Friday, December 16, 2011

Confessions of a Bad Mother: The Christmas Edition

1. My kid's "Teacher Gift" this year was a re-gift. I'm a serial re-gifter.

2.  I have not made any Christmas cookies, treats, snacks, or other forms of baked goods AT ALL this year and I do not intend to.  I actually took a crab dip to a Christmas party last night, saw there was a shitload of food and stuck it in the fridge to save for the Christmas party I'm going to today.  Yes, mom, I know that was tacky, but the hostess assured me it was no problem...and I wanted to believe her, so I did.

3.  I do not have an Elf on a Shelf.  I will never have an Elf on a Shelf.  For two reasons: 1. They're creepy as hell and 2. I'm too fucking lazy to move the stupid thing every night.  My kids will never know the joy that comes from knowing that Santa, in all his "naughty/nice" glory, sent a minion to watch over you and make sure you don't screw it up in the weeks before Christmas.  How Big Brother are we, Santa?? And where the hell is the elf the rest of the year?? Where was that fucker on the day the kid took a black magic marker to the new carpet and the dog?? I didn't see his creepy ass lurking around THEN, did I?? So, that's a big NEGATIVE on the Elf on a Shelf.

4.  I put ribbon on all of my packages because I am obsessive about wrapping gifts and they all have to be pretty.  Yes, I know kids can't get the ribbon off and dad has to pull out his pocket knife to cut it, thereby endangering the kid because dad now has a knife out, but they have to be PRETTY, dammit! The "Bag o' Bows" doesn't cut it at our house.

5. I found a Target bag with an Easter book and a brown stuffed rabbit in it in the closet with the gift wrapping stuff.  Guess who's getting an Easter book and a stuffed rabbit in one of her presents?? Double the Jesus holiday!

6.  I have no outside lights and no inflatable yard decorations.  I'm certain I'm on some sort of list because of this and I can only hope it's not the naughty one.  People on my street probably think we're Jewish....or Jehovah's Witnesses (aren't they the ones that don't celebrate holidays? I'm pretty sure they are.)

7.  I started my Christmas shopping on December 11th.  STARTED.  I'm so screwed.

8.  The other day, I was driving home and the crossing arm thingy was down at the railroad crossing by my house and there was a train stopped on the tracks a ways back from it.  So the arm goes up and the dude in front of me starts across before it was all the way up.  THEN, it started coming back down on his car! It literally almost chopped down on his car...he had to, like, gun it to get through before it hacked the top of his Jeep! And, I laughed.  Because it would have been hilarious if it had just whacked the shit out of his car!

And I know, that makes me a bad person. 

And that story has nothing to do with Christmas, but I hate lists with odd numbers.

Monday, November 14, 2011

You might be breaking up with me after reading this post.

(Disclaimer: Some of you may never read my blog again.  You may, in fact, "unfriend" me from facebook, quit following me on twitter and possibly never speak to me again.  It's okay...I understand.  Oh, and yes, you read that correctly, I've sold out and I do the Twitter.  I know.  I'm lame.)

You know what I don't get?

The whole "married couple sharing one facebook page" thing.

Really? I took your last name, I birthed your child and I give you sex regularly enough to keep you interested.  Now you want my flippin' social network???

Um, no.

To me, that feels a little too much like "Hey, now that we're married, it's just easier for us to have one cell phone contract, one checking account and oh yeah, one identity."  Hmm...I'll keep my checking account and my identity, thanks....although you're totally right about the cell phone contract, so let's do that one for sure.

Would you believe I survived an entire 25 years before I even knew my husband??? (A fact of which I have to remind him often when he tries to be too bossy, but which I can totally forget should there be some sort of rodent in the house.)

Yeah, so I'm pretty sure I can handle my own social networking without him, thanks.  I have my own friends, my own hobbies and interests, things I "like" that he may not....and last I checked, I'm pretty okay with that.  Keeps conversation interesting at the dinner table, ya know? It's not like:
"Hey did you know so-and-so got engaged?"
"Oh, well did you see that the new blah-di-blah album is out?"
"Yeah, on facebook"
" was your day?"
"Didn't you see our status? It sucked."
"Well, I had a great why would OUR status say it sucked??"
"Because it's OUR status...duh"

I would guess that most people in favor of the shared facebook page believe it helps eliminate questions as to fidelity in your marriage.  I really don't know...I guess people think it just helps keep it all "above board" between you and your spouse.  So there are no questionable friendships or relationships of which your spouse is unaware?? 

Here's the deal: Ring + Vows = Fidelity.  Period.

I happen to be friends with quite a few people I've dated in the past.  Is that a problem? No, because the word is datED, as in past tense, no longer and over with.  It satisfies my inner stalker and assures me that they ended up marrying someone *almost* as cool as I am (well, except for this one guy who ended up marrying a doctor...dude, you did waaay better with that chick, I promise!).  And so if my husband and I occasionally like to poke fun of this guy I dated for a bit in college and is now super fat and lives with his mom, well, that's just all the more fun for us, huh?
If that is the argument used by proponents of the "single facebook page lifestyle", I'm sorry, but in my opinion, it's flawed.  Seriously, if I were going to cheat, I certainly wouldn't be dumb enough to do it from my OWN facebook page! Um, helloooo?? I'd create a fake one that only me and my affair buddy would know about....duh.  Which would mean that even if Ronnie and I were "co-facebookers", he still wouldn't know I was having an affair and the whole point of having a single page would be moot. (Sidebar: LOVE LOVE LOVE using the word "moot"!)

So now all the "same-page couples" that read this can go unfriend me on's fine, I totally understand.  Although to be fair, I'm going to have to ask you to unfriend my husband, too, right?


Thursday, November 10, 2011


This is for you, Mama! Happy birthday and I love you.

My mom is:

fearless yet terrified of losing someone she loves; a GREAT cook; funny; the most courageous person I’ve ever known; an antique watch collector; my best friend; still able to put my head on her shoulder and let me cry even though I’ve got five inches on her; a thoughtful person; a jewelry fiend; fiercely loyal, often to her own detriment; a voracious reader; a hottie; really good at driving really fast…unless she’s talking; the best wine-tasting partner EVER; great in a crisis; Southern; never one to say “I told you so”; bad at remembering and retelling jokes; someone who prays daily; highly entertained by my sense of humor; constantly working to better herself; accepting of others; someone who often over-analyzes things; independent; a lover of cowboy boots and blue jeans; a shopaholic; a doting yet firm grandmother; a virtuous woman; a cowgirl through and through; a gadget-lover; well-traveled, well-spoken and well-educated; always up for an adventure; a sports-car fanatic; a dreamer and yet a realist; a giver; supportive of decisions I make even if she feels they’re not good ones; open-minded; family oriented; the coolest Mom EVER.

Thursday, November 3, 2011

Self-Help 101 (I'm pretty sure I should write a book...)

Things I'm good at:
-thinking through other people's problems and offering multiple solutions that involve analysis of even the most discreet of details.  (Seriously, I am the mother of all problem solvers....)

Things I'm not good at:
-solving my own problems.


How does that even add up??

How is it possible for me to objectively consider all angles of other people's lives, issues, circumstances, etc. and offer multiple reasonable solutions and when it's my own shit, which I should know backwards and forwards?? I freeze up and become a bundle of anxiety.  Then my husband has to talk me down from the ledge and intravaneously feed me vodka.

Makes no sense.  I need to grow some balls or something.  Seriously.  I just want to tell myself exactly what I would me if I were my friend who was as good at problem solving as I am to my friends (yeah, just go with it)..."Man up, grow some balls and face the issue."  Damn, I give good advice when I'm pretending to be my friend who is really as good at this stuff as I am.

If you happen to overhear me talking to myself, no's my new "pretend to be my friend who is good at listening to my problems and offering solutions that don't involve ledge-jumping or vodka" self-help strategy.

In fact, here's a list of the self-help strategies I employ when stressed out:
-Lose sleep
-Bitch at my husband
-Gripe about everything
-Lose more sleep
-Drink more

How are these "helpful"? They're not, really....but I generally feel better after I finish this list.  Or perhaps I just have a buzz? Either way....

Friday, October 21, 2011

A cry for help


I need a hobby.

My husband and I are having entirely too much "togetherness" lately.  And then he goes off to play softball, hunt or fish and I'm left at home with the kid (which is generally pretty painless, but still...I'm home....with her...and she's home...with me.  Get the picture?).

And since when does he have so many frickin' hobbies??

I need some girl time.  Some *adult* girl time.

I am, in fact, SO desperate for adult girl time that I *actually* attended a buy-crap party last weekend.



Buy-crap party.



Wickless candles and purses.

This is desperation, people!

And you know the best part? I went to the party with absolutely NO intention of buying a damn thing and EVERY intention of drinking their wine and eating their party food.  DUDE. I flippin' LOVE party food.  Cheese and crackers, vegetables and dip, hummus and pita chips?? Heeaaveen!

So that's exactly what I did.

I was also the last person to leave.

And as I recall it went something like, "Please don't make me go back!!! Please!!".

Okay, that may have been slightly dramatic, but it was sort of totally not at all like that.

I did stay for a long damn time....and I did not purchase a single thing.  Oh, and I may or may not have emptied the bottle of white wine the hostess opened for me....I mean, the party.

So yeah, I need a hobby.

I'm actually thinking of taking up jogging.

Holy hell, who have I become?!!? Wickless candles, purses and jogging?!?!?!


Friday, October 14, 2011

Not only is it all together, but it all matches and is tied with a bow.

So this week is "feel-good" week at work.  It's a week where we basically go an extra step or two towards telling our fellow co-workers how much we appreciate them and whatnot.  We do fun little things like leave treats in people's mailboxes and write nice note cards to people, etc. 

Before you ask, yes, I participated and yes, I was about 5 people.  But hey, I did *something*.

Honestly, one of the coolest parts of the whole week is the "Nice Note Card" activity. Everyone's name gets put on top of a note card in the break room and then everyone has the week to go in and write (anonymously) nice things about the person.  I love it! Mostly because I am always shocked by what people think about me...this year being no exception.

My note card says, and I quote, "I don't know anyone else who has it more together than you."

Really?? You think I have "it" together??? Do you even know me??

I am so NOT together that I:

-can't balance a checkbook.
-regularly lose my keys, cell phone and other slightly important items.
-also regularly forget to make arrangements for someone to pick up my kid and scramble at the last minute.
-never know the balance of my bank account.
-have run out of gas on the way to work because I didn't even notice my fuel light was on. More than once...
-regularly leave the house with wet hair and no make-up on, yet still arrive late.
-have to go to the grocery store at least 87 times a month because I never get *everything* the first time, even when I make a list.
-am generally 10-15 minutes late wherever I go.
-am almost always out of milk or eggs and borrow them from my neighbor.
-color-code my planner to stay on top of it all, forget to write shit down in it and still miss important meetings.
-forget my grocery list at work or at home when going to the grocery store.
-pay my water bill late EVERY MONTH (no exaggeration) because I have to mail it and I *never* have stamps.
-have killed several cell phones via various methods of torture such as dropping them in the river, running over them with my truck and drowning them in a vodka tonic (don't ask).

I am, however, immensely flattered that you think I "have it all together"...because seriously? I'm pretty sure I'm constantly trying to pick up the pieces and just keep them in a somewhat organized pile.

I'm a fan of the "somewhat organized pile".

Friday, October 7, 2011

Are you in good hands?

Am I the only person on the planet who doesn't understand insurance?

We just recently got something from work about updating our disability insurance coverage. 

Yeah...I'm pretty sure I didn't even  know I *had* disability insurance coverage, much less how much it is and even less than much less, when/if/why/by how much I should update it.

I swear to you that the words "deductible" and "copay" send me into a catatonic trance.


See? I just totally blanked out there.

You know what else I don't understand? Medical billing and health insurance.  I mean, I have it...that's about the extent of my knowledge.  The other day a friend of mine was going on and on about how her insurance was trying to screw her because they were saying she hadn't met her deductible (___________...sorry) and the doctor's office sent her a bill and it was a shitload of money.  So she pretty much spent a whole day on the phone with the doctor and the insurance company getting it straight and faxing them paperwork and blah, blah, blah, blah, blah (I understood about half of what she said).

Really??? You spent your time doing that??

Because if I get a doctor bill and I have insurance, I don't pay it.  


That's what insurance is FOR, am I right? I pay for insurance so I don't have to pay for doctors and check-ups and shit.  Basically, I pay the insurance company to write checks to the doctor. Like they're my own private little accountant who's in charge of handling all that business.

And then when I get a second or third bill (or perhaps a collections notice) from the doctor's office, I generally pay it....because obviously my insurance accountant chick is out on vacation! And really? The insurance company should be paying ME in those cases for doing HER job.

Just kidding...I have a vague understanding of insurance. It borders somewhere between my knowledge of Tao Te Ching and the geography of the former Soviet Bloc....but hey, it's something.

Okay, okay, I *do* sort of understand insurance.  It, unfortunately, happens to be one of those "adulty" things you have to learn when you get kicked off your parent's insurance after college.  But it's totally a pain in the ass, am I right??
Maybe I should just re-read the Tao Te Ching and I'll feel more zen about insurance.  Probably not.

Wednesday, October 5, 2011

The best thing about writing this post was spell checking it.

So this is us, pretending like it hasn't been two months since I blogged.

Just go with it.



And you know, not one single comment asking as to whether or not I'm alive, have been sucked into a black hole or just don't like any of you anymore.  Not. A. One.

Lame asses.

So, what have you guys been up to? (I'm asking, but I don't really care and it's not like I'll hear your responses anyway, but hey! I asked! You guys didn't! So, by default, I'm now nicer than you are. I rule.)

In summary, it has been a hellacious couple of months.  (Sidebar: Ohmigod! Spell check just tried to turn "hellacious" into "fallatious"!!! Um, that's fucking awesome.  Oh, and let me assure you, it has NOT been a fallatious couple of months because we have pretty much been falling into bed already asleep. Aaaand now you know.)

And that's about all I have to say about that....nothing major, just hectic with work, school, extracurricular activities, yadda, yadda, yadda.  The same shit that all of you do, so why in the world would you want to read about it here?

Short answer: Ya don't. 

Moving on....

Things I'm thinking about/loving/googling/dealing with:

1.  Mike & Molly--ohmigod! The is, quite possibly, the BEST show on TV since Friends! And because I'm a teenager/young adult of the 90s and early 00s, Friends is like, the shit! If you haven't seen this show, WATCH IT! (Sidebar: I do not watch this show because it's about people who are overweight...the media has kind of made that the whole point, but I think, that is asinine (which, by the way, is one of my absolutely favorite words).  Basically, making it about the actors' weight is demeaning to their talent as comedians.  And now, I will gladly get off my soapbox and continue my witty banter.)

2.  Can you use Proactiv if you're pregnant? No, I'm not pregnant...(but if I was, holy shit balls! You guys would have totally heard about it because I would have absolutely freaked out!!!!)...but I have a very good friend who recently got pregnant through IVF, and this was a conversation we had today via IM.  Were we busy at work? I'm certain of it.

3.  How many activities are too many activities for a kid? I never want to make the mistake of being the "Over-Scheduling Parent", but seriously....she has GOT to have something to do besides be up my ass.  We're about to wrap up fall softball and now we're trying to figure out what's, dance, karate, underwater basket weaving????  Not sure, but I've decided it's gotta be somethin'....

4.  How cheap am I willing to go on whiskey?? Yep, that's right.....I'm dieting again....(read all about my first diet fail with Crown and water here).  But honestly, it's going much better this time around! The hubs and I are carb dieting and I could almost swear to you I've got loose pants in the closet! I know!!! Me! Not having to lay on the bed to zip my shit every morning!!! Who knew!!?! Anyway, so now the dilemma is: Crown Royal is frickin' expensive.  Canadian, but hmmm....not so much the same. 

5.  Check engine light: OH. MY. GOD. My car is a total fucking bitch.  The check engine light?!!?! REALLY!?!?! It's like the drama queen's fake cry for help or some shit!! I know there's nothing wrong with you....I have your oil changed regularly and keep you all cleaned out and whatnot and YOU HAVE THE NERVE TO LIGHT UP YOUR LITTLE NAMBY PAMBY CHECK ENGINE LIGHT!?!??! I hate her. 

6.  Auto Zone: Did you know....if you take your car with the check engine light on to the Auto Zone, they will plug it up to this nifty little machine thingy that will tell you exactly what's wrong with it?? Fancy, huh?? They will NOT, however, be able to clear it so that the mother effing light goes off, NOR will they be able to sell you the shit that will fix it and make the mother effing light go off.  What in the hell is the point of "getting in the zone" then, Auto Zone??? To waste my flippin' time??? Well, then, mission accomplished....yay, you.

7.  The Saints are doing pretty damn good so far and Thank. God. They beat the Texans.  I'm starting to go a little overboard with the Saints gear the shirts, got the cups, got the beads, got the stickers, got the "When the Saints go Marching In" bottle opener (how FUN! Open the bottle and it plays the song!!!)'s getting to be a bit much.  Along those same lines, I'm turning in to quite the obnoxious football fan for certain college teams, too.  Who is this person and where did she come from?? I don't know, but it's a damn good excuse to spend Saturday and Sunday in front of the TV or at a sports bar drinking beer....dammit....Crown and.....nope....whiskey and water! Oh wait, never mind....NOW I know where this person came from.

8.  Recent discovery: there is a vineyard and winery FIVE MINUTES from my house.  Not kidding.  FIVE FRICKIN' MINUTES!!!!! Man, my life just got better.  And my Sunday was pretty awesome, too...the mom and I hit the vineyard and winery.  Made for a tough Monday though.

So yeah....

That's what's going on with me...sort of....or maybe not.  Maybe I just made up this whole flippin' blog post. 

You be the judge.

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

It's like those people who wear socks with sandals....they're cool with it, so why do I care?

Over the summer, the kid and I had multiple opportunities to go places with water, like the swimming pool, water park, lake or beach.  When you live in Texas and it's 118 degrees, you do what you can to stay cool.  (And no, this is NOT the part of the blog post where I rant on and on about how fucking HOT it is already know and it's pointless to bore you with repetition).  SO, the water park...or the pool...or wherever we were, generally there were people in swimwear.  Makes sense, right? Right.

O. M. Jesus.

Apparently some people don't own mirrors.

And honestly, some of them were so bad that I started know, maybe it's just me?

Maybe I'm the one with the insane body-image issues and these people have one over on me, you know? Hey, they're cool being who they are (even if who they are is a 350 pound woman in a string, rebel flag bikini (yes, I saw that....and I'm here to tell you, there are some things you can't "unsee")).  So, who's the one with the problem here? Them? Or me?

I'm thinking it's me...and I'm pretty sure that my whole world is shifting because of it.  Do you know that in these moments of clarity I've actually considered wearing a bikini?? ME! In a TWO PIECE!! It's never happened before....but I'm thinking about breaking it out.  (After, of course, a few hours laying out in the backyard in it so that my stomach can get a *little* sun.  My momma's friend used to always say, "Tan fat is better than white fat!"  Words to live by, my friend.)

Here's the thing: these women are comfortable with their bodies and comfortable in a two piece why shouldn't I be? I'm athletic, fairly toned and a nice average double-digit size.  I don't have to shop in plus sizes or anything.  No, my stomach's not flat (damn you, Miller Lite!) and yes, my thighs jiggle a little when I walk, but hey, maybe I should embrace this body I live in--cellulite, stretch marks and all.  I'll never be as thin as a model and I'll never have six-pack abs, but why should that put me in the "mom swimsuit closet"?? I'm starting to think it shouldn't!

I feel like I'm having an epiphany.

But then I actually think about being out in public in a two piece swimsuit and I start hyperventilating a little.  So I'll just start with baby laying out in the backyard. Or maybe just wearing it when I shower. Or in my bedroom with the lights down while no one else is home.


Men don't have to deal with shit like this...they can be fat and shirtless at the pool and no one says a thing.

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Gotta love well-informed employees

I recently took a road trip over to South Louisiana to spend some time with some girlfriends that I don't get to see very much.  It was an awesome time...nothing like old friends and all that.  In order to get to our meeting point, I had to travel through much of southeast Texas, more specifically, Port Arthur, part of the Golden Triangle in Texas and the birthplace of one of my heroes, Janis Joplin.

I have been a Janis Joplin fan since junior high, when I declared her to be the coolest rebel chick I'd ever heard about and began to listen to her music pretty much non-stop. It was one of those "I'm so misunderstood and Janis was so misunderstood and ohmigod, we have so much in common" kind of things.  My mom was a little concerned....namely because my proclaimed "hero" was a bisexual drug addicted hippy who died of an overdose.  But, you know, it was all about the MUSIC, man!

Anyway, so road trip through Port Arthur...I google something like "Janis Joplin memorial" and find out that there is a really cool statue that was commissioned by some bad-ass sculptor dude and it is somewhere in Port Arthur.  Okaaayy....but where? And as a side note, let me just tell you that there are areas of Port Arthur that you don't want to just be driving through, after more googling, I figure out that it's either in front of, near or actually inside the Gulf Coast Music Hall of Fame Museum.  So I call them.

And here's what went down:
Rashad: Thank you for calling the Gulf Coast Music Hall of Fame Museum.  This is Rashad. How may I help you?
Me: Hi Rashad.  I have kind of a random question for you.  I'm in the area and would really like to see the Janis Joplin memorial statue, but I can't figure out where it's located in Port Arthur.  Could you tell me where it is?
Rashad: I don't know.
Me: *pause* You don't know?
Rashad: Nope.
Me: Didn't I just call the Gulf Coast Music Hall of Fame Museum?
Rashad: Yep.
Me: And you have no idea where a statue of Janis Joplin, who is a female blues singer from Port Arthur, would be located?
Rashad: Nope.
Me: Oooookay.  Is there anyone else there who might be able to help me?
Rashad: Um, hang on.

Steve: Thank you for calling the Gulf Coast Hall of Fame Museum.  This is Steve.
Me: Hi Steve, I'm trying to find out where the commemorative statue of Janis Joplin is located in Port Arthur.  Do you know?
Steve: No.
Me: Really?
Steve: *silence*

Julie: Hi this is Julie, can I help you?
Me: Julie? What happened to Steve?? Oh well, whatever....okay,'re like the third person I've talked to.  So, here's the deal, I'm looking for a statue of Janis Joplin that is somewhere in Port Arthur.  Do you happen to know where?
Julie: Ummm....
Me: *incredulous silence*
Julie: Okay, I googled it and it looks like the one that we have here in the museum in our Janis Joplin display on the 2nd floor.
Me: Okay, so it's actually *in* your museum.
Julie: Yes.
Me: And you have two employees there who had no idea that was the case?
Julie: Apparently.
Me: Awesome....just so we're clear on that.  Okay, so what are your hours and admission fees and whatnot?
Julie: We're open daily from 10:00 to 6:00 and it costs $4.00 for adult admission to the museum.

I feel like I just ran a marathon.

And still? No picture of the statue, me with the statue or even visual proof that the statue does, in fact, exist.

Rashad, Steve and Julie, you guys ROCK.

Thursday, June 16, 2011

4 out of 5 swamp people have been affected.


It's summer.

It's hot as shit outside.

We live in the air conditioning like couch blobs or in the water like floating blobs.

And that's pretty much what's going on around here.

Man....seriously.  Human beings were not meant to live in places with upwards of 100 degree temps.  The Grand Designer should have made us unable to withstand anything higher than, like 80 degrees.  If that was always as cold/hot as it ever got, life would be so much nicer.  Well, at least, less "sweatier" anyway. 

You know, I don't really have a problem with sweating in general, but I feel like I should be doing something to earn my sweat, you know? Like working out, or running, or trying to put on skinny jeans in a non-air-conditioned dressing room.  Those times? Totally "sweat-worthy".  But just sitting?? Sitting on your ass outside? You should not just sweat.  There's just something wrong about it.

I think the main reason I have an issue with it is that (brace yourselves) I sweat like a frickin' MAN.  Seriously.

It rolls down my back, off the tip of my nose and between my boobs.  It's not "glistening" or "perspiring", it's flippin' SWEATING.  Like a whore in church.

But at least I don't have the trouble that my husband does....he tends the sweat in all the same places (minus the boobs), but also in other, more, um...delicate....areas. (And no, before you freak out, I'm not going *there*)

So yeah...sweating...on your butt....(Sidebar: In your butt? No that totally sounds disgusting.  Hmmm...sweating out of your butt?? Holy Lord! Even worse...not sure what the appropriate terminology is here kids....moving on before you just click off this blog and forget you ever even read it...).

Anyhoo: butt sweat.  Referred to by my husband as "swamp ass".  Never heard that? Okay, think about this: you're outside, it's 7:30 am...cooler weather and all that.  You start working.  Next thing you know it's noon and by this point you are sweating pretty good.  So you take a lunch break, cool off, grab some grub whatever.  Back to work....and this is the HOT stretch...1 pm to's 104 degrees hot.  But you make it through, jump in the truck and head home....cooling off with that nice AC.  By the time you get home, you've now sweated and cooled off about 4 times throughout the day.  Your underwear/jeans/shorts are now the bearers of "swamp ass".

Get the picture?

And the ever-so-helpful Wikipedia defines it as as common Marine Corps terminology and says: swamp-ass – unpleasant collection of sweat soaking undergarments.

Well....they made it sound so much simpler.

Think Swamp People get swamp ass??

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

And now for your daytime viewing pleasure...

I’m just not that into daytime TV. And when your job allows you take extended amounts of time off in the summer, you have (for some unknown reason) chosen to settle in a southern state with temps upwards of 187 degrees and you have no pool, there’s not all that much else to do.

I’m not a huge fan. My roommate in college was a die-hard (and I mean, die-hard) General Hospital fan. Like she recorded it on our VCR everyday while she was in class and then before she headed out to study group or whatever (because she was ridiculously smart and majored in biochemical engineering or some such nonsense and was ALWAYS freakin’ studying), she’d watch the day’s episode and eat dinner. I have to say, I kinda got into it after a while. I mean, if your TV is going to be high-jacked while you’re eating, eventually you start paying attention to what’s on it. But after college, you know, my soap opera phase ended….along with my Doc Maarten’s phase, my plaid shirt phase and my maroon lipstick phase. The 90s were over, I had to deal.

I do, however, enjoy a good trashy talk show as much as the next person. I spent many afternoons studying….erm…vegged out on the couch, royally hung over, eating Sonic and watching TV (sorry, Mom). I saw so many transvestite love triangles on Jerry Springer that I started suspecting my neighbor of being a cross-dresser who had a secret relationship going on with his roommate who was actually cheating with the weird, short kid that came over to “study”. Seriously, Jerry Springer can warp anyone’s world view.

Alas, my days of Jerry Springer viewing are over. My daytime TV viewing after the kid was born consisted of Super Why, Between the Lions and Curious George. (Gotta love the educational PBS line-up!) Those days, if it didn’t have a spelling lesson, at least one puppet and some sort of moral, I hadn’t seen it.

Fast forward a few years and few hundred conversations with my husband about why I don’t want satellite and why he does later, and now my daytime TV viewing consists of Disney channel on loop showing the same 30-minute, “I have a problem, I made a bad choice to solve it, oh-no! now I have to apologize to my friend, whew glad everyone learned their lesson here” storyline.  But strangely, the wardrobes are slightly reminiscent of Jerry Springer...anyone else notice that?? Weird.  AND, can someone please explain to me the shorts/boots combination?? I mean, for Alex Russo, I get it...a good place to stash her wand, but Bridget Mendler's character on Good Luck Charlie?? No point. But the absolute worst thing? I can sing all the damn songs that come on...Lemonade Mouth, Selena Gomez, Hannah Montana....

I’m starting to miss the puppets.

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

It's like my second job, but without a paycheck.

Because pretty much all I have to talk about these days is tee ball, shuttling the kid to tee ball, who made tee ball all-stars and why we even *have* tee ball all-stars when we don't "officially" keep score, or how insane work is right now, I'm going to bring up something that has been on my mind for a while and still confuses me.

Namely: why my husband still attempts to initiate sex with me in the morning when he knows that A) I don't like it and B) I am *always* running late to get out of bed, shower, get the kid up and get everyone where they need to be on time.  Well, at least reasonably on time...give or take 15 minutes.  (Sidebar: I swear they've started keeping a "tardy note tab" on my kid at school and I'm sure she's going to have to like, make up hours in kindergarten d-hall where they'll make her sit and think about what a bad parent I am for not being able to get my kid to school on time or make her write pages of multiplication tables like my principal did when I was in elementary school.  Except that may have not happened until I actually learned my multiplication tables....hmmm....  Anyway, I'm pretty sure the school secretary hates me.)

Back to the topic at hand....Ronnie's actually come up with a fairly convincing argument, which is pretty much, besides locking the child out of the house (and really, how obvious is *that*), there's just no other time of day that works.  We all get home from work, school, ball practice in the evening, have dinner, do bath time and watch some TV or read books (okay, mostly TV...don't judge me) and then we all crash.  Well, except for the "I'm never going to sleep again and you can't make me" kid that we created.  But Ronnie and I? Totally out.  Exhausted.  Done.

So it's kinda rare for us to get the opportunity in the evening or at night.

Which leaves the morning. 


You know what I do in the morning? Get up, shower, drink coffee, get ready, get the kid up, get her ready, load the car and go to work.  You know what I don't do in the morning? Talk.

Ever.  Well, at least until I've had one cup of coffee.  And then only if it's something really important like, "I think the house is on fire".  Other than that? Not so much a morning person.

So if we don't get a date night soon? I may have to resort to getting up early to have coffee and brush my teeth before he busts his move. mom wasn't kidding when she said marriage took WORK.

Tuesday, May 3, 2011

Redneck GPS

The other day my husband and I were driving to a crawfish boil at a person’s house that we don’t know very well. (Sidebar: Okay, that sounded weird. In our defense, he’s one of those “friend of a friend” type people. We don’t make a habit of gate-crashing all crawfish boils in the surrounding area. Although, now that I think about it, what a fantastic idea! Hmmm...must consider all angles on this one....)

Anyway, so we’re driving to a town that’s about 45 minutes away and having to navigate the streets of suburbia…which for two rednecks is like driving through a bowl of spaghetti. I can find my way somewhere using only county roads that may or may not be paved quicker than I can navigate my way out of Carriage Ridge of the Hills Subdivision (or whatever lame name is given to neighborhoods that generally do not house any carriages, ridges or hills whatsoever).

Enter the oh-so-handy GPS.

Seriously, I. Love. Her.

But Ronnie? Hates her with a passion.

  • In 200 yards, turn right.  Then, bear left.
  • In 150 yards, turn right.  Then, bear left.
  • In 100 yards, turn right.  Then, bear left.
  • In 50 yards, turn right.  Then, bear left.
  • Turn right.  Then, bear left.
And he’s all, “No shit Sherlock.” And I go, "Well if you don't like her, we can change her voice to a dude.  Hey, my mom's is Australian! We could change to her an Australian dude! Or maybe there's a British guy or a an Irish brogue guy....niiiice...".

And then he’s like, “Why can’t she just give you normal directions like a normal person? Like, ‘Hey, you’re going to turn right up here, but stay in the left lane'”.

Thus was born my idea….Redneck GPS. (Think "Larry the Cable Guy" voice.)

"So you’re gone go past where Bubba got his truck stuck and round the curve by Ol’ Man Jones’ place and then you’ll see this big ol’ bull in the pasture. Don’t worry…he’ll be there…he’s always there cuz Ol’ Man Jones don’t let him in with his cows till night time. Turn right."

 "After you turn right, look for one a’ them big bass mailboxes, that’s where SherryLynn lives since she moved out of her momma’s place after her momma ran off with the preacher from the Trustin' Love Fellowship and stolt all her money from workin’ down at the Dixie Mart. Turn left right past that."

"Go about 2 miles as the crow flies and that dirt road you see on your left with the dead catfish heads on it? That’s my brother Jim Bob’s place where them crawfish are boilin’. "

And now I know exactly where I’m at.

Friday, April 29, 2011

So two plus two is five?

Things that don’t quite add up:

-A bottle of Dasani water out of the machine in the breakroom at work costs $1.25. A bottle of Dasani water in the cafeteria costs $1.00. Really? Is the Dasani out of the machine better? Or do I get a discount since I walked farther to get the cafeteria water?

-If I drive to the DMV, my truck registration costs $80.00. If I mail it, it costs $81.00. Is someone getting paid $1.00 to open the envelope at the DMV? Can I get *that* job?

-If I pay my water bill over the phone, they charge me a 2% credit card fee. If I mail it, no fee. So lemme get this straight…if I get you my money faster, it costs more? But if I take longer to get my money to you, it’s cheaper? Hmmm…thinking I’ll just hold on to it for a while, then.

-Gasoline at the Shell station near my house costs $3.52 a gallon. Gasoline at the Shell station 2 miles up the highway costs $3.60 a gallon. Did they just not get the memo from Shell that gas went down a bit? Hello?!? Isn’t there some sort of “gas station owner website” with this type of pertinent information on it?

-If I am completely caught up or ahead at work (yeah, right), my boss has assured me there are other places I can go help out with people who are not caught up or need assistance. However, if I am struggling to meet deadlines, she has also assured me there is support out there to help me stay on track. Sooooo….work harder and then do more work or work less and then get help? I don’t get it.

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

I think we should start seeing other people. It's not's me.

I have a love/hate relationship with my car.

Seriously. She’s kind of a bitch. But then I can’t help but love her. It’s almost to the point of being abusive. Just when I get fed up, she does something nice that reels me back in.

I spend $84.00 to fill her up? She responds with plenty of room for the kids, the luggage and the dog for our road trip to Louisiana. And then she sweetens the deal with the built-in DVD player.


Now I kinda like her again.

I can’t resist her feminine wiles. Is this what it feels like to be a dude?

And just when I feel like we’ve turned the corner and are on our way to healthy relationship full of mutual respect for one another? The stupid gas light comes on. “Fuel Level Low”.

Oh, hell no.

Check washer fluid? Change your oil? Buckle my seatbelt? Rear hatch ajar?

What the hell is wrong with you, Lolita? What? Am I not good enough for you anymore? You know what? If you think you can do better, then why don’t you just go out there and see! I keep you (sort of) clean, dig the crusty French fries out from under your seats, make sure the sweaty tee-ball equipment doesn’t stay in you overnight and program your radio stations to nothing but cool music! But, no, really, go ahead…maybe you’ll find someone who will condition your leather and vacuum your carpets. Seriously…be my guest.

Oh what was that? You have a cool front-end replacement bumper with kick-ass KC lights? 4-wheel drive? A towing package?


I picked the wrong year to get involved with a Tahoe.

Friday, April 15, 2011

A Rastafarian proctologist walks into a bar...

Boy...those dudes who work at The Washington Post have been busy lately.  Glad I don't work there, because apparently they're expected to, you know, work.

The Washington Post has published the winning submissions to its yearly contest, in which readers are asked to supply alternate meanings for common words.  (As with the previous Washington Post post, I have no idea if this is legitimate and I don't care enough to investigate, so if you're burning with the need to know, call The Washington Post and find out.  But they probably won't answer because they're super-busy with all their word contests and stuff.  All I know is, don't believe everything you read in an email, because I'm still waiting on my $700,000 from the King of Narobi and Her Majesty's Royal Bank of Bankdom.)
And the winners are: (maybe...then again, maybe there was not even a contest.  Either way, these are fun.)

1. Coffee, n.. The person upon whom one coughs.

2. Flabbergasted, adj. Appalled by discovering how much weight one has gained.

3. Abdicate, v. To give up all hope of ever having a flat stomach.

4. Esplanade, v. To attempt an explanation while drunk.

5. Willy-nilly, adj. Impotent.

6. Negligent, adj. Absentmindedly answering the door when wearing only a nightgown.

7. Lymph, v.. To walk with a lisp.

8. Gargoyle, n. Olive-flavored mouthwash.

9. Flatulence, n. Emergency vehicle that picks up someone who has been run over by a steamroller.

10. Balderdash, n. A rapidly receding hairline.

11. Testicle, n. A humorous question on an exam.

12. Rectitude, n. The formal, dignified bearing adopted by proctologists.

13. Pokemon, n. A Rastafarian proctologist.

14. Oyster, n. A person who sprinkles his conversation with Yiddishisms.

15. Frisbeetarianism, n. The belief that, after death, the soul flies up onto the roof and gets stuck there.

16. Circumvent, n. An opening in the front of boxer shorts worn by Jewish men.

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

No, not "crawdads" or "crayfish"...CRAWFISH!'s spring.  The weather is beautiful, the flowers are blooming, the trees finally have green on them again and it gets dark later.  All good things.  We've certainly done our share of enjoying the beautiful weather and working in the yard.  The kids are playing ball, the bluebonnets are coming out in Central Texas...I love spring!

But the best thing about the spring in the south: Crawfish Season.

We have already been to one crawfish boil and have another one on the agenda this weekend.  Then, the "Grandaddy of them all..." (ours) is in May.

I love crawfish.  More than that? I love the whole idea of a crawfish boil.  Stand around, drink beer, talk to friends and then eat a shitload of food? That is so my scene.

My husband (who is a Texas boy) cooks Louisiana family taught him how it's done...but, of course, Texans always gotta do things with their own "special touch".

Cajun Boiled Crawfish
*As cooked by a Texan
What you will need:

1 sack crawfish
3-4 onions
1 lg. canister Crab/Shrimp Boil
6 lemons halved
1 lb. salt
Cayenne pepper to taste
1 5 lb. bag red potatoes
1 bag miniature corn on the cob
1 case of beer

What to do:
-Open a beer to check for freshness and temperature
-Fill large pot with water and Crab/Shrimp Boil
-Drink a couple of beers while waiting for water to boil
-Pour salt on crawfish in water to purge the crawfish
-Get another beer and head back over to the pot
-Add lemons and onions
-Drink another beer while flavors “gel”
-Add potatoes
-Have a couple of beers while greeting guests
-Add corn and crawfish
-Change into funny crawfish pants, crazy hat and high school football t-shirt
-Drink more beer while handing out Mardi Gras beads to guests
-Dump crawfish into ice chest and cover with ice to make peeling easier
-Drink more beer
-Re-hash the last play of the “big game” in high school
-Move crawfish onto large table and sprinkle with Cayenne
-Drink beer while eating crawfish and giving a “crawfish eating lesson” to all the “sissy” neighbors who’ve never had it before
-Try to convince neighbor you don’t think he’s a sissy, and bum beer off him because your case is gone and you've been "working".

Monday, April 4, 2011

Sometimes, there truly are no words.

I make my living with words. No, not blogging (still haven't heard from that publisher who thinks I can make money doing this….dammit!)…like my real, *actual* living…like with a steady paycheck and everything.

So I'm a word nerd…I like writing, I like learning new words and most importantly, I like to make sure I choose the correct words to describe a situation or feeling.

That's why this was so hard.

The 6-year-old princess started kindergarten this year and she was SO EXCITED! I mean, the early bedtime and early wake-up time was an adjustment for all of us, but things pretty much went smoothly (read about her first day here) until Thanksgiving. Honestly? I was not shocked. I loved school so I guess I'd just assumed she would, too.

And it appeared that she did. She talked about school at home, mentioned specific friends on the playground, etc.

Thanksgiving break was great…family, turkey, the usual. Then? *It* started.

And that's just the thing….I don't even know what *IT* is! I can't put a name to *it*, but I can describe it very well.

She hated school. 

She cried in the mornings. She cried most of the day at school. She cried at parent pick-up. She cried at home in the evenings.

Our lives became hell.

My beautiful, independent, out-spoken, smiley-faced girl who had attended daycare since she was 16 months old was scared of school? How is that possible?

What had happened? Was someone bullying her? Did someone hurt her or say something mean to her? Was she having difficulty learning the material? Was she not getting along with her teacher? WHAT THE HELL WAS GOING ON WITH MY KID????

No one had answers. No one knew anything. No one had suggestions on how to help her other than take her to the pediatrician and see about anti-anxiety meds.

Really? Anti-anxiety meds for my 6-year-old?

I don’t think so.

Ronnie and I were clueless. Our parents and older siblings with children of their own were clueless. Our pediatrician assured us she would work through it in time and that structure and routine was the way to go. Stick to the schedule, ride out the storm.

But we couldn’t. Because her fearfulness was literally eating a hole through our hearts. Four weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas…I wasn’t sure she was going to make it. I actually let her stay home one day because she was so upset about going.

So over the holidays we talked. And we cried. And we vented our frustration and helplessness to one another.  And we worried about our beautiful little girl and tried to make sure she knew how loved and cherished she was.

And we decided to change schools. The team of staff at her new school was concerned and called me after the first two days of her crying at school. We met, we talked, I cried…and they assured me that she would be loved and supported through this difficult time (whatever the cause).

And finally. FINALLY. (I’m almost afraid to say it out loud…)

I think we’re on the other side of it.

She’s learning, she’s growing, she’s smiling and she’s happy.

And I can finally breathe again.

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

It's like a Frappuccino (or maybe not because I don't really know what those are since I never go to Starbucks, but I think they're blended coffees? If not, that's totally what I meant, so just go with it.)

Work friends….it’s such an odd relationship, isn’t it? I mean, you want to be friendly with the people you work with, yet sometimes there’s a need to have the whole “you need to get off your ass and do a better job because I can’t do my job effectively if you’re not doing your job effectively” talk and that’s just not very friendly, huh?

One of the main reasons that work friendships are sometimes awkward is because, when you work with lots of women, work friendships can be just another way for the Mean Girls to attempt to assert their dominance over weaker females. And really? I survived high school….who needs all that noise?!? No, I need a special blend of “friend”, “mom/sister”, “boss” and “drill sergeant” in my work friends.

I need friends at work who:

-will tell me when I have a giant booger in my nose…especially if it’s 2:30 in the afternoon and I’ve obviously been walking around with this freakin’ thing all damn day!

-will tell me that a 45 minute lunch break is sufficient and I need to go back to my office and get some shit done instead of eating all of her M&M’s out of the little dish on her desk as we discuss our weekend plans.

-will acknowledge that I do not, in fact, look fine without make-up on. It’s okay…really…I know that I don’t look just the same with make-up as I do without it. Don’t bullshit me, but recognize that if I’m not wearing make-up at work, it’s probably just because I’m having a crappy day. So while it’s okay to agree that I look rough, don’t rub it in.

-will also acknowledge that the outfit I’m wearing A) does not match, B) is no longer in style, or C) highlights my muffin top. I need to know if I look like a total idiot and I’m more than willing to clean out the ol’ closet now and again.

-will give me some sort of signal during a meeting with either our bosses or some other important people and I’m making a total ass out of myself by talking about the entirely wrong situation or person…which has totally happened….like twice.

-will not judge me for being late for work for the 487th day in a row because there was some sort of livestock emergency at my house. Hey, shit happens when you own horses, okay? They’re not the smartest creatures on the planet and tend to get themselves into bizarre situations involving wire, running loose or bleeding profusely. They’re worse than kids…seriously…but they don’t puke….which is nice, because I’m not a fan…of puke. Horses? Yes. Puke? No.

-will also not judge me for being late for work just because I still cannot get my shit together in the mornings and while I recognize that I’m 30 freakin’ years old and have only been working for 15 freakin’ years so you’d think by now I’d have some sort of routine down in the morning? I don’t. So don’t judge. I already get it from my kid’s principal who just *happens* to greet me at the door as I’m pushing her into line with her class so that it kinda looks like she’s been there the whole time…..I don’t need it from you.

-understand my need for snacks mid-morning and mid-afternoon and will keep a steady supply handy so that I do not go hungry. Yes, I have snacks in my office, but I don’t want them. Why? Well, because they just don’t taste as good as yours.

-are able to recognize that I manage to meet deadlines at work, be attentive and focused at meetings and maintain an air of professionalism at work, yet a phone call from my kid sick in the nurse’s office throws me straight into “Mom Freak Out Mode”. I’m a “mom who works”, not a “working mom”.

-will have no problems covering for me when I gotta run see my kid be a hill of snow in the kindergarten music program….and who will not hesitate to ask me to cover for her when she needs to run eat “Muffins with Mom” with her kid. Moms who work need to support each other as much as possible! Oh, and talking crap about it after agreeing to cover for me? LAME.

See? It’s a complicated relationship.

Thursday, March 24, 2011

I wonder how smart you really have to be to get into Mensa.

I got this email from my sister and I have no idea if there's really such a thing as the "Washington Post's Mensa Invitational" or not (somebody google it and find out).  BUT...this is still really flippin' funny.

The Washington Post's Mensa Invitational once again invited readers to take any word from the dictionary, alter it by adding, subtracting, or changing one letter, and supply a new definition.
Here are the winners:
1. Cashtration (n.): The act of buying a house, which renders the subject financially impotent for an indefinite period of time.
2. Ignoranus : A person who's both stupid and an asshole.
3. Intaxicaton : Euphoria at getting a tax refund, which lasts until you realize it was your money to start with.
4. Reintarnation : Coming back to life as a hillbilly.
5. Bozone ( n.): The substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright ideas from penetrating The bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign of breaking down in the near future.
6. Foreploy : Any misrepresentation about yourself for the purpose of getting laid.
7. Giraffiti : Vandalism spray-painted very, very high
8. Sarchasm : The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who doesn't get it.
9. Inoculatte : To take coffee intravenously when you are running late.
10. Osteopornosis : A degenerate disease.
11. Karmageddon : It's like, when everybody is sending off all these really bad vibes, right? And then, like, the Earth explodes and it's like, a serious bummer.
12. Decafalon (n.): The grueling event of getting through the day consuming only things that are good for you.
13. Glibido : All talk and no action.
14. Dopeler Effect: The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they come at you rapidly.
15. Arachnoleptic Fit (n.): The frantic dance performed just after you've accidentally walked through a spider web.
16 Beelzebug (n.): Satan in the form of a mosquito, that gets into your bedroom at three in the morning and cannot be cast out.
17. Caterpallor ( n.): The color you turn after finding half a worm in the fruit you're eating.

Tuesday, March 8, 2011

Most of the time - and this includes naps - I'm an F-18

An open letter to crazy celebrities everywhere:

Hi. You don’t know me, but when I’m done telling you about my fantastic services, you will want to! I am about to give you the deal of a lifetime!

Are you tired of all these pesky news interviews about your mental breakdowns? Want to make sure you’re showing how “normal” famous people are? Feeling like everything you say gets misquoted or used out of context by the media?

Then you need to hire ME!

No, I’m not a “life-coach”. I’m not a “motivational speaker”, “mental health professional” or “physician”. I’m not even a “sober friend”…because let’s all just be honest here, those things haven’t worked, right?? Right. So what you need is what I’m offering!


Think about it! You’re walking down the street, rubbing your newly shaved head, thinking about “Winning” and how you can get your ankle bracelet off and BAM! Microphone and camera in your face! “What can you tell us about shaving your head? Where are your children? Are you seeing a doctor? Why are you wearing a tutu?” And you’re thinking “Ohmigod, what do I do??” and just as you are about to start ranting about being a warlock full of tiger’s blood and not of this territory, enter me, your shut-the-hell-up friend! With a clamped hand over your mouth and a quick “Shut the hell up!” I help you salvage what’s left of your career! Think of all the perks to having a shut-the-hell-up friend! Picture it: Your dad calls to tell you he’s taking over control of your assets because you’re completely out of control and just as you’re about to tell him you wrote him out of your will and left everything to the homeless lady who feeds pigeons in the park because you found out that she’s an extraterrestrial from a different time zone? “Shut the hell up!” And just like that, Dad helps you get your shit together and you make a killer CD/movie/song/Broadway debut.

Now, given your highly developed sense of self-preservation, you may be asking, “What’s the catch?” or “How much is this gonna cost me?” Well, my mentally incapacitated future celebrity rehab fodder, only a small payment of $500,000 dollars. I figure with that amount, I can have you trained to curb your ranting desires and you’ll start hearing “Shut the hell up” in your sleep within 3 months. Three months and I can have you back to your sweet, charming, pre-crazy days. A simple investment of the funds formerly used to pay off the paparazzi for those shots of you bashing in your ex’s car window with an umbrella while wearing a New Kids on the Block tee-shirt and singing the theme song from the Smurfs.

Three months, $500,000 and a lifetime of continuing your um, “art”….you do the math.

Don’t delay! Get your shut-the-hell-up friend TODAY!


Note to “shut-the-hell-up!” self

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

Rat house

I have been on my own for a while now. I moved out of my parents house when I was 17 to go to college and only went home one summer after that. I’ve lived in estrogen-filled dorms, crappy apartments and mobile homes out in the middle of nowhere with my horse and my dogs. None of those, as yet, compare to the year I spent in the Rat House.

I had just gotten my first full-time, real-salary job and my girlfriend, Jill, was doing a paid internship at a physical therapist’s office in town. So we decided to live together for at least a year until both of us figured out where we wanted to end up on a more permanent basis. The physical therapists she was interning with had just bought some property in town on which to build a new office. However the zoning/permit stuff was going to take a while, so they offered to rent the existing house to us for a year before they tore it down to build the new office building. It was CHEAP. It had hardwood floors and one of those really cool old bathtubs with the claw feet.

….and that’s pretty much the best things about it.

It had NO central air or heat (let me remind you, dear readers, that Texas has three seasons, “Summer”, “Almost Summer” and “Really Fucking Cold”). Did I mention it was CHEAP??

It also had no kitchen cabinets. Like none. For the first weeks we lived in it, we just shoved food wherever you could find to store it….which may have been in the claw-foot bathtub. Luckily, I was dating a guy who was handy (that’s what she said) and he built us cabinets for it.

But THE absolute worst thing about this house was something we didn’t discover until we had been there for a few months. We had repainted, installed cabinets and done a few other things to help make the place a little more livable for the year we knew we would be staying. Then, we realized we had a mouse. *shudder*

We found the telltale signs of holes in the cereal boxes and droppings in the drawers. Okay, a mouse, no big deal, we thought. We’ll by some traps, get some peanut butter and kill the stupid things and be done. I grew up in the country and my dad wasn’t around much, so you know, I had done my fair share of mouse trapping. Cool. We got this.

Um, no….we did not, in fact, “have this”.

We set 6 traps and the next morning? All 6 of them were popped, with no dead mouse bodies in them. *shudder*

Okay….so maybe we need bigger traps? Nope. Didn’t work.

Hmmm…maybe we need to let a guy come handle it? Okay, let’s try that.

So we told my roommate’s boyfriend that he had to spend the night at our house and when he heard the traps snap, he was to run to the kitchen and kill the rodents. I think his plan was to beat them with a baseball bat. Don’t ask me why this sounded like a good plan….we drank a lot in those days.  In hindsight, I'm not sure why we picked this particular guy to come and handle it...he was a botany major and kind of a enjoyed "special brownies" on occasion.  Not exactly "Rodent Rambo"....but whatever, he was available since he was hooking up with my roommate.

So he spends the night.  Then, I am awakened by the sound of the trap snapping shut.  I immediately grab my cell phone, which is on my nightstand, and call my roommate to find out what’s going on. (Um, yes, she was just across the hall, but with untrappable mice on the loose, I was NOT setting foot off the bed in the dark). *shudder*

Then I hear, “Oh shit!” and footsteps running down the hall from the kitchen back to her room!

Jill…what’s up? What did Joey say?? What happened?? Did he get them??”

*muffled voices*

Um, Joey said we don’t have a mouse problem, we have a RAT problem…and not just 'a' rat…we have 'many' rats.”

RATS?!?!! In our kitchen?!?!?! Oh hell no! I’m outta here!” *shudder*

We all packed up and went to Joey’s house for the rest of the night. We called the landlord, told her the whole story and she assured us she would take care of getting an exterminator out to deal with the rats.

End of story: They caught SIX GIANT WOODRATS IN OUR ATTIC!!!

There is no rent that is CHEAP enough to make me live with RATS. *shudder*

Thursday, February 24, 2011

One bad mother...continued...

More confessions of a bad mother:

• My kid generally goes to school with tangles in her hair. Yes, I encourage her to brush it, yes, I try to brush it myself and yes, we have plenty of spray detangler. However, I choose to not start my day with “OW! OW! OW! MOMMY THAT HURTS SO BAD!!!! STTOOOPPP! YOU’RE HURTING ME! FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY, WHY MUST YOU CONTINUE THE CHILD ABUSE!?!!” Okay, so that was a slight dramatization, but only a slight one.

• I forgot to put money under the kid’s pillow from the tooth fairy the other night when she lost a tooth. (Sidebar: seriously, get off me. She’s dropping those things left and right! I swear she’s lost 25 teeth in the past month...) So, the tooth fairy got smart and left her shit on the bar in the kitchen with a note explaining how she wasn’t going to be sneaking into her room at night anymore because she’s scared of the dog (who sleeps with the kid every night). Genius!

• Tee ball has started and I could not be more excited about the kid having an activity to do after school that involves her dad. Because I love the idea of her growing up with positive memories of her dad and evenings spent practicing throwing and perfecting her swing? Sure, let’s go with that….because it has nothing to do with the fact that I get an hour and a half of alone time to read, drink wine or soak in the tub. Really…..nothing.

• I may or may not have fudged a little on the kid’s reading log for school because she absolutely, positively had to have the doctor book that she could earn by reading 20 minutes every night for a month. So, a four-page book with each page a variation of “The dog is brown”, took 20 minutes to read. Seriously. It did. Check the log.

• We got a Wii for Christmas. We have now taken to having weekend Wii showdowns that typically involve golf, bowling or bird hunting (redneck, much?). Generally, the little one gets totally pissed off and frustrated because she is losing. And I let her. Partly because losing is a fact of life and she needs to start learning how to deal with it, but mostly because I’M FREAKIN’ WINNING! YEAH, BABY!! WOOHOOO!!!!

• We have now graduated from the little cups of ice cream everyday to a big honkin’ bowl….and now she likes chocolate ice cream better than vanilla. But, hey, whatever… she’s too young for beer, so it’s like her own little “ice cream happy hour” in the afternoons. Besides, it’s a dairy product.

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

GTL, baby!

This year for her birthday, the kid decided she needed a “prince” doll. (And no, she did not mean the guy who has changed his name to a symbol and sings Raspberry Beret…because I’m pretty sure she has no clue who that guy is). She meant a boy doll, who would be the prince to Barbie’s princess. I mean, when you’re 6, every princess meets a prince and they live happily ever after, right?

Plus, she needed a boy doll that could get pretend married to Barbie and live in their pretend house and all that good stuff. I tried to tell her that Ken would just leave dirty clothes all over the place and then dirty up all the pretend dishes and then refuse to load them in the pretend dishwasher until after his hunting show is over….but she still believes in fairytales. And who am I to quash her dreams of the perfect man?

So, I put the grandmas on the Ken doll hunt for her birthday. And, of course, because they’re grandmas and have like superpowers when it comes to their grandkids, they totally came through.

Ken had arrived!

Barbie was positively breathless with anticipation!

The perfect hair, the chiseled features, the blue eyes and 6-pack abs (not to mention, bendable legs! (Sidebar: Is it just me or is that a totally random selling point??))! The All-American boy, worthy of apple pie and baseball!

Except what she got was this:


Since when did Ken go from “All American” to “Jersey Shore”?

Great…now I have to work on convincing Barbie to not marry Ken because he’ll probably spend all their money on Ed Hardy and spray tans. Plus, he looks like a total douche because, really? Who wears popped collars?? That like totally went out with the 80s.  Not to mention, her dad will freak out when she brings home a punk-ass looking kid with more Axe body spray than brains.


Parenting girls these days is tough.

Monday, January 31, 2011

Great news! Apparently, I'm rich...and have relatives in the UK. Who knew??

In my email this morning:


My name is Brown Heyman, formerly working with S N S Bank Netherlands Branch, presently I am working with Capital One Bank Europe Plc here in United Kingdom. I have a proposal to discuss with you about a certain bonded account in our Bank. The bonded Account has a balance of 17.3Million dollars.
It will be beneficial to all parties concerned I am contacting you on this due to you share the same Family name with the Bonded Account.
Thanks and hoping to hear from you soon.

Yours truly,
Brown Heyman

Dear Mr. Heyman (by the way, is that "hey-man" as in "Hey! What's up, man?" or "hy-men" as in "Horseback riding can prematurely break your hymen"? If it's the first one, cool...but if it's the second one, can I just say that "Brown Hymen" sounds pretty frickin' gross? Sorry.)

Okay, so Dear Mr. Heyman,

Hey! How are you?  Hmmm....too "familiar sounding"...I mean, I don't even know this guy. Okay how about this?

Thank you for contacting me regarding my millions of dollars. I will be eagerly awaiting your check.  However, since you didn't even use my name in your email (by the way, "Attention:" at the start of a letter kinda sounds rude....just sayin'), I'm going to assume you'll need that information.  Oh wait, well since my name matches the last name on your "Account", then you can just make it out to "Ms. Whatever-name-is-on-your-Bonded-Account", mmmkay? Perfect.  Oh, and what is with the overuse of capital letters?? Is that like a British thing? Or a Netherlands thing?

Oh, and as for that....I don't really care where your former place of employment was.  I mean, thanks for sharing and all, but it's not like I had a lot of dealings with you when you were at the bank in the Netherlands, so I haven't been like, searching for where you are now employed or anything.  As to the move from the Netherlands to the UK, congrats! Surely it's a little warmer where you are now? I hope you're all settled in and unpacked and all...I think I still have boxes packed from when we moved into our house six years ago! But, I'll bet since you're a banker and all you're probably like, way more anal than I am, so I'm sure you're all settled in.

So you work for Capitol One now? Awesome! Can you do me a huge favor and have them stop making those stupid Viking commercials? I mean, really? Those commercials do not make me want to bank at Capitol fact, they make me think that everyone who works at Capitol One is a moron.  Except for you, of course.  Anyhoo...thanks for taking care of that for me.

Well, thanks so much for getting in touch with me...I'm sure my relative in the UK who invested much more wisely than I did will be thrilled that an American cousin with whom he/she never actually had any contact with ended up with his/her children's inheritance.  You must be so proud of your work! I'll be expecting my check in the next week or so.

Yours Most Ever Sincerely and Truly,
A Hotmail User in the US

Friday, January 7, 2011

Conversations with things that will never answer me back. And yes, I know that sounds slightly deranged.

Yes, I'll admit it.  Sometimes, I have conversations with things that I know cannot answer me back.  I realize this makes me weird and may actually make me look like the homeless bag lady muttering to herself or her grocery cart, BUT....I do it anyway.  I talk to my dogs, to my car, to my computer...even to my cell phone....and not while someone's on the other end of it, like, to the actual phone itself.

Cell Phone: reoiujsdfnlkae
Me: Really?!? And you call yourself a "smart phone"?? I typed "meet me at happy hour" and that's what you came up with?? You and your stupid fancy touch-screen keypad....

Me: Whoa! Slow down girl! What are you trying to do, get me a ticket?? Jeez....
Car: vrooooommmm
Me: Much better.

Computer: Error Message 2145: You suck as a computer user.
Me: Oh yeah?!? Well you know who's NOT getting a Windows upgrade for Christmas, huh?? Yeah, YOU stupid "think you're smarter than me" computer.  Screw you!
Computer: Error Message: 2146: You really are stupid.

Electronics can be such assholes.

The best never going to answer me back things that I talk to though are the dogs.

I'm a huge animal lover (except for cats....and birds...and lizards...oh, and those weird hairless dogs from Mexico. At least I think they're from Mexico....I'm almost certain they're "Mexican Hairless" dogs. Hmmm...maybe. I could have totally made that up. Anyway...bottom line: don't like them.).

Okay, so let me rephrase, I'm a lover of big furry animals that aren't cats. There.

I have three big dogs and two horses (that are actually my kid's horses, but you know, we have them so they're kind of mine, too...except the girl is like, tiny and I couldn't actually get on her without her falling to the ground and screaming "The sky is falling! The sky is falling! The weight of it is on my back! For the love of horses everywhere, somebody save me!!!". But other than that, she's totally almost mine.  And the boy is older than dirt and as fluffy as a you just kinda feel sorry for him and don't want to ride him.  So in summary: we have two fairly pointless horses who eat alot.)

BUT! We love our animals! The dogs come in the house, they sleep in the kid's bed...they're all totally rotten. And all of my animals have voices. Like, when they talk to me. Okay, so they don't really talk to me, but I think I know what they're saying so they talk through me. I was watching one of those dog trainer shows at a friend's house the other day and the girl who owned three Great Danes (OMG! THREE!!) told the dog trainer lady she had voices for her dogs and the dog trainer lady was all "Um...okay, that's weird."

But I totally do, too!

Dually (he sounds like Lenny from Of Mice and Men): Can we play ball now, mom? Please? I been a very good boy today. I promise I won't petted it too hard again.

Sasha (she sounds like Wanda Sykes): I don't know 'bout you, but I think that white boy's too crazy with that ball. Why's he gettin' slobber all up in here?

Sandy (she sounds like a Mean Girl but like, *really* mean): Like oh my god...seriously. He has got to totally chill with that ball thing. Or I am going to totally kick his ass.
It's just ridiculous....but highly entertaining....especially when you mix "dog-talking" and alcohol.  Good times.