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Wednesday, April 1, 2015

Mommy juice truth



If you share this post, I will buy you a pony. I suck at Twitter. I am OK at Facebook. Pinterest is my bitch. I am also on Bloglovin' and Instagram.

Tuesday, March 31, 2015

Sexism: not just an old-timey myth.


The other day, I was watching mindless TV when Family Feud came on. I usually love Family Feud because Steve Harvey is my spirit animal. Or at least I thought he was. Turns out, Steve Harvey is a fat shaming, sexist asshole. To say I was disappointed would be an understatement. I thought Steve was a TV personality for the people. A man who used humor and a great sense of timing to lighten the world up a bit and give us a laugh when we needed it. Well, I am not sure I feel that way anymore...

So what did Steve do that has my panties in such a bunch? Well, you see, Steve dissed my homegirl, Oprah. The question on the Family Feud board was, “Name something you don’t want to see Oprah wear?” Um, what the fuck, Steve? Seriously? What did you think the answers to that were going to be? A parka? Roller skates? Anything other than sexist, fat shaming bullshit? I think not. 

Here are the top answers that the wonderful people polled came up with:

Sorry, I had a rage stroke before I could take a picture of the last two but don’t worry, they were equally offensive.


Let’s go over the amazingly offensive answers, shall we?

1. Bikini/swimsuit
Um, yeah. People tend to wear these things. When swimming. Hence the name SWIMsuit. It isn’t like Oprah was going to be running around Whole Foods in a string bikini. Sorry, O. We're going to need you to swim in a scuba suit from now on, apparently. 

2. Lingerie/thong: 
I imagine the only person that would be seeing Ms. Winfrey in these types of garments would be that stud, Stedman. So no worries there, either.

3. Nothing
Again, for Stedman’s eyes only, y’all. Unless Oprah is going to start her own nudie beach. If so, I am so in!

4. Catsuit/leopard: 
What. The. Fuck? Is O going to take up hooking or something? I mean, I am pretty sure she is doing OK financially and all…

5. Tank/haltertop: 
This is the year 2015. Who the fuck says haltertop still?

6. Miniskirt: I think the Divine Ms. O could straight rock a mini and some Jimmy’s. Just sayin’.

Why on earth is this question OK? Would you say, “Name something you don’t want to see Dr. Phil wear?” No, because fat shaming a man isn’t “funny”. Also, Oprah is about 1% away from being a saint in most people’s book. Why do we have to talk about what we don’t want to see her wearing? Is it all of the charity she does? What a bitch. Is it all of the positive self esteem she creates in women, no matter how they look? The nerve! Is it that she is one of the most powerful people in the world and she happens to have a vagina? No. It couldn’t be!

Want to even the playing field? How about we ask the same question only insert “Steve Harvey” where “Oprah” is. Because I REALLY don’t want to see your ass in any of those things either, Steve.

If you share this post, I will buy you a pony. I suck at Twitter. I am OK at Facebook. Pinterest is my bitch. I am also on Bloglovin' and Instagram.

Monday, March 23, 2015

I think my cat needs an intervention.

We got our carpets professionally cleaned last week. Which, of course, means our cat spent the entire weekend throwing up all over them.

Fatty: It was the dog. Me: We don't have a dog. Fatty: Then it was the boy.

Lately, I have been coming to the realization that Fatty might have an eating disorder. You see, Fatty is always either binging or purging. The second the food slides through the shoot on her automatic feeder, she wolfs it down faster than a T Rex taking down a pteranodon. Then, 20 minutes later, the guilt of her actions overcomes her and she throws it up all over the carpet. Or the couch. Or my pillow...

We keep telling her that she is not fat, that she is just fluffy. And that all kitties are shaped differently and that is what makes them special, but she won't listen.

OK, maybe she's not just fluffy, but purging isn't the answer...

Though it may be a bit unorthodox to plan an intervention for an animal that spends half of its time sleeping and the other half licking its own butthole, I think it is time.

Fuck your intervention, bitch.

Catbulimirexia is a real thing. It's an epidemic. If your cat is exhibiting any of these symptoms, get help immediately. Because we don't need to lose one more ball of fur to this terrible disease.

 If you share this post, I will buy you a pony. I suck at Twitter. I am OK at Facebook. Pinterest is my bitch. I am also on Bloglovin' and Instagram.

Wednesday, March 11, 2015

Adults: Just Like Children Only Taller

My daughter Josephine has an adorable BFF named Caroline. Caroline's mommy, Christa, also has a blog. It's called Aunt Mommy. Here's the problem with that: THE BITCH IS FUNNIER THAN ME. Needless to say, Christa is super annoying. Read on for proof that Christa needs to stop blogging before she ruins everything for me and proves to everyone that I am a talentless hack that they should stop following:

Abstract: I have been observing children quite closely the past several years, and have drawn some conclusions as a result. Not about the kids, but about their grown-up counterparts. Hypothesis: Adults are just children who are taller.

Supporting evidence:

1) Kid scenario: Kid #1 plays with a toy for a while, then abandons it for something else. Kid #2 comes along and picks up same toy. Kid #1 freaks out, decides she wants the toy back now that another kid is paying attention to it. Kids are ridiculous.

Grown-up scenario: Woman #1 dates man for a while, then decides she’s not interested in him anymore, tosses him aside. Woman #2 picks up man. Woman #1 wants man back immediately. “Gimme back my man. That’s my man. I had that man first.” Completely understandable.

2) Kid scenario: Kid #1 starts crying. Kid #2 hears kid #1 and starts crying too, leading kid #’s 3-10 to start crying as well. None of the kids know why they are crying. Kids are like dominoes. What the hell? Do they have to follow what all the other ones are doing? Insanity.

Grown-up scenario: Every internet meme ever. Example: Someone posts a picture of a dress. Leading everyone to post a picture of the dress. No one cares about the dress but no one wants to be the only one NOT posting pictures of the dress. Everyone else is doing it. Makes total sense.

3) Kid scenario: Kid #1 whines when he doesn’t get his way. Kid #2 whines because he wants his way, not kid #1’s way. Kid #1 doesn’t like kid #2’s whining. Kid #2 whines even louder. Nothing gets accomplished. Completely unproductive. Damn kids.

Grown-up scenario: Congress. No explanation necessary.

4) Kid scenario: Kid #1 needs attention, starts dancing in front of television. Kid #2 wants attention, begins singing nonsensical song. Kid #3 wants attention, sits on your head. Why do they need all this attention? So. Annoying.

Grown-up scenario: The Kardashians. The Bad Girls Club. Real Housewives of Anywhere. All programming produced for TLC. But that’s quality television. Must be, they keep making more.

5) Kid scenario: Kid gets mad and yells at you. Totally unacceptable behavior.

Grown-up scenario: You get mad and yell at kid. Well it’s the kid’s fault.

6) Kid scenario: Kid #1 and kid #2 have unresolved disagreement. Kid #2 pinches kid #1. Kid #1 bites kid #2. Both kids start kicking. Aggressive behavior regularly used for conflict resolution. They should know better.

Grown-up scenario: Men. Over women, over money, over land, over football, over a sandwich, over another man saying nana-nana-boo-boo, etc. This is evolutionarily significant behavior.

7) Kid scenario: Kid #1 calls kid #2 a butt-face. Kid #2 calls kid #1 a poop-head in retaliation. Children are notorious name-callers. They are so good at tearing each other down with words that the song “sticks and stones” had to be invented.

Grown-up scenario: Women. The difference is they have learned to whisper it instead of yell it. Examples: “Oh my god she’s so fat, she looks horrible, how does she even go out looking like that?” And that was just me this morning to myself in the mirror. Well someone had to say it.

(*Also, internet trolls.)

8) Kid scenario: Kid wants game. Parents say no. Kid gets grandparents to buy game. Kids will use coercion, white lies, victimization, threats, affection, and the pitting of one adult against another in order to get what they want. They are master manipulators.

Grown-up scenario: Congress. You know what, just put congress down for all of these.

9) Kid scenario: Parental figure tells kids to pick up room. Parent leaves. Kids play instead. Children are just plain lazy.

Grown-up scenario: Every retail place I’ve ever worked, when the manager leaves. I mean, it’s retail though.

10) Kid scenario: Researcher puts one cupcake in front of kid, tells kid she can have two cupcakes if she waits five minutes. Kid eats the one cupcake immediately. They are impulsive little critters with absolutely no self-control or ability for deferred gratification.

Grown-up scenario: Me on a diet. Give me the cupcake. Give me the cupcake two seconds ago. Give me the cupcake or I will smash things.

Conclusion: Although I could have included many more examples of anecdotal evidence, I don’t feel it’s necessary because, well, no one pays attention to anything online that is too long. “Ugh, I have to scroll?” If you think your child is easily distracted, watch any twenty-something on Instagram. Grown-ups are just children who are a little taller, with better fine motor control and a larger vocabulary. Well usually (don’t even get me started on the similarities between babies and old people). The point is, although we adults have learned to manage our feelings, it is a thin veil that can easily be lifted when any of our basic needs are not being met. Just like children. So what do we do with this information? Get our kids to go easier on us, of course!

(Christa Osborne is the doting and oft-befuddled aunt to the most adorable niece in the world, who lives with her full-time and happens to calls her mommy. She's a former high school English teacher and current business owner and property manager in St. Louis. You can follow Christa on Facebook or at auntmommy.com.)

If you share this post, I will buy you a pony. I suck at Twitter. I am OK at Facebook. Pinterest is my bitch. I am also on Bloglovin' and Instagram.

Friday, March 6, 2015

Things I think when I see pins on Pinterest.

I love Pinterest. It is a great place to keep all of the ideas that I will most likely never refer to again. I often see a pin and, without clicking on it or reading anything it refers to, feel like I know what they are going to say. Such as:

Is it a huge bag of candy? Because that would be my go-to. Jesus is cool with candy, right? 
The 5 tips: use logic, followed by begging, followed by threats, followed by bribery, followed by wine.

Kids.

One word: iPads.

Like shit.

Wine, chocolate and Netflix.

Coffee with Kahlua, Frangelico, Baileys, whiskey or more coffee.

Two words: duct tape.

How about a big bar of nope?


If you share this post, I will buy you a pony. I suck at Twitter. I am OK at Facebook. Pinterest is my bitch. I am also on Bloglovin' and Instagram.

Thursday, March 5, 2015

New bed. New life.

After over 10 years of sleeping on a crappy mattress with a hubby who snores like a back road trucker and hogs 3/4 of the mattress, I finally bought a new bed. At 3 a.m. With no prior conversations about the purchase. Oops. But I had had e-freakin'-nuff. After one of the shittiest nights of sleep ever, I found myself on the couch and super pissed. My back hurt from our crappy mattress and there was just not enough room for both of us in our bed. So I bought a new mattress and a new bed frame to fit said mattress. I have never made a better decision in the middle of the night in my life.

Heaven

This is the bed frame we bought. I LOVE IT! Super sturdy and very pretty.

And here is the mattress. I can not say enough good things about it. I had never used memory foam before but my hubby had a pillow and loved it. So I scoured Amazon for reviews and whatnot and found this one. For the price, it seemed too good to be true. It was not. It is AMAZEBALLS. I have never slept better IN MY LIFE. I don't feel my hubby moves around in the middle of the night, my back doesn't hurt anymore and I sleep like the freakin' DEAD.

I also got those nightstands on Craigslist already finished. I paid $75 for both. Usually that is out of the range what I want to pay but I loved them and they were cheaper than buying two crappy ones anywhere else so I made my hubby haul ass in a snowstorm on Superbowl Sunday to pick them up. Love him.

Throw, lamp shades and bases from Target. J, R and bird pillow from Marshalls, & from Joann Fabric, comforter from Walmart.

The bed motivated me to finally look for a new dresser. I am cheap so I looked on Craigslist and found this solid wood piece for $40! Love it.

Hello, lover.
A cozy corner.
Bench vintage. Ottoman Walmart. Pillow World Market.

Anyway. This is not a sponsored post. I just love this bed so much I wanted to share. Seriously, it is a game changer. This mattress has made me, like, 75% less stabby. Buy one. I promise it will change you life.

If you share this post, I will buy you a pony. I suck at Twitter. I am OK at Facebook. Pinterest is my bitch. I am also on Bloglovin' and Instagram.

Monday, March 2, 2015

The time I lost my daughter. AT FROZEN ON ICE!


SOOOO I lost my daughter yesterday. AT FROZEN ON ICE! Needless to say, I aged about 20 years in the amount of time it took me to find her. But let's start from the beginning, shall we?

For Christmas, my wonderful brother-in-law (BIL) bought the kids tickets to Disney's Frozen on Ice. Because what better things does a fit, good looking, 20-something gay man have better to do on a Sunday than take two kids to a crowded arena and watch ice dancing for two hours? Needless to say, he is a saint. Because I figured handling all of this on my own would make me want to punch a kitten, let alone someone who wasn't legally responsible for my kids', I told my BIL I would tag along and help out. So, of course, it is ME who loses one of them...

It all started out well. Both kids were freaking LOVIN' it. My son literally sat in silence, mouth agape, for the first hour of the show. I think his tiny baby mind might have short circuited when Buzz and Woody came out (that's what she said).

Then the show announced intermission. My daughter said she was hungry and had to potty so I took her while my BIL stayed with the boy. Again, my BIL is a saint.

Once we exited the arena to the complete and utter shitshow that is intermission at Frozen on Ice, we waited in the longest line ever for the bathroom. It moved quickly though, and then the clouds parted and the sounds of angels filled the restroom when the first stall to open when it was our turn was the big stall. BOOYAH! I literally said, "Sweet, we scored the big potty!" The lady exiting with her daughter said, "Heck yeah. Score!" We must share a spirit animal or something. I was even happier when we were exiting and the people to gain access to the VIP potty after us were a grandma and her two grandkids. You enjoy that extra elbow room with your bad self, grannie!

After the bathroom, we headed to the concession stand. Right as the words, "And they have pretzels" came out of my mouth, the lady at the counter yelled, "We are all out of pretzels" to the crowd. Douche. After some tough negotiations due to the stand's lack of popcorn or pretzels, my daughter and I settled on nachos for the her and chicken strips and fries for the boy. I threw in two $5 waters just because we hydrate like ballers in out family, yo.

After I forked over half of the kids' college funds, the lady put all of our goods on the counter, followed by the news that they can't let us have the lids to our water bottles. Um, what? So the concession stand lady gives me a plate of nachos with a side of cheese that is precariously close to overflowing and spilling everywhere, a basket of chicken fingers and fries, two water bottles with no lids, and two cups for water. I look down at my daughter who REALLY wants to hold the nachos but I know this will end with someone bumping into her and her spilling them. I realize that I am going to have to carry everything. So I manage to get everything in my arms with my daughter in tow so we can go get ketchup and napkins across the way. Because hell hath no fury like my son with no ketchup.

I tell my daughter to follow me and she tags along. I sit the stuff down, add two squirts of ketchup, grab some napkins, pick all the stuff back up and turn around to tell my daughter to follow me.

But she is not there.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

I frantically search the crowd for the only girl not wearing teal (thank you fucking Jesus she decided to go with the pink princess dress!).

Nothing.

I circle around the area.

Nothing.

At this point I am freaking the fuck out.

I have absolutely no idea of what to do.

Where do I even begin?

I am scared to death someone has taken her or that she is just lost and really scared.

I keep scanning the crowd in the little area we were in but she is not there.

Maybe 30 seconds pass and she emerges from the hallway where you walk into the venue.

My heart starts to beat again.

She went straight when I went right for the ketchup. She was maybe out of my sight for a minute but it seemed like years. I completely panicked. I lost it.

After we regrouped, we went back in and she enjoyed the rest of the show while I tried to remember how to breathe again.

Needless to say, I need to develop a protocol with my kids of what to do when one of them gets lost.

Oh yeah, and never EVER go to Frozen on Ice again!

Fuck.


If you share this post, I will buy you a pony. I suck at Twitter. I am OK at Facebook. Pinterest is my bitch. I am also on Bloglovin' and Instagram.

Tuesday, February 24, 2015

21 things you should never say to a pregnant woman

Things you should never say to a pregnant woman.

Wow, you’re so small.
I know you mean that in a complimentary way, but all I hear is, “Wow, are you sure your baby is OK?” Which leads me to freak out about the size of my baby and start Googling whether or not my baby is OK, which never ends well. 

Wow, you’re so big.
I don’t care if I blow up like the god damned Goodyear balloon. Keep it to yourself. I am pregnant. Being pregnant tends to make a girl gain a little bit of weight. Yes, I look like I swallowed a beach ball, but zip it, Lippy, before I punch you in the gizzard. 

Was it a surprise?
Well, no. By my age, I hope I am smart enough to have figured out the whole birth control thing. Plus, I really don’t want to divulge to you whether this was premeditated or the accidental result of a quickie in the backseat of my boyfriend’s Mustang.

Can I touch your belly?
No. But since you asked and didn’t just go for it, I will let you live. You’re welcome.

Are you hoping for a boy or a girl?
I am hoping for a baby. That is my only really pony in this pregnancy race. Oh, and maybe a pony. I am hoping for a pony too.

You know, it’s really actually 10 months.
You know, it’s really annoying when people point that out.

Well, when I was pregnant…
Lemme just stop you there, sister. I am going through this like I am the only person who has even been pregnant in the history of the earth. So I don’t want to hear about your negligible weight gain or horrendous hemorrhoids. Thanks for the info though.

Have you picked out a name yet?
Yes, but I don’t want to know if you dated someone with the same name in high school and they broke your heart or whatever so let’s just go with “no”. 

You really shouldn’t eat/drink/do that when you’re pregnant.
You really shouldn’t give a pregnant woman advice. I could sit on you and smother you to death. 

Well, elephant are pregnant for 22 months so you don’t have it so bad.
*Blank stare followed by me walking away*

Are you sure it isn’t twins?
Well, when that leprechaun under the bridge held a rock over my belly and told me there was only one, I believed him. But apparently you have some sort of 6th sense about these things so I will have him check again.

By the way you are showing, I bet you’re having…
A puppy. How did you guess!

Do you plan on breastfeeding?
Thank for asking, but I really don’t want to discuss the future state of my nipples with you, weird lady from accounting.

Are you going to quit your job when the baby comes?
Thank you for setting women back a century by asking that. Now please excuse me while I fetch my master his slippers.

Sleep now because you will never sleep again.
This person is dead now. Because I killed them.

Enjoy your life while you still can.
I know, right? Because this ball and chain in my belly is about to make an appearance and ruin EVERYTHING. I really wish I would have thought this through more before pulling the goalie.

Are you going to have a natural birth?
No. I plan on being higher than Willie Nelson when I am bearing down. God put someone on this planet smart enough to invent the epidural and I am surely going to take advantage of that invention while I try to push a watermelon out of something the size of a lemon.

I thought you didn’t want kids!
Yes, based on that conservation we had 10 years ago at a frat party while wasted on red headed sluts, that is totally true. I am such a liar.

Good luck. My labor was terrible.
Thanks for that. Because it’s not like I am going to have to go through it anytime soon or anything. Or that I constantly wake up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night fearing that I am going to poop on the table.

Aren’t you a little young/old to have a baby?
*insert sounds of crickets here*

You’re still pregnant?
People seriously asked me this. Repeatedly. Usually when someone would ask me if I was still pregnant when I looked like a human weeble wobble, it resulted in me having a crazed look that was so intense that all the asker did was slowly back away while maintaining eye contact. Smart move.


This post was written by me and originally appeared on Healthline.

If you share this post, I will buy you a pony. I suck at Twitter. I am OK at Facebook. Pinterest is my bitch. I am also on Bloglovin' and Instagram.
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