Sung to the tune of "Spongebob Squarepants":
Are you ready kids?
AYE-AYE CAPTAIN!
I can't HEAR YOU!
AYE-AYE CAPTAIN!!
Whooooooooooooooo
Lives in a bedroom with purple finery?
GIRL CHILD GROUCHPANTS!
Cranky and crabby and snarky is she!
GIRL CHILD GROUCHPANTS!
Her teenage angst is just nothing we wish!
GIRL CHILD GROUCHPANTS!
So get on over here and give mama a kiss!
GIRL CHILD GROUCHPANTS!
Girl Child Grouchpants, Girl Child Grouchpants, GIRL CHILD GROUCHPANTS!
I love having teenagers. Even when they are moody. I especially love my teenagers, who think stupid crap like this is hilarious.
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
Stuff I've been learning lately. It's mostly obvious stuff. Just warning you.
1) You can't change anyone. No, you can't. You can love them, but you can't change them.
9) It is so, so easy to just casually annihilate people. Words. Use them wisely.
10) I need more sleep. And more vacations. And more people being kind to me. These are all things I need.
2) A lot of people don't want to change. They sometimes say they do, but that doesn't mean they do. More often they are so invested in their own victimhood or selfishness that they find that preferable to getting off their dead asses and doing something about it.
3) Did I mention you can't fix that? Because you can't.
4) Some people are just really, really lazy.
5) You also can't fix that for them.
6) It's really, really unfair that dogs don't get to live as long as people.
7) Some people should not do Karaoke.
8) This will never not be funny:
10) I need more sleep. And more vacations. And more people being kind to me. These are all things I need.
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
Passive aggressive notes for this week
1) I am nice to you on the phone but I sit at my desk and flip you a bird while we talk. Also, when I put you on hold? I say to myself, "This guy is such an a-hole" and when I hang up I loudly tell my dog what a dickface you are.
2) Also? Get off your dead ass and do your own work instead of expecting me to do everything and then shrieking at me like a little girl about how it isn't exactly to your standards. Tool.
3) If you have a problem with the fact that my daughter is "skinny", that's on you. She's normal. She's beautiful. She would never talk smack about YOUR body, so what gives you the right to get all offended and huffy that she's different than you? You are the one with the problem. Not her.
4) Perhaps you didn't learn this in Drivers Ed, but STOP signs actually mean you have to stop. Not think about stopping. Not pay no attention because you are texting and blow right through. Not assume that since 90% of the time no one is coming and it should all work out okay. Not pause. It means stop. Wait. Look both ways. Proceed with caution.
5) Similarly? A red light means you stop. Not you just keep on going even though the other persons light is already green. You aren't so freaking special that you need to endanger me and my dog because you decided you didn't want to wait until the next light cycle. Ass.
6) When you do stupid, racist, sexist, arrogant crap and say, "In the name of Jesus!" I want to call you up and say, "Are you sure? Are you sure it's in the name of Jesus? Are you sure it's not in the name of NO ONE?"
Dude. Jesus doesn't approve of your malarkey. Don't even go there.
7) It is unnecessary to photograph yourself twelve times a day and post it on various social media. Your kids? Yes. Your dog? Most definitely. You? No.
8) Quit calling me at 8pm. Seriously. You know I'm not going to answer. You are at your office many, many hours that I am in my office. Call me then. Also? If you ever call me at 5:30am again I will drive the hundreds of miles to get to your office and punch you in your face. With my car.
9) Stop congratulating yourself for everything you do. I'm really big on doing charity work. I think it's fantastic. It's also unnecessary to post everything charitable you do on Facebook.
10) Also, if you just do things for charity so people will tell you how awesome you are? You aren't awesome.
2) Also? Get off your dead ass and do your own work instead of expecting me to do everything and then shrieking at me like a little girl about how it isn't exactly to your standards. Tool.
3) If you have a problem with the fact that my daughter is "skinny", that's on you. She's normal. She's beautiful. She would never talk smack about YOUR body, so what gives you the right to get all offended and huffy that she's different than you? You are the one with the problem. Not her.
4) Perhaps you didn't learn this in Drivers Ed, but STOP signs actually mean you have to stop. Not think about stopping. Not pay no attention because you are texting and blow right through. Not assume that since 90% of the time no one is coming and it should all work out okay. Not pause. It means stop. Wait. Look both ways. Proceed with caution.
5) Similarly? A red light means you stop. Not you just keep on going even though the other persons light is already green. You aren't so freaking special that you need to endanger me and my dog because you decided you didn't want to wait until the next light cycle. Ass.
6) When you do stupid, racist, sexist, arrogant crap and say, "In the name of Jesus!" I want to call you up and say, "Are you sure? Are you sure it's in the name of Jesus? Are you sure it's not in the name of NO ONE?"
Dude. Jesus doesn't approve of your malarkey. Don't even go there.
7) It is unnecessary to photograph yourself twelve times a day and post it on various social media. Your kids? Yes. Your dog? Most definitely. You? No.
8) Quit calling me at 8pm. Seriously. You know I'm not going to answer. You are at your office many, many hours that I am in my office. Call me then. Also? If you ever call me at 5:30am again I will drive the hundreds of miles to get to your office and punch you in your face. With my car.
9) Stop congratulating yourself for everything you do. I'm really big on doing charity work. I think it's fantastic. It's also unnecessary to post everything charitable you do on Facebook.
10) Also, if you just do things for charity so people will tell you how awesome you are? You aren't awesome.
Monday, November 25, 2013
Marriage: Day 3789
On October 15th, I turned thirty-eight years old. My husband will be thirty-eight on February 15th. (What can I say? I'm a cougar.)
Anyway, I don't think thirty-eight is old. Not even a little. I'm aware of my age though. I don't try to behave or dress like a teenager. I'm the mother of two teenagers (and an increasingly surly dog). We don't need any more drama around here.
My husband, however, has not gotten the memo.
Take last night for example. My husband, in years past, has decided that it's a really great idea to stay up all night periodically so he can "reset his internal clock". Which to me sounds like, "blah, blah, blah, whatever". I freaking love to sleep and would do much, much more of it if that were possible for me.
When I woke up at 3am, he wasn't in bed. I figured he had fallen asleep watching television in the bonus room, rolled over, and promptly went back to a really weird dream I was having about "Toddlers and Tiaras".
I woke up again at around 6:30am, and he still wasn't in bed.
I decided that he'd probably fallen sometime in the night, and was likely dead at the bottom of the stairs. This is how my mind works. I jumped up out of my bed and ran to the staircase. He wasn't at the bottom, but Ginger was. She gave me a disgruntled look and rolled over.
I went the bonus room, sure I would find him snoring. He wasn't there either.
I went downstairs and found him in the garage (smoking, he doesn't smoke in the house). All the dishes were clean. Not put away, but clean. The counters were wiped off and his cigarette rolling machine (don't ask) was on the kitchen table.
"I can't believe you never came downstairs to see what I was doing!" he said, a little too brightly.
"Um, what are you doing?"
"I decided that since I slept so much on Saturday night to Sunday that I would just not sleep last night so I could get back on track," he told me. "Did you see I did all the dishes?"
"Yes."
"Because I LOVE my woman!" he told me. "It took me four hours to roll a carton of cigarettes!"
My beloved tends to get a little silly before he had a huge crash. This was worrisome.
"You should do this sometime next week," he was saying. "It really gets your internal clock reset."
"No thank you," I replied. "I love sleeping. Sleeping is my favorite."
He smiled and I went inside to pack up lunches and make sure the teens ate something before trudging off to school and report card day.
After the children were off I went upstairs to retrieve my phone charger and Jason was in the bed, under the covers.
"Are you sleeping?" I asked.
"No!" he said, jovially. "It's cold! I'm just warming up!"
"Hmm." I came back downstairs, to my office and sat down at my computer which I've been using since 6:45am.
After less than ten minutes I heard the most horrific noise.
"SNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZRRRRRRRRRRRRRRKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!"
Snoring.
I went upstairs.
"You're snoring."
'Whut?! No!"
"The people on Royal Drive called Jason," I replied. "They were like, 'Is there a rouge gang of chainsaws cutting down your house?'"
"Very funny."
"Whatever. Don't go back to sleep."
I went back to my office and three minutes later:
"SNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZRRRRRRRRRRRRRRKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!"
I went to the top of the stairs and shouted down at the dog,
"GINGER! DAD SAYS HE WASN'T SLEEPING BUT HE WAS SLEEPING! CAN YOU BELIEVE HOW SILLY HE IS? HE'S PROBABLY GOING TO CRASH HIS CAR ON THE WAY TO WORK BECAUSE HE THINKS HE CAN DO STUPID CRAP LIKE HE DID WHEN HE WAS TWENTY!"
"Are you saying I'm old?" I heard from the bedroom.
"No, I'm saying you need to go to work."
He was downstairs shortly after, dressed and smiling,
"Have a great day!"
"You too. Try not to fall asleep at work."
"Ha, ha!"
I predict he'll be asleep by 6pm.
I'm too old for this crap.
Anyway, I don't think thirty-eight is old. Not even a little. I'm aware of my age though. I don't try to behave or dress like a teenager. I'm the mother of two teenagers (and an increasingly surly dog). We don't need any more drama around here.
My husband, however, has not gotten the memo.
Take last night for example. My husband, in years past, has decided that it's a really great idea to stay up all night periodically so he can "reset his internal clock". Which to me sounds like, "blah, blah, blah, whatever". I freaking love to sleep and would do much, much more of it if that were possible for me.
When I woke up at 3am, he wasn't in bed. I figured he had fallen asleep watching television in the bonus room, rolled over, and promptly went back to a really weird dream I was having about "Toddlers and Tiaras".
I woke up again at around 6:30am, and he still wasn't in bed.
I decided that he'd probably fallen sometime in the night, and was likely dead at the bottom of the stairs. This is how my mind works. I jumped up out of my bed and ran to the staircase. He wasn't at the bottom, but Ginger was. She gave me a disgruntled look and rolled over.
I went the bonus room, sure I would find him snoring. He wasn't there either.
I went downstairs and found him in the garage (smoking, he doesn't smoke in the house). All the dishes were clean. Not put away, but clean. The counters were wiped off and his cigarette rolling machine (don't ask) was on the kitchen table.
"I can't believe you never came downstairs to see what I was doing!" he said, a little too brightly.
"Um, what are you doing?"
"I decided that since I slept so much on Saturday night to Sunday that I would just not sleep last night so I could get back on track," he told me. "Did you see I did all the dishes?"
"Yes."
"Because I LOVE my woman!" he told me. "It took me four hours to roll a carton of cigarettes!"
My beloved tends to get a little silly before he had a huge crash. This was worrisome.
"You should do this sometime next week," he was saying. "It really gets your internal clock reset."
"No thank you," I replied. "I love sleeping. Sleeping is my favorite."
He smiled and I went inside to pack up lunches and make sure the teens ate something before trudging off to school and report card day.
After the children were off I went upstairs to retrieve my phone charger and Jason was in the bed, under the covers.
"Are you sleeping?" I asked.
"No!" he said, jovially. "It's cold! I'm just warming up!"
"Hmm." I came back downstairs, to my office and sat down at my computer which I've been using since 6:45am.
After less than ten minutes I heard the most horrific noise.
"SNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZRRRRRRRRRRRRRRKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!"
Snoring.
I went upstairs.
"You're snoring."
'Whut?! No!"
"The people on Royal Drive called Jason," I replied. "They were like, 'Is there a rouge gang of chainsaws cutting down your house?'"
"Very funny."
"Whatever. Don't go back to sleep."
I went back to my office and three minutes later:
"SNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZRRRRRRRRRRRRRRKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!"
I went to the top of the stairs and shouted down at the dog,
"GINGER! DAD SAYS HE WASN'T SLEEPING BUT HE WAS SLEEPING! CAN YOU BELIEVE HOW SILLY HE IS? HE'S PROBABLY GOING TO CRASH HIS CAR ON THE WAY TO WORK BECAUSE HE THINKS HE CAN DO STUPID CRAP LIKE HE DID WHEN HE WAS TWENTY!"
"Are you saying I'm old?" I heard from the bedroom.
"No, I'm saying you need to go to work."
He was downstairs shortly after, dressed and smiling,
"Have a great day!"
"You too. Try not to fall asleep at work."
"Ha, ha!"
I predict he'll be asleep by 6pm.
I'm too old for this crap.
Thursday, November 21, 2013
Identity crisis. Or whatever.
Someone told me today that my kids were too old for me to be considered a "Mommy Blogger".
Which is really just ridiculous. I mean, Ginger will only be 8 next month. For Heavens sake. I'm the only mom she has.
Look at her! Just a baby! She doesn't wear diapers though, so maybe that's the problem.
(Also? She apparently finds this hilarious)
I can't be a fashion blogger either.I'm not good at that. I mostly just wear yoga pants and various Star Wars t-shirts. Except when I do things like this:
Which is awful, by the way. Just awful. Also, I don't have anyone in my life willing to take eleven photographs of me in various poses to show off my outfits. I'm not popular.
I can't be a food blogger. My food is ugly, but tasty. Except this bread. This bread is beautiful.
Which is really just ridiculous. I mean, Ginger will only be 8 next month. For Heavens sake. I'm the only mom she has.
Look at her! Just a baby! She doesn't wear diapers though, so maybe that's the problem.
(Also? She apparently finds this hilarious)
I can't be a fashion blogger either.I'm not good at that. I mostly just wear yoga pants and various Star Wars t-shirts. Except when I do things like this:
I can't be a food blogger. My food is ugly, but tasty. Except this bread. This bread is beautiful.
I guess I'll just write some crap every now and then. You can read it, if you want. If you don't, that's okay.
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