Crap I Do Not Have Time For

I follow a few pages on Facebook that I think are interesting and fun. Some are crafty, not that I am at all, but they're fun to look at.

Note I said Facebook and not Pinterest. I refuse to get on Pintertest. Well, it may be less of refusal and more of no one will invite me.But who wants to be a part of an elitist enclave that humiliates you by forcing members to have to ask/beg to join? me* 

If you're lucky enough to have people automatically send you an invitation, that's great. But for those who have to ask for an invitation and never get one, it's quite the let down and opens the whole getting picked last for dodge-ball wound all over again. 

Anyway, one page I follow is a parenting page and they post interesting ideas for parents. I know what you're thinking. She's following a Parenting Page? Jeez, if anyone needs to brush up on their parenting skills, it's that bitch. Indeed.

Some things shared on the parenting page are really cute and creative. Some are absolutely ridiculous. Again, you decide:

I don't have enough time to get MY chores done, never-mind spending additional frustrating time 
convincing my kids to do theirs because they'll get to move a stupid clothespin from one side to the other. 
Plus, they didn't just fall off the turnip truck; they'd move those puppies from one side to the 
other in a heartbeat and proclaim they're done without lifting a finger.

The chances of me having all these items in the fridge and pantry combined with the 
chances of me actually finding the time to put said items together like this are slim to none.

Cute, but I prefer not to eat things with faces. Unless it's beef or chicken. Too far?

Again with the faces? Also, who has time for wrapping them? Slap a paper towel around them and you're good to go.

Um, hello? I don't have time to even do the laundry and you think I have time to make cutesy  
hanger signs, plus color coordinate and hang outfits for the whole motherfucking week?

Yes, I want to be picking up fruit loops and marshmallows off the floor for the next two weeks. 
Just what I always wanted.

If I have time to shop for these ingredients, I have time to just buy the paint. 
Also, this screams paint fight.

Someone needs to get laid.

I have no patience for cutting food into cutesy shapes. Also the skewer  is a weapon for eye stabbing. 
Devil Baby doesn't need help with her serial killer training.

Admittedly, most of the ideas above and on the parenting site in general are really cute and fun, but some are way over the top and seemingly designed to shame other parents. Like, if we're not cutting our kid's food into cutesy shapes and color coordinating their closets with day by day outfits, then they will become soulless creatures and unproductive members of society. 

If that's the case, then so be it. It's a cold, hard world out there and no one cuts my cheese into heart shapes. Maybe if they did I wouldn't be bitchy all the time and need so much vodka. 

Wait, it sounds like I'm making a case for doing these things. Let me finish my vodka and get back with you on my stance.  

* I am a liar. Between the time I wrote this and the time I posted it, I joined Pinterest. Kill me now. One step closer to becoming a Mom-Bot.

Reasons Fifi Will Need Therapy

Today Fifi turns 9. Holy shitballs, how did I get this old? If you're keeping track, Devil Baby turned 3 a little over a week ago.

Their birthdays are about 11 days apart. My estimated due date was September 6 for Fifi and September 5 for Devil Baby. Wiener's sperm are quite punctual, I suppose. I actually went into labor on my due date at 11pm with Fifi and she was born the next morning. Maybe that was a foreshadowing of her anxiety about being late for things.

With Devil Baby, they induced me on August 27. They said it was because my stomach was too little and she had no more room to grow. The hell? My standing theory is that she was due on Labor Day weekend and the doctor didn't want to miss his golf game. But enough about the Devil Baby who came along and stole all the attention and sleep.

Back to Fifi: Our parenting style has always been ultra unorthodox. It probably has more to do with me wanting to do things my way instead of by the book, because I'm controlling and neurotic like that. That said, some of our techniques and things we allow may come back and royally screw us in the form of hefty therapy bills.

Probably due to this, Fifi has developed a slew of irrational fears most likely brought on by our over protectiveness of the first born, or as a result of our questionable parenting techniques. You be the judge.

1. While other toddlers were watching Baby Einstein, Fifi was sucking her thumb and intently watching scary movies like 13 Ghosts with her dad. To this day, she likes scary types of movies and shows. She has passed on her penchant for the bizarre to Devil Baby who loves "spooky doody doo" and all three of them love watching The Walking Dead.

2. She is overly fascinated with true crime and medical shows. Once at a party, all the adults were talking and she hissed "SHHHHSHH!" She was watching Snapped and she couldn't hear all of the autopsy details.

3. If she falls asleep while watching shows like Bones and CSI she always asks me the next day "who was the killer?"

4. Whenever she whines about doing a chore or task I tell her, "If you don't like it, get your shit and get out." (That line was stolen from a friend, but I think it is an excellent solution to whinny or disobedient kids.)

5. When she was a toddler, she would hide in clothes racks at stores. No matter what I said, she wouldn't stop. One day I told her a story about a boy who hid from his mommy in clothes racks and a bad man kidnapped him and cut off his head and threw him in a canal. She never hid in clothes again. #morereasonsimgoingtohell

6. She loves the shows Man, Woman, Wild and Dual Survivor. Though she's intrigued by their survival skills, she has a lingering sense of abandonment like we're going to drop her in the jungles of Cambodia with one match and a handkerchief and say "See you at home- good luck!" Maybe there is a recurring theme here. Perhaps too much tv is taking place?

But I think deep down her fear has brought on a sense of maturity, responsibility and intelligence beyond her years. She has a clear plan outlined in the event of a tornado warning and has the foresight to bring water and snacks into the closet.

She will either need decades of therapy or she'll become a forensic scientist. Also, when the zombie apocalypse hits, she'll be the leader of the new world and celebrated for her bad-ass survival skills and zombie killing prowess.

Happy Birthday Fifi! 

WTF Mom?

My little 'Hood'lum.

Aw, You Shouldn't Have...

It's been a few weeks, but I was nominated by Tracy over at Momaical for two blogger awards. Better late than never, unless it's your period and your boyfriend told you he had a vasectomy. I'm still not sure if they are deserved or if she added me to her list in some drunken typographic error. I mean, my posts are more snarky than sunshine-y and if by versatile you mean I can use the work fuck in a plethora of combinations to keep it fresh, then that's cool.

S is for Sassy.

V is for Vagina

But I am truly honored and appreciative of her to include me in one of her posts and to actually nominate me. She is the first blogger whom I don't know in person that started to follow my blog and she is great about posting comments.

So, along with these awards you must perform certain rituals or rites of passage. Or, as I like to call them, homework. I never did my homework in school, so why should I start now? Christ these questions are nosy.

The Sunshine Award asks the following questions: 

1.) What would you most like to change about yourself? Nothing. I'm fucking awesome. Wow, that was narcissistic. Um, let's see... I'd change my innards so that I wasn't so gassy all the time.       

2.) What is your theme song? Semi-Charmed Life by Third Eye Blind.
   
3.) One part of your life, a memory, action, etc. that you wish you could surgically remove from your brain? I can't remember. I have mom-nesia.

4.) What generation do you wish you’d been a part of? I'm not sure. I like the allure of the hippie-esque 60's era and I'm also intrigued by history, so living in 1800-1900's Europe might be cool. But I like modern creature comforts, so I think I'll stay where I am and enjoy my ac and chilled Moscato.     

5.) What was your favorite childhood toy? GI Joe. Because I liked taking them away from my little brother.      

6.) What is your favorite household chore? Seriously? How about this- the one I detest the least is loading the dishwasher. I like organizing items to fit as much in as possible. But make no mistake, my house isnot organized.     

7.) Do you twitter? I have an account and sometimes surf peoples twits, or tweets, or twats, or whatever the young kids are calling them these days. I've yet to send one out there. I'm still trying to figure out how to load a profile piture.    

8.) Any goals? To finish these questions.
 
9.) Do you really drink margaritas all the time? No, I like to mix it up. Wine, good. Vodka, good. Rum, good.      

10.) What’s the ugliest car you’ve ever driven? I don't think any of them were ugly per say. The most interesting one was a mid-1980's baby blue Renault Alliance. I took French in high school and thought having a French car was the shit.

The Versatile Blogger asks you for 7 random facts about yourself.  I'm not sure you want to know these things. It is a very risky thing asking a smart ass like me.

1. I love dark chocolate.

2. If my house was on fire, the order of who to save would be Devil Baby, Fifi, Cat Holly, Cat Pumpkin, then Husband Wiener. Poor Wiener.

3. I was born with a hole in my heart. No, that's not the first line to the country song I wrote. It's for real. I didn't need surgery and it closed on its own.  

4. One of my legs is longer than the other. Or one leg is shorter. I guess it's one of those glass half empty kinds of things. I wear a heel lift in one shoe to raise the affected side to the proper height.

5. Do I really have to do seven? I'm bored with myself already. I make jokes and laugh at inappropriate times, like during funerals or when people are crying about their divorces.

6. I hate flying. Despite the statistics, I still say it's a 50/50 chance you'll live. Either the plane will crash or it won't. See how that works?

7. I like to eat ketchup on my scrambled eggs. I'm out of random facts, so this will have to do.

So now I'm supposed to nominate some other blogs. It didn't say how many, so I'll go with five. Also, it didn't say if they should be new blogs or ones that have been around a while, so I hope I don't look like an idiot nominating some long time blogger who has already received these awards. 

Imogen, Undiluted- Like Bridget Jones but funnier and much better looking.

The Bitchy Truth- I love bitchiness.

Ruthless Raquel- An amateur comedian in her head. And snarky to boot.

The Defensive Firearm Diaries- I'm a Pacifist, but I'm scared not to nominate her.

Jeez. I'm stuck at four. Apparently I read a lot of more well known blogs than newer ones, so nominating them would be pointless. I guess this means I need to get off my lazy ass and find some fresh bloggers to mingle with. But these four are people I truly enjoy reading and feel honestly are deserving of a shout out.

Thank you and good night!

Wiener Tried to Kill Devil Baby

In a strange twist of events, or possibly a strategic move to stop her before she becomes a serial killer, Wiener tried to kill Devil Baby today.

He took her to pick up Fifi after school because my car is in the shop and needs $2500 in repairs. I made him do the carpool schlepping so I could wallow in a glass of Moscato about the impending expenditure that puts my dream of an impromptu beach vacation further out of reach.

I thought they'd be gone for a bit and probably would make a stop at the store to pick up some candy, because he's the awesome dad and I'm the nasty-witch-mom-fun-police. Selfish bastard. Wiener stuffs them with candy and junk food and watches inappropriate movies, then I get to swoop in and shriek like a banshee about bath time and teeth brushing.

With that in mind, I thought I'd have at least 30-45 minutes to bask in solitude whilst boozing it up or perhaps watch a quick episode of Weeds in blissful silence.

Suddenly, my motley crew stormed in through the garage door with Wiener yelling "I think Devil Baby has heat stroke!"

What the fuck? They've literally been gone 15 minutes.

Wiener is the only father I know that can take a simple task with the kids and turn it into a life threatening debacle within minutes.

Exhibit A:

When out with a girlfriend and other friends to celebrate our birthdays, I get a text from Wiener that says "Devil Baby has diarrhea and I'm out of wipes! It's a shitstorm here! She just shit in the bathtub!" Welcome to my world.

Exhibit B:

I traveled to Europe in 2007 for a once in a lifetime opportunity to go to Wimbledon with my ancient grandfather, who is a former champion. Two days into the trip, I get frantic texts and calls that "Fifi has a temperature of 105! What should I do?" Jesus Christ! I thought a. Call the doctor, dumbass and 2. Fifi never gets sick. What has he done?!

Now before me is Devil Baby, who is beet red and super hot. Her heart is racing and I keep thinking what the hell- this never happens on my watch! Granted it's summer time in Texas and the temperature is 1 billion degrees. 

But, come on, they were gone 15 minutes for crying out loud! We were outside all day on Saturday swimming, cooking out and running around in the heat and this never happened. Wiener must have done something wrong.

So I gave Devil Baby a juice box and got a damp washcloth to help cool her down. Finally, the redness went away and she wasn't so hot anymore. She's feeling like her old self and will be wielding a meat cleaver in no time so she can go back to narrowing down her serial killer weapon of choice. 

In retrospect, I have come to the conclusion this is all a well orchestrated plot by Wiener to ensure he will never have to tend to the kids himself ever again.

Little does he know of my five year plan to kill him off and use the insurance money to buy a secluded island in the Caribbean, so his game of 'pawn the minions on the wife at all costs' is simply child's play in comparison.

Remember that line from the movie Adventures In Babysitting- "Do not fuck with the babysitter!" 

Do not fuck with her, indeed.

Here is the private island I plan to buy when I off Wiener.
(Disclaimer: I do not really plan to off Wiener- just a joke!)

Vagina Ramblings

I've been surfing around the internet reading various blogs looking for funny ones, mostly to entertain myself, but also to see who is successful and who is not. And if they are successful, why?

I found plenty of blogs that give you tips on how to be funny, market your blog and be successful. I'm not necessarily in it for success or money, but if that happens, bonus. My reason for starting a blog was to give myself an outlet to share stories, observations and musings.

One blog I came across gave a list of dos and don'ts on how to be funny in a post. Which made me wonder what made this blogger an expert on what is funny and what is not, so I read some of the blog posts. I didn't find them particularly funny and I didn't really agree with some of the tips either, but to each his own.

Some of the tips resembled:

1. Don't mention in the blog post how funny you are. Well, duh.

2. Swearing is the lazy blogger's way of getting a laugh. Intelligent people won't find it funny and they won't continue reading. The fuck? Swearing is my only talent. Plus, akin to how Chelsea Handler doesn't trust people who don't drink, I don't trust people who don't swear.

3. Use childish teenage boy humor such as fart, poop and boobies. Um, if intelligent people don't like swearing, what is going to make them read a post about poop and farts? Contradictory much? Though I agree bodily function humor offers a wealth of hilarious scenarios.

4. Make fun of yourself and not others. That's just boring. Everyone likes to hear about stupid things other people do. Think America's Funniest Home Videos. Also, if that's true, how to you explain the popularity of reality shows?

My thoughts are that humor is subjective. What makes me laugh and pee my pants may not even make you raise an eyebrow. And what you think is funny, I might find lame and dull. So, write what's in your heart and you will be appreciated by those with a similar funny bone.

One thing the post said that I think we can all agree on is--- the word vagina is always funny.

I could not agree more.

In fact, I was chopping jalapenos the other day and when I went to the bathroom I must have accidentally grazed my nether regions because shortly thereafter my vagina was on fire.

See how I did that? I made fun of myself, didn't swear, used bathroom humor and said vagina. I guess that blogger would think I'm hilarious. Oops- can't talk about being funny.

How about this:

As a teenager, I didn't really understand how tampons worked, but I wanted to try them. I imagined the freedom and carefree bliss experienced by the women wearing flowy dresses in tampon commercials. However, still being a virgin, I was completely clueless about vagina holes. So, I stuck the whole tampon between my legs- not fully inserted- and left it there, plastic applicator and all. I walked around all day a bloody mess in extreme discomfort thinking tampons sucked and everyone was fucking stupid.

If my vagina could talk it would have said, "We're shutting down the ovaries now in case you are legitimately raped or have legitimate sex because you're so stupid you don't need to pro-create in any event." To which I would have then responded "Please do, because if a tiny tampon applicator is this uncomfortable, I don't want to know what a watermelon squirting out of my ladybits feels like."

Sadly, the conversation never happened and fast forward 20 years I've had a watermelon and a cantaloupe pushed out of it.

The moral of this rambling post? Vaginas are funny and everyone is stupid, including me?

No. Don't wait until it's too late; talk to your vagina as often as possible to prevent these situations. Also, tampons need better instructions.

If this ad was from my youth,  I would have
thought using tampons made you a ballerina.