I’ve recently made the decision to cut the chord and move in with my sister…out of the nest I’ve been so cozy in for 20 something years being showered with free diamonds and jewels aka toilet paper and an unlimited food supply.  I’m not a world traveler by any stretch and never went away to college. I am used to the tampon fairy magically restocking the closet, replacing q-tips, refilling the TP roll…I hope that fairy has a change of address form.

As reality sets in, I’ve realized a few things that could potentially be a problem.
  
1.)  My sister and I are both HIGHLY terrified of bugs and spiders
2.)  My sister and I are both HIGHLY terrified of things that fly that are not human
3.)  Neither of us have ever been allowed to cut the grass because my dad has extreme OCD over the lawn and who is allowed to cut it, sit on it, touch it or breathe near it
 4.)  Plumbing…clogs, over flows, broken parts...no clue. If you can’t glue it or kick it, I’m out of solutions for repair
5.)  I have to change my address on my whole life…I wonder if I leave bills with my parents address if they will accidently pay one or two. Why didn’t I think of this sooner?
6.) Shit is expensive. What do they make spot shot out of...panda hearts?

While all of these things may be considered ridiculous, they are very real fears. Whatever fuckers are laughing, be prepared for a phone call to come kill, fix or hang something. Over the weekend we learned to ‘butch up.’ We both killed a bug and together we figured out how to get the slider back on the track after my sister ran in to it. This was more out of fear as my parents were due home any minute and I just finished breaking the water disposal thing on the fridge. Evidently fear makes us more knowledgeable in the way of home improvement. Not more than an hour after the celebrations wound down, her dog came in the house with, what I swore was, a cicada on his paw. Of course he ran right over to me because we are besties. My flannel shirt and sanity went straight out the window. Fast forward mass shrieking and hysteria…it was a leaf…and my dad got it off his foot. Baby steps people, baby steps.  

*Holy fuck, I just googled spider images to flare up this shit and will NEVER do it again. I’m not going to be able to sleep ever again…well, at least not tonight. You assholes are NOT worth it so insert funny bug thing here. I’m completely skeeved out. I’m checking my sheets 16 times before I get in my bed and if my fitted sheet pops off one corner, someone is getting bitched out.

My sister is also going to attempt to do yard work on her own. Godspeed sister, godspeed. I’ll watch you from the window with an ice tea and 9 and 1 dialed on my cell. I guess you’re getting tall socks for housewarming. Another part of not living with your parents anymore means you need a ton of shit. Things you thought just came with a house…like windex, Clorox, room spray, toilet cleaner, dishwashing liquid etc. If I were a dude, I’d steal napkins from McD and squirt QT soap into a Gatorade bottle mixed with water and call them my multi-purpose cleaner and wiping/wipe-up cloths. No one would think twice. Reason 32847 why guys have it better than girls. If we don’t have guest towels, we get the stink eye. Well guess what…you can use the same fucking towel I did because I’m not spending $10 on your own personal towel or taking the time to wash the shit. I’m going to be a fantastic hostess, I can already tell. P.S to all of the fuckers thinking they are going to ‘drop-in’ I HATE the drop in. So if you insist on doing it, bring me something to make me not hide under the windowsill until you leave my porch. I always need bread, booze and guacamole. If you’re feeling frisky, bring me toilet paper, paper towels or gas for my butch’s lawnmower. 

My parents used make fun of me for watching all of television's most quality programming : ‘Hoarders Buried Alive,’ ‘My Strange Addiction,’ and ‘Extreme Couponing’ to name a few. Thanks to ‘My Strange Addiction,’ the people who are addicted to not spending money have taught me you can save on your water bill by not flushing number 1. ‘Hoarders’ taught me where you have piles of shit, you have bugs, rats or feral cats so lets stay the fuck away from that noise. ‘Extreme Couponing’ has helped me start our stockpile of tampons, Velveeta stove top meals, Neosporin, bug spray and Cottonelle flushable wipes!! It’s not so funny when I get all my shit free IS IT?! 

Most…ok ALL of my posts are filled with sarcasm, cussing and the day to day cluster fuck that is my life but I have to take a 5 second break to promote something awesome! American Eagle is doing a campaign called Live Your Life. It’s supporting and promoting young adults to live the life they want to live. Happy, positive, healthy and most of all FUN. Just you being you. In case it wasn’t painstakingly obvious, I am me. Inappropriate, disaster, sarcastic, raunchy, often over the line but I’m me. I love hard and try to live carefree.

One of my biggest life passions is to bring attention to Breast Cancer Awareness. I have volunteered my Graphic Design services to my local affiliate for two years and would love nothing more than a larger platform to speak about volunteering, breast cancer awareness and sharing others success stories including my own. The winner of this campaign wins the chance to do just that…show what inspires you and what you’re passionate about. Living YOUR Life.

I’m not a Girl Scout, I won’t be hounding anyone to vote for me but if you have the time, click the link below to take you to my page and hit vote. I know it’s no Tag-A-Long but you do get a 20% off American Eagle coupon for voting. You don’t have to sign up or do anything to vote, just click.

I appreciate everyone who knows me as Ellen supporting me, and my new friends who know me as the Blogging Wench helping push me to continue to promote my passion.

https://live.ae.com/#/entries/5862

I should’ve known the post from a few days ago 'It's All Making Sense' wasn’t going to cover the experience I encountered yesterday at the good ol’ DMV. Your favorite place and mine…shared hell. My first attempt at renewing my driver’s license was unsuccessful due to the fact that I trusted my mother. There comes a point in everyone’s life where they stop taking their parents responses as the end all, be all truth of the world. Well friends, my time is rapidly approaching. I’m either getting smarter or she’s on a down swing because shit’s been cray. 

This cluster fuck started 2 weeks ago when the Midwest was hit with the mother of all blizzards. I’ve had my SUV for 11 months and this was its first real test in the snow. The night leading up to the blizzard, I received a 30minute lecture from my mother regarding the 4-wheel drive, traction control and other settings that would turn my vehicle into Big Foot. She informs me that everything is already on and I don’t need to push any buttons or that it was automatic.  Being an adult, I should’ve either called the dealer (because I’m a lazy piece of shit) or read the manual (yeah right…those pages have been serving as napkins since I drove that bitch off the lot). Neither option seems feasible so I took her word. I leave work to find unplowed roads, other drivers walking on the highway, cars sideways….basically every scene from The Day After Tomorrow. My shits sliding all over the place. I make the second mistake of calling her AGAIN to make sure I didn’t need to turn anything on. 3 hours into my normal 15-minute commute, I’m stuck on a hilly road awaiting my fellow travelers to slide off in a ditch so I can drive by when something catches my eye in the rear view. It’s some idiot driving on the shoulder at a 45-degree angle, using the guardrail to pop wheelies. As this NASCAR gets closer I realize it’s none other than my sister. 

I call her asking how the fuck she’s speeding around writing her name in the snow while I’m sliding all over the place. She informs me that I have to push a mother-fucking button to get my shit straight!! After that I was monster trucking my ass over, around and through cars! I get home and call my mother out on her ‘slip’ to which she replies ‘oh…hahahahaha’. Glad she thought it was funny.

So yesterday morning I say ‘Mom, you just renewed your license, did you need your birth certificate?’ she replies ‘No, you don’t need it.’ As she’s holding the card that clearly says I need it. I take her word and left it. I get to the DMV at which point the douche behind the counter informs me that I DO need my birth certificate and the SS card, expired license, bank statement with my name and address, credit cards and college ID were not enough to prove I was a U.S citizen or who I said I was. Sketchy motherfuckers pulled over on the side of the road don’t even need to provide that much documentation to prove their identity and purpose for being on the planet!

I should’ve just stopped and gone back another day but I am dick and waited until the day it expired to go. My second trip proved equally annoying but for a completely different ball of mishaps. There was no one else there…rare. I stroll up and the woman doesn’t stop her conversation with the other woman to her left. She continues on as if I’m not standing there. I start clanging shit around and knocking over penholders to call attention to myself…nothing. After about 5 minutes of clearing my throat which caused me to choke on my own snot, she puts her hand out as if to say ‘you can hand me your shit now.’ I went through all the formalities that lead up to the dreaded vision test. My goal was to ace this without my glasses so I wasn’t one of those losers with a restriction. She asks me to read the top line of letters. I nailed them ALL. I take my head out of the contraption and started internally celebrating, blowing horns and farting confetti when she says ‘uhh aren’t you going to read the rest?’ matching her attitude I said ‘uhh I did. There aren’t anymore it’s just a white box.’ She tells me there’s a whole third column I should be able to read. This contraption is one of those genius inventions where you have to press your forehead, that 65,000 other people’s greasy ass foreheads have been on, to light up the screen in order for me to read shit. So I do what any sane person would do and start ramming my head into this lever like a mental patient thinking the machine was broken. Never did it dawn on me that my right eye is basically blind nor did it dawn on her to stop me. After I felt a bruise forming I said to myself ‘hey shithead, how about you put your glasses on.’ I cave and put them on and all of a sudden the letters appear. I still think she was fucking with me but whatever. At least, I aced the sign portion, which is so stupid because the words are written on the fucking signs anyway. If I don’t know what the shape or color means, I’ll read it…well based on the above I guess I don’t read it because I can’t see that far.

She then starts grilling me and quizzing me about whether or not I wear contacts when I don’t have glasses on and every time I replied no she got more steamed. Look bitch, I’M the one that’s blind and YOU’RE mad?! With the most pissy ass attitude I’ve heard since this morning when I went off on someone who cut me off, she says ‘Well you know you have to wear your glasses all the time now. I put a restriction on your license’ to which I replied ‘Well whoopty fuckin doo…aren’t you god.’ I say this as I’m putting my glass away back in my purse. She says ‘Yeah so you have to wear them ALLLLL the time when you’re driving.’ I reply ‘OOKKAAAYYYYY’ and zip my purse shut with glasses securely inside. 

In hindsight maybe I shouldn’t have returned her whorish attitude because she could’ve saved me from the next blunder…the picture portion of the proceedings. Not only did I wake up early to give my hair Kate Beckinsale waves, but I had successfully sheltered it from the wind, mist, snow and rain for 12 hours. I perk up, slap my cheeks a little and put on my best smile…or so I thought. I should’ve known when she had the picture on the screen and asked me if I was ok with it that it was bad. Since I was far away in the picture station and was a jack off and put my glasses away to prove I’m a badass, I said sure that looks great. As I’m standing there, this one-hit wonder starts zooming in on my mug. 120%, 150%, 200%, 250%...and she wasn’t stopping. Okay okay, I get it, don’t be a bitch to someone who’s playing god with the next 6 years of your ID flashing life! She then throws me my paper copy to which I’m faced with the horror. I am of ‘standard’ weight for my height and am by no means a hef. HOWEVER, I have a raging double chin, a forehead and t-zone so greasy I could fry bacon on it and my right eye is sliding off my face. Seriously bro, you couldn’t have gotten off your high horse for 5 seconds to tell me I look like I had a stroke in the parking lot, stuck my thumb in my mouth and blew or that I looked like I should be gobbling?!

I go home trying to convince myself it’s not that bad. I walk in and my sister was in a pissy mood going off about fuck know’s what when I cut her off and, being the good sister I am, ask if she wants me to put her in a better mood. I took one for the ultimate team and knew my humiliation would make her instantly giddy. I didn’t even notice my melting eye until she pointed it out as well as asking my why I told them I was 110lbs. In my defense I NEVER said that. They just left it on there from the last time. I believe her exact comment was ‘Yeah, you’re 110…IN YOUR FACE!’ We love each other. After she was done, got off the floor and dried her face from laughter tears, she calls my mom in the room. She grabs the paper and says ‘oh it’s not that bad!’ as tears start streaming down her face from withholding her outburst of hysterics. My dad was coming home in 5 minutes and I thought for sure he’d be on my side. He walks in, says the same thing as my mom but wasn’t laughing or hiding it. He returns to the scene after some time and says ‘Yeah, I’m going to need a wallet of that and some 8x10s.

Just wait until those assholes have to renew theirs. I cannot WAIT until they get their pictures. And since when do they zoom so fucking hard. All in all, my ending advice is don’t piss off the bitch taking your picture. She WILL fuck you over. Hard. 

The ‘Chef’n Bananza Banana Slicer could be the most pointless gadget in the world but TheBloggess brought this to my attention and now I have to share. First of all, there are so many dirty jokes and puns swirling around in my head right now, I’m not even sure where to start or which to open with. Luckily the unfortunate souls who bought this product did it for me…

I am just having the hardest fucking time conducting life today….maybe I’d even go as far as to say hardest fucking WEEK. My Monday started with a kitchen catastrophe involving coffe, silverware and my cat. I woke up early in order to be able to shower as there is a rotation schedule in my house. If you’re not in during your allotted time slot, tough titties, you’re going to work ripe. On Monday, I switched with my sister so she could sleep later and have the later slot. She usually does it for me so I thought I’d throw her a bone and what can I say…I’m a giver. So I planed on being at work early Monday or treating myself to a McGriddle, hash brown, breakfast sodie and additional roadie hash brown on the way in. For those not taking full advantage of life, a roadie hash brown is the additional brown you eat on the car ride to your destination. So I’m in the kitchen multi tasking per the usesh morning chaos. At this point I’m simultaneously making my lunch, microwaving cat food since he can only eat it at a cool 60 degrees, making my travel coffee and brushing my teeth. After pouring an entire big ass car mug off my father’s special blend, I gesture towards something and knock the entire fucking thing INTO the opened silverware drawer, on the counter, on the floor, under the coffee pot (which is full and too heavy for me to lift and clean under), in the cat food and on every freaking piece of shit in that silverware drawer. I feel I have to specify there were additional items in that drawer because no one can ever just use it for utensils. There are can openers (when was the last time you cleaned that shit…for real, I don’t even know how to clean one and I thought it came brown and gooey), bread ties, straws, chopsticks and whatnot. I was frozen in disbelief as I saw my value meal slip out of reach.

I only had one option at this point…to scrub and scour every inch of that fucking kitchen as fast as possible before my OCD ridden father came downstairs and saw what would surely throw him into a tailspin. 20 minutes later, it’s satisfactory. The floor was still sticky but I didn’t have time to make a 3rd pass on it. It was enough to where I hoped he wouldn’t notice the spill. When I saw a drip coming off the cabinet and him heading towards it, I confessed. I said I got 99% of it and I’d clean the rest when I got home so DON’T TOUCH IT. I come out of the bathroom 5 seconds later to every piece of silverware being washed and laid out on paper towels and him RE-CLEANING my already cleaned slop. I begged him to leave it but after 26 years of life, I’ve learned to pick my battles. This is how he gets his daily ya-ya's. I, however, got mine by proceeding to spill my coffee two more times on my journey from the house to my car and not confess.  I received an email two hours later from him letting me know the kitchen spill was taken care of. Later that night my sister blew out a light bulb and yanked the chord out of another light in the basement. She had been home a total of two hours. My poor father.

Today I get to work and quickly realize I’m having a major wardrobe situation. I’m wearing leggings with a dress and sweater. I’ll previse this by saying the dress is made of the same material as the one-use plastic tablecloths. This shit is static clinging to every area that would cause an HR blunder. I sprayed anything I could find up there. Water, hairspray, body spray, some weird cleaner under the bathroom counter… After I walked around the bottom floor and through HR with my dress static clinging to my ass cheeks, I decided to ask around for Static Guard. Who the fuck is going to carry that shit you ask? I’ll have you know the first person I asked (straight, male) had a travel can. You would’ve thought I was spray painting the side of the Eiffel Tower with how much I sprayed up there.

Between the scent of hairspray, body spray, toilet spray cleaner and Static Guard, I’m a walking ball of eye watering stench. I finally start my day of working only to pick up my full cup of tea and spill it all over myself. Why is it that we can only spill liquid in the crotch area? Is it something about the privates and zipper region that ATTRACTS liquid? It’s like every other area of my bottoms are water proof and the beads of liquid just roll and congregate in the crotchel region so no matter what, it looks like you peed yourself. 

There are few things (ok a lot of things) I despise in life. First and foremost…sick people. It’s no secret I’m a germ nightmare and I don’t even like ‘healthy’ people near me. I haven’t decided how I’m going to handle this when I procreate, as children are sticky, germy catastrophes. I can always tell when school is back in session because all of my friends who are mothers post shit on Facebook about how they are sick. The parenthood plague always hits in August/September and January. I don’t understand why they don’t just hose their kids off with GermX in the front yard like normal parents. And it’s not like you can just distance yourself from them as you would any other bacteria infested human being. I guess you could always shove them off to your spouse but from what I hear, offspring want their ‘mommies’ when they are ill. Insert shudder. Maybe this will be one of those things that just doesn’t bother you when it’s YOURRRRR kid. People say this fuck load of lies to me constantly. ‘Oh it doesn’t matter you just got poo in your mouth when it’s YOUR kid.’ Or ‘Who cares, it’s just a little pee…when it’s YOUR kid.’ ‘Oh, you won’t care when that little asshole flushes for $500 phone when it’s YOUR kid.’ Uhh to these people I say, the fuck it doesn’t, I care and the fuck I won’t. Doodey and urine will always be just that regardless of who or what it comes out of. Last Summer I flew to Florida with my cousin and her kids. By the time I was home I had strep and green boogers. I don't get informed that both children were sick prior to this trip until the flight home when I mention I'm dying and her ears are exploding. The icing was that I finally found a parent who was pissed their kids got them sick. I knew we were related for something other than entertainment value.  

With that said, we are at current day…the land of typhoid, biggest whooping cough outbreak in 60 years and states declaring emergencies because half of the population has the flu. I don’t even want to leave my house without rubber gloves and a scarf tied around my face. Side note, I’ve been tying shirts, scarves, shorts…basically anything around my hair/head recently and my boo does not approve. I think he thinks I'm working some sort of comedy routine or starting a new fashion trend when in reality, I’m just bored as fuck in the winter! Reason 493847 why I hate winter and pity his soul for liking me. The only plus is you can leave your liquor outside and it stays cold.

Upon entering an establishment, I can scan the area and always tell who’s infected (yes I watched Contagion and yes I’ve regretted it every day since). They are the ones who are sweating but look cold, are applying Carmex to areas it’s not intended, carrying a snot rag that used to be a Kleenex but now looks like a dreadlock (tissues are a one time thing people…would you reuse toilet paper?!) and appear to have not slept in days. These people have terrific asshole potential and are the rodents to avoid. However, no matter what I do, these assholes ALWAYS find me and ALWAYS want to back fuck me in the canned good isle. Look, I can’t see dick without my glasses so I have to be right on top of it to read the label. That’s not an invitation for you to piggy back me as I’m crotched on the ground. I'm not giving out pony rides. I won’t even buy produce with outbreaks of this caliber. Do you realize how many people wipe their nose and cough on their grubby little hands while fingering every pepper and cucumber in the joint?! Ya fucks. The only things in the world to instantly make dry heave are tortured animals and cartoon germ illustrations. You’re already explaining the germs to me as you flood my television with commercials; is it really necessary for you to illustrate fuzzy ovals on all of my material goods? These drawings are a germ-a-phobes worst nightmare. Now every time I touch a door knob I picture prickly lime green fungus pods. Insert shudder number 2.

When I’m dating a dude and he’s sick, I do not go near him. You were lackluster with your hygiene that shits on you bro. Few things are more disgusting than someone’s snot running down their face and into your mouth when you kiss them. Or my favorite…laying down and turning your head to talk to them only to be greeted with a waft of high-powered coughing pathogens so forceful, your bangs blow. What do you even say to that…thanks.? I’ve had jokers not tell me they were undiagnosed just to get me to come over in hope I ‘wouldn’t notice.’ Please, I detected your body sweats from the porch. With this being said I just received the following exchange:

Later in the conversation I ask the ridiculous (evidently) question of ‘Are you still going to the gym tonight?’ Of course he’s going to the gym! This is what I don’t understand about men. They have a cough and are dying. They have a stuffy head and need a 24-hour maid to wait on their every need. But when said faker is sick and his bro asks him to play football, Call of Duty or it’s time to go to the gym…those fuckers will flip to life stronger than J.Lo’s comeback. I’ve wanted to hang out with a sick boyfriend exactly never. When women are sick they are also working, cleaning, taking care of whatever children they produced, cooking and doing laundry. Basically, we be bad ass.

Just as I'm about to publish this blog, my aunt sends me an email entitled "How Can Anyone Not Want Children." In case anyone thinks my statements regarding children were uncalled for, please view the below montage. 

It's not a shocker that I am obsessed with my cat. I'm constantly in his face and thinking he's sick, in pain or needs to fart. In my defense, he has diabetes and could go into a diabetic coma or have a seizure at any moment so as his mom, I HAVE to be obsessed with him. He had a seizure last year while I was working and I've been glued to his hip....against his will...every second since. Luckily my mom was there and had received the same first responder training for feline diabetes patients I had so she saved him. If you hate cats, well...go click on some other shit because I've put this post off long enough. 

Often while I'm at work, my mother will send me pictures of the cat. Usually it's pictures of him stuck IN something or UNDER something and she's laughing and snapping pictures instead of helping him. Recently she's taken to something new...'Can you find Leo hidden in the picture' It's like our own personal game of Where's Waldo. Initially I was thrown off by the massive box of 6,000 dog toys but I found him. I feel like he often misbehaves when she's home just to get his daily ya-yas. I have no doubt in my mind animals are laughing their asses off when they eat our things, barf on our new carpet and hide or eat a brand new toy they've had unwrapped for exactly 6 seconds.  

Refueling your car is one of the biggest pain-in-the-ass tasks of life. I drive an SUV that gets great gas mileage, however, I feel no matter how much I fucking drive, that shit is ALWAYS on E. I am now on a mission to work the system. The fluctuation in pricing amongst area gas stations is the main pisser. John John’s gas could be $3.09 while Bend Over and Fill Ups is $3.15. Then you drive down the street and Come and Get Ems is $3.05. These tricky dicks do this shit on purpose to get more gas out of you. After you’ve driven around the block a few times and surveyed all of your pricing options, you’re down another gallon. 

I am a couponer. I make my shopping list based on what I have coupons for. I’m not a cheapskate…I’ll buy full priced chachskies but I don’t do it unless I know there aren’t coupons. Case in point…GAS. Why aren’t there gas coupons?! I mean is it really going to hurt the billionaire oil companies to throw me a bone of 1 cent off a gallon? Plus the mêlée that would ensue to get such coveted coupons would make my life. The shitheads at the gas station by my office have thrown a new token into the game…they give you gas 5 cents cheaper if you pay in cash. FIRST of all, who walks around with $60 in cash anymore? The only paper in my wallet on the daily is in the form of a coupon, receipt, straw wrapper or insurance card (this is another story but I pay your ass thousands of dollars and you can’t take the time to fucking laminate my card? You WANT me to throw it out with my expired Tutti Fruity punch card so I get a ticket the next time I get pulled over for not having my 2 x 3 inch tissue paper that shows I bleed cash to you for ‘coverage.’ Then my insurance will go up for said ticket…well played dicks…well played.) 

Once you decide which gas station to empty your wallet into, you have the issue of choosing a pump. I’ve had this vehicle for 8 months and have filled my tank at least once a week. You’d think by now, I would know which side the thing is on. Nope. My previous vehicle had it on the passenger side. This one has it on the driver’s side and it’s completely rocked my world. Every other time I get gas I pull on the wrong side and don’t notice until I get out. Then I pull around the entire fucking thing just to pull on the wrong side again. Last time I did this 3 times in a row and just drove away out of shame and flat out annoyance. My car also has one of those buttons you have to push to open the door to the thing. (Yes, that’s the scientific name for it…the thing…jerks). I’m not used to such bratty gadgets, so I often get over to the pump and try to pry my door flapper open with my fingers until I realize I have a button for that. I guess it’s to ‘protect’ me from syphoners but if you’re dumb enough to inhale gas out of a tube, take it. Your diarrhea will be flaming and neon green…let me top that off for you. 

Then you get to the stage where you stare at the buttons trying to figure out which shit is the least expensive. I’ve been filling tanks for 11 years and to this day, I still get confused. If you’ve read anything above, this is not a shocker. I know it says the price and I should do the regular unleaded but its a pressure-packed situation and I always panic.  After I make my selection, here comes the best part…touching the thing. By thing I mean the deal with the hose that goes into your gas opening. I’m not an idiot, I swear, I’m just having trouble forming words correctly today as my day is currently a jumbled mess in shit city. I am a self-proclaimed germ-a-phobe. Those handles do not get cleaned and there is always some nasty typhoid or stomach whatnot going around and I get sick from people TALKING about being sick. There have been hundreds of boogers, coughs and spits leaching to that handle all damn day and now I’m going to bask in it?! I always have the hand sanitizer prepared in the cup holder so I can sanitize immediately but today I noticed something new. Today there was a hand sanitizer squirt box on the side of the pump. They are now admitting how disgusting the handles are and now pose a new problem…do I want to touch the lever that dispenses the antibacterial suds. If it were my gas station there would be rubber disposable gloves for your protection as well as a sink station with soap and paper towels. If you’re one of those weirdos who is allergic to rubber…well you have bigger issues than not being able to utilize the gloves at sanitary fueling station. 

I’m a fan of the stick that makes the gas continually flow so I don’t have to stand outside like an idiot pretending to not stare at the car of dysfunctional adolescents as they roll doobies in the back of their cutlass while pumping gas with the engine still running. These scientists are whom I have to count on for my social security. I’m what you call a lucky bitch. When the stick clicks off, I am now entering the ebb and flow of ‘can I get it to the nearest dollar without overflowing gas on my Ugg boot.’ This is a game I despise and it gets the best of me every fucking time. I go over by 2 cents every time and think I can make it to the next dollar…I learned a hard lesson with this game last year. If you keep pushing it as it’s clicking it’s ass off, the shits going to flow out as it did to me. I was so focused on the dial and reaching my goal of being exactly on, that I was unaware gas was spewing out all over my clothes and shoes. The lady one pump over had to make me aware of the fact that I didn’t pee…I had just pumped about $6 on to my clothing and was running late for work. 

Back to my main point of working the system. From now on, I’m only filling up to a full tank when gas is cheaper than $3 a gallon. They’re basically giving it away at that point. When it’s over $3 I will only fill up $20 at a time until it goes down. If I don’t have gas, people won’t ask me to haul their asses around town because ‘you can fit more people’ well guess what mother fuckers, I’m putting an empty box in my back seat from now on and can only take 1 person at all times. 

I often mix life lessons into my blog posts. Kids, this is one of those times. I’ve already taught you how to properly doodey at work and in a bar (Ode to the Bar 2), how to behave on Black Friday (Spreading Holidays Cheer One Scissor Kick at a Time) and in a Bread Co (Bread Co. Boycott). and today I will teach you how not to be a dick during Secret Santa. I wasn’t going to write about this as it’s a pet peeve of mine (as well as leaving closet doors open, taking a steaming 2 without spray or warning, peeing anywhere but in the bowl, etc.) and I figured I’d go off on a tangent; fitting, as I’m not even a paragraph in and I’ve already been sidetracked, but one of my best friends emailed me her Secret Santa woes and I knew it wasn’t just me.  It was now my civic duty (sorry, I’m a child and giggle anytime duty or doodey is said or typed) to educate the world on gift giving. Anyone who disagrees with this is either lying to themselves or they are people who give found items, trash or things that are suppose to be funny but aren’t.

Secret Santa is one thing. White Elephant, is another. There is NO combination of the two that will result in a happy gift receiver. The whole point of giving gifts is to show the receiver you appreciate, love and cherish them. How appreciated do you feel when you open a rake from someone’s garage, hemorrhoid cream, Dollar General place settings or slippers made of Maxi Pads? If everyone is aware you’re suppose to find or make shit to give someone, that’s fine, there is no issue…everyone is in on the spiel. My problem arises when you’re supposed to be exchanging legit gifts the receiver won’t throw away in the wrapping paper trash bag, and you open vacuum bags that don’t go with the vacuum you currently own. You either give trash collectively, don’t do shit at all or exchange good gifts. Look, I’m all for humorous gifts, but a used lawnmower that doesn’t work, isn’t my idea of a funny gift. It’s now an annoying piece of shit sitting in front of me that I have to figure out who’s doorstep I’m going to leave it on. My motto is, if you’re exchanging Secret Santa and you don’t know what to get, before you buy trash, just give them the cash. No one is ever disappointed with a ten spot. If you want to put it in something stupid to get your yaya’s then have at it. This year my sister wanted cash…like I’m going to wrap you a piece of money. I have to make that shit annoying. I plan to lock it in a toy car and piss her off as she tries getting it out. I’d normally not do this but I was informed last night that next to my name in her phone there are emoticons of a girl getting her head blown off. We love each other.   

Secret Santa is ALWAYS a fiasco in my family…as is everything that is an organized situation. There are just too many fucking people to make everyone happy, which is why the logical solution is to just not do anything at all. It’s always a fight. Secret Santa or White Elephant. Little kid exchange vs. older kid exchange etc. I think I’m the only one who realizes when you put 50 people in a confined space, no one is going to be happy anyway unless they’re drunk or eating so what the fuck difference does it make. Case in point…Christmas last year consisted of us arriving at my aunts house 4 hours early because my mom was on pills for her frozen shoulder and decided that’s what time we were suppose to be there. By the time the other 75 family members strolled in, we were starving and of course dinner wasn’t ready since we got there during breakfast hours. This is the same outing where my mother was criticizing my aunt for not having a Christmas tree when the fucking thing was sitting right in front of her face. (That reminds me to bring some of her left over pills this year for myself) My sister decides to help the show get on the road by telling my mother she was going to start guzzling wine and wasn’t going to stop until dinner was served. I have to applaud this tactic as it sent my mom into a tailspin to get dinner ready and prevent my sister from making a drunken scene; but also gave her a nice buzz, which she thoroughly enjoyed for the remainder of the evening. I also have to commend her for thinking of this before me as I was now stuck being the DD. 

I should probably also mention my sister, two cousins and I are a lot like our mothers. Sorry if you read this but that shit is undeniable. Like them, we are getting ‘loftier’ with age aka blonde moments become more frequent aka we do stupid shit aka a lot of our conversations don’t make sense. Now, I will credit a few of the 6 people I just mentioned, as some of us aren’t as bad as the others. I will be the first to admit, I’m on the worse list. I could actually be worse than all of them combined, but I embrace my inner…well outer too…space cadet. It’s not like I’m out of touch with reality, I just choose a less serious/safe approach to life. Needless to say when this collection of society gets together, there is not one conversation between us that makes any fucking sense. It typically starts with one of us saying something stupid which results in someone getting made fun of, uncontrollable laughter, usually someone dropping something or running into something and the rest of the family staring at us like we are idiots. 

This year is sure to be of the same intellectual caliber mixed with gift annoyance. The gift decision this year is for all age groups to do Secret Santa…one big collective cluster fuck. You might think oh well, that’s good…one or the other, no confusion. Yeah well it WOULD have been fine had my uncle not decided the giver gets to choose if you want to give trash aka white elephant or a legit gift. My favorite part was the only people who attended thanksgiving were allowed to know of this little disclaimer. The beauty of this decision is 80% of my family lives out of state and only about 5% of the family actually attended Thanksgiving. Tis’ the season.  

Since I wrote a blog amping up my favorite day of the year, Black Friday, I figured it was my civic duty to let you know how it turned out. You know, since you all care so deeply. I’m rarely surprised or stunned on Black Friday. I spend the entire month of November collecting coupons, making maps, organizing time schedules and binders of coupons. By the time that coveted day arrives, I know that bitch better than my diabetic cat who always seems to shock my ass with his antics. (what cat eats plants, naps with nutcrackers and makes it his life goal to get me in trouble?) I know every sale, giveaway, door-buster and opening time on this side of the Mississippi.  This year was a first; I was caught off guard. I’m woman and psychotic enough to admit that bitch, Black Friday, threw me a massive curveball. 

Instead of Black Friday this year, I had WTF Wednesday, Threatening Thursday and Black Friday. I’ll start with WTF Wednesday. I’m sitting at work casually slacking off and coming up with other things to do than my actual job when I get a frantic text from my sister saying ‘CALL ME IMMEDIATELY!’ 

I get on the wire to a heavy breathing maniac talking so fast I wasn’t sure if I was talking to my sister or Chris Rock. She yells to me that ALL of our mall hotspots had started their BF sales TODAY! In case they weren’t aware, it’s called Black FRIIIDAYY and if that’s confusing, I’ll translate ‘start putting your shit on markdown FRIDAAYYY.’ I still had 4 more hours on the clock but my heart immediately started racing. She still had a few hours to devote to the man as well, so we were stuck. For the next 2 hours I sat at my desk sweating and shaking knowing there were massive sales happening and I was wasting time ‘working,’ Those bitches were taking my sizes and digging out everything I hid up the mannequin’s skirt! People were at the mall texting us every detail of how amazing it was and every sale we were missing. Assholes. By the time 3:00 rolled around, my sister couldn’t stand it and dipped out to Chesterfield mall.  While she was shopping in-store, I was online emailing her photos of shit I felt I had to have. By 3:30 I couldn’t take it, I was starting to involuntarily creep into the fetal position. It was as if my fear of being trapped in one of those massive plastic exercise balls was coming to life and I was suffocating in my desk chair. So, off I went!

I met her at West County Mall and it was game-on. We shopped our asses off and hit every store we needed in under 2 hours. Getting the main shops out of the way 2 days early was a huge advantage on our competition.  I, personally, don’t agree with stores being open on Thanksgiving Day but they have left me no choice! I could boycott but then I’m also boycotting sales, which I fully support. Our second food and family destination on Thursday had to be sacrificed. Thursday night was it…it was the like the night before Y2K only cool shit actually happened. Thursday night’s schedule went as followed: Watch the Walmart frenzy, drive by and honk at the Best Buy line, get Starbucks, wait for Target’s doors to open and run in skipping the line, Ulta then the Galleria. For anyone who is unaware, you have to have your dukes at the ready at all times in the Galleria. The crowd can be…hostile…at best. You know you’re a professional when you master Target in under and hour. We got all of the door busters we wanted, never had to stand in line outside and made it through the checkout of 200 people in 40 minutes.

After a few anthems and pump up songs, we were headed to the Galleria. Last year we had to break into Chesterfield mall because Old Navy opened before the rest of the mall and we had to get in line for their 2am door buster. We got the free underwater, digital cameras!! If you're unaware of this tale, you can get up to speed here 'Spreading Holiday Cheer One Scissor Kick at a Time.' So this year, we knew the situation would be no different. The key was to find an entrance where workers were waiting to be let in. If you blend in with them, mall security won’t bust you. Once we got in, we headed straight for Victoria’s Secret 007 style. We could NOT risk getting kicked out. I don’t know about you but hide and seek makes me have to potty. Maybe it’s the nervousness of being spotted or maybe I just have issues. Either way I had to potty. We sneak upstairs only to hear a series of screams, herds running and mass panic. My sister and I look at each other, forget about going potty and sprint back to the VS line. We quickly realized they opened the main doors to the mall and bitches were sprinting like the first one in line received a gold bar. I knew that wasn't true because I would've been in line a month ago. We got down there in 6 Mississippis and there were already 20 people in line. This shit got cray.

The next 4 hours consisted of getting trapped behind an extreme couponer at Macys trying to haul ass on sheets, sprinting to Bath and Body for a free tote I’ll never use and a Jack in the Box drive-thru must-have. Look, I’m all for extreme couponing anything but homeboy shouldn’t be trying to flex coupons on Black Friday. No one has time for that shit. Take it to a Tuesday when everyone is at work. I have places to be and shit to buy. Insert short nap and amaze breakfast Friday. My sister and I were relaxing when we realized ALL of our Black Friday shopping was done and the day was only a few hours old. All of a sudden my sister says ‘Did you know they just put a Michael Kors in Frontenac?’ Uhhh NO I did NOT know this. I called to see if they are doing anything for BF to find out they have a huge sale only lasting another 30 minutes. We were dressed and in her car in 4 minutes flat. No exaggeration.

All in all, I learned something this Black Friday. I had a first hand view of both extremes in BF shopping. The highs…The Plazzzzaaaaa, and the normals…Galleria. At the Galleria people were pushing and shoving for $25 yoga pants, pulling hair for $4 pillows and slamming faces into walls for a B&B tote. At Frontenac, we were the only ones running, the women were in full on make-up and hair clutching their Chanels and we hadn’t showered since Thanksgiving morning. Already prepping for next year! Mazel