Used to be a Funhouse Part II
Posted by admin | Filed under Insane in the MOMbrane, Just plain funny, No One But Your Mom, Preschoolers, Uncategorized, parenting, toddlers
Ava has decided that Mama has not lost enough marbles.
And don't doubt for a second that she doesn't take every marble I lose and put it her mouth. My marbles, as I lose them, become choking hazards, therefore causing me to lose more marbles. Are you seeing the problem here?
Ava is at a delightfully horrific age: 18 months. Only 18 short months of life, and already she's learned, all too well, how to get what she wants. The fact that she is a second child, and a second girl to boot, well… That just adds fuel to the fire. She's got to be sassier, louder, and more obnoxious than her sister to ensure she gets noticed.
She is succeeding. I have never, ever witnessed a child throw as many public tantrums, scream as loudly, or shove as brutally. Ava does not fuck around — get out of her way, dudes, or your ass is hers. The infuriating part is how goddamned CUTE she is. Yes, I know I'm her mother and I am biased, but seriously, she's adorable (looking). She smiles a lot, and has these dimples that will suck you in like black holes. She's got these enormous blue eyes with long eyelashes, a cute little button nose, and a head of light brown curls. Trust me, meet Ava and you will not emerge unscathed — she will whip you.
So. The other day was a particularly crazy one: Playdate, three-year-olds fighting over princess dresses, toys and food everywhere, and darling Ava, who just wanted someone to notice that she was there. When she realized that smacking the older kids with their princess wands wasn't working, she took an entirely different approach. She took this snow globe that plays music (with a single push of a button) and dropped it in the toilet. While it was playing. I found her peering into the john, going "UH. OH!"
Uh-oh is right, especially considering Nora had gone in the potty and chosen not to flush the toilet. The snow globe was, miraculously, still playing, and the music was muffled and… downright fucking creepy. So I fished the urine-soaked snow globe from the toilet and threw it in the sink, where it continued to play a now very sad, very off-key, very disturbing version of "We Wish You a Merry Christmas." And it wouldn't stop playing. Pushing the button did nothing. And when, after a particularly macabre version of "Jingle Bells," I tried to take the batteries out of the piece of shit, I found that they were screwed in, and I'd have to whip out the toolbox to get the fucking thing to shut up. Considering I was in the middle of "hosting" (ha!) a playdate, I just decided to let it run itself down.
Seriously, no one will ever want to come over again. This may actually be a good thing, since I have no furniture and generally suck at playing hostess.
Do you know, the snow globe played for SEVERAL MORE HOURS. If my home wasn't a madhouse before, it certainly became one with the sound of screaming children and super-eerie Christmas music in the background. Background? I mean foreground. Shit.
Why isn't anything else I own built like a fucking Home Depot snow globe? I accidentally drop my car keys in a puddle of water and the remote stops working instantly. What the hell?
Ava, back before she was mobile, had an attitude, and lady-with-twenty-cats crazy hair. I never thought I would miss those days…
Tags: Ava, funhouse, madhouse, marbles, playdate, snow globe
A Thankless Effing Job
Posted by admin | Filed under Motherhood, No One But Your Mom, Stay At Home Moms, Womanhood
I mean Motherhood.
Now before you get your granny panties in a wad, realize that I do believe motherhood has its rewards, and those are tremendous and earth-shattering and all that. The smiles. The wet kisses. The "I RUUUUUV YOU, MOMMY!" (even if said to con me into buying yet another princess toy).
But seriously? For the most part, it's a thankless fucking job. I didn't really start thanking my own mother until I became one myself, and those "thank you"s come, for the most part, when my mom is helping with the girls. To be perfectly honest.
Which is fine. We didn't go into motherhood expecting to be treated like martyrs. We were driven by this very basic instinct, as well as societal pressures, combined with cultural innuendos. This NEED to have babies, to hold a tiny thing in our arms, to nurture and to care for.
But occasionally often I am reminded that, as a mother, we givegivegivegive and get NADA in return. Now, if you're one of those women who takes offense to this, then just stop reading. Seriously. Just stop and go back to scrubbing your kitchen floors while your kids track mud in, and then smile and June Cleaver your asses to the laundry room, where a pile of clothes await folding, and oh, don't forget to put some lipstick on before your hubby gets home from work.
When I haven't seen my girls in a while and miss them so much I could eat them, I hug and kiss and smoosh them while they try to pull away, asking, "Did you bring me a present?" Yeah, I brought you a present. MYSELF – and not just a small part of myself, but ALL of me, my energies, my heart, my soul, my LIFE. What, you'd rather have the Play Mobil princess castle?
We really deserve more than just one day a year to be celebrated. We should get, like, one day a year in which people can STOP celebrating us for a moment. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to deck myself out in princess gear, complete with tiara, and await my praise.
And now, for your viewing pleasure, a closeup of an elephant's anus taking a dump. Because it describes my mood today.
Tags: job, June Cleaver, Motherhood, princess toys, princesses
You Had Me At “Scrotum”
Posted by admin | Filed under Insane in the MOMbrane, Just plain funny, No One But Your Mom, Uncategorized, Womanhood
A long time ago, I decided that the man I married had to make me laugh so hard I'd lose control of my bladder.
All women have a list of criteria for the man they marry: Smart, successful, attractive, blah blah blah. Sure, all of that is important. But to me, having a ridiculous sense of humor is essential. Back in my dating days, I usually nixed guys based on that single attribute. If a couple dates went by and he didn't make me laugh – and I mean really laugh, not fake ha-ha – then I'd lose interest.
At first, I thought TH was a square. We met in law school, and while he was unbelievably smart and good-looking, I really thought he needed the stick up his ass surgically removed. It wasn't until I spent some time with him (grudgingly) that I realized the dude was Funny. His sense of humor was dry and he wasn't a chucklehead, but my God he was hysterical.
It was love at first trickle.
And even though he does a shitload of stuff that drives me nuts (see last post), he reminds me time and again why I married him.
Last week, when we were driving back from his parents' house (a long, miserable, endless 3-hour drive), we were talking about pointless things, mostly to pass the time. The conversation started off blandly, but ended with me begging him to pull over at the nearest gas station, I was laughing so hard.
We'd been talking about how there was a job for everything – a person who boxed chocolates for a living; a person who made metal doo-dads for this, plastic doo-dads for that; a person who spent the whole day putting frosting eyes on a bear cookie… You get the idea, right? So we're talking about this, just trying to keep ourselves from falling asleep, really, when a big truck (this is Texas, after all) zooms past us. As it growled past us, we noticed it had testicles. You know, those chrome balls for trucks. I can think of only one type of person who would go out and purchase a pair of nuts for his truck, and it's not the kind of person I'd want to hang out with. It's actually the kind of person I'd enjoy running over repeatedly with my car. It's the same kind of person who'd stick a Confederate flag to his back window.
Anyhoo, TH said, "There's even a person who manufactures and sells truck testicles for a living."
ME: "You think they say 'I make truck testicles' if you ask them what they do for a living? Or do they try and make it sound like they do something so technical we wouldn't understand?"
TH: "Yeah, they probably say they're in the 'vehicular scrotal industry.'"
VEHICULAR SCROTAL INDUSTRY.
Nora and Ava, who were sitting in the back, watching Elmo, almost started crying because Mama wouldn't stop laughing. Not just that, she was screaming at Dada to pull over.
Tell me that's not hysterical. Ok, fine, I'm easily amused. But it works out well for TH – except that I ruin carpets, leather seats, etc. Poor bastard can't take his family anywhere without a change of clothes for his daughters AND his wife.
Happy Monday, people.
Tags: balls, dating, humor, nuts, pee-pee, single, TH, truck testicles
Weddings, Hot Firefighters, and Pirate Photographers
Posted by admin | Filed under Insane in the MOMbrane, No One But Your Mom, Uncategorized, Womanhood, schizo
Yesterday, I got to dress up, slap on some make-up, and go watch a friend get married. Then I got to get (got to get? Yes, people, I consider myself a writer) drunky-drunk. And it only took two glasses of red wine. Awesomeness.
In summary, I expected to see a "hot firefighter" because TH swore that someone attending the wedding was dating a hot firefighter whose shirtless pictures were circulating around the Internets, but saw no such thing. Apparently, he's not even a firefighter. (Note how things change significantly when the story goes from "hot firefighter with shirtless pics on the Internet" to "some random dude, probably an accountant, with shirtless pics on the Internet." Yeah. Suddenly not so interesting or sexy.)
And then there was the pirate photographer. TH dubbed him the "pirate" photog because he was dressed in a waistcoat, a collared shirt that was not all the way buttoned, and was unshaven. But I resent the title – my pirates are classy guys. Said photog was flirting with the guests and taking crotch shots of the wedding party. And by "crotch shot" I mean that he was holding his camera at his crotch, not that he was taking pictures of people's crotches. Not that I would put it past him to do that.
All in all, an entertaining evening, particularly compared to my usual evenings, which consist of TH watching football and me glued to my computer like the biggest nerd EVER, listening to the Last of the Mohicans soundtrack and eating Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Shut up. SHUT UP. Like you don't do nerdy shit. You do it, I just don't get to read about it.
A picture I took of myself in the car, in the mirror, with my iPhone. Because I knew that if I didn’t, I would have absolutely no record of me not looking like feces.
Tags: Cinnamon Toast Crunch, Feces, firefighters, Last of the Mohicans, make-up, makeup, pirates, wedding
Online Chat Help
Posted by admin | Filed under Insane in the MOMbrane, Just plain funny, No One But Your Mom, Web Design
So I'm designing a site for a client (weird, using that word…. client… I have clients… Like people who are paying me to do the bullshit I do…. Random, yo…) and the web host they are using has been a royal pain in my ass. I've had a hell of a time trying to get the site up and running, mainly because there is virtually NO customer service with this host. I FINALLY managed to get someone to chat with me online from the support department, and needless to say I was 1) peeved, and 2) certain I was going to end up chatting with a dude in India who said "thank you" and "please" too many times but really meant "go fuck yourself, you stupid American."
When I discovered the dude's name was "Stephan", I became even more certain I was right. They always give themselves "wholesome" American names like Clint or Wayne or something. So I've pasted the chat below for your entertainment, cutting out all the technical jargon so that you don't fall into a coma and never read my blog again…
Stephan: good Morning
Rima: hi
Stephan: what are the error messages you're getting
Rima: "server is redirecting the request for this address in a way that will never complete."
Stephan: My computer is a little slow right now
Stephan: sorry about that
Rima: no problem
Rima: when you get a chance, try and install it yourself…
Stephan is now off-line and may not reply. Currently in room: Rima.
Stephan is now on-line. Currently in room: Stephan, Rima.
Stephan: I'm back sorry about that
Rima: no problem
Stephan: today doesnt seem to be my day with computers
Rima: lol
Rima: that's like every day for me
Stephan: now I am going to login into the ftp and see if it has the same files as mine
Stephan: I get an error message as well
Stephan: I am going to send this out to our engineers asap so they can look into it
Rima: awesome, thank you
Stephan: and hopefully correct it before the afternoon is over
Stephan: the quicker the better I always say
Rima: when will I know if it's been corrected? will you send me an email?
Stephan: I'll send you an email once things have been corrected or figured out
Rima: thank you… and just a curious question: are you indian? because you write like an american
Stephan: I live in america and i'm not indian. I try my best to write properly lol
Rima: I knew it. okay, thanks.
Funny how I got the feeling he was American right at the beginning, when he didn't "thank you" and "please" me into oblivion. Now I can't help but imagine a nerdy little white dude with a big Adam's apple and wonky teeth.
Have a good weekend, bitches. And keep your eyes peeled for the next installment of Captain England. I'm working on illustrations of my characters to give the story some "flavor."
Tags: customer service, Fiction Chick, Indian dudes, online chat
That’s Not My Name
Posted by admin | Filed under FYI, Insane in the MOMbrane, No One But Your Mom, Uncategorized, Web Design
So the design I made for Aunt Becky over at Mommy Wants Vodka is up. I'm so excited I could pee myself. It's like designing a red carpet gown for Catherine Zeta Jones or something. People will keep asking her who designed it, and she'll say, oozing with Claudette Colbert panache: "Admin did."
It could catch on, right? I am now popular by association. It was just , like, two days ago that I was crying to my readers, snot dripping down my face, "WHY doesn't anyone LIKE ME?" And you guys, so kind and so full of pity, came back and were like, "We like you, Admin, really we do. It's just that you stick Xanax up your ass to see if it'll get into your bloodstream faster that way, and we're slightly concerned. And weirded out. That's all."
And now, one of my posts has a whopping 15 comments! Holy shit! Hollywood, here I come! Ok, I'm getting slightly carried away. But seriously, guys. I'm so stoked that you're reading my incoherent, half-drunk babble that I don't know what to do with myself.
Another great side effect of being linked with the almighty Becky is that people have been asking me about my web design. I figured it would help if I straight up gave dollar figures for my designs, so that people weren't like, "So, if it takes you, say, three years to finish my design, I'll owe you, what, MY SOUL?" So here goes:
- If your platform is Blogger.com (www.mycrazyshit.blogspot.com), it's $50.
- If your platform is Wordpress, it's $75. Keep in mind that if you have an account with Wordpress.com, they require that you "upgrade" in order to customize.
- If you want a nice little business or personal website, it's $75.
- If you want hand-drawn illustrations (like the ones I did for Becky), add $30 to the price above.
- If you want changes / upkeep, $20 for each.
I think that about covers it. Can I just say that I love each and every one of you? Like, a lot? I could totally make out with you all. Not at the same time, of course. That would get complicated. Ok, off to Fiction Chick to publish my next installment of shitty fiction! *Puts on cape and flies out the window. And crashes into tree.*
Tags: Aunt Becky, blog, blogger, design, illustration, Mommy Wants Vodka, price, Web Design, wordpress
Argh, Matey
Posted by admin | Filed under FYI, Insane in the MOMbrane, No One But Your Mom, Uncategorized, Web Design, Womanhood
So… For those of you interested in my self-professed shitty fiction, I have a blog for you to visit. I've created Fiction Chick for your shitty fiction cravings. If you are interested in writing fiction for me to post on my blog, let me know. Check out the About page for details.
Let me know what you think. Especially if you want more, more, more! If you think it sucks and wish I would just go away, then, well, don't let me know what you think. Because I'll probably tell you to eat shit. Just kidding – I'm all about the constructive criticism. (You critical whores.) Also, the site is my design – and mostly my own coding! DAMN I rock my own world. Let me know what you think of that as well.
If you don't remember what the fuck I'm talking about, check out the Intro first.
So my pirates don’t wear eye makeup and beads in the hair, but that doesn’t mean you won’t like ‘em… Photo by cindy47452 via Flickr.
Tags: creative writing, fiction, Fiction Chick, Johnny Depp, pirates, reading, shitty fiction, writing
Toy Packaging
Posted by admin | Filed under Insane in the MOMbrane, Just plain funny, Motherhood, No One But Your Mom, Uncategorized
So what is up with toy packaging?
What, exactly, are the toy packaging people trying to accomplish by ensuring that no one but a fucking mechanical engineer can get the toys out of their boxes? The box needs to come with a warning that states: "Tools required to free toy from the goddamn box include a 15-liter propane flamegun, a power hacksaw, laser scalpel, and a compass. Oh, and a first aid kit for your resulting injuries. You dumb slut."
I don't get it. My iPhone, which cost an arm and a leg, came in a box. And yeah, that's it. No bubble wrap, no twine, nothing. Actually, I'm not even sure I've seen the box – I walked out of the Apple store holding the fucking thing in my sweaty little palms, tapping away at the little icons while strings of drool trailed behind me. Instant gratification. And while I don't normally throw tantrums when I can't get my new toys out of the box, I would have lost my shit if I'd spent more than five seconds getting to my iPhone.
So why is it, exactly, that my kid's Princess Phone required a screwdriver and pliers to extract it from its packaging? Is it a joke that Ava's age-appropriate musical cookie jar came sealed in its box by screws and metal twisty ties that are hilariously dangerous if accidentally left in the toy or on the floor? Surly there’s reason for this insanity, right? RIGHT? Is there a problem with the theft of five-dollar bubble machines? Because otherwise it seems like the joke is on us parents: We go out and buy these toys to keep our kids quiet for five minutes, but have to whip out the power drill and spend an eternity trying to get the toy out of the box, the whole time trying to rush because we’ve got our kids screaming in our faces, wondering why it’s taking so long.
And then, as if all that isn’t enough, we end up in the ER because we were having a difficult time using the blow torch under pressure. Really, I wonder how many parents are injured trying to outsmart toy packaging?
Tags: blow torch, engineer, flame gun, power hacksaw, Princess phone, screwdriver, toy packaging, toys, twisty ties
Shitty Fiction, Anyone?
Posted by admin | Filed under FYI, No One But Your Mom, Uncategorized, Womanhood, schizo
So I've been writing "creatively" for a while now, and was thinking about posting my crap in serial form on this blog. In the alternative, I could post it on a separate site. Now, I know full well that the reason people visit this blog is to read non-fiction about motherhood. So if you'd rather pluck your leg hairs with tweezers one-by-one than read fiction on this here website, let me know. I'll subject other poor souls to my shit.
Before you decide, however, some FUQs (Frequently Unasked Questions *snicker*):
- What is your fiction about? It's about time travel and pirates. Now before you start vomiting, realize that it is meant to be something of a satire – I decided to take two popular fiction topics and sort of make fun of them. All romanticism aside, what would it REALLY be like to time travel onto a pirate ship? I mean, really?
- Are you serious? Yes. I thought it would be fun. Keep in mind that I do my historical research; other than the time travel part, I try to be true to the facts. I didn't study archaeology in college for nothing.
- Are you on heavy drugs? Sometimes. Your point?
- Is your main character you? No. But I try to give her my snark. I try to imagine, for all intensive purposes, what I would do or feel if I were suddenly amidst a bunch of buccaneers.
- Would you still post about real life stuff? But of course. The fiction would be escapism, a suspension of reality, once a week or so. The rest of the time it would be my regular bullshit.
- Is your main character a mom? But of course.
- Don't you have two kids? When do find the time to blog, write fiction, and do web design??? If you've been reading my blog for a while, you'll know that I DON'T SLEEP. Nor do I cook, clean, or do laundry. Therein lies the secret.
If I've left out any FUQs, please let me know. *Snicker*
So let's hear it, people. Take a vote.
To fiction or not to fiction?(survey software)
Tags: blog, fiction, FUQs, pirates, serials, time travel
Automated Voice Systems (And Why I Go On Killing Sprees)
Posted by admin | Filed under Insane in the MOMbrane, Just plain funny, Motherhood, No One But Your Mom, Uncategorized
Our phone line has been in and out for a couple months, and it has become the bane of my existence. Actually, what has become the bane of my existence is the customer service (or lack thereof) at the phone company.
Now, for a rant:
How fucking hard is it to get a real, live human being on phone? Let me rephrase that: A real, live human being who speaks English and doesn't have a stick crammed up the poophole? Am I asking too much? Fine, maybe I am – I'll settle for the live human option.
I would much prefer the insolent Pakistani to the dreaded automated voice. And trust me, I've dealt with some seriously insolent Pakistanis. You know, the guys named "Chad" who say "thank you" a lot but don't really mean it and think you are a complete dipshit. Even when you try your damnedest to be nice.
As it were, however, I don't get those guys as often as the Voice. And can I just tell you, nothing is more futile than trying to talk to a machine when you've got screaming kids near you.
Voice: Are you calling about phone, internet, or cable service?
ME: Pho-
Ava: AYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAAAAAAAAA!
Voice: I'm sorry, I didn't catch that. Are you calling about phone, internet, or cable service?
ME: PHO-
Nora: I NEED TO PEE-PEE! I NEED TO PEE-PEE! PEE-PEE ON DA POTTY! LA LA LA LA LA LA!
Voice: I'm sorry. I didn't catch that. I'll direct you to a customer service representative, but first tell me your account number.
ME: OPERATOR! OPERATOR!
Voice: I'm sorry, I didn't catch that. I'll direct you to a customer service representative, but first tell me your account number.
This goes on and on, until I'm screaming obscenities into the phone and trying to lock myself in the study while both girls bang on the door wailing for me. I end up throwing the phone against the wall. "Customer service" my ass, motherfuckers.
I managed to finally get a human on the phone after having to call the phone company back again several times. That poor woman had no idea what hit her.
ME: I want to CANCEL my phone service with you people. Don't argue with me – I WANT TO CANCEL IT. I'm paying way too much for my phone to NEVER work. Do you understand?
Lady: Ok?
Well, that was easy. Not.
Ha! What a fucking joke. Photo by sjlocke via iStock.
Tags: automated voices, customer service, phone company, poophole
