Tag Archives: fun

Today – A Guest Blog

1 Aug

For your enjoyment, I’ve asked a friend and fellow blogger, Jason at  Mongo Like Internets, to share an especially near and dear message. Read on and take heed.

Turn

 I’ve had bigger spots on my lip and I never stopped whistlin’. 

~ Max “No-No” Fry

 My late Grandfather No-No always told us this after an injury to make us tough. Recently I’ve come to realize it’s a useful metaphor for many of life’s troubles. Basically, for all of life’s troubles.  The message?  Don’t freak out about the small stuff.  A clichéd statement I know, but it seems to be one that most people forget about, as they get older.

 Speaking of getting older…

We live in the Future.  As children we played with technology our parents never dreamed about, and in turn, our children do the same.  Technology like cell phones, the Internet, blogs, etc. has created a sounding board for every thought, idea, and dream to be broadcast to anyone that will listen.  This seems to be the point where some people start to have issues about our newfound amplified voices; they become offended if our beliefs and thoughts don’t align with theirs.  They complain, gossip, and spread fear that our words are damaging to the Common Good.  In most cases those complaining don’t give a rat’s ass about any Common Good.  They’re just upset about something challenging their own sensibilities and thoughts about life.

 Well, I have a solution.

 Turn.

 Yes, TURN.

 Turn it off.  Turn your head.  Turn the channel.  Turn the page.  Turn to something positive in your life.  Turn into oncoming traffic.

 Just…turn.

If you don’t like it move your eyes, brain, fat ass, or whatever else is being affected to an area of less concerning stimuli.  I swear it won’t hurt our feelers.  We probably never even knew you were watching because, and here’s the Lesson, WE DON’T DO IT FOR YOU.  Shocking, I know.  Some of us, scratch that, most of us write about life, pass on funny videos, write songs, or draw penises on dirty car windows because we are expressing ourselves.  WE enjoy it, and if we’re lucky enough for some others to stumble across our work and it makes them think, or even crack the slightest smile, well then, it’s all gravy, baby.

 Shall we review one last time so we can leave this here lil corner of cyberspace on the same page?

 If you don’t like something you view upon your own free will, then…

 Turn.

And remember, if you ever get butt hurt about something you saw or read on the Internet, or anywhere else for that matter, the author of that content has probably had bigger spots on their lip and they never stopped whistlin’.

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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!

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.

2011: Not the Year of the Busy Mom

3 Jan

I am concerned about the data that must exist about “busy moms” and their interests – particularly as it relates to the design and marketing of wall calendars and agendas. You should be concerned too… Someone is spending time and money researching this demographic in order to offer products that will generate income. Sadly, the resulting products are infantile and cartoonish, which obviously means that is what the market supports.

The next time you are browsing the calendar section at Barnes and Noble, take note. Squint your eyes and look for the yellow cartoony area – now focus.

I told you.

In the bid to win her business, marketing professionals saturate the packaging with information about the calendar’s hundreds of happy little stickers (soccer practice, doctor appointments, celebrations) that the suicidal mom can use in her new calendar. They might be meant as a subliminal message…

“There, there little lady. No need to engage your brain. Just keep up the good car-pooling work and have supper on the table by 5:30. These pretty stickers will make it all seem fun! You’ll see. Now run along.”

I love a pretty calendar or agenda, I admit it… something to take the tedium out of the scheduling of my weekly meetings with my parole officer… but my ability to process fairly complex thoughts (Where am I? Where are my kids? What’s for dinner? Does little Billy play baseball? If so, when and where?) also means I haven’t found the right one yet. I’ve shopped around, too – the selection at Amazon really might be a practical joke.

I guess I will hold on to my $13.95, unless one of these beauties suddenly excites my hypothalamus:

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.”

 

Smug

21 Dec

Smug? Smug.

It turns out that my physical therapist is particularly kind and unassuming resulting in a slight adjustment in my plans to get him to loosen up, but don’t fret. He has made eye contact with me numerous times and today he laughed a couple of times – he is completely shocked into laughter when I say the simplest things. He did seem kind of defensive today, though, now that I think about it.

He told me about a Christmas gift (clothing) he bought for his “beautiful and sweet” wife who “looks great in anything”. Why the “beautiful”? I mean it’s very endearing if you’re his wife, but to everyone else it comes across as if he’s trying to convince us. Who, in passing, says “My gorgeous husband who makes me laugh everyday – EVERYDAY – is perfect. We are always just so happy. And I love him. I really do. And what was I going to tell you? Oh yeah… I’m buying him some new pants for Christmas.”

Bless his sweet heart. I think. But guess what else… I taught him a new word today.

I mentioned my opinion about a woman who is smug. He said “Ma’am?” (he really did… he always does). I said:

“What?”

“What does that word mean?”

“Smug? Oh. It means… ummm… that someone is self-satisfied,” which was not enough information for him and he really wanted more. Several other people were watching us and listening, in what I assume to be shock that he didn’t just pretend he knew what it meant. Some bad acting on my part followed (it’s hard to explain smug without making that face… you know, with lips half pursed/half smiling, arms crossed).

“Oh. Like ‘It’s what I say and that’s it?'”

“Yes.”

“I have never heard that word used before.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

It makes me tired just thinking of it… yes, I could have gone on to explain it better, but to what end? His basic grasp will be just enough for him to label people. Like me, it appears from this post.

All for now… Adios.

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.

Knocked-Up?

6 Dec

Husband and children go to the fair in September 2010. Husband texts wife funny fair-related observations. Husband texts wife not funny fair-related update:

Husband:                       “We won some freakin goldfish”
Wife/aka Me:                “Shut up!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Husband:                        “I didn’t know that’s what we were playing for…”

Excuse me, what?? Those are HUGE stakes. Huge. Goldfish! Living things. What kind of prize is a goldfish… much less SEVEN goldfish? Why not give seven threadbare, bed-bug infested Scooby-Doo stuffed animals… or seven blows to the head?

Thank God he only accepted two of them (fish, that is) – one for each kid.

Today those fish are alive and alarmingly well… alarming because for the last week they seem to be swimming at a speed never recorded in the history of goldfish. Fast fast. I was watching them today and thinking that they must have gone completely insane, when it occurred to me that Goldie is chasing Pinky. We’re talking frantic chasing… almost as if… as if…

Son of a bitch. Well, then. I guess now I should be concerned about what will transpire when he finally catches her. If he knocks her up, I will be furious. How dare he? They aren’t even old enough to take care of themselves, let alone babies! Great.

If anyone knows of a family looking to adopt one or twenty-eight goldfish, please send them my way.

Pinky & Goldie - Will they or won't they?

Do Not Eat

1 Dec

I have a list of things I long to do but don’t, based solely on the warning labels that accompany the objects of my temptation. Thankfully, someone out there (in legal) has repeatedly saved me from myself and my complete disregard for common sense.

When I read these warnings I automatically fill in the blank at the end of the message with “you freakin’ idiot”, as in:

Do not eat the cardboard box that contains your scalding hot pizza. Only eat the pizza. Do not eat the box. Only the pizza. Which contains dairy. And maybe came in contact with soy. Or peanuts. Eat the pizza. Not the box. You freakin’ idiot.

I mean, seriously – it’s clearly implied, as is the sneer on the face of the author.

I would prefer that evolution and survival of the fittest supersede these warnings, but what do I know (besides how to spell supersede and use it in a sentence).

My latest temptation was to eat seventeen bars of soap at  my local grocery store. Fortunately I saw the warning just in time:

 

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to exercise my random act of kindness for the day and shoot an e-mail to legal at a few companies. I have some suggestions for future labels:

“This hairdryer is not a toy. If you plug it in, turn it on, and then toss it to your babbling baby who is playing nearby in the bathtub, something bad will happen. Also, the hairdryer will stop functioning and the warranty will be void.”

“This package of candy Lifesavers is NOT actually going to save your life. If you cannot swim and you choose to jump into the ocean relying solely on this candy as a flotation device, you will drown.”

“Do not attempt to wear this pillow as a hat, as it may decrease your ability to see while driving. Which reminds us, do not attempt to rest your head on this pillow while driving either, as you may fall asleep. Do not sleep while driving.”

You freakin’ idiot.

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