Tuesday, December 30, 2014

Poo-hoohah-ology: Every Woman Should Know About Vitamin Side Effects

What are consumers supposed to believe about vitamins and supplements?

Have you ever had a lot of questions or found out on your own what is good and not so?

There is so much controversy out there. I asked my doctor and she said I should be getting most of my nutrients and vitamins from food. She suggested fresh foods. She didn't like the idea of pills and said most of them are 90% fillers. Makes sense to me.

So I have all these friends who take piles of vitamins and all I see is mostly fillers reminisce of horse pills I used to give Smoky, my Morgan beaut.

Yuck. Pooey. The horse pills, not Smoky. He is a perfect horse. Besides, choking down horse pills sounds like divine puking to me or a wedge intervention in the esophagus.

Let me explain.

One of my friends swears by fish oil and recommends Fisol. "Good for the heart", they say. Well, sure...if you want your va-jay-jay to smell like a tuna boat to China. Ew. Have you ever tried to walk with your legs closed so no one could smell that nasty tuna taco? It's difficult to maneuver and you look like Natasha, Boris's cohort (Rocky and Bullwinkle) whipping your legs together. If I want to walk like that, I will just wear an overly tight skirt and skip the vagina funk. Gah.

And those Summer's Eve sanitary wipes don't help either. You need colossal buckets of rubbing alcohol or Chlorox. This sometimes does not even work and you must resort to days of flushing it out of your system or eating garlic cloves to make excuses that your Aunt Birdie's lemon garlic fish feast was too much. They really need to put on the bottle: Makes your vagina smell like carp on a hot sunny day.

Can you imagine the detriment if us women lost the ability to use our smeller? Think about it. You would have to rely on your vision and sense of touch. No more sex with the lights out. Sorry, buddy...I have to check you out first...because I can't smell if you have funk in your junk.

How about green vitamin capsules, alfalfa, and all those green goodness types of supplements? Yep...it makes you excrete green turds of Ireland. It's quite amusing, really. I never noticed if it smells like fresh cut hay. I don't get that close. Besides, if I can't smell it at 4 feet, it's roses.

Don't mock me. All of you look at your poop. You can't help it.

I digress.

Superfruits? Oh so good for you today and tomorrow they are just an over-embellished raspberry. Make way for projectile explosions. This is a time when you want to start continual flushing in the public restrooms to evacuate the place and save everyone from horrendous odors. It's the organic form of Miralax.

How about probiotics? Yep. Regularity. These are not so bad. You can eat Mama's hot and spicy burritos with no side or after effects. In fact, I recommend you take two before a drunken night of cocktails and a ho down so you don't have the hangover sharts in front of the latest and greatest pickup dude who might be lying next to you in the morning. And they don't make them in gigantus size. I take them daily.

I have been using whey protein for years. It is actually a great benefit to my workouts because if I had to shove another steak down my throat, I might explode. And I love steak. Why not substitute it with a chalking flavored substance? Yeah. I have no idea why and how they came up with it as a steak substitute. Impostors. Faux steak. That's what they should call it and advertise it has a chalky after taste of grit with hints of fake chocolate or strawberry Quick. Yeck.

And when we get old, they will be handing those shakes to us in line at the old folk's home. It really sits there like a rock. No matter how many times I try to fool myself to think they are yummy, it just doesn't happen. I also mocked the man who tries to sell me a new brand which is supposed to have more protein, less filler, and taste like a French chocolate tort. I asked him while rolling my eyes, "Have you ever been to France?"

I really want to know who comes up with all these great health ideas? How much research went into them?  Why are so many gimmicks allowed? Do they really work?

I wonder what does the "taster person" look like behind the curtain and says..."oh yummy...people will love this." I can imagine they have a giant throat, an iron gut, and can shit Skittles into a target at 50 yards.

Monday, December 29, 2014

The Momster Bands for Warrior Sluts

I wonder if other parents have gone through the same processes as I have or observed things in their own child with open eyes. Recently, I have noticed my teen-aged daughter has low self esteem and confidence. I can't imagine how that came about with two "overbearing and ego meglamaniac" parents. Maybe we are too much? That's what happens when you put two cops together. I am pretty sure I have toned down my command presence since leaving the force, but maybe that is in my head and not projecting outward.

What to do? I Googled it because Google is the LAW of The Land when it comes to knowing what to do in every situation. This is generally what I found on multiple links:
1. Be generous with praise. I think I do this when it is appropriate. Check. Check.

2. Criticize when necessary, but constructively. So maybe here, WTF? and Holy Ballz What Are You Doing? are not appropriate responses to burning dinner, keeping piles of trash in her room, breaking things, yelling, tantrums, and lack of doing her chores. I should choose better words and not the first things that come to mind. This I will need to really work on since I am quick on the spot with reactions. 

3. Solicit your youngster's opinion. So...no longer are we saying "you are to be seen and not heard." Opinions on what? This is a dictatorship parenthood, not a democracy.

4. Encourage youngsters to cultivate their talents and interests. Yes, I do encourage these things...art, photography, reading, singing, etc. Score one for The Momster.

I decided not to get just one opinion, but Googled further. Enter "The Mighty Mom". Pretty much the same thing except she added setting boundaries and having them follow the rules.

So I dug further. I know most of this is all common sense, but sometimes we have to be reminded...

1. Model body acceptance. Ok. Everyone is different. Accept it. Some are hot. Some are not. But outside is not inside. We need to focus on the inside. This is where I get off on a tangent. On the flip side...like we aren't supposed to appreciate nature's beauty? 
Photo credit: Pinterest

Epic fail here. Using the word: "Chubs" ( although this is in jest and I do not believe in raising a namby pansy)  and me grumbling about my own appearance might need some tweaking.

2.Watch television and media with daughter and teach her accepted behavior. Bam! Got that covered. The Walking Dead, Homeland, Madam Secretary, The Black List, etc.--all training videos. Check. Check.

3.Don't raise her as a pleaser. You know what? I don't. The result: one who wants to please. Ugh. I have no idea how to rearrange this thinking. I guess she may have to learn this as life goes on.

4. Start team sports early. Shazam! Just my line of thinking. We did and she loves them.

5. Don't borrow your daughter's clothes. Well, that is no fun. And what about the other way around? She is constantly stealing my "junque hippy Bohemian" wardrobe. Grrr.

6. Praise on everything except appearance. What? This makes no sense. Why not find a common ground?

7. Praise efforts rather than performance. This one has me stumped...like a big fat Sequoia stump. I guess if you have a kiddo that sucks at singing or drawing, you praise them for trying. Well, we can get creative with compliments but in the end isn't it the sum and not the individual parts? I don't know. Next!

8. Be careful about what magazines you have around the house. Playgirl up. Check. Check! Seriously. This stuff is everywhere. You can't shield them from all the model hype and Glamour magazines forever. What you have to do is make sure they know what is realistic, photoshopped, and acceptable. My favorite magazine...Guns & Garden.

9. Don't trash talk other women. Trash talk is everywhere. I don't know that I get too crazy about trashing others when I am not perfect myself. Sometimes, we do see some unique wardrobe choices at WalMart and we might giggle about it. 

10. Give love, love, love. Ok. Yes. Can do.

11. Dads: Don't baby your daughters or teach them that they can run to you all the time. Hmm. Not a problem there. We are 1800 miles away.

12. Build communication. Like it's Lincoln Log or Leg time? Sometimes experts are so technical. I like to keep open communication. We are having trouble with this sometimes. She keeps secrets. They aren't horrible and huge, but I fear they might grow into big ones later.

13. Keep tabs on Online Activities. Duh. I was a detective. Hello!

14. Share their passions. In other words, feed their interests. What if their interests are taking over? For example, I don't have video games, but many friends of mine complain their children spend too much time on them; yet they always get new games for gifts. So if the kids spend all their time reading or doing art is that better or worse? If they are obsessed with sports...is that good or bad? Trying to find a balance might be the most difficult.

15. Try to speak your teenager's language. Oh hell to the no. I need an interpreter myself...let alone learn a new language. Just the other day I learned what "devil penis magic" is and found that quite interesting. Apparently, when young girls are attracted to bad boys or ones who do not amount to much...then have kiddos...then split...then cycle back to another loser...have a syndrome...called "devil penis magic." They can't get away and keep being codependent on losers. We thought it was a great synopsis of some skanks. Now...I used the words skank...trash talk. Do you know how dumb I sound trying to talk the teenage tongues, brah? See, I digress.

16. Be a good role model. I have no words. After all, I'm super momster with a little salt and vinegar. I suppose it's hard to be a kiddo to an ex-cop who likes guns, fishing, outdoor sports, art, reading, and is full of snarky. Perhaps I am too stern and set expectations too high?

17. Create independence. "Fly away little birdy." That's all good and well unless you are a control freak like myself. 

You know what...there are too many effing rules. I'm just going to parent like my mom. Where's my broom so I can shoe the kids outside until dinner time. Mother Nature can raise 'em.

I'm trying to build a Warrior...not a daisy. Hello!Yeah. I know. It's not the days of Ward and June anymore. Sigh.
Photo Credit: Xena: Warrior Princess--Lucy Lawless as Xena

I had role models like Xena and Laura Ingalls-Wilder. Now that I look back at Xena...she was a Warrior slut...but hey...I didn't think of her that way...she was AWESOME! It's all about how you carry yourself in deer skin loincloth and an armor brassiere. LOL. Hey...a sword makes anyone look like a gladiator.

And Laura...I don't know. She was just a prairie girl with simple lessons. I don't remember any of the lessons, but they were all moral ones.  What I do remember is the weird things. I do recall Nellie was a mean bully and bullies have been around since the beginning of time. And Almanzo had high waters and pulled his pants up like Erkel. The show made me dislike plaid unless it was on a kilt or a fuzzy blanket. 

Once again, I digress. This isn't about me or my childhood. It's about Bug's.

Photo credit: The Momster

Bug does not realize how beautiful she is, yet she is a mirror hog. I know that is a sign of insecurity. 
The Momster
Before Christmas, I thought I would show her exactly how beautiful she was with a photo shoot. I had her write on her mirror: "I AM BEAUTIFUL".
Photo credit: The Momster

I tell her all the time she is gorgeous inside and out. She just shrugs her shoulders and says, "whatever, Mom, you're biased. You have to say that".

Her whopping weight is 98 pounds and when she reached 100 over Christmas break she called herself fat. Bang head here.

Enter my eyeroll followed by sarcasm. Geez. Talk about a chubby tubby. I think I weighed 100 pounds when I was born.

You can't argue with them. Is the pressure "peer pressure" or "inside pressure" to conform and excel put on by themselves? I don't know. It's ridiculous. I asked her if she wanted me to call her "Chubs" now and showed her what overweight really looks like...using myself as an example and showing photos of my fittest self. She laughed. I asked her what is it going to take to convince you? She didn't know. I asked her what or to whom is she comparing herself to? She said, "no one." 

I throw my hands up in the air. That should be a song made by mothers for mothers.

After she looked at the photos I took of her, she smiled, and looked at me. The words spoken were music to my ears..."Mom, I am beautiful, aren't I?" 

I kissed her forehead.

"Duh," I said. 

Perhaps...again...groovy hip language was not my best choice of words. "I've been trying to tell you that. Now you see what I see." 

I see a free spirited child full of happiness and not just a beautiful girl on the outside.

Tuesday, December 23, 2014

My Vagina Leaks

I am certain my daughter wants me to announce it to the whole world that she started "THE PERIOD". For so long, she had so many questions and wanted to know when she would start. I started at 14. She started at 14. I hope my reaction was not as ginormously extreme as hers. She screamed and cried. I literally woke up out of a sound sleep ready to pop a cap in someone's ass when I reached the hallway.


Much to my surprise, it was just Auntie Flow showing up. Good thing I didn't call the ambulance and neurosurgeon while getting on the horn to the trauma center. I explained it was not her peeing blood, but that her vagina was leaking. Perhaps it was not the appropriate response.


"No, honey, it is just your period."


"Well, I'm sorry, you are going to have this problem for the next, ah, say 50 years or so."


She had been given pads and pantie liners to start with. She did not like the feeling of that, "diapers" and all, she said. I don't blame her.

"What do you do, Mom?"

"I use tampons."

"Oh, gross. How can you do that?"

"Oh, you get used to shoving things up there."


Perhaps, again, I should not parent my child from Pinterest meme suggestions. I never did claim to be Mother of the Year. After all, cops are pretty direct about things. It doesn't stop at home.

Soon, I found on the first day of MICROSCOPIC flow proportions she had gone through 10 pantie liners. Maybe there was a dot on each one. Not that I looked through all of them, mind you. That would be really gross. She told me about it and said she could not stand it and had to keep a constant clean one on and went over all her problems in great long detail splashed with teenager drama.


"Well, on the positive side, you are festive for Christmas."


Once again, I thought about that for a moment and said to myself, "Yup. Maybe I should choose better words." But who has time for that?

                                                                 Photo credit: Pinterest

The week progressed into greater disaster. The second day was worst than the first. I had told her perhaps she should try the ultra thin maxi pads and so she did. She first packed them in her backpack for school and dressed herself nicely in light colors.

"Honey, you should wear dark colors. I would wear black."

"But they don't advertise that on TV or in the magazines. The women are wearing white pants."

"Well, they are stupid, brainless, perfect models with no periods and are paid to look like that. Do you see their pads? No, you do not. Why? Because they aren't wearing any and if they had normal periods they would have leaks and stains. It's a trick. No one wears white. If you look around at the girls wearing white, you can guarantee they are not on their period."


"Well, go ask them next time. Tell me what they say. I bet they are not on their periods."

"GROSS, MOM! That is personal!"

Ok. So it was strange wardrobe advice, but better than the previous encounters with my motherhood. I went to work and had a productive day. Bug came home and the first thing she did was confront me about her period problems.




Apparently, my daughter discovered what all women wanted to know...

"All be darned."

"What, Mom?"

"I had no idea boys put maxi pads in their pants. I always thought it was socks."


(stomp, stomp)

THE CHILD exited to her room to pout about her new found enemy of THE GIRL.

I really couldn't blame her. I hate THE PERIOD, too.

I journeyed out to the DOLLAH GENTRAL to get her some pantie liners and more maxi pads, only the shorter ones. The whole time I was thinking to myself...should I tell her about cramps? Nah. Better not. I put some Midol in the basket with the pads, added some chocolate for her and called it good.

The look on the cashier's face was priceless. He smiled faintly while ringing it up. As he scanned the pads, I couldn't resist...

"I know what YOU do with those." I raised my eyebrow a little.

"Excuse me, ma'am?"

"Everyone could use some of those."

"Ha. Well, no thank you."

Well, maybe he was one of those who used socks.

Monday, December 22, 2014

The Plight of the fATHER'S Gifts

If you haven't experienced a split family situation around the holidays...you should just for kicks. Not really. It never was an easy time for me when my parents split in 1984. Since then up until my marriage, I had a hard time with Christmas. I think my daughter also experiences those same feelings of despair, joy, torn emotions, and excitement. It's like PMS with glitter.

Although it pains me every year to shell out money for her dad's gift, I feel it is my duty to do so in her name. I let her pick out the gift, wrap it, and I am in charge of mailing it. This year was no different. Until it came time to mail the gift, she put her dad's presents under our tree and daily told me she was proud of the wrapping job. It was pretty fantastic. Mine always look like Dr. Seuss wrapping and so that is now the kind of Christmas we have.

Photo credit: Pinterest

Our tree looks like that as well. The star is a little crooked, the ornaments might be heavy on one side... BUT--it's the love of putting it together that counts.

I embraced Christmas once again in 2000, when Bug was born. From that day on, I vowed to make her holidays as special as my parents made mine. Of course, the first order of business is to teach her what each holiday means, where it originated and to celebrate each and every true meaning, not just the commercialized version. I have never been extravagant with gifts even when I had the funds. It just isn't about that.

So this year, I again gave her the money to go shopping and off she went. She got some nice gifts and wrapped like a pro. Back to the gifts were placed under the tree part. So, my brother brought us a new puppy, cute as pie, and he is a doll. We are working on the potty training which is going very well. He likes to chew things up, however, and the tree ornaments and packages make a nice sound. It's called fatal attraction.

Last Thursday, I was moseying around the house with my cup of coffee, reminding Bug to have her dad's gifts ready for me to mail. She told me they were under the tree. Well, I happen to be in the parlor where the tree was and the puppy, Murphy, followed me. Naturally, I had already let him out, fed him, and leaned down to pet his cute head.

As I took a sip of my coffee, I admired the tree and the room decorated for the holidays. It gave me a warm, fuzzy feeling. I heard a noise. A familiar noise. It took me a minute to register what I was hearing. I looked down toward the noise just in time to see the puppy finish his business on the ex's gifts. I snorted coffee, said, "Good dog", then panicked to get the presents wiped off. Still laughing of course. I mean, how priceless!

I told Bug about it and she did not believe me. She came to the kitchen, felt the presents. They were dry. Well, duh, I had wiped them.  I asked, "Did you want to smell them?" She said, "No, Mom, you are lying. Don't joke about that. It isn't funny. Now put them in your bag to mail." Ok.

And so I did.

Is it wrong to think this whole thing is funny?

My Wedding Dress Is Snow Camo


This place is currently under construction. Not really. Blogger did that for me. I just need to write.
                                                              Photo credit: Pinterest

I'm snarky at times, well, most times. My humor might be a twist of the unusual, warped, jaded, or out of the box. I guarantee I am not a serial killer or hater of men by any means. Men are beautiful. Serial killers should die. That's pretty much my summation of that.

I have another blog...it's about cop stuff mostly. It has a little of me as well. This is going to be more along the lines of real people stuff. Not that cops aren't real people, because they are. However, cop issues won't apply to this site much. No politics. No cop stuff. Just the inside and daily battles. I mostly battle with myself. I think it is enough of a challenge by itself.

I was married to my first husband for about 22 years. He left me when he found greener grass. It took him a year into the affair to decide that whiskey sluts who liked to party were better than a homebody who was an overachiever cop. When I say grass...I mean the kind that has fermented. I'm kind of bitter about that. Not that I blame him for our marital problems, but I really do not think she is a nice person. Actually, she is nasty mean and very selfish. Many mutual acquaintances will say the same, so I am not biased. I never liked her before she slept with my husband. She isn't nice to my daughter. That part boils my blood. I could care less what she does with my ex-husband.

My husband and I had never considered divorce, although we had thrown it around in anger a couple times. We had then agreed settling on murder, a much better choice for the surviving spouse. When we got mad at each other, we would joke about shoot, shovel, and shut up...the western way. Of course, we were kidding. Maybe. Yes, we were. Divorce is equivalent to CIA interrogation: waterboarding, poking your eyes out, hitting you over the head with a two by four, pulling your fingernails off with a letter opener, and a quadruple bypass. All at once. I'm sure the spies didn't get that crazy. They should have put everyone through a divorce. They would have gotten more confessions and their opponents would not have hung them out to dry on the news.

We probably should not have married. I could count the reasons. However, we didn't fix what was broken either. I blame the both of us. We were both lost in ourselves. Our daughter is the one who really suffered.

The second marriage...three years...but really I count only 2 weeks. See...he decided to Internet date 100 women and not ever move into the house after I moved 1800 miles. My wagons went east to him...he went to some lady's vagina. Most of my friends and family make fun of me about this one. I now find a lot of humor in the fact I married a serial killer. Oh, the stories.

I believe in solid, nuclear families. I'm just doing it alone.

                                                            Photo credit: Pinterest

I'm just me...by myself...with one teenager...and two dogs.

Every time I even think about getting a boyfriend, I'm going to get another dog.

Actually, twos are great. It worked for Noah. Not boyfriends... dogs. Noah didn't have any boyfriends...at least that I knew of. However, I have two boy dogs. I think that might have been against the ark rules.

Rules are guidelines, right?