And on this day, cupid moved the rock and rose from the dead. Wait, no?

mature-cupid-fat-bearded-hairy-bow-heart-arrow-peace-sign-victory-his-hand-48936734I have been reminded quite a bit lately that I have not been blogging. And, ja know, it is true. It’s because I have mostly been snacking, drinking wine and shoveling. And petting my dog. Dear fuck I am a loser. So really, what better day to blog about my love life, than the day Cupid moved the rock and rose from the dead. Wait? Was that this holiday? What the actual fuck did cupid do?

Anyholla. I decided I wanted this blog to be two part (now, let’s see if my ADD allows for that). Part 1. How my incredibly busy dating life has been, and Part 2. My perfect online dating profile.

So, Part 1. The end. No, really. NOTHING HAS FUCKING CHANGED.

Part 2. Lemme tell you married people something. It is REALLY HARD writing an online profile of yourself. You have to “sell” yourself. But thing is, when you are out of a marriage, you don’t always feel super fucking awesome about yourself. Especially when you have been dealt some of the blows I have. Actually even just one. Just get dealt one of mine. Not a gigantic confidence boost. (except the formers new lady, according to sources, looks just like me AND has the same last name. Creepy, or stalky?)

This is what my actual profile says (can’t make this up, but it’s not online now, because I am burnt out from fielding marriage requests from men 15 years younger than me and am just going to work on stalking yoga or something).

Me. Was married for 10 years, but decided online dating seemed more fun. Have a great job, beautiful home and 2 mini-me’s. I’m skeptical of online dating, but having trouble meeting “the one” when sitting at home watching Bravo TV.

You. Must love cheese, bacon, dogs and wine. Be gainfully employed and not live with mom. Be active but not a Spartan. If your profile says things like “Hit me up” or “LOL” I am already annoyed. Gentlemen who have already claimed to be “the one” for me, so you need not apply: someone who asked if I like being slapped with bacon (no), a stripper (like, current, CURRENT stripper), someone who faked a dead wife, someone who sat down upon first meeting and said “My wife went butch, you gunna too?” And many men who are not “technically” single. If you support Trump, I assure you, we are not going to get along.

I mean, that’s funny, right???? Well, seems as though “funny” is not a quality people look for anymore. It also seems as though people don’t like women who own a home and are employed. And eat bacon. And drink wine. Otherwise EVERYONE says “hit me up.” (oh shit, maybe that is why I am always annoyed).

Anyjolla, I decided that I would write what I think my perfect online dating profile would be. Ya know, like the shit you want to say, but don’t.

Me: I dunno, I’ll prolly put some of the stuff from above in, however, here is the real me, lets give it a go.

Was married for 10 years, but decided online dating seemed more fun. Have a great job, beautiful home and 2 mini-me’s. Had my heart aggressively trampled on, but still believe (ish) in happy endings. Want an equal in life. You work, I work, I cook, you do dishes. Want someone to share the great (sunny days at the beach) and not as great (3rd grade recorder concert) with. Want someone who checks their phone in the middle of the night to see if I said “hi” and if I didn’t, you say it, because ya know, you are thinking of me. Want “easy” in a hard world. What does that mean? You understand that my life is chaotic, and even if I am not the fastest to respond to texts, it doesn’t mean I am not thinking of you…. It means, life. You don’t ever ask for racy photos…. Why, because you respect me… And really, who the fuck does that?

You: Understand that I had a life before you, but still want a life with you. What does that mean? I have two people who rule my every being. I never would have guessed I could love going to third grade basketball games, and doing science projects, and reading Octonauts every.single.night. They are actual parts of me (not like my old art teacher who had a sixth finger on both hands, but you know what I mean). You understand that I am a work in progress. Sure, I want to go to the gym more, and be the prettiest, smartest, fastest, but I’m not. And I don’t. And I won’t. Because life. I don’t really watch TV, but always have music on. You should be overly comfortable with a nightly dance party. I don’t believe in electronics at the dinner table. Or lunch table. Or breakfast table. I am right here. But the phone down, I assure you, nothing happened on FaceBook.

So, there you have it, the profile I would like to post, but won’t, because, eh, imma hold out and hope I meet someone in the produce potato chip aisle.

 

 

 

This thing still on?

So any yolla, I had to take a break from the old book of face…. Why, you ask?  Well, because when that gorilla, Harambe, got shot, I had NO idea that I had so many friends on book of face that were gorilla experts….. It actually made me feel like a total idiot that I, for one, didn’t know as much about gorillas as all of my friends (some would say, that I know what I am an expert in and that “gorillas” are not one of those things, but ya know, that’s cool)……  Ironically enough, I also had quite a few friends who I didn’t realize were doctors of fucking perfect parenting, and they had quite a bit to say too…. If you can believe this shit, I am ALSO not a perfect parent.  Not a gorilla expert, not a perfect parent.  #lifefail

The timing was somewhat ironic, because I had also been debating taking a blog break….. It’s odd, when you blog, often times, people think they “know” you… But the thing is, you are really just writing a story…. YES – all of this shit happens to me, it literally ALL does, but, that doesn’t make us BFF (so if that one creepster could stop emailing me, that would be roarsome, or at least be a “good” stalker and bring wine)…. I had been contacted by a small online company that may have been porn based publishing company to write a series of blogs, and while at first I loved the idea, then it felt forced….. listen, if it were up to me, and I could do it all over, and I wouldn’t fail, I would either be a writer, or a professional eater.  It is a total toss up.  But imma do it on my own time.

It also seems as though my life has been SUPER laid back as of late…. But then I realized, “Nope, you are just sedated enough that this shit just roooollllsss off.”  So, I did what I do because I am almost always blacked out and I went back through my photos to try and remember things that had happened.

I suppose I will just work backwards (forward? Backwards? Like if I start from now and go in the other direction?)……  So Sunday was Father’s day, the mini’s and I decided to pack up the ole family wagon and head to papa and yaya’s, it’s sort of our lil bliss place.

You need to understand, it is a 3 minute drive.  THREE FUCKING MINUTES……  It was so strange though, because we are driving along West Shore Drive (AKA, “main drag #2 of 01945”) and there were the LOUDEST gunshots….. So in my perfect state of sedation, I was like “Bigs, dude, you hear all those gunshots.” And he was like “I do.”  And we kept driving.  And the gunshots kept following us.  And then I was like “Wait, maybe they WEREN’T gun shots?” (I mean, it would be weird if they weren’t, because that is so fucking common in 01945, but go with me)…. I all of the sudden realize, that the gunshots are coming from my car……  So rather than freak out when I SHOULD have, I now freak out about something I can ACTUALLY deal with…… Imma like “Bigs, the gunshots are coming from my car! Something is wrong with it, you’re 8, fix it!”  However, because I am a totally rational pretty princess, I am clearly not stopping to identify the noise, I actually just drive faster.  At this point, Bigs is like “Mom, I will pray for our safety.” And imma like “Fuck yea god.” We make it to papa and yayas house, and obvi I celebrate my three mile drive with wine.  Then today, this falls off of my car.   I sort of flash back to the gunshots, and all of that shit, and then am like “Well, I mean, it doesn’t seem like it is a super important car piece?”

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Do you love that I saved it? Like what the actual fuck do I think imma do with THIS? 

So then, I go backwards another day, to what we will refer to as “boat day.”  You need to understand that even though I grew up on the water, I get fucking boat sick like a mother fucker.  I am talking green just looking at a dock…. I didn’t even watch pee wee get swamped last summer because I knew I would puke. But, it was my birthday, and gosh darn it, when you turn 27 for the 12th time, you throw on a bikini and pee over the side of a boat I AM SORRY WHAT??? YOU WHAT??????  For those of you who didn’t know, there are two choices, this

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I am like more than 12% certain no one knew what I was doing.

or this

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No one should think I wouldn’t spill pee everywhere.

Pick your poison.

 

Reverse some more (not like drive in reverse,  because I am NOT a good backwards driver, like reverse in time a wee bit more)……. To this….  Biggie’s “Author’s Breakfast”  So cute, right, so fucking cute.  Here’s the thing… .When these guys (well, at least Bigs) started the old second grade (right, second? They are in second?) they were not WRITING novels, and now, well, now they aren’t either…. But we are going to celebrate all 22 of them writing about how a squirrel got his bushy tail (sidebar, they are so fucking cute).  Listen, I am a BIG believer that you celebrate successes big and small.  Our mini trio has had more than our fair share of heart break, so together, we celebrate the wins….. I honest to god need a lobotomy sometimes.  Because I ACTUALLY thought it would be a good idea to take brother to the Author’s Breakfast.  That he would be REALLY good.  Nope.  By like kid #1 he was ready to go…. Don’t panic brother, because Quinn is DEAD LAST. He legit read about his squirrel and I was pitting so much from trying to tame brother that I was like “Nice job learning how to write a book, peace.”

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“And then the squirrel got a bushy tail.” x 22

So, last but not least, everyone always wants an update on my very lame dating life…. Well friends, I will have you know, that a friend of mine talked me into trying online dating…… And this happened.

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Imma just date cats.

Because.  Right.

The hot mess nest gets hotter. It actually catches on fire.

I think sometimes, people don’t really believe me about what a horror shit show my life can be…. Like, as if I make it up for humor.  Listen people (listen, read? Idunno) you don’t make shit like this up unless you are craaayyyyy I mean like octomom, astronut, cray.

So I have been tied up this week (whoa, not literally, but you know, like busy, I’m not into that shit) in 2 huge projects.  One personal, one professional (wait, is it a project if it is personal? Or just like a thing? Idunno).  Both draining. Normally, I can take this shit and run with it.  The ex-husband formally known as Mr. Nara (Mr.Nara 1.0?) use to say I was the least emotional / sentimental person in the world.  Partially true (it is hard to be like “Yep, that’s me” because there has GOT to be someone who is less sentimental than I am).  Anyholla.

The combination of early mornings, late nights and not having a clear direction on where I am going in either of these “projects” may have totally fucking gotten to me just a teenie bit. Wednesday, I am driving peewee into school, and remember that I forgot something. Shit, what did I forget? Oh! His backpack…..  So, we turn around and head back to the ole homestead.  I leave the car running while I run inside and actually think to myself “Wow, self, that is LOUD.”  Then drive off into the sunset. There is no sunset in the morning, FYI, I made that up.

Then, well, then there was yesterday.  Again, dat bitch (my car) was totally fucking PMS’ing…. But, hello, I had places to go. I got through my normal daily routine, ja know, napping at work and surfing the interwebs until it is time to go home…… I can’t type express enough, HOW long of a week I have had at this point (Thursday).  I am just looking forward to going home and eating. And by “eating” I mean drinking.

So, I am jamming out, when all of the sudden, I realize something smells.  But imma like “Weird, smells like someone’s car is on fire.” BECAUSE CLEARLY IT ISN’T MINE. It actually was mine. So there I am in the middle of the road (road? Highway? What do we call it when there are four lanes, separated by those dividers? Rural Route?) when I realize it actually is, in fact, my car.

In my typical fashion of being JUST sedated enough, I freak the fuck out. I am in the middle of the Rural Route and don’t know what to do…. I am not a lot of things…. For example, I am not tall.  Likewise, I am NOT a fucking gearhead.  When I turned 16, my dad said “Pretty princess Nara do you know how to change a tire?” And Imma like “Fuck no”  “Nope” and he handed me a AAA card and said “That is how you change a tire.” And really, that is me…. I am not afraid to get dirty, to hammer shit out (omg, that actually sounds dirty, but I don’t mean it to be, I mean like, I am good with a hammer) but I just DON’T do cars.

So, I somehow get my smoking car (that has every light I knew about and a few bonus lights on at this point) into a parking lot.  Meanwhile, some dick gave me the finger as I almost hit him and I was ready to get out of my busted up SUV and be like “FUCK YOU SPARKLE TITS” but I didn’t.  I call AAA, it goes like this.

Me: Imma need someone to come get this car

AAA: What’s wrong?

Me: Yea, I have no fucking clue

AAA: Ok honey (legit) can you tell me what happened

Me: It made some really loud noises this week, I have been so busy, I just turned up Pitbull’s new song because that’s mah jam, then it smoked, not like smoked a cig, but had smoke coming out of it and then it died.  Bitch died.

AAA:  Ok, we will send a tow truck

So at that point, I couldn’t even help it, I started to cry.  Listen, I am NOT a crier.  I have been through things and seen things that have made me who I am and part of “me” is that I don’t do that shit.  Welp, there I was, at the corner of Highland and Swampscott Rural Route, sitting on the dirty sidewalk in all white, crying. I should mention, I am a fucking ugly crier.  I am not like a movie star crier, I am legit ugs. But this was the car that we throw little people through the sunroof when I lock myself out, and that we karaoke in while driving on the wrong side of the road, and sometimes the minis drive (only when I have had too much to drink, safety first).

Well, the tow truck guy showed up and offered me his sleeve to wipe my tears and started telling me how he would make $6.00 commission on my misfortune, and Imma like Sleeve, one more time “Six dollars? You should have left me on the side of the road.” And he was like “Wanna ride in my cab?” No dude. Just leave. Honestly. Go. Leave your sleeve though.

 

 

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Move bitch, get out the way…. 

 

10 minutes, Oh, excuse me, 100. NBD.

peep.pngThis April, I was blessed enough (I had to put that in there, because I can’t stand when people #blessed) took the minis to sunny FLA.  More on all of the deets of the trip, our doings, getting yelled at, the one time bigs almost drown (well, one time I saw), flooding the kitchen, etc etc, but first, lemme tell you about a trip we took to the ole Animal Kingdom.

It was day 2 of what shall be known as our “Disney Excursion.”  Listen, I am NOT a Disney person (not saying they are weird, but they are, I have never seen so many adults dressed up in fucking costumes when it is 98 degrees, except for that one time I went to a drag show and that actually seemed more approp than these people just walking around with ears on their heads and matching “family vacation” T shirts  it is just not my gig). Again, more on all of that later, but, let’s just start with a lil safari we took.

Apparently there are “do’s” and “don’ts” to the Disney parks. I have no idea what any of them are, because I am a pretty bad parent and didn’t read about any of this stuff, but seems like this “Safari” is on the solid “Yep” list.

My general “order” to these parks (and, my life in general TBH) is “Ohhh, let’s just go in, and we will see what we find, I bet we will like something, and if we see a monkey, roarsome.”  Ok, ok, I suppose when you are dropping some serious Disney dollahas on this, you may want to, oh, idunno, see if there is an app for that or something, but again, I didn’t.  (Sidebar, it is more like I can’t, I can’t plan every second of my life, and to plan even a single second of vacation, is just everything I am not, interesting fact, Disney parks average 52,000+ people a day.  Ever stood in line with that many people? Right.).

So, as we are wondering around aimlessly, trying to find a tiger to pet (did you know that is frowned upon? What the fuck are they there for then? To “look” at? Lame.). I stumble on this safari (literally, one too many AM sangria).   Oh! I totally have a déjà vu moment and am like “I think this is on the heeellllyep list.”

Now, you need to understand, that the parks put up these signs (for us assholes who don’t fastpass because they just can’t deal) and it tells you your wait time.  I would say they are pretty accurate….. I see a sign that looks EXACTLY like this for the Safari.1

There is only a 10 minute wait for someone to take me on a Safari and drive me around Africa for 22 minutes.  Done. Sign me up.

OK, I am not very smart, totally on board with that, but when 41,000 of the 52,000 people at the park are in the same fucking line, it is not a 10 minute wait.  I literally see people coming in with coolers and imma like “huh? 10 minutes you say?”  But the thing is, once you are in these lines, you are kind of locked in. And by “kind of” I mean “totally fucking”  And I am still thinking 10 minutes…  Dudes, I have no fucking clue. Disney V card right here.  So we are in line for about 20 minutes (which I feel like is longer than 10, but again, I am not very smart) when I send Pie this text.

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THEY RAN OUT OF FUCKING ZEROS??????  How for fucks sake does that actually happen????? Can we sidebar how patient Pie is that I send him like 86 of these a day, AS IF HE CAN FIX IT?!?!?!?  I hate myself.

Fast forward, fast forward, we get on what seems like a standard safari vehicle (because obvi I know). And I’m all like “Can we get a bartender here? I just waited for ten minutes one hundred minutes.”

OK, so imma tell you a lil Disney secret.  When you finally make it on the truck, you know, for the Safari, there is a “good” side and a “bad” side.  Guess which one I picked.

So the mini one and I saw a ton of awesome stuff.  Like this:

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Giant piles of shit. Lots of them.

 

This was pretty fantastic too.  A giant pile of heeeeyyyyyyyyyy……

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There may have been some animals on the left side, but I could not see past this guys hat, which was fine, because,  I only waited 100 minutes.  I should note too, that at this point, every “animal” that the driver “points out” MJ yells (and I mean YELLS)  “DOGGIE, WOOF” or “IS DAT A REINDEER? WHERE IS SANTAS FAT BELLY?” So people were less than impressed with us. Shocking.

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Good news is, they got this sign correct. Which is awesome. And I had a bangin view of it.

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So, as you can imagine, I was already pretty fucking jazzed with this hot spots we had seen on safari, when the driver was like “PEOPLE ON THE RIGHT, THIS IS THE BEST THING YOU ARE GOING TO SEE!!!!!”

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A fucking termite hill.  You can’t make this shit up.  At this point I jumped up and was like “WOOOOFUCKINGHOO, I LOVE TERMITES.” Because, ya know.

As we rounded the corner to end our 22 minute drive that we did not wait in line 10 minutes for, the driver is like “People on the right, people on the right, there is an animal on your side!”

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You can’t even make this stuff up people.  You really can’t.

 

 

Why I will never online date, part 2. Right?2? No?

Here’s the gig.  I legit 100% slammed the brakes on online dating. Why? I already have enough fucking crazy in my life, I don’t need to be swiping to find the next Mr. Nara, when I could be at the shelter looking for cats. I dunno.  It just isn’t me…. I don’t want to go to a random bar, and meet some random guy, and assume shit is just going to work out.  Do you know who I am? I still can’t figure out how to make the lights on my car go back to “auto” you HONESTLY think a Tinder date is going to work out for me? Solid nope.   I am holding out for meeting in the produce aisle and someone being all like “Wow, you ALSO like cucumber, we are a 10 match.”  Oh shit. I grocery shop online.  Ha.  So much for a produce match. Anyhoo.

However, the hilarity of online dating lives through some of my BFF’s.  For example, can we talk about one of my GF’s who was “talking” to this guy, and all of the sudden, there is a question of height.  AND HE IS FIVE FOOT FUCKING 2 INCHES.  Listen people, that is how tall I am, and I am a very short person.  I was all like “Oh, so he wears those shoes that make you look taller, no, those are super cool. I mean, looka how well they work for Tom Cruise.

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Seems like a match. Go for it, if, ya know, you are into little people

I am sorry, what the actual fuck.  There is a reason he is online dating. BECAUSE HE IS HOPING HE DOESN”T GET ASKED HOW SHORT TALL HE IS.  I bet he does get asked “So, how short are you?” like, slip of the tongue.  Womp.

Moving on to online date #2. GF shows me pictures of this guy, and it went something like a so…..

Me:  Yea, I don’t like him at all.  (I at the very least admit that I am judgy).

Friend: Why?

Me (judger): He is super fucking boring.

Friend: But that is just his picture, and he is nice.

Me (bitch): No, no he isn’t, he is boring. He makes me want to take a nap right now (ok, to be fair, I was so gassed after having a crayyy week, that anything made me want to nap, but this guys profile picture was like a “Contacts out, NAP.”)

Well, dontcha know, they go on a date…. So, the next morning, we are all laying making sure we do nothing productive….  chatting… When immma like “OMG, how was your date with the most boring person in the entire universe?” And then we went like a so:

Friend:  Um, it was good. He’s nice.

Me:  Uh-huh, did he look like his pictures (listen, “nice” means the same thing for men or women… Like, yea, he’s “nice” so boring I stabbed myself and jumped into the pizza wood burning fire for fun.”)

Friend:  He, um. No. No, he didn’t. He was…

Me: Oh, like the old “The pictures are from 5 years ago.”

Friend: Yep.

Apparently the worlds most boring person forgot to mention this.

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See, see people, there are just TWO reasons that I want a million cats won’t online it.

Now, I did have a few superhot dates this weekend……. Areyouret?

One was for family taco night. Here’s how that date went.  Within 8 seconds I had locked my keys in my car (Legit, I should never be unsupervised).  Good news, I left the sunroof open and we tossed a few lil people (not midgets, and not date #1 from above, but I guess that would have worked too, actual young people) through the sunroof.  Yup. All class, all the time.

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Next date, was with one of my BFF.  I took her to the dump……  Yup.  She is running Boston (right now, holla #30581) and such as it is, she had a bit of pre-run nerves (like how I say that as if I know?….. Clearly I don’t.  We were all actually discussing today how I would not run the .2 miles for anything less than genuine street tacos. And even then, .2 seems far).  Anyhoo, I had to hit up the dump, so off we go…. Right, lemme tell you people, this place is a HOT SPOT, because the line was down the street (I’m actually not kidding about that part)…. I’m not sure if it was the shot out, taped up windows (also not kidding) or the clientele of said dump, but the place was popping.  Lots of people from 01945 still had to dump their Christmas trees.  Truth. I was disappointed to only get hit on yelled at once, by the guy I hit with a rather large branch. Apparently you shouldn’t throw those.  I’ve never really been a “rules” person.

The last hot date of the weekend, was one that actually should have been video taped by E for my upcoming reality show  censored. You know, when you have that one friend who when you are together, basically everything is funny and someone pees their pants? Right, well, that is my 1.png

(did I forget that I also identify people with emojis.  Yea, true)…..

So, uni and I decide to go shopping for our kiddos panties.  I mean, why not? First things first, this weekend, likely because I did not have my own cherubs, screaming, crying children followed me.  Those fuckers had my number.  Let’s not act like this was any different.  There were many exchanges of “If that asshole follows me, I am taking out my flask leaving.” Well, dontcha know those dinks follow us to the skivvies.  So, in such, imma like “Unicorn, do you like this thong, or this thong.” CPS frowned upon that one.

So, as you can see, I am really crushing it in the world of dating. Hold on to your seats for more deets about my friends who are ok with super short people where that goes.

Apparently when I am super busy, I am still a hot ass mess….

My girlfriends have been all up in my chach, my greatest supporters of le blog (it could actually be because they are often times featured in it, and want to stay on my good side, but I think it is because they think I am pretty and funny and love me more than they love wine). I was thinking about writing all week, but once a year, we have our really important people from the world come visit us, and I have to work super hard, (I mean, not like I only work once a year, but I suppose, I work kind of harder that one time a year. Ish. Yearish).

However, because we hole up in a room for 15 hours a day then eat and drink for another 5  work essentially around the clock during this week, I have not had too many funny things happen. I mean, there was my dress being too tight yesterday and having to get unzipped, but that is just embarrassing and I would not want to write about it.  There is also the time that I said to my big BIG boss, in front of these global smarties, we are “black” when I meant “back” and he was like “Whoa, we are not black.” And i was like “Yea we are.” There was also that one  drunk conversation with these international experts, legit, experts, about my tattoos.  Here is a snapshot of my week, Legit (this is honestly from when I stepped away for like 2 hours).  If I acknowledged you this week, then you are wow.

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And yes, again, everyone has names in my phone. If you are in there as like “Kevin” I don’t like you, just understand it. Every group has names, some of them are like “DON”T ANSWER THESE ASSHOLES” cuz, ya know.

So, my gentle reminders that things were still pretty a-ok.

Reminder #1

Remember, when I was making pasta last weekend for everyone, and after a few too many bottles glasses of wine, I thought this was funny.  FUNNY RIGHT?!!?!

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Reminder #2

There are only certain people who can call you slore, but when they do, you own that shit.

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Reminder #3

My phone broke and I have no idea how. It isn’t because I dropped it in water then threw it at a wall when I lost a client at work. I am not positive.

However, when it broke, it would randomly text, message, email, FB respond, etc etc people.  And that was not annoying or embarrassing at all. See.

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and then the fix, that was not actually a fix…… annoying

 

As a side note, if anyone knows how to work an iphone, more than my “I can turn it on most of the time.” I will pay a hefty fee for you to make this new one work.

Reminders #4-784346

Listen, we like tacos. It is FACT.  But “taco night” isn’t about tacos. It is about being together, and being friends, and being outside, and having moments as your “framily” because that is the shit that rules.  And after a week like this one, when you have missed SO much, you just need taco night. So, there were about a million messages about taco night.  A small sampling of the best.

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Stay tuned for what I am sure will be an eventful taco night.  To call the 01945 FD or not? Next week, the minis and I pop down south for what I am sure will be a complete and total shit show and a miracle if we all make it back legit flawlessly executed vacay.  To blog or not to blog. Dumb question, have you seen the three of us together?????!!!!!

 

 

Weekend in review…. I think.

I thought that for today’s blog, I would do a recap of the weekend.  Then I was like “dear fuck, did I black the ENTIRE thing out?” wow.  What did I do anyway? So, I did what I do, and went through my pictures, and was like “Wow, my friends spend a LOT of time with me in either pajamas or Lulu.” That’s. Embarrassing.  So, a recap of the weekend.

Friday, peewee had his art show.  If you have never been to one before, this is when the parents have to pay $50 for a piece of “art” that they would normally pay zero for to throw out the minis get to display their art. The show is held in a hallway, and it is so claustrophobic that I want to be like “HERE IS MY FUCKING CHECKBOOK, IM OUT.”  There is music and the kids really like it.

Anyway, the mini one has been BEGGING for me to “give him swimming lessons.” Which is actually hysterical because I honest to god can’t swim. I don’t think I took a swimming lesson, I think I took a (literally, single) drowning prevention class.  It retrospect, it is weird, because I grew up on the water and spent summers on a lake. Anyhoo. Seemed like post art show was as good a time as ever.

So, off we go for me to give him “swimming lessons.”  Now, you need to understand that there was not a fucking shot I was going in that pubic (public?) pool?  Because yup.  Pubic.  Oh, and it opens to a mezzanine, that 100 people are sitting at and you think I am going to waddle around in my bathing suit. Nope. That is what I pay for.

Well, I needed to get the minis changed into their suits.  This always presents one of those “single mom” problems, because I don’t have a penis.  Oh, I mean, that should not be a shock to most of you, but what that means, is that I can’t go in the boys changing room.  OK, this is all coming out wrong. What it means is that we need to use the family changing room.   Well, as is par for the course, they were all full….. So, I sort of stand outside one, and brother starts to strip in front of the art show, because that’s how we roll.  When this single woman came out of the “family room.”  It takes everything I have when that shit happens to not be like “Honestly asshole?” And I would have, but I was immediately taken over by whatever just came out of her body.   She clearly eats from a dumpster really needed to go. So minis are changing, brother is like “Mom, she did a stinky, PEE YEW, MOMMY IT STINKS.” And I’m like “What brother, say it louder so everyone knows we didn’t do it.”

Off we go to the pool.  Peewee is so excited because he is like a dog in a car, and they just get so happy all the time this is his big swimming lesson. Bigs, on the other hand, has his period and was like “Whatever, swimming is not cool.”

Off peep goes to swim while bigs scopes for chicks at the pool.  No shit, the kid can SWIM.  There was Friday night after that.  I stopped taking pictures so I am not super clear on what happened.

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He doesn’t need a bubble, but I make him wear one because there is honestly not a shot I am going in pubic pool.

Saturday.  Now, this was the day that Peep has been waiting for his entire life.  He had a play date with TWIN GIRLS.  Can you even.  Legit though they are BFF and it was the cutest thing ever.  Of course, as this happened, Bigs wanted to go outside (cool) and I was like “Dude, I didn’t go see if pickles pooped out there yet, so just do a look around.”  Four seconds later “Mom, Pickles pooped and I stepped in it.” Like, did he not understand why I wanted him to look around? And that it was not actually to step in it?  The kid is honestly a shit magnet.

Moving on.  My unicorn and I now decide it is a good idea to take ALL of our boys bowling. Let me re-phrase that. I wanted to nap, she came and got me and was like “no, its cool to go out in pajamas, no one will know, people are totally fine with you not wearing pants” The only reason I went is because they serve beer and the old guy who works there is one of those people that when he is like “Yousobeautiful” you think he actually really means it, and LBH, I need every little bit of help.

So, we have the tres amigos at bowling….. Fast forward that my children think you throw the ball OVERHAND….. Right, so every time they pulled that arm back, I was like “JESUS CHRIST WHO FUCKING TAUGHT YOU TO BOWL.” And they were all like “Um, you.”  OK So at the time, it SEEMED like a good idea to let them all drink gigantic lemonades.  Then this happened.

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They. Went. Nuts. 

They thought it would be funny to open the windows and yell to the people on the road.  Ok, TBH, it was actually funny for the first 3 minutes, the next 32 were. Fucking. Torture.  If I had pants on I would have walked home. So then this happened.

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Get. Out. 

We slowed down and kicked them out of the car and drove off with the doors open dropped them off at a friend’s house and left.  I mean, there are times it is you or the kids, and this was one of those times I was going to be like “open your mouth and take the Benadryl” “I am mom, I am in charge.”

So from there (and I received a gentle reminder of this today)……  We all have family dinner, time to go home, etc, etc…..  Quick stop for one of our epic sunsets…..

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Pretty princess.  The sunset, not me. Duh. 

Then this.  I challenge all those fuckers to a lip synch battle.  Never done that? Oh, I am a professional, partly because I honestly know every word to every song, and partly because, duh, I am awesome I make the rules so that I win.

So, those of you from 01945, as I was crushing them in the battle, we were jamming, it happened…… We decided all of those minis needed to go have a neck run.  Yup…. Windows down, singing, Saturday night.  It was a little weird when we turned around at the light house and there were all the 13 year olds getting hanky panky  cuz, ya know.

Then, well, then there was Champagne Sunday.  Lately, my weekend starts on Tuesday, and this week has been no exception.  I just have so freaking much going on and 2 days isn’t enough and starting four days early was the only logical solution. So getting drunk on Sunday rather than being productive champagne Sunday is always a nice way to wind down. Oh, and, because I had to take the minis to Target, which, if you remember, I hardly let them out of the house so this was fucking TORTURE…. The story is so much longer than that, but I think I have PTSD from it.  Not STD, the one that you are traumatized.  Yes. That is me.  Post Target. I think my text to the girls said “I am going to drink champagne so I don’t murder someone.” I mean, paraphrasing, but pretty close.  It might have actually been exactly that. Plus, I needed my girls to analyze something from me, because, duh, that is how I roll.

So, I know from here, it seems like the weekend is going pretty swell, right? Right?  Well, Sunday night = everyone has to get clean…. So, I gently remind my minis of that (read previous blog about why this is a problem here https://wordpress.com/post/naramitchell.wordpress.com/69

I somehow bribe Bigs into taking a shower with Mini (I really wish I could remember what my bribe was…. I bet I was like “Front row seats to a Warriors game.” I mean, I really would say something like that….)

So, they agree to the shower, and I hear mini “Kin, kinny, where are your boobies? Kin, kinny, you have a ding dong and balls too.” (Honestly, I have NO idea where he gets “Balls” from.  Ding dong is me, and there are tons of variations, but “balls” is something I can HONESTLY say never comes from my mouth.  I’m not all like “Bros, how are your balls?”)

And that is it, the weekend in review. I think. I am sure I am forgetting something else though.