Ink Slingin'

NOW You've Pissed Me Off

2018-02-02T18:15:00.003-06:00

And since I retaliate in writing and I'm really good at it, look out.

We've been trying to adopt a dog from a rescue or a shelter. Either an English Bulldog or a Basset Hound. Here's what I've learned from the experience; I think I could sneak into the US via the Customs Border Crossing Station in El Paso with an abducted Kennedy baby with colic in my arms easier than I can adopt a dog from these fucking people. First of all, (or firstaball, as Aidan used to say) I can say with perfect honesty that if being a pet owner were compared to dating, I'm a fucking catch, okay? Like old family money, tall, hot, blonde nympho catch, okay?

You want to say I'm unfit to adopt a dog because my current dog no longer lives with us? Please, go right on ahead and ask the grieving widow who depends on Brody for companionship to send him, arthritis, heart failure and all, back to a multi-level home with hardwood floors where he falls down stairs. You know, you're probably right, we should be selfish and demand he come home because it looks better on applications than doing what is actually best for him.

Oh we're denied because we changed vets within the last few years and all of the records don't match up? People move! People change vets. And sometimes doctors and houses and hair colors and schools and even careers. What exactly about that deems us irresponsible pet owners?

Oh, there's a cat listed at the vet that we didn't claim? Well, that's because we take a family member's cat to the vet for her when she can't so you're probably right, we should totally be dinged for that.

How about the fact that we even have a vet who knows us gives us some points? You know there are pet owners whose pets have never even seen a vet? So I'd say we are a tad ahead of the game in that respect.

Do not start with the fence issue. Come look at our house and if you can securely fence our property, well you deserve an honorary engineering degree because it's a damn wonder they could even put a house here 103 years ago. Don't expect me to fence it now. Oh and there are these new fangled contraptions called leashes and tie outs that people use to contain animals temporarily. If you come over, I'll show you how to use them.

Next time you find yourself wondering why you have shelters full of dogs who need homes, it's because you are being overzealous, judgmental, condescending pricks to perfectly good families and after a few months of that shit they go to breeders and buy a dog. And you want to know who is wrong in that situation? It's you and I have no sympathy for you. I feel for the dogs who are still homeless because you are on a power trip and it makes you feel good to tell someone they aren't good enough. Congratulations.

A LinkedIn Public Service Announcement

2017-11-06T15:58:00.000-06:00

LinkedIn. It's like Facebook for the professional world. Only lately I've seen some questionable things that required me to double check that I was indeed on LinkedIn and not on Facebook or Instagram.

Am I the only one who misses when Instagram was photos only? Ugh. I digress.

I have 5400+ connections so a ton of posts come across my timeline. Be prepared, that translates to a ton of bitching to commence.

I don't think hashtags belong on LinkedIn. Hashtags in general are obnoxious and juvenile. *So is going to my Facebook and Instagram and screenshotting instances where I use them relentlessly. Be a grown up about this, okay?

Also, I don't think that your rabid, anti-liberal or anti- right-wing political views, nor the accompanying malevolent cartoons, are even remotely appropriate for a professional networking site. Though ISIS TV is always looking for good material I hear.

Ya know what else Linked In is not? Tinder. It's not a hook-up site, ya damn fools! I have messages from both connections as well as completely random men. I have yet to be propositioned by a woman.

Now wait, you'll say, only connections can contact you on LinkedIn. Well at least one person apparently thinks getting your email from your profile and emailing you directly is A-okay. Don't be that guy.

Returning to my original soap-box, I have messages ranging from, 'hey baby doll', on to 'Beautiful' and culminating in a multi-paragraph email detailing his significant feelings for me since happening upon my profile photo on LinkedIn.

'hey baby doll' was never getting a response based on a deficit of capitalization and punctuation alone. 'Beautiful', when asked "Excuse me, what?", responded with 'Connecting is beautiful'. When I neglected to bite, he added 'And so are you'. Kudos for capitalization, points deducted for lack of punctuation and being a creep. Email Stalker Joe got blocked and when I found his profile, reported. That shit isn't acceptable at work, Harvey Weinstein, and it isn't acceptable on LinkedIn.

So, in conclusion; #stopwiththehashtags, keep your politics where you keep your religion, and create a Tinder account, moron.

Kid Sister

2017-01-16T19:27:00.001-06:00

She once called in to work 'still drunk', I shit you not.

And even better? Her boss said Okay!

She's kinda my hero. She's got this life thing down in a way I just do not...

What Did I Accomplish in 2016?

2017-01-01T18:08:00.001-06:00

Well, according to my phone's photo roll, I took 344 selfies. That doesn't count the ones I deleted. My face is a mask of shame right now.

I planned and lived through a wedding. Now I'm pretty sure people who have vow renewal ceremonies are fucking crazy. You can bet your ass we won't be doing that shit.

Facebook informed me that I've checked into more bars than any other establishment in 2016. To which I reply, "What's the issue?"

I ran 211 miles. Which is better than no miles but when you consider that I ran 1377 miles one year, 211 makes me a lazy mother fucker. Here's to being less lazy in 2017.

I read 37 books in 2016. I feel like I sat still for all of about 9 minutes so I'm not sure how I managed to read one but there you have it.

I saw my first Broadway show - Phantom of the Opera! I don't have a sarcastic anecdote for this achievement so I'll just leave it as a statement.

We saw four concerts - Mumford & Sons, Rob Zombie, Goo Goo Dolls, and Train. Lets just say the band wasn't the only spectacle - I got drunk at three of them and saw two cat fights at one of them. No, I was not a participant in said cat fights, thankyouverymuch.

I visited Las Vegas, New York, and Washington D.C. Also took my first international vacation to the Dominican Republic. I got robbed and/or raped zero times so that's a win, yes?

The boys took their first airplane ride and only puked once. The Brute was closest at the time, therefore inheriting clean up duty, an occurrence I interpreted as some sort of divine intervention in my favor. A good start to a family vacation, I'd say. At least from my point of view. Not really an accomplishment of the year but a positive thing so I included it.

I'm Doing It To Myself

2016-12-22T05:00:00.000-06:00

You'll remember when I started this running nonsense. I never really thought it'd stick but here we are six years later and yesterday I ran three miles. On the dreadmill. I tell you that because if you've ever had the ~~pleasure~~ misfortune to run on a treadmill it's fucking terrible. So, give me some damn credit and Yay, me, right?

Apparently running isn't enough anymore. Maybe because I'm not still 31 and these days my thighs cling to cellulite like a circus holds on to it's bearded lady. Maybe because I quite enjoy beer and I'm too stubborn to give it up.

I can't say for sure but on Jan 2, I'm starting a six week cross fit challenge complete with weigh in and a meal plan.

I know. It's like someone else is writing this.

Let's just say I'm drinking as I type because I already checked and beer is most certainly not on that plan. Sadists.

I've got like 10 days and I'm not fucking around till then.

What is wrong with me? I imagine my first day going something like Heathcoat's training on Major Payne.. One tubby tubby tubby, two chubby chubby chubby!

I'm gonna be honest, I'm fucking terrified. I don't do weights, I've never even had the urge to flip a tractor tire across a field, hell I can't even shove my mammoth of a couch across the living room. I'm gonna get my ass kicked and you can pretty much lay money that I'm gonna cry at some point. This, I know, yet I still shelled out a whack to make this happen to me.

I'll ask again, what is wrong with me?

I'm looking up crossfit workouts and I see Suhalia squats and many diabolical variations on lunges, push ups and pull ups.

Really, guys? As if push ups weren't brutal enough, you wanna make me me do it on my hands?

Sadists.

At least there will undoubtedly be some good blog fodder out of it.

Over It

2016-12-19T05:00:00.000-06:00

Yes, I'm about to bitch about Facebook rather than just stop getting on Facebook. My blog, my rules. Plus, I need material and that news feed is brimming with what I need.

No, I will not upload the fifth or eleventh or ninth photo in my phone to amuse you. First of all, chances are, that photo in my phone isn't Facebook appropriate and second, do you really think everyone picks that specific photo? Hint, people are liars. They scroll until they find a photo that makes them seem unbelievably interesting because it's Facebook and that's what we do there. Duh.

If I could ban Live videos, I would. Why? Well, I'm an asshole. I legitimately think status updates keep me entirely too involved in the lives of people I barely know anyway. Let's not push it.

Those intriguing articles that link to roughly three paragraphs spread over nineteen pages that have roughly twelve ads for every word written? Fuuuuuuuck you! Yet I keep clicking 'next page' because by then I'm invested and must. finish. the. article. Articles that in most cases, I could write better, I might add. Just sayin'.

Grammar. Sweet Mother Mary, stop fucking up simple shit. There's a difference in meaning between your and you're. There and their and they're. To and too. In to and into. Past and passed. I mean come on, y'all, we learned this in the 3rd grade and even if you glassed over that whole year, there have been enough of those memes blasting dumb grammar mistakes for you to have a good excuse. Note, if you find a grammar mistake in this post, keep it to yourself. We'll get along better that way.

I Don't Get It

2016-12-17T05:00:00.000-06:00

It took some time but I finally deciphered the meaning behind the videos of rooms full of people standing stock-still while some hip hop music plays. Why my kids can be that still for their friends to film while they're supposed to be learning shit at school but bounce off the walls at home when I'm trying to get them to focus and do chores remains a mystery but whatever. Mannequin challenge, rock on.

Now though? My Facebook feed is full of videos of people, wait for it... opening boxes.

I don't get it.

They seem genuinely surprised at what is in these boxes. Look, when I get a package that I haven't been waiting for, I'm skeptical. I mentally rehash the past couple of weeks trying to remember who I pissed off. Sometimes I consider calling the bomb squad just to be safe. What I don't do is take it inside and set up a camera.

The Google search for What the fuck are these boxes everyone is opening on camera? led me nowhere. So I had to watch a few and pay attention.

I don't know how many of you might be doing and loving this box thing. Maybe a box has changed your life. Hell, maybe you're making your own boxes to send to people. Either way, I'm just going to end with a slow shake of my head, a gentle eye roll, and a whispered I don't get it.

Not Gonna Work On Me, Pal

2016-12-16T05:00:00.000-06:00

I suspect Facebook's On This Day feature is trying to make me nostalgic for the days when my kids were little. Unfortunately for Facebook, I'm not that mom so On This Day helped me come up with a list of why I prefer having older kids.

OTD reminded me of the time Aidan called Asher a bastard. And the time Asher screamed out that his d!ck hurt. They're older now so they know all the curse words and they know not to say them in front of men of God or at the grocery store. I prefer that.

OTD reminded me of the time I had to call Poison Control for Aidan when he pepper sprayed himself in the face. And the time I had to call Poison Control for Asher when he took nine melatonin. They're older now so they mainly just eat too much junk food and get a tummy ache. I prefer that.

OTD reminded me of the time both boys got carsick and I caught Asher's throw up in my hand. They're older now so there's far less projectile vomiting. I prefer that.

OTD reminded me of the time Asher screamed bloody murder for the entirety of a 4 hour road trip. And the time I had to push the button on a Christmas toy that sang all the damn way from Ohio to Arkansas or Aidan would scream. They're older now so it's iPads and headphones. I prefer that.

OTD reminded me of the time Asher locked himself in my car and we had to call the police to break into it because he was too little to get himself out. And the time Aidan kept me tying his shoes a full six months after he learned how to do it himself. They're older now and I know they can do most things for themselves so I'm not their bitch. As much. I prefer that.

In fact the last two years the OTD memories are usually all of us on some road trip or at some festival or event because we can do that shit now. I'm no longer suffering from Stockholm Syndrome at home with them, I get to talk to adults during the day, we can even run errands and they can stay home alone with minimal fear of them burning the house down. Now the smart mouths I could do without but overall, I prefer this.

Genius

2016-12-13T07:34:00.004-06:00

Elf on a Shelf... motha fucka, please! Europe has a Christmas Devil, a demon who shows up with St Nick and takes the bad kids back to Hell with him. They wish coal in their stocking was the worst that could happen.

To Hell! He takes the bad kids to Hell!

I'm not even making this shit up, go ahead and google it, I'll wait.

See?!?!

Leave it to the fucking Germans to come up with this schtick and share it with the European continent.

It's no damn wonder European kids are so well behaved and polite... Better be good or you're going to Hell, kiddies. I mean, when your Christmas cards look like this, you watch your little bad ass self!

It's Not Me, It's Them

2016-11-17T15:03:00.000-06:00

Do you ever just ask yourself, Self, what the fuck is wrong with people? I do. A lot. Especially on the road.

For instance, the other day I'm driving on the interstate, cruise control carefully set at four miles per hour over the speed limit because let's be honest, if I get a ticket for that, the cop was itching for me and I never had a chance anyway.

So I'm in the left lane because if you're going to drive like my grandma you're supposed to be in the right lane, when I come up on some asshole who, you guessed it, is driving like my grandma only in the left lane.

Little fact about me - I believe the fast lane to be sacred ground and if your slothful ass is there and in my way, I take offense with a ferocity that probably doesn't have a place on the road.

This means I will ride your ass until you move the fuck out of my way and if you don't I will jerk my car around yours and zoom by you in an attempt to throw a clue that you are indeed an asshole.

Except in this case.

This time I was kinda zen, I guess. I don't know, it wasn't like me and I can't really explain it but I come up on this van in the left lane. Driving like my grandma. I know he's been riding the lane for miles because we're the only ones out there and I clocked him a while back.

So looooong before I reach the riding your ass point, I lazily drift over to the right lane and pass him that way. Again, totally out of character for me but there it is.

So as I pass, something catches my eye and I look over. This mother fucker has his FLIP PHONE out taking a picture of me. A picture of me, I don't know, because I passed him on the right and he's going to what, tell on me? Offer up proof of my monstrous misdeed? Fix me?

Good luck, Detective. My windows - all of them - are tinted to an illegal in most states degree so I'm sure that photo is aces.

And anyway, who's gonna be in more trouble here - me for passing on the right or you for taking pictures with your FLIP PHONE while you're supposed to be driving that piece of shit?

I think I can safely go with you here. Idiot.

To Everything, There Is a Season

2016-11-08T12:10:00.000-06:00

As we get older, the relationship with our parents changes dramatically.

During our formative years they play the roles from God/best friend to Devil/worst enemy and everything in between, depending on our ever swinging mood. Aren't kids the bestest?

Eventually we realize they aren't sadistic watch dogs intent on ruining our lives and most of us become, dare I say, friends with them.

Sometime after that, when we have children of our own, we suck them dry of every ounce of parental wisdom in an attempt to survive this savage trial called parenting; They become our confidants, our allies.

At some point most of us will become caretakers of our parents. You know, like they used to always threaten when we were being teenage pains in the ass? It's reckoning time, y'all.

Warning: I'm about to go on a rant, a rather lengthy one. I rant so I can deal, I deal because I choose to. They are my parents. I tortured them for many many years and they refrained from selling me on the black market so I'm happy to do this for them. That fact by no stretch of the imagination means I won't grumble and gripe every step of the way.

My father's health is declining only he doesn't agree so he still runs around like he's 30 damn years old. Pain? Life is pain, Mandy he'll tell me and he keeps trucking along.

Except this time the pain got him down. For months.

It's a long story full of ER visits and midnight calls and arguments between concerned family members that concluded with me branded Nurse Ratched by some, Mother Theresa by others and leaving me in charge of keeping his healthcare organized; Setting appointments, reminding him he has them, making sure he can get to them, keeping on top of medicine refills, explaining test results to him, reporting new or worsening symptoms to his doctors, etc, etc, etc....

Also, he can't shop for himself or do many of his household chores, not to mention all the outdoor scutwork he used to do all on his own.

All of this is now my worriment.

It's not easy for several reasons. Reasons I will tell you about in excruciating detail because this is my blog and I'll bitch if I want to.

First, I live three hours away from the man so my physical contact has been minimal. Thank God for his sister who has devoted the last several weeks to caring for him. However, she has this irksome little thing called a life back home all the way across the country and eventually she will go back to that (if she can find her plane tickets, hee hee hee).

When my father gets a call and takes notes, those notes are written in his indecipherable scribble on whatever he can find near him, i.e. tissue boxes, the TV Guide - oh yes, he still uses the paper one, his jeans.... Not kidding, I mean what. ever. is near him.

He's basically collecting doctors at this point and seems to have a new one each day. Sometimes one is replacing another and sometimes one is filling in for another temporarily. I need a fucking flow chart to keep up.

Their names are more frequently than not, lost in translation, leading to me scouring the internet for Dr Beers who does MRIs when the guy's name is Deats and he's the kidney doctor.

Sprinkled into this perfect shit storm is someone who truly is trying but in reality is failing miserably to help by making appointments for my father without his or my knowledge. When we are informed of these appointments, usually mere hours before he's supposed to be there, it is with very little information which cumulates again with me scouring the internet for a doctor whose name may or may not be London and who may or may not be an oncologist. And for the record, my father doesn't have cancer soooooooo.....

Do you see why I'm crazy?

That's What I Get

2016-10-29T10:20:00.002-05:00

... for trying to make people like me. Lesson learned; don't try to make people like you.

Here's my Facebook post that morning.

Amanda

October 28, 2015 at 8:06am ·

I just wanted to show a little school spirit, fit in, for Pink Out. Yeah, after nearly blinding myself with pink false eyelashes and attempting to spray pink stripes into my hair, I now know the meaning of physical comedy. Also, failure.

I was new to the school, I knew no one, I spent most of my time in the library alone, like a hermit and only partially because I like to be alone. Only I decided maybe I wanted to try something new - another lesson learned; don't try something new.

My moment of opportunity arrives in the form of Pink Out, a breast cancer awareness event where the staff and students wear as much pink as possible. I looked at photos from years past and I'm telling you, it looks like a Pepto Bismol sponsored Halloween. Halloween I can do. So I buy some hot pink "easy application" false eyelashes and a can of pink hair spray paint.

The morning of Pink Out comes and I sit down to do my hair. How hard can it be? It's spray paint and I've been doing my own hair for a good bit now, I've got this. Ten minutes later my right hand is dripping pink which is confusing being that my right hand is holding the can and therefore zero paint should be there. My ears, neck and both sides of my face are pink. My hair though? Not pink. And now the can is empty. Perfect.

Fine, it's time to put on the "easy application" eyelashes.

Easy my candy mother truckin' ass! There was a moment I wasn't sure I'd ever be able to see again. Some adhesive had gotten in one eye and I wasn't entirely sure the whole damn thing wasn't lodged in there judging from the inconceivable pain I was experiencing. The adhesive had proven its capability by cementing my other eye shut completely and seemingly irreversibly in a most frightening way..

So there I am, flailing around on the floor trying in vain to get up to run to the bathroom but my body won't do that because all of the energy and intelligence is being concentrated on the fight part of that pesky involuntary Fight or Flight response. I'm telling you, I simply cannot remove my hands from my eyes to use them to get up from the floor. My legs are at least trying to run but only succeed in propelling my body in useless circles on the carpet. My hair dryer, brushes, and make-up are being sent airborne into walls and mirrors. Out of my mouth comes a sound not unlike a hysterical Capuchin monkey yet not one of the other three people in this house hears this and comes to my rescue. People, whom I might add, are all supposed to be awake and alert and preparing for their day so I ask you, what the fuck?

Most of the rest is a blur but I managed to get one eye open, one elbow/forearm down on the floor to launch myself and run, pinballing myself between the walls along the way, to the bathroom. Much soap and water was used and in the end I went to school pink, just not the way I intended; My skin and eyes pink from all the scrubbing.

And no, nobody noticed. I'm still not over it really.

Slingin' Some Ink

2016-10-28T18:59:00.001-05:00

Lest you think I only write about homeless animals and my delinquent offspring, I've decided that being a writer might mean I should share other stuff I've written. Now while that thought fills me with a panic normally reserved for terminal illness diagnoses and career ending pink slips, it's time to suck it the hell up and just do it already.

*deep breath*

Here goes...

He was my best friend since fourth grade. The first pieces of gravel had just begun to fall from my cheek as I lifted my head when Miller Manheim's body slammed down with a blunt thud next to me. There was no time for the gravel to free itself from Miller's fat face before he was wrenched onto his back and pummeled by the hands of my defender. I didn't get a good look at the white knight before he was dragged from the fray to be unfairly judged and his punishment swiftly and harshly carried out far away from the eyes of any witnesses. It was all incredibly dramatic in my preadolescent mind, you see.

I was escorted to the nurse by the very adults who had only minutes earlier told me that Miller Manheim was a nice young man who would never beat up a girl and I shouldn't overreact. Even at nine years old I knew that Miller Manheim was the only son of Richard Manheim, the richest man in our small town, and wife #4 who worked in our school library and he wouldn't be disciplined for any infraction large or small. My parents called them Mr and Mrs Asshole and I liked that. I wasn't allowed to say it but I thought it a lot and snickered to myself when Mrs Asshole scolded me for talking in the library. I took great joy in calling her an asshole in my head and comfort from knowing I couldn't be punished for it. It was the little things for me, even as a kid.

Miller was most likely gingerly carried via stretcher in a neck brace to the back of a private ambulance and then raced with lights and sirens to his pediatrician in a bigger city an hour away to be extensively x-rayed, scanned and MRI'd in a valiant effort to guarantee the Manheim name would survive to bully another generation. Again with the dramatics but it could have happened that way.

It was the next day when I met him; my defender. He came into our classroom with the principal and was introduced as our newest student. He had a proper name, of course, but he was Knight to me. Much taller than the other boys in our class, he had short cropped dirty blonde hair and was wearing khaki pants with dress shoes and a polo. Other boys our age had floppy mops of hair that fell into their eyes and donned basketball shorts and T-shirts day in and day out. I instinctively knew his mother hadn't made him dress this way. He simply was who he was and as his eyes swept the room it was clear he didn't give a shit what any of us thought about him either. I liked him.

He took the seat behind me and as he settled his things on his desk he whispered, "Your face looks better than his does, Red." I had seen Miller in the cafeteria that morning and he only had a slightly swollen lip. My mirror showed the whole left side of my face full of scrapes and tiny cuts so I knew what he said was a lie but I appreciated it anyway.

Four years later Miller Manheim's reign of terror came to an end. Our school yard scuffle had long been forgotten, buried underneath scores of other incidents featuring Miller as the aggressor. His bully reputation was catapulted by a term of juvenile probation in the 6th grade. Turns out if the son of the richest man fucks with the son of the immensely popular sheriff, all that money doesn't buy as much favor as it might have had the victim been, say, me or Knight.

Miller just never made it home from school one day. He never made it to school either but that wasn't unusual so the school didn't throw up any flags over it. His parents didn't miss him until well into the night and by then he'd been gone for hours and hours. Everyone thought he'd "turn up". Miller didn't turn up. Not for years anyway. His absence from our town took the form of a comfortable quiet that everyone tried to pretend was really sad. The adults were better at putting on that aspect of the show. We kids were just able to breathe easy, safe at least for now from Miller fucking Manheim and we enjoyed it.

From the night he disappeared to the morning his remains were found in a drainage ditch half a decade later and all throughout the gossip fueled investigation into his murder, Knight and I never once spoke of it. It was only when surrounded by others and the conversation had turned to the missing and eventually murdered Miller Manheim did I look at him and he look at me and we both broke eye contact quickly because I knew he knew that I knew. Miller may or may not have been the first but there would be more.

It was about a year before Miller vanished when Knight found me in the hallway picking up my books and papers. Miller had sent them flying out of my arms two seconds before the bell rang. I was so damn mad I was crying and Knight helped me pick everything up. As we worked he told me about two sisters who had went to his elementary school in Chicago. The younger girl was a vicious little bully, her big sister seemingly unable to do anything but go along with whatever her sister did. They'd both just up and disappeared one day. He said he couldn't remember for sure but he thought they had been on their way to school and no one realized they were missing for hours.

I peppered him with questions; Had he known them well? Kind of. Not really. Did he live close? Same low income housing stretched across three city blocks. Were they ever found? Yeah but they were dead long before they were found. In a drainage ditch. Said he thought a body in a drainage ditch would be found quickly but that wasn't what happened.

I kept asking questions and Knight kept answering. Who found them? A group of boys from the complex, good friends of his. How did they die? Stabbed. Closed caskets a necessity. Did he go to the funerals? His mother had made him. Who did it? No one knew for sure.

I had a sense that Knight knew a lot about what had happened but I watched him and his face betrayed no sinister knowledge. It was just... a sense I had about him. I didn't think of the sisters again until Miller was found. In a drainage ditch. Then I remembered.

Who Put My Kids On TV?

2016-10-19T22:35:00.000-05:00

Jeeesus, y'all, this presidential debate is killin' me. As a mom, I want to put these two in a get-along-shirt.

Take a second to appreciate that image. I'll wait.

It's very gratifying, isn't it? I know! You're welcome.

I sit here imagining how I'd parent Donald and Hillary and then I realize I am, kinda. I mean Aidan and Asher act roughly the same way those two do and I'm the equivalent of Chris Wallace in their lives. They interrupt each other all. the. time. Aidan blames Asher for shit he couldn't even possibly be responsible for. When Asher is losing an argument he resorts to name calling and tantrum throwing. They'll both turn on me viciously for interfering in one of their battles and they've both been known to flat out fold up their arms, glare at one another and refuse to admit fault in any form.

Mr. Wallace and I should have coffee some day while the kiddos have a playdate. I think we'd have a lot in common.

That's Not How It Goes

2016-10-13T15:09:00.000-05:00

The Brute has a way with words. One day he was wrestling around with the boys which led to one of them getting hurt and running away crying, the Brute calling out after him, "You mess with the horns you get the whole bull!"

I tell him, "Honey, that's not how it goes. It's 'mess with the bull you get the horns'.

He, of course, argues claiming "That makes no sense. The horns are just a small part, the big ass bull is the scary part."

Eventually I gave up and now he says it all the time. Even in front of other people.

Cox Made Me Do It

2016-10-05T06:00:00.000-05:00

If I go absolutely bat shit crazy, it's all Cox Communication's fault.

Oh my fucking gawd, y'all!

We returned our cable modem because we bought our own. Turn in their modem, cancel the monthly rental fee, manage our own modem. Should be pretty simple, right?

You wish. Again, you don't care but we wish.

Within an hour I have this pop up on my browser. Interrupting some hard core Pinteresting, I might add.

I shoot off a text to the Brute who tells me to call them and tell them he hopes they die. That's his kneejerk reaction to anyone and anything that pisses him off. Before I call them he tells me to be sure to tell them he hopes they die. I promise to do so and I make the call.

This is the point when a real person gets on the phone.

23 mother trucking minutes!

And it takes them to this point

to tell me "I'd just wait and see if you actually get charged and call us back if you do."

But before we come to that highly detailed, expert advice I learned a lot. Mostly that Cox Cable's system is about as reliable as Asher brushing his teeth without being told six thousand times.

That's a whole other blog post.

So, as you can see, this notice tells us that we have terminated our phone service and therefore will be charged a monthly rental fee for the modem. Only we didn't have phone service and therefore did not cancel any phone service. I tell the guy we have never had phone service with Cox and also we just turned in their modem so wtf are you even talking about right now?!?!

Me, being the customer who uses or does not use the service might know whether I do or do not have it. Or so you'd think. He clicks around and grunts and hmmms and tells me that I've had this service for 11 years and that the first work order for service was in 2002.

Which is 14 years ago, not 11.

Finally he says "I don't see a work order for phone service so you're correct on that."

Oh, I'm correct on that now? How so? Because your system says so? You mean the same system that says I've had this account, started in 2002, for 11 years? Let me convey to you the faith I have in that system.

Only I can't, it's that bad.

So now we get to wait for the next bill to see if we get charged for service we do not have and then if we have, which we undoubtedly will, we'll call back, stay on hold for another 23 minutes, and hopefully at 36 minutes it will be fixed.

Except it won't be. Not really.

Wash, rinse, repeat...

A Grocery Store I Don't Loathe

2016-10-03T06:00:00.000-05:00

I hate the grocery store. And by hate, I mean I will do some highly immoral shit to avoid it. But! Whole Foods, man! And here's why...

They have a freaking bar in there! Beer! Wine! Why have I not been in there before? I'd have gone daily had I known. Why would a secret like this be kept from me? I'm wrecked over it.

Status Updates Inspired by My Guys

2016-10-01T06:00:00.000-05:00

Asher, 2009
"Mama, yook, pank-a-but!"And then he whacks me in the head. "Foddy, Mama.

Aidan, 2009
"Firstaball, I need a toaster for to make some-a peanut butter samich."

Asher and Aidan 2009
Aidan is seriously crying like the world is ending because Asher took the newspaper with the weather report away from him. I keep looking for hidden cameras because really?

Aidan, 2011
Aidan apparently showed off his vocabulary and spelling skills today at school. He wrote 'ass' in chalk on the playground. So proud.

Aidan, 2013
Aidan actually uttered the words "folding clothes is woman's work". Is this kid for real???

Aidan, 2014
"What!?!? Why does he get off scoot free and I have to vacuum everything?"

Brute and Asher, 2015
Brute - "What's up with Huck Finn here?"
Asher - "I'm not a dolphin or a hook face!"

Up or Down

2016-09-29T11:13:00.001-05:00

Most houses in which males and females cohabitate, a familiar fight is fought.

That fight is always caused by the male. *my blog, my opinion wins*

I'm referring to trying to get the male of the species to put the damn toilet seat down already!

Only I have the opposite problem. I can't get the boys to lift the seat up.

I'd be thrilled to put the seat down in my house. Anything to avoid wiping the damn toilet seat that they left down and proceeded to pee all over.

Again, even with the seat down, that hole is a pretty large target, especially considering they are closer to that target than most grown men.

Why does it always look like a three legged tomcat sprayed the seat?

Sit Still Look Pretty

2016-09-27T13:39:00.000-05:00

Asher asked the Brute why mail trucks have the steering wheel on the wrong side. Brute goes on to explain about making it easier to deliver mail, blah blah blah. But in my head, I can't actually see how it solves the whole problem.

No need to get into too much detail about how I didn't get it because that's not the point. Plus it's hard to type all the laughing the Brute was doing and I don't know how to write up the eyerolling I was doing.

In the end, between guffaws, he says, "It's okay, baby. Just sit there and look pretty."

I'm... God Help Me... Old

2016-09-20T22:04:00.000-05:00

These are the lyrics;

Baby pull me closer, in the backseat of your Rover, that I know you can't afford, bite that tattoo on your shoulder, pull the sheet right off the corner, of the mattress that you stole, from your roommate back in Boulder, we ain't ever getting older...

Now, if you haven't heard the song, you're thinking what the actual fuck right about now.

And if you have heard the song and you're singing along and then you stop to think about the lyrics, you're thinking what the actual fuck right about now.

Is this a bunch of trendy lingo my old ass doesn't get?

Bite the tattoo? Is that what they're calling sex now days?

And who the hell has a mattress from the days when they still had a roommate? Not this bitch because, gross.

We ain't ever getting older? Don't get me started on "ain't" and yes. You are. Getting older. It's gonna happen. Trust an old white girl when she tells ya, you are. Promise.

Now that I said all that, I kinda love that song. Makes me feel.... not so old. Also, my twelve year old showed me that song. Shit.

Out of the Mouth of a 4th Grader

2016-09-12T01:00:00.000-05:00

"Aidan, did you know we used to have a King for president and he sent his soldiers over here to build a church? Because who wants to drive to England every Sunday to go to church? I mean, it would be fun I guess but isn't that crazy?"

Same kid who said, while looking at a picture of Abraham Lincoln,

"That's Obama. He got shot from a library while he rode in a car."

Same one who informed us that,

"Whoever is tan, isn't racist."

That's my Asher.

Who Decided

2016-09-09T05:00:00.000-05:00

Who decided that quotes and random sayings were more meaningful when written on paint color sample sheets? I just realized how dumb that is and thought I'd share. Carry on with your day.

Quan

2016-09-08T11:54:00.003-05:00

I said I would explain and I've already hit my lie quota this week so, here's the story behind our slave, Quan.

You'll remember that the Brute and I did a hell of a lot of remodeling of Hell House this Spring, specifically the exterior and back yard. You know, where we didn't have a wedding reception?

Don't think about it, Amanda...

My nephew comes over and sees a man we HIRED to build a fire pit working in the back yard. He watches him a moment and then turns to me and says...

this is good...

"Aunt Amanda, can we name your slave Quan?"

I mean, what do you even say at this point? Really, kid? First of all, what the hell would make you think that we, or anyone for that matter, would own a person? And Quan? I can't even guess where that name came from.

His is a mind probably better left unread.

As Seen on TV

2016-09-04T13:59:00.001-05:00

Watching House Hunters;

"Well, it's a townhouse but it's attached..."

Yeah, lady, as townhouses generally are! *eyeroll emoji*

You know some editor heard that and thought, "oh hell yes, that is definitely staying in." I would totally be that editor.