Today I ventured into the big city to take Ray Ray to the doctor. We arrived a few minutes early as traffic was fairly easy.
As I walked into the waiting room, a mentally challenged boy about 12 glared at me and started yelling to his mother, “Just look at her…just a complete mess…look at her…a mess, I tell ya!”
At this point I think I must have a huge booger hanging out my nose or have toilet paper stuck to my shoe.
But no. I don’t.
He just keeps on and on about me being “a complete mess” and getting louder and louder.
His mother is taking this all in stride. I can’t decide if it’s because she’s mesmerized by the head to toes polka dots she’s wearing or that’s she’s probably taking some good pharmaceuticals.
She just agrees with him….that I am a “complete mess.”
The subject does change for a few minutes when they have a brief argument about where she bought the brats. It seems he was adamant he did not want brats from Kroger and only from Meijer and that if she bought him brats from Kroger there was gonna be hell at home.
This discussion wasn’t as nearly as urgent as the prior of me being a “complete mess.”
So I got paranoid and ask my 11 year old daughter if I looked “funny” which in hindsight is never a good idea.
Her reply, “You always look retarded Mom.”
And this is the reason I carried her in my belly AND gave up alcohol for 9 months?
Finally this young man was called back for his appointment and stood up and said, “Let’s get this shit over with” all the while looking at me and shaking his head.
That’s right people, the fashion police is disguised as a 12 year old mentally challenged boy and a middle age polka dot wearing, pill popping momma.
Back in April, Rico and I were pondering what our next move would be after the end of our Land Rover lease.
I was thinking something on the lines of a VW Jetta. Small and economical to ferry the children around.
Rico, well, he had other ideas.
He wanted something massive. Something safe. Something big enough we could separate the girls to eliminate fighting. Something with a little bling.
He found a vehicle…in Minnesota.
Barely off the lot, it had been struck in the side and had minimal damage. It was well below cost of a new one.
We agreed. My lease would be up in June and we would buy this vehicle and have it fixed.
Life was good.
My first clue that things would not be happening as fast as I wanted them to was a statement that Rico made…
“You can’t rush a body man.”
And then there is the fact that my body man’s name was Clovis.
No big deal. It was April and I had my Rover til June. If it was a little over when I returned my truck, we had plenty of vehicles around the farm to drive. No big deal.
June came and went.
July rolled around and I got a little “pissy.” OK, alot “pissy.”
I had planned a getaway with my girlfriends and kids to the condo. I was supposed to have a vehicle to haul us all down to the Redneck Riviera.
We ended up borrowing a van from a friend.
By the end of July, it became a very sore subject around the house. As in, sorer than a boil on your ass.
My days were filled hounding Rico about the body man….”You talked to him?”…”Did he give you any idea of when it’s gonna be here?”…
and then became…
“I swear, you are not getting any until you get my truck…Did you tell Clovis that?”
and then it became the thing I was no longer allowed to discuss.
Thus the dialogue became, “You know that thing I can’t talk about? You know anything about it?”…because I’m a turd like that.
Today Rico finally told me the thing I couldn’t discuss was ready.
And so now I present to you, her web debut….
THE BIG ROLLING TURD
And since my truck is finally here, it looks like I have some sexual payback for Rico….I mean, I am a woman of my word.
Ella wants to be in the ballet.
Or the “Bow-wa-way” as she calls it.
Everyday she asks when she can start going to dance class.
I went out and bought the pink leotard and ballet shoes…just so she could pretend.
She tells everyone she sees that she is going to “bow-wa-way” and shows them how she can twirl around.
Monday was the big day…
She started class. The only two year old amongst all the four and five year olds.
She twirled…she tapped…she tumbled.
AND GOD LOVE HER HEART, SHE LOOKED LIKE A VIENNA SAUSAGE!
1. Well, I know this is gonna sound weird and all but I really think somewhere down the line my youngest daughter Ella is related to Fred Sanford.
It’s not that she’s really messy or anything it’s just that she gets this look on her face…you know the one he gets when he’s really pissed off at Lamont. Yeah, that one. She has it, dead on…like most of the time. And then there’s that whole, “I’m coming Elizabeth” hysteria. Everything is down right hysteria. That’s Ella.
Really. They’re in the same gene pool. I know it deep in my heart.
2. Rico went to help my friend Farm Chick with her sink hole dilemia early Saturday morning. He informed me that she cooked them breakfast in her bikini…which I know is a lie. He said if I was a good wife I would be doing the same thing…that it would be…errr, “HAWT.”
No, it would not be “hawt”, it would be stupid to fry bacon in a bikini and if you find me one woman who thinks it’s a good idea, I’ll show you a woman who needs enemas til clear.
3. It is really stupid for me to clean the house because no one appreciates it, keeps it clean, nor do I enjoy it.
4. I recently found out the next Blogher conference was in NYC and was sooooo excited cause I have a girlfriend who lives there and I can crash in her Manhattan apartment. This friend is single, no kids, pals around in the Hampton’s on the weekends. I’m insanely jealous.
So I email her and tell her I want to come up next August in which she replies…”You mean…like next year?”
Yes, like next year…cause I have no life.
Yes, that’s me.
5. Ella informed my Indian ophthalmologist that he was “brown.”
Yeah, like he didn’t already know that.
Mission Accomplished:Mom Embarrassed.
6. My beautiful NYC blog techie nerd, Lara contacted me on Facebook recently using a name I didn’t recognize.
I messaged her to see what the hell was going on. She said she put her name in cyrillic to ward off stalkers.
I thought maybe it was her Ukranian stripper name.
I never get stalkers.
7. I have a retarded cat. I’m sorry….a mentally disabled cat. I’m supposed to be all PC.
Anyhoo, my kids have literally done everything imaginable to it and it still hasn’t left. They’ve dropped him, dunked him in the pool, put stuff in his ears, swung him by his tail…and he comes back for more. He doesn’t even fight back.
They could put turpentine on his ass and he would still rub their leg.
8. Of all the things I’ve given up due to the crappy economy, I miss my dry cleaner the most.
I might consider having a tawdry affair with him in order not to iron.
Hey, if you’re reading this, call me. Maybe we can work something out.
So, all was quiet in my house and I decided to watch a little uninterrupted TV. AMC was showing Stripes and I decided to snuggle up in bed, eat a Rice Krispie treat and watch a little tube. It’s 11:48 on a Saturday night and I have no life.
Anyhoo, I’m watching and enjoying and suddenly realize the commercials have a errr…similar theme.
Now, I’m a nurse. I’ve worked in a physician’s office and know this is a common problem. I’m sympathetic. It’s a big deal for men.
At first it was just commercials for Viagra…then Levitra…then Cialis. All of which show middle aged couples slow dancing, holding hands, being romantic. I get it.
Smilin’ Bob comes on and he’s just giddy.
The ExtenZe couple come on and they’re just annoying. No one is that excited about it. Seriously.
But then came a commercial that made me throw up in my mouth a little.
A company called Erectmed,(oh yes, you read that correctly, ERECTMED) has a product called Pos-t-vac. And with the part being vac…as vacuum…you can imagine where I’m going with this. A vacuum, and no it’s not for cleaning up the crumbs off the kitchen floor, people.
And during this lovely commercial there were numerous creepy old men who said things like “You can be all you want to be” and “If you have a brain in your head, you will call and order this product right this minute.”
Really…”If I had a brain in my head”…I would have realized that the demographic for the AMC channel was for men 40-90 years old who are obviously not getting any and are up late on Saturday night pondering the miracle for their manhood.
Unlike me, who just wanted to stay up late by myself, enjoy the peace and quiet and not have to put out.
Now that I’m a stay at home mommy or as Rico likes to call me, his “personal love slave”, many people have asked me whether I have considered homeschooling my heathen angelic children.
Well, for those of you who really know me, you can stop laughing your asses off cause you already know the answer.
For the rest of you, I’ll explain why homeschooling isn’t for me and why I will be first in line for school drop off Thursday morning.
My daughters have only said the following things to me this summer:
We don’t have anything to eat.
I want more Kool-Aid/juice or as Ella says, “Doocey”
She is hitting/biting/slapping/touching/breathing on me.
Can you wipe me?
I hate you.
Here’s my booger Mommy.
I have only said the following things to my children this summer:
I swear to all that is holy that if I have to come outside one more time, someones gonna be sorry and this time I mean it.
Are you deaf?
You did not just do that.
You are gonna kill that cat if you don’t leave it alone. For the love of God, put THE CAT DOWN!!!
I don’t know why…please do not ask me again.
Let’s go….let’s go…come on….now…I mean it….NOW!!!!
Get in the naughty chair and if you get out, you will sit in it all day. I mean it…and if you don’t believe me…try me. Cause I got nothing to do today but make you sit in the naughty chair. TRY ME.
Stop hitting/biting/slapping/touching/breathing on your sister! I mean it.
Are you all trying to drive me nuts?
I HAVE HAD IT!!!!!
So, as you all can see, our interactions are REALLY not conducive to a learning environment. It’s more conducive to a mental breakdown…which I am on the brink of.
School begins Thursday.
Praise the Lord!