Get off my @#$%&* porch. Unless you have Thin Mints.

Okay.  So.  We've already established that I'm not my nicest lately, so why is it that everyone and their mother wants to sell me shit on my porch!?  This is not a solicitation-friendly zone unless you're selling something I can eat.  I don't care that you want to give me a free roll of paper towels or a packet of Clorox wipes, if you're selling it, and it's not covered in chocolate, I don't want it, ESPECIALLY when it is insinuating that I need to use it to CLEAN something.  Especially when that something is a vacuum that costs more than one of the Hubs' paychecks.

So, in sum:

If you're not offering chocolate, or to clean my house yourself - and I don't mean a 1x1 square foot of my house, STFU and GIT AWF MUH PORCH.

PMS = Punch you in the Mouth Syndrome

Being female sucks.  The end.

No really.  I could totally end this post there, but that's entirely too easy and only kind of funny.  

So, in the hope that someone can relate, commiserate, and laugh, here is how this horrific phenomenon affects our household:

1.  We eat a lot of salty, pizza-y, fried, ice creamy, french fry-y goodness.

2.  I burst into tears over absolutely nothing.  This is usually followed by someone asking, "What's wrong?" and me saying "I DON'T KNOW! STOP ASKING ME!" and then being all whiny and pouty when no one is checking up on me to make sure I'm okay.

3.  I ask everyone and their mother if they're mad at me.  Asking random people at the car show this morning was probably crossing some sort of line.

4.  I like to spend money.  As in going to a car show for something free and fun, and end up buying $100 worth of Scentsy shit at a random booth and a funnel cake and nachos to make me feel better.  Hey, to combat all that trans fat, at least my house smells delicious.

5.  Someone will attempt to make me feel better by getting me Sonic drinks and/or Coldstone.  It generally doesn't help, but will certainly win points.  Points will be deducted by asking if I'd rather have the Weight Watchers fudge bar out of the freezer.

I turn our house into a "you'd better walk on eggshells and second-guess yourself four or five times before approaching the beast" danger zone.  I'm sorry, family.  But you're going to have to deal for a few more years yet.  

Pinterest, you're a time sucking whore.

Just when I thought that I had lost myself in Facebook, along comes Pinterest.  I am sure that if I was able to calculate the time I've spent on this website even I would be embarrassed.  "Hey Kelly, did you feed the kids today?"  "I'M PINNINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNG!"

You know it's bad when you've spent so much time pinning that you've pinned shit two or three times because you haven't taken the time to go look at your GD pins.

That being said, if I was working, I would worship the ground that the inventor of Pinterest walks on, because I can look insanely busy while I'm pinning reisling strawberry slushie recipes and how to make melted crayon art tutorials.  Alas, I am a stay at home mom, and there are diapers to change and kids to feed, and dogs to feed, and things to clean, and clothes to wash, and no, I didn't see the baby get stuck in the toy box or unwind a new roll of toilet paper or dump the legos in the air conditioner vent, I. Was. Pinning.

Questions for my kid: The Toddler Version

This will most likely be the first in a long line of these type of posts, because my child, well, both of them, have a tendency to do things/say things that blow my mind, and not always in a "OMGTHATWASTHECUTESTTHINGI'VEEVERSEEN" way.  I picked the toddler because, well, he's here. Shall we begin?

1.  Why does having a full diaper not bother you in the least?  It is not a marinade, moisturizer, or anything remotely close to being good for your skin.  And when I ask you if you need changed, shaking your head no and running for the hills is the wrong answer.


2.  Why do you find tampons and sanitary pads so fascinating?  They're not Lincoln Logs, sugar britches.  You running around the house with a pad in your mouth and two handfuls of tampons resulted in me having to have the period talk with your older sister and I wasn't remotely close to ready for that.  Thank you. :/


3.  Why must you check to make sure your penis is still there during a diaper change?  Especially when you've got a hugely disgusting diaper?  Don't you know that it's there?  Pretty sure you'd know if it up and walked away.  


4.  Why do I bother buying educational toys for you when you'd rather play with the air conditioner/heat vent?  Are you planning a HVAC career?  Don't fuck up my plans of you being an NFL superstar.  Don't you do it.


5.  Do you need to lick your food before you actually eat it?  Do you not trust me?  I promise, I will not try to sneak in vegetables in to your noms.  Anymore.


6-10.  What is in your mouth?  Where did you find that? Where are you? Did you just call 911?  Did you poop AGAIN?


These are the questions I've had within the first hour of him being awake this morning.  PARENTING IS FUN, y'all.

On the eve of the 35th anniversary of the day of my birth...

So, this is it.  The last day of my 34th year.  I don't know what it is about turning 35, but I don't fucking like it.  Not one little bit.  I didn't care so much about 30, but THIRTY FUCKING FIVE?  Balls.

Anyway, here's the newest installation of things I've learned lately.  I'm not getting smarter as I'm getting older.  Rather unfortunate.

1.  Drinking a bottle of wine is fine.  Followed by a couple of beers, not so much.  Because you don't remember to take the advil, and taking the advil is of utmost importance, you asshat, unless you want to wonder who's cat shit in your mouth last night.


2.  Your kid is usually the has the most adorable expression on his face when he's doing something he knows he shouldn't be doing.  Like trying to take the lampshade off the lamp, or trying to get his pants off, or trying to pick your nose.  You can pick your nose, but not your friend's nose, kid, and that includes your mom's nose.  Besides, you don't let me trim your nails unless you're asleep, and I think you just shredded my brain.
  
3.  Having a mini mental meltdown in Walmart results in your husband cleaning the kitchen, making microwavable dinners, and washing black and white clothes together.  Have another laundry lesson before next meltdown, or he'll wash your wool sweater.  Again.  Hey, at least the dog will have a new sweater.  Or use it for a baby shower gift.  Because newborns need wool sweaters...?


4.  The news tells me using hot sauce as a punishment for wayward children is a no-no according to the Court.  Bitches said NOTHING about sticking the Dawn bottle in their mouth, did they?  


5.  When your husband asks you if you will help clean out the garage, tell him that you have a splinter, you accidentally shredded your hand in the disposal, you are rendered temporarily paralyzed - something - because it will only result in you tearing apart the garage to throw away two fricking boxes of crap and putting everything pretty much back exactly where it was because "we spent money on this, I'd hate to throw it away."  And you're the new episode of Hoarders, honey.  Get A&E on speed dial.  This is important.


6.  Going to bed wearing a Breathe Right strip (which are the most amazing things in the world) may not be sexy, but neither is snoring.  However, you might not want to pick a night that your husband has been drinking and is being a clown because there could be pictures on someone's iPhone that could potentially end up on Facebook.


And that sums up my newest knowledge.  Let's hope year 35 (I throw up a little when I say that) proves to be more academic, in that life lesson way.

Halloween is comin' early this year...

Because I'm going to dress up as someone who is going to the gym to attempt to work out.  Horror of horrors, I joined a GYM.  I have to admit, this place is kind of kick ass.  First of all, the guy who gave me the tour wasn't all, "Like, dude, working out is my LIFE", which was refreshing.  I'm pretty sure if I walked in and saw nothing but a bunch of Hans and Frans and Jillian Michaels running around, I'd have about faced and ran (read: walked real fast) out the door.

Bonus, this place has a daycare.  Not bonus: they don't change diapers.  If the little drops a bomb, they'll come get me to change it.  Seriously.  It better not be while I'm in the sauna, the pool, because then I'd have to tromp through the entire place practically naked.  Uh, no.  I wonder how many calories I can burn just sitting in the sauna?  That needs to be looked into.

The guy asked me if I played racquetball.  Dude, do I look like the racquetball type?  First of all, I spelled it RACKETBALL, until Blogger told me I was an idiot.  I don't think I've played racquetball since PE in 7th grade.  Or was that badminton?  I really don't want to be locked in a plexiglass box where all I can smell is the sweat of whoever I'm playing.  I don't sweat.  I'm a lady.  Duh.

What was really cool about this place is they have a cinema.  Not kidding.  You go in this dark room full of cardio equipment and watch a movie.  Seriously, WHO does the eliptical through an entire movie?  I wonder if they'd notice me sitting in the corner with some smuggled in popcorn or Junior Mints...

Anyway, since I'm down 35, scratch that, 29 (thanks to the weekend at Mom's full of fried chicken, potato salad, and homemade ice cream) pounds, I need to keep going, but get toned and show my tweenaged girl that moving your body is healthier than watching Teen Nick and playing DS.  Wish me luck.