Thursday, April 26, 2012

Best Planned Week of Life

I have been dying to tell everyone I know for 3 months. I got an offer from Giant Computer Company INC  today! I don't really know what I'll actually be doing but it involves selling, being nice, and numbers.

Go Mary!Yay for raises and vision insurance!

In the midst of my negotating, I accidentally gave myself a week off in between my notice here at the credit union and my start date at GCC. (That's not its real name, I just don't want it showing up on search engines. If you must know, it rhymes with yell, fell, and bell)

What am I going to do for a week? My thoughts were.

*Make a tornado shelter with my mom hands
*Get a massage from a beautiful big chested man
*Get my first black eye
*Paint the baseboards in my bathroom
*Clean all the things!
*Juice and vomit fast

1. You can't make your own tornado shelter. All you paranoid assholes in Oklahoma cancel your appointments with all the companies. If I have to wait until AUGUST for a storm shelter, then panic attacks and pooing myself will happen for the rest of April, all of May, June, and July. I actually googled "dig my own tornado shelter" and Google came right back with, "NO, MARY."

2. The only massagers we have in Oklahoma are non hot females and don't have big hands. Bible Belt fail.

3. I'm still working on how can I get a black eye in a super awesome way. I go to an outdoor camp with Adrian and his class next week...maybe I'll get punched by a grizzly!

4. This just sounds not fun at all and probably won't actually ever happen.

5.  Just click on that link. Ally is everything and I want to be plus good looks and impending fame.

6. A neighbor of mine is moving out of her house she once shared with her husband. Now ex husband is moving in with his 18 year old homewrecker of a girlfriend. I can't compete with no wrinkles and a youthful disposition. I gotta amp up the hotness at least temporarily to get husband with one T through the temptations. family is really cute.

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

Koi= Magestic

Mazzio's Delivery Boy: Hey, I love your Koi pond.

Mary: Hey, thanks. (They aren't koi. They're goldfish. But I am not a fish snob so he can call them whatever he wants. ) They need to all stop having incestuous sex with each other and having little inbred fish bastards.

Pizza Boy: I'm not just talking about how nice it looks and stuff. Koi mean something to me. I have studied the greek mythology behind koi EXTREMELY intensely.

Mary: Oh. That's neat. I don't really care about things like greek mythology or studying. I

PB: My first tattoo I got when I turned 18, a few months ago, was a koi.

Mary: Oh, really? That's a cool idea I guess. I don't really like tattoos, though.

PB: You wanna see it? It's all right if you do.

(Lifts up shirt to reveal his little boy back which is covered with a giant angry cartoon that looks like a constipated catfish. It wrapped around his back and all to the way to the front of his stomach. I thought he was going to pull down his boxer briefs to show me how low it went...)

Mary: Ohh.....yeah....that's....powerful.

PB: Koi swim up stream as metaphorical boys and reveal themselves upstream as dragons. Or men, if you will.

Mary: Oh, I will.

PB: My dad died and I'm going to swim up stream and be a dragon for him.

(Pulls shirt up higher on his barely legal chest to reveal a giant cartoon that appears to be a constipated tree.)

PB: And this is the tree of life.

(Flexes inappropriate chest and pats it intensely with emotion)

Mary: All right, so $24.75? Here's $27. You keep that change, you've been through a lot. At least you have...koi..and hold on to.

"Why's that pizza guy still talking, Spongebob? I wish he'd leave so I could make sex to my sister."

What was really depressing is that he was clearly not hitting on me. I can't explain it in words to properly express it, but I think he wanted me to be his mom. I had urges to ask him to come in and watch Happy Feet with the kids (who were peering through the window wondering why I was getting a lap dance from the middle schooler in the pizza uniform). I would give him a Kevin Durant nightgown and tuck him in at 8:30.

Monday, April 16, 2012


I decided to play golf because I wanted boyfriend with one T to think I was so cool that he would immediately explode with obsessive love and make himself husband with one T.

He was moderately excited when I wanted to learn. Kind of in a "meh" kind of way. He only gets one day off a week and that day off was usually spent playing wacking a little white ball with a big expensive stick. I wanted that day off to be spent in a different activity involving those two things, so I intervened.

Teach me, oh wise hot Boyfriend that I want to move in with.

Okay, moderately attractive and slightly needy Girlfriend, but you cannot get frustrated.

It's not that I get frustrated a lot; I just want to rock the shit out of any activity I attempt....

 And I want to look good doing it. First step to that is new golfy clothes. I bought new golf capris and some preppy little tank tops with collars and breathable necks. And pink golf shoes. My Dad had assured me that it would knock a few strokes off my game. My game I hadn't even started yet.

Mat and I started at the driving range. He made me do some annoying stretches and warm ups first. He also kept TALKING. "Keep your head down. All that's important now is contact. Contact. If you hit the ball we're making progress. Think about your stance, but don't think about it too much. Stop thinking. Your movements need to be fluid. Mary, Are you even listening?"

"Yeah, yeah."

"Okay, get up there and hit it."

I know a lot of girls miss it the first time they swing. But a lot of girls don't have the natural athleticism that I was inherited with. I knocked that ball at least 120 yards and was about to celebrate when it took a dramatic swing to the right, into some trees.

What the hell?

Mat started to tell me that was normal, but I wasn't about to take anymore direction for the moment. I just kept slamming those balls, one after the other after the other and all of them were going into the trees.

So I started aiming to the left. Then my balls would go straight. Take that, Jesus.

We played our first course together one afternoon. It was a 9 hole course in OKC called Jimmy Stewart. It's pretty easy and flat so he thought it would be a good start for me. The first hole is a par 3. For those that aren't awesome, ideally you should drive the green and putt the ball in for a birdy. As a female with emotions and no upper body strength, my only chance of ever getting a birdy is on a par 3. I hit the ball with what felt like supermodel fluidity and it flew and landed, about 9 feet from the pin.

Mat stood there with his eyes wide open. He opened his mouth to speak the words I thought would be "Will you marry me and bear my heir" but it was more like "WHAT. THE. FUCK"

Mary: What? Was that good?

Mat: You're gonna get par. On your first hole ever. You have no idea how ridiculous that is. And how hot it makes you right now.

I giggled and threw myself around him. This was so damn easy! I was like that Natalie Golfer chick, but with a rack and a real job.

I did get a par on the hole. I also didn't get any other pars on the entire course. I didn't have any bogies either. I think I squeezed a double bogie or two. Those were not gonna get a ring on it, or get me any sponsors.

I began playing with Mat every Sunday morning with his brother, at approximately 4am. Maybe not that early, but never before 7:50. Heaven forbid. Cuteness became the last thing on my mind. All I wanted to do was hit the ball straight. Hit it straight. It was fun sometimes. But most of the time it was me crying.

When we played Fairfax, I was playing particularly bad. Mat was in a great mood and kept trying to keep me fun by giving me hot dogs and compliments. I took my 2nd drive on a par 5 and he grabbed me from behind. "That was a great shot, Baby! You landed that right on the green! Oh my god you're gonna be like 8 or 9 feet, you're gonna get a birdie or AT LEAST a par! That should cheer you up right there!"

I was smiling like a toddler at Elmo Live and bouncing on the seat on the golf cart on the way to my beautiful shot. I smiled at Mat and he smiled at me and everything was perfect. I couldn't wait to spend the rest of my life golfing professionally with a rich husband and a bunch of hot little kids.

We pulled up to the green. Where was my ball. WHERE WAS MY BALL? Mat had found his and was making some selfish practice swings for his chip, when he should of been taking pictures of my ball and mentally preparing for his proposal.

Mary: Where's my ball?

Mat: What? I'm too busy looking at my own ball.

Mary: Where is my ball? You said it was on the green.

Mat: I thought it landed on the back. Hmm. Weird. Hey, Aaron you think this guy slopes to the left a little?


Mat: What?

Mary: Never mind, I guess I will walk around and FIND MY OWN BALL.

My ball had not hit the green. Or, if it had, it had then taken on new life and bounced down a giant hill, perhaps hit a little cart path, and ended up in some snake-infested grass by a pond. I found it and I was so angry. So. Angry. But since I am Mary all emotions manifest themselves into tears. I'm angry so I will cry. I am frustrated so I will cry harder. I am losing and am competitive so I will cry while throwing something.

I picked up my ball and sat down and cried. I cried for all women trying to get laid. I cried for the children of the world being neglected by their parents who were trying to shoot in the 70's. I cried for poor and sick people, just because.

Mat: Hey, oh your ball was down here. That's silly. Wha- wait....are you okay?


Mat: Well, I thought it was.


Mat: Oh my god. Are you serious? I know you're frustrated but you're acting crazy.

Mary: STOP LOOKING AT ME (to a nice couple in their 50's who were patiently waiting for me to get off their hole) Ohhhh, I'm acting crazy huh? How's this for crazy? (Throws club onto the ground)

Mat: (Picks up club) (Walks back to the cart) (Gives brother a knowing look)

Mary: I just wanna walk. I hate that fucking golf cart.

I continued to play with them with many more outbreaks like the one above, but I decided to stop playing permanently when Mat took me to Hawaii. It was so beautiful, I thought for sure I wouldn't get upset. Nothing could make me upset.

I had rented clubs because it was less than bringing them on the plane. That's an important part of the story.

Look at us! We're SO happy and perfect on this beautiful course!

Up so early and happy for a day of golf in paradise!

Look at us! Happy and excellent at golfing!

Ain't nothing wrong with a semi-slutty stance when you're a badass golfer!

Damn, we looked good in 07.

Not the place for a freakout. Right?

First of all, it was (is, maybe? Who knows) EXTREMELY windy in Honolulu. At first it was funny to watch our shots fly all over the place.  We would laugh and high five each other and stick our tongues in each other mouths. We'd laugh at the prairie dogs making sweet love all over the damn place.

But once you've hit that many terrible shots in a row, with only prairie dog sex to cheer you up, It gets real. The fact you spent 180 bucks a piece to shank all your proV1's into the Pacific starts taking it's toll on you. Mat was getting frustrated. Which escalated me. I had taken 4 mulligans on a hole when I had had enough. I took my club and I calmly set it on the tee box while I gave it a pep talk.


Mat comforted me and told me he thought I had been too hard on the poor rented 5 wood. He cancelled the rest of our planned golf games and I haven't played a game since.

I wish I was born a prairie dog.

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

It's a post about nothing!

My week's negative:

I woke up at 5 in the morning with a screamingly loud alarm blaring into my dreams. I always dream (nightmare) about my husband nonchalantly cheating on me, so the alarm was actually quite better. Then I realized....

Fuck-we're gonna die.

Husband with one T had already torn off into the living room, clothesless. I gathered all my bravery and strength and then crawled under the covers with my cell phone. I dialed 911 but did not hit send. I kept my finger on the phone and hoped that naked Mat wasn't fighting anyone in my kitchen.

I was under the covers for 2 and a half months when Mat finally came back in the bedroom. He said our back door had been forced open, but the alarm must have scared them off. I started to ask more questions but he was trying to calm himself down. We have had a string of burglaries pertaining to us, and I know it stresses the poor guy out to no end.

The police showed up a few minutes later. They told us there had been a string of about 36 robberies in our neighborhood. The guy looks in the window, sees what he wants, gets through the back door and quickly grabs it and runs off. He had seen my laptop, the cop said, and planned on grabbing it until the alarm went off and spoiled all his brilliant plans.

They caught him a few days later. He can lick my dog's balls. I hate him.

photo courtesy of
Last year around this time he was caught stealing stuff: 
Police said a man tracked down two people on Craigslist accused of stealing his iPod.

The man called police on Monday and told officers that his home and garage were burglarized late Sunday night, according to the police report released on Wednesday.

Police said the man’s iPod, checkbook, Capri Sun and Juicy Juice drinks from the refrigerator were stolen.

He stole juice boxes, he stole my naked husband at 5 AM, he stole 3 nights of sleep from me. I hope he poops from his mouth sometime today.

My week's positive:

Look at my beautiful daughter who had her pictures taken for Spring!

All photos are by Sweetberry Photography

Also, what could be a negative for most is a positive for me! We found a cute babygirl snake in our backyard who hopefully doesn't have rabies!

We let him go in the field and we have missed him every day since. Come back, John Lennon The Snake!

In know how ricidulous Good Son Adrian is. When I brought their dinner to the table last night, he said

"Oh my. It's like you're a special, pretty, butler or something"

This kindness and sweetness was taken advantage of a few hours later, when his sister, who is 5 years younger and 5 years smaller than him,  tortured him in the tub while he was crying and saying, "Please, Please stop, Ellis. Please. Wahhhh."

Enjoy my post about nothing....hopefully I'll have something fun to write about soon.

P.s. I'm having an extraordinarily incredible hairday today (on a gross rainy day, nonetheless) so I had to post a picture. Then, to counteract the awfulness of posting a pretty picture of myself, I also graced you with a picture I accidentally took of myself when the camera was backwards. It's the worst picture of me in existence. Enjoy the self esteem ride you're about to take.

Thursday, April 5, 2012

Samantha Brick Vs. Mary

Read the original article here

Meet Sam. She's real sad because she's so pretty.

I am going to do everyone a favor. Since she has pissed so many people off simply by being completely average and delusional I am going to help decipher a few excerpts of this article.

In Samantha's words:

On a recent flight to New York, I was delighted when a stewardess came over and gave me a bottle of champagne.

‘This is from the captain — he wants to welcome you on board and hopes you have a great flight today,’ she explained.

You’re probably thinking ‘what a lovely surprise’. But while it was lovely, it wasn’t a surprise. At least, not for me.

In Mary's words:

On a flight 18 years ago to somewhere in Britain where everyone is below average, I was happy when a stewardess came over and gave me bottle of Ozarka.

'This is from the Captain - he wants to welcome you and all the other 127 passengers on this flight on board! Do you have a child with you that would like a paper pilot's hat?'

You're probably thinking "who gives a damn...I get free water on a daily basis from my bank lobby". While I do give a damn, I also expected it because I am delusional about my awkwardly shaped inward teeth and my totally average 41 year-old body.

In Samantha's words:

I’m not smug and I’m no flirt, yet over the years I’ve been dropped by countless friends who felt threatened if I was merely in the presence of their other halves. If their partners dared to actually talk to me, a sudden chill would descend on the room.

In Mary's words:

I have no friends because everyone hates me because I'm awful.

I have no idea why, after meeting a new friend's husband, she was so annoyed by my honesty. "Your husband totally wants me and I'm sorry", I told her. I even had tears in my eyes of sympathy towards her averageness and her husband's boner for me. When she looked at me perplexed and laughed, I kept my eyes solid and serious. "Wait, are you bloody serious?", She said. I know she was questioning me because she thinks I'm fucking gorgeous.

In Samantha's words:

Take last week, out walking the dogs a neighbour passed by in her car. I waved — she blatantly blanked me. Yet this is someone whose sons have stayed at my house, and who has been welcomed into my home on countless occasions.

In Mary's words:

Last week, I was out walking the dogs when a neighBOR passed by in her car. I waved and she blanked me. I think blanked me means ignore me. Yet, this is someone whose sons I have tried to show my naked modelling pictures to when they stayed at my house.

In Samantha's words:

Take last summer and a birthday party I attended with my husband. At one point the host, who was celebrating his 50th, decided he wanted a photo with all the women guests. Positioning us, the photographer suggested I stand immediately to his right for the shot.

Another woman I barely knew pushed me out of the way, shouting it wasn’t fair on all the other women if I was dominating the snap. I was devastated and burst into tears. On my own in the loos one woman privately consoled me — well out of ear-shot of her girlfriends.

In Mary's words:

Last summer at a birthday party I hadn't been wanted at, the host wanted a picture with all the ladies so he'd look big pimpin at his 50th birthday. I stood in the front, next to the host with my hand on my non existent and and non-flat waist. Since I'm 7 feet tall the other women were upset that I was "blocking" a few "other women". When I started bawling that I couldn't be in the front, some concerned girl locked me in the bathroom to keep me from having a breakdown. My husband left me at the party with one of the younger girls that were okay being in the back of the picture. The only reason he did that is because I'm so damn good looking.

In Samantha's closing:

So now I’m 41 and probably one of very few women entering her fifth decade welcoming the decline of my looks. I can’t wait for the wrinkles and the grey hair that will help me blend into the background

In Mary's closing words:

It is completely impossible for me to have written an entire article about how beautiful I am certain I am and still be okay with being old and decrepit. My husband is getting really tired of me complaining about being so pretty. I died my hair blonder for my interviews on TV after my article. Did I mention that my teeth are really awkward and weird? I already have wrinkles and I would have no trouble blending into the background now because I'M TOTALLY AVERAGE.

It should also be noted that I have not gotten ahead in the world of friends and work because I am an unapproachable cockroach of an arrogant woman. Who needs to pass my magic mirror on to Mary and let her have the unrealistic self-esteem ride of the century.