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I Don’t Have The HGTV Gene

Just like I am about pumpkin spice which makes me feel like a hooker without clients, HGTV also leaves me feeling empty.

I’ve accepted that I don’t have the HGTV gene, unlike many others. I do love to watch House Hunters International sometimes so I can see a mime and a circus juggler moving to Paris on a 1.5 million dollar budget. Where the hell do they get that kind of money?!

My husband foams at the mouth for shows like Fixer Upper and The Property Brothers. I, instead, get put to sleep. HGTV people seem to be everywhere, spreading their love of the color grey and finding the hidden potential of a crack house.

My “safe” channel used to be the Food Network. The “safe” channel is what I quickly put on when my 8 year-old enters the room. Currently, though, that channel is off limits for me because of the torture of seeing all the food I’m not allowed to eat right now. So, I’ve made HGTV the “safe” channel. Except, I had it on the other day, expecting the hummingbird to walk in anytime and I actually started nodding off as I was petting my dog.

I also see these HGTV people all over magazines and I think “Well, fuck. Zzzzzzz”. I want real celeb gossip. Like what Kate Winslet is up to or seeing Mark Ruffalo or Clive Owen as the Sexiest Man Alive. Somebody make that happen!

It must be the super mellow, monotone voices everybody uses on all the shows that HGTV airs. Actually it reminds me of the way my father-in-law speaks which nearly drives me into a coma.

They need a few shows with hosts like Sam Kinison to wake people up.

Sam: “I was driving the other day and a car pulled out in front of me and AAAAAHHH! AAAHHHH!”

If you don’t know who Sam Kinison is (I should say was since he passed away years ago), that probably doesn’t make much sense.

But picture this on HGTV:

Realtor: “We have an apartment in the middle of Paris with hardwood floors, it’s on the second floor, and it’s $100 dollars under budget”.

Prospective buyer: “I don’t know. That’s two flights of stairs. Ugh! And, that wall in the second bedroom is green. GREEN! Can you believe it? How can I make this a home with a second bedroom that’s painted green. I mean, yuck. I don’t want to pay $100 dollars under my budget for a place with a green wall. I’m going to take the place that’s twenty minutes outside of the city I want to live in and that’s $300 dollars over budget.”

Realtor: “Yeah, um, you know you can simply paint the green walls to a color that you would prefer”.

Prospective buyer: “Ewww, I don’t know. That’s a lot of work for a place that’s under budget and in the city of Paris”.

Realtor: “Okay, so, I’m not being paid enough to deal with dumbasses like you.

AAAHH! AAAHHH!”

*Back To Berlin

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Where The Fuck Are My Scissors? Part 1,894

My good pair of scissors have gone missing, nowhere at all to be found. I hid those fuckers pretty good, too.

I bought them over the summer because try as I might, my secret, hidden scissors are always found. When they are found out, whoever is borrowing them gets me talking like a possessed person. GIVE ME BACK MY SCISSORS AFTER YOU’RE DONE, I say low and slow.

YOU WILL NOT LOSE THESE AND WILL PUT THEM BACK ONCE YOU ARE FINISHED WITH THEM, I say more as a threat than a suggestion.

As a mom and parent, I share all my shit all of the time. I shared my body for nine months with one of these people. And yet, they can’t put my damn scissors back where they’re supposed to go.

I need to invent mom scissors. I have no idea what that would entail but I do like the sound of others getting a tiny zap every few seconds when my family doesn’t put them back in an alotted amount of time.

Even our crappy, will not cut anything scissors are gone. That’s probably for the best though.

I saw that my husband had that pair in the bathroom with him when he was trimming his hairy berries for his vasectomy.

So, yeah, on the bright side, I know my good scissors weren’t used in that Edward Scissorhands moment.

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Where The Fuck Is The Eagle?

We recently went on our yearly camping trip which was much needed and my husband and I just celebrated our 22nd wedding anniversary. That seems so crazy. Where did the time go?

My camping style is renting a cabin with electricity and running water and roughing it for me is if I forget to bring my flat iron.

It was especially great this time around since I had my mom as an ally. Someone to hang out and eat chips and dip, plus watch Unreal, while the husband and hummingbird were out swimming all day.

I actually kayaked with my husband for the first time in ages. The last time we did that, it was early in our marriage and he had this sucky inflatable kayak that would just paddle around in circles. I found it hysterical.

While we were at the lake, we took a boat ride around the area with a guide.

I’ll say it right now, I suck at being a tourist because I don’t like guided tours for some reason. It can be fine in some cases but usually, to be honest, I just don’t care and would rather explore on my own.

So, we take this boat tour and this very nice woman points out the trees, cabins, private islands, eagles, beaver dams, etc. It was nice but for the most part, I just wanted to be back in the cabin, eating chips and dip with my mom. I am not an outdoor person by any means.

My mom and I get back to the cabin and start rehashing the hour long tour we had. We both confessed we didn’t know most of what the tour guide was pointing out to the group.

Tour Guide: The older cabins on the shoreline with their own piers were built in the 60’s. I will now tell you the entire history about this.

In My Head: What did she say about the 60’s? They did what? Should I say something to make it seem like I know what she’s saying?

I shake my head and say “Oh, hmmm.”

Tour Guide: This lake goes into so and so river to the left. You can see it in the clearing by the trees.

In My Head: I see lots of trees but I have no idea what she’s seeing that I’m not. I hope there’s not a quiz.

I shake my head and say, “Really, hmmm.”

Tour Guide: Straight ahead you can see a few beaver dams. See the sticks? Let me pull in a little closer. Now, the dams are more East of us.

In My Head: East? Which fucking way is East? I don’t see any damn dam sticks. Which way is fucking East?

I shake my head and say ” Awww, very nice.”

Tour Guide: On the private island to the right lives the so and so family. You can see so and so’s boat on the shore.

In My Head: Okay, cool. At least this time she said right instead of a direction but I can’t see a boat anywhere and there’s two small islands to the right of us. Scan… scan. Where’s the fucking boat and how long is this damn boat ride?

I shake my head and say “Nice.”

Tour Guide: In the trees ahead is a black mass in the middle where the eagle’s nest is. And, on top of the branch is the baby eagle who’s not such a baby anymore.

Passenger #5: That’s quite a big baby eagle. *Gets camera out*

In My Head: Scanning…. scanning…. scanning. What black fucking mass? Why the hell am I not seeing any of this shit? I don’t see anything resembling a nest. Scanning… scanning. And, where the fuck is the eagle? Where is the eagle? Okay. Now, my husband is also taking pictures of this eagle that I can’t see. Eagle? Where the fuck are you? I’m not seeing any of this stuff that’s being pointed out. Is everyone else just saying they see it, too? Where the fuck is this baby eagle?

I shake my head and say “Hmmm, wow. “

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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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My Vagina Will Pass On That For Now

Since we’ve moved into our new house, we found that the former owners receive a ton of catalogs. Not just a few here or there. We’re talking sometimes 5 a day. They really liked to shop, apparently.

There’s the faux fur that will make you choke at the prices catalog. The fake Victorian ugly overpriced stuff catalog that doesn’t look like it’s Victorian in any way and the prices will make you choke catalog. Pets are fancy and we have overpriced shit for you to buy for them catalog. And, then there’s the I’m getting older and my vagina is drying out plus I pee myself but lets buy a fancy vibrator catalog.

Let’s say it’s called The Golden Girls catalog. I love that show. Blanche Devereaux would approve of the ultra fancy vibrators in this catalog. I never knew vibrators could be so ultra fancy and sleek in design like these are, and the prices will make you go OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!

One thing that caught my eye in The Golden Girls catalog was that they had dilator dildos. Huh? What am I missing? I actually schooled myself on it with Dr. Google so it makes sense now.

If you don’t know, I guess not only do you pee yourself more and more as you age, but your vaginal tissue can shrink so there are dilators. No wonder women end up in diapers where they’re older. By the time you’re sixty, a clown car may come driving out of there.

This is a sucky instance where men have it so much better than women as we age. Women go through hell and back being menopausal with a shrunken vagina but men get to look more distinguished as they age and don’t have to worry about dilating anything.

The only time I ever dilated was when I gave birth and now I can’t even think about sneezing without peeing myself.

Did Blanch Devereaux know about this and if so, why didn’t they put it on a “very special episode of The Golden Girls.”

Blanche: Oh, what am I going to do? My vagina shrunk and I have a date tonight.

Sophia: Like that’s ever stopped you before!

Dorothy: Ma!

Rose: This one time in St. Olaf, Mrs. Schusterclimber used the village pole to dilate her vagina.

Blanche: Oh, Rose!

Dorothy: This calls for cheesecake!

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More Cowbell

Flash-Gordon

My husband needs to wear a cowbell. He’s the type of person who just sneaks up on to you out of thin air. He appears out of nowhere. Most of the time I want to tie a cowbell around his neck so I can keep track of him.

Just today, I was in the bedroom and heard the backyard door shut. It seems like not even a minute later, I start walking out of the bedroom when I see something zoom out of the corner of my eye. I’ve been a bit jumpy since I’m reading this book, and when I saw a blurred figure getting closer to me, I screamed my ass off.

He stood there looking at me like I was a crazy person and I told him he’s going to give me a fucking heart attack if he keeps this going. He’s also excellent at disappearing out of nowhere. On our second to last move, he was standing right next to me as he was talking with one of the movers.

And then, BAM, the mover asked a question, I turn to my husband, and he’s not fucking there. It’s like he has the speed of Superman. The hummingbird and I spend part of each night calling for him when she’s getting ready for bed. She’ll be calling DAD! DAD! DAAAAAAD?! while internally I’ll be thinking “What the fuckity fuck???? Where in the fuck did he fucking go???!”

My husband reminds me of this character in a movie called Dear God with Grep Kinnear. It’s a pretty cheesy but cute movie. The quick version is he’s a con artist, has to get a proper job after being arrested, works at the post office, and starts answering letters from people who write to god. It’s not religious-y though. Let’s say ‘religious-y is an actual word.

Anyway, totally getting off track. Greg Kinnear’s boss, played by the always awesome Hector Elizondo, pops up from time to time and whenever Greg’s character turns to ask him a question, Hector is gone in a flash.

Hector’s role completely encompasses my husband. He’s Flash Gordon. It can be rather annoying but we joke about it even though it irritates me to no end. I’m actually getting him a cowbell for Christmas as a joke.

I already know I’ll quickly regret that decision because not only will my husband walk around with it to annoy me, the hummingbird will get a hold of it and drive me insane but we’re getting her a drum set for Christmas so I figured it will be a good combo.

I’m a glutton for punishment….

Willingly getting a drum set for my 7 year-old. But the truth is, I want to learn to play too.

Then I can say, “Hubby, take it away. More cowbell!”

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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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