Tag Archives: UFC

Suck on This!

Oral fixations.

Babies have them.  They’ll put anything into their mouth.

Dogs have them.  They’ll chew on anything.

Turkey vultures have them.  They’ll eat anything rubber off your car.

I have an oral fixation.

Boys, get your mind out of the gutter.  It’s not that kind of oral fixation.  Although for you, that’s a oral visual stimulation fixation.  Yes, I agree. Some woman do look better when they have something in their mouth – mainly because it shuts them up.  But, I won’t go down that road right now.

It’s the NOISE that comes out of that orifice that irritates the shit out of me.

Please. Don’t even start with your tsk, tsk, tsk and tell me to be more patient and understanding of those around me – you can just sit down and listen up.  There are people in this world who are ignorant of their personal noise levels and their disruption to my peace and quiet.

I’m talking about those cheeky little fuckers who give no thought to their mouthy acoustics.  There are no words strong enough to describe the annoyance.  They’re simply being:





Cheeky Little Fucker Case #1:  

Decible Level 70

funny ostrich

Were these people raised by hyenas?

Nope, must have been ostriches.

Let’s see how much food you can stuff into that hole and then  try and carry on a conversation…shall we?



I enjoy nothing more than someone stuffing their mouth full of food and THEN talking to me.   Could you not wait two minutes to come and speak to me?  After you swallowed  whatever that is you have crammed into your hole?  Apparently, not.  That’s just great.  Cause you know not only do I understand everything perfectly, but I also really enjoy when the bits and pieces of soggy whatever the hell that is….. come flying out of  your mouth.

It’s even better when you have SO MUCH crammed in there – you have to actually move it from side to side in order to talk.  Looking at you, you’d think you’re working on a giant wad of chew in your jaw.  Nope, that’s just your fucking tuna sandwich.

Are you kidding me?

It happened the other day and it was all I could do to dig my hands into my chair – to keep my own trap shut.  I was on the verge of saying:  “You sound like you have a mouth full of sweat socks.  Can you please finish your danish and then talk to me.”

We’re adults people – use your common sense.

Cheeky Little Fucker Case #2:

Decibel Level 110

fingers down chalkboark

What is worse than the stuffed mouth full of food issues?  Combine it with a nasally voice.  Add an accent.  Include VOLUME.  Oh and for giggles, let’s just as a cherry on top.  This voice is like nails down a chalkboard.

On a regular day her voice, to me, could unscrew lightbulbs  out of the socket.

Combine it with her eating, what I can only imagine as Andre the Giant sized bites and then talking loudly to her co-workers.  It’s enough to make me pack up and leave my cubicle.  Enough.  I’m done.

It’s that or I’m going to start shouting SHUT UP!  SHUT UP!  SHUT UP!

This woman constantly, constantly, constantly…..sends me over the edge.  I could leap the Eiffel Tower in a single bound when it starts.  My one remaining nerve gets such a workout with her that it packs up and leaves before I can even get my headphones out of the drawer.

When I do get the headphones out, I don’t know which music to listen to….something calming like Enya?  Spa relaxation channel?  Give the spa three minutes.  Click.  Not feeling it.  I switch over to something with a little more edge….to match my burned out nerve.  Eminem does the trick. UFC music channel….excellent.

Cheeky Little Fucker Case #3:  

Decibel Level 90

false teeth

False teeth?

No teeth?

Something in your teeth?

For the love of humanity far and wide, do us all a favor – excuse yourself and go brush your fucking teeth and remove whatever god awful boulder is in your cavity that is causing you to suck and slurp like a hooker trying to suck a golf ball through a garden hose.


The sucking noises have got to stop immediately.  


Rule #23 in life: When you have people in your office don’t suck your teeth.  And while I can’t see….I am going to gamble a bet that this person is probably fishing around in their mouth trying to pick out the offending seed of mayhem.




That’s correct, I can only gamble a guess because I never see it.  I only hear it.  Occurs on the other side of the cubicle wall.  God help me.

You’re wondering the same thing I am aren’t you?  If they find the pick – do they eat it?  I don’t know and I don’t care.  It makes me nauseous thinking about it.  I would rather watch guts and gore than see that crap.  Like picking your nose and eating it.

Cheeky Fucker Case #4:  

Decible Level 85

noisy eater

I don’t need to say anything.

You get the picture.

Eating is not supposed to  a recital of your orifice’s abilities to entertain various types of food items and their forms.

Same goes for those of you who moan and groan through your meals.  If you’re going to climax during any course – appetizer to dessert – you need to order room service or go eat in the closet.  They probably have private clubs devoted to food orgies, which I suggest you research but I’m not interested so keep it to yourself, so I too can enjoy my meal.

Those of you who have issues with people who can’t eat in a civilized manner – those who smack their lips, suck their teeth, click their tongues, moan and burp.you have my permission to get up and move away when they sit next to you.

When the offender sits with you, simply choose one of these excuses to move away:

“I’m sorry, my phone is ringing.  Excuse me.”

“You’ll have to excuse me, I’m multitasking today.  Meditating and eating.”

“I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m trying to be more in touch with my insensitive side.  Excuse me.”

“The baby is upset today….sorry.”

Then leave.

Enough people.  Just knock it off and respect others.  Get a clue.

Suck on something worth while.

The Shocker!

It washes over me like a silent fog, rolling into the dark alleys belonging to Jack the Ripper – sneaking up before he steals his victims.  It creeps up on me like a cold breeze teasing the shoreline where Nessie haunts the shallows of Lochness.  It churns in my stomach like a hardened UFC fighter as he mentally zones out while their hands are being wrapped – in prep for their next bloody battle – hoping to bring the glory of a title fight.

This is the the dusk of Sunday night.  The eve of Monday.

I am like a little kid who doesn’t want to go to bed – the magic will end and the I may never get to kiss the prince.

Instead, I sit on the lanai with my cats, glass of wine and write – all in hopes of prolonging the inevitable.


In hope of hopes, I took Friday off last week as a vacation day.

It didn’t work.  I actually worked from home until NOON!  So much for leaving early and getting on the road to Orlando.  (Original thought was for a leisurely drive up  Nope.)  I emailed and worked and solved problems.  The bonus of working from home is I actually get more done than I do in the office.  For me, there are less distractions.

Noon came and I was like SHIT….we have TO GO!

Throw some crap into a suitcase, jump into the car and head out of the compound.

Not even to the front gate:  SHIT!  STOP!  I forgot the address!

Turn the car around.  Go back and get the address of where we’re going.

Departure Number Two.

Three miles down the road, I look at Eric.  ::::  Did you bring a coat?


Blink.  Blink.  Blink. ::::  You know it’s going to be down into the 30’s, you’re going to need a coat.


Turn the car around.

Back to the house.

Departure Number Three.

We finally hit the road and we’re on the way to Orlando.  No, we’re not going to see the Mouse or Harry Potter.  We’re going to see a comedian, Taylor Williamson.  You may remember him from being the SECOND most talented person in America.  Personally, I found him to be THE MOST Talented.  America decided to vote for a Japanese dancer instead on America’s Got Talent last year.  Personally, I find humor a lot more entertaining than dancing and this guy kills me.

I made a deal with a friend:  IF HE EVER COMES TO FLORIDA WE’RE GOING TO SEE HIM.


So, here we are.

Most exciting thing on the drive up : Wild pigs.  On the road.  3 of them.  Just walking along on the Turnpike.  Animals, not police.  Not people from rural America.  Actual true wild pigs.  First I’ve ever encountered.

Second most exciting thing on the drive up was learning a new hand gesture.  Yep.  Leave it to me.  A beater white van, complete with front fender falling off,  passes us with all kinds of bumper stickers plastered all over the back.  Eric is driving and as it passes I said to him ::::

What’s that hand gesture mean?

Immediately, from the smirk he got on his face, I knew this was a loaded question.  The image?


He looks at me and tells me exactly what it means.

WARNING:  If you are easily offended skip the next sentence.

::::::  Two in the pink and one in the stink.

WHAT?  Why would you put that on your car?

Why would you put “Grumpy Cat hates your stick figure family.” on your car?

Because I like Grumpy Cat and it makes me laugh.

It’s also called The Shocker.

Seriously?  Leave it to me to find the most ridiculous and offensive bumper sticker on this vehicle and then have to ask what it means.  Of course, being the person I am, it would have driven me nuts not to have known what it meant.  AND, I would have rather have had the photo available to show Eric rather than have had to do the hand gesture myself to ask later on what it meant.

Imagine me later saying to Eric ::: hey, what does this mean?  He would have peed himself having seen me do that.  WTF?  Where did you see that?

On a car we passed.

Although, the up side is….now I have another hand gesture for Miami traffic! Much better than this other one that I simply can’t do with a straight face!  No, I’m not sharing with you WHAT that gesture is, thank you!

I am feeling quite smug with myself now!  I know about The Shocker and I’m not afraid to use it!

Fast forward to dinner before the show.  We go to a nice Japanese restaurant.   Eric and I decide to order some sushi.  The one I want has tempura eel and some other nice things in it.  Then I look at the name:  The Electric Shocker.

Of course it is.

Reasoning with 180 Pounds.

He’s big.
He’s tan.
He’s 180 pounds.
He’s almost as tall as me.
His feet are as big as my hand.
He’s a Mastiff.
He’s currently at my feet snoring.
His name is Tater.
He’s staying with us until January 7th.

Life with a giant dog is interesting. Have you ever tried to make dinner with a dog head under your elbow? His head is about the same size as a basket ball. “Excuse me….”

When Eric goes out to snow blow in the morning, Tater sits by the front door and moans. If I pet the cats too much, Tater moans some more. Therefore, he has a new nickname of Moaning Myrtle, who was a character in Harry Potter.

Tater is also a heavy breather, when he’s not heavy snoring. This woke me up the first night. Hence his night time name of “Darth Tater.” I figured out why he’s tired during the day – Tater spends a lot of time running in his dreams. At night I can hear him, as he sleeps in our room. I don’t look over the bed, as Tater has hearing like a bat and no doubt, would wake up immediately and inquire about going outside.

I learned that lesson the first night. I was up and Tater came over and looked at me and I swear he said, “well, if you’re up would you mind opening the back door for me? Your slippers are right here.”

Fear not, as with all animals in our house, he now has his official UFC fight name. We have FeeBee “The Snuggler”, Liggy “The Kibble Snatcher” and now Tater “The Hedgehog”. He is slightly startled when we yell out his name, although he did enjoy UFC 124 with GSP and Koscheck. He too was ecstatic when GSP won.

Tater goes everywhere with me. In the morning we go to the gym. He sits in the Suburban (he comes with his own accessories). If I have a meeting downtown, he goes with me and waits in the car. Errands, especially those involving drive up windows, are the best -as we are guaranteed a handful of dog treats. As soon as we pull up Tater immediately puts his head out the window – to let them know “HEY SMALL HORSE HERE… SEND SNACKS….and not just one!”

So our first day of traveling around together, I came out of the post office and Tater had moved from the back of the Suburban to the front passenger seat. I got in and told him to get in the back and he reluctantly climbed back over the seat.

Next stop was the grocery. I come out and can spy Tater’s enormous head from multiple cars away. He’s back in the front seat. I hop in and there is no convincing him to get in back. So there we go in the Suburban, me and my giant dog, whose trying to figure out a comfortable sitting position up front.

After nearly a month’s stay with us – traveling all over, Tater is going to need a vacation when his parents come home. HA!