Saturday, May 18, 2013

Inappropriate Vacation Picture!


Due to some strange and fun mixup, Husband and I went back to our room* after dinner  in our fancypants Mexican resort and discovered this. 

Husband and I will be married 10 years this Halloween. While it's all romantic and shit to say "aww honey, it feels like we're newlyweds" we all know that's not true after a decade. Besides, we don't fight about stupid shit like wardrobe or household furniture mergers. We fight about important things, like who's snoring (usually it's Chewy, which we realize because the blissful snores haven't stopped while we snark at each other).  

Plus neither of us said anything about a honeymoon: just that we're celebrating Husband surviving his accident last fall. 

That cake was yummy and I ate it with no remorse for the couple who probably got a "congratulations! you survived!" cake and champagne. Because really, that's just as fitting. 

*iphone changed "room" to "tomb" twice while I wrote this post. I am amused and slightly unnerved. 

Friday, May 17, 2013

Merida, she is NOT (a teaser-trailer for the Demented Disney Princess post)

This is not a real post. I'm going to sunny gorgeous Cancun tomorrow for a week with the recovering husband (dude, after the horrible fall/winter we had, it's time for a fricken cocktail on the beach!). Depending on his vice-grip on the iPad, I may or may not have an opportunity to post rude pictures from my balcony.

By rude, I mean sun/sand/ocean postcard-quality pictures (or the blurrier kind, which is more likely, although whether the PICTURES are blurry or it's just my drunken eyeballs...well, that may be up for debate). I do not mean the sort Go-Oogle* uses to say I'm too lewd. 

I'm a little ADD this afternoon, counting down minutes until we leave, so this post is likely shit. Sorry!!

Anyway, since we'll be gone** and my posting opportunities will be stymied, I'll wait to post anything on the Demented Disney Princess until I get back. Although she HAS made a point of looking ever day at my next-door neighbor's tulip garden (that's not a dirty euphemism...she really DOES have a lovely garden of multi-colored tulips) every goddamn day.

Yesterday she said "I wish I could figure out how she (neighbor) keeps the rabbits/squirrels/chipmunks from eating the bulbs in the fall!"

I did NOT say "she doesn't fucking FEED them every day, you twit."

But I REALLY wanted to.

*My readers (and commenters) are AWESOME, and I'm likely to start using Go Oogle instead of Google all the time now. Thanks!!

**My mother in law is dogsitting at our house, burglars, so don't bother robbing us. Between the three of them I'd be afraid to even knock on the door. And I say that with love: my MIL is pretty awesome.

Tuesday, May 14, 2013

Jeepers, Creeper...you're a sneaky peeper!

This began as a single (snarky) post about neighborliness, and the extreme lack of it, in my living situation.

Then, while filling in the details about my crazy CIA neighbor, the suspected brothel and the demented Disney princess I realized I have WAY too much for a single post. Therefore, let me introduce a new unofficial-but-true section in my blog: the JOYFUL neighbors in my townhome complex.

Anyone who poo-poos country living or small-town living as too intrusive (everybody knows EVERYBODY'S business in small towns!) has clearly never lived in a townhome complex. Seriously, take the worst possible attributes of nosiness and snarky-neighbor bitching, add sharing walls, communal yards, and stir with vigor for dramatic results.

I grew up on a 40 acre farm...we had PRIVACY out there. Townhomes are worse than apartment buildings...because everyone thinks they "own" everything, and have no issues telling you all about it. Anyway, we've had some fabulous characters come and go in the eight years we've been here, and since I'm stupid civic minded unwilling to bitch about increases in dues without making decisions about them, I spent six years on the homeowners' association board.

Did I mention I'm stupid?

I DID get to know most of my neighbors during that punishment time served, though. I like dessert first, so let's begin with the most entertaining fool, shall we?

The CIA's Sneaky Peeping Tom
That title seems unfair to men named "Tom." And cats.

The CIA's Sneaky Peeping Dude
Our complex is a large square surrounding a flat-topped hill. I suspect the mafia buried bodies in that hill (that's why there's only trees up there; no pool, no tennis courts, no amenities at all...just grass and the occasional skeletal hand poking through rock). The rest of the board assumes it's basically a giant mound of construction trash covered with dirt by the original builders.

Anyway, the back of our house faces the hill, which is FABULOUS. It's like we have a giant back yard without anyone being able to look in our windows, so it's almost private. The front faces the row of houses on the other side of the drive. The master bedroom is, of course, on the front of the house. Facing the bedroom window of the unit directly across the driveway.

That particular owner, as it turns out, is a dirty peeping peeper. His next door neighbor (Eeyore, who will be discussed in another post), was friendly with Peeper's ex-girlfriend and shared most of the scoop with us (under the guise of being helpful...of COURSE she'd never gossip about her neighbors!).

Apparently he had his ex convinced he's CIA agent. I wasn't aware CIA agents were chronically late paying homeowners' dues and liked to start ALL CAPS EMAIL fights with the association over silly things, but I guess that's one way to blend into the hotbed of suburban activities? Anyway, she said he had regular nighttime "drills" involving night-vision goggles and scopes and the windows (seriously, any nighttime drills in MY house involve significantly different maneuvers). He has cameras set up around his house, and has telephoto lenses set up to look into other townhomes.

HOWEVER, this dude's been caught looking in the patio doors and back windows of other townhomes in the complex. When caught he always says he knocked on the door and no one was home so he was "concerned." He stole the President's girlfriend's panties out of their dryer. In their house. When they were home. (That'd be the president of the homeowners' association, not the POTUS...I'm pretty sure nobody could steal anything from that house without several bullet holes, real or fake CIA)*

Did I mention my bedroom is directly across the driveway from the dude's bedroom? Sigh. We have REALLY good curtains. Husband has mentioned on a few occasions that he'd happily open the curtains and look back through HIS scope...with a rifle attached. I suggested anyone who's loony enough to SAY he's a CIA agent likely 1) isn't and 2) is unstable enough that we should probably leave him alone.**

If Peeper ever has tried to look in our windows from the backyard, I sort of wish I could've been a fly on the living room wall...because I bet he pooped his pants. My dogs are giant fluffballs who love kids (um, maybe not birds...) and visitors and everyone (except birds). But they're not fans of people looking in the backyard windows...and 250 pounds of dogs is a lot of canine barking at you. Honestly, they're why I find this particular neighbor more amusing than disturbing. That, and I'm pretty sure Farrah from Teen Moms (and Vivid Entertainment) is a better trained CIA agent than this guy.

*Dear Secret Service and/or Homeland Security: This is a humor post devoted to making fun of an idiot neighbor. Said neighbor is neither currently nor formerly a government employee (although if his ex girlfriend is accurate, he's on disability and runs a panty-porn internet site, if that helps), and nothing here actually has anything to do with any presidents other than the one who used to run our townhome association. Seriously though...if you're reading this feel free to reassure me that you'd never let a sneaky peeping tom type in the CIA, ok? Wait...sigh. Maybe that's a job requirement.

People, this is just one of the many reasons why I'd fail as a spy.

**Disclaimer: sneaky peeping peeper HAS been reported to the cops, who very helpfully said all we can do is continue to report if/when incidents happen until they have enough to justify an actual investigation. Which essentially means "yeah, dude isn't doing anything we can catch him doing, so there's not a damn thing to be done about it." So indeed, I love my dogs.

Thursday, May 09, 2013

WOOHOO!!!

This isn't a post. This is a goddamn celebration.

Allie Brosh is back!!!

http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com

Go forth and read her new posts immediately. They're funny, and awkward, and in my opinion utterly spot-on when it comes to dealing with deep depression.

I'm so ridiculously happy she's back!

I'll have a post tomorrow. Promise.

Tuesday, April 30, 2013

I'm Too Lewd for Google...Mwahahahaha

I was toying with the idea of putting a couple of ads on my blog, and so I looked into the Google AdSense stuff (since it's affiliated with Blogger and so is likely the easiest foray into the great unknown).

Alas, it's not meant to be.

According to the email I got from the AdSense bot (which apparently scanned my blog for all things inappropriate), I'm not eligible for any ads because (GASP) I have "adult content" peppered throughout my pages.

I am utterly amused and tickled about my status as THAT inappropriate...particularly since I've also been considering adding a weekly "relationship enhancers" post to my normal random commentary. Partly to be less random on at least ONE day of the week, partly because I've recently resumed my role as sex therapist to friends (and acquaintences, and people I've never met who sit down with me at the grocery store deli over lunch), partly because another website keeps trying to get me to be a "relationship expert" in their stable of bloggers. Unfortunately, that site requires I link to my Facebook page...which is just never going to happen.

Anyway, I'd say Google AdSense just validated that option.

Excuse me while I snicker at my desk some more at the prudish company with "ogle" embedded in its name...

Could it be my labeling choices?

Perhaps it's my Cosmic Guide for Harlots?

Husband says it's true: I'm lewd and inappropriate for children.

I think that means I win.