Spring Break 2012: Days 2-4

We're now in Colorado.  All is well, but the roadtrip up was definitely a learning experience.  Here are a few things we learned along the way:

• Driving through Kansas (the state of Kans-assholes) is not fun when you're 10ft tall and winds are 65 mph.  The Winnie got a whopping 6 miles per gallon across the entire fucking state. Never again. We'll avoid Kansas at all costs on future roadtrips.
• Storm water grates located in rest stops in Kansas = Redneck dumpstations.  You don't want to know.
• Rocky Mountain gas isn't the stuff you put in your car.  It's what your body experiences due to the high altitude.  It's 10x worse for dogs.  It can smell like: death, skunk squirt or dairy farm (or a combination of these).
• Driving uphill in the Winnie will cause all those behind you to curse the day you were born. Twice.

I'm sure we learned other things; but I've already forgotten them.  I need to take notes next time.

Anyway...

The Hancocks are now officially boondocking (that's RVing-speak for freeloading) in my sister-in-law's driveway in Parker, CO. We're even hooked up to power and water.  We did, however, get rid of the kids in the evenings... they're sleeping IN the house while Hubber and I rough it in the front yard.  During the day, though, I sure wish I could drop their asses off at school.  Vacation ain't so fun when you spend the entire time trying to entertain two girls who are not easily satisfied unless you spend your life savings along with an arm and a leg everywhere you go.  When did these little heifers become such divas?!  I haven't consumed nearly enough adult beverages to stay sane.  I feel a bloody mary night coming on.

Spring Break 2012: Day 1

We are currently on the longest road trip we’ve ever taken in the Minnie Winnie.  Here was the scenario when we left the house an hour late:

• It was pouring down rain.
• We got stuck in rush hour traffic leaving the house.
• Everyone was hungry.
• I had the nagging feeling that I had forgotten to do something at home. Unplug the iron?  Turn off the coffee pot? Lock the backdoor?  Fuck.
• The oldest spawn was hacking up lungs and spreading germs in a small, confined space; we’re all liable to be sick before we get to Colorado.
• SOMEONE was gassy.
• And apparently, Aunt Flow decided to tag along on the trip.  Oh, joy!

Two hours later, we were finally out of Houston with a stock pile of Kleenex, NyQuil and feminine hygiene products; but I still hadn’t popped my laptop open to get sme "work" done.

Then, to make things WAY more enjoyable, Hubber had it in his head that he wanted to drive all night. This was fine until he woke ME up from my narcotics-induced slumber to take over as pilot so he could rest.  It’s not so bad driving in the middle of the night when things are quiet and not any people are on the road; that is until the youngest spawn (who had already gotten 6 great hours of sleep) decided that it’s her calling in life to be a co-pilot.  Needless to say, it got loud quickly.   But for once, her annoying little cackle didn’t send me all in a tizzy; it was comforting.  It was also entertaining and educational. I learned a few historical facts that I have never been privy to before.  I’ll share them here with you so that we’re all “in the know.”

• Abraham Lincoln came to Texas to fight for freedom.  He won the battle and Texas became a State.
• If it weren’t for Abraham Lincoln, people that live in Texas wouldn’t speak English; they’d speak Chinese (like they do in Virginia).
• These are all facts; which means they are non-fiction.  Fiction is like when dogs talk or houses fly.

This heifer is a genius, I tell ya!  I should charge people to hear some of the shit that comes out of her mouth.  Seriously.

Wait.   I wonder if it was all a dream? But, then how do you explain this picture I found on my phone?

"... four score and seven years ago, our forefathers..."
sent Abe Lincoln to Texas to kick some ass!

Desperate Times Call For Desperate Measures

I got bitched out yesterday by my brother-in-law who thinks I take too much time between blog posts.

Me: (bitching, as usual): Kids suck all the fun out of anything remotely entertaining.

BIL: Hey!  That could be the topic of your next blog.

Me: Nah, that's old news, buddy.

BIL: Well, you need to fucking write about something soon or you're going to start losing loyal readers.

Me: I have loyal readers?

BIL: Well, I'm the only one that counts, but YEAH.  WTF is taking so long?  You always seem to have so much to say. 

Me: I've been making curtains for the Minnie Winnie!

BIL: excuses, excuses.  GET TO BLOGGING!

So, here I am.  Writing a guilt-infested blog post.  But, lucky for you people, I'm not going to complain about my kids again (at least not today).  I have better shit to write about.  Plus, I'm afraid child protective services might be on to me... and I'm too cute to go to jail.

I wasn't lying when I said I'd been working on curtains.  No, I did not finally learn how to use my damn sewing machine.  Even better:  I found a snazzy how-to project on Pinterest for making curtains without sewing!  They turned out fatastical!
 

See?!  Damn, I'm good. 

And while we're on the topic of pinning - the most ingenious internet creation EVER, I finally put some of the shit I've learned there to good use.  As a freelance writer with not enough writing assignments, I have to find clever ways to save money without starving my family or skipping on my sanity juice.  So, when some really frugal pinners shared their recipes for homemade household products, I jumped on that shit!  And, it works!!  So, I spent most of today concocting a bunch of shit....
 

Yes, I made my own labels.  I'm clever that way.

I guess if I can't make money WRITING, I could make money selling my own line of household cleaning products.  Anyone interested?  Anyone?

I'm making body/hand soap now.  My house has never smelled so clean! Now if only it weren't so dusty.  I'll trade someone a batch of laundry detergent if you'll come dust and scrub my house for me.

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!

Malls Can Kiss My Fat Ass Twice a Day... and Three Times on Sundays

Please be warned: this has nothing to do with my trials and tribulations as a freelance writer.

I hate strolling through the fucking mall.  Nevermind the fact that I'm anxiety-ridden, impatient and slightly claustrophobic (there's medication for all that), my issues with malls go deeper.  Don't get me wrong, I love to shop.  But, I'd rather drive and park in front of each store I go into.  All this walking-through-the-mall crap is bullshit and highly over-rated.  And, the older I get, the more passionately I want to blow those bitches to smithereens.

First of all, there are those pesky kiosks situatued... well.... EVERYWHERE... and the people running them are annoying, pushy assholes.  The super fun thing about them is that I seem to be a magnet for them.  They seek me out and offer me ProActiv for my PMS breakout... or fat burning cream for my belly rolls.... or hair extension clips for my thinning and graying hair.... or my favorite, miracle hand cream that claims to be a manicure in a bottle. And, when I kindly decline their fucking offers to beautify myself, they get all pissy and holler after me. Next time I go to the mall, I'm going to wear a shirt that says, "FUCK OFF KIOSK FREAKS".

Then, there are the teeny-boppers.  I get enough dose of teenager in my regular, daily life.  I don't need to be exposed to that shit while I'm having my "me-time," too.  All the giggling and sashaying and trolling is ridiculous!  I don't remember ever behaving like these kids do.  And, taking my teen spawn to the mall only makes the experience worse because we have to go into all the "cool" stores.  And by "cool" I mean "stupid, shitty and over-priced".  You know... the ones that are overly crowded and reek of cheap perfume and loud music.  Hollister, American Eagle, Abercrombie and Fitch, etc... everyone working in these places is a teenager, too. They don't know shit, they can't find shit, and it takes every ounce of patience in me not to smack them upside their big, empty heads.

Ok, I'm done.

But I'll leave you with this brilliantly written song:

 Foghorn Leghorn = Fucking Awesome!

Don't get me started on the cut-off uniform shirts!