Broken Eyeballs

It's funny how there are days that you have no idea what you want to blog about and then all of  a sudden. . . BAM! . . . something magical happens, and tonight the magic is called Number 4 Guy wakes up freeeeeaking out!! 

I was sitting here reading blog posts from the peeps that I normally check in with when it happened.  "AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!  NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!  MY EYEBALLS ARE ALL BROKEEEEEEEN!!"  Naturally I completely freak out, my butt starts tickling and I throw my laptop across the couch.I just knew I was going to see something sharp and outlandish jetting out from his eye sockets.  GRUESOME!!   Buuuuuuuut it turns out, he just NOW, at 10:30 at night, figured out that he can move his eyeballs.  He apparently hasn't been paying very close attention to them over the past 3 years. . . until tonight. . . . at 10:30. . . . on a Tuesday. . . . when every other child in this state is sleeping. 

I comforted him and showed him all the crazy things my eyeballs can do, and then we investigated the dogs' eyeballs.  Yep, they both had broken eyeballs too. He felt much better about his own eyeball situation.  Sometimes it's a good feeling to know that you're not alone in the world. . .  

Bacon, Cheeseburgers, and Butt Cheeks

I overheard this conversation among my kids.  It pretty much speaks for itself.

Lil Miss- I want bacon!

Number 2 Guy- Bacon is made from cheeseburgers. *bites his cheeseburger looking thoughtful*

Number 1 Guy- NO!  It's made from a pig.

Lil Miss- Bacon comes from pigs?!  *GASP!*

Number 2- Cheeseburgers are made from pigs. *takes another bite*

Number 1- Number 2. . . ur dumb.

Number 2- I'll show you what bacon is made from *gets off chair and moons Number 1*

Number 1- That would be where ham comes from.

Lil Miss- Bacon comes from your butt?

Number 1- NO, that's what ham comes from, I said!

Lil Miss- From Number 2's butt?!

Number 1- No, from a pig's butt. *looking annoyed*

Lil Miss- Oh. . . I just want bacon.  I don't even want ham.  You guys are dumb! *crosses arms and marches over to the bar counter to color*

My Friend, the Convict

So a few months ago one of my friends made a dumbass choice to drink and drive and got pulled over.  Luckily the only thing hurt was his pride. I can also say that he hasn't driven drunk at all since then.  By the way, we'll call him Moe. 

This is what Moe looked like over the weekend.



Moe got to spend the weekend in the clink making up for his poor decision making.  This was our textual conversation once he got out today.

Moe: Freeeeeeeedooooom!!! 

Me: Jail bird!!  How's life on the outside?

Moe: I don't know yet.  I'm still adjusting.  I am staaaaarving though!

Me: You better eat something you've been dreaming about from the inside.

Moe: I know!  I'm totally gonna pig out somewhere once I check my computer for messages and hop in the shower to get the smell of criminal off me.

Me: You might be able to get some chicks with that smell especially if you hit a McDonald's or a Walmart.  *shrugs*

Moe: *laughs* Why didn't I think of that?!  That's a FANTASTIC idea!

Me: Hell, I don't know!  Is it too late?  Are you part of the clean man club, or can ya still catch a few dirties?

Moe: Oh I still got the stank on me.  Women of the Walmart, WATCH OUT!

Me: They will flock to you!  People will mistake you for the free government peanut butter and cheese line!! 

Moe didn't find that very funny.  Oopsie!!  I'm so inappropriate sometimes! 

I Have Fall Down Syndrome

I was just sharing a story on http://www.filing-jointly.com/ and figured it should definitely be blogged about.  Here it goes! 

Once upon a time in a land far far away, located about a half hour from my house, I fell down at a funeral. .  . while wearing a long, tightish dress. . . (wait, it gets better) while holding Number 1 Guy who was about 6 months old at that time. 

Funeral. . . wait, is that Matt Damon at the funeral?!  I didn't even see him there that day!


PLUS

long, tightish dress

PLUS

Number 1 Guy

PLUS


Fall Down Syndrome

=

Here's how it all went down. . . literally!
The burial service had ended and everyone was slowly making their way back to their vehics.  I was showing off my new beautiful, big brown-eyed baby boy to long-lost and not-so-long-lost relatives.  (I may or may not be an attention whore, but that's another issue altogether.) Anyway, once the awwwwwwwing over my pretty bean had finished, we started making our way to our car.  Our entourage glided across the fresh spring grass. . . ok, I'm gonna cut the bull shit right here. I was probably walking like I was on some sort of rocky mountainish terrain wearing 10 inch high heels which looks similar to all of the girls under the age of 30 walking around Vegas in heels after midnight.  Don't forget, I have Fall Down Syndrome (self-diagnosed).  I looked around and noticed van loads of cute, little and not-so-little grandpas and grannies gawking at us because what else is there to do when you're waiting for the assholes who parked at the front of the line to move their damn cars so everyone else can leave?  You gawk at the assholes as they walk past and talk a bit of smack about them!  That's what you do! Aaaaaaand that's what they did.  Yep, you guessed it!  We were the assholes and karma was about to bite mine! 

Here's where the karma enters the story!
I was walking and noticing all of the people noticing me when all of a sudden, my foot fell into one of those invisible holes that hides just under the covering of grass.  (Those bad boys will getcha every flippin' time! Even more so when you have the Fall Down Syndrome like I do!) Everything went in slow motion . . . foot hits hole. . .  other foot steps forward. . . the earth reaches up and pulls my body and my baby towards it. .  . my free hand flails in the air, reaching for anything to make it all stop. . . my other arm grips my baby tightly to my chest. . . realizing it's not going to stop, I flip my whole body over in midair like a fish flopping on dry land so I don't fall on my precious bean. . . my voice rushes over my tongue and teeth "OOOOOOOH MYYYYYYY GOOOOOOOODNEEEEEEEEESSSSSSS!" (I didn't swear much in those days.  I was such a nice girl back then!). . . The entourage stops to see what the hell I'm yelling about but only as long as it took for them to realize I was no longer cool enough to be part of their little club which my husband happened to be the leader of.  Apparently "cool" people don't have Fall Down Syndrome!  HATERS!  Anyway, as I hit the ground with a KERSHMACK the next horrifying thought entered my grey matter.  How in the name of The Jonas Brothers was I going to get back up?!

This is where the story gets dicey!
Wearing a long, tightish denim dress (which, let's face it, is super freakin neat to do) is sort of like wrapping your whole lower half with duct tape.  You may have had the same experience as a child when you go through the stage where you want everyone to tie you up. . . . and they wrap your legs together tightly and then walk away laughing as you stand there thinking, "How in the name of The Jonas Brothers am I going to get out of this?!" You take a step, then fall down and wallow around like a deformed, tipped over penguin until you find just the right position to get back on your feet or, worst case scenario, you end up having to grow up in a pile on your living room floor because you have really mean brothers and/or sisters who just laugh at your crazy wallowingness as they walk by all neat and pubescent.  HATERS!  Ok, back to me kershmacking the ground and realizing I'm totally screwed by my style choice that seemed like such a great idea that morning.  I just laid there and laughed and laughed and laughed some more realizing how there is a possibility that I would end up raising my son right there in the cemetery if either A. Someone didn't come to help me up or B. I didn't have strong enough thighs to power through the handicapped dress situation.  I heard moans of, "Oh my god" (because no one knew what OMG was back then) and "Don't look at her!  Keep walking!" quietly thundered through the entourage.  I realized I was going with option B because option A was clearly not an option with these people.  I tucked my baby under my arm like a football and focused all of my attention and power into my thighs (which happen to be large and in charge thanks to some kickass genetics), and I did "The Count" which is the same "The Count" that your 8 year old self either did aloud or in your head before you jumped into the already twirling jump ropes at recess.  I had the mental focus of Mr. Miyagi and the strength of the Karate Kid in that moment because I knew I was choosing life or death for my baby.  Either I would power through and watch my son grow up NOT on the grass in the cemetery, or I would epically fail (I can say that cuz that's what the cool kids do)  and squish him like a road pizza.  (I know, that's not a very pretty picture but just go with it.  It's super dramatic and there should be suspense filled music playing in the background right meow!) I rolled around like a deformed penguin until I found the perfect position to focus my whole being, my whole inner Karate Kid, into my monster thighs.  Mr. Miyagi would not be there to guide me anymore.  This was all me.  Breath. . . breeeeeath. . . and "The Count". . . 1. . . twooooooo. . . two and a half. . . . two and three quarters. . . Ok too scared!  Start over . . . yep, this was all me.  .   . 1. . . . 2. . . . . . . . . THREE! 

This is the happy ending!
The clouds parted and the sun shown down as the electric power, the power of Mr. Miyagi's wisdom, shot through my body as I stood up.  A guttural grunt poured out of my mouth which was almost the same sound that my nephew used to make when he was taking a fierce dump and everyone in the house knew it. Grrrrrraaaaaaaaaaaawwwwwww!  I did it!  I stood up while wearing a tightish, long denim dress WHILE holding my baby!  That is just unheard of!!  I may have looked like a deformed tipped over penguin, but I felt like a lioness who had just single handedly saved the life of her cub from a herd of starving hyenas.  I strutted to the car like the asshole that I was having parked in the front of the line blocking my audience in which is actually similar to locking the doors and fire escapes while you're on stage performing.  YOU WILL WATCH ME, AND YOU WILL LIKE IT!! (Insert evil laugh here)  I learned a LOT of lessons that day.  First, no one thinks a wallowing, tipped over, deformed penguin looks cool.  Second, the only person you can count on in life is yourself, especially when you have deformed penguin moments.  And finally, I am a total lioness, and my genetically large thighs are the shit, dawg!  I have one final question for you.  If I start a Fall Down Syndrome support group, would you be willing to join?  You don't actually have to have Fall Down Syndrome to be a part of it.  You just have to know someone who does.  It's like aa and al anon mixed together!  That sounds like a freakin blast if you ask me. . . which you didn't, but I thought I'd share anyway.

Call of Duty. . . In the Bathroom

The kids jumped in the car after school today, and this conversation ensued:

Number 2 Guy~ Hurry home!  I need to make a Call of Duty. . . BAD!!

Me~ Oooooh Modern Warfare in the toilet!  Don't forget to wipe!

Lil Miss~ (completely annoyed) YOU GUYS!  It's CALLED I gotta take a POOP!! 

                     ~~~~>









Yep, World, this is my 2nd child who will be referred to as Number 2 Guy from this point on.

He's a little ADHD, very special in a naughtyish sort of way and quite possibly the world's greatest snuggler!

Magical Penis Rock

Once upon a time I found a giant magical penis rock, so I put it in my garden.  The End.

Maryam ~ Does it vibrate?

Me ~ I don't know.  Let me go try it for the 15th time.

Weird Parenting Tip of the Day

If your little one refuses to put a diaper on before bed, just go ahead and threaten to pee in it!!


"FINE! Then I'll pee in it instead! Someone has to!"


  He'll yell, "NOOOOOOOOOO!" and then happily let you put it on. :)



Underwear Drawer Discovery: The Solidified Version

A few days ago I was perusing my selection of undies: everyday undies, undies that give me wedgies because they were made to do so and apparently that's HOT, Vegas undies (nuff said), workout undies, the undies that I only wear when all the other undies are in the laundry (yeah, that happens cuz I hate doing laundry with a PASSION). . . when all of a sudden I stabbed myself with something hard and pokey. My mind raced. Did I leave my pocket knife open in the drawer? No, because I don't even have a pocket knife. Could it be a taser that I bought from that one weird magazine that shows up in the mail making me paranoid that the mail lady thinks we might be preparing for the end of times by buying all of the most psychotic weaponry on the market? NOPE, cuz I don't own one of those either. Pheeew! Then what in the hellzers was it?!

It was this!

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A pokey, solidified Fazoli's bread stick piece!

Of course! Why wouldn't I have one of those in my underwear drawer?! I have a lot of crazy shit in there, and (without giving away too many personal secrets) this totally fits right in with its contents!

Anyway, after my fit of pure joy subsided, I wondered how in the name of Samuel L. Jackson did this solidified wonder end up in my underwear drawer?

Sam as Jules ~"You, flock of seagulls, you know why we're here? Why don't you tell my man, Vincent, where you got the shit hid at?"

Me ~ "Hey man, relax!  It's in my underwear drawer!"

 I came up with the following:

1. I was the victim/winner (depending on your perception of things) of a Fazoli's worker pantie raid.

2. The Hamburglar lost his job so he went and applied at Fazoli's for the Breadstickburglar position where he received all the bread sticks he could eat as he filled out his application and pocketed a few.  While waiting to hear back from them, he continued on with his part time position with Victoria Secret as the Underwearburgler and payed a visit to my drawer.  By the way, if you didn't already know, he is a horrible burglar cuz he always leaves evidence behind.  That's why he can't hold a job for very long, PLUS his outfit is a dead giveaway.

Or 3. My kids had something to do with it.  Even though that is probably the most logical and accurate answer, I still like to believe that I have an awesome selection of undies and options 1 and 2 are possible.  A girl can dream!! 

 

Oreos Smell Beautiful

Me~ You smell BEAUTIFUL!
Lil Miss ~ It's cuz I have Oreos.

Number 4 Guy

This is Number 4 Guy!

Not to be confused with:

 

Number 4 Guy loves fun, adventure and being super helpful around the house!  This is what happens when I'm busy blogging or Facebooking or just not paying attention.

"I'm dist hewpin out wif watain da pwants, Mommy!"

Then he goes on to tell me that we're going to hide our treasures in the "pwants" that we're not sharing with anybody.  I have no idea what treasures he's talking about, but I think it's a fantastic idea!!

Already In Search Of the Man Of Her Dreams

Lil Miss, who is 4, her little brother (We'll call him Number 4 Guy) and I were driving to preschool the other day when she started asking questions about motherhood like she ALWAYS does. 

Lil Miss~ Mom, I wanna be a mommy like you, but where can I find a dad?

Me~ Well when you grow up bigger like me, then you can find one at a library or college or somewhere where smart guys hang out. (I met mine at Pizza Hut. . . go figure)

 Lil Miss~ But how do you know it's (notice she called him an it's?  *giggle*)  a good one?

Me~ You're gonna want to find one who is super nice to you and will be a good dad to your babies. It doesn't matter what he looks like. You should just find one who is smart and funny.

Lil Miss~ *eyes lit up and smiling BIG* Ooooh there's one like that in my class!

OH NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!

How To Pee And Hit the Toilet At the Same Time

Lesson of the day~ How to pee and hit the toilet at the same time (Side note~ if this is an issue for any of you ladies, you are doing absolutely EVERYTHING wrong). Ok, hidden in the depths of your pants/shorts is a penis. This is where the pee comes out. It is your very own personal hose. 1. Pull your pants down far enough so you don't have a kink in your hose which could cause you to hit the... wall or some other object in the bathroom that your mom/wife/girlfriend/grandma doesn't want to clean. 2. Pay attention to what you are doing the whole time! This is not the time to space off and think about what you will be eating once you leave the bathroom or anything funny for that matter as your giggling will cause a wave in your pee stream causing your pee to hit things other than the toilet water that, again, no one else wants to clean. 3. If you know ahead of time that your stream will not shoot directly into the water for various reasons, just sit down for this one time. No one will ever know!! 4. Always pee alone!! When you pee with another male, the urge to play swords is too overwhelming to avoid causing, once again, someone else to have to clean up the innocent bystanders. 5. Once you're finished, contrary to popular belief, shaking it more than once is NOT playing with yourself (which if that needs to happen you're in the right place for that anyway). Shake it as many times as needed to make sure to avoid dropping pee anywhere else other than the toilet water itself. 6. If you happen to pee anywhere else other than in the toilet water, CLEAN IT UP YOURSELF!!

The Rut

There’s this rut that people undoubtedly fall into from time to time, where everything they once knew to be colorful and sharp with beautiful detail is suddenly dark and dull and only shades of gray.  The point in the rut is to only visit it for a short time to help you realize how wonderful all the goodness and beauty in the world is.  It is only there to remind you to be grateful for the good things and understanding and tolerant of the bad.  If you stay in the rut for any length of time longer than is necessary to learn your lesson, then that is totally your own fault.   You should be ashamed of yourself for allowing yourself to become lazy and stagnant in the rut, for it is your job to live a full and happy life that will only be those things if you make them be.  Anyone can suffer.  Your suffering doesn’t make you unique or special in any way.  It’s actually quite easy to suffer and feel sorry for yourself.  The more challenging and noble thing is to suck it up and pull yourself out of it and only look back long enough to remember not to go there again.  Everyone is given a life, but not everyone chooses to live it outside of the rut and in the sunshine. 

Now go and enjoy life, Bitches!