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.

Opinions are like assholes....

...and some people need to bleach theirs.

Occasionally I am forced to realize that other people have opinions that differ from mine. I don't believe that their opinion matters of course. Let's not be ludicrous. However, because I understand it is socially acceptable - I let them (on occasion) voice these opinions without comment. Most of the time the "without comment" occurs because I am in such shock that an offensive opinion has just clobbered me over the head. Usually the most offensive opinions come when you're pregnant like "Wow! You're huge!" I'm always a fan of that one. Really, you can't tell me enough how over weight or unfit I am. I love it almost as much as getting a cavity filled.

So for your Friday (or whenever you might be reading this) enjoyment, here are a couple of my favorite experiences of someone's offensive opinion taking me out.

Disclaimer: If you're reading this and realize you are the offensive person in this situation - yes, you should be upset with yourself. I take apologies in the form of flowers, jewelry, or cold hard cash.

Shortly after I had my first son, I was attending a visitation for a friend's father who had passed away. I was holding my 4 month old son while waiting in the receiving line. Another friend and his wife came up to greet me and have their first look at my son. The wife - with a smile on her face and innocent look in her eyes - said, "Wow. He's got a big head just like his daddy." With one blow she took out both my baby and my husband. I'm still trying to figure out the best response to her. And let the record show, neither my husband nor my son (then or now) have an above average size head. Not above the neck that is.

It's common for people to share their words of wisdom over the names you're considering naming your unborn baby. I understand this and have been guilty of it myself on occasion. But since my opinion matters, I'm sure the soon-to-be mothers I gave my opinion to quickly reanalyzed their baby's possible names and corrected their mistake. Usually - at least in my experience - the name opinions stop after the child is born. So it came to my surprise recently when I went to my girlfriend's parents house with our kids to go swimming. Her Uncle asked me what my 1 year-old's name is. After I responded, he informed me that I've named my son a great male stripper's name.

Now, before I tell you what my youngest son's name is, please ponder for a moment what you feel are the best male stripper's names. And I know you can do better than Chip or Dale. Then please leave a comment with what you feel is the best male stripper name as well as if you agree if I have set a profession in motion for my son with his naming.


My son's name is...Keaton.

What never fails me in life

Did you celebrate hump day properly? I know I did. The hubby and I even watched a movie last night "Going the Distance" which celebrated the dry hump. Just reading the words takes you back, doesn't it? Maybe your memories of dry humps of yesteryear brings up images of backseats of cars or the floor of your parents living room - whatever the memory, I hope it puts a smile on your face today.

This evening I plan on taking my kids to the pool. The oldest, a 4-year old, has discovered the love of the diving board. Last week just he and I went to the pool and we started with me in the diving well, catching him when he jumped. Then he grew ballsy enough to jump in on his own with me remaining in the diving well nearby. Eventually he took to running down the diving board and leaping into the water fearlessly and only slightly angry when he would over rotate and belly flop into the pool. God bless water wings. Do you know how tiring it is to tread water in a diving well, catching a 30 pound weight and then pulling it to the side of the pool over and over again? Of course my sweet little boy wouldn't stand to not share his fun with me as he forced me off the board several times. Now, I was a regular at the swimming pool growing up, but was never big on the diving board. I could dive and even manage a back flip, but this was not a common practice for me. I probably hadn't jumped off a diving board in nearly a decade when I gave into my little boy's face and agreed to go off the board. Sometimes if feels like there is little I can truly count on in life, but one thing I know that will never fail me....is looking like an asshole when I jump off a diving board. 

I just won the lottery!

Well...maybe I did. Waiting for the numbers to come in. Hubby borrowed $5 off me last night. Won $15 playing dice (we are actually that ghetto occasionally). Bought lotto tickets with $5 of the profit. How could we not win? I mean, what could possible go wrong? This plan is full proof. For my first ten blog followers - drinks are on me. Toasting my first 24 hours of having a blog with a Coors Light. It's not just cold, it's super cold.

Hump Day

As today is Hump Day it has me wondering if there is any validity into Wednesday getting its nickname for any other reason than it being the middle of the week. I would presume more people tend to get their groove on over the weekend. Surely, that's when more alcohol is consumed. And if I learned anything from high school it is that booze leads to naked extra curricular activities. Don't judge me! My health class was taught by the football coach. And well I wasn't always the straight and narrow girl you see before you today. 7 members of my extended family were born in August which means that people like to give special thanks at Thanksgiving. Something to think about in a few months when you're gathered around the table with your family wondering how long you have to sit there before you can go home and turn some R. Kelly on. So if you're getting your hump on this fine Wednesday evening, be safe and try not to think of me.

The Silent Majority

I tend to think everyone is thinking the same thing I'm thinking. I just say it out loud. I guess this blog will prove if I'm right or wrong. Well, if I'm proven wrong, I'll just believe you lied so it doesn't really matter.
Am I crude, inappropriate, sarcastic and maybe a little devious? Sure, but aren't you, too?