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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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I Love The Sound Of A Metal Baseball Bat Crushing A Pain In The Ass Printer

Happy holidays! I hope you’ve survived.

About six years ago, when I was pregnant with the little hummingbird, the husband and I bought a new printer. And that printer gave us nothing but problems from day one. It was the PRINTER FROM HELL!

I hated that thing and when I think of all the times I yelled and cursed at it, it probably adds up to a whole year of my life. I would frequently tell my husband that when we got a new printer, we could beat the shit out of it Office Space style.

That wonderful moment finally came yesterday. The hubby gave me an awesome new printer and after I squealed and jumped up and down, I told him we have a date with the old PRINTER FROM HELL and my metal baseball bat.

I’m not sure that the hummingbird really understood exactly what we were up to. But, after all of these years, I think she might believe that the name of a printer is actually called “Piece Of Shit!”

Forget Christmas carols. My new favorite sound for the holidays are the dings of metal on metal, crushing the PRINTER FROM HELL.

It was more satisfying than ridding myself of the crappy wooden spoon my husband and I bought when we were first married that would splinter and occasionally leave pieces of itself in our meals. The wooden spoon my husband would form an attachment to when I wanted to throw it in the trash.

Tragically, that wooden spoon had an “accident” with the garbage disposal. Oh, darn.

Or the toaster we had that my husband refused to let go of. The toaster where we had to hold down the lever or it would pop up every 30 seconds. The toaster that tragically had to be thrown away while my husband wasn’t home to protest it’s demise because one day it “just stopped working” because it “must have shorted out”. *wink*

How was your holiday? Are there any pain in the ass things that you’ve been happy to rid yourself of?

The hummingbird giving the printer from hell a few whacks.

The hummingbird giving the printer from hell a few whacks.

A video posted by Elle (@ahummingbirdoncrack) on

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