I Couldn't Fall Back Asleep Last Night So I Woke Up Late but I Couldn't Call in to Work Because "I Was Up Late Working on My Zombie Outbreak Preparedness Plan" isn't a "Valid" Excuse. Whatever.

About 2:20 am, princess Wee One decided that she was going to be awake.  Loudly awake.  It could've been her 18 month shots that had her feeling grumpy, I don't know, but she was up.  And pissed.  So I rocked her pretty little self back to sleep.

When I got her back in bed and set off towards my bedroom, the hallway was pitch black and I couldn't see.  I was scared of tripping and falling and ghosts pulling my hair, so after I blindly and anxiously felt my way back to bed, I whisper-yelled at the Hubby that the flashlight wasn't on (we turn a little one on when Wee One gets up so we don't have to turn on hallway or room lights.  Because that hurts the eyes.  Try it sometime.  Go from full on sleep in pitch black to full on lights blaring.  Not fun.)

Turns out the batteries in the flashlight died.  And we don't have another currently functioning flashlight.

Therefore I laid in bed for a good hour thinking about the fact that we are sorely unprepared for any sort of disaster, especially the zombie apocalypse because my God, we don't even have a frigging working flashlight in our house.  And we also haven't checked the smoke detectors in like, two years.  The hell?  We suck as grown ups.

As I lay there planning and telling the Hubby about my zombie outbreak plans, he snored in agreement with my wonderful ideas.  Like we should have a stash of bottled water always on hand.  And duct tape.  Because what can't be made or done with duct tape, right? And ski masks so maybe the zombies wouldn't even recognize that we're living humans if we're wearing them.  Or better yet, plastic Halloween zombie masks.  Then we could go out among them in disguise to get needed supplies.  Like Starbucks and McDonald's.

I call this one.  This wouldn't make me stand out. at. all.

Actually, now that I think about it, this would attract too much attention because the boy zombies would be all, hey baby.  You're one fine looking zombie chick.  UGH. Men.  Dead, alive, or undead...all the same.

I also figured out that we should hold family practice zombie outbreak drills at Walmart on a Friday night.  Because, same difference.  Practice runs are always a good idea when planning for the worst.  I'm sure my neighbors won't mind us running around our yard screaming "I think I've been bit! Save yourselves!"  I also decided I need to go buy the Zombie Survival Guide at Borders.  That probably has some good tips.  Since I couldn't run out and buy the book just then, because of the whole middle of the night issue, I used my smart phone that's smarter than me and I Googled zombie survival gear and found out I need a cordless chainsaw, a neck AND testicle protector, a titanium bat, a GPS device, a flashlight (with batteries, sonofabitch), and a first aid kit.  There are lots of other supplies we'd need, but the more and more I read some of those websites, the more freaked out I got that people actually take this zombie apocalypse thing seriously and think it's really gonna happen and they're already planning and training for it and Oh Holy Hell I'm one of them because I'm wide awake at 3:00 in the freaking morning making my own freaking zombie outbreak plan.  

So, there you have it.  I'm pretty certain that if I would've called in sick or late to work today with this as my excuse, I'd be in mandatory, court and employer-ordered therapy.  And all I got out of it was bags under my eyes, not enough sleep, still no working flashlight, and embarrassing amounts of pathetic shame that I'm becoming one of those zombie geeks.  There won't be a zombie outbreak, I know that logically.  But just in case, I'm keeping this bookmarked in case I decide to sign up. Zombie Survival Course Weekend

I'm so freaking tired today you guys.  Zombie outbreak prep is exhausting work. 

READ MORE...

I May Have Scarred My Oldest Daughter for Life.

This past weekend as we were rushing to get dressed and out the door to enjoy our Saturday, Bossy Girl ran into my bedroom and collided with me as I was getting dressed.  I had on everything except my shirt, and she stared at me, wide-eyed, first at my bra, and then at my stomach.  The look on her face was pure shock.  Then she quietly reached out and touched my tummy, asking, "Mommy, what happened to your belly?"

What was she referring to?  My old, pregnancy-induced stretch marks around my belly button.  And let me tell you, I have some doozies.

So I put on my shirt and sat her down to explain.

Well, when you were growing big in Mommy's tummy, my skin couldn't stretch very far and this is what happened.

Her reply, "I scratched you?  I'm so sorry."

My response, "no babe, you didn't scratch Mommy.  I have a small tummy because I'm a small person (5'2) and you were a big, healthy baby (8 lbs) so there wasn't much room so my skin... well, it tore a little to make more room for you to grow healthy and perfect."

Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped in horror as I know she probably pictured something a little like this

I explained to her that it was nothing she did wrong and it didn't hurt Mommy at all and in the end who cares because I have TWO perfect daughters who both took their turns growing big and healthy in Momma's tummy.

She smiled and hugged me then, and whispered, thank you Mommy.

She then asked if she'd get marks like that someday too.  I answered that I had no idea.  Maybe she would, maybe she wouldn't.  Her response? Oh well.  I hope I get big boobs like yours too.

That's my girl.


So, I hate to disappoint the men out there, but most of us Moms don't pop out babies and immediately go back to perfection as Hollywood shows time and again.  I have a Mommy body.  And although I do wish I looked like this

I don't.  And you know what?  I could give a shit about it because I have TWO healthy, perfect, blue-eyed, happy little girls running through my house, carrying around my heart with them.  Stretch marks be damned.

However? If I ever get enough money and courage, I'm totally getting a tummy tuck.

READ MORE...

I Prefer My Birds Fried in a Bucket, Extra Crispy Style.

Dear Chirpy, Chipper, 5:00 am Birds,
I'm sorry, you must have made a mistake.  You must assume that some morning, with all your tweety tweets and chirpy chirps that suddenly the windows of my bedroom will fly open and you'll see this:

And you'll flitter flutter on in and make me a dress and I'll sew you some bonnets and give you fresh seeds to munch on while I sing you a song.

However, as I've already mentioned, clearly you have been misinformed.  If you continue to be all sing-songy that friggin early, you'll see this come out of the window instead:

I'll still sing you a song, as I pluck your feathers for a new down pillow.

Now please just shut the hell up, assholes.

Sincerely, 

Me

PS.  No birds were harmed while writing this post, so relax PETA.

PPS. I actually prefer rotisserie chicken but was unsure how to spell it, so I went with crispy fried chicken in the title.

PPPS.  Now I kinda want fried chicken.

PPPPS. I was once attacked by a large parrot in a pet store.  He went for my eyeballs and my jugular. I'm sure you can understand my deep-rooted feelings of animosity towards our fine feathered friends.  You just can't trust them.

READ MORE...

If the Hyatt Calls, I've Never Seen Their Towels Before in My Life. What Missing Towels? (*throws towels in dryer*) aka Part II of When I Did Chicago

If you haven't read part one of when I did Chicago, you might wanna start there first.  Or not.  I'm not the boss of you.  You can start here, then go to part one, or never read part one at all.  But if you don't, you won't read about how I do not telepathically communicate with cows.  Up to you.

Where'd I leave off?  Oh yes, my unintentional act of burglary. (Not like the time I was five and stole the orange Tic Tacs from the store.  And ate them.  That was totally on purpose.  I wanted those little candy bits of orange wonderful but my heartless, cruel mom said no so what's a girl with no allowance to do?  Exactly.)

Imagine my excitement when I upload pics from our trip and see him.  HIM.  In a lovely scenery shot from Shedd.

At first I considered leaving his photo off here to protect his anonymity as a victim of theft.  But then I figured he probably doesn't have a wireless connection for his laptop under the bridge so it's all good.  He'll never see this.  But if he does ever see this, dude, I'm sorry.  I thought when you approached us and said, "enjoy a free paper" you really meant for us to "enjoy a free paper."  Plus it's The Onion, which is funny, so I'm all, "yay, free and funny paper.  Thanks random hobo."  Then when you mentioned a "donation" for the homeless, it didn't even dawn on me that you meant YOU, but the Hubby is more street smart than I so he handed his copy of the "free" paper back and said no thanks.  But I'd already started strolling away, reading the first page.  I didn't realize that proper hobo etiquette dictates that I had to give the paper back.  Or give you cash.  (which makes zero sense because why would I pay for a free paper?  You didn't even pay for it.  It's like marketing 101 .) And when Hubby called after me to stop, and I looked back at you both and saw you both staring at me like I was a fool, and I just smiled and then kept walking away?  Well, I have no idea what is wrong with me.  Really.  I must have missed a course in college or an episode of Oprah that covers communication with the homeless.  So I apologize.   It was a good paper though.  I just hope to hell it wasn't like your blanket or something.  At least it's above freezing at night time now, right? 

After all of our obligatory tourist photos by random signs and landmarks, it was time to head back to the suburbs to our hotel for the night.  You know, to eat dinner and read my stolen paper.

But not before our GPS bitch decided to starting fucking with us and ended up forcing us through 40 minutes of heavy downtown Chicago traffic that was also about 50% road construction because we didn't listen to her first exit "recommendation" and she was probably all, I'll show these assholes what happens when they decide not to follow a NASA engineered, all knowing satellite.

Take seventeen lefts, then a right through a parking ramp, then twelve more lefts, then jump a pothole, side swipe a taxi, make an illegal u turn, and then take an immediate right into a dark alley. 

I honestly began to wonder if the government doesn't have some sort of wire tap in GPS devices to listen to your secret family conversations and screw with your directions for fun.  Because if I worked for the CIA or something, I'd totally do stuff like that.  I'd wire tap anyone and everyone I could think of, and also rig their home electrical systems to turn their lights off and on at random.  Plus I'd have universal remote controls so people would try to watch Glenn Beck but I'd automatically change it to Jersey Shore.  (both crap programs, by the way.)
I'd also put video cameras in David Beckham's shower.  
For matters of national security people.
What?  Like you wouldn't abuse that sort of spy power too?  

After we rested, we cleaned up and headed to the Cheesecake Factory for an amazing, 100,000 calorie meal.  Sigh. We made sure our hotel room had a fridge so we could bring some more cheesecake back to our room.  For a midnight snack.  And breakfast.  sigh.

banana cream cheesecake from Cheesecake Factory.  I mean, from the gods.

Stay tuned for the final part of the overly convoluted tale of when I did Chicago.  In part three you'll read all about how I inappropriately fondled Lego figures at Legoland Discovery Center, Chicago.  Plus, GPS bitch is at it again when we try to go home.   It's good stuff people.

READ MORE...

I Spent a Couple Days in Chicago and All I Got Was a Free Newspaper. That I STOLE FROM A HOMELESS GUY. I'm Such an Asshole. But in My Defense, I Don't Know Hobo Etiquette.

Guys?  This one is gonna be a long one (that's what he said) so I'm gonna have to divide it into parts.  That's what "real" bloggers do to avoid torturing their readers with super ridiculously long posts about things that have no significance in the world order.  I can assure you, however, that all my musings have meaning and somehow are making the world a better place.  For the orphans.
Brace yourselves, this is part one of when I did Chicago.  (so dirty. Me, not the city.  Although, some parts of it were.  Just sayin.)

Like all "real" writers, I kept detailed notes of my experiences and thoughts as my mini vacay in Chicago commenced.  And by detailed notes, I mean random, half-assed, illegible scribblings on multiple post-its scattered throughout my knockoff Prada bag.
So I could remember everything.  For you.  You're welcome.

I have to start with the multiple hours long road trip up there, because nothing says *fun* and *blog post worthy* like a long interstate road trip.  I made the Hubby drive, for the sake of the other drivers and my children, while I acted as random commentator, judge of other drivers, bad driver flipper offer, swear word shouter, car door gripper, sippy cup passer backer, Queen of music volume and station changing, and toll change counter.  I have important travel duties on road trips, as you can very well see.  It makes you want to travel with me, doesn't it?  (say yes, cuz I bring treats.)  I also like to argue with our GPS system. Who is a total, spiteful bitch, by the way.  You'll find that out later.

heavy traffic = lots of Xanax.  Good thing I don't drive in it.  Ever.

Everything is fun in speeding four lane traffic that you aren't remotely used to.  WEEEE!  Not.  The sudden bottlenecks that make you slam on your breaks, the lane weavers who are inevitably driving mini Volvos & texting while driving, the race after you pause at a toll booth.....fun.  The tiny elderly Hispanic woman in a driver's ed car who looked terrified out of her ever-lovin mind and the driver's ed instructor with his hand on her wheel, himself looking terrified out of his ever-lovin mind.... fun.  I don't know about you, but if I could go back and re-learn how to drive, I would totally do it in Chicago traffic.  Because everyone with a death wish would.  Poor woman.  She was clearly out of her element.  I wanted to somehow show her that I totally understood and sympathized with her while we drove past her, but alas, I didn't pay a bit of attention in my Spanish classes so I didn't know how to wave to her en Espanol.  So I thoughtfully smiled and nodded and gave a "thumbs up".  I'm considerate like that.  And a thumbs up is a universal signal that defies language barriers.  What?  A simple wave is the same?  Who knew.

**just a side note, I'm not bashing Chicago drivers.  I'm bashing all drivers, particularly city drivers.  When I drive, all other drivers out there suck.

You know what else is funny on the Interstate?  And likely only funny to me?  When you speed past a semi truck called "Swift."  Fail on his part.

Yeah, turns out not so much *swift* as *painfully slow*

Also funny?  When you pass a cattle truck and one cow winks at you, and the other mouths "help."  Or it could have been "yo."  Or maybe it was "moo."  Hard to tell with cows.

What?  I'm not an animal whisperer.

By the way, I tweety twatted some of this on the Twitter.  If you're not following me there, you're clearly missing out.

Day 1 in Chicago consisted of surviving traffic, and spending the afternoon at Shedd Aquarium.  I love Shedd.  Especially when you have a stroller so you can avoid the long lines on the stairs and enter through the side where no one else is and there's no wait so you get right in and then you smile in a snotty manner at all the poor suckers still standing in line and you just went right on in like a rock star.

Whenever I go to any place that contains wild animals, I want almost every cute animal I see.  It's a problem that I have.  One of the many.  After being at Shedd, I had determined that I "need" an otter, a couple of penguins, my own dolphin, and a piranha.  You never really know when having a piranha could come in handy.

baby otter.  Come to mama!

We also viewed the Happy Feet 4D experience while there.  It was really cool.  (hee hee.  get it?  cool?  cuz it's penguins? in the polar region?)  I highly recommend everyone view a 4D movie if you haven't already.  There's the 3D part, plus, the seats rumble and lights glow and bubbles blow and wind gusts.  A couple of times you get poked in your seat.  Not fun teenager "poking" like you used to do in a dark theater, but something jabs you in your back from your seat.  I didn't like that part.  First, I thought the Hubby was touching me in the back, like maybe trying to roughly undo my bra.  Not likely.  Then, the second time it happened, I about flew out of my seat swearing, and ended up with a hive there.  Remember how I swell like a balloon?

After we left Shedd. we decided to walk along the lake.  So pretty.  This is when we encountered the homeless man that I eventually STOLE from. 
For that, stayed tuned for part II of when I did Chicago.

READ MORE...

It Was Pretty Much an Emergency Situation in the Toy Room Today

When Bossy Girl was 4, she really got into the Wizard of Oz.  She would watch it over and over again, as anyone does with a movie they love. When she turned 5, for Christmas that year I thought it would be a great idea to get her the Barbie collector's edition Wizard of Oz dolls.  They were quite expensive at $39.99 a Barbie, but with some coming from the Hubby and I, as well as her grandparents, we were able to get her pretty much the entire set of main characters.  Plus one munchkin.

Because we're famous, we must protect our identity.  Also, I show my love for my kids by covering their faces with hearts.  To represent the love. (hey, it's better than a bag)

This morning we went to gather some toys for our road trip to the city (Chicago) for a few days.  Cuz we're on Spring Break and we never go anywhere warm like Florida or Cancun.  Quite honestly, the thought of me in a bathing suit makes me throw up a little in my mouth.  So the city is good.  Although?   We know how people in the city are.  There may be random people in bathing suits anyway.  Like the Naked Cowboy in NY.  At least he looks good half naked. 

Anyway, what do I discover in the playroom?  My Wizard of Oz dolls are all out of their collector's boxes, half undressed, and wearing each other's shoes! 

I mean, Bossy Girl's Wizard of Oz dolls have been played with because they are hers and she should enjoy her dolls.

But seriously?  Why would you rip Glinda the Good Witch's crown off her head and put Dorothy's red slippers on her?  It's just plain wrong.  Hello? Dorothy needs those slippers to get home. Plus?  Glinda was completely naked except for the ruby slippers! (which is kinda hot and totally the fantasy of a few men I'm sure.)  That's gotta be sacrilege and offensive to Jesus.  Somehow.  Although I bet the munchkins like it.  I hear they're perverts.  I apologized to her profusely as I dressed her back in her magic sparkly dress.  It's not okay to offend royalty by forcing them to take their clothes off.  It's something I read once when I was learning how to be a real princess. For my future Roman colony.  Unless they like being naked.  Then hey, they're royalty so they can do what they want. (notice I call her Glinda, not "The Good Witch."  We're on a first name basis because of our shared royal status)

And the poor Tin Man?  He was barefoot and missing his ax and oil can.  How is he supposed to stay flexible and oiled without his can?  And for the love, why is the Wicked Witch carrying around Toto in his basket in one hand, and Glinda's wand in the other hand?  It's not okay people!  Are you gonna tell me that the Wicked Witch was all, hey Glinda, can I check out your wand for just a sec?  And Glinda was all, sure why not? Are you looking to replace that ratty broom? Amazon has some good wand deals with free shipping. PLUS? Toto got away from the Wicked Witch and her evil flying monkeys. He didn't say with her and live happily ever after in her picnic basket.  

Ugh.  

I had to spend 15 minutes getting my dolls Bossy Girl's dolls put back together again and safely back in their collector boxes.  But not before Dorothy, the Tin Man, the Lion and I had a discussion about what to do in case this happens again. (We didn't feel it was necessary to include the Scarecrow in our talk because hello, he has no brain and probably nothing of value to contribute.  We left him to chill out with the plastic dinosaurs.) We decided a secret code like, "The monkey's have lift off!" would be shouted if Bossy Girl tries to play with my dolls them again.

Don't even get me started on how she treats my her Cabbage Patch dolls or my completely furnished dollhouse.

Oh shit guys!  Bossy Girl is coming!  "The monkeys have lift off!  The monkeys have lift off!

READ MORE...

I Really Have Nothing to Share But I Haven't Blogged in a While So This is What You Get.

Have you ever been so busy and/or lazy that you just can't find time to pee and then you hold your pee so long that when you finally do go you're already peeing before you even sit down (for the ladies) and then it's likely the most satisfying pee of your life and your bladder is grateful and you sigh in relief but then after you're done it burns like holy hell for hours afterwards?
That just happened to me.
And now I feel like I'm sitting naked, straddling a salt block and what I can only assume is my urethra or vulva or volvo is burning and my eyes are watering and for the love, why did I wait so long to pee?? 

I just shared that with the Internet.  I may put in on the Twitter.

You're welcome.

PS, I'm totally getting the iPad 2 as planned.  The Hubby went out to stand in line when they were released, and he got the last ticket.  However, since I'd mentioned in passing that I wanted it in black instead of white, and his ticket was for a white one, he said no thanks and got out of line and came home with no iPad 2.  Sonsabitches!  Big mistake on his part.  Coming home with a white one is better than coming home with an invisible, nonexistent one buddy.  So then he ordered it online but I've gotta wait about 3-4 weeks for it to come in, which is annoying as hell.  Do I sound ungrateful?  Probably so.  But it'll be badass and I'll love it and my name's even being engraved on it.  I almost considered having them engrave "touch this iPad and you'll be cut" but didn't think Apple would appreciate my humor with them not knowing me and all.

phoning it in, one post at a time

READ MORE...

An Open Letter To David Beckham

Dear Lover David, 
I've been admiring you from a distance for some time now.  Less distance now since you moved here to the US, so thank you for that one.  But still.  A distance.  I didn't like having an entire ocean between us, by the way.  Made it harder to stalk you.  Because I'm scared of the ocean.  I don't fully understand how deep it is, and those depths scare me.  Mainly because of what's down there that we don't even know about.  Freaks me the hell out.  What if you're floating out there and a giant whale is just under you and you don't even know it cuz it's so deep and dark and they're silent but deadly predators and holy shit I'm scared right now. Hold me like you mean it.

Anyway, thank you for moving closer.  And thank you for being your hot ass self. 
You are amazing.  Brad Pitt used to be amazing but now he's skanky and grey and hairy and I know you won't do that to yourself because your slut you live with wife won't let you let yourself go. Because she's fashionable and classy and not out buying up adopting orphans all over the free world.  I know she's preggo right now, and that means you sleep with her, but I'm willing to forgive you.  This time.  Because of the love and adoration I feel.  But seriously?  No more kids with her.  Four is enough.  And I know you have money and nannies and shit, and your kids are gorgeous, but just stop.  I'm jealous. Come have one with me.  Wait, my tubes are tied.  Fuckity fuck. We can still try, right?
I want to kidnap  woo you and make you mine but you'll get cold because I live in the Midwest and I'd make you be shirtless all the time because holy amazing abs and chest.  We can move though.  Like to the California coast.  But again?  That's near the ocean and hello scary and deep.   Plus?  The tsunami shit scares me too.  So I'm not sure where we'll go and maybe we'll just stay in the Midwest away from the ocean and the Yellowstone super volcano but I'll buy you a tanning bed for warmth. Plus a tan makes your abs look hotter. I would also snuggle you all the time, so you'll be warm that way.  We can stay under a Snuggie and never leave.  How amazing does that sound?  So really I'm saying I'd follow you anywhere, but let's just stay here.  And you stay hot and shirtless.
Anyway, I wanted you to know that I'm a huge fan and your soulmate. Probably.
So call me.
I'll bake you something like a cupcake with yummy frosting and I'll drop the cupcake on your steaming chest and abs and lick it up because wouldn't the best way to eat a cupcake be off David Beckham's half naked body of sexiness? Clearly.
Sincerely,
Me.

READ MORE...

Things I Googled This Week

This is the first post in a new series I'm starting that is dedicated to the random things I Google during a typical week.  Because I am a scholar.  And I want to learn things.  And Google is my logical resource.
Remember back in the day when we had to browse through those card catalogs to go find actual books or encyclopedias?  Lame.

I'm currently enrolled in the Ph.D. program at Google University.  And I'm working on my doctorate in Useless Knowledge and Random Information, with a double minor in Satisfying My Odd Curiosity and Diagnosing My Assumed Illnesses.    

And because I'm a giver, I'll even share the answers with you.  I'm smart and cool.

Things I actually Googled this week to learn more about:

What is earwax made of and why is it yellow?

      turns out it's oils and bacteria and natural body secretions to keep foreign bodies out of the ear.  Yellow is normal.

Who did Kim Kardashian made a sex tape with? 
     Ray J

Who is Ray J?

     Brandy's brother.  Singer, songwriter, producer, sometimes actor, full time player.

Who were all the characters on Saved by the Bell?
     Kelly Kapowski, Jessie Spano, A. C. Slater, Zack Morris, Mr. Belding, Lisa Turtle,  Samuel "Screech" Powers.  God I loved that stupid ass show.  Screech turned out to be a jerk.  Zack and Slater still have pretty good careers, plus they're still easy on the eyes.  Who cares about the rest, really.

Can you overuse a vibrator?
     Unfortunately yes, yes you can.  It can cause "nerve damage" and "desensitize the area." 
For the love.  That "nerve damage" shit better be reversible. 


Is it normal to talk to myself?

     Turns out it is.  Big. Relief.  I kept telling myself it was normal, but she wouldn't listen to me.  So we sat down together and Googled it.  Now she believes me and has shut up about it.  Thank. God.  Now if I could get her to stop harping on me when I eat a carb here and there.  What a bitch.

What are signs of lupus?
     Hey people.  My cheeks were really red one morning.  Therefore I assumed it was a butterfly rash.  Therefore obviously lupus.  Turns out?  Dry skin.  
I lucked out.  This time.

What are the chances I'll get bunions as an old lady?

     About 30%.  Footwear, genetics, and foot injuries can contribute. Guess I should quit working and stay home barefoot with my feet up on the couch, watching movies all day.  In my Snuggie.  And when the Hubby asks why I quit my job, I'll say, to prevent the bunions, DUH.  And he'll be all, bunions?  Are you serious?  You need a job.  We need the money and insurance.  And I'll be all, clearly you don't love me because you're wishing bunions on me.  First lupus and numb girlie fun bits, now bunions.  Fuck.

See how fun learning can be?
Until next time, my friends.




 

READ MORE...

Lent Brings Out My Inner Catholic Girl. And Then After A Week of Avoiding the Thing I Gave Up (which is always a food or alcohol product), I Tell Her to Shut the Hell Up and Send Her Back Where She Came From.

LENT.  It's that time of year again and since I usually don't even realize Lent is in progress until it's about two weeks from being over, (only because I notice Easter is fast approaching and I need to buy jelly beans and Peeps and Cadbury Eggs and ham and make deviled eggs), I'm blogging about it because I'm ahead of the game this time around.

I have a confession.
I was born and raised Catholic.
I did the entire sacrament thing all the way up to getting married in the Catholic church and baptizing Bossy Girl and Wee One as Catholic.  For Christ's sake (forgive me Father for taking thy name in vain) I married a friggin Catholic for the love of God. (praise be)  AND?  I spent a lot of time actively involved in my most recent local church, working bake sales and festivals and donating and lecturing during Mass.

It's like I'm a saint.  Saint Sarcasm of Blog. 

I know  you can't see me, but trust me, the resemblance between myself and this pic?  UNCANNY.

Oh, I should probably take this time to mention I am no longer a practicing Catholic.  (forgive me Father) I'll tell about that in a minute.

I come from a long line of very devoted Catholics.  Pretty much, there's a reservation in Heaven just for my family because they've always been so damned Catholic (probably shouldn't put the words damned and Catholic together, huh?  Shit.  Forgive me Father.).  My mom is such a good Catholic, she is kind of the mother of all Catholics.  Which is technically a figure of speech, but when you think about it, it's ironic and weird because her name is Mary. Hmm.....  Anyway, this is why I firmly believe if I break some (or all) of the rules that it'll be okay cuz I'm guaranteed a spot in Heaven anyway cuz Jesus wouldn't wanna listen to my mom bitch for all eternity about me not being there.  So I'm justified in not practicing.  Unless saying so means I'll be struck down by lightening right now.
Now?
Now??
Didn't happen. Whew!

It's a long, complicated story, why I'm not a practicing Catholic.  Every few months or so, I get the urge to go back to church.  I wonder if I at least shouldn't do it for my children.  One of the handfuls of times we've been there, Bossy Girl pointed to Jesus and asked, "Who's that?"  (forgive me Father, yet again) NOT a good sign.  Sometimes I miss the community and safety and comfort and routine of it.  And other times I figure if God really knows me and hears me and loves me, then he knows my true intentions in my heart and I don't need to pass that through archaic tradition and men in robes first.

And then I wonder if Grandma isn't right. That she was completely accurate when she told me as a little girl that if I didn't go to church on Sundays and say my prayers every night then I was going hell.  Heck of a bedtime story teller she was, let me tell you.

So then I worry and wonder if I'm doing the right thing, not going to church anymore.  I worry so much that I consider going to a nondenominational church instead.  But I don't want to put in the effort to take the hours-long classes to join one.  Ugh.

I wonder if I'm doing enough just teaching my girls to believe in God and Jesus and be a good, kind, compassionate person and say prayers and love each other and believe there's somewhere better than this after we die.  Is that enough?  Or do I need a church and scripted prayer to teach them that better than I can?

And I know for a fact I can be a better role model and a better person/Christian.  I can swear and sling insults way less than I do now. Even though both of those are fun for me, especially when some idiot is just asking to be made fun of and there's just those times when the F word is the only one that fits a situation.  (forgive me Lord for I have sinned. A LOT.)

As you can plainly see, the Catholic guilt thing is oh-so-true and embedded at a genetic level in us Catholics. We can't ever get away from it.  We could become Buddhist or atheist or Jewish or whatever, and feel guilty about everything still.

So for Lent this year, I think I'm going to either give up the guilt, or instead of giving something up, take something up instead.  You know, add something good to my life for a bit.  Maybe I won't be tempted to quit not even a week or so into it.  We'll see what I can come up with.

By the way, I'm totally still eating meat on Fridays.  I don't get that rule.  Sorry Jesus.
I'll throw in a McDonald's Filet-o-Fish now and then to appease my guilt.

READ MORE...

Half-Assed Weekend Post of Randomness. Now With Four Wheel Drive, Charlie Sheen, and Old Ladies.

Haven't done a half-assed weekend post in a while. 
So here goes.

"Someone" in my house spent a shitload of money on this yesterday:

My readers are smart, they can figure out who did this.

Therefore "someone" in my house, who's awesome and pretty and smart, will likely be scoring one of the below soon because fair is fair and if you don't want to hear "someone" nag like the professional nag she is, then you will suck it up and like it, or drive yourself off in your little remote control toy.

Can't wait to own you, iPad 2

Saw this in the "news" yesterday:

People?  I don't know about you, but if I were a judge in family court, I'd totally base my custody judgment on the testimony of slutty whore porn stars.  Just look at them.  They look to me like they probably have Ph.Ds in child development and psychology.  If you could get that degree from finishing a coloring book and blow jobs were your final exam.

Also, if I play anymore games of Skip Bo on my phone?  This will be me:

The dude in the back?  I have no clue.  But I'm betting he's fun to hang out with.  Plus he's patriotic, and who doesn't love themselves a flag wearing man?

Seriously people.  I've played almost 600 games on my Skip Bo app.  But bonus?  I've won 509 of them so I'm basically awesome regardless.

Lastly, to toot my own horn because I wanted to type "toot" plus brag about myself at the same time, I officially have 50 actual followers!!  Woo to the hoo!  You people rock!  And because my self esteem is directly tied to my stats, I'm now averaging about 3000 page views a month.  Score.  PLUS, I've added comment luv  so when you comment on one of my posts, your name will link to your most recent blog post and traffic will increase to your site too when people read your posts and see how creative you are.  So comment away.  It's good for the both of us.  Oh, and I'm on the Twitter now too.  I have no idea why or how to use it but hey, I'm a follower. Click on the Twitter widget, aka Twidget, on the top right of the blog page and read all of my tweety twatty twits.  Or whatever you call them.

Peace out home fries.  Enjoy the rest of your weekend!

READ MORE...

My Lack of Trust in the Intentions of Others is Epic and Well-Documented

Last night after dinner our doorbell rang.  Hubby and I stopped our kitchen cleaning for a moment and looked at each other, confused.  What was that noise?  Our doorbell never rings.  No one wants to come visit us, especially those living around us.  And if you were to see the state of my house, you'd know why.  And when we're outside we rarely acknowledge the presence of most of our neighbors.  And, I scream shut up!!out the window at stupid barking-all-night dogs. Plus, we have a doormat that says, Go Away, so we're practically the neighborhood welcome wagon.

I automatically assume the worst when our doorbell does happen to ring on occasion.....a solicitor, a politician, or a super polite robber/mugger/escaped convict/murderer, so I send Hubby to the door.  Man up buddy.  Only the husband should be answering the door at night.  It's your duty to sacrifice yourself to the solicitor/politician/mugger/convict/thief.  I've got my eye on the kids in case I've gotta grab em and barricade ourselves in the bathroom.

Then it dawns on me....  It could be that little girl who sold me MORE Girl Scout cookies!  It could be a new supply of Thin Mint goodness! I'm already out of them after having a box for only a day and a half.  Score!  Where's my checkbook?

Turns out the person at the door was some dude with a newspaper he thinks was put at his place incorrectly and asks if it's ours but the kicker is, he was on the complete wrong street.

Hubby points out wrong street, then after some small talk, dude leaves into the night.
I make Hubby immediately shut and lock the door because clearly? That guy WAS a mugger/thief/convict/murderer.  And he was scoping out his next hit.  Us.

I feel this is really and truly the case. It's a gut feeling.  I'm practically a detective of some sort.  I firmly believe this man was using the old "oh, isn't this your mail/newspaper?" ploy to peek in our house and get a feel for who lives there.  Cuz we're the next possible target. Boy is he gonna be majorly let down when he breaks in and finds the only stuff he can steal are Barbies, Fisher Price Little People, a cat who likes to puke, bobby pins, and dirty dishes. Oh, and the porno videos are even VHS, so he can't even steal them and watch them unless he has a VCR and who still has one of those?  Dude. Picked the wrong house my friend.

I explained this logic to Hubby.  He was all, but he was super nice and clean cut and didn't look like a bad guy at all and I was all hello?  That's how the really expert bad guys roll.  They never look scary.  They look and act like everyone else to gain your trust then attack when your guard is down.  It's like kidnapping 101, moron.  Don't you watch Oprah?
And he was all, whatever.  Something's not right with you.
And I was all fine, we'll see who's right when we come home to a burglarized house... or find ourselves being murdered in bed.  THAT would suck and I'd totally say I told you so as my final words.  Epic dying guilt trip right there.  And?  If you happened to survive and I don't?  I'll haunt your ass and be all I told you so in my ghost-like moaning voice and write it in the shower fog on the bathroom mirror just to spook you and also with the alphabet magnets Wee One plays with on the fridge.  If they haven't been stolen by the bad guys, that is.

I tend to be this suspicious of others on a regular basis.  Once, when Bossy Girl was a baby we were out shopping and I had her in her stroller and I was looking at a rack of clothes.  I glanced up at her to see a strange man bent over the stroller, cooing at my baby.  I firmly and fiercely pulled the stroller back towards me, away from him, likely giving my baby whiplash, and when he looked at me, I gave him my evil glare of death that said without words, back away from my baby or lose a testicle.  Clearly he was a kidnapper, not some random nice guy who appreciates a cute new life. Clearly.
If I see a car that seems to take all the same turns I do?  They are following me and I'm tempted to drive to a police station to let them know that I know their plans.
If someone stands too close to me when I'm swiping my debit card at a store, they are obviously memorizing my card number.  Because of course.
If someone, especially a man, gets on an elevator with me and there's no one else on there with us?  I grip my phone and keys and point the big sturdy car key at him to say with body language, I will cut you if you get too close because he likely wants to grope me between floors. Probably.
So the moral of the story is I don't trust anyone I don't know, and I barely trust anyone I do know which makes my life tense and paranoid but hey, at least I haven't been mugged or groped or robbed or murdered or kidnapped.  Yet.  Actually, the not having been groped yet thing is kind of depressing and damaging to my self esteem.  Why wouldn't someone want to grope me?  What's wrong with me?  Is it my hair?  My lack of blingin accessorizing?  My baggy sweats and tennis shoes?  Why am I not grope-able?


I'm surprised I slept at all last night, waiting for the clean cut, friendly acting, newspaper wielding, slasher to return and break in.  But I did.  And I dreamed of Girl Scout Cookies.  Mmmm....

READ MORE...

My Favorite Blog Posts That Don't Belong to Me

  Well, I've got nothing original or good right now, so I'm going to take some time tonight to share a few of my favorite bloggers that I follow and some of what I think are their very best posts.  I hope you take the time to read some of these and discover some great, talented writers. Many of whom are funny as hell and so quick-witted it's awesome and inspiring and makes me jealous and pissed off that I'm not as good.  Maybe you're already following some of them.  Maybe not.  Either way, read up and enjoy. Go through their archived posts too.  So much good stuff, baby.  It's like I'm encouraging you to cheat on me and see other bloggers.  And not even behind my back.  Blogging monogamy is SO overrated.  PLUS this gives you a further glimpse into my mind because this is the kind of shit I find hilarious.  And if you don't find it funny, something is likely wrong with your brain.  You may need therapy and an MRI.
Please come back to me though.  Even when you find way better writers.  Don't forget this girl here. There's always enough love to spread around in the blogosphere.

Laura from Fetch My Flying Monkeys  probably has leprosy
The Redneck Mommy  tried to be Smurfette when she dyed her woo hoo blue
This past Christmas, Moooog, aka Midget Man of Steel at Mental Poo sent out a heartwarming holiday letter
Sassy lady Una  loves herself some chocolate
Everything written by The Bloggess.  Every. Single. Thing.  This post on the panda suit is just a sample

Lastly, Kelle from Enjoying the Small Things.  Not a humor blog, but she's an amazing writer and photographer.  An amazing, inspiring blog.  Fo sho.

READ MORE...

A Mood-Swingy Monday

I wanted to title this post Bipolar Monday, but I didn't want to offend.
Which says a lot, cuz typically I'm offensive at least twice a day, and I usually just go with it.

My day started out tired and gloomy and rushed and full of "running lateness," therefore I was in a funk.

Then, the heavens opened and a bright light shined down on me and filled my soul with glee because my Girl Scout cookies were delivered! Can I get an "amen"?!

I immediately scarfed down half of the Thin Mints, which are my favorite.  Actually, to call them a favorite would be an understatement.  They are my "to die for" kind of Girl Scout cookies.....  Try to take a Thin Mint from me, and I'll bite you.  Hard.  Breaking skin hard. Which is really naughty because Yo Gabba Gabba already taught me to not bite my friends.  But I'd break that cardinal rule over other people foolishly swiping my Thin Mints. Then, after I bite you?  I'll go back to happily chomping down my cookies.

After the joyful abandon of eating all those delightful, minty and chocolately crispy cookies, I started to feel sick.  Like, I'm nauseous and my head is suddenly pounding and I'm gonna puke, sick.
It couldn't be all the cookies, could it?  Maybe the guilt connected to eating all those cookies?  I typically don't feel that human emotion called "guilt."

Then I spent the next bit of my day feeling really, really shitty.  Finally the ibuprofen kicked in and my stomach settled from the sugar overload and I was feeling much better.  Mid day was pretty good, tater.

Then came the end of the work day, which went so badly I ended up crying alone in misery at my desk.  UGH.
When I went to the restroom to check my swollen, red, cried out eyes and take a quick potty break before leaving, the automatic flusher flushed while I was still on the toilet, which sprayed me with cold, dirty toilet water, but it was an oddly refreshing surprise.  Therefore I was laughing.  Alone.  In a public restroom.  Over being sprayed in the rear with germy potty water.  Because that is my life.

To end my afternoon on a high note, I took Bossy Girl and Wee One to a local cookie shop to buy more cookies.  Because the Girl Scout cookies I just got this morning aren't enough sweet goodness to sedate me into a sugary state of nirvana.  Add on the sweetened condensed milk tryst from yesterday....I'm likely a full blown diabetic now.  While there, my girls danced with enthusiasm to the music playing in the bakery and the other customers were as caught up in their energy and cuteness as I, their momma was.  It was a lovely, happy sight that filled my heart and soul with much needed laughing and smiling. 

Then BOOM.  Bad mood strikes yet again when Bossy Girl tells me that another kid in her class got in trouble for slapping another student.  In the first grade.  A girl slapped another girl across the face.  Really?  I gave her my sound momma bear advice by telling her to stay away from the little violent brat and if she happens find herself the victim of a slap by the disrespectful crazy snot, then to tell me immediately so I can look up her address and go bitch slap her mom.  Because that is what I do for my kids.  Don't mess with them or I'll Chuck Norris your ass.

Bossy Girl replies to this wise speech with a "YAY!  My mommy rocks!"  Which made me feel all accomplished and awesome parent-like, so score.  Good mood back.

It was an emotional roller coaster day, baby, but oh what a ride.....

READ MORE...