humor, mother's day, relationships, self-help

Hairy Goldfish

*twirling my mustache, giggling

Anyone with kids knows that the battle of the

“Put Things Away”

game is never-ending. Or a husband. Who leaves socks all over the floor. Or rubber bands. Huh? I don't know…So, when push comes to shove, I like to play pranks. Not only to prove a point; But, to open the eyeballs of said minor. And get them to PUT. THEIR. CRAP. AWAY.  Let the games begin!  The game is quite similar to jingling keys in front of a toddler to distract the tyke away from a hot stove. Just a tad more manipulative. Or passive aggressive. Actually, it's more like the- mommy's flipped her lid -game. We need sedatives - STAT. Who's doing all that sceaming? Oh. It's me. Oopsie. My bad.

When I Costco, I typically buy the snack pack boxes. You know the ones, miniature bags of snack garbage the kids can just grab and go. Welp, I accidentally bought the Goldfish snacks that were in the oversized large bags instead the last time. Ah, I just love the idea of grubby little hands all inside the bag of chips everyone communally is going to eat from… *sarcasm. I’ll pour them out into a bowl. Or cut the bag down to the munchies so my hand doesn’t have to touch the greasy insides of it. It’s the O.C.D. And it’s quirky. So hush. I guess I wasn’t paying attention. Ironic twist of events? Not really. I tend to get sidetracked. Case in point: a mere two sentences ago. Anyway, Sir Interuptor-patomus…In Costco. And other places. In every place actually. Not just in Costco. I like butterflies. Chasing butterflies with glitter is always fun.

One would assume, when one is done using any item in the house, one would proceed to return said item to its original place. Especially food. Neat and tidy. Packaging closed and sealed up. Freshness bound. Organized. Hell, I’ll take the category, “Thrown in the Cabinet by a Timberwolf” for the WIN, Pat! As long as it was put back near its resting spot. It’s not TOO much to ask. Really.

So imagine my not-so-surprise when I find the large open Goldfish bag on the coffee table, not put away. I digress, at least it was rolled up. I exhale a huge sigh and head for the bag. Grab the bag. Pick up the bag. And the fucking Goldfish go spewing all over my living room floor. Out of the bag. Of course they did. On a carpet that which, was not, vacuumed. Of course it wasn’t. Which I had previously requested be done as well.  And wasn’t executed. BAH!


Tap. Tap. Tap. I’ll show you, you little monster you. I scoop up all the little yellow crackers and put them -bit by bit- back into the plastic sack. Hair. Debris… and all. Roll the bitch back up. And shove it in the pantry. Ha! Right up front. And I wait. Patience is a virtue. And wait. Something about a dish best served cold? Criminy, and I wait some more. What the hell. I freaking forgot about it. Well, a month goes by and the boy hasn’t said anything about the dirty food satchel. Hmmm.. maybe he’s not eating them. Nope. He’s been eating them because the bag moves around the pantry space every few days. Finally, last week, I ask him if he wants a snack, and I mention all available crunchy nibbles to choose from and my son says, “I haven’t really been eating the Goldfish because everytime I do I keep getting hair and stuff from inside the bag. I think we should write them a letter about it.” And there it was. The moment I’d been waiting for…

So, you have been eating them huh? Yeah. And I really think we need to write an onion letter to the company. Get some free – Let me stop you right there my young, darling consumer rights activist. You know how I’m always asking you to to put shit away? Uh huh. Well, one day, over a month ago… You didn’t put these fishies away. I always put them away. No. You don’t. Let me finish. And I picked them up and well… His face went from interest in my storytelling to obvious disgust. “Mom. I’ve been eating hair!” Yeah, that… well, here’s the kicker. You’re going to love this part. I also asked you to vaccum that week too. And well, you didn’t do that either. So, if you think about it. Had you swept the floor. There wouldn’t have been debris in your hairy Goldfish. Mom! You’re so gross! Yes. Yes, I am.

Moral of the story. He puts stuff away now. Wipes down my kitchen countertops. And has since learned how to use a mop.

Ah, victory.

humor, relationships, self-help

Depo Sleepy No-No

images-1I’m used to not sleeping. It’s part of my genetic makeup or something… and I’ve learned to just accept it as a regular, co-existing nuisance. Except last night, I couldn’t just not get to freaking sleep. It’s the Depo.  I was literally awake for hours like a crack head. Has to be the Depo. Minus the wandering around the streets. Depo what? With a shopping cart. Full of God-awful, smelly items that truly serve no function. Can we get an explanation on the Depo thing? Who knows, maybe bums have found a way to reuse the one, lost shoe, missing its shoelaces. Whew. Mystery solved. Awesome, hobos. Kudos!

Ok… but this time, I want to play the dirty wench *wink

Geesh… Fine. Impatient fuckers. Explanation en route. So, I went to my gynecologist and opted to try the depo-shot. Ahhh… Great for my bedtime gymnastics Olympics, I’ve been so boldly carrying on about; Yet, terrible for my much needed sleep. That I’m not getting. Because of the “Game of Bones.” Or Crankiness that has crept up so suddenly… and subtly. Oh and magically, instead of my monthly visitor I’m getting onset nausea and dizziness. Which -by the way- is easily sent away from a romp in some hay. True stroy. I tried it. He dared me. I had to accept the challenge. Anyway, ALL side effects to this shit, is front and center. My body is trying to fight me and I’m saying NO. I will NOT concede DEPO! NO To your… succubus ways of mania. Find my sword, a
battle is to be won! I’m a pretty even keel mother fucker so it’s irritating to watch my mood swing from left to right. And try to keep it contained on top of it. So get ready Depo Shot for a sweet ass kicking! And if I don’t keep a grip on that shit early on? I’ll find myself back to the single life, dehydrating onion bread, all by my lonesome. Or so he has told me. Awareness is half the battle -right- and I’m a smart MF so best believe, I intend to figure it out, keep a lid on it, and let these side effects slide through as if they’re not happening. Until they are no longer happening. Take that evil birth control. If this stupid shot is anything like the pill I used to take, once my body adjusts to this crap; I’m kopastetic. And I’m hoping I’m on the right string of thoughts here because these couple of nights I’m up all night having conversations with myself I need to corroborate some kind of master plan to catch up on freaking sleep. Because… of all of bed sexnastics. Mentioning it again? Oh yeah. Because I’m exhausted. And I’m proud as to why. Wow.
IMG_0870Clock watching stinks when you can’t sleep. I’ve been up and down. Played a few piano tunes. Don’t worry, did it quietly. On my keyboard. Didn’t want to agitate any of my annoying sardine-packed neighbors who could care less about anyone else but themselves (#citylife) alas I still opted to keep the volume low. I did some writing. Rehearsed some lines for a thing I’m preparing for… Blah. Blah. Blah. Then the nausea and dizziness set back in. Ugh! Now, if you or anyone you know of has had this freakin shot, it’s either on the favorable side of really rave reviews or really terrible side of it, and of the NEVER do it, and of the you might DIE variety. Seriously, some people should have their keyboards taken from them. I did physically meet a gal -in person- though who had a great experience. She was conveniently seated nexted to me in the lobby though… Maybe the girl in my doctors office was a setup. Like a birth control spy! Strategically placed to encourage, confused and unsuspecting gyno-goers to get stuck by the depo! Well played medical system. Well played.
Or maybe my insomnia is just intensified by the birth control injection. Similarily, as my erotica conglomerate, can surely be a factor. Who the hell knows. But, I’ll take that. And the yumster man-machine who’s keeping up. Hooo-weeee! Alright, fine. Not sure if it is the depo-provera shot or not; But, as I’m watching the tick tock minutes click on by; it’s only swiftly, passed a mere three fucking more minutes, than the last time I checked the clock. God fucking bless it.

humor, self-help

Air Mattress of Death, Part 2


I have great friends. True. They are so good at taking care of me. 100% …I am a princess after all. Yes, you are. After much pestering from my peeps on the many “whys” I shouldn’t be sleeping on a couch, I finally gave into peer pressure and borrowed their damn air mattress last week. Totally set up for failure. As much as people may like to believe I am super high maintenance, it’s more of an OCD problem than it is hyper-involved, pretty girl pouty problem. Stay with me, I’ll explain. I borrowed an air mattress. Again. Which, one could believe was hell-worthy to begin with; but it wasn’t. It wasn’t even the beginning…

Friday I had THE WORST headache of the century. So terrible that I had my eye mask on, was drinking ginger tea to calm the nausea -caused by said headache- and just tried to sleep it off. It was absolutley debilitating. And annoying. As much as I  joke, I’m anti-prescription meds, anti-over-the-counter-crap, and will just suck it up and power through it. I believe the mind is a powerful thing. And to not utilize that power would be idiotic. Yes, there are exceptions blah blah… But that doesn’t matter here. Not even a little bit. So, by late evening, the severe pounding finally dissipated enough where I could do some yoga for my migraine. You know what guys always say gets rid of a headache? Hush. We know. It was calming and helped immensely. And wasn’t perverted at all… guys. The headache didn’t go away completely, but I could feel the tension release. You know what would “release–” shut up.

Fast forward to Saturday, I had slept on this mattress for a second night. Bad idea. The first night

Yes, there’s a sippy cup for everything…

went well, aside from headache guy -in my head- swinging the hammer the previous 24hr period, so I continue on… This fucking mattress. This is when shit got real. It tried to smother me. I tossed and turned all night. Seriously, it tried to suffocate me. I had to lay like I fell from a ten-story building just to even out the airy part of the damn thing. Please kill me. Add to the fact I couldn’t stop sweating in my plastic hell. Drowning me in this factory-made, chemical sleeping cell. Dramatic much? Always. Listen. If I’m inhaling the weird velvet coating on this blown up pool of air fuckery, then it’s safe to suspect this bastard also tried to poison me too. I woke up with a broken neck on Saturday. Really. You’re neck is broken now… Fine, it’s not broken. But I could not move my head from side to side. Or at all. Ugh. So, my headache is gone and now my body -which spent the night fighting for it’s dear life- is now in seething pain. So, my son had to wait on me hand and foot while  I’m back on my (fully paid for) couch. Laid out. In tears. All day. So, I ring the bell conveniently located next to my open sofa casket and summon for a sippy cup -made for wine- and slurp away.

DISCLAIMER: Why don’t I have a bed, you ask? Because I’m a picky bitch. I refuse to buy just “anything.” I wait to buy exactly what I want and am A-OK to go without until I find what I am looking for… plus I need another payment plan. *wink