Bad Hair Day?

Sometimes, everyone has a bad hair day. it can be a cruel, cruel world when your hair is acting like your worst enemy. people stare. People take your pictures and put them on the internet so people like me can make them even more embarrassing.

This woman obviously just woke up. What lovely person took this picture and put it on the web? Did that same person later find themselves the recipient of divorce papers?

This guy here must have had not only a bad hair day, but a bad face day. And a bad photographer.

This is me.

Here are some famous people with bad hair. And bad luck. This particularly famous woman who I cannot remember who she is is clearly having a bad hair day. Maybe just a bad day period. Maybe she's haveing a bad day because of her period and wanted to tear her hair out then got tired. I don't know.

Valderama! What?! Is?! This?! I'm not sure if it is his hair or something attacking him in the middle of a game.

These two here could do way better. Apparently, when you are famous, drunk, and in custody, they will not let you call your make up person for the photo shoot and fingerprinting adventure. They both look so happy. And I don't believe it has anything to do with their hair.

Even dogs have bad hair days. This one is pretending to be Samuel L. Jackson in Pulp Fiction.

I would be seriosuly chicken to go in public with that hair.

Kittens don't like water. That could explain why this one seems so happy with whoever has the camera.....and the squirt bottle and the maniacal sense of humor.

Some people do weird things like this to fix their bad hair.

And some people just wrap Christmas lights around their head to hide the bad hair. It is apparently foot operated, and should definitely be presented to Donald

Trump.

Anyone else out there having a bad hair day?

Can You Have Too Much of One Thing?

I was recently asked this question by someone who we will not name. Mainly because I do not remember who it was. But, anyway, can you have too much of one thing? Clearly, the answer is 'yes'. For instance, this backyard looks like some goombah juvenile delinquent is getting ready for a shipment to Japan.




Obviously this man has had TOO MUCH. His ass won't be so happy when he wakes up.

And lucky for that last guy, his party wasn't at this dorm.

And then of course, we have the answer to 'who ever went up to a cow and said, "I'll drink whatever comes out of there!?"

It's that girl.

And that's way too much. Obviously this plastic cow isn't going to be full of milk, and this woman is clearly in it for the sake of the picture. But just why would you want a picture of yourself sucking cow titty? Even the calf looks confused.....like....'that bitch is eating my plastick frickin supper!'

Oh well. The answer to the question is YES, you can have too much of one thing.

Spray Bottle Parenting

Quite by accident I discovered an entirely new parenting method. You see, as I have become less physically functional, and my reaction time is a lot slower, my children have found that it takes me a lot longer to get up and so they smart off a lot. Or make faces. Or directly disobey. So, in the process of training the kitten not to get up on the tables, I began using a spray bottle much like this one you see here.

Now you would think, by the way my children react when squirted, that there was some kind of boiling hot lava in the bottle.....but it's just plain old water. And it reaches a smart ass comment much faster and at a greater distance than say, me getting up and smacking the snot out of them. All I have to do now is pick up the squirt bottle and everyone stops doing whatever it was they weren't supposed to be doing.

Of course, this is what everone looked like for the first week, but now, they are way more used to it. And I once again have the MotherPower......

Children are Scary

So, I have scary children. When I asked myself 'why are my children so scary?' I didn't answer myself, so I went on an internet search for scary children. When I got done, I felt a whole lot better about my own kids....

So then I bought them this book, because everyone loves clowns, right?

Some say my parenting methods are questionable. But everyone knows that if you grow just enough children to feed the other children, then you're okay.

Sometimes you feel like a nut, sometimes you don't

This is what I feel like today. I love this picture...it brings all the aspects of the four corners into immediate view, in a serene connectedness. what a shame, she died so young, of cancer. (the artist, Susan Seddon Boulet.) but this incredible art that she left behind will always awe and inspire. what a gift.

Insomnia

Have you ever felt like this?

Like if you just lay quietly, all the shit floating around in your head will go away?

It doesn't. I've tried lots of things. Basically pure exhaustion must win out eventually. Yet of course it must happen on a night when I have company coming tomorrow........

See, I used to live in a house much like this.


Now, I live in a house much like this. So I am no longer embarrassed to have people over for dinner. I am making a nice Father's day meal of pork tenderloin, cabbage and baby potatoes. Of course King Elk of the Elks won't be there, but my stepdad will. Not my real dad.....let's just say he's somewhere far from my children's social security cards.

Eventually, this is where I want to live. Yes, I realize it's a painting...and not even one of my own. But, there it is. Where I want to be.

And here is where I am......

Elvis Has Left The Building

Yes, folks, that's right. My family and I have moved.

After careful consideration and some excellent packing, we set off for our new home.

Granted, it is only five blocks away from the shithole we lived in previously, and it is a MUCH better house, moving still took like three whole months and I am still living out of boxes.

We rented a truck, but it did not have such useful advice. It did have a sign promising a much smoother move with u-haul, but I think we would have gotten a better deal if we would have used Jaun-Haul, where they don't speak english but they just move it all for you and they don't gripe in any understandeable language.

It used to be I could load every piece of furniture I owned on 24 foot truck by myself. Then, the last two years hit and I am tragically unable to continue my German Hausfrau technique of living. Basically for a control freak such as myself, being told, 'don't lift that,' or 'put that down', is bad enough. But add to it that I KNOW I cannot do it because of my physical disabilities....and so do the people that know and love me.....and yet....it came time to move and the ONLY person that did not ditch me was King Elk of the Elks and his brother, whom he then later in the evening inducted as an Elk himself. So I was able to get out of constantly being told not to overwork myself by constantly overworking myself and THEN fetching beer.

All in all, I feel like if I ever have to move again, I will just shoot myself in the head and refuse to deal with it. But, as you can see, I am back. And fairly unscathed. Almost not dead. And, not one fucking question while I was gone, not one. tsk, tsk. Soon I will have to begin talking to myself again. What's that? Of course I will get you a beer, self.

Odd Things Around the House

I am getting ready to move, and I started looking for some new household things. Here are some of the more bizarre yet strangely appealing things that I found.

I like this guy. Cooking and Therapy combined.....and maybe a little VooDoo......






I must have Mr. Suicide the bathplug. Apparently he floats on the top of the water like some of Tony Soprano's unluckier and big mouthed cohorts.





Keep your teeth sharp by flossing via pirhana.








I was thinking of an Easter Island theme....who knew?

For the little piggy you forgot.....the one hanging from your nostril.....












And who wouldn't love this one of a kind dog ass tissue dispenser?




Your dog, that's who.....here's what he must do after you've had a bad cold.

After The Air Drop

As you can see, the first humanitarian aid cannibal food drop was a complete success.

Notice the good humor and full bellies on the natives.....

For the most part, everything went well. A few of the food packages (like this one) were somewhat obstinate and disagreeable about their fate, but once sedated were happy to get into the 'hot tub' for a little relaxing soak with several large root vegetables and some salt.

Later on in the evening, we were alerted via carrier pigeon that all food packages that were not immediately fed to the ravenous and starving villagers were later smoked, cured and put into a cold storage cave near the settlement. Their gratitude was astounding, and as a gesture of thankfulness they included a very tasty recipe that works just as good on carrier pigeon as it does on asshole. All in all, I'd say it was an adventure worth repeating. Know anyone who needs a seat on the plane?

A Humanitarian Aid Petition

Do you see these people? They are starving. they are very thin, ribs showing, clearly malnutritioned. Ignore the head on a stick for just a moment. They are clearly hungry.

However, as they are cannibals, many humanitarian aid programs will not consider air drops to their location.

Now see these people? They are an example of what everyone has in their life at one time or another... jerks. They are assholes, they are abusive, they don't pay their child support, and a whole host of other general wrongs against their families and society in general.

I propose we start a website in which you can buy a seat on this 5oo passenger jet for your asshole. They will not need any luggage. Basically, they will be sedated then trussed, smeared with butter, a few choice fresh herbs stuffed into armpits and other crevices. The buyer may choose which fruit they would like stuffed up the passenger's ass, and in their mouth.

In the cargo bays, there will be plenty of fresh fruits and vegetables, rice, grains, wheat and corn.

Each passenger will be equipped with a self opening parachute, and all will be dropped over areas of severe poverty and starvation in cannibalistic tribal territories.

The price of the ticket will have to be high, because we will need to sell all seats, charter the airbus, and hire our own pilots. Preferrably pilots with a passenger onboard. Anyway, what do you guys think? I think Al Gore, Hilary Clinton, and Laura Bush might just sign on. And maybe Larry Birkhead.

Something is Fishy

You know? I think this is what happened to my brain cells. At one time I had some, then some guy in waders came up and just freaking stole them. Or they fell out of my ear. Or they jumped...it's so hard to tell. All I know is, when I found out that the guy was wearing waders and not stylish overalls, I felt just about like this poor large marine mammal and his treasured bucket. Look at the face. Utter shock and disbelief. like Parris when they said, "You have to drive an RV." or Nicole when they said, "You have to ride with Parris". Or my brother when the stick turned blue. Or me when the stick turned blue for like the thirtieth time, and I had only had sex one time that year. Now, granted, it was only March, but if you figure that actually, I had had no sex since the previous spring, I call that a year. Or f@#*ing frustrating, eihter way. This also reminds me of the look my brother had on his face that time he peed on the electric fence, right before he shot nine feet across the church parking lot. Absolute sheer surprise and horror. It was probably the funniest thing I ever saw in my whole life. Except the look on my mother's face when she realized that my brother had dropped trou in the church parking lot and was now sitting with a roadburned ass, smoking penis and hair standing on end bawling like a little baby. I remember going back in and digging all the change out of my purse and leaving it in the offering plate.....because only God could construct something that funny. (I had never seen George Carlin yet)((Or George W)). Oh well. All's well that ends well. Obviously one sperm got away unsinged....at least for now. And luckily found one of the better girls my brother has been with. At least this one does not have a steel plate in her head from a head injury with a car battery which she got from her ex-husband whom she shot and killed. I think all around, this is damn lucky. And, by the way....my mom had this same look on her face when she realized that my brother had procreated.......

A Drunken Shotgun Wedding

This sign here says it all. Maybe I could talk the King Elk of the Elks into marriage if it were put just this way on the invitations. Of course, since I am going to be departed from my plumbing soon, there will be no shotgun wedding for me. I mean, unless I just get a shotgun, point it at the nearest drunk Elk and either he'll put a ring on my finger or I can put his head on the wall. When is Elk season? I want to make sure I have a permit. I figure, as marriage goes, I could either take it or leave it. I don't really even want to get married anyway. I just want him to want to get married so I can waffle around about it and leave him wiggling on the hook for a change. I'd like to know how to be that one lucky bitch that all the guys want but treat with respect. I'm more like the bitch that does laundry and gives blow jobs (or would but they are apparently unwanted at this time) and puts up with constant absence and relatively no affection and certainly no sex. And no talking. And no help except a little financial help which would probably be less than child support were it ordered. ????? And you know what my Jerry Springerish answer to all that is? I do love him. I think he loves me and is just stupid and emotionally unavailable. And addicted to the Elks Lodge. But I like the new van that the doors open and shut with a remote. It doesn't kill my shoulders and wrists. He's not physically mean, and he is sweet to the girls and is sweet to the baby in the minute amount of time that he is here. So for now he gets to stay. I guess. At least until Elk season.

Hee Hee......

Okay. So here is an interesting way to take care of this problem.....too bad he's like every other man and won't finish the job. When I was pregnant, this chore of removing the garden became quite a gamble. Because I am obviously some cross between the contortionist and the bearded lady at the circus, not only am I abnormally hairy but also abnormally klutzy. Add a few(haha) pounds and a big round stomach, and I didn't even see that garden for months. I'm sure it was like a blind man's tomato patch.....but I tried anyway, for the sake of the gynecologist. And he probably didn't even care. My friend was also pregnant at the same time but is one of those tall perfect people that just grow a basketball under their clothes and are back in their size one jeans the next week. I, personally, 16 months later, am almost back down to my full blown pregnancy weight! Yay! Anyway, she one time said to me, "I just use a mirror." That had never even occurred to me. So I tried it. Considering that I am also almost blind, very topheavy and have no depth perception, the mirror made me nearly fall down in the shower. I just went back to feeling my way through it and trying not to amputate anything important. I was glad of that when there were fourteen people suddenly observing my v-jay jay during the birth of my son. Obviously, they didn't know the work I had gone to, because everything was shaved....but trust me....it takes a really long time to shave 70% of a cow.

This tattoo here makes me wonder if this woman has a bird and eggs tattooed in her armpits. Or something worse.

This Will Never Happen To ME Again

This is what happened to me. A lot. This is how I became the founder of the Society for Immoral Repeat Breeders. In fact, one of them is screaming in my ear right now. One won't stay in bed even under threat of death, or even worse. One is sound asleep, but before that felt every single thing that happened second to second was tragic, mean, unfair, dramatically horrible, and worthy of constant nonstop tears and whining. One is smarter than me and lives five hundred miles away from this crap most of the year. And, as much as I love them, lets face it folks...I'm an old bitch. Old. The date on my egg carton is like, salmonella-scary past due. So, for the good of society, I am getting spayed. I tried to convince my boyfriend to get neutered, but he felt that this would somehow limit his options and pecking order at the Bar of the King Of Elks. I saw this picture, and realized that my problem stemmed from the fact that I don't usually want to be on the receiving end of oral sex. If I had just let the man eat....who knows? It could have been breakfast instead of diapers, snot, homework, delinquency and college. All in all, though, it makes me sad that I will never get to have another baby. There is just something about the smell of Baby Magic and amniotic fluid for those first few days.....and then, just every little thing they do being so cute. Until it involves some sort of bodily fluid being propelled out of an unlikely orifice at some ungodly hour. Ahhh, babies. A hysterectomy is the only answer. I worry if one of those eggs got 'spooned' it just may be too old to grow right. I feel this is the best thing for all those leftover eggs. I mean, I am an artist, and Easter is just around the corner....I could paint them and hide them around the neighborhood and let my other children try to find them, kind of like some white trash version of Angelina Jolie. "Go find yer little unfortunate brothers and sisters guys!" This just seems like too much work, though. So, spayed it is. Luckily I get to go to the hospital in like a real city, not our local band-aid station. I truthfully would rather go to the vet than there. This town used to have more bars than people, and more teeth than crime. And the teeth were sparse. The hospital was good then, but I like to be knocked out for these things, and not with vodka and a shot of drano. And, although Raylene can still quilt stitch pretty well through those violent meth tremors, I'd still prefer a real surgeon. Actually, being from this town, most of the spoons we see are not bent in this cute and peculiar way. They're more burned, and crispy. And eggs never sit long enough for four spoons to get that close.

Following Instructions

This is so polite. The car is totally destroyed, but the sign is still intact. I sound like this when I say something like: 'Thank you so much, child, for bringing my full glass of Dr Pepper across the room and leaving a trail so you could find your way back!' Or like the little guy behind the counter at the 7-11....politest guy in the world. would you like some beef jerky with that please? Please would you like a slushie? Whoever was in this car was probably WAY too rude and drunk to listen to such an incredibly sensitive and polite sign. What was he thinking? The Village is apparently a nice place. Of course, and argument could be made that during the last elections it lost it's idiot, but still, it probably has a few cute antique malls and a small resident population of gays. I'm thinking this tricked out car was just passing through, then the driver passed out, or whatever....and the little jail of 'the village' got a whole new inmate of different stripes.