RESPECT…. The Wave

Our 15th wedding anniversary is just around the corner. I want to put a little scrapbook together with pictures of “just the two of us”. Unfortunetely, we haven’t taken many pictures together over the past 15 years. It makes me a little sad, but, there’s nothing I can do about it, other than make the best out of what I’ve got.
In my quest for pictures, I came across quite a few gems. And by “gems” I mean “hilarious pictures to mock on the internet.”
I wish I had time to post them all, because, HAAAAAAHA I was a dork. (I said “was.” haaa.) Lucky for me, Tony had moments of Dork too. And even luckier for me? He once sported a perm.

The good ol “Man” perm. The mom given permanent wave.
I have to admit, I find it somewhat sexy in that “Man, I want to have Perm sex because Curls are HOT.” kinda way, but, I find it mostly TOTALLY HILARIOUS because MY HUSBAND HAD A PERM.
And? He wore that perm to the prom and he accented that perm WITH PINK HIGHTOPS, but, lucky for him, I ripped that picture up in a fit of jealous rage, because his ex was kind of trying to ruin our lives at the time.
God. I love that man. Whether he’s sporting a perm, or, his current “Do” (which, I like to call the “dr.phil lite” because, it’s not THAT bad…YET, but, it’s totally “little in the middle but he got much back, and sides”)
(And, in all fairness, if he could respond, he’d probably say something like “God. I love that women, whether she’s a size 5 like she was when I first met her, or whether she’s sportin’ her current size 16 ass and saggy boobs!)

Baby Drama


When pretty butterflies get pissed.
That girl, she’s such a dramaqueen. It’s hilarious, and at the same time, NOT hilarious. I wanted to get a few pictures of her in her beautiful costume and by the 3rd photo, she was shaking her finger at me, throwing herself back, trying to rip the flowers off of her head, whilst screaming and crying. I tried EVERYTHING I could think of to make her stop crying and smile for mama, but, she was not having it.
Tony’s favorite thing to say is “I WONDER where she gets it from!?”
My favorite response is “from yo’ mama.” Because being mature is the only way I know how to be.
Just think of the fun I will be having on halloween night, people!
I can hardly wait.

jumpy

‘Er since finding out that a mouse is indeed in our house, I’ve been “on edge.”
I’m extremely paranoid. Every noise literally makes me jump. Just now, as I was taking a dump, a pincher bug scrawled across the floor and I threw my feet up and screamed! SCREAMED! How was I supposed to know it wasn’t a mouse?! It could have been a mouse!
I feel violated. Violated and all vomity inside. My life was fine and dandy until they showed up. I could actually walk in the kitchen and look in the cabinet for something to snack on without putting on a pair of boots and carrying a flashlight.
I refuse to open the cabinet below the sink, so I made Tony put all the “essentials” on the counter top. (like the dishwashing detergent, the windex, trashbags.) Also, and this is our little secret because I think Tony would feel justified in slapping the shit out of me if he knew this, I take a kitchen chair with me when I need to open the fridge and I stand on it before opening the fridge because that is where the mofos are running to hide. And WHAT IF ONE RUNS OUT WHILE I’M SEARCHING FOR SOME MAYO?
I’m sure this is giving you the impression that I’m a big fat (ha! ha!) wimp, and, I’ll fully admit, when it comes to certain creatures, be they a potato bug a MOTH, or A misquito (ok and/or Aaron Neville.) I am a frightened little girl. But I think the fact that I once chased a purse snatcher in a dress and heels AND gave birth twice without an epidural should TOTALLY cancel out the fact that I have been standing on a chair in order to take the milk out of the fridge.
When my dad came to remove the dad mouse from my house a little while ago, he was somewhat disgusted at my behavior. I gave him a trash bag and screamed “DO NOT MOVE IT UNTIL I AM OUT OF THE ROOM I CAN NOT SEE IT.”
“Mija! It’s just a mouse! Stop it!”
I feel so misunderstood.
I am honestly and truly freaked the hell out by this mouse business. Amy described it perfectly when she said “it’s like you can feel them crawling all over your body.”
I have to move. Move to a place far away from the mice.

Crispy Fish and adult conversation…. Just what my dreams are made of

Yesterday, I met Amy and her baby girl, Vivian , for lunch.
Man, was it great to get out of the house and have some adult conversation.
And some fish tacos.
One would think I’d have behaved and “acted” like a member of Weight Watchers, but, I lose all control with the fish tacos. (HA! HA! HAA!) Creamy white sauce and crispy fish, a greater combination does not exist. So, I had THREE. That’s right. I ate up all of my points for the day right there in front of a blogger who could have totally wrote bad things about what a pig I am on the internet. And if it wasn’t bad enough that I ate THREE fish tacos, I also tried to get Gabby to do her “fart on command” trick at the table while eating those three fish tacos AND I totally picked up my straw from the ground and used it because I’M GROWN I CAN DO WHAT I WANT.
It seriously blows my mind that people aren’t lined up to hang out with me.
You notice how I started out talking about meeting Amy for lunch, but then I end up talking about MYSELF for the next 20 minutes? That’s pretty much what I did the entire lunch. Talked and talked and talked about myself and my kids. That’s a really bad habit that I have that I SWEAR TO GOD I’m not going to do everytime I meet someone new, but, once I get around another adult, I’m overcome with excitement and I’m like “blahblahblahMEblahGabbyBLAHFARTGABBY!blahblahblah) I was SO mad at myself the entire way home. Why can’t I shutup for five seconds and let the other person talk?
I blame Bush.
I discovered something very profound about my daughter while watching her with Vivian. She acts JUST LIKE ME. She, like myself, has this obsessive need to hug and touch people.
Proof:

She’s all “awwww, look, a baby! I must pet the baby. I must let the baby know I love her and how pretty she is. Pretty baby.”

“Why is the pretty baby not letting me pet her? Why is she walking away? Does she not know that I am the center of the universe and that I am the Princess of Everything and I want to pet her and hug her?”

“I want to hug the baby. I WILL hug the baby.”

Mission accomplished.
It’s kind of scary how similar we are, scary but yet, in those photos? So very cute. Poor Vivian. She’s such a gentle, sweet little girl, and seemed completely overwhelmed by my little ham, but that didn’t stop my daughter from gettin’ all up in her PREFACE. (inside joke that isn’t really funny to anyone but me and Joelle, so, I really should stop saying it here, but I can’t because it is hilarious to me)
Meeting Amy reminded me of why I love “blogging”. I love the connection I make with people whom I never would have met were it not for The Internet. Incredible, kind, passionate, beautiful women. I know people who don’t blog do not understand it, and that’s fine, I can accept that not everyone will ‘get it’. As I drove away from our lunch, I felt so lucky to have this outlet in which I can express myself and, in the process, meet the most amazing, beautiful people.

Can not think of a title because AAAAAHHHHHH.

If my neighbors read this blog, then they are about to find out that I AM CALLING THE HEALTH DEPARTMENT ON THEM AS SOON AS THEY OPEN TODAY.
I don’t care if they know I’m the one that called. I’ll wear I shirt that says “I called the health department on my neighbors.” for the rest of the week.
I’ll shout it from my rooftop.
“I called the health department on your dirty asses!”
Just so we’re clear, I’m not calling on the one’s who Slice each other. I’m calling on the ones who are sick, disgusting, filthy, nasty PIGS. The one’s who let a man live in their RV for over a year and TAKE SHITS IN A TOILET THAT CAN’T FLUSH FOR THAT ENTIRE YEAR. The ones who collect junk and have junk, trash and more junk in every room of their house, piled so high and so wide that you literally can’t find a place to sit. Because they enjoy DIGGING THROUGH TRASH CANS TO FIND “TREASURES”
Those neighbors.
So, why am I FINALLY calling the health department on them? Because, yesterday, their son tells us that they’re going to sell their house and buy property up in the desert (which, I’ll believe it when I see it. They’ve been saying they’re going to put a new roof on for the past 8 years. ) Anyway, as he’s talking to us, he’s telling us how disgusting their house is, how it’s full of junk and casually he mentions that it’s so bad, “they have mice in the house.” He then says “My dad will set a trap, and he’ll catch 5 or 6 mice IN A NIGHT.”
Did ya get that, people? Half a dozen in one night.
If you understand how much I hate all things bug and rodent related, you’d understand the sickness I felt in my stomach at that moment.
And, you’d understand the pure terror, disgust, fear and OH MY GOD I HAVE TO MOVE THIS VERY MINUTE right this minute after hearing my husband say “Honey, we need to buy a mouse trap… I just saw a MOUSE IN THE KITCHEN.”
I immediately began to cry and panic.
“You’re joking right? PLEASE TELL ME YOU’RE JOKING BECAUSE I WILL NOT BE ABLE TO LEAVE THIS ROOM IF THERE IS A MOUSE IN THIS HOUSE.”
He got all pissed at me, like “get a grip, woman.”
But he was more pissed at our FUCKING NEIGHBORS because this is all their fault. They have infested the ‘hood with mice. And now there is a mouse in my house and I seriously do not know how I am going to get the courage to get out of my bed and walk around this house, not knowing when a mouse may run across the floor.
We’ve never had a mouse in this house. We’ve had ants (because this neighborhood is built on a freaking ant hill),we’ve had potato bugs.) But mice? NEVER. (Ok, we HAVE had a rat in the garage, but that’s different. THAT’S OUTSIDE, NO WHERE NEAR MY FEET OR MY CHILDREN.
I’m freaking out so hard about this, that Tony asked if he needed to stay home. Inside, I was like “yes, you do, you need to stay home and hold me.” but I know he has to work so we can pay the bills (and now, THE EXTERMINATOR) so I sucked it up and told him he could go to work, that I would be ok, but that I could only hope the mouse didn’t attack our daughter whilst she casually strolls through her home that SHOULD BE FREE OF MICE.
I feel sweaty and my heart is racing because it is time for me to get off of this chair and wake up the kids. If I see the mouse, I will scream and I will cry. Is this normal? To be so upset and freaked out by a mouse? A MOUSE THAT IS WONDERING AROUND MY HOUSE?
How will I function today? I am literally paralyzed with fear right now. I should have already had the boys up, but here I sit, unable to move for fear of seeing The Mouse.

There better be Krispy Kreme and a pumpkin spice latte waiting for me is all I’m saying

Normally, student council is only for 4th graders and 5th graders. This year, they decided to allow ONE third grader from each third grade class to participate.
Naturally, that one third grader would be my son. Because he’s “A Leader” and “The kids look up to him” and he’s “Mr.Responsible” as well as “The Ladies Man” and “The Class Clown.”
I love that kid. Bless his fart.
I was all excited about this “student council thing” until I was informed that he has to attend a meeting a couple times a month before school at SEVEN TEN IN THE MORNING.

That’s only 20 minutes earlier than we normally leave in the morning, but, 20 minutes THAT EARLY in the morning, is like, hours to my tired soul.
And the fact that he has to be there before school actually starts, means it’s probably not a good idea to take him in my pj’s with funky pit smell. Because, you know, I’ll actually have to get out and walk him to the room so he’s not wondering around an empty campus alone.
So, now that “20 minutes” is turning into more like 30 because I’ll actually have to do things like “Shower” and “apply deodorant” (which, can I just tell you, I still have ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA how much is “enough”. I know I should probably stop spreading the junk on when there is about 2 inches worth of white shit plastered on, but, deep down I’m scared, like, “What if it’s NOT ENOUGH?” Then what? So, I must apply at LEAST 10 MORE STROKES. Will I ever learn, or will I continue to go through life with huge, white, sticky balls in my pits? And what’s worse? ‘rant balls or BO? Exactly. Ok, back to the post…) “brush teeth” “put clothes on that match.”

But, seriously, 7:10 in the morning?
Outrageous.

Thank God she’s a FIERCE BEYOTCH.

Last night I chatted a little bit with The Debster.
I’ve been crying ever since.
She just found out she has Leukemia. LEUKEMIA.
I can’t even imagine being hit with that kind of news of out NOWHERE. Me, being the psychotic wimp that I am, would not be rational or calm. Deb is SO NOT LIKE ME. She sounded strong and positive. She was in full on “I’m going to fight and WIN this battle” mode and I have no doubts she’ll do just that. But the thing that is killing me inside is that she can’t be with her daughter.
I think about it and I cry so hard for her. Again, I can’t even begin to imagine what it’s like for her right now. Getting hit with such drastic news and being seperated from her daughter all at once. My God.
I promised her I’d try to make her laugh as often as possible, that I’d keep in constant touch with her and that I’ll help her in any way I can. She’s going to need support, emotional and financial and I have no doubts The Internet will come through for her. (The Internet ALWAYS comes through for it’s peoples.) I also told her that I will chop all of my hair off and have a wig made out of it so that she can wear my hair! Which, um, is probably kind of creepy and is the reason she just laughed and didn’t say things like “I would LOVE to wear your hair!”
Please, keep her in your thoughts and in your prayers. Also? Please, GO, try to make the woman laugh. Shower her with love and well wishes. She needs all the love, support and Funny she can get to help her beat some Cancer Ass.