Crappy Santa, My Awesome Playlists, and Whitey Tighties

santa toiletOk, this is just a little too “festive” for my house.

I wonder what Dr. Freud would have to say about this?  Is Santa a fecalphiliac?  This just screams, “Ho, Ho, Ho, come crap in my mouth!”

While this little toilet decorating set is cute in a sort of creepy way (my grandmother used to always put toilet seat covers and rugs and tank covers on her crapper) I don’t see it making it through Jerry and the Natty Splatters.  Poor Santa’s collar would be yellow in no time (because somebody can’t aim and won’t sit) and I have to have the plunger at the ready more than I would like to formally acknowledge.

I enjoy Christmas decorations, the kitschier, gaudier and tackier the better, but the bathroom is just an area in which the fixtures, let alone the decor, have a hard enough time surviving.  Jerry was raised by wolves, and his bathroom etiquette reflects his upbringing.  It is a rare day that I come home from work and the bathroom sink is not encrusted in face fur clippings and congealed toothpaste spittings.  It’s so much easier to clean the sink before that mess dries, but Jerry does not clean sinks.  I am doing good when he remembers to flush.

pigpenThankfully, though Jerry’s outward leavings might lead one to believe he’s a PigPen, his personal hygiene is impeccable.  He is just too lazy to clean up filth that does not directly touch his own body.

No good playlist is complete without some old, live Journey.  “Still They Ride” from the “Greatest Hits Live” album (1982-3) is pretty awesome.  Anything from the “Greatest Hits Live” album is pretty awesome, including “Mother, Father” and, well just all of it.  I am an incorrigible Journey fan and I admit it.  It’s my not so secret pleasure.  I’m still on the Jethro Tull kick lately too, as well as I’m enjoying The Babys “I’m Falling” and Rod Stewart’s “The First Cut is the Deepest.”

Then I’ll probably switch over to some Metallica (“Battery” and perhaps the “Unforgiven” trilogy) or maybe some Guns-n-Roses.  Or maybe Neal Schon’s “The Calling,” which I’ve been enjoying a lot as of late too.   He may have a creepy girlfriend, but Neal Schon is a hell of a guitar player.  I don’t understand his obsession with tall, anorexic thin creepy blonde chicks, but then he can afford anyone he really wants.  It’s sad, but frumpy old brunette women with the proportions of mutant trolls do not get significant others who buy them Bentleys, or who wine and dine them.  It’s hard to go fishing when you don’t have any bait.   Women like me are doing good to get a cranky old fart who screams about breakfast and the failing elastic in his whitey tighties, and whose only real purpose in life is to generate filth for me to clean up.  Someone has to do it, but it gets tedious, believe that.

All I can say to Jerry in response to the comment regarding failing elastic in the whitey tighties is, that if your balls really are scraping your knee caps, then it’s high time you cart your sorry ass over to Target (because I really loathe department stores anytime during the holidays, and I try to avoid them) and buy yourself a six pack or two of the Hanes whitey tighties you like.  It’s really possible for you to do that.

It is not against the law for men to buy whitey tighties for themselves, and it sure looks a hell of a lot less awkward for a dude to buy these than for me to go through the checkout at Target with a few packs of men’s skivvies.  I wonder how many cashiers have mistaken me for a she-male when I’ve replenished Jerry’s whitey tightie stash.  I mean, the guys at one dealership I worked for did have one of my technicians (granted, the tech I’m referring to is Chinese and he’s maybe 5’6″ and 100# soaking wet) convinced I used to be a man because I have big meaty man hands.  I do have big meaty man hands, even for an Anglo woman, so I can imagine my hands are really huge compared to an Asian woman.  But, I was born female and even had a child in (sort of) the normal way.  No Y chromosome action going on here.

whitey tightieNo, I can’t get him to wear boxers.  Pity.

So I keep on going.

drawing butts

I love sleeping.  I should be doing that, but my insomnia is getting the better of me tonight.

E.D. Soup, Face Nair, Pathos, and The Vacuum Cleaner Sucks

Maybe I’m the only one who sees the humor in this.  My thought is: Is the soup ostensibly a cure for E.D., or is it something designed to cause it?  Is there salt peter in it?  I know E.D. is no laughing matter- it can be rather pathetic, especially if you’re a woman consigned to involuntary celibacy because of it.  Of course, the poor guy at the Chinese joint (who is from China, and English is not his first language) probably had no idea “E.D.” is a common abbreviation for “erectile dysfunction.”  He used E.D. as an abbreviation for “egg drop.”

I love Chinese food and Chinese restaurants but I never really had much of a taste for egg drop soup- generally I prefer wonton or occasionally hot and sour.  This order of egg drop soup was for one of the guys I work with.  I am not going to ask him if his soup order affected his love life in any way.  That would be TMI.  There are some things I really don’t care to know.

Now I remember what I forgot to get at Sally’s- Face Nair.  I do have that handy $5 off coupon I got for renewing my card which will cover most of it.  I buy plenty of stuff at Sally’s- more than enough to justify having the discount card.  They are the only ones who have the fiberglass nail wraps and acrylic resin I use on my nails.  I hate the powdered crap (it doesn’t work) but the liquid acrylic resin with the spray hardener is the way to go.  It’s similar to the stuff used in auto body repair.  Go figure.

Just thinking about Jerry’s most disturbing inadequacy is depressing.  I can forgive the drunkenness, slovenliness (even right after his tirade of a few minutes ago, when he was bitching because I had not cleaned his mess up in a more timely manner, and the tirade that directly followed the “you need to clean up my mess- again- tirade,” when he bitched about how he didn’t like how I listed his crap on Craig’s List,) and his downright lack of anything resembling consideration or manners, but I find his unwillingness to address his E.D. the worst of all his flaws.  I know he was raised by wolves and that explains a lot of his ignorance and rudeness.  But one would think a normal man would actually care whether or not Willie works, and  I would presume a normal man with a limp willie would do something about it.  I am surprised his Dad hasn’t told him to soak it in kerosene (apparently this is an old time Appalachian hemorrhoid cure) but I doubt that he and his Dad have had a man-to-man about his malfunctioning member.

I’m learning to tune out the bitching.  I even have noise canceling headphones so that I can drown out the oat opera torture sessions.  I don’t have a reasonable substitute for a real man though, and that bothers me sometimes.  In fact, it bothers me a lot of the time.  So much so that it requires me to (vehemently at times) resist the temptation to reconnect with a certain old friend.  As much as I would love to rekindle communication with this particular old friend, I don’t trust myself.  There is too much potential there for me to cross boundaries it would be wrong for me to cross. Suffice to say if times and places and circumstances had been different-there could have been something wonderful there- but if my aunt had balls, she’d be my uncle.  Some things simply weren’t meant to be, and I am enough of a realist to know better than to ruminate on impossibilities.

Color me old-fashioned, but I am not the “friends with benefits” type.  I can’t say that I am a terribly emotional person, but even the rational side of me has a hard time making the disconnect between physical contact and emotional attachment.    I have a hard time with any sort of physical contact with people anyway- even men I find to be attractive.  I generally don’t like to be touched even in the most innocuous ways.  I even hate having my hair cut because I don’t like people touching my hair.  I do my own nails partially out of poverty and partially because it is weird for me to let people touch my hands.  Even if I had the emotional connection I would need to even want to get physical with a man,  I can’t live with the guilt and I’m not into those kind of games.

There are days I really want to knock Jerry on his ass but then I’m probably not the easiest person to live with either.  I try to be quiet and stay out of the way for the most part.  It’s safer that way.

I can’t help it.  This is funny.  I know there are those who will claim that humans can do just fine on a vegan diet.  Perhaps this is true, and more power to the vegans and vegetarians out there.  But I like meat.  I also find it ironic that vegans would keep cats (and many do) knowing that cats are obligatory carnivores.  Cats will die without meat products in their diets.

I can eat meat…but…never mind.  It’s not nice. I’m trying to keep my mind out of the gutter, and my heart from despair.

Maybe someone will get me something on my birthday list.  Even the 12 pack of Diet Dr. Pepper would be nice.  Or a new vacuum cleaner that actually sucks and that still has wheels on it.  The vacuum cleaner, the one thing that is supposed to suck- doesn’t suck very well unless I constantly empty the dirt box and unclog the dog hair from the intake.

The vacuum cleaner sucks more when it doesn’t suck.  What irony.

If beating my rugs would get the dog hair out of them, I’d try it.