Birthday Dinner Accompanied By A Toe Licking Story

We take the Kiddo out for a special birthday dinner every year. This year he picked a Mexican restaurant and we told the him to invite a friend. He picked his best friend, Emo. We heart Emo, he's an endless source of amusement. Emo is usually failing some or all of his classes, is always wearing baggy black pants with chains hanging from them, and is forever lamenting the state of his broken heart after his latest short-lived relationship has ended. He also has no inner monologue and his outer monologue? Hilarious. He's been straight, gay and bi...and that was all in one month. He's loud and talks about his nipples. A lot. How could we not love him?

So we head out on birthday night to have a little Mexican food. In the car, the boys are in the backseat talking about teenage boy stuff and the Captain and I are discussing the state of the economy and how the bailout will affect the general morale of the American blue collar worker. Just kidding. We were talking about that lady that took baths with her monkey.

Suddenly I hear Emo say "...and that dog licked my foot for 30 minutes straight!". The whole car goes silent and I turned to stare at Emo. "Start that story over again please" I say to him. And because he's Emo, he does:

"My stepmom has this dog and it started licking my foot. I thought about kicking him off of me, but then I thought it would be cool to see how long he would do it. So I just let him keep doing it and he was all licking between my toes and stuff and it kind of felt like a massage. "

So it gets real quiet in the car and then the Kiddo says "What's wrong with you, man?" Emo just laughed and that's about when I changed the subject.

Emo's toe licking story set the tone for the whole dinner. Several times throughout the evening, he would randomly shout out "Lick my feet!" and then laugh like it was the funniest joke on the planet. And every time he did, Captain Carl would give me the ole eyebrow waggle and I would be all "No I will not" and then he would be all "You're such a prude" and then I would be all "Your mom's a prude" and then he would be all "Lick my toes!" and then I would be all "Your mom licks....wait that's gross".

And that's why I can never tell the Captain's family about this blog.

Question: What Are My Chances Of Getting Paid To Blog?

Answer: Not very good.

I got an email today from a company that I've tried to scam freebies from work with in the past, asking me to submit my blog for a chance to become a featured blogger on their client's website. So ever since I figured out you can get paid for this blogging stuff, I've been dreaming of it happening to me. But here's the problem....I originally found this company through a mommy-type website and I'm pretty sure it's a straight up family-friendly kind of place. You know, the kind of place that doesn't post a lot of words like "fuck" or "asshole" or talk about things like their husband's junk busting out of their pajamas.

So yeah, I'm thinking they won't pick me. I mean, the email didn't actually say there can't be swearing or sex talk. But that's probably implied, right? What it DID say is that I have to be an expert on something and I must have a decent following. I don't know...is 13 people a decent following? Also, I'm really only an expert at accruing large amounts of debt, giving blowjobs and raising a sarcastic kid.

But what if the client is like, some kind of adult toy company? Or Playgirl magazine? Because I would be perfect for them and really it would be a shame if it was something like that and I didn't submit my blog because I'm a big weinie who's afraid of offending someone. Meh...who am I kidding, it's most likely a right-wing Christian company.

Yeah, I'm totally submitting it.

Saving The Planet, One Chili Can At A Time

Eco Nazi and Kool Aid love to waste electricity. I know this because they leave lights on wherever they go. They don't pay utilities here and they are morons, so maybe I shouldn't be surprised.

But here's what pisses me off about the electricity thing. The other night, I threw a empty chili can into the garbage. Eco Nazi later pulled it out, washed it, put it on top of the overflowing recycling bin in the kitchen, and then asked me a question.

Eco: Who do I need to speak to about this chili can?

Me: Excuse me?

Eco: Who threw that chili can in the garbage?

Me: (Pissed off already) That would be me. What's the problem?

Eco: That can should be recycled, you should have put it in the recycling bin.

Me: You know what? Maybe if you took out the recycling once in a while instead of piling shit on top of the already full bin in the kitchen, I would consider recycling more.

Eco: (Blank look) You want me to take out the recycling?

Me: Ummm, yeah. Because right now, you aren't recycling anything. You are just throwing shit into a bin and waiting for one of us to recycle it for you.

Eco: Oh.

Yeah, that conversation happened two weeks ago and he has yet to take out either the recycling or the garbage.

So all that stuff spewing out of his pie hole about saving the environment? Total bullshit. And apparently, leaving lights on all over the house is no big deal either....even though it wastes electricity and don't even get me started on light pollution. Okay, I don't really care about the last thing, but I do care that our electric bill has doubled since those fucktards moved in. But I would think someone who loves our environment enough to recycle chili cans and hug baby polar bears while making spare glaciers in his freezer to replace the ones that are melting in the Arctic* should also care about light pollution and wasted resources.

All this is back story for what I found in their bathroom last night. I noticed that a light was burning upstairs somewhere, so I went up to investigate because I too love baby polar bears and the ozone layer. One of the roommates had left their bathroom light on. I have avoided looking in that room...I've been afraid of what they are doing to it.

Yeah, it's pretty much worse than I thought. I leaned into the room to snap off the light and here are the things that I noticed in the few seconds I could bear to look.

1. An umbrella and a half-eaten bag of marshmallows on the counter top.
2. Two rotten bananas in the sink.

It's like a bad joke. "So the priest is holding an umbrella, a half-eaten bag of marshmallows and two rotten bananas..."

Who the fuck keeps rotten bananas in a bathroom sink?? What. The. Hell. is wrong with these people?

*I don't think he actually does that, but he did probably write a paper about melting glaciers and how it affects the polar bear population and he probably sent it to the President, who probably even read it.

Living With A 17 Year Old Smart Ass

Today is the Kiddo's 17th birthday.

Me: How does it feel to be a 17 year old boy?

Kiddo: I wouldn't know, because I am a 17 year old man.

Me: Oh pardon me. I didn't realize you are a man now. Should I give you the invoice for your portion of the mortgage today or on Monday?

Kiddo: What's a morts gadge?

Me: Quit pretending you don't know what I'm talking about.

Kiddo: Mots guldge?

Me: Being funny won't make you exempt from paying your share, big man.

Kiddo: More madge?

Me: Exactly.

Kiddo: Do you know what really sucks about turning 17?

Me: Not really.

Kiddo: Now I will automatically be tried as an adult for any crimes I might decide to commit.

Me: Guess you should have thought of that when you were 16.

Kiddo: That's what becoming a man does to you. You realize how foolish you were when you were a child.

Me: You are so wise.

Kiddo: I know, it's a gift.

Attack Of The Bloody Meat Tube

Reason #43 why it sucks having roommates:

They bought a 5 pound tube of raw hamburger meat, and without wrapping it up in an extra bag, put it on it's end in our refrigerator. Dudes, you totally know where this is going, right?

So the next morning, Captain Carl discovers that there is a pool of meat tube blood in the bottom of the fridge, under the the crisper drawers and all over the shelf above them. I thought the Captain was going to give himself a hernia, he was rigid with fury. And not in a good way either. His face got so red, his head looked like a tick about to pop. And yes, I came up with that line all on my own and no, I did not steal it from A Christmas Story so shut up.

At first we weren't going to clean it...we aren't their housekeepers, yo! But it was 9:30am and when I started thinking about all that blood congealing in there and all the e-coli spreading towards my fresh fruits and vegetables in the crisper while Eco Nazi continued to sleep until 3pm...I couldn't do it. I had to clean that mo fo out. So I pulled every damn thing out, cleaned and sterilized all the surfaces and containers...and then double bagged the offensive meat tube.

Fast forward to 4:30pm. Captain Carl has retreated to his office and I am sitting at the kitchen table paying bills. Eco Nazi and Kool Aid wander downstairs and stare blankly into the refrigerator for about 2 minutes. I can tell their little brains are working real hard-like, trying to figure out why all their stuff is moved around and where their tube-o-bacteria has disappeared to.

Finally, Kool Aid is all "What's in that bag?" so I'm all "It's your meat tube that leaked blood all over my damn refrigerator" and Eco Nazi is all "It did?" and I'm all "Bitch, did I stutter?" and he's all "It shouldn't do that, it's in a plastic tube" and I'm all "Well genius, it did because you didn't put it in a bag and I had to clean the whole fridge out, so thanks a fucking lot for that" and he's all "Huh......sorry" and then I punched him in the trachea with his bloody meat tube and he's all "Gasp!" and I'm all "How's that for irony, sucka?".

So yeah, they decided to put the meat tube in the freezer. Which is totally awesome because no more blood in my fridge and also now I've got a rock-solid frozen meat tube to punch Eco Nazi in the throat with next time.

Vomit.

The title of my post of course is referring to American Idol tonight. Suckfest, 2009.

Holy crap on a cracker, Casey Carlson. No one....NO ONE...touches The Police. And oh lordy, the ankle boots and the Priscilla Presley hairstyle? Uff dah.

Lucky for her, she look like this:

Aren't us Minnesota girls sweet and wholesome? That picture ought to keep her in the competition a little longer.


Okay, what about Jackie Tohn aka big sneakers girl?


Did y'all see her interview before her performance? Hey Jackie, Claire Huxtable called...she wants her shoulder pads back. Also, Olivia Newton-John called....she wants her Grease pants back. But the most tragic part of her performance was...well, her performance. I did not enjoy watching her flop around the stage while screaming the lyrics. Bleh.

Tatiana Del Toro...oh the horror that is this girl.

I HAAAATE that she can sing. And she did well tonight...on a Whitney song, to boot. Damn it. Double damn it!! The girl is about as annoying as a bleeding hangnail.

Gotta run...Captain Carl is ready for bed and he told me to wrap this blogging shit up or I'll be getting the pimp hand.

Happy Cat Dingleberry Day!

So I've got this cat. His name is Boo. He's white, fluffy and cute as the dickens. Oh and he also has this little dingleberry problem. See, Boo has kind of let himself go in recent years. His belly has gotten pretty large, and although it is adorable with all it's white fur and pink skin, it gets in the way of his.......ummm, licking needs. So I have to help him out every once in awhile by performing dingleberry removal surgery.

Cats are pretty much awesome, don't you think?

I enlisted Captain Carl to help me today....because I didn't feel like rolling around on the floor, trying to wrestle my cat into submission all alone. Lucky for him, his job was only to hold Boo still while I dealt with his nether regions. The Kiddo took pictures, in order to share details of the process with you.

You're welcome.

First I needed to suit up in my Dingleberry Removal protective gear.

Do not try this at home. I am a trained Dingleberry Remover-er.

Then I had to go find Boo.

Here he is....you can tell by his face he already knows something is about to go down.

"Ummm, why are you wearing rubber gloves?"

So I picked him up and scratched his ears to make him feel calm and comfy. Yeah, that didn't work. See his paw on my neck? He's trying to gouge me with his claws. Too bad he's declawed. Sucker!

"This is bullshit, period."

And here you see how important positioning of the cat is for this process to work. Right about now is when Boo started to growl and hiss. I don't know what he was so uptight about. I mean, if your butt hadn't been cleaned in weeks, you would appreciate a little help right? Boo is so ungrateful.

Don't worry....the Captain is not sitting on his head. No cats were harmed in the filming of this dingleberry procedure.

"I hate you. So. Hard."

So yeah, Boo is pretty pissed off right now.

Max isn't too happy either.

"Try that shit with me and I'll kill you, bitch."

I'm A Sucker For Such Romantic Gestures

Captain Carl sent me a Valentine's Day e-card today.


I know what you're thinking, ladies. And yes, I do realize how lucky I am.

The Perfect Valentine For 3 Year Olds

My friend DZ asked me if I could help her find some cute valentines for her 3 year old son to pass out at daycare.

I'm pretty sure the search is over.

The Roommates vs. The Tornado

It was a busy night at Yo-Mama's house. The Kiddo had another band concert. Fuck me with the concerts! This child goes to a public high school. It is not private in any way, shape or form. There are probably very few trust fund children in attendance. There are far more trailer parks than mini-mansion subdivisions in our school district. Despite all this, the Kiddo's band program is an overachieving whore. She's all "Hey I know you just dragged your tired asses to a Christmas concert less than two months ago and I know you just made your last bazillion dollar payment on your child's super happy fun time band trip to DisneyWorld and I know you spend several precious hours each week dropping off and waiting in line to pick up your child from his 15 damn trumpet lessons and jazz practices. But guess what! We are having another totally rad concert! And it's tonight! And your kid forgot to tell you about it until 5 minutes before you got home from work! Come on, it's gonna be awesome! Come sit through 2 hours of performances from not just your kid's high school but also the other high school in the school district! That's right, it's two two TWO concerts in ONE!"

Blech.

I love my kid. I hate his concerts. HAAAAAATE. Except the jazz band concerts, those are pretty swell I must say. But we only get two of those a year. Those two concerts are our very small reward for being the devoted and caring parents that we are who attend the trajillion mind-numbingly boring wind symphony concerts.

So yeah, we were doing that until 9:45pm last night. And then some bad weather blew in and the roommates freaked the f out. And I mean freaked out, as in OHMYGODISTHEREGOINGTOBEATORNADOWHATIFTHEREISONEWHEREDOWEGOIFTHEREISATORNADO AHHHHHH TORNADO!!

Hilarious, my friends. Until Kool Aid told me that her house was destroyed by a tornado when she was 8. Then I felt bad for laughing at her. Okay, I only felt a little bad but I kept laughing. But I only laughed on the inside. Okay, I laughed on the outside. But in the most respectful, sensitive way. Like how you would laugh at a friend who just found out she has genital warts.

So then the tornado siren goes off and Eco Nazi and Kool Aid come running, with Bambi walking slowly behind them. Apparently Bambi is less impressed by the weather. I hand them our giant flashlight and send them into the laundry room because it's close to the interior of the house and has no windows. It also has the litter boxes that I haven't cleaned in 4 days, so I'm sure that was an extra special bonus for them. Meanwhile, the Captain, the Kiddo and I stand in front of the tv and watch the news. We probably should have crawled into the closet under the stairs like we usually do, but I was having too much fun listening to the roommates discuss their escape route should the house implode from the tornado impact. "As long as there are holes between all the wood, we'll be able to crawl out. But if we can't, we can turn on the washer and drink the water until someone saves us."

The sirens turn off about 2 minutes later and the roommates come out from their hidey hole. Eco Nazi then proceeds to play with the flashlight for about 10 minutes....shining it under his chin and say "BWAHAHAHAHA!!!" That dude is hilarious. And when I say he's hilarious, I mean he's a total douche bag.

P.S. Captain Carl is leaving today for his business trip that was cancelled two weeks ago. The roommates will be alone in my house until 5:30pm today and tomorrow. I'm scared. Hold me.

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.