As usual, I'm late to the party. I had planned on doing this post, oh you know, about 2 weeks ago, but I apparently suck at time management. So yeah, it's a new year and I like to think that before we can move forward, we have to look at the past, so we can reflect and learn. I don't really think that. I really think that what's done is done, no sense crying over spilled milk, why would you buy the cow when you can get the milk for free...no wait. That's not the right saying. I've derailed.
Without further ado, I present to you my Best Posts of 2009 (in my humble opinion of course). Here we go.
10. 10 Years - This was to my babies on their 10th birthday, who aren't so much babies anymore as wonderful little young people.
9. Karma gets you every time - Poop. Tampons. Toilet overflow. Is there anything else to say?
8. Domestic Bliss - An ode to crafting. And you know what? Fuck crafting.
7. Kicked out of the Cardigan Club - I still don't fit in with these Coach wearing/carrying bitches. Apparently, a lot of you don't either. This is was one of my most commented, most e-mailed about, most talked about posts in 2009.
6. Get your boobs off my donut - The title really says it all...
5. Scrooge McDuck and Magellan do Boston - Tunnels, near death experiences, Boston...what else could it be? ROADTRIP!
4. Animal Voodoo - More near death experiences.
3. Furry buzzing overlords - A guest post written by Chris, that makes me laugh so hard I pee my pants. He's freaking hilarious.
2. The scary truth about Fiber One - I am an AWESOME mom
1. My Story - I shared my experience with domestic violence with Violence UnSilenced. It was the hardest and most rewarding thing I've ever done. Closure, finally, is a beautiful thing. Thank you Maggie, for giving me the opportunity.
Showing posts with label I'm awesome. Show all posts
Showing posts with label I'm awesome. Show all posts
I got mad skills, yo.
I know that my posts are kinda few and far between lately, but I have a good reason. I've taken on yet another new role: General Contractor. Yep, that's right, Miss I Suck At All Things Home Improvementy is now a general contractor. The good thing about being a general contractor is that I don't have to use a glue gun like for stupid crafting. The bad thing about being a general contractor is that I don't get use a glue gun like for stupid crafting because that would be way easier than the other tools I find myself using.
For instance, last weekend I put up tile in the kitchen (BY MYSELF thankyouvermuch). So I went to Home Depot and asked the tile guy for help. He kept asking me all these questions like, do you have a grout float? I was like, dude. I don't even know what grout is, let alone why I'd want to float it. Or what I'd float it in. Or why. Why don't you just tell me what I need. Ok? Thanks so much. He was like, oh, ok. So you've never done this before. Good call buddy. So he gets me this stuff, which was basically like a big sheet of double-sided tape, and assured me I could do this. So not believing him, I was like, if you say so. What's next? He gives me this big box of powder (which is apparently what grout comes in before you add water and make a horrible mess all over your new floors). I told him I REALLY wanted the premixed kind, he said I didn't. I suppose he was right about that, because it was really fun mixing it with the drill bit extender stirrer thngy (see how I've learned all the technical names for tools now?). $120 later and I was off to hopefully not wreck the kitchen that I'd spent almost a month fixing. It really was easy, way easier than I thought it would be. I did stick my head to the wall a couple of times (that double sided tape stuff is REALLY sticky), and I did get black grout everywhere. And I did ruin some of the tile when I threw across the room because it wouldn't go on the wall straight. But I did it. BY MYSELF. Did I mention I did it by myself?
This week I've been working on staining the cabinets. I think I'm completely high on the fumes, but the cabinets look great. I'm thisclose to finishing the kitchen, and I can't wait to show y'all how awesome it is. In the meantime, please be patient with me. This whole homeownership thing is way more time consuming than I'd thought it would be. On the other hand, more validation for my awesomeness is never a bad thing.
For instance, last weekend I put up tile in the kitchen (BY MYSELF thankyouvermuch). So I went to Home Depot and asked the tile guy for help. He kept asking me all these questions like, do you have a grout float? I was like, dude. I don't even know what grout is, let alone why I'd want to float it. Or what I'd float it in. Or why. Why don't you just tell me what I need. Ok? Thanks so much. He was like, oh, ok. So you've never done this before. Good call buddy. So he gets me this stuff, which was basically like a big sheet of double-sided tape, and assured me I could do this. So not believing him, I was like, if you say so. What's next? He gives me this big box of powder (which is apparently what grout comes in before you add water and make a horrible mess all over your new floors). I told him I REALLY wanted the premixed kind, he said I didn't. I suppose he was right about that, because it was really fun mixing it with the drill bit extender stirrer thngy (see how I've learned all the technical names for tools now?). $120 later and I was off to hopefully not wreck the kitchen that I'd spent almost a month fixing. It really was easy, way easier than I thought it would be. I did stick my head to the wall a couple of times (that double sided tape stuff is REALLY sticky), and I did get black grout everywhere. And I did ruin some of the tile when I threw across the room because it wouldn't go on the wall straight. But I did it. BY MYSELF. Did I mention I did it by myself?
This week I've been working on staining the cabinets. I think I'm completely high on the fumes, but the cabinets look great. I'm thisclose to finishing the kitchen, and I can't wait to show y'all how awesome it is. In the meantime, please be patient with me. This whole homeownership thing is way more time consuming than I'd thought it would be. On the other hand, more validation for my awesomeness is never a bad thing.
Things I've discovered since being domesticated
Since I've been staying at home, being all domestic and stuff, I've learned all kinds of interesting things about myself that I never knew before. I don't know, maybe the drugs are finally starting to wear off, or maybe the effects are just kicking in...
1. I make a kick ass grilled cheese sandwich. I mean, it's GOOD. Like restaurant good. I didn't know that. I've made grilled cheese for Chris and the kids, but I'd never eaten one I'd made before. Since being home all day, I get really hungry for lunch, and you can only eat Chef Boyardee so many times before you have to cave and make real food (yeah, grilled cheese counts as real food). I don't know why it's so good, probably because I'm awesome, so it only stands to reason my grilled cheese is as well.
2. No matter how many loads of laundry I do, there's always more. Always. No matter what. The other day, I spent the whole day doing laundry. When I finally finished, I was strutting around, so proud that I'd finally conquered the Battle of the Laundry. To my utter dismay, there was a sock...ONE freakin sock...in the basket. I don't know how it got there. I don't know where the other one was, I didn't have any extras, everything I'd folded had a match. I'm convinced that there is some evil sock gnome that is just not playing fair. When I find him, I'm going to punch him in the face. I'm just sayin...
3. The UPS guy is even more exciting now than he was before. A couple days ago I got a package from Pottery Barn (more on that in a minute). And while I was excited about my package, I was thrilled to see the UPS guy. I was all, Hai! How are you today? He's all, here you go ma'am, have a nice day. I'm all, wait! Don't you want to have a cup of coffee? I could make you a grilled cheese sandwich! He's all, no thank you, ma'am. Have a nice day. He starts pulling the door closed and I'm like, wait! Don't go! Talk to me! Are you enjoying the weather? I just moved here from Maine, it's cold there. My favorite color is green. I like sunsets and puppies, please don't go, please talk to me! He's all walking quickly to his truck, furtively glancing over his shoulder to make sure I'm not following him, which I totally am. By the time he gets to his truck, he's at a near sprint. Maybe I scared him, I don't see why though. I just wanted some human contact. I get kind of lonely during the day. And it's not like I was going to chase the truck ALL the way down the street...
4. I love, love, love Pottery Barn. I'm trying to make my whole house an homage to the perfection that is Pottery Barn. Last night I was looking at their catalog for the zillionth time, trying to decide if $129 for velvet drapes was really too much to spend, and Chris was like, you know the whole house doesn't HAVE to be from Pottery Barn. I was like, YES IT DOES. YOU SAID I COULD DO WHATEVER I WANTED TO AND I WANT POTTERY BARN! WHAT'S YOUR PROBLEM? He's like, um...first, you're nuts. Second, I like it too, but don't you think it's a little expensive? I scoffed, it's not like I get a paycheck anymore. The least you can do is pay me in Pottery Barn. He's all, but we have a mortgage now...blah, blah, blah. I love Pottery Barn. I want more Pottery Barn things in my house. That's all I have to say about that.
5. I'm still as crazy as before (as evident by this completely rambing nonsensical post). I still break out into dance in public. I still bust a move in the kitchen when I'm making dinner. I still burst into song randomly. The other day we were in the car and Chris was talking to the kids about the Panama Canal (I forget why, but I readily admit it's an odd subject to be discussing in the car...or at all, for that matter), and I'm just contently looking out the window, when all of a sudden, Panama! Panama-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! PANAMA! You know, a la Van Halen? It just kinda came out. Kat started laughing, and I was like, what? She's like, mom, you're nuts. Ain't that the truth.
1. I make a kick ass grilled cheese sandwich. I mean, it's GOOD. Like restaurant good. I didn't know that. I've made grilled cheese for Chris and the kids, but I'd never eaten one I'd made before. Since being home all day, I get really hungry for lunch, and you can only eat Chef Boyardee so many times before you have to cave and make real food (yeah, grilled cheese counts as real food). I don't know why it's so good, probably because I'm awesome, so it only stands to reason my grilled cheese is as well.
2. No matter how many loads of laundry I do, there's always more. Always. No matter what. The other day, I spent the whole day doing laundry. When I finally finished, I was strutting around, so proud that I'd finally conquered the Battle of the Laundry. To my utter dismay, there was a sock...ONE freakin sock...in the basket. I don't know how it got there. I don't know where the other one was, I didn't have any extras, everything I'd folded had a match. I'm convinced that there is some evil sock gnome that is just not playing fair. When I find him, I'm going to punch him in the face. I'm just sayin...
3. The UPS guy is even more exciting now than he was before. A couple days ago I got a package from Pottery Barn (more on that in a minute). And while I was excited about my package, I was thrilled to see the UPS guy. I was all, Hai! How are you today? He's all, here you go ma'am, have a nice day. I'm all, wait! Don't you want to have a cup of coffee? I could make you a grilled cheese sandwich! He's all, no thank you, ma'am. Have a nice day. He starts pulling the door closed and I'm like, wait! Don't go! Talk to me! Are you enjoying the weather? I just moved here from Maine, it's cold there. My favorite color is green. I like sunsets and puppies, please don't go, please talk to me! He's all walking quickly to his truck, furtively glancing over his shoulder to make sure I'm not following him, which I totally am. By the time he gets to his truck, he's at a near sprint. Maybe I scared him, I don't see why though. I just wanted some human contact. I get kind of lonely during the day. And it's not like I was going to chase the truck ALL the way down the street...
4. I love, love, love Pottery Barn. I'm trying to make my whole house an homage to the perfection that is Pottery Barn. Last night I was looking at their catalog for the zillionth time, trying to decide if $129 for velvet drapes was really too much to spend, and Chris was like, you know the whole house doesn't HAVE to be from Pottery Barn. I was like, YES IT DOES. YOU SAID I COULD DO WHATEVER I WANTED TO AND I WANT POTTERY BARN! WHAT'S YOUR PROBLEM? He's like, um...first, you're nuts. Second, I like it too, but don't you think it's a little expensive? I scoffed, it's not like I get a paycheck anymore. The least you can do is pay me in Pottery Barn. He's all, but we have a mortgage now...blah, blah, blah. I love Pottery Barn. I want more Pottery Barn things in my house. That's all I have to say about that.
5. I'm still as crazy as before (as evident by this completely rambing nonsensical post). I still break out into dance in public. I still bust a move in the kitchen when I'm making dinner. I still burst into song randomly. The other day we were in the car and Chris was talking to the kids about the Panama Canal (I forget why, but I readily admit it's an odd subject to be discussing in the car...or at all, for that matter), and I'm just contently looking out the window, when all of a sudden, Panama! Panama-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! PANAMA! You know, a la Van Halen? It just kinda came out. Kat started laughing, and I was like, what? She's like, mom, you're nuts. Ain't that the truth.
You like me, you really like me!
Ok, maybe you don't, but Aiming Low does.
I know, I'm a total slacker and haven't posted anything for like a week. My only excuse is that I'm drowning in a sea of boxes and packing tape. I'll do a real post soon, I promise. In the meantime, the good folks over at Aiming Low (which is an awesome site all about the perfection that us moms will never reach) appreciate my slackerdom and have featured me today, which makes me feel completely validated and awesome.
Check it out here.
I know, I'm a total slacker and haven't posted anything for like a week. My only excuse is that I'm drowning in a sea of boxes and packing tape. I'll do a real post soon, I promise. In the meantime, the good folks over at Aiming Low (which is an awesome site all about the perfection that us moms will never reach) appreciate my slackerdom and have featured me today, which makes me feel completely validated and awesome.
Check it out here.
I am one pathetic loser
My mom has finally joined the 21st century and decided to create a Facebook account. I've been bugging her about it for months. A lot of times I'd do my daily updates (which include anything from nonsensical ramblings to what's going in our lives) on Facebook and then forget to tell her about stuff. Or she'd be like, oh, so and so is moving and I'd be like, yeah, I know, I saw it on Facebook. It was just a pain in the ass. So anyway, she joined Facebook, and the other day we were talking about how it's going to be an adjustment for me to move to a place where I don't know anyone, and she says, in a way that only your mother can, you know, you're a lot nicer on Facebook than you are in person. I was like, ehh, what? She clarified that I'm just more open on Facebook, and more friendly. In person, not so much. I'd like to be really offended, but I think she may be on to something there.
This isn't something that I would normally advertise, but since I've talked about everything else on the internet, I'll just go for it. I don't have any friends. Now before you say, oh, of course you do, everyone has friends! Let me say, no, I really don't. I used to, I used to have lots, but high school was a long time ago. Those people are more of acquaintances, or old friends that I rarely get to talk to. I have lots of people that I talk to all the time, like this super kick ass chick that I met at Kat's cheering. We talk like everyday on Facebook, and she would totally be my BFF (yeah, I said BFF. I have a 10-year old daughter, what do you expect?) but she lives far away from me, like North Carolina far. I don't have anyone that I can get a cup of coffee with and have girl talk. Well, I have Chris, but he sucks at girl talk. I have people that I'm friendly with, but no real circle of friends, or shopping buddies or BFFs. Before you go thinking I'm some kind of colossal loser, I should tell you, I kind of dislike people. They make me nervous. I just don't know what to say when I'm with people. Like, if they read my blog, they think I'm funny. And I'm not really funny, I'm just a smart ass, and in person, that comes off bitchy. And although I kind of am a bitch, I don't mean to come off bitchy. So my mom was right. Who knew I'd admit that in public either?
So this whole moving to a new place thing combined with my mom telling me I'm not really nice in person got me thinking. I've been telling the kids how this is a great opportunity for them to make new friends and shake off any of those old stigmas. They can be anything they want to be, no one knows anything about them, etc. Maybe the same should apply for me. It would be awesome for Chris and I to have a couple that we could hang out with, or a girl that I could go have coffee with, or someone to walk around the block with. But new people scare me, and I'm such a hermit. I'd rather be home steam cleaning the carpets than out being social. So what do you think? How do you even make friends as an adult? There have been many instances that people have been making plans and stuff and even though I was standing there, they didn't invite me. And it's not like I can be all, wanna go hang out with me? That's just dorky. So internet, what's a wall flower/smartass/bitch supposed to do to make new friends in a new environment? How do I pull the real me (which is the the way I am here and on Facebook, by the way) out and let go of this shy crap?
This isn't something that I would normally advertise, but since I've talked about everything else on the internet, I'll just go for it. I don't have any friends. Now before you say, oh, of course you do, everyone has friends! Let me say, no, I really don't. I used to, I used to have lots, but high school was a long time ago. Those people are more of acquaintances, or old friends that I rarely get to talk to. I have lots of people that I talk to all the time, like this super kick ass chick that I met at Kat's cheering. We talk like everyday on Facebook, and she would totally be my BFF (yeah, I said BFF. I have a 10-year old daughter, what do you expect?) but she lives far away from me, like North Carolina far. I don't have anyone that I can get a cup of coffee with and have girl talk. Well, I have Chris, but he sucks at girl talk. I have people that I'm friendly with, but no real circle of friends, or shopping buddies or BFFs. Before you go thinking I'm some kind of colossal loser, I should tell you, I kind of dislike people. They make me nervous. I just don't know what to say when I'm with people. Like, if they read my blog, they think I'm funny. And I'm not really funny, I'm just a smart ass, and in person, that comes off bitchy. And although I kind of am a bitch, I don't mean to come off bitchy. So my mom was right. Who knew I'd admit that in public either?
So this whole moving to a new place thing combined with my mom telling me I'm not really nice in person got me thinking. I've been telling the kids how this is a great opportunity for them to make new friends and shake off any of those old stigmas. They can be anything they want to be, no one knows anything about them, etc. Maybe the same should apply for me. It would be awesome for Chris and I to have a couple that we could hang out with, or a girl that I could go have coffee with, or someone to walk around the block with. But new people scare me, and I'm such a hermit. I'd rather be home steam cleaning the carpets than out being social. So what do you think? How do you even make friends as an adult? There have been many instances that people have been making plans and stuff and even though I was standing there, they didn't invite me. And it's not like I can be all, wanna go hang out with me? That's just dorky. So internet, what's a wall flower/smartass/bitch supposed to do to make new friends in a new environment? How do I pull the real me (which is the the way I am here and on Facebook, by the way) out and let go of this shy crap?
Oh, the joys of air travel
Hey y'all! I'm practicing my accent because...we have a house!! The offer has been accepted and we close in November! I'm so unbelievably relieved. It would've really sucked to move in January and have no house. We actually flew down this weekend to do a walk through, sign the papers and start the list of stuff that needs to be done, which is why I've been ignoring my blog. And you thought I was just being lazy.
Chris and I left Saturday and it was really cool because we've never flown anywhere without the kids. It was really nice to not have to be paranoid in the airport, looking around frantically for your children who can't seem to grasp what stay right next to me means. Try playing that game in LaGuardia. Super fun. Anyway, it was a pretty big plane, 3 seats on each side. I took the window seat, Chris in the middle and someone else in the aisle seat. On the first flight, that someone else was a very, VERY drunk man. He reeked of liquor. During the takeoff he kept taking his shoes off and playing with his feet, which also smelled. Then as soon as we were in the air, the guy reached in his bag and pulled out a fifth of vodka. I can't even get a Diet Coke through security and this guy has a fifth? Whatever. Maybe he bought it in the airport, which would be even worse because it was almost empty. So anyway, this dude kept getting up and stumbling down the aisle to the bathroom, where the poor stewardesses were like, Sir? Sir, we need you to take your seat. Then he'd stagger back to his seat, drool on Chris a little bit and drink some more. Right before we landed, he wiped the drool off his chin and PULLED OUT HIS TEETH. For real. Then he fell back asleep. Chris was like, next time I'm NOT sitting in the middle. I hate you. I found the whole thing hilarious until we were actually in the terminal. Chris and I were standing in front of one of those big maps looking for the best place to eat, and the guy walks buy and grabs my ass. I was like, that drunk guy just grabbed my ass! Chris says, yeah, try sitting next to him for an hour and half. Sucks doesn't it. Fair enough I suppose.
So after our whole weekend extravaganza, Chris and I were looking forward to going home, sleeping in our own bed, seeing the kids, all that good stuff. Just wanted a nice, restful flight back. I was really tired and wanted to take a nap on the plane, which was a great plan until the big dumb animal sitting next to me spilled Diet Coke all over my leg. He didn't do it once, but twice. Oh and that big dumb animal? Yeah, that was Chris. At first I was really mad because my leg was really cold and I was getting a little travel weary. I was like, what the hell? Would you pay attention to what you're doing? He's like, I'm sorry, I hit it with my arm. I didn't mean to. So I said, well are you going to do anything about it? He's like, what do you want me do? Now all I really meant was that I wanted him to get some napkins so I could mop up the puddle of Diet Coke in my lap, but because I'm a total smartass and kind of a bitch, I said, you want to make it right, why don't pour the rest of that on yourself. And you know what that fool did? He picked up his Diet Coke and dumped it in his lap. He was like, now we can be wet and miserable together. I was like, aww, you're the best travel buddy ever.
So even though we had to brave the crowded seats, drunks and laps full of Diet Coke, we had an awesome weekend. And did I mention we have a house? Hell yeah, y'all.
Chris and I left Saturday and it was really cool because we've never flown anywhere without the kids. It was really nice to not have to be paranoid in the airport, looking around frantically for your children who can't seem to grasp what stay right next to me means. Try playing that game in LaGuardia. Super fun. Anyway, it was a pretty big plane, 3 seats on each side. I took the window seat, Chris in the middle and someone else in the aisle seat. On the first flight, that someone else was a very, VERY drunk man. He reeked of liquor. During the takeoff he kept taking his shoes off and playing with his feet, which also smelled. Then as soon as we were in the air, the guy reached in his bag and pulled out a fifth of vodka. I can't even get a Diet Coke through security and this guy has a fifth? Whatever. Maybe he bought it in the airport, which would be even worse because it was almost empty. So anyway, this dude kept getting up and stumbling down the aisle to the bathroom, where the poor stewardesses were like, Sir? Sir, we need you to take your seat. Then he'd stagger back to his seat, drool on Chris a little bit and drink some more. Right before we landed, he wiped the drool off his chin and PULLED OUT HIS TEETH. For real. Then he fell back asleep. Chris was like, next time I'm NOT sitting in the middle. I hate you. I found the whole thing hilarious until we were actually in the terminal. Chris and I were standing in front of one of those big maps looking for the best place to eat, and the guy walks buy and grabs my ass. I was like, that drunk guy just grabbed my ass! Chris says, yeah, try sitting next to him for an hour and half. Sucks doesn't it. Fair enough I suppose.
So after our whole weekend extravaganza, Chris and I were looking forward to going home, sleeping in our own bed, seeing the kids, all that good stuff. Just wanted a nice, restful flight back. I was really tired and wanted to take a nap on the plane, which was a great plan until the big dumb animal sitting next to me spilled Diet Coke all over my leg. He didn't do it once, but twice. Oh and that big dumb animal? Yeah, that was Chris. At first I was really mad because my leg was really cold and I was getting a little travel weary. I was like, what the hell? Would you pay attention to what you're doing? He's like, I'm sorry, I hit it with my arm. I didn't mean to. So I said, well are you going to do anything about it? He's like, what do you want me do? Now all I really meant was that I wanted him to get some napkins so I could mop up the puddle of Diet Coke in my lap, but because I'm a total smartass and kind of a bitch, I said, you want to make it right, why don't pour the rest of that on yourself. And you know what that fool did? He picked up his Diet Coke and dumped it in his lap. He was like, now we can be wet and miserable together. I was like, aww, you're the best travel buddy ever.
So even though we had to brave the crowded seats, drunks and laps full of Diet Coke, we had an awesome weekend. And did I mention we have a house? Hell yeah, y'all.
Bring back that loving feeling, whoa that loving feeling...
With all this move stuff going on, Chris and I have been spending the majority of our time either arguing, stressing, debating or scratching each other's eyes out. It kind of all came to a head a few days ago when we were having what should've been a normal discussion and it ended up with me in tears and him holding his head in hands, clearly on the verge of a breakdown. This just isn't how we do things. We just don't fight that often, I mean, yeah we disagree and snipe back and forth sometimes, but we really don't fight. Most times, when we "fight" we bicker for a few minutes, he makes a joke, I call him a jackass and we move on. Lately, that just hasn't been happening. Anyway, after the dust settled, we decided that enough was enough. We decided that we really needed to get back to basics and get back to why we work so well to begin with.
So Monday night, we were both kinda tired, but we wanted to watch Monday Night Football, so we decided to watch it upstairs in bed. So we're lying there all cuddly (trying to mend our relationship, remember), and he says, this is nice. I was like, it is. You know, sometimes I wish that we could've done things different. Like, I had the chance to be your actual girlfriend. See, when we got together, he lived in South Carolina, I lived in Maine with the kids, so we've never had a "normal" relationship. We never got to do some of those fun dating things that people do. So he says, what do you mean? You were my girlfriend. I was like, no, I mean like, you pick me up for dates and stuff. You know, like normal people do. Normal people go on real dates. The only date you ever took me on was to Hooters, that hardly counts. He was all, Hooters totally counts, you just don't appreciate it like I do. Heh, I bet I don't. So we didn't say much else about it, the game got pretty good and fixing a relationship or not, football was on. We do have priorities, you know.
So yesterday, he only had to work until 12:30, so he sent me a text and asked if I wanted to leave early and get some lunch. I was like, yeah sure, just let me know when you get here. So I go about my business, and figure he'll call when he's in the parking lot. About 20 minutes later, he calls and says, hey, so I was wondering if you were busy. I'm in town today, and I'd really like to see you. I'm totally confused. I was like, uh, ok? I checked my phone to make sure that it was really him, and I wasn't going insane. He says, yeah, I just thought that we could go get some Chinese food. I've been thinking about you a lot, and I'd love to spend some time together. I'm completely confused. I was like, what are you talking about? I thought we already said we'd go have lunch? What are you saying? Honestly, at this point, I'm thinking he didn't mean to call me. He really meant to call his mistress and just didn't realize it was me and didn't hang up fast enough. My mind is racing, my blood starts boiling, I'm getting really, really angry. He says, I thought you said you wanted to go on a real date. Isn't this what guys are supposed to do? Call you up and ask you all proper? I just want us to be good again, and I know this is important to you. I feel like a total douche. Here I am thinking that my husband is having an affair, and he's really just trying to "date" me. I've said something in passing that he's not only listened to but has actually put some thought in, and all I can think is that he didn't call me on purpose, that he meant to call some other woman. Sigh.
After lunch we were driving home and got a flat tire on the interstate. He says, see, I'm so glad this wasn't an actual date. Bad Chinese food, a flat tire, you standing on the side of the interstate, I'd have to go home and cry myself to sleep. This is the worst date ever. I just smiled and said, I think it went pretty well, considering.
So Monday night, we were both kinda tired, but we wanted to watch Monday Night Football, so we decided to watch it upstairs in bed. So we're lying there all cuddly (trying to mend our relationship, remember), and he says, this is nice. I was like, it is. You know, sometimes I wish that we could've done things different. Like, I had the chance to be your actual girlfriend. See, when we got together, he lived in South Carolina, I lived in Maine with the kids, so we've never had a "normal" relationship. We never got to do some of those fun dating things that people do. So he says, what do you mean? You were my girlfriend. I was like, no, I mean like, you pick me up for dates and stuff. You know, like normal people do. Normal people go on real dates. The only date you ever took me on was to Hooters, that hardly counts. He was all, Hooters totally counts, you just don't appreciate it like I do. Heh, I bet I don't. So we didn't say much else about it, the game got pretty good and fixing a relationship or not, football was on. We do have priorities, you know.
So yesterday, he only had to work until 12:30, so he sent me a text and asked if I wanted to leave early and get some lunch. I was like, yeah sure, just let me know when you get here. So I go about my business, and figure he'll call when he's in the parking lot. About 20 minutes later, he calls and says, hey, so I was wondering if you were busy. I'm in town today, and I'd really like to see you. I'm totally confused. I was like, uh, ok? I checked my phone to make sure that it was really him, and I wasn't going insane. He says, yeah, I just thought that we could go get some Chinese food. I've been thinking about you a lot, and I'd love to spend some time together. I'm completely confused. I was like, what are you talking about? I thought we already said we'd go have lunch? What are you saying? Honestly, at this point, I'm thinking he didn't mean to call me. He really meant to call his mistress and just didn't realize it was me and didn't hang up fast enough. My mind is racing, my blood starts boiling, I'm getting really, really angry. He says, I thought you said you wanted to go on a real date. Isn't this what guys are supposed to do? Call you up and ask you all proper? I just want us to be good again, and I know this is important to you. I feel like a total douche. Here I am thinking that my husband is having an affair, and he's really just trying to "date" me. I've said something in passing that he's not only listened to but has actually put some thought in, and all I can think is that he didn't call me on purpose, that he meant to call some other woman. Sigh.
After lunch we were driving home and got a flat tire on the interstate. He says, see, I'm so glad this wasn't an actual date. Bad Chinese food, a flat tire, you standing on the side of the interstate, I'd have to go home and cry myself to sleep. This is the worst date ever. I just smiled and said, I think it went pretty well, considering.
I AM crafty! Who knew?
Friday I got it in my head that I should refinish the buffet. I spent the afternoon trying to sand the finish off it. First, sanding sucks, even with an electric sander. It's so, so boring. I got the top about 3/4 done when I sent Chris a text that said, Screw this. I'm done sanding. I'm thinking at this point that maybe home projects aren't really my thing, I have no patience for it. When Chris got home from work he tried to show me how "easy" it was to sand. It was still messy and boring as hell. So I told him where he could put his sander and decided to just paint it instead. I went to Home Depot and got my primer and paint, then we spend about an hour and half in the drawer pull aisle. Debating on the merits of brushed metal compared to silver or embossed silver. For real. I think that we just need to have a constant argument going. He finally said, Babe, seriously, I don't care. Just pick something. Good enough, sounds like a win to me.
So I got home and was all re-enthused about painting it. I started priming it and the phone rang. It was our pastor (also a huge football fan). It was opening weekend of college football, and he didn't get the channel that his team's game was on, so Chris invited him to watch it at our house. Keep in mind my house was a disaster. Dust everywhere from sanding all day, drawers emptied out, painting sheets all over the floor, it was an enormous mess. He says, you don't mind, right? Heh. It was ok though, it made me get my ass in gear. There was no way I was going to let my pastor and his wife come to my house like that. You should see her house, it's right out of Southern Living, it's so, so beautiful. I have total house-envy. So, I got up early Saturday morning and finished the buffet (it's gorgeous, by the way), got the house cleaned and out back together, showered and was ready in time to watch the Georgia game with Chris. Then I got the best compliment...EVER. The pastor's wife said, Oh, I love your house, you really have style. It's very...Pottery Barn. I could have died and gone to heaven right then. I played it cool though, I was like, Oh, thank you, it's nothing. Inside I was totally going, omgomgomgomg YEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSS! Success! I mean, my love for all things Pottery Barn is really no secret.
That's what it looks like now. I didn't take a before picture, mostly because I didn't think it would turn out this good and I didn't want to have any proof that I messed it up.
So maybe I don't hate home projects after all, maybe I just needed some validation. Or maybe projects that include an electric sander just inherently suck. Or maybe I just really have no patience. Either way, it was a big accomplishment, and I really love it. I celebrated by doing absolutely nothing for the next 48 hours.
So I got home and was all re-enthused about painting it. I started priming it and the phone rang. It was our pastor (also a huge football fan). It was opening weekend of college football, and he didn't get the channel that his team's game was on, so Chris invited him to watch it at our house. Keep in mind my house was a disaster. Dust everywhere from sanding all day, drawers emptied out, painting sheets all over the floor, it was an enormous mess. He says, you don't mind, right? Heh. It was ok though, it made me get my ass in gear. There was no way I was going to let my pastor and his wife come to my house like that. You should see her house, it's right out of Southern Living, it's so, so beautiful. I have total house-envy. So, I got up early Saturday morning and finished the buffet (it's gorgeous, by the way), got the house cleaned and out back together, showered and was ready in time to watch the Georgia game with Chris. Then I got the best compliment...EVER. The pastor's wife said, Oh, I love your house, you really have style. It's very...Pottery Barn. I could have died and gone to heaven right then. I played it cool though, I was like, Oh, thank you, it's nothing. Inside I was totally going, omgomgomgomg YEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSS! Success! I mean, my love for all things Pottery Barn is really no secret.
That's what it looks like now. I didn't take a before picture, mostly because I didn't think it would turn out this good and I didn't want to have any proof that I messed it up.So maybe I don't hate home projects after all, maybe I just needed some validation. Or maybe projects that include an electric sander just inherently suck. Or maybe I just really have no patience. Either way, it was a big accomplishment, and I really love it. I celebrated by doing absolutely nothing for the next 48 hours.
Best iPod attachment. Ever.
So the other day I was playing on my laptop and somehow got on Eden Fantasys, a sex toy website. I don't remember the linkage that got me there, but I spent the whole afternoon looking at sex toys, and holy shit there really is something for everyone. By the way, this is totally why I love my laptop. I can look at sex toys while the kids watch Jaws. I know, I know, it's not appropriate to be looking at adult things while the kids are around, but hello? They were watching Jaws, it's not like they were paying any attention to me. Ok, so they probably shouldn't have been watching Jaws either, but it's not like I was going for mother of the year anyway.
And you know how I'm always looking for places to write? Well, Eden Fantasies has this program where they'll send you sex toys to try and you have to write a review about it for their website. I don't know if you've heard all the chatter about blogger PR Blackouts or the ethical dilemmas about accepting or not accepting "gifts" in exchange for a review, but I say screw ethics. If someone wants to send me free sex toys, and all I have to do is try them out and write a review, sign me the hell up.
Where was I? Oh yes, something for everyone. There's even a toy for music lovers like me. Ok, you know those little plastic dogs that dance around when they're plugged into your iPod? iDogs, or something like that? Well they have the same thing for adults. But it's not a dog, it's a vibrator. So it's not really the same thing, but it's still a toy that hooks up you your iPod and "dances" to the music, which to me sounds way more awesome than a stupid dog that jumps around. I haven't tried it, and I don't think I'd buy it because I only listen to my iPod at work (which just wouldn't be a good idea), in the car (which could be very distracting) and when I do yard work (my neighbors already think I'm nuts), but I still think it's a cool idea.
I bet if your kids have one those, you're never gonna look at them the same again.
And you know how I'm always looking for places to write? Well, Eden Fantasies has this program where they'll send you sex toys to try and you have to write a review about it for their website. I don't know if you've heard all the chatter about blogger PR Blackouts or the ethical dilemmas about accepting or not accepting "gifts" in exchange for a review, but I say screw ethics. If someone wants to send me free sex toys, and all I have to do is try them out and write a review, sign me the hell up.
Where was I? Oh yes, something for everyone. There's even a toy for music lovers like me. Ok, you know those little plastic dogs that dance around when they're plugged into your iPod? iDogs, or something like that? Well they have the same thing for adults. But it's not a dog, it's a vibrator. So it's not really the same thing, but it's still a toy that hooks up you your iPod and "dances" to the music, which to me sounds way more awesome than a stupid dog that jumps around. I haven't tried it, and I don't think I'd buy it because I only listen to my iPod at work (which just wouldn't be a good idea), in the car (which could be very distracting) and when I do yard work (my neighbors already think I'm nuts), but I still think it's a cool idea.
I bet if your kids have one those, you're never gonna look at them the same again. P.S. The sex toy isn't really a dog, I'm just messing with you. Here's the actual link to the NaughtiNano, should you be so inclined.
100 things for the 100th post
So this is it. My 100th post. Isn’t it exciting and great excuse to drink a margarita? Yes, I think so too. Ok so, apparently I’m not supposed to bore you with an actual post, I’m supposed to tell 100 things you didn’t know about me, or did know but want to hear again…I don’t know, I’m not really clear on the guidelines, so we’ll just wing it. Here we go.
100. I can’t wink with my right eye, only my left.
99. My right eye is retarded and won’t stay closed.
98. I’m allergic to artificial cinnamon, like the kind in Big Red gum.
97. It makes my throat close up.
96. Once I peed my pants in the Maine State Museum.
95. I was 13.
94. I got a 910 on my SATs.
93. I’m really, really bad at math.
92. I still count on my fingers when adding.
91. My first concert was White Zombie and Pantera.
90. I didn’t have tickets, I snuck in with my boyfriend.
89. I’ve never left the country.
88. Not even to Canada which is like 50 miles away from me.
87. I met my husband online.
86. I dance like Napoleon Dynamite.
85. In public.
84. I sing like a bag of cats being beaten against a wall.
83. My first tape was Guns N Roses, Appetite for Destruction.
82. I love Post-It notes.
81. I’ve had a spinal tap.
80. It really, really hurt.
79. I voted for George Bush.
78. Twice.
77. When I get my period my feet swell up, Shrek-size.
76. If I was a boy, my mom was going to name me Trent.
75. My mom hates me and was hell bent on giving me a crap name.
74. She says my name was from a movie that she “loved”.
73. She can’t remember the name of it.
72. I think she’s trying to make herself feel better for naming her daughter Merritt.
71. I can’t play board games with my children because I obsessively cheat.
70. I hate losing.
69. Even to my own children.
68. But I punish them for being poor sports when they cheat.
67. My monthly Diet Coke intake would fill an Olympic-sized swimming pool.
66. I don’t watch American Idol.
65. My favorite day is Groundhog Day (February 2).
64. I have no reason for this other than it kind of caught on in junior high when I was working out how to best rebel against society.
63. Clearly, Groundhog Day is reserved for the true rebels among us.
62. I almost passed out on a roller coaster I was so scared.
61. They park took a video of the ride, and people were standing around laughing and pointing at the monitors showing the screaming/crying/nearly dead girl (me) on the roller coaster.
60. The guy selling the video said it was already big hit.
59. I didn’t buy a copy.
57. I got hit by a car when I was 6 while I was delivering Girl Scout cookies.
56. Chris says that’s the most awesome thing he’s ever heard.
55. I have 3 tattoos.
54. A sun on my shoulder, a vine around my ankle, and the Chinese symbol for tranquility on my wrist.
53. The tattoo around my ankle is one of my biggest regrets.
52. I know all the words to the movie A Few Good Men.
51. Even the “You can’t handle the truth!” speech.
50. My favorite line is, “don’t I feel like the fucking asshole.”
49. Once I accidently started a fire on the floor board of my car.
48. While I was driving.
47. I never, ever liked New Kids on the Block.
46. Even though everyone I knew loved them.
45. The Christmas that everyone got the New Kids on the Block tape, I got the Dr. Feelgood (Motley Crue) tape.
44. When I eat ice cream, I have to flip the spoon upside in my mouth.
43. I also can’t let food touch my lips.
42. Once at Easter dinner, I told my family that my favorite word was clitoris.
41. My grandmother thought it was funny.
40. My mother was horrified.
39. My least favorite word is moist.
38. When I was pregnant almost all I ever ate was Vienna sausages and Slim Jims.
37. That probably had something to do with gaining 80 lbs during my pregnancy.
36. I used to be a vegetarian.
35. I love steak.
34. Rare. The bloodier, the better.
33. I was a really bad vegetarian.
32. When my brother was a baby, I pulled him off the changing table by his arm to see what would happen.
31. He cried.
30. I don’t separate my whites from darks when I do laundry.
29. I hate lima beans.
28. My date to the prom was gay.
27. I didn’t know he was gay at the time.
26. Even though I probably should’ve because he had more sparkles on than I did, it just never occurred to me.
25. Now that I think of it, my date to homecoming was also gay.
24. I didn’t know he was gay either.
23. They were two of the best dates I’ve ever had.
22. I eat mayonnaise on my French fries.
21. I used to “play” the cello in the orchestra.
20. But I didn’t really know how to play it.
19. I was just a good bullshitter and knew just enough to get by.
18. I also tried to play the flute.
17. I couldn’t fake that one as well, and the teacher kicked me out for faking.
16. I had a pierced belly button.
15. I let my boyfriend do it with a needle, a lighter and tequila.
14. It got infected and I had to take it out.
13. I kissed a girl.
12. I’ve never had a cavity.
11. My favorite flavor of anything is red.
10. Popsicles, Kool-Aid, lollipops, gum, anything.
9. I suck at retelling jokes.
8. It’s a lot harder than you’d think to come up 100 things to say about yourself.
7. I’m totally not doing this for the 200th post.
6. I just realized this isn’t the 100th post.
5. It’s actually the 101st.
4. Because apparently I really can’t count.
3. I’m not doing an extra thing to make 101.
2. I’m a rebel like that.
1. Or just lazy.
100. I can’t wink with my right eye, only my left.
99. My right eye is retarded and won’t stay closed.
98. I’m allergic to artificial cinnamon, like the kind in Big Red gum.
97. It makes my throat close up.
96. Once I peed my pants in the Maine State Museum.
95. I was 13.
94. I got a 910 on my SATs.
93. I’m really, really bad at math.
92. I still count on my fingers when adding.
91. My first concert was White Zombie and Pantera.
90. I didn’t have tickets, I snuck in with my boyfriend.
89. I’ve never left the country.
88. Not even to Canada which is like 50 miles away from me.
87. I met my husband online.
86. I dance like Napoleon Dynamite.
85. In public.
84. I sing like a bag of cats being beaten against a wall.
83. My first tape was Guns N Roses, Appetite for Destruction.
82. I love Post-It notes.
81. I’ve had a spinal tap.
80. It really, really hurt.
79. I voted for George Bush.
78. Twice.
77. When I get my period my feet swell up, Shrek-size.
76. If I was a boy, my mom was going to name me Trent.
75. My mom hates me and was hell bent on giving me a crap name.
74. She says my name was from a movie that she “loved”.
73. She can’t remember the name of it.
72. I think she’s trying to make herself feel better for naming her daughter Merritt.
71. I can’t play board games with my children because I obsessively cheat.
70. I hate losing.
69. Even to my own children.
68. But I punish them for being poor sports when they cheat.
67. My monthly Diet Coke intake would fill an Olympic-sized swimming pool.
66. I don’t watch American Idol.
65. My favorite day is Groundhog Day (February 2).
64. I have no reason for this other than it kind of caught on in junior high when I was working out how to best rebel against society.
63. Clearly, Groundhog Day is reserved for the true rebels among us.
62. I almost passed out on a roller coaster I was so scared.
61. They park took a video of the ride, and people were standing around laughing and pointing at the monitors showing the screaming/crying/nearly dead girl (me) on the roller coaster.
60. The guy selling the video said it was already big hit.
59. I didn’t buy a copy.
57. I got hit by a car when I was 6 while I was delivering Girl Scout cookies.
56. Chris says that’s the most awesome thing he’s ever heard.
55. I have 3 tattoos.
54. A sun on my shoulder, a vine around my ankle, and the Chinese symbol for tranquility on my wrist.
53. The tattoo around my ankle is one of my biggest regrets.
52. I know all the words to the movie A Few Good Men.
51. Even the “You can’t handle the truth!” speech.
50. My favorite line is, “don’t I feel like the fucking asshole.”
49. Once I accidently started a fire on the floor board of my car.
48. While I was driving.
47. I never, ever liked New Kids on the Block.
46. Even though everyone I knew loved them.
45. The Christmas that everyone got the New Kids on the Block tape, I got the Dr. Feelgood (Motley Crue) tape.
44. When I eat ice cream, I have to flip the spoon upside in my mouth.
43. I also can’t let food touch my lips.
42. Once at Easter dinner, I told my family that my favorite word was clitoris.
41. My grandmother thought it was funny.
40. My mother was horrified.
39. My least favorite word is moist.
38. When I was pregnant almost all I ever ate was Vienna sausages and Slim Jims.
37. That probably had something to do with gaining 80 lbs during my pregnancy.
36. I used to be a vegetarian.
35. I love steak.
34. Rare. The bloodier, the better.
33. I was a really bad vegetarian.
32. When my brother was a baby, I pulled him off the changing table by his arm to see what would happen.
31. He cried.
30. I don’t separate my whites from darks when I do laundry.
29. I hate lima beans.
28. My date to the prom was gay.
27. I didn’t know he was gay at the time.
26. Even though I probably should’ve because he had more sparkles on than I did, it just never occurred to me.
25. Now that I think of it, my date to homecoming was also gay.
24. I didn’t know he was gay either.
23. They were two of the best dates I’ve ever had.
22. I eat mayonnaise on my French fries.
21. I used to “play” the cello in the orchestra.
20. But I didn’t really know how to play it.
19. I was just a good bullshitter and knew just enough to get by.
18. I also tried to play the flute.
17. I couldn’t fake that one as well, and the teacher kicked me out for faking.
16. I had a pierced belly button.
15. I let my boyfriend do it with a needle, a lighter and tequila.
14. It got infected and I had to take it out.
13. I kissed a girl.
12. I’ve never had a cavity.
11. My favorite flavor of anything is red.
10. Popsicles, Kool-Aid, lollipops, gum, anything.
9. I suck at retelling jokes.
8. It’s a lot harder than you’d think to come up 100 things to say about yourself.
7. I’m totally not doing this for the 200th post.
6. I just realized this isn’t the 100th post.
5. It’s actually the 101st.
4. Because apparently I really can’t count.
3. I’m not doing an extra thing to make 101.
2. I’m a rebel like that.
1. Or just lazy.
Between the sheets...there is a psycho drama queen who needs lots of medication
Saturday was day 4 of not smoking, and honestly, it was wearing on me. That morning I had spent the morning cleaning my disaster of a house after my "ungrateful children and husband" who had left a sea of laundry, dishes, carpet stains and sticky floors for me to clean. Of course the kids were with their dad and Chris was working, so I had no one to vent my building anger to. By the time Chris got home, I was a little better, I'd tried really hard to let it all go. I bitched a little, but pretty much let it go. Chris suggested we get out of the house, maybe that would help relieve the building stress. Couldn't agree more. We had a great afternoon, we went to an antiques store, we got Chris some new sandals, had a great late lunch, not a cross word was spoken, not a sideways look given. Then we went to TJ Maxx and all hell broke loose. I've been telling Chris for God knows how long that we need new sheets. Now you might be asking, why don't you just buy sheets yourself? Good question, and I could. But we try really hard to make all household purchases together, or at least with each other's input. Every other time we've gone to get sheets (and we've done it no less than 20 times) we always end up leaving empty-handed. He freaks out about the price, I try to explain the value of a high thread count sheet, he doesn't get it, I think he's cheap and being difficult, he thinks I'm being a spoiled princess, we usually just leave well enough alone and don't get into it. I mean really, who fights about sheets?
So we go to TJ Maxx in search of the aforementioned sheets. We can't seem to agree on the price/thread count/color, but I'm determined. We're not walking away this time. So after about 45 minutes of me handing Chris sheets to feel, fretting over percale or sateen or Egyptian cotton, he'd had enough. He takes a deep breath and says, does it really matter? They're fucking sheets. Well, as you can imagine, that went over like a ton of bricks. I said (getting increasingly upset), Of COURSE it matters! I just want something nice to sleep on. Don't you care? He says, babe, c'mon. They're sheets. I turned back to the sheets and completely ignored him. He sighed and wandered off. I finally pick some, and I track Chris down, but I'm really irritated. I showed him the sheets, and he was less than impressed. He was all, yeah, they're fine. They're sheets. So now I'm pissed. Not a little angry, not a little cranky, I'm fucking PISSED. Was it because he didn't "care" enough? Was it because I couldn't find the "perfect" sheets? Or was it just because I hadn't smoked in 4 days? I put the sheets on the shelf and say, forget it. Take me home. And he's all, why? What's wrong? Again, I ignore him, certain that this had nothing to do with smoking, Chris was just a big jackass who obviously didn't care about what's important to me (sheets).
We get home and I stomp around for awhile, and then he's all, what's your problem? Are you that mad about sheets? I'd like to say that I handled this well, that I was the picture of calm. I so wasn't. I came unglued. I said just about every hateful thing I could think of, I threw books on the floor, I threw a shoebox at him, I mean I had an all out temper tantrum. He's just standing there during all this, probably in awe of my dramatic scene, and he says in the most calm voice I've ever heard, that's enough. Well, if I wasn't really, really mad before that, I was now. I said, Enough? I'll show you enough! Go to hell! I'm leaving! So I stormed out and slammed the door behind me. By this time it's starting to occur to me that perhaps I'm overreacting a bit, maybe I should just go back in and apologize for being such a drama queen, and that made me more mad. I hate being wrong. So I figured, I'll show him. I won't be sitting outside. I'm really leaving! So I start walking down the street. In my big dramatic exit, I've left my wallet and my cell phone on the counter, so it's not like I can go far, and that makes me even more mad. So to cool off and decide how to tell my family that I'm getting a divorce, I walked...for a fucking mile. I had my flip flops on, which aren't great walking shoes, and it was getting dark and I was cold in my tank top and capris (also forgot to grab a long sleeve shirt), so I went home. Chris wasn't there, he was out looking for me (which made me more angry). He eventually came home, and was understandable concerned. I was like, I'm so mad at you, I hate you, and I want a divorce! So we spent the next 45 minutes with me sobbing/yelling about how he really hated me and didn't care about the sheets that were so important to me, and him trying not to laugh at my utter ridiculousness.
Suffice it to say, we didn't get a divorce. We did buy a pack of cigarettes though. As it turns out, I wasn't really mad about the sheets, I was just being an uber bitch, probably because of my not smoking. Go figure.
P.S. Sunday afternoon he took me back to TJ Maxx and we bought sheets.
So we go to TJ Maxx in search of the aforementioned sheets. We can't seem to agree on the price/thread count/color, but I'm determined. We're not walking away this time. So after about 45 minutes of me handing Chris sheets to feel, fretting over percale or sateen or Egyptian cotton, he'd had enough. He takes a deep breath and says, does it really matter? They're fucking sheets. Well, as you can imagine, that went over like a ton of bricks. I said (getting increasingly upset), Of COURSE it matters! I just want something nice to sleep on. Don't you care? He says, babe, c'mon. They're sheets. I turned back to the sheets and completely ignored him. He sighed and wandered off. I finally pick some, and I track Chris down, but I'm really irritated. I showed him the sheets, and he was less than impressed. He was all, yeah, they're fine. They're sheets. So now I'm pissed. Not a little angry, not a little cranky, I'm fucking PISSED. Was it because he didn't "care" enough? Was it because I couldn't find the "perfect" sheets? Or was it just because I hadn't smoked in 4 days? I put the sheets on the shelf and say, forget it. Take me home. And he's all, why? What's wrong? Again, I ignore him, certain that this had nothing to do with smoking, Chris was just a big jackass who obviously didn't care about what's important to me (sheets).
We get home and I stomp around for awhile, and then he's all, what's your problem? Are you that mad about sheets? I'd like to say that I handled this well, that I was the picture of calm. I so wasn't. I came unglued. I said just about every hateful thing I could think of, I threw books on the floor, I threw a shoebox at him, I mean I had an all out temper tantrum. He's just standing there during all this, probably in awe of my dramatic scene, and he says in the most calm voice I've ever heard, that's enough. Well, if I wasn't really, really mad before that, I was now. I said, Enough? I'll show you enough! Go to hell! I'm leaving! So I stormed out and slammed the door behind me. By this time it's starting to occur to me that perhaps I'm overreacting a bit, maybe I should just go back in and apologize for being such a drama queen, and that made me more mad. I hate being wrong. So I figured, I'll show him. I won't be sitting outside. I'm really leaving! So I start walking down the street. In my big dramatic exit, I've left my wallet and my cell phone on the counter, so it's not like I can go far, and that makes me even more mad. So to cool off and decide how to tell my family that I'm getting a divorce, I walked...for a fucking mile. I had my flip flops on, which aren't great walking shoes, and it was getting dark and I was cold in my tank top and capris (also forgot to grab a long sleeve shirt), so I went home. Chris wasn't there, he was out looking for me (which made me more angry). He eventually came home, and was understandable concerned. I was like, I'm so mad at you, I hate you, and I want a divorce! So we spent the next 45 minutes with me sobbing/yelling about how he really hated me and didn't care about the sheets that were so important to me, and him trying not to laugh at my utter ridiculousness.
Suffice it to say, we didn't get a divorce. We did buy a pack of cigarettes though. As it turns out, I wasn't really mad about the sheets, I was just being an uber bitch, probably because of my not smoking. Go figure.
P.S. Sunday afternoon he took me back to TJ Maxx and we bought sheets.
How was your weekend?
Friday I woke up to the sun shining, the birds singing, it was a beautiful day. It's been raining for so long here, I desperately wanted (and needed for my own sanity) some sunshine, so I said, screw it, I'm not working today. I called my boss and told her that it was just too nice of a day to be stuck inside and I was taking the day off. I got her voicemail, so I think she had the same idea I did. I spent the day outside with the kids, they played in the sprinkler, I channeled my inner diva:I sat in my lounge chair, my hair wrapped in a scarf like an old Hollywood movie star, my oversized sunglasses and my chilled beverage by my side and read sTORI Telling by Tori Spelling (which if you haven't read it, is a deliciously fun read). Of course because there's been no sun since March, my pasty pale ass got sunburned, but that's ok, at least I wasn't working.
Saturday, I spent the morning cleaning and then went shopping with Chris for sheets. We decided that instead of buying sheets we'd have a screaming match that ended in me literally walking for a mile to cool off, a pack of cigarettes (I know, I know, I suck), and some really ridiculous drama, but more on that tomorrow.
Yesterday was another beautiful, sun-filled day. We took the kids swimming, I even went in the pool. I put on a bathing suit for the first time in over a year, which was a bit traumatizing. I really think that we should go back to the 1800's style bathing suits, with the almost knee-length shorts and full coverage tops. Ahh, those were the days big girls could prance around by the pool without their cellulite scaring small children. Sigh. Anyway. We decided that since we were on a roll for family fun day, we'd rent some movies, unwittingly subjecting them to inappropriate adult topics. We rented Bedtime Stories and Yes Man for the kids. Bedtime Stories was cute, it was a Disney movie, so there were no surprises. Yes Man, good movie, but not really for kids. I'm not giving away any plot points or anything, but if you don't want to know anything that happens, stop reading. It was rated PG-13, which is usually not bad, but there was one scene that Jim Carrey's old lady neighbor propositions him. He has to say yes, which has it's own ickyness. So she throws him on the bed and the camera shows his face, she's, ahem, going down. Then you see her put her false teeth in a glass by the bed. I'm laughing hysterically, because it's really, really funny. The scene ends, and I think we're in the clear and Kat says gross. I didn't say anything, surely she can't know what that was all about, right? And if she does, well, I'm not having that conversation yet. "Gross" works for me. Then Davey says, Mom, what's she doing? Why'd she take her teeth out? Ehhh...there's really no good answer here. I was like, she must've lost her contact on his pants and then had to take her teeth out to brush them. Seriously, what the hell am I supposed to say? Oh, she's performing oral sex on him, and apparently he likes it. You see, oral sex is... Yeah, that's probably not a good idea. I don't know if he believed me or not, but he didn't question it, so I just breathed a sigh of relief and let it go.
So that was my weekend, sunburned, almost divorced and exposed my kids to totally inappropriate oral sex references. How was your weekend?
Saturday, I spent the morning cleaning and then went shopping with Chris for sheets. We decided that instead of buying sheets we'd have a screaming match that ended in me literally walking for a mile to cool off, a pack of cigarettes (I know, I know, I suck), and some really ridiculous drama, but more on that tomorrow.
Yesterday was another beautiful, sun-filled day. We took the kids swimming, I even went in the pool. I put on a bathing suit for the first time in over a year, which was a bit traumatizing. I really think that we should go back to the 1800's style bathing suits, with the almost knee-length shorts and full coverage tops. Ahh, those were the days big girls could prance around by the pool without their cellulite scaring small children. Sigh. Anyway. We decided that since we were on a roll for family fun day, we'd rent some movies, unwittingly subjecting them to inappropriate adult topics. We rented Bedtime Stories and Yes Man for the kids. Bedtime Stories was cute, it was a Disney movie, so there were no surprises. Yes Man, good movie, but not really for kids. I'm not giving away any plot points or anything, but if you don't want to know anything that happens, stop reading. It was rated PG-13, which is usually not bad, but there was one scene that Jim Carrey's old lady neighbor propositions him. He has to say yes, which has it's own ickyness. So she throws him on the bed and the camera shows his face, she's, ahem, going down. Then you see her put her false teeth in a glass by the bed. I'm laughing hysterically, because it's really, really funny. The scene ends, and I think we're in the clear and Kat says gross. I didn't say anything, surely she can't know what that was all about, right? And if she does, well, I'm not having that conversation yet. "Gross" works for me. Then Davey says, Mom, what's she doing? Why'd she take her teeth out? Ehhh...there's really no good answer here. I was like, she must've lost her contact on his pants and then had to take her teeth out to brush them. Seriously, what the hell am I supposed to say? Oh, she's performing oral sex on him, and apparently he likes it. You see, oral sex is... Yeah, that's probably not a good idea. I don't know if he believed me or not, but he didn't question it, so I just breathed a sigh of relief and let it go.
So that was my weekend, sunburned, almost divorced and exposed my kids to totally inappropriate oral sex references. How was your weekend?
I might bite your head off
Last night Chris and I were outside smoking, and he says to me, so I think I’m really ready to quit smoking now. I say, oh yeah, why’s that? He says, well, you know my granddad died of emphysema (to which I nod), well, it’s just been weighing on me lately, you know? (I nod again, feeling increasingly like a large pile of shit for smoking). I knew. I’ve smoked since I was like 12. There was this girl, who I won’t name because I actually see her from time to time and she still scares the shit out of me, who made me smoke. I know what you’re thinking, yeah right, she made you, pfft. No, for real, it’s totally true. I was walking home after school and this titan of a girl grabbed my arm (I was scrawny and skinny when I was a kid), and was all, You smoke now. Don’t make me angry, you wouldn’t like me when I’m angry. Ok, so I’m not sure if that’s what she actually said, it could’ve been The Incredible Hulk, I’m not sure, but the point is she was ginormous and I was not. So she gave me a cigarette and showed me how to smoke and laughed when I coughed my head off after trying to inhale. A couple of weeks later, I thought I’d be really cool and try it again. So one day when my parents were at work, I stole my mom’s cigarettes. I couldn’t figure out how to use the lighter and I wasn’t allowed to play with matches (yes, I did follow SOME rules), so I stuck my head in the oven and lit the cigarette on the bottom burner. In hindsight, sticking your head in an oven probably isn’t a good idea, I could’ve just used a burner on top of the stove, or better yet, used a match, but I was 12, what do you want from me?
So I smoked off and on until I was about 16, then I just went bad. Very, very bad. I smoked, drank, did drugs, blew off school, dated guitar players, developed a permanent scowl (hence the wrinkle branded on my forehead), you name it. See then, back before political correctness/health awareness smoking was cool. I did quit when I was pregnant (at 19 mind you. I told you I was bad), but I had my friend wheel me across the street from the hospital to smoke. I know, I know, going outside in your hospital gown and wheelchair just isn’t cool . I don’t (and haven’t) smoked in my house in a long, long time, I do have some parental standards. About a year ago, I quit for a month. Then I got into the accident with my Jeep and almost had a nervous breakdown on the side of the road, so I started up again. I’ve been beating myself up about it ever since. So when Chris laid his guilt trip about oh, I love you, I want to grow old together, I don’t want you to die early, blah, blah. I was like, SIGH. Fine. I quit. So here I am, day 1. Armed with Nicorette and grape Bubble Yum quitting smoking. I hope for real this time, I hate smoking, but I know it’s time, and it's for the best. Keep that in mind if I become an unbearable bitch and tell you all to go screw yourselves, which is entirely possible.
So I smoked off and on until I was about 16, then I just went bad. Very, very bad. I smoked, drank, did drugs, blew off school, dated guitar players, developed a permanent scowl (hence the wrinkle branded on my forehead), you name it. See then, back before political correctness/health awareness smoking was cool. I did quit when I was pregnant (at 19 mind you. I told you I was bad), but I had my friend wheel me across the street from the hospital to smoke. I know, I know, going outside in your hospital gown and wheelchair just isn’t cool . I don’t (and haven’t) smoked in my house in a long, long time, I do have some parental standards. About a year ago, I quit for a month. Then I got into the accident with my Jeep and almost had a nervous breakdown on the side of the road, so I started up again. I’ve been beating myself up about it ever since. So when Chris laid his guilt trip about oh, I love you, I want to grow old together, I don’t want you to die early, blah, blah. I was like, SIGH. Fine. I quit. So here I am, day 1. Armed with Nicorette and grape Bubble Yum quitting smoking. I hope for real this time, I hate smoking, but I know it’s time, and it's for the best. Keep that in mind if I become an unbearable bitch and tell you all to go screw yourselves, which is entirely possible.
Karma gets you every time
If you have a problem with poop, tampons or toilets, you should not read this post. You really probably shouldn't read it anyway...
The other day I was working in a different building, cleaning up some odds and ends before the long holiday weekend. Chris called and said he would be there in a few minutes to pick me up, and I knew that in Chris language, that means like an hour, so I pretty much ignored it and continued doing my work. I gave it about 40 minutes and decided I should go to the bathroom before I left. So in the building that I was working in, there’s a private bathroom. I decided that since I was pretty much alone in the building, screw using the public stalls, I was gonna use the private bathroom. Still no call from Chris, so I decide, what the hell, I’ll poop too. So I’m doing my thing in the bathroom, and decide that Chris and I probably won’t go straight home, so I ought to change my tampon while I’m at it. I finish up, and I’m getting ready to flush and Chris calls, says he’s pulling into the parking lot. Perfect timing! I reach over and flush the toilet.
The water starts filling, and filling, and filling. I’m like, well, I probably just didn’t hold the handle down long enough. No luck, the water splashed up nearly to the very top of the bowl.
Oh my dear God, I’ve overflowed the toilet and there’s poop and a used tampon floating in the toilet! I start frantically searching for a plunger, no go. The only thing I can find is a toilet scrubber. I don’t know what the hell kind of bathroom has a toilet scrubber but no plunger. So I grab the toilet scrubber, thinking that maybe I can swoosh everything around enough to maybe unclog it. It’s still not working. I’m totally afraid to flush again, because any more water, it’s gonna be all over the floor. At this point, I’m totally freaking out because I’m not even supposed to be using this bathroom, so it’s not like I can just go ask a janitor for help. And really, there’s no way I’m going to walk up to some random stranger and be like, excuse me, I plugged the toilet, would you mind plunging it for me? Don’t mind the poop or the used tampon floating around in it. So not happening. So I debated for a minute, ok more like a split second, and I decide I’m bailing. Because I’m one of the youngest people (everyone else is well over 50 and post-menopausal) that work for my department, anyone seeing a floating tampon could deduce that it was me who plugged the toilet and left it all weekend. Actually, now that I write that, it sounds kinda asinine, that someone would actually be like, hmm, plugged toilet, floating poop, I have no idea who would…OH MY GOD! There’s a tampon! It HAS to be Merritt! It sounded so much more plausible at the time... Anyway, I decide that I’m leaving the poop and toilet paper, but taking back the tampon. I grab the toilet scrubber and start trying to use it as a pole to fish out the tampon. I get it the first time, but the string wraps around the handle of the scrubber and I fling toilet water on my feet and fling the tampon across the room. Ohmygodoymygodohmygod. Totally freaking now. I pick up the tampon off the floor with a paper towel, wrap it in like 587 more paper towels and bury it in the trash, I clean up all the water and mess, I do a little gross out dance and scrub the hell out of my hands.
I get to the door and reach for the light switch, the toilet makes this wooooosh sound and the water spins around, and flushes, taking all the contents of the bowl with it. Son of a bitch! I turned around and said (to the toilet), stupid motherfuc… The fucking toilet GURGLED at me. I hauled ass out of there, I wasn’t about to stay in there with the toilet from hell, who was clearly possessed. I suppose it serves me right for using the bathroom in places I don’t belong, then trying to leave my shit (literally) for someone else to deal with.
The other day I was working in a different building, cleaning up some odds and ends before the long holiday weekend. Chris called and said he would be there in a few minutes to pick me up, and I knew that in Chris language, that means like an hour, so I pretty much ignored it and continued doing my work. I gave it about 40 minutes and decided I should go to the bathroom before I left. So in the building that I was working in, there’s a private bathroom. I decided that since I was pretty much alone in the building, screw using the public stalls, I was gonna use the private bathroom. Still no call from Chris, so I decide, what the hell, I’ll poop too. So I’m doing my thing in the bathroom, and decide that Chris and I probably won’t go straight home, so I ought to change my tampon while I’m at it. I finish up, and I’m getting ready to flush and Chris calls, says he’s pulling into the parking lot. Perfect timing! I reach over and flush the toilet.
The water starts filling, and filling, and filling. I’m like, well, I probably just didn’t hold the handle down long enough. No luck, the water splashed up nearly to the very top of the bowl.
Oh my dear God, I’ve overflowed the toilet and there’s poop and a used tampon floating in the toilet! I start frantically searching for a plunger, no go. The only thing I can find is a toilet scrubber. I don’t know what the hell kind of bathroom has a toilet scrubber but no plunger. So I grab the toilet scrubber, thinking that maybe I can swoosh everything around enough to maybe unclog it. It’s still not working. I’m totally afraid to flush again, because any more water, it’s gonna be all over the floor. At this point, I’m totally freaking out because I’m not even supposed to be using this bathroom, so it’s not like I can just go ask a janitor for help. And really, there’s no way I’m going to walk up to some random stranger and be like, excuse me, I plugged the toilet, would you mind plunging it for me? Don’t mind the poop or the used tampon floating around in it. So not happening. So I debated for a minute, ok more like a split second, and I decide I’m bailing. Because I’m one of the youngest people (everyone else is well over 50 and post-menopausal) that work for my department, anyone seeing a floating tampon could deduce that it was me who plugged the toilet and left it all weekend. Actually, now that I write that, it sounds kinda asinine, that someone would actually be like, hmm, plugged toilet, floating poop, I have no idea who would…OH MY GOD! There’s a tampon! It HAS to be Merritt! It sounded so much more plausible at the time... Anyway, I decide that I’m leaving the poop and toilet paper, but taking back the tampon. I grab the toilet scrubber and start trying to use it as a pole to fish out the tampon. I get it the first time, but the string wraps around the handle of the scrubber and I fling toilet water on my feet and fling the tampon across the room. Ohmygodoymygodohmygod. Totally freaking now. I pick up the tampon off the floor with a paper towel, wrap it in like 587 more paper towels and bury it in the trash, I clean up all the water and mess, I do a little gross out dance and scrub the hell out of my hands.
I get to the door and reach for the light switch, the toilet makes this wooooosh sound and the water spins around, and flushes, taking all the contents of the bowl with it. Son of a bitch! I turned around and said (to the toilet), stupid motherfuc… The fucking toilet GURGLED at me. I hauled ass out of there, I wasn’t about to stay in there with the toilet from hell, who was clearly possessed. I suppose it serves me right for using the bathroom in places I don’t belong, then trying to leave my shit (literally) for someone else to deal with.
I'm the Rainman of cooking
So I don’t know if I’ve ever admitted this publicly, but I’m a horrendous cook. I can burn water, and I mean that literally. You know those people who can look in their pantry and grab like 5 ingredients and make the most delicious meal you’ve ever tasted? It’s like that show on Food Network, Chopped, where they get a basket full of stuff like pepperoni, grapes, veal liver, yogurt and hot dogs and they make some world class meal totally suitable for the Waldorf-Astoria. I’m exactly like that, only completely opposite. I can take lobster, filet mignon, and black truffles and turn into world class shit. Like I tried to make something simple like kielbasa and rice. Easy enough, right? I mean hell, I even used boil-in-bag rice. Really hard to screw up. Not for me! The rice got stuck to the bottom of the pan and half of it was crispy and the other half was mush, and I burned the kielbasa to a crisp. It’s not like I’m not paying attention, I really am, I just get sidetracked and before you know it, the smoke alarm is going off. The kids like to say that when the smoke alarm goes off dinner is ready. Chris enjoys telling people that my specialty is “blackened” food, like Cajun-style without the spice. I think they’re mocking me.
I suppose I can follow a recipe, but even that I usually mess up. There is one thing that I make really, really well: apple pie, from scratch. I make the crust from scratch, the filling, everything. It’s perfect every time. Now, why I can make something as complicated as apple pie and I can’t make fucking instant rice, I don’t know. I can even make the fancy lattice-work top. I’m a cooking idiot savant. I saw this ad for a contest for the best desert, and I’m actually considering entering, and I totally think I could win. As long as I don’t have to boil water, I should be ok.
I suppose I can follow a recipe, but even that I usually mess up. There is one thing that I make really, really well: apple pie, from scratch. I make the crust from scratch, the filling, everything. It’s perfect every time. Now, why I can make something as complicated as apple pie and I can’t make fucking instant rice, I don’t know. I can even make the fancy lattice-work top. I’m a cooking idiot savant. I saw this ad for a contest for the best desert, and I’m actually considering entering, and I totally think I could win. As long as I don’t have to boil water, I should be ok.
Truly, truly outrageous
The other day the kids were outside, enjoying one of the rare sunny days we've had lately. It's been raining so long, I've actually been keeping my eyes open for any old men building very large boats, or animals marching two-by-two down the street, but I digress. So the kids are outside, and it's a rare opportunity for Chris and I to watch t.v. Normally, we'd watch something that we don't watch around the kids, you know the good shows, with lots of sex, violence and explosions, pretty much anything on Fox. This day though, as much as I tried, I couldn't stop watching the Disney Channel, Hannah Montana to be specific. Now I've talked some trash when it comes to Hannah Montana taking over my ipod, or the uncanny likeness of her love interest and Johnny of the Cobra Kai, and I'd like to do the same here, but I can't. I sat there for not one episode, but two. I didn't move, I was absolutely riveted. It was a little obnoxious and annoying, and I did laugh out loud a couple of times, but no matter how much I tried to bring myself to change the channel, I couldn't do it. It was about 5 minutes into the second episode when I gasped in horror, this is JUST like Jem! Jem? Truly, truly outrageous? Kick ass 80's cartoon? Don't pretend you don't remember Jem.
Jem was a rockstar with pink hair, and was the lead singer of a band called the Holograms. She had an alter ego, the sweet, girl next door, Jerrica. She turned into Jem through magic/technological advancements/holographic awesomeness. But no one knew that Jerrica was Jem, and she had to keep her secret at all costs. Jerrica was always torn between being "herself" and being Jem. Sound like any other "secret pop star" you may have heard of? *cough* Miley Cyrus *cough* Hannah Montana. The only difference is Hannah Montana's power is in her blonde wig, and Jem's power was in the super kick ass earrings (show time Synergy!). Hannah Montana has to deal with rival popstars who want steal her fame. I can't remember the girl's name, but she had a ridiculously high pitched, nasaly voice that sounded like someone dragging their fingers down a chalkboard. Jem of course had The Misfits, who bordered on a little scary.
I know, I know. You think I'm a. insane, or b. have been hitting the margaritas a little too hard. Actually, either could be true...but that's besides the point. Jem is totally Hannah Montana. And what annoys me the most about it isn't that the clever people at Disney recycled the best 80's cartoon ever, or even that my kids look at me like I'm crazy when I hold onto my ear and yell, "show time Synergy!" when it's time to get ready. What really annoys me is that I didn't think of it first. I mean, this was my favorite, favorite t.v. show ever. I really should've thought of re-doing it. I mean, if they can redo Transformers and make a zillion dollars, I totally could've redone Jem.
The kids didn't believe me when I told them how awesome Jem was. Then I showed them this.
How can you argue with that?
Jem was a rockstar with pink hair, and was the lead singer of a band called the Holograms. She had an alter ego, the sweet, girl next door, Jerrica. She turned into Jem through magic/technological advancements/holographic awesomeness. But no one knew that Jerrica was Jem, and she had to keep her secret at all costs. Jerrica was always torn between being "herself" and being Jem. Sound like any other "secret pop star" you may have heard of? *cough* Miley Cyrus *cough* Hannah Montana. The only difference is Hannah Montana's power is in her blonde wig, and Jem's power was in the super kick ass earrings (show time Synergy!). Hannah Montana has to deal with rival popstars who want steal her fame. I can't remember the girl's name, but she had a ridiculously high pitched, nasaly voice that sounded like someone dragging their fingers down a chalkboard. Jem of course had The Misfits, who bordered on a little scary.
I know, I know. You think I'm a. insane, or b. have been hitting the margaritas a little too hard. Actually, either could be true...but that's besides the point. Jem is totally Hannah Montana. And what annoys me the most about it isn't that the clever people at Disney recycled the best 80's cartoon ever, or even that my kids look at me like I'm crazy when I hold onto my ear and yell, "show time Synergy!" when it's time to get ready. What really annoys me is that I didn't think of it first. I mean, this was my favorite, favorite t.v. show ever. I really should've thought of re-doing it. I mean, if they can redo Transformers and make a zillion dollars, I totally could've redone Jem.
The kids didn't believe me when I told them how awesome Jem was. Then I showed them this.
How can you argue with that?
My kids' bus driver is an obnoxious asshat posing as a Red Sox fan
Living in the Northeast, there are a lot of unpleasant things that I have to deal with, snow, mud season, black flies, and Boston Red Sox fans. Yeah, I went there, because I mean, let's be honest, y'all are nuts. Don't misunderstand me, I get it. Chris and I are both pretty damn obnoxious when it comes to our teams. Chris has been known to stomp around and throw things at the tv, and it would curl your hair if you heard some of the things that I yell at the tv during football season. Sure, some of you are not scum of the Earth, but I see your dirty looks when I walk around with my Not Boston Red Sox hat, aka my New York Yankees hat. Want to know what's funny? I don't even like baseball, I'm a football girl through and through. I do it to annoy you. Works like a charm, and it amuses me. Anyway, be obnoxious, I don't care, it's all in good fun, right? Yeah, until your hatred for anything not Red Sox makes my kid cry. The other day, the kids were on the bus and the bus driver said, who's a Red Sox fan? A whole bunch of kids raised their hand. My kids didn't, they, always wanting to be like Mom and Chris, said they were Yankees fans. So the bus driver makes them sit in the back of the bus. Like all the way in the back, reminiscent of the 60's and Rosa Parks back of the bus. They're trying to not get in trouble, so they go. Then the douche bag says, candy for all the Red Sox fans! He passes out candy to all the kids who said they liked the Red Sox...and didn't give any to the kids (mine included) who said they liked the Yankees and he made them sit in the back of the bus the whole way home. The kids waited, and waited, thinking it was a joke, nope, no joke. This asshat is actually discriminating against 9 year old CHILDREN because they don't like the Red Sox.
Anyway, they were both pretty upset. I told them to tell the bus driver that it's discrimination and illegal. They didn't believe me, but I was all, hell yes. Can't discriminate against, race, sex, sexual orientation, religion, or team preference. Says so in the Constitution. So they're all, can he go to jail? And I'm like, Syeah he can! I don't think he actually can go to jail for not giving my kids a piece of candy, but I'm not telling them that. Today they were going to give him a little trash talk, we taught them about how the Red Sox perennially suck and have only won 2 World Series since 1918 and the Yankees are awesome and have won like 248923498723984 World Series and that made them feel a little better. I suppose it would've been a better idea to just tell them to be a Red Sox fan to get a piece of candy, but we only lie for top shelf candy. And isn't that what being a parent is all about? Teaching your kids trash talk and encouraging them to act obstinate and stubborn just to make a point and to piss off Red Sox fans? I'm sure I read that somewhere...
Anyway, they were both pretty upset. I told them to tell the bus driver that it's discrimination and illegal. They didn't believe me, but I was all, hell yes. Can't discriminate against, race, sex, sexual orientation, religion, or team preference. Says so in the Constitution. So they're all, can he go to jail? And I'm like, Syeah he can! I don't think he actually can go to jail for not giving my kids a piece of candy, but I'm not telling them that. Today they were going to give him a little trash talk, we taught them about how the Red Sox perennially suck and have only won 2 World Series since 1918 and the Yankees are awesome and have won like 248923498723984 World Series and that made them feel a little better. I suppose it would've been a better idea to just tell them to be a Red Sox fan to get a piece of candy, but we only lie for top shelf candy. And isn't that what being a parent is all about? Teaching your kids trash talk and encouraging them to act obstinate and stubborn just to make a point and to piss off Red Sox fans? I'm sure I read that somewhere...
Heeeeeere's Johnny!
This afternoon we brought the kids to see the Hannah Montana movie. They actually had Johnny of the Cobra Kai as Miley/Hannah's love interest! So this kid, who they call Travis in the movie, is CLEARLY Johnny.
For anyone who has just crawled out from under a rock and doesn't know the awesomeness that is Johnny...Johnny is the uber bully from the Karate Kid. His gang of pseudo ninjas were called the Cobra Kai. He's the most bad ass bully ever.
See? Was there ever any doubt? Anyway, the final scene of the movie is the big crowd scene, it was so exciting, I just knew there was an ass kicking coming! And seriously, after almost 90 minutes of tween giggling and faux-teen angst, I'm ready to see an ass whooping. I start yelling, SWEEP THE LEG! SWEEP THE LEG! And, sonofabitch...there was no ass kicking. There was no sweeping of the leg. There wasn't even a good bitch slap. Nothing. Just a big stupid song and dance number. I'm like, what the hell kind of movie is this? You show me Johnny and taunt me with fantasies of the Cobra Kai and I get a stupid SONG? This was the stupidest movie ever. I hate Hannah Montana.
For anyone who has just crawled out from under a rock and doesn't know the awesomeness that is Johnny...Johnny is the uber bully from the Karate Kid. His gang of pseudo ninjas were called the Cobra Kai. He's the most bad ass bully ever.
See? Was there ever any doubt? Anyway, the final scene of the movie is the big crowd scene, it was so exciting, I just knew there was an ass kicking coming! And seriously, after almost 90 minutes of tween giggling and faux-teen angst, I'm ready to see an ass whooping. I start yelling, SWEEP THE LEG! SWEEP THE LEG! And, sonofabitch...there was no ass kicking. There was no sweeping of the leg. There wasn't even a good bitch slap. Nothing. Just a big stupid song and dance number. I'm like, what the hell kind of movie is this? You show me Johnny and taunt me with fantasies of the Cobra Kai and I get a stupid SONG? This was the stupidest movie ever. I hate Hannah Montana.
Trapped in a freezer with cannibals, whores, porn and other things you hope your Mom doesn't read
I'm kinda working on some site updates, just little tweaks because my blog has had the same look for approximately 2 months, and Lord knows I can't leave well enough alone. Fair warning though, I suck at coding and stuff so you visit and it's broken, don't freak out. I'll eventually figure out how to fix it.
Anyway, so I'm out looking for cool ideas to pirate, and I found a "rate your blog" thingy. So I rated mine, and this is what I got:
Also, incidently, in case you were interested, I can survive for 9 hours trapped in a freezer and if a cannibal ate me I would taste like undercooked fish. Nice to know I guess...in case I ever get trapped in a freezer with a cannibal.
Anyway, so I'm out looking for cool ideas to pirate, and I found a "rate your blog" thingy. So I rated mine, and this is what I got:
This rating was determined based on the presence of the following words: crap (8x), porn (7x), retard (6x), whore (5x), hell (4x), ass (3x), murder (2x), hurt (1x)
And that was just a sampling of the first page. Surprising thought that hurt and murder are naughty words and fuck isn't (used 14 times on the front page). Looking at those words make me sound like some wacked out psycho with an affinity for porn and retarded whores... or something equally as disturbing. And you thought this was a mommy blog.Also, incidently, in case you were interested, I can survive for 9 hours trapped in a freezer and if a cannibal ate me I would taste like undercooked fish. Nice to know I guess...in case I ever get trapped in a freezer with a cannibal.
Feeling horny?
Did you know that you can grow horns? Yes, really. I read this article that said that the human body can grow horns, usually in response to a disease. The skin on the body grows thicker, and can eventually be the thickness of the butt of a rhinoceros or an elephant. One of the doctors in the article said, "The horn is a red flag". Red flag, huh? Yeah, if I was growing fucking horns, I think it's safe to consider that a red flag.
Here's the article if you're interested. If not, you can just marvel at my horniness.
Here's the article if you're interested. If not, you can just marvel at my horniness.
