Monday, December 31, 2012

Sometimes You Feel Like A Nut

It's been a while since I've posted. I've been busy busy with the holiday season and taking care of sick minions and spouse. We have been sick with more crap this year than ever before. Oh well.

We've had our ups and downs and run-ins with idiots and much rage, but overall 2012 has been a pretty good year. I can't wait to see what's in store for 2013, since we all survived the Mayan-Zombie-Apocalypse for now. 

And lest I bid adieu to 2012 without sharing any more juicy nuggets with you, I'll leave you with this holiday gem:

While making my traditional holiday candies this year, I was asking Wiener his thoughts on the salted dark chocolate nut clusters I make and whether I should make a whole batch like usual or if a half batch would suffice. So I said "What do you think- a whole batch or a half batch?" His response?

"I like my nuts straight up."

You're welcome. Happy New Year! 


Image Via



Thursday, December 20, 2012

Ahhh the Holidays......

Ahhh the holidays.

That special time of year where everyone debates the true meaning of Christmas and criticizes everyone else's choice of words as they attempt to spread holiday cheer.


As if when someone says "Happy Holidays" they obviously mean "fuck Jesus" and can't possibly be saying "hey, enjoy this time of year which includes Christmas and New Years and also other holidays like Hanukkah and Kwanza."

The Jesus is the Reason for the Season and Keep Christ in Christmas posts as well as the I say Merry Christmas and so should you or you're going to hell memes are as entertaining as ever. Funny thing is that, even though I'm not particularly religious, I have always mostly said Merry Christmas. Sometimes I do say happy holidays, not for fear of insulting someone, but I think this time of year is magical and not just about Christmas. We have Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Years back to back and I kind of lump them all together in one greeting. Plus there's Yom Kippur, Hanukkah, Kwanza and Chinese New Year. I'm too lazy to call them each by name. As a matter of fact, if I were Santa, I would probably simply yell "yo, reindeer, let's go!"

Sadly, this year's proper holiday greeting argument was overshadowed by the tragedy in Connecticut. I won't even offer my two cents or chime in on the issue. It's simply a horrific tragedy that should never have happened and we are all forever scarred because of it.

But the holidays wouldn't be the holidays if people weren't arguing about something. You know what I'm talking about. If it's not the which in-laws to spend the holidays with debate, it's the how much to spend on the kids, or we're getting a Frazier fir this year because last year you got to pick the Noble and it's my turn. (The last one was mine and Wiener's annual argument for years. True story.) 

So this year's holiday-time hot button argument is gun control. I won't delve too much into this either as it gets me fired up, no pun intended, but I will say this: My 'conservative' friends are saying "it's my second amendment right to bear arms, you can't take that away" and "the answer is to put God back in schools." My 'liberal' friends are saying "let's talk about the issue and open a dialogue about mental health and gun safety and look into options to preventing further tragedies." 


I haven't seen any posts calling for a ban on guns. Not that people aren't saying that, I just haven't seen them. Frankly, I have no problem with people owning guns. I would just like to see some more safeguards like mandatory gun safety and training classes, required licensing and registration and required gun safes for all owners. But I would also like to pee without a toddler and pre-teen audience and I don't see anyone rushing to make that dream a reality either.

I have more holiday fodder to share with you but I will save it for another post. The natives are getting restless, and by natives I mean the evil minions, and by restless I mean they are arguing about fruit. And by fruit I do not mean vodka soaked melon balls which I so wish I had right now.




Thursday, December 6, 2012

Fucking Christmas Cards

Every year people try to create the perfect Christmas card, displaying their angelic children or how wonderful their lives are. In recent years the trend of sending photo cards has gone to the extreme. To some it is a competition of who has the most artful pictures on the most luxurious paper. To others it's an opportunity to brag about their lives and children in one of those dreaded holiday letters. Gone are the days of simply picking up a cute pack of cards at the drug store and scribbling a quick note then mailing them.

I don't know why, but every year I think it will be so quick and easy to take a snapshot of the minions and slap it on a pre-made design then, voila! Pick them up at Walgreen's and go. That's much easier said than done.

This year's card fiasco began when I decided to throw dresses on the girls and run into the yard for a quick photo shoot. We spend a few minutes brushing hair and applying a few curls for an extra finishing touch. Fifi adds a dab of lip gloss for the perfectly polished pout, then we head outside.

I'm by no stretch of the imagination a photographer, but with my handy DSLR camera and some fancy dresses on the kids, the pictures are usually pretty good. Unless one is sick and every picture features a huge snot string dangling down her nose and the other is grumpy and uncooperative because she doesn't like sitting in the yard with the bugs.

Devil Baby won't look at the camera and Fifi is trying to do her version of the coy cocked-head model smile, which just makes her look like she's having some sort of seizure. When Devil Baby does look towards me for a split second, Fifi is distracted by an invisible flying bug. When Fifi finally flashes her normal gorgeous, glowing smile, Devil Baby throws her head into Fifi's lap and starts sucking her thumb. I get upset, yell profanities ('tis the season), the kids start pouting, I snap some pics of the pouty faces and threaten to put them on the cards, the kids start giggling and finally I capture the perfect giggly, smiley picture reserved for the best Norman Rockwell paintings. Except for the snot string. Damn it!

When I finally have one or two pictures worthy of center stage on my card I peruse the designs at Shutterfly. I create two or ten of my favorite layouts. Then I cannot decide which one I like best. Wiener, of course, does not like any of my selections- we have very different tastes. I flip flop on the designs and can't pick one. Maybe I'll order two or three different layouts. But how to decide who to send which one to? I delay some more and the coupon codes expire. Do I need to spend this much on stupid Christmas cards, I wonder? I throw together some designs on the Walgreen's site, but I love the look of the matte paper instead of the glossy.

Jeezus, you'd think my house would be immaculate as anal retentive as I'm being about fucking Christmas cards that people will glance at for two seconds and toss in the trash. Maybe I'll just scrap the whole concept of sending out Christmas cards. This way I'll have more cash to spend on what's really important this time of year. That's right, vodka. You know me so well...

Some features must be changed to protect the innocent.
 See, I wasn't lying about the snot string.
Now she looks like a bandit zombie with a snot string.

Thursday, November 29, 2012

How Kids Ruin Your Day

No one really tells you kids ruin your life. They may tell you how much things will change and how hard it will be. But we know those sentiments are mostly ignored.

Someone needs to start an in your face boot camp for doe-eyed expecant parents and slap some sense into them so they really know what it will be like.

I had lunch today with some of my wine o'clock moms and we were discussing how one of their siblings was handling being a new parent. CeeCee explained that the first time parents hadn't been alone with the new baby until he was at least five weeks old. They had grandmas and relatives from both sides staying with them for weeks on end and even persuaded one grandma to come back from out of state for several more weeks. Now this was as normal of a delivery as there can be- no major medical issues, etc. The new parents were just completely overwhelmed with their new little bundle, expecting him to arrive potty trained and sleeping through the night. Bahahahaaahaa!

Point is, no matter how ready you think you are, how much advice you receive or reading you do will prepare you for the harsh reality that smacks you in the face once the demon spawn spring from your loins. And it's not just the initial hell of post childbirth that is stitches and ice packs and goo oozing from everywhere, it's how your life is irreversibly changed for all of eternity.    

In other words, it's not just a few sleepless nights and babyproofing. Some things to consider before having kids:


You will no longer be able to have sushi and vodka lunches at your whim.

You will not sleep for at least 20 years, if even then.

Your home will NEVER be clean. And if it is, stop taking your kid's ADHD meds.

They piss and shit everywhere.

They do not pick up after themselves.

You will become a referee for deathboxing matches.

They don't fucking listen.

You will never have a shred of privacy again.

You will become suddenly embarrassed of your body as they will say things like 'you have a hairy butt' or 'you have poo poo' when referring to your private bits.

Now before you send me hate mail calling me a cold heartless bitch, please know that I love my evil minions with all my heart. But that doesn't change the fact that they can be fucking annoying and are the primary reason I'm developing a drinking problem. Wine softens the blow.

I used to have a life.
Then  I had kids.

Tuesday, November 27, 2012

Poop Rage

So I must have eaten five times my weight in turkey with trimmings this Thanksgiving because I can't seem to get out of the bathroom. Gross, huh! Not that I have an upset stomach, it's the regular type of number two, just a lot of it. TMI?

Lest you think I'm only good for complaining about political hi-jinks, I felt it necessary to share some non political fodder.  

When not raging, I strive to find humor in everyday life. Kids are especially good at saying ridiculous things that are easy to make fun of. Just be sure to do it behind their backs (or on an anonymous public blog for all the world to see) to save them from embarrassment.

Here are some recent musings:

While out with Fifi, we passed a big dude on a Harley whose bike was adorned with metal rivets. It was very bad ass. Fifi said "omgosh his motorcycle is bedazzled." Thank God the windows were up.

The other day I was driving with Devil Baby when she asked me something that I swear was "let's go to the liquor store."  Turns out she wanted me to sing twinkle twinkle little star.  I was quite disappointed. 

Fifi announced the other day that a girl should always be cuter than their husband or boyfriend so he'll never leave HER. She also said "a boyfriend that has a sense of humor and can make you laugh- now that's the killer." And that she hates "clingy boys." Jeez. Where does she get these things? I feel sorry for the poor bastard that marries her already.

Devil Baby is very into poop and butt humor these days. She likes to call people "poo poo booty face." She also likes to threaten to "I fawt on you!" Totally hilarious. I don't know where she gets her potty mouth.




Poor kid. Must have gone potty after I was in there-
hence the noxious fumes.


Also my dear, sweet, aging cat decide to take a ginormous dump on one of our formal dining chairs the day before Thanksgiving. I was worried she might be getting sick or have a terminal illness as this has never happened before. But since it was a one time thing, I decided she must be jealous of all the time I have been spending in the bathroom. Either that or she was staking her claim to her place at the dinner table, because no one wants to sit in that chair now no matter how many times it has been scrubbed with harsh abrasive chemicals.

Well played evil cat, well played.


Monday, November 19, 2012

Yep, Everyone's Still Stupid

Well the big Presidential election is over, so it is somewhat safe to venture back onto social media. Or so I thought. 

The first few days following the election, everyone was busy complaining about people on welfare and the throngs of moochers living on the government's dime. I wonder if they realize trying to get as many questionable tax breaks as they can or claiming a personal receipt at a restaurant was a "business dinner, hardy har har" is basically the same thing as what some welfare recipients do- they're both taking advantage of the system for their benefit and financial gain. But since they have jobs I guess their self entitlement super cedes anyone else's need for basic food and shelter.

And now residents of my home state, among others, are leading the charge and asking for secession from the United States since they do not like or agree with election results or some of the programs and laws the government has put into place. I guess they don't realize how much we rely on the US government for funding and support and we will in essence become the very same scourge of society and aliens they complain about.

True post on my Facebook feed.
Maybe they learned English at a college or something and not the
 middle school she maybe dropped out of after being knocked up.
At least she's honest enough to call herself by what she is.


With that I shall once again withdraw into a post election buffer zone waiting for the self righteous and entitled to cool their jets. I only hope when Texas becomes its own nation I can still get my hands on some fine Russian vodka without paying exorbitant taxes, because I would not be down with throwing my Cape Cod into the Gulf of Mexico and calling it the Mexico Vodka Party. That would just be a waste.


 

Monday, October 29, 2012

Rage Against the Man-chine

This post brought to you by estrogen dominance:

It seems likes I'm super cranky these days. I don't know if it's because I'm staring down menopause or just because I'm grumpy. I feel like a cranky old man all the time who wants to yell "you kids get off my lawn!" But there aren't any kids on my lawn, so that would be weird.

What has been really annoying lately has been all the politics. The Presidential election is around the corner, among other elections, and everyone is driving me nuts! The political ads, the Facebook posts, the news stories obviously leaning one way or the other. I can't take it. I would ignore it if that were possible; it's everywhere. I want to escape to a private island, which I'm sure a lot of you do too.

Of course I think it's important for everyone to vote regardless of their political affiliations. Your choices may differ from mine and that's fine. I don't think any one politician can fit the bill to meet everyone's needs so I assume everyone votes on what issues are important to them at that time and which candidates supports the issues that matter most to them.

What I cannot stand is when people vote for or against a candidate for reasons such as what religion he/she is or isn't or what his/her race is or isn't or what sex he/she is or isn't. All politicians are a slick bunch and there is no perfect choice or 100% right or wrong answer. It usually comes down to the lesser of two evils.

But this election season seems to be fraught with more sleazy assholes than usual. There have been way too many sound bites with politicians saying flat out horrible things. For instance the Missouri Senator who said,  “If it’s a legitimate rape, the female body has ways to try to shut that whole thing down."  Um, not sure that's how it works, buddy. And super recently another politician said, "I believe that life begins at conception. The only exception I have to have an abortion is in that case of the life of the mother. I struggled with it myself for a long time, but I came to realize that life is a gift from God and I think even when life begins in that horrible situation of rape, that it is something that God intended to happen.”  

Really? So when grown-ass men rape, sodomize and impregnate their 10 year old daughters, nieces, or mentally challenged relatives, it is part of God's plan and it was meant to be? And those victims should bear those children and either keep them or give them up for adoption no matter what? Even if the rapist can then come back in a few years and claim parental rights and get visitation and even partial custody? That would be awesome!


And women should have babies no matter if they have the means or finances to properly care for and feed these children? But, you don't want them to utilize government services like welfare or food stamps. That makes perfect sense! Yes, adoption is the other obvious choice-- as if there aren't already thousands of children abandoned and abused and in adoption centers and orphanages and there are no hungry children in America. 

But wait, there's more- the same politicians screaming for an end to abortion are also the same men criticizing single moms, saying that a child should be raised by a mother and a father who are married. But, if you're married and want to plan your family responsibly, don't even think about going to Planned Parenthood or getting affordable birth control options through your insurance. No way, no sir, no how.

Maybe you agree with that and maybe you don't. Everything is open for interpretation, I suppose. Of course these douchebags always try to back pedal and say that's not what they meant after public outrage for their callus and nasty remarks. Well, what do you mean? If you can't say what you mean maybe you shouldn't be running for office. If you have diarrhea of the mouth perhaps you should stick a maxi-pad in there to stop the flow.

What's important to remember is that our country was not technically founded on following certain religious beliefs, it was founded on freedom of religion. And everyone doesn't have the same religion or systems of beliefs. So if your religious beliefs frown on abortion or same sex marriage or other things the general population participates in, then don't do it yourself. Freedom of religion does not mean you can impose your religious belief system upon me. 

I don't remember things being this bad in politics over the last several years. Maybe I'm listening more now as I get older, but it seems like more and more of these politicians are trying to dictate things that directly impact women: The right to choose an abortion. Making it more difficult for a woman to claim rape. Downplaying the trauma of rape and sexual assault. Opposing bills for equal pay for women in same position as men. Planned Parenthood. Lesbian rights.

And really- Planned Parenthood? Come on. Fine, yes, they perform abortions, but they also provide much needed affordable medical care for women like mammograms, pap smears and birth control options. These politicians don't want women getting abortions, but they also don't want them having access to preventative care or birth control to prevent unwanted pregnancies. Inconceivable. Or in this case, they want everyone to be conceivable, pregnant- like. 

It's time for women to wake up, smell the vagisil and take action! Stop allowing these ass clowns to be put into political office. Yes, there are many, many, many, issues and factors in politics; it's not all about women's rights and issues, I know. But the deficit will never be paid off, so being more concerned with that than having control over your very own vagina is asinine.

Soon we'll be back to the days of women being barefoot and pregnant, stuck in the kitchen, not allowed to vote and considered property of men. And if that's the case, I'm fucked because I don't know how to make a Sloe Gin Fizz. I'm pretty sure the women-folk are required to have one ready to hand the man of the house promptly at the 5pm cocktail hour. Wiener will have to settle for vodka straight up, unless I drink it all first. 

A perfectly depicted politician with top hat and asshole.

Thursday, October 25, 2012

Don't Judge Me for Judging

I know, I know, I know. You're going be thinking, 'What about the old adage that says don't judge a book by its cover?' Believe me, I know! 

But I couldn't help myself today. I don't always make fun of people's appearances. Half the time I look like a cracked out person of Walmart, so I should know better than to judge others for how they look.


While picking up Fifi at the end of her after-school activity, I pulled in front of the school and parked while waiting. There was a man who, I assume, was a teacher or school employee out front waiting with some kids and helping them find their ride. 


I guess he pretty much was a normal man, except for the greasy slicked back hair and suspicious pencil mustache. He had a rotund pot belly and his clothes were worn and dumpy. And I'm sure I'm totally going to hell for this, but I couldn't help think 'why is that child molester being allowed to not only work with children, but be alone with them at after school activities?'


Jesus. H. Christ. He had a badge and everything, but that doesn't mean shit in this day and age. Just yesterday I heard on the news about a local school district where a teacher was arrested under allegations of inappropriately touching students at the elementary school where he worked. The same elementary school had another teacher who was convicted of molesting students about a year prior to this newer accusation and that teacher is serving 62 years in prison  Don't they do motherfucking background checks? Or do these sick predators wait until after the background checks to start attacking their prey?


Talk about some sick fucks. You can't even send your kids to school nowadays without worrying about these freakshows. No wonder I'm predisposed to assuming all odd looking little men are pedophiles.

So I'll do my best to try and not judge people by their appearances. Maybe a tall glass of red wine will ease my tension. But these assholes are out there- so stay vigilant, my friends...



The most interesting man would totally judge everyone
 because he is so much better than the rest of us. I love him.



Wednesday, October 24, 2012

More Reasons Wiener is Gay

Perhaps I'm teasing too much with this subject and Wiener will murder me in my sleep one day, but I can't help myself. Some things are too good to keep to myself:

  • He has a penchant for watching figure skating. And women's gymnastics.

  • He's watching The Birdcage, right now. Unless you're reading this at a later date, then he's probably not watching right now. Or maybe he is.

  • We were talking about Kevin Spacey being a good actor and he said "I know he's not as good looking as Brad Pitt, but he's a great actor." I said, "I don't think Brad Pitt is all that good looking." Wiener replied "Really? I think he is beautiful. Especially in Meet Joe Black." (I smirked at this and tried not to bust out laughing and Wiener said "that is going in the blog isn't it?" --> Correct)

  • He made rice crispy treats with Cinnamon Toast Crunch cereal. When eating a piece he said "these are good, but it's better when they are rock hard." (TMI)

  • He tuned to video on demand and said, "Oh look, Magic Mike is available now!" 

Is it the sexy moves...


Or the matching costumes?


Saturday, October 20, 2012

Wouldn't You Like to Be Stupid Too?

Just one shoe needs the lift.
You can't even tell which one.
The other day Raquel made fun of my adventures in tampon usage. Her exact words were "Baahaahaa! You stuck a plastic applicator in your vajayjay!" And that's fine. I find that getting older kills, or at the very least, dulls your sense of embarrassment.

Because truthfully we've all done stupid, embarrassing things. I'm stupid, you're stupid, everyone's stupid. Wouldn't you like to be stupid too? And that's what makes it so much easier to share embarrassing stupid stories- we all do these things. Well maybe not sticking an entire plastic tampon in your ladybits, but you get the gist. 

One of Wiener's friends reads my blog. He called Wiener and said "Have you read your wife's blog? Did you know she said this and said that?" I'm sure he was referring to the post about reasons why Wiener is gay. And Wiener just said "Yep, mmhmm, yes, I know."

What's the point of getting embarrassed or upset? I'm not being mean and malicious. Otherwise I wouldn't have told him about the blog in the first place. He would have to read my secret ninja blog for that.

On that note- I think sharing my own stories of idiocy makes it easier for my readers to appreciate when I do go off on tangents about other people being asswipes. I've paid my dues and earned a bit of karmic leeway to poke fun at others for entertainment purposes.

For instance---I'll leave you with this story:

I have one leg that's slightly longer than the other. Granted we're talking millimeters here. It's pretty much insignificant and you would never know. I never knew this and as a result over time one of my hips has been wearing down more quickly because it gets more weight put on it because of the height difference.

I learned this after my hip popped one day and I was paralyzed by excruciating pain. Since then, I wear a heel lift in my right shoe to raise that side up to be even with the other leg. It's just a thin piece of cork or foam and hardly makes a difference really, but I can certainly tell when I don't wear it because my back will ache. Ah, the joys of getting old.

One day Devil Baby was playing in my underwear drawer where I keep my spare heel lift insert. What? Doesn't everyone keep random weird things in their underwear drawer? (You know you do.) She threw everything on the floor and I was afraid she would lose my heel lift.

I picked it up off the floor and flew into a rage with her demanding she tell me where the other one was. I tossed my room looking and even tried to rationalize with her by showing her two shoes and saying "one shoe, two shoes" and holding up the lift and saying "one- where is the other one?"

It took a good thirty minutes of searching (while Devil Baby watched me like I was batshit crazy) for me to finally give up, when I had an epiphany. Or a moment of clarity in a world of insanity--> Just one of my legs was shorter than the other; therefore I only needed, and had, only one heel lift. 

Duh. Am I stupid or what? 

Please don't answer that...

Thursday, October 18, 2012

Mad Housewife 2

You would think I wouldn't have to write about how this blog is satire so of course there is embellishment, exaggeration, and most importantly, creative license. So if you can't read this knowing it's all in good fun, then it's not the place for you.

The other day I posted about what I do all day. It was for entertainment purposes and was meant to be funny and hopefully I made some readers laugh or smile. It was not an outline of a typical day, of course, and was meant for fun. If I posted what I did every day you would be bored as hell and never come back to this blog.

Does paying bills, reconciling quick books, sitting at Fifi's gymnastics, generating invoices, driving to three different banks for business, folding laundry, doing dishes, grocery shopping, making dinner and wiping poo off a toddler's bum sound interesting to you? Probably not. Most of you probably do things like this every day yourself so why come here to read?

As in a lot of households, husbands and wives share duties. Of course there are also single parents who do it all.  And how Wiener and I roll may be different then how you run your household.

He takes Fifi to school in the mornings and I take Devil Baby on the days she goes. Then I'm responsible for them the rest of the day until they go to bed. That means school pick ups, after school activities, dinner, homework, baths and bedtime. Not that Wiener never helps with these things- he does when he can. Then there are also doctors appointments, dental appointments, orthodontist appointments, allergist appointments. And the list goes on and on. Bored yet?

And this arrangement leaves Wiener's schedule free to do whatever he needs for work all day, whether it be meetings, working in the office all day or meeting people for happy hour, business dinners, networking meetings etc.

He has no constraints whatsoever in his schedule and he does what he needs to when he needs it. And that's the trade off. I don't have that luxury. What I wouldn't give to grocery shop child free for eternity. I need advance clearance if there is something I may want to do, like happy hour, to make sure he isn't otherwise occupied and can be here for the kids. My plans have been delayed, put off and cancelled many times due to important business arising in his schedule.

SO, for instance, if he takes Fifi to school then hangs out in the office in the morning with Devil Baby before I roll out of bed because, I too, have had bronchitis for two weeks and deserve rest and to get well myself, then so be it. So the lesson here is not to make assumptions based on how others choose to operate their households.

Again, this blog is for entertainment and is mostly satire (read sarcasm). If I say I'm drinking pink champagne and eating bon bons all day, I'm probably not.

It's more likely that I'm plunging the toilet or scrubbing dried danimals yogurt drink off the couch. But since it's my blog and I have creative license I won't bore you with the minutia of my real daily routine. I'd much rather share with my readers some outlandish tale or hilariously embarrassing story.

So, if you know me in person, please don't judge or hold these stories against me in my personal life. This blog is an outlet and I'm just looking to get some laughs. Laughter is the best medicine.

And boy do I need it with my latest bout of bronchitis. 



This about sums it up.
Photo Credit- Elly




Wednesday, October 17, 2012

Mad Housewife

Yes, I'm a mad housewife. But mostly mad as in crazy. And often as in the wine...

Sometimes I get the feeling Wiener thinks I don't do enough each day. I just know he envisions me laying around eating bon bons and drinking pink champagne all day.

I wish.
Yes, please.


And so goes the age old battle of husband and wife. She does nothing all day and he never helps around the house or with the kids, blah, blah, blah. I'm not quite a stay at home mom- I'm an at home mom most of the time and also a part time employee of the business we operate. Although I don't get a paycheck. It's all sweat equity, baby.

I decided to pick a random day to keep a log of my schedule so he, and you, can see how much I do do throughout the day. (I said do do. hehehe)

7:35 am- Wake up and have coffee.

7:50 am- Drop a number two and text image to Lola. (Relax, just a pic of feet and not the deuce. Sicko)

8:00 am- Throw on yoga pants and t-shirt, make Devil Baby lunch and dress her for school. Do not shower. Do not yoga.

8:20 am- Leave to take DB to school.

8:45 am- Arrive home and have second cup of coffee and check blog stats. No one is still reading. I like consistency.

9:00 am- Drop another numero dos. Text pic to Lola. 

9:15 am- Try to choose between cleaning and work. Decide to catch up on reading from my blog roll.

9:45 am- Get inspired by someone's blog and type some notes on iPhone notepad.

10:00 am- Group text Raquel and Lola and tell them I'm bored, hungry, hot, cold, blah, annoyed or make fun of someone's Facebook status.

10:15 am- Run dryer to 'fluff' the clothes and restart washer to rinse towels sitting there for three days.

10:30 am- Eat some oatmeal or an egg and toast.

10:45 am- Possibly poop again. Eggs can do that to me.

11:00 am- Get serious about work. Check e-mail. Get distracted by sale coupon, do some online shopping.

11:30 am- Do some invoicing or pay bills. Unless I'm busy taking a nap.

12:30 pm- I'm hungry again. Make some lunch.

1:15 pm- Sit in office and try to work. Wiener asks me how to spell maintenance, convenient and representative. He then makes me proof read five e-mails.

1:45 pm- Say I have to get some water to escape Wiener's incessant rambling and busy work.

2:00 pm- Take laundry out of dryer and stack on bed next to previous load from last week. Move towels from washer to dryer. They've been re-washed five times now. They smell super clean.

2:15 pm- Go back to office and check e-mail. Send out a few marketing brochures. Laugh because I accidentally typed my name as another word for poop in an e-mail. Stop what I'm doing and text this hilarious typo to Raquel and Lola.

2:30 pm- Shit! It's almost time to get Fifi from school. Wow this day has flown by. I'm exhausted.

2:50 pm- Sit in carpool and be on the lookout for rude bitches cutting in line.

3:10 pm- I have Fifi and we stop at Kroger to pick up a rotisserie chicken for dinner. Tastes like homemade.

3:30 pm- Pick up Devil Baby at school.

4:00 pm- Arrive home and get kids settled. Say I have 'work to do' but disappear into office and read e-mails and check out new blogs.

4:30 pm- Pour a glass of wine.

5:00 pm- Heat up some canned veggies and instant mashed potatoes as sides to chicken for dinner. I add fresh milk and butter to the potatoes for that extra made from scratch flavor.

6:00 pm.- Throw dirty dishes in sink for another time. Ask Fifi to empty dishwasher. She says no.

7:00 pm- Deal with homework, send Fifi to the shower and give Devil Baby a bath.

7:30 pm- Plop down on sofa and alternately watch tv and check Facebook on the iPad.

8:00 pm- Break up argument between the kids. Tell them to shut their faces and/or baby holes.

9:00 pm- Tell Fifi to get in bed and give Devil Baby my iPhone so she can watch doody doo on YouTube.

10:00 pm- Throw Devil Baby in bed because she fell asleep on the floor. Wipe the drool off iPhone.

10:30 pm- Think about exercising in the morning. Eat cookies instead.

11:00 pm- I've had a long exhausting day and got a lot accomplished. I hop in bed and read some blogs, text Raquel and Lola, read a book or surf the Internet looking for new illnesses to self diagnose myself with.

12:00 am- Drift off too sleep and am thankful Devil Baby does not have school tomorrow so I can sleep in until 9 zzzz!

Wiener wants less of this...
And more of this. Not likely.





Monday, October 8, 2012

Parenting- What I See / What They See

OK. I'm the first to admit I'm not the best parent. I swear, my kids annoy me and I tell them not to pet strange animals because they will get their faces eaten off.

I'm not the best parent, but I'm also somewhat over protective. I wouldn't say I'm a helicopter parent- I truly push for them to be independent. But I draw the line at participating in certain events that may cause them physical harm. 

That said, I don't fawn over their every move. I'm a strong believer in the five second rule, I do not feel the need to use antibacterial products and we never get flu shots. I like the idea of building immunities. 

Riding bikes, rock climbing and playing in the mud are perfectly acceptable, but the newer adrenaline inducing activities popular these days really freak me out. And I must draw the line somewhere. I see other parents allowing activities that make me question my sanity. If they're doing it, it must be safe, right?

Here is an outline of things I've witnessed other kids doing lately and how my view of them may differ from what other parents see.

Lemonade stand on the median of a two lane thoroughfare in our neighborhood:

Other Parents- An opportunity for their charges to learn important lessons about economics, math, supply and demand, hard work, good work ethics and customer service.

Me- Opportunity for children to slip off the curb into oncoming traffic and be run over and squished like a bug. Also they are prime targets for child molesters masquerading as repair people to kidnap small victims who are never to be seen or heard from again.

Motorized toys- including mopeds, motorized standing scooters, golf carts, four wheelers, dirt bikes, quads, and rhinos:

Other Parents- The opportunity for their children to enjoy the thrill of speeding down the road or off roading. Also fulfilling their own childhood fantasy of owning a motorized vehicle that their parents would never agree to.

Me- Death, destruction, broken limbs and paralysis. My niece received a rhino for her 7th birthday. She ran it off the road and flipped it with her uncle riding inside. He had head trauma and internal injuries that required several surgeries. Thank god she was fine.

Rough housing at public activities:

Other Parents- Boys will be boys. They are burning off energy and will go to bed sooner.

Me- Stitches and concussions...on my toddler, because they don't watch what they're doing or aren't supervised. Thank little baby Jesus I don't have boys or I'd have a heart attack daily.

Riding on the hood of a car:

Other Parents- A fun, whimsical joyride and sense of adventure.

Me- Stupid people, stitches, broken bits and death.

I am aware that my nickname around the house is Killjoy and The Fun Police, but I really do think some activities are more risky than their potential reward.

So that's it. Kinda soap-boxy today, but I just ate a huge bowl of chili and that's all I've got. Well that, and gas.


Just what every seven year old needs.

Thursday, September 27, 2012

A Gyno Tale

A few nights ago, Wiener and I went out with two other couples. One couple we both knew and the other I had only met the wife once. She seemed pretty cool the time I met her, so I thought this would be a good group to hang with. 

The friend who set this up knew the second couple really well and she told us the husband was a gynecologist. She asked us not to mention we knew like perhaps it was supposed to be on the down-low or a secret. It could also be because she knew I'd start asking him vagina related questions and she just wanted to have a nice night out without things getting out of hand for a change. Fine, I'll zip it.

But with this knowledge it got me wondering about how this guy socialized beyond other gynos. Like when meeting new people does he say, "I'm a gyno. I play with vaginas all day." Or is it vaginae? I mean it must really be difficult for him to meet new people or hang out with those not in his line of work because you know it is inevitable someone will either be snickering at you quietly or making crude comments.

I can just hear it now, especially living in Texas (warning: stereotyping) surrounded by manly men and rednecks. Redneck- "So doc, what do you do?" Doc- "I'm a gynecologist." Redneck "Oh really, that's cool. So, I guess you're elbow deep in beaver all day. Tell me, do you ever roofie them and have a little fun?" Doc- "No, I am a professional physician, plus usually there is a nurse in the room with me." Redneck- "Aw man, maybe you should roofie them both next time and gimme a holler!" 

Also, speaking of gynecologists, a friend once made the offhanded comment that she doesn't need to do kegels because her gyno checks her and says shes fine. Come again?

A few of us were out having drinks one night and we were talking about inappropriate stuff, as per usual, like Brazilians and manscaping. The topic somehow lead to kegels. Lola and I said we were too lazy to do them. Another friend says she does them and her gynecologist checks her. Lola and I gave each other a sly wtf look and said "huh?"

She explained that her gyno 'slips a finger in there' and tells her to squeeze so her muscle control and tightness can be checked. Um, hello? Isn't that the opening sequence to a porno called 'Debbie Does the Doctor?'

Lola and I were in utter disbelief and laughed. She was like "What? Don't all gynos do that?" And (to semi-quote a fave Friend's line) I said, "Yes, yes they do. In women's prison!"

We laughed, but it was an awkward moment. A quick poll later among a few other female friends revealed that no one else we know has a gynecologist that performs this test. Interesting.

So either her gynecologist is practicing some new cutting edge medical technique or he is a super perv. Maybe I should call my new gynecologist friend and ask him. Or better yet, I'll wait until our next outing and ask in front of everyone, "Hey doc, do you do kegel checks on women whilst you have your hand up their vajay-jays?" Good times. 


The Super Kegel Exerciser. Aw yeah.
image via

Sunday, September 23, 2012

Friends with Guns and Invisible Murderers

Freaky shit has been going on around my house this past week. It's bad enough Devil Baby always tells me she sees ghosts and monsters in the house, but when you experience things yourself it's a whole different story.

Last week, Wiener had to go out of town for a one night business trip. This doesn't happen often, so no biggie. I used to hate sleeping alone in the house, but after having the girls and getting used to it, it didn't seem to bother me much. After all, I went from checking under the bed every night for murderous clowns for years, even when Wiener was home, to only checking for them when he leaves town. That's a pretty big accomplishment. I do sleep with a knife under my pillow when he does leave, but at least I don't even check the closets at all anymore. (Please do not take that as an invitation to come hide in my closet- I'll cut a motherfucker.)

So the day he left, the kids were at school and I was in the office at home working for about an hour after he'd gone when I heard the familiar 'beep beep' of the alarm when a door or window opens. At first it didn't register, then I thought 'Shit! Wiener's outta town!'

I rushed to the kitchen, grabbed a knife and stared towards my bedroom as this would be the only entry point someone could open a door without me physically hearing the door but only the beep. And I waited. The bedroom doors were closed so I watched to see if they opened. Now maybe I was being overly sensitive since recently reading about the Madwoman's ordeal. After all, it was 10:30am in broad daylight and surely neighbors were home and out and about in the hood. But our lot is big and heavily wooded, so anything's possible.

To be cautious, I left out of the garage and slunk around the outside of the house with my serrated butcher knife checking doors. We have six exterior doors so that's lots of points o'entry. When I got to the master bedroom door off the deck, I turned the knob-- and it was unlocked! Holyfuck.

Until this point I had been sure I was being ridiculous. I quickly locked the door with my key. (Yes, I locked the would be murderers inside.) I started calling and texting some friends to come check the house for me. I'm kind of anti-social so I haven't really made the effort to hang with any of my closest neighbors. Plus, the two flanking me were gone at work and the other two across the street are old. I didn't want to be responsible for getting two old dudes killed by murderous home invaders. You are probably asking why I did not just call the police. I don't know either. No one knows why I do what I do.

Lola was nearby, but refused to come over and help me look for murderers in the house. Apparently picking up her kids from early dismissal at school was more important. Whatever. Stupid minions! Finally, a male friend, let's call him Pepe, agreed to come rescue me. He is a Marine, former police officer and black belt.

To kill time waiting for him to arrive, I chatted with Raquel on the phone. She thought it would be fun to have casual chit chat to keep my mind off the murderers hiding in my house waiting to kill me. So she regaled me with stories of how she saw a shadowy figure in her house recently who she thought was her husband walking around, but he ended up being asleep, so it was probably a ghost. Not helping. Then she wondered if I ever saw the movie where people would hide in homeowners' attics and live there and only come down at night to creep around the house and eat while the homeowners were sleeping. Um, I missed that one... kill me now!

Pepe finally arrived and came gangsta style around the side of my house with a glock drawn by his side. (It may not have been a glock, but that's the only gun name I know and it sounds cool.) I let him in the house through the deck door. He instructed me to stay a few steps behind. He checked under my bed, then went into the bathroom while I stayed in the room. That's when I noticed my bedroom doors to the main house were wide open. Remember earlier when I was in the kitchen watching those same closed doors waiting for them to open in the event someone had crept in? Well they were wide open now. Holyfuck part deux. My heart dropped and I began shaking and said in a pitiful voice "Those doors were closed when I left the house." He went into badass mode and I got the hell out of there and fled back outside.

I could see into a few windows and saw him dashing from room to room like a Rambo-Ninja-Boss pivoting, ducking, turning, pointing the weapon, looking under furniture and in cabinets. At one point he came out asking if we have another attic entry and I told him where it was. I spent my time outside listening for a gunshot and trying to figure out where we'd move if there was an intruder in the house 'cause I wasn't going back in there, ever. Finally, he was done and we went through the house a third time together. He said he checked all the deadbolts and they were locked from the inside and I was satisfied no one was there.

When he left I was still uneasy so I took off to the store and set the alarm when leaving. Upon returning home from the store, all was in order and I had lunch and chilled. I left to pick up Fifi from school and when we got back 20 minutes later, we came in and everything was fine, until I walked by a side hall exterior door and saw that it was unlocked. What? The? Fuck? I calmly told Fifi to get in the car so we could get Devil Baby from school. I called Raquel and she was like "What the hell? Does someone have a key and they're fucking with you?!" I had no idea. I checked with Pepe again and he said he hadn't unlocked any doors and thought he checked them all. Maybe this one was overlooked?

I called a friend from an adjoining neighborhood and she came over with a shotgun. This is Texas, y'all. Everyone's packing heat. We cleared the house again and I chalked it all up to accidentally leaving it unlocked. Wiener called and he was in the car with business associates. He suggested I call Pepe and have him come spend the night. Then suggested another male friend spend the night. The business associates were probably wondering why he was trying to get some men to come spend the night with his wife. (boom chaka wow wow) In the end, my mom came and spent the night and no murderers got us.

But, two days later, when all was calm and back to normal, Wiener was out late at a meeting and I was home cooking dinner for the kids. Devil Baby came running from the front of the house to the back stairs baby gate and said "I want to go upstairs," like she always says. Then she said over and over, "Somebody's upstairs, somebody's upstairs, I want to go upstairs, somebody's upstairs!" Jeezus Christ!!! We also have a front stairwell that's baby gated off and that was the area in the front of the house where she had been playing. Sometimes she says she sees ghosts or monsters, but never does she say somebody's upstairs. Did she see something upstairs? At this point dinner was almost done and I was hungry, so I was all, "Fuck the intruders, we're staying." I didn't let Devil Baby go upstairs and finally Wiener got home and nobody has been murdered yet, but I'll let you know how that goes.

So, in case you're keeping score, that's thrice something weird has happened this week.

Invisible murderers=3  Crazy Bitch=0



Pepe thinks this is what he looks like.
He is incorrect.

Friday, September 21, 2012

Save the Toilet Paper

Fucking Devil Baby threw three rolls of toilet paper in the toilet. I guess technically that is where toilet paper goes. And it's probably my fault. We were tidying up and I asked her to put them in the toilet area of the bathroom. And, since she's smart, she knows toilet paper goes in the toilet. And, since she's also stupid  a toddler, this was her best effort at putting the rolls where they belong.

Instinctively, I began pulling them out of the toilet trying to "save" them thinking I didn't want to waste three whole rolls. Toilet paper is a currency worth more than its weight gold around this house, especially with three girls and Wiener's fondness for deuce dropping. If I had my wits about me, I would have snapped a picture to share before snatching them out.


Not a spanking clean toilet. I would not eat an egg out of this.
To clarify, (Lola), that is an empty toilet paper roll she also threw in. 

Dry-out area.

It is not lost on me that the idea of pulling them out of the toilet with the intention to let them dry out and use them is pretty gross. Even if the toilet is spanking clean, it can still be pretty germarific. 

This issue has been troubling philosophers for eons: If a toilet is sparkling clean and has been Cloroxed to death (not my particular toilet, just a toilet in general, cause that never happens around here) and scrubbed with antibacterial cleaner, is it still germ infested? Won't the germs already on my butt repel the incoming tainted toilet paper germs or does festering all alone on a clean toilet for days make them super-germs and they will spring ninja-like from the dried paper and infiltrate my buttocks with unfathomable strength and make me violently ill? Confucius knows not. 

This situation reminds me of how Raquel must cover her beverage if anyone farts in her vicinity so the poop particles from the smell do not get in her drink and she swallows them. True story. There is more reasoning behind why, but I don't want to steal her thunder. Or did I already? Too late.

But back to the germ debate. Many things were taken into consideration when deciding if I should attempt the dry-out process and risk the stealthy super-germs or cut my losses and toss them. Then I remembered I once pulled a peeled hard boiled egg from the depths of the garbage disposer, rinsed it off and ate it without dying, so wiping my ass with toilet paper that is infested with the same butt germs can't be worse than that. Right?

What? I was pregnant and really looking forward to that egg. It was delicious.

Tuesday, September 18, 2012

What Not to Wear to a Funeral


Putting together an ensemble for a funeral is nerve racking. You want to be appropriate and respectful, yet presentable.

Unfortunately, I am attending a funeral this week for a dear old family friend. Thankfully, I have not been in this dilemma too often. I have experienced my share of loss, but luckily instances have been few and far between. I'm not sure if this means I'm blessed to be surrounded by healthy people or I don't have any friends so I can't lose to death what I don't have.

So here's my dilemma... I am fair skinned and blonde. This presents a problem for me in picking out funeral wear. Black and gray are not flattering on me. I know most people, even blondes, swear by a LBD (little black dress) but black has always just been harsh on me. Now I know a funeral is not all about me, I do have some manners, but I prefer not looking like an Addams' family member while paying my respects.

Also, what shoes do you wear? I can't wear heels without falling, but I have an assload of wedges and espadrilles. Are they appropriate? Should you wear open toed shoes? Do I have time for a pedi? These seem like petty questions at a time such as this.

I don't want to look like I'm going to a business meeting either, but I do have a black suit jacket. And wool slacks. But it's summer in Texas so I would be sweating like whore in church for reasons other than the usual ones.

Buying something new just seems like a waste. Or perhaps it's tempting fate to have a 'funeral outfit' as if I'm asking for more people to die just so I can wear my special outfit. On the other hand, I have an old black dress with red and fuchsia rosette flowers that I could wear. It is very matronly. There go my chances of getting laid. Wait, I said funeral, not wedding. Also, I'm married. Dammit.

Interestingly, figuring out what to wear is not my only dilemma. Apparently, I have all sorts of issues.

Not to make light of a somber event, I do have a hard time expressing myself seriously in emotionally charged situations. I have a tendency to make bad jokes or say inappropriate things. I don't like people to be upset or be sad or cry- it's against my nature. Unless they're my children and I'm yelling at them or threatening spankings. I guess I use humor to deflect from dealing with difficult emotions or uncomfortable situations.

Case in point: The last funeral I went to was for another family friend I had not seen in many years. When I saw the decedent's husband, I hugged him, smiled and said "Hi. It's been a long time. So, how have you been?" Epic Fail.

With that in mind, I am nervous about going to the service later this week. My mother has already asked me to be prepared to offer to bring food over for the family if they need it. When she told me this I responded with, "Oh, like bring food to the house if they have an after party?" Oy vey. 


The white glasses makes this ensemble tres chic and funeral appropos.



Sunday, September 16, 2012

50 Shades of Walmart

I feel bad using a play on 50 Shades of Grey since I haven't read the book nor do I ever plan to. I have nothing against the book, it's just that if I need a dose of soft-core porn I'll simply turn on Cinemax. I'm too lazy to read a book to get my jollies. Immediate visual gratification is better. Too far?

Anyway- I went to the new neighborhood Walmart store today and stupidity was in abundance:

As I walked in and hit the produce department, a lady flew past, cut me off and stopped directly in front of the veggies I was heading for. Did she quickly grab some lettuce and go? No. She got her phone out and started texting and stood there forever while I waited. I had been bok blocked.

Then another lady pulled her cart directly in front of me and stopped in the soup aisle as I was looking for soup. She went about her business looking elsewhere, but it was obvious I was shopping from the shelf she stopped in front of and blocked. I loudly said "I'll come back since it wasn't obvious that I was trying to get something from the shelf you stopped directly in front of." Fifi looked aghast and waited for the fallout, but it never came. She was an older lady and part of me felt bad because she was semi-elderly and I said something rude. The other part of me wanted to punch her in the face.

As I was checking out, the clerk who was scanning and bagging my groceries stopped when she scanned a three pack of Starkist tuna and said, "This has high mercury content." I didn't really understand her so I said "excuse me" thinking maybe she was trying to tell me they were on sale and I should get more. She then said "Doctor Oz said this has a high mercury content and that's why I don't buy it."

Seriously? I don't give a fuck what you buy, lady. I politely said, "Yes I am aware it has a high mercury content, but we don't eat it often so I'm sure it's fine." Do I really have to defend my grocery purchases to the cashier at checkout? It's bad enough they have to see when I buy tampons, Imodium and KY His and Hers (I don't really buy that, maybe) but she must also give me a lesson on nutrition from something she learned on tv?

She went on and on about it and was telling me we should eat salmon instead and how good salmon is for you. She had stopped ringing up my things to tell me this. I had Fifi and Devil Baby with me and wanted to get the hell out of dodge. It was after school so naturally they were cranky-tired-hungry-fidgety. I am really at my everloving whit's end with cashiers and clerks, but that's a whole other post, possibly even another blog entirely, so I will stop there.

The clincher was in the parking lot as I loaded the groceries. There was a dog left in the car next door to mine who was barking. The windows were cracked, but this is Texas people. Sadly, we can't even turn on the tv without hearing about a child or someone dying from being left in a car in the heat. Everyone knows it's at least twenty degrees higher inside a car than outside. Well, maybe not everyone. Everyone is stupid, after all. It was about 90 degrees this day. 

Fifi pointed out there was a kid in the car with the dog and also another kid left in another car nearby. The kids seemed to be teens- maybe tweleve to fourteen, but still. I wanted to call the cops or wait for the drivers to come out, but alas, I'm not the parenting police. I didn't think there really was immediate danger, except from maybe kidnappers. Again, I can't control what everyone else is doing. I can barely take care of my own minions in between glasses of wine. Next time I'll remember to snap a pic and post it on  people of Walmart  or bad parents of Walmart, whatever is the most appropriate. 

As for the rude shoppers, I don't know what else to do but put spikes on my shopping cart wheels and stab them in the ankles the next time they pull this crap.

Also, from now on I'm pretending to speak a foreign language at check out so I don't have to put up with the cashiers' psychobabble. 

OMFG. This was exactly the scene and so could have been me!
 Blonde, two young girls and an Asian cashier.
Me staring in disgust and kids running amok, only my ass is bigger.
photo credit