Tuesday, August 30, 2011

Blog, Blog, Bloggetty-Blog Blog (or All Hyped Up and No One to Talk To)

So, now that I've started this thing, it's taken on a life of its own.  Ideas are zinging through my brain so fast I can't keep up with them all.  Writing ideas down on any scrap of paper I can get my hands on.  I have this really cool "My Writing Spot" app on my phone, but it by the time I manipulate that technology, I've forgotten why I'm there.

And then, I sit down at the computer......

Um, what was that great thought I had?  Where the fuck is that paper?  OMG, I have lost my mind.  Or my muse is seriously fucking with me.  She does that a lot.  She's a real tease.  

So, I read my favorite bloggers.  And the journey from webpage to webpage begins.  There are so many fantastic blogs out there that I spend hours reading, forget whose blog I started on, want to bookmark so many of them (my "These people make me laugh" list is woefully unfinished), and, oh shit, I'm lost again!  Yes, I could look at my browsing history, but then my brain goes into vapor-lock.

And then a kid interrupts me.  Or my phone rings/dings/vibrates.  Or my email notification pops up.  Or there's a great song on SomaFM Groove Salad that I have to find out about  (check them out here http://somafm.com/play/groovesalad).  Or I remember there are clothes in the washer/dryer.  Or that I forgot to pack my lunch for tomorrow. Or decide what the hell POS outfit I'm wearing to work (for the eighteen-thousandth time). Then the bottle of Fris vodka is calling me from the freezer (Sadie, dah-link, it's martini time! xoxo).  Seriously, it's a wonder I can think at all (yeah, Paul Simon, only it ain't the crap I learned in high school that's distracting me now.  I forgot most of that shit YEARS ago).

But my blog needs me, I rationalize.  It's almost like my new baby.  Yeah!  Only no diapers or vomit!  Or crying!  I can turn it off whenever I want to!  (RIGHT...) Wonder if I could somehow take "New Blog-itis Leave" from work?!  Oh, poor blog, I hope I don't become a helicopter mom (I so swiped that from The Mouthy Housewives http://www.mouthyhousewives.com/).  

Ok, gotta run, seriously, stuff to do, people to tuck in, dishes to wash, etc., etc., etc......and more ideas to draft!

Picture courtesy of   mbamommy.wordpress.com

Sunday, August 28, 2011

The Attention Whore

So, I'm sure you all know someone like this.  Someone you can hear coming for miles, all the while dreading the approach.  You know you're going to have to engage and it's all you can do to mask your hostility.

Unfortunately for me, this person in my life happens to be my boss.  Picture yourself in the cubicle farm environment.  This person sits two cubes catty-corner away.  But you can hear EVERYTHING, because attention whores are purposely louder than anyone else.

She throws her keys down on her desk disdainfully every morning and any time during the day she has to use them to unlock a cabinet.  Her cell phone is never on vibrate.  She has long acrylic nails and types like she has sledgehammers for hands.  Also, a new trick she's learned (if I found out who taught her, they are dead meat) to "wake up" her computer is to pick up the mouse and drop it on the desk several times.  She listens to music with ear buds, but feels compelled to treat us all to a concert and snap her fingers.  (And even when I have Led Zeppelin blaring on my IPOD so loud my ears are bleeding, I can still hear her.)  And when she's not listening to music, every random, vapid thought that pops into her brain is expressed verbally to her next-cubicle neighbor.

She also likes to involve me and any unlucky bystander in her make-mountains-out-of-molehills approach to any and every thing possible.  

Why does this bother me?  Because attention whores demand your attention.  I would willingly give face time to someone who needs and deserves human interaction, but make me do anything, and all bets are off.  Even if it's cutting of my nose to spite my face.  Attention whores are draining.  They suck your life-force.  And smile while they're doing it.......cause that's what they're after.  

Attention whore = energy vampire

Wonder if garlic works for this????

Animated arrows courtesy of http://www.gifs.cc/
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Thursday, August 18, 2011

So Did I Mention I'm Studying Witchcraft?

Yes, I said witchcraft.  I took this up several years ago for the sole purpose of freaking out Ex-Husband #2 (hereafter, EH2) and the evil mother-in-law (hereafter EMIL).  He definitely had it coming (and so did she).

When we met, he let me think that he agreed with my belief that organized religion can be not such a good thing for some people.  He even said that one of the reasons he left home at an early age was because of EMIL's religious beliefs. And then he decided to become just what EMIL had always been, a member of a cult that calls itself a religion which shall remain nameless here, but I think you will know which group I am speaking about when I say they go door to door.  A lot.

Ok, if that's what EH2 wanted for himself, I am all about live and let live.  But he tried to convert me. And, AFTER he joined this cult is when EH2 got really pushy-shovey with me whenever he couldn't control me or my ideas about life.  
And don't even get me started about the crap EMIL put us all through, especially at Halloween, when I had to draw a freaking smiley face on the back of our jack-o-lantern and turn it around every morning before I left for work.  Because she (the epitome of evil) couldn't stand Satan being invited into our house.  Please, Satan squirms whenever he hears her name.

 And THEN he went and got our son involved in this crap.  NOT COOL.

So, technically, it's not actually witchcraft, but I'll never tell him that.  It's really earth-based spirituality and I so love telling my son, "Tell Daddy that next weekend we'll be doing naked bonfire dancing" or "This weekend is the Fire Festival of Beltane" as this all sounds very sinister and mysterious to the uneducated and narrow-minded such as EH2 and EMIL.  

I've even introduced my son to the cleansing ritual of sage smudging.  We do it every time he is in his funk-nasty angry mood (or me, I feel like that a lot).  And when I explained it to him the first time as we did it, he said he really felt a lot better.  SCORE ONE FOR SANITY!  (And Mommy.)

So, I must go now and light all my ritual candles.  For love, health, wealth, clarity and some specific requests from friends.

They only look dangerous and no, I haven't (yet) set my house on fire.

PS.  I would turn EH2 into a toad except (a) he already is one, and (b) I need his child support money.  AND, I would so vanquish EMIL because the world deserves to be rid of her evilness forever, but my studies tell me I can only use my powers for good (dammit).

Blessed be, as the Dude I Broke Up With used to say (more about him in future posts).


Tuesday, August 16, 2011

Today's Insanity

Is that there really isn't currently any insanity in my life.  And it's freaking me the eff out.  Seriously.......

I have always had some kind of funk to deal with (did I mention I have TWO ex-husbands?).  Some daily freaking drama to handle.  And now there's nothing.

I've had two years of being on my own, just me and my kiddies and things have settled down to a nice quiet lull.  The bills are paid (mostly), the kids are fine, and I am bored out of my ever-loving brain.  

I know this is inviting trouble. And I have certainly had enough of that.  But, like I said, I am bored.  And that is never a good thing!  If left to my own devices, I will probably become a real couch-potato (I love re-runs of all the great shows I missed while dealing with my crazy former life), and when I set out to do something, I never do it half-way.  I already have quite the gator-wallow in the corner of my love seat facing the tv.  MY spot, next to the end table where I keep my coffee/wine/vodka (depending on the time of day) and also where the ottoman is.  Nothing better than putting your feet up AND staring mindlessly at the gurus in the big shiny box who spout mind-blowing concepts continuously.   Add to that the fact that I am admittedly a Food Network junkie, and I see some serious issues heading my way.

Of course, I am really great at rationalizing.  I have convinced myself that I have EARNED this from all the crazy I have dealt with in my life.  Yeah, that's right.  I deserve to sit on my *ss doing absolutely nothing.

Well, I am going to do my best to enjoy it for as long as it lasts.  Cause apparently I am a psycho magnet, which means the next cuckoo is probably GPS'ing me as I write this.

Holy F*ck, Margaret, I need to get off the radar, and quick!

Sunday, August 14, 2011

Deliver me from Hollister

So, today I had the great privilege, nay honor, of taking my daughter shopping. At Hollister.  Honestly, I may never be the same.

Shopping with my daughter is not my favorite thing to do, anyway.  We never agree and there are always furious arguments flung at each other through clenched teeth and looks-could-kill daggers going both ways.  (This is why they invented Aunts.)  But HOLLISTER?  RUFKM?

First of all, you are greeted at the store front by huge posters of teenaged male abdomens....
Isn't this close to child porn?
Ok, this is actually mild compared to the posters hanging in the store, but you get the idea.

Further along in the store was THIS enchanting picture...

Oh. Em. Gee.

Oh, yeah, and also, you are assaulted by music louder than a night club and perky, friendly little sales associates who are oh-so-eager to help you spend on clothing what you would normally spend for a month of groceries.  That is, if you can read their lips because anyone over the age of 25 cannot discern the sound of human speech over the blaring music.  And, honey, I am so far past 25 that none of this is cute to me.

Looking around at all the desperate-to-fit-in teeny boppers and their even more desperate mothers (you know, the Plastic Moms: fake boobs, fake teeth, fake nails, ironed hair, perfect pedi, probably spent hours just getting ready to go shopping.  I, on the other hand, did nothing but brush my teeth and slap on a light coat of mascara.  Know why?  Cause I am too freaking tired to care what the bitches at Hollister think of me!), I am ashamed that I have caved and am about to contribute my extremely-hard-earned child support dollars to an establishment that fosters this kind of shallow, pathetic, barely-cloaked sex trade.  This embodies everything I despise about today's society.  But here I am.  Ready to pony up my pennies to make my daughter happy....momentarily.

I so long for the days of the safety of Walmart and Target.  Now, I admit, I haven't exactly checked out their mission statements, but they seem so much more benign than the evil surrounding me right now.  And if one more adorable little boy in this place calls me "ma'am", I will probably go to jail for bitch-slapping him.    

Hollister Shopping Bag
And THIS is what we brought home......

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

The Workout Bitch

So, I don't go to the gym.  Never have.  I am not a crowd person, and I definitely prefer privacy when (if) I'm going to sweat and contort my body (and my face) into less than attractive positions.

My answer:  workout DVD's.  The first is Windsor Pilates by Mari Windsor.  A nice, relaxed, but dedicated training program.  And I despise her.  She is so toned and perky!  And she's always saying something stupid like "We don't want shoulders for earrings" that gets completely lodged into my brain.  Really.  So every time I am slumping at my desk, I hear Mari in my head.  Bitch.

The other DVD I use is 10 Minute Solutions with some little tart named Jennifer Galardi, a professional dancer and ACE certified fitness instructor.  Don't get me wrong, I really LOVE Jennifer's workouts.  They are targeted to specific areas and are (mostly) quite fun and get good results.  What I HATE is staring at her concave abdomen taunting me through every workout.  Cause no matter if I did her 10-minute Dancer's Abs routine 24 hours a day, I will NEVER look like that again.  BITCH.

This is why I drink vodka (see my previous post "Ode to Vodka").

PS.  Results are definitely not guaranteed if you drink two glasses of wine before working out. 

Ode to Vodka

(Sung to the tune of "We Love You, Conrad" from "Bye Bye Birdie")

I love you, Vodka.
Oh, yes, I do.
I love you, Vodka.
And I'll be true.
When you're not with me, I'm blue.
Oh, Vodka, I love you!

Best friend, best tonic, best sleeping aid, best everything.  And everything goes with vodka.  

I don't remember when exactly I discovered vodka.  I used to be a very faithful tequila drinker.  I still do like my tequila when I'm feeling a little wild. But vodka and I go way back now.  Vodka has been there for me through thick and thin, and I'm never leaving it.  Ever.    I heart you, baby!

Monday Night Raw

So, did I mention I am the awesomest mom ever?  

I actually watched Monday Night Raw with my son.  Ok, I watched for a few short minutes in between chores, but it's enough.  In case you're not familiar, this is WWE Wrestling at its finest (is there anything else).  So NOT my cup of tea, but I took one for the team.

And it had absolutely nothing to do with this guy.  I swear.

  Hooray for Mondays.  :)

Monday, August 8, 2011

The Oh-My-Freaking-God Moment

So, my 14-year-old daughter just Facebook chatted me that she's ready to get birth control.

I think my brain just exploded.  

Yep, there's not much left of me.

And now I have to try to talk coherently to a TEENAGER.  


This may be my last post ever.

Fried Chicken is EVIL

Me:  I'm only buying you for the kids' dinner.
Chicken:  Sure, sure, I get it.
Me:  So, you're going to behave, right?
Chicken:  I swear on my life.

  Flash forward to dinner time.  I intentionally had a snack before I left work so I wouldn't be hungry when I fed this delightful trash to my kids.  NO, I am going to work out while they devour this greasy, disgusting, comforting dinner (with Stouffers mac n cheese, natch).

Me:  Just get on the plate and be quiet.

Chicken:  Hey, I didn't even say anything.  I'm just sitting here all crispy.

Me:  Yeah, yeah, I can read your thought bubbles.

Chicken:  Come on.  You know you want to.  One little bite won't hurt.  Look!
              Some of my delicious breading fell off.  You can have that, right?

Me:  Ummmmm......

Chicken:  Do it!  Do it!  You deserve something delicious.  After all, you had
              another annoying day at work, right?  You're a hard-working Mama.
              Look at all you do for everyone else.

Me:  No, I'm going to be strong.  I deserve to do something good for myself.

Chicken: But I am good for you.  Good for your soul.

Me:  DAMMIT. Shut up.  DAMMIT.

Chicken:  Oh, come on, honey, you know I love you.  I'm just trying to help
              you feel better.  Just have a wing, then.

Me:  Ummmmmm.....

Chicken:  PLEEEEEZE?

Me:  Ok, just ONE bite and that's it.

    Right.  It never ends with just one bite, does it?

(Sidenote:  I have had this same conversation with dudes, only about kissing.)

Yes, Fried Chicken is EVIL and Publix is apparently owned and operated by Satan.  And now I have to work out twice as long so I can have my vodka!!!!

Sunday, August 7, 2011

Not So Delicious - UPDATED 12/1/11


Man Confesses to Sex with Cat

Wait, WHAT?!

So, this is not deliciously crazy, but decidedly insane and disgusting. Can't decide what's the most disturbing element to this whole thing.

A). That someone actually did this.
B). That the dumbass actually confessed to this. I mean, come on.
     He and the cat are the only ones who knew what transpired before
     the cat was tossed out the window, and the cat ain't talking.
C). That any self-respecting news agency would actually carry this story.
D). That I actually READ it.
E). That this is the first post on this blog.

On the bright side, I now have an amazing new vocabulary word: catf*cker.
I am permanently replacing the word motherf*cker. I use it often, but have never felt completely comfortable with its connotations, especially since I AM now a mother. :)

That's right, catf*cker.  As in:  That is one crazy catf*cker.  Can you BELIEVE what that catf*cker did?  Catf*cker better watch out.  Stupid cf'er.  Say it with me, people.

You KNOW you're laughing.....

The BEGINNING of the story?!?!?!

Dude meets Cat.  Dude falls in love with Cat.  Then what happened?! Cat refused his advances?  Dude caught Cat cheating on him?  Is that any reason to throw the one you love from a 30th-floor window?  Oh, how does love go so wrong?!

Another Piece of the Puzzle

Oh, dear.  I see this is when the trouble started.......