The one about free form jazz.

So far it's been a pretty good day, the suns shining...so I've pretended I lived somewhere else, pawned all my jewelry, canned some vegetables, cleaned the entire house, made cupcakes, plucked out all my eyebrows, went for a 10K run,smoked an entire pack of cigarettes, wrote a song about Benny, made a bunch of faces in the mirror, pulled out a brown tooth, ate 7 donuts, played Bloody Mary, got attacked by Bloody Mary, did a few fake psychic readings for cash, choked my dealer with his own hair, shanked a tweeker for some meth, played double Dutch with my black neighbors, opened up a parallel dimension by playing with my Quija board, ate some generic Chips Ahoy, sang Islands in the Stream using the Chinese art of Karaoke, played Oceans 14, mistook my neighborhood for Appalachia, did some free form jazz Panera Bread style, sold fake WWF tickets, and drank a bunch of wine coolers.

I'd like to open fire on the cast of House. And Glee. And Ashton Kutcher. But not Kevin Bacon. How great is Kevin Bacon?

I can't tell the difference between Madonna and Jocelyn Wildenstein anymore. :( 

FaceBook tip: I'm seeing entirely too many videos and status updates about your kids. Quit clogging up my timeline a-holes. 

So, it's Saturday, enjoy the short and utterly ridiculous blog. Stalk at ya later...I got shit to do and people to see.

The one about transients

So, it's 2012...I thought maybe since its the first day of 2012, I'd do something a little different. First off though, I want to thank the Lord God, my personal savior. I'd also like to thank Satan, because without him, I wouldn't be where I am today.
So, here's my blog in all it's ridiculous glory...enjoy.
    
My new year resolutions

Kill less homeless, transients, hookers and hobos
Learn to make a better Bloody Mary
Make my new catchphrase "Cash Bar Bitches"
Learn all the words to the song "We didn't start the fire" by Billy Joel
Teach a small child the "finger"
Stop saying my old catchphrase "In your face Nancy Grace"
Journal more 
Adopt a puppy
Make snide remarks at the TV all day
Make homemade soap...maybe...I just Googled this shit, it looks time consuming and there's a good chance I'll burn myself
Swim in a creek in a pair of cut off jeans
Start a Restless Leg support group
Listen to more whiny white people music
Take a dip in the River Rouge
Ride the Detroit Princess
Stop faking amnesia all the time
Hide less bodies at Belle Isle
Fucking kill Larry the Cable Guy
Solve a medical mystery by throwing a ball at the wall
Teach Benny and Joon a new trick
Burn a wooden "T" for tolerance in my front yard
Watch the movie "Bones" to see if this was the beginning of Snoop Dogs downfall.
Stop relying on auto correct to fix my "laziness" when I type
Attend an AA & NA meeting
Reenact the fight scene from "They Live."
Learn to count cards
Wear hoodies less
Watch the movie "Grease" without making one negative comment (fingers crossed on this one.)
Take the Kardashians down
and learn the forgotten art of meth cooking.


The last few years haven't been the best for me, I can't just say it was just 2011 because 2010 was a close second.
I'm glad to see 2011 go. I've seen so many shitty things that I'm surprised that I'm not the junky I talk about being. The closest I've been to meth is watching toothless hillbilly sister fuckers on Intervention. 
My saving grace has been comedy. I have the wonderful ability to find comedy in anything. Dead Grandparents, addictions, religious beliefs...I can find something funny in all of 'em. 
Don't get me wrong, it's not always a great thing, it's gotten me into trouble, I've had security called on me, got in an actual fist fight, I've been personally escorted out of a casino by the Detroit Police (He was super duper cool...I had him laughing.) and I've had moments where I can't believe that Im alive or not doing hard time. But, it's what has kept me from being a bigger lunatic that what I'm already am. 

2011 wasn't my year, but I do have a few things I'm thankful for. My crazy ass family. CZ putting up with the drama in the house. Bri who can smile even after a bad day, and Maizie who keeps me young.  
All forces to be reckoned with. I love those jag-offs.

My friends, I'm glad that I have you. Whether you're Park Avenue or park bench, whether you're an aristocrat or an alley cat, there's a reason you're my friend.

I've learned a few things this past year, I've learned you have to be cruel to be kind, and to ask for help when you need it.

Be good to your family, hug your kids and tell them how much you love them everyday.

Alright, I've got better shit to do...Enjoy 2012, it's got to be better than 2011...

The one with an actual story

It's 1:30 and I am such a lazy bastard...all I've done is listened to the complete works of Boz Scaggs, stabbed an old man with a fork, got overly zealous at a southern high school football game, went to a tent revival, screamed "Thank you Jesus" really loud at said tent revival, worked on my Jeff Foxworthy impression, made "you might be a redneck" jokes, punched my rat of a neighbor in the fucking face, enjoyed a glass of Five Alive, washed down some Anacin with said glass of Five Alive, smoked cigarettes, laughed with my kids at peoples FaceBook pics, colored in my Transformer coloring book, did running commentary for gymnastics in my living room, wrote death threats to Condoleeza Rice, and made a soggy napkin and cigarette butt sandwich for my Alzheimery neighbor.


I thought I'd write a little Christmas story for you hookers...enjoy.

The Christmas Picture
By: Angela Noel Zakrzewski

 I have the obligatory pictures of my kids sitting on the mall Santa’s lap, but I don’t have a Doc Brown or a flux capacitor, and there is nothing I can do about what I did, but maybe I can make you think twice about “pictures with Santa.”

My kids are teenagers; they are far past the days of believing in Santa... It’s been years since I’ve dragged my kids and their frightened asses to the mall to get a picture taken with Santa. But it wasn’t so long ago that I don’t remember how awful those outings were. 

It starts with trying to get each kid ready and kept clean for the 4 to 6 hours that it’s going to take to get to the mall, park, wait in line, etc…So, pretty much that means that your child is going to be fed nothing but saltine crackers and apple juice from then on out…a malnourished child is preferred over a kid with a food stain on their Christmas dress. Of course, your child is going to be hungry, and they will remind you…80 fucking times. In return you'll give them another cracker, and pray that they'll shut the hell up for 5 minutes.  Of course, unless you’re a complete douche bag your kids will be wearing those same clothes to midnight mass or whatever the hell it is you do on Christmas.  So, the fucker has to stay clean…

The parking situation. Yes, parking. You’ve got your kid all safely buckled in the least wrinkles possible position in their car seat to drive around a full parking lot for 20 minutes. After a few minutes of looking for a spot, you’re already irritated with everything and everyone.  So, you yell like a lunatic to your husband to “just drop you off at the god damn door already.”  I assure you, his ass is just as eager to get rid of you as you are of his  He drops you off with your 2 or 3 bratty kids, where you wait another 20 minutes, answering your kids’ question of “when’s dad going to be here?”  with some CUNextTuesday answer like "I don't know, maybe never."  Meanwhile, your husband or whatever jackhole you conned into going with you finally finds a spot, and runs his ass at least a quarter of a mile, to hear you say “what the hell took so long?” Now that you're are happily reunited, you get to maneuver through a packed ass mall, probably with a stroller or a car seat, and push your kids through swarms of people who are more than likely, hot, tired, and pissed off.

This brings me to the line, ah, the line that that you knew was going to be long as hell, but never this bad. The line is awful, it’s a bunch of hungry, miserable, a-holes. They might not normally be a-holes, but this whole taking your kid to get his picture taken with Santa nonsense brings out the worst in people.  For me this part is probably the worst, you get to wait in a line for no less than an hour with fucking crying ass kids listening to every mom say “See, there’s Santa, and if you’re good, you can sit on his lap and tell him what you want.” Remember when I said taking my “frightened ass” kids to see Santa? Your kid is afraid of the fucker and rightfully so! All their young lives we’ve warned them of the dangers of strangers, and here you are plopping your kid in their Sunday best on a strangers fucking lap.
Standing in any line is hell, but a 200 foot long line of bitchy kids and their even bitchier moms is torture.  Ah, the bitchy moms, the reason why we’re here.  I blame you for this casserole of nonsense. There is no man that says “let’s get the kids all gussied up like pageant kids and head to the mall.” So, the blame lies solely on your shoulders. This is one of those instances that since I’m a mom, I can talk smack about other moms…y’know that unspoken rule? This is also one of those instances where I think I can give you better parenting advice than “just poke holes in the top.”  Taking your children to see Santa is not fun, it’s a fucking pain in the ass.

So, we wait, and we wait. I’m not going to get into how miserable everybody actually is, because as you can imagine, that line is my own personal hell.  We’re 10 kids back, and 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2…Showtime.
Now, here’s where you think it’s all over, but no, no. It’s not. You kid is fucking terrified of the ratty looking bastard.  As your kids cling tighter to you, you really want to give up; you’ve pretty much run out of options at this point. Here’s where you can either hold your child and be in the picture, looking haphazard, overwhelmed and probably sweaty, or you can put your red faced, crying kid on Santa’s lap,  while you effectively though unconsciously  give your kid abandonment issues, or you can leave. You realize what an absolute pain in the ass the day has been and there is no way you’re leaving now.

The process of getting the picture isn’t actually long enough, you have essentially about 3 minutes to calm (if necessary) your child down, make them look presentable and move out of the way. You only get 2 or 3 tries, so you have to make one of them count. You are prepared to do anything to get your kid to smile.  You somehow think that standing next to the photographer who’s dressed like a stripper elf (“Candy Cane,”as I call her) while jumping up and down, calling your kids name while waving their favorite toy around will be enough for your 2 year old to pull themself together and smile.  Not only do you look like a jag-off, but you’re also pissing everyone off.  First and foremost, you’re pissing off the moms in line who just keep saying to themselves “just take the fucking picture already,” you’re pissing off Candy Cane who just wants you to get the hell out of the way so she can take the picture, and last but not least, you’re pissing off Santa. That creepy fuck gets paid to let kids sit on his lap…so, you’re not really concerned, you just want him to look decent in the picture. I mean, the best you can hope for at this point is that Santa doesn’t smell like weed like he did last year.

So, enjoy  your obligatory generic picture with the superimposed holly in the corner and your kid crying his ass off on pissed off Santa’s lap taken by a stripper named Candy Cane.  Merry Christmas a-holes.

The one about 3D glasses

Good morning ya jackholes...I've had a pretty boring ass morning. All I've done today is wrote death threats to those ugly bitches on Sex and the City, reenacted the pottery wheel scene from Ghost, smoked a Basic, listened to a little a Edie Brickell, slit my neighbors throat, enjoyed some gas station nachos, pawned my dead grammas hearing aids, talked trash to the geriatric fucks at the park, became a methmatician, lost a bet with CZ, had to clean the house in nothing but my underwear, wrote a letter to my personal savior; Jesus, went and visited Jesus at his landscaping job, shanked Drake; AKA Wheelchair Jimmy, accused my neighbor of being Fidel Castro, wore 3D glasses to Kroger, kept saying "you wouldn't believe what your ass looks like in 3D" to bitches at Kroger, ate a whole sandwich bag of Bugles leftover from my kids lunch, vomited up a greasy pasty Bugle mess, sang the only part of "It's so Cold in the D" chorus over and over in my head, caught others singing the chorus to "It's so Cold in the D," and fashioned a shank out of toothbrush.

•Now when an old person has trouble remembering something they say they're having a Rick Perry moment.

•Jersey Shore is ruining our childrens lives...and I think Snooki probably smells like a taco.

•Live Links commercials make me homicidal. 

•Why is everybody at Sam's Club so ugly?

The one about Crystal Light

Good Saturday by brown bag specials...another boring ass Saturday here. All I've done is got salt in my eye, carried a ferret around the mall like pretentious people do with their dogs, pretended to be Mexican gang member, spray painted "La Vida Loca" on overpasses, made a list of people who I think need plastic surgery, changed my name to "Rhinestone," robbed a string of liquor stores, took an 80 year old to a Metallica concert, bought a Cabbage Patch Kid named Bertram off E Bay, watched Great Space Coaster reruns, enjoyed some Crystal Light, enjoyed some Crystal Meth, made prank phone calls for 45 minutes, ran for Algonac City Council (sorry...couldn't help myself,) chewed an entire box of Benadryl, and dressed up in my prettiest cotillion dress.

•I don't the think I can use the  "he's a puppy" excuse anymore regarding Benny. 

•I don't care what anyone says...trampolines are NOT fun.
That shit jars your neck and makes you feel sick.

•Shannen Doherty has had the same hairstyle for the last 20 years. 

•I wanna be that one weird family that keeps their cereal in those clear Tupperware containers. 

The one about my Winnebago

Hey ass snacks...it's 11:00 at night and I've really had an unproductive day. All I've done is get iniated into the "Clark" gang, dressed up in my alien consume, tried to kill Michael Keaton, got a PPO slapped on me by Michael Keaton, burped and blew it in my elderly neighbors face, tried out for a spot as background dancer, ate a bunch of those little candy things stuck on paper, wrote a poem about how little candy things stuck on paper were worse than Necco Wafers, gut punched my dad, sold acid to junior high kids, posted racist ads on Craigslist, moved Drake up to # 1 on my Most Wanted list, brought the drug "acid" back, bought body bags in bulk (say that 3 times real fast,) went cross country in my Winnebago, made a paper mâché ashtray, and found a new place to stay after my house burnt down by said ashtray. 

•I think people who make appointments earlier than 10 AM are fucking crazy. 

•I have no desire to surf. It's so unappealing, in so many ways.

•Rhea Pearlman=Diarhhea

•I hate the porn music in Golden Corral commercials. Y'know the one where they show fat kids shaking their head seductively in slow motion?

•Does anyone remember doing the song "So Long Farewell" from "The Sound of Music" in eighth grade and I was the little girl on the end, Liesl?
That was really gay. 

The one about The Outlaw Josie Wales

Good Sunday morning ya heathens who didn't go to worship. Instead you're reading my blog...which makes you not only a heathen but a delinquent as well. I myself didn't feel like drinking the Kool Aid or joining a cult, so instead I poked pins in a picture of Kim Kardashian, was a roadie on a campaign trail, ate a whole box of Dramamine, went to the dojo in my Zubaz pants, ate a strangers leftover spaghetti, solicited drugs, put Lil' Wayne to bed in a rap battle, stabbed my neighbor in the leg, erased the eyes of everyone in a magazine, pretended to be a salesman at Gardner White, enjoyed a root beer float, played Rock Band, watched The Outlaw Josie Wales, ruled the world, drank scotch on the rocks, toasted to the marriage of Luke and Laura on General Hospital, protested Starbucks, learned the fine art of calligraphy, took a celebratory bite off my murder victims finger in the freezer, and drew mustaches on all the people in a magazine.

•Me and that crazy husband from "Sleeping with the Enemy" are a lot alike. Except for that whole physical abuse thing.

•Why is Drake famous? This dude is fucking horribly untalented. I didn't believe him as "Wheelchair Jimmy" and I certainly don't believe him as a "rapper."

•I wanna host a "Newlywed" type game in my basement, but only with friends.

•Rock Band. Another thing I kick ass at when I'm high. 

•I like to fancy myself as a modern day Kerouac.