My Name Is Miss Yvonne. You Deleted My Talk Show. Prepare To Die.

Sometimes it really sucks having renters in your house. Sometimes they do really annoying and fucking stupid things. Things that 99.9% of the human population would not do. Like if you heard about someone doing those things you would be all “No way is anyone that stupid/rude/inconsiderate". And then? Your fucking renter does them and you feel the sudden urge to gouge their eyeball out with one of those tiny relish forks because it is the exact perfect size for eyeballs and that bastard totally deserves it.

Like maybe your renters buy scooters and ride them through the mud and then track the mud through the house and then leave their muddy shoes by the door and then fucking lie when you ask if they walked through your house with muddy shoes on.

Or maybe your renters decide to use your pasta strainer to clean their fish tank rocks but don’t plan on telling you they did it and thank you baby Jesus that you noticed it was missing before they returned it and you used it to strain your pasta and now you’re totally eating spaghetti ala fish poop for dinner. And then they giggle like three year olds when you ask them why they did it.

Perhaps your renter decides while you are out of town for the weekend to go out and get completely wasted and bring an equally wasted couple home from the bar with him that he has never met before in his life, then passes out in his bed while this drunk couple hang out in your house all night totally unsupervised and then your other renter gets up at 3am to pee and sees this strange couple fucking on your couch. Then you have to call your renter and yell at him and when you get home, all of your booze is missing and he “has no idea who took it”.

Oh! Here’s a good one. Your renter goes out and gets wasted AGAIN, only this time it’s during a weird Texas snowstorm, and he gets arrested for drunk driving and doesn’t come home for 3 days, so you think he must be dead in a ditch somewhere, and then he shows up and is all “Hey, I got arrested and have to go to court and can you please drive me there because they took my license away? Also, my kids are gonna come live here with me for like, 2 or 3 weeks and maybe they will stay forever. That’s cool, right?”.

Could be that your renter turns out to be a reclusive hoarder who packs the bedroom she is living in to the ceiling with junk, but you don’t really notice how much she has in there until it’s too late. Also she has a cat. Also she’s morbidly obese and orders a pizza and three sub sandwiches and keeps them in her room to eat on for two days. Also she decides to move to another country and doesn’t start packing until the night before her flight. Also after she’s gone, you realize she’s left 50 (I am not exaggerating, y’all) bags of trash, a bed, a table, an office chair and a dirty litter box in her room for you to dispose of. Also she emails you a week later to ask when you will be sending her deposit back. Also you totally flip out and write back that it will be a cold day in hell when she gets her deposit back and then spend two weeks obsessively cleaning the room while whispering “unclean…unclean…”.

And then maybe after all of those morons, you somehow get lucky and your next renter is great. He’s your son’s friend, so you worry at first that maybe this was a bad idea. But he is respectful and sweet and is sad when we are not home because “I miss you guys when you aren’t here”. He pays his rent on time. He is a little scared of making you mad, thanks to some well placed looks and comments about not pissing you off because you’re a fucking genius when it comes to intimidation. But he still says “bye family” when he leaves for work and sits down to tell us all about his day when he gets home. You know, like your own child would do if they weren’t going through a completely selfish and asshole-y phase right now. You have no complaints, things are going wonderfully.

And then?

The fucker has to go and ruin it by DELETING YOUR DVR RECORDING OF THE DR. PHIL CASEY ANTHONY PARENTS’ INTERVIEW.

Yeah.

He’s fucking terrified. He knows what he did and now he’s hiding from me. I haven’t seen him since Monday. I hope he’s prepared for when we meet again, because shit is about to go down, yo. You don’t fuck with a woman’s talk show recordings. Never. Never ever. I haven’t decided what I’m going to do yet. But retribution will be swift and terrible.

My Feet Have Been Sticky For Two Straight Months

So yeah. It's hot outside. I know just about everyone is having a rough summer. But it's particularly bad in the Dallas area because a) we've had more than a month straight of over 100 degree days and b) I live here so therefore it's worse than anywhere else.

I spend all my time running from my house, to my car, to my office, back to my car and back to my house. I only go outside in the early morning or late evening, and only for like 10 minutes at a time. And then I spend an hour bitching about how fucking sweaty I am. My grass is brown and my skin is white.

The good news is that I am going home to Minnesota in less than three weeks, where I will promptly begin working on my tan. Nobody believes that I live in Texas when I go up there because I'm so pale. It's just too hot to be outside here. I mean, the fucking train tracks are warping, people.

Okay, so the Kiddo came home for the summer after his first year in college. I haven't been blogging about him lately on account of some issues he's been having that I don't really want to discuss here. Let's just say it involves a bong in the shape of a skull and mandatory drug testing.

Turns out it's hard when your kid comes home from college. Because he's been gone for 9 months doing stupid shit and feeling all adult and totally the boss of himself and then he comes home in June and doesn't get why his parents make him follow rules. Rules like, "hey, how about you don't treat your bedroom like a trash dump?" and "just because you're 19 doesn't mean you don't have to empty the dishwasher anymore." and my favorite, "maybe don't forget to take your house key with you when you go out on a Tuesday night and then when you come home drunk at 1:30am, don't climb on my roof trying to break into your bedroom and then yell at me when I hear you and call your cell to ask why in the hell you're up there. ASSHOLE."

Please God, don't let him get suspended from college. Or quit. Or whatever. Because I don't think I can handle him living here all year.

And to make things even more special, the Kiddo asked us in June if his buddy could rent one of our bedrooms for the summer. His friend...let's call him Huey...had decided he didn't want to live at home anymore because...guess why? His mom had too many rules. Hot damn, I hope I wasn't this ridiculous when I was 19. I probably was, right? I need to call my mom and apologize.

Me: I don't know about this.
Captain Carl: Oh, it won't be so bad.
Me: Yes it will.
Captain Carl: Nah, it'll be fine.
Me: It'll be a never ending cycle of bad decisions, dirty socks and weird smells.
Captain Carl: He's a nice boy, I feel bad for him.
Me: I feel bad too. For his mother.
Captain Carl: It's only for a couple of months. And we could use the extra cash.

And so I let the Captain talk me into it. I agreed to let Huey rent a room with us on a weekly basis. I was pretty sure it was a bad idea that I would live to regret.

But surprisingly, I've really enjoyed having Huey around. He's a big, dumb, sweet kid. And he's not my kid, so it's easier to deal with his stupidity somehow. And he just might be staying after the summer is over. Which makes me a little nervous, since this means he will be alone in our house while we're in another state for a week. I'm envisioning wild parties...Huey filling my house with slutty girls and booze and my cat cowering in the laundry room behind her litter box.

This is the part where the Captain rolls his eyes and tells me I'm being overly dramatic.

And this is the part where I tell him to shut his face.

At the very least, my floors are gonna be soooo dirty when we get home. Because not one single day goes by where I don't walk through the house and step into something sticky. Seriously, what is it about boys and spilling shit? Yesterday there was a trail from the kitchen table to the other side of the house. And they both stood there staring blankly at me and saying "It wasn't me." No shit. It wasn't me. If I had squinted my eyes, I would have sworn I was talking to 3 year olds.

*sigh*

I should never have let them bring that giant can of Country Time Lemonade mix into the house.

I’m Either The Nicest Person On The Planet, Or The Dumbest. My Vote Is For The Second One.

I don’t know what it is about me this week, but I’ve been bombarded with requests for favors. I don’t know what the hell is going on. Do I have the word “helpful” or “sucker” tattooed on my forehead? Am I too nice? Did I borrow a pen from you two years ago and now it’s payback time?

Shit!

First, I offered to pass along a friend’s resume to a department in my office. That was me just being awesome…she didn’t ask me to do it. But she got an interview the next day and got offered the job. I felt great. I did a good deed! Hooray me! Apparently my friend told everyone what I had done for her, because my email has now been flooded with resumes from not one, not two, but five other people. Five! All of them with greetings like “Hi, Natalie told me your work was hiring. Can you please get me an interview? Signed, person you have never met.”

Then it was a vendor that I used to work with at an old job. He asked me to get him a lunch meeting with my boss. He wants to get his foot in the door, which is a hard thing to do unless you know someone. I like the guy. I sympathize with him. I want him to succeed. So I said yes and got my boss to agree to lunch that day. The next day, he texts me and asks if I could maybe possibly kind of tell him what our current vendor is bidding for jobs? You know, so he could be competitive? Because he really really wants to work for us?

Umm. No. I’m not losing my job for you, dude. Except I don’t know how to say no to awkward, inappropriate requests. So instead I told him I would “try to find out”. And then never told him anything. And now he keeps texting asking me and I’m all “sorry, I’m swamped right now” and “I don’t know where to find the bids” and still he keeps texting and now I have to get up the nerve to tell him no. Because yeah, I’m not doing that.

Then it was a guy I work with. He asked me if I could please “call this number and ask for Sherry and then if she is there, ask her when the next tax assessment class is”. To which I was all “Huh?” and he was all “It’s my ex-wife and she’s psycho and I need to find out if she’s actually working where she says she is so I can get my child support.” and I was all “I don’t want to do that.” and he was all “Why not?” and I was all because I don’t want to get involved in your crazy life. But I only said that last part in my head. What came out of my mouth was “Ummm, okay.” So I called, and thank you baby Jesus, no one answered. So I told him and he was all “Try again!” and I was all “No!” and he was all “Why not?” and I was all “Because it’s weird, okay?”. And then he left me alone. For two hours. Since then, he asks every time he walks by my desk, giving me wounded puppy faces when I say no.

Then! This morning another co-worker told me about how she got so wasted last night and didn’t get home until 4am and omg she might still be a little drunk and she doesn’t remember where she parked her car. So now she has no car, no wallet and no cell phone. She followed that up by asking if she could borrow my car to run to the store “real quick”. And I said yes, because we go to lunch every Friday and we’ve sang karaoke together and how do you say no to a kind of sort of friend when she asks to borrow your car? You don't. If you are me, anyway.

So now I’m sitting at my desk, about to call and ask Shelly about tax assessment classes while texting “I still can’t find the vendor bid files, but I’ll keep looking!” and thinking about where my car might be right now and how I can’t even call to make sure everything is okay because she doesn’t have a cell phone on account of it being in her lost car somewhere in downtown Dallas.

Fuck, I’m an idiot.



Don’t forget, I’m posting today over at Sprocket Ink, the most super cool and totally awesome snarky news website ever! This afternoon I’m writing about how Mariah Carey loves her living room so much that she named one of her babies after it. If I’m lyin’ then I’m dyin’.

Why Can’t My Office Ever Get A Dead Body?

Today a friend of mine posted this status on her Facebook wall:

OMG, there is a car that has been parked outside my office for 3 days and today the police came because there is a dead body in the trunk!

So I got all clappy and jumpy and quickly fired off a comment:

Oh man, I wish something exciting like that would happen at my office. We NEVER get dead bodies!

Then I read all the other comments people had left. And they were all “OMG I’m so sorry!” and “That is terrible!” and “Are you okay?”. And my friend had responded back with “Yes, it was very scary. I started crying when the cops told us it was a woman. I feel so bad for whoever she is.”

And then there was my comment right below her last one.

Yeah.

I really wish I had read the other comments before I posted mine.

But that was really what popped into my head when I read her status. I admit it, I love drama. As long as it isn’t my own drama. I hate my drama. But other people’s drama? Awesome. Fascinating. Especially if it is a complete stranger’s drama.

Now don’t misunderstand me here…it is a terrible thing that happened to that dead-in-a-trunk woman, whoever she is. No one should have that happen to them. Unless they are a pedophile. Or a mass murderer. Or a creepy clown because eeww. So please don’t send me hate emails or leave comments here about what a terrible person I am. I already know that I’m a terrible person. That’s not news, people. That's why I never win the lottery. I just get so excited when something out of the ordinary happens during a typical day. It’s like all sense of reason and propriety fly out the window and I become a raging mob of one. I can’t look away, even if it might put me in danger.

One day at my old job, I was staring out the window avoiding my work when a bunch of police cars pulled up at the far end of the parking lot. And right behind them were two fire trucks.

My mouth fell open and my heart began to beat faster.

One of the police officers jumped out of his car and ran to the trunk, where he pulled out some kind of full-body protective suit.

I stood up. Something awesomely bad was about to go down.

The police officer hurriedly dressed himself in the suit while two others began putting together what looked to be a remote control car, only bigger. More like a remote control tank with a long reachy thingy on it. I looked out past the emergency vehicles and noticed a small cooler sitting in the grass on the median between the lanes going in and out of the parking lot.

Oh. My. God. That’s one of those things that they use to find bombs. That cop is putting on a bomb suit. THERE IS A BOMB IN THAT COOLER!

At this point I am jumping up and down and yelling out fragmented sentences like “Bomb!” and “Hey, outside!” and “Guys, seriously!”.

Finally other people begin to notice what was happening and slowly my window and the others around me filled up with gawkers. Everyone was just as excited as me. For a couple minutes.

And then they all started to panic.

“Shouldn’t we be leaving the building?”
“Why haven’t they told us to evacuate?”
“Do you think it’s really a bomb in there?”
“What if it explodes? Will it blow us up?”
“I need to call my husband!”
“Wait! We can get a better look from Ted’s office!”

That last one came from my mouth. Because I'm all about getting a good view when I'm about to get blown to pieces.

I ran down to Ted’s office and threw myself up against the glass so I wouldn’t miss a moment.

I was all “Can you believe this, Ted? I mean, this is amazing, right?? Who do you think put the bomb there? A disgruntled employee? A lover scorned? A creepy clown?” and Ted was all “Ummm, I’m gonna go, ahhh, to the other side of the building.” and then he disappeared.

I barely heard him. The remote control bomb tank had reached the cooler and was poking around it. Then the police officer in the bomb suit walked over, carefully picked the cooler up and carried it to the back of a white van that had pulled up a few minutes earlier. The cooler was placed inside, the doors were closed and the van drove off. The police officer took off his suit, stood around chatting with the other cops for a few minutes and then they all left as well.

That was it. Nothing. No explosion. No dramatic conclusion. They just drove off. And then I realized there weren’t even any reporters around. There was no bomb after all, apparently.

Well, shit.

I walked dejectedly back to my cubicle. It was all over and everyone else had already sat back down in front of their computers. I was really disappointed that I didn’t get to run screaming from the back of the building. I tried to keep the excitement up by saying things like "Can you believe that just happened?" and "Sooo scary, right?" and "Bombs. Crazy stuff, huh?" as I walked by my co-workers. None of them took the bait, they were totally over it. I went back to work a little more frowny than I had been before the fake bomb incident.

Fifteen minutes later, I noticed a shadow falling over my desk. I looked up. It was Ted.

“Could you please come clean off the hand prints and what appears to be a forehead mark from my office window?”

My life is so boring. If only there was a mass murdering, pedophilic creepy clown dead in a trunk outside my office. A girl can dream, right?

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P.S. Are you member of Studio30+ yet? If not, then get your ass over there and sign up already. Right now they're taking nominations for the 2011 Boomerang Awards. Don't ask what that is, just go over there and nominate me. Or, you know, another S30+ blogger that you like better. Whatever. I don't even care. *sniff*

Continuing To Make A Great Impression With My Sausage Fingers

How is your job going?

I really hate that question. My parents ask it every time we talk and I hear it at least once a week from either Captain Carl or friends or my sister. I hate that question because I don’t ever know what to say. Sometimes I say “I hate it” but that’s not really true. I don’t hate my job. I don’t anything my job. It’s just there. It’s just my job. It’s what I do during the day to pay the bills each month until I can quit and become a photographer full-time. Okay, some days I really do hate it, but who wants to hear me say that? So I just say “Oh it’s fine” and move on to a different topic.

But there are days at my office that I actually enjoy. Usually it’s the days that we screw around and don’t get any real work done. Someone brings in donuts or candy and it's probably a Friday and we're all happy because we're wearing jeans and things get silly and then someone ends up emailing out a stupid and embarrassing picture of me. Because for some reason when I’m having a good time, I decide someone just has to take my picture. I’m all “Check it out! I’m totally doing this super hilarious thing! Take my picture!” and then we all laugh and I think maybe this job isn’t so bad after all. And then I go home and come back in the morning and see the picture that got emailed around and I wonder what the hell I was thinking.

So this month’s picture?

Yeah.

I thought it was hilarious at the time because hahaa omg this mask is sooo funny!

And then it got emailed to everyone in the office.

And then it went in the monthly newsletter. The newsletter that goes out to not only my office but also the parent company’s office. The parent company, y’all. Thanks to my stupid-ass self getting all hopped up on Halloween candy, me and my sausage fingers are now currently touring the CEO’s computer screen.

*sigh*

At least I’ll have something to tell my parents this weekend in response to their question…

How is your job going?

Great! Last week I ate five mini-Twix bars and then wore a Frankenstein mask around the office and someone took a picture of me making a stupid face with sausage finger claws and they totally put it in the company newsletter!

Is that……good?

I’ll probably get a promotion because of it. Or fired. One of the two.

Oh dear....

It's Like Living In Middle Earth. Except Instead Of A Ring, There's A Plunger.

When Captain Carl and I contracted to build our house, we were pretty nervous about it. It was much bigger than the place we were renting at the time and it was in a suburb on the outskirts of the metro…which meant a much longer commute to work and more distance between ourselves and our family who lived here. The only restaurants near us were McDonald’s and a donut place. There was one gas station and no shopping. Not even a Wal Mart, y'all. I mean, I thought a Wal Mart was a prerequisite for a new suburb in the south?

So one day we drove out to see how construction was coming along. The walls were almost ready to go up and we stood out in the street in front of our new house and contemplated brick color and tree selection and ohmygodwhatarewedoing???? And then I heard someone yelling behind us “Are y’all our new neighbors?”. When we turned around, I saw two teeny tiny old people walking towards us. This couple barely came up to my chest, they were that short. And gosh they were sweet! They told us their names were Fanny and Reggie and how happy they were to have a young family moving in soon and how wonderful the neighborhood was and how it was lonely with only two other houses built so far on our street. Captain Carl and I left that day feeling wonderful about our home selection. I mean, everyone wants good neighbors right? It would be so great to have such a friendly and sweet couple across the street!

And then moving day arrived. We closed on our house in August. In Texas. Because we’re geniuses. We hired movers, who could only fit ¾ of our crap into their truck. And so we spent our first day as new homeowners hauling loads of the remaining stuff from the old place to the new. We did that about five times. And then, hot and sweating and exhausted, we began unpacking the essentials for our first night. I worked on the kitchen while the Captain worked out in the garage. Our front door was propped open to allow the movers easy access. And so I didn’t notice when our neighbor lady walked in and sat down on our kitchen window seat.

Fanny: Ya’ll are getting all moved in, huh?

Me: *jumping* Uh, yes. Ummm, when did you get here?

Fanny: Oh I just came in. I figured it was okay since y’all had your front door open.

Me: Oh. Well. Actually, we have it open for the movers.

Fanny: I see you’re cleaning the refrigerator.

Me: Uh, yes I am.

Fanny: Y’all brought your old fridge from your other place then?

Me: Yes.

Fanny: *swings legs back and forth* Y’alls fridge don’t match your stove.

Me: No, we’ll probably buy a new one soon that matches.

Fanny: *kicking heels against our newly painted wall* Huh.

Me: *staring* Is there something I can help you with?

Fanny: No. Just stopping by to say hi.

Me: Oh, well okay. I’m ahhh, a little busy right now.

Fanny: *laughing* I can see that!

Me: So ummm…maybe we could get together sometime after we’re all moved in.

Fanny: Sure! *walks around the kitchen touching things*

Me: So yeah…well….

Reggie: *yelling from outside* Fanny! Where are you, woman???

Fanny: *yelling from inside* I’m in here, for goodness sake!!

Reggie: *walks into house* Well hey there! Cleaning your fridge, huh?

Me: Well, I’m trying to.

Reggie: Well, I ‘spose we ought to let her get back to it, Fanny.

Fanny: Oh you go on. We’re having girl talk.

Me: Ahhh, ha haa….well actually….

Reggie: Come on now…leave her alone. The poor girl is sweating right through her shirt. *stares at my chest*

Fanny: Fine then. I’ll come back later to visit.

Me: Ummm, okay. Well…bye.

Reggie: It’s so nice to have y’all here. Now we’re not the only white folks on the street!

Me: What?

Fanny: *stage whisper* Everyone else is black. One of ‘em is from Nigeria or Africa or something!

Me: Oh, that’s nice.

Fanny: Well sure it is. But you know, it’s nicer when you have some of your own kind around you.

Me: *open mouth stare*


And it pretty much continued from there:

____________________________________________

Reggie: *after walking across the street to watch me trim the front hedges* Doin’ yard work, huh?

Me: Yep.

Reggie: Fanny was watching you out the front window and told me she can’t believe you’re out here doing man’s work.

Me: Excuse me?

Reggie: She says yard work is a man’s job and Captain Carl should be out here.

Me: Well, I don’t mind.

Reggie: Well, you’re doing a good enough job I guess.

Me: Gee, thanks.

Reggie: Pretty hot out here, huh? *stares at my chest*

______________________________________________

Reggie: *stopping us while we are out for a walk * Hey ya’ll!

Captain: Hey Reggie….gotta keep moving, we’ll talk later!

Reggie: Yep yep, I can see y’all are exercising. Good idea, ya’ll probably need it!

Me: What?

Reggie: Well, I tell y’all what. We sure do like our neighbors here on our left side but *stage whisper* them blacks sure do things differently.

Captain: Ohmygod. Let's go. *starts walking away*

Me: Wait, what does that mean?

Reggie: Oh, I don't mean nothing by that. They just seem to do a lot of things backwards. It must be their culture or something to do things wrong.

Captain: *grabs my arm* Ha, well we really gotta go!


______________________________________________

*Doorbell rings*

Me: Not it!

Captain: Oh come on, I answered last time!

Me: I’m not talking to them!

Captain: How do you know it’s them?

Me: It’s always them!

Captain: Fine. *opens door* Hey Reggie.

Reggie: Hey there, Captain. Listen, I don’t suppose y’all have a plunger I could borrow?

Captain: Ummm, what for?

Reggie: Well see, my grandson’s over this week and I tell you what, that boy has some intestinal problems.

Captain: *horrified face* Uh huh….

Reggie: Well, he left the biggest load I’ve ever seen in our toilet and it’s all backed up. You would never believe that it came out of an 8 year old.

Captain: Well…ummm..

Me: *yelling from my hiding place* We don’t have one!

Reggie: What’s that?

Captain: Yeah, believe it or not we don’t have a plunger.

Reggie: You don’t say? Well, alright then.

Captain: This is just a thought, but maybe you could drive over to the hardware store and pick one up.

Reggie: Well I guess I might do that. Y’all need me to get you one too?

____________________________________________

*doorbell rings*

Me: Not it!

*silence*

Me: Well shit, I’m the only one home. *answers door* Hi Fanny.

Fanny: I got my grandson with me today.

Me: I see that.

Grandson: *stares at my chest*

Fanny: *walks into my house* Come on Davy.

Me: Ummm, is there something you need? Why does he have that big stick?

Fanny: Oh who knows. He just picks things up outside. One time he came home with a dead snake and a pair of ladies underpants.

Me: *stare*

Fanny: I wondered if I could have some sugar.

Me: Okay, how much?

Fanny: You got a bag I could take?

Me: A whole bag?

Grandson: *swinging giant tree limb around my kitchen*

Me: Be carefully with that please!

Fanny: Oh he’s alright. Yeah, I need a whole bag.

Me: Well, I can give you a couple cups.

Fanny: Oh nevermind, that’s not enough.

Grandson: *banging giant tree limb against my wall*

Me: Hey, stop it!

Fanny: Not to worry. That’ll touch up with a little paint.

____________________________________________

And this is why we never answer our door or walk around outside in the daylight anymore. On account of our redneck racist hobbit neighbors.

I Wonder If This Will Give Me A Yeast Infection

I wrote a long and actually quite serious post this morning, but I decided to save that one for tomorrow in order to share this with you instead. You’re welcome.

I just went to the ladies room and all the stalls were full and I opened a new tampon and then dropped it on the floor and it rolled out under the stall and I was so panicked that I didn’t pull up my pants before I ran out there to pick it up. And then I had to use it because I only brought one with me to the bathroom. So now I have office bathroom floor in my vagina.

I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried, people.

Breaking Up Is (Kind Of Not Really) Hard To Do

Update on the teenage love drama from last week:

The Kiddo broke up with Bunny.

Two days later, he came home with three hickeys on his neck.

From a girl who is not Bunny.

We made jokes about how deeply in love he must have been to have waited a whole 48 hours before messing around with someone else.

He pretended to be offended.

Until another girl texted him.

Then he asked if he could go out for awhile to “do stuff”.

In conclusion:

My son is a slut.

I need a good resource for bulk condom orders.

I Believe The Children Are Our Future. Which Is Why I'm Terrified.

The Kiddo decided to have a poker party at the house last Saturday night. I made him vacuum and clean up cat puke and scrub the toilet before I let his friends come over and he was all “Why am I scrubbing the toilet in your bathroom? They won’t be using it.” and I was all “Pipe down there, Cinderella.” Because I’m an awesome mom who knows an opportunity when she sees it, thankyouverymuch.

Anyway, around 8pm the doorbell rang and a huge gaggle of 18 year old boys walked in and suddenly my house was filled with shaggy hair and baggy pants and Axe body spray. One by one, they walked upstairs after mumbling “hey” or “how’s it going” or “yo” in our general direction. I had only seen a few of these boys before, the rest were a mystery to me. So a few hours, five pizzas, two twelve packs of Dr. Pepper and many cries of “dude!” and “you douche!” later, everyone goes home. It wasn’t too bad, actually. They weren’t too loud and testosterone-y on account of the party being sans girls. I kept thinking to myself “only a few more months of this before he goes to college and then my house will be quiet and empty” and I got a little teary-eyed. At one point, the Captain looked over and caught me wiping my eyes and asked what was wrong. When I told him what I was thinking about, he was all “I know!” and pumped his fist in the air. So yeah, we’re feeling a little differently about the Kiddo’s upcoming departure.

So everyone leaves and the Kiddo flops down on the couch next to Captain Carl.

Me: Did you have fun?
Kiddo: Yep. It was cool.
Captain: Who were all those kids?
Kiddo: Just my dudes.
Me: I only recognized a couple of them. Who was the one wearing the sideways baseball cap?
Kiddo: That’s Nards.
Captain: What?
Kiddo: Nards.
Me: His name is Nards?
Kiddo: Well, his name is Jason. We call him Nards.
Me: Wh...
Captain: *points at me* Do not ask him why.
Me: What about the really tall kid?
Kiddo: That’s Black Kid.
Me: I know he’s black, I have eyes. What’s his name?
Kiddo: That is his name.
Captain: Son, do we need to have a talk about racism?
Kiddo: No, for real. He calls me White Kid and I call him Black Kid. It’s our thing.
Me: Awesome. You are totally not getting beaten up when you go to college.
Kiddo: What?
Captain: Who were the rest of them?
Kiddo: Well, there’s B-ry, Stony, G-Man, you already know Pothead and M-Dog, Twat and J-Whiz.
Captain: Holy hell.
Me: Which one was J-Whiz?
Kiddo: The one with the jewfro.
Me: Yep. Totally not getting beaten up.
Captain: So it’s one black kid, one jewish kid and a bunch of rednecks in your group.
Kiddo: We’re diverse and kick ass.
Me: You guys are like the United Nations of morons.
Kiddo: Yeah, and your mom is our president.
Captain: Ooooh snap.
Me: *sigh* I’d like to get upset about that comment, but it’s just too awesome.
Kiddo: You taught me everything you know.
Me: I know. I’m your Obi-wan.
Kiddo: Nah, I already have an Obi-wan. He couldn’t come tonight because he’s grounded for shaving his cat.
Captain: Of course he is.

Perhaps now is a good time to remind y’all that these boys are old enough to vote. Our country's future? This is it, America. Cat shavers and kids named Twat. Awesome.

I Didn't See Anything About This Shit In My Parenting Handbook

The Scene: It's 8pm on Saturday night. We just got back from dinner out with our lovely son and his lovely girlfriend. Let's call her Bunny. Captain Carl is watching tv with Renty, the Kiddo and Bunny are upstairs in the media room and I'm in my bathroom tinkling delicately in my (of course) super clean water closet. That's what we fancy folks call a toilet, y'all.

*thump* *thump* *thump*

Hmmmm, what is that?

*thump* *thump* *thump*

Is that the wind?

*thump* *thump* *thump* *thump*

It can't be the wind. It's completely still outside.

*thump* *thump* *thump* *thump* *squeak*

Huh. The Kiddo's room is right above me, but they're on the other side of the house right now.

*thump* *thump* *squeak* *squeak* *thump*

Wait. No way...

*thump* *squeak* *squeak* *squeak* *thump* *thump* *thump*

Ohmygod. It can't be. He wouldn't dare in my house while we're downstairs....

*thump thump thump thump thumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthump*

OH HELLLLLLL TO THE NO!

*me stomping out into the living room*

Me: Have you checked on your son lately?
Captain Carl: Nope.
Me: I suggest that you do. Right now.
Captain Carl: It's your turn. I always check on him when Bunny is over here.
Me: You don't understand. You need to go upstairs and check. on. him. right. now.
Captain Carl: I always do it, you go.
Me: Fine!

*me running up the stairs*

Media room? Empty.
The Kiddo's room? Door closed.

*me knocking on the door with my fist* BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG!

Kiddo: Ummm, what?
Me: You know what! Open the hell up!!

*10 second pause before door opens*

Kiddo: *rumpled and guilty looking* What's up?
Me: *breathing heavily* I heard you.
Kiddo: *stare*
Me: I heard you. In my bathroom.
Kiddo: Sorry.
Me: *shaky finger point* No you're not! You're just sorry you got caught!
Bunny: *staring mortified at the ceiling from her prone position on my son's bed*
Me: *manic crazy face* You know the rules!! You are to never...NEVER!!! do that in my house! You are to keep your bedroom door open AT ALL TIMES when Bunny is here and you WILL NOT do anything involving the words BOOB, BUTT, VAGINA, PENIS, BALLS, SEX, MOUTHS OR HOLES while you are under our roof!
Kiddo: *terrified stare* I know.
Me: *eyes bulging* You know??? YOU KNOW??? *more shaky finger pointing* If you know, then explain to me why I could hear YOUR BED BANGING AGAINST THE WALL while I was peeing!! Huh?? Can you explain please??? CAN YOU????
Kiddo: No.
Me: You forgot that I can hear everything, didn't you???
Kiddo: Yes.
Me: When I told you I can hear everything, I meant that I can hear EVERYTHING. I can hear when you are up here playing video games at 2am on a school night. I can hear when you are watching porn on your computer. Oh yes, I certainly can. I can even hear when you are texting people. I'm like a goddamn bat with my freaky supersonic hearing. So I can definitely hear when you are SCREWING YOUR GIRLFRIEND AT 8PM ON A SATURDAY!
Kiddo: Yes ma'am.
Me: *shaky breath* Okay. *slams door wide open against the wall* Open. Forever. *points at Bunny* You. Go home. Now.
Kiddo: Yes ma'am.
Bunny: *crying in a ball on the bed*

*me walking downstairs*

Captain Carl: What happened?
Me: Oh not much. Just heard your son having wild monkey sex with his girlfriend while I was peeing. You know, the usual.
Captain Carl: Really??
Me: Oh yeah.
Captain Carl: The little shit.
Me: Oh yeah.
Captain Carl: You okay? You look a little upset and ummmm, Parkinson's-ish??
Me: *looks at shaking hands* I need a drink.

The End.

P.S. Now y'all know why I haven't been blogging or commenting much. You know, on account of all the time I have to spend keeping my son from humping every moment of the day.

What The Hell, Me?

Seriously, what am I doing at work today? I photographed a wedding last night (for my second, more creative job). I'm exhausted. This is my last week of work at my old job.

Clearly I'm an idiot. Because my old job doesn't give enough of a shit about me and my teeny tiny paycheck to give me more money to stay, and yet? I'm still here. Actually working after giving my two week notice. I mean, does anyone actually do that?

I should have taken this week as vacation. But no, Miss Responsible has decided to be here every day this week so that she can train the girl taking over for her. And then start her new job next Monday. Giving herself no time off in between. And? No earned vacation for several months at the new job, which means no time off for a long time to come.

I could just smack myself. I could totally karate chop my stupid self in my stupid face.

I told my boss this morning that I'm probably not going to show up on Thursday because I really need a day off and I don't want it to be Friday because that's when everyone here is throwing me a going-away happy hour. I'm not missing that shit. And when I told him, he just stared at me and I could practically hear his thoughts... "She has to train the new girl, she cannot take a day off."

Well fuck that shit, asshole. I have two weeks of vacation built up here and deserve at least one day. Even though it means one less day of training my replacement. Bitch can figure it out her damn self. You people treated me like crap and refused to give me pay raises for over four years now. I hope my replacement sucks. So there.

*sticks tongue out*
*raises fists to the sky*
*screams*

Wolverines!!!!!

*sigh*

Damn, I'm tired.

Yes, This Makes Total Sense aka The Morons Living In My House Strike Again

Our new renter moves in tonight, so Bambi had to be out on Saturday in order for us to get the room ready for him. She showed up at the house around 4pm that day and then spent all night packing and cleaning the bathroom. And when I say all night, I mean literally all night. I went to bed at midnight and she was still banging around up there. So much for leaving on Saturday. But she did leave early on Sunday. Very early. 3:30 in the morning early. Captain Carl decided to stay up Saturday night until she was done, just to be sure nothing stupid was going on. She did come down at one point and ask if she could put some jeans in the dryer and the Captain was all "Ummmm, no. It's 2am and my wife is sleeping" because I guess 19 year olds don't think about details like that. Because they're morons.

Anyway, Bambi had decided to move up to one of our country's eastern states (good luck, Connecticut!), and I never really heard why. The Captain mentioned once that he thought she was going there to attend school for the summer, but I never got any details. So on Sunday morning, Captain Carl came to bed at 3:30am and told me that Eco and Kool Aid just took "them" to the airport. So my first question was "At 3:30??" and then my second question was "Them??".

Apparently Bambi had a guy staying with her in our house for four days and I had no idea. He was really quiet and I guess never ate unless she brought him food. He was like Harry Potter under the stairs or something. This guy flew here four days ago from Connecticut. She met him online and I don't know what this girl said to him....but whatever it was, it must have been really good because he's paying for her to move up there and live with him for free. Someone she'd never met in person before. Yep, I'm sure that's gonna work out.

So she's all Miss Packy Pack and then her brother drives her and her new boyfriend to the airport at 3:30 in the morning. And no, there was no 4:30am flight to catch...their flight was not until 8am. Captain Carl explained to me that Eco had agreed to drive them to the airport, but he didn't want to "get up early" so he told Bambi she had to go as soon as she was done packing. Ummm, 3:30am isn't early?? Huh. So rather than, oh I don't know, getting packed up earlier in the day and going to bed at night and getting up at 6am like a normal smart person would do, they stayed up all night and then sat at the airport for hours waiting for their flight.

Who are these people??? Seriously! I mean, who agrees to pay a stranger's way through life based only on an internet relationship? And who the hell thinks it's logical to go to the airport at 3:30 in the morning and several hours before their flight? And how did we luck out and have these people living in our house for 6 months?

And here's the best part. She left all her shit at our house. Dozens of boxes, plants, litter box, a desk, her moped.....all the things most people take with them when they move. So even though Bambi was gone yesterday, her crap was still there. When she left in the wee hours of the morning, she told Captain Carl that some guy named Charro or Champo or something like that was going to come at 9am and pick up all her stuff. Yeah, dude didn't show until 8pm. But the good news is, he took Eco and Kool Aid's huge aquarium that they were keeping their hermit crabs in and was now sitting empty on the bathroom floor. I have no idea why two hermit crabs needed an aquarium large enough for a baby octopus or why they thought it was a good idea to just dump it on the bathroom floor, but whatever. It's gone and they will be too in 8 days! I just hope Bambi's moped will be gone by then, because it was still sitting in our driveway this morning when I left for work. Awesome.

I'm getting drunk on June 9....really really drunk.

Quantum of Bad Judgement

Big news! Captain Carl took me on a date Friday night. I know!! Not only did we have dinner, but we also....get this....saw a movie. Gasp! Two date-like activities in one night! Holy crap on a cracker.

So we decided to see Quantum of Solace...it was pretty good. Lots of chasing and shooting and the hotness that is Daniel Craig or whatever his name is because I really don't care what his name is, he is lickable and that is all the matters.

And of course, because we are magnets for idiots, a couple sat down behind us with 3 children under the age 5. TO SEE A JAMES BOND MOVIE. Nice. Not at all inappropriate. Fucking dumbasses.

I know my last post was all about how cool and forward thinking our parenting style is...but come on dudes. Even I wouldn't take a 3 year old to a movie that is guaranteed to have people getting killed in just about every fashion imaginable and naked chicks. Side note...this James Bond edition was disappointingly short on naked chicks. Not even cold weather nipples poking through a shirt. I think maybe there was a side boob in silhouette in the opening credits, and those chicks aren't even real...they are cartoons. Sigh.

Anyway, I spent about 10 minutes fuming to Captain Carl in a stage-whisper about how irresponsible and stupid some people are. And we see this shit every time we go to the movies. Someone actually brought a baby to see Knocked Up. Yeah, it was too little to even be able to watch the movie, and yeah it is kind of funny ironic when you think about a baby in a theater watching a movie about having a baby...but still. Dumb.

Turns out those 3 kids were incredibly well-behaved through the whole two hours of Quantumness. So I couldn't decide if that was because their parents manage to discipline their children or if it was because the kids were silent because they were shoveling scary images into their brains in order to have some dandy nightmares later. Either way, I got to watch my movie in peace. Which is more than I can say for the time I had to take the kiddo on his first date to see "Balls of Fury" and sat amongst about 100 teenagers laughing at butt and sex jokes. Ahhh, good times.

But come on people! Get a babysitter or go see something age appropriate, for nut's sake!