Tag Archives: 90s

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

28 Jun

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.


Dee Plane, Boss! Dee Plane!

6 Jun

I have one tattoo.  It’s a small colorful butterfly on the back of my neck.  It was a very trendy design in the 90s, and I’m pretty sure I was wearing ripped jeans, a flannel, and hiking boots while listening to Sublime when I got it, but I wear it with pride.  That little butterfly reminds me of my adolescence, and besides the usual a-holes and bumps in the road I dealt with back then, I have really happy memories from that time in my life.  

I notice tattoos, and I’ve seen a lot of beautiful and a lot of awesomely hideous ones.  Either way, I am always curious about the stories behind every single one of them.  I don’t care if it’s an intricate artsy design or the 90s tribal armband, every tattoo has a story, and I love to hear them.  

I was weeding my garden this weekend when I noticed a man planting flowers along the border of the field across the street.  I don’t know if it was the hot sun or the 3 piña coladas, but from my vantage point, it looked like dude had a huge tramp stamp across the small of his back.


My garden would have to wait.  I wouldn’t be able to get anything done all weekend if I didn’t get to the bottom of this.  I didn’t even know guys were allowed to get tramp stamps.  Isn’t there some sort of rule?  I had to be wrong.  It was probably the bottom of some huge back design:

I stood up, wiped my brow, straightened my gardening hat, grabbed my camera (in case it indeed was a *gulp* tramp stamp), and clogged over to the tree in my front yard.  Damn it!  I still couldn’t see clearly enough.  I would have to approach.

I needed an excuse…..TAKEO!  I ran inside, grabbed my dog and his leash and clogged across the street.  The second I set foot on the curb, I dropped the leash knowing full well that Takeo wouldn’t be able to resist the allure of a possible rub down by a complete stranger.

“Don’t worry, he’s harmless!”, I yelled as Takeo ran over to the tatted man.  I hobbled over as fast as my clogs would take me so I could get a good look at the possible  man stamp before the guy stood up.   

I was about 2 feet away before my eyes could focus.  I was frozen dead in my tracks by what appeared to be a dark, billowy, curly, dark, tuft of….hair.

Back Pubes

 Thank goodness it wasn’t a tramp stamp?

What? Wednesday- Beware of Frisbees and Pilgrims

1 Jun

I keep expecting the cheesy late night Cinemax Skin-e-max “boom-chicka-wow-wow” music to kick in, but it doesn’t.  This, is even better:

P.S.:  Great ass, pilgrim.

Video via Buzzfeed

Finals. Hole-y Crap. Be Over.

13 May

Dear Readers:

Blah, blah, blah.  Finals suck.  Blah.

Also, thanks for reading.  Blippity, blope.

Twitter.  Follow you back.  Bleeg, blug. Blappy.

Facebook.  Blop biggity.


Ready To Get Courtney Cray-Cray, 


Smells Like Teen Spirit.

1 Mar

I’m a deep sleeper.  I’ve slept through severe thunderstorms that have made national news, my mother entering my home, doing my dishes and vacuuming while I was asleep in the same room, sex, and a fire two houses down from mine.  The only thing that wakes me up in the middle of the night is my recurring nightmare.

It’s present day, and I’m at my high school (Go Shirts!) walking down the hall towards the gym.  It’s very loud, and I realize there’s a pep rally going on.  I buy a Mike’s Hard Lemonade at the concession stand, and make my way through the gym doors.  This is when things start to get weird. 

There’s a full-blown High School Musical-style pep rally going on.

Gooooo Blackshirts, tra, la, la, la, la.

The doors slam shut behind me,  and I start to get a little nervous.  I begin scanning the crowd for a familiar face.  This part of the dream varies.  People I’ve seen in the crowd include my kindergarten teacher, Matthew McConaughey (Well, hello.), my OB, Prince, an Oopma Loompa, and Jeffery Dahmer (ewwwwww).

Things get a little Twin Peaks when all of a sudden the pep rally goes from “High School Musical” to “Smells Like Teen Spirit”.

Ummm, I'm scared.

Two very tough looking cheerleaders with anarchy symbols on their shirts  pull me to the center of the gym floor, and present me with my very own cheerleading uniform.  

I graciously accept the uniform, but politely decline the invitation to put it on. That’s when they start go get a little pushy.  “PUT IT ON!”, they yell.  “PUT IT ON, NOW!!!”, the audience starts to chant.  The evil cheerleaders start yanking and pulling on my clothes, until I’m standing, almost naked, in the middle of the gym floor, a spotlight blaring on me, and an angry mob yelling at me to put the uniform on. 

But, that’s not what wakes me up.  What wakes me up is when I notice that the uniform….give me second. 

The uniform they want me to put on….sorry. 

The uniform…


 is……..a size 1!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  THE HORROR!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

That dream always wakes me up “Pulp Fiction adrenaline shot to the heart” style.

It was just a dream. Just a dream. Just a dream.