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Just a heads up – this is a parenting post. I know. Those suck balls. I’m so so sorry. But I told you right off the bat so if you are childess you can go back to wondering if you should screw your no-really-he’s-just-my-best-friend roommate or the hot Asian guy in Starbucks. I wish I had your problems.

Also, if you are considering spawning, you should probably skip this post.

The truth is, sometimes children are miraculous little butterflies that flit around your face and you love them and you think ridiculous thoughts like, ‘my children are the greatest, most beautiful, most effervescent, most minty (holler Steph!) things on earth. No, in the UNIVERSE!’ This is a great batch of feelings. It comes complete with hugs and elevated self esteem <—-because they must be so awesome thanks to me.

And then, then, they like….flip their shit. Always both at the same time. Two weeks ago I was riding high on kick ass kiddiesness. Then, Fox, who up to this point was kind of cruising along in underwear ok, minus the whole poop thing (oh god I hate when people talk about that on their blogs – ergo I hate myself) Anyway, daycare handles that aspect. Then, last night, he just up and pees on the carpet. It seriously sent me over the swing set. Past annoyed, past angry and right on over to hilarious. I swing on some fucked up mental playgrounds. Clearly.

So I’m laughing and dying inside because potty training is the worst thing to ever exist.  I have serious doubts that this child even knows what planet he’s on half the time and so how do I reach him? I mean, he pulled down his underwear and just…let it fly. WTF <—-the f stands for FUUUUUUCCCCKKK

Navigating to Mars. His real home.

Then later he peed in the pants and took them off, carefully put them in the dirty clothes pile and stated, “I handled it.” So now I get to say F to You internet message board which told me if a child pees to make them ‘handle it’ and they will hate dealing with ickyness and they will want to use the potty. For Fox, it’s an out.

I’m just so frustrated. To make things worse, I have underwear eyes. You know when you are wanting to be pregnant, you see preggos every where you go? Or when you want a Kia Soul suddenly there are 50 thousand of them on the road? Like that. Only with cute children in their cute underwear and their goddamn cute smiling pee free parents.

And don’t even get me started on Leo. He’s about to get his ass straight kicked out of daycare. I’m not even kidding about that. That’s another post.

This is what it looks like two seconds before he pulls his shirt off and slaps you to the ground.

So I’m tired and stressed and exhausted and waaaaaaaahhhhh. This Saturday Danny is going to UFO Field Investigators training all day, leaving me with his children. It makes me want to sob, on the floor – except I can’t – because it has pee on it.

…..

I also realize when I write statements like, “Danny is going to UFO Field Investigators training all day” without even thinking about it, that maybe there’s a reason my children are kind of strange and alien.

First, an update: It is still sub-zero but thanks to several layers, heavy pants, socks and Wuggs – I’m doing ok.  thanks for asking.

Now onward to the new thing that’s making my life helllll.

Car trouble.

ukla;goafhgio0al ngfofjdlksajf lzsd goddamn CAR TROUBLE

Ladies, am I right?  Sorry, that was sexist.

It turns out my beloved 1999 Saturn is terminal. This is really really sad and I am really really sad about it. It’s  complete news to me because I thought she was purring along just fine. The following conversations led to the diagnosis:

Danny: Your car is leaking something.

Me: It is? I hadn’t noticed. Whatever.

Danny: No, leaking is bad.

Me: In people. Leaking is bad, in people. In cars it’s just like…condensation.

To save you the boring end result which included a fight over mechanics aka car doctors aka pain in my ASS – leaking is bad in people and cars. So we were both right. I’m very rarely completely wrong – except in this conversation:

Danny: Your check engine light is on.

Me: Yeah it does that. I like it, it’s pretty.  And don’t worry, check engine lights don’t mean anything.

Check engine lights do mean things. Terrible things. Things like expiration date and no point in taking any other measures and the worst thing of all

Danny: We need a new car.

ajlfa ndfklaj klfha lkfd l;fhd aljsd

Have you ever seen those creepy dustbowl era apple dolls? That’s how I feel when I think about new cars. Like a shriveled dusty assugly apple doll. Everything about buying a new car is trouble. There’s so many decisions and all I care about is safety. Because. Duh.

So it’s back and forth with Danny going on about some sink thing that I’m still unclear about and me going on about IIHS and how marginal is not ok, marginal might be ok when talking about a one night stand or a catered office party but is is NOT OK when talking about car safety.

Then, out of the madness, a whisper

Kia

What’s that you say?

Kia

Isn’t that Korean? nothati’mracistkoreaiscool

Kia

Specifically, the Kia Soul. Ah, Soul. Kia Soul.

So safe.

So affordable.

So fugs.

I kind of love it.

Kia Soul - hairless cat of the car world.

And Danny kind of agrees. Only he doesn’t want lime green. I know, it doesn’t register with me either. It’s like, if you have the choice of lime green, why the why wouldn’t you take it?

While I’m imagining myself cruising around in my lime green Kia Awesome, towing my beloved purple Saturn behind me for nostalgia, Danny keeps sending me links. So I guess I’ll take it to you guys, what car would you recommend? Fantasy land so throw whatever you want out.

This is all dependent on us getting a loan of course. Which will never happen. Thanks much grad school you expensive bitch.

And now, to close out the post-

Actual hairless cat, ironically resting on a hairy rug.

Oh, and did you notice that you can now post these gems to your facebook? or the twitspace or whatever? You can even email them! Doesn’t your mother need some Free Therapy? You know she does.

Shit is getting weird.

It’s like I have this life right? And this life pretty much consists of chasing babies, and doing training and wondering if Christopher Pike ever got my fan letter then wondering why I’m wondering about Christopher Pike when I should be wondering why my goddamn hernia is back. But then I forget that and start wondering about manufacturing powerdered cream and if they put the flavoring in first or last. I mean, do they make specific batches of hazelnet and vanilla or is it one big batch and then the vanilla or hazelnut flavor blasts are added later?

Important questions.

So life is rolling along smoothly when BAM!

Weird shit.

All everywhere and unignorable. And I’m very good at ignoring things. Things like Danny. Who by the way, is confused by email.

I know.

Weiiiiiirrrd.

Weird started when Danny virtually informed me that there was a scorpion on the back porch. Mother effer NO.

Scorpions are some southwest nonsense. They are reason #3456 not to visit Texas.  They are meant to be painted in sequins on the jacket of some leathery Santa Fe retiree. They are not supposed to bring their evil asses to Oklahoma!

Go ahead, it will relieve the tension.

Except now they do. To make matters ever worse, it was a small one and Danny killed it. You are saying, ‘what’s the problem there Sadie?’

The problem there imaginary internet friend, is that that little scorpion was probably the scout. So now, when he doesn’t return all his bigger scorpion buddies will know that they have to be stealth bombers in this invasion. So instead of crawling up my backyard where I can fire bomb them they will drop down in my shower and I will FREAK OUT and they will crawl in my ears Christopher Pike style and that will be that.

As usual, the Japanese have already prepared for the insanity - with guns, ambigious sexuality, and prisons.

I don’t have time to worry about this weirdness.

Then this already red state had to go completely batshit insane and elect all red, even in my district. Which should not have happened. Seriously. Everyone said that would not happen. But. it. did.

Weird.

Finally, Fox has decided that he is various types of bugs. All, ‘oh mommy I’m a little spider and you are a big spider.” and “These pajamas make me a bee! Say goodnight bee, mommy, say goodnight bee – say it!”

That’s some messed up scorpion alliance talk right there.

How’s the weird on your end?

I feel pressure. Mega pressure.

Because I think to myself? Self, you sure haven’t blogged alot lately. Then I think, self you need to do this thing with this blog. THEN I think ‘oh hell, haven’t in so long, what to say? There is no magic!’

But that’s not true is it? There is always magic, even if you have to like, I don’t know, scrape it off your crack or something. So what you get is crack magic but it’s still magic.

Today I think it might rain. On park day.

Park Day is when I pick up my daycare kids and go hang out with the stay at home kids. The stay at home kids have not usually spent their day eating dirt so they are cleaner. On the other hand the stay at home kids seem to respect property and where’s the fun in that?

No, this is not a ‘mommy war’ debate so don’t even start with me iwillbeatyourcrackass no magic there. I’m too inner focused (read: self obsessed) to really care what anyone else is doing.

My stay at home moms treat me just like any other mom and vice versa.

The point is that it might rain on park day.

Poor rain. Everyone hates you. This is makes you sad. Well, quit sucking and cheer up like sunshine and maybe we will start liking you again.

Universe. Get out with that.

Park day is sanity day. It’s the day I can look forward to seeing some friends and picking up the boys (picking up from daycare is really a lot of fun). It’s the day I know I can get some Vitimen D which is very important for the eyesight and the health. It’s the day that my boys can eat stay at home mom snacks and I can be all, ‘oh I’m sorry I forgot to put sugar bombs in the car. I’ll totally bring snacks next time, not really! Hey can I have some too? Thanks.’

But I guess the Universe is has other ideas. I don’t know. Maybe grass is higher up on the universe assisting list. Maybe so.

I am really trying to get back into the swing of this…. I swear.

I was going to talk about bewbs but rain seemed magicker.

I don’t know if you follow the headlines but there was this hurricane thing? And the guys here were all omjesus people, PANIC! There will be flooding and news footage.  There will be biblical downpours and poor children in Walmart floaties. There will be car accidents and possibly, hopefully drowned kittens.

Get out your oil lamps! Everyone needs an oil lamp right?

Head for the hills Hermione – no, what? It’s not the girl from Harry Potter who’s supposed to be ‘ugly’ but is really hot? It’s Hermine? What the hell kind of name – whatever. RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!!!

Hurricanes are really just water tornadoes. That's according to me and microsoft clip art. Science.

So of course, like an idiot I listen to Mike Mofo Morgan with his arms all waving around this weather chart that’s a scary amount of red. I’m like, ‘Mike save me with your text message alerts!” and Mike is all, “NO bitch,  I’ll be in the studio shoving down McBurgers or Double Downs while I piss myself with delight – you must save yourself!”

Then I cried.

Then Hermine came.

And…it wasn’t so bad. I mean, don’t get me wrong I hate hate hate driving in rain but it wasn’t a massive downpour that leaves me shaking and considering unemployment.

So you know what?

Mike Morgan can eat it.

How did you ride out Hermine?

Flip Off Friday  – ruling queen of flip, Gigi

We know the drill right? Just get pissed off. Easy. In fact, I’m already there.

F you Java Dave’s – Caffeine is great. I like it lots. But the thing is…too much caffeine sucks. I really would like to drink your tasty coffee without feeling like I have a vibrator jammed up my ass the rest of the day.

F you rain – go away. Come again another never. The kids getting swept away are breaking my heart. You make everyone sad and destroy property and the news loves rain a bit too much. Rain is the new tornadoes. You know how much I hate those bitches.

SHOUT OUT to the Norman Wizard – Thank you most powerful Wizard. Your super awesome crew magicK has kept us flood free. We love you. We give you respect and cherries and one day I will leave a skinned goat at your tree.

Your turn!

You guys. I want to vomit. Are you watching the news? Or the weather?  If so you may notice that Oklahoma Shitty is straight floating away. Wonderful. You know what I need on top of an already stressful week? This.

Balls.

I get ready to leave this morning and Danny has on his weatherlust face but I’m all ‘whatever, it’s summer, no bad things happen in summer, except extreme heat and unscheduled splash pad shut downs.’

Then Danny is all, “Oh you may not want to go in. It’s flash flooding.”

This is a dramatic recreation of my situation...with pigs.

Moi: What the fuuuu—heck? <—noticed the baby at the last second, that’s good fucking parenting right there.

So out the door I go into crazy mad standing pools of water. Only it wasn’t just outside the door so I thought it would be ok and that Danny and radar were just…I don’t know, wrong?

At work water is in the windows. The library basement is flooded.  I’m yelling “Don’t use the elevator” everytime someone walks in the door and guess what? Every lazy ass person is getting on the elevator!

I’ve assigned myself the bastian of eletrical safety and if someone gets trapped/electrocuted/starves in that elevator I will feel responsible. Stress.

Books are in danger of getting wet. Stressssssss.

I still have to commute home. STREEEESSSSSS.

This is what happens to people under stress. First you fade to blue. Then arrows shoot out of your pressure points.

How do people handle this calmly?  Some even seem to be enjoying it.

I’m telling those bastards to get on the elevator.

The only bright spot is that a coworker is stuck at home with someone from the Weather Channel. And we all know how I feel about the possibility of getting on national television in a ‘person on the street’ interview. Sweet.ness.

So, here I sit, in need of some serious weather therapy.

Norman hasn’t gotten rain. Does this mean we appeased our wizard?

Does mentioning the wizard during a crisis negate all wizard appeasement? Like I’m distracting wizard from his runes or something?

STREEEESSSSSS.

don’t be a woman, a mother and have a job. Or really, don’t do all of that at the same time. It will make your family FAT.

According to genius douche Michael Pollan.

Let’s examine this.  Only, be warned, it might be a bit anti-climatic. I feel like since I’ve been thinking about this so much that I’m too worn out to really do it justice.

BUT what the fuck ever, it’ll still be the greatest thing you read all day, even if it sucks.

Michael Pollan.

Food Rules: An Eater's ManualIn case you’re unfamiliar, he’s a guy who likes to talk about food. And write about food. He wrote a little (literally) book called Food Rules.  And it. is. genius.

No, wait, scratch that. The book itself is not genius but Michael Pollan is genius because he wrote a book filled with shit you already know. Then he made a fortune – selling you shit you already know!

That my friends is genius, pure hula hoop style ingenuity.

Look, I like what he has to say about food. We are big farmer’s market people over here. I really try (especially with eggs, milk and chicken – I don’t eat red meat because it looks like blood on my plate and it tastes like tin) to eat organic, cage free, no antibiotics, no growth hormone, no genetic modifications, etc.

This is the sort of horrowshow chickens that I picture living at those chicken farms down in south OK.

That business of raising cows on the meat of other cows and tricking chickens into growing overnight or whatever, scares me. It scares me to think what hormones are doing to us and I really don’t want my boys to hit puberty at 5. Plus, I think eating should be for sustenance and family first and that vegetables can be tasty and blah blah you get it right?

So I’m down with Pollan in that sense.

Then a fellow librarian was all, ‘Did you read the New York Book Review.’ and I laughed because, as a rule, librarians hate that rag. It’s so pretentious and never tells us what we need to know. Then she was all, ‘Michael Pollan wrote an essay and in it he talks about eating as a family.’

Awesome. I do that! I eat with my family every ni….

what. the living hell?

This is what he says (though to be fair, he’s quoting some other not as genius political scientist but still by including it I’m pretty sure he agrees):

In a challenge to second-wave feminists who urged women to get out of the kitchen, Flammang suggests that by denigrating “foodwork” – everything involved in putting meals on the family table – we have unthinkingly wrecked one of the nurseries of democracy: the family meal….A scholar of the women’s movement, she suggests that “American women are having second thoughts” about having left the kitchen. However, the answer is not for them simply to return to it, but rather “for everyone – men, women and children – to go back to the kitchen, as in preindustrial days and for the workplace to lessen its time demands on people.”

Seeing as her final conclusion is that everyone should be in the kitchen and that the problem is the inflexible nature of the American work culture then why the hell do they start out by blaming working moms?

Dang babeh! You are getting so FAT. Guess I need to get back in that kitchen, no more riveting for me. Daddy? Oh no, he couldn't possibly pick up a spatula. Silly fat stupid baby.

Thing 1 – getting out of the kitchen – is a metaphor. It represents the right to choose.

Thing 2 – it’s not a challenge to second wave feminism to say, hey feed your family properly and together – it’s a challenge to everyone. Why even bring up feminism?

Thing 3 – I agree that the culture of work is harming us in ways that are becoming more and more apparent. We’ve streamlined our day (at least from a librarian standpoint) and yet we work like we did back in the 1950s. That’s crazy.

I would love a 6 hour work day with 2 hours left of the original 8 hour chunk to spend working out and developing community projects like a garden or a community farm that would provide good, fresh vegetables and meat. If everyone and every company participated in this wouldn’t it be cool?

Also, in my perfect city run by me, the buildings would be built to make musical noise every time the weather changed. Like if the wind blows they would have little metal strings that would play, or the top would be like a drum for when it rains.  Then, on sunny days they could reflect like an oil puddle.

Now that’s genius.

*note: if you would like a list of documentaries, books and websites geared toward making you never want to eat again, just let me know, I’ll be happy to oblige”.

Oh great. Stupid America voted stupid Lee DeWyze their next Idol. Good job morons. I’m curious just what was it that made you want him so badly? His complete lack of personality, his gravely barf voice, his lazy eyebrow thing?

This sucks. Suuuuccckks. Because now, since I posted that picture way a long time ago lots of people come and freak me out. And now they, the Lee Lovers will tell me that I suck.  Wonderful. Just…

You know? Sometimes I think people have a point about middle America. Because I think this Lee DeWyze travesty (for me) comes from that. Just like last year’s Kris win.

Idol is now dead to me. Dead.

I need to get cheered the fuck the up. I have an important presentation tomorrow which may decide my future and I can’t be all worked up about goddamn Lee DeWyze.

He’s ruining my life.

Was that overdramatic? That felt a tad overdramatic. Yes?

Ok, reeling it in.

fuckingleedewyzeihatehimsomuch

Ok, no, not really. I mean, not him, just his picture. And by extension his face.

Breath.

Serenity now.

Elijah Wood in Cabo.

Exhale.

And, so what’s up today? Any exciting news?

*note: no pictures in this post because pictures get me in trouble. Instead, please enjoy this purple font.*

Yesterday, my hot friend JP pointed out that maybe we in Nompton have been pissing off our wizard. Wizards are not like puppies, wizards are more like cats. You need to take care of them and show them some goddamn RESPECT. If you are in a coastal town, maybe you have mermaid protection? I am told mermaids are very easy to care for and only need the occasional Tom Hanks dropped in the ocean for nipple play and light chuckles. Good for you coastal towns. We here on the plains have some serious wizard tending to do.

Wizard Comments & Graphics

If only I had read the signs sooner!

~Magickal Graphics~

But how can I discover how to make our wizard happy?

I started by making a list of all the things wizards like:

  1. Wizards like pointy hats.
  2. Wizards like lizards.
  3. Wizards like making stuff with their hands.
  4. Wizards also like making stuff in pots.
  5. Wizards like adoration and worship and kings, in that order.
  6. Wizards like using their magick.
  7. Wizards like beards.
  8. Wizards like living alone or with a cat/owl/ferret

So here’s what we need to do. We need to start talking about the wizard wherever we are, just casually mentioning how great he is and stuff. Then we can be all, “oh wizard, I didn’t see you standing there.”

We need to be nice to cats and owls and ferrets as we never know which of these might be our wizard’s petfriend.

We need to wear pointy hats and grow beards, yes even the ladies.

We need to sacrifice lizards in pots.

Finally, for gods sake, start saying ‘magic’ with a K! I feel this is the most important step. Wizards are very old school and refined and goth and shit.

So, if you are reading this wizard of mine – please I love you and your magicK. Do not let the storms hit Norman tonight and I promise I will get neked pictures of the Oklahoma City Witch. Again, I love you and your powers.

If you have any other wizard appeasing ideas, leave them in the comments.

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