Texts from Wiener

Today I will begin posting a series of screenshots of texts I have received from my husband, Wiener.

This way y'all have a better idea of what I'm dealing with here.

In case you're not iPhone proficient, my texts will always be in blue or green and his will always be white. Some I will explain and others need no explanation.

In this one, I texted him in response to an e-mail he sent to a client (A CLIENT!!!) where he used "your welcome."

I am somewhat of a grammar Nazi, although I know I'm not perfect. So this is why he got chastised.

Enjoy.

Don Johnson and the Highway to Hell

What better way to start a road trip headed to a 40th birthday bash for a pal in Tulsa, which was expecting 113 degree temps, than with a case of walking pneumonia?

Not actually seen on our trip.
Although there were rampant wildfires
in Oklahoma that weekend.

But vodka will kill the germs and the hotel has AC, right?

What the fuck, Tulsa- why so hot?

So we're locked and loaded and ready to hit the road for the five hour drive beginning at 10am. 

Just us four girls- me, Raquel, Lola, Baby D and our friend J-Dawg, also known as our personal man-butler. Baby D and J-Dawg are not famous gangsta rappers, they just play them on this blog.

J-Dawg riding dirty.

We packed four bottles of whipped vodka, Malibu rum and some mixers. 

Also in our bag of tricks: Hydrocodone-check. Z-pack-check. Pepto-check. Antacid-check. Imodium-check. Ibuprofen-check. It was almost like packing for nursing home patients on a day trip to the craft store.

This trip almost didn't happen. The preliminary stages were fraught with karmic turbulence.

The car we planned on taking needed some last minute emergency steering column repairs. Baby D had a family crisis and her childcare arrangements weren't finalized until the night before. Lola had childcare issues too, as her soon to be ex-husband was giving her shit.

Lola and I both had walking pneumonia. Well, technically I was diagnosed with severe bronchitis that could turn into walking pneumonia, but I won't be out done. So for dramatic effect, I'm going with pneumonia.

Raquel had no karmic setbacks, but she mentioned she might be prone to explosive diarrhea, so if anything was going to happen, it would go down in the car. 

There were a few other minor issues but in the end we said fuck it, we ride!

The drive there was fun and uneventful. We played games, jammed to some tunes and saw the tree where J-Dawg once took a shart on a previous road trip where he was forced to use his skivvies as toilet paper and left them there glistening in all their mustard-color stained glory.

We made a pit stop at a drive thru animal park where we saw llamas, rhinos, ostrich, goats, zebra ass and some very well hung donkeys.

Zebra ass.

We were almost ass raped by a camel who stole my cup of feed, but we made it out alive. Mostly it was hotter than the inner bowels of hell, so basically the animals would rather die of starvation than leave the shaded trees to come near our car.

You sure do have a pretty mouth.

At the hotel / casino we freshened up, had dinner and played some slots. Later we met up with the birthday girl and her posse and hit the club.

I was never much of a dancer until recent years. I guess when you're staring death in the face at 39 all your previous hang ups go out the window and you say what the hell.

Also, you should know I went from no dancing to freakazoid. That's kind of like going from demure makeup to full on whore face. You only live once and I have years of no dancing to make up for, so someone's getting humped.

My lovely lady lump.

Humping crotch. (too far?)

We had fun busting a move on the floor with the birthday girl- dirty dancing, shaking our asses and such. 

Her brother, Scooter took lots of pics and videos that we still have yet to see, but I have a vague recollection of some of the poses and fear we might have pulled off something straight out of the credits for The Hangover. 

I also got a sweet lap dance from hunky Scooter and I didn't even have to pay for it. All in all, not a bad night!

Anyone have some singles?

Day two was spent hung-over at the pool frying in the heat and drinking piña colada's.

I'm wearing a push up bra under my suit.
True story.

That evening was a night one re-boot. Dinner, then the club. 

Word at pool from the locals was Saturday night the club was "the place to be in Tulsa" so the line to get in could be over an hour wait if you didn't get there early. So like old people at a buffet, we got there when they opened at 8:30 in order to get a good spot.

We enjoyed the early bird entertainment of old drunk redneck dancing with old bouffant haired lady. They had some smooth disco moves until he squatted like he was going to drop a deuce on the floor and was obviously too drunk to go on.

All the members of our group arrived and the DJ was spinning some mad tunes. We were getting our drink on and after one Cosmo and a beer Lola and I felt like we had been roofied. Either that or the bartender whose freakishly long goatee she was stroking all night doubled up on the strength of our cocktails.

Towards night's end everyone was summarily wasted, laughing their asses off and shaking what our mamas gave us.

And that's when we saw him.

A dude dressed head to toe in a white leisure suit, white t-shirt, gold chains and red Nikes.

It was motherfucking Don Johnson.

How you doin?

Circa Miami Vice.

Lola pulled him into our girl on girl dance fest where he informed her that he was Pittbull's cousin. "You know who Pittbull is, don't you?" he asked.  Lola said "no" but she was thinking yes. 

We wouldn't want Don Johnson to think he was impressing anyone with his bullshit story.

One of these things...

Is not like the other.

At some point Don got too close to the birthday girl and her husband was uncomfortable and told him "OK, time to move on, Don Johnson" to which he replied "fuck you!" And that was met with a swift grab to the throat.

So long story short, we got kicked out of the club because Don Johnson is an asshole and a high school principal has an aversion to being told "fuck off" and will throat grab a motherfucker.

Later, there was much speculation as to if Don Johnson was foreign and thought his fashion was the "in" style. Or if he was wearing the over-sized white leisure suit as a joke. Or if he thought he looked like the bomb.

I thought of asking him the next morning when I ran into him in the elevator when I headed down to get some Starbucks. But I was so caught off guard and in disbelief that I ran into him at 10am the next day and he was still in the same clothes that I was rendered utterly speechless.

There is much more I could share but will keep to myself, like the in-room hijinks...

Whatever you do, don't fall asleep.
Or pass out.

And ghostly apparitions...

Ghost hand- see it?

Mostly because some things are better left unsaid and the innocent should be protected. Also, if I tell you, I'd have to kill you because I couldn't use it for blackmail later.

I'm not sure how we made it home. It's all pretty much a blur of flying down the highway at warp granny speed and fast food drive thru's. But we made it home safely and I shall live to tell another tale.

Surprisingly, no one had explosive diarrhea after the ungodly combination of Taco Bueno, Sonic, McDonald's, Cracker Barrel and gas station snacks we ate.

Although one of us did hurl.

A lot.

Why I'm Not Going to Chick-fil-A Today

So at first I wasn't all on board with the Chick-fil-A boycott. I'm not sure if I'm ready to say I'm formally boycotting them. That sounds so official and I am pretty lazy and participating in anything official freaks me out.

And I'm not sure how long I can hold out on going- especially with all the God damned Chick-fil-A articles, ads and posters all over the internet and Facebook. Everywhere you look they're talking about Chick-fil-A.

Derogatory or not, reading them makes me want chicken sandwiches.

But, I certainly won't participate in a Support Chick-fil-A Day just because everyone else is doing it.

Who cares what Dan Cathy said about them believing in family values and the traditional marriage arrangement. They are entitled as humans to have their own opinion as is everyone else.

A little background in case you haven't heard: During an interview with the Baptist Press, Chick-fil-A President Dan Cathy addresses what the publication describes as his franchise's "support of the traditional family."

"We are very much supportive of the family- the biblical definition of the family unit. We are a family-owned business, a family-led business, and we are married to our first wives. We give God thanks for that- we know that it might not be popular with everyone, but thank the Lord, we live in a country where we can share our values and operate on biblical principles." Dan Cathy read the entire interview here

I may not agree or see things the same way, but it's his opinion, so whatever.

They don't refuse to serve same sex couples, unwed mothers, single moms or dads. I'm willing to bet they even employ same sex couples, unwed mothers and single moms and dads. All non "traditional" and certainly not biblical.

So I could easily overlook his personal views and the views of others in the company and go to town on the business end of a chicken sandwich with extra pickles.

But what stopped me is Chick-fil-A's affiliation to anti-gay groups and their endorsement of them by donations. read about it here

Fine. Maybe some of those groups have other redeeming qualities and deserve support. But the negative qualities and anti-gay propaganda they do particiape in, in my opinion, outweighs the good and makes me pause to think about supporting them or not.

Imagine if Major Corporation X donated to a White Supremacist Organization. 

Maybe this White Supremacist Organization also did good things in the community like planted trees, built homes for homeless white people and renovated white churches- but they also sometimes spread just a little hate and intolerance about non white people and how if you're not white you should have no rights or be dead...I'm sure that would be fine.

OK- so maybe I'm being overly dramatic in my analogy. But when true equality is at stake, I like to pull out all the stops.

I know what you're thinking- corporations can donate their money where they see fit. That may be true...

Just as I'm free to spend my money where I see fit.

And that's why I won't be going to Chick-fil-A on Support Chick-fil-A Day. 

Also, I won't be going until Brad and Angelina tell me it's OK because they are the supreme authority on all things controversial and where I get all of my political advice. read this Plus, they prefer McDonald's see

Who is in Charge of the Internet?

It seems like everyone wants to take credit for creating the Internet- Al Gore, Obama, the government, Bill Gates, the Chinese, Kanye. 

OK, I made some of those up.

But no one wants to take responsiblity for the mess.

Kind of like on an episode of Maury. "Yeah, I slept with that bitch. I take full credit for tappin that ass. Say what? Hell naw that ain't my kid. No way. I ain't taking responsibility for that shit. Deuces."

The internet is such a mess. And by mess, I mean gigantic clusterfuck. And by gigantic clusterfuck, I mean mega-atomic clusterfuck.

I'm somewhat technologically savvy. I can find Scooby Doo on demand for devil baby. I can upload pictures from my iPhone to Facebook. I can dial a rotary phone like nobody's business. I got mad skills.

I've got the whole Facebook thing pretty much down, until they change the format and privacy settings, then it's back to square one- but it's manageable.

So I get online to figure out how this Twitter shit works. I've been pretty much avoiding it since I heard a lot of people were having public arguments and I didn't want to accidentally piss someone off because I'm non-confrontational.


That's my biggest fear. Heated public arguments. Well, that and dance-offs.


I was trying to find out more info on the whole Bloggess/Wil Wheaton story and the search brought me to Twitter because they tweet each other (and I wanted in on that shit, because I'm nosy like that) and then it told me I had to log in to follow and I clicked log in and it said "forbidden." 

HOLY SHIT, I broke the Twitter! 

Or I have been banned? What the fuck? I've never been on there. They must know I'm not cool enough to be on there.

In the interest of full disclosure, you should know that I also may have been confusing Wil Wheaton with Joss Whedon, the creator of Firefly, which I LOVE (nerd alert) that stars Nathan Fillion, who I love more. 

So I was looking for the inside scoop and possible insight into his whereabouts when I found this, which was awesome and made me feel less stupid about my plan to stalk Nathan Fillion via Wil Wheaton, who I thought was Joss Whedon. 


And never you mind why I didn't just follow Nathan Fillion directly on Twitter. I have a process, people.

Also, it turns out Wil Wheaton is interesting and apparently he played Wesley Crusher on Star Trek: The Next Generation which I used to watch, but enough about my lameocity. 

The point is, anytime you look for a how-to article or tutorial there are a million different ones to choose from and many are incorrect or outdated and there are also a lot of abandoned sites and broken links.

Just.A.Motherfucking.Nightmare.

So I'm not in favor of a policing entity online or anything, you know, free speech and all, but maybe just some kind of quality control division that tells site owners: 

"This site is outdated. Please take it down or update it. Contrary to your instructions, to tweet you must now use ¥ instead of # and € instead of @. Also you must do this while standing on your head. And you must do a tequila shot when someone says trending. And trending is being replaced by vogueing. And by the time you finish reading this, all aforementioned changes will be null and void."

But seriously, can someone please clean up the clutter? Help a sister out with the correct information on how-to sites and make better tutorials on technology for dummies..err the somewhat savvy.


Also, you may have noticed that I learned how to link other pages to my blog.


I figured that shit out on my own...
So suck it, Internet.

Lame Trick & OldSmith

I went to an Aerosmith / Cheap Trick concert last weekend.

As Cheap Trick performed I was transported back to the days of arena rock. Of course there were some differences- no sinus clogging smoke or greasy haired mullet guys in sleeveless concert T's and ripped jeans.

But there was still a nasty smell- a combo of what was either stale nachos or body odor or both, plus OLD greasy haired mullet guys in sleeveless concert T's and ripped jeans.

Cheap Trick sounded great. But there is something about a 60 year old geriatric screeching "do you want to party" that makes you not want to party.

I mean it was after ten, I was out of the house wearing something other than pajamas and there was not a minion in sight. Was this not partying?

Finally, Aerosmith came to the stage. 

I should preface this by saying despite their age they brought the motherfucking house down!

But Steven Tyler IS 64 and has had a few incidents on stage recently, so I spent the first half of the show worrying about him.

"Careful Steven, you're dancing a bit close to the edge of the stage. Don't spin like that- you're going to get dizzy and fall. For the love of God DO NOT climb on top of that piano!!"

Overall it was fan fucking-tastic. 

Aerosmith is a band that has rocked for over forty years and has managed to stay relevant and fresh. That's fresh as in new material and sound not as in 80's fresh and totally like grody. 

They are definitely an American icon and dare I say the US version of the Rolling Stones, only less stuffy.

I only hope that when I'm 64 I can gyrate and shake my money maker like Steven Tyler.

Hell, I wish I could do that now!