Friday, October 28, 2011

BYOC..Bring Your Own Crazy!

It’s Friday and time for BYOC – Bring Your Own Crazy! A couple of questions we answer to get to know each other better and to give our blogging brains a break. Copy to your own blog and enjoy!

This week my questions are going to themed…as in they are all about blogging and just to throw you off – there are more than 5 this time!!

1. When did you begin blogging? Do you plan to do it a long time or do you think you’ll stop after a while?

I began blogging in January of 2010. About once a year I get burned out with blogging and I contemplate stopping. BUT the moment is fleeting. I’m a writer…I’ll always be a writer…I don’t have it in me to stop.

2.  What do you enjoy more - blogging yourself or reading other’s blogs?

This is a tough one. I love blogging because it is a complete release for me. The words just come out and I feel an almost high. But blogging is very quick for me. I rarely spend more than 15 minutes on one post. So in the blogging world, most of my time is spent reading other blogs. I read fast too thank goodness because I have a tendency to follow way too many blogs. I can’t get enough!

3.  What’s the biggest thing blogging has taught you? Biggest surprise about blogging?

That the internet isn’t all bad. And not everyone on the internet wants to take advantage of you. That there’s a whole group of people who you can relate to – if you are willing to trust and let them in.

4.  Have you met any other bloggers in real life – solely because of your blog or theirs?

Yup. I attend the BOOBs event in Chicago annually with other bloggers. About 50 or so women each time.

5.  Does your blog have a general theme as in one topic or do you cover everything and anything?

Um….eating too many Skittles and getting chubby from them? Is that a theme? Hmmm…explosive men, Mountain Dew, farting gumdrops, Watermelon, Banana and Rambo. All themes. Depends on the day. I think I was supposed to be a health and fitness blog – but um yes – look how well that turned out.

Clearly I talk about everything. From vagina zits to shaving whootenannys to inmates to how much I hate poop. It’s a free for all here.

6.  Are you public or anonymous? Whichever you are – do you ever wish you were the other?

I’m anonymous. And yes – MANY times I wish I wasn’t. Sometimes being anon makes me feel disconnected to my followers. Like they can’t really know me because they’ve never seen my eyes or expressions…and in their head they have a different picture of me than who I really am – and I wish I could be me. With no fears of who reads what.

But…I stay anon. Because this is the ONLY place in my life that I don’t filter. I don’t have to be polite or pretend I like everyone. I can bitch freely. And after having done that I never want to intentionally hurt anyone – so I stay anon.

7.  What’s your best blogging advice for a new blogger?

This is so cliché – but be yourself. I read a crapload of blogs that are awesome sauce. Like when I’m done I get sad wishing I had thought of that theme or those words or that picture or whatever. I compare the lameness of my blog to the amazeballs of theirs – and it gets me nowhere. I am me. I can’t be anyone else and I have to try to believe I offer my own “flare”.

8.  Does anyone in your real life read your blog/know it’s address? Do you wish they would or wouldn’t?

No. Other than my best friend Jenny. Sometimes I do wish certain people could read my blog so I could say to them, “Look – some people actually read what I write!” But it would turn out bad eventually. I’ve written about everyone in my life – and those words would hurt them….and I never want that in real life. I just need to vent it here and let it go – without them ever knowing I did.

9.  Do you enjoy blogging or do you view it as a chore? How often do you blog?

I definitely enjoy it. It’s a part of my routine and daily life now. I try to blog every day. It’s my daily meditation I suppose.

10.  Do you tell people in your real life that you blog? Or keep it a secret?

Hmmm…Jenny is the only one in real life who knows about AND reads my blog

Other than that - my brother does know I blog – but he doesn’t know my alias or address. And my oldest daughter knows. Of course Rambo. So 4 people in my life know I blog. I keep it a complete secret from everyone else. And sometimes I wish I didn’t have to. It’s really really hard sometimes not to share what I feel and experience here. But it’s a choice I made.
Have a good weekend Skittlebugs!

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

Blood is thicker than politics.


You didn't know that?

That’s not how the old saying goes, is it? Isn’t it blood is thicker than water or something like that?

Sure it is. If you’re not in my crazy ass make up drama because you have no life and your brain is small extended family.

Allow me to explain.

Many of you don’t know this because it’s not something I shout from the rooftops – unless it’s necessary – but I’m a politics whore. I follow politics regularly and stay pretty informed and I can debate with the best of them. Okay – maybe not the best – but I can hold my own for a small town girl in Podunk.

I get this from my brothers. Both of them carry on highly educational debates regarding politics nearly every day of their lives. What I love most about them is that they rarely get personal. They almost always stick to the facts and percentages and research and history.

And what I love even more is that they can debate with you for hours – but then walk away – calm and never changing how they feel about you personally. Meaning if you were their friend before you spouted off something you can’t back up politically – you’ll still be their friend when the conversation is over.

Okay – so – my state went through some HEAVY political things earlier this year. I was heavily involved due to the fact that Rambo works for the state. I have a cousin who is heavily involved because she is a teacher.

Let’s just simply say – we disagree on politics. And we did so – on Facebook.

Let me also say - I never attacked her character or made any personal attacks. That’s not my style. My brothers taught me well.

And yes, my brothers joined in our conversation a few times too - minus any character assassinations.....

I thought it ended fine. I was wrong.

She ended up deleting my brothers off her Facebook. She left me on hers but when I saw her in June – she would barely speak to me.

I was confused. The minute our debate was over – I left it there and moved on.

She did not.

Now she is engaged. She announced it on Facebook. I never said “congrats”. Um….sorry….I have a slightly busy life. Oopsie.

Her mother is my aunt. My mother’s sister. This aunt sent me a bday card.

In the card was a nasty note. Not really nasty – but nasty nonetheless….and in a bday card??

There’s nothing like “Happy Birthday – but you suck”…to make your day special right?

It basically said and I quote – “You haven’t congratulated us yet. Hopefully when we see you for the holidays you will remember blood is thicker than politics and you will be happy for us.”

Wowser. No congrats typed on a FB wall automatically means I am not happy for you. Yes, because in all of my life you’ve known me as a hateful bitch. Sure.

Also – if blood is thicker than politics why then did your daughter delete her own cousins off of FB over said politics?

Oh yah – she didn’t know her daughter did that. A little fact her daughter left out. Convenient yes?

And if this is such a huge issue to your daughter – why is she having you fight her battles for her in MY birthday card? Does she herself own a phone or a pen or can she type an email?

Oh and did I mention this cousin never congratulated me when I got engaged or had babies or whatever? But now since there is FB – I guess it’s a requirement.

For the record, all of our cousins are on FB. Only ONE did say congrats. However, none of them are in trouble. Just me. I’m held to different, higher standards.

I hurt her deeply – with my political facts. Jesus balls.  Who knew I had that much power?

I don’t have time for this.

So of course, my brothers are pissed. My sister is pissed. My mom has to call her sister and ask what the hell is going on?

And the holidays?

Oh we all cannot wait.

No matter what I say or do – it’ll be wrong. If I make a big deal out of my cousin’s engagement ring – they’ll think it’s because her mother wrote me a nasty note.

If I say nothing and do nothing – it’ll be because I’m a heartless bitch who wishes them evil – because of my political views.

I should sell tickets to the show – because it could get quite entertaining.

People suck. They just do.

And if you ask me – blood is still only thicker than water.

Leave politics out of it.

Do any of you dabble in politics in real life or on FB? Ever had any bad outcomes because of it?

Halloweenie fun!

I'm not sure if I've ever admitted this here or not - but I've been known to be a crafty little bugger every once in a while.  There's not a lot of time to be crafty these days BUT ever so often -
the Martha Stewart in me comes raging out.

Now - before you judge these pictures and say "she calls that crafty?".....let me just say that Banana's fingernails are freaking microscopic when you are trying to paint something on them. 
Good God - they are small. 
I'm a perfectionist so to not be able to have every single Frankenstein look like Vangoh painted them drives me nutso --- but it was super fun and they are cute and she loved them.

Don't hate.  I'm aware that I could sell paintings for millions but I'm happy to just stay in Accounting. 

Yup. Uh-huh.

Watermelon had to have her nails done Halloweenie here are hers.

Scary as shit, right?

Like you totally screamed yes?

Oh stop rolling your eyes.

What the hell else are we supposed to do in Podunk?

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

More birthday fun!

Okay so after I got Jenny's chocolate pizza and was time for Rambo and I to go on a date.

He took me to a pizza joint we ALWAYS went to nearly every weekend when we were in high school.

The pizzas were $10 for an extra large back then.  And I was skinny.

It was a looooooong time ago.

We dropped off the kids and yelled "WE'RE FREEEEEEEEEE!!" on the way into town.

I couldn't decide what kind of pizza I wanted so I did what every sane women would do.

I ordered an entire large pizza for myself.  Rambo got his own.

We ate and laughed and then Rambo told me to close my eyes cuz my present was in his pocket.

I did - and felt like an idiot - but I was hoping it'd be worth it. 

There was a little black box with this in it.

It says "Harley". The fun thing is that it says "Harley" no matter which way you look at it - from the top or bottom - no matter how you wear it.  AND IT'S PINK people!

I can't wait to show all the Harley women riders next summer!

I love it.  And was so surprised. 

But not as surprised as when we were done eating and he gave the waiter what I will call a "stupid look".

Next thing I know out comes the waiter with a bday cake with my name on it and candles lit.

He had called ahead and ordered it for me.  How sweet huh?

So I made a wish and ate my marble cake and took some of my beloved pizza home.  I knew what I was doing when I ordered my own pizza.  I was guaranteeing myself breakfast.

When we got home we watched Horrible Bosses and laughed our asses off.

I'm sure you can imagine what happened after that....cuz I know you are perverts. Don't try to deny it.

I slept in until 10am the next day.

Now if that isn't the definition of paradise (other than a chocolate pizza) - I don't know what is.


THIS is why I love birthdays people. 

There's just nothing not to like about them, I swear.

Orgasm in a box.

Soooo my birthday suckhole extravaganza is ovah but my gifts will last a lifetime.

Let me tell you how the big birthday went down.

I worked - but only for 3 hours. 
I mean who the hell can concentrate on their birthday anyway?

As soon as I got home, I saw a box sitting on the steps. 

On the outside it was marked big letters. 

Perishable?  What the what?

You better believe I stabbed that sucker open and I found this cute box and in it was a...


Did you just have an orgasm?  I did. 

Yes, again.

Who are the brilliant mother-effers who came up with this?

Yes, yes.  Birds sang.  The heavens parted.  St. Peter slapped his own ass and even cried.

Are you ready to see what's inside this - this incredible edible thing of beauty? 
This shall we say "paradise in a box"?

Okay - brace yourself.

Jesus frick right?

Yup...that's an entire solid chocolate pizza covered in M&Ms, gummi bears and sprinkles.

Before I ate it.

Now it just looks like this.

And no - I will not be letting the candy left in the box go to waste.  Please do not worry.

The "nutritional" label said there was 20 servings.  Yah, maybe if I was a midget smurf.

You guessed it.  Jenny sent me this lovely gift.

Either she knows me well and loves me a lot or she likes it when
Sheniqua looks more like a heifer than just a muffin top.

Oh oh and THEN?

A few hours later I got another delivery!

Inside was a red box.  A beautiful red box with a little card in it that read:

Whether lifelong confidants or newfound pals, this necklace is a symbol of the unspoken bond between friends.  Wear it as a reminder of the unwavering support, laughter, and companionship the two of you share - no matter how many weeks or miles may separate you.

Inside was a star necklace. 

Here's a not so great picture of it on my neck.

Don't you love the teeny star halfway up the necklace? 

And the big star? 

It says this:

Friends are like stars.  You don't always see them. (on the front)
But you always know they are there. (on the back)

It's gorgey!  I freaking love it.

Wanna know the weirdest thing?  I have been looking for a star necklace forevah...but I never told Jenny.

Then I open this and I see a star necklace?  I about passed out.

Unbelievable I tell you.

I wore it all weekend and THREE people commented on it.

Oh bestie - you outdid yourself.

I'm not sure how I'll outdo a solid chocolate pizza followed by jewelry...

....but it is my mission to try.

(insert evil laugh)

Monday, October 24, 2011

Pepsi, falsies, nails, hair, and supermodel suckage.

Hello Skittles! Waaaaaasssssss up?

Me? Well – nothing much – except random beauty, high maintenance, diet, exercise and diva-licious thoughts running through my head. I feel compelled to share them.
Lucky you, I know.

1. You all know I drink Mountain Dew like Starbucks addicts drink coffee, right? Well – here’s a little secret I forgot to mention. My other drink of choice is Pepsi. It’s sick really. I mean you’d think I could pick tomato juice or something as my alternate drink – but nope!

Anywhoozle….the other day I decided I should quit drinking Pepsi.
Give one bad thing up at a time and start there.
I kid you not – as I was saying this to myself walking into work – a HUGE Pepsi semi drove by.
Like the tractor (front) of the semi was blue and red and white and the entire trailer (back) w
as one HUGE Pepsi logo.

Um – lightbulb. A sign from the soda Gods. I should not give up Pepsi. It’s not the right time.

Thank you soda Gods.

2. In Chicago, I used false eyelashes for the first time. So now - yours truly just bought a pair of lashes where the entire edge (part that sticks on your eye) is rhinestones. Yup – Ima gonna be hookerlicious in Podunk.
Or maybe just in my house. I haven’t decided.

Either way I’ll take pictures. I am waiting for the right whore-ish moment to wear them.

3. I used to wear acrylic nails – for years. It seems between jobs and lives I don’t have time to go get them done SO after listening to people rave about the new Shellac system and how a manicure lasts 3 weeks and no damage and it’s your own nail and blah blah….well – I did my research.

And I bought everything I need to do it at home – and I did it. Less than 15 minutes. Donezo. Easier than putting my hair extensions in….no lie. Once I find a cool bright color that photographs well, I’ll take a pic. Right now I just have on light pink and you can’t see it too much.

4. I’m not sure why I do my hair at home before I come to work every morning.
I get to work. Sit down. Look in the mirror that I have at my desk. Growl. Y
ell “Satan Balls!” and promptly go to the bathroom and completely re-do my hair.

If it was up – it’s now probably down. If it was half up – it’s probably all down now.
If it was down – now it’s probably up.
It’s effing reedick.

Please someone else tell me you go through this lovely routine too.
I refuse to tell anyone how many times I change my clothes in the morning.
You can’t make me.

5. Lastly, I entered a challenge with Rambo. We both want new tattoos.
We both want to look like middle-aged supermodels.
Sort of. In truth, we both just need to lose weight. I need to lose Sheniqua and
Rambo needs to lose Sheniqua’s beefy boyfriend, Jorge if you know what I mean.

So – to kill two birds with one stone – we said –
no more tattoos until we both lose 20 lbs and then we’ll go in together and get what we want.

It is time. Let it begin. I will be a runner again. Mark my words.

Rambo? Well – he’ll be an eliptical-er.

And f*ck a duck and call it Larry – I think I indeed may have to explore the idea
of giving up Pepsi if this is going to work.

Son of a bitch.

Trying to be a Supermodel sucks.


That’s it for me today – stay tuned cuz this week I’m gonna show you what Jenny and
Rambo got me for my birthday. Prepare to be jealous. Cuz you will be.

Hell – I’m jealous of me. Birthdays freaking rock!

I may or may not have cried Saturday when my birthday was over.

I'll never tell.

Tootles Skittles!

Thursday, October 20, 2011

Day 4 of the Birthday Suckhole Extravaganza!

'Ello dahlings!


You'll never guess who is posting on Day 4!!

It's little pudding pop whom I love to pieces!

Now Dawnya is seriously one of the busiest women I know so her post is short and sweet -
but the message is spot on and to the point - just like I like posts to be. 
This girl has a knack for that!

Thanks Dawnya!
Hello everyone.

My sweet friend Draz has asked me to be a guess blogger for her birthday week.
I feel honored that she considered me smart enough to write a blog for her.
You know she is a superstar in blog world.
So here is my little post...I hope you all enjoy.

Every day I have to do list of sorts of things that must be done in that day.
They are not iron clad things...but it's what I want to do.
Eating healthy and exercise is always on the list.
It's amazing that I can find the time for everything else on the list...but when time is running short...
eating right and exercising are the first things to go.
What the what?!?!

I always find the time to do the things I enjoy, like reading a book,
going to the movies, hanging out with friends.
Why can't I find the time to exercise and eat healthy?

The sad thing is I always blame this bad behavior on the kids.
In my mind...I need to spend more time with them.
I don't have time to exercise because they will be in bed before I get home.
Or...let me just eat a couple of pizza rolls while I make their dinner.
Or my all time fave...the kids wore me out...I'm to tired to exercise...
plus we stopped at McDonald's and I had a burger so their is no need to cook.

Yup...excuse after excuse after excuse.
However, last week I had a light bulb moment.

I decided I was tired of making excuses.

Now I am finding the time.
It's still hard.'s only been 3 days...but I have found the time.

I play with the kids...and as soon as they are in bed...I lace up my shoes and do what needs to be done.
I will cook my meals to last at least 2 days.

I say all of this to say...please take a moment and find the time.

Find the time to make your health a priority.

Find the time to make yourself number one.

Become the president and CEO of your own fan club.

If you are cheering you on...everyone else will jump on your party train.

I love you Dawnya!

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

Mortimer and Bitchslap on Day 3 of the Birthday Suckhole Extravaganza!!

Well Skittlebugs, it's day 3 of my BIRTHDAY SUCKHOLE EXTRAVAGANZA
And guess who is here today? 
What?  You don't know who that is?  Oh fine - that's just MY nickname for's very top secret.
Her real name is Raven and she's as spunky as she is funny as she is gorgeous.
See below.  I ain't lying.
Thanks RaeRae!

Hey there! I'm Raven from A Momma's Desires and Pacifiers. So glad to be guest posting for Miss Drazil slash Sheniqua. As I pondered what to write about (because we all know that writing for someone else's blog is ten times more stressful than writing for one's own) I figured why not tell my own story of my alter ego and that dreaded 15 pounds of heftiness that just will. not. leave.

Enter Mortimer and Bitchslap.

In my lifetime, I have done a few things that I'm not proud of. Just the other day, my husband and I took the kids to the local deli to have a bite to eat. My one year old son was in his stroller, which was positioned right next to a bunch of oversized cookies sealed in plastic baggies. When we weren't looking, he took a whole bunch and threw them all over the ground. We quickly picked them up and put them back before moving him to a less dangerous spot. 

We eat, get up to leave, and walk out to our car. As I am getting my son out of the stroller and into his car seat, I notice that he had been sitting on one of those huge cookies, and instead of automatically thinking, "oh no, I better go back in the store and return this cookie asap because this is totally stealing," my first thought was, "better be the kind I like!" 

You see, we could blame that on one of two people: Mortimer, for making me commit a crime, or Bitchslap, for being a hungry, hungry hippo. Better yet, let's blame both of them. Totally takes the focus off of me. See how that works?

Or that one time I kissed a snake. Oh yes, yes I did.


What's that?

Wasn't me.

Blame Mortimer.

Or that one time, after a long, exhausting night out, when I demanded my driver take me through Jack-in-the-Box and get me a double cheeseburger. Wait, did I say I was the one who demanded that? I meant to say that Bitchslap did it. But Bitchslap don't like going hungry, and some steamed broccoli and carrots just doesn't cut it with that beast.


Sometimes I just want to bitchslap Bitchslap, but that would entail me slapping my own ass so maybe I'll just go tango with the treadmill instead.

Or finally, what about that one time when I decided to try a handstand while snowboard? After drinking maybe just a few too many? Didn't look too hard, I mean, I had in mind something like this...


And I ended up looking like this...


Who am I fooling? We'll give Mortimer and Bitchslap a break this time.
We all know that Captain was responsible for this one.


Seriously - I'm still a bit in shock that I actually posted a picture of a snake in my blog. 
Rae - when I have nightmares for weeks - I'm calling your azz at 3am okay?

Love you RaeRae!

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Day 2 of the Birthday Suckhole Extravaganza!

The second installment to my Birthday Suckhole Extravaganza is being written by my dear friend Laura Belle over at Beer, Dogs and Getting Healthier.  Her blog name alone is reason enough to love her (pssstt...go check it out).  Beyond that - she's just  I love this skinny little woman more than I can say.  I asked her to write about balance and I'm honored she accepted my request. 
Thank you Miss Laura Belle.  


Well, well, well. How y’all doin’? Yes, I really do talk/type in twang because I am from the boonies. You’ll get used to it. So, y’all are doin’ great? Havin’ a fabulous day? Yup, me too. I’m doing just craptastic. Actually, I’m having a straight up panic attack right now. To be completely honest I’ve had said panic attack since last Thursday. Why, do you ask? Well, because the amazing, gorgeous, shoe-loving, skinnyass, gumdrop farting Queen Drazil emailed me a simple little request on Thursday and asked if I’d do a pretty little guest posttoasty for her Birthday Suckhole Extravaganza.

Immediately I thought, WHAT? Have you lost your mind, woman? Me? You want ME? Holy crap. Once the shock of the horror honor she asked started to fade then the excitement came. I couldn’t wait to figure out what I wanted to write about and how to word it and if I’d just blow y’all’s mind with my thrilling written word! SO Excited!! That only lasted about 5 minutes, if that. Then the panic rolled in like a dump truck driver on steroids.

So what does any normal, sane, calm woman do? She screeches to her husband in high pitched incomprehensible tones and blurts out this: What do I write about??? What if I suck??? What if I get writers block??? All I write about on my blog is random bullshit!! I can’t write about random BS on Draz’s blog!!! She has like hundreds of followers!!! I have to write about something astounding. Like serious ‘come to Jesus’ first class spectacular!!! HELP MEEEEEeeeee!!!!

His response to my crazypants ramblings: “Laura, if what you write about on your blog is random BS, then you should write about random BS. It’s what and who you are. Don’t change who you are just to please people you don’t even know. You’ll do great doing what you always do.”

Sometimes he is soooo right. But I’d never tell him that. Right, girls? Right.

So that’s what I’m going to write about. Randomness. Because that’s me. I am random. I think about 2641 thoughts per second and multitask better than a hooker on speed on $1.00 night.

While thinking about me being so random and scatterbrained, this teeny tiny thought popped into my brain….How do I ever find balance while being so, well, out there all the time?

Hummmm, good question.

Finding balance to eat right and exercise and be healthy and buy shoes and sparkle is hard work. Really hard work.

First, I’d like to tell you that I do not have any kids. Yet. Well, I take that back. I do have a spoiled rotten ‘child’, but he walks on all fours and sheds a small sheep every summer. Meet Wyatt:

Those are not booties on his paws. That is sticky gooey stanky cow pasture pond mud. This is my life.

Anyways, what was I talking about…..oh yeah, I don’t have kids. See, I told you I’m scatterbrained. So, not having any kids, I don’t have the responsibilities that some of you superhero women have, like Draz, with packed lunches, soccer games, runny noses, and science fair projects all while trying to eat better and be healthy. You women are amazing by the way, and when I do pop out a small human I hope I can be just like you. (And not be all psychosauce screaming down the street naked.) I just have my little job, my giant husband (he really is a giant, it’s cool), and my dog. Easy peezy, right?? I should just be the healthiest person in the world, right? Because I have all the time in the world.

Not so. My life is crazy hectic. I’m sure, just like some of you readers. It’s difficult to work a 9 or 10 hour shift, come home, cook dinner, feed the dog, pick up the house a little, maybe work in the garden, check Facebook (priorities people), and by then it’s 9 o’clock and all you want to do is face plant your mattress.

When do I fit in that run? When can I prepare 5 days worth of healthy lunches for work? WHEN?

Well, we all have to find that illusive little ho-bag called balance.

For me, balance is about knowing what my limits or restrictions are. Once I find those out, then I can simplify the juggling of time and energy to finding the balance of a crazy life and being healthier. For instance, I am a morning person. Kinda. What I mean is I would rather work out in the morning before work (really before anyone is up to see me work out because I look reedonkulous while working out), then it’s over and done with and I don’t have to worry about ‘fitting’ it in after work. But, right now, I’m getting up at 5:30am to get to work early. Dontcha just love overtime. So if I wanted to work out in the morning that would mean getting up at 4:30. IN. THE. MORNING. People, it wasn’t that long ago I was going to bed at that time. Me and 4:30…..we just don’t work. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve tried. I set my alarm for 4:15 every morning, but end up hitting snooze till 5:30. Pathetic I know. Don’t judge.

So! My restriction/limit there is that I just can’t get up to work out in the early morning hours. That means I HAVE to fit it in after work. Ok, I can do that. And that led me to finding another limit, I will not work out if I just stuffed my face with…..a salad. Or nachos. Whatever. I just can’t. I cannot force my ample pooper off the couch if my belly’s full. That means that I have to run immediately right after work, pre-dinner.

I’ve gotten in the mindset that if I literally jump into my sneakers the minute I walk in the door that I will make it back out the door for a run. I also have a little ‘cheat’ too, I’ve been training Wyatt to run with me, which he absolutely loves, so if I get home and say, “Wanna go for a run?” he is balls to the wall excited and then I HAVE to go because I can’t let him down.

Another limit in the healthier eating department is that if I don’t make my lunches for the week ahead of time, I tend to eat crap. Usually on Monday night, because Monday’s lunch is Sunday’s left overs, I make up a big thing of salad, I cook 4 chicken breasts and cut them up, I hard boil eggs, I also baggy 3 ounces of sliced turkey and measure out baggies of whole almonds for the week. Then I buy yogurt and apples and I’m set. I know, not really jazzy on the meal selection, but I tend to eat the same thing for weeks.

Once I work in the running and healthy eating, all that other shenanigans that is my life just falls into place. The house cleaning, gardening, blogging, my photography business….it all fits in after my run. Maybe finding balance is also finding your priorities. Running should be a priority. Eating right should be a priority. And priorities always find a way of getting done.

Ok, this is getting long enough. The trick, for me, in finding balance for a healthier lifestyle is to figure out what I can and can’t do, what my limits are, what my priorities are and then fitting that healthier approach to life in there somewhere. It’s not pretty, but it’s working. It’s really hard. But the reward will be so much sweeter because it was hard. At least I hope it will.

And to my beautiful friend Draz: You are quite possibly one of the most kind, genuine, sweet, hilarious, amazing women I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing, let alone becoming friends with. You have added a joy to my life that I didn’t think I’d ever find through a friendship. Thank you. And HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!


I love you Laura Belle!

Monday, October 17, 2011

Day 1 of the Birthday Suckhole Extravaganza!

The first installment to my Birthday Suckhole Extravaganza is being written by my Imom..Sandy Lee over at The Weight Loss Rollercoaster.  I asked her to write about being a mother - because in my opinion - she's one of the best.  Thank you Sandy Lee. 


This week I was asked by Drazil, my iKid, to do a guest post for her birthday week. It made me feel special because I was the one who was always picked last when they were choosing teams. She’s decided to float in her bathtub full of skittles and take a little well deserved break from posting.

And what did she ask me to write about? “Being a mother and what it means”. And I was to include a story about the “Purity Ring” .

But first I have to clarify something. It seems when my daughter read Drazil's blog, she thought Drazil was black because of the name Sheniqua. Alas, she is not black. I’ve seen her. In the flesh, for real. She’s as white as the driven snow, although her avatar looks rather tanned IMHO.

A few months back I somehow told Drazil that she was a good mom. Imagine my surprise when she said it meant so much to her to hear that. You see, a lot of people think my parenting is a bit on the weird side but then I do have two fantastic kids, both working, both caring and kind. Neither one got into any serious trouble of crime, drugs or booze. My daughter is 28 and my son 26 (his birthday is on Thursday this week).

They both swear like me so you can see, kids are like sponges and love to mimic what we do. But I’m no expert. I am more a seat of my pants kind of mom. I was a stay at home mom for about 14 years although I worked part time occasionally. I was president of the PTA. I helped with the pizza lunches and fundraising at school. And I was bored out of my mind a lot of the time.

I have people who criticize me for calling my children “kids” but I no longer associate with people who can’t accept that we don’t all have to follow their way of doing things. I don’t think I am strict. I tried to teach them kindness and charity and right from wrong. I made sure they had contact with lots of friends. They did not have grandparents around much like a lot of people I know. They got stuff but not too much.

I have no idea how they successfully made it to 28 and 26.

OK, you’ve waited long enough for the Purity Ring story. Both my kids went to a youth group at the Pentecostal Church , although I don’t attend any church. When my daughter was 16 she came home from youth group all excited and asked if I would come with her when she married “Jesus”. The ceremony had them pledging that they would not have sex until they married and they received a ring to show their commitment.

I know most of you moms would have joyously jumped up and down to think that their daughter would keep herself for marriage. There is NOTHING wrong with that and I don’t want to offend anyone, but that wasn’t quite my reaction.

I laughed. And then I said why wouldn’t you want to have sex before you were married. You know the old try before you buy mentality.

It’s ok, I’m going to hell, I know. But it’ll be a fun place because a lot of my friends will be there too.

I told her I wouldn’t stand up with her because I didn’t believe in waiting to have sex until you were married. And she looked at me all sad because she really wanted the ring. So I told her that her father would go with her and she cheered right up. He’s Catholic (I’m not really anything) and what father would not want their child to pledge abstinence.

Off they go to the ceremony and back she comes proudly showing off her “Purity Ring”. I smiled and said how nice it was and hoped she lived up to the meaning.

Two weeks later I asked where the ring was and she said:

“Oh, a few days after I got it, I took it off to show a friend and it fell on the floor and shattered into a bunch of pieces.” When I told her she could probably get a new one, she said “That’s ok, I really only wanted the ring because it was cute, but it wasn’t that nice.”

Right. Sex before marriage it is.

Now I told this story to Drazil in Chicago . For some reason she seems to think I have really good mom skills. Well let me tell you. Her eyes got bigger and bigger. She looked like she was going to throw up. I think I had just shattered her idea of what mom’s are supposed to do and say. But I am sure when her two gorgeous daughters ask for a “Purity ring” it will be made of unbreakable iron—and very very pretty.

But all is well. You see, there is no “right way” to being a parent. Ignore the experts, throw away the books. Especially don’t listen to the MIL or busy bodies or friends who think they know it all. Years ago, a guy named Dr. Spock told parents, “You know more than you think you do.”

Stop Googling. Trying to search the internet to find out how to be a good parent is like searching for why you have a terrible skin rash. You look everywhere to find out how to deal with it and come up with some serious causes for the trouble but in reality it’s just a skin rash and the problem goes away on it’s own without much intervention.

And try not to worry. My daughter and her fiancé both ride motorcycles. My son is a pilot. They both travel all over the world. Moms will always worry and the fear and the anxiety will always be there.

That’s just what having kids is about. You really do get to write your own book. Give them love, give them a safe place to live, invite any and all friends to your house because you will always know where they are. Plug in the headphones and play loud music so you don’t have to listen to the bickering. Nobody is perfect so you might as well just stop trying to be the perfect mom, because it just won’t happen. And when your little girls asks you to stand up with her in church so she can pledge purity, you’ll know just what to say.

And last but not least, tell them you love them every day.

Happy birthday, Ms. Drazil. I hope it is one of the happiest days of your life. And like a good wine, we only get better with age. I love you.

I love you too Sandy Lee.

Saturday, October 15, 2011

My very own suckhole extravaganza!

Guess what this WEEK is?  It's my birthday WEEK.

Yup - I get a whole week.  One day just isn't enough for this diva.  And yes, you can bet your skinny asses that Rambo is completely on board and down with this WEEK.  I'm quietly and slowly and sneakily making my way into making it a whole birthday MONTH..but for now - it's a week.

Speaking of birthday of my dear friends, Mrs. Fatass, has a birthday MONTH.  (She's my hero.)  And since she's my hero it's only appropriate that I steal her idea for a birthday suckhole extravaganza on my blog too.  I had the honor of being part of her "suckhole" last year and now I want my own - just for a week.

Here's a little excerpt from her post about what a birthday suckhole extravaganza is.  If you want to read the whole post, go here.  It's brilliant I tell you - brilliant.

Here's how she explains it for herself:

You know those people in the world who just NEED NEED NEED attention? It’s like they have this giant suckhole in their heart and if you are to be friends with them then you just have to accept that you will be called upon to shower much love and attention their way, because they are needy.

Well, I like to pretend I am NOT one of those people.

But that sound that you started hearing last night when the clock struck midnight and August officially ended was the sound of my giant suckhole, well, starting to suck. Because September is my birthday month and I’m ready for some good old fashioned attention. Fill my giant suckhole people. It’s what I want.

(Now THERE is some quality writing, huh?)

Freaking brilliant right?  For me it's October and it's this WEEK. 

She had her mom post for her, good friends, her husband, and even ME!  I had the best time writing a suckhole post for her.  And as part of the deal, the next year she graciously wrote a birthday post for me here.

This year I'm hosting my very own full-fledged extravaganza with posts from 6 women who fill my giant suckhole of a heart with love, wisdom and wit.  I love them each more than they will ever know.

So stay tuned for the suckhole.  And if you don't like the word suckhole - please blame Mrs. Fatass.  It was her idea - I just copied it with her blessing of course.

Let's the suckhole-ing begin...........Monday!

Friday, October 14, 2011

BYOC - Bring Your Own Crazy!

It’s Friday which also means it’s BYOC – Bring Your Own Crazy – day around these parts.

Five little questions you can copy and paste and answer in your own blog to get to know your fellow bloggers better and to give your blog brain a break!

Oh and a quick shout out – some of my dearest blogging friends helped me come up with questions again this week!


1. What’s your most favorite noise and your least favorite noise?

Most fave > hands down – RAIN. There’s just something about it.

Least fave > Explosive Man in the toilet at work. Just this morning I was typing and jumped mid-word because his ass blew up so loud. I cannot deal.

2. If you were a character in the movie Grease – who would you be?

Again – easy peasy. I’d be Sandy. Good and bad Sandy. I can be pretty naïve due to marrying my childhood sweetheart and living in Podunk but never fear – I can strap on enough Harley leather to make Sandy blush when the moment calls for it.

3. What was the name of your best friend in elementary school? Are you still friends?

Kind of crazy BUT I never really had a best friend. I had good friends but the feelings were never mutual – meaning I was way more loyal to them then they were to me. I thought I’d live my life never having one.

Funny thing is that if I had to name the two friends who I was closest with back then – it would make you laugh. One’s name was Jenni. And the other’s name was Jenny.

And no – neither of them were MY Jenny from today. Ironic huh?

I’m still friends with one and have lost touch with the other.

4. Who is your current celebrity crush?

Okay – this is going to sound really dumb because now he’s dead BUT in his day my crush was always Patrick Swayze. Dirty Dancing right? And he was married to his childhood sweetheart and seemed like such a good, good man.

And Jesus – he can move.  Nothing sexier than a man who can dance and make it look effortless.

5. Repeat question: How was your week in real life and in blog land?

The word for the week in real life is ANGRY. Not at anything – just at life…and realizing that beyond Jenny and Rambo – I’m alone and there isn’t anyone who really has my back. Volleyball is over and I want to praise God – and I shouldn’t feel that way. I met with my two non-friends and managed not to pull their hair out at the roots though I wanted to.

I have been VERY productive in my part time jobs – it’s quarter end which means massive taxes so that’s been good to get off my plate.

Thank God for Jenny – we bitched on the phone for nearly an hour this week and man did it feel good.

Blogland? Always good – always love it here and can’t wait for next week. Stay tuned!!

Love to you my Skittlepops!

Thursday, October 13, 2011

Rambo is a snot.

Rambo has lost his ever-loving mind.

This week I’ve been angry. At the mother-effing world. For no reason – of which I have no problem admitting. Not even PMS. I’m just pissed off at every human being that I can visibly see. I want to punch them in the face when they ask me how I am.

If it’s a man, I want to rip his balls off.

In fact, a manager here stopped me today and said, “You look really nice today.”

Do you know what I said to him?

I said, “Are you insane? Are you blind? Or are you drunk? I look like hell and I know it.”

He was slightly shocked and walked away. Later he came back and said, “You really do look nice today.” I nearly drop kicked him. Didn’t he learn the first time?

It was a bad hair, feel chubby day and he’s in the middle of a bad divorce. Any woman that isn’t his ex looks damn good.

Anywhoozle – I, as any self-respecting wife would do, take out my anger on Rambo.

And what does he do? The asshole makes me laugh. Is it wrong that I wanted to punch him in the face too?

Last night our convo went something like this:

Me: I don’t feel special. I feel neglected. You are insensitive and rude and you watch TV and don’t pay attention to me.

Rambo: I do not neglect you. I just brought you an ice cold glass of water and cooked supper and went out and got you an M&M blizzard.

Me: So? Do you want an award? All you talk about is the car repairs we need. Maybe we should go to counseling.

R: Um, what should I say to the counselor? That I love my wife more than the air I breathe? Oh wait – I could tell her I want more sex. Would that work?

Me: I hate you. You never listen to me.

R: I always listen to you. Right now I’m not listening because I’M SLEEPING. Because I have to get up at 4am.

Me: Whatever. Asshole.

R: Are we going to have sex now?

Me: F*ck off dickweed.

Throughout that whole convo he’s laughing his ass off and I want to be mad and I keep laughing every time he talks. I honestly hate that man for having that talent.

And for everyone freaking out – there was LOTS of laughing. We have never in 20 years and will never in the future call each other names or swear at each other in seriousness. And I don’t really feel neglected – I just hate the world lately. It’s just part of a banter….so chill…

Moving on to this morning - Rambo emails me and says, “What do you want to do for your birthday? We could go to supper and a movie or dancing?”

Dancing? You don’t dance unless you’re heavily intoxicated and then it’s only to ACDC or Disturbed and that’s headbanging – not dancing. That’s a mosh pit, not a dance floor.

I’ll dance for you baby. We could go salsa! Hell, I’d even breakdance for you if you want.

Sweet isn’t he? Yah well don’t get too excited. We live in Podunk. No one salsas anything here unless it’s on your nacho. People around here still line dance. There are no classy dance “places”. There are bars with a 4x4 square in the back with a jukebox – right next to the unisex bathroom.

I’m tempted to tell him that yes, I would like to go salsa dancing – just to see where in the hell he thinks we can accomplish such a thing.

Ah, I do love this man and his effort…he thinks he’s so funny when he knows I’m pissed at the world.

Is it Friday yet?

Prairie dogs and a Rose update.

Wanna be shocked?
Like fall off your chair and hyperventilate and maybe even poop your pants shocked?

Wait – speaking of poop. I have a story. It’s a good one.

In Chicago, I was in a hotel room with a few women – chatting away – when another certain someone bounded into the room walking like she had just finished riding a horse for 2 days straight.

Bow-legged and slow.

This person quickly blurted out, “I’ve got a major prairie dog”.

A turtlehead if you will.

Dawnya – who I love more than Care Bears love rainbows – very confused, says,
“What the holy hell? Where in God’s name are you hiding a dog in this hotel room?”

I nearly exploded my bladder and hit my head on the way to the floor as I was laughing so hard.

Then – yours truly – who doesn’t want to hear about, talk about, think about, or envision anything with the P word had to explain to Dawnya that prairie dogs stick their little heads out of their hole.
Turtles stick their little heads out of their hole.

Like a person who really has to go #2 has a sort of turd that is like a prairie dog or a turtle’s head.

Jesus, Mary and Bart – I cannot believe I just explained prairie dog on my blog.
I have no effing boundaries. It’s official.

It’s also become pretty apparent that nothing is off limits when a bunch of women from all over
the world meet in a Chicago hotel room.

Oh that sounded so seedy, didn’t it?

Okay – now on to the shocking part.

Remember last year when Watermelon was being bullied by Rose?
And yours truly was seeking your advice every day and my heart was being twisted into a knot daily?

Well get this.

Rose is coming over to my house tomorrow night – to hang out with Watermelon.
Next weekend Watermelon is going to Rose’s house for her bday party – overnight.

Last night Watermelon said to me, “Mom, how do you think Rose and I are doing?
I think we’re doing pretty good compared to last year, don’t you?”

Um yes.

I wanted to say this is how it is with little girls and that things could still go in the other
direction but for now I just looked at Rambo and he smiled at me.

Holy peanut butter dick dip – we just can’t keep up with the girl drama going on I tell you.
Would any of you have guessed this outcome?

Meanwhile, Banana – the kindergartner – said to me yesterday. “Mom, I don’t like Ryan in my class. He won’t talk to me. He talks to other girls but not me. AND? He has whiskers. They are ugly. I don’t like him.”

Anyone wanna bet me that’s who she ends up marrying some day?

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

Spewing black licorice.

It’s raining black licorice out my ass these days instead of pretty, rainbow gumdrops – therefore - there are some things I need to get off my chest so I can make my way back to Care Bear Land.

It probably won’t be any fun for anyone….but I’m going to do it anyway.

I have serious money issues. Or maybe I should say I have priority issues. I have been shopping online all day without actually clicking BUY because I can’t decide if I want the new Shellac nail system or more shoes. Rest assured, I will figure out which one and I won’t think a second about purchasing them.

Quite the opposite of how much thought and care I put into auto repairs. Rambo called to say one of our cars needs new brakes. And his truck needs a new tail light. Any minute now I’m expecting him to call and say the third car needs a new engine or something.

My woman brain went so far in my own head as to say, “Forget it – I’d rather get a new car then put money into brakes.” I was smart enough not to say that out loud.

Anywhoozle, I would rather sit in a bucket of my own pee after a kitten scratches the shit out of my ass then put money into stupid ass cars. I mean really – can’t we wait on brakes? Are they really that necessary?

I hate that I love TV so much. Like more than I love fuzzy bunnies hopping about in fields of sunflowers. My DVR may explode because it is constantly recording something. Even shows I hate like Sister Wives. I just watch it to point and laugh and so I can feel better about my own life.

Today for breakfast I ate cheesecake. I had no choice. Someone made it and it’s gluten free so I was obligated to see if I could tell that it had no gluten. Let me just say the crust was Oreos. The second layer was entirely caramel. Then pecans. Then the white cheesecake. Then the swirly top was chocolate cheesecake. And a f*cking piece of broccoli on top. I’m kidding. No broccoli. Just orgasmic cheesecake.

I washed the cheesecake down with Mountain Dew because I pretend there is no such thing as calorie-free good for you water.

Thank God I do not punch in to work or have to be there at any certain time. This is especially helpful on days when I wake up and realize all the bedroom windows are open and it is raining…and I can hear it. And it’s dark – and Rambo is wrapped around me and one thing leads to another. Serious heaven. I’d put a morning like that up against any angel’s morning in heaven and it’d be a tie I bet.

I have a meeting tonight with my two non-friends who just days ago I delusionally believed were my friends. Instead of smiling and “meeting” – I’d like to make nasty faces and stare at them and flip them off – you know – like mature adults do.

Lastly, I just sent out water bills for our village residents and I’d like to say that this is what my answering machine says every night when I come home.

Hello?? I got my water bill. It’s higher than last time. Can you tell me why I used more water than last time??

Yes. Sure. Because it’s almost like I live with you so I would know, right? Do you want me to make something up or just tell you to use your brain? Like it was summer and you filled up your kid’s 1500 gallon pool twice a week and you washed your boat and cars every other day and you took 500 more showers cuz you sweat like a banchee when it’s 104 degrees out.

If you want to save money next time - sell your kids, the kid’s pool or your effing boat. Please keep taking showers though.

Thank you for wasting my time because unlike you, I obviously, have loads of it to waste.

Balls people.

Does anyone really wonder why I refuse to pick up the phone?

This be my life. Try not to be too jealous.

Peace out Skittles.

Put that thing away! (*repost*)

I needed a laugh today so I went back and found this post from 2010.  I thought I'd repost it because right now in the present moment nothing is this funny.  Enjoy...


For those of you eating breakfast….maybe you should stop before you read this. This could be vomit-inducing. Like serious, hold my hands over my mouth, run to the bathroom, shove my head in the toilet never giving a thought to what’s gone on in that toilet kind of vomit. This isn’t your average “I just threw up in my mouth a little.”

This is the first time ever I have wondered if my blogging has gone too far….meaning it’s the first time I actually thought of withholding something from this blog out of sheer humiliation. Then in a little email to Mrs. Fatass she proclaimed what I’m about to say is no worse than her hemorrhoids…..and here we are.

For those of you who are emotionally scarred forever when I’m done…email me…I’ll give you MF’s phone number so you can sue her skinny ass. This is so totally her fault.

Okay – let’s begin.

One normal, mundane night this week I noticed my cha-cha was just not comfy. I had that whole “something is wrong with my underwear” or “I’m getting a yeast infection” or “it’s time to shave again” feeling…you know the general feeling that something is “off” in the nether regions. Now if I was a guy, I’d shove my hands in my pants, readjust, and make sure everyone saw me do it and all would be well with the world again but I’m not and so – Houston – we have a problem.

We have a mystery on our hands. It’s time to go all Scooby Doo on my ass…errr…. I mean chacha. Soooo I quietly go to the bathroom (because let’s face it – if anyone knew I was in there I’d be followed. This mom hasn’t peed alone in 9 years)…and I grab the handheld mirror. This is where it gets dicey.

I do the spread eagle thing on the toilet. (Damn sitting on the lid is cold.) I get all close and personal with the chacha. My first thought is “JESUS MARY AND JOSEPH – that is fugly.” Seriously – what about how that looks turns anyone on? Okay – moving on. I do some digging. I mean not literal digging….oh geez. I fumble around and eureka! – I find a bump. Now to some of you who don’t know how to exaggerate properly this would be a tiny bump. For people like me well versed in being overly dramatic….it’s effing Mount Everest on my pooty. It’s big enough to ride a dirt bike over.

I very calmly put the mirror down. I contemplate googling “GINORMOUS MOUNTAIN ON VAGINA” to see what comes up. But I’m too scared. I then assume I have a tumor, it’s cancer and I’ll die tomorrow. Rambo will have to tell everyone I died because of something I found on my cooter. My obituary will have the word whootananny in it. Serves me right.

I tell Rambo I’m dying and that I need him to check out this ahem…problem. Don’t worry. I warned him properly. I said, “This is gonna be gross. You may never want to touch me again. I’m going to make you touch it.”

I think I forgot for a moment that this man has watched prisoners smear poop on the wall and pick corn out of it and eat it. A little mountain on a vagina can’t scare this guy.

Soooooo yah – we go look. He sees. That is not enough for me. I say, “No, no – you can’t just look. You have to feel how big it is. You have to be as disgusted as me. You have to freak out like me. Hurry.”

Aannnnddd he does. I see a little concern in his eyes. He says, “Have the doc check it at your annual Friday. You’re not freaking dying of cancer”.

Now mind you this whole time my head has been in my crotch. For the last five minutes I’ve been seeing nothing but giner and my neck is seriously cramping up at this point. So I decide it’s finally time to put the tumor-infested cooter away and get back to life. I look up. My eye is nearly poked out.

What? How did that happen? Poked out by what???

RAMBO and his um….you know…...PECKER.

There it is all happy and ahem…up.

What the holy hell just happened here? I’m spread eagle nearly in tears over teenage boys jumping dirt bikes over the hill on my vagina and planning my funeral and he’s turned on???????? Good thing I was already sitting down or I would have fallen down.

I asked, “Are you serious? What is THAT? This whole thing that just transpired turned you on?”

He just says – and not sheepishly I might add – he’s all puffed up and proud-like – “Yah, I saw AND touched your vagina. Can’t help it.”

For the love of Pete - PUT THAT THING AWAY would ya?

This is my nightmare. I’m humiliated beyond belief and he’s turned on.

I'm dying and he has a boner.


Oh, oh – and just so you all are aware that I’m not a leper and not dying and that everything is okay in twat land… was a pimple. Yes, stop laughing. I have heard of women having a pimple there but never experienced it. It’s gone today. The cooter will live another day.

Thank God – cuz apparently Rambo likes it.

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

Crotchface and Douchecanoe.

I need to write about something happy vs the “I hate the world and it can suck my left titty” post I just wrote sooo I’d like to make a list for you. A list of things I learned about my best friend, Jenny, while we were in Chicago.

Though we have known each other since 8th grade – we have only been best friends for a little over 2.5 years. It’s pretty fair to say at this point that although I feel like we are soulmates, there are still things we are learning about each other every day.

4 days in Chicago was the longest amount of time in a row I’ve spent with Jenny. She says she still loves me so I’d have to say our trip was a success.

Anyway – here it is. The list of things I learned or noticed about my best friend over our 4 day trip to Chicago. Also in this list are things used to prove that I love her more than she loves me. I’m just sayin’.

• At times in the truck on the 3 hour drive back and forth – we talked like mad. Other times there was silence – and not a moment of it was that “I’d like to punch myself in the stomach” awkward silence.

• Jenny has a lapband so she eats like a little birdy. Every time she eats out with any of the lapband girls we were with – they all share their plates or split entrees. Not once did Jenny ask me to share my food. God love her she knew I’d stab her with a fork if she asked me to give up anything on my plate. I am no bird. I finish my plate on my own – and then share hers.

• In the morning, Jenny needs coffee. Each day she made a Starbucks run. And for me? A cold Mountain Dew. One day she even brought me ice to go with it. She is

• It’s a well known fact that I bathe in and love Skittles. Let it also be known that my bestie shares my love. We stopped at a gas station and when Jenny came back to the truck…she had two packs of Skittles. Really? Could she be any more perfect?

• Jenny will incessantly laugh at me and tell everyone about my need to own and bring 33 curling irons with me to any event and then later use every last one of them and rave about their size all night – AND then go home and buy one for herself. Can I just say “I told you so?”

• When I tried new foods about 3 times over the weekend – Jenny nearly stood up and did the seal clap for me she was so proud. She is my loudest cheerleader. She knows that I eat food plain – like a cheeseburger minus the cheese…so she was like a beaming parent when I ate authentic Mexican.

• I still had a cold when I got to Chicago. Therefore, as much as I hate to admit it – I snored. Our roommate says I would snore and then Jenny would giggle. All in our sleep. See? We communicate even when we are in a coma.

• I tried one night to steal Jenny’s pillow she brought from home. She figured it out and I’d like it known that she doesn’t love me enough to let me keep it. I had to give it back. After I sneezed into it.

• Jenny and I both get carsick. But hers is worse than mine and I love her so much that I let her sit in the front of the taxi we took while I wanted to launch my cookies in the backseat.

• We both can tell by one look at the other’s face that something is wrong or the other is pissed or something. It’s a beautiful thing.

• Jenny knows my limits – and there’s no judgement for them. She freaks out accordingly when I do something out of my comfort zone. Like shop alone in Chicago for ½ hour before I’m supposed to meet her back at the hotel. Jenny couldn’t shop – she searched the whole store for me – freaking out the whole time. Seriously – how sweet is that?

• Her nickname from me is crotchface and my nickname from her is douchecanoe. Really? Does it get any better than that? People freak out when I call her crotchface – as in they think she’s going to punch me in the face – and then she just responds with douchecanoe and all is well. People stare but it’s all good.

• She gets my love for Rambo and when I miss him – she gets that too.

• Our honeymoon is over. Jenny got stuck on something in her throat in the truck on the way home. It’s nearly impossible to pull over on the interstate to throw up so yes – it happened in the truck. Only a little but still. Yours truly didn’t pass out or poop my pants or dial 911. We both knew right then that this is forever. We’re so romantic.

• Jenny trusts me more than she cares to admit. Though we were using a GPS named asshole Lola…I would tell Jenny where to turn and when to stop or go – and she’d do it. I could have told her to turn right into the ghetto and then left into a dark alley and then make a U turn into the river – and she would have.

• Jenny pees every 5 minutes and is in awe and shock that I pee about once or twice a day. She is convinced I do not have a bladder and that there is something wrong with me other than my fear of peeing in public places. She insists she would pee along the interstate in plain view any day of the week vs. holding it. She’s my idol. My vagina is too shy for that kind of thing.

• Lastly – Jenny knows my social anxieties and how little I get out or travel but somehow in a group of 50 women – we have this ability to not always be together – but always be together. By that I mean – we don’t stay glued to each other’s sides out of fear or obligation – but because it’s where we want to be. When we separate – it’s okay and good and like little mothers and children – we check in first. And when we were going somewhere as a group it was comforting to know she wouldn’t leave without knowing I was okay or where I was…and the same for me. I wasn’t going to leave without my Jenny. Four days in a huge city with all of my anxiety strapped firmly on my back – and I never felt alone.

Thank you Crotchface. For loving me. Even if I snore.

NUSSING but a bunch of bullsh*t.

Isn’t it something how one person’s negative comments can take away all the good ones – in an instant?

Yesterday you all commented on how I dealt with Watermelon’s situation during volleyball and as each comment came in I was reassured that finally – I did something right as a mother. I’m used to hearing quite the opposite from my extended family so like I said – finally – I felt good about my parenting.

And then?

Last night Watermelon had a game. Let me backtrack and say that the volleyball coach Watermelon had an issue with is also my friend. Another assistant coach is my friend too. We all have kids in sports together but this is the first time my two friends have “coached”.

And I don’t like it. It’s hard to disagree with my friend’s coaching and keep it inside and tell Watermelon – agree or disagree – they are your coaches.

I want you to know that after I told my own mother what had happened the other day – for the first time in maybe my parenting life – she told me she thought I did the right thing and she was proud of the way Rambo and I had handled it. I was shocked.

And happy. And proud of us too.

Until…last night.

Rambo walked into Watermelon’s game and the assistant coach stopped him and said, “You need to have a talk with Watermelon. After you brought her back to practice, she walked back in with a smirk on her face like she was all that and got her way.”

I think Rambo was caught off guard and just said, “Yah, we’re dealing with it.”

So after the game we get home and he tells me the above and I swear to you my heart snapped in half. First off – she’s my friend.

Second – she has no idea what happened with the coach and Watermelon outside when I brought Watermelon back and she also doesn’t know that instead of crying – Watermelon was forcing herself to smile.

Third – I kid you not – this woman has a son Watermelon’s age who in soccer – cannot get through a game without a raging fit. I mean like take off his shoes and whip them and leave the field. Last year at the age of 9, he threw a fit and told me he was going to kill himself because he didn’t make a goal.

At nine.

Do you think I pulled her aside and told her to beef up her parenting skills? That at 9, it’s quite alarming to hear of suicide? That his raging tirades were affecting all the kids?

Nope – never. He’s not my kid and I trust her as a parent.

So later Watermelon comes in and tells me that one of her friends overheard the two coach friends of mine talking about Watermelon behind her back. I get that. What happened was a big deal and we all talk about each other BUT as a coach – f*ck a duck – do it when NO other player is within earshot.

Watermelon looked at me and said, “They are supposed to be the adults Mom.”

She’s right. What the hell was I supposed to say about that to make her feel better?

Say – this is life. This is what bitchy women do. You made a mistake and instead of it being over you have to re-live it every day? Apologize for her having to hear that when she never should have?

I don’t know. All I know is I am constantly scrutinized and chastised and looked down upon by my extended family because they think Rambo and I suck as parents…and I can handle that because it’s family.

Now someone outside of my family wants to tell me how to parent? That my kid has issues? When her own are far from perfect?

I want to tell these two women that I get that Watermelon did wrong and pissed them off. I want to tell them I realize they are going to talk about what went down. But I want to tell them to make damn sure no one else hears them – especially other young players.

I want to tell the one that I have never ever once told her how to parent – though I surely could have.

I want to tell them completely off for teaching my child that life and people are cruel long before she ever had to realize it.

This is why I never open my heart. This is why I don’t let anyone in. This is why I don’t belong anywhere but with Jenny and Rambo. This is why I don’t trust anyone but them.

These two women are my closest friends in town and should have my back and my kid’s backs. I watch their kids for them constantly. We hang out. Etc.

Now I’m just angry. I realize I had nothing with them – nothing real anyway. Just a friendship on the surface that means little to nothing the moment my 10 yr old does something they don’t like.

While I know Watermelon made a mistake – it could have been worse. She could have yelled and screamed and cussed and made a scene…instead of calmly walking out and taking herself out of the situation.

I found out that same night another girl left. Another girl was sobbing in the corner. Two others ended up crying that night too. Many want to quit.

Hmmm….wonder what’s wrong with this picture?

Later last night my two “friends” played in a vball league with my sister. As expected, they jumped her about Watermelon and her smiling too. How nice and awkward for my sister.

I want to ask them if it would have been better had Watermelon gone back into practice sobbing and weeping – creating a commotion and such?

Two “friends” of mine – in one night alerted Rambo and my own sister to the fact that they think Watermelon needs an attitude adjustment. I wonder if they ever saw her take care of Banana?

Watermelon is 10. It’s her first year of volleyball. It should have been nothing but fun.

Instead all I can say to her is – only a few more days – and the season is over.

Instead of being sad it’s over for another year – we are counting down the days.


Yes, you don’t have to tell me I’m being dramatic or over-reactive. I may be. It’s fresh in my mind and heart and it hurts for now….give me a couple of hours and I’ll be fine. For now – I had to write.

Sometimes the only thing I can do – is write.