Category Archives: I pronounce it Pwerto Rrrreeeko

I apologize in advance for disappointing you


So apparently my blog went viral and/or bacterial with my last post.  This seems like the kind of thing people dream about, but since I don’t get paid by traffic it really just meant that my servers crashed and a lot of angry people yelled at me that I should kill myself in really creative (and violently misspelled) ways.   Which actually?  Was kind of hysterical, and Victor and I cannot stop quoting you.  Well done, you.

For those of you who are new here and who actually want to stick around, welcome.  And also I’m sorry.  Normally this would be a moderately clever paragraph about wolverines or giant squid, but I’m in Puerto Rico this week and I’m just too sleepy to be witty.  Luckily, I’ve made a t-shirt for you. (Also available in infant sizes.)


And now, this week’s Shit-I-did-when-I-wasn’t-here:

What you missed on Ill-Advised:

What you missed on Good Mom/Bad Mom on the Houston Chronicle:

  • Nothing.  I’m on vacation.

What you missed on my sex column (which is satirical and vaguely safe for work if your boss isn’t a complete douche-canoe):

What you missed in my shop, tentatively “Eight pounds of uncut cocaine” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):

  • A Beyonce Chicken card. The inside of the card says “Knock-knock, motherfuckers” so it’s pretty much perfect for all occassions.  I suggest keeping several handy for condolence cards.

What  you missed on the internets:

  • I have no idea.  I heard my blog was on the front page of Fark.  I’ve been vaguely unplugged so I’m sure I’m missing something.

This week on Shit-I-didn’t-come-up-with-but-wish-I-did-because-it’s-kind-of-awesome:

  • REALLY IMPORTANT STUFF. Sadly, I can’t link to any of it because I keep losing my internet connection.  Also, I’m sitting in the business center of the hotel while everyone else is out on the beach and it’s making me sad.  Seriously.  Even the guy who runs the business center is out there. I promise to make up for all of this when I get home.  Tales of cock-fighting, planes falling from the sky, and intentionally drinking bacteria will abound.  Unless I get distracted…ooh look, carpet!

This week’s round-up sponsored by the dangerously awesome people at Credit Karma, who want to help you save your money. They’ve been featured everyplace from CNN to the New York Times but they’re open-minded enough to realize that being featured on irreverent blogs like this one can be just as valid. This either means they are brilliant or completely daft. Either way, you should check them out.



50 things is 49 to many

My friend Arianne said I should write 50 things I like about myself  to make myself feel better about having just been totally dissed by all of my friends and several construction workers who just saw me naked which would possibly be really easy to do if I hadn’t just been dissed by all of my friends and several construction workers who just saw me naked.  And actually, it’s not my friends’ fault that they all have lives and can’t just run off with me every time I put multiple posts on twitter and the Houston Chronicle begging people to come see Sex and The City with me and I end up alone in the theater crying at Sex and the Fucking City (WTF, me?!) and eating goobers.  Oh and when I went to the ticket counter and said “One for Sex and the City” the guy in the ticket booth said (fucking seriously, people) “Oh, I could see that coming a mile away”.  Like…what-the-fuck, guy-selling-tickets?  You’re judging me for seeing Sex and the City?  You work in a box, dude. 

And yeah, I used to sell snow cones in a shack in a parking lot when I was your age but I didn’t berate my customers when they ordered the rainbow cone even though I totally could have.  (Special note to people who order the rainbow snowcone:  There is no such thing as a rainbow cone.  If you don’t specify which flavors you want we just pick whatever colors are closest and that means you might be getting green apple & bubble gum or you might be getting leftover pickle juice & industrial cleaner.  Rainbow is not a flavor.  Be specific.  It serves us all.  Also? you should probably avoid snowcone shacks in general because there’s no air conditioning so when we’d get too hot we’d crawl inside the coolers and lay on the iceblocks.  Sorry, Snow Wizard, I’ve spilled your nasty secret.  Bonus nasty secret:  “Snow cream” is actually just half-and-half.  We just put it in a special bottle so we can charge you extra for it.)

 Anyway, where was I?  Oh yeah, 50 good things about me:

1.  I can curse really well.

2.  Really fucking well.

3.  When I was 8 month pregnant I screamed “DIRTY C-NT!” at a pushy car salesman.  Even Victor got a little scared.

4.  I’m taking off all of next week to write my book.  Seriously.  I have a book inside of me and I’m going to get it out if I have to squeeze it through my vagina.  Because that’s what the world needs.  A book squeezed from my vagina.

5.  I make myself laugh.

6.  I almost always listen to my brilliant husband when he tells me what to do.  This has served me well.

7.  I almost always refuse to listen to my brilliant husband when he tells me what not to do.  This has served me better.

8.  I can put on lipstick in the dark.

9.  I can play the guitar like a motherfucking riot.  (No, wait.  That’s Sublime who does that.)

10.  I got married on the 4th of July because of a dream.

11.  Whenever there’s a dinner party my table is always the most fun because I say something inappropriate and stupid right up front and then everyone feels free to talk about astronaut dildoes because they know that they aren’t going to be the one remembered as being the weirdo at the table.

12.  My mom is a lunch lady and my dad is a taxidermist and I am immensely proud of them.

14.  I’m not afraid to embrace my phobias.

15. I have a genius for choosing friends.

16.  I can create art with no true artistic value and still be proud of it:

17.  I survived being attacked by wild(ish) dogs.

18.  I solved America’s National Deficit Issue.

19.  I have a rare blood disease that causes fetal death and gave myself over 500 injections in the stomach so my daughter would live.

20.  I forgave myself for the children that didn’t live.

21.  I totally just brought down this whole post with #20 and I’m leaving it in anyway because it’s important even if it isn’t funny.

22.  I’m easily distracted.

23.  Did I take my meds today?

24.  I have to go to the bathroom.

25.  Is that infected?

25.  Crap.  I accidentally switched to 50 things I was thinking about.

26.  I’m not afraid of heights.

27.  I’m not afraid of ghosts.

28.  I’m not afraid to admit that I’m afraid of giant squid.

29. I’m not afraid to end this list 21 numbers early.

Comment of the day: You got married when you did because of a dream. I got married when I did because I thought the Rapture was looming and wanted to have sex before Jesus came back. ~Musing

Puerto Rico, part one: Things I learned in first class

(Taken directly from my journal because I’m lazy.) 

Things I learned on my trip to Puerto Rico:

1.  The President’s Club at the airport offers free alcohol.  Surprisingly, no one is drunk.

2.  There are no President’s and lots of old white people in the President’s Club.  Disappointing on both parts.

3.  I just figured out why no one is drunk here.  This amaretto sour sucks.  Victor:  “Yeah, and also it’s only 9am, drunky.”


4.  Victor just yelled at me that if I get him kicked out of the President’s Club he’ll never speak to me again.  Two minutes late he was pretending to be a professional cockfighter and yelling “My cock is stronger than yours!” in a Spanish accent.  Alcohol is the great equalizer.

5.  These cocktails are better than I thought.

6.  We just almost got kicked out of the President’s Club.  Victor wouldn’t let me do shots with a bunch of guys headed for Vegas and then he got all pissy when I called him a “Republican”.  I was totally going to introduce him as an up-and-coming cockfighter to the Vegas guys but it’s too late now.


7.  On the plane:  First class kicks ass.  They just brang me a hot towel.  I mean “brought”.  I don’t think you’re supposed to say “brang” in first class.  Or “fuck”.  I’m sitting here watching Frisky Dingo, drinking wine, eating cheese and some chick just set up some sort of elaborate picnic on my lap.  At this point the plane could crash and I’d still consider it a successful vacation.


8.  Scratch that last line.  That was the xanax talking.

9.  So I get these movie headphones FOR FREE?!  To keep?!  That is insane.  I officially hate rich people now.  I think I could ask the stewardess for Jim Morrison’s skull and eight blonde virgins and she’d totally make it happen.  Ooh!  More cashews!

10.  They just shut that flimsy little curtain that separates first class and everyone else and I was all “Good!  You poor motherfuckers shouldn’t be able to look at us.”  I think first class is changing me.  Also, Victor just reminded me that we’re flying coach on the way back.  Now I know just how Marie Antoinette felt. 

11.  The stewardess just gave me six pieces of silverware to eat a bunch of stuff that I’m pretty sure is all finger food.   Which fork is the cracker fork? 

12.  Me:  “This is so opulent. I feel just like Julia Roberts from Pretty Woman.  Except, you know, without almost getting raped by Jason Alexander.”

Victor: “Well, vacation’s not over yet.”

14.  3 hours into the flight I look out the window.  Nothing but water forever. 


Took another xanax.

15.  I want to live in the lavatory.  It’s all my air inside that room.  None of this re-breathing other people’s air in there.  I wonder if you can die from carbon dioxide poisoning on a long flight?  I bet you can.  I’m more concerned about the pilot, actually.  I hope the poor bastard has his own airtank up there.  Maybe I should mention this to the stewardess.  Victor keeps wondering why I’m spending so much time in the bathroom.  I’m totally not going to tell him.  Let him figure it out for himself.  That bathroom air is mine!

16.  Victor did NOT record all the Frisky Dingo episodes on his ipod.  There are like ten missing and when I told him about it he just shrugged.  There will be hell to pay.

17.  Found something else he downloaded though called “My Bare Lady”.  Disappointingly it is not porn.  But it does have porn stars in it.  So, partial credit.

18.  Journaling is a lot like twittering except with less feedback.  Also no people telling me they just made a sandwich or have to poop.  I miss those people.

19.  You know what they should make?  Twenty-five dollar bills.

Also, they should put ads on the cash and the money can go to lowering our taxes.  And they could put coupons ON the money to make you want to spend it and stimulate the economy.


I’m pretty sure I just solved America’s national deficit issues.  Victor is frustratingly nonplussed.  The plane lands in 5 minutes.  I want another drink but Victor thinks I’ve had enough.  I think he’s just jealous that he didn’t come up with the twenty-five dollar bill.

To be continued if I don’t get distracted which will probably totally happen.

Comment of the day:  I am thinking you should not actually take Xanax and drink. Isn’t there a warning on the side of the bottle that says just that? Hmmmm, does it make the Xanax work better? Get back to me on this. ~ Cedarflame

And my rebuttal:  It is very true that you should not take xanax and drink. But you should also not poke cheetahs with sticks and that never stopped me. Eventually one of these things may kill me but at least I will have known the thrill of poking cheetah’s with sharp sticks.  I’m not making sense, am I? I blame the xanax mixer. Which I did not drink because they are illegal. ~ Jenny, the bloggess (who is a very poor example according to most people.)

Shut up, cats

I’m alive.  Barely.  I can hear cats whispering blocks away.  That’s how much my head hurts right now.  It’s probably from all the Puerto Rican sun and not from the fact that I drank half my weight in rum.

I swear I have amazing stories for you but right now I just need to lay my head down for a few minutes.

 Someone shut those fucking cats up.

A few pictures here if you just can’t wait.

PS.  I’m not a drug addict.  Thanks for asking.

Comment of the day:  Dude, when I’m in your position, I can hear people eating marshmallows.  Those marshmallow eating bastards are loud.  ~Type (little) a

I’m unplugging

Puerto Rico,
You lovely island . . .
Island of tropical breezes.
Always the pineapples growing,
Always the coffee blossoms blowing . . .
~West Side Story

Is that true about Puerto Rico?  I’ve no idea.  But I’m going to find out.

I’ll be back in a few days.  Feel free to use the comment section for lurid propositions and dangerous rough-housing.

PS.  Burglars?  My house will be protected by my large, bohemian father who is frighteningly unpredictable and likes to shoot things for fun. 


And yes.  That really is my father.  And yes.  He really will kill all of you.

PS.  So far there’s only one real bid on my child’s quilted-vibrator-for-charity-art-piece.  Really?  You guys are going to let Oh My Stinkin Heck walk away with this gem for 5 bucks?  Shocking. 

Comment of the day:  You suck.  Don’t have fun. ~ Immoral Matriarch