It Sucks Being The Bad Guy. It Sucks Hard And Long. That's What She Said.

This just in! I am the biggest, bitchiest stepmom on the planet. All you other stepmothers can just piss off, there's no way you can compete with me. I'm in a class all my own, ladies.

I just embarassed the Kiddo in front of the cool new roommates. Yep, I'm a first class bitch.

The Kiddo thinks Eco Nazi and Kool Aid are pretty cool. Weird, but cool...in his words. The Captain and I really don't mind him hanging around them because so far, they seem like okay kids. We haven't seen any hint of alcohol, drugs or even cigarettes being used by the roommates. They are friendly and seem genuinely interested in the Kiddo. But they don't DO anything. They never leave the house, unless it's to get groceries or maybe go hiking. They don't seem motivated to, you know, work or whateverrrr.

It's hard to keep an almost 17-year old motivated under normal conditions. He prefers to screw around and then do his work at the last minute, if at all. But add a couple of slackers to your home, and you pretty much have to use extreme measures to get the job done. Like ask him in front of the roommates, "Is there a reason why you are in here watching tv when you have homework to do?"

Yeah, that's hardcore motivation right there.

And the Kiddo pretty much reacted the way I thought he would. He got embarrased and angry and stomped off to his room. We haven't had a little family moment like that in a few months. Aren't those moments great?

So right now, the Kiddo is up in his room...probably texting his buddy about what a bitch his stepmonster is. Meanwhile, the roommates are banging on each other's doors, yelling and acting like fools. Poor kid....he never gets to have any fun.

The 90's Called. They Want Their Music Back.

I got moved to a different cubicle in my office. I really liked my old cubicle...I called it my cubelet, because it was super tiny. But it was at the back of the office and was up against the wall, so no one came back there unless they needed to see me.

This new cubicle blows. I know in the grand scheme of things it's not a big deal. I've got a job, which is more than I can say for 3/4 of the people that used to work here with me. There was another layoff last Friday, so my complaint today is very petty. I know this. But I'm going to bitch about it anyway. That's just the way I roll.

The chick two cubicles down from me has apparently never heard of an ipod. She has a boom box on her desk and the volume is way higher than what is considered appropriate for a cube farm. Seriously? A boom box? Damn, I had one of those when I was 13 years old and I used to play Mr. Mister and Lisa Lisa and Wham on it. I used to tape record songs off the radio on it. Then I would cover myself in Johnson's baby oil, carry my boom box outside and listen to my taped radio songs while I tanned on my mom's plastic lawn recliner.

Today she is listening to The Counting Crows cd. Over and over and over. I remember the Counting Crows. It was 1996 and I was in college and I had a huge crush on a guy we called "Beamer" and I used to watch videos with him in between classes and he loved that song Mr. Jones. I have heard Mr. Jones four times today.

I'm about to send her this email....tell me if you think it's too much.

Listen bitch, the mid-90's were not the best time for me. Your stupid cd is giving me flashbacks to an abusive relationship, an unrequited love, poor class attendance and fat pants. Please, for the love of all that is good and holy....turn that shit off!

I wonder how many times you can listen to Round Here before you want to shoot someone in the face?

Schlong Talk

The Kiddo just walked in the room with a little stuffed animal penguin wearing a santa hat hanging out of his jeans pocket.

Me: Why do you have a penguin sticking out of your pocket?

Kiddo: Because he's Kiddo Jr.

Me: *blink*

Kiddo: And also so I can tell people that my Kiddo Jr. is hanging out of my jeans and I won't be talking about my schlong.

Me: Son, do you walk around often with your schlong hanging out of your jeans?

Kiddo: Only when I want to impress the ladies.


I'm not even kidding...that conversation just happened. He is so much like his father, it scares me.

...

You Can't Handle The Flying Bitch Slap!

Remember my New Year's post? The one where I said my resolution was to keep things in perspective and have a better attitude? Yeah, we're not doing that. We're doing this instead.

The Flying Bitch Slap should only be used in moments of extreme duress, bestowed upon only the truest of morons.

Say for instance....it's 5:30pm on a Monday. You've just worked a full day and you stop at the grocery store on the way home. There's a lady in line at the checkout in front of you. She keeps running back to the aisles and grabbing more stuff while she waits her turn to pay. She has a cart completely full with Christmas markdowns.... perfume, candy and toys. She makes the cashier check the price of each item, then she contemplates buying each for about 10 seconds and rejects about 1/3 of all the shit she brought up there. She starts making two separate piles of the stuff she is going to buy. The cashier rings up the first pile and she pays with a credit card. Before the cashier can start on the next pile, the lady hands her a $5 bill and asks for ones. You wonder if you would get arrested for whipping a frozen fruit juice can at her head. The cashier starts on the second pile of Britney Spears "Oops I'm Crazy Again" perfume and the Paris Hilton "Skank"cologne. Once she gets the total, the lady pays in cash....and uses the five $1 bills she just asked for from the cashier. It's all you can do not to scream and bash your cart into her, because now she's still standing in front of the cashier, checking her receipts.

Wapow! Flying Bitch Slap.

Or maybe there's this guy at your office. You know that guy? The guy who's in an upper management position? Likes to walk around the cubicles, checking on all his little minions, making sure they're all busy little worker bees? Screams at people because he thinks it makes everyone fear and respect him? Makes dumb decisions and then blames other people for them when the shit hits the fan? Calls the men "babe" and the women "girlfriend"? Makes everyone give him high-fives when they walk by him? Yeah, that guy doesn't wash his hands after he goes to the bathroom. And he just stopped in your cubicle and used your pen.

Aaaand....Flying Bitch Slap.

So tell me....who would you like to use the Flying Bitch Slap on?

Murder Chair: It's A Good Thing

Okay, let's just start this by saying I'm not into modern decor. I like my furnishings to say "Hey, come over here and sink your ass into this big cushy chair. While you're at it, put your feet up on the ottoman and pull this fuzzy blanket over your cold tootsies. Don't mind the cat on your lap...think of her as your personal heater. By the way...are you thirsty? Cause here's a table with a cold drink on it, right next to you. Here, let me hand you the remote and let's watch The Mentalist while Captain Carl cooks us dinner in the kitchen."

Ahhhhhhh.....heaven.

So ummmmm....this chair probably wouldn't fit into my decor.

Yep, that is exactly what you think it is. A blood stain. On an armchair. It's there on purpose. Because it's chic. Or gross. You know, whichever. And it costs $5000. Because hand-embroidered faux blood stains are expensive, yo.

Anybody watch Dexter? I don't because we're poor and can't afford the movie channels. But I hear it's crazy awesome. The chair is a "Dexter chair"....based on the chairs the serial killer dude has in his dining room on the show. Hence the blood stains.

....I'm using the word "chair" a lot in this post. Weird.

Anyway, I think I love this chair. But it could never live in my house....a place filled with cats and teenagers and big, cushy worn-in furniture. I mean, the chair would get all the attention and my other furniture would be jealous. People would walk into my house and be all "Whoa, sweet murder chair!" and I'd be all "I know! Did you see my nice fuzzy couch over here?" and they'd be all "Meh. Hey! Can I sit on the murder chair???" and then my couch would be all "Screw you, bitch. I don't need this shit" and then it's cushion would conveniently slip to reveal my secret stash of chick porn the next time my mother-in-law came over for a visit. You know, in retaliation for the murder chair. Cause my couch is a bitter SOB.

So yeah, maybe no on the bloody murder furniture. It would be fun to put it out on the curb on trash day though, to freak out our nosy redneck neighbors. Fun until the cops show up and arrest me for faking a murder scene or whatever....oh well.

But! I am totally saving up to buy a set of these $600 Dexter murder plates.

How awesome would an over-easy egg look on that in the morning!

Miss Yvonne's Island

Please to be enjoying an original song, written by Captain Carl...

Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale,
A tale of a fateful dip
In ol' G.W.'s enonomy
and now we're in the shit.

Yvonne was a mighty clever gal,
The Capt'n he did stew,
We'll rent some rooms and make some cash
to help us make it through.

help us make it through.

The roomates started moving in,
The groovy house was tossed.
If not for the patience of the fearless two,
The dream house would be lost.

The dream house would be lost.

Our house's alive with the sound of these
retarded ding-a-lings
With Miss Yvonne, the Captain too,
Eco-Nazi and Bambiiiiii.
With Kool-aid girl ( and the rest )
The teen-aged son, and cats Max and Boo.
( All ) Here in cramped up style!


Word.

I Swear It's Not A Booger

I've been walking around my office all morning with a tiny piece of toast stuck to my face and no one told me about it until 5 minutes ago. My only real friend here saw me and was all "Dude you have a booger on your cheek." So I brushed it off and saw that it was not a booger...it was toast. Toast that I ate in my car on the drive to work at 6:30am. It is now 10:30am.

I've had toast stuck to my face for 4 hours. And apparently it looked like a booger.

Now everyone thinks I'm that lady who has boogers stuck to her face and no one will tell her because they don't want to embarass her. I feel like screaming from my cubicle "IT WASN'T A BOOGER, JUST SO YOU KNOW! AND BY THE WAY, THANKS FOR NOT TELLING ME, ASSHOLES!"

This day is going to be awesome. I can just feel it.