Sunday, October 31, 2010

Bloggerstock: Ghost Stories

Okay, it's bloggerstock time again, y'all! I have an amazing guest blogger named Jennifer coming over here for Halloween to share a spooky story. During a series of email exchanges, we both realized that we are ah-maz-ing because we adore Teen Mom, Rock of Love, Flavor of Love, etc. etc. etc. and then some. Afterwards, Jennifer made one statement that really stuck out to me. I believe this quote about working a haunted house truly expresses just why I like her.

"I hope I make some poor child piss their pants."

That's my goal on a pretty regular basis.

If you want to read mine (it's not that great, trust) head over to the other Jennifer's blog. Because for this bloggerstock, I'm apparently in a Jennifer sandwich.


And on to the show..... here's Jennifer!

Bloggerstock is basically a blog-swap event …OF. EPIC. PROPORTIONS! Or, so they’re getting there. Every month, you can sign up to participate. There is a topic everyone has to write about and you are assigned a blog to post on. You also receive a guest to post on your blog. And around and around we go. You can check out my blog to see a guest post from Bret at Slightly Disappointing. It’s fun, so sign up!

The topic this month is: "Spooky- Tell your best ghost story, it can be real or fiction. If you don't have a ghost story, then tell us about your favorite Halloween costume."

Well, I'm going to do BOTH!

And onto my post!!

I was never one who wanted to believe in ghosts, afraid I might channel some dead person who used to live in my house to appear to me when I was alone. Then, knowing my luck, my “channel” would be open and all kinds of poltergeist would come into my life, sucking me into televisions and throwing me in mud pools filled with skeletons.

My grandmother passed away in 2004, and as much as I think I would like to see her one more time, to hear her voice again, I just know that if she appeared IRL (“in real life” for those of you not familiar with popular lingo), I would freak out. So instead, I’m content with dreams about her and with small “happenings” in my world, which I pretty much convince myself is her. Let’s go through our evidence, shall we?

1. My mom is not a crazy, yet she has heard her mother call out her name early in the morning.

2. My parents had a clock radio that they used for an alarm. The alarm was set to a popular hits channel that my mom frequently listens to. This radio kept going off at times when she did not have an alarm set. My dad would turn it off and they wouldn’t think anything of it from there. Then, on my grandmother’s birthday, the alarm went off again….and it was tuned to an oldies station. Which my parents never listen to. Which my grandmother was a big fan of. Again, my dad turned off the alarm and they went about their weekend activities. However, 10 minutes later, the alarm went off again. Oldies, again. Finally my mom unplugged the radio all while saying, “Happy Birthday, Mom”.

3. Again, on my grandmother’s birthday of a different year, my aunt was sitting at her computer at home, thinking of her mother, when her son’s flashlight that was on the desk next to her turned on. She picked it up, made sure everything was screwed tightly, turned it off, and laid it on the desk again. A couple of minutes later, it turned on again. The next day, I had the same thing happen to me.

Who knows if ghosts/angels actually exist. Small happenings like that make me happy that some communication might be going on within my family. We have also distinctly heard pennies being dropped into our piggy bank a couple of months after my great-grandmother died. She was a big believer in saving all of your coins. Who knows how the universe works?

On my other part of the topic: I was Harry Potter once for Halloween and this guest post would probably not be appreciated by my host if I didn't include this:

I cast spells. And apparently look like a bat more than anything else.

Thursday, October 28, 2010

Jack Off Lantern Carving Contest!

First of all, thank you to EVERYONE who commented / read / skimmed / pretended to read (bitches) my last post. It's hard putting myself out there, but y'all made it easier. It felt good to get it all out, and I'm already doing better. Now on to the bullshit!


Every morning, Andy wakes up first and lets the big dogs out in the backyard to go to the bathroom. After he takes a shower, he wakes me up, and I let the dogs in before I leave for work. This plan usually works very well. (ahem, foreshadowing, cough cough.)

Last night, it rained. And by rained, I mean it motherfucking rained. Thirty minutes of The Amazing Race was cut off due to tornado warnings and thunderstorm warnings, as usual. We're so used to tornado warnings at this point that every time the stupid fucking news channel interrupts one of our thousand shows, we yell, "What the fuck is wrong with you, Weatherman?! We're used to these goddamn tornados by now. If you hear a humpback whale? LET US KNOW THAT SHIT."

All that to say.... it fucking rained.

And ANDY we apparently forgot that little detail when ANDY we put her out there. So this is what I saw first thing in the morning:



I was telling a friend that when I was in middle school, the preacher at church would tell us that (whispers) *masturbating* was a sin. Some boy at school shattered my innocent mind when he told me, "All guys jack it, duh." I specifically remember thinking, "My dad would never do that. That's so disgusting. Also, my future husband doesn't do that."

Yes, you guys. I used to refer to my future husband often. In church, they told us we should pray for them, so I did. Sweet, naive me was praying for Andy probably while he was doing bong hits in his friend's basement.

God help us.


I need ideas on how to make my toofuckingbigbutthatmakesmehappy Halloween costume shirt fit without the belt and without sewing since I am not a Little Suzie Homemaker as much as I wish I fucking was. Help me!

Also, someone told me it wasn't skanky enough, so should I also wear a button that says Free Blow Jays or Skanks 'R Me?



When me and Andy went to pick out our pumpkins at the local Piggly-Wiggly, there weren't too many left to choose from on account of everyone else not being procrastinators. Andy picked one right off the top that looked a little deformed (just sayin'). I was sifting through the three huge boxes when I found my pumpkin.

"That's the one," I pointed. Andy glanced wayyyyy down in the bottom of the box and looked back at me. "Are you sure that's the one you want?" "Duh!"

It only took him about twenty years of reorganizing pumpkins, standing on tippy toe, and reciting the Gettysburg Address to get that damn pumpkin out from the verrrrrrrry bottom of the barrel. When he finally put it in the cart, he was panting from having to exert so much energy just to get a fucking pumpkin out of a box.

"Hmmm.... I'm not sure I'm really feeling that pumpkin anymore."
"You're taking this goddamn pumpkin."

So here are the results! (Please don't pay attention to the fact that our porch doesn't have railings yet. We're working on it, OKAY? Stopjudgingme.)

My beautiful, amazing, perfect, adorable, lovable, gottawinthiscontest pumpkin:

I shall name him Fred.

And here is Andy's notasgoodasmine, reallyshouldntwin pumpkin:

You can vote in the top right hand corner, and you're allowed to pick more than one because I'm awesome like that.

PS - I plan on doing something on my list this weekend while I'm out for Halloween. Should I do the making a random friend in a bar thing or the reporter interviewing a drunk person thing or both at the same time?

PSS - HOLY SHIT, Y'ALL. You really should not ever, and I mean EVER drink Four Loko. That shit is crazy. I drank half of a can last night and was drunk as shit. Also, I threw up today. It was classy. Classy as shit.

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Untitled Continued

*I promise I'll bring the funny back tomorrow. Today, this has to be said.

I woke up on Friday morning, and I was happy.

I didn't have to work, and I had tons of errands that I could mark off my to-do list. And by tons of errands, I mean errands that have been on my to-do list for like, um, well, over 2 years. Since I first moved out of my parents' house. Silly me.

So I made a list and left the house. My first stop was Walmart since I had pictures that needed to be developed. While I was at the picture making machine practically breaking my goddamn finger trying to use the "touch screen" bullshit that obviously does not recognize my finger as a human finger, a woman walked up behind me. She looked to be about my mother's age - late 40s. She had no makeup on, her hair was frazzled, and the bags under her eyes were evident.

"That thing is such a pain. It gave me trouble, too."
"Oh, thank God. I was starting to think my fingers were dead, and I just didn't know it," I responded with a laugh. After a minute of small talk, her pictures were finished developing, and she picked them up out of the machine.

"I've never used these machines before, but they helped a lot since I have to get these pictures to the attorney right away," she said as she flipped through the pictures. I glanced at her face and waited to see if she wanted to speak more on the subject, not wanting to pry. "You see, my son was just in a car accident. He nearly died, and we have to have before and after pictures." She held a photo up of her son, I assumed, in the before picture. His mouth was a huge, wide grin. The kind of mischevious grin that makes you want to know a person.

I smiled. "He looks sweet." She nodded and stared at the photo for a few seconds longer. She flipped to the next photo. Her son in a hospital bed, hooked up to monitors, with scrapes and bruises covering his face. Hardly the same boy I had just seen smiling as if he hadn't a care in the world. "I'm so sorry," I told her. "I can't imagine how difficult this must be for you."

She smiled with tears in her eyes. "I could have lost him. He's alive, and that's all that matters. The first night he was in the hospital, I sat next to him for hours, watching him sleep, watching his chest rise up and down. Just staring at him and thinking of how lucky I am. Lucky that he's alive. It reminded me of the days when I first brought him home from the hospital. That's all a mother can ask for, isn't it?"

I believe in signs. I believe that there is a higher power who sends signs down to Earth in order to prepare us for what's to come, to test our strength, our patience, our hearts. I should have seen this one. A warning -- be thankful for what you have. You can lose it in a moment.
Late Friday night, I sobbed on the couch while Andy held me.

"I listened to that woman talk about how thankful she is to have her son alive. I listened to her say that nothing is more important than your loved ones. And then I do this," I said, tears streaming down my cheeks. "How can I listen to someone saying these things and act like a raging psychotic bitch the very same day? What the hell is wrong with me?"


I've asked this question so many times that I've lost count. I've asked others, I've thought it, I've written it, I've screamed it at the top of my lungs, hoping that someone, anyone will finally give me an answer.

"What do you want from me?" I've screamed at ... God? Buddha? Whatever higher power is watching me.

I'm not myself. I can see Crazy Psycho Bitch Sara freaking out. Throwing things, yelling, crying for no reason, collapsing on the floor in a heap because she's just given up. Because she can't escape this hellhole in her head. I tell her it isn't a big deal. It's just the fucking dishes, for Christ's sake. It's not worth a three-hour long fight. But she doesn't listen. Because she's a crazy, psycho bitch. She doesn't just push people away. She picks them up and throws them as far as she fucking can. She thows them again and again and again until they realize it isn't fucking worth it to keep coming back. Which is exactly what she was waiting for. Because now she can feel worthless and unloved which is exactly what she wants.

But I am not her.

I will not be her.

Occasionally, I might need to remind myself of this. I might need to put myself in "time-out" to clear my head and get the psycho bitch out. But I will be better than her. Because I have a hell of a lot to be happy about. And I do love myself, as much as she tries to convince me otherwise.

Friday, October 22, 2010


You know what really sucks?

When you find out that your fiancee's student loan bills have been going to his mother's house and you never knew and all of a sudden you owe almost $1,000 immediately and not only that, but you have to keep up with monthly payments that keep on coming.


When you take your car in for an oil change and find out that it needs new tires for $400 as well as a brand new windshield for $300 which means that you now have five credit cards that you will never pay off because you're only paying interest every month.


When you're in your living room, looking at all the things that you worked really hard to have, thrown in trash bags because you're going to have to take them to pawn shops tomorrow in order to pay for those student loans and those tires and those credit cards.

All those books you read from cover to cover, the books you read when you're feeling down because you know they'll make you feel better, the books that were gifts, the books that weren't even very good, the books that made you forget about the shit going on in your own life because you were too in love with the characters you were reading about to remember that your life sucked. All in trash bags.

All those movies that you watched again and again, the first movie you watched with your boyfriend, the movie that makes you think of your mom, the movie that makes you cry every. fucking. time. even though you know how it's going to end, the disney classics that you collected one by one and said you would show your kids one day. All in trash bags.

The iPod that got you through the work day, the laptop on which you typed the most difficult thing you've ever written, the treadmill that helped you lose weight and be a more confident person.

So what do you do?

You type a blog post, telling yourself that writing it out will make you feel better even though you know damn well that you're lying.

And then you resist the urge a million times to smoke a goddamn cigarette because you just can't fucking take it anymore.

And then you get in a screaming match with your fiancee because you have to blame someone, you have to blame anyone but yourself, and you tell him to leave because you know that you're going to say something you regret if he stays and you can't bare to think of the look on his face when you say the one thing that you know will hurt him the most because you're a mean, selfish bitch of a person and you don't understand why anyone would want to put up with this.

Wednesday, October 20, 2010


Guess where I am today?

I'm over here at Dan's blog again.

Talking about my boobs! With pictures!


Monday, October 18, 2010

Armadillo Dave

Andy was heading to the store last night when he came back inside to tell me there was an armadillo in our yard. He got a flashlight to go investigate and chase the little guy off. Now I have had several interactions with armadillos in my life, and they were never very happy moments for me.

The first was when I was 16 and driving home from work. It was a summer night so it was probably about 1 in the morning. No cars were on the interstate that late, and I was probably in a rush to get home since my mom watched the clock like a motherfucking ninja.

I was going about 80 miles an hour when I saw an armadillo up ahead in the middle of my lane. I had no time to switch lanes or try in any way to save this poor little armadillo's life. What I did have time for? Seconds before my car connected, he turned his head and looked DIRECTLY AT ME with these sad, horrified eyes like he was saying, "But I have a family and children at home..... WHY????!!!!!" I tried to move my car so he could go right in between my tires. Unfortunately, I didn't know at the time that when armadillos are scared, they curl up in a ball and jump which makes them hit the car which makes them fucking DEAD.

The impact was pretty intense for JUST hitting an armadillo, and I was freaked! I had never killed an animal with my car before! I called my boyfriend at the time and told him about the Daddy armadillo that I had killed. He was in that direction with a friend so they decided to drive past and see if they could spot the damage. While he was driving there, we continued discussing Dave (what I named the armadillo).

Boyfriend at the time: So you just murdered an innocent armadillo?
Me: There was nothing I could do! It was my life or Dave's!
BATT: His entire family was probably sitting on the side of the interstate. They probably cried over his dead body after you murdered him with your car.

It was about that time that BATT drove by the damage.

BATT: HOLY FUCKING SHIT, SARA! It looks like a goddamn CRIME SCENE out here. Blood is covering the road! Did you take a fucking machete to this armadillo?

I thought he had to be kidding. There was no way a car could do that much damage to a freaking armadillo. I had never even SEEN a live armadillo before. They were usually on the side of the road - no blood, no guts. Why would I just happen to be the one to create a spectacle of an armadillo murder? So I got off the interstate and looped around because I had to see this for myself. I was still on the phone with BATT when I drove by.

Me: HOLY FUCKING SHIT! How did I do that?! Should I do something?
BATT: What the.... ? Like what? Say a prayer? Tell his family members?
Me: I just feel really bad! Shit... I guess what's done is done, huh?
BATT: You got over that rather quickly.

Apparently I don't have a great track record with armadillos because this is not the only story I have concerning me murdering them. So when Andy said there was an armadillo in the front yard, I was excited to make amends with the creature and maybe realize armadillos and Sara Swears a Lots can be friends. I grabbed the video camera and ran outside to examine him. I recorded him with the night vision which made it look much creepier than I expected which freaked me out and made me change my mind about wanting to be friends.

AND THEN he ran under our stupid trailer.


So he decided to get out the bebe gun that we bought to scare stupid critters away from our house (Ahhh, Louisiana) and went out to give Dave the Second a little scare and send him on his way. So I took the video camera. And when he shot Dave the Second, the armadillo jumped way up in the air and I couldn't see where he went. But then suddenly I heard a huge thud hitting the porch which is when I knew Dave the Second was under the porch, and I freaked out because ANDY, WHAT IF HE RUNS UP THE STAIRS AND ONTO THE PORCH AND EATS MEEEEEEE?! and I ran inside. And I got some of it on video. I asked Andy to cut the last bit because it makes me sound like a lunatic, but can I please just say that I get scared REALLY easily and creatures that look even the slightest bit creepy make me super uncomfortable. I have no clue what I thought that armadillo was going to do to me, but apparently it was bad. Sigh.


But hey, armadillos can be cute, too.

Friday, October 15, 2010

Eight Questions!

Okay, so Heather passed this fun little meme along, and I don't always do memes, but this one looked like a good time so here ya go!

1. If you could give your readers one piece of advice, what would it be?

"Be nice to your vagina."

(I really like linking y'all to stuff that includes the word 'vagina' because I know you're scared to clickity click it. Muahaha!)

2. Name the three things that you love the most about your life.

I love my fiancee. Whether we elope, have an insanely huge wedding, or pull a Kurt & Goldie - I'll be happy as long as we do it together.

We're a *teensy* bit happier than this picture lets on. 

I love my stupid, silly dogs. Even when they shit all over the house. And run away, thinking we're playing a game. And put their disguting, dirty paws all over my nice work clothes. Wait a second, why do I love them again?

I love that I'm quitting smoking. Okay, so, not really. Actually, it super sucks. But I have already gone one full day with ZERO cigarettes so I figured I would announce it to the bloggity world to keep myself in check. Sigh. Goodbye smoke breaks...

3. If you could switch places with any one of your friends or family members for one day, who would you choose and why?

I would choose my best friend so I could be hit on by 16 year olds ALL. DAY. LONG. I guess that's what happens when you look like you're fifteen. (Sorry, Katelynn!)

4. What is one trend that you wish didn’t exist or that had never caught on?

Leggings as pants. Oh, dear God. Leggings as pants is perfectly acceptable if you are a skinny person. But since it is pretty obvious that people in this country cannot tell if they are skinny or not (if you have to think about it - YOU'RE NOT), this trend just needs to die. HARD. I am so tired of seeing huge, fat, cottage cheese asses hanging out from under tshirts that barely make it past your stomach.

Also? Can old women PLEASE stop trying to dress like they're 18? Fuck.

5. Name three inventions you consider to be ingenious.


Apparently I'm going with a theme through this meme.

6. At your funeral, you want people to remember you as…

"Wasn't she that weird girl who talked about her vagina on the internet?"

7. If you could be famous, what would you like to be famous for and what celebrities would be in your posse?

I would probably be famous for showing my vagina on the internet. (What? I talk about it all the time. Do you really think it's not going to end up ON MY BLOG at some point, y'all?)

My posse would obviously include Katy Perry, Ke$ha, Miley Cyrus, and Lindsay Blowhan. Because those bitches know how PARTY.

8. If you were going to host a blogger house party which bloggers would you invite and what would go down?

Aly, Taylor, Courtney, LorraineNicoleRisha, Nugs, Mandy Moore

A 20sb party! A very sexciting girl party with pillow fights and making out...

And apparently I'm supposed to ask 8 question to 8 bloggers. Good thing I just happened to pick 8 people to come to my blogger party!

1. In the event of a zombie apocolypse, do you want me to kill you or let you eat me?
2. If you could have a penis/vagina (whichever you don't have) for one whole day, what would you do?
3. Have you ever had sex on a washer? (I'm very curious about this idea.)
4. What's your favorite color? Or colour, in Risha's case?
5. If we made a lovechild, what would you name it?
6. If you found out you were going to die tomorrow, would you have lots and lots of sex today?
7. If you had to choose between a million dollars and no more orgasms for the rest of your life, what would you choose?
8. If you were going to host a blogger house party which bloggers would you invite and what would go down? (I liked this one...)

And I am posting a guest post from Nugs that was originally on another's blogger's site because this shit made me laugh:

Hey Guys,

Nugs here from over at ThatAintKosher. Sara Nips requested that I take over for her today, and that's awesome because I'm in love with her blog. In fact, if it were possible to make sweet monkey love to a website, That Ain't Kosher would be pregnant with little Sara Swears A Lots by now. I should warn all of you that I generally read Sara's posts without any pants on, which means that I'm waist-nakey right now. Try to contain yourselves from jacking it too loudly.

This was my original Bloggerstock post for September, but I had to censor it because it may have been too Kosher-ific for the site it was assigned to. However, Sara has zero shame and agreed to post the Nugsified version.

This month's topic was “Do-Over”- if your life had a rewind button, what event would you choose to alter so that the outcome played out differently? Despite the fact that this actually forced me to engage in some deep thought, I liked this topic because it allowed me to get the creative juices flowing.

Speaking of “flowing juices,” I know exactly which moment in my life I would pick- the relinquishment of the V-Card. No amount of time spent reading Judy Blume or watching bloody horror movies could have prepared me for that uneventful misfortune. Fuck you, pop culture. I call bullshit on you.

Due to the fact that both of us combined had all the sexual experience of a fucking hacky sack, it lasted about twelve seconds. I remember that it kind of felt like I was being attacked from the inside by an open-mouthed water moccasin.

Also, I had given into the cliché of “sex on the beach,” so there was sand in pretty much every orifice of my body, not to mention under my fingernails and between my toes.

I had gone out with a group that night, so all my friends were about a hundred feet away, which left no room for any romantic encounters afterward. It was pretty much, “oh, was that it? OK, OW,” and then we walked limped back to the flock. Keep in mind that we were both in high school, so I wasn’t really expecting much of anything, but at least some fucking reassurance would have been nice.

How would I have adjusted this experience to my liking?

First of all, I would have substituted my less-than-stellar partner with Sawyer from Lost. He’s used to island sex so I figure sand wouldn’t be an issue for him.

Also, I probably would have shaken the rocks and seaweed out of my hair before heading back to my girlfriend's because that definitely would have made it less obvious. I'm a fucking moron so this didn't occur to me at the time.

Maybe I would have put a couple of pillows under my ass as well. Of course it’s not like I planned this whole thing, so I actually couldn’t have done this stuff.

Anyway, that’s my “do-over” moment. Thanks to Sara and her blow-up dolls for letting me spray my colorful language all over her blog.

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

Guess Who?

Guess what?!

We have two new friends that know about this little blog! Whether they will read often or not, I don't know. But if so....

Hi Sister-In-Law!

Hi Best Friend!

I've written about my best friend briefly before because she is the reason for the name of my blog. (She's supah smart, y'all.) We are the type of best friends that are busy all the fucking time with work and school and significant others and being mommies to dogs so we rarely see each other, but when we do? All hell breaks loose.

When Andy and I first started dating and I would invite Katelynn (best friend) over, he would get all uncomfortable because he had no clue what we were talking about 99% of the time. Luckily, he learned our language and can now participate in the crazy.

One of our favorite things to do when she comes over is play the game Guess Who?

We sometimes forget that we don't play Guess Who the same as normal sane uncool people.

The first time we started playing Guess Who together was on a weekend trip to Baton Rouge a few years ago. We were staying at her brother's apartment and not even close to sober. He had a box full of old ass games like Sorry, Trivial Pursuit, and Don't Wake Daddy all in the original boxes. Also? He didn't own a TV. Apparently it's a hippie thing? No television + box full of boring games = CREATIVITY! (That sounds like it should be on an episode of Blue's Clues.)

We dug around in the "game box" until we came to Guess Who. Neither of us had played it in years, and I remember finding it very entertaining as a kid.

The game started out innocently enough with the typical, "Does your person have blonde hair?" or, "Is your person wearing a hat?" questions. We went through a few games this way, realizing how ridiculously fucking easy boring simple plain it was and that we are obviously way better than that so the game took a turn.

Me:  Does your person have blue eyes?

K:  Does your person have a vagina? (Way better than asking if their person is a girl.)

Me:  Is your person cheating on his/her significant other?

K:  Does your person have a sexually transmitted disease?

Me:  Is your person standing outside a little boy's window, jacking it?

K:  Is your person Rodney Dangerfield? (I swear, there is one character who had to have been modeled after our dear friend, Rodney. They look exactly alike.)

Me:  Does your person have a master's degree?
K:  Hmm... *examines card* No, no, I don't think so.
Me:  Seriously?
K:  Well, probably not. He probably got a bachelors degree, though.
Me:  Everybody gets their masters these days! Is he seriously that lazy?

We played that damn game for HOURS. And by HOURS, I mean like three entire fucking hours in a row. Her brother was having friends over in his backyard so every five minutes or so, someone new would walk through the house to get to the backyard and stop to observe the weirdness going on in the Guess Who marathon of the decade century.

After we had been playing for two hours or so, a group of people had formed around us and others were giving us suggestions on questions to ask.

"Ask her if her person has ever given Bernard (the guy in the game with the gray hat) a blow job."

"Ask her if her person is a Mac or a PC."

And the proof that we truly are the bestest best friends ever to exist?



I dare you to find two best friends who are as connected as me and Katelynn, especially considering we only see each other every two months or so.

Luckily, she came over last weekend to hang out for Andy's birthday, and we had a blasty blast. Look how teeny tiny she looks. When we were in high school, it was impossible to get a good picture of the two of us. My huge head made her head look like a turtle and vice versa.

After drinking enough strawberry dickeries to make our tummies feel throw-uppy, Katelynn taught us "the secret masturbator" which involves her standing behind random objects, staring at me, and jerking her imaginary erection. Secret masturbator behind the kitchen curtain, behind a closet door, in the fridge, behind Andy. So many options, not enough alcohol time.

Remind me to tell you about Andy yelling, "DO YOU WANNA SUCK DICK?!" in front of everyone while we were playing a card game.


So I thought everyone knew what the game Don't Wake Daddy was, but apparently there are some Don't Wake Daddy virgins in our midst. Harley says,

Okay I feel guilty because the first (and let's face it, only) image the game Don't Wake Daddy conjured in my head was of some kind of sick kiddy-fiddling scenario. Or maybe a sinister kidnapping.

Then I realised Don't Wake Daddy must be a family board game if it's in the company of gems like Guess Who and Trivial Pursuit, and then I wondered why incest would be the theme of a family board game.

Basically, I think you should explain this, because I have never heard of that game and frankly, it's the only thing I could focus on.
After I finished laughing, I looked for the commercial for Don't Wake Daddy.

Apparently Daddy doesn't allow eating after a certain time. Also apparently, Daddy sleeps in the living room. I don't really know what the fuck was going on there. What I do know, however, is that that game was like a little kid panic attack waiting to happen. Every fucking time I pushed that goddamn button, I just knew Daddy was going to jump up and scare the shit out of me. Every time we played that game, I would have a twitch for a week afterwards.


Harley added this, and it was too good to leave off.

Okay I wiki-ed it and I see now that Don't Wake Daddy is actually a game about children who, for some reason that hasn't been explained, are forbidden from getting anything out of the kitchen at night (maybe they're chubby? maybe they're poor and have to be thrifty with every single bean? maybe they're allergic to food?). Daddy, meanwhile, is obviously a health nut who padlocks the fridge and sleeps with one eye open in case any of his sneaky spawn try to eat anything after midnight (he's obviously watched Gremlins one too many times).

That whole story sounds remarkably implausible. I think they should have gone with the kidnapping (not the incest/paedophilia, because I realise themes like that can be hard to explain to small children).

Tuesday, October 5, 2010


Halloween is right around the corner, and it is one of my absolute favorite holidays EVAH! October is the only time of year that I'll watch scary movies, go to haunted houses, and not punch Andy in the dick when he jumps out from behind a door to scare me.

The plan this year is to make badassery jack off lanterns. (That's not what the "o" stands for? What?) And what exactly is the point of creating something as ah-maz-ing as my pumpkin will obviously be if no one is there to judge and declare my pumpkin WINNER OF ALL JACK OFF LANTERNS IN ALL THE WORLD, MUAHAHAHA!

Which is why I explained to Andy that after we make our jack off lanterns, I would obviously request that THE INTERNET do the judging and by THE INTERNET, I obviously mean youse guys and obviously I know what y'all like (brownchickenbrowncow) so I gots this competition in the bag, SON!

Andy: Well I'm just going to destroy your pumpkin.
Me: I wouldn't make threats like that if I were you...
Andy: What's that supposed to mean?
Me: I'm just saying that it would be really horrible if something were to happen to your pumpkin when you weren't home, that's all.
Andy: What the fuck are you going to do to my pumpkin?

Somebody is a teensy bit paranoid, no? (MAYBE SOMEBODY SHOULDN'T MAKE THREATS AT MY PUMPKIN, HM?)

Andy went on to mention something about hiring a SWAT team of pumpkins to guard his jack off lantern, but whatevs, dude. The "SWAT team" leaves for work before I do, ifyaknowwhatimean. (That one wasn't sexual, y'all.) I'm just really hoping that Andy's pumpkin doesn't happen to maybe possibly may fall off the porch one day and crack into a million little pieces.

Also, did I forget to mention that he threatened to THROW A MOTHERFUCKING PUMPKIN AT MY FACE?! What the fucking fuck, Andy? You're the one who has to stare at this face for the rest of your life so you should probably take better care of it!

And speaking of my face, I believe this is supposed to be no makeup week judging by a few blog posts I've seen recently so I decided to be an awesome bloggity friend and post a picture of me bare-faced and OOGLY. Here ya go!

But actually I think this week is supposed to be about loving ourselves without all the cover up and shit so LET'S ALL LOVE OUR NAKED FACES, Y'ALL. We're all way hawter than we give ourselves credit for. Trust me, I've stalked y'alls facebooks and blogs, and I'd do all of you. Well, almost all of you. Maybe not the married ones. That doesn't seem very neighborly. But you're still hawt. (Are you tired of me spelling it that way yet?)

Also, I'm making a separate tab for THE LIST so if you have any suggestions for it, send me an email at tatorhead328 at yahoo dot com because I'm always open. Ahem. For suggestions, I mean. And maybe a little more. But mostly for the suggestions.

I've got tons of blog ideas coming, swearsies! Also, I got the random button up so clickity click it every once in a while to see what new and exciting land it takes you to. Hopefully wherever you go, there will be pizza and ice cream involved.

PS - Y'all were very concerned about my condom purchase at the Dollar General. But don't be silly! The box says that these condoms work 65% of the time ALL THE TIME. And I think that's some damn good odds.

Saturday, October 2, 2010

Testing! Testing! Do Not Be Alarmed!

I'm doing HTML type things that people with anger issues like me really shouldn't attempt to do. If this is my last post, it probably means that I stabbed myself in the heart because I couldn't get it to work properly. Say nice things at my funeral.

At the moment, the picture of me to the right is HUUUUUUGE, and I didn't realize quite how disapproving my eyes looked so that when you're jacking it to my posts, you can see my judgmental eyes watching you. Andy said I should make the picture scroll down WITH you just to creep y'all the fuck out.

::EDIT:: Yay screenshots!

So no worries! Creepy "LOOK AT ME, LOOK AT ME, OVER HERE PLEASE! EVERYONE COME AND SEE HOW GOOD I LOOK!" Sara will be gone shortly.

If you have a life and weren't here Friday night to experience the creepy overload, sucks to be you.

P. S. Chicka chicka owwwwww

Friday, October 1, 2010

Happy Friday, Lovahs!

Hope y'all have lovely weekends! And if you can handle it, I highly recommend making an intoxivlog. We could start a trend! #drunkintoxivlognation

P. S. I just have to let all of you who don't use Twitter know that my town is SO small, they shut down half of it for the homecoming parade every year. And it's the cutest thing ever, and I got stuck in the traffic for it yesterday so I ended up just getting out of my car and sitting on the hood to watch it and ohmygod, my ovaries were crying just thinking about bringing one of my future beh behs to watch the parade and telling them that I used to be in it every year and oh my gah STOP IT, BABY FEVER.

I made up for it by going to the local Dollar Store (yay! We have one now!) and purchasing many, many condoms. You're welcome, ovaries!

Be safe this weekend and don't get preggos! Unless you want to, then I give you permission to let the spermies fly! (ew?)