I'll Taser You in the Nuts

Let's talk about stupid people, because that's what is at the heart of this blog. Sometimes we all need to vent and rage. And since there are stupid people everywhere, I have plenty to vent and rage about.

I wish.

1. The lady at Kroger who wrote a god damn check and almost made me late to pick up my kid since, once she spent some leisurely time filling it out, it took the clerk added minutes to get approved and write down all license info. Get a fucking check card.

2. The self entitled bitch who was too good to wait in the carpool line and skipped around everyone and squeezed in at the very front of the line, cutting off another car plus all of us who had already been waiting. We are all in a hurry to do shit. Wait your turn please. I'm watching you lady.

3. The asshole home repair service people who take smoke breaks and throw their butts in the street and yards of my neighborhood. That's not where they go. I don't throw my bloody tampon in your yard just because it's biodegradable, do I? Have some fucking manners.

4. The pregnant lady at the store with two kids that she just let stand in the middle of the aisles while her head was up her ass and I had to say excuse me five times. Watch your demon spawn and stop being a rude lady-douche.

And the clincher:

5. The boys in my neighborhood who have been ringing door bells at 2-3AM wearing masks and holding unidentified objects. You are the stupidest of all. Are you not aware that we live in Texas where concealed weapons are the norm and gun ownership is not simply practiced, but it is gospel? Ring my bloody doorbell at 2AM and I'll taser you in the fucking nuts. 

And so you know I'm not kidding, here are some images from the security footage of a targeted home. Yep, I went there. Criminal trespass is a crime, so if you don't want your image splashed all over the internet, then don't behave like a degenerate thug.

Conversation With Wiener

Wiener storms in the bathroom where I'm peeing, of course, and says:

"You have to start watching your mouth around Devil Baby!!!"

Me: I didn't say anything to her. I'm in the bathroom.

W: Well, I just walked by her and she's playing that cat game on the iPad and she's keeps saying "you fucking cat!"

Me: I didn't say anything like that to her. In fact, I haven't said 'fucking cat' all day.

W: We have to tell her she can't say those things and make her stop.

Me: I agree. I'll have a talk with her and see if she understands that she can't say that.

W: Yes, please do. It's really bad.

Me: Okay.

W: But first I'm going to force her to say it a few more times so I can record her and watch it later when I want to have a laugh.

Me: Jesus

Reasons Devil Baby Will Become A Serial Killer

Devil Baby turns three today. Sadly, she's afflicted with the second child syndrome. In other words, we've been there, done that as parents and don't have the same energy as we did the first time around, so the balance of equality is slightly skewed. 

I googled baby serial killer images and there was nothing good.
So I googled babies with hatchets and machetes. Again, nothing.
 So I googled babies with knives. This will have to do.

In her honor I've compiled a list of why she may not turn out quite right:

1. There are no printed pictures of Devil Baby. When Fifi was born, I had professional pictures taken of her every 3 months to document her cuteness and growth. There are boxes full of these pictures and other candid snapshots we took. I took Devil Baby for studio pictures once and never went back. Other than that, the only prints of her are on Christmas photo cards and class photos taken at her pre-school.

   

2. She has never had a big birthday party. Fifi's first few birthday parties were lavish events complete with petting zoos, ponies, bounce houses, magicians, pricey bakery cakes and lengthy guest lists. When Devil Baby turned one, we had a few close friends over and I made homemade cupcakes. (Despite rumors, I did not simply toss a capri-sun and a cupcake into her crib.) My new motto is it's about quality not quantity, so a simple family event with cake is sufficient. But boy will she be pissed when she sees pictures of her sister's soirees.

3. Birthday presents are typically re-gifted items from around the house, such as leftover school supplies and old toys re-wrapped. Everything old is new again. She's only three, so she probably won't realize items aren't brand new for another year or two. 

4. Her babyhood nicknames include 'Devil Baby' and 'fucking baby.' In my defense, we do not call her fucking baby directly. It was mostly used as an exasperated expression when she was a newborn and would wake us all up for a 3 am bottle or when she writes on the wall with markers and I loudly sigh and exclaim fucking baby!

5. Sometimes, when she's playing with our cats or approaching strange animals, I tell her to be careful because they will eat her face.

6. When Fifi was a baby, I took her to the play area at the mall regularly and enrolled her in ballet and dance as a toddler. Devil Baby is lucky to get a trip to the park once in a blue moon. 

7. She sometimes hisses "I'll kill you" in a terrifying guttural voice. Granted I sometimes sarcastically yell "I'll kill you!" at Wiener when he does something maddening, but it's usually in a high pitched voice followed by laughter and not in the demonic growl of a psychopath.

8. There's an iPad app called Talking Ginger where you talk to a sweet kitty and it repeats what you say. She argues with it fervently and is driven mad by it repeating her words in what she perceives is a high pitched taunting manner, so she starts stomping on the iPad and frothing at the mouth.

9. Unlike her sister, she wasn't breastfed. My explanation to others is that I didn't breastfeed her because I never seemed to produce enough milk the first time around, so I didn't want her to be deprived. But we all know the real reason is that I'm just too lazy and that shit hurts like hell.

10. She likes to take off her princess dress and say "It's naked party time!" That may lend itself more to a profession as a stripper rather than a serial killer, but it is still troublesome. Although, she could become a serial killer stripper. She'd lure her victims with promises of stripping, then kill them. I may have gone too far. But hey, if stripping pays for college, so be it. I must protect my vodka money by any means necessary.

Impish grin or maniacal mastermind?
You decide.

Happy 3rd birthday, my wonderfully weird Devil Baby. The world is your oyster. (Please don't become a serial killer.)

I Do Not Have PMS, Just Rage

This post was originally entitled I Hate Everyone and was a rant spawned from my last few days of PMS driven wrath. Rather than rambling on about things I cannot change, I thought I would portray things in a different light.

It all started when I spiraled into a rage early in the week after realizing I had been de-friended by a 'friend' on facebook. Stupid, right? This person was also a business 'friend' and we have done things together as real friends, or so I thought. I understand people can use facebook however they want and maybe this person just wanted to scale down to close family and friends only- and I totally get that. But I always enjoyed seeing pictures of their sweet daughter and enjoyed their posts, so I was insulted and hurt by the de-friend. Childish I know, but it stung nonetheless.

Basically from there the next few days was a comedy of errors. Here are the highlights:

I have felt like shit all week. At the beginning of the week, I thought I was going to die. I had an excruciating stabbing pain in my back. I was convinced it was a pulmonary embolism and I would drop dead any moment. I called the doctor and after 20 minutes of explaining my concerns and symptoms, rife with fever and being at death's door, the appointment lady said "I have an appointment on Thursday at 11am." It was Monday. bitch

Whatever. I'm still alive, no thanks to her. Raquel and Lola think I'm a hypochondriac. What do they know? Plus, now I'm pretty sure it's West Nile. 

School starts on Monday. Hallelujah. We had meet the teacher night on Thursday and all went well, except I was fucked up the ass by the PTA.

You heard me.

I always pre-order school supplies for the next year so I'm not scrambling around five office supply stores like a rabid pit-bull looking for a bone in search of different colored folders and specific sized scissors and various width ruled paper that some masochistic tenured teacher created on a whim.*

When we got to Fifi's new classroom, the supplies I pre-ordered last year weren't there. We were sent to talk to the PTA, where we found a growing line of 20 parents anxiously waiting to rip someone a new asshole. Little did they know it was our assholes that were going to get ripped.

I was told we weren't on the list of those who pre-ordered, as were the other parents standing there. We were informed unceremoniously that we had to "prove" we pre-ordered our supplies. Prove?  I would like to prove that my checkbook will fit up your ass. (That's a lie. I don't have a checkbook, persay. Perhaps a debit card would work.)

Obviously someone didn't turn in a whole bunch of orders and checks. Shame on me for not noticing the check was never cashed. I know, tiny violins for my First World Problem.

No amount of arguing mattered, so I kept calm and carried on to the store knowing I had to get supplies irregardless of who was at fault. And I was on a Starbucks fueled rampage to get it done; vaguely resembling a cracked-out lunatic scavenging through the piles of goods looking for the right brands, sizes and colors. An orange folder with pockets and brads, a yellow folder with pockets only, and they must be vinyl, an 11x7 vinyl pencil case with grommets for fuck's sake!  What's with all the vinyl?

To top it off- that night devil baby (who does great at school and always uses the potty) comes home, takes a bath, runs around naked and brings me a small sparkly make-up box and says "pee pee."

She totally pissed in the box. 

Piss box. You're welcome.

So that's the highlight reel of my week. With any luck, next week devil baby will be perfectly potty trained and Fifi will graduate college so I can drink my vodka in peace and not worry about school supplies or finding piss in random boxes. A girl can dream.

*I'm sure they have a pool on who can drive the most moms bat shit crazy with their evil and fucked up school supply lists. They'll be sorry when I stroke out. Unless that's their plan. Well played masochistic teachers, well played.

Texts From Wiener- 3

Look at the times- well the first one is hard to see, but it says 7:07 PM. Talk about a delayed response.

Also, maybe honesty is not always the best policy. Some things are definitely TMI.