My friend Andy

I saw my friend Andy the other day. After drinking some delicious beer and frolicking through fields of gold, we took a picture for our friends. We’re flipping them off because no one but us can understand the deep and committed love we have for each other. Shortly after this picture was taken we met up with our good friend Neil Patrick Harris and had some laughs. The evening was topped off by galloping across the beach at midnight on our matching jet-black stallions that we rescued from a glue farm and stealing kisses from the mer-people that were serenading us. We should hang out more often.

Good thing we didn't invite Katie and Michael. They can be REAL assholes.

More half assed music recordings

Hopefully this will only get better, until then I will keep up with the mediocrity. BWAHAHAHAHAHA.

Somebody loved 2 by sdoodle

Why People Hate Us II

I posted “Konstantine” by Something Corporate on my facebook page because I was feeling angsty and 16, so my sister felt the need to comment on it. Of course. Here is the end of the convo and another reason why people find us to be distasteful.

My Nephew

Is fucking awesome. I’m going to use the f word as much as possible in this fucking post because I’m fairly fucking certain my older sister starts to zone out the fucking point of any of my fucking posts whenever I get verbally aggressive.

She’s a fucking english major (or master now, I guess) so it kind of makes sense. I get the feeling she’s fucking disappointed each time I rely on fucking cuss words to get through a story, but whatever. Fuck that.

So I was on the the phone with her today because I want to visit her and my nephew pretty fucking bad, and she asks her son if he wants me to fucking visit.

“Yes” he said.

That made me pretty fucking happy because usually he fucking says “no” or screams at the phone or starts fucking running around and distracts my sister who is obviously on a fucking phone call. Fucking 3 year olds.

“Will you let her play with your toys?” She fucking asks.

“Well,” he fucking says “After I play with them. Yes.”

Fucking awesome, because really. Who the fuck am I to play with his fucking toys first? No-fucking-one. That’s who.

Then we finished our fucking conversation and she asks him if he wants to say goodbye.

“No, she can come home.”

Fucking adorable. His home is the only fucking place he wants to be, so obviously its the only fucking place anyone wants to visit. I’ve got to say, it IS the only fucking place I want to visit, awesome nephew, it really fucking is.

Fucking love you guys!!!!

Sharks

Lately my only creativity consists of writing crazy piano music and my stumble button. Which brings me to my next point:

This picture is a perfect description of my current state of mind. Which is drunk.

The other day I was talking to my Mom on the porch. She was three sheets to the wind and looking for a fight, and my friend James was at the house so he made a great target for her pent up aggression. We were all discussing the far reaching effects of alcoholism in our family and James says, “You know what I want to do? I want to invent a vending machine full of beer that you can only pay for with the coins you get at AA.”

Despite the hilarity of this concept my Mom hung her head, drooled on her feet for a little bit then swung around and said, “You know, shum pespoles takes that shit surrrously.” Then sighed in disgust and almost fell over because extra oxygen definitely doesn’t help when you have the spins.

Shortly after this she insisted that all she wanted to do was stare at our Japanese maple tree and try to sober up so she told James to “Get HER away from me.” I can only assume she hated the fact that I was laughing so hard at her drunk ass. But maybe it’s because she knew deep down inside I’d write about this and publish it on the world wide internets.

FUCK YOU MOM SHARK, YOU ARE DRUNK.

I should write a post

So first things first, I’m back into a size 2. I love it very much due to the fact that I base all of my self worth on the size of my clothes.

Just add some stretch marks and that's my sexy physiqe. BOW!

I was talking to my sister Molly tonight and she was telling me about the naked adventures she’s having in college after downing 1.5 liters of the finest Safeway wine. She’s also been telling me about how Mom has been drunk dialing her.

Mom has a habit of drunk dialing whenever she’s had between 1 and 3 drinks and she’s around her boyfriend. Apparently getting laid makes people amorous, so I’m glad that ‘ol Suzy has a boyfriend. Otherwise she’d have drowned us all in a shallow lake long ago.

Homeschooling your kids: For the best

I told Molly “Yeah, she told me about a dream she had about you last week. Musta been why she called.” The dream went like this:

Mom was trying to mop the floor and Molly kept ruining it, so Mom took it upon herself to choke the life out of Molly. In her usual asshole fashion, Molly straight up REFUSED to die so Mom had to keep choking and choking her until she finally woke up coughing in a fit of rage and unfulfilled needs. Not an alien concept to my Mom, but still shitty. The only reason I give a shit about this whole story is because Mom was wallowing around the house and sighing for a good 3 hours before I forced the story out of her.

This is the artistic way Mom described the dream, but it probably looked a lot more like a "Faces of Death" video.

Obviously Mom’s Catholic guilt led her to believe this was just an extension of the issues she’s always had about her 3rd born. The issues being: She never wanted to be pregnant with Molly because I was the most awesome baby she could ever even imagine having, Molly made her sick all the time, gave her back labor, and was over 9lbs. I personally see no better reason to hate a human being. If someone unexpectedly gives you 9 months of hell and then tops it off by becoming the most painful experience of your life and THEN goes on to give you bad dreams? A total bitch if you ask me.

"Dear God, why do you hate me so much? Was it all the coke?"

Moral of the story is, you just never know how much your parents care about you or hate you until you’ve left the house. I found out after college that everyone loves me the best. Molly on the other hand found out that we all want to murder her for being lazy and huge. Tomato, to-MAH-to.

FYI, I will only jokingly choke you...until you refuse to clean the floor. Love you!

School and Bear Poop

I’ve been too busy with my life to blog lately, which really sucks. Deep down inside I know that the joy I bring to my readers lives is rivaled only by reruns of Spongebob Squarepants, and only the funny episodes with Squidward…which there aren’t very many of. It’s a rare occasion for uninhibited laughter and throwing of confetti, and I know that’s how you all feel reading my posts.

LOLZ

My class this quarter (another A&P course) is pretty standard. It’s a lot of memorization of body parts, and the best way to get them really cemented in your memory is by making dirty raps out of all of them. Does anyone remember Parappa the Rappa? And if you played that game, have you ever forgotten the first song? The answer is NO…which is why I’m going to be the best nurse ever:

Kick punch, it’s all in the mind. My posterier refers to my behind, my anterior is where my lady parts live and my visceral pericardium holds all the love I can give.

So if you wanna test me, I’m sure you’ll find that my carpal moves and digital grooves will earn me an ‘A’ and my liver’s SO smooth. Now kick. Punch. Kick. Kick. Kick.Kick. Punch. Punch!

Pretty sure the audience would be booing me for that one.

I’m a genius.

ANYWAY, the first day of class there was this really beautiful girl sitting one row up from me who spent the majority of the first lecture glaring at me out of the corner of her eye. At first I thought it was because I had rolled out of bed and looked like Lindsay Lohan after a night with her gentlewoman lover, but then I realized it was because she must want to be best friends.

The second day of class I moved my seat closer to her, and started asking questions during lecture. So far I’ve been met with eye rolls and half-assed answers, but I know she’s just being coy. My awesomeness takes over a room like the swine flu and she and I are going to be bosom buddies by the time the year is up. MARK MY WORDS. I’m already imagining us taking long weekends together in the south of France, frolicking around and refusing to speak French, all the while mocking locals with deep throated “Oh ho hos!” And screaming about everything on the menus being “laissez-faire.”

Because really, who DOES'NT love Americans?

Also, I went hiking today on Mt. Rainier. Evidently my friend and I had spent too much time lallygagging around taking pictures of ourselves in front of rocks and weren’t paying attention to the fact that our extremities were starting to go numb. It was around this time that we found a pile of bear shit, and in my infinite wisdom I looked up and said “Okay, well we need to see if it’s fresh.” There’s really only one way to tell if it’s fresh, and I couldn’t drop my Bear Grylls persona at that point, so with my hand covered in bear shit and broken dreams we hustled back over the 6 miles we’d covered at a hot trot. About 5 minutes before we got back onto the main road my friend decided to tell me that a ways back he’d heard something to his right that “sounded like a dog breathing.” Conclusion: exercise is bad, terrifying, and altogether useless. I’m going back to cigarettes and wine to keep my fucking heart healthy. At least I don’t stick my hand in shit very often during those adventures. Not more than once a month anyway, and it’s usually my own.

For good measure...I felt like I was subpar today on my hilarious pictures. Just keep looking at it.

Tada!!!!

F*** me dead. I just woke up to the fact I have not updated this since people stopped clapping and Tinkerbell died…You would not believe how hard it is being waited on hand and foot and generally lounging around. I prostrate myself in sorrow and beg thy forgiveness..

I am absolutely consumed with sleeping my way to the top, waiting for the onshore winds, and just generally being a delightful mistress to every Lost Boy that crosses my path. My day often feels wasted from midday until to I run out of alcohol, but I am looking at rectifying this. Maybe tomorrow.

I won’t promise anything to you but if one more person emails me to ask why I haven’t posted today I will start posting pictures of toe fungus, or fecal murals. Truly. Assuming I don’t get distracted by counting my chest hairs..

Why People Hate Us

Some things that people say a lot about our family are that we’re: “insensitive, emotionally crippled, and bereft of any semblance of compassion or empathy.” When they’re finish with the compliments, sometimes I get the impression that they way we joke around (especially in groups) can really make people uncomfortable.

Take today for example, my Mom, my two younger sisters and I were standing around shooting the shit in Molly’s front yard. It wasn’t until one of her roommates had gone to hide in her room, and the other one was sitting in silence holding her head that I realized we were laughing raucously about the last family reunion where one of our uncles declared his blatant homosexuality and blamed it on being molested by one of my other uncles. He said all of this in front of his loving wife of 20+ years and then threatened to burn my face with a cigarette for laughing.

After that, we called one of our cousins a cum-dumpster until he cried and broke into a closed bar. This might be one of those “you had to be there stories” but I don’t think so. All those things are hilarious regardless of the situation, and no one ended up with alcohol poisoning or pregnant. WIN reunion I say.

Here’s a fun fact: My family once tried to stage an intervention for my alcoholic aunt and were fired by the interventionist because they’re all so fucking nuts. Looking back over this post, I will very much need to elaborate on all of these instances for any strangers to see the full hilarity, but as per usual I’m too lazy to do that right now. So just laugh, and be grateful you won’t ever marry into this family.

Molly and I being assholes today:

Schoolin’

I desperately want to prove to the world that I’m worth more than a bag of Cheetos and a $1 flavored sparkling water from Safeway, so I’m back in school to become a nurse. Although I spent my 4 years in college after high school working on a bullshit degree in sociology, it turns out that the only thing I learned is that people are all various level of crazy, they have a lot of dirty sex, and then they die. So thank you, professors. Thank you for taking $30,000 dollars to tell me shit I could have learned from watching Lifetime, visiting your Mom, and spending my money styling my dogs hair in elaborate fashions.

Sure wish you hadn't adopted me, you cunt.

The things about nursing is, you have to have a strong stomach. Caring about the patients helps, but mostly you just have to not vomit when someone has explosive diarrhea all over your arm. Things like that are usually funny to other people, but when it happens to you it really makes you think, “hey, what exactly did I fucking sign up for?” Shit, that’s what. Shit and death. Which can be surprisingly hilarious.

I personally have a very hard time not laughing in the face of death and excrement. Like one time, there was a terrible car crash in front of our house in R.I. It happened one afternoon when I was about 10 years old. I was minding my own fucking business watching “Lambchop” and wishing my Dad would get into a car wreck when all of the sudden there was terrible screeching and clanging all up in the front yard. We looked out the windows and saw 6 people climbed out of their various automobiles and stumble bloodily onto our front yard. My Mom went running down to help and called back for us girls to call 911. Instead of getting the phone, I stood there in the middle of the driveway laughing my ass off. The way I remember it, I just found it hilarious that these people ran into each other in the middle of a huge road for no good reason, and just left their cars behind to kick it in the yard. Also, the way they were wandering around was ridiculous! Broken arms are so awkward looking!

Lambchop and Shari Lewis think this shit is hilarious.

I found out later this is a pretty common reaction to stress, but I never lost my sense of humor when it comes to traumatic events. I’m guessing this is one of the reasons I’m all giggles when dealing with a patient that has no control over their mind and/or bodily functions. Which brings me to another point, the way we treat old people with “dementia” and “Alzheimers” is ridiculous. First of all, we’re all suffering from a certain level of dementia, and second of all Alzheimers diagnoses are thrown around like your sister’s vaj at a frat party. Haphazardly and without good reason.

Just a photo in my offensive limbo game. How low can YOU go?

Middle aged people in the U.S. have a tendency to sell their parents away to old persons homes the first time they start accusing them of rape and selling their children to Mexico. To this I say: Shenanigans. There’s nothing better than hanging out with old people with dementia, especially if you are a writer. Not only do they have a wealth of knowledge and history, but the way they piece it all together during an episode while eyeballing you from the corner of the room with a knife in their hand is genius. You couldn’t come up with that shit for your new novel to save your life. I knew a lady last year who told me an entire story about how her children were being used by a secret Nazi organization that’s been kept hidden within congress for years and years and that’s why her children no longer let her drink whiskey. I knew Nazis hated cripples and Jews, but whiskey? That was just too much. I too would run naked into the front yard to try and spread the news. I really would.

Also, my career path is hospice care. Which means that if you are within 6 months of death you’ll be kicking it with ME for the last days of your life. I’ll give you a send off the likes of which you could never imagine. Dementia lady is helping me decide on a good party idea for just these occasions. One that hopefully doesn’t involve Nazis and child sacrifice, but you never know. She is very imaginative.

The Nazi Party. Get it? PARTY. Oh, just fuck off then.