Jesus Meme

Ms. Katie wants to know what I would do if Jesus came aknockin', and I am pleased to share my answer.

First of all, he would probably ring the door bell, which would piss me off. No one who knows me well uses the front door. (dirty joke ahead...wait...here it comes...) All my good friends use the back door.

The door bell ringing would send my dogs into a frenzied rage until Jesus crossed the threshold into my home, at which time they would commence their usual violent tongue wagging and pleas for belly rubs.

I would probably offer him something to drink and maybe a bowl of water for his donkey who is welcome to stay in the yard.

My older daughter would most likely force him into a game of My Little Pony Happy Fun Dress Up Time and inevitably ask him if he has a penis.

My younger daughter would most likely stare from a safe distance whilst hiding behind my legs. She doesn't trust men with beards and I can't say that I blame her.

Small talk would be awkward as I'm sure He would already know that I'm an Atheist. I might not ever be convinced by the many Fundies I've encountered in my life, but I could be swayed by a little water-to-wine action on His part.

I'd feel obliged to make Him dinner--fish perhaps? What would Jesus eat?

It wouldn't be fair to keep such a special visitor a secret, so naturally I'd have to drive him around to visit with friends.

"Oh my God!" They would say when they saw who I was with.

"Exactly!" I would reply, cracking myself up.

Maybe we would go shopping. That robe look is so 2,000 years ago. A nice pair of jeans goes a long way in making a man look his best. He's got that long and sinewy thing goin' on--maybe a fitted t-shirt to top of the new ensemble.

Most importantly, I would give him a haircut. Can you imagine the scraggles he has going on? If he would let me, I think a deep conditioner would do him a world of good.

Being married, I don't think my husband would think too highly of me getting any kind of action with The Jeez. I suppose He has the power to erase memories or stop time,so it's not completely out of the cards. I'd almost have to do it. When would I ever get a chance like this again?!

I'm supposed to tag 5 other people:

Tankboy

Grant Miller Media

Glamarama

Blowing Shit Up With Gas

God's Own Suburb

Note: I have no idea why I can't double space the last part of this. What the fuck?

Back to Square One

After much haggling, hemming and hawing, we are back where we started.

We finally agreed to giving them 3% back at closing, and the washer and dryer and the dressers in the attic and everything else on thier list--if they paid the full asking price on the house.

They declined and now we have nothing.

The couple that looked at it yesterday didn't make an offer.

The guy who was supposed to come look at the house today cancelled at the last minute as well.

I could be really upset about all of this. I could feel angry and defeated, but I refuse.

Part of it that the weather keeps getting better and better and I know more buyers will be out looking. Also, as it gets closer to school registration time, people will (hopefully) be in more of a hurry to close the deal.

Fuck it. It'll happen. Someone will buy this house.

Amateur Night

Good news is we got an offer.

Bad news is it was shitty with an extra shitty contingency.

Here's a hint for anyone out there looking to buy a house: Don't ask for a bunch of money back at closing.

They came in waaaay low and then asked for 3% back at closing. They also asked for the washer and dryer and some furniture we have in the attic.

Um...no.

So the dance begins.

We countered and they countered again, and they still wanted that 3% back.

The proverbial ball is in our court now. They didn't give us a time limit for the counter-counter (or would it be the counter-counter-counter? I'm losing count already...).

First of all, they don't need that much money to close--more like half that. They won't need to buy anything for house. We are leaving the fridge, dishwasher, range, window treatments and even an area rug in the dining room. I actually do want them to keep the washer and dryer, but we are trying to use it as leverage. Hell, after talking to my Mother-in-Law about it, they can keep the damn dressers in the attic as well.

Second, there is no way we are going to let go of a chunk of our profit. We're talking over $3,000 here. I never thought we were going to make a pile of money selling this house, but I sure as hell won't be handing over enough money to get us completely out of debt. The plan is to go into the next house with ZERO debt (aside from that hag Sallie Mae, but that bitch will be getting a check a month probably until my own children go to college).

We have a showing scheduled today. Ironically, it is the same realtor who talked another couple out of buying our house. Weird.

There's also another guy interested in a second showing. His sister just happens to have just rented to house next door. He might be coming over today as well.

I told my realtor to make sure they all know we have an offer in. This will either scare them off or, best case scenario, get them to hurry up and make an offer of their own.

It's going to be gorgeous Spring day today. The sun will be shining, the breeze will be gently blowing...

And the squirrels should be scared.

It was worth it

This morning, on my way to the grocery store or "the Jewels" as someone likes to call it, I hit a squirrel.

I saw it running across the road in front of me at the last moment and tapped my breaks to try and avoid him. It didn't work. I heard the unmistakable thud, and when I looked back, his little furry body lay motionless in the street.

I've only hit one other living thing in my entire driving career. It was a hedgehog...I think.

I was driving with my husband one night and, one goddamn block from home, I see this flash of something about .04 of a second before I heard that horrible ka-chunk noise at my front right wheel.

I immediately broke down in sobs, barely making it home. I made my husband go back and make sure the little guy wasn't limping across the road, so he grabbed a shovel on his way out the door.

"What are you going to do with that?!" I blubbered.

"Scrape it off the road and throw it under a bush, of course." He's so romantic.

When he got back he told me that the hedgehog (or whatever it was) was dead and he gave it a proper scraping/bush toss.

Years later he fessed up and told me that it wasn't all the way dead when he got down there, and the shovel became a multi-tasker that night.

Apparently I have become something of a heartless bitch as hitting the squirrel today pissed me off more than upset me. I drive that road at least once a day everyday, and now I am going to have to be reminded of the carnage on a regular basis.

There is an upside to all of this though. Hitting that squirrel may have been just the magic spell to get my house sold. A few hours later, I got a call from my realtor. It seems the people who came to see the house today are most likely going to put in an offer! I don't want to get too excited, but this very well could be it. Who knew all it would take was a little animal sacrifice?

I've been mulling over the idea of hitting a few more puffy-tailed rodents in the hopes of getting over asking price.

Do you think they'll roll 12-sided dice at the reception?

From the paper yesterday:


Dudgeon-Masters

BLOOMINGTON -- Shannon Dudgeon and John Masters, both of Bloomington, are planning a June 30 wedding.
Her parents are Craig and Kristi Covington of Carlock and the late Joseph Dudgeon. His parents are Lyle and Mary Masters of Stanford.

"Hooked on Ejaculation"

BIG LOVE to Katie Schwartz for sending me this little gem. Remember Ladies, if he won't buy you some $2.99 shrimp from Long John Silver, he ain't no real man.

Long, but more than worth it.

Don't be a slave to the penis power

Anatomy 101

I always swore I wouldn't be the type of parent who dumbed down or sugar-coated things for my kids. I mean, there is such a thing as discussing certain topics on an age-appropriate level, but you're never going to hear me utter anything in the realm of "Goldfish/Doggy/Toy, etc. Heaven", and definitely no storks or angels

A couple of years ago Mina got the whole 'girls have a vagina/boys have a penis' spiel.

I'm glad she knows the right words and isn't afraid to use them. Also, sometimes when we're really lucky, it provides a good amount of comedy.

The other night the girls were getting out of the tub when Mina decided we were having a party.

"It's a farty party, Mama!"

My husband and I tried to hide our admittedly immature giggling.

"It's a farty party, farty party, farty party! It's a BUTT party!"

This sent us into all out laughter, which only egged her on more.

"Vagina! Vagina! Penis party, penis party, PEEEEE-NIS!"

Maybe it was the beer I had with dinner, but I was cackling at this point.

Jim joked with her, "I LOVE peanuts!"

"No Daddy! PEE-nis."

"Yeah, peanuts! I think peanuts are great!"

Mina got really angry at this point which only made me laugh harder.

"Don't you know what a penis is, Daddy?! You have a penis!"

After Jim took Audrey out of the bathroom and into her room, Mina sat down next to me looking truly concerned.

"Mama, doesn't he know? You really need to have a talk with Daddy about his penis."

Hee Haw Haircut

When I first started at the last salon I worked at, I was still rebuilding my clientele from my first maternity leave. GOD FORBID a hairstylist takes some time off to have an 8lb. 1oz. box-shaped baby drug out of her vagina with giant salad tongs.

I lost some clients during my maternity leave, then switched salons and lost a few more. It happens.

My first day, my coworkers filled me in on "The Coupon Debacle".

There was this receptionist who I'll call Sherri.

Sherri wasn't the brightest gal you'd ever meet. She was young and pretty, but mostly clueless.

One day, several months before, the Big Brothers/Big Sisters people called the shop and asked to speak to the manager. Boss Lady was busy and told Sherri to "take care of it" (not the smartest move on her part). Apparently, the BBBS people wanted to know if the salon would care to donate a haircut to their fundraiser.

I'm not sure if Sherri gave the go ahead or if Boss Lady gave the nod. Either way, BBBS got their donation. Sounds like a nice thing to do for the good of the community, right?

Yes, except that what they were actually asking for was WAY more than that.

As it turns out, it wasn't just one gift certificate they were asking for. The free haircut was part of a 'coupon book' they were printing up. They sold them around town for $25 to raise money--and there were 1,000 of them.

ONE THOUSAND.

The $25 people paid for the whole damn booklet wouldn't have covered a single haircut at the salon, and now there were 1,000 of them floating around town.

Feeling bad for Boss Lady, I told her I'd be happy to fill some of my down time (which at that point, I had plenty of) with the free haircut coupon people. I should have kept my mouth shut.

One afternoon I had a coupon cut on my book and didn't think anything of it until she walked in followed by her husband.

She was morbidly obese, dressed in grey jersey knit shorts pulled up almost level with her imposing, unrestrained breasts. The t-shirt was my favorite part: Tweety Bird in a feather boa with the words "HOT STUFF" splayed across the front.

Her husband was a lanky NASCAR aficionado who apparently ate cigarettes and gravel by the looks of his gaping, spittle-covered mouth and yellow skin.

And I was going to have to honor of cutting BOTH of their heads of greasy, nicotine-coated hair because they bought two coupon booklets. Kick ass!

"Mama" went first. She had approximately 7 hairs on her head and they all grew in a different direction. The best part was that her husband felt it necessary to stand next to me, directing the haircut.

"Make sure you git it up hurr (pointing at about ear level). She lahks it short. Don'tcha, Mama?"

I combed and combed those 7 seven hairs, but all I accomplished was a nice collection of some kind of white, pasty/flaky gunk on my comb...and this was after a shampoo. What was really intriguing was the amount of gunk she was able to keep a special secret from me in the folds in the back of her gigantic neck.

Smokey Joe was next. I'm pretty sure the years of not cracking a window to let out some of the smoke permanently changed the organic nature of this man's hair. My clippers groaned against the stiff, tar-laden strands of yuck growing from this man's head.

When they left, they didn't tip me. Not even a fucking dollar. Nothing. They paid $50 for two of those god damned coupon books, but they couldn't muster up at least something for a tip?!

My boss felt so bad about the whole situation, she paid me for the haircuts out of her own pocket.

Crushed

Guess who has a sold sign in front of their house.














Hint: It's not me.

I'm awesome...

...or maybe just an anal retentive fu-reak. Could go either way.

I am meticulous about my checkbook. If I don't balance to the penny I will scrutinize the ledger until I find the culprit. I can't let it go until I figure it out.

A few days ago I pulled up my online ledger to check it against my hard copy version and the online account said I had over two hundred more dollars than I had written down. Always one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I immediately assumed it was a mistake on the bank's part. There was no way I had more money than I thought.

I finally figured it out today. I wrote the March gas bill down twice (yes, our gas bill is over two hundred dollars, and that's with the "levelized payment plan" thingy).

The sad part is that I was way too excited about it. Not because I now have an extra two hundred dollars to pay the bills, but because I finally figured out what went wonky.

Is this exciting for you to read about? Certainly not.

But it made my freakin' day.

One time I hated my neighbors

Last week at the grocery store, I ran into our old neighbors. Unfortunately, it wasn't with the car.

When we bought our current house, these people had only lived in it for 4 months. Through their realtor we found out that the husband (Chuck) had had some heart problems and his doctor told him, "No stairs, no mowing the lawn, and no fast food." So they had to move to avoid two out of the three.

We took full advantage of this information by only paying two thousand dollars more than they paid for it. I know they took a bath on the transaction. I felt a little guilty for practically ripping off an sick old dude and his wife, but all's fair in love and real estate.

About six months after we moved into our house, we got new neighbors next door. I was outside, playing with the dogs when I saw an older couple waving at me from across the fence.

"Remember us?!" a witchy haired crone hollered, a sack of greasy fast food in her claw.

"Uh...."

"It's us! Chuck and Cindy! We sold you your house!"

I was instantly bewildered. The house next door, except for less square footage and one less bathroom, is an exact replica of our house. The not-so-secret information their former real estate agent played in my head. Why would they buy a two story house with a big yard? Why, when they had almost the same thing less than a year ago? Why?

I was wasting time wondering about these issues when there would be a whole host of others to contemplate in the years to come.

For instance, why would they rip out a perfectly good fence, tear up the grass next to the driveway, then fill it in with gravel?

Answer: So they could pull their truck up that extra 10 feet to the back door. I think they were afraid the Wendys, McDonalds, or Hardees they ate almost every day would get cold if they had to carry it too far. Also, I don't think they wanted to get any inadvertent exercise.

Answer #2: So their beautiful golden-white Labrador wouldn't have the joy of romping in a big back yard, but would instead be locked up in an 8x8 pen. Wouldn't want the dog to get any inadvertent exercise either.

I didn't get why they even had a dog. I never saw him play with it. Cindy was afraid of it, so he never never got to come in the house. I know not all dogs are spoiled rotten like ours are, but they never brought him inside. They had a perfectly good garage that they didn't even use. They could have put the dog in there when the weather was bad (ie; the ice storm that poor dog endured one winter). Sure, he had a makeshift plywood doghouse inside his pen (giving him even less room to exercise), but it killed me to see him laying on top of it everyday lonely and bored.

So bored in fact, that he barked incessantly. At first, Chuck would yell out the kitchen window to tell his dog to shut up. Over time, that apparently took too much effort as he eventually hooked up an intercom system, pointing the speaker out the upstairs bedroom window to yell at the dog.

Oh, and the dog wasn't neutered either. When I asked Chuck one day if he was planning on showing the dog or breeding him, Chuck looked confused. I pointed out that his dog wasn't "fixed" and I wondered if he was a show dog or was he planning on starting a puppy mill. He got pretty defensive. I started anonymously calling Animal Control about the barking.

I tried to be somewhat friendly with them, but when he casually referred to the renters across the street as "Ni***r Whores", I washed my hands of them. The bumper sticker on his truck of Calvin pissing on the word "France" pretty much sealed the deal of my immense hostility toward them.

I was so damn happy when they finally sold their house and moved. They said they were moving to Las Vegas, and all I could picture was that sweet dog dying of heat stroke in their backyard.

But they didn't move to Vegas. They moved across town. And now I'll probably run into them all the time. Last week "broke the seal" so to speak.

I was nice to them. No sense in being a bitch just for the hell of it. I save that for my husband.

They were pretty excited to see me and the girls.

"Chuuuu-uuuck! Come see your kids!"

Excuse me? "Your" kids?! I know she was trying to friendly and her statement was sort of a "Oh we think you guys are great/your kids are great/we care about you" kind of thing, but it made my blood boil. I didn't like her familiar tone.

"I don't like you!" I wanted to scream across the grocery store, "I think you're a couple of racist, lazy animal abusing fucks! I hate you I hate you I hate you!"

But I didn't. I mentioned that we were in the process of selling the house, and Cindy nodded, "I know! I saw the sign!" (if it's not apparent by now, Cindy yells everything).

Then, without thinking I asked the million dollar question, "Wanna' buy it?"

We shared an uncomfortable chuckle, after which Chuck rolled away in the handicap grocery cart contraption, basket filled with pizza rolls, sausage and whole milk.

Allllll by myself....

I was feeling kinda' Britney this week, but I'm all better now.

My mom got my husband season tickets for the Chicago Fire for Xmas. Their opener is tonight, so he took the kids up to Grandma and Grandpa's to get a head start on Easter, and I get the whole house to myself until tomorrow morning (when I will join them). The silence is deafening, and I'm loving every minute of it.

Normally I would take this time to catch up on housework, but that's already been taken care of considering we had a rush of looky-loos over the past few days. I literally have nothing I have to do. I get to do whatever I damn well please. No one to answer to, get a sippy cup for, or who's butt to wipe. I can put something away and it isn't laying all over the floor 2 seconds after I turn around. I can make a phone call and not have to do a thousand other things at the same time. I can run around yelling "fuck" and "cocksucker" with abandon.

Oh, sweet freedom!

So the question is, do I go out and get a pedicure before or after some internet porn?

Write a letter you'll never send

Dear M.B.,

When I worked with you I found you to be clueless at best, but mostly an annoying twit. Your holier-than-thou attitude grated on my nerves every day that I had to work near you. As much as I tried to avoid conversation with you, tight quarters demanded our interaction.

When you vehemently explained to me that no Jewish people went to work in the Twin Towers on 9/11 because they were "tipped off" to the attacks, I didn't stab you in the eye with a fork like I wanted to, but instead gently explained to you that your information was wrong. I know you still didn't believe me.

When you told me that you and your husband took the door off your sixteen year old son's bedroom, I didn't ask you how he was supposed to masturbate in private. Instead I bit my tongue because I wouldn't want to extend anything resembling an invitation for you to share your parenting tips with me.

When I saw you after I quit that job and you accused me of "jumping ship" after our boss revealed she had cancer, I let it go--though I shouldn't have seeing how you did the exact same thing a few weeks later. By the way, my leaving didn't kill her. The three packs a day for 40 years did.

I have never and will never tell you all of this because I can be what they call in the business a "grown up". Just know that every time I drive past your church, or "Hall" as you guys call it, I transmit silent 'fuck you' vibes your way.

I kind of feel sorry for you in that your religion prohibits voting. At the same time, one less fundie at the polling station bodes well for me.

When the magical JW spaceship comes down to take you and yours to Planet Watchtower, I'll be here on Earth dancing around in my underwear stuffing birthday cake into my mouth, handing out rainbow flags and free abortions.

Cheers,
Chaylene

Woof

My dogs are either lazy or have a heightened sense of self-importance. I think it's both.

They think they deserve a "treat" (read: doggy biscuit) for simply mustering up the gumption to sit by my feet when I go out on the back porch to smoke.

What they lack in work ethic though, they more than make up for in cuteness (and bad breath).

I won't lie. I just wanted to post some pictures of my dogs.

One time I was a giant crybaby

My house still hasn't sold, and the beginnings of panic are starting to set in.

I'm starting to see more and more SOLD signs around town and I can't help buy wonder why mine hasn't. I truly think we have done everything within our power (and budget) to make this home more than marketable. Aside from picking it up and putting it on a quieter street, there is nothing more to be done.

At Saturday's open house, a couple showed up and seemed to really like it. My real estate agent said the wife was "in love with the kitchen" and that they told her they had been checking the house out on the realty website. It's a good sign, but a even better sign would say "SOLD" and be parked on my front lawn.

I keep getting positive feedback from friends and even other realtors, and that does tend to boost morale, but it still doesn't change the fact that we haven't gotten a single offer in the 8 weeks we've been on the market.

I'm trying not to let this whole process completely take over my life, but that's hard to do when you are as compulsive and controlling as I am.

I want to start shopping for window treatments and paint and the washer and dryer we'll need in the new house. I want to start planting some flowers and playing in our new back yard. I want to pull into my new driveway and use the automatic garage door opener (never had one of those before!).

Do we need to advertise more? Do we need to offer more incentives? What are we not doing that we should be?

Any and all advice, back patting and handholding will be accepted.