Category Archives: total chaos

We are in a state of emergency

Operation Thanksgiving was a success, thanks to my mother and my mother-in-law (the cooks), two bottles of champagne, and many pies.

There were so many pies that my subconscious has woken me up every night at midnight to eat a slice two slices. I consider this taking one for the team. The pie team. Of which I am the leader.

Now with Thanksgiving barely over, the time for Holiday Shenanigans has commenced.

I have to LEAVE MY HOUSE every day for the next four days.

Let that sink in.

Although I do want to see my daughter sing today and I wouldn’t miss Thing 1 in the play and I’m sure the band program of Thing 2’s will be phenominal…I would much rather watch these things from my couch. And let’s not even speak of the parade.

Can you even imagine the amount of bathing and getting dressed this is going to entail? More than I’ve done in the last week, I can tell you that.

Then you throw in that it is cold and rainy outside and when it is cold I don’t like to get out of my bed. I may be part bear.


And I have to wonder how I will make an ass of myself at these various functions. SO many opportunities to be weird and awkward!

Being an introvert with anxiety almost guarantees that I will say or do something idiotic…in public…with no place to hide.

I’ve narrowed it down to two possibilities. The first and best-case scenario is that I won’t speak at all and will avoid eye contact with anyone I didn’t give birth to. If cornered, I will answer questions only with “yes” or “no” and will fidget and bolt at the first opportunity.

The second and least desirable and therefore most likely is that I will start nervous talking. This is the one I’d really like to avoid because once I start nervous talking, I can’t be stopped and my subject matter leaves much to be desired. For instance, I need to not talk about the zombie apocalypse and the fact that once the meds run out I will be a dead weight but I still don’t want to be eaten so I’ve been practicing with a sling shot, the only weapon I will be allowed. When people say, “How have you been?” I’m pretty sure that is not the answer they are expecting.

I also shouldn’t talk about my pets bowel habits (though they are very interesting) or say, “You are making me anxious.” and then walk away.

Basically, the next four days are a damned social minefield and I’m not fully equipped to navigate it. Or even partially equipped. I have no equipment.

Are you already sick of holiday engagements or is it just me? Is crawling under a chair a viable option in an auditorium?

School Fundraisers Suck


The beginning of the school year was filled with sales. Girl Scout sales, PTA sales, band sales; everybody was selling something and basically driving me crazy.

So. Fast forward to last week when I started getting these notes home saying that the cookie dough order would be in on Thursday and HAD to be picked up on THURSDAY between the hours of 3:30 and 6:30.

I threw every one of them away. We, I was sure, had sold no cookie dough. These increasingly threatening letters were not meant for me, and I trashed EVERY ONE OF THEM.

Fast forward again to Thursday night. Imagine my surprise when the school calls me at 6 pm to ask if I am going to pick up my cookie dough order. Or rather, to TELL me to get my ass down there and pick it up. I tried telling them that we didn’t sell cookie dough. They replied with yes, you did, you sold it to yourself and so-and-so and so-and-so. I couldn’t argue with that kind of logic.

I sent my husband to pick up the “cookie dough” explaining to him that they were calling it the wrong thing. WE had never sold cookie dough, so this must be that other stuff we sold and they were IDIOTS and were calling it cookie dough which is why I THREW AWAY ALL THE LETTERS.

So he brings home this giant box of stuff we allegedly sold and I ignore it. Because I was sure it was full of nuts and magazines and whatever else we had sold but CERTAINLY NOT COOKIE DOUGH.

This morning the box is still sitting in my chair so out of curiosity I opened it.

Guess what was in it. Guess.

FUCKING COOKIE DOUGH. We DID sell cookie dough. I even BOUGHT cookie dough. Then I argued with the school about it and left it sitting out overnight in my warm house instead of the fridge because I was SO CERTAIN that we didn’t sell cookie dough.

I have obviously lost my mind. I blame the school and their “cookie dough.”

Search Term Tuesday

I know, I know, it’s actually Tuesday and that makes me feel like I’ve let you guys down. But I’m really sick — I think I have bronchitis and pneumonia and maybe strep throat and a sinus infection.

Just kidding. I’m pretty sure it’s just a cold. But it’s a fucker of a cold and I’m not dealing with it well. By that I mean I’m in my blue onesie crying into my coffee and coughing like crazy.

So anyway, Michelle reminded me of Search Term Tuesday so I had to check my search terms and HOLY SHIT YOU GUYS ARE FUCKED UP.

There were SIX searches related to engaging in intercourse with different animals. Yes, I cleaned that up for you guys because they were totally gross. I am obviously never going to live down that ONE story about the Dobermans.

There were way too many searches related to porn. I’m only going to list my favorites because most of them were incredibly disturbing and I don’t even know that I’ve ever TALKED about porn on here. Have I?

1. Daryl Dixon porn. Well. I can’t really blame you for that one. We all know how I feel about Daryl. But I WOULD NEVER SEARCH FOR DARYL DIXON PORN BECAUSE I HAVE MORE RESPECT FOR HIM THAN THAT, YOU PERVERTS!

2. Eating poop and drinking pie sex stories. That’s just really, really wrong. Poo and pie do not go together. AND WHY AM I GETTING ALL THESE MESSED UP SEX SEARCHES?

3. Many variations of “Husbands fucking maid” or HOW husbands do maids” or “maid gets pregnant from husband.” I just don’t get it. I mention a maid ONE TIME and NOT IN A SEXUAL WAY and this is what happens.

4. The other ones are too dirty for me to even type and that ought to tell you something because I’ll talk about almost anything. A lot of them had to do with chewing. Okay, that’s all I’m saying. But don’t chew glass OR BODY PARTS. Jesus. I can’t believe I have to tell you people these things.

disturbing meme

Six people searched for Halloween Is Stupid which makes me happy because that’s something I actually wrote. Two people searched for hooker stories.

This one is my favorite I think: You are not easy to love.

Followed closely by: Only have allergies in my grandma’s house. Obviously you are allergic to your grandma.

That’s gonna have to be it for today because I need to go blow my nose and curl up somewhere warm. Now I’ll probably have gross search terms about boogers.


Aging Ungracefully

I went to the doctor this morning and she wants to give me some injections in my neck. There was a question of whether or not I wanted to be sedated. Silly question. I ALWAYS WANT TO BE SEDATED. In any given situation, I can pretty much guarantee you that I would rather be sedated. I have two teenagers. I’d like to be sedated for the next 6 to 13 years.

My neck has been giving me problems for years but now that I’m getting older it is getting worse. I know that it’s getting worse because I can feel it and I know that I’m getting older because my kids NEVER STOP MENTIONING IT.

My birthday is this month. Most days I feel about 80, 85, but I’m actually only going to be 35.


My family and I saw an old friend of mine the other day and Thing 2 couldn’t wait to say, “I can’t believe you guys went to school with her! She looks so much younger than you!”

No, I didn’t smack him but I thought about it.

Then today we ran into another old friend and here he goes again. This time he says, “How come everyone you went to school with looks younger or older than you?” Um, because they have to be one of the two? Knowing I wasn’t going to like the answer, I asked the question anyway.

Then this happened.

This was a full cup of chocolate milk.

This was a full cup of chocolate milk.

How I managed to do that, I will probably never know, but I do know that 20 ounces of chocolate milk can cover a lot of territory in a car and it’s very, very sticky.

Since my birthday is coming up, my husband has been giving me little gifts all month long. (I KNOW, RIGHT?) This was his latest and I absolutely love it for so many reasons. It is warm and cozy. It has pockets. It has a hood. And it embarrasses the crap out of my kids who deserve it because they keep calling me old.


Is there a better gift in this world than a bright blue adult onesie WITH POCKETS? No. No, there is not.


I Will Learn to Whistle

So I went on an outing yesterday. This is unusual behavior for me because I don’t like getting dressed or people.

One of my best friends called me early in the day and I guess because I wasn’t really awake yet I agreed to her scandalous plan of riding in the van of someone I barely know to a town far away for the entire day. It could have been disastrous.

On the long ride I learned that my close friend whom I have known since the second grade “really likes the smell of diesel.” But she’s pregnant, so really “diesel” could have been any other word. At one point she said, “those things, on the sides, that hold clothes together?” and I said, “yes, the seams” and she said, “yeah, the seams and the material that’s made from a plant?” And I said “cotton” and it was like this crazy guessing game all day long because apparently the baby she is carrying has stolen her words.

The driver of the van was a nice lady who I kind of know but I had never put my life in her hands before and by that I mean I had never ridden in her van while she drove. She did okay except at one point she exclaimed, “I’m really not this bad of a driver, it’s just this squash.” And then proceeded to pull a giant squash out from under her feet.


We went first to a repair shop where the pregnant lady and I refused to pee so we danced around madly in the parking lot holding our vaginas. Just kidding. We waited sedately in the van and bitched about how bad we had to pee.

Then we went to a thrift store that sold giant pairs of mens underwear and smelled like the customers looked, which was dirty and kind of poopy.

After that we went to Walmart just for a minute and I learned a new trick from an unkempt-looking lady standing in the front of the store. As we walked past her she put her hand to her mouth and whistled an ear-piercing whistle. From somewhere in the depths of the store came an answering whistle and I surmised that these not smart looking people had devised a genius plan. I will never again search a Walmart for my loved ones. Instead, I will learn to whistle and it will be amazing and effective. Also, I guess I should not assume that people who smell bad are not that smart because obviously these stinky people have street smarts or at least grocery store smarts and who am I to judge. Maybe I smell bad. (I don’t. I don’t smell bad at all.)

Lastly we went to TCBY because my pregnant friend was having a meltdown for some frozen yogurt and I asked what did TCBY stand for and they said “Thank Goodness It’s Yogurt” and I said okay, that makes sense. Once we were inside I got some samples that were just adorable and if you haven’t had tiny samples of yogurt in tiny little cups you haven’t lived. It was good, even though my pregnant friend told the yogurt man that he could “surely do better than that” after she saw her cone.

It was a fun day full of learning about people and squash.

Halloween is Stupid.

Halloween, I’ve decided, should be an adult-only holiday. As a parent, Halloween is just a giant pain in the ass. Kids stuffed into costumes that are itchy or tight or too hot or too cold, driving to a subdivision and then walking for miles in the freezing cold to get candy that I’m either going to sneakily eat myself or throw away because it’s “bad.”

And I didn’t have it any better as a kid.

In this picture, I had just cried out, “Don’t hurt him, Pop!” But I was talking about the pumpkin, not my little brother who is clearly about to lose a hand.

pumpkin carving

And here’s me as the saddest black cat you’ve ever seen:

sad costume

Or maybe I was supposed to be a pumpkin. I’m not really sure what the hell that was.

Then there was the year of the butterfly. As far as I know, no pictures exist of The Butterfly Costume.

That year my mom bought a yard of the most beautiful, shiny fabric for my wings. Then, instead of making me wings, she draped the fabric over my shoulders and sent me on my way. I was a kid in black tights wrapped in a yard of satin, more cocoon than butterfly.

I believe that same year my brother wore, taped to his chest, a piece of yellow paper from a legal pad with an ‘S’ drawn on it.

Then you’ve got pumpkin carving. I always start out with such high hopes. Then I spend an hour pulling gooey strings out of 5 pumpkins and I remember that I hate pumpkin carving. This year my oldest kids didn’t even participate and my youngest spent most of the time crying because we wouldn’t let her use a knife.

Next you try to actually carve the damn things and realize that pumpkins were not meant to be carved.  They are hard and dangerous and I don’t even know why this is a thing. When you’re finally done, your pumpkin ends up looking like the jackass no one wants to hang out with and the other pumpkins are giving him the side eye.

Guess which one's mine.

Guess which one’s mine.

Before kids, I used to leave haunted houses laughing and shrieking as the chainsaw-wielding clown chased us out. The last haunted house I went to, I had a kid wrapped all the way around me and I was literally yelling at the actors to “LEAVE US ALONE! WE ARE DONE HERE!” I almost got into a fight.

This week at school my daughter gets to dress up EVERY DAY. The school wants me dead, I just know it. She’s already been to one Fall Festival and has two more left. The boys have parties to attend. And of course Friday we will load up and go trick or treating.

If Halloween were just for adults, I would have exactly one event to attend. I would only worry about my husband’s costume and whether or not it was offensive. I would drink beer by a large fire and not eat any candy. I wouldn’t knock on a single door or attend any Fall Festivals.

I wouldn’t hear my children laugh as they dunk for apples. I wouldn’t take a picture of my daughter smiling proudly by three half-assed jack o’lanterns. I wouldn’t pick my oldest up from a party and listen to him laugh about all the fun he’d had. I wouldn’t hear a sweet little voice say, “Trick or Treat!” and “Thank You!” at every house. I wouldn’t watch them dump their candy bags in the floor for inspection and theft. *sigh*

At least there’ll be candy.

Are you dressing up this year? What was the worst Halloween costume you ever wore?


And This is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things

I’m really, really, incredibly clumsy. I have tried and tried to tell my family that it is a syndrome and not something I can control. They insist on mocking me nonetheless. My goal in life is to own a blowtorch for jewelry making purposes but I persist on this path of self destruction and humiliation and I can tell that it is just never going to happen. If it did, I would probably burn my own face off.



This past week alone I have amazed myself and those around me with my gracelessness.

First I was in Walmart, where bad things always seem to happen, just minding my own business, when I saw a clearance sticker. I am a sucker for a good deal. The items on sale were syrups used in making those crushed ice drinks. My daughter had gotten an icee machine for Christmas last year and we’d let her use it about none times since then, because it’s loud and messy and generally a pain in the ass. But. The syrup was on sale. And I thought, she’ll be delighted to finally get to make an icee with flavoring since the one I let her make was just ice with Koolaid poured over the top. I know, I really outdid myself there. Anyway, they had grape and cherry and whatever flavor blue is. I reached in for a red one and KABLAM knocked over about half the display. They really weren’t stacked well, if you ask me. SPLAT! Purple sticky disgusting syrup EVERYWHERE. Now, because I used to work at Walmart about a million years ago, I remembered from their indoctrination tapes that if Jose stole something you should report him, unions are a no-no, and if there’s a spill you have to stand guard over it so no one is injured. So I stood there. And stood there. And stood there. Finally one of those tiny old ladies who surely shouldn’t be working any more wandered by and I corralled her to stand guard while I went to get someone who could actually carry a mop. It was a damned mess, all caused by yours truly.

Next on my list of things to destroy was my brand new tablet. I’ve been moaning for years because my kids have ipods and ipads and galaxy whatevers and I have none. My dad finally took pity on me and surprised me with a Surface tablet. I was so excited. Yesterday I ordered a fancy case for it, because I know myself well. I’d only had it about two weeks and was just finally figuring out how to work it when disaster struck. By ‘disaster’ I mean me. I don’t even know how it happened. One minute I was holding it, reading Motherhood May Cause Drowsiness, and the next it was facedown on the concrete floor. I hoped that all was not lost, but sure enough, that fragile bitch was all cracked up.

These are not the only times that my clumsiness syndrome has caused me to injure myself or break something. Oh, no. There was the time that I dropped something while making pancakes and accidentally stuck my forehead to the pancake griddle. And the time I attempted to jump over a hedge while wearing platform wedges and a fancy dress. That didn’t end well, let me tell you. I once fell down my front steps in the rain while carrying my middle child. He was a baby at the time and somehow I protected him but cracked my tailbone. I’ve broken more toes than I care to count, and I broke my wrists so many times as a child that the hospital started taking me back alone to make sure I wasn’t getting beat up at home. No, sorry, I’m just a goddamn accident waiting to happen.

My mother-in-law knows I collect green glass and she used to give me glassware in that shade, but I would break them one at a time until they were all gone. Now she buys me plastic glasses in a pretty green and I still manage to break those too.

I used to smoke and my friends would always walk on the side of me that did not have the cigarette because I was really bad about burning people, and I have a scar on each finger from burning myself with cigarettes. I guess in light of all this I should be glad about my husband’s “No Fire” policy, but I really feel like he is stifling my creativity.

Are you accident prone? Do you want things even though they might be bad for your health? Do you think a blowtorch is an unreasonable request? We have insurance.


Free Birth Control

Alternate title: Top 5 Disgusting Things That Have Happened in the Last 24 Hours

So, I love my family to pieces, I really do.

But they are so gross. It’s unbelievable, really.

Here are the top 5 disgusting things I’ve had to deal with in just the last 24 hours.

1. Lunch boxes. I don’t know how these kids can destroy a lunchbox like this, but here is what greeted me last night when I went to make lunches:

A nice banana-chocolate pudding surprise.

A nice banana-chocolate pudding surprise.

2. My daughter hardcore blew her nose into her own hair. It was a sight to behold and I wish I had thought to take a picture because I totally would’ve shared that with you.

3. My cat just ran over acres of hardwood flooring to puke on a calendar that is for some reason laying in the floor. I actually learned something from this, and that is that I can lay any random piece of shit I don’t care about in the floor and as long as it looks like something I do care about, my cat will puke on it rather than the floor. I had thought she was purposefully puking on my carpet, but now I see that anything she thinks I love will do just fine.

I blocked it out because I love you.

I blocked it out because I love you.

4.  I went outside because I wasn’t ready to clean up cat puke and this was the first thing I saw:

A dog. Licking his penis. At 7 a.m. And it's not even my dog.

A dog. Licking his penis. At 7 a.m. And it’s not even my dog.

5. This morning Thing 3 was blowing her nose again, this time thankfully with a tissue, but each time she blew she would wipe up her nose instead of wiping like any normal person would. So she was getting snot all over her face. I felt like I had done enough in the snot department last night when I spent 30 minutes trying to wash boogers out of her hair, so I tried to tell her the right way to wipe. This led to many tears and much more snot. Not exactly what I was going for.

I thought my house was messy yesterday, and I knew it smelled like I was raising a herd of gerbils, but at least it wasn’t covered in snot and cat puke and chocolate pudding. Ah, motherhood. I can’t wait till they get home from school. Maybe someone will shit on me and really round out my day.

Do you think they are trying to break me? (They obviously don’t realize who they are dealing with.) Do your kids/pets test your mettle in the most horrific ways they can think of? Is this your dog?

Housekeeping Resignation, Effective Immediately

This week has been really painful. I mean literally painful.

It all started when I was washing the dishes the other night. I was being very industrious and getting a lot of crap washed, instead of just throwing all the dishes away like I wanted to. So, yes, I was proud.

That may have been what did it. I was too prideful in all my homemaking glory. My head was simply to full of warm fuzzy self-love that I never even saw the knife coming. Seriously, I never saw it until it had already stabbed me.

That’s right folks. A dirty, nasty, MEAN knife jumped out of my sink and into my foot.

I’ve never been so glad to own 18-year-old cutlery.

I know. It's hard to believe I can still walk.

I know. It’s hard to believe I can still walk.

Even though I had just been viciously assaulted, I carried on. I kept on keeping on. I did my dishes anyway. I showed that knife what was up.

The very next day I sat down to pay some bills. This is a dreaded chore and it took great fortitude and courage to even attempt it.

Once again, my pride blinded me to the dangers I could be facing. I didn’t expect to be attacked ON THE FACE by an envelope, but it happened. Do I blame all envelopes? No. Every envelope is different. This one was an asshole, but that doesn’t mean I have to forsake all envelopes for all time.

So in two days time I suffered a poked foot and a paper cut lip, all in the name of housekeeping. I feel like these events were portentous, and far be it for me to ignore the symbolism. I will no longer be participating in such ill-advised activities. I will take into consideration all the hazards inherent in clothes washing, bathroom cleaning, vacuuming, and, heaven forbid, floor mopping. These things are clearly too fraught with danger for me to attempt.

I am no daredevil to be putting my safety in jeopardy like that.

Things That Keep Me Up At Night

So, I guess we’ve established that I worry too much. I decided to start keeping track of the many things that cause me anxiety each day, because I found myself worrying — legit, worrying — over some super silly shit today.

The first random thing that caused my blood pressure to rise was a commercial for Grey’s Anatomy, probably. I don’t really know; it showed doctors dancing in the operating room.



That shit is not cool. This made me think of all the times I have put my life into a surgeon’s hands and how I don’t really know those people and what if they are having a shitty day? What if in the middle of surgery they decide to take a dance break for fuck’s sake? What if the doctor just found out that his wife is leaving him for their pool boy and he’s real torn up about it and he SLIPS? What if the doctor has a crush on the nurse and he’s making goo-goo eyes across my almost dead body and he accidently takes out my *sternum?

The weird thing is, I’m not having surgery, I have not HAD surgery, and I do not plan to HAVE surgery. So I guess I really don’t need to be stressing about this.

The next thing that really got me was brought on by who the hell knows what, because it’s only September and Jesus Christ tax time is well into my future. You guessed it. I spent probably 30 minutes of my life today trying to decide if I was capable of doing our taxes again myself or if I needed to hire someone to do them, but if I did, what if they messed up and we end up owing the IRS tons of money, or WORSE, what if I do them myself and I mess up and we end up owing the IRS tons of money and….right, it’s only September. I don’t need to even think about this again for at least four, possibly seven months.

Clearly, what I need to be worried about is my anti-anxiety medication because I don’t think that shit is working.

*Fancy medical term meaning chest bone.

Do you worry over the ridiculous? Am I the only one who obsesses over shit that probably will never happen but possibly, could maybe, in a million years, accidentally somehow affect my life?  

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