First let me start with saying I hate wall paper and it's the devil.
So aside from my bathroom smelling like a room of douche, my daughter is finding it hard to contain her hatefulness today (which I'm sure has something to do with the mundane task of peeling wall paper and breathing in douche fumes).
As she storms out of the bathroom where I am feeling like buying spray paint and doing the bathroom with it because it seems like a better plan, she screams "I'm going outside...kiss my butt!"
WHAT????? Kid has lost her mind!!!!!
Once in her room after the lecture on disrespect (during which she claims she said KICK my butt...but we know better!), she screams through the door "All I can do in here is count to 100!!!!" I inform her when she is done counting she can come out. She comes out and I tell her there is no way she counted to 100...
"YOU'RE JUST A NON-BELIEVER MOM!!!! NON-BELIEVER! NON-BELIEVER!"
And I now know what MY malfunction is...
Saturday, December 10, 2011
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
If You Didn't Love Me, Don't Mourn Me...Because I Promise A Ghost-Slap
Ya know what? Birth control makes me incredibly bitchy. And I don't say this because of anything other than the fact that I get very opinionated and start to yap uncontrollably in a very heated manner. Several times, death has come up in conversation. A particular death. When I was told of this death, I had nothing to say. Not because of shock or depression or disbelief. There were none of these things when I learned of the death. It was because I didn't care.
Does this make me cold hearted? Maybe. But I've lost people near and dear to me and nothing pisses me off more than some insincere asshole pretending that the person you are mourning was such an intricate part of their lives when you know that they are just overwhelmed by their guilt or the shock. Does this sound mean? Maybe it does. But sometimes it's harder to lose someone we aren't on good terms with or haven't seen in forever than it is to lose a close accquaintance.
Why is that? Because of guilt. Guilt over not seeing them more or being there or treating them badly or giving them a mean nickname in the 5th grade. It really gets under my skin when someone suddenly loves someone in death...despite the fact that they were horrible to them in life.
I didn't mourn this death. Yes it was sad. Death is sad. Not for the dead but for the living that did love them and will be carrying on without them. Sometimes the situation is sad. But I really didn't want to be "that guy". Because I really hate "that guy". I didn't feel sad or even skip a beat when the news came. I did feel a twang of sadness for my friends that loved this person, and would have gladly been supportive of their mourning (so long as they just needed a shoulder and didn't expect me to take a trip down memory lane...because my trip would be like eating acid laced brownies on a haunted hayride). But I was not phased. And I'd really like for people to stop trying to convince me that I'm a bad person for NOT taking a moment of silence. I'm sure this person looked up from Hell or down from Heaven or in from their respective treely reincarnation and thought "Yeah...I figured she wouldn't care" and rightly so. We weren't friends. We were secret enemies in some way that really was unclear to me. If it had been me, and she had cried and become inconsolable and mourned me, I'd have ghost-slapped her. Because I'd know it was the guilt of wrong doings or the shock of the situation. Not because it had caused some rift in her life...and I'd have been unoffended if she didn't mourn me. I wouldn't expect her to. Because we weren't friends and she tried to sabotage me in the oddest and most passive aggressive ways possible. I'm unsure why and maybe I was the mean one and once upon a time I stepped on her toe in gym class and didn't say sorry. Given our history, I'm not sorry. I don't know if incidents were coincidental or if my life just really sucked and she was in it to help prove it...either way, I don't care. This doesn't make me a bad person. It makes me honest and true to my feelings...and I know that the hormones in the Nuva-ring are helping me with my honesty!
PS: On that note...girl that I saw today wearing damn-near no clothes...don't do it again. Shirt dresses need leggings...gas stations are not music videos.
Does this make me cold hearted? Maybe. But I've lost people near and dear to me and nothing pisses me off more than some insincere asshole pretending that the person you are mourning was such an intricate part of their lives when you know that they are just overwhelmed by their guilt or the shock. Does this sound mean? Maybe it does. But sometimes it's harder to lose someone we aren't on good terms with or haven't seen in forever than it is to lose a close accquaintance.
Why is that? Because of guilt. Guilt over not seeing them more or being there or treating them badly or giving them a mean nickname in the 5th grade. It really gets under my skin when someone suddenly loves someone in death...despite the fact that they were horrible to them in life.
I didn't mourn this death. Yes it was sad. Death is sad. Not for the dead but for the living that did love them and will be carrying on without them. Sometimes the situation is sad. But I really didn't want to be "that guy". Because I really hate "that guy". I didn't feel sad or even skip a beat when the news came. I did feel a twang of sadness for my friends that loved this person, and would have gladly been supportive of their mourning (so long as they just needed a shoulder and didn't expect me to take a trip down memory lane...because my trip would be like eating acid laced brownies on a haunted hayride). But I was not phased. And I'd really like for people to stop trying to convince me that I'm a bad person for NOT taking a moment of silence. I'm sure this person looked up from Hell or down from Heaven or in from their respective treely reincarnation and thought "Yeah...I figured she wouldn't care" and rightly so. We weren't friends. We were secret enemies in some way that really was unclear to me. If it had been me, and she had cried and become inconsolable and mourned me, I'd have ghost-slapped her. Because I'd know it was the guilt of wrong doings or the shock of the situation. Not because it had caused some rift in her life...and I'd have been unoffended if she didn't mourn me. I wouldn't expect her to. Because we weren't friends and she tried to sabotage me in the oddest and most passive aggressive ways possible. I'm unsure why and maybe I was the mean one and once upon a time I stepped on her toe in gym class and didn't say sorry. Given our history, I'm not sorry. I don't know if incidents were coincidental or if my life just really sucked and she was in it to help prove it...either way, I don't care. This doesn't make me a bad person. It makes me honest and true to my feelings...and I know that the hormones in the Nuva-ring are helping me with my honesty!
PS: On that note...girl that I saw today wearing damn-near no clothes...don't do it again. Shirt dresses need leggings...gas stations are not music videos.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Sick My Duck
As we all know, there's many names for oral sex (yeah I used that!) depending on who you're talking to. The first time I heard it called "head" I think I was in the 7th or 8th grade and my cousin said something about it. I had no idea what he was referring to, but I figured it out because Goddess forbid I actually ask (never would have lived that down). Over the years I've heard many more...some entertaining and some just plain stupid. I've also heard many names for mouths in reference to oral sex (cock holster being one of my favorites).
The reason this has come up on my mind is that some how fellatio (oh yeah...used that too!) has been a hot topic this week on television and in conversation. First off, I'd like to let everyone know that virgins are 6 times more likely to suck wieners. The thought that came up after hearing this was:
The reason this has come up on my mind is that some how fellatio (oh yeah...used that too!) has been a hot topic this week on television and in conversation. First off, I'd like to let everyone know that virgins are 6 times more likely to suck wieners. The thought that came up after hearing this was:
Who's happier? A man with a virgin that's getting tons of head?
OR
A man that's getting laid but not getting as much head?
If anyone can figure this out, let me know. Because men are in love with blow jobs I've decided from research (yes...I do randomly ask men stupid questions like this.). Some claim they like it more as foreplay and some don't care...but the general consensus is head is good. So which would be better??
The other thing that brought this up is this:
If a girl says she is sick to her stomach, the very last thing she wants to do is put a penis in her mouth!!!! Tease the Gag Reflex is not a game for someone with nausea.
Gentlemen, if we are nice enough to give you warning, please take caution. Not all women do this and you should be thankful. If we tell you that we'd like to kick you in the junk because you are causing us great anger, that means walk away and let it go for a minute. If we tell you that we are PMSing and may or may not snap at any minute, be on good behavior. (SIDENOTE: This could also be good for you to do, as we would probably like a heads up when you're in a shit mood because *insert random thing that makes men grumpy*) So when we say "I want to vomit" don't bring up head, dome, brains, polishing your knob, or any other term you'd like to use!!! Not only does that significantly lower your chances of actually getting any mouth time, it also is a sign you couldn't give a shit less and would probably offer to head butt us when we have a headache...
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
You Can Pick Your Friends, You Can Pick Your Nose, But Only Your Family Loves Your Weird Behavior
When you're young, they tell you your family is the most important thing in your life. As you get older, you appreciate this more, and add to your family. And I'm not talking about children or spouses. I'm referring to the friends that stick around through your first love, first break up, stalking your first ex, your goth phase, your hippie phase (complete with half-assed vegetarianism), your ho-phase, and any other ridiculousness you tried.
Don't get me wrong, the family God gave me is plenty of fun and didn't need to be changed. My dad's family is straight-up country bumpkin (Yes my grandmother calls all feminine hygiene products Kotex and informed me there "ain't no niggers with the last name Jackson"...she also feeds me more than one person should ever eat then proceeds to call me fat. Oh and calls me a hippie for listening to rock. It's endearing, really...) and I wouldn't trade their crazy family feuds and redneck ways for anything in the world! (That's how I learned to snap peas and cook!) Papa would spoil us rotten and we frequently argued over the best Popsicle flavor while riding a tractor. My mother's side are Damn Yankees (ha ha ha Just wanted to use that) and they're superstitious (yeah I picked that up) and believe in ghosts (yep that too) and talk to ghosts and see ghosts and my grandmother was as crazy as a loon (which I hear we will all pick up at some point...and I'm OK with that). She made candy all the time and had a mean-ass black poodle named Bandit that I wanted to kick in the face but Mom said that's not nice. My grandfather's favorite color was sky-blue-pink which confused the hell outta me (kept telling him "That's purple Grandpa!") til I grew up and saw a sunset.
Then of course after my parents divorced, we had MORE family that I didn't choose. My step-dad's family is kinda crazy in a fun sorta weird way. As I got older I learned they weren't so much fun but my uncle used to catch a ton of hell from me for having no hair (I was 13...I think it was my job to be a shithead) and my grandma's dog really enjoyed riding with me while I learned to drive (this is a lie as I threw her wiener dog across the car slamming on the breaks). My cousin is fantastic and a great cook (even decided to start a religion called Nanism once) and my daughter loves her daughter, even though they've only met once. My step-mother's family is a little more scarce, as I was quite a bit older when my father remarried. My grandma, however, is hands down the coolest grandma to have. She loves The Crow and frequently gives me Cd's and movies that I've never heard of and turns me on to things that are new. She's a goth granny and I love it!
So as you can see, I didn't need to add to my family, expand my family (except my Pie, who is the coolest addition EVER. And my not-in-laws who are always in my heart despite Pie's father being an idiot.), replace my family or otherwise alter it in anyway. I have a uniquely awesome family. (I forgot to mention my brother, who was a bastard when we were young but could be one of the funniest people alive nowadays.)
My extended chosen family is the best I could ask for and I never wonder if they love me or think I'm crazy (the latter because they KNOW I am) and they are always there in a pinch. Some are far away and I miss them in my life on a steady basis, but they are all the greatest and this makes it hard when someone asks who my best friend is...because honestly, all my friends are the best!
They have been so helpful as to stalk people at strip clubs with me in the middle of the night, help me move back to NC by letting me crash and getting me a job, holding my hand when my ex died and I couldn't even look at the flowers without crying, and letting my mascara and dirty hair land on their lap while I cried through the entire funeral. She has been there for all my insanity (even when I decided I wanted to be a vampire cuz I read The World On Blood- best shit ever!) and she's still there for my insanity.
Judy has been to Hell and back with me, even fighting over previously mentioned asshole that impregnated me. She will stick up for me at a moment's notice and blow up anyone that thinks they should treat me badly. I was there for Lamaze class (and even dragged people with us for entertainment purposes) and she was there for my horribly depressing pregnancy. I was there for her mother's death and she's been there for crazy men and assholes and let's me crash at her place when I'm lonely. It never matters how much time has passed between us fighting and making up, we're there in a heartbeat when it counts. We're so connected that when we reconnected after the fight over the ex, it was the day that I was leaving literally minutes before I left that she called.
Sheart is me in another body and her husband is wonderful as well. They are always there for me and Broseph will screen any boyfriend (and more than likely not like him) if needed...and has offered to knock them off if needed...which could be necessary someday! She even rushed over to fix the hole I put in my hand the other night with scissors...cuz I'm awesomely coordinated.
I could go on and on and on about all my amazing people in my life. People I work with, people I hang out with, people that I get to talk to but rarely see. I guess this is really just an attempt at letting everyone know that I love them and they are appreciated! I apologize for writing a book...but my house is very quiet without Pie here and I needed to kill some time.
Don't get me wrong, the family God gave me is plenty of fun and didn't need to be changed. My dad's family is straight-up country bumpkin (Yes my grandmother calls all feminine hygiene products Kotex and informed me there "ain't no niggers with the last name Jackson"...she also feeds me more than one person should ever eat then proceeds to call me fat. Oh and calls me a hippie for listening to rock. It's endearing, really...) and I wouldn't trade their crazy family feuds and redneck ways for anything in the world! (That's how I learned to snap peas and cook!) Papa would spoil us rotten and we frequently argued over the best Popsicle flavor while riding a tractor. My mother's side are Damn Yankees (ha ha ha Just wanted to use that) and they're superstitious (yeah I picked that up) and believe in ghosts (yep that too) and talk to ghosts and see ghosts and my grandmother was as crazy as a loon (which I hear we will all pick up at some point...and I'm OK with that). She made candy all the time and had a mean-ass black poodle named Bandit that I wanted to kick in the face but Mom said that's not nice. My grandfather's favorite color was sky-blue-pink which confused the hell outta me (kept telling him "That's purple Grandpa!") til I grew up and saw a sunset.
Then of course after my parents divorced, we had MORE family that I didn't choose. My step-dad's family is kinda crazy in a fun sorta weird way. As I got older I learned they weren't so much fun but my uncle used to catch a ton of hell from me for having no hair (I was 13...I think it was my job to be a shithead) and my grandma's dog really enjoyed riding with me while I learned to drive (this is a lie as I threw her wiener dog across the car slamming on the breaks). My cousin is fantastic and a great cook (even decided to start a religion called Nanism once) and my daughter loves her daughter, even though they've only met once. My step-mother's family is a little more scarce, as I was quite a bit older when my father remarried. My grandma, however, is hands down the coolest grandma to have. She loves The Crow and frequently gives me Cd's and movies that I've never heard of and turns me on to things that are new. She's a goth granny and I love it!
So as you can see, I didn't need to add to my family, expand my family (except my Pie, who is the coolest addition EVER. And my not-in-laws who are always in my heart despite Pie's father being an idiot.), replace my family or otherwise alter it in anyway. I have a uniquely awesome family. (I forgot to mention my brother, who was a bastard when we were young but could be one of the funniest people alive nowadays.)
My extended chosen family is the best I could ask for and I never wonder if they love me or think I'm crazy (the latter because they KNOW I am) and they are always there in a pinch. Some are far away and I miss them in my life on a steady basis, but they are all the greatest and this makes it hard when someone asks who my best friend is...because honestly, all my friends are the best!
They have been so helpful as to stalk people at strip clubs with me in the middle of the night, help me move back to NC by letting me crash and getting me a job, holding my hand when my ex died and I couldn't even look at the flowers without crying, and letting my mascara and dirty hair land on their lap while I cried through the entire funeral. She has been there for all my insanity (even when I decided I wanted to be a vampire cuz I read The World On Blood- best shit ever!) and she's still there for my insanity.
Judy has been to Hell and back with me, even fighting over previously mentioned asshole that impregnated me. She will stick up for me at a moment's notice and blow up anyone that thinks they should treat me badly. I was there for Lamaze class (and even dragged people with us for entertainment purposes) and she was there for my horribly depressing pregnancy. I was there for her mother's death and she's been there for crazy men and assholes and let's me crash at her place when I'm lonely. It never matters how much time has passed between us fighting and making up, we're there in a heartbeat when it counts. We're so connected that when we reconnected after the fight over the ex, it was the day that I was leaving literally minutes before I left that she called.
Sheart is me in another body and her husband is wonderful as well. They are always there for me and Broseph will screen any boyfriend (and more than likely not like him) if needed...and has offered to knock them off if needed...which could be necessary someday! She even rushed over to fix the hole I put in my hand the other night with scissors...cuz I'm awesomely coordinated.
I could go on and on and on about all my amazing people in my life. People I work with, people I hang out with, people that I get to talk to but rarely see. I guess this is really just an attempt at letting everyone know that I love them and they are appreciated! I apologize for writing a book...but my house is very quiet without Pie here and I needed to kill some time.
Friday, May 20, 2011
Teletubbies *VS* Action Figures
At 16, I was cute. I was a size 5 with a big ol' ass and hair like Pam Anderson (yeah...I love her...so what if she's got Hep C and makes more sex tapes than Jenna Jameson!). I was bubbly and happy and obnoxious like 16 year old girls are. I have been told that the demise of my bubbly attitude was around this time when I dated Skunk.
He had a mullet. This is an important detail being that it was 1998. (His hair styles did not get better...at one point he had purple and orange and etc with this crazy Flock of Seagulls shit going on. Guess he was just ahead of the time and didn't wait til Emo was in...) But his eyes were so blue. They were gorgeous. And he smelled wonderful.
We dated for many months (I was 16. That's a long time in 16 year old time!) and he was the first guy I slept with. So of course my heart was attached. And then he went to Pizza Hut...
One night...after many fights that include but are not limited to him grabbing my face and squeezing it like I was a bad 5 year old that stuck out my tongue, I was sitting in my super awesome room (Black lights and strobe lights and a bomb ass stereo...my room was tight!) waiting for Skunk to get off work. It started to get late and so I called his house thinking he was there. His brother informs me he isn't supposed to tell me where he went...followed by he went to Pizza Hut. ?????? Why not just tell me?
When he gets home and we are talking about him being at Pizza Hut he claims he was with D and that they just went to eat...I later find out that he was with this chick he works with and that they are most def sleeping together. My poor broken heart!
To make it better, I find out he is not only sleeping with her but obtaining oral favors from a friend of mine and making out with another friend of mine. What a slut!!!! And when we are breaking up and talking about things that really aren't important I feel cuz once you state that you're breaking up that should be it. You should not crush some body's bubbly happiness with statements such as "You laugh too much" or "You're always bouncing around and excited about something" or Goddess FORBID "You're childish and immature! You wanted a Teletubby that talks for your birthday!"
NO HE DID NOT!!!!! First off, it was the yellow one. And LaLa was totally cute! And second off she said Faggot Faggot. (I don't think that was what she was supposed to say but it sounded like it and being 16 and thinking things are funny all the time, I loved it!) I carried her everywhere and loved her like a newborn baby is loved by an adoring mother! HE had ACTION FIGURES glued to his bed! But I'M childish and immature! My room was the epitome of awesome and his was the epitome of a 10 year old nerd. (I do realize that the cheating should have made me angrier than being called childish and immature but I really think that the bigger picture is the hipocritical nature of his statement!) And he baby talked. Like a giant pussy! So while I did love the Teletubbies and the Power Puff Girls...I could still kick his ass!
Once again, I'd like to reiterate....
HE HAD ACTION FIGURES GLUED TO HIS BED!!!!! Just sayin'...............
He had a mullet. This is an important detail being that it was 1998. (His hair styles did not get better...at one point he had purple and orange and etc with this crazy Flock of Seagulls shit going on. Guess he was just ahead of the time and didn't wait til Emo was in...) But his eyes were so blue. They were gorgeous. And he smelled wonderful.
We dated for many months (I was 16. That's a long time in 16 year old time!) and he was the first guy I slept with. So of course my heart was attached. And then he went to Pizza Hut...
One night...after many fights that include but are not limited to him grabbing my face and squeezing it like I was a bad 5 year old that stuck out my tongue, I was sitting in my super awesome room (Black lights and strobe lights and a bomb ass stereo...my room was tight!) waiting for Skunk to get off work. It started to get late and so I called his house thinking he was there. His brother informs me he isn't supposed to tell me where he went...followed by he went to Pizza Hut. ?????? Why not just tell me?
When he gets home and we are talking about him being at Pizza Hut he claims he was with D and that they just went to eat...I later find out that he was with this chick he works with and that they are most def sleeping together. My poor broken heart!
To make it better, I find out he is not only sleeping with her but obtaining oral favors from a friend of mine and making out with another friend of mine. What a slut!!!! And when we are breaking up and talking about things that really aren't important I feel cuz once you state that you're breaking up that should be it. You should not crush some body's bubbly happiness with statements such as "You laugh too much" or "You're always bouncing around and excited about something" or Goddess FORBID "You're childish and immature! You wanted a Teletubby that talks for your birthday!"
NO HE DID NOT!!!!! First off, it was the yellow one. And LaLa was totally cute! And second off she said Faggot Faggot. (I don't think that was what she was supposed to say but it sounded like it and being 16 and thinking things are funny all the time, I loved it!) I carried her everywhere and loved her like a newborn baby is loved by an adoring mother! HE had ACTION FIGURES glued to his bed! But I'M childish and immature! My room was the epitome of awesome and his was the epitome of a 10 year old nerd. (I do realize that the cheating should have made me angrier than being called childish and immature but I really think that the bigger picture is the hipocritical nature of his statement!) And he baby talked. Like a giant pussy! So while I did love the Teletubbies and the Power Puff Girls...I could still kick his ass!
Once again, I'd like to reiterate....
HE HAD ACTION FIGURES GLUED TO HIS BED!!!!! Just sayin'...............
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Mmmmmmmm...Karma Tastes Like Dookie, Huh?
In the interest of not being a mega cunt bag, I will not go into GREAT detail...but I enjoy it when an ex that has wronged me in ways that are inexcusable gets his just desserts. And this happens 9 times out of 10. I have a great belief in karma and when it rolls back around, it tastes like the chocolate covered strawberries my mother sent me for Mother's Day...like a slo-gin fizz after a long day...like a corner brownie with chocolate frosting...like a strawberry mojito with my buddy Sheart...too much? You get the point...it's delicious!
But when the bad karma is on you, what's it taste like? Probably poop.
So when my ex calls and says that he is lonely, I do not take pitty. Because I believe it was brought on by his love of money (especially other people's money) and his pride in his awesomeness (which to be quite honest isn't that awesome).
When my baby-daddy (oh yeah...I went there) calls and is having trouble with the old Canadian hippie (I'm hippie in all my awesomeness...she's hippie in a patchoulli scented yuck bag) I have nothing but snide remarks this side of "Well, the grass is always greener isn't it???" When he asks if I have room "in there" and I ask what the fuck he's talking about and he says "Your pants" I enjoy telling him that he had his own room in there free of rent...and he chose to vacate the space for an older, less enjoyable space.
When the injun calls and says he can't get me out of his head, I take great pride in saying "I don't know what to tell you about that". I do not add the side note that in future relationships he should probably not take so many liberties on a person's garage door, as this tends to make someone not care if they're on your mind, no matter how good you are in bed. (See previous statement about not being a mega cunt bag)
Will I go to Hell for this? Or come back reincarnated as a port-a-potty? I don't think so. I believe that it's my reward for going through all the ridiculous shit they put me through...which I will detail at another time. Because I'm sure someone can get some enjoyment out of my misfortune.
But when the bad karma is on you, what's it taste like? Probably poop.
So when my ex calls and says that he is lonely, I do not take pitty. Because I believe it was brought on by his love of money (especially other people's money) and his pride in his awesomeness (which to be quite honest isn't that awesome).
When my baby-daddy (oh yeah...I went there) calls and is having trouble with the old Canadian hippie (I'm hippie in all my awesomeness...she's hippie in a patchoulli scented yuck bag) I have nothing but snide remarks this side of "Well, the grass is always greener isn't it???" When he asks if I have room "in there" and I ask what the fuck he's talking about and he says "Your pants" I enjoy telling him that he had his own room in there free of rent...and he chose to vacate the space for an older, less enjoyable space.
When the injun calls and says he can't get me out of his head, I take great pride in saying "I don't know what to tell you about that". I do not add the side note that in future relationships he should probably not take so many liberties on a person's garage door, as this tends to make someone not care if they're on your mind, no matter how good you are in bed. (See previous statement about not being a mega cunt bag)
Will I go to Hell for this? Or come back reincarnated as a port-a-potty? I don't think so. I believe that it's my reward for going through all the ridiculous shit they put me through...which I will detail at another time. Because I'm sure someone can get some enjoyment out of my misfortune.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Maybe I'm Not the Best Role Model...
Kids are funny. Always. When you are supposed to be the person that lets them know that they did wrong, it's hard to be stern when they're funny. I remember an interview with Damon Wayans (I think) and he said "If it's funny, they don't get in trouble." This is the problem I have.
For example, when 2 out of 3 are fighting and the one that you birthed walks over to the swing set with such ambition that you wonder if she has been watching Steven Seagal and says "Oh yeah? I bet you're scared to get on a motorcycle!" *Insert pause for retaliation that never came* "Yeah. I said it!" with her hands on her hips...because she is in fact hardcore...what do you do? And when the one that is accused of being a "scaredy cat" that won't ride motorcycles uses the rebuttal "I'm gonna ding ding and sing a song" should you stop laughing (and snorting because it was that kind of funny) long enough to tell them to stop fighting? Cuz I found it hard.
I also feel semi guilty for the bully walking around saying "Someone screw with me!". I didn't realize I was the cause of this until a few days later...And this is why:
For example, when 2 out of 3 are fighting and the one that you birthed walks over to the swing set with such ambition that you wonder if she has been watching Steven Seagal and says "Oh yeah? I bet you're scared to get on a motorcycle!" *Insert pause for retaliation that never came* "Yeah. I said it!" with her hands on her hips...because she is in fact hardcore...what do you do? And when the one that is accused of being a "scaredy cat" that won't ride motorcycles uses the rebuttal "I'm gonna ding ding and sing a song" should you stop laughing (and snorting because it was that kind of funny) long enough to tell them to stop fighting? Cuz I found it hard.
I also feel semi guilty for the bully walking around saying "Someone screw with me!". I didn't realize I was the cause of this until a few days later...And this is why:
When the bully comes over, not only are we forced to listen to mass quantities of Bieber (while he sings and dances) but we are also forced to listen to him talk about war history (which, honestly, do I seem like a history buff???) and then he relentlessly chases the girls punching them or threatening to take his shirt off. We have done many things to get him to stop torturing them with his fists and nipples, but boys will be boys. My general response to this is "Stop screwing with the girls!" (which I felt was a better alternative than "Stop fucking with the girls" which I almost said and caught myself...thus screwing came out) and he now uses it regularly.
I do apologize to Judy for her having to deal with it, as I'm sure it was my fault. The Bieber love he feels (and attempts to deny) is not.
I have also started good things! For instance, they speak a little Spanish such as "No Bueno" and "Aye Dios Mio". And while they're not going to need these things in school, I find them very useful in everyday life. Futuristicly I'd like to teach them some more Spanish (Una Cerveza Por Favor) and French (Ne'pas tes onions, fiche le comp, omlette du fromage, fermer le bouche) but I don't think they're ready for that jelly...
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Jealous Hags and Slack Asses Trump Hardworking Mamas??????
Single parenting sucks. It sucks harder than a 2cent hooker trying to make rent. (or due to inflation, she may now be a 5cent hooker...) For example, on this day, I am off. The only day this week that I'm off (aside from Easter...which is a holiday and has no relaxing qualities) and can spend time with my baby bear doing fun exciting day time things. For some reason days off are a signal to her that she should act like a punk ALL DAY LONG and most definitely wake up at the ass crack of dawn.
In my head I envisioned us paying bills (yes...excitement around every corner!) and then maybe painting or coloring with sidewalk chalk and getting dyed by colored bubbles that don't actually wash out of much other than your skin. The vision was cut short when she decided that 10AM is an appropriate time to play drums. I then explain that during spring break the kids that aren't 7 and ready to take over the world as soon as the sun comes up are probably still asleep and maybe the drums should wait until everybody in the neighborhood is awake. This causes some kind of mental break down where my daughter has decided that she can revert back to toddlerism and act a damn fool. It also causes repressed memories to resurface. And I am reminded of how she did not have a birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese and did not get a Wii for Christmas. Oh...and that I hate her.
This is the most frustrating part of my life. Anytime that she begins her "You hate me because you will not shell out hundreds of dollars on *insert random expensive activity and/or contraption*" Because as all parents are aware, we want to spend hundreds of dollars on the things they want and give them the Veruca Salt (the character...not the band. Although Imperfect and Born Entertainer are fabulous songs that make me sway and act a fool while singing) lifestyle they'd dream of. We want to spend mass quantities of money putting them in activities and keeping them busy with things that will teach them life-lessons like team work and ambition and what-not. But the reality is life is costly. And when you work 20-30 hours a week for less than $10 an hour because you can't work past 3pm in order to maintain a healthy schedule for your child who has major issues when not on a schedule...and the so-called-father of your child can't pay child support because "it takes 2 incomes to run a household" (yes! This was stated to me!!! The single mother! Out of the mouths of assholes...) or he forgot or he didn't make it to the post office or *insert other bullshit excuse that would assist Lana Warlick in handing me his balls in a Crown Royal satchel* you can't accomplish these things. When it boils down to pay the electric bill in full or buy groceries and pay half the electric, things like birthdays and Christmas take a back seat. (I regularly thank the ruler of the universe that my daughter was born around tax time)
And the parent that is working their ass off at trying to make a life for them year round instead of just the 6 weeks a year that they are around takes the damaging remarks. Because the parent that isn't here is better. They don't ground you or make you do homework or clean your room. So they are fantastic! And until they have their own ankle biters running around, it will remain that way. And when the so-called-father can't talk to you because the future step-mother is a jealous old hag, it makes it hard to call and vent your frustrations to the person that deserves it. But one day...karma will bite them in the ass. And I will smile and fly away on my private jet to my island with Johnny, where we will re-enact the scene in Pirates with the rum...only there will most definitely be nudity...
PS: I do not blame the jealous old hag. I am quite attractive in comparisson and if given the choice to sleep with myself or a nearing-50-year-old-canadian-hippie, Masturbation will win!
PPS: Yes I am blogging on my time with the fruit of my loins, but she is taking a nap because she "is not tired and naps are for old people and babies"
In my head I envisioned us paying bills (yes...excitement around every corner!) and then maybe painting or coloring with sidewalk chalk and getting dyed by colored bubbles that don't actually wash out of much other than your skin. The vision was cut short when she decided that 10AM is an appropriate time to play drums. I then explain that during spring break the kids that aren't 7 and ready to take over the world as soon as the sun comes up are probably still asleep and maybe the drums should wait until everybody in the neighborhood is awake. This causes some kind of mental break down where my daughter has decided that she can revert back to toddlerism and act a damn fool. It also causes repressed memories to resurface. And I am reminded of how she did not have a birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese and did not get a Wii for Christmas. Oh...and that I hate her.
This is the most frustrating part of my life. Anytime that she begins her "You hate me because you will not shell out hundreds of dollars on *insert random expensive activity and/or contraption*" Because as all parents are aware, we want to spend hundreds of dollars on the things they want and give them the Veruca Salt (the character...not the band. Although Imperfect and Born Entertainer are fabulous songs that make me sway and act a fool while singing) lifestyle they'd dream of. We want to spend mass quantities of money putting them in activities and keeping them busy with things that will teach them life-lessons like team work and ambition and what-not. But the reality is life is costly. And when you work 20-30 hours a week for less than $10 an hour because you can't work past 3pm in order to maintain a healthy schedule for your child who has major issues when not on a schedule...and the so-called-father of your child can't pay child support because "it takes 2 incomes to run a household" (yes! This was stated to me!!! The single mother! Out of the mouths of assholes...) or he forgot or he didn't make it to the post office or *insert other bullshit excuse that would assist Lana Warlick in handing me his balls in a Crown Royal satchel* you can't accomplish these things. When it boils down to pay the electric bill in full or buy groceries and pay half the electric, things like birthdays and Christmas take a back seat. (I regularly thank the ruler of the universe that my daughter was born around tax time)
And the parent that is working their ass off at trying to make a life for them year round instead of just the 6 weeks a year that they are around takes the damaging remarks. Because the parent that isn't here is better. They don't ground you or make you do homework or clean your room. So they are fantastic! And until they have their own ankle biters running around, it will remain that way. And when the so-called-father can't talk to you because the future step-mother is a jealous old hag, it makes it hard to call and vent your frustrations to the person that deserves it. But one day...karma will bite them in the ass. And I will smile and fly away on my private jet to my island with Johnny, where we will re-enact the scene in Pirates with the rum...only there will most definitely be nudity...
PS: I do not blame the jealous old hag. I am quite attractive in comparisson and if given the choice to sleep with myself or a nearing-50-year-old-canadian-hippie, Masturbation will win!
PPS: Yes I am blogging on my time with the fruit of my loins, but she is taking a nap because she "is not tired and naps are for old people and babies"
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Guess What Your Shit Smells Like!?!?!?
Shit. Yes that's right folks. It's a rarity when your shit will smell like something other than dung. (Occasionally baby poo smells like ham...but being that anyone that is reading this is most likely NOT a baby...)
If you honestly feel that your shit is better than anyone else's, why not donate it to science, as I'm sure the world would be extremely interested in this fantastic dump that is unlike any other deuce dropped into the sewer system. (Or wherever else people are dropping the Browns off at nowadays...)
And in a side note to dookie, if you like to spread your business as much as you spread your legs, that's your issue. Don't spread other people's business. If somebody wants to know, tell them "Hey! I got a great idea! Go ask them!" Don't say "Well, her husband bought a hooker on eBay and then paid her to sit in a tub of Pepto and rub his feet with garlic! Isn't that crazy? But don't tell her I told you." Would you like the people you're talking about to tell everyone else your shit? No? OK.
And to go with that...if you don't want your business spread, don't tell the people that spread it. If you were previously unaware of their crop dusting abilities, you are now.
Do not drag other people into your bullshit either. If you would like to vent or ask for advice, by all means, do so. But do not expect us to play negotiator and step in. (If you decide to step in, don't drop somebody on their ass when they're leaning on you and then bullshit about why you turned your back to take the heat off yourself for being a shitty friend. Also, please see next line.)
Handle your shit. You are grown. If you can't handle a situation that you have gotten yourself into, please make a mental note to either learn to deal with it or to avoid said situation again. Don't take it out on people who really aren't involved and expect them to remedy the situation...I am not Jason Mraz. I do not have the remedy (although if Mr. Mraz would like to share his remedy, I'll more than gladly partake. I'll even try a veggie burger!).
THIS HAS BEEN A PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT!
If you honestly feel that your shit is better than anyone else's, why not donate it to science, as I'm sure the world would be extremely interested in this fantastic dump that is unlike any other deuce dropped into the sewer system. (Or wherever else people are dropping the Browns off at nowadays...)
And in a side note to dookie, if you like to spread your business as much as you spread your legs, that's your issue. Don't spread other people's business. If somebody wants to know, tell them "Hey! I got a great idea! Go ask them!" Don't say "Well, her husband bought a hooker on eBay and then paid her to sit in a tub of Pepto and rub his feet with garlic! Isn't that crazy? But don't tell her I told you." Would you like the people you're talking about to tell everyone else your shit? No? OK.
And to go with that...if you don't want your business spread, don't tell the people that spread it. If you were previously unaware of their crop dusting abilities, you are now.
Do not drag other people into your bullshit either. If you would like to vent or ask for advice, by all means, do so. But do not expect us to play negotiator and step in. (If you decide to step in, don't drop somebody on their ass when they're leaning on you and then bullshit about why you turned your back to take the heat off yourself for being a shitty friend. Also, please see next line.)
Handle your shit. You are grown. If you can't handle a situation that you have gotten yourself into, please make a mental note to either learn to deal with it or to avoid said situation again. Don't take it out on people who really aren't involved and expect them to remedy the situation...I am not Jason Mraz. I do not have the remedy (although if Mr. Mraz would like to share his remedy, I'll more than gladly partake. I'll even try a veggie burger!).
THIS HAS BEEN A PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT!
Monday, April 18, 2011
Dating...A Plethora of Excitement I AM NOT Prepared For!
I have a policy on dating (and I do mean casual dating...not serious pick-out-towels-and-wall-paper-naming-kids-dating) . Don't ask, don't tell. If you aren't witty enough to say "Are you seeing anyone else?" then I'm entirely too cunning to tell you. Maybe cunning isn't the word I want; I think I mean smart. I do this because there is no "nice" way to approach the subject. Exactly how do you tell someone "Hey! Yeah, dinner sounds great Thursday but Friday I plan to go scuba diving with Steve!" I think it's unnecessary.
At the same time, I am, in fact, witty enough to ask. My first questions are:
When asked, I will say "I am dating around." Details are unimportant, as we are not committed. If at some point we become committed, I will no longer be dating around. But while we are not in a relationship (or relationshit, for the only way to know which one you have is to play the hand) I feel that both parties are equally free to explore other realms of interest. (Note: if any of your realms of interest include feet, poop, or vomit, please keep me uninvolved) I do not enjoy relationshits, so I try to keep it honest.
Relationshits come in many forms. They don't usually start out as relationshits. They're typically relationships that take a turn for the worst and become relationshits by way of controlling, abusing, mistreating, and generally ass holish behavior. Everybody has had one and I feel it's a low blow to real relationships to continue to call them relationships. Call it what it is: relationshit. If your relationshit begins as a relationshit, you did not read this blog properly and need a reading comprehension assessment in order to move forward to any future blogs.
All of the above being said, The Injun was a short relationship and a quick relationshit. In an effort to prevent future relationshits, I have started dating. I believe that dating will shortly cause me to take 2 days off work in a row and hold myself up in my house cleaning and singing loudly while ignoring anything that has a penis. (Note: This is generally a bad sign and means that because I cannot afford a vacation I have decided that cleaning was needed.) Currently there are 5 men pursuing me (that I'm fully aware of). My phone never shuts the hell up and sometimes I turn the ringer off and pretend that the bill wasn't paid for an hour. I also have a horrible memory so I end up double booking. This has been completely accidental and I have escaped unscathed both times, but could possibly not be so lucky in the future.
There are some promising prospects. But I will be dragging this dating thing out as long as possible because I really don't want a relationshit right now. The only way to avoid relationshits: avoid relationships.
At the same time, I am, in fact, witty enough to ask. My first questions are:
- Do you have a girlfriend?
- Are you married?
- Are you seeing anyone?
- Are you a serial killer?
- Do you drink copious amounts of alcohol daily?
- Do you smoke pot more frequently than you wash your ass?
- Do you have a criminal record longer than my forearm?
When asked, I will say "I am dating around." Details are unimportant, as we are not committed. If at some point we become committed, I will no longer be dating around. But while we are not in a relationship (or relationshit, for the only way to know which one you have is to play the hand) I feel that both parties are equally free to explore other realms of interest. (Note: if any of your realms of interest include feet, poop, or vomit, please keep me uninvolved) I do not enjoy relationshits, so I try to keep it honest.
Relationshits come in many forms. They don't usually start out as relationshits. They're typically relationships that take a turn for the worst and become relationshits by way of controlling, abusing, mistreating, and generally ass holish behavior. Everybody has had one and I feel it's a low blow to real relationships to continue to call them relationships. Call it what it is: relationshit. If your relationshit begins as a relationshit, you did not read this blog properly and need a reading comprehension assessment in order to move forward to any future blogs.
All of the above being said, The Injun was a short relationship and a quick relationshit. In an effort to prevent future relationshits, I have started dating. I believe that dating will shortly cause me to take 2 days off work in a row and hold myself up in my house cleaning and singing loudly while ignoring anything that has a penis. (Note: This is generally a bad sign and means that because I cannot afford a vacation I have decided that cleaning was needed.) Currently there are 5 men pursuing me (that I'm fully aware of). My phone never shuts the hell up and sometimes I turn the ringer off and pretend that the bill wasn't paid for an hour. I also have a horrible memory so I end up double booking. This has been completely accidental and I have escaped unscathed both times, but could possibly not be so lucky in the future.
There are some promising prospects. But I will be dragging this dating thing out as long as possible because I really don't want a relationshit right now. The only way to avoid relationshits: avoid relationships.
Friday, April 8, 2011
Anybody Seen Goonies?
So back in the day, my boyfriend was Puerto Rican. (He was a giant ass...I do not say this because he was Puerto Rican. I say this because he was, in fact, an ass.) We fought horribly and I didn't take his shit. When he started a fight, something was getting broken and generally speaking it was something of his. Because I have the tendancy to be insane. Many people can confirm this...
Lately (like within the last 2 years) I have mellowed. I'm not sure why but it has happened and this is how I know:
One night (or morning more accurately as it was about 3am) my boyfriend called after a night out and what sounded like the equivalent of a case of beer. I asked how his night was and blah blah blah like ya do when ya hear from someone at such a time and don't have much to say (insane me would have said "are you out of your damn mind? Do you know what time it is?"). Somehow this conversation turned into a talk about my love for black men (which I don't really have...there are some very attractive black men- Lenny Kravitz, Blair Underwood- but I generally date white or brown boys). This stemming from the Puerto Rican Ass...as he was very dark complected. When I asked what this had to do with anything, I was informed I should shove a Baby Ruth up my "twat" so I could have all the chocolate I wanted in there.
WHAT?? Did you say that out loud???? I heard it come out of his mouth and kinda giggled...surely he was joking as no sane man would say that to a crazy person. Turns out that an insane man would.
So this became a favorite joke and we ("we" being my equally insane friends and I) regularly make Baby Ruth jokes...and would eat them in front of said insane man, smiling because the best jokes are the ones that nobody else gets. What makes it even better is that he never remembered stating this...
At least I remember the crazy shit I do!
Lately (like within the last 2 years) I have mellowed. I'm not sure why but it has happened and this is how I know:
One night (or morning more accurately as it was about 3am) my boyfriend called after a night out and what sounded like the equivalent of a case of beer. I asked how his night was and blah blah blah like ya do when ya hear from someone at such a time and don't have much to say (insane me would have said "are you out of your damn mind? Do you know what time it is?"). Somehow this conversation turned into a talk about my love for black men (which I don't really have...there are some very attractive black men- Lenny Kravitz, Blair Underwood- but I generally date white or brown boys). This stemming from the Puerto Rican Ass...as he was very dark complected. When I asked what this had to do with anything, I was informed I should shove a Baby Ruth up my "twat" so I could have all the chocolate I wanted in there.
WHAT?? Did you say that out loud???? I heard it come out of his mouth and kinda giggled...surely he was joking as no sane man would say that to a crazy person. Turns out that an insane man would.
So this became a favorite joke and we ("we" being my equally insane friends and I) regularly make Baby Ruth jokes...and would eat them in front of said insane man, smiling because the best jokes are the ones that nobody else gets. What makes it even better is that he never remembered stating this...
At least I remember the crazy shit I do!
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Call The Po-Po Ho!!!!
What is it about me that makes men insane? I am aware that I'm not incredibly unattractive...but I'm positive there isn't a woman alive that's looks make a man insane! I'm not amazing in bed and I'm not a horrid bitch (ok...well I guess that's debatable depending on the boyfriend but...). But somehow they mostly end up being criminally insane...or just fucking nuts.
Newest one to pop up? The Injun. (I do realize that I have skipped a whole hell of a lot but I'll back track...this just really needed to be noted cuz it's grating on my nerves!) Last year when Fingers and I broke up (Fingers = ex. That's all that's important about him to this tale) I began seeing this boy. Long hair, tattoos, HUGE arms and chest...ya know. He was overly sweet and overly attentive which Fingers was not. And I enjoyed this even though I'm not good with the clingy type. UNTIL...
He blew up on me because I wouldn't sleep with him...then again blew up on me when (months later) Fingers and I had gotten back together...and I don't handle fighting well. I'm a talker not a fighter!
We begin seeing each other again when Fingers rolls out again (So I like to stay in familiar territory...is that so wrong?) and he is amazing! Sweet, nice, supportive, looks amazing without a shirt...until we commit. And then he suddenly has demands and a really bad attitude.
After being chased down the highway at high speeds, forced to pull over and "talk" with him (which was really a talk with the cops that were called about the domestic dispute that had errupted in a parking lot full of people which is a great tale for another time), you would think that this signified a problem...ok. It did. And I got it. But he was also pretty fuckin scary. So I felt a little more comfortable keeping him calm and sane until I planned my attack.
His attack wasn't very well thought out...which meant that mine didn't have to be at all. It was a little more instinctive. See, one night he had called and asked about hanging out. I said nope...not on this night. He felt it was a good idea to get drunk at a mexican restaurant (which is understandable on Wed nights when it's half priced margaritas! Not on a Thurs...) then to call and pick a fight because I wouldn't let him spend the night (after informing me that I am his girlfriend whether I like it or not and he will be my boyfriend whether I want it to be that way or not). After hanging up (see previous statement about "...not a fighter") and throwing my jammas on, I recieve random drunken texts that make no sense and several phone calls...followed by a loud VROOM!
And all I can think is "I know this mother f*cker is NOT at my house!" Yeah...he was. And so being that I'm a SANE person with RATIONAL thoughts I assume that when I don't answer my phone or door, he will admit defeat, hang his head, and retreat back to his damn TeePee! NO! He will not! He will, however, jump the 6 foot privacy fence and stand by my bedroom window repeatedly calling me. He will also attempt to get in the french doors (dead bolted!) and then use his ID to get in through the garage door (after getting a drink from the water hose because breaking and entering works up a thirst)...enter my room with blood pouring down his leg and arm...and act like this is totally normal and natural. His response to "I called the cops" will be "If you had called them they'd be here by now" and then he'll sob incessantly while hugging my legs and saying "I love you! Why are you scared of me?" and then tell the cops he lives here and I'm "trippin".
I'm going to open a mental hospital...that way I know where my exes are and what they're doing. And when I'm sleeping...they will all wear straight jackets.
Newest one to pop up? The Injun. (I do realize that I have skipped a whole hell of a lot but I'll back track...this just really needed to be noted cuz it's grating on my nerves!) Last year when Fingers and I broke up (Fingers = ex. That's all that's important about him to this tale) I began seeing this boy. Long hair, tattoos, HUGE arms and chest...ya know. He was overly sweet and overly attentive which Fingers was not. And I enjoyed this even though I'm not good with the clingy type. UNTIL...
He blew up on me because I wouldn't sleep with him...then again blew up on me when (months later) Fingers and I had gotten back together...and I don't handle fighting well. I'm a talker not a fighter!
We begin seeing each other again when Fingers rolls out again (So I like to stay in familiar territory...is that so wrong?) and he is amazing! Sweet, nice, supportive, looks amazing without a shirt...until we commit. And then he suddenly has demands and a really bad attitude.
After being chased down the highway at high speeds, forced to pull over and "talk" with him (which was really a talk with the cops that were called about the domestic dispute that had errupted in a parking lot full of people which is a great tale for another time), you would think that this signified a problem...ok. It did. And I got it. But he was also pretty fuckin scary. So I felt a little more comfortable keeping him calm and sane until I planned my attack.
His attack wasn't very well thought out...which meant that mine didn't have to be at all. It was a little more instinctive. See, one night he had called and asked about hanging out. I said nope...not on this night. He felt it was a good idea to get drunk at a mexican restaurant (which is understandable on Wed nights when it's half priced margaritas! Not on a Thurs...) then to call and pick a fight because I wouldn't let him spend the night (after informing me that I am his girlfriend whether I like it or not and he will be my boyfriend whether I want it to be that way or not). After hanging up (see previous statement about "...not a fighter") and throwing my jammas on, I recieve random drunken texts that make no sense and several phone calls...followed by a loud VROOM!
And all I can think is "I know this mother f*cker is NOT at my house!" Yeah...he was. And so being that I'm a SANE person with RATIONAL thoughts I assume that when I don't answer my phone or door, he will admit defeat, hang his head, and retreat back to his damn TeePee! NO! He will not! He will, however, jump the 6 foot privacy fence and stand by my bedroom window repeatedly calling me. He will also attempt to get in the french doors (dead bolted!) and then use his ID to get in through the garage door (after getting a drink from the water hose because breaking and entering works up a thirst)...enter my room with blood pouring down his leg and arm...and act like this is totally normal and natural. His response to "I called the cops" will be "If you had called them they'd be here by now" and then he'll sob incessantly while hugging my legs and saying "I love you! Why are you scared of me?" and then tell the cops he lives here and I'm "trippin".
I'm going to open a mental hospital...that way I know where my exes are and what they're doing. And when I'm sleeping...they will all wear straight jackets.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
No More Monkeys Jumpin On The Bed!!
One sunny day that I'm sure my parents had forced us outside to play (because it's a nice day and you need fresh air blah blah blah...I hate sun. Like sunshine. Hate skin cancer...no I don't have it...and there's a reason. Avoidance and SPF962) we were quietly hanging out in the den...so as not to be found out that we were in fact not outdoors.
Above the den, just up the stairs, was my parents' bedroom. There was a open wall with a railing, similar to a balcony that didn't jut out, where my parents' bed was stationed. My brother's room was to the right and connecting the 2 rooms was a bathroom. (I was a spoiled brat that had the master bedroom downstairs. I believe it's because my brother was little and he needed to be closer to my parents...but regardless I'm pretty spoiled.) At the bottom of the stairs was a stereo. This is where the neighbor and I had positioned ourselves.
It was the down-slope of NKOTB (New Kids on the Block for those not old enough to know who that is...the downslope being that one album that nobody knows any songs on) and it was very uncool for a boy to give two shits about them. He claimed to secretly have the newest tape...which I did not. So he was forced to bring the tape (I'm sure it was physical brute force that I used to get that tape into my possesion...) and let me listen to it. He pretended he never listened to it and that it was bought for him as a gift...to this day I'm sure he lied.
As I was singing about games, games, games, games, games, I noticed my parents' bed bouncing. Being the oldest, I took it upon myself to correct this problem before my brother was found out and punished for jumping on my parents' bed. I told neighbor boy to wait one and headed up the stairs with the sisterly nanny-nanny-boo-boo aggression that one gets when they're about to say "you're in trouble! I'm telling!".
Boy was a wrong about who was in trouble!!!!!!
It was not my brother jumping on the bed...and as I came running down the stairs yelling "EWWWWWWWWWW!!! RUN!!!! I THINK I'M IN TROUBLE!!!!" the neighbor boy darted out the door with me following closely behind. I don't remember stopping my Forest Gump-esque journey...but obviously I did or I wouldn't be typing this.
Needless to say when my running led me back home (we lived in the boonies, there was nowhere else to go...unless you liked bears and trees and rocks...and sun...which I don't.) I was given a speech on knocking on doors and not barging into people's rooms. Effective lesson...for sure.
Above the den, just up the stairs, was my parents' bedroom. There was a open wall with a railing, similar to a balcony that didn't jut out, where my parents' bed was stationed. My brother's room was to the right and connecting the 2 rooms was a bathroom. (I was a spoiled brat that had the master bedroom downstairs. I believe it's because my brother was little and he needed to be closer to my parents...but regardless I'm pretty spoiled.) At the bottom of the stairs was a stereo. This is where the neighbor and I had positioned ourselves.
It was the down-slope of NKOTB (New Kids on the Block for those not old enough to know who that is...the downslope being that one album that nobody knows any songs on) and it was very uncool for a boy to give two shits about them. He claimed to secretly have the newest tape...which I did not. So he was forced to bring the tape (I'm sure it was physical brute force that I used to get that tape into my possesion...) and let me listen to it. He pretended he never listened to it and that it was bought for him as a gift...to this day I'm sure he lied.
As I was singing about games, games, games, games, games, I noticed my parents' bed bouncing. Being the oldest, I took it upon myself to correct this problem before my brother was found out and punished for jumping on my parents' bed. I told neighbor boy to wait one and headed up the stairs with the sisterly nanny-nanny-boo-boo aggression that one gets when they're about to say "you're in trouble! I'm telling!".
Boy was a wrong about who was in trouble!!!!!!
It was not my brother jumping on the bed...and as I came running down the stairs yelling "EWWWWWWWWWW!!! RUN!!!! I THINK I'M IN TROUBLE!!!!" the neighbor boy darted out the door with me following closely behind. I don't remember stopping my Forest Gump-esque journey...but obviously I did or I wouldn't be typing this.
Needless to say when my running led me back home (we lived in the boonies, there was nowhere else to go...unless you liked bears and trees and rocks...and sun...which I don't.) I was given a speech on knocking on doors and not barging into people's rooms. Effective lesson...for sure.
Some Things Work Better On Paper
I'm a genius when it comes to bright ideas. And in theory they're good ideas. But somewhere down the line, I calculate wrong and end up in a rough spot...which generally ends in me getting hurt. Physically.
When I was small (I say 3. I was little and I had a brother by that point so 3 is a good assumption) I wanted to play outside. I'm not an outdoorsy person so when I "play" outside, it generally involves swings or wagons or something that doesn't require me to get dirty and/or sweaty. My parents were in the garage doing whatever it is parents do and there was a green bucket-esque object with handles and wheels. I was positive that if I could just get in, my mom would push me around and a good time will be had by all. What I didn't count on was the balance that 2 wheels does NOT have when you're climbing. And so the grass seeder fell...with me in it. And as I cry, what does my mother do? She runs in and gets the camera. (There are pictures!! Documentation of my first brilliant idea that I can recall.) Lesson: Grass seeders are not wagons.
When I was 8, my cousin (who is a giant. I'm positive he was 7 ft tall when we were in 2nd grade) and I decide that we are going to sword fight on the bed. Calculating my attack while trying to avoid being hit by a Gulliver with a plastic sword, I jump forward, thrust, and jump back to avoid his retaliation. Where did this plan fail? Where the bed ended. And so I fell...and he laughed...and I cried. Not only did I fall but I landed on the air vent in the floor and sliced a chunk out of my leg. Good times! Lesson: Giants and swords on beds don't mix.
I think one of the most brilliant plans I had as a child was the garage door. Unfortunately, it was much more beneficial for the boys in the neighborhood than it was entertaining to me. We had an automatic garage door and I had my brother hold the remote, grabbed the door, and up I went. What I didn't think of was the garage door going into the ceiling of the garage...and the outter handle going with it. So I hung from the garage door with my brother and the neighbor kids laughing, my hands stuck underneath the door, crying. Would they push the button to let me down? Nooooooooooo!!!! They just laughed and pointed and said "Great idea!!" My dad came out to see what was going on and vengeance was mine! Yeah...I told him it wasn't MY idea but that they were sneaky and waited til I had my hand on the door and opened it. He was so mad it never occured to him that garage doors do not move at the speed of light and it was entirely possible for me to let go prior to being sucked underneath the ceiling. Thank God for parental rage...otherwise my parents may have known what a genius I was. Lesson: Hold the inside handle.
When I was small (I say 3. I was little and I had a brother by that point so 3 is a good assumption) I wanted to play outside. I'm not an outdoorsy person so when I "play" outside, it generally involves swings or wagons or something that doesn't require me to get dirty and/or sweaty. My parents were in the garage doing whatever it is parents do and there was a green bucket-esque object with handles and wheels. I was positive that if I could just get in, my mom would push me around and a good time will be had by all. What I didn't count on was the balance that 2 wheels does NOT have when you're climbing. And so the grass seeder fell...with me in it. And as I cry, what does my mother do? She runs in and gets the camera. (There are pictures!! Documentation of my first brilliant idea that I can recall.) Lesson: Grass seeders are not wagons.
When I was 8, my cousin (who is a giant. I'm positive he was 7 ft tall when we were in 2nd grade) and I decide that we are going to sword fight on the bed. Calculating my attack while trying to avoid being hit by a Gulliver with a plastic sword, I jump forward, thrust, and jump back to avoid his retaliation. Where did this plan fail? Where the bed ended. And so I fell...and he laughed...and I cried. Not only did I fall but I landed on the air vent in the floor and sliced a chunk out of my leg. Good times! Lesson: Giants and swords on beds don't mix.
I think one of the most brilliant plans I had as a child was the garage door. Unfortunately, it was much more beneficial for the boys in the neighborhood than it was entertaining to me. We had an automatic garage door and I had my brother hold the remote, grabbed the door, and up I went. What I didn't think of was the garage door going into the ceiling of the garage...and the outter handle going with it. So I hung from the garage door with my brother and the neighbor kids laughing, my hands stuck underneath the door, crying. Would they push the button to let me down? Nooooooooooo!!!! They just laughed and pointed and said "Great idea!!" My dad came out to see what was going on and vengeance was mine! Yeah...I told him it wasn't MY idea but that they were sneaky and waited til I had my hand on the door and opened it. He was so mad it never occured to him that garage doors do not move at the speed of light and it was entirely possible for me to let go prior to being sucked underneath the ceiling. Thank God for parental rage...otherwise my parents may have known what a genius I was. Lesson: Hold the inside handle.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Takin It Back To The Old School
This whole thing started when I was five. I lived in Virginia Beach in a nice little neighborhood where there was always someone to play with. (This is what I remember...because 5 was a long ass time ago!) In this house is where I learned that you should not lick the freezer shelf (and that your mother will laugh hysterically as opposed to helping you figure out a way to remove your tongue and NOT leave a portion of it behind) as well as the age-old lesson of NOT washing your face with toothpaste (yes...I did that. And no...it wasn't a refreshing clean feeling).
I was in kindergarten and we walked to school everyday. We had half days and I rode the bus home...several times falling asleep, missing my stop, and my mother freaking out because the bus didn't drop me off. Everyday in Mrs. White's class, I sat beside Brett. And he was the cutest boy ever! He said his favorite color was pink because mine was pink. (I also had pink germs while the rest of the world had blue and refused to drink after anyone or share any food item, as their germs would mix with mine and turn them purple...I'm not sure why this was important to me. But it was.)
I discovered that he lived across the street from me after he was my unofficial love of my life for a while (I was 5 so it was probably a week or something). Lisa and I were walking to a yard sale that my mother had allowed me to go to and I thought I was a big girl because we weren't allowed to cross the street and go where my mother couldn't see us. As we found Brett, I remembered I left my money at the house and left Lisa with him to go get it. When I returned my whole little kindergarten world was destroyed! They were kissing! On the lips! Ewwwwwwwwwwww!
I didn't let them know I saw and I ran home and played on my swing set like an only child longing for a brother or sister (which I wasn't...because I had a brother. And he was mean!). Lisa came back later and I learned the bros before hoes rule...which isn't really how to put it when you lack a penis but you get my point. She was still my bestie (and said that his breath was smelly...must be those blue germs) and I told Brett he could no longer share my favorite color. Lisa's was purple anyway...they should share their purple germs and leave my pink ones alone...(for the record, I did not share drinks with Lisa anymore. We had pink germs...the only pink germs in the world! And she tainted them...)
I was in kindergarten and we walked to school everyday. We had half days and I rode the bus home...several times falling asleep, missing my stop, and my mother freaking out because the bus didn't drop me off. Everyday in Mrs. White's class, I sat beside Brett. And he was the cutest boy ever! He said his favorite color was pink because mine was pink. (I also had pink germs while the rest of the world had blue and refused to drink after anyone or share any food item, as their germs would mix with mine and turn them purple...I'm not sure why this was important to me. But it was.)
I discovered that he lived across the street from me after he was my unofficial love of my life for a while (I was 5 so it was probably a week or something). Lisa and I were walking to a yard sale that my mother had allowed me to go to and I thought I was a big girl because we weren't allowed to cross the street and go where my mother couldn't see us. As we found Brett, I remembered I left my money at the house and left Lisa with him to go get it. When I returned my whole little kindergarten world was destroyed! They were kissing! On the lips! Ewwwwwwwwwwww!
I didn't let them know I saw and I ran home and played on my swing set like an only child longing for a brother or sister (which I wasn't...because I had a brother. And he was mean!). Lisa came back later and I learned the bros before hoes rule...which isn't really how to put it when you lack a penis but you get my point. She was still my bestie (and said that his breath was smelly...must be those blue germs) and I told Brett he could no longer share my favorite color. Lisa's was purple anyway...they should share their purple germs and leave my pink ones alone...(for the record, I did not share drinks with Lisa anymore. We had pink germs...the only pink germs in the world! And she tainted them...)
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