Back when I was in my teens and early 20s, I remember being regularly annoyed by my brother's inability to do simple tasks. Actually, that's inaccurate. It was his inability to do "woman" tasks. The best example I can give of this was the time he asked me to make him a hot dog. Seeing as how he was a dick to me like 95% of the time, obviously I told him to make his own fucking hot dog. "But I don't know how", he said. And so I gave him a simple explanation for a simple task- "Put them in some water and boil them for a few minutes". But as it is with men, he put a fantastic amount of effort into trying to convince me that he literally could not figure out how to boil water. First, he poured water into a frying pan. Then, when I showed him which pot to use, he turned the faucet as high as it would go and held it under the water and let it overflow for several minutes before I finally snapped "what the hell are you doing?". "I don't know how much water to use", he told me. "Enough to cover the hot dog", I explained. And so he turned the water to barely a drip and held the pot there for 5 solid minutes, asking every few drops "is this enough?". It went this way with every step of the excruciatingly simple task of boiling a hot dog, until my sister gave up and made it for him.
At the time I refused to cave because of course you know how to fucking boil water, you imbecile. And then I got married and realized that my brother was a) simply not a good enough an actor to pull off "too dumb to boil water" and b) carrying on a long standing tradition of men making the task of ASKING THEM TO DO A TASK so infuriating, that you really would rather just do it yourself.
Caitlyn's last day of preschool was yesterday. Rodolfo is bringing his parents from Peru to spend the summer with us while she is out of school. In preparation of that, I've been toiling away, cleaning and organizing the house to be ready for their arrival this Thursday. And so last night when April told me she wanted to bring Caitlyn to a water park with her today, I asked Rodolfo to get her bag ready for the morning, while I organized some things in the kitchen.
I'm a seasoned veteran now when it comes to dealing with feigned stupidity, so I didn't dare simply tell him where she would be going and expect him to figure out what that meant in terms of "get a bag ready". I gave him a short list of what to include- a bathing suit, a change of clothes- including socks and underwear-, a towel, flip-flops, sunscreen, her waterpark pass, and money for lunch.
First he assured me that she did not have any clean clothes. Since I organized her closet 2 days ago, I knew this was bullshit. Still, I had to explicitly tell him what she should wear TO A WATER PARK and practically give him the longitudinal coordinates in her closet to find "any one of the 10 summer dresses hanging up in there". Then, he could not find her bathing suit. This led to a heated argument in which he complained that I had left a basket of clean laundry in her room that has not been put away, and maybe if I had done that, her bathing suit would have been easy to find. He then spent 5 minutes rifling through the DIRTY laundry, all the while complaining that this bathing suit was simply impossible to find. In case you were wondering, there wasn't ONE, but TWO clean bathing suits in that one basket of laundry that he would not check under protest of my not having put it into her drawers.
He managed to find the towel himself, completely forgot the sunscreen and water park pass, and then launched into another rant when he could not track down her flip-flops. I told him to check under the couch. They were not there. I told him to check under her bed. Not there either. Apparently they had evaporated into thin air. He decided she would instead wear sneakers. To a water park.
This entire process (during which I ended up finding literally every single thing besides the towel myself) took him around 40 minutes. To put a few things in a bag. Next time I think I'll just do it myself.
Showing posts with label technically retarded. Show all posts
Showing posts with label technically retarded. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 23, 2015
Tuesday, November 11, 2014
Shit My Dad Says... The Hobo Equation
I don't think it needs to be mentioned yet again, but hey- you guys remember how my dad is like 87% hobo, right? In case you are wondering how I figured out that percentage, it's a very complicated Algebraic formula including the following variables:
v= number of days per year spent sleeping in your vehicle
c*= number of clothing items you own to the power of the number of layers you wear over each other, so as to be able to take one off daily and not appear to be wearing the same clothes as yesterday
s= stank (this variable has a direct relationship to c*)
g= number of gullible family members you can coerce into free living accommodations
t= number of teeth you currently have (Hobo Bill has the incredibly low score of 3 on this variable, drastically impacting his overall score)
f= your general ability to make even the most basic of financially responsible decisions.
Let's talk about factors v and f today. Vehicle and finances. I mean, I suppose when you're the type of person who prioritizes buying scratch-offs and foot long hot dogs at 7-11 over paying your rent, you can't really be expected to make sound financial choices. That said, one might assume that my dad's perpetual poorness would be directly reflected in his choice of vehicle. And for the most part, it has been. He's had a number of 200,000+ mileage metal shitboxes. Some he got for free. Some he "financed"- and by that I mean he talked a friend or family member into believing he would make payments on a car he wanted to buy from them, and then got pissed off when they actually, you know, expected him to make the payments.
There have been times when my dad has been without a car, but he's done a pretty good job of basically stealing cars from people over the years, and almost always has some sort of vehicle. The last car he had was something he was "making payments" on to some guy he knows. Last I heard, he still owed the guy $1000 or so of the $1500 total he was supposed to pay and was pretty pissed that the guy wouldn't leave him alone about it.
So. What do you do when you don't have money to pay the guy who sold you your car, you're behind on your rent, your car insurance check bounced and your car needs a bunch of repairs you can't afford?
I feel like you guys know my dad pretty well at this point, so I'm going to do this multiple choice:
a) work overtime and get back on track (HAHAHAHA)
b) panic as you realize you are in way over your head and turn to your old friend the lottery for comfort
c) trade in the car you still owe money on and finance a nearly brand new car for 7 years
Did you guys say b? You overestimated my dad's concience. He doesn't actually care that he can't pay any of his debts. Dear old dad somehow managed to trade in his car for a 2012 Ford Focus.
So now he has two cars to pay off. And he has to pay for full coverage insurance, even though the bare bones insurance he used to have lapses basically every time it's due. It's a weird thing, the way my dad thinks of his car insurance. Most people think of their policy in terms of years. My policy, for example, is valid from April 2014-April 2015. My dad doesn't do that. He told me that his new car is insured "I'm not exactly sure... I think it's for the next two months". He treats his car insurance like an about-to-expire gym membership.
I also have to say, I don't feel bad for anyone who finances him a car when they inevitably get screwed over. You don't even need to get into the black hole that is his credit report to know this is not a man you can trust to make timely (or any) payments. As I said before, he has THREE teeth. My infant officially has more teeth than him. I just think that when someone with three teeth walks into your establishment and tries to convince you that they can afford the payments on a spankin' new vehicle, you have to realize that if they can't afford plastic teeth, they definitely cannot afford basically anything. Except maybe applesauce.
In any case, my immediate reaction when he went into full-on bragging mode about his new car (I feel like it's important here to remind you that he's bragging about owning a Ford Focus), was to scold him for being an idiot:
Me: But dad, aren't you still paying off the other car?
Dad: Yes.
Me: Well isn't it a problem that you now have to pay off 2 cars?
Dad: It's a 2012.
Me: Yeah, I get that. Except for the part where it gets repossessed in 2 months and then you have no car at all and you still have to pay off your old one.
Dad: No, I'm going to pay it.
Me: HOW?
Dad: Well, my old car needed 2 catalytic converters. Those things are like $1000 each. I couldn't afford that. This car is NEW, so it won't need any repairs.
Me: So you couldn't afford to repair your old car so you just bought a new one?
Dad: That wasn't the only thing. My old car didn't have any gas in it and I didn't have gas money. This one came with a full tank.
Me: ::dead::
So yes. My dad thought it was a good idea to buy a new car because HE COULDN'T AFFORD GAS OR REPAIRS FOR HIS OLD ONE. I guess it's a good thing those Ford Focus's run on broken dreams.
v= number of days per year spent sleeping in your vehicle
c*= number of clothing items you own to the power of the number of layers you wear over each other, so as to be able to take one off daily and not appear to be wearing the same clothes as yesterday
s= stank (this variable has a direct relationship to c*)
g= number of gullible family members you can coerce into free living accommodations
t= number of teeth you currently have (Hobo Bill has the incredibly low score of 3 on this variable, drastically impacting his overall score)
f= your general ability to make even the most basic of financially responsible decisions.
Let's talk about factors v and f today. Vehicle and finances. I mean, I suppose when you're the type of person who prioritizes buying scratch-offs and foot long hot dogs at 7-11 over paying your rent, you can't really be expected to make sound financial choices. That said, one might assume that my dad's perpetual poorness would be directly reflected in his choice of vehicle. And for the most part, it has been. He's had a number of 200,000+ mileage metal shitboxes. Some he got for free. Some he "financed"- and by that I mean he talked a friend or family member into believing he would make payments on a car he wanted to buy from them, and then got pissed off when they actually, you know, expected him to make the payments.
There have been times when my dad has been without a car, but he's done a pretty good job of basically stealing cars from people over the years, and almost always has some sort of vehicle. The last car he had was something he was "making payments" on to some guy he knows. Last I heard, he still owed the guy $1000 or so of the $1500 total he was supposed to pay and was pretty pissed that the guy wouldn't leave him alone about it.
So. What do you do when you don't have money to pay the guy who sold you your car, you're behind on your rent, your car insurance check bounced and your car needs a bunch of repairs you can't afford?
I feel like you guys know my dad pretty well at this point, so I'm going to do this multiple choice:
a) work overtime and get back on track (HAHAHAHA)
b) panic as you realize you are in way over your head and turn to your old friend the lottery for comfort
c) trade in the car you still owe money on and finance a nearly brand new car for 7 years
Did you guys say b? You overestimated my dad's concience. He doesn't actually care that he can't pay any of his debts. Dear old dad somehow managed to trade in his car for a 2012 Ford Focus.
So now he has two cars to pay off. And he has to pay for full coverage insurance, even though the bare bones insurance he used to have lapses basically every time it's due. It's a weird thing, the way my dad thinks of his car insurance. Most people think of their policy in terms of years. My policy, for example, is valid from April 2014-April 2015. My dad doesn't do that. He told me that his new car is insured "I'm not exactly sure... I think it's for the next two months". He treats his car insurance like an about-to-expire gym membership.
I also have to say, I don't feel bad for anyone who finances him a car when they inevitably get screwed over. You don't even need to get into the black hole that is his credit report to know this is not a man you can trust to make timely (or any) payments. As I said before, he has THREE teeth. My infant officially has more teeth than him. I just think that when someone with three teeth walks into your establishment and tries to convince you that they can afford the payments on a spankin' new vehicle, you have to realize that if they can't afford plastic teeth, they definitely cannot afford basically anything. Except maybe applesauce.
In any case, my immediate reaction when he went into full-on bragging mode about his new car (I feel like it's important here to remind you that he's bragging about owning a Ford Focus), was to scold him for being an idiot:
Me: But dad, aren't you still paying off the other car?
Dad: Yes.
Me: Well isn't it a problem that you now have to pay off 2 cars?
Dad: It's a 2012.
Me: Yeah, I get that. Except for the part where it gets repossessed in 2 months and then you have no car at all and you still have to pay off your old one.
Dad: No, I'm going to pay it.
Me: HOW?
Dad: Well, my old car needed 2 catalytic converters. Those things are like $1000 each. I couldn't afford that. This car is NEW, so it won't need any repairs.
Me: So you couldn't afford to repair your old car so you just bought a new one?
Dad: That wasn't the only thing. My old car didn't have any gas in it and I didn't have gas money. This one came with a full tank.
Me: ::dead::
So yes. My dad thought it was a good idea to buy a new car because HE COULDN'T AFFORD GAS OR REPAIRS FOR HIS OLD ONE. I guess it's a good thing those Ford Focus's run on broken dreams.
Tuesday, February 25, 2014
A Dating Profile for Dear Old Dad
I'm dealing with some difficult shit right now. Rather than talk about it, I've decided to make fun of my dad some more. It's like meditation for me:
I've said it before and I'll say it again- my dad is kinda the worst. He's been calling a lot lately- and by that I mean when he has money to put minutes on his prepaid phone. Because he is a grown man with a prepaid phone. No offense to prepaid phone users or anything, but unless you're artfully dodging a handful of baby mommas/bill collectors/lawyers, a grown up should have, at the very least, a monthly cell phone plan. You ain't gotta be fancy and pay Verizon $100 a month. T-mobile will set you up for a cool $35. That's the part that makes it especially sad though. Despite owing so much money to SO many people, he WANTS them to call him. He wants to self-righteously rant at them about how he can't afford to pay and that is... somehow... their problem, apparently. In fact, this whole rant today started out because he had given out MY phone number to one of his bill collectors (again) and I'm annoyed about it.
Anyway. I've decided I need to find someone to take him off my hands. He hasn't had a girlfriend since my mom left him 20 something years ago. I think it's time to take him into the new millenium with online dating! I mean, sure he claims he's "tried it" before. But only when E-Harmony is having a free weekend. Because those other dating sites? Girls send him DIRTY messages and pictures of themselves dressed like whores! He's not that kind of hobo. In any case, honesty is important, so I think I'll take care of his profile for him. I mean, everyone lies on their dating profile, but you can't really trust a sociopath to be even close to honest. If I want to find him a lady life partner, I'm gonna have to lay his true self on the line:
Name:
Bill. AKA Hobo Bill. AKA Tubby.
Description:
Surprisingly young looking for 60. I suppose it's easy to get fewer gray hairs and wrinkles when you refuse to deal with any of your problems and dump them on everyone you know. One place where his lack of responsibility might show though, is right in the chompers. His teeth. He has none. I mean, fake teeth are totally expensive and he had some this one time but then he bit into a really hot slice of pizza while walking through a parking lot and accidentally spit them out onto the ground and then they got run over (what, that hasn't happened to you?). Clothes and feet are always sparkling clean with the scent of bleach though. Maybe a little faded, but it's totally worth it. Also, sometimes he wears multiple layers of clothing at once, so as to be able to remove the outside layer daily and have on a clean outfit. By the time he gets to that innermost outfit, he's fresh as a goddamn daisy.
Likes:
Dislikes:
A lovely lady to take care of him. And by "take care of", obviously I mean fuel his gambling problem while providing a free place for him to live a life of luxury. He'd also really like it if you didn't mind him being enormously ungrateful for all of this. In fact, I'd say any expectation of graciousness on his part whatsoever is probably going to be a dealbreaker. He's also really like it if you wouldn't mind him sitting on your couch unbathed about 90% of the time, while he watches Fox News and dozes in and out of conciousness while loudly snoring.
So ladies, message me if you'd like to meet him, and I'll let you know when he has minutes on his phone.
I've said it before and I'll say it again- my dad is kinda the worst. He's been calling a lot lately- and by that I mean when he has money to put minutes on his prepaid phone. Because he is a grown man with a prepaid phone. No offense to prepaid phone users or anything, but unless you're artfully dodging a handful of baby mommas/bill collectors/lawyers, a grown up should have, at the very least, a monthly cell phone plan. You ain't gotta be fancy and pay Verizon $100 a month. T-mobile will set you up for a cool $35. That's the part that makes it especially sad though. Despite owing so much money to SO many people, he WANTS them to call him. He wants to self-righteously rant at them about how he can't afford to pay and that is... somehow... their problem, apparently. In fact, this whole rant today started out because he had given out MY phone number to one of his bill collectors (again) and I'm annoyed about it.
Anyway. I've decided I need to find someone to take him off my hands. He hasn't had a girlfriend since my mom left him 20 something years ago. I think it's time to take him into the new millenium with online dating! I mean, sure he claims he's "tried it" before. But only when E-Harmony is having a free weekend. Because those other dating sites? Girls send him DIRTY messages and pictures of themselves dressed like whores! He's not that kind of hobo. In any case, honesty is important, so I think I'll take care of his profile for him. I mean, everyone lies on their dating profile, but you can't really trust a sociopath to be even close to honest. If I want to find him a lady life partner, I'm gonna have to lay his true self on the line:
Name:
Bill. AKA Hobo Bill. AKA Tubby.
Description:
Surprisingly young looking for 60. I suppose it's easy to get fewer gray hairs and wrinkles when you refuse to deal with any of your problems and dump them on everyone you know. One place where his lack of responsibility might show though, is right in the chompers. His teeth. He has none. I mean, fake teeth are totally expensive and he had some this one time but then he bit into a really hot slice of pizza while walking through a parking lot and accidentally spit them out onto the ground and then they got run over (what, that hasn't happened to you?). Clothes and feet are always sparkling clean with the scent of bleach though. Maybe a little faded, but it's totally worth it. Also, sometimes he wears multiple layers of clothing at once, so as to be able to remove the outside layer daily and have on a clean outfit. By the time he gets to that innermost outfit, he's fresh as a goddamn daisy.
Likes:
- Not paying for anything, ever
- Gambling
- Berating people who are just doing their job
- Sensationalized news stories
- Welfare fraud
- Talking about himself and greatly exaggerating absolutely every aspect of his existence on this planet as a human being
- Bleach
- Using the ER as a means to get his blood pressure medication
- Bahama Mamas (the giant hot dogs from 7-11, not the drink)
- Feeling 100% justified in stealing from his employer because "I had no money to eat with" even though he's totally getting food stamps
Dislikes:
- Paying for anything, ever
- The government- judges in particular because WHO DO THEY THINK THEY ARE, JUDGING HIM???
- Immigrants, because they are totally stealing all the CEO jobs he would have if they just went back to their country. And also because they get pissed when he sleeps in his car outside their 7-11 store.
- Gays. "I don't hate gay people. I just think they shouldn't be allowed to get married or have kids because then the kids will be gay because they will only see gay stuff and think that's normal"
- Legitimate welfare recipients. Oh, you think you're SO important just because you're not using this money to buy scratch-offs!
- AIDS (please see also: Gays. Because it's totally their fault, you guys).
A lovely lady to take care of him. And by "take care of", obviously I mean fuel his gambling problem while providing a free place for him to live a life of luxury. He'd also really like it if you didn't mind him being enormously ungrateful for all of this. In fact, I'd say any expectation of graciousness on his part whatsoever is probably going to be a dealbreaker. He's also really like it if you wouldn't mind him sitting on your couch unbathed about 90% of the time, while he watches Fox News and dozes in and out of conciousness while loudly snoring.
So ladies, message me if you'd like to meet him, and I'll let you know when he has minutes on his phone.
Friday, March 15, 2013
The Indignities of Being a Toddler
I think one of the really interesting things about having a kid is that sometimes I find myself having mini-flashbacks to my own childhood. It's always something small that does it. Caitlyn will do something ridiculous and I'll find myself remembering when I would do that as a child. And wondering why children are so utterly fucking spastic.
There are a few things I've noticed recently that cause Caitlyn great pain. These are things that I do as an adult too, simple, everyday things. Things that I do not fear. That are not even remotely painful. And yet, somehow, my toddler finds them absolutely traumatic to the point of running away when I even suggest that they may happen.
At first I couldn't understand it, but when I really thought about it, I can remember these exact things being horrible as a kid. Daily things I had to survive, despite the pain and indignity of the tasks. And when I think of them now, I can't help but realize that maybe my childhood wasn't quite as hard as I imagined it to be.
Are you ready for this? The list of the things Caitlyn finds to be physically and emotionally torturous? Let's get into it then:
Pooping: Do you remember when pooping was difficult? When it hurt to push out your poops? I guess as an adult my butthole is regulation sized now, so I can't understand it anymore. But for Caitlyn? She hates to poop. She whines and complains that her butt hurts. I regularly find her hiding in a corner, crapping her pants, because pooping on the toilet is simply an indignity she refuses to suffer.
Shampoo Eyes: You guys? Why the fuck won't she just close her eyes when I rinse shampoo out of her hair? I've tried to explain it to her so many times- your eyes WON'T FUCKING HURT IF YOU JUST CLOSE THEM, but she seems rather convinced that if she does close her eyes, I'm just going to splash her face with acid or something. I mean, that's basically the equivalent of rinsing shampoo out of her hair anyway, right?
Getting Stuck in Shirts: Every time I put a shirt on Caitlyn, she freaks out for 10 seconds while I try to thread her giant lightbulb head through the neck hole. I can't help but remember the panic I would go into as a kid when my head would get stuck in a shirt. I was always pretty sure I was about to suffocate at any moment, even though I was never stuck for more than 5 seconds. Also, it occurs to me that this many not be a thing that normal people deal with. The giant head thing runs in my family.
Hair Brushing: There is no indignity Caitlyn is less inclined to suffer through than having her hair brushed. There is running away, and crying, and repeated declarations that she doesn't want to brush her hair. And that's just when she SEES the brush. Once I actually sit her down and try to do it? Sobbing, squirming, and begging me to stop. So fucking dramatic about the hair brushing. Just as I was as a kid.
In summation, kids are fucking weirdos, and extremely dramatic. God, that is a shitty closing sentence.
There are a few things I've noticed recently that cause Caitlyn great pain. These are things that I do as an adult too, simple, everyday things. Things that I do not fear. That are not even remotely painful. And yet, somehow, my toddler finds them absolutely traumatic to the point of running away when I even suggest that they may happen.
At first I couldn't understand it, but when I really thought about it, I can remember these exact things being horrible as a kid. Daily things I had to survive, despite the pain and indignity of the tasks. And when I think of them now, I can't help but realize that maybe my childhood wasn't quite as hard as I imagined it to be.
Are you ready for this? The list of the things Caitlyn finds to be physically and emotionally torturous? Let's get into it then:
Pooping: Do you remember when pooping was difficult? When it hurt to push out your poops? I guess as an adult my butthole is regulation sized now, so I can't understand it anymore. But for Caitlyn? She hates to poop. She whines and complains that her butt hurts. I regularly find her hiding in a corner, crapping her pants, because pooping on the toilet is simply an indignity she refuses to suffer.
Shampoo Eyes: You guys? Why the fuck won't she just close her eyes when I rinse shampoo out of her hair? I've tried to explain it to her so many times- your eyes WON'T FUCKING HURT IF YOU JUST CLOSE THEM, but she seems rather convinced that if she does close her eyes, I'm just going to splash her face with acid or something. I mean, that's basically the equivalent of rinsing shampoo out of her hair anyway, right?
Getting Stuck in Shirts: Every time I put a shirt on Caitlyn, she freaks out for 10 seconds while I try to thread her giant lightbulb head through the neck hole. I can't help but remember the panic I would go into as a kid when my head would get stuck in a shirt. I was always pretty sure I was about to suffocate at any moment, even though I was never stuck for more than 5 seconds. Also, it occurs to me that this many not be a thing that normal people deal with. The giant head thing runs in my family.
Hair Brushing: There is no indignity Caitlyn is less inclined to suffer through than having her hair brushed. There is running away, and crying, and repeated declarations that she doesn't want to brush her hair. And that's just when she SEES the brush. Once I actually sit her down and try to do it? Sobbing, squirming, and begging me to stop. So fucking dramatic about the hair brushing. Just as I was as a kid.
In summation, kids are fucking weirdos, and extremely dramatic. God, that is a shitty closing sentence.
Monday, October 1, 2012
Dora and Diego are Pathological Liars. There, I Said It
Here is the problem. I usually blog at work, and work has been extremely busy. Even if you don't figure for the fact that my office moved last week and I've spent the last 6 work days inhaling paint fumes and cancer dust (because no one seemed to think finishing construction prior to our move was important), I've taken on a bunch of new responsibilities too. Responsibilities I'm currently ignoring so I can blog.
The thing is, I would theoretically blog from home. I've even tried it a few times. The way it usually plays out is that I get an idea, sit down at my computer and try to focus just enough so that it's mildly coherent. And then Caitlyn decides she wants to sit on my lap. I can handle that one of two ways: I can ignore her. This always ends with her pawing at me and whining and making me feel like an asshole because GOD, she just wants to sit on her mommy's lap, you fucking monster. And so I always arrive at option two within about 30 seconds, and I put her on my lap. She will then bang on the keyboard, insist we watch Youtube videos of Elmo or decide "I needa PAINT" (because my dad showed her how to use a paint document. And also because she never wants anything anymore. She always "needa".) and screech color choices at me until her masterpiece is complete.
Basically what I'm saying is that unless you want all my blog posts to be paint documents, I can't blog from home (what about when her dad takes her, you might ask next. Yeah. I wonder about that too. I'll let you know when it happens!).
Today I realized that it's been over a month since I posted anything, and yet, I still don't have more than 15 minutes to bang out a real post. It's annoying, actually, because I really do have a backlog of posts in my head. Anyway, consider this a fake post. Leave me lots of comments so I know you haven't all abandoned me.
The other night, a few of my Facebook friends and I decided to call out children's programming for all the lies they are telling our kids. We established the following creepy, weird or just plain outlandish lies our kids may believe based on what Dora and company are telling them (these aren't all me, so thanks to my lovely, funny friends, AKD, Mandy and Jessica):
The thing is, I would theoretically blog from home. I've even tried it a few times. The way it usually plays out is that I get an idea, sit down at my computer and try to focus just enough so that it's mildly coherent. And then Caitlyn decides she wants to sit on my lap. I can handle that one of two ways: I can ignore her. This always ends with her pawing at me and whining and making me feel like an asshole because GOD, she just wants to sit on her mommy's lap, you fucking monster. And so I always arrive at option two within about 30 seconds, and I put her on my lap. She will then bang on the keyboard, insist we watch Youtube videos of Elmo or decide "I needa PAINT" (because my dad showed her how to use a paint document. And also because she never wants anything anymore. She always "needa".) and screech color choices at me until her masterpiece is complete.
Basically what I'm saying is that unless you want all my blog posts to be paint documents, I can't blog from home (what about when her dad takes her, you might ask next. Yeah. I wonder about that too. I'll let you know when it happens!).
Today I realized that it's been over a month since I posted anything, and yet, I still don't have more than 15 minutes to bang out a real post. It's annoying, actually, because I really do have a backlog of posts in my head. Anyway, consider this a fake post. Leave me lots of comments so I know you haven't all abandoned me.
The other night, a few of my Facebook friends and I decided to call out children's programming for all the lies they are telling our kids. We established the following creepy, weird or just plain outlandish lies our kids may believe based on what Dora and company are telling them (these aren't all me, so thanks to my lovely, funny friends, AKD, Mandy and Jessica):
- It isn't weird at all when inanimate objects talk
- 25 year old adults should still be attending school
- A co-ed group of 25 year old adults can share an apartment and no one is ever going to fuck anyone else (or get drunk)
- Baby jaguars make GREAT pets and definitely will not maul you at all
- Salt and pepper shakers are French, and produce cinnamon offspring
- There's nothing wrong with letting a 6 year old girl wander around completely unsupervised. Even when she's too dumb to get anywhere without a map
- 6 year olds can read maps
- All Latino parents don't pay any attention to their children and let them wander through alligator swamps and creepy forests with only a monkey for supervision
- Chinese children are raised by their grandparents, presumably because their parents are in a factory making Nikes 18 hours a day
- Little snotty bitch pigs are apparently endearing (there may have also been suggestions about making Olivia in bacon)
- EVERYONE WANTS YOU TO TALK ABOUT YOUR FEELINGS ALL THE TIME! EVERYTHING IS ABOUT YOU!
- All animals speak English and Spanish, regardless of what country or even CONTINENT they are on.
- "Gazelles are afraid of lions!" (No, gazelles don't want to get their throats ripped out. They have absolutely no worries that the lion might jump out and say BOO)
- Medieval knights are selfish and whiny until their pet dragons remind them not to steal things
- Dino Dan "isn't" a paranoid schizophrenic
- Captain Hook is a little selfish about treasure, but if you ask nicely, he will totally share it with you. And he gets super butt-hurt if you don't invite him to your parties and shit
- If you are being mugged, saying the mugger's name 3 times and telling him no will make him snap his fingers and run away
- David Arquette makes a great parrot, and his career is doing JUST FINE
- If you put the absolute minimum amount of effort into finding something that has been deliberately taken/hidden from you, it will magically appear in the most obvious place ever
- Orange backpacks can bend physics and become anything you need them to be
- And purple backpacks contain anything you could ever need
- Your friends will just laugh at your whimsy if you have the most retarded ideas on the planet, EVERY SINGLE DAY
- You need a song for EVERYTHING
- People won't send you to a special school if you are mildly retarded and constantly step in buckets
- It's not even a little weird to wear the exact same clothes EVERY SINGLE DAY
- Or to dress your blue dog in pajamas, and to keep the same pedophilic haircut for 6 years
- Lance Bass didn't try hard enough to go into space. Pocoyo does that shit all the fucking time and he doesn't have astronaut training OR several million dollars
- Your friends won't make fun of you for trying and failing miserably
- Phineas and Ferb are independently wealthy children, or else their parents conveniently ignore the massive credit card debt they accumulate each day
- "Come inside, it's fun inside" doesn't sound sexual at all, Mickey Mouse
- Neither does "A bunch of bones inside me" (which I was pretty convinced was "I want your bones inside me" until my sister informed me otherwise... either way, really)
- Wonder Pets shouldn't die in a fire (really, we couldn't even say anything about how awful they are besides "should die in a fire", which, apparently children don't agree with).
- Uniqua is a name
- Uniqua and Tyrone would run with the same... let's say "group of friends" as Pablo
- UNDERWATER AIRPLANES
- You can only stalk someone and get away with it if you're voiced by Ashley Tisdale
- It is both completely normal to have a platypus as a pet and to lose him all the time
- Three kids on an island can play with child molester-esque men and there are no authority figures except a parrot
- Toot and Puddle is somehow not scat porn
- Your toys live inside your boombox, and come alive when you sprinkle magic on them (that's called an acid trip, DJ Lance)
- Orange spandex onesies are appropriate attire
- Trains with shifty, haunted painting eyes aren't creepy at all
- You should totally trust and be friends with people who look like giant butt plugs and dildos
- You can buy a new car for the bargain price of FREE, as long as you are willing to sing a song while you assemble it (and you can get 50 people to help as long as you give them a ride to the smoothie stand, which is exactly 50 feet away)
- All the pizza and smoothies are free, and somehow they are both thriving businesses (not to mention the fact that the pizza place is run by someone dumber than Twist)
- Siblings mostly get along except for minor annoyances
- Monsters are adorable, fuzzy creatures
- If someone is bullying you and you tell them they've hurt your feelings, they will be instantly remorseful and apologize
- You should reiterate absolutely every single thing you say at least 3 times (Seriously, kid. I'm not you. I don't have the attention span of a marble. I got it the FIRST time)
- Everyone will want to hug and be best buds after every disagreement. No hard feelings EVER
- Mommies and Daddies are always of the same race and the opposite sex. And happily married, of course
Thursday, August 2, 2012
Shit My Dad Says- About Moving
I moved to a new apartment yesterday. I could write this post in the way you might expect. I could say I'm tired and that moving is bullshit and that I'm lucky to have friends and family that I can count on. But really, anyone who has ever moved anytime ever already knows that it's the worst thing ever (especially when you inflict it on people you love). In fact, I think that whole Guantanimo prison torture thing would have been a lot worse if they had made the prisoners help random, disorganized strangers move out of their second floor apartments as opposed to waterboarding them.
Anyway. I'm going to give you something a lot more entertaining than me just bitching about my sore muscles and vagina that decided to start bleeding at 1:30 in the morning the night before the move, when all my period-catching products were boxed the fuck up and my husband had already moved out and there was absolutely no way I was waking up my 2 year old to make a run to Walmart. I'm going to give you a new story about my dad:
When we last left my dad, he was an asshole, a deadbeat, and a hypochondriac, but I wonder if I've mentioned that he is also utterly insane and without a single drop of common sense. The thing is, I know plenty of people who lack common sense: they say dumb shit without really thinking it through and then feel embarrassed when you point out their huge faults in logic. Honestly, everyone has those moments. Sometimes you will think of something that sounds like the most amazing idea ever in your own head, and then instantly feel like a short-busser the moment someone calls you out on your dumbassery.
The problem with my dad is that logic doesn't exist in his world. All his ideas are the very best ideas and when you point out all the reasons you aren't going to do whatever ridiculous thing he's trying to convince you to do, he desperately clings to the ways you could make it work, patching up the holes with half-assed "solutions" that are just as illogical as the original idea.
I moved yesterday, a Wednesday. On Monday, my dad came over because he wanted to "help pack". This is the point where you wonder if I'm a complete dumbass who left myself only 2 nights after work to pack up my entire life. I absolutely had packing left to do, and was packing up right until very late Tuesday night/Wednesday morning (I was getting ready to go to sleep when Shark Week hit, actually), but by the time he showed up on Monday, around 85% of my stuff was already boxed up and stacked in my living room.
You know in cartoons when someone gets a good idea and a light bulb pops up over their head? It's always like that with my dad. I can see the nonsensical thoughts forming in his brain when he has an idea he thinks is brilliant. Except I always imagine a middle finger instead of a light bulb. Because fuck you, logic. Such was the case on Monday evening. He had been in my house for less than 10 minutes when I saw him looking around at my boxes, metaphorical finger forming over his head. Then he said it:
Dad: You know Jaclyn, if I were you, I wouldn't use these cardboard boxes to pack all your stuff.
Me: ... What do you mean? What else would I use?
Dad: Well, if I can make a suggestion... (Because he thinks the fact that he moves constantly makes him some sort of expert, despite the fact that he never moves anywhere permanently, so his worldy possessions always fit into a- his car or b- a storage unit that he won't pay the monthly rent on and will eventually lose. So basically he's always starting out with nothing to even move).
Me: Well dad, as you can see most of my stuff is already packed.
Dad: I'm just saying, if it were me, let me tell you what I would do.
Me: Oh boy.
Dad: No seriously. Think about it. You are just going to throw all these boxes away anyway. If you bought a bunch of storage trunks you could keep them and use them forever.
Me: I have at least 30 boxes here. I would need at least as many trunks. What the hell would I do with 30 storage trunks? Also, I'm not buying 30 trunks.
Dad: Okay but you can use them for other things besides storage. You could use them as furniture!
Me: ...
Dad: I'm serious!
Me: (at this point I've assumed he means I could use one as a toy chest and maybe a ghetto coffee table, because what the fuck else are you going to do with a fucking TRUNK? Well, friends, LOTS of things, as it turns out). Well... I could use one or two for a toy box but what the fuck would I do with the rest? Also? I'm NOT buying a bunch of storage trunks and even if this made any sense, I ALREADY PACKED 85% OF MY BELONGINGS!
Dad: Well think about this! You could stack a bunch of them and put cushions on them. YOU COULD MAKE A COUCH out of them!
Me: I HAVE A COUCH. Also? Constructing homemade furniture out of extra storage trunks is fucking retarded.
Dad: I think it's a good idea.
Me: Even if it was a good idea, you seem to be suggesting that I should not only throw out my current couch so I can... I don't know, hot glue a bunch of trunks together and put cushions on them, but that I should unpack everything I have already packed so that I can put it into trunks instead.
Dad: I'm just saying. That's what I would do.
Me: Of course it is.
These are the kinds of ideas he has all the time. Naturally, my mom and Nadine had a field day with this one in particular. Nadine suggested saving the boxes so he could make himself a house. My mom thought the cardboard would be great for dressers.
Seriously, you guys? I'm going to be so sad when I can't assemble a new couch out of my moving boxes. So. Sad.
Anyway. I'm going to give you something a lot more entertaining than me just bitching about my sore muscles and vagina that decided to start bleeding at 1:30 in the morning the night before the move, when all my period-catching products were boxed the fuck up and my husband had already moved out and there was absolutely no way I was waking up my 2 year old to make a run to Walmart. I'm going to give you a new story about my dad:
When we last left my dad, he was an asshole, a deadbeat, and a hypochondriac, but I wonder if I've mentioned that he is also utterly insane and without a single drop of common sense. The thing is, I know plenty of people who lack common sense: they say dumb shit without really thinking it through and then feel embarrassed when you point out their huge faults in logic. Honestly, everyone has those moments. Sometimes you will think of something that sounds like the most amazing idea ever in your own head, and then instantly feel like a short-busser the moment someone calls you out on your dumbassery.
The problem with my dad is that logic doesn't exist in his world. All his ideas are the very best ideas and when you point out all the reasons you aren't going to do whatever ridiculous thing he's trying to convince you to do, he desperately clings to the ways you could make it work, patching up the holes with half-assed "solutions" that are just as illogical as the original idea.
I moved yesterday, a Wednesday. On Monday, my dad came over because he wanted to "help pack". This is the point where you wonder if I'm a complete dumbass who left myself only 2 nights after work to pack up my entire life. I absolutely had packing left to do, and was packing up right until very late Tuesday night/Wednesday morning (I was getting ready to go to sleep when Shark Week hit, actually), but by the time he showed up on Monday, around 85% of my stuff was already boxed up and stacked in my living room.
You know in cartoons when someone gets a good idea and a light bulb pops up over their head? It's always like that with my dad. I can see the nonsensical thoughts forming in his brain when he has an idea he thinks is brilliant. Except I always imagine a middle finger instead of a light bulb. Because fuck you, logic. Such was the case on Monday evening. He had been in my house for less than 10 minutes when I saw him looking around at my boxes, metaphorical finger forming over his head. Then he said it:
Dad: You know Jaclyn, if I were you, I wouldn't use these cardboard boxes to pack all your stuff.
Me: ... What do you mean? What else would I use?
Dad: Well, if I can make a suggestion... (Because he thinks the fact that he moves constantly makes him some sort of expert, despite the fact that he never moves anywhere permanently, so his worldy possessions always fit into a- his car or b- a storage unit that he won't pay the monthly rent on and will eventually lose. So basically he's always starting out with nothing to even move).
Me: Well dad, as you can see most of my stuff is already packed.
Dad: I'm just saying, if it were me, let me tell you what I would do.
Me: Oh boy.
Dad: No seriously. Think about it. You are just going to throw all these boxes away anyway. If you bought a bunch of storage trunks you could keep them and use them forever.
Me: I have at least 30 boxes here. I would need at least as many trunks. What the hell would I do with 30 storage trunks? Also, I'm not buying 30 trunks.
Dad: Okay but you can use them for other things besides storage. You could use them as furniture!
Me: ...
Dad: I'm serious!
Me: (at this point I've assumed he means I could use one as a toy chest and maybe a ghetto coffee table, because what the fuck else are you going to do with a fucking TRUNK? Well, friends, LOTS of things, as it turns out). Well... I could use one or two for a toy box but what the fuck would I do with the rest? Also? I'm NOT buying a bunch of storage trunks and even if this made any sense, I ALREADY PACKED 85% OF MY BELONGINGS!
Dad: Well think about this! You could stack a bunch of them and put cushions on them. YOU COULD MAKE A COUCH out of them!
Me: I HAVE A COUCH. Also? Constructing homemade furniture out of extra storage trunks is fucking retarded.
Dad: I think it's a good idea.
Me: Even if it was a good idea, you seem to be suggesting that I should not only throw out my current couch so I can... I don't know, hot glue a bunch of trunks together and put cushions on them, but that I should unpack everything I have already packed so that I can put it into trunks instead.
Dad: I'm just saying. That's what I would do.
Me: Of course it is.
These are the kinds of ideas he has all the time. Naturally, my mom and Nadine had a field day with this one in particular. Nadine suggested saving the boxes so he could make himself a house. My mom thought the cardboard would be great for dressers.
Seriously, you guys? I'm going to be so sad when I can't assemble a new couch out of my moving boxes. So. Sad.
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Because It Would Be Narcissistic to Make Two Separate Posts About How Everyone Loves Me
I'm not what you would call technically savvy. In fact, Nadine set up this entire blog for me. My skill set pretty much consists of signing in, reading other blogs and posting.
My point is that I have no idea how to get people to read my blog. Nadine got me a few sympathy followers to start off with and I think most of the rest of you found me through my comments on other blogs. And I appreciate every single one of you. The fact that any of you want to hear what I have to say, even if it's about diarrhea like 80% of the time, is amazing to me. Thank you all for your support.
Anyway. Somehow my small (extremely small) legion of fans is slowly increasing, and that is fucking awesome. And in the last week, I got two awards from two of my awesome readers:
The first, was the Versatile Blogger award from Selena over at Because Motherhood Sucks
I'm fairly new to Selena's blog, but I was in love with her the moment I saw the title. Because motherhood? Yeah, it kind of does suck sometimes. Selena does an awesome job of being inappropriate and pointing out when things look like orange vaginas. I'm currently reading all of her archives so I don't miss anything.
Next was the Liebster Award, from my Ninja, which is basically her way of saying "Wow, You are awesome as shit. Why are you so underrated?". Ninja is my internet stalker, in case that was unclear. You can easily buy her sassy, Canadian love with some stale cookies and lip balm. She's kind of a whore like that. But seriously? Check you out some Ninja. She's awesome and funny and super smart. Don't play Words with Friends with her though. She's a dirty fucking cheater (or smarter than me, one of those two).
Now, with the first award, you are supposed to give 7 random facts about yourself. Let me see if I can make that happen for you:
1. I'm borderline OCD with my eating habits. The lengths to which I will go to have things a particular way is slightly psychotic. A few examples, you say? Surely. Well, the most obvious example is the fact that I rearrange any kind of burger or sandwich I get. Every time. Even if I'm eating it in my car. The reason for this is to ensure the even distribution of condiments, obviously. Because, moving along to my NEXT example, I need to have a little of everything in each bite. With burgers, that means a little onion, a little pickle, a little bacon and a little ketchup (with anything else, I pretty much get a little of each thing on my fork for every individual bite. Yeah. I know it's psychotic. Didn't I already say that?). If you are wondering what I do about the fries, they are actually eaten in alternate bites with the burger. Last bite has to be burger though, because, moving on to my next example, I have to save what I deem the best bite of something for last. With burgers and sandwiches, this is usually the bite in the middle, which is why I eat around the edges first and work my way in. With steak, obviously the best bite will be the one that looks rarest. And the best bite of pizza is the second bite up from the point. I'll usually bite off the tip (that's what she said), then turn it around and eat from the crust down. These things are the reason I'm fat. Too many food obsessions.
2. I walk weird. I blame my father, as he has the same stupid walk. Rodolfo once described as looking like I'm carrying a bag of groceries in each hand, so... maybe I don't move my arms a lot? I don't know. This is also probably the reason I'm a ridiculous klutz.
3. I'm currently house shopping. It's stressful, because our budget is really tight and we don't want to live in the hood, but it's going to be so fucking awesome when we find the right place. We have been living in a tiny 1 bedroom apartment for 3 years now, and Caitlyn's shit has taken over every nook and cranny, so when she has her own room and maybe a playroom and a fucking backyard to share with Joey, it is going to rock my shit so hard.
4. I married my husband after less than a year ::coughheneededagreencardcough::
5. My left boob is bigger.
6. I have one tattoo, a horribly disfigured little butterfly on my lower back, just above my ass. I got it when I was 19, when my horribly disfigured (okay, maybe he was just ugly) ex boyfriend's brother offered to do it for free on his living room floor because he was learning how to do them. Rodolfo likes to point out that it looks like I got it done in prison and he is 100% correct.
7. I'm not allowed to eat Jolly Ranchers. Yes, in fact I am 29 years old and have been forbidden to eat a particular kind of candy. You see, my mother nearly choked on a similar, squarish hard candy when she was a kid (her own mom dislodged it with the back end of a spoon, so you might understand why she's so traumatized) and told me long ago that I wasn't allowed to eat them. And really? For my mom, who let me drink and fuck in her house because she trusted me to make my own decisions and knew I was intelligent enough not to get pregnant or alcohol poisoning, how could I ignore this one request? I can not. So even today, as a grown adult, if someone offers me a Jolly Rancher, I politely decline and tell them that my mom doesn't let me have them.
Seven random facts. You're welcome. Oh, and thank you, obviously.
I'm also supposed to tag some bitches, but it seems pretty much everyone I would tag for these things has already been tagged by someone else. Except Nadine, who is also awesome and who you should also check out. She doesn't post very often, but her posts are kind of epic (see this post in particular. It's one of my favorites). So I guess I'm tagging Nadine then. Give us some blog love, sir.
My point is that I have no idea how to get people to read my blog. Nadine got me a few sympathy followers to start off with and I think most of the rest of you found me through my comments on other blogs. And I appreciate every single one of you. The fact that any of you want to hear what I have to say, even if it's about diarrhea like 80% of the time, is amazing to me. Thank you all for your support.
Anyway. Somehow my small (extremely small) legion of fans is slowly increasing, and that is fucking awesome. And in the last week, I got two awards from two of my awesome readers:
The first, was the Versatile Blogger award from Selena over at Because Motherhood Sucks
I'm fairly new to Selena's blog, but I was in love with her the moment I saw the title. Because motherhood? Yeah, it kind of does suck sometimes. Selena does an awesome job of being inappropriate and pointing out when things look like orange vaginas. I'm currently reading all of her archives so I don't miss anything.
Next was the Liebster Award, from my Ninja, which is basically her way of saying "Wow, You are awesome as shit. Why are you so underrated?". Ninja is my internet stalker, in case that was unclear. You can easily buy her sassy, Canadian love with some stale cookies and lip balm. She's kind of a whore like that. But seriously? Check you out some Ninja. She's awesome and funny and super smart. Don't play Words with Friends with her though. She's a dirty fucking cheater (or smarter than me, one of those two).
Now, with the first award, you are supposed to give 7 random facts about yourself. Let me see if I can make that happen for you:
1. I'm borderline OCD with my eating habits. The lengths to which I will go to have things a particular way is slightly psychotic. A few examples, you say? Surely. Well, the most obvious example is the fact that I rearrange any kind of burger or sandwich I get. Every time. Even if I'm eating it in my car. The reason for this is to ensure the even distribution of condiments, obviously. Because, moving along to my NEXT example, I need to have a little of everything in each bite. With burgers, that means a little onion, a little pickle, a little bacon and a little ketchup (with anything else, I pretty much get a little of each thing on my fork for every individual bite. Yeah. I know it's psychotic. Didn't I already say that?). If you are wondering what I do about the fries, they are actually eaten in alternate bites with the burger. Last bite has to be burger though, because, moving on to my next example, I have to save what I deem the best bite of something for last. With burgers and sandwiches, this is usually the bite in the middle, which is why I eat around the edges first and work my way in. With steak, obviously the best bite will be the one that looks rarest. And the best bite of pizza is the second bite up from the point. I'll usually bite off the tip (that's what she said), then turn it around and eat from the crust down. These things are the reason I'm fat. Too many food obsessions.
2. I walk weird. I blame my father, as he has the same stupid walk. Rodolfo once described as looking like I'm carrying a bag of groceries in each hand, so... maybe I don't move my arms a lot? I don't know. This is also probably the reason I'm a ridiculous klutz.
3. I'm currently house shopping. It's stressful, because our budget is really tight and we don't want to live in the hood, but it's going to be so fucking awesome when we find the right place. We have been living in a tiny 1 bedroom apartment for 3 years now, and Caitlyn's shit has taken over every nook and cranny, so when she has her own room and maybe a playroom and a fucking backyard to share with Joey, it is going to rock my shit so hard.
4. I married my husband after less than a year ::coughheneededagreencardcough::
5. My left boob is bigger.
6. I have one tattoo, a horribly disfigured little butterfly on my lower back, just above my ass. I got it when I was 19, when my horribly disfigured (okay, maybe he was just ugly) ex boyfriend's brother offered to do it for free on his living room floor because he was learning how to do them. Rodolfo likes to point out that it looks like I got it done in prison and he is 100% correct.
7. I'm not allowed to eat Jolly Ranchers. Yes, in fact I am 29 years old and have been forbidden to eat a particular kind of candy. You see, my mother nearly choked on a similar, squarish hard candy when she was a kid (her own mom dislodged it with the back end of a spoon, so you might understand why she's so traumatized) and told me long ago that I wasn't allowed to eat them. And really? For my mom, who let me drink and fuck in her house because she trusted me to make my own decisions and knew I was intelligent enough not to get pregnant or alcohol poisoning, how could I ignore this one request? I can not. So even today, as a grown adult, if someone offers me a Jolly Rancher, I politely decline and tell them that my mom doesn't let me have them.
Seven random facts. You're welcome. Oh, and thank you, obviously.
I'm also supposed to tag some bitches, but it seems pretty much everyone I would tag for these things has already been tagged by someone else. Except Nadine, who is also awesome and who you should also check out. She doesn't post very often, but her posts are kind of epic (see this post in particular. It's one of my favorites). So I guess I'm tagging Nadine then. Give us some blog love, sir.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
