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!

A sad day for comedy indeed

Comedian George Carlin dies in Los Angeles at 71






http://news.yahoo.com/s/nm/20080623/us_nm/carlin_dc

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.

Have you seen these?

Only something this stupid could be so popular. What’s next, fake vaginas glued to the back of station wagons?


Let me start this by saying, if you have these on your vehicle- please stop reading now. You are an idiot and my blog is anti-you.

That being said, you may be asking yourself, "Wouldn’t someone be ashamed of themselves driving around town sporting a set of tea bags swinging from their bumper?" The answer is a resounding NO. People with these on their vehicles are too stupid to be ashamed of themselves. Your initial reaction may be to try to reason with these inept individuals. Don’t waste your time, you might as well forego even attempting to explain to them why putting fake testicles on their truck is so incredibly mentally defunct. People with truck nuts are just begging for an intervention. It is up to you, good citizen, to intervene in the form of a flip-flop bitch slap as this is the only action that these idiots will comprehend.

These retarded “accessories” just scream, “I have an incredibly small penis and am desperate to draw attention away from the fact that I was horribly picked on in my junior high gym class. It’s so small people often mistake me for a woman when I disrobed. I am uneducated and am an embarrassment to my entire family. Did I mention my penis is a terrible disappointment both in size and capability?”

Looks like the only time I post is when I’m sick

Here was how today was supposed to go….


5:00am- Get D off to work and go to sleep
10:00am- Get up
10:15am- Get dad up
10:30am- Get a shower
11:00am- Grab a snack
11:15am- Get ready for Kojak’s award ceremony
12:00pm- Boondoggle around
12:30pm- Start bitching at dad to get in the car
1:00pm- Leave for the award ceremony
1:20pm- Arrive at award ceremony
1:30pm- Watch Kojak get award
2:00pm- Get some lunch with dad and Kojak before his shift starts
3:00pm- Drop dad off
3:30pm- Head to Kojak’s house to straighten up and get some laundry done (while harassing his cats) before his tattoo guy comes over Tuesday
6:00pm- Come home
6:30pm- Decide what everyone wants for dinner
7:30pm- Get started on dinner
9:00pm- Feed everyone
10:00pm- Get started on chores around the house
1:30am- Check email and watch a movie
4:30am- Get ready for bed
5:00am- Sleep




Here’s how it has gone thus far…


4:10am- Post on my blog while listening my tummy serenade “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap”
4:45am- Doze off feeling rather queasy
5:00am- D wakes me up as he’s getting ready for work. Feeling really queasy
6:00am- Sit bolt upright in bed. Bathroom, NOW!
6:15am- Lay back down, thank God it’s over
7:00am- Fall out of bed running for bathroom
7:15am- Lay back down, thank God it’s over
9:00am- Jump up and trip over cat running for bathroom
9:15am- Lay back down and pray to God that it’s over
10:00am- Tummy wakes me with odd noises
10:05am- More praying
10:10am- More praying
10:15am- Cat scratches the hell out of me when I jump up and run for the bathroom
10:30am- The cursing of the small bowel begins as prayers for it aren’t working
11:00am- Small bowel responds to said curses with a little curse of it’s own “Get to the bathroom, NOW!!!”
11:30am- Call Kojak
11:45am- Slam foot in cabinet while running to the bathroom
11:50am- Reset toe that is jammed up into my ankle
12:00pm- Kojak calls
12:15pm- It is decided that I will not be attending his award ceremony
12:30pm- Dad leaves alone for ceremony
12:45pm- Run from the living room to the bathroom destroying all in my way
12:50pm- Call D asking if he’s experiencing anything similar. Have to leave a voicemail
1:00pm- Kojak calls and I apologize for not attending. He says he’s had a similar tummy upset. I take comfort in knowing I’m not alone
1:30pm- Gingerly sip Boost
1:45pm- Decide to move into the bathroom as I’m sick of injuring myself running to it
2:00pm- Curse. A lot
2:20pm- Posting from my bathroom...

A little message I'd like to pass on to the IRS with my check...

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...

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.

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.

Year of the infant

How many people in my world would I just love to ask “Could you take a moment out of you busy schedule to grow the fuck up?” There are way too many “adults” consistently acting like selfish children. Don’t get me wrong here, I know selfish- I helped write the definition of the word. I’m no stranger to the word childish either (I think my blog exemplifies this). Judge not….yeah, yeah, yeah…I make no qualms about acting like a 5 year old. My point here is the consistent nature of if. This shit isn’t a weekend behavior for them, it’s a fucking lifestyle!

Oyez, people! This is becoming laughably stupid! You’d think the definitions of the words themselves would be easy enough for the average “adult” to understand. However, putting the definition of “Adult” to work and “Child” to bed seems a very difficult task for some. Here, let’s take a look…

“Adult”

a·dult
(plural a·dults)

n
1. fully grown life form: a fully mature person, animal, plant, or other form of life
2. somebody legally adult: somebody who has reached the age of legal majority, generally 18 years of age in the United States

adj
1. completely grown: fully developed and mature
an adult male
adult life
2. for somebody mature: involving, relating to, or meant for mature people
adult education
3. unsuitable for children: considered unsuitable for young people because of pornography, violence, or sexually explicit language

[Mid-16th century. <>




“Child”

child [chīld]
(plural chil·dren)

n
1. young human being: a young human being between birth and puberty
2. human offspring: a son or daughter of human parents
3. somebody not yet of age: somebody under a legally specified age who is considered not to be legally responsible for his or her actions
4. baby: a baby or infant
5. unborn baby: a baby that has not yet been born
6. immature adult: an adult who is regarded as behaving in a childish or inappropriately childlike way
7. product or result: somebody or something considered to be either produced or strongly influenced by a particular environment, period, or historical figure
a child of nature
a child of the 1960s
8. descendant or member of people: a descendant of somebody, or a member of a people with a common ancestor or geographic origin (often used in the plural)
children of Abraham

[ Old English cild ]
with child pregnant (archaic or literary)


That doesn’t seem so complex does it, or did I miss something? Don’t take my (or Webster's) word for it- this shit is biblical people! And you don’t have to be a Christian to see it, comprehend it and agree with it. Seriously, I shit you not! It’s in Corinthians dead smack in the middle of the biblical definition of the word “Love“ (another rant for another time)…here’s what it says…

“ ……When I was a child, I used to speak like a child, think like a child, reason like a child; when I became a man, I did away with childish things….”

"I did away with childish things"! I didn’t write that! It’s an age old concept- God says so!

So why is it so hard for friends, family and coworkers to put adulthood to practice? Because it’s easier to make the world miserable with you while you throw your stupid waste of time tantrums day in and day out. Misery truly does love company.

I can see looking to adopt childlike qualities but there’s a big damn difference between “childlike” and “childish”. I can’t be the only person in my world that owns a dictionary and has a desire wear her big girl pants occasionally….can I?

My recommendation to these people? Start a fucking blog and throw your little tantrums there- bitch till your little heart’s content! Then, (and I can't possibly stress this enough) walk away from it! You’ll be saving everyone in your world a lot of time, heartache and unnecessary drama.

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.

An open letter to a dickhole

Dear **dickhole *cop,

Do you think D is stupid? I mean, he may come off as a total ding-bat but trust me he’s way smarter than he looks. Which leads me to… he knows he didn’t get that ticket this morning because he left his keys in the car at the donut shop. He got that ticket because he got in your fucking douche bag way. Here’s how his morning routine works.

1- He gets up after I kick the shit out of him right around the 300th time the snooze alarm goes off.
2- He bathes, dresses and gets ready for work.
3- He warms up the decrepit piece of shit we lovingly call “the second car” (I usually refer to it as the “Flintstone mobile”).

~Addendum Numero Uno~
D’s car is a 1990 Ford Escort Hatchback (yes, you read that right). Its paint is peeling, it has been through a tornado- seriously, it has over a zillion miles on it, it runs on prayer and is in general every goddamn car thieves wet dream. I know those sonsofbitches take one look at this car and get a little hard with envy.

4- He drives directly to Dunkin’ Donuts to get his morning barrel of piping hot Joe infused with extra cream, 10 pounds of sugar and a near lethal dose of caffeine.
5- He proceeds to drive across the city to work.

Now, after reading the above process I’m sure you see where you fit in and fucked up D‘s morning routine. That’s right! Between steps 4 and 5. So here’s how I’m assuming YOUR morning starts off …

1- You get up, look in the mirror and see a giant douche bag staring back at you.
2- You ram insert a fresh corncob up your ass with vigor and pride.
3- You go to work in a very bad mood because women flee and or laugh at the sight/thought of your penis.
4- You take your bad mood out on the first person you see in the form of a ticket for the most retarded fucking thing you can think of.
5- Immediately thereafter you jack off (hard) to your ability to be the biggest prick best cop in town by keeping our streets safe from vicious, dangerous, predators….you know, all those sorry assholes who leave their keys in their piece of shit jalopies! After all, they are such a danger to society!

~Addendum Numero Dos~
I don’t feel addendum numero uno got this through clearly- I just really can’t stress the following points enough: A- It’s a Flintstone Mobile NOT a fucking Maserati. B- The vehicle was not left unattended running C- It was parked 10 feet away from its owner D- No children and or animals were left unattended and strapped in the backseat. E- If someone stole that sorry piece, they’d be doing us a favor. And F-The coffee shop knows what time D comes through and has the coffee ready the way he likes it. He runs in throws the money on the counter and runs out.

So lets be honest with each other- it wasn’t the keys in the car that got D that 75 dollar ticket making him late for work and putting him in a shitty mood that I‘m going to have to deal with. It wasn’t the corncob that’s shoved so far up your ass you’re constantly picking kernels out of your molars. You were pissed that D got in your way by parking at the front door, in your space and you got even more mad when he laughed at you. Plain, simple and best of all- honest. When you snarled at him “What are you laughing at?” did you bother to notice how nervous he was? Wringing his hands, shuffling his feet- he laughed because he was nervous you dumb fuck. And the sad thing is, it doesn’t take a fucking degree in body language to observe and conclude that.

Hold your head high today fucktard because when we go to court and I show the judge the car you ticketed for the keys being left in it and HE starts laughing- I guarantee, it won’t be nervous laughter. He’s going to look at you like the idiot asswipe that you are and he’s going to think the same thing we all thought- “You really are pathetic to ticket someone simply because they got in between you and your steaming hot cup of Joe and freshly baked Boston Cream.”

Sure, I’ll pay the $75 bucks because D is such a danger to society. Heh, 75 dollars, that’ll teach him!

Enclosed is a picture I took especially for you. Now I know they say a picture is worth a thousand words but I think this one pretty much sums it up in two…enjoy…

fucker.

Sincerely,
Saddened By What A Huge Douche Bag You Are.

**This dickhole is a true minority in my city. 99% of our police force consist of really great men and women (3 of which read my blog so they’re even cooler) just doing their job.**

*And to the cops who read my blog, please don’t take my rant personal. I certainly don’t mean to cast an ugly light down on everyone- just the one idiot who I’m sure even pisses his coworkers off.*

Are we enamored with the anus?

Crapping candy dispensers; a popular new holiday trend or have I been under the rock too long? As you know, I have an incredibly skewed and convoluted sense of humor so naturally, I intend to collect them all. That being said…

I found this in the grocery store this evening sitting among various Easter treats and goodies. If you’re a traditional Christian (which I‘m not), nothing says “Hey, thanks for dying horrifically for our sins and happy resurrection, Jesus” like a toy chicken shitting candy. Amazon has the whole farm animal set and they even provide the following product description…

Product Features

~Fun with incontinent farm animals!

~Set includes 4 candy creatures: Crazy Daisy the Pooping Cow, Porky Pooper the Pig, Hippy Chicky, and The Pooping Bull.

~Push down on the behind of the cow, pig, or bull to dispense brown jelly beans.

~The happy baby chicken is a wind-up toy that dispenses colorful candies from its posterior as it waddles along.

~Sorry, toiletries not included.

Now if that isn’t glamorizing the rectal misuse/abuse of farm animals, I don’t know what is.

If flavorful farm animal excrement doesn’t tickle your fanny fancy, how about the Christmas/Winter line; these dispensers exuberantly shout “Happy Birthday baby Jesus! We celebrate your birth by giving each other plastic Reindeer, Santa’s, Penguins, Polar Bear and Snowmen dumping out Holiday Cheer!” The advertising for these made sure to emphasize that these make “great stocking stuffers”!




Oh not clear enough for you? Well, this little perverted illustration should make the situation crystal. Really I ask, who needs to see a reindeer taking a 50mph Malt Ball projectile shit? Not me, I say! I was sold on the mental picture alone. But hey, thanks for putting it out there for me.

Who gets/gives these toys as gifts? Well, as I mentioned, I’m aiming to collect them all but tfg over at Assclownopolis got the jump on me by receiving the pooping sheep as a Christmas gift.

All of this leads one to wonder a few things

1. What’s next… plastic cats crapping Tootsie Rolls, guinea pigs pooping Milk Duds, rats excreting Rasinettes, dogs defecating mini Baby Ruth’s?

2. What must the countries manufacturing these little gems for the good ole US of A think of us? and

3. Are we inadvertently telling our children that eating something that comes out of the ass end of an animal is a positive thing? I predict the next generation’s psychological wellbeing going straight down the shitter- no pun intended. Then again, I made that prediction well before I knew about these little plastic gems.

He's My Favorite Boy

After being sick with a nasty case of the crud, taking critters to the vet, having a mini “break down” (hahaha "mini"), changing meds…AGAIN, almost quitting my job, finding out D is being transferred (AGAIN) and blah, blah, blah...All in a mere 7 day span.... Seriously. Here’s my little slice of heaven. I’d like to stay like this, with him, for the next six months.

This grainy cell phone picture captures the all too elusive yet intensely coveted “nap time” in the Aza household.