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Tuesday, February 4, 2014

Mother of the year goes to....

Raising kids has a lot of ups and downs. Probably more so these days, since it's not politically correct to beat them into submission anymore. Ah, the good old days...

I'm not going to generalize and say it's all of today's youth that are disrespectful little turds, but the majority of them are. It only gets worse as they turn into teenagers. It's funny how people love the idea of having kids someday, only to find out that when they're in their teens they turn into totally spoiled assholes, who will shit all over you the second you tell them no or take something away. And you thought their tantrums as toddlers were bad? You ain't seen nothing yet.

Everyone blames the parents nowadays. While that's partially true, we as a society have to take responsibility for our part in turning these kids into self-centered, egocentric, demanding, entitled little monsters. It can't be just the parents' fault. Nowadays, parents don't see their kids enough to be the worst influences on them, and that's society's fault too. We're working longer hours, extra days, and the divorce rate is so high, your kids never know whether you're coming or going. This isn't to say that parents aren't responsible for their kids being assholes, they are. But society as a whole has made it the social norm and almost acceptable to be a douchebag.

Growing up, I sure as hell knew better than to talk back to an adult. And if I slipped up? Good God there was hell to pay, be it a slap, a spanking, or the belt. The strangest thing about that? I'm not upset with my parents for doing that at all. It taught me respect, a little fear, and self control. Everything that's lacking in the majority of today's kids.

So, although I'll probably get the belt and be grounded 'for life' for using profanity, I thank my parents every day for beating the shittiness out of me when they did or I wouldn't be appreciative of the things I have now... Children of my own to battle on a daily basis.

Friday, January 31, 2014

Move over Miss Manners, I'm back in town.

I've never been considered anal retentive. I'm pretty much a "go with the flow" kinda gal. I'm not very organized, and have never really minded a little dust on my furniture. I'm not a slob or anything. I just believe there are more important things to life than using a toothbrush to clean my floors.

That said, I have two contradictions to my normal laissez-faire attitude. I'm a self proclaimed foodie as I've mentioned before, so I can't stand a messy kitchen. My biggest pet peeve being the kitchen sink. I prefer to not have dishes left in the sink, but for all that is holy, rinse your damn dishes! Between stuck on cereal and greasy frying pans, I begin having convulsions. I also demand that once a dish has been properly rinsed or pre-washed, that all dirty dishes are put in ONE side of the sink. This allows for easy washing and or loading of dishes.

The second, yet MOST important contradiction to my relaxed body and spirit is the bathroom. I'm not ashamed to admit it. I have quirks. Some might call me a nazi, whatever.

First of all, I'm going to broach the top two biggest arguments regarding the bathroom. Number one being the lifting and lowering the lid thing. Have you people all gone mad? When I walk into your bathroom for the first time, that last thing I want to see is your nasty ass toilet water staring at me. It's also a great compromise, Guys aren't solely responsible for it all now. If you lower the seat AND the top lid, not only does your bathroom look cleaner, everybody does their part when closing the lid. See? That was simple.

The second biggest argument has been made fun of lately on television. It's the never ending game of placing the roll facing over, or under. Everyone has their favorite, but again, I'm going to tell you why I'm right. The answer is, the roll should be faced over. Simple logistics proves that it's easier to find the next square without spinning the roll out of control and covering the floor with overpriced two-ply.

Theses next few things are not deal breakers, but I think they should be. Be respectful of the next person coming in after you. Give them a courtesy flush, light a candle, light a match, but for God's sake, make sure you flush it!!!

I live with teenagers and I volunteer with a couple dozen kindergarteners. I've learned this: ALL CHILDREN ARE VILE AND REPULSIVE. They will not wash their hands no matter how many times you tell them, you must physically get up and watch them perform their amazing feats of cleanliness.

Oh, and one more thought before you go? You should read this article because I guarantee you're pooping wrong too.


T-minus 8 days and counting.

Mom and Dad are coming to visit for a few weeks and it appears that Mom alone will have to be here an extra three weeks. Well, alone with the kids... and Boyfriend. I am certain he has panic attacks every time I tell him stories about things my mom has put me through. I keep having to remind him that I'M her disappointment, not him. He's still off-put by the whole situation. Especially for the fact that those three extra weeks that Mom is here with Boyfriend, I won't be. That part I can explain later.

The good thing is, I'll be around for the first two weeks when both Mom and Dad are here, so it'll ease Boyfriend into things. Gotta break him in quickly. Everything's going to be just fine. I hope. As long as Dad has my back.

I'm predicting one of the two things happening while I am gone:

First, Boyfriend will run away and live out of his car until Mom leaves and he forgives me for allowing a demon into our house, or option 2, Mom will just fall madly in love with him and I'll be knocked down one more peg on Mom's list of favorites. Not that I'm complaining. I love my mom. I tease her a lot. Mostly because she rips my self esteem to shreds and then tosses it up in the air like confetti and spins around. She's really quite the life of the party.

Of course I'd much rather she love him. I mean I'd hate for him to be living out of his work vehicle for just under a month. Plus, it's really hard to sleep in a car when it's as crowded as his is. That and Mrs. McJudgerson would probably tell him he was doing it all wrong.

I know I owe an explanation as to why I'm not going to be here with Mom and Boyfriend. But it's a rather long story, and I'm the bad guy in the end. I'll save for when I'm overtired and not thinking about how much of an idiot I was. You know, like a few hours from now. I really have no shame.

Instead, let's talk about the idiot I am. I have eight days to get my house in tip top shape before THEY get here, and yet here I am, typing love letters to myself. I swear, If they gave out Nobel prizes for procrastination I'd probably keep rescheduling the ceremony.

Saturday, October 15, 2011

It is NOT the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown!

Last week, I was enjoying the beautiful 80 degree weather, soaking it in, ecstatic that fall had finally arrived in the Valley of the Sun. Pumpkin patches were full, halloween decorations were beginning to appear, children began playing outside again, and it seemed like it just couldn't get any better.

And, it didn't.

Also last week, my daughter brought a pumpkin home from her very first field trip to a farm. I know very little about pumpkins, but I do know that they need to be kept cool or they get icky, so I kept it inside on a hand-made halloween tablecloth, made lovingly by my mother, atop a table inside my air-conditioned house.

Yesterday, is when things went awry. The details are a bit fuzzy, as I have a tendency to blackout in situations such as these; but from what I can recall, my young daughter picked up her pumpkin and said, "Mommy, there's worms on the pumpkin." I rolled my eyes, glanced over briefly and said, "No, honey it's probably just moldy, it might still be too warm inside the house, so it's more than likely just going bad. We'll probably have to throw it out." Then my older daughter looked at it.

"Mom, the mold is moving."

There were a bunch of tiny little, white, worm-like things all over the bottom of the pumpkin and a circle of them on the tablecloth.

For me, this is when my fight or flight instincts kick in. I thought quickly and wisely. I made my oldest daughter throw the pumpkin outside in the trash. What? You really think I was going to touch that thing? I grabbed the tablecloth by the ends (the bug free zones), hosed off the stowaways and tossed it directly into the washing machine on HOT. Three washings later, I'm still considering throwing it out. (Sorry Mom!)

A little bit of mold on a pumpkin I can handle, but when it becomes fodder for maggots or worms or whatever they were.... um... GROSS. It was INSIDE my house. I had bugs!

Luckily, the creatures were confined to the pumpkin and the tablecloth it sat on. Otherwise, I'd be writing this from a hotel room.

Saturday, June 25, 2011

4 Things they don't tell you about Phoenix in the summer

 Having recently moved back to Phoenix, I have found myself yet again attempting to acclimate to the desert heat. When I lived here the first time, ten or so years ago, I had an awful time adjusting. I avoided the outdoors completely during the summer months, and would only venture out when absolutely necessary. (Like when I ran out of sick days at work) I moved back here last June and knew what to expect. So I forced myself to stay outdoors until my sweat filled up the kiddie pool enough for the kids to swim in it. FYI, the average temp in Phoenix in the summer is roughly three thousand degrees. (It's actually 104, but that just doesn't drive the point home as well.)
Anyone who has ever been in Arizona during the summer months has heard that overused saying, "It's a DRY heat." And, if you're anything like me, when you hear this, you promptly feel the urge disembowel the speaker of this ridiculous statement. Yes, it's dry. It’s the fricking desert! But, that would be like saying, "Hey, that stab wound isn’t so bad, it was just a small knife!"...... "What’s that? It pierced your lung you say?"
So, I’ve compiled a quick list so you know what to expect.

4-Scorching sunburns.

So you probably could've figured that out on your own. But, there are still some morons out there who think they are impervious to the sun when they’re tubing down the cool water of the Salt River. Just because you’re feeling all fresh and breezy, don’t think for a hot minute that your skin isn’t going to turn into red leather, speckled with pink, watery blisters.

3-Swimming pools offer little relief.

Okay, so it’s hot; you're sweaty and unable to breathe. Hey, you can just jump in the water and cool off right? Maybe. If it's an Olympic size pool or one of a few lakes. If it's a backyard pool, chances are you're just taking a warm bath outside in the sun. Shallow backyard pools don't hold enough volume to keep the water at a cool temperature.  The sun and outdoor temperature wreak havoc on everything, including your pool. Throughout most of the summer, the average swimming pool water is near standard body temperature. If there is no breeze, you get no respite from the heat. And, now you're just wet AND hot which is only a good combination if you've just... Nevermind. You get the idea.  (Sorry Mom!)

2-Breathing is difficult.

I want you to try something. Grab your hair dryer and put it on full blast on high heat. Now shove it in your mouth. (No, don't do that. I really don't want to be sued) But, imagine how much fun it would be to breathe in and out while engulfed in flames. Then, triple that. That's how it feels to breathe when the outside temperature is over 110 degrees with ZERO humidity. Your throat gets dry and you start making those weird mouth movements that old folks make when they don’t have their teeth in.

1-You still sweat. Or, at least I hope you do.

Just because the air is dry, doesn't mean you don't sweat. No matter the humidity, your body produces sweat to keep your internal temperature at or near 98.6 degrees. As a matter of fact, if you indeed DON'T sweat you should put down that Pabst Blue Ribbon and seek medical attention, because your body temperature will rise to dizzying heights since you're lacking the sweat to keep you cool.  Dehydration is usually a buzz kill at barbeques. When the mercury shoots up and out of the thermometer, you basically have to quadruple your water intake because of this. For every Margarita you drink, you need eight gallons of water. Okay, I’m exaggerating. It’s four gallons.

So, if you’re still planning that Fourth of July trip to the Valley of the Sun, don’t say I didn’t warn you and your body.

Monday, April 25, 2011

You shall not pass! (English class)

I am not a wordsmith.  I am, however, a lover of words, a fancier of the English language, and a sucker for good prose. Unfortunately, I have a little problem.  I am, and have been for quite some time, a grammar nazi.  Most of the time I keep my chastising to a minimum.  But as of late I have been so consumed with misspellings, misuses, and basic ignorance of grammar rules that I have been unable to focus on anything else.  For instance, I haven't weighed in yet on who should play Haymitch in the upcoming movie "Hunger Games," or whether Lindsay Lohan should just go to jail already, or even if Lady Gaga really is a man who wishes he/she was Madonna... All of these important ponderings have been left unpondered.  And, I suppose I should get to pondering already...

Just kidding...

My main focus on today's lecture is speech...  Yes, my little hypothetical friends, speech I said.  As in grammar and spelling.  Any and all of MY grammatical/punctuation/spelling errors are me taking creative license, and as such, not subject to debate.  The focus is on those, shall we say, less informed individuals who make a mockery of the English language and turn it into some kind of monstrosity.  I give you permission to call some of them idiots.  Granted, it's not all their fault, some of their lack of awareness was begot by idiots, and had nowhere to go but down.  Bear with me my lovelies, I've actually researched and compiled notes on these barbarians.
*Please note, if you are one of these people, stop reading now, as I will no doubt offend you, or more likely, confuse you.

One of the most common, most often abused phrases, is also one of the most misunderstood.  When someone tells you, "I could care less what she wears to prom.  Her face will still show."  They aren't telling you what they THINK they're telling you.  They're telling you they are either a teenager or a victim of lobotomization. I personally COULD care less about the state of our economic affairs; meaning I actually DO care for them, therefore, there is an opportunity for me to care less than I already do.  What I COULDN'T care less about is what dress Adam Lambert wears to the Grammy's.  It's really his decision as to whether or not he wears pink taffeta or baby blue crushed velvet.  But, there IS one possible exception to the ignorance here that not many may realize.  In Yiddish, there used to be a saying that was very similar, although the translation of it implied that the speaker was saying, "as if" before saying, "I could have cared less."  In that context, for those of you unfamiliar with sarcasm, it makes sense.  So, unless you're Jewish, or are feeling a little frisky, don't use that statement improperly in front of me.

Recognition and rehabilitation:  These offenders are some of the easiest ones to spot.  If they are not wearing a yarmulke or are not native English speakers, they get a pass.  If they do not fall into the previous two categories, you will recognize them by their enormous egos, since they are not interested in anything that doesn't involve them.  These people typically only need a little verbal correction to nudge them in the right direction, and maybe a little lesson about what the world REALLY revolves around, ie. not them. A quick smack upside the head is sometimes allowed in the most extreme cases where offenders are unwilling to cooperate.

There was an episode of "Friends" in which the character known as Joey uses the word 'moo' instead of 'moot'.  This is a comical redirection of the next infraction that irritates me.  If you have ever actually heard anyone use the term 'moo' when they mean 'moot,' you should just shoot them in the face, right there on the spot.  I don't know of any circumstance where someone would refer to a situation that a cow wouldn't even want to discuss.  No, the more common offense is someone saying, 'mute' instead of 'moot.'  The term 'moot,' means arguable, up for debate, or a pointless endeavor.  When someone says the point is 'moot,' that is what they mean.   When someone tells you the point is 'mute,' they are hearing impaired.  The point is not, in fact, silent as they would have you believe.

Recognition and rehabilitation: You may spot these people because they are always yelling, "What?!?!" whenever anyone asks them a question.  I would suggest a good hearing aid.  I heard Miracle Ear does wonders.  Now, if someone who is not deaf or at least partially deaf uses this term, their insolence must be dealt with in a delicate manner.  Usually I would suggest for you hurl several angry, venom-filled spiders at them.  (The ones from Australia work best)  But, gentle reader, there is a chance one of those spiders may bite you before you get a chance to toss them.  This would be bad, hence the delicate manner required.  I would instead recommend to get a bag full of venomous snakes instead.  It's simpler and much safer for you.  Simply toss the bag in their car, office, or bed, whichever is closer, and then run.  Run far.

Another on my hate-list is people who actually still use "irregardless" in their vocabulary.  It never was a word, (I pray to all that is holy that Webster's never caves in to your reckless abandon of language to add it to the dictionary), and will never be a word.  Have we not bastardized the English language enough already?  Regardless, (See what I just did there?) it is still used all too frequently, although it has been debunked many, many, many times.

Recognition and rehabilitation:  These offenders are sometimes difficult to identify, but are easy to catch in the act... Typically, they attempt to imitate those people whom they identify as intellectuals.  They are usually mistaken, as the aforementioned intellectuals they mimic, are most often pretenders who like using big words that they really don't know the meaning of.  Correcting this bad behavior takes time.  The offender will most often easily slip back into using the faux word if you give them an opportunity to do so.  In this case, it is important to set up a strict schedule of regular beatings.  And whatever you do, do not miss one or you will have to start the program all over again.

The offense that bothers me the very most, so much so, that I have once attempted to spear my own eardrums to save me from ever hearing it again, is "supposably."  This, my uninformed reader, is not even a decent fake word.  It is, in essence, gobbledegook.  I assume they mean to say the word 'supposedly,' but they have either drank or smoked away too many brain cells, or may have just suffered exposure to lead paint as children.  The only time this is allowed is if you are seven years old and are cute as a button.  Unattractive seven-year-olds do not qualify for this exemption.

Recognition and Rehabilitation:  The offenders that use this nonexistent term are the ones that were always caught sniffing glue in art class... You'll recognize them by the rubber cement on their fingers and paint fumes emanating from their bodies.  I haven't quite figured out how to handle this situation in a good manner.  For now I would just suggest strapping a muzzle on them and maybe even lighting them on fire to get the point across.  It's not abuse, it's good discipline.  Or it's just a mute point.

We all have our literary and oral faults, but please... Do your part.  Spay and neuter your idiots.

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Why having children should come with federal aid.

As much as I would like to take this opportunity to sound off on the horrible customer service practices of the local pharmacy (I mean, how long does it really take to count to 90 twice?), I realize I have bigger fish to fry.  The fish, in this case, being my children, and the frying pan, well, it's a frying pan.  

I realize that these are children that I'm talking about here.  Self-important, whiny, sarcastic, combative little  brats ahem, children.  What I don't understand is, why they feel the urge, no, need, to drive me to complete and utter insanity.  I can handle bickering.  I can handle the barrages of stupid, inane questions.  I can even handle the picky palates.  What can't I handle?  I'm so glad you asked.  

I am sitting outside on the back patio, staring at my dirt and messing around on my computer; taking advantage of the fact I'm not hearing screaming, hitting, swearing, or the thwomping of six little feet above my head.  Needless to say, this means I am about to be interrupted for no reason whatsoever.  My children have an innate sense, somewhere in the recesses of their brains, to know when Mommy's trying to relax.  

I have gotten interrupted for the lamest most important things today.  Such as, "my shoelace came untied while I was on the bus today, and I almost tripped."  Well, did you trip?  NO. You did not trip, therefore I don't give a rat's hindquarters that your shoe somehow intentionally untied it's own laces today.  I told you to double-knot them.  Not my fault you're shoelace-disabled.

Or, this little ditty...  "If I have six more bites can I be done?"  Sure.  There's only two bites left in your bowl, but you go ahead and take an extra four bites of air, why dontcha?

I know God has a sense of humor and all, but did he really have to go ahead and make children so completely dim-witted to the core?  I swear.  I was in the military for 12 years and dealt with some major contenders for the Nobel Prize for Stupid, but come on, how difficult is it really to sit on a school bus and not accidentally throw yourself out one of the windows?  (Don't ask.)