My kid will charm the shit out of you.

As we all know, this past weekend was Halloween.  Peanut was a cheerleader this year, and she was totally into the whole concept. This was her first year doing the traditional trick-or-treating.  She loved it!  She called her Pom-Poms "Boom Booms" as well as "Poop Poops". And honestly, I thought that second one was pure genius.  This child certainly has a bright future ahead of her.

I however, hated trick-or-treating. I remembered it being a lot more fun as a child.  This year, I felt like a pack mule.  By the end of the night I was carrying Peanut's coat, her candy bucket, her Pom Poms...and her. Plus my stupid ass thought flip flops would be, like, totally acceptable footwear.

*sigh*

I can be such an idiot sometimes.

Anyway, I took tons of pictures that night because that's my job as a mom.  Take all the pictures, and 50% of the candy.

....Better make that 60%. I can't let a 3 year old eat all that candy, or I would be a horrible mother right?  Right? Come on, just go with it.  Humor me. After all, I fill your lives with humor by writing this hilarious kick-ass blog.  So you totally owe me, bitches.

Out of all the pictures I took, one in particular captures the essence of my wonderful child in such a way that it would be a shame not to share it:

Omg what a totally cute cheerleader!  She is so freakin adorable!

....Aaaaand she's picking her nose.

Diggin' for gold, apparently.  She's got her finger so far up there she's gotta be touchin brain.

Burstin' with pride here, people.  Simply bursting.

Farts and Daydreams

...My thoughts exactly.

This is the kind of day I’m having. The kind of day where I feel like marching into my boss’s office, dumping a bowl of cottage cheese on his head, and smacking him in the face with a fly swatter. And then I would totally fart as loud as I can and say “I quit!” …and leave satisfied, knowing he will not be able to figure out what just happened for years to come.


These are the things I spend my day fantasizing about. That, and cheeseburgers.


Mmmmmmm….cheeseburgers.


And this is so not a cop out because I can’t come up with a longer post. Because I totally can. They say a picture is worth a thousands words… so if you think about it, this is totally impressive.


*takes a bow*


You’re welcome.

Fuck you, Dora the Explorer. Fuck you.

Dear Dora the Explorer,


Stop yelling! We’re not fucking deaf. Also, stop telling my kid to yell and jump around with you. It's too early in the damn morning for that bullshit. Your voice is annoying, your head is too big, and your shirts are too small. Where the fuck are your parents?!

Apparently you need to be reminded that you can't catch a star and put it back in the sky by climbing a tall mountain and throwing it at the moon. Also, if burglars could be stopped by yelling at them….this world would be a much happier place. You should be trying to get Swiper into rehab instead. Ever heard of kleptomaniacs? You’re a girl of many resources, Dora. Look it up. Your fox pal has a problem.

I also take issue with how presumptuous you are when asking for my help. When I say “no” you act like you didn’t hear me, and you do it anyway. What if I have shit to do, and therefore do not have the time to make climbing motions? How does that help you anyway? Climb the damn mountain yourself.

And maybe I don't feel like helping you with some random lion that ran into in the wild, find his way to the circus. BECAUSE IT'S A FUCKING LION AND IT SHOULD BE EATING YOU. Also, because I've seen you get robbed on a regular basis, come close to being eaten by the cutest freakin alligators I’ve ever seen, and almost drown because your boat had geometrically shaped holes in it. I wouldn’t consider you the best of company. Because frankly, I don’t want to die and be buried in a land of magical farts and rainbows. Or wherever the hell you live.

And how does that goddamn map of yours know the locations of so many places, even though half of them don't look like they're on the same plane of existence? I wouldn't trust him if I were you. I think he's making shit up. I mean, lollipop forest? Hiccup bridge? Really? Either he’s high, or I’m a dude. And I’ve got boobies to prove my case. What do you have?

Welcome to the real world, Dora. You’re gonna HATE it here. There are no chocolate trees or bubblegum volcanoes, and your parents will be arrested for child endangerment.

Let me know how foster care works out for you.

Sincerely,

-Me

PS – Seriously where did you get the talking monkey with the cute little red boots? Cuz I totally want one.

Crazy fuckers always find me...

Long back story short – I work for a buffalo rancher. We market the meat on the internet so most of our business is done outside of the local area. We get all kinds of weird calls, but today I got one that I think tops them all. So sit back and be amused, people. Or I’ll hunt you down and kick you in the junk.


And trust me, this motherfucker can KICK.

*points thumbs at self*

Ask my brother if you don’t believe me. Any time we fought as kids I fell to the floor and kicked that asshole like I was doing the backstroke. Why? He’s bigger than me, and my legs are my best defense. Although, strangely enough…my worst attribute. Two words: cellulite and cankles. (Thanks a lot for those wonderful genes, dad. I mean, let’s face it – I didn’t get flabby legs from my mom because she’s a freakin' amazon. So damn you and your stupid sperm. I got totally screwed on that one.)

So anyway, I was at work this morning…minding my own business. Because I don’t mind the actual business. Because I’m a model employee!! So anyway I was on the computer checking my Facebook and the phone rings. This dude on the other end had a pretty strange and specific request. He wanted us to ship him a buffalo head. Not a skull – an entire head. Eyeballs, skin, hair, horns, tongue and all. Yeah. A real winner, this one.

*sigh*

Why do the fucking weirdo’s always find ME?

But wait – it gets better! I didn’t bother asking what he wanted it for…because frankly, I didn’t want to know. But he offered up that information anyway, as if it was crucial to the sale. It wasn’t. He wanted the head for a Halloween display – he wanted to stick it on a pike in his yard and wire it so that it was spitting blood out the mouth like a fountain. He already had a deer head and a goat head….but he wanted something bigger. Of course! I totally shoulda had that figured out. I mean it’s common sense, right?

*gagging*

Upon finding out what his (not at all fucking WEIRD) intentions were….my facial reaction was probably something like this:

Except there was no horse in my face, and no shit in my pants.


I got to thinking: and if I saw this shit in someone’s yard while trick-or-treating as a kid I would have had nightmares for weeks. I’ve always been really squeamish, even as a child. Preparing raw chicken for dinner literally makes me gag…but for some reason I have no problem eating it. Probably because I’m a bomb-ass cook and you’re totally jealous.

I remember when I was younger, I went on vacation with my dad and his evil shrew of a wife to Myrtle Beach. One night before we went out for dinner my dad was watching this old western movie on TV. A Native American woman had been shot in the back, and a cowboy was using a knife to dig the bullet out of her back. I couldn’t eat for 2 days. Yeah, I have problems. So does your mom. So shove it.

Forceful Personal Hygiene

So by now you all know of my 3 year old, Peanut. Lately we have been having some personal hygiene issues. Why, you ask? Well, Peanut doesn’t like to brush her teeth. Or wipe when she uses the bathroom. Or wash her hair. She likes to play in the dirt and eat bugs. In short - I have a dirty, dirty child. And when you’re like me (I know, you totally wish you were) you can’t stand seeing dirt under someone’s fingernails. It just totally grosses me out. Wash your hands once in awhile, yo!

Anyway, today I’m talking teeth. See, it is a perfectly normal morning ritual for me to load toothpaste on Peanut’s little mermaid toothbrush, sit on her lap, hold her arms down, pry open her mouth, and brush her teeth. She hates it. She screams open mouthed, while spitting foam like a rabid animal. She cries like I’m torturing her. And sometimes she laughs because “the toofbrush tickles, mommy!”

It drives me nuts. I really wish she would just take the damn brush and do it herself. I mean, the toothpaste tastes like bubblegum! It’s delicious! I could eat it on some crackers with a nice mouthwash chaser. It’s that good.

So, I’ve been trying to make brushing your teeth look cool so she will be more inclined to do it herself.


I’ve tried: “See how funny it sounds when you try to sing while you’re brushing?”

And: “Its fun to DANCE while you’re brushing!”

And: “Only cool people brush their teeth. So that means I’m cool and you’re not.”

Her response to that last one: “That’s ok, I don’t need to be cool. Because I’m already AWESOME.” -She surely is her mother’s daughter.


I’m fairly certain that the only conclusion she’s come to is that her mother is an idiot who dances with a toothbrush hanging out of her mouth, spraying toothpaste everywhere while singing Paula Abdul’s greatest hits.

I can’t wait to do that in front of her friends when she’s 16.

*evil cackle*

That must be why my mother embarrassed the shit out of me in high school. Like the time she pulled up in front of the school in a run-down truck with a stove strapped to it, screaming my (first AND last) name and waving like a maniac. Mother’s revenge….I must have forgotten to clean my room or something. Or maybe it was because I got suspended for swearing in German at the substitute teacher. (And I totally would’ve gotten away with it if the assistant principal didn’t speak fluent German.) Meh, whatever.

Conversations with Dishes

Everybody has certain quirks, right? Like...my brother likes to stare at me and drool like a retard whenever we’re in a car together and I’m driving. My boss stretches and says “OKAAAAAYYY” really loud about 5 times a day. (I think it’s a thought-gathering technique. At least I hope it is.) Every time I visit my Grandma, she sends me home with a full bag of groceries from her kitchen. My daughter has to scream “I’m wiping FRONT to BACK mom, just like you said!!!” every time she uses the bathroom – even in public. You know, totally random shit like that.

Well just today I noticed a certain quirk I never really realized I had: when I go to the kitchen to get a drink, I have to take a moment to choose which cup I want to use.


I open the cupboard and simply ponder in my mind:


“I’m not in a plastic kind of mood, plus the only clean plastic cup is neon orange. Ew I hate that one.”

*moves cup out of the way*

“I could go for a glass, but I don’t want the one with Christmas shit on it, and the other ones are really small and I’m thirsty as hell.”

*push to back of cupboard*
*pick a booger*
*fling said booger*

“I would use a mug but I’m not drinking something hot and that just feels wrong…and my favorite mug is dirty too. Shit, I really need to do the dishes. I wish I had a dishwasher because dishes are stupid and they can burn in hell. Where’s that pretty glass that’s shaped like a tulip?”

*peering in cabinet*
*rubbing chin*

“Oh shit, I broke that one a couple days ago. Dammit.  I guess I’ll use one of these fancy ones with the stem on the bottom. Yeah...I’ll sip my strawberry flavored Clearly Canadian like it’s champagne, and I’m a fancy fancy lady with a bidet and a backyard pool and diamonds and shit.”

*smiles approvingly*

“This’ll do quite fine. Ya done good, kid.”

*pats self on back*

Congratulations, people. You’ve just experienced a moment within my mind. Scary, isn’t it?

WTF, Illustrator?

So, I went to Dollar General the other day…because I’m cheap and I can get a full cart of groceries there for $40. Don’t judge me. So while I was there I told Peanut she could pick out ONE toy – and that it couldn’t be more than $5. (I guess I forgot that NOTHING in that store is more than $5.) Peanut picked out a little watercolor set that had 3 paint-by-color pictures in it, and she couldn’t wait to get home and paint. And I couldn’t wait to scrub it out of the carpet when she was done. Really, I was giddy with anticipation because cleaning rocks hardcore.

*rolls eyes*

So, when we get home and I got out all the stuff in the box, I looked at the pictures….and there are no words.  Check it out:

Seriously, wtf? Why is the caterpillar wearing a cast?

And what does a caterpillar have to do in order to break a leg?

Motorcycle accident? Sports injury?

I’m stumped.

Then there was this little gem:

… I don’t even know where to begin.

Why is the dog wearing a Santa hat?

What is the pudgy cat doing with fish bones, is that some kind of weird voodoo ritual?

And what in the HELL is up with the tiny mushroom house?

I simply don't get it.  I have come to the conclusion that this illustrator was almost definitely on acid.