Saturday, June 26, 2010

The Fourth (of July)

I can't believe that June is almost over.

And of course, now the question that everyone has is "So what are y'all doing for the Fourth?".  Which you should just automatically understand to mean the Fourth of July...I mean, what are you? Stupid? Anti-American? A Saddam Hussein supporter? Jeez....

We have a couple of friends who are having parties and then my family is headed out to the ranch. Choices, choices, choices.  Whatever, we're totally going to the ranch to drink lots of beer and celebrate our independence and freedom to do things like own guns and shoot shit.  I'm sure it'll be a blast.

But I have to admit, the Fourth (of July) is not exactly my favorite holiday.  And no mom, I'm not an anti-patriot....I swear.  My beef with the Fourth (of July)?

It is miserably HOT.

And then? You GRILL....because a fire is definitely in order when it's already 104 fucking degrees outside.

Or? You pop fireworks....again, because you absolutely need fire when it's this warm, and the lack of rain in the summer makes this a fun and SAFE family outing (she says, without a hint of sarcasm).  Don't get me wrong, fireworks are fun, but we spend the majority of our time when popping fireworks keeping our pyromaniac son from lighting them and throwing them in the front seat of the truck.  Or the bed of the truck.  Or in the dog's collar.  Or his sister's ear.  Seriously, that kid is dangerous with fireworks.  He gets this crazed look in his eye and starts saying, "Fire! Fire! Fire!" all the time.

My perfect Fourth of July would include the lake, a boat and drive-thru.  No cooking, plenty of water to cool off in, minimal heat and no fireworks (other than the ones the city has already paid for and is so graciously providing for your viewing pleasure....miles away from where my son is located so that he doesn't go all arsonist on us).

This must have something to do with the fact that in my family, the Fourth (of July) was always a day to work cows.  Yes, I'm serious.  Basically, when you own cows, a couple of times a year, you need to pen them up, sell off whatever you're selling that year, spray them with fly spray, brand any new ones you're keeping and cut any bull calves you want to sell as steers (if you have questions about that, go ask your father).  Anyway, so this is how my Fourth (of July) was spent....sweating my ass off, listening to my dad yell at the stupid cows and riding horses for 3 hours in the Louisiana summer heat.

Inevitably, after it was all over, my mom would say something like "Well, glad that's done! It's the Fourth (of July)! We should cook out! How about  burgers?!"

To which my reply was something along of the lines of "You have got to be fucking kidding me".

Enjoy your Fourth (of July)!

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

It's good to have goals

Letter to some editor out there who wants to take me on as an author and one day publish all of my random rantings and make me millions of American dollars:

Dear Mr. Publishing Company Man:

Hi.  You don't know who I am because I try very hard to protect my identity from freakshow right-wing conservatives who object to the use of the words "vajayjay" and "fuck" and might want to get me fired from my real job.  Don't worry, when it's time to cut me a royalty check, I'll be sure and give you a call so that you get my name right on that fucker.  Oh, and yes, I have a real job....but please, don't let that convince you that I'm not fully dedicated to my writing. The issue is that the electric company doesn't accept "I'm a starving author" when your bill is due...they'll pretty much turn that shit off in the absence of money.

Anyhoo, I write pretty much just like I talk, but again, because we won't have a conversation until it's time to send me money, you'll just have to trust me on that one.  I usually write about odd, random or totally unbelievable, vaguely redneck shit that *actually* happens to me.  And I for one happen to think I'm pretty damn funny.  Also, I have a whole 7 followers....dude, tell me these people are not totally cutting edge?? Two words: Trend. Setters.

Still not convinced?? Okay, well then how about this: how many redneck bloggers can you think of who can spell or know when to make a new paragraph and shit?? Yeah, exactly. 

So back to that whole "paying me to write" thing....you should totally do it.  All the cool kids are....come on dude, drink the kool-aid.  (Sidebar: did you not just totally fucking love kool-aid when you were a kid?? Man, I sure did! My mom never made it because it was all "high in sugar" and "unhealthy" and whatnot.  But my aunt next door ALWAYS had a pitcher of kool-aid! And all the way over there I'd be all "Man, I can't wait to get to Aunt T's house and drink some kool-aid!" and then just my luck, I'd get there and it'd be grape.  Fucking grape.  Disgusting.  But still, I'd force down a glass or two just because it was sugary as hell.) 

In conclusion, I am available to any publishing company who is looking to break the "next big thing" into the world of fiction.....which would be me in case you missed that part.....seven out of seven followers agree.

Sincerely,
~NTS

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

One Bad Mother....

Confessions of a bad mother:


  •  My kid hasn't had a bath since Sunday. I was having a couple of beers  all set to put her in the tub last night and realized that today is "Water Play Day" at daycare. Score!
  • I have a job that enables me to take a lot of time off (especially during the summer) and I am still planning on taking my kid to daycare at least a couple of days a week so that no family fatalities ensue.
  • Dinner at my house last week consisted of dry cereal, Sonic and frozen waffles because I hadn't been to the grocery store in like, 2 months.
  • I regularly allow my kids to eat 2 to 3 of those little cups of vanilla ice cream a day. It's not worth the argument and makes them feel like they've somehow won something.
  • Lots of people have issues with kids watching too much TV. I am no longer one of those people. Especially after working all day, cooking dinner, packing lunches for the next day and cleaning the kitchen/house/laundry. You wanna watch 3 hours of the Disney channel? Go for it….mommy's having a cocktail.
  • I allow my children to dress themselves. This means that my 12-year-old stepson typically wears all of one color…he hasn't quite mastered the concept of "complementing colors" vs. "matching colors". If it's all red, it matches. This also means that my 5-year-old daughter is wearing something vaguely resembling that of the starving Ethiopian children they show on those Sally Struthers commercials. She has now taken to asking me "Mommy, do I look like a homeless child in this?" 
  • I also allow my daughter to pack her own lunch for school. She has taken frozen waffles, cereal, a whole stalk of celery and a mayonnaise sandwich at one time or another for lunch.
Wow....and this was just the first 7 I could come up with off the top of my head....stay tuned.

Thursday, June 10, 2010

Chips and bread

I have nothing to say.

I have been sucked into the black hole that is the end of the school year and am just recently clawing my way back out.

Things have been crazy hectic…vacation at the coast, end of the school year, preschool graduation, friends' graduation celebrations and work. I'm tired just from writing all of that.

I think I may have finally caught up on sleep, but we drank celebrated so much this past weekend that I have only had two beers this week. Yep, that's right….TWO….and it's THURSDAY. That's like half a beer per day. Who am I all of a sudden?

I have also, within the last month or so, boycotted grocery shopping.

Seriously. There is no time.

We have been going from function to function and stopping at the convenience store to buy beer to bring on the way. Typically, these functions have included free meals, so while there's really been no time, there's not been much of a need either.

Well, maybe a little bit of a need….

So on Tuesday I get a text from my husband that says "I got chips and bread". Which I later find out meant that he went to the grocery store and LITERALLY bought chips. And bread.

Chips. Bread.

That is all.

So lemme get this straight. You drove the 10 minutes to the grocery store, parked your huge-ass truck in the parking lot, walked all the way inside and rather than purchase things that we could actually make a MEAL out of like chicken, vegetables, lunchmeat or milk, you expended all that energy to buy CHIPS and BREAD?!?!

WTF?

Meals you can make out of chips and bread:

1. Chip Sandwiches

2. Hmmm....I got nuthin'.

So now, I will have to write out the gigantic grocery shopping list and go grocery shopping on Friday.

*sigh*

Guess this means I'll have to actually cook at some point, too.

Thursday, June 3, 2010

Warning: This Post Contains Gross Generalizations About a Group of People (and not like "gross" like "eww", but "gross" like "big-time")

I have done it.


I have drunk (drank? No, I'm pretty sure it's drunk….but I'm really not sure and I'm generally super-anal about correct grammar and spelling. Hmm…hang on; I might have to Google it. No, that's stupid…spell check didn't underline it with that squiggly red or green line, so it's probably okay. Moving on…). Okay, sorry, ADHD moment.

So it's official.

I have drunk/drank the Kool Aid.

I have signed my daughter up for cheerleading.

I know….I feel like such a sell-out. I feel like I'm single-handedly responsible for setting the women's rights movement back like, 50 years. But my husband's all, "Jeez…calm down, it's not that big of a deal. Why do you always have to make everything so political?? She wants to cheer, let her. You're not, like, the President or something". And I'm all "Oh yeah? Well…..shut up."

And I know that he's probably right. It's probably not *that* big of a deal in the long-run, so we will go through with it. And she'll wear the cute little uniform and the cute little bow and carry the cute little pom-poms. And I'll try not to hate her….you know, since she's my kid and all.

But I'm sure it'll be fine.

The thing of it is, I wasn't so much the "cheerleader type" in high school. I did a variety of activities, but they were mostly sports, rodeo or speech/theater. Yeah, I did say a "variety. One of my very best friends was a cheerleader all through high school and was actually head cheer leader our senior, so it's not like I have anything against them….it just wasn't my bag. Of course, cheerleading has changed drastically since then….now you have to like tumble and do acrobatics and shit. And it may or may not involve cheering for an actual team…which is just odd to me. Like, what the hell's the point? Who are you cheering for if there's not some sort of sport being played?? Um…no thank you.

The worst part? I'll have to sit at practice or in the bleachers with the other cheerleader moms. Who were probably all cheerleaders in high school or even college and will want to relive their glory days while wearing their workout clothes since they just came from the gym and "Oh! Wouldn't you know it; I can still do a round off back handspring and toe touch. What? No, I couldn't….well, okay, maybe just one time if you insist!" All while watching our five- and six-year-olds learn cheers.

Lovely.

So let's see….what should we talk about first? Hmmm….the 8-point buck my son shot this year? The war in the Middle East? The impact that Cold War politics has had on 21st century America? How my daughter already knows how to clean freshly killed dove? The fact that I can out-drink most sorority girls? My concern that cheerleading might be a detriment to young girls' self-image?

Probably not.

This is going to be a blast.

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

Things I learned while vacationing at the Texas coast

(Yes, we've been on vacation....okay, it was like a "mini-vacation" because it was basically just a long weekend down at the coast.  But when you're po'? Yeah, it's a vacation.  Anyway, that's why I haven't been writing...it takes a flippin' act of Congress to get all the shit together for a family of four to vacation.  I swear I've done enough laundry to outfit a college fraternity.  So yeah, that's my excuse for not posting in a while....and I think it's a pretty damn good one if I do say so myself.)


• Do not show the five-year-old what a jellyfish looks like so that they may avoid stepping on or getting stung by said jellyfish. It will only serve to freak her the fuck out about getting in the ocean and then you'll spend the rest of the trip by the condo's pool.

• Drinking beer all day in the Texas summer heat will produce the expected results unless you eat lunch…or at least breakfast...or even a bag of peanuts.

• I would be the size of my refrigerator if I lived within 100 yards of a Whataburger (which our condo was). Taquitos for breakfast, cheeseburgers for lunch?! What's not to love?

• The bonding experienced between a husband and a wife while everyone is at the front of the boat and the husband is standing between you and the shore so that the people fishing on the shore can't see you sitting and peeing in a bucket may be the cure for the divorce rate in this country.

• If you can pee in a bucket with three adults and three children on the same boat with you plus the, oh…say…five or six dudes fishing on shore possibly watching you, you can say with absolute conviction that you do not have a shy bladder.

• God Bless the person who invented the car DVD player. I'd like to shake that dude's hand and personally let him know how that I only had to say "Don't make me stop this car!" like, once on the drive down to the beach.

• If four adults and three kids can survive a long weekend together in a total of about 300 square feet of space, I don't see what the problem is with letting the Chinese have more than one baby. Overcrowding-schmovercrowding....

• Should you be out fishing all day and think it's funny to text your wife and tell her to bring some cash and meet you at the boat launch because you're being escorted in by a game warden to take a field sobriety test, which is completely NOT TRUE?? Forget all of your "pee time bonding"….she will be pissed. And then retaliate by hiding the vodka. Don't fuck with her.