Tag Archives: kids

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.

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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.

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!

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?

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.

The Point Is Probably Moot

18 Nov

“…cause she’s watchin’ him with those eyes and she’s lovin’ him with that body, I just know it…”

I go back and forth. Pride. Shame. Pride. Shame.

My young children know all the words to Jessie’s Girl (as do you, so careful with your judgements). I enjoy the occasional Rick Springfield ditty, so what?

I’m trying to pick out which uncensored Notorious B.I.G. song to teach them next, just to keep them well rounded. Suggestions welcome.

Now, for your enjoyment, a link to the hilariously awful video…

One Pink Shoe

15 Nov

As I read this book to my daughter last night I had to refrain from commenting on every single page and/or laughing. Pull up a chair and we’ll read it together.

First, look at Barbie’s sister Stacey. She’s wearing a purple half-shirt and tight high-water pink pants, yet it appears Barbie is consulting her for fashion advice. This, as evidenced on the next page, will prove to be a foolish decision.

 

 

 

 

 

“My cinderella costume or my purple denim vest?” asks Barbie.

“No, Barbie! Wear the lemon-lime suit. It’s perfect,” says Stacey, whose crush on Ken has led her to an attempt at sabotage.

Note the rascally pup under the bed… he’s up to no good, I’m sure of it.

 



The pink mock turtleneck ties in with the hat box she’s holding. Gorgeous pumps.

The pink mustang convertible appears to be the size of a clown car, but I’m sure if anyone can manage to squeeze into one it’s Barbie.

 

 

 

 

First, I’ll answer your question about Ken’s pants: I have no idea where you can find a pair. They are straight up FAB.

He and Barbie clearly planned to wear turtlenecks. I bet she didn’t know he’d short-sleeve it, though.

Now let’s take a moment to acknowledge the absurdity of the political correctness in this picture.

Stupid.

 

 

I just cannot get over those pants.

And Ken’s little hair helmet.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Barbie must not be hungry, she hasn’t eaten a bite! Hmmmm…

What a swell afternoon date at the disco it was!

 

 

 

 

 

 

A hearty handshake and she’ll be on her way.

Surely this is the end of this riveting tale…

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Lord there’s more.

Barbie is buying Stacey her first bra, along with a couple of swimsuits. This will prove to be fortuitous momentarily.

 

 

 

 

Here comes Kevin, followed closely by a strange character in an orange shirt. (getting a close-up view of that person is definitely worth the trouble of clicking on the picture.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

The girls get to show off their new swimsuits, in addition to the fact that they have no belly buttons.

Who’s the bitch sitting on the side of the pool? She was NOT invited.

 

 

 

 

Wait. A. Minute.

Barbie is going to cheat on Ken, isn’t she?

What a slut.

(sharp intake of breath) Look at that crazy dog! Again with the shoes…

 

 

 

“That damn dog has my shoe,” said Barbie. “I’m calling the police!”

I just realized something… I owe Barbie an apology. This picture clears some things up. Kevin and Dan are actually a couple.

Oops. Sorry, Barb!

 

 

 

“Why fellas… there’s all my missing shoes!”

Did Barbie ever stop to think that this might be Spot’s way of asking for a little attention? Doubtful.

Look at Dan… any second he’ll shake his head and say something about Mentos.

 

 

 

 

 

 

What a long, boring, convoluted story about a missing shoe.

The End.

It’s a Freckle, Fool

14 Nov

“I have a nipple on my arm,” said my 4-year-old.

“Well, that is unfortunate. You should probably have that looked at”* said I. “No not by me! Get away from me… that’s disgusting.”

She’s said it in public to her sister, too, as in “You have a nipple on your cheek, sister.”

It’s really quite embarrassing. Not the word nipple so much, as the having one on her cheek.

*As much as it kills me to end a sentence with a preposition, I often do. I just want to.


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