The People Who Choose To Love Me

The People Who Choose To Love Me
This is my family. Watermark and all.

Thursday, July 30, 2015

It's Not You, It's Your Beard Stubble

For whatever reason, the box-a-mah-jigger that has a blue glow to it that sits inside of my living room end table makes the internet work in all places inside and outside of my home except for my bedroom.

It's like it knows when I am at the most intense part of an X-Files episode (and, sure, I've seen them all about a million times, but still...) and then it decides to give me the ol' 25% rigamarole.

I tried to find a picture of it, but there were just a bunch of graphs and charts and stuff so I'll add an equally frustrating picture of something else. Hold on, I have to search something...

Ok, found one.

Beard Stubble on/in the sink.

Yeah, sure, I leave my earrings all over. And my makeup. And I don't put the toilet paper on right. And I never put the toothpaste cap back on. But, this isn't about me. It's about beard stubble. 

No, wait.


Anyway, so the box of blue fire sends signals to EVERYTHING ELSE in the whole damn house, except to my TV in my bedroom right when the plot thickens on X-Files. It's like it doesn't want me to know the TRUTH.

 So. Bad.

So, I try turning the blue thingy off. Then, back on. Then I go back to my room and pull my TV out of the wall with full force brute strength, throw it through the window onto the back lawn, and smash it with a sledgehammer like forty-seven times. 

And, it's super weird because every time I do this my husband has to drive to the store, buy a new television, and it's like he tries on purpose to avoid me after that. Like I'm some sort of monster? 

HE'S the one leaving hair all over the place!! 

Wednesday, July 29, 2015

Feng Shui Failure

This is my art room. 

This is my art room after I applied the art of Feng Shui to it.

Notice the lack of the one gigantic box from the previous picture. I lost steam very quickly with this project.

I am a terrible housewife, interior decorator, and apparently I don't know how to Feng Shui shit properly. I decided to move furniture around in my room yesterday and then received a text from one of my best friends saying she decided it was time for her to learn the art of Feng Shui.

I was like, "NO. WAY. I literally just got done rearranging my bedroom."

And, she was all, "NO. WAY. We are kindred spirits."

And, I was like, "TOTALLY."

It almost went down exactly like that and I'm not sure why I added the valley girl stuff in there because it doesn't help my blog out in the "concrete content" department like every article I've read about becoming a millionaire from your blog says you need to have.

The same articles said something about not having a bunch of run-on sentences or to construct them in an easy-to-read way, but what the fuck do these people who I've never met and are probably just living in their parents' basement trying to make a living off of AdSense know, really???!

So, anyway, my friend told me to put something red outside of my front door.


Then, she said not to place a mirror on the wall directly across from my bed because it's bad luck and that I should have a clean open space under my bed for better sex.


So, I will never be an expert on the specifics of Feng Shui and I'm terrified that if I move that mirror from it's current resting place, I WILL BREAK IT AND HAVE SEVEN YEARS OF BAD LUCK.

Also, I should probably buy a bed frame soon(ish).

Tuesday, July 28, 2015

Why People Don't Raise Teenagers For A Living

I know people really like lists, so I will turn all of my angry, jumbled, worried thoughts about raising my teenager into one. These are all of the reasons that no one gets paid to (or wants to) raise teenagers for a living.

1. They back sass. (My teenager doesn't really talk back that much but I *really* like that saying... BACK SASS... too cute)

2. They consume more in calories than nine of me. Your entire month's salary would be spent on one week's worth of food. Not. Worth. It.

 3. The internet is terrible and will turn your teenager into either a bridge troll or Gollum and then you must answer three riddles in order to reach your sanity on the other side of the mighty Hormonal River Of Tears And Back Sass.

Thirty white horses on a red hill,
First they champ,
Then they stamp,
Then they stand still.

 Can't solve it, eh? I'll give you a hint.

You don't bite your ten year old sister with them because her arm is invading your ridiculously large personal space bubble.

I was going to go to at least 5 on this list but I think I'll stay at Gollum.

Sunday, July 26, 2015

Ghosts, Breastfeeding, And Doodling On Faux Suede

What would you do for a living if money was not the driving factor?

The question haunts me. And watches me pee. And hears all of the inappropriate things I say when I talk to myself.

Ok, so not the last two things, but I do totally freak out about ghosts watching me pee for some weird reason.

Anyway, I asked a few friends what they would do for a living if money was no object and their answers were awesome.

One friend said she'd paint all day, my brother-in-law said his goal in life is to win the lotto (we were drunk and then had a heated debate about how getting lucky can't be a life goal, but he ended up winning because that song Lucky by Pharrell and Daft Punk came on and we forgot about the stupid lotto argument and it kinda proved his point that you can be rich and happy from being "Lucky"), and my best friend in the whole world said that she would draw things in the faux suede of her couch while breastfeeding because that's what she does all day long anyway. I will post her pictures now because she wants to get her coffee table book idea kick started and they are fucking great.

She sent me all of these via Facebook and before I could even ask, she answered the question burning in my brain.

"Why yes, that IS a horse-bat! They are like those famous amazing intricate sand pictures that dude does that are like only made to be perfect for a second before the weather and ocean takes them away. Except not good like that, and on my dirty couch."

 What I am guessing is a chicken creature.

 The international wifi symbol.

 A beautiful butterfly.

I am interpreting this as a screaming squirrel, but you can choose to believe it is anything your heart desires.

And, now I know the meaning of true love. It's a lifelong friendship with someone who strives to create coffee table books out of doodles on their filthy couch while they breastfeed. Find that with someone and you'll never be alone again. 

Except for when you pee.

Unless you have a ghost in your house.

 This is my favorite ghost. Not the cat. The pedophile from Donnie Darko.

Friday, July 24, 2015

It Seems Super Unfair That I Can't Cannibalize Your Italian Grandmother

I have compiled a list of things I SHOULD be paid for because I am so awesome at them. Here it is.

1. Watching old X-Files reruns on Netflix.

2. Feigning interest in your pet. I have learned that people get personally offended if you don't pet their stupid animals.

3. Grow corn to the halfway point and then neglect the shit out of it. I've done this for the last three consecutive years. I'm practically a pro at it.

4. I should be paid five cents for every time I say, "Just give mommy five minutes," like how people get paid when someone clicks an ad on their blog. (Lucky you, this blog will be ad free for another five months because AdSense is pretty sure I'm a loser)

5. Eat ALL THINGS ITALIAN. If I were to ever cannibalize someone, it would be someone's Italian grandmother. I don't think I can really go through with it though because I love grandmas and hate that feeling of being obligated to swallow something after I realize I have made a terrible mistake putting it into my mouth.

6. Drinking Coffee. Most of the things I feel that I should be paid for include eating, drinking, or watching TV. I just had one of those realizations that maybe I need to make more human contact outside of my home.

7. Redirecting or distracting small children.

Child: "Mom, can I..."

Me: *pulls candy out of pocket and scatters it on the hardwood floor*
        "OMG!!! Is that CANDY??!!"
       *runs to room to eat Italian food in silence*

8. And, finally, making the same exact mistakes OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER. I can't tell you why I think that one of these days I'll be able to pull off the old hold-my-laptop-and-a-cup-of-coffee-while-opening-the-sliding-glass-door trick, but I am one persistent bitch.

Never. Gonna. Happen. Put. Something. Down. Stupid. Lady.

Thursday, July 23, 2015

Every Life Lesson I Have Learned, I've Learned From Keanu Reeves

Since I have one more week until I actually begin working a real job, I decided today was the day I would sit down with my 13 year old daughter and watch Silence Of The Lambs. It just felt like it's time she knows what happens to her if she ever decides to lend a stranger a helping hand lifting his awkward Lazy Boy chair into the back of his van.

After about a half an hour, I realized this wasn't a great idea. But, we kept watching. And then she saw a lady with no back skin.

All of this, for whatever reason, made me think of one of my favorite movies from childhood (even though at the time I had no idea what any of the jokes meant), Parenthood. And then, I thought about Keanu Reeves and his famous line...

"You know, Mrs. Buckman, you need a license to buy a dog, or drive a car. Hell, you need a license to catch a fish! But they'll let any butt-reaming asshole be a father."
And, even as I am typing this, questioning my parenting abilities, she is staring at the tv in utter shock and dismay. 
Nope. I have decided. I refuse to feel like this is bad parenting. It is Kidnapping Prevention Mommy Daughter Bonding Day. We should make it an annual tradition and next year I will buy her a little gift basket with lotion in it and lower it down from the roof to her just before we watch it again.

I saw road head and dildos in that movie before I knew that a "pee-pee" is called a vagina.

THAT'S bad parenting.

Wednesday, July 22, 2015

I Guess I Didn't Fail The Corporate Food Chain's Online Personality Test After All

About two months ago I applied online for a job at a corporate food chain. I like to waitress and I'm broke so it seemed like a good job to go after. I applied online and the application part was pretty quick but then at the end of it, *BAM* they throw a personality test at you!

I feel like I am able to fake my way through most unpleasant things with a smile on my face, but these tests are nerve wracking!! Here are some examples of the test I was sure I'd failed. You tell me how you'd respond.

1. I get angry sometimes.
(Strongly agree, Somewhat agree, Neutral, Somewhat disagree, Strongly disagree)

 2. I have had disagreements with coworkers.
(Strongly agree, Somewhat agree, Neutral, Somewhat disagree, Strongly disagree)

3. I think it is healthy to express my anger.
(Strongly agree, Somewhat agree, Neutral, Somewhat disagree, Strongly disagree)

4. I do not work well with others.
(Strongly agree, Somewhat agree, Neutral, Somewhat disagree, Strongly disagree)

5. I think it is appropriate to get angry at work.
(Strongly agree, Somewhat agree, Neutral, Somewhat disagree, Strongly disagree)

6. I work better alone.
(Strongly agree, Somewhat agree, Neutral, Somewhat disagree, Strongly disagree)

7. I have killed small animals in a fit of rage in the past. I mean, it was a confusing time and no one really knows how to handle puberty, but now I'm extremely devout and have repented my sins.
(Strongly agree, Somewhat agree, Neutral, Somewhat disagree, Strongly disagree)

I guess I guessed the right answer to all of these, because I GOT THE JOB!  In your *FACE* online personality test that probably scores my ability to serve food from what types of herbal anti-depressants I have Googled!!!

Score: New Me: 1 / Old Animal Killing Me: -28.

Tuesday, July 21, 2015

Tales Of A Flea Market Flip Failure

So, awhile ago, during my longish bout with unemployment (and, consequently, depression) I began binge watching Flea Market Flip on Netflix and thought, "Shit, this looks super easy!! I can turn a pile of crap into something else that someone will probably buy!!" I spent a ton of money on tables, chairs, and decorative looking junk at swap meets and yard sales.

Here is an old sewing table and FUCKING ADORABLE CHAIR that has a little drawer in the side (I have no idea why I go weak in my knees for crap like this, but I do). While working on this I had the idea to turn these into a kids activity center. And then I thought, "I'm going to make a fucking killing on this. Everyone will be fighting over who gets to buy this on Buy, Sell, Or Trade on Facebook!!!"

SEE???!! A-DOR-A-BLE!!! But, alas, no bidders... So, I guess my get-rich-after-umpteen-intensive-hours-of-manual-labor-to-refinish-old-crappy-furniture was a bust. I just so badly want to run my own restoration business (and speak with an accent) like that cute little British man on Salvage Hunters.

Is that too much to ask??!

Keep up with all of my latest failures and Share them with your friends who are probably more successful than both of us combined!

Saturday, July 18, 2015

How I Singlehandedly Eliminated Plastic Waste And Ended World Hunger

Ok, so I maybe lied about the ending world hunger part, but I ended MY hunger for lasagna last night when I made a fucking amazing lasagna for dinner. And then, I ended my hunger again at 3a.m. when I was done torturing my liver with pomegranate vodka and Sprite. 

BEFORE the vodka though, I was busy making these little beauties out of household plastics because I hate to see things go to waste and I'm one of those hoarder people who will definitely die under a stack of magazines that I impulse bought from my four kids when they had all of those goddamned fundraisers at school that I don't care about but they are my babies and IT MAKES ME CRY WHEN THEY FAIL BECAUSE I TRULY FEEL THEIR PAIN.

I am probably the only person in the world who scolds their children for throwing out bread tabs. I am probably also the only person in the world who will get divorced because of saving bread tabs. My husband has had it up to the tops of my old magazine stacks with my billions of projects that I self deem as "genius." Also, if I save any more plastic milk cartons he will have to move out because the only available space left to store things is on his side of the bed. The good news is, we have been married for less than a year so everything can be swiftly annulled. No muss, no fuss, no alimony.

 More divorce trinkets.

Wednesday, July 8, 2015

At Least Now I Know I'll Never Be A Farmer

I am currently unemployed with the exception of picking up a few hours of babysitting here and there. In my infinite spare time, I thought I would try to grow my own corn and become one step closer to being a self sufficient person who is contributing that much less to the environmental woes of the world.

Just look at that beautiful bounty.

Tuesday, July 7, 2015

Wound Count: 6.5

Being a stay-at-home mom is the most stressful job ever. In just three short days, the following wounds have been sustained by my two year old son:

1. Hit head on pointy corner of the kitchen counter. Btw, a goose egg is appropriately named as such.

2. Was once again the victim of our Great Dane's uncontainable excitement. Has a Franken-scratch down the middle of his face. Everyone loves pictures. Below is a picture of an owl painted on a wooden circle that I bought at a thrift store because my dog wouldn't hold still for a picture and was biting my leg as I snapped this beauty. Sometimes I look at this painting and wonder if Sue from '77' is still alive.

3. We installed misters on the back patio and the baby found a way to bite it almost immediately by running over the slick concrete to get away from the excitable Great Dane, bending his fingers and arm backward and scraping his entire backside.

4. Hit head on counter. Again. I swear I don't beat him.

5. Stubbed toes. Also, while checking out this boo boo I realized the wasp sting on the bottom of the same foot is probably infected.

6. Hit himself in the face with the butt of his toy gun while dramatically reenacting the Civil War or something (This one was funny sad).

I can't wait to see what tomorrow will bring.

Monday, July 6, 2015

Jesus... It's Already Water Day With The Kids Again?

The shrieks are unlike anything I have heard before. They pierce the ozone layer, floating above all of our heads for miles, echoing into the distance. Waves of gurgles and grumpy demands drown the front yard. I issue a flash flood warning to all of my closest neighbors. 

Two of the four children are never happier when they are splashing everything within reach. The other two children are the temporary victims of their sadistic water torture. 

The hose is turned on and off with fervor. Any wasp within sight is immediately hosed down into a shallow watery grave, and then sprayed once more for emphasis. 

One child encircles the perimeter of the pool with caution and anxious glee. This glee can be transformed into misery with one sharp shooter's aim of the Super Soaker. And, not surprisingly, immediate and utter disdain for the activities of the day are emitted. The sound of unhappiness rumbles thick and slow over the sea of children. Shock waves of whines flow steadily across the cul-de-sac. 

With all of the inherent powers of the universe and my being, I summon the calming powers of Netflix and snack food. In the 1800's I would have burned at the stake for my powerful witchcraft. 

Cloudy With A Chance Of Meatballs 2 begins and silence falls over the crowd of tiny humans. And, almost as fast as the calm has rolled in, someone realizes that the other kids all have more popcorn in their bowls.

Sunday, July 5, 2015

Trotro blares relentlessly in the background. I'm almost positive Netflix has something against me personally. They took Adventure Time off of their line up but leave this junk and Mickey Mouse Clubhouse? 

Every morning it's the same thing. The baby wakes up and screams for bananas, jams a couple down his throat (I swear the kid has learned to unhinge his jaw and was a snake in a past life), orders are barked at me to put on whatever cartoon suits his mood, and I escape to the patio with a pack of cigarettes and a mug of coffee, half of which ends up on my pants, to search cheap vacations in other countries and live vicariously through other people's yelp reviews. 

Next, I dream of taking an uninterrupted shower while cleaning pee and poop off of the floor/baby/dogs/any tangible surface.

I take a few moments to ponder how I can effectively reduce my carbon footprint and then I just gather all of the plastic shopping bags in the house and force feed them to my pet whale, Thomas. 

My life is so ordinary compared to how I thought I would be living at this age when I was a kid. I had dreams, goals, ideals, you know? And now, peeing alone seems like a feat of greatness.