My husband had an epiphany basically about crap and liverwurst. Seriously.


You'll see how this fits in below.

Based on the last post many of you have probably figured out that my husband is kind of nuts. It’s the funny kind of nuts though, not get a straight jacket in here kind. Although he did mention the other day if he was ever in a padded room wearing a straight jacket he would just bounce around singing about doing just that. Makes me so proud.

Anyway, for some reason today we were talking about weird and nasty food and somehow ended up on yucky food his parents love (yes, the in-laws that hate me). I honestly couldn’t even guess how we ended up having this conversation. It was probably one of those things that evolved from a completely unrelated topic, as usual. I highly recommend people to have random conversations that are stupid, insane and even gross with the person you love. It keeps things fresh. It’s my marriage advice people. You’re welcome!

One of the foods that came up was liverwurst. Apparently, his Mom absolutely loves to eat this stuff spread on bread. Honestly, I’ve never even seen liverwurst in my life. Thankfully, no one has ever decided to have it in my presence and I’m very appreciative for it. Based on his description, it’s a solid but spreadable (not a real word I guess) and comes in a tube that makes it seem like it should be sausage. Basically, I’m picturing wet dog food in a tube but that’s probably not right. Or maybe it is but who knows? To keep going with the theme of random topics, when he was talking about liverwurst a song popped in my head. Is that sad? That something like liverwurst actually reminded me of a song. It probably is, especially for the band that sang it. I started telling him about it and he had no idea what I was talking about. I couldn’t resist. I had to share it with him, just like I just have to share it with you! I apologize in advance.

The song is called, “The Big One” by Confederate Railroad (it's also called "Daddy Cut The Big One"). Now, I don’t like this band and couldn’t even name another song by them but my Dad used to listen to it all the time. It’s one of those songs that you just don’t forget which you will now be inflicted with. The story (if you can even call it that) of the song is a man farted in church. That’s really all there is. The entire song is about the fart that everyone hears and that it stunk up the church. That’s some great writing people. Here it is if you really want to hear it, it’s not required though. By the way, the quality of the song on the site isn’t that great but it was the only one they had so I had to use it. It’s good enough though and you can clearly understand and hear the song so it works. The line is at the end, so you do have to listen to the whole thing to hear it.

Music Playlist at

For those who do not wish to hear the song and I don’t blame you, the line that popped in my head was, “He said the devil made him do it, Mama said it was the liverwurst.” I guess eating the dog food in a tube makes you fart, but the song is really all I have to go on. My husband listened to the song and pretty much cracked up the whole way through. Then a few minutes later he had an epiphany. With this kind of topic, you can just tell how crazy this is going to be, huh? Here it is:

Husband: “Ohmygod! I just figured out where the phrase “crap on a cracker” came from! Liverwurst!”

I guess he’s infected me with his crazy because I can kind of get it. I mean, if this stuff looks, tastes and smells anything close to what I’m picturing it could totally be true. If it really looks like wet dog food, I would definitely call it ‘crap on a cracker’! I really don’t get why we even name food with “wurst” in it. Is there any more unappetizing sounding food then that? Well, there probably is but this has to rank up there as pretty damn bad.

Hopefully none of you actually like liverwurst because you probably won’t appreciate this comparison, but I do recommend you don’t eat any before going to church. They even wrote a song about it! As for my husband, he’s very proud of his idea and insisted I write a blog about it. I couldn’t think of anything else for tonight so I went with it.

If this insulted your liverwurst addiction then you can totally blame my husband, as he’s responsible for the this post and the last one. So yeah, it’s completely his fault and that’s my story. I also did not intend to have two song postings in a row, but oh well.

No one ever writes songs about nipples, it’s always about the penis.


Another one of my favorite blogs, Yellow Trash Diaries has inspired a post basically because she told people too and I obeyed like a good little minion. If you don’t read her blog you totally should because she’s awesome and hysterical! Anyway, she wrote a post about a line to a song her husband made up about a penis. It was hilarious and crazy at the same time mostly because it reminded me of my husband and his song about a penis. She literally ended her post telling everyone to write a post with the word ‘penis’ in the title to prove that it draws in male followers. Basically, she’s conducting a scientific experiment about men’s lack of ability to resist any talk of sex or a penis. It’s totally going to be published in a medical journal or hustler magazine. Either one. So here I am sharing my insane husband’s song about a penis. What has my life become?

The back story goes all the way back to his high school years. He had a good friend named John (it’s amazing what guys will do to their best friends) that had a very sexually frustrated life at the time. Basically, it was a timeless problem. He wanted sex and the girlfriend didn’t, at all. So he frequently whined talked about how bad he needed sex and that he thought he was developing ‘blue balls’. Men always think they need sex as if it was just as important as breathing. His friend’s thought it was pretty funny that he was so desperate which led to this story. One night, my husband, his friend John and two other guy friends were driving somewhere in a car. One of their favorite and popular songs at the time came on the radio and instead of singing the original lyrics, my now husband started singing lyrics he made up on the spot. I should probably point out that even though my husband was great friends with John, he hated the girlfriend.

The song that started to play on the radio was “All The Small Things” by Blink 182. I think we can all see where this is going. If you don’t then you should leave now. For those who aren’t familiar with the song or don’t remember here are the chunk of original lyrics that my husband made up his penis song too.

Original lyrics:

All the, small things
True care, truth brings
I'll take, one lift
Your ride, best trip

Always, I know
You'll be at my show
Watching, waiting

Say it ain't so
I will not go
Turn the lights off
Carry me home

Na, na, na

Clearly not a penis song. That is until my husband came along. I literally can not hear this song without thinking of his made up song. He has completely ruined the song for me and he’s pretty proud of that. He loves that I’m writing this blog by the way.

Here’s the song so you can hear the beginning part matched up with his lyrics, if you want. It’s only the first 12 lines.

Music Playlist at

Here’s my husband’s penis/sex version of the song:

All the, small things
John's dick, it shrinks
She took, one look
He's stuck, no luck

Always, he knows
Try to make it grow
Watching, Waiting

Say it ain't so
It will not grow
Turn the lights off
Whack it until Dawn

So Kim, this is for you and your husband. I wonder what it says about us that our husband’s turn perfectly good songs into anthems to the penis. We need to come up with a song about nipples and vaginas now.

My husband loves this post. He thinks it’s the best one yet. I’m afraid to see what crazy searches will lead people to this blog.

Husband: “This is going to bring in all kinds of searches!”

Me: “I’m afraid to see what exactly those searches will be. All because of your penis song I’m going to be flooded with perverts looking for porn.”

Husband: “I know, you’re welcome!”

That’s right ladies. He’s all mine.

Chronic insomnia is exactly like being drunk except no one is having fun and lack coordination is worse.


Basically I’m drunk on lack of sleep. After two weeks of not being able to fall asleep until around 4 am I had one of those ‘it can’t get any worse moments’ and then it totally did. Except I never said that because after 5 years of dealing with this I know better. I slept in until around 2pm yesterday after falling asleep sometime past 5am and that was the last time I was asleep. Yes, I’ve been awake for 30 and a half hours straight and it’s so NOT on purpose. It completely sucks and I’ve been here before. A LOT! Actually I kind of go in these weird cycles of sleep where I do okay for a little while and then this happens. Last time I had a bad cycle, it lasted for over 2 and a half months. I would be awake well over 24 hours then crash/pass out then the next day I was up over 24 hours again and this just went on and on and on. Oh, and before you ask, no there’s nothing I can do to help, yes I’ve tried exercise, different diets, restricting foods/drinks after certain time, I never have caffeine anymore and I’m not stressing about things or thinking too much. Doctors can’t help me, specialists on sleep disorders can’t help me and neither can any of the things mentioned above. So, no more advice people! I’ve heard it all, thought it all and tried it all. It’s a, ‘been there, done that and bought the t-shirt and then burned it’ situation, so please give up. Thank you!

The only silver lining to this hell called lack of sleep is that I tend to look at the world in a totally bitchish way (yes, bitchish – new word!) I become much more cynical (as if I’m not enough already) and develop an ‘I don’t give a shit about anything’ attitude. It’s kind of fun to see what flies out of my mouth before I even have a chance to attempt to shut myself up. No sympathy and no filter exist when I’m like this but I’m still nice until someone does something to annoy me but it doesn’t take a whole lot sometimes. Like earlier, a commercial came on for a car that I don’t remember what it was now. She was talking about how great it was and I started talking to my TV and was all like, “no, that car is a piece of shit you dumb bitch”. Yes, I literally said this out loud in an empty apartment straight to the actress lady on the screen. I may be totally losing my mind at this point but it usually comes back after a minimum of 10 hours sleep. Hopefully. I’ve also developed an urge to smack my downstairs neighbor upside the head because he keeps sitting outside having yelling conversations with people on the other side of the courtyard because he’s too lazy to leave his little patio and walk over there!

I’m not responsible for this post, by the way. If it sucks or has a million and a half mistakes just blame the boogie man because my brain can’t be held responsible for something it’s not participating in. I think my brain either left the building or is in upside down. So if it’s bad just pretend like you never read it and we can all move on.

One of my most recent search inquiries that lead to my blog was, “my in-laws want to kill me” but I seriously doubt they found what they needed here. I mean, I never actually wrote anything about how to survive homicidal in-laws; I just shared how crazy mine on minus homicidal tendencies. Lets hope something better came up in their search besides me, like a handy how-to article or something.

Imagine what kind of searches this blog will come up in. Be scared. I am.

I cooked a tea kettle for dinner. What did you make?


I should probably read this.

Are you one of those people that believe anyone can cook? If so, I’m here to prove you wrong. Oh so very wrong. Some people are naturally great at cooking a meal and others, not so much. I happen to know that there are people who cannot cook well to save their lives. I know because I am one. Now, I can do really basic stuff like hit the buttons on the microwave, measure out ingredients and boil water. My specialties include anything that can be microwaved (which isn’t even a word), prepackaged things that can be tossed in the pan with like water or milk or something and boil water. Anything beyond that and you don’t want me at the stove, unless you want to die from food poisoning or an explosion. It’s an accepted fact in my family and they no longer try to take me under their wing as they know it’s a losing battle.

Of course, I still have moments where even the basics escape me. One of those moments happened tonight. I was craving soup and decided to warm some up on the stove like a big girl. I put the soup in the pan, turned on the stove and walked away to wait for it to warm up. Several moments later I heard a very strange clicking sound that I was pretty sure I’ve never heard before. I went into the kitchen and didn’t notice anything odd but could still hear the noise. I checked the soup and it was still cold. I was all like, “What the hell? This stove is stupd!” My husband was in the shower so really, I was talking to myself but that was the least of my problems. I looked up at the panel and the light that indicates a surface unit is on was lit up but the burner was completely cold. Then I looked at the knobs and had an ‘oh shit’ moment. I turned the wrong burner on. Instead of the one in the front with the soup on it, I turned on the back burner which held our tea kettle. My tea kettle also happened to be empty which I know is a no-no, but shit happens. Sorry Mom.

I obviously quickly turned it off but the damage had been done. The tea kettle was clicking away which I took to be a very bad thing. I made my soup and tried too look all innocent when my husband was finished with his shower. He walked into the living room and was like, “Something’s burning! What the hell is burning?!” I explained my little mishap which he thought was a lot more then that, but really I think he was being dramatic. Once he was sure our apartment wasn’t about to burn down he was like, “You should be banned from the stove. Seriously.” It wouldn’t be all that shocking because he tried to ban be from using large knives after I cut my hand slicing open a pre-sliced bagel. Yeah, I really did that. Before you think I’m totally oblivious for not smelling something burning, I actually can’t smell, at all. I was born without a sense of smell so I cannot smell anything at all. Never could and never will. It’s called Congenital Anosmia which literally means being born without the ability to perceive smells. So yeah, that’s why I didn’t notice something was burning.

All is safe and fine now. Well, except for our tea kettle. Before my little accident it was shiny silver with a copper colored bottom. Below is what it looks like now.

No longer shiny silver.

Pretty burnt tea kettle.

Bye bye copper bottom - hello well done!


So here's a tip because I'm now totally qualified. Always turn the correct burner on when using your stove or you end up making cajun style tea kettle for dinner. Now you know. You're welcome.

A trip to the doctor’s office is like getting into a biohazard bucket!


I love this sign!

My husband had to see his doctor yesterday for a check-up because he’s conscious about his health because I made him and I went along for the visit. Not because it’s fun or anything but because we had things to do afterwards and it was just easier. I really should have thought it through more though. I seem to have a form of amnesia that made me forget how scary a doctor’s waiting room can be for a (minor) germaphobe! You would think I would remember this better but for some reason it didn’t pop into my mind until we walked through the door. I swear, in the few seconds it took him to check in at the desk I heard two high powered sneezes, three shallow coughs and one that sounded like it was coughing up both lungs. Every inch of my body cringed and my brain screamed, “RUN!” My husband, knowing me so well looked at me with pity and patted my knee. It was sweet and all but it would have been so much better if he whipped out a hazmat suit and an industrial size bottle of air sanitizer.

There were three people ahead of us so I knew I was going to be sitting there for a while. My brain started replaying the horrible information that a sneeze causes snot and saliva infested germs to fly through the air at 95 miles per hour and can travel up to 150 feet. I’m not good at measurements at all, but it was even within my grasp to realize there was no way to be in this room and 150 feet away from each person at the same time. I also happened to remember a terrifying little fact I recently learned that I wish I could unlearn. Apparently, in the average human sneeze there are about 40,000 droplets of mucus flying out of your nose/mouth. Even people who aren’t germaphobic have to find that utterly disgusting, right? I have the urge to wash just thinking about that. Yuck.

As we sat there I was trying to think about anything except disease, germs and soap but it wasn’t easy. I would find a way to get relaxed and hacker john would start up again. Before I knew it a new infected human walked in the office and instead of sitting in one of the many (and I mean many) open chairs she picked the one next to me. She had about 10 other choices but she must have like my shirt or something, I don’t know. She then decided to chat with me in between her sniffles and coughing. I don’t really consider that a good time to talk, maybe it’s good for moving into isolation but not to strike up a conversation. Nothing interesting was said as all my chit chat skills fled in fear the second we walked in the room.

Eventually the nurse called my husbands name and he stupidly asked me if I wanted to come or stay in the waiting area. There was no way I was staying out there in the infectious disease incubating party. I found out later he was trying to be funny but he seriously failed. Sometimes, he’s the only one who finds him funny. Jerk. When we were in the little room waiting for the doctor he joked about the woman that sat next to me. It wasn’t funny. This is how the conversation went.

Me: “I could have just caught the Ebola virus and you’re trying to be funny! I could die in 7 days all because of her cough!”

Husband: “Seven days? What is this, a scene from ‘The Ring’? And where the hell did you pull Ebola from? Of all the diseases you could pick.”

Me: “Whatever, smart ass. It’s a real disease and it kills people within days. I read a book about it in middle school and it was horrible!”

Husband: “I can’t believe you read about a deadly disease in middle school. How does it kill people so fast?”

Me: “It’s like the badass of the disease world. First, you get this headache that won’t go away then you start vomiting blood and hemorrhaging inside and out. Your insides become a freaking organ slushy and no one can cure you. Then you die!”

He stared at me with this shocked face. I think it was more because I knew about this disease then the actual things I told him.

Husband: “Damn. How the hell do you remember this from that long ago?”

Me: “Because it scared the shit out of me! I was all nervous for weeks every time I had a headache and it drove my Mom nuts. Every time I see or hear about a monkey the first thing I think about is Ebola.”

Husband: “What do monkeys have to do with it?”

Me: “The book was a scientist studying diseases and testing monkeys, and all the monkeys ended up with Ebola and it like killed a bunch of people. I don’t know. I don’t remember everything from it, just some stuff.”

The conversation pretty much ended there. He started looking through all the stuff in the room like a little kid and I disinfected my hands once or ten times. I need to buy more now. The doctor came in and gave him a clean bill of health and we were on our way. Hopefully I don’t come down with something in a week or so.

I really wish I could disinfect my entire body whenever I want. Like a bottle or can I can carry in my purse and just spray down whenever I end up in an incubation zone.

Is germaphobe not a real word? Spell check is telling me it’s wrong. It wants it to be “gramophone” instead and I have no clue what that is. How are you supposed to spell it anyway? Is it ‘germAphobe’ or ‘germOphobe’?

Spell check wants the second version to be “ergophobia”. I looked it up and it apparently means “an abnormal and persistent fear (or phobia) of work or functioning.” I know a few people who must have that phobia!

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