Thursday, August 27, 2009

remember, kids, that a sense of humor is always important.

Even when you're clad in a two-piece mauve ensemble made of tissue paper, have your feet up in a pair of cold stirrups and your altogether exposed to someone you've just met.

Woman between my legs: I'm having a hard time finding your cervix, let me try another tool.

*cue five minutes of rustling through a tool drawer while I stare at a water stain on the ceiling*

Woman between my legs: Sorry about that.

Me: Don't apologize, I'm the one with crouching tiger, hidden cervix

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

having PMS, getting sick and still feeling kind of depressed are dangerous when they happen all at once

Dear Dirty Smoker Guy,

You are the one who snuck up on ME in a parking lot, don't look all offended when I'm immediately on the defensive, striking a pose like I've got a brown belt in Tae Bo. Don't say "whoa, I though you were going to attack me". And don't tell me you need a favor and tell me you need to get back to Santa Barbara and you only need one more dollar.

1) I'm aware that this is the favorite line of any Southern California dirtbag looking to get money from strangers - I've heard it a kajillion times "hey, can you help me out? I need to get back to [city at least an hour away] and I only need [small amount of money], can you help me out?" Generally, people try it at gas stations, but you were trying it at a grocery store. Weird.

2) You had a whole pack of cigarettes in your pocket - if you needed to get back to Santa Barbara that badly, why wouldn't you have used that money?


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Wingnuts Selling Religion Door-to-Door,

When I see you, dressed in your Sunday best, coming up to my front door and I yell from my kitchen window "No, thank you", this is your cue to move the fuck on, not to come up to my window and try to sell me God there. I only get less polite from that point. Although, I will admit that the "Jesus Fucking Christ, what part of 'no, thank you' is hard to understand?' may have been a bit harsh. Maybe. But you were interrupting my "Burn Notice" marathon and that is NOT cool.

Thursday, August 13, 2009

if anyone could explain any of this, I would appreciate it

• how is it that I my purse contains 3 markers, 2 lip glosses, 90 kajillion receipts, a 99% filled-up mini-notebook and a wrench - BUT NOTHING TO HOLD BACK MY HAIR - no bitch clip, no elastic thing, no nothing - WTF?
• why is it that my child just ran across the living room, clad in nothing but a pair of tighty whities yelling "Don't judge me"?
• Why would my husband actually consider taking a job in Qatar. Do you know where Qatar is? It's in another fucking country. A country where they censor EVERYTHING and hate women. A country where it's rude to show bare knees or shoulders. A COUNTRY WHERE THEY DON'T HAVE BACON. Do you think I'll be able to buy hair dye or cute underwear there? I know I wouldn't be able to get anything tattooed or pierced. And I know I wouldn't be able to illegally download music. WHY ARE WE EVEN ARGUING ABOUT THIS? FOR FUCKING REALS!
  

Sunday, August 09, 2009

Things That Make You Go.... Wait, Whut???

My kid went to a little local skate park to hang out with his friends and when the husband and I went to pick him up, we noticed some ginormous family having a HUGE party at the park next to the skate park.

"Wow", I said. "Look at all that food! And all those people! And they even have a clown!!!!"

My husband glanced over at the festivities and said "I'm not sure if that's an actual clown or someone dressed as a clown."

An actual clown.

or someone dressed as a clown.

Wait... whut? Is Clown a nationality now?

Labels: adventures in shitty parenting

Thursday, August 06, 2009

Anyone who's ever spent more than five minutes with me is aware of what a giant dork I am. As much as I tried to fight it over the years, I was always conscious of my dorkiness (and have sense grown to embrace it).

As a pre-teen, seeing movies like "Pretty in Pink", "Sixteen Candles", "The Breakfast Club" "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" and "Weird Science", I was convinced that these were accurate depictions of the high school experience and I was convinced that, as a dork, I'd probably see some adversity, but would eventually come out on top with a convertible and the hottest boy in school falling for my quirky dorkitude. I figured I'd have some wild parties, wacky adventures, and a jaunty hat or two.

Guess what?

High school was nothing like that and I was angry at John Hughes (who wrote and directed the above movies - and a bunch of others - like "Vacation" and "Some Kind of Wonderful") for a long time.

Since then, I've gotten over that because those movies were pretty awesome and, let's face it, they still kind of are. And without John Hughes, we wouldn't have had classic movie lines like:

"Blane? His name is Blane? That's not a name, that's a major appliance!"
and
"Oh, he's very popular Ed. The sportos, the motorheads, geeks, sluts, bloods, waistoids, dweebies, dickheads - they all adore him. They think he's a righteous dude."
and
"By night's end, I predict me and her will interface."
and
"Does Barry Manilow know that you raid his wardrobe? "


John Hughes died today, but his contributions to pop culture will live on.

Saturday, August 01, 2009

Today, my kid and I rode our bikes up to his school to he could play basketball and I could lounge in the shade of this big old oak tree.

As I'm lounging, I happen to look at the overgrown grass around me and I spy with my little eye a four-leaf-clover.

Holy crap!!!!, I thought. Because I've never found a four-leaf-clover before.

I plucked it and studied it and kind of started to daydream about the spectacular luck I was going to have - maybe I could find a high-paying (but low-responsibility) job, maybe I would find a hundred dollar bill in the street on the way home, maybe some mysterious benefactor could pay off my credit cards, maybe I could cook rice without it burning or remaining crunchy, maybe some part of my body other than my boobs could realize that I've been working out and start to get smaller, maybe someone will cure cancer, maybe everyone will stop fighting wars and start collecting stamps... The possibilities were really endless...

Until I spied another four-leaf-clover.

And another one.

And then another one.

And then I found a five-leaf-clover.

And then I realized that I was sitting a little too close to an ant hill and those little fuckers were biting the crap out of my ankles.

And then I kind of realized that maybe those clovers are just mutants, not lucky charms. And maybe we have to make our own luck, instead of hoping for some genetic freak to bless us.

And I'm delicious to ants.

Labels: adventures in shitty parenting