Christmas Traditions

Merry Belated Christmas! Are you exhausted? Is Christmas over for you and now you can focus on your New Year's celebrations?

I have two Christmas celebrations done and two to go. This is not a complaint. We have it pretty easy. No divorced parents to deal with. No traveling to do except the 15 minutes across town. And for the most part - little effort is required by myself which is fantastic. So far I haven't even had to make any food. Well, I did make some sugar cookies for Santa, but the dough was pre-made so I'm not sure that even counts. The frosting was homemade though. And I did mash the dough together so I could cut out Christmas shapes instead of just spoonfuls of dough plopped onto a cookie sheet. I'm not dogging that because that is what I normally would do, but tis the season to be a little crafty I suppose.

We don't have too many out of the ordinary Christmas traditions. Leave cookies out for Santa. We don't care about the reindeer. They can eat the dead grass outside. We'll keep our carrots for some beef stew. I forced Cody to let me read a couple of Christmas books before bed on Christmas Eve. He wanted something else, but I eventually won since I can read and he can't. Dumb ass. We have the Elf on the Shelf,  our elf is a little lazy and forgets to fly to the North Pole each night. He got there about once a week though. We also have the threatening car ride on the way to Grandma's house reminding the kids they have to say thank you after they open each gift even if it is something awful like socks and underwear. This never really works since they are kids and to give a little boy socks, underwear or clothes of any kind is equal to running over a puppy out of spite.

We may have started a new tradition this year. Christmas Eve we were at the in-laws place having a casual dinner and exchanging presents before we had the more traditional dinner the next day with additional guests. It was a BBQ themed dinner - ribs, brisket, pulled pork, BBQ baked beans, cheesy corn, etc. Both of my kids don't really eat. It's not that they fill up on candy or that kind of thing. They just don't eat. The oldest is very small. He eats about 400 calories a day. He's going to be a jockey if I would ever start him on riding lessons. And of course all he cared about was opening presents and the sugar cookies he knew were available for dessert. He's not a fan of BBQ, but this is what was for dinner so you eat it or you starve. No PB&J - at least not in front of the grandparents and other relatives so I can be looked at with judgement that my kid is a terrible eater. So in typical 5-year old fashion he is acting like he's gagging over a tiny spoonful of cheesy corn that we are forcing him to eat. Then he actually gets the spoon into his mouth and I can see it all over his face. This isn't staying down. With the aid of his beloved grandmother he vomits into his plate at the dinner table. Dinner is done, dessert anyone?

With two Christmas parties to go, maybe I can force him to eat something else he doesn't like and we get a full family puke-a-rama going. Now that would be a Merry Christmas.

Little bedtime story for your children.

Today, I learned of the mythological creature called Krampus. Apparantly, Krampus pays his visit to you on December 5th. Beating naughty children and carting off the naughtiest children to his lair where he will drown or eat them or send them to Hell. This idea seems like it would be much more effective than Elf on the Shelf. Sure it might give them nightmares, but there's nothing naughtier than waking up mommy and daddy when they are sleeping so keep those night terrors to yourselves, kiddos.

More importantly, with Krampus comes Krampuslauf - a party where guests come dressed as Krampus. According to Wikipedia - which as we all know speaks nothing but the truth so help them God - the Krampus is fueled by alcohol and the Krampus' drink of choice is schnapps. Now, I'm not a huge fan of schnapps, but I do enjoy a good adult party theme centered around costumes and alcohol. Not everyone is on board with Halloween throughout the year.

To learn more about this heart warming...or is that heart eating character check out http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Krampus. I haven't found his Facebook page yet.

Tis the season to be annoying.

11 days till Christmas and I'm trying to stay in the Christmas spirit, but some things keep bringing me down. And who would I be if I didn't pass these annoyances along to you and sour your Christmas spirit, too? Well, I wouldn't be 4th Gear, that's for damn sure.

First on the list are the Facebook posts reminding me that "He is the reason for the season." Now, it isn't that post exactly that irritates me. I'm a mostly good little Christian girl and I agree that He is the reason for the season...along with gifts for myself. My irritation is in the next sentence or the next post after that one by the same person/people that says Merry X-Mas. Maybe their He is different from my He. Maybe they aren't talking about Christ at all in which case, I would like to be informed who their He is. Maybe they are in fact talking about Santa Claus. But I'm pretty sure they are talking about Christ in which case I appreciate their oxymoron of a statement as it gives me a moment to judge them. Plus it gives me something to pray about later. With this much perfection, sometimes it is hard to come up with things to ask forgiveness for.

Second on my list are the anti-theft precautions that increase each holiday season. I heard on the radio yesterday (not NPR, you know I'm not a lesbian) that shoplifting is up 6% this year. I firmly believe shoplifting is up because these anti-theft precautions make you want to shoplift. I was at Target over the weekend and wanted to pick something up in the electronics department. It was hanging in an aisle and didn't realize until I tried to take it off the hook that there was some fancy device on the hanger so I couldn't just pull it off. The item cost $39.99. It was just a random accessory type of thing in a medium size box. I know the video games are kept locked up, but was surprised that this item was locked up. So I went to the electronics department check-out desk and stood in line to ask that someone come unlock it. Got up to the desk and made my request. That person then radioed someone else and I was told the person would meet me in my aisle shortly. So I went back to my aisle and stood by it. Finally a person came to unlock my item. She had several sets of items piled in her hands that she had retrieved for other people and of course it has to be an employee that takes them up to the check out area as the consumers might steal it. Then I follow her back to the check out area and stand in line again to pay for my item. All the while pushing a cart of items that I'm not allowed to purchase in the electronics department through a sea of other customers. Is this really the best process? Surely this could be simplified in some way. What is the point of the detectors you have to walk through when leaving the store or all of the video cameras?

The most annoying trend during the holiday season are the decorations. I white trash my house all up for Halloween so I tend to go minimal at Christmas. So I am aware I'm a little biased about the overkill on decorations. But I guess I didn't get the memo that if one inflatable Christmas decoration in your front yard is good, then 10 is even better.

So with just 11 days left before Christmas, go out and get another inflatable Christmas decoration for your yard. I think they are carried in the Electronics Department. Good luck!

My oldest child is days away from turning five. I'm not typically a sentimental person. And I don't normally have an issue with age - mine or that of my kids. But Cody turning five gets me a little. You see, five is big. Five is a little boy. Five is not a toddler. Five is definitely not a baby. And I don't even really like babies. I had to like my own babies, but would much prefer to birth a child and it immediately be a year old. You know, when it is more than just a little smelly blob. I like it when they have little personalities and can interact with you.

Luckily Cody is combatting my sentimentalness with terrible behavior - making it much easier to forget about how quickly the last five years have gone and how big he is getting. Instead, I have visions of boarding or military school. Do they start those at the kindergarten level? I haven't actually googled it yet. Yet.

He's still a little momma's boy that wants me to do everything for him. I'm trying not to ruin him for a future spouse, but it may already be too late. Currently he's playing with his older toys and hasn't touched any of the toys he got at his birthday party earlier today...that I painstainkly opened and put together. If you have kids then you know that openeing toys is a big chore. Everything is tied or taped down. It took me 15 minutes to get one toy out and that doesn't include loading it with batteries. One
toy's battery compartment has screws so tiny that none of our screwdrivers can get to it. Am I seriously going to have to buy a special screwdriver just to make this toy work? Damn you, Fisher Price!

Soon Cody will be 5 and officially be a little boy. My little boy. And to think just five years, nine months ago I was drinking some green beer followed by some ugly drunk sex.

What to get that special someone...

The holidays are upon us and most of you ladies are probably trying to figure out what to get all of those people on your list including your spouse/boyfriend/lover/sex slave. You guys, aren't thinking about this at all yet, but come maybe December 20th you might begin pondering it. So here are a few suggestions for the ladies and the gentlemen. The real, the childish and the kinky.

For the ladies:
First, let's back up for a second. Let's start with what NOT to get her. Do not get her anything kitchen/cooking related. I received a food processor for Christmas once. Sometimes it is like he's never met me before. His excuse - "You asked for one!" Correction. I told him to suggest it as a gift idea for me to his mother. It's not that I hate food processors. I thought it would be a useful thing to have that I was unlikely to ever buy for myself. It's a perfect thing for an in-law-type of person to get me as a gift. It is not an appropriate thing for my husband to get me.
If your wife is really into cooking. And by that I mean, she specifically asked for a kitchen/cooking related item, it is like a hobby for her, then go for it. If you think she is into cooking because she prepares the meals for the family, do not. I don't mind cooking. I don't hate it like mopping the floors, but I don't love it like drinking wine. It's necessary to do until I can afford a personal chef. So just because she doesn't complain about cooking doesn't mean she wants a blender wrapped up for her under the Christmas tree from you. If so, that shit better come with margarita mix, ice, salt and tequila. She's going to need it.
Also, do not get her anything exercise related or a gym membership unless she specifically asks for this. If your wife is a runner, does marathons and that kind of thing - fine. There are exceptions to every rule. But if she has mentioned that she needs to lose some weight or kick off the New Year with a fitness routine - this does not mean you should show your support with some weights and a Yoga DVD in her stocking. This will not get you laid on Christmas.
Alright, here's what you can get her. Of course it would be lovely of you to think ahead of time and put time and effort into it. It doesn't have to be expensive. Go through photos and make her something. You can do so much with photos and I don['t mean a sweatshirt with a picture of you on it. If you have kids - put their photos in jewelry like a locket or a charm bracelet. Make her a photo book of photos from the past year. Hell, make her a mix tape. If you put some time, thought and energy behind it - I promise she will appreciate it because it really shows you care. Plus she'll be amazed you put time, thought and energy behind anything not sports or porn related.
Give her a helping hand. The love coupons were cute at one point in time, but let's face it we shouldn't need a coupon to get you to do a chore you should be helping with already. And do we really need a coupon for sex? That's what boobs are for. Schedule to have the house cleaned, car detailed or serviced. Make her life easier in some way - if only for a day. She is likely to have remembered everyone you two needed to give gifts for this year, thought of ideas for them, shopped and purchased them, wrapped them and then signed both of your names to it. What did you do to get ready for the holidays?
Matching bra and panties. Go to her dresser. Review at least three bras and three pairs of underwear for sizing. Go to department store. Ask for help. That's what the salespeople are for. I'm not talking about some sort of nightie. That gift is for you. This gift is for her, but you will get paid back with some sweet loving. Something simple, but still sexy. Good quality. Let her know you think she's still got it. If you don't think she's still got it, then fake it and face the fact that it is highly unlikely that you've still got it, too.

For the gentlemen:
I recently gave my husband a remote control helicopter for his birthday. Like a kid in a fucking candy store. And this gift works for every man in your life. He gets the thing out and all males in my house are immediately enthralled. This includes a 1 year old, a 4 year old and a 10 year old male cat. I feel confident this will apply to men of all ages. They come in every price point. The one I purchased was $35. It's been in his possession for 2 weeks and hasn't broken yet. If he already has a remote control helicopter, get him another one. He's likely to have broken the one he has by Christmas anyway.
Two words for you. Bacon Lube. It's real. Google it. The next best thing to just laying bacon all over your naked body. Because there is nothing better than bacon. If you are a vegan or vegetarian....well, I'll save another post for your dumb asses.

I hope this helps you this holiday season. If you have other gift ideas, share them here.

Happy Shopping!

Not-so-black Friday

Are you recuperating from shopping at 3AM? If you are, I'm intrigued and yet strangely afraid of you. I don't quite get the middle of the night shopping. I was always taught that nothing good happens at 2AM. It's the one rule in life I try really hard to really follow. So if I'm up at 2AM I make sure I'm definitely not doing anything good. Occasionally I've had to feed a child in the middle of the night. However I'm cursing them under my breath so it counts as "not good".
Instead I got a full night sleep and started first thing this morning on decorating for Christmas. This doesn't require too much effort as I don't decorate much for Christmas. Because I'm such a whore for Halloween it usually results in minimal Christmas decorations. I also don't send out Christmas cards. Once you start this tradition, I figure you can't stop so I refuse to start. I don't have family photos taken. I hardly develop film or even take pictures with a camera. In fact I'm not entirely sure where my camera is right now. I get pictures taken of my kids at their birthdays but I have no desire to put them in matching clothes, spend a bunch of money on postage, look up a ton of addresses and send them out. Plus, isn't that what Facebook is for? I keep thinking eventually I'll get left off of other people's Christmas card list, but each year I get more and more. I also don't save the photo cards. Am I supposed to? What am I supposed to do with them? Stick them in a photo album? That's odd. Stick them in a shoebox? That's called hoarding.
My oldest turns 5 in December which means that there is a huge influx of new toys that come into our home in December. So I spent some time today clearing out old toys. I should have done this last week then held a Black Friday sale in my home. I have some nice crap that doesn't get played with. Of course I had to remove these toys under the cover of darkness. If the oldest saw me removing toys he'd have a fit which would lead into a huge argument and end in tears. And I try not to cry on my days off work.
With the invention of online shopping why is there even a need to go into stores? I should be a good little yuppie and only shop at locally owned stores. I work for a small business and always have. I should support other small businesses. But then I'm required to actually get in my car, fight traffic and crowds, be pleasant to other people, not be rude about prices I don't approve of....you get the picture. I'm not exactly a pleasant shopper. Which is why you won't see me out at stores on Black Friday. If you need me I'll be going 4th gear on some leftovers and nursing my full belly with some vodka.
Merry Belated Thanksgiving one and all!

Damn you, Walmart!

I hit Walmart over my lunch hour. Just needed to pick up cheese cubes that Cody has to bring to a going away party for his teacher at school tomorrow. While I was there I thought maybe I should pick up a Christmas present or two - since I haven't even begun to think about Christmas yet. \

I got the hubby a remote control helicopter for his birthday and figured my nephews and possibly my niece might enjoy that, too so I headed to the toy section. (I purchased my husband's helicopter at Target. It was an Air Hog brand.) I went up and down the aisles, but saw no remote control helicopter and no Air Hog items at all. So I found a sales associate who was unpacking boxes in the middle of an aisle. The conversation went a little something like this:

Me: "Excuse me, do you carry Air Hog remote control helicopters?"
Him: (look at me with a dumb expression for a while)
Me: "Or any remote control helicopters?"
Him: (walks to a different aisle.)
Me: (follow him)
Him: (stands in the middle of one aisle and looks around)
Me: (stand there looking at him waiting for some sort of rain of knowledge to start pouring on me.)
Him: "Huh, I seen Air Hog earlier. I think it was on Cars."
Me: (continue looking at him waiting for him to show me where to go.)
Me: (after what felt like a 5 minute stare down) "Um. OK. Thanks."
Me: (walk away)

This was not a good start to my holiday shopping.

It wasn't me!

I'm not saying I'm the best moral compass.

There are the things that are only a little wrong in my book. For example, say you are grocery shopping with your kids and your kid HAS to have the grocery cart with the car in the front so he can pretend to drive the cart around. And you have to stop at every pillar in the store so he can pretend to fill up on gas, check the tires etc. (As if the shopping cart car uses that much gas!) And say your kid begs you for a toy from the grocery store and in a fit of desperation to get the hell out of there you say yes and not because you spoil your child and spend too much money on unnecessary items. Let's also say by the time you get to the check out lane, have waited in line and try to deflect the looks of shame from the young cashier because of the amount of cereal and wine bottles you are purchasing, you forget about the toy in the car portion of the cart. And of course the kid isn't worried about paying for it. So then you get the cart out to the real car, load the groceries and then when you finally pull your child away from the car cart you are aware that you have walked out of the store without paying for the said toy. Let's say it is also raining. Or really hot. Regardless, the environmental elements are extreme. Are you really going to haul the kid back in there with you to return the toy (you can't leave him in the car - someone could kidnap him), explain the situation and pay for it? Groceries are getting hot? You have a list of other chores to do when you get home. I mean, are you really going to the deepest part of hell for that kind of thing? Shouldn't the store really be on top of that anyway? And wouldn't it in fact be your kid that shoplifted and not you?

Now, let's say you order some furniture...maybe a couch. And at the time you ordered the couch maybe you picked up some tables while you were at it. Maybe you took those home with you that day, but had to come back to pick up the couch when it came in. Maybe when you picked up the couch, parts of it were messed up and it made you angry because you had to wait longer and you didn't have a couch and were having an event at your home soon. Maybe after dealing with this issue they told you that some of your tables were in and loaded them in your car. Maybe you didn't say "OK" or "Stop. I already got my tables." Maybe you just said nothing. And maybe when the couch did come in correctly and you went back to pick it up they put the rest of the tables in your car, too. Then, maybe a week or so later they called to say that your couch was in and wanted to schedule for delivery. Let's say your moral compass stops at one couch and not two but allows a second set of coffee and end tables. How far deep in the bowels of hell is that? Is that like 100 Hail Mary's? What if you're not Catholic? Does that make a difference.

Again, not that this happened to me at any point in my life. Just heard about it happening to someone else. Friend of a friend. Maybe I read it in the paper.

It surely wasn't me.

Shhh. Don't wake her. She's sleep....walking.

This blog is losing some steam. Probably because I've been a terrible blogger lately and haven't been making regular posts. So if you're still listening...reading...whatever, I promise to do better. Write more often. Even better, tell me what you want to hear. I have lots of opinions. Of course they change as often as my personality does, but that's another story.

For now I want to talk to you about sleepwalking. It's something I've been known to do on occasion. When I was little I would wake up sitting on my couch in the family room staring at the TV. Of course the TV wouldn't be on and it would be 3AM so I'd take myself back to bed. Sometimes I'd wake up sitting on the toilet and figure my alarm had gone off and it must be time to get ready for school. So I'd hop in the shower and when I got out my mom would let me know that it is in fact the middle of the night so I'd go back to bed.

Later in life is when the sleepwalking got interesting because a little thing called booze came into my life. It definitely amps up the sleepwalking craziness. One time when I was still living with my parents I went into my parents room in the middle of the night. My mom woke up to find me trying to pull the VCR off the shelf and put it on the floor. I was having some difficulty doing this though since it was hooked up to the TV and the cord wasn't long enough for it to reach the floor. She asked me what I was doing to which I replied, "I'm getting a glass of water." Duh. Parents are so stupid. I continued struggling with the VCR for a while finally breaking the cord and getting the VCR on the floor. Job well done! My mom continued to reason with me and I continued to tell her that I was getting a glass of water. Then I took a piss in their bathroom and went back to bed. My bladder must have been really full from all that water.

In college the sleepwalking became a little more frequent as I drank much more often. I was dating my husband then so he got the joy of trying to coerce me back to bed. Another time I fell asleep on his couch. He woke me up - or thought he had - and I headed to the bathroom to take my contacts out. After he let me struggle trying to get them out for a while, he finally convinced me that I had already taken them out...as I had my glasses on. One time I got up and went into the bathroom and stood in the shower with the cold water on filling the tub. Didn't wake me up. He got me back to bed and then he went to the bathroom. When he opened the bathroom door I was standing right outside of it holding all the remotes in the apartment. It was two guys' college apartment. Furniture made of pizza boxes but a wall of electronic equipment so there were multiple remotes. He said I seemed very proud of myself. Another time his roommate got up in the morning to go to class to find me sleeping on the couch. He assumed Mike and I had a fight and I was sleeping on the couch which is all well and good except that I was only wearing a pair of boxers. Thankfully this was before cell phones and he is a decent guy.

In the last 10+ years the sleepwalking has been just about nonexistent. A few occasions here and there, but last night I woke up at the end of the bed. I tried to get into my side of the bed and found my 4-year old. Assuming he had come down and gotten into bed with us so I got up and moved him to the sleeping bag next to our bed.

He's a terrible sleeper. The sleeping bag next to the bed allows him to come downstairs and sleep in our room without waking me up. I'm not going to worry about it unless he's getting ready to go off to college and still doing this.

This morning I asked him why he got in bed with us instead of getting in his sleeping bag. Apparently, he didn't come downstairs in the middle of the night. I went up and got him and carried him down.

Oops.

Highs and Lows

I learned the game "Highs and Lows" from a girlfriend of mine. Before you get too off track and think I'm referring to some kind of Karen Walker Chex Mix, I'm talking about a conversation game that you play with others where you discuss the high point and low point of your day. 

I don't know if it is something my friend practices daily with her family or something she grew up playing or just something she stole from a TV show. Regardless, I completely get off on that Leave It To Beaver shit so I'm going to share my highs and lows from this past weekend. Feel free to share your highs and lows with me. I guess it is only fair that this relationship be a two way street, just as long as you realize that I'm the more important person in the relationship. 

Lows: I think my 1-year-old broke my nose. It happened Saturday night. A friends' family was over which meant we had five kids under five in the house. This shouldn't be too difficult since we also had four adults, but first you must understand that little boys are like Gremlins. They might be Mogwais in the hospital, but as soon as you try to go to bed that first night home - they become Gremlins. (For those of you under 30 that don't understand what I'm talking about, please rent the movie Gremlins and be prepared to not sleep for a few nights.) They destroy everything in their path, constantly want to snack - but won't sit down for a meal, grow bored after a minute and a half at one task and quickly move onto another task and when in groups of three or more the volume, mess and chaos are multiplied by a gazillion. True story. So in the midst of this perfect storm, my one year old head butts me on my nose. If you heard a crack around 7:30PM Saturday night, that was my nose. He didn't flinch where as I immediately held my nose expecting to catch galloons of blood. However, it only caught tears. No blood was shed. The child was quickly scooped off my lap, I think in an attempt to protect him from any retaliation. Now, two days later my nose is still a bit swollen, a little crooked and very sore. The child is still unharmed, but I am plotting my revenge.

Highs: All of my Christmas shopping is done. I just have to place the order. I saw a commercial last night for the "Forever Lazy". If you think the Snuggie or Slanket are great, then just wait. Grab onto your britches and search "Forever Lazy" on You Tube. It fixes all the problems with the Snuggie or Slanket because as much as we all want to be lazy, sometimes we also want to play the Wii or go to the bathroom or are channel surfers or want to read a book or magazine. With the long boxy sleeves of the Snuggie or Slanket along with the fact that it just draped over your shoulders - it didn't fasten in the back, you were left with not much more than a regular blanket. The "Forever Lazy" fixes all of that. You can run the trash can down to the corner, lay on the couch channel surfing, play video games and more. Don't worry. The makers of the "Forever Lazy" have thought of everything. Need to use the restroom? There's a trap door. The Angelina Joli movie making you a little frisky? There's a trap door in front, too. (Box of kleenex not included) The only downfall I can find in this genius product is it only comes in three colors - grey, pink and navy. Where's my sports team logo or my leopard print? Maybe by Valentine's Day. Then I can get one for the hubby.

Choosing my blame.

There was an open house recently at my 4-year old's pre-school. At this open house you receive the results from your kid's evaluation. They tested him on all the things he needs to know in order to get into kindergarten. Well...he didn't do so hot.

He got marked down for not knowing his phone number. Well, which number am I supposed to teach him? And first, I have to learn the phone number. That's what your phone's contact list is for, Dumb Asses!

He skips the number 13. So do elevators.

Maybe he just had a bad test day. He's new to this class and the teacher says he's shy. The shy thing is a complete bullshit act he does in front of anyone for the first time. He makes you work for a relationship with him. Maybe his dead sisters that live in his head were feeding him the wrong answers.

He's very odd about what information he retains and what information he doesn't. He can get you anywhere around town. He doesn't need to know his address or phone number. If the cop puts him in his car, he'll direct him to our house or just about any of his other favorite places in town. He knows the name of every Thomas the Train engine. However, he doesn't know our cats' names. They aren't new cats. We've had them longer than he's been born. It's like he can't tell them apart except that they don't look anything like. One is tiger striped and 15 pounds. The other is black and white and barely 6 pounds. He could care less about them, thus he doesn't need to retain that information.

My best friend e-mailed me recently to tell me about her daughter's evaluation. (Her daughter is less than two weeks older than Cody.) Her 4-year old is reading. Are you fucking kidding me? My kid can't write his name without making the "d" a "b" and this bitch is reading? And my friend is one of these obnoxious parents that has her kids' baby books filled out, photo albums up to date for each kid, journaled to her first kid while she was pregnant (insert eye roll), and when she called me from the hospital after her daughter was born went on and on about how smart she was. Newborns are a lot of things - stinky, loud, tiny, alien looking - but smart? I let her have her moment since she had just expelled a football from her body, but did make fun of her eventually for this comment. Of course, looks like she was right since she's 4 and reading!


There is always the chance that maybe I'm just not a very good parent. We semi-often do flashcards so he'll know his letters better. I thought he had those down so we had moved onto writing his letters....occasionally. Really, it has been the hubby that is better at working with him. I'm more of a...let's make up a story about Cody and Princess Mommy...kind of parent.

The other night we created a new game where he runs from one end of the toy room to the other while I try to hit him in the head with a ball. Stop judging! It was a beach ball. It didn't hurt. Although it did leave a couple of red marks, but those were gone by morning.

I don't know. I think it is those damn dead sisters in his head. They are such trouble makers.

So is judgment a bitch or is it me that's the bitch?

You may have noticed that a blog post is missing. Maybe you didn't even read it. I posted it last night and removed it this morning. When I started this blog I knew I would offend some and I knew I might have to apologize a little bit, but never to the point of removing a blog post. I'm pretty used to offending people. I don't always think before I speak and other times I do think before I speak but struggle with finding the right words to get my point across and find only the wrong words that offend. I gave Mike veto power. This doesn't necessarily mean I will remove a blog that he doesn't like, but I will at least strongly consider his opinion and feelings and weigh that against how funny I think the blog post is. It's alright. He's used to losing to me.

The blog post I removed was slightly poking fun at a young friend's recent pictures posted on Facebook. I was basically saying that she and her friend's risque clothes made me feel like a prude and she felt like I was calling her a slut and judging them based only on their clothes. We went back and forth several times and I really wanted to lecture her about becoming an adult, balancing sexiness with class, dealing with judgement 24/7 especially when you are a female, etc. etc. but she's a college student. I think I could talk till I was blue in the face and she'll never really get it until she's faced with it. And all of it she'll learn soon enough. In the end I felt like I was a being a bully picking on someone so much younger than me and even though my intentions were never out of malice and I really thought she was someone with thicker skin that could take it I took the blog post down.

My intention is to be a sarcastic bitch. Sometimes this turns into a judgemental bitch like when I talk about people less than me. You know, like a random trashy person at Walmart or celebrities or Canadians or just someone I really don't like. But I never want to be a bully picking on someone that can't take it. Especially if I like the person.

I have enough explaining to do to God at the end of the day to add bullying to the list. But then again I'm a comlete hypocrit so I'm sure in my next blog I'll be coming down on someone that isn't a celebrity, doesn't shop at Walmart or even God forbid, isn't from Canada.

Of course I forgot about people that like Gordon's Vodka...those that watch nothing but  NCSI/Law and Order type of shows...


...men who wear capri pants...

Well, you get the idea.

Slutsgiving

October 31st is almost upon us. Some refer to this as Halloween. I refer to it as the birth of an angel. Me. Now while you ponder how you will shower me with appreciation, gifts and wealth I will talk about what Halloween really is - Slutsgiving.

This is the time of year that all the little goody two shoes whore it up under the guise that it is okay to look like a slut because it is Halloween. However, their true costume - a cock tease. If I know sluts - and we all know I do - skimpy clothing is not a prerequisite to sleep around a lot. Most sluts dress pretty normal - long sleeves and long pants when it is cold, short sleeves and shorts when it is warm. It's the cock teases of the world that put all their goods on display just to show it off, get men stirred up and then don't put out. You're supposed to give the candy out on Halloween. Not just show it and then keep it for yourself. Where did you go trick or treating?

I'm not completely dogging girls for slutting it up for Halloween. I get it. If it makes you feel cute and fun and naughty, then go for it. I'm sure it is a great example for little girls out there and for the feminist movement in general. By all means, let your roast beef hang out of your short skirt in honor of Halloween and more importantly, my birthday.

I favor funny costumes over slutty costumes. Sometimes they can be one in the same. Most of these slutty costumes just don't make sense to me. I'm not a huge history buff, so maybe Pocahontas was a gigantic whore. Maybe her ass did hang out of her dress. I've personally never been to a hospital where a nurse dressed in fishnet stockings, but that doesn't mean it doesn't exist. However, you've crossed the line at costumes like a slutty plumber or slutty Wizard of Oz scarecrow. That just doesn't really even make sense. Miss Freddy Krueger. That's completely made up!

Let's work on some more creative slut costumes. Let's venture out into other industries. Maybe a slutty pharmaceutical sales rep. Shirt and suit jacket on top, undies on bottom and you can roll a small suitcase around filled with sex toys.

My point is that the slutty costumes should make sense like Betty Boop, Hooters waitress, Playboy Bunny. You get the idea. If you're wearing a slutty costume just to look like a slut then just put a white t-shirt on with no bra and pour a bottle of water on your chest. Much simpler.

Whatever you dress up like this Halloween, I hope you're thinking of me. And more specifically, thinking about what you're going to get me for my birthday. At the very least I hope you toast to me and go 4th Gear for the night. It only hurts for a minute or two the next day.

To all my boozy whores out there.

I have boundary issues in the fact that I don't have any. I'm aware of this and mostly I just don't care. I also have no filter most of the time which gets me into trouble occasionally, but again mostly I just don't care. I'm having a good time so I typically assume everyone around me is having a good time too. This isn't always the case and sometimes I wake up to the hubby filling me in on my offenses from the night before.

Sometimes when I meet new people I'm aware instantly that I'm too much for them. I'm fairly used to this. At one point in my life I would keep at them trying to win them over, but now I just move on. I'm an acquired taste. You either love me or are annoyed by me. I'm okay with that. You can't win them all. And it is likely that if I'm too much for you, then you're not enough for me. I'm not so much into finding the yin to my yang. Mostly I just want all yangs and then maybe one yin to drive us around or bail us out of jail - whatever the case may be.

I mean, if I use the term "pussy pooch" in conversation I want you to not only understand that I'm referring to a fatty lower gut but also love the new term and then add it to your own vernacular. I don't want to hear a loud gasp of disapproval followed by a judgmental look.

I typically refer to my yangs as my boozy whores, sluts, skanks or bitches. Yes I'm a feminist, but it's like African Americans taking the N word back.

I can only assume if you're keeping up with this blog that you are also a boozy whore or at least a lover of a boozy whore - like my hubby.

One of my boozy whores recently told me that you have to be true to your heritage in that you have to celebrate the white trash inside of you. Now, I'm still going to cast judgment of my own when shopping at Walmart, but then later that night I will walk the tight rope between boozy whore and white trash....and love every minute of it.

So to all the boozy whores out there - I thank you and I love you.

Mother of the Year

I love my children. But sometimes I'm not sure where they came from. And other times I'm scared that I know exactly where they came from.

At Cody's day care open house last year one of the teacher's told me, "Cody has the most vivid imagination of any child I've ever met." Sounds like a compliment doesn't it? However, her face said, "You're child is either a habitual liar or needs to be locked up in the closest mental hospital." Where to begin to explain why she might feel this way. I'll start with the fact that Cody has 11 sisters. Not real sisters. They live in  his head. I guess it is his form of an imaginary friend. Except as he describes them they are all dead. So maybe he's like the kid in the 6th Sense. Freaked out yet? I don't know if there are really 11. That's just his go-to number when asked how many sisters he has. Some of the sisters are good and some are bad. The bad sisters eat poop. One of the sisters died by getting hit over the head with an axe.

Last week the boys' Aunt took them to an apple orchard/pumpkin patch. Cody refused to leave without the purchase of a bottle of honey. She eventually gave in. When I picked him up that day and she presented me with the bottle of honey she said how he insisted that she get it. On the way home I asked him about the honey. I had never known him to have ever had honey, but thought maybe he had eaten it at my mom's or mother-in-law's house. It seems his sisters had sent him to a store to get ingredients for pumpkin cake and he couldn't find honey. So when he saw it there, he had to get it. By the way, the ingredients for pumpkin cake are honey, sugar, salt, pepper and the guts from a pumpkin. He didn't give me how much of each you are supposed to use or what you're supposed to bake it at, but if you're interested in the recipe I'll ask him in the morning.

Keaton is one and for the most part he's been a really good child. Then he turned one and he developed a sense of purpose. That purpose appears to be doing only what he wants to do and the rest of the world be damned. He goes to an at-home day care. A wonderful woman who's been watching children forever. She's watched my nephews and an old co-worker's daughter as well as Cody before we moved him to a day care that also has a pre-school a couple of years ago. When I picked Keaton up last week, the sitter's son said, "This is the one. This is the one that's going to break her." Looks like I'm going to have to give her a raise and get him on the waiting list at Cody's day care.

So one day when you read an article in the paper about a mother that's been tied up and locked in a closet and fed cat food by her children while their dad was out of town, it's likely her name is Molly. They probably won't print it as 4th Gear Molly.

My favorite guilty pleasures

You know I enjoy vodka and beer and wine, but I wouldn't even consider those items some of my favorite things. And since I'm the closest thing we have to Oprah now that she has retired her show I will list them below. I think you will find these will not help you at all when purchasing Christmas presents this year or in life in general. But I never promised this blog would add real value to your life so shut up and just keep reading.

And I'm not going to list my children, husband, family, blah blah blah. I'm talking about my favorite things. Come on now.

1. iPhone. And I'm not saying that just because Steve Jobs died today. By the way, tonight I read that Steve was adopted. His biological parents were some college student and some dude from India or somewhere like that. And they eventually got married and had another kid, but gave Steve up for adoption. Does Steve have a E! True Hollywood Story? I need to get the full scoop on all that drama. Anyway, I love my iPhone. There was a study that went out that said people would give up sex for a week before giving up their phone for a week. Duh! My phone already has a vibrate function. And if you tell me you would give up the phone, I don't believe you  - so save it. Unless you're over the age of 55. Then you might.

2. Stick pretzels and mustard. Not the thick breadstick like pretzels. Regular grocery store brand stick pretzels and regular yellow mustard. It's my favorite side to any meal. It is the all time perfect side to a hot dog. Bun length all beef hot dog on a bun with mustard - lots of it - and stick pretzels. That way you can dip the pretzels into the mustard on the hot dog and use the pretzels to spread out the mustard on the hot dog. Perfection.

3. Cereal. Yes, I'm talking about more food. I eat cereal for dinner at least one night a week. When the hubby is traveling it is a lot more than that. I love all kinds of cereal, but of course sugar cereal is the best. I try to keep one "healthy" cereal in the house at all times along with 2 or 3 sugar cereals. Cereals I have right now: Special K with red berries - I have the Kellogg's brand and the off brand right now, Frosted Flakes, Fruit Loops, Cheerios, and Lucky Charms. Some of my other favorites that I don't have right now include Captain Crunch with Crunch Berries and Cookie Crisp. I like to eat the cereal dry as a snack or in a bowl with milk.

4. 5 Oreo cookies and a mug of milk. It has to be 5 oreo cookies. Not 4, not 6. 5 is the perfect number for a snack or dessert. The milk has to be in a mug. It's the perfect width for dipping. Along with the 5 oreo cookies and mug of milk, it tastes best when eaten in my bed. This is not some kinky thing. I don't want anyone else in bed with me. By myself. Covers pulled up. Mug of milk in hand. Plate of 5 oreos on my lap. Some guilty pleasure TV show on like Real Housewives or 90210. It feels so good. I can't explain it past that.

5. Chapstick. I'm completely addicted to Chapstick. I have them planted all over the place. I have one on my desk, at least one in my purse, a couple in my nightstand drawer and drawers around the house and one in my car. I apply chapstick to my lips about a dozen times a day. I cake it on my lips just before I go to bed.

So now as I finish my night with a bowl of cereal before I smear on the chapstick, I end this blog knowing I've added nothing to your life tonight. However, feel free to quote me on Facebook and Twitter instead of Steve Jobs. I'm pretty sure this is a quote from his biological mother, "Shit!"

When the other shoe drops, it really fucking hurts.

The hubby and I were just having the often dreaded conversation of money recently. Realizing we have too much going out, not enough coming in. Figuring out what all is going out to that is completely unnecessary like dry cleaning and a gym that gets no use compared to what is needed like Netflix, fast food and booze. So we made some executive decisions, promised to curb unnecessary spending and even talked about cutting out some excessive partying we've been doing lately. You know, making promises that we might keep for a week or two and will eventually fade away.

The reason why you should never have these types of conversations and make these promises to yourself is because inevitably karma is watching...and laughing her ass off.

I mentioned in last night's blog that my washing machine was making a funny noise. We've had ole girl for 11 years. I don't know what the life span of a washing machine is. She doesn't always act right. Leaking water occasionally or claiming to be done with all of her cycles only to find that she's full of water and the fabric softener hasn't been dispensed. We've had the repair guy come out to fix her more than once in 11 years. On his last visit he said it might not be much longer for her. Instead of trying to be gentle on her and only give her small loads, I've worked her like I always have - jamming way too much in her and crossing my fingers. Until last night. I kept tending to the noise. Hoping she was just off balance. Moving the clothes around that were stuffed inside, but knowing deep down that wasn't the sound of an off balance washing machine. When I went to unload the dryer, the washing machine sat silent. She shouldn't have been done yet. And there she was, full of water, the blue liquid looking at me sadly. I called Mike down. He's pretty handy and holds the responsibility in our relationship of fixing things. I work hard at my job of breaking things. I get better at my job every year.

He worked on her for a while, but to no avail.

Rest in peace ole girl. You've cleaned dirt, shit, puke, unidentified specimens, money, receipts, chapstick, a cricket, pens, and a toy. Along with all the clothes. You've done well and will be remembered....at least until you're out of my house and replaced with a shiny new washing machine which will hopefully be today as I'm much too precious to go to a laundry mat.

I've never even had sex on her. She's in a dirty laundry room. That's gross. There are clean rooms for that kind of activity. Okay, they aren't exactly clean but cleaner than the laundry room. Plus we're short and I don't even know how that would work out. Or is it the dryer you're supposed to have sex on? They are always doing that in TV shows, but I wonder if anyone really does it in real life. You guys can let me know if you've tried that and how it was.

Maybe I'll drown my money sorrows today by going out to lunch. That's the sensible thing to do. And I'll be damned if I'm not sensible.

My apologies

Please forgive the gap between posts. I've been busy doing.....well everything. Working, cooking, cleaning, bathing, diaper changing, yelling, watching, laughing, drinking, disciplining, fighting, crying, worrying, regretting, lying, talking, Facebooking....you get the idea.

But hopefully you're still out there - saying and doing nothing. Kind of like we're married.

Sorry, Mike, couldn't resist.

But I'm here now. Mike's putting the oldest to bed. The youngest is in his crib talking to himself. The dryer is fluffing and the washing machine is making a noise that I should probably be tending to, but my priority right now is you. Feel special? You fucking should. I have Glee to watch.

All the shows are back on. Maybe that's what has kept me away. I tend to think I don't watch a lot of television. Mostly kid shows. Mostly Blues Clues. My one year-old is obsessed with TV. Whatever room he's in, the TV has to be on. He isn't necessarily watching it, but it has to be on. He'll grab the remote and once he's pressed a series of buttons and wrecked whatever system you have he hands it off to someone else in the room. The four year-old doesn't have to have the TV on, but if it is on he gets sucked into it very easily. I'd like to be one of those parents that limits the TV watching, but I'm too freaking tired for all of that. TV is the best babysitter I have. It's how I make dinner. It's how I switch loads of laundry. The kids still get their fair share of attention. I keep trying to ignore them, but they won't go away.

Half of the television I do watch is fairly embarrassing, but I can't help myself. Real Housewives of Beverly Hills? It feels so good. 90210? It's like a sick addiction that I can't give up. I need an intervention or something. At least the first season they gave me Kelly, Brenda and a bit of Donna, but now I have just these anorexic rich bitches that are always dressed up and wanting for nothing. At least they're whores. That always makes me feel better.

So this post isn't much. I've said mostly nothing, but just wanted to let you know that I'm here. I'm tired, grouchy and fighting a bit of a cold but I'm here and I'll try to be back tomorrow. Now the gay man that lives inside me has to come out and show his spirit fingers to Glee.

Peace be with you.

And also with you.

Bitches.

How old am I again?

Most of the time I live my life as if nothing bad could ever happen to me. I've lived a pretty freaking blessed life. I was born to a middle class white family. The hardest hurdle I've had in life is that I don't have a dick, thus deal with throwing rocks at that damn glass ceiling above me. If there are any white guys reading this blog (aside from my husband who is contractually obligated to - although really only reads it to see how much I throw him under the bus) just ignore that. I know you think the world is equal to us all and we all face the same hurdles in life. You were born this privileged and far be it for me to poop on your parade.

But occasionally those bad things do happen in some form or another - death of a grandparent or loss of a job. Things that at the time seem devastating and you can't believe that the world is still spinning, people are still going on with their lives. Then some time goes by and you pick yourself back up and your life keeps going, too.

Although I partake in too much Taco Bell (Damn you, Gordita and your deliciousness!) and not enough exercise (running is for pussies) for the most part I feel pretty healthy and assume that will remain the case until I'm much much older and my kids are much much older. Yet, here I am at 33 years old (just over a month till I'm 34) and I've faced my own battles with the big C, have several friends who have or are wrestling with their own forms of cancer and even one that is desperately seeking an organ donation. These aren't my 70 year old friends. (Some of my mom's friends like me.) These are women in their 30's. Until I wrote that sentence, I didn't even realize these are all women that I'm thinking of. Can't even think of a guy I know that is dealing with a health issue. Fuck, those white dudes get everything! That is such bullshit. Alright, ladies and any black dudes that are reading this - so...Derrick - go kick a white dude in the crotch today. Too extreme? Fine, maybe just park over the yellow line making it extra difficult to get into their car. They'll blame it on the fact that you're a chick or black anyway.

Anyway, back to the topic at hand - when talking to my girlfriend today about this, she wondered if there was something in our water when we were younger. Knowing us, it would have had to have been in our beer...or Mad Dog. And as we all know alcohol kills disease so based upon our lifetime consumption, we really should be a healthier population. Maybe there really is something to this hippy logic that all these cell phones really are bad for us, putting too much radiation out there. That can't be. Izzy, my iPhone, would never hurt me. She loves me.

It's probably those damn Canadians. Those bastards will do anything to wipe us out.

Well, if you are going through any health issue or any other kind of issue, I hope this little blog can be one escape for you and can give you a little laugh.

P.S. Happy Talk Like a Pirate Day!

As parents, we lose.

I try not to tell too many kid stories. I know they get annoying for people without kids. Hell, I have two kids and I get annoyed by them. Just about the only thing worse is baby talk. I accept it some from toddlers, but from adults I really can't stand it. But here are a couple of recent anecdotes for those that do like kid stories.

My 4-year old calls both of his grandmothers "Wa Wa". He actually used to call them "grandma" and then for some reason switched it to Wa Wa. No idea why. It sounds like baby talk so I kind of hate it but I like the fact that he came up with a name for them on his own and there's no veering him away from the name. The other day I asked him why he calls his grandmas "Wa Wa". He pondered it for a moment, then said, "Because they are old, drink coffee and have PaPas."

If we're keeping score of who wins the battles in our house, I feel fairly certain my 4-year old is ahead.

Here is just one small example of how I know this to be true.

Last night Cody (the 4 year old) wanted some yogurt to go with his dinner. Normally I buy a case of the strawberry and blueberry Yoplait yogurt, but Cody and I end up arguing over the blueberry ones as they are our favorite and the hubby gets stuck with the strawberry. So I recently bought a large carton of blueberry yogurt. Cody was thrilled to see such a large container of blueberry yogurt and wanted to dig into it with a spoon. Mike (the hubby) started to dish some of the yogurt out into a small bowl. Cody started having a meltdown claiming the small bowl was too small. Mike, certain our very tiny little boy that normally eats all of 400 calories a day, would never eat that much and made Cody a deal - if Cody would eat all the yogurt in the bowl, he would buy him a present. Cody reluctantly agreed - preferring to have the entire carton instead but greedy enough to try just about anything for a present. I think you can guess what happened - Cody ate all the yogurt in the bowl. No problem. Fail #1.

The promise of a present was actually two-fold. Mike had to run some errands and was going to take Cody with him and leave me with the 1 year old at home. As I have raised two mama's boys they have to be bribed to leave me. I'm not sure what I have done to create these mama's boys. I'm trying to undo my handy work, but have only made bigger mama's boys. I had hoped the guarnatee of a present from the store would be more than enough to secure an evening of just entertaining one little boy and not two, but instead Cody told Mike to pick something out for him and he'd wait for it until Mike got home. Fail #2.

My U.S. Intervention Plan

So all of that political talk yesterday generated a brilliant idea. I came up with it myself. No really, I did.

Here goes.

Step 1: Gather up all the bottom feeders. I'm not talking about the welfare mom that keeps having babies to get paid from the government. Although she might be included on this list if she is making absolutely no effort to better herself, family, community, etc. Gather up the douche bags. Like the entire cast of Jersey Shore. Gather up the embarrassments. Like the whorish 16 year old that married the dude from The Green Mile. (Body shiver - and not the good kind.) Just all the people that are not just a drain on our economy, but a drain on humanity because they are so ridiculous.

Step 2: Take that group and move them elsewhere. Like Canada or somewhere unimportant like that. Let them fend for themselves or be another country's problem. It would be inhuman to kill them and I don't want to come off like Hitler or something. This isn't a race, age or sex thing. It's a stupidity thing.

Step 3: Close the borders for at least two years. Nobody comes in, nobody goes out. I know - you'll have to vacation within the 50 states. (Yes, there are 50. I looked it up.) This will be a time of rebuilding and reconnecting. Essentially when we gotta figure our shit out and it should be easier to do without the distractions of others.

Step 4: After those 2 years, nobody can become a U.S. Citizen without a series of exams. Personality, education, psych, etc. Make sure they are cool enough to become a U.S. citizen. Think of it like a fraternity or sorority. We don't want to allow anybody back in or anybody new that can't hold their own.

Step 5: Nation is rebuilt and now we're not only powerful, we're pretty fucking awesome.

Done and done. You're welcome, Obama.

4th Gear Politics

Some have wanted me to talk politics on my blog. I assume they think I will bash Sarah Palin or Sarah Palin 2.0 - Michele Bachmann. This just isn't the case, but it might happen soon as the morning show I listen to every morning - Kidd Kraddick in the Morning - was pulled off my hometown station and I was left with NPR this morning.

I do my best to give my brain a rest during its off hours - commute to and from work, after kids go to bed....now. And my radio morning show was perfect. Entertaining without really requiring me to think. At least not about anything too real. Plus the show was family friendly if I had the kids in the car with me (My 4 year old's favorite song however is Pink's So What - could be worse I suppose.) and do good things for other people including taking a group of severely sick kids to Disney World every year with medical staff in tow.

Not anymore. Now this blend of personalities has been replaced with a deejay. I can't even say it is being replaced with a local morning show. Nope, just someone letting me know what song was played last and what will be played next. If I wanted to listen to music I'd turn on a CD. And yes, I realize I'm about the last person on the planet still listening to the radio. I'm in advertising. I record my television and fast forward through commercials. I have to do something to support my industry! Plus, I don't care enough to take my car in and pay money for Sirius or Satellite to be installed and since nobody has done that for me, here I am.

But this morning I took the muff dive into NPR and was faced with a summary of the Republican debate from last night. I work with a Tea Partier, but I do my best to not talk politics with him or else we'll end up talking gay marriage and the words I shudder to hear, "Next you'll be able to marry your dog." will come out of his mouth and I can't control what will happen after that. And I like tea! Not hot tea though. Not a fan of hot drinks in general. I'm a delicate flower that way. I have a girlfriend that drinks hot water during the winter to keep warm. Yes, I agree, that's fucked up.

I love the term Grand Old Party. It makes me feel nostalgic and wish I used the word "grand" as an adjective more often.

"Dahhhling, that was just grand of you to adopt those Himalayan mountain babies before they had one more ounce of Mr. Dew."

I didn't watch the debate last night - Hello, Real Housewives of Orange County was on - and I haven't been following it at all so most of what I know I learned from the :20 clip on NPR this morning and most of that was airing the crowd yelling boo. So obviously they all must be as excited as I am about Halloween coming soon.

So I'll wait to give you my thoughts on the candidates, once I've listened to some more NPR. By election day I should have a mullet, closet full of flannel and have ditched every purse in my closet. So you know I'll be informed.

I wasn't an Obama supporter before he became the Democratic Candidate. I was all about my girl, Hillary. Yes, that's right. Shun me all you want. I love her. I love her daughter. Hell, I even love that silly ass, Bill. I can't help myself. I just find him charming. Now, I'm not going to share cigars with him or anything. Let's not take it to that place. So I was very disappointed when Hillary didn't win the nomination. I wanted to like Obama. And mostly he won me over because I couldn't deal with Palin. Lesser of two evils, I suppose? Anyone who uses the term Anti Abortion as if this is the stance you make, makes me angry. You know because my Pro Choice friends and I are sitting around getting pregnant just so we can get an abortion since we must then be Pro Abortion. Woot Woot!!! Then we have abortion parties. It's so much fun. Maybe I'll send you guys an e-vite next time we have one. I wonder when my "Kill the Babies" t-shirt will be in?

And tell me, who doesn't want to have a drink with Biden? He seems like a ton of fun. And his wife is sassy. You know I'm fond of that. He totally drinks 7 and 7's (which is fine since he is old).

Prior to Obama, I supported Bush. (Guess I must have been listening to NPR back in those days.) Prior to that, Clinton - although I'm not sure I voted in that election so guess it doesn't matter. Look, I was in college and my major worries were about which bar we were going to that night and how I was going to turn my 4 page paper into a 7 page paper.

I loved me some Bush Senior and some Ronald Reagan even though I was too young to vote back then.

I'm registered a Republican. Financially, I am supported with a Republican lifestyle  - husband has a family-owned business, I work for a small business, I'm white and middle class, blah blah blah. But then there are some of the other lifestyle ideals that I have that are very liberal. The whole Pro Choice/Gay Marriage thing to begin with, helping our fellow man, and nonsense like that.

And although I feel like a woman should have her right to choose, I'd also like to sterilize some people so I'm in a constant battle with myself over the issues. Mostly, I'm just a hypocrite and the only thing you can rely on is that my opinion will change constantly. However, whatever opinion I have is right.

If you're getting ready to send me hate mail, maybe you should focus that energy instead on getting my morning show back on the air!

With Non Partisan Love,
Molly

521

521 - That's how many Facebook friends I have. Excessive? Probably, but I'm a Facebook whore so it will probably get bigger....or maybe smaller after this blog. Of course I'd say only a 1/3 of that actually post on a regular basis. Then there's the 1/3 that never post, but are on there stalking what everyone else is doing. Then there's the 1/3 that haven't looked at Facebook for a long time. I've been thinking of writing this blog for some time, but was worried I would lose half of my Facebook friends. But the hell with it...we'll see what happens to "521" in 24 hours or so.

I just joined Facebook 2-3 years ago. Claimed I would never do it. But I'm in advertising and social media is huge so I joined out of force to stay current with the trend and figure out how I could apply it to clients and get paid for it. It didn't take long before I was hooked. Now it's my meth and I can't get enough. You know how it is, don't you? I feel confident most of my blog followers are as addicted to Facebook as I am.

Yet we're all annoyed. We all have our own etiquette books for Facebook. Since mine is the only one that matters, I'll publicize mine.

So to those that drop me as a Facebook friend, please know - although I'm annoyed by you, like my bad habit, I crave you, too. It's a sickness. I'm working on it. Well, not really...

(These are in no particular order.)
1. Vague statements of confrontation - Look, if you want to call someone out about something just do it. Don't post some vague message that the rest of us don't get but are now curious as to what is going on. Either fill us all in or don't put it on there.

2. Quotes - Why? Do you have a quote of the day calendar? Are you actually spending time looking these up each day, trying to figure out which one to post? How about you use your own words instead of someone else's. If I wanted to hear from Albert Einstein I'd friend him on Facebook.

3. LOL, LMAO, etc. etc. - I'm probably alone on this, but I don't like all the abbreviations. This isn't Twitter. You have enough characters to spell it all out. Don't make me look up some abbreviation to figure out what the hell it means.

4. Facebook should not replace texting - if you have something to say to someone you talk to regularly - like your husband, close friends, etc. etc. then text them. "What do you want for dinner tonight?" should be something you text your spouse, not post on Facebook. Or at the very least is a private message.

5. Detailed list - I don't care that you picked Johnny up from school, took him and Cindy to soccer practice then off to piano lessons followed by homework time. It's one thing if this was a post every once in a while, but when it is all you post, you make me sad. Do you really have nothing else to say? Are you trying to prove something?

6. Gym Rat - stop making me feel bad about myself because you just ran 10 miles in 4 minutes. Yes, I'll look through your photos when you post them of your latest Marathon...but I'll still be cursing you while I do it.

7. Love Bugs - Beyond saying happy anniversary or happy birthday, I don't really want to see all the "I love you." "I love you more" bullshit. Nobody loves their spouse that much in a public manner. Makes me want to start an affair rumor about one of you. Facebook is a place to ridicule and mock. That's what makes us happy.

8. Spoiler - You can't post the winner of some show or too much detail about something on Facebook while you're watching it live on Facebook. Give the rest of us time to watch it, too. As an additional comment under a post is fine. 

9. Teenage angst - Yes, I have some teenage Facebook friends. It's not pedophilia if they are family. And please know I love all of you, but all the "will I find the man of my dreams" makes me want to sterilize you. You're 15 (or some young age). Stop it. Not that you will listen to me, just as I didn't listen to my elders when I was that age.

10. Hooked on phonics - I'm not going to claim that I never make a typo, but some of you really need to go back to elementary school. Are you abbreviating? Nope, you just can't spell. Quit ignoring your computer or Iphone! It's trying to help you. Please understand how stupid it makes you look. And I know you're not all really that stupid. OK, some of you might be.

The only reason all the Farmville bullshit didn't make the list is because even Facebook was annoyed by it and allows us to block it out. Thank you, Facebook.

Ahhhh shit. I'm talking race.

Yesterday someone told me that "black people don't like mayonnaise." I had never heard this before in my life and at first thought he was joking...but I didn't get the punch line. Upon further evaluation, I discovered he was in fact serious. From his experience he stood by this claim.

A few months ago someone made a declaration that "black people don't like gays." I had also never heard this little supposed factoid and the woman backed it up by e-mailing me links that supported this stereotype.

Another interesting tidbit I've learned recently is that if you wear a ring on each ring finger this means you are bi-sexual. This might be true because I would totally have sexy times with Angelina Jolie.

So, I'm not sure if I'm just color blind or ignorant because I had never heard of these stereotypes before. I'm not going to pretend to have a very ethnically diverse group of friends or upbringing. Maybe if I did, I would firmly believe these stereotypes and be sharing this wisdom with others.

So, all of this has gotten me thinking about my own stereotypes. I hate to even call them that because I find it to be just statistical facts since I'm always right. So here's a few for your reading pleasure and feel free to leave a comment with your own stereotypes.

1. NPR is run and listened to by lesbians. Not that there's anything wrong with that. So if you listen to NPR regularly, you might want to think about how you feel about muff diving. I'm guessing you like it. This belief comes from a meeting I attended many years ago where a woman from NPR spoke and she was definitely from Lesbia and she had a co-worker with her that was also from the same village.

2. Lesbians must date all the lesbians within their social group. I don't know if they earn bonus points for this or what. I like to believe there is a BINGO board filled with their friends' names and they are all just trying to fill their board.

3. Thin, beautiful women are evil. No explanation needed.

4. 7 and 7's is an old man drink. (So stop drinking it, Mike!) You must be at least 50 years old to drink this regularly. Vodka tonics are for ladies. Gin and tonics are for men. Whiskey really does put hair on your chest.

5. Canadians are a lesser people.

How I met your father

Once upon a time there was a beautiful young 18-year old woman named Molly with a flat stomach and perky breasts. (Quit with the eye rolling. This is my story and I'll tell it however the fuck I want.) And there was a young 19-year old man named Mike. How Mike and Molly initially met doesn't matter since neither one of them remember, but it was probably at a fraternity party after a dozen warm beers. Regardless they had been acquaintances and shared many mutual friends for about a year when they ran into each other one day outside of the University bookstore. One had a lighter and the other one needed one and there they stood, had a smoke and chatted for a bit. And it was in that brief 10 minute encounter that they took a look at each other with renewed (or sober) eyes.
Soon after, they started dating and continued dating through the rest of college, graduation, moving home, first jobs, and house hunting for a home of their own. Five years had gone by and Molly was beginning to wonder if common law marriage would just come into effect or if Mike would ever pop the question. Molly's parents had even offered to pay for an elopement to Vegas, but Mike always deferred to "one day, one day". Molly thought "one day" was never going to happen and started to grow impatient although Mike doesn't have any recollection of Molly's impatience. Eventually Molly assumed "one day" would never happen, but was happy with a life with Mike regardless. Plus she felt she had put too much time into shaping this one man to start over.
Then one unassuming Friday evening Mike and Molly decided to go to dinner in the town where they went to college. It was a very cold evening and after dinner Mike said he needed to stop by an ATM machine so he could get gas before they headed back home. Molly ignored Mike as she was used to doing and was trying to pay attention to some news on the radio. Mike pulled into the University bookstore parking lot where he knew an ATM machine was. However, the ATM machine was on the opposite side of the building and Molly doesn't like to sit in a car by herself as she is scared she will get kidnapped. (Yes, kidnapped. I just know someone is going to snatch me.) So Mike and Molly both walked around the building toward the ATM machine. Molly was very annoyed as it was very cold and she was very interested in hearing more of the news on the radio and could he seriously not fill up or get cash before picking her up that evening?
Molly was ahead of Mike as Mike was lolly gagging behind as Molly knew him to do often. Then Mike stooped down to tie his shoe. Molly looked through the bookstore window at a display trying not to scream at Mike although she was growing increasingly annoyed at his slowness and him in general. Then Mike said he had something for Molly. Mike was known to occasionally get Molly trinkets at gas stations during his many travels around the state. So Molly held out her hand expecting to have him set a snow globe or some such treasure in her hand. That is when Mike asked Molly to be his wife.
And Molly responded, "Are you fucking kidding me?"

And they've lived mostly happy, but still annoyed by each other occasionally, ever after.

Labor Day

I sit here on this eve of Labor Day trying to motivate myself to do something more exciting than going to sleep before 10PM. I'm not sure what the appropriate celebration is for those that labor or have labored or whatever the hell this holiday is about. I've spent most of my weekend nursing a one year old with a bad cold, cheering on the four year old at his soccer game, catching up on laundry, and visiting with family. Tomorrow I will spend at least half of the day cleaning the house. Kind of seems more appropriate on Labor Day to not labor at all, but I'm at the point where you need to wear flip flops to take a shower because the bathroom is so gross. I contemplated just burning the house down and starting over. It would definitely be easier, but it wouldn't be quicker. Plus, I'm not sure how to cover up arson. Murder - yes. Arson - no.

So for those that labor and especially for those ladies that are in labor - Happy Labor Day!

Spoiler Alert

I know you've been up all night wondering what decision I made last night. Which little voice did I listen to? The one telling me to stay in, go to bed early or the one telling me to party and stay up late? Well, I listened to both. I stayed in, watched a movie, had cocktails with a girlfriend, and stayed up too late. Gordon's Vodka is the devil by the way. What kind of ethanol is in it to make you feel so terrible in the morning. I have to stick with the good stuff. With age comes wisdom.

So, the movie. The Kids Are Alright. I don't know where to begin. A lesbian can have sex with a dude? First a nun lies to me and now lesbians can cheat on other lesbians with guys? I don't understand. This goes against nature....or nurture...or whatever it is you believe in. But they are still lesbians? And lesbians watch gay male porn? It's a world gone mad, I tell you.

I really don't know what to believe anymore.

New hardcore rap is called horrorcore, but they dress like black hipsters. Blipsters as a friend called it recently. (I love this term.) I'm not sad to see the saggy pants leave the scene, but I'm not sure I like the idea of all men - gay or straight - wearing skinny jeans either.  Like I need to feel like thunder thighs next to a bunch of guys. I call bullshit.

So a nun, a lesbian and a blipster walk into a bar. I hope they all drink Gordon's.

Shhhhhh.

Can you hear that? It's the sound of silence. Okay, it isn't silence. The TV is on - Sex and the City reruns - and the hum of the air conditioner and clicking of my typing. But normally right now I'd be negotiating 5 more minutes before bath time with the kids. My mother-in-law is keeping the kids for the night and the hubby is headed out of town for work. I have the entire house to myself...and the cats...and the occasional cricket...and bat. But mostly to myself.

I questioned my faith today when a nun lied to me. Well, I think she lied to me. It was business related. I'm not Catholic. And after I discovered a nun can possibly lie without remorse, I'm definitely not becoming Catholic. Ever. Did you know a nun could lie? I mean, I get that they are humans. I know we are all creatures of sin, but I figured a nun's sins were more like rudeness, strictness - you know, sins that don't really count. Who knew they could lie?

So what should I do this evening? Stay in, maybe watch the movie I have in from Netflix - the one where the lesbians have kids and the kids look up the sperm donor. However, a friend told me today the movie - which I can't think of the name of - is terrible. I could go into work early, catch up on some paper work. Or, I could find a friend to have some cocktails with, hang out, stay up too late, and feel like crap tomorrow. Ahhhh, who's going to win out - the devil or the nun...I mean angel.

Weekend Summation

Sorry for the lack of posts the last week or so. No Internet access at home for some reason and the hubby has been working a lot so it hasn't been fixed. My tech savvy begins and ends with this blog. So aside from restarting my computer, I'm at a loss until someone else comes in and fixes it for me. Luckily I spend 8 hours a day Monday through Friday in front of a computer with Internet access so here I am. Don't judge me. This is my lunch hour that I'm dedicating to all of you. Plus, that disclaimer helps if my boss ever finds out I have a blog.

Pretty decent weekend over all. Here's just a review of some of the highs and lows. Let's start with the highs.

The oldest had his first soccer game this weekend and didn't spend his time picking dandelions on the field. Although he did shed some tears in the second half claiming he was hungry. Guess that Cinnamelt from McDonald's wasn't the balanced, energy giving breakfast I thought it would be. Fooled me again, Ronald McDonald!

Both kids napped at the same time on Saturday and Sunday allowing me to also nap. If that's not a Christmas freaking miracle, I don't know what is. 

Went to a street festival complete with bands and fireworks. Got to spend some time with friends - Shani and Tronnie - that I don't get to hang out with nearly enough. Helps that they are two of the most creative people I know so I think I get cool points for just being near them. Surely some of it rubbed off.

Side note - it's been a while since I spent a Saturday evening at a bar. I found the hallway leading to the bathrooms to be littered with toilet paper and paper towels. Is this a new trend? Is this the new planking?Are bar patrons taking it from the bathroom and then tearing it up into confetti upon exiting the bathroom? I don't understand. I do know I picked the one time to use the john when no gaggle of girls in tiny dresses and giant heels were in there - the one time that no one could get me any toilet paper and I had to do the utterly terrible drip dry. Haven't I come far enough in life to be past drip drying?

Which brings us to the lows.

The oldest has strep throat. Sure he had mentioned a couple of times something being in his throat. And yes, I did promptly ignore this complaint. When I picked him up on Friday he was talking like he had a bubble in his throat. Upon further examination I discovered red pockets of nastiness hanging from his tonsils. I'm no doctor, but I'm thinking that ain't good. However, we didn't cut short our visit at our friends' house or go to bed any earlier that evening. Hit up the doc-in-a-box the next morning and now we're all good. Aside from having to threaten his life three times a day for 10 days while he takes the medicine. If you're wondering who is getting your kids sick at day care/school, it is me. Unless the fever cannot be reduced by some Motrin or he is puking non stop, I'm sending him to school. Get over it. Germs are good for you. Send the hate mail somewhere else.

I got called ma'am....Saturday night....at a bar.....by a college student. It was tragic. Why did I even bother showering or contemplating an outfit before I went out? Maybe I will just accept this title and change out the wardrobe for house coats and muumuu's. Let the twins hang low and just call it a day. I'm happily married, but I will trade ma'am for a gross drunk opening the door for me just so he can slap me on the ass any day of the week. A girl needs that occasionally. A 22 year old opening the door for me and saying, "here you go ma'am" is just heartbreaking.  Maybe I have it all backward. Maybe he was calling me "man." Maybe he thought I was a dude. Now I have to dig deep and figure out which is worse to me.

Nah, twins are too big. He had to have called me ma'am.

Asshole.

Sometimes you just have to call Bullshit.

Occasionally people try to sneak something by me and I have to call bullshit on them. Here are some recent bullshits that I'm calling.

Walmart employee - you're invitation/thank you card aisle is completely empty and you claim you will have new stock on Friday. The old stock completely sold out, you say? Bullshit.

You're accent doesn't make you Southern if you're not actually from the South. It makes you a hillbilly...or white trash. I'm fine with either title. I call bullshit.

You mock my trendy sunglasses while wearing a knock off Ed Hardy t-shirt. I call bullshit.

You're not open past 5? Bullshit.

You drive a yellow Corvette with personalized plates and you don't have a small penis? Bullshit.

The specific notebook you want me to get for my 4-year old so he can "journal" is easy to find? Bullshit.

Said notebook is under $2? Bullshit.

You post on Facebook vague statements about life but you don't want to talk about it? Bullshit.

You listen to unpopular music because you are deep, misunderstood, or troubled? Bullshit. You're annoying.

You talk about the problems in your life, people give you the obvious solutions but you refuse to take said advice. You claim to want to fix your problems? Bullshit.

You're always happy, no one ever gets to you, you don't have an opinion about anything? Bullshit. You're a Stepford Wife.

What do you call bullshit on?

And the winner is...

I asked on Facebook for topic requests for this blog. I got a lot of really fun ideas and I plan on writing about many of them, maybe even all of them, but one idea stuck in my head all day today. It isn't as funny as what you might be expecting, but I can't get it out of my head so I have to share it with you all.

On December 15, 2006, my first child was born. Most of that day is a blur to me looking back. I know most women claim that when their first child is born it is this Hallelujah moment and they feel so connected to this baby immediately. They cry and cry and look at this baby who's face they say they have seen in their dreams.

This was not my experience. My labor itself was fairly easy, but it was all new to me. I went from feeling pain and following the orders of doctors and nurses - move here, breath this way, push now to suddenly having a baby put on my chest. Was he laid on my chest? I have no idea. I do remember he immediately started peeing all over the place as soon as he hit the open air. Fitting.

I don't even remember my husband cutting the cord until he mentioned it hours later. I was present in the moment, but I was so busy trying to take it all in and so many new experiences happening at once that I kind of lost the emotion in it all. I'd never even laid in a hospital bed before, been around that sort of medical environment and then you mix it with these odd feelings of humiliation and wonder of what's happening with your body that you can't even control. It's just a lot to take in. Or at least it was a lot for me to take in. Okay, so this sounds like it was a horrible day instead of the wonderful introduction to my son that it was.

My husband stayed the night in the hospital with me that first night. The poor guy slept on some terrible pull out couch so the next night I sent him home for a good night's sleep since we'd be coming home the next day. He happily went home to sleep in a comfortable bed and I was left with my son by myself for the first time. Cody was sleeping soundly in my arms and I started to relax.

"Alright, kid, it's you and me. I'm your mom. Sorry for all the swear words you've heard over the last 9 months. I'll see what I can do about cleaning it up a little. You're welcome for all the Taco Bell Gordito's and McDonald's McRibs."

He continued to sleep as most newborns do in the hospital. (I don't know what kind of special oxygen they pump in hospitals to make babies sleep, but they need to sell it because guaranteed 10PM the first night you're at home with the baby he wakes up and never sleeps that sound again.) So I flipped on the TV.

Saturday Night Live was just about to start. I had watched SNL here and there throughout my life, but have never been a regular follower. That evening - December 16, 2006 - Justin Timberlake was the host and the musical guest. His first skit - Omeletteville - had me giggling in my head a bit. My husband has always mocked me for not laughing out loud to movies or TV. I easily laugh out loud when talking to people, but for some reason I rarely laugh out loud when I watch something...unless it is really really funny. Then the now famous "Dick in a box" video came on. I nearly fell off the bed, dropping my one day old baby on the hard hospital room floor because I was laughing out of control. I can't believe nurses didn't come running to see what the uproar was. Maybe they were all busy delivering other babies. Or maybe they were in a break room also cracking up at SNL that night.

It was such a pure Molly moment. I'm not a sentimentalist, but I am a humorist. So it seems so completely appropriate that my first memorable moment my son and I shared together was watching "Dick in a box." Every time I watch that video I think about siting in that hospital bed, holding Cody and crying from hysterical laughter.

And that's how Justin Timberlake became Cody's Godfather. He just doesn't know it yet. I don't know why that asshole doesn't return my calls.

Derrick - does this count as your 15 minutes of fame I owe you?

Back to school. Back to school. To prove to dad that I'm no fool.

I see you, Swan.

OK, if you didn't pick up on that reference, it is from Billy Madison and you must stop (after reading this blog) what you're doing and go watch it. If you're drunk or a little stoned first that will probably help you enjoy it more. So I've heard.

All the kiddies are heading off to school and parents are crying all over their Facebook pages about it. As my children are still babies and I work full time I don't know this so called pain that you all speak of. My checkbook looks forward to the day that I can stop paying for day care and instead send them off to school where they can learn to roll tight joints, figure out which gang they are going to join, and pick up some new strand of STD. But enough about the public school system.

To the parents that have a child moving off to college, I say to you this. I realize you're upset. You're baby is moving away and you are no longer going to be hovering over them able to protect them and look out for them. Hopefully you've done what you can to this point to raise them to be respectful and responsible young adults. So while you're worrying about moving them into college and buying their books, let me give you some advice that you should remember to pass onto them.

Over 18 means they are an adult and although they can still come home to mommy and daddy, if they get busted for something like say....drugs, fake ID, etc....they will be tried as an adult. No juvie for them. So, before you buy the bag of weed, flash a pretty smile at the bouncer while passing him a fake or whatever other common college maneuver, understand your consequences and make alternative decisions. For example, a standard dorm fridge will hold a case of beer. An Eddie Bauer standard backpack will also hold a case of beer. Getting busted with beer in the dorm is a minor offense in comparison.

College is for grown ups. If you over sleep or skip a class, no one is going to be calling to check on you. Once you skip one class it is easier to give into yourself and skip subsequent classes so go as long as you can without skipping a class. When you do skip a class do something productive like hanging out on the quad playing hackey sack with the hippies or celebrating 4:20 in your dorm room with friends. This is college after all.

Girls - alcohol leads to sex. It's not date rape just because you regret it. So understand what you are putting into your body and the amount you can handle. 18-21 year old single boys are looking to hook up whenever possible. It's called a boner and it calls the shots. And without the threat of curfew and getting caught by the girl's parents, the pressure he will put on you to hook up with him is even greater. Just because he bought you and your friends a round of shots, doesn't make him a gentleman. And ladies, let's not pretend you're all so sweet and innocent. Getting wasted just so you can blame the tragic hook up on alcohol isn't fooling anyone. It's called a walk of shame for a reason.

This last piece of advice was passed onto me from my father shortly after I graduated from high school. We took a family vacation to Maui and one evening my dad and I were strolling along the beach guided by the moonlight and he gave me this sage advice that I have found extremely useful again and again.

If you find yourself spinning laying in bed at the end of an evening, place one foot on the floor and this will help cease the spinning.

True story.

So, if you have other advice for these parents or these students going off to school, please share it in the comments below.

1st Gear Molly

I'm obnoxious. This is no secret. I'm loud in every way possible - volume, actions, opinions, and more.  If you've spent any time at all with me, it is very likely that you have been annoyed by me at some point in time.
Sometimes I have to be in first gear. I have a career. I go to social events. So I'm aware that I have to simmer down occasionally and throw it into 1st. I can't throw swear words around, make inappropriate remarks and cut jokes all the time. Well, I can, but sometimes this is less than appreciated. And I gotta keep my job. Home girl needs to get paid.
Sometimes I'm too much for a person. I'm used to spotting this quickly. Fine by me. I don't need everyone to like me. I'd rather go on without this person in my life than hold back at all just so he or she will like me. What fun is that? And I am definitely fun. Correction. I'm fucking fun. That feels better. And I have plenty of people that enjoy my obnoxiousness at least most of the time.
I'm never going to be some Stepford Trophy Wife. I'm more like the Toilet Bowl Championship Trophy. And I wear this title with pride. I feel sorry for the Stepford Trophy Wife. Well...maybe I don't feel sorry for them. More like I'm freaked out by them. I mean, when they do muster some emotion and maybe shed a tear or two they still look beautiful. I don't trust anyone that looks pretty while crying or laughing for that matter. Is it even considered laughing if you're mouth isn't hanging open, you're bent over, tears coming out of your eyes and maybe even squeak a little fart out?
How do they stay completely reserved at all times, holding back opinions and just standing there being agreeable all of the time? They must be exhausted. I'm exhausted just watching them. These women must get freaky at some point. I bet they are all crazy tantric sex addicts. Maybe I'll just keep that thought in my head the next time I'm somewhere and am forced to have a conversation with one. If nothing else I'll be entertained.

Garage Sale, Bitches!

I've been busy this last week preparing and having a garage sale. Garage sales are a giant pain in the ass, but just barely lucrative enough to make all the work worth it. Since my womb is closed for business this was the shedding of all things baby from my home. I'm not much of a sentimentalist so the only reason my children have any kind of keepsake box is purely out of societal pressure to do so. I shared this garage sale with four other friends. Let's call them Patty, Mona, Cindy and Liz. (Must protect the guilty.)
Here are some conclusions I drew from this garage sale:
1. My taste level is questionable. In a general comparison of myself to those around me I am aware I don't have quite as much style as some, but more compared to others. And this is in regards to more than just clothing - how you decorate, jewelry, entire state of being. Style or no style. Sadly, most of what I sold in the garage sale I purchased at one time or another. Crystal vase that doubles as a candle stick holder? Yep. Had to have that one for a small fortune at one time in the last ten years. That didn't get picked up for $1 at the sale. Maybe it will end up in someone special's hands at the Salvation Army.
2. Hoarders is more than a show on TV. It's all around us. It was at my garage sale. In droves. Two different people had to go to the ATM machine in order to purchase the stack of items they had collected at the garage sale. Globe, 3 different size jeans, some mismatched dishes, half empty bottles of baby powder, 2 puzzles and a book - sure they needed that. I'm sure that's exactly scratching items off their grocery list.
3. Animal hoarders is also real. I have two cats and over time had accumulated some cat toys, feeding dishes, etc. that I no longer use. A fairly normal looking woman at the garage sale asked if we had any cat items. Being the salesperson that I am, I quickly shuttled her over to the Pet Department portion of the driveway and showcased the various items. From our brief chit chat, I learned that this nice woman has a measly 21 cats that she cares for. She picked up a cat toy, self-feeding tray, cat climber, cat mat and a cat hut. As I helped carry the items to her car she was in a panic over how angry her husband would be when she got home with all of the stuff for the cats. I'm thinking if he's okay with the 21 cats all around him, what's a few more toys for the cats, too? She did ask for tips on what to do with getting the cats to use the litter box. I hope this woman is never my neighbor.
4. Weird sells better than normal. Box of nipple pads - sold. "God couldn't be everywhere so he created grandmothers"pillow - sold. Beaver fur purse - sold. Nice stroller for a small amount of money - can't give it away.
5. Hauling a pick up truck's worth of items out of your house will not lessen the clutter in your house. I can't tell any difference in any room that the general amount of "stuff" has been lessened. I feel a year away from being on a show like Clean House and five years away from an episode of Hoarders.
6. If you're going to have a garage sale, you should always share it with friends. This way you can openly judge the items they have accumulated and you can laugh together at people that show up at your garage sale. Thanks Patty, Mona, Cindy and Liz for sharing in the garage sale with me. From your Cock picture to your scarecrow - I still love you.

But at least that is now over with and I can resume my life of inactivity and blog posting.

Since you didn't ask, here's a few things you might be interested to know.

1. I really do love my husband and kids. I say this not to start a blog post that's all sappy and shit, but to give a disclaimer that I should have given with my first post. You will likely question my feelings for my family from time to time as this blog goes along. They are my life, thus they are my target.


2. I love cereal. No really, I LOVE cereal. Preferably sugar cereal. That healthy crap doesn't count. Cookie Crisp, Lucky Charms, Captain Crunch with Crunch Berries, Frosted Flakes....I could go on forever. I eat it at least once a week for dinner and it is hands down the best late night snack. I typically keep one healthier cereal in the house and three or four sugar cereals.

3. I talk about poop...a lot. I'm not sure when bowels became my #1 topic of conversation, but I'm sure you will hear lots more about pooh as this blog continues. Everybody poops...just not everybody wants to talk about it.

4. I have no will power. No really, I have none. This pertains to just about everything. I can't bring myself to not do something when I want to do it. It's all I can think about. Especially if I'm told not to do it. From things like calling it a night before the beer is gone to say...not breaking into my packed lunch at work before lunchtime. I just can't do it.

5. My music taste can best be described as a gay Ice T. My Pandora channel is a mesh of pop music, show tunes and 90's Gangsta rap. I'd be embarrassed if I wasn't so busy singing along to 2 Short.

Who makes the rules?

This morning I hit the grocery store for all of the week's essentials. As I was strolling down the frozen food section pondering the selection of  TGI Friday items for purchase - although I know they wouldn't taste nearly as good as the food from the restaurant, how bad can it taste really? - I am passed by a couple. The woman is wearing a shirt that reads, "I have the PUSSY so I make the rules." (Pussy was in all caps on the shirt as if in lowercase it would be too subtle.)

Well, that's just awesome. I contemplate asking her if I can take a picture of her shirt because I'm so excited to be experiencing it myself, I am certain I have a few friends that would enjoy it just as well. I think better of it because as much crap as I can talk on a blog or Facebook, I am really backing it up with nothing and don't want to get into a brawl in the middle of Kroger....again. I'm also disappointed that I have no one to share this experience with. The only companion I had with me this morning was my 1-year old. And I haven't been vigilant about doing the "Baby Can Read" infommercial with him. He seemed more interested in the bag of apples sitting next to him. Sometimes, kids are such a disappointment.

This afternoon the hubby and I take our 4-year old to the local festival that's in town so we can risk his life on some carni rides and eat food on a stick. While I send him through gate after gate with tickets in his hand so he can climb on amusement-park-like rides, I look over to see a young woman that looks to be roughly 7 months pregnant smoking a cigarette. I wonder which one of us is putting our children at more risk. At that moment it sure seemed like the carni ride with its squeaking and shaking and something being held together with a plastic bag was probably more risky than a few carinogens.

As I look back on today I'm feeling pretty thankful. No, not because I have two healthy children and a loving husband. I probably deserve better than them. I'm thankful because of these strangers in my life that make me feel so damn good about myself.

And in case you didn't already know, it's my pussy that makes the rules.