Monday, January 30, 2017

Golden Years Goals

 I don't have a bucket list, but I do have a mental list of all the things I want to do in my "golden years." (Which is such a bullshit term, because I doubt there's anything golden about varicose veins or dementia.)

In any event, I plan on being a special kind of senior citizen. 

As odd as it sounds, I can't wait to have gray hair. I'm planning on letting it grow wild, right down to my booty. I'm talkin fifty shades.

 Then I'm going to dye it the loudest color I can think of.

I plan on visiting the colleges of my grandchildren and great-grandchildren during pledge week. Because nothing says cool like a Grandma doing a keg stand. Then I'll post pictures to my social media so my geriatric friends can be jealous.

The party won't stop there. No, sir. I plan on hitting Florida for Spring Break at least once after I turn 60. You can bet your dentures, I'll slay that shit, too.

 I'll go skinny dipping and not think twice about what my body looks like.

I'll always make time to do hood rat things with my hood rat friends.

I vow to dress fly until the day that I die. Even at the nursing home.

I'll still use Snapchat and be twenty on the inside.

I'll forever be the leader of my squad. (Because ain't nobody fuckin with my clique.)

I will not let a day go by, that I won't stop and reminisce about my youth.

Because at the end of my days, I will always be that bitch.

My Random Musings
Admissions Of A Working Mother

Friday, January 27, 2017

The Anti-P.T.O. Mom

Here's what we know. I am not a P.T.O. Mom. I'm honestly not trying to throw shade at these hands on Moms. I commend whatever it is you all do. If it helps the school, I can't be mad at that.


You'll never see me at these meetings.

 I have kids, a husband, a dog, and a mean case of OCD. Do you understand how many times I need to vacuum the carpet in a very specific pattern before I can even think about functioning for the rest of the day? Oh, and the homework. SO.MUCH.HOMEWORK. All the obvious aside, I don't like pants or people.

I will never carry a "Mommy" card.

I don't do play dates. 

By law, I'm only entitled to like my own children. (Some days they really try me, though.) I am not, however, obligated to like your children. Last year, my son had beef with a kid at his school so I attended his class picnic to scope out the kid who had caused us a year of grief. Ten minutes into my recon, Billy the Bully took a spill and it made me happier than I'd like to admit.

I will never be invited to (another) pottery night by the other Moms.

You know that whole thing where you get together with other Moms, sip wine, and paint ugly ceramics? I mean, I tried once. But silly me, I thought BYOB meant Bring Your Own Bong. I was wrong.
Seriously, though, who has a get-together and doesn't even have a keg? If I can't do a keg stand, I'm probably in the wrong place.

I'll never have a soccer Mom haircut.

I think this goes without saying. Unless you have this haircut, in which case, you look great. :)

I won't participate in the annual bake sale. 

On that note, you should just thank me. (Food poisoning isn't fun. I should know, as I've given it to myself several times.) Apparently, my rock candy contribution didn't gel well with the parents either.

Last, but not least, I don't participate in fundraisers

I'm not pimping any kid of mine door to door to sell $20 tubs of cookie dough. No apologies. I will, however, be more than happy to just write the school a check and call it good.

At the end of the day....

My Random Musings

Being A Wordsmith

Life Love and Dirty Dishes

Admissions Of A Working Mother

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......

My Random Musings

Epic Mommy Adventures