I'm Bitching Again

Ya know what would be nice? It'd be nice if the freakin' Cheetos bag wasn't so blasted loud and crinkly. I mean, how's a girl supposed to binge on Cheetos in the middle of the night? I don't know about you but my kids have some sort of "Mama's Eatin' Somethin'" sonar. You might think it would be off while they sleep but I venture to say it's set to super sensitive. I long to enjoy a meal - or even a quick snack - without ripping off a small piece for a small person.

Another thing I'd like to bitch about today is my (lack 0f) free time. Why didn't I know that after I had kids I no longer had the luxury of even going to the bathroom alone? I wish I knew the last time I was alone in the loo that it was, in fact, the last time I would be alone in the loo. I would have paid special attention. Took a mental picture. Made it count!

Next on my poor pitiful me list... dirty clothes. Both the 6 outfits Aidan goes through each day and the no less than 3 shirts I change each day. This poses a problem in our house because I procrastinate like a mo fo on laundry. I'm not even kidding when I tell you a load of clothes will be washed at least twice because I've left them in the washer long enough after the first wash to stink that "been wet too long" stink. When they do finally make it to the dryer you can be almost certain they'll be in there an average of 2 days. Which means everything is wrinkled. And I don't iron. And by don't, I really mean can't. I would iron and iron and the clothes would still look like shit. This conversation helped me figure out what I was doing wrong.

He asked me if I used the steam.

Yes, I pushed the button.

He asked if steam came out.

I guess.

He asked me when was the last time I put water in the iron.

What? Why would I put water in the iron?

He asked me how I thought it makes steam?

The button on the iron, duh!

Turns out, not. Now I put water in the iron and use the steam. The clothes still look like shit. It's clear he didn't marry his mother.

And speaking of changing clothes, is there really a Mom Rule that bars me from leaving the house in a clean shirt? I've been accessorized with vomit, poop, pee, boogers, smashed bananas, and even ear wax. I don't think I've had a clean shirt on for more than 15 damn minutes since the summer of 2004. I look like a vagabond.

Welcome To My Life

This morning I dropped a kid off at preschool. It wasn't my kid because my kid throws huge tantrums and makes me wish I were in Bolivia or somewhere. Anywhere but there. This kid gave me a high five, hugged his teacher, gave her a birthday card and a balloon he made out of pipe cleaners. She mistook it for a bracelet but he quickly corrected her by saying, "Silly Miss D, it's a balloon not a bracelet."

I looked around and even the kids had a 'WTF' look on their face. It was as if we were in the twilight zone or some alternate universe where I've got a normal kid. Freaky.

So I left whoever that kid was at preschool and went to vote in a local runoff election. No lines and Asher was perfectly behaved. Alternate universe where I have normal kids? Seems so.

An hour later the phone rings. It's the director of the preschool. Apparently I did leave Aidan at preschool because when it came time for a fire drill that good kid morphed into Chucky.

Asher and I loaded up to go pick him up and beat his ass take him home but when we got there he had calmed down and she decided it would be best if he stayed.

I think it would be best if he acted human.

Finishing Sentences For Us

Daddy - "Asher! Quit feeding the dog your dinner!"

Asher - *huge smile* throws another handful down to the dog along with his cup

Daddy - "That's it. You're done. I'm not picking it up again."

Asher - *huge smile* throws his cup down again

Daddy - "Ugh! You are such a ..."

Aidan - "... a pain in the ass? Is he a pain in the ass, Daddy?"

Me - *hysterical laughter*

Bundle of Nerves

My kids might be martians but I'm a big wuss.

Remember a while back when I started winning the lottery? Okay, not the lottery but I won some stuff. Jaci at Ravings of a Mad Housewife bestowed upon me a copy of the book Wicked and a chance to guest post on her blog. And you'll remember that I was scared to guest post. I'm still scared. But I've turned in my post and I think it hits the internet tomorrow. An obscene amount of people read her blog and so by association, will be reading me. This is the thought that makes me feel like the fat girl at cheerleading tryouts. I'm totally terrified of playing with the popular girls.

So, all I can do now is sit back and wait. See if the internet people laugh me out of the blogosphere.

Dear Popular Bloggy Girls,


Be kind. I'm just a dork.


Sincerely,
The New Girl In Class

Yeah, That's Plausible

So I might have to kill my neighbors dog. He will not stay out of our yard. No, scratch that, he will not quit digging giant holes along the fence through which to break into our yard. Occassionally a fence board mysteriously pops loose so he gets in that way. And his people just watch out the window as we drag him back into his yard time after time. Sometimes they wave. We appreciate that.

As I write this, Aidan is feverishly trying to convince me that the puppy ripped the board off the fence so he could get into our yard. He claims he just watched him do it, he's serious. No really, he's saying, "I'm serious, Mom, Tigger just ripped the fence down!".

"Oh, okay, Aidan. Whatever." Is this the age where your kids become convinced you are a complete idiot? Because I'd have to be to believe that crap! And I thought parenthood was gonna teach me stuff. Yeah, teach me not to believe a thing my kids tell me.

By The Numbers

Numbers are beginning to rule my life. They represent failures, accomplishments, worries, and hopes. And they generally piss me off. I'm not content with any of them. Not one.

The pathetic number of followers of this blog - 15

The even more pathetic number of followers of my other blog - 13

The number of Twitter followers - 33

The number of MySpace friends - 75

The ungodly large number that taunts me from the bathroom scale - yeah, right, I'm gonna put that out on the internet!

The ever dwindling number representing the balance in my savings account - if the number is a negative, it's still a number, right?

The infuriating number of days our house has been for sale - 211

The amount below purchase price the house is listed today - $10,000

The number of people who have come to see the house - 9

The amount of money my blogs are making - roughly 17 cents per day

The number of days until my husband moves to Nebraska without us - 35

The number of children in peril when I temporarily become a single parent - 2

The number of years too young Edward is for me - at least 10

The number on my next birthday cake - 30

What Exactly Are You Looking For?

It's been some time since I've published the always a little scary searches that lead someone to my blog. I just can't figure out what these people are hoping to find. Well, okay, it's disgustingly obvious what some of them are hoping to find but some of them...

hopping around pee dance - did you want an instructional video or just a written tutorial?

boiling point for kids - it's probably 100 degrees just like any other food. baking usually keeps the flavor better

hippie blog templates - I didn't think hippies were supposed to care about appearances

n*ked kids swimming, small kids n*ked, n*ked kid pictures & kids swimming n*ked - damn, those perverts don't give up easily! I bet you were totally disappointed to see the black bars, hu, jackass? Do I need to refer you to my warning?

sucking daddies - *shaking head*

what the hell was he thinking? - I wish I knew, I really do

puzzle tattoo man - do not do it! there are better ways to come up with blog material, pierce something.

Twilight - A Review

I am now complete and whole. I can die tomorrow and say I've lived. I've seen Twilight. I joined millions of feverishly texting, Team Edward T-shirt wearing, angst-ridden, swooning teenage girls (and the teenage boys trying to get into their pants) and stood in an insane line for an insane amount of time to see a book I love come to life.

My husband is thoroughly enjoying the opportunity to tease me about reading a "teenageer" book. I'm gonna let him have his fun for about another 6 minutes and then I'm gonna get to work on collecting his life insurance.

The local news story on opening night explaining to parents what their kids are so excited about got him started and he hasn't stopped. Sometimes you just gotta put a rabid dog down. Seeing a movie based on a beloved book is essentially begging for disappointment. I know this. But I loved the movie. Loved it. Mostly...

I do have some bitches constructive criticism.

I cannot see how someone who didn't read the books could "get it" just by seeing the movie. I know it's impossible to really capture the book on film but it makes my heart hurt a little to think some people will only experience Twilight at the theater. You're missing out! Pick up the book and read it, you lazy ass!

Oh, and Jasper kinda freaked me out a little.

I'm pretty sure I sparkle more than Edward did. Wasn't it described as millions of diamonds glimmering brilliantly or something in the book? I saw no diamonds.

Robert Pattinson still isn't "my" Edward but he'll do in a pinch. I mean, my eyes weren't bleeding from looking at him for 2 hours or anything. I'd gladly probably suffer through it again.

Rosalie, Rosalie, Rosalie... Could they not write anything for you other than Rosalie scowls at Bella, Rosalie glaring in background, and Rosalie smashes glass bowl and says "That's just great!"? I needed you to be the bitch you were written to be, not just a mean-face maker. Although you really are good at that.

So there it is. My ooohhh's and aaahhh's of the movie. 

Black Friday

Let's talk about Black Friday.

Granted, I've never actually been in the midst of madness on Black Friday so I can't be absolutely positive but I'm pretty sure it sucks. I've never had my fingernails ripped out with pliars either but I'm not gonna volunteer to find out for certain. I'm just gonna trust my gut on this one. I don't play well with others. Specifically with the unwashed masses general public. I can't imagine it going well.

Why must this all occur at O Dark Thirty? Great idea. Let's add another element of pissy to the whole thing. If I am up at 4am, I am not happy about it. Anyone in my vicinity will be made acutely aware of this fact. Maybe it's just me but I think 2500 reluctant early birds trying to squeeze through a 4 foot opening to fight for flatscreen TV's with a 'kill or be killed' mentality has potential to end in violence. I'm just sayin'.

Parking issues alone are reason enough for me to skip it. I come mere seconds from committing a felony on a normal day at Target when some prick in a Mercedes-Benz swoops in and takes the parking spot I've been waiting patiently for. I have to fight the urge to find out if that fancy hood ornament would look quite as impressive sticking out of his or her tight ass. Bet not! It'd sure make me feel a whole lot better though.

Then, there is this insanity that apparently sweeps over the shoppers that makes them think they have ninja skills or something. If you and I are eyeballing the very last Suck My Toes Elmo and you snatch for it, I will whip your ass. Not because I want Elmo particularly but because you have challenged me for it. I'm 5ft 10 and essentially an Amazonian Princess. Odds are that you are not physically up to this fight. Now unless he actually will suck your toes, that little red bastard is not worth it.

Legend has it that the best deals of the year are on Black Friday. Oh, the sales, the incredible one-time only deals! you say. Do you mean except for the after Christmas sales, the after New Years sales, the sales that follow very single other holiday and season of the year? Puh-leeze! There are 5 year olds who have the sense to know better than that crap. As if there will be no restocking of merchandise before Christmas. Whatever extra I have to pay or time I have to wait to not be out shopping on Black Friday is totally worth it.

I know this goes against nature or some girl-code but I rarely do anything traditionally. I see no reason to start now. But hey, if you're feeling froggy... Just don't come cryin' to me when you end up with stitches from a mid-aisle brawl over the very last Baby Alive Sip 'N Slurp Doll. Happy shopping!!!

Oh, Is That Why?

After my 10th trip into Aidan's room to cover him up, turn the TV down, get the dog out, find his babies, and about 18 more of his random whims he says to me...

"Mama, you're my best friend because you do everything I tell you to."

Good Times

Dear Punk Who Stole My Father's Car,

You are an asshole. Karma is a bitch.

~XOXO

I'm totally not kidding! Some little bastard jacked my father's car from in front of our house. It's time for them to load up and head home, they go outside and... no car. Some prick stole it, took everything in it, hit a parked van, and left it in the road barely a mile from here. So we spent the day filing police reports, contacting insurance, springing the car from impound, and taking inventory of all the missing stuff.

And guess what? If your car is stolen and ends up in police impound, you get to pay to get it out. Bet your ass the police report won't be ready anytime soon though, so good luck getting replacement medications or registration papers.

What a royal pain in the ass!

What Is This Kid's Deal?

Well apparently all you have to do to keep Aidan from pulling an exorcist at preschool is to break out a video camera. Oh yes, when they finally get it together to document the insanity he decides to act normal. Well, not exactly normal. He did feel me up.

What?



Yup. Never in his life has he ever made reference to my boobs until we're at the church preschool and there's a video camera rolling. Then he starts batting at them like a damn cat with a string! And when I try to hold his hands because just telling him to stop doesn't work - shocker! - he yells, "I can touch them!".

So you know they're thinking "oh, that's why he's so crazy!". It's always the mom's fault...

Aidan Met Anna

He learned about Anna today. Asher won't stop breaking and entering into our bedroom and getting into my bedside table. Anna's urn is in that top drawer.  We hadn't had a conversation about her with Aidan. He was so young when it happened, we really didn't think trying to explain it would serve any purpose. The only thing he ever sees of her are her footprints in a small picture frame in the living room. When he saw the urn he picked it up. I snatched for it quickly and he asked what it was. I started simply by saying It's an urn. Of course he has no idea what an urn is. I told him it's where some people choose to be after they die. He jumps to several 4 year old conclusions and  on came the awkward talk on the subject. I let him see the box of her stuff from the hospital - the cap and gown she wore, her tiny gold ring, blankets she was swaddled in, a small stuffed puppy amongst several other things. Aidan grabbed up that puppy right away and named him Anna. He's asked to look at her boxes several times since.

I wondered when this day would come and I'm glad it has. I hate it when people forget about her and to have her own brother not know about her, that stings. I hope Aidan keeps talking about her. I hope he's not scared now. I hope he mentions her every day and asks questions and makes us talk about her because we don't. We simply avoid the subject at home. No late night quiet conversations about what could have been had she lived, we don't do anything to celebrate the day she was born, which is also the day she died. The only thing we do is get a Christmas ornament special for her. And that's sad.

Aidan's Reputation...

We were at a Jackson's house on Wednesday - back when he only had one suspension from preschool for the week. Jackson's cousin Isiah was visiting and apparently he has quite the rep. About mid-morning Lenka answers a call from her husband and as they are talking I catch wind of some sort of bet involving Aidan and Isiah. Finally Lenka fesses up that her husband and his father bet on which kid would be the worst behaved. Tyler's money was on Aidan and Lenka's father-in-law bet on Isiah.

Good to know my son is the benchmark that all other evil is measured against.

I don't know whether to laugh or cry.

Sharing The Wealth

What? You thought it was money or something? Puh-leeze!

I've come across some very funny and very good blogs in the last few days and I'm sharing a couple of them with all of you. Obviously, I've been stalking them profoundly. I'm sure they're checking their stats and wondering who this idiot from Arkansas is and why is she going to their blog 600 times a day. I'm reading every post, that's what!

The first one is The Loony Bin. Lisa cracks me up with I'm Afraid I Have Old People Feet and reaffirms my fear that people have lost their minds over this election with Grade School Politics.

Another new fave is The Life of Sass. Two posts from her Best Of list are Empty Your Mouth Before You Read This and I'm Sure I had One At Some Point might be 2 of the funniest things I've ever read. Be warned, you might just pee in your pants.

Read and enjoy!

Go See

You have got to check this out. Nothing captures my heart faster than someone calling people out for being complete idiots. I think that's why blogs were born.

More Of The Same

Again, Aidan has been sent home from preschool. He goes two days a week. He gets sent home two times a week.

What. The. Fuck.

I don't know what to do. I'm at the end of my rope and starting to fashion a noose. I wish I had a tranqualizer gun and I'd just shoot him when he starts throwing his fit.

You don't understand. I can vividly explain each and every detail of insanity that goes on when he loses it like that but you do not understand until you see it firsthand. You think, "yeah, he's a brat. He throws a huge fit. That's awful.". Then you actually see it and you say, "Holy shit! That kid is out of control. How do we stop him? He's gonna kill someone. Someone help!". Then you run away crying because it's that fucking bad.

He's been to counseling. 6 months of her watching him play. The one time he threw the kind of fit we were there to fix she looks at me and asks, "What do we do?". No shit. I decided she wasn't helping us and we quit throwing away $200 a week.

The public schools here have an Education Coop where they provide hearing, vision, speech, and behavorial therapy free of charge. It's no suprise the director of his preschool referred Aidan. Before they can start behavorial therapy they must rule out vision, hearing, speech, etc problems. You can imagine how the testing went. They referred us out for his hearing test. It's a miracle of God we got it done. I know he can hear since he repeats everything I mumble under my breath. I know he can talk because I listen to his smart ass mouth every single day. I know he can see because he can spot a candy bar in my purse from 10 yards. Trust me, a hearing aid or glasses isn't gonna help. It'll only give him something else that costs a fortune to break.

After Tuesday's incident - which included property damage as well as kicking his teacher hard enough to leave a bruise - I called the coop to say, "You have to help me with this now. Can we just start on working on a plan dealing with his behavior?". The coop spoke with the director and decided she would videotape his next fit for them so they can see it up close and personal. So today it starts to go south and I'm waiting for her to whip out the video camera. She never does. He kicked his teacher again and I got the look that says come get him now. I'm wondering what the hell is going on. Then she tells me she needs my permission to tape him. Are you fucking kidding me?!?! Obviously I'm on board with this! Fucking Hell!!!

I just took every single toy out of his bedroom. His TV comes down out of his room when Daddy gets home. No playing with friends. No Webkinz. No whatever the hell else I can think of to take away from him. I couldn't very well beat his ass right there in the church run preschool, they'd probably frown on that. I don't know what else to do. And he's not even bothered by any of it. He will tell me exactly what he did wrong and why he's losing everything and he's perfectly logical and reasonable about the whole thing. What else can I do? I don't want him to take medication but this can't continue. At this point, bring on the meds. I take them, which is probably why he's still alive. I guess it's just time to admit defeat. I surrender. A four year old boy runs my life and I am powerless to change it.

Again, Inspired By a Better Blogger

Ashley at Ashley. Unscripted... posted the other day about the love we have for our children. You know, all that unconditional crap? Kinda like how badly I want to throw Aidan out of the truck at 70mph because he acted like a lunatic at preschool again and I'm so pissed I can barely stand the thought of him. And then that night when we're saying goodnight and he whispers to me, "Goodnight beautiful alligator Mama". So that makes me glad I didn't chuck his bratty ass out of the truck. Or when Asher gets mad at his Daddy for not picking him up so he waddles over and smacks me for it. I don't wring his little fat neck because the way he smiles when I give in and let him have his 4th banana of the day is totally worth it. I know that smile really means, "You are so my bitch" but again with that unconditional love crap...

Ashley went into a funny list of nasty stuff moms touch, eat, wear, say, smell, feel, and see thanks to our spawn kids. I couldn't possibly narrow the disgusting incidents I've had with the boys into any kind of managable list.

That's it. That was my only point...

A List

Heather at The Queen of Shake Shake posted 10 things she hates about the blogosphere. I started to list a couple things in my comment on the post and before I knew it I had written way too much for a simple comment. So here I am filled with inspiration to bitch about something. Thanks, Heather!

What I'm Hating About The Blogging Thing Right Now

I hate that since joining BlogHer Ads I feel pressure to post every day. I know this may come as a shock to some of you but I'm just not funny every single day. And there are days occasionally where I have nothing to bitch about. This blog is a bitching blog. Bitching blogs can turn ugly very quickly without the right amount of humor. That's where my sick, twisted view on things comes in. I don't want to post bullshit just for the sake of posting something. Wouldn't you rather read good stuff a couple times a week rather than reading shit every single day? BlogHer Ads, you are not the boss of me!

I hate my Google Reader. It shows me the oldest post of one particular subscription instead of the newest posts from every subscription as it's set to do. And for some reason, Google Reader hates my friend because it will not grab her feed for me. Refuses! It actually says, "Forget it, bitch, I ain't grabbing that feed and you can't make me." I am the human! I say what displays, not you, Google Reader! Cooperate please. I get enough of this shit from my 4 year old!

I hate Blogger. Blogger is trying to hide my comments from me. I get no comment notification emails. Zero. I even set it up so that I have to approve comments first and still, no emails. They are MY comments, give them to me! Get your own damn comments!

I hate my stats. We have a love/hate relationship actually. I don't know the magic number of hits a day that will make me happy but I'm not seeing it. I probably never will. I wish I didn't know how to see all that crap. I wish I didn't care. Stop taunting me, StatCounter! Or pad my numbers, whatever it takes.

I hate Anonymous. Anonymous commenters are chicken shits. I've got no problem with criticism and I'll even leave a snarky comment up if you've had the balls to at least give a fake name. I put my shit out on the internet and I expect some amount of high school like bullshit to ensue but at least I'm admitting it's me out there. I'm honest. You are a cowardly bitch. When you can come out from behind your mama's skirt and play like a big girl, we'd love to have ya. Till then, piss off!

Mama's a Little Pissy

I just got called out on The View. Well, not me but Arkansas. Our newest claim to fame? We just banned gay and unmarried people from adopting or fostering children in this state. Oh yes, we're a real forward thinking, open-minded bunch. I mean, everyone knows it's only gay people who molest and beat children, right? Yeah, straight people would never put a cigarette out on the back of a little girl for crying too much. And a straight couple wouldn't dream of locking their foster children in a small closet for months on end while they smoked the checks from the state away. Good move, Arkansas. Way to look out for the children. In this state my grandmother wouldn't be able to foster a child because she's not married. My grandmother, who only fosters older kids and teenagers because those are the hardest children to place temporarily let alone to get adopted. It's infuriating and I'm embarrassed. Truly ashamed to be from this state right now.

I've seen hatred, bigotry, and false superiority more from people claiming to be religious and acting 'of God' than from any other group of people. Do you really believe that God wants you to hate a woman because she loves another woman? Do you imagine He is proud to hear you verbally abuse a man in public because he loves another man? I'm gonna have to disagree. Throw all the bible verses against homosexuality you can find at me. I still say bullshit. I say it's your homophobic, backward ass issues rather than any real belief that God hates a certain group of people. He just provides you with a socially acceptable shield from behind which you can spew your bullshit. You make me sick.

Ogres and Grandmas

After telling me all about how he talked to "Grandma" last night, Aidan said something that made me realize he thought he'd been talking to Grandma F instead of Grandma S. In fairness, all of his grandmas are "Grandma" to him except for Nana. When I tried to explain which Grandma he'd been talking to, I said that Nana was a Grandma, too. He replied with, "No, Nana is Nana, not Grandma! Nana's an ogre like Shrek, not a Grandma!"

"Uh, ok..." was all I could say.

Think It Over Will Ya?

Dear Idiot Who Built My House,

Is it just me or is directly above the toilet a dumbass place to put the only cabinet in the bathroom? Do you not think folks might keep medicine in there? If medicine is kept in the cabinet above the toilet, it stands to reason that untold amounts of it might fall into the toilet by accident. Do you know how much Advil costs? Or Imitrex? Yes, I suppose I might be a bit of a butter-fingers so I drop more than the average fool but damn!

Sincerely,

Idiot Who Bought Your House

It Shook Me

Aidan and Asher were in the backyard playing the other day. Yes, alone! Don't judge me! Besides, if anyone kidnaps them we'd get a ransom call. And it wouldn't be "pay us $$$ if you ever want to see them again" it'd be more like "we'll give you a million dollars if you come get these two!". Can we get back to the story, please?

So they are outside playing when Aidan comes in crying hysterically. He's babbling about "that thing shook me and Asher!". I go out there and eventually find out that Asher had touched the outlet on the electric meter in the yard and started crying. Investigator Aidan then proceeded to touch it to see why Asher cried over it and it shocked the crap out of him. They way he described what it did to him is funny. Once you get past the idea that it could have possibly killed him, it's freakin' funny! Quit judgin' and just watch.

Such a Girl

Does anyone else turn into a huge bawl-bag when you watch Ghost Whisperer? My husband laughs his ass off everytime he catches a glimpse of my tear stained face while Melinda translates what the ghost is saying to the family. So touching...

Then, when it's over, I wipe the tears away in anger. I'm such a damn girl! In all the most stereotypical ways. Like pink is honest to God one of my very favorite colors. I google over babies *although I'm secretly thankful I don't have to take them home so I can sleep the night through. And I can't drink beer. Only tooty-fruity drinks for me!

I do have my redeeming qualities though. For instance, I adore the F word and hate shopping. I bristle at most chick flicks and I think Brad Pitt and George Clooney are tools.

I think I could have been a girl or boy, actually.

3AM

Apparently Asher's screw with Mama clock is set for 3AM. Night after night he wakes up crying at 3AM. I ignore him for about 15 minutes until it becomes clear he isn't going to go back to sleep by himself. I go in there to change his diaper with the intention of putting him directly back to bed. Uh, Asher thinks not! The diaper change quickly turns into a wild, hysterical fit throwing on the changing table. Eventually I win the battle of the stinky butt and then he wriggles down out of my arms, points his fat little finger at his crib and grunts, which is my cue to get him his blanket. Then he toddles down the hall to the kitchen to the fridge yelling "Shzzz, shzzz, shzzz! Jooce, jooce, jooce!" I obey by getting him the first of two string cheeses he will eat before going back to bed and a cup of juice. He spends the next 20 minutes climbing all over the couch, jabbering nonstop jibberish loud enough to wake everyone in the house up, and inhaling string cheese. And then, all on his own, he gathers his stuff up and waddles back to his room until I come put him back to bed.

Suck Me a Hickey

Do you remember hickeys? I totally forgot about hickeys until today! I sat in a waiting room across from a barely 20 year old girl with a neck full of disgusting suck sores. It was essentially a horny teenager belt of blaring purple blemishes. Gross! Why would you not cover that up? It took me all of about 4 seconds to google ways to cover them up. So since it's obvious you lack the hormone control to not let someone suck a fucking bruise onto your neck, here's what I found on eHow.

1Put ice on it right away. The hickey will diminish in appearance if you use ice on it soon after your make out session.


2Use green concealer. This type of makeup can be bought at any drugstore and will
completely hide the hickey or at least make it less noticeable. Neutrogena manufactures a green cream concealer that can work wonders.


3Apply a thick layer of foundation. Blend the foundation into your entire neck area and top with some powder. Use a shade that is slightly darker than your complexion. Use a lower cost brand like Maybelline or Cover Girl since you may need to use a lot.


4Keep your hair down. If you have long hair you can hide the hickey by keeping your hair parted to the side that the hickey is on.


5Wear a scarf or turtleneck. If you happen to get the hickey in colder months, you are in luck since you will be able to use clothing to cover it up.

Trust me, Hickey Girl, getting a hickey doesn't show the world that some Prince Charming loves you, it says "some boy with a boner took me for a slut and all I got was this lousy hickey".

I'm So Very Done!

Okay, no more Mrs. Nice Lady! Blogger Headquarters is officially on my list of places to blow up if I ever learn to make bombs.

Who can help a computer retarded gal switch to WordPress? Or anything else that's better than Blogger. I don't want to lose all my posts, comments, sidebar junk, or layout design. Am I outta luck with that stuff?

*Nevermind, BlogHer won't run ads on WordPress. What's up with that?*

The Ambien Diaries

I've seen blogs where people write only when on Ambien. They're both hysterical and disturbing at the same time. I started taking Ambien to sleep after Anna died in 2006. It was easy. I immediatly felt utterly calm and drifted off to sleep without a hole in my soul. Most of the time. A quickly found that I sometimes wake up in the night and complete tasks of which I have no memory. Cleaning the bathrooms, doing all of the dishes in the house by hand, and other wierd stuff. My favorite, and most disturbing, Ambien induced incident was when I woke up one morning to an email from a pharmacy in Canada confirming my order for 300 Ambien tablets. Oh yes, I got online, found some shady company that would send me 300 Ambien tablets without a prescription from a doctor or even a telephone call to the client. They got pretty pissed when I denied the order and cancelled. Yes, I suppose I made the order but I was essentially sleepwalking. In the light of day I could just get samples from my doctor if I needed them. Did I almost break some kind of Federal law or something? That kinda scared the shit out of me.

In case you can't tell, I just took my Ambien but didn't go right to sleep. In my Ambien haze I thought I'd blog. Bet your ass I jerk this son of a bitch off here when I wake up. Ambien is like an emotional stomach pump for me. I'll tell all kinds of shit I'd never tell "sober". It's mortifying. I've learned to keep my ass away from my cell phone and email after I take it. That rule should totally apply to blogging too but apparently... So enjoy the view into my insanity while it's out there. Cuz I'll deny it like hell later.

Nite nite!

Is This Kid For Real?

I don't know why I can't get it through my head that I cannot take video sideways as I can pictures. You can't just flip the video! But this is too damn good to not share. Just turn your monitor sideways. It's worth it, I swear.

This is Rainman Asher banging his head against the tile floor during a fit. I thought I should video it just to prove that I didn't give him the bruises. Although I don't know how DHS is gonna feel about me laughing and videotaping it instead of stopping him from injuring himself. Whatever, eventually he'd have knocked himself out before any permanent damage had been done, right?

One Long "Tagged"

Have you ever wondered if Homeland Security, or the CIA troll blogs looking for stay at home mom groups who are really covers for AlQuieda training camps or some such crazy crap. My mind works in some dark and twisty ways. Can't help myself :)

Okay back to it... someone tagged me, and I suck and can't remember who. If it was you, please feel free to call me a horses ass. That issue aside, I'm in. And I'm passing the buck to these funny gals.

Adventures with Skylee

Girls Just Wanna Have Fun - KiKi

Jacked Up Jungle - Ronda

Marvelous Misadventures of a...

One Thought Fills Immensity

The Big Piece of Cake

The Blogess

The rules are that you must answer with only "one" word. I'm kinda mouthy so this could be difficult. In fact it's impossible to show my true smartass witty humor if limited to only one word. So we do this my way. Should be fun.

Off I go...

1. Where is your cell phone?

It's wherever I am unless a 30lb kleptomaniac is running away with it as fast as his short fat legs will carry him. It's usally pretty easy to take him down with a good choke hold.

2. Where is your significant other?

At work to support us. You know, so that I can sit at home and not do laundry and order dinner out. Basically so that I can blog for a fortune. I'm set to break $100 this year. So I'm contributing!

3. Your hair color?

What? My natural color? Like I've seen that in 15 years. Puh-leeze! Reddish at the moment. Think I could pull off blonde? Mama needs a change.

4. Your mother?

Yes, I have a mother. What do you want to hear, her name? She's best known as Nana. She thinks I'm funny. I think she's biased.

5. Your father?

Again, I got one. He's kind of a big deal, too! I'm gonna go all 007 cryptic on ya. If I told you I'd have to kill you.

6. Your favorite thing?

The absolute peace and quiet that exists when those two spawn I call my kids are alseep. Or better yet, when they're completely out of my house and terrorizing someone else. I revel in that silence.

7. Your dream last night?

Like I remember. Last night was an Ambien night. No dreams get by the power of the Ambien.

8. Your dream/goal?

I've got so many I simply couldn't say just one or two. Even if I nailed it down, I'd probably find out that I suck at it. Then I'd be forced to quit in high diva fashion. It just wouldn't turn out well. I keep them secrets so that noone knows when I fuck something up.

9. The room you're in?

Oh, now I see the reason for one word answers. I could go all normal and say livingroom but I feel like portraying myself to be more hip that I really am. You ready for it? I'm chillin' in the bathtub. No, of course I don't have my laptop in the tub, it's on a table pulled up to the tub. See, I'm hip and resourceful.

10. Your hobby?

Shall I dare declare blogging to be my hobby? Don't you have to pass some test by one of the Super-Bloggers *Dooce*? Trust me on this, those big bloggers have never read my trite shit. And hey, is it a hobby if you get paid for it? Cuz I'm rakin' in a whopping 16cents a day.

11. Your fear?

What? Is this your first ride on the crazy express? I fear a plethera of crazy shit. China, for one. Rubber balloons are my mortal enemy. Fireworks, trees that grow out of water, and then there's the standard fear of death thing.

12. Where do you want to be in 6 years?

How old, you asked? 31. Oh, where?. Okay that's totally different then isn't it? I want to be sitting in a quiet house moments after we've just kicked the boys out on their 18th birthdays. Oh wait, they'll only be 7 and 10. Well, hell, I don't know then!

13. Where were you last night?

Cleaning egg off the side of our house! Mother fuckin' hooligans! I hope there's a mild case of food poisoning the the next mouthful of chocolate that fucker shoveled into his pie hole.

14. What you're not?

I am not an astronaut, a nurse, a flight attendant, a teacher. I'm not a stripper and I'm not a farmer. Really, shouldn't this question have been 'What Are You?'

15. One of your wish-list items?

One, ha! A framed Jack Vetrianno, a Volvo CX90, just ONE Jimmy Choo shoe, and a Saint Bernard puppy. This by no means sums it up, I just threw some good ones out there in case anyone's husband is reading the blog today. *wink wink*

16. Where you grew up?

And there's the question where one word would suffice. And that word is HELL Redneck Stepford

17. The last thing you did?

Watched Benny Boy crack me the fuck up on SNL. I'm gonna get a video clip of his Target skit. I'll just admit I peed on myself.

18. What are you wearing?

Why you asking? Perv! Grey granny panties with skid marks. How ya like that visual? Oh, you were really just askin'? Okay jeans and a t-shirt.

19. Your TV?

What the fuck about it? You wanna know where we met, our first date, what?!?! It's a TV, we watch trash TV shows on it. And a lot of Pooh and Looney Tunes.

20. Your pets?

Shelter dog who's forgotten where she came from. Digging in the backyard, crapping all. over. the. yard., taking food out of Asher's hands... But she isn't going anywhere, we're her people.

21. Your computer?

Okay, now I'm ready to follow a little closer to the original rules. How many damn questions are there?

My computer is a laptop. It's mine. I love it. All of my friends are in it. We might be a little too close, my computer and I.

22. Your mood?

Drained. A girl's only got so much funny in her. I'm coasting in here on fumes!

23. Missing someone?

every single day

24. Your car?

It's red, has 4 doors, is an SUV, has been covered in vomit and urine several times over. Can I offer you a ride?

25. Something you're not wearing?

You're hoping for underwear aren't ya, perv? Bra? Sorry. Google Paris Hilton, she's usually missing an undergarment or two.

26. Favorite store?

I don't have a favorite store. I hate shopping. One of these years - maybe this year - I will do all of my Christmas shopping without entering a mall where I will inevitably have to throw up in my mouth due to someone's lack of hygiene.

27. Your summer?

I don't know! It's Fall now. Why do we always have to talk about the past?

28. Love someone?

If I say no, I'm a bitch. If I say yes, I gotta name them all. I'm lazy. The answer is no.

29. Your favorite color?

Fuck this...

30. When is the last time you laughed?

When I saw how damn many questions are on this damn quiz/tag/whatever

31. Last time you cried?

Oh, wait, that's where I cried, too.

A Little Help, Please?

Dear Blogger Tech Support,

If you do not provide an email address where people can email you for help, we can't get help when Blogger craps out. Get it?

Where in the sam-Hell are my emails telling me when I get a new comment? Don't you know bloggers live and breathe for comments? We kinda like to know when we get one.

And why can't I enter a title for my post sometimes? For instance I have a box for a title right now but did not earlier. Are you trying to drive me crazy? Because you are.

Get on it!

Where Oh Where Is Tech Support?

Apparently Blogger Tech Support is in hiding from the fucking KGB or something because I can't find an email address for help anywhere on the whole damn internet! So I'll ask you guys. I am not getting my emails telling me when I get a new comment. I've checked that my settings are correct but still no notifications. I found an old issue about this problem from back in December 2007 but it states the bug is fixed. Uh, I beg to differ. And I no longer have a place to title my posts. Anyone else having this problem?

These Never Gets Old

You'd think I'd run out of weird things about myself but I'm truly twisted, I can do these for days.

1. I hate warm chocolate chip cookies. My husband bakes them fresh and as he eats his hot out of the oven, mine are in the freezer. It breaks his heart a little everytime I make him do it.

2. I still haven't picked up that dead bug in Aidan's closet.

3. I have no intention of going back to work. While I thoroughly enjoyed having a job where I could utilize my love for profanity against people who definately deserved it (as proof by their prison record), I'm lazy. I don't want to have to do anything everyday.

4. I don't like people. Seriously, it's a damn wonder I have any friends. People irritate me and I have a hard time sensoring myself. How anyone puts up with my never-ending rash of shit is beyond me. I consider it a miracle of God that someone married me.

5. I think my fingers are fat. And I obsess about it. I am totally serious when I say I would get liposuction on my fingers before my ass.

6. Daylight Savings Time blows my mind. I'm screwed up for weeks and I can't get it straight in my head. If I think about it too hard... See, I can't even explain it.

7. Sometimes when Asher cries in the night I get him up just to watch him walk around the house all delusional. It's hysterical! As if he had any coordination fully awake, watching him bumble around half-asleep is fantastic! I stop just short of waking him up on purpose for entertainment value when I'm bored.

Egged

Our house got egged last night! We were sitting in our kitchen when we hear the crack of an egg on the window. We look around at eachother like, "no fucking way". Oh, "way"! Some little punk ass teenager egged my damn house! What, stealing and smashing pumpkins isn't good enough anymore? Little bastards!

Update: The punks got Matt's truck, too! So what are the odds we'd get hit from behind AND front?

Are you just trying to get a blog out of me? Well, here ya go, listen up. I will hunt your pimply ass to the ends of the earth and force feed you raw eggs. And I'm lookin' forward to it!

The Big Halloween Post

The Halloween Fiasco. As normal, it wasn't your average Halloween.

Let me tell you about Halloween and Aidan... Let's just say the Trick or Treat bug didn't bite him. We went to 3 houses. 

He wouldn't say Trick or Treat or even go up to the door. Daddy had to do it while Aidan stood back. 

Asher wasn't in love either. So we just went back home and waited for our friends to come back to start the party. Aidan had way more fun giving out candy at home than trotting around the streets begging for it. 

Once our friends got back we stuffed ourselves with pizza and cookies and the kids played Play Doh and Pin the Nose on the Pumpkin. The night ended with Aidan and Skylee crying because they couldn't spend the night together. That's us, ending on a high note.