September 28, 2006

Today was picture day at my daughter’s school. In preparation, I told her last night that I would get her up early to flat iron her hair in the morning. She readily agreed.

I woke her at 7am and she bounced out of bed like she had ants in her pants. Her hair is really silky and has a bit of a wave to it but it’s nothing like her mother’s giant mane of curls so it’s way easier to flat iron and takes only about 15 minutes.

She wore a pretty mauve and white dress with daisies on it and she looked like a little doll. We walked to school and got there a few minutes before the bell and she spotted a friend and classmate and asked to go wait with her in the line. I said sure, gave her a peck on the cheek but didn’t leave. I walked over to the wall and just watched and listened. Her friend started playing with Maddy’s hair and told her how beautiful it looked. Then the friend called over other girls from their class and wanted them to see how pretty Maddy looked in her finest and how straight and gorgeous her hair was.

Soon, there were 7 girls all gathered around my daughter, continually gushing over her and her gleaming hair and her dainty dress. It put a huge smile on my face. I wanted to run over to the girls and say, ‘hey, I’m her mom! I helped create her! She has my genes! I had a hand in making that beautiful creature!’. To which, I’m sure, they all would have looked at me and ran screaming to a teacher and ask that she call the police. Or psych ward.

I’ve never really thought my little girl looked like me. She definately has her father’s features. But today, just for a moment, when I saw her standing there, smiling and loving all of the attention but having enough maturity to be grateful and thanking her friends for the nice compliments, she reminded me of me. I guess it takes a princess grounded, level headed woman to make a princess.

September 25, 2006

Each day, from Monday to Friday, I pack a lunch for my daughter, who is 6. She’s a pretty easy kid to feed, as she likes a variety of things, which really makes my life easier. And as I keep reminding you, it’s all about me.


And as the picture below depicts, she’s got a good selection in her lunch bag. A sandwich, some chocolate milk, a cheese string, grapes, pudding and a mirror. Yes. You heard me correctly. A mirror. ‘Cause who doesn’t pack a mirror in their lunch bag? All princesses do.


She informed me the other day that she needed to take her purple mirror to school because heaven forbid, she got food on her face and what if she didn’t know it was there and people were making fun of her and she didn’t know why? So she told me that inorder to solve that ‘dilemma’ she would pack her little mirror so she could ‘check out her face’ after eating to make sure everything was ‘fine’. I have no idea where she gets this sort of personality. Must be from her nutty ass mother father. Proof below:

September 20, 2006

I was watching a ‘fashion’ type show the other day. At first it was kinda interesting and then I thought I had fallen asleep and was having a really bad nightmare. Really bad.


The lady hosting the show was telling us…….ready? Telling us, that 80’s fashions are coming back. Eighties. The 80’s. I damn near died.


I had fun in the 80’s, don’t get me wrong. I attended junior high and high school. Ended up with a kid. Or two. Got married. Twice. However, although I had no choice at the time but to wear 80’s fashions, I can tell you now, with all of my heart, I will not go back to leggings, big ass hair, parachute pants and shoulder pads. No way in hell.


The show was featuring models and they were wearing leggings. LEGGINGS. I’m sorry but leggings are one of the worst fashions ever created. They do not flatter anyone. Not a soul. If you’re skinny, then they make your legs look like broomsticks. Not sexy. If you’re too fat, then, well you look fatter. Ummm, no offense, but not sexy. But everywhere I look, I see they are the ‘must have’ for the fall season. Well, I’m just going to go naked then. I’m not wearing them ever ever again. I remember having a legging outfit (God help me for even admitting this) when I was pregnant with Ryan and that was back in ‘95. The mere fact that they were still around years after we escaped from the 80’s is baffling. I must have been on drugs or I had a brain eating disease and wasn’t aware.


It was a red outfit, and although it was super comfy especially when one is with child, it was fugly now that I look back. I, thankfully, have no pictures of myself with this attire on and for that I’m very grateful. It makes me shudder to think I owned leggings. I pray my Fashion God will forgive me. I repent. It’s almost as bad as owning sweatpants. I don’t look down on anyone who owns or wears sweatpants but I’m not compatible with sweat clothes. I don’t want to sweat. In my clothes. Ever. And I try to avoid that when I eat brownies all day long work out like a freak. It’s just my personality is all I’m sayin’.


Ugly 80’s blouses are back too. *Insert fake happy clapping here* Again, they are a ‘must have’ piece to add to your wardrobe. I’m sorry but I will not be wearing ‘puffy’ shirts or anything with gigantuous ruffles running down the front with big stupid assclown pleats. Nope. Not doing it. If that makes me old and out of style, well so be it. I just down care. Call me a fashion retard. I dare ya.


Oh and I’m not wearing ballet flats with moronic fake flowers attached to them. I’m wearing my high heeled slutty ankle boots and you can’t stop me. Call the fashion police on me. I’ll kick them in the cornholio with my heels. Ha! Hopefully their anal beards don’t get caught in my boot. That’d be gross.


And, and I’m not wearing tunic sweaters or pencil pants. Pencil pants? Nice name. Who came up with that? A fucking pencil wanting to wear pants? Pfffftttt.


There’s a new show premiering next week called Ugly Betty. And I’m going to watch it. And what does this have to do with 80’s fashions and me refusing to be caught dead in them? Well, perhaps people will start calling me Ugly Sassy because I refuse to get all wrapped up in the idea that some ‘fashion’ person has decided to pull out the 80’s crap and tell us it’s all ‘MUST HAVE’S’. Ugly Betty looks like she’s the kind of person who’s not afraid to be who she is and if that makes her ugly, well sign me up. I’m going to wear my cute tee’s, my jeans that were in style just a few short months ago, my sweaters with fake fur around the collar, my pink monkey pajamas and anything else that I like whether it’s a ‘must have’ or a ‘must throw out now’. And if anyone has a problem with that, well I’ll just kick them. In the box. Or balls. Whichever.

September 14, 2006

I don’t know what made me think of this scenerio today, just out of the blue but I decided to write about it. Not that it’s particularly interesting or most likely won’t make you bust a gut, but it might be slightly entertaining and I just wanted to relive it for the hell of it.


I worked for my father at a paint/wallpaper chain back in the late 80’s, early 90’s. I dealt with the public day in, day out. Most people were nice and had manners. And brains. Some did not.


Hi, what can I get for you today? Standing at the front counter, looking across at the paint section.


I dunno. Ooooookay.


Are you looking for paint today?


I guess. You don’t know? You walk into a paint and wallpaper shop and you’re not sure of what you want? Moron.


Okay, what are you painting?


I guess. I guess you’re an idiot, braindead fartsucker.


Are you needing interior or exterior paint?


Yes.


Okay, which one? I give a slight chuckle. What I really wanted to do was hurt him badly with the ceiling paint that was on sale for $10.99.


So you’re painting your….?


I guess I’ll paint my bathroom. Who ‘guesses’ they’ll paint their bathroom? Is that something you do on a whim while picking your nose, walking down Main St?


Okay, do you have any colors in mind? How big is your bathroom?


No. It’s just like pulling teeth. Really big, ugly, rotten teeth.


How big is your bathroom? Let’s try this again shall we?


It’s medium. Medium? Medium? Someone please bring me dat broom over in da corner ’cause I’m ’bout to pop a cap in this guy’s ass….well at least shove a broomstick up it.


Is it 10×10? Bigger? Smaller?


I suppose.


Okay it’s bigger than 10×10? Throw me a frickin’ bone here.


I guess. Boy you’re sure a real talker. A friggin’ charmer you are. I bet the women are all over you.


So let’s say it’s 150 square feet or so? Does that sound about right?


Sure.


Okay! Now we’re getting somewhere.


What color is your bathroom now?


White.


Okay, so you’re probably looking for something with a bit of color. You probably don’t want to go too dark. How about a mushroom or taupe and then you could accent it with darker colors with your accessories and such?


No. I want green.


Okay, sure. I’ll get you a color chart and you can pick a shade of green that you think you’d like.


After about 20 minutes of him staring at the color chart like a freakin’ frozen turd, he chooses a light shade of sage green. I compliment him on his choice and ask what finish he’d like.


Now for a bathroom that will have some humidity and moisture from showers etc, I’d recommend an eggshell or semi-gloss, depending on how much shine you want.


Eggshell?


Yes, eggshell is a finish. Much like the texture of an egg. It has a slight sheen, and it’s very durable for washing walls etc.


But I chose green.


Right. Eggshell is the finish of the paint. It doesn’t refer to the color. The paint starts out pure white and I have to tint it to the color you chose.


I don’t like shiney paint. I don’t want shiney at all. Boy, I bet this is the most fucktard has spoken all week. He sure gets his panties all in a big bunch over shiney.


So that eliminates the semi-gloss then, since that’s got quite a bit of a sheen to it. And you don’t want flat paint in your bathroom, since it’s not very washable and can’t really stand up to the moisture. So as I previously mentioned, I think the eggshell finish would be perfect.


I don’t want beige paint.


It’s not beige sir. It’s white. I’m going to make it green for you. Eggshell is the finish, the sheen of the paint. It’s not beige at all.


You’re trying to sell me ugly beige paint.


No, I assure you I’m not. I’m trying to recommend the best possible finish for you so you’ll be happy with the choice of paint and color. Can you see me rolling my eyes?


I hate beige.


Me too. This guy is a shit for brains ass monkey.


I don’t like shiney paint.


Right. I agree, I don’t much like it either. So that’s why I’m suggesting eggshell finish. It’s not very shiney but washes nice and is just as durable as semi-gloss. And it’s white. But I’ll make it green for you.


I’ve changed my mind.


Pardon? You don’t want green now?


No.


Okay, what color would you like? I can help you choose a nice color.


No. I don’t want to paint my bathroom. You’re trying to sell me ugly beige paint. I don’t like eggs.


Sir, eggshell isn’t beige, I promise. It’s just the texture, finish of the paint. It’s got a slight shine to it and very washable but not really shiney like semi-gloss. And I can make it the nice green you picked out. Holy repeat myself.


No I refuse to buy it.


And with that, he turned on his heel. I, scratched my head and then did what any normal person would do. Ran to the back room, grabbed the broom and followed him into the parking lot and gave him an enema.


Happy decorating!

September 10, 2006

See those letters? They spell a really cool word don’t they? They’re adorable magnets that my friend Mel bought for me, for letting her use my bathroom and eat my food and stuff. How sweet was that? She was going to get me enough letters to spell ‘You’re a bizatch and even though your hair is pretty, you can’t cook’ but she didn’t have enough money. Plus she said I wasn’t really worth it. It really is the thought that counts. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.


She arrived at my house on Thursday afternoon and although we’ve known each other for going on 4 years, we’d never met in person. Freaky right? Well, okay not as freaky as when you get an anal probe from an alien, ’cause that’s a kind of freaky that noone wants to experience. But freaky like, I just saw my boyfriend from grade 2 and he’s bald. That kind of freaky. Like fun and wild kinda freaky. I swear it was like we’d known each other for a long time. Yes, 4 years is a long time but I mean, like 17 years long time. Well maybe not 17 years because she’d still be in diapers and since I’m old and shit, I’d still be old, but you know what I mean. It was easy is all I’m trying to say. Gosh, must I ’splain everything?


Anyway, we’ve been having a wonderful visit and I’m pretty sure she thinks so too unless she’s making flight plans while she’s in my room and hoping to make a fast getaway tomorrow and is going to ‘conveniently lose my phone number’ and block me from messenger and tell all her friends to avoid anyone with the name ‘Sassy’. I don’t think so though. However, I’m not sure really, why she told me that her phone number changed to 555-5555 and that I should update my speed dial. I’ll ask her in the morning.


We took our kids to Calaway Park today and spent the day watching our offspring spin, glide, swing, run, laugh, eat cotton candy, burp and giggle. Noone barfed, which in my opinion is a good thing. The kids were all pretty well behaved, however, I can’t say the same for Mel and I. Was punching that annoying guy dressed in a bunny suit, in the ass a bad thing? You be the judge.


We had fun going on the slower than death train ride, which had seats so low that Mel and I had to have a crane lift us out. We all did a big woot woot afterwards, to which we got ‘looks’ from bystanders. Or maybe it was because Matt was naked except for flipflops and a motorcycle helmet. I can’t be sure. They were whispering to one another, who are the freaks from freaksville? Ya, well, what can I say? We like to get our freakin’ freak on at the kid amusement park. We’re rebels don’t ya know? It was either holler out woo hoo’s or try to find a bar and get wasted. I’m pretty sure they don’t have a pub there for half insane moms who are just about ready for the looney bin because they’d been on the merry-go-round 8000 times.


All in all, it was a fun day though and we came back here and pigged out on pizza, hotdogs and salad. We finally got our children to bed and then sat around and got drunk knitted scarves for the old folks at Shady Meadows. Na, I’m kidding. We didn’t get drunk or knit scarves for any old people. We just made fun of them.


Anyway, I’ve had a great time visiting with Mel and her kiddos, glad that we finally got to meet in person and hopefully we’ll be hanging out more in the future. Which, I’m sure we will be since she gave me her new phone number. I should go program that into my phone now, 555-5555……………;)

September 5, 2006

Lemme ask you, is it so wrong to be so happy that you look demented and crazy and appear to be on ’something’? No, no it isn’t. Let me tell you why. My children are in school now. Today. There is noone here but me and ma crazy self. Can you freakin’ believe that?
My 18 year old, looking slightly less than impressed about getting up early and out the door by a decent time. As he so eliquently put it today, he’s going into grade 13. And by grade 13, he means, I goofed off last year so I am required to do grade 12 again. But not so unlike his insane gorgeous, redhaired mama, he too, lives in a fantasy land at times and so we’ll let him ramble on about going into ‘grade 13′. Whatever works for ya sweetie. Muah.
Ryan, all set for the big grade 5, proudly wearing his Spongebob attire and a big smile. He’s now letting me photograph him again because I told him his hair was growing back. He hated his new hair cut, which I personally love, and refused to let me take any pictures for the last 2 weeks. He finally relented because I went on and on about how his hair is getting long again. His bangs are not crooked by the way, but he is the proud owner of a cowlick and his bangs always get pushed back, making it appear as if he was barbored by a drunk pirate. Which I’m quite certain my sister in law is not a drunk pirate. At least she’s never said she was.
Maddy, Maddy, Maddy. My last child to go to school full time. Was it wrong of me to push her into the teacher’s arms and run away cackling like an assclown and yelling, she’s all yours until 3:30, good luck? Tell me I’m not alone. Wait. I am alone! Gosh, the possiblities are endless. Endless. I get goosebumps just thinking about it. No, wait, that’s the air conditioning blowing on me giving me goosebumps. Well, anyway, it’s a feeling of pure joy and I will not feel guilty about it one little bit. Weeeellll, maybe one little bit. But for the most part, I’m gonna love it!
I had to post a picture of my oldest son, although not in school, he works full time, so he’s not here either. Noone is. Not a soul. Just me. Alone. I want to do so many things, like go back to bed clean my whole house from top to bottom. I’d better get started. Welcome to my Freedomland.

September 2, 2006

I took 3 of my kids shopping last night and it’s really interesting who you see at the mall (or what happens at the mall too). I didn’t see a single person I knew personally, being in a city of a million (officially!) people, you don’t usually just bump into someone you know but I sure did see some ‘characters’.


I actually drove myself to a mall that I’d never been to before and to my surprise, I didn’t get us lost and have to be one of those dopes driving around really slow, looking for signs, holding up traffic and all that shit.


We get to the mall, and my son and his gf, leave to go off on their own. That left Matt and Maddy with me. Matt soon blew us girls off to go venture out on his quest for a new something or other.


I took Maddy to a store so she could browse the toy section. My favorite part. While I’m standing there, waiting for the princess to pick out something pink and girlie, I see a couple coming down the isle. I’m guessing they were about late 20’s or so and they seemed really in love. And by really in love, I mean they were practically ripping out each other’s tonsils with their tongues. Say it with me now people: Classy.


As my young daughter is engrossed in her doll search, the ‘lovebirds’, continue to slowly walk down the isle while giving each other cpr. Hello? Get a freakin’ room already.


I distract Maddy while the saliva twins walk by us so my 6 year old doesn’t get an impromptu sex ed lesson in the department store while shopping for a toy. Honestly, what is wrong with people? They were practically dry humping in the Barbie section. Ummmm ewww.


My daughter picks out a doll and then tells me she’s tired and wishes she could go to bed. Huh? What kid under 21 says they’re tired? I ask her what’s wrong? She tells me that she feels a migraine coming on. Oh no. I had no medication with me so we quickly booted it over to the pharmacy and grabbed some Tylenol and I get it into her within a minute of paying for it. We sit on the bench and just as we do, Matt shows up. He’s bought himself some new shoes and starts to lace them up but as he’s doing that, I notice Maddy has turned kinda green. Green, as in, I’m gonna barf green. I dump the purchases out of the bag and hand it to her and quietly instruct her to try to puke in it as opposed to the passerby’s or the potted plants surronding the bench. However, there were a couple of people that walked by, that if by chance, my child threw up on them, I wouldn’t mind so much. Example: The 2 ‘ladies‘ that walked by, who for all I knew, were actually cheap, filthy whores librarians by the look of their ‘outfits’. I say ‘outfits’ loosely because quite frankly, there’s more material on the doll my daughter bought. When I can see what you’ve had for supper, then you’re not wearing enough clothes.


I tell Matt to pack up his new shoes and that we have to blow this popsicle stand before his sister blows chunks everywhere. Now there’s a visual. We make our way back to the store we came in through and hustle as quickly as we can to the truck. By then Maddy is white, yawning and quiet. A sure sign she’s gonna lose it. I place the department store bag in her lap, which is now her own personal ‘I’m gonna toss my cookies’ bag and buckle her in.


We get home with no puke in the truck! Can’t ask for more than that when you go out shopping. Right on. Anyway, I’m off again today to try to finish up the school shopping as my kids go back on Tuesday. Did ya hear me? On Tuesday! I’ll be alone. Alone. Oh the trouble I’ll get into work I’ll get done. Can’t wait!