SuperGurl

Are you gonna post or have you been abducted again? “my blog’s been down for a month and I’ve got so much stuff to write about”.

Ok, write, I shook the etch-o-sketch. Dangit. Spell yo’ peeps. And no, I don’t want an email with it cut and pasted… ‘yo’ peeps’ in it. That’s something the ol’ man would do to me.

Come on gurl… mash the button.

‘Li’l bo Peep.

This bitch is back.

Sorry for the artfull title of the post, but man, I’ve got more emails in my inbox from supergurl and servage than I can shake a stick at. Sometimes the shotgun method is what it takes. This time it took it.

Audio: CHECK
Video: CHECK

Rack me, I’m out. Time to go to work.

‘Neck

Hey, out there! Out in Swellville, I do envy you so.

Certainly no improvement here. I have so little time to do so much. Motivation has never been my friend, but I’m afraid the full moon converging with Constipation Fest may be just the cruxy confluence of events to mark my final descent into madness.

And in less than a day, my skin will be crawling and stomach churning in the pits of a windowless pale peach padded banquet room. Intros creep me out. Feels too much like an AA meeting, which is funny considering none of us have the ability to quit.

Nah. Constipation Fest means learning what the powers that be have decided is our next priority. We get whiffs of it in the weeks leading up to Constipation Fest. Usually just bipolar interpretations of the inevitable change to come. We will hear it all, everything from glory days to we are all totally fuct. I can’t wait. The whiffs I’ve gotten so far smell of festival grade dookie house. They are going to blow the doors off.

But then the nice thing about Constipation Fest is its inherent celebration of survival. You have to love the gut-busting goodness of knowing that this is the fifteenth fest I have been subjected and somehow survived. And hey, that means nada con zilch among the plaque plied mutants that flourish there. But it means a whole lot of something to me.

Something like success, or maybe just suck less. Either perspective, I welcome the change. And I guess like my wise minded clientele, after so many years I’ve learned to appreciate the delivery of an on-schedule mass of crap.

CF 15, hell yeah!

My brilliant and beautiful, massively talented blogfry Tammi has something she needs for me to do. A mindless meme post, and I do appreciate. Too brainfried for much else. So here I go with five magical formerly possibly unknown and really unimpressive factoids from the realm of SuperGurl.

You ready? Here’s the rules:

1. Post the rules of the game at the beginning.
2. Each player answers the questions about themselves.
3. At the end of the post, the player then tags five people and posts their names, then goes to their blogs and leaves them a comment, letting them know they’ve been tagged and asking them to read the player’s blog.
4. Let the person who tagged you know when you’ve posted your answer.
(Regufuckulation, even in blogland. Sigh)

Here we go…
What were you doing five years ago?

Five years ago, I had just divorced the year before and moved back home to Texas. My kids were 2 and 4 at the time. I also started my business over from scratch that same year. Had not a one client. Terrified couldn’t cover it. I was numb and therefore, all-powerful. Learning experience for sure, but I don’t want to go back.

What are five things on your to-do list for today?

1) Gratitude
2) Faith Rest Drill (Prosperity Now)
3) Early shut eye
4) Pedicure
5) Love on the chilly willies

What are five snacks you enjoy?

Yo no snacky, but chocolate always makes a nice stand by/stashed surprise.

What are five things you would do if you were a billionaire?

Is this a trick question or something? Not a thing differently except pay for exponentially more deadbeat government leeches.

What are five of your bad habits?

Just five? Oh, I smoke, drink, cackle inappropriately, say the wrong things at the wrong times, and sometimes beat the children. And that’s just on Sundays at church.

What are five places where you have lived?

1) Casper, Wyoming
2) Austin, Texas
3) Houston, Texas
4) Shelbyville, Illinois
5) Pflugerville, Texas

What are five jobs you’ve had?

1) Ice cream scooper
2) All things money
3) Hostess
4) Muffin gurl
5) And I can sleep, change a bed, clean up puke, do a load of laundry and bathe a puny child all at once whenever the opportunity should present itself.

Five people I tag:
1) Kerrcarto
2) Charlie Delta
3) Paul
4) Sohos
5) Count

Get to it, Freaks!

I’m going on two weeks of solid Mondays, folks. LIFE SUCKS.

The stand-by guy? You wanted an update, I bet. Well, he came home ten days ago and I haven’t heard a word. Not an email, not a blip. That’s right, scuff of a lifetime, folks. I had a man that flew all the way around the world to stand me up. I am devastated. While the kindest part of me is hoping he is badly maimed or incarcerated, I’m wise to these signs. Early guesses: married, or better yet, an alcoholic. At least, I hope it’s him and not me.

Work is happening in nightmare quantities. Not all of it good, but pretty much. I keep busy, but my mind is not right. I am having hardcore steady conflict with my workwife. She is begging for a divorce. Lately, she likes to tell me that I just don’t seem happy. I am utterly disgusted with the irrational puppet world that might expect that anyone should be happy. It is a flawed fucking planet, people. Is anyone happy? Deep down and all the time?

I spend plenty of time happy. I am one funny individual and I crack myself up. Doesn’t mean I expect happy, not as my idle spot. I idle at reserved but trigger freaking happy. Do not even think of the surprise attack or I will murderize you. The thought of the whole recurring conversation makes me want to kick her teeth in. On second thought, maybe she’s right.

I simply have a lot of short lived stress in my life. It’s summertime, which means 24-7 kid care. My annual meeting, better known as Constipation Fest 15, is in one week. The Blown Eyed blogfest is in just over two weeks. And three days after that, we are going on a Disney cruise, just the boys and I. And all of that is awesome wonderful mcdreamy stuff, but a lot to work around, plan for and pay for, as well. So pardon fucking me if I don’t seem happy all the time.

Add to all of this, my air conditioning is dying in my car. Yes, my car is black. And yes, it is very hot in Texas, especially in a suit. Get two boys wrestling in the back seat and temperatures can easily break through the 120 degree level.

It’s funny the way things always seem to go together, though. I was reading this article over at Fox news today, and became so perplexed wondering who the heck would be protesting the democratic convention? Do any of you know? I thought all the usual lefty nutcake protestors would most assuredly be inside giving keynote addresses and setting the agenda items into motion. Just who would be protesting a gathering of embicillic protestors?

I was so thoroughly engrossed, flipping through the pages of my mental protestor database that I almost missed the whole point of the story. Some evil genius has created a weapon that makes you crap yourself! Not just created a shit yourself weapon, but it comes with a cute nickname as well, the brown note. Classic, I love this country.

But then it occurred to me, it seems someone has taken aim at my poor life with this newfangled technology. See, I’m not an unhappy person, my life is merely taking a dump. It’s all very natural, green even.

And now, you, my dear sweet reader, have stewed in my stench. Feel free to light a match in the comments.