Husbands Plotting Murder

Last night there was a story on the news about a woman who “fell” off of a cruise ship into the ocean and has not yet been found. Her husband, who is not a suspect in this case, reported her missing. Uhm. Ok. First of all, I’m sure she didn’t FALL off the damn boat. And, second of all, do we really think her husband is NOT a suspect? C’mon. You know that sonofabitch pushed her off the damn boat. It’s always the husband. Always. Hubber didn’t agree…

Me: now THAT is why I’ll never go on a cruise with YOU!

Hubber: huh?

Me: You know what I’m talking about! The only reason husbands take wives on cruises is so that they can push them overboard.

Hubber: You’re crazy. If I wanted to push you into your drowning death, I wouldn’t PAY to take you on a cruise first! I’d do it the cheap way and just dump your ass over a bridge or something.

Me: SO! You’ve thought about it, have you?!

Hubber: or….when we’re in Destin on the 10th floor of that condo building, I’ll just push you off the balcony!

Me: The balcony is not over the WATER!

Hubber: …minor detail….

Me: I’ll never go anywhere with you again!

Hubber: or….on the drive to Destin, there’s always that long bridge in Louisiana….hmmmm….

Me: I hate you. No sex for you.

Then he mumbled something under his breath that I couldn’t quite make out but that I’m sure had something to do with how different sex would be without me when I’m dead…he’ll be sorry.
Holidays and New Starts

Well, the holidays are almost behind us....just gotta make it through New Year's Eve unscathed. Thanksgiving was mostly uneventful, unless you count the fact that I hosted it this year and we had 23 gazillion people sloshing around in our house. And we had two Christmas parties here since then. I'm all partied out. And I miss our housekeeper who's been on vacation for what seems like years...the dirt is piling up and there are remnants of Christmas morning buried deep in rugs and carpets. I honestly don't know how we managed to survive so many years without her weekly cleaning. We must have lived like goddamned pigs. One more week without her is going to force me to do the unthinkable...clean my own house. God forbid.

Celebrating Christmas with lil J was more fun this year than last. She seems to have a grasp of the whole concept now...singing carols and whatnot. And it's nice to have fresh blood in the house who still thinks Santa is watching her every move. J has been hip to us for awhile now...but lil J is still a sucker and we took full advantage of that shit in getting her to behave her damn self. It worked, most of the time. Except when we were at J's choir concert at school. Lil J didn't give a rat's ass if Santa was watching her by god...she was going to sing along with the choir and act a damn fool in front of a few hundred people if she damn well pleased. Some people thought it was cute...others were totally annoyed because they didn't drag their asses to school at 7:00 at night to watch some 2-year-old singing prodigy, they were there to watch their kids sing Silent Night in sign language for crissakes. Me...I was mortified. Needless to say, Hubber sat alone for the second half of the show and lil J and I excused ourselves (loudly, I might add) to the parking lot where more toddler singing and dancing took place. This child has way too much energy for me.

She's a monster, I tell ya!


I haven't taken much time off work for the holidays...which is a damn good excuse for a shitty looking house. I've been working my tail off. And, I've actually been going TO the office since it's been quiet with all the people gone...I'm even getting shit done for a change. I've almost managed to clear all the clutter off my desk in anticipation for a clean slate for the new year.

They say that clutter is a sign of genius. I believe it.

It's labor day weekend and I vowed to observe the holiday spending four labor-free days at home, lounging and what-not. Yes, FOUR days. Whenever possible, I make it a point of taking full advantage of 3-day weekends by extending them. There were plans for many coconutty adult beverages and much pool lounging.

My labor-free plans were soon foiled. Evidently, powers much bigger than me had something else in store for my labor-free weekend. Not only did I find myself connected to my employer more often than I would have liked, Hubber somehow managed to wrangle me into helping him with...dare I say it....yard work. Not the fun, re-potting plants kind of yard work, either....I'm talking the back-breaking kind that only an all-night alcohol binge can cure. Which I was too darn tired to have, by the way...because of broken backs and swollen hands and blistered feet and other things that make me groan in PAIN. We need to hire yard guys.

Welcome to my World

Just a day in the life of yours truly.

Poop Stinks Like Shit

Let me preface this by saying that I love dogs. I love me some big, burly, huggable dogs. I grew up in a home with dogs. I love to pet dogs and roll around with them and play fetch and take them for walks and reward them with snacks. I do not, however, own a dog. Why would such a huge dog-lover like myself NOT have a dog, you ask? The reason is, I do not like scooping poop. If a dog could be potty-trained, I'd have 10 of them. Dogs aren't that damn smart. They like to poop right out in the open. And, poop, well, it stinks like shit....and the smell of shit makes me gag. Hence, the lack of dog in this house.
proof that I actually like dogs

Now that I've expressed how I feel about dogs, I'll get to the point of this here rant. What I hate more than scooping poop is STEPPING on it in my yard. I have the yard of a non-dog-owner, so I expect my yard to be poop-free. Is that too much to ask for?? IS IT?! Some dog-walking neighbors seem to think so. They let their dogs run free, pooping in every yard they pass (what do they feed these animals??)...never mind the homeowner's association newsletter's pleads for dog walkers to clean up after their dogs as they go....never mind MY disdain for dog poop toe jam.

There's this one lady who has FIVE little yip-yappers. She walks three on leashes and two run free, all at the same time. To make matters worse, her hands are free of poop scooping supplies. And she can barely control the leashed dogs while the others crap and urinate all over town! I wish to shoot her in the eye with David's bb gun. That's how much I hate her. One day I caught the gang red-handed. I dropped what I was doing and jetted for the front yard. Here's how it went...

Me: ---clapping hands and making kicking motion with my leg--- BEAT IT, DOG!

Dog Lady: Come here, poopsie (or some such ridiculous name)

Me: Ma'am, you're going to have to clean up after your dog.

Dog Lady: Ok.

Me: No, it's not, "O-K" let your dogs poop all over the neighborhood and not once have I seen you with a trash bag to clean up after them.

Dog Lady: Ok.

Me: And, for the record, I have a toddler who likes to play in the yard - MY yard...a yard that I OWN...that your dogs have no business POOPING in!

Dog Lady: Ok.

Me: I'm serious! You better come back here with a trash bag and clean this shit up!

Dog Lady: Ok.

Me: If you don't, I will find out where you live and I will empty the contents of every single one of my child's diapers into your yard so that you will know how it feels to be shitted on.

Dog Lady: Ok.

Then, she just walked off. Her careless attitude drove me insane. I'm not sure whether she came back to pick up her dog's crap after all. But, I've seen her and her gangle of dogs many times since then. Her hands, as always, are free of trash bags.

I do, however, now know where she lives.

Two can play this game!

In our house, we like to discover funny videos on You-Tube. We like to pass the time laughing at all these fools making stupid videos. Some of them are pretty hilarious. J is facinated with this Fred guy on You-Tube ( He's a 14-year old kid acting like a 6-year old with an alcoholic whore-ish mother. His voice sounds like that Joe Cartoon hamster in a blender thing. Remember? He's ridiculous. And why I allow my child to look at those videos is beyond me.

I, on the other hand, am loving Jon Lajoie. Who? This guy: He's just an everyday normal guy. His newest video is entitled "show me your genitals." He's a genius.
Parenting a pre-teen is hard work. Especially when you're practicing the artful parenting tactic know as "flying by the seat of your pants." I'm becoming quite masterful at it. I make up the rules as I go. And, I can do that. Because I AM THE PARENT. Thank you very much. J just tests us to the limits...she pushes and pushes us until we're forced to scream at the top of our lungs, pull our hair out and cry, even. What happened to our little girl? That little angel who liked to sit on her daddy's lap or cuddle up next to her mommy in the couch? It's like she's mutated into this disrespectful, ungrateful, loud, bossy, whining lunatic. I don't remember being this way when I was her age. I waited at least until I was 15 to begin driving my mother batty. J isn't even 12 yet and already I'm going over the edge.
Box Fans in Windows and no Walkie-Talkies

Well, it's happened. I've finally become one of THOSE parents. You know, the kind that like to remind their children how good they have it? I catch myself doing it all the time. And once my mouth is open, there's no stopping the flow of crap that spews forth into one of the ears of my oldest daughter and right out the other one. My mouth can't help itself, it's got a mind of it's own. My brain is saying, "Ok, she's not listening, you're wasting your breath. Plus, you sound like a complete and total idiot." But my mouth is still moving as if Shakesperean poetry is swirling around on my tounge. It's inherent with being a parent, I think...the bullshit you try to feed your kids - those ungrateful little heathens.

When J complains that her furniture is dated - that it's for little kids and she's not a little kid anymore. I tell her about how when I was a kid I was LUCKY to even have furniture. We piled our clean clothes on the floor next to our beds. We sat on old milk crates to watch TV. Then I go on and on about how we lived in a old house with no air conditioning and how we put a box fan in the window (J doesn't even know what a box fan IS!)... but that didn't cool things off, it just moved the hot air around enough to dry your sweat. And when she wants a new comforter for her bed she gets the story about how we didn't even HAVE comforters on our beds when we were kids. It was so dang hot in the house that we slept on a sheet with barely any clothes on to stay cool. She should be more thankful for what she has and quit complaining about how she doesn't ever have enough!

On the flip side, I think it's our fault as parents that our kids are so clueless. We were raised in low-income households often going without the material things our friends had. And we remember how we felt as kids, seeing others enjoying their "stuff" while we played with dirt and sticks and fire (if you were with my brother). So, as adults, we vowed to give our children better lives than what we had...and we translate that into material things rather than love and attention and security and crap like that. I am guilty. I work hard to make money to buy live more comfortably than necessary. And, although I bitch and moan about how my kid doesn't appreciate anything, I turn around and buy her more crap just because I can. What the heck is wrong with me?

Right now my unappreciative, disrespectful ingrate of a pre-teen is grounded from her friends, cell phone and computer for the weekend. When I was her age, I didn't even have a walkie-talkie or a typewriter to be grounded from! We were grounded from stepping outside of our bedroom. And, there was no television in our bedroom. We had to sit in our hot, muggy room with only a hand-me-down radio serving as a connection to the outside world. We were lucky if we were allowed to have dinner! And, I can't even get my kids to eat - I have to bribe them!
Running With Scissors

Remember those things your mother always told you never to do? Like sticking your finger in an electrical outlet (lest you shalt die)... or sticking your tongue to the freezer ice growing in your freezer (lest you shalt lose your tongue, then die)... or running with scissors (lest you shalt fall on the sharp end and stab your heart, then die).... or poking your brother in the arm with the lead of a pencil (lest he shalt contract lead poisoning, then die while you get the ass whipping of your life)... or wiping from back to front (lest you shalt contract some horrible infection, then die). Ok, I digress.

In any case, my point here is that either my mother-in-law didn't pound these warnings into my Hubber's rather hard head when he was growing up, or he's lost a few of those important memory brain cell thingys over the years... because look what I discovered the other day:

Yes, that's right... our just-barely-two-year-old daughter almost stabbed herself with scissors on her birthday! Why? Because her Daddy, let her play with them while he helped her open her gifts. Notice she's holding the pointed, very sharp end of the scissors TOWARDS her fragile little body. Also, notice the false sense of security on her face. She thinks she's a big kid who can hold scissors near her heart without the chance of it ending up in a red, bloody mess on the floor. This kid has a lot to learn. As does her father.
Flex Work Schedule

Today, I worked from home. It's one of new "alternative/flexible work schedule" options now offered by my employer (thanks to me, of course, for pushing the matter). It was heavenly. Aside from the fact that I spent most of the day with a brown nose as I begged (in the most professional manner) for sponsorship dollars, it was nice not to have to get up at 5:00 a.m., debate about what to wear, apply make-up, blow dry hair, feed lil J, rush to drop her off at day care by 6:50, then sit in traffic for over an hour....just to end up sitting behind my computer and on the phone for 8 hours.... something I can certainly do from the comfort of my own home, with no regard to mascara and mousse and heels and TRAFFIC. Being at the office when there are no meetings or other obligations is entirely overrated. I vote we work from home at least 2 days a week! Think of all the gas money we'll save... and how the stress will just melt away... and the money we'll save on dry cleaning... and how we'll be close to our families. If only it would also make us skinny... now that would be perfection.
Summer Lovin'

Well, Summer is officially here. Which means we are faced with a very tough decision. To vacation or not to vacation. That is the question. Ok, so Summer actually started two weeks ago, making us fashionably late on making a decision...but that's how we roll. Gone are the days when we planned trips and took a week to pack for said trips. These days, we fly by the seat of our pants. It took me exactly 1 hour and 23 minutes to pack for a 7-day road trip to Mt. Rushmore last March. Aren't you proud? I attribute this new found lack of planning to the fact that I'm getting old and lazy. Plus, it makes things more exciting! (And it keeps Hubber on his toes.)

So...first we decided to go to Destin. Then, no, we can't go to Destin, we must, must, must go to Disney World. Then, think again, given the price of gas these days, a road trip to Disney World would be way too expensive...looks like it's going to be Destin. Then, BAM. Turns out we can go to Disney for super cheap if we stay at some shady hotel, eat bread and drink water for 4 days and 4 nights. So, Disney it is! Not.

Last week, as Hubber was staring up at the big oak tree in the back yard, he decided that the 263 limbs that have been hanging over the roof of the house since time began MUST come down at once! No ifs ands or buts about it. It's hurricane season for crying out loud! So, the trip is off again. And our bank account is about to have a stroke. And my plans to buy new vacation shoes and handbags have vanished into thin air...all that's left are deep, empty holes in my heart where images of pretty little shoes and fabulous bags used to be.

We will be taking some vacation time, though. Where will we go, you ask? Well, right outside to our backyard. We'll save on gas... and packing... and unpacking... and listening to The Wiggles ad nauseum... and all the other hassles of taking two children on a road trip. I may not get to buy new shoes and handbags, but I'll certainly be stocking up on on Malibu Rum and Tequila Rose. Hey, a girl's got to get her kicks somehow!
Beauty and the Beast

I'm not as beautiful as I was Pre-lil J and it isn't because I've gotten older and fatter and lazier, either. It's due to lack of beauty sleep. I don't think there is anyone I hate more than the parent who BRAGS about how their 6 month old baby sleeps through the night... as a matter of fact, this is usually a parent whose freak child even sleeps 10-12 hours without waking up once...not one time. Meanwhile, lil J has not slept more than 3 hours straight for the past TWO YEARS. Even when highly medicated (which she NEVER is unless she is very, VERY ill, of course), she refuses to sleep like a regular human being. She wakes up several times a night with requests for such things as a cup of juice, someone to help her put her blanket back on her, a diaper change, or a larger bed in which to sleep in - one which already contains two not-so-small people. Her new favorite request is to go sleep on the couch. Which makes me wonder if maybe she's some sort of alien being. Some sort of beast from another planet - sent here to make my life a LIVING HELL.

Let me break it down for ya. The following is a typical night in my Honeymoon Suite:

9:00 p.m.: lil J goes down for the night. She is placed, ever so gently into her crib, the covers are tucked up around her and the tag of the blanket is placed into her cute, little hand. A sippy cup is placed near the rail, within baby reach should she feel parched within the hour.

10:00 p.m.: Sippy cup is empty, lil J is stirring. Both Hubber and I are fumbling around as fast as we can to fill up the cup before she wakes up for good.

10:13 p.m.: The second cup is empty and I am worried that she's probably got a full diaper by now. I reach in...and sure enough, the diaper is about to explode.

10:14 p.m.: I change the diaper while J sleeps.

10:30 p.m.: I finally fall asleep and begin dreaming of blue coconut slushies and baskets full of chili cheese french fries and money, and lots and lots of money...

11:18 p.m.: The beast is awake. Hubber tries to soothe her so that I don't have to get up (he's my hero!), but it doesn't work. I'm up, too. First she wants a new cup. Then, she wants Daddy to carry her. Then, she wants to lay in bed with Mommy and Daddy. Then, she wants more "juice" (watered down pedialyte). Then, she needs another diaper change. Then, she wants to go back to her bed (thank the lord).

11:50 p.m.: Hubber puts her back in her bed.

12:00 a.m.: Hubber crawls into bed with me.

3:00 a.m.: "MY CUUUUP.....MY CUUUUUP??!!" the beast screams in horror from her crib when she awakens and realizes her cup is not within baby's reach. Both Hubber and I wait, motionless in bed. Each hoping that the other will handle the panicky beast. Each praying that the next words that come out of the beast's mouth are the name of the other parent.

3:03 a.m.: "DAAAAAAAAADDDDDDDDDDDDYYYYYY!!!" I win! I win, I win, I win! Hubber has to get up. Poor thing. Foul words pour out of his mouth like poetry....taking me back to dream land...while he gets up to tend to the beast.

3:20 a.m.: The beast has had a drink and is now asleep again.

5:00 a.m.: TWENTY MINUTES from the time my alarm clock is set to go off, the beast is awake again! This time, she's wet and needs a diaper change. "Just a minute," I beg her....I MUST get my 20 minutes of sleep in before getting up for work. But, she's relentless. Her pleads for a diaper turn into screams for her cup again.

5:10 a.m.: I'm tired and I'm pissed. I change her diaper and put her back into her crib with a fresh cup of pedialyte/water. David is snoring.

Fun, huh? Yeah, we love it.

I'm convinced that God is punishing me for all the bad things I ever did in my life....Hubber is just an innocent victim being dragged along in my punishment because he was crazy enough to marry me. That's what he gets.
Remember Me?

It's hard to believe that two years of my life have passed since I last updated my blog. A lot has happened since then. Most importantly, we've subtracted two members of our family and replaced them with one, very colorful member. In short, lil J came and Kali and Rosie left (turns out the new kid was allergic to cats -- we should have realized then that our lives were about to get turned upside down). Yep, lil J in all her glorious toddler-ness has livened up things around here. Our home will never be the same again. I'll fill you in on lil J stories later, but suffice it to say, she is not yet 2 years old and she's already speaking in complete sentences, singing songs, counting from 1 to 10, and keeping us all on our toes (that's nice for "driving us nuts"). As for little, innocent J? Well, she's pre-teen now. We're going through terrible two's and teenage hormones all at the same time.

Don't let these cute faces fool ya! They're out to get us...they would like to see us dead....they would like to suck all the life from our souls...then stomp on our heads until they explode. That's right.

I probably don't have to tell you that Hubber's hair is really turning gray. Poor thing. Me? I've really learned how to get my drink on. I've replaced water in my diet with Malibu Rum and diet coke. It's lovely....especially when downed with Xanex. Just kidding, I don't take Xanex - Errrr, much. But, it's only a matter of time.