For the last week or so I have been sick. Like annoying, coughing, nose running, feel like shit sick.
I've had plenty of time to think about this whole sick thing while I've been down & out and like usual, I have some shit to say about it.
I'm tired of taking, well, everything. I won't take a cough drop anymore. Nope. Not gonna do it. I don't care if it helps me stop coughing (it doesn't), it makes my entire mouth feel like I've blown a medical leprechaun. Seriously, it's like a Jager Bomb without the bomb. Or the orange juice after toothpaste thing. But it lasts all fucking day. Just no. I'll cough. Add the cold meds to the birth control, happy pills, antibiotics, thyroid meds & whatnot, I can't remember when to take what. I'm so confused I gave the Mini vaginal fungus cream (remember all the antibiotics I'm taking) to use on her hands. The good news, she won't have yeasty hands. Bad news, I missed out on that Mother of the Year award...again. Pfffffftttt.
Vicks vaporub. I love the smell of this shit, I don't care if it works or not. The problem here is, it only lasts about an hour. If I have to get up every hour and re-apply this stuff, I might as well save the $3.49 cause it makes me feel like someone blew a load on my chest. Really. It just feels like that.
Men. Don't get me wrong here, the SAB was a complete fucking saint while I was sick, HOWEVER, he made sure to get his digs in whenever he could. If I had to hear "Well, I wanted to go the movies but she was sick" or listen to him whine about how cranky I was one more time... I was considering just gagging on my own phlegm. Cause who asked you to hang around & do nothing while I was sick? Herein lies the real truth, the SAB loved it when I was sick cause it gave him an excuse to take care (do nothing) of me. And ya' know what? I appreciated the fuck outta that shit. Whatever the reason.
Almost no sex. This is bullshit. Oh we tried, I wasn't dead. The SAB actually said he didn't want to risk it because I'll start one of my coughing jags and pee all over the place. We ain't that kinky. But, seriously, somebody (get on that) needs to come up with a better way. Sicky Sex Machine has a nice ring.
The work thing. I hate calling in sick. It's like the worst. It's a waste of a personal day. A very wise man once told me "Never call in sick when you're really sick". I believe that shit. Sadly, I'm all old & sick & stuff. So, bye-bye personal days...
Kids. I hate kids. But it so much worse Mommy is sick. I'm fortunate that the Mini was with her Dad for the worst few days so I didn't feel bad about ignoring her. What? I feel badly when I'm forced to ignore her. It's totally different when I'm ignoring her just because.
The depression & guilt. I'm sure it isn't just me. When I'm sick I feel absolutely horrible about ALL THE THINGS. The cleaning that isn't getting done, the shopping, the Mini, the SAB, my crankiness, all the things. You get it. The guilt of not getting all the things done makes me depressed. So now it's all sicky, depressed, guilt filled, sexless, whiny, cranky, me.
The mouth. This has been by far the worst. My mouth tastes like I licked a dead donkey's dick. I taste nothing except rancid, rotting, nastiness. My tongue is covered in bacteria. I have scrubbed it so hard, the skin is peeling. I soak it in peroxide. Nothing like spitting up peroxide flavored foam to get your day going. Yes, the visual here is fabulous.
Lastly, I'm just tired. For the first 4 days of this glorious sick-o-rama, I was out and about, cooking, cleaning, taking care of the children. Being me doesn't stop for a cold. When I finally relinquished the Mini to her Dad, I laid sloth-like for 2 days. Guess what? I'm better. Not 100%, but better. Who knew rest actually worked? I may have to try that shit again.
Sunday, December 29, 2013
Friday, December 20, 2013
PPB's Christmas Wish List
This...
- I wish all the people who live (part or full time) in Bananaland would eat less. Yes, there I said it. Eat fucking less. You fucking pigs eat everything in the damn house. I make the list, budget the money for the food, and shop for it. At the very least I should be able to see it sit on the shelf in the cupboard. For 24 hours. At least. Also, we’re poor, mostly because our grocery bill is larger than the national debt. So stop it.
- That all the people who sit around bitching about stuff (not Bananaland stuff people, real stuff) would get off their asses and do something about it. Change doesn’t happen unless you make it happen. It’s true. If you don’t like something – change it. If you can’t change it – change the way you react to it. If you can’t do either, you’re fucked.
- Could people stop taking EVERYTHING so seriously? Really. Life is short, kids. If you’re always out on a soapbox dishing about what everybody else should be doing, you probably aren’t doing anything. It’s one thing to stand behind something you believe and a whole other ditty when you begin ranting at everybody else for what they believe. Shut up. Not everyone believes in your religion, your thoughts on homosexuality, your political stance, or the way you raise your kids. Shocked? You must be. Quit being so touchy and laugh. Shit is funny. Remember, you aren’t getting out alive, lighten up.
- The word ‘fuck’ to always be capitalized. It should be. Just cause’.
- Cake should be available at all times. I like cake. Moist, delicious cake. What? I’m fat. And, I like cake.
- Everyone - make amends. Holding onto hurt, anger, pain, guilt, whatever, only affects you. If you think holding on to any of these is bothering someone else, you’ve got life fucked up on a platter. The only person it’s bothering is you. Also, if that’s why you’re holding on, you’re more fucked up than you realize and my hope is for you to contact a professional who can give you some counsel and or drugs. Seriously, they make some good ones (drugs) or so I’ve heard.
- I sincerely hope my (our) children (the Mini & Red) actually appreciate the time and effort that we went through for their Christmas surprise this year. I don’t think I can do another Christmas (or any other holiday) with ungrateful lil bitches. I said it. They are. Only one is my fault cause’…DNA. Gotta work on this. Hugetime. Shaddap, it’s my wish list.
- I wish that the autocorrect function on my phone would stop changing the word whore to who’re or white. This really pisses me off. I write the word whore a lot. “You’re a skanky who’re” just isn’t making it to the top of the cool things to say list.
- I hope that all the parents who buy their children iphones, just because, get pummeled by a giant iphone rain with no iumbrella. You deserve it. Santa thinks you’re assholes too. Yep, assholio. You.
- I want hot flashes to immediately be counteracted by a cool breeze. Like in the commercials. A field of wildflowers scented cool breeze.
- I really, really, really want Facebook to show my stuff. Really. Come on Zuckerfucker, isn’t your vendetta against all things Bananaland (yes, I made this up) over yet? People NEED my stuff. SHOWMESHOWMESHOWME. Please.
- I
wantNEED to be hairless from the neck down. This is real, folks. I hate hair. I told the SAB on the very first night we met. It still hasn’t happened. I stillwantNEED it. Real bad.
- Everybody to mind their own fucking business. This is huge. Quit trying to run everybody’s life because your own life sucks. You can’t make people do things. If you’re that fucking miserable and feel the need to butt your nose holes into everybody’s stuff, private message me. I know a bunch of complete fuckwads that need you (read: I need you to be) in their lives. I’ll give you their contact info. Good for you. Good for me.
- A vodka spout connected to my sink would really rock. Oh, and a never ending supply of vodka. Caramel vodka. Or, key lime whipped, or peppermint bark, or caramel apple, or really any kind. Vodka is good. Also, it has stopped me from killing. So really, it’s saving lives. Think insurance will cover this?
- And lastly, I hope that everyone (including me) has a better next year than they’ve had this year. Make it happen, kids. I’m counting on you.
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
2013 Bananaland Christmas Letter
Each year for the past 15 years or so I have sent out a Christmas letter. Yes, a written letter inside a real Christmas card that you mail via USPS with a stamp. You remember, right?
Nobody reads that shit. I know because family members, friends, etc…will ask me shit. Shit that was in the letter. This year, I’ve decided I’m going to write my letter and post it here. On my blog. Cause you guys will read it. Well, some of you. Some is better than ‘the none’ who usually read it. So there.
2013 – Bananaland , a year in review… Our year began like it usually does. With too little money, no resolutions (disappointment & failure are for the birds, folks) and the kids. I hate kids.
The SAB and I began the year with a 3 day trip to Savannah, GA. It was our Christmas gift to each other. It was awesomewonderful and awesome & wonderful. We did none of the “touristy” bullshit. High priced stores, bars & restaurants on the river? We walked by ‘em. We’re poor. We hung in town. With the locals. At the bars & shit. Cause we rock. If you haven’t been there, you should go. Really. I know stuff.
I’ll be honest, I don’t think any other shit happened until around March when we spend the weekend in Mt. Dora, FL for the SAB’s birthday. There, we met Amy the fuck girl. Yep, that’s her name. Well, it’s the name we gave her. Cause, well, we couldn’t stop saying fuck. And she was there. So…Amy the fuck girl she became. She’s on the page. Pay attention. You’ll see her. She’s the reason that crazy fucking Bus Driver To Hell found me. Yep, small world.
Hold the phone! I totally forgot. In February, I met two of the most bestest friends I have ever known. Pink Fuzzy Slippers and My Hubby's Pants and It's Why You Like Me. (The Admins behind the page not the actual page cause that would be weird.) We talk every day. Seriously. Even though they are like really far away, they are great support and they’re both total bitches so we all rock together. XX, ladies.
Also in February, I quit my 2nd job. It was much needed relief. Even though we desperately needed the money, the time spent away from home was really affecting the Mini. Also, I was worn out, exhausted, abused and just plain tired. After 3.5 years of working two jobs, finally, I could live again. Yay.
In the spring, the SAB and I began the long drawn out process of taking care of our (really bad) finances so that we can begin anew. The SAB finished up his bankruptcy over the summer and mine should be complete around April, 2014. I will lose my house then so if any of you guys need some roommates - *waving* Totally kidding. About the roommate thing. (For now) We will be moving in with the Drunken Queen (my mommy). Yes, all of us. Living together. I’ll have lots to write about, snort!
We managed to save some pennies so that over the Summer we could take the little kids on a good old fashioned family vacation. Yeah, that sucked. We (Me, the SAB & the Drunken Queen) had a really fabulous time. Click here to read about vacation. The children, however, we’re not impressed. They whined, moaned, bitched, complained and acted like, well, kids. My feelings (Yes, I have them) were totally hurt. I know a week ONTHEBEACH at a beautiful resort with 2 pools, games, food, and did I mention ONTHEBEACH, is really shitty. These kids really did me in. I’m still not over it. We will NOT be taking them on another vacation for a good, long time. I hate kids.
We have been spending lots more time with the SAB’s oldest daughter, “my favorite”. Why is she “my favorite”? Because, she is grown and lives somewhere else. In all seriousness, she’s pretty cool. And did I mention that she’s grown and lives somewhere else?
In October the SAB’s parents moved from South Carolina back home to Florida. This pleases me even though I’m not a fan of parents in general. What? One of my original dating rules was to only date men whose parents were dead or lived out of the country. Don’t ask why. You KNOW. However, it pleases me cause’ we don’t have to go to the dreaded South Carolina to visit them anymore. Win!
This year instead of gifts we opted for a weekend trip (not a vacation) away with the little girls to visit museums and check out some cultural shit in Orlando. Much cheaper and just think of all the special memories we’ll create, AKA: I’ll have some good shit to write about next year. Oh and if you see them, don’t mention it. It’s a surprise. K? K.
The Mini is hangin’ in. Her grades are falling in a couple of classes this year. It may be the new Common Core Standards that have begun in the schools and it may be……puberty (She’s a total ass). And it may be her teacher who I think is an idiot. (She is) Whatever it is, it has been a rough fuckin’ year with this kid. Fer real. We have begun the whipping into shape.
Red continues to do well in school. Also, she has figured out how to complete a complete & utter smartass. It’s awesome. She’s really takin’ this mouthy kid thing all the way. Wait, we already had one of those (see above). *sigh* Thistooshallpass.
The SAB and I are doing well. Like very well. No, we’re still not married. Stop asking.
Looking forward to seeing some of you over the holiday…
Enjoy your holiday season and as you enter into the New Year, remember…DON’T BE A CUNT.
Nobody reads that shit. I know because family members, friends, etc…will ask me shit. Shit that was in the letter. This year, I’ve decided I’m going to write my letter and post it here. On my blog. Cause you guys will read it. Well, some of you. Some is better than ‘the none’ who usually read it. So there.
2013 – Bananaland , a year in review… Our year began like it usually does. With too little money, no resolutions (disappointment & failure are for the birds, folks) and the kids. I hate kids.
The SAB and I began the year with a 3 day trip to Savannah, GA. It was our Christmas gift to each other. It was awesomewonderful and awesome & wonderful. We did none of the “touristy” bullshit. High priced stores, bars & restaurants on the river? We walked by ‘em. We’re poor. We hung in town. With the locals. At the bars & shit. Cause we rock. If you haven’t been there, you should go. Really. I know stuff.
I’ll be honest, I don’t think any other shit happened until around March when we spend the weekend in Mt. Dora, FL for the SAB’s birthday. There, we met Amy the fuck girl. Yep, that’s her name. Well, it’s the name we gave her. Cause, well, we couldn’t stop saying fuck. And she was there. So…Amy the fuck girl she became. She’s on the page. Pay attention. You’ll see her. She’s the reason that crazy fucking Bus Driver To Hell found me. Yep, small world.
Hold the phone! I totally forgot. In February, I met two of the most bestest friends I have ever known. Pink Fuzzy Slippers and My Hubby's Pants and It's Why You Like Me. (The Admins behind the page not the actual page cause that would be weird.) We talk every day. Seriously. Even though they are like really far away, they are great support and they’re both total bitches so we all rock together. XX, ladies.
Also in February, I quit my 2nd job. It was much needed relief. Even though we desperately needed the money, the time spent away from home was really affecting the Mini. Also, I was worn out, exhausted, abused and just plain tired. After 3.5 years of working two jobs, finally, I could live again. Yay.
In the spring, the SAB and I began the long drawn out process of taking care of our (really bad) finances so that we can begin anew. The SAB finished up his bankruptcy over the summer and mine should be complete around April, 2014. I will lose my house then so if any of you guys need some roommates - *waving* Totally kidding. About the roommate thing. (For now) We will be moving in with the Drunken Queen (my mommy). Yes, all of us. Living together. I’ll have lots to write about, snort!
We managed to save some pennies so that over the Summer we could take the little kids on a good old fashioned family vacation. Yeah, that sucked. We (Me, the SAB & the Drunken Queen) had a really fabulous time. Click here to read about vacation. The children, however, we’re not impressed. They whined, moaned, bitched, complained and acted like, well, kids. My feelings (Yes, I have them) were totally hurt. I know a week ONTHEBEACH at a beautiful resort with 2 pools, games, food, and did I mention ONTHEBEACH, is really shitty. These kids really did me in. I’m still not over it. We will NOT be taking them on another vacation for a good, long time. I hate kids.
We have been spending lots more time with the SAB’s oldest daughter, “my favorite”. Why is she “my favorite”? Because, she is grown and lives somewhere else. In all seriousness, she’s pretty cool. And did I mention that she’s grown and lives somewhere else?
In October the SAB’s parents moved from South Carolina back home to Florida. This pleases me even though I’m not a fan of parents in general. What? One of my original dating rules was to only date men whose parents were dead or lived out of the country. Don’t ask why. You KNOW. However, it pleases me cause’ we don’t have to go to the dreaded South Carolina to visit them anymore. Win!
This year instead of gifts we opted for a weekend trip (not a vacation) away with the little girls to visit museums and check out some cultural shit in Orlando. Much cheaper and just think of all the special memories we’ll create, AKA: I’ll have some good shit to write about next year. Oh and if you see them, don’t mention it. It’s a surprise. K? K.
The Mini is hangin’ in. Her grades are falling in a couple of classes this year. It may be the new Common Core Standards that have begun in the schools and it may be……puberty (She’s a total ass). And it may be her teacher who I think is an idiot. (She is) Whatever it is, it has been a rough fuckin’ year with this kid. Fer real. We have begun the whipping into shape.
Red continues to do well in school. Also, she has figured out how to complete a complete & utter smartass. It’s awesome. She’s really takin’ this mouthy kid thing all the way. Wait, we already had one of those (see above). *sigh* Thistooshallpass.
The SAB and I are doing well. Like very well. No, we’re still not married. Stop asking.
Looking forward to seeing some of you over the holiday…
Enjoy your holiday season and as you enter into the New Year, remember…DON’T BE A CUNT.
Wednesday, November 20, 2013
Tattler Thursday!
Hey you guys! I'm co-hosting this blog hop. Again. Seriously, these bloggers must drink a lot to keep allowing me assist. Whatever, they rock, you rock, and we KNOW I rock so let's get goin. Link up all your social media stuff. Right down there. Down there. Scroll down. Do it! Tell your friends. - PPB
Hiya Snappers! Welcome back to the 28th week of the Tattler Thursday Blog and Social Network Hop!
It's time to tattle and hop!
Tweet about the Blog Hop HERE!
*Be Sure to Hop over to other blogs and visit/network and share the Hop
*Have fun Hopping! (and come back next week!)
Your Hostesses
The Co-Hostesses
Hiya Snappers! Welcome back to the 28th week of the Tattler Thursday Blog and Social Network Hop!
It's time to tattle and hop!
It's a share your crazy, gross, hilarious, in-the-trenches parenthood stories, or any tattle that you may want to share with us, that has nothing to do with kids, kind of blog hop! We love funny stories and we want to hear yours! You don't have to have kids to participate!
Just leave a comment with your story, post not required! So think of your funniest, wackiest or favorite stories, leave a comment with your story/tattle, follow your Hostesses and Co-Hostesses, visit and discover other blogs, and have fun!
|
The Rules are: | |
| 1- Follow Your Host and Co-Hostesses | |
| 2- Grab the button and display it on your blog or hop page/section | |
| 3- Leave a comment with a funny, wacky, or gross kid story/tattle |
*Be Sure to Hop over to other blogs and visit/network and share the Hop
*Have fun Hopping! (and come back next week!)
The Co-Hostesses
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
26th Tattler Thursday Blog & Social Network Hop!
Welcome everybody *waving frantically*! I'm so excited to be here co-hosting the Tattler Thursday Hop. Probably more excited than I should be. I'm a freak. Whatever. That doesn't change the fact that this is a great hop to share your all your social media links. I know stuff. I'll shut up now and you go and link up. Go head, do it. Don't forget to share a story! In the comments. Easy Peasy Lemon Squeezie! - PPB
Hiya Snappers! Welcome back to the 26th week of the Tattler Thursday Blog and Social Network Hop!
It's time to tattle and hop!
Tweet about the Blog Hop HERE!
*Be Sure to Hop over to other blogs and visit/network and share the Hop
*Have fun Hopping! (and come back next week!)
Your Hostesses
The Co-Hostesses
Hiya Snappers! Welcome back to the 26th week of the Tattler Thursday Blog and Social Network Hop!
It's time to tattle and hop!
It's a share your crazy, gross, hilarious, in-the-trenches parenthood stories, or any tattle that you may want to share with us, that has nothing to do with kids, kind of blog hop! We love funny stories and we want to hear yours! You don't have to have kids to participate!
Just leave a comment with your story, post not required! So think of your funniest, wackiest or favorite stories, leave a comment with your story/tattle, follow your Hostesses and Co-Hostesses, visit and discover other blogs, and have fun!
|
The Rules are: | |
| 1- Follow Your Host and Co-Hostesses | |
| 2- Grab the button and display it on your blog or hop page/section | |
| 3- Leave a comment with a funny, wacky, or gross kid story/tattle |
*Be Sure to Hop over to other blogs and visit/network and share the Hop
*Have fun Hopping! (and come back next week!)
The Co-Hostesses
Monday, October 28, 2013
Bananaland memories of Halloween...
Halloween is not my favorite holiday. Not even close. Like down the list somewhere after Labor Day cause at least ya get a day off work for Labor Day. It's just a lot of work, quite frankly. The dressing up, wandering around the neighborhood after dark (dark is scary) and lugging bag after bag of candy home? Wait a sec, it was pretty fuckin' fun. It always messed with my schedule though. I had stuff to do. Still do. Anyway, here's a few of my favorite Halloween memories. From when I wasn't so jaded and bitchy. And whatnot.
Halloween on a school day, in Westhaven (my hometown) - Get up way extra early and put on the costume that was designated for school (yes, costume to school) if you were one of the 'twocostumekids' (I was, sometimes). Go to school. Be too excited to do any work. Also, checking out everyone elses costume was a full-time job. Eat candy all day at school and get more candy while we had a Halloween Party. Yep, it was called a Halloween Party, not a Fall Festival. Halloween. We were in costumes. Witches, ghouls, all the shit. After school break out a bag you got at the school party and trick-or-treat your ass home. Hit home, eat some dinner, freshen up your costume or change into a new one and outthefuckindoorwego! Hit all the houses, and the good houses twice. What? A full size candy bar is worth a second trip. They shoulda known better. The houses with the cans of soda were popular too cause well we were thirsty as shit. Go home, let parents rape the shit outta my candy, take it in my room and organize it. By type, then size, then order in which it would be eaten. You didn't do that? I mighta had a lil OCD early on. MIGHTA.
Halloween party, at the Bananaland Homestead - The Drunken Queen invites like all the effing neighborhood kids (without my prior approval) to a Halloween Party. At our house. Costumes, apple bobbing, games, food, prizes. All the Halloween things. Great fun. I don't even remember what I was. The Drunken Queen was a witch. Go figure. I still have pictures from this party. Just none of me. That I remember anyway. Hunting down the pictures to check isn't on the agenda so I guess I'll never know. Until I do. Look for them, that is. Lots of adults. I'm guessing they all got drunk after the majority of the kids went home. Fuckers. I had to put my mouth on the same apple that some other kid had their mouth on. That's fucked up. I needed the drink. Really.
Costumes in Bananaland - The costumes I wore as a kid were always homemade. Always. There was always RIT dye, sewing, beads, baubles & all kindsa shit. So yeah, that was all cool and I was a princess one year and I was very lovely. The Drunken Queen wanted to me to be a witch and I must have been very young cause I asked what a witch was. The explanation I received gave me nightmares. Princess it was. Honestly, I can't even remember any of my subsequent Halloween costumes. Isn't that sad? I'm sure there are pictures but again, I'm lazy. I'm not spending an afternoon looking for pictures so I can remember shit that wasn't important enough to remember in the first place. Uh. No. Wait, my last Halloween as a kid, I was a... shit, I lost it. I honestly don't remember. As an adult I've been a cop (ha, but really), a clown (I wasn't scary), a prisoner (not of war, with the like the old-school black&white stripes), Viagra Man (yes, I was an old man with a boner AND a cape, don'tyoujudgeme) and a Sweepstakes Winner. I think my imagination got better as I got older. Or something. Also, even though I know the homemade costumes were the coolest, I always wanted a store bought costume! Dumbass right here. Complete dumbass.
Most every Halloween in Chicagoland - A coat would be worn over the costume. Sad but true. Kudos went to the kids who could work their coats into their costumes. They were smart. Me? Not so much. We've already learned of my lack of enthusiasm and imagination concerning costumes. This made it even easier. Who cares what costume I was cause I would be wearing a coat over it anyway. So, ha! Damn...one just came to me. I think I was a dancer once. Not a stripper, assholes, a Chorus Line type dancer. I think so. Or maybe it was a stripper. I just remember running ('running'- a long tear in pantyhose for those of you too young to remember) my black tights over & over and having to run home to change like 4 times. Who the hell knows? I remembered something. That counts. Sometimes a hat, scarf & gloves were necessary. Snow was not uncommon on Halloween. Looking back, I had a lot of opportunity to dress up as something really cool. I really was a shithead kid.
This year - The Mini has now decided that she is too old to partake in the activities on Halloween so I guess we are going to a 'family' get together to transition. Yes, for me. Too old for Halloween. I'm fucking old. Thank you, Mini.
Also, she says that's a lot walking just for candy. <-------------CrazyAssKid but I get it. Really I do.
Halloween on a school day, in Westhaven (my hometown) - Get up way extra early and put on the costume that was designated for school (yes, costume to school) if you were one of the 'twocostumekids' (I was, sometimes). Go to school. Be too excited to do any work. Also, checking out everyone elses costume was a full-time job. Eat candy all day at school and get more candy while we had a Halloween Party. Yep, it was called a Halloween Party, not a Fall Festival. Halloween. We were in costumes. Witches, ghouls, all the shit. After school break out a bag you got at the school party and trick-or-treat your ass home. Hit home, eat some dinner, freshen up your costume or change into a new one and outthefuckindoorwego! Hit all the houses, and the good houses twice. What? A full size candy bar is worth a second trip. They shoulda known better. The houses with the cans of soda were popular too cause well we were thirsty as shit. Go home, let parents rape the shit outta my candy, take it in my room and organize it. By type, then size, then order in which it would be eaten. You didn't do that? I mighta had a lil OCD early on. MIGHTA.
Halloween party, at the Bananaland Homestead - The Drunken Queen invites like all the effing neighborhood kids (without my prior approval) to a Halloween Party. At our house. Costumes, apple bobbing, games, food, prizes. All the Halloween things. Great fun. I don't even remember what I was. The Drunken Queen was a witch. Go figure. I still have pictures from this party. Just none of me. That I remember anyway. Hunting down the pictures to check isn't on the agenda so I guess I'll never know. Until I do. Look for them, that is. Lots of adults. I'm guessing they all got drunk after the majority of the kids went home. Fuckers. I had to put my mouth on the same apple that some other kid had their mouth on. That's fucked up. I needed the drink. Really.
Costumes in Bananaland - The costumes I wore as a kid were always homemade. Always. There was always RIT dye, sewing, beads, baubles & all kindsa shit. So yeah, that was all cool and I was a princess one year and I was very lovely. The Drunken Queen wanted to me to be a witch and I must have been very young cause I asked what a witch was. The explanation I received gave me nightmares. Princess it was. Honestly, I can't even remember any of my subsequent Halloween costumes. Isn't that sad? I'm sure there are pictures but again, I'm lazy. I'm not spending an afternoon looking for pictures so I can remember shit that wasn't important enough to remember in the first place. Uh. No. Wait, my last Halloween as a kid, I was a... shit, I lost it. I honestly don't remember. As an adult I've been a cop (ha, but really), a clown (I wasn't scary), a prisoner (not of war, with the like the old-school black&white stripes), Viagra Man (yes, I was an old man with a boner AND a cape, don'tyoujudgeme) and a Sweepstakes Winner. I think my imagination got better as I got older. Or something. Also, even though I know the homemade costumes were the coolest, I always wanted a store bought costume! Dumbass right here. Complete dumbass.
This year - The Mini has now decided that she is too old to partake in the activities on Halloween so I guess we are going to a 'family' get together to transition. Yes, for me. Too old for Halloween. I'm fucking old. Thank you, Mini.
Also, she says that's a lot walking just for candy. <-------------CrazyAssKid but I get it. Really I do.
Sunday, October 20, 2013
And there was the Mini
January 2002. I would be 32 years old that year. It was 4 months after the 9/11 attacks. I was unsure about everything except one thing. It was time for me to have a baby. I didn’t want to be the old droopy ass Momma at my kid’s graduation. You know - the one with the cane and hearing aids. If I was gonna’ do this whole baby thing it had to be quick, fast, and in a hurry. Got me?
On March 3rd, 2002 after visiting the Doc for a bladder infection, the Doc called and said I was preggers. They did a test while I was there because I had told them I stopped my birth control and apparently, a bladder infection is one of many pre pregnancy indications. Who knew? Anyway, hot damn…I was with child. WTF does with child actually mean? Technically, the child was with me. I'm right, right? Whatever, I was gonna’ be somebody’s Mom. Wahoo!
I did all the things that newly pregnant Moms do. Got the books, found a doctor, and decided what I was and what I wasn’t going to do. You know - that stuff. It was a bit overwhelming for an OCD overachiever such as me. I was 3 months pregnant and painting the kitchen. What? The baby couldn’t be seeing all kindsa ugly kitchen paint. I read ALL THE BOOKS, got ALL THE THINGS, got the nursery painted & ready, and took a quick 14 day trip to Europe at 7 months. Again, what? I know you’re crinkling up your noses. Normally I wouldn’t have chosen to galavant all over the world during my pregnancy, however, the trip was offered (thank you DRUNKEN QUEEN) and I knew once I had a BABY, I wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while so…I went. So there.
I had no idea how many visits to the Doctor having a baby entailed. It was a lot. I went. I had chosen not to know the sex of the baby. Stop shaking your head at the screen. I love surprises and it’s very rare that I get surprised so I created my own. Also, we (the ex & I) just didn’t want to know. I passed on all those extra tests for Down Syndrome & the like as well. I just didn’t feel it necessary to know all that stuff. I figured I’d deal with it as it came. You know…let go, let God. Whatever kinda baby I got? I was gonna’ love and be happy with, regardless.
My lil bundle of joy was due November 1st. On Wednesday November 13th, I was admitted to the hospital to prepare to be induced (make the baby come out) the next morning. That. Didn’t. Happen. The following (brief) description of the horror of baby-having should not be read by expectant Mothers or people who possess a penis on their person. Or, maybe it should. It’s the truth.
I got some good sleepy drugs and fell out around 10pm. Around 1am I began to feel pains similar to having an animal claw it's way out of my belly, using their teeth & nails. Nurses came, Doctor came, stuff started to happen. The dumbass kid was flipped on its belly but that shouldn’t be a problem, they said. Anesthesiologist comes to give me my drugs. Yay. Or not. Now, I’m all about taking the drugs if you need them but heed my warning, this was by far the most uncomfortable thing I have ever experienced and I got to do it twice. Yep, twice. Listen up. First Epidural? Didn’t work. I felt everything. It was awesome. Yes, that was sarcasm. Anyhow, we (I) gave it a go. I pushed and did all that stuff. This kid wasn’t coming out. Also, I was screaming. Out loud. Apparently the thingamajig they had jammed up my snatch to hold me open, slipped. Yes, slipped and landed on a nerve. My nerve. I assure you, this hurt. Like nothing I’ve ever felt before. The pain on the nerve and a baby trying to shoot out my vag was more than I could take. The screaming was necessary. Anesthesiologist back in, administers 2nd Epidural (eww). Now the precious kid who is on its belly ain’t coming out. There was more pushing, forceps, all the tools & toys aaaaaand… nothing. Guess who had an emergency C-section? Only after calling the anesthesiologist a liar and all kinds of other bad names that I had to hear about later, from my Doctor. Oooops.
I wake up in the recovery room several hours later. Keep in mind, I don’t know what kind of baby I’ve just had cut out of me and I was kinda itching to find out. I remember seeing the nurse and the first words out of my mouth were “What is it”? She knew exactly what I meant and told me I had a baby girl. All I can remember is the extreme feeling of relief. Yay, it doesn’t have a penis! Sorry, I'm from an all girl family, I guess subconsciously I wanted a girl???
I wasn’t allowed to get up and/or move but they wheeled me into the baby room and wheeled her up next to me and I saw MY BABY GIRL. My first thought? She’s pretty. Sorry, most babies are ugly as hell. I called everybody to tell them my baby wasn’t ugly. Her head was round, she had lots of hair, no ugly bumps on her face and she was cute as could be. Phew. It could have been the morphine they had me on but whatever.
It wasn’t until several hours later that I actually got to hold her and it was like total magic. That whole baby-mama bonding thing was real. She was bawling her damn head off when they brought her to me and as soon they held her up and she saw me, all was good. I'm sure I probably smelled like food or something, however, our eyes met and SHABLAM! It was love at first sight.
The kid has been trying to crawl back in the womb ever since. - PPB
Monday, September 23, 2013
Figure it out and Get Over it.
Women are bitches. Figure it out and get over it.
I am still continually dumbfounded over the ignorance of men in regards to women. Men, get it through your heads, women are not to be understood, rationalized with, or calmed down by your dimwitted bullshit.
The old adage about women always changing their minds is true. Of course it is. The reason we change our minds so much is because we have no fucking clue what we want to begin with. We can and will tell you every god damned thing we don’t want; however, the wants are still foggy. Why? Because as women we have the ability to get anything we want, all the time. It’s totally true. We have the vagina. Sounds crude, I know, but you may as well face the facts. When we are posed with so many choices it is almost impossible to choose. You can’t really blame us. It’s stimulation overload. You wouldn’t want us to short-circuit and start smoking out our ears and shit, would you? (Keep in mind, we have the vagina.) Situations in which the mind changing experience occurs can be lessened by you (the man) keeping your damn trap shut during the debating process. Be patient, nobody has died (that I know of) because it took a chick too long to finalize her decision on where to eat dinner on Friday night. Promise. I know stuff.
The same kind of thing goes on in reference to making a decision. There are just too many damn choices. The simple question “what do you want to do today?” causes all kinds of anxiety, excitement, and finally, downright anger in the female mind. How am I supposed to choose something to do from ALL THE THINGS there are to do? Yes, that IS how we think. ALL. THE. THINGS. Do you know how many that is? That’s a lot of damn things. So we list all the things and then…we have to narrow shit down into categories, and keep narrowing until we finally come up with like our top 46. These situations cannot be entirely avoided, but, they can be toned down. Just man-up and offer YOUR opinion. Given a few choices, we can usually make a snappy decision. It can be done. You know how you do all that preventative maintenance stuff to your car? It has to be done with women as well. Be prepared. Duh.
Quit spending time trying figure a bitch out. This will never happen. We don’t want you to figure us out so stop it. If you figure us out, what exactly are we supposed to do with all that time we spend explaining shit to you? Anyhow, we don’t have ourselves figured out so just how in the hell do you expect to? Also, the second you get us all figured out, we’re gonna change our minds anyway. Didn’t you learn anything in the first paragraph? Oh, I get that women always say that we’d like you to figure out how we think and stuff. We lie. We really just want you to shut up. Well shut up and listen. Listening is huge. If you listen to even ¼ of what we say, you’ll have a head start on knowing what the fuck is going on the rest of the time.
In closing…
Love us, listen to us, and learn these three phrases that I learned from the Drunken Queen many years ago…
Answer every question with one of those three statements. It will make life a whole lot easier. Trust me. I know stuff.
Men – be sure not to tell anyone I told you all this stuff, k? It’s a secret.
I am still continually dumbfounded over the ignorance of men in regards to women. Men, get it through your heads, women are not to be understood, rationalized with, or calmed down by your dimwitted bullshit.
The old adage about women always changing their minds is true. Of course it is. The reason we change our minds so much is because we have no fucking clue what we want to begin with. We can and will tell you every god damned thing we don’t want; however, the wants are still foggy. Why? Because as women we have the ability to get anything we want, all the time. It’s totally true. We have the vagina. Sounds crude, I know, but you may as well face the facts. When we are posed with so many choices it is almost impossible to choose. You can’t really blame us. It’s stimulation overload. You wouldn’t want us to short-circuit and start smoking out our ears and shit, would you? (Keep in mind, we have the vagina.) Situations in which the mind changing experience occurs can be lessened by you (the man) keeping your damn trap shut during the debating process. Be patient, nobody has died (that I know of) because it took a chick too long to finalize her decision on where to eat dinner on Friday night. Promise. I know stuff.
The same kind of thing goes on in reference to making a decision. There are just too many damn choices. The simple question “what do you want to do today?” causes all kinds of anxiety, excitement, and finally, downright anger in the female mind. How am I supposed to choose something to do from ALL THE THINGS there are to do? Yes, that IS how we think. ALL. THE. THINGS. Do you know how many that is? That’s a lot of damn things. So we list all the things and then…we have to narrow shit down into categories, and keep narrowing until we finally come up with like our top 46. These situations cannot be entirely avoided, but, they can be toned down. Just man-up and offer YOUR opinion. Given a few choices, we can usually make a snappy decision. It can be done. You know how you do all that preventative maintenance stuff to your car? It has to be done with women as well. Be prepared. Duh.
Quit spending time trying figure a bitch out. This will never happen. We don’t want you to figure us out so stop it. If you figure us out, what exactly are we supposed to do with all that time we spend explaining shit to you? Anyhow, we don’t have ourselves figured out so just how in the hell do you expect to? Also, the second you get us all figured out, we’re gonna change our minds anyway. Didn’t you learn anything in the first paragraph? Oh, I get that women always say that we’d like you to figure out how we think and stuff. We lie. We really just want you to shut up. Well shut up and listen. Listening is huge. If you listen to even ¼ of what we say, you’ll have a head start on knowing what the fuck is going on the rest of the time.
In closing…
Love us, listen to us, and learn these three phrases that I learned from the Drunken Queen many years ago…
- “I love you”
- “You’re always right”
- “You look beautiful”
Answer every question with one of those three statements. It will make life a whole lot easier. Trust me. I know stuff.
Men – be sure not to tell anyone I told you all this stuff, k? It’s a secret.
Sunday, September 15, 2013
Oh, the places you’ll go…
It has been brought to my attention recently that are a few places we visit where there are no 'walls'...
Walls defined (by me) as: fees to enter, membership required, certain attire required, you must be ‘this tall’ to ride, you must not be this color to enter, you must drive this kind of car to come here, and you have to dress this way to visit here, you must be pretty to hang out here. Those walls. We’ve all experienced them. Sometimes walls are good. They can keep us safe in certain situations. They act as protection. Other times, walls act as what they really are - barriers to keep us either in or out. For whatever reason.
Being the type of person that I am (I hate people) I usually tend to dig the whole wall thing. I get that certain people just don’t ‘belong’ in certain places. What? They don’t. I know for damn sure my old, fat ass doesn’t belong in the junior section of the department store or the nightclub with the 21&under set. The dude next door to me who is a scream-talker doesn’t belong in the library or the movies (or really anywhere, whole other story). Pets shouldn’t be hanging around in restaurants while I’m trying to stuff my face. Kids shouldn’t be unattended at the…anywhere. You’re getting this, right?
This blog post isn’t about those places. It’s about the places that have no walls. I’ve been noticing some shit lately. Let me explain…There are few places I’ve found where you can find all walks of life. What I mean is the places where ALLTHEPEOPLE visit at some time or another. Places we are allowed to visit to and we are accepted. Equally.
The gas station - Most of us have been here at one time or another. The gas station is a place where all people are welcome. There are no walls. At the gas station you see white people, black people, rich people, poor people, handicapped people, kids, adults, nicely dressed folk, people in work clothes, fat people, skinny people, dying people, newborn people, etc… It’s a mixed up jumble. There is no hierarchy. Everyone is equal at the gas station. It’s a place we all have to go unless of course we’re of the billionaire set and our butler, Jeeves, gets the gas for us. See? Even Jeeves can hit the gas station. There is no judging (well, there might be some). Everyone is there for one common goal. Gas. This may seem like a simple concept but think about it. How is possible for people who cannot agree on anything else in life to accomplish this gas pumping task? Together. It’s been happening for years. Since cars were invented. We go, we pump, and we get along. No walls. It’s seamless. It may only be for a few short minutes, but we do it. Amazing, no?
Government Agencies– For the most part, we’ve all had to hit a government building. Whether it’s a courthouse, a clerk’s office, the capital building in your city, a police department, a utility office, the housing authority, the agriculture department, council for the arts, community development, you get the idea. At one time or another we’ve all had to visit a government agency. Again…race, financial status, sexual orientation, clothing style? All of those things go out the window. It’s another place with no walls. Everyone is welcome and encouraged to visit. We are just able to roam freely, together. And? Nothing out of the ordinary happens. A wealthy older white woman can sit right next to a homeless black man. The girl with the ring in her nose and tattoos can have coffee at the same table with a man in a business suit. People are there for all different reasons. The young couple getting married, the old couple getting divorced, the family filing a will with probate, the poor getting assistance with finances, the attorney arriving for court, you renewing your driver’s license; all visiting these agencies. It happens. Every day. And guess what? It works. No walls. Everyone is equal.
There aren’t many places where everyone is accepted. No matter what you believe, who you are or where you live, this is true. There are places where you can see a lot of different types of people. For example, the grocery store or an amusement park has all different kinds of folks. However, you have to have money (wall) to go to the grocery. And, while an amusement park has quite a mix it’s not a place we are all welcome (A lot of us don’t have tickets).
I’m not really sure where I was going with this post except that it was something that really interested me. I like to observe people and their habits. I happened to be sitting at a red light one day and looked over at the gas station and watched all of the different walks of life. Yep, that’s where this whole thing began. I guess my main point here is that if we (people) can handle being together in places without walls, why in the hell doesn’t it carry over into our daily lives and places with walls? Why do we accept people in certain situations and not others?
I hate people.
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
Tattler Thursday Blog & Social Media Hop!
Welcome everybody *waving frantically*! I'm so excited to be here co-hosting the Tattler Thursday Hop. Probably more excited than I should be. I'm an odd bird. Whatever. That doesn't change the fact that this is a great hop to share your all your social media links. I know stuff. I'll shut up now and you go and link up. Go head, do it. - PPB
Hiya Snappers! Welcome back to the 18th week of the Tattler Thursday Blog and Social Network Hop!
It's time to tattle and hop!
It's a share your crazy, gross, hilarious, in-the-trenches parenthood stories, kind of blog hop! We love funny kid stories and we want to hear yours!
Just leave a comment with your story, post not required! So think of your funniest, wackiest or favorite kid stories, leave a comment with your story/tattle, follow your Hostesses and Co-Hostesses, visit and discover other blogs, and have fun!
Tweet about the Blog Hop HERE!
This week's featured blogger of the week is, Literally Vague from Chaos With A Curve! Go check their site out! It is a conglomeration of 4 women bloggers who blog together because they want to be heard. Because they have something to say, whether you want to read it or not. Thanks for commenting last week Literally Vague ! You are now entered to be featured on The tattler's Studio next month!
To be picked as next week's featured blogger of the week, and to be eligible for September's Tattler's Studio featured post on W3G, all about you and your blog, simply comment on one of the three Hostesses blogs with a funny, silly, gross, scary, wacky, or crazy kid story!
*Be Sure to Hop over to other blogs and visit/network and share the Hop
*Have fun Hopping! (and come back next week!)
Your Hostesses
The Co-Hostesses
Hiya Snappers! Welcome back to the 18th week of the Tattler Thursday Blog and Social Network Hop!
It's time to tattle and hop!
It's a share your crazy, gross, hilarious, in-the-trenches parenthood stories, kind of blog hop! We love funny kid stories and we want to hear yours!
Just leave a comment with your story, post not required! So think of your funniest, wackiest or favorite kid stories, leave a comment with your story/tattle, follow your Hostesses and Co-Hostesses, visit and discover other blogs, and have fun!
Remember the easiest way to get a follow back is to like/follow other pages and leave a comment! So hop around, tell your friends and share, share, share! This is a hop designed for you to have fun and share! Happy Tattling!
This week's featured blogger of the week is, Literally Vague from Chaos With A Curve! Go check their site out! It is a conglomeration of 4 women bloggers who blog together because they want to be heard. Because they have something to say, whether you want to read it or not. Thanks for commenting last week Literally Vague ! You are now entered to be featured on The tattler's Studio next month!
To be picked as next week's featured blogger of the week, and to be eligible for September's Tattler's Studio featured post on W3G, all about you and your blog, simply comment on one of the three Hostesses blogs with a funny, silly, gross, scary, wacky, or crazy kid story!
The Rules are:
| |
| 1- Follow Your Host and Co-Hostesses | |
| 2- Grab the button and display it on your blog or hop page/section | |
| 3- Leave a comment with a funny, wacky, or gross kid story/tattle |
*Be Sure to Hop over to other blogs and visit/network and share the Hop
*Have fun Hopping! (and come back next week!)
The Co-Hostesses
***If you are interested in co-hosting the blog hop or would like more information, you can reach us at tattlerthursday@gmail.com***
Thursday, September 5, 2013
PPB's unwritten rules of 'the' Facebook
Just a few, k? Yeah, you're probably gonna wanna punch me. That's cool. You can't. Punch me. But it's cool if you wanna. - PPB
Do NOT ‘friend’ your boss on Facebook. Ever. Honestly. You might think this is a good idea at the time. It isn’t. I promise. I know stuff. 4 years from now when your boss is a meth head and you’re now under investigation because he or she made some inappropriate (and funny) comments on your Facebook page? You won’t like it. Or, in six months when you decide you hate that job and that boss and the feeling is mutual and then he or she decides to comb through your page to get something on you? You won’t like it. Your boss probably won’t fully appreciate the picture you posted of you grabbing your friend’s boob with one hand while holding two beers & a joint in the other. They may snicker a bit and pretend to enjoy it, but they are just thinking of all the ways to blackmail you with that shit later. You won’t like it. Most importantly, when you call in sick to go the beach you’ll have to constantly remember not to post pics of the beautiful day and the kickass time you’re having and that would just suck. (remembering stuff is hard) And? You won’t like it.
Do NOT ‘friend’ your boss on Facebook. Ever. Honestly. You might think this is a good idea at the time. It isn’t. I promise. I know stuff. 4 years from now when your boss is a meth head and you’re now under investigation because he or she made some inappropriate (and funny) comments on your Facebook page? You won’t like it. Or, in six months when you decide you hate that job and that boss and the feeling is mutual and then he or she decides to comb through your page to get something on you? You won’t like it. Your boss probably won’t fully appreciate the picture you posted of you grabbing your friend’s boob with one hand while holding two beers & a joint in the other. They may snicker a bit and pretend to enjoy it, but they are just thinking of all the ways to blackmail you with that shit later. You won’t like it. Most importantly, when you call in sick to go the beach you’ll have to constantly remember not to post pics of the beautiful day and the kickass time you’re having and that would just suck. (remembering stuff is hard) And? You won’t like it.
Talking all down & dirty about your relationship is a NO. I’m still not sure how or why the fuck people don’t ‘get’ this. It’s just common sense. If you wouldn’t say it out loud? Don’t put that shit on Facebook. Not the regular bitching about your husband/boyfriend/girlfriend/wife stuff. I mean your deep down dirty secrets. The people on your page do NOT need to hear, under any circumstances, how your boyfriend broke up with you because you only like anal or that you like for your dog to watch while you perform oral. Or for example, announcing that you ‘suspect’ your other half is cheating on you. This is not good. If they are (cheating), you’ve warned them. (never ruin the surprise) If nothing’s going on, you’ve opened the door for one of your other Facebook friends to begin the backstabbing and commence to stealing your man/woman. Don’t gasp, it happens. You know it does. The more you open your relationship stuff up to others, the more chances you have to fuck up your relationship. And anyway, you just look and sound like an asshole and we all just laugh at you. So don’t.
‘Friending’ your ex, your ex’s ex, your mom’s ex, or anybody’s damn ex - All bad. I’m telling you. Just like the boss thing? You will regret it. It seems all cutesy and awesome to be friendly and sweet and let every lil ole person you meet enter your world. It isn’t. It will bite you right in your sweet ass. It may be later than sooner, but trust me. It. Will. Happen. At some point (probably 3am on a Friday), one of these exes or even YOU will be all drink-y and cry-y and they or you will inevitably say something completely fucked up that will turn the world upside down and force it to burst into flames. Then? The shit will come squeezing through the fan. These people are exes for a reason. Somehow, somewhere, you or someone you know wanted to rid their lives of these people. Leave it that way. Look forward, kids. It really is the only way to go. The world is an ever changing place. Keep up.
Do NOT let your children on your Facebook page. Of course you should be on their page; however, there is no need for your 13 old to see ANYTHING you do on Facebook. This is real shit, folks. No matter what you think you aren’t letting them see? They see. Every post, picture, status update you like or even think about liking? Facebook is letting your kid see that shit. So even you aren’t posting anything off-the-wall personally, your kid does not need to find out that you’re in a private group for men who like women who dress like men or whatever else is getting your freak on, on Facebook. That’s really a sit down discussion type thing. In my humble (and awesome) opinion, the kiddos do NOT belong on Facebook. Period. Its way too, well, Facebook. Hell, I have to scroll really fast sometimes not freak the fuck out on some of the stuff I see with my 43 year old eyes. That is the stuff your 9 year old is investigating. Thoroughly. Keep in mind, your kids will also see all of your friend’s crazy shit too. You know you have that one friend who can’t stop giving every gory yet oddly enticing detail of her sex life. Or that other friend who you haven't seen in over 15 years, just got arrested for growing medical marijuana and constantly posts ’fuck the police’. Or that friend of a friend (who you don’t really know) who just happens to a sex offender with a yen for the kids. All of this stuff happens in the real world. Your kids shouldn’t have to read & or experience it on Facebook. Yes I know I'm an old stick-in-the-mud jackwagon, but whatever. Oh and your kids always make stupid comments on your posts and act really dumb and stuff and that pisses me off. I hate kids. I damn sure don't want them on my Facebook page.
I hope you’ll take the time to let these few rules marinate and then set (sorry for the foodie talk, I'm hungry). You need these rules. I promise. I know stuff. For those of you who already follow these rules? You rock the mostest. The rest of you? Get on that shit. What the hell are you waiting for?
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
Idle Chits & Chats, SUCK
Have you ever…
Sat someplace with a group of people that you had no interest in communicating with?
It’s a situation that happens to everyone at some point. Unfortunately, it happens to me? A lot. I hate people. I have no desire to participate in idle chit-chat about your (or my) mundane life. I mean really. I do laundry, have kids, cook meals, have sexy-time just like everybody else. I don’t need to hear about how someone else performs these tasks. Do I? No. I’m rather at peace with my own thoughts. I can entertain myself. It’s true.
The part I hate most in these situations is that people give me the stink-eye and such because I’m not a participat-er. Like I’m some kind of damn freak (I am, just not about this) because I don't want to hear their shit. I’m comfortable just sitting quietly and reading or looking at my phone or writing or thinking about my own sad life or anything rather than hear about how about how you just learned to make low-fat cheese balls. I mean honestly here, I can’t be the only one. Can I? Also, I damn sure don’t want to know your opinions on religion, politics or what year Ford made the best Mustang. I don’t care if your boyfriendgirlfriendwifehusband cheats/sleeps/leaves/eats too much. I just don’t. I have enough stuff going on in my own life that I can’t keep track of. Now I’m expected to follow your shit too? Mind your damn business you dirty ole' stink-eye givers. Don’t hate me cause’ I have no interest in your game. Oh and while you’re at it, go poop in a hat. (I just love that. Poop. In a hat. Ha!)
Oh and the topics of discussion that usually occur in these situations? PUHLEASE. Why do people think that while sitting in a room with strangers or people you barely know is the time to bring up that fact that you are a die-hard right-winger or that you can only poop on Tuesday, or that you have to vomit every time you eat, or that you are highly allergic to dust? I. Don’t. Care. Also, I doubt anyone else cares. Unless you have something to say that directly involves me or my family? I. Don’t. Care. Now don’t mistake me for being rude. I’m not that. I’ll make eye contact and give a ‘hello’ and answer any questions pertinent to the situation. I do not, however, want to see pictures of kids, dogs or hear that you’re getting kicked out of your house cause’ you’re a swinger. (“Can you believe my neighbors actually filed a complaint?”) I’m just not interested. Look around fuckers. Nobody cares so…shut it. Really.
The white noise is also awesome. That’s what it’s like. The blabbing of a bagillion (yes, a bagillion) people talking smack about nothing can be overwhelming. Seriously, I know stuff. Come on, if you’re in a room with more than like 5 people? All of the talking becomes one big hum. (White noise) You can’t tell where one person’s complaining about the kids starts and another’s diatribe about the Middle East ends. Shut up. Reading. Over here. Dicks. This especially blows while trying to work. The rumbling of a bagillion voices in my head is for sure not conducive to actually accomplishing anything. Especially when mixed with the voices that already live in my head. Come on people.
I guess I’ve just never been one of those cool people who can handle the shit outta some small talk. I can do it. I just prefer not. It gives me all kindsa heebie jeebies and sends my anxiety into overdrive.
Anyhow, if you come across me in one of these situations, I’d appreciate it if you just shut up. My Doctor and I thank you in advance.
Sat someplace with a group of people that you had no interest in communicating with?
It’s a situation that happens to everyone at some point. Unfortunately, it happens to me? A lot. I hate people. I have no desire to participate in idle chit-chat about your (or my) mundane life. I mean really. I do laundry, have kids, cook meals, have sexy-time just like everybody else. I don’t need to hear about how someone else performs these tasks. Do I? No. I’m rather at peace with my own thoughts. I can entertain myself. It’s true.
The part I hate most in these situations is that people give me the stink-eye and such because I’m not a participat-er. Like I’m some kind of damn freak (I am, just not about this) because I don't want to hear their shit. I’m comfortable just sitting quietly and reading or looking at my phone or writing or thinking about my own sad life or anything rather than hear about how about how you just learned to make low-fat cheese balls. I mean honestly here, I can’t be the only one. Can I? Also, I damn sure don’t want to know your opinions on religion, politics or what year Ford made the best Mustang. I don’t care if your boyfriendgirlfriendwifehusband cheats/sleeps/leaves/eats too much. I just don’t. I have enough stuff going on in my own life that I can’t keep track of. Now I’m expected to follow your shit too? Mind your damn business you dirty ole' stink-eye givers. Don’t hate me cause’ I have no interest in your game. Oh and while you’re at it, go poop in a hat. (I just love that. Poop. In a hat. Ha!)
Oh and the topics of discussion that usually occur in these situations? PUHLEASE. Why do people think that while sitting in a room with strangers or people you barely know is the time to bring up that fact that you are a die-hard right-winger or that you can only poop on Tuesday, or that you have to vomit every time you eat, or that you are highly allergic to dust? I. Don’t. Care. Also, I doubt anyone else cares. Unless you have something to say that directly involves me or my family? I. Don’t. Care. Now don’t mistake me for being rude. I’m not that. I’ll make eye contact and give a ‘hello’ and answer any questions pertinent to the situation. I do not, however, want to see pictures of kids, dogs or hear that you’re getting kicked out of your house cause’ you’re a swinger. (“Can you believe my neighbors actually filed a complaint?”) I’m just not interested. Look around fuckers. Nobody cares so…shut it. Really.
The white noise is also awesome. That’s what it’s like. The blabbing of a bagillion (yes, a bagillion) people talking smack about nothing can be overwhelming. Seriously, I know stuff. Come on, if you’re in a room with more than like 5 people? All of the talking becomes one big hum. (White noise) You can’t tell where one person’s complaining about the kids starts and another’s diatribe about the Middle East ends. Shut up. Reading. Over here. Dicks. This especially blows while trying to work. The rumbling of a bagillion voices in my head is for sure not conducive to actually accomplishing anything. Especially when mixed with the voices that already live in my head. Come on people.
I guess I’ve just never been one of those cool people who can handle the shit outta some small talk. I can do it. I just prefer not. It gives me all kindsa heebie jeebies and sends my anxiety into overdrive.
Anyhow, if you come across me in one of these situations, I’d appreciate it if you just shut up. My Doctor and I thank you in advance.
Sunday, August 25, 2013
I like the dentist.
Nope, this post isn't about the dentist. Not even a little. It's about dating & relationships. Any relationship, really.
You know when you first begin to date someone and you begin the 'getting to know you' stage? You discuss your likes, your dislikes and all that good happy shit. You remember that, right? Come on, it hasn't been that long. When the SAB and I first started dating we found we had so many things in common. It was weird. Not in a bad way, just weird.
We had all the big things in common like neither of us wanted more kids and we both lean toward the left in political views. We had both been married twice. In fact, we each got married the same year both times AND were married for the same number of years each time. (wacky) I had an 8 year old daughter and he had an 8 year old daughter (and a 16 year old daughter). Also, we were both self proclaimed dating whores.
All that stuff is actually kind of common, however, it's the little things. Right? Me and the SAB (yes, I know it's grammatically incorrect, suck it) liked the same songs and the same movies. That's pretty normal. However, we both recite movie lines and when he would start singing some off-the-wall song? I could finish it. (yes, in public...what. ever.) TV shows & food. The same deal. We even drank the same damn drink. After a few months of dating we could have taken 1st place on the Newlywed Game simply because our answers were all the same. I mean seriously, we even ordered the same ice cream conconction from Cold Stone Creamery. (German Chocolate Cake, YUM) We referred to each other as the 'opposite gender version' of one another. It was uncanny. (the word uncanny is totally underused) How we responded to things and our thoughts and emotions about almost everything - same.
I know lots of you out there have probably experienced all this stuff. Am I right? Well me being the awesomely cynical human I am? I started second guessing all that shite. We can't be exactly the same, can we? Then this happened: "You just cannot like everything I like. If I said I like the dentist, you'd say you like the dentist too". Of course he denied it . Whatever. He'd have a eaten a turd on the roof of a laundromat with me (and say he loved it) if I'd have asked. And so it goes... "I like the dentist" became our running joke. Still is. We're extremely immature. Shaddap.
Fast forward 2.75 years later. We are still amazed every day at our similarties. Each day we find new things that we have in common. We have also found that all those "I like the dentist" things aren't as alike as we thought. For example, the SAB does enjoy watching Sex and the City reruns with me, however, he'd be much more content watching some dumbass documentary on Hugo Chavez or some other such bullshit. Also, while I can really dig on some fried food, I don't want to eat it every day like the SAB would do if I wasn't around. Yes, I'm still trying to figure out how to fry mayonnaise. What? I'll be sure to the keep the life insurance policy updated.
Fast forward 2.75 years later. We are still amazed every day at our similarties. Each day we find new things that we have in common. We have also found that all those "I like the dentist" things aren't as alike as we thought. For example, the SAB does enjoy watching Sex and the City reruns with me, however, he'd be much more content watching some dumbass documentary on Hugo Chavez or some other such bullshit. Also, while I can really dig on some fried food, I don't want to eat it every day like the SAB would do if I wasn't around. Yes, I'm still trying to figure out how to fry mayonnaise. What? I'll be sure to the keep the life insurance policy updated.
Anyhow, even though I now look back and think "I went to a fucking houka bar with this man?", it was all worth it cause in the end? We both "like the dentist".
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
Holy Wow! I'm so excited to be co-hosting the Tattler Thursday Blog & Social Network Hop among the likes of these awesome bloggers! Anyhow, be sure and link up your blog and your Facebook, Twitter and Bloglovin below. Hopefully, I've done everything right and it all works! SMOOCHYDOODLES and Thanks for hoppin!
Hiya Snappers! Welcome back to the 14th week of the Tattler Thursday Blog and Social Network Hop!
It's time to tattle and hop!
It's a share your crazy, gross, hilarious, in-the-trenches parenthood stories, kind of blog hop! We love funny kid stories and we want to hear yours!
Just leave a comment with your story, post not required! So think of your funniest, wackiest or favorite kid stories, leave a comment with your story/tattle, follow your Hostesses and Co-Hostesses, visit and discover other blogs, and have fun!
Tweet about the Blog Hop HERE!
*Be Sure to Hop over to other blogs and visit/network and share the Hop
*Have fun Hopping! (and come back next week!)
Your Hostesses
Hiya Snappers! Welcome back to the 14th week of the Tattler Thursday Blog and Social Network Hop!
It's time to tattle and hop!
It's a share your crazy, gross, hilarious, in-the-trenches parenthood stories, kind of blog hop! We love funny kid stories and we want to hear yours!
Just leave a comment with your story, post not required! So think of your funniest, wackiest or favorite kid stories, leave a comment with your story/tattle, follow your Hostesses and Co-Hostesses, visit and discover other blogs, and have fun!
Remember the easiest way to get a follow back is to like/follow other pages and leave a comment! So hop around, tell your friends and share, share, share! This is a hop designed for you to have fun and share! Happy Tattling!
The Rules are:
| |
| 1- Follow Your Host and Co-Hostesses | |
| 2- Grab the button and display it on your blog or hop page/section | |
| 3- Leave a comment with a funny, wacky, or gross kid story/tattle |
*Be Sure to Hop over to other blogs and visit/network and share the Hop
*Have fun Hopping! (and come back next week!)
The Co-Hostesses
***If you are interested in co-hosting the blog hop or would like more information, you can reach us at tattlerthursday@gmail.com***
Sunday, August 11, 2013
Squirrely Blogger Award!
So yay, me! I recieved this award from two awesome chicks! Shawna from Shawna in Wonderland and also the fab Joy at Comfytown Chronicles. These two ladies rock ass so you should probably go check them out. They gave ME an award, they must be fantastic, no?
The rules are to share 7 squirrely facts about myself and nominate 10 other bloggers. I got this. Or I'm gonna cheat like I always do. Anyhow, I like big nuts and I cannot lie...here goes nothin.
- I wear glasses. Did you know that? I'll bet not. Bifocals too. My glasses are awesome. They're red. Like my kitchen. I love red. I only wear them for driving, reading or anytime I need to see. (not wearing them now
- I love ice cream, cereal and soup. All things you eat in a bowl with a spoon. However, I will NOT eat partially melted ice cream. Hard packed is the only way to go.
- For several years, I planned charitable events. Me? I know, right. I did so shush.
- I loved the smell of bacon frying way before bacon was cool.
- I could live in Rome or possibly Lausanne (Switzerland). Awesomeness. If I had money and no kids and well, if. You know.
- I once lost 150lbs. Thank you Weight Watchers and I've had extensive plastic surgery.
- I am no longer at the aforementioned weight. I still have the plastic surgery scars.
Those are my facts. Yep. That's it.
I'm nominating:
It's close enough to 10. I'm sitting on the porch and sweating balls.
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