Gone shopping!

This broad is heading over to the other coast to get her shop on while basking in the sun of Miami Beach. Hubby and I have a condo over there and four days to do nothing but get our lovin' on, shop and sun ourselves. You can check out all my scores over on the shopping bloggie when I get back. I am also sure we will have more movies to review...such as Blades of Glory, Fracture and Vacancy...all which I intend to see this weekend in between screws with the hotband. Hell, maybe even during! Who knows. Who cares? I do.

We will be back on Tuesday night. I will be visiting Evelyn (or as I call her, Evil-lyn) who is Esther's mother. I am quite certain I will have lovely stories to tell. You think Esther is a one of a kind? Darlings...let me assure you...she gets it from this crypt keeper of a mother of hers.

If only the good die young...Evil-lyn will see well past her 88th birthday that she is celebrating this coming August. Esther will live longer than a cockroach after a nuclear holocaust...and those bitches have been around since the ice age, alright?

Matter of fact, I think if I traced back my lineage...my mother descended from the roach. I have to look into that.

Love to you all. Play nice...but not fair. Fair sucks ass.

*smoooooooooches*

Estherism

"So," says Esther, "what are you doing?"

"Not much. Contemplating a post for my blog."

"Your WHAT?"

"My blog," I say.

"What the hell is a blaaaaaaaawg," she asks with her Lawn Guy Land accent.

"A blog is a place where you write down things that you are thinking about. You post it online."

"Blawg. It sounds like something you throw up. So, it's like a diary?"

"Well, yeah, sort of like a diary, only, everyone can read it."

"Oh, well that makes no fucking sense, CP."

"Why not?"

"When you were 15 years old, I read your diary and you got very mad at me. How the hell was I supposed to know you were having S-E-X with Steve Zandman back then!"

"Okay, mom? You don't have to spell SEX for me any longer. I think I know what it means by now and I am certain I can spell it."

"Well, whatever. The point is, why did you get so mad at me for reading your diary! You didn't talk to me or your father for almost six months, and then, we told you you couldn't see Stephen anymore and then you said that we were a bunch of..."

"Alright, Mom. I know what was said. I was there. And it's a little different."

"What's a little different?"

*sighs*

"YOU. Reading my diary. That was a little different than people reading my blog."

"Why is it different?"

"Because YOU were my mother. These are my friends. I didn't want you to know certain things about me when I was younger! And, you invaded my privacy. And, you punished me over it."

"Do you write about me?"

"What?"

"Whaddya mean, WHAT? IT was a simple question, CP. Do you write about me?"

"Um. No."

"You're lying."

"No I'm not!"

"I can tell when you are lying. I know when you are lying, CP. Do you write about me?"

"NO. Why would I write about you??? I have other things going on in my life."

"You write about me, don't you?"

*sighs*

"Sometimes."

"A mother always knows, CP."

The Endless Mound...

and no, we aren't talking about Avitable's crotch. We are talking about the endless mound of laundry that seems to grow from the corner of my bedroom on a daily basis.

May I ask how the fuck the laundry grows? No one is watering the shit. There is no fertilizer on it, as I don't let my dogs shit in the house. There is no one cultivating, weeding, ho-ing or whatever else you do to things to make them grow. (I guess that would include a nice handjob too...but I swear, I am not stroking off my whites or my colors). How? How does it keep growing?

I keep washing the crap. I make piles. Colors. Whites. Delicates. Other shit that defies definition. I wash them. I fold them. And then, I walk back into my room and the pile not only hasn't budged, but it seems to have grown?

Is it like a horny dick? The more you touch it, the bigger it gets? I don't know. I always say "One day I am going to wash every single fucking thing in this house and see if it stays away." I only did it once. I took off my clothes afterward, cause they were sweaty with the ravishing stink of the Princess. Suddenly, the pile grew! There wasn't just a tank top and shorts...there was underwear! A bra! Some socks! Even a pair of jeans I haven't seen in 14 years! HOW DOES THIS HAPPEN?

Is it the same phenomenon that causes you to lose one sock per each load of laundry?

I don't know. I am so confused.

Enlighten me. Your laundry experiences. Tell me them now...and tell me how to keep the pile from multiplying like rabbits in heat...please!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Vote for Certifiably Shopping with Certifiable Princess as BEST SHOPPING BLOG. If you don't, I won't play with you anymore. I will make all the kids call you names like Freaky Four Eyes, Penny Pees A Lot, Brace Face or Fatty McFatFat.

Don't test me, bitches.

Movie Reviews...in Haikus.

But first...Score with a Whore! That's right, I am whoring/pimping my other blog Certifiably Shopping with Certifiable Princess because the little blog that could is up for Best Shopping Blog! How exciting is THAT shit? If you haven't been to the Bloggers Choice Awards then GO! NYC Watchdog was nominated! Most Obnoxious Blogger! That's him alright! Mr. Fab was nominated for Best Blog of All Time! Avitable was nominated for Best Humor blog! Kentucky Girl is up for Best Blog Design! Lynda's got a nod for Best Educational Blog! A whole assload of our little posse was nominated for various awards and I would love to see us slay the dragons like "Overheard in New York" or "Dooce"!!! (Who I refuse to link to because they get more than enough of their own traffic, thank you very much!)



Okay, so not THIS blog...but the other one was nominated. Please take a look at Certifiably Shopping with Certifiable Princess and if you feel it is worthy of a little love, click the badge to vote for my little sexy pink corner of the universe!

I was also nominated for Best Blog Ever along with Fab, but, I don't want to steal his thunder. This is all he has in the world. But, if you are so inclined...VOTE FOR ME!!!

*ahem*

Now, onto the movie reviews. Movie Reviews...in Haikus.

Babel:
I loved this movie.
Not really sure why.
Thank God for Brad Pitt.

Premonition:
A boring movie.
One redeeming quality.
Julian McMahon.

Grindhouse:
Three hours of gore.
Tarantino is a God.
So is Rodriguez.

Shooter:
There is Marky Mark.
Alas, there's no funky bunch.
No good vibrations.

Number 23:
A lot of numbers.
Crazy coincidences.
Not Jim's finest hour.

Reign Over Me:
Phenomenal Film
Sandler is incredible.
Best movie all year.

Interesting stuff down there...

You guys have been through some SHIT, let me tell you! People with all sorts of stuff coming out of their asses, their pee holes, shootin' fire out their eyes and all sorts of other whacky ass stuff. And, for those of you who went the emotional route? I feel ya. For me, there is nothing worse than the anguish of loss...any loss. My apologies in advance if you felt left out. I know, personally, that emotional pain can weigh heavier than physical pain.

Now, let me tell you what my worst pain ever was...ready?

Esther.

Last year, my mother, my daughter, my father, my brother and I were all going out to *shivers* Kmart, of all places. My mother, the avid dog lover, needed a new collar and leash set for her big assed pit bull, Maxi. (How something named after a feminine hygiene product can be threatening is beyond me. Then again, my cat is named Mini...so I guess it depends on your flow). Anyway, we are searching for a parking spot when all of a sudden, Esther screams...

"HAROLD! STOP THE CAR! STOP THE FUCKING CAR!!!"

Then the lunatic, fat bitch from hell does a tuck and roll out the side passenger door of the car. My father had slowed down to 10 miles per hour when the freak opted to jump from the car. Mind you, this is a BIG woman with hip, leg and knee problems. She goes half limping, half galloping over to this car that is rolling out of a parking spot. Rolling...and heading for a ditch.

My mother apparently thinks she is fucking Wonder Woman at this moment and gets behind the car to try and stop it. She falls underneath the car. My daughter and I are in my parents SUV laughing our fuckin' asses off, half from shock and nerves, half from the sheer riot of it all.

My mother, a deeply devoted animal lover, was screaming..."GET THE DOG OUT!!! HAROLD! GET THE DOG OUT! THERE'S A DOG IN THE CAR and it's falling off the CLIFF!!!"

Okay. "Cliff" equals ditch. A two foot ditch.

My father throws the car into park and screams at her, "Are you fucking CRAZY? Whaddya jumpin' outta the freakin' car for, Esther? Are you nuts? You coulda been killed. Are you fuckin' crazy!?"

"Shaddup, Harold," she screams as he hauls her big ass off the ground. "The car fell into the ditch! Someone has to save the dog!"

Apparently, it isn't going to be me, Sam or my brother, cause we are bent over the back seat of my parents SUV urinating on one another from laughing so hard. My brother was like..."do it again, Ma! That was fuckin' cool!" We were all falling over each other, DNA from urine, spit and vomit (I puked from laughing so hard) were flying around the car.

"What dawg, Esther," my father is screaming. "There's no fucking DAWG, Esther!"

"Oh, don't you tell me what I saw, Harold! There's a fucking dog in that car and now it fell off the cliff!"

In the interim, my brother, Sammi and I see a woman running towards the car with her Kmart shopping cart. She is screaming at the fat woman (my mother) to get the hell away from her car! My mother, completely on a crusade to save the dog, got up into her face and screamed "What kind of animal are you?? You leave your dog in the car to fall off a cliff? Are you crazy? Who does that? Are you insane?"

The woman yells back at her, "What dog? Where do you see a dog, lady? I don't even own a fucking dog! And my car rolled into the ditch...or did you push it there while trying to steal my make believe dog, you psycho?"

Brad (my brother) and I are now outside of the vehicle falling all over one another, barely able to stand, gasping for air and in hysterics.

"You get that dog out of that car right now, or I will report you to the police," my mother exclaims!

"Call the cops then, Lady! You're nutty as a fruit bat! I don't have a fucking dog you psychopath!"

My father steps in. "Stop calling my wife a psycho! If she says she saw a dog, then she saw a dog. Get your dog out of the car and there is no problem!"

"I DON'T OWN A DOG!"

The cops pull up. My brother and I both jump back into the vehicle. We both have outstanding warrants, cause we are thugs like that. Still, we can't help wishing we had a video camera at our disposal, cause things were gonna get good.

The cops check out my mothers claim, that there was a dog locked in the womans car. No dog. My mother yells at the cop, "Are you crazy? The dog! He's a little dog! Maybe he's under the front seat, hiding, cause he's scared!"

"Ma'am," the cop answers politely, "there is no dog."

"That's what I have been trying to tell this nutjob," says the owner of the car.

"Nutjob?" yells my father. "Don't you call my wife a nutjob! If she says there was a dog, then there was a dog."

*this will now become the family catchphrase for the next twelve months*

Long story longer, the whole mess gets sorted out. There was no dog. We conclude it is just a shadow. The car falling off the "cliff"? A simple case of not putting the car properly into park. The cops didn't haul anyone off to jail. Not the nutjob, not the psychopath...not even the delusional old man who kept saying that if the psycho saw a dog, there must be a dog.

My mother gets back in the SUV with my father. Sam, Brad and I are dead silent, trying so hard to stave off the laughter that is making our cheeks swell and our eyes water.

"Mom," I say quietly.

"What," she snaps back completely aggravated.

"Would you like a superhero costume for the next time you have to save a dog?"

The three of us fall over laughing in the back seat, hysterically laughing to the point of pain in our sides.

So, the worst pain I ever had?

The feel of my mothers three carat diamond wedding ring making contact with my cheek as she proceeded to beat the ever living shit out of me like I was 10 years old all over again.

That night, we sat around the living room...she, with an icepack on her knee and me, with an icepack on my face. The room was quiet. No one was saying much. Maxi was outside in the backyard and whimpering to come back into the house.

"Let the dog in, Harold" my mother grumbled.

"He's not asking to come back in, Esther," he says.

My brother, the fucking idiot, chimes in. "Dad, she said the dog wants to come back in. Don't make her leap over the couch in a single bound. If she says, there's a dog, there's a dog."

Everyone is now laughing...except me. It hurt too much to laugh.

Reader participation...

The worst pain you have ever had. The worst. The kind that makes you flinch when you think about it even though it was a long time ago. The kind that makes you nauseous to recall it. Difficulty: No childbirth allowed. And, we are not talking mental or emotional pain. Physical pain only!

There is a reason I am asking for comments on this subject.

Ready? Go!

Estherisms

"I am so glad you father is home from the hospital, CP," my mother exclaims on the phone.

"I'll bet you are," I reply, feeling a sense of overall relief for her and my father. "It must be nice that he finally came home on your wedding anniversary of all days!"

"Oh, you wouldn't believe how happy I am. I missed him so much. It was very overwhelming not having him home."

"So, what are your anniversary plans, Mom," I ask.

"What do you think? Sitting home, watching your father flip the remote a hundred times, never deciding on what the HELL he wants to watch. Then, of course, we have a romantic evening of watching him fall asleep in his recliner. Maybe, if I am lucky, he'll have a bowl of ice cream with me, go to the bathroom and we will get to bed around 10pm. Your father is nothing if not exciting," she says to me sarcastically.

"Um, I thought you were relieved to have him home," I say.

"I am! Tomorrow is garbage day and I am sick of bringing the pails to the curb!"