This should be short and sweet, at least compared to my normal ramblings. First off, I think you should know that this is out of form of my normal blogging but I’d probably be a total asshole if I didn’t do this because after all “Fair is fair!”
My biggest fan (apparently), Kamilla @ Basket of Dreams, recently bestowed two different blog awards to me. Now, I’m new to the Blogger world with the exception that I used to blog frequently on Myspace. It has come to my attention that these blog awards are supposed to be dealt out and shared with at least five more people after you receive one. Remember in a recent Nigerian Poll, I’m stupid…and possibly slow. So without further ado, I’d like to announce the winners as nominated by the academy (aka me).
The first award…the One Lovely Blog Award goes to the following…
These ladies keep me entertained with their tales of motherhood/womanhood and life as they know it.
The last but certainly not least award is the prestigious Gold Framed Dog Blog Award. When dear Kamila bestowed this award on me, I merely received it through association. She awarded it to her friends/followers with awesome doggies. Since I have Super Deuce, who by the way is a lover not a fighter, being his owner made me a winner. I secretly think she took pity on me for THE butt plug being the only thing I’ve ever won.
The winners of the Gold Framed Dog Blog Award are in no particular order…
These guys keep me laughing. To keep in form with Kamilla’s animal theme, I decided that the reason these folks deserved this illustrious blog award is simply because they keep me entertained like the animals at a circus…more specifically like the dancing elephants in tutus and bears on roller skates…but entertained none the less.
Please give ALL my winners a round of applause and be sure to visit their blogs. If you happen to leave a comment or two be sure to let them know how you found out about their awesomeness.
Also, I would love to be able to throw an award Kamilla’s way so if any of you deem me worthy of an award I would love to have the opportunity to pass it along to her as well.
The best things in life are free, right? Sometimes…and sometimes those FREE things are down right terrifying.
Recently, a talented (and loveably awkward and inappropriate) lady named Tricia that I follow on Blogger had a giveaway on her blog. She asked her readers to leave a comment and later she would draw a name at random from the folks that commented. I NEVER win anything so even though the sheer sight of the item she was raffling made me clinch my butt cheeks together; I proceeded to leave a comment joking that if I won she should mail the prize to my mom. (My poor mom…) I know you are probably wondering what sort of prize was being raffled. Well, friends, some things are better said in pictures…
Big Red
Did your ass muscles tighten? I bet you sobbed a little, huh?
I'm a loser, baby.
Due to my typical misfortune, I was not the lucky winner of the gigantic butt plug. I was actually a tad disappointed. Trust me… it wasn’t because I wanted to USE it. The storyteller in me was dying to blog about the ridiculousness of it. So, yeah, I was a little sad.
the REAL gigantic butt plug...Tricia's biggest fan
A few days or so later, Tricia made a blog post about some of her more creepy readers. Apparently, when she checked her stats she found that someone out there in cyber space had located her blog by entering the words “gigantic butt plug” in their search engine which she found amusing and decided to share with the rest of the class. Of course, yours truly had to leave a comment claiming responsibility, joking that I was so very distraught that I wasn’t the lucky winner that I frantically searched the World Wide Web for a butt plug equally as scary as Big Red.
Officially, dear ol’ Tricia was so amused by my comment I became the runner-up to take the throne should the REAL winner fail to do his proper duties as Miss America, err...I mean, Captain Anal Fixation. As fate would have it, the winner came to his senses and gracefully declined the offer leaving me the conquering hero in the fight for the scary ass toy.
Fortunately for me I follow Tricia’s blog because the bitch never sent me fair warning, she just blogged about it. I suppose she was afraid I’d chicken out like her last winner; instead I just clinched tight and winced.
When my “gift” arrived, my children wrestled with the package arguing over who would open it. Since we were expecting some books from eBay to arrive, I didn’t think too much of it until my son says, “Mom? Who’s Tricia Lor-uh-something?” I nearly choked on the soda I was drinking and hurdled the sofa like a gazelle just in time to commandeer the USPS Flat Rate box out of my children’s clutches and tossed the box onto my bed to open later behind closed doors out of the view of the prying eyes of my offspring.
Later after the kids went off to the Land of Nod, I opened the package. Once again, the sight of the thing made my ass muscles seize up. Then there was the note… Tricia being the silly chick that she is wrote, “I decided it needs to go to a loving home where it will be properly worshipped as it ought to be. I can tell that you will treat it with the proper respect and admiration.” This made me think of religious dogma.
I KNOW what you are thinking! How in the hell did the delivery of a butt plug bring my brain to the topic of religion?? Tricia’s mere mention of the word “worship” sent my brain into a tailspin. Instead of being god-fearing I, on the other hand, am completely butt-plug fearing. There are people that create elaborate altars to show reverence to their gods in hopes to share eternity with them in the afterlife. I, alternatively, shall build a shrine in effort to keep the gigantic jelly toy far away from my derriere. I can’t wait to explain the mini edifice buried in my closet to my husband.
Like I said before I never win anything but I guess I need to rephrase that now. I guess I don’t win anything useful…at least to me. So in conclusion as my luck would have it, the first time EVER I win any sort of raffle it is literally something to shove up my ass. Have I mentioned before that the universe hates me? Thanks, Tricia. Sorry, Mom.
My body hates me…or maybe it’s the universe. Possibly it’s both. Whenever I plan things, which I rarely do because nothing ever goes my way, my body does whatever it can to screw things up for me. If there is a god, he's a demented prankster and when I find him I'm going to roundhouse kick him in the throat.
Two years ago when my husband was still in the military, he did a tour in Iraq. When he received his two weeks of R&R, I spent the first week of the two sick as a dog with strep throat. I ran a high fever and I was completely delirious. At one point, I swore the kids and I went to the desert to see my husband instead of the other way around.
See? My body hates me! I hadn’t been sick in years and BAM! I’m sure that is not what my husband had in mind for his leave time.
Recently, I went to visit my husband in Huntsville. If you missed the bus trip and the weekend trip, check it out. Out of the entire 365 days out of the year, my body chooses the weekend I made a trip to see my husband for one of the last times I'd get to see him for awhile to bestow its red tide on me and deter my bow chick wow wow time. Mother Nature is a sick, sick bitch!
Now the universe is playing another mean joke on me. The kids have Fall Break starting tomorrow and guess who is getting ill AGAIN! Do you think karma is getting me back for picking on the con artist?
Me + Sick + Kids = Homicide
I’m just saying!
My kids think I’m being quite horrible because I haven’t let them play outside today since they got home from school. Don’t get me wrong. I would LOVE to have a quiet house with NO children in it. Since my house seems to be the neighborhood Kool-aid house, sending my children out into suburbia to find their playmates (and I’m not talking Hugh Hefner’s gal pals) means they will all just migrate back to our house and probably begin a game of hide and seek right in my bedroom because, after all, mom’s room has the best hiding places….or maybe kids are just nosey.
Maybe I should listen to Buddy and consume more Vitamin C. I guess limes in my beers aren’t exactly what he meant. In the mean time, I will continue to shake my fist in anger at the universe/Mother Nature/god/the powers that be that keep throwing these curve balls at me.
Apparently in Nigeria I’m not very smart. To be more specific, I am an idiot. If you haven’t read my previous blog post, Some Nigerian Isn't Getting Paid Today, you may want to read it before you proceed any further. I do not intend to do much recapping...mainly because I'm lazy and selfish.
Today as I pulled out of my driveway to run some errands, I got a phone call from Nevada…a number I didn’t recognize. Upon answering, the man on the other end with the very heavy accent identified himself as “Mr. Smith calling on behalf of his wife, Patricia Smith”. He wanted to know if I had cashed the money orders yet. I told him they were confiscated at the post office. He demanded to know why I took them to the post office in first place. "Because that's what you do when they aren't real, silly.", I told in my most condescending mommy voice. You could tell he was getting agitated with me. I was giggling on the inside because let’s face it pissing people off is what I live for.
He yelled and said that he instructed me to take them to my bank to cash them. Gee, all this time I thought I was getting email instructions from his beloved wife. I asked him, "Why on earth would I do that since, you know, they were fake and all?" He played dumb and told me he didn’t understand how they were fraudulent. I explained that the post office has this magical 800 number in place that smart people, like myself, are able utilize so that we aren’t scammed by people like him who are too lazy to get an honest job. Then he called me an idiot. As a matter of fact he called me an idiot a few times and I’m pretty sure he called me a few other colorful things in his native tongue as he ranted and raved over what a stupid thing I did.
I did something “stupid”…by not allowing this con artist to scam me, I am stupid. If you look up stupid in the dictionary, you will see my face and the following: n. person who does not get fooled by phoney money orders and enjoys poking fun at irate con artists (i.e. Ashley Coleman). Yep. Sounds like me in a nutshell. I guess I should try to be smarter next time.
Mr. Smith told me there was a mistake with the verification system and I should cash them anyway. I couldn’t control myself any longer. I just started laughing. I was laughing so hard I seriously had tears in my eyes. On the other end of this phone conversation, Mr. Smith is yelling and cursing. Poor, poor little con artist. Things not go your way…awwww!
I was slightly tempted to wire him a dollar. Too bad you can’t wire coupons. That’s it! I’m going to collect all the coupons I can find: 10% off your next oil change, $1.00 off of hemorrhoid cream, free month of Netflix, etc. Then I’m going to mail all of it to the two addresses that I have in California and Florida. Apparently, these scammers are hard up for cash so I’m going to teach them how to save money.
I’m also going to blow up their email accounts with links to money saving websites that offer coupons, discounts, and freebies. There is nothing that pleases me more than being a smart ass. Like I said I live to piss people off. What better people to annoy than a bunch of conmen (and possibly women)? Seriously, I welcome any ideas from my readers aka minions. MUHAHAHA! But, please, remember to use small words because I am, after all, “stupid”.
Hopefully, I will blog again soon unless I get assassinated by the Nigerian mafia or some other equally scary group. You may see me soon on a grainy Taliban-like home video with a sack over my head. Criminals don’t like to be made fools of. No, they prefer to do it on their own.
On a serious note, the postal inspector I spoke to today told me to notify my bank because depending on how good this person (or persons) is there are ways that just by having my name, address, and telephone number they can cross reference accounts to locate banking and credit card information. So just FYI for any of you out there that sells on eBay, Craigslist, or any other online store.
Ta-ta for now, fellow blog addicts. I’m off to ride the short bus where my favorite crayon flavor is blue and the third window on the driver's side tastes delicious.
I’ve heard the horror stories. I’ve seen the Judge Judy episodes. (That bitch is hardcore, by the way.) It’s one of those things you think, “That will never happen to me.”
Yesterday, I skipped happily to my mail box. The birds were singing in the trees. All the while, I was humming Lisa’s favorite tune…”Sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows”.
Upon opening up my mailbox and pulling out the ridiculous pile of bills that keeps my mailman working, I saw a Flat Rate Express envelope addresses to me from a return address I did not recognize. I brought it inside, set it on the coffee table, and stared at it contemplating anthrax and pipe bombs. Eventually, I opened it and dumped it’s content onto the table. All that fell out were two money orders, both for the amount of $829.99. If I were a cartoon character, my eyes would have bulged out of my head with dollar signs on them.
What? I like money.
Right away, I poked my head into the envelope. Surely there must be some explanation inside but there was nothing. Then it dawned on me. I should check my Avon emails.
About a month or so ago, I received and email from Avon saying a potential customer was requesting I contact them. I sent a very generic email to a person named “Pat Smith”. The response I got back was way too good to be true.
This Pat Smith person wanted to order Avon products…like $400 worth of Avon products. However, Pat did not live in America. She supposedly resided in the UK. She wanted me to order the products and then she would send me a money order it. Then she says she would set up to have the items picked up from me from a shipping company and then mailed to her.
I’m no fool. It sounded like a crock of shit to me from the beginning. I basically told her to send me a money order and I would let her know when the money orders cleared. I didn’t think anything would come of it.
But yesterday…lo and behold…SPECIAL DELIVERY!!
I had not had any email correspondence with Pat Smith (or sometimes Patricia Smith) for over a month. So, imagine my surprise when two money orders for nearly quadruple the amount of the actual Avon order showed up in my mailbox.
At first I was confused. I really did not connect the two together. Later, I checked my email and there were two from this Pat Smith. Both had very interesting instructions. “Pat Smith” wanted me to cash the money orders at my bank and take the money for the Avon products out of it. Then she wanted me to proceed to Western Union where I would be sending the remaining money to a Tamara Oliveira in Paloma Beach, Florida. Supposedly, this Tamara person was P. Smith’s trustee who would handle all of the shipping etc. The email said I would need Tamara’s address in order to send the wire the money.
I decided to call the post office to see what route I should take with these money orders. Obviously, I wasn’t going to be cashing them. Don’t get me wrong, though, for a split second the thought crossed my mind. I was instructed to take it in to my local post office and turn it over so that it could be handed in to the FBI for further investigation.
Later that night, I googled the address for Tamara Oliveira. It did not exist. Oooo…big shocker!! The return address and the payee listed on the money orders were not Pat (or Patricia) Smith either. It was someone named Bogden Circec. The package came from The Halifax Company in Cupertino, California. I searched it by name and by address. Nothing! I wasn’t surprised.
I, then, googled “fake postal money orders” and found an 800 number on the USPS website where you could actually verify the authenticity of postal money orders by entering the serial number, postal code, and amount all listed on the money orders themselves. It did not shake me in the least to find out neither of them were found in the database. I breathed a sigh of relief to know that I was smart enough not to cash them.
I found out that these particular scams are frequently called "Nigerian Scams" because that is where they are believed to have originated. I also read stories of some of these victims who were not as bright as me. Toot! Toot! Do you hear me tooting my own horn??
Another thing I found out was that many of the arrests that the FBI makes in connection to these fraudulent money orders are the people that actually cash them. Again, how relieved do you think I was that mama didn’t raise no fool?!?!
Today, I got up and headed to my local post office. I not only turned in the two counterfeit money orders but also the packaging it was received in and all of the email correspondence so far. The man who actually deals with fraud was not there and wouldn’t be until Monday morning. The postmaster on staff took the paperwork from me along with my telephone number and told me that the fraud guy would be in touch with me soon. I bet the fraud guy looks like Newman from the show, Seinfeld.
So, I guess now I sit back and wait. I haven’t responded to any of the emails from Pat Smith since I received the money orders and I have no intention to do so until I hear from whoever is going to handle the fraud case. Like I said before, I never in a million years thought I would be caught up in anything like this. I’m just glad I used my brain and didn’t run off to deposit anything in my bank. Let me pat myself on the back now.
UPDATE: Seriously, Mr. Nigeria called me!! See part two to this twisted tale.
These are the people in my neighborhood. These are the people that I meet when I’m walking down the street…they’re people that I meet each day! Lucky me!
Ever since we left Texas my husband and I swore that we would avoid our neighbors other then the typical wave and head nod from time to time. Trust me things are simpler that way. We both recognize that I possess some sort of CRAZY magnet where every loony within a 10 to 20 mile radius gravitates towards me only to spew their psycho drama into my lap. I'm serious! They follow me like a horde of zombies. Our roomy, Buddy, does not quite understand the detrimental ramifications that a mere short conversation can have on ones future.
A good place to start would probably be the beginning, right?
When we moved to Oklahoma back in March, my next door neighbor introduced herself to me. For the sake of anonymity, we will call this neighbor “Holly”. Holly told me that she had a few dogs and a few roommates. It wasn’t hard to tell that many adults lived in the house. It always seemed like a used car lot out there.
The longer we lived in our house, the more other neighbors around us would slowly divulge bits and pieces of information to us about our immediate neighbors. We were told that Holly at one time lived in the house with her husband and two children. After the divorce, the husband moved back to where ever it is he was from and the children went with him. Now I know it isn’t unheard of but it is always unusual to me when a father gets full custody of the children. Most judges, unless there is a specific reason, usually award custody to the mother. I don’t believe it to be necessarily fair. I’m just stating my take on things.
Months pass. My husband and I would discuss the comings and goings that took place from the home. One time in particular, a lady pulled up and went inside. I heard a little voice say, “Hi.” When I glanced over to the direction of the greeting, I saw a little girl no older than four in the front passenger seat with the window rolled down just steady waving to me. A few minutes later, mom came back out, hopped in the car and drove off. This seemed to be a common occurrence over there. Seemed like a “drive-thru” to me.
Within the past few weeks, I noticed that I hadn’t heard the dogs in awhile and then it dawned on me that I hadn’t seen anyone around the house either. One night while Buddy and I were having a cigarette in the backyard we heard people talking on the other side of the fence. Buddy, being the sort of friendly goob that he is, went to the fence `a la Wilson from the show Home Improvement and struck up a conversation with a fellow we will call “Chance”. Apparently, Chance is the maintenance man for the house. He told Buddy that Holly and friends basically just packed up their shit and left. They seriously must have done it in the middle of the night. It’s not like I ever saw a moving van.
After Wilson, err-- I mean Buddy, ended his fence chat we go back inside and he proceeds to tell me about Chance’s rotting teeth which only added to my suspicion of the house next door being a sort of drug haven.
A few days later, KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK! There’s a man at the door thrusting a badge in my face asking questions about some guy named “Holt” that apparently lived next door. I had never met this Holt person and I wasn’t about to offer up my speculation to a special agent for the simple fact that it was just that…ONLY speculation. That evening I told Buddy about my visitor and he jumped on the first chance he got to have another fence convo with Mr. Rotten Teeth.
Another few days later and I saw a moving van in front of the house with new faces and Chance. Once again, Buddy chitty-chatted with the new neighbors, a man named “Ray” and a woman named “Tina”. Later he reveals to me that they too have a serious tooth decay problem.
Today I met Tina for myself and a friend of hers. I must say the tooth issue both ladies seemed to suffer from was entirely noticeable from a distance. It’s both sad and horrible all at the same time. It was very distracting in that it’s hard not to take glances at thier rotting teeth as they speak.
Who the hell would want to put this shit in their bodies?!?!
Honestly, after first meeting Chance I wanted to believe maybe he just had dental issues but what is the likeliness of that many people at the same residence needing to see a dentist that bad?? I understand that other issues cause tooth decay but I cannot shake the thought of meth and/or crack users from my mind or the fact that I believe they are residing next to me. It scares me to think that all the coming and going could be the result of drug deals and what’s worse is the fear that if they are “cooking” next door it makes things even worse and extremely dangerous and deadly.
Worse still is the new family has a little girl. She must be about three and is just as cute as cute can be. I feel sad and afraid for her.
I have a bad, bad habit of jumping to conclusions. Just ask my husband. I really want to give these people the benefit of the doubt. Maybe…just maybe, they are recovering junkies and/or just bad dental hygiene habits. I hope so. I really do but trust me I will not be going out of my way to befriend them so that I can find out. Believe that!
To some of you it may seem that often my son is the punch line for all the funnies in my blogs. Have no fear my faithful minions, my daughter is full of entertainment too.
The truth is family is just plain humorous from grandparents to new babies. People in general do stupid freaking things! Yes, strangers (on a bus #1 and on bus #2) are fun to laugh at but when it comes to family you get the pleasure of reminiscing over turkey and stuffing about all the ridiculous and foolish things they’ve done. Inside jokes are great. If you are in my family, FORGET ABOUT IT! You’ve got to be able to laugh at yourself.
So my daughter and I take a trip to Wal-Mart (aka the antichrist). On the way there she says, “Maaa-om?” in that drawn out whiney way she so loves. “Is it true that when boys are mean to you it’s because they like you?”
Without any hesitation I say, “Yes. That’s usually how little boys show their interest in you.”
She thinks about it for a few moments while staring out of the window and says, “The boys in my class all pick on me.”
Silence for a few moments…
“Maaa-om?” she says again.
“Yes?”
“What if girls are mean to you? Does that mean they like you?”
“Not really. It usually means they are jealous of you. Are you not nice to these girls?”
“No. They just act like butts so I stay away from them.” She said in a matter of fact tone. It made me proud that she wasn’t putting up with girls and their bitchiness. Maybe I did something right. “Mom, what do girls get jealous of anyway?”
“Well, many things. Maybe they like one of those boys that have their eye on you. Or maybe they think you are prettier than them.”
She seemed satisfied with this answer and after a short pause she says, “Yeah, well, they sure do have a lot of UGLY girls in my class.”
*********************************
It’s time to study for spelling words. I tell my daughter to give me her planner so I can call out her words.
“Spell PERSON.” I say.
Her eyes glance down into her lap as she spells “P-E-R-S-O-N”.
I thought maybe her eyes were darting because she was unsure of what she was spelling. “Spell TURTLE.”
“That’s easy.” She replies. Her eyes glance again to her lap. This time I hear crinkling paper. “T-U-R”, I get up and walk towards her. She quickly crumples up a piece of paper and hands it to me. “I wasn’t cheating.” she says. After unfolding the paper, I find exactly what I had suspected, each and every spelling word written out. BUT hey! She wasn’t cheating!!
**********************************
She is in her room getting dressed for school. She calls for me, “MAAAA-OM!”
I walk to her room. “What’s going on?” I was sure she was going to be tattling on her brother but no, nothing could have prepared me for the question my SEVEN year old was about to ask me.
She sighs. “Mom, when are you going to buy me a bra?” I was blindsided.
In my head a million things raced through it but the only response that would fall off my tongue was simply, “When you have boobs.” And I walked out of her room.
