The BLoG MuSe

Better than anti-depressants! … Sort of.

Monthly Archives: January 2011

And Then I Threw Up…

Every good story should start like that!

ILL-ADVISED: Lesson 10 – You Shouldn’t Even Need a Business Card to Go to the Damn Park

(a re-post from my favorite blogger and advice columner)

the bloggess business cardAs a parent, you are expected to associate with other parents who have children the same age as yours. I’m not sure exactly why but I suspect it’s because bears are less likely to attack large groups of people. I’ve been told that it’s because motherhood can be isolating and that mommy-and-me playdates are a great way for moms to relax and enjoy each other’s company. 

I don’t know who started that rumor but it’s extremely misleading, as most mothers leave those groups feeling exhausted, judged, and even more lonely than before. This is why you should choose friends based on whether you like them or not, rather than solely because they had unprotected sex in the same month that your IUD failed.  

I mean, that would be like choosing a husband based on the coincidence that you both know how to groom cats, or have the exact same genitals. It might give you something to talk about for a few days but pretty soon you realize that one of you is 85 and Icelandic and the other is a heroin addict who only speaks Spanish.

Still, many new mothers feel that joining playgroups is an essential part of being a parent and some even enjoy the experience. These women are usually drunk. Or they’re super competimoms who need someone to compare themselves to so they feel good about the fact that they’ve terrified their child into potty-training at 3 months. You can usually tell them apart because the drunk moms are having a much better time and are more likely to get arrested. The competimoms are the ones handing out mommy business cards and who are much less topless.

The first time someone handed me a mommy business card, I thought it was a joke. It said, “I’m Jayden’s mommy. Here is our number and address. Please come rob us.” That last line was just implied. I handed her a copy of my business card (“The Bloggess: Only offensive to assholes”) and then she told me that she didn’t actually have enough mommy cards and she took hers back. I told her it was fine because I have a photographic memory and asked if she had any dogs or security cameras. She left. Quickly. But that’s probably for the best because most “mommy business cards” are a sign that you should run like hell because that chick is probably insane. Still, the concept is a good one so I’ve decided to make some mommy cards for the rest of us.

(Note: I made that one primarily to give out to people you want to get rid of. It totally works.)

This last card is more of a test. If the mom laughs, then it’s probably a good match. If the mom is appalled and starts backing away slowly, then just clarify that it’s only because she seems like a conscientious parent who would totally feed her child all-organic and you’re trying to cut back on preservatives. 

If anything, it’s a compliment.

  • All proceeds from the sales of these cards go to the-fund-to-buy-me-stronger-meds. It’s a very worthy cause.

Analogies at their best

Migraines: about as fun as honeymoon handjobs.

How to guarantee you will be in the dog-house for Valentine’s Day

I received the following e-mail today… I couldn’t help but think to myself “how romantic!” and then I was wondering how the conversation would go.

“Hey sweetie I really love you and for Valentine’s day I wanted to show you just how much. By giving you the gift of better skin… You know because I love your ugly face but it’s kinda gross so fix that shit.”

I also couldn’t help but think to myself there’s definitely an added value from romantic gifts like the following:

“Hey honey, I love you…but you could stand to lose some of that muffin-top so I got you a gym membership! You’re welcome”

“I also got you a bonus over-sized bathroom scale with digital read out and body fat calculation so that you know just how much you should go to the gym…and maybe stop eating all together too.”

And nothing says I love you more than “I forgot Valentine’s Day and I was too cheap to go buy you anything nice so ummm here’s some flowers from your garden.”

And my personal favorite…. “honey, your TECHNIQUE could use a little work, so I got you this fantastic book. I figured that not only would I insult you by saying that you suck in bed and that your blowjob skills need work but I added insult to injury by getting ‘Sex For Dummies’ instead of… Any book really because I’m an ass”

It’s No Secret That I People-Watch

So one of my favorite things to do is to people watch. It gives me lots of ideas, concepts and quite frankly it makes ms feel a little better about myself. I know, what the hell? It makes you feel better about yourself? Kind of an asshole thing to say except it’s really not. We all do this you just don’t realize it or you don’t want to admit it. Either way, I know you judgmental people sit there and compare yourselves to others. I know because I’m the queen of that country.

I can’t really help it you know, I wasn’t the cool kid that everyone wanted to be friends with. *gasp* I know…. Don’t tell anyone!! Essentially I blame all those skinny, much prettier girls in school who made me this way. Secretly I hope you all got really fat and had crack babies thanks to your herpes infections. I’m not sure how you get crack babies from herpes. But it happens, I know this. Also, I hope some of you have husbands who don’t speak a lick of Engrish and you are faced with an eternity of communication failure and you turn into a shriveled gnome lady on someone’s porch.

I digress… What I really wrote this post about was to tell you that despite it’s inherent weirdness, my people watching goes a step further into the creepy zone (but again, I know you all have wondered this yourself so don’t judge me!)

When I see a couple somewhere, anywhere but especially those fascinating couples who seem like the oddest fit… Yeah I wonder what their sex looks like. Ok, ok, ok. Before you judge me, I know you’ve wondered this at least once before. Especially when you see people who are freakishly tall or they have only half a body (that dude is my hero by the way but it still creeps me out a little when I watch him walk and do other things like play a game of pool or glide himself up a swing set like a spider monkey!

Anyway, when I see odd couples I always default to wondering what their sex looks like because I feel like it’s probably at least somewhat uglier than mine. Although mine isn’t ugly… Just sayin’…. But the dude that’s like 8 feet tall and his wife or girlfriend who is only 5 feet tall… I mean it must look hilarious right? He has limbs flailing all over the place and she well, she disappears behind his massiveness so you have to switch sides of your imagination and then it looks a little creepy because if you don’t put their height into perspective it looks like he’s a pedophile and she’s a 14 year-old girl. Ewww. And then you wonder if you should call the cops because he’s a creeper and it’s bullshit that he’s taking advantage of her trust as a person in a position of authority.

Then that reminds you of all the teacher sex scandals lately and wonder why it was acceptable in out day to sleep with a teacher? After all, us girls probably did it for better grades or because we have daddy issues or something and the guys. Well… The guys slept with their hot history teachers to make themselves cooler and couldn’t wait to tell their friends. Now if these kids sleep with their teachers, it’s a front-page news story and someone has to go to jail and register as a sex offender. And then people get all up-in-arms about it. Ugh, life was so much better back in the day I tell you!

And the dude with 1/2 a body! Really I have to go there because have you seen his wife? Yeah. Also he has like 1/2 a body and says he has genitals but really, what the hell does his sex look like? Huh. Riddle me that peeps… Riddle me that! (and good luck getting that out of your head because I know if you don’t know who I’m talking about you did just google him and go to You-Tube to see him in action… Walking not having sex obviously you perverts cuz who would look for a sex tape starring the “Man with 1/2 a body”…. Oh thats right… ME. I would. Oh well.

Square Peg, Round Hole

It never really made much sense to me until now… That is how much you actually change as a pregnant person. I know it’s happening like I stand outside my body as an outsider and I can’t stop the stupid shit that is about to happen or come out of my mouth.

This must be what coma patients feel like. You know if they can hover above themselves but not have control of the shit that’s about to come flying out of their mouth or the things they do, but you know since they’re in a coma I’m just making shit up because last time I checked people in comas don’t say or do stupid shit because they well…can’t. (I actually envy this skill a little right now) Hence the coma? Wow. That actually just came out of my head. I’m ashamed. (It is 3 AM though… if that counts for anything)

Anyway, I really always thought pregnant women used “pregnancy brain” and excessive hormones as an excuse. But I know now it’s REAL and it happens to the best of us. How do I know? Well the following are actual things I did or said recently that I probably shouldn’t admit to:

Today, I stood at my jeep trying to get the damn thing unlocked for probably 5 full minutes (aka: eternity) Pushing the unlock button on my key fab and shoving the key into the door lock when it wouldn’t unlock with the remote. It was somewhere around the 6th minute that I realized I was on the wrong floor of the parking garage. This wasn’t MY JEEP. Oh and to make this event even more insulting to my intelligence? The goddamn thing wasn’t even the same color. Was it close? NO. My jeep is a dark charcoal gray. This one? R.E.D. Like a big fucking fire truck.

Also today, during a conversation with a friend I told her that I am going to Estes Park this weekend for my birthday… Yeah I just got back from that trip YESTERDAY… I’m not hopping in a DeLorean this week and even if I do I think it would be missing a flux-capacitor-thingy (that’s a very technical term by the way) to send me back in time!!

I also tried to put a 9volt battery into my wireless mouse and proceeded to get really, really pissed when it wouldn’t fit!! I’m not quite sure anyone understands how pissed I was! I was in tears because I was so mad!! It wasn’t until later after I hooked up my backup (non-wireless-damn-it) mouse that I realized the piece of shit needs a triple-A battery. You know the teeny tiny cylindrical battery that has a AAA stamped on it? Yep. Not even the same shape Jessica! Square peg, round hole?!? Fuck.

I could go on about the other things I’ve done, like almost feed the dog a bowl full of dry Froot Loops instead of her dry dog food but I think I’ll save some for upcoming posts…. Stay tuned, my stupidity is reaching new levels!!
I also put the ice cream in the pantry but in my defense, I’ve done things like that before I was pregnant.

Oh. P.S. – I’m pregnant!… Yep. Hold onto something very sturdy world, I am reproducing. Yikes.

It Wouldn’t be the Same

A friend brought it to my attention that I curse A LOT and that my blog is certainly no exception. I agree whole heartedly! The idea of my blog wasn’t to be proper or grammatically correct or to be kid-safe. It was to be real and to be ME because otherwise I’d be just like everyone else out there.

Could I get my point across without saying fuck, shit, ass, and all my other favorite words? Absolutely. BUT if I wanted to write like anyone else or the way I have to be in the “real world” then I wouldn’t be spending money to have my own website and blog about my own random thoughts and ramblings. I write like I talk and I’ve never claimed to be classy or anything outside of who I am on the surface.

Make no mistake, my attitude has certainly cost me a good share of things in my life (and I have zero regrets if you were wondering) It’s also afforded me the ability to know that at the end of the day I didn’t sacrifice who I am just to make an impression. I don’t want to make an impression on this website other than I am REAL and that I will put it all out there because that’s what I’m about. This is me. Love it or hate it.

I’m not shy and I’m not about to start now. I haven’t made my claim to fame by being classy and again, I’m not going to start now. There’s plenty of time during my adult life that I need to paint on a face to get by and be “grown up” but it’s not who I genuinely am and it makes me feel dirty to have to be “grown up” for any period of time. I do not pretend to be anyone I’m not and I never will. The people who know me and/or can appreciate that will stick around. End of story.

I am too a Princess!

I don’t know why it would come as a shock or surprise to anyone that I would need this immediately when I saw it in the store window. People who don’t even know me would assume I need it!!

Who the hell wouldn’t want this awesome crown for their birthday?! Needless to say I ended up going in the store and buying it for myself because I JUST HAD TO HAVE IT GODDAMN IT!!! Just be happy I didn’t wear it around town like I intend to on my real birthday. Which is this week. If Craig was embarrassed by me before, he’s fucked now.

Why Is Everything Cute When It’s Miniaturized?

Walking through the store the other day I realized I might have a problem. I looked down and realized that I had shoveled about 10 travel-sized items into my basket. Where the hell did I think I was going? Of course this didn’t occur to me until after I walked through the sporting goods aisle and I’m trying to figure out if I can buy the miniaturized versions of the tents on display. NO YOU DUMBASS, I DON’T WANT YOU TO CHECK THE BACK ROOM TO SEE IF YOU HAVE THAT ONE IN STOCK, I WANT THE LITTLE DEMO VERSION HERE ON THE FUCKING SHELF!!!!  The one that I can barely get my pinky into. WHAT IS SO HARD TO COMPREHEND?!

   Cute eh?

Now is also the time where I’d like to profess my extreme repugnance for Ugg Boots. With ONE exception. INFANT UGG BOOTS. Yeah I know, they’re still Ugg Boots but HELLO, they are MINIATURE so they are cute and I NEEEED THEM. So I called and told Craig about them and he’s like “You hate Ugg Boots” and I’m like “I know but they are so cute I think I need to buy them anyway” and then he says “what the fuck for?” and of course…awkward silence… “I don’t know they are just cute damnit! Why do I need a reason to buy cute Ugg Boots?” His response “You need a reason when you won’t be wearing them since they are for an INFANT and we don’t have any of those!!” Which then made me stop and think for a minute… I really wanted to buy these boots so I’m like “Well, I could steal an infant from the hospital and then put the infant Ugg Boots on it” I shouldn’t have to tell you that this sent him over the edge a just a little. “So you want to steal a baby from the hospital JUST SO YOU CAN PUT SOME UGLY FUCKING BOOTS ON IT??” And then I said “Well when you put it like that it does sound a little crazy… how about instead I buy SIX PAIRS and put them on Malibu, Payton and Amaya?” and then he says “Oh ok, so now you want to put UGLY BABY UGG BOOTS on the dog and cats? NO. FUCK NO.” And of course I retaliated with the only fair response I could come up with: “You’re the worst husband EVER! You NEVER LET ME DO WHAT I WANNA DO!!!”

These are them. If anyone wants to buy them and send them to me, I’ll pay shipping. Look how cute! EEEEK!!!

Superwoman is a Farce

Misery loves company. That’s what I hear, anyway and I’m sure that’s probably the worst excuse for omitting the whole truth from any situation whatsoever. I realized this somewhere about the time my very good friend, we’ll call her “Mama Duck” was telling me all about how wonderful it is to be a mother. Except the part where the whole reason I was over there in the first place was to “wife-sit” … which in a round-about and nicely put way, means that I am keeping her off the news and out of jail.

You see, I thought she was just an overworked, tired mommy that needed a break when she mentioned something about how the hours between 4-6 PM were like being a prisoner-of-war except better because at least as a POW you get they leave you alone for the better part of the day and they don’t know your name. Also, as a POW, no one insists upon being tucked in at bedtime because YOU DO IT BETTER THAN DADDY. (I have no idea who does it better in her house, it’s probably the one that doesn’t want to kill them all and then herself…  I’m making a point here) I digress, the point is that I really didn’t know that at EXACTLY 4PM on the dot it was like something goes off in these kids (GOD LOVE THEM, I certainly do) that makes them turn into evil little monsters that are flying off the walls and forcing us to run for cover.

You think I’m shitting you, but I’m not. There was 3 of them and 2 of us. We were outnumbered and I’m pretty sure that the laws of common-sense-warfare tell you if their team is bigger, you will be wearing the spilt macaroni & cheese and apple juice, even if you are SUPERWOMAN. Which you aren’t because no one can be Super woman. She actually only exists to make all of us female people (or race or whatever the hell we are, a gender I suppose) aspire to work ourselves a little harder  and to take just a little more onto our plates because damn it, if Superwoman can do it, SO CAN I. But you can’t, because you’re not Super woman. And here’s another little fun fact about Superwoman: SHE DOESN’T EXIST. She was just a normal person like the rest of us who put a cape on to tell her kid a bedtime story that got blown out of proportion and BAM. Just like that, cartoon that delineates how the rest of us are supposed to be. How can you even live up to that? It’s not even metaphorical, it’s just plain fucked. I can do a lot of things, I can be everything to everyone and I can cram an extra 3 hours into a day somehow. Did I mention I could Leap tall buildings in a single-bound? But goddamn it…. I’M HUMAN. So I can’t be Superwoman or Super-anything because by the time the day is over, I just want my pajamas, a soft pillow, and my blankie. Superwoman doesn’t even have that shit. Which I think makes me better than super woman. So eat that Superwoman and your cliché awesomness. I am not that. I am woman, and I don’t roar either because I’m not a lion, or Superwoman so let’s just get that straight. I had a point. It is gone. But Superwoman still sucks. Superwoman, superwoman, superwoman. (I’m a Brady Bunch kid apparently) There now I’ve said it enough. AAAHHH. Eat shit and die Superwoman because you made us all inferior and that blows ass.

Change the World

The world would be a much better place if your pants really did catch on fire when you lie!

Dysfunctional. Or Not

My “give-a-damn” is broken today. However, my “go-fuck-yourself” seems to be working just fine.


Sssshhhh!! My common-sense is tingling…

You Shut Your Mouth When You’re Talking to Me!

WHAT? So I’m realizing that it sounded better in my head.

So what prompted that outburst? I don’t even remember but I know it was when we were playing board games during our little mini-vacay. Which means I was probably pissed because I was losing. Who the hell wants to win at YAHTZEE anyway? I do actually. I hate losing and that’s why I was coming bac with some snotty response.

So we’re playing games and having a good time and before I know it my sister-in-law comes out with a bag full of presents like she’s Santa Fucking Claus. It’s a birthday??!?!

Yep. Christmas on repeat except it’s all about MEEEE this time bitches. Not really but I like to feel special once a year so… there you have it. I am actually the type of person who hates birthdays and receiving gifts or making anything about me. I’m loud and obnoxious and say shit I shouldn’t all the time. Basically I’m good at being a jackass but other than that I do not make a good center of attention unless it’s in a negative way. What can I say, I’ve always been good at hiding until I’m making an assface out of myself. Assface? I just threw that out there but since it sounds good I like it!

Well, it’s not like they don’t know me and my personality… My sister-in-law and brother-in-law got me this game awesome game. I’m looking forward to playing this game. I figure I’ll lose big time…?? yeah….

I also really liked the decorations. These presents looked more appropriate for the queen of England than for a jackass like me but who am I to complain? I love pretty presents. In fact I didn’t want to open them but since that didn’t fly with everyone, I went ahead and opened them and did something else with the bows

I don’t know why everyone was making fun of me??

It was time for cake after that. YUM.

This post was a lot funnier when I started writing it but then I started writing in the middle of a game and now I keep having to stop writing and play every time my turn comes around which means that I pretty much forget what the hell I was trying to say so really I just wanted to post some pictures?? What the fuck. 

I will however tell you about the sexgasm of fantasticalness that happened inside my mouth just now when I was eating my cake.  Red Velvet cake (aka Heaven) with Cake Batter ice cream (more heaven and a little OOOH) with Oreos  mixed in (ices the metaphorical sex cake in my mouth… which isn’t all that metaphorical since it’s actually a literal cake) Did I mention there’s sprinkles and a piece of kit-kat?? Sprinkles make me want to be 5 years old again when the most exciting thing ever was SpRiNkLeS!! All colorful and full of happiness. You can’t ever be mad or sad about anything when you have the happiness of sprinkles. They are almost equivalent to crack except that they won’t make you sell your body for sex and wind up homeless living in a cardboard box like a bum. Not that the world doesn’t appreciate it’s bums, after all we all have a place in society and without bums the bottom of the food chain would be the Jerry Springer population. And I think that might be scary. Now that I actually think about it, Crack and sprinkles are not even close to being the same.

Our elevator is a rainbow with a pot of gold at the end. Apparently.

Elevator etiquette is a lost art. Like many people I know, I work in a place where I must take an elevator to my floor… OR take the stairs but honestly, the lack of oxygen in that stairwell has to be pretty close to the same as Mt.Everest and I’m usually needing to sit down and take a break by the 4th floor; let’s face it… that’s not even close enough to ½ way to call myself anything more than pathetic. So, I ride the elevator which is an interesting event on its own. I’m constantly amazed by the lack of courtesy people seem to have and we’re not talking about in a strange place where you would never ever risk seeing the same people again like the yeti or something. NO we’re talking about work. Where you will likely be forced to sit next to some of them in a meeting. How awkward is that? “Hey I mowed you down to get into the elevator and then I hit the close button so you couldn’t get on but Hey… how can we work together to improve production?” LOL

I may be dumb but it just seems like common sense that if you are getting off one floor away from where you are now, you shouldn’t decide that you should hop to the “back of the bus” and then make EVERYONE and their 18 lbs of whatever they are carrying get out of your way. Secondly, We’re all going to the same place generally so it pretty much confuses the hell out of me as to why I have grown ass men RUNNING me over to get into the elevator before me. Really??? Chivalry is dead! Dead like Elvis. Where I come from its common courtesy to hold the door for whoever is behind you. I do this ALL THE TIME, so why on earth do I seem to work with so many people who let the door slam right behind them when I’m right there? WOW.

I’m not sure if we should all blame parents who seem to have stopped teaching their kids these things or if we should hold people accountable? Perhaps we should all go back to a time when we learned everything we ever needed to know? I firmly believe all elevators need a modified version of this posted in the back:

Everything I need to know I learned in Kindergarten (and a little elevator perspective)

Share everything. (Make room jerkface)

Play fair. (don’t kill someone trying to beat them to the elevator!)

Don’t hit people. (seriously!!)

Put things back where you found them. (Don’t chew your breakfast in my ear – ok so this doesn’t really go here but I needed it to go somewhere and I didn’t have anything else to say about this one…?)

Clean up your own mess. (please bring your own barf bag. Also, don’t spill your food from the cafeteria and just leave it for the help)

Don’t take things that aren’t yours. (wait your turn asshole)

Say you’re sorry when you hurt somebody. (my toe would appreciate this gesture)

Wash your hands before you eat. (or after you use the bathroom, I don’t want to touch the buttons and get your Hepatitis A)

Flush. (well yeah.)

Warm cookies and cold milk are good for you. (or cupcakes)

Live a balanced life. (do not stand RIGHT ON TOP OF ME. Respect my bubble)

Learn some and think some and draw and paint and sing and dance and play and work every day some. (but don’t tell your boss I told you to do the first 3)

Take a nap every afternoon. (preferably NOT in the elevator, it’s already pretty crowded)

When you go out into the world, watch for traffic, hold hands and stick together. (meh)

Be aware of wonder. (whoever farted is not the person you thought)

Remember the little seed in the plastic cup? The roots go down and the plant goes up and nobody really knows how or why, but we are all like that. Goldfish and hamsters and white mice and even the little seed in the plastic cup — they all die. So do we. (Some of you will die sooner if you don’t learn some etiquette)

And then remember the book about Dick and Jane and the first word you learned, the biggest word of all: look. (L-O-O-K for others and hold the damn door if they are coming, don’t break your finger hitting the close doors button)

Everything you need to know is in there somewhere. The Golden Rule and love and basic sanitation. Ecology and politics and sane living.

Think what a better world it would be if we all — the whole world — had cookies and milk about 3 o’clock every afternoon and then lay down with our blankets for a nap. Or if we had a basic policy in our nation and other nations to always put things back where we found them and cleaned up our own messes. And it is still true, no matter how old you are, when you go out into the world, it is best to hold hands and stick together. (well isn’t that nice)

– Robert Fulghum

Ladies Room Etiquette

APPARENTLY it is NOT funny to giggle and make orgasm noises when the toilet is running and “bubbling like a jacuzzi” in a “fancy establishment”

They’ve thought of everything

Really?? As if the world wasn’t already full of people taking Prozac instead of addressing their REAL issues. (not that some crazies don’t actually need the prozac… I’m just saying, we seem to like it better than facing reality)

Now instead of addressing your own insecurity and trust issues or some very, very unhealthy S&M-like fetishes… You can throw your man into a CHASTITY BELT!!! oh yeah that’s right girls a freakin’ chastity belt for your guy.

Don’t worry, the logistics of urinating have been addressed apparently so it’s all good. As for the possibility of infections? They didn’t address that part and only someone as OCD as I am would even take this as far as worrying about that… However, you can rest assured that comfort ha been proven because some men have even been quoted on the testimonials part of the site saying “The CB-6000 is so comfortable that I sleep and go to work with it on!” ummmm…. I’m not so sure about that but the entire idea really creeps me out. IN A BIG WAY. Blech.

Is there anything they haven’t thought of yet? How about reinstating the institution of marriage and making it as hard for heterosexual couples to get married as they have for the LGBT community??

And Now I Know What A Pussy-Punch Is

C: I was waiting at the gas station to get gas and this lady in a big diesel cuts me off to get to the pump. The pump doesn’t even have diesel! That dumb bitch.

Me: Wow. Sounds like a hectic day getting gas.

C: It was! I wanted to… I wanted to yell at her. And then… Pussy-punch her.

Me: Whoa there killer. Really?

C: Yeah I know. Have you ever wanted to pussy-punch someone?!

Me: No, thats not exactly a practice that I regularly partake in.

…Yeah. Welcome to my marriage. But now that you mention it… I could think of a bitch or two that could use a good blow to the vag. After all, it seems like it would knock some sense into them. Crazy bitches.

Miles Apart

Anatomically, the human tongue and brain are located within inches of eachother. When some people talk…. you’d think it were more like MILES.

Frostbite Isn’t Funny

(I wrote this last weekend but I didn’t have cell service in the blizzard to post it and then I forgot about it until now when I was looking at something else on my phone — feel free to skip it)
I just saw the Mother-Fucking Polar Express! – and yes I had to “M F” it so you’d get the full effect of my excitement!!!


No shitting! So we’re driving home in a blizzard (at this VERY moment actually, I’m trying to keep myself busy so I don’t worry about the slicker-than-boogers highway and all the extra weight — ahem! Trailer, not fatties — behind us because we’ve almost died like 6 times and I haven’t even done half of the things on my bucket list) we’re going at a snooze-inducing 25 miles an hour on I-25. Talk about a Loooooong drive home. So you can imagine my excitement when I look over and realize that even though visibility is so poor I can’t see the traffic in the south-bound lanes, I can see the most amazing spectacle I’ve ever seen!! Lights that would cut through the thickest snow and fog on the planet! One way up high, two more in the middle and more closer to the ground the lights emit beams that look like….Oh mylanta. The Polar Express! I totally saw it. You didn’t! But you also didn’t spend 14 hours of your Sunday standing on a frozen lake in the middle of a blizzard with temps hovering in the single digits and the windchill well below zero. Did I mention BLIZZARD? ugh. As if that wasn’t enough, add in the ugly, life-threatening drive home and I totally deserved that goddamn miracle. Craig said it was probably just a freight train, why you gotta rain on my parade?? If I say it’s the POLAR EXPRESS, it’s the goddamn Polar Express!!!!

Oh and also, frostbite is not funny. That shit hurts. Apparently I didn’t actually have frostbite because if I did, it wouldn’t HURT… But let me tell you something, it sure as hell felt like I did. I sure wish I had me some ugly ass – but I bet they’re warmer than shit – Ugg Boots right now! Maybe my toes wouldn’t fall off and become puppy chow. Craig says I might be exaggerating again… That’s what I do. But really I have frost bite so if you find a human toe in your dog’s next bowl of kibble, it was probably mine. You’re welcome.

Crack Cookies

UPDATED: I’m not sure I should admit this. Actually I know I shouldn’t… But I’m going to because I tell on myself all the time anyway. I went to the grocery store like usual the other day to get two things: Cheese and Bread. Which actually means I went for three things right? Cheese, Bread, more Lofthouse Cookies.  So I get there, grab my bread, cheese and then…. *GASP*  They have no frosted, sugary pillows of goodness. NOOOOOO!!! This can’t be. I walk around the store for a while looking lost. Which apparently means that each and every Sprouts employee must ask me if I need help. OF COURSE I NEED HELP!! HELLLLLO??? Don’t you have my cookies? Not only do they not know what the hell I’m talking about they try to sell me some other cookies that are not NOT NOT NOT the same. Look. I’m on a mish here and I only want my Lofthouse cookies and if you can’t provide those then get me someone who can!!! UGH. Needless to say, my 5 minute quick-stop at the store for Bread and Cheese for grilled cheese sammies for dinner turned into an hour-long fiasco and in the end, I ended up with cheese, bread and a store full of people starting at me like a two-year old because I literally cried.  No, it was not like one of those little moments where it was cute and I was all sad because I was really craving a cookie. It was more like one of those moments where I cried, the steam was coming out of my head and the eyes almost popped out. I think they almost called the cops, or the national guard or someone that could taser me. I cried over freaking cookies after parading around the store for an hour begging for someone to tell me they had them, I must have them now… and no I’m not a crack head. I just wanted the damn cookies. The moral of the story? Either stock my freaking cookies or tell me ahead of time so I can go to Safeway so I don’t have to go all postal on your staff and make them think I’m a deranged crazy person. OOOOK???

Dear Lofthouse Cookie Company: thank you for adding 5lbs to my Holiday ass. It was totally worth it. Now I have to pretend I’m just going for another day at the gym and not trying to work off 800 Lofthouse Sugar cookies. I’m not worried about me though. I will be ok. It’s Amaya I’m worried about, she’s less than a year old and she’s turned into a fiend. Like a crack whore jonesing for a fix, she even shakes a little like she might seize if I withhold a bite too long. Great now my fucking kitten needs goddamn Cookie rehab!!! How much does that shit even cost?!? I already spent a fortune on cookies and now? A fortune on my gym membership and my cat’s rehab. Great.

And no, I’m not full of shit. I’ve included photographic evidence. Of my cat, not my holiday ass thankyouverymuch.

Contemplating it…

Checking for witnesses.

Taste Testing each and every freaking cookie!!

Ohhhh yeah! H.E.A.V.E.N.!!!!! Don’t mind my little nibble marks on the side of your cookie… If I let you have one at all and didn’t eated the whole thing, consider yourself lucky Ducky! QUACK!

ILL ADVISED: Lesson 9 – Parenting Idioms for Our Time

(a re-post from my favorite blogger and advice columnist)  

Whenyou first become a parent, you’re often bombarded with quotes on motherhood and child-rearing and some of them are very helpful, but more often than not they are so out-of-date that it’s difficult to understand what they even mean. That’s why I’ve taken 20 of the top parenting quotes and tacked on a bit at the end to make them slightly more contemporary.

You’re welcome!

“Always kiss your children goodnight — even if they’re already asleep.” That way you can make sure they’re still breathing and haven’t turned onto zombies during the night.

“Mother knows best.” Unless she’s trying to get you to commit arson for her. Then it might be a good idea to leave home. But first maybe take some notes. It never hurts to know a little bit about arson.

“A mother has eyes in the back of her head.” In the form of a nanny-cam implanted in your childhood teddy bear on your shelf. 

“Your children need your presence more than your presents.” Unless one of the presents is a unicorn that cooks and cleans. Then you’re pretty much obsolete.

“Don’t worry that children never listen to you; worry that they are always watching you.” Just because they’re related to you doesn’t mean they can’t testify against you in court one day.

“The trouble with learning to parent on the job is that your child is the teacher.” A teacher who is constantly shitting his pants. Awesome.

“If you want children to keep their feet on the ground, put some responsibility on their shoulders.” Or if they’re too young for responsibility, try a backpack filled with heavy rocks. But not so many that they get scoliosis. Back braces are expensive.

“He that would the daughter win, must with the mother first begin.” That’s how you get on Jerry Springer.

“Don’t handicap your children by making their lives easy.” Handicap them by hobbling them at a young age so they can’t run away from you when you’re drunk.

“Too often we give children answers to remember rather than problems to solve.” That’s why I always save my math homework to give it to my daughter.

“A parent’s love is whole no matter how many times divided.” Solve for A. This is the worst story problem ever.

“You will always be your child’s favorite toy.” As long as you never give her a pony.

“What a child doesn’t receive he can seldom later give.” But sometimes that works out for the best. Like with herpes, for instance.

“There may be some doubt as to who are the best people to have charge of children, but there can be no doubt that parents are the worst.” The second worst people to have in charge of children are bears.

“The child supplies the power but the parents have to do the steering.” Unless you’re really drunk. Then it’s probably wise to let your child steer. Unless the child is drunk too. Then you probably need to examine your parenting skills.

“If I had my child to raise all over again,
 I’d build self-esteem first, and the house later.” That way he’d feel less self-conscious about living under an overpass with all these hobos.

“Likely as not, the child you can do the least with will do the most to make you proud.” Or he’ll murder you for the insurance money. It’s kinda 50/50 really.

“You see much more of your children once they leave home.” But typically only if you get transferred to the same penitentiary. 

Boats and Hoes

There are few things I am absolutely sure of. I am however absolutely sure that the guy next to me on my way home was pretty convinced that I was either trying really hard to break the windows in my Jeep or that I was being tickle-tortured and subsequently screaming at the top of my lungs. Either way, I would like to say that I was doing neither asshole. I am also fully aware – and was aware long before you paraded into my life – that I can’t carry a tune in a bucket. My goal is NOT to be Carrie Underwood when I grow up. I find it relaxing to sing-a-long in the car on a drive, OK?

    I realize that you are driving an Audi and that you have a STICK THE SIZE OF MONTANA UP YOUR ASS but loosen up a little or I might be forced to pick my nose while you look at me like I’m the most preposterous being you’ve ever seen. If Kathy Griffin were here she would tell you to SUCK IT. You know why? Because that is one funny bitch. Matter of fact, that IS someone I would like to be when I grow up. I’m pretty sure that she sings along in her car too but unlike me, she does it just for shits and giggles, not because she’s relating to the depressing ass “you broke my heart and now I have to break your face” song or the “Take this job and shove it” song because she has the best job in the world right? She gets to be what she wants to be and get paid for it. it’s AWESOME. Who wouldn’t want to be THAT when they grow up? She says whatever the fuck she wants, does what she wants and answers to very few.

 She’s my hero. Interestingly enough, her life wasn’t always like that. I read her autobiography and her road to fame was shitty. I don’t envy that part but regardless, she’s still badass.  So my whole point here is that what I don’t want to be when I grow up is a giant asshole who is so uptight that I can’t even appreciate a good belting out of “I WILL SURVIVE” after a long hard 14-hour day at work. Perhaps, when I grow up I shall become someone like Ben Franklin and invent gigantic stick removers for people like Mr.Audi so that they can remove the sticks from their asses.

Prestige Wor-Word-World-WORLDWIDE. Now. Are you going to invest or not?

My Gift To You

I’m like an ugly, shaggy dog…. old, grouchy, and definitely not cute or cuddly. BUT kind of funny when I chase my tail so you keep me around for parties or in case I do something really entertaining when you need a laugh. You don’t want to pet me since I might just bite you or pee on your bed; you just never know with me. That’s my gift to you: spontaneity YOU’RE WELCOME.

From Now On

When life gives me lemons, I’ll just shove them into my bra and make my boobas look bigger!

What The Donut Shop Has Taught Me

Bitter black coffee that has a consistency better suited
for chewing can make quite an impact on your day (and overall
efficiency!! Zzooooooom)

The “Garage Girl”

Never underestimate the power of my persuasion on a 3 yr-old. Apparently I am MUCH cooler than a room full of family members and you should know you’re in BIG trouble when she’d rather eat her dinner in the garage with me!

ILL ADVISED: Lesson 8 – I’m Judging You

(a re-post from my favorite blogger and advice columner)

Just a quick disclaimer before we get started with today’s lesson:  It’s come to my attention that some people believe I’m being “morally bankrupt and irresponsible” by writing this column because they feel that new mothers are too stupid to realize that this column is called “Ill-Advised” for a reason.  I have considered their suggestion that I write a column that educates everyone and offends nobody but I’ve decided to continue to write one that offends everyone and educates no one because it’s more entertaining that way. For me, that is. And for all of the people who recognize this as a humor column. All three of us are laughing at you.

And now? Lesson eight:  Prepare to be judged. And possibly stabbed.

Becoming a parent subjects you to a whirlwind of new and strange emotions and can leave you feeling more vulnerable than you have ever been in your life. It is at this exact moment that you will find yourself set upon by strangers intent on telling you exactly how terrible you are as a parent. You might think that you’ll easily brush these criticisms off as you are now a grown-up who understands that you are master of your own destiny and that peer pressure is something you overcame in high school, but then you’ll find yourself in tears because someone said your child will be a drug addict because you got an epidural, or that you should be forcibly sterilized because you put your kid on a leash.

That last one there? Not a joke. Totally happened to me. I was walking to the park with my daughter and she was wearing her halter and a woman rolled her eyes in disgust and whispered, “Some people shouldn’t be allowed to have children” to her friend. Then I turned to her and said “SOME PEOPLE have children who have a hereditary condition that makes their elbows prone to dislocation at the slightest tug and if they hold their child’s’ hand and the kid falls then their elbows get dislocated and then SOME PEOPLE have to take their child to the doctor to watch the doctor put their tiny, screaming child’s elbow back in the socket. Maybe SOME PEOPLE SHOULD MIND THEIR OWN DAMN BUSINESS AND STOP BEING SO FUCKING JUDGEMENTAL OR I WILL STAB SOME PEOPLE IN THE FACE WITH MY KNITTING NEEDLES.”

That’s exactly what I said. Hours later. In my own head. I would never have said that out loud. Mostly because I don’t even own knitting needles. And also because I was still so unsure of my parenting decisions that I couldn’t defend them out loud. Which is sad because I was a great parent. And I still am. Not perfect. Not flawless. Not faultless. But great. And unless your children are currently locked in the bathroom while you go on a two-day bender I suspect you are too.

As long as you are a parent you will be judged and will be given unwanted advice. There will always be someone there to criticize you, but the good thing is that there is also someone there to criticize them. It’s a vicious cycle of blame and guilt and the best way to remove yourself from it is to realize that whatever decision you make for your family is the right one for you. 

The circle of shame as overheard at a park:

“I can’t believe that you drank coke during pregnancy. only drank warm milk. Your baby will probably have ADD.”

“You drank store-bought milk? That’s loaded with antibiotics and steroids. Your baby is like a tiny Incredible Hulk.  I only drank milk from my own personal cow.”

“You drank raw milk during a mad-cow epidemic. How terribly irresponsible. I drank only purified bottled water from artesian wells.”

Bottled water? Fabulous. So you’re the reason why my child will inherit a world filled with overflowing trash dumps. Way to shit on Mother Nature, asshole.  I drank tap water from one, reusable cup. I even brought it with me to the hospital during labor.”

“You had your baby in a hospital? How cold and meaningless for you. I had my baby at home and my other children helped with the birth and then my husband cooked the placenta for us to eat.”

“So you forced your family to become cannibals. How wonderful for them. We planted our placenta with a sapling in the park to celebrate life.”

You disposed of medical waste in the park. OUR PARK? Are you fucking kidding me? My kid is playing under a placenta tree? You don’t keep the placenta. You throw it away.”

“You threw away your placenta?! WHAT THE FUCK DID I JUST SAY ABOUT THE OVERFLOWING LANDFILLS? Why aren’t you composting? It’s like you’re TRYING to destroy the earth.”

“Well, maybe I am. Maybe me and ‘my hulk baby‘ are trying to destroy the world using only store-bought milk and my placenta.”

“Oh my God, you are totally over-reacting. I blame all that store-bought milk in your system.”


“Oh, is that a TV reference? We don’t own a TV. It’s not good for children.”

Children? With current overpopulation issues you still decided to have children? We have limited resources and your decision is just plain selfish. I’m keeping my IUD, thankyouverymuch.






And that’s why I don’t go on mommy-&-me play-dates anymore.

PS.  I tried to cover all my bases but if I didn’t manage to offend you with this post please leave me a comment and I will try very hard to rectify that next week.

Look Ma No Hands!

Think about it, nothing good ever came of that sentence. Ever.

So You’ve Resolved to Lose 200lbs and Become Brangelina. Good Luck With That.

Earlier today I found myself admitting to my husband that this is the first year that I’ve ever actually FELT like a NEW YEAR was starting once midnight rolled around. 2010 was a cluster fuck and I’m so happy to see it in the history books that I could practically pee myself. Probably not for the same cliché ass reasons that the rest of the world enjoys January 1 for though. Nope, this year I’m just happy that there might be a little relief in sight from the gigantic pile of steamy dog shit that keeps getting thrown my direction. I did not resolve to do anything in particular this year except to spend more time doing the shit that I want to do to make me happy (which is spend more time here annoying all of you) but for those of you that did make unrealistic resolutions to become sexy, here’s some advice:
1. You must commit to going to the gym regularly, but please remember that Spandex was not made for anyone who is not Kate Hudson because let’s face it… have you seen that bitch in Spandex? She rocks it. How? I don’t know but she does. When even an anorexic girl would look similar to creamed corn and doorknobs shoved into a trash bag, she looks freaking HOT… you don’t. You can’t pull off Spandex. Ever. Sorry.
2. Singing along while you run the track is not only welcome but also highly amusing for those of us who are on the elliptical watching you. You can’t carry a tune in a bucket but you sure can power walk the fuck out of those brand new tenny-runners!
3. Stopping at McDonald’s for a wilted, soggy, over-priced salad does not count as health food. End of story. Nothing purchased from ‘Donald’s can ever be health food. It might be a “better option” than the 1200 calorie burger and 2000 calorie fries but make no mistake, that salad has more calories than you think and will not send you to Hollywood Blvd anytime soon. You’re better off starving. Not that I’m saying you should be anorexic or anything but really… skip that drive thru.
4. Guys: we don’t think it is hot or sexy when you walk around trying to show off your muscles like you have something to prove. Steroids make your penis SMALLER so the only thing you have to prove is that your penis didn’t shrivel up, die, and fall off. Quite frankly we’d rather see Grandma Ruth’s sagging boobas than your “business.” EW.
5. Let’s face it the odds are against you. Out of all the other fatties that made losing weight and looking like a sex pot on 2 legs their 2011 resolution, only 35% of them managed to keep that goal through January. Follow through to July and the statistics drop down to a depressing 16%. So if you thought you were going to be Brad or Angelina, you’re going to have to work 4x harder than you thought and remember that there’s others trying to beat you out for the winning title.
6. Since you can’t eat cookies, cupcakes or ice cream… go ahead and just send it all to me.
7. When you fail, you could get back up and try again. But that would be cliché and also hard. So instead, just take a sedan-sized Prozac and eat a shit ton of cookies and ice cream. You might get fat again… maybe fatter… but at least you’ll be smiling while you enjoy. Also, the Prozac will make you not care that you’re fat, ugly and have lawn gnomes in your living room. Which is weird. Take those back outside before I call the asylum and tell them about your “friends”. Seriously!
HAPPY NUDE YEAR EVERYONE! Oh wait. Try not to run around nude until you look like Brad, Angelina, or Kate because the thought kinda just made me giggle (and gag) just a little.

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