A Two 'Fer - Anniversaries and Bad Neighbors

Today's our anniversary.  It's been 8 years.  We'd planned on celebrating very quietly with no children.  My son stayed the night with a friend.  G was supposed to have a babysitter.  As is typical of our luck, the sitter fell through and yet another anniversary will go by with minimal recognition.

In all honesty, it doesn't bother me.  Terribly.  Yes, I'd love for us to spend more quality time together.  Not necessarily on our anniversary.  Any night would do.  I knew having kids would be hard work.  I had no idea how much it would change our lives, though.  Neither of us is the type to just leave our kids with anyone.  We are quite particular, as a matter of fact, which is why we NEVER go anywhere alone.

Maybe we can spend some time alone together when E and G are 10 or 11 years old.  I hope so.  I'm holding out hope that anniversary #13 will be much better.

On a side note, my neighbor is a freakin' loon!  She is certifiable!  I know there are probably people who read this that know who I'm talking about, but I don't give a damn.  I call 'em like I see 'em.  She's crazy.  Or a desperate woman with a crack addiction.  Either way, she gets on my last nerve.  As do her damn kids!

Take this morning, for example.  I am taking a shower when I hear my husband talking to someone.  From the conversation, I was fairly certain it was not one of our kids.  Curious, I got out of the shower to find the little girl from next door.  She just walked through our front door and into my bedroom!  Without knocking or anything!  Just came on in and cruised around the house looking for my kids!

Oh, and I must add that she is far too old to be playing with my young children any way.  She's 9; my oldest is only 5.  Every time she plays in our house, she destroys the place.  Literally.  The last time she was over, she took every toy in the playroom and threw it down the stairs.  There was so much stuff blocking the door at the bottom of the stairs, my kids couldn't get out.  However, I won't allow my kids over her house anymore because my husband caught one of the son's smoking dope in the garage when my daughter was over there.  I believe it's time for the 9 year old to smoke dope with find friends her own age.  Period.

Back to the crazy mama...  For the last 2-3 days, she's been coming over asking for money.  She claims her older daughter "graduated" from John Casablanca Modeling school (i.e. they forked out a bunch of money for some minimum wage worker to take pictures of her dressed like a hooker.)  With graduation comes some sort of contest or something.  Hell, I don't know.  The only part I heard was "we need money."

Mr. OCD, because he has no backbone, keeps telling her that he doesn't have any cash on him.  This statement only perpetuates the problem because she's coming back daily in hopes that he'll have cash.  She hasn't asked me.  Maybe because I won't answer the door when she knocks.  Or maybe because I quickly shut the garage door when she sees me coming home.  Regardless, I've not been asked for money.

I almost want her to ask me.  Perhaps all is playing out according to God's plans, though.  Maybe God is trying to keep me out of the penitentiary and out of the depths of hell.  Lord knows it would be very hard for me to refrain from chasing her off my porch swinging a big a baseball bat. 

She better start feeding those kids instead of paying for modeling lessons.  Or crack.  Or whatever it is she spends her money on.  It's definitely not her wardrobe or hair, but I'll save that for a later post.

  

I Suck at Poetry

My world is ever so busy,

My ass is entirely too fat.

I wish I had something monumental to say,

Thank you, my A.D.D.!
For keeping me from that.

School is same-ol'-same-ol'
Those teens are freakin' crazy.
With more students than ever before, though,
By May, I'll be pushing daisies.

Mr. OCD won't stop groping,
And LB is just too damn tired,
Now more than ever,
I need a sister-wife for hire.

E's staying the night with a friend
For the first night ever.
G's sitter canceled, though,
When can I rest? Oh, yea...NEVER!

I have a Secret Pal at work
Who showers me with candy.
All those M&M's and Milk Duds
Will make my ass look dandy!

The pizza man is here,
The dog is going apeshit.
LB ain't cooking today,
It's Friday, dammit.  I QUIT!

Poetry just isn't my thing.
In fact, I pretty much suck.
I guess it's all I've got today,
Oh well, who really gives a f*@k?

I'm off to take a shower,
Then "pay" my dear sweet man.
Afterwards, a little happy pill
Will send me off to dream land.

Yes, I know it's still daylight...  But Mama's off to bed.  It's been a long week, and I don't get drunk anymore.

I HEART Gary

That big, fat sweetheart in a bunny costume...  But I hate his girlfriend, Amber.  She's so childish and whiny.  Farrah gets on my last nerves, too, but at least she's grown up a bit since she and Sophia moved out of her parents' home.  I guess that little "domestic assault" was actually a good thing.  Catelynn and Tyler are a hot mess -- immature and ridiculous.  Thank God they put that baby up for adoption.  Poor Maci...  Ryan is a hotty, but such a loser.  I would have SOOOO dated him back in the day.  I would NOT, however, have named my kid after a car. 

I've reached to an all new low.  I'm an addict.  My new crack is Teen Mom on MTV.  Jersey Shore used to be the only reason for me to watch MTV.  Now, though, I've added channel 331 to my list of favorites.  Pathetic.  A 40+ year old mom hooked on a TV show about the drama surrounding teen pregnancy.  Screw Kate Plus 8.  I need more dysfunction.  I need my entertainment in the form of a big ball of fuckness (Thanks for the new word, Snooki!).

Don't get me wrong; I'm still a Jersey Shore fan.  I am still a GTL'er who wears a Shirt Before the Shirt (SBTS).  I still <3 the Situation, Pauly, and Vinny.  I continue to be a proud supporter of the GFF (Grenade Free Foundation).  My feelings for those Guidos and Guidettes will never die.

Instead, those Jersey folks will be sharing a special place in my heart with those jacked up teen moms and their babies' daddies. 

Who's Kid Is This?

So my sweet little boy has started kindergarten.  Today was his first day of after-school care.  I'm sending him a few days a week so I can get some work done, go to the gym, or whatever.  It's way cheaper than daycare or a traditional babysitter.  Since I require lots of "Me," after-school care sounded like an ideal plan.

Like I said, today was day one.  As in the very first.  Imagine my horror when I picked him up and found that he'd been in quite a bit of trouble.  According to the Director, and one of my former students, he smarted off to his teacher and was being an all-around brat.  His teacher, yet another former student of moi, referred him to the Director's office where he proceeded to be biligerent towards her as well.  Finally, the Director called in the Principal who pretty much ripped my son a new asshole one scolded him and brought him to tears.

According to the report when the Director told my son that she'd call his parents, Mr. Smarty Pants replied, "You don't even know my daddy."  The Director explained to my son that she did, in fact, know his father's name, my little angel responded with "Well, you don't know his phone number."

Who in the hell is this kid???  I've never heard him use such a smart mouth before.  He's made comments, but they've always been squashed rather quickly with the mere mention of a time-out.  We are talking about my GOOD kid, people!  He is no hellion; he doesn't buck authority.  Typically.

Needless to say, he's not watching TV right now.  His dad will be picking him up tomorrow, and looking for a better report.  If not, we're going to have some DNA analysis done.  Apparently, the Easter Bunny kidnapped my sweetheart and left me with Mr. Smarty Pants. 

I Smell a Polecat

If you ever asked yourself the question, "What does a polecat smell like?", I've got the answer for you.  It smells something like a cross between the shoe of a man with foot fungus, the armpit of a football uniform in our school's field house, and dirty cat litter.  Mix all those ingredients together, and there you have it.  Voila!  The smell of a polecat.

How do I know, you ask?  Well, I was recently in the company of someone who was apparently fond of the fragrance.  We were close. To be honest, she had me cornered.  We were close enough that I had to hold my breath.  I began to turn blue.  I nearly died from asphyxia.  All the while, I thought to myself OhMyEffin'Word!  Can someone please throw in a Febreze-filled bomb?  I'm suffocating here.  Finally, when I could take it no longer, I ran for my life!  Literally.

I do not understand why people walk around like that.  Seriously!  You can give me that speech about the ills of poverty or "to each his own," but give me an effin' break.  Even the homeless missions have soap!  Hell, every gas station in America has a restroom with hand soap and paper towels.  We do have options. 

What makes matters worse is the fact that this person did not appear to be in a dire situation.  I don't know her personally, but we were both in an establishment that operates for a profit.  It provides a service that costs money.  She was able to afford it.  She was driving a fairly new vehicle talking on a cell phone, too.  I'm fairly certain she did not get a free car on the Oprah Show.  And, as far as I know, Verizon isn't a philanthropic organization.   

Soap and deodorant are NOT luxury items.  It is 250 degrees outside, for crying out loud.  Body odors only intensify in these conditions.  The funk only becomes funkier in this kind of heat.  Add the moisture from the humidity, and you've got a certified funkalicious brew where no rodent dares to tread. 

Lady at The Place, if you happen to be reading this, do everyone a favor and take a shower! 

Super Mom

Yikes!  I've turned into a soccer mom! 

Well, not really a soccer mom since neither of my kids technically play soccer.  A symbolic soccer mom, if you will.  You know the one...Super Mom who has no life because she's too busy doing whatever the kids are doing???  I cannot. freakin'. believe it. either!  Yet, here I am.

Sitting at my laptop scurrying through my emails and facebook posts not really taking the time to actually read anything.  I can't!  I have no time.  Things that I enjoy are no longer important at my house.  We have schedules to follow.  And lots of them.  No time for mindless banter on Twitter.

Baseball pictures and birthday party #1 this afternoon.  Gymnastics in the morning.  Birthday party #2 tomorrow afternoon.  Church on Sunday.  Party #3 shortly afterwards.  A ball game Tuesday.  Dance class on Wednesday.  Another ball game on Thursday.  A football game on Friday.

Damn!  I'm tired!  Pray for me.  Pray that I'm not hospitalized for exhaustion over the weekend.  Oh, I forgot.  I'm the mom.  I got this.  Ok, well pray for Mr. OCD.  He will probably suffer extreme exhaustion, and then I'll have yet another thing to take care of this week! 

Is it Beer thirty yet???

Apparently I'm Big in China

Yep.  That's right.  I'm an international celebrity!  I never thought anyone but my real friends and a few polite bloggers that I stalk regularly actually read my blog.  I don't do it hoping I'll be discovered by Brad Pitt who will whisk me away from my life of domestication into his den of love (think Legends of the Fall).  I know that's hard for some folks to grasp, but I really do it for the camaraderie.  It's like my own little private Ladies' Club.  It's fun and funny!

Lately, though, I've noticed my following is growing.  I'm getting more comments.  People I don't know either for realsies or in Bloggy Land.  Comments I can't even decipher.  I'm sure my new fans are sending adoring accolades, but I wish I knew for certain.  I'd love to chat with them, but I don't know Chinese.  Obviously, these new fans are very smart and bilingual.  How else would they find me???  This makes me want to "chat" with them even more.

I've tried clicking on their names to find out more about these mystery followers, but the links only bring me to more Chinese writings.  The girl pictured in one of the blog links is young and cute, but I don't know her.  I wonder, why is she dressed so scantily?  Why is she bent over a couch like that?  She's surely not an old, frumpy mom like me so why does she care what I have to say?  Hmmm...

What's up with that?  Am I being mistaken for a buyer in the sex slave industry?  Does "Diary of a Party Girl Turned Wife & Mama" translate to "Looking for Hot Young Asian Chicks"? 

Jesus, I need to get some Rosetta Stone to learn a little Mandarin Chinese!

Attention Women! Don't Try This at Home!

I suck these days.  No, not literally. Get your minds out of the gutter!!!  Mr. OCD would probably love it, but this isn't about him now is it??

I have not been a good bloggy friend.  I'm so far behind, I don't know if I'll ever get to reading everything!  Don't get me wrong; I need the laughter!  But my time is a precious commodity these days.  Apparently, the world makes a complete stop and the air we breathe disappears if I don't give everyone my undivided attention around here.  But I digress...

I will catch up soon.  Pinky promise!

I need to keep this brief because Mr. OCD and our bundles of joy will be home in approximately 14 minutes.  I've got to type fast! 

However, I feel it is my duty as a woman to try to protect the lives of other women.  As a result, this post is really a very important Public Service Announcement!  *WONK* *WONK* *WONK* (That is the annoying little noise that precedes those Emergency Broadcast messages for those who took the short bus today.)

Ah-hem...  Attention ladies!  Regardless of how low on funds your family may be, NEVER, EVER try this at home.  Let me repeat myself for those too busy multi-tasking to understand me the first time. 

Regardless of how broke you may be, NEVER, EVER, EVER try this at home!

When I was young, I was a total blond and could pull this off.  Hell, I think it was this blond in college.  Hawt Mama!  Let's face it, though.  I am not in my 20s anymore, and I have NO business dying my own freakin' hair!  Chemistry was not my favorite subject, and I ain't no Issac Newton.

I nearly pulled a Britney Spears, and shaved my damn head.  I looked like a fluorescent pineapple!  Even worse, I did this on the day before I was to return to work.  I had to go to work the next day looking like Frenchie from Grease (Who doesn't love that movie??  Best. EVER!)

Praise Jesus; Joanie's SIL is a fantastic hairdresser.  On her day off, she met me at her shop and fixed me up right.  I no longer glow in the dark.  Thanks Laurie from This Is It Salon!  You rock, girlfriend! 

Excuse my shiny face and tired eyes.  I'd just come in from 175 degree heat!  The makeup pretty much melted off my face.  God, I love August in the South!  That was sarcasm for you slower folks...