If I Had a Nickel...

...for every time someone confused me with someone they actually know WHO IS NOT ME, I'd be a rich ass mofo.

Yesterday one of the new snooty moms at the littlest spawn's dance class kept staring at me, so I smiled and said, "HI!" Although what I really wanted to say was: "What the fuck are you staring at, heifer?  Do I have a zit on my nose?  A booger on my cheek? What?!"

Snooty Mom:  Hi... do I know you from somewhere?

Me:  Hmmm... No, I don't think so.

Snooty Mom:  Yeah, I think I do... what school does your daughter go to?

Me:  Moore... but I'm rarely ever there... so, that can't be it.

Snooty Mom:  Did you go to Baylor?

Me:   Ha!  Nope.  You don't know me.  I just have a familiar face.  I hear it all the time.

Snooty Mom:  Wait!  I know!  You're on the church festival committee!  Or choir?  At Prince of Peace?

Me:  Nope.

Snooty Mom:  But you do go to church?

Me: This feels like an interrogation.  Are you a cop?  I didn't do it! I swear.

This is how many encounters with strangers go for me.  Do I go to church??  HA!  But, being confused for a church lady ain't shit, y'all.  People are always thinking they know me from somewhere. I've been confused for a flight attendant, a circus performer (shut the fuck up), and even a Walmart employee (which isn't all that hard to believe).

Sometimes, my friends even spot one of my evil twins in odd places.  I'll randomly get a text from a friend that reads something like: Are you sitting at a bar in Miami right now? when I'm in bed blowing my nose and reading a trashy novel.  Sometimes I have to check my surroundings to make sure that I am NOT indeed in Miami... or in an airport... or at a blackjack table in Vegas... or wind surfing in Hawaii.  My evil twins get a lot more perks than I do.

And, one time, I had this very old lady walk right up to me, tilt her head and stare holes into my retinas, "you look just like my son's wife - she died of cancer two years ago."  Then, she just walked off.  All I could think was that THAT BITCH JUST GAVE ME OJO!  (for those of you who did not grow up around  Santeria and Mexican voodoo, ojo is the ultimate "evil-eye staring curse" you give people to jinx them for life... it can only be countered by being touched by the person doing the staring)... and that old hag didn't lay one finger on me.  She musta hated her dead daughter-in-law and she is now taking that shit out on innocent look-alikes!

To get that shit overturned, I had to pay $20 to a shady bruja who made me drink chicken blood and sleep with raw eggs in a jar of vinegar under my bed for 3 days.

What if it didn't work? Maybe that pain in the back of my head really IS a tumor!

It's a bird... it's a plane... NO... It's SUPER ME!

I have a superpower that I keep forgetting to tell y'all about. It's the power to tune shit out. This power didn't come naturally. It started out small... a spark here and there. But over the years, I have fine-tuned that shit into the superpower that it is now.

I can be in the noisiest environment imaginable... kids screaming, dog barking, TV blaring, nuclear bomb dropping... and I won't hear a fucking thing. I can type away on my computer and tune it all out. I can even read a book peacefully while thunder rolls, the neighbors beat on drums, my kids slam doors and the my dog howls. No problemo. Unless I hear the word "Mom" in all the commotion, I don't give a rat's ass what's going on around me. Sometimes, I don't even hear "Mom" when I'm deep down in the alternate universe of the superpower.

I can tune the shit out, is what I'm saying.

The only problem is... it falls dormant when I'm asleep.  The superpower gets confused when it's too quiet, I think, because it ain't nowhere to be found when I need it most.  I can hear a pin drop on a pillow 100 feet away behind a closed door WHEN I'M A-FUCKIN-SLEEP. I have a feeling the god doling out superpowers in Krypton is a really short man with a tiny penis who hates women.

Me: <bolting upright in bed, mid snore, startled beyond belief> What the fuck was that!? 

Hubber: You mean, this.... <puts finger on computer mouse and clicks> ?

Me: No... something is going on in the girls' room.

<Hubber goes to check>

Hubber: Your oldest spawn just flushed the toilet.  You want me to ground her?

Me: Yes. You people need to learn how to shut the fuck up when I'm trying to sleep!

The asshole neighbors don't make it any easier for me.  Hubber will make fun of the fact that I can fall asleep on demand... but what he never mentions is the fact that I wake up every 15 fucking minutes because the dicky god of superpowers put restrictions on my abilities.

Wait a minute.

I just thought of something.  Maybe the hearing-pins-dropping-mid-sleep is another superpower!  Maybe I'm one of those freak superheros who is burdened with managing TWO powers.  Beat that shit, x-men alumni!

I take comfort in the fact that my kids are still scared of Santa Claus

On a recent re-run of "Everybody Loves Raymond", Ray goes into his daughter's room in the middle of the night dressed up like Santa... he whispers his kid's name and she wakes up startled but then she's all like, "oh, hi, Santa!" all happy and welcoming... they proceed to have a nice conversation... he kisses her on the forehead and tucks her back into bed before he leaves.

Does no one else find this shit disturbing?!

If that shit woulda happened in my house, my kids woulda screamed bloody fucking murder, y'all!  When the oldest spawn was little, she had nightmares about Santa watching her while she slept. She used to sleep with scissors under her pillow just in case the mother fucker decided to pop in on her.  She was ready to stab a bitch...for real.  And, don't even get me started on the littlest spawn.  She doesn't trust anyone in a costume...gifts or no gifts, she ain't going anywhere near that shit.

Me:  It's a good thing our girls are scared of Santa.

Hubber:  Uh.... ok...

Me:  Because if Santa showed up in their bedroom in the middle of the night, they'd scream for us!

Hubber: You DO know Santa doesn't exist, right?

Me: I don't mean the real Santa, asshole!  I mean, one of those crazyass pedophiles dressed up like Santa!

Hubber: Oh.

Me: If I were a kid snatcher, that's what I would do!  It's the best disguise to lure kids!  I'd do all my dirty work on Christmas Eve.

Hubber:  This is the most fucked up conversation we've had all year.

Me: Seriously, Hub! Think about it!  Kids love Santa (well, most of the normal ones do)... they see Santa in their room on Christmas Eve, they're gonna trust that sonofabitch and go anywhere he tells them to.  Think of the Polar Fucking Express!!  Those kids got on the train in the middle of the night with a stranger!!

Hubber: You're dumb.

Me: Kids are dumb.  From now on, I'm gonna teach my kids to be scared of EVERYTHING!

Hubber: They're one step ahead of you.

And it's true... they're scared of a lot of dumb shit.  Don't you dare let the Chik-Fil-A cow wander anywhere near them... they'll flip their shit.  The littlest spawn is afraid of the dark... so, at night, she wears an eye mask to sleep in. So she can't SEE the dark.  With her eyes closed.  While she's fucking sleeping.

And you people wonder why I drink.

Kids Are Pigs - Let's Make Bacon

because bacon makes everything better

Just because I work at home doesn't mean I'm everyone's personal maid. Contrary to popular beliefs, I actually try to WORK all day. I don't have time to go around picking up shit my kids leave strewn about. On the surface, my girls are cute... they're funny... they're smart (this is a matter of opinion) and they appear to be clean and well groomed. What people don't know is that they are actually filthy pigs shat from the bowels of hell. 

The oldest spawn will be 17 years old this year. Over the years, she has struggled with lifting a fucking finger to help make my life a little easier. She isn't interested in making my life easier. All she is interested in is living like a slob. When she was 13, she used to hoard dirty dishes in her room. I kept buying tumblers and bowls thinking some serial dish robber was sneaking in through my kitchen window to snatch my shit up. I even made a booby trap out of broken wine bottles on the windowsill to try to catch that motherfucker once and for all. But, when I found a bowl of moldy, stinky, milk swollen cheerios stashed away in her bathroom cabinet while searching desperately for a tampon, I knew who the real thief was. My fucking kid.

So, what did I do? I put Hubber on the case. He turned that room upside down and found crusty forks under mattresses, cups stacked behind books, petrified pizza crusts in file cabinet drawers, and bowls growing science experiments under the bed and in the closet. The craziest thing (because evidently, that shit isn't crazy enough), was that when we questioned her about it, she acted completely dumbfounded like she had no clue where all that shit came from.

Me: What the fuck were you thinking? How long has this been going on?

1st Spawn: I didn't do it. I swear! I don't know where any of that stuff came from.

Hubber: I'll tell you where it came from! It came from you dragging shit up to your room and hiding it because you were too damn lazy to bring it back down to the kitchen... or throw it in the trash.

1st Spawn: Daddy, I swear! I didn't do it!

Hubber: Well then WHO did?

1st Spawn: I don't know. Maybe it was a ghost. I told you there are ghosts in this house! (find more on the pesky ghost here)

Yeah, that's how the conversation went. And, Hubber kept arguing with her because that's what he does. And, do you think the dish stashing stopped after that argument? It didn't. It went on for the next few months (or years... as it turns out because we found fresh stashes of shit when we moved out of the house last year). Even the contraction of staph infections didn't change her lazy ways.

After we moved and the route between her bedroom and the kitchen became almost non-existent, the hording of dirty dishes seemed to get better but other slobbish habits took over.

  1. She can't seem to close a drawer.  The clothes in the drawers aren't even overflowing.  It would take literally 2 seconds to shove them closed with a hip while walking by. 
    WTF? Just close the damn drawers!
  2. She can't seem to toss empty toilet paper rolls in the trash can that sits right under the toilet paper roll holder.
  3. She collects hair on her shower wall.  Hair. Long, gnarly strands of hair.  Her logic to collecting hair there is that it's better than clogging the drain.  Never mind the fact there is a trash can right next to the fucking tub.
  4. She co-mingles clean clothes with dirty clothes and can't keep track of what is clean and what is dirty, so when she's getting dressed in the morning, she tosses a shirt and a pair of jeans into the dryer with a dryer sheet to "dewrinkle" it, she says.  More like "freshen it up" so she doesn't smell like sweaty cooch and gym socks.
But it's not just her pig pen lifestyle that drives me nuts, she's also a lazy heifer who will fall over dead if she has to help do anything remotely related to housework.  It takes her 2 hours to wash 4 plates, 4 forks and 4 cups because she suddenly has to take a shit, then she cuts herself on the tip of a fork and starts bleeding profusely, then she bumps her head on the razor sharp edge of an open cabinet door and blood starts pooling in her eye, then she slips on dog drool and strains a hamstring which prohibits the ability to bend and load the dishwasher.

Her sister has officially started following in her footsteps.  I've tried to instill in the littlest spawn the importance of proper hygiene and picking up after her damn self. Has she learned one fucking thing? No.  She wears Depends-for-Kids because she has bladder issues at night and I got tired of washing pee-soaked sheets every fucking day.  But, can she remove the pull-up and place it in the garbage?  No.  She removes it, then leaves it in the middle of the bedroom floor where it transfers pee stink into the carpet and into the air.  She will make games of jumping over the damn thing.  She will build barriers around it so that the dog doesn't snatch it up.  But, she will not pick it up without a fight.

Why?  Because "it's gross, Moooom!", and she doesn't want to get pee on her fingers.  This from the same kid who to this day will pluck boogers out of her nose and eat them for snacks throughout the day.  The same kid who will take a shit, NOT wipe properly a wear shit encrusted panties all day.  The same kid who will scratch her ass and sniff her fingers.  The same kid who chews on her own fucking toenails. 
Turns out the dog is grossed out, too.
The other day when the girls' toilet was clogged beyond Hubber's ability to remedy it, the plumber came in, stepped over two swollen pull-ups, around a pile of clothes lying on the floor next to an empty laundry basket, and past a drawer full of teenager thongs.  Behind the toilet, he spotted an empty popcorn bag and a glass half-full of green muck that was once a banana smoothie. 

And you people wonder why I drink.
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5 Perfect Mother's Day Gifts For Needy Moms

Do you know a needy mom?  

If you're not sure... look around.  Do you see a mom whose hair is perpetually disheveled?  Are her gray roots in desperate need of coloring? Does she need to pluck a few stray eyebrows?  Does she have coffee stains on her t-shirt?  Does her left eye twitch every few minutes?  Does she carry mini vodka bottles in her handbag?  Is she always popping "vitamins"?  Does she sometimes cry for no fucking reason?  Yeah.  You know at least one of those moms.

This year, let's give needy moms Mother's Day gifts they would really love.

They deserve it, you ungrateful mofos.  They carried bowling balls around in their uteruses for 9 long, gruesome months.  They spewed real, live human beings from their loins.  And, that my friends, is no small feat.  It's a miracle, motherfuckers.  And, their bodies will never be the same again.  So, the least YOU can do is treat them to something super nice this year.  Fuck the dumb candy and flowers.  Dig a little deeper and consider a gift from the following list:

1. No! No! Hair Removal System

Every needy mom has unwanted hair.  Some, more than others.  Either way, it's a bitch maintaining smooth, hairless skin.  Every mom need's a No! No! for Mother's Day.  Look how happy the heifer in this picture looks:

no-no hair removal
You think she could have attracted that little hottie she's hanging on to if she had beard stubble?  I think not.

2. Poo-Pourri

Although my shit doesn't stink, I know a shit load of people who have some really foul smelling poop.  And, let's face it, people... ladies are dainty.  They don't want people smelling their shit and talking about them behind their backs.  It's bad enough that their hair is matted and they're growing random two-inch hairs on their chins... they don't need a stinky ass on top of everything else that's wrong with them.  So, do all needy moms a favor, and get them a Crap Shooter from Poo-Pourri.  It's a gift the entire family can enjoy. 

3. Jock Strap Maid Service

No woman would turn down this service.  Even gay women appreciate a hard body... and a bare booty. Every needy mom needs this guy in her house once a month to scrub her toilets.  Plus, you'll be killing two birds with one stone - helping an needy mom AND helping a poor, sexy guy make his way through college.  It's a win-win, if you ask me.  
jock strap maid

4. A Spec's Gift Card. You can never go wrong with booze...

Unless she doesn't drink.  Then, you're screwed.  And, you're suddenly an asshole because you bought booze for a recovered alcoholic or a Jehovah's Witness... or a Baptist, for crying out loud!  But, if in fact she is a drinker, she's got an expensive habit that needs supporting.  Look at what a good son this guy is:
his mama loves him for boozin' her up!

5. Summer Day Camp for Kids

Needy moms are usually on very tight budgets.  They usually work from home.  They get most of their work done while the kids are in school or in the middle of the night when the kids are sleeping.  But, what do they do when school lets out for the Summer? Some of them literally go insane.  Help a needy mom out, y'all!  Contribute to a worthy cause and send [at least] her [most annoying] kid to day camp at the Y.  Not sure how to contribute?  In a quick search, I found someone you can help!  Go here: Send Jessica to YMCA Summer Day Camp.
send jessica to summer camp

Hey, Bitches! Someone Thinks I'm Inspirational!

Imagine my shock and amazement when I found a comment on my site announcing that I had won an award.  That shit wasn't spam, y'all.  It was for real.  I nearly shit my pants!  So, thanks to the lovely, talented, gorgeously beautiful and superbly intelligent and funny Ellen at Bad Word Mama, I was presented with this:

If you don't believe that she actually DID nominate me for the award, here's the page where I'm listed: Holy Shitballs.  What an appropriate title to a blog post with a reference to me.  Fuck it, I'm honored!  But, as my luck would have it, this award isn't just one of those "here ya go have a nice day" kind of awards. There were strings attached. Kinda like getting married.  And, having children.  This is the story of my life.  Anyway... I have to follow some award acceptance rules lest I shalt be guilt ridden to the point of insanity by the Blog Gods and my left boob will fall off.  That would make me lopsided.  We can't have that, now can we? So, here's what I have to do:  Thank the person who nominated me for the award (done.), write a blog post containing seven interesting things about myself (ugh), and nominate 10 other bloggers for the same award (easy breezy).  So, without further adieu, here's some shit you may or may not know about me:

1. I don't wear bras or panties unless I absolutely, positively have to.  We're talking gun to the head kinda shit.  I don't go sans drawers because I think it's sexy or my coochie needs to be aired out or I'm one of the leftovers from Woodstock.  I go without because those contraptions are just too constricting and they make me feel claustrophobic. When I get claustrophobic, I tend to get stabby.  You wouldn't like me when I'm stabby.

2. I'm anal about "even stevens".  Shit has to be balanced or I start seeing spots and my tongue starts to swell.  If there's an end table on one side of the sofa, there better damn well be another one on the other side.  And, if you're gonna hang a TV on the wall, it better be right in the middle of the wall or I'll lose my shit. This is why I can't eat an open-faced sandwich or wear my hair like Deb on Napoleon Dynamite.

3. I once stole a Cover Girl mascara from Woolworth's.  I had no intentions of stealing it.  I was planning on having my brother steal it for me in exchange for a stack of Garbage Pail Kids trading cards, but that mofo wanted to charge me $2 cash for the steal (he was an entrepreneur at an early age).  Fuck that shit. So... I swiped it myself.  Afterwards, I broke out into hives and kept watching my back thinking the FBI was going to bust me at any moment.  I suck at guilt-free thievery.  

4. My shit don't stink.  Literally.  It smells beautiful no matter what I eat.  It's like honey suckle with a hint  of citrus.  I get compliments from Hubber all the time. I'm all, "I just took a dump, do not go in the bathroom"... and he goes in anyway and is all, "Baby, it smells awesome in there.  It's all flowery and nice."  True story.

5. I shave my arm hair.  And, I don't mean just my pits.  I mean my ARM hair, too.  I can't afford to wax and I'm a hairy motherfucker. I don't want to be confused for a sasquatch, so I put a razor to that shit on a regular basis.  I blame my heritage.  Mexican women are hairy, ya'll.  Thanks a lot, Mom!  If I had $300 right now, I'd go by myself a No-no.  

6. Unlike most geniuses, I do NOT suffer from insomnia.  You'd think that with an IQ like mine and a brain as big and juicy as mine is, I'd have the burden of too much thought - so much so that I'd stay up all night thinking and thinking and thinking of shit.  You'd be wrong.  When I hit my pillow, I pass out, y'all.  I can sleep and sleep and sleep.  I love to sleep.  And, I can pretty much sleep anywhere and under almost any condition.  Except, under water.  I tried that and I almost drowned.  

7. I have been watching The Young and the Restless for 25 years.  It all started when I was 13 years old and I went to spend the summer in the valley with my cousins.  They got me hooked on that shit and I haven't missed an episode in 25 years.  I love to hate Victor Newman.  It amazes me that Katherine Chancelor is still alive...she's gotta be pushing 100.  And, I'm not loving the new Abby.  They really should consult me before making cast changes

Whew.  That was tough.  But, I'm done exposing myself to y'all.  For now, anyway.  While you're anxiously awaiting my next post, why not go and check out some of these other blogs more worthy of the "Very Inspiring Blogger Award" than I am:

the goes to ...

  1. Mommy Wants Vodka - Aunt Becky will have you rolling
  2. We Band of Mothers - Marianne's kids will be in therapy soon just like mine
  3. Bad Advice from My Brother - his brother is the most cleverly fucked up person alive
  4. Inside the Mind of a Ghetto Genius - 'nuff said
  5. Motherhood WTF? - I ask myself the same question every single day
  6. Let Me Start By Saying... - Check out her new table manners for kids
  7. My Dirty Kitchen Floor - this heifer can really carry a tune!
  8. Diary of an Accidental Dad - he drinks a lot, too
  9. Oscar Barnes - the company he works for is BIG
  10. Oh, NOA - funnier than your grandma
Enjoy your award, you badass bitches!

Who wants turtle soup?

I'm not sure how it happens, but every pet I've ever owned has always had some psychological disorder.  They start out as cute quirks... but then the grow and evolve into completely psychotic mental disorders that even pet whisperers can't cure.  I once had a dog who loved to flood my apartment by biting through toilet bowl water lines.  That little bastard would break through a fucking door to attack a water line.  He was a rat terrier.  I hate rat fucking terriers now.  I had a cat that was perpetually stressed out.  She'd lose her hair over the dumbest shit.  Move her food bowl 10 feet in one direction?  Bald head.

Now I have a big, mean-looking dog who is afraid of her own shadow.  She goes without peeing and pooping for DAYS if it's raining outside. She's got a strong bladder, y'all.  And she's always nervous.  She jumps with any little noise. Close a door, the dog jumps.  Flush the toilet, she runs to her bed.  Knock at the door, she hides.  When she's feeling extra nervous, she walks laps around the coffee table.  If anyone ever broke into our house, that bitch ain't protecting her family...she's gonna save the shit out of her own damn life and leave us there to get stabbed to death.  She's the worst watch-dog ever.

My point here is that now I have a crazy ass turtle.  She's an aquatic turtle...requiring both water for swimming and dry land with hot lamps for vacationing.  It was expensive putting her habitat thingy together. Does that bitch give a shit?  No, she does not.  She uses the pool every other day for about an hour to eat and shit in... and the rest of the time, she digs her way down under the rocks and sand and stays buried.  What kind of AQUATIC animals hates water?  One belonging to me... that's what kind.

Do YOU see a fucking turtle in here? No.
That's because she was under a fucking rock!

You're fat and I know it. Click the damn link.

In case you heifers haven't noticed, there's something different about my blog.  Over there in that right sidebar are new advertisements.  Momma's trying to make some money, y'all.  Hubber's about to kick my ass to the curb if some of my writing projects don't start making money.  Go click on some of that shit.  I know some of you heifers must need to lose some weight... or build a website... or buy a domain... or stock up on sex toys... or some similar shit like that.

C'mon... I know you're fat.  You need a how-to-lose-weight plan, right?  Go click on that shit and buy a guide or some supplements or whatever.  Thank you. And, you're welcome.

How NOT Drinking Alcohol Can Kill a Mofo

Much to Patsy's dismay, I recently fell off the wagon.  Well, it wasn't really to her dismay in that I never actually TOLD her I started boozing it up again.  But, if she DID know, that heifer would be dismayed for sure.  Know what I say to that?  Fuck it.  Fuck Patsy and her skinny ass self.  I did my research, bitch!  A single shot of straight vodka only contains 100 calories... and ZERO sugars.  That's right.  NO SUGAR.  And, according to Lance Armstrong's peeps, wine has even fewer calories.  At first I was like, "should I trust Lance's peeps?  Lance is a crack whore... maybe I should do some fact checking"... so I dug a little deeper and found some amazing news from the Calorie King. Only 96 calories in 80 proof vodka!  If the fucking king of calories says it, it must be so!

Also, 96 upside down is 69.  My lucky number! And... I made it six weeks without consuming alcohol. That's gotta be some kind of world record or something.  Where's my fucking prize?

During this time, I learned a very important fact: Being sober for long periods of time will give you homicidal tendencies.  No joke, people.  Why do you think sober people are so fucking loony?  It's because they are fighting hard, every second of their lives, not to kill a mother fucker.  When you consume adult beverages (in moderation, of course), you enjoy that "I don't really give a fuck" attitude.  Which is nice when you're like me, genetically prone to craziness.

My excessive sobriety almost made me kill:

  1. my neighbors for being inconsiderate assholes every fucking day
  2. a waiter for accidentally looking like that creepy red-headed guy on CSI Miami
  3. my daughter's friend for suggesting that I was too fat for my jacket because it wasn't zipped up
  4. my sister for suggesting that I am fat by asking me to go to the gym with her
  5. my dog for taking a gazillion hours to find the perfect spot to take a shit
  6. my nail lady for suggesting that my entire face needed waxing
  7. the ice cream truck man for charging $2.25 for a fucking popsicle
  8. the snow plow driver who splashed me with slush when I was scraping ice off my windshield in a fucking blizzard
...and that's just to name a few.  So the fact that I'm officially off the bandwagon pretty much means that I bought a one-way ticket to heaven.  I'm like Mother Teresa - except way hotter.