Wednesday, January 28, 2015

Chewbacca Was A Cross-Dresser

Sometimes things or someone or pets come into your life for a reason you may not know until later. Basically, it was hard to think of a time when I would get another dog after Otis passed away.

My Otis. He had a nice butt.
There are days where I think Otis is speaking to me through Murphy. Perhaps he is plotting revenge on us or just having a great ol' time at the rainbow bridge while putting little motions in place to make us crazy.

And then there is Moose...he is a clown and a cuddler...protector of the house...
I want what you have. You can stare me down, I will stare you up. Give it.

Do you ever wonder what dogs are thinking when they do things...


..."well, mom, it sounded like a good idea at the time"...

Personality sparks in this puppy we called Murphy which just make me smile or pull my hair. Those are both things Otis did as well.
How can you not love this Snuffleupagus?

Last night, I heard a scream from upstairs coming out of the teenager which would have made anyone stroke out. Apparently, Murphy had jumped in the shower with the naked Bug. He has loved baths and showers since the first day. Go figure. Once she corralled him with a towel, I wiped him off and giggled to myself. He took off running around like a squealing pig. Everywhere. Water...everywhere.

Moose had been sleeping in his chair and nonchalantly got up to go get a drink of water which is located in the kitchen. Murphy sniffed around the chair and appeared... still too small... to get on any type of furniture which was good in my book.

I went back to watching "The Librarians" which I had ON DEMAND. Love that feature of xfinity. (Unsolicited plug there)

Soon, I saw a streak of red fuzz dart by me and leap in the air. I mean...Flying Matilda style like move. It was epic and it caught my attention. I turned just in time to watch Murphy take a run, leap in the air and land in a ball in Moose's chair. He grunted on the land.

Wow, I thought to myself. Great acrobatics. Then I realized he was still soaking wet.

Shortly after his hedgehog landing, he began rolling all over and touching every possible inch of the chair with his wet mop. He jumped off and sat pretty nearby, gloating. Moose sauntered back from the kitchen, headed to his chair and sensed something was amiss. He sniffed his chair which was now clearly soaked and smelled like Murphy. He looked at Murphy with a dog scowl.

"," I am sure he thought. He sauntered over to the floor near me and plopped, big dog sigh.

He was not amused.

Moose's chair in the background. Not amused face.

Murphy took off running like a squealing pig again and finally plopped on the kitchen floor, resembling a mop.
He blends in.

Silence was short as two seconds later Murphy ran up the stairs again.

Teenager scream, "MOM! He is doing it again! Stop him!"

I don't know what it is about showers he likes so well. He is obsessed. Often we find him in the shower when we think he is lost...sitting there...staring at the water spout.

It is the same fetish he has with woman's underwear, except he doesn't stare at them. It is far worse. I believe I could classify it as like a "prisoner on parole sex offender fetish" where you stare at the morsel, but deny yourself or go back to prison, but the urge will finally take over your mind and weakness prevails. I dealt with it every day chasing perverts as a cop. Now this is my life. It's my dog. It could be a horror film.

Often we find him digging in the laundry or pulling clean panties off Bug's bed or getting into the clean laundry as I try to fold it. She believes he prefers the dirty ones. Yeck!

How can you not like this cuteness? Yes, he is on my bed. 

He always gets the panties, only the panties. We never see him with a sock or a shirt.

It sniffs the panties. It rolls in the panties.

He chews on them, wears them on his head, carries them around, tries to sleep with them and brings them to his dog bed lair of heathenry, etc. It creeps us out.

Yes, I had to "Google it" to find out the solution to the problem and if I had a defective dog. What did I find...

"I'm sure many dog owners have this question, although most will keep it to themselves so people won't think they are crazy." I shit you not, Google. I felt that same way. I guess I just revealed our dirty little secret.

I didn't buy the one explanation where puppies steal things to get your attention and then make it a game with you. Really. Ok. Then why is he only focusing on underwear? He would steal things at random and things which present opportunity. We stuff the panties at the bottom of the hamper or cover them up. I am telling you this dog sniffs out only the panties. And he investigates, vacillating what to do, then attacks the hamper and scatters everything everywhere. Again...I label him as needing therapy since he is a serial pantie invader. Cops will tell you that pantie sniffers and pantie thieves become sex offenders. Ok. NOT going there. Scratch that from my mind. This is a dog. A cute puppy.

Now...what to do about this problem?

I know, I know. Another thing a cop will tell you that you can't wash out the DNA, but doesn't it wash out the smell? Except mine. My panties have always smelled like roses and have no skids. Do I smell them? No. I do not sniff them even if I have to guess if they are clean or dirty...I just stick them in the wash. I never smell panties. Ever. Sick people.

So is my washer working? Or does my vagina stink? Do I have strong DNA?

It puts the panties on

You might find it odd that I am now bending over smelling my hoohah and putting a mirror to it like the crotch doctors to see what's all up in there. You might also be shocked to know I now scrub it with a Brillo pad and Clorox to kill anything that lingers there. Be thankful I did not add in those pics.

nom nom nom nom nom

Another explanation I read said dogs are drawn to odors of their companions. Well, we aren't that companion-y. My dog is not in my crotch.

I can understand some sniffing attraction or curiosity if my hoohah is emitting strange odors, and dogs are trying to find the stench. However, I would have to declare my hoohah smells strong like scents of roses, lavender, and English garden. I mean, really, how else do you attract men to your lady garden or take pride in hygiene? It is also important to mow the lawn regularly, if you know what I mean. I prefer bare ground to let's say a putting green or natural grassland. It's cleaner. Ok, enough of that. TMI!

On another note, if I don't get these yoga pants off soon it is going to be a furnace of fire and dragon breath down in there with condensation issues smelling more like a gymnasium. Ugh. 

Chewbacca is a cross-dresser. He has a look of sexual blissness!

I suppose you wonder why I have so many pics of my dog with today's selection of panties? Well, I had to snap some proof or you would just think I was crazy and making this shit up. After all, the internet blogging world is cheaper than therapy.

So what does this mean? What did I find out? Do I have a freak dog?

Does that mean I smell like crotch? I sniff myself regularly now. Well, it's a hygiene thing, not a sicko thing. I can't smell the crotch from an upright position. Is that good? What if a man's face was down there? I asked myself that question. I didn't get a random man and stuff his face down there.

So I bend over and sniff on occasion, add some va-jay-jay spray (whoo it's cold), put hygiene wipes in purse. Check, check. Keep the coochie smelling pleasant. No one likes a stinky fish taco.

Maybe we just need to set our bum in a Clorox bath on occasion and soak it,  but the experts say too much down there is not good. I don't know. And vagina flushers (douches) are supposed to be bad. What is a girl to do?

Some days I have a terrible pee odor but that is due to lack of hydration and I need to drink more water. If I add in some vegetables, I pee green sometimes. I find that odd.

Back to my research...I get sidetracked on all these issues. One article said the dog will outgrow it. I don't remember any of my other dogs eating or wearing woman's panties. They were normal dogs.

The only suggestion I found in any article was to buy a hamper with a lid, stock your underwear, and substitute panties with dog toys.  Well, la tee da.

Spanking and saying "no" didn't help. He just did it more. Like...he liked aggravating me like my ex-husbands. I could see it in his eyes.

Taking them away and giving him a dog toy did not interest him in good behavior either. I don't know what to do.

If they outgrow it, what happened? They don't like me anymore? My crotch isn't good enough? Yeah. No. I'm not actually thinking like that, just so you know. I want it over. It's like a living horror show.

If I go commando, I eliminate all this hassle. Plus, it keeps the furnace vented.

Yet, some panties have a purpose like period panties and workout panties. Then you have pretty panties to make you feel good and pretty and sexy.

Well, then there is that visual men supposedly like when you wear them.

Then again...I am alone.

So, what's the point?


This is a problem.

Maybe Google was right and no one should talk about these things.

Friday, January 16, 2015


Dear Diary,

Two great sentences sum up my week. First, "May the bluebird of happiness poop on your head."

It's kind of like The Hunger Games famous blurb only different..."may the odds be ever in your favor." Maybe the bluebird is a little more positive. It's not like we sworded up the children to kill each other and may the last one standing win. It's only poop. And happy poop.

When I get bombarded  emotions, stress, and the general crapping of thy life's issues...I can sometimes be heard saying,  "I am just debris on the highway of life today," which came out of my mouth today at the office.

Just be glad you are not "roadkill", says my friend. I had to agree. It could be worse. We laughed.

These sarcasms come to mind as of late and as wise ones say...I am supposed to ignore the monkeys or the circus. I'm not sure which or both.

Photo credit: Pinterest

As always, with my problems...added with teenager issues which is really a career in itself. It could be helpful on a resume. I'm not sure, but I think it would qualify for prison work.

I really don't know how to act as a mother sometimes when my daughter spews out magic questions.

I call it teenage vomiteering.

Aren't we, as parents, supposed to behave under pressure, answer quickly in impromptu moments, and have the right answers? In other words, act appropriate under duress?


That is what I was told.

I didn't get that manual at the hospital. They skipped me. And other people lied.

My parents never warned me about the freaky times. I'm pretty sure I did not present any of these to them. I was a perfect child and I repeat if often to my daughter. She asks her grandma who sometimes goes..."wellllll..." I am sure she will respond quickly with a "yes" once senility sets in.

Seems something had been weighing on Bug's mind and it came up last night.

I was making a second batch of Mac and Cheese for her because she ruined the first one. I instructed her to promptly dispose of it into the compost pile.

Yes, my child is a terrible cook and she burns or ruins almost everything, including popcorn. Last night she blew the breaker when she used the microwave to heat water. I was demonstrating the art of cooking the most delicious Mac and Cheese...she said...

"Mom. I just found out what blow jobs are and how they work. Totally gross. I can barely talk about it. Have you ever done that? Did you ever do that to my dad?"

I totally seized up.


At this time, I think the world stopped and I entered a time warp. I didn't even know what a blow job was until I was 23.

"Mom! Mom! You have, haven't you! OMG. How could you put that dirty thing in your mouth? They pee out of it!"

" I was demonstrating, if you put the dab of butter in the noodles..."

"Mom! I am talking to you--- not about the Mac and Cheese! What is wrong with you? Did you swallow that stuff?"

Photo credit: Pinterest

Wheezing began.

Photo credit: Pinterest

She covered her mouth and gagged, waiting for my response. I think it was fake gagging.

I looked at her and saw her face, although there was a force field between us. It was hazy. I started to stroke out, I am sure of it. The room was closing in. The seizing of the mind continued.

She punched my arm. It startled me.

"Mom! Answer me! You know what I think? I think you did. I think you put penis in your mouth and I do not want you to ever kiss me again. Ever! I can't believe it."

"But I kiss you on the cheek or forehead and that can be washed."

Photo credit: Pinterest

"NO!" (stomp, stomp, stomp ...teenager goes into the living room)

I called out to her,"Honey, about that Mac and Cheese? It's ready!" Then, I muttered under my breath, "You know this spiral kind sort of looks like sperm in cheese sauce."


Teenagers are just like old people. They pretend to not hear you only they have sonic ears.

I put the "fun" in dysfunctional.

-The Momster

Wednesday, January 14, 2015

The Art of Crapping on a Plane

I know. The title of this post is very unattractive and very NOT ladylike. I really cannot defend myself against those labels. Let me explain why I felt the need to write this. Well, besides the fact there really isn't a need, but probably a sickness. I should get that checked.

Sometimes I over-analyze things to a point of driving myself and others bat shit crazy.

The wheels do not fall off the bus. Have you ever had your mind so busy, you are wound up or can't sleep and think of weird ideas? Well, mine has been going for sure. Want me to share?


Too bad. I'm sharing.

There might be some cursing. If it offends you, you should not read further.

Photo credit: Pinterest
If I were to run an American airline, here is a list of things I would change:

1. No first class seating. However, I am going to miss hitting those pretentious bastards with my big fat fucking suitcase as I pass by because they cannot figure out how to load a plane. Take first class out, and make the entire plane one type of seating, first come, best available. Slow people get sloppy seconds. Last served get the back of the bus. However, the seating will be the same size with a little more leg room and a little wider. Exit row helpers get extra chocolate for being so nice.

We are going to "declass" those who think they are better than others and raise up the people of Walmart stuck in the seats designed for a size 0. It will be socialism at it's finest. Now here is where the Republicanism comes into effect: Screaming children and ones who kick the back of the seat get the sound proof area with bouncy balls and rubber walls; behaved ones are welcome anywhere. Shifting can happen during flight. We keep the rubber room open. No overbooking.

It would mostly be a cage fight type atmosphere with harmless soft Nerf balls. However, the hierarchy inside would be left to the kids. If parents really felt the need to watch the festivities, a clear viewing window would be available. Sometimes you just let them play or duke it out.

2. Get rid of that Sky Mall magazine. Inside it is a bunch of crap no one wants or can afford and if you can, you are a pretentious asshole. Advertisers can provide other means inside airports to promote their concept contraptions and clothing suitable for many normal folks, said no one ever. You can't even take it into the crapper with you because, well, that is gross and you might get microscopic spatter on it for other people to enjoy while they thumb through the pages and lick their fingers because the pages are stuck. Don't turn up your nose. It's the truth. Crap has velocity spatter. That's why they say not to store your toothbrush within 6 feet of your toilet. Commode rules. For those of you who have ignored those have feces in your mouth. *shudder*

Think about that the next time you are at a friend's home browsing their magazine collection next to the john.

3. For drinks, you get water or wine. If it was good enough for Jesus, it is good enough for you. We do not have to cater to everyone's fancy. And it is free. Why? Because we just made everyone pay for it in their ticket prices. I don't think anyone will notice the $2.00 charge. Yes, $2.00, not the normal airline $8.00 drink charge...because we are not about robbing people, but just being fair. If you want to bring those little shot bottles and pour it into juice purchased in the airport...well drink away. You can buy it in the airport for a little less than the ginormous fee flight attendants have to charge you.

4. You get those yummy airline cookies, Biscoff, mini-pretzels, or Dove chocolate. These will all be in regular size and not sample size. No other choices. If you don't like it, you don't have to accept it.

5. You get two bags which go under the plane. Period. And it is free. You can carry on a lap top or purse. If you insist on bringing the kitchen sink, then get a big fucking purse or a computer bag the size of an Apple IIe.

6. We will load the back of the bus first. Why? Because that way no one gets hit with anyone's big fat fucking purse or fat ass. Common sense, people. You know I gave all new meaning to the words "baggage checks" when I would purposely bump first class passengers with my big fat carry on, purse, and hips. I know. I know. It was fun. I wished I had hit a famous person so I could say Shemar Moore's DNA was on my bag and sell it for millions.

What's not to love about that tiger?

7. Flight attendants will give safety demonstrations without bitch face and add some flair so people pay attention. Still, this is all in vain because if you crash you are dead anyway. Well, mostly your chances of survival are nil unless you have Sully to land you on water. That's about as likely as me getting Shemar Moore DNA on my luggage.

8. If the pilot sounds like Charlie Brown's teacher, we will demand do-overs as to not miss important flight information. Why don't the flight attendants tell the captain that NO ONE could understand that muffled, static white noise? Like never. He could be telling us to prepare ourselves for our doom before we parish into the sea. Does anyone else think plains over Asia have a 1 in 2 chance of making a proper landing? Yeah. I'm not going to travel to those countries or over the countries any time soon.

9. If you fart a "nasty smeller bomb of mass destruction" on the plane, you are suspended for two months from flying anywhere in the US. If you can't fix your gas, you can drive your ass around the globe or get a canoe.

10. Disruptive and cantankerous passengers will be immediately escorted off the plane and grounded until the next flight or forever; whichever comes first. Grumpy people suck.

11. Air marshals will better disguise themselves so they are not "impostering" (that is a word) Liam Neeson or Denzel Washington, nor look like cops in plain clothes or cops trying to blend in. I think I can pick most of them out. Perhaps we need some Austin Powers dudes and Nanny McPhee types in the mix. Oh, yeah, baby!

Plus...add some apparel changes such stretch skinny pants so they can still perform their ninja skills but look like a goof. No one would suspect. Actually, I liked skinny jeans recently on an Australian man. He was just one of those who could pull it off and look masculine, hot, and well...(fanning myself)...never mind.

How about some neck tattoos? Yep. Great disguise. Gladys Nightstone and Gertrude Applebottom would not even look at them or if they did it would be in disgust with reprimands and references to their mother's disapproval. Thug life. But not too thug. You have to look like a middle class thug. Or I guess they could think the marshal was a famous rapper. That would work. Who would think 50 Cent, Snoop Dog, or Usher types would be cops? Dreadlocks. Horrible dye jobs and facial hair. Maybe some air marshals should take acting classes and throw in some foreign accents to really throw us off. They should also be a lot more talkative instead of stone cold quiet, constantly scanning the plane which makes those unsuspecting folks think..."terrorist or air marshal?"

12. Toilet facilities will actually be functional and handicap accessible. In other words- family size. Big ol' butts are welcome. This might be a time to take a lengthy discussion on the art of crapping on a plane.

Even as a size two, it sucked monkey ballz. First, you had to enter sideways, sometimes catching your hip on the door frame. If it shut properly and gave others the notice of "occupied", then a person could feel free to do the hover and crap. It is really hard to do courtesy flushes on the plane, because everyone notices. And what if you have an uneasy stomach which leads to bowel explosions? You know when you walk out of there, everyone is staring at you like you just killed a baby kitten.

And what about splashbacks? You don't want that shit all over, so you might have to scrub the back of the toilet area and check your clothes. You can NOT sit down on those seats to contain the shrapnel effects within the container even with barriers of toilet paper because of the turbulence. You can't risk being exposed to someone else's germs or venereal diseases. I don't think I need to delve any further.

However, I would put the toilets right next to the rubber room so the kids could suffer the breezy consequences upon exit of toilet facilities. They would be too busy playing and wrestling, having a missile war inside the rubber room to notice.

The restrooms would be placed-one in front, one in back. Since we are downgrading first class and refreshments, there is more room for this type of structure. If you aren't smart enough to go before you get on, or you have a long flight, or drink too much- we will still accompany you. Nothing is worse than peeing or crapping on yourself or doing your business on the seat--- and not being able to reach to wipe because your hand can't get past the hand sanitizer dispenser thingy. Additionally, when you do the reach around you hit the toilet lid which falls on your ass and then, again, you have crap everywhere but in microscopic particles all over the compartment and your backside. Again, it makes me refrain from using airplane toilets. The thoughts. Oy vey.

I am sure I had more great ideas as I drifted off, however, they have left me. I find it amusing how a person thinks about things when you read books, watch television, or derive so from your own experiences. You are like..."OH YEAH! What about this?"

Then, I sometimes wonder why some of these ideas are not already implemented. Are we that blind to change and redefining things because we have become entitled or so stuck in our ways? So stuck on maximizing the most for monetary gain, yet still failing as an airline? Well, duh, because you suck, airlines! Change it.

Wait as a general rule....we keep doing the same things over and over expecting different results. Maybe if all situations were like the art of crapping on a plane, we would change things ten hurry, ten the speed of diarrhea.

Tuesday, January 6, 2015

Dog Boners and Cindy Crawford

The day started out brilliantly white with what I would call a skiff of snow, but Indiana labeled it as the start of another Snowmageddon. I think we have about 4 inches. Yesterday we were informed to watch for school delays and closing and register our cell phone for university alerts.

We got up at 4:30 AM as usual; the dogs' potty hour, not to be confused with the witching hour which is also a time I awake according to my Fitbit. However, I don't recall those moments so I can only imagine I am doing something creepy.

As the dogs discovered the new snow, you would have thought it was raining bacon. Murphy looked like he had fallen head first into a pile of it and found snow was the ultimate dog boner.

Simulated Murphy: Pinterest

Moose played and romped and pooped, then had enough of that and sought life in the Harry Potter house where it was warm. Murphy had to be forced into the house.

I sat and drank my morning coffee after I got ready for work, watching the local news. As I was savoring my fifth or so sip of java, a screech from above startled me. Stomping soon followed and I was greeted by the teenager. 
Simulated Bug Incident
Of course, the above picture is photoshopped for dramatic effect. I said, "Nice look you got going on, Cindy Crawford." She did not understand, but was screaming (loud off road driving outburst) about her black boob and face. I said as I was scratching the side of my nose, "You have a little something right here." She was still not impressed and asked what she should do about her shirt. I said, "Well, you could mole your way to the wash machine and shout it out with mole remover."

Stomp, stomp, stomp. 

She sprayed Shout on it and yelled at me to come look at it. I looked in on her and noticed the shirt with mascara and asked, "What's the big deal?"

"Mom, do you think it is taking it out?"

"Uh, no. You need to wash it. You are not going to be able to wear that today."

"But, Mom, I had this specifically picked out."

"Well, if you want to wear it like that, go ahead. I don't need any Mole-odramatics."

"Mom! This is serious!"

"Yes, dear. You have a little" Again, I scratched the side of my nose. The teenager was not impressed. I really couldn't blame her, it was like overdone, but I couldn't help it. I departed to work after learning she had a two hour delay because of snow. Yes, 4 inches. It made me laugh and recall days in Wyoming when a real Snowmageddon occurred and school was never canceled. Well, maybe... once... in the 12 years she went to daycare and school there. They didn't even close preschools or daycares. 

About an hour into work, I received a call from Bug stating school was closed for the day. I wasn't surprised.

"Good deal. Now you can do those dishes I asked you to do last night and laundry. The house should be clean when I get home including your room."

"Ok. Do I get rewarded?"

"Yes, you are rewarded as a good child from heaven."

"Mom! This sucks! My life is full of disappointments."

"Oh, the drama, Cindy, you have a knack. You should become a Thespian. Let me sing to you...Good molening! Good molening! It's time to rise and shine! Wait...something better... Cornmolio!"

"Mom! I don't have the mascara on my face anymore! You can't call me that. I'm not a lesbian. And stop making fun of my face. That's not funny."

"Honey, a Thespian is not a lesbian. A Thespian is an actor or someone in drama. I would love you the same if you were a lesbian."

"I'm not a lesbian! Uh. You don't understand. It was horrible to have my outfit ruined."

"Ok. Have a great day! I love you! I'm going to go take care of the varmints here and mole my way to my appointments! I will call it a mole sashay...and...squirrel...and two...and three...and mole...and two and three...and rat!"

The phone disconnected only to ring about 30 minutes later...

"Mom. Do you think they will cancel school tomorrow? There was a lot of wrecks. The dogs are crazy. Murphy is wild. Moose is driving me nuts. I love you. "

"I love you. Yes, you will have school tomorrow."


"Yes. Are you going to call me every five minutes?"

"It was a half hour. I love you! Bye!"

*head desk*

Sunday, January 4, 2015

Off Road Driving for the Hearing Impaired

Have you ever felt raising a teenager is like riding a roller coaster through the one of those slime machines on hormones and at the end the fat witch turns you into a pork roast. It's a terrible ending and it makes as much sense as a teenager. If this does not make sense, I can give it in feminist speak..."A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle." Well, if you are not a feminist ( I am all for women but I am not a feminist) than perhaps I can say raising a teenager is like fishing in the Big Sandy River with a boat anchor and sausage.

Don't get me wrong, there are moments when she is a perfect child and the angels sing. I have heard them and they are enhanced with wine.  I think these moments happen in cycles aligned with the stars and out of sync with her period. By the way, being in the same house as the teenage period times is like reliving the blundered battle of General Burnside at Fredricksburg. I call it Hell Week.

Photo Credit: Pinterest

It is a scientific fact adults who have teenagers will lose their hearing as they enter the geriatric stages of life. True. I used to think we could blame it all on heavy equipment operation, gunfire, loud music under headphones, and unprotected hearing encounters. If we were to gather the real statistics, it would show those who need hearing aids later in life (minus the life altering tragic accidents) actually had teenagers.

Here is my scientific conclusions derived from an actual study. My study pool is one making the results highly accurate and error free. Challenge me.

  • All teenagers operate in loud to overly loud mode. This is fact as the teenage hormone levels increase, so does decibel output. They have no inside voice. It isn't even the yelling stage which concerns me but everyday conversation. However, loudness output seems to increase in uptake during high hormone levels. They even throw out signs loud to each other (hang loose, spirit fingers, the bird, A-OK, loser sign and all that jazz).
  • Over 90% of their communication at conversational level is at 85 dB or greater. Picture every time they speak, loud canons are going off in the background. And those are not the bells of Ireland. In comparison, this phenomena is like when you cough, you lose a lung sack each time. Remember when you were told that? Well, this is the same. Each word is a mark off your elderly hearing capacity and the drum fluxors suffer with each blast.
  • Mind channeling is sporadic and non-sensical which causes higher decibel output. When communication breaks down between parents and teens, the mind channeling starts to spiral at high rates. Neurons misfire. Communication break downs are highly dangerous to adult hearing futurities because this cycles critical yelling outputs.
  • If things are not on the road, they are off road; thus loud spikes occur. What does this mean? When the teenager has something go wrong or does not go their way...or activity is not on the path of life which they have drawn...they are off-road driving. Now this is something we all grew up with in the 70s and gave us great coping skills. Sometimes we got dad's Jeep stuck. In this day and age, off road driving is minimal. When a teen experiences discourse (not to be confused with discharge, although the words sound similar) all hell breaks loose and loud spikes occur at inconceivable times like during your church book club meeting or garden girls get-togethers. At least the garden club girls drink wine at these meetings. Loud spikes are accompanied by book slamming incidents. If this is not during school times or your teen does not read, other objects become an accompanying instrument to the noise spikes.
I have no scientific evidence to counteract these measures in the home. However, some alternative solutions might pander out:
  1. Sell your child on eBay.
  2. Trade your child for a nice dress or scarf to the traveling gypsies.
  3. Have grandma babysit for long periods of time-after all, grandparents are already deaf from raising you.
  4. Parent them like Gunny would.
Photo Credit: Pinterest
If the above more permanent solutions do not work for you, they disagree with your parenting style, or are impossible due to DNA tracking and parent proofing legalities- I might suggest one thing that works for me: Off-road driving.
    1. Go to your happy off-roading driving place. For me, it's at the sand dunes in Sweetwater County and driving that Jeep over hill and yonder.
      • Get it stuck. This is entirely possible because you forgot to deflate the tires a little.  Pull out the wine. Enjoy the entire bottle before coming back to reality. Drunk driving in the sand dunes is totally doable because cops can't go there and why would they want to? Be careful of other dwellers and roll capabilities. Perhaps you should just park the Jeep on a high hill. If you have to wait until you're sober, you can entertain yourself. Make sand angels. Roll around in the sand, eat gritty peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on this picnic, and slide on the dunes with a sheet of cardboard or a sled. Find your sanity. Once the bottle has lost effect, you might be able to return to crazy town.
Believe me, sand in the vagina is more awesome than some of these teenage moments.

Thursday, January 1, 2015

The Unmentionables

My daughter goes to Wyoming every summer to be with her dad for a few weeks. About two months ago, she told me her old babysitter (family friend) had invited to take her to a movie of her choice for her birthday. Bug chose Maleficent starring Angelina Jolie.

Photo credit: Pinterest

Once they got to the theater, the babysitter, whom I will refer to as Mary (fake stage name) took her to Sex Tape. I mean, whiskey-tango-foxtrot. My kid is 14. Needless to say, Bug hated the movie, did not know why Mary didn't take her to the movie she chose for her birthday, and was sad about it.  She was disgusted and recognized it was not a movie for kids. I was at least proud of her morals.

She recently just disclosed this to me. I told her father about it since it was on his watch and he was not pleased either.

Along with that, came out all the upsetting garbage she went through with the Step-Monster and her dad. She sobbed as she told me she thought her dad replaced her with her step-sisters and did not care about her, talked of the disparities, and lack of attention. She cried and cried. I gave her big hugs and just held her. I really did not know what to say.

Once she got over that, she continued to tell me that Mary had told her some things she really didn't feel was appropriate. Imagine a 14 year old telling her mother a story and all the while, labeling the incidents as "inappropriate." I think I am raising a superstar in the making or at least a copycat version of Laura Ingalls Wilder.

Apparently, Mary left a vibrator out on her kitchen table as most folks do. Or at least, when we entered crackhead homes as cops, they were sitting on the coffee table next to the pot, meth, or drug of choice for the day. It became a table centerpiece in most ghetto homes. Mary told Bug she was washing it and left it out to dry. Yes, I know...which wrong road do we take here?

So...why not keep them out on the kitchen counter of a deputy sheriff's house next to his morning coffee, right? It was awkward for Bug. She turned up her nose and said to Mary, "Ew...gross. What is that?" Somehow she recognized it as something odd, but did not know what it was. Naturally, Mary took this opportunity to explain what a vibrator is and how it works and how much great satisfaction it brings her.

Bug said she was disgusted and shocked, displaying big eyes and a dropped jaw. I mean, who does that to a kid who isn't even yours?

Mary laughed and told her to stop being such a prude. Along with the laughter, she explained to Bug that her mom and dad came to the house many times for Passion Parties and listed all the items of sexual pleasure that we had purchased over the years.

This actually angered me when I heard it, not because it was true, but because it is not information for a 14 year old to hear about her parents. I surely would have died if I had known my parents used sex toys. Ew..gross. I can't even write about it possibly happening.

Excuse me, I'm not feeling well. Be right back. The visuals of my parents are dancing in my head.

Ok. Whew. Had to purge those thoughts.

Fast forward to last night.

I was cleaning my bedroom closet as does any normal person on New Year's Eve who doesn't have a date nor ventures out into the dangerous world of drunken celebrations and midnight kisses. I'm not bitter. I really never had enjoyed New Year's that way even when I was married. I am sure that was one of the parameters of the divorce.

Lately, Bug has been stealing my very expensive skinny clothes and it enrages me to no end. She doesn't ask, and does it while I am at work. She gets on the bus about an hour and a half after I leave for work. Funny thing is, I didn't raise a spy. She is literally a terrible liar and a worse sneak.

Enter the Momster and my detective ways. Gets her every time and she cannot fathom how I figure it out. Sometimes it's the way the clothes are messed up or out of place, but still hanging on the hangers. Sometimes it the fact she leaves my clothes in her room. And yet other times, it is the fact I know my inventory and spot something awry. Maybe it is the smell of disrespect and theft in the air. Duh. Once a cop always a cop. I am that damn good.

She always screeches after she gets in trouble and asks me how I know. I simply say,
"Duh. I'm a cop, sister." It really pisses me off. I don't like this part of teenagerism. She ruins my things and thinks nothing of it. Let alone, the clothes are some of my most expensive ones before I went from Riches to Rags. I cannot replace anything and I take very good care of everything I own. She does not. She is also a pig and a hoarder. She is so her dad. Perhaps that part pisses me off, too. No respect.

Anyway, last night I noticed something new. My tub of lingerie was out of whack. I opened it up and noticed a corset bra was on top along with a nylon bag. These items were clearly out of place. I know. Why? I know. I know where I keep my doodads. I dug around some more. I panicked.

Wait... I'm getting to it.

"Bug, what have you been doing in my closet digging around?" I was stern and clearly not happy.

"What do you mean, Mom?"

"Don't play innocent with me, young lady. I have told you time and time again I am sick of this stealing shit and lying to me. I have had it!" I was really miffed by now especially after the passive aggressive avoidance technique she tried to use. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

"What are  you talking about, Mom?"

"What in hell were you doing in my lingerie bucket? Did you find what you needed? Perhaps you wanted to wear my see-through nightie?"

"Um. No. I found all kinds of things I never want to see again. I was really grossed out. It will never happen again. I'm sorry." She talked very, very fast and was not even yelling so I knew she knew what I thought she knew and saw.

"Yep. I am pissed. We have had this conversation before and you don't seem to learn a thing." I was talking through gritted teeth at this point.

"Don't worry, Mom. Never again am I going to go digging in your closet. I promise." Yep. I knew. So I probed further...pun intended.

"Where did you put my vibrator?"

"I don't know, Mom. I threw it. It was so gross. I never touched one before."

I started digging frantically around in the closet like I had lost the crown jewels. My closet is a walk-in so it was crazy in there.

"Found it! You are so in trouble. I should make you sanitize it as punishment."

"No! I'm sorry!"

"Lucky for you I don't trust you to do a good job and I wouldn't want to stick a fuzzy dildo in my hoohah."

"Mom! Please stop! I really can't take this."

"Ok.You know what else, dear?"

"What, Mom?"

"I just rubbed my vibrator over all my clothes you like to steal and my shoes. In fact, I am going to rub it all over all my things." Oh, yeah. I was wielding the thing all dramatic and shit right in front of her and doing my devil penis magic ritual all over my clothes so it would gross her out. I am sure it is at the top of Pinterest parenting skills. Perhaps even Google. Or maybe on the judge's list of number one things a mother should get thrown in jail for doing. Actually, it's not illegal. I know this.

"I promise to never steal anything again! I promise never to go in your closet! I promise! I promise!"

"You better believe it. Because if you will be wearing your mother's vagina all over town."

Don't worry. I always sanitize my vibrator before I put it up so I really didn't put my vagina all over my clothes. It was clean when I did my dance of anger and frustration while waving a penis wand.

And, by golly, I did sanitize it very well before I put it back away in it's hidey hole...I mean, hideaway place. No pun intended there.

I really need to read up on some better parenting skills.

I hope my child never becomes a stand up comedian. I would be checking myself into the funny farm pronto or drinking more wine.