Friday, March 22, 2013

I Bought Crack Yesterday

And I think I got a contact buzz. Which totally explains my bullshit post about bacon. Anyone that knows me knows that I don't cook ever. Much less in the mornings because I never would wake up on time to be productive before ten a.m. 

So yesterday and my crack purchase... We went to Taco Hell and there was a homeless guy there. He was sitting at a table with change laid out. A bunch of pennies. My heart broke. So, I asked him if he had eaten any lunch yet and he said, "no." In retrospect, I don't think he understood my question. 

My best guess is that he thought I asked, "do you have enough for a rock yet?" Which the answer would probably still be a "no." Either way, I gave him seven dollars thinking that was sufficient for a hearty lunch at my fave fake mexican fast food restaurant.  But! That fucker didn't get any lunch. He just sat there, staring off into space and mumbling to himself. 

So like fifteen minutes later, another guy that is nicer than me came in. He spotted homeless dude a twenty, shook his hand, and said some really nice things I could barely hear. I expected homeless dude to at least get some lunch then, but nooooo. 

Homeless dude waited until nice guy left and then walked toward the liquor store. I didn't see him go in the liquor store, so I'm not accusing him of buying alcohol. However, I'm pretty sure that my "donation" was used to purchase crack. 

Now, I'm not up on current stock prices, much less crack, but I'm guessing my seven bucks wouldn't go very far. So thank you, super nice dude, for helping me buy crack. I couldn't have done it without you. 

Your Eternally Stoned,

Thursday, March 21, 2013

Am I Bacon You Horny, Baby?

That was lame. I know. Forgive me. 

I found out that Yankee Candle now has a bacon scent and it inspired me. I don't know why all of a sudden bacon has joined the ranks of Angry Cat and a Tardis as far as popularity in pop culture because bacon has been around for like ever. However, I will accept that men appreciate all things bacon. 

And that, my friends, has led me to my new personal man getting tactics. This morning, after I cooked bacon, I let the grease cool down and then I dabbed a little all over me. Fuck pheromones and expensive perfume; I'm going the barbaric, au naturale route. 

It has been amazing. I suggest anyone to try it. Note my success stories:

1) I was standing in the hall, talking to a friend when a gentleman walks by and says, "pardon me ladies."
2) In the elevator, a totally different man said "good morning."
3) This shit is seriously potent because when I was in my car and at a 4 way stop, a man in a big truck let me go before him. I might have had my window cracked a little, but that was still a significant distance of travel for an aroma. 
And finally...
4) At lunch, some men sat two tables from us.

The day isn't even over yet and I've had men all over me. This stuff is amazing. By the end of the day, if someone smiles at me, I will know this shit was golden and I'll be one bacon grease day away from my third, fourth, and fifth husbands. 

Your Favorite Porker,

Saturday, March 9, 2013

Motherhood Makes Me a Crazy Person

There's just something about it that drains you. It is exhausting. It keeps you on your toes. It definitely causes you to leave some selfish behaviors behind. 

I never pictured myself with a kid and I seriously doubt I'll ever have another one. However, I have enjoyed almost every minute of motherhood. Almost. This post is homage to the times I didn't enjoy. 

There have been times when my child embarrassed me to the point that I became dumbfounded. Those times? Yeah, they suck. And it always happens in public. She can't keep her oddities at home. No fucking way. 

Her emotional breakdowns? They always have impeccable timing too. Like in the middle of the volleyball court or at a friend's house when I'm trying out something new. Like the application of fake eyelashes. Right when I have tweezers and superglue held up to my precious eye, that's when it hits. The crying over nothing. Like oxygen or lint. 

These things are the reasons that when you see me and I'm laughing so hard out of embarrassment and I have one supermodel eye and another with tears streaming out, those are the times when you have to forgive me. I'm a mother. Shit happens. My child has made me hideous. I blame her. 

The times when she is afflicted by a stomach virus and vomits cheezits all over my bed, those moments? I wish I could forget them. My daughter has the uncanny ability to come down with a disease that affects her for a few hours and then she's fine. Then! I get it and I'm out for a week. It's like the intensity of the virus or the efficacy of the germs increase to the nth degree when they leave her and move on to another host. 

When she's all "I'm sleepy and hungry! That wasn't fun!" I'm all "be quiet kid and never mention food again! In fact, go eat outside or Ima throw up on you!" She turns me into a monster. 

The times when she dresses so inappropriately for the weather and we can't go out in public because people will judge me? Those times leave me coatless in 25 degree weather and wishing that my car was near because surely I've got something in there to warm me up. I never learn. I always see her leave without a jacket. Or shoes. And I'm always either giving up an article of my own clothing or running into the nearest dollar store to buy a new, cheap pair of shoes because for fuck's sake, she's got Toms, Jordans, and Chucks at home. The kid has a better shoe collection than I but she only actually fully dresses when her friends will be around. 

My friends and the general population look at my child and think that I never buy her clothes. Her friends? They think she's a spoiled little fashion diva. And you know what? I don't even give a shit. The fact that she's at least wearing something and is still breathing is a major accomplishment at this point. I really don't know how we make it every day. 

With all of these atrocities considered, I wouldn't trade this shit for the world. I love my daughter. She is a direct extension of me. She acts just like me. She is humbling and politely insults my inability to sing or the fact that I should consider getting that plastic surgery that gets rid of excess skin under your chin. She is fucking hilarious. She keeps me aware and in tune to my surroundings. I'm constantly looking for anything in public that she would spot and could lead to embarrassment. So I detour her away from people. Like midgets. Or obese women with mustaches who wear tube tops that show their back boobs. 

I'm constantly alert. I have circles under my eyes. I rarely have time to put make up on. My hair? It's a mess. I yell in public because her attitude grates at my nerves. I've become a crazy person. And homely. All in the name of motherhood. I deserve a trophy. And by trophy? I mean a CTS V. 

Your Favorite MILF,