My second son, Huston, is almost nine. He's very quiet unless he's only talking to one person, and then he's full of things to say. His teacher sent me a note that says he loves to share his thoughts during class discussions, which surprised me until I thought about the fact that they also sent home a note asking for permission to test him for "gifted". I think he talks more now just in case he says something smart enough that someone will ask him about that particular note. Ugh. Smart kids.
Here is the talk we had this evening:
Huston: Did you know that 89% of the world looks the way it does because of man?
Me: No. Wait, you know what percent means?
Huston: It does. I read it.
Me: Hmmm...I find that hard to believe.
Huston: I read it. Do you know what that means?
Me: Um....pollution?
Huston: No. It means that only 21% is because of women.
Me: Wait, wait, wait...back up. Where did you read this?
Huston: In the dictionary.
Me: Was there a picture of Jeff Foxworthy on the front?
Huston: ...
Me: Ok, first of all, your math is off, kiddo. Secondly, I am not sure it meant that, exactly.
Huston: It said it. In the dictionary. :::rolls his eyes and remembers why he doesn't talk to people:::
Me: I think "man" in this context means the species, not the gender.
Huston: You can't talk over my head, mom. I'm gifted.
Me: You screwed up the math, son. Just sayin'.
Huston: So how did humans change 89% of the world. I find that hard to believe.
Me: Didn't I say that earlier? Um...pollution?
Huston: Pollution can't be the answer to every question.
Me: It can if you're a democrat.
Huston: :::wonders if he can fake autism on the gifted test:::
Sep 30, 2010
Sep 29, 2010
Boring Post that Doesn't Deserve a Title
School is going really well, except for the grades and the Monday through Friday thing and the I'm not really a math person but I still chose accounting for some reason thing.
When I get a good grade, I'm all "Yay, I'm so freakin' smart!" And when I get a bad grade, I'm all "Damn people won't let me concentrate!" Today, I got a second chance on a test, because there was one section in which I had to convert the symbol for bond prices into the actual bond price for a $1000 bond. Then, there was another section later on that I had to do the same thing. Only, I guess I didn't have to do the same thing, because she gave it back to me and said "You can redo this, it looks like you were thinking it was the same as the one before, but...well, just read it." I'm all "Ohhhhh, ok." and I take it back to my desk. Only the thing is, I still thought it was the same thing. So I read it again and chewed on my pencil a little bit. Then I erased all my answers and read it again. Then I looked at the clock because for some reason, my eyes always start watering at 1:30, and they were watering so I checked to see, and yes, it was 1:30. Then I still didn't know what in the world I was trying to do so I just wrote some numbers with dollar signs and I hope they were right.
What I hate about missing answers on the tests is that my teacher is very one-on-one, so she always takes the time to make sure you understand what was wrong and why, which is great in the accounting class. But this particular class is Electronic Calculator, because we have to be able to go all fast on those things because that is the closest thing to cool people in accounting get. I'm pretty fast, so I think it doesn't really matter to the calculator world if I don't know how much a stock costs, right? I'm not really a stock market kind of person, I'm more of a whoops, the power's out again, guess I need to pay for electricity now kind of person. My hope is to never care about the stock market outside of its affect on the job market, and I don't need to be able to read ticker tape for that, it's why we have news anchors. However, I did learn what ticker tape means (it's the thing that doctors use to keep pacemakers where they belong), so that's something, at least.
So after I turned in the redone test, I had to ask for the next test in the same class, because that's really why I went to school today in the first place. Then I sat down and promptly forgot everything on that test, because I had spent so long staring at the one before it, which means I'm probably not really absorbing this information, but also means that I should have shut my mouth and played on Facebook instead of being all studious and over-achieving trying to knock out the rest of that class in one week. But things happen, so I did the best I could, and I'm done with the calculator class. Now I have to take a 10-Key class, which I hope is more about the cool fast-button-pushing thing than it is about the stock market, because the screwy class titles are upsetting me.
When I get a good grade, I'm all "Yay, I'm so freakin' smart!" And when I get a bad grade, I'm all "Damn people won't let me concentrate!" Today, I got a second chance on a test, because there was one section in which I had to convert the symbol for bond prices into the actual bond price for a $1000 bond. Then, there was another section later on that I had to do the same thing. Only, I guess I didn't have to do the same thing, because she gave it back to me and said "You can redo this, it looks like you were thinking it was the same as the one before, but...well, just read it." I'm all "Ohhhhh, ok." and I take it back to my desk. Only the thing is, I still thought it was the same thing. So I read it again and chewed on my pencil a little bit. Then I erased all my answers and read it again. Then I looked at the clock because for some reason, my eyes always start watering at 1:30, and they were watering so I checked to see, and yes, it was 1:30. Then I still didn't know what in the world I was trying to do so I just wrote some numbers with dollar signs and I hope they were right.
What I hate about missing answers on the tests is that my teacher is very one-on-one, so she always takes the time to make sure you understand what was wrong and why, which is great in the accounting class. But this particular class is Electronic Calculator, because we have to be able to go all fast on those things because that is the closest thing to cool people in accounting get. I'm pretty fast, so I think it doesn't really matter to the calculator world if I don't know how much a stock costs, right? I'm not really a stock market kind of person, I'm more of a whoops, the power's out again, guess I need to pay for electricity now kind of person. My hope is to never care about the stock market outside of its affect on the job market, and I don't need to be able to read ticker tape for that, it's why we have news anchors. However, I did learn what ticker tape means (it's the thing that doctors use to keep pacemakers where they belong), so that's something, at least.
So after I turned in the redone test, I had to ask for the next test in the same class, because that's really why I went to school today in the first place. Then I sat down and promptly forgot everything on that test, because I had spent so long staring at the one before it, which means I'm probably not really absorbing this information, but also means that I should have shut my mouth and played on Facebook instead of being all studious and over-achieving trying to knock out the rest of that class in one week. But things happen, so I did the best I could, and I'm done with the calculator class. Now I have to take a 10-Key class, which I hope is more about the cool fast-button-pushing thing than it is about the stock market, because the screwy class titles are upsetting me.
Sep 28, 2010
Guest Post: Redneck Woman
Breaking up is hard to do, or at least that what some song says.
Tonight, I am fed up. I have been breaking up for a year, now, and you know what? It's freakin' hard, because you can't just break up and have it done with, now, can ya?
When I broke up with the guy I dated before my future ex husband, he told me I couldn't break up with him, because we were both in the relationship, so we both had to break up. He wasn't breaking up, so neither could I.
And life just comes full circle, huh? So now, I am being serenaded by the little noise my phone makes every time I get a text message, because some people just don't understand the words "leave me a-freaking-lone".
I'm done answering messages. I'm not accepting anymore phone calls. I'm putting all emails into the "show the judge" folder without reading them first.
I am not going to give you one half of the children any more than I would give you one half of one child.
I am not going to "lean on you" when my friend is ill.
I am not going to give you helpful friendly advice the same day that DHS shows up at my house because you called them.
I don't care if you managed to get yourself on the VIP list at DHS. Of course your house is clean, you live with your mom, and she has a staff. And no kids live there. (Nor will they ever.) I am one adult living with six children, so I am completely positive your house is cleaner than mine. But that's not what makes a home.
The number one thing that makes a home is love. The number two thing that makes a home is not being a complete asshole. The number three thing that makes a home is get a freaking job. The number four thing that makes a home is I hope you get paid for sending text messages, and if so, you owe some child support. The number five thing that makes a home is you don't teach your kids to talk back to police officers. The number six thing that makes a home is you don't tell your kids they're too dumb for school so they should sing. The number seven thing that makes a home is yes, I'm using this list to bring up an infinitesimal number of things you have done to piss. me. off. The number eight thing that makes a home is if my dog doesn't eat you, there are more vicious things inside, and only six of them are the kids.
Finally, the number nine thing that makes a home is I will fight tooth and nail for my kids. Not to keep them. Not to prove a point. Not to get you back. But for them to have an opportunity to develop and grow into the men and women they are supposed to be. Don't get in my way. Do. Not. Get. In. My. Way.
To my readers: I am sorry. This is a rant. I hope it's out of my system. It's probably not. It takes a lot to make me mad. It takes a lot more to make me mad enough to say anything about it, especially on the Interwebz. But you know what? It's been more than a lot, and I've had it. My inner redneck has kicked her way to the outside, and I'm afraid she's here to stay for a spell. Please be nice to her. She isn't even a decent writer, but she doesn't know that, and she's quite outspoken, so just bear with her, please. Her expected departure is October 26th, please pray that nothing delays it. She's kind of a bitch.
Tonight, I am fed up. I have been breaking up for a year, now, and you know what? It's freakin' hard, because you can't just break up and have it done with, now, can ya?
When I broke up with the guy I dated before my future ex husband, he told me I couldn't break up with him, because we were both in the relationship, so we both had to break up. He wasn't breaking up, so neither could I.
And life just comes full circle, huh? So now, I am being serenaded by the little noise my phone makes every time I get a text message, because some people just don't understand the words "leave me a-freaking-lone".
I'm done answering messages. I'm not accepting anymore phone calls. I'm putting all emails into the "show the judge" folder without reading them first.
I am not going to give you one half of the children any more than I would give you one half of one child.
I am not going to "lean on you" when my friend is ill.
I am not going to give you helpful friendly advice the same day that DHS shows up at my house because you called them.
I don't care if you managed to get yourself on the VIP list at DHS. Of course your house is clean, you live with your mom, and she has a staff. And no kids live there. (Nor will they ever.) I am one adult living with six children, so I am completely positive your house is cleaner than mine. But that's not what makes a home.
The number one thing that makes a home is love. The number two thing that makes a home is not being a complete asshole. The number three thing that makes a home is get a freaking job. The number four thing that makes a home is I hope you get paid for sending text messages, and if so, you owe some child support. The number five thing that makes a home is you don't teach your kids to talk back to police officers. The number six thing that makes a home is you don't tell your kids they're too dumb for school so they should sing. The number seven thing that makes a home is yes, I'm using this list to bring up an infinitesimal number of things you have done to piss. me. off. The number eight thing that makes a home is if my dog doesn't eat you, there are more vicious things inside, and only six of them are the kids.
Finally, the number nine thing that makes a home is I will fight tooth and nail for my kids. Not to keep them. Not to prove a point. Not to get you back. But for them to have an opportunity to develop and grow into the men and women they are supposed to be. Don't get in my way. Do. Not. Get. In. My. Way.
To my readers: I am sorry. This is a rant. I hope it's out of my system. It's probably not. It takes a lot to make me mad. It takes a lot more to make me mad enough to say anything about it, especially on the Interwebz. But you know what? It's been more than a lot, and I've had it. My inner redneck has kicked her way to the outside, and I'm afraid she's here to stay for a spell. Please be nice to her. She isn't even a decent writer, but she doesn't know that, and she's quite outspoken, so just bear with her, please. Her expected departure is October 26th, please pray that nothing delays it. She's kind of a bitch.
Sep 27, 2010
Kiss Off, OTA
Dear Turnpike Coin Machine,
As much as I have enjoyed our twice daily visits, I am afraid they must come to an end. You are a liar and a cheat, and I will not be used by you anymore.
Many a time I have sat in line waiting while you hold up one car after another, flirting with them, asking them for more and more of their change while you tease them and make them think they're going to win your green light, but ever flashing only red while they search for more silver change under their floor mats, because you are too good for copper change, and they covet that green light so.
So I wait, knowing that you save your green light only for me. I smile at you as I pull up, knowing that I have the exact change you want, and that your green light will surely be mine forever. I expertly toss my one quarter in your bucket, along with the dime that you began asking for last year. I have to admit, I hate you a little for that dime, but I sacrifice for you, my darling, because I want to move forward, and this is the only path I know to take. There is a part of me that despises you for knowing that I will give you whatever coins you ask of me, for knowing that you have all the control in our relationship and that, even if you asked me to drop diamonds in your bucket, I would do it, because I have to get to class on time.
I drop in the coins, and wait for what I know will come -- your green light. But you don't give it to me. Instead, you mock me with red, just as you did all the cars before me. You ask for more and more from me, but you're not getting it anymore, baby. After all, you're only a little machine perched on the side of the road. You can't hurt me. You can't even talk. I am through with your pitiful cries for more, more, more. I am through with accidentally dropping my last quarter on the ground, and trying to decide if I want to search for it or just throw in pennies and hope you don't notice the difference. It makes me sick every time I finally get the green light, only to be fooled by your non-stop "road construction", which consists not so much of constructing anything as it does orange cones, a lowered speed limit, one less lane and twenty men eating lunch. If I had only known that you were nothing but a lunch stop for men who drive big un-nameable equipment, I would never have given you my love or my quarters or my dimes, even.
So, I'm through with you, Turnpike. You are dead to me. I have seen what you are and it's not pretty. You will never trap me into giving my coins to you again. Until tomorrow when I have to get to class.
But for tonight, it's over. Forever. Till tomorrow.
As much as I have enjoyed our twice daily visits, I am afraid they must come to an end. You are a liar and a cheat, and I will not be used by you anymore.
Many a time I have sat in line waiting while you hold up one car after another, flirting with them, asking them for more and more of their change while you tease them and make them think they're going to win your green light, but ever flashing only red while they search for more silver change under their floor mats, because you are too good for copper change, and they covet that green light so.
So I wait, knowing that you save your green light only for me. I smile at you as I pull up, knowing that I have the exact change you want, and that your green light will surely be mine forever. I expertly toss my one quarter in your bucket, along with the dime that you began asking for last year. I have to admit, I hate you a little for that dime, but I sacrifice for you, my darling, because I want to move forward, and this is the only path I know to take. There is a part of me that despises you for knowing that I will give you whatever coins you ask of me, for knowing that you have all the control in our relationship and that, even if you asked me to drop diamonds in your bucket, I would do it, because I have to get to class on time.
I drop in the coins, and wait for what I know will come -- your green light. But you don't give it to me. Instead, you mock me with red, just as you did all the cars before me. You ask for more and more from me, but you're not getting it anymore, baby. After all, you're only a little machine perched on the side of the road. You can't hurt me. You can't even talk. I am through with your pitiful cries for more, more, more. I am through with accidentally dropping my last quarter on the ground, and trying to decide if I want to search for it or just throw in pennies and hope you don't notice the difference. It makes me sick every time I finally get the green light, only to be fooled by your non-stop "road construction", which consists not so much of constructing anything as it does orange cones, a lowered speed limit, one less lane and twenty men eating lunch. If I had only known that you were nothing but a lunch stop for men who drive big un-nameable equipment, I would never have given you my love or my quarters or my dimes, even.
So, I'm through with you, Turnpike. You are dead to me. I have seen what you are and it's not pretty. You will never trap me into giving my coins to you again. Until tomorrow when I have to get to class.
But for tonight, it's over. Forever. Till tomorrow.
Sep 26, 2010
Hospitality
Ha! Gotcha! Mwuahahahahahahahahaha!!!! :::twirls evil-villain mustache::: I just scared some people. That was your early Halloween gift, Miss Lady Who Wouldn't Want to Read About Hospitality.
I won't talk about hospitality at all. Because one time, I was at a function, and I heard a woman claim that she was given the "gift" of hospitality. The thing is, my husband was in the hospital that week, I had given birth to my sixth child a couple weeks before this event, and my husband was in charge of bringing some of the supplies for this event. (You can read about this time here.) I heard about these "supplies" about an hour before the event, and I was told to bring them. I didn't even know what they were. So I gathered up what I could and went.
They were wrong. So I took my baby and my other five kids to WalMart to get the right ones, only the thing was, those supplies don't even exist. So I went back to the event, where the queen of hospitality yelled at me for not getting it right, told me I ruined the event and that I had wasted a lot of peoples' time, and made me cry. I managed to get myself under control after half a Xanax and thirty minutes crying in my car, and went back inside just in time to hear all about her hospitality. From her own mouth. So, I don't really believe in hospitality, because my thought is that people who say they are hospitable probably see it as a chore, and that shows. Truly hospitable people are naturally welcoming because they are just that way, and they don't think enough about it to call themselves hospitable.
So I won't talk about that. :)
Instead, I am going to spend the rest of my writing time on a special project that I may or may not link on this blog. Maybe on the Catholic blog...I just don't know, ok?
Please pray for a dear friend who is seriously ill in the hospital since yesterday, and for his wife, his children and grandkids, and all of the "kids" to whom he's been like a second dad.
I won't talk about hospitality at all. Because one time, I was at a function, and I heard a woman claim that she was given the "gift" of hospitality. The thing is, my husband was in the hospital that week, I had given birth to my sixth child a couple weeks before this event, and my husband was in charge of bringing some of the supplies for this event. (You can read about this time here.) I heard about these "supplies" about an hour before the event, and I was told to bring them. I didn't even know what they were. So I gathered up what I could and went.
They were wrong. So I took my baby and my other five kids to WalMart to get the right ones, only the thing was, those supplies don't even exist. So I went back to the event, where the queen of hospitality yelled at me for not getting it right, told me I ruined the event and that I had wasted a lot of peoples' time, and made me cry. I managed to get myself under control after half a Xanax and thirty minutes crying in my car, and went back inside just in time to hear all about her hospitality. From her own mouth. So, I don't really believe in hospitality, because my thought is that people who say they are hospitable probably see it as a chore, and that shows. Truly hospitable people are naturally welcoming because they are just that way, and they don't think enough about it to call themselves hospitable.
So I won't talk about that. :)
Instead, I am going to spend the rest of my writing time on a special project that I may or may not link on this blog. Maybe on the Catholic blog...I just don't know, ok?
Please pray for a dear friend who is seriously ill in the hospital since yesterday, and for his wife, his children and grandkids, and all of the "kids" to whom he's been like a second dad.
Sep 25, 2010
Parking Nazis
Went to the state fair today. The "theme" this year was State of a Fair. Which, when you think about it, fits just perfectly, because that is the best thing I can say about it this year.
First of all, when you get there you have to park, so they have these guys in orange vests holding orange flags telling you where to go. I'm sure this sounded like a good idea when some one thought of it, but here's the thing...it sucks.
For one thing, they are in charge of telling you where to go, only they don't know where you want to go. They think they should just shuffle you to the parking spot that best suits their needs, but I usually don't want to go there. First, I want to pick the lot in which I park, because if I don't, I get lost after I drink beer, and I need it to be the same lot every year. Also, I had another point, but I forget more stuff after I drink the other beers.
Then, the flags are just idiotic. Is there an international flag code that I don't know? What does it mean when they spin it in circles? I always thought that was color guard, but I guess there's a point to it with the parking dudes, because they do that a lot, and get mad at you when you don't obey them. Or what if they move it up and down like the soldiers from Wizard of Oz and start singing "Oh, we love the old one"? What is my car supposed to be doing at that point? Because I was waiting for flying monkeys to pick it up and park me somewhere, but they didn't and the guy just yelled at me.
And that brings up another point. These guys probably get paid minimum wage (or lower? Because they always look like the fair just hired whoever happened to be standing on the corner that day), and probably have very little training past flag school, but they are the Kings of the World. If you don't obey their flag-symbols, they use The Force to roll down your window and then they berate you in front of the whole fair until you just wanna' go home and crawl into bed and cry.
When we left, I had forgotten where I parked, so my sister drove me around and got bossed by the flag Nazis until she finally started ignoring them and just got us lost by her own self. Except for the part where it's not really true, because what really happened is I remembered exactly where I parked up until the beer. Then I got us lost trying to find my car. Everything else was her fault, though, because she's pregnant out to here, so obviously, she's a little crazy just for being at the fair in the first place.
First of all, when you get there you have to park, so they have these guys in orange vests holding orange flags telling you where to go. I'm sure this sounded like a good idea when some one thought of it, but here's the thing...it sucks.
For one thing, they are in charge of telling you where to go, only they don't know where you want to go. They think they should just shuffle you to the parking spot that best suits their needs, but I usually don't want to go there. First, I want to pick the lot in which I park, because if I don't, I get lost after I drink beer, and I need it to be the same lot every year. Also, I had another point, but I forget more stuff after I drink the other beers.
Then, the flags are just idiotic. Is there an international flag code that I don't know? What does it mean when they spin it in circles? I always thought that was color guard, but I guess there's a point to it with the parking dudes, because they do that a lot, and get mad at you when you don't obey them. Or what if they move it up and down like the soldiers from Wizard of Oz and start singing "Oh, we love the old one"? What is my car supposed to be doing at that point? Because I was waiting for flying monkeys to pick it up and park me somewhere, but they didn't and the guy just yelled at me.
And that brings up another point. These guys probably get paid minimum wage (or lower? Because they always look like the fair just hired whoever happened to be standing on the corner that day), and probably have very little training past flag school, but they are the Kings of the World. If you don't obey their flag-symbols, they use The Force to roll down your window and then they berate you in front of the whole fair until you just wanna' go home and crawl into bed and cry.
When we left, I had forgotten where I parked, so my sister drove me around and got bossed by the flag Nazis until she finally started ignoring them and just got us lost by her own self. Except for the part where it's not really true, because what really happened is I remembered exactly where I parked up until the beer. Then I got us lost trying to find my car. Everything else was her fault, though, because she's pregnant out to here, so obviously, she's a little crazy just for being at the fair in the first place.
Sep 24, 2010
Teaching Children Proper Racism
I am the most un-judgemental person ever born. Well, no I'm not, but I like to say that. I am only racist against a few people, namely: men who drive pickups yet are still rude (I take offense to this, as I always expect them to be nice), people who are judgemental or racist against anything that I'm not racist against, people who don't like me, and people who call DHS on me. See? That's not too bad, right? None of the usualy stereotypes, so I think I'm good.
By virtue of heredity, my kids should be good in this area, as well, but here is the conversation I had with my almost ten year old son this evening:
Warrick: Were any of our ancestors cowboys?
Me: Not that I know of.
Warrick: Really? How is that possible?
Me: Well, I don't know...I just don't think they were.
Warrick: So we don't have any Indian blood and we're not cowboys....what are we? Mexicans?
Me: PAHAHAHAHA!
Warrick: What? Are we part Mexican, part cowboy? No.... that doesn't even make sense!
By virtue of heredity, my kids should be good in this area, as well, but here is the conversation I had with my almost ten year old son this evening:
Warrick: Were any of our ancestors cowboys?
Me: Not that I know of.
Warrick: Really? How is that possible?
Me: Well, I don't know...I just don't think they were.
Warrick: So we don't have any Indian blood and we're not cowboys....what are we? Mexicans?
Me: PAHAHAHAHA!
Warrick: What? Are we part Mexican, part cowboy? No.... that doesn't even make sense!
Sep 23, 2010
D-Day
Today I finally finished proving that I should be allowed to raise my own kids. Even though I am feeling a little triumphant about that, I am still very angry, because being allowed to raise my own kids isn't really something at which anyone should have to feel they won. Because, well, you're supposed to do that. Raise your own kids, I mean. And it's a little creepy knowing that the government can decide that your kids would be better off with someone else. (Please don't explain to me the reason for DHS..I know they do good work, too. I also know that some people should never be allowed to contact them.)
Also, I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to talk about this on the Interwebz, but I don't care because, as un-classy as it is to have DHS showing up on your porch, I'm not the un-classy idiot who called them over here. They didn't give me the Class Award, either, but they did say that I wasn't a danger to society or to my children, so that's something to be proud of, I guess...Something I can shout from the rooftops..."Hey, WORLD! I don't suck as bad as someone thought I did!!!!" Stick that in your birthday cake and blow it out, you DHS-calling peace-stealer. (Oh, I have better names than that, I'm saving them.)
So, I got the You Don't Suck Too Bad award. It looks more like a business card stuck in a pamphlet explaining what Child Protective Services is all about, but really, it's a classy award. No. It is. For me. Because I don't suck. Well, because I don't suck too bad, hence the name. I'm not going to frame it or anything, because I don't want to look like I'm bragging when my friends come over with their kids, because just because they have their kids doesn't really mean that they don't suck as much as I don't suck. It could mean that they don't have an ex-husband or that he hasn't gotten around to telling DHS to give them their award yet, and I would hate for their feelings to be hurt that they don't have one. Not every single mom has an ex-husband at all, let alone one that still has such tender feelings for her that he will call her in her own special business card/pamphlet award from DHS. (Not that my ex called them, I'm pretty sure it was the Tooth Fairy, because two of the kids lost teeth last week, and she was the only other person with access to my house.) Also? Not everyone is as mediocrely sucky as me.
My kids are bummed because they thought they were going to go live in a magical castle where they would never have chores or homework, but instead, they get boring old mom with the chores and homework and everything, but I think they'll be ok. As much as they say they want ice cream every night, they sure weren't very impressed when they saw the curious lady from school at our house. They became ninjas right away and started planning what they would do if someone tried to make them live somewhere else. Their plan involved lots of hair pulling and screaming, which pretty much sounds like the same plan for any time they get in the car, and it sure works on me. About halfway home from school, I want to call DHS on myself, so I'm pretty sure their ninja plan was a great idea, because anyone who tried to take them anywhere would get halfway down our driveway and change their mind. My kids are smart, yo.
All-in-all, this week has SUCKED. I never really get angry, but it's on. Do not mess with my kids.
Also, I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to talk about this on the Interwebz, but I don't care because, as un-classy as it is to have DHS showing up on your porch, I'm not the un-classy idiot who called them over here. They didn't give me the Class Award, either, but they did say that I wasn't a danger to society or to my children, so that's something to be proud of, I guess...Something I can shout from the rooftops..."Hey, WORLD! I don't suck as bad as someone thought I did!!!!" Stick that in your birthday cake and blow it out, you DHS-calling peace-stealer. (Oh, I have better names than that, I'm saving them.)
So, I got the You Don't Suck Too Bad award. It looks more like a business card stuck in a pamphlet explaining what Child Protective Services is all about, but really, it's a classy award. No. It is. For me. Because I don't suck. Well, because I don't suck too bad, hence the name. I'm not going to frame it or anything, because I don't want to look like I'm bragging when my friends come over with their kids, because just because they have their kids doesn't really mean that they don't suck as much as I don't suck. It could mean that they don't have an ex-husband or that he hasn't gotten around to telling DHS to give them their award yet, and I would hate for their feelings to be hurt that they don't have one. Not every single mom has an ex-husband at all, let alone one that still has such tender feelings for her that he will call her in her own special business card/pamphlet award from DHS. (Not that my ex called them, I'm pretty sure it was the Tooth Fairy, because two of the kids lost teeth last week, and she was the only other person with access to my house.) Also? Not everyone is as mediocrely sucky as me.
My kids are bummed because they thought they were going to go live in a magical castle where they would never have chores or homework, but instead, they get boring old mom with the chores and homework and everything, but I think they'll be ok. As much as they say they want ice cream every night, they sure weren't very impressed when they saw the curious lady from school at our house. They became ninjas right away and started planning what they would do if someone tried to make them live somewhere else. Their plan involved lots of hair pulling and screaming, which pretty much sounds like the same plan for any time they get in the car, and it sure works on me. About halfway home from school, I want to call DHS on myself, so I'm pretty sure their ninja plan was a great idea, because anyone who tried to take them anywhere would get halfway down our driveway and change their mind. My kids are smart, yo.
All-in-all, this week has SUCKED. I never really get angry, but it's on. Do not mess with my kids.
Sep 22, 2010
I'm too classy for Jason F. Brown
So, Jason F. Brown, I am number TWO! And I don't mean poop. I mean in the Google search, right behind the stupid producer. Hollywood always wins, and I think the producer should be number two (the poop kind), because if I could decide how things go, that's what I would do is turn someone to poop over Google wars, and also I would invent fairies that clean my house to cancel out the invisible people who mess it up, and probably require french fries every day with cheese and bacon and ranch and that would pretty much be all the decisions I would need to make because, really, what's not perfect about this?
I am not going to talk about anything on this list:
Jason F. Brown
Poop
DHS
school
The Ex from hail
So that leaves only one subject...my smartass kid.
My daughter is a total smart alec. I blame the parents. Oh, no...not her parents. Mine. Because I remember when I was younger and I heard my parents muttering something about waiting until I have a daughter and they would just laugh....only now do I realize they were cursing me.
A conversation with Madilynn:
Me: You are grounded because you went to the neighbors' yesterday when I told you to stay home until your chores were done.
Madi: I'm grounded?
Me: Yes
Madi: What does that even mean?
Me: You know what it means -- no going anywhere, no TV, no computer
Madi: I'm not sure I went to the neighbors'.
Me: Yes, you did.
Madi: Wellll...I'm not sure you told me not to.
Me: Yes, I did.
Madi: Oh. I'm not sure I heard you.
Me: Yes, you did.
Madi: Oh. Well....was it Don't Listen to Mommy Day?
*******************************************************
Here's a conversation with my other daughter, Emma:
Me: Guys, I need you to get your homework done right after dinner.
Emma: No, Mama-Stupid.
Me: Excuse me?
Emma: No, Mama-Stupid.
Me: You are not to call me that.
Emma: Ok, Mama-Stupid
Me: Go to your room. We don't say stupid.
Emma: Donovan says stupid, Mama-Stupid.
Me: Nobody knows what Donovan's saying ever...don't tell me he says that. Go to your room.
Emma: Yes he does, Mama-Stupid.
Me: ::::screaming:::: :::pulling my hair out::::
Donovan: NO, Mama-Stupid!!!!
Emma: See? Mama-....
Me: :::interrupts::: Emma, don't you dare.
Emma: ...Cutie...I was saying Mama-Cutie! Do I still have to go to my room Mama-Cutie?
********************************************************************************
So, like I said, my parents really need to do something about this.
I am not going to talk about anything on this list:
Jason F. Brown
Poop
DHS
school
The Ex from hail
So that leaves only one subject...my smartass kid.
My daughter is a total smart alec. I blame the parents. Oh, no...not her parents. Mine. Because I remember when I was younger and I heard my parents muttering something about waiting until I have a daughter and they would just laugh....only now do I realize they were cursing me.
A conversation with Madilynn:
Me: You are grounded because you went to the neighbors' yesterday when I told you to stay home until your chores were done.
Madi: I'm grounded?
Me: Yes
Madi: What does that even mean?
Me: You know what it means -- no going anywhere, no TV, no computer
Madi: I'm not sure I went to the neighbors'.
Me: Yes, you did.
Madi: Wellll...I'm not sure you told me not to.
Me: Yes, I did.
Madi: Oh. I'm not sure I heard you.
Me: Yes, you did.
Madi: Oh. Well....was it Don't Listen to Mommy Day?
*******************************************************
Here's a conversation with my other daughter, Emma:
Me: Guys, I need you to get your homework done right after dinner.
Emma: No, Mama-Stupid.
Me: Excuse me?
Emma: No, Mama-Stupid.
Me: You are not to call me that.
Emma: Ok, Mama-Stupid
Me: Go to your room. We don't say stupid.
Emma: Donovan says stupid, Mama-Stupid.
Me: Nobody knows what Donovan's saying ever...don't tell me he says that. Go to your room.
Emma: Yes he does, Mama-Stupid.
Me: ::::screaming:::: :::pulling my hair out::::
Donovan: NO, Mama-Stupid!!!!
Emma: See? Mama-....
Me: :::interrupts::: Emma, don't you dare.
Emma: ...Cutie...I was saying Mama-Cutie! Do I still have to go to my room Mama-Cutie?
********************************************************************************
So, like I said, my parents really need to do something about this.
Sep 21, 2010
Life Truths, from Me to You
So that the entire world, nay, the entire Interwebz! (Mars is online, right?) can benefit from my experiences of the last two weeks, I will try to narrow it down to
Ten Life Truths:
1. If you wear enough eyeliner, people are afraid of you.
2. Sandwiches are always better if someone else makes them.
...
I meant Two Life Truths. Yeah. Because what else really matters, anyway?
Today was D-day for us...as in DHS day. It went fine, but they showed up right when I was leaving to pick up the kids from school. They looked around the house, and made an appointment to come back tomorrow. That'll be a fun talk. I'm going to love every second of that talk. No, really. Because if you have a bully, but you can't tell their mom, your teacher, your counselor, or the principle, I think you get to tell DHS. And they won't care, either, but it'll feel good to tattle. And I'll be all "nah-nah-nah-nah-boo-boo! I told on youuuuuu!" And stick my tongue out and stuff. Oh, how I miss kindergarten.
My dog just said that somebody is outside, so if this post ends here, call the police and my mommy, then rush over with cookies, because I kind of deserve cookies after the week I've had, and I don't think it's cool that my mom went out of town and didn't bring me any cookies first. If the post continues, please be informed that my dog is a LIAR, and he tells me that bad guys are outside because he thinks he can convince me that there really was a bad guy before Shucks scared him away with his Death Bark. So when I run to the window to check, he goes like this:
"Didja see the bad guy? Didja, Didja? Of course you didn't, because I skeered him away! Cookie time!"
So he gets a cookie, because I can afford to send him to badass school and cookies for barking is really the best I can do right now. Do you think there is a DHS for dogs? Will they get upset about the cookie thing? Or the badass thing, I wonder? Or maybe his porch isn't clean enough for him...perhaps I don't clean up his poo fast enough? Or maybe he needs better chow....dang it...I'll bet the Human DHS called the Dog DHS on me and now I'm in trouble with every-damn-body. I knew this would happen. I wonder if they interviewed him while I was off doing sinister things like laundry and dishes...oh I'm in trouuuuuuuubllllllle.
Crap! What if there's a DHS for Jason F. Brown...I know I've abused him. All three of him. Poor wittle Jason F. Brown...if there's a DHS for you, please don't call them on me, because I'm seriously booked till Christmas. Wait a minute....Is there a DHS for Christmas? Oh, man, because I know I am guilty of over-decorating at best, and could possibly be charged with bad karaoke on Christmas night. Actually, bad karaoke quite often...
...uh....
....there's not a DHS for karaoke, is there?
Aw, crap.
Ten Life Truths:
1. If you wear enough eyeliner, people are afraid of you.
2. Sandwiches are always better if someone else makes them.
...
I meant Two Life Truths. Yeah. Because what else really matters, anyway?
Today was D-day for us...as in DHS day. It went fine, but they showed up right when I was leaving to pick up the kids from school. They looked around the house, and made an appointment to come back tomorrow. That'll be a fun talk. I'm going to love every second of that talk. No, really. Because if you have a bully, but you can't tell their mom, your teacher, your counselor, or the principle, I think you get to tell DHS. And they won't care, either, but it'll feel good to tattle. And I'll be all "nah-nah-nah-nah-boo-boo! I told on youuuuuu!" And stick my tongue out and stuff. Oh, how I miss kindergarten.
My dog just said that somebody is outside, so if this post ends here, call the police and my mommy, then rush over with cookies, because I kind of deserve cookies after the week I've had, and I don't think it's cool that my mom went out of town and didn't bring me any cookies first. If the post continues, please be informed that my dog is a LIAR, and he tells me that bad guys are outside because he thinks he can convince me that there really was a bad guy before Shucks scared him away with his Death Bark. So when I run to the window to check, he goes like this:
"Didja see the bad guy? Didja, Didja? Of course you didn't, because I skeered him away! Cookie time!"
So he gets a cookie, because I can afford to send him to badass school and cookies for barking is really the best I can do right now. Do you think there is a DHS for dogs? Will they get upset about the cookie thing? Or the badass thing, I wonder? Or maybe his porch isn't clean enough for him...perhaps I don't clean up his poo fast enough? Or maybe he needs better chow....dang it...I'll bet the Human DHS called the Dog DHS on me and now I'm in trouble with every-damn-body. I knew this would happen. I wonder if they interviewed him while I was off doing sinister things like laundry and dishes...oh I'm in trouuuuuuuubllllllle.
Crap! What if there's a DHS for Jason F. Brown...I know I've abused him. All three of him. Poor wittle Jason F. Brown...if there's a DHS for you, please don't call them on me, because I'm seriously booked till Christmas. Wait a minute....Is there a DHS for Christmas? Oh, man, because I know I am guilty of over-decorating at best, and could possibly be charged with bad karaoke on Christmas night. Actually, bad karaoke quite often...
...uh....
....there's not a DHS for karaoke, is there?
Aw, crap.
I'm too classy for DHS...so classssssy
Dear People Who Won't STOP SCREWING WITH ME,
I have had six sick children this week. I have missed one day less than the maximum of school days in order to be with these sick children. I am one absence away from academic probation, not based on my grades, but on the fact that my kids come first, and I needed to take care of them.
So today, after I got home from picking up the non-sick children from school, it was just Totally Awesome when they found the note on my door from DHS. That was fan-freakin-tastic. What made it even better was that, in spite of my terrible mothering, they somehow know how to read.
As many times as I have used this blog to brag about the funny things my kids say, I never thought I would hear "Mommy, does this mean we have to go live with someone else?" Lovely, really. Because, for all of you who are "only thinking of the children"...I'm sure that makes your day. It's very good for kids to not ever feel secure and to wonder if today is the day they get to go live with strangers...I'm sure they're all very excited at the prospect. I just hope you don't feel bad that when it doesn't happen and you got their hopes up for nothing. I really. do. hope. you. don't. feel. bad. Because I'm sure that would suck for you.
It's also cool that people get to leave notes on my door, completely screw with my head, ask me to call them as soon as possible and then not return my phone calls. Thanks, yo. I hope you're having a nice relaxing evening at home with your family. I really do. Honestly. Because, ya' know, I am sure that would be nice after a stressful workday. Not that I know that first hand, but I'm sure it's nice for you.
Also, I am just loving the idea that I, as a parent, am expected to entrust my children to total strangers at the public school, yet the strangers cannot entrust my children to me, their mother, but felt the need to interview my kids behind my back, without my consent, without even telling me afterward. That's just amazing of you guys, really. Don't send them home with their mother until we lock them alone in a room with a complete stranger. Totally appropriate, really.
Also? Really a good day to send home yet another request for my kids to bring more shit up to the school. It really was. Because I'm all about supporting our schools, yo...because ya know, they're so awesome and everything. What with the learning, the interfering and all of the physical exams behind closed doors. Where do I send my check???????????
Is this because of the bruises? Probably not, because there was one scraped knee on a FOUR-year-old. Maybe because of the obvious malnutrition? Nope, nothing I can see...they're all a normal weight. Oh, I know, it's because of the fruit loop on the floor of the car! I knew that teacher was judging me for that.
Maybe because they were five minutes late to class? Because if anyone has a problem with that, they are welcome to come get all six of my kids out the door in the morning for me. Really, go ahead and do that for a week. Then multiply that by fifty-two, then again by ten, and maybe you'll know what I deal with here. Except you won't, unless you add in the rest of the day. Also, add in PEOPLE WHO SCREW WITH YOU. And you may want to add in the fact that you even have stresses that don't involve your children. But maybe not, because those things barely even register when compared with your kids. So try it out and get back with me. If you kick my ass at it, that's just awesome, but you won't. (By the way, the house needs to be clean, dinner needs to be made after you take the kids grocery shopping, five of them have homework that requires your help, they all need bathed, and the toilet is flooding....have fun! :D )
And lastly, to The Caller. Bravo. You've actually outdone yourself this time. I didn't know it could be done, but congratulations. I'm sure the kids would like to thank you, but I'm going to be a Super Bitch and not tell them who is responsible for this.
But here's the thing: I know who you are. And you have my sincere gratitude. Really. No, really. And let me tell you, my thanks is something you're just gonna' be so glad you have! LOL! No, really. Because I'm a Very Nice Girl, and I do things like make cookies and stuff, so I'm sure you'll have a gift basket or some other lovely thing coming your way, just as soon as I get done with all these pesky meetings and stuff.
Until then, my sincerest regards, and also some other feelings,
Me.
Ps: The Rednecks send their love.
I have had six sick children this week. I have missed one day less than the maximum of school days in order to be with these sick children. I am one absence away from academic probation, not based on my grades, but on the fact that my kids come first, and I needed to take care of them.
So today, after I got home from picking up the non-sick children from school, it was just Totally Awesome when they found the note on my door from DHS. That was fan-freakin-tastic. What made it even better was that, in spite of my terrible mothering, they somehow know how to read.
As many times as I have used this blog to brag about the funny things my kids say, I never thought I would hear "Mommy, does this mean we have to go live with someone else?" Lovely, really. Because, for all of you who are "only thinking of the children"...I'm sure that makes your day. It's very good for kids to not ever feel secure and to wonder if today is the day they get to go live with strangers...I'm sure they're all very excited at the prospect. I just hope you don't feel bad that when it doesn't happen and you got their hopes up for nothing. I really. do. hope. you. don't. feel. bad. Because I'm sure that would suck for you.
It's also cool that people get to leave notes on my door, completely screw with my head, ask me to call them as soon as possible and then not return my phone calls. Thanks, yo. I hope you're having a nice relaxing evening at home with your family. I really do. Honestly. Because, ya' know, I am sure that would be nice after a stressful workday. Not that I know that first hand, but I'm sure it's nice for you.
Also, I am just loving the idea that I, as a parent, am expected to entrust my children to total strangers at the public school, yet the strangers cannot entrust my children to me, their mother, but felt the need to interview my kids behind my back, without my consent, without even telling me afterward. That's just amazing of you guys, really. Don't send them home with their mother until we lock them alone in a room with a complete stranger. Totally appropriate, really.
Also? Really a good day to send home yet another request for my kids to bring more shit up to the school. It really was. Because I'm all about supporting our schools, yo...because ya know, they're so awesome and everything. What with the learning, the interfering and all of the physical exams behind closed doors. Where do I send my check???????????
Is this because of the bruises? Probably not, because there was one scraped knee on a FOUR-year-old. Maybe because of the obvious malnutrition? Nope, nothing I can see...they're all a normal weight. Oh, I know, it's because of the fruit loop on the floor of the car! I knew that teacher was judging me for that.
Maybe because they were five minutes late to class? Because if anyone has a problem with that, they are welcome to come get all six of my kids out the door in the morning for me. Really, go ahead and do that for a week. Then multiply that by fifty-two, then again by ten, and maybe you'll know what I deal with here. Except you won't, unless you add in the rest of the day. Also, add in PEOPLE WHO SCREW WITH YOU. And you may want to add in the fact that you even have stresses that don't involve your children. But maybe not, because those things barely even register when compared with your kids. So try it out and get back with me. If you kick my ass at it, that's just awesome, but you won't. (By the way, the house needs to be clean, dinner needs to be made after you take the kids grocery shopping, five of them have homework that requires your help, they all need bathed, and the toilet is flooding....have fun! :D )
And lastly, to The Caller. Bravo. You've actually outdone yourself this time. I didn't know it could be done, but congratulations. I'm sure the kids would like to thank you, but I'm going to be a Super Bitch and not tell them who is responsible for this.
But here's the thing: I know who you are. And you have my sincere gratitude. Really. No, really. And let me tell you, my thanks is something you're just gonna' be so glad you have! LOL! No, really. Because I'm a Very Nice Girl, and I do things like make cookies and stuff, so I'm sure you'll have a gift basket or some other lovely thing coming your way, just as soon as I get done with all these pesky meetings and stuff.
Until then, my sincerest regards, and also some other feelings,
Me.
Ps: The Rednecks send their love.
Sep 19, 2010
Jason F. Brown needs to just give UP!
Will the real Jason F. Brown please stand up? Because the producer, the dentist and the philosopher are apparently fighting very hard to beat me at this, and I don't think it's fair, because neither one of them are Colt Ford, who is the only Jason F. Brown to be Googled, anyway. Seriously, if I was searching a philosopher OR a dentist, I don't think I would put their middle name in.
Here is where I was two days ago:
Here is where my blog hits today:
This just doesn't seem fair to me. I mean, if the real Jason F. Brown has peeps who keep his pages where they belong, I totally understand that. But if your local philosopher or dentist has those peeps, you are paying them too much. I only pay my philosopher nothing, because I do most of my own philosophy-ing. When I do have to "hire out", I end up going with my own philosophies, anyway, and asking for my money back.
So, Jason F. Brown, philosopher, and Jason F. Brown, dentist: since I just gave you Free Press (sort of) on my Very Famous Blog (sort of), will you please just call off your peeps for one day, because honestly, I don't have a lot to live for, and this has become sort of important for me. Again, pretty please with a Jason F. Brown on top????
Here is where I was two days ago:
 |
| Page one of the Jason F. Brown search |
Here is where my blog hits today:
 |
| Still Page one on Jason F. Brown, but down below both the dentist and the philosopher... |
So, Jason F. Brown, philosopher, and Jason F. Brown, dentist: since I just gave you Free Press (sort of) on my Very Famous Blog (sort of), will you please just call off your peeps for one day, because honestly, I don't have a lot to live for, and this has become sort of important for me. Again, pretty please with a Jason F. Brown on top????
Sep 18, 2010
Jason F. Brown is too lazy for this post
Jason F. Brown is getting really tired of being all over this blog. Actually, I am getting tired of Jason F. Brown being on my blog, because ever since Jason F. Brown erased my memory, I can't remember what I am supposed to write about.
I had to drop Jason F. Brown and my kids off at my ex-husbands house today. They totally pulled a Jason F. Brown on me and took off into the house without telling me bye, which sucked, because I didn't want to go inside after the crappy week it's been.
I saw my niece, and she wouldn't talk to me. That broke my Jason F. Brown, and also my heart. I can't blame her, because I defriended the whole family on FB, and then I realized how high school that sentence was and had to quit writing this post and have a glass of wine because I AM a grown-up, yo. I just can't have the entire family picking apart every status update until I feel like going all Jason F. Brown on their asses. The sucky part about divorce -- nieces and nephews. I love being an aunt, and I miss my nieces a lot.
Another sucky thing about divorce? Jason F. Brown.
And when Jason F. Brown or your ex, whichever one, thinks it's ok to be all nice one day and crazy-mean the next day and you don't really know what to think about anything and the only thing you can do is spin in circles and say Jason F. Brown, Jason F. Brown, Jason F. Brown...it sucks, man.
So, Jason F. Brown, may I please have your number one spot, because I have never met you and you've never said anything funny to me, and that makes it very hard to include you in my life on a daily basis like this. I know two year olds who say more funny things to me that Jason F. Brown does. So just give. me. the. spot. Pretty please with a Jason F. Brown on top.
I had to drop Jason F. Brown and my kids off at my ex-husbands house today. They totally pulled a Jason F. Brown on me and took off into the house without telling me bye, which sucked, because I didn't want to go inside after the crappy week it's been.
I saw my niece, and she wouldn't talk to me. That broke my Jason F. Brown, and also my heart. I can't blame her, because I defriended the whole family on FB, and then I realized how high school that sentence was and had to quit writing this post and have a glass of wine because I AM a grown-up, yo. I just can't have the entire family picking apart every status update until I feel like going all Jason F. Brown on their asses. The sucky part about divorce -- nieces and nephews. I love being an aunt, and I miss my nieces a lot.
Another sucky thing about divorce? Jason F. Brown.
And when Jason F. Brown or your ex, whichever one, thinks it's ok to be all nice one day and crazy-mean the next day and you don't really know what to think about anything and the only thing you can do is spin in circles and say Jason F. Brown, Jason F. Brown, Jason F. Brown...it sucks, man.
So, Jason F. Brown, may I please have your number one spot, because I have never met you and you've never said anything funny to me, and that makes it very hard to include you in my life on a daily basis like this. I know two year olds who say more funny things to me that Jason F. Brown does. So just give. me. the. spot. Pretty please with a Jason F. Brown on top.
Sep 17, 2010
Jason F. Brown Erased my Memory
There were at least five hilarious things that happened in my life over the last 24 hours, and I know that two of them were blog-worthy, until Jason F. Brown erased my memory. If Jason F. Brown would just lemme' have the top of his Google page, I could resume with the funny stuff, and not even trip, but until that happens, I am sooo not giving up. But I guess that Jason F. Brown will be erasing my memory every day until I beat him.
I saw Jason F. Brown in concert last night, except it wasn't Jason F. Brown, it was actually the Zac Brown Band, and it was awesome. I haven't had that much fun since Jason F. Brown was a sparkle in his daddy's eye.
This morning, I learned why it's been so long since I've had that much fun, and that's because I have more to do than a one-legged Jason F. Brown in an ass-kicking contest. Late nights, alcohol, boots and dancing, screaming Jason F. Brown's name (or Zac Brown), and acting the fool all night aren't really conducive to kicking bootay at anything the next day when you're my age, or even when you're Jason F. Brown's age. But it was worth it. Even better than being at the top of the Jason F. Brown list.
If I had to chose between meeting Jason F. Brown and last night, I would have to chose last night, but only because Jason F. Brown would totally overshadow my funny, and that's not cool of Jason F. Brown at all. Also, Jason F. Brown beats me at redneck rapping, which is a totally crappy thing of Jason F. Brown to do, but I guess Jason F. Brown had to be good at something, and that happens to be Jason F. Brown's thing.
If I had to chose between having Jason F. Brown's babies, or keeping my own, I would have to ask him if his babies would go to bed when they are supposed to, and also if they would try to sneak into my bed while I'm asleep and I don't notice it until I'm having a heat stroke at four in the morning due to all of the people using all the air in the room and suffocating me while they simultaneously kick me in the face because they can only sleep if they turn upside down and flail their limbs about all night long. If Jason F. Brown's kids are better at letting me sleep than mine, then me and Jason F. Brown may have a deal. But I would probably have to ask Jason F. Brown's wife, and I'm scared of that, because she's got to have more badassness than I, and she's his baby-mama already, and that pretty much means I'm not going to try to compete with her at all. Ever. So Jason F. Brown will have to get used to the fact that I'm keeping my own kids, which is really ok, because I like my kids a lot, even if they don't need sleep.
I saw Jason F. Brown in concert last night, except it wasn't Jason F. Brown, it was actually the Zac Brown Band, and it was awesome. I haven't had that much fun since Jason F. Brown was a sparkle in his daddy's eye.
This morning, I learned why it's been so long since I've had that much fun, and that's because I have more to do than a one-legged Jason F. Brown in an ass-kicking contest. Late nights, alcohol, boots and dancing, screaming Jason F. Brown's name (or Zac Brown), and acting the fool all night aren't really conducive to kicking bootay at anything the next day when you're my age, or even when you're Jason F. Brown's age. But it was worth it. Even better than being at the top of the Jason F. Brown list.
If I had to chose between meeting Jason F. Brown and last night, I would have to chose last night, but only because Jason F. Brown would totally overshadow my funny, and that's not cool of Jason F. Brown at all. Also, Jason F. Brown beats me at redneck rapping, which is a totally crappy thing of Jason F. Brown to do, but I guess Jason F. Brown had to be good at something, and that happens to be Jason F. Brown's thing.
If I had to chose between having Jason F. Brown's babies, or keeping my own, I would have to ask him if his babies would go to bed when they are supposed to, and also if they would try to sneak into my bed while I'm asleep and I don't notice it until I'm having a heat stroke at four in the morning due to all of the people using all the air in the room and suffocating me while they simultaneously kick me in the face because they can only sleep if they turn upside down and flail their limbs about all night long. If Jason F. Brown's kids are better at letting me sleep than mine, then me and Jason F. Brown may have a deal. But I would probably have to ask Jason F. Brown's wife, and I'm scared of that, because she's got to have more badassness than I, and she's his baby-mama already, and that pretty much means I'm not going to try to compete with her at all. Ever. So Jason F. Brown will have to get used to the fact that I'm keeping my own kids, which is really ok, because I like my kids a lot, even if they don't need sleep.
Jason F. Brown and Pranking Google, yo
In collaboration with the pranksters at MommyWantsVodka, I'm going to have to take some time off being brilliantly hilarious and write about Jason F. Brown in order to prank Google and pretty much the entire world. So yay! Jason F. Brown, aka Colt Ford, gets pranked because I like him, not because I hate him like Aunt Becky used to hate John C. Mayer. Well, I don't really even know if I like him or not, but I know I at least like Jason F. Brown's country-rap badass attitude. And honestly, the badassness level is the only way to truly know if you like someone, especially someone like Jason F. Brown.
This is a picture of Jason F. Brown...
This is a picture of Jason F. Brown...
Actually, this is my poor sick little Emma, with her head in the freezer, because she was "Shweezing" and was convinced that putting her head in the freezer would help. But she kind of looks like Jason F. Brown...? Ok, not at ALL, but still.
Feel free to join in the fun at Mommy Wants Vodka, and prank your own super star, and for alllll my lurkers, now is the time to comment, and please feel free to use the name Jason F. Brown freely, but only in your comments and not on your own page, because I called him, yo.
Sep 16, 2010
I'm too classy for this divorce...so classssy
Well, Interwebz, I hired me a lawyer today.
After trying to explain to the sheriff's department that I wasn't one of Those People who get divorced all white trash style and have to call the sheriff's department, and he rolled his eyes at me, I decided to do whatever it takes to class this divorce up a little bit. So, first I found me a fancy pants lawyer. He has shiny hair and a big watch, so that'll do real well. Then, I went to meet with him and sat at a loooong table with huuuge chairs, even though it was just me and him. That was fancy, too, even though he didn't offer me a drink, which I think would have been absolutely appropriate, and also needed, but probably would have made him roll his eyes at me when I insisted I was a teetotaler.
I started telling him how classy of a client he just landed, and how I never do anything trashy at all, and therefore my kids would be better off in my custody, because I won't white-trash them up or anything, because we only have good clean fun and we aren't rednecks AT ALL.
See?
So, after I had him thoroughly convinced, I then had to explain to him why they should not go live with my ex, and I was trying really hard to not be mean about that, either, because I don't really have to be. I think divorce is like politics. Mostly, people fight based on "I don't suck as bad as the other guy", when in reality, it should just be "I am awesome enough that the other guy doesn't matter at all." However, just in case, my lawyer wanted to know what's going on with my ex.
So I told him. Only it kind of blew up in my face, because here's kind of how the conversation went:
Shiny-haired Lawyer: So, your ex has had some unstable behavior patterns?
Me: Yes
SHL: Like what?
Me: Well, he's been...:::insert three things here::: (Sorry, still can't be too mean on the Internets.)
SHL: Really? How do you know this?
Me: Well, my cousin told me.
SHL: Your cousin?
Me: Yeah, he hangs out with my cousin, but my cousin really likes me better, so I mean, I think we're good.
SHL: Would your cousin testify?
Me: Maybe if I buy him a beer.
SHL: :::sighs::: Nevermind, ..mutter mutter...subpoena
Me: Well, if not, maybe we could ask my cousins girlfriend or my other cousin or I have two other cousins that know :::different stuff he did::: and we could ask them.
SHL: Really. Sure.
Me: Yip.
SHL: Ok, know what? Let's talk about you some more, ok? Please don't say cousin anymore. So, obviously you're working full time.
Me: Nope
SHL: Part time?
Me: Nope...I'm in school
SHL: Oh, you're a full-time student?
Me: Not really...part-time.
SHL: Ooook...so, um, how many credit hours?
Me: Wellll....none? But I mean, well, it's vo-tech, so like, uhhhh....everything's kind of different, so I don't really get credit hours this semester, but..
SHL: Ok, wait, it's ok...let's move on. Have you ever done drugs?
Me: Let's move on.
SHL: Can you pass a drug test? Please tell me you can pass a drug test.
Me: OH...chyeah! Of course I can pass a drug test. Dude...I told you, I'm classy. Pshhh
SHL: Ok, well, are you shacking up?
Me: Waaay too classy for that.
SHL: Do you beat your kids?
Me: I'm so classy, I have nannies that beat my kids for me, yo.
SHL: uh...well, is your house clean?
Me: Well, see? The thing is...um...well, like, what do you mean by clean? Because if you mean is it classy, then absolutely yes. If you mean is there a big mess on top of all the class, then also yes.
SHL: :::sighs::: Ok, I'm going to see what I can do with this, and I'll get back to you tomorrow. Can you at least pay me?
Me: Hang on...lemme text my mama and see...
After trying to explain to the sheriff's department that I wasn't one of Those People who get divorced all white trash style and have to call the sheriff's department, and he rolled his eyes at me, I decided to do whatever it takes to class this divorce up a little bit. So, first I found me a fancy pants lawyer. He has shiny hair and a big watch, so that'll do real well. Then, I went to meet with him and sat at a loooong table with huuuge chairs, even though it was just me and him. That was fancy, too, even though he didn't offer me a drink, which I think would have been absolutely appropriate, and also needed, but probably would have made him roll his eyes at me when I insisted I was a teetotaler.
I started telling him how classy of a client he just landed, and how I never do anything trashy at all, and therefore my kids would be better off in my custody, because I won't white-trash them up or anything, because we only have good clean fun and we aren't rednecks AT ALL.
See?
So, after I had him thoroughly convinced, I then had to explain to him why they should not go live with my ex, and I was trying really hard to not be mean about that, either, because I don't really have to be. I think divorce is like politics. Mostly, people fight based on "I don't suck as bad as the other guy", when in reality, it should just be "I am awesome enough that the other guy doesn't matter at all." However, just in case, my lawyer wanted to know what's going on with my ex.
So I told him. Only it kind of blew up in my face, because here's kind of how the conversation went:
Shiny-haired Lawyer: So, your ex has had some unstable behavior patterns?
Me: Yes
SHL: Like what?
Me: Well, he's been...:::insert three things here::: (Sorry, still can't be too mean on the Internets.)
SHL: Really? How do you know this?
Me: Well, my cousin told me.
SHL: Your cousin?
Me: Yeah, he hangs out with my cousin, but my cousin really likes me better, so I mean, I think we're good.
SHL: Would your cousin testify?
Me: Maybe if I buy him a beer.
SHL: :::sighs::: Nevermind, ..mutter mutter...subpoena
Me: Well, if not, maybe we could ask my cousins girlfriend or my other cousin or I have two other cousins that know :::different stuff he did::: and we could ask them.
SHL: Really. Sure.
Me: Yip.
SHL: Ok, know what? Let's talk about you some more, ok? Please don't say cousin anymore. So, obviously you're working full time.
Me: Nope
SHL: Part time?
Me: Nope...I'm in school
SHL: Oh, you're a full-time student?
Me: Not really...part-time.
SHL: Ooook...so, um, how many credit hours?
Me: Wellll....none? But I mean, well, it's vo-tech, so like, uhhhh....everything's kind of different, so I don't really get credit hours this semester, but..
SHL: Ok, wait, it's ok...let's move on. Have you ever done drugs?
Me: Let's move on.
SHL: Can you pass a drug test? Please tell me you can pass a drug test.
Me: OH...chyeah! Of course I can pass a drug test. Dude...I told you, I'm classy. Pshhh
SHL: Ok, well, are you shacking up?
Me: Waaay too classy for that.
SHL: Do you beat your kids?
Me: I'm so classy, I have nannies that beat my kids for me, yo.
SHL: uh...well, is your house clean?
Me: Well, see? The thing is...um...well, like, what do you mean by clean? Because if you mean is it classy, then absolutely yes. If you mean is there a big mess on top of all the class, then also yes.
SHL: :::sighs::: Ok, I'm going to see what I can do with this, and I'll get back to you tomorrow. Can you at least pay me?
Me: Hang on...lemme text my mama and see...
Sep 14, 2010
Dear Interwebz
Ok, so in the last few days:
Salute the troops? Check.
Bitch about the ex? Check. (and check, check, check.)
Talked about housework? Check.
Mommy blogging? Check.
Funny, inspiring, awe-inducing and interesting? eh...four out of five isn't bad.
Some day, I will get some sleep, and no drama will happen for an entire day, and I'll get to go outside and remember what the sun is, and my house will be clean, and my kids will behave, and then, oh Interwebz, I will be so funny that day.
In the meantime, you get this:
A Letter to You, Oh Internet
Dear Internet(s),
I never thought I would fall for a younger man (again). )You are a man, right? I'm just assuming because I found porn under your mattress, and also you have no manners.) (If you're not a man, we need to talk...maybe not a deal breaker, because I think having a wife would kick ass, but still, there's the porn and all the match-making sites which make me wonder if you would be a faithful husband/wife/hermaphrodite/partner at all...)
I am amazed at how much I care for you, in spite of your awful spelling and your incorrect usage of there, their and they're. Many times, I have no idea what you are trying to say, and your lack of capitalization and punctuation make me vaguely sick, which may be the feeling I am confusing for love, because really, isn't it all the same? Or maybe I'm pregnant. Hold on....
Ok, not pregnant, so I think it's love. Or the flu. Or the grammar thing.
I'm glad you're always there for me with your hulu and your facebook and your trolls and your emails. Also your news and your full-time honesty and your Google and Wikipedia...you have so much to offer for the people who never leave their mom's basement and sit there all day blogging and thinking up the best serial killer plans and taking over the world which is NOT ME (ahem) because I have a life, and also I have kids and I'm too busy because if I took over the world, my kids would break it and everyone would be mad at me. But for those other people, yeah, you're pretty cool.
I'm glad I wrote this, because I am starting to realize that I don't actually have anything good to say about you Internet. I think you must not be the gender-neutral "one" for me after all.
It's ok, though. So we won't get married, no big deal. I'm too busy for that, and also? I'm in love with someone else. Yes, it just happened between the last paragraph and this one. So peace out, Internets.
We'll always have the memories
MannyRee
Salute the troops? Check.
Bitch about the ex? Check. (and check, check, check.)
Talked about housework? Check.
Mommy blogging? Check.
Funny, inspiring, awe-inducing and interesting? eh...four out of five isn't bad.
Some day, I will get some sleep, and no drama will happen for an entire day, and I'll get to go outside and remember what the sun is, and my house will be clean, and my kids will behave, and then, oh Interwebz, I will be so funny that day.
In the meantime, you get this:
A Letter to You, Oh Internet
Dear Internet(s),
I never thought I would fall for a younger man (again). )You are a man, right? I'm just assuming because I found porn under your mattress, and also you have no manners.) (If you're not a man, we need to talk...maybe not a deal breaker, because I think having a wife would kick ass, but still, there's the porn and all the match-making sites which make me wonder if you would be a faithful husband/wife/hermaphrodite/partner at all...)
I am amazed at how much I care for you, in spite of your awful spelling and your incorrect usage of there, their and they're. Many times, I have no idea what you are trying to say, and your lack of capitalization and punctuation make me vaguely sick, which may be the feeling I am confusing for love, because really, isn't it all the same? Or maybe I'm pregnant. Hold on....
Ok, not pregnant, so I think it's love. Or the flu. Or the grammar thing.
I'm glad you're always there for me with your hulu and your facebook and your trolls and your emails. Also your news and your full-time honesty and your Google and Wikipedia...you have so much to offer for the people who never leave their mom's basement and sit there all day blogging and thinking up the best serial killer plans and taking over the world which is NOT ME (ahem) because I have a life, and also I have kids and I'm too busy because if I took over the world, my kids would break it and everyone would be mad at me. But for those other people, yeah, you're pretty cool.
I'm glad I wrote this, because I am starting to realize that I don't actually have anything good to say about you Internet. I think you must not be the gender-neutral "one" for me after all.
It's ok, though. So we won't get married, no big deal. I'm too busy for that, and also? I'm in love with someone else. Yes, it just happened between the last paragraph and this one. So peace out, Internets.
We'll always have the memories
MannyRee
Patriotic Duty
My brother in law is on duty tonight, bored. Since I'm not a badass Marine (just a plain old badass), it's truly my duty to write something spectacular in his honor, right? But since I can't do that, either, I'll write this mediocre thing for my favorite Marine, and for his wife, who is also a badass.
I remember the week they got married, and all his friends were coming to be in the wedding, and all her friends were hoping to get their Very Own Marine. Only one managed it, and I think the other Marines got skeered of the crazy Okie chicks and headed back west. Can't blame them, I was frightened, too.
So, as I said, my sister is a badass, because her fiance was away during most of their engagement, and she was very sad, but she held up very well. When they got married and she went away with him, we acted like idiots and cried like we'd never see them again. She handled that pretty well, too. I think my poor brother in law was overwhelmed by us, but the thing is, it was good training for him, because we are an overwhelming bunch of people.
My sister had their first baby while her husband was deployed. I was there, and it was amazing. People were emailing him to give him updates and pictures, and she talked to him on the phone. She had one of the hardest deliveries I have ever seen, and I didn't see her freak out one time.
When my nephew was born, he pretty much looked like a badass, too, but we know he came by that naturally, from both sides of the family. My sister needed some medical attention, and my brother in law actually saw a picture of his son before my sister even got to look at him. We were showing my sister pics we snapped on our cell phones, so both of them saw their son for the first time through pictures.
I was so busy being proud of my sister that it took me until that moment to remember how hard it must be for her husband, on the other side of the globe, not knowing from one minute to the next how things were going in that little hospital room. I haven't ever asked him about that day, but I remember imagining his buddies there with him, waiting for each new update to come through. It must have been a scary thing for him, and I know it was for my sister. (Because they're one of those couples who are in LUUUV, and it's pukingly annoying, but it brings an added concern to situations like this.)
My favorite part of the day (even better than meeting my nephew) was this:
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Talking to his Daddy for the first time. I still can't look at this picture without wiping away tears.
When I feel down on my life, and I don't like the way things are going, this is where I get my inspiration to keep going. My brother in law and my sister are the two I know best, but they aren't the only ones who spend their lives being brave in the face of trials most of us can't even comprehend -- not because it gets thrown on them, but because they made the decision to sacrifice the easy life in favor of defending our country, our freedoms, and our lives. Sometimes we remember our men who are deployed, less often we remember the family they had to leave at home. And even less often do we think of the poor, poor guys on duty in the middle of the night, who are bored and texting their sisters in law, telling them what to write on their blogs, and awesomely remembering to call their nieces on their birthdays....so tonight, I write this humble post in honor of the bored Marines, as well as the ones who are away. To our troops, wherever they may be tonight, and their families: Thank you.
I remember the week they got married, and all his friends were coming to be in the wedding, and all her friends were hoping to get their Very Own Marine. Only one managed it, and I think the other Marines got skeered of the crazy Okie chicks and headed back west. Can't blame them, I was frightened, too.
So, as I said, my sister is a badass, because her fiance was away during most of their engagement, and she was very sad, but she held up very well. When they got married and she went away with him, we acted like idiots and cried like we'd never see them again. She handled that pretty well, too. I think my poor brother in law was overwhelmed by us, but the thing is, it was good training for him, because we are an overwhelming bunch of people.
My sister had their first baby while her husband was deployed. I was there, and it was amazing. People were emailing him to give him updates and pictures, and she talked to him on the phone. She had one of the hardest deliveries I have ever seen, and I didn't see her freak out one time.
When my nephew was born, he pretty much looked like a badass, too, but we know he came by that naturally, from both sides of the family. My sister needed some medical attention, and my brother in law actually saw a picture of his son before my sister even got to look at him. We were showing my sister pics we snapped on our cell phones, so both of them saw their son for the first time through pictures.
I was so busy being proud of my sister that it took me until that moment to remember how hard it must be for her husband, on the other side of the globe, not knowing from one minute to the next how things were going in that little hospital room. I haven't ever asked him about that day, but I remember imagining his buddies there with him, waiting for each new update to come through. It must have been a scary thing for him, and I know it was for my sister. (Because they're one of those couples who are in LUUUV, and it's pukingly annoying, but it brings an added concern to situations like this.)
My favorite part of the day (even better than meeting my nephew) was this:
.jpg)
When I feel down on my life, and I don't like the way things are going, this is where I get my inspiration to keep going. My brother in law and my sister are the two I know best, but they aren't the only ones who spend their lives being brave in the face of trials most of us can't even comprehend -- not because it gets thrown on them, but because they made the decision to sacrifice the easy life in favor of defending our country, our freedoms, and our lives. Sometimes we remember our men who are deployed, less often we remember the family they had to leave at home. And even less often do we think of the poor, poor guys on duty in the middle of the night, who are bored and texting their sisters in law, telling them what to write on their blogs, and awesomely remembering to call their nieces on their birthdays....so tonight, I write this humble post in honor of the bored Marines, as well as the ones who are away. To our troops, wherever they may be tonight, and their families: Thank you.
Sep 13, 2010
Then and Now
Driving to church this morning, I realized that my life has become completely out of control...there isn't one thing in my life that turned out the way I planned it when I was a teen and knew everything.
For one thing, I drive a van. It's a mini-van, yo. Yeah, it's not a '69 Stingray, or even a Corvette at all...or a pickup.
Also, I'm heading for divorce. And the cop told me the other night that divorce keeps them busy. I was all "Oh, yeah, but I'm so not one of Those People! hehe You don't understand...." And then I looked around and realized, oh, yeah, I guess I am. Damn it.
I do not live in a giant house with white everything, including the giant canopy bed and curtains fluttering in the slight spring breeze year-round, where I sit and play all day with my perpetually eight month old baby and my long perfectly styled hair in a silk robe waiting on Prince Charming to come home so we can eat the perfect meal that just shows up on the table every evening and then gets cleaned up by fairies.Pretty much every part of that went wrong. Nothing in my house is white, because duh, I have a total of zero curtains, my bed is a mattress on a frame, my kids freakin' grew up, I have to cook and clean up dinner, and Prince Charming went out for a drink 12 years ago and never came back, and I can't say that I blame him. Also, the hair thing never worked out, either, which frankly, is the biggest disappointment of all.
Wanna' know what I'm going to school for? Accounting. Yup. I hate anything having to do with math, and also anything that is boring. So yeah. Weirdly? I enjoy it, because I like the order and the black-and-whiteness of it. But, no, I am not a famous author, nor a Broadway star, which was totally part of my plan. I am still holding out for the welder/mechanic/event planner/comedienne/interior designer job, but just in case, I'll do the accounting thing, too.
The biggest difference between the Plan and the Reality is the fact that I am some one's mom. Actually, six someone's's's's (someoneses?) mom. Even though I always knew I would be a mom (to that eight month old), I kinda' figured that would happen when I was in my thirties. I did not figure that I would turn thirty already a mother of six, my baby already three, my oldest almost ten, and no chance of having that perpetual eight month old because I don't have a (don't worry, dad, I won't say "uterus") (hahahahahahaha) husband. (LOL!) (hehehehehe) (I'm still laughing, because if I want to write a secret from my dad, now is the time to do it...don't worry, dad, those things don't really exist.)
So, my life hasn't turned out at all how I thought, but it's ok. I kinda' like it better this way. I mean, it would be soooo boring laying around looking at nothing but white. And while eight month olds are cute, it's not like they're really that great of company 24/7. And Prince Charming is a myth, and it sucks to live with myths, because they're all full of themselves because they live in fairy land and you live in reality, and they're always holding it over your head like they're better than you or something. And I really like my kids a lot, even if they do grow and stuff, and even if they came earlier than I thought they would. I'm glad they did, actually, because it's more like I'm a kid, too, and they're my buddies, which makes me the Awesomest Mom Ever. (Don't ask them about this, because, well, they don't like to brag because not every kid gets a mom as awesome as me and they don't want the other kids to feel bad, so they always lie and say "Oh, my mom is the worst, she's so mean and makes us clean and do homework and she's not cool at all and she tries to be cool but it's just embarrassing"...just take my word for it, ok?...ok?)
For one thing, I drive a van. It's a mini-van, yo. Yeah, it's not a '69 Stingray, or even a Corvette at all...or a pickup.
Also, I'm heading for divorce. And the cop told me the other night that divorce keeps them busy. I was all "Oh, yeah, but I'm so not one of Those People! hehe You don't understand...." And then I looked around and realized, oh, yeah, I guess I am. Damn it.
I do not live in a giant house with white everything, including the giant canopy bed and curtains fluttering in the slight spring breeze year-round, where I sit and play all day with my perpetually eight month old baby and my long perfectly styled hair in a silk robe waiting on Prince Charming to come home so we can eat the perfect meal that just shows up on the table every evening and then gets cleaned up by fairies.Pretty much every part of that went wrong. Nothing in my house is white, because duh, I have a total of zero curtains, my bed is a mattress on a frame, my kids freakin' grew up, I have to cook and clean up dinner, and Prince Charming went out for a drink 12 years ago and never came back, and I can't say that I blame him. Also, the hair thing never worked out, either, which frankly, is the biggest disappointment of all.
Wanna' know what I'm going to school for? Accounting. Yup. I hate anything having to do with math, and also anything that is boring. So yeah. Weirdly? I enjoy it, because I like the order and the black-and-whiteness of it. But, no, I am not a famous author, nor a Broadway star, which was totally part of my plan. I am still holding out for the welder/mechanic/event planner/comedienne/interior designer job, but just in case, I'll do the accounting thing, too.
The biggest difference between the Plan and the Reality is the fact that I am some one's mom. Actually, six someone's's's's (someoneses?) mom. Even though I always knew I would be a mom (to that eight month old), I kinda' figured that would happen when I was in my thirties. I did not figure that I would turn thirty already a mother of six, my baby already three, my oldest almost ten, and no chance of having that perpetual eight month old because I don't have a (don't worry, dad, I won't say "uterus") (hahahahahahaha) husband. (LOL!) (hehehehehe) (I'm still laughing, because if I want to write a secret from my dad, now is the time to do it...don't worry, dad, those things don't really exist.)
So, my life hasn't turned out at all how I thought, but it's ok. I kinda' like it better this way. I mean, it would be soooo boring laying around looking at nothing but white. And while eight month olds are cute, it's not like they're really that great of company 24/7. And Prince Charming is a myth, and it sucks to live with myths, because they're all full of themselves because they live in fairy land and you live in reality, and they're always holding it over your head like they're better than you or something. And I really like my kids a lot, even if they do grow and stuff, and even if they came earlier than I thought they would. I'm glad they did, actually, because it's more like I'm a kid, too, and they're my buddies, which makes me the Awesomest Mom Ever. (Don't ask them about this, because, well, they don't like to brag because not every kid gets a mom as awesome as me and they don't want the other kids to feel bad, so they always lie and say "Oh, my mom is the worst, she's so mean and makes us clean and do homework and she's not cool at all and she tries to be cool but it's just embarrassing"...just take my word for it, ok?...ok?)
Sep 11, 2010
Coffee and Ninjas
I took a break from cleaning this evening to go to my favorite coffee shop all alone. The weather was awesome and it was very nice, but there is a place right next to it that gets kind of rowdy on Saturday nights. I got a little creeped out being there by myself (outside after the coffee shop closed), so I decided to come home.
Guess what? My house is the creepiest place on the planet! Yay for that, yo, because I live here and everything, and it's not as if I ever need sleep or whatever.
If I come home at night, I pull in the driveway and drive around in a big circle so that the headlights shine on my entire yard, just to make sure nobody is outside. Am I just a little paranoid? Absolutely. Tonight, it paid off, because there WAS someone in my yard. My neighbor's dog...but this is good news, because when I came home last night, she was in my house. She had lots of fun making a huge mess, and I honestly can't blame her because she'd been trapped in here for six hours. It was quite comical after I got over the initial heart attack of coming home to somebody leaping out at me from my kitchen.
After I get out of my car, I look carefully around and make sure I can make it to my front door before anyone has time to jump out and get me. It's a good thing I looked, too. As soon as I got out of my car, I noticed a huge person hunched over about five feet away. Don't worry about me, ok? Because I'm actually a badass. I used my ninja skills to scream like an idiot and shine my phone at him. That is some serious self-defense, that whole phone-shinage thing. It worked, too, because it hurt the guy so bad that he turned into nothing as soon as he saw the iPhone of DOOM. So watch out, stalkers, I will vaporize you with my death-ray phone, and best of all? No evidence.
As I unlock my door, I feel quite safe because I am too busy tripping over the dogs to get attacked. Obviously, any attacker would see that I have my hands full at that point, so I wouldn't be much use to them until I was done with the trip-on-the-animals-while-trying-to-use-keys thing.
Once I am inside my house, that's when everyone tries to get me. Because it's all dark and creepy, and every time a car drives down my road, I have to turn back into a ninja. The move I use for that situation is called The Popsicle, because it involves sitting completely still and thinking of all kinds of horrible things People in Cars would do to me. This move works very well, because every car but one has kept moving without stopping at my house. You can read about that car here.
After I scare all the cars away with The Popsicle, the only thing I have to worry about is all the people trying to break in all night long. I know they are, because there is a tree outside my bedroom with these hard things on it (I don't know what they are), and every time someone wants in, the tree warns me by throwing things on my roof and making a sound exactly like someone trying to break the door down. This is a very nice thing for the tree to do. When this happens, I go ahead and use my most powerful ninja move, the Text the Country Boys combined with Shake Like a Leaf. Sometimes, these two aren't effective when used together, because I end up texting something like:
Ok, guts...please come over. Bring gins and speed.
So the Boys think I just want to get high and drunk, and they roll their eyes and go "Oh, that Manny, she's always trying to get into some kind of trouble...LOL...If she's on speed, there's no way she'll ever shut up, so I'm not going near that house!" Which, yeah, I need to work on my moves a little, but most of them work.
If all else fails, Shucks and the Death Bark are always there for me, but I try to save that for the really bad dudes, like Jehovah's Witnesses and awkward people.
Guess what? My house is the creepiest place on the planet! Yay for that, yo, because I live here and everything, and it's not as if I ever need sleep or whatever.
If I come home at night, I pull in the driveway and drive around in a big circle so that the headlights shine on my entire yard, just to make sure nobody is outside. Am I just a little paranoid? Absolutely. Tonight, it paid off, because there WAS someone in my yard. My neighbor's dog...but this is good news, because when I came home last night, she was in my house. She had lots of fun making a huge mess, and I honestly can't blame her because she'd been trapped in here for six hours. It was quite comical after I got over the initial heart attack of coming home to somebody leaping out at me from my kitchen.
After I get out of my car, I look carefully around and make sure I can make it to my front door before anyone has time to jump out and get me. It's a good thing I looked, too. As soon as I got out of my car, I noticed a huge person hunched over about five feet away. Don't worry about me, ok? Because I'm actually a badass. I used my ninja skills to scream like an idiot and shine my phone at him. That is some serious self-defense, that whole phone-shinage thing. It worked, too, because it hurt the guy so bad that he turned into nothing as soon as he saw the iPhone of DOOM. So watch out, stalkers, I will vaporize you with my death-ray phone, and best of all? No evidence.
As I unlock my door, I feel quite safe because I am too busy tripping over the dogs to get attacked. Obviously, any attacker would see that I have my hands full at that point, so I wouldn't be much use to them until I was done with the trip-on-the-animals-while-trying-to-use-keys thing.
Once I am inside my house, that's when everyone tries to get me. Because it's all dark and creepy, and every time a car drives down my road, I have to turn back into a ninja. The move I use for that situation is called The Popsicle, because it involves sitting completely still and thinking of all kinds of horrible things People in Cars would do to me. This move works very well, because every car but one has kept moving without stopping at my house. You can read about that car here.
After I scare all the cars away with The Popsicle, the only thing I have to worry about is all the people trying to break in all night long. I know they are, because there is a tree outside my bedroom with these hard things on it (I don't know what they are), and every time someone wants in, the tree warns me by throwing things on my roof and making a sound exactly like someone trying to break the door down. This is a very nice thing for the tree to do. When this happens, I go ahead and use my most powerful ninja move, the Text the Country Boys combined with Shake Like a Leaf. Sometimes, these two aren't effective when used together, because I end up texting something like:
Ok, guts...please come over. Bring gins and speed.
So the Boys think I just want to get high and drunk, and they roll their eyes and go "Oh, that Manny, she's always trying to get into some kind of trouble...LOL...If she's on speed, there's no way she'll ever shut up, so I'm not going near that house!" Which, yeah, I need to work on my moves a little, but most of them work.
If all else fails, Shucks and the Death Bark are always there for me, but I try to save that for the really bad dudes, like Jehovah's Witnesses and awkward people.
Boom! Roasted!
As promised, The Slam...
Ok, I promised last night that I would update y'all on The Situation. Due to the plethora of material provided to me last night, I simply cannot tell the entire story. And if I could, I wouldn't, because contrary to popular belief, I am not that big of a bitch. So, a condensed, hypothetical how-to.
If, say, you and your husband split up. And it's been nearly...oh...a year. And if he were to decide to start being a jackass....here's what you should do:
1. Find a house with some Country Boys nearby. These should be nice, good-looking Country Boys who like you. If they don't like you, you should move away.
2. If the Country Boys like you, feed them andwater beer them often. This makes them loyal, and also protective.
3. If (and this is a big IF) your ex starts harassing you with text messages at three in the afternoon, just ignore them, and hope it stops.
4. If (bigger IF), instead of stopping, your ex tells you he's on his way over to your house, then you alert your posse.
5. If (nearly impossible, but I've heard of this happening -- NEVER in my own experience) your ex then spends eight hours telling you all kinds of crazy things, getting drunk, and telling you he's coming over, then you need to do exactly what I would do IF I were you (which, of course, I'm not, and we discussed this the other day) which would be rush to the bathroom so you don't pee your pants, because that would be embarrassing. Then, call your posse over. Call the police over. Go out in your driveway and play with guns. Put the guns away BEFORE the police show up. Because this causes problems, yo, and you don't want any confusion on who should actually be shot.
6. If your ex texts you and asks (again) if he can please just come over, then you have some decisions to make. You could be all, "OK, yo...I don't know why I didn't just say that in the first place and save everyone a lot of trouble." OR, you could just ignore it and hope he stumbles into your Country Boy posse, because it just seems like it would be good old-fashioned entertainment. OR, you could list the arsenal currently contained in your driveway and warn him it may not be a good idea. IF I were you, I would chose that last option. However, seeing as how I have absolutely never been in this situation, I am not really the one to ask, now, am I?
7. If, the next day, your ex tells you that you are a bitch, because of the way you handled the evening, then you should probably ignore that, because dang, woman! What's your problem? Maybe you should have just tried to be understanding. But nooOOOoooo...you had to go and say no. You got all freaked out and scared. You called the Country Boys. You were unable to get a single thing done all day because you were getting threatening messages. You didn't get any sleep. And worst of all, you didn't say anything mean or nasty or hateful at all. You're such a bitch. My only advice for you after you've screwed up so royally is to just move into your parent's basement and become a creepy blogger, because really, there's no hope for people like you.
So, hypothetically, that is what I would say to those of you who find yourselves in these types of situations. If you were awesome like me, you would never experience anything like this, and you would live in bubbles of happiness filled with kittens made of chocolate and unicorns that poop rainbows. So, life would pretty much be awesome if you were me, but you're not, so you have to deal with crappy circumstances like these, is my point.
Ok, I promised last night that I would update y'all on The Situation. Due to the plethora of material provided to me last night, I simply cannot tell the entire story. And if I could, I wouldn't, because contrary to popular belief, I am not that big of a bitch. So, a condensed, hypothetical how-to.
If, say, you and your husband split up. And it's been nearly...oh...a year. And if he were to decide to start being a jackass....here's what you should do:
1. Find a house with some Country Boys nearby. These should be nice, good-looking Country Boys who like you. If they don't like you, you should move away.
2. If the Country Boys like you, feed them and
3. If (and this is a big IF) your ex starts harassing you with text messages at three in the afternoon, just ignore them, and hope it stops.
4. If (bigger IF), instead of stopping, your ex tells you he's on his way over to your house, then you alert your posse.
5. If (nearly impossible, but I've heard of this happening -- NEVER in my own experience) your ex then spends eight hours telling you all kinds of crazy things, getting drunk, and telling you he's coming over, then you need to do exactly what I would do IF I were you (which, of course, I'm not, and we discussed this the other day) which would be rush to the bathroom so you don't pee your pants, because that would be embarrassing. Then, call your posse over. Call the police over. Go out in your driveway and play with guns. Put the guns away BEFORE the police show up. Because this causes problems, yo, and you don't want any confusion on who should actually be shot.
6. If your ex texts you and asks (again) if he can please just come over, then you have some decisions to make. You could be all, "OK, yo...I don't know why I didn't just say that in the first place and save everyone a lot of trouble." OR, you could just ignore it and hope he stumbles into your Country Boy posse, because it just seems like it would be good old-fashioned entertainment. OR, you could list the arsenal currently contained in your driveway and warn him it may not be a good idea. IF I were you, I would chose that last option. However, seeing as how I have absolutely never been in this situation, I am not really the one to ask, now, am I?
7. If, the next day, your ex tells you that you are a bitch, because of the way you handled the evening, then you should probably ignore that, because dang, woman! What's your problem? Maybe you should have just tried to be understanding. But nooOOOoooo...you had to go and say no. You got all freaked out and scared. You called the Country Boys. You were unable to get a single thing done all day because you were getting threatening messages. You didn't get any sleep. And worst of all, you didn't say anything mean or nasty or hateful at all. You're such a bitch. My only advice for you after you've screwed up so royally is to just move into your parent's basement and become a creepy blogger, because really, there's no hope for people like you.
So, hypothetically, that is what I would say to those of you who find yourselves in these types of situations. If you were awesome like me, you would never experience anything like this, and you would live in bubbles of happiness filled with kittens made of chocolate and unicorns that poop rainbows. So, life would pretty much be awesome if you were me, but you're not, so you have to deal with crappy circumstances like these, is my point.
Sep 10, 2010
I am *not* going to use this blog to slam my ex...
Even though I have been harrassed all day. Even though I didn't get anything done today because I was dealing with "issues". Even though I am exhausted and need to sleep, but I won't be able to...I'm not going to do it, ok?
So stop. asking. me. Because it's very tempting.
Stop.
I mean it.
Ok, I'll make you a deal. Tomorrow, I will tell you the story, and I have a feeling it's going to get more interesting in the next ten minutes, so I'll just tell you the whole thing all at once, ok? Tomorrow, though.
So, glad that's over with. It's now nearly two in the morning, and I am way too tired to write anything. I would like to thank my merry band of rednecks for always being ready to come screaming into my driveway in their purty pickups. Because, really, my life is incomplete without this.
I should also thank Donovan for locking my keys in my car tonight, along with my ciggies and my LAST SODA. Dude. Because if that hadn't happend, I wouldn't have been able to...well, actually, I'm a little upset about that. See, I was going for a silver lining there, but it didn't happen. Surely the effort counts for something, though, right?
Also? I was really needing this weekend to happen, and now it looks like it won't. So, to whoever screwed that up, the rednecks are coming after you next, because that just wasn't cool, yo. I gosta' have my Saturdays or I get all murdery.
So stop. asking. me. Because it's very tempting.
Stop.
I mean it.
Ok, I'll make you a deal. Tomorrow, I will tell you the story, and I have a feeling it's going to get more interesting in the next ten minutes, so I'll just tell you the whole thing all at once, ok? Tomorrow, though.
So, glad that's over with. It's now nearly two in the morning, and I am way too tired to write anything. I would like to thank my merry band of rednecks for always being ready to come screaming into my driveway in their purty pickups. Because, really, my life is incomplete without this.
I should also thank Donovan for locking my keys in my car tonight, along with my ciggies and my LAST SODA. Dude. Because if that hadn't happend, I wouldn't have been able to...well, actually, I'm a little upset about that. See, I was going for a silver lining there, but it didn't happen. Surely the effort counts for something, though, right?
Also? I was really needing this weekend to happen, and now it looks like it won't. So, to whoever screwed that up, the rednecks are coming after you next, because that just wasn't cool, yo. I gosta' have my Saturdays or I get all murdery.
Sep 8, 2010
Today Happened
So, if you read this, you know I'm not exactly "with" my husband anymore. That's because I just don't have a high tolerance. At least, that's what he tells me. As of last week, we have to mess with the ugly "D" word. It's kind of a bummer.
Here are some things I miss:
I used to be able to sit cross-legged in my computer chair while I wrote this pointless blog. Now, I can't, because my awesome computer chair has been replaced with a tiny one. I don't know where the awesome one went, but it's gone, and I miss it dreadfully.
I miss having boots. I used to work in a western-wear store 14 years ago, and I had lots of boots. Now, I don't, and I kind of want some.
I miss last Saturday night. I had peace for one whole night. Peace, I miss you, dude.
Wow, listing my feelings like that was very therapeutic. I'm glad I got it out. I feel much better now.
Here are some things I still have, and I'm very grateful for them:
Kids
Dog
Family
Friends
Computer
Coffee
Bad attitude (my own, I don't like yours)
A LOVE for diesel engines that surpasses any mortal understanding
ALL the power tools, yo
This amazing blog
The ability to sleep and drive (no, I'm really good at it)
Smart alec skilz
My low-skilled but high-paying and excessively dishonorable job (it's pretend, though)
So, I guess things aren't too bad after all.
Here are some things I miss:
I used to be able to sit cross-legged in my computer chair while I wrote this pointless blog. Now, I can't, because my awesome computer chair has been replaced with a tiny one. I don't know where the awesome one went, but it's gone, and I miss it dreadfully.
I miss having boots. I used to work in a western-wear store 14 years ago, and I had lots of boots. Now, I don't, and I kind of want some.
I miss last Saturday night. I had peace for one whole night. Peace, I miss you, dude.
Wow, listing my feelings like that was very therapeutic. I'm glad I got it out. I feel much better now.
Here are some things I still have, and I'm very grateful for them:
Kids
Dog
Family
Friends
Computer
Coffee
Bad attitude (my own, I don't like yours)
A LOVE for diesel engines that surpasses any mortal understanding
ALL the power tools, yo
This amazing blog
The ability to sleep and drive (no, I'm really good at it)
Smart alec skilz
My low-skilled but high-paying and excessively dishonorable job (it's pretend, though)
So, I guess things aren't too bad after all.
Sep 7, 2010
Chats with Shucks 3
We got one of these:
Hence the following conversation:
Me: Ooo lookie, Shucks! This will be perfect for you while we're at school.
Shucks: What? It's water, what's so special about that?
Me: It dispenses the water, Shucks.
Shucks: oooo-kay.
:::neighbor's dog comes up and drinks a bunch of the water:::
Shucks: :::DEATH BARK::: :::pees himself a little::: :::hides behind the porch railing:::
Me: What's wrong, Shucksie?
Shucks: GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!! It tried to eeeeat me, it tried to eeeeeat me! Make it go away!
Me: What are you talking about? It's just water.
Shucks: Angel (the neighbor's dog) took a sip, and it growled at her. I heard it. And it made these weird bubbly things in its belly. Please take it away. I don't need water. I'll be fine.
Me: Growled? The water growled at you? Really, Shucks? Really?
Shucks: No, smart ass, the dispenser growled at me.
Me: Um...I don't think so, dude.
Shucks: :::death bark::: stand back, I'm gonna' take care of this.
Me: You're hurting my ears.
Shucks: Ok, fine, just watch for a second, it'll growl again.
Me: ...
Shucks: :::watches patiently::: :::Death Bark, just in case:::
Me: :::taps foot:::
Water Dispenser: :::drips a little water from the foot-tapping and then bubbles/gurgles as more water is dispensed:::
Shucks: Noooooooo...stop the tapping!!! It's gonna' get you, and I have to tell you, I'm not going to save your sorry butt, because I warned you. As soon as I chew through this rope, I'm outta' here, and you can deal with the dispenser monster all alone.
Me: :::explains the gurgling using extremely technical terms, and fully disproves the monster-ness of the dispenser, sounding highly intelligent and looking amazing at the same time:::
Shucks: Both your beauty and intelligence are wasted on me, woman. I'm not going near that thing.
----------------------------------------------
Three days later:
Shucks: :::gasps::: water! I need water!
Me: It's right there, being dispensed, yo. Go have some.
Shucks: Fine. You win. But if I get eaten, I will come back to haunt you.
Me: Done. But if you try to haunt me, I'll sic the toilet on you.
Sep 6, 2010
Why my kids want to go live somewhere else...
Today, I had the pleasure of being told by my children that they want to move away. Well, five of them do, the other one happens to not be ungrateful...or he knows how to play the game. Either way, props to him. On the other hand, I can hardly blame them. Here are their reasons:
1. They want to go to a different school. Absolutely, the school they attend is one of the best in the nation. Best = hard, yo. I have actually complained about this school in a previous post, so I don't have much ground on which to stand here. However, I'm pretty sure that "school is hard" is a common childhood complaint no matter what school you attend, so they probably won't get many supporters based on that one.
2. They want to see their old friends more often. Never mind the fact that they never saw them when we lived there, and half of them have moved away. We also won't mention the fact that they just totally said that they would rather see their friends than their own mother...like I said, ungrateful...Also? Not Cool, because I am a cool mom, and all kids should want to spend time with me. Mine are obviously crazy, because what kid in their right mind would choose friends over Mom???)
3. Work. Because I have my kids Monday through Friday, and those are school/homework/housework days. On the weekends, it's all fun and games, and guess what? That's not at my house. They would like to see less work and more video games, please. A valid argument, your honor.
4. This one is truly the most important, and also the reason I may go ahead and let them go: Ice Cream. If they lived elsewhere, there would be ice cream every day. So, psh, yeah. I wanna' go live there, too. I didn't realize about the free ice cream. I wonder if it's Ben and Jerry's...I should ask, because that would definitely be a convincing point.
1. They want to go to a different school. Absolutely, the school they attend is one of the best in the nation. Best = hard, yo. I have actually complained about this school in a previous post, so I don't have much ground on which to stand here. However, I'm pretty sure that "school is hard" is a common childhood complaint no matter what school you attend, so they probably won't get many supporters based on that one.
2. They want to see their old friends more often. Never mind the fact that they never saw them when we lived there, and half of them have moved away. We also won't mention the fact that they just totally said that they would rather see their friends than their own mother...like I said, ungrateful...Also? Not Cool, because I am a cool mom, and all kids should want to spend time with me. Mine are obviously crazy, because what kid in their right mind would choose friends over Mom???)
3. Work. Because I have my kids Monday through Friday, and those are school/homework/housework days. On the weekends, it's all fun and games, and guess what? That's not at my house. They would like to see less work and more video games, please. A valid argument, your honor.
4. This one is truly the most important, and also the reason I may go ahead and let them go: Ice Cream. If they lived elsewhere, there would be ice cream every day. So, psh, yeah. I wanna' go live there, too. I didn't realize about the free ice cream. I wonder if it's Ben and Jerry's...I should ask, because that would definitely be a convincing point.
Sep 5, 2010
Because my elevator advice was so kickin', or Dating after divorce
First, you need to make sure you're available. If you aren't, you need to figure out why you want to date, and fix that situation right up. If you can't, you need to get single. Or if you can't do that, sorry, you're in a mess of trouble.
After establishing your singleness, you need to check your calendar to find out what year it is. I've noticed that people tend to get stuck in the decade during which they got married/had kids/graduated high school. So, if it's not 1980, you may want to tone down the bangs and the eyeshadow. Also? Pants are much lower on the waist these days. Once you discover the current decade, update your look. DO NOT update in the junior section, unless you are a junior, or you are me (which you are not). Do as I say, not as I do, yo. Trust me. You should learn any new slang, too, but don't use it (again, unless you are me) ('cuz dis biznitch knows what she's doing, oh foolish one.) (Shut up.)
After that, you have to gohunting trapping fishing for find someone nice. This is the hard part. Some things you should look out for are people who live with their parents, people who don't have a car, and people who are drunk. The first two are obvious, and as for the second one, I don't want to hurt your feelings, but if they start liking you when they're drunk, they probably think you are a couple notches higher on the old rating scale than you really are, so neither one of you really wants to be there the next day when you both realize this fact.
When you finally do meet that special someone, you need to do some checking. Make sure they are available. If they aren't, please do not believe them when they tell you they are leaving their "other life" to be with you. C'mon, haven't you ever watched Springer? Make sure you are not related in any way. Even if you're fourth cousins and it's legal and everything, this will still make for some awkward conversations from time to time, and let's face it, awkwardness = something to avoid at all costs. And again, Springer, and do you really want to be one of Those People? (No. The answer is no, you do not.) (Again, unless you're me, which, again, you're not. Sorry.)
The last thing you should do before getting serious about somebody is to check their medicine cabinet. I'm just sayin'. They may have something you don't want to catch/deal with/pass on to any future children/hear about in any way.
Once you've followed all my advice (as well you should have, because I totally rock at this.) (<---never say "rock".), you are on your way to a healthy dating relationship, and you're ready to meet the parents. Or the kids, or whatever. If you are a woman, you should dress very provocatively, and wiggle a lot. Also, havea glass a bottle of wine before you go. This will help you relax, and you won't remember what anyone was saying about you the next day. If you are a man, be sure to bring your ego. You don't want her dad to think you're too into her, so you should make a point to check out all the other women, and also maybe be a little rude to your girl, too. If her dad or her brothers or sons start cleaning their guns around you, they are trying to tell you something. What they are trying to say is "Will you please tell me what I'm doing wrong, and also offer to show me how to use this thing?" Help them...men have a hard time asking for help, and this is the best they can do. If they are shy about accepting your advice, then try taking the gun away and showing them what you mean. This will help them relax and know you are a Nice Guy.
Once you've passed this stage, it's on like Donkey Kong (no, no, hands off that one, too...I told you, leave the slang to the experts: teens, Payton Manning, and me), and you are officially a couple. Next step, borrow someones baby, move in with your parents (both of you), and live without money for a month. If both of you come out alive, you have completed my Dating Certification. If one of you is dead, I have no advice for you, other than I suggest that the survivor try video games or blogging instead of dating next time, because you obviously have no business being in a relationship if you can't keep your homicidal tendencies to yourself. We learned this in kindergarten, kids, did we not?
If you decide to move from Dating to Marriage, don't. Uh, I mean, congratulations! :D haha! Silly typos! heh Little slip of the fingers, there.
So, all in all, it pretty much sucks for you that you're not me, is my point.
After establishing your singleness, you need to check your calendar to find out what year it is. I've noticed that people tend to get stuck in the decade during which they got married/had kids/graduated high school. So, if it's not 1980, you may want to tone down the bangs and the eyeshadow. Also? Pants are much lower on the waist these days. Once you discover the current decade, update your look. DO NOT update in the junior section, unless you are a junior, or you are me (which you are not). Do as I say, not as I do, yo. Trust me. You should learn any new slang, too, but don't use it (again, unless you are me) ('cuz dis biznitch knows what she's doing, oh foolish one.) (Shut up.)
After that, you have to go
When you finally do meet that special someone, you need to do some checking. Make sure they are available. If they aren't, please do not believe them when they tell you they are leaving their "other life" to be with you. C'mon, haven't you ever watched Springer? Make sure you are not related in any way. Even if you're fourth cousins and it's legal and everything, this will still make for some awkward conversations from time to time, and let's face it, awkwardness = something to avoid at all costs. And again, Springer, and do you really want to be one of Those People? (No. The answer is no, you do not.) (Again, unless you're me, which, again, you're not. Sorry.)
The last thing you should do before getting serious about somebody is to check their medicine cabinet. I'm just sayin'. They may have something you don't want to catch/deal with/pass on to any future children/hear about in any way.
Once you've followed all my advice (as well you should have, because I totally rock at this.) (<---never say "rock".), you are on your way to a healthy dating relationship, and you're ready to meet the parents. Or the kids, or whatever. If you are a woman, you should dress very provocatively, and wiggle a lot. Also, have
Once you've passed this stage, it's on like Donkey Kong (no, no, hands off that one, too...I told you, leave the slang to the experts: teens, Payton Manning, and me), and you are officially a couple. Next step, borrow someones baby, move in with your parents (both of you), and live without money for a month. If both of you come out alive, you have completed my Dating Certification. If one of you is dead, I have no advice for you, other than I suggest that the survivor try video games or blogging instead of dating next time, because you obviously have no business being in a relationship if you can't keep your homicidal tendencies to yourself. We learned this in kindergarten, kids, did we not?
If you decide to move from Dating to Marriage, don't. Uh, I mean, congratulations! :D haha! Silly typos! heh Little slip of the fingers, there.
So, all in all, it pretty much sucks for you that you're not me, is my point.
Sep 2, 2010
How to deal with awkward situations...
My advice on how to deal with awkward situations...because you didn't ask, but I know you wanted to.
#1. TMI Chick. The person who tells you something way too personal or awful within the first few minutes of meeting them. This is one of my pet peeves. I usually like people when I first meet them, and when I don't, I usually find something to like about them the second time I see them. But when people do this to me, they get an automatic probation for at least six months before I will even consider liking them again. Have you ever had this conversation:
Me: Hi, I'm Mandy, nice to meet you.
TMI Chick: Hi. I'm TMI. Aww...is this your dog? What's his name?
Me: Yes, his name is Shucks
TMI: I love dogs. My sister has two who live with me now.
Me: Oh, that's cool. I love dogs, too.
TMI: Yeah. She died. My sister, I mean, died last month and I have to watch her dogs.
Me: Oh, no, I'm so sorry.
TMI: It's ok. My mom and Dad were killed last year, and I'm the last person in our family, and I had a hysterectomy so I guess it all ends with me. *sigh* :::looks at me questioningly as if I might be able to fix this situation:::
Me: Oh, uh...that's too bad...
TMI: ...
Me: ...so...well, I guess I better go...get some beer. Really nice meeting you, though!
Not that this isn't a sad story, but c'mon! This is less than one minute of conversation! What are you supposed to say to this?
Solution: Always carry a drink. If someone you just met mentions death, surgery or AA, hurry and swallow a chunk of ice. You need to choke a little so that your eyes water and you turn all red, then wave your hand like you'll be right back after you clear up your little "problem". Avoid running into TMI from then on.
#2. The Trapper. The person who catches you at a party and tries to hold you hostage. I never sit in one place at a party. I pretty much time my conversations, and if they last longer than five minutes, it's time to move on. I don't do this to be rude, but mostly because I rarely go anywhere without my kids, and if I don't check on them every five minutes, they're bound to be doing something terrible.
At every party, there are known "talkers", and most of us know who to avoid. But sometimes, people just turn into Trappers out of the blue. They are like predators, cutting you away from the rest of the crowd, trapping you in a corner, and standing directly in front of you, teeth bared, daring you to try to get away before they've finished talking your ears off. No amount of subtle hinting or body language works on these people.
Solution: First rule, never sit down. If you're sitting, you're very vulnerable, and you'll be eaten alive. If you sit down and get Trapped, don't come crying to me, because I warned you already. Second, if you are innocently standing and mingling, and you still get caught, you'll have to sacrifice a friend. You wait until you make eye contact with someone (anyone), and call their name loudly and wave them over to you. You have to be very aggressive about this, because if they can pretend they didn't hear you, they will, because they know exactly what you're doing. Say "Hey, Buddy! Have you met Trapper? He was just telling about blah, blah, blah, and it reminded me of when you blah, blah, blah...hey, I'll be right back, I'm gonna' go get us some drinks!" Then run like the hell and don't come back. (Don't sacrifice a buddy you really wanna' keep -- trust me on this.)
#3. The Proximity Person. These are people you don't know, yet are forced to chat with because of proximity, such as on the elevator, standing in line, or in a waiting room. Elevators seem to cause the most anxiety, because you're all at eye level and in a few small square feet of space, and you have no control over when you may exit.
I try to say hi when I get on an elevator, because I find it rude when I'm the first one, then someone else gets on and ignores me. I was there first, so it's like it's my elevator, which pretty much means the same thing as my house, and you don't just walk into someones home without saying hi, right? But after hi, there isn't really much else to say. If I have my kids with me, I just look at them and smile, like "isn't this exciting??? We're on an ELEVATOR, kids!!!" It worked for awhile, but now they're older, and they're all "Mom, shut up." So, yeah, that kinda sucks.
Solution: First, say hi, like I said. If there are ten people on the elevator, look them in the eye and say hello to each of them individually. If the mood seems right, go ahead and shake their hands or even hug them. Occasionally, even a little kiss would be appropriate, but never any tongue unless you've been together for three or more floors. At this point, clothing is optional and you should be throwing winks at the security camera, because you know the guys who watch that video all day have to be pretty bored. If the people on the elevator are all people you don't want to be that friendly with, you should immediately push the button for every floor between the current one and your ultimate destination, so that you have a possible escape every few seconds in case anyone tries to make out with you or say anything besides hi.
These are tried and true methods of coping with awkward people, but they aren't fool-proof. If you find yourself in a situation you simply cannot escape, then look to the experts for advice:
Old People: Old people don't care what anyone thinks about them, and they have no problem just saying they are done and walking away. If you aren't this bold, you could also try sudden incontinence.
Babies: Babies use incontinence, as well. Again, if that's not your thing, puking on someone is a sure-fire way to get rid of them.
My three year old niece: When she feels awkward, she does one of two things, and I think we grownups should adopt both of these as a way to deal with these kinds of situations...
Hook the sides of your mouth with your fingers and pull. You may stick your tongue out if it feels right to you.
Also, raspberries. Like, the kind with your mouth, not the kind you eat. It works like magic for my niece.
#1. TMI Chick. The person who tells you something way too personal or awful within the first few minutes of meeting them. This is one of my pet peeves. I usually like people when I first meet them, and when I don't, I usually find something to like about them the second time I see them. But when people do this to me, they get an automatic probation for at least six months before I will even consider liking them again. Have you ever had this conversation:
Me: Hi, I'm Mandy, nice to meet you.
TMI Chick: Hi. I'm TMI. Aww...is this your dog? What's his name?
Me: Yes, his name is Shucks
TMI: I love dogs. My sister has two who live with me now.
Me: Oh, that's cool. I love dogs, too.
TMI: Yeah. She died. My sister, I mean, died last month and I have to watch her dogs.
Me: Oh, no, I'm so sorry.
TMI: It's ok. My mom and Dad were killed last year, and I'm the last person in our family, and I had a hysterectomy so I guess it all ends with me. *sigh* :::looks at me questioningly as if I might be able to fix this situation:::
Me: Oh, uh...that's too bad...
TMI: ...
Me: ...so...well, I guess I better go...get some beer. Really nice meeting you, though!
Not that this isn't a sad story, but c'mon! This is less than one minute of conversation! What are you supposed to say to this?
Solution: Always carry a drink. If someone you just met mentions death, surgery or AA, hurry and swallow a chunk of ice. You need to choke a little so that your eyes water and you turn all red, then wave your hand like you'll be right back after you clear up your little "problem". Avoid running into TMI from then on.
#2. The Trapper. The person who catches you at a party and tries to hold you hostage. I never sit in one place at a party. I pretty much time my conversations, and if they last longer than five minutes, it's time to move on. I don't do this to be rude, but mostly because I rarely go anywhere without my kids, and if I don't check on them every five minutes, they're bound to be doing something terrible.
At every party, there are known "talkers", and most of us know who to avoid. But sometimes, people just turn into Trappers out of the blue. They are like predators, cutting you away from the rest of the crowd, trapping you in a corner, and standing directly in front of you, teeth bared, daring you to try to get away before they've finished talking your ears off. No amount of subtle hinting or body language works on these people.
Solution: First rule, never sit down. If you're sitting, you're very vulnerable, and you'll be eaten alive. If you sit down and get Trapped, don't come crying to me, because I warned you already. Second, if you are innocently standing and mingling, and you still get caught, you'll have to sacrifice a friend. You wait until you make eye contact with someone (anyone), and call their name loudly and wave them over to you. You have to be very aggressive about this, because if they can pretend they didn't hear you, they will, because they know exactly what you're doing. Say "Hey, Buddy! Have you met Trapper? He was just telling about blah, blah, blah, and it reminded me of when you blah, blah, blah...hey, I'll be right back, I'm gonna' go get us some drinks!" Then run like the hell and don't come back. (Don't sacrifice a buddy you really wanna' keep -- trust me on this.)
#3. The Proximity Person. These are people you don't know, yet are forced to chat with because of proximity, such as on the elevator, standing in line, or in a waiting room. Elevators seem to cause the most anxiety, because you're all at eye level and in a few small square feet of space, and you have no control over when you may exit.
I try to say hi when I get on an elevator, because I find it rude when I'm the first one, then someone else gets on and ignores me. I was there first, so it's like it's my elevator, which pretty much means the same thing as my house, and you don't just walk into someones home without saying hi, right? But after hi, there isn't really much else to say. If I have my kids with me, I just look at them and smile, like "isn't this exciting??? We're on an ELEVATOR, kids!!!" It worked for awhile, but now they're older, and they're all "Mom, shut up." So, yeah, that kinda sucks.
Solution: First, say hi, like I said. If there are ten people on the elevator, look them in the eye and say hello to each of them individually. If the mood seems right, go ahead and shake their hands or even hug them. Occasionally, even a little kiss would be appropriate, but never any tongue unless you've been together for three or more floors. At this point, clothing is optional and you should be throwing winks at the security camera, because you know the guys who watch that video all day have to be pretty bored. If the people on the elevator are all people you don't want to be that friendly with, you should immediately push the button for every floor between the current one and your ultimate destination, so that you have a possible escape every few seconds in case anyone tries to make out with you or say anything besides hi.
These are tried and true methods of coping with awkward people, but they aren't fool-proof. If you find yourself in a situation you simply cannot escape, then look to the experts for advice:
Old People: Old people don't care what anyone thinks about them, and they have no problem just saying they are done and walking away. If you aren't this bold, you could also try sudden incontinence.
Babies: Babies use incontinence, as well. Again, if that's not your thing, puking on someone is a sure-fire way to get rid of them.
My three year old niece: When she feels awkward, she does one of two things, and I think we grownups should adopt both of these as a way to deal with these kinds of situations...
Hook the sides of your mouth with your fingers and pull. You may stick your tongue out if it feels right to you.
Also, raspberries. Like, the kind with your mouth, not the kind you eat. It works like magic for my niece.
Sep 1, 2010
A Night in the Life....
Because, I wouldn't be for realz if I didn't post something like this at some point...
5:30pm - Power goes out due to...well, I'm assuming the storm, even though it had passed hours earlier. I was halfway through cooking dinner, so nothing was really quite hot or cooked so much. We ate salmonella and e.coli in the dark. Tasty.
6:00pm - Take the kids to my favorite coffee shop to do homework in the light.
6:10pm - Turn around and come back home because I left the stove on when the power went out, and I didn't want to come home to being homeless. Again.
6:20 - Head back to the coffee shop and unload kids and homework.
6:30 - Have the following conversation:
Coffee Shop Dude: Are these all your kids?
Me: Yes
Coffee Shop Dude: Really? ALL of them?
Me: Yes
Coffee Shop Dude: Wow...so...five of them?
Me: Uh...six, dude, there are six.
Coffee Shop Dude: oh...one, two, three, four, five....um?
Me: Oh S***! Where's Emma? (As a matter of fact, yes, losing one kid then cussing in front of the other five did win me Mommy of the Year. How did you know?)
Coffee Shop Dude: Are you serious?
Me: uhhh....I'll be right back. :::Finds Emma asleep in the back corner of the van:::
6:45 - Everyone does homework and plays with their Mimi who lives around the corner from our coffee shop.
8:00 - Heading home, trying to avoid police dudes, because I'm pretty sure my car isn't completely legal. Yet. Again. But, whatever, yo. There are lots of polices on our way home, but they aren't too worried about the legality of the mom-van, so whew!
8:30 - Everyone is tucked away in bed. For the first time.
11:00 - Everyone is tucked away in bed. For the last time.
I get ready for bed. See a mouse. Scream.
I decide it couldn't have been a mouse, and go to bed. Again.
I look again, and there is so something moving around by the far wall. YUK!!!
I get real brave and turn on the light.
It's a freakin' frog.
In my bedroom.
Why?
Ignore the frog and go to sleep.
12, 1, 2, 3, 4 and 5:00 - I'm awake, wondering if the stupid frog is ever going to stop hopping around in circles. He doesn't.
6:00 - Get out of bed to deal with the frog. Can't find him. Wake the kids up out of revenge for staying up so late.
5:30pm - Power goes out due to...well, I'm assuming the storm, even though it had passed hours earlier. I was halfway through cooking dinner, so nothing was really quite hot or cooked so much. We ate salmonella and e.coli in the dark. Tasty.
6:00pm - Take the kids to my favorite coffee shop to do homework in the light.
6:10pm - Turn around and come back home because I left the stove on when the power went out, and I didn't want to come home to being homeless. Again.
6:20 - Head back to the coffee shop and unload kids and homework.
6:30 - Have the following conversation:
Coffee Shop Dude: Are these all your kids?
Me: Yes
Coffee Shop Dude: Really? ALL of them?
Me: Yes
Coffee Shop Dude: Wow...so...five of them?
Me: Uh...six, dude, there are six.
Coffee Shop Dude: oh...one, two, three, four, five....um?
Me: Oh S***! Where's Emma? (As a matter of fact, yes, losing one kid then cussing in front of the other five did win me Mommy of the Year. How did you know?)
Coffee Shop Dude: Are you serious?
Me: uhhh....I'll be right back. :::Finds Emma asleep in the back corner of the van:::
6:45 - Everyone does homework and plays with their Mimi who lives around the corner from our coffee shop.
8:00 - Heading home, trying to avoid police dudes, because I'm pretty sure my car isn't completely legal. Yet. Again. But, whatever, yo. There are lots of polices on our way home, but they aren't too worried about the legality of the mom-van, so whew!
8:30 - Everyone is tucked away in bed. For the first time.
11:00 - Everyone is tucked away in bed. For the last time.
I get ready for bed. See a mouse. Scream.
I decide it couldn't have been a mouse, and go to bed. Again.
I look again, and there is so something moving around by the far wall. YUK!!!
I get real brave and turn on the light.
It's a freakin' frog.
In my bedroom.
Why?
Ignore the frog and go to sleep.
12, 1, 2, 3, 4 and 5:00 - I'm awake, wondering if the stupid frog is ever going to stop hopping around in circles. He doesn't.
6:00 - Get out of bed to deal with the frog. Can't find him. Wake the kids up out of revenge for staying up so late.
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