Quilting. It's not just for grannies.

What started out as a wild hair up my ass has turned into this:

I'm doing that by hand, y'all. And I'm pretty damn good at it, too.  What I didn't realize is that pre-cut 4" quilting squares can get quite expensive.  So, I've gotta buy that shit on ebay because if I'm not careful, it'll start cutting into my booze money. Which, also, is not just for grannies. I'm just saying.   The other drawback is that once your family starts figuring out how fucking badass quilts are, they all start putting requests in.  The one above is for lil J...but now J wants a blue-themed one to match the walls in her room...and my neice wants one for princesses.  Shit.  Being crafty sucks sometimes. You know what else sucks?  You can buy a brand new, completed quilt on ebay for less than $100.  WTF, grannies?!  They're devaluing themselves. I've spent at least $100 already and I'm barely (almost) at the halfway point.  And when you take into consideration what my time is worth along with my blood, sweat, and tears...I've got to be $13,976.53 in the hole. Give or take. This shit is priceless, y'all! And these damn quilting grannies with their computerized sewing machines are really pissing me off.  What happened to the olden days when you quilted by HAND and peeps cherished this crap?  

Meanwhile, I'm getting a sewing machine for my birthday!  Yessir.  Because, fuck it.  I'm a sellout, too. I will say, though, that although I plan to use the sewing machine to quilt the top to the backing....I will continue sewing the top squares/designs by hand.  Because I'm awesome that way.  And I'm not a granny. Yet.
Oh, sweet geezus... 

I'm wondering what the hell I'm doing at work this week.  The only email I'm getting is spam and the only phone call I got today so far was from my sister.  My facebook farm is up-to-date.  My facebook sorority is kicking all kinds of beeyotch ass.  I'm all caught up on the blogs I like to follow.  I skimmed the newspaper from cover to cover.  I've had three cups of coffee.  I took a long lunch. I painted my toenails.  Twice.  I cleaned out my inbox.  And, it's barely 2:00. What a totally productive work day!

In other news, Christmas is behind us and we survived with minimal drama and maximum damage to the checkbook. So much for saving money for braces.  Now, the new year is on its way and I'm hoping to ring it in with minimal debauchery and maximum rest and relaxation...preferably in front of a roaring fire with a hot mug of "coffee" in my hands and pure trash on TV.

The world through the eyes of a 3-year-old...  

This is what you get when you buy a digital camera for a toddler:

A thump on the head is just what you get... 

This morning I woke up to a thump on the head.  Not the soft buzzing of the alarm clock.  Not the sweet, gentle massaging of Hubber's hands on my back.  Not the warm sunshine spilling through the blinds. Not the dreamy voice of Elvis Presley. But a THUMP.  On my forehead.  Which left a mark. 

Me: What the fuck, Hubber?!  Oh, shit, what time is it?

Hubber: That was for being an evil, EVIL dream wife.

Me: A WHAT?!

Hubber: In my dream.  You were an evil bitch. 

Me: So, you thumped the real me?  The one who bore your children? The one who washes your fucking laundry?! The one who scratches your back until it bleeds?

Hubber: You deserved it.

Me: What'd I do?

Hubber: You accepted and KEPT christmas gifts from male admirers....even when I asked you to get rid of that shit.

Me: What kind of gifts were they?

Hubber: Beef jerky and jellies.

Me: Jellies? Like the badass shoes I wore when I was 8?

Hubber: No, jellies, like the jars of JELLY that you EAT.

Me: Hmmm. I do like me some beef jerky and jellies. Were they from Woody's Smokehouse?

Hubber: *thump*

Me: What the fuck?!

Hubber: THAT was for being an evil REAL wife.

Me: I WOULD share my jerky with you if you'd quit thumping me.

Hubber: I asked the dream you to share and you said haaaell no.

Me: That sounds like something that evil wench would say.  What a bitch.  Here, I'll thump you and you can pass it on to her in your dream next time she appears. *thump*

I barely made it out of bed alive.
When life hands you shit, make shitrus.

So, around this time every year for the past 12 years my employer has bestowed upon me lavish gifts of gold, frankencense and myrrh.  And every year, I've pawned that shit for badass Christmas presents and shoes and handbags and panties and booze.  I was even able to squirrel some of it away for a rainy day in June when all the junk I bought in December got old and I needed new shit to make me feel adequate and refreshed again.  But this year, the economy has forced said employer to rape us and beat us upside our heads and whip us into submission and only reward us with copper pennies and half-assed pats on the back.  And we bow our heads in thanks while we take whatever we can get, lest we shalt be unemployed on the streets begging for change.

So, now Hubber and I are scrounging, lying, cheating and stealing to celebrate the spirit of the season.  My kids could give a rat's ass about baby Jesus and the three wise men and all that shit.  Christmas is about the PRESENTS.  Period. And they just don't want trinkets and whatnot, they want ponies and bulldogs and tiaras and mink stoles and cashmere sweaters and prada handbags!  Oh, wait. Wrong list.  They want Juicy Couture necklaces and James Avery rings and Abercrombie and Fitch hoodies and Wii games and iPhones! Mama's not made out of money, you upity wenches!!

I need to find ways to make more money.  I would try loaning my kids out as maids, but they can't clean to save their damn lives.  I think the most profitable way would be to auction Hubber off to the highest bidder.  Need an escort?  A pool man? A bartender? A foot massager?  A fire starter?  A jar opener?  I roach stomper?  Hubber's your man! 
Ho Ho Ho!  

I don't usually do my Christmas shopping online because, contrary to popular belief, I am a gift buying procrastinator.  I hate shopping.  Let me take that back.  I hate shopping for other people.  Because, recall: I am a selfish bitch.  And because I don't think other people are worth all the time and energy and EFFORT it takes for me to drag my fat ass through the crowds this time of year.  Plus, I have this anxiety thing that attacks me if I'm around hoards of fucktards.  So, to avoid the high drama, I decided to try to buy as much as possible online this year.  And now, I have a few new found hatreds...because there isn't enough shit on the list of things I hate. First of all, shipping and handling fees are out of fucking control. And FREE shipping only applies to shit that is expected to arrive 23 days AFTER Christmas. WTF, internet stores?!  Second of all, Amazon.com will TELL you they have 61 VTech Kiddiezoom cameras available in pink...so you'll put the shit in your cart and keep shopping.  But when you go to check-out and they announce, "Hello, you gullible, dumbass bitch!  We don't ACTUALLY have the camera in stock at the moment, but we'll have one on December 26 and can ship it to you on January 2."  What the hell am I supposed to do with that?  Put an I.O.U. under the tree for a toddler who CAN'T FUCKING READ?   Bitches.  Then, to make matters worse, Amazon.com does not let you remove shit from your cart once you've gotten to that point...so if you're not a nerd like me and you fail to read this little note about the "not currently in stock" bullshit at during check-out, you will be real sad when your shipment comes in and there will be many tears and hissy fits from your kid on Christmas morning.  So....take heed, people. READ that shit before you click "process my order."  You're welcome.

Ok.  I'm gonna get off my soap box now. Because, ya'll! It's almost Christmas!  This is my favorite time of the year - well, second to my birthday week(s)! The weather in Houston has been surprisingly "wintery", too, which makes it even more fabulous because we've been able to turn the fireplace on...and drink spiked hot beverages...and walk around in fuzzy slippers...and put our really cold feet on Hubber's warm belly.  It's awesome!

These boots are made for walking...

I wore my new boots (AKA: Ass-Jackers) for the first time today. And, although they look fucking fabulous and give my legs just the right incline to jack my ass up nicely, creating an optical illusion that says, "hey, this biznitch has a perfect toosh," they make my ankles hurt like a mofo. And they're tight, thus constricting the blood flow to my toes. So, I'm not sure if the numbness I'm feeling down there is due to the cold-ass weather or to my tight boots. Which, have I mentioned, are TIIIGHT...as in totally HOT? And spicy. I think I can deal with the lack of comfort, though, because it's only temporary. I need to wear them often to stretch them out and mold them to my legs. Ya know? It's like I tell J all the time, beauty = pain. And that ain't no lie. It takes a lot of hard, painful work to look this good! Tweezing, squeezing, trimming, poking, shaving...none of that shit is pretty. But, the end result is worth the pain. Usually. Unless you shave in anticipation for a hot night out on the town but instead end up doubled over in pain due to "something you ate" earlier. That shit sucks. And it totally isn't worth shaving for. Or even plucking, for that matter. In which case, I recommend that a gal NOT eat anything at least 4 hours prior to going out and rockin' the fab shoes and freshly tweezed brows. Not only does fasting pretty much guarantee you'll look your best, but it also allows the adult beverages to travel through the blood system exponentially faster than they would had you eaten....thus making you feel like you look waaay hotter than you did when you left the house...thus making you think EVERYONE thinks you're waaaay hot....thus making the purchase of your ass-jackers well worth every penny spent on them.

See how we went full circle there?

ooooh hellz yeeeah!

Are there any Dog Whisperers out there that work for FREE....or for BEER...or for a 2-second boobie flash?

Harley is close to being the best dog in the whole wide world. The thing that keeps her from going straight to the top is the fact that she is terrified of Hubber....one of the kindest, most gentlest hubbers in existence today. Now, let me qualify Hubber's upstanding character traits by stating that he loves dogs possibly more than I do...if that IS possible...and it is, because, duh, I just said it was. So, basically, he's a dog smooching, belly rubbing, ear scratching kind of guy. But to Harley, he smells like evil. She doesn't trust the guy as far as she can throw him...and she has no hands, so you can imagine that she wouldn't be able to throw him very far. She's been a part of our family for an ENTIRE YEAR y'all....and she still hasn't gotten over this totally unfounded fear she has of him. He is to Harley as Freddie Krueger is to me. No exaggeration.

So, the other day, whilst piddling around outside getting all the bling on the house for the neighborhood Christmas decorating contest...which, sidenote: I am determined to win...even if it requires walking around the neighborhood with a baseball bat and a pocket knife to give me some leverage. So, we're decorating, right? And Harley, being the totally awesome dog that she is, was hanging out, sniffing around for squirrels to terrorize and looking all cute and adorable. When BAM, Hubber jumps out from behind a tree and screams "BOO!" and freaks the shit out of her. Or, he mighta just been walking gingerly down the driveway saying "hey Harley, what's shakin'?" But, either way, he sent that scaredy dog into a freaking tailspin! She bolted, tail between her legs, straight towards me, because, hello, I'm her mamma and I'm here on earth for the sole purpose of saving her ass from evil things, and for feeding her. But, I wasn't prepared for said bolting and she pounded into my legs and sent me, arms flailing with bling flying outta them, right into my car (Bubba - who is dressed like Rudolph for the season). Needless to say, I now have a very large bruise on my leg. Which makes wearing mini dresses out of the question. Unless I want to explain how, really, my Hubber doesn't kick my ass on a daily basis, but that I have a huge dog who thinks Hubber is the devil incarnate and takes off like a bolt of lightening every time he comes within 10 feet of her and will take down anything (or anyone) in her path as she's getting the hell out of dodge. So, then, people will think my Hubber really IS evil and that he beats me and that I use the dog as an excuse like some battered women use the stairs or door knobs.

So, basically, what I'm getting at here, is that I am in desperate need of a dog whisperer before Hubber gets carted off to prison for beating the shit out of me. I don't think he'd survive long in prison...he's too damn cute...and he has big hands and small-ish feet....and a juicy booty. I don't have money to spend on a dog whisperer, but I have booze...and boobies...and bling left over from the Christmas decorations. HEY! A fucking lightbulb just went off in my head! Maybe I should go on craigslist and do some bartering! I will probably have to take the "boobies" off the table, though, because, seriously y'all, there are some straight-up freaks out there on the internets.
My Momma Mantra is "Do as I say, not as I do."

My kids are fucking doomed, y'all. I don't think I should have ever spawned children given the the fact(s) that...

1. I don't even LIKE kids.

2. I fucking cuss all the damn time.

3. The smell of shit makes me GAG.

4. I'm a selfish bitch.

5. I have a very, VERY low tollerance for groups of kids (2 or more) congregating in one place.

6. I have an even lower tolerance for asshole parents who think their kids are more special than everyone elses.

7. I hate Chuck-e-Cheese (or any variation thereof).

8. I am useless with the whole "scared of the dark" calming-kids-down thing because I'm fucking scared of the dark, too! And monsters? Shit...I am scared of those, too! I ain't checking the damn closet or under the bed for those bastages. I don't even let my foot dangle off the edge of the bed for fear that fucking Freddie Krueger is going to have my ass for dinner. Although, I guess if Freddie wanted me...it wouldn't even matter if my foot was dangling or if it was covered
up because he'll get me in my dreams either way. Which also scares the living shit out of me. Ohh...and aliens. I hate them, too. That reminds me of our trip to Roswell, NM. Actually, we didn't go TO Roswell on purpose...we drove through it on the way home from Colorado and spent one night there. Those people are fucking weird. I think they've all been abducted and returned to scare tourists. We all plugged our assholes with ear plugs that night, just in case. And there were tons of bugs there... you know, like on Men in Black? Akk. Which leads me to the next fact that makes me a shitty parent...

9. I don't kill bugs....and I freak the fuck out around frogs and worms and lizard-type things of any kind. That includes geckos. And roaches. And beetles. And roaches. I HATE roaches! Especially the big, juicy, flying ones! I'll scream like a little baby if one tries to attack. Which, therefore makes me useless to my children.

10. I drink a lot of adult beverages.

11. I sneak money out of the Disney World fund bucket to buy coffee. And shoes. And girl scout cookies. (Just kidding on that last one....just thought I'd throw it in there to make me seem like less of an asshole.)

12. I rarely cook dinner.

13. I rarely cook lunch.

14. As a matter-of-fact, I rarely cook. Period. (But when I do, it's fucking awesome, y'all.)

15. And last, but certainly not least: I hate cleaning up after people. Including myself. In fact, the only "cleaning" I don't so much mind is doing laundry. Unless it smells like ass or rotten feet. In which case, I fucking hate doing laundry.