My McDream

So the other night I had this dream.

I was wandering the alley of some metropolitan area, I think I was supposed to NYC, but it felt more like San Francisco. Yeah, felt like Frisco. You know how in dreams that is how you know something. Because it felt like it. So mysterious actually.Whatever.

Anyway, so I am in this alley and slip into this doorway into the employee locker room of a McDonalds. And for some reason I feel like I need to steal a uniform and pretend that I work there. Like I want to just blend in and start serving Happy Meals. It's so compelling this need that I hang out in the locker room for hours "watching" the employees to figure out how to best go about "blending in". Like I am studying guerrillas in the jungle or something. I want to make sure I assimilate correctly so they will accept me into their McTribe I suppose.

So I steal a grey polyester, dirty, grease stained uniform complete with black sneakers, a visor and a name tag that says Anna, put it on and store all my crap in a locker that I have rightfully confiscated as my own. Then I head to the kitchen and the cashier counter.

I look out and see the McDonald's is HUGE! They are serving like a stadium of people in this GINORMOUS assembly line of people with trays, order takers and cashiers. In my dream I actually note the level of noise that that many people make. Lotsa, lotsa folks super sizing themselves to death. I hear the clanking of trays onto the counter, kids begging their parents for a Coke, teenagers giggling at table and fat people getting fatter. It is an audio shmorgasboard (sp?) . You can tell by the pitch, the employees are really cranking it up behind the counter. They sure as hell don't wanna run outta fries. There could be a fucking stampede.

The manager notices that I am unsure of what to do and says that he/she (can't remember what sex the manager was - sorry my new imagined manager friend) will train me.

So the he/she manager puts me in front of cash register to place orders into the system. He/she explains that all items come in three different choices of meat. Yummy. I like when a menu has "meat choices". All I have to do is push the button for the item I want based on what type of meat I want. He/she says it's easy to remember because the choices of meat always come up in the same order and if I just remember the letter combo RCR I will be fine.

You can chose from:

1. Rabbit
2. Chicken
3. Ribs

So if a customer wants an Egg McMuffin, you just press the button for a Rabbit, Chicken or Rib McMuffin. And away they go.

Yummy. A Rabbit Egg McMuffin sounds delish. MMM... MMMM.. makes my mouth water... just like it does just before I vomit.

So once I get this little bit of direction I am off and running and feel so damn proud of myself. I am thinking I really pulled the wool over this stupid managers eyes. I got myself a job and I didn't even have to fucking INTERVIEW for. Muhaha hahah! I am thinking I am pretty slick in my dream.

But now, as I reflect on it this concept when I am awake, I realize what a jerk-off I was. Who the fuck would try and "steal" a job at McDonalds?! Especially a McDonald's that serves rabbit. I was serving up Peter Conttontail and the Easter Bunny on an English muffin.

I was the idiot, not the he/she manager. Lordy.

Dreams are cool. From this one I realized I have a deep need to work at McDonald's and feed hundreds of people rabbit sandwiches. At least I now know my purpose in life.

Yippee.

FU Wednesday

Ok Wednesday you tricky little bitch. You almost snuck by me and tried to slither into Half Nekkid Thursday... not so fast you whore!

So today wasn't TOOOOO bad. But I will say that I was a little TOO gassy today. Burp-wise, it's no lie.. my farts SO FAR aren't my issue... time will tell on that one... or the scent... the scent will tell too.

Whatever.

I had big pressure burps today. Not the dramatic, loud, wow!-you-musta-had-a-big-lunch kinda burp, but the Hot Damn - I need to belch or cry burp. I blame you for this Wednesday. Not the french fries and the burger... YOU!

FU Wednesday.

PS. I still love the Muppets.

Extremely Important Stuff Here

So after some serious banter about the Smurfs, RocksandChairs pointed out something that I must address before I go on any further in my life. Fraggle Rock and the Muppets.

I feel so low because I did not bring them up. Worse, I forgotten about both of them TOTALLY. I am a monster. A beast. A hack. A loser. Worthless. You get the picture??

If there was anything, ANYTHING that was important to me in my childhood, aside from beating up my brother, it was watching Fraggle Rock and the Muppets. The Muppets especially, but BOTH were my life blood. I still know both theme songs by heart. Hell I sing them to this day. Really. Ask my husband, he will pull out his earplugs and tell you.

If any of you live in So. Cal and get to Disneyland, you need to visit California Adventure Park. Aside from paying money to visit the lamest amusement park on earth, there is a 3-D Muppets show that I stumbled onto with my husband. There I was 28 years young sitting on the floor of this waiting room with a hundred 6 year olds, wearing my 3-D glasses watching the Muppets again.

It rocked. I have season passes just for that reason.

Anyway, I must thank my fellow blogger for pointing out what could have been a serious omission had it not been brought to my attention.

Phew. That was close.

I heart The Muppets.




Spell Check for today:

earplugs = warbles (ARE YOU KIDDING ME?? What is "warbles"?)

I miss the Smurfs

That's all. I used to love that shit when I was a kid. I was so damned innocent. In fact, my post will be in Smurfy blue today to honor my 3 apples high amigos.

Never into the Barbie thing. You couldn't fucking change her clothes with out it being this huge, difficult, motor skills testing ordeal. I usually gave up and left the bitch naked in my closet. Hmmm.... my parents probably REALLY worried about me. Naked dolls in my closet and all.

But I did like Strawberry Shortcake - but only because her shit smelled gooooood. Like crack. I would just sit in my room snorting the scent outta her hair. But other than that, she wasn't too interesting to me. Too many freckles and strawberry print aprons for my taste.

But the the Smurfs they were great. There was Smurfette, who started out as a bitch, but then she was nice. Like me. There was Handy Smurf and Vanity, who I think were both gay and had something going on. No biggie, just, why you gotta hide it? Smurfy love is ok by me. There was Sleepy Smurf (I think that was his name) who really was just was smart enough to fake that he had Chronic Fatigue Syndrome so he didn't have to go out and pick berries with the rest of the white panted fools.

So nice. How great that they had a cartoon where everyone only wore pants. No tops, just pants. The gay Smurfs were in heaven. Handy and Vanity musta had perpetual hard-ons....

Whatever. I loved them. They were Smurfy. No, they were Smurfalicous!

This post is a shout out to my homie Bobby who beat me to the punch some time back and discussed them as well. Check it out.... it is Smurfy. Go visit and tell him I said "Hi".

Side note on blog spell check:
Smurf = sunroof (wtf?)
Fucking = bucking (I guess that's close)
Hmmm= Hammy (what is 'hammy' exactly?)

Some notes to those I encountered this weekend

To the idiot gardener who cat called me as he drove by: You are a loser. No chick is gonna want you. You are ugly. I saw you, it's pretty bad.

To the asshole who cut me off in the water while I was driving the boat in the bay: You don't own the ocean. Learn the rules of the water while boating or else get outta the boat, put some arm floaties on and get outta my way.

To the bitch in the Mini Cooper who almost backed into me: How much smaller do they need to make cars that you can navigate? My confidence in your abilities to even drive a lawnmower are fractured. Also, you are fat, you look stupid in the tiny car.

To my dentist: You filled my cavity. A cavity I would not have had if I could fucking get an appointment in your office to have my teeth cleaned every six months instead of once a year. Get a system you asshole, now my face is numb and I am drooling because of you. Fucker.

No Name Post

Chest Warmer

Girls, ever notice that in the summer when you are wearing a bra, the second you take it off it feels like your boobs are a thousand degrees? Like they are these two oven bricks on your chest just emanating heat?

I suppose they are no warmer than any other body part, but is sure as hell doesn't feel that way. It sucks. I have to walk around for a few minutes and let them cool down before I go to sleep.

I guess guys get that too with their huevos. At least that what my husband says. He bitches about his sweaty package in the summer. God he is sexy.


On a side note, spell check on the blogger doesn't recognize "boobs", it keeps wanting to change it to "bob's"... I think they need to update that damn spell check thing. Hell, it tries to correct the word BLOG when you run the spell check - keeps suggesting BLOC or BLOCKER... Can't the fucking spell check ADD the word BLOG to it's vast database of words??? Christ, I guess I need to calm down. Go cool off, maybe rest my chest in the freezer for a second or two. Dumb spell check.

Boogered co worker.

So there is a woman in my office who I don't really dislike, but I can't really carry a convo with. She is this cooky older broad who (I heard through the office wire) had an aneurysm several years back and now not all the pistons are firing. Seriously, the word on the street is that she was almost taken out by a clot in her brain and now she is a little scattered. Not her fault, but the sad result is a little entertaining at times, some times annoying.

Whatever the case, she is cooky and it's hard to handle sometimes. I feel bad for her because I can tell it takes her a bit to keep things going. She's nice and all, I just can't connect with her... mainly because her wires aren't connected.

Anyway, she was talking to me today and was really going on and on about something she is working on. I am trying to be involved in her dialogue with me and really help her out. But I couldn't. Each time I looked at her I saw she had this HUGE booger in her nose and I didn't have the will in myself to tell her. This is wrong. It takes a village people. I could have simply pointed it out real quick like and it would have been done. Over with.

But she was so INTENSELY discussing something with me, I couldn't stop her and say something like "Hey lady, your nose just shot out a nice little jewel of a snot ball, you mind working on that?" I couldn't. Shame on me. I feel bad now. I coulda handed her a tissue, but I didn't. I chose not to be part of her team. This will happen to me someday now and I will pay for my transgressions. Whatever.

So now every time I see her, I think of her gross booger dangling from her nose.

EWWWWWWW.

FU Wednesday

So I wasn't going to bitch at you today Wednesday. I planned on having a pretty uneventful day and was going to make peace with you.

Then, in the shower as I was drying off, I hit my funny bone. BAD. There I was, dripping wet with a frozen hand and fiery pain rushing through my nerves and I stood stunned and in the worst pain of my life, ready to pass out.

Funny bone my ass. How about Worst-Fucking-Pain-In-The-World-That-Makes-You-Cry-Like-A-Baby-When-You-Hit-It-Bone.

Yes Wednesday, you strike again. You are, like, a total bee-och!

My temper, it's a little short.

I have a short temper. My husband loves this about me. Really. I mean it.

He thinks it is sexy that I am willing to slice his throat all because he didn't rinse his plate off when he put it in the dishwasher screaming at him that he better sleep with one eye open because I will smother him if it happens again.

Or when I couldn't get out satellite remote to work and proceeded to throw it against the pillows of our couch repeatedly so it made this muffled slamming sound all the while I screamed "I hate you volume button - DIE!". He came into the living room and had to throw himself in front of the tv and myself, just before I grabbed the OTHER crappy remote we had (cuz you can't have just one - this is America) and aimed for the screen. Good times. Giggle.

I think his favorite of my episodes was when I couldn't hook my own bra from the back after like ten minutes of contortionism with my arms behind me and had close to an epileptic fit on our bedroom floor topless because I was pissed off at my undergarment. No patience man, none.

My man has gotten used to it. As long as my out bursts are not directed at him, he can accept it.
It's one of my cute qualities.

Seriously, it's all I got going for me. In fact when my husband has a disagreement with say, a sales person at a store, a customer service rep on the phone or a dispute with the mortgage company, he simply says... "Just a second, let me get my wife." I come in, roll up my sleeves and my husband takes cover. I destroy and he picks up the pieces... we are ying and yang...hmmm ironic example since that is a Zen reference and short tempers aren't very Zen, but you get my point. I can get nasty. (Not in the fun way, you sickos..)

So I hate it when things don't go my way. No, I am not Zen like that. I get angry, I get miffed and I get even. I have no grace within me.

Now, I drive an older car. I do this on principle. I don't want a car payment. It's a Honda, I could drive it until retirement and not have a problem. So I plan to, or at least work my way towards it.

The only problem is the CD player. It certainly doesn't have the stamina of the car itself. I refuse to tolerate anything except perfection (unless of course, you expect perfection from me then I'll change my tune - whatever).

Well this story is based on the fact that my lazy CD player decided to quit one day. Son of a bitch began to be selective on the CD's it would play. No thank you Mr. CD Player. Not in MY world you don't. You play what I want you to play and you will like it, bitch.

So it stopped working one while I was in the road when I REALLY wanted to hear a certain CD. I needed it. When you need to hear Van Halen, you fucking need to hear Van Halen. Wait, maybe it was Journey, hell I don't remember. Some band whose lead singer hit high notes with a microphone wrapped in scarves and bandanas that they USED to play on MTV that has a best of album. Whatever.

So I stick the now forgotten cd in. And the player keeps spinning and spinning and spinning and spinning... but noooo music. For some time I could tell my CD player had been just phoning it in. It really didn't have the gumption it used to. But that is not my problem. The CD player put a kink in my rock out driving with the windows down session and it must pay. I was in no mood for this little musical failure.

I hear this "crack" in my brain and know this means I am gonna lose it. So what do I do? As I am driving, I calmly, and I do mean calmly, pull off one of my shoes ( a high heel), place it in my right hand and take one last look at my CD player in one piece. Then I start smashing it to smithereens.

BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM!

All while going 70 mph on the 405 North heading towards Long Beach - never once taking my eyes from the road. I am a very responsible temper tantrumer.

Once complete with my violent shoe vs CD showdown, I sighed quietly for a second and calmly placed my shoe back on my foot ( still while driving). Then, after getting myself re-situated, shoes and all, I drive in silence for about 5 minutes... the whole fucking time grinning ear to ear full of satisfaction.

I have never had a temper tantrum feel so good. I was without a CD player, I had to drive in silence, yet to this day I have no regrets. I had reached temper tantrum nirvana and it felt gooooood.

It's cuz I know in my heart of hearts even though I have a short fuse, the CD player deserved it. I was doing the world a favor. I am sure Osama Bin Laden needed that CD player for sumthin' and I demolished it before it got into the wrong hands. Hell, I can't even classify this as a blow in my temper. I view it more as a snap judgment to save mankind. That bloody CD player was part of a sleeper cell, I know it.

G.W., I am awaiting my letter of commendation.

Just doing my part, ya know. Damn, my husband is so lucky.

I tell you all this, because even now when I think back on it, I can recall the release of frustration after I finished killing the CD player. I can still feel the pangs of satisfaction and feel all warm in fuzzy inside. It's funny because I got home that night and told my husband blissfully about my shoe assault on the dashboard of my car. The whole time he simply shook his head quietly and then kissed me on the cheek and said, regarding the dead CD player "At least it wasn't me."

Man, he is so wise.

Accents - what da heck?

So recently I have seen ads for a show that I believe will appear on cable ( I don't know WHICH channel - that's you job to determine if you are REALLY that interested). The show is called Rome, I think - not sure, but it is about, well, folks in Rome. Some sorta soap opera set in ancient times.

There's just one problem, well there are several with the concept - but I am too lazy to type about all of them, the problem: the actors all portray Romans with British accents.

Why? WHHHHHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY????!!!

Now I got my bachelors degree in Mass Communication, (Yeah, so what that it's the Liberal Arts of the 90's) so I didn't study ancient Rome in depth. Just a sprinkling of it here and there, but I am sure, no, CERTAIN that they did not speak with English accents back then.

Now Anna, you may say, you must remember that they spoke Latin back then and this accent that they use is meant to reflect the antiquity of the time all whilst portraying this ancient era in a language less foreign to thine ears.

Pish tosh mother fucker. I do not accept this. Nay, my good man, I renounce it as preposterous. A bunch of rubbish I must say. Rubbish.

Unless these ass tards are also prepared to spout out things like.... "Alas, poor Yorick I knew him Horatio" then I don't think they should have said accent. *This is a quote from Hamlet, and I am bummed that I feel compelled enough to have to splain it.

Yes, that was S-P-L-A-I-N, as in... "Lucy, you have sun splaining to do..... " Ha! Ricky Ricardo, he had the same accent as my Puerto Rican gramma.... she cracked me up...you would never see HER fake an English accent, even after living in the US 50 years... you couldn't get her to do an AMERICAN accent for that matter... kept making me "splain" things to her. Whatever... I am losing my train of thought here.

Back to Hamlet, don't get me started on how Hamlet REALLY shoulda had a Danish accent. I mean, he was supposed to be the Prince of Denmark, shit, even Shakespeare screwed this up. Bummer man. See? People like to fuck with the right accent. Annoying.

As a side bar, you really should take the time to see Denzel Washington's acting job in Much Ado About Nothing, fucking superb. Real good shit. Or rent Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, hilarious, but you gotta know Hamlet to understand it... getch ya some schoolin' woulda ya?!!

So returning to accents. ALLS I'ma sayin' is if the accent don't fit, you must acquit. No, no. That's not what I am saying. What I am saying is that if you are gonna have an "epic" movie, couldya, wouldya toss a few pennies at the accent department and see to it that the actors, gosh I dunno, ACT like they are from the period you are trying to display with such grandeur?

Could you do that for me!? Thank you my good man. Quite Right. Quite Right. Very well, Cherrio, I must be off.

Damn, now I crave Cheerios. Fuck.

Spammin' it up

Yep. The time has come. I hate to do this. I am big on free speech. I think, if you got a comment - good or bad - yo' ass should be able to post it on my blog. I may hate what you say and think you are lame, but I sure as hell won't stop you.

But spam. Time wasting. Sad really. It's part of the territory in the digital world. Its gonna happen. But for the time being, since each comment comes to me via email, I gotta stop the anonymous comments. Cuz those tend to be the first in the spam world.

Sad to say. I really don't wanna do it. But I gotta. I am done with opening my email and having 20 anonymous comments that are all spam. Give me 20 anonymous comments that are rude, mean and stupid, I'll take it. Goes back to the free speech thing. But I ain't no source for others lame ass advertisement. Party at your own place.

So now I must make everyone post with a word verification so that I can try and block some of it. I haate that. Makes the whole forum process tedious. So lame so lame.

To all you spammers out there, you guys are poopie heads.

Damned Dirty Apes!!!!

Target

Ever notice how the standard dress code for Target employees (red shirt and khaki pants) makes it look like the entire store is being run by and army of retards?

Come on now. I know you have.

Vegemite the untold story

So for you folks who are virgins to vegemite this linky-poo is for you. Click here to read about this strange Australian food spread.

As for the vegemite concept, I don't get it. I don't like it. But the damn product keeps coming up in my life thanks to the Men at Work song. And if you have to ask who Men at Work is you are screwed.. you'll never understand why I brought it up vegemite in my last post. Let it go. You will never be blessed.

For all my mates down under, I have tried the stuff and must say, whoa. Eeeew. I have seen some strange stuff spread on bread, but this takes the cake. Why would you put something so strange into your body on a regular basis?

Whateve. I am hungry, I think I will go have some raw, uncooked fish, because THAT is normal.

I can't believe I am doing this.

So if you knew me... I mean REALLY knew me you would understand I am not one for this type of digital camaraderie. I HATE forwards. I mean hate them. Do not forward me something via email. I will delete it promptly if I see the 'fw' in from of something in the subject line.

I also LOVE to destroy (delete) the lame ass emails that threaten to send oodles of bad luck my way if I do not forward it on to like 100 people. Sweet Mary. What did people do before email to avoid the threat of impending doom? How did they get the message out with out getting cursed with bad luck? How?

Anyway. I ain't that kinda girl. And here it happened, I got tagged. Damn! But I do like the blogger who sent this to me. At least, I think I do. Don't know her personally. Hell, she doesn't know me either. I could be some giant sumo wrestler size broad from Nebraska who drives trucks for a living and likes liverwurst sandwiches with a side of vegemite. Never know do you?

I could very easily not be the blonde freak you see pictured. I say I live in Cali, but do I really? I could be totally made up, like a cartoon. Totally fake. But you would neva' eva' know. So is it me, or isn't it? Hmmm... that's the beauty of the blog world, isn't it?.

My point is, since I am quickly spiraling away from it is I have been tagged. Not normally in for this shit... but like I said, I enjoy the blog and posts from the one who sent it.. and I will offer up my input on said 'tag' items...

Here goes:

List five songs that you are currently digging - it doesn't matter what genre they are from, whether they have words, or even if they're not any good, but they must be songs you're really enjoying right now. Post these instructions and the five songs (with artist) in your blog. Then tag five people to see what they're listening to.

My Songs:

Since it is summer, some of the songs I will list are older. Summertime sometimes demand older shit. My music trends tend to be seasonal. If you asked me during the cloudy months of fall, you may think I was contemplating suicide. But I digress.

1. U2- Where the Streets Have No Name. (MMMM, MMMM)

2. Postal Service - Such Great Heights (Damn I love the digital shit)

3. Coldplay - Fix you (Need I say more, makes me want to play the drums- yeah I am 30 and am dying for a drum set- I am so childish.)

4. Pink Floyd - Learning to Fly (Can't keep my eyes from the circling skys...Hot damn I love those lyrics, makes me wanna jump off a cliff... see if I fall or fly.)

5. Billie Holiday - The Very Thought of You. ( Love her, I fucking wish I was her and try to sing like her far far too often... she is probably turning over in her grave. I am sorry Billie, please love me.)

There you go. This is me musically today. Whatever home slice!

Click the blog Hello Shitty to see where this madness began. She's a cutie pie. That's why I can't say no. I like pie. Not that kinda pie you sick fucker. Get your mind outta the gutter.

I've been tagged

But I am slammed at work right now... so it seems I must wait to complete my taggedness at a later time today when I can do it proper like. I've never been tagged before. I was a tagging virgin. It kinda tingles... leaves a strange aftertaste... hmm.

I will return people. Stay turned as I don't think I am gonna be free until later this afternoon here on the Pacific... so you are gonna have to wait bitches. Muhuhhahahhah.

FU Wednesday

I hate you Wednesday. You bring nothing to the table for me. You sit there lame ass in the middle of the week and are bland, boring and run of the mill. Give me some zing, some POW!, something interesting that I can sink my teeth into. Instead, you sit here like a bump on a log wasting my time. You are on stupid ass week day. Even if I have nothing bad going on today I still hate you. You are a bitch. Wednesday. You hear me? A bitch.

For this I say: Fuck you Wednesday... you are dead to me.

PS - Got a dentist appointment today, I hate the dental tech there... she is an air head. I can't believe I am going to willingly open my mouth and let her play with my teeth. Christ... I may come home without a tongue and a set of dentures. Not dentures in my mouth. Seriously, she is just dumb enough to just hand some to me for no reason. A wet sock has more sense than her. Good Lord.

Sushi Dilemma

So I love sushi. I'll take it anyway I can get it, though of course I prefer the good stuff when given the choice. I love anything Japanese. Event went to Japan, studied the language.. WATASHI NO NAMEA WA ANNA DESU... thank you very much.

So I love the stuff, love it. My man? He hates it. Bastard.

It is a fact that if one of us likes something... I mean REALLY likes it, we can be certain the other will hate it. We are total opposites. Though we do agree on the important stuff, like hockey, The Big Lebowski, Jon Stewart... you know the important stuff.

Which brings me back to sushi... I need it. When you crave it, there is nothing in this planet that will replace it. It is like heroine. But I can never get the butt munch to come with me. Which sucks cuz I have no one else to go with. I'm married remember? I have no more friends.

So now I must live without until I can find someone to join me. I will sit at home and quietly eyeball the fish bowl on our coffee table and hope that I have the will power to stay away from the yummy little morsels of fish that are just swimming there... taunting me. All I need is to add some wasabi and I would be in heaven - and so would my gold fish.

Ok, you know I am joking about that crap... but you get my point. I am Jonesing here and my stupid ass fucking husband won't help me out. I will be forced to be the lame ass person who goes to the sushi bar alone and sit lonely at the bar, while everyone else in the place is laughing and slapping each other on the back having a fabulous time with an Asahi in one hand and a spicy tuna role in the other. There I'll be, sitting lonely in the corner feverishly eating my Catepillar Roll and suspiciously eyeing the waitress as she offers me more edemame...

Thanks honey, you've made me a lonely lame ass sushi fiend. Your an asshole. I mean that in the most loving and supportive terms. Asshole. That's it. I'm keeping the grandma panties fucker. Take THAT!

Take this job and shove it.

I think I am gonna quit this week. My bosses have no idea what they are doing. Not like I know everything... but it has gotten ridiculous.

One of my bosses had an email sent to him with an attachment (a Word document). He opened the word document attached, edited it, then could NOT understand why it had not saved his edits each time he closed the document and re-opened the attachment.

Uh, hello... the ATTACHMENT never changes, but your new saved file does... somewhere on your computer where you directed to when you hit the SAVE button. Fucktard. He also had no idea how to make a table in a word document. Even though there was a BUTTON for it that says TABLE on his toolbar. Loser.

Anyway. They are dumb and I am tired of doing loans for them. I think I will quit Thursday. Gonna use my license to sell instead. At least I only have MYSELF to blame when things are bad. Though I am good, I can ALWAYS find someone ELSE to blame. It's a talent.

Yeah, I'm quittin'.

Dumb Jamaican Woman

I am a loan officer. I just got off the phone with a borrower who was SUPPOSED to sign her final loan documents on a FEDERALLY REGULATED LOAN. This means it's regulated. It also means my ass is scrutinized to no end by FHA, there is no way for me to pull anything on her. I wouldn't if I COULD, I am not that person. I believe in kharma. She told me, with her very thick accent (she has been in the US for 30 years) she wasn't going to sign it because she didn't understand it. I offered to explain everything to her (once again), she wanted no part of that. That would be logical and make sense. She told me I was trying to pull the wool over her eyes and screw her.

Yes, I am trying to screw her. Her tiny as house and her loan is all part of my master plan to take over the world. One stupid ass Jamaican bitch at a time.

I was exasperated and I don't normally do this, this is how I ended the call:

"I am sorry you feel that way Mrs. X, I can only offer you honest and truthful information. If you choose not to trust it, there is nothing I can do. If you wish to go on further on how you do not trust me, you most certainly can - but I will not listen as I am hanging up now. When you are ready to discuss your loan, please feel and call and I will do all I can to assist you. Have a nice evening, as I will no longer allow you to waste my time."

It felt good. She has really bad arthritis. I hope she is in pain. Cunt.

Slutty dog with my chonies

So here is my master piece. After Tighty Whiteygate (see post below) Madman commented that it may be best for a model and vote of said undergarments. While I completely agree, I ain't gonna be the model - I got a little water weight, I am not at my peak you see. So as a second choice I thought it would be best if someone close to my heart took my place as chonie model. And here it is. It took me 1 WHOLE minute to convince my slutty dog to wear my Costco panties and spread her legs.

Viola! She makes her mama proud. You go my little bloomer wearing whore, you go.

Tighty Whiteygate

I have reached a new milestone in my married life. It's called the crappy underwear phase. You see, I am getting short on shorts so to speak. Time has taken a toll on my unmentionables, that I am mentioning here. Not that they are all gross and nasty. Please... I run a tight ship. My briefs are spic an span. But they are getting stretched, faded and just down right worn out.

I have made my underwearring career on supplying myself with Victoria's Secret and the like. My husband has requests and up until recently I fulfilled them. He likes pretty and flattering, when it comes to styles. Can't say I blame him. Can't really get your panties in a bunch about the opposite sex if their panties should be bunched up and tossed out with the trash er, uh rubbish... depending on your location on either side of the great pond.

So the standard is a thong if you must know. Got it perfected. No lines, no problem. But they get old. As in worn. Thread bare. Instead of a thong after a while you end up with an unstrechy sling shot looking thingy that has no particular purpose. If you put a stretched out thong on the only thing holding it up is your butt cheeks. That's no good. And for bedroom purposes, you look ridiculous.

So I have to set out and get me some new shit. But where do I find the time? If you haven't done any true chonie shopping recently, please be advised it is a time consuming event for women. You really gotta get the right stuff and that's an art.

With this said, I made the decision to purchase a package of bikini briefs from Costco on a whim. Hell, I was out buying chicken and a 30 gallon tub of yogurt, I can grab me a 7 pack of run of the mill bloomers to keep me moving for a couple of weeks until I can do some serious pantilicious replenishment.

So I do. I get the small package of 100% cotton white bikini briefs thinking these can't be TOO bad. I get home, wash them and place them in with my drawer with the weakened hot chic undies troops and ignore the groans from my girls in the drawer who are annoyed by the addition of the "fat ugly sister" underwear in their sexy salon. I close the drawer to muffle their cries and I go on with my life.

Today, in a rush I put a pair on. Hmm... ok they cover a little more than I am used to... but ok.

Then I hear this shriek from my husband " ARE YOU WEARING MY CHONES TO WORK????"


'Uh, no." I say, surprised and looking down and my tightly wrapped crotch.


"Holy shit! What ARE those things? Are you feeling ok? Where did they come from?! - Oh my God, where is your BUTT!!!??? " he presses me as he stares wide eyed at my fully covered rear.


"WHAT!? Jeez! They are my new panties.. I bought them at Costco."


"No, those are not panties, they are grandma underwear. Do you ever want to have sex again? My lord, those are bad! They look look they go up to your boobs!"

So at this point, upset that I don't look hot and sexy, I pull them off and toss them in the trash. I learned something at that moment. No undies from Costco. But I must say, they were not that bad. They were bikini cut, not cover your entire bottom half cut. This means they were WELL below by belly button, they did not encompass my entire ass, as my man insists.

I realized he is used to my slutty stuff. I have over done it with the whore shorts it appears. But alas, I must respect his complaints. I would have issues if he wore something I found objectionable. I must be fair. We are a clothes wearing team and I must do what I can to keep the home fires burnin'.

So, I went back to my undies drawer and grabbed the fat girl underwear, hearing giggles of delight from my selfish thong panties. Those girls, they are like a materialistic clique of models who accept no one. I took the heifer pants and tied them, my brand new, never been worn tighty whities into really tight knots to create a toy of some sort and tossed them in my back yard for my dogs to play with like chew toys.

The rest of the morning as I got ready I could hear my dogs growl and play as they tossed their new white victims around enjoying themselves thoroughly. Every once in a while from the window to my back yard I could see a streak of white as one of the Costco chones was tossed in the air as my dogs flung them around.

I have learned my lesson. Fat girl underwear is for the dogs.

FU Wednesday

For my next installment of FU Wednesday I would like to ask this simple simple question. Why must I always be so damn tired on Wednesday morning? Hell, Wed. afternoon? Why? Why? Why?

The amount of sleep I have gotten isn't any less. I rested comfortably (so I thought) . I didn't have any bad Chinese the night before or anything bowel related. Hell, I slept and even dreamt. But sadly, even my dreams were boring. Hell - I dreamt that I was at WORK. Muther effer... how is THAT for crappy?

So I must beg the question, is it JUST because it is Wednesday that I feel like I have been hit by a truck? Damn it people. Like I say, Wednesday is just out to get me. It has it in for me. There can be NO other explanation. Really. Nothing else could be the reason.

I must now start my day with toothpicks holding up my eyelids... cuz people REALLY do that. I will be consuming gallons of crazy strong coffee that will have me hittin' the ladies room later... sorry to who ever gets there after me. And trying to keep it together. All the while I will be longing for my bed. With it's clean new sheets, soft yummy pillow, lowered window shades and soft hum if the ceiling fan... all waiting for me... teasing me like a tramp. Double dog damn I say!

So I must say Fuck You Wednesday. If you were a girl you would be a bitch and I would want to kick your ass... cuz I aint no hollaback girl.


Disclaimer from the legal department at Annaland:
All comments made above are not intended for any individual NAMED Wednesday and are intended for entertainment purposes only.
If you are named Wednesday and not entertained please write to: Queen Anna Thinks Your Retarded, PO BOX 1111, Get A Grip Village, CA 97658
Hollaback Girl is licensed for Universal/20 Century Music and Gwen Stefani 2004, I have no idea why she wrote the song either.
Not intended for children under 6 years old, choking hazard. Wednesdays are for external use only. If rash occurs, discontinue use and consult a physician. Wednesdays are produced in a facility that also handles nuts. Contains wheat. Wednesdays contents may be hot, please handle with care.

You make me feel so used and dirty.

Yeah, I am talking to YOU! That's right YOU! You phantom blog reader. Let me explain myself. You see. I DO NOT BELIEVE in counters. I would like to because I am curious, but I don't. I just don't. You can't make me. Neener neener neener!

Don't get me wrong, there is NOTHING wrong with them at all. People put them on their blogs all the time. They serve an excellent purpose. Just for me in my blog they don't fit per se. I ain't counter kinda girl is all. Just like I am not a banana kinda girl. (Old post, you can look it up if you need explanation...) And even if I was a counter kinda girl, I am so technically challenged that I would get too confused to have one.... so it's easier that I don't.

But seriously. It don't matter to me none how MANY people visit my site. It ain't no thang to me. I write because I like to. I am an a babbler and blogging gives me a soapbox to stand on. It may be an inconsequential soap box, but it is my soap box fucker. I like it.

I love me some comments too. That's the funny thing. I love to read what other people have to say about what I have written good or bad. Post whatever comment you want, I can take it. I don't limit who can comment. You wanna leave some pussy ass anonymous comment that others think is lame. Fine do. I won't delete your shit. Bring it on. Even if it is shit. Freedom of speach mother fuckers. You wanna speak, do it - good or bad, that's what blogging is all about. I don't balance my self worth on it. Not by a long shot. Cuz 'ultimately I know that it's the EXPERIENCE more than the feedback that makes me feel the best. Can't speak for anyone else...

So ANYway, I must admit, as much as I am not into the counter thing (don't like the popularity contest that sometimes it creates) I AM curious to know who stopped by. Not in am AMWAY kinda way where I will haunt you forever with annoying shit. But truly in the community kinda way. How far out there in the internet universe am I really? How far out there are YOU? Really? REEEEEAAALLLY. It's the new philosophical question of the millennium: "If I post a blog out there, does it make a difference if no one is there to read it?" Sigh... Socrates would be sooooo perplexed right now. As am I.

Ok, part of this post is lame because it's the end of Happy Hour and I am er, uh... 'happy' . The other part is true unadulterated curiosity. Have you read my post today? If so, I want a comment. Not a long drawn out, War and Peace kinda comment - more along the lines of a ..."Hey, wassup?" comment. Just to know you are there, reading. If I know you are there, I can determine if it is too much to talk about taboo things. Like, er... um... I dunno... vaginas. No one normally wants to read about that. If I know NO one is reading then I know it is safe to write about. Not mine, you sick puppy... but vaginas as a concept. What ever, bad example. So sue me. Like I said, Happy Hour just ended. You are lucky I can even type.

So again, where was I? Oh!. Ok....that's right, begging. Consider this ONE simple itsy bitsy favor for me. Pretty please with Splenda on top. You can put yourself as anonymous. I don't hate anonymous. Even though it is hard to type fast when you aren't used to the word. Try it. a-n-o-n-y-m-o-u-s... lordy. You would think they would use a simple word for that. Kind like abbreviate is along damn word for something that is supposed to shorten things.. whatever... I'll bitch about THAT later. Right now I gotta stay on topic.

I will never bug you again Mr./Ms. Phantom blog reader. Or regular funny ass reader/commenter. You know who you are and I LUV you. I have been to your blogs and I must say, there is some REALLY good writing out there.

Visit Random Ramblings (click here) if you have any doubt. I KNOW me some good written' - and he be some of the best. I hope this fucker gets a book deal, he's so good I can taste it. Tastes kinda like cotton candy, in case you were wondering.

Or Sam's Stories (click here) . I love her. I love her so much it hurts. She has good shit. OUCH! Muther fucker... see... I told it hurt. (fuck that stings.)

Or Red Neck Diva (click here) . I wanna pick up an move to the South just to stalk her. ( Yeah - I am coming for your Mrs. Diva... I love you, we should be together.....no I am not crazy... get that straight jacket off me! Mrs. Diva, tell them we are meant to be together... I love you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

Ahem... no no, I am ok. I'm ok. Again, almost off topic , where was I ... oh yeah... my curiosity... if you could, would you PLEASE, just post a quick comment. If you don't know, you DON'T have to be registered to comment. (For those that I know personally - Yes Kristin & Ashley..... YOU MUST post someting.) We won't hate you. We, yeah, me and the mouse in my pocket... WE.

I want to know WHO is really out there reading my shit. Not like I am gonna edit any of it. Fuck-tard, I would NEVER. I will not change what I write for anyone. Ok, maybe Oprah... ( I love you Ope. Call me!)

But I would like to know who IS out there. Just so I don't feel so dirty and used... can you do that for a brutha? Ok sister, really, but that doesn't have the same POW! to it, does it? No I think not. So anyway. Please post a comment to let me know you were here. I will never ask this again. Thanks.

Married Life vs. Drinking Life

Aaah. Commitment. Married life. Such a beautiful thing. Got this husband of mine. He is King of Annaland. I love him. He loves me. Look forward to seeing each other after work (most days...) . We have a house that gets an ocean breeze. Two dogs (one certified as nuts) and a happy marriage. It is bliss.

But do you know what that means? That means we never have anything to do on Friday nights. Going "clubbing" seemed to fall off the map years ago. Which is a total bummer because I have a closet of slutty outfits that are becoming outdated.... guess I could were them to weddings and baby showers. Hmm. I'll have to remember that.

Huge keggers disappeared when our buds started procreating. It's really hard to keep a beer bong ready at the house with little kids running around. Hell, the bong is a choking hazard to adults, let alone little kids...

We used to wait for the drunkest of us all on any given night to pass out. That's when the real fun began. Funny pictures of them, writing on their faces with Sharpee pens. Good times Good times.

Hell, the impromptu parties complete with red plastic cups and lamp shades placed triumphantly on the drunkest fuckers head has fallen by the wayside. Tis a sad sad thing. I can't recall the last time I woke up and wondered through my house to the silent scene of empty cups, chip bags, and beer bottles strewn across my house and secretly tucked in strange places. Ok, it was two weeks ago... but that was TWO WHOLE WEEKS AGO. This is almost inhuman. Fuckin' A.

Most of my girl friends are now either pregnant, breast feeding or too tired after dealing with their kids to wanna party. Stupid kids and family... they really get in the way of whats REALLY important. Sheesh. They outta do a public service announcement to warn partiers who are thinking of getting hitched and squeezing out a few puppies... that it can be hazardous to your nightlife.

King Annaland and I mourn this to no end. Mostly because we are immature and do not find happiness in baby diapers and book clubs. We are in our 30's and really don't see ourselves that way. But we have no one to share this with. Just ourselves.

So most Friday nights are drinking nights at home for us both. King and Queen of Annaland sit around pouring each other drinks (in token red plastic cups) and talk and listen to music. It's nice and all. We get into some really great discussions and laugh a lot. We talk about how I hate babies (they are evil). We talk about his guitar (he's getting better) and the good ole' days. But damn, it sho' ain't the same as having say 50 people tear up your house throwing back shots the size of dixie cups.

Sigh. Yes, being married is blissful. But is sure has hell as made it harder to get a hang over.

So here it is. Friday morning. Friday night will be here sooner or later and we will be fucked. I think we may head to Laguna Beach for the evening and walk around. Stop and get a drink some where. Lame. Lame. Lame. We will be one of THOSE people, wondering the streets like tourists with a Starbucks in one hand (ok on the S.Bucks) and a glazed desperate look on their face. A look that screams.. "Help us, we are lame!" aaaaallllll over it.

Damned Dirty Apes.

F.U. Wednesday

So here it is. Wednesday. It's almost come and gone. Good. Fucker. Good riddance.

Wednesday never brings anything special but uh, Wed, nes and day... in that order. Pretty lame ass point in the week.

Many choose to call this the "Hump" day. Please. No one ever gets a good hump on Hump day. If it's good enough to talk about they say it was good ass slappin' sex., not a hump. That's something you talk about in 4th grade. Two dogs humping or something. Ok, ass slappin' may be extreme for some folks but you get my point. Nothing good. Nothing good.

What I am getting at here is that I think Wednesdays should just fuck off. Since it's stuck right smack dab in the middle of the week, the day it self even FEELS longer than other days of the week. Like it's MORE than 24 hours or something. Bastard ass weekday.

So here it is, my big idea... I am calling it Fuck You Wednesdays. Or F.U. Wednesdays for short.
My thought is if I have problems that I can pin on Wednesday instead of myself, I'm gonna do it. Kinda like politicians do with their rival political parties. I will blame Wednesday for the fact that I think by bosses are retarded. I will blame Wednesday for the fact that my dog is insane. I will blame Wednesday for Al Qaeda. I will also blame Wednesdays for Jon Stewarts new set. Fuck you Wednesday. Fuck you.

(Seriously, Jon, if you are reading this, I was only kidding. I love you, I love you, I love you. The new Daily show set is great... really. Just bring back the couch.)

So here it is. It's FU Wednesday. Glad to see your time is almost up Wednesday. You gotta a couple hours left on the west coast then your gone. Dust. Nuthin to speak of until NEXT week. But I'll have shit to pin on you then too. Fucker.

Goodbye old site

So, this won't be a funny post. I have NOT decided to stop blogging, please don't get confused with what I am about to say. My blog is here for good. Get the fuck used to it.

Here's the thing. You see, the name of my blog came from the name of my actual website annaland.net .

I have had it for years, sitting there basically unchanged. You see, I used it as a memorial site to my younger brother who died in 2000 in a drunk driving accident. If you go there now you will see it. But only for a brief time. Within the next 24 - 48 hours it will disappear as I have decided to actually change it. I am not giving a link to it in this post. If you want to go there, then do, but I am not going to help you get there.

It is bitter sweet. The site itself is HORRIBLE, terrible, terrible layout etc. I can do much better, but that was never the point. I put it together in about 1 hour to help my parents out, since there is no grave for us to visit etc. It was nice to have. Family from out of state could see pics of Josh etc.

But it has been long enough and it must change. I have been able to let go a bit. It's silly really, it's just a site... but it was for Josh and now it's changing. Sad I guess. I will keep a bit up and going for him on the new site, I can never let that go.

ANYWHO - there will be a new annaland.net pretty soon. Won't be anything earth shattering, but it will be new and improved. Life is about changing and moving on, this is what I am doing. Josh would have wanted it. He kicked ass. Hell, he still does.

Where ever you are Josh, hope you are having a fucking blast. I know I am. Can't wait until we hook up again, never was a better person to take on the world with.

Ok. You will never hear about him again on this blog. It is personal and thats it. If you comment, great. Don't expect a response. I will not be talking about him with anyone. Peace.

Wheelbarrow post # 2

What the fuck
is a "barrow" !?!!!?!!

Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgh.