Mad Mutha Fudrucker

I had planned on blogging about how, when I was little, I wanted to have twins (a boy and a girl) and name them "Cowa" and "Bunga" after my favorite Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles' catchphrase. You're going to have to wait for that story, because all I can think about it how someone at the Lance Cracker Factory is messing with my head.

Work sucks on Mondays (usually), so I like to bribe myself with treats thoughout the day to keep from strangling myself or others with the vines of the Boss' philodendron. A semi-brief look at my task/treat schedule:

7:30-7:45am: Catch up on my favorite blogs (this is my reward for getting to work).

7:45-8:00am: Take care of all the odds-and-ends work I didn't feel like doing after 4:30 on Friday of last week.

8:00am: Walk to the adjacent department to see what baked goods Susan has brought for this week. Today--some sort of chocolate cake. Try to remember to wipe the crumbs off my face.

8:05am: Answer emails, return telephone calls, pound some numbers into my adding machine, blah blah blah boring stuff.

11:20am: Walk to upstairs to get some Lance Toast Chee Crackers (no, not a typo; I'm looking at the package right now and it is really spelled this way). These are delicious cheddar cracker sandwiches with peanut butter filling. Trust me when I tell you that the blinding neon orange color of the crackers in no way reflects how good these sandwich crackers are. Plus, a package of 6 costs only 40 cents!

But wait, did I say 40 cents? Because today, to my astonishment, my Toast Chee Crackers were clearly labeled 60 cents.


I'm glad no one else was in the 2nd floor break room, because I stood there for a good 2 minutes just staring at the vending machine, wondering what had I done to deserve this. I'm still reeling. To add insult to injury, after wasting spending 60 cents on Toast Chee, I only had 40 cents remaining, which is not enough for a can of Coke. So I had to walk back downstairs and dig a couple of nickels out of my purse. I'm glad no one stopped me to ask how my day was going, because I think I would have said something along the lines of "shitty," which is not really acceptable work place language (at least not at my current workplace; when I waited tables, if you weren't having a shitty day at work that meant you were making lots of money, and that made everyone jealous and hate you). I came close to unloading some expletives on a co-worker who was in the break room when I took a picture of the offending Crackers. But she seemed genuinely sympathetic about the outrageous price hike, so I kept my rage in check. No reason to make an old lady cry, or showcase myself in an unflattering light. Not if it can be helped.

So there you have it. Lance Toast Chee crackers are now an astonishing 60 cents. Also, if I had twins now, I would not name them "Cowa" and "Bunga." Although "Pea," "Bee," and "Jay" are still in the running if I have triplets.

Mockingbirds are not funny at all

I've mentioned before the annoying mockingbirds that have taken up residence in my hedge. Not content to be merely annoying, they now pose a threat to my physical well-being.

For a while they had actually fallen off my radar. It's been pretty hot in NC, so I've been spending most of my time inside, enjoying the AC and bonging beers checking out the previous tenants' newest Highlights magazine practicing my American Gladiator moves catching up on my laundry. While checking the mailbox for my new Netflix movies, I detected a faint breeze and decided to take advantage of the break in the stifling heat and enjoy a cold beer and a book in my rocking chair on the front porch.

Three-quarters of a page and 1/2 of a Bud Lite Lime (I know, I know, they are disgusting but delicious) later, I was dive bombed by a pair of mockingbirds! I'm sure you are aware that birds are not only dirty disease carrying rodents with wings, but they will not hesitate to peck out your eyes with their beaks whilst they beat you about the head with their wings! Needless to say, I freaked. I dove from my chair, spilled my beer all over the porch, and flung my book over the railing into the hedge. I don't think anyone saw me ("Hey, that crazy white girl just poured beer all down her front!"), but after I was safely inside, I looked out the window to see Hemo dozing on the porch while the mockingbirds dive bombed her, one after the other. She was unperturbed; in fact, she seemed to enjoy the breeze that ruffled her fur as they flew past.

Hemo is a Bad Mutha Fudrucker.

No, we are not dead

Darn you work web filter! The web filter at work has been updated, and blogger wasn't making it through. That, unfortunately, meant no Bad Mutha Fudrucking updates. Sorry for any sleep you may have lost over my absence of my presence in the blogosphere. Rest assured, I am back, and ready to post inane details of my life and gratuitous pictures of the Mutha Fudruckin' household. The question is, are you ready? Dexter's so scared, he can't even look. He is also afraid of baths, though, so you'll probably be ok. Probably.

Hemo looks a little worried.

Princess Ernie

Ernie totally beat my niece Ari in a pretty brutal game of Pretty Pretty Princess. He looks pretty embarassed regal to me.

For Daniellie

Sorry it's taken me so long to post some new pictures of Dexter, but I just got my camera cord back from my mom this weekend. Here's Dexter after I read your letter to him; he's pretty excited about his care package.

Officer Sarah, reporting for duty

North Carolina has a program, "Swat a Litterbug," that lets meddlesome concerned citizens report acts of vehicular littering. This is the perfect program for me--I get to ride around town, pen and paper handy, and jot down the license plate number of any douche bag I see throwing their cigarette butts out of the window. I then go to the website and report the license plate, along with the date, time, and location of the littering incident. It gives me a small sense of satisfaction to imagine the look on strangers' faces when they get an (unfortunately non-threatening) letter from the NC Highway Patrol, encouraging them to be more responsible about their waste disposal.

My ultimate fantasy would be to retrieve the jettisoned cigarette butt, catch the litter bug at a stoplight, and toss it back into their car yelling, "You dropped this!" But then I would have to run back to my car and try to lose the irate litter bug in Wilmington traffic, which would be difficult with all the stop lights, stop signs, and the occasional stray dog crossing the road. This scenario requires more gumption than I possess, so I usually settle for pressing very hard with my pen as I write the license plate number down and hissing to myself, "I've got you now, sucka."

Sunscreen is cool

Fridays during the summer the city of Wilmington hosts a "Downtown Sundown" concert series, with live bands and expensive domestic beers. A lot of the bands are cover bands, which is awesome for me because I have unsophisticated tastes in music. A couple of Fridays ago "The Frontier," a Journey cover band, played. Like most drunken 20-somethings, I was way into it. Unlike most drunken 20-somethings, I found myself dancing with a creepy old lady. Melanoma Face is a walking skin cancer PSA if ever I've seen one.

All I wanted to do was enjoy Kenny's delicious guitar riffs.