Teenagers, toddlers and other things I don't really like to talk to...

I'm not sure I like this new video chatting thing the kids are using these days. When I barge into my teenager's room half dressed, dropping f-bombs and tossing her dirty panties at her face because she keeps leaving them on the bathroom floor after her shower....I'd prefer not to have any witnesses present.  Especially little perverted boys. And especially when it's cold and I'm wearing a wife-beater tank and no bra...and there's a hole in the ass of the boxers I have on.  It kinda defeats the purspose of my dramatic exit.  But, it mortifies my kid.  And that ain't a bad thing.  Maybe it'll make her think twice before giving me a reason to burst into her room during her chat session.

J: MOOOOM....I'm on skype!

Me: I don't give a shit...you need to quit leaving your stanky drawers on the floor!

*snickering is heard from the computer*

J: And, why didn't you KNOCK?  You have no clothes on!

Me:  *looking down that the complete wreck that are the rags hanging from my body*  This is MY house, I can wear whatever I want.  And, until you start paying rent to live here, I don't have to knock on shit!

This is basically how all my conversations with J go these days.  Her, wanting her privacy. Me, reminding her that she has no privacy and embarrassing the living shit out of her. 

Conversations with lil J aren't much better, though.  Here's what happened when I asked her how her day went yesterday:

Me: How was your day?

lil J: It was awesome.

Me: Really?  What made it so awesome?

lil J: I didn't even get in trouble...and I did't have to sit on the blue rug OR go to the office ALL day!

Me: ??

lil J: guess what?!

Me: what?

lil J: fuck.

Me: uhm...

lil J: is that a bad word?

Me: yes.

lil J: oh, ok.


This is my life, y'all.

Long Duck Dong

My hair stylist's name is Duc. The first time I met him, he said, "My name is Duc - you know, like Long Duck Dong."  I fell in love with him immediately.  I quickly learned, though, that if Duc does your hair (or you want him to do your hair), you best be prepared to be broken and beaten down...and dragged through the muck that is your fucked up hair (because, until you have a fresh Duc do, your shit is fucked up...trust me).  I like to go 12 weeks before touching up my highlights and color. And in the hair dresser world, that is the hugest NO-NO ever.  Well, that, and having a long, nappy, fried mane.  So, if you don't want to hear "DAMN, GIRL, your hair looks like shit!" the second you walk through the door, Duc's not your man.  I happen to think his brutal honesty is refreshing.  If Duc's thinking it, you're gonna hear it.  Period.  And when I tell him that I hadn't been in to see him because I've been soooo poor lately, he says, "Yeah, it shows....I hope you don't go around telling people I do your hair when it looks like THAT!"  He's a straight-up Jackass. But I love him. And I miss him.  I did my own color this past weekend. He's going to kill me.

What's YOUR life plan?

That is the question J recently asked herself. She shared her plan with me once she had it all figured out...

1. Find a high school sweetheart.Get good grades in highschool.
2. Get scholarships for college.
3. Go to college with high school sweetheart. (preferably to Texas A&M, but wouldn't turn down Harvard if they accepted her.)
4. Graduate college and start a career.
5. Get married to high school sweetheart.
6. Travel the world with husband.
7. Start a family - one daughter and one son.  (will consider adopting because the birthing process grosses her out)

I asked her when she planned on making tons of cash so she can take care of her parents in their golden years and she said she's pretty sure we can take care of ourselves.   What a selfish heifer.  Who the hell is going to pay for Hubber's nursing staff when he becomes an incontient, slobbering, blubbery mess?  She certainly doesn't expect that shit to fall on me!!  And what about when her sister ends up in prison?? Who's gonna send her cigarrettes?  Who's gonna make sure she makes her parole meetings when/if she gets out? She's gonna need to re-think this list. For sure.

So, anyway, I got to thinking about MY life plan.  Because, honestly, I hadn't given it much thought. Ever. I've been one of those "live for today" types of people. And I ain't getting any younger.  You know shit is going downhill when you discover you have a crazy hair on your chin that grows 7 inches OVERNIGHT.  And when you highlight your hair to cover the gray. And when you decide that eating anything after 7 pm is a BAAAAAD idea if you're going to sleep at 9.  I've turned into my mother and I haven't even traveled the world yet!  And according to J's plan...she'll have traveled the world BEFORE having children. Smart, huh? 

I'm not sure WTF happened to me along the way...and why, as anal as I am, I didn't come up with a clever plan like J's a long time ago.  Well, fuck it. Better late than never, eh?  So...here goes...

1. Find a job/opportunity that pays better than the one I have and allows me to work a lot less than I do now.
2. Kick my boss in the balls on my way out the door.
3. Learn to be a ninja warrior - or at least to kick ass should the need arise.
4. Renew my wedding vows and get a new wedding ring.
5. Send J off to college.
6. Remodel my kitchen.
7. Spend a week on a tropical island.
8. Visit California before it falls off the map.
9. Send lil J off to college.
10. Spend a St. Patrick's Day in Ireland.
11. Take an Alaskan cruise.
12. Spoil the living shit out of my grandchildren.

....to be continued.

Kicking Ass in 2010

New Year's Resolutions are evil. I'd like to start a petition to end this nonsense altogether. Because, really, NO ONE ever sticks to their resolutions.  Making them only makes you feel like a loser....a failure...a person on the verge of suicide.  Fat people want to get skinny.  Smokers want to stop smoking.  Alcoholics want to save their livers.  Sex fiends want to be virgins.  Blah Blah BLAH. You know what I want to resolve to doing?  Making more money and drinking more booze!  Oh, and learning how to kick ass.  In case I get abducted or something.  I don't want to pack heat, so the least I could do is learn how to stab someone in the neck with my pinky to debilitate them. I know what you're thinking....alls you have to do is knee them in the ball sack. Am I right, ladies? Well, what you probably should consider is that abductors may be on to us.  They know that we know that they know that we know their soft spots. So, they wear protection.  Like jock straps or something.  And what are we left with?  Bruised knees and broken toes!  That's why surprising them with killer Chuck Norris moves could prove to be more effective. Wait, I hate Chuck Norris.  Jackie Chan.  Let's go with him. Or, that guy that used to do those Tae-Bo videos?? YEAH!  He was tough.  I bet no one ever tried to abduct his ass! Or Steven Segal!  Or John Claude Van Dam!  Or Arnold Schwartzenager back in his Terminator days!  Or Daniel Craig.  Yeah.  No body messes with 007....lest they want to DIE....or have wild, bad boy sex.

What the fuck was I talking about again? 

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!