Fuck it. The gray hair stays.

I have made many sacrifices in order to work from home and be more accessible to my family. For instance, I don't go shoe shopping much at all anymore.  The last pair of shoes I bought was a $5 pair of flip flops when we went RVing in Galveston.  But, do I complain?  No.  (Ok, maybe a little.) I'm just grateful that my foot hasn't grown in the last year.  I also gave up eating lunch out every day.  Although I miss my lunch buddies dearly, fighting the traffic into/outta town is a total buzz kill which I am now happy to avoid most of the time.

I also gave up my hairstylist. 

At first, I thought, "how fucking hard can this haircoloring shit be?"  I went to the drugstore and bought hair color in a box.  That bitch on the front of the box looked awesome and SHE used the same shit... so it had to be good! Right?

Wrong.

I followed the instructions... but my hair felt like cardboard afterwards. I piled on the conditioning treatments and tried to make that shit work.  Then, just when it seemed the texture was back to normal, guess what I found?  Gray hairs. WTF?!  So, I waited the the recommended six weeks and tried again with a different brand.  Same results.  Then, for shits and giggles, I tried it ONE MORE TIME (with a more expensive box of color).  But, alas, the gray hairs proved to be stubborn little bitches.

So, I stopped trying.  After a few weeks, the tears quit falling and I realized something... the gray hair isn't so bad.  If men can pull this shit off under the guise that they "seem more distinguished," then I can, too! 

Xena, Get Your Gun: Anything you can do, I can do better! (so, suck it, mofos!)

I suck royally at consistent parenting.

This face doesn't scare anyone!

This is a sad, SAD fact.  My kids have figured me out.  They know that "No." doesn't mean "NO."  It means, "if you bug the living shit out of me for long enough, I will eventually give in because I am weak and pathetic and I don't put up much of a fight."

Before I had kids, I was famous for talking trash about other people's parenting skills.  Parents who couldn't keep their kids quiet or still in public got on my nerves like nobody's business.  Now?  I'm one of "THOSE" parents.  What the hell happened to me?  I don't even LIKE children!  You'd think that a hateful bitch like me would be a strict mom whose kids are well behaved because they're filled with the fear of God.  But, sadly, no.  That isn't the case.  It's not that I'm really all that much of a push-over, though.  Mostly, I just live in a made-up world in my head where I am blissfully unaware of what my kids are doing around me.  It's full of happy pills and adult beverages and hulky man-booties.  It keeps me sane.  I'm probably not doing my kids any favors by giving into their whims, but MY sanity is at stake here, people!  And no one likes me when I'm insane. 

My point here is that it's Valentine's Day and you're probably wondering what this lushy, sex kitten has planned for the evening, right?  Well...

I am waiting for Hubber to get home.  When he does, we will pile up in the car, pick up the teen spawn's boyfriend and drop the two lovebirds off on THEIR fucking date.  Then, we will have Valentine's dinner at Chuck-e-Cheese's (where they do NOT serve "mommy drinks") with an extra hyper, chatter-mouthed kindergartener.

Why, you ask?  Because "NO." doesn't fucking mean "HELL NO."  Shoot me now.

I hope I don't lose my AWESOME when I'm skinny.

So, if you are a part of my inner circle of trust (if you're reading this, you ARE, so simma down), then you already know that I've made some changes in my life.  I had to somehow fill my down time (since good writing gigs seem to be few and far between) so I decided to get my fat ass healthy.  Being large and in charge is one thing.  Being a lazy, unhealthy sloth is another.  Sure, doing nothing and eating anything/everything is fun and yummy... but Momma needs to get control of this shit already.  Also, I can't afford the medication it takes to maintain this carefree lifestyle.

Anyway.  I've been surprising the hell out of myself lately. 

For starters... SEVEN days straight of exercising.  WHAT?!  Yes.  Every fucking day.  At first, it was hard as hell.  Then, yesterday, I actually had this conversation with a friend after lunch:

Friend: Let's just sit here and chat, I don't have to be back to the office any time soon.

Me: I have to get home and work-out before picking my kid up from school.

Friend: Did you just say "work OUT"  as in exercise?  I knew there was something different about you!

Me: Why do you look so shocked?

Friend: You would be the last person I'd ever imagine working out!

Me: Fuck you.  I'ma be a skinny, fit bitch this time next year!

Friend: hahahahahahaaha!

I'ma make a voo-doo doll outta that bitch right after I snatch some hair off her head and buy a roll of twine.

But seriously... I'm working out, people! For real!  Now, it's only 30 minutes a day....but as each day comes, I find myself kinda craving some exercise.  It's the weirdest feeling ever.  Today, I went an extra 15 minutes just because I wasn't tired yet.  Who the hell is this new person inside me?  I'm kinda terrified of her...she's taking over my life. I guess as long as she doesn't deplete my cool-ness factor or make me some kind of stuck-up skank, I'm gonna be ok.

I know this sounds like a public service announcement or an infomercial at 2:00 a.m., but I feel good, y'all.  If any of you fellow heifers want to join in on this shit, let's do it!  I have found a great support system, and I would be happy to share that shit with you.

Pinterest – makes me feel good and shitty all at the same time

Pinterest is my new love.  It is also the newest thing on my list of “things that make me feel inadequate.” It falls right between super-mom-bitches and talented-crafty-wenches.  But, I just can’t help myself… I can never get enough.

For those of you too damn lazy to look it up, Pinterest is a virtual corkboard/pinboard where you visually “pin” or save things and share them with others.  Here’s what you’ll find on most Pinterest boards:

1. Badass clothes that you wish you had but will never look as good on YOU as they do on the SUPERMODEL.
2. Places you can only dream of going to if you hit it big in the lottery or marry a billionaire who is about to croak.
3. Fancy-looking food that never turns out like the fucking picture when you try the recipe.
4. Funny shit that you aren’t clever enough to come up with yourself but wish you could.
5. Crap that you’re dying to have but would never buy for yourself so you hope that someone following your “pins” gets the hint and buys that shit for you.

I know I’m talking shit about it…and there I go posting crap to mine all the damn time.  I hate it.  But, I love it!!  It’s kinda how I feel about my children. 

On a more serious note… Pinterest is great for motivation.  Seeing all the skinny bitches in pictures encourages me to get off my ass and exercise.  Which is where I’m going now.

Evidently, Dental Implants Need to be Brushed Just Like Real Teeth

Thanks to the NFL play-offs, I've been watching commercials a lot lately.  It's kinda fun watching how men are being marketed to.  There's a lot of erectile dysfunction stuff... beer... and surprisingly, dental implants.  "Tired of cleaning your dentures...?" is how one of them started.

Me: Wow! So, I wonder if you can get all your teeth pulled and implants installed in just two visits?!

Hubber: Sure, if you can afford it.

Me: That's awesome... and you won't ever have to brush your teeth again!  Imagine how much money you'll save on toothpaste...and mouthwash...and whitening treatments!  We should totally do this.

Hubber: Wait.  What?  You still have to brush your teeth.

Me: No. Their marketing message revolved around the fact that you'll never have to clean your dentures again.

Hubber:  If you get IMPLANTS you won't have DENTURES to clean anymore... you'll still have TEETH.

Me: But, they're not real.  They won't rot!

Hubber: You'll still have bad breath!

Me: Hmmmm.  Gum? Mints?

Hubber: And gingevitis!

Me: Oh.

Hubber: What's the use in having fancy, white fake teeth if your gums are puss infected, bleeding messes?

Me: Well, there goes that plan.

Hubber: You need to start thinking these things through before making plans.

Me: Fuck you.

Hubber: Brush your teeth first.

So, what's the use in replacing all your teeth if you still have to brush them?  I don't get it.  If you're toothless and wearing dentures, wouldn't it just be easier to whip those bad boys out every night and let them soak themselves clean?

Do YOU want my fucking advice?!

Why the fuck do people ask me for advice then not take it?  I don't understand.  I'm a pretty common-sensical type person.  I usually tell it like it is. I've been around the block a time or two.  And as an added bonus, I've even fucked up royally and learned from my mistakes (mostly).  So, when I've got something to say about something I may have a clue about... TAKE MY FUCKING ADVICE. I dole these golden gems out by the buttload for free, y'all.  And, this shiz is priceless!

If you're the type of person who has a hard time deciphering between good and bad advice, maybe this will help:

BAD ADVICE:  Just be yourself.

GOOD ADVICE:  Pluck your fucking eyebrows, shave your legs, squeeze into a pair of spanx, suck on a mint and wear a push-up bra.

BAD ADVICE:  Get all the facts straight before reacting.
GOOD ADVICE:  Shoot first, ask questions later.

BAD ADVICE:  Always wear a clean pair of panties.
GOOD ADVICE: Go commando: save water, save the earth.

BAD ADVICE: Drink in moderation.
GOOD ADVICE: Drink up, bitches!  You only live once!

But seriously, y'all.  If you ever ASK ME a question and I take the time out of my busy fucking life to answer you, take that shit to heart. 

That is all.

Kids say the shittiest things... it's a wonder I let mine live

Teen Spawn: You have really nice legs, Mom.

Me (bewildered): What? I have no money.

Teen Spawn:  No, really, they're long and lean.

Me (admiring my legs):  Hmmm.  They ARE kinda nice, huh?

Teen Spawn:  Yeah, but it's kinda weird.

Me:  What is?

Teen Spawn:  They're just kinda outta proportion or something.

Me:  Oh, HERE we go.  You should stop now.

Teen Spawn:  I mean... they're like toothpicks holding up a potato.

Me:  You have 3 seconds to start running before I kick your ass.

Tiny Spawn (looking at my legs): Hmmm... don't listen to her, Mommy.  Your thighs are chunky like a marshmallow.

Me:  If I weren't medicated and sipping on Mommy Juice, the two of you would already be dead.

HOLY SHIT, y'all... I'm Mrs. Potato Head!