Parents, They’re Liars: Part 2


Or maybe I’m the only one who lies to their kid…

A while back I wrote about how I lie to my children. Well, as the Halloween holiday approaches, I’ve realized I’ve told a pretty big fucking lie and it’s gonna come back to bite me in the ass.

I have to give a bit of backstory in order to understand what kind of shit storm I’ve created with what I thought was a small, insignificant little white lie.

Back when Mini 1 was about two and a half, Hubs B and I took him trick or treating for the first time and he couldn’t have been more thrilled with the idea of getting shitloads of free candy. Not exactly at first though… I crammed his screaming ass into a monkey costume and carried him from house to house. The first house was our neighbor, who proceeded to basically dump her entire night’s haul of candy into Mini 1’s bag. Un-phased, he kept howling, while Hubs B carried him to the next house, where the same thing happened—lovely elderly neighbor equals tons of candy and by the third house, it was the same situation. Mini 1 had the haul of an entire night of trick or treating, gathered with stoppage at only three houses. This was when he realized what was in his bag. He proceeded to gorge himself on candy until Hubs B and I took it away. This was where the screaming began again. I vowed he’d never accumulate enough candy to put a horse into a diabetic coma again. So, here comes the lie. (I might just be a horrible parent or an evil genius…idk.)

The next year, I began telling Mini 1 about this goblin, called the Boo Goblin that loves to eat your Halloween candy in exchange for a toy. (Mini 1’s grandma had bought him that stupid Elf on the Shelf the year before, so he was all about shit like that. FYI, I suck at that Elf and should probs do a post about that fucking asshole.) He seemed interested, so I went on to tell him that we could still go trick or treating and collect candy and he’d be able to keep ten pieces, but he’d have to give the rest to the Boo Goblin. He still seemed game, so I ran with it. I explained that if he put all his candy outside on our porch, the Boo Goblin would come along, eat the candy, and be so happy he’d throw up a toy. Again, no complaints from Mini 1 and the Boo Goblin was created.

He talked about it for days leading up to Halloween, mind you, he was only three and half then, so I figured what harm could come from it. I bought a crappy toy at the checkout line of Meijer, Hubs B put Mini 1 in the bathtub after a night of trick or treating and the candy went out on the porch, and the Boo Goblin was born. He “ate” the candy, left the shitty toy and Mini 1 didn’t consume a vomit-inducing amount of candy.

Fast forward several years and that fucking goblin still exists, but now that dickhead is bring Legos and shit for two kids! Motherfucker, this lie is a disaster, and I’m almost certain Mini 1 knows it’s a lie, but he’s fucking with me. He won’t give in and tell me because he’s concerned about his toy gathering going out the window.

And to think, it all started because he was my first kid and I was concerned about his health. Poor Mini 2, he got the shit end of the stick. If I had it to do over again, I’d say, “Gorge yourselves, kiddos! You’re too damn skinny anyway!”

On a side note…where does all that candy Mini 1 and Mini 2 collected go??? Oh, trust me it never goes to waste!



OMG…A lost dog!!


I love animals, especially cute little dogs. I love them so much, yet I wouldn’t get another one if my life depended on it. (That’s another story…our old dog died. Well, we had him put down because he’d had a stroke and had this really horrible gangster swagger, head tilt, housing peeing and crapping, can’t walk straight thing going on. It was devastating to Mini One and Mini Two. Hubs B: “Great, they’re going to hate us. We killed their dog and then abandoned them.” That’s exactly what went down. We decided to put the dog down and then leave on kid-free vacation. Worst. Parents. Ever. DERAILED…)

So last night after a riveting third wheel Friday with BFF, she left and called me only seconds later. Now BFF and I have been friends for 20+ years and together we can be quite stupid.

BFF: OMG!!! There was this little dog wandering in the street. I almost hit it! So I got out and put it in my car.

ME: OMG!! Come back here. That poor dog!

BFF: I think the dog is blind. She’s really old.

ME: OMG!!!

We can be really dramatic when it comes to animals. A few sends later, while waiting for BFF to pull into the driveway, my phone rings. She had found the dog’s owner. What a relief! Well kinda… It turns out the owner was outside with the dog and BFF basically stole the dog from in front of its house and put it in her car and well, drove away. She’s a dog thief! She didn’t intend to be…but like I said, we make poor choices.

Luckily the owner wasn’t too pissed and BFF was able to be a hero in her own mind. I’m sure this won’t be the last stupid thing either of us do, but of course Hubs B got a good laugh out of it. And I was just grateful it wasn’t me who did something stupid, like always.


Why is someone’s mom here?


Last weekend with Hubs B, Guy BFF and Guy BFF’s wife who I will call Roomie, I headed to a the Rusted Root, Gin Blossoms and Blues Traveler concert. While in theory this sounded fab, because it would allow all of us to go back to those wonderful years we spent living together during college. Where we partook in legal and illegal activities, had no responsibilities and pretty much thought anything was funny. Like my post about old movies I loved as kid, this didn’t exactly pan out this way.

First off, this concert was in the middle of fucking nowhere. Punching it into the GPS, she was like, “Bitch, you best be turning around because I don’t even know where the fuck we are.” During this aimless drive with the GPS screen showing fuck all, my brother sends me a text that goes something like this.

Bro: You at the Blues Traveler concert?

Me: Yeah. Why?

Bro: I’ve been to that venue. Camped there. Are you camping?

If my brother could have seen my face, it would have said it all. Still driving into a cornfield filled oblivion, this now gives me a slight indication as to what I’m in for.

Me: I don’t camp.

The convo ends there. I don’t camp. I won’t even stay at a hotel with the doors on the outside. (FYI…it’s called a motel.) There is not a chance in fucking hell I’m sleeping anywhere but in a bed at a four star or up hotel. So panic starts to set in and I turn to Hubs B and ask him if he knows anything about the venue. And in classic Hubs B form says he doesn’t have any idea, but he’s certain it’s in the middle of nowhere. Thanks, Hubs B.

As soon as we hit the town where the Children of the Corn was filmed I begin sneezing and not just ordinary sneezing, it was the kind where you sneeze so fucking much that no one bothers to say God Bless You after the six hundredth fucking time. Bring on the booze because it’s going to be my only salvation.

We finally find the venue, if you can call it that. Basically it’s a plowed down cornfield with a stage in the center and small children flagging you down to park your car for $5. Safe and thrifty…

So Rusted Root takes the stage and things are going well. Drink in hand, people watching and listening to music. But it all falls apart when the sun goes down and the lights go out. Two drinks in and I have to use the bathroom.

Porta Potty hell

There are like thirty and while it is still daylight, it’s all good, but the sun goes down and pissing is nearly impossible because it is so fucking dark you can’t see your hand in front of your face. This is also when the hitters and joints come out, and while I’m not against this shit, it was pretty fucking excessive. The contact high was ridiculous. Please stop smoking weed in the fucking porta potty and making it your personal bong! I actually need to take a piss.

At this point, I’ve stopped drinking because there is no possible way you can see to get back to where you are sitting. I don’t want to get lost on my trek to take a piss. Poor Guy BFF was lost for at least twenty minutes and had to be escorted back to our seats by the kid behind us who smoked more weed than I’ve ever seen someone smoke. (Shocker because Hubs B could put anyone to shame back in the day.)

It’s around this time that my allergies are now full-blown and out of control. I’m a fucking city girl, my body can’t handle this much nature! I’m certain I look like Sloth from Goonies and I feel like hell.

So the Gin Blossoms take the stage…

Oh. My. Fucking. God. There’s a reason their career ended circa 1998. They fucking sucked so hard it wasn’t even funny. It’s was two hours of my life I will never get back and because the music was so retched, I spent the time focusing on the moths swarming the stage lights. Masses of them and big ass mother fuckers, like the size of small birds. I hate moths. Disgusting, wayward, unpredictable fuckers. Life sucking, creepy, weird-eyed shitheads. So gross.

After the millionth sneeze and nearly wetting my pants, I decided to bail. I was over this pretending to be young again shit. I’m fucking old. Give me a smokeless bar, a party at BFF’s house, a restaurant with good food and a even better alcohol and I’m in. Or even better, the drink machine and Guy BFF and Roomie and a drunken game of 90’s Trivial Pursuit.

I’m too old for drum solos that last twenty fucking minutes, bad nineties music and too much weed. Glad I spent four years enjoying when I could appreciate at it, because now it kinda sucks.


Happy birthday…from my tattoo guy?

The first person to wish me a happy birthday this year was my tattoo guy. Usually it’s the guy I have our car insurance through or one of the many places I online shop, but this year the winner is Steven. Interesting…I either get far too many tattoos or I haven’t gotten enough and he’s trying to earn back my business. The fact that I have a tattoo guy probably speaks volumes about me, but whatever. I like him and wouldn’t consider going anywhere else.

But to digress a bit, here’s a quick story about BFF since we share Steven as our tattoo guy.

When we were teenagers, long before the fabulous Steven came into our lives, BFF got a tattoo on her lower back, not a tramp stamp, it’s off to the side and far more classy. She swears it was the worst fucking pain of her life and still insists the tat guy made her drop trou right in the front of the shop. So basically it ruined her and she swore up and down she’d never get another. She was like, “Sweet fucking Jesus it was like childbirth. Never again.”

But she’s pretty fickle and a bandwagon jumper, so when I got another one, she decided she’d give it another try. Especially since I told her Steven is fucking awesome. Going with her for moral support, she opted for a tiny tattoo on her foot. Turns out it’s not so bad. She survives and the tat is adorable. Yay for BFF, but not really.

A few days later is the 4th of July and she goes on a boozy bender where she wears no shoes, pokes at the tat with dirty fingers and hits up a few too many bathrooms.

Cue the next day while lying on my couch:

BFF: Do you think it’s infected?

It’s swollen and cratered and puss is forming. It’s as red as an Irishman with a sunburn. It’s totes infected. I feared they may have to take her leg.

Me: Um, yeah.

BFF: Ask Hubs B what to do, he’s in the science field.

Hubs B: *While watching TV* I’m not a doctor.

Me: I have some antibiotics in the cabinet from when I had a UTI. Take one.

BFF: Ok.

Over the course of three days I was texted updated pictures where I teased her without regard for the fact that she may lose her foot, about it being gangrenous and smelling like almonds. Eventually she had to see a legit doctor and not a fake one who has a degree in biology and was drinking a beer while watching TV, because it got mega out of hand. It healed and it didn’t stop her from getting two more after that.

So a shout out to Steven for that happy birthday and for reminding me I’m old, and also for making BFF and I want to get another tat. Mission accomplished, Steven. Well played. Here’s to gangrenous tattoos and my 29th birthday!


Why do I subject myself to this?

1344578729070_522530 There’s nothing I despise more than pseudo celebrities and I think that came across loud and clear in my rants about the Kimye wedding. But fret no more, now that the wedding debacle is past us, I have found something new to focus on.

Paris Fucking Hilton

Now Hubs B has always claimed she is hot and I’ve always begged to differ. And after her latest music video, I’m not sure how anyone can claim her as anything but an insipid twit stuck in the body of a thirteen year old girl.

This video is the biggest fucking shit show since the Ashlee Simpson SNL lip sync fiasco. In order to fully appreciate this post you must view the video.

Disclaimer: It’s going to be 4 minutes and 14 seconds of sheer what-the-fuck.

Ok, now that you’ve seen it, questioned why you watched and have picked your jaw off the floor; let’s go through my favorite parts.

The starfish bra…god, I fucking hope no starfish were harmed in the making of this video. They absolutely were!!! They were forced to listen to an auto tuned version of a song that outright sucks balls. And the extended pause between the words come and alive, make it seem nothing but pornographic. (Guessing that was the point…sex tape scandal, my ass…again.) She looks like a cross between a mermaid and a pixie and the tooth fairy and a small child playing dress up on a set where Rainbow Bright and Barbie had a bad bout with the stomach flu. You’re a grown ass woman, grow the fuck up. Oh wait, that’s impossible because you have far too much money to be required to be a responsible adult. And let me say, nothing screams adult like parading around in a field of cotton candy clouds wearing rhinestone panties.

But on to my favorite part!!! A unicorn!!! There’s a fucking real-life unicorn in this video!! Only Paris Hilton could land that kinda shit. I only wish I would’ve been cast as the unicorn; my disappointment is fucking epic. I would have totes used that horn to give her a few jabs back into the real world. (Maybe even one really swift one) She fucking needs it.

So in the end…who doesn’t have Stars Go Blind on their playlist? Make sure to add Come Alive. We want to keep supporting Paris Hilton. Well maybe I just want that unicorn to keep getting work. It’s gotta be tough, I doubt it’s the heir to a hotel fortune.


PS…Who ever created the ecard, no one is two words. Just sayin’.

Oh sweet baby Jesus! GOAL!!!


Yes, these boys play soccer…

Hubs B is a huge fan of soccer and with the world cup only coming around every four years, I let him indulge. Unless you were living under a rock, you know yesterday the US played Belgium in a game that would allow the winner to advance to the next round.


And so do these. Just imagine them all hot and sweaty.

So Hubs B and I headed over to our favorite little bar to take in the game. (Yes, Mini 1 and Mini 2 were with but you can’t judge me because the bar has a kids’ menu.) While I enjoyed a Harp Shandy, Hubs B sat on the end of his chair with his eyes glued to the television.

I have to digress a minute and wish my good friend and her husband a congratulations on the birth of their twin girls yesterday. Now, I’m sure you’re wondering why I would add this to my post about soccer. Well, you see, my friend’s husband is just as big of a fan as Hubs B and while the US was losing to Belgium (sorry…spoiler for those rock dwellers), they were welcoming their baby girls. A great end to a shitty day of lost soccer where I spent the rest of the evening in a bar with a bunch of semi-drunk depressed Americans. But lucky for him, he’s from Germany and I’m sure his loyalty still lies there. So rock on Germany. Kick some French ass!

But yeah, back to soccer. Now this post really has nothing to do with the game and everything to do with the hot guys who participate. I have no problem watching soccer with Hubs B and would probably do it regardless, but all those hot, hot guys make it totally worth it.


Lawwrrddd….someone hold me up.

Have you seen these men? Oh my fucking god. It’s the only professional sport that cranks out more good-looking faces and hot bodies than any other. But for the love of fuck…make the world cup happen more often than every four years. Stop punishing women!


Good god, those eyes!

So in the end, here is the reason I really watch…hot guys and soccer junk. When I say junk, I mean the best kind. 🙂

Here’s a montage of some of my favorites. Enjoy ladies, or guys if that’s your thing. 😉


Adorable ass.

Not sure what this is about but it made me laugh.

Last one…I promise.


I lied… This is Oguchi Onyewu. I have no idea how to pronounce his name, which will make for an interesting attempt while I call it out in my dreams.

I think I have ADD.


Game of Thrones, stop f**king with me


Hubs B and I have a serious obsession with Game of Thrones. It’s one of those rare shows we watch on live TV. And just like last season (The Red Wedding…still bawling my fucking eyes out! WAAAAAHHHHHHH, ROBB STARK!), the second to the last episode of the season didn’t disappoint.

WARNING!!! SPOILERS!! Don’t read if you don’t want to know what happens!!!! You’ve been warned.

This is going to be a shit ass mess because my thoughts are still. But here it goes…

So Ygritte and her band of douche bag assholes Wildlings invade Castle Black in an epic battle that still has me screaming Jon Snow’s name. As the battle ensues, Jon leaves his post at the top of the wall to singlehandedly take on all 100,000 Wildlings in the depths of the castle. I’m bouncing on the edge of the couch, yelling and shielding my eyes. “Go Jon, you motherfucker! Kill them all!” Hubs B is the silent type, but trust me he’s just as anxious. He can’t die, right? But then it hits, this fucking show kills everyone and that brings me back Tyrion…OMFG I’m not going to find out if he dies in this episode! Back to the battle, fucking Ygritte that dirty whore, kills Sam’s friend with an arrow straight through his throat. So graphic and not a good way to die. But Sam stays with him and comforts him as he fades away, but then I panic again that Sam is going to die. At this point Gilly and the baby have come back and she’s hiding in the pantry and she made Sam promise he won’t die. So fuck me, he can’t die too! Jon, still in the thick of it, is now fighting like a fucking machine and during this time Sam releases Jon’s wolf, Ghost who proceeds to kill anything in his path and eat their faces. It was disgusting, yet somehow thrilling. Just as Jon has a leg up on all this shit, the king of Wildlings, that owl dude with the creepy eyes starts kicking the shit out of Jon. OMFG!!! He’s going to die!! But fate steps in and he goes down. Sigh of relief is breathed, but then that whore Ygritte shows up and now I know it’s over. NO!!! Please for the love of fuck, don’t kill him! Don’t forget Ygritte you’re the one who opened your legs to this hot ass man. And the next thing I know, she’s down for the count. This poor kid who’s been forced to run the elevator during this shit fight, puts an arrow in her saving Jon’s life. I could totes kiss this kid. Falling back on to the couch, feeling like I just ran a marathon, I turn to Hubs B and say, “It’s over already? Shit, check the time, I think that episode was only twenty minutes long.”

If you need me I’ll be watching the preview for next week’s episode on repeat until Sunday.

And that’s my take on this whole thing. Yep, I think I’ve lost my mind.


And by cryptic, you mean f**king impossible, right?

So my two work BFFs recently suggested I start doing cryptic crosswords. And no, this is not because I’ve got nothing better to do with my time, but because, and I quote, “you’re supremely intelligent, you’d be really good at them and we think you’d enjoy the word play.” Ok, I might have made that first part up, but you get where I’m going here, right?

And they are right about one thing, I do like word play. I like to write and I also love stuff that’s outside the box, that doesn’t follow a formula and that makes you think. However, as I pointed out to them, every time I’ve attempted to do a cryptic crossword, the only thing that crosses my mind is, what the fuck are they talking about?

My BFFs weren’t to be deterred however, and before I can say don’t worry about it, out comes the cryptic crossword from today’s paper, which is 99% done, and they try to encourage me to help them finish it. As I sit there staring at it, all I can see is a bunch of weird ass clues that make about as much sense to me as Chinese and all I can hear is an endless dialogue of idea swapping that makes as much sense to me as high school physics. Evidently the WTF expression on my face was obvious because my BFFs then attempt to explain to me how they crack these cryptic clues. At first I was like WTF? And then as they kept going I was like, WTF… oh ok, now I get it…sort of. And by the time they were through…I was still, yeah ok, I see it but really WTF. Again, not to be deterred, they encouraged me to try one for myself, assuring me I would soon get the hang of it.

Now being the nerd that I am, I went back to my desk and googled cryptic crosswords, thinking I’d surprise them by solving that final clue they hadn’t managed to crack. Unsurprisingly I didn’t solve it, and instead, I get sidetracked by an entire Wikipedia page dedicated to cryptic crosswords.

Well, fuck me.

Not only are there variations and levels on these things, but there are apparently endless types of both clues and rules that “show” you how to solve the puzzle. Here’s a completely straightforward and logical example of what I’m talking about:

15D Very sad unfinished story about rising smoke (8)

is a clue for TRAGICAL. This breaks down as follows.

– 15D indicates the location and direction (down) of the solution in the grid

– “Very sad” is the definition

– “unfinished story” gives “tal” (“tale” with one letter missing; i.e., unfinished)

– “rising smoke” gives “ragic” (a “cigar” is a smoke and this is a down clue so “rising” indicates that “cigar” should be written up the page; i.e., backwards)

– “about” means that the letters of “tal” should be put either side of “ragic”, giving “tragical”

– “(8)” says that the answer is a single word of eight letters.

There are many “code words” or “indicators” that have a special meaning in the cryptic crossword context. (In the example above, “about”, “unfinished” and “rising” all fall into this category). Learning these, or being able to spot them, is a useful and necessary part of becoming a skilled cryptic crossword solver.

Crystal clear right?

Wanting to prove a point, I email the above example to my friends, pointing out not only how impossible these things are, but also asking how I’m ever expected to remember all these rules and variations. As I wait for their response, I continue googling and stumble across a website that offers a “daily cryptic crossword that you can do in your coffee break.”

Oh, I’m pretty sure I can prove that wrong.

As I sit there staring at the clues, the only thing that crosses my mind is this; I still have no fucking idea what any of these clues mean. I mean I can’t remember a single rule and I literally cannot think of a single possible answer. Ten minutes later, I finally take a guess at one of them and because this is all online, I can cheat and find out if I’m right…holy shit…I am! I don’t exactly know how I worked it out, or where the answer came from, but who gives a shit, I got it right! Of course being the impatient person that I am, which let’s be honest, is the real reason I’ll never be any good at these things, I then checked all the other answers. It’s at this point that I discover me solving one clue was a complete and utter fluke, because even with the answers, I can barely understand the rest of them.

I finally concede defeat and admit to my BFFs that not only am I too impatient to ever do these puzzles, but that it just took me 10 minutes to work out one clue.

Their response? Oh, apparently 10 minutes is normal.


Don’t judge me, but… Best. Season. Finale. Ever.



Ok…I officially need to discuss the season finale of The Vampire Diaries. So if you haven’t seen it…spoilers are coming…you’ve been warned.

Look, I’ll admit, I’m a huge fan of the fang. I love all vampire stuff, but especially when it’s done well. No sparkling fangless vamps here thank you. And personally, I think The Vampire Diaries, hits it out of the fucking ballpark. This show has it all; the fangs, the blood, the drinking from humans, the violence, and the holy-fucking-shit-is-he-sexy. This is what vampires should be about.

I’m also going to admit that I’m partial to certain celebrity romances. I get invested, protective even, almost as though I’m involved in them myself. Yes I know, it’s not normal, but I can’t help it, I feel a certain allegiance to specific couples and I’m naturally devastated when they break up in real life.

But what the fuck does any of this have to do with anything?

A good question, and I’ll admit, the link is tenuous as best, but, and hear me out, because I’ll bet I’m not alone. Watching last night’s season finale of The Vampire Diaries has only reinforced to me how much IAN AND NINA SHOULD GET BACK TOGETHER. Seriously.

But it also reinforced to me just how much this show fucking rocks.

Oh fuck me, was this finale epic. I cried, I squealed, I screamed “no fucking way”…a lot… and I smiled… but mostly I cried. Because finally, finally, Damon and Elena were on the same page and my god was it fucking awesome, like seriously swoon-worthy Thelma and Louise style awesome…and then…Damon doesn’t make it back…and Elena breaks down … and then… he talks about how this is the moment he knows his entire 173 year life was worth it… and then… I swoon some more… and then… I break down again… and then… the show ends and I’m wishing to fuck it was season 6 already.

It was emotional and it was romantic and it was everything a good bad-boy-vampire-meets-good-girl-vampire show should be. And once again, it highlighted the fan-fucking-tastic sexual chemistry Nina and Ian have. So for the love of fucking god, please get back together already…and CWTV, for the love of fucking god, please start season 6 already.

The only saving grace in this whole sob-fest of Elena losing Damon and me losing my dignity, is that Alaric is back… Alaric is back!! And if he hadn’t just lost his BFF, I’d be rejoicing at the best onscreen bromance ever being back together again. Only I can’t…because Damon is gone…and I’m about to cry again.

So you see, Damon has to come back, not just for Elena and Alaric, but for me too…seriously…Damon, come back…please.