The Crunchy (Grouchy) Mommy

Political Bullying

2013-03-07T08:56:00.000-05:00

I hate bullying, but I especially hate it when it's a government going after a regular person.

Read this story. It's about how a clerical error turned an unpaid toll in Illinois into 27,000 dollars.

I hope that someone in a position of authority gets wind of that family's story and helps them with it.

And that brings me to my own story of political bullying.

When I was 16, my mom took me and my brothers swimming at a lake near my home town. The lake requires a permit or day pass to swim or fish in most areas. The areas where it's required are clearly marked, and everyone 16 and up are required to have a permit or pass.

We went to an older area that really wasn't even a swimming area - it was a crumbling boat ramp with some cliffs you could jump off. There was no sign there saying you needed a permit, and there is no notification anywhere that you had to have one for the whole lake. And we'd been going there since I was a little girl, both by car and on the boat.

On that particular day, the Game Warden decided to pay a visit. We had never seen them there in the 11 or so years that we'd been going there. They asked my mom for her permit, which she had because she bought the annual pass the year earlier since she often took us to other parts of the lake where the permit was required. Then they asked how old us kids were, and when I said 16, they asked for my permit. It never occurred to me to lie that I was still 15.

Well, I didn't have a permit because I didn't need one for that area. And if my mom had known that I needed one, she would've gotten me the annual pass - I had only been 16 for about a month and a half at that point, and we hadn't gone to any of the other areas where a permit was needed. They said that I in fact did need a permit for that area, and the sign was posted at the entrance to the ramp. There was no visible sign. They explained that it did not matter if we saw the sign, it was there and since I didn't have a permit, I was getting a ticket.

We didn't think anything about it, my mom was going to get me a pass and then we were going to go to the courthouse on the court date and fight the fine.

However, my mom wanted to make sure that there really was a sign, so before we left, we walked up the road to figure out where the sign was supposed to be. It was there all right, but it was covered up by kudzu or ivy. Luckily, she had a camera, so she was able to take a picture of the 'sign' showing that it blended in to the vegetation on the side road and no one had trimmed it for years because it was obvious that those vines had been growing for a very long time, and we'd never seen the sign in the entire time we'd been visiting that area.

On the way home, my mom got me that annual pass. We didn't give any thought to it until a few weeks later when my mom got a notification that I was being fined an exorbitant amount of money, and we hadn't even had the court date yet. So my mom called the courthouse in the county where the ticket was issued, and they actually told her that if we didn't pay the fine, I would be sent to Mount Meigs, which is the juvenile detention center in the state of Alabama that's the teenage version of Alcatraz. I heard a lot of stories from kids who had been sent there - it was not a fun place to be.

Now, I was a straight-A student, extra-curricular queen and I held a part-time job on the weekends in addition to babysitting my step-brother all the time. I had also been accepted into the Alabama School of Math and Science for the upcoming school year. I was not Mount Meigs material.

My mom was outraged. I was scared. We didn't know what to do, it was obvious that the county was going to try to use me as an example of what happens when you don't pay your extremely large ridiculous fine for something you shouldn't have been ticketed for in the first place.

After calling around to various attorneys in the area, none of which would help, my mom was at her wit's end. One day, she took off work and we drove up to the county seat where the ticket was issued and went to several attorney's offices, even visited the courthouse and spoke to a judge. Nothing. Nobody would help me. My mom did not have the money to pay the fine or a lawyer, and if we didn't find somebody to help us, I was going to go to Mount Meigs.

On the way back home, we passed the election office of a lawyer who was running for the Senate. On a whim, my mom pulled into the lot and we went in and were actually able to speak to him ourselves.

After listening to us, he was outraged and he took my case pro bono and got the ticket and fine taken care of. He also made sure that all of the areas where permits were required on the lake were clearly marked so that this didn't happen to anyone else in the future.

Without his help, this nerdy kid would have been thrown into a very hostile juvenile detention center all because someone wanted to make an example of me. I think that's one of the reasons I am always pulling for the underdog - because I was the underdog, fighting a corrupt bureaucracy who was trying to bully us into paying something that we had no means to pay and shouldn't have been made to pay in the first place.

So when I read stories like the one about that family in Illinois, I always think back to my own experience with being bullied via politics, and I get enraged all over again. Had it not been for the mom who wouldn't give up on a BS fine and a lawyer who was running for a state Senate seat (I am eternally grateful to that man, who is still in office), my life could have turned out completely different.

I mean, I could have been this:

The Queen. From guzer.com.

*Disclaimer: I'm sure she's a really nice lady. And I'm sure she's horrified that she got caught wearing a Burger King crown while using her hooters as a red solo cup holder. And I'm not saying I'm better than her by any means. It's just a funny picture to use to illustrate my point.

If it Weren't for Bad Luck...

2013-03-04T08:00:00.000-05:00

I haven't blogged in a while. Since I've been working, even though it's working at home, I haven't had much time for extra stuff like blogging. Or house cleaning. Or laundry. So yeah, you get the picture.

Anyway, I had a bit of bad luck today and felt compelled to share my experience. Because, let's face it - laughing at other people's bad luck is fun. And I'm all about some fun.

This morning, Little Stinker woke up with one of his mystery fevers. I believe I've blogged about them before - no other symptoms, no rash, no congestion, no cough, no runny nose, no tummy ache, no sore throat. Just a little whiny and a low fever (never above 102). So that means he can't go to daycare today. Which means I have to work with him here, which is never fun. Since I get paid by how much work I do, and it takes me three times as long to do my work with him here, I think my pay averages out to about 50 cents an hour. Obviously I'm going to get rich.

As I was filling up my coffee pot, a bowl that my dad had stacked up next to the sink fell over, which caused a chain reaction, making water go out of the sink, all down the front of my clothes, into the cabinet under the sink and into the floor. Like about 6 cups of water.

The girls saw this and started giggling because it looked like I wet myself (that seems to be the trend for me lately, looking like I wet myself).

A couple of minutes later, Little Stinker made his whiny way into the kitchen, at the precise moment that I was putting the coffee pot into the coffee maker. Normally, the coffee maker sits back against the wall, but since I had just filled it up, it was pulled out to the edge of the counter (I can't pour the water into the reservoir (I totally just had to google how to spell reservoir because I could not get it) while it's underneath the cabinet). So I thought I had put the coffee pot in the coffee maker, but I was looking at the cranky 3 year old walking into the kitchen instead of the coffee pot.

Needless to say, the coffee pot was not in the coffee maker. As soon as I let go of the handle, it slid out and fell on the floor, busting into a million tiny pieces. I just stood there while all 3 kids looked at me with their mouths open. Then I busted out laughing.

While I was cleaning the glass mess up, Eldest Daughter walked into the kitchen and told me I was cursed and that I never have any good luck.

This is the same child who once told me, after the dryer stopped working after my carport caught on fire and melted my van and then I lost my only key to my brand-new (to me) vehicle, that God really must dislike me because bad stuff is always happening to me.

I don't want my children growing up afraid of the next bad thing happening, but I do want them to be able to deal with bad things when they happen, because life is not all sunshine and roses and puppy dogs and kittehs. Sometime it rains, sometimes flowers die and sometimes puppy dogs and kittehs poop in the floor.

So I told her that obviously, I have some good luck, as I have them for kids. Then I said that sometimes bad stuff just happens, and it happens to some people more often than others, but that means that those people are better able to handle bad stuff and they also appreciate the good stuff more when it happens.

I said, 'Imagine someone who never has anything bad happen to them. Now, imagine that they just spilled water all over themselves and the floor, then they dropped their coffee pot. What do you think they would have done?'

'Well, I guess they would have flipped out.'

'Did I flip out?'

'Well, no, you laughed.'

'What about when I lost my keys when we got the new car - did I flip out?'

'No, you stayed calm.'

'Do you think someone who has never had to deal with bad stuff would have done that?'

'No, they would have cried and gotten hysterical and probably passed out.' (I really think I shouldn't let her watch TV anymore.)

So she gets it. She knows that I'm able to handle the little seemingly bad things that happen. And I hope that she's able to look on the bright side of the bad things, too. Because there is always a bright side.

Today's bright side is that the kitchen floor got swept and mopped and the rugs got washed (all of which needed to be done badly). I also did not get burned, as the coffee pot was empty when it fell - had it been full of hot water, it would have burned me because I got splattered with glass. Nobody got cut on the glass that landed in the floor. And I got to pull the Keurig back out, which I really missed.

No matter what happens, there is always a bright side. You may not be able to see it at the time, but there always is.

So if you are like me and have perpetual bad luck, just remember this (which I posted on Facebook the other day):

Sometimes I get a little discouraged when I see privileged people who lead charmed lives, where their only worry is what they are going to wear that morning. Then I realize that when the zombie apocalypse hits, they'll panic and be the first ones to get eaten and I'll be able to make it because I won't freak out because zombies really aren't that big of a deal compared to some of the crap that I've had to deal with. It's all about perspective, people.

That broken coffee pot, sick kid and puddle of water is just more preparation for the other bad stuff that life throws at me. It could be a flat tire or a choking kid (both of which I have handled with ease). Or it could be a zombie apocalypse.

Now, just remember that if the zombies do come for you, that you need to channel your inner Daryl Dixon. Because he's a badass.

I just bought this shirt last week, seriously. You can get one too!! Just go here - bikerornot.com.

Licepocalypse

2013-01-15T06:00:00.000-05:00

On the morning of Pumpkin Pie's 7th, birthday, we woke up and began our day. We had big plans. First, it was birthday pictures, then lunch and ice skating. Everyone was excited.

Pumpkin Pie wanted her hair straightened for her pictures, so after her shower I was drying her hair, preparing to flat iron it.

As I was drying her hair, I kept seeing something black moving around on her scalp. At first, I thought it was a flea, since the day before she had been rolling around outside with the dog. So I got the tweezers and picked the thing off of her scalp.

It was not a flea.

Oh, no, it was much worse.

It was this:

Did you shiver? I did.

That, my friends, is a fully grown adult lice. Although that's not the exact lice I pulled out of her hair (I immediately flushed that sucker down the toilet), it's identical.

I then checked everyone else's hair, including Red's daughter, who was staying with us that week while her mom went out of town, and everyone had lice. Everyone. I am including myself there. I managed to go 34 years without ever getting lice. I made it through elementary, middle and high school without it. I worked at a daycare in college and never got it. Then I get it as an adult. Awe. Some. And you all can put a mark in the 'con' column for reasons your kids should not sleep in your bed. Ever.

Immediately, I canceled all the day's plans. No pictures. No dinner to open presents. No ice skating. Nothing. Instead of all the fun stuff we had planned, it was lice treatment time. Pumpkin Pie will forever remember her 7th birthday as Licepocalypse.

So I put a cap on my lice infested head and went to Walgreen's, where I purchased every single lice treatment shampoo they had. Rid and Nix, plus an extra lice comb. A hundred bucks worth of stuff.

I came home and treated everyone, then went about combing lice out of hair. That shit was not fun, and it was incredibly disgusting. My head's itching just thinking about it. Ever seen a butt-ton of live lice squirming on a lice comb? No? Well then you're an asshole. Just kidding. Not really.

Oh, and my little three year old? Yeah, he wouldn't sit still for the lice combing, so I had to shave his head. On a side note, later that week someone gave him something free at a store because the lady thought he was a little girl who had cancer. True story. Let's just say I won't be shaving his head again anytime soon.

And my hair? My super thick hair? Well, my neighbor came over and combed it out, but she couldn't see very well. So after she left, I combed it out and got a lot of lice out of my own hair. Not fun. Not fun at all.

I pulled all the linens off the beds and washed them all in super hot water and dried them on the hottest dryer setting. I put all the stuffed animals in plastic bags. I put all the pillows in the dryer. I sprayed the lice spray all over the house, and on the car seats. I vacuumed like a mad woman.

Now for some interesting facts about lice. #1: They don't like dirty hair. That's right, folks, all the time you thought only the kids with bad hygiene got lice, it's just not true. Lice like CLEAN hair. #2: That lice shampoo shit DOES NOT WORK.

It did make the lice less active, but it did not kill them. Luckily, one of the amazing women who follows my Facebook page (I'll call her BarSlo), gave me her number and I called her to get her tried-and-true lice treatment. Now, it seems a little wacky, but it actually worked.

So on day two of licepocalypse, I went to the store and bought a gallon of white vinegar, two bottles of blue Listerine, Dawn dish washing soap and shower caps. Then I made sure I had plenty of washcloths and towels.

Now, here's what you do...

First, you make your kid lean over the tub, and put a washcloth over their face, not only to protect their eyes, but because that stuff is caustic and will choke the crap out of them. Saturate their hair in the white vinegar, then put a shower cap on. Wrap a towel around their shoulders and leave the vinegar on for an hour. Put earplugs in your own ears so that you can't hear them whining. Because whine they will.

After an hour, lean them over the tub again, put another washcloth on their face and rinse it out. Once the vinegar is rinsed, then you saturate their hair with the Listerine. Again, keep the washcloth over their face. Once you have the Listerine in their hair, wrap another towel over their shoulders and leave the Listerine on for an hour. Again, put the earplugs in. And do a shot (or 94) of tequila. Because they'll whine even more now, and loudly, so you can hear it through the earplugs, so you need alcohol to calm your nerves.

After that hour, lean them back over the tub, rinse the Listerine out and wash their hair with Dawn. Once you have done that, have them sit in good light somewhere and comb their hair with the lice comb. I used a Pantene conditioner to help detangle the hair so it didn't hurt so much (I still had Red's daughter crying because her hair is long, thick and curly, and I couldn't even yell at her to stop being a baby because she's not my kid and I had to be nice to her) and so the eggs would (in theory) come out better. Then I combed out the lice. As much came out the second day as came out the first.

That stuff really worked. And it left your hair smelling minty fresh for several days. Just know that the Listerine will leave blue stains on your skin. Which could be interesting, but was mostly embarrassing.

However, none of that stuff kills the lice eggs. And another fun fact - if your kids have very fine hair, as mine do, the eggs will not come out with a lice comb. Even with a really good lice comb and using something to loosen the adhesive those buggers use to plant those eggs on the hair.

So every day for a week, I changed pillow cases, sprayed lice spray on beds and put the pillows in the dryer, hoping that if I missed any lice eggs, the hairs they were attached to would fall out and I would kill them with the heat.

But, alas, that was not to be. Even after checking their hair every day for a week and not finding any nits (those are the nasty lice eggs), the lice returned.

This time, though, there were no fully grown lice, just the little bitty ones. However, I didn't catch them in time, and the few that I combed out of the girls' hair had already laid some new eggs.

So I retreated with both the lice shampoo and the vinegar/Listerine treatment and combed out the hair again.

But this time, I went a step further. I went through both girls' hair in little teeny tiny sections, with a magnifying glass. I pulled out every egg with tweezers, and if I saw an egg and then lost it, I just cut out the section of hair where it was.

This is what lice eggs look like...they attach to the shaft by that little stalk. And they are nearly impossible to see when they are the same color as the hair.

Dudes, it took me over FOUR HOURS for each girl. Let me type that again....FOUR HOURS. EACH. Yep, eight hours of lice egg finding. But I got all those suckers. Then I flat ironed their hair on the highest setting for good measure. When they returned to school after Christmas break (oh, all this happened over Christmas break, so at least they didn't have to miss any school), the nurse certified that both of them were lice free.

Unfortunately, I can't say that about myself. Do you know how hard it is to comb lice eggs out of your own hair? It's hard. Really, really hard. Actually, damn near impossible. I could go to Atlanta to a lice treatment center and pay someone to comb it out for me, but it's not cheap, and I am quite broke, so no. So since last week, I have been shampooing my hair with dog's flea and tick shampoo. Yep, I smell like a wet dog because I want to make sure that if any of the eggs do hatch, I kill them immediately before they are able to lay more eggs and cause another lice infestation. I'm also doing the nightly pillow case change and popping the pillow in the dryer. I think two weeks should be enough, because I'm ready to not smell like a dog.

Oh, and that stuff has warnings about not using it on people because it's poison and stuff, so if I have a seizure or start going cross-eyed and drooling on myself, you all know what it's from.

The kids have remained lice free, thank God.

And I don't wish that crap on anyone. It was not pleasant.

Okay, maybe I do wish that crap on a couple of people. I mean, there are some people who really deserve lice. It won't kill you, but it is a major inconvenience. Some people should experience it. Like the home wrecker who cheated with my ex. She should totally get lice. But not on her head.

And I'll leave you with a visual of that kind of lice...you're welcome.

This is the other kind of lice (not head lice, hint, hint)...on EYELASHES. I don't even want to know how that happened.

I am the Queen

2013-01-10T06:00:00.000-05:00

I am actually the Queen of something. Not something awesome, but the Queen, nonetheless.

I am the Queen of self-deprecating humor. The. Queen.

This is a fact. There is no one else better at making fun of herself. No. One.

Let's take example number 1.

A few weeks ago I tried to go out. Like, to a bar out. I met my friend and her husband and her in-laws at a sports bar. The plan was to watch whatever football game was on TV, then the sports bar had either dancing or karaoke. We like either one, so it was cool. The place actually had simulated golf, and I was kinda looking forward to playing a game of simulated golf, but alas, they didn't have them up and running.

We were all sitting there, and my friend had just gotten a Crown and Coke. It was full. She got up to go dance, and our table was a little uneven. So, when she put some weight on the table to get out of her chair, the table tipped, and her drink spilled into my lap.

As it was happening, I was thinking, 'This shit cannot be happening. Oh my God, it's in my lap!! MY LAP!! I HAVE A FULL DRINK IN MY LLLLLAAAAAPPPPPPP!!!!' Admittedly, I'm not 100% sure that's exactly what I was thinking, but it was pretty close.

When I stood up, I realized that I looked like I peed myself. Not just that I peed myself, but that maybe I took a buttload of Ecstasy and then drank seven gallons of water but didn't pee until my bladder burst. You know, 'cause Ecstasy makes you really thirsty and all.

So, of course, I made my friend take a picture of it.

Looks like I peed mahself.

Sexy, huh?

And now for example number 2.

I love Pinterest. I've blogged about how addicting Pinterest is before. It's almost as awesome as me (but not quite, because let's face it, my awesome is hard to beat).

I have successfully done some of the crafts and recipes I have found on Pinterest, and they have all been successes. So I've pinned a lot of makeup and hair tips, and I've been wanting to try them. Aubie Lover recently tried a makeup tip she found and it was amazing. So I thought I'd give a go at one of the hair tips.

It was a tutorial about how to curl your hair with a flat iron. It looked easy enough.

So I attempt it. The back of my hair looked great. Really, really great. Like, red carpet movie premiere on a famous actress great.

The front of my hair...not so much. NAILED IT!

So, again, of course I took a picture. Because I enjoy sharing my humiliation. It's a learned social skill.

Pinterest FAIL!!

Again, sexy, huh? Some of my friends thought it was sexy, but to me, my smirk does not say 'come hither', it says, 'can you believe this shit?'.

There are an infinite amount of examples of how awesome I am at making fun of myself, but these are the most recent (and documented) instances.

So, there you have it. I am the undisputed Queen of self-deprecating humor. I'm not sure if I should be proud or embarrassed...and if I am embarrassed, I should probably take a picture.

Faces of Moms

2012-12-13T08:00:00.000-05:00

So, I've been AWOL for a while. My surgery went well. I say well because my surgery actually did go well. My recovery, on the other hand, did not go so well.

The night I got home from the hospital, the ex brought the kids to me and they all had the flu. So my first week at home, when I should have been recuperating and healing, I was instead taking care of puking, feverish kids. My first week at home was horrible. Absolutely horrible. Not only did my dad have a kidney infection and couldn't really help, but he also hurt his hip when he did help. Bama Ex-hubs came over one day to attempt to help with the kids, and my stubborn-ass dad started a fight with him, so then I had no one to help, because nobody else would come near my house while all 3 kids had the flu (I certainly do not blame them).

Luckily, some awesome ladies from my church brought food for us every night that first week, so we didn't have to worry about getting fed. I just couldn't rest. Finally, last week, the kids were better, and I had help. While the girls went to school, my neighbor took Little Stinker during the day and I was able to actually rest. It's amazing what a little rest will do for you body.

Now I feel almost completely back to normal. Actually, better than normal. But I still have to take it easy for a couple more weeks - no lifting or anything - but otherwise I feel like a new person.

So now, for the blog post you've all been so anxiously awaiting.

I am addicted to those 'Faces of Meth' slideshows. Those things fascinate me. Mostly because I've seen some of these transformations in person - when you're around someone a lot, the transition doesn't seem as drastic. But when you see these time-lapse pictures of these folks, the progression of what Meth does to someone is so dramatic and scary.

But it also got me thinking. Those slideshows are tools used to keep people off of drugs. The idea is that the people change so much, that they become unrecognizable hulls of their former selves.

They should totally use these to dissuade teenagers from getting pregnant. Seriously.

I think they should do a 'Faces of Moms' series. I would be a great example.

Take me at the age of 24, for example. I wasn't thin (skinny has never been an aspiration of mine), but I was in great shape and really healthy. I had great hair. Great skin. Great teeth.

That's me in all the green, obviously at a Valentine's Day celebration. That's MO in the mask - she still looks great, as she has never had children. Seriously, if you thought we were at a Valentine's Day celebration, you're a moron. St. Patrick's Day, dudes.

So anyway, as you can see, I was your typical, young, childless adult. I was college educated, had a great career, was dating a lot, just having fun being young and single and somewhat attractive.

Then I had Eldest Daughter. Then Pumpkin Pie. Then Little Stinker.

Now I look like this.

This is June, Honey Boo Boo's mom.
From bellenews.com.

Obviously, that's not me, but you get the picture. Three kids later and my young self has been transformed into a shell of my former self. My hair isn't as shiny as it once was, mostly because a lot of it is now gray. My teeth, while all still there, aren't as white as they once were. My skin turned against me with each pregnancy and is not clear anymore. I'm getting back into shape, but having 3 kids in 5 years and doing 3 years of breastfeeding (one year per kid) has not been kind to my body.

Some would argue that it's just aging.

As grumpy cat would say...

It's having kids that has done this to me.

Some moms are able to keep themselves up. Those moms are called bitches.

No, just kidding, they're called either celebrities or moms who have a great support system. It's hard to have wonderful hygiene, have time to work out, and focus on yourself when you have all these kids that you must take care of and provide for and KEEP ALIVE on your own.

I have been getting back into shape, but only because I do not have a job and am able to work out during the day. I have no idea how I'm going to make that work when I go back to being employed, juggling the schedules of 2 busy girls, picking a 3 year old up from daycare and my own work schedule.

And before someone starts complaining that it's my own fault that I look like Honey Boo Boo's mom, this blog post is a JOKE, folks. I certainly do not blame my children for my own laziness. I blame my parents for that shit.

Buh-Bye to the Babymaker

2012-11-19T06:00:00.000-05:00

I haven't blogged in a while. I'm sorry. Shit's been busy, you know?

Anyway, if you read my last blog post, a quick update - I got new keys made for my new car. Then someone found my old keys in their bushes while weed-eating. So apparently my Ole Miss alumni association key tag got shredded by the weed eater because it was missing from my key ring. Other than that, everything was there.

So that happened.

Then the week before last I started having some really bad lady problems. Really. Bad. And if you're a dude, you may want to stop reading, because I'm talking about icky lady parts problems that most men get uncomfortable around. I don't want you to feel icky and all. I used to wonder how women used their periods as excuses not to do things - I mean, it's a period. It's not that bad.

Pssshhhaaawwwww!!! They're not supposed to be bad when they're normal. But when they're abnormal, they're horrible. HORRIBLE, I say!

Last year I had a brief lesson in this, but after my doctor removed some polyps, everything went back to normal. But this time, I fully understood how a period can get in the way of everyday life, and I wanted to die. Just die. Or rip my own uterus out. It actually felt like it might pop out of me Alien-style anyway. I kept having nightmares of this happening, only instead of a little crackhead acting alien, it was my enlarged uterus that had developed teeth and was eating through my stomach like a human/vampire hybrid baby (like that Twilight reference?):

That actually kind of looks like the demon uterus from my dreams.

Add to the pain the fact that it felt like the Niagara Falls of menstruation was coming out of my body, and I felt just awesome. And by just awesome, I mean like crap. Like the king of all crap in the entire universe. Covered in blood.

I finally went to the doctor, because I thought maybe something was wrong. Because dudes, that shit is just not normal so how could something NOT be wrong?

And turns out, there in fact was something wrong. I have fibroids. At least that's what the doctor said they look like on the ultrasound. And given my history with the lady parts problems (polyps last year, several biopsies over the years), my doctor said anything short of a hysterectomy would just be like putting a band-aid on the problem and I would continue to have problems. Plus, he couldn't do much for the fibroids where they are in my uterus anyway. I have three kids already, I'm almost 35 years old and I don't plan on having any more children, so the hysterectomy sounds pretty great to me.

So in a week, my babymaker will be gone from my body. Buh-bye. I'm like David Spade's smartass flight attendant in this video, except instead of telling passengers buy-bye, I'm telling my uterus buh-bye:

Although I'm ready for the surgery, there are some things I'm not looking forward to. One is recovering with a three-year old who is a very big mama's boy and two girls that are quite high-maintenance. That is not going to be fun. Another thing I'm not looking forward to is how much this is going to cost. I just bought a new car. I don't have a job. And it is RIDICULOUS how expensive this thing is going to cost, even with insurance. I'll be paying this surgery off for as long as I'll be paying my student loans....like forever.

I'm also not too happy about going through this on my own. If I were still with the ex, I could at least count on him to be at the house (although probably not very helpful, but he did really well through all of my c-section recoveries). My dad will be staying the night with me while I'm in the hospital because he remembers how bad it was on my mom and stepmother, and he doesn't want me to be alone. The kids will be at their dad's for that night, and he's actually taking off work for 2 days so that he can do the school thing with the girls and spend some quality time with Little Stinker, which will be good for them.

This week I'll be cooking casseroles and crock pot meals and freezing them so my dad can just pop them into the oven or microwave so everyone will be able to eat well. I should be back on my feet in 4 weeks, then I can get back to getting into shape and job hunting. And bonus, NO MORE PERIODS!! Whoo friggin' HOO!!

So, buh-bye, babymaker! You've done a great job making some adorable babies, but it's time for you to go. I think our relationship is doing me more harm than good. I would say it's not you, it's me, but it's totally you. So buh-bye, now.

Trick or Treat and Keys

2012-11-01T06:00:00.000-04:00

The day before yesterday I bought a new car. Well, a new-to-me car. And no, I don't have a job. So yes, I am desperately seeking a job. Not that I wasn't already looking, but it's now gone from 'really need a job' to 'OH MY GOD I HAVE TO GET A JOB ASAP!'.

So anyway, yeah, new car. Since my old van melted in a fire last week.

And as you all know, yesterday was Halloween.

The holiday is named after the Jamie Lee Curtis movie. Oh, wait, I got that backwards.

My friends ReRi and Mr. ReRi set up a little hayride through their neighborhood with their kids and my kids. They had a trailer with bales of hay and blankets on it and they pulled it behind their four wheeler. And the ex actually wanted to go trick or treating with the kids, so he came along. Although I don't enjoy being around him, I can tolerate his company because we do have 3 kids and it is essential to their well being that we get along.

We all piled up onto the trailer and Mr. ReRi pulled us through the neighborhood. I had to get in and out of the trailer to go to houses with Little Stinker and help him in and out of the trailer. At one point I ran. At another point I carried the little guy from house to house because he got tired and whiny and his short little legs couldn't keep up with the other kids and it was ticking him off.

The kids had fun. We had fun. The kids got a ton of candy. We went through their whole neighborhood. Three miles worth of houses. Three. Miles. That's important information.

When we got back to ReRi's house and got ready to go, I discovered that I didn't have my keys. My keys to my brand new car. My house, too, but most importantly my vehicle. They weren't in my jeans pocket where I put them. They weren't in Mr. ReRi's coat that I was wearing. They weren't in the trailer. They weren't in the kid's candy bags or coats. My keys were gone. GONE.

Thankfully, the ex was still there, and even though he was assholey about it and acted like I actually did that on purpose (yes, I threw my keys out into someone's yard so I could spend more time with him...um...NO), he drove me around the neighborhood....all three miles of it....where I got out of the truck over and over again searching for my keys. I went up to people's houses and asked if anyone had found any keys in their yard.

After almost an hour of searching yards with a Maglite and going up to people's doorbells looking like a crazy person with a nightstick...nada. No keys anywhere. At that point, the kids all had to pee and the ex was getting even more assholey, which I thought was an impossibility, so we strapped the kids in the back of the truck (with no car seats, I'll explain in a minute) and went to my house.

ReRi is going to send out an email bulletin today to the residents in the HOA, and hopefully somebody will find them while doing their lawn. But I can't wait around to see if anyone finds them...my purse, my phone, all of the car seats (both my new seats that I just bought and the ex's seats that I borrowed in the aftermath of the fire), several documents I need to return today for the vehicle purchase...my whole life is in that vehicle. So I have to call the dealership and order a new key because they didn't have the extra key to the car when I bought it. I also have to ride around with ReRi without my children in car seats to go get the key and then go back to my car.

Eldest Daughter has said before that she thinks God is trying to punish me because he keeps making bad things happen to me. I don't look at like that. I'm praying that I'm being tested somehow to see how I handle bad stuff. Although, this isn't really bad stuff. It's more bad luck stuff, something you'd see on a sitcom. And hey, I have good friends who can help me out and I didn't step in dog poop or break my ankle while searching for my keys, the ex wasn't at full-blown asshole and was actually willing to drive me around, and it wasn't raining, so it could definitely have been worse. And let's face it, this is some funny crap. I couldn't make it up if I tried, dudes.

And on a side note, I need to quit thinking about things. The week before last I was thinking that I needed to get a new vehicle as soon as I got a job because the van needed a lot of work to it and it was going to be probably a car note's worth of maintenance to keep it running anyway. Then it melted. Today I was thinking that since I got a new vehicle I should get a new key chain. I make those wristlet key chains with the ribbon and fabric, so I was going over new designs to replace the one I had. Then I lose my keys, so unless I find those, I'll have to get a new one anyway.

From now on, I will not think about getting anything new that's a necessity. Because apparently I have a genie that I didn't know about that makes things happen that I think about, although not in the great way you think genies would work. I think my genie is a crackhead.

I think he's my genie.

Extreme Potty Training - Day One

2012-10-30T07:26:00.000-04:00

Yesterday started Day One of Extreme Potty Training for me and Little Stinker.

My adorable baby boy is three years old. He can count to 15. He can ride his bike with no training wheels. He is capable of mimicking almost everything his big sisters do. He can play Mozart on the piccolo He can juggle 18 cans of green beans at the same time. He can swim faster than Michael Phelps. But he hides when he has to go poop so he can shit himself. (Three of those things aren't true, you can decide what is real and what isn't.)

After I caught him crapping himself on Sunday, hiding under the dining room table with a blanket over him so he could shit in peace, I decided that I have had enough. ENOUGH. If he knows to go get a blanket, pull a chair out from under the table, crawl under the table, pull the chair back so no one will notice that it's different, then put the blanket over himself and settle down for a poo, then he is capable of taking a dump in the toilet.

Pull-Ups are expensive. Another reason to stop using them.

So yesterday I left the house with 3 outfits, several plastic shopping bags, a thing of wipes, and extra shoes and socks. Little Stinker peed on the potty just before we left to go help Pumpkin Pie's teacher do her weekly folders like I do every Monday.

Everything went great at first. We got to the school, made a potty pit stop. Then about half an hour later, he had to go potty again. I was excited. He was going to do great!!

Then 15 minutes after he went potty the second time, he was sitting in the floor playing when he looked up with this surprised look on his face and made the announcement, 'Mommy, I sorry. Me pee.'

Awe. Some.

So he is sitting in a puddle of his own piss in the occupational therapy/storage room where I'm assembling Pumpkin Pie's teacher's folders. Thank goodness for Kleenex, because that's what I used to wipe his pee up with.

Luckily, I was done and about to start cleaning up and heading out, so we went to the van and changed britches.

He made it through grocery shopping, looking at a vehicle and lunch without soiling himself. He even took a nap and didn't pee on himself. When he went outside to play after the girls got home, he peed outside. He was doing great!

Then we went to the gym. I took an extra change of clothes in with him and told the girls in the child care area that if he pees on himself, make him change his clothes on his own. I think they thought maybe it was a little extreme, but hey, it's Extreme Potty Training.

He promised he would pee on the potty. And he did. Then he promptly peed on himself like he had at school that morning. So they made him change his clothes.

When I picked him up, I noticed he was wearing different clothes, and he was proud of himself for changing his clothes on his own. I had to smile at that - even though he had peed all over himself, he was so happy that he didn't require help to change his pee clothes, the silly head.

Anyway, he did fine the rest of the night. We made it through Eldest Daughter's basketball practice, then supper, and no more accidents. I put the girls to bed and was talking to my aunt on the phone, doing some research on vehicles.

Then I hear grunting. From the dining room. Under the table.

The little turd was hiding under the table, dropping a load in his underwear.

Now, I don't know about you guys, but nothing makes me angrier than cleaning shit out of a pair of underwear. Having a sudden bout of diarrhea is one thing - you just can't help that shit (literally). But going and hiding to shit in your pants is a completely different story.

So I'm talking to my aunt on the phone while I'm getting on to Little Stinker and trying to clean him up. My aunt hears me say stuff like this:

'I cannot BELIEVE you went and hid instead of telling me you had to go potty! WHY, LITTLE STINKER, WHY???!!!!'

(I'd like to explain something before I go over my next conversation piece. On Sunday we took Maw Maw a cake with green and black icing for her birthday. So everyone that ate the cake has been having dark green poo.)

'OH MY GOD, IT'S GREEN!!! GREEN!!! And I just touched it! I touched a green turd!!'

My aunt finally said that she just got home and she should probably let me go so I can clean up the mess. I just think it was grossing her out listening to me talking about green turds.

Today begins day two of Extreme Potty Training. Hopefully all goes well and we don't have anymore poop accidents. I don't like the pee accidents, but it doesn't make me feel like banging my head on something hard and falling to my knees to ask God why, WHY GOD WHY??? when I clean it up like the turds in the undies do.

Once we master daytime potty training, we'll move on to nighttime potty training. On second thought, that can wait a while because the only thing that rivals how I feel about crapping in underwear is getting peed on at night, and since the little guy always winds up in my bed, it's bound to happen.

Fire, Fire, Fire!!

2012-10-23T08:11:00.001-04:00

If you're a fan of juvenile humor, you're probably thinking of Beavis and Butthead after reading the title.

Unfortunately, I'm talking about a real fire, not a cartoon fire.

Yesterday morning my dad had an endoscopy done. The night before, I didn't sleep worth a poop, mostly because I was cramping like somebody was jabbing my abdomen with hot pokers and the muscle relaxer I took to help it actually wired me up. That and the fact that all 3 kids wound up in bed with me. I had Little Stinker on my right side, wedged under me and occasionally turning sideways and kicking me in the face or sticking his butt on my head, Pumpkin Pie wedged so hard under my left side that I'm not sure how she was breathing, and Eldest Daughter at the foot of the bed so that I couldn't stretch my legs out. Even though I was in a queen-sized bed, I really felt like I was sleeping in a coffin for a dwarf.

So anyway, I didn't sleep at all and then I had to go do the stuff with my dad, which was very tiring. Anytime Paw Paw has anesthesia, it's tiring. He talks a lot anyway, so when he's waking up he literally never shuts up. It's exhausting. And he was talking a LOT about the Memphis Fire Dept (from where he retired), and now I'm taking that as foreshadowing.

At about 2:15, I'm sitting in the recliner, dozing. Little Stinker is in my lap watching TV and I'm just going in an out of sleep, because, YO, I'm tired. Paw Paw was actually following the doctor's orders and was downstairs in his bed resting (this was not the case 30 minutes earlier when I caught him trimming the hedges while precariously balanced on the retaining wall).

All of a sudden, I hear someone BEATING on my back door, then this lady just walks right in. I'm all, 'WTF??!!' when she starts screaming that my carport is on fire. She was already on the phone with 911 so she had already called the fire in.

I jumped up out of the chair, yelled for Paw Paw, told Little Stinker to stay in the house and just on instinct I grabbed my van keys and went out to the carport. I do not actually remember doing it, but I moved the van out of the carport - my only thought was that it was going to explode because I had just filled the tank with gas.

As I said, I don't remember moving it, but I do remember almost throwing up when I got out because it was FULL of toxic smoke. When I was standing there coughing and gagging, I looked up and the top of the van was smoking and charred and there was smoke rolling out of the door that I left open.

I tried to move Paw Paw's car, but he had misplaced his keys (SHOCKER) and we didn't have time to look for them. Thank GOD that my dad is a former fireman, and even though he had only woken up from anesthesia a short while earlier, he grabbed the water hose and started hosing down the carport.

The lady who found the fire was yelling at me to get away from the house, but I was barefoot and Little Stinker was pantsless. So I darted back in the house and got flip flops and a pair of pants for him (the house was not on fire), then took the kiddo to my neighbor so she could watch him until the firemen came.

The firemen got there and started spraying the carport down, Paw Paw found his keys and the firemen moved his car out of the carport, and we started assessing the damage. Paw Paw's car was ruined. The sunroof visor had melted down INTO the car. The paint was charred and boiled up all over it, and it even melted the spoiler. The interior was wet and ruined and it smelled bad.

My van was also ruined. Even though I pulled it out of the carport, it's so high, it was really close to the roof of the carport and got a lot of damage. The roof actually MELTED - the luggage rack was melted down in a lot of places, and all of the rear controls were melted and are hanging down inside the van. The passenger side sliding door is fused to the frame and won't open, the passenger side-view mirror, most of the trim and brake light are melted. But the biggest problem is the toxic smell. Everything that was in there is ruined. Car seats, my purses, the strollers, the entire interior of the van. When you open the door, this GOD-awful smell rolls out and makes you want to puke. It's bad.

The carport is a total loss, too, but we rent, and it will be covered under the landlord's homeowner's policy. I also have a renter's policy and my van has full-coverage on it as well. Paw Paw's car only has liability but it was in the carport when it caught fire, so it will be covered under the homeowner's policy.

It was stressful, sure, but I am left feeling so grateful. The house didn't catch fire. No one was hurt. All that was damaged was just STUFF and can be replaced.

And now for the miracle part of this story. I am always looking for signs to renew my faith, because let's face it, in today's world, it's hard to find good stuff that makes you believe in God.

The lady who barged into my house was the mail lady. This is somewhat of a miracle in itself, because my mailbox is on the front of the house, which is about a hundred yards down a big hill across the street. My driveway and carport are at the back of the house (this provides for some antics when I'm trying to give directions to the house because the driveway is NOT where the mailbox is and the GPS always screws people up and they get lost). Normally the mail lady would not have seen the carport. Normally no one would have seen it, as we're secluded and the back of the house is only visible to three other houses.

Yesterday, however, at that exact time, the mail lady had a certified letter to deliver to me. The fire had just started when she pulled up. Had she not needed to deliver a letter to me, the fire would have gone unnoticed until it not only engulfed my house but also spread through all of the trees to the other three houses here. The wind was blowing the smoke away from the house, so I wouldn't have even noticed the smoke from the carport until the fire had either blown the vehicles up or until my house was on fire.

And another miracle is that there was a gas can behind the carport where my dad keeps it for the lawnmower. A gas can that was about half full. The fire never made it to the back of the carport - if it had, I cannot imagine how bad it would have been. My dad, who was in his underwear, by the way, kept the fire from spreading until the firemen got here. Had he not been trained on where to spray and what to do, even though it was decades ago, I don't want to think about what could have happened.

The Fire Marshall found that the fire was triggered by faulty wiring in the carport. Whoever wired the carport when it was remodeled about 10 years ago used the wrong kind of wire and it hit a metal piece and sparked the fire. As he said, it was a combination of aging wiring and other circumastances, and it could have happened at any time. An order was put in to pull the meter from the house so that there could be no power here until it was certified by an electrician, but the electrician and a guy from the power company came over and cut the power to the carport, then certified that the house was safe and there were no other problems, so they didn't cut the power. Today, the electrician is coming back and will re-wire all of the old wiring in the house. If you've been following me a while, you'll remember we had some problems with the electricity when I first moved in, so I'm taking this as another good thing to come out of all this - we get all new wiring and some electrical updating.

Even though it was definitely scary, and it left me completely exhausted, I am so thankful that no one was hurt and that we are insured.

On another note, the fire wasn't the only drama yesterday. My friend ReRi came to pick up Eldest Daughter to take her to basketball practice because I couldn't drive my van or my dad's car as they are both not driveable. While she was on her way home to get an extra car seat for Eldest Daughter, she ran over her neighbor's dog and killed it (she didn't aim and hit, it darted out from the sidewalk and got caught under a tire). Then, when she was dropping Eldest Daughter back off, my neighbor was in a hurry to leave because her daughter was having a seizure and she had to go get her grandsons, and she backed right into ReRi's car. So we not only had a fire here, but we also had State Trooper pay us a visit last night to do an accident report because ReRi's bumper was destroyed.

It was also my mom's birthday, and I had planned on going and spending some time with her and taking her some presents, but I didn't get the chance to due to the van getting ruined and everything else that happened.

Again, I'm just thankful that no one was hurt (except the poor dog).

And I'll leave you with a picture of the firemen fighting the fire in my carport.

You can't tell it from this picture, but there were some really cute firemen here. Another bonus.

Bad Luck Crunchy

2012-10-16T08:34:00.001-04:00

If you've been reading my blog for a while, you're familiar with my bad luck. I'm blessed in a lot of ways, but crap always seems to happen to me that only happens in movies and people don't believe a lot of it. Been that way my whole life.

On Thursday, I was telling my new friend ReRi about some of the stuff that's happened to me. She was joking that she was going to buy me a lucky rabbit's foot to get my Karma back on track. Which I thought was funny since I've had bad luck pretty much my whole life, it's never been on track so it can't get back on the track. I really don't think she believed my luck was that bad.

At basketball practice later that night, she got a dose of it. Her husband had been watching Pumpkin Pie with their daughter and was going to take both girls to basketball practice while ReRi, the other kids and I were at the gym. While Mr. ReRi had Pumpkin Pie, she took a tumble on a scooter and got road rash on her face. We found this out when we got to practice after class. Pumpkin Pie had a big red splotch on her chin (it later turned black).

That was no big deal - my kids are clumsy like me sometimes, so they fall. He felt terrible, but kids hurt themselves sometimes - there was no need for him to feel bad.

When practice was over, ReRi, another mom and I were talking when Little Stinker ran down the gym steps and tumbled down the steps on his tummy. He was fine, but it scared him.

And I should have taken those two incidents as a preview to what Karma had in store for me later.

When I got home from practice, the first thing I noticed was my dog was in the carport. Which was unusual because he stays in the fence. Then I realize that the fence gate was open, which meant either my dad left it open when he fed and watered the dog, or someone opened it on purpose to let him out.

When I opened the door and the dog ran up to me, I noticed that he smelled really good. Like a Bath & Body Works store good.

He's a stinky dog who stays outside. He shouldn't smell good.

In the melee to get the dog back into the fence, I thought all of the kids were out of the van. As I walked by the van door, holding the dog's collar in one hand, I shut the sliding van door with the other hand.

It didn't close all the way.

Then I hear the screaming.

I slammed my son's head in the van door.

Mother of the year, right here, folks!

Oh my God, I felt SO BAD. I have never done that before, and I felt like the biggest jerk ever.

I opened the door and picked my crying child up and checked his head - the skin wasn't broken but he had an impressive goose egg - then collected the dog again to try to get him back into the fence.

Keep in mind that the dog still smells like maybe he went into a Victoria's Secret lotion factory and took a doggy swim in a vat of lotion. Even his breath smelled good.

As I'm taking the dog down the stairs, with Little Stinker on my hip, I approach the open gate and realize that the yard smells really good and there is crap strewn all over the place. And by crap I mean that there is a bag shredded in the yard and body care products are busted open and EVERYWHERE. Someone was preparing for a yard sale in the neighborhood, so I figured when the dog got loose he went down and pulled a bag of stuff off one of the tables. I was wrong, but I'll get to that in a minute.

Lotions, medicine (Tylenol Sinus and Benadryl), make-up, and yes, Victoria's Secret fragrance spray, were emptied of their contents (presumably that's why the dog's breath smelled so good) and their containers were all over the yard.

This was the first thing I saw when I got to the fence.

While I was standing there looking at the mess, the dog pulled loose from his collar and took off. So I was standing there holding Little Stinker and the dog's collar. The dog took off running and ran into Pumpkin Pie, knocking her head into the side of the house and jamming her knee on one of the stepping stones. So now both Pumpkin Pie and Little Stinker were crying, and the dog was running amuck all of the place.

Holy CRAP.

I finally got the kids calmed down and got the dog back into the fence. Ice packs were handed out, and I told my dad what happened as I was getting supper ready. He said, 'We won't admit to anything, we'll deny it if anyone asks.' I was like, 'Um, dad, we can't deny anything because you can smell the yard from the road. If anyone is looking for missing bath products, they simply need to follow their noses to our odd-smelling dog'.

I just left the crap in the yard overnight. Fruity and her 4 kids were on their way to the house, and I figured I could enlist the help of her oldest son to pick up the crap from the yard the next morning, which he did. While her son was picking up the stuff in the yard, I realized where the stuff came from.

The dog actually went to my neighbor's house and got her daughter-in-law's overnight bag off of the hood of her car and tore that up when he got out of the fence. I took the bag to her, with what contents were salvageable, and she was really nice about it and said not to worry about it when I offered to replace the stuff.

I'm glad I have good neighbors. Now if I could just have good luck for a change.

Girl's Weekend

2012-09-19T06:00:00.000-04:00

This weekend, I will be using my Delta SkyMiles and taking a free flight to Panama City, Florida. Once there, I will be enjoying a cheap ass stay in a two bedroom condo on the beach with several other adult women.

You see, in 2008 I organized a girl's weekend, and several of us vowed to make it a tradition. So every year, a group has gotten away for the weekend to just be complete idiots and not have to worry about everyday life (except last year because Fruity's husband Walnut got jealous and decided that he needed to go the hospital, the a-hole. And I was sarcastic, he totally didn't do that on purpose. I don't think so anyway.). This is the first year I've gotten to go since the original girl's trip, so I'm super excited to not be pregnant or nursing, or caring for my parents, which have all been the reasons I haven't made it for the other trips.

There will be drinking. There will be a lot of eating. There will be two bathrooms.

Now, I emphasize the two bathrooms part. There are going to be about 8 women. With two bathrooms.

I am probably the only person who thinks about stuff like this, but that really bothers me. Because I'm an 'expect the best but prepare for the worst' kind of girl, I always go over the crap that can go wrong. Since I have been cursed with some sort of travel jinx, I am confident that something will go wrong.

So here's what is worrying me - what if we all get food poisoning or some horrible tummy bug that culminates not as vomiting, which can be done into a garbage can or a bush, but as diarrhea?

Can you imagine? All these women needing to potty with diarrhea flowing out of our anal orifices? Oh my God, it would be horrible!!

I already told Fruity that if it happens, first off I may cut someone to claim a toilet for myself. Or just use a sink. But since I don't really want to go to jail, and I doubt a judge would sympathize with needing to poo being a reason for assault and battery, and I cannot see myself propped up on a sink going potty, I think I would probably just go sit in the ocean if I couldn't find a bathroom elsewhere in the hotel. Folks, you must always have a plan. Girl Scouts, project management and parenting taught me that.

And yes, I think about stuff like this because I know people that have encountered things such as this. Nothing amuses and horrifies like a shitting yourself story, and I've heard several absolutely horrible yet hilarious ones. The one that makes me think about having 2 bathrooms with all these women was a story told to me by a friend who spent some time on an Indian reservation in a small one bathroom house with several people and they all got E. Coli. Needless to say, the woods were used and there were a lot of dirty clothes that got thrown out.

And we've all seen Bridesmaids.

I literally do not wish for this shit to happen.

So yes, I think about stuff like that.

Everyone please pray that my travel jinx does not strike this weekend and that we enjoy mild weather and no unexpected mass poo incidents.

Oh, and please pray that I don't get stung by a horde of angry jellyfish. I realize that it's a random request, but trust me, if something can go wrong, it will. It would be my luck to wind up in the hospital with severe jellyfish stings.

Country Song

2012-09-17T06:00:00.000-04:00

I have decided to write a country song. Since I was cheated on by my husband, that's what I'm going to write about.

It's been 7 months since I discovered the indiscretion, and I've had lots of time to mull over what he saw in the other woman. So I decided to write a song about it. Well, actually it's just song lyrics, because I cannot write music. Imagine some acoustic-guitar track with someone like Tammy Wynette or Loretta Lynn singing. And if anyone wants to write some music for me, I will surely sing this shit and put it on YouTube.

I'll even dress like Loretta Lynn to sing my song on YouTube.

What's She Got That I Don't?

I been thinkin' 'bout what he saw in her
That I don't have
Cause I can't see how that skank is
Better than me

But I think I figured it out and now I'm
feeling better about
How I couldn't compete with
someone so lowly

I asked myself
What's she got that I don't?
And the answer was very clear
I'm about to tell you, dear

Chorus:

She's got little tiny boobs and jacked up teeth
Poor hygiene and bunions on her feet
A low IQ and really bad hair
A thick mustache and a mouth like a mare

So no matter what happened
You see, I'm okay
Cause I just can't compete
With that kind of dame

A part of me feels sorry for her, cause I know
What she'll be getting
Another part thinks she's gettin' exactly
What she deserves

Cause when you fool around with another
Woman's man
And you look like you belong
In a garbage can

Don't be surprised
When she divines
What she lacks
That you've got...

Chorus:

No sense of humor and bad BO
A face like a donkey and a butt that hangs low
Really bad breath and eyes that are crossed
A figure like a barrel and the nickname of Hoss

So no matter what happened
You see, I'm okay
Cause I just can't compete
With that kind of dame

No I just can't compete with

A flat saggy bottom and a nose like a beak
Illiteracy and a personality that's meek
Bad taste in music and fungus on her toes
Two boyfriends and big hairs that stick out of her nose

No, I just can't compete with that

So, is it too much?

And I'd like to add the disclaimer that I have never met any of the so-called girlfriends, and this is just for fun, and doesn't accurately portray any of the women who have been boinking my husband while we are still married. I just put into words what all jilted women think when this shit happens. Classy? Probably not. Do I care? Absolutely not.

Things Overheard at the Lady Parts Doctor

2012-09-12T06:52:00.003-04:00

So I haven't blogged in a while. Between school starting back, back-to-school illnesses, extracurricular activities and just life in general, things have been crazy. Add to that the fact that I have somehow turned into a decent housekeeper, where I am actually CLEANING on a regular basis instead of just letting the shit pile up, and you can understand why I haven't blogged much.

But never fear, I'm back for a quick blog today. I can't promise when I'll blog again, though.

The other day I went to the gyno for my yearly checkup. I am still technically married, as we haven't filed for divorce yet. There are several reasons why this hasn't happened. I mean, it's not like I REALLY want to stay married to the butthole. Trust me, I don't. However, divorce is expensive. And I'm broke as hell. Plus, with Christmas coming up, I really cannot afford to siphon money from the kid's Christmas fund to pay for the divorce. And one of the main reasons that I am okay with the delay is that when the divorce is final, I lose my insurance.

Dudes, I am a sickly person. I catch everything that goes around. Everything. Not only am I sickly, I am one of the clumsiest bitches I know. I tore a ligament in my foot when I tripped on absolutely nothing once. Okay, not once...try 4 times. I get fever blisters, and about the only thing that stops them is Herpes meds, the lovely Valtrex. That stuff ain't cheap. So, as much as I really want to be divorced and not legally linked to the man whom I lovingly refer to as the Wanker, I just cannot afford to do it right now. At least until I find gainful employment that actually pays me AND gives me insurance.

Anyway, I was able to go to the gyno for my yearly checkup because I'm still married and still have insurance.

I had to take Little Stinker with me. It would have been preferable to leave him with Paw Paw, but he was in such a foul mood that day, and not really able to watch the kiddo, so I just took him along. Thankfully, he fell asleep so I was certain he'd nap in his stroller for the whole visit so I wouldn't have to worry about him wondering what the strange man was doing to mommy's privates.

But, alas, he woke up before we even got into a room. I was definitely worried how this was going to go down.

They put me in a room, so I changed into the lovely open-front gown with the lap drape. As soon as I got the gown on, Little Stinker announced that he had to poop.

Awesome. I'm half nekkid, at the lady parts doctor, and my potty-training 3 year old has to poo. Luckily, my doctor's office is awesome and the rooms have a bathroom - each room is joined to another room by a bathroom. All I had to do was put Little Stinker on the potty and lock the door to the other room so no half-naked strange lady walked into the bathroom while he was trying to evacuate his bowels.

He gets on the potty and starts straining away. About a minute later, the doctor comes into the room.

Here I was, standing there in the door of the bathroom with my toddler on the pot and my doctor ready to examine my junk. Hmmm....

I counted this as some divine happenings. As long as Little Stinker stayed on the pot for the exam, I didn't have to worry about him running around or getting all traumatized by seeing the doc all up in my bizness.

The doctor goes about his exam...ladies, you know the drill. Men, unless you're an awesome husband and go with your wife to the lady doc or unless you're an OB/GYN, you probably think it's a sexy-type thing. Trust me, it's not. It's awkward. Here is this person getting intimate with your lady parts, first with the breast exam then with the pelvic exam (in my case, no one's been intimate with my lady parts in a very long time, so it was extra awkward), and you do NOT want to make eye contact. You're worried about things like there being pieces of toilet paper on your womanly hair, and thinking how mortifying it would be if you were suddenly accosted with a giant gas bubble and farted. I am a joke-cracker in awkward situations, but I do not want to crack a joke and make myself laugh, because I'm lying on a table with all of my jiggly belly laid out for the doctor and nurse to see, and if I laugh, that shit will move. So I stare at the ceiling, the wall, anything but the doctor and nurse, and silently pray for no farting.

As I'm laying there getting molested for medical reasons, I hear a tentative 'Mommy?' from the bathroom. The door is cracked, and my little blue-eyed monster is still taking a crap. He doesn't give me time to answer him and yells really loudly, 'Mommy!!! Come wipe my BUTT!!'.

At that, the doctor and nurse both crack up. I abandon my belly jiggle worry and crack up myself (and no, I did not fart, thank God). The doctor said that is certainly something you don't hear in his office and said that it just made his day. As he and the nurse left the room, they were both still smiling and giggling to themselves.

Before I got dressed, I had to go and wipe my kid's butt. I am just so grateful that he waited on me to do it and didn't try to do it himself. At home, it's a disastrous mess of shit when he has attempted to wipe his own ass. It is gag-inducing, even for me, who has an iron stomach. So thankfully he was good and sat there and did his business, then patiently waited for me to wipe him.

Kids can be a pain in the butt sometimes, but they're definitely good for a few laughs and aren't so terrible when they're behaving properly.

The Drought is Over

2012-08-29T06:52:00.001-04:00

So, breaking news here, folks. Even bigger than Ivan the dead Atlanta gorilla and the NOLA levees.

My hometown is now a wet place.

Nope, I don't mean it's raining.

For billions of years, the town in which I grew up was dry. There was a drought of epic proportions.

And again, I'm not talking about rain.

And I'm exaggerating about the billions of years part. Of course it wasn't billions of years. Unless you believe that a small town in Alabama predates everything else, then yes, I mean billions of year. And you, sir or ma'am, are a moron.

So anyway, the town has been dry since we moved there when my dad retired from the Memphis Fire Department in 1984. Of course, it was dry prior to that as well, but that's where my history with the town begins.

Now, for a little vocabulary.

In this instance, when I say 'wet', I mean that you are able to purchase alcohol. 'Dry' means that there is no alcohol sales allowed, and you're in trouble if you even get caught with it, be it in your house or vehicle.

In order to purchase alcohol, people had to go to another county for years. Several area counties allowed one to purchase alcohol, so people would drive to other places to buy their weekend binge drinking supplies.

With my hometown having a population of just over 4,000 people, that's a lot of tax dollars going to other counties.

A couple of years ago (or maybe it was just last year, I can't remember the exact date), almost every single town AROUND the town voted to go wet. So you could drive 7 miles to a big metropolis of 2,000 and buy yourself a beer, but you couldn't do it in my hometown. Which was rather crazy.

Plus, the place is like that little town in Footloose. You know, the one where no one can dance EVER. And if you do, it's a SIN of the WORST kind!!!! Yeah, that's how my hometown is about drinking. Being right smack dab in the middle of the bible belt and all. Which means that there are a lot of very religious folks there who do not believe drinking is part of the Godly lifestyle.

I can't argue with that, as I tip my wineglass up to my mouth and down a 1/2 cup of Moscato in one sip.

Seriously, though, I'm not drinking wine at 6:30 am. I promise I'm really not. It was a joke. I don't drink until at least 8 am.

Again, that was a joke, people.

So I digress. I haven't had my coffee.

It really is in the middle of the bible belt. People there really are super religious, many of them members of my extended family.

But now, people who've been drinking privately for years, who have been wasting all that money on expensive petrol to drive over 30 miles one way to buy it or who have been paying 150% above market value to visit the local bootleggers in the middle of the night to purchase their spirits so that no one who is taken with the Holy Spirit will see them, can now simply walk into a gas station or liquor store (if they are allowing liquor sales, that is), and proudly put their case of Natty Light up on the counter and be confident that their money is now going back into the city.

Then the clerk at the gas station will call her best friend, who will call her third cousin, who will call her 5th stepchild's previous stepmother, who will call her daughter's pregnant 12 year old friend, who will call her baby-daddy's mama, who will call HER mama, who will call the preacher of the church, so that on Sunday, the entire congregation of the church will know that Billy Bob bought a case of beer at the store on Friday afternoon. And bonus, not only does Billy Bob NOW have a case of super tasty Natural Light to consume, he also has an entire congregation of people praying for the salvation of his eternal soul.

Win. And Win.

Now my only question is whether or not the city is going to set up a fund for all of the unemployed bootleggers?

Oh, wait, I know, they'll recruit those guys to be on the police department, so that they will know exactly who to go after to bust those folks who participate in underage drinking and dole out the DUIs freely.

Friendship

2012-08-28T08:46:00.000-04:00

This morning I'm contemplating friendship.

Recently, I have 'fallen out' with someone whom I considered a close friend. I honestly don't know why we fell out. I've analyzed it and analyzed it, and I just can't seem to find one specific reason. We just stopped talking.

That's not entirely true. I know what she did to make me stop talking to her - I won't get into it here. But I can't figure out what I did to make her act the way she did towards me. I mean, I'm obnoxious, I take over conversations, I dominate almost everything that I do, but that's just my personality. If you've been friends with me for a long time, you know this about me and accepted it a LONG time ago, since the good outweighs the bad. Although I don't consider that crap bad - I consider it being awesome. I can't help it that my personality is just too big to contain. And that was sarcastic, in case you missed that. I guess you could consider the overuse of humor and sarcasm another personality flaw, but I just consider that another level of awesomeness.

We weren't mere acquaintances, either. We'd gone on trips together, done each other favors, spent time with each other's families, planned parties together. Our husbands were close friends, and we remained close even after I separated from the ex.

But something happened.

I'll say it again. I just can't quite put my finger on what happened.

People change. Sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse. Priorities change, values can even change. Often, friendships cannot handle these changes. Maybe that's what happened. I honestly don't know.

Whatever happened, though, I wish her well. I want only the best for her, I and I am thankful for our friendship.

But here's the thing...I'm not heartbroken over it. Sure, I'm contemplative and I'm over-analyzing it, but let's face it, I contemplate and over-analyze why the diesel exhaust from school buses make me sick. I over-analyze how gross cockroaches are. In other words, I'm just that kind of person.

Sure, I want to know why, because I always want to know why, but in the grand scheme of things, I'm not all that bothered. And I'm pretty certain she feels the same way.

Of course, I've stopped talking to friends before, but I can't say that it's ever happened as an adult. I think high school was the last time I actually stopped talking to a friend due to something petty. I mean, I'm grown now - I'm an effective communicator, and if I have a problem with someone, I am capable of telling them, and I expect the same from them. But in this case, I didn't really have a specific problem, and if she did, she never voiced it to me. She might have said things to others, but not to me.

Now, there are some friends, if we stopped talking and had a falling out, I would be in mourning. Seriously. It would be like someone died.

If Fruity and I stopped talking, I think I would wear black for at least a year. Maybe more. If Aubie Lover and I had a huge fight, during which she yelled that she hated me and never wanted to speak to me again, and meant it, I would cry for months. We actually did have a HUGE argument about 10 years ago, and didn't speak for about 2 months, and it was horrible. Horrible. If Rebel Grill decided that she no longer needed me in her life, I would need to go on an antidepressant. There are so many friends whom I just CANNOT live without, that the loss of them in my life would be devastating. Even though I don't physically live close to most of them, I can pick up the phone, or text them, or send them something on Facebook, and we pick up our friendship right where we left off. We support each other no matter what.

I think if I broke up with one of my best girlfriends, it would be infinitely worse than getting divorced. These girls are my lifeline, my support, my morale-boosters, my sounding board - without my friends, I do not know what I would do.

These are the girls who take the 'sisters before misters' unspoken girlfriend vow seriously. My girls know who they are. I don't have any sisters (at least none that I was raised with because I do have one out there somewhere), but these beautiful, wonderful, smart, funny ladies are my sisters. They say blood is thicker than water, but I disagree. I CHOSE these women to be in my life, and they CHOSE me to be in theirs. It's not a bond by default, it's a bond that we choose to cultivate.

I love my girlfriends (no, pervs, not like that), and am so thankful for all of them. I'm even thankful for the one that I recently lost, because as they say, people come into your life for a lifetime, a reason or a season. At least I think that's what it says. I'm too lazy to open a new window and Google it to be sure. Anyway, my point with that is that our season was simply over.

And speaking of friendships, I definitely have the type of friends who can be counted on to save me if I do something incredibly stupid, such as this. And they can count on me as well.

Although not politically correct, and I don't approve of the use of the word retarded, this sums up my friendships.

My Favorite Things

2012-08-24T06:00:00.000-04:00

I don't know about you guys, but I cannot have 'favorite things'.

Julie Andrews singing 'My Favorite Things' in The Sound of Music. Since those weren't her biological kids, she was probably able to keep having favorite things.

Everything that I buy for myself as a treat, neither my children nor my father ever let me have it. If I proclaim, 'This is for me. Please do not eat it,' it will quickly be gobbled up and I may have 2 or 3 crumbs left.

My mother used to say that as soon as she decided she liked or wanted something, my dad would get rid of it or claim it as his own. I never believed her - I thought it was just something bad she was making up about him. Now I believe her.

If I really really like the way I have something decorated, he will change it. If I tell him not to do something, he will be certain to do it, even if it injures him to do so. And if I say, 'Hey, daddy, I'm on a high protein diet. This greek yogurt, these high protein granola bars and all this stuff that says high protein on it are all for that. Could you please not eat it?', later that day it will ALL be eaten.

I am not exaggerating.

When I was growing up, my brothers were also like this. If I ever got anything, they wanted it. If I said I liked something, they destroyed it. I dressed kind of like a tomboy as a teenager, but I had to buy frilly socks to keep my brothers from stealing them. They still took them and wore them with the damn ruffles on the top. Once I bought a shirt that said 'I'm the Big Sister'. With a pink dinosaur on it with a big purple bow on its head. They wore it.

I shit you not. My teenage brothers wore my 'I'm the Big Sister' dinosaur shirt. With the frilly socks.

Assholes.

My children are the same way.

When I declare that something is only for mommy, and could they please not eat it, that is all they think about.

They will constantly bug me about giving them some of the forbidden treat. No matter where I hide it, they will find it. And they will also tell their Paw Paw because they know he'll hunt it down with his 'my-daughter-really-likes-something-so-I-must-have-it' nose and give them anything left after HE gets through eating it.

It drives me crazy.

I love lemon cookies. They are one of my weaknesses. I could eat a whole box of them in about 3 seconds flat.

Yesterday I bought a box of lemon cookies. I got a few out and was munching on them when all 3 kids came up to me and asked for some.

The last time I had lemon cookies, they said they were gross. But last time I didn't say that they were only for me. So of course, they weren't desirable.

This time, I told them right off the bat that these were just for mommy.

Oh. My. God. Those kids went crazy trying to get the cookies.

The cookies, that they compared to dog turds last time, were the most delicious things they had ever eaten.

By the time I went to the gym and came back, they had eaten all of them. I had put them on the top of the fridge, behind a bunch of stuff, so that no one would see them. But they still did. Both kids who stayed home with Paw Paw had powdered sugar all over their clothes and even Paw Paw had the tell-tale signs of eating my lemon cookies with powdered sugar on his shirt. Plus the empty box of cookies was by his bed.

I have now learned my lesson. I will never proclaim anything as 'just mine'. From now on, if it's something that I want to eat, I will say that I hate it and that I only bought it for them.

Since they don't seem to want to eat anything that is specifically for them, they won't touch it. Except my dad. He seriously eats everything there is. So I just won't even let him see it. I had to hide a pan of brownies in my room last week so that the kids would have what was left as their after-school snack. And he got all pouty and butthurt when he went looking for them and I said that I put them up because the kids wanted them after school and there weren't enough left for him to have any more (he had THREE the night before). I later caught him in my room trying to find them.

And speaking of things that are my 'favorite things' that I no longer get to do since having kids, all of you moms and dads out there can probably relate to the list of those things:

~ Using the potty without someone either staring at you or trying to give you a hug

~ Talk on the phone without a child going into DEFCON mode

~ Take a long bubble bath without a child trying to get in the tub with you

~ Walk in a room without stepping on a Lego, Barbie, Hot Wheels or any other toy/object that will either stab the bottom of your foot or cause you to fall and break your neck

~ Being able to watch TV without it being on kid's shows all day long

There are lots of other things, but you get the drift.

I love my kids (and my dad), but sometimes I just shake my head at their logic. It's like Field of Dreams, but instead of 'if you build it they will come', it's 'if you like it they will come...and take it from you'.

And I know I sound kinda whiny about not ever having anything to myself, and I guess I AM kinda whiny. But after a lifetime of rarely being able to have anything just for me, I don't think a freaking box of lemon cookies that I can eat over a week's time is too much to ask, do you?

Real Men VS Real Women

2012-08-22T09:18:00.003-04:00

Have you all read this article?

http://shine.yahoo.com/beauty/15-biggest-beauty-turnoffs-real-guys-150900080.html

Click it, it will open in a new window.

That article really pissed me off. It makes those men sound like whiny douchebags.

Jezebel did a funny rebuttal piece on it.

http://jezebel.com/5936323/listen-up-ladies-heres-everything-real-men-think-is-wrong-with-you

As I was reading the original article, I decided that I wanted to do a post about 15 turn-offs from REAL WOMEN. But since I'm the only woman whose input is going into this thing, I guess it's just 15 turn-offs from ONE real woman. And since I have co-habitated with two men, had several boyfriends prior to getting married, and grew up with lots of brothers and male cousins, I have a lot of experience with men. And yes, I know that the sentence I just typed sounds like I'm a ho. But you know what I mean.

And keep in mind that it's along the same tone as the original article. You know, kind of whiny and full of unrealistic expectations.

Amazingly, this didn't make the list.

1. "It gets on my nerves when the man whose children I grew inside my body, birthed and nursed - all for a total of 7 years having my body being responsible for the nurturing of ANOTHER body - cheats on me when I go out of town to get a break in the aftermath of my brother's overdose. That really blows."

(I really couldn't help but include that one.)

2. "When he takes a shower, his body hair gets all over the shower, the bathroom floor - everywhere! Why can't he just get laser hair removal so that he just won't have any body hair to shed?'

3. "Sometimes he gets drunk and passes out, then later he has to pee, so he gets up in the middle of the night and pees on things that aren't the toilet. Like the bathroom wall. Or the nightstand. OR the curtains. Or a drawer full of clothes. Or the laundry hamper. Or me."

4. "I can't stand it when he farts in bed then lets the fart percolate for a while, then lifts the covers up so that I almost pass out from the fart smell."

5. "After showering, he stands in front of the mirror and flexes his muscles, thinking to himself how awesome he is. I really wish he wouldn't do that, because it makes him look like a total douchehole."

6. "I hate it when men wear any type of fragrance, including deodorant. I like natural scent. Especially after a grueling workout or hours in the hot sun mowing the grass and doing yard work. When he lifts his arm, thus exposing his armpit to the world, I don't want to smell Evergreen Glades or Sandalwood, heck no! I want to be able to use his armpit smell as a smelling salt that can resuscitate me if I pass out!"

7. "Too many tattoos just really look bad. I mean, sleeves are fine. Up the neck and even that one on his forehead looks good. But the one on his nether-regions is going too far. Same with piercings."

8. "It really turns me off when a guy shaves his head. But then again, I don't like to see any receding hairlines or male-pattern baldness. I also don't like to see a guy like Robert Pattinson with terribly unruly hair. Yet when he does his hair and wears product in it, he seems like a sissy-man. I really don't like long hair either. Or short hair. Or in-between hair. Oh, and don't get me started on toupees or Hair Club for Men shit. So I don't like hair on the head at all, in any way. Matter of fact, can all men just chop off their heads at the neck? That would be totes awesome. Unless he's wearing a mullet. THAT shit is classy."

9. "He is constantly leaving the top loose on the salt and pepper shakers so that when I pick them up, salt and pepper spill all over the table, which makes him laugh hysterically."

10. "I absolutely hate it when I'm trying to get in the car on the passenger side and he lets the car roll forward a little. He thinks it's the funniest thing ever. It's not."

11. "Nose picking is the worst. I wish he wouldn't sit in front of the TV and absent-mindedly dig for gold, flicking the treasures wherever they may land."

12. "When he complains about how low-maintenance I am, it makes me what to stab him in the eyeballs with my fingers (I would say nails, but I have bitten them off and they're too short to do any damage, since I'm so low-maintenance and all)."

13. "It really aggravates me when I get dressed up and look pretty damn good, yet he doesn't say anything to me. Then he tells his sister how hot she is."

14. "Man-math is ridiculous. When he says he's had 3 beers, I know that translates into 3 times 5 beers."

15. "I really can't stand it when a man wears more makeup than I do. I mean, I know he's a drag queen and all, but Geesh! Can't he tone it down a little bit? Dressing up like Liza Minnelli at the PTA meeting really pisses me off."

And there you have it. The 15 biggest turn-offs (beauty and otherwise) from one real woman. Take note fellas.

Garbage Day

2012-08-09T08:57:00.002-04:00

I just totally forgot it was garbage day. I was sitting here working on a blog post about my ideal man, when the dog starts barking and I hear the garbage truck.

Normally, the garbage doesn't run around here until after 11, so usually I'll put the garbage out about 9 or 10. I've lived here 6 months, and not once has it run before 11. So I was taken by surprise when I heard it at 8:00 am.

Any other time, I would have just let it go until the next week. But they didn't get our garbage last week due to them trying to take the payment out of the wrong account, so we REALLY needed to have the garbage picked up as both the garbage and recycling cans were overflowing.

I still have on the clothes that I slept in, which consists of a blue yoga tank and a purple pair of Umbros (you know, those soccer shorts that were so popular in the 90s).

I had on these exact Umbros. They weren't even cute when they were popular nearly 2 decades ago.

And I had on almost this exact same yoga tank. With no other chest support. While having a set of DDs crammed into the built-in shelf bra.

My hair is unbrushed and is going EVERYWHERE. When I hear the truck, I immediately try to throw on some shoes. Unfortunately, all of my flip flops are upstairs in my room. Based on how quickly I can hear the truck emptying the cans, there is no way I would have been able to make it upstairs, find some shoes, then come back down and take the garbage & recycling cans out to the curb, which is quite some way from my house.

So I run out the door, barefoot, and grab the garbage can. I begin to run it up the driveway, when I glance out past my neighbor's yard and see that it's the recycling truck instead of the garbage truck. So I leave the garbage can in the middle of the private road that leads to my house, run back and grab the recycling can.

I run it out to the road.

It's 8 am. I am barefoot. And running. In my yoga tank. Thank GOD I slept in that, because otherwise I would have had no boobal support at all. The only drawback is that I am wearing a tight yoga tank with my boobs hanging out as I run, pushing my recycling bin up the hill and back down to get to the main road where the garbage must be picked up.

I made it to the curb just as the guy picked up the bin on the other side of the street. I was out of breath from running with a 90 pound recycling bin up and down a hill. I could barely breathe, and he saw me running like zombies were chasing me, with my boobs going everywhere.

As he took the can from me, he was openly staring at my cleavage. Awe. Some. At least I know all of the working out is paying off and I'm open-mouth-stare-worthy.

Thank goodness I got the can to him in time. And I got the garbage can out to the curb for when the actual garbage runs. I went to my neighbor's house across the road and checked their can to make sure it still had garbage in it, but if they were looking out the window, they just saw some half-dressed barefoot lady with crazy hair peeking into their garbage can. I hope they don't recognize me when I look normal so that I won't always be remembered as the garbage can peeper.

And next week I vow to start putting the garbage out the night before so that this shit does not have to happen again.

Quotes

2012-07-31T06:00:00.000-04:00

I saw something the other day that kind of bothered me. Okay, lots of things bother me. But this bothered me enough to write about it.

It was this:

Now, this looks really offensive. But it's not what she actually tweeted on Twitter.

The actual tweet was: anyone who eats S*** Fil-A deserves to get the cancer that is sure to come from eating antibiotic filled tortured chickens 4Christ.

Now, I'm not going to weigh-in on the big Chick-Fil-A debate about gay marriage. I've blogged about gay marriage before. You can go read that post if you're wondering about my stance. And I already boycotted Chick-Fil-A because I'm poor and have 3 kids and can't afford to eat there. That was a joke by the way. They're a privately held company, not a publicly traded one. That closes on Sunday. And that makes you prove that you're an active member of your CHRISTIAN church before you are even considered for a franchise. Anyone who is surprised that they are against gay marriage needs an open palm to the forehead.

And I do not think that what Roseanne Barr said was very sensitive. Cancer is not something that anyone 'deserves', and she was wrong to say those particular words. My stepmother passed away from cancer 2 years ago - it's hard to find someone who has not been affected by cancer. It was definitely not a well-thought-out tweet, and it was still offensive. But the misquote put on the meme was much more offensive than the full tweet. She is outspoken and opinionated, though, so of course she was going to chime in on the debate and not care if it was offensive. She's always been like this.

But this little meme here shows how anyone can be misquoted and how shit can just be made up. It brought to mind this quote:

He is so wise.

For those who don't know, Abe Lincoln has been dead for quite some time. Unless you believe the book 'Abraham Lincoln Vampire Hunter'. According to it, he's a vampire and is still around. But I'm pretty sure that's fiction, so there's no way he could have said this. Unless of course, Doc Brown went back in the DeLorean and got this quote from him. But then again, I'm pretty sure 'Back to the Future' was fiction as well.

Anything someone says can be taken out of context, misquoted or just plain fabricated. Take these quotes, for example:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mitt Romney said this: Dependency is...initiative,...risk-taking and opportunity. It's time to stop...government...and fight it like the poison it is.

Wow. He hates government? What an a-hole.

But that's not what he really said. What he really said is this: Dependency is death to initiative, to risk-taking and opportunity. It's time to stop the spread of government dependency and fight it like the poison it is.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Barack Obama said this: I...am...in favor of gay marriage...it just seems to me that's...what America's about...

So our President believes that America is all about gay marriage. The Conservatives were right!

No, he actually said this: I believe marriage is between a man and a woman. I am not in favor of gay marriage. But when you start playing around with constitutions, just to prohibit somebody who cares about another person, it just seems to me that's not what America's about. Usually, our constitutions expand liberties, they don't contract them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I believe it was Angelina Jolie who said this: Why would I adopt an American baby? I want to run the United Nations one day with all of the kids that I adopt from every single country.

Really, Angelina? Wow.

And that was also horseshit. I just made that up. She absolutely did not say that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My point is, I can put ANY of those quotes, and countless other made up or misquoted stuff, on one of those memes or ecards, and post it online, and somebody will believe it. If you see a quote on something, you really need to google that crap to see if it's complete or even true before you start commenting on it.

We're in the age of information and technology, and most of the time it's a wonderful thing. But sometimes it just means that we're able to spread ignorance much faster. And I don't know about you guys, but ignorance, especially when it's due to laziness, just ticks me off.

Magic Mike Made me Cry

2012-07-30T06:00:00.000-04:00

I am a movie-crier. I cry at all sorts of movies. Sometimes I cry at movies that aren't meant to be tear-jerkers.

I cried during The Hand That Rocks the Cradle (a thriller), because Ernie Hudson's character was accused of abusing the little girl when he really didn't do it.

Rebecca De Mornay as the creepy nanny.

I cried during Big Daddy (a comedy) because the little boy looked just like my youngest brother and it made me think of a time period when I didn't get to see him for a while when he was little, and we were very close, and it nearly broke my heart.

One of the Sprouse twins from Big Daddy. My brother D looked just like him when he was little.

Now I can add one more movie that's not meant to inspire tears to my list.

Magic Mike.

Yep. The movie about male strippers.

There is a scene (spoiler alert) where Alex Pettyfer's character overdoses and nearly chokes on his own vomit and his sister finds him.

Alex Pettyfer, aka The Kid. Obviously this is not the OD scene.

This really hit close to home for me. First, I lost my brother to a drug overdose in November. The last memory I have of him is seeing him lying dead on the floor of a motel room. Second, I actually saved his life about a decade ago by giving him CPR when he overdosed the first time.

So when I was watching the movie, I never in a million years expected to be blindsided by something like that. I mean, it's a movie about STRIPPERS. There's all sorts of hot guys, stripping, there's several sets of boobs, there's hot guy ass, there's some comedy, there's sex, sure there are drugs. Then BOOM! The sister comes over to Mike's house looking for her brother and finds him lying in a pool of his own vomit, unresponsive.

The tears just started flowing. I couldn't stop them, although I desperately tried. I'm so glad that I'm a serial napkin thief, so I had plenty in my purse (for the record, I always get a lot of napkins for the kids when we eat out anywhere, and if I don't use the ones that I've gotten, I just put them in my purse so that I'll have some for later if the kids spill crap all over themselves or need to wipe boogers on something other than me).

As I was sitting there crying, in Magic Mike, I thought to myself how stupid it was that I was crying. In Magic Mike. I was really embarrassed, even though I know I had no reason to be embarrassed.

I then texted RebelGrill and asked her why in the heck she didn't tell me about that scene. I was teasing her - I totally do not expect everyone to warn me about everything that will make me think about my dead brother. But it was pretty funny that I was crying in a movie that had this in it:

Seriously, how could I cry when THIS SHIT was happening???

Later that night, Little Stinker came up to me and said, 'Mommy, please don't die'. I assured him that I wasn't going to die anytime soon (tempting fate, I know, but what else can you say to a 3 year old to calm them down?). Then he crossed his arms and got this really lost look on his face and said, 'Mommy, me can't love uncle J anymore cause he dead'. I just started sobbing even more. He had no idea what had happened at the movie, and I don't know what triggered these thoughts, but I just told him that just because Uncle J is gone doesn't mean that we can't love him, and that we'll always miss him. Then his little bottom lip poked out and he started crying harder than he's cried in a long time. I just held him and patted his little back, giving him kisses. He finally stopped crying and said he missed Uncle J. Obviously I was meant to have a little grief revival that day, and even my Little Stinker helped me out with it.

As J-Gar said on one of my Facebook posts, 'The absolute worst grieving is that which takes you by surprise...holidays, you expect...death dates, duh...but when you run into his third grade teacher at wal mart...WHAM...your are done for...'. And she is so right. I expected to grieve when July 6th rolled around and it would have been J's 31st birthday. I expected to grieve at Christmas. I expect to grieve on my niece's birthday, which is the day he died. But I never in a million years expected to have a fit of grieving while watching a movie about strippers.

And I guess that's why I felt so stupid crying at this movie. But then again, I cried at an Adam Sandler movie, which I think qualifies as way dumber than Magic Mike.

Rolling on the River

2012-07-23T06:00:00.000-04:00

If you're a CCR or Ike & Tina fan, you'll recognize the title as the chorus to the song 'Proud Mary'. I was reminded of it last week when I took the kids tubing on the Chattahoochee (I actually had to google how to correctly spell that, because I'm an idiot) River with Red and her family.

The very same Chattahoochee as in this song, although I went to the Alpine Village of Helen. And I hope that this really is the song Chattahoochee - the speakers on my PC are broken, so I didn't get to listen to it. If it's playing Gangsta Rap by accident, I do apologize.

Tubing is supposed to be relaxing. You lay there, in your float, with the cool water lapping at your butt as it sits through the hole, using your stick to occasionally push yourself off of rocks and away from the sides. You meet new people, have fun, even stop for a dip where the water is deep.

From activerain.com. This is what it looks like to tube down the Hooch.

At least, you do all this if you're not tubing with a toddler.

My party had me, my 11 year old niece Mini-Me (she seriously looks more like me than my own kids do), Eldest Daughter, Pumpkin Pie and Little Stinker. Mini-Me and Eldest Daughter were strapped together in separate floats, and Pumpkin Pie was in her own float strapped to me. Little Stinker started off in Pumpkin Pie's float.

Mini-Me and Eldest Daughter did great. They had a lot of fun, and I rarely had to get onto them for doing anything stupid. Once or twice I got onto them for leaning over, and after Eldest Daughter fell out of her tube face-first into the river twice, she stopped doing that crap.

Pumpkin Pie did great. She listened to me, did everything correctly, and only once did I have to get onto her for leaning over the side. She didn't fall in once.

Little Stinker, on the other hand, was a holy fricking terror. Ho. Lee. Terror.

The first thing he did was jump from Pumpkin Pie's float to my float. While we were in rapids. When the floats weren't really that close together because the strap doesn't make them flush against each other. Needless to say, that didn't work out very well and I had to grab him by his arm to keep him from hitting rocks.

Then he got situated on my lap, and promptly decided that he wanted to go back to the other float.

The rest of the trip consisted of me yelling at him to SIT DOWN!! and DON'T LEAN OVER THE SIDE!! and OH MY GAWD WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU??.

He also asked, about 74 million times, 'Where my daddy?'. The last time we went tubing, which was last summer, he sat with his dad the entire time, and he has an exceptional memory, so he really wanted to sit with his daddy instead of me or his sister.

Then he started saying he was ready to go. And that he wanted to swim. Then he tried to jump off the float into the water. Then he started splashing water on me.

As I was getting dirty looks from all of the other river-goers who were trying to relax and couldn't because I was screaming at Little Stinker while he tried yet again to jump from one tube to the other, a mom floated by with a little boy about the same age, wearing the same exact life jacket that Little Stinker was wearing. The little guy was just sitting on his mom's lap, happily looking around at everyone, while his mom gossiped with the other ladies floating with her, looking relaxed.

I was jealous. Really jealous.

Because I didn't look relaxed at all. My hat was wet, because it fell off of my head as I tried to get back onto my float after having to get off it when I got stuck on a rock for the 94th time. I was sweaty, not from the heat, because it was actually a mild day, but because I had to take off running after I had gotten out of our float to help Mini-Me and Eldest Daughter, and the tie from our floats slipped out of my hand, and I had to run down the river, with all of those little slippery rocks underfoot, to catch it. Let me tell you, after just having gotten up out of the float, with a halter-style bathing suit, with big hooters, I was in jeopardy of having a nip slip. And I'm sure I was not attractive running since I was concerned about twisting my ankles and my boobs flopping out, not to mention worried about my 2 youngest kids floating off down the river without me.

I did catch up with them. But not until a big group of teenage girls got a big laugh out of me running. Those same teenage girls got to see me fall off into the river and knock my hat off of my head later, causing them to laugh more. I'm so glad I could provide entertainment to the next generation.

When we came up to the exit, both Pumpkin Pie and Little Stinker jumped off the floats. Pumpkin Pie did fine, but Little Stinker immediately went under the water, which made him start screaming, clinging to me so that I could barely get out of the river. Thank God Red was there to grab the floats and unhook them so we could get our flip flops and so I could handle the screaming toddler.

Red and her hubby Suomi looked very relaxed, although some of my luck had rubbed off on Red and she had gotten stuck several times. She still didn't have a very independent 3 year old playing tube chicken, so her trip down the river was considerably more relaxing than mine.

I told Red and Suomi that the next time I decide to go down the river with Little Stinker, I will be taking about 17 Xanaxes. They laughed and said that I'd probably be in the hospital instead of tubing.

That was my point.

I have decided that the next time I try to roll on the river, I will NOT be bringing Little Stinker. Hell, I may not ever bring the kids again, and instead get an extra float so that I can float my cooler of beer down. Then I'll pretend I'm a riverboat worker going from Memphis to New Orleans. But then again, the Proud Mary in Fogerty's song did burn (according to my interpretation of the lyrics, even though it either refers to smoking weed or coal burning to run the paddle wheel), so I guess tubing with a very active, stubborn 3 year old is better than dying in a horrible boat fire. But only marginally.

I'm a Momron

2012-07-19T06:00:00.000-04:00

I enjoy making up words. Typically, it does not happen on purpose. It usually happens when my brain works faster than my mouth, and I think of two or more synonyms and actually try to say all of them at the same time. This was always very funny when I worked and was in meetings with executives and came out with words like suretainly (sure + certainly) or absotively (absolutely + positively). Good times.

But I have a word that should totally be included in Webster's Dictionary. Momron. Mom + Moron.

I have a theory. All moms (at least those who possess a strong maternal instinct and who aren't Mommy Dearest types) become morons when our kids are born.

Before you hit the x button to close the page and defriend me on Facebook, hear me out. I have some good examples.

A couple of months ago I was at the zoo with my friend Red and her family. We were watching the gorillas.

This is a gorilla.

As we were standing there enjoying two female gorillas fight over a baby, a woman came up holding a baby, and she had several kids with her.

The lady was speaking quite eloquently. She obviously was not like this guy:

I TOTALLY wish I could take credit for this. But, alas, I cannot. I've seen it a lot on Facebook, so I have no idea where it originated.

When she got up to the barrier, she said, 'Awww, look at the pandas!'

Red and I looked at each other. These obviously weren't pandas. I mean, these are pandas:

Pandas look NOTHING like gorillas.

And she didn't just say it the one time. She kept referring to the gorillas as pandas.

Now, as much as I wanted to make fun of the lady, I just couldn't. Because it was obvious that she was a momron. She was at the zoo...with a lot of kids....trying not to kill one of them and maintain her sanity. It's hard to focus on crap like the actual name of an animal when you are holding a baby that is trying to shove the arm of your sunglasses in your eyeball and up your nose at the same time.

Besides, I had just called the meerkats muskrats and the otters eels. I was not one to pick fun at someone for not getting the right name. But in my defense, I did catch myself and called them the correct names after making fun of myself.

I display symptoms of momron-ness every day. Every. Single. Day.

I call my kids every name, including the dog's, until I get to the right one. I tell my kids to eat their foot instead of their food. I sometimes brew a cup of coffee in my Keurig without a cup under it. When I went to Florida, I almost missed my flight because I didn't read my boarding pass correctly (and I didn't even have any kids with me). I recently brushed my teeth with kid's toothpaste. I consistently forget where I lay my keys. I occasionally start the washer with no detergent in it. My organization skills used to be amazing - I was early with almost everything. Not anymore. I'm a month late filing my mom's guardianship paperwork and still haven't finished up my parent's taxes. I'm a momron.

My brain is always thinking about my kids. Plus I have the added stress of everything else that's happening in my life, which doesn't help. I mean, I certainly didn't expect to have all of these awesomely bad life experiences happen all at one time. You expect that you have a little break between them, not for them to be concurrent. So I'm sure that has contributed to my momron tendencies.

I am actually educated. I mean, I was voted most likely to succeed my senior year of high school. I went to a school my junior year of high school with the words math & science in the title. I attended college on a full academic scholarship for 4 years. I got into business school (yep, for my MBA) without actually taking any business classes prior to my acceptance. I am not an idiot. I am not a regular moron. But since having kids, I have morphed into a momron. Yeah, I was at one time really smart. I guess I am still really smart, but the parts of my brain that used to be concerned about intelligent stuff are now overtaken with worrying about where the pee smell is coming from and how much laundry I have to do and how many baths the kids can take before I actually have to scrub the tub and oh-my-God-did-I-forget-to-take-the-garbage-out-to-the-road and what-the-hell-did-I-just-step-on and...I totally forgot where I was headed with that train of thought.

So, yeah, I'm definitely a momron. And I'm okay with that. I'm hoping that when I go back to work that, at least for a few hours a day, my momron tendencies will vacate the premises so I can actually not be an idiot and perform my job well.

And if my momron-ness never leaves, at least I know that I'm a good mom. And if my kids grow up to be contributing members of society, I'll see that as a decent trade-off. That is, if my momron brain remembers who my kids are by the time they grow up.

I'm going to share this just because it fits right along with this blog post, although I cannot take credit for it. It further reinforces my thinking - how can you NOT be a momron when you have all this other crap going on??

Toddler Anatomy Lessons

2012-07-13T07:24:00.000-04:00

I didn't sleep much last night. Want to know why? Because my 3 year old, Little Stinker, has decided to do everything possible to delay going to sleep.

I tried rocking him. That did not work. He wound up sticking both of his fingers up my nose and then giving me dual wet willies (yep, with the nose fingers).

I tried putting him in his bed and reading to him until he got drowsy. That did not work. He wound up doing a head stand against my back while I tried to concentrate on 'Elmo Goes Potty'.

Then it was 11 o'clock, and I said screw it and put him in my bed.

For an hour...AN HOUR...he decided to touch every part of my body and ask, 'Is this your (a body part)?'.

Here's how it started.

He touched my forehead and asked, 'Is this your boobie?'

'No.'

He touched my arm and asked, 'Is this your boobie?'

'No.'

He touched my leg and asked, 'Is this your boobie?'

'No. Will you please close your eyes and go to sleep?'

'Me am closing my eyes, mommy!' 'Is this your boobie?', while touching my nose.

Sigh.

Finally I turned over, and he continued, but then he started asking if everything was my penis. I explained (for the 9,000,000th time) that I don't have a penis. 'Me know mommy. Me just checking'. Like maybe I suddenly grew one and he decided that I was hiding it somewhere else on my body. For a while I think he was convinced that my thumb was actually a penis and I was just lying about it.

Then he started asking if everything was my panties. Including my hair. Yes. Yes, son. I wear panties on my head.

Finally, he started asking questions further and further apart, and not so rapid-fire like he had been. After about 10 minutes, he finally dozed off.

When he did doze off, he turned completely sideways in the bed, with his feet at the base of my skull, and my big ass had a tiny little part of the bed.

Sigh again.

As much as I love that little guy, I am SO READY for him to sleep in his own bed. Although I'm sure I will miss his anatomy inquisition one day, right now I really need more sleep.

This is my little anatomy student. He better be glad he's cute.

Patriotism

2012-07-04T06:00:00.000-04:00

Okay, this post is about politics. The other day I blogged about religion. Now I'm blogging politics. Apparently I have turned into a 'shit-stirrer' in my old age. But, as with the religious post, I am going to say to everyone to keep it nice. I respect your political opinion (even if I think it's bullshit), and I expect you to respect mine (even though mine's not bullshit and yours is, unless you agree with me, then you're awesome). So, if you leave comments, please let's keep it on the adult side and be nice and respectful. And yes, I know this is a humor blog, but even though I'm a stay-at-home-mom, I am also educated and like to stay abreast of political happenings and can intelligently discuss them without punching someone in the face, even though I hate politics. Please forgive my foray into politics for today.

It's also the Fourth of July. So why not blog about Patriotism? And by the way, Happy Fourth of July to my fellow Americans! Be safe and have fun! Don't drink and shoot fireworks! Statistics show that 98% of firework accidents happen when someone says 'hold my beer and watch this'. Nah, I just made that up. But 98% of firework accidents that I've witnessed did actually start that way.

Now, for the actual blog post.

Regardless of whether or not you support our current President, you probably know the definition of patriotism.

Merriam-Webster defines patriotism as love for or devotion to one's country.

As one of my Facebook friends pointed out yesterday, 'It's [Patriotism] overused & so abused. Label something American & it's blasphemy if someone speaks against it.' This man is a recently disabled veteran, who is married to a former service member, so no one could call him unpatriotic.

So I replied with this, because I tend to agree with him: Except the President...apparently it's completely acceptable to trash talk him now.

So someone else replied back: It always has been acceptable, it's called freedom of speech.

Well, yes. And no. Freedom of Speech and Patriotism are two different things. If you're a 'patriot', then you love our country and are devoted to it. Freedom of Speech, on the other hand, is your right to publicly express your opinion.

Let's take a look back at the George W. Bush presidency. Not everyone agreed with him. Some celebrities, even from Texas, didn't agree with him. Take Natalie Maines, the Dixie Chick. She said something about W once, and the public backlash was so bad, radio stations all over the country stopped playing their songs. Why? 'Station managers said their decisions were prompted by calls from irate listeners who thought criticism of the president was unpatriotic.' That is a direct quote from an article about it on CNN.com.

So, she wasn't being patriotic.

However, WAY more celebrities are speaking out against Obama. And there is no crying out of anyone being 'unpatriotic'. And Natalie Maines simply said that she was embarrassed that W was from Texas. It wasn't even anything bad. Here's what Bruce Johnston, one of the lead singers for the Beach Boys said recently, 'Americans will be "f**ked" if Barack Obama gets re-elected. Obama's an a**hole.' That's pretty bad. Outright saying that our country will be fucked and calling him an asshole.

You can find way more celebrity quotes speaking out against Obama on this website (I neither deny or confirm that I am a conservative, it's just where I did my celebrity quote research): idahoconservativeblogger.com.

Now, I don't see this whole thing as freedom of speech. I see it as a double standard.

And before you start crying foul, saying that Saturday Night Live makes fun of all Presidents, I will concede that you are right. However, I hardly think they count, as they make fun of EVERYBODY. Obama included. And let's face it, Ferrell as George W was absolutely hilarious.

Best SNL parody ever. Ferrell was great as the bumbling W.

Part of me hopes against hope that in this day and age it's not about race, but I think race certainly has something to do with it. And if Hillary Clinton had been elected as the Democratic candidate, I have a feeling that gender would have something to do with it if she were in office and getting the same treatment from the press. And the President cannot be blamed for all of the bad things happening within our government. No President can effectively run a country with a bi-partisan house. I think many 'Patriotic Americans' need to go back and take a middle school course on Civics to remember how our government is actually run. There's this whole system called 'checks and balances' that most people seem to have forgotten. The President does not have true absolute power, and if he did, he would not be a President, he would be a Dictator. And we would be a Communist country rather than a Democratic one. Unfortunately, when times are bad, as they are now in our country, someone has to be blamed, instead of us working together to actually make things better. So of course, the fingers automatically point to our leader.

How do we look to other countries? We must look ridiculous! We elected this man to lead us, and instead of supporting our government, we go to social media and spew obscenities about our government (not just the President, but the other two branches as well). Aren't we supposed to be the most powerful country in the world? Our own infighting makes us look as bad as Italy did when their economy fell. All we need now is for an intern to show up with a cigar and a stained blue dress.....oh...wait....wrong President.

I say that we stop with the name-calling against the President, even if you hate him and are a die-hard conservative republican. Sure, freedom of speech is great, but it can go too far. Just because you CAN say it doesn't mean you should (this, obviously, does not apply to me). And many people actually hide behind the ruse of both patriotism and freedom of speech to be able to say whatever the hell they want. If you're going to speak out against the President, do so in an intelligent fashion - get your facts straight. Don't take a skewed news media's word for it (say, Fox News). Do the research. Find out the truth. Then express your opinion in a way that does not show what a turd you are. And most importantly, VOTE. I don't care what your opinion is on political matters, if you don't vote, your voice isn't really heard. Freedom of Speech is nothing when you don't exercise your right to visit the polls.

If you're a 'true patriot', then you should vote in every election. Truly, who gives a nutsack what your opinion is of the President, the health care plan, ANYTHING? As they say, opinions are like assholes. Everyone has one, and they most likely stink. By voting, you have done your part to be patriotic. By slamming the President in a stupid Facebook status or Twitter update, you've certainly exercised your right to free speech. But you've also exercised your right to be a flaming dumbass.

Here is a great example of someone being a turd rather than intelligently expressing their opinions.
They vandalized a bunch of city cars in Orlando. From http://thisainthell.us/blog/?p=1968.

I'll take voting, thanks.

And notice I didn't actually give away my political leanings here? I was being objective.

Well, Poo on You

2012-07-03T06:00:00.000-04:00

So, I recently blogged about how I am to blame for everyone's marriage breaking up. And everything else bad in the world.

No, I'm not really responsible for all that. The only thing I can take responsibility for is my part in MY marriage breaking up. And actually, since I didn't make the ex trip where his penis fell into another woman's vagina, that's not really my fault either, although I've been given the full blame for that crap too.

But seriously, I'm apparently an easy scapegoat. I don't know why, though, because scapegoats are usually meek people who can't defend themselves. I am about as obnoxious and outspoken as they come, and I blog, and as they say, 'The pen is mightier than the sword'. Although I'm pretty scrappy so I could probably defend myself in a physical altercation. So, really, in the arena of scapegoats, I'm a pretty piss poor one.

However, obviously the woman in the marriage that I'm accused of playing the #1 role of breaker-upper cannot take any of the blame. Neither can the man, who is a giant asshole who is prone to bouts of violent outbursts aimed at small children (namely MY children). Since I'm going through my own divorce, and I did tell the woman that she deserves to be treated better (EVERYONE deserves to be treated well, don't you think?), I am getting the blame for it.

Which is fine. I'm thick-skinned. I can take it. But I don't like it. It's unfair. And it sucks. Sucks big Silverback gorilla balls.

And try as I might, I cannot help but get my feelings hurt. Yep. My feelings are hurt.

I'm being touted as a bad influence. The husband at fault thinks that I party all the time and that I take his wife with me. The truth of the matter is that his wife and I have hardly done anything together since I separated from the ex. She took me to the airport and picked me up when I went to Florida. She came over to the house once when she was bored, for about 45 minutes. But other than that, we haven't seen each other, except for at her niece's birthday party.

Yet he claims that we go out partying all the time. All. The. Time. Dude. I went out 'partying' once, in May, for my friend's birthday celebration. And I didn't drink because I was driving. Once I met some former co-workers for dinner and then we retired to one of their houses for a grueling ping pong match. Even when I went to Florida, I didn't go out partying. I wanted to, but I was just too damn hungover. And all of this occurred when I did not have my children.

Know what I do when I have the kids? I go to the gym. I go see my mama in a nursing home, sometimes I even check her out for a while. I go grocery shopping. I take the kids to the lake, a park, the zoo, or the splash pad - in fact, just last week we had a play date with She-Gar and He-Gar and their kids at the splash pad. Or we just sit around the house when it's 9,000,000 degrees so that none of us melt. I've had my friend Red, her husband Suomi and their kids over for a cookout. I went to Red's daughter's birthday party. I take the kids to church. I attend a DivorceCare class to better deal with my feelings about my divorce, as do the kids. I do a lot of laundry. I clean the house.

Know what I do when I don't have the kids? I go to the gym. I go see my mama in a nursing home, sometimes I even check her out for a while. I go grocery shopping. I window shop. I go to the movies...by myself. I go out to eat...by myself. I rent movies on Redbox or PPV and watch them while I drink a glass of wine or a spiked cider. I go to church. If the weather's nice, I go for a jog. I do a lot of laundry. I clean the house.

Whoa, Nelly!! Stop the presses. I just live too freaking dangerously!! I can totally see how someone would consider me a bad influence. I mean, GOING TO CHURCH!! WHAT???!!!! How horrible of a person am I??

GROCERY SHOPPING???? COME ON!!

EXERCISING???!!! WHAT THE FUCK!!??

THE MOVIES!! BY MYSELF!! HOLY HELL I'M HORRIBLE!!! HORRIBLE!!

I am the WORST influence ever. Obviously.

As RebelGrill pointed out to me in Florida, I'm just a good girl. I am incapable of cheating, which is why I haven't even begun dating while I'm still married, even though we've been separated since February. I met a guy for breakfast once, but that wasn't really dating. It was seriously just talking over breakfast, and it made me uncomfortable because I'm not divorced yet. I don't do drugs. I don't go out partying all the time. I'm a good mom and I take care of my kids. Am I a sarcastic bitch? Sure. I'm pretty bad with money, too. But I'm still essentially a good girl. With a potty mouth.

For reals, shut the fuck up if you don't have all the facts. All you're doing is making me angry. Because when my feelings get hurt, it pisses me off. Really bad. So bad, in fact, that I resort to name-calling and finger-pointing.

So, poo on you. Really. Poo. On. You. Asshole. If I were a poo-slinging monkey, you'd already be covered in shit.

The poo flinging chimps from Madagascar. I totally wish I were them right now.

I did nothing but listen to the wife when she was upset about things he had done. I gave her advice about what I would have done if I were in her situation. Since I had witnessed first-hand a really lovely thing (and by lovely I mean violent asshattery) the hubby had done that was directed at my children, even if he'd had a gold-dipped weiner, diamond-studded testicles and shat 500 dollar bills, my choice would have been to leave. But the wife is an adult. A strong-willed, intelligent adult. Who can make her own decisions. If she didn't want to leave, regardless of my advice, she wouldn't have left.

I can, however, continue to be blamed. Although it bothers me and hurts my feelings simply because it is unfair, I honestly don't care. Because I know I'm not the one in the wrong here. I didn't do anything, and in the end, I believe the good guys always win. Even if they have to resort to a little poo flinging.