Category Archives: random

I can’t believe I just wrote a post about “my hair.”

Today, I have an appointment to get my haircut. I haven’t had my haircut since November. That’s craziness for a woman who used to get her hair cut and colored every 6 weeks.
Funny how life changes after you quit your job to take care of your three (THREE!) children. No more money for things like “haircuts” or “dye jobs.”
I had long hair for most of my life. But that all changed a few months after I got married and decided that I wanted a perm.
Not just any perm. A spiral perm.
Do y’all remember the Spiral Perm? It was all the rage in the early 90’s. Kinda like how the ““Merm was all the rage in the 80’s.


Oh! The Merm! How I still long to have Perm Sex everytime I see that picture. Look at me, getting all distracted by my husband’s Merm. This post isn’t even about him! But MY GOD. The Merm.
Ahem. Back to MY Perm.
My mom’s very best friend was a hairdresser and agreed to give me A Spiral Perm. I trusted her completely, which turned out to be a very bad mistake. The Perm didn’t take because my hair was so long and thick, that it was too much for the perm to handle and it refused to hold the curl.
“You need layers.” She tells me AFTER having spent hours in a chair with horrid smelling chemicals burning the shit out of my scalp.
A couple of weeks later, I agreed to have layers cut and redo the perm. Oh my God. I hated it. It was horrible. So, later that night, I decided to go buy a chemical straightner and rid myself of The Perm Head.
My poor, sweet virgin hair. What was once a shiny, split end free head of hair was now a burnt, crisp mess. I’ll never forget standing in front of the bathroom mirror sobbing my eyes over the damage I had caused to my precious hair.
The next day I went to a professional hair dresser who was NOT my mother’s best friend and had my hair chopped off. And for the first time in my adult life, I had short hair.
I hated it at first, but eventually I grew to love it. It was easy to take care of, it was bouncy and “fun.”
Who knew! Hair could be fun!
I never was able to grow it long after that. I loved the short hair too much. And man, the compliments I would get about how “short hair really framed my face” made me love it even more. I did grow it out a few times for certain events (like my sister’s wedding) but for the most part, short hair was My Thang.
When I went through my depression, I gained a lot of weight. Especially after I started taking the anti depressant drugs. I started to let my hair grow because my face was too fat for short hair.
What hair has to do with weight, I do not know, but I do know that I feel like I’m “too fat” for short hair. I feel like if I cut it off, my face will look ENORMOUS. There’s a “security” I feel in having hair that covers my fat arms and hides my double chin.
My hair is longer now than it’s been in 12 years and I WANT to cut it off, because, um, I think that I am going bald but shhhhhh because people will think I’m crazy, because I also think that I have tumors and various other diseases that the doctors just can’t seem to find. But, HELLO? Why is my right leg going numb every night? summer is coming and I’d love to not have to deal with all of this hair hanging everywhere, but, I don’t know that I’m ready to let it go yet.
It’s just hair! Get over it! It will grow back!
I know, right? And yet, I sit here with knots in my stomach and kind of wanting to puke at the thought of letting someone chop it off.

Error

I had been working on a post about my history of “issues with food and body image” since late last night. It was very long, extremely personal and brutally honest. As I was writing it, I cried (thinking of the horrid things I’ve put my body through all in the name of “trying to be skinny.) I laughed (Ha! Ha! I once threw a burrito across the room because it wasn’t EXACTLY as I had ordered it and when I want a burrito, it better be done right because chances are I was eating it as one last “splurge” before I went on a crazy diet.) I got angry (Why can’t I make peace with food?)
As I was re-reading to check for mistakes before hitting “Save”, a huge white box flashed before my eyes with the words “Firefox has caused an error. Firefox will NOW CLOSE.”‘
And just LIKE THAT, the entire post and all of the emotion that went into it was GONE.
Do I need to tell you how pissed I was? Because OH MY GOD, I WAS SO PISSED OFF.
P1015782-2.jpg
But HA! HA! Not as pissed off as my daughter was when her dad had the NERVE to tell her “No!”
Sweet Mother of Bobs, she is SO much like me. I mean, seriously, that is exactly what I look like when Tony forgets to bring home ranch dressing for my curly fries, or, you know, when FIREFOX CRASHES and takes my post with it. LUCKY TONY, having two Emotional Basketcases in this house.
But, seriously folks, Firefox can suck my Milky Big Ones. Damn it.

Because “basic paint users” should NEVER be ashamed of their “artwork”

It’s a well established FACT in this house that G-Unit is The Boss of Me.
She is also The Boss of her dad. And The Boss of her brubers. Let’s just go ahead and call her The Boss of This House.
We all accept that and understand that if The Boss aint happy, aint NOBODY happy, and so, we do our best to make sure The Boss is happy.
HOWEVER. The Boss has taken things too far because she now believes that she is The Boss of My Computer.

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It’s like my own little bakery, but not really.

There’s no delicate or pretty way of saying this, and yes, I realize there’s the option of NOT saying it at all, but, why should I only write about The Goodness of my Vagina?
Apparently, I’ve got a yeast infection. I was going to say that I am about 2 hours away from popping a loaf of bread out from down there, but that would just be gross, so I’ll refrain from actually saying it.
I was rather irritated (HA! HA!) by this sudden turn of events in my crotch, so, I decided to investigate what could have triggered the sudden onset of the yeast infection and came across The Greatest Yeast Infection Explanation Site in History. An informative, yet HILARIOUS site about yeasty crotches. BOOKMARKED!
Anyone still reading? Because now I get to the reason I actually felt I needed to write about my yeast infection.
I went to Target to get some medication for my condition. I found “the aisle” for vagina related medications and was SO HAPPY to see that they had “generic” brand medication for yeast infection. And it was $4 cheaper! SCORE! However, after I picked up the box, I was MORTIFIED at what I saw. Unlike the Monistat 7 box, which discreetly says “for yeast infections” or some crap like that, the box for the people who can’t afford the “named brand” shit because they are living on one very modest income had these words in NOT SO SMALL letters sprawled across the front of the box….
NITRAL VAGINAL CREAM
VAGINA ANTIFUNGAL
Oh HELL NAW.
I panicked because, while I really wanted to save four dollars, did I REALLY want the checker to know that I was currently sporting vaginal fungus?
I DID NOT.
But, damn. Four dollars is a trip to Chick Fil A, people.
So, I swallowed my pride and tried to pretend as if I didn’t care about the VAGINAL ANTIFUNGAL statement on the big blue box and threw that bitch on the conveyer belt.
I considered starting a conversation with the man in which I would casually lie and say “I’m just doing some shopping for my mom, because, she’s ‘sick’. down there. Hence the VAGINAL ANTIFUNGAL cream” and how “haha! you probably thought that was for me, huh?”
I was THAT embarassed. And trust me, people, it takes a LOT to embarass me.
That’s just wrong. Do the makers of the generic brand think people who can’t afford the name brand VAGINAL ANTIFUNGAL have no dignity? Seriously, folks, that in the wise words of Whitney Houston, “That shit aint right.”
(I wonder if anyone actually read through to the end of this post. And if so… WHY IN THE HELL?)
UPDATED TO TELL YOU OF FURTHER EMBARASSMENT
I have the box of ANTI VAGINAL FUNGUS cream next to my computer and my son just walked in from school, picked it up and said “HEY! What’s this mom?”
Me: Ummmm…(as I watched him read the words on the box. THE WORDS!)
Him: *reading* v-a-g-i-n-a-l-f-u-n-g-u-s…
Me: Ummmmmmm… it’s for ummmmmmm, an infection mom has.
Him: *placing the box down in a very quick manner* ah, oh.
I think he’s going to go throw up now.

The Writer’s Block continues, so this is all I’ve got, people.

This weekend I had to go shopping for a dress.
It’s been years since I’ve worn a dress, and to tell you the truth, I was terrified to go shopping for one.
(Oh, how dramatic I am. “Terrified” to shop for a dress. Give me a break, I know. But, you people have obviously never seen what shopping for a dress can do to what little self esteem I have.)
My friend is getting married this Friday (which, also happens to be my first baby’s 13 birthday.) and I wanted to find The Perfect Dress.
I had created this fantasy in my head of find that Perfect Dress and of it looking fabulous on me and of that dress showing JUST the right amount of cleavage and NOT showing just the right amount of ass.
Another dream crushed.
It was a horribly frustrating experience and yes, I cried.
I’m a little too thin (STRESS: LITTLE) for The Plus Sized stores. But, yet, I’m just barely small enough to shop in The Regular Sized stores. That in itself was frustrating.
Then there’s the cleavage issue. People? I’ve got Big Ones. My boobs, while no longer a 42E, are still a whopping 38D and, well, any dress that is low cut makes me look like a tramp. I mean, I’m all about showing off a little cleavage, but, I’m going to a wedding, not a “club” and I don’t think it would be too cool to walk in and be all “SAY HELLO TO MY LADY LUMPS!”
Maybe I’m paranoid (and maybe that’s because my husband made some comment about how “all of the eyes will be on your boobs and NOT on the bride. Is that what you want?) but as proud as I am of my Big Honkin’ Ones, showing that much of them at a wedding just seems… I don’t know… trashy? (And yes, despite the fact I like to Rip ’em often, I DO HAVE CLASS.)
After 4 hours of searching for a dress, I decided to go to Robinsons May, since they’re liquidating the store and everything was 60% off of the clearance price, and can I just tell you how much easier the experience had been if I had money to blow? Because, for a mere TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY DOLLARS, I could have purchased several beautiful dresses, but, um, I have a hard time spending $14.99 on skirts from Target, so, $200? For ONE dress? That I will only wear ONCE? HELL TO THE NO on that.
Anyway. Back to Robinsons May.
I found a dress there. A black dress, that was a size 14, which, ME? IN A SIZE 14? GET OUT OF HERE! (Because, um, I used to wear a 20/22) But, more importantly, it was only $30. I loved the bottom of the dress, but the top was, well, kind of ugly. But! Did I mention it was only $30? And a size 14? And that, my friends, was really all that mattered, so, to the dressing rooms I went.
The dress fit! A 14 fit! And it wasn’t even tight! But… remember how I didn’t want to show too much boob? Well, this dress wasn’t showing ANY boob whatsoever. I didn’t like that, because, well, I want to show a little boob.
However… THIRTY DOLLARS! AND IT FIT!
So, I bought it.
Tony loves it. (Whatever, he’s just happy that I’m not showing off My Big Ones.) My sister liked it, but she agreed that the top isn’t “her thang.” The cut is ugly. Oh, and the little rinestone thing? A LITTLE “Mexico”. NOT THAT THERE’S ANYTHING WRONG WITH THAT. Overall, though, I’m “happy” with it and for the fit and the price? I think I’m going to go ahead and call it. “We HAVE a dress for the Wedding on Friday!”
Oh, what? You want to SEE the dress? (Ha! Ha! I like to pretend like I know what you’re thinking and what you want.) Fine! Here’s “The Dress.”

Continue reading →

Yeah… I wrote about MEAT LOAF… Jealous?

I just ate meatloaf for dinner and I LIKED IT.
As a matter of fact, this is the second time this week I’ve had meatloaf for dinner.
I’m pretty sure it’s safe to say that I am officially obsessed with meatloaf. Which, is funny, because as a kid? I hated meatloaf.
Infact, when my mom would make it known that meatloaf would be had for dinner, I would throw a tantrum.
“I hate meatloaf! Meatloaf is gross! I WILL NOT EAT MEEEAAAAATTLLLLOOAAAAFFFFFF!”
I think my aversion to meatloaf started when I saw my mom putting ketchup in the meat.
Ketchup? In the meat? Meat that will soon be in LOAF FORM?
Ah hells no. I seriously became disgusted at the mere mention of “meatloaf.”
“OMG! Not meatloaf! There is ketchup! In the meat! And? It’s a loaf! Barf!”
However, in my mission to find “quick and easy meals” to make for the family, I came across a recipe for meatloaf. And by “recipe”, I mean a “packet of seasoning” that said “mix this here packet with water and egg and HA! MEATLOAF IN ONE HOUR!”
No ketchup? SERIOUSLY? And all I have to do is mix an egg and water?
I was all over that loaf, man.
Not only was it done in an hour, but it tasted great. And the kids loved it. AND THE TONY LOVED IT!
But most importantly, I, the hater of meat in loaf form, loved it.
The kids aren’t too happy about it. I mean, don’t get me wrong, they love The Loaf, but they’re like “MEATLOAF? AGAIN? I will not eat meatloaf TWICE IN ONE WEEK!”
Obviously, they don’t understand meat loaf addiction. Judgemental jerks! I promised them we’d not have it again for AT LEAST another week, but as I sit here inhaling the smell of meatloaf lingering in the air, I’m afraid that’s a promise I can’t keep.

Warning: Do not read this while, before or just after eating.

Today I will sit in The Dentists Chair for the first time in three years.
Three years.
I used to go twice a year, every year for check ups and cleanings. Then, we had to switch to a crappy insurance in which we had to pick from a list of crappy dentists and since I was no longer able to see the dentist I had grown to love because she was gentle and never hurt me, I boycotted dentists all together.
I’ve thought everything was fine and that I’d get away with this behavior. Until about a week ago, when my tooth started aching and OH MY GOD I saw a cavity.
To say that I am terrified would be putting it mildly. I can not stand the dentist that we’ve “picked” from the List of Crappy Dentists. I’ve taken the boys for x-rays and he’s unfriendly and has perfect hair that doesn’t move when he walks because good GOD, the hairspray.
I don’t trust people with hair that perfect. They scare me.
I’m scared to death that he’s going to say “Sorry, you waited too long and we’re going to have to pull it.”
I DO NOT WANT GAPING HOLES IN MY MOUTH.
I’ve had a lot of bad experiences with dental work. (Like, the one time, the tooth that I had a root canal on become infected and the entire roof of my mouth was ONE BIG SACK OF PUS and had to be sliced with a blade and SUCTIONED OUT.) The combination of bad genetics (my mom had dentures by the time she was in her twenties) and the lack of dental work until I was 18 (My parents didn’t have insurance, so I didn’t have work done on my teeth until after I got my first real job with dental insurance.) is to blame for all the work I’ve had to have done on my teeth in my adult life.
I have Teeth Issues.
I secretly hate people with perfect teeth. I live in fear everyday that my teeth are just going to start falling out. Especially since I had work done on the top, front teeth, which are now “vaneers”. I won’t eat corn on the cob, and just recently gave up almonds because, you know, I don’t want to crack a tooth and lose it.
(Which reminds me of the time we were at a “Country” bar and we were eating chips and salsa and my tooth BROKE IN HALF when I bit into a corn chip and I freaked the hell out and ran into the bathroom to look in the mirror and HAHAHA! In my panic, I had accidently ran into the men’s bathroom and man, dude with His Thang out didn’t think it was very funny.)
I’m also freaking out about the fact that this dentist is a man. I’m not sure I want Man Hands all up in my mouth. You know what I’m sayin’?
I could go on and on and on about how scared I am right now and how OMG! What if I come home missing a tooth?
Freaking, over here.
Seriously
Gum Massacre Update
Dr.Ken Doll DDS (Thank you for that, Nat.) is more evil than I had imagined in my mind. You see, I went in to get the tooth that is hurting me fixed, but he decided that I needed to have my GUMS SCRAPED TO SHREDS instead, because, you know, I’ve been a bad girl and not had my teeth cleaned in over three years.
I almost passed out when he put his hand down for a second and his gloves were DRIPPING WITH BLOOD. At one point, I seriously considered grabbing his head and messing his hair up just to MAKE HIM STOP. But, instead, I closed my eyes and cried a little on the inside
My gums are currently throbbing, But! The good news is that there will be no removing of any teeth. I do need three crowns, (which, the horribly bitchy receptionist informed me will cost $300 a piece and “we don’t do payment plans, bitches”. so, um, that’s not going to happen) But, hey! There are no gaping holes in my mouth!

Beaver

Yesterday, my husband told me that we have a gopher in the backyard.
I freaked out.
“A GOPHER? What the? Where did it come from? HOW? WHY? AAAAAAHHHH.”
He couldn’t believe how upset I got over a gopher, so he came to the most LOGICAL EXPLANATION FOR MY REACTION EVER!
“Babe, I think you have it confused with a beaver.”
Right, because, surely I couldn’t be upset about a gopher and must have thought he meant the creature with large front teeth, who eats tree bark and BUILDS DAMS!!
And I don’t want no beavers to be buildin’ no dams in my backyard!
I shouldn’t be surprised at his “beaver” comment, the man has a history of saying things that make me go “…THE HELL?”
Like, the time that I was very sick and started crying about how much pain I was in and he pointed his finger at me, got in my face and yelled “I TOLD YOU TO LAY OFF OF THE DIET COKE, WOMAN.”
Huh?
Most of the time, his totally random, completely bizarre comments make me laugh hysterically, but when I’m “pre-raggin’ it” I want to tape his mouth shut with a maxipad.

Penis balloons are funny.

I’m still trying to recover from Saturday night.
This “getting old” business sucks.
I remember when I could bounce back from a night of rubber dicks and rum and coke like that. Not the case in my old age.
The Passion Party was more fun than I could have imagined.
Fun AND? Educational.
“Never put anything in your butt that doesn’t have a cord attached.”
Write that one down, people.
I was a slightly mortified at the beginning of the presentation, because the very pregnant lady used the words “handjob” and “stuff my box” in the first 5 minutes and I was like “lady, DO I EVEN KNOW YOU? Howza’bout easing into sessually explicit talk?”
But, then, she gave me a stick with a generous sample of cream that would make my nipples tingle and I was like “I love you, now why don’t you give me a little bit of that stuff that will make my vagina burn up in anticipation of some sweet love makin?”
And let me tell you, that stuff? The “enhancement” gel that you put on your, um, you know, hahaa, clitoris ha! HA! It makes you have to pee INSTANTLY and it burns like a MOTHER. Had she said “Your twat will BURN THE HELL UP” as opposed to “it will feel warm and tingly”? I might not have been the first one to stick my finger out so I could go to the bathroom and rub it on my ha! You know what.
I was the first one to try the products and the first one to laugh everytime she said “balls” and “handjob.”
I was also the winner of the “put the penis in the vagina” game. I called dibs on the dick (a plunger between my legs) leaving my partner with no choice but to be the “vagina” (a roll of toilet paper.) The team to get the “penis” into the “vagina” the fastest would win. I looked my partner in the eye and said “We’re SO winning this.” I hate to lose. The teams before us took over 20 seconds to achieve “penatration.” It took me less than 5 seconds to get mine in. BOOYAH!
Apparently, I know how to navigate a penis. Who knew!
I did order a few things, but I will not tell you what because that is only for Pighunter to know, but I will tell you that um, I will never be able to look at a dolphin in the same way ever again.
After the Party for Vaginas was over, we all jumped in a limo that was OVERFLOWING with liquor to head out to clubs for a little dancing and hilarious little “dares” for the bride to complete.
We each had to write our own dare for her. My dare?
Shout as loud as you can “I LOVE MY VAGINA!”
I thought it was funny.
Our first stop was El Toritos for a little dinner, you know, to absorb the absurd amount of alcohol we were about to consume. As much fun as I had talking with The Girls, I have to say, I can’t remember a time I have felt so stupid and pathetic as I did at that dinner.
They are have a college degrees, they all have sucessful careers, they all own houses and have lots of money.
Me? I don’t have any of the above. I’m an uneducated, overweight, housewife who got married at 19 years, popped out three kids and spends her days figuring out ways to stretch HER MAN’S money so she can pay the bills. I wanted to run outside and cry and maybe, perhaps run into oncoming traffic.
I can’t recall I’ve been more ashamed of the person I’ve turned out to be.
I know, I KNOW, I’m lucky because I have a good husband and three beautiful children and there are people who would kill to have such a precious family. I’m not trying to demish their importance and value in my life.
But, apart from my kids, I really feel like I am nothing. I am ashamed that I don’t have a degree. . I’m ashamed that even if I wanted to (which, right now, I don’t because I refuse to leave my little girl in daycare and I do LOVE staying home with her) I couldn’t go get a good job because “girlfriend don’t have an edu-kay-shee-own.” (If you got that, then you totally watch King of Queens and DON’T YOU LOVE THAT SHOW?) (And, man, I’m way overusing the parenthesis tonight and I should probably look up the word “parenthesis” because my un”higher”educated ass doesn’t even know if I spelled it right.)
But ENOUGH OF THE DEPRESSING, SELF HATRED SHIT, ON TO THE DRUNKEN GOODNESS THAT IS “BARHOPPING!”
After the dinner in which I felt ashamed and had to rip farts to aleviate the pain in my stomach, we hopped back into the limo and headed for a little pub called “O’Douls”.
I have to be honest and say that I didn’t want to go because I expected there to be music with pipes and lots of white men drinking beer, but man, was I wrong.
Let’s just say they should change the name of that place to O’Mexican’s. I felt right at home because the mexicans? They are My People.
In the limo, I was ALL TALK about “the dares” we had for the bride. I was like “Hey, if you don’t want to do one, pass it to me and I’ll do it because I’m WILD AND KAH-RAAZY and I DON’T EVEN CARE!” HA! HA! They whipped out the “Start a conga line” card and I was like “Hell to the no on that!” You see, I was in the midst of My People and I refused to bring shame to them. Like, what kind of a Mexican would I be if I busted out in a conga line during “Lean Back?”
Can I get a “Viva La Mexico?”
We decided to move along to a different place where we could annoy men (to help my friend complete her dares) and drink of The Devil Water. We ended up at a place called “The Palms” or something like that, I don’t know, I wasn’t paying attention.
It was at this point in the night I became completely aware that I was “The Fat Girl” of the group and pretty much of the entire club and, once again, wanted to run to the bathroom and cry. BUT! Instead, I drank lots of alcohol and pretended to be totally ok with the big, fat body I was sporting.
I almost forgot about it when when guy approached me to ask me if I was single.
“No, I’m married.”
“Damn. Ok, but you’re HOT.”
“HA! HA! Right.”
*Whispers in my ear* “I’m going to give you my number anyway, beautiful.”
Isn’t that special? I kicked him in the vagina.
I decided to leave the group and hit the dance floor. The “underage” girl who got in using a cousins ID joined me and we danced our asses off with a guy named Victor who, for some reason, wanted us to find a way to get him invited to the wedding. I, in semi-drunkeness, was all “dude, don’t worry, you’re so there and I gave him my email address to prove that I meant it.
As if I have that kind of pull with my friends. I still think they only invited me because they wanted me to do The Worm if it got boring.
It never did get boring. The entire night was a blast, from start to finish and everywhere in between. Well, except the part where I wanted to kill myself because the only thing I can say when asked “So, what do YOU do?” is “Um, make tittymilk and stuff.”
Oh…OH! And the part where my friend got sick in the limo on the way home and DEMANDED that the limo driver pull over. On the freeway. At two something in the morning. When OTHER DRUNK PEOPLE ARE ZOOMING PAST YOU AT VERY HIGH SPEED AND YOU COULD POSSIBLY GET KILLED INSTANTLY IF THEY SWIRVED FOR ANY REASON.
Ok, and the part where I had to hold my friend’s hair up and pull it out of her face WHILE SHE PUKED because um, remember, I don’t even clean my children’s puke because I FEAR The Puke. But, everyone left and I had no choice but to take care of her, even if she was yelling at me the entire time. (“Leave me alone, Let me sleep here on the cold, hard floor! STOOOOPP ITTTT.”)
But other than THAT. Pure awesomeness.
It makes me wish that someone had thrown ME a bachlorette party.
I always miss out on all the fun stuff, man.