Posts Tagged 'Bass Pale Ale'

Glade Plug-ins are a cock block

Someone once told me my house smelled like a Jolly Rancher.  I remember it well.  Let me clarify; my memory is like my hearing.  Very selective.  I remember someone once telling me I walk like I have a board up my ass, I remember someone telling me that when I talk my mouth moves like I’ve done several lines of cocaine (What?? Thanks!)  And who could forget the brother-in-law who told me the caloric content of iced cappuccinos from Tim Horton’s.  Dick.  Beyond that, I can recall bits and pieces of whatever the fuck I choose apparently- or whatever my sister deems really happened.  She, of course, remembers swimming out of the birth canal.  But the Jolly Rancher compliment??  It always makes me smile.

I have always had a candle fetish.  I like potpourri and incense and cinnamon and tend to impulse buy any new contraption promising to deliver strong scents.  Gone are the days of candles alone!  Wax melts? Scentsy? Wallflowers?  Oil warmers? Febreeze Noticeables? Glade Plug-ins?  Yep, I have them all.  And God forbid when I find a scent I like.  Then I must purchase the spray, the designer one-touch spray dispenser, the decorative things that look like gel, the melting candle cubes, and whatever else I have a coupon for.  I am sure I would give the marketing director at Glade wet dreams.  I wish I could say the same!

The husband does not bitch about much concerning the interior of the house.  Not that he can.  It is an unspoken agreement that it is my domain.  He does not complain about the quantity of candles I purchase; nor does he give me shit about how much money I spend.  Not the he knows.  Another unspoken domain.  But he does not (physically) pay the bills and definitely does not (physically) clean the house.  So we are both happy.  Except for the electrical outlets that I whore out to all my little smell good friends.

We have three kids and a dog.  I do not want my house to smell like we have three kids and a dog.  Therefore, I keep the 16-year-old’s door shut, a three wick candle (or three) in the kitchen, and random plug-ins throughout the house.  I strive to be accommodating.  I make sure I leave one attainable electrical outlet near each of our end tables to allow the husband easy access to our ever disappearing phone chargers.  He still gets angry.  Apparently it is a fucking inconvenience to reach BELOW my plug in and use the other outlet.  Of course, this is only when he is sitting on a certain part of the couch.  If the charger is plugged into the bottom outlet, it does not quite reach past the arm of the couch which causes the husband to have to tilt his head slightly to the left.  Which apparently hurts his fucking neck.  If I move the plug in to the bottom outlet,  this hinders his ability to smoke a cigarette in the garage while using his charging phone.  This also causes him to have to more pronouncedly tilt his head.  Yes- I realize that a longer cord for the charger might solve this issue, but

1.  I REFUSE to buy anymore fucking chargers.  We have had seven I-phones in the past year and I still have purchased three new chargers; two of which we have left that the five of us fight over daily.

2.  It would still piss him off.  Like he mistakenly believes that the electrical outlets are his domain.

My solution?  Charge your fucking phone before you use it.  The husband charges his phone like he puts gas in his car; only when it is below empty  or at two percent.

So tonight the husband moved my plug in to another outlet.  When I noticed, I moved it back.  I figured one of the kids had moved it.  Nope.  So we argued about it for a few minutes.  I tried to rationalize.  I pointed out the fact he still had an available outlet but made the mistake of pointing out the laziness I associate with his lack of understanding.  I know it was a silly argument.  No matter.  He is in bed and I am on the couch enjoying my last Bass.  I will meander upstairs eventually; but I am sleeping with my clothes on tonight.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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i fucking hate christmas(and people who won’t call it Christmas)

I am in a pissy mood.  I don’t necessarily have a reason either.  Sometimes, I like to think that because I have not had a period for the last 17 years that grants me pms days whenever the fuck I feel like it.  What set me off? I had just finished making dinner and my daughter grabbed a can of soda from the fridge.  She asked if she could pour it in a glass.  Let me explain.  I empty the dishwasher almost as much as I do laundry.  I fucking hate it.  While I was making dinner, I realized that the dishwasher had reached its maximum capacity.  However, I pride myself on my dish loading skills.  The husband wholly believes I should never have to load or unload the dishwasher.  We have three kids for Christ’s sake.  I agree.  But they, like him, tend to fuck shit up so they do not have to do it again.  No one in my household understands the concept of rinsing off debris from plates before stacking them in the dishwasher.

“What’s the point of washing the dishes before we wash them?”

I refuse to buy Cascade Complete.  Too fucking expensive.  I do, however, buy Cascade.  The off brands don’t seem to work as well.  Have you ever bought a generic magic eraser? Yeah- not the same.

So I questioned why the daughter needed a glass when she usually drinks soda straight from the can because the dishwasher was already full and the husband had just brought in 6 tumblers from his car that he toted his coffee to work in for the week.  Because God Forbid anyone(the husband) in my house uses anything(a  travelling coffee mug) for anything it was meant to be used for.

The husband gave me shit for giving my daughter shit (yeah- he understands) so I fell silent.  Because I am passive aggressive.  My best friend chose the next moment to call me, when I had already fast forwarded to all the reasons my life sucks right now; including but not limited to the fact that I need a vacation yet my husband gets motorcycles.

“Why did you call me?” I asked her.  Her turn.  She fell silent.

I tried to explain that she called in the middle of one of my “I’d probably be pms’ing if I had a period,” moments.  (God love Mirena!!)

I tried to assure her that it was NOT because she had told me a few hours earlier that she had most of her Christmas shopping done.  She has three kids too.  But they don’t count.  Because they are young and not demanding.  Her husband, on the other hand…

I am Jewish.  I do not like Christmas.  I grew up celebrating Chanukah (pick your own spelling!)  I never had the visceral experience of running down the stairs on Christmas morning and tearing into present upon present that Santa had delivered under an adorned Christmas tree.  Nope-Jews drag that shit out.  Over 8 days.  One year, before my daughter was born, the husband’s best friend gave each of our boys $100.  He gave kid #1 a hundred one dollar bills.  He gave kid #2 one $100 bill.  Kid #2 freaked the fuck out because he thought his brother received more money than he did!  Yup, sums up my thoughts on Christmas!

Two years ago, I asked the kids what they had gotten for Christmas the year before.  Not one of them could remember.  I told the husband, “No more! We are only buying them large, tangible gifts!”

And yet, I still find myself shopping Christmas Eve every year because we do not think we have bought them enough.

Another reason I hate Christmas?  Because my birthday is in December.  What a bunch of shit!  Every year I pray for cash.  So I can buy my ungrateful kids MORE presents.  Christmas music?? Pshaw.  Unless it is “Please come home for Christmas” by Bing Crosby.  The only Christmas song I love.

I am currently trying to arrange a Christmas get together for all of my high school friends and our kids.  Mainly because one of our friends works for Bath and Body works and I want to solicit her for discounted gift certificates.  Not necessarily for gifts; my candle infatuation is quite ridiculous.  But it makes a good cover.

“Just ask her! She’ll understand- she’s Jewish too!” my best friend said when I told her my plan.

She isn’t really.  She may have married a Jew but deep down she is as Jewish as I am.  Which boils down to CHEAP.

My other best friend agreed with I’ve- got- my- shopping- done best friend.

She has five kids- twins and triplets.  And I hate Christmas more?

I do, however, LOVE Thanksgiving!!

And I just can’t seem to quit smoking….

April consistently proves to be a busy month in my household. Easter, birthdays, and spring break usually equal an eventful few weeks. This year was not an exception.
Easter fell early this year. I volunteered to host dinner because I ALWAYS volunteer to host dinner because then I can drink beer.
#1. I am a responsible parent and do not drink and drive. With the kids, anyway. Ever.
#2. No other family members usually offer beer at family functions. And if they do, it usually does not meet my standards. (Bass; or any other dark beer).
I should mention a few points here. Both of our families enjoy coming to our house for family functions because deep down they really want to drink too. (Don’t family gatherings naturally equal a deep desire to imbibe?) And even if they do not drink, the atmosphere is always more relaxed.
I remember attending a birthday party for one of my nephews before my sister graciously moved to Florida. My husband did not attend because I do not make him attend anything my sister and her douchebag husband host. I shall explain that dysfunctional relationship in a future post. My dad also attended said birthday party. About halfway through, he asked if my daughter could stay the night with him after the party. I said, “Sure!” and went to hunt down the douchebag to get a beer.
He studied the fridge much too intently before handing me the only beer the refrigerator contained. Bud Light. I shook my head, disgusted.
“No, thanks!” I futilely tried to feign politeness.
“Are you kidding me? You’re an alcoholic!” was his stupid response.
Instead of warning him, “Yeah, you grow up with my sister and see how much you drink!” since his marriage will certainly be affected sooner or later, I simply looked at my watch. Time to go.
I guarantee the douchebag has never drank a Bud light at my house. He beelines for the stocked garage refrigerator at my house every time he visits. It does not contain cheap beer.
Easter dinner just consists of the husband’s family. For obvious reasons. My Jewish family does not celebrate the resurrection of Christ. And yes, I just asked the husband while I was typing whether Easter was the resurrection or the birth of Christ.
The good Friday before Easter also marked the first day of the kids spring break. Years prior, we have gone on vacation. This year, their very short spring break started the Friday before Easter until the Wednesday after. The husband was scheduled to go back to work (YIPEE) on the 10th of April, so he and I decided to go away just the two of us for a few days.
The husband had surgery on his elbow and convalesced at home for 3 months. More accurately, he built himself a motorcycle. I think he agreed to go on a quickie vacation with me so I would like him again.
We decided on a few days in Chicago. We decided the night before we left. On Easter. My mother-in-law took the kids home with her after Easter dinner, and the husband and I left for Chicago Monday morning.
Chicago is such a fun city! The 6 hour drive was not too bad; mostly flat and not very scenic except for the hundreds of wind turbines through Indiana. And the freeway signs once we entered Chicago.
Fist of all, I made the husband Google how many drunk driving arrests were issued in Chicago per year. How the fuck do you drive drunk in Chicago?? It’s hard enough sober! Secondly, the freeway alerts blared the number of traffic deaths so far this year in the city. When we arrived on Monday, the first day of April, the sign proclaimed 222 deaths. The husband and I meandered around the city for almost 2 days. Every time (fucking often!) we heard sirens, I would say, “224!”
I know, I know…that’s morbid. Bu when we left, the sign read 226 traffic deaths so far this year. Essentially a day and a half later!
We ate well, we drank well, and we did other things well!
We came home and immediately celebrated my father-in-law’s birthday, kid #3’s birthday, and the husband’s birthday. (All within 6 days!) The real reason to celebrate?? The husband went back to work!
While we were in Chicago, he found several things he liked at the local Eddie Bauer store. “We” agreed everything he bought should be considered his birthday present.
I still felt obliged to get him something on his birthday. But what the fuck do you buy someone who buys himself whatever he wants?
I decided to blow up a picture I had taken of his motorcycle. It is, no matter how bitter I am, beautiful. The only pictures I had taken were on my phone, though, and were not good enough quality to enlarge to a poster size.
A great Father’s Day idea! But I still had no idea what to get him for his birthday.
So it is Wednesday morning. The day of his birthday. His first day back to work. I have dicked around on the computer trying to enlarge the un-enlargeable photo to the point where I am going to be even later to work than usual. The doorbell rings. Aaaaahh… the UPS guy!!
I grabbed the two packages off the front porch. I knew their contents contained parts for the husband’s motorcycle. Boxes had arrived daily for the past 3 months. I inspected the perfect-sized cardboard and knew they were the solution to my dilemma!
Yes. I sure as shit gift wrapped both boxes and left them on my kitchen table!
Watching him open his gifts later? Priceless!
He opened the first box and pulled out a chrome kickstand. His first reaction?
“How did you know?”
And then he started laughing. And remembered he married a Jew.

Flintstone sour gummy vitamins fucking stink

I have not smoked for 9 days, 22 hours, and 7 minutes. I have been at least a pack a day smoker for at least 20 years so this is a huge milestone in my life. I work in the restaurant industry, am married to a smoker, and am constantly(though not always justifiably) stressed. I drink large quantities of beer. I enjoy the act and smell of cigarette smoking. My father smoked. I am orally fixated. All of my friends smoke or used to smoke. Most of my co-workers smoke. See? I have excuses.
Please let me tell you how and why I quit. I have only tried a few times before to quit, even though I never really wanted to. I figured I run, eat pretty well, and seldom have health issues. Belligerent? Yes. Intelligent? No. Those commercials with the smokers talking through the tracheotomy really affected my point of view. I do not like pain and I do not want to be in pain when I am older. And I want nice teeth.
A year ago I bought a Groupon for laser therapy, a form of acupuncture, that was supposed to be 80% effective for smoking cessation. I felt duped. 2 years prior, I tried Chantix. Crazy Bitch. Crazy dreams. I continued enjoying my cigarettes and then my best friend decided to quit because doctors found a nodule on her lung. A few weeks later, another one of my best friend’s mother had a tracheotomy. Then, my boss asked me if I wanted to quit with him and his wife on Monday, March 11. Maybe it was the “happens in threes” theory. Maybe it was just my time…
I decided to try the patch this time. I had already purchased the patch and the box sat unused in my medicine cabinet. March 11th rolled around. I should have set that patch right on my nightstand. Instead, I had to physically get out of bed and rummage through all the shit in my medicine cabinet trying to find that damn patch. It should not have been hard to find considering the box had a bright orange clearance sticker on it. I grabbed the package and read through the directions, which thankfully did not include a mile long list of possible side effects like so many of the commercialized new age drugs that can cure anything from dry mouth to dry vagina.
As I read through the instructions (peel off patch and stick it somewhere), I noticed the expiration date. There was a reason the box was 75% off. I breathed a sigh of relief and went downstairs to enjoy my morning coffee. With my morning cigarette. I resolved to buy another unexpired patch after work and happily went about my day.
A few days later, I had a few more excuses for not yet purchasing the patch. Kid #3 had stayed home from school Monday and Tuesday because she did not feel well. I rarely get sick; yet this bout I did not remain unscathed. I had not felt that bad in years. I always pride myself on being a ‘good’ sick person. Apparently I am not. It’s that patience thing. I do not have time to be sick. I can’t just lay around and not get things done. How fucking frustrating! I contracted a cross between the cold and flu which was highlighted by an acute headache, plenty of body aches, and a nasty cough. I was miserable. The husband was scheduled to get his wisdom teeth taken out that Thursday so I finally decided I would try to quit Friday. I knew he was not supposed to smoke after having the procedure done and I felt like hell anyway. I purchased the patch and waited for Friday.
Thursday morning I transported the husband to the dentist. They had given him a prescription for some hallucinogenic drugs that would knock him out during surgery. After the procedure, the nurse gave him and I instructions. She asked if he was a smoker. He feebly nodded.
“So am I, “she said conspiratorially, “Just make sure you leave the gauze in.”
What the fuck?? Are you kidding me? My one chance to have the husband NOT smoke for a few days. Ruined!
He lit up in the car. I angrily resolved to stick with my quit date.
The next morning, I rolled out of bed and stuck on my new patch. The hardest part of not smoking for me is not having that first cigarette in the morning. I am not one of those people that can wait a little bit before I light up. Nope- I stumble down the stairs and beeline for my coffee and cigarette. So Friday morning I poured my coffee and detoured to the living room as opposed to the garage. I kept busy and tried not to think about smoking. And I made it.
Somehow, I always imagined if I made it through just ONE morning the next would be easier. And it was. Day #2 was a Saturday. I put on the patch and went to get my coffee.
The coffee in our house is a volatile subject. I like my coffee strong; the husband likes it weak. This discrepancy has caused us to engage in heated arguments. He calls my coffee ‘Jew crack’. I call his coffee ‘hillbilly pisswater’. There was a stretch of time when our coffee maker was really fucked up and brewed Jew crack. I left work one day and went to the doctor because I thought I was having a heart attack/ panic attack or both. Thankfully, it was just the super strong coffee. Since then, I have limited my coffee intake to a cup or a cup and a half.
For the first few days after I quit smoking, I texted the husband to ask him if he had brewed the espresso we sometimes make because I felt so jittery. No, no he had not. Someone explained to me that since coffee is a stimulant and tobacco is a depressant, I was drinking straight stimulant without offsetting the caffeine with my cigarette. Sigh. I stopped enjoying my coffee. I also mistakenly thought the cold and flu symptoms would go away once I quit smoking. Wrong again. I should have known there would be repercussions when I stopped doing something I had been doing for 20 years.
And then bitch mode kicked in. The husband calls me passive aggressive. Not this week!
My new best friend? Sugar coated lemon drops. I have never been a gum chewer. The patch was giving me a weird looking rash so I took it off and have been free balling it since.
I finally started feeling better Thursday. I have an app on my phone that tells me how long its been since my last cigarette and the health benefits of quitting. For the last few days, the app has told me nerve endings have begun to regenerate and my sense of smell and taste have begun to return to normal.
This may or may not be true. I did go to grab kid #3 Flintstone vitamins this morning and almost threw up. Those sour gummies smell like shit! Thankfully, the Bass still tastes great!(I’m saving my lungs; fuck my liver!)
Oh, and the husband got dry sockets.


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