Tag Archives: So Butch

Spacing Is Important

Okay, so it’s always struck my inner Beavis as inappropriately hilarious that “therapist” and “the rapist” are just a misplaced space away from a Monty Python sketch.  But now I’m paying the price (as usual):

I may have inadvertently hit on my counselor.

See, the time before last, she had her hair down and I complimented her on it.  I hadn’t seen it down before and I was raised to say nice things to people (to their face).  Then this LAST time, she had her hair down AGAIN… and SHE complimented ME on my shirt.

Now, I’m fairly sure one should not date one’s mental health professionals, plus I’m REALLY sure no one who’s seen into the cobwebby corners of my psyche should be even remotely interested in the enormous inevitable train wreck that is a relationship with me.  We should also probably mention that I think EVERYONE is hitting on me — self-image was never my problem!

Maybe it’s like Poor Ol’ Dad always says:  The hotter a woman is, the crazier she is.  So I suppose the reverse is also true:  the crazier a woman is, the hotter she is.  Plus this foil hat really brings out my eyes.

And by the way, when asked if the Poor Ol’ Dad Corollary of Hotness vs. Craziness applies to Dear Sweet Mama, POD had only this to say:

“Your mother has always been very hot.”

I rest my case.



Filed under Adventures with Dear Sweet Mama, I'm Confused, Just Call Me Beavis, La Vida Loca, Poor Ol' Dad, White Man's Medicine

I Still Rule You


Another day, another argument with “George” —

Hoody Hoo:  I’m actually kinda pissed the ‘Pocolypse didn’t happen… now I can’t use all my skills.

“George”:  Oh, like what?  Like you’re gonna be Mad Max or something?  Like all those fuckin’ Goth kids who think the End of The World is gonna be your ticket to the big time.

HH:  Fuck you, do not!  I don’t wanna be Mad Max, anyway, I wanna be Norman Arminger.

G:  But what I’m saying is, you won’t.  All you people think you’re gonna be in charge, you’re gonna be dead in a ditch.

HH:  Will NOT!

G:  Will TOO.  Once the whole End of the World thing happens, there’s gonna be motherfuckers MUCH crazier than you —

HH:  Not THAT much crazier —

G:  Point being, there’s no way you’re gonna be the boss.  To be the boss, you’d have to be all like Humongous and like eat a baby or something, and you won’t do that.

HH:  Might.  Might eat a baby.

G:  Won’t.

HH:  Fine, then I’m not saving your ass.  You were on the ass-saving list, but you’re not anymore.

G:  I don’t want to be in a group anyway.  Not until it gets big.  Small groups get you killed.

HH:  But where’s the tipping point?  You have to be in a small group before it becomes a large group…

G:  I only wanna be in a small group if it’s way outta the way.  Or a large group that’s right on the main throughfare, but too big to fuck with.

HH:  But before that you’d be by yourself.  You haven’t got the skills to live in the woods all by yourself for like months.

G:  I have skills.

HH:  Not those skills.  Like, you need your small group to have a hunter, a nurse… you ain’t got all those skills.

G:  I have a lot of skills.

HH:  You’re gonna die in the woods.

G:  You’re gonna die in a ditch.






Filed under "George", At the Movies, C'est Vrai You Suck, Getchore LEARN on!, I Rule You, The Royal Court, Weep for Humanity

Veni, Vedi… Just Me?

Trapped on the couch, watching crap TV while DSM and the Concubine carry my head cold germs to the rest of the family, I have discovered something potentially disturbing about myself, dear Hooligans.

I have never seen a Saw movie… ’cause that shit seems logical to me.

The series is all about, “I locked your dumb ass up and fed the key to this motherfucker right here and you have to cut him open to get free,” right? That type of shit?  See, I’m fine with that.

I was just watching the true crapfest that is American Horror House (horribly acted, horribly scripted, but nice sfx and good that Morgan Fairchild got some work) and it occurred to me that I would never end up like Stupid Girl Trapped On The Third Floor With Stupid Boy.  Y’see, they only had 10 feet of rope, so they were all, “Oh, noes, we can’t get down with that!” But I happen to know that human intestines are MUCH longer than 10 feet… in fact, you could probably double those suckers up and rappel like a Green Beret!

Plus, Stupid Girl had only just met Stupid Boy, so he’s nothing to her.  Well, nothing but a Meat Ladder (patent pending).  It might be harder if you actually KNEW Stupid Boy, but I doubt it… he is, after all, STUPID.  And my sense of self-preservation is finely-honed, y’all — if ANYBODY’S takin’ this bitch out of the game, it’s gonna be me… and I ain’t nowhere NEAR done yet!


Filed under At the Movies, I Rule You, SCIENCE!, WTF???

Don’t Forget Your Barrel

The unending oddness that is my life continues with a call from Dear Sweet Mama:

Hoody Hoo:  I had the most terrifying dreams last night, I woke up shaking and sweating!  I think I had killed a dude and thought I killed his girlfriend but she wasn’t quite dead so she came after me…

Dear Sweet Mama:  That’s weird, I had terrible dreams, too!  I dreamed we were in Milwaukee with my parents (editor’s note:  DSM’s parents are quite dead) and we were running away from riots and we had to cross this bridge and everybody kept telling us to jump but it was like over Niagara Falls or something…

HH:  That dude survived that time he went over Niagara Falls in a barrel, right?  We mighta made it…

DSM:  Well, HE had a barrel, WE did not… we were sans barrel!  You don’t jump off a bridge sans barrel!

*Break for maniacal laughter and plans to make t-shirts that say “Leave me alone, I’m sans barrel,” etc.*

HH:  Callie Jean is loving that piece of wicker she tore out of the paper plate holder.

DSM:  Of course, she does, it was free.  If you had spent money on it, none of them would be interested.  Like when you buy your kid a $300 whatever and they play with the box!

HH:  You remember the time me and Childhood Friend built that robot out of a box?  And we put a tape player in the box so it could talk!

DSM:  You girls were…

HH (interrupting):  GIFTED, Mama.  The word is GIFTED.

DSM:  Yeah, that’s it.

HH:  Although we did also try to get our fool selves killed trying to “rappel” down the riverbank on a clothesline… Of course, YOU actually did slide down the riverbank smack into some fornicating ducks…

DSM:  It wasn’t on purpose!  They should have had a barrel!

*More maniacal laughter including plans to create jobs by appointing someone to go around putting out barrels for ducks to fuck in so they won’t scare the children.*

Conclusion:  There are 2 types of people in the world — those who have their barrel, and those who are sans barrel.  If you have your barrel, life is cool and you’ve pretty much got things under control.  If you’re sans barrel, you’re fairly fucked.


Filed under Adventures with Dear Sweet Mama, Calpurnia Jean, Getchore LEARN on!, I Rule You, Kittehs!, La Vida Loca

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?


Filed under Getchore LEARN on!, I Rule You, La Vida Loca, The Royal Court, Youse Guys

The Best-Laid Plans

Sheesh, so the Saint Patrick’s Day Lamb attempt did NOT go well, I mean not AT ALL.  And it’s all WalMart’s fault.

First, they always hide the lamb for some reason, even though far more upsetting meats such as tripe and beef tongue are on full and prominent display.  So on my THIRD hunt through the meat department, I finally find the lamb and go on my merry way.

Cut to Saturday… when I merrily make up the Jameson’s-and-Honey marinade and prepare to begin the deliciousness.  That’s when I opened up the lamb package… only to find…





Yes, a breast, not the expected and much-anticipated leg.  Who the hell even knows what to do with a lamb breast?  Even the interwebz were no help, everything just kept talking about what a “less-desirable” cut of meat it is and how you had to cook it really slow at low temperatures to make it even worth eating.  So I tried that.

A short time later, a smell began to pervade the house that can only be described as… boiled taint.  No, boiled HOBO taint.  It was seriously so awful the cats wouldn’t go in the kitchen and I had to open the sliding door AND turn the air conditioner on to try to tamp it down some.  Yesterday, Chuckweasel and I drove past a place where someone had hit a skunk on the road and I sweartaGAWD, it smelled better than that horrible devil meat.

So, in short, I did not get my Saint Patrick’s Day Lamb and I am pissed off about it.  I may try again for Easter, but Imma prolly just say fuck it and get another Paula Deen ham.  Paula never lets me down.


Filed under La Vida Loca, My Secret Shame(s), Reality Bites, Things I Don't Know, WTF???

It’s Not Enough I Married a Cat?

Well, I’ll be damned.

For Me?

That there is another fabulous award from the amazing Leauxra of Does This Make My Blog Look Fat?.  The rules for this one are pretty straightforward:  As the badge would indicate, I’m supposed to award it to 3 bloggers who I’d like to know more about… then reveal 3 things about me you may not know.

First things first, though.  Let’s all take a look at the lovely things Leauxra had to say about moi:

“Hoodyhoo of… hoodyhoo. Of course you read Ms. Hoo. Who doesn’t read her? I heard a rumor that she’s back around after kicking the shit out of some of her internal organs. Yay!

“Who doesn’t read her???”  Check’s in the mail, Leauxra, just don’t cash it for awhile! : )

Now onto the nominees:

  1. Frequent commenter and (gasp!) male person, Brett Minor of Transformed Nonconformist.  Brett gets the nod for his unique solution to avoiding post-apocolypse stress: “I will be dead.”
  2. Dana the Biped is up next from Five Legs Between Us.  Anyone who will give a gun to a possum is someone we need to get to know better!
  3. My latest protege, Cinema Sugar. In my continuing effort to force others to blog, I thought this might give CS the impetus to “write something, dammit!”  I reserve the right to label anything she may say about me as a foul and baseless lie… unless it’s flattering, of course!

Now, onto the second part.  I’m not known for my lack of disclosure, but I’ll try to find some new dirt about me…

  1. I once hucked a (full) beer can at a then-boyfriend to stop him from peeing in the yard at a party (hey, the cops mighta seen!).  I meant to hit NEAR him to startle him and make him pee himself… instead, I knocked his ass unconscious.
  2. At the ripe old age of 35, I still practice the “school clothes” method of wardrobe maintenance.  That means I take off my “good clothes” the minute I come in the door and sit around in a t-shirt and underpants.  If you’re lucky, I’ll put on shorts.
  3. I have been known to sleep in the bathtub the whole night ON PURPOSE.  Sometimes it’s the only thing that makes my knees feel better, and I DO use a (soon-to-be-soaking-wet) towel as a blanket.  Waking up sucks, though.

Alright, Hooligans!  The nominees HAVE to do it, but the rest of y’all are welcome to share as well!


Filed under I Rule You, Just Call Me Beavis, La Vida Loca, Youse Guys