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escape to paradise

i had my first chiropractic treatment today. long story short, i'm not cut out for the chiropractic business. for 20 minutes i had to try not to giggle as a licensed massage therapist rubbed all over my back and got dangerously close to my rectum. i have always suffered from getting the giggles at the wrong time, but today was just downright horrible. my first response to the onset of inappropriate laughter is to contemplate really serious atrocities that no sane person could possibly snicker through. this chick's thumbs were like two little ballerinas pirouetting around my asshole and i'm sitting there thinking about syrian war casualties.

after finalizing my plan for world peace, the therapist decided that her hands weren't cutting it and she proceeded to start elbowing my left butt cheek. i had just kinda shifted a bit in response to my ass being pummeled by floyd mayweather when it happened.... i felt a little... ahem... bubble in my tummy. with each stroke up my vertebrae, the bubble traveled closer and closer to the escape route. at this point i am no longer trying to suffocate the urge to crack up, but i am now squeezing my butt cheeks so tight together that it prompted the lady to ask "is that too much pressure?" to which i responded "no, that feels great."

NO, THAT FEELS GREAT?!?!?!?!?

why would i say that? she had just given me an easy out that i instead used to offer encouragement - encouragement to keep massaging my colon through my spinal cord with her forearm. as that little pocket of toxicity got closer and closer to rearing it's ugly head, i scrambled to prepare for what may happen next. as a lady, i would like to think that i would be spraying a light mist of tahitian breeze throughout that little 2x2 cubicle we were sitting in. as a realist, i know that tahitian breeze has never been a direct result of having scrambled eggs for breakfast.

i had just started sweating when the timer went off. she was done. it was over. relief had arrived. she told me to meet her outside in the receptionist area once i was ready and got my belongings together. as soon as she shut the door i may or may not have ripped ass.

and it may or may not have smelled like a tahitian breeze.

anniversary toilet reading for my love

even in 10th grade you couldn't keep your
eyes off of me

in honor of our anniversary i really racked my brain trying to dust off my earliest memory of you. here is what I came up with: we were sitting in mrs. boyd’s french class in 8th grade and you sat directly in front of me. you had a buzzed haircut and a fat neck. when you looked up at the projection screen, your buzzed neck rolls kind of resembled a sideways vagina and I tried to land little tiny spit balls into it.

we’ve come a long way since french class. from childhood to high school, from high school to college, from college to adulthood, and now - because of rozlyn and london, we’ve come full circle back to childhood. not only have we survived the growing pains that inevitably come with lilfe, but we’ve survived them together as a couple who, sitting here right now in this moment, love each other more today than the day we walked down the aisle. and that’s impressive, too - when we first got married i had perky tits and my favorite thing to do was to make dinner. now my boobs sag and my favorite thing to make is reservations.

random piece of land in the middle of
the wisconsin dells

we have been to numerous movies, sporting events, vacations, weddings, funerals, zoos, parties, amusement parks, haunted houses, orchards, golf courses, festivals, cabrewing trips, concerts, ski resorts, and fairs. we got kicked out of the fairfield commons for heckling a security guard, narrowly escaped jail at both ohio state and purdue, you stole a wallet from jc penny’s and i stole 2 dessert plates from bahama breeze. we’ve had sex on a beach, on a golf course, and on some random piece of land in the middle of the wisconsin dells.

we’ve had our fair share of adversity, too - but nobody wants to hear about the time you missed our very first parenting class because you were drunk on the golf course. we’ve said some nasty things, and we’ve screamed a lot of obscenities - well, actually i have screamed a lot of obscenities while you just stood there calm and collected. through it all, though, we’ve realized that being together is better than being apart even if i have to sleep in the basement.

although we don’t express our undying love for one another very often - and definitely not publicly - today i’m doing just that. i love you, tj jaynes. i love you more than anything in this world. we only have one life on this planet and because of you, i have the best. you make me a cup of coffee every morning, you do all of my laundry, you do the dishes, you mow the lawn, you take out the garbage, and, overall, provide a great life for me and the girls. now that i think about it you are more than just my husband; you’re like a really hot indentured servant who happens to be really good in bed - and for that i’m very thankful.

ps: for our anniversary i got you an appointment for a vasectomy. you can thank me later.

crypt keeper of kids

i got "randomly" selected for a drug test at work. with tj being out of town on business, what could've been only a minor pain in the ass quickly became a gigantic one. as a parent to a 1 and 2 year old, even an errand as simple as pissing in a cup is quite the to-do. after i got the girls bathed, diapered, dressed, fed, packed a diaper bag, poured juice, packed the necessary buffet of snacks and found their shoes (any parent knows that finding 2 pairs of matching kids shoes in less than an hour is quite impressive) i strapped 'em in the car.

after waiting 20 minutes in a room where my double stroller left .05mm for the other patients to roam freely, they called me up to the counter. the receptionist - who had been a member of the audience watching my "mommy theater" trying to keep the girls entertained - asked if i had anyone with me.

me: *looking at her with a duh face and motioning to the 2 kids that everyone in the entire building was aware of* "my 2 girls."
her: *pointing to a 8/12x11 sign on the wall among 50 other signs* "you cannot leave minors unattended for any amount of time."
me: "well, i'm just peeing in a cup, right? i've had a pot of coffee - i'm pretty sure i can produce urine quick. matter of fact, i sneezed at the gas station and i may have a sample already waiting for you in my underwear."
her: *crickets*
me: *starting to turn into a black lady* "so what you're saying is, after you saw me waiting 20 minutes here with 2 kids, you wait until it is my turn and then inform me of the asinine rules?!?!
her: "the rules are posted right there on the wall. can't you call a friend or a family member?"
me: "yeah. i have tons of friends and family... IN OHIO!!! CAN YOU WAIT 4 1/2 HOURS??!?!"

i had just started strategizing on how i was gonna get my fist through that hole in the plexiglass window when, out of nowhere, a man says "i can watch them." i looked over to see a guy who was so old that he wouldn't have ever been able to save my girls if they were in danger or choking. but since he was the only volunteer, he was hired. there were 4 other complete strangers in the waiting room which also looked like nice enough people to leave my only children with. i was pretty sure they looked capable of picking up his slack should he... i don't know ... die?

as a mom who utilizes zero childcare resources - and has nobody other than acquaintances and neighbors where i live - i face many challenges. today was one of them. my goal was to piss in a cup faster than the time it would take to issue an amber alert - and i did it. i came flying into the waiting room and scooped up the girls like a soldier returning from overseas. i looked over to that nice gentleman, with a beaming smile, and told him "thank you." i'm sure he would've replied with an equally enthusiastic "you're welcome" had he been awake.

a stupid ass time

well, as you can tell by my lackluster performance in the blogosphere, i've been stupid busy lately. i have a huge endeavor that i've been involved with for a while now that i can't really talk about. doesn't that piss you off when people do that? it's like people who "check in" at the hospital on facebook but don't give any further information. i always hope it's something really bad happening to them like a nailgun shot them in the face if they are that annoying of a person to just check-in at a hospital without explanation.

anyways. what i can tell you is that this endeavor has left me little time and very little patience. tj accused me of being "short" lately... which is something he should know about at a whopping 5 foot 8.5 inches. some mystery guy on the internet accused me of abuse and negligence because i take my two young children to baseball games. i sent him a private message telling him i'm dying of cancer and that in the short 6 weeks i have left i wanted to enjoy a ball game with my daughters. of course i'm not dying and nor do i have cancer, but i sure enjoyed his apologetic and graveling response. then there are the 5,678 people that have asked me if i have applied sunblock to london's pale skin this summer. yes - i applied both sunscreen and stupid-repellent, but obviously one isn't working.

it isn't helpful that i haven't enjoyed a proper vacation this summer, either. tj - in all of his shining brilliance - suggested that instead of taking one nice long vacation that we embark on a series of "staycations" which is code word for "motel 6's all across indiana." instead of sipping margaritas on siesta key, i have been forced to drink sarsaparilla at vintage baseball games where old men yell "huzzah" and other annoying pre-civil war phrases that make you sound like a douchebag when used in a public setting.

i am really trying to get back to my usual happy-go-lucky self, but it is just so hard when every single person i encounter is just a complete stupid ass. especially moms. stupid ass moms are on my last nerve and the girls haven't even enrolled in kindergarten yet. roz isn't potty trained and london is still breastfeeding. when these two facts are discovered by stupid ass moms, all hell breaks loose. one stupid ass mom had the audacity to ask me if i was going to try to recreate the infamous time cover where a toddler was standing up breastfeeding.

i just laughed it off, waited a couple of seconds... and then brought up her son's lazy eye.

jurASSick park

i have always despised cutesy names for genitalia. it's a penis. it's a vagina. if there was one thing i was going to never do, it would be to have my girls refer to their private areas as coochie or vajayjay. like every other goal i have set for myself as a parent, i have failed. and failed miserably.

me and roz got out of the shower and as i stood there buck naked, roz pointed and asked, "mommy what is that?" proud to educate my toddler with anatomically correct terminology, i boldy stated, "that is mommy's VAGINA." no sooner than the word could escape my mouth, she responded in a way that i never saw coming. she... well... she roared. "RAWWWRRRRRRRRR!" i paused. "roz, why are you roaring?" do you know what i said? i said that this is mommy's vagina." "RAWWWRRRRRRRRR!" she roared again.

and so, the vaginasaurus rex was born. yes - vaginasaurus rex is what we call our vaginas around here.

i could never come up with an equivalent of the almighty vaginasaurus rex if we had a boy - yet another reason why tj and i are still arguing over him getting a vasectomy. he is still trying to convince me to have another baby, to which i now reply: no sex with this v-rex!

needy rewards program

so i had my first and final garage sale. i don't care how many teeth i need to buy: i am not ever going to make the decision to organize another cheapskate weirdo convention on my property. i already had a distaste for the human race as a whole, but this past weekend just placed a stripped nail in the coffin.

it started off with my craigslist ad responses. i posted an ad for my garage sale with the sole intent of letting people know that i was having a garage sale with lots of baby girls' clothing and other miscellaneous baby items. the point of an advertisement is to say "hey - i've got this stuff to sell! if you are need of this type of shit, come buy mine!" (although i am, you don't need to be a marketing professional to know how a classified ad works.)

approximately 4 minutes after hitting "publish" my phone started dinging; it was alerting me to the fact that a bunch of retarded people looking for weed wackers, pre-1964 quarters, baseball cards, and other common "miscellaneous baby items" were emailing me with inventory inquiries. at first i attempted to reply to each of these jackoffs with pleasant reminders that i had advertised a "baby sale" and that i'm not really into bartering my high chair for an ice chest of porterhouse steaks just like they sell at TGI Fridays. after 30 minutes of  kind emails explaining what exactly my "baby sale" was comprised of - no, not size 8 1/2 men's softball cleats with metal spikes - patience became a thing of the past.

when the day of the sale came i knew that i probably pissed off a lot of people who had my address, so i treated every customer as a suspect - especially the pregnant chicks. tons of pregnant chicks emailed me asking about sizes and pricing. i eventually got to the point of telling them they were pregnant, not crippled and they could get their fat asses off the couch to actually come shop my damn sale. they're about to embark on a journey of raising a human from birth to adulthood and they can't walk a block to look at a bunch of shit on my ping-pong table. i understand there's some negotiation and awkward chit-chat that is part of the garage sale kingdom, but i've worked for real businesses my whole life; i cannot imagine calling jc penny and asking them to walk out to the misses section and give me a run down of what they are offering down to the color, size and price... oh and yeah, would you mind giving that to me for 93% off if i sent my uncle there before noon?

would i take $65 for the $80 treadmill? no. you have to pay a heavy fine if you want to hang your clothes on that bad boy just like i did. can i call you on sunday if the bumbo is still sitting there and i'd like to get rid of it for a lesser price? no. my mother is lucky to hear from me through an actual phone conversation once a month, let alone call some random nutjob who just pulled a a post-it note with her phone number already written on it out of her fanny pack like some kind of hillbilly business card.

yeah, but was it worth it, you are wondering. did you raise enough money to buy a new tooth? no. i made $400 at my garage sale. a new tooth is gonna run $1,500.00. oh, yeah... and after counting my precious dollar bills,  t.j. pulled up with $600 worth of golf cart batteries he "got a great deal on."

so now tj is also going to need some new teeth.