The Wubbulous World of...Well Shit, It's Just Me
Mood:  a-ok
My blog is not boring.
I am.
It's not that my life is, I am more than content with my situation. But reading about all the exciting things people get to do on an almost regular basis makes me wonder what the hell happened.
In my own defense, however, I have to take into consideration the fact that my life is just starting out, with many more miles to go and tons more bridges to cross. I've been married less than a year, we don't have kids yet. We're in a small apartment that we both love, and have no plans on moving. The hub-unit will retire in three years, so we're not even thinking about that yet. Nothing really brave and bold going on here.
I'm not even that smart. Well, let me retry that... I am not a genius commentator on the state of the world today. I avoid the news, I don't talk politics, and I'm not really into the shit that's going on. I know, I should be concerned with what's going on in Iraq blah blah blah... I don't care. I'm very NOT into the military thing. After four years of ridiculousness I want nothing to do with them. It's not that I'm anti-military, but I'm very not interested in what they have to say about their jobs. Bless the guys overseas, but hey, they signed up for it. We all make mistakes.
(Sorry Colonel)
Maybe I'm just bitter and jaded because not all my life experiences were sunshine and fucking lollipops. I would rather inundate myself with pop culture vie computer and tv than the fight in Iraq. That's my problem.
And I can't stand stupid people. My morals, as everyone in my VERY EXTREMELY small circle of friends (pop. 3) know, are fucked. However, people that just do some of the most retarded things I've ever heard of seem to FLOCK to me and damn near DEMAND to be my friend. I'm loud, obnoxious, and I hold nothing back. NOTHING. If you're one of those fucktards that think I'm just SO the shit, I will tell you that you are an idiot. For some reason, that endears them even more to me. This is why I don't leave the house.
And for those people that think I'm cool now and can't imagine me any other way, let me tell youse something: It took me four years, almost five, to get this way. And when I say this way, I mean intolerant of dumbasses. I REFUSE to take part in the damb-assedness other people do. I refuse. I spent my entire time in the public education system trying to fit in with some group, ANY group, and I blew my fucking education. I spent all my time so wrapped up in attempting a social life that I wasted all the time I could have spent with my geeky dorky friends who accepted me as is. This unfortunate complex of needing to fit in lasted all the way through high school and well into my first year in the navy. Guess what? After the retardation factor went up in the people I was hanging with, I gave up.
Why should I pretend, and waste all my time trying to hang with the popular people when it's so blatantly obvious they're fucking stupid? So, I put a stop to it, and here I am. No jackholes need apply.
I am happy with where I am, and with the people I have in my life. I suppose this makes me boring, but then again...
Do I really care that much?

The Search For The Perfect Sofa
Mood:  lazy
Now Playing: "Marianne", Tori Amos
No one wants their Grandma's Couch.
You know what I'm talking about. That floral-patterned, overstuffed monstrosity that may have been great to sit in or jump on at Nana's place, but you wouldn't want in your own living room. I should know, I have a Grandma's Couch. A big ugly unwieldy oatmeal colored recliner loveseat. Ucka.
It is, however, the last piece of bachelor furniture in the house, and the hub-unit and I are both loathe to get rid of it due to the memories it carries (good for him, blurry for me...). This weekend, however, we decided to go looking, just in case. We're a hip young (well, I am anyway) couple, we should have cool furniture. On this island, that means scrounging in the sale section of Oak Harbor Furniture just down the street from us.
We kind of wanted to check out the Todd Oldham collection from Lazboy, because he's very cool and the unit has a major crush on his snap sofa. We actually found an ENTIRE living room set for 2500, and that's fucking GREAT, if you consider that the sofa alone is 1100. It was a rug, two tables, two lamps, toybox ottoman, recliner, chair and matching ottoman, and the sofa. I wanted it, and I wanted it BAD. However, there are several reasons why this was complicated:
1. I have a husband I have to consult now;
2. I don't have a job, and must rely on reason #1's income;
3. It was green.
I kinda liked the green, but the unit was a little skeptical because that meant the we would have to buy matching curtains and spend even more money which we didn't have. Which lead to the most daunting of the complications:
4. Financing.
The hub-unit had bad credit and fixed it, but now he has no credit. It was hard enough getting a loan for our car, and now we were going to attempt to buy an entire living room? Can you say "limited credit balance"? We were SO denied. We were both kind of upset, but it also made us heave a huge sigh of relief at the same time because we'd have to pay at least 250 a month if we wanted to make the 12 months same as cash thing. And believe me, you don't want the 12 months of interest tacked on just when you're so close to finish making payments.
Time to take it to the Internet!
Some random obsos:
Watched a marathon of the Surreal Life yesterday on VH1 in a countdown to I Love the 90's last night. I was more amused by Vanilla Ice than anything. He was ranting and raving, and I mean in an ugly, self-righteous way, about how he didn't want to be associated with the whole "Vanilla Ice" thing anymore. He said he didn't want to be as the joke anymore, how he wanted to be taken seriously and some such nonsense and that the cheese factor on the show was getting too high.
Hate to break it to ya, Rob ol' buddy, but EVERYONE on the show is just that: cheese. Tammy Faye Messner, Erik Estrada, Traci-fucking-Bingham for god's sake, are all caricatures. They're all extreme has-been's who may have made their way after fame and fortune, but will never regain their mass stardom. They've all been mocked constantly, and they always will be no matter what they do. It will always be in the back of our minds, no matter what they do. Sorry dude, but SUCK IT UP.
And by the way, I HATED the 90's.

More Shite From Go-Quiz! Gotta love those monkeys..
Now Playing: The Man Who Sold The World, Nirvana version

PARENTAL

ADVISORY

ORIANASANGEL CONTAINS EXPLICIT LYRICS

Username:

From Go-Quiz.com


Right, I'm done for now. But I have a wonderful story to tell later today!

More Random Sillines Before The Serial Goofiness.
Mood:  bright
GOD, I LOVE this stuff! A whoot whoot to acharny for getting all this cool stuff and sharing it so that people like me can exploit it!

Drinking the Rum + Monkey!
Mood:  mischievious
Now Playing: "Wubba Wubba Woo Chuh", Hayleigh Ann
Found some names generators, I forgot how much I LOVE these things!!!

My crappy little elf name is Pelthound Granitebottom.
What's yours?
Powered by Rum and Monkey.

My Iraqi Leadership Name is al-Tikriti Khalifa Abd al-Khaliq Abd al-Karim.
What's yours?
Powered by Rum and Monkey.

My goddamn rock solid ghetto shiznit name is Fellatio Jaam.
What's yours?
Powered by Rum and Monkey.

My insulting name is Penisbreath Labialips!
What's yours?

You tell me, what could be more intriguing than name generator?

Random Silliness
Mood:  silly

My My mazabas names are is Tabitha and Caesar.
Take The Boobs Name Generator today!
Created with Rum and Monkey's Name Generator Generator.

Did the hub-unit too, and he got something even better.

My HUBBY'S Penis' new name is Uncle Wizzo the Magical Salami.
Take Name Your Penis
by badasstronaut today!
Created with Rum and Monkey's Name Generator Generator.

I think I'm gonna go searching for more name generators! Bye!

Alcohol: Only Fun For The Sober Guy
Mood:  surprised
So last night we went out to the Fleet lounge with some of the hub-unit's friends for karaoke night. I hate karaoke. A LOT. But, we haven't been out in a while, so I obliged him and told his friends to just get him really drunk and make sure he had a good time.
Oh, how he got drunk. The three stooges went up and sang a rousing round of songs, including "Secret Agent Man", "She Fucking Hates Me", and "Play That Country Music Cowboy". My hubby can't sing. He's so tone-deaf it hurts other people. But he kept pounding down the drinks, and I sat there and watched the new lows they hit with a sparkle in my eye. It reminds me of why I quit drinking in the first place.
Not that I'm a teetolar or anything, but I only drink once in a great while, and never that much because I like to retain control of my motor functions. If I do feel the few and far between urge to get seriously hammered, I do it in my own house.
And me, being the sober one, got charged with the dubious honor of taxi service. I drove one guy's girlfriend (in truth, my friend with the gallbladder thing) home because she needed to take her oxycontin and go to sleep. Then I took these two total strangers to the bank, and it was like packing a backseat full of drunk teenagers with little impulse control. Then I had to drive everyone home that night, and some of them lived out on the edge of the island...
I hate being able to drive.
The hub-unit, fit-shaced and amorous, got home just in time to vomit copiously for the next two hours. I don't think I v;e seen anything more pathetic than a naked man horfing his guts out at 3 AM, surrounded by curious kitties. It was bad.
So with the husband fucked out of his head, I got to play nursemaid. I'm not complaining, it was rather amusing.
This morning, he's huddled up on the couch sucking down water like he's been in the desert for a month and chewing aspirin like his head's going to explode.
I don't know about anyone else, but watching the drinkers suffer is just a continuance of the fun from the preceeding night.

The Icky Things That Girls Talk About
Now Playing: Bumble Bee Tuna, Mephiskapheles
The Bestest Best Friend called yesterday, and we spent three hours talking about errant body hairs, shaving in uncomfortable places, periods, yeast infections, and urinary tract infections. It's amazing what us chicks talk about when the men folk aren't around.
Worst news ever, it turns out that the neverending occurences of UTIs and yeast infections that plague the BBF and every so often her husband turns out to be Chlamydia. They've been together for three years, so that means that they've been passing it back and forth for that long. I can say this with all certanty because she would never cheat, and he's not that fucking stupid because her mom would KILL him and bury the body in the backyard. It certainly explains some. YUCK. All I gotta say is that makes a perfect example of why everyone should get tested. Again, YUCK.
I woke up this morning to find a pad wrapper stuck to my back with kitty spit. I have to curb her craving for plastic before she chokes, or embarrasses me. She does the same thing with the plastic from cigarette packs. Just fishes them out of the garbage can like some sort of twisted raccoon and drools on it. Ick.
TODAY'S DIET:
Two pieces of toast, light butter for breakfast, skip lunch, and Arroz con Queso for dinner.
Hey, I can't give EVERYTHING up, can I?

Things that make me go Wooooooooooooooo
Mood:  silly
Now Playing: "Taste in Men", Placebo
God, how much do I LOVE Britney Spears? She just makes normal life appear so, well, NORMAL.
One of my unfavorite blondes has decided to go without a prenup for her surprising nuptials to Kevin Federline. That means that should their marriage fail (god forbid), Federline is up for at least HALF of her 100 million dollar fortune.
I'm suddenly glad that I have no money and rely completely on my hub-unit's income. Gotta love those community property laws!
So I jumped on the hubby last night for a quick "this is the last time before I feel better about myself" romantic interlude, and somehow, I don't know HOW, I upset him. Apparently he thought that because I hopped up immediately afterward and ran for the shower and then started loading the dishwasher that I didn't get anything out of it.
Well of COURSE I didn't. But NOOOO, it can't be just about him for once, I HAVE to get something out of it. If I had to get something out of it every time I had sex, we'd never have freaking sex. I don't get guys sometimes. Anyway, so even though he should have been doing the post-orgasmic glow thing, he was grumpy instead. Did I mention that I don't get guys sometimes? Let me reiterate.
And who the fuck was the genius who invented pantyliner? What the fuck kind of WASTE OF TIME are those ridiculous things? They don't stay put, the leak, they don't have enough adhesive to hold them in any one place for more than a few hours. It's like the manufacturers expect us to stop moving once we start bleeding. Sorry, guys, that's really NOT how it works. I hate 'em.

Mood:  bright
Now Playing: Everything By Nickelback
I hate this computer.
My gazelle has shipped today, which means it will be here by the 12th. I'm almost excited about working out, because maybe just maybe I'll be able to fit back into that Morticia Addams panel skirt I bought back in 2000. I was HOT in that skirt, not to mention pretty Goth-y.
My fat monkey-cat decided that 3 AM is the perfect time to move her hoard of purr-loined shiny things onto the bed. That is specifically, the crack between my bare back and the mattress. It was fun rolling over. After ceremoniously dumping the mass on the floor, I heard the tinklings and dinglings that signify her moving them to an even sneakier place somewhere down the hall. Pretty soon we're gonna need a bigger apartment.
My friend with the gallbladder problems was moved back up here to the Island for a few days, only to be moved back to Seattle when she developed a heart murmur. She's home now, resting up for a few weeks before surgery, when she'll go back to Seattle. God, that's gotta suck.
My Bestest Best friend is still bedridden and pregnant. Diagnosed with an "incompetent cervix". COME ON NOW. As a female, I'm almost offended by that term. Almost. They might as well just call it a stupid cervix and have done with it.
I'm doing fine, thank you for asking. Still leaking the silly putty-colored stuff, but that could be from the onset of yet ANOTHER monthly feminine problem. Any physical contact attempted by the hub-unit is rewarded by a high-pitched and Gollum-like squeal of "Unclean! UNCLEAN!", retaliated by a gentle bonk to the noggin.
Sometimes, I abhor being a female almost as much as I hate my computer.