Monday, July 27, 2015

Where Have I Been? UNEMPLOYED. That's Where!

Life is literally a bitch right now, ya'll. It reminds of that Depeche Mode song about how God has a sick sense of humor. How does it go again? "....I don't want to start any blasphemous rumors..." oh, never mind. This ain't the time for sing-songy shit. This is the time for bitching and moaning.

Balancing unemployment and responsibility is really cutting into my leisure time. First of all, plans to lay out on a  beach with a pina colada in one hand and a trashy novel in the other have been foiled. And, so much for sending the youngest spawn off to summer day camp every day. You can't do THAT and pay rent when you're living on unemployment checks! Don't even get me started on sending the oldest spawn off to college. I'm still paying on MY fucking student loans from 20 years ago and now I'm taking out more for her! Thanks, universe! Thanks a lot for kicking me in the teeth when I'm already down!

Needless to say, this shit has really taken a toll on my sanity. My kids are all up in my face 24/7. And Hubber is over here planning imaginary vacations...

Hubber: Hey, Wife! Check this out! We could go to Disney World for only $569/person!

Me: WTF? Are you mental? We have NO money.

Hubber: The bank account says we do...and I think we should high tail it out of this shoebox and see the world while we have the chance. Usually you're too busy "WORKING" to take a trip like this!

Me: You have officially lost your mind if you think it's smart to spend our life savings on frivolous shit when we have no income! And, you wanna take the kids? That's double the cost!

Hubber: But, I have faith in you! You will land a fabulous job soon! So, why not take advantage of this little break!?

Me: How am I the responsible one in this relationship all of a sudden? Do you have a brain tumor?? I think you have a brain tumor.

Hubber: Fine...let's just you and me go to New Orleans!

Me: Now you're talking!

I think we're both going a little stir crazy up in here. Something's gotta give. But, in the meantime....



Friday, June 5, 2015

5 Unique Father's Day Gifts That Are Sure to Surprise!

I'm not gonna lie, Father's Day gifts are hard to buy.  Growing up, I never knew what to get my dad. He didn't wear ties like other dads... he didn't drink coffee... he rarely bbq-ed... he didn't play golf... mostly he worked, smoked (a variety of things) and drank.  And, I was too young to purchase booze and whatnot.

But, even now that I am old enough, I prefer not to indulge in his addictions. So, normally, I buy him nuts. He loves nuts.

Don't we all? Heh.

So, if you know a father who is hard to buy for, here are a few unique gift options that are sure to surprise him:

1. Bag of Dicks
www.dicksbymail.com
This bag of gummy penises is a great way to tell your friends, family, loved ones, or enemies to 'EAT A BAG OF DICKS'. It's the perfect gift for that douchebag, deadbeat dad that never even remembers your birthday. What better way to show him how much you care than by having a BAG OF DICKS delivered right to his door? 

2. Jar of NOTHING
Does the dad you're shopping for always say he wants "nothing" when you ask him what he would like for his birthday... christmas... father's day... etc.? Do you end up buying him crap he probably didn't want because you searched high and low for a whole lotta nothing to no avail?!  Well, look no further, my friend. This jar full of absolutely NOTHING will be the best gift EVER... because it's what that mofo asked for!  I say we start giving the people what they want!

3. Bucket of Cleaning Supplies
www.walmart.com
You know how dads are always giving moms appliances for gifts to remind them of their place in the household? Well, it's time to return the favor! What better way to remind the dad in your life that EVERYONE'S cars need cleaning and that he's just the man for the job?! Feel free to throw in a push broom for driveway sweeping and some yard-quality trash bags. Oh, and maybe even a new water hose. Dads can always use a long hose!

4. Light bulbs and batteries
www.walmart.com
Speaking of reminding dads of their place in the world, a basket full of light bulbs and batteries makes the perfect gift! He'll never run out of these household essentials if you keep him well stocked. No more blinding fits of rage when he can't find a 9-volt battery for the smoke detector with its vicious, never-ending beeping.  And, no more stealing lamp bulbs when the closet light burns out. This gift is SURE to be a daddy crowd pleaser!

5. The BULLET nose hair trimmer
www.thebullet.tv
The more hair a man loses on his head, the more hair he grows in his ears and nose.  This is a proven, scientific fact, ya'll. And, often times, the mofo doesn't even realize this because his eye balls are getting old, too. For those dads, we need to do a little nudging. Getting him a nose/ear hair trimmer is the best, most passive aggressive way of letting him now that he's starting to look like a neanderthal.

Also, the website  boasts this magnificent and totally ridiculous claim:


So, if silent grooming tools and referrals from elite military forces are selling points that float your boat, this gift is for you!

Here's what I want to know... who are these elite military forces?  Are they from the middle east? Have they been surveyed? And, WTF does this scary gun have to do with grooming unsightly nose hairs?  I'm both confused and intrigued. Small, efficient, maintenance free AND silent? Sounds like the perfect B.O.B. to me! I wonder if it vibrates? Hmmmm.

Ok... I digressed, as per usual.

So, that's it folks, the TOP 5 Unique Father's Day Gifts for that special dad in YOUR life!  You're welcome.

Monday, June 1, 2015

Spanx, Non-bras, and Other Shit I Refuse to Shop for with Spawn...

Before I had kids, I loved to go shopping.  Shop, shop, shop! I could shop till I dropped!  But, now, nearly 19 years into motherhood, I have learned to completely and thoroughly LOATHE shopping. Very rarely is shopping all about me...and when it is, I'm riddled with guilt because I'm buying MYSELF something when I could be spending money on spawns.

What the hell happened to me?!  I used to be a blissfully happy, self involved shopper!  Kids schmids! Even the first few years of motherhood weren't so bad. Although, I'm not exactly sure when the turning point...well... turned... I'm betting it was around the time the oldest spawn moved into the dreaded tween years.

That's also when I decided that I hate middle-schoolers. But that's a rant for another day.

The prospect of shopping now is accompanied with blistery hives, dry mouth, cold sweats, irritable bowels, and lots and lots of cursing. The cursing is especially pronounced while shopping with the oldest spawn who is now an "adult". Kinda.

During prom season, I had to add "all undergarments" to the freakishly long list of shit I refuse to shop for with her. I made this addition to the list in my head when we were sifting through Spanx and shit at Kohl's. She found it prudent to try on 538 vajillion different fucking styles of "body shapers" and "bras that aren't really bras, Mom!"

Oldest Spawn: (in fucking tears, ya'll!) This one makes me look soooo fat...!

Me: are you fucking kidding me right now!? You want to see FAT?  Huh?! Here, LOOK! This is FAT! (throwing up my shirt and grabbing handfulls of REAL fat) 

Oldest Spawn: Moooooom!  Stop it!

Me: YOU stop it!  I just made up my mind. I'm not buying you any Spanx.  And no fucking "bra that isn't really a bra".  What the fuck does that even mean?!

Oldest Spawn: It's just the cup thingy, Mom!  With no straps! To lift my boobs!

Me: the stick-on things?

Oldest Spawn: I don't know how they stay on! I've never seen them but I know they exist!

Me: That's it. You're going commando from the waist up.

Then, we left the store, empty handed and utterly pissed off at each other. I already suffer from people-itis. So, putting me in a crowded store with the most majestic queen of drama is just asking for trouble.

And THAT, my friends, is when I added "all undergarments" to the list of shit I won't go with her to buy.

The list started with shoes when she was 12ish. It goes something like this:

  1. tennis shoes
  2. groceries
  3. jeans
  4. flats and sandals
  5. boots (this is when, after visiting 15 stores and STILL not finding the perfect back-to-school shoes, Hubber officially became in charge of all spawn feet coverings)
  6. dresses
  7. deodorant
  8. shampoo/conditioner
  9. jewelry
  10. winter coats (this is when, in one of my blinding fits of rage while shopping for a trip to Colorado, Hubber officially became in charge of coats, jackets, and other essential outerwear)
  11. make-up
  12. gifts for friends
  13. scarves
  14. panties/bras
  15. leggings
  16. tops
  17. nail polish (don't ask)
  18. all clothing
  19. all undergarments
Basically, we now put money in her bank account and just send her on her way. She has ruined my zest for shopping forever. 

She'll make some unsuspecting and naive man very happy some day. I just hope he's rich.

Thursday, May 21, 2015

of Proms and the Age of Chivalry…

GUEST POST written by: Hubber (my better-ish half)

Senior Prom is over. Dresses have been returned, spray tans have faded and sleep has been caught up on.  All in all, not so bad an experience as a parent. We drank, we spent, we drank, we rented, we drank some more. Time to replenish the bank account and the liquor cabinet.  Also time to reflect on WTF is wrong with our progeny. I am serious.  Double You Tee Eff.

We spent hundreds of dollars on things that she absolutely HAD to have, only to determine closer to Prom time that none of her friends were doing that or going there, so by- gawd, she wasn’t either!  Two days AFTER the latest date in which to obtain refunds!  She finally decided which date to take to Prom, two days AFTER the last day to buy him a Prom ticket, so her date actually never went to her Prom, he went somewhere to wait  with a few of the other dates that were made too late and they all met back up again after the Prom was over.

And let’s discuss this “date”…he is a nice enough guy, but seriously lacking in motivation.  Back in my day, we rented cars and tuxes and made plans and if we couldn’t rent a car, we at least shined up whatever ride we owned and put on our best Prom faces.  This kid didn’t rent a tux, and actually couldn’t even be bothered to find a car to drive.  WTF?!  He was perfectly content to show up in a suit, get dropped off by his dad and he actually seemed happy to let his date drive him around.  Chivalry is dead, yo…and I missed the fuckin funeral.  Cuz I would’ve gone to kick that bastard in the nads  for putting me through all that shit when I was growing up.  And woo’ing my Snarky Heifer.  I didn’t start “just showing up” until the wedding, and even then I had permission to do so…

Back to the actual Prom!  My beautiful daughter, who rented a beautiful dress, had nails and makeup done, sprayed on a natural looking tan, and fretted over the smallest details, stayed at the actual Prom for about an hour.  An HOUR! A whole damn 60 minutes.  WTF again…   She was home by 10pm, changing clothes to head out with her friends. So, how much was that Prom ticket again? Just south of a C-Note?! A few duckets short of a Benjamin?! At least she stayed long enough to get her photo taken and to have a dance or two, right?  What? No Prom Photo? That’s right, her “date” was down the street hanging with the other non-dates. At least we have all of the pre-Prom photos we took. At the end of the day, I only spent four hours washing her ride so she would have something nice to drive her “date” around in.  Time well spent…at least one guy showed her some chivalry on her special day…


Tuesday, May 12, 2015

5 Things No One Ever Told You About Turning 40

turning40-1
For years now, I've been hearing about how much my body will change after I turn 40. "Just wait till YOU turn 40...", they'd warn.  And by "they", I mean people at work, aunts, my mom, other people's moms, people on the street, and weird Depends commercials. What they all failed to mention, though, is that shit changes overnight. Literally.  One day you're 39, the next day you're 40 and you don't even recognize yourself anymore.

So, here's all the shit they DON'T tell you about the day after you turn 40:

1: Your bladder will shrink 3 sizes. 
Since the time you were five years old, you've been able to sleep through the night without the need to schlep out of bed to pee (or without wetting the bed). But once you turn 40, not only can you no longer sleep through the night, you have to get up to go pee at least twice a night. And, we're not just talking about the havoc child birth has placed on your ability to "hold your pee in", we're talking about the fact that you can drink 8 oz of water and the next thing you know, Niagara Falls is pouring out of your urethra. Did your body even remember to save some of that shit for sustainable bodily nutrients?  We may never know.

Also, be careful when you're having a sneezing fit... you will have to change your pants if you don't remember to squeeze your legs shut.

Kegel exercises, don't fail us now!

2: You'll go blind.
Not only will your sight change overnight, you'll suddenly be unable to drive at night without cursing oncoming traffic for blinding you.  Which in turn, will cause you to hit curbs more frequently and accidentally, maybe run over squirrels. Maybe. Or, maybe the squirrel was already dead.  Either way, you won't know because you're fucking blind. Also, the squirrel could have actually been a possum. No matter, though, because, again... BLIND.

Also, your computer screen will think you're perpetually drunk and display a blurry screen just to fuck with you.  And, if you were able to read a book without your glasses/contacts when you were 39, at 40, you'll need reading glasses...or in some cases tri-focals...which many don't even know exist.  Did you have Lasik surgery last year? Well, you're going to have to have it again because 40 took your perfect $2,000 vision and pissed all over it.

3. You will need electro-shock therapy for your new psychotic tendencies.
Xanax might help. Or, large amounts a booze sprinkled with fairy dust. But, let me just say that, drastic body/lifestyle changes don't bode well for people with mental issues.  If you were a psycho bitch at 39, lord help us all when you turn 40. Your hormones get all out of whack. People asking stupid questions like, "what's for dinner" will make you burst into tears one day, and make you want to stab a mofo in the throat with a screwdriver the next day.  And, don't let anyone try to steal a french fry off your plate! Blood will be shed! Children will scream bloody murder... Husbands will lock themselves up in bathrooms with video games and dogs will have nervous bouts of explosive diarrhea all over the goddamn carpet if someone tries to steal a fry, yo! Fries are sacred. Like Almond Joys.

I think I digressed.

4. Hair will start popping up in weird places.
We used to make fun of my grandma who spent a few minutes EACH DAY plucking what appeared to be BEARD hairs from her chin.  After she passed away, we used to sit in girly circles sometimes laughing at how she made us help her pluck 'em when she was on her DEATH BED.  Hahaha. But, guess what? That shit ain't funny anymore, y'all. You will need one of those 12X magnifying mirrors and you'll cry when you realize what your face looks like up close, but you'll have to push through it and get to plucking. EVERY. DAY. Until you DIE. For real.

5. Food will do weird things to your body.
And, I'm not just talking about gaining weight.  I'm talking about acid reflux, gas and heartburn.  All of which will send you into a frantic frenzy because you'll think you're dying of some rare form of stomach cancer.  Your entire life up until the eve of your 40th birthday has been spent eating whatever the hell you want WHENEVER the hell you wanted to eat it.  But, suddenly, you'll realize that you aren't able to eat at least 3 hours before going to bed because you will vomit into your mouth just as you're drifting off into deep REM sleep. And, if for some reason you forget that you might die in your sleep if you nibble on something just before bed time, you'll have to prop 874 bazillion pillows up behind you and sleep SITTING UP for fear that you'll choke on your own vomit and DIE. Like the crack whores do. No one wants to die like a crack whore, y'all. But YOU will if you eat after 7 pm.

So, if you're still 39 and facing your 40th birthday soon... you're welcome!  You are now mentally prepared to understand the shit that's fixenta go down.  No, you do not have hairy sasquatch blood... No, you didn't swallow a flesh-eating bug from some third world country... No, you weren't probed by aliens in your sleep. You're just 40.

It ain't the end of the world, but it sure will feel like it some days.

turning40-2

Wednesday, April 29, 2015

Addressing Envelopes - It's Like Rocket Science, Only Harder

The fact that "a" should be "an" is not
lost on me. But I liked the message
here, so I went with it. Don't hate.
I just realized that the oldest spawn does NOT know how to address an envelope. That's right. I was in the middle of sitting down to start addressing envelopes for her graduation announcements and I'm all like, fuck this shit - when I graduated high school, my mom made me address the envelopes and lick to seal each and every one.

Lick to seal. Heh. That's what he said!

Anyway... so, I printed out a mailing list and gave a stack of envelopes to the spawn...

Me: Here. You get to have the honor of addressing these envelopes.

Spawn: Addressing? What do you mean?

Me: Uhm. What I mean, is that you need to WRITE ADDRESSES on these mofos so we can put them in the mail.

Spawn: Can't we just print them?

Me: No. I looked up proper graduation announcement etiquette on google... and all those goody-too-shoo beyotches say you have to hand write them.  So, get on it.  You want gifts?  Then you gotta do it right...Because I don't give a shit.

Spawn: Ok. Fine.

* 2 minutes later *

Spawn: Moooooom!

Me: There's no way you're done already.

Spawn: Where does the address go?

Me: You're kidding, right?

Spawn: Uhm. No.  It goes right here, right? <pointing to top left corner where the fucking RETURN address goes>

Me: No. That's where YOUR address goes.

Spawn: I have to put MY address on these? I thought I was going by your list??

Me: Am I on candid camera again? <looking around the room very sure that Hubber hid a camera somewhere>

Spawn: Moooom... I'm serious.

Me: WTF do they teach you in school?!  How do you have all A's?!  You are the epitome of everything that is wrong with our education system!

Spawn: We don't MAIL letters at school, Mom. We E-MAIL. And, text. Duh.

Me: Shoot me, now.

Then, I proceeded to tell her the City, State and zip go on the third line after she ruined the first envelope. AND there's a comma after the CITY!  For safe measure, I went ahead and printed return address labels. It was either that or punch Hubber in the throat.

Hubber: Why do you want to punch ME in the throat? I'm not in charge of etiquette up in here. As a matter of fact, I am probably the LEAST qualified etiquette expert in this family.

Me: My point exactly! I can't do everything!  Your children should know how to address envelopes!  What about all those thank-you cards I've made her write throughout the years?

Hubber: Well, in her defense, YOU always address all the envelopes.

Me: So, it's MY fault your kids are dumb?!

Hubber: Uhm. I'll be right back... gotta pee <he says as he's shutting and LOCKING the bathroom door>

Then, the sounds of machine guns can be heard through the door.

Me: You're not peeing! You're playing games in there!

Anyway... so, if you're one of the lucky people on our mailing list and your address looks all jacked up on the envelope, THIS is why.

And, on a totally related note - feel free to send money for my booze fund.  It's dwindling.

Thursday, October 30, 2014

The Crazy Cat Lady Dream

The youngest spawn is always asking me what I want to be when I grown up.  As if a) I'm not already grown; and b) she doesn't think I'm anything in particular already. We have discussed the possibility of my being an opera singer, an artist, and/or an airline pilot (so she can FINALLY get to ride on a plane - she's so deprived, y'all)... but all that stuff requires years of training, dedication and skill.  None of which I currently have nor have energy left to gain.

When I was a kid, I wanted to be a lawyer, so I went to a high school that catered to preparing students for careers in law enforcement and criminal justice.  As it turned out, lawyer-ing didn't quite interest me.  So, I turned to law enforcement and thought maybe I'd like to be a crime scene investigator... but when I discovered that all the physical shit required of police officers was far beyond my capabilities, I nixed that idea, too.

So, I went to college for a bazillion and sixty-three years and changed my career path at least once a year before I settled on an english major - mechanical engineering (NO)... psychology (NO)... fine arts (NO)... teaching (NO)... business (NO),,, criminal justice again (still NO).... and I can't remember what else.

But here I am, still floundering without a clear path to who I'm going to be when I finally grow up.  I'll be forty years old in a few months, so I figure I'm pretty much screwed.  There is only one obvious path left for me to take:

Me: I think I'll be a "Crazy Cat Lady" when I grow up.
...complete with moo-moos, wiry hair, and lots 'n lots o' cats!

Hubber: A crazy cat lady, huh?

Me: Yep.  Finally!  I have something to aspire to!

Hubber: I would say you've been well on your way to CRAZY for the last 10 years. At least. Now, all you need is for me to die so you can get a shit ton of cats.

Me: Why do you have to die first?

Hubber: First of all, I hate cats. Second of all, Crazy Cat Ladies live ALONE with their cats. So, unless you plan on giving all THIS up <pointing to his body parts and all around the house>, you'll have to wait until I die and your children move out.

Me: Well, shit.  You really know how to bust a girl's aspiration bubble, don't you?

Hubber: It's my goal in life.

Me: But, it's my life's calling!  How could you take that away from me?!

Hubber: If you'd like, I'll just move out into the Minnie Winnie and you three girls can be crazy cat ladies all together!

Youngest Spawn:  YES!  I wanna be a cat lady!!  I love cats!! I want a bazillion kitties!

Ugh.

So much for MY dreams.