For real.

Clearly, it’s just not happening, as with most things these days.

As Amy would say… Born. To. Suffer.

Of course, I deserve that, right?

Share and Enjoy;

Clearly, I’m a raging, vile, ill-tempered cunt. After last nights meltdown over not having hot water to take a shower with, and not being sure when I’ll have hot water again, I boiled 9,000 pots of water so I could wash dishes and take a bath. As I sat there in the tub, I got to thinking. Now this could construed as a dangerous thing, but it turned out to be a productive thing. Well, sort of.

I realized just how bad my temper really is. Now granted, it has reached legendary status among Wal-Mart employees and my friends all joke about it, but it really is a bothersome thing. Especially when I can go to raging, vile cunt in a nanosecond over absolutely nothing. I mean really, hot water? Is it really the end of the world if I have to wait? No, it’s not. For that matter, it’s not K* the shit’s fault it’s broken and has a life other than bowing down to us and tending our every need. He’ll fix it when he fixes it, end of story. There was no excuse for me to get pissed off and say the nasty shit I did, even if he wasn’t here to hear it. I obviously need to apologize to him for being such a nasty thing behind his back. Hopefully he’ll be here tonight so I can, and we can all be lovey dovey again. Sometimes I hate myself – I really fucking do.

Share and Enjoy;

Our water heater went on the blink yesterday… We found out right when were going to take our showers before heading to the beach. The pilot kept going out, so unless you stood there to keep lighting the pilot, there was going to be NO hot water. Angus made the call to our plumber, but he can’t come out to fix it until tomorrow when he gets off work. Hopefully. In other words, a big, fat, fucking maybe.

So now I have a dishwasher filled to the brim with dirty dishes, a sink full of dirty dishes and no way to take a shower until tomorrow night. I don’t think I need to mention the laundry situation, but my whites can wait. The dishes and my ass cannot. You see, we have a slight ant problem, so if there are dirty dishes in the sink, or crumbs on the counter, the ants come and I have to kill every last one of them, and scrub the kitchen down. Dirty dishes are only going to bring them in force.

So what does a Princess like me do, after she has her total, complete meltdown? She gets down to basics. Luckily, I grew up dirt fucking poor and spent the better part of my youth sticking my head under a faucet was going to get me clean hair. We only had a tub in our bathroom… no shower, so every morning, I’d take a bath, THEN stick my head under the faucet. More than once, we had no hot water, so I learned boiling it and adding it to the tub would keep me from freezing my arse off. So right now, I have stock pots filled with water so I can wash the dishes and avoid ants and so I can take a bath and wash the sweat and humidity off.

I suppose in the grand scheme of things, none of this equals adversity, but dammit, I HATE not being able to take a shower in over 100 degree heat!

Share and Enjoy;

How is it possible for the month of June to feel like endless hell of August? For almost a week, the temp has been nearly 100 degrees or over. I don’t do well in extreme heat and humidity and sweat is just something I’d rather not do. However, these raging temps persist and yesterday was the first day I didn’t feel like death. As such, Angus decided to take our happy asses to the beach. What better to reward oneself for bravely battling big hair, boob sweat and endless rides on the porcelain bus but to take a refreshing dip in the ocean?? So I put on one of my new bathing suits, my cute, new hot pink sun dress, grabbed my flip-flops, towel, kindle and a floppy hat and off I went.

Now, don’t get me wrong… I love the beach. I love the ocean. I also love my husband. However, I don’t like parading around in public with my fat hanging out. Never have, never will. I also don’t like having my picture taken. Particularly pictures of my fat hanging out on the beach. Yet, my husband, armed with his camera phone, proceeded to take pictures of my fat.

Now I have only one question regarding said fat ass… if this is what my ass looks like NOW, WTF did it look like BEFORE I lost 25 pounds??? *bangs head*

Hot pink beached cow... cuz I'm not quite whale proportions.

Anyhoo… after frolicking for a bit, we decided to go grab something to eat. We headed up the boardwalk to the raw bar where I proceeded to order steamers. WHY I thought steamed clams was a good idea after being sick for days, I do not know. The fact the clams they brought me were ‘off’ just made matters worse, and it wasn’t long before my stomach was once again rolling in protest. In fact, it was during the free concert given by a Fleetwood Mac cover band that I realized vomiting was imminent. Now, one could argue it was the music that made me sick, but I’m still think it was the clams.

So, after almost a whole day of not puking and feeling sort of human, I spent the night (again) with my face stuck in the potty, only to wake up at the ass crack of dawn to go to class… can I get a collective FML???

Share and Enjoy;

After hearing of my friend and his wife’s struggles with the Mayo clinic in Minnesota, and through them, the struggles of other cancer patients and their families, My disgust with treatment centers, teaching hospitals, insurance companies and drug companies is at an all time high. Don’t even get me going on Cancer research and treatment organizations that are funded through donations.

Because of this, and my Mother’s experiences with her insurance company before she died, it seems I’m set on a possible new project. I’ve been talking with my friend, and we’re thinking about looking into starting a non-profit that actually HELPS Cancer patients receiving treatment and that brings awareness and action towards thieving drug and insurance companies. It’s our hope that by spreading the word and taking action, we can somehow help drive the costs of treating cancer down and make treatment financially accessible for people who have families, jobs and other responsibilities.

How realistic this may be, remains to be seen, as well as how much support we can generate, but we think it’s worth attempting.

Stay tuned…

Share and Enjoy;

I must confess that I live in a frat house. I know this to be true by the antics displayed nearly every weekend, particularly when my brother from another is present. In fact, I blame him for the current climate of ‘Jack-Ass’ syndrome in my house. Let’s go down the list of this weekends events, shall we?

1. In preparation of Doug E’s arrival, copious amounts of beer was purchased, as well as a case of red bull to water down the Belvedere. I now understand this to be the devil’s drink and no good can come of it.

2. By 6:00 pm Saturday evening, Kent was still nursing a hangover from the previous night, and Angus and my dear brother were happily and collectively, half in the bag.

3. At 6:30 pm, we left Kent under the pool table and attended the Block Party the next town over. Because the bar we were in did not offer Red Bull, Doug E had no choice (and I use that term loosely) but to drink his vodka mixed with Monster energy drink. It looked similar to my standard Crown and Ginger, so I tried a taste and promptly wanted to vomit.

4. By 9:30 pm, we were back at home. Kent came alive and then they all got down to business. I was a good girl and was in bed by 10:00 pm.

5. 3:00 am and I was awakened by Angus, slumped over on the bed, naked from the waist down. “WHAT did they do to you???” I inquired. “The same fucking thing they did to me last time!” he slurred. At least, I think that’s what he said. He then passed out.

I went back to sleep pondering the fact the mysterious ‘they’ did something to him and that he was NOT wearing pants.

I woke up the next morning, sure I would find destruction everywhere. Instead, I wandered into a fairly clean kitchen. The only evidence of impropriety was the dirty frying pans on the stove (with burnt eggs and pancake bits in them), an empty Bisquick shaker thinge, and an empty milk container. Purchased the day before. That I needed to have for my coffee. Did I mention it was fucking empty??? As I began making coffee, I noticed shards of broken glass in my kitchen sink. Hmmmm… Well, at least it wasn’t all over the floor and as a bonus, all the doors were closed and my dogs were still safely in the house! I was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, especially after the last party! Doug E woke up soon after and wandered out to the kitchen to tell me of the events the night prior.

According to Doug E, our friend S* came over and the drinking of Irish Car Bombs commenced. These tasty little drinks, combined with Vodka and Red Bull often lead to bodily injury, and it seems that night was no exception. After Angus stood up on a bar stool, he decided he was an Eagle, the blue carpet was the ocean and the berber specks in said carpet were ‘fish’ and he ’swooped’ down from the stool, with his ‘wings’ spread wide to catch them. Unfortunately, he landed face first on the rug and only managed to acquire rug burn on the very tip of his nose.

Kent and Doug then put Angus to bed under the pool table and came downstairs to raid the kitchen. While Doug was making the pancakes and eggs, someone left the door open and Frank got out. The moment they realized Frank was running the neighborhood, Angus came crashing into the kitchen, tripped and fell, sans pants. In all of Kent and Doug E’s drunken glory, they pretty much flipped a coin over who was going to get Frank and who was going to carry my half naked husband and his junk to bed. Doug E lost the coin toss, and Kent went out in search of the dog. As Doug E proceeded to pick Angus up and herd him to the bedroom, Angus thought Doug E’s nipples looked mighty tasty and tried to chew them. Doug E dropped Angus and told him he was on his own, and came back to the kitchen to finish cooking. Kent came back with Frank and him and Doug E, as well as the dogs, ate every last bit of burnt pancake and egg. Oh, and used every. fucking. drop. of. milk.

As Doug E was telling me this story, I noticed the dried blood all over the front of both his legs. I asked him what happened, and he explained that Kent had accidentally shoved Angus into some glasses and they all fell and broke everywhere. Somehow, Doug E wound up with shards of it embedded in his legs, some of which he was still pulling out. How he managed to sleep with broken glass lodged in his legs remains a mystery. At some point during story time, Angus woke up in a drunken stupor and wandered out to the kitchen to get cigarettes. Naked. Why he can’t ever seem to keep clothes on is also a mystery. No can really even explain what happened to his pants that night, as they were still on him when they put him under the pool table, but I digress… he wandered out, naked as usual, past Doug E and me and never even noticed we were there. He grabbed his cigarettes, turned, farted and stumbled back to bed. I didn’t see him again until almost 3:00 that afternoon.

So now I’m left to wonder…how is that a group of 40-something year old men can put Belushi and a heroin high to shame like that??? *bang head*

Share and Enjoy;

June 19, 2010
Mayo Clinic
200 First Street S.W.
Rochester, MN 55905

To whom it may concern:
11 years ago, I lost my mother to Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. Since her diagnosis, I have been a staunch supporter of Cancer research and have donated funds year after year to the cause. As we all know, cancer is non-discriminating and cares nothing for its victims and it has been my hope that someday, a cure would be found. Unfortunately, I no longer have hope of this happening and your particular organization is the reason why I will no longer be donating my money or time to finding a cure.

A close friend of mine is currently receiving treatment at your facility in Minnesota. This friend is under-insured and is struggling daily with worry about how to pay for his care, take care of his family and SURVIVE. The co-pays for chemo treatment are upwards of $1,000, yet he was declined for any help in paying these costs by your organization and others like it. Why? Because he has SOME insurance and SOME income and can clearly pay these outrageous and ridiculous co-pays. Of course, that’s not your fault… that is the fault of the drug and insurance companies.

What IS your fault however is the fact that you have taken funds donated to finding the cure and to help uninsured and under insured patients and you have squandered them. Your ‘State of the art’ facility was built on the kindness and generosity of donors in an effort to help individuals battling this insidious disease, yet you boast a 10 story high marble staircase and mahogany furniture. How many under insured or uninsured cancer patients could have benefited from the cost of that precious staircase? How many chemo treatments could have been paid for with the cost of your furniture?

Now I also understand that these items may have been ‘donated’ to your clinic, but wouldn’t it have been simpler and much more effective to say ‘NO’ to these items and ask that the funds be used to help actually TREAT people who could not afford it?? Is your organization so misguided in its attempts to help people that you truly believe an aesthetically pleasing clinic will help ease a cancer patient’s emotional, physical and financial burdens? I can assure you, it does not.

Because of the financial hardship, my friend is up there alone. He cannot afford to even have his wife join him and help him through his treatment. Yet, you can boast a pretty staircase. I find it disgusting and reprehensible that the billions of dollars spent annually towards helping people with the many variations of this disease are not being spent where it is needed. Your organization is clearly not part of the solution, but part of the problem.

As stated previously, I will no longer be donating funds that will only be used poorly and ineffectively. Instead, I have spoken with others and will be working now toward effective allocation of donated funds, protesting drug and insurance costs, and making sure people who can’t afford their treatment or co-pays for treatment have one thing less to worry about. Copies of this letter are also being sent out to local media so others will become aware of just what the money they donate goes to.

Thanks to you and your organization, my only hope now is that someday, another person doesn’t have to answer when you or their insurance company asks them how much their life is worth to them or their families.

You disgust me.

Sincerely,
Jacqueline J. Bosley

Share and Enjoy;

And yet another phenomenon sweeping the country… The egg ‘product’. Now, I understand the cost effectiveness of egg product when it comes to institutional food, such as hospitals, nursing homes and schools. I can especially see the value when it comes to feeding the homeless or other less fortunate individuals or feeding our troops in Afghanistan… Hell, powdered eggs in the desert are better than no eggs at all! However, I fail to see the value or usefulness of egg ‘product’ when I go into a higher end bistro for breakfast, order an omelet and have to pay $10 freaking dollars for a plate of orange cheese and egg ‘product’!

Since I left Massachusetts five years ago, I have been hard pressed to find a restaurant that serves REAL scrambled eggs or omelets. In fact, The last time I had a real omelet made with real eggs was when I worked for George and Lola! Oddly, most fast food chains, such as McDonald’s and Ihop have been using egg product for years and it’s fucking disgusting. In fact, the only place I’ve been to that has a REAL scrambled egg on it’s breakfast sandwich is Bojangles, but they ruin it with that god awful orange cheese and so much grease, that it’s virtually inedible.

So what exactly is Egg product? Well, it’s the equivalent of yellow powdered welfare milk, and it’s my new mission in life to never pay to eat that crap again. The following web-site has more information on…

Share and Enjoy;

Until my wrist goes numb.

I’m restless. I’m wound up. I have no place to direct.

I still have no fucking pen.

I want to cry.

Share and Enjoy;

Honestly, I don’t know why I worry so much about the possibility of a serial killer lurking behind my shower curtain when it’s clearly winged creatures and 8 legged things out to get me. At this point, I would rather take my chances with the serial killer, thank you very much!

As I usually do upon waking up in the morning, I got out of bed, tripped over my step stool, and stumbled to the bathroom (tripping over dogs along the way) to pee. As I sat there, mid pee, I saw it out of the corner of my eye. This HUGE, GINORMOUS 8 legged brown and hairy THING with 10,000 beady little eyes glaring at me. I instantly froze, my pee shooting back up into my bladder. It’s 10,000 beady little eyes were crazed as if it had been doing meth for days, and it was staring at me as if I was either a giant bag of it’s precious drug, or a giant plate of pancakes… I’m not entirely sure. All I know is that after staring each other down for a few seconds, it suddenly jumped straight up in the air and FLEW towards me, landing on my leg. While I didn’t fall off the potty this time, I did manage to jump up and do the “EEEW! EEEW!!” Spidey dance, with my jammie shorts around my ankles. Let it be known that jammie shorts around the ankles is NOT conducive to doing said spidey dance, and as I was wildly trying to slap that THING off of me, I tripped and crashed into the tub with my ass.

During the melee, I was able to get it off of me, but it landed between me and my only exit from the bathroom. What to do? I had to come up with something quick before it attacked again! My nemesis was clearly plotting it’s next move also, so I very slowly reached for the closest thing I could find to aid in my escape… a plunger! It was still watching me as I got into position and as I made my move to slam it down over it, it jumped again. I began swinging the plunger wildly, hoping to bat it across the room, but to no avail. It landed next to my foot, furious in it’s intent to kill me. I backed up to the wall and as it was catching its breath, I brought the plunger down one more time. Success! It was now trapped underneath and I could run like the little bitch I am. I carefully stepped around the plunger, and tried to get the fuck out of there.

Now, you would think this little story would end here, but because it’s me and my life does not work that way, it doesn’t end. The dogs had heard my screaming and the banging and the crashing coming from the bathroom… and due to their curious nature, they were standing in the doorway watching me. Not helping, or coming to save me mind you… just watching. Ditty was half way in the doorway and as I went to go around her, my instincts said I should look over my shoulder to make sure that thing really was under the plunger. Next time my instincts tell me to do something, I’m going to bitch slap them right to hell, because as I stopped for that split second to make sure, both Ditty and I witnessed that crazy, creepy 8 legged fucker MOVING the plunger across the bathroom floor… in our direction. Ditty jumped back, turned around, ran into Frank and I was right behind her slamming the bathroom door behind me and the three of us fell into a tangled heap.

It wasn’t until I finally made my way to the kitchen to scrub myself with anti-bacterial spray, that I realized I had lost my shorts and was naked from the waist down, and that I was going to have to call one of our neighbors to come kill that thing in the bathroom.

There really is no end to my humiliation.

Share and Enjoy;