Category Archives: snot and boogers

Have I ever told you…

that the house I grew up in was haunted? Now, you might be picturing a ramshackle, run down piece of crap house, but ours was nothing like that.  It was a cute brick ranch in a middle-class neighborhood with a very above-average yard (my parents have the greenest thumbs of anyone on the planet).  We had hair touching, and phantom tv noises, and “who the hell was I playing with?” moments and parents falling out of the attic but feeling pushed moments.

My parents have since moved to a larger house in a town about 10 miles away, and every time I visit I go by our old house.  It is apparently empty now, and I desperately want to find the woman who bought it to ask her if anything ever touched her hair or otherwise scared the crap out of her.

that sometimes I do lots and lots of random shit at odd hours? For example, it is now 3:03 am, Eastern time, and I am blogging. Two hours ago I was taking a camera phone photo of myself and my room as proof of the aftermath of ebaying.  I tore shit apart in my entire apartment looking for one USB cord that is seriously about 10 years old, all so I could sell my old digital camera.  I did a total super-cussin’ victory dance that included thanking Jesus [for real], fist pumping, jumping around and doing some weird cheerleader-type stunt with the help of my bed.

One night about a year ago, I decided to move my entire living room around, also at about 3am.  After thirty minutes of sweating and cussing, I realized I hated it and went to bed very angry.  I moved it back about a week later, completely crestfallen.

Cleaning the bathroom and driving also make this list.  Maybe those don’t necessarily qualify as “random shit” but most people I know do not take a two to three hour nap just so they can drive at 4am and avoid traffic, or decide that their bathtub HAS to be sparkling after a night out til 2.

that almost nothing grosses me out? (This does NOT count worms on the sidewalk) If you look closely, you’ll see I have the categories “farts” and “snot and boogers” in this blog.  My family has no qualms about discussing bowel movements and nasal output.  I’m lucky that many of my friends feel this way as well.  It isn’t uncommon for my friend Katie and I to email or text each other:  “Dude, I just took the greatest shit of my life.  It filled the bowl,” or “My butt just exploded.”  The latter is often after we hit up our favorite sushi joint.  Go figure.

My brother-in-law and I discuss farts on a regular basis and I have often been the victim of his crop dusting skills. And he is an EXPERT.

that my ideal house is one that may resemble a castle, will probably creep people out a little when they come over, and will also probably be dust-filled? Ok, so we can probably attribute the dustiness to my hatred of dusting. Seriously. I have not dusted my apartment in YEARS, except for the last time this guy I’m kind of seeing came over.  And that was just a dusting of the bookshelves around my Mexican money and skeleton key collection.  However, dust does lend a certain creep factor to things and although I am by no means some goth girl, I LOVE creepy.

I think antiques and dark wallpaper and damask fabric are beautiful things and I am all over trying to have a house that features this.  Bonuses would include: gargoyle statues, an atrium with tinted windows so it always seems gloomy out, and a library with large windows flanked by heavy, heavy drapery.

Boo!

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Who are you perverts???

Ok. Like many bloggers, I am slightly obsessive when it comes to finding out how people are directed to my database of drivel.

Here are two samples of some recent google searches that have directed folks here:

wtf.jpg

* i assume that the part you can’t see says “during sex”. as i got a tattoo recently, the artist regaled us with his story of the first time he had sex with his current girlfriend: total squat fart.

as you can see, someone googled “bikinis” and found their way here. fairly benign search term, no? i assume they landed on the photo of my sister and myself wearing our green bikinis and our dad’s workboots/workshoes when we were little.

what is NOT fairly benign, however, is past searches for “little kids in bikinis” that i’ve seen before.

i do not want some pedophile getting his rocks off looking at a photo of me from when i was 2.

with a passy.

and who, pray tell, is karrie kendrick? a porn star, i presume? LK, maybe a relative of yours?

a tip for whoever was caught jilling their boss: either you don’t know what jilling means, or your boss is seriously getting the raw end of the deal.

wtf-again.jpg

again, why is someone googling “kids in bikinis”? PEDOPHILE!

and, i had no idea that herman munster ever dressed as a woman. of course, i was never that into the munsters, so i guess it could’ve been part of some crazy plotline.

or not.

and, of course the biggest pervert population of them all [according to the above exact scientific evidence]: people searching for poop/vomit and genital-related videos.

Things that bother me. v2.0

People who don’t use turn signals.
Now, I’m not being very ridiculous with this one.  I don’t know how many times, in my fits of road rage, I’ve shouted, “Nice signal, jackass!”. Like they can even hear me with my windows [and theirs] rolled up.  This non-use of a very purposeful tool bothers me even more when the heinous act is committed by someone with whom I’m riding.  Sometimes, I even pantomime flicking on a turn signal, just because it bothers me THAT BAD when the person driving doesn’t do it and I feel like I have to make up for their mistake.

Worms on the sidewalk
Oh yes, even the dead ones.  Worms on the sidewalk are also part of a different list than “what bothers me” called “things that make me want to vomit.”  I’ve always thought “ew” when stepping over/around them, but now I shiver a little each time I pass one.  It’s all thanks in part to my parents, who revealed to me that the weird smell after a rain in their part of the state is from worms.  I have no idea if they were completely joking or not, but what they said stuck, and now I breathe through my mouth anytime I’m outside post-rain.

The fact that vending machines don’t take cards.
Except the ones on my local college campus, that is.  I mean, I don’t know how many times I’ve REALLY wanted some of those Elfkin shortbread cookies [or whatever, they’re Keebler] or a pack of skittles, and I just don’t have a dollar bill or 80 cents.  Wait, what’s even WORSE is if I don’t have a dollar bill, but I do have 80 cents, but twenty cents of it is in pennies! Maybe that should bother me, too: vending machines don’t take pennies!  Cards would still be more convenient than if I had a huge supplies of quarters, nickels, and dimes, though.  Does anyone remember that commercial a few years ago that shows a girl go up to a vending machine, punch a few numbers on her cell phone, and VOILA! a drink comes out?  When is THAT going to happen?

My handwriting
Seriously.  It’s not even funny anymore.  For nightwork, I have to sometimes send off handwritten requests.  I wonder if they can even read the names I write.  Do they think nightwork is illegally employing first-graders to do their faxes for them?  My hand cramped up after just a few sentences, and I had to go extra slow in an attempt to make my writing legible.  I think I get it from my dad.
Example:
 See?

Eyebrow piercings
No explanation necessary.

Um, that’s all for now.

The clusterfuck

You know the company you’re working for is a huge pile of steaming donkey shit when you go out of town, expect to get your paycheck via direct deposit, then check your balance to find out you weren’t paid on the day you were supposed to get paid.

Or at all.

Why?

Because the head honchos at my part-time job [my full time job is not a steaming pile of donkey shit, but a veritable village of dinosaur shit and the mayor has Tourette’s*] gave the accounting/HR lady a project and she just DIDN’T DO THEY PAYROLL FOR THE 15TH.

How hard is that? We ALWAYS ALWAYS get paid on the 15th of the month and the last day of the month.

Always.

So, now I have to wait until tonight to pick up a check.

Which is the very same scenario that I purposely AVOID by having direct deposit.

Dumbass.

To make the cluster an actual cluster, let’s add a dash of getting home at 7am from driving 3 hours and some odd minutes to find that your A/C is running, but blowing out HOT air. Yes, indeedy, it was 85 degrees in my apartment.

There went my nap before work this morning…

I got to work early [after taking the coldest shower i could stand, grabbing my makeup, and sitting out in my car with the A/C cranked to apply mascara] and noticed I needed to change my network password.

I mentioned this later to my boss, telling her I couldn’t access my work email remotely this weekend and that I was dumbfounded and she replied with, “Haha, did you think you were fired?!”

From any other boss, this may seem funny haha, but to me, coming from my bipolar boss, it was more like pukey crap crap.

This is the same boss who, two months ago, told me to write up a very detailed and comprehensive list of all I do here because she was going to ask the powers that be to give me a raise.

I inquired about said raise today [when it all began being talked about, she told me I’d know “within the month”], I was met with “You’ll probably know something in October.”

Ellipses for days.

This was also after she made it a point to tell me that a fellow coworker who just got a job in another department was making like three dollars less an hour than I do.  Even though said coworker JUST told me last week what he made.

Boss, you are a LIAR.

After a while, I get told that we have ELEVEN more things coming in that I have to accomodate. ELEVEN.

When told we don’t have room, boss gets irritated and mouthy.

Nice.

I retorted that I’d already heard slack from the things we ALREADY have and I’m sure I’d hear more since many of these THINGS try to reserve space a year in advance.

Boss reminded me of our standard answer after telling me we can’t actually tell the TRUTH in this issue [wtf, seriously] then comes up with this gem: “Well, we don’t even know if we’ll have JOBS by next fall.”

Are you kidding me?  Why is our company building a brand-new building [and why have you gone to “four meetings a day” about it with the architects…] if we’re, by some impossible twist of fate, closing?

I leave work for lunch, and call both my mom AND Katie so I can bitch and moan about the raise thing.

I go to McDonald’s [food of dooooom], go through the drive-thru, then head home to eat.

And walk into a stifling hot house that has not cooled off one degree.

Thanks, landlord.  It’s been six hours and it’s in the nineties outside.

I turned my A/C unit completely off to avoid having an astronomical power bill.

Now, watch the maintenance guy call to tell me “The unit was turned off; that’s why it wasn’t cooling.”

I can pretty much bet you ten bucks this will happen.

I’ll keep you posted on the cluster.

*p.s. Our head guy at my full-time job really does have Tourette’s.

The second time I had sinus surgery, all I got was a scab and one larger nostril to show for it.

I’m on vacation, so here’s something I stole from myself. Again. It’s an account of the post-surgical scab i had chilling in my nose following sinus surgery late last year.

The sinus surgery that i’m STILL paying for.
The sinus surgery that has ALREADY stopped working.
*sniff*

________________________________________________________________

scabby mcsnoterson

i have never had a scab like this before.
no other scab can compare.
i never knew what scab was like before.

now that i’ve finished my celine-dionesque ode to my scabs, lemme tell ya: i had no idea i could seriously have this much clotted fibrin in ONE nostril. ever.

it feels like, after you’ve been REALLY sick with the snottiest cold of your life, and you wake up one morning after spending an entire night with a semi-runny nose. you know, where the thick mucus just kind of sits there, threatening to escape, but never does.

you wake up with your nose hairs [of which i have an unfortunate amount for a girl] clotted together with this glue-like substance produced by your own body. it hurts to wrinkle up your nose in disgust at the feeling [which you do anyway because your own nose grosses yourself out so much] because you can feel the dried parts sticking together then ripping away from the nostril wall.

try that times ten, add blood, a heap of fibrin, and you have the scab that will not die.

i actually sat in my bed last night picking at it until i got a fairly sizable scab chunk, but it is still lingering.

hopefully the doctor will poke and prod at it friday morning long enough to loosen it so i can yank it out of my nose.

blowing doesn’t help. i tried so hard that i had to take a demarol after all was said and done. just a little bit of snot came out, but ixnay on the abscay.