The adoption option

Whenever I think on this subject one thing that really gets my blood boiling, especially since half of those ‘special’ people who ‘work for us’ in Washington are ‘gay on the side’… is that in most places in the US a gay couple can’t even adopt. Well, maybe there aren’t any laws banning it unless you’re in Arkansas, or was that Alabama and what’s the difference? Even so, they’d rather place a waiting child into the hands of a 100-yr-old couple who cane youngin’s at will.


This…


…And this could happen to a child near you.

Yes, maybe some do deserve a good caning. 99% probably need one, but try telling that to a social worker. Seriously though, no kid should ever, ever have to change a bedpan…

When using the word ‘gay’ I’m talking about men of course. Gay women can go to a sperm bank so I’m not even acknowledging them here. I just think it’s so totally unfair. Plus, I’m not related to any gay women so call me biased if you want. It doesn’t change the inequality.

Gay people are just like us. Except they’re gay, which a lot of people get hung up on because according to their bibles they’ll burn in hell right alongside everyone who lies, cheats, steals and listens to extremists. I think what that means is when the world ends the entire city of Washington, D.C. will turn into a giant lake of fire and everyone tuned into Rush Limbaugh will suddenly feel their heads explode.

I know it’s up to each state to decide whether or not to allow or ban a gay couple from providing just as much love as a straight one to children who truly need it. So I wish they’d come to their senses and look at it from a logical perspective. Why must the bible always be used as a divisive device when there’s so much we could learn from it? To be more specific, it clearly states in Revelations that in the year 2012 Washington, D.C. will turn into a lake of fire and Rush will reveal to his listeners he is the son of Lucifer himself causing heads to violently explode. Then, according to the mother of one of my daughter’s friends*, Yellowstone National Park will erupt and destroy us all.

*Ask your kids what they’ve heard lately at school but sit down first.

Of course before that happens, President Obama (who was in Hawaii hosting a party for his party) will lead his followers to the new city of Jerusalem where Senator Max Baucus will finally be free to dance in the daisies and put flowers in his hair. But not before letting everyone know he still opposes gay marriage, adding he just doesn’t think it’s fair to ban it.

So Montana Max will still be one of many confusing Democrats, but since he’s taken more pro-Israel PAC money than anyone it gives him a free pass to enter the city of gold. What I mean is, since he’s been such a huge supporter of Israel he’ll breeze right in while Rush burns for all eternity… the fact that Max has received well over $319,000 in his career from those contributions alone is just a side note.


How much to get Maxi out of the closet?

By now you must obviously be wondering how Oct-O-Mom fits into all of this, so I’ll briefly drop the silliness and even the sarcasm. If Nadya Suleman really wanted everyone to leave her alone she’d give up the babies and a few others for adoption. Her kids would be happy, the public would be happy and the media would temporarily melt into a pool of tears. Wouldn’t it be for the best?

The only downside is gays still can’t adopt but if they could just rustle up a shit load of money for the right people or lie on the application… Well, I’ll always be an optimist.

Nadya Suleman sleeps with stuffed animals

I’m not feeling bitchy or anything, I’m just bored. I originally wrote this a few weeks ago, but I’ve updated it in a couple of places with *asterisks*.

What happened to the good old-fashioned hot and steamy way of making a baby? In case you’re lost (crazy mom who pays for sperm) maybe you should go back to the Build-A-Bear workshop. I’m thinking she wouldn’t understand because her bed is filled with stuffed kitty-cats and assorted inanimate objects.

I’m talking about SEX. I’m talking about a woman getting naked with a man, and the chemistry is so WOW they can think of nothing in the heat of the moment but YOWZA… see, she wouldn’t understand.

If these are true sex fiends in the rawest form (and what’s so wrong with that?) they’ll soon have a tiny little version of themselves demanding constant attention for the next 18 years. Actually it’s more like 35, but who’s counting?


This college grad/fridge artist appreciates his mother’s cooking.

I’m not against sperm banks. It’s just I’d always thought they were for lesbians? Well? I can’t think of any other reason they should exist. But I can remember hearing something possibly 15 years ago about a handful of straight ‘mature’ women who for one reason or another were having trouble rustling up some quality jizz the traditional way. They thought having kids when they were all shagged out was the ultimate way to feel or stay young while making some use of an idle vag.

Idiots! Having kids is as anti-youth as you can get. It speeds up the aging process. You have a kid when you’re 20 and BAM! You’re 30. Just like that. Having a kid is not something to put off until you’re 40 people! But enough about procrastinators. This is about Nadya Suleman.


She makes Angelina Jolie look… nearly harmless?

She has some serious problems I don’t think even Dr. Phil could handle if he were a doctor. Having all 6 plus 8 more of her children with NO SEX is just the tip of the iceberg.

When the story first broke* it didn’t seem nearly as horrible. We couldn’t see her face. And it was reported she worked in the medical field, had a great salary and was living in a home her parents had bought for her. If a couple wants to help their responsible, hard-working daughter who loves kids and can afford to give her a house, then what’s the big deal? I thought not to freak out over some random woman having a shit load of kids at once.

*That story probably came from her PR lady, before she turned piss-yellow and quit recently. I guess she thought doing it pro bono would help drum up business, but in the end maybe she learned PR isn’t about being an outright lying bitch. It’s more like diminishing the negatives and highlighting the positives. Hulk Hogan could do better.

Now the story has taken a dramatic turn. Truth is, she doesn’t have a job at all and has been mooching off of hard-working folks while continuing to breed without the aid of a penis. And, Miss My-Womb-Is-So-Awesome-Men-Hate-Me is living with her parents too? WTF? All 9 family members crammed into a 3 bedroom shanty? So many questions I have! Well, actually just a few…

· When she was a kid, why did her parents insist on having loud, raunchy sex with their bedroom door open? It could’ve happened.

· Depending on the situation, why didn’t her parents either kick her out of their house on child number 3 or prevent her from moving in with them in the first place? So what if the grandkids are disabled. There comes a time when you need to explain to your grown child the concept of being an adult. It means in the very least if you lose your job and can’t support the kids you already have, you should stop having kids.

They could’ve packed her shit up, pointed her into the direction of a homeless shelter and kept the kids as collateral. She probably owed them a fortune at that point. But no, they let her and the 6 offspring live with them… I’m just saying, I think the cuckoo bird might not fly very far from the tree, which houses a entire family of cuckoo birds.

· Where oh where are they planning on putting 8 babies?* I guess the master plan consists of dresser drawers, cardboard boxes and incest.

*The true plan has since been revealed. She has a website (surprise!) and is accepting donations. No one saw that coming! And really no one but she is more deserving of the public’s generosity. It isn’t like the money would be wasted, since the nearest Child Protection Agency shouldn’t be preparing right now to swoop in. Maybe it’s not Texas, but come on now…

*And I hear Sarah Palin is happy she won’t be losing any of her website’s donors over this. But I just have to ask… Would Sarah Palin give you a kidney?

I wish I could be the one to tell her that she has no chance in hell of ever starring in a movie with Brad Pitt and then stealing him away. Sorry Nadya, but you will never make Mrs. Pitt the next Jennifer Aniston.

What if I’m wrong and she wants Angelina Jolie?

Either way, someone better remove her uterus, put her in a straightjacket, THEN explain to her how babies are made. Force her to watch celebrity sex tapes. (*Rather than starring in them - I just read her wiki page at the last minute here, and she’s received a serious offer to make a porno!) It could make Paris Hilton and Pamela Anderson feel like their work was suddenly making a difference. (*Or if she accepts the offer and does porn herself she’d be teaching others, therefore righting all of her wrongs?)

Who is crazier… Nadya Suleman or Sarah Palin?

Thank you Grandpa, for everything

Grandpa’s dead now… Well, since Christmas Eve he’s been dead for two years and I'm just now beginning to accept it. I hope I go out like he did - in my sleep. I know, boring as hell, but if it’s on Christmas Day at least I can haunt my descendants a little (the ones who remember me) on what is supposed to be a happy holiday. Christmas Day, Eve - what’s the difference? He couldn’t have planned it any better than that. In fact, without even knowing it he may have been trying to steal the baby Jesus’ thunder. And how can you knock a guy for inadvertently trying? Of course that’s speculation but it’s true he wasn’t a big fan of the manger, or to be more specific, anything religious or even slightly Catholic-y.

Yes, dying in my sleep in my seventies on Christmas Day is exactly how I want to go. Once you hit 80, how can life be any good? A typical day for me at that age would probably consist of coughing up blood, writing a few crappy lines about the “good ole days” right after swallowing a bunch of pills, cursing out the neighbor kids, inspecting my poop and then sleeping for 16 hours. Whoopee!

Grandpa went out right. It was the right time and the right way. He was getting too old to keep driving, let alone keep kayaking the rapids. All he did was worry me the last six years of his life anyway. When thinking about my own children and grandchildren I think six years of stress would be sufficient.

But really, as great as it seems I wouldn’t have to die on Christmas Day. I’d settle for any holiday just as long as I have a few grandkids around to make my own children feel guilty for not spending enough time with me when I was an old maid. Just because they’ll have their own lives is no excuse for the inevitable neglect. Someone has to call them out, even if it’s in advance. Guilt is what makes a family go round. And if anyone should feel guilty, how is that my fault? We all have our share to carry. Some of us just choose to ignore it.

So as I was saying four paragraphs ago, Grandpa’s dead now, but in an attempt to find some kind of wisdom to pass on to my sons (who are turning 17, 16 and 15 this year) I’ve been looking back at his life. I think it’s my own way of dealing with the fact that I can’t call him up and ask, “So what the heck do I tell these hormonal punks?”

As it turns out, the life he lived is a gold mine of valuable information. Here is a tidbit of what I’ve told my sons: Be careful who you help out. Rescue a dog and you’ll have a faithful friend. Rescue a hooker and she’ll stab you in the back. The beautiful ones you always seem to lose.

Okay, that last line is actually from a Prince song but that doesn’t make it any less true. And this has nothing to do with Grandpa (or Prince) but I’ve also warned, “You’ll need a f**king army or a crazy bitch to stop one. Don’t call me!”

I guess in a few years they’ll already have learned this stuff on their own. Who ever listens to their parents, anyway? Oh... No… They’d better not call me!

Finally, I don’t want to get mushy or anything and you probably can’t read this but I’ll always love and miss you Grandpa. Thanks for everything.

When I fill up I won't be thinking about Kucinich

Dennis Kucinich came to me in a dream and said, “Look at these gas prices! Don’t you think it’s odd - the closer we get to Election Day the lower they go? Don’t you see what’s going on here?”

Then three gigantic men in shades, suit jackets and Speedos came out of nowhere and grabbed him. They slapped duct tape over his mouth, forced him into a straightjacket, threw him into the back of a van and took off so fast I could actually taste gravel. Yum. Then I awoke to my 3-month-old puppy licking my face and mouth. Needless to say, I felt like I got gypped. I was always under the impression, if a dog sucks your face while sleeping aren’t you supposed to dream it’s someone hot and horny, and not dirt hitting your face? Stupid dog. You sleep alone tonight.

The guys who hauled Kucinich off were wearing candy-striped Speedos, so does that make them gay or me gay (for having the dream)?


Isn't watching this after my daughters have left the room somehow okay?

It makes me a dimwit (and there are many layers here). I’m thinking no one in the gay community would be caught dead in candy stripes. Something tells me they’ve been trying to take out Richard Simmons for years, but he’s a sniper’s worst nightmare. (Stand still, dammit!)

This whole candy-striped thing has me in a tizzy. It really killed the sharp-dressed image my subconscious was trying to achieve with their suit jackets and dark sunglasses. So I think I should throw out the Disney movies and tell the girls the puppy chewed them into oblivion. Better yet, I’ll just put one in his food dish every day and call it redemption for loosening up my shoelaces (they always seem to unravel when I’m at work and on the stairs). Well, that and the chewed up internet cords (do they taste better than other cords?), making me scrub the carpet, and I can’t forget the unwanted face bath. I don’t know what’s worse - the fact that I’ve spent hundreds of dollars on Disney movies since my kids could see, or that my puppy chews on shoes and licks his balls before kissing me.

So that was one crazy dream/nightmare/make-out-session-with-my-dog. But concerning recent gas prices, I’d be the last one on earth to complain. They’ve been falling like they can’t get up. We went from $4.10/gal to $2.45 in what seemed like just a month. In fact, I’m getting excited right now wondering how low the price might possibly drop by Friday. I’m stuck with a gas hog at the moment, so for me, checking out the latest smoking hot price on the gas station sign has been just like a hot stud talking dirty to me.





Each time I drive by I wonder, Is today the day I’ll finally stop and let loose? I’ve still got enough to last another week, but I’m telling you, it’s taking all of my willpower to keep from hittin’ that. When I do prime the pump I want to make it worthwhile, so I’ll be filling up until it can’t take no more. And when I do give in to my desire, will I grab the pump slowly and savor the moment? Or will I rush right into it - stuff it in and squeal in delight with each gallon that enters my tank?

We’ll see. For now I’ll be holding out as long as possible. Nothing like letting the excitement build. But when I do it, I’m hoping everyone at the station will be inside the building or fighting in their trucks. I’d like a little privacy.

It's so hard to find a good doctor these days

I went to the doctor and said, “At night I’m having trouble falling asleep, and stay awake long after the kids have gone to bed.”

“No problem. I can prescribe you some good sleeping pills,” he said.

“But there’s more,” I continued. “When I finally do fall asleep, I don’t want to wake up.”

The doctor interrupted a second time. “Sounds like depression, and if that’s the case, no worries. Nothing a good prescription won’t fix.”

“Wait, there’s more. When I get home from work and my sweet, darling children talk to me I feel a strong urge to grab a beer and take a long swig every time they say, ‘Mom’ or ‘Can you…’. If I actually followed through, in a couple of hours I’d be drunker than Amy Winehouse at a Sunday brunch.”

I sometimes wonder if it’s just her name. Maybe if she changed it to ‘Amy Straighthouse’ or ‘Amy Soberhouse’ it would help her image? Maybe at least help keep her from always looking totally trashed?


Nah.

He winced. “Sounds like you might have the drinking disease. Any alcoholism in your family?”

“No. None. Having lots of kids is the only thing that runs in my family.”

While he scratched his head, I continued describing my symptoms. “When we’re at the grocery store, I want to throw all of the frozen foods into my cart and totally empty out the freezer case.”

“Hunger?”

“No. ‘Cause then it would be easier to stuff my kids into the freezer case.”

“Oh.”

“Just until they begged for mercy,” I added.

He frowned. “It sounds like you’re having early symptoms of a disease called KCJB - Kidamage Caustrating Jellocious Braindeadeous.”

I let out a puzzled, “Hmm?”

He continued, “In plain English - Kids Causing Jellied Brain. It’s very real, and you should be very afraid. The more kids you have, the worse it will be for you in the end. And you’ve got like - let me see your chart - holy kidlets. Five. You should be crapping your pants. Right now. I wish I could tell you there’s a cure. But what I can tell you is, there’s no cure.”

I let out a stunned, “Huh?”

“Luckily, you do have some time left to enjoy life. Mainly in those precious hours you spend away from your children. But eventually your entire brain is going to turn to jelly. One big blob of jam that will be totally useless. If I had to guess, based on everything you’ve told me, I’d say it could happen in about five years. That’s not so bad. You’ll be 40 then, so your life will basically be over anyway.”

I let out a - nothing. Just dropped my jaw into my lap.

He continued, “I admire your gaping mouth. So I’ve been thinking. You know what? I can’t lie to you and say this disease is entirely incurable. There’s nothing wrong with being proactive, now that you know what fate lies ahead. So I’ll let you know - and this needs to be kept just between you and me - I’ll totally cover you, if you want to pull a Yates.”

“If I pull a what?!”

He continued, “Shh! Not so loud. I’m trying to help you here. Surely you’ve heard of that mother who drowned her five kids?”

“Um yeah, the psycho-mama. I don’t want to drown anyone. No offense.”

He put a finger to his chin and thought for a minute. “Well, seriously? You’re going to shoot that one down without any consideration? ‘Cause although you’d be in a hospital for the rest of your life, it would be a long life without jam for a brain. You’d retain your sanity. No one will know. You plead insanity, I’ll back you. I’ve got a doctor pal working with a certain defense lawyer, and my friend owes me some favors. Think about it.”

“No.”

“Oh well. I got it! How about an accident? Here’s a good one. It’s simple. Take the kids on a hunting trip. ‘Accidentally’ make them your target.”

“HELL no.”

“Um, alright. Too violent. Okay. I got it! Take them on a long drive into the mountains. ‘Accidentally’ lose them in the middle of nowhere. The wolves and bears should take good care of them. Worst case scenario: one makes it out alive. Two tops.”

I stood up to leave. “Thanks Doc, but I think the only real solution is to send the kids to live with their grandparents. After everything I’ve learned about KCJB today, I’m thinking it’s a good idea. It’s become pretty clear - Mom and Dad are already a couple of jam heads.”

The doctor’s eyes lit up.
















“Great Scott! Now why didn’t I think of that?”


Hmm. He looks awfully familiar.

Twisted News: Palin's first news conference

Sarah Palin may be leery of the media in general, but she was eager to take questions from many students in an elementary school gymnasium during what she thought would be a private session. This transcript is based on an audio recording, so there are no pictures. Aw, shucks.

Sarah: Hi, kids! Do you know who I am?

Girl: That lady from Saturday Night Live!? Can I please have your autograph?!

Sarah: I’m actually Sarah Palin, Governor of the great state of Alaska, as you’ve probably seen in The Simpsons Movie. I’m running for Vice President alongside John McCain. I’ll be signing autographs when we’re done here and you’ll be the very first to get one!

Girl: Uh, no thanks.

Boy: You were in The Simpsons Movie?

Sarah: Almost, but not quite. What I meant was Alaska is the state Homer Simpson ran to when his family was in hiding. Did you see me wink just now?

Girl: Why did you come to our school? We’re just kids.

Sarah: Well you may just be children, but I believe you are our future, so if we teach you well- oh wait, you’ll probably recognize those lines from School of Rock. Truth is - I needed a little break from being around grown-ups, and I was in the neighborhood, and your principal is a republican. So I’m here today, just to talk to you all and give you a sense of who I am, and hopefully you’ll go home and tell your parents about the nice lady running for Vice President. Does that sound cool, or what?

Cricket: Chirp-chirp.

Sarah: John McCain will become our next president if we are so blessed, and I hope you’ll think of us as the angels we are. We’re here to protect you from all of the evils out there and fight them while we reign supreme in the justice and liberties of which shall be determined should be held sacred, and other good and safe things like that. I even brought flag tattoos for all of you, which I recommend wearing proudly on your foreheads. Does staying safe sound good to you kids?

(Could be a) Boy or girl: My mom already taught me about ‘stranger danger’. Will we get candy if you win?

Sarah: Of course, and I’m glad you asked that question. Part of our economic plan includes distributing candy to every family in America. But it will have to be fair, so the rich families will get more candy than the poor ones. You see kids, poor families will be happy with whatever they get!

Boy or girl: Mom said not to take candy from strangers. Now I’m scared.

Sarah: Um, next question?

Girl: Who is Joe the Plumber? And Joe Six-Pack? Are they the same guy?

Sarah: I see some one here has been paying attention to my speeches!

Girl: Actually, I heard my grandma (who has Alzheimer’s) telling my mom that you talk about them a lot but it’s just a gimmick. Is that true? ‘Cause my grandma is kind of nuts.

Sarah: Hmm. Well let me tell you, Joe the Plumber is just as important as Bob the Builder. Can he fix it? Yes he can! Can he plumb it? You betcha! Joe Six-Pack is better than Joe Camel. And a Nobama is better than an Obama. No gimmicks here kids, just the facts. And I’m so sorry about your grandma. Under John McCain’s health care plan your family can put that money to good use, ensuring your grandma is always kept far away from you. Seedy caretakers are better than none, Hon!

Boy: Can you really see Russia from your house? My big sister pretends to be you when she says it, but then she laughs, so I’m confused.

Sarah: Well here’s a little secret. If I go way up on the roof of my mansion and use a really high-powered telescope, then yes I can see Russia. Yes I can! So you tell your sister that, and you can also tell her she’s not getting any candy.

Girl: I saw you on TV with Katie Couric. Did you watch yourself?

Sarah: Now I’m curious, Sweetie. Why would you ask that?

Girl: ‘Cause if I ever got on TV I would want to watch myself, so I just wanted to know if you watched yourself. Why else?

Sarah: Well, the answer to that is a firm NO. First of all, I’d much rather stick to my line- er, talking points than veer off course and talk to any mean gotch-ya journalists out there. And to tell ya the truth, I knew when it was over it would just be a side note in our campaign. I have more important things to do than watch myself on TV, like focus on winning by saying whatever I can about our opponent on the campaign trail, and making sure my good name is kept good back home in Alaska. And I will continue in this fashion to keep things relevant because I love my America.

(Another) Boy or girl: What are gotch-ya journ-lists?

Sarah: I’m glad you asked! Gotch-ya journalists are reporters who ask trick questions to get you to say something they can pick apart and say mean things about. You know what bullies are, right? Well that’s what they are. Mean school yard bullies with a lust for the taste of blood. Sometimes they give you something funny to drink before you even get started. Well, I’ll just come right out and say it ‘cause I like to talk straight. Kids, the media and news people out there are evil. Well, all of them except Rush Limbaugh. They don’t like me because I’m angelic and good. That not only makes me better than them, but also secures my place in heaven as they sink to the depths of hell. And some day, they’ll beg for mercy as I file my nails and watch reruns of Walker: Texas Ranger with John McCain in The Situation Room. So you kids need not worry. We know how to keep you safe.

Boy: Are you saying Barack Obama can’t keep us safe?

Sarah: You’d have to ask him that question yourself, but I really don’t think he’s coming here! And I won’t say you should fear him, but I’d better let you know - if you look anything like Osama Bin Laden, he’ll shoot you dead.

Boy: Didn’t you say he is pals with terrorists?

Sarah: No, I said he pals around with terrorists. There’s a difference. So when you go to sleep at night, imagine John McCain and I floating over your house. We’re just a couple of angels sent here to reprogram your thoughts in goodness to protect you from harm, is all. But now it’s time to wrap this up. I’ve got to get back to the pumpin’, stumpin’ and tub thumpin’. Just one more question.

Girl: Do you have any advice for us girls when we grow up?

Sarah: Girls, this is important. I want you all to be winners, so you’ll have to trust me on this one. You just can’t go wrong if you find a rich, old man.

What is a vacation without a theme park?

As planned, on our vacation back in June a day was dedicated to Valley Fair. It’s a magical place I visited a few times during childhood. And nothing says love like putting your kids on large metal objects that defy gravity, whip them around like dolls and make them scream bloody hell (and possibly vomit into or around the nearest trash can). I just wanted them to have the same memories as I - the kind that last a lifetime.

Valley Fair isn’t a huge theme park. I’m sure it’s much smaller than Six Flags but I’ve never been there so I’m totally guessing. But the place is big enough that kids could easily get lost or disappear entirely, so I was pretty much stuck like glue to my two daughters while the teens were free to venture on their own. Not that I wouldn’t miss them after a few days, or a week, tops. Thanks to the age of cell phones we were reunited periodically and when the park closed. Oh well. I guess my kids didn't get the full experience after all.

The day started out slow for me due to the blinding sun and heat. It was hard to believe that just the previous week/month it had been raining pretty much daily. I forgot to tack that onto my good luck charm list. The weather was great the entire week we were there. Coincidence? Perhaps, but not if you believe in the power of the frizz. Actually, I got burned pretty badly as a result so it's all just a farce. Damn.

Back to the little to zero cloud cover - I was wearing a tank and shorts thinking sunscreen on my arms, shoulders, chest and legs was quite enough. I hate that crap and avoid the sun as much as possible so I don’t have to use it. And I’m not sitting out in the sun as I write this either. I’m not that big of a hypocrite. But Valley Fair was an entire day outside so I had no choice. It didn't do me much good, but that's a post for another day.

I soon found out I’m not as brave as I used to be, so it was good for me to tag along with my 6-yr-old. She was too short to go on most of the rides, so you could say she was my crutch and/or excuse for being a total chicken shit. She did eventually con me into The Floom, which is a log ride in water that ends with one big scream and a good soaking, but I made her sit in front. Well, it was just part of the deal-making process.

As the day wore on I braved as many rides with my daughters as my weak stomach, heart and fragile back could handle. I'm perfectly happy not having any balls. And warning signs are posted for a reason, so I do read them. I went on the smallest roller coaster in the park (called High Roller) with my 8-yr-old after determining it was safe (no warning signs). Oddly enough, it was nothing like I remembered. Whenever they ask you to remove your hat, it is definitely a red flag. Forget the posted signage - it all boils down to the request for hat removal.

Near the end of the night the same daughter tried to get me on Wild Thing, which is THE biggest roller coaster that has ever towered over me. I took a good look at it and froze in fear. My bff stepped in and subbed for me. I really don’t know why it gave me comfort to know she was right there with my daughter when they were going through heart-stopping height/speed combos and swallowing bugs. As soon as they were done they got right back in line again. I try but I just don’t understand.

So at that time my crutch and I sauntered over to the Tilt-A-Whirl. It kicked ass.

I'm just a sucker

I’m usually pretty good at running a tight ship around here. That’s what I tell myself. I’m thinking if I hear it enough times, eventually it will come true.

Rewind to April. One of my brother-in-laws wanted me to take a dog off of his household’s hands. I agreed without knowing anything about Monty (the dog). I visited the family in June and learned my sister had a change of heart and they were keeping him. That was good since the vehicle I had to borrow for the 1,000 mile trip didn’t have room to accommodate him. So I got out of the “adopting Monty” situation unscathed. I didn’t come home with an unruly dog even though I really wanted to (my optimistic outlook has got me into trouble many times over). After I’d originally agreed, I began to hear negative things about the dog from people who were “in the know” so I’m thinking I would’ve regretted it in the end.

Well, now I have an entirely new slightly relative situation on my hands.

The friend who loaned me her SUV (I’ll call her Marci) has a daughter the same age as my youngest and they play together. That’s great, and I truly mean that. In fact, they took my daughter camping recently and she had a blast. Well, a few months ago Marci told me her Golden Retriever was pregnant. I was happy for her as she was pretty excited about it. The male dog I think is a Blue Australian Shepherd and has blue eyes. Both dogs are gorgeous. So the pups were bound to be good looking. Well, my daughter has spent a lot of time at their place in the past month since it’s summer and Marci’s daughter doesn’t have any siblings close to her own age. So the two girls have been just like sisters. And throughout all of this my daughter has been watching a very pregnant dog, and having this crazy recurring dream about bringing home a puppy.

Well, I also had childhood dreams…




Tekno the Robotic Puppy doesn’t chew up shoes or pee on them. And if he dies unexpectedly you know a tear-filled backyard burial won’t be in order. This kind of awesomeness wasn’t even in the price range of “maybe” when I was a kid, so what am I waiting for??

And another thing… my childhood dreams always got squashed. What’s with kids nowadays? How do they manipulate some of us into thinking their dreams are more important than ours were?

Anywho, the drama over the puppies “coming soon” had been building for quite some time. Then one morning not too long ago, we got the call. Goldie was in labor. Oh my god, my daughter was so excited. Her friend was so excited. Marci was so excited. I was feeling like I was pretty happy with the dog we already have. She is a Red Heeler/German Shepherd mix and a great family pet. But of course I was happy for everyone and their “feelings” so I joined in on the excitement.

That evening I got another call. Goldie was in labor too long and needed a C-section. Marci’s daughter spent the night at our house and Marci took the dog to the Vet. The next day I called and found out Goldie and her lover were much more than fertile. She had been carrying a whopping 13 pups; they all made it and were healthy. Thirteen puppies! Holy crap! She was baffled. How did that happen? No one knows for sure, but since half of them are black I don’t think one can rule out the possibility that Goldie was sneaking around, and maybe had a little jungle love on the side. I don’t think a dog can be called a whore for sleeping around, but, what an animal.

Somehow I was talked into seeing the puppies. More like “ganged up on” in a way. I don’t like it when a group of females get together. I wouldn’t recommend it. I was basically mobbed - emotionally - which is the worst kind of attack. Totally unfair. Then my one son who really loves dogs found out about the puppies. That was the straw that kicked the camel in the crotch (and he’s going down in our family history for that one, like it or not). He pulled me over to Marci’s and begged me. He picked out his favorite. I kind of melted when I met the little thing. His eyes weren’t open yet and he just laid in Marci’s hand like a… well, almost like a very realistic robotic toy.

So I guess you know what happens next. I still have a little time before the pup is off his mom’s teats, nips, or whatever you call them. But he doesn’t have a name yet. I’m open to suggestions. “Trucker” rhymes with sucker, so I might just go with that…

Yes, I am kidding (about the name Trucker).

Minnesota on my mind

Recently I’ve been facing a tough decision that has been eating away at my innards like a mini Hannibal Lecter. Hmm, that would make for a good movie. Let’s see what Meet Dave does at the box office.

Seriously though, for the last six years I’ve been enduring a horrible series of attacks from loved ones. Family can torture you like no one else on the planet. I have been pushed, pulled and prodded more than any one I know. I have endured much guilt. I mean, how selfish of me to raise my kids in an environment free of gangs, prostitution, hard core drugs, Norm Coleman…

They all want me to move back to the Twin Cities so I can become enveloped with family drama and feel my love slowly turn to hate, see the sun a few days every month, enjoy a -75 wind chill for three months every year, work 40 hour weeks and eat Ramen noodles every night, experiment daily with road rage, explain to my kids the guy smoking marijuana in public is the normal one and we are the freaks, participate in weekly gas drive-offs and blame it on the teenagers, see my teens on weekends (visitation hours only), watch in horror as my youngest child is carried away by mosquitoes, and basically turn from a mildly sarcastic individual into a raving lunatic.

Sounds good to me.

This will eventually end up with me living in a cardboard box somewhere near the Mississippi River. Unless, of course, I’m found in the river and then placed into a box. Either way, I just can‘t wait.

So until then, I’ll enjoy life in Montana more than usual. Maybe I’ll get a pet bear while I’m at it…


On second thought, way too much poop to clean up.

So you think you're an adult now

What the hell happened? My dog has turned into a total retard. And it only took about a week under the care of a lazy teenager.

When we went on vacation we were packed like sardines into my friend’s SUV. Basically we gave up a whole row of seating, so when I was loading our baggage it got kind of interesting. Like Regina’s son in Minnesota pointed out, it was just like a real life game of Tetris. God, I miss that game. No wonder I had so much fun loading up the luggage. Anyway, back before we left Montana it took me a couple of hours to pack it all in there just right, but in all fairness one of my neighbors stopped to converse during the game. This was the first time we actually said more than just “Hello” to each other, so I think we ended up talking a good hour until it started getting creepy and I learned he was a Kentucky-bred racist and not the innocent peace-loving Veteran I had once thought. The kids came along then and started pestering me. I’ve never been so happy to see them. They probably thought it was really weird to get smiles from me when they so rudely interrupted. What I’m doing here is dragging out the fact that since we barely had room for ourselves, we definitely didn’t have any room for a canine on board. This didn’t become an issue with adopting my sister’s dog though, because she and her husband did a 180 and decided to keep their beloved pet… some time between April and Jessica‘s birthday party.

Back to my pet - I had to hire the most responsible person I knew who was willing to dog sit (and house sit) for cheap. Enter a kid who is always desperate to get away from his place. He has been a friend of the family since he was 10. Now he’s 18 and thinks he’s an adult. I felt he was the best choice under the circumstances. I honestly don’t know anyone else I could trust 100% not to throw parties or drink my beer while we were away. But I knew there was a downside to hiring him. He thinks he can get by in life doing as little as possible. He is nearly always sitting around with his laptop, and gets less sun than a mushroom. He has no desire to go to college. In fact, I think his only plan is to do nothing and mooch off his parents the rest of his life. So… he has until the fall to get a job and pay his parents rent or he’ll be kicked out of the house. When he does ever decide to get a job he wants to live with us and pay me rent in order to escape his family drama. Well, he says his mom wants to take so much of his money he’ll be trapped at home forever. But when we came back from our vacation I soon could see where his parents were coming from...

When we walked into the house the first thing we noticed was an awful smell. Very pungent. I wanted to puke. It turned out it wasn’t him, but dog urine. Apparently there was a day when he was gone too long and didn’t get back in time. So what did he do?! Well, he obviously didn’t clean it up.

Strike one.

In the kitchen I found dirty dishes piled up in and around the sink. Every cup and bowl, all of my pots, and a pile of silverware. You’d think he would have the decency to wash his own dirty dishes?! But again, he chose to leave the work for me.

Strike two.

My dog was so happy to see us. But after the first 24 hours I realized something about her wasn’t right. She looked… so… dumb. She looks incredibly stupid all of the time now. I don’t know what I can do, but just hope that it wears off. And not only does she look like a few pancakes short of a stack, but she is acting like it too. Nearly every time I call her to go outside she just sits there and stares at me, grinning and refusing to move. She’ll slowly come over when it’s potty time but I have to practically push her out the door. All she wants to do is lay around. She used to love being outside, and went out every chance she got. Now she is just like the dog sitter she had looking after her for a week.

Strike three.

Good luck, kid. You’re going to need it. If I were you I’d start by doing everything your parents say. Maybe then, they won’t charge you so much rent.

I stole an SUV and drove 1000 miles

Then I drove all over the Twin Cities for a week, then another 1000 miles to get home when I had just become comfortable with… well, when I had become used to navigating around so many crazy drivers. It’s something I have to relearn every time I visit. As Mom says, living out here has spoiled me.

*Warning: This post will waste approximately ten minutes of your time, and that’s without leaving a comment.

I had been secretly planning this trip for months. Okay, the only secret about it was when we would arrive, which was just in time to surprise my sister Jessica for her birthday. There was a 50/50 chance she’d actually read my blog so I couldn’t say exactly when I was leaving. Well, maybe a 5% chance but I didn’t want to risk it.

Her birthday was Saturday June 21st so I planned to leave on Thursday the 19th, drive all night, and get to the Twin Cities on the 20th. Then we would show up at my sister Melissa’s house for the party on the 21st and surprise the birthday girl in person. It was a solid plan and absolutely nothing could go wrong…

Problem 1: The Bratmobile. The week of our planned escapade my vehicle started giving me shit. Well, the engine caught on fire after it had already been to the auto repair shop. When I took it in the first time I specifically told them I smelled gas under the hood. They thought I was just smelling the exhaust because they’re mechanics and trained to pretend to listen. So I dumped $350 into it, just for them to tell me there was no gas leak.

*The good news: I got my Suburban back and they did their job. You can’t tell the engine was aflame. And they found the gas leak. It was in a spot that was hidden pretty well, so I’m not upset or anything (until I get the bill). The bad news: I will eventually get the bill.

Back to problem 1… After the Suburban caught on fire they took it back, but they were too “busy” to work on it that week - the week I was planning to leave. Monday they said they’d look at it on Tuesday. Tuesday they said there was a lot of wire damage and they’d get to it on Wednesday. Wednesday they ordered parts, so it was too late to push it down the road to their competitors. Thursday they said they’d work on it Friday. I had to leave Thursday night! so I called up a friend Wednesday and asked if I could rent an SUV from her. I was seriously not expecting her to say, “Sure!” but surprisingly, she was willing to loan it out for 9 days. She only asked for $100. I gave her $200 and still felt like I should be incarcerated for grand theft auto. I was certain she’d have a change of heart and I’d get pulled over somewhere on I-94. I know I could defend myself in prison but it would really hurt to know the kids were in their father’s custody. I’m just grateful my friend was so desperate for my money.

*I returned her SUV with a half a tank of gas and had received it on “E”, so that makes me feel a little better.

Problem 1 solved...

Problem 2: Getting there alive. Up to this point I’d never driven overnight anywhere. There were times I’d tried it and ended up checking into a motel along the way. I just couldn’t do it. But this time I was determined and the pressure was on. If I didn’t pull this off I’d have no time to rest before Jessica’s party and all this planning would have been in vain.

We left Billings at 8:30 pm, and I estimated we’d be in the Twin Cities by noon Friday since the kids would be sleeping during most of our journey. It was fool-proof.

We made three pee stops before we even got out of Montana. Well, one was a gas stop and I bought a bunch of food thinking it would help knock the kids out. My teenaged sons stayed awake most of the trip so that didn’t work out too well. We spent the next few hours in North Dakota fighting over music choices. Mine were right, and they refused to acknowledge that. Eventually I was so steamed I was ready to drop them off at the next rest stop and let them hitch a ride back home. That would make my vacation cheaper and they could listen to whatever crap they wanted (if they made it back). That would sure “man” them up in a hurry. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but ultimately I ended up lecturing them on how I never argued with my dad over music in a moving vehicle. I lovingly told them, “He was paying for the gas and he was driving, so he controlled the tunes. And I respected that! I’m trying to drive here at 75 miles per hour, in the dark, in a flipping SUV that isn’t even ours… And you guys want to argue with me?! So everyone better be quiet, starting right now, unless you want us all to end up in a fiery crash. You can’t hear music when you’re dead.”

They not only shut up, but one of them even apologized.

At around 4 am the trees off in the distance started to look like evil creatures doing some sort of sacrificial dance, so I pulled into a rest stop and took a nap. The sun woke me up an hour later and we were off again. Then at some point, maybe 7 am-ish I couldn’t keep my eyes open and had to pull over again. The boys went off to explore in the trees nearby, ignoring my warning that they were bad trees, and woke me up 45 minutes later. Then the girls woke up and needed to pee every few hours.

We finally made it to our destination at 2:30 pm, but we lost an hour due to that stupid time zone change. I’ve never been so ecstatic to climb into bed. Well, not since the last time I got laid. And I slept like I’d just had an hour of sex and four orgasms, which means I slept pretty damn good.

And we all were very much alive.

Problem 2 solved…

Problem 3: The surprise. While my sister Melissa and I were planning this party with a large family attendance for Jessica, her best friend was also planning a party with a bunch of friends for her. Luckily it was scheduled for the night of Friday the 20th so it wouldn’t interfere with our party the next day. Well, I hoped it wouldn’t. It was a party which would include alcohol so Melissa worried about Jessica being hung over and not making it over to her house for the family party and her surprise (me). So in trying to coordinate all of this, Melissa’s husband later told me that she had spilled everything to Jessica’s bff. I would not have approved of this move. Just wanted to mention that. So, Jessica’s bff got drunk at her party and made the mistake of telling her she had a secret. That was all it took. Jessica then proceeded to beat it out of her. So, before the night was over she found out I was coming to surprise her and was so moved she literally sobbed like Tammy Faye...

Whatever her last name is. Was. Anyhow, this was the first time I ever made my sister cry without pain involved.

I knew all along Melissa would eventually tell some one who couldn’t keep a secret, but my guess was way off the mark. I had assumed she’d tell our mother. Apparently my repeatedly telling Melissa not to tell her paid off. Mom was very surprised.

At least some one was. I guess that counts.

Problem 3 solved…

Problem 4: Being in two places at once. The plan to surprise my sister on her birthday came about back in March when my best friend of 22 years (Regina) invited us to her daughter’s graduation party, which was also on June 21st. Her party was in the evening and my sister’s party started at noon, so I had no doubt we could make it to both parties. Well, in a perfect world…

A few days before we were scheduled to leave town Melissa tells me the party will start at 1:00 instead of noon. I realized that would cut down the amount of time I could be at Jessica’s party before heading out to the graduation party, but I didn’t foresee any problem with that. The evening party would be from 5:30 till 10 pm so that gave us plenty of time. Besides, Jessica’s party was being held at Melissa’s house, so who was I to argue? I was only traveling 1000 miles after all, and had to nearly be in two places at once. But I kept my happy face on, knowing if things didn’t work out I could always make Melissa feel guilty in the end.

It’s now Saturday, June 21st, and we are ready to party. Traffic was a bitch and a half so we got there at 1:30. It turned out Jessica was hung over after all, and hadn’t beaten us there. At this point I didn’t know she had already learned of the surprise through the grapevine a.k.a. Melissa’s mouth, so I was pretty excited and just couldn’t wait to surprise her. At 2:00 everyone was starving and tired of waiting for her, so lunch was served. At 2:30 the whining started... "When is she going to show up?"... And I’m not ashamed of that. At 3:00 her vehicle pulled in and I made the kids hide in the garage so we could jump out and surprise her. That’s when a chain of relatives passed along the phrase, “She already knows Alicia is here!”

So, word got to me before she even came within hugging range. She had asked some one if I was at Melissa’s place yet. I was… so… shocked… that she already knew…

When Jessica saw me she started to cry again. As I already mentioned, she had cried a freaking river the night before when she found out I was coming to surprise her. Then, later on I started to feel like a real bitch for wanting to get out of there to go to the graduation party. So I tried getting family members to follow us out to the party but they were all drinking and didn’t want to go anywhere. Great. So I put it off as long as possible. When I was finally ready to go, Regina told me the party would practically be over by the time I got there so I should just stay with my family and make the most of it.

Now I really felt like shit because Regina and her kin are just like family. Even better, because they aren’t blood related.

As soon as I got off the phone with her I slammed another beer. Then I drank numerous cans of Pepsi to sober up. I drove over to Regina’s house later on and we crashed there that night. I mean, we all went to sleep on her numerous sofas and whatnot. That made her feel better.

Now that problem 4 was solved in a weird and unwanted way, we were free to enjoy the rest of our vacation. We fucking did. And I gave Regina’s daughter 50 bucks for her graduation present, as well as the original baby pictures I’ve had of her for 17 years (which are the only baby pictures she now has of herself due to a bad divorce between her parents), so… she loves me.

Down in three seconds

A lot of time has passed since this went down. Actually, it’s been months…

I still like to roughhouse with my sons on occasion, even though they’re teenagers now and could really take me out if they wanted to... I like to take advantage of the fact that they respect me enough to back off when I‘m obviously losing the battle, whether it‘s a pillow fight or a wrestling match. And I guess old habits die hard and I think I‘m better and stronger than I actually am. You see, roughhousing with the boys has always made me feel younger - even back when I was 21 (and wished I was 16). Well, now I’m 34 and even though I’m in good form I knew it was only a matter of time before one of them accidentally kicked my ass…

I had been listening to Metallica and was in a playful mood. I was feeling unusually energetic and indestructible, like I usually do when I’m PMSing. Add heavy metal to that and maybe you can see where this is going. The boys were in the kitchen raiding the fridge, and I was all wound up and in the mood to rumble with someone. I decided to go after the kid who is always roughhousing with his sisters or starting it with me, and he also happens to be the only son still shorter than me so, a fair fight is a fair fight. I figured it was his turn to be caught off guard.
It turned out that I had picked the wrong time to stir things up. Just a warning - if a teenager says he’s hungry and tells you to leave him alone so he can eat in peace, step away and save the fight for another time. Trust me on this one.

I ignored him and we started to tussle. I was attempting to get him into a headlock and he tried to knee me in the stomach to get away…

Well, I had originally thought that was what he was doing and didn‘t give it enough lift, but the truth is he was wildly trying to fight me off in any way possible without paying attention…

His knee went directly into my crotch, and I was down in 3 seconds.

1. “Ooooo, ohhhh.” That’s all I could say as I bent over.

2. I grabbed the counter, but couldn’t hold on.

3. I was on my knees with both hands on the floor, repeating the phrase “god, god”… and couldn’t move for a few seconds.

I was nauseated and getting sweaty. I tried to stand up, grabbing the counter again, and it was slow going. Meanwhile, my sons are standing around me in shock and complete horror and now that I think about it, the look on their faces - just priceless. In fact, the offending son will have to live with the fact that he brutally hurt his mom’s vajay not once, but twice in his lifetime.

As soon as I stood up I felt dizzy. Somehow I made it to the bathroom and my ears were ringing. I thought I was going to die! I’m not going to tell you what happened in there. After a few minutes I got my hearing back and made my way to the couch, where I stayed the rest of the night. I kid you not, I’ve never felt this kind of pain before, and I’ve been in plenty of fights in my day. Not even childbirth prepared me for this. I’m not one who likes to sympathize with males, but if this is anything close to what you men go through after a hit to the genitals, I certainly have a new level of respect for you. And I’ll never say that again, just to be clear.

Now that the lump is gone I can look back on this and laugh, because the one who took me down in three seconds was the last one I would have ever suspected. Needless to say, I don’t call him a pussy anymore…

There was that one time when he was a tot and got his dad in the family jewels during a roughhousing session. I laughed, privately, but karma must have overheard me. Payback’s a bitch.

And when this same son was in 5th grade he got hit in the nards by a baseball. Now I know why it happened.

What's that in the sink?

Grandma Jones is looking after her grandkids at their house, and it's a beautiful morning. She has just entered the bathroom for a long session, when she is suddenly distracted by something... Something absolutely dreadful...

Grandma: Oh my gahd. Kids, come here! What is this crap in the bathroom sink?

Susie: Ewww. I don’t know. Maybe Dad got really drunk again. Gross.

Timmy: No, it looks more like the baby’s ass exploded in it. Disgusting.

Mike: It’s not puke or baby poop. It was me.

Grandma, Susie, & Timmy: What?!

Mike: I used Listerine Smart Rinse after brushing. Heh heh, I guess my mouth was really dirty. Want to meet my hook... I mean, girlfriend? Hey Stella, come ’ere!

Grandma: Hi, Stella. You want to watch the kids while I finish my morning business? I'll give you a few dollars...

This could've been a really cool story

I’m trying to plan a vacation, and before every long trip I get the family vehicle readied for it. For me and my crew, driving is still the cheapest way to travel. And I’m sure the people on the bus will appreciate not waiting behind a line of kids for the bathroom.

It’s been two years since our last stint so I needed a lot of work done. I took the beast down to the shop Friday for a tune-up and oil change. I mentioned the muffler was smoking. I knew I needed a new one but have been putting it off since we usually don’t drive very far. It’s just a few blocks here and there. I also told them I recently started smelling gasoline under my hood and was worried there might be a leak. I trust these guys since they’ve been taking care of my vehicles for an eternity. They run an honest business, are semi-attractive, and make an effort to attempt to listen to whatever I’m saying.

When they were all done working on it they said the gas smell was due to the old muffler. That was odd, but good to hear. It seemed I’d be saving a little money. They referred me to the muffler shop, so I set up an appointment for Monday. Meanwhile, I drove the beast around town all weekend without any problems. Well, no problems other than the gas smell, smoking muffler and carbon monoxide poisoning.

I knew there had to be a reason for my goofiness. Now we know.

Yesterday was the first hot day we’ve had in a long time. It was around 80 degrees. After lunch I asked a friend from work to meet me at the muffler shop so I could catch a ride back, since the place is a few miles away. As I drove along I didn’t notice anything strange. But just as I pulled into the shop driveway to park, I noticed smoke. It wasn’t much, but enough to get my attention. I popped the hood and hurried around to investigate. When I got close enough to lift it I heard crackling noises and decided against it. It sounded like something was busy burning under there and more smoke was pouring out. So I ran into the shop and asked the two guys if they had a fire extinguisher. I told them I thought I had a fire! under the hood.

They followed me outside and Big Guy says, “Are you sure? It looks like steam. Maybe you’re overheating.”

He lifted the hood, and flames shot up. “Oh boy.” He turned to Old Guy. “Better go get that fire extinguisher.”

In a flash Old Guy reappeared, armed and ready. He muttered, “I hope I can figure this thing out.”

It took him less than a minute to pull the pin, point and shoot, and put out the fire.

My very first engine fire.

Looking back, it would have been something special if I could’ve been the one to put out that bitch, but Old Guy hogged all of the fun. And damn, that looked like a lot of fun. Right after he was done I saw him smile for a second. He even let out a little chuckle.

No fair! I have to pay for this shit, and I don’t even get to enjoy any of it?

So… what do I do now?

Well, I can assure you I’m putting ‘fire extinguisher’ on my shopping list. Never again will I let some one I don’t even know steal my fun away.

And this could’ve been a really cool story to tell the kids. It sucks that I can’t say, “The flames were shooting up from my engine - taunting me. I was all alone… Just me, the heat, and the possibility of massive explosions and/or certain death. Did I panic? No. I grabbed the fire extinguisher and put out that bastard. No fire is ever going to fuck with me, I tell you.”

But for now, sadly, I just don’t know what it’s like to operate a fire extinguisher and describe it in great detail.

So here’s the happy ending…

Big and Old Guys couldn’t take care of my muffler. They didn’t want to risk driving my vehicle into their shop for fear of more flames and whatnot (pansies). So I called the mechanics. Then my friend, who waited patiently through all of this, told me how much worse it could’ve been.

Well, she didn’t say she almost ditched me. Walking back to work and showing up even later is one way I could imagine it being worse…

While we conversed on the way back I told her the name of the mechanic who had originally worked on my flaming hell-beast, and found out she was kind of related to him. Awkward.

The mechanics couldn’t tow the smoky hellion to their shop until just before closing time, and it’s anyone’s guess when they’ll have it finished (for real). When it is finished, for real, I’ll have to dish out more (real) money. Awesome!

Then I’ll have to go back to the muffler shop.

This might turn into a week-long event.

I really need a vacation.

And a fire extinguisher. I think the first thing I’ll do when I get one is make a bonfire out of repair receipts.

No more baggage

I’m revealing my hatred for all baggage.

Baggage = Ass






I used to think one of society’s worst problems was crystal meth. But now I know the truth… it’s crack.

How come most jeans are still baggy in one way or another? I was ready for the fad to end right about the time it started. Sometimes I have to break down and wear a belt (grr) to keep the suckers up on my waist where they belong. If I downsize the jeans so they fit my waist or legs, surprise! Camel toe is not cool, and I wouldn’t be caught dead in it… unless the funeral director is a total moron.

Let me explain why I’m such a horrible shopper. The story behind the baggy story.

• I like to go in, grab something in my size, and get right out of that trap baby. It’s really simple, shopping = broke. The longer I’m in there the less money I have to piss away on gasoline, and steak. I can always bank on spending at least $100 an hour if I‘m not playing offense.

• They fail to put warning labels on women’s jeans. If they’re relaxed fit, they should be clearly marked “belt required”. If they’re going to ride low they should say “crack alert”. If they have extra long pant legs they should be pre-rolled and sewn up into place so I can bypass them altogether. I’m not gonna look like a milk maid.

• It always looks good hanging on the rack. It never fails; I just can’t trust my own eyes. I’m playing the odds every time, and they‘re usually against me because I‘m always in a hurry.

• I don’t like to try on clothes at the store, it eats up precious time. Yes, I value my time more than I should. I’m a single working mom, go fig. And I hate changing rooms. Not because there is always a woman sporting a mullet and a creepy smile guarding the entrance. Well...

• I usually have kids with me. All kids have a breaking point after spending time in any store. This differs depending on the store, the child, and how much authority you actually have over the child. I prefer to avoid reaching that point when they start getting bored, restless, hungry, tired, whiny, and covetous. Because I have a fear that if I’m in the store too long with the kids I might hear something like, “Mom, little sister is crazy-out-of-control on a bike and people are running and calling security.”

Or, “Sorry Mom, I guess you’ll have to pay for these Doritos, Cheetos, BBQ Lay’s and Skittles now. We‘re still going to the steakhouse, right?”

Or, “Mom, we found little sis passed out in a chair covered in Cheeto dust. Oh, the chair is orange too, and that lady over there who says she’s the manager wants to talk to you.”

• When I buy crap, I keep it. If it doesn’t fit right, too bad. I can always find some one or some thrift shop who will take it. I’m not gonna go back to the store and do an exchange. Then I‘d have to go into the changing room, as hypocritical as it sounds. After going through the trouble of exchanging it, I’d have to make sure I‘m getting something that won‘t slide down and show my business. And I can’t help it if I have an irrational fear of “mullet woman”.

• I like online shopping. Basically, it’s to avoid everything mentioned above. And…I always get a warm and fuzzy feeling whenever I get a package, like some one just sent me a present. By the time my orders arrive I‘ve already forgotten about them, so it‘s like Christmas year round. Since I never get anything for Christmas it just makes it that much more special.

I don’t mind being the one to sass the ass crack. I’d love it if jean makers could go back to the way it was. By the way, are they still making plus sizes while they‘re producing all of these huge-waisted jeans? Why?

Baggage = Weight

The kiddies and I like to take trips. But when it’s time to load up the bags I always end up doing a double take. I wonder why our bags outnumber us by 4-1. So I end up wasting precious driving time going through each and every bag, making sure the kids aren’t trying to sneak their friends along. Who wants to be accused of being part of a child-smuggling ring?

And after all is said and done, I reach the conclusion that no one got overzealous with the packing, and we DO need all that baggage, and I just have like… too many kids. Then I make them load up the bags…

Baggage = History

Every man and woman who has ever been in a serious relationship that came to an end has some baggage. But you can lose it in order to move on. Just take it to your nearest airport.

How do you feel about baggage?

Is it summer yet?

I awoke this morning to my 6-yr-old daughter waving a little package of Scooby fruit snacks in my face. She said, “Mommy, this is the last one. Can I have it?”

Damn, those are some good fruit snacks. Really sugary, but they sure are packed full of flavor. I liked the green ones best.

What was even more surprising than their yumminess and my daughter's graciousness was seeing the sun shining brightly through the curtains. Yes, the sun is back. Finally. It’s been too long. Days and weeks of nothing but clouds and dark skies. So I peeked outside and now the sky looks like this…



And everything is green. It's lovely. So today when I drop my “ride” off at the shop to get it all spruced up for our vacation (it has to be at least drivable) I’ll walk home with the sun shining down on me. This is good. Up until I saw the forecast last night I was expecting rain and hail like we had just a few days ago. I’m much too delicate to get caught in a cloudburst. Well, not really. But my daughters are. And they’re stuck with me today, so it helps that the weather is cooperating. It’s kind of windy out there but that’s alright. It’s supposed to get up to 75 degrees F. I’d take 70 at this point. It’s been too cold for too long. I’m hoping eventually I won’t have to run the furnace at night just to stay warm. Is it summer yet? Could it be? We’re usually a toasty 80 or 90 degrees by now. I can’t remember the last time it snowed in the mountains during June. I’m glad I'm not in the higher elevations right now. Ha ha, those suckers. I hope they have satellite dishes or something to help pass the time during road closures. Arts and crafts, perhaps? They probably just drink a lot of microbrew in their cabins and have sex all day long, to the romantic sounds of Hank Williams.




So anyway, it’s been really cold here, especially at night and my furnace runs on heating oil. When we first moved in this place it was cheaper than our natural gas bill had been, and way cheaper than electric heat. But the cost has been mirroring the gas prices and increasing the same, so when I filled up the tank the last time it was nearly $4/gal. Woah. Normally I’d be set until January of 2009. But I’ve already burned through ¼ of the tank, so now I might make it to December. “Guess what kids? You get heat for Christmas! That’s right, you get a warm house! Isn’t that awesome?”

Is it too late to impeach Bush? I think we’ve got about what, seven months left before he leaves office? Hmm. Don’t tell that to Dennis Kucinich. He might be on to something. Wouldn’t want to break his spirit or anything.

How about that Al Gore? I think I’m starting to see a pattern here. Do you see it too? It’s good to be Independent.

I had a few different blogs going on in my head yesterday at work, then I came home to do more work, and the next thing I knew I was on the couch falling asleep with the TV on. Shhhh, don’t tell Al Gore. I’m really trying to be green. Is this a good look for me?



I think the ruffled puffy blouse is so gay. Country girls wear plaid.

Awkward Moments: Wee Willy Winkie

The first time I ever saw a mini wiener I got an unsuspected two-fer on a family trip. During the first sighting the kid was older and didn’t even speak English. The second incident was much more intimate, and the kid was my age. This happened within a few days' time. Before you start thinking I was a little peeping pervert, hear me out. That didn’t come until about ten years later, I swear.

I was five on this occasion when my mom, dad, little sister and I hopped into the van and traveled from Minnesota to Arizona where we had lived up until the previous year. My parents had a lot of friends there and my grandparents were still together and living in Tucson. The journey itself was a lot of fun. This was back when seatbelts weren’t a requirement. So when we weren’t staring out the back windows watching other cars and making funny faces at old ladies, my sister and I were sleeping comfortably or sitting on our parents laps up front learning how to drive. Well, not really driving, but we experienced the thrill of learning how to steer a moving vehicle going 55 mph down the highway. Dad was a good teacher; and I admit it was a real power trip, knowing if I let go of the wheel we’d all surely die.

My dad loved the two-seater van and spent a lot of time pimping it out in the mid to late seventies. He insulated it, installed woofers all over the place, built and installed a bench, not to mention built a bed in the very back. We spent a lot of time in it as it was our ride and doubled as a camper. But then the new laws went into effect and the van went into permanent park mode. There wasn’t any sense maintaining it anymore. Hello station wagon! It just wasn’t the same. Safety really put a damper on things.

Many rest stops and homemade sandwiches later, we got to Tucson and went straight to Grandma & Grandpa’s. Nothing odd happened there. Well, that’s not entirely true. Someone decided since we were so close to Mexico, why not hop the border (legally) and visit my great-grandparents who didn’t speak one word of English. Cool! Little did I know just how much “cooler” it would get. So the next morning my grandma hopped into the van with us, which was kind of important since she was the only one in our little group who was bilingual. I wonder what she was saying when she’d mutter things under her breath in Spanish and look at my mother. I’ll never know for sure but I can just imagine.

We got to the shack for the very first time in our lives and couldn’t believe our eyes. It had a tin roof, wood stove, no electricity whatsoever… and an outhouse? Up until then I’d thought everyone had indoor plumbing. What insanity! Have you ever had to urinate or defecate into a hole located in what resembles a closet but is much smaller? The toilet seat is just there for show. This is nothing like a toilet! It is less frightening and probably more sanitary to use a bush, but there was no wilderness to be found; just rows of shacks surrounded by barbed wire. To protect what? I don’t know. Maybe the Virgin Mary statues and hoards of candles.

I assumed they’d be a cranky old pair living in such poor conditions, but since this was all they really knew they were surprisingly content. But I was kind of frustrated in this foreign land; it was a bitch not being able to understand my own kin. What was even weirder was trying to mingle with the kids in the barrio. They ignored us whenever we said, "Hi."
Surely they could understand that much? Nope. They would just stare and talk amongst themselves as they passed by. So my sis and I played with our dolls out in the heat under a shady tree and hoped we’d be leaving soon. And preferably before we’d have to pee again.

After what seemed like an all-day-long-eternity but was probably an hour (I did not enjoy playing with AKA babysitting a two-yr-old) two boys who looked about eight and ten walked by and made a beeline right for our van. They disappeared around to the other side of the unlocked van, where the sliding door was located. Little five-year-old me thought they might be up to some trouble. All I could think was I had to defend our van and figured yelling at them in English would scare them away. So I boldly ran over and just as I turned the corner of the van to tell them off, I stopped dead in my tracks about two feet from where they stood. One of the boys was zipping up and the other still had his dinky out. They both turned to find me standing there with very big eyes. They promptly ran away, leaving two fresh puddles behind them. So my plan worked after all; and I didn’t have to make a sound.

*****************************************

Back in Tucson either the very next day or shortly thereafter, we went to visit a couple who were my parents’ friends. They had a boy my age and a girl my sister’s age. The boy immediately began to creep me out. He just stood there and smiled at me. Our parents suggested we go play together. Considering it was either that, listen to a boring adult convo or play with the younger girls, I went off with the little urchin.

We went to his bedroom and I had a look around at his playthings. Toy trucks? No. Action figures? Maybe. TV set? Now we’re talking. So I turned on the TV, but then he told me he had something he wanted to show me. I wasn’t prepared for a show and tell session so I was a little perturbed. All of my good stuff was back at home. But I followed him into the closet anyway, thinking he had some cool new toy flashlight that projected an image of Spider Man’s web, or maybe even the Bat Signal. Back home my only male friend and I would role play Super Heroes, but somehow I always ended up being Wonder Woman. There really weren’t any other options for me.

I get into the closet and he tells me to close my eyes for a surprise. So I covered my eyes with my hands and waited for a few seconds. “Open them now,” he said excitedly.

He was standing right next to me and had yanked out his little sidekick. He held it in his small hands and looked at it, then up at me. “Do you want to touch it?”

I never saw him again after that…

My summer plans include something big this year

When most of my family was here visiting I was in the kitchen and my brother-in-law came along. Out of the blue he started talking about my dog. He told me how well-behaved she was, and asked me how old she was. I told him she was two and it took a few months to train her. Then he asked me point blank if I’d take my sister’s 3-yr-old dog for them. They didn’t bring Monty with them so I had no idea what to expect, other than he is very cute in the pictures I have. I told him I’d think about it, and he went on to tell me Monty is a good dog and he would love it out here. The only negative thing he said was that he liked to scratch on the door. I quickly got the feeling this guy has never owned a dog before and was maybe expecting him to be something like this:




I considered that my brother-in-law has been making renovations in their house since not long after they bought it a few years ago, and who knows when they‘ll call it done. It would be a good thing to get a family pool going on since the poker games are few and far between. Anyway, I figured the wear-and-tear factor could have something to do with my brother-in-law wanting to get rid of the dog. Now, I don’t want to take away a pet from my sister that she loves, so I asked her about it. She unhappily told me Monty had to go. That just left me confused. Especially when she said she’d trained him to obey hand signals.


This was Monty two years ago.

I thought about it for as long as I could, which was about a day. I wanted to give them an answer before they left. I was basically just a dancing puppet with my family pulling the strings. I thought about how my dog could use a canine companion. And if Monty eventually got put to sleep I’d get over it, but it would probably haunt my sister the rest of her life. So I told them I’d do it. I vowed to come up some time this summer on vacation and adopt Monty.

Later that day I was talking to one of my brothers and told him the news. He said Monty was stupid, and my dog was smart. Instead of wondering if I’d made the right decision after all, I chose to feel good about someone other than a neighbor who compliments my hair calling my dog “smart”. My oldest son has been calling my dog “stupid” in a loving way for the past year.

When I told my kids about my plan, all but one of them was happy. Unfortunately, when I’d mentioned earlier to my oldest son in a “ha ha” and I-told-you-so-way that my brother called my dog smart, I let the part slip out about him saying Monty was stupid. Where is the duct tape when I need it on my mouth?

The day the family reunion officially ended and they all hit the road, I called my dad. What do you know, he was taking care of Monty for them while they were away. And he didn’t have anything good to say.

Uh oh.

When my ex found out we’re getting another dog, he asked me if I’d take one of his dogs too. I found it extremely easy to say, “No.”

It looks like a wiener

Yesterday evening my daughters, ages 8 & 6, found an old pack of balloons somewhere in the house and were bound and determined to blow them up. While I was busy folding laundry in the same room I could hear the sounds of little girls without experience trying to blow up some very small balloons…

Whuuuh… whuuuh… whuuuh…

It was obvious they weren‘t getting any results.

Whuuuuuuuh… whuuuuuuuuh… whuuuuuuuuuuh…

Still, nothing.

I wanted to stay on task and get the laundry done and out of the way. It isn’t good having a huge basket of clothes sitting in your living room just waiting for someone to run into while they’re carrying a beverage or liquidy food item and not paying much attention, and then discover you have to rewash the basket’s contents when you still need to get a few hundred other things done before you pass out for the night. But I could sense their frustration. So what’s a mother to do?

I scolded them for getting into the balloons, of course.

I should’ve just ignored them. Their reaction, since Mom was too busy to take and put away the balloons, was to continue on with even more determination. And after about a minute or two, my youngest daughter began to shed tears, as if that was going to change my mind about the situation.

“I can’t do it,” she cried.

Okay, it worked. I sighed, and told her to keep trying. That made her cry even more.

“I can’t do it, I just can’t.”

She had pulled me into her corner and I was rooting for her, but now she was going to just, give up?

“Don’t be a quitter,” I said. “Keep trying.”

After a few more minutes, a breakthrough. They both had managed to get just a teensy bit of air into their balloons. Suddenly their sadness turned to smiles. Their disappointment turned into confidence. And before long, little balloons were zipping around the room. Ffffffffffffftttt. They kept blowing them up and letting them go. Oh, the fun. Oh, the amusement.

When I finished up my chore the younger one was holding her inflated balloon, preparing it for take off. It had now grown to a whole 4 inches long and 1 ½ inches in diameter. It had funny bumps in it after being repetitively inflated and deflated.

The older one looked at it and said, “It looks like a wiener.”

I said, “Hey - what?”

“What!?!”

She said, “You know, it looks like a hot dog after being cooked on the grill.”

“Oh.”

I've reached a milestone

Tonight it dawned on me that I’ve managed to accomplish something big without even trying. No, I didn’t win the lottery or find a cure for my insomnia. But believe me, I have tried, it’s just that the balls never roll in my favor. And I gave up on the lottery a long time ago.

The milestone is, in the last week I’ve managed to tick off (or at least annoy) a record 1,940 people. But not just any people.

I was checking my stats for the last week, and it turns out that 1,940 people who viewed my blog in that time used Google Images to hunt down Vanity Fair pictures of Miley Cyrus. But in the post that received the hits, I only mentioned the pics and didn’t actually post any. This means that I’ve managed to waste a few precious minutes of 1,940 people’s lives. I know I do that every week on a slightly smaller scale, but these folks possibly give a damn about Miley Cyrus. And odds are that a lot of them were hard core fans since my blog is at the bottom of the barrel. This gives me a warm and fuzzy feeling. Especially since I didn’t plan it. I wasn’t rubbing my hands together with a cigar hanging out of my mouth thinking, “Ah ha, I know exactly how to get a handful of those kids, concerned parents and perverts now!”

I think before this, the most people I’ve managed to irk in a week’s time was 24, back in April. Wait, that was family so it doesn’t count.

I wonder how many will be slighted this time around?

Who do you like to annoy?