You’re gonna regret it.

I’ve kind of seen enough of people talking shit about kids. I’m over it. Enough already. ENOUGH. For real. Everyone should stop doing observational humor about kids. Now, don’t get me wrong. I laugh right along with everyone else…where kids can’t see me, and I’ll tell you why.

Kids can fucking read, and have ears.

Not the babies..I mean, they have ears, but they can’t read. Not like the bigger ones, and more and more kids are on the internet and they see that shit. They see the stand up comics roasting their tiny asses. They see the snarky Youtubers doing their bits, and they aren’t amused.

I get it. Kids are easy targets. They are always doing dumb and adorably funny shit that gets an easy laugh, but honestly cut it out, or you will regret it. Not any time soon, but one day. When you are old, and pooping in your pants without your permission . You will regret it.

Why? One very simple reason. Your kids will have power over your old wrinkled ass. They will not forget that set about them shitting on the floor like the dog when they were two and it “KILLED”, or the time you outed them for liking that one girl in their English class on your blog in your adorably funny story.

Kiss that nice old folks home goodbye. You’re going to Neglectful Acres down the street where they beat you with socks full of bars of soap. Your kid will pay extra for the cheap soap because they hear it hurts more.

Just some food for thought, guys.

Also, if you’re any good at your shit you shouldn’t rely on your kids as content. I’m done.   (drops cereal box and kicks that shit across the room)

I do not care.


Too much caffeine, adult acne, and cheeto stains on everything

I’m full of caffeine, but I’ve been thinking. Okay, it may be the caffeine talking here, but I HAVE been thinking.

I literally live my life with Cheeto stains on my clothes. Hell. I will eat Cheetos off the damn floor if the dog doesn’t snatch it up first. Sometimes it’s a real competition to see who can get to dropped food first. There’s growling and biting…and the dog can be aggressive too sometimes.

I cannot compete with Victoria Secret sexy hair and fucking lip gloss. Are you kidding me with that goddess shit?

And the ladies that can put on those fake eyelashes.

rick james bitch.gif

Damnit woman! You are killing it in ways I do not even understand. I have sweat pants with holes in the crotch that I consider part of my casual dress wear. My husband had to take them away from me and explain that you could literally see all of my Barbara Bush before I would surrender them. Then it was only so they could be patched up. I still wear them. Just sans Barbara exposure. She added a little something to the party if you ask me. A pinch of flare! A dash of untamed wilderness.

I tried fake eyelashes once. ONCE. Followed a youtube video and everything. Glued my entire eye shut for three days…but I looked fucking fabulous. I would have banged me. If I could have seen me. I just sat and smoldered like the sexy idiot I was.

I have sat and stared at women for longer than was socially appropriate. Just admiring their make up and hair. I have actually been so caught up being mesmerized by how well put together and beautiful another woman was that I had to tell my husband I was late because I had been watching a breathtakingly gorgeous woman read a book in a Barnes Noble and lost track of time. Do you realize how insane that sounds?

“I’m sorry, dude. Yeah, I know I’m three hours late, but you should see this woman. She’s like some kind of glowing princess. Even the way she reads is beautiful. How can I look like her when I read? I feel like I look like stink when I read. Like, that’s just the image that I give off to people. She looks like she smells like some kind of dessert. Like you kinda wanna take a bite out of her, or lick her.  I mean, I do and I married a dude if that tells you anything. You wanna see a picture of her? I can take a picture and show you….no, yeah, you’re right. You’re right. That’s probably an invasion of privacy of some kind.”

(whispers) “sorry pretty lady”.
And I have adult acne now too. That’s a thing. They should make PSAs about it that don’t involve a famous adult because I tend not to believe that shit. Like, excuse me Adam Levine you gorgeous son of bitch. You look like you are made of 100% rutting bucks, lumberjacks chopping wood, and moist panties. Do not. Even. Start with me.

One day I woke up, and I just looked like the teenage version of me that had lived a really hard life. Like, maybe she had seen some shit, or went to prison and had traded all of her commissary for cigarettes to chain smoke in a cleaning supply closet somewhere.

It’s rough having acne and wrinkles, plus watching what you eat. How is that even fair? It should be a trade off. I thought that was the natural order of things.

Okay,  so I have acne, but I get to pile drive all of these cakes into my face, dive head first into a ditch full of french fries, and not gain any weight.  Who messed things up?! What has happened? You shouldn’t have to suffer with acne, worry about getting diabetes, and wonder if your retirement fund is solid.

I don’t know. Maybe I should not drink this much caffeine at night…or ever.

I’d apologize if I cared. I do not. If I had a mic I would gently place it on the ground and punt it across the room.  Also, my heart might explode soon.

Embarrassing moments: part two

I figured that since I didn’t do very many on Tuesday I would continue this theme to Thursday. If you know me personally you probably know these stories already. Sorry for the repeat, but for everyone else, enjoy. I’m only doing one photo today since my stories are sort of long.


Embarrassing photo:

wendy mixed
Me with my two completely normal cousins.


Look at that perm! That stupid face that almost seems like I’m high! Almost diverts your attention from that ugly ass sweatshirt I’m wearing. Almost. You can’t make it out, but I have a koolaid stache. Yeah, I was one of those kids. I’ve said it many times before, but I was a gorgeous child. GORGEOUS. I illuminated the world with my overbite smile.

This photo has my cousins so that everyone can see for themselves just what we’re dealing with here. Normal children smile like civilized people. They don’t do whatever it is I’m doing in this picture. I was trying to give my much taller cousin William rabbit ears. It was my attempt was unsuccessful  as the ears were nowhere near his head. At all. My tiny adorable cousin Eric was safe from me on the other side of his older brother. Way to take one for the team William.


Embarrassing Story #1:

I was in the grocery store with the kids. We had a basket, laden with food and sundries. Reading between the lines:

I hadn’t shopped in two weeks and my husband’s socks were in danger of being used as a toilet paper replacement in the near future.

As I strolled down the aisle I saw what I assumed was a friend of mine in the distance and waved. Okay, I need you to understand what kind of waving I’m talking about here. Not the miss America polite wave, or the timid “please don’t stonewall me” finger flutter. This was the full on, total body convulsing that you only save for people  you know really well and have no problems looking stupid for. We are talking full stadium wave like people do during sporting events. You know, the kind of wave you reserve for people you know won’t leave you hanging in the “do we or don’t we acknowledge each other” dance we all do in public.

Here I am, full body waving and my friend looks confused. I’m thinking what the hell, friend? Wave back you ungrateful bitch.  I get closer and realize too late that this is NOT my bro, but a complete and total stranger. A total stranger who was almost turning circles trying to figure out who I was flailing at. Of course, in my panic I continued to wave. I mean, I still had a few feet before I was actually face to face with this person. How often do you get a chance to embarrass yourself completely and lose all sense of what it’s like to be a human being? There is a sort of freedom in having nothing to lose.  One of my New Year’s resolutions this year was to go outside of my comfort zone. I couldn’t possibly let this chance go by me without savoring it. Mmm, so much savoring.

I hate myself sometimes.

Then Thomas chimes in just as I’m almost consumed by all the self loathing by asking “mom, do you know that lady?”

I had spiraled so far down the shame hole that I was incapable of anything above a whisper and hissed “NO, I have no idea who that is!”

Swiveling to face me, Molly quipped in a monotone voice, “then why are you waving at her”?

Why indeed you little traitor? Obviously, I’m reveling in this moment of unparalleled dread and humiliation. Duh.

As this soon-to-be new acquaintance got closer I had a clear decision to make. I could be an adult and stop waving, smile, and admit my mistake. OR, I could pretend like it never happened. It wasn’t a choice really. Screw maturity. I scraped up what little bit of self esteem I could and, in an ever so natural looking way, pretended like my eyes were following an imaginary friend as if they had quickly gone down another aisle and slowly put my hand down. Of course I wouldn’t still be waving if “my friend” that so clearly wasn’t this stranger, had walked down an aisle without seeing me. I mean, with all that flailing I had done that was totally possible. I pantomimed the desire to follow my friend and smooth sailed like a villain passed the confused stranger like I had never made direct eye contact with her. She must have been mistaken. I was so clearly chasing my phantom friend down. I was full of purpose. I was a concerned friend. I gave my make believe friend a great back story too. It was dramatic and she needed me. Why else would she dramatically turn down an aisle so fast no one else in the store saw her?

I zoomed down an aisle and stood still until I was sure my ruse had worked. No one came back to accuse me of giving everyone in the store second hand embarrassment so….SCORE! I was the best actor on the planet. My method acting game was just too strong for that store. I deserved an Oscar. A fucking Oscar. Before I got too far ahead of myself both children began questioning why we went down an aisle we’d already visited, and just what happened to that friend?

I did a little razzle dazzle, mentioned candy, and got out of that store as quickly as possible.

Embarrassing Story #2:

One time when I was dropping my daughter off at Montessori school, and I took her into the building. She was tiny and wanted me to walk her to the lunch room. When I came out I got in my car and went to stick my keys in the ignition only to discover there were already keys in the ignition, and the car was running…and I was in someone else’s car entirely. For the first time since I sat down, I looked around and realized that this was a plush Lincoln town car. I drove a Nissan Xterra at the time. How I thought it was my car is still a mystery.

Very quickly understanding that if the owner of this car came out and saw me sitting in the driver’s seat they would assume I was doing burglary. NOT just being an idiot. Which I was. I was frozen in place for a full three seconds with my hands in the air trying to not get my finger prints on anything. Then I jumped out and crawled along the ground as quickly as panic would move my body back to my car, which was parked directly behind this car.

I’m not saying it was their fault, but I was the only one in the parking lot when I took my daughter into the building. So, you know if that doesn’t say whose fault it was then I don’t know what else to say. Yes, I realize it was my fault for being too stupid to not get into a Lincoln town car instead of my own car which was up off the ground while the Lincoln town car basically scrapes along the ground. Don’t even get me started on those seats either. I felt like I was sitting on pillows. I would have taken a nap if I wasn’t about to catch a case for robbery.

Well, that was fun. I have so many more stories and enough horrible photos to fill a dumpster. Maybe I’ll do this again. Who knows.

My favorite embarrassing moments

I’ve embarrassed myself countless times over the years. Too many to count really, but there are a few that give me a good laugh when I think about them.  They’re too good to not share. Honestly, I don’t think embarrassing things should be hidden, but shared, so everyone can laugh. Like, awful photos where you’re sporting all the double chins or making the ugliest face possible. They make everything better when you’re having a horrible day. Oh, and there are some of those too.


My most recent ugly picture. I treasure it. I have never laughed so much in my life. I forced my husband to take my picture with this turtle I found by our pond.

If I licks it. It’s mine.

But then, since I’m a photo editing genius I made it better.

turtle twins
So party, brah.


My first embarrassing moment on the list:

As my class lined up on picture day in the second grade, I was super proud of my outfit. It was a  black velvet sweater dress with a red plaid teddy bear. The Mary Janes and frilly socks were the matches that set the bonfire that was my outfit ablaze. I was over confident since I was wearing the black velvet teddy bear sweater dress, and I started cracking jokes. I was making people laugh, but I was making myself laugh harder. I laughed so hard in fact that I peed. Just peed right there in the sand. I stood there for a second trying to figure out what I was going to do and if anyone noticed, but no one did. As ridiculous as I am, I laughed even harder at how absurd my situation was. I just peed and no one noticed. I just stepped over it and walked to go take pictures. I’m sorry to the kid who sat in my wet spot after me.


horrible bangs
Someone pray for this child’s head.

This photograph^^^ is from kindergarten. Behold my shitty bangs! I’m not sure why they are like this, but I could have used an emergency set of clip-in bangs. Also, the way my hair is brushed makes it look like I’ve got a very majestic mullet. It’s a mullet steeped in freedom and all that the constitution stands for. If you get really quiet, you can hear our national anthem gently serenading you from the party section of my mullet.

I could fill this post with pictures of nothing but school pictures. I won’t, but I could. My mother needs to give me the photo albums of all my school photos. They are truly a horror. I love them. As a child it used to bum me out how I looked like a tiny goblin, but once I hit jr. high I started seeing how unbelievably funny they were, and began to look forward to the train wreck of getting those picture packets. I can’t say the same for my parents, but they are required to love me, so I don’t care.

I would use this picture for everything if I could.

My next embarrassing story involves this ^^^ picture. I’m not just using it because I love it. I do, but it is an integral part of this story. When I was in the sixth grade I was self conscious about my eyebrows. I have rectangular eyebrows, and picture day was coming soon. I couldn’t do anything about the Reba McIntyre (I saw it as a Prince mullet but whatever) mullet, but I could do something about the eyebrows. A smart girl would have asked her mother. I wasn’t a smart girl. My mother’s eyebrows were on a such an expert level that she had trained the hairs to grow perfectly in line, and figured she would try to take my thick rectangles in the same direction. What did I do? Since I was too lazy to use tweezers and figured it would be the same thing only quicker I grabbed a razor and started shaving.

For all those that haven’t made this mistake, let me just say that it isn’t the same. At all. I also shaved one side at a time and managed to shave waaay too much eyebrow off. I panicked and put the razor down before I shaved them all the way off. I knew there was no way I was going to be able to draw them back on. I had no idea how make up worked. I was in art class, but I was pretty sure it was going to be different on my face. I quickly went to bed and hoped my eyebrows would spontaneously grow back overnight. I didn’t know anything about hair growth since I had no leg hair to shave, so as far as I knew, my eyebrows might have been like wolf man eyebrows once poked.

They weren’t. My brow was still just as bald when I woke up as when I went to bed. I came up with the clever idea to wear sunglasses that hid my eyebrows. I was a genius. I could change my persona at school. I could be that cool girl that always wears sunglasses. I would wear them during my school picture and that would make me stand out as a bad ass girl that didn’t follow the rules with a devil may care attitude. IT WOULD WORK!!

Except, it didn’t work. My mom asked me why I was wearing the sunglasses the second I got in the car. I said it was to mix up my persona at school, and she told me to take them off. My cool girl persona was short lived. RIP cool girl Wendy persona, you might have worked. Probably. Once the sunglasses were off, my mom took one look at me and other than her eyes widening considerably she did not let on that she noticed what I had done. She trained her eyes forward for the rest of the car ride. Every once in a while she would break out in a crazy, strained grin that I realize now was her way of trying not to laugh until she peed her pants.

I’ve always thanked her for that small favor. The illusion that it wasn’t noticeable that she kept up helped me get out of the car with far more confidence than I had any right to, and walk into school.


I only did a few embarrassing moments and pictures, but I honestly could have kept going forever. Maybe I will. Maybe I’ll continue this on Thursday. Who knows.


DIY bidet from a water hose and other bad ideas I had today

We, my husband and I, made a New Year’s resolution to be better with money. We decided to stop eating out so much and stop doing other stupid things with our money that bring us joy.

Sack lunches for everyone here!

Today I took it a step further. We ran out of toilet paper. Standing in front of the sea of paper designed to wipe our butts I noticed the prices for the first time. Have I really been paying $14 fucking dollars for a pack of toilet paper? Have I been eating paint chips? I get that it’s a necessity unless I wanna drag the water hose in the house and rig up a DIY bidet. Tres chic! I’m sure my guests will love that one. I could see me coming up with some bullshit excuse for why there’s no toilet paper, but there’s a damn water hose in the bathroom.

“Umm, we are worried about our eco foot print, and we just…(condescending sigh) REALLY wanted to make some changes. So enjoy our lovely bidet we made”.

No one would ever come over. EVER. AGAIN. But my booty would be squeaky clean.

Anyway, armed with my new sense of budget purpose I searched for the cheapest toilet paper the store had, and I found it…on the bottom shelf. Individually wrapped in paper, and for only .99 cents that was the toilet paper for me. I snatched two rolls and headed home to try it out.

It’s so thin, but so sharp. Like rubbing a cheese grater across your anus.


I have decided that this paper says one of two things about you as a person. Either you are horrible with money and your poor choices have led to this, or you are super cheap and your tightfistedness have landed you in your current situation. In either scenario you should seriously have a time out and rethink some things in your life.

I opened it and a sense of deja vu overtook me. Ahhh, I had seen this toilet paper before. College.

This was the John Wayne toilet paper that I had scrapped across my anus while in college.


After having utilized this rough rider paper I can honestly say that it’s as close as a you can get to wiping your ass with a piece of printer paper. How can something that is as thin as tissue paper hurt so much? I don’t think I have a particularly wimpy asshole or anything, but I also ain’t trying to rub gravel in it. I would rather use one of my husband’s clean socks to wipe my butt with next time. Don’t look at me like that, I’m not going to use one of my own and ruin it.

Anything would be better than that John Wayne paper, but it sure was good for my budget. Especially when you consider how long it will last as all of us are going to avoid going to the bathroom at home as much as possible.



Maybe it’s my face?

my shitty face
My face only has three settings: Sarcastic, asshole, and asleep.

I have been flipped off several times this week…not counting my husband. He doesn’t count because it’s usually me flipping him off first. Those are love flip-offs. No, I’m talking about serious flip-offs from complete strangers. My reaction is always the same. I laugh nervously, and then try to figure out if we’re gonna tussle.

That is basically what that gesture is, an invitation to the fist party. Of course, the only fist parties I can remember with clarity involved an elementary school me, and a giant girl named Breezie. Yes, my name is Wendy and my elementary school bully’s name was Breezie. We had several chuckles over it while she was sitting on my back shoveling dirt into my mouth.  I should thank her.

I hear dirt is good for you.

While I may not have enjoyed ingesting handfuls of dirt from a playground that  I’m sure  countless stray dogs and cats used as a toilet, I can respect her creativity. I bring her up because she’s the first person I can remember flipping me off. Invariably fists would start to fly after I said something sarcastic or made a face that said, “bitch is you talking to me”?

Of course, they were her fists and my tiny body, but it taught me an important lesson:

        you don’t flip someone off unless you’re prepared to eat dirt.

 I ate enough dirt from grades first until third to last a lifetime, so I’m not about the dirt eating. It took me quite a few punches and dirt before I realized that my reactions were part of the problem. Yes, we could argue all day about how her actions were the problem, but I’m not her. I could not control her actions. I could only control my own. A bland face and NO sarcastic or pithy remarks kept me bruise and dirt free. I kept them to myself, and while it would have been more fun to share them, I preferred the scenarios where she didn’t step on me and try to make me eat grass.

So, I can’t help but wonder about all of these people letting their fingers fly to a complete stranger. I mean, she’s out there somewhere. You flip- off a grown up Breezie, and I imagine you’re getting a whole lot more than a mouthful of dirt or grass. Why aren’t more people afraid of that possiblity? I’m sure statistically there are a lot of people like Breezie running around all balls-crazy. A lot of you finger flippers are playing Russian roulette with a mouthful of dirt. WHY? Don’t you know how bad it tastes? Full of minerals, yes, but it’s also full of animal pee. ANIMAL  PEE.

When I met Breezie, I was very polite and mentioned how hilarious it was that we both had wind related names. Stating that hers being a slightly stupid version was probably my first mistake. I would like to blame this social faux-pas on the fact that I was in the first grade, but that would be a lie. I’ve never been very good at keeping what is in my mind to myself. So, we’ll just say our whole dichotomy was a joint effort. Partially my fault for my mouth and facial expressions that said “you’re stupid” and her for being a giant with a bad attitude. We never recovered from that first mistake.

I try much harder as an adult to mind what I say and do. It’s one of my mottos.

“You don’t flip someone off unless you’re prepared to eat dirt”.

There are a few times when I’ve forgotten, and said the wrong thing to someone that was balls-crazy, but thankfully I never ended up with a mouthful of dirt. Though, I did come close a few times.

I’ve come up with a few simple ways to diffuse a flip-off invitation to a fist party.

  1. Smile without sarcasm. This is harder for me than you can imagine. My face just doesn’t really work that way.
  2. Don’t give a thumbs up like they’re the dumbest person on earth. This will land you in fist city faster than a thousand sarcastic smiles. Add in a sarcastic smile and you just might get murdered.
  3. Don’t throw both hands up in the air. I was unaware this was the universal sign for: “eat shit, and then come get some”.
  4. The only real way to avoid fist city is to ignore the offending finger. I know, a flip-off seems to need some kind of reaction, but I learned the hard way that it doesn’t end well for anyone whose name isn’t Breezie.


For all those people running around flipping  strangers off like maniacs. You should probably stop. I’m serious. Breezie is huge, and there is no telling where she is right now, and I’m sure she’s got a handful of dirt with your name all over it.

Halloween has been cancelled until further notice. You know why. Don’t look at me like you don’t.

This past weekend was Halloween. I bought a crap ton of candy and treats for the trick-or-treaters.

candy bitches

And decorated my house like an expert….

you tried

It’s almost too scary.

And then we opened our doors to the masses.  My family has this tradition every year. We buy a ton of candy to hand out to all the trick-or-treaters, watch kid Halloween movies, dress up, decorate our house, and eat as much of the Halloween candy out of the bucket as we can while we wait. We were jazzed.

Then people started flooding in our door. They weren’t just coming for candy and leaving. They were sticking around. Which we loved, but we ran into a very big problem when everyone went home.  Someone done fucked up. That’s honestly the only to explain what my husband found in the hallway on his way to the bathroom.

In a very puzzled voice he called out to me, “Wendy, did the kids flood the bath-…..” that’s where the words stopped and the loud gagging started. I got up from my seat in the kitchen, and peeked my head into the hallway to find him bent over attempting to hold in all the candy he had consumed earlier in the evening. Tears in his eyes, he looked up at me and whispered,

  “Someone pissed an ocean in here, and out into the hallway”.

Frightened, I realized I was standing in pee, and screamed. “NOOOOOOOOO, OH GAWD EVERYTHING’S COVERED IN URINE”! We then began a ridiculous conversation that was sprinkled with gagging and swear words. Bless my husband’s heart. When we walked into the living room to hold our conversation in a neutral, pee free zone, he caught a whiff of pee, and followed it all the way to our couches.

The piss bandit had struck my living room furniture.

I would like to say that I remained the voice of reason, but all I could smell was pee, and we had already discussed burning the house down and starting over somewhere else. Somewhere free of pee. My husband had made his mind up, and he looked at me with more determination than I’ve seen in a while from his normally laid back face. “You can sit on these if you want, but I’m never sitting on them ever again. You’ll have to kill me first if you want me to sit on one”. I said I agreed, and said, “no, we sit on the floor now. The piss bandit got us good”.

My husband nodded his head, and then started moving the couches out of the house. They are outside right now.

I went back inside and started cleaning the bathroom. I want to say that it was a modest amount of pee, but that would be a lie. I would love to say I behaved like a lady, and cleaned without resorting to swear words or gagging and vowing revenge, but that would also be a lie. I cleaned pee of the walls, bathtub, cabinet, and of course, the floor in the bathroom and the hallway.

Oddly enough I did NOT have to clean the toilet. It was completely clean. HOW? Part of me wants to know how this terrible deed was done, and the rest of me wants to remain blessedly ignorant. Now, a few words to the piss bandit who exploded in my bathroom without so much as a “hey, I blew your bathroom up with pee pee and then got it all over your couches”.

Dear Piss Bandit,

You don’t have to explain or apologize. I already know. One day, maybe so far into the future that you think you’ve gotten away with it, but mark my words, Piss Bandit. I will get you back. You will come home and smell a very familiar smell, and wonder where you know it from. You will take your shoes off, and start to walk across the floor in your house and notice that your socks are wet. Hmm, that’s weird. It’s been a long day hasn’t it, Piss Bandit? You just wanna get a snack and sit on your couch. You’ll go into your kitchen and a eerie sight will fill your vision. All of your glasses from your cabinets are out, and on your table full of…what is that? Apple juice? You don’t remember buying apple juice, do you? Oh, well no reason to let it go to waste.

    You’ll grab a glass, and head back into your living room. Man, those socks sure are wet aren’t they? Plopping down onto your couch, you realize it’s wet too, and there’s that familiar smell again. What is that? You put the glass to your lips, and just as tilt the glass to take a drink, it hits you. With a deep knot of dread, you know what that smell is. You realize that I’ve peed on every single surface in your house. From the doorknob, to the every square inch of your floor, your couch, and all those glasses on your table. Why do you have that many glasses anyway?

I bet you’re wondering how I managed it? Never you mind. Aren’t I dehydrated? Maybe a little, but that’s what they make Gatorade for. I buy the red kind and call it Revengerade.

      Rest in pieces Piss bandit,

Your Nemesis

me as tina

My husband being on a business trip turns my brain into useless mush

My husband has been on a business trip since Monday, and the adult in me would like to point out that I’ve been responsible. The other 90% of me needs that 10% to sit down and remember how often we listened to that Meghan Trainor song while eating candy.

that girl

I’ve cleaned, I’ve read a ton of Jane Austen, stared at old photos of my husband, and even written a little bit of husband fanfiction.

be interested in my fic

It’s gotten pitiful, but he threw me a bone. Of course, I made it weird. I always make it weird.

I'll be home

I’m starting to wonder why he likes coming home at all. I basically stalk, harass, and otherwise act like a fan. I don’t think it’s normal wife behavior to wish you could draw better so you could draw illustrations of your husband dressed up as different Jane Austen heroes, but there it is.  That’s how I love. In the creepiest, grossest way possible. Apparently he likes it.

northanger funny

He’s probably just REALLY gratefully I’m not a talented artist of any kind because if I was, there would be many portraits of him in full regency swagger, complete with cravat and smolder.

I make my husband do stupid things, and pretend it’s for “us”.

You see this picture?

hot mix

I forced my husband to take it for me today while we were on our way to the airport. I spotted this dump truck with these hilarious words on the back,  and started laughing. I threw my phone at him and started screaming, “TAKE A PICTURE! MAKE SURE IT’S CLEAR”! Then I told him it was for our safety that he was taking the picture. Since I was driving I would probably crash us into another car, and we would all die in a fiery explosion. It was better this way. Better for him if he just did what I said.

He didn’t ask why I wanted the photo. He just started snapping pictures like crazy. He did not ask a single question. That says a lot about our marriage. Probably that he knew I was going to do something stupid with the picture, and couldn’t wait to laugh at my stupidity.

And I’m okay with that scenario.

OR, that I was going to do something GENIUS with it. It was the first thing. I made a stupid post to Facebook so all of my friends could laugh. I was practically dancing in my seat the whole time.  Here’s the super awesome hilarious joke that I posted on Facebook for my friends and family:

hot mix
My mix tape so vicious. I had to get a dump truck just so I could drop that hot mix on ’em. OH!   

This literally made me laugh for an hour with tears streaming down my face. I do not care if anyone else finds it funny. I do not! I’m putting it on my fridge.

Inspiration exercise videos are dangerous

I watched an inspirational exercise video. You know, hoping it would give me inspiration to do more with my gooey body yesterday than just sit on this couch eating Domino’s pizza. I kind of wish I hadn’t watched it.

flying push up
What is this? Who are you, sir? What kind of super hero are you? I’m wholeheartedly impressed. In the corners of my mind I think I could do this kind of thing if I really, really focused…but we all know that’s just not true. (this is basically what that lady was doing)

The woman in the video did some kind of super human feat that I can only say would literally break my vagina. It was dangerous, and should have had a disclaimer at the beginning that no mere mortal should try it as she was super human.  I watched it several times. Every time, mesmerized by how effortlessly she sprang into the air from a push up position, crossed her arms midair while doing a spread eagle, and then gracefully catching herself before she fell to the floor. If I did that, and managed to get my chubby little body more than the regular arm’s length away from the floor, and into the air, my descent would not be graceful.

It would be vagina shattering.

                                      parks and recs

It would be what a wrestler would call a vagina mangler, or a cush crusher. I could see it now, it would the death blow to all other lady wrestlers. “The Dominatrix has Candace the Candy Striper in a choke hold”.

“Yes, I think she is going for her patented cush crusher….OOOOOH! Candace is going to feel that one tomorrow”.  “Heh, heh, I’d like to be the doctor making that cast”.

Honestly, I love watching the inspirational exercise videos, preferably with food, because I love seeing what the human body is capable of. Not exactly MY body, but the human body in general. It’s nice to see. It makes me smile while I’m struggling to do squats.

I have a life goal. My life goal is to be able to do one pull up. Whether or not I’ll ever be able to do that is anybody’s guess, but watching the inspirational exercise videos where people are doing crazy super human things makes me feel like it’s possible even when I can’t lift the empty bar from the bench press.

liz lemon

*Holla, Candace! Thank you for posting that video and giving me the inspiration for this post.