There are so many things that I want to be...a published author, a race car driver, a sailor (ok...maybe not a sailor...but I swear so fucking much, I figure I must be practicing for something...) But there are just things that I have never cared to be. One of them is Housewife Extraordinaire..(know in advance that I used spell check on that bitch...what a word, huh?) Please tell me why it is necessary to even LIKE to do housework...let alone EXCEL at it? Now...put down the phone...it is unnecessary to call Children's Services, my house is not in shambles...this is only because of an obsessive compulsive habit that I have picked up along the way...but back to the point. Why is it necessary to be able to clean the house with a home made concoction of vinegar and flower petals, cook a delicious three course meal, in which none of the courses originated in a box or was delivered through the front door, and smile the whole fucking time?
I can BARELY make mac n' chee without swearing. (Shocking...since I can hardly type a sentence without swearing!!)
I have a friend who...although she doesn't "bring home the bacon..." She sure can FRY that bitch up in a pan. You go to her house and it is a mother fucking shrine to June Cleaver. Actually, my other friend...also housekeepingly challenged...and I refer to her AS June Cleaver. I know she wears dresses and aprons around the house and makes cakes from scratch. She just has a way of making you feel inferior...yeah. I get that she doesn't work "outside the home" which is her way of saying that her job as domestic engineer is just as important as, say, a neurosurgeon or astronaut. In fact...I have a big problem with that. Really. I think next time we are over, I am going to refuse to take my shoes off. Don't worry. There is actually no danger of us getting invited back to their house any time soon. Last visit went like this..."MOM! RITA is driving me crazy." "MOM! Can we go home soon?" Every 5 minutes one of my kids would come and complain about something that one of her kids did or said. Admittedly, her kids are annoying...especially "rita." Rita is not her real name...because my friends read this...and although I am pretty sure you are going to know who I am talking about...I hate to confirm anything...anyway...yes. So her kids are annoying. Oh. And there was that little Fist fight my husband and I nearly got into in the middle of our sweet little card game...complete with a spread of appetizers, don't you know. Yeah. So the night pretty much took a turn for the worst when we engaged in a fight normally reserved for the combat zone which is our bedroom. I swear I am not making this next part up. She called me for a week straight after that to let me know she had prayed for us that day. If I believed she wore pants, I know the knees would be worn thin on most of them...due to her praying for us.
Anyway...if you ever come to our house...and on the off chance I have invited you to dinner...you can rest assured that at least 50% of what we are having was delivered through the front door, and the other 50% originated in a box. The house will be clean...but I doubt I would be serving punch from the toilet. I can't...no I WON'T be that woman.
A side note to this? When my husband was serving our beloved country in Iraq, I was at home minding the kids and working full time...balancing the checkbook, keeping the house from foreclosure, all the while laughing and dancing a jig...There were times when someone would come to the door...our car was out front, the tv was on...but strangely enough, no one would answer. That is because I bribed the kids to be quiet in the upstairs bedroom so that they would go away...at any given time, you could do math homework in the dust on top of the TV...my youngest son was so familiar with the pizza guy, that he hugged him every time he saw him. In defense of the pizza guy, he was kinda cute, he ALWAYS brought food, and he asked how my husband was doing. I stopped alternating pizza places after I came clean to him one night about the whole Iraq card. I am sure I paid for his kids private school tuition that year with my tips. If you came over AND I let you in...you had better of gone to the bathroom before you left your house...because there was NO WAY I would let you use the upstairs bathroom. That would require you to traipse through our upstairs...past the messy bedrooms, down the hall, littered with dust bunnies and trucks. I am proud to say that I have a handle on things now...I am just not ANAL about it.
Anyway...about that career as a race car driver...
Sunday, March 25, 2007
Saturday, February 24, 2007
I'm FUCKED!
I am fucked Current mood: crazy
Honest to God. My kids are cute and all...but...fuck me. I really think I need my meds upped. I spent all morning yelling at them...all "Mom he is doing this..." "He bit me" "He hit me" FUCK FUCK FUCK. I sent them to their rooms...good idea in theory...but we have hardwood floors...so every single step they take seems to echo down stairs. I kept them in their rooms for 1/2 hour. It seemed like best thing for all of us. I am seriously thinking about velcro underwear. I could just stick them to the walls. Oh. And the dog. Sir Shitsalot. C + C Poopfactory. The Crapanator. Apparently...the shitter is full in the backyard. He dumped twice upstairs. Nice smell, let me tell you. Couple that with Febreeze and you have a wonderful shit/clean linen smell to your upstairs. Figuring maybe it was about time to get out of the house...I decided to take the boys and the dog to Petsmart. Sir Poopsalot needed his nails clipped. I, I might add, need a pedicure too, but I don't see that happening. Maybe if it clicked when I walked on the hardwood, my husband would tell me to go...I might have to try that...but back to the issue at hand...Petsmart. Great idea to take 2 kids, who if you missed the earlier part of this blog and didn't see how "well behaved" they have been today...and a dog to Petsmart. How can kids manage to find something that they HAVE TO HAVE at a pet store? I swear, my kids did inherit that gene from me...the shopping one. Logan is carrying a rather fancy cat bed (retailing for $56) and begging me to buy it for the cat. The cat that we haven't seen in a week. Patrick is standing so close to me that I swear he knows what I am thinking before I do, and the dog is managing to sniff and be sniffed by all of the dogs in the store. At this point I tell them to go look at the fish. What I wanted to say was...you two better get the fuck out of my sight or I am going to go mother fucking ape shit on your asses. The dog gets his toes done...and we have to go look for some food and treats. It is at this point that the boys and the dog decided to compete for most annoying. I can't even say that there was a clear winner...all three gave it their best effort. I would have to award Patch the whole "best actor in a dramatic series" because he can be so damn dramatic...but the other two tied for most annoying. I bought a new "pooper scooper" because the whole, let the dog shit in the back yard, I won't have to deal with it until the snow melts, thing has blown up in my face. Now. I have a backyard full of crap...mixed with melted snow (which if you don't get the visual, is basically POOP SOUP.) Checking out was almost as much fun as the entire trip. I have C + C Poopfactory trying to mount the shitzu behind us and Patrick and Logan begging for Mountain Dew. Yeah. Mountain Dew. Thanks to my brother, they think asking for it all of the time is HILARIOUS. Neither one has ever actually drank it...but they know they are not allowed. Amazed by the fact that I have not had to kill anyone yet...we leave. Me, being pulled across the parking lot by Sir Poopsalot...Patch nearly walking into the poop area...before I scream "THERE IS POOP ALL OVER THE PLACE." The mere mention of poop is enough to set him off. Drama. I see a career on one of the CSI's in his future.I rolled into Starbucks on the way home, because frankly I was going to kill someone if I didn't...and the cute, obviously single, childless and petless, kid working the window was all "AWW, your dog and your boys are so cute..." Seriously? You can have all 3...and the SF Vanilla latte...how bout I throw in a fifty for good measure?? I am sure he thought about calling Children's Services...but thought the better of it...Instead, he gives the dog a treat. How about a prozac for the mom instead? Naturally, the dog didn't want the treat...lord for bid we not have Snausages on hand for his every whim. I got my 'Bucks...but even the power of sweet, sweet latte couldn't overcome my frazzled nerves. We make it home...only after having to procure the "straight out of Edinboro" cd that I made...so we are rollin down the road blastin "this is how we do it..."
Get home...I decide to try to use the pooper scooper. PFFF. Why? To get out of the house? I seriously see why the dog was crapping upstairs. Once the snow melted...there was NO ROOM for much more...he uses the far back corner...and it is clear that he is a pooping machine. I am thinking about not feeding him any more. I mean...come on. Basically, by taking the poop upstairs, he was saying "shitters full."
I am proud to say that at this very moment, our back yard is less poop filled, No, I couldn't get it all. I just couldn't. I don't have the attention span...the boys are somewhere in the house being relatively quiet...and I am listening to some music...and typing this. I will throw in a plug for finetune.com...if you have not heard of it, it is great. I have a link on my home page, check it out, sucka. (thanks Tori...) If I sat right here and nothing changed for the rest of the day...I might think I can do this parenting thing...but just as I said that...the little one just came bustin thru the diningroom on his belly on a skate board. AWESOME. Going to go crush some lexapro and contemplate some vodka.
Honest to God. My kids are cute and all...but...fuck me. I really think I need my meds upped. I spent all morning yelling at them...all "Mom he is doing this..." "He bit me" "He hit me" FUCK FUCK FUCK. I sent them to their rooms...good idea in theory...but we have hardwood floors...so every single step they take seems to echo down stairs. I kept them in their rooms for 1/2 hour. It seemed like best thing for all of us. I am seriously thinking about velcro underwear. I could just stick them to the walls. Oh. And the dog. Sir Shitsalot. C + C Poopfactory. The Crapanator. Apparently...the shitter is full in the backyard. He dumped twice upstairs. Nice smell, let me tell you. Couple that with Febreeze and you have a wonderful shit/clean linen smell to your upstairs. Figuring maybe it was about time to get out of the house...I decided to take the boys and the dog to Petsmart. Sir Poopsalot needed his nails clipped. I, I might add, need a pedicure too, but I don't see that happening. Maybe if it clicked when I walked on the hardwood, my husband would tell me to go...I might have to try that...but back to the issue at hand...Petsmart. Great idea to take 2 kids, who if you missed the earlier part of this blog and didn't see how "well behaved" they have been today...and a dog to Petsmart. How can kids manage to find something that they HAVE TO HAVE at a pet store? I swear, my kids did inherit that gene from me...the shopping one. Logan is carrying a rather fancy cat bed (retailing for $56) and begging me to buy it for the cat. The cat that we haven't seen in a week. Patrick is standing so close to me that I swear he knows what I am thinking before I do, and the dog is managing to sniff and be sniffed by all of the dogs in the store. At this point I tell them to go look at the fish. What I wanted to say was...you two better get the fuck out of my sight or I am going to go mother fucking ape shit on your asses. The dog gets his toes done...and we have to go look for some food and treats. It is at this point that the boys and the dog decided to compete for most annoying. I can't even say that there was a clear winner...all three gave it their best effort. I would have to award Patch the whole "best actor in a dramatic series" because he can be so damn dramatic...but the other two tied for most annoying. I bought a new "pooper scooper" because the whole, let the dog shit in the back yard, I won't have to deal with it until the snow melts, thing has blown up in my face. Now. I have a backyard full of crap...mixed with melted snow (which if you don't get the visual, is basically POOP SOUP.) Checking out was almost as much fun as the entire trip. I have C + C Poopfactory trying to mount the shitzu behind us and Patrick and Logan begging for Mountain Dew. Yeah. Mountain Dew. Thanks to my brother, they think asking for it all of the time is HILARIOUS. Neither one has ever actually drank it...but they know they are not allowed. Amazed by the fact that I have not had to kill anyone yet...we leave. Me, being pulled across the parking lot by Sir Poopsalot...Patch nearly walking into the poop area...before I scream "THERE IS POOP ALL OVER THE PLACE." The mere mention of poop is enough to set him off. Drama. I see a career on one of the CSI's in his future.I rolled into Starbucks on the way home, because frankly I was going to kill someone if I didn't...and the cute, obviously single, childless and petless, kid working the window was all "AWW, your dog and your boys are so cute..." Seriously? You can have all 3...and the SF Vanilla latte...how bout I throw in a fifty for good measure?? I am sure he thought about calling Children's Services...but thought the better of it...Instead, he gives the dog a treat. How about a prozac for the mom instead? Naturally, the dog didn't want the treat...lord for bid we not have Snausages on hand for his every whim. I got my 'Bucks...but even the power of sweet, sweet latte couldn't overcome my frazzled nerves. We make it home...only after having to procure the "straight out of Edinboro" cd that I made...so we are rollin down the road blastin "this is how we do it..."
Get home...I decide to try to use the pooper scooper. PFFF. Why? To get out of the house? I seriously see why the dog was crapping upstairs. Once the snow melted...there was NO ROOM for much more...he uses the far back corner...and it is clear that he is a pooping machine. I am thinking about not feeding him any more. I mean...come on. Basically, by taking the poop upstairs, he was saying "shitters full."
I am proud to say that at this very moment, our back yard is less poop filled, No, I couldn't get it all. I just couldn't. I don't have the attention span...the boys are somewhere in the house being relatively quiet...and I am listening to some music...and typing this. I will throw in a plug for finetune.com...if you have not heard of it, it is great. I have a link on my home page, check it out, sucka. (thanks Tori...) If I sat right here and nothing changed for the rest of the day...I might think I can do this parenting thing...but just as I said that...the little one just came bustin thru the diningroom on his belly on a skate board. AWESOME. Going to go crush some lexapro and contemplate some vodka.
Thursday, February 01, 2007
fashion for the unfashionable
I have noticed a lot of fashion errors lately...and frankly, it is time for me to stop being so nice and and just address them...
First of all...You there, in the above-the-ankle skirt. You look so nice from the front...and I know that is all you see...but when I walk behind you, I notice that you have knee-hi stockings on. How do I know this? No. I am not clairvoyant. I can clearly see them because the slit up the back of your skirt shows them off. I have no idea why none of your friends have not told you about this little "over sight" but, I will. It is tacky and I would prefer not to see it again. Ok?
And for the record. They are black. You are not. See where the dead give-away was?
Next up...the lady who is insisting on rocking the boots/gaucho pant look. Now. I am a big fan of this look. In fact, some may call it "my thing." Yes. It is true that I have several pair of the shorter pants that I wear with the high boots. Yes. It is also true that this look probably doesn't take a lot to pull off. One thing that I think tends to ruin it for you is the fact that you are constantly looking like you just climbed off a horse. Really. I don't get why your legs do that. I am sorry about it. But. The legs are what make or break the "look" and I am sorry, but yours are breaking it. I hope that doesn't come off too harsh...because honestly, I am not done with you, so wipe the tears. If...and that is a big IF...you decide to continue to rock that look...please keep a few things in mind. The reason that you wear boots is to slenderize the leg and make it look longer and sleek. If you wear boots that fall short of the bottom of your pants, you are missing the whole purpose of the "look." I don't want to see your knees. I just don't. Coupling this with the whole leg thing you've got going on just makes for a mess. Then, you decide to throw caution to the wind with the colors? It is a wonder you have not had your shopping privileges revoked. What is with the turquoise? That shows up NO WHERE on this season's (or the last 50 seasons) fashion radar. I am sorry. You are too fun to make fun of...
Then we have the whole belly sweater/baby tee look. Yeah. Did you lose a bet? That would be the only way I would believe that you saw fit to wear that outfit. If YOU think it makes your belly stick out...I think it 20 times more. You shouldn't have been allowed out of the house, and on your friends/roommates behalf, I apologize. No go and see if those pants come a size bigger.
And. If your pants were feeling a little snug on the ride into work this morning, do you think that standing in line for french toast is the best plan? Maybe grab a banana and call it a morning?
I know there are many more fashion mistakes at work...just dying for me to tackle them...Wait for it!
First of all...You there, in the above-the-ankle skirt. You look so nice from the front...and I know that is all you see...but when I walk behind you, I notice that you have knee-hi stockings on. How do I know this? No. I am not clairvoyant. I can clearly see them because the slit up the back of your skirt shows them off. I have no idea why none of your friends have not told you about this little "over sight" but, I will. It is tacky and I would prefer not to see it again. Ok?
And for the record. They are black. You are not. See where the dead give-away was?
Next up...the lady who is insisting on rocking the boots/gaucho pant look. Now. I am a big fan of this look. In fact, some may call it "my thing." Yes. It is true that I have several pair of the shorter pants that I wear with the high boots. Yes. It is also true that this look probably doesn't take a lot to pull off. One thing that I think tends to ruin it for you is the fact that you are constantly looking like you just climbed off a horse. Really. I don't get why your legs do that. I am sorry about it. But. The legs are what make or break the "look" and I am sorry, but yours are breaking it. I hope that doesn't come off too harsh...because honestly, I am not done with you, so wipe the tears. If...and that is a big IF...you decide to continue to rock that look...please keep a few things in mind. The reason that you wear boots is to slenderize the leg and make it look longer and sleek. If you wear boots that fall short of the bottom of your pants, you are missing the whole purpose of the "look." I don't want to see your knees. I just don't. Coupling this with the whole leg thing you've got going on just makes for a mess. Then, you decide to throw caution to the wind with the colors? It is a wonder you have not had your shopping privileges revoked. What is with the turquoise? That shows up NO WHERE on this season's (or the last 50 seasons) fashion radar. I am sorry. You are too fun to make fun of...
Then we have the whole belly sweater/baby tee look. Yeah. Did you lose a bet? That would be the only way I would believe that you saw fit to wear that outfit. If YOU think it makes your belly stick out...I think it 20 times more. You shouldn't have been allowed out of the house, and on your friends/roommates behalf, I apologize. No go and see if those pants come a size bigger.
And. If your pants were feeling a little snug on the ride into work this morning, do you think that standing in line for french toast is the best plan? Maybe grab a banana and call it a morning?
I know there are many more fashion mistakes at work...just dying for me to tackle them...Wait for it!
Sunday, January 28, 2007
...............
I don't know about you...but I have 2 kids and one of the very last places I want to take them with me to is the grocery store. This is probably a cool third on my list of places I don't want them with me at...first being the gynecologist and second being my waxing appt...well...today, I had to go to the grocery store...we were basically about to embark on a week of Chicken Noodle Soup and Cocoa Krispies...so...it's Sunday...the day of rest. The day I refuse to shower on. Yep. Not gonna do it. I am not opposed to clean underwear and a bra...so, I do a quick change and we are out...of course, the oldest one has to ask me if I am really going out of the house like that...and my response, as usual, is that I am and I am hoping we run into his entire class on some random field trip that he wasn't invited on. This usually causes him to sigh loudly and mentally add it to the list of things he hates me for. Good thing he is only 9. I still have plenty of years ahead of me to embarrass him!! Anyway...we are off...my trip to the grocery store requires a stop at Starbucks first. I wish I could say that this was a natural progression...that I pass Starbucks on the way. But I don't. In fact, I went to the Starbucks further from my house, because it has the drive thru. Yes. That might be one of the dumbest things I do...but recall if you will...it is a. COLD and b. Sunday...the day without shower. Do I really need the good people at Starbucks to be subjected to my dirty hair and yesterdays mascara? 2 weeks ago, I stumbled in there after my sleepover at Lola's house, wearing my really comfy fleece jammies...red with cute little snowmen on them...and a sweatshirt. I am pretty sure the good folks at Starbucks considered an intervention before I left...but I was allowed to leave without one...Anyway...yes. I drove around my ass to get to my sf/ff vanilla latte. On the way there, we passed a grocery store. Oh. I thought, I could shop there...the only problem is, about a year ago, I was shopping there...and admittedly, I had not taken my Paxil in a few days...so my patience was non-existent...but I get in a line that was as long as all of the others...and start unloading my cart. I look up and no shit, the cashier was...(searching for the politically correct term, here...) uh...how do you say...retarded. So. I look around and notice that I had stumbled into a parallel universe, where 5 out of 7 of the people working the cash registers were of the same situation. Those without a clear handicap, were just plain ugly. Yeah. I know. This is bitchy...what ever...So...it was right there, that I had to promise myself never to go back to that store again. And until today, I held true to my word. But here we are...the thing with this particular store is that they have a "babysitter" in the store...you can leave your kids with this lady and shop without having to police your buggy for random cookies and candy and what ever else your kids throw in there...so I was faced with a dilemma. Go to this one...unload the kids and shop in peace...but run the risk of the continued employment of the handicapped workers...or go to the other grocery store...and deal with the kids? You can see my moral dilemma. I elected the first choice and unloaded the kids...Yes. at the end of my shopping, I was lucky enough to get in the line where not only the cashier but the bagger were both handicapped...oddly enough...it was fine. Blame it on the Lexapro...
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Bread and the mean cafeteria guy.
It is here that I will capture the anger that I am feeling today...specifically toward the mean spirited cafeteria worker who chose today to piss me off.
Dear ass munch-
I get that you are only one step away from working at McDonalds and this probably eats away at your dignity and self worth, but really, how is that my fault? I don't understand. Every day, or at least everyday until last week, I got in your sandwich line and ordered a turkey and cheese sandwich, without bread. I understand that the bread is actually what MAKES a sandwich a sandwich, but honestly, is it that big of a deal that I am actually cutting out part of your job? If you are that in love with the bread, I think subway might be the place for you. Every day, you make a comment or roll your eyes or huff at me...like NOT getting bread is that much of a burden on you? I don't get it. So today, please do not think that I didn't hear your comment about me today...in front of all of the other bread eating people...how you don't understand why I can't eat bread with my sandwich, but that I can get in line for chicken nuggets...well, dick cheese, I was in line for peas. Not chicken nuggets...so how about stepping off?
I don't understand why you feel the need to do this to me every day...I guess maybe it makes you feel better about yourself? Because God knows, with a crappy cafeteria job, you need all the help you can get.
Keep on making the sandwiches there, Jared...you mean mother fucker!!
Love,
the girl who doesn't eat bread.
Dear ass munch-
I get that you are only one step away from working at McDonalds and this probably eats away at your dignity and self worth, but really, how is that my fault? I don't understand. Every day, or at least everyday until last week, I got in your sandwich line and ordered a turkey and cheese sandwich, without bread. I understand that the bread is actually what MAKES a sandwich a sandwich, but honestly, is it that big of a deal that I am actually cutting out part of your job? If you are that in love with the bread, I think subway might be the place for you. Every day, you make a comment or roll your eyes or huff at me...like NOT getting bread is that much of a burden on you? I don't get it. So today, please do not think that I didn't hear your comment about me today...in front of all of the other bread eating people...how you don't understand why I can't eat bread with my sandwich, but that I can get in line for chicken nuggets...well, dick cheese, I was in line for peas. Not chicken nuggets...so how about stepping off?
I don't understand why you feel the need to do this to me every day...I guess maybe it makes you feel better about yourself? Because God knows, with a crappy cafeteria job, you need all the help you can get.
Keep on making the sandwiches there, Jared...you mean mother fucker!!
Love,
the girl who doesn't eat bread.
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