Party in the house!!!

Get the pickles out of your ears and listen up!! I’m having a love fest party; it’s going to be a lallapalooza type of party and it’s for you.

All of you.

When I first tried magical mushrooms it was at a party. I was 16 and I totally thought the flowers were singing to me and then my friend suggested I pick flowers and put them in my hair. She said I would look cute. So I picked the flowers and my drug induced mind actually believed that the flowers were screaming out in pain.

I cried.

I still can’t pick flowers without feeling guilty.

Flowers and magical mushrooms… ahhh, the good old days.

Don’t worry though; I’m not throwing that kind of party. At least not publicly.

Here’s the deal:

On November 30th I have some goodies to give away.

Did y’all know that November 30th is like black Friday? It’s called Cyber Monday. Smart ass Chris told me about it. So I thought that would be a great day to host my giveaway. Cute idea huh??

So all you need to do is subscribe and follow my little old blog and then come back here on November 30th for all kinds of goodies!!

Seriously, I have goodies for little people, big people and people in-between. And by little and big I don't mean skinny and hefty and I don't mean midgets. I mean young and old, so don't get all Oh my God, she's so crass and rude.

Go be good girls and boys now and tell your friends.

Once again the internet does some good

I never had the pleasure of meeting Anissa, but I've seen her happy smiling face around the internet and I've read her blogs and followed her on Twitter.

Yesterday Anissa suffered a stroke and is in the ICU.

People are pulling together to spread the word and help Anissa, her three children and her husband.

Donations can be made through Paypal.



Updates on Anissa and her family can be found at Caring Bridge

Sometimes the Internet and Blogging and Twitter drive me absolutely crazy and I want to walk away forever.

The internet spreads words like viruses and in times like this IT ROCKS!

Pray for Anissa and her family.

Spread the word.

Paprika and skanky underwear

I think paprika is one of those weird spices that you don’t really need or use, I mean, it doesn’t have any fucking flavor. It’s useless and it stains your lips.

My friend from elementary school and I have an on-going secret code. When she’s having a crappy day because her four kids won’t shut up and her husband has been smoking pot in the garage since noon she’ll text me saying : ‘I’m going to the store for paprika, do you need some while I’m there?’

In actuality it means: meet me in the alley, my family is driving me crazy.

So we meet in the alley like lowlife drug fiends.

We vent for a moment or two and share a drink.

Usually vodka.

Then we make our way into the grocery store and purchase a little jar of paprika and go back home to tell our families that no meal is complete without paprika.

Which is a total lie, because the only thing paprika is good on is deviled eggs.

And we don’t make deviled eggs because they make you fart.

So now we have tons of jars of paprika that we don’t know what to do with and we’re afraid of getting caught in our lies.

So I called my friend yesterday and I said, “Look, if I die before you please get rid of all the bottles paprika and my skanky panties before my family sees them and thinks I’m a paprika hoarder and a skanky underwear wearing mom.”

She was all, “Sure no problem, but who’s going to get rid of my skanky panties and paprika if you die before me?”

So, we did the only thing left for us to do: we three-way called our friend that doesn’t have kids or a husband and doesn’t wear skanky underwear.

We explained our predicament to her and asked if she would rid our houses of skanky underwear and paprika when we die.

She hung up on us.

Bitch.

Sex and teenagers

Teenagers and sex, two words that I have a hard time talking about, two words that I was NOT prepared to talk about with my eldest daughter. Those are also the two words that she wished I talked more freely about (she told me that). Amanda, my eighteen year old, told me that she wished I had talked openly to her about sex. Fail on my part. Seriously, I must have missed the parent manual handout at the hospital.

So with Megan, my thirteen year old, I’m taking a different approach… we’re talking sex, we’re talking cyber bulling and sex texts. We’re talking about loving our bodies and respecting ourselves. We’re talking about oral sex and contraception. And let me tell you, it’s NOT EASY! Maybe because my mom didn’t talk to me about it and everything I learned was from my friends, which was total bull.

Boys and girls are curious about each other’s bodies and if you think that your pre-teen doesn’t discuss in graphic detail what a blow job is then you are in for a huge slap in the face.

I’m going to let you in on a little secret, THEY DO TALK ABOUT IT!!! They talk about it A LOT!

And it’s frightening.

When I was offered up a book to review called Start Talking I immediately said YES, because like I said, I’m not very good at having these talks. This book is playful, straight to the point and easy to read. It has opened up the lines of communication between my daughter and I and I’m thoroughly pleased with it.



Start Talking is geared towards moms and daughters, however, I think it would be beneficial to dads as well, especially single dads of daughters.

Y’all should check it out!

And get this… I have two copies to give away! They’d make a great gift to anyone that is desperately trying to understand their hormonal teenage daughter.

Leave me a comment if you’re interested in receiving a copy of Start Talking! Easy peasy huh?

Giveaway will end on November 26th.

Conundrum

I’ve talked about my loser ex husband several times, I’ve talked about how he liked to rest his knuckles upon my nose and wrestle me to the ground with his angry words. What I didn’t mention was my temper and my tendency to throw plates and food. I didn’t mention that I was a nightmare to live with. I admit it, I was.

Working with families in domestic violence situations has taught me a few things:

A) People lie. B) People lie to gain control. C) People lie to get their way.

I’m not saying that domestic violence should be tolerated and I truly believe that people with anger issues need to seek help. I also believe that when you are a victim of any type of violence it takes a lot of courage to come forward and seek help.

However, here’s the thing: When two people are in a fight and they are both throwing things at each other and screaming and crying and scratching each other that is NOT domestic violence. That is a fight, a fair and equal fight.

When working with a woman and her two small children recently I learned that I was helping someone that was lying. I helped her hide her children from their father, I helped her get a restraining order against him and when I learned the truth about the situation I felt horrible for the guy. She didn’t have any proof; it was merely her word against his. Judges ALWAYS air on the side of caution and almost ALWAYS grant a temporary restraining order, because that’s exactly what it is, TEMPORARY.

So, yeah, I feel like shit for helping a woman press false charges against a man that just wanted to see his kids, that’s it…nothing else.

I’ve learned though, and when the next lady came around claiming that her husband was being abusive I looked into it further, I asked questions. She claims to have filed a restraining order against him in the past, and guess what? No order in the system. That’s the beautiful thing about public records, THEY’RE PUBLIC!!

So basically what I’m seeing is that the majority of women out there are bitches that lie in order to gain control of their exes and to help them look like the good guy (girl). It sickens me that people would purposely paint these disgusting portraits of their exes. But, what sickens me even more are the women that come in for help and they’re not believed or they’re hushed and sent home.

I struggle constantly. I try to look at these women and believe every word they tell me, but sometimes I can't. Sometimes I need proof, and that's pretty pathetic coming from a woman whose life depended on a stranger believing her.

These thoughts have created a conundrum in my head and I have a headache.

Holy Noodles another teenager!!

Megan Marie,

I know turning thirteen on the thirteenth is a really big deal in your head, and trust me, keeping this surprise party a surprise has been really, really hard, especially when I saw the disappointment in your face when I said, ‘No party this year.’ Although you were upset you took it like a champ and never complained or argued.

You, Miss Megan have no idea what you have given this family. Through you we have all learned to enjoy every second of life as if it’s the last second. Through your determination you have showed us all that anything is possible. From the moment you were born you were a fighter and when the doctors told me that you might not survive I never believed them, I just looked at your tiny naked body and said, ‘yes she will, she’s a fighter.’ And you are. You’re mentally, emotionally and physically strong and you have an amazing future. You’re going to be something huge.

Holy noodles, you’re a teenager.

I love you Meggie Moo. We all love you!

Happy Thirteenth!

Love Mom

P.S. Just because you’re thirteen that does NOT mean you can double pierce your ears, pierce your belly button, start lying, cheating, or stealing. You cannot have boys sleep over or wear short shorts (yes I threw that too short pair away. You’ll thank me some day). You also cannot talk back and you must keep your grades up. I don't understand the fascination with make-up, but I'll meet you half way, you can wear a little mascara, but not at school. Also, it would be really fantastic if you could keep that shrieking thing under control.

I'm kind of a big deal

I found this on my computer this morning from my ten year old who claims to have laminated her eyes and blames 'society' for her messy room.



*click to enlarge*

Yes, it says: 1st Place Champion of the world.

I'm practically famous.