THAT Lady...

Think back to the days before you had kids. Remember THAT lady? You know the one I mean. The one with the screaming, asshole kids. Maybe you were in the grocery store and you rolled your eyes as she gave in to her screaming toddler's candy tantrum. Maybe you were in Target and she was the absent one, presumably, I don't know, fluffing her hair and buying fancy chocolate in another aisle while her little beasts terrorized the entire store. Maybe, god forbid, you were in a restaurant and you just wanted to enjoy your cocktail and appetizer and WHY WON'T THAT KID SHUT THE FUCK UP?

We've all been there. And we've all wondered (judged? Let's be real. We fucking judged. Hard.) why she couldn't simply control her kid. We realized the kid was an asshole, but also realized it was through no fault of his own. Asshole parents= asshole kids. There's just no getting around it. SOME people just shouldn't be allowed to procreate.

And then. YOU. BECOME. THAT. LADY. The asshole. With the screaming, heathen kid. And all your judgment for other people's parenting (mostly) goes down the toilet. The mom with the toddler tantrum? Yeah, I've given my kid candy to shut her up too. Those little bastards in Target? THE GOOD CHOCOLATE IS ALL I HAVE LEFT, AND I HAVE TO FUCKING HIDE IT AND EAT IT AT 11:00 AT NIGHT OR SHARE WITH A ONE YEAR OLD. The restaurant? The part you don't hear is me begging my daughter to "shhhh... please stop screaming!" while she chucks food and crayons at me, tries to knock my drink over and grabs at anything hot or sharp that is even remotely within reach. My husband enjoys his meal while I shovel cold food into my gullet 15 minutes after it arrives because by the time Caitlyn's food is just cool enough for her to eat, mine is inexplicably ice cold absolutely every time.

Now, when I see a toddler throwing a tantrum, I wonder to myself if I have any toys or wipes in my purse that might help that mom out. I smile knowingly. What do I know? That kids are, in fact, assholes all on their own.

Let me rephrase that. Caitlyn isn't necessarily an asshole. Not all the time. In fact, not even MOST of the time. Most of the time she is sweet and lovely and charms the pants off of nearly everyone she meets. I think this is probably the case with most kids. And if you really think about how many kids there are at any given time in a grocery store or a Target, realistically, a good majority of them are being really good. But you don't notice the good ones. You only notice the assholes because those are the ones fucking up your shopping experience.

So I guess I'm saying sometimes kids are bad. And sometimes they are SO fucking bad that you want to crawl into a hole and die of embarrassment because you know everyone in the restaurant hates you right now. And no matter how quickly you shovel your food, grab the check and hightail it out of there, the 22 year olds at the table next to you are still going to tell everyone about the horrible mom with the jerkiest, whiniest kid EVER that they shouldn't even take out in public who sat next to them that night and ruined their good time.

Caitlyn has been on the receiving end of some bitchin' ass molars for the last month or so. And really, I've never seen her so volatile and easily irritated and prone to just going completely off the deep end at the slightest inconvenience. She's generally a little, ahem, used to getting her way anyway, but she's also usually easily placated when she doesn't get what she wants. But molars, man. Fucking molars are baby PMS. Between the mood swings and only wanting to eat ice cream, there simply isn't a better way to describe it.

So what I'm saying is, if you see me at the grocery store feeding my baby cookies while she stands in the cart and whines, don't fucking judge me. Because really, she's usually pretty awesome.

The Early Bird Gets the Taxidermied Cat (because you have to order those things WAY in advance)

Last year at Christmas, Caitlyn was only 7 months old. I was just getting out of my retail job at the beginning of December and I didn't really have a chance to fully appreciate just how awesome it was to not have to kill myself for the entire month.

When it came to Christmas shopping, I mostly did it in bursts. I'd spend my lunch hour shopping at my mall or I'd go to Walmart after work and try to get gifts for as many people as possible so I could avoid going to the store more than a few times. Caitlyn got a few toys, but I really didn't go overboard. I mean, my mom certainly did. I quite literally needed 2 cars to get home with all the stuff she bought. But I knew she was getting a ton of stuff, so maybe that's why I only bought a few things.

This year though, I'm truly looking forward to the holidays like I haven't been able to in years. And it's perfect timing because Caitlyn is now old enough to really enjoy them with me. My point is that I've started thinking about shopping for Christmas much earlier than I ever have before (mostly because I'm finally not dreading it), which got me to wondering what I should get her this year.

I know I want to get her a toy kitchen. Mostly because then maybe she will stop taking things out of my cabinets. And maybe a tricycle, though I'm not sure if she's really old enough for that yet. Besides those two things though, I'm kind of lost. So I started thinking about her interests. What does Caitlyn like? How can I leverage that into the perfect Christmas gift? So based on her current interests and hobbies, here is my list of possible appropriate gifts:

1. A Taxidermied Cat: Because she loves the living one SO MUCH, but she always runs away when Caitlyn tries to use her as a pillow! And fake stuffed animals just aren't the same!

2. Rock Climbing Lessons: Because the desk chair, baseboard heaters, kitchen table and her crib are no longer challenging her inner monkey. I supposed we will have to find a REALLY small harness, but it will be worth it if this in any way sets a fear of heights into motion. Because fuck kid, you are currently a fearless maniac.

3. Assorted Chew Toys and 500 Ice Pops: See The Teething Monster.

4. A Copy of "The Dukan Diet": Because it's all the rage now, and Caitlyn seems very concerned about keeping her girlish figure. The other night we had chicken, french fries and salad for dinner. After several failed attempts to get her to eat both chicken and fries, she pointed to my salad and said "puh-puh-puh" (this is Caitlyn for "please", because I'm the kind of mom who teaches my kid to be civilized and shit). I scoffed, but handed her a piece of lettuce thinking she would realize it was not candy and maybe decide to eat some chicken. Except she decided that lettuce was delicious and the only thing she was willing to eat that night. So I suspect she is already on a diet and I wouldn't want to derail that by offering her fat people food like french fries ever again. Actually... wait a minute. Did she just call me fat? Because I definitely WAS eating the french fries. I don't need your judgment, you freakishly tiny child!

5. An Ipod Touch: Because she loves to dance. This is a responsible purchase for a less than 2 year old, right? I mean, they have droolproofing or some shit, don't they? Stupid "genius" motherfuckers can pack 2,000 songs onto something the size of the palm of my hand but they can't create a droolproof case? Geniuses my ass.

6. Something That Brown People Like: Because she has recently been spotted being inappropriately loud in public, laughing at everything like someone just told OMGTHEBESTJOKEEVER, scowling at me as she openly disapproves of my choices, regardless of whether or not I've asked for her opinion and disregarding the fact that SOME people have jobs to go to in the morning. So... Coronas? I don't know. Any suggestions would be greatly appreciated.


So what are you guys getting your kids this year? What else does Caitlyn need, because I'm pretty sure 2 taxidermied cats would be overkill.

The Teething Monster

You know how everyone tells you how you hardly get any sleep with a newborn? That you will be like a zombie mindlessly buzzing through the night and maybe accidentally breastfeeding the cat? Well, it wasn't like that for me.

When Caitlyn was a newborn, I had a pretty sweet deal. My in-laws were here from Peru for the first month of her life and every morning when they woke up, they would take care of her for a few hours and let me sleep, and when she would nap during the day, so would I.

That's not to say I didn't have a lot on my plate already... pumping every 2 hours was kicking my ass, but in the way of actual sleep, I wasn't doing too bad.

My in-laws left when Caitlyn was just about a month old and I was prepared for zombification. Except Caitlyn started sleeping through the night. She's always been a night owl, just like me, so it wasn't even a big deal that she didn't go to bed until midnight or 1am, because she would sleep till 9 or 10 the next morning. I was getting a few hours less sleep when I went back to work a month after that, but I still had a pretty sweet deal.

You know what no one warned me about though? That no matter how good a sleeper you have, once the teething monster shows up, you are FUCKED. You aren't ever going to sleep again. At least that's how it feels.

Teething is like Fight Club. Ed Norton and Brad Pitt are the same fucking guy. Teething Caitlyn and non-teething Caitlyn are the same baby. Mornings are fine. She wakes up bright as the morning sun, all smiles and rainbows and shit. She gives me a bit of trouble with eating, but she's always been a bit of a picky eater, so I roll with it. As the day wears on, she holds her shit together just fine. And then 8:00pm hits and she snaps and beats the shit out of my REM cycles for the next 11 hours.

Here is a breakdown of our night as we fight the demon inside of Caitlyn ('s gums):

7:30pm: Dinner time. This is when shit starts to hit the fan. Caitlyn spends half of dinner time begging for a drink and the other half feeding scraps to the dog. You know what the dog can't get out of my rug? Individual pieces of white rice. That shit sticks, yo. Which is probably why as soon as I give up on feeding her and take her out of her high chair, she gets on her hands and knees and tries to eat the food out of the rug. Because she's CONSIDERATE like that.

8:00pm: Climbing time - part one. This usually occurs while I'm cleaning up after dinner. Caitlyn will decide that there's something important that she MUST have on the dining room table. It's ironic that she almost immediately tries to climb up the dining room chairs after spending the previous 10 minutes reaching out for me and clutching my face, begging to be taken out of her high chair, but it always seems to happen.

8:15pm: Acrobatic feats of fearlessness. Last night was a doozy. My dining room table is roughly 6 steps away from my kitchen sink. I cleared the plates from dinner and took those 6 steps into the kitchen, spending an additional 10 seconds to quickly rinse the plates. After no more than 30 seconds, I walked back to the dining room to see Caitlyn standing on top of the table, all triumphant and shit (where was Dad, you ask? In the same room, facing the TV, watching football highlights. Fucker.).

8:30pm: Bath time. Wherein I remove a whining and defeated Caitlyn from her Kilamanjaro-esque glory to delouse her of the food, dog slobber and filth she's coated in (seriously, toddlers are the fucking filthiest creatures you will ever encounter).

8:45pm: I put Caitlyn's diaper on. She takes her diaper off. On. Off. On. Off. At the very least, she finds this exchange amusing and doesn't whine.

9:00pm: This is when Caitlyn is clearly overtired but refuses to go to sleep. Every exchange we have is me taking her off of something she's climbing or yelling at her for pulling the outlet covers off and sticking them up her nose and she responds by throwing herself to the ground in protest. I give her a bottle and put her in her crib, hoping she finally gives in, but alas, she finishes her bottle and cries until I pick her up (there are rare occassions where she will nap for 20 minutes, but this always fails as it rejuvenates her for at least 3 more hours). And I swear to god if I see the words "sleep training" anywhere in the fucking comments, I'm just going to snap. I'm a woman on the edge, motherfuckers. I haven't had a good night's sleep in months.

9:15pm: I pick her up. Obviously. She rewards me by throwing her arms around me and squealing with delight- "DADDY!".

9:30-10:30pm: Climbing time- part 2. Also? Pull things out of drawers time, because Caitlyn is kind of an asshole when she's overtired. This is also the point where I entrusted her to her Dad again for a few minutes and she managed to end up on top of the dining room table again. At least she was sitting this time. Drinking a glass of soda her Dad left there. Caffeine. Perfect!

10:30pm: This is the bedtime threshold at our house. It's finally late enough that we might get her to go to sleep. Except she doesn't go to sleep. She cries. Fuck. I iron my work clothes and try to ignore her. I do not succeed. You know who DOES succeed? Her Daddy. Because "she needs to learn to LISTEN". Jeez fucker, she's TEETHING.

11:00pm: Out of the crib again, because she's been blubbering inconsolably for 30 minutes now. Maybe 30 more minutes of play time will tire her out? Because mommy needs some fucking sleep and is currently willing to try anything.

11:30pm: Back to her crib. And she's crying again. MOTHERFUCKER JUST GO TO SLEEP KID. Give her another bottle, which she casts aside like a D list actress in Hollywood.

11:45pm: Take her into bed with me. Sing, stroke her hair, rock her. All to no avail. I finally decide that maybe she's hungry, since she hardly ate anything and bring her into the kitchen and feed her watermelon. This calms her down a bit.

11:55pm: Back to my bed where I finally manage to rock her into a fitful sleep. I put her into her crib and collapse into my own bed.

12:03am: Caitlyn wakes up. Again. I successfully ignore her and 10 minutes later, she falls back to sleep.

2:00am: Caitlyn wakes up screaming. I make her a bottle, which she refuses to drink. I check her diaper and find that it's wet. I change her and try the bottle again. She takes it for a moment. Just long enough for me to crawl back into bed. Then she starts screaming again.

2:10am: Hold down a sobbing Caitlyn while Rodolfo forces Tylenol down her gullet because she keeps dribbling it out of the side of her mouth. This has enraged her and her little face is bright red and tear-soaked. Which makes me feel like the worst parent on the planet.

2:20am: Continue to rock Caitlyn while Rodolfo makes her a juice bottle, which we hope will go over better than the milk. It does not. When he walks back in the room, she reaches out to him and begs for her Daddy through her sobs. Because Mommy is not good in a crisis, apparently.

2:25am: I decide an ice pop might soothe her gums. That's right. I gave my kid an ice pop at 2:30 in the morning. She refuses the ice pop at first, but also freaks out when I take it away at Rodolfo's request because she's got it pressed into his chest, all sticky and melty.

2:35am: Caitlyn finally calms down enough to eat her ice pop. It must have helped because as Rodolfo laid her in her crib, I heard him ask "what are you smiling about?". She finally goes to sleep for the night.

6:00am: Time to get up. Awesome. I feel SUPER rested!

If I Were Smart, I Wouldn't Make a Separate Post for AIDS Jokes

First of all, if you haven't read this post, please do so before you read any further. Because this post contains quite a few offensive jokes about AIDS and I think you have to understand the context of why these jokes even came about to understand why I am not the worst person in the world. I don't need the angry townsfolk chasing me with torches and shit.

Did you read it? Ok, if you aren't going to read it let me at least give you the short version: My dad is the most ignorant person on the planet and has an irrational fear of getting AIDS despite not having been laid in 2 decades and never having been an IV drug user. He IS a frequent user, however, of used mattresses, so he feels this fear is warranted. The following transpired on Facebook after I had to explain to him for the umpteenth time all the ways he CAN'T get AIDS.

My original status: Every time I talk to my dad, I feel like a Public Service Announcement for AIDS awareness. I always have to explain to him the ways you can't get AIDS.

Nadine: he probably has feline AIDS (this is an ongoing joke because I once found that someone had written in Sharpie on a seat on my train that "Jerry has feline AIDS).

Me: that's unfair. Jerry has feline AIDS.

Nadine: Your dad has bedbug AIDS.

Me: Did you know that if you go to Africa and get bitten by a mosquito, you automatically have AIDS?

Nadine: You get AIDS if you watch Philadelphia more than twice.

Me: Anyone who has ever cleaned a public toilet has AIDS.

Nadine: Anyone who has ever USED a public toilet has AIDS.

Me: Anyone who has ever shook hands with anyone who has ever used a public toilet has AIDS.

Nadine: We're maybe going to hell by the way.

Me: Yes, I was just thinking about how tasteless this entire thread is.

Nadine: If a cat licks your finger when you point at it, you might have feline AIDS.

Me: Did you know that it's legally required of you to have AIDS if your job is to draw blood?

Nadine: If the groundhog doesn't see his shadow on February 2nd, it's because he has AIDS.

Me: If you eat at the same restaurant as someone who has AIDS and you get the fork they used, you totally get AIDS from it.

Me: Little known fact: The Easter bunny has AIDS.

Me: BUNNY AIDS.

Nadine: If you ever got to Pittsburgh you have AIDS.

Nadine: Because it's a filthy needle town.

Me: Did you realize that AIDS can be carried through electrical current? That's why if you get struck by lightning, you kind of hope you die, because if you don't you are going to have AIDS anyway.

Me: And according to Facebook, "Lil Wayne" is related to my post... which leads me to believe that if you go to a Lil Wayne concert, you have AIDS. Which, by the way, you totally deserve for being a Lil Wayne fan.

Nadine: Common grammatical errors involving your/you're, their/there/they're are side effects of AIDS.

Me: The smell emitted by skunks? AIDS juice.

Nadine: If you legally purchase a Kelly Clarkson CD, they give you complimentary AIDS at the register. If you download it, you get computer AIDS.

Bernadette: Nadine, I'm pretty sure you got AIDS that time you bought the Karen Gross CD.

Nadine: Ugh. I was drunk. I felt bad for her. Now I have AIDS. Damn.

Me: And Chlamydia, from that Katy Perry song on your ipod.

Sal: Or butt sex.

Me: I think my friends are fantastic because somehow no one is offended by this.

Nadine: September 11th is the one day of the year where you can merrily make all the AIDS jokes your heart desires.

Me: Mike (Nadine's bf), I know you got jokes. How come you never add to my really offensive shit?

Sal: He's too busy getting AIDS.

Me: HAHAHAHAHA. Mike has the AIDS, people. He got it from being a Columbian coke mule (because how can I be TRULY offensive if I don't make at least ONE racist comment, right?).

Me: You are making my life, Sal.

Sal: You know what doesn't? Feline AIDS.

Me: I heard you can get feline AIDS from sharing a litter box with a cat. Which Mike obviously does.

Sal: I heard they lick each other clean...

Me: No swapping bodily fluids! That's like AIDS Gettin' 101.

Nadine: Little Guy (her cat) got feline AIDS when Daisy (my cat) tried to de-flower him.

And finally... to end the conversation, for the AIDS joke of all AIDS jokes... my hilarious sister, A.

A: Seriously Jac, I feel the same way. Lol (so majestic, so understated. I wish I could be this funny.).

FIN. No torches, okay? You guys promised!

Shit My Dad Says- No Really

Remember when I told you my dad was an asshole? It was a two-parter, because he's THAT big of an asshole. Well, did I mention that he's also dumb? Before I give you the conversation we had last night, let me remind you of a few key points:

• My dad is kind of (definitely?) a hobo. He is not currently homeless; he is living in a rooming house, but he has been homeless many times before.


• My dad never paid child support to my mother and spent a short period of time in jail for it


• My dad is a ridiculous hypochondriac

Ok. Now that you are all up to speed, let's get into that amazing conversation, shall we?

Me: Hello?

Dad: This is your father (He ALWAYS starts a phone conversation with "this is your father". That's what caller ID is for, bitch).

Me: Hi Dad. What's up?

Dad: Remember how I told about the bed in my room?

Me: Umm... I remember you saying it sucked and your back hurt.

Dad: And that I've been getting sick all the time since I've been living here?

Me: I remember you saying that air-conditioning gives you pneumonia (again, I wish I were exaggerating for comedic enhancement. He really believes air-conditioning causes pneumonia).

Dad: Well I figured out why I keep getting sick. I threw that mattress out today. There was blood on the bottom of it.

Me: Well... that's gross, but I doubt it was making you sick.

Dad: There were bugs too, like those little red bugs. They had fresh blood in them too.

Me: ...

Dad: I wonder if the guy who lived here before me killed someone on that bed who had AIDS.

Me: ...

Dad: Those bugs had fresh blood in them, Jaclyn!

Me: Dad, we've been over this. Remember when you were in jail and you thought you had AIDS because a bunch of the guys in there with you were drug dealers?

Dad: One of the guys worked in the kitchen and he always gave me a special tray. He was definitely trying to poison me (with AIDS, presumably).

Me: Dad, you do not have AIDS. You can't get AIDS from sleeping on a sheet on top of a mattress that has some dried blood on the bottom where you aren't even in contact with it.

Dad: I think I have AIDS.

The worst part is that we have had a very similar exchange on many occasions. It's not 1982 anymore and he has absolutely no excuse to be this ignorant. And even if he is oblivious to how AIDS is transmitted, you would think his fear would have him do enough research to know a little bit about how AIDS actually effects a body and what kind of timeframe it takes to kill a person. Or that it actually doesn't kill a person, but rather that they die of complications from other illnesses. Not the least of which would be air-conditioning pneumonia.

So he has been living in his current place for less than 6 months. And he believes that not only did he aquire HIV through the air or bugs or some shit, but that it has turned into full-blown AIDS in half a year. My god.

After that was a whole host of really tasteless jokes with Nadine on Facebook about how you can get AIDS, but I'll spare you those unless you REALLY want to see them and also promise not to send me threatening letters.

The Reach-Around. For Diapers.

I keep telling myself "post something funny on your blog today". And then I read other people's blogs instead because apparently other people have funny things to say.

So here's what I've got:

You know how sometimes it is required of you to take off your bra without taking off your shirt? This is a skill you probably learned in your teens, when second base was usually reached after 3 Smirnoff Ices and possibly in a car or a park or somewhere you can't really take your shirt off. So you mastered the ole' reach around. Wait. Not THAT kind of reach around. The kind where you unhook your bra and pull it out of your sleeve and the dude thinks you are a fucking magician because he just spent the last 20 minutes trying and failing to unhook it.

I certainly still take my bra off like this today, but the circumstances are considerably less interesting. Usually its when I just get home from work and my underwire has been digging into my back fat all day and I'm all "OMG I NEED TO GET THIS SHIT OFF ME RIGHT NOW". And then you walk around the rest of the day braless and wonder if it really does make your tits sag. Or maybe that was just the breastfeeding. Or the 60lbs you've gained since high school. There are so many reasons why your 30 year old tits sag more than your 18 year old ones. So. Many. Reasons.

Anyway. Back to the point. Houdini-ing off a bra was a skill I learned young (especially since I had to start wearing one when I was 11 and already most of the way to a C cup). Caitlyn does not yet wear bras, but I suspect she already instinctively knows how to do the Reach Around.

The reason I know this is because Caitlyn has recently decided that wearing a diaper is against everything she believes in. I mean, the CAT doesn't wear a diaper, and she surely believes in the cat. Neither do any of the members of the Fresh Beat Band, though I suspect Twist is about 3 brain cells away from being legally retarded, so maybe he wears one under his spectacular black jeans and yellow hoodie. Who knows.

My point is that diapers are apparently the most annoying thing ever, as of the last week or so. This isn't uncommon with babies. They all reach a point where they realize those shitty little velcro straps are REALLY easy to undo. For most parents, this is a relatively easy fix. Onesies cut off access to those straps. So do pants. Except...

I knew pants weren't the answer. Caitlyn has been taking her pants off since she was 5 or 6 months old. So I went the onesie route. And then I found out that she can pull her diaper out of the leg holes of her onesie like a hormonal teenager removing her bra through the arm holes of her Miley Cyrus tank top in the back seat of a Chevy.

She usually keeps pants on during the day now though, so I caved and tried the pants. She didn't need to take those off either to successfully remove her diaper. I present Exhibit A:

Notice how she's holding her diaper AND wearing shorts? Yeah. Duct tape. That's my new game plan.