A Really Bad Day Because Now I Royally Hate Muffins and People Think I Can't Count

I know you are all gosh darn peeved at me because it takes 47 jillion years to translate my horrible life into a word document for the whole world/ my only 10 followers to read. Whatever. You don’t drive a big white van, and you didn’t get yelled at by Jared the Subway guy so your life rocks and mine is less than stellar. Plus the other day my dog threw up in my shoe and I put it on while I was wearing my new awesome knee-high socks that cost me $12.95. So yeah, I just like really didn’t want to right my blog after my socks got wrecked but here I am so you're welcome you ungrateful scab pickers .

Any-flippin-who the other day I was just trying to do my mom a solid because she really urgently needed exactly 12 muffins to bring to her annual Celebrate the Beauty of Staplers party at the office. Well as im driving my big white whale of a car the snow is just pouring off my rear car butt, similar to how fairy dust flows gracefully off a unicorn in heat, because obviously I did not take the time to wipe off its snowy white afro. I admit there were some big chunks flinging off there that were potentially dangerous to other drivers, but If you had scrawny little chicken arms like me and were trying to do a job that was meant for 15 people, cleaning off that darn van, you would do a lousy job too. Well, after a mega…and I mean MEGA…chunk of snow practically broke some lousy soccer moms windshield,  I saw it happen in my rearview and so I sped up real fast because I could see her jaw tighten in my mirror. Then just my luck wouldn’t you know it I hit a red light and the crazy lady pulled up right next to me.

“Are you crazy driving around with that much snow on your car you could kill someone, pull over and clean it off!”

Well I was not about to let all of the cars around me watch me get a new pooper torn by some crazy tom, dick, or harry soccer mom so I rolled down my power window, yes the big white does in fact have power windows, and I says:

“Excuse me lady, if you haven’t noticed I’m barely 20 years old soaking wet, and I haven’t had the time to pop out the gosh darn brady bunch or a Dugger sized army to help me clean off this humungo van when I run errands for my mom, it’s just me and my super unhelpful chicken arms trying to de-snow a garage-size rolling white turd”

The lady got so mad, and I was feeling pretty good with myself right about then, but then I decided to put some icing on my devil cake that I was serving up, so I threw a quarter into her little mini-van (mini-vans are for people who can’t handle the real thing) and I says “Oh and lady, why don’t you take that quarter, go down town, and pay a rat to gnaw that thing off your face! Muahahaha! The problem was she really had a nice complexion with no unsightly moles or anything so my insult was a little off-base, but I was going through a real Uncle Buck phase so it popped out anyways. I really wanted to speed off in anger and evilness but I was making a right turn into the grocery store parking lot and you shouldn’t make turns to fast in large white vans because they are a little top-heavy. So instead I made a slow and dramatic right turn making sure to signal my intentions properly into the parking lot of Market Basket.

I finally made it inside the store and had to fight my way to the muffin display, and wouldn’t you know it there were just 12 bran muffins left, and one of them looked like a real goner all crumbly and pale and weak with little pieces of bran scattered. I felt really bad for that muffin with all its brans falling out, almost like premature baldness or something. So I gathered all my little muffin soldiers including the weakling and rushed off to the express lane. 

Everyone was already in a bad mood because it was mayhem and lines were backed up the wazoo. I saw everyone eying my muffins, counting them real sneaky ready to pounce in case I was one of those unfortunate individuals who can’t count to 12. With a gloatingly large yes I can count smile pasted on my big white ghostly complexioned face, I placed all the muffins on the belt. Right then and there, like a disaster happening in front of my virgin eyes, the weak little band muffin self destructed and split in two and it was like I had made a bomb threat in the middle of an airport, people jumped on top of me like hair on soap.

13! You have 13 items! Get out of the express lane you rude little tweenie bopper! You think you rule the whole gosh darn grocery store! Were you raised by piss ants! Get out of here before you get a whoopin you stinky bag of rotten peanuts!

“Get back you crazy bargain shoppers before I bran the s*** out of your faces with my regulation 12 muffins! Then it got real heated, boy I tell you! I ONLY HAVE 12 ITEMS! ITS NOT MT FAULT ONE OF MY BRAN MUFFINS DECIDED TO SELF DESTRUCT ON THE CHECK OUT COUNTER. IF ANYTHING YOU SHOULD BE MOURNING THE LOSS OF A FINE BAKED SPECIMEN YOU INSENSITIVE BABY SPANKERS!

The managers caught wind of the express lane uproar and came over and instead of removing all the crazy monkeys who were accusing me of disrespecting express lane etiquette, they grabbed me by my arm and escorted me out the automatic door, asking me to next time please refrain from calling their paying customers “baby spankers”.

When I got home and told my mom I didn’t buy her muffins because I called a line full of shoppers baby spankers and got yanked out by the managers, I don’t know why she did this but she grabbed me by my hair and threw me in the sun room and walked away. I heard her tires screech out of the driveway, and twenty minutes later I heard the door open and she came in and threw 3 chocolate chip muffins and a package of diapers at me. I sat in the sun room for a week not knowing my punishment or lesson I should be learning, only to find out my mom had forgotten about me in the sun room and had a great time at her party after deciding on making a pizza dip instead.

The Day I Got Arrested for Being Inspired by a Lion King Song

So I want to start by apologizing for not posting in a while….I’m so embarrassed to tell you this but I have been in the slammer. Yup, trapped like a rat behind bars all because I had a great idea and then a stupid sandwich franchise tried to claim it was theirs and then I tried suing them for every penny they were worth only to be accused of “living under a rock”. I do not LIVE UNDER A ROCK you toe-suckers…so you can all fart in bags and sniff your own brands for all I care because sandwiches are ruining my life and on top of that they are ruining my grades! I got an F on my project for plagiarism for a great idea. I am shocked and embarrassed and appalled at the American education system.

Anywho, I will tell you what happened so you can all feel really sorry for me and be on my side.  So it all started when in my Creative Thinking class we were all required to do a project that required creative thinking. SO I came up with a real doozy of a great idea. Man, I tell you of all the fabulous ideas to pop out of a human brain mine was the best and I was sure I was going to get an A+ IF NOT HIGHER! It came to me while I was listening to The Lion King album because the really emotional Circle of Life number gives me inspiration to be awesome.

You know when the music gets really good and then you all of a sudden think of something mediocre to write about but the chorus makes you think what you are writing is really genius and you even squeak out a tear over something that’s practically crap, well looking back on it in my jail cell I guess that’s what happened to me.  But here’s what I was thinking, you know living in a city where you have to use public transportation a lot and especially the subway system, I bet you get a real hankerin for some fresh fruit. You know, standing down there in those dirty underground tunnels, I bet you yearn for something pure and natural like biting into a fresh apple or strawberry. So that’s when my idea came to my head that would improve both subway commerce and the health of mass transit users everywhere! Subway.Eat Fresh. I made up a whole plan to put fresh fruit and vegetable vendors in every subway station everywhere! When you are yearning for a carrot, just go to one of my Subway. Eat Fresh stations and all your sorrows will crunch out of your body! So at this point not only did I think I was going to get an A on my business and health initiative but I also believed I was going to be a millionaire soon.

False, false, false. Even when I win I lose and end up in jail. So I put together this really awesome poster with my logo in white, green and yellow colors to subliminally message freshness (I didn’t even know I was so smart…this logo came to me so fast!).  After I finished my poster I stepped back and looked at it, I knew I was dropping my cheese puffs snack on a gold mine! As I was presenting in front of my peers, I looked around because I wanted to witness the jaws dropping, the tears of joy weeping from eyeballs all around the class. I wanted everyone to feel my passion for fruits and subways pouring off my body! All I saw was stupid Meg Hicknose and Mollaria snickering uncontrollably! Then I looked over and saw BoShelby on her cell phone!  Rude! Turns out she was calling the police on me because she’s a jerk and a half. Two minutes later after I finished my presentation and NO ONE EVEN CLAPPED FOR ME, 3 police officers and my teachers escorted me into the principal’s office.

It was there that they told me plagiarism was a form of stealing and that I was a dirty rotten mouse.

“WHAT ARE YOU CRAZY ANIMALS TALKING ABOUT!? YOU THINK I’M A THIEF BUT I AM A GRADE-A GENIUS! HOW DARE YOU!” I screamed in fury. “I AM JUST TRYING TO SAVE THE SUBWAY SYSTEMS OF AMERICA FROM MALNUTRITION AND YOU ARE ALL RUINING MY LIFE!”

That is when some skinny little guy with glasses walked in. Everyone looked at me like they were waiting for me to have some type of revelation. He stood there awkwardly staring at me in silence.  

“What is with the skinny quiet guy!?” I shrieked.

That is when the police and my teacher introduced me to Jared, the spokesperson from Subway. Apparently this “Subway” is a nationally renowned subway chain and Jared has made people skinny all over the country while simultaneously making Subway jillions of dollars.

Jared tried to psychology my ass with how he was disappointed with me stealing and blah blah blah blah. Want to know what I said!?!? Okay I will tell you, I said, “Jared, you vain little chipmunk, sorry that my life does not revolve around your journey to skinny and whatever but legit I came up with this business all by my lonesome and if you try to take credit for my awesome project I will……”

This is when I was dragged out of the room kicking and screaming and cuffed and thrown in the slammer. “THIS IS THE LAST TIME I CARE ABOUT THE HEALTH OF ALL MASS TRANSIT USERS EVERYWHERE YOU INSENSITIVE BEAN-HOLES! S MY D!”

So that is how it happened and while I tried to sue Subway the judge accused me of being either a sheltered hermit or a liar. After my rough couple of weeks, I was getting ready to take the subway to a therapy session but I was really hungry and looked around and found…I kid you not… a little vendor selling fresh fruits next to one of those gosh-darn forsaken Subways. You know what I did? I ordered a chicken-bacon ranch from Subway. Now I know what all the hype is about because boy do I love Subway and on top of that I’m down a size!

All I Wanted Was a Haircut So Now My Day Is Bad

My mullet was out of control. I don’t know why my hair grows like that. My front hairs grow like a tiny baby’s and my back hairs are in a race to my butt. When I put my hair in a ponytail I look like the Justin Bieber My Little Pony Doll. Not awesome.

My mother decided I needed a haircut even before my regularly scheduled bi-weekly appointment because I had a baton twirling competition that upcoming weekend. During the fire portion, if I even swiped one little whispy of out of control mullet hair with my flaton (my word for flaming baton…duh) the whole building would catch on fire.

So…we went to visit Tabby, my stylist/mullet controller. I had a really hard day that day because my boss at PetCo told me I was making the dog ensemble smell like toe jam and Mollaria and Meg Hicknose told me that my pink jellies I love so much were way out of style and that twenty-something’s shouldn’t be wearing them. Brat-holes.  All that I had gone through that day got me really hungry when I sat in the barber chair so I asked Tabby if I could eat a buttered bagel while she snipped away. I think that made her uncomfortable.

Anywho, the really bad part of the day didn’t come until mid-haircut when Tabby gasped at my scalp in horror! “WHAT TABBY?” I cried, afraid I was going bald or something.

“You have a wad of blue gum stuck in your hair! It’s really old and really hard!”

This was horrendously embarrassing! I wanted Tabby to think I was hip and awesome and now she was gaping at a piece of ABC gum dangling from the party portion of my mullet. “I don’t even know how old this is! It’s like a rock and you have a ton of hair stuck in it!”

I wanted to run out of Funky-Doos with my hair half cut and my snippet protector cape still on…but I didn’t, I decided to play it smooth and cool. “Oh…haha…yeah that must be my boyfriend um…John Daniel’s gum. We got a little hot and heavy in the back of my fifteen- passenger the other night!”

This seemed to get me back into Tabby’s Cool-Cat Club (that’s what I call it at least).  As my mouth was spitting out more lies about my fake boyfriend John Daniels, in my brain I tried to get to the bottom of where this gum came from and how long I had been walking around with it in my hair like a nut crack. Then it hit me like a ton of shoes…really heavy shoes…almost like clogs.  It was a week and 3 days ago and we were watching The History of Wild Rice in my Grain Studies class. I was up so late the night before working really hard on my personal choreography to It Wasn’t Me by Shaggy so I was super duper tired that day. Alls I know is one minute I was watching a native sniff a piece of rice, and the next I woke up with drool all over my desk and a lot of my hair in my mouth in an empty room…EVERYONE LEFT ME THERE! Fart suckers.

My mom had given me Cotton Candy Bubblicious that morning because she caught a whiff of my breath and said it smelt like moldy pot roast…rude. I should have questioned the gums location that day when I woke up and it was no longer in my mouth. I figured BoShelby, my nemesis who thinks she can talk to squirrels, took it because she really really wanted gum that day. I probably never felt the stupid wad because it’s on the side of my head that I always sleep on so it always looks nice and flat, why the heck brush it right!?

Well, I don’t want to bore you with all the gory details…but I will. So, because I just HAD to perfect my provocative dance moves to Shaggy and just couldn’t stay awake during the darned flippin rice film and then had to cover up my blue wad with lies of sexual encounters in my fifteen-passenger here is what happened:

1) Tabby told me she needed to cut the wad out and it was going to  make my hair be a shaggy mushroom cut so I told her I would knife her if she did that and she squirted me in the eyes with her moistening bottle. Hence, now I have shroom hair and a blood-shot eye.

2) My mom was so concerned with my large van kissin (THAT DIDNT REALLY HAPPEN!) that she brought me immediately home to have the birds and bees talk  and demanded I call John Daniels so she could speak to him so in a panic I dialed one of the six numbers I have in my pre-paid, the taxidermy store. My mom was really concerned about me after that.

3) I bombed my rice quiz and had to stay after to retake it, at which point I fell asleep again and got Big Red stuck in my hair. It’s still dangling right now but can we say hello to the only chance at cool I have left? The fade.

A Really Bad Day Because I Made a Scene at Ronald’s Family Diner

    So after I drove home from community college in my fifteen passenger van today I was really excited because my mom said that for dinner tonight we were being treated to Ronald’s Family Diner because Aunt Lorraine won at Bingo so we had a little extra quiche to blow around…or throw around I can’t remember the exact saying.

    Only I had to use a pay phone to call my mother to tell her I would be late because I parked my van in the visitor lot for just a minute because I needed to run in and ask about a parking ticket that I got. It said electrician vans are not allowed to park in commuter lots and so I had to go in and explain I was not an electrician doing wiring but a student with a big van. While I was in there I guess the ski team got confused and thought my van was the one driving them to their ski competition because when I went back to my car there were a lot of skiers just shooting the breeze in my van. I asked them to get out because I was late for Ronald’s Family Diner and they all scoffed at me and said, “Bus driver you don’t have time for Ronald’s Family Diner, our competition starts in 2 hours”. I explained to them they were very confused and this was not the recreational club bus but in fact my own personal vehicle.

    After I rid my van of the ski team I was on my way home and getting psyched for Ronald’s Family Diner. Finally after all the anticipation we were there sitting around the table and I couldn’t wait. I glanced up at the specials menu and there I saw it, shepherd pie! It’s my absolute favorite thing and it was a special tonight. It was fate that I needed to eat this shepherd’s pie. I ordered it and was really enjoying it…despite the fact that I found a blueberry and an orange rind. EXCEPT!  Then it happened…I found what I thought to be the hand of a mini, tiny man. I dug my fork into it and screamed bloody murder. Every other table just stared with their mouths gaped open as my face turned purple and I made the most dramatic gagging noises that I could.  How could they?! I can’t eat a food made from tiny men!! That, in America, is called mini cannibalism!

    I demanded that our waiter come and inspect my shepherd’s pie discovery and made a point to let it be known that I do not eat at restaurants that serve such ingredients! The waiter looked thoroughly confused and nauseous at the thought of me almost letting a small hand pass through my lips. The chef of Ronald’s, Ronald, was then called out to the calamity that was ensuing in the dining area.

    “Ronald!” I shrieked, “How dare you serve me a very tiny man! He could have had a very tiny family and did not deserve to end up in my shepherd’s pie like this.” Ronald then began to yell at me because he was really offended that I made the whole restaurant believe he served people. As the scream fest was taking place someone had called the local newspaper and WGLT our local news station to document the story on my tiny hand in the pie. “You are through Ronald, you are through!” I was so confident that I had uncovered a major story, I did some big bust and now I would be the town hero.

    Well….as it turns out that smallish hand was not a hand at all but an irregular piece of corn according to the DNA test results . In the end, I was forced to provide Ronald with 2 months worth of free help and go to counseling classes to work on my fib-telling, which was technically not a fib but an actual belief that it was a hand. Oh well, I have to stop writing now because Ronald needs me to shuck corn cobs.

The Day A Birthday Present Ruined My Life

    Normally, when people hit their 16th birthday they are just so psyched to get their new wheels. I, on the other hand, was cursed because I knew what was coming and was not having any of it....heck no. I was cursed because what I was getting was a big, white, awkwardly huge for just one person (because who wants to ride in one unless you are going to summer camp), fifteen passenger van. I think the kicker of it was though that this was not even for my sixteenth birthday, it was for my 20th birthday so until said point I was stuck waiting for my mom to bring me to my bi-weekly haircuts (my hair grows like a shaggy dogs and if I don’t get it cut it turns into a mullet), my job as a large costumed dog at PetCo, and baton practice, as well as bringing me back and forth to community college. WHY IN THE WORLD would they wait until I was 20 stinkin years old to give me a car…I looked like a major boob being dropped off in front of my mythology building by a minivan.

    So it happened…my parents thought they were doing a grand favor by giving me my own whip a.k.a social suicide on wheels. A fifteen passenger van just for me, you know the ones that kidnappers drive around in trying to lure in little kids with a free candy sign on the side, that’s currently what I was cruising around in. Every other person on the planet avoids even parking next to fifteen passenger vans because they are afraid of being coaxed in and sawed in half for your kidneys. Now everyone on the planet is going to think I am the darned kidney saw lady because of my vehicle.

    If that’s not horrifying enough for all of you…imagine this! I slide behind the wheel where my head looks so small because my van is so big, and as I am trying to run a simple errand like pick up cheese or milk, I can see people’s eyes scanning the body of my van searching for the number of my maid service or flower delivery company. No I do NOT know how to fix your leaky faucet; I am simply trying to rent a PG-13 movie at Blockbuster you insensitive jerks.

    Probably the roughest day after I got my “awesome” present was my first day at PetCo with the big, white, beast. I pulled in and went inside to put on the dog suit and resume my position of waving to cars and I bumped into my stupid frenemies, Meg Hicknose (that’s  not her real name but it’s what I call her anyways, aren’t I bad?) and Mollaria (kind of like malaria but even worse). Obviously they weren’t doing their darn jobs…they never do. Meg Hicknose is in charge of cleaning the fish tanks, which really consists of her drinking a Mr. Pibb and letting at least 1 chinchilla out of its cage per day so she can laugh at Manager Bob as he runs around sweating for 2 hours trying to catch the lightening fast softy guy. Now, here’s my question…has Manager Bob not flippin’ realized that everyday Meg Hicknose works he spends 2 hours a day chasing a chinchilla? Mollaria is supposed to clean all the cat poops but she gets out of that because like a miracle we got this Chihuahua a few weeks ago who really, really loves to eat cat poop so as Manager Bob chases the chinchilla around the store, Mollaria grabs the cat-poop-eating Chihuahua and throws it in with the cats. Meanwhile, I am standing on the side of the road in a dog outfit waving to people who are screaming vulgarities, throwing trash, and one time set me on fire with a lit cigarette.

    Anywho, back to my worst day…so obviously Meg Hicknose and Mollaria were NOT doing their jobs and trying to steal skittles from the egg machine and I was walking outside when they started talking to me, here is how the conversation went:

“Whose big white van is that in the parking lot?” – Meg Hicknose

“I don’t know but it’s really creepy. It’s probably like a puppy thief or something. We should call the police” – Mollaria

That’s when I felt my obligation to chime in. Nervous cough, “Haha, no that’s my van girls”.

Blank stares piercing my face for a long time.

“No seriously whose van is that?”

“Seriously it’s my van.”

“What? Well why is your van so large? Those are for like criminals and sports teams and stuff….and bachelor parties! Are you a criminal or something?”

“No, my mom just thought it would be good for when I have to…um….bring a lot of people to baton practice.”

Lie. I didn’t know one other person who twirled the baton in my town except a 6 year old girl whose mom was probably on one of those neighborhood watch programs and would call the police as soon as I pulled up in front of the house in my big white van. Those stupid lies were constantly flowing ever since I got that van.

    I guess it’s not all bad though, the other night I was really lost in the sketchy part of town after bringing my Aunt Lorraine home from Bingo. I had a revelation on the advantage of driving a large van. People are always talking about the creepiness of large vans, and all of a sudden I realized it! I am that creep! I am the person associated with the van that causes fear in others. At first I was afraid of what was going to happen to me being lost. Who was going to attack me? Where was I going to end up? Then it just popped into my head, no one was going to hurt me because when people see a big white van they cower in fear. I am the fear maker! Cops were probably on the horn monitoring my vans progress. I looked sketchy driving around lost, and they were probably making notes of my erroneous actions.

    “The van just pulled into the deserted supermarket parking lot for the 3^rd time and I think they are coming back down towards you Larry. Do you see any kid’s heads yet? Oh wait, wait, wait, the vans back towards me.  Yup, back in the parking lot. Something fishy is going on here.”

    Looking into my eyes covered by my Vogue glasses with the flowers on the rims, noting my berry-pink LL Bean raincoat, and cringing at my jaw movements chewing orbit gum with perceived anger and aggression, the people of the sketchy part of town would watch me making random movements and attempting illegal turns, pulling into random parking lots and driveways in my big white van and no one was going to do a thing about it. No one messes with a van of that nature. It was like a power trip. Finally instead of being mocked I was top dog. I had finally found my niche.