Category Archives: Incessant Whining

Oh Crap! Grandma’s Coming!

One might have thought, from the title, that this was one of those wacky, sitcom-esque “Oh no! My mom’s on her way. Hide the porn/bong/vice of your choice!” kind of posts. Heh. If only…

The real story is that my stepmom will be here in TWO days. She just called me up out of the clear blue and told me she was coming for my son’s birthday on Wednesday. I’m glad she’s coming because she hasn’t seen my kids in two years. TWO YEARS!

I’m not glad, however, that I only have two days notice to prepare—that just isn’t enough. You see, my house has become something of a craphole in the past year. There. I said it. And I have way too much crapholey-ness to address and no time to do it:

• my carport only needs an old sofa, or perhaps a bench seat from a long-gone car, to make it truly white trash—it’s crammed with bikes, scooters, a spaghetti pot (WTH?), leaves, spider webs, a rusty old wagon, empty chalk containers, old jump ropes, a couple traffic cones and numerous pairs of dirty, outgrown fake Crocs that I keep saying I’m going to clean and give to Goodwill but probably never will

• the status of my backyard is what used to be a “work-in-progress” (soon to be downgraded to “abandoned-project” status) and it looks like complete crap.

• 98% of my grass died over our cold, dry winter and thanks to the recent weeks of torrential rain, bajillions of monster-sized weeds have taken up residence EVERYWHERE, even in the cracks of my driveway

• Earlier in the week, in a feeble attempt to address the clutter, I started going through stuff and getting ready for a yard sale. I have stacks and containers of yard sale shit everywhere

• I have about 15 loads of laundry to do to get the giant piles out of the bedrooms and hallway

• my sofa slipcovers are profoundly filthy. I tend to resist washing them because they’re the biggest pain in the ass to put back on but now I have to…

• The dustbunnies on my baseboards and in the corners probably have teeth

• every door, doorframe, glass door and mirror in this house needs a good wipe down thanks to sticky, dirty little hands that must. touch. everything.

• my kids…they make messes faster than I could ever hope to clean them up and getting them to do it? Puh…don’t make me laugh. The drama, the crying… They win every time.

• the clutter. OMFG…the clutter.

When did everything get so out of control? Ugh…I don’t know. I just know I have more work than I can possibly get done and two birthday parties to get ready for (one for school and one for home) And? I haven’t gotten birthday presents yet, either. How did I let everything get away from me to this degree? Where do I even start?

I’m not kidding about any of this.  I swore we’d never be those people who had kids and then became filthmongers and yet here we are, mired in it.  I’m truly overwhelmed and disgusted with myself and I can feel the anxiety building. Thank God for Xanax

All I really want to do is take a nap.

Someone please tell me I’m not alone. Lie to me if you have to.


So what happened? Read the follow-up here

Best Weight Loss Tip Ever

I’m not implying that any of YOU need to lose weight but if you ever need some inspiration to keep your eye on the ball and your ass in gear, just put on your bathing suit and look in the mirror. This is especially important if you’re putting on your bathing suit for the first time since it got warm. The impact will be much greater. But possibly more depressing, too. Consider yourself warned.

Then? Repeat EVERY SINGLE DAY so you never, ever become complacent or forget that you have NOT reached your goal…mostly because you sit in front of your computer all day. Ahem.


Hatelists: Everyone Should Make One

Don’t you sometimes just want to write a list of all the things/people you hate, piss you off or just plain annoy you? I do.

But then I’m all “Oh, but that’s so negative. I don’t want to be THAT person…all I HATE THIS and I HATE THAT!”

And then I hate myself for being so wimpy and spineless because seriously, why should I care? I’m feeling the hate and I want to vent and sharing is good—or at least that’s what they tell you in kindergarten and kindergarten teachers don’t lie, right? Because I would really hate them if they did.

So yeah, I’m gonna share the hate. And if  you start feeling the urge to lecture me about it, you should probably just not—or I’ll add you to my list.

The short list (because I’d hate to blow my whole hatewad in one shot):

• I hate when people walk away when you’re still talking to them. It makes me want to roundhouse kick them in their kidneys. Why? Because it’s just rude. Let’s roleplay for a sec… You be talking to me about something, anything, and I’ll just meander away while you’re talking. Makes ya wanna kick me, right? I knew it. You’re my kind of people.

• I hate when people send me an email or use the contact form on one of my other sites and try to convince me of how wrong I am about something BY INSULTING ME and then they link to their site which is, presumably, being left as a point of reference to my supposed wrongness and THEN? They throw in a little PR blurb about themselves. It makes me all “Dude. Do you seriously think I’m going listen to you or feature your product/service after you just talked a bunch of smack to me? You’re a social moron and if I cared about you at all, I’d send you a copy of Dale Carnegie’s “How to Win Friends and Influence People” and try to save you from your own stupidity but since I hate you? I won’t.

• People who work in stores and know NOTHING about what the store sells and are completely unapologetic about their ignorance. EXAMPLE: I go to Office Depot to buy some ink for this Kodak behemoth of a printer/scanner/copier because while I don’t need to print at this moment, I do need to scan stuff and this stupid piece of crap won’t let you SCAN until you buy more ink. Scanning is a completely inkless process and yet I’m held hostage until I throw down for ink. How am I going to put all those old pix that showcase the fact that I used to be hot and cellulite-free on Facebook without a scanner? Note to self: I also hate Kodak. Anyway, I search the ink section only to find there is ONE pack of Kodak ink and it’s for some other Kodak device. So I ask some Office Depot dude zipping around on one of those old people scooters if they carry Kodak ink and he doesn’t know. Whatever they have out is “probably” all they have, he says. He waves in the general direction of the aisle I just came from and zips away. Must be nice to get paid for being lazy, stupid and useless. I’m certain there’s a cubicle at AIG with his name on it. So yeah, I hate Kodak, I hate Office Depot and I hate that jerk on the scooter.

• I hate people that see you heading toward a certain register at a store and haul ass to get there first, even though you were closer. I hate them and if I thought I could get away with it, I’d totally set their hair on fire without a second thought. This also applies to people who pull this same shit with parking spaces. They get extra hate points if they’re one tiny little woman driving alone in a Hummer, Suburban or Excursion.

Wow…that felt really good. I can feel the clouds of hate dispersing already. I highly recommend making a hatelist, if only to make you feel less hateful and more tolerant of the things you hate.

Wait! Do I feel a brainstorm coming on? YESSSS!!!! Seminars, books-on-tape, infomercials, Home Shopping Network—an entire empire built on getting people to recognize their hate, vent their hate and eventually be at peace with their hate. I’m gonna be a zillionaire.

HA! Wrongcards rule.

An Open Letter to My Body, the Traitor

Dear Body,

Happy belated Valentine’s Day. Yes, I was being facetious. You know I don’t subscribe to made-up holidays that leave at least half the population sad and depressed that they don’t have someone to give them some Hallmark-mandated love and a red velvet box of chocolates from the local Walgreens. I prefer my consumerism-on-steroids holidays to at least be FUN, like Halloween!

Anyway, I’m writing to let you know that I’m very disappointed in you today. No, it’s not that last eight pounds I’ve been trying to lose for, like, two years—although we do need to discuss that at some point. I’m actually talking about the hangover that you led me to believe I would NOT be having today. What the hell?

I know, I know…I don’t take you out drinking nearly enough and you’re probably not used to it but that’s no excuse for your behavior today. You had fair warning that when we went out to celebrate the huz’s birthday last night (it was fun, yes?) that it would be a late night. Christ, we had safe, dependable babysitters for the first time in three years (Thank you, MIL and SIL!) that would be keeping our kids overnight. What did you think I was going to do? Drink soda all night?

All things considered, I think I did pretty good. I took a sip of my first beer at 9pm and finished my last around 2:45am. All together, I probably consumed about four or five high quality beers AND I had some pizza. (Yes, I agree that it was ridiculously salty but I was powerless to stop. You know how hungry I get when I drink). Anyway, the point is that I really didn’t go overboard and I don’t think I abused you that badly. In fact, I observed last night, firsthand, what long term alcohol abuse can do to a body and I’m so glad I got married and stopped clubbing and partying in my mid twenties. I could seriously be a poster girl for the virtues of generally clean, albeit mostly exercise-free, living.

But I digress…What I wanted to know is WHY did you lead me to believe this morning that I had escaped the hangover I was fully expecting? Even my prim, proper and very Catholic mother-in-law remarked that we didn’t look hungover when she brought the kids home at noon (NOON!!! God bless that woman!) and other than being a bit fuzzy-headed, I felt great. I didn’t begin to feel betrayed by you until about 3pm when the headache and queasy stomach started to kick in. Eventually, I felt so crappy I had to take to my bed for several hours whilst the huz went to the grocery store, fed the kids AND took them out for ice cream. He’s a fricken rockstar dad and I’m the pathetic mom that’s still hungover at six in the evening.


Don’t you know how damaging this was to my self-esteem? How loser-ish it made me feel?

I just don’t understand and I anxiously await your explanation.

Yours in suffering,

PS: And the for the love of all things good and decent…what’s UP with the gas? Haven’t you punished me enough already? Is further humiliation really necessary?

Notes to Self

Note to Self #1:

The next time you think of trying on your pre-preggers jeans to see if you’ve made any progress (because while you have not lost ONE SINGLE POUND, they ARE getting looser) you might want to check the calendar and make sure it’s not the day before your period.

It will save you vast amounts of frustration and perhaps a little brain damage via headbanging, as well, and NOT the recreational “I heart Metallica” kind either, but more of the “WHY THE EVER LOVING HELL CAN I NOT LOSE ONE MOTHERFARKING POUND? while your forehead bleeds profusely” kind.

You’ll get a pass this time because the ruiner-of-all-underwear and bringer-of-many zits DID come a few days early but please, pay attention next month.

And lucky you, this year you won’t have your period at BlogHer and have to hit up the maids for some super plus tampons from their private stash because you didn’t want to leave a quarter mile trail of blood to and from those crazy ass vending machines where you could buy cell phones and ENTIRE BAGS of Pepperidge Farm Milano cookies.

Now thank the baby Jesus one more time for nice maids with heavy periods.

Note to Self #2:

The next time you’re goofing off on your computer when you should be doing something educational or horizon-broadening with your toddler, look at him very closely when he climbs up on your desk for the seventh time in 15 minutes.

Had you done that today, you might have noticed that he had removed his diaper (because you were too lazy to put shorts on him after changing him) and you might have been better prepared for him to pee ALL OVER YOUR DESK, mouse, mouspad, camera USB cable and God knows what else.

And right after you finished cleaning the first massive pee tsunami, it was really awesome the way you caught shower number two with a Guinness glass full of ice. Pee. On the rocks!

But the point is that even though you caught it the second time, you should have been diapering him instead of skimming yet another forwarded email extolling the virtues of George Bush from you know who. She knows you’re not a fan but she still sends them which is really just obnoxious and maybe even a little passive-aggressive?

Next time just hit delete because it’s only going to be more of the same anyway and put a damn diaper on your son instead.

Note to Self #3:

The next time you think it might be fun and kind of a special treat to take the kids out solo to eat dinner (because you’re still mad at your huz from this morning) and decide Pizza Hut will be a good kid-friendly choice, stop thinking that thought immediately because it will NOT be a good choice.

Sure, it was nearly empty in Pizza Hut but they have one of those stupid ass crane machines where it costs $100 in quarters to win one crappy stuffed animal that was probably made in some Chinese sweat shop by a four year old and is probably filled with lead shavings and little balls of mercury instead of little white balls of polystyrene and of course, it’s like a ginormous and totally irresistible magnet to both of your kids.

So while you stand around watching them molest this machine in every conceivable way and listen to a medley of eighties gems by New Order, Frankie Goes to Hollywood and OMD while waiting for your food, you spy a girl playing air guitar to a song that clearly and rather curiously has no guitars in it and it occurs to you that for one brief moment this feels like a G-rated David Lynch film and you halfway believe that at any moment a midget in a pink tutu sporting a ZZ-Top-like beard will come rollerskating out with your food.

Then you snap out of it because your son, age 25 months and way cuter than a speckled pup, decides he’d rather go behind the counter of Pizza Hut and then kicks it up one more notch and runs into the little alcove where the drive through window is. And then he’s laying on the floor laughing at you. And then he decides to run from you into the bathroom except he can’t open the door.

On and on the circus continues and suddenly, being at home with your husband doesn’t seem so bad and you might even accept his previously offered apology after all. You tell the nice lady your order is now “TO GO!!!” and she nods in total appreciation of this capitol idea!

The point? Eating out with the kids during the witching hour (5-8pm), even at Pizza Hut, is a bad, bad idea.

NEVER, EVER have that idea again.


Once again, there’s booty to be scored over at Props and Pans. We’re giving away one of those ultra-cool SATees for a baby, toddler or child — YOUR CHOICE!

All you have to do is leave a comment telling us which one you want if you’re the winner. It’s a total no-brainer and even if you don’t have kids, they make a great gift!

On Being a Holiday Poseur…

Picture 1.pngThis past Saturday night I realized two things. I hadn’t gotten any Easter basket stuff for the kids and I had not a single acceptable thing to wear to dinner on Easter Sunday with my in-laws.

If jeans and t-shirts were a viable option or wearing black on Easter Sunday wasn’t generally frowned upon, I’d have been all set but alas, Easter is the holiday of pastels and nice, lady-like attire, which are things that my wardrobe is sorely lacking. Not that I mind, though, because I just feel like a big fraud when I’m wearing such things anyway.

It actually reminds me of going home for the holidays during college and well into my twenties and feeling like such a misfit with my regular wardrobe that I would actually shop before my trip for something bland and suburban that would make me blend in a little better because being the thrift store-clad black sheep at those large family gathering? Is not fun.

Clearly, I still feel compelled to perform the same ritual before attending gatherings with my in-laws because I actually went to the evil empire (Wal-mart) on Saturday night (because Target was about to close) and not only procured Easter candy and related tchotchkes but also a few shirts in bright, peppy Easter egg-like colors with the intention that I could pair them with some bright, peppy capri pants that I secured for some other “Yes, I’m a total fraud” event. I even bought myself a pair of spring-friendly sandals since all my other sandals have seen better days.

So yes. I spent my Saturday night at Wal-Mart buying candy and clothes which is only slight less humiliating than the following Sunday morning conversation with my six year old daughter wherein we are discussing what I am going to wear to Easter since I’d said the night before that I didn’t have diddly squat —

TQ: Mommy, you can wear this shirt for Easter *holds up my new sky blue top* It’s perfect for Easter and it doesn’t even matter that it’s a maternity shirt.

Me: Wha??? Why do you think it’s a maternity shirt?

TQ: Because it’s GIGAAAAANTIC!!! *runs off laughing*

Kids say the darnedest things, don’t they?

And yes, I did don my “gigaaaantic” shirt for Easter and would you believe that for the first time ever everyone was dressed casually in jeans? Yes. Due to cool weather they dressed in jeans while I’m wearing this hideously bright blue shirt and coordinating plaid pastel capri pants and looking like a dorky Easter egg.

The moral of this story is?

Um… Be yourself?

Buy better clothes?

Be better prepared so you don’t have to settle for the rather limited selection at Wal-Mart?

Don’t be embarrassed about looking like a schlub in front of your in-laws because one day they will all surprise you and wear jeans to Easter dinner?

Select tighter shirts so your daughter doesn’t think you bought maternity clothes?

I need to go on “What Not to Wear”?




The Public Library Never Disappoints

I don’t know what it is but a trip to the public library never fails to produce some story or anecdote and our most recent visit was no exception.

I had taken P, now 21 months old, to story time at our local branch library. At first he wasn’t really into it, much preferring to wander around and turn doorknobs, climb chairs and generally check out the room.

But finally, after several false starts, he made his way up to the group of other children and sat down — until he spotted the fabric draped over the Story Lady’s table. See, she brings a colorful fabric that she drapes over the table next to her like a floor-length table cloth and she displays a bunch of books on top it.

P immediately approached and then crawled under the cloth. And then poked his head out out. And then went back under and then came out again, grinning like he was the star of a show doing an encore instead of an incredibly cute toddler disrupting story time.

I bounded out of my seat and tried as discreetly as possible to go under the table from behind and coax P out but he was wily and hard to catch. On my hands and knees, I stuck my head out the front to see about 20 pairs of eye staring back at me.

After much under-the-table wrangling to grab a giggly and very wiggly P, I finally managed to get a hold of him and as I tried to hold onto him and stand up at the same time, my postpartum stress-incontinence reared it’s ugly little head and I peed my fricken pants a teeny bit. Crap.

As I stood up with P in my arms and smiled sheepishly at the crowd, I decided that my bucking and squealing toddler and I should go to the bathroom and survey the state of my jeans and let the Story Lady finish up. Fortunately, as it were, my jeans were spared. YESSSSSSS!

We went back in the room as story time was wrapping up so I could collect our stuff and the nice Story Lady told me that in all the years she had been doing this, no child has ever crawled under the fabric before (which I find incredibly hard to believe.) I apologized to the Story Lady, who actually is very sweet & understanding, particularly of toddlers, and we left.

Rest assured that I was sufficiently embarrassed by my son’s shenanigans. Not, however, because I felt like he was misbehaving but rather because of people looking at me the way they did. Not a single smile of understanding in the bunch except from one lone daddy. Thank you, kind sir.

You want to know what I have to say to that?

Lighten UP, people! He’s not even two years old and it’s toddler story time at the library; not dinner with the Queen of England.

I peed my pants for all you people and your perfect spawn. Isn’t that punishment enough? Geez!

(I have no idea what happened to all the comments on this post. They’re just…gone ???)

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