About Me

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I'm 25 and clueless, trying to find my way through a world that is becoming more and more complicated. I'm a single mommy, learning the ropes of parenthood and adulthood and trying not to mess my child up too bad in the process. I moved to Kansas almost 5 years ago from Ohio, where I currently live with my beautiful 5 year old daughter, and our dachshund Oscar. I'm a shy person on the outside, but on the inside I'm a total weirdo. I always speak before I think, (yeah, read that one again) I dance like an epileptic, and I laugh at myself constantly. I love fart jokes and dirty language...who doesn't? And if you're one of those people that don't...well then, fuck you. *fart*

Tuesday, June 12, 2012

The fucking WIND, yo!

If you don’t live in Kansas, you aren’t allowed to complain about the wind. Ever. Because you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.

The wind out here these past few days has been vicious. You would think that as a full grown adult, the wind would not be able to uproot you and knock you on your ass all by itself. WRONG! It can, and it does. You’ll be standing at the gas pump, pumping carefully, trying to hit that $20 mark without going over by so much as a penny because when you do it feels like you’ve won a fucking game show, and BAM! A big ass gust of wind comes along and bowls you over. I have been unsuspectingly knocked on my ass by an invisible force more than once…and recently.

But no wind-related incidents that I can remember were as bad as my trip to Wal-Mart this past Sunday. I went to stock up on baby shit - not literally, as I’ll have plenty of that in a few more weeks, but figuratively. I am buying craploads of diapers, wipes and other baby goodies. I figure it’ll be good to have it all ahead of time, because after I wreck my vagina popping out a kid, I’m not gonna feel like going out much. Sound logic, yeah?

So at this particular Wal-Mart, the parking lot is lacking any kind of structure that might protect you from the elements. So if the wind is blowing like a motherfucker, you’re on your own. This was the case on Sunday. I opened my door to get out of the car, and the wind ripped it from my hands. I was just happy nobody was parked next to me, because I wasn’t in the mood to move my car to another spot and pretend like nothing happened. So Peanut and I managed to make it into the store without incident. But when we came back out it was a completely different story.

So anyway, we get everything we need (and a few things we don’t) and go to leave the store. I swear the wind got stronger while we were in there, because when we were navigating the cart through the parking lot, it was impossible to do so in a straight line. Then we get halfway through the parking lot, and the giant frozen pizza I just bought GOES FLYING OUT OF THE CART. Seriously, like the damn thing was made of Styrofoam or something. Peanut starts screaming “OMIGOD MOM OUR PIZZA IS FLYING AWAY!!” And I’m like “SHIT SHIT SHIT FUCK FUCK!” Because when I panic, my filter is completely gone. I say whatever comes to mind, and hell let’s face it, it got lost in the wind this time anyway so it’s not like anyone heard me. I choose to believe that if nobody heard me, it didn’t happen. So I totally didn’t swear in front of my child like a careless asshole.

By this point I've decided that I really want that fucking pizza for dinner and I just paid $7 for it so I’m going after that bastard. It was a Sunday morning so there wasn’t any activity in the parking lot, so fuck it – game on. I stooped over and ran, arms outstretched, reaching for my cheese covered salvation, as the butthole wind keeps pushing it further and further away. This was no easy feat as I can hardly even reach the ground anymore, but I was determined. I looked like a fool, I knew it, but I didn’t care. I heard this documentary style monologue inside my head, in the voice of Steve Irwin, describing me as the deadly predator stalking her prey. It was actually pretty awesome. I felt like a champ.

Oy, isn't she a beauty?

With the encouragement of The Crocodile Hunter, I caught that bitch pizza. And I think I made my 5 year olds’ day at the same time because she was laughing really hard when I got back to the cart. Although that may have had something to do with the fact that I was holding it above my head like a trophy and doing a victory dance.


At least I got my pizza. And after re-arranging some toppings, it baked up just fine and tasted great. I had three delicious slices. Totally worth it.

Friday, May 25, 2012

If wishes were fishes, we’d all smell fucking awful.

So, someone asked me the other day: “If you could have one wish, guilt free, consequence free, what would it be?”

Well, what an interesting question. There are so many things this world needs that a simple wish could fix. World Peace. Universal Healthcare. Cure cancer. End World Hunger. Go back in time and kill Hitler. It all sounds so lovely, doesn’t it? A wish like this would be a big responsibility, know what I mean? I have such a big heart, and I would love to use that wish for the better of mankind. I hardly had to think about it.

So, what would I wish for? It's a no-brainer. I'd wish for the ability to teleport at will.

I'm so awesome for thinking of that.

Yeah, I know I’m a selfish bitch. But you have to admit that being able to do that would be fucking awesome and you would all be totally jealous.

What would I do with such a talent, you ask?

*rubs hands together maniacally*

This is where it gets good. I mean, an ability like this has some real promise. So get this - I would totally use it to work for the government. I mean, how much money could Obama save on his campaign if he never had to worry about transportation costs? Or personal protection? Would he even have a need for the secret service anymore?

“What’s that, Mr. President? A dangerous man in the crowd? Holy shit, he has a gun?! Hold onto your nuts, sir. We’re fucking outta here.” And then I’d cross my arms and blink like Barbara Eden just for effect and we'd disappear and everyone in the world would be like: “She’s so fucking cool, I want to be her friend and buy her lavish gifts and pay for her children’s college education.” And I’d totally allow that because hey, college ain’t cheap. And I really like designer purses, but I’m too cheap to buy them for myself. So get out your credit cards and get to shopping, douchebags. FYI, my favorite color is pink.

And Mr. Obama would definitely have to let me live in the White House to make sure he was secure at all times. We would be freakin’ besties. Our adorable children would get along perfectly and be best friends, and Michelle and I would do Zumba together. I have no idea what the fuck Zumba really is, but the name alone makes it sound fun so I’m totally in. And Michelle seems like a real cool lady so I bet she’d have some interesting ideas about how to use my newfound ability for the greater good. I mean, I’m going to need someone in my corner with a strong moral compass to keep me on the straight and narrow. Otherwise I’ll just be teleporting into men’s dressing rooms all the time and otherwise wreaking widespread havoc just for the pure fun of it all.

And oh, the havoc I would wreak. I would love nothing more than to pop into the closets of people I hate and scare the living shit out of them at random, for the rest of their lives. They would never sleep well again...but I would sleep like a baby. The most awesome baby in the history of the world.

Tuesday, May 22, 2012

Shhh, everything's gonna be okay now. I'm back.

I know…I’m an asshole for leaving you hanging like that.

I sincerely apologize for being such a neglectful douchebag and not blogging for however-freaking-long. I should be tied to a chair and forced to eat broccoli for my crimes. (By the way, if anyone actually tries to carry that out, keep in mind that when I get free – and I WILL get free – I will find you and kill you.) So anyway, yeah. So sorry and stuff. Here, look at this cute puppy and forgive me as your heart melts.

So yeah…I guess we should get to the whole “what I’ve been doing with my life” thing. Living in the tiny and totally NOT exciting Kansas town that I do, not a lot has changed. I have the same job. I still live in the house I recently bought, and I’m slowly working on making it my own. Peanut has continued to grow, as those damn kids do, and she will be starting Kindergarten this fall. She was also in a dance recital a few weeks ago and before you even ask, yes. She did fucking awesomely. (Awesomely is totally a word, too. Google it.) And of course she was the cutest kid on the stage, but that goes without saying. Any crotch-fruit of mine is going to be the most adorable fucking child ever because my genes are that of the gods.

Speaking of crotch-fruit…guess what, buttholes? I’m freaking knocked up! I’m expecting a new and exciting addition in July. I’m down to the last 6 miserable weeks of pregnancy and I can’t wait to meet the little booger and show her off to the world. That’s right – it’s a SHE! Another pretty little girl to dress up all fancy and put barrettes in her hair and paint tiny fingernails and toenails and OMIGOD THIS SHIT IS GOING TO BE SO FUCKING AWESOME! I’m totally excited…and so is Peanut. She’s looking forward to being a big sister. I just hope it stays that way, because if my kids are anything like my brother and I growing up, I’m in for a long, bumpy ride full of hair-pulling, name-calling and ass-kicking.

*rethinks previous statement regarding baby awesomeness*

Oh shit. What did I get myself into?


They’ll grow up and go off to college someday. Then I can fill my house with pets, and they don’t talk back.

…Note to self: don’t get a parrot.

So…pregnancy, eh? A life is growing inside of me and I’m so happy and glowing and motherhood and circle of life and blessings and whatever.

*throws up breakfast*

It’s not as great as some may think. I can’t reach my toes, which means I can’t clip my toenails or paint them. Peanut has been trying to do that for me but…let’s just say, her pedicure skills leave something to be desired. I can’t shave my legs, so I’m rocking the Sasquatch look. I can’t tie my shoes, so sandals and crocs are my only options. I have wicked gas and I’m constipated like you wouldn’t believe. I can’t stop thinking about chocolate and fried food. (Well that part isn’t too different, now that I think about it.) My back is constantly killing me, walking 20 feet feels like running 20 miles and I cry during every ASPCA commercial. Pregnancy bites the big one, folks. If it weren’t for the adorable outcome, I would have gotten spayed a long time ago.

But it’s worth it…so they say. We’ll see how I feel about that in a few weeks when I’m suffering through sleep exhaustion and elbow deep in runny baby shit. I can hardly wait.

Really. I'm super excited about that part.

Monday, January 10, 2011

The company dinner from hell.

I’m back! Sorry it took so long, folks…writer’s block is a real sonovabitch.

Plus there’s that whole thing about me being a professional procrastinator. Really, there should be a procrastinator title match, where you can win one of those fancy gold wrestling belts cuz I would totally dominate that shit. I’d get in that ring, crack my knuckles, look my opponent in the eyes….and sit on a couch. And maybe file my nails while looking bored. Throw in a Snuggie and I would be the undefeatable queen of laziness.

So, what has been going on in my life lately, you ask? Well, we went to the yearly office party last Thursday. (Fucking EXCITING, let me tell you.) We went to a really nice country club for dinner, and the food was awesome. I put Peanut in a cute little dress and did her hair all nice, hoping she would be the epitome of a well behaved child. After all, she is usually really good in public and I expected this time to be no different. But that night…let’s just say she really set the bar high for mischievous children everywhere. She’s a trailblazer, all right. A real visionary.

We started out with fresh salads, which Peanut and I both like. But for some reason, every bite of salad that went into her mouth got chewed up – and came right back out again. Why, you ask? No fucking clue. The worst part? Every bite she spit out went right into my hand. I mean, the place was fancy, with real cloth napkins and everything. And let me tell you, if I was that waitress I would be pissed if I picked up a napkin and a pound of half-chewed food fell out. I’m sure she got a great tip, but not that great. Having been a waitress before, I sympathize with how hard their jobs really are and didn’t want to make it worse for her. She was one of those really nice ones that called me “sweetheart”, even though she definitely walked through a huge fart I let loose around the second course. I saw the look on her face – there is no mistaking she caught a whiff. And she didn’t even say anything! (Unless you include the slight gag.) What a trouper.

So, needless to say, Peanut’s table manners leave a little something to be desired. Not only did I have a pile of partially chewed food on the side of my plate, but Peanut decided that since she was wearing a pretty dress, it was the perfect opportunity to put her legs in the air and show everyone her cool boots. And by association, her panties.



And every time I told her to sit up straight and eat her dinner, she made noises like an angry pirate. Something to the effect of: “AARRRGGGHHH!! NO!!” Since we were in public, I let it slide. And at that moment I practically heard the light bulb click on in her mind - she knew she had found her golden ticket. She knows that shit would never fly at home. But that evil little grin on her face said it all; she was willing to test all the boundaries, not giving a damn that she would have to pay for it later. And then I realized: all hope was lost.

So as the night went on, my patience grew thinner and thinner. She was crawling under the table and grabbing people’s legs, throwing food, climbing on me, and yelling like a crazed hobo. She also spent an adequate amount of time petting my boss’s wife. That’s right, you read it correctly. My boss’s wife was wearing a really nice coat complete with real coyote fur, so Peanut thought it would be okay if she pet her, while calling her “my sweet little kitty”.

All in all, I only had to take her into the bathroom and have a “talk” two times. Which is twice as much as usual…but what can ya do? Kids will be kids. Whatever that means. I mean, could there be a more obvious statement? It should be more like: “Kids will be major buttholes, but you have to love them anyway because if you don’t they grow up to be serial killers.” Or something like that. So maybe Peanut was a rotten little shit that night. But she’s MY rotten little shit, and I love her all the same.

Cue the: “AWWWWWWW!!”

The funny part? Everybody was raving about how good she was. I shudder to think what kind of 4 year olds they’ve been around, if they think that was a good example of how a child should behave. Really. That shit’s gonna give me nightmares.

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

Holy shit, Christmas is almost here!

My mom and brother are coming out for the holidays this year, and I’m totally stoked! They’re driving which kinda bummed me out, because I had some really fucking hilarious TSA jokes all lined up. Meh, whatevs. It’ll still be nice to have them here. Sharing one tiny bathroom with 4 other people was totally at the top of my wish list this year.

*dramatic eye roll*

And of course I have the wonderful “tofu diarrhea” to look forward to. My mom insists that using soy meat in chili is no different than using real meat. It is. A lot different. Regular chili doesn’t give me explosive diarrhea. The taste isn’t all that different – and that’s how it gets ya. You gobble down 3 bowls unsuspectingly, while the soy quietly works its way to your colon for D-Day. And before you know it, you're icing your binghole and throwing away your favorite underwear.

The best part about this year is that I was finally able to afford presents. Before I never had enough money, so I had to use the lame ass excuse that “My presence is your present. Because I’m that fucking cool and I know you’re totally grateful.” Well maybe in my Gramma’s case I left out the f-bomb. No need to burn the only bridge that leads to homemade cookies and endless advice. Seriously. My Gramma knows everything. Also, I don’t know what she’s capable of so I don’t want to make her mad. Never piss off a Gramma. They’re full of surprises.

Fuck you, young people!

Since they’ll be here in just under a week, it’s crunch time. I’ve gotten a lot of things done, so I’m mostly ready for their arrival. The only things I have left to do are wrap the presents, and clean my house. Except for the “cleaning my house” part. Because who wants to do that on Christmas? Or….ever? Cleaning house is the worst. Around every corner is a wall that I have to scrub Peanut’s crayon drawings off of. Or a lovely little poop streak that Oscar left behind on the floor while doing that hilarious ass-dragging thing. And let’s be honest here - I can’t even get mad when he does it because I’m laughing so hard I can’t see straight. The ass-dragging is one of my favorite things in the world. The simplistic beauty of it is something to be admired. 

So, bloggers….I would like to take this opportunity to wish you good tidings. Happy Chanukah, Merry Christmas, Happy Kwanzaa, Winter Solstice, or whatever the hell you celebrate. That’s right assholes, I can totally be sensitive and politically correct. I just don’t like to do it very often. Because raising expectations is never a good idea.

See you next year, douchebags!!

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Tumbleweeds are the devil. And so am I.

I have had to get used to a lot of major changes since moving from Ohio to Kansas. I visited my family here as a kid, but I don’t have a lot of memories about the climate, culture or community. I invested more in raising hell with the combined efforts of my brother and cousins. And at that…I succeeded. I’m a havoc-wreaking monster motherfucker. So look out, buttholes. Hide your breakables and don’t ever give me candy. I’m like a stray cat; if you feed me, I’ll be back. And if you don’t give me candy when I come back, I’ll meow your ass off and tear your curtains apart. Trust me, it would be a cat-astrophe.

Haha. Cat Humor.

Driving is a lot different out here in the middle of nowhere. I can now go 50 mph down city streets and totally get away with it. I can pull a U-Turn in the middle of Main Street and nobody would think twice about it. Hell, I could stand in the middle of Main Street, butt naked, holding a sign that says “Ask me about my wicked diarrhea” at 8pm on a Friday night and not a soul would see me. And frankly yes, I have been tempted to do so. Because that shit would be hilarious, and also because I’m really fucking weird.

Now, when you’re driving in Ohio, you mostly only have to worry about animals jumping out in front of your car. Deer, groundhogs, raccoons and opossums are among the most popular road kill victims. In Kansas, it’s rare to come across an animal in the road – instead, you have to dodge tumbleweeds. Those bastards are everywhere! And I know what you’re thinking: “It’s just a weed. What could it possibly do to you?” …That’s what I thought the first time I got one stuck under my car. I reached under to pull it out, and it damn near CUT MY FUCKING FINGER OFF. Those shits are deceptively sharp, and viciously evil. I’m telling ya man, tumbleweeds can’t be trusted.

And size is of no concern to them. The ones you see blowing across the sand in western movies are cute and small – but don’t let them fool you. Those are only the baby tumbleweeds. And when Papa tumbleweed comes a rollin’ along, look the fuck out. He will bowl your ass over and rip your jeans, and possibly sexually assault you. Papa tumbleweed is an unstoppable badass. I know from experience – I ran into one at Walmart the other day. Rather, it ran into me. And I wrangled that douchebag into a cart rack and took its picture, as proof for everyone who doubts its existence. Get ready to have your minds blown to hell, my friends:

I had to look like a raging moron trying to muscle that thing in there.


Good thing I don’t mind looking like a weirdo. It’s pretty much a full time job for me. The shocked and disgusted looks I get are only fuel in the fire, baby. I pride myself on being a one-of-a-kind freak. The kind of freak that makes people so uncomfortable they tell their kids not to stare. Where people just assume I’m mentally challenged and pretend I’m not there while avoiding eye contact. Where I can get away with farting really loud in public, as long as I follow it by screaming: “WHOOP WHOOP!! HOOOOOONK!! I’M A FIRETRUCK!” and spitting on people to put out their fires.

It’s time like those I wish I had a penis, because a wang would sure make an awesome fire hose. Also, I really want to know what it’s like to pee outside without having to squat. Squatting outside is the worst, and I always manage to somehow pee in my shoes. And let me tell you, shoes full of urine aren’t nearly as fun as they sound.

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

I'm a human lie detector. Really. Try me.

A little backstory here..I've dated this one guy on and off for the past few years. Let's call him Leo. We've never gotten overly serious in the past but he's been staying with me since he lost his job, so we're in that awkward "hold your shit until the other person isn't home" phase. He can be real sweet....and he can be a real douche, too. I laugh at his expense all the time. But hey, at least he's a good sport. Usually. Sometimes.

Anyway, Leo is always giving me crap about watching TV shows like Jersey Shore and Jerry Springer and iCarly. I just can't help myself. And before you say something shitty and I'm forced to punch you in the throat, iCarly rocks and you totally know it so don't even go there.

So on my lunch break today I was at home watching Maury and eating a PB&J sammich. Simplicity is really wonderful sometimes, you should try it. So before I left to go back to work, I noticed that Leo hadn't changed the channel yet. I just figured he wasn't paying attention to the TV and shrugged it off.

When I got back to work I got to thinking, so I texted him.

Here is a summary of our "Textual Transmission:"

Me: "If I ask you a question, will you answer it honestly?"

Him: "Crap."

Me: "lol shut up it's not a bad thing I just wanna know something."

Him: "ok"

Me: "Are you still watching Maury?"

Him: "hell no I aint watchin that shit"

Me: "I don't believe you. You're still watching it aren't you?"

Him: "....yes."

Me: "I knew it!"

Him: "Shut up."

Me: "So was Billy the father?"

Him: "Hell yeah I knew that shit too that baby looked just like him."

*rolls eyes*

If he ever gives me shit for my viewing choices again, I'm totally giving him a swirlie. And I won't even clean the toilet first.