My Husband Never Ceases To Amaze Me.

A few nights ago Bruce, Super Glue and I were watching some show on TV about Hunter S. Thompson.  It was interesting.  And it had Johnny Depp in it.  Grrrr.  Mama like.

What?

It sparked a somewhat buzzed [OK, drunken] conversation about celebrity cheats and who ours would be.  You know what a celebrity cheat is, right Internets?  It’s when a couple agrees that if…  You know what, I’m not going to explain it to you.  I think we all know what it is.

So, with Johnny Depp oozing sexy all out of my TV I said he would be one of mine.

My other one is Dave Grohl.  Me likey Dave Grohl.  And he’s a drummer like my husband so it makes it OK, right?  RIGHT?

Anyway, I of course asked Bruce who his celebrity cheats would be.  Are you ready for this, Internets?  I assure you that you are not.

Kathy Bates and Meryl Streep.

Let me say it again for effect.

Cathy Fucking Bates and Meryl Fucking Streep.

What. The. Fuck?

When he first said it I just stared at him.  He stared right back.  When I asked what his reasons were he said, “Because Cathy Bates is Bobby Boucher’s mom and Meryl Streep probably has a nice house.”

He continued, “…or… I might have a shot at them.  They’re old.”

I didn’t want to forget this conversation so I scribbled some notes on the back of a pizza receipt.  Records, people.  You gotta keep records.

Cheers ~ SF

check out the brief follow up to Fresh Pots HERE


Sometimes I Wonder Who I Married

My husband is not a texter.  Never has been.  However, since I upgraded him to a smart phone a few months ago he’s made an effort to try it.  He’ll send a text from time to time because he learned how to use the voice-texting feature.  He has fat fingers.  No!  Muscular fingers.  Yeah.  Tonight I asked him to text Super Glue to find out when he was arriving to cook the almost out-of-fucking date chicken that he had brought over and left in our fridge.  Bruce went with the voice texting option.  Internets, it didn’t go well.

This is what he said:

This goddamn chicken isn’t going to cook itself!

This is what was sent:

Just got damn chicken listen to cook itself.

~

Here is another thread of texts I found on his phone while NOT being nosey:

Bruce: I will see you in hell

Bruce:  Ribs

Super Glue: Let’s golf and get some eggs

Bruce: The Mayans are fucking up my golf swing

Bruce: stop wobbling and agree with the fucking guy

Super Glue: We look like a pair of tits

Bruce: Heather needs a red onion and a tomato

~

These two need to work on some flow.  Or stop smoking peyote.

 

These are NOT the hands of a texter.

Cheers ~ SF


Access Denied.

Yesterday I arrived at my office and did the normal shit that I do to start my day.  One of those things is to get my headphones out and get some music going so I can block out all of the  ridiculous noise that happens outside of my office.  Noise like forklifts and food service because those two things totally go together.  Not only am I a music lover, I also like to stay on the cutting edge of technology and I recently discovered this new thing called Pandora Radio.  You should totally check it out, Internets.  It’s pretty awesome.  You heard it here first!

Wait.  What?  Pandora launched in 2000???  And it had 100 million users in 2011?

Fuck.

Anywhoooo, I launched my browser yesterday, clicked on favorites and lovingly hit up Pandora and waited for the magic to fill my ears.  But a new screen popped up.  An evil screen, you guys.  A screen that said The Company had blocked the site.

What.  The.  FUCK?????

I had to process The Company payroll and if those fuckers want to get paid they shouldn’t deny me my Zen that is my goddamn music!  Fucking jerks.  I even upgraded to the commercial free version of Pandora (it’s really not a new thing?)  because I got sick of Panera Bread getting so excited about their stupid fucking breakfast sandwiches while I was trying to make sure 365 employee’s union medical insurance was getting paid correctly.

As I tried to find alternate music sites to get me by I realized I work for Communist China because every fucking music site under the sun has been blocked.

So, this post is my way of saying I will miss the bands that helped me get through the stress of my job through the magic that is Pandora.  I’ll miss my Rob Zombie station the most.

(Seriously?  2000???)

 

I love me some Rob Zombie. He reminds me of my dad. Well, now this is just awkward. *

Thank you:

Disturbed

Pennywise

Lacuna Coil

Rob Zombie

Dope

Skillet

Marilyn Manson

Orgy

Deftones

Filter

Pantera

Red

AFI

Seether

Breaking Benjamin

Social Distortion

Bad Religion

Nine Inch Nails

Nipsey Russell

Oh my shit!  I was totally kidding with that last one!  Nipsey Russel???  As if!   But that’s  just fun to say.  Heh, Nipsey Russell…

 

Oh Nipsey!

Cheers ~ SF

* my dad is super awesome and totally NOT demon-like.  Rob Zombie without his super-awesome-creepy makeup looks a bit like my dad which is totally a compliment in my book.

 


Is It Really Cheating When It’s So Awesome and Crazy?

We all see crazy shit from time to time don’t we, Internets?  Some of us see it more often than others and we certainly see it in different degrees.

I’m sharing some photos here that I posted on my photo blog during my 31 Days of July photo challenge thinger.  In hind-sight I should have shared something else that day and saved these photos for this site.  Oh hind-sight! You are a fucker aren’t you?

So for the 2 people that follow this shit-show and my photo blog, feel free to call me out on my cheating ways for using the same material on two sites. But I really had no choice.  I simply could not deny my 26 readers these amazingly disturbing and hilarious photos.  Photos I totally took.  Of a crazy guy.  A crazy guy feeding ice cream to a child mannequin.  A child mannequin in formal wear with a, “No! No!  Please!  No photographs!” outstretched hand.

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I put captions on the original post but I thought it would be ridiculous to do it again.  Internets, YOU should totally put some captions with these photos!  And share this crazy won’t you?  Because for once it’s not MY crazy!

Cheers ~ SF


Happy Birthday Mommy! You’re Old!

Dear Mom,

Holy crap!  You’re old!  Wait.  Did I say old?  I should have said awesome. Where are my manners?  Let’s start over, shall we?

TAKE TWO

Dear Mommy,

What were you thinking when you went for a third child???  You know that’s how you ended up with me, right?

How in the hell did I just make a birthday greeting to my mother all about me???  

TAKE THREE

Dearest Mother,

I’m still pissed off that you didn’t give birth to me on St. Patrick’s Day in 1975.  I don’t believe your cockamamie [holy shit! cockamamie didn’t get auto corrected so it’s totally a word] story about the doctor saying he wasn’t in that day or whatever it is that you told me.

Oh. My. Head.  I just made the intended birthday greeting to my mom about MY birth.  I am such an asshole.

TAKE FOUR

Hey Mom!

It’s your birthday!  Congratulations!  You’re not even using a walker OR using hearing aids yet!  You go, girl!

I should just stop now.

TAKE FIVE

Hi Mom!

It’s your special day!  Celebrate yourself and the fact that you have lived to be 70!  Get crazy on some grey-covering hair color, bingo and yard sales!!! This day is all about you, pretty lady!

Holy shit I am bad at math.  My mom is totally not 70 today.  I think she’s like  43.  That can’t be right.  Maybe she’s 50?   32???

TAKE SIX 

Oh…hey mom…

Did you read all that crazy up there?  No?  Of course not.  You have old eyes.

WTF??????

TAKE SEVEN

Dear Alcoholics Anonymous,

Wine may be interfering with my ability to wish my super awesome mom a simple happy birthday.  She’s pretty goddamn amazing even though she may have spanked me and my brother for burning a hole  in the mattress with a hair-dryer when we were kids.  In my defense, Butch said the wires from the dryer would go in to the blankets and we would have a heating blanket.  The white plastic spoon with the wee melted spot on it from being left too close to a burner that mom used to spank us with hurt like a mother fucker but we totally deserved it.  Well, Butch did because it was his idea.

I am also going to take this opportunity to forgive her for my slightly scorched ankle from the hot transmission in her Jeep when she lost her mind and drove me and my two brothers to Disneyland in that not-fit-for-long-distance-travel death machine.  I forgive her because SHE TOOK US TO DISNEYLAND GODDAMMIT!!!  And she stole acquired some towels from the La Quinta Inn that night and wet them down so whomever was sitting in the front passenger seat could wrap the wet towel around their ankle and walk away with only second degree burns and not first.  Or is it third?  I’m not sure how degrees of burns work.  Either way she was such a thinker that day which is probably why I love and admire her so much.

Oh!  And that time she took us Jeeping [I haven’t used that word in forever and it looks weird] at night in the adobes and in to a river where the Jeep got stuck and water started flowing through the passenger seats and I had to be tossed by some guy from the hood of the Jeep to someone on shore?  Totally forgiven!  [But totally NOT forgotten]

I should also mention how she would let me and my bro’s drive her red Subaru Station Wagon around the parking lot at our condo waaaaay before we even had driving permits.  She didn’t even supervise us!  Only a responsible parent does that because she knows she raised her children right and the best way to learn something is to just do it, right?  Or she had some amazing insurance and was hoping we’d wreck the damn thing and she could take a settlement and upgrade to a Gremlin.  I don’t know how old people think.

Holy shit.  I have lost total control of this post.  What the fuck was I trying to say?

OH YEAH!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOMMY!!!  I LOVE YOU!!!

~

Thanks for making sure my shoes matched. And for not letting that horse give me a concussion which resulted in me losing consciousness in a random field when I fell off and hit my head on the only rock in a 100 yard radius. Just kidding! I know it wasn’t THAT horse that did that.

~

Cheers ~ Heather Jean


This Place Looks Like Shit. Who’s In Charge Around Here?

Oh hello, Internets.  Internets???  Hello?

Fuck.  I’m talking to myself now aren’t I?  I’m not surprised.  I’ve really let this place go.  I wouldn’t want to come here either.

Well I’m here now.  And I feel like just by doing this; you know, showing up, I could maybe get inspired to produce some poorly written, profanity laden bullshit once again.  And maybe I’ll make people laugh again.  HA!  I’m such a dreamer.

You see, when I last posted I told you about my promotion that was totally getting in the way of me wasting time at work.  Well, I wasn’t kidding and neither were the demanding hours and tear-inducing stressors that came along with the extra $0.0003 an hour.   Yay for climbing the corporate ladder!

Anywhooo… I lost my inspiration for this blog but found myself having fun with my photo blog.  But that’s not all…

I knew what I wanted to write about for my next post here (when was the last time I posted here?  May 17thish?) Fuck.  Now I just look lazy.  But wait!  I can explain!

I wanted to post about when I got my titties on Tommy Lee’s Titty-Tron at a Motley Crue concert last Thursday a few years ago.  And I had some fabulous photos to accompany said post.  So, I delayed the writing until I had time to find the photos.

Time passed.

Then I got the boxes of photos out of the basement.

Time passed.

Then I found time to look through the photos but got distracted by pictures of my dad’s striped pants that he wore at my parent’s wedding reception.

Time passed.

Then I found a picture for my post!  But it was just one and I knew I had more and I needed more for my post!

Time passed.

Then I received notice that my domain name was due to expire if I didn’t renew it and I had a come to Jesus boxed wine moment.

Do I really want to let this thing die?  Do I?

The answer is no.

So I’ll find those pictures for the post about my titties or I won’t.

Either way I’ll be making more of an effort to do what I love with this site which is to assault your delicate senses, Internets.  HA!  Delicate!!!  AS IF!!!

Now here’s a picture of me sitting at my computer paying pills while wearing my mom’s wedding veil to show you how serious I am.

~

~

Cheers ~ SF


Coloring Days Are Gone. But Sleepin’ Season Is Over, So There’s That.

Internets, my life is changing.  I went and got myself a goddamn promotion at work.  I’m gonna have my name on a door and everything.  And that’s pretty much when  you know you’ve made it in life.  When someone takes a piece of plastic and etches your name on it and slides it in to the place where someone else’s  name was, you’ve arrived.  It’s plastic.  With your name on it!

Anyways, I think we all know what this means;  I have to start getting all serious and shit (at work that is) and that includes not coloring.  At work. Which I totally do and apparently you get rewarded for that kind of behavior. (I just typed color with a ‘U’.  Clearly I live too close to Canada)  This also means that I need to stop using the company computer for writing my blog and reading your awesome blogs.  You guys, I’m going to miss that the most. But I WILL still be reading your shit.  Believe that.

This is where you picture my sad face.

This is also where I explain how I write.

Sometimes I have a great idea for a post but no time to  do it.  Then when I do have the time, my enthusiasm for the post is gone.  And sometimes I have all the time in the world to write but I’m just not “feelin’ it” and the moment passes.  And sometimes there is a box of wine in front of me and I forget that I even have a blog.

What I’m trying to say is that a perfect storm has to happen for me to write something for this blog.  I don’t want to write half-assed shit here just for the sake of writing something.  I know my posts aren’t profound or mind-blowing but goddamnit  I want them to be written to reflect me and my foul mouthed, skewed, unique look on my crazy life.  You get me, Internets? YOU GET ME???

Also, sleepin’ season is over here in the Pacific Northwest and the sun has shown itself and might just stick around. (that fucker better stick around) Which means that when “The Perfect Storm” for writing happens, I might just want to enjoy time with my husband and The Murphy…you know…out-fucking-side and shit.

I’m not leaving or anything.  Oh no, motherfuckers.  I’m in this blog shit for the long haul. And with that I don’t know whether to wait for your applause or to send you a fruit basket as an apology.  And $20.  And some prescription meds.  And booze.

And for those of you that think I was joking about coloring at work….

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.

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If the cleaning lady brings me a box of fucking crayons at work I’m coloring.  And then it’s not my fault.  It’s hers.

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To avoid questions about my coloring at work activities I put it next to a drawing that my niece did for me. Cover your ass, people. Cover yo’ ass.

Cheers ~ SF