I make my rounds down  at Blogger’s Landing on a daily basis. 

Here you’ll find all kinds of people.  You find folks who rant and rave, folks who have public service announcements, folks reflecting on life… you name it you’ll find it.  

I recently saw something that has been bugging the piss out of me.  I’m not going to make a daily stop at a particular page anymore because it is a major buzz kill to my joy and happiness factor.  And God knows, I don’t need anybody kicking me out of joy and happiness.  I won’t name any names, that wouldn’t be right.

This is just a public service announcement so that folks will realize that a blog that is used as a platform for a non-stop personal vendetta is extremely boring.

I’m not the victim of the below bunch of bullshit.  I’m not even sure I know who the victim of this blogger is, but I know for a long, long time this has been going on and frankly I’m bored as a monkey with no fucking trees to swing from with it all.  I don’t think I’ll be passing by her blog for tea and crumpets again because her style of writing makes me sad.

It’s a mean nasty person who is constantly stirring up crap with an people by constantly picking old wounds to keep them open.

I totally understand the occassional happening with an ex and it being something interesting or even just something a sister needs to vent about. Or a past ghost comes up and bites a brother in the ass…. makes for interesting reading and is perfectly acceptable. 

But, when someone makes it part of their daily routine to check up on and often write crap about someone, it’s sad.  These kind of people need to get a life.  A real life, not fantasy world. 

Whether whatever happened was right or wrong on either side, enough is enough.  The slamming of another person and constant degradation is boring to say the least.  I don’t think the person I’m referring to bothers to check my shit out, but if they do, I hope they are not infatuated enough with themselves not to realize this is a wake up call.  Knock it off. 

Get a fucking life, or not.  I don’t care either way. I’m a big girl and I can just stay away from your blogs.

We generally have friends over on Saturday nights. Not because we don’t dig going out, because we do. But going out all the time does tend to get old, plus you have to worry about the PO-PO pullin your ass over in the middle of the night.

Of course, I’m a spoiled, lucky girl. I have a designated driver at all times and I dig it. Regardless of that, it’s nice just to stay in, cook a smorgassboard of tasty good stuff and drink hot toddies or beer or wine or Jack….

Well, on tap for the past weekend’s buffet was pork tenderloin, rosemary potatoes, steamed snow peas and a variety of other crap.

I must say, I’ve never cooked a tenderloin before and I rocked the balls out of it. Baked it sloooooow in the oven, double wrapped in foil filled with every herb you can think of. After being on slow bake for 3 hours, I jerked that badboy out of the foil and slung it on the grill… G-R-U-B!!

Everybody ate way too damn much.

I, of course, was no exception. Quite the contrary. I started drinkin whilst cooking. The flavor of the day was Meridian Chardonnay, mighty good.

I asked Big T to open me the first bottle and it was on. Between me and Taucha, we polished off close to three bottles. A little much.

I paced myself, like a professional New Orleans drinker. Sipping all night long. It’s hard to tell how much wine one has consumed when one’s glass never quite gets empty before somebody happens by to freshen it.

So, it’s 1:00am, and everybody is leaving. I had been giving Big T the eye and making obscene gestures toward him all night. REOW… come here big daddy.

He was sitting on the couch in the love den, when I crawled up in his lap and made close up obscene gestures at him before departing with my clothes and heading toward the bed. I knew it was a matter of 1.8 seconds before he’d be following me that way.

Woooo! I was feeling my oats. I was gonna tear his ass up. I was gonna make him scream my name and write bad checks. I was gonna make him beg for mercy.
Let the makin out and major league cannoooodlin begin!

I kiss my way down into a desireable spot. Somehow, don’t ask me how… I passed out. His goodies right in front of me and I pass out. Of course at first, he thought I was thinking or taking a breather….

He taps me on the head. “Baby, are you ok? If you’re gonna go to sleep, release that and get on a pillow.”

“I’m not asleep. Swear I’m not.” As I sit up and leave a drool puddle on his belly. “Ok, so I might have been asleep.”

“That’s ok, baby. Go to sleep.”

So I did.

Well, I woke up to him staring at me. “Gotta hang over?”

My head was spinnin, “Hell ya. I’m dehydrated and my head’s spinnin.”

“Why don’t you go back to sleep?” He picked. “You do remember falling asleep last night, right?”

All day long, kids, I had to hear him slip in little comments about my inability to handle my alcohol and still be sexually fucntional. I mean, granted, it was all in fun, but how embarrassing is that?

“Sorry, baby. I swear I’ll never drink again.” Rolling my eyes. “Gimme some aspirin.”

“Yah. Yah.” He gets me aspirin, “You know you got yours and you were done, ready to go to sleep. Sometimes I think our roles in this marriage are jacked the hell up.”

“I know, huh? I spit, burp, and fart better than you.” Smiling at him like the cat that ate the canary.

Pick on me again some more.

There’s nothing Diva digs more than a fiesta. Well, unless beer is involved. And what would ya know… I got both over the weekend. My bestest friends Holly, Mario and Tausha heard through the rumor mill that I was making enchiladas and such for dinner Saturday night and that was enough for them. Holly said she’d bring some good stuff and we’d have a fiesta. Complete with rice, beans, salsa and chips…. and BEER. Yay! Come on over boys and girls. There were all us adult types, 6 teenager and 2 munchkins. So, I was cooking my ass off listening to the VOLS get spanked. (Sorry drifting off, a little annoyed it didn’t go any better than it did… interception throwin mama’s boys)… Anyhoo…I made Chicken enchiladas and homemade red sauce (mmmmm):

And beef enchilada casserole:

Rice n Beans (refried beans just aren’t pretty, so there’s no pic).

And Holly’s grub-ass homemade, garlic filled, spicy as hell salsa:

We were playing kamakazi karaoke in the lair when “Just a Gigalo” came on. This is the point where Lil T (the 2year old grandson) informs me that he is, in fact, a gigalo. Big T confirmed to Lil T, that it’s ok to be a gigalo.

I tried to explain to him “You should be a pimp, it pays better. Say pimp.”

“No! Gigalo!” He screams and runs off.

It’s true. If ya have a choice, for goodness sake, be a pimp. Look, he could pimp his auntie and her friends out. He’s got every one of those girls wrapped around his pinkie finger…

And its official. I crowned my BFF (Holly) my beeeeyach. She’s a skank and I love her more than a squirrel loves a nut.

She is now in charge of kitchen clean up every time we drunk at the house. She is quite good at it. Reckon if she would have known I was gonna blog her ass and slap her picture up on the internets that she would have stayed in her PJs? Heh. Again, I say, you are a skank, but you are a damn fine kitchen cleaner upper.

Not only do I need a support group for my klepto issues, but I am also an addict. That’s right, kids. If I don’t have an I.V. drip of strong ass coffee every morning, then I’m about as useful as a pantyliner is to Bruce Willis.

I consume no less than a pot of the stuff before I even leave my house in the morning. That’s just the regular, rut-o-the-mill crap too. The the games really begin when I get to the office. Oh yes, I have it made there. My boss is sympathetic and spoils me with Seattle’s Best beans. For Christmas 2 years ago, we acquired a mac-daddy espresso maker that grinds the columbian beans into powder and then spews boiling hot water through it with extreme pressure so as to extract every last bit of the caffinated goodness inside. God bless espresso and the occasssional vanilla latte.

If I don’t get my daily dose of good stuff, I become as foul as an 87-year-old school lunch lady who’s sloppin cole slaw food stuff onto the tray of a smart ass high school kid. It’s cool. I don’t do without much.

However, I have went on strike from Starbucks. Pisses me off that I have to pay around $4 for a latte that I can whip up here for nearly nothin.
Nevermind the fact that I feel like the total redneck as I am ordering my “Non-fat venti vanilla latte, please” with my thick ass southern drawl. I always feel like they give me my total, ask me to drive around to the window, all the while making fun of the redneck chick with the funny accent.

Plus, I’m highly influenced by what I hear. And I a little squirrley told me that StarSchmucks is evil. He doth spout the truth!

(If you’re offended by extremely foul language, I advise you not to click that down there. And I apologize in advance for being so easily amuzed by such profanity. Please know, my mother raised me better than this. I am a black sheep.)

(Video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ad8DUB0XkJA)

Ok, so they really actually reach over and smack my goodies, no. Too bad, huh? They actually cyber slapped with a meme. After they read my answers, they’ll think long and hard (heh I said long and hard)… =)

With the fact that I’m pretty boring in mind… everybody knows I love my kids and family and all the good stuff people tend to take for granted, so I shall give insight into who I am on a deeper level.

All Of The Eight Things You Didn’t Want To Know About Me

Eight Things I am Passionate About:
1. Widdling down Big T’s many collections.
2. Coffee (need I.V. drip STAT!)
3. SEX woooo hoooo! yah, I said SEX in all caps.
4. Taking the boy to see the monkeys the zoo at least once a month.
5. Bill Clinton being first lady gets me hot.
6. Karaoke. I AM DIVA, hear me roar
7. Blogging cuz ya’ll put up with my whining and verbal vomit.
8. Ignoring people who are drama freaks.

Eight Things I Want To Do Before I Die
1. Invent something cool that will get my name in the news (any ideas?)
2. Give forth one more mini-me that will in turn drive me crazy like the others do (uh, maybe. It might just be temporary insanity)
3. Route 66 with Big T, a camera, & a cooler of cold beer (Cold beer and the worlds biggest ball of yarn!!)
4. Quit being flaky and actually go to a blogfest (I suck)
5. Join the mile high club (I travel alot and I just want my wings)
6. Lose enough weight to wear sexy slutty tight around the ass jeans (just once)
7. See Van Halen and the Police in concert (I missed it back in the day)
8. Get Dancin with the Stars good at Latin Dancing (reow sexy sexy)

Eight Things I Say Often
- “For fuck sake”
- “Bite me”
- “And you want me to do what about it?”
- “I’m gonna love you forever and ever. Amen.”
- “Stop bitchin’. You’re goin’ to school!”
- “You suck!”
- “Good morning, ‘insert company name’”
- “What are you thinkin?”

Eight Books I’ve Recently read
1. It’s Happy Bunny. Life, Get One. (only 10 pages with big pictures)
2. Killing Yourself With a Fork & Knife (read half)
3. Elevate Your Life (one month devotional with short stories)
4. Tuesdays with Morrie (still working on it)
5. Herotica

I have ADHD and can’t sit still long enough to read a book very often. I stick to recipes, blogs, and magazine articles.

Eight Movies I’ve Recently Seen
- 1408 (kinda creepy)
- Mr. Brooks (extremely psycho)
- Premonition (easily confused me)
- Oceans 13 (I needed a nap anyway)
- Come Early Morning (Jeffrey Donovan makes me wet)
- Elizabethtown (actaully a good movie after I got over Orlando being in it)
- A History of Violence (Ed Harris made me sad cuz he was evil)
- I Now Pronouce You Chuck & Larry (Hahahaha. I highly recommend)

Eight Songs That I Could Listen To Over And Over
* You’re In My Heart – Rod Stewart
* Your Man – Josh Turner
* Candy – Will Smith
* Forever – Will Smith
* Rocky Top – Pride of the Southland Marching Band
* Rapper’s Delight – Sugar Hill Gang
* Gold Digger – Kanye West
* The Most Beautiful Girl – Prince

Eight Things That Attract Me To My Best Friends
(I’m keepin it real and keepin Sugar’s answers to this one. Kudos.)
Honesty
Laughter
Energy
Intelligence
Pride
Morals
None judgmental
Ethics

Eight Things I Have Learned This Past Year
- You can’t merge two families and not expect kaos.
- Don’t get pissed, make fun of it.
- I found out who my friends are.
- I went around the mountain ten times but got the wedding planned and executed. I will never plan another wedding, ever.
- My baby girls can accept change and go with the flow.
- No matter how nice I am to my EX, that’s he’s always gonna be a dick.
- Life is lived one day at a time.
- I need to relax more

Eight People That Should Do This Meme and Not Complain:
- Chuckie @ What’s Up Chuck?
- Lenae @ Flat Coke & Flies
- Ms. P @ Fresh Taste of Banana Puddin
- Robert @ Observations from the Back 40
- m@ @ Animal Mind
- Mark @ Blogitude.com
- Lee @ Vicinity of Obscenity

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.

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.

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.

---

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.

They found a lump in my Mom’s breast today at the doctor’s office. Please send a message to the Big Guy upstairs for her, please. Breast cancer is scary.

I think I need a 12-step program. I have a major problem that, no matter how much effort I put into it, I can’t seem to fix.

Big T comes to my office now and then to visit. One afternoon, he popped by and asked us, “Do you have any string or twine or anything around here. I need about 2 feet of it.”

I, forever and always being the helpful & loving wife that I am, say, “Well baby, I have this left over blue ribbon from the bridesmaid bouquets if that’ll work.”

I toss him the ribbon and think nothing else of it. He says he loves me, gives me kisses and goes on his merry little way.

Fast-forward to 5:15pm, when I get home from work. I come in as usual and Big T gives me my hugs and kisses as I head upstairs to start dinner… when it caught my eye…

That ass-munch had duct-taped the ribbon to his lighter that sits on the end table. The other end of the ribbon was inserted into the slate slabs that make the top of the table. It looked like one of those pens that the bank tries to keep safe by chaining them to the teller spots.

Why would he do such a sarcastic thing?

Because I am Diva. I have a problem. I steal lighters.

Yes, my friends, I’m a kleptomaniac.

I found that I am attracted to steal lighters like a monkey will steal your wallet at the circus. It is bad.

How bad is it, you ask. When Big T asked me to empty my jacket pocket and purse, the lighter count was seven (7). Ooops.

Moral of the story is.. Until I get the proper help, if we’re out drinkin’ together, please (please, please) keep your lighter in your pocket or at least come get it back from me.

Consider this fair warning. I can not be held responsible.