Cramming nuts and wieners in my mouth. Oh yeah. I said it.

So, I recently made you read about how my mouth stinks and my pits are a sweaty mess of BO pretty regularly lately, but that it’s just a mild distraction from the nest of greasy hair in knots all around my face and the bags of fat hanging off my waist and ass.

Er, or maybe I just said I’ve stopped having good hygiene and I’ve gained weight. Hm. Words words words.

Well, I’m trying to smell less like ass and stop being a jiggly mass of cellulite speckled, moving J-E-L-L-O (Pit Sweat Flavor), and I figured that since I let you in on that, I’d go ahead and offer an update on “How this stupid shit is going so far.”

Did I just call my Unfattening and Destanking “stupid shit?” Why, I did, didn’t I? I must be bitter about the whole thing.

You already know that I wandered into the kitchen at 3am one night and crammed my mouth full of sticky smashed peanuts. Mmmm, peanut porn.

Well, every damn night I’ve been telling myself once I look up and see it’s about 9:30 or so, “Okay, Lotus. NOT GOING TO EAT ANYTHING ELSE TONIGHT.”

And then around 10:30 I look at myself and I’m all, “So, what are we gonna eat!? Pretzels? Beer? Oh, hell yah.”

And, ok. So, I’d call that mild failure so far.

But what’s NOT mild failure? Well, that would be GIANT FAILURE.

Did you think the peanut butter at 3am was bad? (No? WTF is wrong with you? That is ridiculous. You should NOT be eating a spoonful of nut (hehehehehehehehe) at 3am.)

I can top it.

Wiener.

That’s right.

That’s what I woke up cramming into my mouth the other night.

*pause*

And I’m not talking about a fun-time wiener, I’m talking about a cylinder of smashed pork lips and penises.

Oh baby, now THAT’S sexy.

That’s how I want you all to think of me.

Yes. I’m the chick standing in her kitchen at around 3am wearing underwear and a wife beater with peanut butter stuck to the roof of her mouth and a hot dog dangling from her lips.

And I am probably scratching my ass.

Or farting.

Ok, both.

It takes effort to be THIS SEXY.

Oh, but I’ve lost 5 lbs so far.

And if you even try to patent the peanut butter and wieners diet before I can get to the patent office, I swear I will hurt you with knives.

Mmmmm.  Peanut Butter Wieners.

The Day of Dooooooood

Obviously, when someone like Lotus asks you to guest post, you have one of two options: say hell yah and then sit around for a week while trying to think of something to post, or ask her if she’s on ‘ludes (and if you can have some) because obviously any guest post you’d write might be the downfall of Sarcastic Mom dot Com.

I’m a little wacky, so I did a little of both – sat around for a week and then wrote this post, possibly under the influence of Quaaludes. Which will likely be the reason the hackers show up again.

With all of the emoticon-aided flirting, rack shots and virtual I’d-tap-thats around in the momosphere, it seems like I need to tarnish her reputation with a nice chick date story. One heavily influenced by elements such as my city of residence (Vancouver, BC), dick, farting (these New Years Diets make flatulence the new black, or pink, or whatever the new whatever was last new was), and some large sunglasses.

Because Lotus and I are entering my fantasy land* right now, and I’m taking you with us.

---

So, I get this phone call. It’s the middle of the afternoon and I know there was something I was supposed to do… but what? Picking up the phone, it hits me, dood, I have to pee so bad.

“I’m at the airport, Bitch. Where are you?”

“Who the hell is this? How did you get this number? I’m recording this, you know.”

“It’s Lotus, dood. Why the hay aren’t you here, carrying my bags and getting me drunk?”

“Shit. That was today? K, lemme just get dressed. With all of the buses I have to take, I’ll be there super fast, like three hours.”

“Three hours?”

“Four words, Lotus. Tim effing Hortons and Wifi. Bye.”

I was supposed to meet her at the gate, but I was so busy being aloof about my excitement (Lotus is coming to Vancouver! OMG, my dream date is coming to Vancouver just to see meeeeeee! What should I Wear? Do my thighs look fat?) that I forgot all about it. BC Bud will do that to you. Four hours too late, I pull on some damn Cons and yoga pants, forgoing a bra (as usual) and march out the door to meet the special lady.

She saved me a cruller. How sweet. I can’t eat that (my thighs might look fat and this is Vancouver where all things brown-rice infused and organic are embraced by yoga-pants-wearing peeps). Already, we’re off to a good start, right?

I’ve got something to remedy that, don’t worry.

Three hours later, four buses, two cups of Starbucks’ overpriced white mochas and five cigarettes (for me), we’ve dumped her luggage in my tiny walk-up apartment and walked through the back alleys of my neighbourhood to the beach a few blocks away.

We’ve smoked something that looks like a cigarette, but doesn’t smell like it, and it made Lotus choke, which made me snort and call her a lightweight. Unfortunately, snorting made me choke and I lost all of my rep, right there.

This is where the big sunglasses come in. As do Doritos, two-bite brownies, a bench in prime people-watching territory and slurpees.

Because this chick date is all about being high while making fun of people on the Stanley Park Seawall.

Trust me when I say, there are no douches more douchie than those that hang at my local beach. And nothing more fun than to have existential conversations about the role of a Dorito-shaped tortilla vs the Scoop, in Generation Y’s existence.

“Here comes Speedo Man! Able to dangle bits over short curbs with a single anti-coagulant!” I cried, victoriously as my (least) favourite geriatric swimmer strutted by.

“I get needing a Quinny stroller for your dog. Really I do. But why would you carry a rat around, while pushing it?” Lotus asked.

Giggles, abound. Tans, improved. We spent three hours shoving food in our bitch-holes, farting and snarking about every single Vancouver resident that’s walked past. Like the bodybuilder with the Pamela Anderson-esque arm bands and his girlfriend with matching Pamela Anderson bewbs – you know from the size of his muscles that he’s got raisins in his drawers. And the granny with more loose skin concealing her bits than fabric, I thought I caught a nip slip from that one and I wondered aloud if it was accidental.

Then we go to the hot dog stand, before we go back to my place to sleep off our buzz. Because jalapeno cheese smokies are a must when you’ve been toking.

What? You didn’t know that you can eat that kind of crap when you’re high, even if you are a Vancouverite yoga-pants-wearing hipster?

* Obviously, this is a complete fabrication of reality, since I haven’t blazed the green in years and if Lotus showed up at my airport, I’d be there waiting with an embarrassing sign. And we’re both way too nice to sit on a bench for three hours and make fun of beach-goers. Moms don’t do that stuff, right?
____________________________________________________________________________
This is the part where I’m supposed to write a little piece about Zoeyjane… you know, about how she’s this perfect little package of intelligence, wit, and hot babe, yet dark and soulful dreamer. And how you should really head over to Mommy is Moody to see what she’s pontificating on today. But after reading that, all I can do is laugh, fart, and…. and… what were we talking about again? Oh yeah. Did you bring the Funyuns?

All Hail Super Hot, Sexy And Awesome Tech Nerds

They have now returned me to my regularly scheduled Internet Addiction program by replacing the power source in my Dell.  I picked up the computer containing its nice, new power supply on Tuesday night.

Sorry I waited so long to let you guys know… I’ve been cuddling and snuggling with it privately for a day or so now.  Making sure it knows how much I love it.  (Even while I secretly forge plans to purchase a Mac Laptop behind its back. Shhhhh.)

By the way – Super Kudos to my own husband for making that exact diagnosis over the phone the day the failure first occurred when I called him to freak out about it. More Super Kudos to those of you who also correctly diagnosed the actual problem – Lisa, Michell’s husband, Lou, Sarah, Yam, Stephanie, Becky, Momma Mary, and beautifulmess . You are all computer geniuses. Someone should pay you! But not me. I’m saving all my $$ for Asian Porn. Sorry.

The Awesome Tech Nerd who helped me with my compie even made friendly jokes about the rather shrill, seemingly endless screaming that was emanating from the area of a certain stroller directly to my right while he was wrapping things up and getting the bill of sale in order for me.

Seriously. He made happy, silly, sweet jokes to Braden instead of clapping his hands over his ears and running away while the blood poured through his fingers and he cried out, “I just can’t take it anymore, God, Please give me the sweet release of DEATH!!!”

Oh, wait, that’s just what I always end up wanting to do. *nervous laugh*

Anyway, he was a really nice Tech Nerd who has kids and grandkids, so he gets both computers and parenting issues. See? Super Hot, Sexy and Awesome. He’s the one who ran to help me through the door yesterday when he saw me struggling with a stroller in one hand and a computer under the other arm. And he didn’t even let me think about trying to get everything to the car by myself. He took the computer and carried it out for me, placing it inside the vehicle. Then he said goodbye to Braden, giving him a kind little rub on the back while Braden screamed, “BYE-BYE! BYE-BYE!!! BYE.BYE.BYE.BYE.BYE BYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYEEEEE!!!!”

Of course, it wasn’t free. I thought about offering to touch his no-no spot, and all, like I said before, but it really seemed inappropriate. Braden was there, after all. So I paid money. It hurt, but like they say, it hurt so, so good.

By the way, I really do get the Ultimate Assholes of the Universe Award -

(the one I tried giving to that Asshat Internet Marketing Specialist, only to end up on the top of that Google Search myself. That’s how I roll.)

- because you know what? You know how several of you advised me to buy an external hard-drive to back up all my documents in the future, etc. HAHAHAHA. Yeah. We already have one. It’s huge, too. And we’ve had it for MONTHS. Had I taken the time to move ONE THING to it yet?

NO! BIG FAT, STINKY NO! (Yah, I suck all the balls.)

Guess what I will be doing pronto?

All in all, I’m really glad to be up and running again on a computer that’s not farting at me or handing out rude taunts.

I’m the only one around this household who’s allowed to terrorize others by those methods, thank you very much.