Friday, November 25, 2016

Day 25: If we were sharing a box of wine from Aldi....

It's time once again for the what-the-fuck-should-I-write-about-tonight day night of the month when I invite you to sit down, pour a glass of wine from the box (which keeps the wine fresh for 4 weeks), and listen to me prattle on about some shit, which I haven't even decided to write about yet. I promised myself I wouldn't write about national politics over the Thanksgiving weekend, so you can relax and take refuge from that shit for a few minutes.

The first thing I would do if we were sharing this box of wine, and I weren't simply drinking it all by myself, is apologize for this box of wine, which I bought at Aldi. I don't think it has any alcohol in it, which is probably why it cost $12 and the fucking owl is winking. You would probably want to switch to bourbon, and I wouldn't blame you. Also, my refrigerator is too full to put the box of Chardonnay in, so we have to drink our wine with ice. Don't leave!  I have potato chips and lime tortilla chips. Everything will be OK. We'll just drop a shot of bourbon in the wine, and we'll be good to go.

I was sitting here trying to decide what to write, and I found myself watching this stupid video of an excavator digging a hole. Wow, you would say. How did you know what that thing is called? Easy, I would reply. I googled "what is that heavy machine that digs a hole called?" Cards Against Humanity sent me an email today with a link to the video. Apparently they will continue to dig the hole as long as people continue to send them money. And people do continue to send them money. Here. Watch it. It's live at the time of this writing, and it's been going on for 11 hours.

(Click the link to watch it if you give a shit, because here's what just happened: I had a bunchof other stuff written and somehow the live link I embedded here made my blog software go nuts and refuse to save anything, and then I accidentally hit publish and I lost it all. So now I'm really pissed and tired and I probably need another glass of wine and some potato chips if I'm going to try to rewrite all of this lost cleverness. Please don't let me eat any more pumpkin pie though.)

As for that hole though, they've been digging it for half a day and people are still sending money. Money they could send to Standing Rock or Habitat for Humanity or Planned Parenthood or even to me to fund my trip to DC for the Million Women March in January, because I'll need to be prepared with a gas mask and goggles and probably even a trained German shepherd. But these people are sending money to them for digging a hole. Fuck me, I need a better life plan.

Also, they say it's just a bare spot and digging the hole doesn't hurt anything, but I suspect if they had a voice about a bazillion little organisms and fungi would disagree. Humans are so fucking destructive. Not that I didn't like to dig holes in the dirt when I was a kid, but I didn't have an excavator and nobody gave me money for it. Like the election didn't already prove there are millions of idiots in this country. Moving on.


And now an update on the nice review I wrote 2 weeks ago about Native deodorant. I sent them a link to the review, because, first, it was a positive review and my only criticism was the number of emails they send. I wanted them to know how much I appreciate their product. And second, because I hoped they would comp me a stick in each scent so I could try them all. Not that anybody has ever comped me anything before for writing something on this blog, but it's about fucking time somebody did. 

They didn't. Nobody even responded, except that I stopped getting emails. Yesterday my friend ZC told me she'd ordered some of the seasonal jasmine and cedar, and that she was going to order more in case they stopped carrying it. I told her my tale of woe.

Today, I got a fucking email offering me a free travel-size something with a purchase blah blah blah. Obviously they didn't even read my fucking review. But I still like their deodorant so I'm going to not give a shit, although not enough that I'd send money to some guys who are digging a hole.


As I was sitting here tonight cutting up old magazines and watching Kathleen Madigan on Netflix, wondering what the hell I had to write about that wouldn't bore everybody into a snooze, and considering pouring a glass of wine and "accidentally" spilling it into my computer so I'd have an excuse for not writing a single fucking word tonight .... my daughter-in-law Montana sent me a suggestion for next year's Thanksgiving dinner.

Hey, I don't take this as a criticism of my annual traditional turkey dinner, although it is a bit painful to watch. If I'd ever thought to carve a vagina into the turkey, I would have already done it. Same with the butter and the green bean casserole and even the squash. But I do draw the line at canned cranberry sauce. That shit is vile, and it does not deserve a vagina.

And before any fucking mansplainer starts screaming for equal time for the penis, here's a fucking carrot. Have at it. Not that anybody wants to look at yet another orange dick. I digress.

Here's my suggestion. If your Thanksgiving was dry and over-represented by dicks, why not suggest to your mother-in-law that she too carve vaginas into the food. That way when your obnoxious Republican uncle starts in about the gays and the blacks and the Mexicans and how we all need to get along now that President Trump has destroyed civility, you can say, "Shut the fuck up, Uncle Asshole, and eat a vagina like the rest of us." I guarantee he will be speechless for a least a few minutes. Maybe long enough for you to make your escape.


Looks like our box of wine is gone with nary a buzz to be had. Same with the chips. Party size my ass. If you want a real laugh, watch this video of Kathleen Madigan. This Iowa girl never thought anybody could make Missouri this funny.