Not So Funny Afterall

In addition to anxiety, arthritis, bruxism, sleep apnea and medically induced bulimia, I also frequently suffer from insomnia. I solve this problem by downing Lunesta like Tic Tacs. Mostly, it works.

The problem is while able to fall asleep I frequently find myself WIDE AWAKE in the middle of the night my dreaming having been interrupted by some wildly random thought.

Last night, round three I sat bolt upright in bed and started giggling to myself. I had just had the most brilliant, the most hilarious, absolutely the sentence to end all sentences idea for a tweet. As I lay there snickering to myself, clamoring around on my nightstand looking for my Blackberry, I was so completely proud of myself for fashioning such a clever thought that when I couldn't find my BB I repeated this wee bit of comedy to myself over and over again to ensure I wouldn't forget it.

As is wont to happen, when I woke up this morning, I had completely forgotten it.

But as I opened the front door to go to work I was smacked in the face with the oppressive humidity and it came instantly back to me. Only, instead of being funny it turns out my early morning bout of hilarity is really just... well... a little fucked up.

Now that I've built this completely up, I find that I am unable to find the sort of segway that doesn't just lay it out there. However, you all know that I'm a teensy bit mental anyway and so here, for your reading pleasure is my idea of funny at 3 am.

"If Miss Piggy goes to the gym, does she sweat bacon grease?"

WTF Wednesday; Gangsta, Yo.

Dumification

M: "Aren't Dodo's like the national bird of Canada or something?"

Me: "uh, no."

M: "Oh. That's right. Canada's flag has a leaf so they don't have a national bird"

Me: SIGH.

Another Reason California Sucks

Seriously, who makes a law like this?

"California law prohibits a woman from driving a car while dressed in a housecoat. "

Are you kidding me? How the hell else are you supposed to dress when driving that early morning carpool?

Maybe it's just me, but I'd prefer this

to this

Excuses

Charles Dickens always slept facing north, in an effort to battle insomnia - when he travelled, he would carry a compass with him and move his bed around so it was correctly aligned. He also liked to face north while writing, believing it aided his creativity.

I am going to use the "north facing rule" to explain why this blog sucks. My bed faces south and my desk faces west.

What does a clown puking rainbows have to do with the fact that Vitamin Z makes it so that I care about nothing beyond not drooling (noticably, anyway) on myself? Nothing.

You know what also has nothing to do with anything? This

neither does this

or this

or this

But just think, the 45 seconds you spent here you could have spent cleaning the toilets. And so really, by posting nonsense that you have to scroll through before you realize that I actually DON'T have a point and in fact am merely typing because Bejeweled Blitz is on the fritz, noone is twittering anything that needs my reply and there is no one in the office for me to order about, I've saved you from hard labor.

You're welcome.

Holy Roller

I used to work in a large call center where dozens of people sat around me. So of course I spent most days eavesdropping on other peoples conversations.

The lady that sat behind me we nicknamed "The Churchlady" not because she was at all like the SNL character, but rather because almost every story she told managed to wind it's way to either a sermon she'd heard or something someone at church had experienced. This, despite the fact that she had two children, one of whom was the result of an affair and the other was the child of a man in prison for running a drug ring out of a day care.

One day, her neighbor BigHair loudly lamented her three year olds habit of PEEING ON THE WALL and so the Churchlady began to advise her on ways to discipline.



"You see" The Churchlady explained "The more you punish them, the more they act out. You have to guide your children with love"

This seemed like some pretty namby pamby advice, but whatever, so BigHair agreed that maybe she'd try praising the Sprinkler for what he did well in hopes that he'd stop being naughty.

Of course, several days later Sprinkler hosed not just the wall but also the TV. BigHair, though admitting it wasn't the best course of action admitted that she lost her temper and smacked his little pecker. Churchlady was aghast!

"Oh! You should NEVER smack your children! Hands are for loving! A child should remember that their mothers hands always reached out with a gentle touch. They should only think of their parents hands as having wiped away tears and embracing them in hugs. You should never, ever, slap a child! Think of the message that sends them! No, there is no excuse for you raising a hand to a child. That's why when my kids act out I understand that they need comfort! They need to understand what they've done wrong, so I take them aside and then I WHOOP THEM WITH A WOODEN SPOON".




Makes sense to me.

Wordless Wednesday: Inch Worm

As you wish

When I was about eleven my mom went back to graduate school and money was fairly tight. When my birthday came around there wasn't a lot of money for presents, so instead, that morning at breakfast my mom declared that as my gift I could do and eat whatever I wanted.

So we ate ice cream sandwiches for breakfast and corn on the cob and tuna sandwiches for dinner before my dad took my two besties and I ice skating where we got hot chocolate from the snack counter and came home to cookie monster cupcakes with frosting so blue your teeth were stained for the next three days.

I'm sure I must have also gotten presents, though I can't recall what they were. I remember though, is that no matter how odd the request (cookie monster cupcakes? For a kid with a cosmo subscription? LOL) my mom said "sure".

As M has grown up, I've tried to continue the tradition. Some birthdays have meant that we rode roller coasters and ate nothing but food from 7-11 and others have meant hoards of little girls swarming from every corner of my house. Mostly though, it's been dinner and a movie and shopping for something that I usually would say no to.

Yesterday, she got up before I left for work and ate cherry ice cream topped with fresh cherries for breakfast. For lunch she dove into the Veggie Straws and by the time I got home she'd spent ALL DAY on the phone while IMing and also texting. Then we loaded up into the car and headed to the movies to see UP. (side note, WTF, Disney? Ellie dies? In the first ten minutes? The hell? So sweet and heartbreaking, not a kids movie really.) Then we went to Fudruckers Hamburger Bar for dinner. Because it has a cheese fountain.

before heading to Baskin Robbins because miss "PLEASE CAN I GO TO A RAVE? PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE?" wanted a clown cone. Too bad they were out.

she consoled herself with pistachio ice cream over a scoop of birthday cake flavored topped with Kissables and rainbow sprinkles.

And then? She went home and moaned that her belly ached.

I'm calling this birthday a win.

Right or Wrong?

Husband and I had a...let's call it a disagreement...about this and I'm still annoyed, because OBVIOUSLY I am correct and he's an ass. But I'll let y'all weigh in, just in case I'm off my tree here.

It happens.

Scene:

BabyMama is in the kitchen making dinner. Smooth is upstairs playing video games. BigSister is sitting on the couch and baby Gigi is in her Bumbo chair on the coffee table about a foot away from BigSister (she's ten)

Situation:

Gigi has figured out how to make her arms and legs work and wiggles free of her Bumbo (first time she's ever done so) and topples off the table. BigSister sees her escape (at her own admission) and makes no move to catch her (also, her own admission) and when Gigi is lying on the floor screaming her head off, rather than picking her up says, filled with wonder 'Sissy fell' as BabyMama sprints the 10 feet to the couch, climbs over it and snatches baby up.

Result:

Gigi is fine, but BabyMama is annoyed with BigSister for being a foot away and not only not preventing her from falling, but also doing nothing once she's fallen.

Conflict:

I'm ALL on BabyMama's side here. At ten, you should be old enough and responsible enough that when asked specifically to do something (keep an eye on the baby, in this case) that you should be capable of doing so. She wasn't left alone with the baby and was close enough that doing ANYTHING could have prevented the fall.

HSB says it's BabyMama's fault. Why? Because he's fucking crazy, that's why. Yes, she's the adult, but let's be realistic here, she left baby in a (presumed) safe place with an older child to watch her while she was FRYING FOOD ten feet away.

I say she was reasonable to do so, he says she's neglectful.

What say you?

(PS. No, Gigi isn't allowed to sit on the table anymore)

Seriously

Why does milk, when poured into a glass and left in the fridge, get colder than when in the carton?






Inquiring minds want to know!

Worst.Blog.Ever.

I was going to blog a video of my child (you know, the Window Licker?) dancing around a singing as she attempted to see exactly how truthful Vince was being when he said the ShamWow! would soak up ten times it's weight in water, but I was laughing too hard. Because honestly? Who does that? First off who buys ShamWow's? (For the record it was my husband) and secondly who gets THAT excited by the prospect of an As Seen On TV product? But I was laughing far too hard and she heard me and was all "What? What's so funny?" and all I could do was gasp out "Vinnnnccceeee" and then she looked at me like *I* was the crazy one.



So instead, I bring you this gem. Especially timely given my quest for a new tattoo. I think I'll get this one.





If you like that one you should see the rest over at ugliesttattoos.com

Ouiser Says

I do not want to hear a fourteen year old boy, who sounds like a ten year old girl, singing about "eternal love" and "sharing a life". Seriously. What the fuck? Kids at that age still need to be told to brush their teeth! He doesn't even need to shave! What does he know about eternal anything?

Oh, wait. To a teenager, FOREVER, is like, how long it like takes to like down load a song from iTunes. So I guess "Eternal Love" would end some times next Thursday during third hour math.

Never mind.

Good Fences

(I was going to post about Disneyland, but Blogger was down yesterday and I left my camera at home today and you really need to see the pictures, because otherwise, how is it a travel blog? Right? Right.)

Yesterday as I was pulling out of my driveway I spotted my mailman coming around the corner and decided to wait for him. We've had the same mail man for at least eight years and he and I chat from time to time about the weather, the amount of junk mail I get, the fact the neighbors insist on parking directly in front of their mailbox etc. Basically the kind of small talk that you have with people you know nothing about.

As he hands me my mail yesterday he says to me "Hey, I see that you refinanced your house! How did you manage that in this economy?" and I'm like wait, what the hell? I didn't refinance? then I remembered that our mortgage company went tits up and our statements now come from another company. And he noticed. So I explained it to him, we commiserated about the shitty housing market and then he asked about J's shooting hobby, wondered if I still was selling costumes and did M like her out of state camp and THEN I was all? WTF?

I mean, I get that my garbage man knows a lot about me. After all, the clinking of my empty wine bottles against the Zoloft bottles IS a very distinct sound. But it never occurred to me that my mailman was actually paying attention to what he delivers me. He even commented on the amount of ammunition components that my husband orders and how he knew which houses he'd run to in the event of an emergency!

How freaking creepy stalkerish is that? And yet, think of the GOSSIP I can get about the neighbors! I'm totally going to bake him some cookies. Because Mama loves her some gossip....

Maybe it's me?

I'm starting to think that I am the reason that those around me are...special...yes, let's go with that.

In addition to M, who possibly shouldn't be allowed out with out a reflective sweater I also have dogs that should probably be wearing helmets.

We have three dog dishes but despite the fact that each dog gets exactly the same food and exactly the same amount of said food they practically kill themselves to eat out of one particular dish.

Seriously, what the hell is so special about that dish? Is it that it's smaller? Greener? Made from plastic derived from the horse hooves and crack? What?

Or, maybe it's just that dogs are toddlers. They eat all the time, poop everywhere, whine for no reason and get up at weird hours of the night just to stare at you until you wake up thinking that Freddy Kruger is standing at the end of your bed ready to kill you until you're all "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT? It's Three Fucking A.M. GO LAY DOWN" but of course, once they huff off to their bed, can YOU get back to sleep? No, of course not.

Because dogs are evil.

See?

Evil.

Thank you, come again.

I swear to you guys that I never beat my kid about the head. I mean, sure, she's brain damaged, but that was totally not my fault. And anyway, I think the fact that she's "special" has less to do with getting her head slammed through a window and more to do with the fact that she's blond.

I could seriously have an entire blog about the retarded shit that M says. But then y'all would think that I let her eat a bowl of Lead n' Paint Flakes for breakfast and then wash it down with a glass of stupid.

But sometimes, OMG, sometimes she says some things that make me sit back and regret that I huffed gas fumes while I was pregnant.

Last night as we sat watching Paris Hilton's My New BFF she turns to me with deep concern and complete seriousness and says

"Can you get mittens with out the little thumby thingy? You know, like for people who don't have thumbs or whatever?"

Completely desensitized to such completely idiotic questions I replied

"Yeah, they're called SOCKS"

before thinking that HOLY SHIT, My kid is going to grow up to be a Wal-Mart greeter.