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