DIY bidet from a water hose and other bad ideas I had today

We, my husband and I, made a New Year’s resolution to be better with money. We decided to stop eating out so much and stop doing other stupid things with our money that bring us joy.

Sack lunches for everyone here!

Today I took it a step further. We ran out of toilet paper. Standing in front of the sea of paper designed to wipe our butts I noticed the prices for the first time. Have I really been paying $14 fucking dollars for a pack of toilet paper? Have I been eating paint chips? I get that it’s a necessity unless I wanna drag the water hose in the house and rig up a DIY bidet. Tres chic! I’m sure my guests will love that one. I could see me coming up with some bullshit excuse for why there’s no toilet paper, but there’s a damn water hose in the bathroom.

“Umm, we are worried about our eco foot print, and we just…(condescending sigh) REALLY wanted to make some changes. So enjoy our lovely bidet we made”.

No one would ever come over. EVER. AGAIN. But my booty would be squeaky clean.

Anyway, armed with my new sense of budget purpose I searched for the cheapest toilet paper the store had, and I found it…on the bottom shelf. Individually wrapped in paper, and for only .99 cents that was the toilet paper for me. I snatched two rolls and headed home to try it out.

It’s so thin, but so sharp. Like rubbing a cheese grater across your anus.


I have decided that this paper says one of two things about you as a person. Either you are horrible with money and your poor choices have led to this, or you are super cheap and your tightfistedness have landed you in your current situation. In either scenario you should seriously have a time out and rethink some things in your life.

I opened it and a sense of deja vu overtook me. Ahhh, I had seen this toilet paper before. College.

This was the John Wayne toilet paper that I had scrapped across my anus while in college.


After having utilized this rough rider paper I can honestly say that it’s as close as a you can get to wiping your ass with a piece of printer paper. How can something that is as thin as tissue paper hurt so much? I don’t think I have a particularly wimpy asshole or anything, but I also ain’t trying to rub gravel in it. I would rather use one of my husband’s clean socks to wipe my butt with next time. Don’t look at me like that, I’m not going to use one of my own and ruin it.

Anything would be better than that John Wayne paper, but it sure was good for my budget. Especially when you consider how long it will last as all of us are going to avoid going to the bathroom at home as much as possible.




Halloween has been cancelled until further notice. You know why. Don’t look at me like you don’t.

This past weekend was Halloween. I bought a crap ton of candy and treats for the trick-or-treaters.

candy bitches

And decorated my house like an expert….

you tried

It’s almost too scary.

And then we opened our doors to the masses.  My family has this tradition every year. We buy a ton of candy to hand out to all the trick-or-treaters, watch kid Halloween movies, dress up, decorate our house, and eat as much of the Halloween candy out of the bucket as we can while we wait. We were jazzed.

Then people started flooding in our door. They weren’t just coming for candy and leaving. They were sticking around. Which we loved, but we ran into a very big problem when everyone went home.  Someone done fucked up. That’s honestly the only to explain what my husband found in the hallway on his way to the bathroom.

In a very puzzled voice he called out to me, “Wendy, did the kids flood the bath-…..” that’s where the words stopped and the loud gagging started. I got up from my seat in the kitchen, and peeked my head into the hallway to find him bent over attempting to hold in all the candy he had consumed earlier in the evening. Tears in his eyes, he looked up at me and whispered,

  “Someone pissed an ocean in here, and out into the hallway”.

Frightened, I realized I was standing in pee, and screamed. “NOOOOOOOOO, OH GAWD EVERYTHING’S COVERED IN URINE”! We then began a ridiculous conversation that was sprinkled with gagging and swear words. Bless my husband’s heart. When we walked into the living room to hold our conversation in a neutral, pee free zone, he caught a whiff of pee, and followed it all the way to our couches.

The piss bandit had struck my living room furniture.

I would like to say that I remained the voice of reason, but all I could smell was pee, and we had already discussed burning the house down and starting over somewhere else. Somewhere free of pee. My husband had made his mind up, and he looked at me with more determination than I’ve seen in a while from his normally laid back face. “You can sit on these if you want, but I’m never sitting on them ever again. You’ll have to kill me first if you want me to sit on one”. I said I agreed, and said, “no, we sit on the floor now. The piss bandit got us good”.

My husband nodded his head, and then started moving the couches out of the house. They are outside right now.

I went back inside and started cleaning the bathroom. I want to say that it was a modest amount of pee, but that would be a lie. I would love to say I behaved like a lady, and cleaned without resorting to swear words or gagging and vowing revenge, but that would also be a lie. I cleaned pee of the walls, bathtub, cabinet, and of course, the floor in the bathroom and the hallway.

Oddly enough I did NOT have to clean the toilet. It was completely clean. HOW? Part of me wants to know how this terrible deed was done, and the rest of me wants to remain blessedly ignorant. Now, a few words to the piss bandit who exploded in my bathroom without so much as a “hey, I blew your bathroom up with pee pee and then got it all over your couches”.

Dear Piss Bandit,

You don’t have to explain or apologize. I already know. One day, maybe so far into the future that you think you’ve gotten away with it, but mark my words, Piss Bandit. I will get you back. You will come home and smell a very familiar smell, and wonder where you know it from. You will take your shoes off, and start to walk across the floor in your house and notice that your socks are wet. Hmm, that’s weird. It’s been a long day hasn’t it, Piss Bandit? You just wanna get a snack and sit on your couch. You’ll go into your kitchen and a eerie sight will fill your vision. All of your glasses from your cabinets are out, and on your table full of…what is that? Apple juice? You don’t remember buying apple juice, do you? Oh, well no reason to let it go to waste.

    You’ll grab a glass, and head back into your living room. Man, those socks sure are wet aren’t they? Plopping down onto your couch, you realize it’s wet too, and there’s that familiar smell again. What is that? You put the glass to your lips, and just as tilt the glass to take a drink, it hits you. With a deep knot of dread, you know what that smell is. You realize that I’ve peed on every single surface in your house. From the doorknob, to the every square inch of your floor, your couch, and all those glasses on your table. Why do you have that many glasses anyway?

I bet you’re wondering how I managed it? Never you mind. Aren’t I dehydrated? Maybe a little, but that’s what they make Gatorade for. I buy the red kind and call it Revengerade.

      Rest in pieces Piss bandit,

Your Nemesis

me as tina

My husband being on a business trip turns my brain into useless mush

My husband has been on a business trip since Monday, and the adult in me would like to point out that I’ve been responsible. The other 90% of me needs that 10% to sit down and remember how often we listened to that Meghan Trainor song while eating candy.

that girl

I’ve cleaned, I’ve read a ton of Jane Austen, stared at old photos of my husband, and even written a little bit of husband fanfiction.

be interested in my fic

It’s gotten pitiful, but he threw me a bone. Of course, I made it weird. I always make it weird.

I'll be home

I’m starting to wonder why he likes coming home at all. I basically stalk, harass, and otherwise act like a fan. I don’t think it’s normal wife behavior to wish you could draw better so you could draw illustrations of your husband dressed up as different Jane Austen heroes, but there it is.  That’s how I love. In the creepiest, grossest way possible. Apparently he likes it.

northanger funny

He’s probably just REALLY gratefully I’m not a talented artist of any kind because if I was, there would be many portraits of him in full regency swagger, complete with cravat and smolder.

I make my husband do stupid things, and pretend it’s for “us”.

You see this picture?

hot mix

I forced my husband to take it for me today while we were on our way to the airport. I spotted this dump truck with these hilarious words on the back,  and started laughing. I threw my phone at him and started screaming, “TAKE A PICTURE! MAKE SURE IT’S CLEAR”! Then I told him it was for our safety that he was taking the picture. Since I was driving I would probably crash us into another car, and we would all die in a fiery explosion. It was better this way. Better for him if he just did what I said.

He didn’t ask why I wanted the photo. He just started snapping pictures like crazy. He did not ask a single question. That says a lot about our marriage. Probably that he knew I was going to do something stupid with the picture, and couldn’t wait to laugh at my stupidity.

And I’m okay with that scenario.

OR, that I was going to do something GENIUS with it. It was the first thing. I made a stupid post to Facebook so all of my friends could laugh. I was practically dancing in my seat the whole time.  Here’s the super awesome hilarious joke that I posted on Facebook for my friends and family:

hot mix
My mix tape so vicious. I had to get a dump truck just so I could drop that hot mix on ’em. OH!   

This literally made me laugh for an hour with tears streaming down my face. I do not care if anyone else finds it funny. I do not! I’m putting it on my fridge.

I think Domino’s is trying to date me.

Opening my email, all I can see are coupons from Domino’s. Just temptation as far as the eye can see.

witch pizza

Gah, not again Domino’s. For the past few months Domino’s has been pitching some mad woo at me through my email. Now, I’m not going to lie. This is the best form of flirting, if someone was going to flirt with me, but Domino’s, I’m a happily married woman!

I can’t just ditch that for a hot and fresh fling with you, Domino’s. I mean, it’s not like I’ve already written a carefully worded dear John letter to my husband or anything….

Dear Douglas,

We both knew this was coming. Well, maybe not you, but all those pizza coupons for great deals couldn’t have gone unnoticed. Didn’t you question where I was getting them? Your lady was getting courted by a dangerous lover with promises of pizza.  I know you’ll never understand my reasons for leaving you for Domino’s since you don’t like pizza.

Are you even a person?

Who doesn’t like pizza? Maybe we’re just too different. Domino’s gets me. Don’t look for me. Pizza has me now.

Your Runaway Wife Who is probably neck deep in pizza,



Female mystery? I’ve still got it in spades.


*I’m a damn lady. I just wanted to get that out of the way. Right off the bat before I go any further and completely shame myself.  a dainty lady with tiny NOT sausage hands, and a long swan-like neck. I mutter this to myself while slathering face bleach on my entire face on a weekly basis. It helps. No, but I just needed everyone to be clear on that fact. I am a pretty lady in frilly, fancy dresses with absolutely no appetite at all! *

(deep breath)

I’m strange. Shock and gasp! Sit down you sarcastic, asshole. So, hear me out without adding your smarmy two cents. So, my husband and I have been together for 15 years, we started farting in front of each other the second it was clear that neither one of us was backing out because we are probably the two gassiest people on planet earth. If we had held our farts in any longer we might have both blown up in some kind of weird, less romantic Romeo and Juliet.

“They just couldn’t be together because they held too many farts in. It was tragic…and smelly. Someone crack a window”. Anyway, so yeah, farting right off the bat was a green light, but I just recently told him what my childhood pet’s name was that died when I was sixteen. Like, yesterday, and it wasn’t for safety reasons because I don’t trust him with my password to everything…because that isn’t it. I was too embarrassed. Too embarrassed. Let that sink in for a second.

I’m not too embarrassed to let him hear AND smell my unholy fajita farts, but I’m too embarrassed for him to hear the name I gave a beloved kitty when I was four.

It was Middie Meow Meow.

I’ll wait while you collect yourselves. I understand how ridiculous that name sounds, but I was four, and I’m pretty sure it was supposed to be KITTY, but I had a hard time saying kitty.  Also, meow is the noise a cat makes so, choke on that you jerks! I was a tiny four year old genius. I properly identified, and assigned the correct sound to the right animal. Thank you very much, Sesame Street.

I have become much better at naming pets since the Middie Meow Meow debacle of 1985. Don’t believe me? The following is a list of the names of my pets and their awesome names.

B.F. Pickles (you don’t want to know what B.F. stands for)




Puddin Meowington

Monty Chunkee Monkee

Mo Mo

Ci Ci

See? Completely normal.   Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have to go hide under the fridge until the embarrassment wears off.

The sexy gorilla could be your boyfriend, but you’d be covered in poop at all times.

handsome gorilla

I was trolling the internet after my husband made me begrudgingly tromp all over the land we just purchased. I was gross, smelly, and I should have been in the shower instead of sitting on the couch, but it’s my house, and I do what I want. An article with the title “handsome gorilla” caught my eye, and I just knew it was going to be wonderful. With my bean soup all over face, I clicked the link and was rewarded with cute pictures of an adorable gorilla doing poses like peoples. Reading the article was not so cute. Apparently ladies were flocking to the zoo this adorable gorilla is located and clamoring over how sexy he is. Wut? I mean, I could see if gorilla ladies are going nuts over him. He seems like he would be hella sexy to gorilla ladies, but not people ladies. What in the world could he offer you? Let’s just SAY he decided to wife you….

Hope you like having all your dates at the zoo. Oh, you were hoping he could take you to that new French restaurant? NOPE. He takes one step outta that enclosure, and he’s getting a whole ass full of tranquillizers.

You decide matching couple shirts are a good idea, so you guys can wear them together you buy some, and take them to him because, you know, he can’t leave the zoo. He snatches them from your manicured hands through the bars and rips them into little pieces, and flings a tiny bit of poop at you. Don’t catch no feelings, girl. That’s only gonna get you a hair full of poo.

He’s already got kids, and three wives. Still think he’s dreamy? Still think it can work between the two of you? He ain’t a one woman gorilla, girl. Don’t catch feelings. Do you really want to be a stepmother to a bunch of gorilla babies? That’s a whole lot of tiny adorable baby gorilla poo being thrown your way, and you know you won’t be able to afford presents to win their affection the easy way after the dry cleaning bills.

Still thinking he might be the one? Go ahead and introduce your parents to him. Of course, you’ll have to drive your parents to the zoo. When your mom attempts to hand over a homemade lasagna, the gorilla slaps it across the gorilla exhibit. There is a tense silence, so your father attempts to smooth things over by extending his hand for a manly handshake. Big mistake. The gorilla feels challenged, and just rips your dads arm right off and chunks it near the lasagna. Suddenly, the sun is blotted out as a storm of poop begins of fall down of all of you.

As you slow motion run past your mom’s ruined lasagna and scoop up your dad’s arm, you send one last tearful look towards the gorilla enclosure. He’s picking his nose…majestically. That’s when you finally realize he was never yours.

It’s not considered stalking if it’s your own husband, right? Right?

I like to sit in the closet and sniff my husband’s shirts.

I met my husband when I was in high school, and without going into all the mushy details that will inevitably make you want to barf, he’s the best. I didn’t date him in high school. I’m not sure if you’re familiar with how much of a nerd I am, but I wasn’t cool enough to be dated by human beings in high school. We had one class together, and I stared at him. My gross eyes practically swallowing him whole as I sat across the room with the other uncool kids. He was funny and cool. So cool. That was basically all I knew because I wasn’t about to come out of hiding and speak to him. everything in my past had taught me not to talk to good looking guys. You only ogled them from a safe hiding place like a troll, or if you were brave you could sniff them while walking past on a pretend errand for something on the bookshelf behind them. I may have sniffed him. I couldn’t say.

We started dating in college, and it was everything I had ever dreamed of…but with a real boyfriend. He turned out to be intelligent, and as nice as I had imagined him to be. He was respectful to his parents, and considerate towards those around him. I practically swooned every time he walked into the room. And he had curly hair! I grew up being obsessed with boys with green eyes and curly hair. Unnf, that mess is my jam. I swear. I had outgrown my love of boys with braces by high school, so his lack of orthodontia didn’t count against him. Some people can’t help having straight teeth naturally.  He didn’t have the nerdy glasses that I had always wanted either, but nobody is perfect, and I could always buy light bulbs with a low wattage and ruin his eyesight myself.

Turns out he liked messy girls that eat like men so well he chose to marry me of his own volition. No one had to force him into it.

I swear.

Fast forward a billion years, and I still act the same way when it comes to him. I stare at my secret pictures that I took of him while he was sleeping. It’s okay, we’re married! I’m allowed. I think. Just like I’m allowed to get in the closet, put on his clothes, and sniff them all I want. It’s not a violation of personal space! He agreed to it when he married me. Like, not with his mouth in words, but it was implied. I write steamy fanfiction about us, and read it. It’s not gross because he’s my husband. I even draw husband fanart.

My grodie drawing of us as cats with a double rainbow and unicorn in the background. There’s a story that goes along with this, but that’s for another time.

Sometimes I think I have a problem, but I’m not sure. I have nothing to compare it to, and he doesn’t seem to mind. But he hasn’t read any of the fanfiction, and I haven’t offered it up.  Then again he doesn’t know I cut off one of his curls while he was sleeping, and keep it in a little envelop.

What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, or get me arrested.