Texting with the Kiddo...
Kiddo: Hey the deposit came through today. Thank you thank you thank you!
Me: G
Me: Damn it, that was supposed say "Good".
Kiddo: I've already made $215 at KFC, but I won't get it until the next paycheck. :-(
Me: When does the next paycheck come?
Kiddo: Not for two more weeks.
Me: Has Bunny found a job yet?
Side note...I forgot to tell you guys that he got back together with Bunny on account of how she followed him and enrolled at his college and I'm not sure what the sequence of events was after that except that I suppose at one point his penis accidentally fell into her vagina and now they are living together over the summer in a house 6 miles from campus with a Mexican guy named Geronimo. I'm not even kidding. And yes, I will go into more detail about Geronimo, but not today. Blogging 101, dudes...always keep them wanting more.
So. Anyway...
Me: Has Bunny found a job yet?
Kiddo: Yes, she works at KFC too.
Me: So y'all work together. Awwww, so cute.
Kiddo: Yup. Pretty damn lucky and convenient.
Me: Y'all might as well just go ahead and get married and start having babies.
*phone silence*
Me: I'M KIDDING.
*longer phone silence*
Me: You know, because that would be ridiculous and I'm just being hilarious over here.
*more phone silence*
Me: Ok, your silence makes me think you already ARE having babies and are just trying to find a way to tell me so that I don't totally freak out and have a panic attack and OMG HOW AM I GOING TO TELL YOUR FATHER I'M TOO YOUNG TO BE A GRANDMOTHER!!!!
*still more phone silence*
Me: Stop smoking that bowl/having sex and answer your stepmother before she passes out!
*more mother fucking phone silence*
Me: I swear to all that is good and holy that if you do not answer me RIGHT NOW I WILL DRIVE DOWN THERE AND CUT YOUR PRIVATE PARTS OFF.
Kiddo: Calm down, I was in the bathroom. And may I just say oh hellllllll no to babies.
Me: Oh. Okay.
Me: That was totally hilarious, right? Me pretending to freak out. heh heh
Kiddo: Right. Pretending.
So. Guess who's getting a box full of condoms sent to him tomorrow?
Showing posts with label The Kiddo. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Kiddo. Show all posts
Monday, June 25, 2012
Monday, August 8, 2011
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 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.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Is Laundry Coma A Real Thing? Quick, Somebody Google It Before I Blackout.
The Kiddo came home from college for the summer last week. At first I was all jumpy and clappy because I have missed that boy so much during the last nine months. Then right in the middle of all that excitement, I was all “oh shit, the boy is coming home.” Because I’ve kind of enjoyed him not being there.
I know. Great mother’s of the world unite and beat me with a stick! How dare I enjoy my baby leaving the nest.
Meh.
I met Captain Carl when the Kiddo was 8 years old. It took him a long time to warm up to me. He was convinced I would try to replace his mother and he felt guilty for liking me. He was an adorable little boy, all buck teeth and freckles. He insisted that his hair be cut in Pee Wee Herman fashion, so obviously I fell in love with him immediately. Oh man, just thinking about him at that age makes me want to squeeze his little face off.
It might have taken him awhile to warm up to me, but we had (and continue to have) a great relationship once he did. He called me his “buffer”…the voice of reason between his dad and himself when things got heated. He would climb into my lap for no reason at all, except to grind his bony butt into my thigh and laugh when I tickled his back. He still does that, actually.
He never called me mom. Right before I married his dad, he asked me what he was supposed to call me.
Me: What do you want to call me?
Kiddo: Not mom. That would be weird, since I already have one.
Me: Okay.
Kiddo: Can I just keep calling you Marcy?
Me: Absolutely.
And so, I’m just Marcy to him. I took it as a compliment that he felt comfortable enough to tell me he didn’t want to call me mom. Although he has called me that when introducing me to people. To keep things simple, probably. But I still get a little thrill when he does it. Because as far as I’m concerned, he is my son. Not my stepson. I’ve raised him as my own. He has lived in my care for almost double the amount of time he lived in his mother’s.
Anyway, my point was going to be that even though I was all sad face about him going away to college and I did miss him a lot, I actually enjoyed the time the Captain and I have had alone. We’ve never been just “us”. He came with a ready-made family, so we didn’t get a honeymoon period. Since the Kiddo has been away at school, we’ve had more date nights and we actually socialize with grown ups sometimes. Listening to the Kiddo practice his trumpet was replaced with listening to, well, nothing. I found that I didn’t worry as much about what the boy was up to all the time. My evenings were freed up from obsessing over where he might be and the illegal/dangerous/stupid things he could be doing right at that moment. I still worried, but it was in a more abstract way. My mind had more room for other thoughts.
But still, I could not wait for the Kiddo to come home. So now he is and immediately my mind went back to that place where I worried more. Would he be able to find a summer job? He really needs a haircut, I wonder if I could get him in for one today? I hope he doesn’t go out tonight with that kid I hate…he’s nothing but trouble. He better not try to hook up with Bunny while he’s home.
Etc, etc, etc.
And of course, I wondered if he had any clean underwear. I don’t why it’s this way with mothers, but we seem to be in a constant state of underwear concern for our children. When I asked the Kiddo if he needed any laundry done, he laughed. And then he brought me all of this.
Hells bells.
For those of you with untrained laundry eyes, that right there? That’s seven loads of laundry on my floor. SEVEN. For one person.
Me: Son, when was the last time you did your laundry?
Kiddo: Not that long ago. I was going to do it before I came home but I was out of detergent.
Me: What is that? Is that mud?
Kiddo: Yep.
Me: On all of your jeans?
Kiddo: I went fishing a lot.
Me: Where were you fishing?
Kiddo: In the river.
Me: I think we’ll just throw all these socks away and get you new ones.
Kiddo: Why?
Me: Because they’re black and they should be white. And most of them have holes.
Kiddo: Hey, did I tell you that I killed a water moccasin when I went fishing?
Me: *look of horror face* No.
Kiddo: Yeah!
Me: Why?
Kiddo: Because it tried to take my lure, but it got caught on it.
Me: So you killed it?
Kiddo: I had to. I cut it’s head off.
Me: Ohmygod. Aren’t water moccasins poisonous?
Kiddo: *laughs* Yeah. It was awesome.
Me: Ummmm…you still have your health insurance card in your wallet, right?
Kiddo: Yeah. Why?
Me: Oh, just…making sure.
*sigh*
Worry worry worry.
I know. Great mother’s of the world unite and beat me with a stick! How dare I enjoy my baby leaving the nest.
Meh.
I met Captain Carl when the Kiddo was 8 years old. It took him a long time to warm up to me. He was convinced I would try to replace his mother and he felt guilty for liking me. He was an adorable little boy, all buck teeth and freckles. He insisted that his hair be cut in Pee Wee Herman fashion, so obviously I fell in love with him immediately. Oh man, just thinking about him at that age makes me want to squeeze his little face off.
It might have taken him awhile to warm up to me, but we had (and continue to have) a great relationship once he did. He called me his “buffer”…the voice of reason between his dad and himself when things got heated. He would climb into my lap for no reason at all, except to grind his bony butt into my thigh and laugh when I tickled his back. He still does that, actually.
He never called me mom. Right before I married his dad, he asked me what he was supposed to call me.
Me: What do you want to call me?
Kiddo: Not mom. That would be weird, since I already have one.
Me: Okay.
Kiddo: Can I just keep calling you Marcy?
Me: Absolutely.
And so, I’m just Marcy to him. I took it as a compliment that he felt comfortable enough to tell me he didn’t want to call me mom. Although he has called me that when introducing me to people. To keep things simple, probably. But I still get a little thrill when he does it. Because as far as I’m concerned, he is my son. Not my stepson. I’ve raised him as my own. He has lived in my care for almost double the amount of time he lived in his mother’s.
Anyway, my point was going to be that even though I was all sad face about him going away to college and I did miss him a lot, I actually enjoyed the time the Captain and I have had alone. We’ve never been just “us”. He came with a ready-made family, so we didn’t get a honeymoon period. Since the Kiddo has been away at school, we’ve had more date nights and we actually socialize with grown ups sometimes. Listening to the Kiddo practice his trumpet was replaced with listening to, well, nothing. I found that I didn’t worry as much about what the boy was up to all the time. My evenings were freed up from obsessing over where he might be and the illegal/dangerous/stupid things he could be doing right at that moment. I still worried, but it was in a more abstract way. My mind had more room for other thoughts.
But still, I could not wait for the Kiddo to come home. So now he is and immediately my mind went back to that place where I worried more. Would he be able to find a summer job? He really needs a haircut, I wonder if I could get him in for one today? I hope he doesn’t go out tonight with that kid I hate…he’s nothing but trouble. He better not try to hook up with Bunny while he’s home.
Etc, etc, etc.
And of course, I wondered if he had any clean underwear. I don’t why it’s this way with mothers, but we seem to be in a constant state of underwear concern for our children. When I asked the Kiddo if he needed any laundry done, he laughed. And then he brought me all of this.
Hells bells.
For those of you with untrained laundry eyes, that right there? That’s seven loads of laundry on my floor. SEVEN. For one person.
Me: Son, when was the last time you did your laundry?
Kiddo: Not that long ago. I was going to do it before I came home but I was out of detergent.
Me: What is that? Is that mud?
Kiddo: Yep.
Me: On all of your jeans?
Kiddo: I went fishing a lot.
Me: Where were you fishing?
Kiddo: In the river.
Me: I think we’ll just throw all these socks away and get you new ones.
Kiddo: Why?
Me: Because they’re black and they should be white. And most of them have holes.
Kiddo: Hey, did I tell you that I killed a water moccasin when I went fishing?
Me: *look of horror face* No.
Kiddo: Yeah!
Me: Why?
Kiddo: Because it tried to take my lure, but it got caught on it.
Me: So you killed it?
Kiddo: I had to. I cut it’s head off.
Me: Ohmygod. Aren’t water moccasins poisonous?
Kiddo: *laughs* Yeah. It was awesome.
Me: Ummmm…you still have your health insurance card in your wallet, right?
Kiddo: Yeah. Why?
Me: Oh, just…making sure.
*sigh*
Worry worry worry.
Monday, April 25, 2011
On The Positive Side, I Now Have A Gay 19 Year Old Boyfriend
In the past 48 hours I have done all of the following:
1. Visited my in-laws for Easter weekend.
2. Ate approximately 53 mini chocolate eggs.
3. Drank two very large top shelf margaritas on my father-in-law’s dime.
4. Ate a lot of chips and salsa while drinking said margaritas.
5. Got drunk and flirted with my son’s 19 year old gay friend while Captain Carl laughed his ass off.
6. Was reminded by my son of the time I got drunk and flirted with his other, non-gay friend by singing Prince's "Sexy Motherfucker" to him.
7. Got called a cougar by Captain Carl. Made clawing motion and sounds vaguely resembling cat noises.
8. Puked my guts out at three in the morning.
9. Refused to speak to Captain Carl after he got a speeding ticket.
10.Drove through torrential rain and hail. Promised God I would never flirt with my son's friends or be hung over on Easter again if we got home safely.
11. Got home safely. So long, younger men and margaritas. Damn it.
And that was how I celebrated the resurrection of Christ this year.
My mother would be so disappointed. So would, you know...Jesus.
p.s. The gay kid loved it.
p.p.s. So did the non-gay one. Because I'm just that awesome. Rawr.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
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.
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?
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Today I’d Like To Punch All Teenage Girls In Their Collective Faces
Only because they are so stupid. Oh so so so stupid. Still. I was really hoping they would have evolved a bit since I was one 20 years ago. But no. Nope. They are exactly the same, except with less rolling of the jeans and mall bangs.
Bunny is still moping over my boy. It’s been 3 months since he broke up with her. I remember what it’s like to get dumped when you are that age and I know it sometimes takes longer than 3 months to get over it. But seriously. The girl needs to stop, because my son? Not really thinking about her. I want to grab her by her cute little arms and shake her and yell “snap out of it!".
I have tried to talking to her several times over the summer. I’ve told her in the nicest way possible that he’s not ready to be the young man she wants him to be. And she nods her head and says she gets it, but girlfriend is lying because she keeps posting shit like this on her facebook wall.
9-8-10…the day that should have been but never was.
Yesterday would have been their 1st dating anniversary if they had stayed together.
Yeah. It’s just that pathetic, y’all.
Bunny is still moping over my boy. It’s been 3 months since he broke up with her. I remember what it’s like to get dumped when you are that age and I know it sometimes takes longer than 3 months to get over it. But seriously. The girl needs to stop, because my son? Not really thinking about her. I want to grab her by her cute little arms and shake her and yell “snap out of it!".
I have tried to talking to her several times over the summer. I’ve told her in the nicest way possible that he’s not ready to be the young man she wants him to be. And she nods her head and says she gets it, but girlfriend is lying because she keeps posting shit like this on her facebook wall.
9-8-10…the day that should have been but never was.
Yesterday would have been their 1st dating anniversary if they had stayed together.
Yeah. It’s just that pathetic, y’all.
The girl is in her senior year. The boy she is hung up on is now in college and has moved on. Way way on. So I’m thinking about sending her another email with all the for reals true reasons why she needs to get over it.
Here's what I've got so far...
1. The boy has already been with at least two girls at college. I know this because for some reason, he feels the need to share this information with his father.
2. See number 1 above. See it a lot. Lots and lots of times. Burn it into your brain. The boy is a man whore. He will be until at least the age of 23. I cannot stress this enough. He asked us for two things before he left for college: A laptop and a monthly supply of condoms. This is not a joke. I wish it were, but it srsly is so not a joke.
3. I love him, but damn the boy is gross. I mean, I am seriously concerned for his dental hygiene while he is away at college. Because I was still reminding him the week before he moved to brush his teeth every day. So basically he's walking around with fuzzy stink teeth. You don't want nay part of that, my dear.
4. Did I mention he’s gross? Because he’ll wear dirty socks and underwear if he’s out of clean ones. Several times.
5. Let’s play a game, shall we? I’ll ask you a question and you say the first thing that comes to your mind. Okay, here we go. Apushoversayswhat?
6. He thinks he’s God’s gift to women. Please please please…I beg you to stop perpetuating that delusion.
7. Did I mention the dirty underwear thing?
8. He's an uninformed voter and will probably vote straight Republican like his great-grandfather. Save yourself before it's too late. I bring you this message from the inside. It's not pretty here. There are guns and Newt Gingrich biographies. Run.
9. He loves Buckethead.
10. He's 18 years old. Therefore, he is a jerkface. To you. Not to me. To me he is my sweet, loving baby. To you he is a jerkface. This is something you already know but seem to be willing to forget. Need I remind you of the time he dumped a water bottle on you because "it would be freakin' hilarious"? Yeah. Jerkface.
And then I'm going to wrap it up with this little bit of advice...
You’re a sweet girl, but seriously…you need to grow a set and stop posting that shit on facebook. You are not helping your cause here. Boys don’t want to read that…it makes them run faster and further away. Not only will you never hear from my boy again, all the other boys will avoid you too. What you need to do is post something like “So glad I’m single! Having the best time porking all your loser friends that didn’t go to college and are still living at home!” Then say you’re thinking about becoming bisexual.
p.s. I apologize for that last one. Totally inappropriate for me to say that. But it would totally work if you are looking for a date on Friday night. Just sayin’. You didn’t hear it from me.
Friday, August 27, 2010
Damn You, Banana
I know I know. I haven't been around much lately. I have my reasons.
First? Last Saturday I bit into a banana and one of my crowns came off my tooth and I swallowed it before I noticed. A fucking banana, y'all. The softest fruit on the planet ripped a dental crown that is attached with fucking cement right off the remaining nub-of-what-was-once-an-awesome-but-is-now-felled-due-to-a-hairline-fracture tooth. Yes, that sentence just happened.
So I was sitting there, all eating my banana and then I swallowed (just like your mom did last night) and I was all huh, something feels weird and then I stuck my tongue over on the side of my mouth and holy shit, my crown is gone. So of course I start frantically looking around my chair for it, like it somehow walked out of my mouth without my knowledge. Then I realized that I swallowed it (twss). So I looked over at Captain Carl with my hand over my mouth and buggy eyes and he was all "What's the matter?" and I was all *horrified stare* and he was all "What happened?" and I was all "I just swallowed my crown!" and he was all "What?" and I was all "I. JUST. SWALLOWED. MY. CROWN." and he was all "No way" and I was all "Ohmygod" and he was all "Throw up!" and I was all "No!".
And then the pain kicked in. I had a raw, stub of a tooth exposed to the elements. So I cried. And Captain Carl was all "How can you feel anything? Didn't you have a root canal before they crowned it?" and I was all "No, are they supposed to do that?" and he was all "Yes" and I was all "Fucking dentist!". So I found another dentist that was open on Saturday, went to see her with greasy Saturday morning hair and banana breath and she was all "I'll do a root canal and get a temporary crown on there" and I was all "Yes please" and she was all "But not until Monday" and I was all stabbing her in the face. But then she prescribed vicodin for the pain so I totally made out with her.
All this means that sometime this week I literally flushed $500 down the toilet.
Then!
We moved the Kiddo to college and into his dorm on Sunday. He was pretty much all jumpy and clappy and excited and I was pretty much all pretend-happy but wearing-my-sunglasses-all-day-even-inside-because-my-eyes-kept-leaking. And now he's there and not here and Captain Carl was all braggy last week about how he was going to be so excited about being alone! like newlyweds! except with a renter living upstairs! And then on Monday he asked me if I'd been in the Kiddo's room yet and I was all "No, I can't go in there yet" and he was all "It looks like a hotel room with all his stuff gone" and then he burst into tears. Heh heh. Told ya.
Then!
On Monday morning, I got my root canal done but only half of it because the dentist "didn't have time to do the whole thing since it was an emergency appointment". Which means I get to go back in two weeks for a second root canal. Which is extra special awesome. And! This new dentist is good, but she doesn't use the laughing gas like my old shitty dentist did. Which means instead of laughing and peacefully drifting towards the ceiling during my root canal, I was instead sweating and trying not to cry and/or gag. And then on my way out I got to write a check for $620.
Then!
Yesterday I got a sinus infection. And a yeast infection. My body is awesome at infections. I'm oozing from almost every orifice.
And that's why I haven't been around much. Pretty much glad you asked, right?
First? Last Saturday I bit into a banana and one of my crowns came off my tooth and I swallowed it before I noticed. A fucking banana, y'all. The softest fruit on the planet ripped a dental crown that is attached with fucking cement right off the remaining nub-of-what-was-once-an-awesome-but-is-now-felled-due-to-a-hairline-fracture tooth. Yes, that sentence just happened.
So I was sitting there, all eating my banana and then I swallowed (just like your mom did last night) and I was all huh, something feels weird and then I stuck my tongue over on the side of my mouth and holy shit, my crown is gone. So of course I start frantically looking around my chair for it, like it somehow walked out of my mouth without my knowledge. Then I realized that I swallowed it (twss). So I looked over at Captain Carl with my hand over my mouth and buggy eyes and he was all "What's the matter?" and I was all *horrified stare* and he was all "What happened?" and I was all "I just swallowed my crown!" and he was all "What?" and I was all "I. JUST. SWALLOWED. MY. CROWN." and he was all "No way" and I was all "Ohmygod" and he was all "Throw up!" and I was all "No!".
And then the pain kicked in. I had a raw, stub of a tooth exposed to the elements. So I cried. And Captain Carl was all "How can you feel anything? Didn't you have a root canal before they crowned it?" and I was all "No, are they supposed to do that?" and he was all "Yes" and I was all "Fucking dentist!". So I found another dentist that was open on Saturday, went to see her with greasy Saturday morning hair and banana breath and she was all "I'll do a root canal and get a temporary crown on there" and I was all "Yes please" and she was all "But not until Monday" and I was all stabbing her in the face. But then she prescribed vicodin for the pain so I totally made out with her.
All this means that sometime this week I literally flushed $500 down the toilet.
Then!
We moved the Kiddo to college and into his dorm on Sunday. He was pretty much all jumpy and clappy and excited and I was pretty much all pretend-happy but wearing-my-sunglasses-all-day-even-inside-because-my-eyes-kept-leaking. And now he's there and not here and Captain Carl was all braggy last week about how he was going to be so excited about being alone! like newlyweds! except with a renter living upstairs! And then on Monday he asked me if I'd been in the Kiddo's room yet and I was all "No, I can't go in there yet" and he was all "It looks like a hotel room with all his stuff gone" and then he burst into tears. Heh heh. Told ya.
Then!
On Monday morning, I got my root canal done but only half of it because the dentist "didn't have time to do the whole thing since it was an emergency appointment". Which means I get to go back in two weeks for a second root canal. Which is extra special awesome. And! This new dentist is good, but she doesn't use the laughing gas like my old shitty dentist did. Which means instead of laughing and peacefully drifting towards the ceiling during my root canal, I was instead sweating and trying not to cry and/or gag. And then on my way out I got to write a check for $620.
Then!
Yesterday I got a sinus infection. And a yeast infection. My body is awesome at infections. I'm oozing from almost every orifice.
And that's why I haven't been around much. Pretty much glad you asked, right?
Monday, August 16, 2010
Apparently Whitney Houston Is Stalking My Son
I came home on Friday to this message on my garage door.
No matter what, I will always love you!
Obviously Bunny is still not over the boy.
I blurred out the Kiddo's name for the blog, but trust me...it's there. And now our neighbors know my son's middle name is apparently "Sexy".
No matter what, I will always love you!
Obviously Bunny is still not over the boy.
I blurred out the Kiddo's name for the blog, but trust me...it's there. And now our neighbors know my son's middle name is apparently "Sexy".
Monday, August 9, 2010
I Spent $382 And All I Got Was This College Tuition Bill
Here's a little math problem in honor of my boy going off to college in less than two weeks.
If
105 degree heat + 1 hour in Big Lots + 2.5 hours in Wal-Mart + screaming 3 year old in line behind us at checkout = $382 in college supplies
than
$382 in college supplies = Captain Carl ready to karate chop screaming 3 year old's mother + Miss Yvonne sobbing for 3.5 hours about her baby leaving home
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Me: Hey Kiddo, check it out. *sweeping arm gestures towards 5 ft. high pile of plastic crates filled with notebooks and ramen noodles*
Kiddo: That looks like college stuff.
Me: It is! Your dad and I spent all afternoon getting everything for you.
Kiddo: Cool. Hey, I'm going over to Emo's house, okay?
And then I punched him in his ungrateful face. Teenagers are pretty much awesome.
*sigh*
I'm gonna miss that punk. Damn it.
If
105 degree heat + 1 hour in Big Lots + 2.5 hours in Wal-Mart + screaming 3 year old in line behind us at checkout = $382 in college supplies
than
$382 in college supplies = Captain Carl ready to karate chop screaming 3 year old's mother + Miss Yvonne sobbing for 3.5 hours about her baby leaving home
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Me: Hey Kiddo, check it out. *sweeping arm gestures towards 5 ft. high pile of plastic crates filled with notebooks and ramen noodles*
Kiddo: That looks like college stuff.
Me: It is! Your dad and I spent all afternoon getting everything for you.
Kiddo: Cool. Hey, I'm going over to Emo's house, okay?
And then I punched him in his ungrateful face. Teenagers are pretty much awesome.
*sigh*
I'm gonna miss that punk. Damn it.
Monday, July 19, 2010
34 Days
So the Kiddo goes to college in a month. I’m having some trouble with this fact. And when I say “having some trouble” I mean “crying my eyes out at the very thought of my baby leaving me”.
This is no exaggeration, y’all. I already felt screwed over for missing the first 8 years of his life and all the cute baby-Kiddo stuff. But now I feel even worse because 10 years has flown by and guess what? I’m an empty-nester at 36 years old.
Captain Carl, on the other hand, is pretending to be ecstatic. He’s all “We’ve never been alone, we’ve always had the boy, we’ve never gotten the chance to be true newlyweds, hooray!” but I know inside he’s really sad too. Those two are as thick as thieves most days. Sometimes I feel left out of the super nerdy boy club when they are together.
Everyone keeps asking me when we are going to take the Kiddo to school and I honestly didn’t know. Mostly because I don’t want to know on account of my sad stepmom heart breaking every time I think about his room being empty soon. So I just wave my hand in the air and vaguely say “Oh, sometime in mid August-ish”. But today I logged into facebook and that the Kiddo had posted this:
I move out in 34 days :p
The little fucker put a smiley tongue face at the end of it. Like he’s soooo happy to be leaving us that he just can’t help but stick his tongue out. Like he’s giving us the facial equivalent of the finger. Like, like….hang on a minute…
*sob sob sob*
*sniffle*
34 days.
So I’ve never left a comment on any of his facebook posts, even when it’s been completely stupid. But I was so sad reading this one, that I just had to get back at him for being so damn happy about his future. And so I left this comment:
34 days until we can finally have our first swingers party!
So far? 27 “likes” from his friends. Because I’m just that awesome.
This is no exaggeration, y’all. I already felt screwed over for missing the first 8 years of his life and all the cute baby-Kiddo stuff. But now I feel even worse because 10 years has flown by and guess what? I’m an empty-nester at 36 years old.
Captain Carl, on the other hand, is pretending to be ecstatic. He’s all “We’ve never been alone, we’ve always had the boy, we’ve never gotten the chance to be true newlyweds, hooray!” but I know inside he’s really sad too. Those two are as thick as thieves most days. Sometimes I feel left out of the super nerdy boy club when they are together.
Everyone keeps asking me when we are going to take the Kiddo to school and I honestly didn’t know. Mostly because I don’t want to know on account of my sad stepmom heart breaking every time I think about his room being empty soon. So I just wave my hand in the air and vaguely say “Oh, sometime in mid August-ish”. But today I logged into facebook and that the Kiddo had posted this:
I move out in 34 days :p
The little fucker put a smiley tongue face at the end of it. Like he’s soooo happy to be leaving us that he just can’t help but stick his tongue out. Like he’s giving us the facial equivalent of the finger. Like, like….hang on a minute…
*sob sob sob*
*sniffle*
34 days.
So I’ve never left a comment on any of his facebook posts, even when it’s been completely stupid. But I was so sad reading this one, that I just had to get back at him for being so damn happy about his future. And so I left this comment:
34 days until we can finally have our first swingers party!
So far? 27 “likes” from his friends. Because I’m just that awesome.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Four Years Of College And All I Got Was This Stupid BA And The Little Mermaid Soundtrack
I just got an email from Columbia House inviting me to join their club and get 11 CD’s free. Seriously? Columbia House still exists??? I almost joined, just for old time’s sake. My first year in college, I was the proud member of not only Columbia House, but also BMG and some romance book club that I forget the name of but did provide me with many hours of soft core porn material. I also signed up for every credit card offered on the quad because dude, I totally got three free t-shirts! Flash forward three years and there I am…a moron with a BA in Psychology, no job, $5K in credit card debt and 32 CD’s of music I didn’t even really like (i.e. the soundtrack to The Little Mermaid. For reals.). You know that saying “A sucker is born every minute”? It was invented for my stupid-ass 19 year old self.
I’m worried about my kid. He might be a little bit more world-wise than I was at his age, but he’s still an idiot. He thinks he has everything under control, which goes to show how little he knows about life. He would never believe that he couldn’t handle a credit card, because of course he would totally not use it for anything besides important things! Like Taco Bell. And condoms. And car payments on the secret sports car he bought but can’t tell his parents about because dude, they’ll totally freak out for no reason!
He leaves for college in less than two months. Every time I think about it, I break out in a cold sweat because how the hell do I protect him from himself? The boy is gonna do dumb stuff. It’s inevitable. It’s terrifying. I predict at least one ill-chosen tattoo (i.e. any Looney Toons character), a couple public intoxication charges and at least ten bank overdrafts in the first year or two.
I’m worried about my kid. He might be a little bit more world-wise than I was at his age, but he’s still an idiot. He thinks he has everything under control, which goes to show how little he knows about life. He would never believe that he couldn’t handle a credit card, because of course he would totally not use it for anything besides important things! Like Taco Bell. And condoms. And car payments on the secret sports car he bought but can’t tell his parents about because dude, they’ll totally freak out for no reason!
He leaves for college in less than two months. Every time I think about it, I break out in a cold sweat because how the hell do I protect him from himself? The boy is gonna do dumb stuff. It’s inevitable. It’s terrifying. I predict at least one ill-chosen tattoo (i.e. any Looney Toons character), a couple public intoxication charges and at least ten bank overdrafts in the first year or two.
I also predict that I will wear out poor Captain Carl with all my worrying and annoy the Kiddo with all my texts.How’s school going?
Are you passing all your classes?
Don’t spend too much on stupid stuff! Save up!
Be careful this weekend…don’t drink and drive! Or text and drive!
Are you eating healthy? Make sure you take care of your body!
Don’t stay up too late…you need your sleep!
If some guy offers you a pill at a party, don’t take it! He’s trying to rape you!
Do you need us to send you condoms? Don’t you dare get someone pregnant!
Are you studying? Do I need to come down there and check up on you?
Why aren’t you answering my texts? Don’t forget that I still pay your cell phone bill, young man!
What are you doing? Probably going to church, right?
When are you coming home to visit? We miss you! Did you forget about us? I’ll do your laundry if you come home!!
Whatever you do, do not join Columbia House! Those CD’s aren’t free, no matter what they tell you!
Holy shit, the next four years are gonna be rough.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
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.
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.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Facebook: Bringing A New Level Of Awkward
Remember when I blogged about how texting has replaced note passing for teenagers? I should have also mentioned facebook in that post, because I forgot how it’s pretty much an extension of a teenager’s text life. My boy’s girlfriend, Bunny, friend requested me (or however you crazy kids say that) on facebook back when they were first dating. I was shocked, I was awed, I was gleefully rubbing my hands together. Because hello? you just gave me access to everything you write on my son’s page. Color me excited!
I’ve managed to refrain from blogging about all cutesy little things she’s written about the Kiddo despite my urge to do so. Especially the “you’re so sexy” ones and the ones that said things like “last night was amazing, I am soooo in love” because gross. Until now. Because last night Bunny passed right by cutesy and went straight into “things you write that your boyfriend’s parents should never ever read”. Now, I won’t quote everything she said because I’m not a total douchebag. But I am a sort of douchebag, so here’s the gist.
Bunny > Kiddo: I don’t care who reads this, everything about you is my love. You are the reason I get up in the morning, the reason I brush my hair, the reason I wear perfume. I will always love you no matter what, you’re the one.
Believe me, ya’ll. It went on and on and on and on to the point that I started to feel really uncomfortable and guilty, like I was reading Bunny’s diary. Seriously...the reason she brushes her hair??? It was hard to believe she was referring to my boy, who still has to be reminded to not wear the same socks and underwear that he wore the day before. Because that boy? So not ready to be loved like that. He’s just not what you’d call “mature” or “adult” or “not a tool” yet. He needs a couple or 10 years to be worthy of that kind of romantic devotion. I thought about clicking the “like” button and then leaving a comment like “Awww, I’m glad you like my baby boy. It’s too bad he only brushes his teeth a couple times a week, huh?” But I didn’t because I have amazing self-control. And because I’d prefer my son to be talking to me when he graduates this weekend.
There is just nothing like teenage love, eh? So sweet, so incredibly stupid. I want to grab Bunny by the shoulders and give her a good, healthy shake and tell her that, as awesome as the Kiddo is, he is probably not “the one”. Because I happen to know he’s planning on breaking up with her on Monday so that he can be “free for my last summer before college” which to me means “screw around with Bunny’s best friend, whom he dated before her and still has a thing for”. And the worst part is that she also knows about this plan, because he told her about his intentions two months ago. And yet? She didn't dump his ass right then and is instead writing sappy love notes on facebook for all the interwebs to see.
P.S. I just went back and read it again and one of the Kiddo's friends left the comment "puke". Teenage boys are awesome. And by "awesome" I mean "total assholes".
I’ve managed to refrain from blogging about all cutesy little things she’s written about the Kiddo despite my urge to do so. Especially the “you’re so sexy” ones and the ones that said things like “last night was amazing, I am soooo in love” because gross. Until now. Because last night Bunny passed right by cutesy and went straight into “things you write that your boyfriend’s parents should never ever read”. Now, I won’t quote everything she said because I’m not a total douchebag. But I am a sort of douchebag, so here’s the gist.
Bunny > Kiddo: I don’t care who reads this, everything about you is my love. You are the reason I get up in the morning, the reason I brush my hair, the reason I wear perfume. I will always love you no matter what, you’re the one.
Believe me, ya’ll. It went on and on and on and on to the point that I started to feel really uncomfortable and guilty, like I was reading Bunny’s diary. Seriously...the reason she brushes her hair??? It was hard to believe she was referring to my boy, who still has to be reminded to not wear the same socks and underwear that he wore the day before. Because that boy? So not ready to be loved like that. He’s just not what you’d call “mature” or “adult” or “not a tool” yet. He needs a couple or 10 years to be worthy of that kind of romantic devotion. I thought about clicking the “like” button and then leaving a comment like “Awww, I’m glad you like my baby boy. It’s too bad he only brushes his teeth a couple times a week, huh?” But I didn’t because I have amazing self-control. And because I’d prefer my son to be talking to me when he graduates this weekend.
There is just nothing like teenage love, eh? So sweet, so incredibly stupid. I want to grab Bunny by the shoulders and give her a good, healthy shake and tell her that, as awesome as the Kiddo is, he is probably not “the one”. Because I happen to know he’s planning on breaking up with her on Monday so that he can be “free for my last summer before college” which to me means “screw around with Bunny’s best friend, whom he dated before her and still has a thing for”. And the worst part is that she also knows about this plan, because he told her about his intentions two months ago. And yet? She didn't dump his ass right then and is instead writing sappy love notes on facebook for all the interwebs to see.
P.S. I just went back and read it again and one of the Kiddo's friends left the comment "puke". Teenage boys are awesome. And by "awesome" I mean "total assholes".
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
SuperCrotch
You know how when you were a kid and you’d eat an apple and you’d recite the alphabet for each twist of the stem and then whatever letter you were saying when the stem twisted off would be the first letter of the last name of the boy you were going to marry? Remember that? Yeah, that was an awesome game. You know what other game was awesome? MASH. Remember MASH? You know…Mansion, Apartment, Shack, House? Because of those games, I was convinced I was going to marry Mark (hottt!) or Jason (to the max!) or Corey (totally bitchin!) or the other Corey (gag me!). I didn’t marry any of those suckers, but the jokes on them because guess who didn’t end up being a pig farmer’s wife like everyone thought she would???
Shit.
Y’all. I can’t come up with a decent blog post to save my life. Every day I sit here and I’m all “Okay, today’s the day! Today’s the day that you finally write that amazing blog post that will go viral and everyone will know who you are and you’ll finally have to come clean and admit to your family and friends that you are Miss Yvonne because everyone keeps talking to you about her and you can’t stand them not knowing that YOU are the genius behind the blog!”. And then I write crap like that first paragraph up there. About apple stems and MASH. Seriously. Help.
I think I’m stuck on account of all the graduation junk that has been occupying my brain for the last few weeks. The Kiddo graduates on Saturday and I’ve spent all my free time obsessing over party details. The menu, the cake, the drinks, sleeping arrangements, transportation and parking, where to hide my vibrators from my snooping mother, etc. I spent the whole weekend cleaning the house. The whole HOLIDAY weekend, y’all. I should have been at the lake…I should have been at the movies….I should have been drinking! But it’s okay because my 18 year old son did all those things for me. He’s a giver, that one.
*sigh*
I’m trying to keep the crazy at a low hum so that Captain Carl doesn’t divorce me, but it’s hard to keep a good anxiety attack down. And when I’m not freaking out, I’m blubbering like a baby over old photos of the Kiddo. I’m a mess.
The Captain has really stepped up to the plate and has been helping me a lot. I’m pretty sure it’s on account of my wacko scary eyes and random weeping. But I don’t care because my sprinklers are fixed, my floors are getting cleaned, my lawn has been edged, all my pictures have been hung and the party menu has been taken care of. I seriously love that guy. I should give him a blow job to show him my appreciation, but you know…...meh.
P.S. Renty lost his job and is now wandering around my house wearing nothing but silk Superman boxers with a big “S” over the crotch and black socks all day long. It’s about as sexy as it sounds. Help me, Baby Jesus.
Shit.
Y’all. I can’t come up with a decent blog post to save my life. Every day I sit here and I’m all “Okay, today’s the day! Today’s the day that you finally write that amazing blog post that will go viral and everyone will know who you are and you’ll finally have to come clean and admit to your family and friends that you are Miss Yvonne because everyone keeps talking to you about her and you can’t stand them not knowing that YOU are the genius behind the blog!”. And then I write crap like that first paragraph up there. About apple stems and MASH. Seriously. Help.
I think I’m stuck on account of all the graduation junk that has been occupying my brain for the last few weeks. The Kiddo graduates on Saturday and I’ve spent all my free time obsessing over party details. The menu, the cake, the drinks, sleeping arrangements, transportation and parking, where to hide my vibrators from my snooping mother, etc. I spent the whole weekend cleaning the house. The whole HOLIDAY weekend, y’all. I should have been at the lake…I should have been at the movies….I should have been drinking! But it’s okay because my 18 year old son did all those things for me. He’s a giver, that one.
*sigh*
I’m trying to keep the crazy at a low hum so that Captain Carl doesn’t divorce me, but it’s hard to keep a good anxiety attack down. And when I’m not freaking out, I’m blubbering like a baby over old photos of the Kiddo. I’m a mess.
The Captain has really stepped up to the plate and has been helping me a lot. I’m pretty sure it’s on account of my wacko scary eyes and random weeping. But I don’t care because my sprinklers are fixed, my floors are getting cleaned, my lawn has been edged, all my pictures have been hung and the party menu has been taken care of. I seriously love that guy. I should give him a blow job to show him my appreciation, but you know…...meh.
P.S. Renty lost his job and is now wandering around my house wearing nothing but silk Superman boxers with a big “S” over the crotch and black socks all day long. It’s about as sexy as it sounds. Help me, Baby Jesus.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Promalicious
Last weekend was prom in our town. Those of you with sons already know this, but prom? Not a big deal to teenage boys. Besides increasing the likelihood that they’ll get drunk and laid, there really isn’t much about prom night to excite them. Last year, the Kiddo had no plans to attend until the last minute when a girl he thought was hot turned up dateless and, being a man of opportunity, he kindly offered to take her…aka boink her in the backseat of his car.
This year he has a steady girlfriend of 9 ohmygodwearesoinlove! months and therefore had absolutely no choice in the matter of prom. Bunny started talking about prom dresses back before Christmas while shooting pointed looks in my son’s general direction, which he acknowledged with much eye rolling. Captain Carl, being the sweet and sensitive man that he is, wisely advised the boy that he had better break up with Bunny by no later than March if he wanted to get out of going to prom. But apparently Bunny’s, ummmm….personality kept the Kiddo interested well past March and prom plans were made.
Prom Plan #1:
Kiddo: Hey, can you guys get me a hotel room for prom night?
The Captain: The hell we will!
Me: Now now, let’s talk about this before we make a decision.
The Captain: Seriously?
Me: Yes. Now son, why do you want a hotel room?
The Captain: *snort* Oh come on.
Kiddo: Well, I thought it would be fun.
Me: Hmmm, yes I’m sure it would be fun.
The Captain: *eye roll*
Me: What kind of fun, exactly?
Kiddo: Just, you know, like hanging out with my dudes.
The Captain: Your dudes?
Me: Not with Bunny?
Kiddo: Well yeah, with Bunny. But she can’t stay out all night, so I figured I’d chill with her until midnight and then my dudes can come over.
The Captain: And trash the hotel room on our credit card.
Kiddo: That won’t happen!
The Captain: Right. A bunch of 18 year old boys out all night in a hotel with booze and probably pot. Yeah, no way could that end badly.
Kiddo: Why can’t you trust me! *angsty sigh*
Me: Hmmm, this is probably not a good plan.
Kiddo: *throws hands in the air* Oh man!
The Captain: You actually thought we’d rent a hotel room for you?
Kiddo: Well, I am 18 years old. I’m a legal adult.
The Captain: Tell you what, legal adult. Get a job, rent an apartment and then go ahead and get that hotel room for the night.
Prom Plan #2
Kiddo: What if I borrowed J-Whiz’s apartment for the night?
The Captain: Where will J-Whiz be?
Kiddo: With his parents in San Antonio for the weekend.
The Captain: Yeah, no.
Prom Plan #3
Kiddo: Okay, so Bunny and I are gonna chill with Twat and his date at his house after prom.
Me: Will Twat’s parents be there?
Kiddo: His mom will be.
The Captain: Isn’t this the same kid that you lit on fire last summer?
Kiddo: I didn’t light him on fire. We were lighting nail polish remover in the driveway and he stomped on it to put it out and his foot caught on fire. Totally not my fault.
Me: Are you SURE his mom will be there?
Kiddo: Yes.
Me: Well, that’s a better plan than the hotel room.
So we agreed to the third plan. And then without telling me, Captain Carl got the real story out of the Kiddo. He didn’t tell me about it until after he’d left for the prom with Bunny on Saturday.
The Captain: So did you notice he didn’t get Bunny a corsage?
Me: Yes I did. I reminded him about 10 times to get one.
The Captain: Oh he got flowers. But they aren’t in a corsage.
Me: Why do I have the feeling I’m not going to like the rest of this story?
The Captain: He bought roses and he’s going to spread them around the bed at Twat’s house.
Me: What?? Wait. I thought Twat’s mom was going to be home?
The Captain: She is, but not until after 11pm.
Me: How do you know that?
The Captain: I got it out of him. I knew he wasn’t telling us the whole story.
Me: So he told you he’s going to Twat’s house to get laid after the prom and you’re okay with this?
The Captain: Meh, it’s prom night. The girl deserves to do it somewhere besides the back of his car.
Me: Please tell me you’re joking about the roses thing.
The Captain: Nope. And he’s going to play his guitar for her.
Me: Holy shit.
The Captain: Nothing Else Matters by Metallica.
Me: No. Way.
The Captain: I wish I was kidding.
Me: Heh.
The Captain: What?
Me: *singing* I wanna layyyy you down in a bed of roses…for tonight I sleep on a bedddd of nails!!
The Captain: Aw man, he should do that one!
Me: Nah. He’s not awesome enough to pull off Bon Jovi.
The next day I asked the Kiddo how his night went and he was all "It was cool" and I was all "That's it?" and he was all "Yeah" and then I got on facebook and saw that Bunny had updated her status to say "I lurrrvvvv my boyfriend soooooo much!!!" so I guess Metallica got the job done. Just imagine how happy she would have been if he'd played Bon Jovi.
This year he has a steady girlfriend of 9 ohmygodwearesoinlove! months and therefore had absolutely no choice in the matter of prom. Bunny started talking about prom dresses back before Christmas while shooting pointed looks in my son’s general direction, which he acknowledged with much eye rolling. Captain Carl, being the sweet and sensitive man that he is, wisely advised the boy that he had better break up with Bunny by no later than March if he wanted to get out of going to prom. But apparently Bunny’s, ummmm….personality kept the Kiddo interested well past March and prom plans were made.
Prom Plan #1:
Kiddo: Hey, can you guys get me a hotel room for prom night?
The Captain: The hell we will!
Me: Now now, let’s talk about this before we make a decision.
The Captain: Seriously?
Me: Yes. Now son, why do you want a hotel room?
The Captain: *snort* Oh come on.
Kiddo: Well, I thought it would be fun.
Me: Hmmm, yes I’m sure it would be fun.
The Captain: *eye roll*
Me: What kind of fun, exactly?
Kiddo: Just, you know, like hanging out with my dudes.
The Captain: Your dudes?
Me: Not with Bunny?
Kiddo: Well yeah, with Bunny. But she can’t stay out all night, so I figured I’d chill with her until midnight and then my dudes can come over.
The Captain: And trash the hotel room on our credit card.
Kiddo: That won’t happen!
The Captain: Right. A bunch of 18 year old boys out all night in a hotel with booze and probably pot. Yeah, no way could that end badly.
Kiddo: Why can’t you trust me! *angsty sigh*
Me: Hmmm, this is probably not a good plan.
Kiddo: *throws hands in the air* Oh man!
The Captain: You actually thought we’d rent a hotel room for you?
Kiddo: Well, I am 18 years old. I’m a legal adult.
The Captain: Tell you what, legal adult. Get a job, rent an apartment and then go ahead and get that hotel room for the night.
Prom Plan #2
Kiddo: What if I borrowed J-Whiz’s apartment for the night?
The Captain: Where will J-Whiz be?
Kiddo: With his parents in San Antonio for the weekend.
The Captain: Yeah, no.
Prom Plan #3
Kiddo: Okay, so Bunny and I are gonna chill with Twat and his date at his house after prom.
Me: Will Twat’s parents be there?
Kiddo: His mom will be.
The Captain: Isn’t this the same kid that you lit on fire last summer?
Kiddo: I didn’t light him on fire. We were lighting nail polish remover in the driveway and he stomped on it to put it out and his foot caught on fire. Totally not my fault.
Me: Are you SURE his mom will be there?
Kiddo: Yes.
Me: Well, that’s a better plan than the hotel room.
So we agreed to the third plan. And then without telling me, Captain Carl got the real story out of the Kiddo. He didn’t tell me about it until after he’d left for the prom with Bunny on Saturday.
The Captain: So did you notice he didn’t get Bunny a corsage?
Me: Yes I did. I reminded him about 10 times to get one.
The Captain: Oh he got flowers. But they aren’t in a corsage.
Me: Why do I have the feeling I’m not going to like the rest of this story?
The Captain: He bought roses and he’s going to spread them around the bed at Twat’s house.
Me: What?? Wait. I thought Twat’s mom was going to be home?
The Captain: She is, but not until after 11pm.
Me: How do you know that?
The Captain: I got it out of him. I knew he wasn’t telling us the whole story.
Me: So he told you he’s going to Twat’s house to get laid after the prom and you’re okay with this?
The Captain: Meh, it’s prom night. The girl deserves to do it somewhere besides the back of his car.
Me: Please tell me you’re joking about the roses thing.
The Captain: Nope. And he’s going to play his guitar for her.
Me: Holy shit.
The Captain: Nothing Else Matters by Metallica.
Me: No. Way.
The Captain: I wish I was kidding.
Me: Heh.
The Captain: What?
Me: *singing* I wanna layyyy you down in a bed of roses…for tonight I sleep on a bedddd of nails!!
The Captain: Aw man, he should do that one!
Me: Nah. He’s not awesome enough to pull off Bon Jovi.
The next day I asked the Kiddo how his night went and he was all "It was cool" and I was all "That's it?" and he was all "Yeah" and then I got on facebook and saw that Bunny had updated her status to say "I lurrrvvvv my boyfriend soooooo much!!!" so I guess Metallica got the job done. Just imagine how happy she would have been if he'd played Bon Jovi.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
The Roof! The Roof! The Roof Is Literally On Fire!
The closer the Kiddo gets to graduating from high school, the more he makes amazingly stupid choices. Remember the whole humping-in-my-house-while-I’m-downstairs thing? Turns out that incident was just a prelude to a higher level of idiocy. He almost burnt my house down, y’all. I found out about it at dinner last night.
The Kiddo: You know, I’m a really quick thinker.
Me: Oh really?
The Kiddo: Yeah. You’re so lucky that I am.
Me: How’s that?
The Kiddo: Well, yesterday I was in the bathroom burning out my lighter and…
Me: Wait. You were what?
The Kiddo: Burning out my lighter. You know, I was flicking it over and over to burn out the fluid so I could throw it away.
Me: Why do you have a lighter?
The Kiddo: I bought it when I got my cigars on my birthday.
Me: And you were playing with it in the bathroom?
The Kiddo: Not playing with it. Burning it out. For safety.
Me: *blink*
The Kiddo: So I threw it in the trash and got in the shower and then I smelled smoke so I looked out and the garbage can was on fire.
Me: Ohmygod.
The Kiddo: I just grabbed it and put it in the shower with me. So like I said…*taps head* ...quick thinker.
Me: Let me get this straight. You started a fire in my house because you were being safe?
The Kiddo: Yep.
Me: You could have burned the house down!
The Kiddo: Nah. I was on top of it, it’s all good.
Me: No. No, it is not all good.
The Kiddo: Are you okay? You’re face is all splotchy.
Me: No fire in my house. Ever. Do you understand?
The Kiddo: Yeah okay.
Me: Look at me, son. No fire. No lighters. No matches. No incense. No flame throwers. Nothing with a spark or flame or heat of any kind.
The Kiddo: Okay!
Me: What is it with you and fire?
The Kiddo: I don’t know. *shrug* It’s all cool and hot and stuff.
*sigh*
Only four more months until college. I'm starting a countdown.
The Kiddo: You know, I’m a really quick thinker.
Me: Oh really?
The Kiddo: Yeah. You’re so lucky that I am.
Me: How’s that?
The Kiddo: Well, yesterday I was in the bathroom burning out my lighter and…
Me: Wait. You were what?
The Kiddo: Burning out my lighter. You know, I was flicking it over and over to burn out the fluid so I could throw it away.
Me: Why do you have a lighter?
The Kiddo: I bought it when I got my cigars on my birthday.
Me: And you were playing with it in the bathroom?
The Kiddo: Not playing with it. Burning it out. For safety.
Me: *blink*
The Kiddo: So I threw it in the trash and got in the shower and then I smelled smoke so I looked out and the garbage can was on fire.
Me: Ohmygod.
The Kiddo: I just grabbed it and put it in the shower with me. So like I said…*taps head* ...quick thinker.
Me: Let me get this straight. You started a fire in my house because you were being safe?
The Kiddo: Yep.
Me: You could have burned the house down!
The Kiddo: Nah. I was on top of it, it’s all good.
Me: No. No, it is not all good.
The Kiddo: Are you okay? You’re face is all splotchy.
Me: No fire in my house. Ever. Do you understand?
The Kiddo: Yeah okay.
Me: Look at me, son. No fire. No lighters. No matches. No incense. No flame throwers. Nothing with a spark or flame or heat of any kind.
The Kiddo: Okay!
Me: What is it with you and fire?
The Kiddo: I don’t know. *shrug* It’s all cool and hot and stuff.
*sigh*
Only four more months until college. I'm starting a countdown.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
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.
*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.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Most Awesome Bowl Cut Ever
- I got a new job.
- I am sad to leave my old job.
- My kid skipped school yesterday.
- I yelled.
- A lot.
- Now I have to drive him everywhere because I took his car away.
- This is more of a punishment for me than him.
- Damn it.
- Captain Carl is gone all this week.
- I'm exhausted.
- I went to Lizard's (my sister) house last night.
- We ordered pizza and drank wine.
- We drunk dialed our mom and dad.
- I don't think they understood what was happening.
- I haven't been drunk on a Tuesday night since probably college.
- I forgot how awesome that is.
- I have no idea why I'm numbering each of these sentences.
- Srsly.
- One more thing.
- I totally made the top 25 on momdot.com's Top 100 Mom Blogs of 2009. I'm number 25 and yeah, that's just barely making it into the top 25 but whatevs because I can't believe I made the list at all. Also????
- I outranked Dooce. Motherfucking Dooce, y'all.
- I made a badge to celebrate with a picture of my 3-year old self.
- Cutest. Kid. Ever.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Mama Don't Let Yer Babies Grow Up To Be Chain-Smokin' Lottery Players
The Kiddo turned 18 while I was in Arizona. Because I'm a bad mom and totally forgot about it when I scheduled my trip. Not that he really cared. I texted him early in the day to tell him happy birthday and that I loved him and the punk never responded. So I called Captain Carl and was all sniffly and whiny about how the boy doesn't care about me anymore and blah blah blah me me me.
But I know that's not really true. He was just excited because he's been looking forward to turning 18 for months now. Every time he'd get busted for doing something dumb or forgetting to do a chore or something, he would be all "Don't forget guys, I'm almost a man and soon I'll be able to do whatever I want". To which one of us would reply "Yes, a man with no job and no diploma (yet) and no money to do whatever he wants." and he'd be all "Yeah, but still." because our boy is a master debater. (twss, Kurt)
The Captain and I decided before I left on my trip that he should throw the Kiddo a party on his birthday. The only kind of party he was interested in was a poker party with "a few of my dudes". We knew what that meant....him and three other band nerds sitting around a table wishing they were somewhere else smoking pot and getting laid. So we recruited the Kiddo's girlfriend to make it a co-ed party worth bothering with. And since she friend requested me on facebook (sucker!), I saw the invitation she posted on her wall to all of her 326 friends. Sweet, this party was sooo gonna be rockin' Jake Ryan style. Look it up...I'll wait.
So the Kiddo had big plans for the morning of his birthday. He told the Captain the night before that he was getting up early and buying 1) a cigar 2)a lottery ticket 3)a pocket knife and 4)something from an adult video store. Just because he could. And that's exactly what he did. The something from an adult video store turned out to be lube and he was all "I don't even really know what to do with it" when he showed it to Captain Carl.
What the hell kind of parents are we? I mean, I can't believe he doesn't know how to use lube yet. We should be arrested for being the most lame (but still super sexy) parents ever in the history of parenting.
So weird that registering to vote wasn't on his list, right?
Anyway, the party was a smashing success. A whole 15 people showed up...a record for a boy who could never remember to invite anyone to any party he ever had (i.e. the $400 10th birthday party at Skatetown USA where only two kids showed up. Damn it.). There were even actual girls there. I got texts all night from the Captain saying things like "I got them to sing karaoke!" and "Emo brought a real live girl to the party!" and "I just busted two kids having sex in our driveway". I can't believe I missed it.
P.S. The Kiddo won $27 on his first lottery ticket. The little shit.
P.P.S. He told me the cigar "wasn't bad" and didn't make him cough at all. The little liar .
But I know that's not really true. He was just excited because he's been looking forward to turning 18 for months now. Every time he'd get busted for doing something dumb or forgetting to do a chore or something, he would be all "Don't forget guys, I'm almost a man and soon I'll be able to do whatever I want". To which one of us would reply "Yes, a man with no job and no diploma (yet) and no money to do whatever he wants." and he'd be all "Yeah, but still." because our boy is a master debater. (twss, Kurt)
The Captain and I decided before I left on my trip that he should throw the Kiddo a party on his birthday. The only kind of party he was interested in was a poker party with "a few of my dudes". We knew what that meant....him and three other band nerds sitting around a table wishing they were somewhere else smoking pot and getting laid. So we recruited the Kiddo's girlfriend to make it a co-ed party worth bothering with. And since she friend requested me on facebook (sucker!), I saw the invitation she posted on her wall to all of her 326 friends. Sweet, this party was sooo gonna be rockin' Jake Ryan style. Look it up...I'll wait.
So the Kiddo had big plans for the morning of his birthday. He told the Captain the night before that he was getting up early and buying 1) a cigar 2)a lottery ticket 3)a pocket knife and 4)something from an adult video store. Just because he could. And that's exactly what he did. The something from an adult video store turned out to be lube and he was all "I don't even really know what to do with it" when he showed it to Captain Carl.
What the hell kind of parents are we? I mean, I can't believe he doesn't know how to use lube yet. We should be arrested for being the most lame (but still super sexy) parents ever in the history of parenting.
So weird that registering to vote wasn't on his list, right?
Anyway, the party was a smashing success. A whole 15 people showed up...a record for a boy who could never remember to invite anyone to any party he ever had (i.e. the $400 10th birthday party at Skatetown USA where only two kids showed up. Damn it.). There were even actual girls there. I got texts all night from the Captain saying things like "I got them to sing karaoke!" and "Emo brought a real live girl to the party!" and "I just busted two kids having sex in our driveway". I can't believe I missed it.
P.S. The Kiddo won $27 on his first lottery ticket. The little shit.
P.P.S. He told me the cigar "wasn't bad" and didn't make him cough at all. The little liar .
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