Update!!!

Tue, 30 Jan 2007
Start Time: 09:00
Pearson Professional Centers-Tampa FL, Tampa, FL, USA
NCLEX - English

Delivery Successful!
Your exam results are not available at this time.

*sighs*

I am doing the best I can to wait this out, but I am losing my mind.

Let me tell you how my day shaped up yesterday. I left at 7am, because I wanted to be there for 8:00-8:30. Heh. No such luck. My car decided to start bucking and booty-shakin' like a whore on prom night! It was really cold here, and I didn't let the car warm up. Couldn't do more than 40 mph for MILES! I am watching the clock, cursing, spitting, hissing and wishing all sorts of voodoo on my normally reliable car. Finally, when I got to the highway, the car picked up speed. Sweet! Now I can get moving. Excellent.

Um, no.

Tractor trailer decides to flop over on it's side, layin' there like a big metal horse that's just been shot. Oil, all over the road. Fucker. I was ready to throw a match out of the window to start a big damn bonfire. Good thing I don't smoke. The driver didn't die...that's good. Happy for that. NOT happy that he doesn't know how to frickin' drive! We did the slow crawl along the highway for miles. It is now 8:15 am. I am still seven exits away. We are doing less than 10 miles per hour. The nice soothing, relaxing CD I prepared for myself to listen to along the way was now doing a frisbee fly across the median. I chucked the fucking thing into the road while waving, screaming, banging the steering wheel, blowing the horn and frothing from the mouth. I was gnawing on the steering wheel, having a tantrum, spitting on my front windshield while cursing the entire City of Tampa for their ridiculous highways that you can't get the HELL off of!!! I notice a woman in her BMW alongside me, on her cellphone. She keeps looking over at me, like she is giving whoever she is on the phone with the play by play of how I was acting.

"HERE," I screamed as I rolled down my passenger side window, "Tell them I am giving you the fucking finger now!!!!"

She sped up and changed lanes. Smart chick.

I call up my husband. I am crying now.

"I'm not going to make it there," I sob.

"Yes you will, babe. You'll get there. It will be fine."

Fine? FINE??? Do men not realize that you never say FINE to a woman? How do I look in this dress, honey? You like fine. FINE????? How does my new haircut look, Babe? It looks fine. FINE???? How was that blowjob sweetheart? It was fine. FINE?????

You never use fine to a woman, ever, unless you say, "Girl...you are FINE!!!"

That's different.

Anyway, I am sobbing, bawling, crying, vomiting, seizing, etc. Lack of sleep will make you act this way. My husband is trying to calm me down. "You will get there, honey," he continues to reassure me.

"No I won't. No I won't. I wanna come home. I never want to take this test. I wanna come home. I don't want to go. I am not supposed to pass this test. I wanna come hoooooome."

"Honey, you will GET there! I PROMISE you," says the Hotband.

I hang up on him. I don't want the rah rah rah speech right now. I am determined to go home, crawl back into my bed and die...waiting anxiously for my career in yodeling to start.

All of a sudden, a car cuts me off. Exhausted and emotionally drained, I don't even bother to say anything. I don't bat an eyelash. I am feeling too defeated. I stare straight ahead at the back of the car. I notice that the last three numbers on the back of the cars license plate are "719".

My husbands birthday. July 19th.

He changes lanes. I get the idea to follow him. Don't know why...just did. He gets off at an exit well in advance of the exit I needed to. I follow him. He drives the service road. Makes a series of twists and turns. There is still traffic on the service road as well, but this car in front of me, he seems to manage it all with ease. I stay right behind him. He gets back up onto the highway. The roads are clear. Crystal clear. As if only this man and I were the only two cars in the world. He gets off the exit I needed to get off for the exam. He goes straight. I make the left into the nursing exam center.

It's 8:55...and I made it.

Now, normally, I am not all about that divine intervention shit. I am more a Darwin kind of girl. I do have faith, believe in God or a higher being, but don't believe he created the world out of Play-Doh and silly string. But this, this was some crazy shit. There was another familiar thing with the car, but I can't tell you what that is without revealing my husbands name. You'll have to just take my word for it.

I get into the exam. There are four other women there. Each of us looks like a deer in the headlights, our eyes wide and a look of utter fear on our faces. We are fingerprinted. We have our pictures taken. I am thinking..."Hm. I've been arrested before. This is just like a booking! This is easy!" I was about to turn around for my side profile. The woman said, "No, just one photo, Dear. This isn't jail."

Heh. My bad.

We go into the testing room. I take a seat. Lucky number 7. I click through my answers with a great deal of ease. Perhaps too much ease. The test shut off at the minimum of 85 required questions out of a possible 265 questions. This means one of two things:

A) I did so phenomenally that they didn't have to bother with an additional 185 questions.

Or...

B) I sucked so badly, that they were like, "Oh girl. We can't bear to see this travesty continue. We are shutting your shit down...NOW!"

I am hoping for option A here.

I left the test feeling pretty confident. What does this mean? Nothing. Anyone who has been reading me for awhile knows that I am very full of myself. I think I am better, smarter, stronger, faster, prettier, etc. than most people. (None of YOU, mind you. You are all just as great as I am!) But, most people. So, the fact that I am thinking I trounced this exam means nothing. I seriously believe I could be the first President of the United States to win a Beauty Pageant just before my first space walk on Mars.

Yes, my self-esteem is rather healthy, thank you for asking.

I got home by noon, after spending an hour and fifteen minutes out of a possible 5 hours on this exam. I blogged quickly to let y'all know I took it and now I was passing out. Then, I went to bed. I got up, watched American Idol, ate dinner, went back to bed, got up at 1am, spoke to my best friend online, went back to bed. Got up this morning, watched Maury, went back to bed. Got up, watched Judge Mathis and then...blogged this post.

I will go back to bed when I am done.

Today is the worst fucking day. The waiting is worse than the exam. It is worse than the anticipation before the exam. I have checked online about a dozen times already for my results...despite the fact that they tell you it takes 48 hours.

Obviously, these bitches don't know who I am.

I figured that I did so amazing...that they said, "WHOA! Look at these results! WE can't make this uber-genius wait another millisecond! We need to put up her results right this second!"

Self-absorbed? Party of one? Your table is ready, with plenty of room for your ego!

As soon as I hear anything, I will let you all know. My hotband refuses to video tape the moment for me like I requested. He said it is just in case I don't do as well as I believe I did. yeah, thanks for the confidence, Pal!!!! I believe it is because I am not wearing a bra (I gave them up for lent) and he doesn't want a video of my girls bouncing all over the place showing up on ChubbyMILFS.com. Whatever.

You will hear from me tomorrow, one way or another. And remember the rules. If I fail...no "Oh poor baby" bullshit. All I want to hear is "Buck up, Fucker. Get over it...and move the hell on!" If you Oh Poor Baby me...I will ban you from the greatness that is me.

And no saying "I bet you did fine" either.

Test. Is. Done.

So. Am. I.

Exhausted.

More later.

Goodnight.

You know it's going to be a bad day - Next Day Edit!

when you wake up to post on your blog at 5am and Blogger insists that you switch over to their former BETA version. Yes. The fuckers held my blog hostage from 5am until just now, 6 am...to "move" my blog. I had no choice. The whores moved my cheese and I am not a happy bitch right now.

Like I don't have enough stress.

Let's see, shall we?

Nursing Boards...tomorrow.
Father in hospital. Great.
Esther calls my daughter, my husband, everyone...except me.

I am still trying to figure out if this is a good thing or not.

I haven't spoken to my mother since Christmas when she made that big todo about my daughter and verbally abused her. Not a word. Not a phonecall. Nothing. It's been a month and five days. I have to admit, not talking to her has been very positive in stabilizing my Bipolar Disorder. On the other hand, I miss ragging on her in my blog. I'm sure you do too, because there is nothing better than a good Esther story.

She spoke to my husband last night, telling him about my father being in the hospital. He has bad lungs, breathing issues, etc. Gives him the WHOLE rundown about how she saved his life by making sure he went to the hospital! Oy, the things she has to do! (Wow. What a martyr. Imagine that. Having to take your husband to the hospital when he's sick. The things you do, Esther. You should be annointed as a saint! Bernard, that is.) During this conversation, which was very loud and obnoxious, (as I could hear her through my husbands skull and straight into the living room...without speaker phone, mind you...) I attempted to count how many times she said "me, myself or I". I think I lost count at 3247. It's all about Queen Esther, dontcha know.

My husband, being the slick rick that he is, tried to slip it into the conversation that I was taking my nursing boards tomorrow, in hopes that it would make her want to talk to me. She was like, "Oh, okay, well...call dad tomorrow at the hospital."

*blink*

No, "good luck". No "tell her do her best". Not even, "tell the little cunt that she should go fuck herself and I hope she bombs". Just...nothing.

Esther can deliver a slap from 1200 miles away via phone. Let's see y'all do that!

Anyway, on the "Countdown to Disaster" we are at T minus 28 hours and counting til I start the exam that will change my whole entire life and the universe as I know it. (no pressure). I have barely studied in the past 24 hours because all advice is against it. They tell you to spend the two days before the exam just relaxing, doing nice things for yourself and lazing about.

So, with that in mind, I haven't gotten out of my pajamas, masturbated 3 dozen times to alleviate stress and then, went back to bed...sort of like I do after screwing my husband. No cuddling for me, please and thank you. I am a total guy when it comes to sex.

What does this have to do with nursing boards? Nothing. I just thought you'd like to know.

I will probably be adding edits to this post all day. I am still freaked that New Blogger is holding my old blog hostage. I don't like the way it looks. I don't like the way it smells. I don't like anything about it. I would not like it here or there. I would not like it anywhere. I would not like it in my box, or in a deli with a side of lox. I would not like it in a movie, I do not think this thing is groovy. I would not like it with some cheese, I would not like it on my knees. I do not like this Blogger beta, I thought the other was so much greater.

*bet you didn't know I could put out some bitch ass rhymes, did ya? I rhymed Beta with Greater. I am off da hizzy, yo! Check out my hook while the DJ revolves it. Ice, Ice Princess...Word to your mutha.*

5PM Update: My father is really sick. Really sick. Hospital sick. Can't breathe right. Chest pain. Couldn't even speak on the phone. I don't care if you don't pray for me about the nursing exam, just please wish my dad well. I don't really care about anything else right now. *sighs* I need this right now. Truly.


8pm Selfish Bitch Update: That's it. I can't stay in this freakin' house another second longer. i am getting the hell on up outta this joint. I am going to the freakin' ass olive garden for a shitass load of breadsticks and salad. I am hoping the roughage clogs my ass up so I don't have to crap in the middle of my nursing boards. That would suck a helluva lot of ass. Then I am going to see a friggin' movie with Ben Affleck that is supposed to be so bad, I will regurgitate all the carbs from the breadsticks and neutralize the Ph balance in my stomach. I can't take this anymore! I am ready to smash my skull with the peen of a hammer. Yeah, that's right. I said PEEN. You don't know...look it up, bitches. http://m-w.com. Do I have to hold your hand through life??? Geez. i am so scared for my father right now. Very hard to be the normal bitch/princess person when you are freaking over your father. I am listening to an assload of U2 because A) They rock my world. B) Bono's voice is the last one I want to hear before I die. C) I have excellent memories from every single one of their songs. D) They rock my world. Did I mention that already? Their music also inspires me to stay caaaaaaaaalm. So does valium. Later.

8:15 Holy Friggin' Chocolate Batman Update: Can I tell you what just arrived at my door??? Hello??? A HUGE ass box of chocolate from my homegirl, Jane from janelovestarzan.com . Omg. Just in time. I am totally going to consume this in one night! Girl, you are an ANGEL. I had to smack my husband in the snout for trying to worm his Israeli ass into my box! (the chocolate box...not the one he is usually trying to worm into). Love you doll!!!!! *choccie kisses*

1:00 am Why the fuck am I up Update: Ate at the Olive Garden. Suxor. Saw "Smokin' Aces". Don't waste your cash. Have printed out my auth to test, the directions to the test site, made a very mellow relaxing CD to listen to, took my crazy meds, packed up some OJ and fruit...and bring it on. I am ready. I will never be more ready than I am right now. So ready, in fact, that if you touch me, I will implode into a big gaping maw of nursing diagnoses and other random medical spew. I am going to go get laid (the ultimate relaxation...he promised I don't have to do anything! Woo Hoo!) and get some well needed sleep. It is ON like Donkey Kong, biatches! No more updates. Next time I talk to y'all, I will be losing my mind waiting for 48 hours to pass...to find out if I have passed.

I love you guys. Thanks for all your support.

Special love to my Hotband...forever, for all you do, for all you continue to do, for all you are. There is no me without you. You are my rock. You are my whole world. You are my "miracle". I love you. You're my number one fan...and I love being your Little Rock Star! Thank you for being the best husband/father/lover/friend/housewife...*L* You inspire me. You make me want to be the best me I can possibly be. I want to be a mirror image of you. My love, you are sweet, selfless, kind...a diamond without flaw. I am so lucky to have you in my life. You are luckier to be in mine. *snorts*

Come on, you didnt' seriously think I was going to make it through that without ONE snide remark? Oh, you did? Awwww. That's so cute!

6:07 AM Who Gets Up This Early Edit - Alrighty. D-day. Test time. I've had pregnancy tests that made me more nervous than this one. I am gonna put the smack down on this bitch. Hard, yo. Hard as the hotbands morning wood. And if I don't pass for some reason...it was because of the computer, not my lack of greatness. That's my story...and I'm sticking to it.

Peace out, y'all. Wish me LOVE. I don't need Luck!

Stupid Conversation #3496358

Conversation between Hotband and I ---

CP: "Babe?"

HB: "Yeah?"

"I think if I keep up at this pace, my doctors are going to put me in the hospital."

"Whaddya mean?"

"I mean, I'm burnt out. I'm so tired. I am in full depressive mode. I can't stop crying. I can't focus. My medications aren't helping me. And I think when the Doc sees me like this...he's going to put me into the hospital."

"Baby, if that's what needs to be done, then that is what we will do. We can always reschedule your test. You're what matters."

"What if I have to go for a few days, though? What will you do?"

"Start cooking for three, I guess."





*blank stare*


He's all about the love, my husband is. Nothing but love.

Happy Birthday, Avitable!

Hello.

I am taking this brief pause from my hysterics and studying to say Happy Birthday to my favorite Wookie, Avitable. I like to refer to him as my bearskin rug. He is very sweet to me. He shaves his back and sends me the clippings so I can make a bad ass weave. I always wanted an afro, but I am far too white to grow one. I also call him "Lunchbox" after Kevin Smith's Silent Bob character. He looks like Kevin Smith. Kevin Smith is teh hawtness. Love that man. Rawr.

Here is a self-portrait of him, that he drew for me. Please note how much the flaccid penis misses me. Please note that he shaved my initials into his chest hair.


These are just the little things that he does to show his love for me. This is why I have put my psychotic behavior on hold long enough to show him just a bit of respect. This is the one day a year that I take off his leash, let him run around the backyard, peeing on whatever he wants...WITHOUT the ballgag in his mouth!

I'm so good to him.

Anyway, in celebration of the old man turning the big 3 fuckin' Oh...I want to remind you of the moves he had when he was still a young, virile man in his 20's.

Go Lunchbox! Go Lunchbox! It's yer Birfday!

Kiss it goodbye, babe. Everything slides downward from here...and your wife is far too hot for you. You may have to end up settling for one of us fat and forty Jew girls. Don't worry, baby. I'll be gentle. Really.

Click to engorge Avitable and read his T-shirt. He prefers to be stroked, but, we have bandwidth to consider

.

I love you, my Furry Fiend...er, Friend! Happy Birthday, Avitable!

Day 4 - Someone peel me a grape.

Look.

I don't claim to be the smartest bitch alive.

*shifty look left, look right*

Alright. Yeah I do. And that's because, well, why bother you with the details? I mean, why state the obvious, right? Right. Of course I'm right. I am C to the fuckin' P, baby. Recognize.

I also get real ghetto when I am tired, y'all notice that? Don't make me pop a cap in yo' asses, bitches. I am packin' and ready to break some shit up. Don't play, trifflin' ho's.

Yeah. Real threatening hearing that from a white Jew girl from Long Island, isn't it?

I couldn't pop a cap in someones ass if I tried. It would mean having to get my nails redone, and frankly, my nail girl? Amber? She books three weeks in advance and this girl is just not going out with busted up nails, ya hear? I mean, a bad pedicure, you can toss on a cute pair of espadrille wedges and still look sex-ay as I do. Eyebrows not waxed? Bangs, sister girls. Bangs heal all things forehead/eyebrow related and make you look oh so much younger. Zits? Me? Never. But, if one of YOU should get one, a blob of white toothpaste and then concealer right over it. Dried up in one day. Trust a bitch. I was a dermatology nur...eh...um...well, shit.

You made me say the "N" word. Not the kind that freaks the fuck out of Al Sharpton and gives Michael Richards a hard on. Hell, I say "that word" to my girlfriends all the time.

"What up, my Niggaz****!!! Show yer girl some Loooooooooove!!! Whoot whoot!!!"

Of course, they are all entrenched in Seven jeans, Louis Vuitton Bags, Steve Madden heels, some with their nappy hair extensions made outta your grandmama's curtain strings and others with their horsehair weaves with the untrimmed edges. (I know how the sisters roll just as well as I know how the white girls TRY to roll). These bitches look at me like I have twenty heads. They swing their hair back in that Paris Hilton fucked Jessica Simpson and this is the result kind of way...and are "Um, like, you are so weeeee-yurrrrrd."

It's hard to be a pimp in Long Island. Word.

Anyway, back to the "N" word. I am referring to NURSE. If I hear that word one more time, I am going to throw me on some cleats and figure out how to step on my own fucking head. I am lusting at the thought of stabbing myself in the eye with a pencil about 16 times. Why would I want to do this when prostitution is so much more lucrative? My husband is Israeli. Scary ass lookin' bitch too. He can be my pimp. You know he won't let anything happen to my fat ass.

"She said NO ANAL, DAMMIT!!!!!!!"

Then, out would come the AK-47 or the Desert Eagle shit those fucked up Jews in the Middle East are so partial to and blam...consider yourself PAID, muthah fuckah!

Snakes on a PLANE, Bitch! Don't make me get all Samuel L. Jackson on your ass!

Is this post making any sense to you? Yes? Then you, my honey-chile, are a tad more fucked up than I. See, I haven't slept in 48 hours. But, I can tell you the normal lab values of potassium, sodium and magnesium. I can tell you that you use Narcan for opiate overdose. This knowledge will come in handy for when I attempt to kill myself. I can factor a drip rate like a penis loaded down with syphillis, babies...which, in case you don't know, comes in both a primary and secondary form.

Like that fuckin' matters?

"Oh yeah, honey. I have syphillis, but it's cool. I have SECONDARY syphillis, so it's only open lesions on my PALMS or the soles of my feet. Not my fingers or my cock at all. So I can finger you and fuck you, but please, whatever you do, don't suck my toes!"

Doesn't that sound all sorts of appealing?

I want to show you something.

Please.

Let me show you.

Come closer.

See my eyes?

See that crazy look in them?

You know, that sickly Charles Manson look, the facial ticks and the crazy eye he gets everytime he is up for parole?

Yeah. Me.

Only with Don King hair. I'm all sortsa fucked up right now.

Okay, well, about my being really smart and all, I leave you with some parting words from the Goddess of All Things Offensive: Sarah Silverman.

"I was going to get an abortion the other day. I totally wanted an abortion. And it turns out I was just thirsty."

Fuck. Wait. That wasn't it. Wrong quote. It was this one:

"Even when I'm dreading it, I want to talk about it - it only helps me."

Yeah, that's the one. And like, OMG! That is like, TOOOOOOOTALLY how I like, Feel! *insert girly squeal here* Even though I am dreading my Nursing Boards, it is only helping me to come here, freak the fuck out and know I can go back to my studying. The only thing that makes me feel better is a healthy shit after a Burger King excursion.

But, y'all don't need to know that.

Anyway, I just want to say, that, if by some chance I do fail this thing...don't do the whole pity party thing. Don't Oh Poor Baby, me...cause I tend to not like that a lot and I might just have to snub you. I would really hate to have to turn you away from my blog for trying to be compassionate and loving...but that sort of shit don't float up in this here joint. That's just how I roll.

'Course, by roll...I mean, like...that fat girl waddle when you've been sitting your loady ass in a computer chair too long, posting a post that makes no fucking sense whatsoever, just to get out of doing the next chapter of Maternity Nursing. I know where babies come from. I had them. I'm good at it. I am even better at practicing to make them. WHY do I need to know this shit?

Peace out. Word to yer muthah.













****{Public Service Announcement Start}Bear in mind for those of you who are a tad bit on the overly sensitive side, that word means NOTHING. NOTHING. Get over it. It wasn't said in any other context than love for my girls. If you take it any differently than that, I am going to send the Klan over to your house. There was just a white sale at Macy's so don't think I won't fucking do it. I'll cut the eyeholes out myself. Seriously, y'all. If you empower it, it will be used for hatred. If you don't let it take you over, it won't. For example I'm a fat Heeb with a bit of Dyke and a tad bit of Ho. I embrace it all, Bitches, and so should you! Please spare me all your bullshit speeches about intolerance and prejudice. I am an equal opportunity fucker. Black, white, hispanic, Gay, Straight, Unsure, transgendered, transexual, transportation, man, woman, She-Ra, Lucy Liu, fat, thin, Asian, Native American, Dirty, Pamela Anderson and her Hep C, Clean, Lepers, Big dicks, small dicks, one fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish, fat labias, overly extended clits, saggy balls, uni-balls, volley balls, Wilson, Bald men, Bald women, Avitable, etc. I love 'em all. Drop my drawers for any of them, any time. I do draw the line at Wookies, though. While they are just as hairy as Avitable, and wow, can they do that whole Yetti hoo hoo thingie with their voices, they aren't nearly as intelligent as Avi. His mind just gets the ol' granny panties soppin', ya know? {/End PSA}

I love you all, for who you are, what you are...and for loving me. Now eat me.

"It shows the truth - that the real meaning of a word is only as powerful or harmless as the emotion behind it."
~Sarah Silverman

Countdown to Disaster: Day 5

Did you ever see a dog wipe his ass across a carpet? You know, drag his ass right across the rug with his hind legs up in the air and his front legs paddling real fast to get up some good torque, in order to propel the shit he has lodged up in his asshole right out of there?

Welcome to my world...and, I am the carpet.

I am so fucking over it. I made a wish list for Amazon---> See it?

That's presents I want for passing this test. All of you better start saving money right now. RIGHT THE HELL NOW! I want everything on that list. Especially the vibrators because I haven't had any sexual stimulation in ages! Don't blame the Hotband. He wants to. I am too busy memorizing Creatine, BUN, HGB's, Medications, Priorities, Delegations, Disaster Plans...et fucking cetera. I have had no time to ride the Israeli lovestick. This, in and of itself, is a fucking crime.

I made you a video. Someone buy me a new camera. I will whore for it. Whoever buys me my new camera gets topless video. I didn't say of me...I just said a topless video. It could be of my husbands nipples...which means Fab will be buying me that sweetass digital camcorder! Whoot.

In the meantime, here's my low quality video to go with my low quality life.

Enjoy it, you sadistic fucks.

Countdown to the end of my life: 6 days.

This message brought to you by Cereal Wednesday at APODB. If you have not seen a Cereal Wednesday episode, then you simply do not understand what you are missing in the intricately complicated world of cereal. Do you think you can just grab one off the shelf? I think not. Please spend your Wednesday mornings viewing Cereal Wednesday. He has already taken on Frosted Flakes, Rice Cripsies and now, for me...Crispix Cereal. I do not make a move into the cereal aisle without consulting the big man at APODB and neither should you.

And no, this isn't a fucking PayPerPost ad, alright? It's just love for another blogger who is out there, laying his life on the line every single fucking Wednesday so that you will never have to eat a shitty cereal ever again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


I studied all night.

Until 7am to be exact. It is now 4:30 in the afternoon. Guess who just woke up?

So, technically, my cycle is completely off again.

I am losing my mind. Slowly but surely, the creepy things are coming to get me. They are invading my eyes, ears and I think some of them found their way into my vagina. I don't mind that one so much. They tickle.

But, back to the sleep thing...

Let me tell you why this is bad. It is bad because in six days, I have to be up at 7am to make the drive to the testing site. Test starts at 9am. I can't get back on a schedule that normal humans seem to be on. Great for when I do overnight nursing, not so great when I am trying to run a family as well as be a good student.

I decided, last night, that if I fail this exam, I will not retake it.

Instead, I am going to go to Sweden. I am going to be a professional yodeler. That's right. You heard me. Long braids, lederhosen, big jugs (of BEER, you perverted hound dogs!) and an accordian. I do have concerns though. I don't have long blonde hair, but I figured I can borrow Fab's wig. I don't know that they make that beer wench looking outfit in my size. Do they make a size "pool tarp"? My biggest concern? Getting my nipples caught in the accordian. I mean, did you ever see the size of those squeeze boxes? I am thinking, one slip of the nip and I am sporting a fun bag without a release valve, you know what I'm sayin'?

And another thing, no one ever looks very attractive with an accordian! Who, in this world, has ever looked sexy while playing the accordian???

Okay, bitches. Exception. Not the norm, a'aight? And besides, he's got crazy eyes. (Like I'd be looking at his eyes if he was naked and playing an accordion in my little chalet in the swiss alps.

And, while we are on the subject of alps? I can't live there. I get nose bleeds! They are too high! I'm scared of heights! And those alps are high! Way high! So, what it is all going to boil down to is this. Fashion. You know I am a fashion whore. A total trendy slave. So, do I want to wear this...



Or, do I want to look like this?



Yeah. It is pretty clear which one I should be wearing.

Off to Sweden I go. Yodel-ay-hee hooooooo!

Screw the rest of the Bloggerversary post. Day 7 til Hell.

I am so over it. Wanna read the best of my shit? Archives are there---->. Use it.

Or don't. See if I give seventeen rats asses.

Know what I AM gonna go on about?

The countdown.

Today is ONE week of study away from my nursing boards on January 30th. I have been studying so much that I think my head is a bowl of gefilte fish at this point. If you squeezed my head, grey matter would drip all over you. I am reading and reading and reading and reading and reading. I can't take it anymore! How much shit is one human being supposed to consume in one lifetime? I am eating right. I am exercising. I am taking rest breaks. I am sleeping...well, not enough for a normal person, but enough for a nocturnal wombat such as myself. My manic mode is in full swing and I can't stop the buzzing in my brain. I can tell you things right now that I don't even believe will be on the nursing exams. Yet, it's all smooshed up in my ever expanding skull. I feel like one of those big-headed Macy's Day parade balloon floats. It's like my occiptal lobe is going to shoot out through one of my eyeballs and hit the opposite wall.

I NEED A FUCKING BREAK!!!!!!! I am trying so hard not to freak out and start losing my mind. But these boards, they are my career, PEOPLE! The thing I have been working towards for eight loooooooooong freakin' years! Through all the bullshit, through all the beat downs, through all the arrests, the hard times, the divorces, the distractions, the children, the mistakes, the 170349387 some odd men I have dated...THIS is the moment I have aspired to my entire life.

What the hell will I do if I fail? If I keep it in perspective, I say...I will just take it again, now having full knowledge of what the boards hold in store for me. It will allow me more time to brush up on my weaknesses, confirm my strengths and allow me to enter the exam far more confident and secure!

La la la! All is good. All is wonderful! This too shall pass. Everything is sunshine, fluffy bunnies and roses! Praise be! Praise be! Life is divine!




WHAT A BUNCH OF FUCKIN FLUFFY BUNNY HORSE SHIT COVERED IN PINK ROSE PETALS, ALRIGHT??????? WHO THE HELL WRITES THIS SHIT?????

THIS is how it really is, Bitches!



DEAD, SQUISHED FLUFFY BUNNY RABBIT DREAMS AND COLORFUL EGGS DRIPPING BLOOD, GUTS AND GOOP ALL OVER THE SIDEWALK OF MY LIFE! THIS IS THE SHIT MY DREAMS ARE MADE OF, ALRIGHT??? THERE IS NO EASTER THIS YEAR, BITCHES! THE FLUFFY BUNNIES ARE ALL DEAD...YOU KNOW WHY THE FLUFFY BUNNIES ARE ALL DEAD??? DO YOU????

They had to take their nursing boards.

Stay tuned for day 6 of the countdown, when I will be ripping my ovaries and my uterus out of my own vagina using a metal rake, to stave off the hormones that are making me want to rip off someones skull and shit down their throats.

Doesn't make for a peaceful study environment and not real conducive to my commitment to nursing.

Someone send chocolate. Please?

3 Reasons why...

I am the funniest bitch alive. Recognize.

Friends

Sexy back

Going to Hell

Shop. Donate. Feel Good.

Y'all know me. I don't often make PayPerPost posts that don't relate to something actually going on in my world. This post is about something that I am going to make a part of my world. Not a sales pitch, but rather, something we all should consider when shopping online. I am really impressed with this concept.

The site is called FreePledge - Shop, Donate, Feel Good. It's a great motto for a really terrific idea.

The first thing you do is find a non-profit organization you would like to support. There are over 150 to choose from. Their categories and non profit agencies include US Doctors for Africa (AIDS awareness), World Wildlife Foundation (animal preservation), La Leche Foundation (women's health and education), American Geriatric Foundation (Senior Citizen health issues), My New Red Shoes (clothes homeless children) and so many more!

Then, after picking the non profit organization you want to support (you can pick a new one everytime you shop) find the merchant you want to shop through online! Some of the merchants you can shop through include Amazon.com, Expedia,Apple, Drugstore.com, Office Depot, Target, Ebay (where I practically LIVE!) and more. These are places you already utilize! The site keeps track for you of the purchases you made, the percentage that is going to your charity and how much you have donated to them...simply by buying things you usually would. The prices are not raised for FreePledge. Donations range anywhere from 1% of the purchase price all the way up to 7% of your purchase. That's a huge deal for these non-profit organizations.

I have already signed up because this is something I truly believe in. I am grateful to have come across this site on PayPerPost and even if the opportunity was already taken, I would have blogged about it anyway. PayPerPost required a 100 word blog post. As you can see, I have went above and beyond that, because this is a great way to help save lives and preserve education without one red cent above your normal purchases ever leaving your wallet. Just remember to log into your FreePledge account before you shop so that your purchase can be tracked and your donation goes to your intended non profit agency. It's that simple.

I have to get back to studying and Monday, I intend to finish the "Best of CP" series. However, this was a really important post and I hope you all take advantage of this amazing opportunity to give back to our communities.



Click the logo to get started on doing something good for someone less fortunate.

The Best Of: A Bloggerversary Celebration.

My nursing boards are less than two weeks away.

Do you like the uncomfortable silence around here lately? No, probably not. You come here to be entertained. You come here to laugh a little, escape, if but for the moment, into the zany life that IS the Certifiable Princess' world. And frankly, who can blame you?

I sure can't. I find myself highly entertaining as well.

As a matter of fact, I find myself so entertaining/amusing/delightful/enthralling and lest we forget, satisfying, that I am going to treat you to a very special post. One that will keep you salivating. Aching for me. Desiring more, More, MORE! It will be more amazing than what you did in the back of that Chevy when you were sixteen. Don't lie. You know what you did.

*Ahem*

Somewhere along the way, I passed my one year Bloggerversary. Yes, yes. Thank you. Thank you, all. I'd like to remember all the person who made this all possible...ME! In the words of that white trash freakass Eminem, it would be so empty, without me!

Truer words were never spoken.

So, for my bloggerversary (which was December 12th, mind you...and I see no gifts in my mailbox? Hath thou all forgotten! For shame! For SHAME!) and in celebration of the fact that I have passed 100,000 hits (you demanding ass mother fuckers. do you really think I have the stamina to keep up with those kind of demands?) I am going to do a recap. It is a twelve month introspection or rather, retrospection on what I deem the best posts of the past year. Yes yes, I can have you all vote and blase blah blah blah. However, is it REALLY about you...or, is the sun due to set on MY ass anyday now?

I think we all know the answer to that one.

Here we go:

December, 2005: I have just started my blog. No one has yet discovered my absolute greatness, but it is there. Just below the surface. Someone will find there way there and word of mouth will spread me around like cream cheese on a bagel. It is this post from December 30th called "Oy vey, My Aching Thighs" that I find most interesting. You will too. Nothing like reading about a fat chick trying to give her husband a lap dance. Yeah. Have a bucket next to you, if you find your gag reflex stimulated.

January, 2006: Ah, a brand new year. And I almost started it with a baby! A New Years Baby! How exciting for me. Read the post "Back on the Raunch" to find out about the four levels of panic one goes through when they think they are pregnant. Actually, you may want to go through the entire January section. Dog vomit and stringy egg white goop from ones vagina are prominently featured.

February, 2006: This was a tough one. I appeared to be in my comedic stride in the month of Cupid, chocolate hearts and roses. I may have to give you two of my best here. The first "Masturbation, Jewish Princess Style" is one of the most cutting edge (read:embarassing) blog posts you will ever read. It is world famous. People in Malaysia read it and giggle. On the banks of the Serengheti, you will hear the natives click click click in that crazy assed, clicky language about it. George Bush keeps a copy of it on his nightstand. The next post, "Throwing Roses" is a more sappy, laid back kind of post. It was me, giving props to you, the audience, for being so kind as to allow me into your clique. Sure, I was sleeping with all your boyfriends/husbands behind your backs at the time...yet, you still let me in, you unsuspecting morons, you.

March, 2006: This is when I wrote the story of Tony. Five part saga that has made its way onto domestic violence websites. It was featured at BlogHer several times and was even published in a magazine in England. I was so greatly humbled, not only from writing this piece, but from the outpouring of support that it generated. Mostly, I was amazed how many women found it relatable. That made me cry. I hope the day comes when people will read this series and say, "I just don't get it". For those of you who haven't read the series, here it is for you. Please bear in mind that these stories contain very graphic violence and extremely explicit discussions about sex and rape. It is definately not safe for work.

Part One: The Saga Begins
Part Two: Keep Your Eyes on the Road
Part 3: Queen of Lies
Part 4: Girl, Interrupted
Part 5: Epilogue - Beyond You

For those of you who prefer something more lighthearted, or have read the above saga to the point of ad nauseum, here is another March post that I find quite refreshing. It is called "Insensitive? Party of One?" and prominently features the woman you just love to hate...my mother, Esther. I know you all can't get enough of Esther. I can...but you all can't. Oh really? Live with her, then tell me how "FUNNY" she is. *wretches*

Well, it seems you have a lot of reading to do. I am going to exit, stage left for now. Have much studying to do. Please think of me. Genuflect in front of the computer once in awhile and pay homage to your Princess. If you can't do any of that, pray for my fat ass. If I don't pass these nursing boards...I am going to be CP: Certifiably PISSED.

That is all. Begone. Shoo. Gay avec. L'chaim.

Oh no no no no. I don't THINK so.

Huh?


Whaaa?

Oh no no no, my bitches.

It so did not go down like that.

HERE is the real deal!!!

Did you see that video? Do you realize what they have done to me? Well? DO YOU???

Fuck that. Screw that shit. Up YOURS. Here's a spoon. EAT MY ASS!

They proceeded to give me electroshock therapy that ended up giving me some Tourette's. Aw. Your mama has Tourettes? ARF. TOO FUCKING BAD! We all have problems. Put on your big girl panties and suck it the hell up! Dang. Oh snap. WTF? I hate you! Arf! Ruff! I hate you all! But, I love you. I love you all. Mwah! Mwah! Mwah!

Fab conducted an experiment using my nipples. He tied them together with pipecleaners. He lit a fuse in the middle, you know, to see which nipple would burn first...Little Fabby or Baby Avitable. You know what happened? Two scorched nipples! But Mrs. Avitable and Mrs. Fab nursed my third degree burned nipples back to health.

After we were done with that, Avitable wanted to play a game. He threw me into a black hole. He said..."She puts the lotion in the basket!" I didn't know what that meant, but he was trying on Mrs. Av's bra when he said it. He said something about fat girls having the best skin. He measured me. Then, attempted to peel me like a grape. The hotband finally got up from the blowjob Fab was giving him in just enough time to have Mrs. Av write up a cease and desist order. He got served. Like buttah, babies. Like buttah.

See? Look what they've done to me! I'm angry, like Avi...but perverted and weird, like Fab. I left with body hair all over me. Avi is a caveman. He grunts when spoken to. "Me make fire. We eat!" Fab says..."Ooooh, fire! Very sexy, you upright walking animal. Are we going to eat each other?" *giggle giggle*

He's such a girl.

Anyway, Mrs. Fab put the big lug back into his cage. They left. I think I saw Mrs. Fab slapping him with a tire iron while he performed lewd acts with the seat belt. Now it was the four of us. My hotband decided to tell me, as we left the restaurant where Avitable proceeded to quaff a burger down like it was the last supper, that there was "something" on my pants. Hm. Something? Whatever could it....

Oh, you must fucking be kidding me. Now? In front of Avitable? Do you know the feeding frenzy that could have started if he caught a hint of my scent? Dear God, I shudder to think. I was living, breathing chum around a shark! (Quick joke: Why don't sharks eat Lawyers? Professional courtesy! Mwah ha ha) I walked out of their house backwards. Mortified. Dying. Freaking the fuck out. It's not like I could borrow a pair of jeans from Mrs. Avitable, because she is the size of my thigh. NO. Smaller, actually. I'm closer to Avi's size, only not as tall. My husband offered me his pants. Um, decline! Of course, I had that rabbitty goodness that Fab gave me. I could have paved the poonanny with that bitch. Rode the rabbit all the way home. No. It was already in Fab's crotch, and I was worried about insemination.

Any of this making sense to you? No, not to me either.

My husband is still crouched down in a corner, rocking with a pillow and muttering "Fabby Love Me Long Time". He's inconsolable. It's really sad.

I must sleep now. My meds have kicked in.

Tomorrow, I am expecting to read this post and say...WTF?

Just, don't believe the hype. Please.

Baby Love.

Sometimes, you find out that your child has the most amazing gift. They grow, and you nurture them, helping them to hone the skills that will make them succeed in life. You mold them to be good people, kind people; the kind of person you can proud to say "that's my child".

My children are both terrific students. They are both competitive, but in a non-threatening manner. They are the type of kids that would stop to help an elderly woman cross the street or a lost child to find their way. They are good children, talented children, musically inclined and very loving. My daughter has a wonderful head for sales and marketing. She is also a very talented musician and an amazing wife. We are very pleased with the young woman she has become.

We didn't exactly know what our sons "gift" was. Every child has something that makes them special. Finally, at long last, it was recently revealed to us. After 11 years of raising my beautiful little boy, Nick, my husband and I have found his God given talent. We are thrilled, bursting with joy and a pride that only a parent can truly appreciate.

I give you, my very special son...Nicholas.

Yep. That's our boy. We're so proud.

Dangerous Liasons.

Tomorrow, CP, Mr. Fabulous and Avitable, along with our respective spouses are going to be under the same roof.

You do understand that this is the final sign of the apocalypse, don't you?

For those who are unclear, apocalypse refers to the "unveiling of God". Consider this the gathering of the almighty. Three pompous, attention seeking, narcissistic, opinionated windbags all in one central place.

Of course, I can't reveal the location of said meeting of the minds, lest there be a terrorist attack, trying to obliterate the true rulers of the world.

Should this happen however, we will all use our God given super powers. Avitable will batter the fuckers with his opinions. This tactic weakens them. He will argue them into a state of compliance and complacency. He will be the proverbial snake charmer, uncoiling them, luring them in...then, WHAMMO! Fab will sing and dance for them. They will be stunned and mesmerized by the voodoo of the FabMan. They will sway in rhythm as the big man sings Dancing Queen. Then, he will thrash them with various and sundry sex toys. And just when they are unable to take it any longer, I will smother them with my gargantuan breasts. I will smash their terrorist heads between "Brad" and "Adam" (my pet names for the "girls") and watch their brains implode, spewing a grey matter pearl necklace all over me. Face it, the grey Tahitian pearls are more rare and costly. You think a spoiled Jew Princess would settle for less? I think not.

Then, we would all settle down with some TownHouse crackers and enjoy some terrorist pate.

Oh, what fun it shall be.

I hear Avitable wipes his ass with sandpaper, which is how he stays in that perpetual state of 'irritated' (in every sense of the word). I am bringing my own roll of Charmin double ply with the pillowy softness. Have to protect the royal cooch, ya know. Fab will probaby just rinse his ass in the washing machine. He likes the agitation and oh my, he thrills to the spin cycle!

I suppose what I am trying to say is this. I don't know if any of us will be back on Monday, but if we are, I assure you...it will be with video, pictures and Pay Per View porn. The significant others, Mrs. Fab, Mrs. Avitable and of course, the Hotband are intensely sexy people. The three God Creatures may try to engage these "NORMAL" humans in orgy-like behavior. However, truth be told, they are also the only ones who can destroy the Apocalypse Three. Our super powers don't work on them. They merely yawn at us, roll their eyes and walk away from us. Damn them! Damn them for their lack of submission.

Do they not understand the greatness that is us?

Bitches. Each and every one of them.

Just, um, please don't tell them I said so? Especially the hairy Israeli.

Ahem. Anyway...

In the end, there may be anarchy! The three NORMALS may end up shacking up together in their sane little worlds whilst hanging us in the gallows for frequent flogs. In a strange way, it sort of sounds appealing.

Send for help if Tuesday comes and we have not.

Pillow girl.

Most of you have seen the news about "Pillow Angel" by now. For those who are living under a rock, the article is posted in that link.

But, for quick review, let me give you this:

The case: Ashley is a brain-damaged girl whose parents feared that as she got bigger, it would be much harder to care for her; so they set out to keep her small. Through high-dose estrogen treatment over the past two years, her growth plates were closed and her prospective height reduced by about 13 inches, to 4'5". "Ashley's smaller and lighter size," her parents write on their blog "makes it more possible to include her in the typical family life and activities that provide her with needed comfort, closeness, security and love: meal time, car trips, touch, snuggles, etc." They stress that the treatment's goal was "to improve our daughter's quality of life and not to convenience her caregivers."

In essence, they will be removing Ashley's breasts, performing a hysterectomy and giving her hormones that will permanently stunt her growth, preventing her from becoming a "woman". Ashley functions at the level of an infant, despite being 9 years old.

It calls to mind the infamous case of another young woman whose fate was decided for her.

Of course, Ashley's case is not like that of Terri Schiavo, the woman who was in a persistant vegetative state after she collapsed in her home. That woman was a woman who was able to make decisions for herself once upon a time. Her mistake? Not having a living will or Power of Attorney Form firmly in place to give directives while in a vegetative state. No one wants to think about that sort of thing. It's a morbid conversation to have with your family and loved ones. But, it is a necessary evil. After the Terri Schiavo incident, my husband and I did sit down and discuss our wishes should we ever find ourselves in that position. We pulled a living will down from online (see PPP sponsored link above) and wrote one out. I have to admit feeling a sense of relief having my husbands wishes in writing so that no one can circumvent them when he is gone. Same thing for myself. It is my wish to be cremated, despite that being a big no no in the Jewish religion. However, it is what I desire and I know now that my husband will be able to carry out my wishes without divine intervention from the Beast (Esther).

Anyway, after a lot of discussion on another forum, I would be really interested to know what your thoughts are with regard to Ashley, also known as Pillow Angel by her parents and now, the media.

Please read the article before replying. The parents make some very valid points, however, who are we to play God and intervene in the development of a child just for the sake of convenience?

Discuss.

The Three S's.

My son has asthma and allergies.

Every night, my husband makes sure he takes his Flonase for his nose, his asthma inhaler and his allergy pill.

My husband said to my son, "There you go, kiddo. The three S's."

My son looked at him, all confused.

"What are the three S's," he asked.

"Snort it, suck it and swallow it."

"Wow," I yelled out from across the room. "You just described my life in the 80's."

"Big Bazooms and New York Accent..."

You can't describe the Taj Mahal to someone. You have to see it for yourself. You can't capture the magic of the way freesia and gardenia smell. You have to experience it. The delicious taste of fresh bread, right out of the oven can't be described. You have to taste it to appreciate it.

And, lastly, there are some things that you have to hear to believe.

This is one of those things.

There. Are. No. Words.

It's That Time of the Month Again!

No, not for another menstrual post, because quite frankly, I am getting a bit exhausted with sharing my visits from Aunt Flo with y'all. I am also pretty certain you are tired of reading about the aggressive gaping maw that is my uterus.

It is time for the Seventh Annual Weblog Awards (aka The Bloggies).

Now, we all know the drill with these things. They are scarcely more than popularity contests. Just another opportunity for blogwhores (read: Mr. Fabulous) to strut their stuff for a nice firm ego-stroke.

But honestly, Boys and Girls. Who among us doesn't like the occasional ego stroke? Like the old-fashioned hand job, it's quicker than intercourse, not as much fun as oral but better than no stroking at all. You have to recognize, an ego stroke is the next best thing to a blowjob from Paris Hilton.

Or not. The girl has no skills. You've seen the tape. Don't lie.

Anyway, there are a number of fine categories that you can nominate Bloggers for. Best Canadian Blog. Best Asian Blog. Best Blog that Displays Nipples. (Okay, there isn't one for that, but there should be.) Best Use of Gratuitous Nudity (See above). Best Sports Blog. Best Craft Blog. A plethora of blog categories to choose from. Good news? No Best Mommy Blog. Me likey that!

My focus, however, remains firmly on the Big Fuckers. The Ass Whuppin' Awards. The ones that scream "YOU RAWK!" And so, with little to do this morning at 5am, I opted to post some nominees. They are as follows:

Best Writing: Me. Why? Because I'm better than you are. If I wasn't, you wouldn't bother reading me. I am certain I won't win this one, because I am truly not worthy of it. This is a biggie. However, if a pic of my broke ass leg can stay on 25peeps for 8 days, then I can certainly muster up one or two votes here. Along with myself, (because I am nothing if not a humble soul), I also voted for Mr. Fabulous because he IS a skilled writer. He also, unlike Paris, gives skilled head. My other vote went to Lightning Bugs Butt, for a few reasons. First of all, he wrote a book. That makes him God in my eyes. Second, he has a standard blogger template like I do. That means, "Hey, what I write is the shit. I don't need a fancy assed template." At least, that's what I think it means. For me it means, "I'm a cheap ass Jew who would rather spend my husbands money on purses and shoes, not templates, thank you very much." This is the kind of diversity that makes the world go round, Folks.

In the next category of Best Humor Blog, I nominated myself again. Why? Because I am the funniest bitch alive and do it without every other word being an expletive. However, the next nominee, Laurie from Beauty and the Beer cannot go literally TWO WORDS without a "biatch", a "fuckers" or a "twat-lickin', crack-ass ho bag". There again is that diversity to which I referred to. She is also extremely funny when she lays on the potty humor. Her "Swollen Lips: An Ode to my Vagina" still remains the funniest thing I have ever read to date. My final nominee is a recent discovery of mine, which makes me incredibly self-absorbed, seeing as she has been read for like a gazillion years by half of my friends. Who knew? This would be Mist from Must Get Hobby. I also nominated her for Best New Blog for 2006. Yes, she is that amusing. Very dry sense of humor. Reminds me of Janeane Garafalo, before she sold her soul to the devil that was "The Ben Stiller Show".

Onto "Best Kept Secret" Blog. No, I didn't include myself. Let's face it. I have made quite the name for myself in the Blogosphere. Things like "Snotty Bitch" and "Conceited C*nt" and "Full of Herself Whale Cum". With accolades like that, I certainly do not need the hype of Best Kept Secret. I'm everywhere, People. Everywhere. I am in your computer. Under your bed. And I would appreciate if you would keep your whites and delicates separated from now on. A little Febreze wouldn't hurt all of your stank asses either. That being said, my favorite Secrets Squirrels are Annie from Smart At Love because the woman is brilliant. She writes a relationship blog that is smart, savvy and sexy. There is also the go-gay girl crush I have on her. She has PhD after her name which immediately brings my non-existant penis to flagstaff measures. Hers is probably one of the most underrated blogs on the web. She has a lot more sense than I do. As a matter of fact, I don't think you should read my blog anymore. I think you should be reading hers. Get out. All of you. My next Secret is Elaine (aka The Midget) from Sanity Interrupted. Love. Her. Fan. Letter. Fridays. She went on a brief hiatus for a little while and I literally was Jones-in' over not getting my FLF fix. I was forced to read that inept drag queen wannabe, Perez Hilton, during her absence. Let me tell you, Elaine has it ALL over that bitch. Plus, Elaine is substantially cuter. And, to make her even more appealing, she stands about 3'10 inches tall, which means a kiss goodnight ends up as oral sex! Why would you read anyone else? My last Secret? Hot Coffee Girl. Now, admittedly, I was resistant to reading her. She carries coffee decanters in front of her breasts for a logo. I was too turned on by that to read further and stayed away. However, her allure was irresistable and I gave her another shot. She is funny in like...six sentences where it takes me fourteen paragraphs. Less is more, People. Less is more. Plus, she is thoughtful enough to make one coffee pot decaf. If that is not love for your readers, I don't know what is.

Next category I indulged in was Best Music Blog. There was only one obvious choice for this one and that was Last Girl On Earth. Deni Bonet is one of the most talented women I have ever come across online or off. She does the whole violin thing. She is a uber musician who has played with such megastars as REM, Sarah McLachlan and Cyndi Lauper. She has also played the Lilith Fair which gives her another point from me, due to my love of all things gay and pro-woman. I nominated no one else, because no one else deserves it.

For the coveted Blog of the Year, I again nominated myself...you know, keeping with the whole "That Bitch Is Full of Herself" theme. But, I did spread the STD...er, I mean, the love, to two other Bloggers as well. The first? Mr. Fabulous, because he is my pimp. I am his ho. We are hopelessly devoted to whoring one another out. The next blogger? Angry Black Bitch. She is AMAZING. The woman has her fingers on the pulse of American and International politics and manages to deliver it so that you are nodding your head and goin' "Oh HELLS YEAH, SISTER! PREACH ON!" She makes me feel like singin' at a Baptist church on Sunday...and I'm a white Jewgirl, okay? She is smart, sassy and the woman knows her shit. No joke. I love her and so do her minions. If you aren't reading her, you are a triflin' ass idiot. Be gone with you. Or, go start now. The last one I nominated is gonna get all like "OH MY GAWD! ME? Oh CP! YOU SHOULDN'T have!" Then, she is secretly going to masturbate to the idea of winning this bitch. I know her well enough to know that. My final choice was Deb of Let Me Go On and On. And holy shit, can she EVER! Along with being the most blathersome human being alive, how can you possibly ignore a tagline like this? "Neurotic Christian lesbian with ADD/OCD/PMS/SAD/ESP-- ranting & raving about everyday life." If Neurotic Christian Lesbian doesn't reach out and put you in a chokehold, one of her many listed dysfunctions will. All that aside, Deb is a phenomenal read. She is one of the most openminded people I know. She is kind, even to those who are undeserving. She, like LBB, has also written a book (see me pimping her shit on my sidebar!) which to me makes her worthy of worship. Her posts are articulate, well thought out and poignant. In essence, they are everything mine are not. Her best stories are about her Mafioso father and the imitation she does of him. Hysterical. What smacks of greatness though, is her ability to be funny, crazy, intriguing and enthralling all without trying. (Okay, let me be honest. I met her in person. She force fed me my first martini. She is insanely hot and I want to sleep with her. I figured if she wins this because of me, I might get a piece of that ass...with a little slice of her equally as cute girlfriend on the side. Support a bitch's need to get some girl love, won't you?)

So there you have it. CP's assessment of who should assrape the Bloggies of 2007.

Of course, you may have your own opinion. If you do, deliver it over at the Seventh Annual Weblog Awards. But whatever you do, make sure you come back here and say "CP? I so totally voted for you!"

It's only a lie if someone finds out.

Some pictures...

Right after this message from our PPP sponsor:

My husband and I resolved that someday, we would settle back in New York City for retirement. By the time he and I are ready to retire, NYC will be made out of gold and everything will say Trump across it. We have concocted a new dream. That dream is to ride across country in an RV and buy a little condo everywhere we go. One of those places is Boise, Idaho. Why? Because I like the name. BOI-Zee. Yo. BOIzee in da HOWSE! Boise homes for sale!!!

Doesn't it just sound so ghetto? So New York, except with fresh air, good schools, sunshine and no carefully placed bums on the sidewalks?

Did you know the state motto is "Esto Perpetua" meaning "It is forever"? I think I might put that on our wedding bands. Also, Twin Falls was the sight of Evil Kneivels jump in 1974. Of course, the Hotband was an embryo when this took place, but I remember it well. Idaho produces 72 types of precious and semi-precious stones. Now, if that ain't reason for a Jewish Princess to haul ass to Idaho, I don't know what is! You know the have to have some fine retail rock over there! Oh, and 63% of Idaho is public land. I don't know what they do with the remaining...*thinks*...37%, but I bet it has nothing to do with Britney Spears or Paris Hilton. That's for sure. So, there you have it. The reason we are going to move to Boise some day. It has to be nice and peaceful, you know, with all that 37% private land. Plus, isn't Ashton Kutcher an export? If all the boys there look like that, rawr, I'm there!

Oh snap. Ashton's from Iowa. Alright. So? Iowa, Idaho. It's all on that part of the country, right?

Anyway, here are the pics I promised.


The Hotband and I at Esther's house, just before leaving to see WICKED on Broadway. Check out CP and her new short do! Yes, I cut off the uber long locks because well, it's a little silly to try to look like Britney Spears when you are 40. Also, I think I dress better than she does. I am also prone to wearing underwear with skirts. I must confess though. It was my anniversary that night, so I was going commando under the jeans. Shhhhhhhhhh. Don't tell.

5 MINUTE LATER EDIT: I am looking at the above picture, larger view and said outloud, "Damn! I really look beautiful in that pic!" To which Hotband replies, "Yeah, you look...classy!" I shoot him a dirty look. He says, "I don't mean that you don't always look classy. It's just there, you look like...you just got out of obedience school." Um. Obedience school? "Babe? Obedience school is where you send DOGS to train them."

He meant "Charm School". I forgive him. He is an immigrant after all.

Ahem. Please continue on while I lick my own balls as I learned in obedience school.


The Hotband and I, post WICKED. It rocked. So amazing. Click to enlarge.


Shopping. Notice the cop cars on both sides of me? Yeah. NYCPD knows the drill when CP is in town. No purse store is safe. Oh, and incidentally? Those are all purses my Hottie is carrying for me. The street vendors know me by name. Clicky make Biggie.


This is a picture with the Hotband holding the hugest Pastrami sandwich that I have ever seen. Sandwich courtesy of Roxy Deli on 2nd Avenue. Big mouth eating it, courtesy of the hotband. Notice the "O" face he was making? Yeah. I did too. I don't think I ever get that much enthusiasm. And yes, he actually ate it. I encourage you to click on this photo to really get a good idea how HUGE this sandwich was. I hope Tommy Lee doesn't call him when he sees this picture. My son calls me "Mommy Salami". Now I call the hotband, Hottie Pastrami.


This picture won't mean squat except to Dark Damian and his minions. I literally stopped a cab, got out and took this picture for him. One day, I hope to get a picture of him standing in front of it. Click to unlock the secret of the Tang. Word! Please go visit his page, if for no other reason, the song that is on it. Please turn your speakers up and do not be drinking ANYTHING when you listen.

Well, end of photo show for now. Stay tuned for Channukah pics coming soon.

And the Winner is...

Avitable. Not by that much of a landslide either when I include the votes I got via email. (Yes, some of you were a tad bit on the lazy side and emailed me from your jobs. You aren't supposed to be online during company time, eh? Shame on you.)

There was an 11 point difference in Avitable's favor.

I will make this much known. I have a weakness for big titted blondes, so I was leaning a bit towards Fab. BUT, (and it's a big butt, if you've seen the video) Avitable really was Lord of the Dance and did it without the gimmicks. Yes, he came off a tad conceited/arrogant/obnoxious in his opening statement...but if he didn't, he wouldn't be Avitable.

Anyway, I made them both Thank You videos, celebrating their zest for life and good sportsmanship. (Translation: Laughing at them for being such dumbasses for doing this!)

Now, they (and you) will be able to laugh at me.

Here are the videos. Words to the songs will be posted in the comments. You know, in case you want to sing along.

Congrats to Avitable and much kudos to both he and Fab for making my dreams come true and my imaginary dick harden in delight.

Phenomenal Fab's Video

Ode to Avitable's Win

Don't blame me if you go into convulsions.

Thank you all for participating.

The Dance Off...and something extra.

*blink*

I am stunned. I don't know what to say. I wish I had the words. There are none.

I am simply going to let the videos speak for themselves.

Mr. Fab's Submission.

Avitable's Submission.

Did I say I had no words? I lied. When do I ever not have words? Pssssht.

Amateurs.

Based on the guidelines, I have to admit, the boys are pretty tame. I was really frightened to open these videos. I had my children leave the room. I had my dogs leave the room, too. You never know what these two men might do to an innocent animal for my affection.

Anyway, one was true showmanship in a creepy John Waters sort of way. The other, a plethora of cinematography and camera magic a la Martin Scorcese.

I will say that both of these videos had me laughing to the point of pee dribbling all over the place. I will also tell you that my husband ran out of the room in shock and horror. He returned shortly thereafter, and promised never to die, so that I will never have to live with either of these men.

Good news?

He finally agreed, after seeing these videos, that if I should grow a penis, he will indeed fellate me.

Isn't he wonderful? He is my hero.

Now, it is important that you remember this. Fab is a blogwhore. He has a harem. He is going to do everything in the world to win this mainly because he is UBER competitive and very childish when it comes to losing. Avitable, on the other hand, is not a blog whore and could give a shit less. You won't really effect his life. He knows how hot he looked in pink spandex. End of story.

(Don't have a clue what this post is about? Then you need to go here and catch the fuck up. This is a one time public service from the Certifiable Princess. Next time, you will just have to scroll on your own.)

Vote all you want, but anyone who votes "I read so and so and I will only vote for so and so because they are my friend" immediately gets excluded. You are to vote on the merit of the video, the dancing and the love you feel eminating from the video.

Remember. My penis is at stake here. Please don't take that lightly.

What if it was YOUR dick on the line?

And, lastly, since both of these amazing men went the extra mile to embarass, humiliate, dishonor, shame and disgrace themselves for the love of my not yet developed penis, I would like to share with you my most embarassing moment to date.

This video was taken sometime during the Blogathon when I was truly punchy. Obscenely intoxicated from a lack of sleep. I wanted so badly to lie to all of you and say "I was drunk!" I wasn't. This is me, lookin' all sorts of busted up, suffering from Taco Bell induced diarrhea (for any of you who remember the Blogathon, I was eating a Taco salad that you ALL warned me not to eat). I then proceeded to chastise my husband, on video, for the following reasons:

A) Buying me a diarrhea medicine that had ingredients I was allergic to.
B) Not showing me enough sympathy.
C) Not making me some rice to "bind me".
D) Purchasing medication that did not help my cramps.

You may have to watch this video twice to actually understand what I am saying. I was in full on Jewish Princess "would you like some CHEESE with that WHINE" mode. After viewing this, you will all garner new respect for the Hotband and probably wonder why Avitable and Fab are actually fighting over my penis!

Plus, I think it is only fair that I should lose my dignity right alongside the men who not only fought for my penis, but won my heart. I love them both and in their honor, have named my breasts Avi and Fabby. The right one is a little bigger than the left one. The left one has a second nipple from where a nipple ring used to be. They are both pretty deformed and demented. But, they are two hulky masses of fun, like them men who performed for you today.

I don't know what any of this means. It's 4am. Sue a bitch. Nothing will embarass me more than what you are about to see EVER. In some ways, this is really liberating. This truly is the only thing that will ever cause me to fucking DIE in unabashed disgrace. Not even my nude pics on FattyMILFLovers.com has caused me this much anguish.

(No, you fucking morons. There is no FattyMILFLovers.com. I made that up. Then again, I bet if you Google it, you would probably find something really nifty. Let's try, shall we?)

*pause*

Holy shit. You actually get a website called ChubbyMomLove. Wow. Maybe I am there after all...but certainly NOT for what you are about to see.

Let the humiliation begin!