It Sucks

H3.2 has been wanting a Dyson DC15 "The Ball" vacuum for the past few months. He even changed his wallpaper on his work computer from a Corvette C6R race car to this vacuum. He was obsessed. Every store we visited he looked to see if they carried the vacuum, compares prices and features and generally just drooled over the fucking thing night and day. I'm pretty sure that's what he is thinking about when he's um.. ya know. It's a VACUUM for God's sake.

All of his friends have been harassing him about his lust for this damn thing. The derision has not deterred him one bit. Wednesday he was upset about his Corvette being in the shop and decided like any sensible gal that shopping with Teddy Bear would help his mood. He comes home with the vacuum at 10:00pm at night and proceeds to vacuum the whole living and dining room. I couldn't fucking believe it. Then he starts showing off various features to Teddy Bear. I just had to have a picture of this for future blackmail. H3.2 is the one holding the vacuum while Teddy Bear holds the canister up in the air.

Later, H3.2 spends some quality 69 time with his new found love. Chicken saw the picture below and said: "It looks like you're not his girlfriend anymore Mommy".

HNT Tattoo

Happy Half-Nekkid Thursday everyone!
See Osbasso for all the HNT pics you can stand!

Update:
I would have posted this before, but SOMEONE (H3.2) was hurrying me last night and I didn't have time. Of course, if you go through my comments you will notice that H3.2 already reported the following:

A) I'm a Pisces. The tattoo has nothing to do with astrology.

B) I'm wearing a bikini, not panties.

I got the tattoo in late 1994. When Chicken was little bitty and we used to shower together (a long time ago, don't be gross) he used to attempt to scrub off my tattoo. He couldn't understand why his Chuck E. Cheese tattoos came off but mine didn't. Poor kid. It frustrated the shit out of him!

Homework

This isn't original, but if you have school-aged children you'll laugh. Or cry. I promise. Chicken's teacher sent this home at the beginning of the school year, and I am quoting it so I am not liable for any grammar or addition errors. Although I did change a few uppercase letters to lower case letters because WHAT THE FUCK if you are going to send home something at least have it be written at a fourth grade level. You don't just capitalize words in the middle of the sentence for NO APPARENT REASON. Unless you're blogging, of course!

Explanation of Homework Policy

Students shouldn't spend more than 90 minutes per night on homework. This time should be budgeted in the following manner:

• 5 minutes looking for the assignment
• 11 minutes calling a friend for the assignment
• 23 minutes explaining how the teacher is mean and just doesn't like kids
• 8 minutes in the bathroom
• 10 minutes getting a snack
• 7 minutes checking the TV Guide
• 6 minutes telling parents that the teacher never explained the assignment
• 10 minutes sitting at the kitchen table waiting for Mom or Dad to do the assignment

Long Term Assignments
These are given the night before they are due, which explains the name "Long Term". It is a long-term commitment to time that begins at 9:30pm and ends around 11:50pm-or later. It is important that the whole family be involved. At least one person races to Walmart for poster board, and at least one family member ends up in tears (this does not have to be the student). One parent needs to stay up and complete the project. The other parent needs to call the school and leave a message that the student is out sick.

Author Unknown

I'm still upset at the hastily written nature of this funny poke at the reality of homework. I'm sure Mr/Mrs. Author Unknown could have spent say, 2 more minutes and created a masterpiece that flowed better and did not contain random capitalizations. Oh well, not everyone is as perfect as... ME!

Sidenote:
My mother was irritating me today, telling me that if I did not visit my father THIS weekend the sky was going to fall. Dad- you want me to visit at Christmas I'll be there. Mom- kiss my butt. So, the funny part? My mother said "Honey, do you want a facial? I'll treat!" I started laughing. She thought I was laughing at her and started to get her feelings hurt. I told her that recently I had learned another definition of facial and was just laughing to myself. She said: "OMG! I do NOT want to know".

Ha ha ha. I'm still chuckling. I know this picture is technically a bukkake, or to less vulgar readers a Christmas candle that has been burned down a bit. However, take a dance in my brain for a second. My mom says "Want a facial?" And I see this picture in my brain. Wouldn't you laugh?

*Click for a larger version.
** Thanks to Bastard Face for the picture!

The Hardest Thing

Okay people, here's another not funny post. I am sorry to dismay all you loyal readers looking for Chicken stories or penile adventures. This post is about something that happened in 1994 and is both the hardest thing I've ever encountered in my life and an illustration of my parents. For some of you, it will partially explain my feelings about both my mother and my father.

I'm not going to bore you with background details of this story, because I'd still be typing away on Thursday instead of celebrating HNT. I know the kind of grief I'd get from skipping HNT again! In the January of 1994 I was 19 years old, living on my own in an apartment and working full time managing a small retail store. I was having an on/off relationship with a guy (we'll call him JD) that I dated seriously in high school. I ended up pregnant.

Now I'm going to break my promise about background information, but it is relevant to the story. I had known several girls in high school that had gotten abortions. One of them I took to the clinic to have it done. I believed that abortion was a choice, and although some used it as birth control (BAD!!) I never felt strongly about it one way or another.

Back to January 1994. The instant the test came up positive I knew that I couldn't terminate this pregnancy. To me, this bundle of cells was a baby, created with someone that I loved at one time in my life. JD was freaked out. He wanted me to get an abortion NOW. I just couldn't do it. I also knew that I did not want to raise a child without a father at my age and with my salary. The child would live in perpetual child care, while I worked two jobs to make ends meet. I wanted more for this baby. So I decided to give it up for adoption.

Here's where my parents come into the story. When I was about 4 months along, I wrote my mother a letter telling her about the situation and my decision. I knew better than to call her and listen to her berate me. Weeks passed, and finally one day she called me and was very angry. She was pissed off that it was too late at that point to get an abortion, that I was taking away her grandchild, and that I would not give her the child to raise. I did not want any other child to experience the childhood that I did with my mother. My mother essentially banned me from her life until the end of my pregnancy. She never told her friends, her family or allowed me to come near her church. I was in labor in the hospital over 25 hours after my water broke, and she showed up to the hospital to see me only in the last few hours. She refused to hold my son when he was born, and did not allow my step-father to hold him either. The next day, before I gave up my son she finally came back to the hospital and held him. We never talk about him. Ever.

I was scared to tell my dad about my pregnancy. As he lived over an hour away, I was able to put off telling him for a long, long time. I was about 8 months along when I finally wrote him a letter. A couple of days later he called me. He had gone to the post office, picked up the letter, rushed home and called me that moment. He supported my decision and invited me to come visit him. When I got there, he took me to the VFW (his hangout) and took me around to see his buddies with my belly as big as a house. He wasn't ashamed of me, he never got mad at me. He just loved me and told me that I was doing the right thing. Thank you DAD!!

After I spent a day in the hospital with my son, I gave him to parents that I had selected from an adoption agency. They were wonderful people who had already adopted a girl that was five years old at the time. I became very close to them during my pregnancy, and they still update me with letters and pictures. Giving up my son was the hardest thing I ever had to do in my life, but I have never regretted it. His 11th birthday is this week.

Hard On!

Chicken was doing homework one evening and needed a definition of a particular word. H3.2 was on the computer, so he looked it up on one of those sites that will pronounce the word for you as well as provide the definition. The next thing I know, Chicken and H3.2 are sitting together cackling madly as the computer pronounced words for them over and over again.

Va-gi-na
A-nus
Breast
Nip-ple
Pe-nis

Nice. Just what I needed. Another day, Chicken, H3.2 and I were home and H3.2 said "hard-on". Holy Fuck. Chicken knows many words for penis, but we have not gotten into every permutation of the penis and erect penises. PLEASE! It is not necessary. So I told H3.2, you got yourself into this one, you explain it.

H3.2: Well, Chicken, you know when people are excited and they pump their arm into the air and say "RIGHT ON!" Some people do the same thing and say "HARD ON!"

I'm imagining my poor child going to school, answering a question correctly in class and shouting out "HARD ON!" I gave H3.2 the stink eye and he tried again.

H3.2: See this tv remote? It's rigid plastic. Now imagine it in my pants. That's a hard-on.

OMG! What in the fuck is he thinking? Poor Chicken is more confused than ever. I finally give up and take matters into my own hands.

Sam: Chicken, you know how sometimes your penis gets happy? That's a hard-on. The correct name is an erection. Please do not go to school and shout "hard-on", okay?

Just another day in the life...

Blogus Interuptus

Just wanted to check in and say "Hi, I'm still alive". More posts to come....

Friday News and Views

This post is a compilation of random conversations, thoughts and news. For all of you Chicken lovers out there, this next bit is for you:

Funny #1

You all know about H3.2's adventures with his Corvette. When I got done talking to him on Wednesday I explained the problems to Chicken.

Chicken: Well what about the banana law?

Sam: (trying not to fall on the floor laughing) It's the LEMON law baby. Lemons... they leave a sour taste in your mouth.

Chicken: Yeah, bananas aren't sour.

Funny #2

Chicken missed the school bus Thursday morning because his head was buried in a Party Lite catalog. For those of you that are not familiar with such a thing, think candles and candle holders. Random child. Very random. On the way to school, he had a few things to say:

Chicken: You know how in regular cafeterias you go up and order whatever you want? Like meat balls and spaghetti? What if one day you walked up, ordered noodles and turkey and corn and the cafeteria lady pulled up her shirt and gave you PORN instead of corn?

Sam: Ew. Gross, do you really want to see a cafeteria lady's boobs?

Chicken: (laughing) NO!!

Old Person Comment #1

Later during the ten minute car ride he says:

Chicken: You know the new kid that I have become friends with? Well, I'm not so sure about him anymore. He has this really competitive side to him.

I'm wondering at this point exactly how old this child is and where he came from... luckily we pull up at his school and I sent him off to another day in fourth grade.

News

My father is reading this blog!

What does this mean to you, dear reader and what of the fate of this vulgar blog? The blog isn't changing one bit. Since my dad is 700 miles away I don't get to see him as much as I want to, and although we email every day I wanted to give him a peek into my life and brain (or lack thereof). My dad is the one person that I am related to that I think really knows me. You know how your family usually knows a part of you, but not the whole deal? Because HOLY SHIT if they only knew they would have a heart attack and die RIGHT THEN AND THERE. Well I believe that my dad knows me, and he has loved me through thick and thin. Even when I have totally fucked up he has been there for me. So, to my Dad: Thank you and I love you. To my readers, "Gramps" is in our midst. He's a dirty old man so he should fit in quite nicely with the likes of you! No editing or censoring is needed. Have a great weekend, and I'll be posting more Sam's Stories soon.

Update

I am starting to get more damn spam on my blog. I do not want to turn off anonymous commenting because my buddy Cathi would not be able to comment, as well as other random people out there. I really hate that word verification crap, because for some reason it is really hard for my brain to process and I don't want to make anyone else go through that misery. What do I do?! Argh!!

HNT My Other Girl

Happy HNT everyone! Thanks to Osbasso, you all have another marvelous picture of "my girl". May I introduce you to "Mrs. Left". Carefully edited again to avoid any malfunctions. Since I blogged my ass off yesterday, no exciting stories for you this morning. I'll give you some time to read and catch up.

To Osbasso, you've read about my difficulties with life and such... To you I give a big "THANK YOU". For some reason, every Thursday morning I wake up feeling pretty damn good. I attribute this all to the excitement of HNT. You may think that you have started a blog craze about showing a little skin. For me, I can look forward to at least one day a week starting off on a high note (pun intended).

Pewp

I am feeling mighty good today. You might be able to guess that by the fact that this is post number three and I've already worked 1/2 day, taken care of Chicken plus I have another two appoinments tonight. I was chatting with H3.2 on AIM when he said "pewp", his secret code word for "I am going to take a shit now. I will message you from my Sidekick".

H3.2 loves his Sidekick when it is working. Hmmm... common theme. Loves his Corvette when it's working, loves me even though I'm not always functional... So here is the conversation, word for word including spelling errors due to typing on a tiny key pad whilst taking a shit.

H3.2: Pilot to bombadier, pilot to bombadier, we are aproaching the tartget.
bombadier: roger that, target is in sight, opening bombbay doors.
bombadier: bomb bay doors open captain
captain: release the bombs when ready
bombadier: dropping the first load captain,.... Everyyhing id on target, but things seem to be getting a bit messy
captain: roger that, prepair for a second pass
H3.2: Spray some enemies down with some machine gun fire, hold them down as we prepare for the second pass
Sam: LOL
Sam: can i post this?
H3.2: Bombadier: 2nd load ready to go captain, coming up on target and prepairing to drop the 2nd load
H3.2: Captain: drop when ready bombadier
H3.2: Bombadier: dropping second load, everything clean this time captain, destruction of target is a success, I repeat bombing was a success
Sam: please lemme blog this please
H3.2: Captain: roger that, get your boys to tidy up the bombbay and lets get heading home, great job guys, I'm going to put you all in for medals
H3.2: Yes
Sam: THANK YOU!!
H3.2: Time to tidy the bomb bay
H3.2: Sec

By the way, for those of you that don't instant message "sec" is short for "second" which is short for "hang on a second" which in this case means "I need to put down the phone and wipe my ass". Good times.

*The AIM names have been changed to protect the guilty.

Bitchin' Camaro

In this particular case, it's a bitchin' Corvette, however I really just wanted an excuse to say "bitchin' camaro". For you newer readers, my other half AKA H3.2 has a 2005 Corvette. The C6 variety I believe. The car is HOT. It actually can substitute for foreplay, it is that fucking great! Although I love this car it has some issues, similar to every relationship that we have in life. Some of you might have thought I was telling a "Sam's Story" when I said H3.2 had a new Vette. This story should change that perception in a typical Sam way.

I expect a little hiccup every now and then from my car. It is eight years old and has almost 100,000 miles on its beautiful body. However, it's a Honda. I can drive it for another 100,000 miles if I want to, and it's paid off so I can do more useful things with my money. Like going to strip clubs and paying for private lap dances.

This Corvette may be real purdy and go real fast, but it sucks on the whole reliability front. It's like having access to a very expensive and talented whore that only works once a month. The rest of the time you have to resort to your hand. Similar to Phuk Yu's problem (see prior post). The MSRP on this car is $55,000 as configured. One would think that for this kind of money, you would get a car that doesn't need to visit the dealership for at least six months. Nope, this car is in the shop AGAIN. For the THIRD time. This time the dealer thinks the motor is shot, and either needs to be rebuilt or completely replaced. It has 6,000 miles on it. Not to mention numerous other squeaks and annoyances that H3.2 has to deal with on a daily basis.

Are you waiting for the funny part? Me too! The dealer said that the Vette will be in the shop for 3-4 weeks. Then they said that they could give H3.2 a rental for a couple of days. Make any sense to you? H3.2 has another car, but it is not a daily driver. It's a Datsun that he is restoring, and he doesn't want to use it for the next month straight. For you car enthusiasts, H3.2 has provided a description for you:

• 1971 Datsun 240z, partially restored, L24 bottomend, highlift cam, turbo head, triple Webber dcoe40 carbs, roll bar, cobra suzuka race buckets w/ 5 point harness and blah blah blah...
  
• less than 10mpg
• 91 octane
• gas eating machine
• stinky

I understand the last four bullet points and not much more. From a totally girly perspective, it's gray, hard to start in the morning, and stinky. It's older than I am. None of this is integral to the main story, which will start.... now.

H3.2 and his friend Sparky went to the dealer today to obtain a rental car. Every single car was already taken, save one. A Chevrolet Cargo van, which they happily offered H3.2. The nice girl at the counter was quick to point out the stunning features of this van, which included no rear or side windows. "It would be great to hot box," she said. OMG. Sparky chimed in with a "We could get a sound system installed and play the Ice Cream Truck song to lure little kids inside, ha ha!" Then the not-so-nice girl at the counter recounted the time where she had seen a porn clip online that featured two guys that drive around in a bus and pick up chicks and film it... AKA Bangbus. Please do not click on this link with children around. H3.2 and Sparky knew exactly what she was talking about and happily conversed about this bit of internet culture. Did I say WHAT THE FUCK?

The icky counter girl then asked H3.2 what kind of car he had brought in for service. When he told her, she gushed "Oh wow, how can a 26 year old buy a new Corvette?" Dumb bitch. THEN they bantered back and forth about how he paid cash for it (joking) and how he must be selling something else to pay cash.... and "please Mr. Corvette owner leave a little of your stash in the glove compartment for me". Anyone want to come with my to the local GM/Chevrolet dealer to kick a little slutty counter girl ass?

The whore offered the van/herself for the afternoon, but H3.2 declined and asked her to call him when she/a car was available. She's married, so I'm assuming/hoping that a car will be available first. GM has agreed (after much complaint) to let H3.2 have a rental for the duration of the repairs.

On a sidenote, I did not intend this post to end up as a rant about the damn counter girl. As I was typing, I messaged H3.2 for details about Bangbus (I had never heard of it) and other parts of the story. That's when I heard about the blatant flirting/gushing behavior and decided to get my posse together for a whoop-ass session. Say 3:00pm at the bicycle racks?

Phuck Yu

Yesterday a blogger posted a comment on my FMS post that said "HaHa! You are a cunt!" His name is Phuck Yu and his blog is brand-spanking new. I visited his stellar blog and was amazed to find brilliant writing, witty remarks and the perfect usage of the English language. His only problem is that he doesn't understand how to get people to comment on his post. Being the kind, gentle soul that I am, I commented on his latest masterpiece of a post. I will quote the post here for your reading pleasure:

Lurkers Suck...

I am new to this blog thing but already I've had 74 visits to my profile but only one comment? Is this the way this works? Can you ofer me some advise? The only post so far was from a stupid whore. I guess that represents the mentality of the bloggers out there?

Just to let you know, I wrote my comment after this post, so the "stupid whore" that he was referring to was not me. As I am a cunt, not a stupid whore. So, dear readers I have a special request. Please go visit Phuck Yu and leave a comment explaining how a blogger would encourage someone to read their posts and leave comments. Maybe this angry little man suffered some sort of trauma, and his very tiny cock has left him frustrated and unable to communicate in a gentile way. We should instruct him on blogger manners and posting etiquette.

Speaking of blogging manners, I've read several posts over the last few months that pertained to commenting and responses. I try my darndest to respond to every comment, unless it is HNT and I'm overwhelmed with "great pic" or "that's hot". I don't know how many ways I can creatively say "thank you" in those situations, so I tend to give a group "thanks" and respond to comments that catch my eye. I also try not to favor certain blogger pals of mine with my responses. So... how am I doing? Where could I improve my responses to comments? I'm not at a desk all day, so I have to be home to blog. This means my response time will always lag a bit. In addition, any improvements in my posts that you could think of would be appreciated. Like "post more about _____".

In conclusion, please visit Phuck Yu! He desperately needs our help. And let me know if I could increase your viewing pleasure at my blog.

PS I'm having a GREAT DAY!!

FMS

I've been debating this post for a long time, and I have to thank Suzie for inspiring me to finally write. First, a disclaimer: This post is not meant to gain sympathy or pity. I want to enlighten my readers. I also want to be able to talk about this in my real life, and writing here is a way for me to expose myself without actually looking someone in the eye and telling them. Maybe I will find the strength to tell more people in my life what is wrong with me. If you are looking for my usual fare of funny vulgarity, scroll down to another post or read through my archives.

I have Fibromyalgia Syndrome aka FMS. This means that my body is pretty fucked up. I'm not going to give you a ten page report on how I feel, but I'll give you the Reader's Digest version. I'm exhausted almost all the time. My muscles ache all the time, with varying degrees of pain. My whole body is stiff most mornings. My short term memory isn't the greatest. I have bowel issues, which are fairly well controlled by avoiding gluten (the protein in wheat, rye and barley). My sleep sucks because I don't get enough deep sleep so I wake up feeling like I was run over by a large truck. I get knarly headaches, bad PMS and very crampy periods. Changes in weather make it much worse. I also have issues with anxiety and FMS increases it. Stress makes my symptoms increase tenfold.

One of the worst parts is that I look fine. Unless I'm in a lot of pain to the point where I'm walking funny people don't see that there is anything wrong with me. It really messes with me mentally/emotionally because people think that I'm just lazy. Or that I'm sleeping so much because I'm depressed. It takes me much longer to get enough deep, refreshing sleep to equal 8 hours of a normal person's sleep. If I'm having a good day, where I have a "normal" amount of energy I tend to do too much, so the next day I'm fucked and in lots of pain. I've had to learn to let the little things slide and concentrate my resources on things like work and parenting. Some days blogging is difficult because my hands are so stiff and swollen.

I have good spells and bad spells. Sometimes I wonder how long I can take the pain day after day. Then I have several days where I'm almost pain free and life is so good. Today is not one of those days. We had a thunderstorm here last night, and I woke up this morning in utter misery. I cancelled my morning appointment and went back to bed. When I finally got up, I had to take pain medication to function. I hate taking pain killers, and I avoid if them if at all possible. So now I'm blogging away, the pain is manageable and I feel stoned.

If you know someone that has FMS, please try to be understanding. Think of the last time that you had the flu. Your whole body ached, your muscles were screaming and you had no energy at all. Imagine living your life that way, and have some compassion.

Spermville and Spermitropolis

Chicken is home sick today (Monday), so I'm at home with him blogging. Uh, I mean I'm at home taking care of him. Thanks to H3.2, I'm sitting on the couch with Chicken on the handy dandy laptop so I can do both at once. Chicken was laying down with Dude on his lap, and looked so darn cute I had to take a picture. Of course, I was told by Chicken I had to post the picture right away. That's my excuse for blogging, and I'm sticking to it.

*picture removed*

Chicken and Dude have an unusual relationship for an eight year old boy and a cat. They adore each other, and if Chicken is still for more than five minutes Dude will plop down in his lap. Dude is a genuinely weird cat. He will only eat one kind of cat food, and if you looked in the dictionary under "attention whore" you would find a picture of Dude. Sometimes I think he is a dog in a cat suit.
One day Dude decided that the usual incessant meowing for a fresh bowl of food wasn't working out for him. So he jumped up onto a dining room chair, sat there and complained. Doesn't he have this "Feed me now bitch" look in his kitty eyes?

Some time ago I promised a post about Spermville and Spermitropolis. The story begins one evening when Ewe Girl and her friend Farm Boy came over for dinner and a movie. Ewe Girl and Farm boy have known each other for years, as their parents are good friends. Just recently, they rediscovered each other and are doing the "I think I like you" dance while spending every possible free moment with each other. As Ewe Girl is my bestest friend, I wanted to meet this Farm Boy. I invited them over for dinner and Chicken decided to put on his best "I'm a hilarious/insane child act".

It started at the dinner table, where Chicken knows that he has a captive audience. For some reason, we began talking about penises. Chicken wanted me to tell the story of how my mother was upset that I referred to Chicken's penis as a PENIS when he was learning his body parts. She wanted me to call it a "pee pee", because the word penis is vulgar. I insisted that pee pee is what comes out of the penis, and Chicken would be taught the correct term for his body parts. I taught him many other body parts, like elbow, leg, ear, eye, etc. I didn't feel that teaching him the word penis was vulgar. Of course, we all know that my definition of vulgar is a bit skewed... however I felt I was right this time.

The next thing I know, Chicken is giving Farm Boy a complete sex ed course on penises, testicles, and their functions.

Chicken: The things below the penis are testicles. They are cities of sperm, so I call them Spermville and Spermitropolis. The sperm leaves the testicles and comes out of the penis. Some penises have a foreskin and some don't.

At this point Chicken pretends to use huge gardening shears to illustrate circumcision.

Chicken: If you aren't careful when you cut off the foreskin, you cut off the penis and you are left with a little stump and just Spermville and Spermitropolis. You have to sit down to pee.

Ladies and Gentlemen, dinnertime at Sam's house!

Period

Tonight H3.2, Chicken and I had dinner at H3.2's parents' house. It was an important event to me, because Chicken had not met H3.2's mom, and had only briefly met his father when H3.2 moved in to my home. Now, Chicken has a rather creative mouth on him, to say the least. However, he has finely honed skills in the "appropriate company" department. He rarely says anything colorful in front of people that might not understand his unique sense of humor. Even though I was fairly sure that Chicken would be polite and not say anything out of line, I still gave him the "talk" on the way to Mr. and Mrs. F's home. It didn't go very well, because Chicken had spent most of the weekend being spoiled by one grandparent after another and was sleep deprived. Too much fun + not enough sleep + swimming at the pool + sweets + possibly caffeine = insane child. Here's how the conversation went:

Sam: Chicken, we are going to Mr. and Mrs. F's house. Please, please be on your best behavior and no talking about poop or penises at the dinner table.

Chicken: Va - gin -a! (long and drawn out in his new retard imitation)

Sam: Do not freak out H3.2's parents.

Chicken: Va - gin -a!

Sam: Please, please Chicken, do not talk about vaginas. Just be polite and call them Mr. and Mrs. F.

Chicken: Va - gin -a!

Oh my God. Chicken is going through this phase where he imitates a mentally handicapped child. With stunning accuracy, including body movements and weird facial expressions. I can't even begin to describe his voice. If you didn't know him, and caught him during one of these times you would swear that my child rides the short bus. By this time, I am praying that he just acts like a normal 8 year old and doesn't embarrass the shit out of me. Of course, you parents out there are saying "Duh, a normal 8 year old is programmed to embarrass the shit out of you".

We make it through dinner, H3.2 and Mr. F retire to the living room to watch television. Mrs. F, Chicken and I are talking and finishing our desserts. Chicken starts to tell me about his afternoon in the pool with the twins. Instantly I remember the twins dear mother, whom I believe I called Overprotective and Snotty Cunt Bitch or something in another post. This time, the father brought his daughters to swim, and Chicken liked him a lot.

Chicken: He's really nice and cool, like you would be if you were a man. Except without that whole period thing.

Mrs. F chuckles. I turn three shades of scarlet. Chicken realizes the blunder and has the good sense just to stop right there. I glance around wildly, wondering if there is any way I can find a large hole to hurl my body into right then and there. Kids. Gotta love 'em.

Gross

Warning: This blog tends to be filled with foul language, sexual references, feces and much, much more. However, I think this particular post reaches a new level of OH MY GOD THAT'S DISGUSTING. For some of you, this will serve as a dire warning. For others, this is just temptation to see just what I can come up with that will serve as a new, shining benchmark of vulgarity. Before I begin, most of you will need a primer on a product called "Instead". If you can handle that, you might be able to handle the rest of the post.

This is Instead, a product made for women during their visit from "Aunt Flow". It is used instead of a tampon or pads. I love it! The only place I can reliably find it is Target, however I hope someday it will catch on and I can buy it at my local grocery store. If you want the details on this amazing invention, go to their website (linked above). The only problem I have with using the softcup is the removal can sometimes be messy, so I prefer to remove it in the shower.

Also, while I am wallowing in the realm of "too much information" I should mention that I have insane periods. The kind that last only 7-9 days while ON the pill. Let's not even discuss what happens when I'm not on that blessed medication. During my period I have a span of time that I affectionately refer to as "Bleeding Like a Stuck Pig". It is disgusting. Don't come within a mile of me, please. You might get bloody. Anyone still reading? I thought so...

H3.2 and I frequently communicate on AIM during the day when I'm not running around managing peoples money. Here is an unedited snippet of our conversation from today:

Sam: dude is sooo happy
Sam: he was sleepin in kid's closet when i got home
H3.2: nice
Sam: comfy and dark
Sam: like my snatch
Sam: but without all the blood
H3.2: eww
Sam: omg i didn't tell you...
Sam: this morn i took out my Instead in the shower
Sam: holy shit i thought i had bled to death in the night
Sam: if i hadn't put one in we would have woken up as we slid off the bed in a pool of blood
H3.2: wow
H3.2: thats really gross
H3.2: was it chunky
Sam: i dunno i can't see that far

Okay, I'll wait while you dear readers go vomit. There now, feel better? Just to let you know, (in case you had missed a post or twelve) Dude is my cat. Also, I am totally fucking blind without my glasses.

The main points of this post were to :
A) give you a special glimpse into the insanity that is my life
B) show you that no matter how gross I am, H3.2 can top me with a "was it chunky?" That's why he's H3.2.

Update: OMG I missed HNT. I can't believe it. I've been working so much that I forgot all about it until I went to Redneck Diva's blog and noticed her HNT. Shit. Sorry everyone!

Silence!

I have been working my ass off lately. That is not good, considering I don't have much of an ass to work off in the first place. I have no time to blog, read your lovely/crappy blogs, or take potty breaks. However, Chicken takes every single opportunity he has when we are together to talk, talk, talk, OMG please just for a second STOP TALKING! Don't get me wrong, I love talking to my son. But sometimes, he just babbles on and on and on about nothing and I am wondering who I have to call in order to be committed. Not for a long time, just a year or two would probably do the trick. By that time, he will be at the age where he doesn't want to talk to me. I can dream, can't I?

So Chicken is doing a project on Tide Pools in California. This project includes a poster board, a map, pictures and a speech. I get stuck with a horrid trip to Walmart to buy poster board. Have I mentioned that I hate that place? I would have gone to Michael's, but Walmart was on the way between my client's house and my house. I was in my work clothes and Holy Fuck why do you people have to stare at me like I'm the only person EVER IN THE WHOLE FUCKING WORLD to wear a suit in Walmart? No, you cannot undress me with your eyes. Do not smile at me in a manner that suggests you are in the process of mentally slipping off my panties. Oh, and Mr. Walmart employee that I had to question about the Xbox 360-- growing your hair longer does not hide the fact that you are going very bald. Your greasy hair strewn across your pink scalp grosses me out. A lot. By the way, "a lot" is TWO words. I just needed to say that.

On to what got me to finally take a second and blog... Chicken was babbling. I finally told him that if he didn't keep quiet for five minutes he was going to do his project in his room. He babbled. I glared and said "SILENCE" in my sternest mommy voice. I'm really scary when I'm stern. Chicken was so terrified that he started to sing. I gave him the WHAT THE FUCK look and he grinned. "You said silence, so I'm singing Silent Night" Chicken explains. Oh my God. This is definitely my child.

It's Alive!!

Okay everyone, I'm alive. I promise. I will update you all as soon as I can. Nothing is wrong, I've just been super crazy busy at work/home/etc. To Anna of Annaland, I so did an HNT last week. I can't believe that you missed my boobies. They were awesome, even if I do say so myself. Which I do. *sigh* So, while you are all missing my blogging presence, go back to my last HNT and enjoy the view.

Update

Talked to my Dad this morning, he is still alive for the time being.

Spam, My New Vocation

Warning: I think I may have abused the word "cunt" in this post. I really try not to abuse this word, as it is one of the last truly BAD words. Words that when uttered just about anywhere illicit a gasp of dismay or delight. I am hoping that by rationing this word it will retain it's power to describe my mother in just ONE WORD. No, this post has nothing to do with my mother. Another day. Also, the word fuck + various conjugations of the word fuck. I also used the words "whore" and "bitch" but with extreme provocation. Again, you're leaning toward a "mother" post I can tell. Nope, no mommy in sight. I like it that way.

I want to be a spam commenter. I want to get paid to think up catchy phrases that will fool people into thinking that I really read their FABULOUS post and I want to pass along another great blog or website that I found. I'm tired of the same old spam commenting and I think I could kick it up a notch with some real originality, genuine thoughtfulness and attention to detail. I've listed just a few for your reading pleasure. Please note: These are patent pending, trade marked, have the Sam seal of approval and cannot be used for lubrication or pleasure for him or her.

Example #1
Hey stupid cunt- I read every fucking post and it sucked so bad I almost killed myself on three separate occasions. I have seen dog piss in the snow that made more sense than your mindless drivel. Don't ever come to my blog you stupid cow.

Example #2
My blog is emotional, well-written and my heartbreak is never ending. My boyfriend hurts me sometimes and I cry. It's all so sad and hard to bear. I never curse for that is indeed a sin against all mankind. Please come visit me, I'm so lonely.

Example #3
Hi, I'm Mandi and I really like your blog. I'm really shy in person but on my blog I'm much more open about myself. I like giggling and sunshine and bubbles. I think living in California is the greatest. I love bubble baths, too.

What do you think? It's a little rough around the edges because it's 12:30 in the fucking morning and I can't sleep because I'm waiting for a phone call.

****Time passes****

Holy shit. Some stupid cunt is being well... a stupid cunt. Here's a Reader's Digest version and I'll post more about the whole deal some day:

My Dad (biological, not ex-stepdad aka Poppa) lives in another state. The Dooce state if you know what I mean. No, he's not Mormon. Long story. So my Dad is sick. Not like "I have a cold and I don't feel good sick". More like "Weeee.... I'm circling the drain sick". I get an email every morningish from my dad (yes I just made that word up-fuck you) to let me know that he is still alive. Sounds bizarre but there is a method to my madness. Really. So it's 11:30pm my time on Thursday when I realize that FUCK I haven't received an email since Tuesday afternoon. Shit.

So I search gmail (that's google mail) and find the phone number for CNS. Stands for "Cunts? No Shit!" They call it Nursing something or other. It is an 800 number and the email says that it is 24/7. I take this to mean that I can call 24/7 and someone is working and will be able to tell me something. Ha! I assumed. Fuck me! A nice woman takes my info and tells me that someone will call back. Great! I can rest tonight knowing that my dad is alive. It's a fucking fantastic feeling I'm imagining. I get a call back.

Cunt: Is this Sam? (In an irritated, snotty voice like I just woke her up because I was hungry for a fucking pizza. I can't even eat pizza you stupid bitch.)

Sam: Yes. (In my most hopeful please tell me that my dad is alive voice.)

Cunt: You want to know if anyone has seen or had contact with your father recently?

Sam: Yes. (Still happy and eager.)

Cunt: Well I don't have any access to this information at this time. I can't give you any answers, I don't know where you are but it is 1:30 in the morning here. You can call back in the morning.

Sam: Oh, I'm sorry. I thought I was calling a 24/7 phone number. (I swear I was so polite and kind and remorseful with only a teeny bit of vinegar in my voice.)

Cunt: Someone will answer the phone 24/7. You can call back in the morning for this information.

Sam: Okay. Thank you. (Still sweet.)

Click. OMG. Sometimes I swear there is this evil nice person that takes over my mouth at the least appropriate times. Instead of saying something like:

"Look you fucking cuntbag whore, I want to know if my dad is fucking dead or not. I don't give a smallest piece of little baby bird shit whether you lost 10 minutes of sleep over this phone call because I will be up all night wondering if I'm going to hop on an airplane in the morning to view my dad's fucking body. Bitch."

I said "Thank you". She called me from her home or cell phone number. Which means that I could potentially call her every night at 1:30am her time and tell her how much she helped me get a good night's sleep. But let's face it. Underneath all this crankiness I'm too damn nice to pull that shit. So I rant and vent and get no sleep and wonder WTF (in this case "where the fuck") is my dad.

By the way, the snake has an official name. Wesson. For the corn oil. I pay tribute/homage to the reader that lead me on the correct path with the suggestion of Mazola.

Chicken Learns About Blogs

We all knew it would happen. H3.2 warned me to no avail. "No blogging around Chicken," he said. Sigh. Chicken started asking questions about my laughing hysterically, typing feverishly and doing something with a picture of me in my pajamas. As I am an insane parent that actually has real conversations with her spawn, I told Chicken about Sam's Stories. First, I explained blogs.

Sam: Do you know what a diary is, Chicken?

Chicken: A place where you write all your emotions down and blah blah blah?

Yes, he did say "blah blah". "Damn pesky emotions and all that dumb shit" was what he was conveying in a more PC manner. So I explained blogs and showed him the Chicken HNT post. At first he was pissed off and embarrassed that I took a HNT of him and posted it for the world to see. When I explained that I would never use his name or show his face he decided that it was okay with him, and he actually thought it was cool that I was telling the world about him. He also understood why I've been saying lately "Repeat that so I can write it down". I have a horrible short term memory, but that is for another post.

Chicken started to read his HNT post and I stopped him before he read where I wanted to tear the horrid overprotective cunt of a mommy to shreds. I gave him a G-rated version of the story instead. He was pissed off and said some very not nice things about the mommy. He also did not know that his friend, Sad Girl, was not very popular and went home crying frequently. He paused and thought Chicken random thoughts for a bit. I thought the moment was over. Thursday he comes home from school and says "I taught Sad Girl to play soccer this week! I've been inviting her to play with us at recess every day." I am so proud of my boy.

So Chicken knows about Sam's Stories and I have his royal permission to share his funny moments with you. My next Chicken post will be entitled "Spermitropolis and Spermville". Look for it!

Half-Nekkid Damn Hair Thursday

I hereby dub this picture "Damn Hair". Why, you gentle readers ask? Because I know that you sick, perverted bastards are wishing and turning your heads this way and that to try and get a better peak of the girls. All the while, wishing my damn hair isn't in the way. Adding insult to injury, I had to do special cropping of this picture because H3.2 was freaked at the "wardrobe malfunction". It seems that my nipple was peeking out on one side, oh horror and damnation. So I cropped the offending nip to avert the danger of sweet, naive people such as yourselves being corrupted by the sight of such an improper thing. You are welcome. Just think of it as my public service for the day. For more information on the phenomenon of HNT, please see the charming host of fun and smut Osbasso. If you are very, very good you might see a veritable smorgasbord of tasty flesh. Or maybe, just a bunch of people displaying unsavory scars and other battle wounds. You never know with HNT.

Update: I received an email from a certain blogger indicating that he is alive and well.

Fire Update and Lint

Well, the fire is out as far as I know, I'm breathing and that's a good thing to do I've heard. Thank you so much for all of your concern! Now, since most of you come here because you have nothing better to do than read my inane ramblings I have a couple of funny things that I've heard over the last week or so plus other random happenings:

H3.2, Chicken and I were watching/listening to Disney radio on the television. Hillary Duff comes on and Chicken groans. He used to love Hillary but since she's become so popular he's just not that into her anymore. However, H3.2 says "I'd slam her like a five dollar omelet". I know he heard that phrase somewhere else, but for some reason that struck my funny bone. Luckily Chicken wasn't paying attention.

Some of you may know that I had been keeping my relationship with H3.2 under wraps until we decided that it was serious. When Chicken came home at the end of the summer, I told him that H3.2 and I were dating. His response? "Ahh... young love." In a sappy assed voice dripping with artificial sweetner. Damn kid. So, he's fine with it, and we are still moving slowly due to the roommate/boyfriend/kid complication.

H3.2 understands the whole package deal thing, but understanding something and being able to live with it are two different things entirely. What makes it complicated is that I love H3.2 with all of my heart, and if he decided that he couldn't handle it and had to leave it would break my heart. I have already decided that if that should happen, I am either going to become a nun or a lesbian. I'm leaning towards the whole lesbian thing because, well... chicks are hot. I'm also pretty sure that no one would ever permit me to become a nun.

I'll keep everyone updated on the situation, because I'm sure that you gals will be lining up at my door the instant H3.2 moves out. I have no problem with rebound relationships, either. *wink*

Update: There is a certain blog that will no longer be discussed here. All posts and links to this blog are gone as per requested. Email me if you want more info. If I don't know you, I may not respond.

Fire

Here is a NOT FUNNY post for you all to not enjoy. I washed my car this morning. It has been a mommy and Chicken fun time ritual for years. Growing up, I hated washing my mom's car. It sucked ass. So I decided that I would make car washing fun for Chicken. First, I strip him naked, second I tie his hands to his feet, third I wrap him in a huge sponge, coat him with soap and water. Then I tell him, go wash mommy's car dammit! No food for you until my car shines inside and out.

Well, one can dream, right? Actually, washing my car involves bathing suits, lots of water, squirting each other and throwing soapy sponges at each others heads. Miraculously, the car gets pretty clean. We have a great time and our old fart neighbors actually enjoy watching us run around screaming and dodging dirty, soapy objects. At this time, you're probably wondering "what the fuck?" We don't give a rat's shitty ass about washing your car. Oh, but you should. Because Mr. Murphy and his fucking "what can get totally fucked up will" law is at work today.

I walk outside to make the interior sparkling clean and smelling beautiful when I notice the sky looks WRONG. FUCK ME!! There is a fire, and close. Some of you may remember the fucked up fires from two years ago in San Diego. Due to this, I'm a little freaky about fires. Gathering up your shit and leaving your home sucks. What's the worst part? There is ASH all over my CLEAN car. Oh, and the little asthma thing. Which landed me in the hospital the last time San Diego burned. So I'm stuck inside the house with all the windows shut on a fucking holiday watching the news and wondering if I'm going to be forced to evacuate. Did I mention that I just washed my fucking car?! Shit.

Here's Google satellite map of the area that is burning. If you look at the left side of the map, there is a hilly section without any houses/streets/etc. It's currently burning. I'm on the right side of the map. If you click on the map, you can see the scale. It's pretty fucking close. And only 20% contained at this point.

Fuckin' A

I'm sitting on the couch listening to H3.2 snore, reading blogs and trying to figure out why I'm still awake and the fucking house shakes. A 3.9 earthquake just south of the border. For those of you not in my neck of the woods, "the border" is where California and Mexico meet. I hate earthquakes. For one thing, I always wake up just before an earthquake, or I find myself unable to sleep before one hits. I'm not a fucking dog, so what the hell? So, now that my heart is pounding I'd like to go on a tangent about natural disasters...

I lived in Virginia for four long, hard years doing time as a Navy wife. For you loyal readers that would be my life with H1. I had my fair share of hurricane warnings, tropical storms and one actual hurricane during that time. After living in San Diego for 21 years, the response to an impending storm was a culture shock. When a big/medium/small earthquake hits here, people panic and go out and buy water and canned goods like crazy. I think sometimes grocery stores stage earthquakes just to boost sales of these products. For a week after a good quake, good luck finding batteries and emergency supplies. Then, like the stupid Californians that we are, we forget about it and use up all our supplies until the next quake scares the shit out of us.

In Virginia, you get a fair warning that bad weather is coming your way. If you happen to be a complete fucking idiot and miss the news of a hurricane headed your way, the absence of all large Navy ships in the ports should give you a clue. It seems that ships + massive waves + wind + piers = broken ships. So all the Navy folk leave if a big storm is coming. Which, let me tell you, I totally appreciated. Who wants their husband around to help when a fucking hurricane blows your house to shit? Thanks Navy. You're the best. Oh, sorry. Venting about the Navy is not the point. The point is, all the emergency supplies get purchased BEFORE the storm hits. If the storm is mild or completely misses the area, the supplies are used and forgotten until the next one is on its way.

Same principle, just in reverse. Now, I'm not usually one to babble emotionally, but I'll blame it on the quake this time:

My heart goes out to all the poor people that have been royally screwed by Katrina. I hope you get the help you need.

Half-Nekkid Pajama Thursday

For the first week since I began participating in HNT I didn't post late Wednesday night. Actually, I thought I wasn't going to post at all. I have worked my ass off this week and didn't have a submission until H3.2 came home from work and caught me napping. Have I mentioned that sleepingness is next to Godliness or something to that effect? So here I am, in my comfy waterbed and my totally sexy Nordstrom pajamas that my mother bought me for some damn holiday. We all know that the woman is a total lunatic, however one of her more interesting quirks is her driving need to purchase me pajamas for every occasion. These are my apple pj's, I have frogs and kitties and other random patterns. They are way comfy and inspire no thoughts of nookie in anyone EVER. For those of you that will look at this picture from every possible angle to look up my pajamas, I'm sorry but you're out of luck again. Want to join in on the fun? See Osbasso for the details.

Gag Reflex

There is a person in my life that I admire and enjoy being around. He makes me laugh, teaches me things and tries to help me become a better person. He also fucks with me constantly, it is simply the way our relationship works. We'll call him Horse, as he is fond of horse racing and wants to own and breed race horses when he "grows up".

One day Horse called me Mrs. Robinson in front of a room full of people, because I'm five years older than H3.2. The room was suddenly quiet, and then erupted into laughter. I actually blushed. I never blush, dammit. After that, it was time for pay back.

Horse asked me one day what it is that draws men to me and makes them become my love slaves. Well, he didn't put it quite like that but you get the picture. I couldn't answer him, because I simply do not know. I'm not beautiful, I don't have a huge rack, I'm not the sweetest, easiest person to be around. So what the fuck is it? Why does H3.2 love me so?

I went to H3.2 and asked him what endearing qualities I possess that make me sooo special. No, not like short bus special. I mean like hearts and fucking flowers special. He couldn't think of anything. I guess saying "Well you put out real nice like" isn't what a girl wants to hear so he just pleaded ignorance. That wasn't a good enough answer to report back to Horse, so we thunk and thunk harder. Okay, so maybe that thunking was the bed against the wall or something. We came up with the perfect answer, inspired by a Disney video of cute little bunnies and sunshine that we had watched earlier in the night. Or the chicks shoving huge dildos down their throats like sword swallowers.... That was an interesting video.

The next day I sat down with Horse and tell him that H3.2 gave me the answer to the burning "What's so great about Sam" question. My answer:

I have no gag reflex.

Horse is speechless. He starts to blush and I'm almost on the floor, laughing my ass off. I've never seen him blush. I've never seen him speechless. The moment was priceless.

Now, some of you might be wondering why this is extraordinary. I'm known for my vulgarity, so why would this shock anyone? Let's just say, between me and you and the whole internet community including those of you that come here looking for "I fucked my mother in the ass" stories that I see Horse five days a week. During the day. Light bulb? In addition, Horse is in a position of authority. Yes, it is exactly what you are thinking. I have huge balls.

By the way, I do have a gag reflex.