Holy Shit, I'm Awesome: A Year In Review

Another year of blogging has passed and we're about to move into a new one. Thank you Baby Jesus. I cannot wait to get 2010 over and done with. It's been a rough year for me in a lot of ways...I'm ready for a new one.

But before we ring in the new year, I need to wrap things up here with my annual Best of Yo Mama's Blog post. This year, the blog saw the Kiddo graduate from high school, go off to college and leave Captain Carl and me here all alone. With Renty. Always with Renty. Forever and ever with Renty. Til death do us part with Renty.

*ahem*

So here you go...my favorite blog post from each month of 2010. Enjoy, suckas.



JANUARY

• The one where Captain Carl imaginary cheats on me with that bitch Shelly
  

FEBRUARY

• The one where I write a kick ass and totally not gay valentine for the Kiddo's girlfriend

MARCH

• The one where I sexually harass my way into a job

APRIL

• The one where I hear my son having sex and completely lose my shit

MAY

• The one where the Kiddo brings twat and nards into my house
  

JUNE

• The one where Captain Carl goes crazy over right side bed bugs

JULY

• The one where I show you the real me and it turns out I'm real awesome

AUGUST

• The one where I get a naked and rubbed down

SEPTEMBER

• The one where I buy wind chimes and a tractor

OCTOBER (I picked two from this month because I couldn't decide on a favorite)

• The one where I audition for a movie. Sort of.
• The one where my boob pops out of my bra

NOVEMBER

• The one where I don't have to cut off my arm at the IHOP

DECEMBER

• The one where I consumed large amounts of alcohol and probably should have gotten fired

So that's it...my year in review. I blogged a total of 93 times in 2010. Much less than I did in 2009, mainly because 2010 was a crazy busy and emotionally exhausting year for me. I'm looking forward to a much more prosperous and peaceful 2011. But first? I'm getting my drink on tomorrow night. I predict a blog post in early January involving me, karaoke and a hangover.

Hey, thanks to everyone who became a new follower this year. And to all you loyal followers from before 2010, I salute you for hanging in there. I haven't made this easy for you. Here's to you, mo fo's!

Happy New Year from Yo Mama's house...we loves ya.

Here's To You, Blow Job Fans

My mother-in-law is now reading my blog and has told me that I have "a really wonderful writing style". I think the title of this post proves she is indeed correct.

Some of you might think that I would start cleaning things up a little on the blog once Captain Carl's family started reading. You would be wrong, my friend. The wiener jokes will continue to fly fast and furious up in here. I have a reputation to uphold, you know.

Speaking of wieners, I am guest blogging over at Wait In The Van today as part of her "Twelve Bloggers of Christmas". I talk about blow jobs and rubbing my lady parts on Captain Carl's goatee. You know, your typical holiday stuff.

Go! Click Here! Read! Leave a Comment! Give someone a hand job! Whatever!

Tis The Season Fa La La La Or Whatever

Three days until Christmas. I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait to get this shit over with already. Okay, not really. I love this time of year. We had the Captain’s family Christmas last weekend and it was big awesomes. And I get both Fridays and Mondays this weekend and next weekend off from work, which is supercalifragilisticexpealifuckingtatstic.

But I do this really bad thing every year during the holidays that kind of make them sort of suck. I think about the future. I think about how after New Year’s weekend, I won’t have another paid holiday off until May. I think about the things that aren’t going so great in my life. I think about how we’re going to pay the property taxes next month. I think about if I should go along with Captain Carl and take in another renter, even though I hate them and it sucks, because having two renters like before means the mortgage is paid in full each month. I think about how the Kiddo has to get student loans and help pay his way through college because we can’t do it for him. I think about all the people who don’t have to sweat their finances and have no credit problems and can buy whatever they want for their kids at Christmas and then I think a little bit about undeservedly punching them in the face.

You get the idea. I’m a big Debbie Downer. I’m working on it. It’s a long process.

But hurray! Christmas!

We opened all our presents early because of course we did. Captain Carl got me the greatest gift of all, which was the perfume that I tore the ad out of the magazine for and held in front of his face while saying “This. Buy this. This one. This is what I want this year. THIS.”. You thought I was going to say something like “his eternal love” or some lame shit like that, didn’t you? Ha. Loser.

I got him a kick ass GPS for the jeepster and I was all “Do you like it? Do you really? I mean do you REALLY like it or are you just SAYING you like it? Are you sure? Because you can totally return it for something else if you want. No? You’re sure? Yes? Okay cool.” Because I suck at gift giving. I really do. All year long, I think of these really great ideas for birthday and Christmas presents. Then I promptly forget them and end up buying something the person won’t like and will never use. Like the scarf that I got for my mom. Who never wears scarves. Or a computer video game for my dad. Who doesn’t even know how to turn on the computer.

I don’t know what happens. It’s like I’m out there shopping, filled to the brim with wonderful gift ideas. And two hours later, I’m standing in that cologne gift pack aisle in Wal-Mart trying to figure out how I got there. Usually I’m sweating. Always I’m panicked. Because holy shit, will they like this???? Is it lame???? Is it offensive????

My son has been the recipient of some of my worst gifts. Every year he opens at least two things from us that are disappointing and confusing. And then Captain Carl whispers to me “Did we get him that? Why?” and all I can do is shrug and whisper back “It seemed like a good idea?”.

This year? I got him this t-shirt.

Abraham Lincoln with a “Party in the USA” talk bubble.

Yeah.

I have no explanation, except that I thought it was hilarious.

The Kiddo?

Puzzled would be the word I would use to describe his facial expression after he opened it. Then he looked over at me and saw what was probably the pathetically hopeful look on my face, promptly took off the shirt he was wearing and pulled my lame gift over his head. And he wore it all day. And the next day until I made him change out of it because he got barbecue sauce on Abe’s upper lip. How awesome is my kid? Very, that’s how.

This will most likely be my last post before Christmas, so everyone have a happy holiday or whatever and leave me comments while you’re here, huh?

I’m Like A Walking Public Service Announcement For Drunk Morons

Saturday night was my office Christmas party. Guess what happened?

I got drunk.

You're totally shocked, right?

I got a lot of drunk.

I got a way lot of drunk. So drunk, I prompted Captain Carl to say “Wow, I haven’t seen you like this in a really long time.” And the worst part is that I can remember everything. My luck sucks, I can’t even be a blackout drunk and forget all the embarrassing parts of the night.

But I figure I can turn my office party mistakes into a helpful blog post for all of you that maybe haven’t had your office parties yet. Consider it a holiday gift from me to you. I’m like the Jesus Christ of holiday gifts, except instead of eternal life in heaven, I’m giving you tips on how to keep your shitty job that you hate but can’t afford to quit. If my mother ever reads this blog, I am in so. much. trouble. for that last sentence.


Tip #1: Think about your clothing choices carefully before leaving for the party. Are your dressy pants too big for you now and could they possible fall off while dancing later? Is your top so low cut that your boobs will probably pop out at least three times? If yes, you might consider changing.

Tip #2: When introducing your spouse to the President of your company, it is not advisable to tell him that you drank half a bottle of Boone’s Farm out of a plastic cup on the drive over because you heard his cheap-ass only allowed for two drink tickets per person.

Tip #3: When your co-worker asks you in the bathroom if she looks prettier than the wife of Sales Director, a simple “yes” will suffice. Do not elaborate your answer with “I mean, she’s more of an obvious kind of pretty and who wants to be that, right?” and “Plus, you are probably way more interesting than her anyways.” Also, do not steal the lotion from the bathroom on your way out. It is in a container as big as a wine bottle, people will notice it under your shirt.

Tip #4: Do not lick any of the serving spoons at the buffet table because you want to sample everything first. This is not considered proper buffet etiquette.

Tip #5: Whatever you do, do not sign up for the karaoke contest if you plan on drinking more than one glass of wine.

Tip #6: If you ignored tip #5, do not storm the stage when it’s your turn and yell “I say Merry, you say Christmas! Merry! What? Merry! What?” at everyone in the room.

Tip #7: Upon discovering that you have been paired up with the CFO of the company for the karaoke contest, do not tell him that you want to sing George Michael’s Faith in his honor because “Frankly sir, everyone is shocked that you brought a wife and not a life partner."

Tip #8: When the winner of the contest is announced and it is not you, do not pound your fist on the table and scream “I was fucking robbed!”.

Tip #9: Do not request that the dj play T-Pain and then insist everyone on the dance floor give your big booty a slap while you try to move your body into your version of "low" (aka, bending slightly at the waist until your calves start to burn).

Tip #10: Do not approach the door prize table and ask the office manager what you need to do to win that 42” flat screen tv while pantomiming a blow job and waggling your eyebrows at him.


So there you go, my top ten tips for office holiday parties. You're welcome.

Everyone who thinks I’m totally getting a Christmas bonus this year, raise your hand!

Jogging Limply Towards A Destiny Vaguely Involving Something To Do With Smaller Clothing Maybe

So I’m trying to do this running thing with Captain Carl. It’s going so-so. It really depends what day you ask me, actually. Because ask me today, when Captain Carl is running with his brother and therefore not with me, and I will say it’s going awesome. Ask me on Monday night when I go running with him in the dark after work and I will say it sucks donkey teat. Because ouchy, that’s why.

Captain Carl is excelling at the running. He’s running 3 minute stretches straight now and leaving me in the dust. Literally. I am literally running in the dust on the side of the road about a block and a half behind him. And I’m not really running. I’m more jogging slowly than anything. And my jog gives me a vague resemblance to a wounded animal, limping to the curb after being hit by a car. A wounded animal chanting "fuck. this. shit." with each step it takes. But I like to think that I look like I know what I’m doing, on account of how I pump my arms back and forth vigorously. My feet are barely moving, but my arms are like violent tornadoes churning madly across the country. Check it out, everybody! It took me 30 seconds to get from one side of your driveway to the other, but look how fast I appear to be moving from the waist up! Crazy arms crazy arms crazy arms!

Meh.

And then there is the issue with my knees. Apparently I have old lady creaky knees. I had no idea until the running started. Now I wake up a dozen times in the night after I turn onto my stomach and my knees push into the mattress, causing searing pain to shoot through them. They crunch like gravel with every step I take up the stairs. And then Captain Carl is all “You should take a joint supplement.” and I’m all “Your mom takes a joint supplement!” and he’s all “I’m serious.” and I’m all “So am I. She really does take one.” and he’s all “So?” and I’m all “She’s 60.” and he’s all “Well maybe you should borrow her AARP magazine to see if they have any tips for you.” and then I punch him in the face.

But I am losing some weight. And apparently it’s starting to show, because the runner lady at my office who I find equal parts inspiring and annoying with all her Go-for-it!'s and Keep-it-up!'s and I-wouldn't-eat-that-if-I-were-you!'s told me yesterday she could see the weight loss in my clothes. Hurrah! I’m awesome! *air punch!*

Also, I've been posting on facebook about my adventures in running and weight loss. Which seemed like a good idea at the time because now I will totally keep up with this new lifestyle on account of all my facebook friends knowing about it. Except that what if I don't? And then when people are all "How's the running going?" on my wall, I'll have to block them so that I don't have to make up excuses for quitting, like maybe I went all Jehovah's Witness and it's taking up all my time with all the ummmm, witnessing?

But hey...right now I'm down 6 lbs, bitches! So I totally put that little fact on my wall.

And then I had Mexican food for dinner last night. And also a donut that morning. And also birthday cake in the afternoon. And also maybe a candy bar.

I didn’t put that part on facebook.

Neighborhood Etiquette: Dry Humping In The Front Yard Is A No-No

We put up the Christmas tree Friday night. I never seem to get into the spirit of the season until the tree is up, and this year was no exception. It just wasn't the same without the Kiddo here. He's usually my go-to man for all things up high on the tree. Which is why I usually end up with about 20 ornaments right underneath the angel. He loves to rub it in that Captain Carl and I are shorter than him, so he's always "Wellll, guess I'll put another one right up here seeing that y'all can't reach. Heh heh." I don't have the heart to tell him that being 5'8" isn't really all that tall, except in our house.

Last year, we invited Renty to decorate the tree with us and it was fun, despite my urge to move every single thing he and Captain Carl put up into a more appropriate location on the tree. What? Every good tree decorator knows you can't put two gold stars next to each other. I'm not controlling and obsessive, that's just basic tree trimming knowledge. Shut up.

This year, Renty was working late so it was just the Captain and I and it was awesome. We had a little wine, we listened to classic Christmas music, we pulled 50 million fucking Christmas decorations out of the closet under the stairs, I put up the nativity scene (yes I used the words "fucking" and "Christmas" and "nativity" in the same sentence. I'm aware that I am going to hell.) Then we admired our handy work and I put 49 million fucking Christmas decorations back in the closet under the stairs because I must have been a crazy person to put up all this shit every year because who needs eight animated Santa Clauses seriously?

In other news, apparently it's cold enough here to put on the heat in the house. This is according to my husband, with whom I vehemently disagree.

Me: Why is the heat on upstairs?
Him: Because it's cold outside.
Me: It's going to be 68 degrees today!
Him: But right now it's 43 degrees.
Me: That's because it's 7am.
Him: So?
Me: It's colder because of being night time.
Him: Really genius?
Me: There is no reason to have the heat on.
Him: You mean besides that it's fucking cold?
Me: You are such a baby, this is not cold. *opens front door. steps out in bare feet* This is called "perfectly comfortable" where I'm from.
Him: Listen, Minnesota...you are in Texas now and 43 degrees is called "fucking cold" now.
Me: What a bunch of pansies.
Him: Renty lives upstairs. The heat stays on.
Me: I'm turning it off and if he complains, I will tell him to buy another comforter unless he wants to pay the gas bill.
Him: I knew this was about money.
Me: What? No! This is totally not about money. In fact, this is so not about money it's ridiculous.
Him: What's it about then?
Me: It's about...you know...ummm...acclimating to your environment and...ummm...something something saving the ozone layer.
Him: *stare*
Me: Totally not about money.
Him: *stare*
Me: What?
Him: *blink*
Me: Well, do you want to pay a $200 gas bill???? Huh???
Him: Sometimes you are so much like your mother, it scares me.
Me: I'm taking that as a compliment.
Him: Your mother is cheap.
Me: My mother is frugal.
Him: And last winter you kept it so cold in here that the Kiddo wore gloves and a ski mask around the house.
Me: He's just a drama queen like his father. I was trying to toughen him up and get him ready for the world! Unlike you, who wanted to coddle and keep him soft.
Him: Just go to work, you're going to be late if you keep arguing with me.
Me: *walking out the door muttering* Fucking 43 degrees and you turn the heat on? Give me a break. You think this is cold? Cold is when the temperature doesn't get above zero and your nostrils freeze shut. *yelling back at house* We don't turn our heat on up north until the lakes freeze over! Because we're tough! And don't like to waste money!
Neighbor: Is everything okay?
Me: Oh sorry, I wasn't yelling at you. I'm yelling at my husband WHO APPARENTLY LOVES TO THROW MONEY OUT THE WINDOW BECAUSE IT IS TOTALLY NOT COLD OUT HERE!
Him: *opens front door* Shut up and go to work already!

This is probably why our neighbors never talk to us. This and the fact that Captain Carl tried to dry hump me doggy-style yesterday in the front yard while I was bent over watering the flowers and when I yelled at him to stop it he whispered "Let them watch" and then spanked me. True story.