Monday, May 23, 2011

Things I do when I should be doing other stuff.

In the interest of procrastinating (it's seriously my biggest gift), I just perused  Sweet Baby Jesus, if that doesn't make you want to drink or get a prescription for anti-seizure medication, I don't know what will.  The colors are INYOURFACE just like the pictures of the spokespeople, and if that wasn't bad enough, the featured product today was (I can't make this shit up) "CitiKitty Cat Toilet Training Kit".  AND... it's BACKORDERED, y'all.  Backordered.  Your cat will have to shit in a box like other kittehs around the world for two to three days before it learns the magic of the toilet, and aspires to be the cat on "Meet the Fockers".

Lookie!  A Bonus!

Don't worry.  There's an "easy return policy".  

I'm not sure it's not a coincidence that the following three items are next to each other:

As Seen On TV is wanting a sex kitten June Cleaver.  AWESOME.  Where's the martini shaker that fits inbetween your boobs, June?

I can't even talk about the "Romance" section.  "Better Sex" DVDs and a mini vibrator on "as seen on tv"?  On what channel was THAT?

For those of you who have vinyl as the majority of your wardrobe, look no further than the "Clothing" section for a vinyl leather repair kit.  Just in case your romp while wearing a body suit goes awry or you scuff your thigh high Pretty Woman boots.  (Just trying to help out.)

I've never bought anything off this site.  Don't get me wrong, there are a few things on there that look remotely interesting, but certainly not any of the above.  *if you do own any of the above, well, I'm still laughing.*

Friday, May 20, 2011

In the event that I evaporate tomorrow and you don't...

Wow.  What does one do before the end of the world?  Do you go crazy and spend all of your money because, surely, IT won't evaporate too, so go crazy!  Booze, drugs, hookers, what have you - go wild!  Run to Vegas!  Get married for less than 55 hours to your friend from 3rd grade.  Call your car loan/student loan/boob job loan people and say "SUCK IT, CREDITORS!  I'M POOFIN' TOMORROW!"

All great options.  I, on the other hand, went to Sam's just in case I'm not one of the lucky ones - ya know, might need some food, since the rioters are going to go bat shit crazy tomorrow at noon (FACEBOOK TOLD ME SO), got caught up on the blogs I follow, and tried to keep my kid from scaling the walls.  Well, two out of three ain't bad...

Anyway, I thought, you know, just in case I'm one of the chosen few, I'd better let everyone know just how much you mean to me.  So, without further adieu, here it is:

Thank you for all the laughs, tears, and other assorted memories that I can't really recall.  Feel free to loot my house, but only if you see my unnecessary clothes laying on the lawn.  Chances are, if my clothes aren't out there, they're on my body, and I didn't get picked in the lottery to go spend eternity naked, riding unicorns and sliding down rainbows.  Cheers!

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

Random mom thoughts that won't be in Parenting Magazine.

Sid the Science Kid's dad and grandma have stoner laughs.  As much as it makes me laugh, I can't help but ask who thought that was a good idea, and who thought no one would notice? This show makes me wish I was stoned.

Speaking of ol' Sid, do they not learn math and language arts?  And how much do his parents pay for him to be in a class with only four other kids?

If I nod enough, will she think I'm listening to whatever she's saying?  All I heard was waawaawaajustinbeiberwaawaawaaZackandCodywaawaaIneed$20forafieldtrip - WHAT?

The Fresh Beat Band never changes their clothes.  And I'm pretty sure they're all getting it on, they live in the same house.

As much as I want to crawl around in the creators of Yo Gabba Gabba's brains, I'm afraid.  Very, very afraid.

I really think too much about Elliot Stabler, Leroy Jethro Gibbs, and Anthony Dinozzo.  Naked.  At the same time.

I'd still watch PBS if there were commercials.

I wish my walls were made out of velcro, so I could stick my kids and dog on them.  Not only is it art, they're out of my hair.

Is 0837 too early for beer?


I hate that cat.

Yelling "WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!" after the light fixture fucking FELL FROM THE CEILING probably wasn't the most appropriate thing I could have said, but that's what I said.  Loudly.  I think I owe my kid ice cream for dinner for making her keep the toddler out of the glass while I cleaned it up and she almost missed the bus.  Yeah, I feed her ice cream for dinner occasionally.  Kidhood is supposed to be FUN.

I hate this fucking toy.  Who bought him that?  Why doesn't it have a volume control?  Am I dying?  My ears are bleeding.  I'm going to shove bamboo skewers under my fingernails.  Prison would be a vacation.  I need medication.  Or booze.  Or both.

There really isn't a way to write a conclusion for this, so I'll just say that all of the above aside, and how on days like today I wish I was at the pool with a 64 oz margarita, without a care in the world, life is a lot funnier and sweeter with these little two legged critters running around my house.

Most likely to be continued...

Saturday, May 14, 2011

Fat Ass Underpants. Or lack thereof.

Man, I was fat.  I'm still fat, just not AS fat as I was a month ago.  Not as fat as the day before I gave birth, but fat, nonetheless.

I have to tell you real quick, and then I'll get off the fat chat (I am so effing witty today.  That's what happens when the pest control people are an hour an a half late, but I don't really care because oh holy of holies, BOTH my kids are sleeping, and I should be studying, and where's my Adderall?  Shit.).  Anyway, back to where I think I was going with this - underpants.  Good Lord, is there anything worse than growing OUT of your underpants?  This may be entirely too much information, but for those who know what pregnancy underpants are (even if you just bought your regular kind two sizes bigger, like me), you never want to wear them again, right? (Unless you're pregnant again.  And really, if you kept your preggo undies, shame on you.  I kept mine, not for the just in case, but because I just don't make time to do shit like that.)

I grew into my pregnancy unders.  WTF, ME!?  I refused.  There was no way that I was going to put those monsters back on, even though they were the only option.  Unfortunately, there are certain times in a gal's life where underpants are necessary, so I broke down (yep, I cried) and put them on.  Swear they could have fit a baby killer whale, but such is life.

My whole point to this rambling mess is I fit back into my normal underpants again.  Hallelujah!  And they're even a little big.  That could be because they're so old the elastic is shot, but that's a whole 'nother post.

Happy Saturday, y'all!

Friday, May 13, 2011

I'm no Jack Handey.

It's a struggle to think deep.  I'd rather be the snarky, sarcastic person I really am.  Interesting, since I'm working on my doctorate and I'm being forced to I am having conversations about theory and theorists and assorted other boring dry topics.  I have a hard time not swearing in front of my kids.  I don't, well, unless it's absolutely necessary to get the point across to a 10 year old who thinks she's smarter than me (SHE'S NOT, in case there was any confusion).  I'm an amazing housekeeper as evidenced by this picture:

Do you like the "I'm the KING, bitches!  DO MY BIDDING, MINIONS!" look he's giving those poor toys?  (I think my favorite part of the picture, besides his rapidly swinging feet, is the faceplanted bunny.  With his ass in the air.  Poor, poor bunny.  We know where you rank in this society.)

I think I've created a monster.  Which I'm really not too concerned about.  I hate the fact that there are requirements to get into Kindergarten.  I want my kids to be as carefree as I was as a kid.  I didn't go to preschool and I still skipped second grade.  I don't use Purell, I didn't disinfect every bottle, he puts shit in his mouth from off the floor constantly, and he's still alive so far.  He has about four words, he runs around like a monkey, he faceplanted off the couch TODAY, I found him chewing on the dog's rawhide chew this morning, but dammit, he's a happy, hilarious kid.  And what more could I ask for than that?

Ugh, this turned into something I didn't mean for it to, but that's okay.  I guess it needed to be said.  ps - I'm down 25.2 lbs as of this morning.  TAKE THAT, FAT!

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Observations that I keep to myself (sometimes) because I'm a lady.

I don't claim by any means to be anything close to perfection.  That being said, I feel like it is time for me to let out a few of the things that bother me about people.  I don't care if I've known them since birth, a couple of years, or for 30 seconds.  I just wish I was ballsy enough to say it to their face.  Well, to strangers anyway.  I'm related to some of these people.

Okay, I am no Mary Kay or Estee Lauder, but damn, if your eye makeup looks like you just got to the women's shelter, you really need to rethink your look before you take your very pregnant ass out in public with the husband who people will think beat you.  Mirrors were made for a reason.  So was facial cleanser and eye makeup remover.  I'm sure taking an extra 30 seconds to make sure you don't look like a battered wife won't make you miss your reservation to whatever classy place you're going.  In your crushed velvet dress.  With your Bert unibrow.  Shiiiiiiiiiiit.  I could go on forever.

Those glasses that turn into sunglasses when you go outside and back to regular lenses indoors...I don't even know what to say.  But I'm pretty sure that you could have gotten prescription sunglasses and regular glasses for the same price.  At least you're not wearing those "As Seen On TV" HD sunglasses.  You're not, right?

Your muffin top, um, not so much a breakfasty type muffin.  More like a birthday cake in the shape of a cupcake.  Times 12.  Please wear pants that fit.  Please.  (Who decided to call that shit "muffin top" anyway? I like a good muffin.  Now I'm disgusted by the name.  Ruins my blueberry goodness.  Or chocolate chocolate chip.  nom.  Poor Otis Spunkmeyer is rolling in his grave.  heh... spunk.)

I don't know about you, but when I'm sitting in my car, waiting on my Nana or whoever to finish their business in the post office, I don't make it a point to roll down my window and holler at a woman who is attempting to wrangle a toddler into his car seat to tell her that you can see that she has patterned underwear on under white shorts.  Thanks for the tip, lady. And why are you checking out my butt?

Speaking of the post office... My son is a BOY.  Last time I checked anyway.  If he decides he wants to dress up as a woman later in life, fine, but I'm pretty sure TODAY, lady, he's not looking too feminine.  OH, you mean his HAIR?  Yeah, it's messy and curly and all sorts of out of control.  What?  You think he needs a haircut?  I couldn't help myself, people. Couldn't. Help. My. Self.  So I kind of on purpose made her feel like shit that the reason he hasn't had a haircut is because his dad is in a war zone.  EAT IT, lady who "needs this box to get to Australia as fast and as cheap as I can!"  She turned around and was all, uh, I have no comeback for that.  Of COURSE you don't.  I'M WINNING, duh.

If you are so miserable, yet do nothing to change your situation, fuck you in the ear.  You are so unbearable, men who used to want to get in your pants can't even stand to be around you.  Your "mini-me" doesn't want to be around you either.  Pull the stick out of your ass and appreciate what you have.  Because there are people who would kill to have your set up, you spoiled rotten douchecanoe.

.Wear your teeth in public.  A great example of wearing your teeth in public would have been at my wedding reception.  I guess I should thank you for leaving them in for pictures, but wrapping them in a napkin at dinner "because it's easier to eat without them" - fuck you in the ear too.

Anyone need to let out a little hostility?  It's quite cathartic.  Go on.  You know you want to.

Dear Neighbor...

Your "For Rent" sign brings me complete and utter JOY.  I really don't think I've ever been so excited at the prospect of new neighbors, well, ever.  No, wait.  The creeper who lived across the hall (one of the 812748 different apartments I had in college) - I was really happy to see him go.  I was really happy to leave the house I lived in where my neighbors had a load of chickens (who decided they liked living in my garage rather than their coop) and blasted mariachi music at 6 am on Sunday mornings.  But you guys, who I've never actually seen, I'm happy to see you go.  I wish you well, just hurry up already!  Your house has been for rent for at least a month now - WHEN ARE YOU GOING?

I've attempted to be neighborly; when I see the many random teenagers that leave your house, I wave and smile.  Since I've never seen you, and you don't answer your door, even when I'm in crisis, AND I saw you sitting on your couch watching tv, just NOT answering the door, I can't really be friendly to YOU, can I?  I've never called the ASPCA or animal control on you even though your dog is severely emotionally neglected.  You feed and water him, sure, but do you love your dog?  There has to be a reason he tries to constantly come in my yard.  There has to be a reason he HOWLS when I bring my dog in at night.  There has to be a reason he picked 0130 this morning to bark for AN HOUR.  Do you bring him inside when it's beastly hot?  When it rained for 5 days straight?  When we've had tornado warning after tornado warning?  Let me answer for you - NO YOU DON'T.  My daughter notices how you treat your "pet", and she is afraid that you are going to move and leave him in the backyard.

If a dog does not fit your lifestyle, for the love of GOD, find him a new home!  A home where someone will love on that poor dog and make him a part of your family - LIKE A PET IS SUPPOSED TO BE!  I would be more than happy to care for your obviously depressed dog.  In fact, I've already named him.  So, if you would be so kind to leave me Chester's papers and leash, you can leave now.

Your incredibly disgusted neighbor

Sunday, May 8, 2011

Walt Disney should pay for my meds.

Stupid cartoons and their stupid happy endings.  And their ridiculous love songs that make me cry.  I disgust myself sometimes.

My kids are watching The Littles on Netflix.  From 1985.  When I was in 4th grade.  Awesomeness.  Next up is Pippi Longstocking.  I can't wait for the commentary.

Happy Mother's Day!

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

Insomnia, you're a dirty whore.

I go through phases occasionally I sleep like crap.  For years, either I can't get to sleep, or I fall asleep and wake up 37983749 times a night, or I just don't sleep.  Tonight, I just don't sleep.  Caffeine usually doesn't affect me; maybe it's the chocolatey goodness of the new k-cups I got today (zomg coffee that tastes like German chocolate cake and chocolate donuts, WUT?!) that have me on hyperalert, or it is sheer guilt that I worked on an assignment for TWO hours and got NOTHING accomplished except that I finally figured out Pandora.  (WIN.)

I like sleep.  Love sleep.  Haven't had enough sleep in years and want to sleep for days sleep.  I hate how sleep is spelled.  It sounds like something gross and mucky and foul, not the wondrous rejuvenating thing that it is.  It's not that I'm not tired, I'm friggin' exhausted.  My brain is just driving the speedway tonight, and I have no off switch.  Even reading articles about theoretical bla bla bla didn't wipe me out, and that's usually a sure thing.  But no, Madam Insomnia has her claws in me and isn't letting go, it seems.  Tomorrow is going to be a long day.

History was made Sunday, May 1.  Usama bin Laden was killed by US Forces.  It was a remarkable moment to hear the news.  I celebrated in my living room while watching hordes of people flock to Ground Zero to dance in the streets and scream "USA! USA! USA!"  I cried.  I swore.  I felt the pain of watching the Twin Towers collapse as I was getting ready to go to my Juvenile Deliquency class at the University of Nebraska.  I grieved for the families who lost their loved ones again, and rejoiced in the fact that some of them may now have closure that the mastermind behind the insanity is now dead.  And then I thought about what comes next, and how this won't bring my husband home.  And it might make things worse for a while, both here and abroad.  And I should keep my head down and on swivel. Can I trust my neighbors? What would stop them from... And and and... 

This world is an uncertain place, but I will not live in fear.  I will not bow to those doing the work of the devil, because fear is his goal.  Screw that - I will NOT let that evil piece of filth win after his death because I played the what if game.  This is my country, the finest one in all the world. I am proud to be an American, yesterday and today, and tomorrow.  And no one can take that away from me.  Swim with the fishes, bin Laden.  I hope your afterlife was worth it.