Terrific T-shirt Tuesday...giddyup!

Hey everyone, it's Tuesday again! Time for my Terrific T-shirt Tuesday. This is the day I thoroughly comb the 'net for a fab headline that would make a Terrific T-shirt a la CNN. What do you guys think of this one?

Today's headline is courtesy of Jeff Tompkins, the world itself is a satire. Jeff sounds like my kinda guy, because most country music makes me want to rip my ears off and stomp on them. Yee haw! Thanks, Jeff! Grab your t-shirt and link back to this post if you'd like.

If anyone would care to nominate a blog headline for Terrific T-shirt Tuesday, post a comment and link, or e-me. Y'all come back now, ya hear?!

--Mom

To boat or not to boat?

Boat: (bōt) noun. A hole in the water
into which all money is thrown.

But man, I want one! I want my own money-sucking hole!

We went boating yesterday with some friends from my husband's work, and it was a blast. The weather wasn't perfect, but the company sure was. I think MacDaddy and I are hooked. We're like boat crack addicts. It's all we think about. We can't wait to get our next fix. We're exhibiting boat-seeking behavior, and we'll ask anyone where we can score a boat. We say we can quit, but we really don't want to. We'll surely need a 12-step program so that it doesn't take over our lives.

Here are 10 things I learned whilst boating:

1. Flip flops are not boating shoes.


2. You don't "park" out in the water, you "anchor."


3. If you can't figure out how to tie your boat to the dock so that it doesn't float way, you probably shouldn't get a boat.


4. If you don't drink beer, you definitely shouldn't get a boat.


5. If you can't *wait* to get back on the boat, you probably should get a boat.


6. If you're fussy about your hair, you don't belong on a boat.


7. The bathroom is not called the bathroom. It's the "head." And men seem to dig it when you talk about "head."


8. The kitchen is not the kitchen, it's the galley. And it's main purpose is to hold...the beer.


9. Don't fuck around on radio channel 16, it's for the Coast Guard, and they'll kick your ass if you fuck around on it.


10. Boating doesn't suck!

So, anyone know where I can score a boat? C'mon man, help a gal out!

--Mom

I need to gripe

About what might I need to gripe, you wonder? I'll tell you.

ASSHOLE PARENTS.

I've mentioned a few times that I'm on the neighborhood swim team board, and that I really enjoy it.

Well, I've hit the portion of the season that I had forgotten about since last year. The part where parents have nothing but complaints. *DAILY* I field emails from parents bitching about this or that rule, this or that team request, blah blah blah. I'm ready to bitch slap every damn one of them!

So I've penned an open letter to the parents on my swim team. I think you'll like it!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Dear asshole parents:

Listen up motherfuckers! When you join a team, you are expected to help out. That's the way it is with kids' sports. And when you come to the pool, you need your fucking POOL PASS. Don't email me and whine that "sometimes they're forgotten or misplaced." Because you know what? I don't give a shit. It's the pool, you need a pool pass. What don't you fucktards understand about that?! And also, don't tell me you "just want to watch your daughter race" when it's time to sign up for volunteer jobs at meets. Because you know what? ME TOO! We all want to see our kids race, but we all need to work it to make it happen. And when you don't get the right suit for Little Johnny, whine to the vendor, not me. Let me make this as clear as possible...I DO NOT MAKE THE FUCKING SUITS. And when it's time to clean up after the meets, don't even bother telling me that you "need to get home" because we ALL need to get home. None of us live at the pool, you jackasses. The faster we get this done, the faster we can ALL get home, and I won't need to crawl up your ass. And when you can't fulfill the job you've volunteered to do, don't make it my fucking problem. Find your own replacement. So when your job is to get Friday morning donuts, and you can't fucking handle it, don't make it MY problem the night prior. I'm on the Board to oversee the running of the team; I am not the donut bitch. And if you want to gripe that you didn't know there were practices on Friday, you might want to try clicking that link on our website that says "PRACTICE SCHEDULE" you lazy imbecile!

So, are we clear now? GOOD! Use some common fucking sense before emailing me with complaints. That is all.

Love, Mom
Your Perky Swim Team Board Member

P.S. Stay off the coach's ass, too. It's his job to coach, not to listen to you whiny douche bags.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I feel much better. Thanks for listening! Now I can probably get through the day without ripping into anyone. Hopefully.

--Mom

5 for Friday...this is my jam

Woohoo! It's Friday again!

The theme for today's "5 for Friday" is....5 songs that make me sing like a rock star when I'm alone in the car.

Really there are hundreds of tunes that make me sing like a rock star, but I had to choose 5, so these are some from the past few days.

5. "You Oughtta Know" by Alanis Morrisette. (The unedited version, of course.) I love the bitter anger that oozes from this song. Such a stress reliever to belt out this one in the car at top volume!

4. "Black Dog" by Led Zeppelin. Anyone who *doesn't* want to shout "hey, hey, mama, said the way you move gonna make you sweat, gonna make you groove" isn't quite right in my book.

3. "Dirty Deeds, Done Dirt Cheap" by AC/DC. This is a classic for anyone who's wanted revenge on a troublesome neighbor or hateful co-worker. And just for kicks, it's fun to sing the mis-heard lyrics..."Dirty Deeds and the thunder chief." LOL

2. "And the Cradle Will Rock" by Van Halen. Seriously, have you seen junior's grades? They're appalling! But the guitar riffs are amazing.

1. "Let it Rock" by Kevin Rudolph. The title says it all, so I let it rock in the car, just as loud as I can. Because you know what I wish? I wish I could be as cool as you.

Now, don't let me be the only dork admitting that I sing like a rock star in my car! What makes YOU jam when no one is looking?!

--Mom

Crazy Facebookery

I have a love-hate relationship with Facebook.

I like connecting with friends from my past, but I'm completely weirded out by the games and invitations that people send me. Who the hell has enough time in the day to accept all the water gun fights, Easter egg hunts, cocktails and quiz requests?! Currently sitting in my cue are:

• 1 friend suggestion
• 4 friend requests
• 1 view stephen's hug request
• 1 tweety bird mania request
• 2 classmate requests
• 3 growing up denver gifts
• 2 what your name says invitations
• 4 how well do you know invitations
• 3 farm town requests
• 1 james's birthday request
• 8 pass a round invitations
• 7 water gun fight! requests
• 1 which female grease invitation
• 2 which 80s song invitations
• 3 easter egg hunt invitations
• 3 cause invitations
• 1 which jimmy buffett request

...and that's after having done an ass load of quizzes, shooters, pillow fights and "which one" invitations. I could probably pencil in a whole day each week just to do the requests on Facebook. Who created all this absurd craziness?

Why do I need to know that my Star Wars character is Princess Leia? WTF am I supposed to do with pretend drinks? If you're really my friend take me out and get me shit-faced! THAT'S a friend! If you want a pillow fight, invite me over for a real sleepover and we'll wail away with pillows all night. C'mon over to the pool and let's do a real water gun fight with super soakers. (You're going down!) If you want to give me a gift, I'd love a Coach bag, not faux farm animals. And if you have a Jimmy Buffett request, it had better come with real jello shooters and close-up seating for a real concert! Don't tease me on Facebook. I don't have that kind of time.

--Mom

Terrific T-shirt Tuesday...WWJDate?

It's Tuesday, so it's time for a Terrific T-shirt! I have combed the blog-o-sphere for a headline that would be fabulous to sport on a t-shirt. And if you're wearing THIS shirt, you've got SERIOUS bragging rights:This awesome headline was written by Heather Cherry on her self-titled blog, and the thought of it on a t-shirt totally cracks me up! Heather, grab your t-shirt and link back to this post if you'd like. Thanks for providing the laugh! If I were dating Jesus, I'd want everyone to know that Jesus was my man.

If anyone would like to nominate a blog headline for Terrific T-shirt Tuesday, post a comment and link, or e-me. Thanks for reading along!

--Mom

Happy Father's Day

Wishing my main man, MacDaddy, and all the other dads out in blogland a fabulous Father's Day!

Have a beer on me! My treat.

5 for Friday...That's gross

The theme for today's "5 for Friday" is....Things That Gross Me Out. Ready? Because I think these are pretty grody...

5. Farts. I don't really need to explain that, do I?

4. Nasty toenails, in sandals, trotted out in public where God and everyone can see them. If feet are not cared for, they really need to be inside a shoe when near me.

3. Monkeys. I know I've alluded to it already, but I'll tell you why another day. Monkeys, to me, are nasty.

2. At the grocery store, I once saw a kid stick his hand down his pants, and then sniff his fingers. Next, he shoved his hand up in his sister's face. I nearly vomited. It was probably the most messed up thing I've *EVER* seen. I contemplated making this number one on my list.

But my number one gross out...

1. That super absorbent maxi pad that comes packaged under meat in it's Styrofoam tray. To me, it just screams SALMONELLA!! BOTCHULISM!! E COLI!!!

True story....I cooked that damn thing in the crock pot once. It was stuck to the bottom of a roast and I didn't realize it. ~gag~

What grosses you out??

--Mom

I'm a super hero

OK, so I'm coming clean on the whole exaggeration thing.

Exaggerating -- that's my schtick. Apparently my peeps think I've taken it to a whole new level, like, super hero exaggerating.

I like to announce that I'm hotter than the surface of 1,000 suns, or that my entire face is melting off... not just that I'm "too warm." When I'm cold, I'm not just "chilly" I'm more like the temperature of a frozen steak in a freezer of dry ice, ready to snap. When I'm tired, I like to say that I may not live through the day because I'm dying of life-threatening exhaustion. And speaking of dying, I like to announce that I'm dying of things on a regular basis. I die of random events, people who are idiots, unreal conversations, and strange circumstances DAILY. My exaggerations are legendary at my house. So much so, my family calls me "The Exaggerator"...an exaggerator of super hero strength! Hence, "Life...Exaggerated."

But I'm not the only person in the family who is a super hero. Oh no! Baby is known as "The Griper" because she can complain like nobody's business. The kid can BITCH! Seriously! I've never heard a four-year-old carrying on about things at great length like she can. A conversation or situation can end, and 25 minutes later, Baby will gripe about it some more. And the funny thing, she doesn't much care for other peoples' griping.

MacDaddy: "My back is sore again today from moving all that mulch."

Baby: "Are you still griping about that?"

To be fair to Baby though, MacDaddy is known as the "Nuclear Overreactor." He can get worked into a head-spinning frenzy about damn near anything, and Baby sometimes has no recourse but to call him on it. On a normal day, the things that get MacDaddy worked up are:

• Junk mail that tricks you into thinking its something important
• Getting too near the end of the coffee creamer without a back up bottle
• The grill getting wet if we accidentally leave the cover off in the rain
• An assortment of sports ridiculousnesses
• Democrats

No situation is too small for the Nuclear Overreactor to begin percolating! When we sense it, Bella and I like to make beeping danger sounds and shout, "He's gonna blow!"

Bella has dual super hero powers. She's ultra special. We call her "The Slobinator" for obvious reasons. She can trash a house faster than a speeding bullet. We don't know how she's able to clean her room so thoroughly, and within an hour, it's a shithole! It's not physically possible to destroy a room in the manner that she does, so we figure she must be super human. Bella's also known as "The Instigator." She is often the root cause of Baby's griping and my exaggerations and MacDaddy's overreacting. Bella has a wicked quick sense of humor, that often zings the remaining super heroes into action.

This is classic super hero action at my house:

Me (replacing the roll of paper towels): OMG, did I buy paper towels with cats on them? I must have been completely without my head when I grabbed that roll. I don't even like cats! I'm going to DIE of looking at these paper towels for the next week!! Why GOD?!

Bella: What, did the cat get your eyeballs? Here comes the rant about the price of stuff.

MacDaddy: You know what gets me? The rolls are smaller, but the price continues to go up. It's ridiculous! How much do manufacturers think a wad of ratty paper should cost?! Where is it going to end? Will we be spending $10 on a roll of paper towels with 5 sheets of paper some day?!

Baby (15 minutes later): We don't have cats, mom. Why did you get the paper towels with cats? We don't have cats. We have a dog. How come you didn't buy the towels with dogs?

So, do you have a special super power?

--Mom

What the hell is wrong with Brett Favre?

My husband is supposed to be the one with the sports blog, but today I need to say some stuff about Brett. I'm tired of hearing about him on the news. One season he's retiring, the next he's back. He's gone...then back. Gone...then back. Why can't he make up his mind? Someone needs to tell Brett to shit or get off the pot. He's making an ass of himself.

There, I said it. That is all.

--Mom

Terrific T-shirt Tuesday

Last Tuesday I wrote about headlines from my own blog that might be amusing as one-liners on T-shirts, a la CNN.com. I thought it would also be fun to start a regular Tuesday column called "Terrific T-shirt Tuesday" based on other blogger's headlines, and award the blog master their very own t-shirt. Cool, huh? So here it is, Tuesday again, so let's get to the funny.

For my first featured t-shirt, I would like award Stickman for his headline "P.S. I love you, Jackass." The article is entertaining, but the headline is what caught my attention. Who doesn't love a romantic sentiment that ends in "jackass"? I sure do!

So here you go, Stickman, your Terrific T-shirt!

Grab your T and upload it to your site if you'd like, and link back to Terrific T-shirt Tuesday.

Readers, have you seen a great headline on someone else's blog? Or have you written one of your very own? Post it in my comments box, or e-me with the link. I'll be on the look out for Terrific T-shirt nominees!

--Mom

People on crack should not build houses

We have these two locations in the house that are akin to the Bermuda Triangle.

The first is on the main level where the basement and powder room doors meet. Rather than better engineering the alcove into which you must go to both descend the basement stairs or...pee, the builders have forced us to forever fight with swinging doors. And lemme tell ya, the knobs on those two doors seem to bang together 24/7. And also, it seems that either of those doors is always open, ready to slam into your ass in a New York minute. Sometimes, the two knobs even get locked together into a power hold so fierce that you need to consult an expert in quantum physics in order to free them. So they can once again begin clanging.

See? Here they are now, duking it out for who will rule the open space in the Daily Battle of the Alcove Doors.
The other space from hell is upstairs in our bedroom where the master bath and closet doors come together to form a death trap. There are times when MacDaddy and I are in and out of the bathroom and/or closet at the same time and actually get stuck amongst the doors. It might seem like a touching romantic interlude, wedged between the doors, but because we're both so fucking sick of being trapped, the precious moments have long worn thin.

Oh no...it's got Baby!! What I want to know is, what kind of architectural jackassery is this? And on what planet did this seem like a genius move?! Did a high school intern build our house, or someone from The Laugh Factory? Because this is ridiculous! No one should be expected to endure this level of crazy.

So if anyone is keeping score, in my next house I need (a) hot neighbors and (b) doorknobs that don't piss me off.

What's bugging you at your house?

--Mom

I'm stylin' in headlines

Have you ever noticed on the CNN website that you can order t-shirts that highlight some of their daily news headlines?

I thought it would be fun to have some of my own blog headlines made into t-shirts. Wouldn't that be cool?! I've chosen several of my favorite headlines to consider sportin' around town. They are, in no particular order:

1. Picking Jon and Kate out of my teeth


2. Note to men: Wear clothes outside


3. If I'm missing, don't let small children look for me on milk cartons


4. You're sticking that pencil...where?!


5. What the hell was I thinking?


6. 50 Things to Do Butt Naked

So, do you have a favorite headline that you'd like on a t-shirt of your own?!

--Mom

Note to men: Wear clothes outside!

Well, it happened again this morning. I saw another neighbor in his underwear. The guy diagonally across the street from us was having a cigarette in his driveway, wearing sandals, navy blue boxers and a white wife-beater tank top. Not really a good look at 7:20 a.m.!

Why does this keep happening to me? This is the third neighbor, in three different homes, who I’ve seen in his undies. And I want to know WHY? Why was I hand selected by God to witness such atrocities?

In our townhouse, I looked out the master bedroom window to see Calvin, outside on his deck slurping down his morning coffee and reading his paper, in nothing but white boxer shorts. No shirt, no shoes, no fuckin’ way!

That was my first experience with scantily clad male neighbors, but little did I know, it wouldn’t be my last. :-/

A few years later, while living in our crazy contemporary house in granola-ville, I came upon Billie while walking our dog early one morning. Billie had run out to his car for something, wearing nothing but purple skivvies and slippers. Ugh! Billie was about 30 years older than I with white pasty bird legs, a belly bulge that put him at about 6 months pregnant, and a carpet of grey chest hair. Lemme tell ya, it was not a turn on! I wanted to pop my eyeballs out and scrub them with steel wool, that’s how horrifying the experience was. Thank God he didn’t see me, because Jesus, what does one say to a near-naked neighbor? “Hey hot stuff, you got it goin’ ON!” didn’t seem appropriate, because...it wasn’t accurate. (Why me, God? Why?!)

So then this morning outside house #3 there was Merroon, in his wife-beater, boxers and sandals, smokin’ a ciggie. I just shook my head and thought, “Of course he’s in his underwear. It’s my destiny.” I probably wouldn’t mind so much if my neighbors were hotter. Next time we move, I really need to be a little choosier about the folks we live near. Because I just *know* it’s going to happen again! I’ll be outside, early in the morning, and some jackass will be out there half naked. So I'd really like it if he looked like Adonis next time.

Does this happen to anyone else, or am I just lucky? (And not in a good way.)

--Mom

I think Baby dissed me

Baby is 4, and has a pretty good sized attitude. She also likes to speak her mind. I don't have the slightest idea where she gets that from. This was our conversation the other morning. I'm pretty sure she's busting on me.

Baby, eating a hardboiled egg: Mom, I dumped the cheese out.

Me, puttering in the kitchen: The cheese? What cheese?

Baby: The egg cheese!

Me: There's no cheese.

Baby: THE YELLOW CHEESE INSIDE THE EGG, MOM!! Gosh, don't you know anything?

Me: I know a lot, sister! I know that's not cheese. That's called the yolk.

Baby: Don't make it so dry next time.

Me: That's just the way it turns out, Baby.

Baby: Oh. You cook the white part real good.

Me: I'm pretty handy to have around, huh?

Baby: What does handy mean?

Me: It means I know how to do a lot of things around the house.

Baby: Then peel me another egg! ~laughs~

Baby: I'm pretty funny, huh?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kids! They crack me up!

--Mom