Oh, I’ll Tase You Bro

I need a taser. One of those cute pink ones sound adorable. I find it might be safer for me to own a taser than a gun. I’m liable to use it.

When I’m driving an asshole person somehow cuts in front of me in traffic and slows to about 20mph, I could just follow them until I get the opportunity to taser them.

At the grocery store when the two ladies decide to block the aisles because they NEED to yak at one another; perfect opportunity to tase instead of loudly tsking.

When the kids insist on whining even after I expressed my disinterest in hearing it; perfect time to tase. ZZZaappp!

These are just a couple reasons I would want it. I’m leaving out grand opportunities like on my kids friends, obnoxious housewives, blowhards, whiners, Jehovah’s witnesses, racists, people who take up two parking spaces… gosh, the list goes on and on. I’d need to keep that sucker charged.

What??

In an unintentionally insulting conversation about religion, I pissed my husband off. Apparently, it is NOT funny to exchange the word God with Twinkie while reciting bible stories.

 

I think what pisses my husband off most is when the kids chant: All hail the great Twinkie!

Happy Mother’s Day

Today I was awakened at seven in the morning
with kids eager to feed me food that is boring;
I smiled and rubbed my eyes,
opened my gifts to a lovely surprise,
books and flowers and cards that were funny;
My day does not end here,
off to a horse show where I can cheer,
and dinner at six
at the restaurant of me picks;
Dessert will hopefully be kids in bed early,
and me getting a little sumtin-sumtin to rid me of my surly
attitude this week.

How was your Mother’s day?

Is That an Opossum in Your Pants?

Over heard last night after dinner:

“Dad, we had the s-e-x talk at school today.”

 ”Really? Learn anything new?”

“Daaa-ad, I’m 10, I don’t know anything. When I saw the doctor, he said I started puberty. He also said that sometimes I might find something in my pants when I wake up. But, they didn’t go over that in class”

“Um, huh. That’s crazy. What do you think he meant?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’ll be an opossum.”

“Um, a what?”

“hahahahahaha! Actually, I don’t know what he meant.”

“It means a boner”

“A what?”

“A hard on.”

“A what?”

“When winkie gets big?!”

“Oh. Ohhhhhhh. haha, an opossum.”

Another FYI

Blogging just to say I’m fuck-cranky right now.

Off the Cuff

I have a very very slight murmur in my heart. I was born with a valve that didn’t switch over at birth. It was undetected until I was four and we moved to Minnesota where it just so happened that a lot of good heart work was being perfected. Upon realizing the issue, my pediatrician ordered surgery for me. They would go in through my back, cutting a line from my left shoulder to the bottom right of my right shoulder. It was a big scar. But they went in, manually closed my valve and sewed me up tight. I have had no problems with my heart since.

Every so often my heart will skip a beat. I know when it happens because it causes me to pause a moment to catch my breath and I get a little light headed at the rush of blood coming back into me. Mostly they are little tiny skips that are hardly noticeable. But they seem to be growing in frequency. Last night while I was driving I had a big skip. The kind that made me pull over to catch my breath, wait for the pounding of blood rushing to my head to stop and my body to catch up before I could get back on the road.

There is no pain associated, it’s just a little bother really, but sometimes it scares the crap out of me. I start to morbidly think about my heart doing this in heavy traffic and causing a major accident, not being around for my kids, or worse yet, taking the life of someone else who, like me, really just wants to be there for her kids. Those moments scare the crap out of me more than the little heart skipping a tiny beat. Those moments make me remember my priorities and even though I have the thoughts that come through, I appreciate the message they leave behind.

All In A Days Time

I start my day leaning my head back, looking to the sky and reminding myself that I am inimitable, an individual among the common, I smile, my eyes twinkle. I open my twinkling eyes a little wider to mentally visual the rest of the individuals ready to face the day. Deep sigh. I am as common as a unique snowflake.

A thin envelope arrives in the mail today. It’s addressed to me from the company I applied for. Again, it’s thin. Very thin. Depressingly thin. So thin, I opt for a moment not to read the obvious rejection enclosed. Words on the paper tell me someone else was offered the job that was meant for me. Disappointment ensued.

The phone rings, it’s my daughter. She’s at the barn and someone else is riding her pony; with the trainers permission. Steam escapes my ears. Questions loudly echo through my head and Poor Bill receives a call. He gets the task of calling the trainer and the barn for one and only one reason: he can stay calm while pissed off.

In laws arrive tomorrow. My house is a mess. Just when I want to bury my head in the sand, I have to get up and move and do and especially clean. The house is a mess, the kids need dinner, laundry is piling and I’m off in a corner licking the day’s wounds. Pizza gets delivered and the maid is called for morning assistance. I pour a glass of wine, sit down with a slice of pizza and listen to the commodores lull me into calm. I steady myself for the real storm that lies ahead.

Is This Youthful looking To You?

My answer is no, it isn’t. Notice how much work has gone into making this mug look this bad. Now, I am aware of who this is, and I’m aware I do not own any of her couture. However, this face is an abomination. Show some character, individuality, originality and personality. What this picture says is I don’t want to be Donatella, I want to be Jessica Simpson.

Look Donatella, you are in your 50’s. Its okay to show a face that’s Matured. You look freakish. Basically, you’ve lost the right to joke about Michael Jackson.

Now, to be fair, here is an older photo to show that maybe she wasn’t so attractive to start with. But seriously, I’d rather sit next to the younger wrinkled version than the older plastic version.

I know aging can be hard on us. My point being that a little fix here, a little fix there and next thing you know, you are out of control and looking like this poor lost soul who thinks she can be her daughter.

Here are 2 prime examples of aging gracefully:

Maybe they have had work done on them, but they don’t look like freaks, they dress their age, and they look like  real live human beings.

200 Posts and Counting!

At Jocelyn’s request and in honor of my 200th post, here are more of my personal shorts:

Revisiting Pandora.com, I hear music that makes me get up and dance, go to kiss my husband and think of days long gone. Dancing to old school hip hop in front of my kids, I am reminded of how uncool and rhythmically challenged I really am. They laughed all night at the Running Man.

At dinner with friends last night, it was noticed that the conversation always seems to take a sexual turn. All heads turn to me, as if I am the common link. I remind them that I was not the one who brought up personal lesbian encounters or the PTA presidents waddling folds. Nodding, they turn the topic to STD’s.

Truth based story told last night:

In a small town where Denny’s restaurant raises pigs for their yummy sausages, a local young man decides to steal one of the pigs for the fun of it. The young man’s friends gather around afterwards to laugh at the sport when someone asks where the pig is being kept. The pig thief says it’s being held in his bathroom. One of the friends asks about the smell. The pig thief replies that the pig will just have to get used to it.

Poolside Conversation

M: …Oh, I never have to shave again.

SayIt: That’s nice to know. Laser?

M: Yup. Brazilian. All but one little finger thin line.

SayIt: (blah) Well, what are you going to do when your old?

M: What?

SayIt: All I know is that when my cooch gets old, saggy and tired looking, I want a full on fro to cover that shit up.

M: (silence)