About Joleen

I'm a Navy wife and a mama to a daughter who's like a hummingbird on crack.
Author Archive | Joleen

Caulk Block

I look forward to when my husband pulls out his big caulking gun and a tube of caulk sealant. That means my inner 12 year-old boy comes out so it can take advantage of all the cock talk I can come up with. There’s always that time of year I dread. Ant season. Those little assholes come onto our kitchen counter and I just want to set fire to the house after so many days because they drive me crazy.

Enter caulk.

Husband: The ant bait seems to be working but I’m going to get my big caulk out and see if that helps.

Me: So, you’re going to caulk block them then?

Husband: Yeah, with lots of caulk.

He’s currently trying to get the master bathroom shower all caulked up. He’s been drying the shower with a fan since last night before he caulks it up and it’s driving me crazy because the fan cord is plugged in right in front of the toilet so whenever I’ve gone to the bathroom since yesterday, I have to be careful to avoid the tripwire that is the fan cord while making my way to the toilet so last night while getting up, I didn’t want to turn the light on so I just took these giant steps while hoping I wouldn’t trip over the cord from the fan and kill myself in the middle of the night. All this so my husband can get his caulk on in the shower.

The time finally came for my husband to rock out with his caulk out.

Husband: I get to go use my caulk in the shower.

Me: Have fun. Try not to be too messy.

A few minutes later…

Husband: My white caulk is too white. I need a nude caulk.

Me: Okay.

Husband: I’ll be at Home Depot looking at the different caulk. I’ll get the hardest caulk they have.

Me: Don’t get too big of a caulk though. We want it to fit what you’re caulking.

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#Blessed

Something has been on my mind for quite a while that I just have to get out in the open.

No, it’s not that Trump is a disgusting, vile pig who needs to be grabbed by the pussy because he’s a chicken shit and coward for not attending the White House Correspondent’s Dinner, although yes, that was something I’ve been thinking about. No offense to chicken shit or pussies.

What I want to get out in the open is that I can’t take one more person being “#blessed” on their Facebook status.

Don’t get me wrong. If you feel that way, great for you.

It’s the insane overuse of the word that annoys me. An example of the use, which I’m totally pulling out of my ass…

Facebook Status:

‘I bought a frozen lemonade at Panera and it was delicious. #lemonade #blessed’

2k likes

55 comments

Really?

It’s a fucking lemonade. Chill the fuck out.

And, seriously. You have that many likes?

I share a video of a cat eating watermelon in a funny hat while dressed up as Princess Leia with a functioning light saber, but it only gets 2 likes.

What is up with that?!

Ahem, anyway… I get the use of the word with the birth of a child or somebody recovering from surgery, etc. But, to use it all the fucking time? What happened to words like ‘thankful’ or ‘happy’?

Nope, it’s not good enough, apparently.

Facebook Status:

‘I’m so #blessed that there was a hidden tampon in my purse when I thought I was out.’

Okay, actually finding a tampon that I didn’t think I had when I’m bleeding to death at that time of the month is a blessing because I don’t want to put pants on, drive to the store, walk, get stuck behind the slowest fucking person in the whole goddamn universe, walk back to my car, and drive home. I don’t want to deal with people when I’m on my period.

Oops, my mistake.

The desire to not have to deal with people is something I want on a daily basis.

So, can you tell by my bitchiness that I’m currently on my period, would kill for a Snickers bar, and found a surprise and unopened box of tampons in a bathroom cabinet earlier?

#blessed

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P

ETA: I changed the name of this post because I didn’t want pervs googling people peeing in their pants and getting off on it. Ewww.

I’ve had a cold for the past three days. I am such a fucking baby when I get sick and feel the need to tell my husband I feel like shit every hour. He, on the other hand, is made of steel. Steel, I tell you! I practically have to beg him to help him out on the rare occasion he gets sick.

The thing that pisses me off (pun intended) about being sick, well, besides being sick, feeling like shit, and coughing up my lung is peeing every time I cough. My 15 year-old self would have laughed at my *mumbles* year-old self the first time I had to buy pee pads. I started out with period pads but after the hummingbird and then Ben three years ago, I can pee myself so bad that it goes through my underwear and pajama pants.

So, I held my head in shame when I first bought pee pads and it’s all thanks to my darling children. Damn it.

This is totally fucking karma because when I was a teenager and was at the store with my mom, I would ask her why she bought pads since I knew she used tampons. Like any young person or child, my voice level came across as “WHY ARE YOU GETTING THOSE PADS, MOM?”. I pretty much knew why but teenagers are assholes so there you go.

There are those extra embarrassing times when I may sneeze my nose off or get into a coughing fit and actually pee my pants and the pee might start running down my leg while I haul ass to the bathroom. Just one of the many things to love about motherhood.

Since I’ve been sick this week and coughing my head off, I’ve gone through several pairs of underwear and pajama pants that I’ve been washing every day. I could just easily wear pads (which I occasionally do) during times like this but my vagina is claustrophobic. Or, so that’s what it tells me but I can’t really understand what it’s saying while being crammed up against whatever the hell pads are made out of.

For some reason, I also shun pads because I’ll think “My vagina can handle anything!”

Why can’t men pee their pants also once you have kids? What’s up with that?! Then you can both share the embarrassment together. When are they going to have their vagina stretched out so much that a clown car could drive through? Granted, they don’t have the genitalia, but still.

What really gets me is while coughing and sneezing set off the crotch fountain, there have been times where I’m not doing anything that I deem strenuous but then what do I know? A little pee will just randomly come out. Really, vagina, REALLY?

I used to think those vaginal rejuvenation surgeries were laughable and now I want to kiss whoever came up with the procedure.

Yay to motherhood for making me piss myself.

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Go To Bed. Go To Bed. Go To Bed.

By the time my kid was seven years-old, I didn’t think sleep would be an issue for her.

It is.

Fucking fuck.

There’s always some ailment that needs tending to and is causing her to stay awake. Like that invisible scratch on her ankle, or she needs a hangnail cut off, or another good night kiss.

Well, a new bedtime hell has taken over the house and it’s all Bloody Mary’s fault. A classmate of her’s told the hummingbird how if she says Bloody Mary in the mirror three times, she appears.

Now, it’s all about Bloody Mary coming to get her and she’ll get up out of bed three or four times before she falls asleep.

Also, a few weeks ago, we had two power outages a few minutes apart. It was early in the morning and it woke her up.

So, besides Bloody Mary, we have to assure her that if it rains or snows, there’s most likely not going to be a power outage.

It doesn’t matter though. It’s just one more excuse for her to use to try and get out of going to bed. If only she knew that I know ALL of the tricks. But, she seems so sure that she’s pulling one over on me.

Sleep, how I miss you.

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Out Of The Closet

As you may know, I write under a pseudonym. When I started this blog, my husband was still in the Navy and teaching at a military college. He had quite a few concerns about his bosses or students finding what I write so that’s why I went under a different name. That and the fact that I rip my in-laws to shreds and would rather them not find out.

Here it is over six years later and my writing has taken me further than I ever expected. So, here you go… this is the real me. On this blog and social media, I’m changing over to my real first name. I don’t use my pseudonym Facebook at all and miss out on interacting with all of you.

I’ve developed some really great relationships with some of you and want that to continue. By the way, I came up with Elle since my last name starts with an L. I’m still going to use Davis for my last name when writing since it’s a much simpler name to say and spell.

There you go. The real me is out of the closet.

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The Wall

Things have been quickly going to hell in a hand basket so instead of ranting, I’ll leave you with this, as well as a great post by Tas from Not My Year Off about the Muslim ban.

Okay, I will say more. It’s crushing to see people not only support the Muslim ban and the wall, but to also say the protests are laughable and pointless. So, with that thought process, people like Martin Luther King Jr. should have just stayed home instead of fighting for the rights of people under horrible oppression with marches and rallies.

It’s disconcerting that these people have so much hate in their heart.

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Presidential Memorandum Regarding Santa Claus

It hasn’t even been a week and the actions that Donald Trump has taken has been, well, worse than I thought they would be and scary as fuck.

My 7 year-old heard me talking about “The Wall”. No, not Pink Floyd’s “The Wall”, Trump’s “The Wall”. The hummingbird asked how high “The Wall” would be because she wouldn’t want a wall to block Santa Claus. She was concerned that kids all over the world wouldn’t get presents if they separated us.

Out of the mouths of babes.

I was sitting there later on watching Anderson Cooper and feeling like I’m in some Twilight Zone episode while they talked about “The Wall”. I’ve been so full of anxiety all week and bitching about Trump to my husband and feeling so stressed.

Leave it to him to make me feel better. While I was glued to the news (which I really, really need to turn off), my husband had a little surprise for me. He wrote an executive order that Trump would probably, no, forget probably. It’s something he would absolutely do.

I laugh about this now but who knows if there will be something even more insane Donald Trump pulls than banning Santa Claus.

You’re a mean one, Mr. Grinch.

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