The Snappy Dictator

Morning Readers,

    Sometimes, I think people can be a little uptight. Or rather, I perceive others to be uptight, when, in actuality,  they're staring at my kids, wondering how a female gorilla raised them for entire year. To be completely honest, I speculate seventy-eight percent of the population looks at Butch and Sundance and wonders how they received their, particular "mother assignment". The other twenty-eight percent is too busy calling social services. Let's take what happened yesterday, for example.

My Life As A Short Order Cook

Morning Readers,

     In some forgotten era of my life, in some remote part of the world, some backwoods diner once let me waitress. I could paint a rather colorful verbal portrait of my time there, but suffice to say, that was the one and only job I was ever fired from. I learned very few applicable life lessons while I waited tables (although, "don't stick you finger in the pie before you serve it" is always useful), but one thing made itself crystal clear; I never wanted to be a short-order cook. And yet, lately I'm finding myself in that very same occupation. Only, I'm not getting paid, and there's no free pie....I wish there were free pie.

I Couldn't Walk and Program My Gum, Without You

Morning Readers,

     It's pretty typical, the minute Husband instills the most minute bit of faith in me, I throw it out the window, or rather..unplug it. I suppose I should've let him ride the high from last night. Sweetly, he'd let me play video games with him, patiently stopping to explain why I shouldn't be "pressing buttons like crazy" and why I should be "capturing the flag instead of shooting yourself by accident". Darling man... And just as the evening was ending, I'd begun to get the hang of it, mastering something that requires electricity. Husband was proud, I was happy, and first thing this morning, I got up and threw his faith in me away...

Where Have All the Bras Gone?

Morning Readers,

     I, quite literally, hopped out of bed this morning. Prospects of escaping the house do that to me. Let me rewind and add that I usually do a quick "briefing" the minute I open my eyes, a review, if you will, of whether it's worth it to actually vacate the bed. Such as:

Good Morning, Me. Today is June the 24th, 2011. Is there anything worthwhile happening today? Let's see, grocery shopping, bill-paying, baby-nailclipping...what else?...what else?

     If I can't come up with anything, I usually roll my muffin-top over and go back to sleep. But if, say, I remember, Ahh, yes, I'm going to the baseball game, tonight.., I usually fall out of bed a little quicker, start planning an outfit, and remember I'm the proud owner of one and only one bra.

That Thing On Your Bumper Says I'm A Hard Worker

Morning Readers,

     Before I slapped my cubicle in the face and turned my back on it forever, I had to strip the last remnants of decoration off it, unceremoniously throw it all in a plastic shopping bag and drag the whole thing to my car. Once there, I opened the back hatch and threw all the loose papers, gifted stuffed animals and Office Space memorabilia underneath a blanket and didn't give it another thought....but...I should have. If I'd done the responsible thing and driven home, unpacked it all and put it in a drawer somewhere, it wouldn't be threatening to cause accidents all over the interstate...

I Bet My Doctor's Older Than Yours..

 Morning Readers,

     I apologize for not writing yesterday. As I explained before, I've been slowly losing my hearing, and it needed to be addressed. To be sure, I'd definitely contemplated the pros of not being able to hear my children scream and the fact not being able to hear wouldn't have that much impact on my writing (I'd already begun brainstorming a very touching memoir tentatively titled "Silent Universe: One Woman's Courageous Battle in a World That Couldn't Understand Her Hand flapping"). It wasn't until I scooted into the doctor's office, I realized I needed my hearing and would never wear Velcro shoes..

My Hypochondria's Making It Hard To Hear

Morning Readers,

     Everyone's good at something. For instance, I've noticed some people have the ability to avoid telling the truth at all costs, have a knack for turning old milk cartons into planters, or making tiny sweaters for mice. In my case, I've forever been in possession of the impressive ability to fabricate any and every illness the medical community has ever stumbled upon or made-up for grant purposes. WebMD's ready to revoke my account and Google's stopped returning my searches and begun sending applications for mental hospitals, straight to my email. Husband's grown tired of it, as well, even though this time, I swear something's wrong with me...I think....I'm pretty sure...Bueller..

I Like What You Like...Sort Of

Morning Readers,

     I love reading marriage blurbs in the paper or on those wedding-planning websites. If you're like me, you laugh whenever you read one because they go something like this:

Bob and Erma met over their mutual love of coffee and lama-riding.  After their yearly trip to build houses for southeastern, jungle pigmies, Bob finally got down on one knee and asked Erma to marry him. Erma, choking on her own happy snot, gushing tears down the side of their favorite hiking hill, said yes. The rest is history.

      The only problem? Those neatly-crafted bios only tell part of the story. If they were being completely honest, they'd continue as such:

These Crackers Taste Just Like Savings: 5 Signs You're An Off-Brand Shopper

Morning Readers,

     As I've gotten older, my standards have changed. For instance, I no longer gauge my level of attractiveness by how many whistles I receive while pumping gas in my sweatpants, a paper bag over my head now passes as decent make-up job, and a well-placed headband beats a shower, any day. Yep, I'm definitely not as uptight as I used to be, and my grocery shopping has followed suit. I've made the leap to off-brand shopper (to be read as "shopper", not "leper"). And now that I've found the perfect song to accompany me, I'll proceed to help you, my Readers, figure out whether you're an off-brand lep....shopper, as well.

The Beer's Folded and The Laundry's Cold: 12 Steps To Being The Perfect Housewife

Morning Readers,

     I'm starting to think Google doesn't always know what it's talking about. I know, I know, how can that be, right? Everyone knows every fact on the internet has been checked and referenced, but that doesn't mean I'm not popping the Advil bottle like a well-greased Pez dispenser... Why? Because being a housewife is hard work. I mean, I tried, I really did. After I told Google that yesterday was my first, official day as a full-time homemaker, it came up with a list of things I should be doing, and I did my utmost to adhere to it. Why then, am I still picking lipstick out of my teeth and nursing burn marks on my ankles?

The Dentist: A Sweet Escape Into Pain

Morning Readers,

    To get you up to speed, I don't look like a hill billy. But if I'd chosen to, forgoing the dentist would've taken my overall aesthetic appeal from a seven to a three...perhaps a five to a two. But I wasn't going to skip it. A trip to the tooth doctor meant an hour all to myself.... an hour without kids. You think that's sad? I wore my best jeans, combed my hair (ok, I sort of  stabbed at it with my fingers, braided it and smoothed down the wispy parts around my ears), and put on my Sunday deodorant. As luck would have it, I'd completely forgotten how horrifying having a tooth filled is..

Give Me My Double-Wide

Morning Readers,

     It hurts. Any why shouldn't it? If one drinks off-brand coffee, the subsequent liquifying and evacuation of one's insides shouldn't come as any real surprise. Presently, I've got a Tupperware bowl patiently waiting to catch whats left of my bowels.  I've decided to name the bowl Melvin. Melvin's life will be rough, as I'll be drinking off-brand coffee for awhile. That's what happens when you're on a budget. You cut costs, tighten the old belt, sit on street corners playing a ukelele and waiving your "World's Best Mom" mug at passersby, shouting, "Spare some change. Change or a waffle? Waffle or some dental floss?...toilet paper?" You also tend to believe anyone who says that want to give you money..

Is That Poop Or Meat?

Morning Readers,

     There’s a saying around the split-level, “If you don’t know what it is, taste it.” Sometimes this works out well for the taster, sometimes not.  Usually, ambiguous spots and splotches are discovered to be harmless chocolate or leftover motor oil. We’re not science-minded folk, and poking, prodding and sampling things like apes, is usually our modus operandi.

     “Is that poop or meat?” I looked down at my son, expecting an answer from an individual who, earlier that morning, had tried to eat cheerios out of my hand like a small, baby goat.

     He looked back at me from the changing table, grinned widely with all four teeth, and said, “Ma”.

Blinded By Cool: The Top Five Reasons To Wear a One-Piece Swimsuit

Morning Readers,

    We'd just returned from the pool. While hanging up towels, putting away sandals, etc, I jokingly asked Husband, "So, what did you think of my one-piece suit.. Pretty dorky?"

Without hesitation, he said, "Yeah, but it's functional. It serves it purpose."

I know, I know, fishing for compliments is tacky. But, at the same time, I'm tacky, so it evens out... But "functional"? I'd been prepared for the compliment of "functional" my entire life, but I'd always assumed it's be more in the context of, "Paige, after eighty-seven weeks of rehab, we've decided you're functional." Sans compliments, ego deflated, I decided to wander around the house in said swimsuit, eat a granola bar and contemplate other perks bound to the one-piece suit..

Bring Out Your Dead: Coping With X-Box Loss

Morning Readers,

     Sometimes Husband and I have really bad luck. A lot of people have bad luck, but our particular brand of bad luck suggests we work really hard at it:

 i.e. "That's right, Marge. I heard about that Kellerman wedding. Mmm hmmm....yep, right after they broke all those mirrors, they started chasing each other under ladders and throwing black cats all over the place. No, no, that was after  the ritual goat sacrifice....but the food was good. A taco bar can fix anything...

You'd understand my lack of surprise, then, when another rain of toads hit the split-level, this weekend. Only, it wasn't toads (just in case you thought it was toads..if it ever is toads...well, let's not think about it..), but something which sounds equally biblical...

A Letter To Spiders: Death Be Not Proud, Death Be A Shoe

Morning Readers,
 
     Once again, summer's here, and with it, a barrage of undesirable creatures looking to make my house into their vacation spot. Just this morning, I observed an ant power lifting a corn flake, scuttling it off to it's evil ant home. Butch and Sundance were sitting in my lap, otherwise I would've whacked it with the nearest blunt object. My soul died a little as I watched it get away scott-free. But, the ants will have their reckoning. Today I sit down to compose a letter to the real foe, the arch-nemesis nature saw fit to pit me against, for yet another, long, hot season. Here's my warning to you, Rhabidosa Rabida...

Do The Oliver Twist and Get Poor

Morning Readers,

     You know what's so annoying about being ridiculously wealthy? Personal maids, for starters. That, and stupid butlers who're constantly trying to make breakfast and bring it to you in bed. And don't even get me started on personal trainers. Who wants someone carefully mapping out every, single step they need to take, in order to shed the remaining ounces of baby fat from their perfectly-sculpted waist? A hassle, all of it. That's why Husband and I have decided to be poor. No one tries to dress you in the morning, and we're luckily spared from having to berate our staff, on the front lawn, because SOMEONE didn't trim the hedges to represent Stonehenge just the way we like it.  And now, because we like being poor so much, we've decided to become poorer-er....er?