Conversations with inanimate objects: The pacifier edition.

Captain Awesome is two.  Captain Awesome is ornery. The dipshits who built the house we live in did not tack down the vents, which they put in the FLOOR. Hence, the vents are rarely covered in this house because Captain Awesome finds great joy in taking them and putting them in random places around the house, like on the toilet seat. (I really wish I would have taken a picture of that.) He also delights in throwing shit down said vents, and thanks to my Go-Go-Gadget arms, I have been able to retrieve all items.  Until last night...

*Camera pans to small child, giggling evilly, while lifting vent out of floor.  He puts the vent to the side, and attempts to crawl into space.  Frustrated at his failure, he grabs the closest thing he can reach, his pacifier.  After contemplating said pacifer, he throws it into the depths of the vent, not unlike the dude on Beastmaster throwing shit on the pyre, assuming his mother will come to the rescue...


Me:  Seriously?  Leave the vent alone, and quit throwing things down there you want to keep, because someday they'll go too far down for me to reach!

C.A.:  *cheesy grin*

Me:  *shoves arm down vent up to the shoulder, bravely braving what creepy crawlies may or may not live in said vent*  SEE?!?!?  I CAN'T REACH IT!  IT'S GONE FOREVER!

C.A.: *sits on dog*


Me: *puts face near vent*  Hey little pacifer, it's okay.  I'm so sorry he did this to you.  I know it's dark down there.  Are you alright?  Do you need a night light?  REACH FOR ME!  No?  Okay.  You may like it down there, actually.  I bet it's quiet.  And now he can't throw you, or chew on you, and neither can the dog.  Maybe I should join you down there.  I like quiet.  Can I get you anything?  Are you giving me the silent treatment?  I miss you.  He's going to miss you.  I'd say he's sorry, but I'm not so sure he is.  Is there anything else down there to keep you company?  You know, like a random Lego or spiders?  Because pacifier, if there are spiders, I expect you to go all dragon-slayer on their asses, because I am not having spiders in the house.  Are you even listening to me?  You're probably on some Pacifier Indiana Jones adventure, while I look like a complete fuckstick talking into a vent.  Maybe your adventure is more Goonie-ish.  I hope you know how to play the piano, or your pretty much fucked.  If you find One Eyed Willie, will you bring me back some sparkly things?  I like sparkly things.  Well, both of my kids and the dogs are staring at me now, so I should maybe fix dinner or something.  But I'll be back tomorrow.  You're not alone, I promise.  Nai-nai.

*If anyone wondered before this post whether or not I needed help, I think the answer is now clear.

You know, just in case your kid has rabies...or something...

This morning, I made the trek to post to re-register the kiddos for child and youth services.  This sounds like not a big deal, until I tell you that I didn't have an appointment so if anyone had an appointment, or was XYZ type people and they walked in after me, I'd get bumped to the back of the line.  WHICH, is why I was there for two and a half hours for a 10 minute thing to verify all my information was correct.  I don't mind, honest - bump me all you want to - just not when my kid is being a complete asshat.  Fortunately, they're used to this, and I was able to avoid the dirty looks from the other people (whose kids weren't being exactly saints either, thankyouverymuch), and bide my time with my nose stuck in my Kindle until they finally called my name.

I needed to get the kids back in the system so I can use the hourly daycare.  What?  Go drop Q off and go somewhere ALONE?  Yes, please.  Anyway, I have a training on Monday, so I needed to get my butt out there and get shit figured out, otherwise I'd be up shit creek without a paddle, and have to cancel on Monday.  So I get all the paperwork figured out, filled out, and kind of proudly, since I remembered to bring shit like their SSNs and whatnot.... and then I realized I didn't have their medical paperwork.  No big deal, the lady says, just have your doctor fax it.  AWESOME!  Thanks!  ... And then, she says... "Really, we just need the immunizations for Q.  you know, if he would bite someone."

Evidently vampire children are frowned upon in this establishment.  Bella and Edward would be screwed.

State Testing Mini Rant That Will Probably Turn Into A Maxi Rant, But Not A Maxi Pad, Just To Be Clear...

OKAY.  This effing state testing thing is just for the danged birds.  Today, The Preteen has the writing portion of the test, and she is freaking out BECAUSE, if they score a 5 or a 6, they've been promised a party.  Okay, I'm all about having a party, but can you wait until after shit is over with to celebrate instead of putting pressure on the kids to perform?  They actually FILMED A SCHOOL COMMERCIAL to play before the test this morning on how to relax and "YOU CAN DO IT!" and shit.  I'm just kind of flabbergasted about the whole deal.

Now, state testing is nothing new to this family - in second grade, her teacher told the class that they "had to do really really good or the school wouldn't get any money from the state."  Are you KIDDING me?

This teaching to the test thing is repulsive.  So is requiring Kindergarteners to be able to tie their shoes, know the alphabet, and be able to count to infinity before enrollment.  I could read before Kindergarten, but that's because Sesame Street was my babysitter.  I just think it's bullshit that preschool is becoming a prerequisite rather than an option.  We probably will do a year of preschool, just to ensure that I'm not raising a feral child (sometimes I wonder), but I just don't think it's NECESSARY.  Kindergarten is supposed to be about ABCs, 123s, paint smocks, snacks, and naps.  Fifth grade is about learning how to be a complete snot to your parents, insisting they're stupid, and doing math that your parents didn't do until college.

Ugh.  This was a rambly mess, but geezopete... It kind of makes me want to homeschool.  But then I'd never get to do THEBUSISHERE!!!!!!!!!!! happy dance.  And I live for that moment, yo.

The First Amendment Rocks My Face Off.

Fuck censorship.  Even if I don't agree with what you say, you have the goddamned right to say it in my country.

Do something today - call a congressperson, sign an online petition, be heard.

That is all.

ZOMGSNOWPACOLYPSE!!!!!!

Okay.  I've determined in my 35 years on this planet that I *may* have more common sense than the average spider monkey, but sweet Jeebus, this takes the cake.

Our beloved school system cancelled school today, and cited this rationale (I'm quoting this from their FB post): "All schools are closed today, Friday, January 13, 2012. While main roads are passable, there are potentially dangerous conditions on side roads, subdivisions and on school campuses."  POTENTIALLY.  Not "This is the Superintendent, and I actually got my ass out of bed this morning to check shit out, and it sucks", but "there's the slightest chance that somewhere in the county, the roads suck, so have fun with your kids today, and hey, sorry that they're going to bitch all day because today was their pizza party for good behavior in the lunchroom, so have a great four-day weekend with your kids being complete dicks."

Now, it is possible that in some areas it might be a little slick, considering the four hours of rain we had before it started snowing, but it is certainly not a "OMG GET OUT OF MY WAY I NEED BOTTLED WATER AND CANDLES AND CANNED FOOD AND BLANKETS AND SPACE HEATERS!!!!!" kind of situation.  In fact, the grass isn't even covered with snow.  There's not enough to make a decent snowball, much less a snowman.  Oh, and did I mention the high for today is above freezing and the sun is out?

Yeah.

I'd rather be waterboarded.

I've discovered a torture that would make even the most die-hard criminal (you know, Martha Stewart) break.  INFOMERCIALS (I know I've went on and on about this before, but evidently the powers that be give no shits as to what I think, since they're still airing these pathetic excuses for advertising.).  If I was privy to state secrets, or if I was an undercover CIA agent, or whatever, just make me watch fucking "as seen on tv" shit on a loop or ambulance chasing commercials and I'd spill my guts quicker than you can say "YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH!"

Let's start off with a trip to As Seen On TV land, shall we?  (Not to be confused with the channel, TV Land, although I don't go there either.  Maybe I should.  My 10 year old did make me feel about 87 this morning.)  My insomnia means that I watch a lot of crap TV.  There was a time when my bank account became very nervous when I'd have a bout of it, but that's when they had cool shit for sale on TV, like YEARS of SNL on VHS.  You know I bought THAT.  


Okay.  Tell me who the eff needs an Eggie?

Marketing geniuses, they are.

How many hardboiled eggs does one person need?  And really, if you're boiling more than a dozen, well, just fuck that, because your house is going to stink.  Also?  Is it that much of a pain in the ass to peel an egg?

Hey you!  Yes, you!  Do you ever get up in the night and wish you had a light to help you find the bathroom?  Need a snack?  Check on your kids?  How about those pesky errands you need to run in the middle of the night?  Look no further!  We gots lights on these here slippers!  Are you fucking kidding me?

It's now available in pink and navy blue.  I knew you wanted to know, so I doublechecked for you.  Also in kids' sizes!  (How's that for some effing customer service??)

The people on these commercials - I'm just going to throw it out there - I'm concerned for their mental health. No one talks in EXCLAMATION! POINTS! ALL! THE! TIME!  I think someone(s) need to submit for a urinalysis.  It's intervention time.  And these celebrity cameos?  Are you broke?  I don't care that The Bieb or Avril Lavigne uses Proactive or whatever it's called.  You're a kid.  You're gonna get zits.  Get over it.

I really need to find something else to do at 3 AM when I can't sleep.  I'd better make a trip to Hobby Lobby and find a project that does not need a sewing machine or a glue gun, because I can't guarantee my own safety when I'm that tired.

I don't remember seeing ducks in Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory.

So because I can be an ass, and I love my friends from Tha Dirtay Jerz, I had to start some shit when I saw that there were Bumpits on sale for $3.75, because you know everyone looks like Snooki in New Jersey.  Except my friends.  And Chris Christie.  Dude totally needs a Bumpit.  I can hardly type right now I'm laughing so hard imagining him wearing a a Bumpit.  And a Mystic Tan.  And taking a picture of himself with a cell phone making a duck face.

Can't... brreeeeeeeeeeeeathe...

Haaaaaaaaah! Thanks, Pinterest!

Okay, here's how it is:  STOP with the Oompa Loompa Mystic Tan Duckface business!!!  The following images, while seared on my brain forever so it's not an issue, should never be forgotten as so not to make a huge fashion fuck-up:

Thankfully, I don't know who these people are.  I totally stole this off Pinterest.  Well, not stole, it was free.  Anyway, this is a prime example of "Oompa Loompa Duckface - You're Doing It Wrong".  

I don't think any more needs to be said about this one. Thanks, Pinterest?

Stop the insanity!  Where is Susan Powter when we need her and her platinum buzz cut?

Eat, Breathe, Move, Duckface? Thanks, Google Images!

Well, hell, I just shot myself in the ass with that, didn't I?  Well, who said she was stable anyway?  Stop your own insanity, SP!

It's Monday.  And Captain Awesome has watched Tangled approximately 1749817 times this weekend.  And wants to watch it again.  Someone shoot me in the face and pass the coffee.  And cheesecake.

I was my biggest pet peeve today.

Rumor has it in March, we're getting a Publix (which I can't help but call PUBIX in my mind) grocery store. Do you know what this MEANS?!?!?  NO MORE WALMART!  (Sorry Kroger, but you suck donkey balls.  Except when you have 10 for 10.  That's cool.  But your 10/10 stuff blows ass.  Someone had to say it.)

I'm sitting here with a cup of tea (green, if you please - Tazo Zen - is there any other kind?!) snuggling with Sampson (who insists on farting in his sleep, disgusting, but not as bad as it could be since my nose is plugged beyond belief), and thinking about the day.  Which pretty much sucked as much as Kroger does.  I'll not go into details, because it was a combination of things that resulted in a shitball day, but we ended up making a FAMILY trip to Walmart.  And not just any Walmart.  THE ghettoy of the ghetto Walmarts in town.  Why?  Because The Hubs was along "and the lines would be too long".  Oy.  Anyway.

Well, Captain Awesome was wearing his pissy pants, and The Preteen forgot her ears, and taking The Hubs to anywhere that has an electronics area is just stupid if you want to get in and out relatively quickly.  Add on the fact that I've been out of my "take one and the chance of a anxiety attack goes down a little" pills for a couple of days (because my doctor's office scheduling staff are EVIL and hate me) - this trip was doomed by the time we realized we weren't going to find a parking spot within 1/4 mile of the store.

I was one of THOSE people today, you guys.  I yelled at my kids in public.  I did.  I did it willingly and without shame (well, until now).  I might have even said fuck.  Twice.  In the Walmart Subway.  And I was still the least offensive person in there.  So I cried about it, hugged my kids 1000 bajillion infinity times since then, and cleaned up a massive pile of dog poop in repentance.  And I bought swiss cake rolls (why are they swiss?) for The Preteen's lunch tomorrow and Spaghettio's with sliced franks for Captain Awesome (nothing like some fat and MSG for my kids as a reward.  Shut up already.)

Can someone say something to make me feel better?  Please?  Because if you don't, I might be forced to eat a pint of ice cream that I may have bought and hid from everyone.  (It's Phish Food.  That shit is like currency around here.  And it's MINE.)

I am going to disinfect everything that will sit still in my house.

Gah!  I hate being sick!  More than being sick, I hate being "kinda sick".  You know, when you feel pretty much okay except _____?  Well, my _______ is this raging sore throat.  I feel like I've swallowed razor wire that was dipped in gasoline and set on fire.  (Ahh, my flair for the dramatic rears it's ugly head.)  I'm starving, but eating hurts, and if I drink any more warm drinks, I'll likely wet the bed in the middle of the night.  (This is where I want to cuss my dad for taking his whiskey home with him.)

Captain Awesome has had a runny nose for a week, and started coughing tonight.  Not so awesome.  Dear daughter evidently has an immune system made of iron, because she has only been the carrier for all these germs that were most likely percolating in her school.  PARENTS:  STOP FUCKING SENDING YOUR KIDS TO SCHOOL SICK!  RAWR!  Because of you, I couldn't eat the pizza we ordered tonight!!!  And I don't WANT yogurt, and all the chocolate pudding is gone!  (Yep, I'm kind of grouchy.  And it's a HUGE pet peeve of mine when people come to work sick, and send their kids to school sick.)  Quinn is also working on his two year molars, which, let me tell you - I am so close to slitting his gums open with an exacto knife just so he can get some relief!  (Disclaimer:  I would never fucking do that.  I am a drama queen.  And I like to keep you on your toes.)  In all seriousness, I hate seeing my kids hurt, and these teeth have stolen my sweet boy and replaced him with Satan.  There's not enough Children's Advil and Backyardigans episodes in the world to make him feel better.

So yeah, I kind of want to spray the whole house down with Lysol, but let's face it - that takes energy and motivation, so I'll vacuum and mop and call it a day.  Maybe.  Besides, I don't have any Lysol.  My intentions are really good, though.  A for effort?

Mayhem. And I ain't talkin' about Allstate.

Speaking of Allstate, does anyone else think it's awesome that the "You're In Good Hands" guy was the "Fuck You, JoBu" guy on Major League?  Also?  The Mayhem guy used to be on Law and Order: SVU.  I'm full of random knowledge that gets me nowhere.  It's a heavy burden.

Anyway, back to the original topic, which I never properly introduced, and is not be anything resembling funny, is the current state of our nation.  I am saddened, disgusted, and embarrassed by what is going on inside our borders.  And while that is what I'm feeling, people outside our borders are pointing and laughing at us.  Now, part of me is trying to put a silver lining on this insanity, thinking hey, at least this shit is out in the open, and we are being forced to acknowledge that bad shit happens in America every.fucking.day, and hopefully the citizens of this country have learned a fucking lesson about standing up for those who can't stand up for themselves, you cowardly pricks!  Maybe NOW, FINALLY, we can spend some time, attention, and resources on DOMESTIC issues, rather than borrowing money from countries to pay them back (if someone can tell me how the fuck that makes sense, I'd appreciate it).  

October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month.  Just ask the NFL.  Disclaimer: before people get all fucking pissy, that I am NOT, in ANY WAY, discounting the seriousness of breast cancer awareness, or research. That being said, October is ALSO Domestic Violence Awareness Month.  April is Child Abuse Awareness Month.  Millionaires who throw a ball around (and that I religiously watch every week), have the easiest platform imaginable to be a part of something immensely important.  The Penn State debacle, while a tragedy and a permanent stain, is a microcosm of the child sexual abuse that happens every day in our country.  

The "Occupy" movement is driving me insane.  Mostly, because I have no idea why they're occupying anything, and chances are, a big chunk of them don't either.  However, whatever you people are protesting, I'm not sure what gives you the right to rape and murder and toss Molotov cocktails in businesses that you have probably shopped in before.

I am embarrassed of our government, and for them, quite honestly.  The only thing that I can be proud of at this point is that I did not vote for Obama.  Sir, with all due respect, quit fucking spending what you don't have, and quit making everything about YOU. (It's WE the people, not I the President.)  My bank doesn't let me spend when I'm out of money, so why do you get to?  And really, all you fucking senators and representatives who were worthless enough to not get voted back into office - why the hell do you get a pension?  Your jobs are to represent those who aren't in Washington, and all you do is represent yourselves and your own interests, such as insider trading.  

I am a patriot.  I am PROUD to be an American.  I am married to a US Soldier.  But this bullshit?  This is NOT what America is about.  I don't know how these people sleep at night.  I don't know how they can pin the Stars and Stripes on their lapels and not be overcome with guilt as to where they are taking my country.

I chose to use this space for this rant, which I really needed to get off my chest, and if anything that I've written is blatantly proven to be false, please feel free - in a non-asshole way - to educate me.   I apologize for any shitty grammar, sentence structure, etc. because to be honest, I typed out my frustration and hit publish.  Back to the funny tomorrow.  Promise.

My husband should trade me in for a new model: Episode 3

I don't even know what to say to get this ball rolling, except I'm seriously considering attempting these "suggestions" and documenting the Hubs' reaction, which may be even funnier than this bullshit this woman is trying to schlep.  

1.  WRITE A NOTE ON THE STEAMED-UP BATHROOM MIRROR: While your husband is showering, sneak in and write, "I love you" on the steamed-up bathroom mirror. This will steam him up as well, especially if you seal it with your lip prints! Hmm.  I guess part A of this idea is kind of sweet.  Except when you're a little OCD about things and know that it will leave marks on the mirror when the steam evaporates.  And then you have to clean it.  And even though you're OCD, you hate to clean and it causes this vicious cycle that inevitably ends up with you eating something you shouldn't.  Besides, Hubs showers at about 0345 every morning, and I'm not getting out of warmth and comfort to go scribble on the mirror.  As far as kissing the mirror goes?  Getting up on the sink to perform such a sweet act would be an interesting story to tell the paramedics when I most likely slip and fall and break my face on the faucet.

2.  PUT LOVE IN HIS SUDS: I'm talking about a bar of soap! Scratch "I love you" into his soap so he'll find it the next time he showers. (You may not want to seal this note with your lip prints, though).  She's witty, no?  First of all, who uses bar soap anymore unless you're camping, deployed, or are too much of a man to use a loofah?  And seriously, if you actually say you're too much of a man to use one, I'd bet there's one in your shower.  And you use it.  Even though it's your wife's.  It's no secret that mine smells like Old Spice Swagger when I get around to showering.  Besides, even if he DID use bar soap, I highly doubt he's inspecting it before he shoves it in his armpit. 

3.  PUT A SIGN IN YOUR YARD: Place a sign in your yard such as, "THE WORLD'S GREATEST HUSBAND LIVES HERE." Let everyone know how special your husband is to you. Where does this woman live?  Disneyland?  Seriously?  This just, man, I almost simultaneously choked and peed at the same time after reading this one.  No one is going to drive past your house with a big "AWW", they're going to think that some fricking nutjobs live on their street.  You might as well buy a powerwasher to battle the certain eggings that will happen, and not just on Halloween.

4.  LET BYGONES BE BYGONES: If your husband has done or said something to hurt you, forgive him. Don't keep bringing up the past every time you get into a disagreement, especially if he has shown remorse.  This is probably actually some sound advice.  Except if I let bygones be bygones, I wouldn't have any leverage or potential blog material.  And I do forgive.  But I don't forget.  Because someday that shit is gonna be funny, and I'm. Telling. EVERYONE.

My husband should trade me in for a new model: Episode 2.

Okay folks, time for the second installment on how to get fired from being a wife:

1. MAKE YOUR HOME HIS REFUGE: Let your home be a haven were your husband can retreat from the stresses of life. Do your best to make it a pleasant environment. Well, in all honesty, he does have a refuge. We have a bonus room in the house where the big tv and the playstation is. And it's not so much a place to retreat as it is to hide from the kids and the mess and the cartoons and the yelling and the whining and the tantrums and (do you see where I'm going with this? We have kids. And a dog. There is no such thing as an entire home having a pleasant environment at this time in our lives.)

2. CHECK BEFORE THROWING THINGS AWAY: If your husband has some things that seem useless to you, don't trash them until you've made sure he doesn't need them. But you just told me to create a "pleasant environment"! And having shit lying around is not pleasant! Seriously, Captain Obvious, if there is something work-related or I don't know what it is, I don't throw it away without asking, but I'll remind you that I'm married to someone who thinks that putting trash on the counter BY the trash can is throwing it away.


3. GIVE HIM A ROMANTIC CARD: Don't wait for a special occasion to give him a card. Find the most romantic card you can find and leave it in his car. Don't forget to add your own personal message! Maybe you'll even make him nervous, wondering if he forgot an anniversary! Oh, so now just signing my name isn't enough? What if the card said everything I needed it to? Wait. A card? You want me to buy a romantic card. I need to stop laughing and wipe the tears away before I can type any further. Obviously this woman works for Hallmark, not Bluntcard.

4. LET HIM BUY THAT TOY: Permit him to buy that toy he's been wanting so badly. Better yet, put some of your own things off, save the money and buy it for him yourself! Permit him?? That would insinuate he asks permission before he buys the next Call of Duty, SOCOM, or Battlefield. And put some of my own things off? Lady, go run around this house real quick and tell me what I've bought for myself lately besides shampoo. Go on. I'll wait.

5. RUB HIS FEET: Steer him to the recliner and pull off his shoes. Rub his feet for at least 20 minutes. It has been told that this may even improve his health! I. Don't. Do. Feet. I don't even like my OWN feet. He wants his feet rubbed, he can go get a pedicure. Or hell, make one of the kids do it. Isn't that why we have kids? To do the stuff we don't want to? Like pick up dog poop in the backyard.

6. MAKE YOUR BEDROOM A LOVER'S PARADISE: Turn your ordinary bedroom into any lover's dream without a lot of expense. Remove clutter and anything that doesn't belong, and replace it with scented candles and fresh flowers. Hang pretty curtains and find some comfy bedding. Place mirrors to reflect candlelight, and misting fountains for a romantic effect. Oh, where to begin... Scented candles, fresh flowers, pretty curtains, mirrors, and misting fountains - what smut novel are we living in? This sounds something straight out of Lady Chatterly rather than "I can't wait for the kids to go to bed so we can too, and maybe if we both can muster up the energy we'll do it quick and then fall asleep by 930." Besides, if either he or I walked in to a bedroom that was set up like that, I'm certain we'd burn more calories laughing than having sex.

There's more. Lots more. I think I'll probably be divorced by the end of the week, at this rate.

My husband should trade me in for a new model: Episode 1

So, I was spending quality time on ye olde Pinterest this morning, and came across this blog that had "101 Ways to Be Nice to Your Husband" or some shit like that.  So, I clicked on it.  And what I read made me simultaneously choke on my coffee and wonder why I'm still married, since according to this blog I fall into the "shittiest wife alive" category.  This is evidenced by the following:

1. TEXT HIM A LOVE MESSAGE: Send him a romantic text message on his cell. Make sure it's sweet but spicy! Okay.  I text him "love you" all the time.  I'm so sweet.  Spicy via text?  Uh, I know the guys he works with.  I also know they get a hold of his phone occasionally.  Probably not going to happen.  The last three text conversations with Hubs? 
1. Him: Bring me a beer upstairs, will you? Me: Get it yourself, asshat.
2. Him: Want to order a pizza? Me: Yesssssssssss.
3. Me: We're out of beer. Him: You go get it. Me: Fuck you.  You go get it. Him: Please? Me: Fiiiiiiiiiiiine.
2. DO ONE OF HIS CHORES FOR HIM: Pick a chore that he dreads, such as mowing the lawn, and do it for him. Watch him as he sighs with relief. Eh, well, I'm a stay at home mom.  I do all the chores.  With the exception of the lawn, and occasionally he'll take out the trash.  PS - he LIKES to mow.  He was pissed that I hired it done while he was deployed in case they (you know, the professionals) should screw it up.
3. START A HOBBY TOGETHER: Sharing a hobby together such as horse back riding, completing a home improvement project, or selling on eBay can help keep you close. Ok, we don't have a horse, we don't own our house, and we attempted selling shit on eBay rather than having a yard sale and almost killed each other in the process.  What we do together is drink beer and watch football.  Hobby?  I'm counting it.

Folks, it just keeps getting better.  Stay tuned for episode two.  I'd better stock up on the tissues for when the new wife shows up.  And the champagne.  

I converse with inanimate objects.

I should probably get out more.

I've realized that lately, when the little one is napping or playing in the toy room, that I talk to the TV, the can opener, the fridge, and I find this to be normal.  It is normal, right?  RIGHT?


Anyway, here is a sample of what I spout off to the things in my home that have no choice but to listen to me.  Someday, they'll learn to either respond, or do what I tell them.

To the TV:

"Seriously, must you show transvaginal mesh disease commercials during lunch hour?"
"Dude, your eyes are shooting in two different directions.  Who put you on TV!?"
"Weathergirl, showing your cleave ain't gonna get you a primetime slot.  Well, unless you're willing to have surgery.  But you need more work than your boobs.  Oh, did I say that out loud? My bad."
"FUCKING. BASEBALL.  Why the hell do I bother to DVR anything during playoffs?  Terra Nova kicks baseball's ASS, TV!  GAWD!  FIX THISSSSSSSSSSS!"
"TV, what does this commercial have anything to do with what they're advertising?  You don't know either?  Some help you are."

To the ac/heat vents:

"For the love of PETE, why didn't the stupid ass people who built this stupid ass house tack you down?  My kid likes to throw things down you, but as I am somewhat certain that there are things living down there that will grab my arm and pull me down (Yes, I know.  There is now way possible that I can fit in this 4x12 rectangle.  Shut up.  You calling me fat?  Bring it on, asshole.)... where the fuck is the Gorilla Glue?"

To the can opener:

"WOULD YOU FUCKING WORK INSTEAD OF ONLY CUTTING PART OF THE LID?  CRIPES!"

To the coffee pot:

"Hurr....rrrreeeeeeeee... I'mmmm.... dy.......innnnnnnng....."

To the fridge:

"I wish you would magically fill up with delicious goodies that would require no work whatsoever.  I'm going to shut the door, and reopen it, and you make it happen, okay?  Okay. ... ... ... You let me down every. fucking. time."

Am I the only one that does this? Yes?  Hmm.

I'm no meterologist, but...

This weather is just about to straight up piss me off.  It is as bipolar as my mother-in-law off her meds.  Case in point: today's high is 77, chance of showers, relatively mild, no wind, kind of a nice day.  Little warm for my liking this time of year, but can't really complain. The low for tonight?  54.  Cool enough for an extra blanket on the bed and to turn the space heaters on in the kids' rooms.  I sleep next to a man-shaped furnace, so to turn the heat on would be equal to me sleeping in a sauna, thank you, but no.

Here is my quandary:  If the low for tonight is 54, meaning that's as cold as it is supposed to get, then how in God's name is the high for tomorrow 52?????  Isn't this "simple" math?  Daughter asked me how that was possible this morning, and although I like to pretend I'm smarter than a fifth grader, I was completely stumped.  I just changed the subject.  Kind of like the other day when she asked me what a sister wife was.

Thank you, Weather Channel.  I like to start off my days feeling like I have only a handful of brain cells left.  In case you were wondering, I need my kids to believe that I'm smarter than they are, and YOU ARE RUINING IT.

Signs that blatantly point I should not have gotten out of bed today.

It is only 0943, and already I should just call it a day.  It's one of those days where I'm surprised I'm not in a full body cast or a straitjacket.  Here is a list of what has happened so far this morning.  Those people who say bad shit happens in threes have obviously not lived with me.

0400:  Hubs' alarm clock goes off like an air raid.  I ram my funny bone against the corner of the bedside table in an attempt to silence the ridiculousness that is our alarm clock.  I almost cry.

0422:  Hubs' leaves for work.  I get up to go to the bathroom since sleep has run for the hills.  I'm not sure what scared it away, the alarm or the fact that my elbow is still throbbing.  Once in the bathroom, I slip on some water from Hubs' shower and pull something in my lower back.  Awesome.

0427:  Crawl back in bed.

0624:  The last time I remember looking at the clock.

0700:  Daughter's alarm clock goes off.  Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

0710:  Spill coffee grounds all over the kitchen floor.

0715:  Make daughter's lunch.  She wants to eat at school.  Fight ensues.  She wins.

0730:  Stub toe on the wooden lip thing that separates the kitchen floor from the hallway.

0800:  Begin to contemplate giving myself an at-home hysterectomy with a butter knife and a melon baller.

0812:  Daughter out the door and on the bus.

0814:  I slip on the throw rug and fall flat on my ass.

0817:  Pour third cup of coffee and stare at the news.

0859:  Realize that son is not squalling to get out of bed.  Also realize that this is two hours later than he usually sleeps.  Internally freak out that he's not okay.

0901:  He yells.  Breathe sigh of relief.  Internally berate myself for being an idiot.

0910:  Commence chasing naked two year old around the house, begging for him to not start cleaning up pee in the hallway.  Eventually tackle and successfully get diaper and pants (gasp!) on him.

0940:  Breakfast eaten, mostly. Let dog in to clean up Cheerios and egg on the floor.

0943:  Sit down to blog and wonder what the hell else is going to happen today.  And then realize I've most likely jinxed myself, and should probably go buy some bubble wrap, but the potential for something happening in public is entirely too high, so a day at home it is, without using anything remotely dangerous like fire or microwaves or towels.

::sighhhhhhhhhhhhhhh::

When predicting the end of the world, is the third time the charm?

Aw, hell, y'all... evidently the Rapture is happening THIS weekend.  For real this time.  I guess the last two times what's his face predicted the end, those were just dress rehearsals.  Can you call something a "dress" rehearsal when you get sucked into oblivion naked?  I just don't understand how people actually think this guy is legit!  How does this guy have followers?  He must make some uh-maaaaaaazing kool-aid.  This is just another reason why I really don't like people so much.

Anyway, in the event the Rapture does happen (and you KNOW that I'm poofin' up with the best of 'em... I am, right?), I will need someone to go to Nashville to pick up my clothes that will inevitably be left behind.  And since I spent good money on that ball gown (not so much the shoes, you can donate those), I'd appreciate it if someone would not leave it on the dance floor or in some bar on Broadway.

I certainly hope that when I do poof, that I magically get the body of Anne Hathaway or someone equally hot.  Because if not, I'm just not going to be okay with going naked.  I don't need worldly possessions, but a t-shirt and some yoga pants would be nice.

My kid hates pants. And other assorted gems.

I'm pretty sure I let Q watch too many Donald Duck cartoons.  The kid haaaaaaaates pants (and wearing diapers, for that matter.  Apparently, I'm raising a freeballer.  Be free, my son.  Be free.  But only after you learn how to use the toilet, okay?  Thanks.) and since DD doesn't wear them, I can only assume that this is the connection.  That, and the kid can throw a Donald-esque tantrum like no other.  Hmm.  This could be another reason Walt Disney (well, his descendants) should be paying for my meds.

Lately, my dreams have been quite vivid, and how should I put this... um, strange to the point where I'm questioning my sanity.  For example, a few nights ago, I was dreaming that I was running late to a doctor's appointment.  The reason I was running late was due to dear daughter taking her sweet ass time in the bathroom.  (Not unusual.  Hold on.  The weird is coming.)  After hollering loud enough that people in Kentucky could have heard me, she opens the bathroom door.  She's still in a fricking towel!  And on the phone!  And drinking a glass of wine!  This is where I need to remind you that she's ten.  (Are you ready for my amazing parenting skills?  Because here they come.)  Did I yell at her for drinking wine?  Like any good parent should when they discover their TEN year old is imbibing mommy's stash?  Nope.  I yelled at her to hurry her sloth ass up and why the hell was she on the phone without permission!?  Evidently, in this dream, we lived in Italy, where baby bottles are filled with merlot.  Dream number dos:  I had just taken an at home pregnancy test, in which there was a very faint positive!  Hooray for babies!  Except the daddy was Gary Busey.  Good thing I have a laptop, because I'm still under the kitchen table, curled in the fetal position.

Dear daughter is in the fifth grade, where her science teacher thinks that assigning a research project is acceptable.  Seriously, like the parents aren't doing this assignment?  FML.  Anyhoo, we turned in (do you like how I said we?  This is so MY grade.) the rough draft a few days ago and just got it back.  We got a 98!   Wait.  We got a NINETY-EIGHT on a FIFTH grade project?  That I virtually wrote?  Wait a GD minute!  Turns out, as I go through the paper, that dear science teacher learned grammar at the same school that teaches "ask" is pronounced "axe".  Now I wish I would have told her that her D&G glasses and high heeled Mary Janes only make her look like she's about to star in a librarian porn, not look smart.  I swear, each year that goes by makes me want to homeschool my kids more, but then I'd probably end up killing them, and I'm too delicate for prison.

In other news, I punched my husband in the armpit.  It was rather effective.  I thought it was my quick-like-a-ninja skills, but it turns out that he had just never been punched in the armpit before.  That'll be the last time he sits in MY recliner.  I guess in the event I ever to get sent to the Graybar Hotel, I can use my armpit-punching skills.  Thank goodness for that.