WTF Friday: Episode 8 ~ If I Won a Million Dollars

So I've been invited to participate in a really cool club called The Secret Subject Swap, hosted by Baking in a Tornado.  By invited, I mean I totally invited myself and wasn't booted at the door even though my name wasn't on the list. 

Secret Subject Swap is much like a Secret Santa party, except with blog topics.  Your topic is chosen by the Secret Subject Swap gods (i.e. Karen, at Baking in a Tornado) from a pool of topics submitted by all participating bloggers. She tells you what your topic is, but no one else knows.  And on a chosen day, you all reveal your posts about your given topic.  My topic was submitted by Dinosaur Superhero Mommy, and is "Whoa, you won one million in the lottery... what do you do?"

So...

The prudent part of me would invest some in mutual funds; ELSS's and ULIP's and what not.  I'd invest some in a business start-up (I hear One Classy Motha is coming up with some patent-pending Beaver Babies... a learning tool that has a hilarity factor of about a billion). I'd give a little to stem cell research and I'd invest in the grey sweat sock industry (long story). And lastly, I'd invest in Ann Taylor.  Why?  Because they make pants.

I'd also give my folks a chunk.  I figure they earned it after 30-odd years of my crap.  And I'd send a hunk to Mr. Martini's folks too.  We're not talking like I'm all giving and philanthropic.  We're talking enough to buy a new TV, or to go on a short vacation, or something. Okay fine.  A new car.  And a fancy watch.  But the bulk would be invested.

The real me (read: not prudent, take-the-money-and-run-around-like-an-idiot-screaming-"I'm-Rich-Bitch" me) would go to Vegas and bet on black.  I'd buy a Jaguar, just so I could say I drive a Jag-u-ar, pronounced like they do in the commercials, which is not at all like anyone, anywhere pronounces it. I would buy a boat even though I live approx. 300 miles from the nearest body of water.  I would go to Tiffany's and try on EVERYTHING and buy NOTHING!

How much do I have left?

I would buy a pony.  I would buy an inflatable bounce house and I would have that sucker inflated ALL THE TIME!  I would buy a fur coat.  No I wouldn't.  But I'd buy a damn good fake.  I'd buy stock in Barefoot Wines.  Hell, I'd start a Pinot Grigio winery and call it I'm Rich Bitch Wines.  I would also buy at least 23 kegs of Berghoff and 190 lbs of shell-on peanuts so I could re-live my college days.

I would buy designer pants in all shapes and sizes and throw them out my car window at moms with shopping carts full of children and messy hair at the Walmart... cause I know how they feel.  I would buy 4 lbs of king crab legs and eat them all myself.  I would also by a 24 pack of toilet paper, because that kind of intestinal assault would definitely land me on the hopper for a full 2 hours.

Lastly, I would buy the rights to this song:

 Be sure to check out the other Secret Subject Swap topics and responses by clicking here.  I would tell you to vote for me, but it's not that kind of club.   

WTF Friday: Episode 7 --- A Christmas Photo Contest!

Oh Snap!  There's a Contest at The Monkey House!! 

Because it's the holiday season, and all the blogosphere is hyped up about Christmas, I thought it would be fun to do a little photo contest.  That's right, I am hoping enough of you will go out of your way to make me feel good by taking a moment to add a photo of your favorite Christmas tree ever.  There are two categories: Prettiest Tree and Runner-up (which may be the ugliest tree, or may be the second prettiest tree, or may just be the tree with the most ornaments).  Bottom
line: two prizes will be given.   I ask that the trees actually be ones you took part in decorating or at least drove by and saw with your own eyes (i.e. don't just find something hideous on the interwebs).

The two winning photo submitters will receive a prize valued at roughly $100,000,000,000 (a set of 4 handpainted Martini Glasses and free advertising on my blog for a month - a 150 x 150 size... and I'll help you design your ad if you need a little graphic help).  The handpainted martini glasses will be worth a ton of money when I go loco like Van Gogh.  Or Picasso.  Or Cezanne.  Whatevs... they will be priceless 'cause I made 'em.

So add your photo to a blogpost, webpage, your flickr account, or whatever and submit the URL to the linky below.  Let's be honest, most of us do not have Martha Stewart trees since we have kids.  Handmade popcorn garland, the playdoh ornaments, or in my case, heirloom sticks from the Depression handed down from my grandma (no lie) would not likely grace the cover of Better Homes and Gardens.  But I think even my stick-covered tree is pretty.  So, anyone can win!  

Here are a couple examples:

Ugly Tree - This could win a prize!! 

Beautiful Tree

Um, yeah.  If this is your house, you get both prizes.

The contest is open until December 20th at 9am, at which point judging will begin.  The winners will be notified by email and will be featured in December 21st's WTF Friday post.

If you have any questions, you are taking this way too seriously.  But feel free to email them to me anyway.  I love emails.  Especially when they aren't trying to sell me Cialis or anabolic steroids. Neither of which I have any use for.  Bourbon and Zanax... that's another story.

WTF Friday: Episode 6

The Bloggess, Liquor Store Doctors, and Leprosy

 

Welcome to the sixth episode of WTF Friday at 3 Monkeys and a Martini!

As you may know, there has been a no-pants saga which has recently ended due to the purchase of several ill-fitting pairs of Target pants.  Hey, they may be too long and they may Add-A-Dick-To-Me with their lumpy crotchness, but they are pants.  And they are all mine!  Muuhhuuuaaahha! 

It is truly amazing what a pair of pants (and a new sweater or five) can do for your self esteem.  I've even showered in the last two days!  And I plan to go out of the house... in public... to buy food.  And I am not even going to go to Walmart.  "Whoa, slow down!  Don't get crazy on me," you may be saying, but my new pants have created a monster.  I may even slap on some mascara and bronzer.  Look out Mr. Martini, I am on the prowl.  Meeoow!

But seriously, I think my Target pants have helped me become somewhat acceptable.  Or at least not toxic.  I say that because I woke up to this in my in-box this morning:

Her highness The Bloggess, follows me on Twitter!  WTF?  Have I made it or what?  Nevermind she follows like 18k other people.  And nevermind she will never read my blog. And nevermind the fact that this will never result in a dime in my pocket.  It is still pretty damn awesome.  I still think pants are overrated, but maybe, just maybe, these new pants will open some doors for me.

Speaking of doors...

Aside from that nugget of awesomeness, I have been feeling quite crappy.  I went to a "doctor", which is an indication of the seriousness of my feeling of crappiness since I only go to a doctor when a human being begins to protrude from my vag.  This "doctor" was actually a Voodoo Priestess/nurse practitioner/wholesale meat distributor whose office was located in the back of a liquor store.  Hey... I have a high deductible.  I gotta do what I can to save on healthcare costs.

So I see this woman right after a man with what appeared to be leprosy jumped off her examining table.  I tell her my ear hurts.  I have a sneaking suspicion she has yet to wash her hands as she grabs a used Kleenex to wipe off her ear-looky-inny-thingy.  I am fairly certain at this point my ear is going to hurt a hell of a lot more in the days to come, judging by the left-over ear on the floor from the leper guy who just left.  I tell the kids to cover their mouths, and for all that is good and holy, do not touch ANYTHING!  As a reward for good behavior, you will receive a Purell bath upon exiting this facility.  Hope you have no open wounds.

Turns out, all the backaches, headaches, coughing, swollen glands, and ear pain are benign symptoms of nothingness.  See, there is clearly nothing wrong with me.   Silly me.  "Use wam compress on both side of head.  Gargol wit sal wotor" she says.  Gargle with frickin salt water?  What, am I Amish?  What the frig ever happened to Zithromax?  I came here for one thing, and one thing only.  Drugs.  And judging by your clientele you have access to the good stuff.  Gimme, gimme, gimme, gimme. 

So yesterday I spent the bulk of the day on the couch with a heating pad pressed up against my ear, one of those self-heating backache wrap things tied around my neck, a bottle of Tylenol stuffed in my bra, and I guzzled sal wotor once an hour until I puked.  And guess what?  I still feel like crap. 

Ironically, I just received a follow-up call from said Voodoo-meat distributor nurse.  I said I still feel like crap, and consciously coughed into the phone.  Her response, "Oh... take cuple mo day to feel bettah."  Thanks.  Bitch.

WTF?

WTF Friday: Episode 5

An (Almost) Pants-less Moving Day

 



Man, it seems like a decade since I last had a second to write.  And I have missed it so much.  I have even been punishing myself by being a twitterhole since I've been such a bloghole lately.  What is a twitterhole or a bloghole?  Someone who rarely participates in either.  And there is always hilarity going on in the blogs I follow, and the antics from the people I follow on Twitter make a pants-less life worth living, so I've been really punishing myself. 

But we were moving.  And as you likely know, moving S-U-C-K-S.  Like, a lot a bunch.  And one would think with all the experience I have, I'd be good at it.  Yeah, not so much.  You may have read my last post about needing pants.  Let's just say on the day of the big move (which was actually more like 64 hours) I found myself with literally no pants.  None.  Mr. Martini and I had gotten up at 5am to make one last packing push before the movers got there, and upon looking around, panic ensued.  I think the words were, "Why the falafel haven't we packed yet!!!??!!" (except I never say falafel).  And a frantic, sweaty, panicked, craze-induced frenzy of dumping drawers, and toys, and file cabinets full of junk into random un-marked boxes began.  During the madness, I had found a clean pair of yoga pants (ill-fitting of course, but clean) that I quickly pulled aside and put on top of a box while running to the bathroom to pee and brush my teeth.  When I exited, my pants were gone, and there were about 400 newly packed anonymous boxes standing tall as a disheveled Mr. Martini continued throwing random crap to and fro. 

"Where the hell are my pants?", I yelled.  Now mind you, I had already thrown the 3-day-old-funked-up-pants I had been wearing into some other random box filled with dried flowers, some hood ornaments, kitchen utensils, an accordion, and Twizzlers; which was of course, no where to be found.  And by that time, neither was Mr. Martini.

Ohhhh shazam!  You can imagine the fury.  I mean, come on!  I had just recently written about my lack of pants and how mad it makes me.   And now you literally take the only clean pair of ill-fitting pants I own away on a day when strangers will see me, and I already haven't showered in three days?  So I did what any gal in my position would do... stormed around the house in my under-roos swearing like a sailor, throwing things around like a spoiled 3 year old.  Oh yeah... and the reason I was so pissed was because I also had to give a presentation at my son's school that day.  Score!

My husband doesn't read my blog, but he had been made aware of the no-pants post.  He KNOWS!!! When I finally confronted him, his sweaty, befuddled look told me everything I needed to know: "I don't know where the hell your pants are, and to be honest, I don't give a damn."  Luckily I found the three-day-old-funked-up pants I had been wearing, so I slapped those on.  I Fabreezed myself before heading over to the school, and stopped at the store on my way for cupcakes.  I figured if a smelly, un-make-uped, dirty, almost pants-less mom walked in to my school with cupcakes, all I'd remember is that she was awesome.  So I gave it a shot.  I think it worked, although I did try to keep my distance.

---

This move was surprisingly smooth.  Our movers were super fast and even charged less than they estimated, and that NEVER happens.  We even got the house mostly cleaned out for the new owners. But because we don't like to do anything the easy way, like a bunch of dumbasses we had the power shut off just so we would have to scramble around in the dark with flash lights trying to hide things we couldn't illegally dump (sorry about that broken crib you guys will eventually find in the potting shed... and the four full trash cans.  And the garage full of paint. Oh, and that broken jogging stroller... Whoopsies ;) 

So, we're all moved into our new house, which I love.  I have never actually said that about a house that I live in, so that is kind of a big deal.  We even had a lovely make-shift Thanksgiving dinner, and we are slowly unpacking all the random boxes of crap.  Life is starting to normalize.

And guess what?

I still haven't found any damn pants. 

WTF Friday: Episode 4

Sunshine and Crabs



It's WTF Friday, Yo'!  And boy have I got a little nugget to clog up your mind...

I've been awarded The Sunshine Award!  WTF???  I'm trying to play it cool, 'cause, you know, I'm cool and stuff.  But I am kind of excited. The Sunshine Award is like a SAG award in the blogging community.  Except there is no trophy, no fancy dress, no free booze, and no paparazzi.  So really, it's nothing like a SAG award, but it is given by a fellow blogger who thinks your stuff is better than crap.  And I will take that as a major award.  So, thank you to The Hypnotic Bard at The Insomniac's Dream for the love!

Bam!  I get to make this into a sticker and wear it all week!

Just like any award, with it comes some serious responsibilities.  This may be a total load of crap, I don't know.  The only award I've ever gotten was one of those "Thanks for Playing" blow-up toys you get when you throw a ping pong ball into a gold fish bowl at the county fair.  So having bestowed these responsibilities on me leads me to seriously question The Hypnotic Bard's sanity. Or at least her sobriety. 

In any event, I have to answer some questions so you can get to know me better (as if you don't already know I use the F-word all the time, I frequently wet my pants, and I have a love-hate relationship with Walmart), AND I get the privilege of sending the award onto 5 bloggers whose stuff I think is better than crap.  And so you see, the circle of blog life has been revealed.

So without further ado...

1) What is your favorite Christmas movie?
     I am a fan of A Christmas Story because I love lamp.

2) What is your favorite flower? 
     The Peony.  Or Pee-oe-nay as I was informed by the lead horticulturalist at Walmart.  It is the flower that symbolizes romance and prosperity and is regarded as an omen of good fortune and a happy marriage.  Which is really ironic, because it is also the State flower of Indiana and Indiana doesn't even bother keeping track of divorces they happen so frequently. Oh, and it is certainly not a "prosperous" state by any stretch of the imagination.  Cue banjos...

3) What is your favorite non-alcoholic beverage?
      Hmmm... Coffee, I guess.  Water?  I drink a lot of water.  And I usually put ice in my wine, 'cause I like water that much and I am one classy broad.

4) What is your passion?
      I am passionate about aesthetics.  Making things pretty is a major obsession of mine.  Which is a strange contradiction since I haven't even bothered to put on make-up in about 3 weeks, and my shirt currently has pit stains AND BBQ Sauce on it.  Hey fellas...

5) What is your favorite time of the year?
      I love Spring.  I love the smell of wet decaying leaves from the fall before.  I love the squishy wetness of the grass after the snow melts.  I love the smell of lilacs, the first real indication that Spring has indeed sprung.  I also love not having to shovel.  Not that I ever do, but it looks like a real pain in the ass.

6) What is your favorite time of day?
     5pm... it's wine o'clock.  I also really enjoy the butt-crack of dawn.  Actually, several hours before the crack shows it's, well, crack.  It is peaceful in the house and my brain is fully functional, which is a rare and tender time. I usually sleep through it.

7) What is your favorite physical activity? 
     Dancing.  My husband is a ladies man and we went dancing before we ever became a "thing".  Yeah, that night he could have gotten into my pants in the men's room. I mean, it was salsa night, and that shizzle is HOT, HOT, HOT!   But he was a gentleman and didn't take advantage.  I knew he was a keeper.

8) What is your favorite vacation? 
     So many favorites, but my all time favorite was Bar Harbor, Maine.  I saw the most beautiful sunrise ever and shared it with the man of my dreams over slightly warm Dom Perignon from the night before, and I got to wear a crab hat and walked around town pretending to be a pirate.   It doesn't get better than romantic sunrises, champagne, pirates, and crabs. 

 

And so now I get to bestow this honor on five bloggers who make me laugh.  Is that a necessary qualification?  Technically, no.  But for me, it is a big ol' "YES"!

 

So check out these hilarious folks, and tell 'em I sent ya ;)

 

The Calibama Mom

 

CrakGenius

 

One Classy Motha

 

Diapers or Wine?

 

Shit I Don't Tell Most People

 

There are a ton of other super funny, super smart bloggers out there that I would love to share the accolades of, but alas, I only get 5 this time.  So gimme another award and I will share some more gems that float in a virtual sea of doo-doo.  Oh, and, thank you to the Academy. :)  

 

WTF Friday: Episode 3

 

It's WTF Friday, Y'all! And I thought I would kick it off with a photo of myself.  Well, at least of a chick I can totally identify with this week. I hope it's a chick. 

 

Anyway.  

 

Let's just say I have been having bladder control issues.  What with all the coughing, and laughing, and pregnancy goin' on.  I can't keep up with the laundry. I have resorted to wearing granny panties I took out of the package last year, looked at, and was like "Oh Hell Naw!".  Yeah, I'm down to those.  This may be one of the many contributing factors that I left out of my There Will Be No Sex In The Champagne Room post.   

 

Other awesome magoo I have been dealing with this week: my kid is a lunatic.  Seriously, this morning I actually did some research to see if his craptastic behavior is the result of some sort of weird lunar phenomenon.  Like maybe he's a werewolf, or maybe he's actually a she and is premenstrual at a very early age. Wrong on both accounts.  Poop.

 

 But he is a master at pushing my buttons.  I mean, I found myself scolding him in a freakin' Walmart, "HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN WHERE YOU ARE...?"  

I swear to God I heard someone laugh at me, like they were thinking the same damn thing I was at that very moment: This is a freaking Walmart, and you're making it sound like we're at The White House or something. Just be glad your kid has pants on.  So when I realized how stupid that sounded, I quickly followed up with, "You're in public." trying to get the point across that we don't throw ourselves on the goddamn floor pitching a fit in public.  Even if that public is a Walmart.  But by then the deed was done and my ego was bruised.  I realized that I had just been embarrassed by The People Of Walmart.  You really don't know you've hit bottom until you've had that epiphany.

  

I felt inferior to this!!  WTF?

 

 And to top it all off, I actually DIDN'T have heartburn last night, which meant I actually got to sleep.  Until I dumped a glass of water on myself at 3am like the mouth-breather I clearly am.  So, I figure I'll put on some leggings and a Macho Man Randy Savage shirt and go see if I can't find me some moving supplies at the Walmart, because I need to get out of here.



WTF Friday, Episode 2

 

 

I woke up today and I knew it was gonna be a bad day, and that sucks because overall it's been a pretty awesome week.  I got up late after spending half the night trying to comfort Silly Monkey post-nightmare.  Gianormous half-naked pregnant chic folded up in a Spider Man twin bed with company... you can imagine how well I slept.  And upon waking, I was slapped in the face with the realization that, not only did I have to get the kids fed, dressed, and full, but I also had to get ready; something that has become more and more of a rarity in the recent past.  

 

You know how they say 'it takes a village to raise a child'? Well, it takes a village to get mommy publicly presentable.  Everyone must pitch in to make it possible for me to shower, slap on some make-up, and hopefully get pants on.  So it is a pain in the derriere for all involved.  And what's worse, is that we all had to go through this hullabaloo so I could go to my incompetent doctor's office to shell out $350 for a repeat ultrasound I had done two weeks ago because the crack-addict technician "forgot" to get images of the spine.  Say what?  The spine?  Kinda important dontchya think? 

 

  I am about as frustrated and angry as a girl can get.  I've done this baby thing twice before, so I know a thing or two about how this prenatal care thing works; what to expect, what tests I need, what precautions they need to take because of my personal medical history, etc..  But I have been astounded throughout this whole pregnancy at the ineptitude of these doctors and their employees.  To date I have seen four different doctors at the same frickin' office since this pregnancy began.  Last time I ranted about it in my Drunk Mommy post, there were three.  Now a new one apparently graduated from North Venezuela  Universidad of Medicine and Taxidermy and joined the shop so, "let me test out this specula on you, Ms. Martini". 

 

And because I have been tossed around like a damn Raggedy Andy doll, I have now been required to take two different unnecessary tests because they can't get their heads out of their asses.  And the tests keep coming.  Today was the last straw.

 

As I  am checking out the gal says, "So we need to schedule your 1 hour glucola test". 

OMG!  I almost punched her. "I had that last week". 

Typing, typing, typing, type, type, type. Clickity, clickity, click, click, click...click, click.

 

 "Looks like they requested an early glucose test; they do that when they know you're a diabetic". 

 

Me: "Yeah, I'm not".

 

  "And we need to schedule your blah, blah, blah and your Rhogam shot.  I don't know why they didn't do that when you had your glucola.  That's typically when they do that.  I'll find out".

 

"Yes, why don't you go do that"?  Me getting pissy because I have now spent 10 minutes dealing with this crotchbiscut, and Mr. Martini has an appointment that actual makes money rather than wastes it.  

 

So I wait. And I wait.  I read a weeks worth of Tweets, I respond to six emails, set up a hair appointment, get a back massage from one of those traveling back massage guy-people at the mall, ordered some take-out, watched an episode of I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant, got my legs waxed, donated blood, adopted a puppy, got an A+ at puppy obedience school, ordered a Diamonique ring from QVC, returned it, and drank a latte. 

 

FINALLY that bitch came back, with back-up.  Nurse who-the-hell-are-you tells me that I now need to take yet ANOTHER glucose test, along with badonka donk, and I need to get a badinky dink.  And I can have this all done at the hospital at my convenience, but I should come back Monday for my shot.

 

"Cool", I said.

 

 "Oh, and yeah, I'd like a medical records release form because I am never coming back to this friggin' circus again". 

 

And I'm not, Yo.  Not never, not no how.

Smart Car, Stupid Driver

Yesterday I spent the day traipsing around Indianapolis with my family frantically looking at houses, since we will be homeless in approximately 1 month. Selling your house is AWESOME, but being homeless; not so much.

In any event, I came across this gem while driving down the 465 freeway. If you know me, you know I hate a Smart Car. Boy do they piss me off, and their owners piss me off even more. I mean I get owning a car for the pure ridiculousness of it, and hey, if you can't ride your scooter, you might as well have something equally stupid, tiny, and light to get you around, right?  But here's a hint to all you Smart Car owners: We all see your car is tiny, and we all make judgements about your manhood. Hanging a big set of balls to your exhaust does not make you more of a man. It makes you look like a douchebag in a Smart Car with small penis syndrome.





SmartCar, Big Ballin'.

WTF Friday: Episode 1

 Today marks the birth of what will heretofore be affectionately known as “What the Fuck, Friday”.

 

So last night, Mr. Martini and I were astounded when the last hurdle to selling our home was cleared.  We passed inspection, finalized all negotiations, and well, sold our house.  Yippee! Hooray!!  On these rare happy occasions when everything seems to be going our way I typically don’t like to screw it up by cooking, so I thought I might scrounge up enough duckets from Silly Monkeys piggy bank to order out.   And hey, I found a discount code for a free pizza from a big chain we never order from.  Score!   So far, so good.  Everyone had a great feast and we set-up a make-shift bed in the living room and all settled in to watch ET. It was almost Rockwellian.  I should have been suspicious about what fate had in store for me…

Enter 3am.  Mini Monkey decides it is time to get up, and he is pissed!  So, I waddle in his room, change the dipe, fix a bottle and try to get him to settle down cuddling on the couch.  And then it happens. The undeniable, unmistakable rumble of gastrointestinal doom.  And this baby fierce.  So I launch myself-- Monkey in hand--off the couch and deliver him sweetly into his crib as I fight the urge to open the diaper pail and take a seat right there.  I run to the bathroom and proceed to unleash the monster.  Now here is where it gets awful.  See, at our house Tuesday’s are ‘Last Box of Kleenex Tuesday’, and Wednesday is ‘Last Roll of Paper Towel Wednesday’, and as luck would have it, Thursday happens to be ‘Last Roll of Toilet Paper Thursday’.  So of course, it only makes sense that Friday happens to be ‘Explosive Diarrhea Friday’.  WTF???