Shaving incidents and other shit that happens when you're poor

So... you know now that I'm being frugal and all, I've had to cut back on some things.  Things like regular shopping trips for shoes/handbags/panties, uppidy hair stylists, massages, professional pedicures, and..... waxing.  And by waxing, I am referring to the waxing of unsightly body hairs. The kind of hairs that have been known to cause rug burn... the kind of hairs that will poke your husband's eye out in the middle of the night.

Yes, now that I'm a poor, starving writer... I'm hairier than I used to be.  So, once a week (or so) I perform the world's longest shaving ritual.  First the pits... then the legs... then the nether regions.  I've survived mostly unscathed for over a year now - until today.  Today I was destined for pain and suffering.... and lots of blood. 

I shaved a quarter of my left pinky nail off accidently.  Don't ask me how that shit happened.  IT JUST DID, mofos.  I need two hands when I'm grooming down there... and that darned pinky just kinda got in the way.
I think I lost two pints of blood. And, some of my sanity.
I'm convinced that some other snarky bitch had it in for me and made a voodoo doll outta my hair and boogers with every intention of shaving off my entire hoo-ha from the inside out!  But, I am more powerful than that bitch.  I sensed that evil shit coming my way and I thwarted it with my left pinky!  Cheap-ass voodoo is no match for my pinky.  No, sir.

Although, now I'm afraid that my hoo-ha will be a little gun shy about having a razor get too close.  I might have to start a waxing fund on my blog.  Would YOU contribute?
proof that no matter how much pain I'm in,
Hubber can still find a way to be a perv

Sex Pornstar Coupon

According to my blog stats, searches on google for "sex pornstar coupon" directed people to my blog a total of 5 times last month. Not only do I not provide pornstar sex, if I did, I wouldn't be giving out coupons for that shit! I would charge a premium!  I wonder how sad these pervs were when they landed on my bullshitty blog full of parental bitching and moaning and starving artist rants?  Oh, well... fuck 'em.  If they don't like it, they can keep moving.

Also, WTF is a sex pornstar coupon? 

If I were ever to attempt to make money in the sex industry, I've already decided that I'd take a clue from Irena Palm.  Except, I'll be the pimp.  I'd drill a hole in my garage door and let pervs stick their peckers in for a lubed-up handjob performed by senior citizens looking to supplement their social security income.  I'd disguise them as Betty White for that "star" quality.

How much would YOU pay to stick your pecker in a hole for a handjob from Betty White?!

Other interesting google searches that led folks to my blog last month:
  • black sucking bitches
  • skittles not shittles
  • spring break 2012 asses
  • zombie princesses
  • kids are assholes
  • mommy juice
  • go rving

Foul-Mouthed Bitches

We've been helping my sister and brother-in-law move all weekend.  About an hour into Day 2, the BIL stops me mid-sentence to inform me that using the words "bitch" and "fuck" as often as I do is unnecessary and completely inappropriate.  That a-hole has some nerve, y'all.  There I was, sweating my ass off helping him move his shit and he feels the need to ask me to filter what comes out of my mouth?!

Well, I'll show him! 

I listened carefully to every word that he and my lovely (and seemingly always appropriate) sister spewed out all fucking day....  and lo' and behold, it was chock full of inappropriate shit.  So, I took notes and I'm going to share THEIR inappropriateness here with the entire world.  Enjoy.

Shit that came out of Sis's mouth:
  • I would if I could, but I just can't push it out.
  • He likes to stick hard things in his mouth.
  • What is penis elbow?
  • Just shake it till it comes out.
  • Suck on this.
  • I think he was black in another life.

Shit BIL said:
  • Just the tip, I promise.
  • Quit yanking on it!
  • My belly is full of Dave.
  • Someone smells like ass.  Oh, wait... that's me.
  • My elbow is so sore.
  • Everyone's sucking on something but me.
  • He LOOKS like he owns a mini-van.

My peeps have got some nasty-ass potty mouths, don't they?!  And they wonder why the hell I'm full of "bitches" and "fucks."  It's THEIR fault!

I'm going to the grave kicking and screaming

Today is my birthday and unlike SOME of my friends (mainly THIS one), I'm loving every minute of it.  As most of you know, I've been celebrating all month... because you only live once, bitches! Sure, I'm one more year closer to death, my hair is graying, my skin is aging and my bank account is dwindling... but I'M ALIVE and I have access to fruity, alcoholic beverages, beef jerky and air conditioning.  What more could a girl ask for?!

Honestly, it's the only time I can make my peeps feel guilty enough to do shit for me:  "Hand me the remote, it's my birthday month!".... "Get me a glass of water, it's my birthday week!".... "Rub my feet, it's my birthday eve, eve!"... "Scratch my back, it's my birthday eve!"  "Throw some coconut ice cubes in my rum, it's my birthday!"

That shit works like a charm for me all month.  The rest of the year, they spend most of the time avoiding me, so I have to milk it for all it's worth.

As I type, my girls are cleaning my kitchen and baking their momma a cake.  Hubber is tidying up the living room and ordering the children around (which is equivalent to porn in my book).  I'm sipping on a beverage at my desk, listening to the Beastie Boys and rubbing my feet on my dog's back.  It's like God is actually smiling down on me and saying, "sure you're a bitch, but I still like you."

While I celebrate the anniversary of the day I was born, I can't help but thank my lucky stars that I survived another year without killing myself or someone else (and that shit ain't easy to do when you're me).  I'm happy, I'm healthy and I have the best group of family and friends anyone could ever hope for.  I'm beginning to think they love me, snark and all.

Ok, time for cake... 

Buses, Booze and Fruit Roll-Ups

The youngest spawn thinks that all the cool kids ride the bus.  But, to torture her, I forbade it.  I insisted that I drop her off every morning... waiting in the car line for 10-15 excrutiating minutes behind idiot parents that can't read/see/hear, just so that I can watch her walk into the building.  It gave me the assurance that she actually made it to school and that she didn't skip out to drink Boone's Farm Strawberry Hill and smoke Camel cigarettes behind the school with all the other derelicts. But it wasn't until a few days ago that I realized that the piece of mind I get from dropping her off myself isn't worth the time and aggravation it costs me to deal with the dreaded CAR LINE.  Also, I got banned from the car line for shooting the bird at the crossing guard.  Twice.  

Me: Hey, baby... wouldn't it be fun to ride the bus in the mornings?

Spawn:  Really?!  Yes!!  I can sneak in some fruit roll-up so me and Tyler can eat them together BEFORE the teacher takes them away from us!

Me: You can eat on the bus?

Spawn: No.  I mean, yes.

Me: Whatever... just don't get in trouble!

So, she's been catching the bus every morning this week and so far she hasn't gotten in trouble for sneaking contraband onto school property.  How much harm can fruit roll-ups cause, really?

There's Nothing Like Pap-Smears and Hot, Mexican Soup

(Forewarning: Do not read this post if you are easily offended by medical procedures or the word vagina)

What goes great with hot, mexican soup, you ask?  If you're me (and I know you wish you were), the answer is a pap-smear.  After confessing to my sister that I hadn't had my annual "Well Woman" exam since my tubal ligation 5 years ago, I've been getting nagged to fucking death about going to the damn doctor.  I just haven't felt the need.  What with no need for birth control and no "flare-ups" in the nether regions, I just figured: if it ain't broke, don't fix it.

Sis: it's called PREVENTATIVE treatment. You could be walking around all ignorant with cervical cancer... or breast cancer... or a million other different kids of cancers and not even know it!

Me: pffffft... you're just jealous because you still need to worry about birth control.

Sis: I don't need to worry, I AM pregnant.

Me: No wonder you need a vagina swab.

Sis: C'mon, I'll buy you lunch.

Me: Free lunch? I'm in!

Because seriously, y'all... I don't turn down a free meal.  Poor folks gotta take handouts when they can get 'em.  So, I offered my body over to science for 30 minutes in exchange for Mexico City Style Chicken and Rice Soup from Pappasitos.  They sprinkle crack in that shit.  And the little leaves floating on top?  Those aren't cilantro... they're weed.  I know this because after eating a bowl of this shit, I'm delirious with the need for a nap.  And chocolate. 

Who the hell drove me home?!

Addicted to Yet ANOTHER Teenie-Bopper Series

So, before I left on my trip, a good friend suggested that I read The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins.

Friend:  Do yourself a favor and read The Hunger Games when you're on your roadtrip.

Me: The WHAT?  Please don't get me started on another teenie-bopper book series.  I'm still trying to get over Bella's stupid ass from Twilight... and Dumbledor dying in Harry Potter... and Artemis Fowl, the badass, never ending saga...

Friend: OK, stop.  Seriously.  You will love it.  I promise there is no miserable teen angst and all the shit that goes along with it.... I pinky promise.

Me: No fucking way I'm buying the book.

Friend: You're a dumbass.

So, I bought the fucking book because I am NO dumbass.  And I read it.  Every last word of it.  In two days.  It was really good, y'all.  So, of course, NOW I have to see the movie and buy the shirt and all that crap.  I just can't get enough.  Part of me is pissed off that my friend knows me so well... and part of me wants to smack her upside the head for getting me all wrapped up in a new series of books when I have tons of others [supposedly more stimulating] sitting on my bookshelves still unread.

And to make matters worse, fucking Woody Harrelson is in the movie.  I love that guy.  White boys CAN jump! And LENNY KRAVITZ?! Holy Shit, Lenny Kravitz is playing Cinna.  I wanna jump his bones. And, I mean that in a sexual way.

Spring Break 2012: Day 5

The natives started getting restless on Day 5, so we drove them up to the mountains in search of snow.  The entire state of Colorado has been blaming Texans for bringing record high temps with them from Texas on Spring Break.  We were bound and determined to prove to those bastages that it wasn’t our fault by finding a patch of snow and playing in that shit. 
So, up we drove; but alas, to no avail.

Sledding on a two-foot patch of slush wasn’t as fun as it promised to be swimming around in my head.  Also, it was mostly yellow and I vaguely remember my mother warning me about yellow snow.  Instead of taking chances with our health, we stopped for lunch.

...and beverages.
Now, we’re on our way home.  We’re going a different route this time… We just survived the Raton Pass between Colorado and New Mexico.  The Winnie took it like a champ uphill at 35 mph (on a 75 mph speed limit).  I’ll never ever curse large, slow moving vehicles again.  From now on, I’ll just politely go around those bitches and flash the peace sign at ‘em.  And, maybe a boob (if they’re lucky and I’m feeling frisky).

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.


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.