Saturday, March 29, 2008

An Offer You Can't Refuse


My brother-in-law and his wife, who seem to feel it is their personal mission to add to the already over-populated earth, just had a new baby girl at the beginning of March. They need to go ask the 15 year old at Rite Aid for some rubbers. She is adorable and quiet, the latter of which sets her far apart from their other two toddlers, whom Mr. Pitsberger and I like to call Pebbles and Bam-Bam. I am hoping the new baby turns out more like their teenaged son, who disappears to his room for hours at a time during family functions. I'm not nice, I know it. But you try having an adult conversation in the midst of two swirling cyclones. Good effing luck.
So anyway, I was surrounded by screaming children on Saturday because my BIL and SIL asked me to be the godmother of their new baby. Which is awesome. Brutal honesty, I was touched and honored that they would think of me. In fact, when I got the email, I even cried at work, which is something I do way more often than I should. Way more often.
I had no idea what I was supposed to do. One of Mr. Pitsberger's co-workers suggested I fill my cheeks with cotton balls and say things like, "What have I ever done to make you treat me so disrepectfully?" I was afraid I would have to dress up in glittery wings and wave a wand around, but then I realized that's a fairy godmother.
Turns out, all I had to do was go to the baptism and say "I do" and "I am" and "I will" a whole bunch of times. It kind of reminded me of my wedding. Minus the baby in my arms, of course. I'm white trash, but not that white trash.
Mr. Pitsberger and I were standing in the foyer just after mass, waiting for the church to clear out. As my husband and I waited, Boo Radley's brother in a suit and tie,
comb-over flying all over the place(and we're inside, mind you), walked over and started chatting me up.
"Ah you hair for da baptism?"
"Who get-ting baptized?"
"Mrs. Pitsberger's brother-in-law and wife's baby."
"Oh. You muss be the wife's sister."
"I'm her sister-in-law."
"Oh." At this point he indicates my stomach, which admittedly is not flat as a board but certainly doesn't look like a smuggled basketball and says "And yer havin' one too, right?"
The appalled/enraged look on my face must have told him what a mistake he'd made because he immediately retracted his statement and started stammering that he hadn't meant it like that. And then he ran away. Which is pretty much what I felt like doing.

Side note/fun fact: I've only seen "To Kill a Mockingbird" a few times (they don't make movies like that anymore, I highly recommend it) but I never realized until I searched for that picture that Boo Radley is Robert Duval. That's what I get for fast-forwarding credits.

Monday, March 24, 2008

Who Needs Aruba?

It's supposed to get really nice this week and I have nothing else to talk about, so it's road trip time again. Make sure you tinkle before we leave.

The World's Largest Ball of Twine Darwin, MN


Here it is, Boys and Girls. The World's Largest Ball of Twine. Isn't it magnificent? I know you've been waiting for it.

Francis Johnson is responsible for this miracle. This guy spent 4 hours every day for 39 YEARS wrapping some twine into a ball. Dude, are you mental? I calculated it. Four hours a day, and let's say that he took Saturday and Sunday off, is 1,040 hours a year. Multiplied by 39 years, that's 40,560 hours. Over 40,000 hours spent rolling twine INTO A BALL!!! Didn't he have a job? Or a wife and kids? Or anything, absolutely anything else to do?
If I had four hours to kill every single day, you can bet your ass I would find something a hell of a lot more exciting to do than make the world's largest cat toy.

There is another enormous ball of twine located in Cawker City, KS. According to Roadside America, "These balls have become symbols of civic pride for a few lucky communities." Oh, I got jokes, but who needs 'em?

How unfair is it that the same state boasts not only the world's largest twine ball, but also is home to one of the World's only double decker outhouses?

They also have this and this. That corn maze is pretty bad ass. Who knew Minnesota was such a hot bed of tourist attractions?
We're gonna make a pit stop at the Larry Craig Solicitation bathroom and we're picking up souvenirs at Eichten's Cheese-n-Bison so bring some spending money.

I wanna go see some humongous fake cows too.
Them's some tig ole bitties.

Friday, March 21, 2008

Damn you, USC!!! Damn you to the Bowels of HELL!!!

I know that practically every top-seed won, so I'm not like, a March Madness bracket genius or anything. But that doesn't change the fact that I am 15 of 16 and would have been perfect if not for USC taking a flogging from Kansas State! Luckily, I'm still tied for first in the work poll, so I won't have to take a business trip to Southern CA. And my business is kicking ass.


Thursday, March 20, 2008

The Madness of Mrs. Pitsberger

Here's my bracket.

Last year I filled out a bracket a) because I wanted in on the work pool and b) because I knew Mr. Pitsberger was going to torture me with three weeks of college basketball games that I couldn't give two shits about and I needed something to get excited over in lieu of sex. Since I don't get any while March Madness is happening. I came in second and it went down the final game. The winner had Florida, and I had OSU.

I have Pitt losing to Texas in the Elite Eight. I wouldn't mind being wrong and seeing Pitt take it all, especially after the red ass beatdown they put on Oral Roberts this afternoon. So far, I am 8 for 8. The pot is $80, which will buy me a bad ass handbag and a new pair of shades. I'm gonna own this!

Wednesday, March 19, 2008

Hating Me Won't Make You Pretty

They're picking on me!!

When I started this blog, I made a promise to myself. This isn't like the time I promised myself I'd never snort coke again. This one I was actually going to keep. I promised myself I wouldn't write posts bitching about my co-workers, but they'll never know it's me and I'm pretty sure no one is reading this (that was a desperate and thinly veiled plea for comments, by the way), so I'm breaking my promise to myself. I'll never trust me again.

I am getting the silent treatment from a co-worker. No, my company does not employ four-year-olds. I am getting the silent treatment from a 68-year-old woman. That's right boys and girls, Grandma Moses is pissed off at me.

I take that back. Comparing her to Grandma Moses is not accurate. Grandma Moses was a sweet old lady who took pleasure in her art. This old hag (I'll call her FC) doesn't take pleasure in anything. Except maybe making my life a living hell. I could sit here and list everything I can't stand about her, but I don't have that kind of time. So, I'll just tell you that she has absolutely no redeeming qualities. At all. What she does have is such an overinflated sense of self-importance that I'm baffled by the fact that her head fits through the front door. This Mount Everest sized ego does not keep her from being jealous of me. I am a hopeless flirt, it cannot be helped. Mr. Pitsberger knows and accepts it. It's what I do, it's who I am. Well, the boys at work flirt back and she absolutely cannot stand it! On more than one occassion, she has chided our married warehouse manager to "Remember your vows!" I can feel her vast hatred of me emanating from her like stink from shit. I don't like it when she stands behind me...I'm that afraid that she's plotting my demise. Like I haven't been feeling well for the past few days, and I've almost convinced myself that she's poisoning my lunch.

I know you're sitting there reading this and thinking to yourself, "That's mean. FC is just an old lady." But that's part of her plan, you see? If you spent 10 minutes listening to this fossilized bag complain about the weather, her job and life in general you would see the error of your ways. You would pray for mercy and beg for death.

The reason that she's not speaking to me is because she was 'noiding out yesterday and convinced herself that I was laughing at her with some of our colleagues. In truth, we were having chuckle about the stupidity of one of our customers. So, when I giggled about an email I got from one of the salesmen, she looked up from her cube and said (in the bitchiest, snottiest tone of voice I've ever heard), "What's funny?" I replied, "Yeah, it's about you. You need to get over yourself." Silent pouting ensued. She hasn't spoken a word to me since.

I can't complain too much, though. When I'm getting the silent treatment, I don't have to hear about her dumping in K-mart, the car and various other public places.

FC in a rare moment of joy.

Monday, March 17, 2008

The Little Red Lock


Ok, I am 28 years old. I am married. I wear my rings. So I am not at all embarrassed to walk into K-Mart and take a box of condoms and a bottle of Astroglide (bow chicka bow bow) to the register and check out. Not in the least. You may think it's strange that two people who've been in a monogamous relationship for over 5 years still use rubbers. There's a reason for this. Actually, two reasons. One is that due to my family medical history it is dangerous for me to be on hormonal birth control. The second reason is I'm convinced that 1/2 the effectiveness of said birth control is that is makes you not want to have sex. Plus, when I'm on hormones I'm like that hot chick in "Army of Darkness" after she makes out with bad Ash. I'm not a very nice girl.
I discovered that K-Mart no longer stocks the brand of condoms that Mr. Pitsberger prefers. I personally couldn't give two shits what kind of rubbers we use, but he refuses to wear Trojans and he's had a bad experience with Durex. He likes the Lifestyles Ultra-Sensitive "Almost like wearing nothing at all brand." That was probably a bit more than you wanted or needed to know about our chosen prophylactics. But I digress. Since K-mart doesn't have them anymore, I tried Target. No use. The last place I had seen them was Rite-Aid. So, I march into Rite-Aid and since it's Easter and there's candy all up in my face, I cannot resist grabbing a bag of mini Reese's cups, a package of marshmallow Peeps (the bunny ones) a box of Cadbury creme eggs and a pack of 1 dozen mini Cadbury creme eggs (better than the full size ones because they don't put you on a sugar high for three days) adorably packaged in a little egg carton. Then I'm off to the "Family Planning" section. Yes, it says that. What it should say is "Not Planning Family." I'm checking out the lube cause we're almost out of Astroglide, too. I grab a bottle of that. Then I'm checking out the other lube and they have this "Play" stuff that's made by Durex with menthol in it. It's supposed to make your va-jay-jay all tingly. Now I'm remembering the Gold Bond incidents at a friend's house years ago and I have to try it. If you've never had Gold Bond on your va-jay-jay, it's breathtaking, I suggest you try it. So, let's recap. I now have in my arms:

1 humongous bag of mini Reese's cups
1 package (12) marshmallow Peeps brand bunnies
1 box (3) Cadbury creme eggs
1 package (12) mini Cadbury creme eggs (adorably packaged in a little egg carton)
1 bottle (10 oz. - the big one) of Astroglide Personal Lubricant
1 bottle (8 oz.) of Durex Play personal lubricant

Sounds like a recipe for one wild party, right? I'm all set except for my condoms. I'm extremely pleased to see that they have the Lifestyles Ultra-sensitive ("Almost like wearing nothing at all") Brand. They're hanging up by the little tabs on the top of the box. I reach down to grab one and notice that there is a little red plastic lock on the end of the bar from which my desired prophylactics are hanging!! Now I am realizing, to my horror, that I am going to have to go to the counter, get the one available employee, who by the way, looks like he is about 15, and tell him that, "Hey, I need a box of condoms," hang out in the "Family Planning" section while he gets the keys and point out that I need the value size 36 count box of Lifestyles Ultra-sensitive ("Almost like wearing nothing at all") brand, with my arms full of candy and lube. And that's exactly what happened. I'm just glad we weren't out of Hershey's chocolate syrup and whipped cream. I would have had to just go somewhere else for my rubbers if that were the case.
I know I said I'm not embarrassed to buy rubbers, but there is a huge difference between taking your condoms to the counter, where both parties involved can just pretend that the cashier doesn't know someone's tapping your ass tonight, and having to chase down an employee to tell him directly to his face "Hi, I'm getting laid later and I need the biggest box of condoms you sell. Thanks." Let's lock up the maxi pads and hemorrhoid cream while we're at it.
I honestly thought I was going to die of embarrassment. Have you ever tried to NOT blush when you are completely mortified? There's no way to NOT blush. It's like trying to sneeze with your eyes open. Impossible. Anyway, I paid for all my shit and I was outta there. It didn't occur to me until I was halfway home and my face had faded to merely pink instead of crimson, that I could have just ripped the damn tab on the top of the box, taken them to the counter and been like, "I'm not stealing these, obviously, but I am not about to ask a 15 year old boy if I can have some rubbers. Thanks." God, was that humiliating. I'm buying my birth control on the Internet from now on.

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

Snark Attack

Why, God, why didn't anyone tell me Seth Rogen was in town? If Clive Owen is that guy that I would have a mad, passionate, steamy love affair with, Seth Rogen is that guy I would marry. He actually reminds me of my husband. Only more famous. And with way more money.
And he's Canadian. I love Canadians!! I'm not going to do the "eh" joke. That's even further beneath me than di"stink"tion.

Ain't he cute as a button, ya'll? I swear on my iPod Mr. Pitsberger has that exact same hair.

If the movie industry in Hollywood ever decides to sink lower than it already has and green light a live action Beavis and Butthead "film," they will totally have the Beavis role cast:
Butthead is probably snorting coke off a hooker's ass at this very moment.

Apparently, 1 in 4 teenage girls has an STD and everyone is all surprised about it.
"This is pretty shocking," said Dr. Elizabeth Alderman, an adolescent medicine specialist at Montefiore Medical Center's Children's Hospital in New York.
"Those numbers are certainly alarming," said sex education expert Nora Gelperin, who works with a teen-written Web site called
Uh, have they seen the way teenage girls dress now? If I had walked out of the house in an outfit that showed my ass and every other lady part I have, my father would have chased me down and made me change into something that didn't look like it came out of the back of a hooker's closet. And if he couldn't catch me, you can bet your ass he'd be waiting when I got back.
I completely understand preaching abstinence first, but abstinence ONLY? That's like sending soldiers into battle and telling them, "Ok. We don't want you to shoot anybody, so we're not going to show you how to use a gun. Hope you don't get killed. Good luck and Godspeed." Are you kidding me?
Oh, and here's a newflash to parents: it's not the schools' responsibility to teach your kids about sex. It's yours. Kids are going to do what they want regardless of what you want for them. The most you can do is teach them to make good decisions.
And that's why my womb is on LOCK-DOWN.

Tuesday, March 11, 2008


*Sigh* He's so dreamy.
(Yes, I have my chin in my hand.)

I know you're all dying for an update. I will NOT be quitting Clive cold turkey or at all, in fact. Do they make a Clive patch or "Clive Away" pills? Anyway, "Children of Men" was not nearly as sucktastic as "Shoot 'Em Up." I am not going to offer a review, because there was really nothing to snark on. It was just okay. A bit hard to follow mostly due to the accents, but watchable if you're like me and Clive = porno. And who doesn't like that equation?

Monday, March 10, 2008

The Tools at the Hardware Store

One of the best things about owning a fixer-upper is getting to shop at the boy stores. Boy stores include, but are not limited to The Home Depot, Lowes, Busy Beaver, etc. Only a boy would name a store "Busy Beaver." And a hardware store, nonetheless. Where you get nails, and hammers, and air wrenches. Can you see all the possibilities? Only a boy, readers. Only a boy.
My favorite thing about shopping at boy stores is all the charming looks you get from male customers when you're a hot, young woman who is by herself. It's the kind of look Hilary Clinton would get if she showed up at the Playboy mansion. Or Britney Spears if she showed up at a Self-Respect Convention.
Something like this.
I sometimes get a kick out of imagining men's inner monologue.
"Hmm. I wonder what that big breasted woman is doing here without a man. How's she going to know what she needs? Maybe she's one of those lesbian types. Oooh, lesbian types."
Or if I'm shopping with my sister: "Oooh, hot lesbian types."
Side note: I bought a pair of work boots last week, I own a tool box, a tool belt and three saws among various other power tools. It is entirely possible that I am a lesbian type. But certainly not with my sister. Gross.
I was at the Home Depot about a month ago, picking up a bunch of materials for my bathroom closet. And can I just say, that closet looks bad.ass. I made that closet my bitch, ya'll. I had one of those flat bed carts loaded up with some MDF (that's medium density fiberboard for you straight girls), shelf tracking, brackets, saw horses, base board trim, etc. So, I'm pushing this heavy ass cart around with some effort and I pass these two guys. As I'm making my way down the aisle to checkout I hear one of them say, "What's she doing with all that wood?
Oh, I'm sorry. Am I not allowed to purchase this much wood? Is there a wood ration I haven't heard about? Or is this 1941 Germany and my breasts are akin to a Star of David armband, therefore, I am not permitted to buy, sell or trade in this store? WTF, dude!! What am I doing with all this wood? I'm shoving it up your ass, you misogynistic dickhead.
I took his picture with my cell phone, so Ladies, if you see him, make sure you kick him in the happy sac for me. Tell him, "That's what she's doing with all that wood, Bitch."
The employees at the big chains are just as bad as the customers. I'm not including "The Beave" in that because the employees there are wonderfully helpful and kind and not at all condescending. I love "The Beave." See? Only a boy. Unfortunately, there are some things you just can't find at the Busy Beaver. Like a clitoris, if you're a man. Even I can't resist making a Busy Beaver joke. I've gotta be a lesbian. Add that to my list of issues. Number 3: Closet lesbianism. Side note: I do not have a problem with lesbians. Please don't send me hate mail. Thank you.
Back to the boy stores.
There are two types of male employees at the Home Depot: the type that is extremely helpful and chases you down to see if you need assistance in finding something or the type that you have to chase down for help and that proceeds to make fun of you while reluctantly giving it once you catch them. I've had both, and I much prefer the pursuant type, although they tend to drool on female customers. I'll take it as long they show me how to install ceramic tile.
The other kind do not even try to hide their disdain. They just try to hide. As if they're not getting paid to help you. HELLO!?! "The Home Depot. You can do it. We can HELP!?!" It's not, "The Home Depot. You may be able to do it. We'll help if we feel like it. But only if you're not a woman. If you are, we're sure you have a husband, father or brother you can ask for advice. If you don't, there's a Busy Beaver right down the street."
So, this is really going to make me sound like a lesbian, but Ladies, if you need a tool or advice I strongly suggest you head to the Beave.

Thursday, March 6, 2008

Confessions of a Cliveaholic


If you don't know how obsessed I am with Clive Owen,
check out this post and get back to me.

I may have hit rock bottom because movie #4 on my Netflix queue arrived yesterday and it's "Children of Men," staring (who else but the man who moistens my panties) Clive Owen. I wouldn't be so worried about it if the plot synopsis didn't go like this:

"In 2027, in a chaotic world in which humans can no longer procreate, a former activist agrees to help transport a miraculously pregnant woman to a sanctuary at sea, where her child's birth may help scientists save the future of humankind. "
Can't you just hear the deep-voiced movie trailer guy right now?

Have you seen "Shoot 'Em Up?" If you haven't, and you haven't read my post (and why the hell not?), I will tell you that the plots for these two movies are remarkably alike. Both involve Clive as a random guy, helping a pregnant woman/baby that is desperately needed to "save" something. I am fervently hoping that "Children of Men" does not suck donkey balls like "Shoot 'Em Up" did. Cause if it does, I am quitting Clive cold turkey.

Tuesday, March 4, 2008

Screw Tahiti!!

Since the weather was so great a few days ago, I decided that I should start planning my next vacation. I'm not one of those beachy people. I love the ocean, but I HATE, HATE, HATE the sand. Butt cracks and va-jay-jays are not meant be exfoliated. Not ever. Also, German Irish + sun = bad news. When I go on vacation I like to visit museums and Halls of Fame and The World's Biggest Ball of Yarn. I started doing some research and I found quite a few places that I am interested in visiting in the near future.

1. The National Freshwater Fishing Hall of Fame - Hayward, WI
If I was driving around Hayward, WI and I came up on that humongous muskie unawares, I would probably piss my pants. And if that didn't do it, the Bigfoot dummies inside most certainly would.
Reminds me of my Grandpa Amos.
You will also see "a memorial exhibit to Herman the Worm, a sickly Canadian night crawler that was nursed back to health by a freshwater fisherman and eventually made a guest appearance on The Tonight Show." I swear on my future children I didn't make that last part up. PETA is going to be all over my ass for this, but why the hell would a fisherman NURSE A NIGHTCRAWLER BACK TO HEALTH?? More importantly, how do you go about doing so?

2. William P. Didusch Center for Urologic History - Baltimore, MD

What a good time this is gonna be. Who hasn't wondered about the history of urology? I certainly have. In fact, I've spent many a free hour contemplating exactly what type of instruments are utilized when poking in and around someone's pee hole and how the instruments and procedures used today differ from those used during the Civil War. When I get back from the Urologic History Museum, I'm fully expecting to have a more restful night's sleep. Plus a lot more free time.

Here's a quote from curator Rainer M. Engel, who was born in 1933 Germany. "My early years were heavily influenced by World War II—bombings, troops marching through our city and bodies in the street—which left an indelible impression on me." Ya THINK?!! Unfortunately, that impression was, "I think I'd like to make a career out of poking in and around peoples' pee holes."

On a side note, that picture makes me want to curl into a fetal position and cry.

3. The World's Only Double Decker Outhouse and America's Only Two Story Outhouse

I know that title makes no sense, but it does. Let me explain. There are several towns that are actually fighting for the title of the "only" double decker outhouse and the di"stink"tion that comes with it. Ok, that was beneath me. But I thought it was funny anyway.
"The Booger Hollow Trading Post, along Scenic 7 Byway, in Dover, Arkansas, proudly" lays claim to the World's Only Double Decker Outhouse. Do I even need to make a joke here? This isn't even a challenge.
I can only imagine that a double decker/two story outhouse must be twice as disgusting and smelly as a single story one.
This is the Samuel Bowler house in Belle Plaine, MN. And that structure to the left of it is a two story outhouse. What's cool about this outhouse is that not only does it "boast" five holes, there's a skyway that allows access from the upstairs. Did I just say something was "cool" about an outhouse? I have got to stop putting Jameson on my frosted mini wheats. Tours are conducted of the house so you can check it out. And there will be plenty more where this came from.

Ok, boys and girls, can you say "road trip?" I call shot gun!!