Monday, December 19, 2011

All I Want For Christmas is Poo

Update: If you are Marlene, maybe don't read this. No wait. Definitely don't read this. Your son seems to think I will scar you for life. <3

Every year Rodolfo and I go through this. Every year I ask what he wants for Christmas and he says I shouldn't get him anything. What this usually means is "we can't afford what I want". The thing about Rodolfo is, when he wants something small, he just goes out and buys it for himself, but when he wants anything priced over $50 or so, he covets it for years before he actually makes a purchase. He's very financially responsible like that. He is the kind of guy who will always put responsibility before pleasure and he can never seem to justify spending a lot of money on something just because he wants it.

For this reason, I always try to get him something nice for Christmas. He works hard and he hardly ever buys himself anything he really wants. The last couple of years have worked out well. Two years ago, he wanted a new TV. I got a rather large bonus that year and lied to him about it so I could get his TV in secret. He was like a little kid when he opened that shit. Then last year, my mom paid for half of his PS3 because he had wanted it for years and she knew I couldn't afford it on my own. Also, because she is awesome.

This year I'm at a loss. All of my money went to Caitlyn. I didn't think ahead. I can't afford to get him anything that isn't shitty.

It gets worse. He is notoriously grinchy at Christmas. Not in that he doesn't always get me a present. He doesn't really mind that part at all. He's just never quite what I'd call "in the spirit". Last year, we didn't get our Christmas tree until less than a week before Christmas. Because he thinks its stupid. And a waste of money. He gets annoyed when I decorate. He hates the time I spend baking cookies and resents all the money we spend on people we "only see once a year".

This year is different. This year he is practically Santa Claus. Our tree went up on December 1st. He merrily spent $50 on it without complaining once. When I started shopping for Caitlyn in October, he never questioned how much I was spending. He asked me what kind of cookies I was making this year and even tried a few (Rodolfo doesn't like cookies. Yeah. WTF). On a particularly warm night last week, we walked around our neighborhood with Caitlyn, checking out the lights and decorations and general merriment. He's even had on Christmas music every time I've gotten into his car in the past few weeks.

It's been strange. But in a pleasant way. I'm all about Christmas, so it's nice to not have him Scrooging up my game.

I know Caitlyn is to thank for it all. Last year he felt she wasn't old enough to know the difference. This year he sees the joy in her face when we pass by a lighted house and the mischief in her smile as she snatches cookies off the table. Caitlyn really made the Grinch's heart grow three sizes and shit.

Anyway. Back to my point:

I'm going to have to take it in the ass for Christmas. I just know it. This is the only thing Rodolfo consistently asks of me for Christmas (and his birthday and our anniversary). And every time I tell him no. Because I fucking hate it. I can count on one hand the number of times I've actually let him do it. Even if I lost two of the fingers on that hand in some sort of horrific industrial accident. Yes. Now you know exactly how many times my ass has been violated. You're welcome.

But I'm not ready to give way to the Grinch again next year, and I feel like I need some sort of Pavlovian reward for his excellent behavior. But I have no money and no ideas.


Tuesday, December 13, 2011

Parenting for Dummies- Chapter One: Don't Let Your Kid Eat Glass

You know that expression about assuming? When you assume, you make an ass out of u and me. I've found this expression is doubly true when you have a toddler: Don't assume she wants to use the potty just because she's taken off her diaper. Don't assume she's hungry just because she said she wants to eat. Don't assume she wants you to hold her just because she's standing at your feet, begging a chorus of "up"s. Because she will make you look like an asshole every single time.

Monday was Christmas baking day. I had taken the day off and spent most of it making a delicious array of cookies. Caitlyn thought cookie baking day was amazing. Obviously. She wanted to help. She smiled and giggled as I gave her little tastes. She snuck up behind me when I wasn't paying attention and snatched cookies off the table. It was exactly what I envisioned when I thought of having a daughter. It was everything simple and joyful about creating little traditions together. Right up until we had to make a trip to the Emergency Room.

You see, I made an assumption. It was late and I had finally finished my baking. As I packed up my cookies, Caitlyn walked by me chewing on something. A cookie, no doubt. Except of course, it was not a cookie at all. It was a glass Christmas ball. She was holding it like an apple and taking bites of it. And chewing it. And swallowing it.

Really kid?

I can't quite figure out what is appealing about chewing on a piece of glass, but Caitlyn was downright confused when I freaked out and snatched it out of her hands.

I guess I should have seen it coming. She's been calling them apples ever since we put up our Christmas tree. Naturally I worried that one might break and cut her, which is why everything made of glass was very deliberately placed above waist height. I honestly can't even figure out how she got a hold of it. But she did. And she thought it was delicious.

A quick call to the pediatrician confirmed that we would need to take her to the ER for an x-ray. We were there from about 10pm till 1:30am. Which is way past Caitlyn's bedtime. I expected her to be cranky, but apparently the ER is the most novel place in the world if you don't actually feel sick.

Our 3 and a half hours in the ER broke down a little something like this:

10pm-10:20pm- Admissions and waiting room.

10:20pm-10:30pm- Caitlyn sits patiently (haha- PATIENTLY!) while a nurse takes her vitals and puts an ID bracelet on her.

10:30pm-10:50pm- Caitlyn tries to take off her hospital bracelet (she succeeded about 2 hours in)

10:50pm-10:52pm- Caitlyn is put in a hospital gown, which she promptly rips off and spends most of the rest of the night in her diaper.

10:52pm-11:05pm- Caitlyn turns the TV off. Caitlyn turns the TV on. Lather, rinse, repeat.

11:05pm-11:15pm- Actual interaction with a doctor. Many jokes about Caitlyn having "the Christmas Spirit inside of her".

11:15pm-12:00am- Caitlyn licks or kisses a surface which I do not deem sanitary.

12:00am-12:30am- Caitlyn runs squealing toward the door of her room. Rodolfo has to repeatedly block her from running through the halls of the ER.

12:30am-12:45am- Dora the Explorer DVD while we wait, followed by 2 x-rays where Caitlyn does a mostly awesome job of standing still and we get the front and side view on the first shot.

12:45am-1:00am- Caitlyn opens and slams shut the cabinet doors in her room. She tries to steal gowns and blankets. She catches her dad's hand in the door when he tries to stop her.

1:00am-1:05am: Another meet-up with the doctor. "Bla-bla-bla, don't let your kid eat glass and check in with your regular pediatrician tomorrow" (this sort of makes her sound like a bitch, but actually she was awesome and Caitlyn instantly loved her).

1:05am-1:15am- Get Caitlyn dressed and go the hell home.

Did you know that if you bring your kid home from the ER and she isn't actually feeling sick, she will be all fucking wound up like you went to fucking Disneyland or something and not want to go to bed till 2:30 in the morning? Also, she will sleep till noon the next day which you will appreciate at the time but not as much when you actually have to go back to work the following day and her sleep schedule is all fucked up and she wants to stay up till 2am EVERY night.

Stop smiling and go the fuck to sleep

Also, does it make me an awful parent that I thought she looked adorable in the hospital gown and during the approximately 5 total minutes she was wearing it I took a bunch of pictures?

Monday, December 5, 2011

When Did Captain Hook Become Such a Little Bitch Boy?

In the beginning, I resisted it.

Children's programming.

It's kind of awful. And besides that... okay I don't want to use the word "sellout", but I was sure I wouldn't become one of those parents whose kid was brainwashed into needing everything they own to have Winnie the Goddamn Pooh on it.

Before I found my better-than-Jesus babysitter, you may remember that my sister, A., was Caitlyn's babysitter. A.'s baby shower was baby Looney Tunes. My other sister's was Minnie Mouse. In the way of not bowing to licensed merchandise, I was certainly the odd one out in my family.

My point is that, despite my distaste for the idea that a less than one year old might have a favorite TV show or cartoon character, Caitlyn was exposed to a lot of TV at my sister's house. Unlike A.'s son, she was not mesmerized by the TV at 4 months old or anything, but she certainly had a few shows that would capture her attention for at least a few minutes per episode.

Caitlyn did not watch TV at home until she was well over a year old. I just didn't see the point. She was so focused on things like learning to walk and talk, that she didn't need anything else to occupy her time. But as she's grown into a toddler (and gotten a new babysitter who doesn't plop her in front of the TV all the goddamn time), I've relaxed my stance on TV a bit.

Okay. So now that we have established how superior I am, and that it isn't my fault that my kid likes to watch TV, let me tell you the story of how I discovered the huge difference in cartoons now, compared to when I was a child:

I had on the Disney channel the other day. I wasn't particularly paying attention to it and neither was Caitlyn. She was off shitting on my floor or something. At some point though, something on the TV caught my attention (I believe it was the word "doubloons")and I started to watch.

The show was called Neverland Pirates or some bullshit like that. It was a modern twist on Peter Pan. Except that the "modern twist" is that Captain Hook is a total bitch boy whose only recourse when things don't go his way is to throw a hissy fit and stomp around like an impotent douche. In fact, during this particular episode (about "winter treasure day"-where they decorate a tree and give each other gifts- nice job appeasing those Jews, Disney), Peter Pan and Captain Hook amicably agree to split their found treasure and have a lovely holiday dinner together. Really? Come on. That is one pathetic villain. Can you even imagine Inspector Gadget inviting Dr. Claw to a family dinner after he tried to rape and pillage Penny yet again? No. You can not. BECAUSE HE'S THE FUCKING VILLAIN AND IF YOU INVITE HIM TO YOUR HOUSE FOR DINNER HE WILL PROBABLY JUST BURN IT DOWN BECAUSE THAT'S THE KIND OF SHIT VILLAINS DO.

It got me thinking though, about the shows Caitlyn watches. She's young, so I don't expect to see any truly villainous villains in a show meant for toddlers, but still, I think current children's programming is going to turn our kids into pussies.

Remember the Looney Tunes we would watch? Have you ever seen that shit as an adult? Even if you are able to ignore all the blatant violence, those cartoons were not pussy-makers. Elmer Fudd was stupid and mean-spirited. He had no redeeming qualities. If Bugs invited him over to dinner, you knew he was trying to trick him or something. Daffy Duck was arrogant. Bugs' girlfriend was kind of a whore. Foghorn Leghorn did not like black people. Did. Not. Like. Black. People. Have you ever taken a moment, as an adult, to think about the phrase "cotton pickin'" and to realize how often we heard it as kids on Looney Tunes? Did I just blow your mind? Yeah. Thought so.

Today's kids shows lack conflict. I think kids need to know that life doesn't always just sort itself out in 30 minutes or less, that sometimes the villain is still around even after the immediate problem is solved. In real life, Pablo, Tyrone and Uniqua might wear different colors, if you know what I'm saying. Twist might not be accepted as just another part of the gang, despite his obvious mental retardation. Toodles isn't always within earshot to bring you what you need.

I'm not saying I want my kid to be exposed to the sexuality and racism that our cartoons were kind of known for. I'm just saying, for fucks sake, can't Captain Hook be a real fucking villain?

Thursday, December 1, 2011

(Deadbeat) Daddy Dearest

We've been over it a few times now: My dad is the fucking definition of a deadbeat dad. Wait. Let me offer a correction: He was a deadbeat dad. I'm an adult now. His current role is as passive-aggressive, homeless man-child and constant burden. Because I don't fucking need him anymore. Wait. Let me offer another correction: I NEVER needed him. My mom was enough of a parent to make him completely obsolete.

The problem is that, for my mother, taking on both roles took its toll and she certainly paid the price for it. Specifically, she had her first of several heart attacks at the ripe old age of 38. Fucking 38, man. That is goddamn ridiculous. But it's a price she happily paid. A price I know she would pay again, not only for her children but for her grandchildren as well. Because as I've learned during the last couple of years, as a parent, you do ANYTHING for your children.

Childless people think we are smug. They get annoyed when we tell them they don't really understand because they aren't parents themselves. And I get how that is annoying. But as a child, teenager, adult and married adult, my first instinct had always been self-preservation. It's not that I've ever been selfish, in fact, I've always thought of myself as a very unselfish person. It's the difference between wanting the people you love to have everything, loving them and enjoying their company and literally being willing to throw yourself in front of a bus for someone.

Childless people? Take a moment. Really imagine the scenario. Would you be able to do it? Even for the person you love most in the world? I wouldn't do that shit for my husband or my sisters or anyone else. But I would really and truly die for Caitlyn, without hesitation. I would give myself a heart attack working 4 jobs for 10 years straight if it was all we could do to scrape by.

I don't think I'm different than any other parent in this way. Everyone would die for their kids, but for me it goes a bit deeper than that. Because one of my kids did die. So maybe everyone doesn't actually imagine it. They don't actually think about what they would do to have their child back. They don't visualize the sacrifices they would be willing to make. But I do. Sadly, I always fucking do.

My point is kind of getting lost here. This morning I received an email from a coworker. In my company email account. From hers. And it honestly took everything I had not to completely lose my shit on her. It was about child support. Specifically, the email was several paragraphs of her thoughts on the child support system, followed by a link to a petition to change child support laws.

Okay. I am the child of a deadbeat dad. I get it, I'm biased, but this shit was ridiculous. Let me give you the highlights:

"I hope this email finds you well!"

This just seems like an odd intro to an email about corruption and evil mothers. Is it just me?

"I know several Fathers who are good dads that continue to be slaughtered by the courts & conniving mothers, who are well aware of their leverage with our court systems."

This is the sentence that nearly gave me a stroke. "Conniving mothers" in particular. I'm not about to say that all mothers are great and that none of them take advantage. I'm sure it happens. But frankly, demonizing moms is NOT going to win any points with me. Also? "I know several fathers" makes me think she fucks a lot of guys with kids. Also? WHY THE FUCK DOES SHE CAPITALIZE FATHERS? Mothers are conniving and somehow fathers are being deified? DON'T EVEN.

"We want to make a difference to stop the corruption that this madness has turned into."

I'd love to know what is corrupt about expecting a man to pay child support.

"We need to keep the court systems fair and just. Bad Fathers need to be punished! Good Fathers need to be rewarded!"

I'd like to know who is judging the "bad" and "good" fathers. A man can refuse to support his children, but as long as he shows up on weekends with enough cash to take the kids to McDonalds, then he is a great dad? School clothes, food, a roof over your head? Who needs them! Daddy of the year needs to save his cash for the chick he's banging.

I hope you make a difference today!~

You know what would have made a difference in my childhood? Not having to visit my mother in the hospital at 14 years old because she could afford to pay our rent without doing our landlord's landscaping for approximately $3 per hour.

"Good Dads shouldn't be forced to pay unfair percentages in child support and have minimal visitation of their children".

Okay. If this had simply said "dads shouldn't be forced to pay child support while only having minimal visitation of their children", I would have agreed. But "unfair percentages"? The percentage quoted in this email, for the record, is 17%. Which is admittedly rough on any one's paycheck. But you know what else is rough on a paycheck? SUPPORTING AND CARING FOR A CHILD. You know what is relatively inexpensive? CONDOMS. I'm just saying.

My point is simply that my mother spent 100% of her income on providing for her children. For at least 15 years. In fact, a lot of the work she did for our landlord was simply deducted off of our rent, so I'd say it was actually more than 100%. What is 17% compared to every dime (no, really. Literally every dime) you make? And in case you think I'm exaggerating, the story me and my siblings always tell is about the pair of sneakers my mom had for 8 years. And I don't mean one of many pairs. I mean she owned one pair of shoes and wore them every day for 8 years without ever buying a new pair. Because she couldn't afford it, even if they did have huge holes in the bottoms.

The thing that bugs me more than anything is the implication that these moms are pissing away their child support money on themselves. This was something I had to clarify for my own deadbeat dad. You see, in my family we are huge Yankees fans. Huge. And back in the 90s, you could get UPCs off of bottled water and get tickets buy one get one free. And it was only about $25 per ticket at the time. My sister and I would save up our babysitting money and buy tickets to games to go to with our mother. Then we would stand behind the stadium (back then, you actually COULD) and wait for the players to come and sign autographs. In fact, we ended up with quite a few autographs (good ones too).

One day a few years ago my dad mentioned this to me. He commented how my mom always claimed to be so broke yet she could buy Yankees tickets and autographed memorabilia. I had to explain to him that she never actually bought any of the tickets, and that, if he really looked, he would have noticed that our autographs were ALWAYS on sheets of white paper. My mom would then cut a picture of that player out of a newspaper or magazine and put it next to their autograph. Glad we cleared that up, dumbass? Yeah. Me too.

I'm not trying to say that all dads who are put on child support are assholes. But they do all deserve to support their kids to every extent they possibly can. And maybe this is another biased thing to say, but I personally think you shouldn't need a court order to tell you to give money to the person caring for your child. I went through a "maybe I should leave my husband" phase a few months ago so child support is something I seriously thought about. What I realized is that I wouldn't need a court order. Being irresponsible is not one of Rodolfo's flaws.

Tuesday, November 29, 2011

Holiday Update


Yeah. You definitely thought this was going to be about the most recently passed holiday, Thanksgiving, didn't you? You would be wrong.

Because I'm desperately inefficient and a chronic procrastinator, I'm going to tell you about Halloween. Oh come on you guys, it's only been 29 days! Just because I'm going to pick out a Christmas tree this weekend doesn't mean its too late to talk about Halloween! Hey. You know what? FUCK YOU. I will talk about Halloween now just to spite you. Orange and Black, motherfuckers. You don't know me.

You know what I just realized? "My kid really likes candy" isn't a blog post. Maybe this is why I didn't write about Halloween sooner? I don't know. Okay. Let me put my game face on and get into this shit:

Caitlyn loved Halloween. LOVED. And obviously, the aforementioned candy was a part of that. But it wasn't actually the only part. She loved trick-or-treating even before I let her get all jacked up on sugar. Part of it is what a little attention-whore she is; she really enjoyed all the random strangers oohing and ahhing and telling her how adorable she is. She loved hanging out with her cousins. And oh-my-god did she love wearing her costume.

You see, last year I made a mistake. Last year, I put her in an awkward costume that made her sweaty and cranky. She was a hamburger last year, which was utterly adorable, but I spent $30 on a costume that she wore for no more than 20 minutes.

This year I got smart about it and picked something more practical. Caitlyn loves cats. So that is what she was. You want to know what a cat costume consists of? Black sweatpants, a black turtleneck and a headband with attached ears and an elastic band with a tail attached to go around her waist. Bam. Costume. It's been a month and she still wears those ears. And expects me to wear mine. And then we both have to meow. It's kind of adorable, actually.

Anyway, Caitlyn ran from house to house with the energy of a cheetah on meth. When someone would let her pick her piece of candy, she would hand it to one of her cousins because she's fucking adorable like that. Then I gave her a lollipop and that was her own personal Jesus Christ for the rest of trick-or-treating.

It was awesome, and Caitlyn spent the entire time giggling and running and having the greatest time ever.

Pictures you say? Of course there are pictures:

Wednesday, November 23, 2011

The Backwash Chronicles

So we've been over it a few times now: toddlers are disgusting.

But you already knew that. There is one area in particular though that gets me every time.


Last night we had pizza for dinner (because I'm a good mom and I definitely don't feed my kid shit every night for dinner- specifically, I certainly didn't feed her McDonalds chicken nuggets the night before). Caitlyn is a picky eater. This isn't news either, but she seemed to take a liking to pizza. Or PEE-AH, as she spent the next 3 hours wandering around the house calling it.

When I say she "took a liking" to pizza, let me clarify and say that she certainly did not sit nicely and eat a slice of pizza. Nope. I would guess the dog ate 3/4 of her pizza. What she liked, in particular, was sucking the sauce and grease off the pizza. I had taken off the cheese because I'm completely paranoid, so she pretty much just had the slice pushed up against her face while she licked it clean.

I'm used to this kind of stuff. She is naturally gross. But Caitlyn has this thing about having a drink after ever bite of food. She will entertain the sippy cup thing for about 5 minutes before "sharing" it with the dog by holding over his face and dropping it on top of him. And that means sippy cup time is over. Within seconds of dropping her cup, she will eye up my glass and give me her usual chorus of "puh-puh-puh" as she begs for a drink of my water. Because it is different from her water, obviously. Infinitely better, in fact.

At this point I usually try several times to give her back her sippy cup. You know how in movies sometimes a guy will sweep everything off a desk with one arm before throwing down the lady he's about to bang? That is what Caitlyn does with her sippy cup. Or pretty much anything else she doesn't want. She very dramatically sweeps everything off the tray of her high chair with one arm. It's fucking obnoxious. Anyway, after 2 or 3 times of her doing that, I usually give in and let her drink from my cup, otherwise she will refuse to eat anything else.

Which returns us to backwash. Like I said, Caitlyn's primary dinner last night consisted of pizza sauce and grease. And then I had to share my water with her. You know that thing grease does when it gets into water? How it streaks your water all white and slimy and its all you can do not to gag just looking at it? Yeah. Ask me if I was thirsty after THAT.

So I will end on this note: Dear Toddlers, DRINK FROM YOUR OWN FUCKING CUP!!! Love & Kisses, Mommy

Friday, November 11, 2011

A Pot to Piss In

As I've mentioned before, we recently decided to start potty training Caitlyn. She just turned 18 months this week, so it admittedly seemed a little soon, but my personal philosophy is to do things on her timetable and not my own, and she was showing signs that she was ready.

The primary sign was when she started taking off her diaper and pissing on my rug. The dog has really been enjoying this phase because Caitlyn leaves her diapers lying around where he can get to them (like how I just blamed my toddler for the fact that I'm a slob and leave her diapers where ever she happens to take them off? Yeah. Solid Gold Parenting, right there) and he has a delicious diaper feast.

I can't say I understand the lure of a piss soaked diaper, but Joey seems to find them exceptionally delicious. The problem is, I think it's going to make his intestines explode one day.

Have you ever seen a diaper that has been ripped open? You know how the guts are all grainy and disgusting and when they get wet, they bloat up and look like flesh-gorged maggots? Yeah. Imagine that, except in the dog's shit.

The first time he shit out diaper maggots, I about had a fucking heart attack. I was convinced he had some sort of wormy parasites, which is, by the way, like my worst fucking fear. Because worms are just... ick. Fucking icky, slimy, nasty motherfuckers. But then I realized it was just from the diaper he had eaten. And then he shit 5 more times in a row, because the whole purpose of diapers is to ABSORB and so they absorbed the FUCK out of his intestinal juices, apparently, and grew to at least triple the volume of what he had actually eaten.

Lets say he eats a diaper that is mostly dry (which is usually the case, as Caitlyn has a rug to destroy). The diaper maggots are small when he eats them, but then they bloat up in his intestines and he's sliming them out of his ass for the next half hour. I'm pretty much asking for a doggie intestinal explosion, you know? It's like the dog equivalent of Pop Rocks and soda.

Wow. This post has devolved really quickly. The intent was to talk about Caitlyn's potty training progress and somehow I've written almost entirely about the dog's anus. Time to get back on track? Unless you want to hear more about diaper maggots...

Anyway. So Caitlyn and potty training. She loves her new potty. And by loves, I do not mean she loves to use it for its intended purpose. She loves to use it as a stool next to the desk, so she can reach all the things I've put up there to keep away from her. She loves to dump it over and push the button on the bottom that plays music (which is intended to be a reward for peeing in it. So much for that). She loves to pull the little bowl out and hide it under the couch. She loves to lounge on it, fully clothed or not.

What Caitlyn doesn't love to do is pee in her new potty. She seems to understand that she's supposed to sit down when I tell her to use her potty, but she usually gets bored after a minute of sitting there and so she will get up and wander around until she's ready to pee on the rug.

I haven't been particularly bothered by any of this. Caitlyn's still young, and I have a dog, so I'm used to cleaning bodily fluids off of my carpet. And I didn't expect it to be easy. I HOPED that it would be, but I knew that was a long shot. And then it happened: a breakthrough!

The other day I was in the kitchen, making dinner. Rodolfo was in the bedroom... I don't know- not watching Caitlyn? He walked back into the living room where she had been playing and I heard him ask her why she was naked. That's when he noticed it. Pee. On her potty. Please note that I did not say IN.

As I said before, Caitlyn has a tendency to take the little bowl out of her potty and hide it. She does this constantly and she hadn't actually used her potty yet, so I didn't always bother to put it back right away. Until that day when, completed unprompted, Caitlyn took off her diaper, sat down on her potty and peed ... through the hole where the bowl should have been. I always put it back right away now. But obviously she has not peed on her potty since then.

We have a few kinks to work out as far as explaining how a potty actually works and what the purpose of the potty is (not pissing on my floor. That is the purpose, kid. Get with the program) but I was so proud of my little girl. I was sobbing like a lunatic at her HUGE milestone, so she probably thinks she did something wrong and won't use the potty again till she's 9, but I still felt so happy. Even as I scrubbed the piss out of my rug.

Tuesday, November 1, 2011

Things That Are Irritating Me

I'm feeling really annoyed today, for no good reason. And, to answer your next question, NO, I do not have PMS. And if you ask me again, I WILL cut you. Here is a list, in no particular order, of things that are pissing me off today:
  • The dog. Why does he have to track his shit across the yard? No seriously. He spends 10 minutes finding the perfect spot to shit in, only to scootch along in his dump squat for an additional 5 minutes leaving me a trail of steaming nuggets to follow. WHY DOG?
  • The husband. Specifically, the candy he has eaten from my... I mean, CAITLYN's trick-or-treat stash. I should probably mention that he neither tricked nor treated. The one who drags the toddler from house to house begging for free candy has FIRST FUCKING DIBS. I'm just saying.
  • The people at the lollipop company. Because you know how Capri Sun is the best juice ever and its clear (what, I'm the only adult who still drinks Capri Sun? Fuck you guys)? In fact, I think the lack of artificial colors is part of what makes it superior. So why, lollipop guys, do you think every lollipop you make needs red or blue dye? Oh, because you love ruining my kid's clothes? FUCK YOU. You are all dead to me. Also, oompa-loompas.
  • The people you send a Facebook invite to for an event you are planning and even though you have been ASSURED that they are coming, they just fucking let it sit in their notifications and NEVER respond (yeah, I'm looking at you MIKE). WHY CAN'T YOU JUST CLICK THE LITTLE BUTTON THAT SAYS "I'm attending"? WHY DO YOU HATE ME?
  • And speaking of that last one, I might as well throw the year 2012 onto this list. The event I'm planning is a vacation thing for myself and my friend because we are both turning 30 next year and instead of killing ourselves, we are simply going to get drunk for a week straight and try not to drown in the pool.
  • Chocolate. We have a love-hate relationship. I'd love to be someone's cat for a year and only have access to the food they give me, in the portions they give, so I do not have to answer to my dark master on the daily. Halloween, you are certainly NOT helping with this endeavor.
  • People who can't answer a fucking text message. Because I just fucking hate you, okay. Stop being a dick and get back to me.

Monday, October 24, 2011

I Bet Mud Huts are REALLY Hard to Clean

I'm a bit notorious for being a slob. In fact, when Nadine and I were roommates, I'm pretty sure she was plotting my death because she's a neat freak and my tendency to leave my hair on the shower walls was slowing whittling away her will to live.

My husband is Hispanic and he grew up in a proper Hispanic household in South America, where his mother did all the cooking and cleaning with the buckets of water she carried on her head back from the river. Okay. Not really. About the buckets I mean. But she did do all the cooking and cleaning. And so, before I married brown, I was not made immediately aware of the fact that this is what my new husband would expect from me.

When we first got together, Rodolfo seemed pretty laid back. It never really occurred to me that marriage would change the dynamic between us so drastically (yes, apparently I AM stupid). So when he liked it enough to put a ring on it (and, coincidentally, I liked it enough to put a green card on it), his expectations of my role became ... more defined? Let's say more defined. Sounds better than "he expected me to be his mom" or "he started acting like a dick".

My point is that Rodolfo expected me to clean and shit and I fucking HATE cleaning. It isn't that my standards for cleanliness are THAT low (shut up, Nadine), it's just that I have better things to be doing with my time. And when I clean, I tend to get all compulsive about it so it takes me an entire day by the time things are organized the way I want them to be. So mostly I wait till it's on the brink of shameful before I bother to clean up. And just to be clear, I don't mean "Hoarders" shameful. I'm talking like once a week cleaning. Unless it's changing cat litter. I put that shit off as long as humanly possible.

This has been a source of strain in my marriage but I can admit that I'm at fault on this one. While Rodolfo thinks I should be cleaning more, he's also come to realize that if he wants to maintain a certain standard of living, he's going to have to do it himself a lot of the time. Because even though that bitch grew up with chickens running through his mud hut, he really has pretty high standards for his living conditions.

Obviously I'm less slovenly now, mostly because I'm sick of picking dog hairs out of my kid's mouth, but Rodolfo still takes it upon himself to do the cleaning a lot of the time.

The thing of it is, he THINKS he is doing a super great job. He is not. That's the funny part. Let me break down a few of the problems for you:

Mops: Rodolfo does not believe in mops. I can't understand this. I'm all for making cleaning as easy as humanly possible, so I don't understand why he will not just let me buy a mop. You are probably wondering what he cleans the floor with (and subsequently expects that I clean the floor with). Does he get on his hands and knees and scrub? ABSOLUTELY NOT. He will take an old t-shirt, wrap it around the end of the broom, douse the floor in water and cleaner and push the dirt around with his not-absorbent-or-able-to-pick-up-dirt-pretty-much-at-all t-shirt. And then he will stand around proudly and admire the shit job he just did. I tried buying a Swiffer once, but he refused to let me buy the pads and simply wrapped his t-shirts around the Swiffer for a while.

Bathrooms: Rodolfo is a little weird about germs. Except he is weird about germs in a way that makes it clear that he doesn't understand anything about how germs work. A good example of this is how he is convinced that Caitlyn will get "diseases" (yes, plural) from petting the cat. Because cats have a multitude of cross-species diseases that we should worry about Caitlyn contracting through hand-to-fur contact. Same goes for the dog. So what I don't understand is how he insists on cleaning the bathroom with a sponge. Yes, the germiest thing on the planet. And he will use it to wipe down the sink and toilet then stow it all wet and disgusting under the sink for the next time. Are you wondering if he wipes down the bathtub with it too? Of course not... bathtubs don't get dirty and therefore never require cleaning. Obviously. It isn't like his WIFE is cleaning the bathtub!

Organization: When Rodolfo organizes, he puts things into two categories: "My Shit" and "Shit that Probably Needs to Go into the Garbage Already but My Wife is a Fucking Pack Rat for Keeping the Baby's Swing so Let Me Throw it in the Closet". This happens with everything. All the time. It's "I'm going to throw this away" and then "FINE. I'm putting it in the closet then". And by "putting it in the closet" he absolutely always means throwing it onto the floor of the closet never to be seen again. And then he gets mad when it takes me a day to clean out the closets. Because it only takes him 20 minutes to clean the whole house!

Rodolfo has so many weird habits when it comes to cleaning, but these are the most annoying because it means when I clean I have to do twice as much as he does because he doesn't know he sucks at it then he wonders why it takes me twice as long. But since we are talking about his weird habits ... let's get in to one more:

Rodolfo's mother once told him his head smells bad. This is not true. I know this not just because I sleep next to him every night, but also because she once said the same thing about Caitlyn when she was a baby. That's BABYSMELL lady. And it could be the best smell in the fucking WORLD. Weirdo. Anyway. So he has this paranoia about his head smelling bad, so he obsessively washes his entire head. Like multiple times a day. He will not leave the house, EVER, unless he has washed his entire head with soap, even if he took a shower an hour before. Note that I did not say shampoo. And he wonders why he has dry skin.

Anyway. That is all. Just making fun of my husband today.

Sunday, October 16, 2011

Potty Training? Already?

Today I came to the undeniable conclusion that it's time to start potty training Caitlyn. It didn't come to me all at once, the signs have been accumulating for the past few weeks. Here's how it went:

  1. About a month ago Caitlyn started taking off her diaper. All. The. Time. I seriously consider duct-taping her diapers shut.
  2. After a week or so of indiscriminate diaper removal, I notice a shift in purpose. Every time Caitlyn takes her diaper off, it's because it's wet. She's starting to make the connection!
  3. Eventually, she realizes that she simply hates having a diaper on. She spends about 80% of her time bare-assed, while I chase behind her and lure in child molesters by posting diaperless pics on Facebook.
  4. She starts pointing to her diaper and says "poo-poo" when she's wet. This applies whether she is actually wearing the diaper or simply holding it up for my inspection.
  5. She starts peeing on my floor. By this point, I'd given up on putting her diaper back on 7 times in a row after she takes it off and usually let her run around naked for a few minutes before I try to strap her back in. Until the day she takes off her diaper, immediately walks over to my kitchen and squats down and pees on the floor. REALLY CAITLYN?
Obviously, the signs were there for potty training, but there were a few things holding me back too:
  1. Me: "Caitlyn do you need to go potty?" Caitlyn: "NO". She pretty much says "no" to whatever I ask her.
  2. She still has no mastery of poop. She recognizes her pee game and informs me regularly when she's wet. But aside from a time or two when she took off a poopy diaper, she mostly just waits for me to Toucan Sam her ass on those changes.
So there were signs that I should give it a try, but also ones that made me think I should wait. I certainly don't want to push Caitlyn into something she isn't ready for. It didn't work with solids, or sippy cups or anything else that I tried to start before she was ready.

Today I recognized that it's time to give it a shot. I can only list 2 reasons to not try it, and Caitlyn was able to scratch one of those off the list this afternoon:

Caitlyn was playing and I was dicking around on Facebook when I recognized the familiar smell of a shitty diaper. I turned around to see she'd taken off her diaper and was holding it. That's when I noticed that there wasn't any poop IN the diaper. Nope. She had taken it off before she pooped. But wait. That meant... but... where is the damn poop? OH GROSS, WHY IS THE DOG SMACKING HIS LIPS??? Yup. The dog ate her shit. SO. DISGUSTING. Oh, but wait, he missed a spot! She must have stepped in it first, because it's all over her foot. Awesome.

So it's officially time. She can recognize the need to poop and pee and it might be a little tricky getting her to actually tell me when she needs to go, but I'm hoping she will take the initiative to sit down on the potty and go on her own. We will see. It isn't like I'm not constantly cleaning up after her grossness anyway. Wish us luck!

Monday, October 10, 2011

Doggie Style

So I know what you are thinking. You saw the title of this blog post and you thought "Ok, I'm in for a cute anecdote about her kid and her playful little pooch again". Because what else could it be? This is a FAMILY blog (please disregard how often I say the word fuck, as it is not relevant to this all being very family-oriented). Well, you would be very wrong.

Let me set the scene for you:

Nadine invited us over for dinner last night. Spaghetti and meatballs. Which means Caitlyn was eating shirtless so as to not ruin another outfit. This was not unusual in any way. Until Caitlyn started tickling herself. On her nipples. With her meatball. Yeah, meatball tickles. In any case, we laughed at her oddness and finished up dinner, then went over to the couch to watch some TV.

Now let me explain something about TV watching at my house. If you come to my house on any given day, at any given time, you will find my TV is set to one of two things. The first, naturally, is Nick Jr. Because I have a fucking one year old. The second is NFL Network. Because I have a fucking husband. Mommy never has any say over what we are watching is what I'm getting at here.

Watching TV at Nadine's house was a nice change. We were watching comedies made for grown-ups on basic cable. We were not watching HBO or anything like that. So imagine my surprise when they aired a commercial for a fancy new dildo Trojan has come out with. Trojan Twister I believe was the name (not that I was making a note of it or anything. Because you know what they don't tell you about parenthood? That you don't even have the time or energy to masturbate anymore. That is just SAD).

The commercial for the Trojan Twister was, not surprisingly, ridiculous. It was on a basic cable network which means they can't just show you the dildo so you can decide whether or not you want to put it in your vagina. So a lot is implied.

There were two housewives, standing in the street next to a mailbox, marveling at the box for the new Trojan Twister. Yup. That's right. One woman ordered a new vibrator and was discussing it in animated excitement with her neighbor. "It'll blow your hair back!", she exclaims, obviously aroused by the thought. Just then, we see a couple from the neighborhood pass by the two women, neither of whom are shamefully hiding the dildo from them. As the woman in the couple passes the camera, we are able to see that her hair is "blown back". Because presumably, she was the one to recommend this dildo to her entire block. And look at that! She is walking with a MAN. Because you don't need to be a desperate spinster to buy an awesome new dildo!

Cut to a shot of the dildo box again. Now it's time for the hard sell (pun intended, motherfuckers). What kind of features does this magic stick have? Well, I'm glad you asked! With the Trojan Twister, you can expect all KINDS of features! Not interested in blowing your husband? No worries! The Trojan Twister will do it for you! Additionally, you can expect:

  • 3 Speeds! (Regular: for all those single ladies leisurely masturbating in the tub because they don't have children to attend to. Quickie: Because at least the Twister won't ask if it can come in your mouth, and Premature Ejaculator: AKA The Dead Battery. Because wouldn't you rather just go to sleep anyway?)

  • 4 Unique Positions! I was on board, Trojan Twister. Really I was. Until this. Unique positions? Is it a transformer? Does it turn into a saddle? What kind of positions could this dildo possibly offer?

Which is why I said it. "Unique positions? What is the dildo going to fuck you doggie style?". At which point, my lovely daughter parroted back at me "doggie style". Oh. My. God. They are going to take away my mommy license.

Well, Now That THAT'S Settled...

One of the major sticking points in my marriage has been the question of more children. I've been on the side of having one more, while Rodolfo is clearly happy with just Caitlyn.

He has a point. It isn't like we can just fuck a few times and have another baby. Babies are expensive for us. And the pregnancy itself turns me into a puking, terrified mess. I wasn't looking forward to the process of IVF and the daily shots of blood thinners during a pregnancy, but every time I would look at my daughter, I would find myself thinking "how could I NOT have another?". You know, because she is fucking awesome.

You know what the thing is about having one awesome kid though? You can fucking leave the house occasionally and do things with that one kid. And it came to my attention this weekend that the degree of difficulty of just walking out the door without anyone falling down a flight of stairs is dramatically increased when you are caring for more than one young child.

This past weekend placed me indisputably on Rodolfo's side of the fence. It started with a simple request from my little sister: she needed a babysitter for her daughter this weekend. My sister Samantha is like me in the way she raises her daughter. Much more laid back than our other sister and also much more attached to the idea that if you wanted your weekends free you shouldn't have had a kid. A., our other sister, has been sending her son away about half the time on weekends with either set of grandparents since he was 2 months old.

I guess it isn't the worst thing. It's not like she's sending him to the Home Depot with the day laborers to make a quick $100 or anything. But it's not my personal style, and it isn't Sammi's either. In fact, my niece Adrianna had never spent a night away from her mother until last weekend.

In Caitlyn's case, she has only actually spent 3 nights away from me since she was born, but she is also used to being at someone else's house. I went back to work when she was 8 weeks old and she's been eating, sleeping and playing in someone else's house for several hours a day, 3-4 days a week since then. She is adaptive. She doesn't cry when I drop her off. Sometimes when I arrive to pick her up from the babysitter's house, she barely acknowledges me. She's having too much fun playing with her new best buddy.

This was not the case with Adrianna. My youngest sister, her boyfriend and their daughter are living with my mother. When they go to work, my mom or stepdad will watch Adrianna for them. She has never had a reason to be anywhere without her mom, dad, grandma or grandpa. Ever. Until last weekend.

It isn't that she doesn't like me or that she doesn't know who I am. When I picked her up Saturday, she was all smiles. We stopped at Ihop for smiley face pancakes (where, with 2 toddlers in tow, I was asked if I wanted the regular smiley face with strawberries and bananas or the Halloween "scary" face with Oreos and candy corn. Are you kidding me dude? These kids don't need fucking Oreos) then headed back to my house where I planned to put Adrianna down for her nap.

Enter: Chaos.

You know how it is when a toddler is tired? How everything is the hardest fucking thing in the world to do? How they collapse into a fit of tears and tantrum at even the slightest provocation (and by provocation, obviously I mean anything you do)? How they kind of hate you for exisiting? That is what it was like from the time I walked into my door until the time Adrianna's dad picked her up Sunday afternoon. Times 2.

It started with the dog (damn dog AGAIN!). I had to take him out when we got home, so I put the babies in Caitlyn's crib thinking (wrongly, obviously) that they would quietly suffer the indignity for the 90 seconds I needed to let the dog go outside to pee. Bloodcurdling screams ensued, so I hustled the dog upstairs as quick as I could and took the kids out of the crib. At which point the bloodcurdling screams were quickly accompanied by a toddler leg magnet.

I'm used to Caitlyn, who has always had pets and is completely unimpressed by their presence. Still, as a mom myself and an understanding person in general, I realized that I might need to ease Adrianna in with my overexcited jumpy animals. The dog went into his cage and I went about the task of putting Adrianna down for her nap. Surely she would be more receptive to the dog when she wasn't tired anymore.

Adrianna, from what I was told, was pretty easy to put down for a nap. Bottle, 15 minutes of cartoons and out like a light. Except it didn't really go down like that. Because apparently Caitlyn's crib is lined with baby-eating monsters or something.

And OK people. I HAVE a toddler. A loud one. With a high-pitched scream. Who thinks it's utterly hilarious to see how many glasses she can crack with her best screech. What I'm saying is I have heard that high-pitched, deafening baby scream before. You know the one I'm talking about. The one you feel in your spine. The one that makes you reflexively put your hands over your ears. The one that she always seems to pull out in the middle of the grocery store. You know. But Adrianna. My god. Her scream was the loudest, gratingest (yeah I made it up. And what?) thing I have ever heard in my life. I thought my brain was going to start leaking out of my ears. And she did it absolutely every time I tried to put her down for her nap.

I know. She's a baby. Away from her mommy for the first time. I felt bad for her too. Maybe I could let her play a little longer till she was extra tired and had no choice but to go to sleep! For those of you who aren't moms let me tell you, that NEVER works. It just makes it 1000% worse. Overtired toddler is a natural phenomenon on par with tornadoes and tsunamis and shit, an unstoppable force which will leave you ruined in it's wake.

The entire afternoon went pretty much like that, with me trying to get Adrianna to take a nap and her refusing in the loudest way possible. Which, of course, caused Caitlyn to decide that naptime was fucking bullshit and she wasn't having it either. So I had 2 overtired toddlers on my hands till around 8:00pm, when both decided a 20 minute nap (Adrianna fell asleep while sobbing into my shoulder, Caitlyn passed out on top of one of her toys) would rejuvenate them for the night hours.

By 11:15 or so, Rodolfo got Caitlyn down to sleep by taking her out of the scream-center and driving her around in the car for 15 minutes till she passed out. Adrianna was a whole other story. She was blatantly exhausted but fighting it with all her effort. Between 11-12:30, she dozed off in my arms at least a dozen times. Each time, I stupidly rocked her for a few minutes before deciding she was FINALLY in a good enough sleep to put her down. And then she would wake up screaming bloody damn murder. Then I gave up. I held her in my arms and we fell asleep on the couch together around 1:00.

The next day we planned a day of pumpkin picking at a farm with my sister A., her husband and son and their friend and her 3 year old daughter. Let me break that down for you one more time: That would be a 3 year old, an almost 2 year old, and 2- 1-and-a-half year olds. And 4 adults. Sounds like it would work out perfect right? 4 kids and 4 adults means a set of hands for every kid!

Let's start by saying that when you think of pumpkin picking, you think of cool breezes. Which is probably why Adrianna's mom only sent her a couple of pairs of sweatpants and sweatshirts and not a single t-shirt or short-sleeved shirt of any kind. Which would have been fine, except we were in bizarro pumpkin picking land, where it was fucking 85 degrees outside. Adrianna is significantly chubbier than Caitlyn, so I didn't have anything to fit her and she had to wear her sweats. We picked up A., who quickly realized that she was going to "sweat her balls off" and offered up one of her son's T-shirts for Adrianna.

Fast-forward almost 2 hours of sitting in traffic and we arrived at the farm sweaty and irritated. Fast-forward ANOTHER half hour of waiting in line to get food for the 4 antsy, hungry, pissed-off toddlers we were carting around and every single one of us was on the verge of a meltdown. The kids were whiny. None of them would eat a thing. They wanted to play in the mud. Adrianna had to be stripped down to her diaper. Did I mention that it cost us $75 (yeah SEVENTY-FUCKING-FIVE DOLLARS) to feed our little group, where half the food went uneaten?

After lunch we assessed the situation. The line for tickets for hayrides, pumpkin picking and all the other assorted fun things for the kids to do had converged into a 70-person-long human barbecue. Fuck that. We left. Without pumpkins or pictures or funtimes, $75 poorer than we arrived, with quite literally nothing to show for it. Awesome.

As A. and I walked our individual toddlers the quarter-mile back to the car, we agreed that no matter how many adults in any given situation, the limit would be 2 toddlers per excursion. Then we mused over how insane our mother must be to have had 3 of her 4 children in a span of 4 years. When I relayed that conversation to my mother later that same day, she insisted that we were amateurs and promised to show us the ropes.

Adrianna's dad picked her up shortly after we got back and I was relieved. Two toddlers is not something I see in my future. IF I have another baby, Caitlyn will have to be at least 5, capable of shitting on the toilet, feeding herself and walking down a flight of stairs without giving me a heart attack. I just don't see it happening any other way.

Wednesday, October 5, 2011

Uninspired Bullshit. My Apologies

So I didn't have anything in particular in mind for this blog post. I started typing away though, about the first things that came to my mind. What I came up with was the side effects of the flu shot I had last week (diarrhea if you are wondering... about my asshole. Again.) and the fact that I owe money to my cell phone company. My life is super exciting and interesting and totally ripe for awesome anecdotes about how T-mobile will double your bill if you don't pay them on time.

Oh wait. I deleted all that shit. Because no one gives a fuck about my late cell phone bill payments. So what do I have then? Maybe there's something I'm annoyed about that I could go on a little tangent about? I suppose there's always something.

Ok. Work stuff then. I'm a receptionist. Which basically means I sit around all day answering phones and receiving deliveries and blogging and shit. Exciting. Today is some bitch's birthday. And she just got married in June so her husband hasn't turned into an asshole who ignores her all the time. Yet. And he sent her flowers. And they are still at my desk as of now. And every retard who passes asks who they are for. The answer is always "NOT YOU". One guy just asked me and I was like "they are for Emily (translation: NOT YOU)" and he was like "the one who works in the Pennsylvania office?". Hmm... I guess it COULD be, but there are, in fact TWO Emily's who work in OUR office sooo... maybe you are just retarded?

Fuck. Is that all I have? I guess I could talk about my stupid marriage (not that that last paragraph made me sound bitter or anything!). Ummm... don't get married? That's all I've got really. I used to work in retail with a bunch of teenagers and people in their early 20s in college. And they would be all "Jaclyn, I love my boyfriend SO MUCH. I'm going to marry him!". And then I would be all "don't get married". And they would be all "why not?". And I would be all "because it's fucking terrible. Be a whore and fuck a bunch of dudes instead".

I know! Maybe I could talk about MY KID! Since this is (allegedly) a parenting blog and all. Do you guys want to hear more about how she's teething and doesn't want to eat or sleep? Maybe I'm beating a dead horse on that one... or you know, a dead pony? Because it's about my baby? Maybe not.

Oh, I know. Let's talk about my fat ass. Or, more specifically Operation: Make My Ass Less Fat (sounds official, right?). It's going wonderfully. I haven't been to the gym since last Friday because every time I went last week I ended up having to get off the elliptical after 10 minutes because I was about to shit my pants. Fucking flu shot. And then there are the cupcakes. In my opinion, it's important to eat ALL the cupcakes at once so as to not have them lying around the house, tempting me to ruin my diet. Also, my boss gave me a huge bag of Hershey Kisses to "fill the candy dish" at my desk. Don't ask me how many I've had.

In conclusion, this post has been sitting in my drafts for 2 days, as I hoped for some sort of inspiration for a less shitty post and didn't have to make you guys read this as it is complete and utter uninspired bullshit. You're welcome is basically what I'm saying here. YOU. ARE. WELCOME. I'm going to a baptism tomorrow so I'm hoping that will provide me some incredibly offensive blogging material.

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

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.

Friday, September 23, 2011

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.

Monday, September 19, 2011

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!

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

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.


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!

Monday, September 12, 2011

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.

Friday, September 9, 2011

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.

Saturday, August 27, 2011

I'm FEMA, you guys


Before I had a kid, I was not known for my extreme preparedness in potentially disastrous situations. In fact, my emergency plan consisted of exactly one word: Nothing. Quite literally I did absolutely nothing to prepare, ever. In my defense, I do live in New Jersey. The worst we've seen are a few bad floods, a few bad blizzards and that one black out a few years ago when the whole East coast went dark for a few days. I've never had to evacuate and I've never been stranded without food or running water. Maybe it's just luck, but somehow I've never felt the need to go crazy worrying about something that probably wasn't even going to be that bad.

Until I had a kid.

This is what I did to prepare for Hurricane Irene:
  • Brave the grocery stores and all the crazy people stocking up on water, bread and canned goods. Buy several gallons of water, milk and cheese for Caitlyn, juice, bread and pasta. Then remember that if we don't have running water or electricity, most of the shit I bought will be useless. Awesome.
  • Stock the fuck up on water. How will I wash bottles? Or cook pasta? What if Caitlyn drinks through the 2 giant bottles of juice and gallons of milk I bought? She is gonna be OMGSOTHIRSTY!!! Relying on the 2 gallons and full case of 20oz bottles of water to supplement the juice and milk just seems risky. I know, I'll fill every pot and bowl and pitcher I own with tap water! (Yes, I really did this).
  • Bake brownies. For when the electricity and gas go out for days and I can't cook pasta or salvage frozen foods or make grilled cheese sandwiches. I heard they give astronauts and Navy SEALS Duncan Hines brownies for unforeseen emergencies.
  • Charge my phone. Because I am the most prepared person you will ever see. How the fuck am I supposed to update Twitter and Facebook if the electricity go out? Thank the good Lord above that I now have internets on my phone. God works in mysterious ways, you know.
  • Have zero activities planned to amuse my toddler, who will be stuck in the house for countless days or weeks or months on end. I can't believe the mall is closing for Stormpocalypse. What the hell am I supposed to do to keep this kid entertained? On a related note, I'm fucked when winter comes.
I'm fairly certain that I'm at least 10 steps ahead of where I'd be if I didn't have Caitlyn, but I still feel like the most incompetent and unprepared individual ever. You might say I'm a Katrina-era FEMA. Yeah, I think that explains it perfectly. Maybe I should stop making fun of the people who stock up on batteries and candles and... umm... HAVE some batteries next time? Yeah. We are going to be in the fucking DARK if we lose power.

Thursday, August 25, 2011


As everyone probably already knows, Nadine and I are all kinds of gay for each other. So when I asked her what I should blog about, she responded "blog about me". Ok. You asked for it. For your enjoyment, I present: Stories Nadine Doesn't Want Me to Tell.

Let's start with the basics. Nadine and I have known each other since high school. In fact, she's one of the very few people from our school that I didn't hate. We bonded in senior year over the fact that I had not yet mastered the fine art of typing. She offered to type up my report for English that was due the next period (yeah, I was a real go-getter like that) and was amazed to find that I had more to say than "I love Derek Jeter" (I still do) and "I have a bunch of cats" (just down to the one now).

In fact, as she read through my report, her reaction was hilarious: "Don't take this the wrong way, but I thought you were a moron". The paper was on Beowulf so you might say our friendship is based on a solid foundation of intellect and fine literature. I think the following accounts of our craziest tales will solidify the notion that we are, in fact, worldly, intelligent ass bitches.

Quote of the Day

Quote of the day was a magical time for us. It started very early in our friendship. At the ripe age of 19, we realized we were comic geniuses and should turn our musings into a book. Here is a sampling of "the book".

"Nothing fixes a relationship like cookies and anal sex."

"I don't want to be the one to push him off the overpass onto (route) 46."

"When you're puking on Rob's bathroom floor; that's what friends are for."

"I told that bitch to put away his emotional baggage and do me."

Oh, were you looking for a story or plot of some sort? Sorry, that isn't what the book was about. The book was our Twitter in 2001; essentially every stupid phrase that crossed our lips was "the book". We were so WITTY!

Drinking Times

Drinking was 100% more fun when I was underage, and I think Nadine would agree. My mom visited her boyfriend, who lived a few hours away, every weekend, so every weekend became party time at my house. There are so many stories.

When drinking with Nadine, it's very important for YOU to know her limits. Because, ummm, she doesn't. Or at least she didn't back when we would drink every weekend. Nadine's stages of drunk go something like this:

Stage 4: I'm currently vomitting in my hair.

I will share one of our drinking stories with you today:

We were big fans of beer pong (except it was mixed drink pong when we played it). There was the time we were playing mixed drink pong and after 3 or so rounds, the rest of us got bored and stopped playing. Nadine didn't realize this and set up 4 more sets of cups (we were playing twosies, obviously). When we told her we didn't want to play anymore, she decided she couldn't let those drinks go to waste and pounded all four sets of cups. Did I mention that Nadine mixes a REALLY strong drink? At some point after that, she started walking around with a bottle of Captain Morgan and ate some Captain Crunch. The Captains had a brawl. I think it's obvious which Captain won. After Captain Crunch was tossed out of the bar that had become Nadine's stomach and passed out on the proverbial couch that was her hair, she made her way to our friend's shower. She then passed out with her head in the shower. Just her head. Which doesn't really explain why she got completely naked.

Gross Stuff

Then there are the stories that will live in infamy forever, for no other reason then that they are too horrifying to forget. They are as follows:

The time Nadine nearly amputated her thumb on broken glass. I was not there for this incident, but apparently she had left a trail from her door to a blood stained note that said something along the lines of "went to the hospital" for another friend who was on her way over. I'm very glad I didn't see that one, because I would have been pretty convinced she was dead.

The time I caught her and her boyfriend having sex in her pool. Another friend was with us, and he had left. And apparently she was under the impression I had left too. "Oh, you're still here?"... Yes, but not for long, I can promise you that.

And since I've told all of her embarrassing secrets, I suppose it's only fair if one of these stories is embarrassing for me:

The time we were driving down the parkway and I had the brown cow knocking at the back door. A few minutes after we stopped so I could use the bathroom, I came running out of the rest stop and just said "we have to go" because you know how sometimes when you are in view of a bathroom, it intensifies the need to shit by like 1000%? And as you are pulling your pants down, you ass decides you are no longer clenched enough to continue to hold it in? And you get shit on the walls? And you are 18 years old so you don't have the class to clean it up and you just hustle out of the bathroom and hope the other patrons don't start chasing you with torches? No? Just me then.

In conclusion, Nadine is goodtimes. We have fun and do stupid shit and have lots of stories. Perhaps I will share more of them with you one day.