Babe, I know that you don’t care about this but…

…it’s a phrase that my poor husband is all too familiar with after 13+ years together. And normally, it’s accompanied by showing him something that I really, REALLY want but, am too scared to say, “Regardless of what you think, I already bought this”.  As of late, it’s been this thing called Lularoe. I don’t know, maybe you have heard of it? But, seriously.

Personally, I think that he should count his lucky stars that it’s no longer an obsession  with Coach or that Louis Vuitton clutch that cost as much as our monthly mortgage payment, but rather a $25 pair of leggings. And most of the time, I get my leggings with some sort of discount applied. (Please note that I said, “Most of the time”.) And, while I’m on the subject of these leggings, I’ve even done the math on these bad boys.  Trust me, it’s cheaper on him if I just buy the fucking leggings.

I digress though… in case you are one of the few that have been living on another fucking planet or have not been properly introduced to the wonderful world of LLR, allow me one paragraph to explain. At LEAST one paragraph.

LLR started (for me) as these severely overpriced leggings that a girlfriend of mine found. Yes, they are soft. Yes, they do feel like some sort of fabric that one would imagine a Greek god draping themselves in. I mean, if gods actually wore pants. And, up until she gifted me with a pair of these amazing pieces of loveliness, I was of sound mind when I would declare that, “…leggings are NOT pants”. Leggings are what WalMart shoppers wear when they are too lazy to put on actual pants. Yes. You actually read that correctly. There was a time that I would tell anyone, “Leggings are NOT pants” and ridicule those who did wear them as such.

Oh, don’t get me wrong. There are still the occasional times when I see that camel toe on someone and still think that they made a horrible mistake and why didn’t someone stop them. For the most part though, I simply nod and ask where they got that pair and if their consultant is local. Shipping gets expensive on this shit, yo. Gotta have the local hook up.

There is a whole other world of these women (and men, I’m sure) that have the same obsession that I do. And for once, I am afforded the luxury of claiming that people other than myself are crazier than a Southern granny on the porch in the hot Mississippi sun. These people wear their crazy with a sense of pride that I have for my sobriety of seven years. It’s a completely surreal experience when you come across these bitches. And trust, you will come across them if you want to get in on this action.

I’ve actually seen some posts where I thought that if there wasn’t that pesky little detail of two women being seven states apart, they would rip each other’s throats out. Please allow me to remind you again that this is all in the name of LEGGINGS. But, yes. Name calling… backstabbing… ruin a marriage of 20 years worth of craziness. All bundled into one little pair of ‘buttery’ soft PANTS.

I have converted a few people myself. Don’t get me wrong. I. Love. These. Leggings. Fuck, just a couple of weeks ago, my psychiatrist was feeling me up and was like, “SOLD!” I have one friend that shall remain nameless, that when I see her she automatically feels my shirt or pants to see if they are LLR.  I’m not actually sure how I haven’t converted her yet but, it’s only a matter of time. They always see things my way.  😉

Unless you are a millionaire or have no other person to justify your financial standing with, this next section is not for you. And if the truth be told, I should not be putting this out there for fear that my own OHOTMU will see this and be onto my game. But, here goes… because knowledge is power.

  1. There are ALWAYS discounts. No matter what. For example: “I got these at such a discount! Like, I totally wasn’t expecting one but, the consultant needed to move these for her new inventory.”
  2. There are ALWAYS contests going on and you win them every. Single. Time. No exceptions. Like, you are the luckiest mother fucker on the planet. Example: “OMG, babe! I just won a $20 Lula Cash credit for my next purchase!”
  3. There are always consultants that are your friends. ALWAYS.  Example: “I am so lucky that I met JoAnne Benton So-and So! She gives me the total friend’s discount!”
  4. There is always that FREE pair. Example: “I got so lucky because this was my FREE pair for sending all my friends her way!”
  5. There is always the ‘newbie consultant’ that just wants to get her name out there and sent you “…a free Carly(or insert whatever piece you splurged on) so that I could totally see what all the hype was about!”

I can promise you that unless your SO is all up in your bank account or is just of the “nods his/her head in agreement” types (and in this case, it doesn’t matter anyway), one of these examples will work for you every time. And, there are some that I haven’t even tried yet. Some of the particularly amazing consultants will even make it so that your invoice says something along the lines of, “Congratulation on winning our free leggings giveaway!” Now those…THOSE are my kinds of bitches.  Sold. Sold. Sold.

Now, I hate to end this so abruptly but I’m on my way to a friend’s house to see what LLR goodies she got in the mail today. But, if the OHOTMU asks… see #4 and #5.








Fruitcake, cider and those fucking pajamas

***WARNING*** Some might read this as a “grinch-y” entry. It’s quite the opposite. I truly wonder and care deeply about some of these traditions and what the fuck people are thinking when they carry them out.

  1. Matching Christmas pajamas. Why? Seriously, why one night of the year do you purchase overpriced holiday jammies to make sure that each of your individualities are hidden? And if I am speaking frankly here, they’re fucking ugly. And I probably speak for many when I say, your children are now pondering your retirement home standards and whether you will be fed human grade food or Fancy Feast.
  2. Fruit cake. Does anyone REALLY eat this shit? We have all heard the tale of how there is ONE fruitcake that is circulated throughout family and friends over the years. Gifted and re-gifted. I mean, honestly? I have only ever seen one person eat fruitcake; my grandfather. And, by the look on his face as he bit into that chewy mass of candied fruit and overly gummy cake, he didn’t even like it! It’s like, “Fuck it. All the cake is gone. All the pie is gone. There are no more cookies. Damn. Fruitcake.” This is also a man that will willingly gulp down a huge glass of buttermilk so, in essence, his opinion is moot.
  3. Eggnog. Seriously, I have a theory on this. Not a single person likes this shit. Not. One. It’s simply used as a mixing agent for booze. You know, booze? The staple that allows you to deal with your in laws and get through that awkward Xmas dinner when Aunt Gertrude is reminding you that Charles Manson had love interests while he’s been in prison so, what is your excuse? Yup.
  4. Apple-fucking-cider. Dude. It’s apple juice. With cinnamon. Warmed up. And, although I can say, “Who would not like this apple-y deliciousness?!”, I can also say “Why the fuck don’t we make warm cider all year round? It’s not like it’s a difficult thing to do. But, it seems that people wait until November 1st to go crazy over this shit and until the pretty Welch’s bottle comes out that is four times the price of the plastic bottle just down the aisle from that end cap. But, I will give you this, ye plethora of cider aficionados… walking into your house is always a pleasure to the senses. Not being offered that goodness though? Rude.
  5. Pictures of your gluttonous holiday meal offerings. Yeah, about this one. Not one goddamned thing wrong with this. I have no question as to why we do this. Keep that shit up. I know that I will.


I think that about covers it for now. Pretty sure that there will be others as I grow older and grumpier but for now, I think that I have it covered.  And, from my family to yours… sending holiday well wishes your way with as many fruitcakes and cups of eggnog as it takes to make it a merry one for you and yours!




For those that don’t understand, I hope this helps.

Yesterday I took Evans on a ride along to run some errands and something occurred to me. As I sat at the light near Albertson’s, I realized that on Christmas morning he is expecting that there will be gifts under the tree for him since I always back down from any consequences that I come up with. I turned the radio off and told him that I wanted to talk to him about something and it didn’t require a response.
I told him that I know that in the past I have threatened to take away all of his Christmas gifts but, never followed through.(He agreed.) But, this year I truly want him to be prepared that there will be nothing under the tree for him on Christmas morning. I was not backing down and I was not giving up on him.
He in true Evans form, sat there. Saying nothing. Not even anything to argue his point. (Of which there is none, mind you.)
I then told him that I also had made the decision that I was NOT going to return or donate his gifts that had already been picked out for him but rather, beginning January 1st, he will have to earn each one of those gifts back individually. And I did not mean he does a chore that I ask and he gets all of his shit. I mean, that he wasn’t going to be allowed to ask for ANY of them and when I saw that the goals we set at school and at home are met, then and only then would one of his Christmas gifts be given to him. It could take as little as three months or as long as next Christmas to get them all.
Being that I never give him unrealistic goals at this point, as long as he does what his teacher asks of him and behaves at home(for the most part I mean, he is an almost 12yo boy) that will be reason enough to earn gifts back.
Although I still feel like a failure and a shitty mom for doing this to him, maybe at some point in his life, he will be about to do or say something and just STOP. Just stop and have one of those flashbacks of a lesson that I DID teach him and that for once, I stood my ground and it stuck with it. And then, he will realize that I never intended for this to be a true punishment but, hopefully a learning experience for moments just like the one he may find himself in.
Maybe it will be in 2017. Maybe it will be in college and he is trying to decide whether that cheat sheet on exam is REALLY worth it. Hell, maybe he will face the same situation with his own child. I don’t know. I can only hope that he will look back and for a moment, remember the sting of how that Christmas morning felt and proceed knowing that whatever choice he makes, there will be consequences. Could be good, could be bad. But, it’s my hope that he remembers that it really sucked and I did it out of complete love and adoration of the person that I want him to become. One with reality in check and knowledge that his responsibilities are his own, That his mistakes are the ones that will make him grow.
I hope that one day, he looks back and thinks to himself,
“Man, my mom wasn’t such a bitch after all. I. GET. IT.”
and then he makes the decision that benefits his life right at that moment.
I’m not a perfect mom. I’m not even a “good” mom by most people’s standards but, I’m here. I’m aware.
I am not their friend.
I am their mother.
I have not ever, nor will I ever make all the right choices when it comes to them but, just like they have never been teenaged boys or college bound freshmen or a parent, I look at them and I tell myself that I have never been a mother to a son at this age or with this personality before. Everyday is a new day with a new kid. A new day with a new trait or quirk that emerges. And, goddamned it. That is okay by me. As long as they come out of this “life” thing ALIVE and can look at themselves in the mirror and know that without a doubt, they did their best, I will know that I have succeeded.

I shouldn’t complain, but…

…my 140lb Doberman decided that since I have been letting him sleep wherever he wants in the house lately that he needs to lift his leg on well, whatever. For the last couple of days, I have been walking up my stairs and smelling animal urine. I say ‘animal’ because I have cats, dogs and kids. But, I digress.

Last night, the smell was unbearable so, I started investigating. Litter boxes clean, no visible “accidents” from cat, dog or man-child and no trash can that was visibly dirty. So, at this point, I am thinking that one of the dogs in sleeping inside, had an accident in the middle of the night somewhere on the carpet.

Let me break away and lead into the progression of this story by pointing out that my entire downstairs is tiled and laminate. Not a speck of carpet until you hit the stairs but, noooooo. No. This animal just had to use the toilet on the mother fucking carpet.

Anyway, fast forward to later after the kids were in bed. I needed some craft supplies from the office so, I start looking around. All of my craft paper, scissors hell, all my shit is in boxes. Plastic Rubbermaid shit and drawers, okay? It’s not like I leave the shit hanging out or whatnot. So, I got to where I know that my stockpile of greeting cards, plain card stock, envelopes and notice that the lid to the container is just the slightest bit off. Whatever. My oldest kid is a goddamned klepto so he was probably in there looking for shit to steal, whatever.

Keep in mind that the smell of animal urine is still horrible. (As a matter of fact, so horrible that I actually went on to Amazon and ordered a carpet shampooer. No shit.) I grab the box of supplies and reach in to grab something and then, something wet. No, not something ‘wet’. It was something liquid. And this liquid has been absorbed into all of my paper items that are in this container.

In case you haven’t figured it out yet, it was mother fucking dog piss. DOG. PISS. All over my shit. Expensive ass card stock and some other random documents that were shoved in there for some reason. (Ah, yes. The klepto.)  Did you misread that? No. No, you did not. Dog. Piss.

But, wait. No, it couldn’t get worse. Well, I guess it could. Famine and locust and shit could take over, Donald Trump could become President.  Who knows?

What just happens to be in the very bottom of this piss puddle? Some of the things that my husband has acquired during his time in the Navy. Great. Just fucking great. Since I was wrist deep in dog piss, why not see what else there was in there? Oh, a hard drive? DOUBLE GREAT!!!

I cleaned what I could and just shoved the container out in the garage of the cords and shit that I didn’t want to submerge in water. (Let the hubs handle that shit.)

There is no point to this post. None whatsoever. Just to vent and to look back when I read this later and smile because at some point there has to be some humor, right?