Monthly Archives: April 2013

Reasons to Walk Your Kids to School (Extremely Cursey)

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It’s good for you. The exercise jumpstarts your metabolism. It’s the responsible thing to do for the Earth. It’s fiscally responsible. Your kids talk to you and sing silly songs and generally make you happy you decided to become a parent.

But the best and most compelling reason has to be keeping yourself out of jail.

When I drive my kids to school, it takes twice as long as the walk. I shit you not. Doesn’t seem possible, right? Except it totally is.

We live about a quarter mile from the school, but when I drive, I can’t take the same route we walk. There are so many cars, I can barely make the turn onto the main street. And I have to make a left turn, across traffic. Twice. So I take a longer geographically, but chronologically shorter¬† route. This one takes me past the middle school. It’s been a while since I did middle school drop-offs, but I’m relieved to say, the parents still drive like brain-dead jackasses. Thank goodness some things will never change. Certainty is so comforting.

I get it. You have to get to work and your teenager is being an ass. Believe me, I’ve SO been there. But when I allow the car in front of you into traffic and pause so that the person turning left can get out as well? That is not a license for you to pull out, blocking me from pulling ahead without blocking the driveway.

And to the person behind Fidiot Number One? If you honk at me again, I will intentionally ram your BMW with my shitty minivan. I fucking mean it. You want to flip someone off? Let me introduce you to Fidiot Number One. She’ll be happy to accept your profanity. I know you’re very busy and important, but I have shit to do too. My kids need to get to school and they’re sort of being asses.

The drop off loops are when we need courtesy and respect the most, you morons.

Fuck all y’all. I’m walking.

Problem Identified

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I think I’ve finally pinpointed the single issue that holds me back from being the epitome of a rock star superhero.

I am easily overwhelmed.

I have a lot of weight to lose. I will need to commit to at least a year of rigorous eating and exercise to get to a healthy place. 12 months. Wow. That’s a long ass time, you guys. So my reaction to that is, “Eh, might as well have a piece of cake.”

I have a shit ton of things to do today. Garage sale items to price. 2 chapters to write, 1 to refine. I should clean up my desk and straighten my office. I need to list some stuff on Craig’s list and eBay. Finish the FAFSA. Make a few calls. Clean shit. It’s going to be a slog. Not fun. Instead of breaking out my sharpie and stickers, making a to do list and finishing today with a shimmering halo of accomplishment, I say, “Fuck it, I’m going to Dollar Tree.”

I desperately want to write a novel that will be read and loved and laughed over by thousands, millions of readers. I want to do book signings, even though I’m pretty sure presenting myself to that many people will cause my head to explode. Instead, I write short stories with no redeeming value and publish them under a pseudonym.

I’m a disaster, you guys. And now that I’ve figured out why, I’m not really sure how to NOT be overwhelmed. Yes, I can make a small list of manageable goals, but I’m not a fucking hamster! I totally know that after I finish that small list of things, there are reams of other small lists to tackle.

Sigh. Being smart and self-aware is a mother-fucking burden.

I could hire a professional nag (they prefer the term life coach), but honestly, I’d just lie to them and say, “oh yeah, I totally got that done, I feel so self-actualized!” while shoving the half-finished stuff in a corner and covering it with an unwashed towel.

I’ve considered therapy again, but let’s be honest. I’d just schedule the therapy session to conflict with something I really didn’t want to do. “Aw, man, I just can’t…I have a¬†therapy session.” *sad eyes*

I could bribe myself with wine, but I’d just drink the wine. Let’s not fool ourselves, okay?

OR I could get off the computer, quit navel-gazing and get shit done. Because I’m a grown-up and that’s what grown-ups do, or so I’m told.

Yeah. The last one.

Anyone wanna meet me at Dollar Tree? They’re selling wine now!

I Cuss In This One. A Lot. You’ve Been Warned.

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I am not a judgemental person. I sort of pride myself on that. But when I see a 6 year old with a fucking iPhone, I get a little crazed. Why does your child need a damned cell phone? WHY?

*also, why does your elementary student have better technology than me, a 40 year old woman?*

But after getting a free download of Angry Birds Star Wars, I now understand why people buy their first graders iPhones.

Because being asked 6 bajillion times a day if they can play the game on your phone is fucking irritating. And when you DO cave and let the little crumb magnet play to shut them the hell up? Nine times out of ten, they drop it in parts unknown and saunter off without returning it. Then, when you’re on your way out the door and need your fucking phone 5 mother-fucking minutes ago? The little shit has NO clue where he left it. And it is dead. Good luck, finding your phone, asshole!

AAAAAARRRGGGHHHH!

No, he’s not getting an iPhone for his 7th birthday. But I thought about it. Anybody wanna sell me an iTouch cheap?

Mother of the Year

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My eldest and I often have lovely, meandering, pointless conversations. Because she’s 18 and a senior in high school, inappropriate humor occasionally rears it’s head. Take today’s conversation for instance, broken down into an easy-to-follow diagram.

Lunch -> tomatoes -> Garden -> Lady Garden -> frontal wedgie ->”vedgie” -> new meaning for vegetarian -> vag-itarian as a euphemism for lesbians.

I love my kid.