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!"