Archive | March 2013

Waiting for Mammo

Have had an über fun week! #sarcasm Today’s treat is my annual mammogram! Yahoo! An currently in the waiting area, naked from the waist up, wearing a stylish gown, and no deodorant! Yay! I may be exaggerating but I think this waiting room smells like raw onions and fear.

More fun posting later! Maybe I can get a walk-in colonoscopy!

HFSPD and Random Miscellany

So, good evening. And ouch. A fun pre-St. Patrick’s Day Date Night last night. And “a few” proseccos were consumed. ‘Nuff said. (actually, I’ve already blogged about it – nice early onset dementia there, Kelly)

Today, I cooked my first (and LAST!) corned beef thingy. Not corned beef and cabbage b/c the corned beef stinks enough as it is! Anyway, knowing my family, I cooked alternate meals. For 11, ham and tater tots. For Sarcasmo, corned beef and tater tots. For the Frug, corned beef and mashed cauliflower (JFC, that stinks too!).  For me? Scrambled eggs and bacon (and let’s be honest, tater tots). So, with the corned beef, ham, and bacon, Otis was beside himself. I literally slipped in a puddle of his drool. I repeat, LITERALLY.

So, corned beef? WTF is it?  It’s some part of the cow that you cook for hours and yet it’s RED. WHY?! It looked like liver when I opened the package and like a dried up red tongue when the cooking was finished. ICK. And the spices?  GAH. The stench. Someone save me from the stench.

Hope the Frug enjoyed it ’cause that is a one time meal. *gags*

Why Can’t My “Big Ideas” Become Reality?

Good Morning and Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

The Frug and I celebrated Green Drinking Day as part of our Date Night last night. It was drunken debauchery to the nth degree. People were openly making out in the bars…grinding on the dance floor…lots of loud talking…drink spilling…phone dropping…whores cackling…you get the picture.

Soooo…at any good drinkfest, there’s bound to be a line for the loo, right? So, I had to wait in 25 whore line for a 2 stall bathroom. Ugh. Meanwhile, the Frug had my 4th (?) prosecco waiting for me.

Here’s where it gets ugly. He sends me a text that he’s feeling a poop coming on. And he has my drink. I’m in line and cannot risk leaving the line (bc, quite frankly, I was in an urgent pee sitch)…my next text to him was “wait, where are you?” And his horrifying reply was “in the crapper”!!!!!!! *shrieks* My reply “WITH MY DRINK???” Answer? “Yup”



Anyway, it made me think of my big idea. Read  drink condom idea to refresh your memory. Why isn’t this a “thing” yet?? I know the Japanese have this…

How Can I Turn This Brilliant Idea into a Reality?

So, Mama needs a mani/pedi. And a brow wax too. The problem is the Frug has me on double secret budget lockdown. Cash is even being tracked. Shit. What to do? (Do NOT say “Do them yourself” b/c you have no idea how piss poor my fine motor skills are!) The problem with my fun beauty treatments is that the bill just JUMPS OUT on the credit card statement: MASSAGE EXPRESS!  Diana Nails! Vitalia MedSpa! I’m like “hush!” kwim?!

So, my idea is…what if the nail and massage places could ring it up as some sort of hardware store like Home Depot or Lowes or something? Their company would still get paid. It would just be a special transaction or something. The credit card bill would say “Home Depot $25” and, when questioned, I could say “Oh, just got some misc. stuff for the house.

OMG, another thought. Why can’t Target have a nail salon?????  Hello?!?!?  They have Starbucks and Pizza Hut. Why not nails? Come on!!  BRILLIANT!!!!!

I scare myself sometimes.

Passive Aggression at Its Most Beautiful…

Had my quarterly dinner with my Tinas. 2 pomegranate margaritas and cackling makes my heart swell. And my ass too apparently. *glares* I walked in the door and didn’t get a “How was dinner?” from the Frug.  I got a “So, WHAT did you eat?” with look of abject horror on his face. *scowls*  I did eat a nicely salty crab cake and petite filet. And the most delightfully salty crispy shoestring french fries. *purrs*  Why is it that eating salt and MSG can puff you up instantly but a week of eating lettuce and drinking gallons of water don’t lead to a pound lost on the scale?? (please don’t bother thinking I actually eat lettuce and drink gallons of water. *sips 2nd DC of the day*)

This morning, I got another little dig, not about my diet or the usual “What are you doing today? Anything??” that I’m used to. Today it was “So, can you do something with that closet?” Oh, I can think of a number of things, my friend. *narrows eyes*

Another one is when he walks into a bathroom that has been destroyed. “What happened in here?” he’ll shout. Gee, Fruggie, I have no idea. Maybe, just maybe, someone has taken an enormous dump?

Ignore me.

Tired Kelly is always Evil Kelly.

Does Everyone Know About…

…Brittany Herself? Aka my next wife. Michael K. from DListed is my gay husband and Brittany Herself is totes my lesbian wife.  She is hilarious and REAL. Here’s her recent post about aging and what it means when one puts a refrigerator in the garage:

Garage Fridge

Honestly, Kim Kardashian…NSFW

Filed under “Are You Fucking Kidding Me?”

Kim K. got a bloody facial. No, I’m not doing Brit speak…nor am I using a euphemism for something else.


I’m actually speechless…I’ll let Michael K take it from here:

I know, the last thing you needed to see on a Monday morning is a close-upshot of a dirty maxi-pad face. Well, at least it’s all up from here and nothing you see this week will be grosser than a portrait of a Kartrashian looking like the tip of a 5 day old tampon.

On last night’s episode of Kourtney and Kim Taint Miami, one of the Illuminati’s secret beauty regimens was revealed when Kim Kartrashian got a Vampire Facelift. Since Kim is a vapid dildo of vainness, she will inject anything into her face (examples: resin, liquid nails, the sperm of Lucifer, the syrupy nectar that forms under Kanye’s titties when he throws a tantrum, etc…etc..) to keep her mug looking as tight as Kanye’s puckering pussay.

OMG. She has lost her damn mind. Sigh.

Anyway, check out DListed for the rest. UGH.