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Crumpets and Bollocks: September 2013

Crumpets and Bollocks

Crumpets and Bollocks: September 2013

Thursday, September 26, 2013

A message to 300 moms and the guy trying to save their kids

A bunch of teens break into a huge house, threw a huge party, got crunk, trashed the joint, took selfies, bragged about their parents letting them do what they want, and when the homeowner discovers it, former NFL football player Brian Holloway, he posts the Jersey Shore wannabe selfies on a website calling everyone out. Come help him clean right? No, instead, the parents considered suing because he put their kids on blast on his website (and because they are most likely douchebag crackhead parents). So now he pressed charges.

Boring CBS link to the story: http://newyork.cbslocal.com/2013/09/26/ex-nfl-player-brian-holloway-charge-teens-who-trashed-my-ny-home/

I don't watch the news, so what directed me to this story? Jen from People I Want to Punch in the Throat. Read her blog on the subject here. I agree with her exactly.


My favorite reaction thus far to this story is Kelly's. This was the only video I could find as of now. It's still worth the ghetto quality to see Kelly's reaction if you missed it...




First off, I love you Kelly. Exactly. Boo fucking hoo.

Second off, I love you Brian. It was beautiful of you to give them a chance before pressing charges. These aren't rapists and murderers. They are teenagers, and in my neck of the woods, when someone's child does you wrong, you give them a chance to right it. Way to be part of the village it takes to raise a child, still being all offensive line protecting your QB. And seeing how these crackhead parents are determined to jack their children up more, I'm so glad you did go and press charges. I am so sorry you are now being forced to parent hundreds of other people's teens, but thank you for it.

Douche Everywhere. Try not to step in it.

Yes it's easy to assume the parents of these kids are middle class/upperclass versions of crackheads. That they don't have any active role in the parenting of their child. That they feel entitled to lack of responsibility and accountability. That they are too busy going to the mall to realize their kids are behaving like derelicts.

And it's easy to assume their kids are derelicts licking everything like Miley Cyrus dancing with Molly, inserting things into various holes on their bodies and other people's bodies whether it's drugs or dicks, taking a dump on someone's living room floor like gorillas, like "Did you see the girl in the red dress?" as a turd is falling out of their ass like it's not happening... It's REALLY easy to assume this sort of thing based on the tweets written by the children themselves. It's almost like these children WANT people to assume this about them, like it's cool. I must of missed that episode of Saved by the Bell.

I know we want to assume these things so we can be all like, "Thank God I don't have to worry about that happening with my kids because I'm not a crackhead douche." It could happen with your kids. You never know. The very nature of kids is to psychically force you into facing your fears. To make you clean up an enormous mess. To embarrass you. That's their purpose until they find one of their own.

So with that said...

CLICK HERE TO READ ONE OF THE MOM'S OPINIONS

To that mom, there is SOME validity to your logic. Not every kid who attended the party is a baboon asshole criminal. Not every parent of those children are crackheads. We get it. You are embarrassed, and this football player is putting the spotlight on it like a nasty fumble. I understand you do not want to be the next Tony Romo when it comes to internet memes.

Speaking of which... When should you never use a nickel defense? 

We all know the kids are not organized enough to actually plan a huge party in someone else's house. This type of thing just happens like an Ice Cube movie. It wasn't like 300 teenagers one day woke up and said, "Let's go break into this house and trash it for a party." It just kind of happened, and I'm sure many who attended had no idea the house was broken into.

BUT... BUT... It doesn't matter whose house it is. Whether they broke in or one kid's parents were out of town... There's a level of respect for other people's property. I was a kid. I did sneak out to parties. I drank large quantities of alcohol. I engaged in premarital sex with a guy I don't know his name but he gave me a back rub. I played drinking games with vodka AFTER bonging beers and measuring every guy's cock with my key chain tape measure to see who actually did have the biggest dick. I DID THOSE THINGS. I didn't trash anyone's house. I cleaned up after people who were too drunk to know where they were vomiting. I put things back where I found them. I just had respect for someone else's property. Where is yours?

You are quoted, mom of one of the teens,

“I’ll punish him as I see fit,” she said. “I don’t need to punish him as Brian Holloway sees fit.”

I'm sorry for you, but you are on his terms when your kid entered his house, whether wrong place wrong time or not, you are now on his terms. He's not telling you whether or not you should breastfeed your kid, spank or time out. He's telling you, "Hey, your kid helped trash this house, come help me clean it. Let's take this opportunity to teach our kids something positive..." What the hell fuck is wrong with you if you have a problem with that? All I have to say at this point... the F-Word. Felony.

What laws were broken? Let's look this up. New York.

Entering someone's home is criminal trespass in the second degree, and is a Class A misdemeanor
Read more: http://www.ehow.com/info_7940671_different-degrees-burglary.html#ixzz2g2iWA8bs

Criminal mischief in the 2nd degree occurs when you act with intent to damage someone else’s property and actually damage it where the damage is valued at more than $1,500. Second degree criminal mischief is a Class D felony which carries a potential sentence of up to 7 years in prison.
Read more http://www.criminalpropertydamage.com/new-york/

A felony makes it virtually impossible to get a job (nevermind college) because you HAVE to list that and explain yourself in every interview competing with people who don't have felonies, and that's worse than your kid's picture plastered on the web... one that was voluntarily taken and put on the web in the first place.

Brian Holloway is not the asshole here. He tried to be nice. He tried to provide an option that didn't entail the f-word. He tried to provide an option that was better for the children's futures. Just because you were too stupid to take advantage of it doesn't make him wrong.

I'm going to give most of those parents the benefit of the doubt and assume that they are punishing their kid for their kid's behavior and stupidity. I'm going to assume that regardless of what you, each relevant mother, say to the press or each other, that you are drilling your kids with lectures about accountability. How they were at the wrong place at the wrong time because they made a stupid decision. How they showed bad judgment, and what can happen when you show bad judgment. And how they are lucky the worst thing to come out of it is destroyed property because you can rebuild a house but you can't rebuild a kid who died of alcohol poisoning or as a result of a DUI.

I'm going to hope that some day you moms in this situation can put your child's needs over your own pride. You should have showed up to clean his house. You should have brought your own broom for it. That's the right thing to do.

And if you moms out there of these children think I'm wrong... Consider this. You are embarrassed because most of the internet thinks you and your kids are wrong. If what you stood for spoke for itself, you wouldn't hide behind anonymity. If you would try to do the right thing, you wouldn't have to hide anymore. We'd all know your kid as the kid who made a mistake and showed up to fix it. But until then, your kid is the kid who hid behind mommy and daddy. If your kid reads this, because you are watching their internet behavior so closely they land on my blog about the fuck word, you don't need your mommy and daddy to make you do the right thing. 


And to everyone reading this, please remember it does take a village to raise a child. No parent is perfect. We all naturally have the innate desire to stand up for our children, even when they are wrong. It's not easy finding that balance between protecting your kid and teaching your kid right from wrong. I'm not defending their actions. I'm not defending their behavior. I'm just reminding you that we all have our skeletons.

The football player showed more forgiveness and love than I did when I first heard this story. I know I'm not the only one.

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Wednesday, September 25, 2013

10 Stupidly Brilliant Costume Ideas for Moms

Once upon a time, back before the days of Cinderella when I was a princess, I used to dress up for Halloween and go to parties. I didn't really get into costume every year, and that's something I absolutely regret. If you don't have kids, dress up. Go out. Get stupid. Seize the fucking day.

I remember back in the day, Catwoman was THE costume. I bet if I went to the club this Halloween, there'd still be the handful of various cats roaming about with sex appeal. I don't know why women find cats attractive when it comes to costumes, especially when you see a dog lover who despises cats dressing up as a cat. Makes no sense. Anyway, I remember wishing I had the body for certain costumes I never wore. It wasn't until I pushed out 3 kids did I realize I did have the body for it. DID. Of course, now, it doesn't matter. If you see the way I dress when I drop my kids off to school, I obviously stopped giving a shit what my body looks like.

Yesterday's dreams of dressing up as I dream of Jeannie or Princess Jasmine for the sheer MC Hammer pants, Shera Princess of Power, Cheetara from Thundercats, a milk maid, a half naked angel, and something Greek where I get to wear a toga, have developed into more or less goals like getting trick or treat's night right, planning a birthday around it for one of the kids, getting their costumes, making sure their costumes are weather appropriate...

Really, us moms shouldn't stop dressing up just because we became moms. Yeah, it's a little extra preparation to do and money to spend, but who wants to regret not seizing the moment? Now is the time where I don't care what I look like. Now is the time where I'm at an age where I just want to have actual fun as opposed to conveying the appearance of it. Now is the time to really enjoy holidays with the kids as opposed to slaving over the holidays as a result of the kids...

So some fun costume ideas for moms. You're welcome. I know which one I'm going to be this year. Hint, there's a martini involved.



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Friday, September 20, 2013

Watch me get pwned by my kid and Mom Fashion Alert!

If I had an iPhone, I would have updated my Facebook page with the play by play of this day instead of a lump all blog post. Ha. Re-reading I thought I said a hump all blog post. My eyes are even slipping freudian stuff today.

Did you read it first as lump all or hump all? Because I still read hump all every time I read it.

If you don't feel like reading stories about my child pwning her mom, scroll down to the fashion alert. I found a MILF in her natural habitat.

Funny Story 

Today, the kids played hooky from school. Two of my 3 children go. Or was supposed to. Why? Because the 3 year old had an appointment at 11:15 to get caught up on vaccinations. The 6 year old had an appointment at 2:00 because she got her cast wet. Doctor A is an hour drive from Doctor B who is a half hour to an hour drive from the school (school traffic doubles the drive time). There was just no way I would be at school on time to pick up any kids.

First, we drove through McD's for brunch. The oldest wanted pancakes (they serve those all day), and the other two wanted chicken nuggets. All 3 wanted a toy. So I ordered ME a happy meal and took the crappy McDouble so my oldest could have my toy. That's love.

The toy? A panda thing where the mouth pivots open and shut and you can store a small notepad in it.

Annie (the 3 year old), loved that thing. She took in the doctor's office with her. It kept falling apart, the mouth coming off, where I had to reline stud looking bumps with the denty holes and put it back together. About the tenth time I did this, I was like, "Yeah I have to fix it again because I bet they are made in China."

Gabby (the 6 year old on the autism spectrum) responded, "Yea they are mom."

I read the bottom, "Yes they are made in China. How did you know Gabby? Did you read the bottom too?"

Gabby, "No mom. They are pandas. You don't think there are pandas in China?"

Well played kid. Well played.

Funny Story II

So then Annie had 6 shots. The last time she got vaccinated, she was 3 months old. After vaccination, she broke out into eczema, head to toe. It was bad. The issue is, it could be the vaccines. It could be anything because most allergies develop at 3 to 5 months of age. It's an immune thing that develops with the immune system. So, I wanted to get a grip on the eczema and locate allergies before moving forward with vaccines. Doctors were slow at moving forward. In fact I changed pediatricians twice over it. I also changed allergists.

While getting her shots, Annie didn't cry at all. She just said, softly, "Ow." Once. She seemed fine. Everyone was impressed. I was too until we got to the car. See, she's a little more on the sociopathic side. First thing out of her mouth as we got in the car, "That doctor is stupid. I'm not coming back ever again." I reminded her it was MY choice to get her those shots. She wouldn't budge. "Doctor is scary. I'm not coming back."

So I went into a long LONG explanation, repeating myself, rewording what I just said in another way in hopes she'd understand it better about how the shots hurt less than the disease they prevent. How she is better because of them. How the whole point is so that we can avoid getting a certain sick. That it's magic medicine.

Gabby was all into learning about how vaccines work asking a million questions. At some point, the conversation was over and Gabby brought it back up again. I kept using the measles as an example, and that was her obsession. How the measles suck. Then I said, "And now we don't have to worry about getting the measles anymore."

She corrected me... "Mom, you mean YOU don't have to worry about getting the measles anymore. I was never worried about it."

Touche Kid. Touche.

Mom Fashion Alert

We got into the vicinity of the second doctor over an hour early, so I took the kids to the park to play for a while. At some point, a slew of toddlers and their moms showed up, and this one mom stood out to me before her child came running up to me like he knew me for the stuffed penguin I was toting around for the middle child, and then my drink... She apologized. I was like, "It's ok. I'm used to it. I'm the pied piper of children." She laughed. Seriously I am. Three toddlers tried to gank my drink. They left everyone else and their drinks alone. I must have an aura kids are sensitive to.

Anyway, that was enough for me to be all, "I love your outfit. Genius. I'm going to talk about it on my blog. Can I take your picture?"


Is she not beautiful? I'm willing to bet there's probably 50 guys and 10 women crying they didn't get to father her child right now as I type this.

She is wearing a gray t-shirt tucked into a pair of skinny jeans. Dressy right? Right. She dressed it up entirely with a scarf, something she probably grabbed last second on her way out the door.

If you are thinking about scarves this year, check out this video on how to tie scarves. There's actually many more creative endless ways to wear a scarf, but this is a good video for a blog post that isn't about scarves. I might try to remember to write one later (like I have notes, research, and a bunch of blogs on the subject of infinity scarves alone from when I got paid to do it). For realz, the girl scouts should teach these knots...



I also love how the lady of the park parted her hair before pulling it back. I mean, that's a must have for moms, hair pulled back out of the way, especially mums of young ones because we are always bending over to their level. But just brushing your hair back into a pony tail or half assed messy bun (which is in and non-moms actually spend hours trying to achieve what us moms do without a mirror while driving with our knee in 30 seconds), gets old. It gets old. And in my case, I get scraggly chicken danced on my head hair constantly requiring me to take my hair out and put it back up when I decide I probably shouldn't look like the wicked witch of the east for a minute. But this kind of part keeps the scraggles down and looks just a tad bit nicer, dressier. While her hair is definitely healthier than mine, all I'd need is a little more hairspray to hold it in place.

This is the hairspray I use... Or try to... It's not easy to find anymore, but it smells great and holds the hair the best without causing that much buildup.

Back to the lady of the park... This lady, I never did ask her name, has the perfect mom shoes. They are flats. Can't chase kids in heels, well not as well. They are breathable looking to throw on bare feet like flip flops. They are a nude color meaning they look fine with anything you are wearing. While I would probably opt for a black if possible, the nude gives you the option of wearing with dark colors and LIGHT colors. I'm a black person. I buy most of my clothes in black. But I do own white and khaki pants (comfortable ones too), and a lot of lighter tans and brown and white shirts. Even worse, a lot of nude/white throw it on real quick dresses. Black shoes look hideous with that, and the only reason I rarely wear them is the shoe issue. Her shoes are definitely a MUST HAVE FASHION STAPLE.

And her outfit wouldn't be complete without the sippy cup.

Notice the purse on the floor next to her? That's my handbag. It may not be Prada or Gucci, but it's the classiest looking WVU handbag, set in retro old woman style like I wanted, and the damn thing holds as much stuff as Mary Poppins' bag. Well almost. I don't have a floor lamp in there, but I do have 2 cameras (one of which is huge), a couple juice boxes, a pack of batteries, a blanket, a stuffed animal, all in addition to the normal things I carry like two checkbooks, a wallet, a bunch of papers, pens, sunglasses, meds.... And it was only HALF full.

Retro Old Woman... It WILL be the next trend. Watch.







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Thursday, September 19, 2013

The Stranger Parent Support Group

The following is a completely true story. The dialogue is a rough read, but read it. You need to understand the dynamics before the story's end. This happened. Yesterday. 

Soon after I picked up the two oldest from school, they asked the 3 year old where she got her Scooby Doo Collar. Sonic. Kid's Meal. Breakfast. So I guess I had to drive thru Sonic again. I finally get there after stopping for gas, and I pull up to the drive thru...

Sonic Speaker: Welcome to Sonic. May I take your order?

3 year old: I HAVE TO PEE!

Me: "Can you hold it?"

3 year old: No

Me: You're wearing a pull up, hold it. Hi, I'll have a... Hold on one second...
Gabby what do you want?

Gabby: Corn Dog.

Me: I'll take a Corn Dog Kid's Meal with the Scooby Doo Collar and an Apple Juice. And I'll take..
Solma what do you want? Cheeseburger?

Solma: Yes. Cheeseburger.

Annie: I HAVE TO PEE!

Me: Hold on Annie. I'll take a Cheeseburger

Annie: I dropped Squeak Squeak! Squeaky SQUEAKY!!!!

Me: (turn around, pick up squeaky, the toy, and hand it back to Annie) A cheeseburger kid's meal add tomato with the scooby doo collar and an apple juice.

Sonic Speaker: So you want a Corn Dog Kid Meal and a Cheeseburger Kid's Meal add...

Gabby: Stop!

Solma: You Stop.

Annie: I have to pee now mommy. I have to go.

Gabby: I want a Squeaky, where did she get Squeak Squeak?

Me: Stop Fighting. I'm trying to order your food. You will pee in a minute child. What did you say?

Sonic Speaker: So you want a Corn Dog and Cheeseburger add tomato kids meal with....

Solma: (GIRLY SQUEAL SCREAM)

Gabby: STOP IT

Annie: I don't want Apple Juice.

Me: Kids be quiet.

Gabby: Solma started it. Mommy. Mom. Mommy Solma started it.

Solma: No she's lying. (begin tears)

Sonic Guy: and Apple Juice. Anything else?

Me: I have absolutely no idea what you just said. I'm sorry. You have a Cheeseburger add tomato and Corn dog kids meal with Apple Juice?

Sonic Guy: Yes.

Me: Okay, then I'll take. Uh hold on a minute.
Annie, what do you want?

Annie: I want to pee.

Me: No, what do you want to eat?

Annie: I have to pee. I want to pee. Not food. Pee.

Me: But after you pee, what do you want to eat?

Annie: Pee first then food.

Me: She'll take a cheeseburger Kid's meal with apple juice.

Sonic Guy: Is there anything else?

Gabby: I want a burrito. Yeah, do they have burritos? Get me a burrito mom. Yummm Burrito.

Me: Ugh, Gabby do you want a corn dog or not?

Gabby: Mom, I have to tell you this story.

Me: No Gabby, just answer the damned question. Do you want a corn dog?

Gabby: But, ugh, YES I JUST WANT THE CORN DOG

Solma (Still Crying)

Annie: I HAVE TO PEE I HAVE TO PEE I HAVE TO PEE I HAVE TO PEE

Gabby: But I still want a burrito too. Corn dog. No make it a corn dog. Remember when I got a burrito?

Solma: Gabby is lying. She started it. (more crying)

Me: Breaking Point Psycho Scream. SHUT THE FUCK UP. SHUT UP NOW. OR I'M LEAVING WITHOUT FOOD. LET ME ORDER YOUR FOOD THAT I'M GETTING FOR YOU TO GIVE YOU YOUR WAY. Like why troll getting your own food?

Kids: Silence.

Me: Calmly Silently Gently Mood Swing. Yes, I'll take the New York Dog as a meal with a Diet Coke.

Sonic Guy: Fries? Tots? Or Onion Rings?

Me: I think I'll do Onion Rings.

Sonic Guy: Is that it?

Me: For the love of everything sacred I hope so.

So I get up to the window and the guy greets me with a big smile, "So How's your day?" I just looked at him. I wasn't trying to convey, "What the fuck do you think?" or "are you seriously asking me this question?" even though I'm sure that was the message I did convey. No really I was trying to think of a witty response. I had none. My creativity was completely siphoned and all that remained was the ice pic jamming sensation on my right temple (the beginning of a good migraine).

He takes my card, hands me drinks, returns card... Hands me food. One bag at a time I get this food. As we completed the order...

Me: I'm so sorry my kids are psycho. They are always their worst after school. Something about school.

Sonic Guy: That's ok. I have four of them so I know how you feel.

At that point, we held hands through the drive through window and I gazed intently into his eyes, "I love you. I sincerely hope you have a good day."

He clutched my hand tighter and looking deep into my eyes and said, "It's okay honey. It's okay. You have a good day too."

Even better. He looked a lot like this guy...


Highlight of my day today.

Two types of stranger parents. 
A classification that has absolutely no psychological, nor empirical background, 
nor does it require a test to achieve the label. 

Type A for Asshole's Asshat. 

These people will tell you to control your kids, offer a condom, and don't forget the dirty look. These are also the people who do the, "Oh you poor kid I can't believe your mom lets you go around with your hair in your face, nevermind that you are 3 and rip out all hair things..." They are judgy parents who find their criticism of other people to be comforting to them. Whether they are stroking their own ego like it's a porno dick, or projecting one of their own imperfections hoping you might not notice it if they talk shit about you instead, or whatever Freudian stuff goes on with that, these people find pleasure in your misery. They are the judges. Pointer outers. Problem enhancers. Emotional triggers. Bullies. Irrational and impossible.


Type B for Belvedere Blossoms.


This type of parent empathizes and shows compassion, and often offers great wisdom and advice. They are counselors. Pep talkers. Problem solvers. Helpers. Huggers. Forgivers. Realistic and Rational. They are the village you were looking for, the one that it takes to raise a kid in. They are a breath of fresh air, like a flower, and assist (usually unintentionally) in the growth of a person as an individual and a parent.

My Sonic Guy was a Belvedere Blossom. And I thank him for it.


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Saturday, September 14, 2013

Double Dare: From Idle to Idol

Remember those relay races in grade school? Tell me you guys did this. My kids don't seem to do this at all at their school, the thing where you separate all the kids into two teams and they get in line and take turns running down, around something, back up again to tap the next kid who repeats the process, usually with an egg on the spoon hanging out of their mouth or some idea Double Dare used in their show, and then of course the first team to get all the kids through it wins. What do they win? Bragging rights.

Meanwhile the losers feel like losers. There's always the one mouthy brat blaming the least popular kid on their team for the loss. The kids who win have mixed feelings of "Ha in your face we won it" and "I kind of feel guilty because the losers look so sad." You know, the same feelings you can feel by looking at the face of people who win the reality contests on television like America's Got Talent, or duh duh dummmm American Idol.

The thing with any competition from Olympics to a singing contest, someone is being judged, and all of us are judging them. Really, if these people wanted to receive judgment for their abilities, they could just start going to church.




I told you people I was gangsta. Eye roll please!

Like church, competitions are really a place where MANY of the people judging (NOT ALL) have no room to judge. Just like the little brat blaming the less popular guy, there are people who can't even lace their own ice skates sitting at home telling the television about the professional ice skaters who skate 12 plus hours daily for years, as if watching the movie The Cutting Edge makes them experts.




I'm really not a "competition" type of gal. Don't get me wrong. I'm somewhat competitive, mainly against myself and the smart people from school; oh wait, I am a smart person from school. That explains a lot.

(You just witnessed an epiphany)

But the thing is, competitions generally judge based on popularity or randomness. We the people decide based on what we consider norm, based on our truths that we hold evident. It's not usually based on actual talent or skill. This isn't just reserved for reality television series designed to up ratings by providing the right amount of asshattery to attract viewership. Even scholarships are based on this concept, no matter how hard someone may try to NOT make it about that. It's human nature really. Theoretically, the more you listen to me ramble, the more anyone is going to think, "Why do this? Why bother?"

Because God works in mysterious ways. That's why. Because no matter how much negative hype these competitions receive, people improve as a result of it. People grow through the chaos somehow. People who deserved to win still win because they were part of something. Because the experience helps them adapt and find new ways to succeed. Many find who they are through these things. You will rarely meet people who were part of a competition, who lost, who fell on their face and failed in inappropriate, unimaginable ways, say they wish they never entered the thing in the first place. Very mysterious.

(BTW, I'm totally aware that "Because blah blah blah..." is an incomplete sentence. It's actually a dependent clause. I don't care that I wrote it like a sentence. In my best Icona Pop voice, which kind of sounds like a constipated horse getting fingered in the butt by a veterinarian with a hangnail... 
I don't care. I love it.) 

And the judging, sometimes we need to be judged. Sometimes our self assessments suck. Sometimes we need someone on a high horse to trot into our lives and stir the shit pot in our brains just a little.

I need the shit pot in my brain stirred. Desperately. I'm idle. The car that is running but going nowhere. 

(a lot of phrases there masquerading as sentences)

After all this thinking about quitting this blog,


I think what I really need to do is get back to the basics. It's kind of like when you are lost in whatever stressful world you are in, a nice hike in the natural elements is sometimes all you need to find your center again. In the world of writing, getting back to the basics is that hike into nature. Basic sentence structure is the dirt and rocks under your feet. Adjectives are the color green you found on that one tree and the crisp you smelled in the air. Story structure is the landscape view you stared in awe at for a few minutes wishing you had a canvas and some paints with you.

I need to get back to the basics to remind myself that I am a writer, not an entertainer. I've been attempting the entertainer role lately, and that's throwing off my game. 

Part of getting back to the basics is assignments. Homework. I need a teacher to assign me tasks and grade me on it. I might of found that teacher. Maybe I didn't. Who knows? But if I get involved in this, I will be forced to get back to the basics. I know for a fact, I will grow from it just like everyone else who gets involved in these things do. It's not my usual style, but sometimes we must venture out of our comfort zone to discover something we couldn't find otherwise.

As created by the amazing My Husband Ate All My Ice Cream

What can you win? They have some prizes worth money that sound neat, but what can you win? Have you been reading? The internets. Duh. No, you can win something more amazing than the prizes they advertise.

You COULD win

Self Actualization. 

How cool would that be to win some personal growth and self-fulfillment? Provided by people who obviously transcended. 
Thank you people for transcending.  

Maybe it's not in the stars for me. I can't imagine why these people would ever pick me for it honestly. So I'm kind of going into this as "If God wants me to do it, it will happen, but most likely, it won't happen because it would take an act of God to make it happen."

This contest is designed for good writers. I suck at writing. If you read my blog at all, you should know this. I can dish out an article about how to wear your ankle boots (I have never worn a pair of ankle boots in my entire life, shhhhh don't tell anyone) that will pass editor's approval, but I wrote alongside people who didn't speak English as a first language, so I kind of had that advantage. Yes I can write in that sense. But when it comes to "should I write a book?" maybe I shouldn't. Maybe I would be the Taylor Swift of writing where the only reason I'd ever make it in this world is because I used a gimmick like emotional appeal (I'd probably have to use a different gimmick). Toni Morrison, I am not.

You would never believe I read Toni Morrison, TS Eliot, and Goethe by reading what I write. 

Speaking of TS Eliot, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock asks, "Do I dare? And, do I dare?"

"Do I dare disturb the universe?"

Do you?

I say I DOUBLE DARE myself. If you blog at all, I double dare you to join me.

In fact, if you would rather, or if you don't make it in the top 12 to go with it, throw me a message and we'll do it too but not IN it. We can do the assignments with them and critique each other, even if we are a step behind them.

Regardless of who you are, you should check it out. Looking at some of the archived posts, it appears you vote as well. Regardless, I'm sure watching it will provide some amazing reads, and you may find another blogger who you idolize enough to subscribe to their posts.

In conclusion,



And if you are going to do it, you might as well do it well.



Ok. That's more about sex than blogging, but LL. Eye Candy. You're welcome.



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Friday, September 13, 2013

Suffer from Chronic Lateness? Take 2 Fukitols and call me LATER.

Before you think this blog is about this picture, it is, but in a FUCK THIS PICTURE sort of way. I don't agree with this picture. 


I'll see you later! When I say that, I actually mean that. Later. I'm always late.

I'm starting a new policy. I have policies. They are rules I make up for my life, some involve the house and children like most people. No jumping on the beds. One person at a time on the trampoline. I also have them for my life that has nothing to do with the children. I do this so I can hide behind them. I never buy anything on the telephone. Sorry telemarketer, it's a policy. Nothing I can do about it. You are talking to the wrong person. I don't make the policy. (Yes I do).

I am starting a new policy on how I handle being late.

Now first I should take a second to explain something about the Myer Briggs for some perspective. Most people have heard of it but still a little lost on it. Some have no idea what the fuck it is. It's a personality test, one of the best out there. It's often referenced alongside other personality tests, and most scholarly studies usually choose the Myers Briggs to measure personality when relevant. What it does? It measures where you are on a scale (spectrum like place) between two juxtaposing concepts on 4 different concepts.

The first one is introvert vs extrovert. It's the most famous, and the most misunderstood (probably a result of the fame). Regardless of what they mean, very rare do you find someone who is completely introverted or completely extroverted. It's more like a scale, from 1 to 10, with 1 being an introvert and ten being an extrovert. Some people are a 2, some are an 8, some are more a 4.7283. Ideally you want to be in the middle. That balance is pretty ideal when it comes to mental health.

So with that said, the Myers Briggs also measures sensing vs feeling, intuition vs thinking, and judging vs perceiving. Really, if you don't know this test, read that as A vs B, C vs D, and E vs F because your definition of these words is probably nothing like the Myers Briggs definition. The one I'm most interested in discussing for this topic is judging vs perceiving.

For a thorough investigation on the subject of Judging/Perceiving for you to decide where you fall, click this sentence.

To sum up, Judging people are very rigid, schedule oriented, and kind of close minded and bossy. Perceiving people are flexible, spontaneous, and kind of flaky and undependable. I am actually amazed when I look at these statistics that the population is pretty close to 50/50 on judging and perceiving. I thought for sure the judging population drastically outnumbered the perceiving population, as opposed to a slight increase. The reason I think that is we are in a very judging world. Society, in America at least, is very judging oriented. I'm guessing now that might be because the judging people are so bossy.

Other statistics I found interesting, irrelevant to this post, the biggest spikes in stats. For all people, 73.3 percent is sensing with 26.7 percent intuition. That makes sense. Most people need to see it or feel it to believe it. Most men are thinking than women, and most women are feeling compared to men. That is where the stereotype of women being emotional and acting on feelings as opposed to logic comes into play. Interesting. 

Anyway, the point of this. If someone wasn't an asshole, they'd understand that schedule preference is a personality trait. Some of us, like myself, are perceiving people, actually 45.9% of the population is perceiving. They like to keep options open. They like spontaneity. They don't like being rushed. I can make my own picture...


So my new policy is...

When I'm running late for something as usual, if the person is a person who is understanding, I work really hard to get there as soon as I possibly can. If the person is not understanding but instead a narcissistic asshole who is all, "You being late is disrespectful because it's all about ME, and MY schedule, and MY feelings nevermind any regard for you," I shall call and cancel.

Why? Let me tell you why.

Kids have no concept of YOUR schedule or MINE. I'm a mom. I take care of kids. Even if I'm not bringing my kids with me, I can't really get ready and walk out the door without taking care of kids, even if there is someone else here helping because I AM the go-to person for the kids' needs, and someone else is generally very lazy and prefers to wait until I leave to actually have to function at all. Ever so often, someone else watching the kids will notice I'm trying to leave to be on time for something and the kids want food, so they offer to make the kids food, or a kid wants to jump in the shower with me and they redirect the kid to some other activity. Most of the time, I don't have that person, and I could stand in the shower with soap in my hair until the water runs cold arguing with a kid and dealing with the temper tantrum that results from my "no" longer than i could if I let the kid jump in, wash the kid as well, dry off kid as well, brush kid's hair, put on lotion on the kid, and dress the kid. Either way, both contribute to me running late.

It doesn't matter what time I start because my kids, like most kids, are designed to fill in the gaps. I want a juice. Thank you for the juice, now I want a snack. I know you are making my snack, and don't stop doing that, but get me a paper towel because I just spilled the juice, and I need another juice too. And then another kid screams, "Mommy I peed on the floor by accident!" and then requests a snack and juice and the third kid is like, "A snack? I'm hungry!" And mom is naked, staring at the clock thinking "Shit I'm late," and the kids are all crying...

That's how it always is. That example doesn't happen once a year. It happens 5 times a day, and the likelihood of that happening as I'm trying to get ready to meet you is more probable than not.

And don't tell me, "But you chose the time to meet me, we both should abide by the verbal contract." No. I did not. I don't want to meet you at any specific time. I want to find a way to meet around ISH. I'd rather stop by somewhere where you already are so I can get my ISH. Or if it's something that can be done over the phone or email, I'd rather that. No, the pick a time and be there at that time is YOUR decision. Not mine.

When I was single, I could do it. No problem. I will venture away from my comfort zone on your behalf. I don't mind a little inconvenience to suit your preference. But I'm not going to inconvenience myself beyond a little on your behalf when the you is a you who can't inconvenience yourself just a little for my behalf.

I no longer will rush for someone who doesn't deserve it. I no longer will suffer panic attacks every time a light turns red, or a person is driving 20 mph under the speed limit in front of me who I cannot pass, or when a kid spills a juice everywhere, or when I realize I need gas, or all 3 kids have to pee after I just buckled them in the car... I no longer will risk my life and the life of my kids driving like a crazed maniac speeding (also at risk of a ticket) to try to save the 5 minutes you are waiting on me. Nobody, not even the Queen of England, is worth that, especially if they are shallow enough to base a judgement of my character on something as meaningless as the time.

When I'm already running late, I have two options. I can be late. Or I can cancel. Both will insult the person waiting on me just the same. But in my case, one requires me to lose my motherfucking mind, and the other is a weight off my shoulders. Fuck you is the best option for me. So when I'm running late for those who have no respect for me or understanding of my life and my needs, those people will get the fuck you.

Now keep in mind, I do sometimes run late because I was on Facebook, or because I overslept. Shit happens. These are things I can control, and I will try to control it, and that's ALL I will focus on. If it's not in my control, I'm going with it. Riding the wave. Wherever the tide takes me. If it fucks you over and you are respectful of me, I'm sorry.

If it fucks you over and you are not respectful of me...




Edited to add, really the late thing is a battle between who is more important. It's human alpha-doggism at its finest. This is why a lot of people who show up on time for their appointment with their doctor wait in the waiting room for an hour; however, if they were more than 15 minutes late, they'd have to reschedule. If you put up with that shit, your doctor is more alpha dog than you.

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Thursday, September 12, 2013

Chaos. Blogging. More Chaos.

Maybe it's the season. Maybe it's the school back in session and our bodies kind of naturally go into this whole, "Stop having fun it's time to actually work" mode. Maybe it's not. Maybe it's just me. But at least I'm not the only one. Nikki from Moms Who Drink and Swear went through it, and it's actually her blog post that's helping me get through it.

This is her post... http://www.chicagonow.com/moms-who-drink-and-swear/2013/08/blogging-is-monetizing-your-blog-worth-the-price-of-your-dignity/

Yes, I'm re-thinking why do I even blog? What's the point? Like should I even bother keeping this thing going at all?

Maybe I should first explain the frustration. I need to face the fact eventually. The blog part of what I do online, and the Facebook page, the bulk of my time online, is not actually work. It's not a job. There's no money it. I don't want there ever to be money in it. I don't want to write about Pampers diapers and Citizen Watches. I once had a job doing that. I enjoyed it as jobs go, but as writing goes, I didn't. This blog was suppose to free me from that.

And with 3 kids, 6 and under, where I don't get much time away from them, I often feel like this blog distracts me from them, and they distract me from this blog. Like I'm just a distracted hot mess all damn day, every day, until the vodka kicks in and things make sense, and I'm not an alcoholic enough to drink vodka daily, so my life makes sense about twice a month.

For instance, I am now talking about a broken butterfly light up thing with my 3 year old. We just spent 5 minutes of her telling me in 20 different ways this butterfly light up thing is broken, it's now the one that belongs to her sister, I should get her sister a new one, her sister didn't like this one because it's broken. And she loves me. Meanwhile I'm watching the clock like a hawk because it's almost time to wake kids up for school. I want to squeeze in as much of this now before the day gets me, but apparently, I won't be posting this before 8AM. Do you think I have any idea what the hell I was saying? Nope. Reread....

Nevermind, oh wait, I can re-read.

Nope. She needs stuff now, in her house she made me build at 6:30AM, with blankets and stepstools in my living room because the step stools belong in the middle of the living room.

Now she peed herself.

Oh yeah, I was blogging. Let me try to reread again what I was writing. Oh yeah, so my life is frustrating and I'm frequently distracted. You know that blog I wrote about Miley? I did that half asleep in the middle of the night, somewhat tipsy, and I stopped to get some juice and get a blanky and hit a play button and what not. When I finally read the blog I wrote for the first time where I'm in a mind frame to understand what i was reading, which was days after I posted, like hundreds of people read this blog that I wrote before I read it, it wasn't the point I was really trying to get across. Not really even that close to it. I'm not sure what I was thinking. I was outraged over something I do. I twerk. I shake my ass. I don't play with my lady junk with my mop sucking on the tip of it, ewww, but I do dance provocatively with my mop. I think I mostly felt bad for Miley because she just looked like a crack head. Her rhythm was a little off, not like she's white and can't find rhythm off, but more like she was on some drugs and wanted to move faster than the song was going. It made her look desperate or something, but anyway, did I write about that? Nope.

Update: The 3 year old finished getting stuff in her house.

So basically I'm saying I have no idea what the fuck I'm saying on this thing half the time. For real, there are Facebook statuses I don't remember making. I take a minute to start something, and before I can finish, the kids send me off to their Wonderland by the time I come back, I don't know which way is up or down. It makes me wordy because I forget all my original thoughts and points, so I come up with new ones. This happens so many times I end up with 17 different blog posts into one. I have no idea if it makes any sense. By the time you read the same paragraph 27 times in a row, it looks like it's in another language. Yeah, that works. Whatever. Post it. If I don't post it now, it will just sit in drafts like the hundreds of half written posts sitting there.

Update: I just helped her take off a camel back. It's her dads. I guess it's her Dora Backpack because camouflage is so much better than sparkly purple DORA one. This actually makes me proud my daughter chose camouflage over sparkles.

Now she's trying to take the whole thing apart. I'm sure I won't be smart enough to figure out how to put it back together. Shit it's getting close to waking kids up time...

So, instead of re-reading because I forget what I was saying... hold on again...

I am now wishing she chose sparkles over camouflage and why? The sparkle one has one compartment to open and shut with velcro and that's it. No 50 places that zip and snap. This isn't a back pack. This is a toddler activity center.

Ok, so oh yeah, I was going to just get to the original thing i was thinking about when I first started this post, and I forget what it was. Nevermind. I guess what I'm trying to say is this isn't easy for me to post shit. It's distracting. And why do I do it? Because I am amazed if I make enough sense for people to want to come back to read, and who am I doing this for?

See, like this a normal blogger internal battle. What's the point of blogging it if no one reads it? But do I really want to blog for you, the reader? Or am I blogging for myself?

I just took off her backpack.

Because if I blog for you, then I go crazy trying to figure out what you want, from the topic to the writing style, to the level of snark to the kind of humor... Since I have no idea what you want because most of you won't tell me if I ask, it's trial and error. And even then, there will always be 5 people in every thousand who make absolutely no motherfucking sense. Like the 2 page unlikes from the Good Morning facebook status. It's like, "Excuse the fuck out of me for trying to wish you a good morning." They didn't just hide the post. Nope they had to unlike the page AFTER hiding the post. According to Facebook. Then I lose my purpose being the fan bitch. I then become that blogger who has no sincerity, who is only writing to appeal to other people, who is focused on marketing and PR.... Just to get a fan base to appear popular to who? My own ego?

IF I write for myself, then it's like why bring you into it? I mean, some of this sucks. My brain is weird. Some of it you are like, "Awesome, she's so weird." and other times it's like, "Damn she sucks, she's so weird."

She is now asking me about a sewing thing. What is it? I don't know. DO I look like June Cleaver. It's a device from the sewing kit... Now she wants juice...

Whatever I was saying, I originally approached this post in two parts. One part, explain my issues. I didn't get to do that well. Some of the things I was thinking about with that, I totally forget. I'm sure I'll remember days after I post this. Maybe I'll update at the bottom if that happens. The second part, the main point I have yet to get to, the one I almost totally forgot about making, I wanted to sit here and remind myself why I started to blog in the first place. I don't really remember what I was thinking. I know there were a lot of variables. What were they? What would I want from this now?

And now I have to wake kids up for school...

The experience was common. The multi-tasking doesn't stop with the blog. That's how I also don't find a hair brush, you know spending over a half hour looking for a hair brush which includes wiping 2 butts, plunging a toilet, finding a teddy bear, and stuff to not find a brush at all and send the kids to school with bedhead so we can be on time thinking to myself, "You know, if you didn't blog, you could have been looking for that hair brush instead, wait, like I knew to look for a hair brush before I needed a hair brush knowing exactly where two hair brushes are located, I wonder if the kids are hiding these brushes on purpose?"

The trip in the car consisted of conversations I don't remember, and then I had a kid scared to go (Kindergarten), then a man with reconstructed legs walked by

and the 3 year old needed help with a buckle to a toddler chair she's way too old for.

So as I was saying... well, I forget what I was going to say, so the trip home was a quiet time of reflection where I thought about how math and love are two universal languages and how they are so different and are there any more universal languages? And maybe my problem is I don't know how to keep it real anymore. No wait, the problem is as I've grown up, I've realized Schrodinger's cat is true in a metaphorical way to everything about life. Real quick, for the popular people who have yet to venture this far into nerdom, Schrodinger's cat is a popular example about how quantum mechanics works. Basically, this guy stuck a hypothetical cat (not a real one, no animals were injured in this THOUGHT experiment), in a box with some sort of device contrived to where if the cat hits a button, poison emits and kills the cat. You close the box. Seal it. Wait a bit. Is the cat alive or dead? Did it die of poison? Or is it chilling fully healthy and hungry. Did it die of some other cause? You don't really know looking at the box, but in quantum mechanics, all the possibilities are what's happening at once. That cat is alive and dead.

she needs out now. She also had wax fangs in her mouth, haha funny, and she removed them to tell me she wants bigger teeth. Then...

Wait, she's asking about her feet on her house.

OK, she went into a long story about her teeth will get loose, fall out, her daddy will lose her teeth, and she will need gold teeth that I must buy for her.

So, wait... She loves me. OK, so hold on. She's not done yet. Yes she is...

So, what was I saying? Schrodinger's cat. Why was I talking about his cat? Oh, yeah. So all the possibilities are happening at the same time until you find out otherwise. So I started thinking about life like this, without meaning to, like without making the association to some pussy until this morning in the car ride home which lasted all of 5 minutes.

Something is broken and has no light. Do not make me hook up those headphones to the xbox child?

Basically, like is Zimmerman guilty? No. But before we knew the court's decision on that no, he was both guilty and not guilty and neither guilty nor not guilty at the same time. If you think about it, in many ways he is guilty. In many ways, he is not. In many ways he should be guilty even though nothing illegal actually occurred. In many ways he is still a threat even though he isn't that threatening... Another example. Does my husband love me? He does. and he doesn't. He also hates me. All at once. It's pretty easy to have a series of contrasting emotions toward everyone. Life is a gray area, not because it's black and white, but because it's black and white.

Then I got home and made the kid ice cream, for breakfast, of which she had one small bite of. Because she's allergic to milk and soy, I was excited to give her ice cream for breakfast because for the first time in over a year, my Walmart started selling Coconut Milk based ice cream again. After licking the scoop clean, I have decided that shit would be the bomb with some rum and chocolate sauce. Like that's my next mudslide. I might post it some day as a recipe, Pitorro Mudslide.

Wait I must watch this. She is super fast and jumpy and tripped over, she's okay, yes I'm watching my dear. Awesome. You're welcome. Please just watch Dora. Ok, I'll give you a hug. Watch Dora.

Awww. Yes Daddy is not here. He's at work. I love you too.

This is why I don't have sex anymore...

She didn't make a bubble. It didn't pop. It didn't go in her mouth. Thank you child for telling me this 3 times in a row.

OK, what was this blog about? Why do I blog or why did I start one or why would I continue? Something like that. Let's just start putting out numbers before I forget again...

1. My facebook statuses were getting entirely too long.

2. Everyone has been telling me I should blog for years now. The first group of people were in a Catholic Forum as their nice way of telling me my posts are too long, put it on a blog and keep it out of their forum. At least they were kind about it. Because there's kind insults and not-so-kind insults ... Well we'll pretend they just thought I was so smart and thoughtful that I should blog like the people on my Facebook who kept saying I'm so funny I should blog. I'm only funny on MY Facebook apparently.

3. I really needed something that was mine. Something that gave me ME TIME. To reflect and think about shit.

4. I quit that one job where I was getting paid to write, and it burned me out. This is a great way to get me writing again. Best thing, I can fuck up my grammar, mispell words (notice I misspelled mispell?),

her teeth is starting to fall. She has to say this 3 times. She needs a blanky. It's lost. NOW I find a hair brush. Eye roll please!  While I'm up, after a cup of coffee and 2 energy drinks, I guess now is a great time to break the seal right?

And some other third thing... Oh yeah, I can say the fuck word on this blog.

5. It is very therapeutic to vent about stuff. It's also very therapeutic to reflect on life and remind myself to grow up once in a while. Like I can start writing out a huge rant about how motherhood sucks, and before I'm finished, I remembered how much I love my kids and how much it's all really worth it. If I didn't take the time to bitch about it, I could easily get stuck in a rut of pissed offness. It's really hard to hide impatience from the children.

6. It would be cool to write some articles about things I read about with parenting, but not as boring, something more entertaining. Like my recipes. Like take a boring subject and make it interesting. That was really easier said than done in retrospect.

7. I should probably write about autism. I'm having a lot of success with my kid and nephew on the spectrum. A lot of these mom bloggers who have a kid on the spectrum and are not on the spectrum themselves seem horribly lost. Some of the things they say down right piss me off. I won't comment on their blog about it because it's their blog, and while they may be wrong about autism, I still like them as human beings, and what would I accomplish to question their thoughts invalidating their feelings? I'd make them more lost, which doesn't help their children at all. In fact, if I'm too rude in an autistic like manner, they might resent autism all together including their child's. A lot of them already do resent autism. Maybe it's time i share my opinion from an informative light on my own blog right?


I think that covers some of the basic reasons as to why I started blogging outside "well everyone else is doing it why not?" and "oh look, some of these women are finding a new career from it. Maybe I won't be making any book deals, but this thing could take me somewhere I didn't expect to go, some place I can call a career when the kids are in school and I'm ready to work again seeing how I'm pretty sure McDonalds won't even hire me after 10 years of not working."

What do I want from this blog? Moms Who Drink and Swear said this in her post on this subject... "It was always about the connection, the community." That's my issue. I feel disconnected.

Nikki (Moms who Drink and Swear) goes on...

"Most bloggers I knew were struggling to find the balance between nurturing their community and generating quality content with the need to please the almighty gods of page views, advertisers and sponsors by sacrificing the soul of their blog.
It didn’t used to be this way, and in my experience, this kind of thing causes a rift within the various blogging communities, tapping into the greatest fear of a writer – the fear that our words won’t connect us with others, that nobody will care about what we write, that we will be harshly judged, that we simply aren’t good enough."
That's it. What do you do when you say Fuck SEO. Fuck money. Fuck product reviews. Fuck branding yourself? What if you write to connect with people and you find you are still not connecting? That your real words don't connect you with others? That your sincerity isn't good enough?

That's where I am at. I don't think I'm connecting because I'm

she just fell. Yeah, it's time to trash the high chair. I was going to give that away but apparently a kid cut the strap for the legs so now it's trash. She's ok. She didn't want out for a hug or anything. She demanded I put it (with her in it) in a specific place, and then I handed her the blanky and teddy for her to throw it back onto the floor to cry, "You didn't hand me my stuff." So I could pick it all up again and hand it to her because I can't totally pin-point her crazy but it's like a mixture of sociopath and autism. Like she wants to control me to get her her things, but also her brain is stuck on a specific process that if you screw it up at all, you have to start over.

That's why. I don't feel like I'm connecting because I'm distracted. I just don't make sense to anyone including myself. I am a Van Gogh painting of an MC Escher drawing sitting in the middle of a realism exhibit.

Now the phone rings...

I think at this point, I'm just going to blog when I feel like it, and I'm going to post half written blogs that have no end, like wherever I stop is where I stop. While a part of me is saying, "Just stop blogging. Just focus on the kids and this house," I know I will get lost in the kids and house. I need a me-something in my life. One I can do while watching the kids. And it goes against the mantra I'm trying to accept and follow.

Embrace the chaos.

There's my name again. Mommy. The three year old. Yes baby, I love you too.

If this disconnects me from you guys, sorry. I'm just not connected. My dots are floating around and they are not in numerical order. There is no connecting them. If this is one of the biggest fears a writer must face, why the hell not. I have been forced to face every one of my biggest fears in the last couple years, and you know what? I'm not afraid anymore. Embrace the chaos also means, love that which you fear. All of the best things in life are scary at first. Motherhood for instance.

If you have no idea what the fuck I just said, and you read this to here thinking, "Wow I so just wasted my time." Don't walk away empty handed. If you get anything from this, it's that you should too try to embrace the chaos because if you keep putting things in alphabetical order so everyone can mess it all up, you're going to lose your mind.

And the three year old needs help. Nevermind. She did it herself.



P.S. I'm posting this blog post. I will read it some other day to see if it makes sense.

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Friday, September 6, 2013

Message to Men: The Musical

Because BatMiley always has Robin, people think you are an a-hole if you talk about Miley without talking about Robin, so since I already talked about Miley, this is my way to complete the BatMiley and Robin saga. Actually, I mean these people to be metaphorical. Miley is the objectified piece of meat bad example we women can all learn what NOT to do from as explained in all the slut shaming posts. Robin is the objectifier we all forget to blame in this man vs woman battle that has gone on since God took a chunk of Adam's rib (it probably didn't go down exactly like that, the taking of the rib). I can't really sit here and blogger spank Miley for her behavior telling all the women out there, "Don't do that," and not have something to say about the men.


Now this one is for the Men. The manly men. The macho macho men...


There's actually two syndromes that do not exist in the DSM that many men suffer from that also seemingly attack the feminist concept directly due to their feelings of inadequacy. The first one is short man syndrome. Small penises will turn a real man into a douche canoe. It's almost like they overcompensate with douchebaggery. If your dick is small, at least your douche bag is huge. Not attractive guys. The second syndrome that doesn't exist in the world of APA, Macho Man Syndrome. Pretty boys. Guys who don't have the body of Larry the Lobster off Spongebob, regardless of how much effort and time they spend on it at the gym. It appears men in these circumstances are concerned about two things. How women perceive them. How other men perceive them. 

How do we women perceive you? 

So my first message to men everywhere, get over your penis. Do you really think you need a big penis to satisfy a woman? Here's some insider information on women. A, a big penis generally scares off women who have yet to push out a baby from her pie hole. B, a big penis pretty much ensures that anal will never happen for you. Women are actually more comfortable around bite sized awesome when it comes to experimenting with uncomfortable concepts. That also includes oral sex. We could choke and die from porno sized penises trying to perform oral on that, and we even have a bigger fear about oral than choking and dying. It's vomiting all over your dick. We just don't want something that epically embarrassing lingering around our reputation, and the bigger it is, the more deep throating that is required, and deep throating leads to vomiting. C, you don't even need a penis to satisfy a woman in ways beyond her wildest imagination. Don't believe me? Ask a lesbian. Most of our lady bits that like to be fondled are pretty close to the front. Most of your tongues should be able to reach it. 

Now, the macho man syndrome. A woman's idealization of what a man SHOULD be usually comes from her father. If her dad is not a macho man, you definitely don't have to worry about it. Yes women like muscles, but muscles won't guarantee that you will get laid. When we women share pictures of muscular models dressed as cowboys and firefighters, whether it's on Facebook or a magazine, we may say we love that, but nine times out of ten, we don't want to actually have sex with that, or even a relationship with it. It's just eye candy and nothing more. See, we don't look at dick like it's chocolate, give it to me now. We look at it like it's a toilet. Is it clean enough to sit on? 

Women do this too. We all screw up the gender paradigm of sexy. Most women believe what is attractive for a female, what you men want, what they aspire to be, is blond (even if bleached), anorexia skinny, big boobs (even if it's toilet paper in their bra), a firm ass, clown face makeup, high heels to appear taller and make the legs look skinny, skin cancer tan, appear barely old enough to legally fuck, be so stupid you can't talk about much, and be very passive let you take charge and all responsibility for things without a break. Yeah. Sound like what you want? You men do it too. You base your concept of what is sexy to us women on media hype just like we women do. Macho men with the perfect abs is not what women want. I think most people of substance are just looking for the truth. Someone who doesn't play games. Someone who can keep it real. The rest is just social charades. 

How do men perceive you? 

Why are you men so afraid of being perceived as gay? That's the number one insult I hear amongst boys. I think more men suffer from homophobia than women. That is not something I know to have statistics to say I'm right, but I bet I am right. There is nothing wrong with being gay. It is not a bad thing. If you like rainbows and women, that's ok. You are allowed to like both rainbows and women. In fact, women are very attractive to girlier men. We want someone who can enjoy shopping with us and help us match our clothes. I don't leave the house sometimes without the husband dressing me because I suck at matching my own clothes. I write about fashion. I got paid to write about fashion. My husband dresses me when it's important that I look good. I love it. I love not worrying about it. 



Regardless, what does this all boil down to? You are not actually worried about what women think of you. You are worried about what other men think of you. If you do not feel manly enough to hang with the big boys, if you do not feel Alpha Dog enough, if your mustache isn't thick enough, if you do not feel like your penis is the biggest penis in the room, you take it out on us women. You then try to prove yourself by objectifying women because nothing appears more manly and powerful than owning a pet who respects her master. It's like your way of saying, "Well I'm still manly enough for this party because look at how I dominated the bitch here. Stop sassing me bitch, go make me a sammich." That's when your douchebag overcompensates for your penis size. 

Instead of doing that, why don't you, I don't know, grow a fucking self-esteem? Confidence is sexy. If you desire to get laid, replace the fake arrogance with a little confidence. If you really want to prove to the men that you are manly, show them you are manly enough to take charge. That you can decide to wear pink and rock it better than they could. That you can respect women better than they could. That their lack of respect for women is unmanly. That you are smarter and more advanced to require more than some tits and ass to swing your dingaling. That you know how to love and how to be loved, and that you take good care of those you love better than anyone else could. That you are better than macho man, you are a lion who has pride in your pride, in your family, in your loved ones. That you are the epitome of what it means to be a man, fuck the hype. 



That IS what it takes to be a man. To take charge of not women, but of the other men. 

Look around at the men who are doing that. Guess who they did dominate after all? Women. Because we are attracted to men like that. We really want to be loved and taken care of. We don't want to be servants, but princesses. We want to feel smart, sexy, and beautiful. And we don't feel those things when all you are concerned about is our ability to twerk it in front of your penis half naked 3 sheets to the wind. When all you want to do is shut us up by sticking your penis in our mouth. If you wanted a hole to stick it in, you know you can just fuck a warm apple pie just the same. It's plump. There's also your left hand, which if that's all you want from us women, it's very possible that's the only thing your hand is good for, a good monkey spank. 



Let's look at Robin Thicke in this video. I actually imagine Robin to be one of those gentle lovers if he's active in the bedroom, but I also imagine him to do a lot of just laying there as well. Why do I think that? Because in a video like this, he does a lot of laying there standing around doing nothing making the woman do all the work. Just laying there is not manly. It's lazy. 

The way you men look at us women like you want it. I know you want it. Like Pharrell watching that girl dance... you look pathetic. Stop it. That's about as macho as getting a hard on in school when the old lady teacher Mrs Bentwood bends over showing the top of her knee highs. Have you ever sat down to eat your dinner, a big meal, something so good you want to savor every bite and enjoy this meal, and then the dog comes over sticking his paw on your thigh giving you the doggie eyes that scream, "Please give me a piece of your chicken?" And you tell the dog to go away, and he won't. He won't leave you the fuck alone. He may not be barking, but his begging is annoying the ever living piss out of you that you cannot enjoy your dinner. Yeah, that's what you men do to us. You are the fucking annoying begging nagging dog. 

Sit. Stay. Roll over and play dead. Good boy. Feel macho now? 

And why must you grab your dicks when you dance? Do you see us women grabbing our boobs? No. It's just silly. Stop it. Quit touching it. You might wake up the sleeping dragon and it will just fuck up your night trying to fuck everything. 

There's more to life than sex. While sex is a story about passion usually with a happy ending, there's often a sequel that entails tragedy of disease and the struggle of parenthood. Because there's more to life than sex, please tell me there is more to you than it, because if all you are about is poking people with your stick, you are a whore. That's it. A crackhead whore whose opinion is worth nothing. Robin Thicke, his opinion does not matter. It's okay Robin, just sit there do that little smile, aww bless his heart, now go watch some football and grille something, let us grown ups talk here. His father, however, has a lot more to bring to the table. Alan, come over here, we want to know what you think about your son objectifying himself in sexual manners on television. Miley's dad didn't seem to care when she did it. Please tell me you disagree. 

The biggest message I want to send to all you... YOUR DICK IS NOT A USED CAR. Quit trying to sell it. Fuck. The haggling. Please buy my dick. Please suck it. Please fuck it. No, I'm not trying to sleep with you. I just want to kiss you. I promise I won't let it go too far. Just let me kiss you. What's so wrong about a kiss? Awww, I love that kiss, now let me just touch your lady parts. Please let me touch it. Why don't you touch mine? We aren't going to have sex. I swear on my grandfather's grave I won't have sex with you. We are just messing around a little, please touch it. I'm just taking off your pants, it's not like we are going to fuck. What's so wrong about me sticking my dick in one of your holes? It's not like I'm asking you to have sex with my friends? Actually, if you don't mind, my boy over here could use some love too. Shut the fuck up already. 

Really, do us all a favor. Before you show up to our date, masturbate. Please. Please PLEASE PLEASE. Maybe if you masturbate, your dick won't be so fucking annoying.

To all you men who already have your penises on a leash, thank you. Thank you for being a real man, for dominating the hardest, and I mean HARDEST, thing possible to dominate. Control your wood, my sexy lumberjack. 
 
ALSO please understand one thing. Rape is wrong. It's not a joke. If someone shoved an umbrella up your ass and opened it, would you want the world to think you asked for it by the way you dress and act? Because a lot of you DO ASK FOR IT with your douchebaggery. See, that would just be insensitive of me to think that way wouldn't it? Aw come on, quit making up shit. I know you want it. I know you want it. Yes, I too can tear your ass in two. 

Let our lady nuts go biatch. 
  

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Thursday, September 5, 2013

Worst song for mornings, Bobbi Brown, Cobalt Blue, Berry lipstick and Vogue Magazine

Taking the kids to school this morning, I listened to, gasp, talk radio. We only have one station that will actually play music in the morning in my queue of stations that I like, and this morning, it played a lot of blah songs that are just not morning songs.

This is a morning song...


Let's get it started is a GREAT morning song because we woke up and we are getting it started... You know...

Now this next one is NOT a morning song...


In fact, this is the WORST song to play on the radio for dropping your kids off to school. We should ban this song from the radio between the hours of 7:00 AM to 9:00 AM. FCC, you gotta make this happen...

So TALK radio being one of those radio shows... after google, I found out I was listening to Elvis, and yes I drank his liquor from an old fruit jar, but in my defense, I didn't mess with his blue suede shoes. Elvis Duran interviewed Bobbi Brown this morning.

No, not Whitney's Bobby. Every little step I take. No, not him. HER...

She's really pretty, well she should be considering her career choice.

Maybe I only think she's pretty in this picture because I have dark brown long hair and wear a lot of red and black when I dress up.

Red and black are colors I love because I think they look the best on me. When I found out all the job interview websites say NEVER to wear those colors unless you are applying for positions of power like CEO because they are colors of power, that made me like wearing them more. It's not because I want to overpower people. I'm a very domineering person naturally without having to wear certain colors that there are many occasions where I wear gray and neutral browns just to tame down my overall impression a bit, but when you work with men, you HAVE to overpower them with overkill if you want to get anything done. Don't believe me? The last thing you asked your husband to fix, is it fixed? If you say yes, how long did it take? If you say less than 3 months, I'm going to assume you married the Brawny man, you used a whip, or you are lying.

Bobbi is a make-up specialist who deals with a lot in the fashion industry for those who don't know and just doesn't feel like googling it. Some things that stood out to me, I have an opinion about...

First, Cobalt Blue. That seems to be the color everyone throws out is the color of the season. I'm not a huge fan of it. I'm not a blue person anyway. I don't wear much blue unless it's a WVU shirt, something I match with gray sweatpants.

I don't even wear blue jeans. I have some. I just prefer elastic waists, like I said in an earlier blog post, because jeans give me gas. I am posh enough to talk about farting and fashion at the same time. It's important. What fun do you have if you have cramping from flatulence? None. Especially if you can't fart because you are in public. Sucking back in a fart on top of existing cramps is like level 7 cm dilated labor pains. That's just bollocks. Don't do it.

Back to cobalt blue, Bobbi says it's not an eyeshadow. I agree. Please don't do that. It is a fashion color supposedly inspiring people like Tommy Hilfiger, thus its popularity. It has its place in fashion, but out of place, it's out of place.

Second, Bobbi was saying berry colored lipsticks compliment some of the trending fashion this fall, which I think was chocolate, probably because this Fall is Mother Nature's PMS fall. I'm not even sure I'm remembering this part about chocolate with accuracy, like I know they talked about chocolate because I started thinking about how I ate all these almond chocolate things I had and the thought of not having anymore made me sad. Speaking of which, I think almond shades compliment chocolate shades really well.

I just want to point out, berry colored lipsticks look better on darker complexions. Winter is when white people get whiter unless they hit up a tanning bed which I don't suggest because I've seen too many crazy skin issues out there with age you don't want. Healthy skin looks better than tan skin, especially 20 years from now. Of course, many people of many shades can have healthy tan skin. I'm obviously referencing people who will tan themselves at the risk of skin cancer. So I first say, if you have a light complexion, you will want to try a bronzer. Don't go overboard.

Experimenting with lipstick is a great thing. Most department stores offer some sort of make-over where you can experiment with shades for free. They do that to help sell their product. DIY tip, go to the dollar store and buy them a dollar a pop to experiment first. If it looks good (keep in mind a better brand might have a similar shade that will look much better with the way they mix it), then go get a better brand in a similar shade. Pay attention to the shades you like on yourself, warm vs cool. Warm being like orange and red, cool being like blue and green. You may find a pattern to help you take better guesses in the future for trying new shades, like maybe you really only like warm shades on yourself, or you could be like me and are attracted to all the shades that look better on other people than you. Berry is one that looks awful on me, and I love it.

If you can't find a good berry that you like and still want to follow this fashion concept... As a mom, it's often that my children play with my make-up, and the first thing to go is my lipstick, generally my current favorites. It goes all over the kids, on the walls (olive oil does a great job at removing it from the face and wall, and so do baby wipes), but then they lose the rest of it. I suspect some day when I move out, I will find 50 empty tubes of lipstick in a pile somewhere. Anyway, I'm frequently stuck putting on makeup the few times I wear it with a lipstick I loathe. One of the dollar shades I experimented with way back when that is old, dried up a bit, a little expired, smells funky, and looks hideous on my face. I am the Erykah Badu Cleva and I make it work. This is how.

A good painter mixes their own colors. My art teacher in high school would only let us use the primary pigments and white. We even had to mix our own black, which he wanted because nothing is black black. Nothing. Take any photograph in photoshop, go over it with the color picker (the thing where you click on that, and whatever color that is is the color you now have selected), and find me #000000 straight black. That is in vector graphics, but not a photograph. It shouldn't be. Not even a black and white photo.

With that said, sometimes the best makeup is something you makeup. Ha, punny. Bobbi even mentioned a story where she had to improvise and make lipstick with gloss and eyeshadow. It's like cooking really. This sauce needs more garlic. These lips need to be darker, or lighter, or more brown, or more purple... That's all you got to do. Take your berry shade that you somewhat like and ask yourself, "What would make it perfect?" Consider the lighting where you will be. Always consider the lighting. It's different than your bathroom, or vanity if you are highbrow.

Then experiment to change the shade into something you do like. You can use lip liner to line your edges and then smudge them to a gradual lighter complexion as you go inward (creates the illusion of thicker lips), but it has to be done tastefully, not 1990's Compton gangsta.

You can use lip pencil as a base. Did you know Norman Rockwell's favorite base of most of his paintings is magenta? He painted a lot of his painting in magenta first, different shades of magenta, and then layered from there. He really believed the magenta brought out the hues of the top layers better, which contributed to his paintings' overall look and style.

You can also use eyeshadow, blush, and other powders with a little gloss or vaseline.

Tone down a berry with some of your powder foundation, your own skin tone. Make it a little more pastel with a light pink lipstick, shimmering eye shadow or baby powder. Neutralize it with the opposite, like if your berry is more of a cooler hue like blueish, add some warmer hues to it. If it's a warmer hue like orangeish, add a cooler hue to it. You can dramatically enhance the color with a neighboring color. Think color wheel. If your berry is orangeish, add a little more red or yellowish hues to it. If your berry is blueish, add some green or purple. Of course, experiment first for the look you are trying to achieve. You don't have to cover your entire lips with a certain color to enhance your current color, but keep in mind touch ups are not easy when you mix your own colors.

Third, Bobbi seems to consider Vogue Magazine the authority of fashion. She does listen to other sources for fashion, but when those sources contradict, take the side Vogue is on.

I agree with this concept in the sense of, the writers of Vogue follow their own advice. I've gotten paid to write fashion articles. I told people how to wear ankle boots and how accent their cocktail dress. I wrote these articles without showering for days, without sleeping for days, without pants, wrapped in a blanket, getting up every 10 seconds for a kid needing something. I had to make deadline, and working from home meant I brought my young children to work with me every day. There were times I missed my deadline because I chose to do the dishes once THAT WEEK instead. It's why I stopped writing for other people. Just no time for it. My home was more important to me, but the fact of the matter is, especially at that time, I was the LAST person to be dishing out advice on fashion. I still sort of am, on FASHION anyway. Beauty, I can talk and walk. Most of your writers are not that different. Most of your fashion experts are not actually experts. You CAN make this shit up. If you really don't know and have to follow someone's advice, Vogue.

Where I disagree...

Vogue is not mom friendly. Bobbi should know this because she has 3 boys. I'm sure she lost her mind with them on many occasions. Vogue doesn't give tips on fashion that involves baby spit up... How to wear your child's poop with style. Vomit, the trending shade mothers are wearing this flu season. Spice up your flannel pajama "drop your kids off at school" look with a cup of coffee. Non-sporty outfits that go well with tennis shoes. Most comfortable agile shoes for moms to wear that aren't tennis shoes or flip flops. How to avoid a camel toe with your yoga pants. Ready to make another baby? Sexy looks that do not require lingerie for the bathroom quickie while dinner is cooking and the television is babysitting the kids. These are just not stories Vogue covers. Vogue is too highbrow for motherhood.

The fashion buck should stop at you. Your intuition, preference, desires, needs and all that jive should trump Vogue. Fashion is a statement we make about ourselves. It's how you...

I can't stop. Someone stop me...


Yes Fashion is about expressing yourself. Designers express themselves in their designs, and we, the customers, do the same as we adapt their concepts, mix and match their looks, and create our own unique style. However, the industry is trying to make money. Of course THIS random thing is in because guess what? That's what they are selling this season. Half of what you read about fashion is marketing. Marketing is how Money expresses itself. That is all. Not you. Not the designers. The money. And nobody, not even Vogue, is an expert on you and your tastes.


TOTES LOVE what Bobbi had to say in this other interview:

LINK TO BOBBI BROWN ON ELVIS DURAN PAGE

"I love getting rid of things and giving things away. You help people and then you have room to buy more things."

"The two words that are important to me are confidence and comfortable. So if a woman finds what makes her comfortable, then she can be confident... because really all women are beautiful."

Bobbi's Book--One of them anyway :)

Bobbi's Blog


NOTE: I really should revisit this blog post for future blog post ideas. Seriously, someone has to write how to sport poop in style. I definitely could pop out non-lingerie sexiness (my favorite, go bra-less in a wife beater and get it wet by accident while doing the dishes and then ask the husband to help with the dishes--now that's foreplay).

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