Tag Archives: life

Are You There God? It’s Me, Dumbass

26 Jul

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.

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.

The Importance of a Safe Word

27 Jun

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.

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

23 Jun

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.

Oh Niner, Niner. I Sound Like an A-Hole. Over.

17 Jun

A client called this morning for my email address.  My email address contains a few “M’s”, some “C’s” and a “D”.  These particular letters are oftentimes mistaken for other letters of the alphabet which means I usually have to use the phonetic alphabet to spell out my email address. 

I can’t stand doing this because I don’t know the phonetic alphabet.  I get really nervous having to come up with something, and I always end up sounding like a complete:

I– as in, ummmmmmm……ice cube?

D– as in dog (easy).

I– as in (long awkward pause) intervention.  Yes, intervention.   (You’ll note that I didn’t use “ice cube” again.)

O– as in (OMG!  I can’t think of anything that starts with an “O”) Oklahoma.

T– as in toe-ma-toe  (classy).

See what I mean?  Over and out.

♫♪ Hoppy Bearthday Dear Wuelita, Hoppy Bearthday To Joooo ♫♪

7 Jun

A new thrift store opened up last week and Wuelita is dying  to go.  I know she wants me to take her, but whenever she brings it up, I quickly change the subject. 

Wuelita loves thrift stores.  She sometimes finds really cute stuff.  In fact, one of my favorite summer clutches is a Wuelita find.  But, if I didn’t re-donate 97% of what she buys me at thrift stores, they would go out of business.  Just this weekend she gifted me a pair of white sweatpants, a black sweatshirt with “Cape Cod” stitched with silver thread, and a blue baseball cap and insisted I try it all on for her.  It was 90 degrees outside.  But, that’s not why I don’t want to take her to the new thrift store.

Our last outing to the local Goodwill started off completely normal.  I grabbed a cart and followed Wuelita around as she searched every.single.rack., and when she wandered off to the shoes, I quickly rummaged through her cart to make sure everything was…appropriate.  

*SIDE NOTE:  Wuelita once bought a t-shirt featuring an iron-on Burt Reynolds on the front (she thinks he’s sooo handsome).  Turns out, “Burt” was really just some random 70s porn star with a really thick mustache.  The back of the shirt read “Free mustache rides”.  Needless to say, I now own that kick-ass shirt.

We were in the car pulling out of the thrift store parking lot when I dropped my phone.  When I leaned over to pick it up, I noticed Wuelita had on what appeared to be a brand new pair of Nike walking shoes. 

Me:  Wuelita, are those new shoes?

Wuelita:  Watch dee road, Sweedy.

Me:  Did you just buy those?

Wuelita:  Do joo like?

Me:  Yeah.  They look brand new.

Wuelita:  I know!  Eets a goo deel.

Me:  Wait, I didn’t see those in your cart.

Wuelita:  *stares out the window*

Me:  Didn’t you have tie dyed flip-flops on? 

Wuelita:  Joo hungry, Sweedy?  Joo wanna ham-bear-gair? 

Me:  WUELITA!!  Did you steal those?!

Wuelita:  NOO!  I jus leeb my ole shoes dair and I poot dees shoes on.  Any whey, eets dee same.

Me:  Ummm, I don’t think–

Wuelita:  Eeets no goo to bee nosey!  Joo hungry or no?!

This is my grandmother, and I love her.

Happy Birthday, Wuelita.

No, I Didn’t Get Raptured. Just Ripped.

1 Jun

What’s up Interweb?!

So, yeah.  I took an unexpected hiatus.  I basically took a hiatus from everything including, but not limited to, cleaning my house, yard work, and checking anything off of my To Do List.   Things I didn’t take a hiatus from include eating ice cream, reading some really good books, humpy time with the Hubby, and piña coladas.

Since my last post, I am now the mother to an adorable, but extremely a-hole-ish, new puppy!  I forgot how much work a puppy can be, especially when you end up with an a-hole like Kemba.  Obviously, I love him, but he’s sort of evile.  As a matter of fact, as I type this I can hear his evil puppy growls and snarls as Hubby sternly repeats, “Kemba!  No bite!!”.  This has been going on for about 20 minutes.  We better break that dog’s spirit soon or I’m afraid we’re going to end up with a complete dickhead of a dog.

I can’t wait to read what you guys have been up to.  I missed you.  Seriously.  I’m not just saying that because I’m drunk.  As my classy girl, Snooki, would say, “I love you so much, I want you to get it in”.

Jersey Shore, Bitches!

The Rapture is Just Days Away. What to Wear?

19 May

Holy shit, you guys!  I totally almost forgot about the mother f-in Rapture (when some say believers will be taken to heaven and others will be left on earth for about five months of torment) this weekend!  I’m posting this a day early so you don’t make the same mistake.  You’re welcome.

I can’t blame my End of Days forgetfulness on work, finals, and alcohol, though. I blame Target.  They’ll probably start putting their Christmas stuff out tomorrow, but do you think they had their Dooms Day decorations out?!  No, they did not.  I’m sorry, but isn’t The Rapture just as important as Sweet Baby Jesus’s birthday?  I would think so.  Way to go, Target.  Just for that, I hope there’s no Target in heaven (I don’t mean that).

Also, I’m sorry, but I was originally told that Judgment Day would come on September 6, 1994 which was really annoying, because I planned a huge Heaven, Earth, Hell party back in ’94.   I didn’t appreciate going through the trouble of making sure I had all the music, food, booze, and drugs in order only to have everyone but the guest of honor show up.  It was embarrassing and it was rude.  So, you’ll have to excuse me if I don’t roll out the red carpet out for JC on Saturday. 

Finally, I understand that some people really do believe that Saturday is “the” day.  But, before you go and stock up on hundreds of cans of creamed corn and bottled water, I want you to really think about this.  

Please don’t send an email to your boss on Friday night asking him to kindly suck a fat one.  I’m just trying to save you that  “drank until that guy at the party looked more and more like Bradley Cooper, had sloppy drunk sex with him, passed out, and didn’t know where you were in the morning walk of shame feeling” when you wake up on Sunday and realize, “Shit.  I’m pretty sure I”m fired.” 

I don’t want anyone to panic, though.  I’m fairly confident we’ll all still be here come Monday morning.  At least, I hope so.  I have gift certificate for a spa appointment that expires on Tuesday, and I was really hoping to get a mani/pedi.

*Thanks to J for the title.

I’m No Michael Vick, But Still….

17 May

I ran over a dog once.  It was a traumatic experience for a couple of reasons.

I was driving my old piece of shit Ford Bronco. (It should be noted that I hated this car so much that if it were a person I would have challenged it to an MMA fight wherein I would have mercilessly wrassled it to the ground, punched it in the kidneys, head butted it, gauged its eyes out, and then stomped on its nuts.  But, I digress.)   

Our neighborhood is full of kids who like to dart out into the road at any given moment which is why I was white knuckling the steering wheel and going about 2 miles an hour.

Sure enough, I saw an empty skateboard fly out from a driveway, and quickly slammed on my breaks while I waited for Joey Deathwish to run out and grab it.  It was then that I felt a very subtle “bump”.  My heart quickly fell to my stomach.  I knew I hadn’t run over a child (thank God), but I definitely hit something.  

I looked in my rearview mirror and saw a black lump sitting in the middle of the road.  I pulled over, tried to get my shakes under control, and walked over to what I thought was a cat.  It wasn’t.  It was a little black dog, and it was definitely dead. 

I immediately broke down.  I searched for the family. I fought the urge to vomit as I realized I was going to have to introduce myself to these people as  the evil bitch who  just killed their dog. 

I found the family outside the apartment building down the block, and through tears and snot told the first person I saw that I had just hit a dog.  Just then I heard a woman scream “NOOOOOO!” as she frantically looked around for her dog.

I was a mess.  I apologized and tried to explain what happened.  Just then the woman’s husband came marching over to me and chewed me a new a-hole.  I would have been scared if I wasn’t such a basket case.  I was a dog murderer. I deserved it. 

A neighbor who had witnessed the whole thing came to my rescue.  She explained that it was an accident, that I had immediately pulled over, that I found them, and that I was done talking.  She walked me back home where I relived the entire nightmare a second time for Hubby.

After a few days the nightmares started to fade, and I tried put the whole thing behind me.  Then, one night, on the 10:00 local news, I saw what looked like “the” apartment building down road.

I watched through tunnel vision as the heavily made-up news anchor pointed to “the” apartment building down the road while saying words like “dog” and “abuse” and “beaten to death” .  My heart was beating a mile a minute as I waited for the police to kick in my front door.  Could this be happening?! 

As it turns out, the grief-stricken family decided to dispose of the poor dog’s body in the apartment building dumpster instead of bury it.  The body was found by a tenant who thought the dog had been beaten to death.  She called the police.  Apparently, people don’t like the thought of a dog being beaten to death.  Who knew?

I ultimately relived the nightmare a third time when I called the police station to explain what had really happened. 

Readers, this is an example of how things in my life have a tendency to snowball.  It’s why I write this blog.

Please! No One Help Her!

13 May

You know how when you’re having a really bad day or week or whatever, and you feel as though you’re ready to snap, but then you see something or someone that’s a hot mess, and you think, “Oh good!  That is way suckier than what’s happening to me.  I’m so glad I’m not that person.”, and it makes you feel better about yourself and your situation?  

No?  Oh.  Well, I’m an a-hole and I think this is hilarious.   

AAAAAAAH  HA HA HA HA HA !  *deep breath* *HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!  *wipe tears* *snort* OMG!  HA HA HA HA HA!  *pee a little* HA HA HA HA HA!

Oh man.  I feel much better. 

Happy Friday the 13th!