Football edition of Things That Get on My Damn Nerves

Well, folks, it's that time of year again.  It's FOOTBALL SEASON!  I love me some football, but there are a few things that irritate me about the gridiron.  Of course, I'm going to share them with you, you lucky people!

1. Lou Holtz - Whose bright idea was it to hire Lou Holtz as a commentator? Everything he says is all slurred together, and I can’t understand a word he says. He sounds like a shit salesman with a mouth full of samples. For God's sake, Lou, put down the vodka, and see if you can get through a whole monologue without saying the letter “s” or “z,“ mmmm-kay? And you look like you probably smell like cabbage.

2. Ads - Is anyone else tired of the ads at the bottom of the screen while you’re trying to watch a game? You’re checking out the game and all of a sudden an extra dude zips onto the field. I’m yelling for a "12 men on the field" penalty until I realize it’s the freaking Burger King! And on NFL games, you get that little transformer dude popping up on your screen. I have no idea what he has to do with football, but I’m about sick of him.



Can someone please get this sonofabitch off the field?

Like we don't have to deal with pop-ups enough on our computers....now we have them interrupting football.  It's sacrilege, I tell you!

 

3.  Sponsors - This is generally something you see during the college bowl games.  You know what I'm talking about...the Dr. Pepper Halftime Report and the Tostito's End Zone.  Come on!  An end zone is an end zone and doesn't need a friggin' sponsor!  I can't wait until Tampax wants to sponsor the 50-yard-line.  Here is how I imagine the commentary:
 
"Coming off the bye week, the Tigers should be feeling fresh.  And speaking of fresh, Tampax has a new scented product that will make you feel as fresh as a spring breeze!"
 
"That offensive line has got to plug those holes.  And speaking of plugging holes....."
 
"The Lions have yet to get into the flow of the game.  And if you're having flow problems, be sure to check out Tampax's new ultra-absorbent line of tampons."
 
That's all for now!  So sit back, pop open a beer, eat some chili, and enjoy the commercialism football.

My Dad is a Big Fat Liar

Ok, you’re reading the title of this post, and thinking that I am mad or upset at my father. Nope! I just speaka da truth! My dad is full of bullshit. It’s an absolute. Period.

I’m pretty sure he has been a bullshitter his entire life, but one of the earliest stories that I know about is when he lied about his name in Jr. High. My dad (whose name is actually Terry Dorgan) convinced his teachers that his name was Terrence Aluicious Sanford Mahoney Dorgan the Third, Esquire. He told the teachers this, and they just took his word for it. This was the beginning of a lifetime of spreading crapola for young Terry.Here are more examples of a bullshitty nature:

The Imported Grass

My cousin was over at my dad’s house, hanging out by the pool. She noted that their lawn always looked so beautiful.

Cousin: Uncle Terry, how do you always keep your grass so nice. You must have to mow several times a week to keep it looking so beautiful.

Dad: Well, honey, we’ve got that self-mowing grass.

Cousin: Self-mowing grass? Really???

{Author’s note: If you ever have to ask my dad, “Really?” or “Are you serious?” then your bullshit-o-meter should immediately start to beep loudly.}
Cousin: How does that work?
Dad: Well the grass only grows to a certain height, and then it just breaks off.


Cousin: Wow! That is so neat!


Dad: Yep, we had to have it specially imported from Indonesia.

 

The Cross-Dresser

When my dad and step-mom met, her daughters were teenagers. The girls were getting acquainted with my dad and weren’t yet aware of his penchant for spreading B.S. to everyone he met. Of course, my dad saw this as a ripe opportunity to mess with the girls’ heads a little bit. Now, my dad is 6’4” and a good 250 pounds. So when the girls saw some formal dresses (which were actually mine from back in high school - size 5, by the way) in my dad’s closet, they asked him why he had dresses in his closet.

Dad: Oh, I like to do some cross-dressing.

The Girls: {Mouths hanging open} Are you joking?

Dad: No! This green one is my favorite. It really makes my eyes pop.

Girls: Ummm, they look kind of small for you.

Dad: Well, I wear a girdle.

The Jumper Cables

Before we were allowed to drive a car, my dad made us learn how to pump gas, check the oil, change a tire, and use jumper cables. He was teaching my step-sister how to properly hook up jumper cables, and warned her not to hook them up backwards.

Sister: Why? What will happen?

Dad: Oh, it will be awful! Everything in the car will do the opposite of what you want.

Sister: For real? {Note that this is a derivative of “Really?” and should alert you to potential leg-pulling.}

Dad: Of course! If you turn on the air conditioner, the heater will come on. If you put on the left blinker, the right one will flash.

Sister: Oh, ummm, okay.

Dad: Also, if you put the car in drive, it will go in reverse.

Sister: Gosh, that sounds really confusing.


Dad: It is! Everything will work the opposite of normal. And don’t even try to work the radio.


Sister: {with big round eyes} Why not?


Dad: If you try to turn it on the country station, your radio will only play rap music.

 

Kicking George Foreman’s Ass

George Foreman’s daughter (Georgetta - seriously, not kidding here) went to our high school, so Mr. Foreman would often come to our football games to see Georgetta in the band. He was sitting in the section right next to us, and my dad pointed him out to my little sister.

Dad: See that fella over there? That’s George Foreman.

Sister: Are you serious? {WARNING, WARNING!} How do you know?

Dad: Well, I fought him one time.

Sister: Nuh uh!

Dad: Uh huh! We were at one of his matches, and his opponent got sick, so they invited someone from the audience to come and fight him. I didn’t really want to, but I hated for all the kids who came to see him fight to be disappointed.

Sister: Wow! How did it turn out?

Dad: Well, I whooped him pretty good.

Sister: Nuh uh! I’m gonna go ask him!

Dad: NO! Don’t do that! He still has hard feelings about it, and I’m afraid if you mention it, it might send him into a rage.

The Safety Expert

Dad’s bullshitting techniques aren’t reserved merely for kids. He likes to jack with the adults in his life, as well. He works on a pipeline, so they have frequent safety meetings, and as a superintendent for the company, he generally closes the meetings. At one meeting, he was encouraging his workers to also practice safety at home, not just in the workplace. He told them about a story where six teenagers in a nearby town had all drowned in a lake while their families stood by helplessly because none of them could swim either. (This was a true story, by the way.) He told this story to illustrate the importance of keeping your kids safe by the use of life jackets and teaching them to swim.

Then he proceeded to tell the story of how he learned to swim:

Dad: My father wanted to make sure I knew how to swim at a young age. Now, we didn’t have money for swimming lessons, so my daddy just took me out in the boat and pushed me over the side, and I had to swim back to the shore.

Co-Worker: Well, that seems kind of harsh, but I guess it worked out okay.

Dad: Yeah, the hardest part wasn’t the swimming. It was trying to get out of that damn sack.

Tricking the Siblings

My dad has lots of siblings, but he grew up with 4 younger sisters and brothers who absolutely adored him. When he was a teenager, they wanted to go with him every time he left the house. Of course, he wanted to go out and party with his friends, so he told the little siblings that if they stayed at home, he would bring them an ice cream cone with a flashlight in the end of it. (WTH?)

These poor children would wait up for hours for him to get home, crying the whole time their parents tried to make them go to bed. “Waaaahhhhh, we have to stay up because Terry PROMISED that he was going to bring us an ice cream cone with a flashlight in the end.”
Brings the whole swimming lesson story above into perspective, right?

Torturing More Children

Apparently, Dad likes to make little children cry about ice cream. My mom’s sister had 4 kids and not a lot of money. Occasionally, she would run in the store and leave the kids in the car. (If you’re horrified, get over it…if you knew these kids, you would understand that she was probably hoping a couple of them would have a heat stroke or get kidnapped.)

Anyway, if we saw them sitting outside the store, Dad would stop to chat with the kids. He would tell them that the Dairy Queen was giving away free ice cream sundaes today! “Now, make sure your mom goes by and gets you all a free ice cream.”


Then we would go down to the Dairy Queen, and Dad would buy us both a sundae. We would sit on the back of the car and enjoy our ice cream, in full view of the road. A short time later, my aunt would drive by with 4 kids hanging out of the window pointing and crying and screaming about free ice cream. If you looked really closely, you could see a middle finger extended out of the driver’s side window.

The Barr Family

My mother (bless her soul) was always a target for Dad’s leg pulling. There was a local family with the last name Barr. He totally had my mom convinced that the husband’s name was Crow and the wife’s name was Candy. Crow Barr and Candy Barr…….
He also told me that he used to date Farrah Fawcett’s sister. Her name was Leaky.

Hey, I Can Do it Too!

I think that perhaps my dad’s bullshitting may be hereditary. I took my daughter and her cousin to visit my great-aunt at the nursing home yesterday. There was a very pretty still life painting of some flowers on the wall. They asked who had painted it, and I told them that I was the artist for that particular painting. I guess I was convincing, because they actually believed me, even though I can’t draw a stick man without a ruler.

At least my dad’s legacy will continue for one more generation….so, watch out!

Love you, Daddy!!! Thanks for making life so much fun!

Motivational Posters

I was checking out Moooog at Mental Poo and ran across his motivational posters.  Make sure to check him out!  He is the master, for sure, but I thought I would try my hand at motivating you people.  Some of you really need it!  I'm not gonna mention any names, but you know who you are!!!

More later!

The Princess and the Penis

There’s a lot to learn today, my little critters, so I hope you took your vitamins!
 I was searching e-bay for The Little Mermaid movie for my husband daughter, and as I was looking through the results, I noticed this listing:


      Little Mermaid banned Dildo Cover Art


Hmmmmm.  I kept scrolling, and ran across this:


      Little Mermaid VHS Phallic on Cover


What the….? Shouldn’t that say “Phallus” instead of “Phallic?” Last time I checked (about 5 minutes ago) “phallic” is an adjective. Sorry, my OCD grammatical nitpicking instincts kicked in there for a minute.


Of course, any time I see Disney and dildo together, my interest is immediately piqued. What? You know you would look too.

So I Googled “Little Mermaid penis.”  (I can't believe I've never thought to do that before.) Apparently, there was an alleged penis on the cover of the original Little Mermaid VHS movie. Judge for yourself if you think Ariel is a skank for having a penis castle:

And let’s take a closer look. You know you want to, freaks!

Oooh, sparkly!
Bet this is what Edward Cullen's wanker looks like.

Hey, you over there, stop licking your computer monitor. Yes, sir, I’m talking to you.  Pay attention, now!  Did you notice this?

Ummm, I’ve seen lots of penises (ahem, in medical books, of course…) and they generally have 2 balls attached unless they have an undescended testicle or there has been some sort of unfortunate accident involving a wheat thresher. Huh? Never mind…

In the spirit of thoroughness (because the Opto-Mom is all about accuracy…and penises), I also Googled “one testicle” and came across a health site where you can ask questions and get responses. I couldn’t help but share this little conversation with my readers:


Bitchy Girl: Hello. I would like to find out more about this delicate and pretty weird condition. Just recently I have found out that my boyfriend has only one testicle. You can't imagine how terrified I was when I discover it. It seamed to me like he is some kind of freak, but he told me it is completely normal and that it is like that since he was born. How could this be truth?


One-Balled Dude: i also have one testicle, i am now 15 and did start to worry about it, but after finding out how common it actually was etc it isnt a big deal. although after reading that first post i am dredding meating someone like that


Ok, just a couple of things about this conversation:


1. After observing Bitchy Girl’s question and her attitude, I have come to the conclusion that she is way too immature to be looking at balls. Perhaps her time would be better spent learning to spell and properly using the English language.


2. One-Balled Dude can’t spell either, but he totally rocks because of his use of the word “meating.” He’s ready to “meat” some nice girls. BWAAAHAHAHAHA…You go, boy!


Now, where was I? Oh yeah, The Little Mermaid penis situation. After it was brought to Disney’s attention that they had an alleged cock castle on their posters and movie cases, they recalled them and changed the artwork. This made the remaining old copies somewhat of a collector’s item.


On e-bay, most of the copies of The Little Penis-Loving Whore Mermaid were about 99 cents. However, the ones with the dildo on the cover were priced from $14.99 to $79.99! Wow! Who knew that a picture of a giant weiner on a castle would be worth so much. Why don’t they just buy a porno if they want to see some man parts? I guarantee it would be much cheaper than $79.99!


So, my advice to you is to check all of your movies to see if you can make a profit off of some repressed perverts who are too embarrassed to buy porn, but would still like to own some obscure pictures of ding dongs.

On a related note, Ariel being a skank is not the first Disney character scandal.  Here are some others with pictorial evidence:



Mulan is a lesbian.

What??  That is totally NOT photoshopped!

Mowgli was into beastiality.

Bet you'll never think about "The Bear Necessities" the same again.

Snow White was obviously a madam for the Seven Dwarves. Just think about the “Hi Ho, Hi Ho” song…

"Now, whoever turns the most tricks tonight will get an apple tomorrow."

Aurora (Sleeping Beauty) clubbed baby animals.

Aurora, you heartless bitch!

Aladdin was into gay fantasy porn.

"If ya want my body, and you think I'm sexy..."

And Gepetto, that bastard, was a pedophile.

"...and if you tell anyone our little secret, you'll NEVER become a real, live boy!"

FYI, you can usually tell if a person is a pedophile by looking at their glasses. The double bar across the nose is a dead giveaway. Here are some examples:

Ok, honestly, I don't know if these 2 people are actually convicted sex offenders, but they damn well should be with those effin' glasses!

I realize that not everyone is aware of this trend; so, if you are wearing this style of glasses and you are NOT a child molester, buy new glasses immediately or the 4 people who read this blog will think you are. If you wear these glasses and you ARE a child molester, please continue wearing them so we can more easily identify you and beat the shit out of you when we see you.

Well, I have certainly given you a lot to think about. We have discussed penises, dildos, Disney, undescended testicles, pedophiles, glasses, and much more. If you have further questions about any of these subjects feel free to leave a comment or shoot me an e-mail.

I think I have included a little something to offend everyone.  If not, let me know, and I'm sure I can come up with something....

Things That Get On My Damn Nerves - Automotive Edition

I know you're just all quivering with anticipation to know what gets on my damn nerves this week.  So, for your rant-viewing pleasure, I present the Automotive Edition of Things That Get On My Damn Nerves:

Dumb-ass drivers 

Maybe you’ll say I’m impatient (oh, shut up!), but it really annoys me when there’s two lanes of traffic going in the same direction, and two vehicles stay side-by-side going 40 miles an hour and won’t let anyone else pass. What is the purpose, you jackwagons?

Are you racing to see who is the slowest? Let me tell you, this is Texas. Keep it up, and you’ll be racing to see who will get shot first! Never mix road rage with people who are well-armed.

Honestly, you haven’t seen road rage until you’ve seen a Texas mom trying to get her kid to a baseball game or cheer practice on time and who gets stuck behind a couple of asshats going well below the posted speed limit of 70 (which we all know means you should go 80, right?).

Automatic door locks

Ok, this annoys the piss out of me. You get in the car and start driving, and your doors lock automatically. Why? I’m sure there’s some nanny-state, mamby-pamby, it’s-all-for-your-safety reason for this, but ya know, I just don’t give a rat's ass. I think that if you have the sense to pass a driver’s test, then maybe, just maybe, you possess the intelligence to lock your car doors IF YOU WANT THEM LOCKED. It’s not that friggin’ hard. You just push that little button IF YOU WANT YOUR CAR DOORS LOCKED. In case you didn’t notice, the key here is IF YOU WANT YOUR DOORS LOCKED.

With today’s cars, you can’t even make your own decisions. Too bad, sucka! You’re on lockdown, whether you like it or not. You can unlock them, but a few seconds later you hear that little “click” telling you that car manufacturers think you’re too much of a dumbass to lock your own doors. It’s not like we all live in Englewood or Compton where you are likely to get jacked if your doors are not locked. And what if my car is a piece of shit and I’m praying for some random thug to come take it? Where are our choices? Where does free will fit into this? Oh, the humanity!!!

Yeah, that was a little dramatic…sorry! Sometime I just get aggravated when I need something out of my car and I go flitting out to my carport with no shoes on, and the passenger-side door is locked and I have to walk on the rocks to get to the unlocked driver-side door. (Cue the sad, sad violin music.) It’s also most unhelpful when I pull up to the school to drop off Miss Smarty Pants in the morning and the car helper-person tries to get the door open and the damn thing is locked. Meanwhile, I’m trying to suck down some Dr. Pepper so I can peel my eyelids all the way open while trying to get a good-bye hug and making sure MSP doesn’t forget her lunch or bookbag AND simultaneously trying to unlock the farking door at the same time. It’s enough to drive a sane woman crazy! (Enter your own wiseass remark about my sanity/insanity here.)

Well, I feel marginally better.  Maybe I won't have to shoot anyone today!  See ya next time.....

Math Lesson for Dummies

Sometimes the vast stupidity of people just amazes me!  A few weeks ago, I was shopping for school clothes for Miss Smarty Pants.  I was in a store in the mall that was having a 40% off sale that day, and I saw another customer picking out stuff with her 2 daughters.  They had close to $500 worth of stuff: backpacks, matching lunchboxes and water bottles, clothes, and shoes. 

The lady turned to me, because I guess I looked like an effin' pathetic dumbass, and she felt sorry and wanted to help me.  Here is how that conversation went:

Genius Lady:  Did you know that next weekend is tax-free weekend?  We drove over an hour to get here, thinking it was THIS weekend, and I just found out it's not.

Silly Little Ole Me:  No, I knew it was next weekend.

Genius Lady:  You know, I think I'm just going to come back next weekend to buy all this stuff because I want to take advantage of the tax free deal.  Did you realize that you would get all of this tax free if you just wait until next weekend to buy it?

Silly Little Ole Me:  Yes, but this 40% off sale ends today.

Genius lady:  But next weekend you won't have to pay any taxes on all this stuff!

Silly Little Ole Me:  {mumbling under my breath}  My Gawd, who hit her with the stupid stick?

Sounds like a great idea, right?  We won't have to pay those evil sales taxes if we just come NEXT weekend instead.  We will save sooooo much money!  (Is the sarcasm coming through here?  Someone really needs to invent a sarcasm font.) 

The problem is, the sale that day was 40% off, and the tax-free weekend would have saved her a whopping 8.25%.

I tried to explain this to her, but she was insistent that she would get a better deal by coming back the next weekend and paying full price for the items, but without tax.  She almost got a little rude with me, so I decided to just let Ms. Einstein wallow in her obtuseness.

Now, let's break this down, shall we?  For these purposes, we will assume her purchases would equal exactly $500.

If she bought that day and got the 40% off discount, she would get $200 off.
$500 - $200 = $300
Add in that crazy sales tax ($24.75) and the grand total is $324.75.

If she came back the next weekend, she would pay $500.  No tax added, but you're paying full price!

Hmmmmmm.  Now which is the better deal, $324.75 or $500? 

Have you ever seen a commercial for a stinkin' 8% off sale?  Would you drop what you're doing to hurry out to a store if they advertised that everything in the store was 8% off?  Whoopidee-friggin-do!  Hell, I'm not even going to put on my bra and venture out of the house for less than 30%.

Yet every year on tax free weekend, the stores and malls are absolutely crammed with people looking to save some "big" money.  I mean, it's worse than 6:00 a.m. on Black Friday at an Arkansas Wal-Mart.

I saw the lady putting her stuff back as I was at the register getting my 40% off of everything.  That should teach me to talk to strangers.  I had to go straight home and take a bath, just in case some of her ignorance rubbed off on me.

Watussi, Cacooch, and Other Misfit Words

Last weekend we were eating at Chili’s, and I ordered the ribs. {I want my baby back, baby back, baby back, baby back, baby back, baby back…} Anyway, I was eating my very last rib, cleaning my plate like a good little Opto-Mom, and I felt something hard in my mouth. {Insert rude sexual comment here – I’m too tired to think of one.}  I had broken a damn tooth while eating ribs. It wasn’t like I was gnawing on the bone or anything, but a little piece of tooth had broken off, nonetheless.



So this prompted a visit to the dentist this week. Now, I adore my dentist. He is fabulous, and never hurts me, but I still hate going to the dentist!  It’s the piercing whine of the drills and the sucking of the spit vacuum that really grates on my nerves and makes me want to slap a puppy. So I asked for the nitrous oxide. Ahhhhh, sweet nectar of the Gods!


I swear I’m not a crackhead, but that nitrous shit is friggin’ awesome! I was totally chillaxin’ while he ground and drilled and made a mold for my new crown. Somehow the conversation got around to Japanese food, and my dentist said, “Oh, I love Japanese food, especially that watussi.”


“What the hell is watussi?” you may be asking. The doctor had his entire hand and about 14 instruments in my mouth, so it came out like, “Hut da heh if hapoofi?” when I asked. He said, “You know, that hot green stuff they serve with sushi.”

Watussi???

Oh.My.Gawd. The dental assistant and I just lost it! Of course, we realized that he was talking about wasabi. The assistant was laughing so hard that the little spit vacuum slipped out of my mouth and went up my left nostril. (My sinuses on the left side feel great now, by the way.) The assistant extracted the Hoover from my nose and said, “I think you mean ‘wasabi’.”


At this point, the dentist started cracking up too. I don’t know if it was the nitrous (aka, laughing gas) or just the whole “watussi” thing, but I couldn’t stop laughing. As soon as I would get myself under control, the dentist would start back to work. He would ask the assistant for something, and she would say, “Sure thing, Watussi!” Then we would all start giggling again.


This whole episode of the misfit word got me to thinking about my grandfather. He was the undefeated champ of the misfit word. No one could mangle the English language like my Papaw. Here are some examples of actual things my grandfather said (his words in red):


“Well, Stacy got bit by a spider. She had to go to the hospital because it was one of them brown cacooch spiders.” Now some people like to call this spider the brown recluse, but cacooch has such a nice ring to it.

Brown cacooch

“I’ve gotta go help John put up a gaboozo in his back yard.” It took about 15 minutes and a lot of hand gestures before we figured out that Papaw was talking about a gazebo. Yeah, I know.

Gaboozo

“We wanted a new Frigidaire refrigerator, but they had a nice Amanda one on sale.” He could pronounce Frigidaire, but not Amana?

Amanda refrigerator

“Jerry got a new watch that cost $2000! It was one of them Rolaids watches.” Jerry’s new watch is even better than a Rolex, because when you wear the Rolaids watch, you don’t get heartburn.

Rolaids watch

“Eric sold his Cadillac; said he just can’t afford the payments on that Escalator anymore.” Uhhhh, I got nothin’.

Cadillac Escalator

Another time, Papaw was arguing with his wife (Nanny) about a new sport he had heard of. She was cooking lunch, and he was sitting at the dining table with a newspaper. My dad walked in to hear him trying to explain “saucer,” a sport in which you kick a black and white ball around and try to score goals. Nanny kept saying, “Ray, you’re talking about soccer.” To which he would reply, “Now dammit, Mary, I know what soccer is. This is different. It’s saucer, spelled S-O-C-C-E-R. That’s saucer!”

Saucer

 Of course my dad just egged it on. “Yeah, I’ve heard of saucer. They play it a lot in Europe.” At this point, Nanny covertly poured arsenic in their drinks.

I swear, there’s never a dull moment with my family, though things just aren’t the same since we lost Papaw in 2001. We still have plenty of nuts, though. I’ll introduce you to more of them later.


Oh, and back to the dentist. The little masks that they hook up to the nitrous are scented – mine was tutti frutti. You get to keep your mask and bring it back to use the next time. When I got home I just laid it on the table (‘cuz that’s where all your shit goes, right?). So Manimus Maximus (my husband’s new nickname) gets home and points at the little pink mask on the table. “Why the hell is this on the table. You need to keep your little toys in the bedroom.” Here is a pic.

Smells like tutti frutti!  Yum!

I guess it does look kinda weird, huh? I told him to shut up and go get me some watussi.