Saturday, December 18, 2010

Holiday Confessions of a Tired Mom

My Facebook Status: "The ONLY good thing about my kids being at their dad's for Christmas this year is that I will not be rushing around at 5 am Christmas morning in a panic setting out Santa presents and trying to dispose of cookies and milk without leaving the evidence somewhere the kids can find it (trying to eat a dozen cookies within a two-minute period makes my stomach hurt, I know, I've tried it) because I couldn't stay awake longer than them on Christmas Eve and I suddenly woke up with a full out panic attack that the kids will find out Santa isn't real and the Easter Bunny isn't real and the Tooth Fairy isn't real and the world is just full of shit-filled reality and no magic at all and it will be all my goddamn fault."

Yes, I am obviously the worst mom ever. The last time the tooth fairy had to visit, I also fell asleep on the couch completely forgetting to put money under my son's pillow. Luckily my kids write nice, long, sugary-sweet letters to the tooth fairy asking to keep their teeth so I just went into his room, palming a dollar bill, and miraculously found it under the bed. I would like to tell you that is the only time this has happened, but I don't want to insult your intelligence by lying to you. Come to think of it...I wonder where the kids are keeping all their teeth? Maybe I should check on that. There have been some close calls on Easter in years past too. I can't actually put the eggs out before I go to bed. The last time I did, the cats misplaced an egg after batting it around and it took me a week to find it. Small children get up insanely early on holidays so I now know I can set up an entire Easter morning celebration/egg hunt in less than eight minutes. I think this is why Halloween is my favorite holiday. There are no secret agent type missions involved with Halloween (except for when you sneak into the kids' room after they have fallen asleep to steal all their good candy, which they really deserved because the little brats wouldn't share with you). You just have to spend a trillion dollars on an outfit your kid will never wear again (and only actually wears for a half hour because "it's itchy mom!!!") and you get a bunch of free candy for your troubles.

I am kind of looking forward to the day when the kids finally find out that I have been lying to them for years about mystical beings invading our home in the middle of the night. I think my daughter knows about the whole charade and is probably playing me at this point. We live in an upper middle class town, which means my children have plenty of spoiled classmates. Last year some rich kid got something spectacular from Santa, like a helicopter or something, which left my daughter wondering why Santa only got her a crappy blanket with armholes for Christmas. I wish I could send a memo out to the other parents telling them that Santa is not universally rich and ask for a spending limit to be set on Santa gifts. Also, one of my daughter's bratty friends told her that she got an elf for Christmas last year. That's right...a fucking elf. How am I supposed to compete with that? Plus, what do you say about that to your kid? Well honey, your friend is a fucking liar because elves don't exist. I think not. This year, my daughter was using her Christmas money to pick out video games and she kept asking me what I thought Santa's spending limit was (you can tell my kids have heard the word "budget" come out of my mouth way too many times). Is Santa going to get her one or two video games this year? And could I just tell him which games to get? You should probably write it down mom, you don't have a very good memory. Right. Got it. I'll text Santa right away before I forget.

I have to stop writing now and go buy Santa presents. I think I am just going to punch some lady out in the toy store parking lot and steal all of her presents. Not because I can't afford presents, but because I cannot stand the holiday induced idiocy and rudeness of my fellow shoppers. The reality of it is that if I go in the store, I probably will assault someone for being a not-holiday-spirited jackass. Therefore, I might as well plan the whole thing ahead of time so I have a good escape route. Does anyone happen to know where I can find an Elf who works really cheap?

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

Vagina Whisperer

My Facebook Status: "My biological clock is telling me that I just turned 30 and I NEED to have kids NOW because time is running out. I think it forgot I already started having kids 10 years ago. Anyone want to explain to my loins that two kids is just fine and I don`t need any more?"

When I posted the above comment one of my best friends suggested that perhaps I need a "vagina whisperer" to help me out. Maybe I do need the help of someone who can speak in my vagina's secret language to dissipate the aching need coming from somewhere deep in my body, or more specifically my pelvic region. I imagine the conversation between My Vagina and the Vagina Whisperer would go something like this:

My Vagina: "I just turned 30 and I NEED to find any loser with a penis (hopefully a large one) to give me a baby NOW!!!"

Vagina Whisperer: "Look here Vagina, this isn't going to be one of those super trendy vagina monologues…we need to have a frank discussion. You are out of control. You have life plans to be a rich and powerful vagina. You don't have time for any more babies. The ones you already have keep you busy enough as it is.”

My Vagina: "More. Babies. NOW."

Vagina Whisperer: "But don't you remember what babies do to you?"

My Vagina: "I don't care! I must have a baby to squeeze (not too hard) and cuddle and kiss and love. I am an empty shell of vacuumy, voidy, nothingness without another baby!"

Vagina Whisperer: "Remember how big those babies’ noggins are? Remember getting split in three different directions? Remember there being fifteen strangers in the birth room staring at you in your least glorious moment? All those interns went straight out to a party that night and told hundreds of people how the site of you ruined vaginas forever in their minds. You made those interns celibate, Vagina."

My Vagina: "Ooooh...yeah, that wasn't one of my better moments."

Vagina Whisperer: "Remember how you used to look like a glorious flower? Now you look like a flower but all dried up and dead and CRUSHED in anger. You know that every time you have a baby, they tend to be bigger than the last one right? Your last baby weighed almost nine pounds...if anything bigger than that comes out of you then I guarantee you will be reduced into a pile of flubbery pieces. You will be of no use to anyone after that. You will be nothing but a fond memory. No one wants to play with a memory, Vagina."

My Vagina: (frowny face)

Vagina Whisperer: "Do you remember being pregnant? All you wanted all the time was for someone to touch you but this was the only time in your life that no one really wanted anything to do with you. Remember when you were told that pregnant vagina doesn't taste as good as not-pregnant vagina? Remember the heartbreak? Remember the utter devastation? That was one of the worst times of your life."

My Vagina (with tears rolling down her, well...sides): "Let's not go over that again."

Vagina Whisperer: "Remember not having the energy to "play" when the babies were young? No? Me neither, that didn't happen. BUT you're really fucking old now Vagina, who knows what would happen this time around. Remember that six-week waiting period after the babies were born? I know you really only waited three weeks but that really sucked. Do you want to go through that again?"

My Vagina: (staring abashedly at her teeny tiny vagina shoes)

Vagina Whisperer: "If you just wait another fifteen to twenty years (God willing), than you'll get grandbabies that you don't have to constantly yell at and will not participate in your final demise. There...won't that be nice? It's time to retire vagina. Let's just cement in a permanent diaphragm here and you'll be good to go....wait...wait...just a few more bolts...there, isn't that better? Move to somewhere sunny, learn how to surf, and just relax. Your grandbabies will be here soon enough."

Ummmm...anyone know any good vagina cementing quotes I can finish this up with? Anyone? Anyone?

Friday, December 3, 2010

To the Bullshitters

My Facebook Status:  “I just had the kids’ parent teacher conferences.  The teachers said my kids are better than your kids and every other kid that ever existed on the face of the earth at everything.” 
I would like to tell you a secret about all those people who say things like: “my kid should be in the baseball hall of fame”, “pregnancy is great; I have never felt better in my life”, “my girlfriend is the most beautiful woman you have ever laid eyes on” and “I have the most wonderful husband on the face of the earth”.  These people are lying because they cannot deal with their reality, and they definitely don’t want you to know what is really going on.  For the ease of explanation, let’s call these people the bullshitters.  Bullshitter One’s kid is awful at sports.  His coach prays before every game that the kid got the flu and won’t show up.  Bullshitter Two’s pregnant feet are four times their normal size.  Bullshitter Three’s girlfriend is so homely, even her mother won’t carry around a picture of her in her wallet.  As for our last bullshitter, the one who says her husband is so fabulous…she and Mr. Fantastic are in marriage counseling because one of them is fucking the neighbor.  This particular bullshitter is most definitely on the verge of divorce. 
Please don’t confuse my disdain for the bullshitters with contempt for optimists.  Everyone needs some hopeful optimism in their life.  The optimists are the yin to my yang, I need them.  The bullshitters are not optimists, they are the people who tell you in public that everything is so great that they actually shit rainbows on a daily basis, but when you are in private all they do is complain about how bad things are.
I blame these compulsive deceivers for young people jumping into marriage because they think marriage is the key to lifelong happiness.  I blame these fabricators for not telling childless women how hard it is to actually raise children.   I blame them for the inevitable sadness that comes when reality hits you like a slap from a righteous bitch at a bar who thinks she’s too good for you. 
Save your bullshit for your coworkers, don’t do your friends and yourself the disservice of not simply being yourself.  It is fine if your kid is better at chess than at baseball.  If his only talent is irritating the hell out of everyone in his vicinity, that is okay too.  We will still accept you if you are pregnant, your ass is elephant sized, and you just want to be done with it.  It is alright if your girlfriend resembles an orangutan, you are not so hot yourself.  We expected this.  It is okay if your husband stays out until midnight because he is screwing his coworker.  We will hate him or sort-of-accept-him-and-make-him-suffer-for-it-with-our-witty-retorts-and-never-really-trust-him-again-for-the-next-thirty-years-until-the-god-damn-bastard-finally-dies-of-a-heart-attack-thank-god-because-we-were-just-about-to-poison-his-dinner-because-we-can’t-stand-looking-at-him-anymore right along with you…no matter what you decide to do about it. 
Come on over to our side, everything will be fine.  Who knows…maybe the truth really will set you free. 

Monday, October 25, 2010

Child Wars

My Facebook status:  “My son earned a marshmallow crossbow for all his boy scout popcorn sales.  I believe this will be infinitely better than the laser sighted Star Wars foam dart gun he got for his birthday which he promptly shot his sister in the eyeball with.  I don’t think marshmallows will hurt as much when forcibly projected at the eyeball.”
Let me just preface this story by saying that I have two amazing kids.  BUT they are kids.  Kids are generally little balls of unbridled emotion.  Those of you without children may not understand any of this, but I know those of you with children know exactly what I am talking about.  We had one of those weekends that make you think about drowning yourself in the dirty dishwater while you are cleaning the zillions of dishes your family created.  At the end of Sunday I was thinking that maybe I have anger issues because I had spent 80% of my day yelling at my children.  Then I remembered that they had been trying to maim and/or blind each other the ENTIRE day.  I guess yelling is necessary sometimes so that they actually live to see their 18th birthdays.  I was talking to some of the women at work and one told me that her thirty-something sons recently admitted to having thrown knives at each other when they were kids while they were at home by themselves….and I was worried about a toaster fire when they are older and can stay home alone.  Silly me…
Let’s go over the major highlights of my Sunday.  We were running errands early in the day, my daughter decided to annoy my son while he was sleeping in the car on the way back (because she cannot possibly sit still and just listen to music for ten minutes) and he promptly smacked her in the face out of a dead sleep.  Of course she retaliated by hitting him four or five times because I couldn’t reach her to hold her back while I was driving.  Stupid normal sized arms of mine.  This was the beginning of an all out, no holds barred, war filled Sunday between the two of them.   My son got a laser sighted Star Wars foam dart gun for his birthday.  This thing propels foam darts at a miraculously painful speed.  They should write that on the box “propels darts at a miraculously painful speed” so at least you are aware before you open it up.  I told him maybe four million times not to hit his sister in the face with this thing.  Just to add to the joy of this toy, they put a laser sight on it that apparently is very accurate.  Who would have guessed?  So anyway, inevitably he pulled the trigger while “accidentally” aiming it right at his sister’s eyeball while I was taking a shower.  This made her start screaming and scenes of millions of dollars of retina surgeries in our near future danced before my eyes.  There went my nice quiet relaxing shower...luckily, her little eyeball is fine.  I decided to make the kids clean their room and fold their clothes as a punishment for being hooligans the entire day.  Cleaning makes them even more hostile, so I have no idea why I made this decision.  They decided to whip each other with their clothes instead of folding them.  I remember what it’s like to get hit with a zipper (because I also have a sister) and it’s not very pleasant.  Their defense in this situation was that they had each other’s clothes in their respective piles and they were “giving” them back.  One of my kids honestly looked at me late in the day and asked me why I had been yelling so much all day.  Sigh.
After a horrendous day filled with battling children, I sat down on my son’s bed to tuck him in and I asked him why the two of them think that it is okay to hit each other all day long, because adults certainly do not hit each other.  Then I was thinking that I am sure adults would constantly hit each other if it weren’t illegal.  Maybe we would all be better off if every time we did some asshole thing to someone else at work, we got a good hard smack from our cube neighbor.  So much for a nice calm Sunday…although when I got to work on Monday all I could think was that I wanted to go back home to hang out with/yell at/watch movies with/listen to whining from/cuddle with my two little monsters.  Maybe I have Stockholm syndrome. 
"My mother did not put all her eggs in one basket, so to speak: she gave me a younger brother named Russell, who taught me what was meant by 'survival of the fittest.'" –Bill Cosby

Friday, October 1, 2010


My Facebook Status:  “Yet another thing I hate about having a female boss:  If I run into her in the bathroom she always wants to talk to me.  Look lady, I am in there to do my business and make sure my ass looks good in these jeans.  I do not want to chat, if you insist on annoying me, let’s go by the coffee machine where at least I have the opportunity to 'accidentally' spill some scalding hot liquid on your shoes.”
Now you may think my hostile thoughts towards my boss are uncalled for.  Well that’s okay, everyone is wrong sometimes.  You, my friend, are wrong.  My boss is a bi-polar, obsessive compulsive, back-stabbing, lying, stupid little troll.  I think she may have been cloned from some of my relatives, or vice versa. 
 I have had a particularly rough couple of weeks at work.  Last week I had a heated argument with my boss about an ethics issue.  She yelled at me to do what I am told, and I said, absolutely not you horrible little wrinkled troll.  Actually, I left out the “horrible, little wrinkled troll” part…too bad, I know.  Someone must have explained to her what “ethics” means over the weekend because she came back on Monday treating me like gold and pretending like it never happened.  I feel like an abused wife whose husband beats the shit out of her one night and then brings her flowers the next.  Every day on my way to work, I pray that my job will be moved to Texas and this will be my last horrific, survival of the fittest, anxiety-ridden, traffic-filled drive to work.  My Troll-Boss harassed the last woman who did my job until she quit.  She was actually epileptic and the troll purposely put so much stress on her, trying to make her quit, that she had more seizures than she has had in years.  She had a seizure at work and five minutes after the seizure was over, my Troll-Boss went over and started berating the poor woman over her accounts.  When the woman inevitably quit, my Troll-Boss told the woman to keep in touch.  I had a dream last night about what I would say to my boss when I quit/get laid off and she asks me to keep in touch.  I think I will go with one of the following: 
If you contact me I will not hesitate to get a restraining order against you.
I will only be talking to you in my nightmares lady.
I am sure the next time I talk to you will be when I die and go to hell.  There is no doubt in my mind that you will be a central part of my own personal hell.
There is no better motivation for me to do well in school than coming to work every day only to be reminded that I do not want to work in Corporate America for people with low IQ’s and an affinity for ass kissing any longer than I have to.  Of course the wise, cynical, and hilarious Mark Twain felt my pain when he wrote the following: "All you need in this life is ignorance and confidence, and then success is sure."
I realize that I cannot succeed in this environment, so I choose to remove myself from it.  Even if I miraculously get a new boss, I am afraid it will be more of the same.  I told one of my Texan coworkers, I dream of hitting people at work with dodge balls so I fear that this job is bringing out my violent tendencies.  He said dodge ball, smodge ball…he thinks of using sledge hammers.  Whether I find a new job now or in six months or live through this torture until I graduate in two years remains to be seen.  Although I promise that my petty-back-stabbing-hate-my-life-so-I-want-to-ruin-yours colleagues will not get the best of me in the process.

Monday, September 13, 2010

To Cope or Not To Cope

My Facebook Status:  “I start my first three (two and a half really) college courses since 1999 today.  Da da da daaaaaaa…super mom-dom here I come!!”
I enrolled in a program (that consists of many online courses and some old-fashioned classroom courses) designed for students age 24 years and older.  Soooo…in one of my courses they asked us to discuss ways we are going to cope and manage our time on our journey back to college.  This was my OFFICIAL answer:
“I have been thinking a lot about time management.  I am taking three online courses this semester.   I manage two children on my own who are in multiple activities, coach both their soccer teams, work full time, and also play soccer myself (soccer is my “me time”).  I am mostly worried about being awake enough to do my best on my school work.  I believe the right thing for me is to go to bed when the kids do and wake up early to work on assignments before work.  I also have some time on the weekends to work on assignments and have started setting a more strict homework time for the whole family before bed.”
Boring right?  It is going to kill me to try to be serious in these classes.  The following is my UNOFFICIAL Guide to surviving this period of my life:
I will not lose my mind due to my busy schedule.  Busy is good, keep on running.  Eat my dust losers.
I will learn to say “hell no” to needy people so I have time for my assignments AND sleep.  I don’t care what you think, my future is more important than your neediness.
I will eat well, exercise and get solid blocks of sleep so I have the energy for my life and more importantly, the energy to crush other players at soccer.
I will not let my sense of humor jump out the window; humor is the key to coping.
I will scream, cry and throw tantrums to get help when I need it.  Not psychiatric help…help in getting the kids to their activities.   Geez. 
I will live by my planner (people who live by their planners suck, I realize this) so I do not forget anything important.
I will stop holding myself to impossible standards; everyone could use a break sometimes.  It is impossible to be perfect, it is impossible to be perfect, it is impossible to be perfect…
I will not let the idiots, the perverts, the assholes, the crazies, the drama queens, or the bosses (who also fit into all previously mentioned categories) get to me.  I am working on a new life; I am serenity.
I will breathe deeply and eat ice cream, but probably not at the same time. 
And finally, I will follow this advice every day:  “The secret of getting ahead is getting started.  The secret of getting started is breaking your complex overwhelming tasks into small manageable tasks, and then starting on the first one.”  -Mark Twain

Monday, August 23, 2010

Laughter and Farts

My Facebook Status: Luke (upon seeing a video of Cyndi Lauper from the 80`s): "Oh my god, she`s creepy!! How did people date her?"

What are little children made of? 
Laughter and farts and oh so much heart.

I have been doing my best to write down amusing quotes from my children the last couple of years (too bad I didn't think of it sooner).  So, I thought the best way to introduce you to them would be with their own words:

Luke: "Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. MOM!" Me: "What?" Luke: "I love you so much you could die. WAIT! WAIT! I love you so much I could die."

Me: "Do you want some blackberries?" Luke (excitedly): "Fairies??!!" Me: "No baby, BLACKBERRIES."  Luke (disappointedly): "Oh no...that`s okay."

Luke: "Mommy, I love you more than ice cream and Lily doesn't. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!! LILY IS SITTING ON ME!!!!! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!"

Me: "Baby you only have one pair of socks in here." Luke: "I only need one pair of socks." Me: "For three weeks?" Luke: "Uh huh." Me: "Gross." Luke: "Uh huh."

Lily thinks it`s amusing that hockey players get just as many time-outs as she does.

Lily: "Why don`t you marry Mark?" Me: "Because Mark`s not the marrying kind." Lily:
"Maaaaaarrrrrkkkk!!  Why aren`t you the marrying kind?!!"

Little kid: "My dad said every Friday is opposite day." Luke: "Your dad lied to you kid."

Me: "Joanna, I think Lily`s coming over to your house for a play date later." Joanna (Lily's friend, age 9): "I got a bug in my mouth earlier."

Luke: "Barbie is really not cute at all." I LOVE my son.

Luke put on a pair of very high water pants because he`s growing like a little sprout. He then said "See mom! My ankles won`t be hot!"

Luke: "LILY STOP IT! Do you want some dirty pants in your face?! Is that what you want?! Huh?!!  HUH??!!"

Luke: "Here mom, you can help me by alphabetizing this pile. If you have any questions about the letters just ask me."

Lily: "Oh Luke, get your elbow out of my eye! Mayday! Mayday! I can`t see!"

Luke: "Mommy, can you carry me to bed? I've been working ALLLLLLLL day long."

Me: "Why didn`t you people tell me I put my dress on inside out?" Luke: "I don`t know, that`s Lily`s department. Me: "I guess I should have figured that since you put your shirt on backwards this morning."

Me:  Last night, for the first time, my 7 year old grabbed the remote from me and said "Mom, give me that, you don`t know how to do it." All I was thinking in my head was "I KNOW HOW TO WORK A REMOTE...I AM NOT MY MOTHER!!"

Lily is filling out my census form for me. I knew I had kids for a reason...

Me: "Will you go to work for me and I`ll go to school for you?"  Luke: "You`re too old to go to school mom." Me: "But I want to play dodge ball all day." Luke: "Wouldn`t it be cool if you could play dodge ball at work? The other ladies would be like `No I don`t want to play` and they would keep talking and WHABAM you could hit them with the ball. WHABAM!!!"

Luke: "I would have been done with my tunnel at recess today but I ACCIDENTALLY used a pretend jackhammer and caved it in."

Me: "Do you want to go see that movie?" Luke: " It`s rated PG, you know, Parents and Grandparents."

Luke (while reading the Guinness Book of World Records): "Mom, I`m going to let you borrow this so you`re not bored at my basketball game, but MOM, DO NOT look at page 86, it`s so gross. You can look at page 84, but skip page 86, MOM YOU DO NOT WANT TO SEE THIS. Just look at the page numbers and skip over it. MOM, just do NOT look at it. 84 is fine...NOT 86.  Never mind, maybe I should show you the book myself so you don’t get scared.  You’re going to have to wait until after my basketball game.”

CRASH! Luke: "Nothing!!"

Me: "I thought you said you were full?" Luke: "I'm full on the dinner level, now I'm starting on the ice cream level."

Me (On MLK day): "Hey Luke, did you know that Martin Luther King is my favorite historical figure?" Luke: "You like Martin Luther King more than Santa Claus??!!" The schools and I have obviously failed my child.

Me: "No one appreciates me!!" Luke: "Yeah! No one appreciates me and Mommy!!" Lily: "I appreciate you guys! Wait...not you Luke."

Lily: "Can I wear something nice since we're going out to dinner?" Luke: "I don't want to wear something nice!!!" Me: "(Sigh) That’s fine, just make sure you change your underwear."

Luke: "Some things have to really change around here Mom. We really need to move the TV."

Luke: "What stupid weather! People do NOT want to drop their stuff in the snow on Christmas!!"

I was watching the new Star Trek movie with Luke, he said, "See Mom...that's why you should never try to be cool by a big stream of fire. See what happens? You die."

Lily (talking in baby talk): "Airpane, airpane!"  Luke: "Air pain? Okay! (Stands on the recliner to jump on Lily); Lily: "No! No! Stop!! Airplane!!!!"

Luke:  “Mom, my favorite movies are the ones with fun and swords.”  I do agree.

Me:  “Luke those pants are way too small for you. What size are they?" Luke: "I don`t know, I didn`t read the instructions."  Ask a stupid question…

Me:  "I can never get any peace and quiet around here!" Luke:  "You ARE in peace and quiet, you're just yelling a lot!"

Me: "Luke, wash your hands when you're done eating." Luke: "But moooooooommmmmmm! I already wiped them on my clothes!!"

I was at the park and a little girl yelled "Mommy! Mommy! I'm playing with strangers!" I hope she doesn't carry that into her teenage years.

Luke: "I think we're too big for the park. I hit my head on the green slide b/c I thought I was a little kid or something."

Thursday, August 12, 2010

Old Balls

My Facebook Status: "I walked into a jeans store the other day and loudly proclaimed that anyone who would spend that much money on a pair of jeans that already has holes in them is an idiot."

I am prematurely blogging in honor of my upcoming 30th birthday. That happens to everyone as they get older right? Oh wait, I forgot what I was talking about. Anyway, these are the reasons I know I’m getting old:

I can either stay up late OR drink, the night before I go to work. If I do both I will suffer immensely, and while I’m suffering I will tell myself the whole time that I deserve it for being such an asshole.

I take a pain reliever for an ankle ache, a headache, a neck ache, a shoulder ache, a leg ache, an elbow ache, a heartache, a toe ache, an imaginary ache or a sympathy ache almost every day.

I’m losing a half a cup size every year and gaining yards in the hip area.

I am starting to reconsider the teeny tiny size of my underwear. I’m pretty sure no one wants to see that anymore.

It takes me 3 days to recover from a hangover or a workout.

I put a dress on last week, looked in the mirror and realized my ass looked gigantic in it. I wore it anyway…you want to know why? Because it was comfy…

I stuffed my bra the other day, but only because I had a runny nose and no pockets.  When I thought about it later I realized that is something my grandma would do. 

I’m already threatening my kids that they better produce grandkids for me…even though they haven’t gone through puberty yet.

I can’t think of anything more fun to do than embarrass my kids in front of their friends. Do you want to come over and do it too? It’s fantastic.

I am a big fan of rap and I can’t understand a word they say anymore unless the rapper is at least 35 years old….and I think there is only one rapper over 35.

I have started ordering coffee at the bar instead of beer. Who the fuck can stay up past 10 pm without coffee?

My swimsuit looks more like an entire outfit than a swimsuit. I’m pretty sure I could survive a blizzard in it.

My purse is bigger than my entire upper body and I can’t find anything in it.  I now see the genius of the purse organizer they sell on infomercials.

IF I could find anything in my purse I could survive on a deserted island for years solely off its contents. 

I recently took the kids to the art museum and they had to explain the modern art to me.  I do believe my creative brain is dead.

If the words "teenage" and "love" come up in the same song I have a very strong urge to rip my radio out of my dashboard and run over it several times. I also immediately grab a bottle of whiskey and start singing "Nobody Knows the Troubles I’ve Seen".

Here are two reasons I know I’m on the young side of old:

I was going to change all my preset radio stations to national public radio but then they played Rod Stewart and I knew I wasn’t ready yet.

I still think Republicans are rich assholes who don’t care about anything except their dollar bills. I wonder what I will think when I’m 40?

Happy 30th birthday year to me and all my childhood friends. This quote really reminds me of us:

"True terror is to wake up one morning and discover that your high school class is running the country."
-Kurt Vonnegut

Sunday, July 18, 2010


Friday, July 16, 2010

Mr. Right Is Dead

My Facebook status:  My friend: "Eh, you'll find Mr. Right someday."  Me: "You're going to have to come to grips with the fact that he's dead so we can stop going over this all the time." 

I am approaching my 30th birthday in T-minus 1 month, 21 days, 13 hours, 36 minutes and 43 seconds, so I think it's time to say goodbye to my young adult notions of the man of my dreams.  This is my eulogy to Mr. Right:

This is a sad day for us all, we are here to say goodbye to Mr. Right.  You were a great man.  You had beauty, athleticism, and intelligence.  You made me laugh all day long and you understood my twisted sense of humor.  You were always the life of the party and my friends loved you.  Actually, I'm pretty sure a couple of my friends tried to sleep with you, but I forgive them, after all, you were Mr. Right.  You worked just as hard at work and in life in general as I do.  When I had a bad day I could always count on you to shut off the game and listen (listening to me is a job for ten normal men, so this one is just ridiculous).  You loved my kids like they were your own and you never got jealous that you had to come in third place in my heart.  You taught my son to throw a football so I didn't accidentally teach him to throw like a girl (there are plenty of girls who don't "throw like a girl", but I am certainly not one of them).  You taught my daughter that there are good men out there and she should wait for one.  But now you are just a very pretty pile of ashes so I am going to say my final goodbye.   Goodbye my love.

I guess I will have to settle for Not-So-Mr. Right: The man, who comes over, eats my food, dirties up my dishes, farts on my furniture, and watches the TV more than he listens to me.  Hopefully he doesn't drink too much, too often, or come home late from the bar smelling like whiskey and puke wanting to make out with me.  Dear God, if I must settle for Not-So-Mr. Right please do me a favor and make him able to satisfy me in bed (also a job for ten normal men).  You know you owe me this one God.  Oh, and one more thing...please make sure he has no porn, alcohol, or drug addictions, he's not a cheater, pedophile, masochist, narcissist, compulsive liar, bi-polar, manic depressive, schizophrenic, suicidal, or sociopathic.  Amen. 
Let us all say goodbye to my Mr. Right once and for all and not mention him ever again because it’s just too painful.  When you meet my Not-So-Mr. Right just pretend like you like him, for my sake.  Laugh at his bad jokes and please don’t mention that giant mole on his forehead.  Just wait until I’m out of ear shot to make fun of him.  Thanks.  I knew I could count on you.    

Monday, June 28, 2010

This is how I feel every day at work.


My Facebook status: "I had a lady at work tell me people will think I’m unintelligent because of the way I dress. Said lady weighs close to 400 pounds and wears t-shirts every day."

So I was in my performance review with my group lead and supervisor and it was going well. I had glowing reviews like: "you’re a genius", "you’re the best worker we have ever been in the presence of", "take two hour paid lunches and an extra week of vacation please", blah, blah, blabbity, and blah. After we talked about my actual WORK, the group lead said "the way you dress doesn’t violate any dress codes but it is really flashy and I wouldn’t want people to think you’re unintelligent or you can’t do your job because of the way you dress". First off let me tell you about this woman so you can see where I’m coming from. This woman is in her forties, 6’3" tall and weighs at least 400 pounds. She normally wears ridiculously long purple press on nails (the tap-tap-tap-typing sound of those tacky metallic purple press-on fingernails is like the beating of the Tell-Tale Heart to me every day). You can hear her breathing from 100 yards away because she chain smokes every second of her life…AND BECAUSE SHE IS 400 POUNDS!!! She also drinks five large turbo charged-caffeine filled-carbonated-cans o’ diabetes every day. Anyway, when she said all this to me she was wearing an old tie dyed T-shirt, jeans and a pair of crocs. She actually brags about owning twelve different pair of crocs and wears them to WORK every day. I typically wear a dress, a sweater, and high heels. Soooo…when I am really angry, I stop speaking all together because I know I may regret saying the god-awful things that flow through my brain. The following are just some of the things that were in my head at the time of the incident:

"If you want to see flashy, I’ll go home and bedazzle all my goddamn dresses."

"People may think you are lazy because you wear dirty old T-shirts that may have fit you 100 pounds ago to work."

"People may think you don’t care about yourself because you have what looks like four stomachs and two butts."

"I refuse to dress like a man, I do have breasts and a vagina; I am so sorry that you lost yours in your fat rolls."

You can see how I could not say any of these things at work, so I just silently stared them down. Even though I didn’t get the satisfaction of ripping her to shreds with my words, the stare down intimidates the crap out of people and won’t get me sent to HR. As a side note, when I first started working there, I was absent mindedly holding a cup of coffee in one hand and typing with my other hand, thinking over a solution to what I was working on and suddenly my coffee started spilling all over my arm. I looked up and realized that my coffee was reenacting the scene from Jurassic Park when the water starts rippling because the T-Rex is coming…this was caused by my group lead stampeding out the door for her twentieth smoke break of the day. Her stampedes have caused my drinks to spill, my papers to fall off my desk, my printer to stand up and run away screaming, etc. I was telling my cube neighbor what happened so my anger was really flowing and I started spontaneously calling the evil group lead Gigantasaur. My cube neighbor confided to me that she has been calling her T-Rex for years. She also said, "If only your friends could see this woman. That is the worst thing I’ve ever heard." She laughed for about twenty minutes and she kept randomly laughing out loud through out the day and saying she was just thinking about it again. She also offered to buy me a pair of crocs and bedazzle them so I "can fit in with the group better". I felt slightly better after talking to her because I know I’ll have a friend in hell to make fun of all the other people in hell with.

I really hate to break this news to you young people (hopefully no young people are actually reading this because it will probably make them turn to a life of crime rather than deal with this ridiculousness every day for the rest of their lives), but the "mean girl" crap doesn’t stop after high school. In fact I am sure the senile old ladies at the nursing home are all talking shit about each other’s wigs and wheelchairs. On the bright side, you get a little break from it in college just because every one is too drunk to shower on a regular basis. I don’t know, maybe if I had all the different colored crocs too Gigantasaur would accept me for who I am in my heart and soul but I am not willing to sacrifice my fashionable footwear at this point in my life.

My new boss’s boss’s boss’s boss’s boss came in to the office last week for the first time. Ironically, she is Gigantasaur’s clone. She completely ignored me (not even a hello) and complimented Gigantasaur on her crocs. I went home and updated my resume that night. Let’s face it folks, I’m not going to win this battle.
One of my friends had the idea to end all my blogs with a Dr. Seuss quote. He said everyone needs a little more Dr. Seuss in their lives. I thought this one especially related to the situation:

"And when you're alone, there's a very good chance, you'll meet things that scare you right out of your pants. There are some, down the road between hither and yon, that can scare you so much you won't want to go on. But on you will go though the weather be foul. On you will go though your enemies prowl. On you will go though the Hakken-Kraks howl. Onward up many a frightening creek, though your arms may get sore and your sneakers may leak. On and on you will hike, And I know you'll hike far and face up to your problems whatever they are." –Dr. Seuss

Friday, June 18, 2010

My friend sent me this after reading my last post along with this message:  "I think someone made this especially for you.  You need to print these up like business cards and just hand them to dbags when they start talking to you."

Wednesday, June 16, 2010


My Facebook status: "I feel like Cinder-fucking-rella every day of my life. I am living the dream."

I quoted myself here from a conversation I was having with an old friend about the men in our lives. I had a lousy week when it came to men last week. I had three men attempting to pursue me and frankly, doing a very bad job at it. One man was trying very hard to convince me that he's not a jerk like my first impression of him led me to believe. This is why I think he is not a very nice guy:  I was talking to him on IM about his recent life troubles and trying to be his friend. Before I had ever hung out with him or even agreed to hang out with him, he threw this gem into our conversation: "Please tell me you like oral." Well, that didn't go over so well with me. My response was "Yes, after I work my tail off every day providing for my family, drive my kids to all their activities, help them with their homework, make them dinner, do dishes, and do the laundry, that's EXACTLY what I think about. I think 'hey I want to give a bj to some asshole I don't even know'." I told my friend about it and she told me he obviously watches too much porn. I do believe you were right on that one my friend. So THIS same man is trying to convince me that he is not a jerk and in fact a very nice guy and I should give him a chance. Hmmmm…let me ponder over that for awhile. By the way if that story doesn’t scare all of you unhappily married people into staying married, I don’t know what will. I met another man a few weeks ago at a mutual friend’s gathering. I was going to go out with him until our mutual friend told me that he has a girlfriend already and is not so much what he would call "boyfriend material". I called the guy out on it and he did admit to seeing a couple of women right now but insists that he is faithful when he cares about someone. I don't know, I think he just sounds like a STD waiting to happen. The third man REALLY confused me. My kids and I have had several play-dates with him and his children without any hitting-on-me incidents. Until this weekend when he told me he was dating a woman who had a lot of issues and he thinks she's only in his life for a "season" and not a "lifetime" (He actually got mad at me because I couldn’t stop laughing when he said that. I asked him if he got that concept from an email forward). He told me he likes me and is very attracted to me and would like to square things away with this woman and ask me out at some point. I talked to him a few days later and he mentioned having a girlfriend several times and acted as though he never told me he wanted to date me at all. The whole thing was very odd; I wish he had never mentioned any of it. I liked having someone fun to play-date with and now I think that's gone. I think the solution to all this man drama is to start right away at ugly-fying myself. I'm going to grow out my armpit, leg and eyebrow hair, stop wearing deodorant or even showering all together and shave my oddly shaped, divot-ed head. 

Personally I think my knight in shining armor got eaten by a lion four lifetimes ago. He decided to stay back in heaven with his fourteen other wives while I take this dismal journey on this god forsaken planet. I think we should all go punch our parents for telling us all those fairy tales growing up about Prince Charming coming to rescue us. Instead of calling them "fairy tales", they should have just called them "big fat fucking lies". "Mommy! Please come tell me a big fat fucking lie before I go to bed! Please, mommy please!!" I think all the companies that make those sickeningly sweet love movies should have to pay reparations for making people believe that good things happen to good people and bad things happen to bad people. The writer who made up Prince Charming was probably an alcoholic and went home and beat his wife every day. The Brothers Grimm had it right…all the good people in their stories never got what they wanted and died horribly tragic deaths in the end. The most evil people I know (my grandmother for instance) are the ones who live to be 100 years old so they can make other people miserable for 100 years. I actually always liked Dr. Seuss...he always told me the truth.  He told me that bad things happen sometimes and you will get down, but if you just keep moving they will eventually change. He told me I control my destiny, I'm the one who can make things happen, and life just isn't easy. 

I was having a discussion about happiness with one of my closest friends the other day.  She asked me why it is that she just can't be happy. I think that no one is happy all the time. I think people who say they are happy all the time are just big fat liars. Have you ever been in one of those moods where you go to the zoo, or a fair or something similar and you look around at all the happy couples and you wonder why you're the only one who isn't happy? Well those couples aren't really happy. That guy over by the Ferris wheel has four girlfriends because his wife doesn't stroke his ego enough. You see that woman buying cotton candy? She has a boyfriend because her husband works too much and never helps her with the kids or the housework. You see that man over there? He wears his wife's thongs when she's not home and dreams about the day that his kids grow up and move out of the house and he can finally come out of the closet. Nothing and nobody is perfect. You're never going to like every day at work, your relationships are not going to be easy, and you are not always going to get everything you want. If you can have fun and have some happy moments throughout the day then you're lucky.  I have had several friends over the years ask me if they should go on anti-depressants. The people who have asked me if they should take anti-depressants are never the people who should actually be taking them. The really crazy people have no idea they are crazy, someone should be crushing up some happy pills in THEIR coffee every morning. The crazy person should not even be consulted on the matter. Everyone has down times, and everyone gets depressed; the secret is to keep moving because things will change. If you take meds that trick your brain into being happy all the time, how will you ever know when you need to make a change? Let's go back to what Dr. Seuss taught me: "On and on you will hike, and I know you'll hike far and face up to your problems whatever they are. You'll get mixed up, of course, as you already know. You'll get mixed up with many strange birds as you go. So be sure when you step. Step with care and great tact and remember that Life's a Great Balancing Act. Just never forget to be dexterous and deft. And never mix up your right foot with your left. And will you succeed? Yes! You will, indeed! (98 and 3/4 percent guaranteed.) KID, YOU'LL MOVE MOUNTAINS!" I don't think most of us will succeed in the traditional notions of success such as marrying someone model-like and perfect, making millions of dollars and living the American dream. Although we can try to find a job or some hobbies that we like, we can be nice to the people we love, and we can survive the people who don't have the best intentions. The only things that are important at the end of it all are that we try to treat other people right and that we love our children with everything we have so they don't turn out QUITE as messed up as we did.
Back to the original subject…if you ever feel the urge to ask me why I don’t have a boyfriend, please re-read this story instead. When these are my choices, I am quite happy to pass on my dating options and spend all my time and energy on my two beautiful, hilarious, often times smelly children.