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The Mall Is A Place That Is Hell On Earth

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I recently took my daughter to the mall and it reminded me why I hate the mall. The hummingbird loves it so I endure it after taking a xanax. Not only is the drive 40 minutes away, and I hate driving, but crowds just aren’t my thing either. But, there’s always queso at the mall so besides dealing with the mall bullshit, I eat my beloved tortilla chips and queso at a restaurant that’s in the mall.

That cheesy, delicious, creamy, spicy queso makes me do it.

Cheese has superpowers over me.

But, I’m getting off topic.

The mall fucking sucks and I hate it but I go because after spending half a day at home with a 7 year-old that’s bouncing off the walls and running me ragged, I need to get the hell out of the house. The library is usually our go to place in that situation but on those beautiful, glorious paydays, I have to buy shit I don’t need.

Enter the mall.

Straight away, I have to get my queso and tortilla chips. If I’m full of cheese, I won’t have as much desire to ram people with my body while walking through the mall. It’s the people who stand there talking and are completely oblivious to the fact that other people exist. This person is usually standing in the middle of the aisle so you can’t get past even though you’ve said excuse me twice. They can also be right in front of a store blocking the walkway but you can’t pass because a herd of people decide to come in the opposite direction.

My daughter usually rides the carousel twice and I stand there waving at my daughter every single time she comes my way and take a picture. And usually, half way through, she starts to ignore me while I continue to wave and take 30 pictures of her, none of which turn out.

Then, she’ll ask for a punching balloon thingamajig and each time, I’ll say no.

On we go to one of the stores but wait, what’s that ahead? It’s the fucking Build-A-Bear. That damn store. The hummingbird tries to drag me in while I drag her away and look at that, a small group of people or a family is standing in front of the store, talking, while in the opposite direction, a crowd of people come by like a swarm of bees so we have no choice but to stop and wait which is just enough time for my daughter to use her super strength to get a few feet into Build-A-Bear and just long enough for me to glance at the prices and think what the fuck, break into a cold sweat because an employee of the store eyes us and starts walking our way, and then over-riding my stuffed to the gills stomach full of queso to find my super strength to zoom out of there.

Finally, we’re a few stores down and safe. Or so I thought. There’s a kiosk that has these smushy balls that are sticky and splat on the table and that sounds perverted. For some unknown reason, there’s a magnetic pull that brings kids to this place. After navigating my way from the sticky balls, we head into one of the clothing stores and even though I say we’re just going to look, there’s a cha-ching of some of that payday money.

We start walking to the next store and things are all shiny and calling my name like Sephora or The Body Shop but my daughter’s whiny “MOM” voice that is so bad, dogs can hear, either gets me out of their quick or makes me avoid those places completely.

But wait.

There’s a lipstick I just have to get and that lip balm that I’ll lose in the next few days smells really good so I can’t leave without that.

“MOM!”

Around this time, my mind tunes the whiny voice out because there’s too many shiny, pretty things to look at. That’s when I do what I said I’d never do as a mom but have done since she’s understood it. Bribing is a beautiful thing when you’re in that kind of situation.

I promise her she can buy one thing at the other clothing store within a certain amount of money “if you give mommy a few minutes more.”

Cha-ching!

Oh, there’s the cocoa butter body butter. I must get that too!

Cha-ching!

Before going into the hummingbird’s clothing store, I remind her that we’re only getting ONE thing. That’s it. Just one thing.

Cha-ching! Cha-ching!

Finally, sweet freedom from hell on earth is just out the door but wait. I get the puppy dog eyes and “please, please, please mom, can I ride the carousel once more?”

Okaaay.

While I’m waiting, we’re by the food court and all the smells start making my stomach rumble. The queso has done it’s job in the beginning but now I’m starving and there’s pizza, and Chinese food, and burgers, oh my.

Once the hummingbird is done, we head to the frozen yogurt place in the food court because it’s so smart to sugar your kid up before our 40 minute drive back home. I’m smart like that.

After that, fresh air and freedom from food court smells, crowds, and spending lots of money, we head to the car.

Oh shit, where is the fucking car. I always make a mental note of where I parked but forget it in less than five seconds. Fortunately, my very hyper, sugared up 7 year-old sees our car and it’s home at last.

But what’s that sound? It’s my bank account gently weeping. If only it knew that if we were to get into the clutches of the Build-A-Bear employees, it would be doing the ugly cry from buying all the overpriced bear shit that the place involves.

So, I reassure my bank account that we won’t experience the mall again for another few months. I do leave out the fact that there’s plenty of stuff just sitting there waiting to be bought in my Amazon shopping cart.

Cha-ching!

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I Feel Like Mr. Hand In Fast Times At Ridgemont High. Everyone Must Be Stoned.

Except if you were stoned, you wouldn’t be making such dumb decisions. Well, except for in the food category but those were some pretty yummy dumb decisions.

Does anyone else feel like they’re being Punk’d with this whole Trump business. Is he really winning the votes? Who would want to vote for him? Did I slip into a Twilight Zone episode and got stuck in an alternate universe? Why is he so orange? Does he dive into a bag of Cheetos’ to get that color? Is everyone in on this joke but me?

Seriously? Donald Trump. It just doesn’t compute. I’ve said it before but it’s like we’re in the movie Idiocracy. If you haven’t ever seen it, you will be terrified of the similarities.

And TLC… really? You pieces of shit brought back the Duggar girls. What a bunch of assholes all around. I still see defenders out there for them and my mind is baffled.

I guess the hypocritical defenders of the Duggars are the same people voting for Trump.

I really, really hope I’m being Punk’d.

*Glitter In The Air

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My Therapist Is On Vacation Post: Flower Girl

wedding-bouquet

In all my years of therapy, I only mentioned my former step-mother to my psychologist a few times which is kind of shocker because she was such a bitch. It was bad enough that my biological dad is schizophrenic, was an alcoholic, and would snort whatever he could find. My ex stepmother was bipolar and an alcoholic or as I experienced, a mean and vindictive drunk.

Every time my bio dad “Tom” would piss her off, “Kathy” didn’t just keep it between them. Oh, no, that’s too simple. The bitch would take it out on me and put me in the middle of whatever bullshit fight they were going through at the time.

I was only 9 years-old when it first started since that’s when I met my biological father for the very first time seeing how he was MIA all those years prior.

Blah, blah, blah, to the point.

Tom and Kathy were still engaged when I met my dad for the first time. 6 months later they married, and I spent three weeks seeing some very interesting chaos and dysfunction in the Kathy/Tom household. They would have the most fucked up, twisted fights in front of us kids… I had two step-brothers.

There was that one time when Kathy had a bitch fit when my dad came home from work and wanted to take me out to dinner. Just me and him. For the first time since he came into my life 6 months prior. The bitch had a fucking meltdown over the mere suggestion of Tom and I getting to know each other as father and daughter.

It became a Defcon 5 and my uncle had to pick up the three of us and get us out of that insanity. All because my dad wanted to take me out to dinner.

By the time we had gotten back, things had simmered down and my step-brothers and I huddled together on the couch while the two lovebirds went at it again well into the early morning.

The three of us fell asleep on the couch and had a rude awakening the next morning. The bitch was going ballistic and my brothers and I were hiding underneath the blankets on the couch. When the soon to be newlyweds ended up in the kitchen with their fighting, dear Kathy set a fine example by picking up a knife from the counter and threatened to kill Tom. I remember peeking out from the blankets while she was waving the knife around his face.

If that’s not true love. I don’t know what is.

So, despite the relationship from hell, they actually went through with the wedding.

Dear sweet baby jeebus.

The bitch made me flower girl and by this point, I was shell-shocked from my weeks of hell with Tom and Kathy but because it was the wedding day, people mistook it for me being overcome with emotion. Yeah, it was terror and the culprits were the two people who were supposed to be somewhat sane and stable adults.

The wedding was a shit fest for me and so fake. Especially after the absolute madness I witnessed over and over again within their relationship.

Okay, it’s time to toss the bitchy bride’s bouquet. I didn’t want any part of it. Mostly, I just wanted to get away from her crazy ass. I also found that most of her friends seemed to have hit every crazy, superficial, branch on the bat shit tree. Lucky me had to stand amongst these bitches who were ready to take down anyone who got in the way of the bridal bouquet.

I put my 9 year-old ass in the back so I wouldn’t be trampled on and then the flowers were thrown. I was running away from that mess like a quarterback doing whatever the hell a quarterback does.

That’s when it happened. I accidentally caught the fucking flowers. I couldn’t care less and just wanted some cake and an escape from Kathy. Not even a minute after I caught the bouquet, the superficial bitches started to whine about how it wasn’t fair that I caught the bouquet.

Yes, really. Something about how now that the bride is officially my step-monster, it wasn’t fair that I caught the flowers and I can’t even remember their lame argument over something so petty. Things like it’s not like she’s really throwing her bridal bouquet because it’s just going back home with her since I caught it.

????????

I have no clue but they were a bunch of whiney bitches who made a HUGE fuss over this. So much so that it took away from the wedding and other guests were trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

These were supposed to be grown ass women. I just wanted to give the flowers to anyone who would take them and get myself out of that ridiculous mess. But an even bigger deal had to be made and so cunty Kathy took the flowers back from me and decided to throw them a second time so it would be “fair”.

I refused to go back in with that group of assholes but my step-mother insisted I once again join the group while she threw the bouquet… again.

Guess who caught it?

Me.

Again.

What the ever-loving fuck?

And can you guess what happened?

Yes, those bitches freaked out again and were royally pissed that I caught the bouquet for the second time.

I have to admit that I somewhat enjoyed catching it again and since I picked up such colorful language while staying with Kathy and Tom, it would have pleased me to yell out SUCK ON THAT, BITCHES!

But I didn’t and I offered to give away that damn bridal bouquet… again.

There was actually talk of Kathy throwing the flowers a third goddamn time but instead those bitches complained how a kid caught the flowers twice and WAAAAAA! It’s not fair. It made for an extra fun wedding reception.

After that came our family honeymoon type thing. They took me and my step-brothers to Disneyland and it wasn’t the happiest place on earth. Why? It’s because Tom and Kathy fought their way from the entrance to “the magical kingdom” all the way to the tea cups and space mountain and the water slide thing and you get my drift.

They were saying fuck this and fuck that and fuck you… ALL in front of families and Disneyland workers and even the mouse himself.

It’s safe to say that it will never be my dream to go to Disney world if I ever win the super bowl. I’m scarred for life from going there again.

As I got older, Kathy did super fun stuff like spend some money on clothes or gifts for me but when Tom would piss her off and they would be fighting back and forth, she would demand those things back. I had quickly learned not to accept anything from her “generosity” but just like when I was a flower girl, it wasn’t so easy to tell this woman no.

And this is the type of stuff my poor therapist has to listen to. No wonder she goes on vacation as often as she does.

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The Likeness Is Uncanny

Well, look at that! Donald Trump is on the cover.

donald-trump-pig-in-a-wig

I already shared this fabulous photo of the misogynistic pig on my FB page, but couldn’t resist posting it here.

And if you need some brain bleach, here you go…

*The hummingbird and I can’t get enough of this song.

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An In-Law Visit: Your Ass Will Need A Nap After This

Hola! I’ve been taking a break from my blog for a bit but I’m baaaack. So, my in-laws recently came to visit for 5 days. 5 fucking days of hell. I’m so very jealous of people who have such nice in-laws and get along so well with them.

Can we please trade? No? I don’t blame you.

After a lot of time goes by from their visit, I think “Well, maybe they aren’t so bad after all.” But when they come back to visit, I think yes, yes they sure as hell are!

My mother-in-law, as usual, gave me plenty of her quips and witchy ways and I still don’t get what’s up her ass to be like that towards me.

Example: At breakfast one morning, we had pancakes. I asked the little hummingbird if she’d like syrup on them since she usually does. Simple, right?

But as usual, when I direct a question to my 6 year-old or husband, my MIL always, always, always has to interject.

Me: Little bird, would you like some syrup?

Little bird: That’s okay, I don’t need any.

Me: Are you sure?

Little bird: Yeah.

Mother-In-Law to Me: Aren’t you listening? She can make her own decisions and said she doesn’t want any! Why don’t you just leave her alone?!

Yeah, she got many digs like that in, just like she always does.

My FIL spent most of the time, like every time they visit, lecturing and rambling on. Completely oblivious to the fact that everyone becomes fidgety and bored. This man is like natural ambien.

I actually recorded some of what he was talking about, pretending like I was taking pictures when we were out to lunch one day. It was for the purpose of emailing it to my mom and sister since they are entertained by him but at the same time, can’t believe the shit he talks about.

It’s very difficult to not only follow whatever he’s saying but also impossible to chime in and try to steer his lectures conversation in another direction.

This is just a transcript from the 1 minute 32 second (it went on for 45 minutes) recording I did. And let me tell you, doing this transcript was as exciting as watching grass grow.

I started recording while he was in the middle of talking about whatever the hell he was talking about. I was so tuned out but mostly heard Blah, blah, blah, DNA. Blah, blah, blah. Blah, blah, DNA, blah. It’s like listening to adults in the Charlie Brown cartoons.

Father-In-Law: The authors had incurred their names and some sayings into a DNA. Either 4 letters and you could just use those letters to, um, to represent any letters if you put 2 or 3 together so you can make a code.

And then you can in code your name into it. What he did, uh, he’s done some pretty neat things with DNA and printings so he… his book that he just recently published, and he printed the whole thing and coded into one DNA strand and then he replicated it.

He put 70 billion copies on his book into a single drop of DNA onto this piece of paper that was smaller than a period. 70 billion copies.

The idea is that through DNA, it’s a more efficient way of storing things than the most advanced computers right now.

Here’s how the hummingbird felt about the 45 minute lunch while he was talking.

fil-talking

Me too, hummingbird. Me too.

Have you had to endure any visits from your in-laws recently? 

Updated: In case you’d like to stroll down memory lane, here are a few more of my in-law posts. A Lack Of Boundaries With A Side Of Ranch Dressing, How My MIL Ruined My Wedding And Made Me Want To Set Myself On Fire Just So I Could Get Away From Her Crazy, and When You Wish Upon A Star… And It’s Stuck… Up Where?!

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Just Eat Your Damn Dinner

a0721fa704838a78d19b5dcd5f443007My daughter is a tiny girl with a little appetite. Every once in a while she’ll chow down but it’s not often. She always, always, always has some reason why she won’t eat (as do many kids) and it drives me mad. She’ll come home from Kindergarten, say she’s STARVING, and will take just a few bites of her snack before she says she can’t eat another bite.

Then, an hour before dinner, I usually hear: Mom, I’m hungry. Mom, I’m hungry. Mom, I’m hungry. Well, you should have eaten your snack. But, I wasn’t that hungry then. It will be dinner soon. You’ll have to wait until then. But mooom, I’m hungry. Mom, I’m hungry. Mom, I’m hungry.

Finally, dinner will come and again, she’ll use every excuse in the book to not eat. The hummingbird is currently in a phase where every little scratch or bump is a major medical emergency so she’s been using those reasons a lot. There are many times when I want to scream JUST EAT!

I kind of feel like a hostage negotiator.

Me: Eat three more bites.

Hummingbird: How about one?

Me: No, three and then you can have a little treat.

Hummingbird: Can I still have a treat if I eat two more bites?

Me: No.

Hummingbird: But my tummy’s full.

Me: Then I guess you don’t have any room in there for a treat.

Hummingbird: How about one big bite?

Me: No. How about if you just take two more bites?

Hummingbird: But I just took a bite. Does that count?

Me: No. Two more bites.

Hummingbird: But then that will be three bites because I just had one.

Me: *Head Explodes*

Reasons My Kid Won’t Eat

10. I’ve got a scratch on my pinky and need a band-aid. Now, it hurts too much to pick up my fork.

9. I’m too tired.

8. I banged my foot on the stairs and broke my ankle.

7. My tummy’s tired.

6. I poked my finger in my eye and need ice.

5. Do you want a hot dog for dinner? Yes! Are you sure? Yes! Will you eat it? Yes! Sets her plate down. I don’t want a hot dog anymore. My tummy changed its mind.

4. I can’t eat because my leg hurts when I bend it. I think I broke my knee. Well, then don’t bend your leg. But I need a band-aid to make it feel better.

3. I didn’t want that plate.

2. I’m too cold to eat. Go put on a jacket. *Runs upstairs and comes back down a few minutes later in a whole new outfit… minus the jacket.* I’m still cold. Yes, because you forgot your jacket. Oh. *Puts on jacket.* Now I’m too hot.

1. I hurt the blood vessels in my foot.

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When You Go Out Of Your Way To Make A Nice Meal For Your Family And They Kind Of End Up Being A**holes About It.

1350591749695_7822193*I’m still sick and I have to say, I am the biggest pussy ever when it comes to having a cold. It definitely makes you see just how good you have it when you’re healthy.

Last week, when I was in my “pre-sick” stage, I wanted to make a nice dinner for my husband and the little hummingbird. It’s also the day that I made the incredibly orgasmic mini salted caramel apple pies.

Even though we’re a family of 3, it’s such a pain in the ass to get everyone on the same page when it comes to agreeing on what to make for a meal. Okay, actually I need to take that back. My husband will eat anything. Even some of the most horrible, OMG, what the fuck went wrong meals I’ve made over the years.

It’s my 5 year-old daughter who is picky, picky, picky.

Here’s where I have to say I for the most part ate pretty much everything my mom made. She was a single mom for many years and we had several meals of those cheap pot pies. She did the best that she could to feed us so I absolutely appreciate her efforts.

Come to think of it, I was probably more of a whiny little kid when it came to the food we had but I did my best to eat what she was able to afford.

Anyway, as a parent, there is probably at least one time, if not more, where you make a nice dinner for your family and go out of your way to cover all of the different tastes for them. It’s a pain in the ass but damn it, you want everyone to sit down, have a nice dinner, and not bitch and complain.

This particular night did not go as planned. Of course it didn’t. Fuckity fuck!

It may not seem like a fabulous dinner but I made buffalo macaroni and cheese. The perfect comfort food. So delicious and kid friendly. I even made a special casserole dish of it for the hummingbird.

I was running an hour behind though and everyone was bitchy by the time I was able to serve it up.

I was also bitchy and a total asshole to my husband because while preparing this meal, I realized that while I went to the store earlier, I forgot to get half and half. Fuck!

Then I flipped the hell out and sent my poor husband to the quick mart down the road. He was trying to be helpful and offer alternatives but I was all like NO! I FUCKING NEED THIS FUCKING HALF AND HALF, FUCKING FUCK!

Not one of my proudest moments… obviously.

I finally get this dinner in order and on the table. But did my family appreciate it? Hell no!

My hubby chowed down without breathing because he was so damn hungry and my daughter whined and said she didn’t like it. She wanted me to make Kraft mac n’ cheese instead.

And I had to get up multiple times for my daughter. “Can you please get me a napkin, mom? I wanted juice instead. I dropped my fork, can you get another one? My food is cold now, can you microwave it? Now my food is too hot and I can’t eat it. I don’t like this. Can I have something else?”

OMG! Really, people? REALLY?!

So, I sat there and cried. I totally lost it and cried while thinking fuck this shit.

I sat on the couch and cursed my family under my breath while my husband and daughter happily played together after dinner.

But then, I kinda sorta pulled it together and we had those delicious apple pies for dessert.

And all was finally good again.

Because mmmm, pie!

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