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Dear UPS,
We friggin' HATE that whiteboard guy. No, no, not because of his hair or his smug attitude, nope. WE hate him because...DUDE, HOW DOES HE FRICKIN' DO THAT!?
Love,
Grace
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When setting up the paypal donation account for the Hank fund last month, I was very proud of myself for remembering to take screenshots of the setup screens so I wouldn't forget the passwords and details, as I so often do.
True to form, a couple of days ago I went to access the account to see if anyone had donated yet, and realized that I had already forgotten the password. Shortly thereafter, I happily recalled at least ONE thing: that I had a screenshot with the details. My joy was quickly dashed, however, when I realized (much too late) that PAYPAL ENCRYPTS THE PASSWORD EVEN AS YOU TYPE IT. Yep, yep, that's right. I had a lovely screenshot of ...ASTERISKS.
Sigh.
George was sitting nearby and heard my sigh, as well as my declaration of Self Stupidity....
Gracie: "Ugh. I am AWFULLY retarded."
George: "I wouldn't say "awfully."
Gracie: "Oh thanks hon."
George: *Without missing a beat* "I'd go more with "amUSINGly retarded."
Gracie: "Hhhhhey! How 'bout you fuck right OFF?!" *flicks his forehead for added punctuation*
George: "Heeeyyyyy, OW! How come YOUR retardation always ends up hurting ME??"
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Dear Wilford Brimley,
IT IS NOT PRONOUNCED dia-BEE-tiss!
Love,
Gracie
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Dear Diary,
George's mom knows about his unnatural affinity for monkeys and goats and, in addition to his annual (and beloved) Christmas gift of socks n' underwear from her, he also received a very soft (and quite hilarious) cashmere pillow in the shape...of a GOAT. It has horns and everything.
Very cute, right? Right. He looooves this thing, too. Uses it all the time, especially since he's been pretty sick for the last month.
I tell you all this for a greater purpose, though, diary dear. You see, I desperately need your help! Because at this very moment, I am currently under siege as my husband is pummeling me with what he now calls his "ATTACK GOAT" and ...well I never KNEW cashmere could HURT but ...damned if it doesn't! Ohhh, oh wait. He claims now that, oops, HE'S not doing it...uht uht it's...yep, it's the GOAT who's doing it, of its own volition! Greeeeeat. This = SUPER fun!
Gracie: "ow fucker!"
George: "Y'know...I heard you typing all this, but...did you just type 'ow fucker' ...kind of as you...said it??"
Gracie: *dons sufficient look of shame, chews cheek and admits* "wull...yyyyeah...?"
Ensuring that I saw his disdain (insert raised eyebrows and tucked chin, coupled with exaggerated blinking for dramatic effect), he then sat back and, after lovingly hugging his new best friend to his chest for a moment, he then intimated that Mr. Goat? ...was pooping on me.
I am THE luckiest girl EVER.
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As I mentioned above, George has been sick for over a month now. When he was a kid, he was diagnosed with Ankylosing Spondylitis, a very painful condition that messes with him frequently (and, we've been told, could very well land him in a wheelchair in the future, which we both try not to think about). One of the joys of George's body is its unwillingness to accept long term medication. It works for a while, then his body decides not to accept it anymore and it just...stops working. Recently his doctor decided to try something a bit stronger (read: scarier) involving hours-long IV sessions, passing out, dangerous-sounding--and possibly deadly--possible side effects, and a weakened immune system. What sucks is that, while it has virtually erased his pain for the first time in his life, there's a big ole "but" ...as there so often is. See, because of said weakened immune system, he has developed some sort of cold or infection that they can't figure out, though he's been put through every test imaginable, which means: no diagnoses...no medication or method of FIXING it. Ergo: he has been crazily sick and miserable for nearly two months with virtually no reprieve. The fact that I can't help him? Is killing me.
While waiting for all the tests to be run and more results to come back, the nurses sent him off (with absolutely NOTHING to make him feel better, even in the interim--which fell over Christmas, of course) and only said one thing to watch for and be appropriately alarmed by, immediately getting him to a hospital should it occur, and that is: if he starts acting bizarrely and/or crazy, which, if you've been reading the site for any length of time, you can surely imagine would be a difficult thing to hear, because....hulllOOOO? Have ya MET him!? Honey, it'd be easier to tell me to watch for NORMAL. I mean, I could walk in and see George chewing on the DOG and not think it was that outta his realm of normalcy, hokay?
So of course I'm freaked out and worried and watching for "signs" and have ruined several opportune Joke Moments on his part, because I wasn't sure if he was being dead pan and sarcastic or, y'know, DYING.
Earlier this evening I was burning a group backup DVDs and, due to the size of the content, it had to be broken into five disks. I got to the fourth DVD and...joy of me, couldn't remember if I had already burned a few of the files.
Gracie: *Mumbles to self while trying to recall* "iiiii don't uh-memburrrr...." *not even realizing I spoke out loud*
George: "Corduroy"
Gracie: *thinks he's talking to the tv / hockey announcers but soon realizes that's...not...the case. Cocks head and
blinks at him. Repeatedly.*
George: "COR.DUUUUH.RRRRROY" *as though I'm mentally defective and need him to speak more slowly*
Gracie: "heard you" and "...THE FUCK!?"
George: "you said you couldn't remember." *as though this, of course, explains ALL*
Gracie: "AND?!"
George: "corduroy should help."
Gracie: "Go put your shoes on RIGHT. NOW."
George: "But why?"
Gracie: "Cause your ass is SO going to the hospital."
George: *Laughs like i'm funny + kidding*
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We've come to accept the love-hate relationship we have with the terrifically BAD trade school commercials that dominate local television here in Atlanta. We amuse ourselves by making hateful fun of them as often as possible, typically assigning them tragic back stories and making ruthless fun of their facial hair (but just the women).
So when yet another one came on, George felt the need to take the cake. In response to yet another massage therapy technical school advertisement, he caused my right eye to nearly burst from its socket when the ad claimed that Jane now had a terrific massage therapy job thanks to her recently completed ...rubbing bodies degree, and George responded with: "Ohhh, oh yeah RIGHT. Of COURSE she has a good job. And it's downtown at Ming Lee's House of Mmmmmmmmmmm!"
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Someone Arrived Here Searching For...
do lizards masturbate
what does "angst" mean?
first-time-you-farted
underage drinking mistermeaner [hey! numbnuts! if ya can't even spell the CRIME?? You aren't old enough to COMMIT it. Asshead.]
amrican bitchsexy
insert pantyhose up ass [hey!!! WARN people first! I was drinking!]
fuck you you fucking fuck key west [wow. bad hangover??]
why does my vacuum cleaner stinks like dog [okay, I'm still stuck on the mixed tense here. I haven't even GONE to the nasty things that happen to your vacuum when you're not lookin']
lesbianpeedrinkers [I miss the pantyhose freak]
hilarity
christmas cookies/nude pictures [ow. OUCH. ow.]
she forced me to wear pantyhose humiliation [suuuuuuure, she did.]
sexy porn girls women that poop pee in diapers
american nigerians
bowel movement porn [thanks. I now want to NEVER have sex again.]
dog smelling granny pussy [also...I may not be able to pet my DOG ever again, either. Thanks again!]
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