Told you so…

I told you that my being all happy and boring wouldn’t last. Well…maybe I’m still boring. Only you can decide that as I’m obviously biased. But right now I’m grumpy and cranky and feeling perhaps a wee bit hateful. My kids are great. Husband is fine. They’ve done nothing wrong. This is crabbiness from within (possibly due to sleep deprivation or early PMS).

When I’m like this, I get very annoyed with strangers and, particularly with rude idiots. In case you don’t know, I really cannot stand thoughtless, inconsiderate behavior. If someone cuts me off when I’m walking or lets a door close in my face etc, and I am in this kind of mood, I’ll call them an asshole or other equally insulting name just low enough that they’re not quite sure that they heard what they think they heard. It’s actually pretty funny. Sometimes, you can see them sort of stiffen or try to casually look around and see who said it. If they look at me, I look right back at them and smile. It totally confuses them. I know it’s childish and passive-aggressive. I just have to act on my aggravation sometimes. It’s therapeutic.

The good news is I am only like this intermittently. Most of the time I am my usual nice, self-deprecating and accomodating self. Isn’t it funny how multi-dimensional people really are. I can be really nice and kind and sweet and be loved by children, animals and old people everywhere and in the same day, whisper “asshole” to some stranger at Target. This, I think, was one of my problems with the mom’s club I used to be active in. I felt like we were all putting on our best Donna Reed facades and it was really hard to be in a club with 40 other Donna Reeds or Carol Bradys. It actually made me get down on myself. I was like “So and so doesn’t curse or use sarcasm or make fun of her mother-in-law mangling the English language…” and it even skewed my wardrobe. Suddenly, my “Elvis…Still the King” 70’s t-shirt was juvenile and white trash-y instead of retro and vintage. My Pumas and Chucks were immature and tacky instead of classically hip and timeless. I have a stack of clothes in my room right now that I actually intend to get rid of because I look at them and I’m thinking WHAT on God’s green earth made me buy this???? This stuff is NOT me.

I gotta tell you guys, strangers and blog friends alike, this is what’s so great about the internet. You will eventually run into people that you click with, that don’t care how many times you use the word “fuck” in your blog or that you wrote an entire post about some guys smelly balls or that you don’t give a crap about having a super shiny sink. These same people won’t care that I wrote a sappy post professing my love for my children or that I claim to love the internet. They will understand how I can love “Anne of Greene Gables” AND “American History X”. They will “get” me.

Thank you, Internet. I love you :-)

A Tale of Two Balls

When my husband and I bought our first house, I kept noticing this weird smell around the toilet in the master bathroom. It was familiar but I couldn’t quite place it. Until one day when I realized the smell was that of sweaty balls. Yes. You read correctly. The toilet had one of those plasticky toilet seats and we had intended to change it but hadn’t done it yet. And THAT was where the smelly, sweaty balls smell was coming from.

The guy we bought the house from, Ted, was a real cocksmacking shithead bastard old-ass motherfucker. As you may have deduced, I didn’t care for him very much. This man, whom I loathed and who made me insanely angry SO many times while trying to buy this stupid house, had managed to stick it to us one last time with his nasty balls.

But what I really wanted to know is HOW the smell was on the toilet seat. I asked my husband if his balls touch all over the toilet seat, either inside or on it or whatever and he looked at me like WTF? Of course not. But clearly Ted, of the smelly balls, was doing SOMETHING to have left his stink all over the toilet seat. What I also want to know is how his kindly wife Regina put up with it. Didn’t SHE notice the stinky sweaty balls smell? Clearly, for his ball smell to have permeated the plastic toilet seat, it had to have been BAD.

If your man had balls that smelled that bad, wouldn’t you be concerned? At the very least, wouldn’t you have bleached the holy hell out of your cheap piece-of-shit plastic toilet seat every day? If it was me, I would have bleached Ted’s balls every day, too. Suffice it to say, we went and got a new toilet seat the instant we realized the source of THE SMELL.

Incidentally, after a few months of living in the new house, a check arrived for Ted from the IRS, in an amount very close to the amount of money he had screwed us out of (did I mention that he royally shafted us, in addition to subjecting us to THE SMELL?). It was some kind of refund for overpayment. Instead of forwarding it to him, we ripped it up into tiny pieces and ceremoniously flushed it down the master bathroom toilet. Yes. Bad karma. I know. It was worth it. My only true regret is that he probably never even knew about it.

Meet Our New Addition

Isn’t our new Mac Mini adorable? Okay…it’s not really ‘ours’. It’s my husband’s. It’s the one I was going to wait until Monday to get him for his birthday. We went and got it today from the Apple Store at the Boob Job Mall (from another post, too lazy to link), which, I might add is a freaking zoo. And very white. Whoever came up with the interior design scheme for the Apple Stores has watched “2001: A Space Odyssey” one time too many. I also got some really cute sandals from the Clark’s store. I don’t know where I’d find a picture of them unless I snapped one and I’m way too lazy for that, too. Plus…do you really care? ’cause if you do, I WILL find a picture. But if not, then just use your imagination. Like everything in the Clark’s store, they are leather. Brown. Lots of straps and woven goodness to the tune of $65. I had an AMEX gift cheque from Christmas so whatever… Then it was off to Starbucks so my husband, who got up waaay early with the Prince, could get a bitter, nasty Starbucks coffee. My daughter got an organic chocolate milk and I got some kind of smoothie thing with all these juices mixed together, providing me with 1350% of my daily recommended allownace of vitamin C. Hooo boy! Do I live on the edge or what?

Anyway, I was thinking today about how lately I don’t have much to blog about. Since I analyze every motherfucking detail of my existence to death and beyond, I proceeded as usual and determined that I must be relatively happy at the moment because I always have more to blog about when I’m cranky. These are some of the topics I have bitched blogged about:

- My period returning and people calling it Aunt Flo (it pained me to even type it)
- Stupid guys running in front of my car making me almost kill them and then giving ME attitude about it
- How all the cool moms must be hiding somewhere because I can’t find them
- Unreliable people that always fucking flake out and don’t even care that they totally suck
- Slutty “My Scene” dolls
- Hurting my neck
- Being up to my belly button in the bodily fluids/expulsions of other living beings
- Not being able to lose my baby weight
- A horrible day before Christmas
- Our TV shitting the bed
- Being the crazy- insane kind of tired ALL the fucking time
- My son (The Prince) teething and not sleeping and being relentlessly fussy
- Going to the circle of hell known as “Babies R Us”
- The quest for the Jumperoo
- People who don’t even HAVE children giving parenting advice

Imagine that…I am too “happy” to blog. Fear not, loyal friends and curious strangers. It won’t last. By my calculations, I should start PMS-ing in about 7-10 days ;-)

PS: It just occurred to me that some of you might not even know what a Mac Mini is. It’s a really ass-kickingly cool, super fast, teeny tiny computer. Just the CPU, of course. It’s actual dimensions are approx. 6×6x2. It’s smaller than most external hard drives. You can read all about it here, if you are so inclined. We got the $599 one.

Check it out…

As you can see in the sidebar, I’ve jumped on the “Rent My Blog” bandwagon. I don’t want to be the only one without a renter OR a silly little purse-sized dog.

My new renter for the week is Callista from Inconceivable. I got several bids but I selected her blog because I thought she was a good fit for Moonshine.

I read a good bit of her blog and was quite taken with it. I laughed. I cried. I’m not exaggerating. (Read “Jackson’s Story”)

As it happens, Callista is also a damn fine designer of blogs. If yours needs a makeover, go check her out. There’s a link to her design website, Lilac Pixels. Go see her and leave a comment. Go on…git!

Indian food with a Side of Mac Mini and Bad Wife

Today is my husband’s birthday. I’m a bad wife. A very bad wife. I have no gift for him (or cake or card) We just had freaking Christmas. I got him all the things I could think of then. I was going to use my first paycheck from my awesome new job (that hardly anyone even gave a crap about when I posted about it) to get him a new Mac Mini for his studio but I don’t get paid until Monday. So, per his wishes, we’re just having Indian food tonight. You have no idea how much the man loves Indian food. It’s a big, major deal. When we were in NYC a couple years ago, we found this street that has nothing but Indian restaurants one after the other. He was in heaven. I, in the interest of being completely predictable and boring, wanted pizza for every meal.

So…later today I will see if I can get a meal delivery service to go downtown and pick up an assload of Indian for us. And then on Monday, we will go to the Apple store and buy a new Mac Mini unless he decides he wants to order from MacMall. I’m pretty sure he will go for the instant gratification over saving a few bucks. Of course he will. Duh!

Have you SEEN the Mac Mini’s, BTW? They are so teeny and cute. I should be buying one for myself instead.