Eastbound & Down

Well Internets, I’m heading off on a road trip extravaganza this week.  The Hubs and I are driving from Seattle to Smalltown, Colorado.  My hometown.  A town with more than it’s fair share of whores, lunatics  (you know who you are) and broken dreams.  Fun times are sure to be on the road ahead, right?

Hey Colorado, try putting some COLOR in your “Welcome to COLORFUL Colorado” sign

When I drove out of that town about a hundred years ago, saying goodbye to my less than stellar life choices, middle finger up, screaming “So long suckaaaaas!”, those people that were dickheads to me back then, were forever frozen in my mind as just that; dickheads.  And there were plenty of them.  Now,  I’m sure over the past 100 years those people changed.  I’m sure they grew up; matured. (no they didn’t)  But, all I see in my mind when I think about returning to M-Town is those same loathesome douchers from days that are far in my past.   :: sigh :: 

You tell ’em ‘lil fella!

But who gives a shit about them, right? 

Internets, you know what other people are in the M-Town?  Only the biggest group of crazy ass nutbars that I know: my family!  (hi mom!)  I know everyone always says that their family is crazy, and truth be told, every one’s family probably is, in their own special way.  But my family?  Of course they’re crazy.  But it’s the awesome kind of crazy.  Let me elaborate.

I have people back in the M-Town like my 96 year old Nana, who taught me that the best Screwdriver is made with “orange juice for color!”  and that it’s perfectly acceptable to have a Manhattan at 9 o’clock in the morning if someone else is having a Bloody Mary.  (cheers, Nan!) 

What?  This isn’t a breakfast item?

Then there’s my Uncle, Mister Pete who is my dad’s brother and is so many shades of awesome-crazy that I can only hope to be as cool as him when I’m that age.  He has a farm with pigs and cows and goats and chickens and geese and bunnies and lambs and….. ok, aside from the pigs and cows I’m not really sure what he still grows… farms?…. raises?…. whatever.  But there used to be all kinds of animals and I loved it.  Except for those turkeys.  Those turkeys were bastards.  Mister Pete is married to an equally awesome woman, my Aunt Arlene, who has the most sparkling eyes I think I’ve ever known, with a personality to match.  On top of that, she’s a baking goddess.  Also, she may or may not be known for falling into Christmas trees if given too many Sparkletini’s.  I can’t say for sure, but I heard things.

You had it coming asshole

My cousins.  There are a fucking shit ton of them in that town. (holla!)  I cannot believe that the entire city council, sheriff’s office, police department and tourism board does not consist solely of C’s* yet.  For reals.  There are alot of us.  And they are all good for partaking in a refreshing adult beverage of the beer or cocktail kind.  (Tara, call me!)

It wouldn’t be right of me not to mention the fabulous 1,745,873,974,632 children of the cousins.  (stop growing up you guys!  you’re making me feel fucking ancient!)  While I’m in town it will be a top priority for me to find out who the jerky one is that started calling me Aunt Crazy. 

And of course, there’s my madre.  She is a goddamn bit of alright.  Sure, she may have a slight obsession with yard sales and bingo, but whatevs, we’re controlling it with meds for now.  And when I say meds, I mean trips to casinos. 

Slots. Cures the urge to play bingo

So, I guess what I’m saying is this; to all of those dickheads from my past, my family’s awesomeness far outweighs your assholedness.  And to my family; break out the swear jar and the cocktails.  Heather’s coming home.

Catch ya in a week or so, Internets! (if I don’t get arrested)

*No, I’m not going to tell you my last name.  Because you already have my first name and if you have both you’ll find my address on the interwebs and you’ll all want to move here and live by me and there aren’t any houses for rent in my neighborhood.

This Is How Awesome I Am

Kerrrr – ist. I am really behind on some important business, Internets. I’ve been given an ass load of awards in the past week or two and have yet to accept even one of them. I know. I’m such a bastard, right? Well, let’s take care of this shiz right here and now, shall we?

The first award I was given kind of threw me off a bit. It was given to me by Oilfield Trash at Make Daddy a Sammich.  Unlike what I am going to be able to do, he did a fabulous post to go along with the award.  Here’s the award:

I know, right?  Anyway, I’m supposed to tell a funny story about, well, farting.  But I can’t.  I thought and I thought about this and I just could not think of one.  Really.  And it’s not that I don’t fart, it’s just that I absolutely cannot recall even one instance where it happened and it was hilarious.  I can say this, though; every single time I have ever been flat on my back, feet in the stirrups with my ass skooched all the way to the end of that exam table at the gynecologist’s office, I have crossed my fingers and prayed to the universe that it will not happen while that poor doctor is down there diggin’ around in my shaz.  I’ve been lucky so far.

The next award was given to me by Vinny at As Vinny C’s It.  I have mad blog love for Vinny.  He has stick figure comic things from time to time and they crack me up.  He writes great stuff over at Sprocket Ink as well.  You should check it out.  So, to get this award from him really made my day.  Thanks Vinny.  I’m happy to make you laugh, buddy.

The next one was from sweet Pencilgirl at Conquering the World, whose blog I need to catch up on because it seems she moved and I didn’t know, so her fabulousness was not showing up in my reader.  That, or I’m just super dense.  Probably the latter.  I have received this one before, but who gives a shit, right?  I’ll take awards of any kind all day long, Internets.  Thank you Pencil, my darling!  You are awesome.

Now, this next one?  This one is going to be fun.  You know why?  Because it makes me a mutha-fuckin’ Overlord, bitches!!!  Oh yeah!  This sweet-ass sweetness comes to me from my somewhat new bloggy friend id at Sometimes I Like Taffy. 

Now I put the smack down on everyone with some new laws that I would have if I was, in fact, your Supreme Leader….I mean……Overlord.  So, here they are:

ONE – Severe and immediate beatings for door-knocking bible thumpers.  Seriously, you assholes need to knock that shit off.  It’s annoying and intrusive on so many levels.  If  I wanted to “find god”, there is an over abundance of churches in the land for me to do just that.  I don’t care, nor do I make it my business, when it comes to someone else’s religious beliefs or lack thereof.  So, I would appreciate it if you dickheads would do the same.  I really don’t need you interrupting my peaceful existence to hear you say, “I’ve got some really good news to share with you about our lord and savior.”  I mean, I don’t go knocking on your door with cocaine, strippers and drunk midgets asking YOU to join MY party, do I?  So get lost.  Really.

TWO – The “space program” is hereby cancelled.  What the fuck are you trying to accomplish in outer space?  Just stop it, NASA.  Your funds have been rerouted to something, I don’t know……useful to the living beings on THIS fucking planet.  Yeah, I’m taking your zomillion dollars and using it to pay any doctors that are willing, whatever salary they so desire to dedicate their time to finding a cure for cancer.  And cold sores.  Because the former is really fucking important and the latter is just plain annoying.  I will, however, set aside funds for you to travel into space if the Direct TV satellite needs work.  Because I need my Skin-o-max and Animal Planet.  If you want to go collecting moon rocks or some useless shit like that, you can’t have any of my Cure Cancer money.  You have to pay for your own fuel.  Have a bake sale. 

THREE –  Marijuana……is now legal under my rule.  I don’t even smoke pot, but come on, it’s 2011.  How is this shit not legalized yet? 

Whew!  It’s a good thing these awards didn’t come with any rules, because I am exhausted.  What?  I swear.  They didn’t have rules.  Really.  Would I lie?

Putting Lipstick On A Pig

I’m redecorating.  Moving shit around.  Painting.  You know, trying to class up this blog.  Yes, I’m that annoying friend, who, whenever you show up at her house, everything has been re-arranged.  You want to scream at her, “Just pick a fucking layout and stick with it for shits sake!!!  And why is the goddamn glassware in a different fucking cupboard every time I come here???”

Don’t hate me.

I can’t help myself.

And really, you all are to blame.  Seriously.

I visit all of your blogs and they all look so fucking good that I feel like I should do something about mine and all of it’s awful plain-ness.  My blog is Jan and you are all Marcia.    :: sad face ::

I would actually be happy with a nice header.  But the problem is this:  I don’t know how to make one.  I’VE TRIED!  Oh, Internets, how I have searched the WWW for help. But, to no avail. 

I….am…. *sniffle*  *head held in shame* ……inept in this particular arena.

So, Internets, I come to you, hat in hand, asking for your help*. 

Will you help me?  Will you?  Advice…..techy-type advice is what I need.  Educate me.

Please?

How did you all get/make your fucktastic headers??

*I pay in topless photos……if that makes a difference.

This One……May Gross You Out.

Well, Internets, it’s Cinco de Mayo.  Before you go getting balls deep in fine Mexican tequila and cervezas, I have a PSA for you.  You’re thrilled, I’m sure.

I know I’ve told you about my wicked awesome metal jaw before, but today I thought I’d really drive the point home by getting a little more graphic.  You can leave now if you have a weak stomach.  Or if you just love me so much that it would break your sweet little heart to see me hurt.

Sixteen years ago today I was cruising along in my fabulous 1969 Mach I Fastback Mustang with my friends.  It was a glorious evening and I was thrilled to finally have my car out of the shop after getting a stellar new coat of candy apple red paint, blackout hood and gold stripes.  She was hot.  I was hot in her.  (oooh, that sounds dirty)



I know.



Then out of nowhere……BAM!  Drunk driver.  No, there was no blood and guts with this accident.  As a matter of fact, I didn’t even realize I was hurt…..until the next day.  As time passed and doctors were seen, the actual damage was revealed.  Then the surgeries began. As for the hooker that hit me, by the time it was all said and done in the courts, she was only charged with wreckless driving.  Ahhhhh….the justice system.  Ain’t it grand?

The following pictures are not from the accident but from one of the surgeries that followed a few years later.  So, my message to everyone today is one we all hear so often; don’t drink and drive.  Because out in the world is a little Sugar Free who had to go through this:

I swear my hair was not cut like that on the sides when I went IN to surgery……

Doesn’t it look like my fucking ear got chopped off and sewn back on?

It took forever to grow out those chunks of hair that they cut off!  Dicks.

My brother snuck up on me for this picture.  Why was I sheilding my face? 

OH!  This is why!  Look at the size of my goddamn head!!  It’s like an orange on top of a toothpick!  And that green neck is fucking hot, eh?

Don’t go getting all hot and bothered over my purple panties.  This is where they took tissue out of my stomach and put it in my face.  Fuckin’ cool, huh?

This is a video I found of a girl that went through almost exactly what I did, though for a different reason.  Don’t worry, it’s not all gorey and graphic.  It certainly brought back memories of ice packs and bandages and obscene amounts of opiates, though.

It’s ok, Internets.  I look pretty good now, don’t I?  Well don’t I????

Now, you go have yourselves a margarita filled fiesta good time, Internets!  Just call a taxi to get you back home if you do, ok?




 

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