Today I:
1 - Placed food on cooking trays (Turkey Medallions and Fresh-Cut Potato Fries - Yum).
2 - Set the temperature as indicated on package (Usually, I forget this part).
3 - Forgot to set the timer.
4 - Remembered to flip the Medallions and Potatoes
5 - Thought ‘what’s the worst that could happen?’ as I ignored a piece of potato that fell to the bottom of the oven.
6 - Was serenaded by the smoke alarm.
7 - Grabbed a pillow to waft the smoke away to shut that #%@# alarm up!
8 - Smashed the light sending it and the lightbulb (correction: pieces of the light and bulb) across the hall and down the stairs
9 - Yelled at Josh to keep SAS and the Dog away from disaster zone
10 - Grabbed the vacuum
11 - Was attacked by the vacuum as it fell down the stairs (Ouch).
12 - Eventually ate a lovely dinner, followed by a few lovely glasses of wine (to reduce the pain of my bruised shoulder and ego, of course).
Gee, it’s too bad that ugly MF light broke.

Truly, the BEST holiday. EVER.

Me: I don’t want a tree.
J: It’s Xmas, we have too.
Me: I don’t care. I hate Xmas.
J: No, you don’t.
Me: Yes, I do.
J: No presents for you.
Me: Good.  I don’t want your stinking presents………….
(Use your imagination and substitute Xmas for thanksgiving or valentine’s day…..)

I refuse to take complete responsibility.  I mean, REALLY. I can only possibly be 98% responsible for the sh1t that comes out of her mouth. Agreed?

I know I shouldn’t make light of this. Strangely,  I take great pride in that fact that SAS expresses herself in this manner correctly. If she has to swear, she should at least make sense.

I can remember a time where my own mother had difficulties in this area, problems expressing herself effectively.   I recall being told to ’screw an apple’ (I think she meant ‘Carolyn, go fuck yourself!’)  and repeatedly saw her give drivers that cut her off ‘the thumb’. She thumbed them with passion and anger, but in the end, it was still a thumb.  I was mortified.  I hope she was too.

Now, Josh and I don’t exactly agree on the swearing issue, something about getting her expelled and working at Hooters (but who are we kidding with the Feeney build) so I’m researching swearing in other languages.  It’s all about compromise.

So from now on, it’s bugger, sod off and wanker. And maybe I’ll throw in a Tabernac for good measure

And I love it. But lately  - not so much.  Many people, (ok, maybe ‘many’ is an exageration), let’s try that again.. Some people have asked if I’ve been blogging lately.  I haven’t. Wanna know why?

I just don’t feel funny.

Who wants to read something somber or bleak?  I can open the fucking newspaper (correction I-N-T-E-R-N-ET) and find a million things that sadden/enrage/in general bother me. 

I have decided that I need to find my groove.  Stella found hers, Deee-Lite wrote a fucking song about it. So I will immerse myself in funny. 

Here’s my start:
http://veryfunnyads.com/ads/24938.html
Any other ideas?

The vet believes he has Inflammatory Bowel Disease or Gastrointestinal Lymphoma (the C word). At this point, we’re not sure how we’re going to treat him. Neither is curable but the IBD is definitely the better case scenario.

I know that dogs can sense human emotion and that I should put on a brave face for him. I’m trying…but the tears won’t stop falling.

Ball and chain.  Check

Stripper joint. Check

Lots to drink. Check.

Assault on all senses. Check?

Seems that everyone (except Josh) smoked cigarettes.  At one point, while driving to one of the clubs, Josh decided to combat the smokers with an attack of his own. His own farts. 

Just one of the many reasons we love this man.

Happy Father’s Day Josh.  You f’ng rock!