Tag Archives: family

Dear Diary

25 Apr
Image representing Facebook as depicted in Cru...

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Dear Diary,

The other day I noticed that someone was missing from Facebook. She was my friend last week, but not today.

“Huh,” I wondered as I painted my toenails (Essie – a greyish color), “she was funny. I wonder what happened to her?”

Well! You will never, ever guess what she did! The bitch de-friended me!! What have I ever done to her? Nothing.

Right? Nothing?

Wrong.

I missed her Facebook mandate. “My boyfriend and I broke up. Those of you who do not IMMEDIATELY de-friend him will be really sorry… and boy, do I mean it. I mean it!”

Wait. What?

That’s not even a believable April Fool’s Day joke. Who would think that was for real? I would understand if she de-friended him, of course, but why am I involved? I’ve never even met the guy.

Alas, who cares besides me and you, Diary? I’m sensitive. And sometimes even needy. So when someone goes out of their way to let me know they don’t like me, I’m not only curious but I’m irritated with myself… clearly I’ve misread some idiot and have wasted my time by clicking on “yes“ when THEY asked to be MY friend on stupid Facebook.

In fact, I go well out of my way to avoid people in general who:

A) I don’t like

B) Are crazy

C) Ask me what my husband does for a living (at least not the very moment we meet – the answer is tricky. Not everyone can appreciate how hard pimps work. Plus, HELLO! If they even deigned to ask me what I did for a living they would probably figure out what my husband does)

D) Confuse me as someone who has no peripheral vision (which would be the only excuse for those women who blatantly give the once-over… “Yes. I can see you deducing my worth and, unless you’re interested in talking to my pimp, I suggest you take your business elsewhere”)

Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah – so then, Diary, guess what? I noticed today that someone else didn’t want to be my friend anymore. I think it’s because I didn’t “like” her status updates frequently enough – which were word-for-word the same as another guy’s posts I read.

His posts are hilarious. When he writes them the first time. Which is right after he thinks them up and then posts them. First. He writes them first. Because he thought them up all by himself.

Whatever – that’s enough out of me for one day, and, as you know, I try to end my day with humble reflection and purposeful gratitude. So:

Reflection:

I admit I am occasionally offensive (As you well know, right diary? Ha ha! Whew – we have some great memories, you and I);

Gratitude:

I am thankful that most people:

A) Have a life; and

B) Don’t go all bat-shit-crazy and de-friend others in an attempt to display their power.

Alrighty. Good talk. BFF.
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Public Service Announcement

15 Feb
"Coughs and Sneezes Spread Diseases - As ...

Image via Wikipedia

Hi there.

This is going to be short and sweet. You might consider printing it out and sharing it with your disgusting co-workers or fellow airline passengers.

Under no circumstances is it appropriate to snort your snot LOUDLY and REPEATEDLY in a public place. You are startling people! If people clutch their chests in shock and cringe as they look over at you, yet you keep at it, expect fewer social invitations.

In addition, it is not acceptable to hack and cough in a manner that suggests you’re dying – I’m talking about the scary, loud, dramatic “look-at-me” cough that goes on for ten minutes – unless you are certain you are dying. Even then, it’s iffy.

At the very least, please escort yourself and your repulsive display of illness elsewhere.

KTHXBAI!

Name of the Game (Calling All Freaks)

11 Feb

January & February suck. Everyone’s waxing philosophic and contemplating the meaning of life. Feeling sluggish, fat, and crappy. Levity is in order (as I have said before). So, c’mon…

Now, some background:

First:

Imagine me in a movie, walking down the street in slow motion – the wind is blowing my hair into my eyes and making it stick to my lip gloss, I’m trying to act cool, but I can’t because of the hair. I can barely see. I trip as I pass by a group of skateboarding 14-year-old boys. With me? Good.

Second:

Earlier in this movie you observed a vignette of my daily life:  Boss is an asshole. Employees, ditto. Kids are whiny and spoiled. Husband takes me for granted. Everyone is a terrible driver (with the obvious exception). People are painfully, irritatingly, stupid… and, despite constant evidence otherwise, this still seems to amaze me. I am THIS close to just keepin’ on keepin’ on.

Third:

But something happens – maybe one disappointment too many, maybe I’m just a bitch… it doesn’t really matter. What matters is that suddenly, and with this song playing in time with my every step, I am ready to kick some ass. You are on my side, of course. My theme song indicates I have chosen to take it or leave it – all of it… to start dishing out my every uncensored thought. You find yourself wondering – “Is she dreaming? Is it fantasy or reality? Is she retarded?”

No matter. What matters is that you love the song. You wish you had claimed it before I did.

So.

When the kids wake up in the morning and try to eff with me, they will hear this song. When the boss tries to bully me into doing the job I’m paid for, this song starts to play. When a giant pick-up truck with Oklahoma plates pulls in front of me out of nowhere, this song plays. When somebody in customer service tries to jack with me… well. Obviously.

And every time it (the song) plays, it starts out kind of quietly, but gets louder (think maximum headphone volume) until something transpires that makes us (me and you) feel better. Like I tell someone off. Or something crazy like that.

“Why drag me into this madness?” you may wonder. Because I love you. And tomorrow when you wake up and have to deal with the daily BS, you will hear this song playing in the background. Our theme song. And you will smile, despite the February of it all.

With that said, please consider the source (me) and, so forewarned, click HERE to listen. or here (if that doesn’t work)

Enjoy, Motha Fucka. (Get ’em up in the back row. I said GET ‘EM UP in the back row).*

*If you don’t listen to the entire song, please disregard.

You’re Fat

13 Jan

I am thankful to have been asked to be a guest-blogger on The Real Housewives of Oklahoma. My post is just fabulous. Just. Fabulous. Really.

Kiddin’. But it does cement your insecurities as to the media’s perception of your fat arse. And mine.

xo

Return It To The Freezer. Now.

Mrs. Palladia

31 Dec

I am in love with Palladia. So why don’t I marry it, you ask?

Maybe I will. Maybe I’ve been putting a little thought into our future together.

Our honeymoon would probably be in Venice, but I want to go to the Glendalough area someday, too, so we’ll just have to see. We will hold hands and skip everywhere we go whilst we sing and sing.

Our children would likely resemble Eddie Vedder, Jay-Z, two of the four members of the Kings of Leon band, Lenny Kravitz, and… well, me.

Do you even have to ask which two?

If you play your cards right I will invite you to the wedding – it will be awesome.

Wait ’til you hear about all of the bands who will be performing at the reception…

 

Who Has A Mullet Now, Beotch?

28 Dec

It was 6:00a.m. and I pretended to be asleep when I heard my 4-year-old sprinting toward my room. “Oopsy daisy!” said L at the top of her lungs in order to wake me up. “Oopsy daisy” is so far off from what she should have been exclaiming… it’s weak and poorly planned, not to mention misleading. The implication is that she dropped a toy or a piece of cheese, not that she has made a serious and lasting decision about her appearance – and all without consulting me, her stylist and closest confidante.

Regardless, there she was with a big smile on her face and a fistful of hair in her hand. I was convinced it was from her creepy human head hair styling toy, which is what I asked her: “Is that from your doll? The head?  You cut her hair?”

I wish I could do her expression justice by explaining it here, but it’s impossible. A rough interpretation would be that she smiled giddily at me in that guilty, holy-crap-I-can’t-believe-I-did-this way that only a 4 and 1/2 year-old can pull off, while simultaneously shaking her head. Nope. Guess again, mom.

“Shut the EFF up!!” I didn’t yell. Instead I did my dramatic gasp and began sobbing, “Are you shitting me? A friggin’ mullet? This is about me, isn’t it? I haven’t been paying enough attention to you? Or is it my cooking? Is it the hair-washing technique I’ve used at bath time? I’ve tried so hard to keep the soap out of your eyes! I have,” (here my sobbing turns in to crazed anger), “What the crap is going on around here? Doesn’t anyone care about how hard I try to make this family appear normal? Why, just yesterday you flushed your sister’s toothbrush, your own underwear, and some game pieces down the toilet. I turn my back for 3 seconds and now I have 3 feet of water in my house and an extremely unfortunate hairstyle on my child’s head.”

Nah. Actually, all of that is true except for my part of the dialogue. I just said, “What? Why? Where did you find scissors? Why do you want shorter hair? Why are you up in the middle of the night? It’s pitch black outside. Give me a minute to wake up…Jesus…”

And then I laughed (not in front of her) – because it’s FUNNY, I mean, so what? She was not trying to be naughty. She wanted shorter hair. She had some scissors. Now she has shorter hair. She is four.

On the other hand, if she does one more thing to test my patience – such as waking my ass up at 5:59a.m. for the 100th time in 100 days – I will sell her on Craigslist, unless I think I can get more money for her on e-bay.

“Feisty four-year-old female (human) – make offer.”

 

WHERE ARE WE GOING?

15 Dec
From left to right: Swiper (in background), Do...

Image via Wikipedia

“In English we say clean up. In Spanish we say (something else that I can’t spell),” Dora yells at the top of her lungs. Dora is trying to teach Swiper the Fox how to live a better, more rewarding life temporarily so he can get some presents for Christmas.

Whether or not you have children, you have probably heard of Dora the Explorer. Consider yourself lucky if that is the extent of your relationship with Dora and her pals. Pals like Swiper the Fox, for example. Swiper is the poorly disguised troublemaker who steals from all the other characters. He wears a mask that does almost nothing to hide his identity and answers by name, even in the midst of robbery.

As for Dora, she clearly needs better parental supervision. She’s always lost, yet yelling at the audience in a condescending manner as if we were somehow involved. She repeats the same thing at the top of her lungs for extended periods of time (“WHERE ARE WE GOING? WHERE ARE WE GOING? WHERE ARE WE GOING? MAGIC MOUNTAIN!!”), which would be great if I had an IQ of 7 and was deaf.

Thanks to Dora, though, today my child and I are learning about how much better Swiper’s life would be if he would just stop swiping. Santa put him on the naughty list because he steals from all the other kids. Well let me tell you, Swiper learns his lesson, alright. After much loud-talking from Dora, the lesson is clear. DO NOT STEAL RIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS. Any other time throughout the year, but not now because hello… Santa!

Swiper quickly learns to work the system… he hasn’t led a life of crime without being crafty and manipulative. He changes his ways just in time for Santa to deliver him a HUGE bag of presents.

So there’s your lesson kids. Do whatever you want in life, just try to avoid getting caught. If you do, though, no worries… tell everyone you’re sorry (Jeez. Sorry.) and a giant bag of toys is yours.

Unlike A&E’s Intervention, there is no follow-up or update at the end to indicate whether or not Swiper stayed on the straight and narrow, but really, I think not. Why would he bother? Dora and her pals are a bunch of latchkey-kid suckers who never learn to lock up their valuables. That’s the real lesson. Take better care of your toys and don’t go wandering off without your parents.

Merry Christmas!

A Meeting of The Eyes

8 Dec
Tap dancer at Tokyo Disney Sea

Image via Wikipedia

Sigh. My new physical therapist is kind of shy.

No eye contact.

Eye contact is important when you communicate with other humans… window to the soul and all that.

He also struggles to make small talk, which is at the opposite end of the spectrum from my last boyfriend… or physical therapist… you know what I meant. He would no more presume to touch my hip flexor than to break into a tap dance number.

“So, what do you do besides run?” he asked, as he gazed at the wall. I didn’t know if he meant in my free time or in addition to side-to-side squats with a band around my ankles.

I really didn’t.

“Do you mean… like… do I have a job?”

“Yeah,” he said.

“Well, I’m a stay-at-home mom and I ummm…

No. I don’t have a job.”

“Oh. That’s good. That’s good.”

It was ridiculous. I smiled over at him and laughed, but I think I embarrassed him.

Jesus. He probably thought I was laughing at him, but I swear I wasn’t. I was laughing at his pleated pants, and that is not the same thing. I think he may have loosened up a bit by the end of the hour, but he’s very formal so I can’t be sure.

One hour together… twice a week… for months.

But don’t worry, I’ll corrupt him by next Thursday… he might even say a bad word, like “hell” or “damn”, but at the very least he will look me in the eyes.

Poor guy.

Surely You Jest

22 Nov
NYC signing September 1,2009 Nintendo Store - NYC

Image via Wikipedia

Did someone just say Justin Bieber won Favorite Male Pop/Rock Artist, Favorite Pop/Rock Album, Breakthrough Artist of the Year, and ARTIST OF THE YEAR?

Is (s)he officially a male? I’m not convinced. And you will never convince me that he is the Artist of the Year. I don’t even have to explain myself, which makes it that much more shameful that the AMA’s tried to get away with this.

Next year I’ll be artist of the year because I have a synthesizer and I can put words together in a pattern that sometimes rhymes. I’ll sing about love – how it’s great, how it sucks, and how I plan to hook up with all the hot dudes.

Here’s some real news, though:

My 4-year-old just told me something I did not know about “Justin Beaver”… “He got bad drugs and said cuss words so he’s in jail.”

Seriously? Huh. That would be a much more delightful headline to have stumbled across this morning…

Bieber Got Bad Drugs AND He CussedAre the nation’s youth cussing and getting away with it? F*%k No.

 


A Sad Tail

19 Nov

When I was in 2nd grade I learned about homophones – words that are pronounced the same but have different meanings (bear and bare).

I didn’t know what homophone meant yet (and frankly won’t remember what it means by this time tomorrow) but I did know the correct pronunciation of most three-letter words, including tin, ten, and tan. In my mind these were clearly not homophones; sadly, I was about to be taught differently.

“These words are pronounced the same, but each has a different meaning,” said Mrs. L. She read them aloud as she wrote them on the chalkboard… “Tin [tin], tin [ten], and tin [tan].”

“Blah blah blah,” was all I heard after that. I was offended by her ineptitude. Concerned, even. What in the hell was she talking about?

I told my parents about it but I don’t recall them being terribly worried… maybe they assumed I would not be so easily swayed. I never pronounced them words tan and ten like tin, though, so I guess they was rite.

Today my 7-year-old daughter is in 2nd grade and recently misspelled the word “whisk” on her spelling test.

Please see the correction made by her teacher.

I spanked ’em both.

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