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Not to be all cliche about it, but what a difference a day makes. Yesterday ended pretty awesome. Danny sold the Saturn *sniff*! Then we went to pick up the boys from daycare. Which is always sort of nerve racking since you never know what’s happened in the 8 hours where the boys are unleashed on other unsuspecting children.

Do you think Fox went potty?

Do you think Leo will have an incident report?

Do you think they’ll let them play together like they did on Monday? Wasn’t it weird how all the other kids completely avoided them like they are trouble or something?

Do you think, do you think, do you think

And usually the answers to those questions aren’t good.

Look, I don’t want to give the wrong impression. Fox and Leo are not the worst kids there. That prize went to the little tigergirl who attacked everyone in the toddler class. Fox and Leo aren’t vicious just…you know, kids? I guess.

Anyway, we get there and of course Fox is in time out, I mean, that one’s a given. But it was only for markering on his face instead of paper. Danny and I shrugged it off because, a.) stupid rule and b.) washable marker.

Then the big news – Leo didn’t take down any of his “little friends”! Bless! We were super excited to not have to read about biting/pinching/pulling/hitting on his sheet. Oh and “little friends” is how daycare refers to the other children. It’s both cute and cloying and I’m never entirely sure how I feel about it but I find myself repeating it, even at home. Like, ‘Leo you need to quit pinching the shit out of your little friends, ok?’

What happened was they bumped him up for a couple hours. Which means he was in the toddler class with the cool older kids instead of lame class with the almost toddlers – they call that class “transition”. It’s like the halfway house for babies. Transition.

So the only reasonable conclusion to draw is that Leo is way to awesome to hang with the lames in transition. He needs to be with the bad asses in Toddler Room. Toddler Room teacher even said she had fun with him in the class! I know! I was pretty sure the answer would be something like this but I didn’t want to brag. I need to keep it humble you know.

Kind of like douching then acting like you don’t.

Speaking of….

What else can you think of that’s soooo much easier coming from your mom?

Post in comments or the facebook page!

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Ok, I’m just going to get this out of the way. I have no Soul. Not a Black Soul. Or a lime green Soul. I am Soul-less.

A moment to cry.

Moment over.  Here’s the thing – the new Kia Soul is like $17,000+. +!

There’s no way. Buying really new cars also seems skeevy. Like, new cars are the sort of thing Tipper and Al do, back when they were Tipper and Al. I’m more of a used lady.

So, you think, why not just buy a used Kia Soul, a Soul that’s had some mileage, some character, some story? Well, I’ll tell you this. The only used Souls within a 50 mile radius of my ass was at Carmax.

Carmax is real shady people. If you went to the desert, you would probably want to bring a Carmax with you. Since I’m a smart consumer, I let the internet fill me in on all the weird horrible that is this Carmax place. And decided that I couldn’t, in good conscience, get a Soul there.

So, instead I got a used Honda Civic…

HYBRID!

Try not to get jealous as I slowly accelerate past you on the highway.

Hell yeah. I’m going to slap an apple sticker on that bitch, load up my son named Fox and head on down to Barnes’ and Noble to get a free smoothie with my new Nook and see how many people flip me off.

Before you get all sad about the Kia and all wha? about the civic you should breath. Civics are cool and hybrids are Tipper. It’ll be ok. I haven’t given up on the Soul. Maybe that will be the next car…in 12 years.

*Updated*:  I want to be clear. I do NOT think that child abuse is funny, in any way. However, I do find this approach to child abuse awareness to be hilarious and grand and awesome. Also, no actual baby dolls or read babies were injured in the making of this post.*

Yes, today is the day. Lunch day. Lunch with mah bitches day.

Ladies, you know what I’m talking about. It’s very important to have a classy set of female friends to eat lunch with, drink booze with and yell obscenities at. Ya know, the bitches.

I have a great set. There’s me and my #1 – K. So our initials are K and S which makes me think of “kiss” which is something I bet a lot of people would want to see us do. On account of us being so hot and all.  Then there’s T and A (yes, TITS AND ASS!!) who are each others #1 and mine and K’s #2 and 3 though equal footing, so really like #2 x 2. It’s a complicated friend ranking system.  To simplify things – mah bitches. Clear yes?

Women are really awesome in this way. We run in packs. When we’re younger we sort of deny ourselves, uh ourselves in favor of cute boys and we are all ‘oh but I have to be involved with this guy’.  But then we get married and we are like, ‘oh god – bo’d’. So we hook back up with each other. Kind of like Sex and the City without the suck.

Anyway, there’s a phrase that I keep wanting to use on this blog but I know no one would know what it means. So today, in honor of finally going to lunch (stupid A had to run off and get a job and not be able to eat lunch monthly – like a period. Sorry for the P word dudes.) I give you the greatest idea in the history of great ideas:

Moi: Did you see all the flags on the capital today? What was that about? Is that some soldier thing?

T: No, that’s all the children who are abused in Oklahoma.

(Well, now hell, I feel awful.)

T: The big American flags are the ones who died and the Oklahoma flags are the ones who just got beat.

Moi and A and K: That’s so sad. Totally sad. People are horrible.

A: Tell them about that woman!

Moi and K turn to T with big old saucer eyes.

T: Oh right so there’s this woman and she, I don’t know, she, look she’s really nice and stuff but she’s kind of crazy. She always wants me to help and stuff… Anyway she wants to do a child abuse campaign.

And she wants to take like 12,000 babydolls and abuse them. The way the “real” babies were abused or killed. So like if one’s arm was broken she would put a cast on the baby dolls arm or burn it or some shit.

Moi: That’s fucking crazy.

T: Yeah. So she then was like, ‘do you know where I can get a glass dumpster? because ok, she then wants to put these babies in a glass dumpster.  Then the glass dumpster could tour the highschools for like  a week.

….

Ok, right so THEN she wants to take the babies out and heal them.

K: Even the dead ones? That’s…fucking crazy.

T: Yeah so then the healed babies would go back on tour –

Moi: In the glass dumpster?

T: I don’t think so…

Moi: So what would they be in?

A: Sticks? Would she like ram sticks up their ass and plant them in front of the highschools?

T: I don’t know! But she calls me daily saying, “Hey T I need a lot of baby dolls, some paint and everything else”.

So there you go. Now when I want to refer to someone’s unobtainable but worthy goal I say –  that’s 12,000 dead babies in a glass dumpster.

It's not glass but here's your dumpster. Fill it up with your dreams...hopes...abused dolls...whatever.

Assholes <—-for context, I was going to put this in the post title but then I thought maybe that was uncool. Like saying “fuck” is really cool when it means something you know? But then when you just say, ‘well look at that fucking cat sleeping the fuck on the fucking porch.” you sound kind of fucking stupid? Like that? I don’t know. Cussing in post titles – how do we feel about it?

But, no, distracted.

This special Saturday post (accompanied by a glass of wine) is brought to you by my new totally real friend CathyJoy! Yes, because see, she gave me an award! I know, so much excitement. But it’s not really so much as an award as a clip art saying I’m versatile. Which I had to look up. I am not versatile at blogging since I only have one setting and that’s hyper pissed off but you know what? She cares. And she was like, ‘I pass on love.’

Did any of you other assholes think of that? NO. You people. I see most of your fug faces every damn day and all I get is “are you drunk when you write this shit?” NO ASSHOLES I”M NOT DRUNK I”M VERSATILE.  So there.

Cathy you’re in – IRLers you are on notice. Except not for real because what would I do without you?

Check Cathy out at A Little Too Crazy to Be Cool

I love new friends even if they love Jesus and Republicans and collecting rocks like it’s a normal everyday activity. That’s right, Cathy is my Republican friend. And she does not give a shit if you know it or hate it. Which I respect. Plus I needed a Republican friend to help me fight the hippies.

No offense hippies.

Now I have to tell you 7 things about myself that maybe you didn’t know.

Learn to love it. And yes I am upset that Wesley Crusher is missing from this picture.

Thing 1 – My friends in real life do not kiss my ass enough. Nor do they watch Star Trek every night so when I’m like, ‘omg did you see last night’s episode where Worf trained this girl but she took a dangerous mission and didn’t come back?” they just go, “No sorry we did not see that.” Annoying.

Thing 2 – I’m double jointed. In my fingers. It’s a neat party trick.

Thing 3 – The thing I’m most looking forward too this summer is my sister’s second wedding. Not her second marriage but her second wedding for her first marriage. Yes. Brilliance. She finagled my parents out of two weddings. Only my mom is all like, ‘It’s not a second wedding, it’s a blessing!’

Thing 4 – Elijah Wood hung in my locker when I was 12. That’s right, almost twenty years of Eej love over here.

Thing 5 –  God, I have no idea…I mean, what the what else is there to say? I read a lot and I spy on my neighbors but those two things aren’t related.

Thing 6 – So, my neighbor, right? She’s got like 5 boyfriends. It’s very exciting.

Thing 7 – I was the homecoming queen. Let that sink in a moment. I was. In fact, I have been wondering how to work this little fact in without seeming all special and stuff. My mom and sister were also homecoming queens. We are like fucking thorough bred stock.

Finally, I have to pass it on to other blogs that I think are versatile and in this case versatile means awesome. The internet – changing word definitions faster than hip hop.

The Journey Starts Write Here

Daily Dose of Dahl

SheezKrafty

Blogged Bliss

Frantic Mommy

Not Your Forever Girl

Pretty All True

That’s my reader subscription (minus the manga/superhero/librarian blogs because I’m pretty sure no one here cares about those.) I know I’m supposed to do 15 but I’m new to this whole thing though I really honestly love reading all these blogs and finding more blogs. That’s because people – yes, real and virtual friends together – are amazing.

Yesterday, Danny invaded my blog pimping his own (awesome) tattoo find.  Danny invades my life all the fucking time. Be my girlfriend. Marry me. Have my babies. Look at my tattoo finds. Damn. Fine. I’m paying attention to you see? Happy now?

So, this post is dedicated to Danny. Someday I hope he gets a tattoo of that crop circle on his back so everyone can think it’s a celtic knot.

These people actually got it done and the world is better for it. Thank you inkers.

First up – Danny’s find.

Nice. So literal. I also appreciate the tiny little heart protecting my sensibilities. I’ve never seen Tom Selleck used this appropriately.

What a coincidence! Hello Kitty is my Jesus too! The attention to detail is what really impresses me here. I mean anyone can tattoo Hello Kitty on themselves, slap a beard on her and call it day. It takes real genius to include nails and blood spots. Bravo inker.

It’s hard out there for a unicorn. Tear.

Speaking of unicorns….

No words.

Then there’s this bitch. I’m not against boy bands on your back. But who are these guys? How about some New Kids on the Block, or Back Street Boys, or Menudo or something? At first I thought this was the cast of 90210 and I about did a dance on my desk. But no, just some Tasha Yar haircut nobody boyband bullshit.

Finally, we have the captain of all fairly awesome in ways that are wrong wrong wrong of tattoos.

Ah!

Good news! I’ve discovered a new form of therapy. It’s called Box of Wine Behavior Modification Theory. Basically, it involves sending your children (if you got em) to their grandparents. Then, sleeping. Then getting together with your best chick friends (guys I guess for you it would be your other guy friends) and playing an old lady game involving no skill and counting. With me so far? Good. Finally, boxed wine.

The key to this theory is not overdoing the boxed wine and keeping it classy. *snort*

After this weekend I felt great. It’s been a long time since I just sat around with friends and talked or laughed or swapped secrets. Lots of very wrong secrets. You think this blog is offensive? You should talk to some of the Bunco bitches (KVP I’m looking at you). OFFENSIVE.

It’s like coming home.

Then I sat around with people I’ve now known for over a decade and the people that love them. With pistachio nuts and goat cheese which I never even realized I was missing.

I felt old, and young, and tired, and awake and happy happy happy all weekend long. Then, midmorning Sunday I really started to miss my boys. By the time they got home, I was in full on super mom of the world, play on the floor, read books, never let go mode.

So basically, this weekend I got to fall in love.  I fell in love with my friends and their sick, little minds. I fell in love with my favorite person who believes impossible things. I fell in love with my boys all over again like they were new.

Now, don’t worry. I’m sure something will depress/anger/annoy me soon so this blog isn’t going away or getting joyful or some crazy shit like that. Still, spring is here (hopefully to stay?) and I’m going to just sit in my patch of office sunlight and be…content.

It was totally like this! Except with a bat and a troll.

I know this guy! Not the people in the car but the guy with the bat! It’s so exciting! I love when people I know show up in the news for crazy shit. It’s the greatest.

Barry was a strange little man who lived down the road from us. And, trust me, to be called weird in that neighborhood was saying something. We lived next to a musician, a beer distributor, a puppeteer and a mechanic whose high ass constantly mispronounced simple words like gazebo.

*UPDATE* Yes, I am remiss for not mentioning Brian, who was a beer drinking bastard with a set of remote controlled panties. You can see how I wasn’t sure the right way to phrase that.

Anway, Barry. He had  glasses and a whole Rick Moranis except insane vibe. He was nice though, I would never expect him to take a bat to a truck. CRAZY! He lived with a complete weirdo who worked night shift at a hospital and would steal all the janitorial supplies. So you would go to their house and find like, 80 stacked up lava soaps.

Every year they had a throw down awesome crab boil.

So to recap:

Barry

crab boil

lava soap

bat

The End.

Oh, and, um, I have a hernia. On my stomach. It’s true. So next time you see me,  please, don’t push it like a button. Thanks.

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