I Will Always Love You….Always

Hi!  Did you hear that Whitney Houston died?  Craaaaazy!

The news hit me particularly hard because, like so many other young women my age, it seems like only yesterday that I was teasing my hair, painting on my frosty green and blue Wet n’ Wild eyeshadow, taking a lighter to my Cover Girl jet black eyeliner (you know, the one that came in a red pencil), slathering on the frosty pink lipstick, zipping up my tennis skirt, making sure my socks were perfectly and symmetrically folded inside my white aerobic sneakers, popping my collar, blasting “I Wanna Dance With Somebody” and lip syncing it in front of my mirror using a tennis racquet as a guitar. 

Since I was the only brown skinned girl at my elementary school, I could get away with planting the seed that I looked just like Whitney Houston.  No one ever questioned it.  You know….because I was the closest thing to a black girl we had at my school.  It would have been racist to disagree.  It was one of the perks of not looking like everyone else.  I looooved it.

What I Thought I Looked Like

 

 

What I Actually Looked Like...But Not So "Put Together"

I was at my sister’s house for a Vino/Vinyl party on Saturday when I heard the news about Whitney.

SIDE NOTE:  A Vino/Vinyl party is one in which the guest brings a bottle of a wine and an LP vinyl record.  The wine is open and set out for guests to embibe as they wish.  The vinyl gets assigned a number which then gets a corresponding number in a hat.  The hostess has guests pick a number from the hat.  If your record is chosen you can either chose which side of your record you would like played or defer your record until later.  You know… in case it’s too early in the evening for Iggy Pop….or too late in the evening for Iggy Pop.  It should be noted that my record was Janet Jackson’s “Control“.  I challenge you to pick only ONE side of that record to play after you’ve polished off a bottle of white you hid on the bookshelf behind your nephew’s class picture.  It wasn’t easy, but I ultimately went with Side A.

So, I’m at the party when someone walks in and announces, “Whitney Houston died.” so casually that I have to ask him to repeat it:

Did you say that Whiteny Houston died? How very silly.

What followed was a lot of wine, a lot (but not enough) of Janet, Miss Jackson if you’re nasty, some cheese, and dancing.

Flash forward to Monday morning when I’m talking to my friend, A, about the tragedy:

Me:  Did you hear that Whitney Houston died?

A:    Shut up.

Me.  I know.  Seriously, though.  I was at my sister’s Vino/Vinyl party when I found out.

A:  Your sister had an albino party?

Me:  Viiiiiiinoooooo/Viiiiiiiinyl.  Wine and records.

A:  *Laughing hysterically*  I thought you said albino. 

Me:  Yes, she had an albino party.  I didn’t feel like getting my dress dirty, though, so instead of painting my arms white, I wore fancy white satin elbow-length dinner gloves….and a bald cap.

A:  *Laughing* Wait.  What?!  Albinos aren’t bald.

Me:  I know.  I just wanted an excuse to wear a bald cap. 

Then, I got a visual of myself at my sister’s Albino party, hearing of Whitney’s death……………

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Goodbye, Whitney. Goodbye.

 

 

 

 

Hows ‘Bout a Cup A Tea, Gub-ner?

Do you know what you get when you put a bunch of drunk adults who are on vacation, camping, after having spent the entire day at the lake, their stomachs full, and the kids asleep? 

Besides a few who refuse to quit (quitting is for losers), and end up passed out on their camping chair with their mouths open, you get a bunch of drunkies who’ve reverted backed to their 16-year-old selves, and who think that tea bagging those poor passed out souls is hilaaaaaaaaarious.

Pinkies up, ladies and gents

 But, you also get the deep thinkers, like myself, who watch these drunken shenanigans and think, how can we make this better? 

I leaned over to my friend and in my completely inebriated state said:

Me:  Why do the guys get to have all of the fun?  I say we start meat curtaining people.

Friend:  HAHAHAHAHAH!  Right?!  Let’s do it.

Me:  Yeah, we can get a chair, stand behind them and position ourselves so all you see is a nose.

Peek-a-boo

Friend:  GET OUT OF MY HEAD, YO!

My friend and I must have been talking and laughing a bit too obnoxiously, because when Hubby heard the words “meat curtains” come out of my mouth, he immediately stopped what he was doing, calmly walked over to me, gently grabbed my arm, and sternly told me it was definitely time for bed. 

 

That’s it.  Party over.

 

Geez.   You’d think that he thought I might actually go through with it or something. 

What? Wednesday- Are You Trying to Disrupt the Space/Time Continuum?!

Is that $3000 2011 American Dollars or $3000 Little House on the Prairie American Dollars?

Listen up, Greg.  Time travel is no joke.  I have a special place in my a-hole-ish Flux Capicitor-shaped heart for Doc Brown that pumps 1.21 gigawatts of blood through it everyday which means I take the space/time continuum very, very seriously.  I don’t think Marty McFly would appreciate you sending some possible reefer addict to the past and ruining the Enchantment Under the Sea Dance.   

Also, what’s up with the sexism? 

My advice?  Make the inaugural time travel trip yourself, find your past self, work together to get your present self laid, therefore ensuring that your future self won’t be such a  douche bag.

Are You There God? It’s Me, Dumbass

Due to a nasty storm which resulted in hail damage, the house is getting new siding.  I’m excited, but due to my almost constant state of annoyance, the whole things has been a bit….annoying.

I had worked myself up into an annoyed tizzy just thinking about it while watering my flowers the other morning when I heard a buzzing in my ear.  Thinking it was a bee getting ready to fly into my ear, have millions of bee babies that would sting my brain, and then all fly out my nose after killing me, I instinctively swatted it away.  I used the same hand I was holding the garden hose in.  I ended up spraying myself in the face:

Nice

I looked around to make sure no one *clear throat* Hubby saw that.  I was in the clear, and so continued to water the plants.

I was giving the rose-bush in front of our diningroom window a good soaking when I noticed that the shutters could use a fresh coat of paint.  “I wonder if they would paint the shutters when they replace the siding”, I wondered….out loud. 

*SIDE NOTE:  I talk to myself…a lot.  It’s not really talking to myself.  It’s more like thinking out loud.  The problem is that I tend to ramble.  Imagine what that looks like to a normal person.  A bit cray-cray.

Just then I heard a soft muffled voice say something like,  “I can’t believe this.”  The voice sounded distant.  The neighbors must have had their radio on or something.  Oh well.

I was working my way to the flowers at the back of the house when the hose got knotted on something.  That put me over the edge:

SON OF A BITCH! I hate this g-damn hose!  Why does it always get knotted?!  You would think they would have invented something that stops hose knots.  Actually, they probably have something at Home Depot.  I should look the next time I go.  I think we need AA batteries, too.  And, I think they have a sale on charcoal.  I’ll have to call mom.  She always knows when there’s a sale on something.

My tirade was interrupted when I was startled by “the voice”.  This time the voice was a little less muffled.  It sounded like it was coming from my butt.  Maybe I had butt dialed someone? I panicked at the thought of having gotten my phone wet.  I reached for my back pocket (wait for it)  with the hand holding the hose.  Good news:  My phone was in the house.  Bad news:  My face and my ass were totally soaked. 

The voice:  How long?….Again?  Seriously?

Me:  Hello?  Hubby?

The voice:  …..all day.  Moron. 

Me:  Whatever!  I’m almost done watering the plants.  Keep your pants on…for now. *chuckle*

The voice:  What?

Me:  Did you go to the store yet?  Can you check if there’s something that prevents garden hose knots?  I’ve been having technical difficulties out here.

The voice:  Hello?  Ma’am?

Me:  (Confused)  Hello?

The voice:  Hello?  I’m up here. 

Just then I looked up to see a man sitting on our very steep roof and a very looooong ladder laying on the ground with my garden hose knotted around it.   Then, I realized that it was Saturday.  The insurance adjuster was coming on Saturday to survey the damage on the roof and siding.  He was coming early, was going to climb up, inspect the roof, and leave.  We wouldn’t even notice he was there.

Me:  (Mortified.  Staring straight ahead.)  Hiiiiiiiiiiii.  You must be Tom from the insurance company?

The voice:  Yeah.

Me:   I suppose you need this ladder to get down?

The voice:  Yeah.  I do.

Me:  How long….

The voice:  A couple of hours.  I hoped to get your attention when I saw you come out to water the plants, but….

Me:  Soooooo…you saw?

The voice: (beyond annoyed and terrified by the crazy lady who talks to herself) Can you just get the ladder, Ma’am?

Thankfully, (for Tom) we haven’t had to deal with each other since that day.  When Hubby asked me why he was suddenly fielding the calls from Tom the Insurance Adjuster, I just told him that Tom was probably being sexist and would rather deal with “the man of the house.” 

Hubby’s not buying it.

I Scream, You Scream We All…Back Dat Ass Up

On Friday night Hubby and I decided to meet Drama at his favorite bar for a few drinks after work before we went to dinner.  Drama’s been working some really long hours so we didn’t think we’d be there long.

Three hours, a bowl of peanuts, three staggering trips to the bathroom, and several drinks later, the three of us are loudly and obnoxiously discussing our favorite of Drama’s ex-girlfriends.  Hubby voted for the woman who used to scream into the phone when she would call, “IS DRAMA THERE?!!!”.  We used to joke that she must be deaf. Then, we found out she really was partially deaf.  Awkward.

My pick was the woman who used to drive the low rider ice cream truck complete with spinning rims, and a noise ordinance-breaking sound system:

She would drive around town in this pimped out ice cream truck while blasting songs such as “Back Dat Ass Up” and Kelis’s “Milkshake“.  But, wait.  It gets classier.  She used to have a penchant for thong underwear, and if some kid was lucky enough to order the Sponge Bob Square Pants popsicle, he would also receive a up close and personal view of most of her ass crack.  It was like two treats for the price of one.   

I digress.

Drama’s newest interest is a woman he works with.  According to him she is beautiful, nice, and funny.  The problem?  We’re not sure if she’s a man or a woman.  You see, the rumor at Drama’s work is that this woman is a cross dresser.  No problem. 

Using Drama’s experience with classy women and my experience with tranny’s we came up with the following comprehensive “Chick or Dick” checklist which we wrote out on a bar napkin.  Keep in mind that Drama can’t get a up close look at this woman because he heard in the last sexual harassment prevention class that getting too close can be “creepy”:

1. Tell a funny (not dirty) joke.  Does she responded with a Geisha-like giggle or Santa Clause belly chuckle?
2. Do her hands appear soft and delicate or are you looking at gnarly sausage  fingers?
3. Is there ever any adjustment of a “package”?

That’s it.  That’s all we got.

I was going to call Drama this morning and tell him he should just follow her to the bathroom, but I decided against it.  I’m curious to see whether or not our Chick or Dick checklist works.  I’ll keep you posted.

P.S.  I missed you guys.

What? Wednesday- Who Run the World?

 I love Beyoncé.  I’ve watched this video for Beyoncé’s “Who Run the World” many, many, many times. 

I also love Cubby very, very much.

Your Kid is a Genius? That’s….Yeah, I Don’t Care

My sister is currently searching for the perfect preschool for my nephew.  Can I tell you how crazy this task has been for her?  Did you know that your kid can get rejected from preschool?! 

Let me just say that if that were the case when I was in preschool, I would have been screwed.  I don’t think any preschools would have been jumping at the chance to admit a tall, skinny, scabby-kneed, coke-bottle glasses wearing, hair chewing weirdo who often talked to herself and laughed at her own jokes (that hasn’t changed).

The only thing crazier than filling out a 10 page application for a French immersion preschool that serves only organic snacks with vegan options and costs the same as my Son’s private school tuition, are the cray-cray parents vying to get their kids in.

My sister recently attended an Open House for a local baby Yale where she overheard some crazy s*&t

Parent #1:  My child taught himself how to read and write.

Do ya think he could help me wit dis here formz? Der bee a lot of dem fancy wordz and gobbledygook I caint figger out.

Parent #2:  My son was speaking in complete sentences at 9 months.

Really?  What did your baby have to say at 9 months?  Did he tell you, in an English accent, that he appreciates your nipple hair because it meant he could floss immediately after nursing? 

Parent # 3:  My daughter was walking at 8 months.  She currently plays on the Toddler Olympic Soccer Team (she really said this).

Funny.  You don’t look Asian, but “The Toddler Olympic Soccer Team” must be code for Chinese gymnastic team. 

Parent #5:  My child can speak three languages.

Yeah?  Well, your kid is picking his nose right now….and he just ate it.

Parent #6: My twins can read each other’s thoughts.  It’s amazing.

I can read their thoughts, too.  They’re thinking you’re a nerd who is going to raise them to be nerds.  They say, “Thanks a lot.”

Parent #7:  My son has been playing the violin since he could walk.

That’s nice.  My son can thrash on the drums.  He’s going to be way cooler than your kid and will probably sleep  with your son’s girlfriend someday.

Needless to say, my sister’s search for the perfect preschool continues.

The Importance of a Safe Word

Someone found my blog by searching “spanking nipple twisting your girlfriend”. 

Interesting. 

First of all, although I don’t mind a firm smack to the ass in the right situation, I’m not a fan of rough sex.  Scratch that.  I’m not a fan of the nipple twist/pinch. 

My safe word is "Back the F&*K off, F*$&ER."

I’m reminded of an interesting story that happened to a “friend” 

*giggle*

Let me skip to the moral of the story:

Guys, when a woman says she likes it rough, always, always, always, start things off with a gentle nipple pinch.  She’ll let you know right away with either a coy laugh or a punch to the nuts what she means by “rough”.

There’s no need to thank me.

From the Fourth Stooge

Dear Readers:

Thanks for checking out the blog this week.  I still can’t believe people actually read this.

I have received a few blog awards from fellow bloggers as of late.  Thanks to all who think this blog warrants an award.  I appreciate it. 

First, please know I appreciate the shout-outs.  Please don’t think I’m a complete a-hole (I mean, I am, but you know what I mean). 

The thing is, I’m a complete dickhead I’m sort of OCD, and like to have complete control over what I write about it.  I also highly value the anonymity of this blog.  Believe it or not, I’m sort of shy.  I’m sort of weird about putting too much of myself “out there” (the moon landing never happened, the “man” is always looking over your shoulder, Area 51 is no joke). 

Yeah, I’m weird.

That being said, thanks again to all who have nominated me.  I really appreciate it. 

Please take a minute to like my Facebook page and/or follow me on Twitter.  I’ll follow you back.

Have a great  weekend.  I’m planning on smearing myself in peanut butter and lip syncing Search and Destroy.

DMTF

A Mother’s Love is Not a Mother’s Like

I truly love my son.  I do.  I really love him.  The thing is…..there are times when I just don’t like him very much. 

The weight of the guilt I used to feel about this used to keep me up at night. I used to pray to be a better mom.  I prayed for patience, a lot.  I asked God to forgive me for being such a disgusting person.   I prayed that my very occasional dislike for Son was just a reaction to the Terrible 2’s or the Whiney 6 year-old Stage or the 14 year-old I Know Everything, You’re Just Stupid Stage. 

Then, I remember that I am merely human, and that it is totally ok to not like your kids sometimes.  I mean, let’s be honest here.  They can be total dickheads sometimes.  

Example 1

Your child is two months old.  It’s 7:00 p.m.  You haven’t had a full night’s sleep in approximately 40 days, but who’s counting?  Your baby has been bathed, diapered and fed.   You think to yourself, “This is the night.”  You can feel it.  Your baby is going to sleep through the night.  If you and Hubby can stay awake long enough, you might even get some. 

You kiss your baby’s beautiful little nose, turn out the light, and close the door.  Fifteen minutes later your baby is screaming so loud that your first instinct is to call 9-1-1, because obviously a Dingo is stealing your baby.  Your baby is up for the for the next 8 hours.  Crying.  For no reason.  You love your baby, but you don’t like him very much right now.

Example 2

Your child is 2 1/2 years-old.  You have to go to the grocery store.  Because you haven’t had a full night’s sleep in approximately 910 days, you’re not thinking clearly.  You decide to take your toddler with you. 

You’re flying through the store Supermarket Sweep style because your baby’s nap time is in about 5 minutes.  If he doesn’ t get his nap he turns into a little troll who will make you want to kill yourself.  You have about $800 worth of groceries in your cart, but you know you won’t be able to put a decent meal together with any of it because you didn’t have time to check your list.  You need to get the hell out of dodge. 

You’re in line to check out when your baby notices a red plastic squirt gun.  He wants it.  He tells you he wants it.  You say no.  His baby neck veins pop out.  He’s screaming.  You’re sure he’s going to hyperventilate.  He’s in full meltdown mode.  You leave your cart full of groceries at the checkout, and drag a screaming,  kicking child through the crowded parking lot.  You have cereal and hot dogs for dinner.  Love does not equal like.

Example 3

You’re exhausted from a long day at work.  Dinner has been served, dishes are done, and there is a box-o-wine in the fridge with your name on it.  Just as you sit down to enjoy a glass before heading to bed your 7 year-old informs you that her history project is due….tomorrow.  As you look over her assignment you realize your options are to either create an entire Indian village out of toothpicks, twine, and glitter or recreate the Battle of Gettysburg using leggos, firecrackers, food coloring, and toilet paper rolls. 

You’re up the entire night glueing glittler-covered tampons to toothpicks You’re a little drunk, but you’re pretty sure you don’t like your kid so much right now.

Example 4

It’s Monday.  It’s Summer vacation.  Before you go to work you leave a note for your 15 year-old kindly asking him to pick up the dirty underwear and socks that are hanging from the ceiling fan in his room, take the chicken out of the freezer, and let the dogs out once in a while.

You walk in the door at 5:15 P.M., to the shower running, the freezer door wide open, your puppy chewing on dirty boxers, every dish in the house dirtied and on your coffee table, dirty socks sitting on the entertainment center, ESPN blaring on the T.V., a freshly laid dog turd sitting in the middle of the livingroom, and a note that reads, “Mom, I need $20.00 and I’m suppose to sell 150 raffle tickets for football by Wednesday.”

So, yeah.  I don’t like my kid sometimes.