Archive for the Wacky Conversation Category

Weddings, Corn Flakes & the Word Fuck

Posted in Bad Jokes, Lame and stupid crap, life in my house, Ms. N, Pirates, pulp fiction, The Inner Circular People, Wacky Conversation on July 1, 2008 by catscratch

Today is one of those days where I’ve got a ga-jillion things to say, but not enough to constitute an honest to Christ post.  Besides, it’s vacation week and to be perfectly honest, I’m a lazy bitch.

So, here you get some pot-luck crap. 

As good as Aunt Thelma’s mystery casserole.

Oh yah, before I forget… check out my pictures over here.

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One of my best girlfriends called to tell me all about her upcoming wedding plans.  She told me about the dresses, the ceremony, the reception, the colors, her dress, his tux the green chocolate fountain, the planned choreographed dance and everything else under the sun.  Ain’t love adorable. 

She and her wonderful man have been living together for going on two years. 

So, I get off the phone and start telling Big T all the details. 

Me:  “And they’re gonna have a green milk chocolate fountain…”

Big T:  “Seems all ass backward to me.”

Me: *blink*   “What does?”

Big T:  ” Ya know, getting married after living together for so long.”

Me: *blink*

Big T:  “How can I explain it so you get it?  Ok, it’s kinda like wiping your ass before you shit.”

Oh yah, that’s exactly how my man thinks.

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Me & Big T were out ridin in the country on Norris Lake the other day, cuz that’s what we do.  He was telling me stories about all the crazy shit they used to do out there when he was growing up.

Me: “Well, why can’t you do any stupid shit to make me laugh now.”

Big T:  “You can’t plan stupid shit. Stupid shit just happens, baby.”

Me:  “Ain’t that the truth.”

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 A Blonde Joke from OG.  Here goes:

A blonde chick was sitting at the table working a puzzle.  She calls to her boyfriend to come help her because the pieces just didn’t fit.

He walks in, picks up the box to study it, tosses it back on the table and says:

“You can put the Corn Flakes back in the box, Babe.”

Heh.

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I was at the grocery store the other day and the damn little cans of pineapple are waaaay up on the top shelf where I had to stand on my tippie toes just to get to it.

There was a little old man talking to an acquaintance and offered help.

Sweet old guy:  “Need some help, Missy?”

Me:  “Nah, I’m just short.  Help me if these cans fall and knock me out though.”

Sweet old guy:  “Well, just remember it’s better to be a little diamond than it is to be a big hunk of rock.”

Wasn’t that sweet?

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Pulp Fiction News:  The word FUCK is said 269 times throughout the movie.

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As Big T was making every effort to enjoy and old John Wayne flick, my well informed child daughter N states that movies done in Technicolor shouldn’t be watched by people younger than 40. 

He informed her that she had just made a blasphemous statement and she would spend eternity in a hell that is broadcast in Technicolor and surrounded by cheezy actors from the day.

 

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Greasy Spoons, Gas Masks & Adult World

Posted in Farts & other Foul Stenches, Nomadic Diva, Wacky Conversation on April 21, 2008 by catscratch

Warning, warning….  The end of this here post isn’t exactly family friendly, and hell, it may even be offensive.  But, it was all in fun.

So, this weekend past was spent mostly in the truck ridin’ shotgun with Big T.  

We put 383.6 miles on the odometer, but oddly we went nowhere.  Amazing.  We went in a couple of big fat circles but had a friggin ball along the way.    This would be a map of East Tennessee.  I am Sucky McDucky when it comes to photoshop/paint… so the black lines are the way of the travels.  Yes, they do cross one another several times as we seemed to keep going in circles.

1st stop.  Greasy Spoon.   We started out having breakfast at Sam’s Restaurant.  It’s a greasy spoon, but damn, it’s sooo tasty.  I had pancakes and home fries.  Gotta love that nasty, greasy home cookin, as it’s the perfect cure for a hangover when taken with enough Motrin.

2nd stop. The Flea Market.   From Sam’s, we head north, to an old time flea market in BFE (a.k.a. Tazewell, TN).  It’s actually pretty cool though.  It’s a real flea market with other people’s crap that they’re trying to sell, not some bunch of new, stolen goods.  You know, the kind of stuff that might be one person’s crap, but another person’s treasure.  Anyway, I found no treasures, but I did see an old dude peddling chickens and a goat. 

This stop proves the fact that you can take city into the country and city will work to blend in.  But you can’t guarantee city won’t flip out at a chicken chasing her around a muddy flea market.

3rd stop.  Big T’s Mama House   There are two things I’m sure of in this life:

1.  Greasy spoon food doesn’t take long to turn your average folks into fart producing machines.

2. Big T won’t shit anywhere but home.

With those facts in mind, and the fact that the fart war (which had been called a truce) was back on made this stop a necessity.  Now, I’m a girl, and most of our route this day was back-woods, Deliverance Country, but if I need to go take a shit… trust me here, I’ll pull over grab some napkins, find a tree and leave the kids in the woods.

Anyhoo, that’s another story all together. And he had to go, so his Mom’s house was violated with the stench of something evil… then we ran.  Fast…   His dad called and tried to give gastro advice as it smelled the house up and made his daddy fightin mad.

4th stop. Burger King, Oneida, TN.  Nothing of consequence happened here, he just wanted to get out of the truck because I kept fartin, on purpose. Yes friends and neighbors, the war is back on and I’m so far ahead that I could quit now and he’d never catch up.

After Oneida we cut up through Elk Valley (lovely) and Jellico (seriously small town in which my Big T was pushed forth from his Mama’s uterus in a two level house they called a hospital back in the early 60’s).  Finally, we wandered back (somehow made a big circle) to LaFollette when I got the bright idea that I wanted to go to AdultWorld. 

So, he cuts off the main road, rather than being like any normal, Deliverance fearing individual and says he knows a road that’ll take us back to the interstate almost at that exit. 

This was NOT a road.  This was a trail.  A trail full of mud and rocks and huge crevices.

Kids, I love playing in the mud and 4-wheelin as much as the next girl next door…. but, I wasn’t wearing a good bra that day, as it wasn’t a work day and I could get away with it.  I was hangin on to the girls and hoping for the best.   Big T kept telling me to hold on… to which I would answer “I am, for fuck sake!!!”.  To which he’d reply, “not to your boobs, to the oh shit bar.”

He was probably right, but I refused to let the girls take any abuse.

Stop #5. Adult World, Oneida, TN.  Yes kids, we drove around a mountain and back over that mountain to get to the porn capital of the world!  This place is very interesting to say the least.

 

I wanted to take pictures inside, but….

This place has some of the coolest stuff and more XXX DVD’s than one could possible shake a dick stick at. 

Some of the toys are officially on my list to give Santa this year… assuming Santa goes to such places. 

Some of the toys are officially on the gag me with a wet noodle list.  Like this one. And this one reminded me of the Bride of Chucky.

So… in a nutshell, that was our Saturday.   Or most of it anyway.  We got home around 10pm and finally relaxed a little.  The fart war was still officially on, with him gettin in the last blow of the night and waving the blankets.

Final score after the weekend:  Diva-18, Big T- 7.

Now SMILE DAMMIT!  IT’S MONDAY!

Alien Boogers, A Gauntlet Raised & Birthday Wishes

Posted in Bloggers Lane, Happy Birthday, Lame and stupid crap, Miss A, sucky customer service, Wacky Conversation on March 7, 2008 by catscratch

First… If anybody talks to or has access to Robert over at Observations From the Back 40…..  Tell him I’m hurt that he went all private and shit and didn’t even let a stinky fart to signal it. 

Have I been cut off??   Am I a Back 40 Outcast?

Say it ain’t so. 

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So, a gauntlet was placed at my feet one day last week by our very own Speedcat “Loincloth” Holllydale.

 But we’ll get to that.

Thursday night is officially “Mommy & Me Night” for me and Miss A.  In otherwords, several hours of kickin it with the old fuddy-duddy she proudly calls Mother.

The night began with a leisurely ride to a mystery destination as I knew I would meet much protest from my darling mutant heathen teenager. 

Mind you, this is the same child that was recently suspended booted out of school for ditching.  Damn kid.   

She was grounded for just short of 3 weeks.  As far as she knows, she was grounded for actually ditching school.  Well, I suppose that was partially why she got grounded.

What really pissed me off is she was stupid enough to get caught.  I mean, I spent my high school years making a career of ditching.  Did I get caught?  No.

As far as I’m concerned, I don’t really want her to be doing stupid shit, but I also prefer if she pull dumb ass stunts that she not get caught.

But, whatever, she got caught and I’ve spent the last 2 weeks taking petty jabs at her for it.  Heh.  Grounded for more than 2 days as a teenager is the equivalent of eternity in hell. 

Tonight’s festivities started out with my forcing my child to get a real, honest to Christ manicure at a real honest to Christ nail salon.  She wasn’t amused.

Well, she showed some slight amusement at the color she picked for her all natural nails.

The bottle said ‘summer lime’ but I’m convinced that some nail color manufacturer in China kidnapped some aliens and milked their boogers into a nail polish bottle.

Nice color.

Then we go to Taco Hell… where we waited for at least 23 minutes for our feast when Miss A informs me that Dee Schnider (80s dude that just won’t go away) has a huge penis as pointed out to her the other day by her best friend.    That and that Robert Plant has a nice butt for an “old dude”.

Jesus….. wholesome conversations they have.

which brings me back to the gauntlet. 

It went down with the Master of Loincloth saying:

Eric “Speedcat Hollydale” Says:
March 3, 2008 at 7:16 am e

I could out burrito you any day … that’s a challenge. We could hold a muti-blog Taco Bell contest with HUGE prizes. I will be passing out cigars at my blog ….”

Ok, pal.  It’s officially on!  I’ll see your burrito.

 and me and Miss A, we’ll  raise by 2 hardshell tacos & rice with nacho cheeeeeese

 

 AND a masticated tostado (I’d already dug in when I remembered the challenge)

 

AND an order of nachos and cheese mixed with FIRE SAUCE

Of course, to wash this nasty, fat filled feast down was my typical Diet Dew.

 Touche’, touche’, I say to ya, old boy!

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Lastly, but totally not leastly, I’d like to wish a HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDAY to the man that reveres  HOT AMERICAN BABES and Food Network Chefs!!

 

 I wish you the happiest of birthdays, my friend!  And I’d like to point out that you are officially middle aged.

Nekkid Chicken, Clone Production & Damn Doctors

Posted in clone production, Wacky Conversation on February 5, 2008 by catscratch

OMG!!! It’s Tuesday!! Nekkid Chicken Tuesday as hosted by our beloved Speedcat Hollydale.
Skip right over there, ya here??

Big T and I started talking about creating a clone shortly after we married (4 months ago).
This is great news and I couldn’t be any more tickled for real.

Growing a mini-T in the oven. It would be a beautiful thing.

So, what’s so sad about about it, you might be asking.

Well, I’ll tell ya.

I decided with my advancing age (an astounding 37 years), that maybe I should go see Dr. Brad and get official clearance that my oven is still capable of baking without undercooking or burning the buns.

Now don’t you fret, kids.

The news is nothing Earth shattering.

Just a big FAT reality check.

1st. I’m getting old.

Dammit.

If a body is in the 35+ age group and goes to the OB/GYN and tell them that you’re gonna have hot monkey sex with the intention of procreatation…

LORD HAVE MERCY.

Red flags start flying up, sirens start sounding throughout the office, and a big fat sticker goes on your chart.

In fact, because I’m in the 35+ age bracket (apparently well into middle age), I will have to go through the joys of doctor visits nearly double what I did with my last clone (16 years ago).

2nd. Dr. Brad looks at me all serious during the consultation after the exam and says, “We strongly suggest you drop around 50 pounds before actively pursuing pregnancy.”

*blink blink*

I sat there for a minute.

Depressed already that I am old and I saw the sticker stating so on my chart….
I decided to ask Dr. Brad, “So, why don’t you just tell me I’m old and fat?
Wouldn’t that be exactly what you’re saying?
Besides, you aren’t telling me anything these crows feet around my eyes and the scale haven’t already disclosed.”
And he goes, “Well, no. It’s just that with your age..”

“Fine, I’ll go to the gym. But I think you should just start being honest with your patients.

Old and fat, buddy.”

Big Upsets, Barn Dancin, Bob & Back Flashin

Posted in karaoke, Obscene Drinkin, out N about, The Inner Circular People, Wacky Conversation on February 4, 2008 by catscratch


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!!

Happy Birthday Gramma!

Posted in Happy Birthday, Ms. N, Those People I Live With, Wacky Conversation on January 11, 2008 by catscratch

My Grandmother turned a ripe 82 on Monday.

Happy Birthday to the woman who raised me. The one who taught me how to cook. The one who loved me no matter how bad I had screwed up. The one who thought I did no wrong.

The family got together and had her a ho-down on Sunday afternoon.

She doesn’t know it or realize it, but she did. The doctors say Gramma has Alzheimer’s, and that it is in the “dementia” stage.

Whatever. As long as she can eat and have a good time with us, they can call it whatever they want to. She’s still as sassy as she ever was. She just gets confused now and then.

She has never failed to recognize me or remember who I am both in person and on the phone. She forgets that my Nat (oldest daughter) is mine. And she is totally blows her away that Lil T belongs to Nat, not me.

Anyhoo. We brought Gramma a really cutsie foo foo pill box back from Germany when I was over there in October. It was in a bag from the little German store, which had writing in…. you guessed it… German.

So, Sunday we all get together, as we do every Sunday, but this week we have a special dinner and birthday cake for Gramma.

I walked in the door to find her sitting there staring at the cake.

“Who’s birthday is it, honey?” She asked me as she hugged me.

“It’s yours Gramma. It’s your birthday! Cool, huh?” I tell her.

“I’m 82?” She asked referring to the candles.

“Yep. Ain’t nobody that old, Gramma.” I told her as I gave her the bag with the pill box in it. “Look it. I brought you something back from Germany for your birthday.”

She was clearly taken aback by the writing on the bag that wasn’t in English.

“Honey, what does this say?” She asked.

“Gooberstankin.” I tell her all serious.

*blink*

“Gooberstankin. Come on Gramma, say it and you’ll be speakin German. Gooberstankin.”

Well, she ignored me and opened the bag. But Nat didn’t ignore me, she was listening the whole time.

“Mom? What’s gooberstankin?” She asked all sincere.

“You’re kidding, right?” I forget sometimes how naive and silly my kid is.

“No. What does it mean?” She asked again.

“Nat, baby. Mommy was making up a word that sounded German. Goober-stankin. Get it?”

“No. I don’t get it.” Bless her heart.

“You know. A dude has a goober. And stankin is just stankin. You put them together and you have a word that sounds German.” I tell her.

“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!” She gets it, “You were just trying to get Gramma to say goober… I get it.”

That child of mine, bless her little heart, is a dork.

Gramma never did say gooberstankin. I tried all damn day to get her to say it.

Gramma blows out the candles…

Gramma sucks the icing off of the candles (the original pirate)

Roses and Shit

Posted in Big T, Wacky Conversation on December 27, 2007 by catscratch

I know that post title is a little icky. But, so what. I try to name my posts so as to give a body some kind of idea what they might be reading… or not. Actually I just amuze myself by doing it. Both the words ROSES and SHIT will appear in the body of this here text.

So, the majority of my ramblings come from ridiculous shit and silly conversations that happen within my newly formed family surroundings.

Me and Big T have been together less than 2 years and only married for 3 months next week. Awwwww. Newlyweds. Even though we have spent alot of energy getting to know each other, there will ALWAYS be plenty more that the other doesn’t know.
I reckon that’s considered, the learning and growing process within a marriage.

Well, Big T knows the silly, mostly redneck, totally laid-back Diva. Don’t get me wrong, he’s seen me act all professional when dealing with these hoity-toity types with my job, but for the most part, he sees me as I am on a daily basis at home.

I’m sitting here trying to figure out how to write this crap without sounding like I have multiple personalities… too late.

Anyway, the last holiday season, we were together, but we both had our respective families to deal with and holiday functions to tend to and we did these things solitarily. OG (who is my friend and boss) is all about having a kick ass social life. We generally have a couple of company social dinners around the holidays, which includes folks from her husband’s company and other highly edu-ma-cated types from the local scientific community.

I suppose that would be the set-up. This is how roses and shit tie in…

Big T is a wonderfully simple, extremely laid back total redneck with excellent social skills and exquisite manners. He’s a blue jeans and long sleeve camo t-shirt kinda feller. He is totally not used to dealing with multiple people he doesn’t know in a social setting. Which is cool, because as I said, the man has top notch manners.

Well, this holiday season, we be hitched. So, now he been thrown into this situation where he has to come with me to all of these functions. Last Friday night, after OG’s gradumawayshun, we had our company Christmas party. There were OG, her man, me, Big T and 14 other people (all of whom Big T didn’t know).

Actually, of all the 14, I only scarcely knew one chick and her man. I was in the same boat as he was on the knowing yer neighbor.

Now, in this type of new situation, Big T tends to clam up. He watches everybody and hears everything… but he says precisely ZIP, nada, nicht.

I on the other hand could make some shit up about anything and talk to any-damn-body about it. At the table were several Ph.D types along with many, many masters’ of science types. Whatever. I am who I am, regardless of my surroundings.

Anydiddle, we ate, drank and I was super social and then we left to go home.

On the way, Big T had an epiphany about my social skills…

Driving down the interstate he says, “You know, you could fall into a bucket of shit and come out smelling like shit.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I seriously had no clue it was a compliment.

“Shut up and lemme finish. You could fall into a bucket of shit and come out smelling like shit. Just like you could fall into a bunch of roses and come out smelling like a rose.”

“Hmmmmm. And this is a good thing?” Still not sure it’s a compliment.

“Why yah. You can talk to anybody, anywhere about anything whether you know them or not. You’re comfortable around everybody.”

After a little thought, I figured he was right. I talked to a bunch of people about a bunch of stuff that night and never thought about who they were or how “hoity-toity” their life style is:

I was talking to a professor of chemistry about how I despise touching the door handles to get out of a bathroom because people are disgusting.

I talked to a librarian about my wildest drinking binge on a business trip in New Orleans.

I talked to a government contractor dude about how many Christmas lights are too many Christmas lights.

I talked to a labrat (a lil chick who does nothing all day but pipette samples into a tube for testing) about all of our collective children.

So, I’m happy Big T found me to be as socially acceptable as shit and roses. He should know by now I don’t put on a front or act hoity-toity for anybody. I is who I is and I’m completely comfortable being me.

yay! Gotta go. I’m thinking way too much for my own good.