So we took our annual trip to Kalahari Resorts and Indoor Water Park, which is always a blast. As a mother it’s my “job” to watch my kids and make sure they don’t fall into a pool, or get taken by the gypsies. I don’t know who these gypsies are but I know they’re out there waiting to steal you. At least that’s what Mom used to tell me. Anyway, I’m not sure how I’m supposed to dedicate any time to watching my kids when there are more urgent situations at stake. Like the swim up Jacuzzi bar.
Also, every few steps I had to bend over to make sure my vagina wasn’t falling out of my bathing suit. I kept feeling a draft, and I got paranoid that my girl goodies were going to make a surprise appearance. Then I kept asking my husband how my ass looked, because gravity is a bitch. The second I stopped doing the insanity workout, my tush resumed it’s natural position three inches lower than I want it. Then my husband fell asleep in the lounge chair so I had to ask the three year old for booty reassurance. I asked the kid ONE time how my butt looked and he stared at me like I was absolutely insane. Then there was the nipple issue. I was cold and wet and needed to make sure that both of them were pointing in the same direction. There’s nothing more awkward than two nipples pointing in opposite directions. It’s distracting, like lizard eyes. So I kept blatantly looking down at my girls, because there’s really no way to discreetly do it. People probably thought I was being narcissistic and I wanted to explain “No, I actually hate myself, it’s just a simple nipple check!” I finally gave up and put my daughter in charge. I told her if she noticed my nipples going rogue she needed to let me know so I could line them back up. She asked if she could have a more socially acceptable chore, like scrubbing toilets or doing dishes. Whatever. Next year I’m going in a wetsuit.
Well 2013 was an amazing year! I managed to stay out of prison for the 36th consecutive year in a row, my husband hasn’t smothered me in my sleep, yet. AND I was able to put off my first mammogram.
I took a look at last years resolutions and had a good laugh. I never actually follow through with any of my resolutions. The only reason I make them in the first place is because of peer pressure. All the cool people are doing it. I make my resolutions before midnight on the 31st and by 2 a.m. I’ve already forgotten what I resolved to do. So I’ve discovered a different way to do resolutions that may work better for me. 12 Months 12 Challenges. Instead of cramming a million resolutions into the whole year, I’ll break it down month by month. Baby steps.
For January’s challenge, I’m simplifying my house using a book called 30 Days to a Simpler Life by Connie Cox & Chris Evatt. Clearly Connie and Chris have never been to my home. It’s going to take me 30 days just to simplify my closet. I’m thinking about getting rid of the majority of my husbands clothes. That’ll be easier than parting with my own. I’ll let you know how it goes.
In the meantime, I wish you all a safe and happy new year, filled with love, health, and lots of sparkly things. Thanks for sticking with me through 2013!
What about you? What kind of resolutions do you have planned?
Look at those angry eyebrows!
So this is Puck (as in hockey puck), the newest addition to the Rochon household. Aside from eating cat poop, he’s very smart and follows basic commands. In addition, he understands “Puck drop” “Puck no” and “Puck off”. He is part German Shepherd, and part Shar Pei.
See? Shar Pei.
He’s adorable, he’s cuddly, and he poops. A LOT. We got Puck at six weeks old and so of course he’s not potty trained at all. At first I was all “Awww, he’s jus’ a widdow puppy!” Six weeks later I’m like “Why the hell won’t this demon spawn just shit outside?”
The three-year old was standing next to me one time when I found a stinky little gift the puppy left for me on the bedroom floor. I yelled across the house to my husband “PUCK SHIT ON THE FLOOR AGAIN!” My son looks up at me and with the biggest, bluest eyes he says very matter of fact…”I don’t do that. I shit in the potty.”
So a blogger friend Julie, over at Ramblings From Jewels, is always posting beautiful pictures of her garden. (I love her blog, you should check it out!) She says gardening is her therapy. I can relate in a way, because of gardening I may need therapy.
When I started my garden I had images of myself smiling and harvesting fresh produce, but what I actually ended up with was me straddling one of the garden boxes dumping an entire bottle of Palmolive dish soap on the garden and then turning the jet hose on to create an enormous amount of bubbles while laughing maniacally. Let me explain…
I’m convinced that aphids are Satan‘s minions. Those tiny little effer’s were eating my plants alive. We read that ladybugs like to eat aphids, so we bought 1,500+ ladybugs and released them into our ladybug friendly garden. The ungrateful bastards left. I got a text from my friend who lives across the street. She sent a picture of a ladybug on her ceiling with a note that said “I believe this belongs to you.” I’m not sure where the rest of them ended up, but we are going to refer to it as the Ladybug incident of 2013.
We think our million man ant army had something to do with chasing away our ladybugs. Turns out that ants protect aphids in exchange for honeydew. Honeydew sounds delicious, but it’s actually just aphid shit. In exchange for protection, the aphids will shit in the ants mouth. That is messed up.
So our line of thinking was, get rid of the majority of the ants and then the aphids will disappear. Mission accepted. I tried organic methods. I read on Pinterest that ants hate peppermint oil. I’m not sure which ants they surveyed to get this information, but the ants in my garden didn’t mind the oil at all. I’m pretty sure it was just aroma therapy for them. I also read on Pinterest that ants don’t like cornmeal. I sprinkled some around hoping that the cornmeal would mess up their scent trails, causing them such inconvenience they would move out of my garden. Turns out I just gave them a free meal. I got rid of Pinterest since it was full of nothing but filthy lies. I tried organic pest control and I swear I could almost hear the ants laughing at me. Laughing at me! At this point nothing in this part of the garden was growing except for the giant resorts the ants were building, so I thought I’d use some hard-core, non organic poison to get rid of a good number of these guys. Every local garden center recommended Seven. So I bought two bottles of this powder to dump on my four by eight garden. The black dirt was nothing but white powder when I was done. I thought I had them. Until the next morning when I woke up and found that they had used the poison powder to rebuild the ant mounds I had destroyed. Now I understand how these tiny freaks of nature have been around since the days of the dinosaur. It was at this point that I grabbed the dish soap in my last desperate attempt to kill them because someone told me dish soap kills ants. Why is everybody messing with my head? Anyway, I basically ended up creating a day spa for these ants. Screw it. I decided to let them live in my garden.
And just when I’ve accepted that bugs will rule my garden, I find out that plants can have and spread diseases. My tomato plants are currently feeling under the weather. Really? Next year I’m going to have a rock garden instead.
So the little guy is going through the “mom…mom…mom…” phase. It never ends. He’s very curious and constantly has something on his mind that he wants to share with me. Normally I have a deep appreciation for his inquisitiveness, but not before I’ve had at least one cup of coffee.
So this morning, as I’m drinking my coffee, he stands in front of me and starts his endless string of questioning. I’ve got one eye glued shut with old mascara, drool still coming out of my mouth and I can’t really focus on anything except getting the cup to my mouth. I looked at him quietly, hoping to communicate with my eye how not up for this conversation I was, but he wasn’t getting it. In a morning haze, I tried desperately to think of a way to silence him for just a few minutes. Only half thinking, I slowly extended my finger towards my toddlers face. He continued talking at sonic speed until I stuck my finger right up his little nostril. He was instantly silent, and still, moving only his eyes from left to right, I’m assuming to see if anyone else was witnessing the unfolding insanity. Because it had worked so well, I just kept my finger up there, enjoying the silence and drinking my coffee with my free hand. It was the most peaceful thirty seconds of my life.
So I was reading about the worst jobs a person can have and was surprised to see News Reporter on the list. I didn’t realize that gossiping and being nosy was so difficult. I do it everyday with a kid on my hip while cooking dinner.
A news reporter is responsible for interviewing people, writing stories for publication, establishing contacts and sources, and fact checking. I have found five jobs that I think are worse than that.
5. A 2010 survey found that for every kilometer of coastline there were 8.9 tampon applicators as well as 22.5 pads. Who’s job was it to walk the coastline and count used feminine products? I wonder what the interview for that position was like.
4. Livestock Masturbator. How do you even explain that one to a potential life partner. “I’m a nurse. What do you do for a living, handsome?” “I jack off animals. It’s a hard job but someone has to do it. Get it? ‘Hard job’.” Check please. Do you sweet talk the animals first, or just jump right in and get the party started?
3. Fistula Feeder. These people stick their hands inside a cow’s naughty hole to check for any digestive issues. I’m thinking if the cow isn’t vomiting or having explosive diarrhea then it’s probably a non-issue. They eat grass for Christ’s sake, how messed up can their system get? Get your hand out of its ass and stop violating that cow.
2. Semen washer. Yes, guys. When you go donate your little cup of love juice, someone has to wade through your little soldiers to make sure they’re up to code before they go marching off to reproduce. Call me crazy, but I think that playing in someone else’s semen all day would be a lot worse than covering the traffic accident up the road.
1. Vagina Doctor. Sure, at first it sounds like a sweet gig, working around vagina’s all day. Google “blue waffle” images and then get back to me. Once you see it, you can never un-see it. You’ve been warned.
Posted in comedy, Humor, opinion
Tagged Animal, Business, Cattle, Christ, cow, Funny, Google, Gross, Jobs, Recreation, Tampon
So I went to the beach to watch the sunset the other day, and it was like stepping into some twisted episode of National Geographic. I don’t think I’d survive in today’s teen world. Back when I was a teen, if a boy liked you there would be the awkward “so, uh, do you want to, you know, go out or whatever?” conversation. But from what I can tell that’s not really how it works anymore. For instance, while I was walking down to the shore I saw a girl rocking a two piece and a guy trying to rock some hot pink swim shorts. He was trying to impress her with his diet and exercise regimen and I actually heard him say “But I don’t eat (unintelligible) because that shit will constipate your ass.” Oh yeah. You’re nailing it, bra. Nothing makes a girl want to blow you like poop talk. So I’m walking along praying to all that is holy that he brings up genital warts next, because I’m pretty sure that was where his conversation was going to end up anyway. It’s not just guys though. For instance…
I saw a girl up on the sand dunes screaming and jumping around like someone had set her on fire. The group of guys she was with looked scared and confused. That’s when I noticed that, in an attempt to impress the boys, she had put like a gallon of sand down her bikini bottom and was jumping around to make it pour out. Now I can’t be sure, but I think…I THINK…most boys do not find sandpaper snatch sexy. There’s always exceptions to the rule, and sure teenage boys will hump just about anything, but I’d say you just scared away the reasonable boys and now all you’re left with is the man whore who has crabs.
And then last but certainly not least we have the local freak who went to a department store and asked the unsuspecting worker to help him with something. As she was turned around, he whips out his ten foot long dong and pokes her in the butt with it. I don’t know that it was actually ten feet long because I didn’t see it, but he was a black kid so based on legend I can only assume. I’m pretty sure if the police hadn’t shown up and taken him away for sexual assault he would’ve totally gotten laid.