I Rule You

Aaaaaaaw, yeeeah, boys and girls, lookie what Joeyfullystated done give me:

And since we all know awards are high on the list of Gifts Hoody Will Always Accept (another one is diamonds, but in that case I do mostly always give them back – just ask my multiple ex-fiances!), I have no choice but to comply with the rules.

1.  Thank the blogger who gave you this award:  Thank you thank you thank you, Joey!  This act of ass-kissing undying and completely deserved love and admiration has earned you a place on the Royal Court.  Pending further review, your probationary title is Executive Awarder in Charge of Awards.

2.  Share 7 things about yourself:  Well, hell, I’m the Queen of Oversharing (among many other things), so I’m running out of shit y’all don’t know.  Lessee…

1. I am currently re-watching the new (well, 2005) version of Battlestar Galactica thanks to the magic of OnDemand, and I have to say, I love it just as much now as I did when it first came out.
2. I have an irrational love for Lee Adama.
3. I have been known to make an entire meal out of nothing but appetizers.  Many, many appetizers.
4. As a working journalist in New Jersey, I am taking entirely too much pleasure in the scandal surrounding Governor Christie.
5. I took one… yes, ONE… cheerleading class when I was a wee child.  Needless to say, it didn’t take.
6. I have bitten my nails my whole life.  At present, I have exactly two nails past my fingertips – both the pinky nails.  Yes, I look like a cokehead.
7. I could give absolutely two shits about who wins this year’s Super Bowl… as long as it’s the Broncos.

3/4.  Nominate 15 bloggers/Notify the nominees.  Well, this one’s easy – Royal Court, you’re up.  Voices, now’s your chance for a possible promotion.  Consider this your notification, since if you’re not reading my posts you don’t deserve an award anyway!

5.   Put the logo of the award on your blog.  Sure will, just gimme a second to remember how…

I Am a Liar

It’s not my fault, but I must admit:  I lied to the entire state of New Jersey.

Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.

You see, I went to work yesterday, under orders from The Bosses to lead with weather – even though, as they admitted themselves, it “wasn’t going to be a big deal.”  The National Weather Service was advising “little precipitation, snow changing to rain by afternoon.”

Then this happened.

Mother. Fucker.

So basically, I told an ENTIRE STATE full of easily-terrified senior citizens that there was nothing to fear… when I should have been issuing a bread-and-milk alert.  Credibility.  I hazn’t got it.

Allow me to once again reiterate for those of you who have not been following along in class:  I AM NOT A METEOROLOGIST.  I was once a “weather girl” very briefly, but that was basically tits-and-ass with a blue screen.  I HAVE NO DOCUMENTED SCIENTIFIC KNOWLEDGE OF THIS SUBJECT.

This is why, when I worked at the TV station, I used to rail and fight so hard AGAINST leading with weather (ask Gilbert, he was present for many of the Attempted Firings of Hoody that resulted from my stand on the subject).  Weather is NOT my business, and I prefer to leave the lying to the professionals.

Thanks for listening to my rant.  I love you fuckers.

HH

P.S.  And don’t worry about me during this unexpected Snowpocalypse.  I have my trusty survival tool:

Yeah, BUDDY!

Canna Hoody Getta Ho?

(Yeah, I know it’s been awhile, but I’m back now, bitches!  I can’t promise posts every day just yet, but how about we go for 3 times a week and see how she flies?  You know I love all y’all!)

Catching up with Almost Human, and I can’t believe – of all the euphemisms for “android you have sex with,” they use “sex-bot,” “bang-bot,” and “sexual-this-and-that-android” — but they DON’T use “ho-bot?”  COME ON!!! “Ho-bot” is PERFECT!

Maybe you can’t say “ho” on network TV… although one a’them FLDS ho’s said “bitch” on TLC…

Anyhoo, it got me thinking (always dangerous), so I present:

THE ABC’S OF AI

A:  I got nothing.

B:  Bo-bot – drives the General Lee (General Lee sold separately)

C:  Co-bot – works only in pairs

D:  Doh!-bot – Homer Simpson android

E:  Still nothing.

F:  Foe-bot – helps you learn combat skills

G:  Go-bot – duh, an obnoxious Transformers knockoff

H:  Ho-bot – we covered this

I:  Nothing.  Vowels are hard, yo.

J:  Joe-bot – brings you coffee

K:  KO-bot – brings you a Coke (look it up)

L:  Lo-bot – smaller than usual

M:   Mo-bot – pokes you in the eyes and calls you a numbskull

N:  No-bot – acts like your wife OR:  No-No-bot – rips out all your hair

O:  Oh-OOOOH-bot – an homage to Sam Kinnison (RIP)

P:  Po-bot – a homeless android

Q:  Quo-bot – keeps things the same

R:  Row-bot – works in Venice

S:  Sew-bot – Mends your clothes OR: So-So-bot – not really the best available version

T:  Tow-bot – works for the traffic cops

U:  We’re back to nothing.

V:  V.O.-bot – narrator android, possibly sounds like Morgan Freeman

W:  WHOA!-bot – very surprising android

X:  XO-bot – gives you hugs and kisses (cheaper but less satisfying than the ho-bot)

Y:  Yo!-bot – Sylvester Stallone android OR: Yo-Yo-bot – plays the cello

Z:  Best I can do is the Zoe-bot, which is a smokin’-hot African American android that can kick your ass and knows Nathan Fillion

Your turn, Hooligans – fill in the vowels for me or add your own!

Money for Nothin’

And if you’re not singing the Dire Straits song right now, I don’t know if we can still be friends… although that song uses the word “faggot” and I try not to use hurtful words like “faggot”… you motherfuckers…

So if you’ve been keeping up with the rest of the class, you’ll remember that Hoody is currently a wicked drain on your tax dollars unemployed.  But I can’t find me no job, and here’s why — everything I wanna be just won’t work.  Let’s examine our choices, shall we?

1.  Pirate

DUH, of course I wanna be a pirate, of the Captain Jack Sparrow variety, not the Somali kind (which is good, ’cause I’m not Somalian).  On the plus side — I have my own swords and I have no problem with holding knives in my teeth.  Also, I like rum and hush puppies, which according to this placemat I got from a seafood restaurant is all pirates eat.  I even know all the words to the Jimmy Buffett song about being a pirate.  But you know there’s gotta be some…

CONS

A.  As previously mentioned, not Somalian, which is really the only type of pirate you hear about nowadays.

B.  Startup costs appear to be pretty fucking high.  Apparently I would need a pirate ship, some poofy pants, and at least 2 or 3 “scurvy dogs” to act as crew, and that’s the bare minimum.  And I can’t get an estimate on a ship because the Chris-Craft guy had my number blocked, the scurvy dog.  I know where you live, Eugene.

2.  Dian Fossey for Squirrels

Dear Sweet Mama;s neighborhood has A LOT of squirrels, so I figured this one would be a cinch.  I started out by naming all the squirrels:  Too Fat, Gretzky (who knocks the other squirrels over), Tebow (who is most often the victim of the knocking over), Lucky (who has a bald patch on his tail where he got away from some other critter), and Other One.  Then I realized it was not to be, all because of one insurmountable

CON

A.  I have no tail.  And it seems that more than half of squirrel communication (Squirrelese) involves twitching or shaking the tail.  So I could not communicate with my subjects, making the experiment invalid (and earning me the name “Enormous Retarded Hairless Squirrel Who Gives Us Nuts”).

3.  Stephen King

Yeah, that job’s already taken.  Scurvy dog.

So I’m open to y’all’s suggestions as to how I should get off my lazy ass become a productive member of society.  But remember my handicaps:  Not Somalian, got no money, got no tail, and am not Stephen King.  Go from there.

 

 

Just In Case

Although a very dear friend in Singapore tells me it’s End of the World Day there already and… well, they’re still there, there are also people saying the Mayan ‘Pocolypse isn’t scheduled until around 6:20 am EST… So, in case we all die, I leave you with some wisdom.  ‘Cause I’m all like Yoda n’ shit.

1.  Dear Sweet Mama and I have half-assedly made up through our own stupidity DISCOVERED a brand new word.

“Alacricity” <Ah-lah-KRISS-uh-tee>. Noun.  1.  The instant of intense pain and shock you feel when your Crocs completely acceptable shoes (for douchebags) set off the static electricity while you are fondling price tags at TJ Maxx trying to cure cancer.  2.  The exact moment at which a food becomes manky (i.e., unfit to eat).  Example:  “I threw out those glazed donuts due to the alacricity of their icing.”

2.  When I first moved in with DSM and The Concubine, I pissed and moaned expressed my concern over their habit of leaving the blinds open during the day, due to my own habit of being without pants.  DSM said I would “get used to it.”  I have not, but I presume the neighbors have “gotten used to” not looking in this direction.

3.  I am considering making the infamous Broccoli Stuff to take to our friends’ house for Christmas dinner.  My conundrum is this:  Given the potentially-deadly nature of Broccoli Stuff, is giving it to other people an act of friendship or an offense outlawed by the Geneva Convention?  Discuss.

Love to y’all, and if the End Times ARE upon us, remember, the new East Coast rally point is Joisey!

HH

Drink Your Juice and Tip Your Stylist

AAAAARGH, so I’m back from Hospital Part Deux, and I have to sincerely thank all of you for worrying about me so much!  Plus, I know you’re just dying to know what I did to my fool self this time.  So here ’tis:

Friday before last (May 4) , I went to get my hairs cut in preparation for going to a Kentucky Derby Party with the lovely and talented Cinema Sugar (who seems to have deleted her blog for some reason and can expect an ass-kicking).  Anyhoo, the little hair gal had just washed my hair and I was sitting in the chair chit-chatting… when I started to get that feeling… that feeling that I was gonna pass out…

Now, I am very familiar with that feeling, since as a child I would faint at the drop of a… well, a small child.  Everything got fuzzy and far away, there was a roaring in my ears, and when I tried to say something to the stylist, I couldn’t talk.  Next thing I remember, she and Chuckweasel were standing over me (still in the chair, thank goodness!) discussing whether or not they should call 911.

Yes, Hooligans.  I had my very own Steel Magnolias moment.

So, Shelby drank her juice and all was as well as one can expect.  I went home with my partial haircut and promised to eat something to steady out my blood sugar (no, I’m not diabetic, but I do drop like a rock if you let me get too hungry).  Next day, still feeling shitty, but less clammy and sweaty, so I continued to eat even though I wasn’t hungry because I didn’t want to faint again.

AND WE ALL KNOW WHAT HAPPENS WHEN I EAT.

By Tuesday night, the pancreas was fucking KILLING me, so I made Chuckweasel take me to the ER Wednesday morning.  The pain wasn’t EXACTLY the same as before, and I didn’t want to be that asshole who ignores the symptoms of a heart attack until she just keels over flat dead.

Fun Fact:  excruciating chest pain gets you back to be seen at the ER in nothing flat!

So I spent Wednesday night, all of Thursday and Friday morning  in the hospital, having every test known to man to figure out what the fuck is wrong with me.  I didn’t care what they did, as long as the morphine kept a-comin’.

Final decision — heart and lungs are fine, brain is fine (HA!), but pancreas is very angry.  So I have yet another kind of pill I have to take when I eat, and the rest of it is pretty much a low-fat-low-salt-no-booze diet plus pain management (which is an important part that was MISSING from their previous plans, tyvm!).

So, in the words of the Great Sage Granny Weatherwax, “I aten’t dead.”  Get your filthy paws off my stuff.

PS:  Part 2 of this post tomorrow — in which I will reveal a little known facet of the haircutting industry!

Dear Sweet Mama Never Learns

Our lovely and talented Minister of Finance, LeeAnn, recently regaled us with the tale of her heroic rescue of one of the inbred waterhead kittens she has living under her house.  So I have no choice but to relate…

The Legend(s) of Dear Sweet Mama

vs. the Snapping Turtle(s)

PART I.

We begin our tale long ago (shut up!) when Hoody was but a wee slip of a lass (shut UP!) still living in her Childhood Home with Dear Sweet Mama (yes, the same Childhood Home with the bottomless bucket of poop in the yard).  DSM and Young Hoody were going out somewhere, and as they passed the fence post that butted up against the side of the house, they beheld a strange sight:

A snapping turtle, apparently emerging from hibernation in the mud, had somehow managed to get itself wedged between the fence and the house.  Vertically, so it was a-waving all its little legs helplessly.  And DSM and Hoody swung into action.

Now, a brief note for those of you who do NOT hail from out the holler, a snapping turtle looks like this:

from pestcontrolrx.com

And yes, if he appears angry to you, imagine how angry he would be if he was covered in mud and trapped between the fence and the house, balanced upright on his wee turtle tail.  And hissing.  And snapping.  But DSM and Hoody were undeterred in their mission of mercy.

So they got a stick.

And they tried to use the stick to poke the turtle sideways so that he would slide out of the gap he was stuck in and go upon his way.

Turtle don’t play dat.

That damn thing whipped his big ol’ angry head around on his freakishly long neck… AND BIT THE STICK IN HALF.

So DSM and Hoody repaired to the house to find something more durable to poke the turtle with (i.e., something a turtle could not, at least theoretically, bite through)… but when they emerged a short time later, the turtle appeared to have solved his own problems and gotten free on his own.

So DSM and Hoody repaired back into the house again… because that meant the turtle was LOOSE.  And they had POKED it.

You’d think that would be enough to teach DSM that snapping turtles do not appreciate the kindness of strangers.  But no!  Stay tuned for Part II tomorrow!

Apparently I’m “It”

Thanks so much for all the love, support, and offers of ass-kickin’ assistance yesterday, now let’s get to the good part:

Tag!

The lovely and talented and utterly-unafraid-of-getting-her-ass-kicked-for-taking-pictures-of-weirdos-in-the-street Misty passed along “Tag!  You’re It!” to myself and several other wonderful blog artistes.  That means I have to answer some questions… ’cause she’s a lawyer and she scares me.    ; )

1.  Book or movie and why?

Book.  Number one, I read pretty much CONSTANTLY (yes, even on the toilet), and number two, I often find my own imagination is better than the screenwriter/director/whatever’s.  Not to say I WON’T see the movie, but I generally like to have read the book first.  And if I find out I’m watching a movie that’s based on a book and I didn’t know it, I will immediately go out and find that book and read it.  Because I’m a nerd and a film major, and that’s how we roll.

2.  Real book or e-book?

Real.  Can’t beat the smell of the paper, the feel of turning the pages with my actual fingers.  I’m like Admiral Kirk in that way.  Plus, I think the whole Kindle thing is a trick.

3. Funniest thing you’ve done in the last 5 years?

I’m assuming this means funny to others, because I amuse the fuck out of myself pretty much all the time.  And I really don’t know for sure… but it probably involved me doing something stupid and proceeding to injure myself.  I’m good at that.  Oh, and there’s also this.

4.  Do you put yourself in the books you read/movies you watch?

Not… really.  I empathize with the characters, of course, but mostly I’m just along for the ride.  There HAVE been some very fucked up dreams, though.

5. How would your best friend describe you?

Well, it’s you guys, so I hope it’s “one funny motherfucker.”

6.  Favorite kind of car and why?

One that runs.  That is all.

7.  Would your choice of party be a catered meal or a barbecue out back?

As long as I’m not RESPONSIBLE for the party, either is good.  If I’m in charge, catered meal:  Hoody can’t take that kind of pressure!

8.  What’s your favorite season and why?

Hmmm… I really love fall, the way the air smells and the changing leaves.  But I also hate it a little because I know it means winter’s coming.

9.  What important lessons have you learned?  Spiritual, educational, and occupational?

Spiritual:  There is no one “right” way.  You gotta do what feels best for you.

Educational:  Virtually everything I learned in college is now obsolete, but I still think everyone should have to go for the mind-broadening.

Occupational:  The people I work with/for are fucking rock stars.  I would not have made it through all the drama I’ve dealt with without their understanding and support (or y’all’s, either!).

10.  Besides writing, what’s your favorite thing to do when you get some extra time?

I don’t know what this “extra time” thing is, I feel like all I do is work and sleep!  I really need to spend MORE time writing, but there’s that whole “sleeping” problem…  I do like to dick around on the internet and read, but I’m usually doing those things while doing something else at the same time.

11.  What’s one place you can be found at least one time every week?

*sigh*… Walmart.  I grocery shop once a week and that’s where I do most of it.  They carry my basic staples:  catfood, Sprite, booze and refried beans.

ANNNNNNND scene.

Whew, that’s done.  Now I’m supposed to pass this on to 11 other people, but Hoody don’t do rules.  So I’m passing it along to ALL the members of the Royal Court.  That’s right, bitches.  YOU’RE “it.”

Back to Bidness

Ah, taxes are done and paid and probably wrong, but I don’t care anymore, I just don’t.  Too many maths make Hoody something…something…

Anyhoo, back before Uncle Sam and Step-Daddy Earl Ray got their hands in my pockets, I was actually GIVEN something:

I's Is Kreativ!

That there award comes to me courtesy of the amazing bluzdude, who is being rewarded for his generosity by promotion to the Royal Court as my “Official Mirror Spirit” (you know, as in “mirror, mirror, on the wall…”).  Thanks, hon! Never let it be said that I cannot be bought!

Now, the rules are thusly:  Post the picture, thank the sender, then list seven (YIKES!) interesting facts about myself.  Now, I don’t know that there’s much left I haven’t shared about myself, but I’ll do my best:  Let’s talk about scars, shall we?  Chicks dig scars, right?

1. I was never in a street gang, but I have in fact been “jumped out.”  For some reason, the twin girls who lived down the street from me growing up decided to celebrate my move from grade school to junior high (they were a little younger) by beating the fuck outta me with baseball bats.  Fortunately for me, they chose ALUMINUM bats, and the recoil time gave me room to run before they’d got more than a couple licks in.  Stupid bitches.  WOODEN bats are the way to go.
2. No scars from that particular incident, but my lower back is a veritable palette of bad decisions.  First, there was the huge bite mark from my uncle’s miniature Shetland Pony (twice as mean as catshit, that little fucker was).  For some unknown reason, he decided to chase me down one day and bite the fuck outta my back — I sweartaGAWD, it felt like he hit spine!  This is the origin of my theory that miniaturized animals are proportionately meaner than full-sized ones.
3. Once that healed, I somehow managed to get a Brown Recluse Spider to decide that my bedroom window was an excellent place to have her little spider babies.  Yes, I know we’re not supposed to have them here in Wes’BYGAWD, but believe me, we do.  As you may know, brown recluse venom makes your skin… kinda… melt…. yeah, it’s really gross.  Thank Goddess it was just the babies or my ass might have completely disappeared!
4. And as a final insult, I had a wireless microphone battery pack pretty well catch fire with me wearing it… causing the finishing touches to, you guessed it, the small of my back.  I don’t need a tramp stamp, I EARNED this shit!
5. But wait, there’s more:  I had to wear an eyepatch through part of kindergarten because I fell on my fool head and bashed myself in the eye on the edge of my Dear Sweet Grandparents’ (DSM’s folks) coffee table.  There’s still a little dent if you look close.
6. Same kindergarten, I had a nosebleed so bad they had to cauterize (yes, burn) it shut… resulting in an enormous black booger THAT I WAS NOT ALLOWED TO PICK AT.  Dammit, I wanted to pick it!
7. The latest really good ones are the ones I got when a horse threw me through a barbed wire fence — it wasn’t her fault, she was in heat and no one had thought to inform me of that — but they’ve almost faded off my shoulder.  I was the most badass girl at church camp after that, though.

So there’s my seven things you may not have known (or wanted to).  This particular award doesn’t come with pass-along directions, so I’m throwing it open to all of y’all:  What’s your best scar/wound story?

Talk This Way

Jayne has been increasing our edification and knowledge with selections from her “Achtionary” as part of the A to Z Challenge this month… Now, we all know I ain’t no team player and rules tend to make me recalcitrant, so I’m not doing the challenge… but I can still expand y’all’s vocabulary.  These are words in use around the Hoo Household, most of which do not exist, but should.

The most recent additions are actually both useful in the same situation.  The words are “POTE” <poht> and “PASSENGE” <pass-inj>.

POTE <poht> noun:  A drink of water.  Origin: the signs on water trucks that say “non-potable water.” Example: “I have this bottle of water, would you care for a pote?”

PASSENGE <pass-inj> verb:  the act of riding in a car.  Example:  “No, you go ahead and drive, I prefer to passenge.”

So if you are passenging and you have a bottle of water, it is only polite to offer the driver a pote.

Other Hoo-words include:

CLEATING <klee-ting> verb:  The eating that you do while cleaning out the refrigerator, which you excuse as “getting rid of leftovers” and which often results in meals like “Mashed Potatoes and a Tuna Salad Sandwich.”  Example:  “The fridge is full of Tupperware, so I’ll be doing a lot of cleating later.”  Past tense: CLATE <klayt> Example: “I’d love to go to dinner, but I already clate.”

WHAM!NESIA <wam-nee-jhuh> noun:  The belief that you have good taste in music despite all the evidence to the contrary in your record collection.  Example:  “Joe called me out on my Wham!nesia when he found out I know all the words to ‘Ice Ice Baby.'”

HAMNESIA <ham-nee-shuh> noun:  The mental state in which you go back to the fridge for “just one more bite,” even though you ate your weight in ham a few hours before. Example: “”You’re getting another plate already? You must have hamnesia!”  Most famous case study:  Calpurnia Jean

ELECTRONICAL <ee-lek-trahn-ick-ull> adjective:   Used to describe a device that is both electronic and technologically advanced (i.e. confusing).  Example:  “I’m sure there’s an electronical device that could do that for you.”  (Word Origin: Chuckweasel)

FBFP (acronym: FaceBook Faux Pas) : Any action taken on a social networking site that either A) offers too much information or is otherwise inappropriate; B) is just lame; or C) causes a panic (I’m lookin’ at you, DSM!). Example: “Dude, did you just post pics from your colonoscopy AND ‘Like’ your own status? Major FBFP.”

PEGGY’D: <peh-geed> adverb : The process by which a call to any customer service center takes twice as long as it should due to the representative’s incomprehensibly bad English.  Example:  “I was on the phone to the bank for 3 hours!”  “Man, you got Peggy’d.”

APOCOLIST <uh-pock-oh-list> noun:  The shopping list you make of things you need to stock up on before the End Times.  Example:  “I don’t want to get scurvy, so make sure to put fruit salad on the Apocolist.”

PHOBE: <fohb> verb transitive : To suffer irrational fear of something.  Example:  “Dude, it’s just a spider, you don’t need to phobe about it!”  Word Origin:  Chuckweasel

FLEAZERS <flee-zurz>noun : The old pair of tweezers that are no good for plucking eyebrows anymore and have been retired to picking fleas off the kitten.  Example:  “Ti-Jacques!  Hold Still or Mommy’s gonna get the fleazers!”

Got any words I missed?