They Call Me Yuck Mouth

Over the Memorial Day weekend, I don't think I moved much except to eat and pee. I literally stayed inside and on my iPad for days. And although some might think that I was a lazy ass. I totally was. I honestly didn't want to do anything. It was a long weekend and I utilized my restless skills to the max. Pinterest and I were buds. So, I came across this post on how to make your teeth whiter. I pinned it and then two days later decided to try it.

Here's what you will need.

1 teaspoon of baking soda
1 teaspoon of peroxide
1 dab of toothpaste
1 dixie cup (or Red Solo Cup, I fill you up)

Mix all ingredients together, then put on your tooth brush. It's not a thick paste. I brushed for two minutes. And the outcome was this. I guess if you did this once a week like recommended for a month you might see results. I did notice a slight difference but other than that the only difference I noticed was my teeth were really clean and squeaky. Be careful with the peroxide it is a little hard on the gums. So, will I try it again? I don't know. It tasted like crap but I might just give it another whirl for a month to see. One day probably isn't significant enough. Why can't the white strips be cheaper.

So, do you have any home remedies? Fill me in.

Happy Wednesday,

Dusty

Cherry Bomb

Tuesday's aren't they just full of hope? Not really. Tuesdays are like the worst days besides Monday. But its closer to Friday. Sorry, I have been in a funk lately. I have had no will power to blog. No will power to read. No will power to do much of anything. I have sort of lost my mojo. People pissing on my parade and I don't like it. 

Let's just get to it. This weekend was the Honky Tonk with some great peeps. I met new friends and got to do alot of people watching. I did a little dancing. My legs hurt the next day which means I am way out of shape. And I woke up the next morning with a pounding headache which only means I am not a professional drinker anymore. In other words, me and drinking are only friends until the next day. 

Here's the highlights. Beer, shots, beer, dancing with fingers, pee bandit, uncontrollable giggles, Waffle House, bed. 

The place that we go has a cover of $8 smacks and free beer until 11 pm. You can't beat that. Here's where the shots came in. We had a bet, me and my partner in crime, Becca with my former partner in crime Mary who moved. She won the bet so we said we would do shots in her honor. All I know is I don't like shots. I don't do them but a bet is a bet. I do know that I will never drink something called a Cherry Bomb again.

Next on our way to the awful Waffle Becca has to pee. Like really pee bad, to the point of cold sweats. I ask her if she wants me to pull over. She says yes. Driving down the road I pull over on the side of the road behind this building. Nothing out of the ordinary just the back of a building with another smaller building with a light on and a motorcycle parked beside it. Becca gets out runs around the car and in T minus two seconds five burly bikers come flying around the corner. Before she could even get her pants down, she takes off like the road runner around to the passenger side, jumps in, I put it in reverse and back up and speed away like the Dukes of Hazzard. We drove by and I noticed the sign. Knowing a little about the biker world realized that this was a motorcycle cop club which then became even more funny. We sped off like crazy. Becca still had to pee. I go a little ways down the street, pull into a grocery store with a fully lit parking lot, she jumps out and lets it rip. I laughed so hard I banged my head on the horn while it honked loudly. I swear we can't go anywhere without something happening. We laughed, while she explained I needed to hurry to the Waffle House so she could go wipe. Really at this point it doesn't matter? But it was still hysterical. I have never seen that girl run and jump into a car so fast in my life. Good times.

And for your viewing pleasure, here it is. The video of the night. You have to listen to it closely. I love how the DJ is counting down for the line dance to begin while we are getting ready to do this disgusting shot. Oh, and mine was as full as Becca's but I said, no way and poured mine into someone else's glass. Believe me what I took was enough. Ugh!

Jun 8, 2013 | by dustydunbaralley on Keek.com

Happy Tuesday!

Dusty

Rhino Reject

As I set here eating this diet mac and cheese, yes diet mac and cheese. You want to fight about it? I didn't think so. Give me a break, this low sugar thing is not fun and I am drinking Sprite Zero which basically tastes like crap. But it will do because I am starting to get used to it. And for the record, I had to take control of my life and bring coffee back. So instead of five teaspoons of sugar there are the lone three. It's not the same but I had to stop wasting my money on flavored creamer because it just wasn't working for me.

Any way, even though it's Tuesday, I hope everyone had a great weekend. I got to have a few glasses of Sangria on Friday night with my wonderfully, beautiful friend, Lorraine. And now the count down is on to Honky Tonk Saturday but I am not going to say a lot about it except maybe a few times all week long. Last week was also D day with the allergist. I arrived at my appointment 20 minutes early as requested. The door was locked. Who tells you to come to an appointment and not leave the door open? Seriously, who am I going to rob? A bunch of nurses with 71 types of tree serum they inject into your body? Woo wee. That will make you high as a giraffe's ass. After calling and them letting me in, I fill out the necessary paperwork, go into a room and wait. A nurse comes in and asks me to blow into this contraption like blowing out candles. That went over smoothly. I failed with flying colors. Puh-lease give me some real candles will ya?

She then comes back in and says the doctor would be in to see me in a few. Oh, goody, I can't wait. NOT! Then walks in Dr. McHottie. I mean seriously, who would have thought that a snot doctor could look so good.  Well, shitballs, if I knew that I would have dressed up for the occasion of checking my nasal passages and discussing my addiction to Kleenex tissues. I might have even trimmed my hose hairs and had my upper lip waxed since he was so up close and personal. He explains to me the process of the test which I didn't hear a word he said because I was focused on the once used to be hole in his ear from an earring which told me at one time he was a wild rebel. Grrr. He walks out, the nurse comes back and states the process again because I wasn't listening. Then it goes ding dong in my head.  Am I wearing the most ragged bra I own? He can't poke my back with a bra that is now the color of grey with strings and stuffing hanging out. So I immediately ask to go to the restroom to see if I put on a good or bad bra. I run to the restroom, take my shirt off, see that I am good to go and Dr. Sexy pants can look at my supple back all he wants.

I go back in, the nurse says take your shirt and bra off and put this paper contraption on and lie on your stomach. Oh, this is getting better, the bra didn't matter, thank god I shaved under my arms. So, I am setting in this cold ass room thinking I am about to be up close and tit personal with Doc McStuffins and the nurse walks in and says, "Now I am going to administer the test on your back." Uh, say what? You? What happened to Snot Patrol? I just had an up close and personal conversation about by rhino area in which he was almost lip to lip and you are going to poke me? What a friggin, let down. At that point, I didn't care if she stuck my butthole. And then to make it worse, I fail some of the test and then she had to inject me 13 different times with needles to see if I was allergic to something else. My date with the Dr. Doolittle just went from dinner for two to Match fucking dot com reject.

After it was all said and done, he comes in, tells me I am allergic to basically the state of Tennessee, schedule  an appointment to start taking shots every week and have a great day. I mean the bastard could have slapped me on the ass like a football coach and said, "nice job." Oh, well, that's what I get. It's not like I would have went out with him, he was married and had kids (see up close and personal) but it sure was good to feel wanted. That's right -wanted. He wanted my co-pay and I end up with nothing but a bunch of snot reducing medicine. Remind me that doctors are pimps next time I have the idea that any one of them could be Dr. McDreamy would ya! This is defiantly a classic case of getting poked and not getting kissed.

Happy Tuesday,

Dusty