What A Soft Bunny You Have.

I feel the urge to blog, but am at a loss for a solid topic.  Because I'm impulsive when left alone to my own devices and the voices ... I've decided to just fucking do it anyway... with no direction and see what happens. 

Anything of real interest, or gossip worthy can't be typed as once again, people who I actually know in real life read this shit sometimes.  Cant have them knowing shit I dont want them to know.... like how much shit I talk about them when they're not around. So all the good stuff must be saved for text with the bff, aka Liv as pre-disclosed in the previous post. 

Oh! That reminds me. Speaking of Liv - ever heard how some men name their junk? It's usually something laughable and dumb like Tiger ... let's be honest here guys: it's really not as great as you think it is.  In my experience, or the word-of-mouth experience of women I know - any man and I mean ANY man who brags about his junk is a fucking liar. You wanna talk about how big it is?  You probably can't get it up.  And what good is a giant mansicle if it's always all melted?  

If you say shit like how you've never had any complaints- that just means to your face.  I'm willing to bet that you also haven't had many repeat customers, either.  

The only way, ONLY way to know if your junk is up to par boys is if she doesn't walk away pissed and comes back again and again. Even that isn't fool proof. Some chicks are just dumb.  Ya, I said it. 

If your shit is actually great, and you're actually great with it - you won't need to brag about it.  So cut that shit out will ya???

I got off topic, but then again I never really laid out an exact topic so get off my back about it. Shit. As I was saying - know how some men name their junk? Well me and my girls started a trend to do the same. It all started as a joke. Somebody said I should call my ho-ha Suzy. That way, if I'm ever actually getting any, it could be like a secret code. The example was given to me: Out in a public place with the imaginary man I'm seeing. The urge hits. He lays down code by saying to me, in plain view of anybody: "Suzy just texted me. Says she wants to meet up in a few minutes" 

I thought this was hilarious as shit.  I told Jamie (midget dance off) about this funny conversation and she completely lost her shit. And so did her boyfriend. It wasn't too long before she informed me that her boyfriend thought Suzy was an outdated name but he was going to roll with it and as such, has decided to now call her  -V-  Bernadette. I almost died.  There for a little bit, it was all "How's Suzy?"   "Bored. she's going to pack her shit and leave me soon. How's Bernadette?" 

*You should be laughing right now. I am*

Over time, the nickname was shared with a few other friends and eventually Liv, who jumped on the bandwagon  I honestly can't remember how it came to be and I'll have to ask her to refresh my memory so that I can clarify, but Liv calls her shit "Bunny". I think she said it had something to do with needing petted or something. God, I hope she didn't say it was because it was really furry. Awkward.  

Anyway, a mutual friend of ours calls hers her kitty. And it apparently has teeth. I'm still not sure what that means, but it's fucking hilarious. Bunny does not have teeth. Suzy is bored. And Bernadette... well, Bernadette is hosting to someone many years her senior so I'm sure Bernadette is doing just fine. 

Today, Liv sent me a text about something shameful she did. She expected me to shake my finger at her and I kind of did. She's a big girl and makes her own decisions and we've ALL been there. But, as the bff - it's my job to love her through her shit and tell her to cut it the fuck out. Instead of lecturing Liv on her indiscretions,  I instead said:  "fuck it. it is what it is. you did what you did. you were safe. it's over. Now, cut that shit out or I'll lock Bunny in a fucking cage!"  This, was apparently the advice she needed me to provide because her response was "Yes. Lock her up and never give me the key. You know, until really necessary." 

I'm not sure what qualifies as "really necessary" though, so I'm torn. When is it okay to morally support my best bunny getting petted? 

Warm Moist Places

It's not what you think. Perverts. Shit, who am I kidding? It's totally what you think.

In today's exciting adventure of "Tyra talks random shit about really random shit" we'll explore the exciting habitat of the rare and endangered, rarely seen underoo spider. I'll also give the answer to the question asked by millions of virgins the world over: Why do nice guys always finish last?

Get ready kids! This one is going to make my fingers bleed.

To start, let me say that my life has *finally* made some drastic changes. I've taken a new position which kicked my late nights and holidays and rotating weekends to the curb. Good fucking ridden! Yes, you're now blog-stalking the proud owner of a fancy pants new office and a 9-5 type schedule. I know what you're thinking: It's about fucking time! Well, you're actually probably thinking "Ya ya ya... get to the funny shit, already"   - I'm getting there, I promise. Keep your panties on. Actually... seriously.. keep them the fuck on! You'll see why that's so uber important later in the read. The reason why I'm droning on and on about my new position is because for the first time since my *dun dun dun* divorce, I have a "normal" visitation schedule. This means that I now have a few nights a month where I'm neither working, nor do I have my children. This is important because well, what the fuck am I supposed to do during that time? I'm still figuring it out. Know what else I'm figuring out? I'm getting fucking old. This was made apparent to me when I went out with the bff for St.Pattys Day. My first night out since New Years taught me 2 things: 

1) I cant drink like I used to. Thought I could. I was wrong. 

2) Lesson 1 taught me that 3 hours of fun = 12 hours of feeling like shit.

Still, good times were had. Sort of. Kind of. Well, drunk times were had and that's close enough, right???

Anyway, fast forward to the following Thursday night. I'm at home, alone. Comfy in my jammies getting settled in to watch some serious Vampire Diaries. Seriously. Bare with me.. the funny shit is coming. I swear!

Long story short, I was kind of friend red-carded into meeting the bff out at a local wings place. She knows that I'm writing this and asks not to be called by name. I really can't blame her on this one. Feeling generous, I gave her the opportunity to choose her screen name. She's fucking lucky, too because I had planned on just calling her Wankette. Alas, she chose Olivia. Aka Liv. Ya, I know... Wankette is like waaaay funnier. She doesn't care. So - Liv it is.

As I was saying. I was sitting around in sweats, waiting impatiently for Ian Summerholder to take off his shirt, when Liv texted me and asked me to meet her out for a few. You see, she was going on a date. Why did she need me there? You'll see..

Several hours of "Oh my fucking God Liv, you said you'd be there at 9. I got dressed for fucking nothing. Im not doing this shit. Hurry the fuck up or Im taking my bra back off" ... Liv finally showed up. I arrived shortly afterward and walked into the most awkward situation. Like ever. Like Taylor Swift ever.   I approach the tiny table, clearly made just for two and proceed to take the fuck over and plop my shit down, demanding a beer. This poor dude looked at me like I had personally just locked his dick up in a clear plastic cone- like the kind dogs wear after surgery to keep from licking their junk. Yes, he thought me an offending cock-blocker. Well, news for you kiddo: She wasn't going to give it up anyway because you're a fucking tool. Why else would she have to call me in for back-up? Ex-fucking-actly! 

Okay, so I shouldn't be so mean. This kid is actually pretty nice and aside from some weird ass teeth, he wasn't bad looking. The down-side? He's fucking boring as shit! 

Take note here virgins! Wanna know why nice guys always finish last??? Because you're fucking boring as shit! Seriously! Grow a pair! Mine are bigger than yours, and that is not a compliment to me. I already know I have huge balls. Where the fuck are yours?????

Now that the PSA is over... fast-forward through me cracking jokes, and making home-boy feel about as big as my pinky toe. Ya, the situation was awkward but, fuck it. I didn't put on a bra for nothing. I had a beer and my best friend. Good times were inevitable. 

At one point during our oh, so stimulating conversation which consisted of Liv and I bantering back and forth like we hadn't just spent the entire fucking day texting, while Matt piped in with approximately 4 words every hour or so.... the topic turned to underwear. How did we get there? I dont fucking know dude. How am I supposed to know how my brain works? It never effing listens to me! Anyway... soon as panties were on the table, figuratively, Mr. I'm never getting laid this decade decided to pipe in with an interesting bit of info. He states how he knows that Liv never doesn't wear panties because she's afraid of bugs getting into her ho-ha. 

First thought: How the fuck does this tool know this information about her, and I don't?

Second thought: What the fuck is wrong with my best friend if bugs in the crotch is a legit fear for her?

So I say the following:

"First, how the fuck do you know that about her, and I don't? Second, what the fuck is wrong with you if getting bugs in your ho-ha is a legit fear for you??"

**I told you I had no brain to mouth filter.**

Liv proceeds to tell me that she once heard some horror story about a giant spider being found in some womans junk during and ER visit. She said : And I fucking QUOTE:  

"I figure that ya know, they like warm, moist places. And I guess I kind of feel like the underwear provides some sort of barrier against angry vagina attacking spiders or something."

Yes, she's fucking awesome! 

It took me half of a beer and some serious thought sorting before I could finally respond. I was dumbfounded. That like, never happens. 

I came back with a long ass lecture which went something like this:

Liv, first of all- I love you. Secondly, I truly appreciate your fear of all things creepy-crawly. Next, I've actually witnessed insects living in bush while working in ER. It's not pretty. But most importantly, Liv - as tight as your fucking pants are, I seriously doubt that would ever be a real possibility for you. Like ever. Itsy-bitsy could never never make it up your water spout Liv. Is that a protective measure, as well? Like when you try on pants ... do you hop up and down and think "Yup. No spiders getting up these bitches. I'll take 'em!"?? 

Everyone laughed, of course because in the moment - and when filling in all the witty shit that I said and then forgot because like I said... I'm getting old... 2 beers and I start forgetting shit. 

My game is off tonight. My bad yo. When I mapped this blog out in my head, it flowed far more smoothly and made me laugh way more. I'll just have to try again tomorrow or something. 

In the mean time, keep your panties on! 

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. 

Random assortment of hotties...

It NEEDED to be done!

Mmmm... Ink...

Hott guys read, too!

You're welcome :)

Oh, Thank Jesus!

I've found it! I've found the holy grail of our people! 

Ladies, and even gents... I officially give Seduction and Snacks by Tara Sivec my stamp of approval! No. No. No.... not JUST my stamp of approval, but my OMG you MUST pick up this book right the hell right now stamp! If you never read another book again, you MUST read this one!

Also on the list of things you MUST do while reading Seduction And Snacks...

1. Wear a panty-liner, or adult diaper depending on how often you do kegals. You WILL piss yourself!

2. Grab a notebook, pen, and highlighter. You WILL find yourself repeatedly wanting to jot down a slew of the most ass-tastic one-liners you've ever heard.

3. Grab a friend. Trust me.. reading this together is far better than the way I did it, which included me texting my bff every five fucking minutes, with an update or funny quote!

4. Set your alarm clock BEFORE you start reading. Otherwise, you'll find yourself barely able to keep your eyes open at 4am, yet unable to pry your kindle from your cramped fingers and the next thing you know, you're kids have missed the bus on the first fucking day of school.

5. Buy batteries and chocolate. You'll thank me for that later, I PROMISE!!!!

And finally....The single, most important rule of reading Seduction and Snacks...

Share the love! Had a fellow blogger not turned me onto my new bible, I would have missed out on the read of a life-time. Share the word. Post links. Like Tara Sivec on facebook and for God's sake... leave a review, will ya???

Product Description

Claire is a twenty-something, single mom that grudgingly helps her best friend sell sex toys while she attempts to make enough money to start her own business to give her foul-mouthed, but extremely loveable (when he's asleep) toddler a better life.  

When Carter, the one-night-stand from her past that changed her life forever, shows up in her hometown bar without any recollection of her besides her unique chocolate scent, Claire will make it a point that he remembers her this time.  

With Carter's undisguised shock at suddenly finding out he has a four-year-old son and Claire's panic that her stretch marks and slim to none bedroom experience will send the man of her dreams heading for the hills, the pair will do whatever they can to get their happily ever after.

Warning: contains explicit sex, profanity and enough sarcasm to choke a horse.

About the Author

Tara Sivec is a wife, mom, chauffeur, soccer coach, babysitter, short-order cook, genius and the funniest person she's ever met. She lives in Ohio with her husband and two kids. In her spare time she likes to write and make people spit Diet Coke out of their nose. Most of her material comes from real life experiences with family and friends. Lucky for them, the names have been changed to protect the innocent (aka, drunk).

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/tara.moransivec

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Seduction-Snacks-Chocolate-Lovers-ebook/dp/B008AZTUU8/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1346290557&sr=8-1&keywords=seduction+and+snacks

Smashwords: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/208564

B&N: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/seduction-and-snacks-tara-sivec/1111681776?ean=2940014709507

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/15704001-seduction-and-snacks

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?