susieworld

This sign is in Poland, where they will charge you for swearing. Maybe America should start taxing the fuck out of it!

Just wondering why potty-mouthed rappers release singles with all those horrible swear words in them.  Is it to cheer up the radio censors who will get to use their bleep buttons more often.  And what if I want to hear the swears?  Eminem sounds much better when his songs aren’t just one giant bleep.  Or a really long moment of silence.  Or a bunch of “sh” and “f” sounds without the rest of the word following them.

I suppose “potty-mouthed rappers” is a bit of a redundancy.

And my use of the word “swears” as a noun is just downright adorable.

While not a rapper, I am pretty much a potty-mouth.  I tend to forget my audience when I speak.  Especially when I’m in a room full of straight-laced church-goers or a mess of young children excited to learn new words.

So I’m going to start replacing all my “swears” with “bleeps.”  It’ll be hard at first, but I will get used to it.  It’s time to give my vocabulary the mother-fucking bitch slap it deserves, God damnit!

At least I don’t live in Poland.  The entire country apparently has a government-sponsored swear jar.

Stoned or overtired. You be the judge!

It’s 2:00 a.m. and I’m awake. Yeah, that means it’s 5:00 a.m. somewhere (hello, East Coast!), but no happy hours can be found in the wee hours of the morning.  Plus, I don’t feel like driving across the country.

So why do I suffer so from insomnia?  Why can’t I sleep at night like a normal person.  I’ve convinced myself that I do my best writing in the middle of the night, but I’m not making a living doing this, so I shouldn’t be losing sleep over it.

I sleep like a baby during the day.  I’ve been known to take 4-hour “power naps” in the daylight hours.  My therapist says don’t put direct light into my eyes when I’m trying to sleep, but I don’t see why.  Apparently, I sleep better when it’s bright.

She really means I shouldn’t be playing Words with Friends on my cell phone in the dark when I’m trying to sleep and my blissfully happy husband is snoring away beside me.

I’ve taken Nyquil already.  Nope.  Not helping.  I’ve tried Melatonin.  I’ve done Ambien.  I even have some awesome anti-anxiety pills called Clonazepam that can be used as a sleep aid, but NOOOOO!  I feel like taking all three of those “remedies” and swallowing them with a giant margarita.

I think all people would fall asleep without issue with enough tequila in them.

I’ve tried other remedies, too.  Journaling, watching boring TV, reading, doing crossword puzzles….  I just wind up addicted to that stuff and I’m awake for at least another two hours.

If my husband didn’t work morning and afternoon drives reporting traffic, I’d just take some overnight job that no one else wants so I can embrace the night owl within me.

Why do they even bother saying “night owl.”  Aren’t all owls nocturnal?  Shouldn’t we add an unnecessary “night” to other nocturnal animal names.  “I’m always up late. I’m a total night bat.”

And now I’m hungry.  It’s been eight hours since dinner.  My body is saying it’s time to eat.  Now, I rarely listen to my body when it’s trying to tell me something, but when it’s telling me I’m hungry, it’s usually yelling (in the form of a stomach growl).  Not too subtle are you, body?

Does anyone have any suggestions on how to sleep at night like a normal person?  Don’t get me wrong.   I don’t want to become an entirely normal person.  I just want to sleep like one.  Or a baby.  I want to sleep like a baby.  No.  That’s not it.  From what I hear, babies don’t sleep much, which is why their parents are always so bleary-eyed all the time.  I’m bleary-eyed all the time and I’m child-free!

Okay, I want to sleep like my dog.  I want to sleep like her, even with the occasional mild running motions and whimpering noises she makes when she’s having her little doggie dreams about chasing squirrels.

I think I just need an off-switch for my brain.  Do they sell those at the hardware store?  I can just pick one up on my way to get Visene for tomorrow morning.

And I’m not referring to the Theodore Cleaver variety!

If you’re in the Austin, TX area for the South by Southwest Film Festival, you may get the treat of screening The Beaver, starring Mel Gibson, which is Jodie Foster’s directorial non-debut.  For Foster, the festival may be considered the South Bi-Southwest.  Or something.  [Insert better Jodie Foster sexuality joke here.]

According to The Associated Press, the film “follows a depressed toy company executive who pics up a hand puppet beaver and uses it to separate himself from the negative aspects of his personality that are destroying his family and career.”

Jodie apparently approves of good ol’ boy Mel’s anti-semetic remarks.  Enough to consider only him to play HER HUSBAND in the film.  Gibson is typecast as an idiot.  Foster makes the stretch to play hetero.  Which is great for both of them.

How great for audiences this will be remains to be seen.  In the meantime, enjoy this picture of MY beaver:

What's the percentage of shrimp in Taco Bell's "Shrimp?"

Taco Bell has announced it’s new line of shrimp-based delicacies, which got me to wondering.  How much of the “shrimp” in Taco Bell’s shrimp menu is actually shrimp?

With the somewhat recent announcement that the “taco flavored beef filling” in Taco Bell’s meaty dishes is advertised as 80% beef, my concern became alarm upon hearing of the new shrimp menu items.

Fortunately for Taco Bell, the majority of its clientele is made up of stoned college students who are sick of Jack in the Box or high schoolers who wouldn’t know nutrition if they had to take a class on it.

I am a carnivore.  But I’m not a fan of eating food that still looks like it did when it was living and breathing.  Thus my affinity for steak, but not trout.   To wit, I should be able to stomach a “shrimp” taco from Taco Bell, since the shrimp really look nothing like shrimp.  Perhaps they’re mostly soy product, like the “taco flavored beef filling.”   You’ve got your Tofurkey, so what to call soy shrimp.  It’s like coming up with a mashup name for celebrity couples.  Shroy?  Simp?

I will gladly accept suggestions!  Please feel free to use the handy-dandy Word Press comment feature to make them.

Muhammad Ali has asked Iran to release the hiker hostages or he’ll go all Muhammad Ali on their asses.  Okay, that last part is made up, but it would sure be cool!  Here’s the story from my favorite local TV news station, KTVU.

Fists of DOOM!

James Taylor, having learned nothing from the Kennedys or Sonny Bono, skied himself into a tree, breaking his leg.  Sing to the tune of “I’ve Got You, Babe”:  I can’t ski, babe.  Watch that tree, babe.

I'm sure he'll be showered with love by the people who love him. Or something like that.

Millions of stupid Americans are confusing stories about the ongoing tragedy in Japan with the ongoing tragedy that is Charlie Sheen.  “This is the biggest disaster we’ve seen in decades.”  Wait, what?  Who?  Meanwhile, Sheen tells his followers to “love Japan violently.”  Haven’t they been violated enough?

Whatever, loser.

Finally, The Guardian made an excellent point the other day with the query “Is the Rock n’ Roll Hall of Fame Running out of Inductees?”  In a word, yes.  That fact becomes more and more apparent every year.  I’m okay with Neil Diamond and Tom Waits, but Alice Cooper is better known for guest starring roles on Wayne’s World and on the golf course, isn’t he?  Plus, he has a GIRL’S name!

School's out for Alice Cooper.

From The Free Dictionary.

brack·et   (brkt)  n.

1.
a. A simple rigid structure in the shape of an L, one arm of which is fixed to a vertical surface, the other projecting horizontally to support a shelf or other weight.
b. A small shelf or shelves supported by such structures.

See?  Not a single mention of NCAA Basketball.  Weird.

Even the Catholic Church decided a bracket pool would help in choosing the next Pope. It later became clear this method wasn't used when they went with Benedict XVI - a bad decision of Biblical proportions.

NOTE: The days of the week are all women because each one can be a BITCH!

Monday is the baby of the bunch. Nobody likes her, but she always seems to be where she’s not wanted. Her greatest desire is to be like her sister Friday, which will never happen.

Tuesday is the introverted one. She’s usually hanging out by herself in the library. She’s not annoying like Monday. In fact, many people like her for the very reason that she isn’t Monday. But for the most part, she gets ignored.

Wednesday has middle child syndrome. She craves attention, but goes about getting it the wrong way. She’s the family slut. She has slept with everyone from January to December. That’s why they call her “Hump Day.”

Thursday is really close in age to Friday. They look alike, too. College kids often confuse Thursday for Friday by going out to bars and getting wasted on a school night. Thursday doesn’t care.

Friday never grew up. She’s the third oldest of the seven, but will forever be 21. Friday is the life of the party.

Saturday wised up. She’s the efficient soccer and gets every item on her to-do list. The kids come first for Saturday. She does like to have fun once in a while – usually when she’s hanging out with Friday.

Sunday, the oldest, is actually a set of twins. One is pious and goes to church every chance she gets. The other prefers to drink beer, gamble and watch football. They DON’T get along.