None Shall Pass

Because sometimes, you just have to laugh ♥

Rawr

Disclaimer: This post has bad words. Really bad ones. If you don't like it, go away. :)

I think I'm a pretty nice person. Most of the time. Well, 4 days out of 7, which statistically speaking is pretty damn good. The point is, I try really hard to be nice and for the most part it works. Anyway...

I can put up with a lot of shit. For reals. I'm fairly easy going, and I am not seriously bothered by a lot of things. Don't mistake this for me being a push-over, because I'm not. When I'm bothered, you know. However, I really think I have alot more self-control than I used to have. Mostly.

The one place that I really can't tolerate any bullying or general "asshole" behavior is where my girls are concerned. Seriously folks, fuck with my girls and I'm coming for you. There is no where you can go that I won't find you. I don't say this to sound all scary and shit. It's just the way it is. I'm not "psycho mom", I can carry on a rational conversation, but make no mistake, if you think you get to mess with my kid and suffer no consequences, I really think you should reevaluate.

Moms are scary and this is not a bad thing.

Asphinter says what?

As I previously mentioned, I work for a Junior High school and I absolutely love it. Truly, I do. I love the little buggers (most days), I love the girls I work with and I love most of the teachers that I provide support services for.

Every day is something new and it's a rare thing when we are not smacked in the face with blatant ignorance. Most of the time, it's the parents providing me with endless entertainment. Sometimes, it's my teachers. However, I have a new source of amusement...the yard duty.

Now, before you get all up in arms, let me just say this. I wouldn't work yard duty for anything. They put up with a tremendous amount of disrespect each and every day and for that I will always be in slight awe of them. That sentiment notwithstanding...I have to wonder where in the hell do they get these people?? I'm pretty sure that some of the requirements for this job include all of the following:

1. Must lack any social skills whatsoever
2. Must lack stellar personal hygiene skills
3. Must be unspeakably weird and slightly creepy
4. Must not be able to spell correctly

To properly school you (pun totally intended) on what amuses me daily, behold the following office pass that a student was given today. Seriously people, you can't make this shit up.

My bleeding ears

Something terrible has happened. I'm not sure if I will ever be the same.

My daughter and I don't share the same taste in music anymore. This is really bad, folks. I try to impart to her the beauty of great musicians like Nina Simone and Louis Armstrong. The classic muscle of The Eagles and Credence Clearwater. The defiant rock of Guns N Roses and Aerosmith. Even the husky sexiness of a new favorite, Michael Grimm. But no, what does she want to listen to? Crappy ass stuff like Flyleaf and Evanescence. It's crap I say!

This is wrong. It's so wrong. Something must be done.

Paper towels, my dad and my destiny

I married my dad. Well, okay... not literally, but almost.

Growing up, there was this strange phenomena that occurred every single morning. I never actually witnessed the event, but I can personally attest to its occurrence. Every morning, after my dad was done...doing whatever he did... in the kitchen, there was a crumpled up paper towel on the counter. Right smack in the middle of the counter. On this paper towel was a smear of avocado, just a smear. Now, our kitchen was like any other kitchen in that it had a garbage can in it. Right out in the open! In plain view! Not mysterious in its location. Yet, the actual throwing away of the paper towel alluded the user. I tell you, it was the oddest thing.

Now, being the young intellectual that I was, I quickly caught on that my dad was leaving this little treasure on the counter every morning. Why he was doing this has remained unknown and is one of our families great legends and will be retold for generations to come. *this is said with great drama and a grand sweeping of the arms*

Okay, maybe the part about great legends was the tiniest fabrication.

My mom and I have discussed this paper towel in great depth. Neither of us can figure out why he did this (and still does as far as I know). I suggested she just leave the towels on the counter and perhaps add her own touch of flair to the whole ordeal. Maybe just a touch of lipstick or some dribble of the fiber drink she consumes every morning. *gags* Sadly, my mom does not find these ideas as entertaining as I do.

Back to why I have married my dad. The Mr. does not leave a tenderly smooshed paper towel on the counter. What he DOES do is just as irritating though. I swear, every time he makes any kind of toast, he leaves a huge, crumby mess on the counter. It's like he's gathering his troops of crumbs to form his very own Crumb Army. Really? Is it that hard to sweep the crumbs into his hand and dust them off in the sink? They're just crumbs! Why do we have to save them? It's not like they're priceless jewels! It's not like I can claim they carry the image of a saint or George Clooney and sham people out thousands of dollars on eBay. Come on!

So, there you have it. I did that which I swore I would never do. Dammit, foiled again.

Do it for the Children!

So I was thinking today as I was walking into Target, which by the way is my favorite place to shop. Actually, I'm not even going to get into how much money I spend there because that would be a Whole different posting entirely.

*ahem*

I was watching a couple leaving the store with their little boy (perhaps 2 years old) sitting in the cart. I was looking at him and thinking to myself, damn it's effing cold out here and those stupid ass parents don't have a hat on him. I was wishing I had a hat right then. And a jacket. Maybe even my scarf. But, before you call my mother and tattle on me, in my defense, it was an unplanned trip and I WAS wearing a long sleeve shirt.

What's that? Stop babbling and get on with it? Right, got it.

As I was watching this family and thinking these "Mom" thoughts, I was wondering why he did not have a hat. Then as I got closer, I realized that the little man had his hair done in a faux-hawk. A faux-hawk. Then I got to thinking that maybe said parents didn't have a hat on this boy because they didn't want to mess up his hair. Now, as much as I would like to have given them the benefit of the doubt, I come into contact with far too many stupid parents each and every day and know better.

Then, my twisted mind started to think of all the stupid things parents do. I, of course would never do any of these stupid things. *wink wink*

• Faux-hawks
• Dressing the parents and the children in disturbingly matched clothes. Then taking pictures.
• Mullets
• Parents going to their kids' school in their pajamas. Or bathrobe. Or bra-less. Or in slippers.
• Going out in public with their kids in either a diaper or in their pajamas. (a note on pajamas. I don't care how cute you think you or your kid is, neither of you will ever be cute enough to parade around in your jammies)
• Moms who dress their girls up like hookers. Really. This is wrong, don't do it
• "Future Clamper" shirts. I can't even talk about this one.

There are probably far more tasty bits from the Stupidity Sampler of life, but frankly, one can only dwell on these things for a short time.

Doesn't everyone?

I have quirks. Do you have quirks? Doesn't everyone have quirks? Let's all have quirks!

I wish I could have a brand new pillow. Every. Single. Day.

I wish I could have sheets that have been freshly washed with bleach on my bed. Every night.

I wish everything in my house was able to be color coded or alphabetized. And stay that way.

I wish I could wipe down every solid surface in my house with a Clorox wipe. Every day.

I wish that every item in the refrigerator could be placed according alphabetically or by purpose.

I wish that the cushions on the couch would not smoosh down from wear. Because when they smoosh, they become different sizes and this is wrong.


And yes, I absolutely know what OCD is...

Tickle my fancy

I am easily entertained.

Consider this:

I just called my husband using the intercom feature on our house phones. I was in the bedroom, he was in the living room. When he answered, I told him that he had the volume on the TV too loud. Then I laughed hysterically.

Today, Little Bit and I were playing with her DSI. On it there is a feature that totally distorts your face when you take a picture of it. I haven't laughed that hard in a loooong time.

We have a dog that has lovingly been dubbed "The Great Beast". I can watch her chase her tail. Forever.

Monty Python. (I'm not dead yet. I feel better. I think I'll go for a walk!)






You're welcome.

Stupid should hurt

I wonder, how wrong is it to take enjoyment from the stupidity of others?

For example...

I work at a Junior High School (which, I LOVE! Who would have known?) Anyway, every day is something new, something different, something not..quite..right. I find myself taking unnatural pleasure in the excuses, explanations and often just plain stupidity that Jr. High brings.

I wish I was talking about just the kids.

The other day, I had 2 6th grade boys come to see me. Wait, let's chat a moment about 6th grade boys, shall we? I swear, at the beginning of every school year, we get the biggest bunch of babies arriving on campus. I never realized that 6th grade boys were such patsys! I fully expected the girls to be the ones prone to constant complaining. "I'm on my period", "He broke up with me", "I'm having a bad hair day". No, no. It's the boys.

Readers, I implore you...if you are raising or plan to raise boys, please, PLEASE instill some kind of backbone in them.

Back to my boys. 2 of them came to see me because, "We are having a hard time breathing." (did you notice I said 2? Normally girls are the ones that travel in pairs, right? Yeah, not these kids. The boys travel in pairs. Why? I don't know.)

Being the fairly nice person I am, I ask them why they think they are having a hard time breathing.

Are you ready?

"Because we were in band and our teacher was making us use our instruments." (this was said with straight faces, if you can beleive that)

You would be so proud of me. I didn't laugh or giggle at them in any way. I very calmly told them that they were barking up the wrong tree as I had in fact played the oboe in school for several years. Since the oboe is one of the most difficult woodwind instruments to play, I could personally attest to the fact that they would live to play another day. As soon as the door shut behind them, I laughed and laughed. Even now I'm giggling. Silly boys.

You got to get up pretty early in the morning...  

The world's gone mad

I'm having a bad hair day. This really shouldn't surprise me after the way life has been the past few days. Between the broken dryer, the migraine (which, fearless readers, is STILL hanging on) and my own personal "kids gone wild" segment, I shouldn't even bother getting out of bed in the morning.

Let me explain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up. (Did you get that? Princess Bride? Eh? Eh?)

I'm not even going to talk about the migraine...let's leave it at, "Holy cow Batman, go away already!"

The dryer. Ah, the dryer. Clothes are still being set out to dry in various parts of the house. My hope is that the fuse that I ordered will be in soon so that I can return to my lazy life of wash, dry, repeat.

The girls. Oh my, the girls. I'll be brief so as not to cause you unnecessary grief. My Little Bit went right off the deep end yesterday. I'm still not sure what happened. One minute I was asking her to go to the table to do her homework as opposed to doing it on my bed. The next minute she was in her room screaming at me, "Why can't you just go away?" According to her rant, she can't "take" it here, nobody listens to her and that she was afraid of me. Hmm. Now, I tried to take this all in stride but I have to admit that hearing the statements she was making was very upsetting. It sucked. Ultimately, she settled down and admitted that there wasn't alot of truth in what she said, but it still sucked.

Then, this morning, I was fed a line that I haven't heard for awhile (thankfully). Some time ago, Zippy came home from school and said that her p.e. clothes and shoes had been stolen. After questioning her further, I discovered several problems with this story:

1. Her p.e. stuff was in a locker
2. The locker was locked
3. It was not her locker
4. She thinks I'm an idiot

Seriously? This is the scenario she gave me. Her stuff was in her friend's locker (Why? Who knows. She's 12). The locker was absolutely locked and no one but the two of them had the combination. The stuff was there on Friday, gone on Monday. Someone obviously was able to access the locker by magic and taken her things.That's right folks, my 4.0 GATE student. Isn't she fabulous.

Here's my problem with her story. It's full of shit.

Anyway, I made her buy her own p.e. clothes again and since she didn't have any money left for tennis shoes, she has been wearing the same converse-like shoes to school (every day. yes, this is annoying) and also for p.e. They now have a hole in them. This morning when I dropped them off at school, I happened to park in a spot that had a puddle in it. Naturally, she has a comment about it. My reply? "If you wear your boots, it wouldn't be a problem." "But I can't wear them for p.e." "So, bring your other shoes for p.e." "But, I don't have a p.e. bag" (this was "stolen" too. don't even get me started) "And who's fault is that?" "MOM! My stuff was STOLEN!!!" *slams the door and stomps away, giving me a nasty look over her shoulder*

Well, that was fun.

Dryers and duress

I have a migraine and my dryer broke...but not in that order. First things first. I was washing my bed comforter the other day and put it into the dryer. Apparently, my dryer no longer has any love for me or my sense of cleanliness because midway through the drying cycle it stopped working. That's it, no dramatics, no great explosion. It just stopped. I have to admit, I was little disappointed with this whole thing, and not for reasons you may imagine.

I was disappointed because I am of the opinion that if you are going to break, do it with gusto! Don't just fizzle out and cease to work, explode! Smoke! Come on, have a little pride in your work (or in your non-work, as the case may be). Secondly, my disappointment came a few days later when The Mr., being tremendously handy, discovered that the dryer had only blown a fuse and was a very easy fix. I was kind of looking forward to being able to buy a new dryer. Not that I have any money and not that the dryer has EVER given me trouble, even after 15 years. In my mind, I was already prancing through Sears while scattering rose petals and shimmering slightly in the glorious rays of the fluorescent lighting.

This was not to be. We found the fuse online and ordered it. In the meantime, I have gained a new appreciation for the women that did laundry when there were no dryers to be had. My house currently looks like a washroom (no, Marisa, I haven't taken pictures yet...but the week is young!). I have discovered the warmest places in the house and lay my laundry over whatever surfaces I can find.

It's quite exciting actually, The Mr. and I were placing bets last night as to whether a certain piece of laundry would, in fact, dry overnight. I won.

Onward...The Migraine. I have suffered from them since my teens but have noticed an increase in their severity over the last 10 years or so. As I currently don't have insurance, therefore a doctor, I don't have either a professional diagnosis or medication. Normally, if I can get to sleep they don't last through the night. My buddy right now is hanging on for dear life. It really sucks.

That is all.

Well, I'll be a monkeys uncle

Apparently my sole purpose on earth is to amuse my kids. Beside being inexplicably weird, I tend to say things they find tremendously funny. I present for your reading pleasure...

"That'll do Donkey, that'll do" or if the mood strikes me...

"That'll do Pig, that'll do"

"I choose not to run"

"But I don't want to be a pirate"

"I can't do it captain, I don't have the strength" (this is said with the worst possible accent)

"I got your six"

"Hi there" (I think the only reason this is funny is because it is always said like Dug in "UP") What's that? Who is this Dug I speak of? Well, let's look together, shall we?
Dug says Hi There... 

"Sup"

"Your father" (this is said with great exasperation)

"Thank you Captain Obvious"


And there you have it. BTW, you get 29,000 points if you can identify which movies/shows several of these came from. Annnddd...go!

Oh, the humanity

I was completely traumatized today. Seriously, I think I might need therapy. Stop laughing, this is really serious! I heard the statement I've been dreading for many, many years. Are you ready?

"Mom, can I date?"

This is no bueno. No bueno at all. I know that she has been noticing boys for awhile now and they have been noticing her as well. How do I know this? Because I make a point of being on her school campus often. I want those boys to know my face and know who exactly belongs to me. In fact, just the other day I made a point of noticing a boy noticing my daughter. Who knew teenage boys could move so fast?

Anyway, back to my trauma. I was innocently doing my grocery shopping and wham! out of nowhere Zippy asks if I think she's old enough to date. Eh? Who's Zippy? Well, that's my daughter. What's that? No, of course that's not her real name. I don't divulge real names because there are alot of whackadoos out there (you know who you are). Moving on. You should be so proud of me. I didn't start wailing like a crazy woman or start telling her all the bad germs and cooties that boys have. No. I took a deep breath and asked her some very reasonable questions.

"Do YOU think you're old enough to date." "Yes Mom"
"What do YOU think dating is?" "MOM!"
"Well, what do you think it is" "Well, sitting together and maybe holding hands" *blushing*
"What if he tries to kiss you?" "EWWWWW!" *screws up her face in disgust*

I told her that I had to think about it and talk to her dad. I'm a little encouraged by the fact that she thinks kissing is gross. I know that those feelings won't last though. Dammit. 

Lions and tigers and puppets, oh my!

DISCLAIMER: If you or someone you love is or has ever been involved with ventriloquism, you might want to run away. You will most likely be offended. Really. Run away right now...*waits* You're still here? Okay, don't say I didn't warn you.

Tonight, I was watching the show on TLC called "My Strange Addiction". For those of you who that have not seen it, it's kind of like watching a train wreck. You find yourself peeking through your fingers or grimacing while saying really mature things like, "Eww" or "Did you see that??" Tonight's episode involved something that should scare anyone in their right mind...puppets. Not those cute little puppets that your kindergarten teacher had. No, these are the scary-ass big headed monstrosities that are used for ventriloquism.

Seriously, who among us here today are completely petrified by these things? *raises hand* Are they not right up there with clowns on the Creepy Scale? I swear, I was watching this show and the wackadoo on it with my mouth hanging open and my hand curled around the remote so as to be fully prepared in the event one of those bad boys crept up behind me.

This chick takes the puppets with her. Everywhere. They showed her and her evil sidekick hanging out in Central Park, New York. As if there aren't enough weirdys that hang out there already. These puppets were like muppets on crack and looked like they had been ridden hard and put away wet. My skin crawls even now thinking about it.

You can bet I'm sleeping with my bedroom door locked tonight. Now, will you please excuse me while I go hunt down my trusty baseball bat.

In which I get taken advantage of, and not in a good way

I was robbed today. Now, don't worry...it's not what you think.

As I previously mentioned, I am a part-time student finishing a degree I should have taken care of years and years ago (let this be a lesson to you kiddies, the trick is not just to go to college, it's to FINISH college). Anyway, my next class starts next week and I need a textbook. I learned my lesson early on not to buy textbooks from the college bookstore. They are extremely overpriced and as far as I'm concerned, the bookstore practices highway robbery. Let me 'splain...

You can search for your books online through the college website. When you find your book, you can choose to buy it new or used. Keep in mind, the used price isn't that much better than the new price, but hey every dollar counts! Naturally, I chose the used price and clicked the magic button, "add to cart". Have I mentioned how much I love online shopping? Think about it, you can shop in your jammies and no one looks at you funny. However, if you live in my town you can shop in your jammies and people don't look at you funny...but that's beside the point. Back to reasons why I like shopping online. No crowds or lines or obnoxious people. You don't have to worry about the previous user of your shopping cart or using a public bathroom. You don't have to drive anywhere or worry about store hours. But...I digress.

Where was I...right, "add to cart". So I add the used book to my cart and choose the option to pay at the bookstore because I prefer to pay in cash. Sounds pretty good, right? Just wait. I arrive at the bookstore to pay for and pick up my used book, only to be told that they didn't have any used books and I had to buy a new one. What??? The funny thing is, she said it with a completely straight face, like this was the most reasonable thing in the world. I replied, "But I ordered a used book, the website offered me one."

"Right, well we don't have one."

You're fucking kidding me.

Since I was totally screwed already I went ahead and paid for the new book, told her and anyone else with ear-shot how I felt about her and the damn bookstore and left. When I got home, I immedately went online and looked in the bookstore for the textbook I had just bought. What do you think I saw? "Buy this book USED and save!" Huh. Fancy that.

Which brings me to today. After that illuminating experience, I have not bought from the college bookstore, preferring to save lots and lots of money buying them from other websites. But for this coming class, the college has gotten just a little smarter. This text is actually published by the college, thereby forcing you to buy it from them and prohibiting you from re-selling it anywhere else. Quite a racket, right?

So, I was taken advantage of today by a little old lady who didn't look like she would harm a cockroach. She smiled sweetly at me while I wrote a check for an obscene amount of money. All the while I grumbled under my breath because I knew they had me right where they wanted me. BOHICA  

Piercings and other atrocities

My daughter completely threw me under the bus the other day. But let me start at the beginning...

I've always been the opposite of my mom, coincidentally in some ways, deliberately in others...but you get the point. I color my hair, watch movies with bad words, listen to an array of different music, have tattoos, swear, drink. Hm? What's that? Does this have a point? Right, sorry. *clears throat*

I let my kids do a lot of things that my mom doesn't think are a good idea. Little things, but I get "The Look" from her quite a bit. Anyway, my girls and I were having lunch with my mom the other day and my oldest, who's 12, pipes up with, "My mom is going to color my hair green before I go back to school!" Now, before you gasp with shock, I don't color all her hair...just 2 streaks toward the front in the color of her choice. Last time, the streaks were purple. See? That's not so bad, right?

Before my mom has a chance to recover, let alone respond, the kid goes on with, "And then were going to get my ears pierced again!" Thanks for that, kiddo. My mom looks from her to me and back again, then at the 8 year old who is cracking up at this conversation. Mom says, "Next thing you know, you're going to have your eyebrow pierced and your nose pierced and your cheeks pierced...piercings everywhere!" (Yes, because getting your ears pierced is clearly the "gateway" piercing to becoming one big hole. *rolls eyes*)

And what does my sweet daughter say to that? "Oh never Grandma!" or "Of course not!"? No. Out comes the following response, "I'm not going to get a bunch of piercings Grandma...but I am going to get a couple of tattoos." And then she sits there quite pleased with herself while yours truly gets "The Look".

Shave and a haircut...two bits

So, I have a new tactic, a new strategy if you will. It involves shaving. No, not my face or my back...my legs. Since the first time I shaved my legs, I have shaved them every day with very few exceptions. Why, you ask? Several reasons. 1) For some reason, when you shave something, it grows back in a fierce way. Thick and black and I'm sure if you look closely, you will see that it carries a tiny little hairbrush so as to add the most possible density. 2) Because of said ferociousness of the "grow-back" hair, if I don't shave every day, it starts to rub on my pants or tights or heaven forbid the OTHER leg (which as you can imagine has a tiny army of its own). This, I cannot have. Anyway, due to these unavoidable hair hazards, I shave every day.

Now, I must tell you about this new development, the new strategy. I'm not sure if I'm too old or too busy or just don't care a whole hell of alot but the excessive hairy-ness doesn't seem to bother me too terribly much. Now, before you get any wild ideas, I have no intention of turning into that slightly frightening woman who wears mid-calf skirts, rolled down ankle socks and tennis shoes who probably doesn't know what a razor is much less how one works. Razors are my friends. BUT! I have a strategy and here it is...

I sometimes shave every other day. Did you see that? Every OTHER day. Oh the excitement, the intrigue, you must be saying! I sometimes do this so as to give myself a little reward. What could it be! See, if I shave every other day the shave itself seems so much more successful. In an instant my legs go from a hairy forest of hairbrush toting rogue hairs to a silky smooth plateau of touchable goodness. It's like a little celebration of shaving success every time.

Ah, the little things in life.