Friday, January 20, 2017

I Have A Very Specific Set of Skills, Just Ask Your Mom

I know I've been MIA for a hot minute now, but I have a perfectly valid excuse. Comcast sucks and they think it's acceptable for me to live without the Internet. (I know, I know. The horror of it all.) Anyway, seven customer service agents and three house calls later I'm back in business. I've come away from the experience with some pretty useful knowledge, though.

1. Somehow I had an unknown hot spot (and I'm not talkin about my neck) that was letting my neighbors sponge off my service. If you're not good at sharing, like me, check your WiFi connections and make sure you don't see one that has an identical signal strength to your existing WiFi network. In my case, it was called "xfinitywifi" and every cheap bastard on my block was no doubt using it. Don't panic if you also have one, as Comcast has assured me that my nudes important documents are safe unless there's a seasoned hacker sitting outside of my house. If I were to sell my sex tape before it was leaked, who'd buy it? Show of hands, please. Christmas wasn't cheap this year.

2. There are still people with a sense of humor left. After having to communicate my WiFi's network name eleven trillion times, I got more cheers than jeers for my network name-

3. People are nosy af and I'm uber anti-social, so I get a little anxious in situations where people come to my house. (This includes repairmen, the UPS guy, children selling shit, Grandma, etc.)  I watched all of these service guys case the joint when they came in. Mostly they were looking at photos on the walls, which made me start to think the worst. What if they notice how perfect my kids are? They could come back and abduct them. Maybe they have a thing for thirty-something moms who curse a lot and drink bourbon? I mean, it could happen.

That's when it hit me,  you have to stage your house for shit like this. Stay with me on this, you guys. You don't want these potential predators to see your adorable kids, your smoking hot wife, & your purebred pooches. Your husband is probably safe, though, so I wouldn't get too twisted about that.

You know how picture frames come with the generic ready made family photo? Never throw those away. Instead, place them behind your own photos so you can make a quick switch before service repair men come to your house.

Take it a step further to ensure not only will they not come back to rob, rape, or abduct anyone in your house by replacing the photos with some well....ultra scary pics. The less visually appealing the better.

Yes, I'm well aware I'm going to hell for this and I'm okay with that. Feel free to print these babies off and slap them right into your picture frames. And just like that, your family is a bit safer than they were before you read this post. Tell me this isn't a brilliant idea. I may not be a Pinterest princess, but I'm as good as Liam Neeson at keeping your loved ones safe. Just ask your Mom.

My Random Musings

Being A Wordsmith

Life Love and Dirty Dishes

Admissions Of A Working Mother

Sincerely, Paula

Epic Mommy Adventures

Tuesday, January 17, 2017

Important Doesn't Have A "D"

Happy Tuesday, everyone. It's not Monday and all is right in the universe.

But not really, though. I want to talk about pet peeves instead. You guys down with that? We all have a list of things that we can't stand, amirite? Some of us have longer lists than others, but without a doubt, everyone has at least ONE thing that makes them want to throat punch someone.

Here is my (cut very short) list:

Important does not have the letter D anywhere in it.

I'm not sure why people insist on saying "Impordant" rather than "Important." It's a T. How is this even a thing?

Half-assed product reviews.

I don't care if you love that cage bra from Vic's Secret, or even that you slept in it last night. I need to know how much you weigh, your measurements, cup size, and what size you bought. Did it fit you just right? Too big/too small? Pretend you're Goldilocks and do better. (By the way Ann from Michigan, I'm the one that gave your "review" a thumbs down.)


Now I'm not sure if your Mom didn't hug you enough as a child or if you're unsuccessfully crying out for attention, but I hate this shit.

Mary is "wondering if it's all really worth it?"
Mark is "thinking that was a bad idea."

Vocal Fry.

If you don't know what this is, simple tune into Keeping Up With The Kardashians, visit a college campus or have a quick lunch at Chipotle. Once you hear it, you'll never be the same again.

Dumb or excessive hash-tagging.


Literally used literally incorrectly.

The overuse of the word co-parenting.

 I blame this on Teen Mom and more specifically, Dr. Drew. Tune into an episode and take a shot every time you hear "co-parent." Come back and tell me how super wasted you got.

"I just want us to co-parent."
"Yeah, we've been co-parenting really well."
"It's so hard to co-parent with him."

Co-Parenting Tip Number One: STOP SAYING CO-PARENTING.

Had you not co-had sex with each other, we wouldn't be in this situation.

When people say "Jesus take the wheel."

Jesus isn't going to take the wheel. It's your car, drive it. Besides, Jesus isn't licensed and probably isn't insured either. Jesus is busy. Take the bus.

The phrase "We're pregnant."

We don't have to let men in on this, ladies. Their contribution to the process deserves a nod, at best. We (WOMEN) are doing the real work here. Your baby Daddy can sit this one out. Don't agree with me? Talk to me after "WE" have been in labor for 42 hours and "WE" push a baby out.

So here's my question for you......

Epic Mommy AdventuresMy Random Musings

Friday, January 13, 2017

The Rise and Fall and Rise of Barbie

I should start this post by being unapologetic and brutally honest, because that's just who I am-I never wanted kids. I know at least a handful of you are going to gasp in horror, but it's just the truth.

When I was a little girl, I didn't dream of my wedding day or planning an imaginary life, carefully contemplating baby names. I didn't rock baby dolls to sleep or feed them fake bottles. I played with Barbie and she had a sick shoe game, the dream house, a pink Corvette, and Ken came over in the evening. (Then I made him do the walk of shame before the sun came up because Barbie had to go to work too. Because she's independent, obviously.)

I outgrew playing with Barbie, but I didn't change my outlook. There would be no kids and I'd likely end up with Ken's 3rd cousin, anatomically correct Felony Frank. Don't judge me. I was so adamant that I wouldn't have kids that I literally made my parents cry at the thought they'd never have grandchildren.

I gave no fucks.

Then Barbie forgot to get her Depo shot and this happened:

Barbie got caught slippin. I was utterly horrified that I was so careless. I was disappointed in myself. Barbie's bangin bod was about to take a hit and I had nobody to blame but myself. I was young and dumb and I was going to be someone's mother. Did I mention I was dumb?

I was far from equipped to be a mother. After all, I was only renting the Barbie Dream House. It was time to step up my game and little did I know, I was about to embark on a journey that no book could prepare me for. But I'm going to try to prepare at least one of you. Here's the real deal on Barbie morphing into Mommy.

Forget about that tight dress you wear to the club. As a matter of fact, forget the club. You're about to swell up like a well-fed tick on a dog's ass. I don't care if those are Rag and Bone jeans. You won't want to wear them while you're postpartum bleeding to death. Stuff them in your closet and if you're one of the lucky few, you MAY be able to wear them again someday. Probably not, though.

Remember your Corvette? Well, you can kiss that goodbye because you're going to have to buy something more "practical." You can't put a car seat in a two-seater. Sure it'll pain you to buy something else, especially if it's a Mini-Van. (The universal 'your life is over' vehicle.)

Now that Barbie has gained 50-60 pounds and can no longer stunt on her little Sis, Skipper, it's time to give birth. Barbie finds a Douala and vows to have a natural childbirth. Perhaps even a water birth. Twenty-eight hours into her natural birth, Barbie comes to her senses and gets the epidural. Not even her highest, most uncomfortable heels can prepare her for the hell that awaits in that delivery room.

With her new baby cradled safely in her arms, Barbie vows to be an amazing Mom. Ken Jr. will be raised bilingual, eat organic baby food, and wear cloth diapers. Barbie's diet of Adderall and Diet Coke is out the window because she's breastfeeding every two hours around the clock. Barbie is nothing more than a milk cow at this point. Her perky boobs? Yeah, they're not a thing anymore. They'll eventually end up looking like tennis balls in the bottom of a pair of tube socks. I hope Ken works overtime so she can get new boobs when it's all over. Don't hold your breath, though.

Remember when Ken lusted over Barbie? Like ALL. THE. TIME. Yeah, that's not happening anytime in the foreseeable future. But when it does, rest assured Barbie is going to get pregnant again. Barbie didn't know how fertile she could be after giving birth. Before she knows it, she's got herself a set of Irish twins. She and Ken's sexual escapades take a backseat to motherhood.

Now Barb is ass deep in dirty diapers and crying babies. She and Ken's love life takes a major hit. She's a milk factory and Ken is slipping into a midlife crisis. (Probably because he doesn't have a penis.) Ken starts working late, wearing a new cologne and showering the instant he comes home from work...four hours late.

Ken isn't manscaping for Barbie anymore, you can bet on that. By no means is it an excuse, but he's probably disinterested because Barbie is fucking exhausted from breeding and feeding. She either is so sleep deprived she doesn't notice that Ken is creeping or frankly, she just doesn't care at this point.

This once blonde bombshell is so disenchanted that she starts breaking cardinal wifey rules. For example, she's now doing her bathroom business with the door open. Breast milk stains her once beautiful wardrobe and Victoria's Secret has been replaced by ugly nursing bras.

At this point, Barbie gave up her job to raise the spawns. She can't help that she's getting fat because Ken Jr. and his sister Bambi aren't eating organic after all. Barbie shares their meals of cheese sticks and chicken nuggets. She can't make it to the gym anymore and has totally given up on herself. Ken is now in the throes of a full-on midlife crisis and the outcome isn't looking so good.

Barbie longs for her old life. The one she had before she had diaper rash cream caked under her nails. The kinky weekends in Malibu with Ken who couldn't keep his hands off of her. This is where the road splits, my friends.

Barbie can now do one of two things.

1. Barbie can throw in the towel and just exist. She can turn a blind eye to Ken's infidelity and stop looking at the scales. She can settle for her substandard life, wearing jeans with elastic until the day she dies.


2. Barbie can take Ken Jr. & Bambi to school and hit the gym. Everyone knows revenge body is where it's at. She can squat until her booty catches the eye of every man, woman, and child in the grocery store. She can go to the salon and get her weave right and maybe, just maybe start shaving her legs every day again.

I suggest option 2 if you want my two cents.

Now that Barbie has finally managed to achieve MILF status, she waits for Ken. But that bastard isn't coming home till 2 a.m. because he's "working late." Will Barbie take this lying down? Not if Barbie is me.

Barbie not only got her groove back, she also got her job back, sold the mini-van, and broke bad on Ken. She's now happily re-married (to EXTREMELY anatomically correct Felony Frank) and the two are living blissfully together in an undisclosed location with Ken Jr. and Bambi.


My Random Musings
Being A Wordsmith
Life Love and Dirty Dishes
Admissions Of A Working Mother

Epic Mommy Adventures