Fuck Christmas

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That is all.

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A Twelve Days Of Christmas Dream

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If you thought I was nuts before, now you’re really going to think I’m nuts. Recently I found a book of spells and I thought I’d make this spell my new holiday tradition. I also thought I’d share it with you, just in case you’re a little insane yourself (PDX).

At the special hour of midnight on Christmas Eve, light a red candle. Place a dish beside the candle and put a bulb of garlic into it. Immerse the base of the bulb in water. Make a wish and snuff out the candle. Relight the candle every night and replenish the garlic’s water supply. On the twelfth night, January 6, sleep with the garlic beside your bed to chase away old demons. New garlic shoots and roots will bless you with a pure New Year you have created. Plant or bury the garlic close to the entrance to your home.

Let me know if it works.

That is all.

Sauerkraut

Quick Trip

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Yesterday my good buddy PDX and I headed out for a quick trip to Logan, Utah to see our good buddy I Heart To Fart.

Along the way I invented the new phrase “suck fuck” which I have officially placed in my mental file cabinet under the section “Awesome Crap I Need to Start Saying.”

Upon arrival I saw I Heart To Fart’s new door (For the past few years he’s only had a screen door) and encountered the hardest loaf of “graduation bread” I ever whacked against a table. Later in the evening half of the loaf would be eaten by Buddy the dog, causing him to have highly potent, sulfuric farts.

After settling in, I discovered that we were going Christmas shopping… I hate shopping with I Heart To Fart, almost as much as he hates driving with me.

Here’s why shopping with him is so awful… Before you’ve finished admiring the stores front display I Heart To Fart is already swooshing by you with empty hands, because “the store sucks and everything costs more than $5,” or with two huge bags, stuffed to the top, with crap that “only cost $5.”

Now, when I Heart To Fart is happy, he’ll wander around the store with you for about five to seven minutes before “going outside to smoke.” If he’s snappy crab, he’ll immediately flee to the parking lot to smoke. Regardless of his mood, if he finishes his smoke before you exit the store, expect a phone call.

Prime example, yesterday the three of us went searching for some gifts for I Heart To Fart and PDX’s family. One of our stops was the grocery store because I needed to purchase some mini gummy bears, my favorite!

Once inside the store, PDX and I went one way and I Heart To Fart went the other. After some debate on whether or not to purchase some additional treats PDX and I realized that I Heart To Fart was no longer in the store, he was outside smoking. Fifteen minutes later, while waiting for Mel’s Aebleskiver (A Danish pancake) the phone rings. Sure enough it’s I Heart To Fart, “where are you guys? Why does it take twenty minutes to buy gummy bears!?” And upon returning to my car I had two missed phone calls, both of which were from I Heart To Fart.

Anyways, after a brief day of shopping we returned to I Heart To Fart’s house and watched cheesy game shows until I Heart To Fart had to go to work. PDX and I escaped to Hastings where we spent the next two hours reading up on astrology, dreams and ghost hunting. Neat-O!

After a less than quick stop at Beto’s Mexican Restaurant we headed home stuffed with crap-tastic food and asses full of gas. When we arrived home at about 12:30AM we discovered that we were locked out.

Left with no choice, we tried to squeeze our chicken taco/breakfast burrito asses through the dog door. Clearly I wasn’t thinking straight, had I been, I wouldn’t have tried to squeeze my boobs through that tiny door. Nor would I have panicked when my claustrophobia set in, Buddy attacking my face with kisses didn’t help. Anyways, thanks to PDX’s long, string bean arms we were able to unlock the door… Ten minutes later, we discovered that the giant, sliding glass door on the backside of the house was unlocked.

I eventually passed out at about 3AM on the love seat. However, in an attempt to give myself a little more room I placed the end table next to me. And although there was an empty bed available and a warm spot next to PDX on the larger couch, Buddy decided to curl up with me, which is fine, unless you refuse to place your stinky ass in the only available area on the couch and wake me up by farting on my hand, twice.

This morning we headed home and I made myself sick on maple bars and Meadow Gold orange juice. To be honest, I didn’t want to leave. Why? Because nothing makes me happier than sitting on a couch, draped in the “gay blanket,” between my two best buddies, in a freezing cold living room filled with the aroma of dog farts and laughing my ass off while watching the TV game show “Are you Smarter Than A 5th Grader” and old 98 Degree music video’s.

Finally, congrats to good buddy I Heart To Fart, he just graduated from college!

That is all.

Sauerkraut

Marketing Manager

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I recently applied for a "Marketing Manager" position and to my surprise I got a follow up email! Here's what it read:

Sauerkraut,

Thank you for contacting me regarding the marketing manager position. This is a unique position with *** and requires someone who is very outgoing and enjoys having fun. One of the major aspects is business to business marketing, talking to managers and owners in an effort to place coupons inside the business and/or offering discounts to employees. This is generally done in costume as Uncle Sam or Lady Liberty. I need to know if you are willing to do that.

Compensation will likely be $7.50 - $8.00/hour plus a bonus if you stay through the *** season.

Please let me know if this is something you are still interested in pursuing.

Thank you

Where to begin?

I can’t believe that this company defines a “Marketing Manager” as an individual who places coupons inside a place of business. Not to mention they pay a “Marketing Manager” $7.50-$8.00 an hour? I could make more than that working in fast food! Plus! I’d get the hook up on chicken nuggets. And finally, you want me to dress up as fucking Uncle Sam or Lady Liberty!? What the shit?

My mother, who works with people who have mental disabilities, has a client that plays the part of Lady Liberty. Who knew that’s all it took to be a fucking “Marketing Manager!” Fuck college, just dress up as fucking Uncle Sam and beat the streets!

In other news…

- My dog pissed all over the basement floor in a zigzag fashion. He must have had a keg when I wasn’t looking because there was a ton of piss. Also, I'm not sure why he pissed all over the floor because he hasn’t done that since he was a puppy. I'm guessing it's because he fell down the stairs, again.

- I have $1.48 in my checking account... Neat-O

- I woke up this morning to discover a pile of dog shit on the kitchen floor... I went back to bed.

- I think the song "Fireflies" by Owl City is the fucking stupidest, shit fuck of a song ever. Yup, I said it.

That is all.

Sauerkraut

My Vagina Needs To Breath

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Most people can be linked with something, an object, an action or a phrase. For example, when I think of my friend PDX I think of a few things: the color orange, tree huggers, books, writing, etc. And when I think of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. I think of his speech, “I Have a Dream.”

I am known for the phrase “my vagina needs to breath!”

At the end of a long day nothing makes me happier than “releasing the beasts” (Taking off my bra) and airing out the good ol’ snatch.

My friend Jeffy gets so upset with me when I inform him that it’s time for my vagina to breath, but it’s true! That sucker needs some air! Wouldn’t you want some fucking air if you were stuck in two layers of clothing and a pair of chubby thighs all day? I think so.

Anyways, the other night I was telling my mother that I had to go home because it was time for my vagina to breath. She proceeded to tell me that my grandmother and my great aunt used to argue all the time because my grandmother never let her vagina breath, meaning she always wore underwear to bed.

My great aunt would get so upset at her because she felt it was important to let your vagina breath to prevent bacteria and fungus from forming (Please know that both my grandmother and my great aunt were highly respected nurses at one time so they just might know what they’re talking about).

Anyways, somewhere in my early development my great aunt got me to hop on the “let your vagina breath” bandwagon. And looking back I’ve never been a fan of underwear, or clothes. For fuck sake, I’m in my late 20’s and you can still catch me busting nude moves in the living room to a lame pop song.

But seriously, who wants to be known as “Wanda” thanks to your smelly crotch? Not me. So, now that everyone knows that I shed my undies at every chance I get… And now that everyone will be wondering if I’m wearing any undies the next time they see me (Hint: If I’m wearing jeans, I’m damn sure wearing undies. Jeans and no undies don’t mix), I ask you, my lady friends, to “LET YOUR VAGINA BREATH!

Vagina, vagina, vagina!

That is all.

Sauerkraut

Awkward Family Photos

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If you've never heard of the website Awkward Family Photos you should really check it out.  It's pretty self-explanatory, people post awkward family photos, below I've posted a few of my favorites...

Please God! Let this woman be related to me in my next life.

I'm not sure what's better?  A child wearing a lion costume while playing with tampons or the expression on the smallest childs face.

No lie, I cry every time I look at this photo.  The bear! The bear!

Look closely; this is my all time favorite, enough said.

If you want to see more, check out the website.  Also, why the fuck isn't there a spell checker on Blogger!?  I don't get it.

That is all.

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Do You Believe in Santa?

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I recently had a good conversation with my buddy “Sheek Geek.”

Sauerkraut: “Is your little sister excited about Christmas?”

Sheek Geek: “Yeah.”

Sauerkraut: “What’s she asking for?”

Sheek Geek: “Dinosaurs. I don’t know why, but she loves them and has a ton of them around her room.”

Sauerkraut: “Does she still believe in Santa?”

Sheek Geek: “Yeah, and Jesus too.”

Dying of laughter! Dying!

That is all.

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My Grandmother Is Awesome!

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Last night at the dinner table my grandmother asked my grandfather for another slice of garlic bread. He replied, "you've had your bread for the day." Anyone that knows my grandfather knows that one, my grandfather was joking and two, this was he's way of keeping my grandmother on her doctor recommended diet.

Clearly my grandmother didn't get what was going on because she wrapped her aged hands around her butter knife, glared at my grandfather and through the spaces in her teeth growled, "can I PLEASE have another slice of bread!?"

Pushing it a little too far, my grandfather joked with her again, “you’ve had your fill.” At this point my grandmother arose from her chair and moved toward him with the knife.

I don't think any of us were really sure what she was planning to do, but I thought this was a good time to speak up and ask her to stop. They continued to bicker and I continued to ask them to stop. Eventually my grandmother got her bread, sat down, and returned to a sane state of mind... Almost.

Moments later we were discussing Wal-Mart when my grandmother decided to take part in the conversation with this statement... "We went to a Wal-Mart on our vacation and nobody ran over my heel with their cart... But that's because there were no Mexicans!"

Holy God! Where do I begin? One, she's claiming that only "Mexican" people run over her heels. Two, why is she referring to this group of people as "Mexican?" And finally, may I remind her that TWO of her grandchildren are "Mexican!" Moving on...

Today I made Moon Cookies (Ironically they are better known as “Mexican Wedding Cookies,” but I have always known them as Moon Cookies.) for my brother when I asked my grandmother if the cookies did indeed look like moons. She replied, "they're supposed to look like a penis that didn't make it up all the way." Okay.

Some time later, after her nap, my grandmother scooted into the kitchen with a lovely, stripped dress shirt on. One sleeve was down and the other sleeve was rolled half way up her arm. In addition to her dress shirt she was sporting her favorite nude colored underpants, and that's it.

When I asked my grandmother where her pants were she replied, "I'm wearing them.” She let the dog in, grabbed a Moon Cookie and scooted back to the bedroom.

My grandmother is awesome.

That is all.

Sauerkraut

Back By Popular Demand

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Here's the deal, several months ago I deleted my blog because I didn't think anyone was reading it. Come to find out, people were reading it! I'm not sure who, but rumor has it there were a couple of losers with nothing better to do than read about my misery. Hooray!

Anyways, my blog became my space to record my memories, stay in contact with people, rant and rave. In a weird way it became a labor of love and I have to say I miss it.

So, what it boils down to is... If you want me to blog, you have to let me know that you're reading. That's it, that's all I ask.

That is all.

Sauerkraut