Generation WHY???

I have a niggling gripe and I just have to get it off my chest. I've been seeing an increasing number of comments on profiles that they look something like this:

"naw she dun crossed da line tellin me nt ta talk ta her again cuz my dude wanteda chew so i sat by a girl tht likes me but i dnt like her so she was like yea dont talk to me again so fuck her omg she pisses me off... idk i needa girl ovr 18 tht has a life ya kno? lol... i hope we cn kick it soon where u livin at?"

(this is an actual copy and paste quote--really!)

At first I thought I'd stumbled onto a special section of Facebook. The section where they lick the screen and wear helmets to prevent injuries while surfing the net. Then I realized these posters know how to read and write and spell, but were writing this way on purpose. For what purpose, I'm not sure, but just the fact that's it's intentional blows my mind.

I am, admittedly, part of the 'older generation' on the mostly gen-Y ruled corner of the Net-iverse, and I fully understand our generation had our own little quirks we thought made us 'the shit' during our youth. Blue eyeshadow, for instance. Leg-warmers. Swatches. Neon sweatshirts. Jelly bracelets. Soda-pop shoes. We were hot! We even had our own ultra-rad terms. Gnarly. Speds. Cool beans. Butt-nugget.

Oh, yeah. We thought we were 'all that and a bag of chips.'

But I don't understand this new fad of purposefully misspelling words and presenting yourself as if your IQ is a full 70 points lower than it actually is. Allegedly. It's hard to tell, really.

The abbreviations are a little cool. BFF. WTF. TTYL. They have a nice little ring. But why is kewl so much better than cool? It's the same amount of letters, and takes the same amount of effort to write. Why ta instead of to? Neededa vs. needed a. It's crossed the line from trend-setting to just plain stupid. It's suddenly fashionable to appear uneducated and moronic.

I was wondering why teens and young adults of today don't have jobs anymore. I thought it was due to being spoiled. Silly me--they're simply unemployable because they like to be perceived as idiots. Every generation leaves it's mark and this is apparently Gen-Y's mark on the world. Misspelled words and baggy pants.

The worst part is that this is the generation that will be running the world when I'm in a nursing home drooling from my top and leaking from my bottom. And the drooling and leaking is the least scary part! I'm more concerned that my diaper will be applied and fastened half-way down my thighs and I'll have to rap for my medicine:

'yo-yo-yo! yo kno i'm old. I pee my pants don' do wat i'm told. my liva is failin. my body is ailin. my room mate lays aroun screamin an wailin.

this ain no palice, yu treat me wit malice, but befo my heart explodes could ya give me digitalis?'

Beautiful! It's what we all wish for our golden years! Gangsta-granny here I come.

Now, where to order my denture-grill...?

The early bird gets the vodka

I would like to point out that I was NOT passed out drunk on my keyboard when hubby got up and left for work this morning. My head was there ON PURPOSE because that sucker is nice and warm in the same way as Bonnie Belle but smells a lot nicer. I find it to be a pleasant place to sleep and the fact that my forehead now actually reads "Z" is pretty much the most awesome thing ever.

I also think that that my daughter's assumption that I've been up all night working instead of slobbering on my keyboard is pretty cool. She just came down with the "whoa.... mom-is-up-working-before-I-head-out-to-get-my-worm" look on her face. Ha ha, Worm Girl. Be a sweetie now and make your mama some coffee. Stat.

The only person who knows I've been sleeping sitting here all night is Joe who may have thought I'd finally worked myself to death. Really, the Christmas Story kid's soap poisoning fantasy was nothing compared to my philangeitis and cerebralosis and the fact that Joe left without checking my pulse and sticking a mirror under my nose is both comforting and disturbing at the same time. I'm not sure whether I'm IMpressed or DEpressed about that. A bit more vodka will tell.

Schmitty-Kitty probably knows, but he licks his own butt and still nurses even though he's, like, 1,000 weeks old so nobody listens to him except Lily and she's too busy producing milk to be anyone's informant. Go La Leche!

I think I'm safe to take a nap and catch some actual Z's before my prophetic forehead turns into a magic 8-ball...

I'll take a Slapper Cracker Tiddy Bear Toastie to go, please!

Who doesn't love a good infomercial where any two-bit inventor can purchase airtime to target insomniacs and late night coffee drinkers with their totally useless but strangely ingenious $19.99 contraptions. There's a very good reason that these are played in the twilight hours; the more more grossly exaggerated the situational faux pas, the more convinced your sleep-deprived brain is that you simply cannot live without this product.
Take, for instance, the Egg Cracker. I need one of these:


I can sympathize with the women who keeps missing the bowl because this morning I tried to break an egg into my frying pan and it ended up all over my high school science teacher's dog. It was a little embarrassing. Also, my kids make that same face every time they eat anything I've cooked. I never realized it was the eggshells that made it so unappealing. I also never realized there were eggs in hamburger helper.

Or how about the Fridge Locker?

This is a definite improvement over my current refrigerator security system which is called "I licked this" and is pretty effective at keeping my children out but sadly lacking when it comes to the occasional grizzly bear who randomly wanders into my kitchen.

I wasn't really digging this Sleep Toasty until they explained that it can be used on the right OR left side of the bed. It's cleverly non-gender specific, too!


Some of my other favorites include:

The Z-Quiet anti-snoring device. These types of products are probably the most effective use of the 3am infomercial time-slot because a husband's snoring is the #1 reason wives are watching TV at this time. I actually have my own version of the Z-Quiet; It's called my fist.

The Comfort Wipe will securely hold my toilet paper and extend my reach a full 18 inches. Now there's no reason to stop eating before my ass get's too big to wipe it myself... I can use Comfort Wipe and continue to enjoy those cheeseburgers and french fries! I'd like to point out that the EZ Jet Water Cannon can probably do the same thing as it proclaims to "blast away all those dirty jobs."

The Tiddy-Bear (yep... that's the real name) fits over seat belts to reduce annoying pressure points and friction. It's obviously made by the same company as the Sleep Toasty since it fits both the passenger AND driver side seat belts!

Speaking of Tiddies: This one is quite useful in preventing breast mishaps while you sleep!

I can't tell you how many times I've been woken through the night because my breasts fell out of whack. Joe offered me a much cheaper solution to this problem, but I'll let you figure that one out for yourself...


As corny as these infomercials are, they do offer creative answers to life's problems, some of which I never realized I had until I saw the solution. One thing's for sure... they're much more entertaining than the National Anthem and subsequent snow American's used to have to watch between the hours of 2 and 4am.

I am Cindi. Cindi I am. Do you like Bill Gates and Spam?

This could possibly be my last blog as I plan to be retired in some remote, tropical location by next week, thumbing my nose at all you poor, indigent people. Why, you ask? It's simple, really.

Because Bill Gates has decided that he just doesn't know what do do with his trillions of dollars and so, in his infinite "I-wipe-my-ass-with-your-money" wisdom, and absolutely unparalelled "why?-Because-I-like-you" generosity, he's decided to pay all of us to do nothing more than forward an email. That's it! Just one click and Cha-CHING!! Total financial freedom! Nobody's quite sure why he decided to do this, but I'm sure it has something to do with tax shelters, money laundering, or Obama's economic redistribution plan or something. Who cares; the why is not important.

What is important is that I will get $0.17 for each person I forward the email to, but that's not all folks because I'm also going to get $0.17 for every person they forward it to, and every person they forward it to, and every person they forward it to, and every person they forward it to.... it's exponential!!!

For those of you who are having trouble understanding the mathematical implications of this, I will break it down for you:

I have about 900 people in my email contacts list. I will forward it to all of them, because I'm nice like that and I want everyone to have a piece of Bill Gates. You're welcome.

900 people x $0.17= $153 for ME!

Ok, not rich yet, but wait....!! Let's assume that each of my 900 recipients have only 200 contacts, because they're not as cool or popular as me but that's ok, because the email instructions didn't have any sort of clause that excluded ugly or annoying people from the equation. I know because I checked.

900 people x 200 contacts ea=1800 forwards x $0.17 = $5202 for ME!

Still not rich yet, but considering that this can all take place within an hour or less, $5355 isn't exactly chump change for an hour's work, right? I didn't even earn that as a stripper, and as strippers go, I was pretty awesome.

Of course, those 1800 friends are immediately going to see the potential in this kick-ass pyramid scheme, and being the kind of assholes that like to forward every piece of shit-mail that clogs their inbox, they are going to send this to everyone in their contact list! We'll continue to assume each of them also have 200 people who haven't yet blocked them for their annoying 'pass-the-trash' tendencies.

1800 people x 200 contacts ea=360,000 forwards x $0.17 = $61,200 for ME!

Now we're getting somewhere! Last week I'd have been perfectly content with a bonus $66,555 in less than 24 hours but not anymore, because now I know that I don't have to work, or open up a chain of Fudruckers or invent Slap Chop or pet rocks to get rich; I simply have to click two buttons and wait for my check. So...

360,000 people x 200 contact=72MILLION forwards x $0.17 = WHO THE HELL CARES BECAUSE I'M NOW FILTHY FREAKING RICH!!!

I'm assured this will work because this email was totally checked over by a lawyer who assures us that Bill Gates is going to JAIL if he reneges and once he's paid out all the money he owes me, he won't have any money left for bail. That's how I know this is true, because jail is an ugly place full of ass-rape and other scary shit. I know Bill doesn't want to go there because he's not exactly what you'd call buff and he'd be somebody's bitch within the hour. Also, he (probably) doesn't smoke, so even if he wasn't totally destitute, he wouldn't have any prison currency to bribe Guido or Jerome out of killing him.

Also, I know it's true because the person who originally started this email now has more money than Bill Gates, Donald Trump, Oprah Winfrey and Carlo Slim Helu combined. Booyah!!

(In case you don't know who Carlo Slim Helu is, he is currently the richest man in the world, according to Forbes magazine. I'm pretty sure he's the head mob-boss guy of the Mexican Cartel or something. Your welcome for the heads up on this should you ever run into him during your vacationing travels after you've taken all of Bill Gates money.)

So for all those who got this email and scoffed at it, I say, "So long, suckers!"

See you in Rio de Janeiro!

It's all fun and games until you start to lose your eyesight...

I turned 40 this summer, an age at which as a young child I had prognosticated I'd be dead but thankfully I turned out to be as bad at fortune telling as I was good at drinking. Somehow, through a Vodka-induced haze of child-rearing years, I finally reached that milestone birthday and it's given me quite a bit to ponder recently.

There's much to be said about the aging process... some good, some bad, and some downright ugly. Joe, who is older, reached his four-oh 9 years ago, which I took very well--although why wouldn't I, considering I was only 31 at the time. He made it look easy but what I've found in the 9 years since is that there is nothing easy about aging.

I read that aging is listed as the leading cause of "suffering, disease and death" in Western Civilization, but why only here? I've just pulled up the world map to see if I could get some sort of clue and all I've found so far for probable causes of death in the Eastern world are ninja's, mustard gas, overcrowding and HOLY SHIT there are a LOT of islands!! I never knew how many islands there are in the world! I never realized that Russia was so big, either. Wait... what was I saying?

I do that a lot now days which I suppose is one of the 'bads' of aging.

Another bad is the failing eyesight. Joe, being a solid 20/20 all his life didn't face the problem of his arms being too short until after his 45th birthday. I've been a solid 20/2000 since birth and suddenly I need bifocals. Mine I can live with, but damn it, who's going to pluck my chin-hairs when even Joe's cheaters and magnifying glass are not adequate for close-up work?

Suddenly everything is shriveling and falling at an alarming rate... everything except my uterus which keeps reminding me several days per month that it's still fully functioning if I actually wanted to have another child. Since I don't, it's just the empty box the kids came in and other than serving as an occasional play-thing for Joe, it pretty much just hangs around reminding me of the ever-rapid passage of time and the fact that women are stubborn bitches who just can't leave the damn apples alone when we want one.

That is the one good thing about the big four-oh, though. After 20 years of diaper changing, nap times, school lunches, homework and groundings, my days of child-rearing are all but over. There are only two children left at home now and only one still in High School. The house is finally peaceful and quiet except when I put on one of Joe's button-up dress shirts and a pair of his tighty-whities and create my own special version old time rock and roll. It kind of freaks Brent out but I've decided the amount of clothes I'm required to wear in my own house should be directly commensurate with the amount of rent he pays so until he starts to fork over the pork, I'm going nudie whenever I want.

Worst of all, I miss my days of youthful abandon. I miss trendy fashions and buying clothes off the rack in single-digit sizes. I want to wear shorts that say "Juicy" and "Baby doll" instead of "slightly irregular" and "as is." I want to wear thongs that don't completely disappear when I pull them up and bras that are only there to be aesthetically pleasing instead of pitifully (and unsuccessfully) attempting to raise the dead.

My mom has decided she's never going to become old and decrepit, will never allow her body to succumb to uselessness and whither away in a nursing home. Her plan is to live life as busy as possible, never slowing down til her last day on earth whereupon she plans to drop like a sack of potatoes.

And that, my aging friends, is probably about the best we can ever hope for.

La Leche, Ass Wars, and Vodka... OH MY!

I'm back folks!! Sorry for my once again long absence. I've been on a year-long bender, but I've finally decided to add some extra-curricular activities to my already overwhelmed drinking schedule, which means... you guessed it... DRUNK BLOGGING!!

Here's some of what you missed in this year's episode of "C":

Tanner begins dating Veruca Salt, realizes he hates her as much as everyone else does, dumps her back off to her over-indulgent father and has now gone off to college in NM to meet a whole new fleet of Veruca Salts with which to torture his mother.

Brent moves out to his very own apartment to prove his independence but decides to move back for the free meatloaf and maid service.

Bonnie Belle develops a particularly nasty case of the fleas and wages a war against terror on her ass. It is mostly unsuccessful (unless you count the entertainment factor of a dog barking at her own ass) until Mom drops a smart-bomb on the back of her neck. Shazam!

Lily has another litter of kittens. Dismayed that we manage to find suitable adoptive parents for most of them Lily joins la leche and encourages her (now teen-aged) Schmitty-Kitty to continue nursing until she's too old to produce milk.

Cindi's computer comes down with a case of the African-fainting-goat-disease, passing out cold whenever it gets startled by sudden bursts of CPU usage. She visits the computer store but finds none in her price range of 12-years-same-as-cash.

Brittney turns 17 and, finally having no more need for her fainting couch, donates it to another hormonally imbalanced up-and-coming teen. The household breathes a collective sigh of relief and mom realizes she can finally stop drinking but curiously decides against such drastic measures.

Cindi turns 40 and discovers her ass crack has become an expansion joint. She orders Hip Hop Abs which seems like a good idea at 4am after downing a bottle of vodka, but soon realizes she is not, nor has ever been, hip. She's decided to stick with Richard Simmons because she can keep up with the fat people in his videos and doesn't fart with exertion when she tries to follow his dance moves.

Joe turns almost-50 and his body/mind begins to decompose. He walks around shouting at everyone to speak up and stop mumbling while looking for his reading glasses which he's once again placed in the vegetable crisper.

... And that's (just some of) what you missed on this years' episode of "C"!

It's hard to hang a spider when they have no neck!

Evil vicious spiders are at it again!!

I've been getting my house ready for Tanner's graduation party a little at a time as I have opportunity and great strides have been made recently, including the cleaning of our GIANT picture window in our kitchen. This is no small task so when it's finally done I'm always pleased at the fact that I can look out into our side-yard and see all the trees so clearly!

When I got up yesterday morning, however, and looked out the window, I was dismayed to see a giant spider web spun across the bottom left-hand corner. The offending party was nowhere in site, which is the only reason I felt comfortable in walking outside and knocking it down with the broom.

I was satisfied until last night. Returning home from a party, I once again discovered the offensive web, totally rebuilt (even larger this time) with the eight-legged terrorist situated squarely in the middle. I glared at him, even as I shuddered and I'm pretty sure he flipped me off with every one of his eight limbs.

This, of course, meant war so I grabbed the largest weapon I have: Joe.

"Go kill that rat bastard little smarty-pants spider who keeps messing up the window that I made you spend an hour cleaning yesterday!"

I didn't stick around to watch; war is an ugly business and I firmly believe it's better handled by less-squeamish individuals than women--particularly me, but he returned to the bedroom looking smugly victorious and I was satisfied.

Until this morning when I awoke to find and entirely NEW web on the top right-hand corner. Again, the culprit is nowhere in site. I sincerely hope he witnessed the execution-style demise of his closest neighbor and has relocated to a witness protection program, but just in case, I stuck this to the window, facing out:


You can't say he wasn't warned!