Moving

So this is our 11th move in 13 years.  Yes, you did hear that right.  My mom once referred to me as a gypsy.  Who can argue with that?  Not too many people, but I can argue with a brick wall so here goes.

Moving is an adventure that takes a lot of skill.  It is not for the faint at heart.  It requires a lot of patience and a shear determination to not give a flying shit if any of your valuables get destroyed, because it will happen.  I can name everything that has been broken during each move.  The year, day, time, why and where we were moving and how it happened.  Not that I give a shit because I don't, but if I did, I could tell you that nothing and I mean nothing, is worth more than what money can replace.

I know people say shit like, "My house burned to the ground and I don't care about the furniture it's the things you can't replace."  Boo fucking hoo.  I know this, when we moved here they valued and insured our CRAP at $90,000.  NINETY THOUSAND DOLLARS!  If I could have caught up with the guy driving I would have torched that 18 wheeler at the first truck stop.  See, we have everything on facebook and instagram, I don't need those pictures or that birth certificate.  I can order mine and anyone else's I want, up online before you can say "How would you like that? Twenties or Hundreds." I can assure you, if the shit I have been toting around for the last 13 years is worth $90,000 I can cry it up all the way to Ethan Allen to get the shit I really like.

That being said I'm pretty certain the last group of pseudo moving geniuses were smoking crack when they packed us.  Got up here and start unpacking boxes.  Everything is labeled "wine glasses".  Now I concede that I have dabbled in substance abuse, but I am quite sure that I do not have 18 boxes of something to consume wine out of.  "What's in that box? Well, it says wine glasses.  Oh, it's books.  How about that one?  Wine glasses. Oh it's my $30,000 coin collection."  Then in the sea of wine glass boxes a loner ... and it's labeled "shoes".  Great I have been looking for shoes.  Open it up.  3 shoes in it.  Not even two pair, but three individual shoes.  Are you fucking kidding me?  And yes, the rest  ... FUCKING WINE GLASSES.

Now, one thing I do recommend is make sure you take the batteries out of everything yourself because if it has batteries they WILL find it.  Under the sink in the bathroom or in the night stand, yes they will remove the batteries from your sex toys and call every packer in the house to come see. True story.  Who Does That?!

Fix You

Coldplay .... now that's a movement I can get behind.  The song Fix You I always thought was referring to someone fixing someone elses problems.  But here's the deal folks .... you need to double your dosage, accept your fucked up and learn that there is a good kinda crazy and then there's the bad.

We all see the news.  The real bad asses, the sickos.  We're not talking about them.  But most of the people on the planet are unstable at best (or at least the one's I've been fortunate enough to know) and as everyones throwing around the he said, she said we forget that right there in the middle of it all is our own egos pursing, perpetrating and demanding that the madness remain while we whine and moan that "we just want to be happy."

Well, I'm going to let you in on a little secret ... fly on over the coocoos nest and have a seat next to me on the therapy couch ... its good.  And I mean really good.  Acceptance of ones self is liberating, loaded with accolades and better than any drugs I've ever taken.  I've written about drama before and yeah there are days that down covers, chocolate, scotch on the rocks (the good scotch) and lifetime movies are in order, but enjoy the drama.  The kind you create and also the kind you are lucky enough to stumble upon.  Then run .... run like the place is on fire.

When you get far enough away bathe in the fact that you just experienced something real, that you learned something valuable and hopefully all you got was just your eyebrows burned off.  Bad experiences have so much more to get out of them.  And mostly, after the tears anyway, some very mother fucking funny shit to talk about.  The old term, "were gonna laugh about this later" ...  you will, hard and loud.  Again hopefully with all limbs still intact.

I have been complaining and whining about my life for so long now when I hear myself speak  I'm getting on my own fucking nerves.  Shut the hell up and move on to your next embarrassing moment.  Cause it's coming.  Suck it up, put your big girl pants on and realize ... ummmm ... yeah, the law of attraction is real and you are bringing this ridiculous shit into your own life.

Unless of course it's your family coming and they're hell bent on living out there fantasy of being on the X-Factor when they really have no talent and you have to sit there and lie that it is really cool to be the fastest guy to shotgun a beer while getting tazed.  Who Does That?!

Miss me?

So as I thought my number would grow, it seems only a little over a thousand people like my blog.


I am thinking I need a life coach to make my dream of being a slightly interesting, foul mouthed, occassionaly funny and super hot blog author come true.


So after continuing my investigation I have found that I am in desperate need of a life coach.  You will not believe what these people can do!  They can help you make your dreams come true.


I contacted one of these lifeblood mentors of zest and vitality and asked them if they could make my dream come true and they said "Here's how powerful we are.  As your Life Coach, we'll help you discover what's really most important to you in your life."  I said, "Damn you're good.  I already know what's important to me."  "Then we'll help you design a plan to achieve those things. We'll work with you to eliminate any obstacles or blocks that stand in your way.  We'll partner with you all the way to success.  Then we'll celebrate with you!"

I said, "That's great. What do I need to do?"   "Well, Kim, what are your dreams and we'll get started."  I said, "I want to be a center in the NBA."  Total silence.  Now, considering that I am a 5'3", white woman with limited athletic ability you might think I am setting my goals a bit unrealistically, but according to their website, no dream can go unaccomplished.   So ... everyone in unison ...  start yelling.  "Live, Live, Live I say."

What a load of crap.  I want to coach these people to jump straight off the nearest cliff.  Where do these assholes get off?  


I had a life coach tell me once that my time would be better spent ant farming or masturbating than writing on this blog.  I'm wondering if he's right!  Who Does That?!

Time Travel

I will get back to the life coaches at some point, but for now I have to get something else off my chest.  I want to know when they are going to come out with a time machine.  Seriously, we have sent people to the moon, we can replace body parts to include a heart and we can microwave a chicken in 7 minutes, what's the problem here people.  FOCUS!

Now, I don't know about the rest of you, but I seem to move from one embarrassing moment to the next and on top of that I certainly have folks that I would like to erase from existence.  So I propose we stop spending billions of dollars saving the planet and lets put our time and energy into some sort of time reversal.  With this prospect we could most certainly save the planet and we get the added benefit of punching that one person dead in the face that we so graciously allowed to slip by the first time.

Now, everyone will be implanted with a microchip, GPS enabled of course, at birth.  I know, I know ... there has to be rules.  I am also proposing some very simple ones that would apply to all time travel.

1.  Each human gets 5 tickets to ride.  Round trip of course.  Although feel free to stay where ever the hell you like.  I can promise you ... many of us will not be missed in our current contributions to society.

2.  You can use the tickets on or after your 35th birthday, but under no circumstances before.  Don't even ask.  I figure by that time you've accumulated a large enough list of embarrassing shit you'd like to correct.  You're also old enough to know that these tickets should be used wisely and not to travel back to yesterday so you can beat your brother home from the bus stop and grab the last Twinkie from the pantry before he gets to it.

3.  No getting previous lottery ticket winning numbers or putting the fix in on a football game.  That would just get downright confusing and frankly gambling is for enjoyment.  Stop trying to take the fun out of losing a shit load of money. 

4.  There will be no government committee to determine when you can travel.  It is solely at your discretion when you use your tickets.  If you feel like you want to use yours to stop a war from starting or to save an animal from extinction, have at it.  I myself with be using my tickets to secure my OWN chapter in the history books which would be inventing the time machine.  Yeah ... wrap your brain around that one fuckers.

Other than those four rules it's a free for all.  So I suggest everybody own a gun, use some common sense and get ready for indescribable mayhem.

If you attempt in any way to try and become King ... or Queen of the World your chip will be activated and you will disintegrate and be erased from human existence.  I don't know exactly how any of this will work, but it's gonna be AWESOME!  Who Does That?!

The Holidays

Here they come people .....................   brace yourself. 

I love the holidays, but I have had my share of holiday misadventures.  We all have the one or twenty relatives that we dread seeing or dealing with during the holidays, but I am learning to embrace it and actually have a little fun with them.  I'm stuck with them so why not make them do silly things to entertain me.

Let's start with my favorites.  The ones who want their holiday to be a picture straight out of the Saturday Evening Post.  Oh, how I yearn to disrupt and destroy their Martha Stewartesque atmosphere with three boys, 2 under the age of six and the third, an 11 year old with more attitude than Mike Tyson at his marriage counseling sessions.

In their mind it really IS possible to have this blissfully, perfect wrapped present filled scenario.  And they are absolutely committed to attempting this each and every year in spite of the fact that the holidays from previous years have been so incredibly filled with disappointment.  I LOVE these people.  My mom is one of them.

Countless hours are spent making sure every detail has not been overlooked.  That the house is decorated to perfection and smells like a nice warm cup of cinnamon tea.  The presents have hand made tags from previous Christmas cards that are just too precious to ever even think about throwing away.  The wrapping matches the tree decor and in the background just ever so gently tugging at your ear drum is the sound of Mannheim Steamroller's rendition of The First Noel.  She has painstakingly set the table with the finest Wedgwood china and silver.  Crystal glasses twinkle from the adornment of candles that is the master centerpiece.  The anti pasta is waiting for us with only the freshest pecorino romano and black olives that can be found.  The homemade sauce is bubbling on the stove and the smell of freshly baked lasagna is noticeable up to ten blocks away.  Ahhhhh ... and in we come! 

My dads already pissed because he still to this day does not know what he is celebrating.  He has his traditional kiss on the cheek, but the greeting has been changed from "I hope all you got me was a card" to "I hope you didn't get me a card.  Fucking Hallmark ... $5.00 for a god damn card.  Jesus Christ, it just says Merry Christmas."  And the fun begins.

I watch my mother's forehead with utter amazement.  I wonder how veins can pop so far out of someones skin and pulse in perfect time with the children's screams and never stroke out.  She's like a director of a an excellently written play as she continues to try to complete her set with all the necessary props.  The only problem is her actors are under qualified drunks and frankly more suited for B horror flicks.

I listen to her attempting to direct everyone, my father mostly, to follow the script to include the rewrites from the night before.  And then it happens, the 3 year old who has just disrobed down to his traditional baby Jesus nudity runs through the kitchen with a half ripped open present followed by the 5 year old screaming, "grandma got run over by a reindeer" and plows right into her forcing her to drop the cranberry mold she started chopping up nuts for and zesting oranges three days prior.  She pours a glass of wine sheds a holiday tear and end scene.

I love my mother from the very depths of my soul.  I admire her love for life and the little things in it, her relationship with all her brothers and sister, children and her husband who I am certain if I had to live with I would have hit in the back of the head with a frying pan.  If not for her, none of us would ever know what it means to love without hesitation and although we may seem to be oblivious Mom, we truly love all that you do to make our holiday picture perfect.

Now ...  off to fuck it up!  Who Does That?!

Hypocrites

I am pissed off at another very widely hated group.  Hypocrites.  Nobody ever thinks they're one, but there always seem to be more around than Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen's sorry lame attempts at movie making.

Your average hypocrite starts out with what is seemingly a very rational conversation in regards to even the most mundane subject and turns themselves into a self centered asshole quicker than people can tune into Sarah Palin's new show to see if the next teenage daughter is going to fornicate out of wedlock too.  Let's be realistic here people ... these girls live in Alaska!  I'll say it again ... Alaska!  What the hell else is there to do.  Build a pipeline, lay some pipe ... what's the difference?  And people sit back with their teenage daughter who is 7 months pregnant by the neighbor kid who dropped out of school to advance his career to night manager at The Circle K in order to support our new arrival to the welfare system and his $100 a week "legal herb" habit and say "How dare she run for vice president.  She's a moron and I know what a moron looks like.  I see it in the mirror each time I pull out my bumpits and rave hairspray to don my feathered coif every morning."

And let's move on to the Christians.  Look here average Christian person reading my blog ...  I'm not talking about you right now so sit down.  I'm talking about the ones who come to your door to ask if you have a fucking millennium to discuss how much more shit they know about Jesus than you do.  And god forbid they get my father's chosen response of "I'm an atheist."  "Well, sir, you are going to HELL!!!!!!!"  "That's it?  That's all you got?  Hell?"  Name me one atheist who is scared of hell?  They don't believe in hell that's the WHOLE concept of being atheist.  Know your audience a little better than, John McEnroe did when he thought that anyone listening to his boring ass talk show gave a shit about his liberal rantings.  Now, here comes the hypocrite part ... what happened to spreading gods word, being a disciple, making sure every inch of the planet earth knows about what a wonderful concept Christianity is.  One false move and these people will beat you to death with the crosses they're carrying.

And don't hide back there nodding your head progressives, you know who you are.  "I accept everyone."  Yeah,  until they stand on the corner with a fake bloody baby doll and a sign that says, "Save the unborn babies."  You can't get your window rolled down fast enough to tell them that their life's work of ending abortion is flawed because frankly it's none of their business.  Well, since when does that mean shit to you people?  Neither is the fact that I may own a firearm for protection.  I have lots of things in my house that can kill someone and certainly things that would work just as good if not better than a gun, but for some reason if you want to own a gun these wackjobs think you're in a gang. I'm gonna start a gang and call it "I don't dial 911." For our initiation you have to go to the Wal Mart order up the Hot Pink Rifle and ask "Does that come with a copy of The Gun Control Act of 1968? You know, just so I can see who signed it and all."

So before you open your mouth to judge somebody ask yourself ... "Can I kick their ass if this gets ugly?" Who Does That?!

SHUT UP!

If Kanye West says one more time he wants to clarify, quantify, denyify or apologizeify any prior ignorant shit he has said I swear to the pop artist gods  I'm going to start a blog called "Stupid Shit Kanye West Says".  Oh, wait ... that would be his blog.

Now, I concede he is talented, but that doesn't make him intelligent.  There are a lot of talented musicians with an IQ under 12.  I used to date one.  A very talented guitarist moron.  And I mean a major tool.  Let's just mention a famous one ... Ozzy!  Need I say more.  I love Ozzy, but let's be honest, he's no Mensa member.  At least he has enough intelligence in his black hair color soaked head to know his wife should be running things and he should keep his stupid ass mouth shut.  Could you picture Ozzy negotiating with a mortgage broker?  I can't even imagine him knowing how to operate a gas pump.  And that's okay because he entertains me with music and foolishness, not his opinion on animal testing and I admire him for that.

When did celebrities start taking themselves so seriously? Or I should say ... Why do they take themselves so seriously? Since when do I give a shit if Sarah Jessica Parker, who is pretty much known for her fashion sense, has an opinion on politics? Look here SJP, you're an expert on what hat goes with what bag not the inner workings of the government so explain to me why you and Michelle Obama are even being photographed together? Oh, wait ... I think I just figured that one out myself.  And let me ask you this, how do we really know which one of these jackasses is wearing real fur or fake fur?  And do we really give a shit?  I care about that as much as I care about who is adopting the next 5 year old refugee from China.

When any of these celebrity fuckheads comes out and shows off there latest project filled adoption papers and says, "Look at me I'm so fabulous.  I care so much that I sold these pictures of my new baby from Africa to People magazine.  Oh, but don't worry I'm donating the money to charity! Aren't I amazing."  It makes me want to cancel my subscription to Star Magazine.

Meanwhile the super rich in this country are portrayed as money grubbing assholes who are attempting to rule the world with their diabolical plan of putting Wal Marts on every corner to confuse and steal from poor people.  Those are the same people who gave away nearly 150 billion dollars to charity last year.  THOSE MOTHER FUCKER'S.  They're not fooling me. And don't even try to give me any shit for itemizing because I gave away $15.40 worth of old underwear and piss stained baby clothes to Goodwill.  That's my right!

And whoever is out there that wants to preach to me about the celebrities are just allowing the masses to get the information they want to fuel their obsessions with these goodhearted, pay it forward pretenders, don't bother.  I have one word for you  ... Publicist!  Name me one celebrity that doesn't have one?  Go ahead ... I'll wait.  Poor celebrities and the evil paparazzi chasing them wanting to get pictures and stories about there incredibly interesting trip to all the pay-villions on Rodeo.  "Oh, you just don't understand how frustrating and scary it is to be chased by the paparazzi!"  Boo fucking hoo ... you'd gay marry yourself if you could you narcissistic, botox injected, anorexic bore.

Just make your movie, promote it and entertain me with a cup of Shut The Fuck Up!  Unless of course you want to be a celebrity and decide the way to do it is get your kids to lie that their little brother is out for a joy ride in the homemade, gas filled balloon you built to look like a flying saucer.  I would like to hear you're explanation for that one!  Who does that?!