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Adventures In Driving

My mom is staying with us for the summer and it’s the best thing ever. There’s a chance my in-laws might also visit during the summer and it will be so nice to have an ally around for that visit.

There are tourists flocking to our area and it has made driving more frustrating than usual. The road that’s the cross street by our house is so congested as it is but during the summer, holy hell. And, I hate driving anyways. It’s always made me so tense and stressed.

My mom and I were coming back from the store because oh my fucking god, no matter how much I plan, I go to the store at least three times a week for shit I forgot, even though I always… well I mostly have a list.

Anyway, there was an older woman ahead of us doing at least five under the speed limit.

A mild annoyance but oh, well.

Then, this woman started to put on her brakes.

Okay.

A normal thing to do.

But, she then came to a complete fucking stop on the two lane road.

What the fucking fuck?

I looked at my mom and said am I just crazy or is this woman turning really fucking slow?

She’s turning really fucking slow, my mom replied.

This woman came to a complete stop on our two lane road that goes by our house and she just fucking stops.

Who dropped the acid in my water?

What the hell, lady?

Can you turn any slower?

Yes. Yes, she can.

And with that, she made the slowest left hand turn in the entire history of left hand turns.

When she was finally far enough out of my way, I hit the gas and looked back in my rearview mirror.

And what did I see?

This lady was still in the process of completing her turn into the golf course entrance.

I just don’t get the way people drive anymore. Common courtesy has blown to the winds. People drive like they’re the only people on the road.

Yes, I’m bitching about drivers because I’m officially old. Next week I’ll have a post entirely centered around the price that things where when I was a kid.

Okay, no, I won’t.

Or will I?

Hmmmm.

What’s your driving pet peeve or an annoyance you’ve had lately with driving?

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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.

Comments { 7 }

Last Night, I Woke Up From A Nightmare About Donald Trump Being Elected President. Oh, Wait…

A few posts ago when I posted about being in disbelief over Trump becoming the president-elect, I received some Pro-Trump comments. I didn’t publish them because I want to piss off any fucking idiot who supports him.

It doesn’t matter who you voted for. The fact is, he’s full of hate. He spews hate and it’s disgusting.

I feel like we are turning into that movie, Idiocracy. I blame the idolization of the Kartrashians. And, my in-laws. I enjoy blaming my in-laws for everything just because.

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Finding Lost Soccer Socks And Shin Guards Twice A Week Will Be The Death Of Me

Every soccer season is dreadful because it ends up being so time-consuming. I love that the hummingbird enjoys playing but her weekly practices are late and by the time the season is over with, I freeze my ass off and it’s dark when practice is done.

Then, there’s the games. We got lucky because most of her games are at 8:15 in the morning. 8 fucking 15 on a Saturday morning. That’s crazy for me. The most annoying part of her playing soccer is that two days a week I tell her the same thing over and over and over again.

Put the soccer gear in the same place every time so we know where it is.

I don’t know if it’s little mischievous soccer fairies that move these things around but by the time we’re in a rush to go to practice or a game, we can’t find her stuff.

It will be by the door one day and the next, it’ll be gone. She’ll have no idea where it is and I’ll rip the house apart while yelling in my head that soccer sucks and it’s not worth the frustration week after week and year after year.

I hate the fucking soccer season.

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The Reluctant Reader

young-girl-reading-jeanhonore-fragonard

I’ve loved reading as soon as I learned to. I gobble up books but also have this book hangover I go through after each book I read. It can be hard to keep up with my reading with a kid in the house who always wants my attention. I naturally assumed since I loved to read, my dna would make her feel the same.

Oh, how wrong I was. Asking her to read and having her actually do it is like pulling teeth. Once she gets started reading, she’ll sometimes get into it. Or, if I suggest reading to her, she whines nooooooo. I love reading her the Ramona Quimby books and she’ll independently read the Princess Posey books which I highly suggest since oh my god she actually reads them, thank you sweet baby jeebus, but again, getting her started up in reading is the biggest pain in the ass.

Here are the stages I’ve gone through with my reluctant reader.

Stage one: You need to read for ten minutes. Yes. Yes. No, you’re not going to see if Samantha is home. You’re going to read. Yes. Yes! Please go and read. Please? Just read. 10 minutes. That’s all I ask. Read. Read now. I got you several different books to choose from at the library today. Maybe you just haven’t found the books that you find interesting yet. So, please go read. Yes! Read! Go!

Stage two: Would you like me to read to you? Why not? Well, let’s have you read to me. Why not? Please? Let’s just sit down and you can read to me for only 10 minutes. You need to ready every day. Yes, you do. Yes. Please read now. Why not, Well, I’m sorry that you have a scratch on your ankle but that doesn’t mean you can’t read. No, it doesn’t. No, it doesn’t. Please, hummingbird. Just read to me for five minutes then. Five minutes! No, it’s not that long. Okay, how about this. You can have a cookie after dinner. Okay, ice cream then. Yes, you can have chocolate sauce but then you have to read for ten minutes. You don’t want chocolate sauce then? Oh, you do. Then, yes, read for 10 minutes. Please just read now. Please!

Stage three: Okay, it’s time to read. We have two hours before dinner. Why don’t read for 20 minutes to yourself while I read too. Why not? No, you can’t watch PAW Patrol. It’s time to read. No. There’s no PAW Patrol while we read. The television is going off. There. Please read. Whichever book you want. There must be something you’d like to read in our library book bag. You picked out all the books. Please, pick something and read. Then, I’ll pick. Here. Okay, then you pick something now. Please, hummingbird. That looks good. Okay, you have twently minutes. No, I said for twenty minutes. Not ten. Twenty. Hummingbird, it’s only for twenty minutes. I’m not asking you to jump off a cliff. Twenty minutes and then you’ll be done for the day. Okay, how about if you read for twenty minutes and you can watch PAW Patrol. No. You can’t watch two. Just one for twenty minutes of reading. Fine, thirty minutes of reading and then you can watch two PAW Patrol’s. No, you can’t watch three. Only two if you read for thirty minutes. Okay. Thank you.

Stage four: Read! Yes! Now! Please, read now! I don’t care if you don’t want to. READ!

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Let’s Go To The Vet

That’s right… it’s time for the vet. Let’s chase down our two cats. Ooops, almost had Penny. There she goes again. We’ll, I’ll let my husband grab her. There’s sweet, bigilicious Maisy lying on the couch with no clue about what’s going to happen soon.

And, both cats are in their carriers. I’m lint rolling my shirt because of all the cat hair and accidentally swipe my face with my hand to get off the sweat from my forhead.

Needless to say, sweat and cat hair is an awful combo. It looks like I have to shave my forehead now.

So, into the car we go. Maisy is all chill but Penny, well, Penny wants to sing us a song.

It’s called MEEEOOOOOOWWWWWWAAAAA!

Penny, it’s okay.

MEEEEOOOOOOWWWWWAAAA!

Pennnny, you’re okay. You’ll be just fine.

MEEEOOOWWWWWWAAA!

Okay, Penny, we get your point.

MEEEEOOOOWWWWAAAA!

Meow, meow, meow, Penny. I know, but it will be over soon.

10 minutes of torture Meow’s later….

We’re here, kitties!

MEEEEEOOOOWWWWWAAAA!

We’re standing in the lobby and Penny finally quiets. Hallefuckinglujah!

And, now were in the check up room.

MEEEEEEEOOOOOOOWWWWWAAAAA!

Oh my fucking god. Make it stop.

MEEEEEOOOOOWWWWWWWAAAA!

Hey, Penny. It’s okay.

A dog barks out side the room.

Penny does her sliding across the floor cartoon animal run.

I laugh my ass off.

Now, it’s time for sniffing, and more sniffing, and more sniffing….

But wait. Penny has more to say. MEEEEOOOOWWWWAAAA!

I wonder if they have cat xanax?

The assistant comes in with a thermometer. Oh, joy! The cats will LOVE this.

MEEEOOOOWWWWWAAA!

Let’s do Penny first. I watch as she lies there anxiously as my husband and I talk calmly to her.

And, boom! You don’t have to see it go in to know the thermometer is up her butt. Penny’s not quite sure about this. I sure as hell wouldn’t be either.

Now, Maisy’s turn. The chill cat will be chill while getting her temp.

Hey, Maisy. You’re doing so good. And, up the butt. Grrrrrrr! Hissssss!

Whoa, she’s the chill cat. Where did that come from? She looks at me like mom, if you were poked with that up your ass, you’d hiss too. Touche, Maisy. Touche.

And now, we wait for the vet.

Since both cats have been violated with the thermometer, it’s time to get down to cleaning themselves. But, Penny can’t let us forget she’s not happy so MEEEOOOWWWWAAA!

They hear someone outside the door and instead of running away from the door, they run to it. It’s vet time.

Penny and Maisy have two shots each but neither is up the butt so we should be good.

Finally finished. I’m covered with so much cat fur that I would’t be surprised if by wiping my mouth off to get the cat hair from my lips, I would look like I grew a beard. There’s also little chunks of fur on my shirt and shorts. I look at my husband and he has cat fur hanging from his nose. I start trying to take it off but he thinks I’m trying to pick his nose. Hey dude, I love you and everything but I would never pick your nose.

Anyway, it could be worse. It’s not like I’m putting a thermometer up his ass.

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