I understand, and I wish to continue.

That awkward moment, when you get home from a long ass shift, and try to plug your stethoscope into the wall in an attempt at charging your phone.... Ya, I've had a long day. I'm a sleepy girl. So! What better way to wind down than to tell you all about my masturbating squirrel/dog? 

Did I ever tell you that I have a dog? Well, I do although I use the term "dog" lightly. You see, I'm the proud and often annoyed mother to a 2 pound chihuahua named Bella. Or, Isabell when she's REALLY pissing me off. Before you go and make an assumption that I'm one of those dumb Paris Hilton bitches - let me explain a few things - 

1) I did not buy her. She was a gift. Because what woman doesn't love a gift that shits all over the place, right?? 

2) She is NOT one of those dumb dogs who's bread for it's tiny size, for fashion purposes in trade for having a tiny brain. No, she's just a runt. And just dumb. Her parents were full-sized and her litter mates (brothers) were full sized. She just got the shit end of the stick. 

3) She's practically handicapped by her size. She only has like 6 teeth because many of the baby teeth fell out and adult ones never grew in. Her heart is all jacked up and she can never have sex. EVER. Seriously. The vet told us that if we were to find a way to breed her, she'd have one pup and it would kill her. Luckily, she's apx the size of a chipmunk and therefore, can just never get it in. She, is not happy about this.

*Fun Fact* When she's in heat, her little midget vagina swells up so much that it basically turns inside out and becomes a penis for a week. Don't like that visual? Fuck you. Neither do I. 

4) She's horny. Like all the time. All that poor girl wants in life is to get laid. We have so much in common. 

In the past, I've found her having solo-play time with random objects like a random stuffed animal left on the floor, or my daughters fuzzy, expensive as shit slippers from Justice. Do you know what Justice is? It's the be all end all fashion line for little girls of the world. It's fucking terrible and everything that my little princess owns like OMG! So totally MUST be from Justice! $40 for a spaghetti-strap tank top that looks like it's from k-mart: fuck me! 

Several months ago, my three year old became obsessed with helping mommy clean. He picked out a feather type duster for just the occasion. It never made it to the blinds, however as it was immediately seized by my dog for her own personal satisfaction.

Bella has the hotts for the feather duster. The first time it happened, I thought she had died. Seriously. I saw her 'wrestling' with said green bringer of puppy pleasure for a while and then... suddenly... she died. Or, at least she did. What appeared to me to be my dog having a fucking miocaridal infarction (heart attack) was just in fact, her 'O' face. 

Allow me to elaborate....

So what I thought was just innocent puppy play went like this: Dog see's feather duster. Cupid shoots arrow directly into dog's anus. Dog roughs up feather duster. Ya know, because she's gotta show it who wears the pants and junk. So dog bites, shakes, jerks feather duster around for a bit. THEN! dog suddenly flips on her back and proceeds to do what appears to be having a seizure. I've since learned that it is in fact, dog rubbing her vagina all over feather duster in rapid cession for a few minutes before dieing. No, she didn't die. But I seriously thought she had. She stopped moving suddenly and I waited.    And waited.    And waited.    Finally, I gathered the scones to go scoop up what I thought to be my now DEAD dog, only to witness her jump the fuck up, look around in confusion as if to say "What? You do it too!" right before going back for round 2.    And then round 3.    And then round 4. .....   I counted that night. We got to 37 puppy-gasms before I finally stopped posting videos on facebook and took her boy-toy away from her before she rubbed herself raw. 

Why is this pertinent information? Well, because I just got home from a long shift of badness. (fuck you nursing) And first thing I do when I get home is always to let Bella out. Tonight, she was extra anxious to be freed from her confines. Instead of greeting me with love or vagina smelling kisses, or wanting to go outside, she just looked at me as if to say "It's about fucking time, bitch! I've got humping to do!" Which, is exactly what she did. For the past 20ish minutes or so. 

My dog gets more action than I do. My life sucks. 

Please, enjoy the following visual. I had to. It's only fair. 

How can you have any pudding, if you don't eat your meat???

Yup! That's right. I'm back bitches. I've been gone for a while now, due mostly to my perpetual laziness. That's the honest break-down, right there. This shit is hard. I mean... rambling incoherently  to an audience of zero to my peers... using spell check and shit. Watching Teen Mom in my pajamas... eating Cheeto's and drinking bud light... back breaking work right there y'all!

So why come back? Why now? Well, the catalyst was a convo I had with my friend "Dozer" the other day. No, that's not his name. It's a nickname by which I have no effing idea how it came to pass. Likely a play on his last name. Anyway, we were catching up and he asked me if I still do this shit. Pondering led me to look back and read some of my old posts. I came to two very important conclusions : 1) I'm fucking hilarious. 2) I miss the hell out of this. 

So, here I am. My apologies for anyone who genuinely enjoyed reading my nonsense. In the future, if I start slacking.. just hate mail me. That'll get my attention. 

Most of my former posts at least had some form of theme. Sure, maybe that theme was only in my head, but it was there, dammit! This, shall not. Enjoy the following, likely long as fuck set of random ramblings whilst I clear my head of all the cob-webs until I find my rhythm again :)

• So, know what the best movie of ever is? Pitch Perfect. DUH. I literally watch it nightly. I need a fucking 12 step program for it. I was uber surprised by how much I enjoyed this slice of heaven. I thought it'd be all girly and shit, what with the singing and stuff. And ya.. it kind of is. BUT - know what else it has? Super, stupid hot nerd. That's what. Ya, I have a serious affliction for a hot nerd. Mmmm... talk binary to me baby! Wait.. don't. That gives me sad memories. Just take off your fucking shirt! While singing, of course. Ya. That's better. 

But no, seriously. That movie is the shit and you should watch it. Like right now. Like right the fuck right now. Wait.. after you're done reading my blog and telling me how amazeballs I am. THEN go watch it. It's effing hilarious, and you're welcome!

• I started dating. It sucks. The end. Some day, my prince will come. And I shall punch him in the nuts for being so fucking late! 

• My kids are still assholes. Surprising, I know. Recently, I had been bitching about the dog shitting in the corner. 11yr old wants me to give her away stating something about how it's not acceptable for just anybody to go to the bathroom in the corner. I cracked some smart-ass remark that apparently sounded enough like a dare to get him to excuse himself from the table, walk his skinny little ass over to the corner by the fridge and stand like he was peeing. I thought he was joking. He wasn't. Calling his bluff, and desire to never, ever let mom see 'the boys' ... I walked over to witness him zipping up, backing away with a very definite line of piss on my wall. HE PISSED ON MY FUCKING WALL! You probably think I beat the hell out of him, don't you??? Well, I wanted to but truth is, I couldn't stop laughing. I almost pissed my own pants while handing him the proper cleaning products. And then, posting publicly on facebook while he watched as a form of shame/punishment. 

Yup, still going for mother of the year. 

• Oh, holy fuck! I literally JUST watched a preview for some really stupid looking movie called 21 and over... which features the hot nerd from Pitch Perfect. I dont know what his real name is. I don't effing care. He is Jesse. He is MY Jesse, and I'm totally sporting a toner for him. (Watch the damn movie and that pun will make sense) 

• As I'm typing this, I'm realizing that shit! Most of my best material has been used up by the guy I was seeing. He who shall remain nameless... ugh... And the bestie aka Mare. She rocks my fucking socks with her giant glow-in the dark mutant radioactive propelling hulk penis and all her wankette twat punching. Ya, she's reading this right now. Ya, I love you Mare bear!

She's also my date for v-day. Know why I call it 'v-day' and not 'Valentines Day'?? because my version sounds more like and STD and that's kind of how I see it these days. All those pink hearts and perverted half-naked babies can go fuck themselves. I don't need any of that hooey. I've got Mare, Pitch Perfect, brownies, wine and a WHOLE LOT of shit talking to do. It shall be epic! 

• I still hate spiders, fyi. But have had far, far fewer life or death experiences since moving out of the country. Thank Jesus. 

• I also still like vodka, but it doesn't like me anymore after the Tyra pukes her guts out on New Years Eve debacle of 2012/2013.  

• I still don't have a delicious, tall dark and yumm piece of sexy who conveniently can't ever find his shirt as a neighbor. This, is still bullshit. Who do I report this injustice to? The neighborhood watch committee??? 

• I'm going to be a character in a book. A hot vampire. Ya, my life sucks, but it's cooler than yours. 

• Oh... and I still like to drop the f-bomb. See! Not much has changed. 

Can't wait for next time! I seriously forgot how much I loved this shit!!

Oh No, They Didn't

I'm not entirely certain what the point of my painstakingly taking the time to type this all out. I'm fairly certain that nobody is reading, anyway. It's cool. I get it. It started off strong, got a good following, some good reviews, and then..... I got busy. People got bored. I get it. 

Well, fuck it. If nobody ever sees this but the lovely muah, it's all good in the hood. Consider this my e-diary or some shit like that. 

So... back to my title header- Oh No, They Didn't! That is in reference to some serious fuck-up-ery that just went down in my living room! 

Okay - here's "THE WARNING" ... If you've read any of my postings, you know what that means... This is the one and only disclaimer you'll get about my following words. And, after that, it stands and I don't give a shit if you have a problem with it. Hate me, e-mail me, talk shit. It's all good in the hood. HA! That is funny, in relation to what I'm about to type- you just don't know it yet!   

So, 'The Warning' is this : I am NOT a racist. Not. I know, I know, usually people only say that if they are in fact, a racist, and don't want to get the shit beat out of them by Shaniqua and her shoe... or they say that right before they say something that can be easily misinterpreted as being racist in nature... Which, I'm about to do...

So, A little back story- My birth mothers' side of the family is Southern. As in my grandma is an elderly southern white woman, living in Yankee territory. I say Yankee territory, because we live in North-West Ohio. This, has no impact on the fact that my bat-shit crazy, racist as fuck grandma lives smack down in the middle of the ghetto. Yup! She does. And hates it. But won't leave because she's lived there since the dawn of time and QUOTE: "I was here first" 

You see where I'm coming from, here? Well, it's 2012 and shit just doesn't go down like it used to. Also, having a mixed baby born into the family a few years back may have given her a fucking coronary aneurysm, but did eventually soften that old hag's heart. So, the old school southern living is in my blood. Paula Dean style. Fry it! That's the answer to everything in my family. 

-- Hungry? Got some taters? Fry it! Foot hurt, from the diabetes? Fry it! Liver full of fat and shutting down? Fry it! 

Shit! What was my point? Shouldn't blog and text at the same time. Or, blog, text, watch The Bad Girls Club, and drink a beer at the same time. Not that I'm doing that right now, or anything. Noooooo! 

Oh ya, my point - I have old, white, southern blood in my veins. This, means that it's required by genetic code that I list STEEL MAGNOLIAS as one of my all-time fav movies! Ya know, I'm talking old school Julia Roberts, Dolly Patton, Sally Fields, all wrapped up in a pretty package with a diabetic cry myself to sleep with my best friend bow. Good Shit. 

So, It's Monday night, the kiddies are in bed and I'm bored. Ya, I could be folding laundry or some shit like that but instead, I'm surfing through the TV guide. I see Steel Magnolias is just starting on the Lifetime Network, and I get my panties all in a bunch in excitement. Ya, I own the movie on DVD .. but having it come on TV is way better! Minus the commercials and deleted scenes, it's like God's way of saying "Hey, You! Watch this shit!" 

Of course, I quickly flip the channel and find myself perplexed. Expecting to find all these old white Betties griping and moaning about tomatoes and bird shit and different shades of blush in a wedding, I'm confused by what I see on my boob tube. Heheheh.. boob....  What I ACTUALLY find on my 'tube' is a bunch of black people dressed like the fucking Tanners. Ya know, Michelle Tanner. AKA - Sweater vests, white-people don't even wear that shit anymore - white clothes. 

At first, I thought that it must have been a TV scheduling mistake. That happens, sometimes. Or, I hit the wrong button. So, I go back to guide and yup! Still says 'Steel Magnolias' but then, I notice the year, 2006. Knowing this to be historically inaccurate, I continue reading. When I find the specific profile for the movie I'm trying to watch, but mother-effing Queen Latifa listed where I'd normally expect to see Sally Fields, I have a fucking conniption and go back to the movie to scoop it out for myself. 

I find the movie I WANT  to watch, but with different actors. It's a goddamn remake and I'm losing my fucking mind. Before I start breaking shit, I send the following text, verbatim to 'the boy'...

Okay.. I'm a racist. It's official. Let me explain:

Steel Magnolias: an all time fav movie. Old school Julia Roberts, Dolly Parton, Sally Fields.. a movie that old southern women of the world love and cherish. It's practically part of my heritage. 

Saw it on TV guide. Got excited. 

Turned channel and thought I clicked wrong bc it's just a bunch of black people dressed like white people. 

But it wasn't wrong click. It's a mother fucking remake with Queen Latifa. Same script. Just black people fucking shit all up. I don't know what to do. This is an abomination I need to contact my senator or stage a protest or go streaking or something. 

What do I do? How do I make this right? My mother is rolling in her grave and heaven help if my grandma sees it. She'll load her fucking gun. Seriously. 

I know what you're thinking - SHIT! That's a long ass text message. Yes, yes it was. I recieved the following response:

Lol. Watch Barbershop and laugh. That'll make em believe ur legit not racist. 

My response: 

No no no. I don't care if ppl think Im racist. Screw that. I'm just WAITING for the call from my grandma. She's bat shit crazy. And lives in the ghetto. Oh, fuck. I'm not going to get a call from her. I'm going to get a call from the Lima PD or the fucking hospital. It's the goddamn apocalypse. 

Him:

Lol. 

Me:

All joking aside, I'm seriously pissed. And, I just found my next blog topic ;)

Super Nanny!

Okay, I'm taking a huge risk here. I know this is even more crass than even I normally divulge. However, I need to vent. 4Realz. Don't judge. Don't hate. Just feel happy that it's me, and not you. 

For reader reference, my kids are :

11yr old Boy AKA - B

7yr old Girl AKA - A

3yr old Boy AKA - L

AAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrggggggggggggggggHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaar!

That was me e-screaming in frustration. 

I love my kids. I love being a mother. However, I don't always like the little fuckers and today is one of those days. Today, I'm trying desperately to remember WHY I decided 

against selling them to gypsies or just leaving them on the side of the road with a 'free to good home' like I had thought about doing oh, so many times. 

Also, my browser is being a douche.

Instead of my cursor hopping it's happy little ass down to the next line like it's SUPPOSED to do, it will instead scroll on and fucking on for ya know, EVER. Bitches!

Why is my computer being gay? I'm sure it's not at all related to the entire fucking cup of coffee my spawn spilled on my cord. Noooooo. I know, that's actually not the reason. 

Truthfully, techy shit is just forever messing up for me for no apparent reason what so fuck ever. 

This is going to contain even more profanity than normal for me. FYI

So my little darlings are assholes. Really. The two oldest fight all the fucking time. I can't fucking take it anymore. And fighting over the computer resulted in a spill. Okay, spills happen. I get that

But this should not have. So I've yelled at B no less than fifty fucking times today for shit like hanging off the kitchen chair. (He's already broken one that way) over and fucking over.

And the fighting. And the eye-rolling. and the back talk. Seriously, I had to avoid violence all together for fear that I'd take it too far. When he was being a dick and fucking with A

during her earned computer time, and spilled my coffee all over the fucking place I flipped my shit. I also told him that if my comp was ruined I was taking his new TV back and buying 

myself a new comp instead. Little fucker. 

So I resort to the old clean shit and shut the fuck up punishment. Gave him 20 mins to get his room spotless. A the same. She's not an innocent party here. Then, I had a whole list of assigned shit for them to do that would occupy the rest of their night. I did all this in my very most menacing voice. But controlled my volume level so the neighbors wouldnt call the cops. 30 mins later I went down to check on his progress. Surprise surfuckingprise. NOTHING had been done. His room was trashed! And the fucking TV was on. Of course, I flipped my shit again. And took his remote and controllers. Made him get his ass up stairs and start scrubbing shit. Literally. I made him

clean toilets. 

At bedtime I suddenly realized I was out of milk. Shit. So, I loaded them all up to run to grab some real fast. By this time bedtime was shot to hell. Got back at 8:30 and 

gave him til 9 to finish the job or find a new fucking place to live. Okay, I didnt say that, but it was implied. What do you know? 9pm I go down to talk/hug it out with him and 

ohmymotherfuck nothing was done. STILL! And the goddamn TV was on! ON! 

AAAAAssssssucccccckkkkkkccccoooocccckkkk

That was it for me. Told him to assume the position while I got the spoon. AKA Im about to beat your ass. L, who has also been a complete dick today heard me say I was getting the spoon.

Started asking why I was going to hit his brother. Seriously? Well, I was NOT backing down. Got the spoon and headed back down stairs. Told L to stay put. He said he wanted

to watch me. Normally I wouldnt have allowed it but in a moment of rage decided it might put some fear into him as well so being the shitty ass mom I am today, I let my three yr old

watch me whoop my 11yr olds ass. hard. Then told B to brush his damn teeth and go the hell to sleep. That was it. No hugs. No I love you's No good night. Nothing. 

I've also been going back and forth with 'mommys not-so-little princess' all fucking day. She screws around non fucking stop. Non stop! a 30 second task will take this kid 3 hours 

unless I hold a bic under her ass. Also, she dicked around and ripped the fucking curtain rod out of the wall in her room. Do you KNOW how hard it was for me to hang that shit? 

Like really, really hard! I bled for crotch sakes. She did not get an ass beating but I"m considering waking her up and throwing one in just for good measure. 

And then, there's L. He's been in a state of total anarchy lately. Seriously. I know it's largely my fault. I'm effing tired dammit. I don't always put up the fight with him that I should.

But holy balls if that kid has one more 20min crying fit because i wont bend to his will I'm going to ship him off to a third world country in excahnge for a new pair of Nikes. If it fits, it ships motherfucker!

I'm seriously rocking worlds worst mom guilt right now with a side of I will NOT use duct tape. I will NOT use duct tape. I will NOT.... where's the fucking duct tape??

I believe in picking my battles with kids. As it is right now, I need to pick them all. But how do I do that exactly? I'd literally spend every waking minute punishing or yelling. 

Thats no fun for anybody. B has become such an ungrateful little shit too. So fucking entitled. Nothing I do is ever good enough. If I didn't legit have concern over his saftey 

and well being I'd tell him to pack his shit and go see if the grass is greener with his asshole abusive absent cradle-robbing father. Except the grass would be greener, to him.

he'd play PS3 all night, eat pop tarts and mt.dew and never move past a 5th grade education.

**Let the record show, I just did some editing here. I had continued on for a bit longer, but after cooling down, I came to my senses and removed content that just isn't appropriate for online. While entertaining to read, my morality got the best of me. Sorry peeps. **

I need supernanny. And vodka. 

Yes, I need to take swigs of vodka, while supernanny whips my kids in shape. 

I do everything for these little assholes. Everything. I don't do shit for myself. But it's still not good enough. 

Now that I've tainted your opinion on me and likely invited a fucking case worker over for a surprise home visit, I think I'll call it. 

Sorry for venting. Needed to let steam out before I just exploded all together.

**UPDATE: As of this morning, all is fine and well in my household again. The talk/hugging it out took place and went exceptionally well. Despite the fact that I was up late tossing and turning over yesterdays antics. In all honesty, I felt guilty for spanking the 11yr old. Don't get me wrong. I'm not anti-spank. Sometimes, a kid just needs their ass beat. However, I believe that if I'm doing my job right, I should be able to avoid physical punishment for the most part. Unfortunately, my being up late resulted in me over sleeping and eldest missing the school bus. We squashed our beef on the ride to school. I really do love my kids. Really. They're amazeballs. Wouldn't trade them for the world. But I'm not perfect and parenting doesn't come with a handbook. And kids don't come with an off button. But they should. 

4am Malarkey

Technically, it's 4:09am as I'm typing this. Why am I blogging at such a random time? Well, due to a 'scheduling mishap' I ended up only working half of a shift tonight. I should probably bitch about this, but mostly I just want to celebrate. I have three days off starting tomorrow and I'm pretty geeked about it. I'm tempted to bitch and moan about my current state of employment. However it's all 'illegal' and can get my ass fired so... I have to skip over all that malarkey. Sad, I know. 

So, here I am, now 4:12am sitting at home, in my dirty ass house, drinking ONE beer and blogging about the nonsense that I'm still not sure anybody actually cares to read. Why one beer and not five? Well, because that's all I have and my state has some stupid as fuck law about no alcohol sales after 2am. While I'm sure this law was placed for good reason, I don't fucking care at the moment. I've worked three weekends in a row, third shift. I get off early ONE fucking night, vs getting out several hours late as per usual and I think they should make an exception. Home girl needs to get drunk. Real talk. It's good for my soul and shit. My liver? Nah, but my soul? Shit yes! 

Okay, so bitching about work is out. Bitching about people in my life who do dumb shit and piss me off is out, as I've learned that they apparently read my blog. WTF. Should have never started feeding the goddamn elves! All I ever do besides that lately is sleep (try) and boring day to day shit that you don't want to hear about. I guess I'll have to reach into my bag of tricks and tell you all about the nice neighbor who won't shut the fuck up....

So.. I moved into a new town-house about a month ago. This place is really pretty perfect for me. The only downsides are that I've been a home-owner for so long, and have lived in the country for pretty much ever. Now, I'm in a nice neighborhood, but with that comes neighbors. Dun duh dun!! I can hear car doors opening and closing all the fucking time, causing my dog to flip her shit. She, is also not accustomed to hearing those kind of noises except when we have company. So while I'm peeking out my blinds every five fucking minutes, she's trying in vein to hold in her barks. She really does try not to bark, but it's instinct. Instead, she tries to hold it in and ends up looking like she's dry-heaving. It's unpleasant to watch/hear. Having neighbors also means that for the first time in their lives, my children aren't at liberty to run through the house, jump and down or scream at the top of their lungs any time they want. This has not gone over well for them. It also means that I'm no longer at liberty to yell obscenities at them at the top of MY lungs when they do that shit, for fear of CPS showing up at my door. I've been instead forced to perfect my hushed 'I'm about to beat your fucking ass' voice. You all know the one. It's the voice you use to reprimand your kids while in public. You want to scare the shit out of them, without the rest of the world knowing that you just threatened to hog tie them, and get out the fucking duct tape. Don't judge me, and don't fucking lie to yourself either. Tell my you've never grabbed your kid by the arm in the middle of the grocery store and whispered in their ear threats of violence if they didn't calm the fuck down and shut the fuck up! Perhaps you didn't use those exact words. I don't either... but the intent is the same. We all do it people. 

Back to the neighbor. So she introduced herself to me around THE day I signed my lease. While nice, she A) does not shut the fuck up. B) has nothing to say that I actually want to hear. C) Irritates me for reasons that I can't quite put my finger on. Bitch, I don't fucking care about how many times you loaned your can-opener to the previous renter. Know what else I don't care about? Any fucking thing that you have to say unless it's 'good-day'. 

When I see her out, I try to make a hasty retreat. It never works. EVEN when I was moving in, arms full of heavy shit. She still continued to run her fucking mouth as though she were being paid per-syllable. Did I mention that she 'babysits'? Well, she does. From an outsider perspective, it would seem that she's got a good system going. Her back yard is littered with child paraphernalia. It looks like a damn wonderland out there. The problem? The kids she watches are never outside. Ever. I'm 99% certain that it's all for show, for the unsuspecting parents. What makes it even stranger is that she ONLY babysits for babies and young toddlers. Ya know, the ones who can't fucking talk or attest to God only knows what kind of weird shit goes on inside her place. Maybe I'm jumping to conclusions here, it's entirely possible. But, it's completely within my right to judge strangers based on my own impressions and gut instincts. I'm pretty sure that is an amendment in the constitution. I'll have to check and get back to you. 

No, I don't believe any of these children to be in harms way or anything. If I did, I would have stepped up and done something about it. It's just fucking weird. Considering that I have three kids and do often find myself in need of a close-by sitter for whatever, this could have been the perfect set-up for me. But, it's not... and I'm pissed. Did I mention that she has a son who lives with her? a 19yr old over-weight emo and strange as fuck son? Well, she does. At first I thought he was nice, if not a little awkward. But then I got suspicious. I have this itty-bitty hole in the ceiling above my shower. I've since discovered that it's a dry-wall screw or some shit like that. Prior to my learning this, I was simply convinced that that little fucker had cameras leading into my place or something. What did I do? Smeared it with toothpaste, that's what. Now, I realize I'm just paranoid and overreacting but whatever. I suppose he really never bothered me except for the one time when, while moving, I once again had arms full of a heavy as fuck box. He sat on his porch, asking me random fucking questions while I struggled to take a single step. Thanks for the help, asshole. 

Okay, so all that doesn't sound so bad when I type it out. I guess it's really not. I'm just not used to having neighbors THISCLOSE to me and I'm irritated by pretty much everything so they're easy targets. I still smile politely and all that shit. I guess it could be worse. I just don't understand why I can't live next to some calendar worthy male-model type who can never seem to find a shirt when I'm around. 

Is that so much to ask? No, I don't think so. 

The point's aren't the point. The point is... Wait? What was I saying again?

I guess this can kind of be considered a part two to the previous posting. That being based solely on the fact that it's coming in sequence afterwards. More accurately, not though. I've learned that I shouldn't make promises my ass can't cash. As it turns out, I'm completely incapable of following the guidelines I set for myself. I should probably do some soul searching or bring that up if I ever get into therapy. Fear of commitment or some shit like that. Bipolar? Or just single-white-female who gets bored as hell and loses interest in even what she has to say. IDK. 

Before I go any further, I have an honorable mention to drop. I recently gained a new blog fan. This makes my heart happy for two reasons. First and foremost is because every time somebody tells me I'm awesome, I celebrate. Secondly, this person posted publicly what is possibly one of the top ten greatest fucking things I've ever read. Being that she is a girl after my own heart, a bookie-type friend, AND has a great fucking sense of humor, her respect or admiration gives me down there tingles. Her post was the following:

"All he'd have to do is wave his magic dick wand, and my panties would magically disappear."

I almost died. I have no idea what so ever what context this quote played out in, or where it came from, but I fucking loved it. Seriously. I was having a really, really shitty day and was leading into what was about to be an even MORE shitty night... this was totally the bright spot in my rain cloud. 

Speaking of, ... fuck, what WAS I talking about again? IDK. So, I'm totally a pessimist. Well, I consider myself a realist who just happens to have really bad, awful, fucked up shit happen to her, and I can see it for what it really is. I'm not one of those 'the glass is half full' types. Those types piss me the fuck off. Real talk. I'm also not one of the 'glass is half empty' types. I'm more the type  to completely overlook how MUCH is in the fucking glass, and instead focus on WHAT is in the glass. A while ago, I randomly found one of those clip art thingies that perfectly describes my view on life. I now wish to share with you...

Perhaps you don't find this as amazeballs as I do. If not, well.. fuck you. Why are you even reading my blog? If you're a member of population kick ass.. they you're probably still giggling, saving this image, and sharing it with your homies. It's been MONTHS and I cannot look at this without laughing out loud. Literally. I'm not talking about 'lol' here... I actually open my fucking mouth, and sounds of the giggle variety come out. It's funnier if you read it in the way I do. In my head, the realist is frantically waving his arms, looking around nervously, and says in a high-pitched voice "I think this is piss" ... find it hilarious now? That's what I thought. 

Anyway, that's totally how I approach shit in my day to day life. I feel like I'm letting you guys down on this one, but apparently I'm all tapped out today. I'm just beat down, what with everything being full of piss and all. I'll come back swinging tomorrow. Then, we can revisit the promised bitch fest about my kids being assholes, the laziest, creepiest fucking cable MEN (plural) in history, and the neighbor who I originally thought was nice despite never shutting the fuck up... but I'm now convinced is just all fucked up. Really. 

Peace Out Girl-Scout

Should Have Never Started Feeding the Goddamn Elves

Another post title that has nothing to do with anything, but is in actuality a line from a favorite movie of mine. If you know that line, you're fucking awesome. Well done.


**Please, take a minute to appreciate the changes that I painstakingly made to my header via the uber-techy program known as Paint. I know, I killed it!

So yeah.... this is THE post. Ya know, the post-apocalyptica one after I dropped the D bomb the other day. If you're reading this, then you're aware that my recent absence has been directly linked to my going through a divorce. Well, can't keep a good dog down (Is that how that saying goes? IDK) And you can't keep a soon to be divorcee from blogging. Take THAT Family court!

Believe it or not, I do have SOME moral standards, so all things divorce related will be omitted. I know, that sucks because let me tell you... I have some doozies. But it is what it is. Also, all of this has taught me one very important message... Should have NEVER told any of my friends or family that I was blogging. I have so much shit to talk! I mean really. I'm considering putting out an anonymous book. Like in that anti-racism movie 'The Help' and just let all the bitches of this town stew on it and speculate who is whom. I'll get back to you on that.

I also wish to take a moment to thank Jesus for spell check. I just tried unsuccessfully to type out anonymous four fucking times and it still was all underlined in red because I can't fucking spell!

Back on topic... yes, I'm in the process of getting divorced. Yes, it sucks. Know what sucks more? MOVING! Ya... that just happened. I totally just skimmed over all the "My marriage failed" woes are me ... in lue of some serious bitching.

So, I got this new apartment. It's pretty bad ass. Well, in the sense that I dont have to mow the fucking grass and my girl Jamie (See Midget Dance Off) lives a few doors down. The down side? It's in a new town, meaning that my kids are switching schools. Okay, not new... more my neck of the woods. The town I had lived in, I married into. No thanks on seeing THAT every damn day the rest of my life. The kids are pretty geeked, but nervous as you could imagine. The other downside is that it's only a three bedroom. This problem is easily rectifiable by finishing the basement, therefore turning it into one major badass mancave/bedroom for the oldest spawn. The problem with that is that I, apparently have some dumb as fuck superwoman complex. This causes me to think that I can do all kinds of shit that I actually cannot. Like oh.. say, seal and paint a fucking basement. Epic. Fail.

Also on my list of shit I thought I could do but can't

- hanging curtains without putting many, many holes in the fucking wall.

- hanging mirrors with 'mirror tape' and expecting them to NOT fall the fuck down, in the middle of the fucking night, during my first fucking night in said apartment.

- lift and/or carry ANYTHING

- put together a goddamn thing without blood oozing from at least one orifice

Like I said, it is what it is. I'm currently all moved in, and getting to know my new place intimately. Know who else is getting to know it intimately? My ten year old kid. Who, by the way I walked in on during 'special time' today. In MY room. Oh. My. Fucking. GOD!

I cannot go any further with that, as the vomiting is just really bad for my laptop. Really.

So ya, in other news... ever want to know who your TRUE friends are? Move! A u-haul full of shit will weed them out quick as fuck! I thought I had it all planned out. My (ex)husband and his father loaded up an entire fucking house full of shit into the u-haul. All I had to do was come up with the man power to unload/assemble it. Oh, and drive the fucking thing. (I paid the extra $27 for the insurance because that shit's HUGE) All that sounds simple right? WRONG!

Let me explain.. first, I had many, many friends of the muscle variety offer to be a nice guy and help me move. While I appreciated that, I said no because divorce or no, having guys moving my couch would have just been an asshole thing to do in front of the ex. *I told you I had some morals* So I instead relied on mostly family, girl friends and their boys, and a few close guys. It was all fine and well until the u-haul was literally full of shit and everyone fucking bailed! Well, mostly everyone. I sent Jamie a message something akin to...

 "Oh my fucking god, Im going to slit my fucking wrists. Everybody fucking canceled on me"

To which she replied something like... "Fuck that. We'll do it our damn selves... just let me put on a bra"

Jamie, if you're reading this, I owe you my next born child. Or, I'll take yours. Whichever you feel is the fair way to play this. And, thanks for blowing your boyfriend, so he'd help. Seriously, please tell Mitch I said thanks, and I hope it was good for him!

I'll fast forward, and with a little extra tiger strength on my side, for which I'll be forever grateful, it all got done.

This is getting lengthy, and I'm getting tired. I'm going to part two, or three this one. Please tune in next week. (I actually have no fucking idea when I'll post the next part... it might be tomorrow for all I know)

**Still to come...

-My kids are assholes

-Install the fucking cable already

-The nice neighbor who doesnt shut the fuck up

-My kids are still assholes, where is the fucking cable man?

I didn't die!

Nope, not dead... just getting divorced. Dun dun dunnnnn..... Please, bear with me during this transition. Awful, hilarity type shit is ensuing, I just haven't had time to blog a damn thing. Or, make a new header. It'll be just like the old one, except with 'Wife' crossed out. I've got some major material stored up for ya'll.

In the mean time, please... send me any and all funny shit you can about divorce and/or moving. And do not, I repeat do NOT send me one single fucking 'I'm so sorry' message. Real Talk.

The Beer Has Gone Bad

That title heading has nothing to with anything. It just popped in my head and I made an executive decision. It's my blog. I can do that kind of shit. It's a line from one of my fav movies Can't Hardly Wait. Look it up. I can recited quotes from it all day. "Amanduuuuuuh"! 

Anyway... it's been a hot minute because well, shit has kind of sucked. I'll spare you the sob story and just say that my life is going through some changes right now. Also, a week with no power during a heat wave sucks tiger balls. Why tiger balls? IDK. I should probably go with elephant balls. Ya, that's more like it. Having no power for a week in 107 degree heat sucks giant, droopy wrinkled, dusty elephant balls. Also, I've just decided that I'm going to attempt to set a new record for the number of times that I can say 'balls' in one blog posting. Wish me luck. 

This post really has no rhyme or rhythm to it. The shit that's gone down for me over the past week is not funny. It's tragic really. Or, could get my ass fired for posting publicly. Or, could implicate me in a court of law. Because I neither wish to be unemployed, or locked up, I'll have to omit most of it all. Balls. (You see what I did there?) My fourth of July also sucked random amazon balls. Ever accidentally sat down on a stinging ant hill? While wearing shorts? Ever applied cortizone cream to your lady bits? I can now say that I have. Do ants have balls? So yeah, not a fun night. However, I did go see Magic Mike. It. Was. Awesome! Ladies, if you desire to go see this movie, please.. do so! Also, take an extra pair of panties. Trust me. Also, sneak some alcohol into the theater. I did. 

Tiny bottles of Hypnotic = Big fun!

Kind of off subject, (Not that I had one to begin with. Balls) but if you're reading this, you should go like the facebook page. I'm looking for an admin. Somebody to post random, funny shit from time to time when I'm kept away or oh... say, have NO FUCKING POWER for a week straight! If you're interested, that'd be amazeballs. (Extra points for making up ball related words). Let me know. Or not. It's kind of whatever. 

What a cute baby you have...

This is just a short story, which stems of from my previous posting about midgets. Cutting to the chase... One time, I was driving to the hospital for clinicals or something. My route took me through down-town. Even a small town brings out their A game down-town. As I'm driving, something catches my eye out to my left. At first glance, it appears to be a mother, pushing her child in a stroller. This caught my attention for two reasons - 1. It's fucking down-town Lima, Ohio. Not exactly the place for a leisurely stroll. 2. I'm a woman, and love the chance to oogle other peoples children. Or, judge them and make myself feel better by comparison. Usually the later.

Upon closer inspection, I realized that my first assessment was in fact, very wrong. I was now openly gawking at was in fact NOT a mother pushing her child, but actually a middle aged woman, pushing what I can only assume to be her middle-aged midget boyfriend. In an umbrella stroller. In down-town fucking Lima.

I know, I know, I'm an asshole. While I should have felt some sympathy for the man who is unable to ambulate by his own means (his knees are probably all fucked up) I could only instead whip out my phone and try to take a pic before the light turned green. I was unable to get a pic, and will rue the day for all eternity.

HOW can I sleep at night? Vodka. Well, that and the fact that the chick looked like she had been rode hard and put back wet. I didn't get close enough, but I wouldn't have been surprised to have seen visible track marks and/or midget induced hickeys. And homeboy? Being born with a condition does not negate the lifestyle you live. So his outward appearance, and present company checks him off my list of people Im eager to donate my 10yr olds used clothing to. I'm kind of a cold-hearted bitch when a person refuses to help themselves. True, I don't know these people. But based on that, I reserve the right to assign to them any story-line that fits my first impression.

Real Talk.

Sausage Fingers

So, what I WANTED to blog about today was the comical tellings of how my girl, Jamie had a dance-off with a midget the other week, while out for girls night. Unfortunately, several drinks in and my ass lost all ability to capture moments via cell-pic so I really have no proof to back up my claim. What I can tell you is that it was awesome. You know what? Fuck it! It's my blog and I'll cry if I want to.

So, this glorious piece of awesome, Jamie is my dear friend. Yes, I'm using her real name here as I think she'd not only appreciate what I'm about to say, bout would enjoy the claim to fame. You see... Jamie and I are often, one in the same. The kind of crazy, random shit that only happens to me, also happens to her. My favorite quality about Jamie is well, her boobs. After that, comes her off the wall ability to go from normal smiley white girl into homegirl with the snap of a finger. This chick has a potty mouth, a twisted sense of humor and is not afraid to cut a bitch. Yes, she is my soul-mate. IF Ohio ever legalizes same-sex marriage, I've got a ring on stand-by.

Now that the homo-erotic worship is over, let's discuss one of natures greatest anomalies - sausage fingers. I'm talking about midgets, or little people here. I'm all about being PC, but for the purpose of this post, I shall refer to them how ever the fuck I want mmm'kay? So.... It's Saturday night, and I haven't had a night out in EIGHT months! You think perhaps that this could be related to my violent tendencies? IDK. So, Jamie and I get all whored up and set out for what is sure to be a night of toe-blistering good times! We get to a local bar pretty early for the night, but I needed a damn drink and didn't want to wait. Walking in the front door, up toward the doorman   *By doorman, I mean creepy as fuck guy who looked at our ID's WAY too long before sweating all over my hand while writing an 'X' in such a manor that a Parkinson's patient could have done a better job. Seriously, he was like hand fucking me, it was gross. *      As we walk through the doors, I see in front of me, the back of what appears to be a small child, maybe ten yrs old. My first reaction was to get pissed. I'm all 'What the fuck? They let kids in a fucking bar?' Well, said child then turned, and revealed himself to actually be a not-so full grown man. I couldn't even guess how old he was, because it's impossible to tell and ya... I got drunk. Anyway, I live in a small town, so while this isn't front page news, it did catch me and my tipsy mouth a bit off guard. He was sporting a 'Staff' t-shirt. This of course meant nothing to me because douchebags of the world wear those fucking things just to try and look cool. It doesn't work. *You hear that guys? It doesn't fucking work!* As it turns out, he was actually staff. Well, I think so but we'll get to that in a bit.

Fast forward through a few drinks and some random dancing .... So ya know how everybody has their own dance style? Well, Jamie gets a little ghetto. I don't mean like booty bouncing .. Well, okay, I HAVE seen her do that a few times. I just mean she has this way with her hips and hands, I dont even know how to describe it. So in this establishment, there are a few solid pieces of awesome. One, a white guy who looks like Napoleon Dynamite with 40 lbs, who own the dance floor unashamed with his old-school moves. Another, a very large black man aka Papa Bear- who can get down like he's been droppin' it like it's hot all his life. And wi-man. I dont remember how it came to pass, but somehow my friend and I find ourselves on the dance floor with all three of these gems at once. First, wi-man and Papa Bear battle it out. while it was pretty awesome, it was also slightly alarming. Wi-man doesn't blink. In a day of bath-salts, I'm suspicious of anybody who doesn't blink and immediately begin fearing for the safety of Papa Bears face. A circle has formed to watch this David vs. Goliath dance-off. No winner was crowned as you really just can't choose ONE over the other! Losing interest, wi-man turns to Jamie. Never afraid of a battle... she throws down. What makes this funny? The whole fucking time, wi-man is doing that weird crotch-grab thing guys do while NOT blinking, and sizing up Jamies face for supper. Jamie responds with her own. I distinctly remember one hand going up, in a 'give it up to my homies' kind of way, while the other appeared to 'tap' dat ass. Knowing I couldn't hope to hold my own, I stepped back and enjoyed the show. The thing is, I got the distinct feeling that wi-man doesnt bat for our team. He was pretty much eye-level with her crotch, and never batted an eye. That's not a pun about him not blinking, he really just didn't seem to give a shit. Trust me when I say, she's beautiful so clearly, not only is he a non-blinker, midget, but I believe also gay.  **He must have been a puppy kicker in a past life because Karma is laying into his ass!

Eventually, my sides hurt from laughing so hard and we headed back to our table. Maybe a song later, somebody pointed out to me that he was, in fact staff, and was in the process of clearing the empties from our high-top tables. This, must have pulled at Jamies heart strings. She pointed out to me that she ever so kindly had pushed all of the empties toward the end of the table, so he would be able to reach them when he made his rounds our way. (Awwwww)

I'm going to peace out girl-scout at this point, and save my segways for another time. This story leads me to wishing to tell of the midget I saw in the stroller down-town once, My friends little sausage fingers, and all kinds of other random shit. But for now, I have Teen Wolf to watch. 

Daddy Is An Asshole

If we're friends in real-life, or if you're privy to my personal facebook page, you have probably already heard most of this story. BUT, since most of the whopping number of blog followers I have (what is there, like five of you?) aren't a part of my inner-circle of awesome, I thought I'd share....

In my time on this Earth, I've squeezed out three glorious, fat-headed (no, seriously, just ask my pelvis) spawn, and have a step-daughter to boot. The youngest, Lyric just turned 3 a couple months ago. God broke the mold with this one. He came out pissed. No, seriously, this kid came out swinging...

In three years, not much has changed....

The most notable difference is that now, he can talk and we've learned that he inherited my uncanny ability to verbally karate-chop! He's also a bit of a whiner, as many 3yr olds are. My husband has many admirable traits. The ability to calm a pissed off child is NOT one of them. Recently, the husband kicked Lyric off the computer. (Yes, my 3yr old can navigate his way on my laptop better than techy-stupid I can) Lyric was not happy. Michael (husband) got up and walked away, mocking the child *very maturely* in the process. 

Lyric says to me - "Mommy, why does daddy make my heart so sad?" ** Yeah, he played THAT card!*

Michael - (In a different room, mumbling under his breath) "Because Daddy's an asshole". 

20 minutes later, all is forgotten and Lyric had moved onto something else. OUT OF NOWHERE - Lyric looks at me and whispers "Mommy, Daddy is an asshole". 

**Pause for dramatic effect**

Of course, rather than correct him on his use of such language, I lost my shit! I learned the meaning of stress-incontinence while I pissed myself laughing! ... Thinking it was an isolated incident, I changed my panties and continued about my day. Later on, Lyric was once again pissed at his father for something or another. 

Attempting to distract him, the husband says to the three year old - "Want an orange buddy?"

Lyric (Without missing a beat) - "You eat the orange, asshole". 

**Pausing, so that you can go pee, or change your panties if it's already too late for you**

Now that I know it's not an isolated incident, I do what any mother would do - I laughed some more! Hey, if he were calling ME an asshole, it'd be a different story. But, he's not - he's calling my husband one, so I'm totally okay with it. The following day, all is forgotten. Michael has him outside, driving his power-wheels. Lyric comes storming inside, pissed off, yet again about something or another. Michael comes inside shaking his head and tells me that I just missed it! ... Apparently he pissed the 3yr old off AGAIN (see a pattern here?) And Lyric promptly hopped off his power-wheels and walked his ass inside. Trying to figure it out, Michael asked where he was going. Lyric - "I'm going inside because you're an asshole daddy".

Yep, I was a proud mother! I'll cut to the chase and share a few of the events that followed over the next several days/weeks. I'd like to point out that small kids often repeat 'bad' words, but rarely use them in the proper context. Lyric uses it properly every time! Except, for when he's using it as a term of endearment... which you can read about below. 

Day 3 of Daddy's an Asshole - Michael, Lyric and Destiny (step-daughter) returned home from Destinys softball game (I was at Braxtons (Eldest spawn) baseball) Lyric was screaming when they came in, and continued for twenty minutes (I have no idea about what) ... so ten minutes later, when he had finally calmed down, I approached him and said....

Me- "hey buddy"
Lyric- "Daddy's an asshole!"
That was it! And so, it continues.....

Day 4 of Daddy's an Asshole - Lyric wakes up screaming in the middle of the night, and wants to sleep in my bed. When I ask if he wants to lay with Mommy or Daddy, he says...

"I sleep with mama. Daddy's an asshole. "

Day 5 of Daddy's an Asshole - (It happens about a dozen times a day at this point, and I'm still laughing my ass off/agreeing with him each time)

*Lyric in need of a new pull-up (will this kid EVER poop in the potty?)

Michael- "Come on buddy, let's change your butt"
Lyric- " No change me Daddy"
Michael- "If you dont let me change you, you're going to bed"
Lyric- *get's in changing position*
"You're an asshole Daddy!"
Michael- "Well, fine! Mommy can change you then"!

Day 6 of Daddy's an Asshole- 

Michael is bitching and whining about the room being too bright. Mockingly, I say to Lyric who is sitting in my lap...

Me-"Lyric, Daddy's a girl".
Lyric - "No, Daddy's an asshole"

 

Day ??? of Daddy's an Asshole -  

@9am, Lyric and I go into the kitchen to make lunch. (Yes, I know that's early for lunch, but he wanted it and we've already established that I have a problem denying him.. so get off my back about it) 

Pointing to a picture of Michael and I, Lyric says..
Lyric - "That's my mama"
Me - "Yes, that's me, your mama."
Lyric - "That's my daddy asshole".
Me - (giggling) "Yes, that's your daddy"
Lyric - "My daddy's an asshole. I 'loves' him."
Me - (Now laughing loudly, I bend to kiss his forehead...) "Yes, you love your daddy"
Lyric - "My daddy asshole"

** He just used the term 'asshole' as a term of endearment for his father. 

LAST DAY of Daddy's an Asshole - It's all fun and games 'til your kid embarasses you in public. So, Michael goes to pick up Lyric from preschool. They're outside, having story time. Michael stands back, so not to interrupt. When it gets to Lyric's turn, the teacher says to him...

Teacher - "Lyric, do you have a story to tell?"

Lyric - *stands up* "Ya, my daddy's an asshole" 

And THAT was when I finally began correcting him, and quit laughing (as much) when he said things like that. We've replaced 'asshole' with 'poopie-head' so.. that's improvement right??

Some other funny shit I had on my personal facebook about my kid...

• Lyric decided to take up mini golf. Except he cant get the ball to go in the hole. Improvising, he decided it best to instead use the club as well, a CLUB and attempt to bludgeon the ball to death. Primal sounding grunts and screams can likely be heard at a great distance. Don't be alarmed- its just Lyric "golfing" / working out some aggression issues
• 
  
• Random yellings from my family room...
  Braxton to Lyric - "quit putting your balls on my head!"
  He says this muffled because the three yr. Old is actively T-bagging the ten yr old!
  *sigh*
• 
  
• My in-laws gifted Lyric with an iPod touch for his third birthday. I personally didn't endorse this, nor did the other older kids who want, but don't have one. I'm also not at all surprised that less than two weeks later, it is "hiding" - meaning Lyric lost it. And this, people is why children shouldn't receive tiny, expensive pieces of technology before they have mastered NOT crapping in their own pants...
• 
  
• While in the laundry room, I hear several loud BANGs! I come out to find a mutilated, deflated Chuck E Cheese balloon (The likeness of the mouse) on the floor with a prideful looking Lyric standing over it's body. 
• Me - "Lyric, what happened to your Chucky balloon"? 
• Lyric (holding a plastic ball bat in his hand) -  "I made it die mama. "
  
  What the bloody hell? He's all cracked out, wont nap and is now killing shit. Just bloody great.
• 
  
• My two year old just gave us his list of demands for his 3rd bday next week:
  Buzz Lightyear toy- okay.
  Dinosaur toy- sure.
  Cupcakes- no problem.
  Play lots of games- you've got it!
  Be a big boy- you know it!
  An iPod- wwwhhhhaaaatttt???

And finally, I'd like to leave you with the greatest Easter photo ever taken. This was from 2011. I didn't even bother trying to take one this year, as there would be NO topping the previous...

Inappropriate humor to be found...

I don't even know how to lead this off, so I'll not embarrass myself by trying. Let's just dive right on in. 2 days ago, I had a bad day. I have a lot of those, but this one stands out. First, I was dealing with the unpleasantries of womanhood. (I'll spare you the details) but just know that I'm feisty on a day when I don't have a demolition  derby happening inside my womb, or the fucking river of Egypt running between my legs. When those events ARE taking place, it's best to stay the fuck away. Well, it was one of those days when I had to go outside, versus holing up in the dark to wait out my misery like I WANTED to do!

I was stuck somewhere I didn't want to be, doing something that I didn't want to be doing. You see, my step-daughter had to dance at some local carnival for her dance company. Following that, she had to walk in a parade. This in it's self is not the problem. The problem was that her mother never told us about any of this shit until the day before, and then she promptly hopped her ass out of state, basically waving and saying good luck. We had plans for this weekend, but everything had to be shuffled around. Not to mention, that on this day of outdoor festivities, the weather god's took a big fat shit on us! Where it had been sunny and 80 for weeks, it was suddenly 50, cold and rainy. So me, with my river, derby, attitude and a pissed off three-yr old in tow, were really not in the frame of mind to be dealing with such. 

Anywhoo... we get to redneck carnival 2012. I use the term 'carnival' loosely here. It was basically a parking lot that held apx 4 rides, being operated by the best of the carni-world. --SOME actually had a few teeth that could be seen through their chain-smoking, while assisting tiny-tots being strapped in to flying death machines assembled over-night by these masters of their craft-- Out back behind, there was a little pavilion which would serve as a 'stage' for the dancers to perform. Now, I use the term 'dancers' loosely here as well. It's basically a bunch of little girls ranging in age from 4-17 dressed like Vegas working girls, gyrating and pelvic-thrusting to masterful musical pieces such as "I'm Sexy And I Know It" . On the far end, there were several blow-up toys for the kiddies. You know, like the bounce house. This actually would have been pretty cool If I wasn't constantly dodging the lit cigarettes of the mothers carrying their shoe-less toddlers, or being plowed into by the not-so-occasional stray child. At this point in the game, the weather is holding out. It's chilly, but dry so I'll suck it up. My 3yr old son and 9yr old step-daughter decide they want to get in line for one of these blow-up activities, so the husband takes them over while I frantically dig through my purse for some Aleeve. Upon approaching them now in line, I find myself in the presence of one VERY happy caterpillar! 

Why is this caterpillar so happy? Well, because it's being penetrated repeatedly by kids, through what can only be described as it's 'FOLDS' ... Please, just take a moment to view this picture. I'm confident that you will see what I see. I see a giant peach-colored vagina that kids have to crawl through. Also, You see that HS football player standing there? His purpose is to separate the labia... I mean folds so that the smaller children can crawl through successfully. 

**This 17yr old boy can officially start his senior year truthfully talking about all the spread he got over the summer! **

So while the kids wait in line, and my husband pretends not to know me, I stand back taking pictures and laughing my ass off as kids repeatedly violate this giant caterpillar. THEN, just when it can't get any better/worse depending on how you look at it. (Better for the 'Happy Caterpillar' , worse for the kids who don't know they've just been violated) ... my eyes follow to the END of the attraction. 

I couldn't get a wide-angled shot of the whole thing, because there were too many fucking people in my way.. but this is how the kids exit the attraction. After being vaginalized, they travel the length of the creature, going over and under pathogen-covered obstacles, only to be SHIT OUT! The giant caterpillar had it's fun, felt you inside her, is now done with you, and will now dispose of you in the most degrading of ways. I'm not sure what ass-hat thought up this thing, but I kind of love him. Being able to find inappropriate  humor is the only thing that kept my ass out of lock up that day!

**This story is kind of long, and the rest is mostly just me bitching, so if you got off on the happy caterpillar, and don't want to keep reading, it's all good.**

After all this, we go park our butts on the grass in front of the pavilion to watch the 'dancing'. I'm still dodging dog shit, half naked babies (It's fifty fucking degrees outside) and the future of our world (The 300lb women * plural* who are pushing strollers with twins and quads while clearly knocked up with a cigarette hanging out of their mouths.) I used to be a dancer. The shit happening on stage is not what I would call dancing. It's seriously a series of pelvic thrusting, air humping little girls who's big attraction is when they turn around and shake their half-covered asses for the crowd. Grandpa must be so proud! Regardless, there's nothing to be done about it, so I settle down and try NOT to say out loud, any of the shit that I'm thinking in my head. While I'm not captivated by the 'entertainment' before me, what the fuck else do I have to do? And then, some stupid bitch does something equally stupid... she parks her fat fucking ass DIRECTLY in front of my face! I mean literally. We're sitting in the grass. On our butts. Half way through, Bertha brings her foldable chair over, opens it up two feet from my face and thuds down into it. I've never felt sorry for an inanimate object before this moment. The woman was HUGE. I tried to take a pic, but literally, could not get her whole ass in the frame. It was that big. I'm not hating on big girls here... I'm hating on them blocking my view of the entire horizon! Not to mention, if she had farted, I would not be alive to type this. Trying to calm my fury storm, my husband offers to trade me spots. Because I know there is just no hope at salvaging my mood, I reply to him "Nope! I'm just gonna stew on it, and use it to channel my rage." Surprisingly, he was not surprised by my response. 

I always think, it can't get any worse.... right before it gets worse. So finally, while counting the number of curses I know, the heavens open up, and try to take us over the rainbow. 45mph winds, cold down-pour. Lovely. After this, was a 2hr long parade, in yet more freezing rain, and a whole bunch of other shit, but I'm bored typing, so you're probably bored with reading as well. I'll call it on that note. I have nothing imaginative to use to end this, or a 'moral of the story' ... 

That's it bitches.