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.

no snooze + ooze = need booze

today i could have really used an extra hand - not because i'm busy, but because i could've used the extra middle finger.

i got 3 hours of sleep last night because i was up all night with pressure building up in my right inner ear; so much pressure, in fact, that it burst my ear drum. it is about as comfortable as it sounds. since it burst at about 3 am, i have been walking around all day with a liquid comprised of wax, pus, and blood oozing out of my ear. it is about as yummy as it sounds. 3 hours of sleep and ear juice meant that when i took roz to school this morning i was in no mood to chit-chat with the cool mom group who are all unemployed yet able to afford to leave their SUV's running for an hour while they talk about toms, mustaches, chevron print, and any and every other annoying ass trend in the world today. the one girl with vocal chords located in her nasal cavity cheerfully greeted me with a "ISN'T IT GORGEOUS OUTSIDE THIS MORNING?!?!?!" deciding between answering her or shoving a #2 pencil inside of my oozing ear drum i managed to mutter a "uh-huh" before whisking by her.

once inside roz's classroom, some little brat with a pacifier came up and pointed to london and said "what's her naaaaaaaaaaaame?" i acted like i didn't hear her and took roz to her cubby where she hangs her jacket and backpack. i noticed that she was having a hard time hanging her backpack up because her "cubby buddy" used her hook in addition to using his own. so i  removed his jacket from her hook and accidentally dropped it on the floor.

i had to come home and check work emails. a co-worker of mine has sent me the same message multiple times from a guy with an "urgent" matter to discuss with me. i finally call the guy back only to discover that he is wanting to give me a large, undisclosed amount of money if i help him track down somebody that i am friends with on facebook. all i needed to do was give him my facebook username and password. after politely telling him to f*#$ off, i decided to fix something to eat. i really needed something to coat my stomach because the doctor had prescribed me antibiotics, which i had been popping with vicodin - a very disruptive cocktail to the digestive system if on an empty stomach. the only thing worse than having an earache is having an earache with explosive diarrhea.

the antibiotic the doctor prescribed me was a super dose of amoxicillin. having had it before, i distinctly remember there being a warning of not taking it while under the influence of alcohol. knowing that i plan on being under the influence of alcohol this weekend, i asked the doctor what would really happen to me if i washed down my prescription with miller lite. he was a bit taken aback... probably because when he asked me why i hadn't taken a decongestant i told him because i was breastfeeding. sudafed? no. vicodin, amoxicillin and miller light... mmm... ok.

on top of  the pain of my ear making everything in this world mind-numblingly annoying to me, tj is out of town for work. this means i have sole responsibility of two kids, two dogs, my full-time job, grocery shopping, meal preparation, and bed time routines. tomorrow he will nonchalantly walk in the house  and casually ask how my days were without him. i'll tell him not to worry about me and to go rest his pretty little head on his pillow.

(the same pillow my ear leaked all over the night before.)

i'm gonna need more than a fountain

recently i met some girlfriends downtown for drinks and the discussion turned to aging and our feelings on it. nikki (34 years old, 2 kids, skinny bitch looks exactly the same as she did in high school) said she had no problem with it. katie (34 years old, 3 kids, tiniest waist and the greatest set of knockers i've ever seen) almost seemed to enjoy the thought of her upcoming birthday making her another year wiser. katie actually started going gray some time ago and instead of coloring her hair she just rocks the look and it really works for her. (of course with those tits, who's really looking at her head?) i was actually really inspired by their poise and no-nonsense attitudes on the aging process - this is because if i could shoot botox up my ass to make my rectum tighter, i would. 

my boobs may be perky right this second, but once london starts eating real food i'm gonna have to be extra vigilant in keeping them from getting tangled in my belt loops. the "laugh lines" on my face are, ironically, no joke. and although i'm a thin person, i have some weird skin reserves going on in my upper thigh area. matter of fact, i used to just put my foot on the tub to dry off my legs after the shower and that'd be it - well now i have to also dry my thighs while standing in an upright position because, while bent, they create a secret fat hideout where excess water just kind of hangs out for a while and then runs down my leg in a way that makes me feel like i'm pissing myself when i put deodorant on. every time it happens i should automatically know that it is just secret fat hideout water, but just like clockwork i grab a piece of toilet paper and wipe. just in case, you know? if someone would've told 20-something larissa that in 10 years i'd be periodically wiping upper thigh secret fat hideout water off my vag with toilet paper while getting ready in the morning, i'd be equal parts confused and horrified. but now? now it's like "oh yeah... it happens."

t.j., who is more terrified of aging than i, gets better looking by the minute. matter of fact, judging by his senior year yearbook photo he was a chubby 40 year old sporting a porn 'stache. now he is smoking hot and has the stamina of a 18 year old. if i would've known that i was gonna morph into the crypt keeper, benjamin buttons wouldn't have been my first pick in a mate. 

i suppose it is time that i take my own advice in not stressing over the inevitable. if there is one thing i want my girls to have, it's confidence. and i believe in order for them to gain confidence i must be the one to exude it. so that is it: instead of fighting a losing battle, i shall embrace it. i want to face my impending wrinkly death with the same humility that nikki and katie have. (although with a rack like that, i bet katie could fill a bucket with secret fat hideout water.)

jock-olate chips

well, in case you hadn't heard - our food system in the US blows. we are being poisoned by food companies who are infiltrating our bodies with harmful ingredients. this really angers me and i vowed to take a stand. i'm going on month 4 of making dinner every night for my family that incorporates a clean eating menu (www.thefresh20.com.) and the other day i did my part by signing a very important petition urging kraft foods to stop putting food dyes in their mac and cheese. i've sworn off any dairy or meat that comes from antibiotic-ridden cows or chickens that aren't grass fed and cage-fee. and, in just 2 weeks tj and i will start using the nutribullet system to do the juice cleanses dr. oz recommends. the only part i'm struggling with all of this, however, is the fact that i fucking love cookies.

oatmeal raisin, chocolate chip, butterscotch, sugar, snickerdoodle, lofthouse, peanut butter... i'm pissed that kraft uses yellow #5 in their pasta, but god knows if they made a yellow #5 cookie i'd eat the hell out of it. it's not just cookies, either; i purposely stopped buying boxed desserts of any kind at the grocery. i used to have a box of betty crocker hershey kiss brownie mix in my pantry at all times. i knew that if the temptation weren't there than i wouldn't have a choice in the matter - but after a quick inventory check, this happened:

9,000 search results and an hour later i was shoving a brownie in my face

if i could just finish my book and get a movie deal then i'd be famous enough to go on celebrity rehab with dr. drew and he could help me with this sugar addiction i have. everyone would be tweaking out and taking their methadone while i inject my hip with insulin like a mad woman. i'd have tj sneak chips ahoy in his jockstrap and i'd get kicked out. 

well, this blog just got weird. of course none of that could really happen... tj doesn't even own a jock strap.

a thong gives more support

so exciting stuff with my blog yesterday. for a long time i've been following nicole at moms who drink and swear. as her title implies, we have at least 3 things in common. i consider her to be hot stuff in the blogosphere and i sent her a link to my blog. not only did she read my email, but she shared it with her 250,000+ fans and all of a sudden my day became centered around sitting in my pajamas hitting F5 every 30 seconds - completely neglecting my children and my real job. that judgy mom who wrote that overly-dramatic narrative about moms staring at their iphones while their kids twirled around annoyingly begging for attention would have been sporting a journalistic boner over my household on tuesday.

tj came home early and wanted to know what all the fuss was about. i explained to him that this was my version of a hole-in-one. (i have to talk sports terms to him or he just sits there with a derp face on). i told him all about the link being shared and how she thought i was funny and that she even commented on how much she liked my hair. here are tj's top 3 responses to my new z-list internet status:

1. "how many blogs do you have?"  tj only reads actual text if ESPN sends him a text message or if he is taking a shit while reading ESPN mobile. if i want tj to know what i've written in a blog i have to read it aloud to him in the same voice i read to my 2 year old. 
2. "do you ever blog about how your husband doesn't read your blog?" i am now.
3. "you should send her a picture of your hair right now and see what she says."  sorry i didn't spend 33 minutes rubbing $40 pomade all over my head like you did this morning. dick.

for the remainder of the evening i acted like i was a famous person and every time tj asked me a question i told him to call my agent and then, in my best dave chapelle voice, would scream "I'M RICH, BITCH." i explained to the girls that this was the boost of confidence i needed to get crackin' on finishing my book and told them when mommy becomes real-life famous she would set aside enough money to buy them each their very own tramp stamp when they turn 18. 

i could go on and on about my hopes and aspirations, but i have to get ready - i have zumba in an hour. 

zumbadoos and don'ts

so i started zumba.

zumba is so weird - at one point i'm doing sexy salsa steps and the next minute i'm doing some retard version of gangnam style. during the part in gangnam style where you look like your riding some kind of stupid animal, i noticed my tits flying up dangerously close to my chin. as i rode along on my fake ostrich i realized the huge contrast between the support of a sports bra, and the support of a nursing bra that looks like a sports bra. my nursing bra wasn't the only article of mom clothing i was sporting either - i was also wearing my black, stretchy maternity leggings. i still like to wear all of my maternity leggings because they have that big panel i can pull up to my collarbone in case i want to eat a steak or drink beer - or in this case, tuck my tits into them like some kind of weird zumbaroo.

because it's been so long since i've taken an aerobics class, i made sure to get the spot in the very back by the door. i figured i could hide my lack of coordination, plus have an easy escape in case of heart attack or stroke. this was a great idea until students for the next class started huddling up outside of the door with 10 minutes of zumba left to go. the next class happened to be a little girls' tap class and when "i'm sexy and i know it" came ironically blaring out of the speakers, these girls came like moths to a flame. there i am tripping all over myself trying to watch our instructor (who apparently drinks a cocktail of 5 hour energy, red bull and cocaine before each class) do some move i can only describe as having sex while standing up, and these little girls are laughing. they were laughing at us. more specifically, i was starting to wonder if they were laughing at me. i began some weird inner-monologue about how i was an adult and i wasn't gonna let those those little punk ass tap bitches psyche me out of zumba. i looked over to see if any of my classmates were feeling the same unbearable scrutiny and the first lady i glanced at had... well, she had a beard.

 immediately those little tap jerks faded out of my existence and i became enamored by the bearded lady. i know these things unfortunately happen... but it's like she doesn't even try to maintain it... just a thousand random pubic hairs kinda shooting out in every direction from her face.

anyways... i always end my blog with some type of joke or funny moral, but today there isn't one. i just wanted to write about my zumba class and how it turned into a bit of a hairy situation.

dark chocolate

well i've survived my first toddler preschool valentine's day. it took me no time to see that valentines are not for the kids - they are for moms to out-pinterest each other and those bitches were out for blood. when i was a kid you bought cheesy punch-out paper valentines. today's kids are making it rain with confetti and passing out conversation hearts that say "tweet me." not to be outdone, i joined the good fight and withdrew my mortgage to spend on craft crap at hobby lobby. what little money i had left was put into the "divorce attorney" fund i have set aside for times like these when tj goes raging around the house spewing obscenities like "WHEN DID VALENTINE'S DAY BECOME F&*#ING CHRISTMAS?!" and, my favorite, "WHERE AM I SUPPOSED TO EAT DINNER AFTER CUPID SHIT ALL OVER THE TABLE?!"

the idea behind my roz's valentines was simple: put teddy grahams in a cellophane bag with cute personalized idioms playing on the word "bear." trying to think of 12 different ways to use the word "bear" was downright... well... ahem... unbearable. after assembling all the bags and writing my beary cute valentines messages on them i had to fill them with the treats. well, i had just completed 10 of the twelve when i realized i was out of teddy grahams. i had to load up the girls and go to walgreens in the freezing cold just to get another stupid box of teddy grahams. (if i hadn't ate half of the first damn box, we probably wouldn't have had to do this...) anyways... i get back home to find that i accidentally purchased chocolate teddy grahams and what i should've got was the honey kind. "oh well" i thought to myself, "these two kids will feel special." i had just convinced myself that i was about to make 2 precious children happy when all of a sudden... "shit!" it dawned on me that one of the kids with the chocolate treats was black. not wanting the teacher to think that the KKK had infiltrated the 2 year old preschool class, i re-loaded the girls into the car and off we went back to walgreens.

here you see an example of valentines for white kids

i know that, most likely, the whole ordeal would have gone unnoticed. however, even the smallest chance that my innocent mistake could've been misconstrued as something bigger was just too much for me to bear.