Why didn’t I just avert my eyes?!

There are some things you just *can’t* un-see, forever engrained in your mind, *even* if you have short-term memory. They generally pop in your mind in unexpected moments. You’re driving along & rockin’ out to Rollercoaster of Love like nobody even has *bid’ness* doing, and ….WHAM! You’re taken back to the time you jerked the door open to your parents’ room and WERE SCARRED FOR LIFE.

Perhaps you’re (doing your damnedest) trying to actually *taste* the food the waitress has just served, while your kids are squirting cherry tomatoes in people’s hair, and SMACK! It’s 3 a.m. and you’re standing in line behind a Walmartian wearing a glittery red thong underneath his white tights, furry man legs and ‘shoes that are *just* killing her’. HOLY MONKEY PISS. (But those shoes were *totally* cute.)

I had another such moment last Friday, one that has permanently stained my brain, and I throw up in my mouth each time it comes to mind. One thing I never thought I’d see, or wanted to see. WHY?! WHY didn’t I *just* AVERT MY EYES?!?!?!?! ? I think I need electro-shock therapy, copious amounts of alcohol, a lobotomy, a 15th concussion, water-boarding……something, *ANYTHING* to take the image out of my head.

I hate to even recount the story, but for the sake of others, and the hopes that it NEVER happens to them, I’ll do it.

Allllllllll I was *going* to do was ‘fix’ Byron’s temporary phone so it didn’t have a passcode on it. He’s about as technologically savvy as a yodeling camel, so I figured I’d mark it off the list as my ‘Being the Best Wife EVAH’ task of the day. Next time? Forget it. I’ll keep my snarky attitude, thank you very much.

Did I mention it was his temporary phone? A phone that had previously belonged to Quentin? Like, oh I don’t know….say, a month ago?

I got the passcode fixed up in no time, because I *am* a genius. Thought I’d go above and beyond my ‘Best Ever’ wifely call of duty, and change the lame-o funkified water-bottle background pic Q had put up. I might as well have made lobster and filet mignon!

I scrolled through pics of a car engine, family, a pasture….and then….Why in the HELL is there a PICTURE OF A WANG on BYRON’S PHONE?! I yelled something random, just being shocked that it was barely 9 am, I was watching Team Oomi Zoomi with the kids, and had already looked at porn. C’mon, guys. I usually wait until at *least* 10 am before doing that. I started hitting buttons trying to delete it, and got more panicked as Violet ran over asking “What is it? I wanna see! Is it something scary?!” Oooooooh you have *no* idea.

Instead of deleting it, whatever button I clicked just turned the image view from profile to landscape. Fabulous. I covered the pic with my hand so I didn’t have to be disturbed by the “what if” thoughts plaguing my mind. I left the bottom border exposed – where NO FLESH was showing - so I could see if the pic was *actually* deleted before I removed my hand……and that’s when my head fell off and I vomited from my shoulders. No, really. That’s exactly what happened.

The floor? Yeah, it was showing in the bottom of the picture. That was BYRON’S bathroom floor. That was NOT Byron’s bid’ness. ……. Upon further interrogation and investigation, Byron found out that ‘it’? Belonged to Quentin. I only *wish* I could insert vomit-uous noises here.

It seems that Quentin was *so* impressed with himself, he just *had* to take a photograph! For his AOL icon? Sexting? Posterity? No matter the pointless reason, he may as well have been drawn and quartered, because he’s had the ever-lovin’ tar beat out of him, and has been scared beyond ALL belief for the legal repercussions for possible ‘sexting’.

Although I know he’s fully recovered and likely forgotten, I – my friends – have not. MEDS!!!!!

Carpe medications!

It’s just *gotta* be a good day when you wake up, covered in pee, that *doesn’t* belong to you (thank you Duke, and those lame-o UNnight-time pullups!)…..then roll outta bed to get cleaned up, *only* to learn you can’t walk – because remember yesterday? All those squats, presses, curls & extensions – so you could become the *monstrous* in-human-looking body-builder that’s inside you? Raawwwrrrr!! I mean, *ahem* (unenthusiastic) Yeaaaahhhhh.

Walk with swagger (?) to the kitchen for some sort of medication, only to continually imagine you’re being eaten alive? Oh wait. You *are* being eaten alive - by ants? Sense of déjà vu (see devil-bug post). Look down in kitchen floor to see what looks to be a ball of a furry mass, some dead animal of sorts, with black fur? Blackish fur with orangey parts? Ooooohhhhh…..like when the kids played ‘chef’ last night, & threw a buffalo wing in the floor because it was far *too* tiresome for their delicate arms to aim it at the trashcan 2 feet away? Guess they take after Byron. Ant massacre ensues.

Try to go back to bed, set down drink, then knock it outta the park (or in the hallway, at least) when I shake the new, clean blanket out. The now dirty, Dr. Pepper covered blanket. Oh, and the DP covered floor. How I’ve managed to get through all this and not say 1 foul word could only be God’s work. I’ve only been awake 15 minutes, and I can already tell….it’s gonna be a *fantabulous* day.

Think I’ll sneak out and go fishing before anyone else wakes up.

Beer Makes Hair Healthy! (i.e. Piss for your Hair)

After the ‘bout-with-the-bug’ yesterday, *surely* nothing but boredom would ensue for the remainder of the day. Wrong.

That’s when you decide to see what that watery noise is – that’s clearly NOT someone peeing – coming from the loo. Ahhh, Duke – ever the metrosexual – is already into taking care of his beautiful blonde curls. He’s standing by the toilet, with the measuring cup – from the sugar bowl? Yes, the sugar bowl. Because haven’t you heard? Everyone who’s anyone exfoliates with sugar at the toilet – and rinses off with cup-fulls of liquid from it.

I *finally* figure out what’s going on.

Duke, has heard – from countless years (what? 2.5 years – that’s 30 months) of media bombardment, that beer? Is good for your hair. Being the genius he is, he’s determine from the best of all sources (read: me!) that beer…. Smells like horse piss. Tastes like horse piss. If you look up beer in the dictionary, it shows a picture of – you guessed it! Your Mom. Kidding. It shows a piss-laden horse stall.

It’s *obvious* the boy wanted to take care of his hair – knew the horses were on the *other* side of the ranch – and used what was available at the moment.

Kinda like when you’re in the mood to do some stained glass artistry – and out of supplies – so instead, you throw a marshmallow in a glass bowl, put in a fork, and voila! It catches on fire, explodes, and creates the most interesting looking stained glass bid’ness I daresay I’ve ever seen.

I (almost didn't) DOMINATE, YO.

You know that moment...when you're waking, wishing whatever kid with their foot shoved up under your rear would remove it….or at least have the *decency* to take their scratchy socks off their feet.....or, remove stickers (from previous sticker-overdose)…. even shave, perhaps? But wait....shave? It could only be one of my children, and none of them shave. Except for Q – who’s 15 – and if *his* foot is up under my butt while sleeping? We have FAR bigger issues.

Only *2* hairs? When was the last time their foot was 1"x2”? In utero? A foot that seemed to be struggling, wiggling ... it *IS* a foot...RIGHT?! Suddenly the thought crept into my mind….WHAT in the holy monkey piss is up under my bid’ness, yo?! Somebody call for back-up, SpecOps, NARCs, NARC-Anon’s, The Fab 5 (where *are* they these days?!), HELP!!!!!!

Now that I mention it, go ahead and call for paramedics. There *seems* to be a head-sized hole in my bedroom ceiling. Then again, maybe that’s just a dent in the ceiling….and the hole’s in my head.

I *knew* I should’ve been a high-jumper!!! We could’ve been living the high-life off the money made from my superb, nay – SUPREME – high-jumping skills. I’d have commercials, promo deals for Nike and Gatorade, my face would be on the box of Wheaties…..oh! The things I would’ve *loved* to know long ago. Alas, it wasn’t meant to be…..

*The* MOST GINORMOUS DEVILBUG (waterbug) in the HISTORY OF MAN just tried to EAT ME ALIVE!!!!!!!!! He could’ve had the integrity to cook me first. I know I went off and broke my dermis or something important….what’s it called? Your spatula? Spectrum? Speculum? (Wait, I’ve heard that somewhere before……) Sternum! That’s what I broke, when my head hit the ceiling and my body bent in unnatural positions.

Insects? Sure. Snakes? Love 'em. Had a 6-footer named Rutherford. Skydiving? Of *course*. WATERBUGS?! Suck it!

Note to Waterbugs: Remember the fate of the pinetrees, dude. I won. Both times. They might’ve had me looking trashy for a hot second, but I? DOMINATED.

Here I Are

Lots of stuff has happened since 1950. People grew up. Got a few cooler cars. Got rid of some *way* cooler cars (uh, 1949 Mercury Led Sled, chop-top, black with flames & suicide doors, OR 1951 Chevy Pickup? Need I say more? Well *that's* a stupid question.) People got color TV's. Plastic surgery. They made freezable pb&j sandwiches with*out* crusts. Cell phones popped up, and so did blogs. Then around 1957, (January 2011 my time), my computer bit the dust and my 5th child - What-in-the-Sam-Hill - died. Sigh! Blogging world?! Where *have* I been without you? Lots of places. Most I didn't even wanna go to. Like the high school cafeteria. I digress.

I have *so* much to ramble on about....at least a good 6 months worth of stuff that's happened...as well as complete randomness that pops into my mind Every. Single. Day. Like how after 33 years on this earth, I've *finally* decided what I wanna be when I grow up: Eva Mendes or Lady Gaga. Don't judge me.

Guess I'll just start with today and see where it's takes me. Hm. I'm syncing my new iPhone right now, after my most recent one got syphillis, played in the dirt, had an exorcism, ate cement, and was permanently buried in the trash can. I got so excited after learning I could re-download all my past apps and 20+ hours of music that I had to take a xanax. (Okay, the xanax was just for fun. Suck it. You know I'm kidding. Maybe.) Future tip for all you freaky-deaky 15 year olds out there: Do NOT download a gazillion different free Kama Sutra apps to your Mom's phone while bored (or looking for geniune info). While I *do* appreciate the fact that they were ALL free, it's inappropriate. Do it on your Dad's phone instead. Kidding. Just don't do it. I still have a 2 year old. I don't want grandkids for another 20 years, and if I can find a place to have you (il)legally sterilized, I *will* do it. Don't tempt me. Fa'real, yo. I *love* Mexico. Don't give me another reason to have to make a trip there. Then again.....that *might* not be a bad idea.....

This evening I got to (re)meet some people from church who are part of my Supper Club group - which is exactly what is sounds like. A club. For supper. All I had to do was provide some chairs, half-clothed screaming children, and my *stunning* personality. We had a great time...or *I* had a great time. Everyone I wasn't related to was pleasant, I learned new things about some neato-bandito people, scared them with info about me, *and* ate some of the best food ever (that I will totally copy and claim as my own invention at future family get-togethers).

I take after my Mother. Although I complain about having to clean before people visit, and then froth at the mouth like Cujo-on-crack, I tend to work better under pressure....so, about 2 hours before people were set to arrive, I got into a cleaning frenzy. Oh! I'm also *always* late. After 19 years with Mr. Late himself, it's rubbed off on me.

When everyone got to my house at 6:30 on the dot, as planned, I sent Gracelyn to the door and ran to the bathroom to do a wash-cloth bath and change clothes. Think I managed to spray on enough sugar-lime refreshing spray to cover an army, threw on some different (and probably dirty) clothes, and ran back out to pretend I'd just been sitting around all day. I did, however, have to give a few excuses of why/how things were broken or unacceptable, so no one got hurt. Like the guest toilet. It doesn't flush because the Anti-Christ lives in it, so you have to fill the tank with water every other flush. Or the master toilet - how if you lean to the side you might slip off and bust your head on the table, because a hinge broke - when I stood on it - to see if dust was on top of the light-fixtures. Or maybe it was to take a full-body pic of a new dress. At this point - who cares?! Or the stained remains of innocent smashed earthworms, chocolate milk, jalapenos, dog food and dirt on the kitchen floor - because the flipping Swiffer Mop ran out of batteries while said guests were coming down my driveway....and *somehow* NOT ONE of the 15 remotes I emptied had batteries that wanted to cooperate? Or if they tried to sit on the futon couch, they might as well kick off their shoes and pretend they were visiting China, because my kids busitificated it so one side touched the floor? I finally realized it Just.Doesn't.Matter. This? Is *SO* the real me....and if they can't manage to handle the real version, I'll kindly offer the meds - because, hey! I'm a people-pleaser!

Now that it's 4:02 a.m., and I've officially been up all night - I think I'll take a shower to smell better for the dentist tomorrow. I hope I haven't overdosed on Orajel by then. Is that possib

disRobed much, suckas?

In the last week, I’ve had more than a few robe malfunctions. I have now decided to quit wearing a robe, so I’m *forced* to get dress decently should I be driving. There are three important things you should *not*, under ANY circumstances, do in a robe.

1. Drop off kids at school.

Dropping off children at school can scar your friendly principal, *especially* when said mother looks like she’s one straight-jacket short of the institution. Really. I was wearing blue tri-color striped pajamas with orange paint stains, attempting to cover them with a nicer looking robe (Christmas present…for Quentin) – last minute – when the principal suddenly steps out to open the car door for Gracelyn. My hair was also sticking out in 90 different directions, doing something I’d cuss on a good day trying to get it to do…..but then stuck a fork in a light socket, and it all went downhill. *Not* a good look for me. I know, I know, you have a *real* hard time believing there couldn’t possibly be something that fit that description, right? Meh.

2. Get gas.

A few days ago I woke up to a chilly 25 degree temp outside. Fortunately I’d made it to the bus stop in time *with* my children (don’t judge me), and figured I should get gas while the car was warmed up. Lest I not need remind you what I was wearing. Again. At least it was clean!! I think. I told myself that surely *no one* in their right mind would be out getting gas, *especially* on the end of 20+ gas pumps…and on the positive, it was still dark outside. I pulled in, turned the car off, and was about to open the door when Mr. I’m-So-Awesome-Because-I-Have-*NO*-Trouble-Getting-To-Work-When-There’s-An-Inch-Of-Ice-On-The-Road-*AND*-I-Managed-To-Fix-My-Suave-Hair Dude pulls up next to me. Figures. I pretended to look through my purse for a credit card already in my lap, waiting for the hours to pass so he’d go inside the station, get back in his truck, read a book, look at himself in the mirror…ANYTHING!!! But nooooooo, fate would not have it. Instead, he finally turned his back to me, and looked like he was doing something important. Wouldn’t you know that dirty scum-sucker turned around at the *very* moment I stepped out of the car, and the heavens parted – the angels sang – and the sun shone on me like I was princess. Except I wasn’t princess, or even a homeless one. What’s that you say? I couldn’t have looked *that* bad? Oh really. Not *even* in my fur boots, with one ripped open to display my foot?! Yeah, what was that? Suck it.

3. Jog on the side of the road.

For reasons that aren’t the topic of today’s blog, I’ve never been much of a jogger, lest I be killed or maimed in some fashion (that would at *least* be funny for a news article). About the only time you’ll see me *attempting* to do such an absurd this is when I’m running after one of my heathen spawn, after they painted the dog blue. Again. For the 3rd time. With permanent markers. Wearing only their underwear. In sub-zero temperatures. I digress.

Anyhow. I was bound and determined to beat the bus to the stop this morning. I thought for a good *minute* about putting my blue jeans on, but then figured I’d have plenty of time to do that before taking the 2nd set of kids to school. Little did I know exactly how much time I’d have. I pulled into Mom’s driveway, turned the car around, and waited for 15 minutes for the bus. The car decided to act like a girl (This girl?! Never) and quit running. Literally. I waited for the bus to get the kids, and then called Mom for gas. Technically her driveway isn’t *that* long, but after the gas station incident, I decided against the whole homeless fur boot look. Wouldn’t you know Mom was alllllll out. Next step? To the neighbors house! Yeah, uh, except that involved mud, and cold, and wind, and hell, fire and brimstone, and bad hair, bad pajamas, and a robe. Mom jumped in my car so I could use her shoes, and then I proceeded to run down the road, in PUBLIC!!, looking like that. At least this time I had on *black* pajamas, so you *totally* couldn’t even tell it was the same person as the other 2 times. You wanna know how many cars passed me?! MORE than a few. Bunch’a crap if you ask me. I sprint down their driveway, and Danny was outside getting ready to leave for work. I'm sure I scared the piss outta him, and wouldn't you know...He was out of gas too. The rest of the morning was *pure* joy, from squeezing mom’s car through the tiny gate opening left by my car, to soaking myself and God’s green earth with half the gasoline I got. Still now, almost 9 hours after my shower? I smell like I *just* sprayed on some of my newest eau du parfum – Octane.

I hope this helps some of you *fine* people not make the same mistakes. Instead, make brand new ones, and share your tips with me! Oh, and a tip for an unknown restaurant advertising on the radio: Meatball Slider? Is *not* a good name for a dish. Can it, suckas, because it does *not* make me hungry.

Just like her mudder.

GiGi was *real* hung up on impressing me yesterday afternoon, and made sure that happened. The bus driver stopped the bus and got out, smiling, just to tell me something about my girl. By this time I was beaming from ear to ear, imagining my child coming to the rescue and administering mouth-to-mouth to save a child's life, or protecting fellow students from an attacker. Nay, this was *not* the case.

My 6-year old ball of *pure* sunshine, Gracelyn, flipped off each and *every* child that passed her while getting off the bus yesterday. She's the last one off, so she made *quite* the impression. My child isn't greedy (ha!), and proceeded to share her love of the bird with them all. Hey - at *least* I get a point for teaching her to treat everyone as equals.

Lest you forget this very child impressed the masses her first time telling a Bible story - her version of Mary and Martha meeting with Jesus. She was only 3 and had just come home from her 1st night of Vacation Bible School. It went a little somethin' like this:

Mary and Martha were happy because Jesus was coming over for dinner. Martha was running around crazy, cooking and cleaning, and got mad because she couldn't find Mary anywhere! She opened the door, and there was Mary, sitting on the floor at Jesus' feet - and Martha said, "Mary, what the *hell* is going on here?!"

You don't get that kind of education from just anywhere, people. Recognize.