Life According to Me

Kid Two tells me he invited Carlos to come to our house for a hangover. Huh? A hangover? Me: You invited him to come over to watch the Hangover? pleasesaynopleasesaynopleasesayno... He looks at me for a second, slowly shakes his head in dissapointment and repeats himself. Slowly...So I will U N D E R S T A N D. F O R   A   H A N G O V E R...you know...like come "H A N G  O U T?!" He even made air quotes with his little smarty-man eight year old fingers. ME: Oh. very well, then. Cuz don't be inviting third graders to come over to watch the Hangover. You'll get me kicked out of the Parents Club, K? Ok. T H A N K S. Hangover (v.) to hang out. Duh.

Yesterday I saw a man walking his cat. At first, it didn't register that it was a cat on the leash. I picked it up visually like, man-leash-dog, THEN it clicked...CAT. I was in my car, driving, and not like driving in my neighborhood or the parking lot of Petsmart. I was downtown. I was at a traffic light and the man was walking towards me on the side walk. He would take a few steps, then lift the with cat with the leash and drag it up to meet him. You know...walking the cat. I couldn't help but think, "Is that cat really enjoying his walk?" I mean, he IS a cat. They kind of do whatever the heck they want and I doubt going for a walk is on the bucket list. I just couldn't imagine that when the man jingled the leash and said "Kitty Kitty...let's go for a walk!", that the cat got all crazy-tail-wagging-giddy and ran to the front door. I imagined that KittyKitty probably quietly spewed some fantastic curse words at the man and then hid under the couch.

Mark thinks I am the best  I would rather clean all of my neighbors toilets than fold my own laundry. It is my most despised chore. I'm a bad ass at the washing part, but matching socks and and figuring out the debacle that is the fitted sheet...totally painful. So, I wash and wash and wash, and what I end up with is a mountain of clothes that needs to be folded. Yesterday, I sat on the floor with my mountain in front of me. Folding suuuuuuucks. A few items in, I found a dollar. Under my breath I muttered,   finders keepers... Kid Two was nearby and came to investigate. He announced that, that may very well be his dollar. Too bad so sad, sucker. And in my disgruntled state, I told him that it was mine now because whoever folds the laundry gets to keep any money they find . An occupational bonus. Kid Two is fascinated by this. He wants to know if I've ever found a twenty. Totally...and fives and even a wad that equaled, like fifty bucks. He makes me an offer I can&

welcome to the gun show Mark is a total gym rat. It is his addiction. I like wine, he likes muscles. Different strokes for different folks... I was away on holiday with the kids, so he would occasionally text me photos of his day. One day he was extra stoked about his gym visit, and he texted me a photo of himself...and his guns. Nothing scandalous...but my husband shirtless and flexing ...in the mirror. Here's our conversation: Mark: Just so you know, I sent this to my colleague at the office before I sent it to you...ugh. Me: Did he tell your muscles are hot? Mark: Ugh!!! I'm on my way to the office now... Me: Well...have an awesome day, Hercules.  Mark: You suck.  Moral: Accidental texting makes for a totally awkward day at work.

While on vacation(in the United States) I saw these products on the shelves of a local store. They now reside in my medicine cabinet...because they are awesome . Because green snot from a pissed off gorilla to style your hair is a great idea. I don't know WTF a Hongo is, but I definitely got some of this in the event of a Hongo attack. Always be prepared, I say.

"If you dont' have anything nice to say..." Glad that's over. Moral: If you're gonna STFU for a very long time, you better have learned something good like- The grass is pretty freaking rad on this side of the fence. OR...Mean people are sad little pieces of dung who will get eaten first in a Zombie attack. OR...Too many Margaritas in the afternoon sun will definitely get you wastey pants...and/or pregnant. Silence is golden? Not anymore...

I've been lying about my age... to my 8 year old. It began so innocently, like any good old fashioned deception...   Three years ago, on my birthday, Kid Two asked me how old I was. I told him to guess. I know...that was really taking a risk, because if he had said fifty-three I would have locked myself in my room with a magnum of wine and a straw and ugly cried. He didn't even have to think. "Thirty".  I was actually thirty-six, so I was all flattered and everything. He was 5 at the time, so the fact that I like, "believed" he knew what he was talking about says a lot about how lame I am. Here's where I get even lamer(That is a real word according to Urban Dictionary)... I totally told him he was right . And then I hugged him and he became my favorite child. My 40th(it really hurt to type that) will have its way with me in 5 months. Mark and my well meaning family have been talking about it in the presence of myself(like I died already or something)

What I've learned so far... Any meal can seem fabulous if you eat it off of the good dishes and use cloth napkins. Pizza is a good example. I believe in magic. I know this because when I kiss the boo boo on Kid Two's elbow, it is m a g i c a l l y  healed. Never skimp on laundry soap. Buy the good stuff that smells amazing. I ♥ Gain. At home, put fresh linens on the beds before leaving on vacation. When you get back, climbing into those delicious crisp, fresh linens will be bliss There is free money in the laundry room...in the dryer to be specific. I know this because Kid Two told me. Perfection is overrated. so are cake pops, boobs and lobster. Lip gloss and giant sunglasses are a girls best friend in the morning carpool. The laundry will never , ever be finished. oye . Breakfast for dinner = "Best mom ever" status. Capers, shaved parmesan, and fire roasted tomatoes are a kitchen staple. That one hour lost when we spring forw

This is a confession...kinda. Sometimes I just get distracted and the chores that beg to be done just don't get the attention they deserve. These chores do not judge me. They're always still there...waiting patiently. Honestly, I wish they jump off a cliff... Now, I eventually have to show the chores some love, but in the interim, here's my "about to be not so secret " slacker housewife's method to cleaning house. Swish some Pine Sol in the toilets Shove the laundry in the hamper, then get in there and stomp it down so you can add some more. Fluff the pillows on the couch/beds. Throw some refrigerator cookies in the oven(smells like Martha Stewart lives here). Vacuum the carpet in a pretty uniformed line pattern(draws the eye away from the dusty bookshelves). Spray some pledge in each room. Put on a super hot apron(yes they make them, and they... are... awesome ), your highest heels and some strawberry lipgloss(distracts "husband" fro