Hiatus

My computer is sick and must spend some time in the Gateway service center in Texas. Therefore, I am taking a blogging break for a week or two until I get it back.

This post and yesterday's post were done via my old Android phone using WiFi and it's just too difficult for the long term. I can't add pictures, format anything, add links to anything and I HATE using a phone keyboard to type. Plus, I've been blogging daily (except for Sundays) since January, so I think I'm due for a break.

So, there will be no weekend poem for your enjoyment this week, no foolish tongue-in-cheek crap for you to read and no condescending posts full of sarcasm that really dumb people will find offensive or won't get. However, you can check out my old posts in the archive over to the right. I would add links to some of my faves, but I cannot add links on the phone.

I hope everyone has a good grouchy break. I will still be tweeting and putting old posts on Facebook daily so you can still keep up with the grouchiness there. I'll be back soon!

Proper Beach Attire for Kids

I recently went to a sprinkler pad for a birthday party. While the birthday girl's mom and I were sitting there watching the kids play, C-Note (the birthday girl's mom) asked me, 'Is that little girl in her panties?' I looked around and quickly saw what she was looking at. Indeed, the little girl was in her panties.

And the term 'little' is used loosely here. The kid was either 11 or a VERY tall 6 year old. She looked really young but she was really, really tall. Like Andre the Giant tall. Her mom was pulling her out of the splash pad and the kid had on a flimsy pair of wet panties. No swimsuit. No shirt. No shoes. Just panties.

I don't know about you, but I don't want my kids naked or even nearly naked in public. And more importantly, THEY don't want to be naked in public. Except Little Stinker...he always wants to be naked and ready to pee on something. But he's 2, he should grow out of it. Bama Hubs hasn't grown out of it, though, so maybe I should be worried?

Anyway, the point is that kids don't need to be nekkid in public. When my girls wear a swimsuit, it must cover everything. I don't care if they wear a two-piece, but it has to fit well and not show booties or kid boobies. There are so many perverts out there to ogle kids when they're fully clothed, WHY would you let your kids run around like that?

Gone are the days of the Coppertop girl - times change and we as parents need to realize this. Maybe one day in a utopian society where there is no crime or all perverts have been banished to the moon kids can walk around nekkid or nearly nekkid in public. But until then, only let them do that at home, please.

Thank You, Haters!

The other day, I commented on someone's knees in a picture on Facebook. As usual, my comment was full of sarcasm (I know, you just can't believe it). However, someone took offense at my comment and insulted me.

Before I read the comments to my comment, I posted this as my status on Facebook (on my personal page): I'm glad there has been a lot of sadness & bad luck in my life. Without the crap, I would never have learned to look on the bright side & see humor in everyday things. Unfortunately, some people have gone the opposite way & turned into GIANT DOUCHES with just a little bit of sadness & bad luck. To those people, I lift my middle finger.

Well, it seems more than appropriate now, so here you go, haters:

With that, I'd also like to thank the haters, because you have shown me how people with little or no character turn out when everything doesn't go exactly as they wanted it. Without you as an example, I could have turned out to be like the woman who called me a Furburger on Facebook. Instead, I learned that being bitter and a giant asshat is not the way to deal with things. Life sucks. People are mean. Shit happens (in my house, it literally happens everywhere). It's how you deal with the suck, mean and shit that shows what kind of person you are.

Sure, sometimes I get snarky and in a bad mood, but usually that's just when the PMS Pixie visits me (thanks, Give me a Valium with my Latte, for that, by the way).

Just to give you a rundown, here are only a FEW things that have happened to me in my short life (when people tell me I should write a book, they are people I've known forever who have been there through ALL of the junk - that list is too long for about 25 blog posts). I am in no way implying that I have had the most difficult life ever, or that my life is harder than anyone's in particular, and I have had so many blessings to balance out the bad stuff. I feel that I have handled most of the crappy stuff and bad luck well (and by well, I mean that I am not in jail).

• Committed my father to a mental institution at 16, after he shot my car several times with a shotgun and tried to kill himself after suffering a nervous breakdown
• Gave my brother CPR when he overdosed while waiting on the ambulance to arrive
• Mother suffered an aneurysm rupture in 2008 - I had to take care of her afterwards
• Due to mother's aneurysm rupture, dropped out of graduate school
• Have had 2 ankle reconstructions on my right foot and need one on my left foot (along with a bunion removal, yummy!), but am putting it off indefinitely due to not having long-term help so I can stay off my foot for four weeks
• Recently had a car repossessed, which is something everyone should aspire to do once in your life (kidding, of course)

I could have turned into a bitter wench (like the Furburger name-caller). But why would I do that? Life is too short to deal with too much BS, including the BS that you make for yourself. And besides, if I had handled it any other way than with humor, I would probably be on many, MANY anti-depressants and anti-anxiety medications. As of now, I am unmedicated. That could change at the drop of a hat, though. The next time Little Stinker pulls his diaper off and pops a squat in the bathtub, I may get into my dad's pills.

Until people change and stop being morons, I will put '(kidding, of course)' after everything I type so that everyone will know that I am not serious. And I'll start pointing them to this blog so that they may stop being dumbasses and realize that they need a course in character development.

When Little Stinker Grows Up

For the last 7 years, I have gotten very accustomed to life with a baby or toddler since I keep popping those suckers out. Meltdowns, although they make me want to self-inflict paper cuts on my eyeballs a la Jackass, don't really bother me all that much. Poop smeared everywhere isn't so bad from a baby once you've had to deal with it from an adult in diapers. Being peed on by a baby is a cakewalk when your husband tries to water every single piece of furniture in your bedroom when he's really sleep-deprived then gets drunk and has to pee during the night.

Also, I have the knowledge that with every tick of the second-hand on my watch, it will all be over much too soon, so I do try to enjoy everything about it. Even the stuff that makes me cringe/gag/puke/want to hook a bottle of wine to myself with an IV/throw myself off the deck/jump into Atlanta traffic/cry.

Along with all the precious baby stuff, there are several other things I'm going to miss when Little Stinker gets too old to be considered a toddler.

• The stroller

I have found that the stroller is an awesome smuggling tool. One look under the seat at the mounds of crap piled high - diapers, wipes, sippy cups, changes of clothes - makes every teenage kid in charge of ANYTHING frightened and they wave me on through without checking the stroller. I've smuggled snacks and full five course meals into places where outside food and drink were prohibited. 

Plus, it's so much easier to pile crap under the stroller when shopping in a mall than to carry the bags around from store to store. I'm really going to miss the convenience of the stroller. Even when Little Stinker is 8, I may still use the stroller strictly for smuggling and shopping convenience.

• Blaming the baby

The house is a mess, things get spilled, items get lost...and everything is because of the baby. Can't find something? The baby must have hidden it. Something's spilled? It was the baby. The reason I can't keep the house clean? No, it's not because I'm a lazy cow, it's because everytime I try to clean, the baby messes it up. 

I am so going to miss being able to blame random things on the youngest person in the house.

• Baby wipes

Gentle enough to clean crap off your baby's butt, yet they get anything out of everything. Spot on your microfiber sofa? Baby wipes. Crayon on the wall? Baby wipes. Grease on your hands? Baby wipes. They're the best invention ever. Like the stroller, I may still continue to employ this tool of motherhood long after Little Stinker no longer requires them for the use of ass wiping.

• Drinking

With all the yelling, screaming, fighting and overall dumbassery that goes on due to having small children in the house, I can get away with an occasional glass of wine 'to calm me down'. However, when the kids get older and they get calmer (they do get calmer, right?), I'm thinking that the occasional glass of wine may not be appropriate. Once my kids are older and having their friends over, I don't want to turn into the cougar mom who flirts with all the teenage boys who hang out at the house because she's drunk all the time. 

Is there anything you are going to miss that's not the typical 'I'm gonna miss this' crap? If so, please leave me a comment somewhere and share yours with the rest of us (here, Facebook, Twitter, wherever).

Weekend Poem - July 16-17

I love the game Plants VS Zombies. I have beaten it on my computer several times. I do not own an iPhone, or I'm sure I would have beaten it there, too. My girls even love it. We actually sing the song that plays when you beat the game (There's a zombie on your lawn....there's a zombie on your lawn). So I bought it for them on the DS. They each have their own DS, so I only bought one game.

All you other mothers of kids close in age are all laughing at me right about now, because you know that you cannot EVER buy just one of something that all the children really want. My girls usually share pretty good, but when it comes to Plants VS Zombies, I may as well be asking the legislature to pass ANY of Obama's bills without massively rewriting it and making it into a giant joke of its former self.

In hindsight, I should have bought two games. But I couldn't afford to buy two games for my girls, because I bought one for my niece so she could take it home with her. So my girls just got one game to share. And they have done NOTHING but argue about that stupid game since we got it. In fact, I just confiscated both of the DS systems along with the Plants VS Zombies game. I am staring at them on top of the computer desk as I type.

So this weekend, you get a short poem about Plants VS Zombies and my girl's inability to share (it's short because my creativity has been stifled by a gigantic headache brought on by squealing and arguing over the stupid game).

There's a zombie on my lawn
There are brats in my house
The game is really awesome
It make my girls scream & shout

But not at the game
They're yelling at each other
They won't share, no not at all
They've turned into little f*ckers

I wish I had my own
Pea shooter, squash & catapult
And that my girls were zombies
Maybe then they would just shut up

In a few days the newness will die off
Until then I'm just screwed
They'll yell & fight & scream
Until the next big thing comes through

Where is Crazy Dave
When I really need him?
Wonder if he has anything in his trunk
That I could use to beat them?

Things You Never Wanted Your Father to Ask You #13

Last night I was doing some Facebooking, drinking some wine while the kids were occupied and not yelling and screaming at each other (it does occasionally happen, although not very often). As I was sitting at my computer, having an actual 'me' moment for once, Paw Paw comes upstairs and asks me a question that he also asked the two previous nights.

Before I tell you the question he asked, I have to tell you what he did. His doctor gave him some pfenergan, and instead of him saying 'I don't do well with pfenergan - the last time I took it, I almost burned the house down' he says 'OKAY! That sounds GREAT!'. So he's got the pfenergan, and instead of burning the house down this time, he took a nap on his heating pad.

For 7 hours.

His heating pad does not turn itself off after 2 hours the way mine does, and he had it on HIGH. For 7 hours.

When he woke up, he had a giant blister on the area of his back that's near the coccyx. That would be this area right here:

This is Mr. Bruce Springsteen's Butt from the Born in the USA album cover. Or as I like to call him, my children's future stepfather.

So, Paw Paw has a giant blister ON HIS ASS. Specifically, just to the right of the top of his butt crack.

You're probably wondering why I know about his ass blister. I'm about to tell you. I know you're so anxious to know.

The question that Paw Paw asked me the first night after the blistering was, 'Sis, can you please look at my butt?'. We went in my bedroom, he dropped trou, and I had to put antibiotic cream and a gauze pad on my father's ass.

The second night, the question was 'Sis, can you put a band-aid on my butt?'.

Last night the question was 'Sis, can you look at my butt again?' - he didn't even wait for a response, he just went into my bedroom, dropped his britches and waited for me to come in and slap a band aid on his booty.

Only in my house does this seem normal.

And on a good note, the pfenergan got thrown away. Again.

You Suck, Genetics!

Genes are like frenemies. Sometimes they give you things that would be good (like looks) but leave out things like the ability to learn from mistakes. So I have some gorgeous brothers who make really bad decisions.

I actually have four brothers: an older half brother from my dad's 1st marriage; two brothers who are also the progeny of my mom and dad; and my step-brother (the biological parentage of my step-brother has been discussed in detail, and it has been decided that he is not my father's biological child, but he still looks a lot like my dad, my older brother and my son).

All of my brothers are smart guys. However, only the older one, D1, has made decent decisions. But they're all good looking. I'm about to illustrate how just because your relatives are good looking doesn't mean that you will be (yet one more thing proving that genes are like frenemies).

First, my dad. Even as an older gentleman, he gets flirted with. By women of all ages. All the time. Even now, he looks like Michael Douglas.

D1: A retired Navy man, he has always reminded me of a young Nick Cage. He even sounds a little like him. Think Mr. Cage from Raising Arizona minus the cheesy mustache, porn star sideburns, receding hairline and semi-mullet.

C: When he's healthy and drug-free, C favors a rugged Ryan Gosling, which has ruined any attraction I may have had towards Ryan Gosling.

J: When he's healthy and drug-free, J is like a cross between Leo DiCaprio and Elvis. Or Eddie Munster - he's got a wicked widow's peak and dark hair, so he could pass for the modern-day Mr. Munster.

D2: When he's healthy and drug-free, D2 looks like the Sprouse twins from 'The Suite Life'. When I saw Big Daddy (the Adam Sandler movie), I was amazed at how much D2 looked like the little boy (played by the Sprouse twins). As an adult, he STILL looks like them.

And then there's me. Although I sound like Drew Barrymore (I have a lisp)...

I look more like Rosie O'Donnell. When she's made up, she's not so bad.

It's when she's not so made up when I don't really want to look like her.

Oh well. At least I'm funny. Oh, wait, so is she. Dammit!

George W. Bush

A fellow blogger  and overall hilarious person on Facebook, The Little White Lion, posted this link the other day and it inspired me.

It would be nice to believe that George W. Bush purposely said all the stupid things he did during his presidency, as if he was just being ironic or sarcastic and was seeing who would catch it. But no, that's not the case. He's just a giant moron. And if you're a Bush fan, I'm sorry if you're offended. But you have to admit that he said some jacked up stuff. Here are a few examples (all from http://politicalhumor.about.com/library/bl_bush_quote_generator.htm):

"Rarely is the question asked: Is our children learning?"
 - Florence, SC, Jan 11, 2000

"You know, one of the hardest parts of my job is to connect Iraq to the war on terror."
 - Interview with Katie Couric, CBS News, Sept 6, 1006

"Too many good docs are getting out of the business. Too many OB-GYNs aren't able to practice their love with women all across this country."
 - Poplar Bluff, MO, Sept 6, 2004

"There's an old saying in Tennessee - I know it's in Texas, probably in Tennessee - that says fool me once, shame on you. Fool me - you can't get fooled again."
 - Nashville, TN, Sept 17, 2002

"You teach a child to read, and he or her will be able to pass a literacy test."
 - Townsend, TN, Feb 21, 2001

It's probably a VERY good thing that he married a VERY smart lady. What's that saying....I'll put it in Bush-speak for you: "Behind every man...is a butt....and probably a woman looking at that butt. And Laura's looking at mine right now because my butt is hot. And rich. Did I mention rich?' Ok, ok, that was a little too much, but you get my point.

And so I leave you with one of my favorite impersonations ever (even more than Tina Fey's Sarah Palin impression, which is freaking awesome). Will Ferrell as George W. Bush, from one of my favorite sites of all time, Funny or Die:

President Bush Reacts to Osama Bin Laden's Death with Will Ferrell from Will Ferrell

Car Lashes

Someone posted the picture below on Facebook recently, and all I could say was....

Really?

A company actually makes LASHES for cars? 

I will admit that the business is a clever idea. According to their 'About Us' page on carlashes.com, they are an after market car product company that specializes in accessories for women. That's a pretty good idea, as women will buy many stupid things. All you need to do is look at wedding related sites to figure that out (save-the-date magnets, anyone?). Or baby sites - there are tons of useless products that new moms feel they just CANNOT live without and will purchase. 

This product fits the same niche as the 'leis hanging from the rear view mirror' thing. Late teens, early 20s. Maybe women going through their own version of a midlife crisis - instead of dumping their husband for a 23 year old golf pro and buying a Porsche, they'll simply paste some Carlashes on their Odyssey. And eyeliner - don't forget the eyeliner. After all, any self-respecting woman who would put lashes on her car must have eyeliner too. I'm also betting that we're going to see some gay dudes riding around with lashes on their cars, too.

And coming soon, they will have lips. Yes - lips for cars! The lashes are kind of cute (at least on the Bug), but the lips seem creepy to me. But I'm sure people will buy them. 

As stated in the above paragraph, I think the lashes look kind of cute on the Bug. However, below you'll see that they look kind of evil on the BMW. I think this is a modern day version of Christine - instead of a '58 Fury, it's a 2010 Beamer. It's like the car version of a 'Mean Girl'.

Car Conversations

Driving back from the zoo last week, I had an interesting conversation with my children and niece. Here's how it went down...

Pumpkin Pie: Where are we?


Niece: If we were up your butt you'd know. (For the record, she got in trouble for saying this, as it's not appropriate for a 10 year old. But it was pretty funny.)

You can buy these little gems at zazzle.

Pumpkin Pie: You can't be up my butt because my butthole is too small.

Everyone laughs.

Me: How do you know it's too small?


Pumpkin Pie: Because I looked at it in the mirror.

Everyone laughs again.

Me: I'm going to put that on the internet.


Pumpkin Pie: No no no!

A few minutes later....

Pumpkin Pie: What's the internet?

I love our car conversations.

Weekend Poem - July 9-10

It's hard to clean house with 3 kids. It's even harder to clean house with 4 kids. A few weeks ago, my house was spotless. Then we watched a kid while her mom had a baby, and let me tell you, that kid was messy. She single-handedly destroyed my house. Ok, that's not entirely true, but she and my kids would mess stuff up and then I'd be too dang tired to clean up after those messy kids.

Then we got my niece (we actually still have her). She's 10, and she's a big help. But as long as another child is in the house, I cannot get my kids to do anything. Well, anything except act like GIANT BRATS. If my goal were to go hoarse from yelling so much, then it would have been met weeks ago. No, my goal is to get my house clean, but that doesn't look like it's going to happen until my niece goes home and I can bribe someone into watching my kids for a day so I can have the house to myself. That's the only way it's going to get cleaned.

This weekend's poem is an ode to my nasty house. If you have a spotless house, you won't understand it. If, however, you have a nasty filthy house just like me, you'll probably laugh your booty off. And in some spots, for rhyming's sake, I have foregone proper grammar, so please disregard my indiscretions.

Dear Jesus please help me
I'm at my wit's end
Little Stinker has decided
That poop is his friend

His hand goes in his diaper
And gets covered in poo
He wipes it on everything
I'm tired of cleaning up doo

Toys are everywhere
The furniture is stained
The floor is sticky
The bathroom sink won't drain

When I walk I have to step
Over the toys in the floor
And kick crap out of the way
Just to close a door

I'm headed for my own
Episode of Hoarders
My house is a mess
Due to all the little boarders

Dishes piled high
Food stuck on the stove
The garbage is overflowing
Into insanity I'm being drove

When I get time to clean
I'm too tired to move
It takes all my energy
Just to put on my shoes

If you want a clean house
Don't ever have kids
Or just get used to messiness
As Bama Hubs did


And just to show you how bad my house is, here's a picture of the living room looking into Little Stinker's room and the hall. Most people would be embarrassed, but not me. This is real life, folks. I'm not going to pretend that keeping a clean house is in any way attainable when you have multiple children. This stuff accumulated in ONE DAY. Notice the vacuum cleaner? Well, Little Stinker won't leave it alone and no matter where I put it, he gets it out, unravels the cord and takes off the dust container. And you'll also notice that there is not a single adult think in the floor - it's all kid's shoes, clothes, toys, etc. The colander? That came from them eating popcorn and just dropping it when they were done. Sigh.

And before you start judging me saying I should have started young, know that the girls both LOVED to help clean when they were little. Little Stinker still does, although his idea of 'helping' is undoing everything I just did. But the girls, they would really help. However, as they got older and got attitudes (they didn't have those before they started school), if one decided she didn't feel like cleaning, I couldn't get the other one to clean either because 'she's not doing it, so why should I have to?'. No amount of bribing, whipping, time-outs would work. The only thing that does work is to take stuff away or not let them do things I've promised they can do. 

Dog Treats, Dog Treats Everywhere

We trick our dog into getting into her kennel by giving her dog treats. The girls are active participants in this - if Bama Hubs and I are otherwise occupied, they will give the dog a treat and put her in the kennel. Little Stinker watches all this and wants to get in on the fun.

Yesterday while I was updating this blog here, I heard 'plunk' pause 'plunk' pause 'plunk' pause, etc.. At first I didn't realize what it meant, as I kind of trance out when I'm writing, but then I realized that it was the sound of something hitting the kennel floor.

I got up and walked over and Little Stinker looks up at me, smiles and says 'Mommy! Treat!' as he has his hand in the box of Milk Bones. In the kennel are at least 24 Milk Bones. My little guy was just so proud of himself, I couldn't get too terribly mad at him. But now I know the cause of the dog's mysterious vomiting and the mysteriously quick depletion of the dog treats.

Here he his after I put everything up and he used one of his ride-ons to get up on the counter and get the treats down when I was trying to take a pee (which us moms should never attempt to do with a toddler in the house):

Simple Dude, Simple Book

I started blogging after reading some other awesome bloggers. One of those bloggers was Simple Dude. He's just your average every day guy, except for the fact that he can make you shoot crap out of your nose if you happen to be reading his stuff while drinking a beverage.

His blogging story is pretty cool, and he went from like 4 followers to about 2,000 in just a couple of months. Since he writes about things that happen in his life, he wrote a book about how this happened. The book also gives us other bloggers tips and strategies for how to be successful at this blogging thing and grow our audience.

So I read it, and enjoyed it. You can get it here on Amazon, and here on Smashwords.

It's a short read, won't take you too long. In fact, I read it with the dog whining and barking in the room with me, the noise of the dishwasher drowning her out a little (but I still heard her) and with the kids running around like mad hooligans on crack. So you should be able to read it fairly easily if I could get through it with all that distraction. The Simple Dude is quite hilarious, so even with distractions, due to his humor and flair, it's enjoyable.

And he really does have some awesome tips, many of which I have started incorporating into my own blog. I'm not going to put everything here, because I do want folks to purchase the book (it's only $1.99) and read it. It's great for people who want to start blogging or who are already blogging and want to get more people to read their stuff.

Some of the things he talks about in the book are:

• Choosing a name - Like naming a kid, a blog name is important. Just as Gucci will never be a stock broker, 'How to eat worms and vomit them back up' will probably not have a lot of readers because the name is just stupid.
• Anonymity or Revealing Your True Self - Should a blogger be anonymous (as the Simple Dude) or should he or she let everyone know who they are (as I have)? Anonymity gives bloggers the freedom to write whatever the heck they want without repurcussions in their personal life. I'm not anonymous, but I have that freedom as well because I really just don't give a flip.
• Keep your posts short - Blogging is not for writing novels along the lines of War and Peace. I've been guilty of some long posts, but normally I try to follow this rule. People get bored easily, and if they have to scroll down....and scroll down....and scroll down....chances are they're going to scroll on to the next blog.
• Take advantage of Social Networking (Twitter and Facebook) - He recommends making a fan page on Facebook and starting a Twitter account for blogs. A lot of traffic comes from those sites and other networking sites just for blogs.
• Use pictures in your posts - Pictures help grab people's attention. If someone sees an interesting picture, they're more than likely going to read the post to see what it's about. I normally don't post a lot of pictures, but I'm following his advice and have been posting at least one picture with each post since I read the book last week. 
• Keep your content interesting and fairly consistent - Bloggers need to choose what type of category they fit into. I'm a lifestyle blogger, and more specifically a mommy blogger, although I write about so much more than parenting. But you won't find instructions on how to work on a 1987 Yamaha three-wheeler on my site, because that's not my thing. I will gripe about my vehicles occasionally, however. 
• Be Active - Follow other bloggers and make sure to comment on their posts. Make sure that any comment left has a link back to your own blog. And if you comment, try to be one of the first ones (my favorite part of the book was about the Comment Ninja). Also, reply to comments left on your blog.

There are so many good pointers in the book for us bloggers, it's a GREAT deal at $1.99. I just touched on a few points here - the really good stuff is left for you to read on your own. And if you don't already follow his blog, do so now. No, really, click here and follow his blog. Then buy his book. 

I've already started following his advice and will continue to do so. I'll keep you posted on how successful I am. Of course, when you see me on Ellen, I guess you will already have figured that out.

Fireworks

I'm really tempted to write a scathing post about how the Casey Anthony jury should all be shot for finding her not guilty, but I'm going to refrain. Some people are taking that stuff really personally, and there seems to be a very definite line drawn between people who think she's guilty and who think she's innocent. I'm outraged at the verdict, sure, but it's not my life. She'll get hers if she did it, one way or another. I have been joking about it, though. John Grisham's next book will be about her jury, and he'll name it 'The Dumbasses'. She's going to try to go and live with her dad when she realizes she has nowhere else to go, and the conversation's going to go something like this: 'Hey, dad, I know I accused you of raping me, covering up my baby's death and all that, but we're good, right?'

Instead I'm going to write about the people we saw walking around at the fireworks display in Helen, Georgia. There were some fine human specimens walking around prior to the fireworks. Normally, I wouldn't comment on the way people look, but they were obviously asking for it.

When we first got there, a lady was in a strange looking bathing suit, wandering around the parking lot looking into various people's vehicles. She stood in front of our friend's car for about 7 minutes, trying to get them to open up and let her in (it was raining) until she realized they weren't who she was looking for. At that point, it was obvious she was rather drunk. Later on, she found her people and put some clothes on. Then she became just the drunken lady wandering the parking lot rather than the half-naked drunken lady.

My personal favorite was the white geisha girl. With green hair. She was walking about with a bright kimono on and a traditional Japanese hairdo. Except that it was green. Her hair, not the kimono. She and this man were walking back and forth among the cars - I'm not sure what they were doing, but I have a feeling she was walking around so everyone could look at her. It would have been less strange and she been obviously advertising something, like a new Japanese steakhouse or sushi bar. But no, she seemed to just like the attention. It would also have been less strange had the man she been walking around with not looked like a plainclothes version of Gandalf.

And I found a new shirt for Bama Hubs. This guy in his early 20s was walking around with a bright pink shirt on. Bright pink. On the front, printed in large, black block letters, it said YOUR MAMA. Yes, Bama Hubs needs this shirt. It will go nicely with the shirt that has a picture of a squirrel that says 'Protect Your Nuts'.

There were the random drunk folks, the rednecks, the non English speakers who were speaking in their native language very loudly. It was a nice mix of people. Then there were the people with the tricked-out Escalade with the fancy car alarm. I didn't actually see them, but I heard them. More precisely, I heard their car alarm. Over and over and over and over again. Each time a firework would go off, it would trip the alarm. So we got to hear, 'Boom!' 'Ahhhhh!' 'beeep beeeep beeeeeeep beeeeeeep'. It got so bad that even the kids were saying 'Seriously!?' each time it went off. After everyone in the vicinity either yelled at them or set their own alarms off in retaliation, the dolts finally realized they didn't need to re-arm it. They were sitting right there. If they were that worried about someone stealing their car or their belongings out of it, they shouldn't ever have left the house.

I hope everyone else had a wonderful 4th of July. And I hope no one gets into any fights over the Casey Anthony verdict. And if you do, please tell me that you whooped someone's ass because they said she wasn't guilty and they are glad she was let off.

Hit Me Baby One More Time

My youngest child has turned into Stewie. You know, the Family Guy toddler who is intent on killing his mother.

I know this because in the last 2 months he has attempted to kill me with his forehead.

First, he broke my nose. Yes, folks, Little Stinker broke my nose. My sweet, adorable, blue-eyed baby boy smacked me in the nose with his forehead and gave me a hairline fracture across the bridge of my nose. It may have only been a hairline fracture, but it hurt so bad that my face throbbed when I walked for about a week. Luckily there was not a lot of swelling or bruising, but there was certainly a lot of pain.

Then yesterday, he almost knocked out one of my front teeth. Again, with his forehead. It's still a little loose, although it feels tighter than it did yesterday. If I can leave it alone, maybe I won't have to replace it with a gold tooth. Although a grill might be cool looking on a chunky mom in her early 30's - I may have to work at it to get it loose to see what my dentist can do with it.

I cannot wait to see what he attempts to do next. I'm guessing that it will involve his forehead again since these last 2 attempts worked out so splendidly in his 'kill mommy' plan. He didn't kill me, but both times it hurt so badly I almost wished he had. I'm going to tattoo his forehead to warn any future stepmother so that when he does kill me with it, the next woman will know how dangerous it is.

Happy Veteran's Fourth of Memorial July

Ahhh, the Fourth of July. Independence Day. A day to remember those who have fought and fallen in all the wars. Wait....what?

Apparently, many people have forgotten a little thing called American History. I have seen so many FB status updates and signs on churches to  'remember our fallen soldiers' and 'salute a veteran'. Yes, I think I'll go out and salute a veteran of the American Revolution. He would be over 200 years old, but I think I could find one.

This is a pet peeve of mine, the whole misinterpretation of a holiday thing. The Fourth of July is a holiday to celebrate this country's freedom from Great Britain. It's a celebration of America, so to speak. We have Memorial Day to honor fallen soldiers and Veteran's Day to honor soldiers who are still living who fought in past wars. But Independence Day is just that, to memorialize our independence from another country. Or, more precisely, to commemorate the day the Declaration of Independence was adopted.

So, please, folks, by all means, celebrate this holiday with fireworks (but try not to blow off a body part), barbecues, drinking (but not driving afterwards), swimming and all that fun crap. But don't post a FB status to remember the soldiers just because it's Independence Day. No one alive today fought in the American Revolution. I fully support our military and think they should be thanked on a daily basis, not just on Veteran's or Memorial Day - don't get me wrong on that. But get your history straight! Or you will get a honking huge eye roll from people like me who have a giant pet peeve about things as trivial as getting facts straight.

On a better, less smart-assed note, I hope everyone has a safe and happy holiday! And go out and hug a soldier, if your idea of celebrating America is to hug a serviceman or woman. Now that I think about it, I've seen some of the young hot soldiers, and I think I'd like to hug one too.

Again, be safe, folks. And I leave you with this picture, because someone is going to wind up in the ER due to some explosive device similar to this one:

Weekend Poem - July 2-3

My house has been overtaken by gnats for a few weeks now and I cannot get rid of them. I first noticed them and cleaned everything, only to find they were still there. Eventually I found a rotten onion, which was COVERED in gnats, and even though I got rid of it and cleaned up all the goo, the gnats were still really, really bad. And as Bama Hubs tells me several times a day, I'm not the world's best housekeeper, so every time I spray for them, they come right back when I miss a day (or four).

So today's poem is about those friggin gnats.

It all started with a
Little rotten onion
Now they're everywhere
They're hated by my younguns

They creep up on you
You only hear the whine
They hide in the cabinets
On your left out food they dine

They're so freaking nasty
They swarm around in clouds
They give me the creeps
I just want them out

I've sprayed and swatted
And aired out the kitchen
I've thrown stuff away
Even washed the oven mittens

Can't call the exterminator
For a little swarm of gnats
Only ants, roaches or termites
Or big ole wharf rats

Hopefully soon they'll be
Out of my life
Or all of my visitors will think
We're also infested with mice

Until then I'll deal
And hear Bama Hubs bitch
Yes, honey, I hear them too
At least they don't make us itch


And here is a picture of a lone gnat after I shooed off all his friends and this little guy was stubborn and stuck it out. He apparently really liked the backsplash.

Oh to be Manipulated

Note: My tense jumps around a lot in here. I'm not writing a book, so I really don't care that much, and I have 3 friggin kids plus my niece here for a visit. I didn't have time to edit everything. 

As some of you know, I was investigated by Adult Protective Services for abusing my mother. My brother J called APS and reported me to get even with me for a) calling the Sheriff's department on him when he was drunk and would not leave my house after I caught him somewhere he should not have been and b) because I am my mom's conservator/guardian and I will not give him any of her money.

I take this crap seriously, because...

After the investigation, APS recommended that I place my mother in a nursing facility, which I had already decided to do after my brother pulled that crap. So, in telling my mother that she would be going somewhere and that her beloved golden boy J is the reason that it was happening so quickly, she managed to turn the situation around and make it my fault.

Yes, folks, it was all my fault. Here is her logic:

• I won't give him all of her money so I brought it upon myself
• I won't let her get her own apartment so that he can live with her so he was right in calling APS because I'm neglecting her because I wont' let her live by herself
• She paid for my entire college and those boys (my brothers) sacrificed so much so that I could go to college while they both had to drop out of school to support me
• I was in on him calling APS and I wanted him to call, it's all part of my master plan, because I hate her so much

Now here is my rebuttal to her logic - keep in mind that I cannot argue these points with her because trying to have a level-headed debate with my mother quickly turns into shouting, cussing and her cursing my children (her grandchildren) so that I may one day know her pain:

• Numbers 1 and 2 do not need a rebuttal, as the courts assigned me as her guardian and conservator, so all of her doctors and a couple of lawyers and a judge decided that she cannot handle her own money and she does not need to live by herself (which we have tried, by the way - it did not end well). She has brain damage from her aneurysm rupture, and it's not a small amount of damage.
• While my mother greatly contributed to my life at college, she did not pay entirely for it. I was on a full academic scholarship, received several other scholarships and I got student loans. And except for my freshman year and the last semester when I went back on my own dime, I worked. Sometimes I had two jobs. And my brothers quit school because C wanted to get married and J had gotten kicked out of all the area schools and he basically had no school to attend, so he just stopped going. And they never had to sacrifice for me - anytime she sent me money or bought me anything, she made it a point to spend the exact same amount on them. She made this point many, MANY times, but she has now conveniently forgotten it.
• I certainly did NOT want APS called on me. I was going to place mother somewhere when I was ready. That decision is a very, very hard one to make. I had to make sure that I was emotionally ready because I did not want to have a breakdown with small children at home. I'm a strong person, but the finality of placing my mother in a nursing home was something that I was really not ready for. I was leaning towards it, and the decision was made to do it at some point in the future, but it wasn't something I was going to be looking at RIGHT THEN. Now I was forced to. Not only that, but I did not want my name in the system. Once you're in the system, either for child abuse, elder abuse, arrests, etc., people in authority look at you differently and you lose some of your credibility. The driving force behind me FINALLY having her placed somewhere was because J moved into my house and I could not make him leave while she was here. And this was after he called APS on me, like I was supposed to be ok with all that. Whatevs.

Everytime I have tried to point these things out to my mother, I feel as if I may need to be investigated by APS because I come thisclose to slapping her the way she did me when I was a teenager. But I refrain. And now that she is in the nursing home, the bright side is that I can simply get up and leave, and she cannot follow me around spewing her manipulation at me.