Fatty has fun outside

Today I am going to introduce you to a lesser-known member of your family: Fatty.
  
Fatty enjoys laying in the sun, bathing herself, eating chocolate pudding, glaring at inanimate objects and howling in the middle of the night.

I like pudding.

Though I call her Fatty here, at home, we call her Kitty. Her real name is Fiona. She likes to pee on carpet, and our whole main level is carpeted, so Fatty lives in the our new finished basement. Don't call the Humane Society feel sorry for her. We spend most of our time down there since the playroom and TV family room are down there. She also has her own bedroom, full bath and laundry facilities. Fatty isn't exactly being abused. Her level of the house is bigger than our entire loft was before we moved. She also has constant company in Alyssa the snail and Boy the fish, of which Fatty would love to make into an appetizer of escargot followed by a main course of sushi. But I digress.

On Friday, I got off early and decided to sit out in the backyard to enjoy a beer or two by myself before ADD Daddy got home with The Quiet Contemplator and The Cool Cucumber. I decided to take Fatty along for the ride. She was not pleased. If there is anything that Fatty is 1,000,000% not, it is an outdoor cat. The experience went a bit like this (keep in mind that Fatty's voice is that of a bitchy French gay man):

We go outside.
I sit on the couch with Fatty.
Fatty immediately jumps off and heads for the closed door to the inside.

Ohmygodpleaseopenthisdoor!

Fatty begins howling.
I begin laughing.
Fatty howls louder and look desperate.
Fatty's inner dialogue: Ohmygod. WhyamIoutside? Whatisthatscarynoise (lawnmower)? Whatisthatotherscarynoise (air conditioner)? Ohmygod. WhyamIoutside?
Me: What's wrong, Fatty?

HELP!

Fatty's inner dialogue: (Fatty now looks more pissed than scared) OH MY GOD! I think there is a leaf in my butt.
Me: Fatty, what's wrong? 
Fatty's inner dialogue: What's wrong? What's wrong? I am a tortoise shell calico, bitch. My fur is pristine. What were you thinking dragging me out into the wilderness?

Oh, hell-to-the-no, bitch.

Me: Fatty, do you want to go inside?
Fatty's inner dialogue: 

Bitch, I will cut you. Open the door. Now.

The end.   

My toddler and my cat might actually be the same person/cat

I am starting to think that The Cool Cucumber and Fatty might actually be the same person/cat.

Why, you ask, would I be confused at whether my toddler son and my obese cat are the same person? Well, the similarities between the two are uncanny (or uncatty, if you will).

They both howl in agony when you take their milk away.
The Cucumber LOVES him some milk, as does Fatty. Duh, she's a cat and he's a baby. But try to get said milk away from them, even if the vessel is empty, and you will find yourself in a shitstorm of titanic proportions. Claws out. Hissing. Fur flying. And that's just the baby. Don't even get me started on how Fatty reacts...

They both have no sense of personal space.
Though they have their own personal method of getting all up in your grill, Fatty prefers to sit on my neck while The Cucumber prefers my lap, both Fatty and The Cucumber will always make sure you are without personal space. Ever. They both like to watch me in the bathroom, both of them are usually under foot when I am making dinner and they both are somehow attached to me from the time I wake up to the time I go to sleep. Fatty doesn't even let me do that alone.

They both love food more than anything in the world.
Dear sweet baby Jesus do these two love food. They would both eat until food came out of their eye holes or they suffocated to death on chocolate pudding. It is both disgusting and fascinating how much this dynamic duo can cram down their gullets. And expensive. And did I mention disgusting?

They both sound like Darth Vader having an asthma attack. 
When The Cucumber and Fatty breathe, it sounds like a plastic bag being sucked into a vacuum cleaner. And not just after they have both finished a rousing game of flashlight tag. They sound like that all. the. time. Try sitting on the couch and trying to enjoy a movie with the mesothelioma twins at your side. Not fun.

They both find the grass greener on the other side. If they stand at the door and beg to go play outside, they will be happy for about two seconds once you let them out there. They will then stand on the other side of the door and beg to be let back inside. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

They both loved to have their bellies rubbed.
Seriously. Both of them. All. Day. Long.

They both sleep more than seems humanly/catly possible.
Of the 24 hours that are in a day, both Fatty and The Cool Cucumber sleep over half of them. They love sleep. Love it. It is like they actually live to sleep. And they are both equally awesome at it. A dump truck could drive through a nitroglycerine plant next door and they would open one eye to investigate, decide it isn't worth getting up for and go back to dreaming about tuna fish and pancakes. Assholes.


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Fatty has diabeetus

Fatty has been sick lately. Really sick. We thought she had a UTI, but it just wasn't getting better after two rounds of antibiotics, so we took her in for more testing. $300 in blood tests later, we got a diagnosis:

So what does that mean, besides that Fatty is now only one Werther's Original away from officially becoming the curmudgeonly old man from Cocoon? Well, it means that I have to chase her geriatric ass around the house twice a day to dope her up with insulin. YAY! Because I needed one more thing to make getting the kids to school and me to work in the mornings any more difficult. It also means that we now have $200 in insulin, needles and special food to buy a month.

I am sure some of you are asking if all of this expense and hassle is worth it, to which I reply, "Of course it is you heartless fucking douche canoe." Because that cat is a part of my fucking soul and all of this crap is totally worth it to have her glare at me lovingly for however much time we can buy her.

Bitch, I will cut you.

The other morning I literally had to comb through every damn room of the house for 45 minutes trying to give her her damn medicine so she won't DIE!

Damn you, Fatty. You awesome geriatric ball of fat, fur and love.


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.

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.

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Fatty is Scary

A few weeks ago, ADD Daddy pissed off a mama and daddy bird by killing their entire family. Because he is a heartless bastard with no soul. Well, not exactly.

Actually, ADD Daddy covered a hole in our siding where birds were getting in so they would stop crapping all over our porch. But I like to go on and on to him about the sad tale of the eggs that were probably in there that have now hatched and can't escape. And how he will probably hear them screaming and trying to claw their way out soon. Not that that should keep him up at night or anything...

Anyway. The other day, ADD Daddy and I were in the backyard hanging out. There were birds everywhere. Birds with a score to settle with ADD Daddy.

While The Birds was playing out in our backyard, Fatty decided to saunter her fat furry ass outside.

And then a crazy thing happened. Not knowing what a fat useless pussy Fatty is, the birds fled in fear.

 

And then Fatty rolled over to sun her fat while we enjoyed the back yard in peace.

 

Stupid birds.

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Today you are four.

The Beginning

DearJ,

My sweet little princess, today you are four years old. Oh how the time has flown since you came into the world and changed who your daddy and I are forever.

You are one of the most sweet. giving and emotionally caring children I have ever met. Your heart is so pure it hurts me.

One Year

You are truly a good soul. And an old soul. You are far wiser than your four tiny years provide for. Even Fatty knows it. She has taken to trying to sneak into your room at night so she can sleep with you but you will have none of it. Fatty is a damn good judge of character so if she trusts you enough to sleep in your bed, especially at only four years old, that is really saying something.

Two Years

You love Cinderella and Snow White and anything with princesses. You also like Caillou but mommy had to cut that shit off at the knees because Caillou's voice makes Mommy want to punch a kitten. Sorry.

Three Years

We call you Bean, Beanie Weenie and Baby Girl.

You are growing into such a big girl. You are smart, responsible and a good friend to those in your class. I am so proud of you and so thankful to have such an amazing person in our family.

Four years

I love you, Baby Girl. So much.

Mommy


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.

Father's Day on Fleek

Father’s Day is nearing and I usually try to get the hubs something I think he will actually like. This year, Zazzle sent me a gift card to buy him some goodies and I was totally stoked about what I found.

ADD Daddy loves Ralph Steadman’s art. We actually have a signed print by him in our dining room that I got him for our 5-year anniversary. So when I saw this St. Louis print on Zazzle’s site, it totally reminded me of Steadman’s work and I thought the hubby would like it. So, I ordered it up and put it in a frame I bought on clearance at Marshalls. Boom. Cheap, easy gift.

Damn, this pic makes us look classier than we are.

My husband also, like most people with a penis, likes to grill. So when I saw this tray, I had to have it. It does Sir Mix-a-Lot (and pig butts) proud. I figure the hubs can put his meat on this tray (HA!) and take it out to cook it. Win-win.

Ha. They said butt...

And, since my husband is a daddy to not only two humans but also an overweight and lazy cat, I wanted to be sure Fatty got something for him. He wears this shirt with pride.

To tie it all together, I made him this card from the kids to go with whatever crappy, I mean priceless art they make him for a gift. I love these card because they are so much cooler and more personal than the store-bought variety—usually cheaper too!

Loads of cute.

Gross, I know.

Overall, Zazzle had a great selection of personalized, art-driven and creative gifts to choose from. Plus, they always have great discount codes available so be sure to seek them out before you send your order. You can even apply multiply codes!

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.

This post was sponsored by Zazzle but they didn't make me the opinionated, feminist, she-beast that I am. My mama did and I am damn proud of it. 

Preggo my Eggo Update: 22 weeks down, 18 to go.

OK, the cleaning ladies at work have to stop commenting on my trash can contents. Yes, I eat a lot of candy. No, I don't want to discuss all of the empty wrappers in my trash. Coconut M&Ms are delicious. End of story.

Also, someone in my office has been messing with my food. A box of animal crackers was stolen from my desk, then moved to a place in my office where I would never find see it. A few weeks later, I found them, high on top of a cabinet and way in the back. Seriously? Does someone have a death wish? Don't touch a pregnant lady's food! Especially their cookies. Phalanges have been chopped off for lesser offenses.

One more non-food complaint: people that get on my case about running really annoy me. I call these people drive-by gynecologists. You know the type: the naysayers that have an opinion on everything you do/eat/say when you are pregnant but have no actual medical education whatsoever and often haven't even pushed a watermelon out of their vag boxes--if they even have one.

Are you my OB? Have you spoken to them? No? Than please shut your monkey pie hole. And, no, I am not shaking the baby when I run, moron. I actually rock him to sleep like he is surfing on a tiny baby waterbed filled with kittens.

A lady I work with just accosted me on the way back from the bathroom to ask (accuse) me about my running while with child. When common sense was getting me nowhere, I told her I am trying to beat my personal best pushing-the-baby-out-of-me time of 15 minutes and running really helps with that. She immediately ended the conversation.

I love running. I don't do it to be thin or show people up. I don't run marathons or participate in Ironman competitions, I run 5Ks and maybe a half marathon every 20 years or so. I do it because it is the only real time I get for me. And while I can still do it, why not? My Dr. all but wrote me a prescription to do it as long as possible, so what's the problem? Besides the whole shaken baby syndrome thing, apparently. But who doesn't like their baby a little shaken, anyway?

Sorry, I am no longer cleaning my office for pictures and, yes, I am covered in Fatty hair.

Make It Rain

The Cool Cucumber likes to make it rain. No, he doesn't shower strippers with crisp $20 bills. What he does is even dirtier. He takes whatever you have given him to eat or play with and throws it up in the air. This is super annoying.

It usually looks a lot like this:

Need proof?:

Notice how he is acting like it is all his sister's and Fatty's fault?

Here is another example:

Dude, there are none left in the box. Asshole.

It doesn't matter what you give him, grapes, Cheerios, Legos, a box full of cats, he will take it and throw it up in to the air, all while laughing. Then he toddles off like the tiny Godzilla he is, leaving you to clean up his mess while he destroys another village. He is lucky he is cute.

Anyone else have kids that do this?


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.

Advice Under the Influence: Potty Training

The thought that I am about to enter the potty training ring for a second bout makes me want to curl up in a corner with a bottle of tequila and not come out until my son is in college and has hopefully figured the whole thing out for himself. But alas, I will throw myself in front of the punches the potty has to hand out one more time so my son doesn't end up at his wedding in a poopy Pamper. After my first round in the potty training ring, I learned a trick or two. Like to hear 'em? Here it goes.

 Advice Under the Influence: Behind the Douche Canoe

First off, nothing like a good poop gag to start everything off, right? The pudding was smeared on my face for a few takes but I think that read too…um…poopy for public consumption. I was lucky to get any pudding at all with two chocolate sharks swimming about at knee level.

Around 1:18, Fatty could handle being out of the limelight no longer and decided to make her big debut…in the crapper. She is such an attention whore.

The Cool Cucumber's adorable face at 2:07 might be one of my favorite things about this whole series. Man, that kid kills me. I also love him at 2:29 when you can see him trying to "poop" like me. Ha!

Anyway. I hope you enjoyed this episode of the Advice Under the Influence. If you want to ensure that I keep embarrassing myself on the internet, SHARE IT. With everyone you know. Everywhere. Facebook, Twitter, your uncle's gay porn site, your grandma's bingo newsletter. You get the idea. The more people who watch them, the more likely that the lovely people at ulive will order up another batch of my douche canoery. Thanks so much. I will send imaginary fountains full of wine, unicorns and chocolate to all who share.

Smooches,

The Beer Bitch

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.

News flash: I am weird.

For those of you that have been around here for a while, the fact that I am a bit strange will come as no surprise to you. I share too much, make an ass of myself too often and have absolutely no sense of shame. So when the lovely folks at Zazzle offered me a chance to try out a few of their goods, I actually felt a bit sorry for them. Because they had absolutely no idea what they were getting themselves into.

They probably didn’t think that I would order up things like this:

Because who doesn’t need a pillow that displays Fatty’s bitchy resting face?

Or this:

This was actually so cool my husband stole it. Bastard.

And a few of these...

Most people probably don't print pictures of their kids crying...

Or, god forbid, these:

Come on, these are AWESOME!

My overall thought on their new offerings? Amazeballs. Seriously. I used them years ago to make a shirt for my husband that said, “I don’t have ADD… Oh look! A Penny!”. I hadn’t been back since but once I did check them out again, I was amazed by all of the cool crap they have now. They are like an Etsy store for artists that offers personalization.

AND, they were cool enough to offer a 15% off code to my readers: BEERANDBABIE (expires May 15). Use it to get yo momma something special for Mother's Day. Enjoy, Boozehounds!

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.


This post was sponsored by Zazzle but you Boozehounds know I would NEVAH EVAH subject you to anything I didn't think was amazeballs on my own. For realzies.

The Playroom

When we were looking for houses this spring, I was dead set on having an area that could be used as a playroom. It was pretty much my top priority outside of upgrading to more than one bathroom, getting an actual closet and having a space for The Cool Cucumber to sleep besides the hallway he was currently residing in. But hey, I have swanky, high-brow standards.

When we found our house, it had a huge, partially finished basement. I knew that we could finish it and make it into the perfect place for the kids to go crazy and for us to have our family room. We put up two new walls to divide the laundry area from the living area, installed a drop ceiling and laid new flooring. Here is just a bit of info on the playroom. I will add pics of the family room soon, or not most likely, because I am lazy.

The before. Gah. Concrete floors, exposed electric, white walls...

The after. New ceiling, floor, wall color, organization, and, of course, Fatty.

Ottomans and pillows from World Market. Table from Target. Art and frames from IKEA. Lamp from Marshall's. Fish (Boy) and snail (Alyssa) from Pet Smart.

Left detail

Those damned benches. Art by The Quiet Contemplator. Frames from IKEA.

Right detail.

Picasso prints from Allposters.com. Frames from IKEA.

Bench storage.

More detail.

The toy closet before. There used to be enormous wooden doors on it. We removed them before I could get a before pic because they were impossible to open and m'f'n dangerous, yo...

The toy closet after.

Curtains and shelving from IKEA.

Light from Marshall's.

Now don't go thinking this project was crazy expensive or that I have converted to Mormonism and started a perfect mommy blog (not that there is anything wrong with that). Everything you see here was cheap and easy, just like me. Have questions? Feel free to ask. I am happy to help!