One Last Shameless Whoring Promotion

Hi darlings!

Not a funny post today, I just wanted to share a few quick things:

1.) Welcome to all my new followers! I'm not sure how but I've managed to fool like an extra 20something of you guys into subscribing to my blog, but I'm real happy you're here. Hearts and kisses, I'm glad to have you. I always make an effort to find you and follow you back and check out your own blogs but I usually remember to do so by following your comments back. I'm not fishing for comments, I swear, it's just how I keep in touch best, so if I haven't followed you or made any comments on your blog yet it's probably because I you haven't contacted me. Also, some of you don't have links to your blog on your profile so you might wanna update that so others can find you too!

2.) I wanted to whore my blog out one last time for the 614 Magazine (a local Columbus mag) ColumBEST contest. Voting ends March 31st (that's in three days!) so if you haven't voted yet and would like to throw in your two cents for my blog I would be extremely appreciative. Just follow this link and click on the People category and then scroll down to the second to last question which is Best Local Blog. Just copy and paste my address in:

http://thehotmesschronicles.blogspot.com/

....and we're golden. You can answer the other questions (if you're local and have opinions on the other categories) and try to win a bike. You can register if you want or just go through Facebook which is pretty painless.

And if you're from 614 Magazine and want to hire me to join your staff I would be there with bells and whistles on! I can totally write like a professional, I promise :-D <~~ Shameless. I know.

THANK YOU guys, to those of you who voted already and to those of you who are going to do so. I've been overwhelmed with all the support and encouragement I've gotten over the last two weeks. You guys rock and I appreciate every single one of you.

3.) I'm in the process of getting my lazy ass to do some updates. I've also added a picture link to my Twitter

 up there on the top right so if you have a Twitter follow me on there! I'm also going to add a bunch of new stuff to the blog and probably get around to personalizing the background. Most of you probably don't give a shit and/or use Reader but I'm excited to be doing some work to the blog and I wanted to share.

Talk to you again soon! <3 Cake Betch

Babies Scare the Shit Out of Me

Before I get into my tangent I just want to let you know that I don't want to offend those of you that DO want kids but are not able to have them for whatever reason. I can totally sympathize, I just can't empathize (there's a difference).

Anyway...

I have been waiting for quite some time for that good 'ol baby clock to start ticking. It never has. And I'm starting to think that as I get closer to 30 than I am to 20 that perhaps my baby clock has been smashed and set on fire and tossed out the window of a speeding train into the deepest part of the ocean.

I just do not see the benefit in kids. I wish I did. Sometimes I feel like I am broken, but mostly I thank GOD that my womb has remained barren all these years. I have way more thoughts and theories on having babies than I could possibly cover in a single blog, but I could probably rattle off a few here.

My mom told me once that she cried because she thought I was possessed.

MY MOTHER THOUGHT I WAS POSSESSED. That's how bad of a child I was. I would stand in my crib at night and shake the bars and scream until I projectile vomited.

Can you imagine?? My parents tried for five years to have a child. FIVE YEARS. My mother's sister fooled her into thinking that rearing children was super awesome fun time because she often would take care of my cousin (you're a douche, George!) who was actually well behaved. I'm sure they thought that they were going to be bringing this amazing beautiful little girl into the world and their lives would be full of gum drops and rainbows and bears riding unicycles while eating ice cream cones.

HAHA! NO!

Someone asked me once if I had a bad childhood. It's very common that people who had lousy childhoods do not want to reproduce. To this I say no, my childhood was absolutely pristine. I don't know how how the fuck my parents managed to rear me into an almost-decent nearly functional human being instead of drowning me in the tub. It would have been so easy. I can't believe that I was hugged and loved instead of beaten senseless after hearing the stories my parents tell me. I certainly do not have a tenth of the patience that my mother possesses.

I mean I really just do not want to take the risk! If there is a god then surely he has been waiting all this time, hunched over, wringing his hands in SHEER DELIGHT, just waiting for me to get knocked up so he can send some Satan spawn into my womb. PAYBACK IS A BITCH, TARA.

HAHA! Not if I don't get pregnant!

I've had nightmares where I was pregnant. In my dream I suddenly am in a time and place where I'm seven months pregnant and don't know how it has happened and I'm scared as HELL. I have this dream probably once every few months.

Let me see if this chain of events sounds correct:
- Get pregnant
- Throw up all the time
- Get fat (stomach and ass floppy forever at a minimum)
- CANT DRINK FOR NINE MONTHS <~~ NINE MONTHS
- Everything swells/hurts
- Go to doctor all the time
- Experience what could possibly be the worst pain of my entire life
- Have strange man pull bloody foreign screaming object from lady bits
- Lady bits are hamburger meat for a few weeks

And then as a reward for all of this work I get another screaming shitting mouth with razor sharp fingernails to feed that needs my constant attention every moment of the day for at least the next few months? A little shit that I will always have to worry about, who will probably hurt him or herself, get into trouble, break my heart, and make me wipe their ass for five years? A little shit who will then turn into a teenager, drive (and wreck) a car, experiment with anything and everything, and treat me like garbage? I'm pretty sure at this point that the best payoff you can get is when they become stable adult children and actually have done something with their lives, and honestly people, how likely is that? You want me to wait almost 30 years for the payoff of day-in and day-out mental and physical labor?

I can put my dog in a cage when I leave the house to drink myself to oblivion and people won't bat an eyelash.

Benefit of having a child:

That's all I got, and I'll have to wait at least until he or she can walk and grip things before I can expect the real slave labor to begin. That could be up to six years!

I just don't see how I'm ever going to actually wish this upon myself.

Source Pictures:
Crib
Hell
Unicorn Land
Bathtub
Kids playing outside

Shameless Self-Promotion

Hey cake eaters! I have shamelessly plugged this on Facebook and Twitter so I suppose it's only fair that I browbeat you guys with it too.

614 Magazine is a local magazine here in Columbus and they're doing a ColumBEST awards and one of the categories is Best Local Blog. I'm guessing I have a snowball's chance in hell because there are some heavy hitter blogs here but I'm going ask anyway - VOTE FOR ME PLEZ???? 


The only thing I can offer in return is my undying love for you. I could probably draw you some pictures too if you wanted, or bake you a cupcake, but honestly, would you eat a cupcake from me? Probably not. I will bake you one though if you want it. And my cupcakes are deelishis.

There IS another incentive in it - 614 is giving away three Trek bicycles, so if you enter you could win one of those. Yay! I can testify that they're for really-real because I myself have won prizes from them before (free food noms for Columbus Dine Originals Week).

If you click on this link right heeya - Columbus Best 2011 - and click on the People category, "Best Local Blogger" is the second from the bottom. Then enter this URL: http://thehotmesschronicles.blogspot.com/ 

and BAM! 

You are my best friends ever.

You can't say no to this face can you??

Guest Post - Justin

Okay, so I know that I said Nikki from My Cyber House Rules was up next but I am going to bend the rules a little bit. Justin asked me to start working on the pictures for his guest blog that he said he would do for the last year and a half so I jumped at it hoping that he would actually pull through this time with something I could post. Lo and behold he pumped something out that can actually be read by the general public so he gets bumped into the guest post lineup. I know, favoritism and all, but I have to live with him and deal with him so he gets special privileges.


Well hello.  For months Miss Betch has been hounding me to write a guest post on her blog because, quite frankly, I'm fucking awesome and her sole source of inspiration.  As a matter of fact, without me there would be no blog.  As I remember it, our conversation went a little something like this:

CakeBetch: "Hey, sexy, what are you doing over there and why aren't you taking your shirt off so I can rub your rippling muscles?"

Me: "I'm just checking my email.  I'm done, let's get it on!"

CakeBetch: "eeee maaaale??"

Me: "Yeah, email.  You know, mail sent electronically over the internet?"

CakeBetch: "En-tern-ehhht?"

Yes.  I taught CakeBetch what the internet is.  Prior to that, she only did two things (two things at an expert level, I might add) - bake cakes and betch.    So, without further adieu, I present a CakeBetch style rant by Miss Betch's idol, PieDeck (aka Mr. Betch, aka Justin, aka Studs Awesometon).

I am a reader.  I do not see words and convey meaning.  I read.  When I lift a book and start reading, sound around me dies, consciousness  of the world around me fades, and along with it my ability to see anything other than the page.  Enter the most HD, 3D, Hi-Rez, Surround Sound, ball-shaking, movie forum ever: my imagination.  I read the way Buddhist monks meditate.  I don't think I'm alone in this.  I'm sure everyone out there reading this blog right now is imagining the smell of my cologne, the wind in my hair, my rippling muscles held firmly in place by a comfortable layer of beer fat.  This is what readers do.  We pick books up and are transported to a fantasy world framed by the author and decorated by our brains.  The mental resources devoted to this alternate reality places me in a near-coma state sometimes, and I'm perfectly fine with that.  Others; however, are not.

            

There are two basic types of these people.  The nonreaders who don't understand, and unwittingly throw a rock through the window to my imagination, and the readers who don't really give a shit about slamming my world to a halt (see also: the inhuman, godless, abomination of a human that finishes the last of the coffee and doesn't make another pot for more information on the latter).  Before I offend too many people, I think the majority of these experiences are by nonreaders who just don't know any better, but damnit, it happens all the time.  I read at my desk during lunch, people think I'm working and talk to me.  I read in the break room during lunch, people think I'm on lunch so obviously I need to be social.  At multiple jobs/schools I've hid in back corners of the building and have STILL been interrupted!  Every time it happens I am struck with an overwhelming sense of... of... WTF!

I conveyed my stories to Tara and she was able to use her awesome MS Paint abilities to relay what happens to me almost every time I read.

I WILL SAVE QUEEN BREASTIOUS AND FREE BABEDOM OF THEIR EVIL BRA-CURSE!!!

sigh... nothing...

source picture

source picture (scope) & source picture (hitler) 

source picture

That's right, move into view.  Allmost there... ALL-MOOOST-THEEEERRRE

Your mistake was taking Poland before YOU TOOK OUT ME!! BYE-BYE HITLER!!!

BANG!

I've sooo got chubs for you right now.

<shrinking boner noise>source picture

I can see Tara's boobs from here!

....  source picture

Finally, I made it

Just swap this out here and it will be all MINE!!!

...of course I'm goi-HOLY SHIT! LOOK OUT FOR THAT GIANT BALL!source picture

GOT- TO- GET- *ugh* UP- AND- RETIRE- MORE- ANDYS...

BITCH COOK ME DINNER!

source picture

I'm sure, eventually, I'll be left alone and then I'll have time enough at last to read.

** editor's note: Justin did these last two drawings all by himself and they're a Twilight Zone reference for you geek-impaired readers.

Daily Dose of Zombie

Hey all (and welcome new followers! yay!)

This is my last week of classes and I have been busy cranking out final projects and have had zero time to devote to any MS art. I thought perhaps instead you might be interested in what I actually did as it is a.) drawn and b.) humorous (a little).

The background information is that for one of my design classes we had to do a comic strip and a user profile (basically a quick character sketch) of a story that someone else tells you. I chose to use Justin as my muse and this is his story. I'm not going to tell you what is actually happening; I'm curious to see if you can figure it out. That's the ultimate test of my abilities right? So leave me a comment and tell me what you think is happening! Bonus points if you can boil down the message of the story. I'll update later and let you know what it was if you're interested. My teacher was sick today when I turned it it in. I rolled in there all giddy and proud of myself and was excited to hear what she had to say and she was less than enthusiastic about it. Took the wind out right out of my sails. Oh well.

Also, please note: I had some kind of photographic reference for every single scene except for the bird's eye view shot (of the zombie crowd). I wish I was talented enough to draw all of this using my creativity alone but alas I am not. I worked out the scenes, cropping, story, and layout though, so I deserve some credit right?

Hope you enjoy! Be back next week :-) P.S. This might be my first ever blog that doesn't contain a single curse word!

Click to Enlarge

Click to Enlarge

I'm on Crazy Pills

Before I get into this story, let me just put in a serious aside here. I am in no way making fun of anyone, I’m not putting anyone down, I’m not casting judgment on anyone who uses antidepressants or anti-anxiety medication. Miley over at Musings of a Confused Woman wrote an excellent blog post on the subject of mental health, as did Midwestern Mama. Everyone at some time or another struggles and if you or someone you know needs help there is absolutely no shame in getting help. It’s a taboo subject though, and one most people are sensitive about, including myself, which is what led to this exchange.

Some background information: When I was 17 I was in a car accident. It wasn’t a very bad accident but I did bite a chunk out of my cheek and butterflied my tongue on the left side. It hangs over my teeth now and if I ever get hit the jaw again I’m going to bite it off.

Gross, huh?

Anyway, like I said - it wasn’t a bad accident, but it made me realize that I was not in fact indestructible and was capable of wrecking my car and injuring myself. Cue the panic attacks. I would get them every so often if I was driving in an unfamiliar area or driving in really bad weather. Panic attacks are probably a little different for everyone but mine involve going from fine to freaking out in the snap of a finger. It feels like that moment in a scary movie when you know something terrible is about to happen any second and you're absolutely powerless to do anything about it. I feel like my vision is messed up, or like I’m not registering what I’m seeing correctly and am about to be in an accident.

I go from this:

To this:

It’s not fun. Slowly over the course of eight years it got better and then pretty much stopped.

Until I moved to Columbus in 2009. It was probably a variety of stresses and other issues piling up, but I started getting panic attacks more frequently and in places I had never gotten them before; at work, at home, on the bus at school, driving on familiar roads. A helicopter hovering over my house last fall nearly sent me into a meltdown (I'm afraid of hovering helicopters - too many nightmares with them in it). To make a long story short I finally had to do something because I couldn’t handle the attacks and I was suffering from general anxiety almost all day. 

So I made an appointment with my doctor. On February 14^th.

I made an appointment to get myself crazy pills on Valentine’s day. Oh the things they must have thought about me picking that day to get on medication.

I don’t know what I was expecting when I went in but I thought I would say, “Hi, I have panic attacks and general anxiety, can I have some drugs to help me cope until I can manage it?” And then the doctor would say, “SHORE!” And write me a script.

That isn’t exactly what happened. I sat in his office answering questions about whether I was depressed, if I thought about suicide, what kind of sexual activity I had, what was stressful in life, so on and so forth - FOR AN HOUR. I should be grateful that he cares so much and wanted to make sure I was okay and was getting the right medication but after an hour of talking about my personal life and my feeeeeeeeelings (not a fan of this unless I'm bitching about something) I was ready to go.

FINALLY he told me he was going to write me a prescription for Prozac. Before he left the room he gave me a hug. I'm all about hugs, I have no problem getting them or giving them, but getting a hug from your doctor after spending an hour talking about your intimate thoughts and problems made me feel like he thought my ship was sinking and sinking fast.

So, prescription in hand I drive over to the pharmacy with the biggest I AM NOT CRAZY smile on my face I can muster. "BE COOL!" I thought to myself as I drove up to the window. "IF YOU ACT COOL HE WILL NOT THINK YOU'RE A PSYCHO." I drop off my prescription and am told to come back in 30 minutes.

At some point while I was wasting 30 minutes I managed to rub my eyes and smear my eyeliner so it appeared as though I had been crying or having some kind of nervous breakdown. I didn't realize this.

I pulled back in and told the guy in the drive-through window my name. He was very blasé. He walked away and came back and said, "I don't have a current copy of your insurance on file. This is going to be three ninety nine."

I start freaking out. There is no way I can afford that without insurance! Kaiser's surgery plus my credit card bill from Christmas had just wiped my bank account clean. I tell him that my mom's card is on file there and that we're on the same insurance. Can he look me up with that? He goes away and comes back a few minutes later.

"I added your insurance, but this is still three ninety nine."

There is no way I can afford this. I tell him so. Actually, I was so thrown by the whole exchange and already rattled about being embarrassed to be getting pills to regulate my mental instability and having this guy be such a dick to me I said, "Well, that's not gonna happen!"

He stares at me for at least a full thirty seconds and then says

OH.


"OH GOD, OKAY!" - nervous laughter - "I thought you meant three hundred and ninety nine dollars."

More nervous laughter. He doesn't say anything. The silence is more than I can bear.

"You probably thought I was super cheap!"

Without saying a word he filled my prescription and sent me on my way with my crazy pills, probably thinking that I was going to need a much stronger dosage than what he had given me.

I had totally gone into that thinking I'd be charming and happy and he would not think I was insane. I obviously failed.

BUT the silver lining is that I think they are working and I also didn't realize how anxious I actually was. I think I've even lost a little bit of weight already because I'm not cramming food in my face in an attempt to self medicate. I'm probably also drunk a little less but I totally plan to remedy that tonight.

Have a good weekend!!

Oh God She's Talking About Her Effing Dog Again

She's talking about her effing dog again. No one wants to read that shit. No one cares about your damn dog. You're like those people that never shut up about their stupid kids that no one wants to hear about, except you're talking about a dog.

I know, I know.

But in case you do wanna read about him I have a guest blog over at Coffee with a Canine! There is no cursing and I'm on my best behavior, you won't even recognize my goody-two-shoes voice over there. Big thanks Marshall! :-)

Speaking of Kaiser, all of his out-of-cage privileged have been revoked. We were leaving him out of his cage 24/7 and the little shit got to spend all his time lying on a queen sized bed barking like a homicidal maniac at anything that moved in or around the house. He sleeps there. I cover him with blankies before he goes to bed. He basically had free rein of the house.

So he developed this habit of chewing up paper over the last two weeks and we've just kind of let it go. A tissue here, a tissue there, a piece of junk mail here, some paper from the trash can there. Then one night he targeted some cash. Yes, cash. He tore up two dollar bills and we saved the third. Not cool.

It actually became a joke. We were driving home from dinner a few nights ago and Justin says, "What do you want to bet that Kaiser tore something up?"


I'm not actually going to tell you what he wanted to bet. You can just guess and know he would have been thrilled to win it.

"Hell no, I'm not taking that bet."

Snarf snarf snarf snarf. We were giggling all the way up to the house. Open the door to THIS:

Contents include:
- My W2's
- Justin's tax forms
- A BRAND NEW NOVEL

We had to SEARCH to find pieces of the jacket cover. We couldn't even beat him we were so in awe of the absolute sheer destruction he was able to wreak in just under two hours.

Anyone want to adopt an asshole dog?