An Open Letter To My Uterus

Dear Syd,

I have a favor to ask of you. Oh, I know we’ve never gotten along in the past, but can’t we let bygones, be bygones?

The thing is, Matt-Man and I have these fucked up work schedules, and we never get to see each other except for Friday and Saturday nights.

Also, as you know, I have a sleeping issue.

Oh sure, we have a good time drinking and catching up with each other’s week, and shit like that. However…

Naked Twister needs to be played up here in the crib…if you know what I mean.

Also, I’d really not like to feel like a major failure for once, as you come at really inconvenient times.

Today is the beginning of the weekend, and you are due any motherfucking minute.

I beg of you, please hold out until Sunday?

I will be eternally grateful. I’ll even stop calling you names, and threatening to cut you out my own damn self with a rusty coat hanger.

Please?

Who am I kidding; you don’t care.

You’re not even listening, but I thought I’d give it a shot. You’ll do what you want; you always do. You suck! Kidding, kidding. Hee Hee?

But, I do need to do the horizontal mambo with my man, so just wait it out, or Ima cut a bitch.

Yours in Christ,

Beth

Zoooooves!!

It's Not Just My Hormones That Are Whacked Out!!

So how was your day? Was it a good day, or a bad day? You want to talk about your day? Tough shit. I’m talking about mine.

I came to work at the butt ass crack of dawn on Monday. Yes, butt ass crack of dawn is a phrase. It’s mine, back off.

Seeing as we were shut down last week, I did expect a few, and I mean a few things to be waiting for me. Well, slap my ass, and call me Sally. A few to me means three, not forty.

In my bizness, we are usually seasonal. Meaning, we cater to schools. In case you haven’t noticed, it’s July. 

Why in the hell are you people not on vacation? Why? I thought I would at least have a few more weeks of nothingness.

Then, there is the “curse”, as my sainted Mother used to call it. I am sicker than a dog, and spending half my day in the bathroom. Sorry for the TMI guys, just painting a picture, if you will.

Jesus, I didn't even feel like drinking a beer. Um, I did…but I didn’t feel like it.

I did receive seven new orders, which is great right now. The only thing is, there was something wrong with every fucking one of them, which means I cannot process them until I get all the information they are supposed to send me. Assmunches.

I spent most of the day faxing, and making phone calls, which I hate. Know why? My cohort in crime is off this week, so I actually have to do the work I would gladly pawn off on him.

I’m the office manager, dammit. That is supposed to mean I have princess status in my asbestos filled castle.

It gets better.

Everyone who called or e-mailed, wanted to know where we were last week, and also, where is their mother fucking order? 

Today? I really wanted to say, you know what, I don’t have a clue. Also? I don’t care. I didn’t though. You know why?

I am a true professional, and I lie…a lot.

I guess Bullshit Princess should be my title. I’m bringing that up to the board. Maybe I’ll finally get my wet bar.

The only one who did not piss me off today…was my boss, the man that always manages to make me angry no matter what.

Go figure.

Well, I don’t know about you, but I feel tons better.

Here’s hoping to better days ahead, with sunshine, love, and if I get lucky…unicorns flying out my ass.

Zoooooves!!

Sunday Morning Church Disservice: Thanks Alot, Eve!!

It’s a gray and rainy Sunday in Bagwine, Ohio, but the mercury will be kissing the 50 degree mark.

I’m working all day in the beer mines today, so the unusually warm temp will be welcome.

But my friends, there is something very unwelcome in the world of Bagwine that has once again reared it’s ugly head…

Schmoop’s monthly visit from Aunt Flo.

As the picture indicates, Schmoop is pretty hot looking. However, when Aunt Flo comes a-callin’, I am not allowed to touch ol’ Schmoop.

I’ve got something to say about that:

Hey, Schmoop’s Uterus…Knock it off!!

She will soon be 43. We aren’t having any little rug rats. We’re both horny, and…

Schmoop would greatly appreciate not spending the Sabbath lying on the couch while her insides fall out in the form of something that resembles the contents of a can of Chef Boyardee Beefaroni.

Seriously, Mizz Uterus…It was nice that you were around for awhile in case Schmoop wanted to reproduce, but she is really over any wish of spawning.

Your time has passed, and yet once a month you continue to pass on more pain and clots than a man who works as a milk and cheese taster, passes kidney stones.

And another thing…While Schmoop never gets angry during this time like some women I know, there is the extra clutter and trash that I have to deal with.

Our bathroom trash can is filled with paper, plastic, and well you know…stuff. It’s overflowing, dammit!!

Listen, we have to clean our cat, Corky’s litter box everyday; having the extra stress and burden of cleaning up after two pussies for a week is arduous and unacceptable.

Just…go…away.

Now my friends, let us pray.

Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray to your Son (who by the way, you birthed without any pain or awkward sex whatsoever…Hell, you didn’t even get a dinner out of the deal or flowers, or even a kiss) anyway…

Please pray on behalf of Schmoop that this affliction, brought on by that whore Eve, eating the magic apple, goes away.

In your name, we pray.

Amen.

Enjoy your Sunday all. I’ll be spending mine working…At least that gives me an eight hour respite from the love canal carnage.

Cheers!!

Blood Clots and Bacon

Let me preface this post by reiterating that Schmoop started her period early Sunday morning...

When I came home from work yesterday ...From the day's mail, Schmoop handed me this package that had come from CVS Pharmacy, and she said to me, "Define Irony."

Whatever could be the irony within the contents?

Okay, what exactly fits? Wow, how did they know?

Nothing like receiving a uterine care package in the mail from your friendly CVS pharmacist...

Well since I was off last night, and the Schmoopster was feeling bad, I cooked something that I know she loves...BLT's.

I placed the bacon on a foiled pan and put it into a 450 Degree oven...

Schmoop and I decided to use buns instead of white bread...Yeah, we are rebels that way!!

The thick cut bacon came out minutes later in dandy, greasy form...

And here is how they came out when dressed...Yum-Frickin'-Oh!!

Have a great Tuesday all, and remember...Nirvana, is merely a Bagwine Fifth and a BLT away.

Cheers!!

Update 10:25 A.M.: The lovely Knight may be on to something when she commented that through CVS, the government is tracking the menstrual cycle of women. The following from my stat site:

Visitor Information:
(CVS PHARMACY INC) [Label Visitor]
Location:
WOONSOCKET, RHODE ISLAND, UNITED STATES (SGNS.NET)
Last Visit Time:
July 15, 2008 10:15:26 AM
Length of this Visit:
0 hours and 0 minutes
Page Viewed This Visit:
1
Returning Visits:
0
Entry Page:
http://bagwine.blogspot.com/2008/07/blood-clots-and-bacon.html
Exit Page:
http://bagwine.blogspot.com/2008/07/blood-clots-and-bacon.html
Referrer:
No referrer

Big Boxes, Sick Boxes, and Probably Boxing Myself into a Corner

Ain’t Mondays grand?

Well this one, for me anyway, is.

I get to work during the day today…10A-5P. I love it.

I like my evening hours, but getting work out of the way during “normal hours” once in awhile is nice.

So, since I won’t be around to reply to comments today, I decided to just jot down a few meanderings rather than write a post that could elicit deep opinions and…um…what’s the word I want…?

Oh, and elicit a bunch of “what-not”. Damn, I am such the wordsmith.

Anyhoo, here are a few things that crossed my mind while at work yesterday…

What’s the craze with “Big Box Stores”? I don’t know, ‘cause I don’t think we have any around here.

Why do people feel the need to go purchase big boxes? How big are these boxes? WTF? I am clueless here, folks.

What exactly are they going to put in these big boxes once they get them? America…what a wacky place in which to live.

Speaking of big boxes, Schmoop just received her monthly visit from Aunt Flo. Poor thing. Schmoop, not Flo.

I called Schmoop from work yesterday to see how she was feeling. She told me that Sid, was pretty sick.

Sid, you see, is the name she has given to her uterus. I had her put the phone to her lower her belly, and I talked to Sid.

I said, “Sid, please shed all of the sanguine chunks from your lining so I can have sex with Schmoop again…Oh, and so she will feel better.”

I am so damn compassionate.

Continuing along the lines of that critical bitch lovely, giving, fragile flower that is Schmoop, she brought something to my attention.

She hates it when I type “Cheers” at the end of all of my comments. She finds it annoying.

I can’t remember why or when I started ending each comment with "Cheers", but it has become my tag line over time.

I guess I could end every comment with, “Suck It” or Blow Me” or not have one at all, but without saying “Cheers”, I feel naked.

Do you guys find it annoying? Should I drop it? I am at a loss, but she can kiss my ass I do appreciate Schmoop’s constructive criticism.

Have a wonderful Monday all. Between tonight and tomorrow, I have some serious catching up to do with all of you.

Cheers!!