Don't Need Nothin' But a Good Time

There's an Eastwick festival going on this weekend. All of my peeps are coming into town, and it should be a good time. Sukie and I are going to the Festival of Beer tomorrow. You pay a fee and get to sample a bunch of beer. Mr. Bitchford asked me if the cops were just going to issue me my DUI on the way out. Ha Ha. We started thinking about what we could do at the festival to sober up, but still be entertained. Sukie was looking at the schedule and began to laugh. You will never guess what comes after the Festival of Beer. Hospital bed races! Fuck yeah! The local hospital staff will be racing the beds. This sounds like the perfect Eastwickean activity to sober up to. We will be taking a camera, so you all won't miss any of the action. Stay tuned. ;)

Deep Thought for the Day

Do you think Lorena Bobbit ever gets asked out on a date?

Perhaps Sukie and I will end up Oz

Eastwick has tornadoes flying all around. The major universities in our area are having all students take cover. All public schools are letting out, which is odd because wouldn't you want your child to take cover and not be waiting on you outside? I digress. I have no clue where Mr. Bitchford is. He'll probably call and say, "What weather?" I'm sitting in the basement on my laptop. The doggies are all freaked out, and the cat just wants to smell them. At least the sirens aren't still going off. I'll be back for an update!

Update 3:50 p.m.
Freaking the fuck out! On the phone with Sukie! Damn it. One of my gutters is loose. Piece of shit house! Still don't know where Mr. Bitchford is. :(

Update 4:00 p.m.
Lots of thunder. My trash can just blew by, but I saw it stop at a tree. Dogs are barking at the rain. Stupid dogs.

Update 4:04 p.m.
Very still outside. Rain has stopped. Not a good sign. Why do I always have to take a shit when I can't get a toilet? Damn it! I guess the storm has scared the shit out of me, literally.

Update 4:09 p.m.
Mr. Bitchford is home! He's pissed at all the crazy fuckers on the road. He's scowling at me. I'm logging off now. I'll be back.

Update 4:14 p.m.
The radio weatherman says we are experiencing a hook echo. Mr. Bitchford said that he saw two small funnel clouds on his way home. Craziness! I'm gonna go call Sukie.

Update 4:30 p.m.
A zebra has been reported in the road...and a camel. The fence flew away at a local petting zoo. All animals are fine. It's like fucking Noah's Ark up in here. It looks like the worst is over.

Last Update 4:53 pm.
Looks like all is clear, but there is a hell of a mess. Everyone is safe and accounted for!

Bitch Done Gone Crazee!

The Peroxide Queen has done it again. She's marrying the VD King. Who the fuck marries a man you've known for 2 months that has also given you the clap? When she told me, I spewed Diet Coke out of my nose and onto her desk. Then I laughed. Loudly. For a long time. Once I composed myself, I asked to see the ring. See, The Peroxide Queen doesn't love anyone but herself, so I'm thinking she must have gotten a big ole rock. She says, "I don't have one." What? No ring? It's not that I think every woman needs a giant rock, but I was trying to figure out what The Peroxide Queen's angle was. I can't. What the fuck is this guy thinking? She's been married twice before, so I guess the third time is the charm? These people confuse me.

The Bitches Heart Pie!

It's Pie Time, people! The Bitches have been so hot this summer that their favorite dessert has been a good, cold pie. We don't like to just make a regular pie. No, no, no. You will not come over and have a simple slice of key lime pie. It has to have a good name. Here is what we've made so far, and Sukie might add to this list.

1. Gary Cherry Pie
2. The Nutty Goodness
3. A Shot of My Baby's Love Pie
4. Mama's Gettin' Drunk Tonight Pie
5. Mama Needs a Motherfuckin' Raise Pie

Please submit your pie names. You will need to give us one main ingriedent to work with, and we shall develop a recipe. Start sending them in now!

The Redneck Festival

Well, tonight I attended the annual Redneck Festival. It's really called that. It's a few small towns over from Eastwick, and we always have a great time. Admission is free. All money spent on food, beer, and t-shirts is given to a local charity. And, the best part, we can take the dogs! You bring your chair, your dogs, and your friends, and you get to listen to some great bluegrass music. This was the 28th year for the festival, and it rocked as usual. When the two founders go by the names of Punk and Cowboy, you know you're gonna have a good time. I meant to take my camera, but in all of the hurrying to get out of the house...I forgot it. So, Redneck Festival, my hat is off to you for yet another great year of music, friends, and beer! This is one small advantage to living in Eastwick. This is rare, so enjoy. ;)

As The Cube Turns: Chett Donnelly

Do you guys remember Chett? He was the know-it-all, nasty brother from the movie Weird Science. Anyway, our company has hired him. We had a big meeting this week because it was our kick off to the new fiscal year. So, anyone new that we have hired is introduced. Luckily, Chett is not in our department, but he still caught my eye. When he was introduced, he stood up, pumped his fists in the air, and smacked his gum. He sort of looked like this.

If you remember the movie, Chett ultimately turns into a big pile of shit.

This is my prediction for our Chett too. Good luck, Chettster. I predict that it will be less than a month before you've "bagged" a secretary and spread all of the nasty rumors around the office. Stay tuned to see if Chett turns out to truly be the asshole that he appeared to be.

John McCain Hates Me (and probably you, too)

I think John McCain is a little stupid.

And apparently the feeling is mutual.

At a recent dinner for his hoity-toity (very wealthy) supporters, when questioned about his tax decreases (you know, the ones for his rich buddies), John McCain reportedly said, "People who make under $80,000 are too stupid to understand taxes anyway."

Now, I was fair; I said reportedly. But even if he didn't say it, he obviously believes it. After all, he keeps promising to give us a break on our taxes. Yet, he plans not to substantially decrease taxes for the 60% of tax payers (uh...that's most of us!) who make less than $66,354 a year. After all, we're too stupid to understand the fact that all his promises of decreased taxes will mostly benefit the rich folks (Yay for Brangelina! They'll really appreciate that extra cash in their pockets). He assumes that we're so stupid that every time he says that he plans to decrease taxes, we'll believe he means for us.

Well, I'm not that stupid, John Wayne McCain (unlike you, I did not graduate in the bottom 5 of my class--894 out of 899). I can see very clearly that unless I make over $111,000 a year, your tax breaks aren't going to help me--not one bit. PS: I really like how you plan to save our poorest citizens a mere $19 a year (that oughta buy what? one more package of diapers?). That's awesome. Me? That extra $319 will sure help out next year (or not even put a dent in my gas bill...).

But John Boy is counting on his belief that all those middle-class Republicans out there are stupid enough to believe he will cut them a break tax-wise.

I really hope they're not. Really.

FYI: John McCain doesn't know how many homes he owns. Wouldn't it be nice to be that rich?

I Knew It!

The new girl brought her baby to work yesterday. I don't mean she was passing by and needed to get something from her office. I don't mean she was on a lunch break and someone brought the baby by. I mean that I went down the hall at 3:30 p.m., and she had a fucking baby on her hip. Who does this shit? If she's already bringing a baby to work on the second day, then what can I expect next?

Plain Old Motherfucking Oatmeal

She started work today. Sukie met her. She reached out to shake the new girl's hand, and she received a small, wimpy shake. In turn, Sukie crushed her hand. I avoided her most of the day. She shuffled into my office to ask if I was busy. I said yes. I know, I know. I'm a bitch. Here's the thing. Let's say that you go to the Waffle House. You order a big plate of buttery waffles, fried eggs with cheese, hash browns smothered and scattered, and a big glass of orange juice. You are ready for this wonderful, greasy meal. The waitress comes over and gives you a bowl of plain oatmeal. It doesn't have any brown sugar. There are no raisins. It's just plain old oatmeal. I thought the hiring committee had agreed on the Big Slam breakfast, and then I get plain fucking oatmeal. I need to get over it, but I'm pissed. My boss even sent out an email to the hiring committee and said that WE, yes, WE had changed our minds. I didn't change my fucking mind. He changed his. So, now I'm working with plain old oatmeal and a douche bag. Fuckers.

Sukie's Another Year Older!

Happy Birthday!

The Workout Challenge

Sukie and I have been bitchin' all summer about toning up. We both feel like we've let our bodies go a bit. I know it happens with age, but I still don't want to just feel like shit all of the time. So, after much consideration and whining, Sukie and I have settled on two different workouts. Sukie is going to try Richard Simmons' Sweatin' to the Oldies. So far, she is really digging it. I think her favorite is Big Girls Don't Cry. I find that a bit of a mean song to play while people are sweating it out, but who am I to judge. I've gone a different route. Sukie likes the happy videos with Richard's all familiar afro. I prefer the drill Sergeant bitches with thighs of steel. I've decided to try The Firm. This wasn't a hard choice for me. About six months ago, The Peroxide Queen gave me a shit ton of these videos. One of her exes cheated on her with one of the instructors featured on ALL of the videos. As you can imagine, she didn't want to work out to these anymore. So, I became the new owner of videos featuring women with thighs of steel and apparently, questionable morals. I've worked out to these for three days now, and they are kicking my ass...in a good way. I've found that I'm already sleeping better and moving more. I still think I'm going to try some Sweatin' to the Oldies because I do love me some Richard. Does anyone else have any tips?

Staycation in Eastwick

So...Alexandra and I have a week off from work this week. Yay! Don't get too excited, now. We are too undercompensated for our great wok to actually get a vacation somewhere, so we, along with many Americ ans in this horrible economy, are enjoying a staycation.

For my part, I decided that my staycation would involve doing absolutely nothing productive. Prior to beginning the staycation, I had good intentions of getting stuff done around the house. However, as it turns out, I am not in the mood for that. I am in the mood for lolling.

In case you ain't from 'round here, "lolling," properly pronounced "lawlin," is an art form in which one lounges around lazily. Mostly, we loll around when it's too damn hot to breathe outside. However, one can never loll so much that she becomes "too fat too walk;" then, she is just plain lazy. I did not make that rule up. The Sweet Potato Queens did. Thus, I can loll around as much as I want so long as I keep doing Sweatin' to the Oldies every day or every other day.

Yesterday, Alex and I took our lolling around to a whole new level with her brand-new $15 kiddie pool. We lolled in the kiddie pool and drank sweet tea and vodka (a fabulous drink made up of two favorites, which the rest of the world is apparently catching on to now, since I have seen it for sale--premixed--in the local red dot store). For 5 hours.

But all that lolling outside got the best of me. The next day, my chest and the tops of my thighs were lobster-red. Should have remembered to reapply sunscreen each time I peed or refilled my drink. Oh, well. It was my only time in the sun all summer--my day at the redneck, homemade beach.

Now, today...

Today...no way is sunburn going to keep us from lollin' around in the kiddie pool on our staycation!

That's right...we just found clothes to cover the burnt spots, so we could do it again--but with screwdrivers this time. We? Are awesome. In that broke redneck kinda way. ;-)

It's Like an Episode of Friends

Do you remember when Joey and Chandler got free porn and were afraid to turn it off? Well, it has happened to me and Mr. Bitchford. We were flipping through channels, and I saw a huge breast. I yelled, "Hey! That was a huge breast. Turn that back." He did. Sure enough, it's the Playboy channel...in Spanish. Currently, there is a "story" on about scantily clad women wrestling in a real ring. Of course, ever so often, their clothes catch on something and get ripped off. Even as we speak, Luciano is giving it to Estella in the ring. We don't really watch porn, but it is hard to turn the channel. What if it goes away? If I start speaking Spanish, should I tell people how I picked it back up? Wouldn't that be fun? Si?

Even Sonic Sucks in Eastwick

OMG! Mr. Bitchford and I decided to cruise over to Sonic today and take advantage of happy hour. This is when the slushies are half price. We placed our order, and then we were quoted what sounded to be an incorrect total. You can't really hear what they say on those speakers. So, the woman brings us our slushies. Our total is wrong. We explain the Sonic menu, which is giant and in front of us, but she looks at us funny. She says she'll be right back. My drink seems awfully liquidy. I open it, and it's a cranberry juice. Not a cranberry juice slushy, which is what I ordered, but a cranberry juice. No biggie. She comes back and explains that we ordered juice and that's why it's not half off. We explain that we ordered slushies and not juice. All of a sudden she turns into psycho Daisy Mae. She says, "Get out of the car and explain it yourself! It's not my fault!" Then she walks away with our $20. WTF, bitch? Mr. Bitchford goes to explain it, and all is well again. I hate to give up Sonic, but this one has been infiltrated by all of the extra special fucktards in this town. The last time I ordered a Sonic Reese Cup Blast, it didn't have any Reese Cup in it. Sigh.

Old Friends and Old Problems

A friend of mine from graduate school was in town this weekend. She decided to have a girly weekend with her daughter. I haven't seen her in years, but I remembered all of the problems she had. She was the only one of our "group" that was married in graduate school. Her husband seemed like the nicest guy, and they just seemed to make a great couple. One night, all of the girls had gone out bar hopping, and she was with us. We all ended up at one person's house, and we spent the night. My friend had gotten really drunk, and she started to cry. She told us that her husband beat her, and she showed us where he had hit her in the back with a wine bottle. I was shocked. Of course, we all told her to leave him. This didn't happen. Two of my friends and I went to check on her one night, and we couldn't find her. We got really worried because all of the lights were on in the house, and the car was there. Something didn't seem right. We called the police. The police came out, and our friend came out of the house with her husband. There really wasn't anything the police could do because she refused to talk to them. A year later, she got pregnant. I never acted like her husband wasn't beating her, but I also didn't go away. I think that's what he wanted us all to do, but none of us did. She would insist on bringing him places with us, and we would just grin and bear it. I think she needed us as friends more than he needed to be "frozen out" of our group. So, they ended up moving over 6 hours away, and I would keep up with her through email. She never really sounded happy. He cheated on her through the years. The latest was with the church secretary. He's a deacon, of course. The good thing is that something seemed different about her this weekend. I asked her if everything was ok, and she just said that she was tired of it. She said that for the first time ever she had opened her own bank account, and she has gone back to school. She seemed stronger, but she also seemed wore out. Her daughter seems to be well-adjusted and smart. I always worried that he would hurt her too. It's so hard to see a friend in this position. There really isn't anything I can do to help, but just keep in touch. I'm thinking of planning a road trip with another girlfriend of ours from graduate school. Maybe we just need to bust up in there and show him that we are still very much connected to her. I just don't know.

99 Problems and a Bitch Ain't Gone Be One!

I have some major shit to get off of my chest, and it is threefold.

1. I fucking hate the woman at work who is trying to steal mine and Sukie's intellectual property.

2. I'm fucking pissed that my boss hired an empty, beige, shell of a woman in our department.

3. I really fucking hate the fact that John Edwards suckered me into believing in a politician and then acted like a fucking politician.



Problem 1: There is a woman at work that is trying to steal our work! We'll call her Mrs. Lovejoy (that's for all you Simpson's fans out there). She is working on a new project, and she has been charged with developing some employee training manuals/workshops. Sukie and I have done a lot of work in this area, and word has gotten around that the employees dig us. Mrs. Lovejoy basically asked me to hand all of our shit over to her. WTF, bitch? Why can't people use their fucking brains and develop their own shit? She's also one of those people who claims to be religious, but her actions/words don't show it. Clearly, Jesus would not fucking steal our work, Mrs. Lovejoy.



Problem 2: We've had a job opening in our department, and I was asked to help with the hiring process. A very beige woman (I say this because she is insipid) interviewed for the position. When she first walked in, I giggled in my head because she looks just like a Cabbage Patch doll. Exhibit A
She also seemed extremely dull and rehearsed. If that wasn't bad enough, what I call my "eight grade girl" antennae went up. I immediately smelled the "I'm a loser" on this chick. In our line of work, you will be eaten alive if clients smell this on you. To make matters worse, I thought that we had agreed on another job candidate, but apparently someone changed his mind. She'll start in two weeks. I'll keep you updated.

Problem 3: John Motherfucking Edwards! First of all, when Clinton slept with Monica, it really wasn't a shock. I could smell the sex on that man from my T.V. screen. It's why I loved him so. John Edwards, on the other hand, held himself out there as the loving husband to his dying of cancer wife. What if he had secured the Democratic party nomination? Did he even think about that? He certainly said he had thought about the struggling lower and middle classes. Did he not think about what this could do to the party he claimed to stand for? I thought he could be the real deal, and the joke is on me. I really should have known better, but he seemed so right. On a side note, I totally don't think his personal life should play into his politics, but it does...so fuck him for fucking it up.

I'm feeling disappointed and let down. On the other hand, you've allowed me to wallow in my anger and share it with you. For that, I thank you. So, in honor of Jay-Z, I may feel like I have 99 problems, but none of these motherfucking bitches are gonna be one, yo!

Little House on the Prairie According to Alexandra

It's been so fucking hot lately that I find myself coming home, stripping down, and watching t.v. I don't even move. The good thing is that as I was channel surfing this evening, I stumbled across a piece of my childhood. As a child, I remember going to my friends' houses and how they would watch television with their entire families. We never did this. My dad had a LaZBoy that sat directly in front of the television. This meant that he made all of the choices, and you could sit in the floor beside his chair. This sounds really mean, but it wasn't. It's just how things were. When I was really young, there was only one show that my entire family would gather together to watch. This was Little House on the Prairie. I would wait for that famous music and for that buck-toothed little girl to coming stumbling down the hill. If the episode started out with snow, my dad would say, "God damn it! I'm not watching Charles Ingalls stomp through the god damn snow all night." That meant that family night had ended. I can't say I blame him. If I happen to watch Little House today, I will change the channel when I see snow. Ruins the whole fucking episode. I was channel surfing today, and I came across the episode titled "For the Love of Johnny Johnson." Now, Johnny was a ginger haired boy, who couldn't read very well. He also wore high water overalls and had no fucking shoes. How hot can you be, right? Well, Laura's dookie brown eyes would soften every time he came around. She loved him. Of course, this meant that he loved her older, more attractive sister, Mary. Basically, Laura pines over dumb ass, shoeless Johnny Johnson throughout the episode. He wants Mary, but she doesn't want him. The tragic love triangle. In the end, Laura ends up not hating her sister and learning some all important lesson. It's ok, though. Mary gets hers in the end. Bitch goes blind in later episodes. I'm thinking of borrowing all of the episodes from my sister because, yes, she owns them. I gave them to her! If it hadn't been for my dad's odd fondness of Little House family night, I may never have known of Pa Ingalls, Reverend Alden, Miss Beattle, and the whole gang. Any other Little House fans out there???

Colonial Hairstyles

Do you remember when your mom had your hair cut for the first time? If you are a woman, then you know that this can be traumatic. My mom took me to a salon called Colonial Hairstyles. Why would anyone name her salon this, you ask? I have no idea. I remember it like it was yesterday. I was a cute enough kid, and I had long blonde hair. It kind of looked like this little girl's hair, but longer.

My mom took me to Colonial Hairstyles and requested that Marge cut all of my hair off. She was tired of it. She was tired of it, you ask? Yes, my mom was tired of MY hair. Anyway, this place should be renamed Colonial Hairstyles: Where little girls go to become little boys. This isn't me, but at least now you can understand the dramatic and traumatic transformation.

It took me until the 6th grade to finally live that haircut down. I suddenly grew and had ginormous breasts. Most people forgot about the haircut after that. The bad thing is that she took me there for my 9th grade prom hair. My sister says that I looked like I had a powdered wig on, hence the name Colonial Hairstyles. I ask that you mothers out there never do this to your children. We don't forget.