t that desperate to start working, right?)

Ok.  Yesterday I did what needed to be done for my awesome award that I recieved from the lovely Hed at Hed Above Water.  I also mentioned that I was given TWO awards.  However, I had to call it quits before getting to this particular award because the crap ton of files on my desk were severly interfering with my need to fuck off at work.  So, without further adieu……(<—–that word looks funny to me)

Yes!  The super-fantastic-hot-and-sexy Oilfield Trash at Make Daddy a Sammich bestowed this beauty upon me.  I tell ya, I love that guy.  He’s a bit of alright.  His blog is great and he cracks me the hell up.  You should totally check it out.  How can you not click on a link that has the word “sammich” in it???

This award comes with some rules (of course) where I have to thank the person who gave it to me,                -Thank You OT!-         pass on the award to seven bloggers I find funny, and list seven things that you might not know about me.  Easy enough!

Seven bloggers that I find funny?  Well, pretty much every one of those blogs over there on the left makes me laugh on a regular basis.But if I had to actually pick just seven it would be these, in no particular order:

Jive Turkey

Mental Poo

The Barreness

Wait in the Van

A Vapid Blonde

Steam Me Up Kid

My Cyber House Rules

Now, seven things about me that you probably didn’t know. 

1.  I have naturally curly hair and I flippin’ hate it.  It’s crazy thick too.  So, for me to straighten it out it takes like two goddamn hours.  I do not always have that much time to spend on my hair so it usually ends up in some half-assed bun thing.  It’s awesome.

2.  My middle toe on my right foot is my favorite.  Seriously, it’s pretty great.  It’s actually almost perfect.  I totally favor it over all the other ones.  The two big toes look so different from each other it’s embarrassing.  And don’t even get me started on those two pinkie toes that kind of lay over on their sides like a couple of lazy asses. 

3.  I lived in Ireland from 2000-2001.  Yeah, I sold my truck to my brother for the price of a plane ticket, made arrangements to stay with relatives that I  have there, thanks to my dad telling me who they were, and away I went.  It was awesome.  I’ll write a super cool post about it with great pictures and stuff….one of these days.  

4.  I can totally ride a dirt bike.  I grew up with all boys, I really didn’t have a choice but to learn stuff like that.  I can still remember my brother teaching me how to shift on this old Kawasaki on the dirt road in front of our house.  He was all, “Ok Heather, when you pull the clutch in and shift gears don’t let off on the throttle.”  Who was I to doubt him?  Of course I know better now.  I did exactly as he said and almost ate shit from poppin’ some crazy pants-shitting wheelie.  Thanks Bro.

5.  I am afraid of tunnels, parking structures and the dark.  No, I don’t want to talk about it either!!  :o)

6.  I have donated my hair to Locks of Love, twice.  It’s kind of a bitch to grow it for that long because my hair weighs a ton, but it’s really good hair, as in thick and strong so I know it will make a great wig for a child.  That’s not me bragging either.  I think we’ve already established how I feel about my semi-‘fro in #1

7.  I have eaten dog food out of curiosity.  It was a long time ago and there may or may not have been cocktails involved.  Don’t judge me.

Alright then!  There we have it!  Yay!

I actually have a Saturday off this weekend AND it’s me and the Hubs’ 6 year anniversary.  Catch you all in a few days!



It Simply Couldn’t Wait Any Longer

I’m a douche.    I am full of shame.  I should be banned from the blog award community.  Or at least spanked.

I was recently honored with not one, but TWO blog awards from the fantastic Oilfield Trash at Make Daddy a Sammich and the fabulous Hed at Hed Above Water.  I have not held up my end of the bargain with these awards.  So, let’s get to it.  (fuck….now I have to go look at the rules again)

The first award was this guy:

 (go HERE to read the post with the why’s the who’s and the what what’s about when I got this award)  Seriously, go there.  The rest of this post will make more sense AND there’s a picture of a cat in a helmet there. 

Although the consensus was that none of us knew what the hell it said after “Award” and before “Approved”, it was still my very first blog award.  It made me smile.  It came with rules.

*You can only give it to one Blogger in Arms (BIA)
*You must recognize the Blogger who gave it to you in at least 3 consecutive blog posts
*You can take up to 3 weeks to pass on the award, but not more than 3 weeks
*The recipient of the award must not have any more than 100 BIAs (followers)  
*You must update the list of names of previous recipients with your own name before passing it on
*You should give at least 3 reasons why you think your recipient deserves this award
*You can choose to NOT accept this award, but (apparently) if you do, then Bruce will come after you!

Since my husband’s name is Bruce, I was a little turned on by that last part.  Just sayin’.  Oh, and I’ve clearly fucked up #2 in this rules thing…..(sorry Hed!  I’ll make it up to you!!)

Kage at Sex, Sequins + Sociopaths


1.)  Because I like to torture her.
2.)  Because her blog is a masterpiece sent directly to me from some dark twisted angel of awesomeness.
3.)  She leaves the best goddamn comments.  Ever.  Seriously, her comments make me all warm in my pants if you know what I mean….  (don’t be pervy!  I was talkin’ about peein’ in my britches)

So there you have it!  One award and it’s checklist of rules: done.  Maybe not done correctly, but done. 

The next one……the next one I will tackle tomorrow because the time suck that is my J-O-B has left me so tired……so very very tired…….(yawn)

Crap!!  I almost forgot this part.  I clearly suck at getting awards…..

Mynx at Dribble
Bouncin’Barb at This and That
Thisisme at Southhamsdarling
Teresa at The Middle Side of Life                                                                                   
Skippy at I Make Soap                                                                                                        
at Hed Above Water
Heather at The Center of the Universe Sugar Free Thoughts

Until tomorrow…..


Wild Horses

I’ll be back soon.  All normal and stuff.  Today?  Today is for me.


Wild Horses
The Rolling Stones

Childhood living is easy to do
The things you wanted I bought them for you
Graceless lady you know who I am
You know I can’t let you slide through my hands

Wild horses couldn’t drag me away
Wild wild horses couldn’t drag me away

I watched you suffer a dull aching pain
Now you decided to show me the same
No sweeping exits or offstage lines
Could make me feel bitter or treat you unkind

Wild horses couldn’t drag me away
Wild, wild horses couldn’t drag me away

I know I dreamed you a sin and a lie
I have my freedom but I don’t have much time
Faith has been broken, tears must be cried
Let’s do some living after we’ll die

Wild horses couldn’t drag me away
Wild wild horses couldn’t drag me away

Wild horses couldn’t drag me away
Wild wild horses we’ll ride them someday

You are truly missed.

Ain’t No Sunshine

This is going to be a shitty week for blogging for me.  I just have nothing on my mind but Bob, with the anniversary of his death being this week and all.  Hopefully I’ll be back to my normal smart ass self soon.  In the meantime I’m cheating and doing a re-post. 

This was originally posted on November 4 2010. 

This is something that has been on my mind for a while.  It’s also one of those things that made me keep saying to myself “keep your mouth shut, just keep it shut.”  But ya know what?  This is my blog, right?  So here we go…

 My cousin Bobby died this year.  It was very sudden and unexpected as he was a young man; 43.  It was one of those deaths that when you get the news you honestly can’t believe what you’re hearing.  I can remember precisely the moment that I received the call from my mother.  I can see everything crystal clear for some reason.  I say that because a lot of people get this kind of news and when they try to recall the details of a moment like that and the time that follows, their response is, “It’s all a blur.”  I, however, can clearly envision the room I was in, the crappy land line phone that I had to my ear, the lamp that was on, the rug that was under the coffee table, the coffee cup I was drinking out of, the sound of my voice forcing out the words to tell my husband what had happened, even the angle of light that was starting to creep in from the morning sun that was not yet up; everything. 

Bob was my cousin.  And not one of those cousins that lived 15 states away that you met once when you were 12 either.  He was like a brother.  Bob and his younger brother; my other cousin came from New York to live with me, my two brothers and our mother when I was about 8, I think.  I’m 35 now.  My point being that we were all very close.  I loved him.  We all loved him.  We all loved him a great deal and we all miss him so much that sometimes I think my heart may explode from the sadness and disbelief.  I know it happened….. I just can’t believe it happened.  I mean, how do you recover from something like this?  Well, let me tell you, it’s quite different from person to person…..

How do you grieve?  How do you process the pain?  Most importantly, where do you turn to find comfort during such a time?  I’ll tell you where I turn…..where I find comfort.  I turn to my family, my friends my loved ones.  I find comfort in a heartfelt embrace from someone who is feeling the same pain as I am, or at least understands it.  I find it in a phone call, a letter, a card or an email that assures me that it will get better….the pain will ease with time.  I pour my tears out listening to songs or looking at photographs that remind me of the good times that we all had.  I find my smile by sharing stories of him with the people who truly loved him and they return the favor by sharing their stories with me.  This is how I grieve the tragic loss of someone that I cared so deeply for.  In fact, I would go so far as to say that these are things that most people feel and do in the wake of a tragedy.  Most people……

For others, comfort is found in having the bank drill open the decedent’s safe deposit box days after his demise and going on endless shopping sprees.  For others, grieving involves trips to the salon to get Brazilian waxes for the new boyfriend, Botox and lip glosses; pedicures and Pellegrino, blue ray players and flat screen TV’s,  and of course countless bags of useless shit that ended up in the cart because it was shiny.  Job?  Who could  work at a time like this?  Besides, there is no time to work when there is all of this money that needs to be spent! And trips that need to be taken!  Not to mention how much time is taken up by trying to figure out how to take possesion of the decedent’s grandmother’s house.  “I can’t work…..I’m the grieving widow.”  I imagine that it must also be exhausting spending so much time making sure that anyone within earshot can hear “how much of an asshole Bob was”.  Yes, pointing out someone else’s flaws can be downright draining.  And never mind that it’s incredibly hurtful to the people who are still in extreme pain over his death.  Fucking narcissism at its best worst.

“I’m happier than I’ve been in years!” – This is a sentence shared on Facebook a few short months after my cousin’s death.  It is a sentence that made me sick to my stomach.  The sentence was posted by the “grieving widow.”  The only thing that disturbed me more than that post were all of the comments that followed:  “Way to go” – “So happy for you!”  – “You deserve it!”  –  What the fuck????  Am I taking crazy pills?  Is anyone else seeing this??  He’s only been gone for 4 months!!!  You know what that sentence said to me??  “I’m happier than I’ve been in years!” = “I’m so happy that he’s dead.”  How else was I to have interpreted a statement like that?  Especially when it was followed sometime later with a gem like, “In a relationship.”  Disgusting.

In an attempt to placate this woman in the months after Bob’s death I stayed friendly and “supportive”  considering the position of power Bob had left her in.  (Have a will people!) As well as having a 17 year old son from a prior relationship, Bob had a beautiful 4 year old daughter with this woman.  I was afraid that if I spoke my mind (something that anyone who knows me will tell you I have never had a problem doing) she would get pissed off and take that little girl out of our lives.  And if that happened there would be no one from our family in her life to make sure that she knew who her father was; and we needed to know that she would know him, if only from us keeping his memory with her.  So I bit my tongue and smiled.  Even when I had to witness things such as someone at the store seeing this woman about 3 months after Bob had died and in a most kind and compassionate manner asked how she and the kids were doing.  If there was anything that they needed.  Perfectly normal, right?  After the person was gone she turns to me and says, “God!  I wish people would quit asking me that!  He’s been dead for three months!!!”  I was stunned.  Yeah!  three months, as if it had been decades and he was old news, a distant bothersome memory.  Eventually, time would reveal the fact that she would indeed be gone from our lives and sadly enough, so would the child.  So, I gave up on my efforts, unzipped my lips and made my feelings about her known. 

I want it to be clear that my feelings about my cousin, this situation and the people involved are exactly that; my feelings and my thoughts, based on what I have seen, heard and know to be true.  Having said that, I will also say that I will never assume that I know what happens “behind closed doors”.  What I do know is that these two were quite miserable together.  I’m not saying that he would be alive today if they had just gotten the fuck away from each other, but it sure sucks knowing that he died so obviously unhappy.  I know my cousin had problems and he wasn’t perfect.  But he was part of a family.  He was a father, an Uncle, a brother, a nephew, a son, a cousin and a great friend.  He was loved.  And I miss him.  I have never tried to make anyone feel as I do about any of this.  That’s not how I roll.  In return, I hope that people aren’t angry or upset with me because I don’t feel the same way that they do.  I love my family and this is not a matter of taking sides.  As Bob used to always say, “it is what it is”.  Ain’t that the fucking truth.

I’m Lazy But I’m A Giver

I just discovered this site and plan on spending the rest of my work day there laughing my ass off.  I am not on the FB so this is an extra special treat for me.  Do yourself a favor and check it out.  Here’s the link and a sample.  Enjoy.

“Christmas ‘10
Thanks, Sarah! My, that information you provided is helpful. How would I have ever located a good place to get a tree in Boulder without you?!
Hey, quick question: Any way that you could take my kid off my hands for an hour or so now that you’ve unknowingly wandered into my trap? You see, Michael and I want to take an hour to ourselves to get a tree, but we were having a hard time figuring out who to call since everyone seemed to be busy. So we came up with this idea to set a trap for our friends on Facebook! First we’d ask where to get a good tree, then we’d rope whoever commented into babysitting Max for an hour. So congrats, that person is you! When can we drop him off? Thanks again for the help! Jay and 51st …I’ll make a note.
(submitted by Anonymous)”  – Picture and text from stfuparents


Pony Girl

Yesterday’s post was a bit surly wasn’t it?  What can I say?  I was just in a mood I guess.

Today?  Today I want to talk about cars.  Yeah….classic American muscle.  Why?  Because I’ve been thinking a lot about my cousin lately.  Well, I think about him everyday, but more so this month. (not all anniversaries are happy ones)

Bob was a car guy.  A gear head.  Like every other guy in my family, he was a Chevy guy.  He was also very good at seeing the potential in old beat up classics and he was quite talented when it came to restoring them.  I think my first memory of him working on a car was my dad’s 1969 Camaro.  If memory serves me correctly, he repaired the passenger side rocker panel.  I believe he was about 16.

Over the course of his life Bob owned  Camaros, Chevelles, Novas, Impalas and Corvettes.  Most of which he bought as heaps of semi rusted metal, cracked vinyl upholstery and missing engines, transmissions, axles and who knows what else.  He had a gift for seeing what it could look like by investing a little time and patience and, of course, money.  At the time of his death he had a completely restored, panty droppin’ 1969 Camaro.  She was gorgeous.  I wanted her.  But, I didn’t have $35,000 sooooo……yeah.  She looked like this:

And next to that beauty was his next project.  But it looked more like this:

But his pride and joy was his 1966 Corvette Stingray Convertible.  It was his father’s car.  My uncle bought that ‘Vette in 1967, brand new.  Bob still had the original window stickers and bill of sale from the dealership.  That car…..that car is H-O-T.  And it was special to him, because it was his dad’s.  She looked like this:

I learned a lot from Bob about cars.  Growing up with him in my life, as well as older brothers that are car guys, I ended up taking an interest in what they were doing.  I even took 2 years of auto mechanics in high school and  I have  had my hand in restoring my own classic beauty.

Bob always gave me shit about my choice in a muscle car.  It was an on going thing for years between us.  Why?  Because of all the fabulously gorgeous cars of his that I had drooled over throughout the years, THIS is what I have:

My Pony

Yeah….a Ford!  My beautiful 1969 Mach 1 Fastback Mustang.  She’s my baby.  I put a lot of work into her over the years, with help, of course.  But, just as it was a labor of love for Bob, it was for me as well.  I love that fucking car.

Even though he gave me shit about the Ford thing for so many years, Bob did once tell me that he thought it was a pretty cool car and he was proud of me for the work I had put into it and the care that I gave her.  That really meant a lot to me, hearing that from him.  I sure miss that fucker.


*All photos from Google Images.  Unfortunately I seem to have no digital photos of any of the cars mentioned in this post.  Not even my own.  I suck.

Yeah, My Dog Has Balls.

One of the things in the mix of yesterday’s exhausting list of things to do was to take Murphy to the groomer.  In the summer the Hubs and I normally just hose him down in the yard, but, since it is too cold out now, and the one time we tried to get him in the tub and scrub him down was disastrous, (he’s 150 pounds and 7 feet from nose to tail) we decided to just fork over the money and let a pro take care of it. 

One of the questions that they asked upon our checking him in for his appointment was if he was neutered.  “No, he’s not.”  I said.  Ho-lee-shit; the look I got from this woman.  What?  Like I’m some kind of asshole because I let my dog keep his balls?  Am I breaking some kind of goddamn law here?  Or is it that his balls are offensive? I was perplexed and honestly, kinda peeved.

We have our reasons for not having Murphy’s nuts chopped. The main one is that he’s a purebred Irish Wolfhound and we weren’t sure if we would want to breed him at some point.  The Hubs and I talked about it quite a bit and more than likely we will not.  It’s a lot of work and pretty costly to have one of these dogs, let alone two. 

Why not have him castrated (yeah, it sounds worse when you say it like that, huh?) now that we know we don’t want to breed him?  Because it’s surgery.  One that is done routinely all the time, I know, but surgery nonetheless.  Why should he be subjected to a potentially dangerous procedure just because some people find his dangles unsightly?  He shouldn’t be.  Simple as that. 

So, to that woman at the groomer’s, I say “Never mind about my dogs balls.  Just do what I’m paying you to do and get his asshole good and clean.”