My head is spinning

I know, it’s been easy on the posting lately, but I’ve been so busy with volunteer work, that it has left me zero time to breathe… pure oxygen from my new oxygen tank (yipee!).

My migraines are raging and out of control and I’m cranky. I’ll return as soon as the chaos has died down…

mommy mobile mishap

This morning, after I dropped the preschoolers off, I bolted back to my mommy mobile when I noticed another mommy mobile with its doors open, screaming children strapped in and no adult in sight. I finally found the mom and realized it was the dreaded woman who openly talked smack about my pathetic room parent skills– “I mean, come on! It’s December already! Where is the class phone tree? I would be a room parent, but I’m just SO busy.”

Um lady, I have more important things to do than your fucking phone tree. I was being hospitalized at the time, bitch.

When I finally realized it was THAT mom and she was babbling on and on to another mom about how she turned into the lot and scraped the other mom’s car, I stared at her screaming children, hopped into my mommy mobile and burst out laughing.

Then I called my friend who I carpool with and told her the story, which made her day. We both said at the same time, “It’s karma, BITCH!”

And that was the moment I envisioned something I shouldn’t have

A couple of weeks ago, I hit the sleazy gay bar with my fellow gays, watching them stuff dollar bills down the go-go dancer’s underwear. It was a lovely sight.

Most of the go-go dancers were straight and would introduce themselves like, “Hi, I’m Steve and I’m straight! I’m from Michigan and thanks for coming by!”

Um, okay.

The following morning, hungover, I was stooped over my drawer full of medication, searching for my proper happy pills and some Excedrin to ease my pounding head. Suddenly, I heard a little voice behind me.

“Mommy, I got dressed all by myself and I’m wearing my ookie-ookie sweatshirt!”

“Great,” I mumbled, without turning around, still fumbling through my drawer.

“LOOK MOM!”

At which I turned, to find my son in jeans and indeed his Paul Frank track jacket (his ookie-ookie sweatshirt), but as I turned, he slowly unzipped his jacket to reveal his bare chest.

And that was when all the images of the gay bar and go-go dancers came washing over me, sending shivers down my back.

Good Lord.

When my husband gave me a book titled, “101 Ways to Torture Your Husband”

I laughed in his face.

“I could’ve written this book, you know. I don’t need an instruction manual, but thanks for the thought.”

Why, you ask? I have my ways.

The other night, when I slept in our miserably uncomfortable small bed, my husband snored in my ear the ENTIRE night. I kept shoving him to make him turn on his left side to find that he was already sleeping on his left side and I was totally fucked. Usually, turning him on his left side stops the snoring, but this time, the snoring had escalated to a level where he was interrupting my sweet dreams of smothering him in his sleep with a crotched pillow, carefully embroidered with “For Smothering ONLY”. GODDAMMIT.

The following morning, I woke up to my kids screaming, circus music blasting from my 4 year old’s room (where the fuck did he even get circus music???) and the dog screaming, “I’VE GOTTA SHIT PRONTO!!!”

As I said in the previous post, I got the shittiest night’s sleep and my dearest husband, who promised me a morning of sleeping in, was snoring his heart away, sprawled across our bed.

That image alone made me see red. So I took his precious razor, headed to the shower and shaved my pits and legs with it. Pits and legs that haven’t been shaved in AGES.

I dried it off, returned it to it’s proper place, looking untouched.

Last night, Clayton and I went out for dinner, a play and drinks afterwards. The one thing about my husband is that he enjoys making everything into a competition. Since I tend to nurse my drinks, I was forced to chug a Belgium flight and stumble out of the bar that evening. I woke up with a raging migraine and the worst possible hangover, in addition to my kids screaming, running, slamming doors, the dog barking maniacally at 8am. It’s almost noon and my husband is still passed out.

I’m ready to take his razor and shave the dog’s butt with it.

Sympathetic IBS

I think my dog, Bowie has sympathetic IBS. It finally hit me since I was struggling with constipation for the last week.

Bowie has been crying while he poops, in addition to running circles around me in mid-poop. Yes, can you picture me trying to pick all that shit up? It sucks big time. My neighbors look out the window and think, “Here we go again, with that midget Asian woman picking up turdettes by the circumference of where she stands.”

Actually, I think my neighbors are too stupid or high to think that. They’re probably passed out on the floor anyway.

This morning, not only did I get shitty sleep due to my dearest husband snoring in my ear, but the dog kept coming into our room crying, “GET THE FUCK UP! I GOTTA SHIT!!!!” He came trained that way.

So, I took him in the backyard for a bathroom break when I found him in squatting position, dragging his butt across the lawn, crying his little heart away. Then he cried, ran circles around me on leash with a ginormous turd sticking out of his butthole.

“JUST SQUAT AND PUSH GODDAMMIT!!!” I screamed at the dog.

He finally did, wincing in pain.

An hour later, he kept pacing around me, crying AGAIN. I finally took him for a proper walk where he took two crying shits and watched his butthole speak to me. Seriously, the thing was open most of the time.

“Shit, I’m going to have to rub some Preparation H on his asshole when I get home,” I announced to my neighbor.

“You’ve got some serious problems,” she responded.

Damn right, I do.

Because I’m a midget, that’s why, bitch.

While I was at Gap Kids a few days ago, shopping in the Stella McCartney line for my 9 yr old since he’s so damn skinny, I have to cinch the slim-fitted jeans for him, I discovered that I could fit into the girls’ line too. After I stockpiled for Noland (Stella’s jeans and shirts are cut really narrow, like Flora & Henri’s, but for a fraction of the price due to a major sale), I grabbed as much as I could in the girls’ department and headed towards the fitting rooms.

This is where I got funny looks from the sales people.

“Look, I’m super tiny and when am I ever going to be able to afford the real Stella McCartney line? I’m trying this stuff on,” I announced.

To which I was greeted with a smirk and a shrug.

And when I say I have a body of 12 year old boy, I truly do have a body of a 12 year old because that’s the size I was purchasing. That’s how much of a midget I am, but at least I got some bitchin’ clothes… with little heart buttons on them.

RAMEN!

This one is dedicated to Listy:

YOU SUCK, RAMEN!!!

The little Asian in my 4 year old has kicked in and he’s been asking for “Chinese” noodles all the time, so I feed him ramen because it’s cheap and easy, like me. Also, that was what I grew up on and I turned out just fine.

Problem is, I’ve been eating it too and now, I have acne all over my chin. It must be from all that ramen dribbleage that’s causing the painful kind of acne. The really big, red, hurts when you graze it kind of acne? The kind you can’t even pop because it’s so painful to touch? Yeah, I’ve got about 3 of those gracing my chin right now.

Fun.

January always pisses me off

me drinking Miralax in OJ

I don’t know about you, but the month after the holidays is always a financial bitch. After spoiling all my evil spawns and our travels, by the end of January, our bank accounts are beyond dry.

I’m currently driving my mommy mobile on empty.

The other day, Clayton and I were on our way home when we both realized how hungry we were.

CLAYTON: Do you have any cash?

ME: I have some change. Why?

CLAYTON: We drove by a Taco Bell and I want a taco.

ME: Okay, I’ll get a bean burrito.

Um, REALLY bad idea because since the burrito, I haven’t pooped in over 3 days and have about 5 pounds worth of crap dying to come out of me, but my IBS has switched into constipation mode. It’s either peeing out of my pooper, shitting so funny, my asshole bleeds or constipated as hell. There is no such thing as a normal poop for me.

So there. That’s why I’m so damn pissed at January.

Shure had fun…

Last week, I met up with Baywatch and his friends for drinks at the local bar. I was the first to show, but luckily, I knew the bartender and chatted with him a bit until the gentleman next to me who was texting away suddenly looked up and said, “Hey, are you Ally?”

“Um, yeah. Are you a friend of Baywatch?”

“Yup. He’s on his way.”

Turned out, I was the only chick of the group of five and all the dudes worked at Shure. The stories they shared and the geekiness that proceeded was pretty fucking awesome.

Thanks for a great night, Shure dudes.

The convo in the mommy mobile this morning

This occurred between two 4 yr olds, one who is mine, of course.

Travis is playing with his new phone (my old phone).

TRAVIS: DARN IT!!!!

FRIEND: Oh, Travis! Your mom said not to say “Darn it” anymore!

TRAVIS: Oh, you’re right. I’m not supposed to say “Darn it”, but you said “Darn it” and you’re not supposed to say “Darn it”.

FRIEND: But you said, “Darn it” again!

TRAVIS: No, you said, “Darn it” again!

FRIEND: Stop saying “Darn it”!

TRAVIS: You’re saying “Darn it”. You stop saying “Darn it”.

FRIEND: You said–

ME: THAT’S ENOUGH BOYS.

If you saw an Asian mom bangin’ her head against the steering wheel of her mommy mobile, that would’ve been me.