Fetch My Flying Monkeys

Here's a picture I took of a photo of my mother and her goat cart. The photo is in an antique frame and has been on my dresser for years. Today as I was dusting, it occurred to me that goat must be in my blood. I remember my mom telling me that she and her cousins used to have goat cart races and that she would never win because her goat was pretty ornery and her cousins always cheated and she always wanted to stab them. Okay, I added that whole cheating and stabbing part. But you get my point. Goats are awesome even if they're ornery.

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I added another photo to my so-called "real life" Facebook account showing all my so-called "friends" what last year's pool party was like. Not only were there goats, but Elvis made a surprise appearance and T-Rex hogged the Velveeta fountain all day, proving once again that you can do whatever the hell you want when you're God, not to mention a T-Rex.

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I still have rabies. And something about having rabies makes me bitter and petty. Well okay, I guess I should say it makes me more bitter and petty. Remember that Facebook account I have where people from back home "friended" me then basically ignored me? Yeah, the account where that one fucker even "unfriended" me. Well, I'm redoing it. I am inventing an exciting life where I live in an exciting city, have a fabulous career, tons of marvelous friends and loads of money. I am busy now stealing pictures of other people's fabulous lives and putting them in my photo album. I think I will randomly post little statuses about my traveling to exotic locations and hobnobbing with the rich and famous. I may even create new accounts and invent some friends who will comment back with things like meeting me for Carnival in Rio this year. Shit like that. Right now I announced that I will be flying all my friends to my summer estate this July for a pool party. Here's the photo I posted:

Those fuckers will rue the day they ever ignored me.

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It was a suck ass day and to top it all off, my rabies came out of remission. When this happens there's nothing to do but post pictures and videos because I am too much of an attention whore to just skip a day of blogging. Aren't you glad?

Know what cures rabies? Baby pygmy goats.

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J: "..and they moved away to try to work things out because they really hit a rough patch. She has a hard time just dealing with reality."

Me: "Yeah, well, they both need to just suck it up and get the fuck over it."

J: "But sometimes people need to do more than 'just suck it up and get the fuck over it.'"

Me: "No they don't. Think about it. All anyone ever needs to do is suck it up, and get the fuck over it. Stop freakin' whining and moaning 'poor me, blah, blah, blah.' That's it. Problem solved."

J: "Wow. You should have been a therapist."

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1. I am obsessed with owning one of these:

A pygmy goat. I've researched the care and feeding and even priced them. The problem is that I live in the city. I need to move, because my life will not be complete without a pygmy goat in it.

2. I have a new account on Facebook and would like for everyone to "friend" me. I dumped my other account where folks from school were adding me, then ignoring me, THEN "unfriending" me. Fuckers. Click this thingy and "friend" me NOW:

And DO NOT UNFRIEND ME. I don't care how annoying I become. Because believe me, I will become super annoying. I've been having fun on it so far. I am still looking for the quiz that tells you what kind of rancid meat you are. I am guessing I am like week old ground chuck.

3. I had to leave work early Monday because I felt pukey. I still feel a little pukey. I cooked a pot of chili after I got home. I wanted to cook it before the ground chuck went rancid.

4. I had to renew my CWP. I was hoping they had live human targets. They didn't. I called and asked. I just renewed online. Bummer.

5. I think I have road rage. I cuss almost everyone in my path. I don't cut people off, or pull a weapon, or even flip them off. I just cuss. Stuff like "Hey motherfucker, why don't you speed up?" "Get the fuck out of my way, motherfucker." I bet if I had a pygmy goat I wouldn't road rage as much. I think I will name my goat "Lil Motherfucker."

6. Jack has rabies.

7. Dogette and I are forming a "gang." We always come up with some crazy shit, then lose interest shortly after. We're like ADD bloggers. We're going to have gang colors and gang signs and crazy shit like that. Why you ask? Because we think it's funny. That's all you need to know, unless we invite you into our gang. And there may or may not be an initiation that may or may not involve killing someone. Well, not really killing, maybe more like maiming. And by maiming, I mean giving a wicked Indian Burn.

8. I still want one of these:

And I won't name it "Lil Motherfucker." I will name it "Daisy."

9. I am really into watching "Hoarders" on A&E. Jesus Christ. What the hell? A crew comes in with pitch forks and cleans their shit up. And most have collected actual "shit" too. It's so gross. So they clean it all up for them and you just KNOW within a few months they're back hoarding. Every time I watch it I clean out a closet or something. I'm waiting for a "Hoarders Marathon" to do my spring cleaning.

10. I want this too:

And I will hug him and squeeze him and name him George.

P.S. Oh my God, ya'll. I couldn't find the "What Rancid Meat Are You?" quiz on Facebook so I took the "What Crazy Bitch Are You?" quiz, which is kind of the same thing, but not, and it says I'm Courtney Love and at first I'm like "Ewww, no" then I read it and it's so spot on. My fave parts "if anyone messes with you or the ones you love, you will fuck them up." and "you are blatantly honest and sometimes people can find this a little hard to take but you really don't give a shit." Who knew Facebook quizzes were so insightful.

Posted by Laura at 05:06 AM | Permalink | Comments (24) | TrackBacks (0)

I have, for years, secretly kept a list of people who may want to murder me. Is that weird? I don't think so. I know I have a tendency to create situations in which my death would probably not be the worst-case scenario for other people. I don't do it on purpose. Well, okay, at least half of the time I don't do it on purpose. Well, okay maybe 30% of the time I don't, but that's neither here nor there. And just how ironic would it be that I end up stabbed?

It recently occurred to me that I should post the list here since the other runs a risk of being stolen or tampered with. I mean, it's not very secure in my desk drawer is it? It also changes from time to time, and it would be best to edit it here instead of say the "murderer" editing it. So here it is, as of this moment:

 People-Who-Should-Be-Investigated-in-the-Event-of-my-Death List 

1. J, for obvious reasons. C'mon. I probably drove him to it.

2. My neighbor, Crazy Betty. She knows where I live and By the Blood of Jesus she has zeroed her crazy in on me.

3. The reptile people at work. Yes, the ones who keep turning the heat up to 200 degrees. I (along with another normal temperatured person in the office) am a thorn in their side. I will always do battle with you, reptile people. You will be defeated, unless you kill me first.

4. Steve Jobs. He's always stealing from my iTunes account and I have publically accused him of this on my blog. Also, I have a working liver.

5. The Chinese. Because I am always bad mouthing them with posts like this and I refuse to shop at WalMart. I do eat their food though. A lot. That's probably why they've allowed me to live this long.

6. George Clooney's WHORE. I mean, I do call her WHORE and voodoo her skanky ass. She should not only be questioned in the event of my murder, but slapped around and maybe cattle prodded tasered, then slapped around some more. Yeah. Waterboard her, then slap her hard, then taser her again. WHORE.

P.S. Hey, wouldn’t it be funny if I really WAS murdered, and they actually DID use my People-Who-Should-Be-Investigated-in-the-Event-of-my-Death List to investigate?

P.P.S. Wait. No. No it wouldn't be funny one damn bit.

P.P.P.S. Except for #6. That would be funny. Maybe I'll fake my own murder for that. Yeah, fake my own murder. I'll implicate that WHORE. Set her up. Then take on a new identity. George Clooney will be mine at last. We'll finally be together and that WHORE will be imprisoned. Umm, nevermind.

Posted by Laura at 05:17 AM | Permalink | Comments (13) | TrackBacks (0)

I was "unfriended" on Facebook. Yeah. This makes me feel offended and insulted. I'm trying not to care, but I'm all "What the fuck did I do?" I haven't spoken to this person since the 12th grade and even then I think I only talked to them to bum rolling notebook papers or a cigarette. But they were the ones to "friend" me first on Facebook and now they are just being rude. I feel like stabbing them, but instead I think I will one up them and block them. Yes. Take that, "unfriending" fucker.

Also, what the hell is the deal with friending people and never communicating with them? I've had two people actually ask me how I've been. The rest add me and that's it. What's that about?

And does anyone else out there have friends on Facebook you knew in high school and when you go look at their profiles and see their pictures you go "HOLY SHIT! They're OLD!" And it's not like just one or two, it's all of them and then you go "Oh fuck, I must be OLD too!" Well, I do and I've just now decided I am going to unfriend all of them and just add young people. Not high schoolers because that would be too pedo creepy, but 20 somethings. And when my "friends" from high school look at my friends list they'll all be "Wow, she's so hip and cool." Because that's what I am, old fuckers. Hip and cool. And cranky and stabby. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go run some kids off my lawn before Matlock starts.

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Most days I wish I could secretly fake my own death and run away and start over as an independently wealthy woman. I haven't worked through all the details on exactly "how" to make this happen, but the first thing I think I fucked up is the whole "secretly" thing. Word. I just decided I'm going to end each blog entry with "Word." Let's see how long that lasts. I'm already tired of it.

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If you've been reading this blog any amount of time, or if you know me personally, you know that I fucking LOVE dinosaurs. As a kid I could name them all. No shit. As an adult I can name most of them- only "most" because I'm a lazy adult and I save my memory for things like which beer I like best, where did I last put the remote, who do I hate and want to stab the most this week, things like that. People have even been known to give me dinosaur books and DVDs as gifts. I will adjust my schedule to watch a new dinosaur special on television. I did, however, have to DVR the Valentine's Day special "Dinosaur Sex" on The Discovery Channel only because it was on too late and I had to go to work the next day. It really sucks to be an adult. I haven't watched it yet, I will watch it later, so don't spoil it for me. Anyway, the point I am trying to make is I HEART dinosaurs.

Now imagine my giddiness over the "Live" Dinosaur Exhibit that came to the South Carolina State Museum. I had always been out of town when it was here previously. I could not wait to see them! Could. Not. Wait. Oh, to see them move and roar! Shaking the building even!! It was all I could do to maintain the level of cool so many people expect out of me. Shut. Up.

I had seen videos and news stories about "live" dinosaur shows, not the South Carolina Museum one, but I knew they all had to be the same. And I just could not believe I was going to see them this year! Just to let you know how much I wanted to see them, I KNEW there would be children there and I still wanted to go! Now that's saying a lot. I generally avoid all activities where I think there will be groups of children. But this was different. Also I thought it might be entertaining to watch the kids get the shit scared out of them. I knew at these shows they have someone in cool ass puppet-like costumes walk around to scare them. Just watch this dude absolutely terrorize these kids-

Good times! Hell, I thought maybe I would slip the dude a twenty to toss one of the kids here up in the air and bat it with his tail into a wall. How fucking cool would that be?!

So we got to the museum and found out it's extra to see the dinosaurs. That's okay, right? It's "LIVE" FREAKIN' DINOSAURS! Of course it will cost more! We locate them on the second floor and outside we can hear the roar and jungle sounds! I'm thinking "OH MY GOD! I hope the T-Rex is walking around!" We show our stamped hands. "Yes, yes we paid EXTRA now let us in, fuckers!" We go through the curtains and this is the second we realized there's been a terrible mistake made. Instead of seeing the awesomeness like in the video above we saw something more like a horrible side-show display in this one I found on Youtube-

It was the Chuck E. Cheese of dinosaur exhibits. You could hear the hydraulics in all of them, even when they made the smallest movement. Stephen Hawking moves more than all of these dinosaurs combined. And did you see that "baby" T-Rex? It looked inbred. Most of their jaws didn't even meet properly. Hell, I was half expecting them to pick up banjos and start singing. Deliverance Dinosaurs. Christ. So this is my Stab List this week. I want to stab the ever livin' shit out of the South Carolina State Museum. Liars. Dinosaur dream destroyers. You sonofabitches. STAB!

Now if you'll excuse me I have some dinosaur porn to watch.

P.S. Just what the hell did I expect from a museum that recycles their Abraham Lincoln mannequins?

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Day 3: The Aftermath
(Photos Taken Sunday)

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Yes! I got VD for VD and it's adorable! I also got THE RABIES!

And my favorite- Gerbera Daisies!

P.S. Sorry about all the exclamation points. I get excited when I get syphilis, rabies, and flowers in the same day.

P.S.S. Oh, I love that the title of this entry is going to show up in all your readers and you'll be clicking over here to see if I actually did stab J. Because I would if it was for reals. Taser, then stab, then taser some more. Not that I've thought about it much. No. I'm just saying that's probably what I would do.

P.S.S.S. I know it's been a weekend of photos. But that's what an A-Lister does when they are busy with their exciting, busy life. There will probably be more pics this week. I am going to go see the robot dinosaurs at the museum. Rumor has it that T-Rex will be there! Sorry, another exclamation point. BUT IT'S T-FUCKING-REX!

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Day 2: Acceptance (Not Really)

That was the only pic I was able to take of Jack this morning in the snow. It was taken immediately after he rushed out the door and jumped off the steps. He then ran like a scalded cat back up the steps and onto the backporch, never to be enticed back down again.

Tinks did not run like a scalded cat, but walked in my tracks to check out the "White Repellent of Annoying Weiner Dogs." She then wished it snowed everyday.

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Day 1: Confusion and Panic

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Valentine's Day is right around the corner. And every Valentine's Day I try to help you single women out there in your search for the perfect man. And since I'd have better luck hunting down a unicorn, I just go to OKCupid instead and review the menz listed there. This year I will be reading their profiles and "breaking it down" for you with what I think their likes and dislikes are. Because that says it all doesn't it? Likes and dislikes. I will also award them a personalized Valentine Bear. Because, well, I care. It's what I do. Care.

Here we have Stan-

Stan enjoys weekday adultery, clean bills of health, and walks on the beach with his one dimensional dog "Mystery."

Stan dislikes weekend adultery, three dimensional pets, and hats.

Next we have Specialist Anderson-

Spec. Anderson enjoys napping, dreaming of watching lesbian sex, and dreaming of participating in lesbian sex.

Spec. Anderson dislikes caffeine, reality, and honorable discharges.

Then we have Charles-

Charles enjoys believing in things, hallucinogens, and MAC Eyeliner with Smudge Pot.

Charles dislikes reality, Rogaine, anti-depressants, and removing his wedding ring when he takes pictures for a dating site.

Here's Sal. Sal had no profile info except for location and that he was looking for a lady. Sal felt his picture said it all. But it's confusing. It's either trying to say "Rawrr, I'm a sexy tiger in the water!" or "Sqqqqeeeeee! I sure got a purdy mouth."

Lastly we have John-

John enjoys high heel chairs, lava lamps and receiving titty twisters.

John dislikes housekeeping, spelling, capitalization, and dignity.

Posted by Laura at 04:50 AM | Permalink | Comments (23) | TrackBacks (0)

Me: "Oh my God! Guess what I did today?"

J: "Uh oh, what?"

Me: "I came to work with my pants on backwards! Second time I've done it in the last six months!" Laughs.

J: "Well, with scrubs does it matter?"

Me: "Well, with these it does because there's a pleat that's supposed to be in the front. I was all 'what the hell?' when I tried to put my hands in my pockets."

J: "How the hell did you make that mistake?"

Me: "Aww that's nothing. I've gone to work with two different shoes on before, but they were at least the same color."

J: "Wow. You should work in fashion."

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Enough about me. Let's ask these people what they think about me:

My friend Alison wrote a blog entry about how many cyclists there seemed to be in London, and how rude they are. I made this for her:

Being an A-List Blogger means advertisers knock down your door to throw money at you for allowing them to advertise on your blog. I am very choosy and want to make sure the partnership is a good fit. I don't want just any ole' ad on my blog. So far I am in talks with these people:

Don't you just hate it when people post pictures of their food? Not me.

I know it looks kind of weird but that Swiss Chicken was delish. I made it EXACTLY like the recipe, except no egg noodles, and I added fresh mushrooms, capers and wine. Other than that, it's the same. Kind of. Not really.

I noticed that a good many of the blogs I read are in the middle of a redesign. The authors are putting up new themes and rearranging. New themes means having to tweak and fiddle to get them working as planned. Sometimes text and columns are all over the place. For all these people I made this blog award they can put up while reconstructing:

P.S. Dogette, another A-List Blogger, is about to start voodooing as soon as UPS delivers her voodoo supplies. Sure, there's a chance it might not end well when you dabble in the Black Magic, but that just makes it even that much more awesome to watch.

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• It's dark every morning when I leave my house for work. Every morning while going to my car I look for zombies. The fast ones. I mentally picture one coming at me, fast, and I freak a little inside. I time myself on my iPhone on how long it takes me to get in my car and lock the doors. I do this without looking like a complete spaz (ie flinging my arms and screaming for Jesus) in case a neighbor is looking out. It probably just looks like I am in a hurry or cold or something. But chances are that I probably do look like a spaz. But I don't care. I'll have the last laugh one day.
  
• I sing and have dance-offs with my pets daily. It usually ends in a fight between one of the cats and Jack. Jack is very petty and jealous and has no rhythm. Right now their favorite song is You Belong With Me by Taylor Swift. Traxler has been the winner lately.
  
• I not only mentally visualize stabbing annoying people in my life but will also imagine what it would feel like running over them with my car. The whole "thump, thump" thing is sometimes very satisfying. If they're really annoying I will close my eyes and throw it in reverse, then forward for a triple "thump, thump."
  
• I have to sleep with a fan on and/or a light on. I don't know why. I just do. Also my feet CANNOT be covered. I don't know why. They just can't be.
  
• I can hear a song twice and then sing back all the words. And I will remember those words FOREVER. I can sing songs from earliest childhood. All the lyrics. People are amazed. I cannot remember my cell phone number or most people's names. People are amazed.
  
• Sometimes I wonder what would happen if you were about to have a really bad diarrhea explosion while driving and as you were speeding home, a cop pulls you over. As you cried (because I imagine you would literally cry) that you were about to poop your pants would the cop a) think you were lying and give you a citation even after the explosion? b) back away and tell you to go and be careful? Maybe even give you a police escort? Only thing I know for sure is that you shouldn't try to outrun him. Wrecking your car then being chased and tasered with a load in your drawers would just be too nasty.
  
• Sometimes I think I think too much about what would happen in different explosive diarrhea scenarios.

Posted by Laura at 05:17 AM | Permalink | Comments (15) | TrackBacks (0)

My favorite parts-

lack their own form of transportation

one major flaw some Laura's possess is their failure to watch Donnie Darko as often as they should

That girl is a bitch...her name must be Laura

Let me know what your name means at urbandictionary.com. Or not.

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I took this same quiz back in 2008 and it said I could take on 29 five year olds. Since then I've worked out and read up on kids by reading some mommy blogs. My goal is to take on at least 40. I like setting goals for myself. J wouldn't take the quiz again. He still has some kind of ethical, moral thing against opening a can of whoop ass on five year olds. Yeah, I know. But sometimes you have to overlook a person's faults if you really care for them.

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It's been a pissy week. And when I get pissy, I get stabby. And because prison scares me, I try to keep my violent tendencies to my lists. So let's get on with it, shall we?

1. The very pregnant girl in the grocery store check out line who had her groceries separated into two piles. One pile was all the juice, milk, cheese, eggs and cereal that she had a WIC voucher for. The other pile was steaks and other assorted meats, about a dozen frozen name brand pizzas, soda pop and a full cart of other asundry things that her little Food Stamp credit card thingy paid for. The rest of us overheard you telling the lady behind you that you were eight months pregnant and that you had a nine month old at home. I was overcome with happiness that my taxes helped support your choices as I stood in line with my buy one get one free boxes of cereal that I thought I would be eating for a few suppers because I have to pay for my medical bills and my GINORMOUS electric bill, BOTH I'm also certain YOU don't have to pay. You're welcome. The best part was watching you load your huge haul into your new Toyota Camry. I thought of Andre Bauer, and I didn't hate him as much, and for that I really wanted to stab you.

2. Those fucking reptile people at work who turned the thermostats up so high I swear to God my hair almost caught on fire sitting at my desk the other day. My buddy at work and I used to do sort of a tag team thing where we would take turns walking behind them and turning down the heat. She's been out, and I have been losing the battle. Just yesterday I had to hook myself up to IV fluids because I was so dehydrated. I would LOVE to fucking STAB all of them in their reptilian, anemic hearts.

3. I want to stab J for saying I sound like a Chinese leprechaun every time I attempt to do a foreign accent. I don't care if I try to do a French, British, Chinese or even IRISH accent. He claims it all sounds the same. He always says "What the hell was that?" and bursts out laughing. STAB.

4. The damn squirrel that got in my attic and decided to gnaw on a piece of wood, waking me up from my sleep. I'll have to admit you kind of scared me as I was trying to figure out where the sound was coming from. It sounded like you were in the wall right behind my head and my first thought was "It can't be a body. Not enough room." I know, because I measured it for that once. Wait. Nevermind. At least you didn't cause a fire gnawing wires. But you forced me to go into the attic and run your rodent ass out and nail down the mesh screening you pushed past. Stay out of my house, fucker. If you come back I will taser you. I've been wanting to use it.

5. The lawn guy I fired last year who I have been unable to replace. He left a letter and business card on my door saying I'd get a discount for any referrals! I mostly want to stab myself because it looks like I will hire him back.

6. The IRS. Why do things have to be so complicated? Oh my God. I've started to do my taxes twice and had to stop because my tears of frustration were smearing the ink. But I know I must get them done soon. Baby mommas need their DeGiorno Pizzas.

Posted by Laura at 05:33 AM | Permalink | Comments (23) | TrackBacks (0)

It's now my ringtone. On my iPhone. Did you know I have an iPhone? Well, I do.

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Yes, that was my fortune from my Moo Goo Gai Pan lunch this week. Even the Chinese know I'm an A-List Blogger. Now if you'll excuse me, I must go work on my memoirs.

P.S. You may have noticed that my entries now get posted in the mornings. This is just working out better for me, and for people who sneak on the Internet to read blogs at work get something to read besides Perez Hilton. Gawd, don't you just hate him? Oh, did you know he "wrote" a book? FACT. Now, back to working on my memoirs. And by "working on my memoirs" I mean eating Cheetos and watching Zombieland.

Posted by Laura at 05:49 AM | Permalink | Comments (13) | TrackBacks (0)

With great power comes great responsibility. No truer words have ever been spoken. When you're an A-List Blogger like Dogette and me, it's always apparent that you are the leader, the trendsetter, the manipulator the one that everyone looks to for guidance. It's the A-Lister's job, nay, DUTY to dictate the wants, needs and desires of their minions readers.

I've been an A-List Blogger now for three days. And I don't want to fall behind in my duties. From time to time I will show you snapshots of products that you will look at and think to yourself "Oh, if I only had that I could be just like her! I could be AWESOME!" It's kind of like the burden Oprah must have with her Favorite Things List.

None of these products I use myself, and most of the products I just get paid to show you. Of course there's now that pesky little law where I'm suppose to disclose if I've been paid to hawk them, but even that doesn't matter. All you will think is "OH MY GOD! I get to see what SHE recommends! I MUST have these overpriced things so maybe it will make me closer to greatness. Hell, maybe she'll even notice I got one and link to me!" I'm going to start slow on this and just recommend one product today. I know once you see it, their website will crash from all the traffic coming in to order it, so if the site is down, just keep trying. Remember I don't use this, but by me featuring it on my A-List Blog, your life will not be complete until YOU own one.

It's a Dildo Helmet Head Massager! With free shipping! So order your Dildo Helmet Head Massager today! Hurry! Do it!

P.S. This is the part where I tell you that no one paid or offered me anything for suggesting you buy this Dildo Helmet Head Massager. The only compensation I got was the hilarious mental image of you all wearing this while reading my A-List Blog. Minus that creepy ass facial expression those models have though.

Posted by Laura at 05:33 AM | Permalink | Comments (16) | TrackBacks (0)

Having an A-List blog is harder than it looks. It's not like I became an A-List blogger overnight. Wait. Yes I did. Anyway, now the pressure is on to hold onto the A-List title. This is where my investigational skills came in handy. In my research of A-List bloggers I read a lot of A-List "Mommy Blogs." Yeah, you read that right. I looked at about four or five of them before stopping myself from gouging my own eyes out and noticed they all had a few things in common. First thing I noticed was they were all what's called SAHMs (Stay At Home Moms) and secondly, most were on "mood modification" drugs; anti-depressants, sedatives and stuff like that. Being on these actually endeared them to their fan base. The Queen of all the Mommy Bloggers, Dooce, is on mega drugs and is always having to go get them tweaked when her crazy becomes immune to the current ones. Her fans find this delightful and go on and on and thank her for making crazy AWESOME or something. Seriously. I had a friend who had kids and was crazy and had her meds tweaked all the time and all she got was a few DSS investigations. She should have had a blog.

Anyway, I'm single and have to work, and that Baptist I gave a down payment to for a Haitian kid rental hasn't returned my calls, so I can't be a SAHM for A-List Blog Month. I can, however, take drugs. Though it's been suggested to me numerous times in my life to go get "professional help" and seek "treatment" I never did. I do, however, go to the doctor a lot, what with having rabies, and that one bout of feline leukemia. There are lots of meds in my bathroom medicine cabinet. So I went through them looking for medication I take that could be considered "mood modification" drugs which I could possibly write about and endear my fan base (all five of you) to me. I found these:

The Midol is pretty much self-explanatory but I bet you're wondering why the hell I consider Flintstone Vitamins to be a "mood modification" drug. Well, they keep me on an even keel. Last time I came off of them I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die. Okay, it wasn't in Reno. And well, it wasn't really a man, it was my brother. And I was like eight and he was nine. And I didn't exactly shoot him; I kicked him in the nuts. Really hard. But you get the idea. I can't get off the Barneys, man. Bad things happen.

A-List Blogger Crazy- Check.

Posted by Laura at 04:49 AM | Permalink | Comments (20) | TrackBacks (0)

Dogette and I have decided that we are A-List Bloggers. Don't ask how we decided this, we just did. So I am calling February "A-List Blog Month."

I know some of you are thinking "What the hell are these yo-yos up to now?" Listen, we are not two retards putting on cardboard Burger King crowns and running around the playground screaming "Look at me! I'm the King!" until we fall into the ball bin. No, we are two retards, err I mean, bloggers telling you we ARE A-List Bloggers because this month we are going to BEHAVE like A-List Bloggers. We will live it and be it. We have visited many so-called A-List Blogs and we think we know their secrets. We really won't be sharing that with you, because A-Listers don't share. DAMN! I gave one secret away! I need practice. Pretend you didn't read that.

So while we are mocking emulating A-List Bloggers, be sure to tell everyone you know that you read Fetch My Flying Monkeys and Two Nervous Dogs and add us to your blogrolls because this will make you cool by association. Not really, but it will make you feel cool.

So to kick this "A-List Blog Month" off right, be sure to leave me comments telling me how awesome and hip I am even though I basically phoned this entry in. Oh, but I did make this-

So there's no mistake. This IS an A-List Blog.

Posted by Laura at 04:34 AM | Permalink | Comments (19) | TrackBacks (0)