Books, Brats, Dirty Santa & Boobs

So, now that the holiday season is, thankfully, behind us, I can go on about my daily business of being bitchy and pissed off and it won't look like I'm doing it solely for the holiday season, but just because that's the way I am.

That said, I finally pulled the grinch shaped corn cob I had up my ass for a month out and uploaded all 49,723 pictures taken in the last five weeks to my PC for sorting, deleteing, stashing away for private moments.. ya know, all the normal stuff.

This year, I got Miss A and The Boy reading material, so they could prove to me that, at their advanced high school age, they could in fact read. Wonders never cease, both of them can actually put letters together to read words. I was thrilled.

See the happy Miss A with her Happy Bunny, Bite Me book? She was thrilled.

The Boy was full of genuine redneck delight when he opened his beautifully wrapped Larry the Cable Guy epic novel. I think he's read more than half of the damn thing. However, if I had even thought for one second of the backlash of my book buying, I would have put it down and walked away. Now, most of the conversations I have with The Boy start out, "Larry the Cable Guy says...." Great. Eh, at least he's reading something other than naughty MySpace pages now.

Brats. The holidays are brimming over with them, don't you agree?

As if that old threat "Santa only comes and brings prezzies to good little boys and girls" really works... Shaaaaa, right. Most of the kids in my family would kick Santa right in the balls and laugh about it while the others are raiding and snatching the good stuff out of his sleigh. Conspiracy theory? I think not. These children are fucking evil.

Lil T put on quite the little performance after opening his and everybody else's stuff. Granted he's only two, but Nana (that would be me) dig that bratty little kid screamin horseshit. I so wanted to bust his ass for kicking and screaming, but instead I took his picture.

"Lil T, you should stop being a brat. I'm taking your picture and blogging about you and the internet will never go away so a history of your bratiness will always be there."

Watttta brat. It goes a little something like this... He's cute when he's happy.... he's happy when he gets my way... when he ain't gettin his way.... loook out he gets pisssssed!

I blame this on my step-sister, she is his babysitter. Therefore, he is immersed in a boiling vat of brat soup all day, everyday... as my stepsister's kid is the spawn of satan himself, I shit you not. But that's another whole story there.

After the early meeting with my family unit, we took a nappy and then wandered north to see his family unit. I am pleased to say that Big T's mom has recovered very well and isn't having any real after effects of the stroke now. She was crackin on everybody and occasion would slap one of her kids upside the head for good measure. Excellent, Ms. Pat!!

One by one, the whole new family by marriage showed up. All of them carrying gifts for the Dirty Santa Game we played.

The rules go like this. You can either pick a prezzie from the pile or steal somebody else's prezzie. I said all along I was gonna steal just for the fun of it.
And I did. I yoinked my sister in law's mini crock pot. She shouldn't have acted like she liked it so much.

Now Dirty Santa rocks balls because you just don't know what you're gonna reach in and pull out of that there big ass pile of prezzies.


Big T's brother J got the most interesting prezent, but only because he was a boy. Sexy, sexy.


And just to skank my blog up a little. A picture of my half hidden rack, an idea blamed on Bottled Blonde.

Parkin spaces, Bargain hunters & Chatty Kathy

Ok, before anybody goes and indicts me on charges of being a hateful, Christmas squashing skank, I am going to attempt to defend myself. I have officially pulled the Grinch out of my ass and found the holiday spirit, somewhat at least. I put two trees up and lit the outside of my house up with an ill flashing duck. I should really get a picture of it, it's ugly as hell. But since my daughter absolutely hates that cheezy duck sooo much, I find an added bit of joy when I plug the lights in and it starts nodding. Heh. She's since learned not to tell me when she doesn't like something as I go out of my way to rub it in. (But that's another story).

I've finally figured out what the hell has made me need liquid happiness the past few years. It's the complete commercialization and exploitation of a HOLY season by corporate assholes banking on us spending every last penny we don't have.
But being broke ain't the real problem, kids. Nah... Robert has already said he was gonna tell Jesus I'm broke, so I'm not worried about all that so much. I'm all caught up on the credit card bills by say mid-July of the following year. Nice, eh? Whatever...

Oh shit, I'm supposed to be defending myself against Bah Humbug Syndrome. Right, so here we are. I swear I'm in an awesome holiday mood. I'm just pointing out the obvious. Let's discuss all of the little things that make this season so jolly and bright.

- The parking situation. This time of year is a nightmare worse than Freddy Kruger chasing me in my unbuttoned button-up oxford shirt and panties through a lonely, dark street whilst I fight to wake up from the dream before he kills me. With people playing drag race down narrow parking aisles in an attempt to get that one spot that opened up close to the door.

I nearly got taken out three times in two parking lots Saturday while trying to get to a semi-non-populated part of each parking lot.
Since I drive Big T's big truck every chance I get, the front parking space means precisely dick to me. I'm not one who minds to walk to and from the store, even if it's pretty far. I park toward the back of the lot where all the asshats wouldn't dare park as it would mean they have to actually walk more than 20 steps to enter the shopping establishment. Which means it's less likely that a NASCAR slide into the parking space I have chosen is not very likely.

- Bargain hunters. Those ladies will run you down and put you into the wall, like Dale Jr. comin up on Gordon in the final few laps at Daytona, with their buggy full of goods to get that one thing that's on the other side of you. "Look! It's a tube of KY Jelly discounted 25% for the holidays!!!!!" she squeels as you feel the buggy ram your hip and said bargain beast rolls through the already packed aisle to get .

I really think shopping buggies are in dire need of horns, brakes and blinkers. No shit. I think I might just market that. There's cause for it as Wal-Mart and my local Food City are the spawn of satan year round anyway.

- The talker. Now, I admit it, I talk on the phone whilst cruisin the warzones (also known as Wal-Mart, Target, Bed Bath & Beyond, Goody's, etc, etc...). But I never have, nor will I ever, be so inconsiderate as to stop dead still in the middle of a friggin aisle to continue my conversation, creating a backlog of people waiting to pass by my fat ass. Look it sister, if you're gonna take about the corns on the big toe of your left foot, do it somewhere else. Don't stop mid-step, put your hand on your hip and share about it where all of your fellow shoppers have to hear it. I personally don't care about your corns or any of your other podiatric flaws. You are doing nothing more than creating an angry mob behind you, who (if held up too long) will pommel you to the ground stampede style.

So, that was my shopping experience from the weekend. Swear to all that's Holy, I'll at least consider Christmas shopping around the 4th of July next year.
Thank goodness I'm nearly done with it except for the "mystery gifts" for the Dirty Santa festivity with Big T's family on Christmas Day. (Blog on that one to come.)

xoxoxo Love all ya'll. xoxoxxo

If Anybody Was Wondering

I know you, my friends on Blogger's Lane, are really getting uptight thinking "What the hell would Diva want for Christmas??"

I'm here to help. I don't want to end up with another toaster.

In no particular order, I will list the items you are welcome to put under my tree this year. We'll have a hot toddie and discuss the fun uses for these lil ditties.

First. The Yodeling Pickle. Anybody out there who wouldn't want a pickle that yodels? I for one am just bubbling with anticipation for Christmas morning! Wake up, all dreamy eyed to a beautifully decorated box... and out pops the pickle.


I'm also amused at the thought of getting this cute little smoking monkey. I think I could teach it to spit, fart, burp, cuss and drink beer too with enough time and training.


Lastly, I want this so I could always have a weinerschnitzel in my hand.
Sick, huh?


There ya have it kids. I promise not to regift.

Hot Toddies, Christmas Trees & Nekkid Bell Ringin

I swear to all that is Holy... I'm trying my bestest to get into the holiday spirit. It just ain't me. But I'll not sit here and spew a bunch of Bah Humbug and tinkle on everybody else's happy happy ho-ho-ho.

Quite the contrary. In my efforts to pull the Grinch out of my ass, I have found that a nice alcolhic beverage can be very beneficial. My drink of choice? Ahhh, a nice cup of fresh brewed double shot o' espresso combined neatly with a shot of Bailey's Irish Creme. Yes, it is tasty. Mmmm, mmmm, mmmmmm.

So, one cup of cheer at a time, I have managed to begin my holiday-ing with relatively little pain and suffering.

I slung up two Christmas trees this year. One in the living room where everyone hangs out and the other in the Den Of Love downstairs.

Wanna see? I know you do... even if you don't... here it is in all it's blinged out glory!! This is the silver & white tree. This sucker glows by the light of the fire even with the twinkle lights not plugged up.


Let's sing...
"Silver balls..... Silver balllsssss... it's Christmas time in the Lair"

This is the wooden tree. Tastfully decorated thanks to JoAnn's craft emporium. Everything on it is made of wood. We like it. Eco-safe, tree parts that will be used for years to come. Poor thing still needs something on top, but I've yet to find me a wooden angel or star or santa...


Up close with my fave ornaments.... The sappy but sexy LOVE BELL... When I get lucky, I run upstairs in all my nekkid glory and ring that bad boy... (Scary thought, huh?)



Now just because I have my own forest of Christmas trees doesn't mean that this tree or this tree are safe.

I made a promise to myself that I would go steal them and leave ransom notes for each tree if either tree owner turns their respective back for more than 2 minutes.


Happy Holidays, boys and girls.

Bras, Burritos, Ninjas & Hair Pullin

I have decided on what one of the most annoying occurances in a woman's life can possibly be.

I was at work and everything was coming up roses. I had an super great hair day. I even woke up early enough to slap on some war-paint.
I had a box to pack up for a customer who is in a shit panic to get something done RIGHT NOW, after he had been advised a week ago that he needed to take action.

Whatever. Lack of planning on his dumb ass part, does not constitute a shit panic for me. None the less, I went ahead, as a good colleague would, and got his stuff put together for him and was putting the large part (a 50 pound instrument) into the box when I felt it.... SNAP! The underwire in my most favoritest bra gave out.

That kids, is annoying. My boob popped out of said bra into my shirt, making my the girls look all awkward and crooked. Needless to say, the bra came off and I wore my sweatshirt for the rest of the day.

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I made an attempt to be stealth like a ninja this weekend. I did, really. I waited for Big T to get up and go to work, acting totally and convincingly asleep. He was out the door and I jumped up to take a shower. I hi-jacked the truck and snuck all the way to Pigeon Forge to the Music Outlet.

I cried on the sales fella's shoulder about how I had to have the camo Morgan Monroe guitar case, of which they only had one and was already half paid for by some psycho woman.

Being the spoiled brat I am, I tried to talk him into giving me that one and ordering her another one, but to no avail. Kids, I haggled this dude for 20 minutes before his son said, "Dad, I think there might be one upstairs in the storage room."

The waters parted and the heavens opened when I saw the boy coming back down the stairs a mere 30 minutes later carrying the last one they would ever have.

I am such a good wife that I pay attention to all the stuff Big T says. And I specifically remember him making a mental note that he was going to go back and get that case one day. Check. I made a mental note too. I was sure it would get me a free pass for a wicked roll in the hay. Woo!

Anyhoo, I get home and try to get in the house before Big T can come help me in with the stuff. But, I didn't make it. He was out the door before I could fart and run from it.

He asked obviously annoyed that I would have enough nerve to put something back there when he had specifically told me not to.
"What's that in the back of the seats? I thought I told you not to put anything back there, baby."

"I know you did. It's for Natalie (my kid) and it's lightweight. I was afraid it would blow out of the bed if I put it back there." I protested.

He rolled his eyes and said "Unlock the door, let's get it out and take it in the house."

What could I do. I handed him the key. Mind you, he's had a hard-on for this particular item for a little over a year.

He pulls the box out and looks in it. I swear, I thought he was gonna cry. The look of horror on his face that he had found one of his Christmas presents.

Oh well, his bad. He ain't gettin it until Christmas day. I'll wrap that bitch up and put in under the tree anyway. He better act surprised and he better still give me some major league nookie.

So much for being a ninja.

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Taco Bell gets a stay of execution for now.
As promised to Ms. P, I went ahead forewent my diet in order to keep Taco Bell in business. I have had a burrito and large Diet Dew two days in a row. There is no need for anybody so sweet to die of hunger because of my vanity. What the hell was I thinkin anyway? Maybe that is why I broke bitch in like 1.3 seconds... maybe it wasn't PMS... maybe it was lack of bean burritos with extra red sauce.
Thank you, Puddin, you saved me from myself.

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What is a school zone? A school zone is a place where flashing lights, crossing guards and cops all come together with one goal in mind... to slow folks down in order to avoid mowing down of any munchkins.

I respect the school zone and all of its components. However, some asshat in an SUV, who apparently woke up a little late, doesn't.

I drive my kids to school every single day, as she is too much of a princess to ride the damn bus. Which is fine. I too was a princess. I take into consideration that I might just run into traffic in the school zones, and allow this into my alotted time for the AM commute. Generally I take it for what it is and am a mellow driver. I don't suffer from road rage very often... until today. Today was the day I finally snapped.

Anyway, the forementioned asshat decided that he was in a hurry and as a result his SUV was raping my poor little car he was riding so close... like right up the tailpipe raping. Not like I could go anywhere any faster with the half mile of folks trying to do the same thing I was.

I didn't think about my daughter (16) sitting next to me when I finally got pissed off. I rolled down the window and yelled back at him "If you're gonna ride my ass, at least pull my hair, asshole!"

Ooops. Of course, my kid busted out laughing and looking back at him. He must've been humiliated cuz his boy was laughing his ass off as his dad yelled at him. Good. Back off and don't ride other people's bumper. It's just consideration.

Cherry Poppin, Fart Wars, Makin Babies & Bankruptcy

You perverts!! I know you thought to yourself... "Ohhhh, Diva's done been rollin' in the woods again."

No. I'm a good Christian girl and I don't roll in the woods or anything of that nature. Not anymore anyway, I got married 2 months ago.

Oh, speaking of pervi-ness. It has come to my attention that I am NOT the only one around this place who had no clue what Half Nekkid Thursday was! Go me! Still doesn't mean I'm gonna tack my rack on my page. (Although it is more of a ragin' thing that I thought).


Anyhoo... the cherry I refer to is the Christmas song cherry. I am a complete and total karaoke junkie. Why, I dunno. It's not that I'm any good at it. I think it's the fact that I can go get hammered and make an ass out of myself and it not bother me.

So, I made the rounds over the long weekend to my favorite waterin' holes to partake in cold beer and greasy food whilst listening to all the other drunk monkies attempting to sing their own renditions of many-a-song. Sometimes can be scary, sometimes can be totally awesome, sometimes I need earplugs to keep from bleeding out my ears.

It's after Thanksgiving and not a single holiday ditty had been krooned. WTF? It's time to get in the spirit and make people accept the fact that they are going to spend more money than Hugh Hefner does on his playmates.

At both Ronnie's and Coyote Joe's, I popped the cherry on the beloved Christmas tune, by belting out Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas. Actually, I only sang it because I felt the need to pull the Grinch out of my ass. I'm not sure if it worked yet.

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Me and Big T called a truce on the fart war as he was getting way too serious and thinking of ways to smoke me out. I waved the red flag sometime on Saturday night when he was kicking my ass by close to 10 farts, er points.
Besides it was costing me too much in candles and air freshner to keep the house smelling fresh with that much shit flying.

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I have been a really good girl the past couple of days. And Big T has been very cooperative! He's even trying to cut back and eat healthier with me as a show of support. Not sure how long he'll last before he caves and sneaks to Burger King for a grease bomb, but he's got my undying gratitude for not doing it in front of me.

I have sucked down ungodly amounts of water rather than Diet Dew and Diet Coke. I have kicked Taco Hell to the curb (last I heard, they're about to file bankruptcy). The fridge is filled with healthy crap like you'd find at a fat farm and we're actually eating it. My ass has even managed to hoof out 3+ miles a day on the treadmill at increasingly increasing speeds. Go me.

Swear to God, there is no way my ass is buying new fat clothes after I gave all the old ones away and done went out and bought all new smaller clothes last year. Not gonna do it.

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On the baby makin' front, we gots a big fat strike out. No bun in the oven over here yet. I reckon since the doctor said my fat ass needs to lose a few pounds before actively pursuing baby makin. I have to admit I was sort of bummed out when I had to make my way to Walgreens for Midol, tampons and bon-bons (actually I got Diet Dew, not bon bons...).

I can only assume that I knew I wasn't pregnant because I had a wicked mean bout with PMS this week and felt like I was going to strangle several people for relatively small and mostly harmless offenses.

Santa's Sexy In His Jockey Shorts

You know, for the past decade, I kept thinking to myself "Damn. Christmas seems to come earlier and earlier every year. I thought it was only in my head because I am simply annoyed by how commercial Christmas has become.

I took note, back in August no less, that as soon as Wal-Mart took out the swimming pools and other summer items... in came the Christmas stuff. IN AUGUST! Before even halloween had time to come and go.

Pisses me off, the money-grubbing devil stores peddle as much as they can for as long as they can. And what really slays me is the fact that, everytime I'd pass through lawn & garden, even back in late summer, there were people buying that shit up. It wasn't on sale, it was just out on display and for sale at regular prices.

Now I don't know about you, but I certainly don't want my house decorated with little elves and the like that early in the year. I'm the type that as soon as Christmas is over, I'm ready to jerk the ornaments down and sling the tree in the yard.

What I think should happen is, since the the stores have all the Christmas crap out that early, the Salvation Army should round up sexy bell ringers and have them out there in the heat of summer in a Santa-like underwear or a swimsuit made of red velvet with white trim.

BAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH, Humbug.