Better Than Cattle Wrangling

Ok, so I've come back... but this is really important.  I have thought of something that will save lives, time, and avoid the panic that settles over you like a parachute when you have broken both your legs on a bad landing.

I need help with it though, and yes, we will make millions you and I.

Back in the dark ages, when I was learning how to drive, there were areas that my dad warned me not to go.  Which I immediately filed away as the perfect place to hang out with my friends...
But he was warning me about certain places that draw an unnatural amount of violence.  It was in these areas that my dear mother would slide down in her seat a little and lock her doors when she saw a person out and about, and dad warned us not to stop at traffic lights. I always was a touch embarrassed by this, and loved to roll down my window and ask the meanest looking bloke to bum a cigarette, while sitting beside me, mom had a mini stroke and peed a little.

But as I a have matured, I have come to accept that there are places that nice people should avoid.  I'm thinking of you, north Florida.  And I do, begrudgingly, accept that it isn't being a bigot when you say a certain area is less safe than another, and there actually are places that should be given a wide berth.

So this is where the 'arrive alive' idea comes in.  I know it used to be about not drinking and driving, but that's old socks, this is the new improved 'arrive alive'.  The bedazzled version.

We need an app. One that will give directions to your destination by taking into account those more violent areas.  It's easy enough to get the crime statistics from the local police station, but the part I need help with is the algorithm that is needed to meld the info into a street map and navigation aid.  It could have levels of safety too, so if you are feeling reckless, you could pick the 'I'd like to risk getting murdered and eaten by Pygmies' level.  (I'm not altogether sure that Pygmies are murderous cannibals, but I would be if I were a Pygmy)  It could have a choose your own adventure route that could possibly end in your destination being achieved with fireworks and a marching band, or your disembowelment. Then there's the 'Detroit' level.

And we could have the '9/10 cars are worth over $100,000' area.  These are the places that I like to go when I'm driving my rusted out 1989 Hyundai.  I try to find the most expensive car in the parking lot, and squeeze my beater next to their driver side door so they will have to climb through the passenger side to get in.  But if I'm completely honest, they would call 911 instead of the scuffing the leather on the climb through, because I'm sure their lawyer can find some law that says that behavior is harassment.  ...Jeez, I guess I should start an account for my bail expenses...

So if anyone out there has the smarts to do this, lets put our melons together.  I'll be the snark, and you be the brain. Or steal my idea, do it yourself, then sell the app to me for $2.99.  It will save me the unknown amount of work I would avoid doing anyway.  Just know that I am going to claim it as my own when I tell my cell mates what I'm in for.

Peace out.

I'm done...

Thanks to the six people that read my blog.

Farewell white, stay at home world...I got a big girl job.

FREEDOM!

It's the season of giving, right?  Just had Thanksgingkkah, and around the corner is Christmas.  So here is my gift to females worldwide.

A long sleeve shirt with a built-in bra.  All the coverage with none of the discomfort.

...on a side note, I was going to put 'femdom worldwide' and googled 'femdom' to insure I was using/spelling it correctly, which is why I used 'female' instead, but because of what I found, I have to talk about it anyway... I have always used 'femdom' as a way of saying 'of the female'.  Now I have to change my expression, since I have been referencing female domination and BDSM for the past 15 years.  ...no wonder my co-worker's wife thought I was a dom.  Explains so much, yet doesn't bring me comfort.

But back to the shirt...

I have a bra repulsion. They are restrictively hellish garments that should only be necessary if said bosom puts the owner in danger whilst being active.  Otherwise, they should be like the dress socks that slouch down your calf and bunch up in your heal...that's to say, stuffed in a dark corner in the back of a drawer.  And I can't forget to mention the fact that many men have a bigger bosom than I, so now out pops my feminism.  I stopped shaving for November too, so take that!

 Unfortunately, the elusive long sleeve with a built-in have not been invented yet.  Or the owners are keeping them selfishly hidden.  Bastards.

Screw the 80's, I should have been a 60's child.

8+ Reasons Why Being A Stay At Home Parent Sucks The Life Out Of Everything

I love reading those posts that go viral about how you know you are a 90's girl, or fun topics like that.  In fact, since I was born straddling a decade, I never could figure out if I was an 80's or a 90's child, but since reading the how you know posts, I have come away with a solid answer.  It makes me quite happy to announce that I am, unequivocally, an 80's child.  Yeah!  The only decade better is the one that hasn't happened.  These lucky kiddos will be able to say they were a child of the roaring 20's!  Because the first two decades in this century are just awkward to talk about.  Really, how do you say 'I'm a zeros' child' without sounding dumb.  Or a 'teens' child?  Dumb again.  That's why they are sticking with 'millennial's', and so would I.

So recently I read a post about the 21 reasons being a stay at home mom sucks.  ...that wasn't the title, but it lead you to believe that the 21 reasons would be those that would cause a second thought when deciding to resign from your job.  And they fell flat.  Half of the reasons would make anyone want to be the stay at home parent.  I think that's doing a disservice to those that are considering the giant leap into stay at homes.  I firmly believe that when considering any occupation, you should learn about the parts that make people want to stab their nearest co-worker with a dull pencil.  Usually, when someone finally nails down what job they want, it usually comes with dreams of fine pay, nice promotions, great benefits, fun co-workers, and a feeling of accomplishment at the end of a busy work day.

Then they get the job.

And reality is mean.

Hopefully, you can find the good in your profession, because there is good in everything...even the guy that drives the truck looking for road kill to pick up.  Because he gets the digs on new land that is for sale, and he will one day own all of us.

But if you go into a job knowing the good and the bad, your heart won't be smashed into little bits that a toddler will choke on.  So with that in mind, here are my reasons that being a stay at home mom sucks.  I'm not sure I'll get to 21, but then again, I might just have to buy a website to finish the list, because I'm only allowed so much on this free site.  And because I don't want to sound like the horrible parent that only takes away the crappy parts of parenthood, know that I have enjoyed being a stay at home about 90% of the time.  My kids are awesome, and I'd do it all over again.  Next time, though, I'd go into it knowing what to expect.  So think of this as a public service for those considering a job change.

Parts of being a stay at home parent that suck:

1. Never again will you be called by your given name.  No one will remember it, or care to learn it.  You are now 'Joey's Mom'.  But you will not be able to learn the other mom's names, so no one feels bad about calling each other by the stand-by 'hey...'

2. You don't have a job, and you never did.  Did you leave an illustrious career in macro-biotics?  Did you cure toenail cancer?  And if people find out you actually were something before having kids, they look at you like it was a feat of daring and skill that could not have come from this now, slightly lumpy woman that has a baby attachment.

3. Are you going to be a stay at home dad?  Because what everyone really sees when there is a dad at the playground is you are giving your wife an afternoon off.  Or the more terrible reality that you are probably just a loser that got fired and refuses to look for work.  You lazy bum.  ...or you are a kidnapper, so hope to hell that your kid isn't crying when you have to drag them away from the toy store.  One of my girlfriend's was at the mall (hell) with her daughter.  The little girl was mad at her mom, and screamed 'YOU'RE NOT MY MOM!' as she was pulled toward the exit.  The security guard actually questioned her (good guy security guard).  Luckily, the girl is a spittin image of her mom, so there wasn't much to question.  ...Good luck dads.

4. Your fancy stuff gets put away for ten years, to be replaced by a series of ever changing plastic things.  And no matter how much you say the toys need to stay in their room, the plastic will always come back into the living room, like a steady flow of multi-colored lava.  ...or birthday cake vomit.

5. Do you remember wearing nice things?  Take a picture, because you won't have to dress up (and I mean wear eye liner and brush your hair) for at least five years.  

6. Do you enjoy exotic meals?  Well you have exactly 2.75 years to eat what you want.  Once that two year old realizes that you are trying to poison him with the punjab eggplant, your taste buds are shut down.  You have one of three options.  Cook two meals.  Cook boring meals that you know the kids will eat.  Or cook what you want to eat and wait for the fight that will end with you being angry, and the kids being hungry.

7. Nothing is sacred anymore.  NOTHING.

8. This is the last one, and I'm piling all the stuff in the same one because they aren't exactly surprises, but they need to be said.  Kind of like having terms and conditions on parenthood.  No money, no benefits, no vacation, no breaks, never pooing alone, never having a peaceful meal out, never going to the bar, uno, go- fish, checkers, tying shoes in double knots then having to get the pliers to untie them only to tie them in double knots 10 minutes later, messy car, messy house, finding melted butter in your twirly lightbulb, the fire it will become, never sleeping peacefully because the kids might be dead, and never having a quiet moment...ever.

So, after all that, if you still want to take the plunge and become a stay at home parent, you will be fine.  You have been forewarned, and I have the utmost faith that you will be a success.  Because really, if your kid lives, you did it right.

'Oh, are you getting a new puppy?' NO! Shut Up..Go Away!

My house is full of animals, two of which are dogs.  The rest of the animals are we people, and I think that most of the time, the dogs are more civilized.

Here's one of them...

Momma, I cold.

This is Grizwald.  He is a Chinese Crested Hairless, or more precisely, the naked rat squirrel, and this is about as cute as he ever looks.  The poor boy hates winter, and rain, and wet grass, and toads. 

Let it be clear that Griz came to us as a rescue.  And not even a proper rescue.  I did not search out to adopt a naked animal.  He came to us via a serendipitous chat on a website.  A woman posted that someone dumped the ugliest dog in the world in her yard, and asked if anyone wanted him.  Well, ugly+unwanted=me jumping up and down waving both hands in the air screaming 'pick me, pick me!'  

And so came Grizwald.  I'm not sure he was dumped in the manner she described, and I did put feelers out in the area where she lived to see if anyone was missing a $2000. dog.  No one claimed the poor dear, so he became ours.  Really, I became his.  And by chance anyone reads this and says 'hey! I lost my $2000. dog a few years ago!', ...he has a tattoo, so if he really is yours, contact me.  But if someone does claim him, I might just pack up and move to another place and never blog again, and change my name, because I am his....not you.

Our other dog is the reason behind this post.

Where?

 

This is Wile E. Coyote.  She's my girl.  My first baby.  If you look at the picture and think she looks a tad like a zombie, that's because she is...sort of.  She has a retinal disease which makes the fluid build up in her eye, kind of like glaucoma.  It leads to blindness and weird bulgy zombie eyes.  We had a procedure done on her right eye to take the fluid out and prevent more pressure build up, and thankfully it worked.  The vet wanted us to have her eye removed, which would have been super cool at Halloween, but the pain and expense would have been too much.  So we opted on the 'suck out the problem' solution.  So far, so good.  And her other eye hasn't started the zombie bulge yet, so cheers to being regular blind instead of Marty Feldman blind.

Wile is 13.  She'll be 14 in April.  And she's a pure bred lab.  So just doing regular math, she's enjoying her sunset.

In order to keep my head from exploding with grief that I shouldn't feel yet, I've started looking at the puppies on SPCA websites.  It's kind of like reading the last page of a book to find out what's going to happen before it actually happens.  When you know the future, the present is a bit easier to handle.  

But I also feel like a cheat.  An adulterer, if you could use the word to describe puppy love instead of indecent people, cheat love.  

I also have a blubber problem.  I can come into watching a tv program that is half over, be introduced to a character on minute, any cry hopelessly when they get killed 20 seconds later.  No joke.  All I have to do is think about the story line of 'My Girl', and I well up.  The jokes about pregnant women crying at commercials?   I do that.  And I'm not pregnant.

So I'm relying on adorable puppy ideas racing around in my head to keep me level.  I can't wait to get one, but dread the reason why we will get one.  I'm bipolar without the meds.  It's fun and tragic all in one bubble.  

Stupid life.

Is That a Rhetorical Question?

I have a slight addiction to Facebook.  With the help of friends and the lack of a job, I spend a wee bit too much time on the ridiculous site.  Most of the time, I just pop on to see if anyone put anything funny up.

I tend to unfriend people that aren't funny, so let that be a lesson to you.

Family is safe, but only because they are family, and there is a requirement written into the terms and services that if you unfriend a family member, you will go to hell.  Which I don't believe in, but you never can be too careful.

I have become pretty familiar with the 'hide' button though. I use it with wild abandon.  I don't care to read all of the updates you put about hating one political party or another.  Do that, and you're either gone, or forgotten.

Another one I hide are the religious freaks.

Those are the ones that perplex me the most.

Do you really want to know if I think Jesus is the reason for the season?

...cus he's not.  He wasn't even born on Christmas day.  Want to know why they picked Dec. 25th for Jesus' fake birthday? It's because of the 8th day and circumcision.  The Bris ceremony is performed on the 8th day of life, a welcome to the world ceremony.  The day when the slate is clean and real life can begin.  The 8th day after being born on the 25, if you count the 25th as day 1, is........ Jan 1st.  And then the world got a fresh start.  HAPPY NEW YEAR!  Convenient and brilliant.  I think the person that picked the 25th was a genius.  They should write a book.

oh, wait...

 

I like you believers, I really do.  I even love some of you.  A lot.

But if you keep asking me what I think, one day I might answer you.  I think a few knickers would get all twisted up if I answered all of the 'do you believe' questions y'all post on your fb pages.  So I keep my mouth shut, out of respect mostly.  I don't like getting in arguments when ethically, everyone is right.  And I really do like you kids, and respect your opinion.  I wonder though, would you respect mine?

So let's go back to the tried and true... only ask the question if you really want to know the answer.

Curiosity Killed the Computer

Um, so apparently, if you put words like 'gold' with words like 'toilet' in a blog post, some very ...fetishy... websites come and take a gander at your blog.

Glad I got curious about the address when the smalls were at school!


I swear I wasn't curious more than once...

And how appropriate that this is the 69th blog post...