Dinner for 10 (small villages)...

So my menu is less than traditional but who gives a crap? My guests will just have to understand 4 simple truths- 1/ It’s the holiday’s, I’m busy. 2/ It’s better than nothing. 3/ They’re welcome to feast on my craptastic always entertaining festive attitude. And 4/ There’s no bill at the end of the meal.

~Whore derves~

Awesome Pumpkin Spice Graham crackery dip (that I’m going to claim I made from scratch) to put on cookies - Check
Nilla Wafers and Ginger Snaps - Check
800 Deviled Eggs - Check
Enough sliced cheese to constipate an elephant - Check
Loads of those little “designer” crackers (that’ll make everyone think I’m classy) for cheese - Check
Triscuits (loaded with fiber- insert evil laugh here) and Wheat Thins in case people hate designer crackers - Check

~Mains & Sides~

Turkey - Check
Ham - Check
Metric ton of Stuffing - Check
5 gallons of Gravy - Check
Canned Yams (but I'm going to say I picked them myself) - Check
That Cranberry flavored gel crap in a can - Check
4 billion red potatoes for homemade mashed taters - Check
Boots to mash taters - Check
Creepy Cheesy broccoli rice casserole (that I’ll probably hate) - Check
Dinner Rolls - Check
Sweet Potato casserole - Check

~Dessert~

Pineapple Upside Down Cake - Check
Cupcakes - Check
Peach Pie (I’m also claiming I made from scratch) - Check

~Extras~

First Aid kit - Check
Pepto Bismol - Check
Prep H - Check
911 on speed dial - Check
Alibi - Check


Now I'm really poor. Happy Thanksgiving, you're not getting shit for Christmas!

Wow, I really needed that!

and didn't even know it.

Sometimes you don’t realize just how fast life is moving and the impact stressful situations are making until you take a minute and step out of it all; when you’re granted a momentary respite.

I went golfing yesterday. Nothing really stood out about the game. The weather was nice- I thought it might rain by the 9th hole but it held off, the course is one of my favorites, the company was fabulous (as usual), I didn’t miss a single green off the tee, I hit my irons better than usual and after only 7 months of playing I scored a 96. There was nothing extraordinary about the game. However, it was one of the most enjoyable, relaxed moments I can remember in recent memory. I was actually depressed when it was over.

Now, back to the real world containing election bullshit, despondent husband’s, sick father’s, doctors appointments, financial woes, divorces, ass loads of laundry, etc., etc., etc….

I think I might start going back to yoga class.

Hell hath no fury like an Aza scorned!

Who needs Karma when you’ve got Aza on your side?

The last few weeks have been a bit of a whirlwind. As some of you may know Kojak, my bestest friend in the whole wide world is going through one hell of a vicious divorce. His former bitch is trying to take him for everything he’s worth. She apparently thinks a 7 year marriage with no children and no property constitutes 3K a month for the rest of her life. Think again, bitch! Aza’s on the case!

So long story short she’s been playing the “I’ve got mysterious illnesses and can’t work” role. Every time she’s showed up to court she’s not worn a bit of make-up and looks like soft serve shit. Yet behind the scenes she has been working and playing. The playing part is where I come in. She’s been bar hopping, shopping and vacationing all over the place for the last year now. All this time she’s been claiming she’s at deaths door and cashing a 3 thousand dollar alimony/temporary needs check, slowly dragging out this divorce killing Kojak financially each month. Heh, her friends and family have been taking pictures of these little outings. Lots of pictures. Pictures of her at parties, on vacations, at theme parks, during the holidays and all the while drinking like a fish in a good number of the photographs. These pictures were put on their myspace pages. Her myspace page as well as those of her friends and family are all set to private however the online slide show websites hosting the pictures posted to myspace are open for general viewing.

Sooooo, should you decide to get into a vicious nasty divorce with your spouse, lie your ass off about your health and screw them financially/emotionally for over a year- ya better make sure your retarded friends and family don’t post pictures proving you’re just fine. Ya also better be sure your spouse doesn’t have a friend with a computer that wants to see you crash and burn in hell.

To my dearest friend’s ex-wife- I hope you shit yourself on the stand when Kojak’s attorney brought out 60+ pictures of you acting like the completely healthy, white trash, gold digging whore you are. I also hope you shit yourself when your married lover (that recently dumped your stupid ass) was brought up on the stand and confirmed in testimony that you were just fine when the two of you went to New York and on that cruise.

So lots of other stuff going down but that's what I was most consumed with last week.

Who turned on the cool?

So on a Monday you’ve got 98 degrees worth of swimming in ass crack sweat soup heat, add a dash of humidity to that and you’ve got 105 degrees worth of sweltering hell heat. Then the very next day the high is 85, it’s breezy and the temp is dropping down into the high 60’s low 70’s at night. Usually ‘round these parts fall slips in quietly, as the cooling process is so subtle it’s hardly noticed- Welcome to Florida. Not this year, this year it’s like someone flipped a switch and turned on the cool overnight. I’m not complaining mind you, quite the contrary, I think the weather is fabulous! I’m at my best come pumpkin season. Now golfing, riding the motorcycle, fishing, outdoor festivals and shooting at the range don’t end with your skin melting off along with the SPF 800 you applied beforehand. Cooking and trying new recipes is fun because you can open the kitchen windows and tempt the entire neighborhood. Speaking of new recipes, I tried making orange cream parfaits last night to follow up the fried bream that Kojak and I caught, they were wonderful! Think I’ll try chocolate or sweet cream stuffed strawberries tonight or tomorrow.

Fay and Hannah, the baby squirrels that another police officer gave to Kojak after the winds of Fay knocked them out of a tree are growing fast and eating like little pigs. Their eyes are open and they’re all over the place now. I don’t normally post a whole lot about my rescue but since a few people have inquired as to how they’re doing I figured I’d post a few pics.

Here they are when they first came in....



Trying pecans...



But still insisting on the bottle...

So there’s a bit of the latest, lots more going on but that's all I've got time for now. Note to self: Remember to post about Pogo, Pagan Pride day festival, drive by's and Jessie.

Thanks for nothing Fay! And an open letter to a scumbag.

Yeah, I’m alive, incredibly busy but alive. So I figured “Geez, it’s been over a month since I’ve bitched about anything on my blog!” So I pulled out my incredibly long list of things to bitch about and guess what was on top? Let’s look at the “Top 5 Reasons I Fucking Hate Fay” (and all tropical storms/hurricanes in general)…

5. After dumping two feet (seriously, two feet) of rain over three days, my backyard and garage are now under a foot of water and mud. Special thanks to the city for not keeping the ditches cleared on the street behind us…because you fine folks won’t do your damn jobs my shit floods every time we get a serious storm!

4. Since the ground is so saturated one of my favorite trees in the backyard pulled itself out of the ground, realized the ground a few feet away was no more dry than what it just pulled itself out of, said “screw it!” and fell over.

3. No power = no T.V., no computer, no A/C and basically nothing to do but sit in the dark watching tree tops nearly touch the ground illuminated by blue bursts of light on the horizon from transformers exploding all over the city as trees fall on power lines because of violent winds.

2. Our fabulous two new skylights because of Fay. Thanks an extra flipping bunch on this one, I love going to pee and getting rained on at the same time. Roof repairs are going to be not only extensive but expensive as well.

And the number 1 reason I fucking hate Fay…

The two teeny tiny baby squirrels I’m now raising I’m sure would much rather be raised by their actual mother.

The positive side? These storms tend to bring folks a little closer to each other. People that would never normally talk to each other open the flood gates of emotion. While store hopping for supplies you can hear nervous chatter in lines. Folks talking about and confiding their own personal fears, losses from storm seasons past, the latest news on storm severity/location and plans to hunker down or evacuate. They lean on each other for support. After it’s over, neighbors pull together in even the worst neighborhoods to survey damage, remove trees from yards and roofs sharing chainsaws, supplies and man power. It always amazes me at how folks come together when there’s a common threat. Finally, I think these storms pull us a little closer to our own personal paths of faith too. All you can do when it starts getting really ugly and evacuation is no longer an option is sit and pray that everything and everyone you love will be okay.

So aside from the inconvenience that my Top 5 list has brought forth, all things considered, it could have been much worse. Stay tuned for my “Top 5 Reasons I Fucking Hate Gustav” list. Hopefully that post won’t come because Gustav won’t be an issue.

Now I’m off to feed baby squirrels and vote…

An open letter to our current State Attorney:

You sir, are one of the biggest scumbags to come down the pipe. I hope when you die your higher power shows you more mercy than you’ve shown all of the victims of violent crime in our city, you piece of shit! You’ve favored the criminal element for far too long and as this election will show, the people have had enough! You are the rapists, murderers, child molesters, puppy kickers best friend and the law abiding citizens worst enemy because you refuse to prosecute. I’ve been awaiting this day for a long time. The day your low life ass gets tossed out of office and my vote helped make it happen! A storms coming asshole and it ain’t brewing in the tropics, it‘s in your own backyard. You won’t need to watch the weather channel for this one, just keep your eye on the polls cause that retarded douche you‘re endorsing doesn‘t have a snow flakes chance in hell of being elected. The storm that’s coming is a flood of police officers that had open and closed cases tossed because of you. It’s a tsunami of victims who’s pleas for justice fell on deaf ears as they watched their assailants strut out of court with a big fat smile spread from ear to ear thanks to you. Sit back and watch as our city pulls together once again and deals with a common threat, you! Reap the whirlwind you son of a bitch!

Sincerely,
Glad our city is waking up to who and what you really are!

Another post about ta-ta's

Holy crap, I’m so sick of reading/hearing about politics I can’t see straight! That being said…

I think I’d like to talk about breasts for a moment. I, like every other woman on the planet am hyper critical of myself. I’m 5’5” and weigh a buck thirty, I’d really like to weigh a buck twenty. My nails are flimsy, I’d like them to be hard as, uh…, nails. My ass is dangerously close to being “smushy“, I’d like to bounce a quarter off of it. I’m a solid B cup, I’d like to have boobs that have their own zip code. But here’s the thing, I’m lazy. I could go to the gym that I’m currently paying a monthly membership to and drop the 10 pounds, take vitamins to make my nails stronger, do leg lifts to make my ass less borderline smushy and/or have surgery to make my boobs the size of New Jersey. But that would take effort on my part. More effort than I’m willing to dedicate. Although I see Quasimodo staring back at me if I peer into the mirror for too long; all in all, at first glance and a distance I’m not a bad looking chick. Not to mention, what I lack in looks I certainly make up for in personality. In person I’m funny. Really funny.

But anyway, back to boobies. As mentioned and on a few occasions pictured here on Surreptitious Psychosis, I’m a B cup. There’s nothing spectacular about them, they‘re not “ubber fabulous”. It’s just your everyday average, run of the mill, B cup rack. So about a month ago I’m listening to the radio and I hear a commercial for a “breast enhancing” OTC (that’s “over the counter”) that “increases your bust size by at least two cups sizes!” Something that takes virtually no effort on my part? Now that’s for me! Where do I sign up!? So of course I called and said “Yes, I heard your commercial and I’d like to super size my rack please!” A month has passed and I honestly can’t say the enhancer didn’t work. D seems to think they appear “fuller”. But lets face it, he’s a guy so all he’s really thinking is “Boobage!” I can’t really tell. Women naturally fluctuate by almost half a cup size in extreme cases during each month based on ovulation cycle, diet, water weight etc. Unlike a lot of men, we don’t whip out a measuring stick at every given chance. Also, contrary to popular male belief we don’t stand naked in front of a mirror staring at them and touching them at every given opportunity (sorry to burst the silicone filled bubble, guys). We check thoroughly once a month for lumps, bumps or changes (at least the smart among us do) and basically leave well enough alone.

Hell, I read a study that said 80% of all women in the US are wearing the wrong bra size! Just goes to show how “in touch” most of us really are. I guarantee you they’re not wearing bras that are too big. Our collective wreaked self esteem ensures that we’re wearing smaller bras because we really do believe our racks are smaller than they actually are/should be. Thanks for nothing to the ginornous boobied asswads at Cosmo! I take great comfort in knowing that when I’m 65 I’ll still have firm breasts perched upon my upper chest. When you’re 65 you’ll be sporting the “yeah, they were huge and fabulous when I was 25 but now they just look like an old nut sack” look.

So yeah, they seem a bit “enhanced” and yeah my braziers seem to be a bit more snug but that could be because I ate a piece of chocolate cake last week or I’m retaining more water than usual because of the “hotter than Hades” Florida heat or any number of other factors. I can tell you this, I sure as hell won’t be scheduling breast reduction surgery anytime soon because of this “miracle enhancer”. Then again I’m not going to say it didn’t do anything at all. The girls and I bonded during this experience. Now I can say, my breasts aren’t just guinea pigs for experimenting non FDA approved drugs on, they’re friends.

It’s official

By purchasing my first set of golf clubs I’ve single handedly saved the game of golf. Because we all know how much it sucked before I came along. As your new golf leader I intend on enacting and personally enforcing the following rules…

1. Knickers and ugly pants were worn in the game over a hundred years ago. Unless you are one hundred years or older (cause then it’s just cute), take them off, they look ridiculous!

2. When you see me coming, get the fuck out of my way. Being 3 days older than Christ does not give you the right to play in less than slow motion.

3. Making fun of me or my kick ass girl golf clubs is a capitol offense. The sentence is, death by Aza’s 9 iron.

These new policies are effective immediately! How on earth can I justify rocking the very foundation on which golf was laid? What qualifies me as your new gold leader? It’s simple really, I am to golf what Dale Earnhardt Jr. is to basketball.

Seriously though, D plays, Kojak plays, everyone plays. I’m surrounded by golfers so while kicking and screaming in protest I finally cried “Uncle” and I got a set of chick clubs. I’m happy to announce that even though I gave in, I have no intention whatsoever of succumbing to the craptastic thrift store fashion made infamous by the game.

Kojak is quite the golfer so I’ve drafted him as my personal coach. Bless his heart, knowing that I have the temper of a Tasmanian devil in heat after being poked in the eye with a stick, he’s still willing to teach. Pray for him.

So in summary, when you see me on the LPGA tour or The Big Break launching all of my golf shit into the pond, getting into fist fights with my caddy Happy Gilmore style, knocking people out with my 450 yard putts, just sit back and enjoy the show.

It’s not a tumor and

No, I’m not a leper, it’s a zit. Thanks for asking, asshat!

UHG!!! I have a zit. Satan apparently impregnated my right cheek with an unholy spawn from hell the size of a 6 month old baby when I wasn‘t looking. It’s driving me absolutely freaking bonkers! I’ve tried ichthomol ointment, warm compresses and squeezing the ever loving Christ out of it. My efforts have only pissed it off and made it take up a stronger hold on my red, puffy and inflamed face. I’ve entertained the idea that maybe it’s not a zit. Remember the ol’ spider eggs story? It‘s been told a hundred different ways but they all have the same ending- they hatch. Here’s the way I heard it.

The short, short version in comma form…Girl wakes up with a small “zit” on her cheek, she is told to leave it alone as picking at it will only make it worse, “zit” grows itchy and somewhat painful, a few days pass, the “zit” is now huge and terribly uncomfortable (much like my current situation), mother suggests daughter take a hot bath and apply a compress, upon submerging in bath and within moments of applying compress her cheek erupts disgorging (I so dig that word!) thousands of tiny spiders. Hence, it was never a “zit”, a spider had laid eggs in her face.

So now I’m sure you understand why I want to take a scalpel and a dash of C4 to my face right now.

I felt like you should probably know this…

I’ve been busy. VERY busy. Kojak posts more about what’s going on in my world than I do- so if you want an update, go check out his blog. I’m still here, among the living dead, just busy. VERY busy.

So when I stumbled across the below I felt that I should share this information immediately. This crap is vital!

Top 10 Useless Body Parts
By The Science Channel

When you're sick you may feel that certain body parts are more trouble than they're worth. And in some cases, you'd be right. While the human body has evolved and adapted significantly since the caveman days, a few biological traces of our prehistoric ancestors still remain with us in the form of freeloading body parts we lug around with us, but have no use for. Take a gander at the top offenders!

10. Plica semilunaris
You may not know it, but you have a third eyelid. Pull open the two more noticeable eyelids and take a look -- it's located right in the corner by the tear duct. This small third eyelid is left over from what's known as a "nictitating membrane," which is still present in full form in some animals including chickens, lizards and sharks.

9. Body hair
No doubt we were once hairier. Up until about 3 million years ago, we were covered with body hair. But by the time Homo erectus arrived, the ability to sweat meant we could shed our woolly ways.

8. Sinuses
Doctors don't really know much about sinuses -- only that we have a lot of them. Possibilities for their function range from insulating our eyes to changing the pitch and tone of our voice.

7. Adenoids
Adenoids trap bacteria, but they're also prone to swelling and infection. Just ask any 7-year-old. Luckily, our adenoids shrink with age and are often removed, along with ...

6. Tonsils
Also prone to swelling and infection. If you still have them when you reach your 30's, it's almost an accomplishment.

5. Coccyx
More useful as a game-winning Scrabble word than as part of the anatomy, the coccyx or tailbone, is made up of several fused vertebrae left over from the olden days when we had tails.

4. Arrector pili
When we were hairier (see No. 9), the arrector pili made the hairs stand on end when we needed to appear bigger and scarier. Now, it just gives us goose bumps.

3. Wisdom teeth
Back in the day, when we ate mammoth meat off the bone and didn't floss afterward, our teeth tended to fall out. Therefore, when those reserve molars, aka "wisdom teeth," came in, they were welcomed. Nowadays, fluoride and dental plans have made them just a huge pain.

2. Appendix
Darwin claimed the appendix was useful for digestion during our early plant-eating years; it's dwindled down to little since we started eating more digestible foods.

1. Male nipples
Because, why?

What is "In three pieces", Alex?

Catagory: The current state of my laptop and mood

Needless to say I won't be posting until I resolve this situation. As of now I'm working off of Kojak's laptop.

More later...

Into the abyss

18 years ago today my mom was killed in a car accident somewhere around 9pm. She was 44 years old. She left behind two daughters, a son, a husband that loved her more than life, a mother and numerous friends. I was 11, my sister was 14 and my brother was 18.

I was going to write a lengthy post about how her death ruined impacted the family. How a disabled man was left to raise two young daughters on his own. The absolute disbelief and horror that washed across his face when the police officers came to our front door to deliver the news. What it’s like as a little girl to see your mother laying in a open but veil covered casket because of the severity of her injuries. How odd and cold her fingers felt when I slipped my hand beneath the veil to touch her one last time. To hear your father weep and cry out your mothers name in his sleep. The psychiatric problems associated with losing a parent violently and suddenly at such a formidable age. The regret you carry when the last words you speak to a mother that is minutes away from being killed are hateful and nasty. How it feels to never be able to look her in the eyes and say “I’m so sorry”. To dream about her crying. What it’s like to have to discuss as a young girl your first period, the difference between tampons and pads, and every other “mommy - daughter” conversation you can imagine, with your dad. How it feels to watch a sister spiral down into an abyss of alcoholism from childhood to adulthood- the same abyss that swallowed your mother.

I was going to explain in depth and detail all of the above and so much more. Most importantly, I was going to explain how it all could have been avoided had she just not gotten behind the wheel drunk.

But here’s the thing, I’m not going to go into the depth and detail of any of it any more than I already have (please hold your applause). I’d rather go back to bed.

HSN, you get an “A”- for asinine!

Have you ever watched the Home Shopping Network or the QVC channel? You know, they’re those channels where they peddle carnie crap. I watched it the other night and sat there utterly astonished, I couldn’t take my eyes off of the tv. Not because I was enthused by or excited to know more about the products I saw, but because it’s the butt ugliest, tackiest crap I have ever seen in my life! I’ve wracked my brain for days yet still have no idea where they find these clothes or the jewelry. Carnival dumpster was the only location that made any real sense.

I was completely floored when I heard the host describing these items. They used words like "awe struck", "awe inspiring", "amazing" and "vibrant" I almost fell out of my chair when they described these carnival prize throwbacks as "beautiful" and "stunning"! Who writes this lie laden shit!? If you haven’t witnessed the atrocity to fashion that is HSN or QVC, trust me when I tell you folks, nothing that I saw on those channels would come close to any of those descriptions. Well, I take that back. I was “awe struck”. Awe struck that my IQ dropped 50 points when watching that crap!

I found myself wondering (out loud), where in the hell do they find the asshats who host these shows? They have to be the pathetic background extras that make up every film currently coming out of Hollywood and Bollywood. Speaking of extras! There was a guy on the other night that had a 900 year old live (I use that term loosely of course) caller on the air gushing all over him. He was so excited because the caller had seen him in a movie. I thought “Wow! Maybe this guy really IS somebody! He must have a pretty extensive background you know, a broad portfolio in the world of acting” Ummmm, yeah, not so much. He couldn’t even remember the movie he was in! He stood there with a stupid look on his face mumbling and fumbling for words. It’s great television when these call ins make the hosts deviate from the script and they actually have to think. You begin to see their real personality (or lack of) slip through. All of a sudden he exclaims the name of the movie, but here’s the funny and oh so predictable part- he WAS an extra, perched on a street corner looking idiotic! Point made.

So they stand there, describing in detail each piece of hideous crap, making you think that this intestinal bile is not only the latest and greatest that you simply can not live without but also what all of the top models and stars are wearing- insinuating that you will be shunned by high society if you don’t immediately add it to your growing collection of HSN/QVC crap. Seriously, polls indicate that homeless people wouldn’t even consider wearing this trash. In January. In the artic circle.

A few sleepless nights ago they were selling sheets thrown on a bed that looked like a 5 year old made it. These were some of the most visually repugnant sheets and pillow cases that I have ever had my eyes assaulted by. They spent 20 minutes telling the viewing audience how gorgeous they were. You know what? They were selling them by the dozens! Who buys this stuff you ask? I found the answer to that burning question when I heard each of the callers. My extensive research watching these two channels for hours on end, mutilating my brain to bring you this review reaped the answer; everybody in the demographic of oh, I don’t know, 2 days older than Christ.

Each evening I found myself wandering back to these channels. I watched as one would if they’d stumbled upon a train wreak or multi car pile up. They had on what they called "panties". That word- "panties", it evokes images of "cute", "sexy", "pretty". The word "panties" is in no shape, way, or form synonymous with the words "size 300X". These weren’t panties, they were parachutes with leg holes cut in them! Oh, and to the host presenting the gargantuan “panties”, thanks for turning them inside out and rubbing your hand all over the 2 foot long crotch to emphasize the "breathable cotton"- that was an image stained so deep into my retinas bleach won‘t take it out. Honey, whatever ass you shove into those isn’t going to be breathing. In fact I wouldn’t hesitate to say, the crotch that will be buying those ain’t seen fresh air in a looooong time!

How can I sum this tragedy up? Ah yes! Now, on to the models. These poor women can only be described as rejects from the “Special” Miss America Padgett (minus the helmets). They have the creepiest, “I kick puppies for fun” smiles plastered across their wax like faces, all the while modeling clothing and jewelry that they wouldn’t be caught dead behind a dumpster wearing. They blink their mascara encrusted eyes in slow motion, move in slow motion, and turn in slow motion. Based on their movement, I can only assume that they have to heavily drug these pitiable women to actually get them in the clothes. I found myself wanting to yell at the television “Hey! Move your ass so we can get this crap over!” The sad thing about is, when it was finally over, I just couldn’t wait to watch the horror unfold the next night!

I’m thinking about filing a lawsuit against HSN. I want my 6 hours back!

Being an asshole can be expensive

Just ask the asshole that owns the car in the below picture. That’s not a “Congratulations! You’ve won the sweepstakes!” notice placed beneath his windshield wiper.

It’s a ticket, for $250.00.

Why did he get a ticket for $250.00 and what qualifies him as an asshole you ask? Because he’s parked in a handicap parking space but doesn’t have a permit. How many disabled people go to Wal-Mart at 3am (the time he was ticketed)? Well, one that I know of, my dad. My father is disabled and 9 times out of 10 he goes to stores late at night so he doesn’t have to wait in long lines or fight for parking. So some asshole like the above mentioned comes along, figures it’s 3am, who’s gonna care? I do and apparently so does the cop that wrote him the ticket. Had my dad gone to the store that idiot would have made him walk an additional 15 feet. Now that might not mean much to you or me- being able bodied, but it means a hell of a lot to someone who walks with two canes, has braces on both legs and fights (all the while, being grateful!) for every step he takes.

So in short he got a ticket for being a lazy, inconsiderate, dickhole. Ya know what? That sorry sack of crap is lucky, that parking space cost him $250.00, it cost my father a broken spine.

Yeah, I'm here

So, Latté was all like “Hey man, you need to update your blog” and I was all like “Yeah but it’s so much more fun to hang around and harass you on yours. Plus, you have way more interesting stuff going on over here.” Then she was all like “Look, I’ve tried being polite about this but here’s the thing- It’s closing time. You don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here.”

Okay, so none of that really happened. But it was an exchange I’d imagine could have happened. Plus, it helped me start a new post.

Kojak is starting a blog. Actually, I’m starting a blog for Kojak as he has no real ‘net experience. In fact the only real computer experience he has is on the laptop in his cruiser when he's running your tag deciding whether or not you‘re going to go to jail for that hooker you locked in your trunk who managed to pop out your tail light and wave for help (or does that only happen to Dyck?). So as he patrols the city hopefully he will post about some of the funny shit he runs across or at least rant about that Mr. Ed fucked Tammy Baker lookin’ reject of a soon to be ex-wife of his.

His link is over in my sidebar (Glock N’ Cuffs) but I’m not going to officially start whoring his blog out until the template/design is done and he’s ready to start posting.

So there, I posted.

Because it’s gratis and it’s poop. It’s gratis poop!

Okay dear reader I’m offering you, yes you, a challenge. Because lets face it, I’m just to fucking lazy busy to squeeze something creative out.

I MUST have Gratis Poop!!!

But I want, nay, need your help…

So the folks over at I Love Chicken Poop.com are giving away free Poop. I love their Poop, especially because of the prospect of it being free and the reality of me being poor. They are having a contest called "Compete For Poop!!". Basically the competition consists of sending in a clever picture of yourself, friends, family, pets, etc... with a Chicken Poop product. They will in turn post the best picture (mine), pick a winner (me) and send (me) free Poop.

I only have my Chicken Poop Tee to work with as I can’t find my G’damned Chicken Poop Chapstick anywhere!

Here’s where you come in. As previously mentioned, I’ve not been feeling terribly creative lately so I’m asking all two of my devoted readers to help me decide what kind of ingenious (winning) picture I should submit. Please keep idiotic suggestions to yourself as they only make us both look stupid- you for coming up with it and me for actually considering it.

If I win because of your suggestion, I will send you a very nice thank you card and um….., be like appreciative and stuff?

So could you please help me out already?

Who the hell is that and do I really care!?

I hate it when I go to a blog and the author says something like “So Sarah and I killed the guy, dug a deep hole in the backyard and proceeded to make sweet, sweet love a top the shallow grave!”. The first thing that comes to my mind is “Who the fuck is Sarah!? Your homicidal BFF, a coworker, some hooker you picked up last week and made a major connection with, your dog?” (the latter certainly being the most entertaining and interesting an idea). This elusive example sucks for the reader because as the reader you‘re stuck trying to figure out who the fuck Sarah is and whether or not you care.

But I also hate going to blogs and seeing the author say “So Sarah (my dog) and I killed the guy, then (my dog) Sarah and I dug a deep hole in the backyard and Sarah (Sarah’s my dog) and I proceeded to make sweet, sweet love a top the shallow grave!” This redundant example sucks for the author and the reader. The author feeling the need to annoy the shit out of their readers by constantly reiterating who Sarah is and the reader being made to feel like they ride the short bus by having constantly been reminded.

Some blog author’s wouldn’t give a shit if you knew who “Sarah” was. They’d figure “If these assholes want to know who Sarah is and how Sarah fits in my life, they’ll stick around and hope I post more information that will bring Sarah’s role in my life to light.” That strikes me as rather selfish. How do you decipher who the characters are when you’re not an “every day” reader. How does the author fill the reader in without being superfluous? Where’s the happy middle ground for authors not wanting to repeat themselves and readers not wanting to read authors repeating themselves?

I’d think the happy middle ground is in a post like this (as mentally challenged as it may seem) being permanently linked somewhere handicap accessible on the page…

Who The Hell Is She Talking About!?

The people I occasionally reference in my posts…

D- Some poor idiot I duped into marrying me 12 years ago
Dad- I won’t assume my readers are so stupid that they can’t figure this one out
Kojak (or The Cop or Officer Hottie)- My BFF
Tabby (or Ms. T)- My other BFF
George (or Whore-Hey)- My EX!!!! douchebag therapist
Krazy K- My psychotic, neurotic, alcoholic sister
Pitiful J- My lazy ass, pot head, half brother
Fat Nasty (or MIL)- Mother In Law (duh!)
The Harpy (or SIL)- Sister In Law (see above)

So the next time you find yourself asking “Who the hell is she talking about!?” There you have it.

I’d have cried if I thought it’d do any good

The other day was off to a fan-fucking-tastic start! Let me tell you all about it...

So, I get to sleep around 6am only to be ripped awake by my dog freaking the hell out at 7. I woke with such a start I scared the hell out of the cat who was sleeping peacefully on my left leg. Said fear drove said cat into attempting to not so surgically remove my leg. The dog only goes this nuts when someone is trying to come on the property without introductions. So I throw on a robe ignoring my bloody stump of a leg and stomp outside with the intention of shredding the fucker that has my dog going insane at 7am and who is now in my mind responsible for my leg getting torn to hell. What do I find? Cujo….in the driveway……attempting to kill the neighbors cat. My dog, who loves my (INDOOR ONLY) kitties and is fiercely protective over them. So naturally I yelled “WTF!!!!!!!”, he spun around with a shocked look on his fat doggie face and yelled back “OH SHIT!!!!” and then proceeded to take off running.

Now let me just say, I’ve been doing rescue and rehab for way too many years to have this kind of bullshit go down on my property. Everyone gets along or there’s hell (in Aza form) to pay. I immediately went to aid kitty who was pretty fucked up by the whole experience. The entire time all I could muster for rational thought aside from veterinary first aid was “What the fuck was that dog thinking!?!? He knows better!!!”. He had retreated to his run which I promptly locked him in (for his safety). I gave the cat some water and came back inside to tell Dad what was going on and call D for secondary advice.

What did I get from these two mental giants? Dad: “Well since the dog is locked up the cat will go home right?” Me: “Dad, it would appear from her breathing that the cat has at least two broken ribs, maybe a punctured lung and is in general pretty fucked up from what I can tell without being at the clinic”. Dad: “I’m not sure what to do, you worked at a vet so you know what to do right?” Me: “This is fucking ridiculous! That damn dog!!!”

I called D. Me: “You’re not going to believe what the fucking dog did!!! Blah, blah, blah -insert story here-. And so now I don’t know what to do. I don’t know who the cat belongs to, she is not critical so I don’t see rushing to the E.R. clinic (plus, I don’t trust the sorry sack of skin on call there this morning) but she needs a vet, D. What the fuck was he thinking!? We have baby KFC refugees* running the property that he hasn’t so much as looked at twice. He’s great with our kitties!” D: “Hon, all I can suggest is you wait for the regular vet to open and take her in.” Me: “I refuse to bring this cat inside. I don’t know her health and I’ll be damned if I risk our kitties with FeLV or FIV (two of which are FeLV positive as it is).” D: “Well, you’re going to have to figure something out, I’ve got to go back to work.” Me: “This is fucking ridiculous! That damn dog!!!”

As I’m going back outside I decided to put her in a large carrier, wait for the vet to open and take her in. When I get back around to the driveway I see her at the front of the property jumping the fence heading back in the direction that I can only guess she lives.

So then the neighbors dogs who run the streets because those white trash fuckers next door have no regard for the leash law, their animals safety, etc. etc. etc. chase the cat under my car. Well this sends me over the fucking top. I’ve not gotten any decent sleep in days, my leg is encrusted with a pint of dried blood, my dog is an idiot and my dad and D at this point aren’t far behind the dog in my opinion. So I chased the neighbors dogs off; while doing so, kitty disappeared. The whole situation had me so mad I was ready to start at the beginning of the street knocking on doors and beating the ever loving shit out of anyone who answered while lecturing them on the importance on indoor kitties, fully fenced property for roaming dogs, leash laws that apply to both dogs and cats and overall respect for the neighbors who take proper care of their pets and are in general, not white trash.

I came back inside, took half a Klonopin to avoid an impending panic attack which also pissed me off because I haven’t taken one in weeks now. I sit down, take a deep breath and try to relax. I have to go to work today. It’s over, I’m going to nurse my frayed nerves and try to get a few more hours sleep. Then I hear a boom in the distance. A boom that sounds just like a power transformer blowing up. I sat back and started to laugh- seconds later, the power goes out. Now I can’t go back to sleep even if I was calm enough and wanted to because the alarm has a dead back up battery.

The power came back on pretty quick so then I sat there wondering- What’s next?

And then a bunch of other stupid crap happened and stuff. And I'm still a week later worried sick about the kitty.

You're a bad dog!!!

* The “KFC refugees” are a flock of baby chickens that magically appeared out of nowhere. One day a few weeks back I walked out to the garden and there they were. So naturally I granted them political asylum, went to the feed and grain store and bought them food. FEMA apparently doesn’t give a shit about refugee chickens.

101 reasons I am the coolest person that ever lived

1/ You can call me at 11pm on a Monday night and tell me that your wife (my coworker) is in the Navy E.R. and I will haul ass to get to her and in getting to her I will inconvenience a very close friend who happens to be a member of a local police dept. to get me on base (who I still can‘t thank enough!).

2/ I will drill your wife’s doctors with my limited medical knowledge to make certain she is top priority and well taken care of.

3/ I will hold her hair out of her face while she projectile vomits.

4/ I will work her shifts as well as my own.

5/ I will buy her really expensive flowers and make everyone at work chip in.

6/ I will show you my boobies if you’re having a bad day. Okay, so I’m kidding on that one! (or am I?)

7/ You can call me from North Carolina while I’m at work after you’ve had an appendectomy freaking the fuck out and ask me to go back to the fucking navy E.R. because your husband broke his leg and has no one in the city to help take care of him until a family friend can make it up from Orlando.

8/ I will throw out my fucking back by assisting the staff at said hospital in splinting your husbands leg.

9/ I will not look at your husbands package while said procedure is taking place.

10/ I will consult with your and his surgeons to make sure they know someone who knows what the hell is going on is keeping an eye on things.

11/ I will do all of the above while incredibly ill but you won‘t know it.

12/ I will punch you in the fucking head if you say one word about me smoking again because of all the stress I‘m under. Okay, so that one doesn’t make me cool.

13/ I will fix your husbands IV lines all 800 times the fucking alarm on the machine goes off.

14/ I will make sure that you and your spouse get only the best drugs during your respective stays at the hospital.

15/ I will do all of the above and more with a smile on my face and will not tell you how stressed I am, how sick I’ve been or cry in front of you.


This is going to be longwinded and boring so you might as well just skip it. I sure as hell wish I could have.

Okay so basically the story goes like this…Monday afternoon one of my coworkers (Military Wife- some of you may recall her from prior posts) calls me and asks if I’ll cover her shift- she feels really bad and wants to go home. Sure, no problem…I‘m here to help. Monday night around 11pm her husband calls and tells me she is in the Navy E.R. with severe abdominal pain. She sent him home earlier in the afternoon but asked him to call me so I could tell everyone at work she probably wouldn’t be coming in the next day. Something in my gut twists. I have a feeling the “abdominal pain” is a much larger problem than “Oh, I’m just crampy”. The fact that she’s on a morphine drip later confirms this. I asked him if I could get on base since she was there alone and he said probably not. I convey to a friend what’s going on and that I have to get on base. Said friend calms me the hell down, meets me at the base and is able to get me to her in the E.R. I sit with her, talk to her doctors, make sure they keep her drugged because she is in intense pain and try to keep an eye on things as they perform multiple tests to diagnose what‘s going on.

By 5:30 Tuesday morning it’s official she has and appendicitis and needs to go to surgery. I went outside, called her husband, told him to get back to the hospital so she can get prepped for surgery. At 6:30am I leave assuring her I’ll get everything squared away at work. Later that evening after her surgery I get into a minor fender bender (said law enforcement friend to the rescue AGAIN!) while on my way to take her flowers and food (because the universe not only wants to fuck with me but wants to fuck with my car too).

Wednesday she is released from the hospital and leaves town to go to North Carolina with her mom (a trip they’d planned months before). At this point I am smoking again so I decided to start the Chantix again which ends up making me deathly ill (I should have started at .05mg but I started at 1mg. Yes, I am a dumbass). That day I schedule a doctors appointment for Thursday at 11am since I’m sick as hell because of the Chantix. Still I want to take it because I want to quit smoking again and it works.

Thursday, I’m due at my doctors appointment at 11am and work by 1pm. So along comes Thursday afternoon. I’d taken promethazine the night before to stop puking my guts up so naturally I missed my fucking 11am appointment. They tell me they can get me in at 3, I tell them I’ll be at work, they tell me the soonest they can see me after is sometime next week. What the fuck ever! I am NOT going to be this sick for another 4 or 5 days. I went to work at 1 and saw that we were overstaffed. So I tell my Pharmacist that I’m going to take an extended lunch, drive across the fucking city during the start of rush hour to get to my doctors appointment. I get back at 4:30 feeling like crap with a hand full of scripts from my doc and am ready to get back to work, finish my day and go home. Could it have possibly been that easy? Hell no! Of course not, this is me were talking about here!

One of the kids I’m training shouts across the pharmacy “Aza, you’ve got a call on 101 and it doesn’t sound good!” I answered the phone and it was Military Wife in hysterics. I say “MW, calm down and tell me what’s going on.” She then proceeds to tell me she’s in excruciating pain from the appendectomy, she’s in North Carolina, she’s allergic to the pain meds and I have to go back to the Naval E.R. “RIGHT NOW!!!!” All I could muster for a response at that point was “Ummm, what?” she responds hysterically with “My husband broke his fucking leg and there’s no one to help him but you until I can get my friend from Orlando to come!”.

At this point my eyes were brimming as I looked over at my Rph and shook my head. I told her I’d take care of it and hung up. Sooooo, half an hour later (around 6:30ish) I’m pulling into the E.R. parking lot. I get in, get things dealt with, update MW and wait for the friend from Orlando to come. During my wait a nurse walks in and asks him one of the most retarded questions I’ve ever heard in my life- “So, how’s your pain level between 1 and 10, 10 being the worst pain you’ve ever experienced?” I sat there staring at her for a moment trying to digest what I’d just heard and whether or not I’d heard it correctly. Finally I said “Uh, both bones in his left leg are broken and at the break they splintered into 4 or 5 pieces. I’d have to say, and MW Husband please correct me if I’m wrong here, that his pain level is at about a ’Fuck This!‘. Does that sound about right MW Husband?” he nodded, she stomped out of the room to go get more meds.

10pm rolls around, my lower back and shoulders are killing me, I’ve assisted in splinting his leg, have dealt with his fucked up IV lines, yelled at a bunch of fucking incompetent people, am covered in plaster and am praying I can make it out of there without injuring anyone. The friend from Orlando finally walks in the room MW’s husband is set up in for the night. I explain to her everything that’s happening- what time he’s going in for surgery the next day blah, blah, blah, blah…..ad infinitum.

I come home totally emotionally exhausted and feeling completely numb. I’ve not slept more than a few hours in 4 days, I’m sick and I’ve been pulled in a thousand directions at once. So I lay in bed and stare at the ceiling, play around on my cell and try to get my brain to shut down. I don’t actually get to sleep until around 10:30am this morning because as tired as I was I just couldn’t shut down- then I’m back up by noon after being jarred awake by a storm of nightmares and I’m running again. His surgery didn’t go as well as planned and he now has a shit load of new hardware in his leg but at least he made it through and is in recovery.

My plans for tomorrow? I’m going to go to work, come home, try to exist in peace and maybe, just maybe go to the gym. Or kick the ever loving shit out of the first fucking person that looks at me wrong. I’m still undecided.

I fell off the wagon at a party and started a bar fight all in less than a week...

So I gave the Marlboro Man a lap dance. Yep I smoked a couple cigarettes at a party last weekend. They were the first cigarettes I’ve smoked since January 4th. I’ve been asked “So Aza did they taste like shit?” my response- “Actually, I think my mouth had an orgasm”. Yep, they were good, really good. I was surprised the day after when I had no desire to go out and buy a pack. Yeah, I still crave- I’ve had cravings since January 4th but the cravings were no more intense after the party than they were three months ago. Am I going to beat myself up about it…nope. Sure, I can hear it now “But Aza, you beat yourself up about everything you do- how could you not beat yourself up about it?” All I can say to that is, “Smoking a couple cigarettes is probably one of the least sinful, humiliating, bad, naughty and/or stupid things I did that night.*”

As for the bar fight….have you ever gone to a bar and seen someone who had “Please fuck with me” written all over their face? Yeah, a few nights ago while sitting at the bar with D and some friends it happened. There I am, minding my own damn business enjoying the company when "it" stumbles up to the bar and begins to annoy the holy shit out of everyone. Long story short, as soon as I laid eyes on “skanky hooker chick” who had “Please fuck with me” written on her forehead, I obliged. I mean what was I supposed to do? A drunk skank is falling all over the bar begging me to ruin her night. I was up for some fun and ready to add a little spice to the evening. Plus, nothing quite says to your friends “Hey, thanks for inviting us out!” like starting shit with a bar hoe.

So blah, blah, blah- I screwed with her sister, her sister’s boyfriend, her boyfriend and her. I got a little in fighting going between them then set in to my objective- getting that nasty bitch tossed from the bar. The conclusion consisted of me acting mad at her boyfriend for hitting on me to royally piss her off which in turn would cause her to shoot her mouth off getting her tossed. Therefore I dubbed my mission: “Skank Eject”.

I stand before you today and hereby declare my mission: Accomplished!

Here’s a tip for all you bar patrons out there…Don’t go to the bar/club, get shit faced, show your ass and NOT expect someone like me to come along and wreak your evening. I target stupid people (it’s a hobby) and dedicate as much time to screwing with them as possible.

Oh and if you’re thinking of inviting me to a party- Please don’t encourage my nasty (EX) smoking habit (regardless of how persuasive my begging is) and fully expect me to end up naked in your neighbors swimming pool. Not because I’m drunk- but because I’m not right in the head and I‘ll do damn near anything to amuse myself.

I think I’m beginning to epitomize the term “White Trash” (or "psychotic"- the jury is still out on that one).

(* or wanted (wink, wink) to do that night!!!)

Early morning conversations...

After reading the supportive comments below, eating copious amounts of pills, random bawling spells, a touch of retail therapy and sleeping a lot….I’m feeling a bit better. Many thanks to the well wishers (and the manufactures of Klonopin, Zoloft and valerian). Sometimes rescue can be a real kick in the junk (especially when you work with animals that are already compromised)!

Oh, and yes, I’d be happy to adopt a little (but mighty) Dyck- assuming he‘s house trained.

And now I think I’d like to share a moment of retardation in the Aza household…

3am…

He says (while violently flipping the bathroom light switch): “Hey, I think the switch is broken!”

I say: It’s 3am leave it alone until tomorrow.

He says (while stomping into the bedroom to go to bed): “Damn switch”

9am…

I say to myself (while walking into the bathroom): *sigh* “I’m going to be so pissed if I have to replace that switch!”

I say to myself (while flipping said switch on and off once and going pee): “1- go to the hardware store and purchase a new switch. 2- cut main breaker. 3- replace switch. 4- triple check connections for safety. 5- turn main breaker back on. 6- and then there was light!"

I say to myself (while grimacing at my morning breath and walking into the kitchen): “Yeah, seems simple enough but you’ve got to account for Murphy.”

I say to myself (while searching for and finding a light bulb in the cleaning supply cabinet): *sigh* “Yep, Murphy’s law…when something goes wrong in this house it’s never a simple fix. Maybe I should buy extra stuff while I‘m at the hardware store.”

I say to myself (while changing the bathroom light bulb): “And corn for the squirrel feeders outside.”

I say to myself (while flipping the switch): “Oh! I can check the new herbs they’re getting in for my herb garden…this year that garden is gonna rock! I think I’ll start a strawberry bed too.”

I say to myself (as the light turns on): “Then again I could always go back to bed and gloat.....Heh, screw you Murphy!”

I say (now back in bed): “Hey ding-dong, there’s nothing wrong with the switch- the light bulb had blown”

He says: “*grumble*” (something unintelligible)

I say to myself (while rolling over to watch T.V.): “I sure am altruistic, considering I married a retard and all.”