I love google

Here are the most recent google searches that landed people on my blog:

Taylor swift can't sing, fraud.

Netti pot for large nostrils


Erection keeps me awake at night


im farting ALL over your pillow dawg. pink eyes in ya future -drake

The last one is my favorite.

Because I've not nothing to say...random thoughts.

~ I think I  have blogging block.  Funny things happen, but I forget them and then when I try to retell the story, it's not funny.   Like, "omg that puppy just died" not funny.

~ I've never complained about the "new facebook" nor have I joined the inevitable "Bring back the old facebook" groups that pop up every time they release a new version.  But dammit, I don't like this upgrade.  It's confusing and non-intuitive.   I would like to get back to my regularly scheduled program of stalking old boyfriends and making sure no bitches get too friendly with Mr. T. 

~Speaking of Mr. T, it was his birthday last week.  He turned 50.  Just kidding.  He's 39 but all of his brothers thought it was his 40th and proceeded to get drunk in his honor.  For his birthday dinner, I had an awesome evening planned, complete with Mr. T's favorite Texas BBQ overnighted earlier in the week.  But mother nature said, "Fuck off Beanie, I have different plans for youze."  Poor Mr. T was stuck in an airport, with nothing but his $400 cup of coffee and free twix bars to keep him company.  Mother nature can suck it.

~Speaking of shitty weather, I'm headed home to New England later this week to see my family.  I won't have time to get hammered meet up with friends, but I promise - this summer, I will totally make it home and we will go to the beach. 

~I totally took another digger the other day.  Although this time, the only one there to see it was Token, who decided it was more important to eat goose shit than come check on me.  I'll tell you what, I'm too old to fall this much.  I hurt my knee.  Knees really shouldn't bend that way. Please send vicodin.

~We are getting a foot of snow today.


~It's a good thing I ate half of a homemade bacon quiche last night.

There is not a future in midget porn for Mr. T

Mr. T travels a lot for work.  For a while, he was on a flight every third day - for a year.  It's absolutely exhausting for me him.

One of the few perks of being in so many airports is the opportunity to see a celebrity.  He's seen countless politicians - including Obama, Andy Dick, Vince Neil and Fred Armisten - just to name a few.

Ususally, he calls me after the fact to tell me all about it.

Not today.

ring, ring, ring.

Me: Beanie here

Mr. T (in a muffled voice): Hey, those midgets from that little people show you like are here.

Me: Really?!

Mr. T: Yeah.  All of 'em.

Me: Take a picture!

Mr. T: No.  I can't.

Me: Just ask them nicely if you can take their picture.

Mr. T: No, they look really tired.  All their kids are here.

Me:  Then sneak a picture.  They can't see up that high, they'll never know.  Just do it. 

Mr. T: No, I can't.  There's no way for me to do it without them noticing.  And they are kinda creepy.

Me: Please?

Mr. T: Okay, fine.  I'll call you right back.

Five minutes goes by and I'm already crafting this blog post in my head. 

Ring Ring.

Me: Did you get it?

Mr. T: No, I chickened out.

Me: God damn it, Mr. T.

Random thoughts Wedesday

~ Mr. T called me last night to ask if we got married in 2007 or 2008 because he couldn't remember.  I told him we've planned vacations for a longer time than he thinks we've been married.

~ I watched three episodes of Jersey Shore last night.  I have a sudden desire to get breast implants and to start working in words like focaccia and mystic spray tan.

~ I really hope Lost doesn't suck this season.  If they make it all Hurley's psych ward dream I'm going to fly to LA and kick someone in the balls.

~ I don't understand why people get all worked up about the groundhog seeing his shadow.  If you don't like the winter, move to Hawaii and open a surf shop.  Otherwise?  Take your fleece and shove it. 

~ Mr. T and I bought a tempurpedic mattress pad for our bed.  Oh Ma Gaw.  I'm not sure how we slept prior to this, even Token was like, Duuuuude, where have you been all my life mattress pad?  We can no longer afford to send Kiwi to college, but hey - I'm sure she'll enjoy the fast food industry.  Momma needs her sleep. 

~ Speaking of fast food, I'm having Panda Express for lunch.  Forget diamonds! String bean chicken is a girl's best friend. 

Romeo and Juliet died, you know.

This is probably the most un-American thing I can say right now:  I don't like Taylor Swift.

And it's not because she let Taylor Lautner put his penis inside her. 

Well, not totally because of that.

She's adorable and her songs are catchy, I'll give her that.  But the girl can't sing live to save her life.  In fact, I'm pretty sure my junior high chorus put on a better show. 

And we sucked.

Last night's Grammy performance was a new low however.  If I were Stevie Nicks, I would have punched her in the vagina for the abortion Swift called Rhiannon. 

Seriously.  What the fudgenuts was that? 

I know it wasn't Stevie Nicks because I witnessed a live performance just this past year.  And she fucking rocked it.  Seriously - if you guys get the chance to see Fleetwood Mac or just Nicks, spend the money and go. 

The first time I heard Taylor Swift sing live was a few years ago, on the Country Music Awards.  She sang, Tim McGraw to Tim McGraw and I remember thinking, "Damn - that chick is nervous." 

Because, you know - she totally sucked. 

She hasn't gotten any better.  Like - no visible improvement.

I guess werewolf sperm can only take you so far.

Goopy yuck

Picture it: it's Friday morning and I'm building a spreadsheet of unnecessary information for my VP of Sales. 

My day has been pretty damn good so far.  Had a yummy breakfast of mangos and strawberries and I was debating another cup of coffee.  Beautiful!

Until I get this:

Hey Beanie,

I know the new sales guy was at your desk for a couple hours yesterday so you may want to wipe it down with disinfectant because he has pink eye again!

Aaaand cue the psycho somatic eye itching.

Who starts a new job with fucking pink eye?  And why the fuck didn't the powers that be insist he go home and infect his own people?

How is it possible that we have vetted this person, decided that he was the right cultural fit for the company but MISSED that he has limited decision making skills?

I remember once time when I was a waitress, a coworker came in with pink eye and I think we all screamed at her until she cried.

We also may or may not have physically thrown her outside.

I dont' know about you guys, but I sure as shit wouldn't want my first impression at work to be one of goopy yuck.

Unless we were talking vaginal discharge.  The snail trail is an entirely different story.

How is this even effective?

Over the summer, someone stole my identity. 

Thankfully, I have kick ass fraud protection on all of my credit cards and on my social security number (pay the money people!) and I was immediately refunded what this dooshbag was able to get. 

I've spent the last six months working with an investigator from the James County Police Department.  Well, in all reality - I just gave him my side of the story and then followed up with a phone call each month to see if he had any movement in the case.

That's right - a case.  Just like the movies and CSI.  But with fewer dead bodies and white pant suits.

At 7:30 this morning (yes, at seven freaking thirty in the morning), I got a call from my investigator and long story short - they know who it was.  They were able to get fingerprints off of the counterfeit card and the items he tried to purchase and he was already in the data base.

You'd think that would be it, right?  They'd arrest him and he'd go to jail.

Not so much.

For the police to do anything, I would have to fly to east bumfuck Virginia (on my own dime) and give a sworn statement.  Once I did that, they would arrest him.

THEN, I'd have to fly down again for the trial to testify.  Again, paying my own way.

Dude. 

How is it possible that as the victim of a crime, I have to pay the fucking government to do the right thing?

Even more mind boggling: if I don't do this, the cocksmack gets off. 

I have no desire to go to Virginia (sorry, Virginia).

So, the criminal wins this round.

I hope he was allergic to the shampoo he bought.

Fucker.

Random thoughts

1) I'm glad publicists have moved from the exhaustion excuse over to pneumonia.  Pneumonia: it's the new raging coke addiction black

2) I hated both guest judges on Idol last night.  Avril Levine was such a little poser bitch, I wanted to grab her fake devil horns and fart in her face.  And Katy Perry was just plain rude.  As much as I dislike Kara and her immature friendships with everyone who comes into contact with her, no need to be a dick, Perry.

3) Someone at Software Company accidentally Replied to All with an inapropriate email.  And it wasn't me.  I repeat: IT WAS NOT ME!

4) Remember that time I accidently replied to all and called the inadvertent recipient a fucking moron? Yeah, that sucked.

5) I'd rather have sushi for dinner than the italian chicken I have planned.

6) Cape Air flights are totally worth the money.  Unless JFK Jr. is flying the plane.  Then they are totally overpriced.

Closing the loop - because I know you were all super obsessed

So I'm an idiot. 

Officially.

I went to my regular doctor and told her about my Swamp Ass.  She referred me to a GI specialist.

Let's just say that I clearly need to work on my deductive reasoning skills since the culprit behind my rose scented expulsions wasn't an intestinal blockage or the multitude of diseases I came fully equipped to discuss.

It was the prenatal vitamins. 

The kid is causing me intestinal issues and it's not even REAL. 

Kill me, now. 

So basically, the one thing that I've added to my diet and repertoire of not so OTC meds in the last six months didn't even freaking occur to me.  And I was pretty good about taking them too.

So I stopped. 

And lo and behold, I DIDN'T FART ALL DAY!!

I didn't take a shit either, but that's another post entirely.

Mmmm, vegetables

My first mistake of the weekend was getting on the scale.

Wait, I take that back.  That was my second mistake.  The first one was getting a hot fudge sundae at the Outback on Saturday night after a chicken caesar salad, shrimp on the barbie and bread with butter. 

Oh, and I also had a side of green beans with my salad.  Little known fact: they totally taste like bacon!  BACON people!

I'm pretty sure you can draw the positive yet oh-so-negative correlation between those two actions.

First of all - the sundae was absolutely divine, and I would have another one again today.  No really, I could totally eat one right this minute.

But I won't.  Because I got on the scale.  And apparently, the obscene amounts of Toblerone have caught up with me.  More specifically, my ass. 

I'm exaggerating, it isn't that bad.  Just five pounds....and frankly, the creamy nougaty goodness was worth every bead of sweat I'm going to have to let slide down my asscrack to lose it.    Almost. 

Maybe.

Another reason I can't button my pants for the gain is that I haven't been religious about brining my lunch to work and that means I either go grab something fast or eat at the deli in my building.  Neither of which are the healthiest of options.

Sure...I could go to Subway and have a veggie delight, but why the christ would I when there are steak tacos and mozzarella sticks out there?  Duh.

So as I munch my cauliflower florets and my reduced fat ranch dressing, I dream about the sundae and the guacamole and the fried cheese. 

Oh, and for the record?  Cauliflower sucks.