Makin Dat Paper Sure Makes My Blog Hard-On Go Away Fast

So Texas came and went, my daughter's graduation came and went and I'm sitting at my new place, right now, as I type. And yet, no blog after that very convincing spew last post that I would not go too long without posting.

My bad. I allowed my blog to get constipated again, please forgive a liar. This is quick blog poop so I don't get too backed up next time. See? I'm trying! Smelly sticker for that - even if it is a black licorice smelly sticker, I still get one right?

Don't answer that.

Pictures, video of the new I'm Not Samantha Brown Texas edition, my daughter's kindergarten graduation and all that good stuff are just waiting to be edited and posted so bear with me. Work is cockblocking all the fun stuff I'd rather get to. And this weekend was yet even more work as we spent it moving to our new house. :)

I don't know why I always trick myself into thinking I can be that person who packs a month before the move. I really thought in my heart of hearts that I would do this. You see, in my head, I'm the kind of girl who is very organized and efficient. The kind of girl who separates her outfits by color and by style. The kind of girl whose shoes are in their orginal box, put in a row with the polaroid picture of said shoe on the front. THAT type of girl. When in reality, I'm the kind of girl who seperates her outfits by pajamas and NOT pajamas, and has two pairs of shoes, flip flops and NOT flip flops. And yet, I strive to be that girl in my head and I fail miserably each and every time.

I DID not pack a month before the move obviously. In fact, I didn't even pack the week before the move. I packed when it was TIME to move. It was hell obviously, but the deed is done (except for a few odds and ends at the old place that we have to sell.) and to reward ourselves we took a dip in our new pool....

This is our hilltop view from the backyard/pool.

This be where we gets our tan on.

It's nice being in a bigger place, but I would be lying if I said that the move was a little bittersweet for me. Considering that we moved into that condo four years ago with big dreams of possibly BUYING a house around this time. I would be lying if I didn't say I felt little bit like a failure after walking out of our condo for the last time yesterday. I KNOW there was no way we could have known that the market would have taken a dump as much as it has, it was completely out of our hands and yet still...it's weird when life steers you in a whole other direction. My tendency is to definitely go with the flow and not waste my energy fighting the current, but it does take time to readjust when your original plans get temporarily derailed.

Speaking of readjusting - I could not sleep at all last night because IT WAS TOO QUIET. Yes. I'm that big of a city girl that apparently I need a ghetto bird to lull me to sleep. Yesterday I heard....crickets and nothing else! No cars, no ghetto bird, no cats yelping from sexual ecstasy, no kids that should be in bed but their parents suck so they're outside playing and making friends with the pothead next door. NONE of this was heard last night. It was just...nothing...and so I heard EVERYTHING.

The creak of the door....'who the fu...?!' *grabs nightlight and starts scanning the room*
A car's engine started veeerrrry far away ...' omg someone's in our driveway!' *get up and peek out the window holding a rolling pin.* (I know so cliche', grabbing the rolling pin, and stupid since Brad's very sharp filet knife was right next to the rolling pin)

So it went like that all night last night. This is whole 'quiet at night' - 'no neighbors within a sneeze's distance' - is weird. I know it's suppose to be nice but it just feels like I'm a kid that's lost their old blankie. Sure it's stinks, it's frayed at the edges, it's been drooled on, dragged in the dirt and so worn out you can see through it - and yet still, it was comforting to me. All those annoying little noises.

All this quiet is making my very active imagination run wild - it'll take some getting used to.

Okay I have to end this on a anticlimactic note as work awaits! I told you! Work be cockblocking like a jealous college girl who can't get a dude anymore because her reputation for spreading easier than margarine and leaving behind a trail of fire urine precedes her...

Dude. I don't know what I'm talking about. Why are you still here?! I have to work!!! Stop distracting me!

A nice hot plate of cuntwaffles. Because I can't think of a clever way to title this blog and my new favorite word is cuntwaffle. The end.

I swear upon Pamela Anderson's accordion cooch flaps that I am NOT neglecting this blog. For the past week or so I've been trying to get a vlog together because I had so much random shit to talk about that it would make for a very A.D.D. kind of post. Random commentary vomit is much better served in a visual form.

Unfortunately, my ghettofied ass decided that triple A batteries from the dollar store were just as good as the ones at the grocery store. Except I found out that no, it really isn't. I would put in a fresh pair of batteries in my tired ol' Flip camera and five minutes into taping, it would give me the 'low on battery' sign and then cut a bitch off completely mid-rant! WTF Dollar Store?! Sure they're a dollar and what the hell do I expect but it couldn't even give me 10 solid minutes to do a decent vlog?! After ruining five brilliant takes, I said screw you random packs of triple A batteries from some country that uses dots and slashes instead of letters!

-;;--;0-*_- !! <-- I really hope that means 'screw you' in their language and not 'kill the whitewash Filipino Infidel.' So, I'm over vlogging my shit for now because I'm too lazy to go to the grocery store and get a decent pack of batteries. I know. I'm pathetic but cut me a break will ya? There's a lot going on in the House of Midget. First and furthermore (I sound so Abe Lincoln when I say that out loud), the munchkin is graduating Kindergarten next week! Which means....she's in FIRST GRADE? How and why did this happen so fast? Although, truth be told I'm not too sad that she's leaving her Kinder teacher. (Crazy baton lady.) Again, great teacher but I'm going to be relieved that we no longer have to be peer pressured into attending/participating in anymore inane baton events (where we have to get into a gray Delorean, make sure the flux capacitor is working and go back in time for these events...you know, when baton was relevant...wait. was baton ever relevant??).

In any case, glad that's over. I''ll also be very happy that our parent/teacher talks, where she speaks to me as if I'm an infant, is also over. I don't know if she does this with every parent, but I really believe in my heart of hearts that she thinks I'm a teen mom. I'm not complimenting myself like, oh yeah because I look so young and shit (although my skin IS exquisite I have to say...) but I really think it's because she's a 1000 years old. She probably sees her students as wiggling amoebas.

Immediately after the munchkin graduates, that weekend to be exact, we are moving to our house!! Please note I said HOUSE, and please note that we will be renting the 20 dollar a day U-Haul because the move is LOCAL. As in, NO MISSOURI. NO MISSOURI. NO MISSOURI. I don't think I can thank Jesus De Cristo & Dios Grande enough for such a blessing. Sorry Missouri, I love to visit but that's about the extent of my love for that state. Oh and Sonic food, I love Missouri for Sonic. I USE Missouri to get to Sonic, so sick is my love for Sonic.

But before even THAT all happens, I am going to visit my BFF, sista from anotha motha, Judy in Dallas, Texas. That's right, to all you people in Texas, if on Friday there's suddenly a smell of Circus Peanuts and Fabulousness in the air, don't fret! It just means that I've arrived and your midget population has been temporarily increased by one. I'm so excited because Judy has lived there for years and this is the first time I'm visiting her. I know, I know. Bad best friend. It will be a quick little jaunt - just Friday and Saturday and I'll be returning Sunday just in time for Father's day. Short as my travels will be, I am taking this as an opportunity to film the second installment of my 'hit' travel vlog: "I'm Not Samantha Brown."

I'm seriously dedicating myself to this series. I loved making it (even though it ended up dark and kind of patethic), I loved putting it all together and I think I can do better. And I love/hate Samantha Brown so much that I don't mind being the Wal-Mart version of her.

So yes, I know I've been lagging on making new episodes as of late, but after this Dallas trip, I'm MAKING time for it. Be prepared to go with me and my 20 dollars to exotic places like this Pho' restaurant across the street (I got a buy 1 get 1 free coupon in the mail. Time to splurge!) or we'll drive across the way to this Hawaiian restaurant that serves a teriyaki beef & rice platter that's so good I have to pause between bites to allow my mouth to have its multiple orgasms. When I move east of SD, there's this fabulous liquor/convenience store on the way that's right next to a trailer park. You won't believe the 'exotic' people that frequent that establishment. Mullets, gap tooth smiles and meth withdrawal shakes galore! It'll be just like visiting Kid Rock's house!

The budget might be limited but the possibilities are endless.

More to come soon and I won't be a lazy ass and wait so long to post a blog. Either my ass will go get some real batteries to do a vlog or I'll blog the ol fashioned way, hunker down and finger bang my keyboard. This not posting a blog for weeks on end is not a good thing. It makes my soul feel backed up and constipated.

Is it possible that I mentioned cake, glory hole and poop mosiac all in one blog post.? I'm so impressed with myself.

I hate not blogging but I hate blogging when I don't feel like it. It's a lot like eating cake when you're taking a shit. You're just not feelin' the cake at that particular moment you know? Unless it's tres leches cake, THAT I will eat off a dirty street in Calcutta. But you see the point I'm making here (and the subtle hint that maybe you should bake some tres leches cake and FedEx it to me stat.)

So what's been going on that made it feel like I've spent a week in the crapper taking a shit bigger than viking hubby's head? My condo of course and the annoying process of leaving "our first step towards a home" that turned into something akin to the La Brea tar pits - leaving us paralyzed and trapped. I began the process of becoming unstuck which required me to do some - le sigh and fuckity frack- PAPERWORK!

I just deleted about half of this blog because hateful bile began to spew forth from my fingertips, directed at my mortgage company who really is nobody in particular but this bottomless pit that's sucked up all our money. Going off on them doesn't make me feel any better. Its like cussing out the disembodied peen that pokes out the glory hole in some random restroom and hits you in the ear while you're doing your business. In the end, no one is going to make you feel better for what just happened and then you wonder if there was something you could have done to prevent it. Were you tapping your foot in an inviting manner? Maybe you shouldn't have gone into a questionable restroom in the first place? You didn't really have to go, you could have waited. All this mental torture doesn't change the fact that your ear just got violated and now has an odd mushroomy smell.

I really don't understand where my mind goes sometimes but thanks for following me there anyways. I'll pitch in for your dry cleaning.

Anyways, long story short - amidst this mountain of paperwork that was asked of us to provide, our mortgage company also asked us if we would sign a promissory note basically promising to pay the difference if our property doesn't sell for what we originally bought it for.

Huh? Wha did you say o' evil mortgage company? I couldn't hear you with all the ruckus I was making while wiping my ass with your 'promissory' bullshit form. Please note that the skid marks on your form is our official reply and suggestion to please go fuck thineselves in the ass with a splintered stick. Amen.

I'm so glad I shortened my story about my pure and concentrated hatred for my mortgage company. Their inability to act when I asked them for help a YEAR before all this mess, the fact that I've been transferred to 'customer service reps' halfway around the world who had scripted answers, none of which answered my questions and how they demolished our once stellar credit to, what I imagine is now, a two digit number, and just thinking back on how badly they handled this entire situation exhausts me. I hate to talk about it or even dwell on it. However, lately, I've noticed that my very controlled and censored hatred has a way of letting itself out in the form of creative ideas for revenge.

One recurring idea is to shit in the middle of the living room and shape it into a middle finger before I leave. But then I realize there is no way I could ever eat enough cheese to make my shit be pliable AND sturdy like clay, my quality of crap would never hold up if needed for a sculpture. So then I thought, what about our dog's logs? Its large, there's a lot of it, I could make a poop middle finger mosaic in the living room! Then my ideas take on a much grander scale (because I know I won't actually do it. You probably thought I would huh? I see what you think of me! Not that I can blame you...) crap mosaics are soon coupled with shit wallpaper, poo dioramas, maybe caca brownie squares. Basically my hate just wants me to defecate on everything....in an artistic manner of course. It would be downright vulgar to just crap every which way with no purpose.

But in the end, there is no revenge against the man. The head honchos and shareholders at my mortgage company could give a rat's ass if my entire condo was covered with chum and bum excrement. They would never even get a whiff of it. They'd hire some poor sap to clean it up before they sold it again.

However, if I happen to get my hands on any of these shareholders addresses, I don't think a bag of flaming poo would hurt anything. ;D

Helloo? Is it me you're looking for?

I SWEAR on a bag of circus peanuts and baby Jesus' dirty diapers that I will post something worth reading (or seeing..I might do a vlog due to time constraints) soon because the Queen twat post below is getting chewy and downright smelly.

Meanwhile, for your Tuesday enjoyment please enjoy Tyrone Jones' super delicious moves. And try not to get so jealous...

The Queen Twatted Me And It Felt Dirty In A Good Way.....

Following a celebrity on twitter is pretty interesting. I'm not too starstruck as a general rule, but it's interesting getting a peek into their world and twitter is probably the closest you can get without literally following them at a restraining order distance. It does feel personal, but only from the non-celeb side. The celeb most likely doesn't follow you back, (except LadyGaGa! hey gurl! Did I mention I don't get starstruck?) doesn't know you, doesn't care - most of the time, they only tweet their other celeb friends. A lot of them do respond to the masses, but the more followers they have, obviously your chances of getting a reply are slim to none.

So you can imagine the sheer twitter vomit pandemonium it causes when Madonna jumps onto her manager's twitter and starts to tweet.

And sure, I'm right there making feeble attempts to attract the Queen's attention. I've proposed to her numerous times, sexually twittered harassed her, I've told her that her ass is such a work of art that it should have it's own world tour. I throw those twats out there, not really expecting a response, because thousands of other people are doing the same thing. I just hope she'll read one and go, "Oh LadyHAHA, she's a hoot!" (yes, Madonna uses the word 'hoot.' Don't question me.)

On May 1st, a day that will now be in the midget history books, Madonna jumped onto her manager's twit account and started twitting away about how she was at Jessica Seinfield's house cooking. I did my usual twitter come-ons, asking her what she was wearing and other pervy shit like that. I only twatted her three times and almost called it a night, so imagine how the midget's bowels loosened upon her cabbage patch pants when, from the clouds, royalty touched my computer screen and asked me....

guyoseary@LadyHAHA tell us a joke..
7:46 PM May 1st from web in reply to LadyHAHA

Oh! My! SkidMarks!
Did she...?
Is she...?
........muh......??

The Queen has asked me to dance!!! Oh yes, Queen, a dance I will do! And dance I did. I told her as many jokes I could possibly think of. She signed off a couple minutes after. I still don't know if she got to see any of my jokes. But with her one magic twat, she's officially appointed me to be her royal jester and I'm happily taking the job. And really, she's given my twits a focal point (jokes) which is good because if i twitted about real life, it would be little nuggets of extreme importance and interesting topics like this:

Just woke up, had a cup of sugar and cream with a dash of coffee.

My ass itches. Should probably take a shower soon.

I want Circus Peanuts.

I gotta fart. Oh wait. no.....I gotta go to the bathroom.

Phew, close call.

Although, I have a feeling she might have read some of my jokes and it might have tickled something in her because she gave me the Hahas right back when she wore this to the NYC Met's Costume Gala last night:


Oh Madge. Darling, my love, time to get rid of some of those 'Yes' men/women who are clearly doing their job all too well. Or maybe, just MAYBE, she was SO inspired by my humor that she wanted to physically represent my hilarity via a hilarious outfit! Another attempt to reach out to me? A subtle way of saying, yes midget/LadyHAHA, I love you too? Perhaps.

It really is the only logical conclusion.

Crunchy Elegance. You might want to wash your hands after reading this post.

There is no one on the planet that will bring me out of my blog writing slump like Pamela Anderson. So thank you Pam for getting up off of that sticky floor of your trailer and going out there; half dazed and looking all kinds of crunchy. Nothing gets my writing juices flowin' again like a (barely) walking, talking carny ride like yourself.

GLAMOUR! SOPHISTICATION! DIGNITY!
(but on this day, she obviously left them at home.)

Seriously, what exactly is going on here? Surely the economy can't be this bad that she's succumbed to dressing herself in toddler fits? Then again I guess this is what happens when 100 years of sun beats down on an open bag of STDs. I'm impressed that her white outfit remained white for the pictures because she sincerely looks like she oozes hot burning pus uncontrollably from her flappy gash. When I think of the worst/best example of rode rough and put away moist, one particular girl comes to mind. Once upon a time I used to do ad copy for a telemarketing company and one telemarketer literally came into work one day high on coke, wearing a short silver dress with a safety pin holding one of the straps in place and heels...except one of the heels had a broke during her guest appearance on Cops that evening. She smelled of sour milk and sorrow. And yet SOMEHOW, compared to this picture of Pam, she's become Audrey Hepburn in my mind.

But don't get the wrong idea, I love a hot mess. If Pam and Courtney Love were to go on a hot mess tour, I'd be right there in the front row ......with a hazmat suit.

In other news...

* My Palm Springs trip was uneventful, relaxing and way too boring for me to write to you about. When I say nap, eat, lay out, repeat. I mean it. On Saturday night we both fell asleep while watching t.v. at the twilight hour of 6:00 p.m.! Suffice it to say we were both wide awake at 12:00 a.m. but both of us thought the other was asleep so we kept going in and out of slumber until about 6:00 a.m. the next day. It really is the best type of vacation. Like charging up our very empty batteries.

* On a low note, ever since Palm Springs, I've been eating like crap. I allowed myself to splurge a little in PS - and by 'a little' I mean I ate everything that didn't move fast enough. (KFC strips on Friday, coffee cake with cream cheese icing for breakfast on Saturday, shrimp pasta for lunch, chili cheese omelet). I got back home and all of a sudden I catch myself eating fried pop tarts dipped in chocolate. Okay, I'm kidding but wouldn't that make some great fair food??? In short, (ha) I fell off the wagon momentarily, my bloated pop tart filled belly is temporary, and ...um....Robin Williams is really hairy.

* LadyGAGA is following me on Twitter. I'm an idiot but I'm kind of flattered. And really how can she not follow LadyHAHA? (me) It was bound to happen.

* I'm slowly but surely starting to gather up our belongings preparing for the move. Most of which is going straight to the yard sale pile. You should see the crap I've accumulated over the years, I have a stack of US magazines that's about as tall as I am. A year's worth of US Magazines. Why??? Why did I keep all of them? because of their stellar journalism?

"Look! Reese Witherspoon picked out an annoying wedgie! LIKE US!"

On a positive note, I found Jessica Simpson's career underneath my pile, unfortunately, it's dusty, worn out and has her father's handprints all over it. (eww).

* I'm almost positive that if I keep digging through my crap I'll find the giant wooden spoon and fork that I was meaning to hang in my kitchen. (I'm kidding. I don't really have that and I'm trying really hard NOT to go on ebay to look for it.)

remember these??? I still remember our giant fork and spoon that we had in the Phils.

* Where can I buy a box of Count Chocula? Oh wait. I'm suppose to be getting back ON the wagon, not falling off of it, crawling into a tub of sugar and going for a swim with my mouth open.

Okay. I get it now.

The World Would Be A Better Place if People Co-Existed as Peacefully As The Random Knick Knacks Do On My Shelf.

We checked out our future place of residence this past weekend and wow! It's huge and I'm already feeling overwhelmed - in a good way of course. I can't believe how incredibly lucky we got nabbing this place. Basically it's more than twice the size of our two bedroom condo, the living room alone is half, if not the size of our entire condo. There's a huge backyard, a pool and a pool house complete with bathroom and shower and a lovely hillside view.

I've recruited the help of my friend Brandie to pick out colors (the owner is letting us paint!) for the walls, cabinets and just general help with placement of furniture and decor. Being that I'm Asian or more specifically, FILIPINO - my natural instinct is to fill every little nook and cranny with crap. Intermixing knick knacks, themes, decor, color - and basically turn the house into a living breathing definition of A.D.D. I'm not saying ALL Filipinos are like this, but most of the ones I've encountered, including my parents fit the A.D.D. decor mode.

For example, my mom had Buddhist and Catholic art and decor sprinkled throughout the house. It was not unusual for Buddha statues to co-exist with crucifixes and candles with saints on them. We had a 3D - YES, that's right, THREE DIMENSIONAL - painting/diorama of the Last Supper (faux gold plated for your pleasure) hung up on a wall in our dining room area so that every meal was like breaking bread with Jesus and his desciples. Or in a lot of instances, breaking a hot pocket or a bowl of cookie crisp with Christ. But the decor wasn't limited to religious Gods, oh no. If it was the hot ticket item at the swap meet or given to us, you can bet it had a place of its very own in my house.

There were these random paintings that a relative did that my mom simply could not resist putting up. They were nature scenes (a river, a cabin, a forest) that I think would have given the paintings at your local Motel 6 a run for it's money. We also had another 3D diorama type painting of an ocean with movement (SEE the ocean crash!) AND sound (HEAR the ocean waves!). It was like looking at a painting during a bad LSD trip, except no drugs were necessary, only a nearby outlet to plug it in. Let's not forget the clock that played a different CARPENTERS song every hour. (Okay, I kind of loved that one..)

That was my house and it never even occurred to me how horribly maniacal the decor was because it accumulated slowly. My mom would change her mind on what 'theme' she wanted but failed to take down the prior theme and wala, by the time I moved out in college the house looked like a storage room for Antiques Roadshow rejects.

I vowed to never be like that and yet....in my first tiny tiny apartment, I already had 'themes' going on in my head. For example, my bathroom was going to be done up Superman style. (STOP LAUGHING AT ME! I was still a kid! Okay, 22, but still...) Of course in my head, it was going to be done in this cool retro vibe. I was going to build (cough*viking hubby was going to build*cough) a nice high shelf and display all my Superman collectibles on it. I use the plural term 'collectibles' loosely as I only had a Superman statue, an old Superman pretzel tin and two old Superman metal lunchboxes. Thank you Ebay.

I was going to hang a retro Superman painting ...somewhere..in there... only I never could figure out where... and so my 'retro superhero' bathroom ended up basically looking like a normal bathroom except there were a few Superman knick knacks on top of the toilet that occasionally fell if you closed the lid wrong. Then, like mother like daughter, I would change my mind on these ridiculous decor themes and accumulate crap that fed into my 'hoarding' gene - also passed on by my parents who KEPT everything! When they finally retired, they still had my old speak n' spell because it worked and I guess you never know when you're going to need something to robotically nag at you on how to spell squirrel. I really don't know why they kept it. They claimed they kept it so I could give it to my child. Can you imagine giving an old speak n' spell to your child right now?? Or a Teddy Ruxpin with the story cassettes that go up his ass? Complete that set with a catch a ball in a cup toy and they'll never need the internet again.

Anyways, I've been pretty restrained with my condo because I'm well aware of my problem. It's an inner fight with myself to NOT buy that life size Elvis cut out at the gift shop. Where would I put that leather clad hunk?

First thought? "You could totally make your office into an Elvis shrine! And you could install a CD player that can play Elvis songs on a loop as soon as you sat down!"

If Nate Berkus could see the decor ideas in my head, he would need serious therapy afterwards or a mental scrub brush to erase the gaudy decorating taste I would leave in his soul.

I've also been restrained because from this point on, my dwellings have been rather small and I value space a teeny bit more than my penchant for room themes and useless knick knacks. A teeny tiny bit, not a lot. I may or may not have a Bob's Big Boy statue bumping shoulders with a matching set of ceramic tiki mugs on my kitchen window ledge. (head down in shame).

This house however, has space and ...gasp...an extra bedroom ..that in my head has already turned into my MADONNA themed office...with a DVD player playing Madonna videos on a LOOP! (what I've learned about myself today: Apparently I like my entertainment played on a loop!?) There's also a fully equipped bar - and of course, since viking hubby doesn't drink alcohol, in my head, that has already turned into a mini-Jamba juice smoothie bar, complete with a retro Coke advertisement above with flashing lights!

Don't even ask my head about the ideas its had for our bedroom.
Two words: Space Cowboy.

wait..three words: RETRO space cowboy.

If left to my own devices, it could get straight up Graceland II in this new house. (The Jungle room is my favorite! Sick.) - so thank you to my friend Brandie in advance for holding my hand and knocking some good taste in me.