Damn the Luck

It’s no joke when I say I truly work my ass off.  And I’m not tootin my own horn when I say I’m one bad ass woman.  I’ll not bore you with the details.

Anyway, since I’m so bad-ass, I decided to take the evening and chill like I like to chill when I found out nobody else was home.  The boy is at work… the man is with his amigo chasing truck parts around the greater southeastern region…

What to do ?? 

Pop the cork out of a nice bottle of merlot, crank on the karaoke maker and sing, then retreat to a bubble bath. Most relaxing of plans for me personally.

So, the wine is breathing and I’m sipping a little, rockin some Rod Stewart when the power flickered a couple of times and POOF….. no music, no lights, no AIR CONDITIONING…. It’s like 980 degrees up in here and the last thing I want to do is drink merlot (it gives me hot flashes) or take a hot bubble bath (more heat stroke)…

I suppose I’ll go sit outside in the shade where its only a humid 100 degrees or so and stare at my dogs.  Can’t take my laptop with since the battery says 66%, which translates into about 8 minutes in real life.

Damn the luck.

Giving Thanks, 007 & Karaoke

Ok, I’m not the happy holiday type gal.    It’s just not in my nature to get into the giddie-ness of the season.

I think it’s all over commercialized and truly just a big bunch of money-makin crap.

That said, as I try to make my rounds to the blogs I stalk on a regular basis… there are some of them that have listed things that they are thankful for.

So, regardless of my disdain for the holiday season as a whole, I’ve really had no choice but to reflect on things that I have to be thankful for.

And heeeere we go.

– Family. I have 2 kids, Big T has 2 kids…. that equals 4, plus one grandbaby.  It’s taken me well over a year to adjust to having the new additions to my life, and it’s not been all that easy on my children either… but somehow we’ve made it work.

– Friends. Without them, life would be obnoxiously boring.  Hollyrock and Mario are my best friends in the world and I love them with all of my little heart.

– James Bond. Without the James Bond marathon and football (BTW the VOLS blow) Thanksgiving wouldn’t be the same.  I’ve watched the Bond-a-thon on Turkey day with my Dad since I was a kid.  And I don’t give a rat’s ass what anybody says, Roger Moore is, in fact, the best Bond.

Most excellent Bond flicks, in no particular order….

Live and Let Die, View to A Kill, Diamonds Are Forever, You Only Live Twice, Goldfinger….  and I gots ’em all on VHS cuz I’m all hi-tech and shit.

– Karaoke. Oh yah, Babe.

There’s nothing that entertains me more than a night out drinkin and singin some ridiculously cheesy songs.  Nothing.

Piss on a bunch of American Idol.  They’re all just glorified karaoke singers.  And Simon is an evil troll…

I’m so sucked in by listening to myself make all kinds of noise that Big T went and bought me a super-deee-dooper system for the house.  Complete with my very own Diva microphone stand.

It’s not that I’m all that good… til I’ve had a few beers and then a few more beers… then I’m damn good.  Heh.

I thankful for lots of stuff.  I really am.   But to list them would take too long, so I covered the highlights.

I know you people have Turkey to eat and football to watch!

So, take it easy.  Save some food for tomorrow and do it all over again.

Love to all y’all and yours.

Slutty, Skanky & Into S & M

Does anybody else think Barbie has turned into a slut in her middle age?

I mean, she’s always had awesome boobs that are obviously implants because, let’s face it, no chick has real boobs that big and perky after the age of 35 without a little help.

As a dreamin type kid, I had a shitpot of Barbie Dolls in my toybox, closet, floor, under the bed…

And more Barbie clothes than 10283764 Barbie’s could every be dressed up in for fashion show.

But back in the day all of the clothes that old-skool Barbie had was fairly tasteful and Barbie was appropriately covered.   No leg.  No ass.  No boobs…

Back in the day, Barbie was all moral and stuff.  Holding hands with Ken…  Cruisin her Barbie Mobile…

Nowdays, Barbie has turned into a total skank.

No wonder all these little girls out there are all about looking 25 when they are only 11.

Trust me, I have experience here.

My kids never did dig the Barbie dolls, but I have a niece that does.

And the girl dresses just like her Barbie.

All I can say about that is this…

The day I see the child dressed like this…

I’m gonna slap her mother right upside the head.

Is it just me, or has Barbie turned into total skank?

On the bright side….  Loookie!!!

I found me a Catscratch Karaoke Barbie….

Ain’t she cool?

 

You kids have a great weekend now, ya hear?

A Shitty Review, Karaoke & Bad Ass Bitches

So, I got a shitty review.  Big fucking deal, eh?

Apparently, I am not worthy of this space on the Internet and there is a huge following over at Ask & Ye Shall Receive who agree.

I really hope everyone who comes here, who I consider blog friends/family, realize that when I’m saying stupid things about my friends or family, that it’s all in fun and that I mean no harm.

I know I’m a good wife, mother and friend.  My little feelings are just hurt.

Sure, I submitted my bullshit for a review.  A REVIEW… not a feast for a bunch of blood hungry fucking vultures.  But hey, ya get what ya pay for.   I got exactly jackshit.  A bunch of no life asshats sitting over there shooting out insults and calling names.

Eh, whatever.  To my new friends at Ask & Ye Shall Receive

 

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I’m a karaoke junkie.   Started by accident really.

Across the street from hell my employer at that time, I go to BullFeathers… found it interesting to see and hear all the folks trying to sing a song.

It was a few weeks before I’d gathered up the nerve to eek out a song.

I sang Manic Monday by the Bangles. And I sucked big time!

But, drunks love karaoke and don’t make fun of anybody.  They just cheer louder when ya suck.

I was almost as bad as Cameron Diaz when in My Best Friend’s Wedding.

I told my Dad that I was having a blast and that he should come out and play too.

For anybody wondering why they call me Diva… it’s all my Dad’s fault.  He started it and it caught on.

He went out and bought me a home karaoke machine after that. Go Dad!

I tried to sing me some country. Um, let’s just go with NOT.  I was told I haven’t got enough ‘twang’ in my voice to sing any kind of country. Thank God!!! Diva don’t got no twang!!!!
Scratch country.

So, it’s the elevator/coffee shop stuff I’ve found I’m pretty good at.
I can sing the shit out of Fleetwood Mac. Diva Nix over here.
Love Norah Jones and any kind of oldie but goodie.

This is my speed:

But sometimes, I’d love to have a little more of a brazen streak. I want to belt out something that only a bad-ass-chick would do.

Janis Joplin belts out Bobby McGee.

 

Joan Jett embraces her nasty girl side with Do Ya Wanna Touch.

And Heart whips the shit out of Magic Man.

 

Not that I’m knocking my easy listening and soft rock talent, but…

Why can’t I be a bad-ass??

Oh yah… It’s Always About Me… Ain’t it?

My beautiful girlfriend over at PERFECTLY PUNCH DRUNK took her turn to slap me on the ass today as she wants to know what makes me… well, me… how better than to do that than to slap my ass??

 

What I was doing 10 years ago:

Sweet Jesus.  I was still married to my first husband (Pizza Boy) and hating it, filed for divorce. 

I was working as an office assistant at my first office job which consisted of pre approving mortgages (wooo!)  and being a beer wench at UT home games (excellent tips and as much free beer as I could drink).  Was 26 years old, and losing my every loving mind (didn’t actually snap for a couple more years)

Five things on my To Do list for today:

 

1. Go home and grill some chicken baby… yah, i’s warm outside!

2. As it’s Friday, I’m waiting until 4:00.  We have an end of the week drinkie-drinkie here in the office.  And people wonder why I love my job.

3. Drink beer.  I have a case of Michelob Amber just waiting for me in the icebox when I get home. MMMMMM…. beeer.

4.  Got out and sing me some karaoke at my favorite watering hole.

5.  Go home after too much beer, get a shower and get laid.

Three of my bad habits:

I smoke, I drink and I cuss like a sailor. 

Don’t hate me cuz I’m obscene, k?  Thanks a bunch!

Five places I have lived:

1.  Carpinteria, California

2.  Santa Barbara, California

3.  Palm Springs, California (part time)

4.  Knoxville, Tennessee (Go VOLS! Woo!)

5.  Clinton, Tennessee

Five jobs that I’ve had:

1.  Burger flipper (16)

2.  Convenient store lackie (early 20’s)

3.  Paper pusher (mid 20’s)

4.  Mortgage broker (mid-late 20’s)

5.  Office manager (past 8 years)

BUT my life’s ambition is to be MASTER OF THE UNIVERSE!

BWAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Karaoke Videos, Pansy Girl, Embarrassing CDs & Some Bling

 Do you guys think this is cute?

Yah, me too.  He’s been entered in Fuel My Blog’s Cutest Kid Contest.

Here’s the linkie… go vote for his rotten ass.  Thanks!

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More answers to those embarrassing questions.

Jay, the Cynical Bastard, is just itching to know:

When are you gonna post a video of you doing karaoke?

Well, Jay, as proud as I am that I can belt out many a softrock ditty like nobody binnesss…

I’m camera shy. 

Nay.

The questions require truthful answers here.

Fact is, the camera hates my fat ass and I always look really, really bad.

And shaky, homegrown videos don’t turn out well once they hit YouTube.

That coupled with the fact that I’m usually drinkin if I’m doin the karate-oki.

Not pretty.

Only one time it was ever video’d was during a karaoke contest.

I was baaalitz’d and swayin back and forth.

I have banished it to the farthest reaches of hell.

What songs do you sing karaoke to?

I started out 12 years ago singing Manic Monday by the Bangles.

I was scared and I forgot to breathe and I ran away as soon as it was over.So, I tried me some country.Um, let’s just go with NOT.It’s been said by those in the know….that I “ain’t gots enough ‘twang’ in my voice to sing any kind of country”.

Thank God!!!

Diva ain’t got no twang!!!!
Scratch country.

As it turns out,  it’s the coffee shop stuff I’ve found I’m pretty good at.

• Stevie Nix/Fleetwood Mac
• Norah Jones
• Macy Gray
• Rod Stewart
• A Handful of Disco songs
• Journey
• Tina Turner

But sometimes, I’d love to be one of those chicks with real pipes.

You know them bad ass rocker bitches??

• Janis Joplin 
• Joan Jett
• Heart

Not that I’m knocking my easy listening and soft rock talents, but…

Why can’t I be a bad-ass-chick??

I wanna be a rocker dammit!

What is the most embarrassing CD that you own?           

I don’t reckon I’d be embarrassed of any of my CDs.  I kinda dig’em all. 

I suppose the fact that I have Milli Vanilli stuff might be considered borderline embarrassing.

Why do you have comment moderation turned on?

Good question.  The answer is, I have no clue.

It’s certainly not on because I’m worried somebody will say something embarrassing cuz I do a fine job at embarrassing myself without anybody’s help.

Just one of them things.

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I’ve been the receiver of the some sweet bling to make my ego feel really happy.

Thought I’d pass some along to my friends here at Blogger’s Lane.

Robert at Observations From the Back 40 gave me this lil beauty for my mad skillllz.

This one is destined to be passed along to  Ms. Puddin (mad party skillz), Inarticulate Fumblings (mad globe-trotting skillz), Pointless Drivel (bad ass writing skillllz) & FlipFlopMama (mad karaoke skillllz).

You go kids.

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Bella, that beautiful vixen at It Is What It Is says I make her think (about sex and how evil teenagers can be I assume) and as such, bestowed upon my graciously accepting ass this lil ol’ goody.  

I would like to hit these kids up for making me think… about sex and other good stuff…  Sage Advice (political goodies & sexy stuff), Notcha Typical Granny (Nascar & world peace), & Sugar Queen (making the world a nicer place).

You go kids!

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This is another goodie from the Back 40..

 

To my Redneck friends:  Buzzardbilly & Cynical Bastard, Tongue In Check

Love it, love it, love it!!!!

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Mark, the man with Blogitude shot me this just yesterday… but only cuz he was skeerd I was gonna kick his ass if he didn’t….  

 

This I shall send along to Robert, as he is a most excellent and deep thinking and honorable man in a skirt kilt. 

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This one here  I went and found all on my own, jacked it fair and square in true pirate fashion. And it’s for Mark, my fellow pirate in crime. 

All ya’ll make me laugh, smile, and cry like a bitch.  I

 have but one goal in life and it’s to be as bad ass and cool as all of you kids are.

Big Upsets, Barn Dancin, Bob & Back Flashin

Yes kids, it’s the day after Superbowl Sunday and if’n you’re a football nut you’re either stoked because the Giants pulled the rug out from under the Patriots or bummed and depressed to the point of needing psychiatric help and a lollipop.

Sorry boys.

It’s kinda cool that the Mannings rock balls like they do with Peyton being a superhero in the likes of Aquaman around these parts.

I’m not a huge Pro ball fan at all.

College ball is a different story, can’t pull me away from the TV on Saturday all fall.

I pulled for the Patriots for one reason: The boy.

I knew if they didn’t win that the boy would need a visit to the shrink this morning and a mild sedative.

Not to worry. Dr. Mayhem said it appears that he will only need the meds for the next week or so and he’ll be ok.

It’s over. Put on your big boy panties and go on.

Enough of that.

So, me and Big T have found a new watering hole/dive to kick it in.

It’s less than a 2 minute drive from our palace.

This is a definite plus, because after I’ve drinkin ungodly amounts of alcohol, being chauffered too far makes one feel the need to yack…

It’s a cool little place we found a few weeks ago, quite by accident.

They gots the karaoke and not one of the singers sucks balls!!

Yes, friends, if you go to karaoke at the wrong place you might suffer bleeding ear syndrome.

Anyhooodle, it’s called “My Place”… cute name, huh??

I try explaining that to my BFF who was coming to meet us there..

Holly: “So, where ya gonna be?”

Me: “My place.”

Holly: “But I thought we were goin out.”

Me: “We are, you dork.”

Holly: “But you said you’re gonna be at your place.”

Me: “No, I said I was gonna be at My Place.”

Holly: “Ok, tell me where the hell I’m supposed to meet you dammit!!”

Me: “At My Place. I’ll be at My Place for fuck sake!!!”

Holly: “Ok, I’m on my way. We’ll pick you up.”

Me: “Gonna be kinda hard to do since I’m not gonna be home.”

Bless her heart. She’s my best friend, but soooo easily confused.

Reminds me of that super swell Abbott & Costello thing “Who’s on First”…

So, we finally get it all straight and make it there.

We get out cozy little spot in the corner. It’s set up just about like a living room would be.

Finally get my beer from the beer nazi. The Bitch…

We were sharing the corner with “Bob” and another couple.

Bob is an older gentleman who we’ve seen dancing every weekend we’ve went there.

Bob can dance. Bob was having trouble finding someone who could remain standing up straight as he twirled them around the dance floor.

Bob = good dancer
Assorted partners = not so much

Now, Diva knows how to get out there and shake what her mama gave her.

For a white girl, I’m loaded down with Rhythm.

Yes, I can line dance, but I’d rather be dancin freestyle to somethin with a wicked beat and strobe lights.

Not sure where it came from.

Maybe my mom was foolin around, cuz my daddy certainly hasn’t got a drop of ass shakin in him. Never has.

So, Bob decides its my turn.

Too late, Bob, old pal. I’m already drunk.

Bob still grabs my hand and off we go. Fine. His fault if I yack on his shoe.

I didn’t spew my brew, but I was dizzy and glad it was over, and as an added bonus, I danced well.

Bob was impressed. I fear he’ll drag me often.

Anyways, I was sitting there trying to compose and breathe, when some old boy jumps up and starts singin “I Likes It, I Loves It” by Tim McGraw.

This song sends my alcohol soaked brain in to flash back city.

I used to run around at this place called Cotton Eyed Joe.

It’s a saloon type place, only bigger. The DJ sits in the cab of a semi. Very cool.

So, they line dance at this place. Alot. To everything.

Ever seen an old boy with a belt buckle bigger than a dinner plate bust a line dance move to Outcast “The Way You Move”?

Humorous, unless you’re drunk as a skunk, then it’s knee slapping hilarity at its finest.

There is this dance. The Barn Dance.

This is where you find a partner and go to the dance floor. Two rings are formed, men on the outside, ladies on the inside….

The outside ring moves one way, the inside ring moves the opposite way. The partner switch is on.

It’s a twisty turny dance. Which we have already established is a bad thing when I’ve had a few.

So, about half way through this dance, I look at my current partner as he spins me back in.

I’m green.

I’m gonna yack.

He grabs be by the hand a runs me to the women’s bathroom and shoves me in.

I didn’t yack on his shoes. He was lucky.

And a gentleman to shove me in the bathroom like that.

Hit me up.. I’m shamelessly whoring my bloggie!!

Cherry Poppin, Fart Wars, Makin Babies & Bankruptcy

You perverts!! I know you thought to yourself… “Ohhhh, Diva’s done been rollin’ in the woods again.”

No. I’m a good Christian girl and I don’t roll in the woods or anything of that nature. Not anymore anyway, I got married 2 months ago.

Oh, speaking of pervi-ness. It has come to my attention that I am NOT the only one around this place who had no clue what Half Nekkid Thursday was! Go me! Still doesn’t mean I’m gonna tack my rack on my page. (Although it is more of a ragin’ thing that I thought).

Anyhoo… the cherry I refer to is the Christmas song cherry. I am a complete and total karaoke junkie. Why, I dunno. It’s not that I’m any good at it. I think it’s the fact that I can go get hammered and make an ass out of myself and it not bother me.

So, I made the rounds over the long weekend to my favorite waterin’ holes to partake in cold beer and greasy food whilst listening to all the other drunk monkies attempting to sing their own renditions of many-a-song. Sometimes can be scary, sometimes can be totally awesome, sometimes I need earplugs to keep from bleeding out my ears.

It’s after Thanksgiving and not a single holiday ditty had been krooned. WTF? It’s time to get in the spirit and make people accept the fact that they are going to spend more money than Hugh Hefner does on his playmates.

At both Ronnie’s and Coyote Joe’s, I popped the cherry on the beloved Christmas tune, by belting out Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas. Actually, I only sang it because I felt the need to pull the Grinch out of my ass. I’m not sure if it worked yet.

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Me and Big T called a truce on the fart war as he was getting way too serious and thinking of ways to smoke me out. I waved the red flag sometime on Saturday night when he was kicking my ass by close to 10 farts, er points.
Besides it was costing me too much in candles and air freshner to keep the house smelling fresh with that much shit flying.

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I have been a really good girl the past couple of days. And Big T has been very cooperative! He’s even trying to cut back and eat healthier with me as a show of support. Not sure how long he’ll last before he caves and sneaks to Burger King for a grease bomb, but he’s got my undying gratitude for not doing it in front of me.

I have sucked down ungodly amounts of water rather than Diet Dew and Diet Coke. I have kicked Taco Hell to the curb (last I heard, they’re about to file bankruptcy). The fridge is filled with healthy crap like you’d find at a fat farm and we’re actually eating it. My ass has even managed to hoof out 3+ miles a day on the treadmill at increasingly increasing speeds. Go me.

Swear to God, there is no way my ass is buying new fat clothes after I gave all the old ones away and done went out and bought all new smaller clothes last year. Not gonna do it.

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On the baby makin’ front, we gots a big fat strike out. No bun in the oven over here yet. I reckon since the doctor said my fat ass needs to lose a few pounds before actively pursuing baby makin. I have to admit I was sort of bummed out when I had to make my way to Walgreens for Midol, tampons and bon-bons (actually I got Diet Dew, not bon bons…).

I can only assume that I knew I wasn’t pregnant because I had a wicked mean bout with PMS this week and felt like I was going to strangle several people for relatively small and mostly harmless offenses.

Twin Blow Out – PreGame Festivities

[ Blogged in realtime, Wednesday, 20-Jun-2007, kinda like that stupid TV show 24, but without that asshat kid of Donald Sutherland’s… ]

Here we are folks. It’s a wonderfully balmy Wednesday night at CatScratch Jane’s. I’m sitting with a bird’s eye view of all the going’s on. Karaoke is getting ready to kick off and it looks as if all the regular crowd (good and bad) has started peppering in.

The Twin Blow Out is starting here tomorrow, but the biker boys on their motor-scooters are plentiful. The patio’s a-buzzing, the inside is buzzing. We’re looking forward to an eventful night. Bring on the singers.

A real blow-out, right? Uh. No. It’s another train-wreck. That’s what I get for being all amp’d up for a party! Thus far we have heard a not-so-right-on rendition of “Live and Let Die” (help me!). Now we are on to the worst drunken interpretation of “You Look So Good In Love” that I’ve ever heard… whining included.

The place is packed. Folks are piled up everywhere, inside and out. I’m dying for a beer. But dammit, it’s busy. I’m going to wither up and fall in the floor from lack of alcohol. But as I sit here, waiting for Cutie Pie (our beer wench) to surface, I think to myself “Damn, girl! You’re hair looks gooood!”

Finally! A hot guy is getting up to sing. I missed his name, but he’s wearing a polo shirt and baseball cap. He’s singing Toby! You go, boy! Mercy me, yes. He sure should have been a cowboy.

I’m still waiting on my beer. It’s nearly 10pm. Through the open windows I hear the clank of the triangle being busted by a gaggle of pool shooting biker boys. Now and then a loud, orgasmic burst of noise comes when one of the bikes fire up.

Ya know, Christmas is coming up. Harley. Under the tree. Big red bow. Thanks in advance to whomever decides to make this purchase for me. I’m obliged.

Finally, at 9:55pm, Mark drags his ass in. ”Log the time, Scotty!” He has mercy and goes to hunt Cutie Pie for my beer. Bless you, hon. I was withering.

By 10 I’m thinking, “I thought this was going to be the kick off to a bad ass biker weekend party… it’s more like B-97.5 night in the local geriatric ward.” Never has an hour seemed more like ten. Never have I wanted someone to shoot me in the ears worse than I do right this very minute. “Log the time, Scotty!”

10:01. Scotty is so excited to be here that he’s taken to watching the drag queens on the t.v. above the bar. *snicker* You dirty boy, you. But wait: Here comes Nike! He’s belting out some bad ass Lionel Ritchie love song, The boy possesses the ability to wake up a bored and otherwise depressed drinking crowd.

Oh my, what’s this? The heavens have opened up and some good singers with some happy ditties are now on a roll. Joe hops up and belts out a soulful blues number (he really rocks the hell out of the blues). Now if we can talk him into losing his “Bat Outta Hell” CD… *wink wink* You know I love ya, Joe.

I belted out some goodies too, if I do say so myself. I dueted with Cowboy Billy-Joe-Tom-Bob and sang “Dontcha.” He kicks ass on the rap part. Freestyle baby!
I then attempted to do the night justice, with Nike’s help, by belting out “At Last” … the Etta James classic. Choice. Very choice.

My news reporter skills are being diminished by the amount of cold beer and Jack Daniels I have consumed. At this time, all I can really say is that everytime I get up from my corner booth, I end up grabbing this poor girls ass. So, I end up making light of it, in my regular Diva style. I own up to it. I look her in the eye and tell her, “I’m sorry for grabbing your ass everytime I get walk by!”

“Log the time, Scotty!” It’s 11:14, and I’m drunk. Food ordered. Yah! I comment to Scotty that we are evil. He says “No, we’re just honest.” Good one.

Finally. Something note-worthy. A drunken skank finally falls out of her chair into the floor. NEXT! Scotty dies laughing, and notes the time is 11:23.

Food on tap. CatScratch has the best food around. Especially if too much alcohol has been consumed. Cue the onion rings.

And the french fries.
Scotty is in the loo, so I’m logging the time as 11:34.

So, if tonight was any forecast of the drunken festivities that are to go on for the next several days at CatScratch… all I can say is WOW! Good luck with that!
I maintain here and now, I’m Diva enough to stay on the porch, because I certainly can’t keep up with the big dogs. *rolls eyes*