Archive | Social Services RSS feed for this section

I Shouldn’t Be Allowed To Drive.

24 Jan

Adrian and I had a chat this weekend, after I called him for the 4th or 5th time saying, “OH MY GOD MY CAR IS BREAKING DOWN I DON’T WANT TO BUY A NEW ONE,” and it turned out that actually I had just put the ‘ol Jeep in 4 Wheel Low so that’s why it wouldn’t shift into a higher gear.

I really shouldn’t be allowed to drive. The evidence is piling up against me.

1. I jumped my 1974 SuperBeetle into a cornfield.

This car is the very reason I will never complain about a vehicle I drive ever again.

My stepdad, true to his plan to “toughen us up,” bought me this car–a stick shift (which, to be fair, I’m grateful I can drive now), purple, hole in the floorboards, tarantula in the trunk, wasp nest in the backseat, no heater, cracked windshield piece of shit. Ask Grace, I’m not exaggerating. I HATED that car, but it was the only car I had, and my driving history to that point didn’t exactly warrant me needing anything nicer. I cleaned it up as well as I could–extracted the creatures who called it home, peeled the Grateful Dead stickers off, put in some Zebra accents, and literally sailed into the sunrise.

One day, I was driving to school, and as teenage girls are tend to do, got distracted.

I was re-applying lipgloss, when suddenly I realized I could only see clouds. I was sailing through the air.

I had apparently run off the road and over a raised driveway large enough to send me airborne. Herbie ain’t got shit on that purple bug.

I landed hard in a cloud of dirt, both outside and thanks to the holes in the floorboards, inside. The car died, and was buried pretty well nose-down in a cornfield.

Another reason why I shouldn’t be driving? I never panicked–just laughed my ass off and drove away.

2. I can’t even control a go-cart.

One summer, my sister and I worked and worked and worked our asses off to earn a go-cart. One day, in our garage stood a lawn-mower engined, shiny white ticket to freedom.

Grace and I invented a lot of games to play, all of which consisted of us flooring it and usually putting me in mortal danger. Games like, “Hey, lean out and grab that Horny Toad while I whizz by,” and “Mrs. White made us cookies again, grab the baggie out of her hand while we whizz by.”

Grace usually drove because I was too damn short to reach the brakes. She knew this to be true, but she often let me drive by myself.

“How did she stop?” you’re wondering.

I rammed into the garage door as hard as I could. I must have done this 100 times before I finally made a dent, which was accompanied by a sonic boom and my stepdad, furious, and Grace laughing her ass of.

3. I’ll go too fast on anything.

Before we got the go-cart, we had a riding lawn mower. The Stormin’ Craftsman had 6 gears, but the Stepdad would only let us get up to third gear, at which snails would flip us off for being in the fast lane.

But he never said we couldn’t go in reverse, which ended up being about 1,000 times faster than 6th gear anyway. The summer before we got the go-cart was filled with Grace and I whipping backwards through a field as fast as that sombitch would let us, trying not to jackknife the trailer that I rode in, thus killing me.

4. If we’re in danger, I will only laugh.

Let me preface this by explaining to you that Grace has a terrible fear of Geese, because once when she was little and Ma was pregnant with me, she was chased through a park by one and Ma’s only contribution was, “RUN FASTER.”

So we were driving to school one beautiful day, and we both had our windows down. There were geese ahead of us in the road, but, as everyone knows, when you get close enough, they fly away.

Well, they all tried to fly away. One got pulled in to the windstream around us and got his head sucked in to the Driver’s side window. Miraculously, he lived, and honked FURIOUSLY in Grace’s face for about a mile. She was screaming in terror, driving all over the road (now that I think about it, it was right where I jumped my bug several years later). There were feathers and expletives all OVER that car.

And I could do nothing but laugh.

Grace was trying so hard to defend herself, but he was honking away, snapping at her hair.

So her plan was to keep driving faster all over the road, in the hopes that he would be sucked out of the window by the same force that sucked him in. It actually fucking worked and he slipped out of the window and Grace was able to stop.

I’ll never forget her face as she turned to me after the ordeal, covered in feathers and tears, shaking like a leaf.

Oh God, I’m laughing just thinking about it.

5. I’ll wreck anything you put me in.

Examples: I wrecked my first car so badly I snapped the drive shaft. Oh, also, I was 14. Unhurt and blasting Blink 182, but that little gold Honda wouldn’t even TRY to start. I wrecked my stepdad’s truck so badly he had to use a crowbar to open the doors from then on. I slammed it into our 2o foot tall front gate hard enough to knock it down and render the doors useless. In that same truck, I once hit a deer which ripped out the headlights and fucked up the transmission something awful. I totaled my Cavalier by going about 10 miles an hour.

Really, it just makes sense to leave me in the passenger’s seat.

Submissions are coming in for the Fashion Fuckaround Challenge! It’s your chance to show off how awesome you look and win a $50 Visa Gift Card, or a Corn-Nut Tiara. Submissions need to be in by January 30th–and then YOU get to pick the winner!

Submit your favorite fashion disaster pic to ohnoagavin at gmail dot com.

Advertisements

‘Merica: Land of Ridiculous Problems

21 Jan

Funny Bitch Friday will be back tomorrow.

We need to have a talk.

Ma’am, you fell into a fountain. You were uninjured. You were embarrassed, sure, but you were unhurt. Some mall security should probably be fired for leaking it to YouTube, yes, but to sue the mall?

Why? Why sue them? Because no one came to your aid? You fell in a fountain and then stood right back up again like nothing happened, and walked away. I wouldn’t have addressed it because I would figure you’d want to leave well enough alone. You just made an ass out of yourself.

Had I been you, I might have laughed at myself, and not gone to the news bitching.

This teacher has been placed on leave for going to the police about a very violent student after parents and school officials did nothing. She was placed on leave for violating the student’s privacy rights.

These kids were 7-years-old, being faced with a classmate threatening violence–including bringing a gun to school.

7-years-old.

This cop was suspended when he wrote a ticket to a 7-year-old boy when the boy threw a ball at his truck and hit it, in an effort to have the child’s mom discipline him for what he did.

When I was a kid, I threw rocks at a neighbor’s window and broke it, so my mom took me to the sheriff’s office. He scared the hell out of me. I worked off the money I needed to buy them a new window. I turned out to be a good kid.

What in the shit is going on with this country?

We’re complaining about problems that other people would DREAM to have.

Other people in the world have to worry whether or not their government will kill them that day. Or if they have enough food to feed their children though they haven’t eaten in days. There are places in the world with terribly unsafe drinking water, food, and living conditions.

People are being washed away by mudslides in Brazil, watching their families die right before their eyes.

Children are being sold into slavery everywhere.

My in-laws had to escape their own country. They lived in a refugee camp in Greece for 4 years. They had a 2 year old at the time, and hot water once a week. Some of their friends still fear the KGB.

Your problems are not that bad. You were texting and fell of your own volition, not killed or maimed by a drunk driver.

The teacher stopped violence the only way she knew how, and probably averted a major disaster and allowed a child to gain access to the mental health help he or she desperately needed. Let us not forget a 9-year-old girl was killed recently after a man who needed that help did not get it.

The officer was teaching a child about the law, and safety after he was given no option but to do so.

America? Grow the fuck up. Look at what you have, and be grateful.

Oprahlympics

19 Jan

I like to liven up my day by playing little games that no one else knows I’m playing. George Bush Mouth and Space Invaders were inspired by boring meetings.

But a recent conversation with Grace inspired these few games brought to you by the Goddess of Stupid Crap on TV, The Oprah. Appropriate at the mall and at home, there are a million ways to play Oprahlympics.

Let’s do this.

1. GrOPRAH Shopping

You Need: 1. To have seen any episode of Oprah ever     2. A Grocery List

How To Play: Go grocery shopping. Every time you find an item on your list, you have to shout it out like Oprah shouts celebrity names.

“Vlasssiiccc PIIIIIIIIICCCCKKLLLESSS!”

“Trojan MAAAAAGGNNUUUUMMMS!”

“Whole-Wheat PPPPPAAAASSSTTAAAAA!”

“Spa-GHETTTIOOOSSSSS!”

It’s the only cool way to buy groceries these days.

2. Harpo Head-Snaps

You Need: A neckbrace

How to Play: At every possible moment, headsnap for emphasis. Oprah does this while nodding, while ‘understanding your feeble plight,’ and while announcing her FAVORITE THIIIIIINNNGGSSSSS!

BUY*Snap*A*Snap*MOUNTAIN*Snap*

3. Ho-Oprah

You Need: Ninja Skills

How to Play: Allow no physical contact. Anytime anyone tries to initiate so much as a High-Five, give ’em the old Oprah Hug–the Ho-Prah. You must shake the hands, and shout, “GOOD FOR YOU!”

They use it in Australia:

And Oprah even gives the Ho-Prah to BaBa.

Any games you play when you’re bored?

Also, don’t forget about the Fashion Disaster Challenge, where bad decisions make you money!

Who has the best picture of your worst fashion disaster?

You can send me your favorite disaster picture to ohnoagavin at gmail dot com by January 30th. I’ll pick the top 5, and you’ll all get to vote for the winner.
Winner wins a $50 Visa Gift Card to buy whatever you want. Or a cross-stitch sampler. Or a picture of my boobies, but Adrian says I have to be wearing a shirt at least.

Noa Gavin’s Guide to Holiday Gifting: Store Etiquette Refresher

20 Dec

1. Child Appropriate Behavior

I don’t have children. I don’t think I want children. I’m resentful of unruly children.

However, after teaching children for many many years, I realize that sometimes, there’s nothing you can do about a screaming child. Could be hungry, could be tired, could be a demon–who knows. You’ve done what you can think of short of pleading to the Gods of the Backyardigans, but they’re on a screaming, punching, crying tirade. You’ve tried. I see that. I sympathize with you, and will make a sadly empathetic frowny face as I walk by you.

Inappropriate Action That Really Took Place: As Grace witnessed on Saturday, to strap your three-year-old to the sunshade of your stroller with your belt.

Appropriate Action: Shame your child. Shame them and implant horrible fears of abandonment into their hearts. Don’t be afraid to use Santa. “Do you think for one second that I will not trade you in for a starving, grateful, well-behaved child in Africa? Did you know Santa also offers that service? Child swapping? Well, you’ll find out on Christmas, I guess.”

2. Check-Out Load Evaluation

There’s a shitload of people in this Wal-Mart. So many, in fact, that there are no carts available, so I decided to grab my ranch, croutons, and gallon of milk and just carry them up to the checkout.

But Ma’am, I am aware you saw me walking towards express checkout, and I am even more acutely aware that you FUCKING SPRINTED to the line with your CART loaded with ONE PACK OF TISSUE PAPER AND HAIR DYE. Fuck you to death, ma’am.

Inappropriate Action That Really Took Place: Not everyone is aware of the rule that if you have a cart and the person behind you does not, you let them go ahead–I forgive you for this. However, you chose to leave your cart behind you in the line so I cannot even set my things down. You know you’re doing it, too, because you’re purposely not making eye contact with me. Then, when we both make it to the parking lot at the same time, YOU STILL BRING YOUR CART WITH YOU WITH YOUR ONE BAG IN IT, YOU LEAVE YOUR CART NEXT TO MY CAR.

Appropriate Action: Shove your cart into the women’s clothing section–a jungle conveniently located right behind the express lane. I’ll be checked out and in my car by the time you get back. I’ll wait for you to go to your car, then when you leave your cart, I’ll hold it until you pull out. At the last moment, I’ll shove your cart in front of your car as you drive away.

MERRY GODDAMN CHRISTMAS.

3. Grocery Cart Traffic

Yes, we all need M&M’s. I know this, for I am in the aisle with you. There are a lot of people here. My cart will come close to you, but for the love of my crippling social anxiety and claustrophobia, I will absolutely not touch you with it. I promise.

Inappropriate Action That Really Took Place: When my cart comes within 6 inches of you so I can grab some taco shells, you shove it back into my shins as hard as you can.

Appropriate Action: Do you see the panic in my eyes? I should remain unprovoked. If you shove a cart at me, be ready for Adrian, a man with many Black Belts, to swoop down from the juice aisle like a Hungarian Ninja and wreak havoc on your salami.

4. General Shopping Behavior

I know you don’t like to shop for Christmas either. The mall is packed, traffic sucks, you’re way behind schedule–I get it. WE ALL ARE.

Inappropriate Action That Really Took Place: Throwing your elbows straight out like you’re an rampaging square dancer when you’re grabbing some bows. Watching me reach for that candle and snatching it out of my hands. Wearing a too-small velour sweat suit and Uggs with your Jersey accent to the customer service counter in Target and trying to return a two-year-old car charger that broke last week. The Manager, and everyone in line will be angry at you.

Appropriate Action: IT’S CHRISTMAS, MOTHERFUCKERS. Show some joy, some sympathy. If you hate shopping that much, give to charity instead–The Bloggess proved how many people would kill to be in your shoes this year. Remind yourself that we’re all in this together, and the retail salespeople have it the worst this time of year.

Be kind. Remember what you have. Be grateful for what you have around you. And remember what you’re here for–a Merry Christmas and a HAPPY New Year.

PS-Booze Helps.

What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever seen holiday shopping?

Noa Gavin’s Guide to Holiday Gifting: Lost Loved Ones

8 Dec

Holidays are especially difficult when you’ve lost a loved one recently. Christmas time means family time, and it’s a painful reminder of what you’ve lost.

But thanks to me, you don’t have to be in pain forever.

1. LifeGem: Curing your grief with SPARKLE

Time for some Razzle Dazzle

What. The. Fuck. Is. This.

I lost my Dad when I was three, but I cannot, for the life of me, imagine wearing him as a diamond around my neck for the past 20 years. Nor do I think he would have preferred that.

I know my sister recently lost the center stone of her wedding ring at an Aggie Football game–can you imagine losing Nana between the bleachers?

Or worse, having to explain to a date that it’s your two dead cats you’re wearing in your ears? De-fucking-lightful.

I’m sure this is a great option for some people (coughParisHiltoncoughcough), but I can’t imagine not looking like a stalker with this.

2. Perpetual Pet AKA Frozen Friends:

Cisco: As he was in life.

I love my pets like children–they sleep in my bed, I carry them around like infants, and I spoil them rotten.

But when they die, they die. I do not wish to have a constant reminder of their passing awkwardly poised on my sidetable. With headphones. And sunglasses. Staring back at me with cold, dead eyes.

Do you vacuum it to clean it? Is there a dead pet polish?

I’m so confused.

3. Amazon recommends Sleepless in Seattle.

I hate this movie.

In checking Amazon’s “Gifts for the Grieving,” list–this little movie made an appearance. Because nothing will help heal the heart of your best friend who just lost her husband than a shitty love story featuring mother fucking Meg Ryan.

You might as well ring her doorbell, and then punch her right in the crotch. It has the same sentiment behind it.

4. Photo Playing Cards

A full house? Not anymore. Oh. I made myself sad...shit.

I’ve seen memorial photographs. Hell, I have one on my fireplace of my dad and I. But I’d rather not be reminded of a loved one’s passing while I’m playing a drinking game with some friends. Or drunkenly gambling away millions in a Rotary Club Sponsored Poker Tournament/Fun Run.

“YOU’RE ALL BASTARDS.”

“Ma’am, we’ll have to ask you to leave.”

“I’M TAKING MY CARDS WITH ME.”

“That’s fine ma’am, please pack up your things.”

“THIS IS MY TEDDY. OH GOD. HE’S GONE.”

“Ma’am, don’t make me call the Texas Rangers.”

Let me imagination get away with me there for a second.

If you love your family, please don’t buy them this shit.

 

Comment of The Day:

HoodyHoo

in a sick kind of way, I kinda want a Life Gem… just to screw with people.
“Oh, that’s a lovely necklace!”
“It was my Nana.”
“It was your Nana’s?”
“You’re not listening.”

Noa Gavin’s Guide to Holiday Gifting: Greeting Cards

15 Nov

Welcome to the Noa Gavin Guide to Holiday Gifting. Have a difficult person to buy for? Low on funds but high on bitchery? I’ve got your back, ho. I’m not being paid or bribed with booze to write these posts–I just think these things are awesome.

It’s that time of the year again. The Christmas decorations are out way too early, it’s still 75 degrees in Dallas, and I have to send out cards to remind my family that I am still alive, and that I just have a terrible phobia of speaking to anyone on the phone.

Then, we wait eagerly for the haul of glittering Reindeer cardschlock.

Oh, are those your 8 kids? They’re all…lovely. How’s your vagina?

Hmm, glad to hear Aunt Bethany’s fungus is subsiding. Have some eggnog. Shitter’s full. (Name that movie.)

Or, send out a Christmas letter on lime green paper in all caps, shouting your accomplishments (“Noa’s not wearing Wranglers anymore!”) to relatives unknown.

Fuck that.

I’m not that nice. I’m not that sentimental. What’s worse, people have come to expect a certain amount of, “What’s wrong with you?” from me, and I will not disappoint.

This year, I will be sending out cards from Bluntcard.com.

What better to send cheer to your Nana than a sassy card to brighten her day?

Or to let a friend know you’d love to attend her Holiday Gala?

And for your Jewish friends…

But what about your holiday invites? The Festivus Airing of Greivances? WHAT ABOUT MY NEEDS?

The Bureau of Communication has you covered. Need to let someone know that their actions at your ice cream social were unwelcome?

Or apologize for being “That Girl?”

You can even let people know the location of your booze filled fantasy land.

Now is the winter of your family’s discontent, and your year to be the star of the Christmas Card circuit.

You’re Welcome.

RV To Hell: The School Edition

11 Nov

Let’s get a couple things straight. The RV has played a big part in my life, and when I get into trouble, it’s usually with Grace. But, you knew that part about Grace.

So one day,  we’re in the driveway, about to drive to school. Her car had a serious flat, and seeing as how step-dad (a glorious man, that one) had put the sumbitch on with a torque wrench, there was no getting that bad boy off the car.

School, for us, wasn’t a happy jaunt through a quiet neighborhood. We lived 20 miles from school, and had to pass by a spooky motherfucking wooded lake to get there. And a couple of yaks. No lie.

Was there a graveyard too? Fuck, now I don’t remember. Seems like there was.

Whoakay, back to the story.

So, there was no walking for us.

We had to make a choice. One, we could stay home from school and get our asses kicked. Or, we could ride our horses to school, possibly picking up dysentery or losing Ma after fording the river.

Or we take the family RV.

Grace looked at me, standing there dorkishly in my blue t-shirt,wranglers, and rose-tinted glasses.

 

'Merica.

I nodded. We were going for it.

Grace started up The Widowmaker, and off we went. I rode to school in fucking STYLE that day, chillin’ on the couch in the back, eatin’ my cheerios like a fucking king.

“GET YOUR ASS IN THE FRONT SEAT, NOA.”

“No way. The couch is awesome.”

“GOD DAMN YOU.”

As we lurched through the bar ditch to enter the parking lot (yet again, not joking), Grace suddenly noticed something was amiss.

“Noa, something is sparking outside. Stick your head out the window and see what it is.”

I got a glimpse of the perpetrator only as it whizzed 2 inches from my head and slammed into the map of America on the starboard side, sparking the fuck out of the countryside.

“HOLY SHIT GRACE, WE NEVER UNPLUGGED THE RV! WE’RE DRAGGING THE FUCKING POWER OUTLET.”

In case you didn’t know, RV’s need to be plugged in for a time. Ours was plugged in on a free-standing outdoor outlet, which we ripped from the earth and drug behind The Widowmaker for 20 damn miles. The outlet whipped violently around for the entire time, and WHOAfucking up the fiberglass.

“We’re dead.”

Later that night, upon arriving back home in The Widowmaker, while the step-dad stood watching our embarrassed asses lumber back in:

“YOU CHOSE TO DRIVE THE RV TO FUCKING SCHOOL?”

“What else were we supposed to do? You put my lug nuts on with a torque wrench, there was no way we could get them back off.”

“RIDE THE HORSES TO SCHOOL.”

“And then what? Where the hell do we put the horses when we get there?”

“LET THEM GRAZE ON THE FOOTBALL FIELD.”

Can’t make it up, y’all.

How are you finding me?

19 Oct

People are finding me through some extraordinarily fucked up search terms.

1. Velociraptor Costume:

BAM! Found it.

2. Velociraptor Face:

See Above.

3. Velociraptor Sitting:

4. Several Variation of Oh Noa and Mom’s Messages:

HOORAY! Someone found me through my name and even a regular post of mine! I feel so special.

This is the last search term that makes any sense whatsoever.

5. Cheddar Cheese Taco Vag:

Okay, the Raptor stuff I get. I’ve done only one post about Raptors, but it’s apparently pretty searchable.

But the fact that you found me through a search for Cheddar Cheese Taco Vag says more about your psyche and your daily disposition than I think you realize.

Were you looking for a Vagina filled with Cheddar Cheese?

Were you looking for a horrible recipe?

Are you a dairy fetishist? I mean, I’ve never even heard of that, but hey, people are turned on by worse than this.

6. Latex Predator Costume Fetish

I have this whole demographic of bizarre fetishists that I’ve apparently servicing rather well.

Did I say servicing? Fuck.

I suppose a latex and a dairy fetish combination would at least be easy to clean.

7. Elevation Bed, LLC.

Elevation Bed, LLC is the parent company of the Craftmatic Adjustable Bed. Someone found and read my blog searching for a bed meant solely for older folks, invalids, and those laid up for a considerable amount of time so as to prevent bed sores.

I hope I brightened your day.

8. Wearing a C-String on the Beach

I think we all know how well this would actually turn out.

9. Razzle Dazzle Noa

This sounds as though Mattel thought it appropriate to make a Barbie of a woman who was awkward in public so that when you pulled a string on her back when others were around she would say shit like:

  • “Do you wonder if Noah left the unicorn off the boat on purpose?”
  • “I bet your Grandma looks good in that bandage dress.”
  • “Ma’am, your Vagina. Address it.”

But in private would say things reflecting of a crippling social anxiety disorder:

  • “No one thinks I’m funny but me.”
  • “Your friends only want you there.”
  • “I shouldn’t have picked a fight with that Drag Queen.”

Then, the Barbie would throw confetti in your face. Give it a Whiskey and Coke and some limp-ass red hair.

That would be a Razzle Dazzle Noa Doll.

(I have said all of those things.)

And my favorite:

10. Cat your gonna get raped

HOW THE FUCK DOES MY BLOG EVEN COME CLOSE TO A HIGH-RANKING PAGE WITH THIS SEARCH TERM?

Not only is this a fucked up statement in and of itself, but it’s not even grammatically correct. This sentence is stating something about a Cat’s ‘gonna get raped’ as though it was a thing a cat could possess.

This is not ok. Cats cannot possess Gonna Get Raped. No one should possess Gonna Get Raped.

I felt dirty even making this one, y’all.

Cat’s don’t even have opposable thumbs, so why would they even need a can of Gonna Get Raped?

Baffled. Fucking Baffled.

My Cousin is pregnant with Hugh Jackman

20 Jul

My cousin, Lana, is due tomorrow with her first baby, who may or may not have a name similar to a superhero’s “normal-person alias.” This is exposition.

Lana also may or may not have made an innocent comment about her cervix on Facebook a week ago, to which Grace and I promptly reacted with a warning–only 3 cervical posts without a report to STFUParents.
I set a trap. Let’s see what happened…

Noa Gavin How’s your cervix? Made of Adamantium?

Friday at 11:16pm ·  ·  · See Wall-to-Wall

Lana Williams

ha ha very fitting. no wonder he isn’t coming.
Friday at 11:19pm · 
Noa Gavin

I’m a shitty cousin. Sorry I’m making fun of your hoohah.
Friday at 11:21pm ·  · 
Grace Montgomery

this must stop…y’all are killing me
Friday at 11:22pm · 
Noa Gavin

You don’t get it? Adamantium=Wolverine=Logan. This is genius comedy here, Grace. GET WITH THE PROGRAM.
Friday at 11:23pm ·  · 
Lana Williams This doesn’t count toward my 3. This was all her!
Friday at 11:24pm · 
Grace Montgomery

I am not nerdy enough to know what Adamantium is, I had to wiki that shit. Still not all that funny. And Lana, I am still deciding if this counts against you or not, it was a cervix post involving you, that you commented on–I think this makes you guilty. I’ll let you know what I decide
Friday at 11:31pm · 
Grace Montgomery

PS Damon says y’all are both dumb, and that yes it should count
Friday at 11:33pm · 
Noa Gavin

I’m comparing a fetus to a comic book hero played by Hugh Jackman. I just blew your mind, so stop being all high and mighty.

On another note, Lana, this was a trick post–the correct answer was, “I’m not going to comment because then I can only talk about my cervix one more time.” BOOYAH.

Friday at 11:34pm ·  · 
Noa Gavin

Damon doesn’t even have a cervix.

I assume.

Friday at 11:35pm ·  · 
Grace Montgomery

I love where this is going.
Friday at 11:35pm · 
Grace Montgomery correct, Damon doesn’t have a cervix, his comment was intended only towards the nerdy comic book “literary” shit. And his judgement was because I made him, he actually has no idea what a cervix is.
Friday at 11:38pm · 
Noa Gavin

So, Damon is actually made of Adamantium. Wiki my ass.
Friday at 11:39pm ·  · 
Grace Montgomery

Lana is gone now, we are commenting alone under her cervix post. This seems like a violation some how
Friday at 11:40pm · 
Noa Gavin

A VIOLATION OF HER CERVIX.

We Facebook raped.

Friday at 11:41pm ·  · 
Grace Montgomery

this really must stop now. I’m going to bed
Friday at 11:42pm · 
Noa Gavin

Then rest your “effaced” on your pillow and go to sleep. Maybe your pupils will be dilated then.

I OWN YOU.

Friday at 11:44pm ·  · 
Grace Montgomery

I’m sorry Lana, this went too far, but you know Noa, she always leaps right over the line of decent social standards. Maybe this will make you laugh hard enough to start labor…then we’ll have done you and your cervix a favor : )
Friday at 11:47pm · 
Friday at 11:49pm ·  ·                                                

Nachos of Unimaginable Laziness

29 Jun

I’ve eaten nothing but sharp cheddar cheese, taco sauce, and tortilla chips for 3-4 days now. I put shredded cheese into a bowl, dump on a shitload of taco sauce, lay on my bed, and shove the masterpiece into my face with chips.

I eat the world’s laziest nachos.

Husband: “Didn’t you eat that for breakfast?”

Me: “What of it?”

Husband: “Wait. You ate that for dinner last night, too.”

Me: “…”

Husband: “Give me the taco sauce.”

Me: “Step off.” And then I run my dairy-fied ass up the stairs and out of sight.

I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me. I am a real person with a real job and everything. I’m not a homeless person or 4 years old–I just have no idea what real people eat for food. All I have in my pantry is frosting and pasta hidden behind my altar of toasted corn triangles.

I feel like an asshole at the grocery store when I look at other people’s carts, and they’re all, “FRUITS, VEGETABLES, GRAINS, NUTS, PROTEIN, WATER, ALL NATURAL PRODUCTS AND HAPPINESS.”

My cart is filled with, “SODA, CHIPS, 4 JARS OF TACO SAUCE, 6 BAGS OF SHREDDED CHEESE, AEROSOL CHEMICALS, NECESSITY OF A SOCIAL SERVICES VISIT.”

They judge me, as they stand in line sadly, “Oh, look at that sad, oily, 12 year old buying her shitty food for her shitty sleepover.” Yeah, no, I’m 23 years old and married with nice shit and about as much nutritional value as sugar-coated acid-filled baby tears.