Please Vote!

I'm trying to win a "Dumb Cunt" award. Soley because the word "Cunt" is so beautimous. (My word of the day). Please clicky on this link and vote for me. Under the "Dumb Cunt" section. It will only take two (2) seconds and I will be so happy. Very happy. All voters will be rewarded with live nude chicks/dudes.

Update:
I am WAY behind in the polls, please vote! To encourage your voting fingers, I give you tantalizing pictures of nude chick/Dude. The next ones will just keep getting better and BETTER!!

Vomit Spilleth Forth

The burning question on everyone's mind (you, you and YOU) is "Where the Fuck is Sam and why has she so sorely neglected her poor blog?" Oh, and "When will we see her boobies?" Well, no boobies today dear readers. Just a whole lot of this and that plus a couple of funnies thrown in to keep you from wailing and gnashing your teeth. The funnies are courtesy of H3.2. He's a funny one, that man.

First of all, I've been in quite a pickle these days. A large, very Kosher dill pickle to be exact. In a very vinegary jar. Lid firmly closed. Let me tell you, it is not at all what I thought it would be. I will attempt a Reader's Digest version of my woe and despair for your reading pleasure, in order to get on with the more amusing bits and pieces.

Part A
As a financial guru in the early stages of my career, I am required to bust ass and develop a profitable practice. With my winning personality, stunning good looks and comprehensive knowledge this shouldn't be difficult. However, it is stressful. Doing business with clients does not equal instant money in my pocket. Sometimes it takes a LOOOONG time before I actually get paid. Something to do with other companies not wanting to let go of their money and such. I say "Fuck them and the horses they rode in on" because if my clients were happy with them, they wouldn't be handing their shit over to me. So my paychecks look like "$$" and "$$$$$" and sometimes "0" depending on how quickly shit goes through. This = stress for a single parent.

Part B
Single parenthood. Need I elaborate? I think not. Stress.

Part C
My dad. Battling emphysema and put on hospice care in July of this year. This means the good ole doc gives him 6 months or less to be around. You do the math. I love my dad, and this sucks. He emails me daily to keep in touch, however when he's having a particularly shitty day he forgets to email me. My heart stops. I stress. I wait. I call him. Sometimes he picks up the phone and my heart starts beating again. Lately this has happened more frequently, and my heart is really feeling the strain. It's hard to be a happy blogger, or even any kind of blogger when you're fretting about whether your dad is still alive. Not to mention my special mother who keeps predicting the amount of time he has left because GOD speaks to her and keeps her informed. Thanks mom!!

This all leads to, you've guessed it:

Part D
Stress = bad fibro. See this post if you're confused. I'm exhausted and in pain. I'm really no fun AT ALL. Ask H3.2, he'll tell you. So how can a girl that walks like she has a stick in her ass (due to muscle pain) be a happy, productive worker bee? She can't. So I took a leave of absence from work. This means I'll still service (not in that way, fuckers) my clients, but I'm halting building up my practice. This leaves a large gap in my bank account, solved by part E.

Part E
Wherein I become a nanny for my best friend's baby boy, aged 5 months. Baby "Z" I will call him. He does not require nylons, high heels or even a bra for that matter. We can lay down on the floor and play with colorful toys. He eats, plays, naps and all those other baby things. His mommy works very early in the morning, which means I'm home by 4 each day to take care of other things, like my Chicken and H3.2 and my clients when they need me. No more 20+ hours a week in the office in addition to seeing my clients. No more stressing about when I will get paid. And once life goes back to "normal" and Baby Z is ready for day care, I will returned to my regularly scheduled life. I hope.

Part F
(Insert bitching and screaming here) As far as my battle with DFAS/Cleveland and child support, I have received November's check. No December yet. Not sure if I'll get January in... January. Fucktards. Many wasted phone calls and frustration just added fuel to the fire, or vinegar to the jar if you will. Direct deposit should start Feb '06. I hope they don't fuck that up.

Here is where the funny starts:

I crafted a very precise plan, one that involved me going to the office, taking care of paperwork and being home at lunch for a scheduled "nooner". I was extremely proud of my time management skills, the ability to think ahead and all that shit. I could do it! I could get up early as opposed to snoozing until my body stopped hurting. I could make it back home in time for some nookie.

As I excitedly relayed my perfect plan to H3.2, he scoffed at my lofty goals and was unwilling to bet me on the possibility of executing my plan. His response: "Even Las Vegas wouldn't take that bet, sweetie." Fucker. He was right.

In the very same conversation, H3.2 uttered "You are the female incarnation of Al Bundy" as a rebuttal to my insane plan of rising early. I roared (with laughter) and demanded that he hand me the laptop in order to blog. He denied my pitiful requests. I threatened to go downstairs to use the desktop. He relented (partially) and consented to give me pen and paper to jot down the remarks.

Then H3.2 said "I take it back. Al Bundy wouldn't be such a pain in my ass about blogging. He doesn't care about anything. You obviously care about blogging. The compliment is stricken from the record." Fuck. I would have made such a great Al Bundy.

Then, last night... oh the night it was. H3.2 was in a bizarre mood. I leaned over the bed to grab something and noticed that he was RIGHT NEXT TO ME. In our grand ole king size bed, he was giving me approximately 2.3 inches of cushy bed room. WTF?

"I am playing Risk. I am taking over the world. You are France. You will lose" he says. This resulted in some disturbing animal noises emanating from my mouth and vigorous attacking methods which consists alternately of biting and tickling him until I had beaten his soldiers back and taken the western hemisphere. I may suck at the board game, but don't fucking get between me and my bed.

Holy Fuck HNT

So Holy Fuck! Here I sit on my ass, thinking about this and that, when I realize that today is Thursday. Half-Nekkid Thursday. And I have forgotten. Fuck me sideways. I have a great excuse, one that I will not bore my dear readers with today. Just enjoy the half-nekkidness of my dressy-dress from a party long ago/earlier this month and know that soon, many posts will appear at this lonely blog and we will all laugh, gag and enjoy ourselves merrily.For much more exciting and timely Half-Nekkid Thursday, see Osbasso.

P.S. H3.2 just said "Fucking blow-up baby Jesus dolls". What the fuck does that mean? Is he talking about blowing up baby Jesus dolls, or blow-up baby Jesus dolls? Random. He's acting quite strange this evening. It must be voodoo magic left over from his cheap-assed haircut which was a direct result of my favorite hair salon burning down AGAIN. Fuck.

Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas and Happy Chanukah to my blogger friends! As I sit here, blogging away on Christmas Eve I glance at my tree and think to myself "Holy Fuck! How did all those presents get there?" I'm pretty sure that I started out with just a few (see tree above), however now the presents are spilling out everywhere, the stockings are hung, and we wait for Santa to come crashing down the chimney.

See you all on the other side!

Cat Shit

This is Dude working on his masters thesis about the tasty nature of Iam's Weight Control cat food and its relationship with napping. Dude is the most lovable cat in the world, and will sit on anyone's lap within 20 minutes of meeting them. I've written about Dude before, but this weekend's events have prompted a fancy new post.

I requested CitiKitty from a wonderful friend for my Christmas present, and I received it early! Several years ago I purchased an electric litter box for my evil Satan cat and Dude, which now works about once per week. Littermaid was nice enough to offer a reduced price for a new one, only 80 bucks instead of $99! I was bowled over with this stunning offer, and decided "Fuck that". I'm tired of scooping cat shit out of an electric litter box that was supposed to do the job for me. I don't want to pay for another one. So CitiKitty was my next option. Although Dude isn't very bright, he is a fastidious shitter. He never goes potty outside of the litter box, and loves nothing more than a clean box.

For those of you that cannot bear to click away from my blog for even one moment, CitiKitty is a toilet-training system for cats. There is a plastic starter set that you set on the toilet and fill with flushable litter. The cat starts using the toilet, thinking this is just a weird-looking litter box. Each week you remove a piece from the middle of the plastic trainer. After 5 weeks or so, there is no center to the trainer and the cat poops on the toilet (you hope).

Two minutes after setting up CitiKitty, Dude takes his first pee on the toilet. I was so excited, I forgot to grab the camera. Dude was praised, loved and given fresh food for his efforts. Multiple times Dude peed on the toilet, and then sometime during the night he decided to unroll the toilet paper all over the ground. I suppose he wanted to get that clean, fresh feeling one gets from wiping.

However, two days later and Dude still hasn't taken a shit. He starts to scratch around where his litter box used to be, and then sat at the back door looking longingly at his litter box outside. Here was the moment I had been waiting for all my life/the last two days. I placed him on the toilet and HE TOOK A SHIT!! This picture was taken DURING the actual shitting experience. Yes, I know I go the extra mile for my dear readers. When was the last time you were able to view a picture of a cat shitting on the toilet?

I left Dude in peace to cover his poop, and when I returned, this is what I saw:
Dude not only shit on the toilet, he grabbed a piece of toilet paper to decorate his masterpiece. Don't think I am kidding when I call this bowel movement a masterpiece. He had been storing it up for TWO days. I've never seen a cat shit THAT much in one shitting. It was stupendous, and blogworthy in my humble opinion.

Dude is on his way to being potty trained, and I am so proud.

Party Clothes

As requested, here is a pic of our party clothing. I removed our heads because H3.2 doesn't want to be publicly associated with me. Either that or he doesn't want to be stalked by hordes of women because he is so fine. For those of you that mentioned in my HNT comments that we matched, I have one word "duh"! You can't go to a dressy affair without color coordinating. As my mom would say whenever I commit a fashion/etiquette faux pas "Emily Post is turning over in her grave". After I purchased my dress, H3.2 and I found a matching shirt and tie.

Also, I would like to draw your attention to my girls. Aren't they lovely? I am wearing the strangest bra I've ever seen, because the back of the dress is corset-like. It's called a Nubra, and it rocks. You can adjust it to make the girls closer together (AKA cleavage) or sit up higher or just have some coverage. For your viewing pleasure, here is a pic of some woman modeling it. The bra sticks to your breasts, and by "stick" I mean do not try to peel it off recklessly or while experiencing breast tenderness due to hormonal issues. It especially loves to cling tirelessly to your nipples, so while removing you are stretched out to various non-amusing shapes. I give this product a thumbs-up for working so well, and a thumbs down for not wanting to ever leave my bosom. Enjoy your weekend!

Get In Bed

I remembered a funny story the other day while talking to an expectant mother, so I thought I would share it with you all in its shining example of stellar parenting glory.

Chicken skipped the terrible twos and breezed on into the "fucking horrible please can I give him back" threes. One evening he was NOT willing to go to bed. He fussed, he cried, he threw a fit that said "Fuck you and the horse you rode in on lady, because this boy is not going to sleep". Now, I don't believe in beating the shit out/spanking/smacking Chicken. But if ever there was a time that I dearly wanted to, it was that night. Instead, I employed the vast uncharted recesses of my puny brain and decided to mind fuck him into going to sleep. I picked him up in his cutesy little footsie pajamas, carried his butt downstairs and opened the front door. I placed him right outside the front door. He looked at me in a "what the fuck" manner, and then I began:

"Chicken, I know you don't want to go to bed. However, in this house we have rules. And one rule is that everyone goes to bed. For you, bedtime was 1/2 hour ago. So if you don't want to follow the rules of this house, take your feet on down the road and find a place to live where the rules are more to your liking."

And then I shut the front door in front of his stunned face. After ten seconds he realized that I was serious (or at least he thought I was) and started to wail. I opened the door, and asked him if he was ready for bed. Oddly enough, he decided that bed didn't sound so bad after all.

Haf-Nekkid Party

I promised my three (3) readers pictures from the weekend's festivities. I had some trouble picking a favorite, so I created a purdy* collage for your enjoyment.



Most of the pictures I took in the car on the way downtown, notice how beautimous* my toes look? I painted them all by myself. 'Cause I'm gifted and talented and shit like that. See how nicely H3.2 cleans up? The random patterned picture is part of my top, because I know you are all saying to yourselves "Yes, but what does the top of the dress look like?"

Happy Half-Nekkid Thursday everyone! For hundreds of more HNT pics, see the Grand High Master of Nudity and Ludity, Osbasso.

Sam's Words:
*Purdy: pretty but with one fewer letter. See Deliverance for examples of proper usage.
*Beautimous: Like beautiful but way better.

Sunday Mornings

Sunday mornings are for hangovers and/or sleeping. They are not meant for the following things:

1. Swimming in a hotel pool.
2. Jogging
3. Walking your dog
4. Being subjected to sunlight unfiltered by your eyelids and heavy curtains.

I saw numbers one through three at an ungodly time in the morning on Sunday. I experienced number four while seeing the swimming/jogging/animal walking. I also saw a dog fight in front of Starbucks. Which proves my point that Sunday mornings are not meant for such things. If the owners were snuggled safely in bed, the dog fight would not have taken place.

Saturday night H3.2 and I got all purdified* and went to his company's annual awards/holiday/used to be called Christmas party in a less PC environment. I'm in a list mood today because EVERY muscle in my body hurts which limits my brain's function to write effectively. The things I learned/remembered at said party:

1. If you order a Tequila Sunrise, it tastes much better if you ask for more tequila, more sunrise and less vitamin C.

2. Being a girl is good. Not only do you get a yummy tequila sunrise, the bartender offers you two at a time in order to limit the time you stand in line at the free bar.

3. Alcohol is a horrible drug when mixed with large breasts and bitchy girls. Actually, alcohol is just a bad drug. Just to clarify, I was not a large-breasted bitchy girl. I'm waiting for the holiday party where the open bar serves weed in various grades. Much less drama and more happy people relaxing.

4. I am obsessed with my feet and HNT. I took way too many pictures of my feet during the evening. I shall share on Thursday.

5. I love my/H3.2's new bed. If I hadn't been totally drunk, I would have driven home just to sleep on it.

6. You can take fairly decent pictures from the 20th floor of the Hyatt in downtown San Diego. Clicking on the left picture will show an itty bitty bit of the Coronado Bridge on the upper left quadrant. The center picture is the view looking northeast from my room. If you click on the right picture, you can see the fucktards swimming in the pool on a Sunday morning at 8am. For some reason my blog hates me and my pictures. However, I promise if you clicky on each picture you will see my photos in all their hung over glory.

7. When you cannot eat gluten, and your meal ticket says "Gluten" you get gluten. It should probably say "Gluten Free". I was able to obtain a gluten free meal in the end. It was a large mushroom with much foofery* to disguise the fact that it was a mushroom. H3.2 ate a steak. I am assuming that is because his meal ticket said "Beef".

8. Out of the five mini-desserts served to each guest, I could eat one. My wonderful table mates gave me enough chocolate to kill a large animal. My tummy was happy. It almost made up for the mushroom dinner. Note the Tequila Sunrise at the top of the picture.
*My words for the day:
purdified: dressed up
foofery: a whole bunch of random vegetable crap pilled on top. see purdified.

Cut 'N Color HNT

Happy Half-Nekkid Thursday everyone!
Now it's ready for winter.

So today I curled my hair for the first time since I had it permanently straightened. I wanted to try out a curly up-do for H3.2's Holiday Party this weekend. I was told by my hairstylist that I could curl it just like anyone else with straight hair. Now, you must realize that my natural hair has LOTS of body, some curly curls and waves galore. If I choose to take a curling iron to it, the curls last for DAYS. Literally. I've seen many straight-haired friends curl their hair and cry when two hours later it is straight again. Tonight, I experienced that frustration. It curled beautifully. Then POOF! It was straight again. This picture was taken several hours after the curling. I guess I have to rethink my holiday hair. Any suggestions?

In an totally unrelated topic, blogger spell check did not approve of the word "galore". Since I'm really tired I decided to check what Google had to say about it. And then I found it, my long lost friend. Mullets Galore. A story for another day. Let me just say that I once spent many hours laughing and enjoying the mullitude of this site. My friend Ewe Girl even bought me a bumper sticker that says "I Love Your Mullet". Of course it's not on my car, because I don't believe in such things, but it has been proudly displayed on my refrigerator for years. Mullets... gotta luv 'em.

See Osbasso for hundreds of other half-nekkid pictures.

Note: Word Verification is off for the day.

Toweling Off

Note: I swear there is a point to this post. Just hang in there.

Once upon a time, there was a nice girl named Diane. She was sweet and kind and gentle in all ways. She married her high school sweetheart and they had 2.5 children, a swell house with a kitty and a doggy and it was all wonderful and nicey-nice. One day, Diane and her wonderful husband Pedro were home all alone. They shared a special look and bounded upstairs for a wonderful harmonious matrimonial sharing of two souls. In order to avoid unnecessary sullying of the clean, fresh sheets they used an ordinary bath towel to lay upon. It was a unforgettable experience, as it always was for the two soulmates.

After the melding of two souls, Diane and Pedro shared a hot shower, gently washing each other with love and kindness. Diane was the first to step out of the shower, and she grabbed her towel off the floor. In the afterglow of the time she had shared with her husband, she had forgotten how it had come to rest on the bathroom floor. It felt so good to dry off, and she was luxuriating in the experience. Until a certain smell assaulted her olfactory senses.

Holy fucking Mary mother of God. She was drying off with the cum towel. Back in the shower she went.

My question to you is: Why is it that certain fluids are acceptable in one context but fucking EW gross in another?

The Saga Continues

Dearest DFAS,

Regarding our conversation yesterday afternoon, I am still in fucking shock over your overwhelming helpfulness. I did not think that this clusterfuck of a situation could get any more ridiculous, however you, in your stunning glory managed to achieve worthless nirvana and the precise definition of bureaucracy. Specifically, Miss Rogers in the reissue department, I cannot understand why you are such a total waste of humanity. When someone calls you more than 30 days after a check was issued, after jumping through hoops of fire with tigers growling at either side to check on the status of a NEW check, please show a teeny, tiny fucking bit of concern/sympathy/fucking NICENESS.

Do not tell me that Miss Reinwright is in the legal department with my fax, while you are in the reissue department and therefore the fax is not IN FRONT OF YOU so you cannot help me. I suggest you get off your civil servant ass and get the fax. Or, better yet, have Miss Reinwright fax it to you. I've heard that in some places, faxes can whiz from one place to another in minutes. Except in your office, when it takes TWO FUCKING WEEKS for you to get a fax. And then it doesn't go to the correct department.

Thank you for your instruction to re-fax my fax. As far as the speedy two week turnaround for the reissue of said check (after the two or three days you said it would take to receive the fax), let me be the first to say "WOW". How the fuck can you perform such miracles that must involve the contortion of basic physics and alter the speed of light. As I understand it, I will receive the check that I was supposed to have November 4th on or around CHRISTMAS.

Thanks a bunch,

Sam

PS Luckily, the piano tuner just called (an hour after he was supposed to arrive) and said that he will be here in 1/2 hour. So my pissatude is directed at him for the moment. And yes, for today pissatude is my made up word.

Fuck You DoD

Dear Department of Defense,

Thank you so much for your prompt attention in the matter of my missing child support check. As you may not recall (because you fucking hate me), I was supposed to receive a check at the beginning of November. I called your fine establishment after patiently waiting for the check to arrive. I was gently informed that I needed to wait 10 business days after the first of the month for my check before I was allowed to go apeshit. Once the 10 business day waiting period had elapsed, I could fax a letter to your office for the most speedy response (2 to 3 days). I faxed such a letter to your office, and I included all the very important information that your customer service person demanded I include. Here is a list of the pertinent details that I included:

• My name
• The amount of the check
• My address
• My phone number
• The sponsor's social security number
• My signature

I am so happy that you were thoughtful enough to provide me with these instructions. Without them my fax would have looked like this:

Dear Bitches,

Send me my fucking money.

Sam

About the phone call that I received today, December 1st while I was in a business meeting, FUCK YOU! Fuck you and your speedy response. Fuck you and your "did you get your check yet or do you still need us to send you another" message. Also, fuck you with your "did you know that you can have that directly deposited into your checking account" because originally I was told that I could not fucking do that for some fucked up reason. No, I do not have the check. That is why I called you, faxed you, and now would like to fuck you in the ass. With my foot and most of my leg.

Additionally, during your aforementioned voicemail left today THANK YOU so very much for informing me that your office (known simply as "Cleveland" to military folk) was in Ohio, therefore 3 hours ahead of Pacific Standard Time. Which meant that you were calling me at the end of your work day and forcing me to wait an additional business day to contact you with the following information:

"Send me another fucking check, CUNTBAGS!"

As you might not have noticed, this message is eerily similar to the one I attempted to convey at the beginning of November. Also, did you notice that it is now DECEMBER? Oh, and if I had received the original check, I would have CASHED IT BY FUCKING NOW.

I sincerely apologize for the repeated use of profanity, bold, and ALL CAPS, however I feel that my polite phone calls and tidy faxes have not accomplished Jack Shit. You may not have noticed that I refrained from using all three at once thus far.

Please reissue the child support check for the month of November as I have not yet received it. Remember, I have your name, phone number and I am armed with a blog. Three (3) people read this blog on a semi-annual basis. One of those people encourages mass nudity every week and I am sure he could take on the Department of Defense and KICK YOUR ASSES WITH HALF-NEKKIDNESS.

Yours in Peace and Harmony,

Sam

P.S.FUCKERS!

P.P.S. Chicken overhears part of my ranting and says "What's up with Cleavageland, Ohio?" Nice.

Pedophiles Part II

As per usual, I got lost in the Internet and found myself at a great site, Family Watchdog. If you are in the United States and have children, GO TO THIS SITE!! It will give you a detailed map of the sex offenders in your area, complete with photo, name and address. It also lists the type of offense, which I think is important because sometimes a person is a registered "sexual offender" but that does not mean they are a child molester. I have been to a couple of sites like this before where they only gave a general idea of the area an offender lived in, and no real information. I know that not every sexual predator is going to register properly, however it is another tool that parents/everyone can use to help stay safe. Just thought I'd let you know... now on to another topic...

Damn Pussy HNT

I was all set for a WAY more revealing HNT shot. Lights...camera...Dude. Damn Pussy. I guess he doesn't want to share. Happy HNT. Visit Osbasso for all the details.