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I’m A Grown Ass Woman and Other Funny Phrases

4 Jun

Last night was BLT Night at our house. I had just had a conversation with  Girl about it and she mirrored my excitement for delicious bacon sandwiches. We even bought special wavy lettuce for the occasion so imagine my surprise when Man and I arrived home to cook said tasty treats and Girl was nowhere to be found. And the door was unlocked. And the three little pisser dogs where running amok in the house. Doesn’t that spell random drug cartel kidnapping and sex slavery crime scene to you? ME TOO!

We never leave the door unlocked and I can guarantee that because I will check that the door is locked a couple of times (ok ten times) each and every time we leave the house. When we are inside the house, there are no less than three locks engaged in the job of saving us from the bad guys, whomever they are, and keeping the outside out.  Also,  we never leave Wookie, Trixie and Dexter out to free range because for whatever reason they like to cop a squat or hike  a leg on anything I happen to like. They hate me, those little bastards do, but they love love Man so I do not murder them. They only love Man  and would lazily sit on the couch and let the cartel thugs steal the Girl. Her dog would never! That dog will eat off your face and piss on your 59454573neck stump just for looking at Girl funny and Werewolf was MIA, too! I just knew that Girl had been brutally abducted, her dog shot and discarded in the alley and was on her way to Dubai to be sold as a sex slave. So I texted her. “Where are you?”. No answer. I called. I called again. I called her  boyfriend…no answer. I texted her, ” CALL ME ASAP! The door was open and the dogs are out and you’re not home for dinner!”. Silence.

I sent Man over to Boyfriend’s house to make sure they all were not murdered. It could happen, ya know! There  she was , washing her truck and cruelly ignoring my frantic calls to her phone that was in the house and impossible for her to hear. Excuses, I say! Man proceeds to inform her that she is in super hot water right now and she gets to call me to explain. She is unphased but  does tell him to let me know that she is  “a grown ass woman” and that I, the Mom who just got stood up for BLT night and is certain the door was kicked in,  needs to stop freaking out. This is right up there with last week when I reminded her to do her Accounting homework and she said, “I am 22 freaking years old, Lady!”. The nerve of kids these days. Doesn’t she know how many times I have saved her little ungrateful butt from rapey mad men, torture happy drug cartels, murderous clowns in ice cream trucks and meth head vampires? So what if it was all in my head.

Lies From Mommyland: The Baby Is Home- Now What?

12 Jan

Since I have been feeling like death, planning a wedding in 30 days, getting ready to open a store, working and then all of the HoneyBadgerPress business- I have been a slacker in the writing department and not taking proper care of myself. I know this cold will eventually go away but these roots will not – so I slugged my sick ass over to the salon to get my hair did so I can look sort of alive.  We were chatting about kids and how I hate them. Yeah, I said it. Not hate them like I want to set them on fire and leave them at a homeless shelter- but hate them like if I had known how hard they are to raise then maybe I would have settled for a puppy. Or fish. Perhaps a pet rock.

 We had a hard labor and we’re tired and grouchy but it was the best moment of our lives! We? Last thing you had to do with this entire shitastic ordeal was about nine months ago and you contributed a whopping three minutes of cardio. I , on the other hand, have endured nearly a year of barfing, swollen burning breasts, hemorrhoids, sleepless  nights, heart burn and swollen cankles. I haven’t seen my hoo-ha in 270 days I am terrified of looking down and being hit with the reality that it likely looks likes a drunk driver ran it over with a cement truck. So screw this “we” shit. I am tired. I am cranky. So someone better put down his gay-look at me- I’m a new Daddy- cigar and move his ass to the store because if “we” don’t get a pint  Ben & Jerry’s Pfish Pfood and some Preparation H in a hurry then “we” are gonna wake up dead tomorrow.  And get “us” some more super-jumbo-elephant – maxi pads because I just felt something slime down “our” leg.  Again.

Nursing will get easier. Damn straight it will get easier, like now. Because I quit.  If by “easier” you mean “swollen-cracked-bleeding-engorged-rock   hard  titties- that hurt when the wind blows”, then yes, it does get easier. Oh, and it is delightful when your sweet little newborn sucks on your chaffed nipples like a Hoover. Or better, when said baby won’t eat, then you get to actually use a Hoover to pump the milk out. The machine sucks your nipple within an inch of it’s useful life into a cup and then milks you like a dairy cow. I think dairy cows get to retain more dignity because they don’t have an asshat husband taking pictures and video of you and their boobs begging for mercy or death. Cows also don’t have that shit posted to FaceBook for all of their friends, family and co-workers to see. Here’s how you make it instantly easier and more comfortable: let Enfamil feed your kid. They have all of the science behind their formula. All you have to do is mix water and powder in the bottle for your baby and then mix your favorite booze and Coke together in your coffee cup. Instant happiness, quiet and a nap for you both.

You’ll ease right in to being a Mommy. Lying mother fuckers. No you won’t. You will constantly second guess if you are doing every thing right: will the baby be okay, will it need therapy, what if I drop it and so on. So will your mother in law. Good thing she’ll always be there to tell you how wrong you are doing every-freaking-thing and how she does it better.  Now is when you take full advantage of the postpartum hormone drain and tell her to go fuck a flying monkey and promptly announce to every one that you are exhausted, feel feverish and would like a sammich. She won’t know what to do when handed a bitch slap and the tired new mom excuse at the same time. She’ll have no choice but  to make your lunch and tuck you into bed so she doesn’t look bad in front of your relatives. You should be prepared for the times (which will be at least 12 times daily) that baby will be inconsolable and screaming , but alas, not a damned thing is wrong with it. It’s ok- just rub a little whiskey on it’s gums and start saving for its stint in The Betty Ford Clinic. At least you’ll get to sleep now.

 Just wash it with warm water and then it won’t hurt to pee. Warm water for my wrecked vagina. Sure- that’ll make it all better. I had a chat with my hair stylist today and she told me she had to have four…FOUR!…surgeries to correct her ripped vagina. Four. I can’t even imagine that. Most of us will not endure that degree of rippage but there will be some and it will hurt like a  semi drove out of it when you decide to pee, or worse, make a poop. Have you ever had a UTI and experienced the pain of pissing? That, my dear ladies, is a rainbow sparkle cake walk compared to peeing on your torn lady bits or pushing a poop out of your torn ass. Know what will sooth it? Birth control pills. If you take them regularly you will never have this problem.

Lies From Mommyland: Men in The Delivery Room, Post Baby Boobs & Pisshaps

5 Jan

If you haven’t read this yet (https://honeybadgerpress.wordpress.com/2011/08/10/maggot-toe-childbirth-part-doh/  ), the you might want to go do that first. Then go grab a bottle of wine and a handful of Xanax because I am going to tell you the truth about being a Mom. If you’re pregnant, well, someone had to break it to you! You are welcome, Kittens. Now start drinking and stop caring or you will not survive.

Funny Family Ecard: I want you in the delivery room as much as I would like to see a raging case of syphilis ooze from your special places.Men in the delivery room is a bad , bad idea. Oh but we want to bond you say, feel close and experience something special together. How do you think your swollen pregnant ass got to the delivery room in the first place? I think anyone that has never pushed a screaming gooey watermelon baby out of their special places should be banned from the delivery room. Here’s why- they have zero clue on how much birth is going to hurt, that your body will involuntarily do unmentionable things while your legs are splayed wide open with everyone looking into your hoo-ha. You will fart, poop and throw up. Possibly all at once. Aside from seeing all of that, your man will see your sugar walls expand enough to swallow Japan and Godzilla in one bite and expel a giant liver looking placenta and all of the ooze that goes with it. And if that isn’t bad enough, he is likely to mutter these dumb ass words, “Does it really hurt that much?” while you are screaming your head off because not only are you feeling a 8 pound thing pushing out of your ass- it also feels like your spine is making an unannounced exit  and it is taking your heart, lungs and sanity with it. Ask your girlfriend, your sister or any other woman to be there with you. One who will speak up for you, kick some ass , know when to shut the hell up and plot your husband’s/boyfriend’s/sperm donor’s death because all you wanted nine months ago was a back rub and what you got was essentially a new butt hole torn open for you. And it’s all his mother fucking fault you are on your back and in labor right now anyway.

Funny Get Well Ecard: How many Nyquil-Xanax-whiskey totties do I have to drink so I can slip into a coma until that screaming baby turns eighteen? You will sleep again. No you won’t. Like ever. Insomnia starts before you even have the brat baby. About seven months in, you won’t be able to get comfortable if you’re in a bed , a chair or strapped into some sort of anti gravity bat hanging nonsense. You’ll have indigestion, will have to pee every 10 minutes (or change your panties or sheets) and your boobs are going to be screaming. They are no longer freshly plumped with pregnancy hormones- nope – they are now massive, hard and even the slightest breeze will exact such pain that you maybe consider cutting them off and then making your man eat them because his part is over and you are the one going through the shit storm of hormones, pain and hemorrhoids.  All he had to do is find some gay candy cigars to pass out to his buddies. But wait, there’s more epic fun in store for you! Then the baby comes and since you have the milk and “beautiful natural instincts”, guess who gets to get up every 10 minutes to feed/change/make sure the baby is still breathing. Not him- he’s too tired from you giving birth. My daughter is 18 and in college and I still do not sleep. I still worry about if she’s hungry, does she have what she needs and did she make it home last night. Welcome to the zombie zone , ladies. Now you know why I’m always drinking coffee, wine or both.

Funny Flirting Ecard: Touch my boob again and that stick will be making sweet love to your ass tonight.

Speaking of boobs, hopefully you have a few topless pictures of yourself from your college days or that pole dancing job you had until you could get back on your feet. Any moron that tells you the girls will snap back to attention after your dairy supply line shuts down is a damn liar. You will never see those perfect, perky boobies again.  After you stop nursing you will have the roundness- it will just be at the end of your droopy utters.You will also have burning, aching and possibly infected nipples and boobage as that milk dries up. On top of that, your head is all screwed up because along with that milk- your pregnancy hormones are escaping and taking your happy mommy feelings with them so rage driven homicidal crazy lady can make her appearance. Do yourself, and us, a favor by instead of asking for a shit ton of baby crap you’ll never use at your shower- just ask for a bunch of Victoria’s Secret gift cards and some booze so you can go buy a bunch of push up bras and be drunk enough to not care that it is now entirely possible for you to trip on your nipples.

Funny Sympathy Ecard: Next time you LOL could you maybe not piss on my new shoes? Peeing will not be within your control anymore because your abdominal wall has been used as a swimming pool by an inconsiderate baby who used your bladder as a trampoline. You will need to put some thought into an early piss warning system, or at the  very least, know where the bathrooms are in every store or home you visit because by the time your brain receives the “I gotta cop a squat” message from your bladder- it’s too late. You are probably already standing in the plant aisle at Home Depot watching a little yellow pool of shame gather around your toes you have been too busy to paint by the time you realize it’s pee time. Again. You still need to carry that extra pair of panties like you have since high school- but not because you might get lucky on a date- it’s because you might sneeze

More Lies From Mommyland

11 Aug

If you haven’t read this yet (https://honeybadgerpress.wordpress.com/2011/08/10/maggot-toe-childbirth-part-doh/  ), the you might want to go do that first. Then go grab a bottle of wine and a handful of Xanax because I am going to tell you the truth about being a Mom. If you’re pregnant, well, someone had to break it to you! You are welcome, Kittens. Now start drinking and stop caring or you will not survive.

Funny Family Ecard: I want you in the delivery room as much as I would like to see a raging case of syphilis ooze from your special places.Men in the delivery room is a bad , bad idea. Oh but we want to bond you say, feel close and experience something special together. How in the fuck do you think your swollen pregnant ass got to the delivery room in the first place? I think anyone that has never pushed a screaming gooey watermelon baby out of their special places should be banned from the delivery room. Here’s why- they have zero clue on how much birth is going to hurt, that your body will involuntarily do unmentionable things while your legs are splayed wide open with everyone looking into your hoo-ha. You will fart, poop and throw up. Possibly all at once. Aside from seeing all of that, your man will see your sugar walls expand enough to swallow Japan and Godzilla in one bite and expel a giant liver looking placenta and all of the ooze that goes with it. And if that isn’t bad enough, he is likely to mutter these dumb ass words, “Does it really hurt that much?” while you are screaming your head off because not only are you feeling a 8 pound thing pushing out of your ass- it also feels like your spine is making an unannounced exit  and it is taking your heart, lungs and sanity with it.Ask your girlfriend, your sister or any other woman to be there with you. One who will speak up for you, kick some ass , know when to shut the hell up and plot your husband’s/boyfriend’s/sperm donor’s death because all you wanted nine months ago was a back rub and what you got was essentially a new butt hole torn open for you and it’s all his mother fucking fault you are on your back and in labor right now anyway.

Funny Get Well Ecard: How many Nyquil-Xanax-whiskey totties do I have to drink so I can slip into a coma until that screaming baby turns eighteen? You will sleep again. No you won’t. Like ever. Insomnia starts before you even have the brat baby. About seven months in, you won’t be able to get comfortable if you’re in a bed , a chair or strapped into some sort of anti gravity bat hanging nonsense. You’ll have indigestion, will have to pee every 10 minutes (or change your panties or sheets) and your boobs are going to be screaming. They are no longer freshly plumped with pregnancy hormones- nope – they are now massive, hard and even the slightest breeze will exact such pain that you maybe consider cutting them off and then making your man eat them because his part is over and you are the one going through the shit storm of hormones, pain and hemorrhoids and all he has to do is find some gay candy cigars to pass out to his buddies. But wait, there’s more epic fun in store for you! Then the baby comes and since you have the milk and “beautiful natural instincts”, guess who gets to get up every 10 minutes to feed/change/make sure the baby is still breathing. Not him- he’s too tired from you giving birth. My daughter is 18 and in college and I still do not sleep. I still worry about if she’s hungry, does she have what she needs and did she make it home last night. Welcome to the zombie zone , ladies. Now you know why I’m always drinking coffee, wine or both.

Funny Flirting Ecard: Touch my boob again and that stick will be making sweet love to your ass tonight.

 Speaking of boobs, hopefully you have a few topless pictures of yourself from your college days or that pole dancing job you had until you could get back on your feet. Any moron that tells you the girls will snap back to attention after your dairy supply line shuts down is a damn liar. You will never see those perfect, perky boobies again.  After you stop nursing you will have the roundness- it will just be at the end of your droopy utters.You will also have burning, aching and possibly infected nipples and boobage as that milk dries up. On top of that, your head is all screwed up because along with that milk- your pregnancy hormones are escaping and taking your happy mommy feelings with them so rage driven homicidal crazy lady can make her appearance. Do yourself, and us, a favor by instead of asking for a shit ton of baby crap you’ll never use at your shower- just ask for a bunch of Victoria’s Secret gift cards and some booze so you can go buy a bunch of push up bras and be drunk enough to not care that it is now entirely possible for you to trip on your nipples.

Funny Sympathy Ecard: Next time you LOL could you maybe not piss on my new shoes? Peeing will not be within your control anymore because your abdominal wall has been used as a swimming pool by an inconsiderate baby who used your bladder as a trampoline. You will need to put some thought into an early piss warning system, or at the  very least, know where the bathrooms are in every store or home you visit because by the time your brain receives the “I gotta cop a squat” message from your bladder- it’s too late. You are probably already standing in the plant aisle at Home Depot watching a little yellow pool of shame gather around your toes you have been too busy to paint by the time you realize it’s pee time. Again. You still need to carry that extra pair of panties like you have since high school- but not because you might get lucky on a date- it’s because you might sneeze.

Maggot Toe & Childbirth: Part D’oh!

10 Aug

They say you forget pain and healing just takes time. I must be broken because I vividly remember my attempt to amputate my toe, just as I remember every second of that hell wrapped up in a pretty ribbon and called the gift of giving birth. Now before everyone straps on their Mommy Killing Heels, let me preface everything I am about to tell you with this: I adore The Girl. Love her more than any one of you can imagine. She was worth every gained pound, stretch mark, pain, gray hair, negative budget months and everything in between. Even though she has picked an eight year degree at one of the most expensive colleges known to Jeebus– I still love her. I will expect free Veterinarian care for life. So will my pets. That aside, having experienced childbirth, I would like to ask which part of stretching my skin, patience and lady bits within an inch of their usefulness is a gift?

Funny Friendship Ecard: Someone give that screaming whore an epidural. I'm trying to get drunk over here.The entire business is a cruel joke. Those first few months you get awesome hair, glowing skin and the best chesticals a woman could want. Then you reach the last two months and you realize this child birthing gig is no gift but a wildly cruel punishment for giving too good of a blow job to your husband (or whomever the baby daddy is). Your skin suddenly resembles a nuclear disaster, your bikini area requires a machete to trim it, you have uncontrollable flatulence, your ankles blend into your thighs and your butt hole is pushed out and resembles a giant brown Hostess donut. And as if that is not obnoxious enough, every female within a 50 mile radius has to tell you her own birthing story and they are never just okay. Nope- they either had a four-week labor, ripped their special places from naval to tail bone and have to spend the rest of their life in Depends because they can’t hold their pee anymore, or worse, their labor was a breezy fifteen minutes, their abdominal muscles snapped right back into place and  lying whore  she felt zero pain. I felt pain. Incredible pain that had me screaming, summoning Satan and threatening an epic massacre via speculum to all in the room. I  screamed so loudly and fiercely that my Doctor announced it was epidural time because the other women in the maternity ward were freaking the fuck out and requesting to be moved to a more quiet floor, like the morgue, to give birth.

Funny Sympathy Ecard: Sorry your vagina was stretched all the way to China and that we all saw you poop on the delivery table.
More annoying than the pain was all of the lies I discovered I was told by other women: you can breath through the pain, stay focused, you’ll only feel pressure “down there” and enjoy the miracle of birth. Really bitches, because this is how my experience went: I could not breathe, my stomach was cramping so badly that if I didn’t know I was about to drop a kid out of my ass that I would think I maybe drank too much water in Mexico. My ass felt like it would explode into a technicolor spray of cheeseburger, Pepto-Bismol and ice chips. And because screaming like a banshee wasn’t humiliating enough- it seems every one forgot to tell me I would poop on the table, and possibly the doctor. Thanks for the heads up, glad there was an audience. Whores. I could swear I heard a giant rip, subsequently merging my vagina and cornholio into one giant flesh wound.  As a result of my lady business stretching so much- I was certain I could hold one side in each hand and glide like a flying squirrel out of the 5th story hospital room and land safely in the county jail after I murdered everyone. Bonus- I got stitches and a quick inspection with a hand mirror revealed my new frankenpussy. Glad that healed. Eventually. Yep, looks like my excruciatingly painful memories of childbirth have been stifled out by the gift of motherhood. Well, that and several hundred barrels of whiskey.

Read Part One here:

https://honeybadgerpress.wordpress.com/2011/08/09/maggot-toe-child-birth-part-one/

P.S. Guess who figured out how to make her own Someecards? I’m dangerous now!

Maggot Toe & Child Birth: Part One

9 Aug

I am the proud owner of the world’s lowest pain tolerance, and subsequently, ability to forget it. Any pain. If I have a hang nail I will cry but yank it off anyway. I know I shouldn’t do this because the end result is almost always me ripping off a little strip of skin from my nail bed to my arm pit, no matter how quickly and stealthy I try to pull it up and out. Causing myself even more pain and possibly a staff infection. So you can imagine when I dismount from my platform bed, get my tiny baby toe caught in the frame and sail into the wall head first (baby toe still firmly lodged in the Ikea bed frame) , that I might scream bloody fucking murder and prompt the neighbors to call 911 since I am losing my mind from seeing my once lovely and pedicured toe bent away from my foot in a perfect right angle. Great, THAT’S what it takes for me to remember Geometry? Still screaming, very loudly, and possibly making up new cuss words because I already used the standard set after I looked down to see my mangled toe and try to release it from my bed without the aid of the jaws of life or a blow torch.

5″ pointy toed oh so sexy pink
patent Guess stilettos

After I have released my “toe” from the shit factory lady killing Ikea bed, I survey the damage. My toe is   perpendicular to my foot and it is now gushing blood from underneath because I sliced it on some craptastic piece of hardware that I probably didn’t completely screw in.  I have an 8 AM meeting and this tragic pedi-disaster has eaten up my get gorgeous time. Now normally I would just grab an outfit and limp my ass to the meeting. But of course the day this all happened, I had a planned outfit that included the début of a fabulous new pair of heels. My hooker parade is on the brink of cancellation because my toe is swelling! I tape broken toe to the next one with a Band Aid, hop on one foot to my closet, grab the right shoe, bend my toe back to how nature intended it, shove my foot (mother fucking ouch) in and proceed to take a shower with my right leg out. I figure it’s a win-win! My toe is being held in position and I get to wear my new shoes! The pressure from the shoe is sure to stop the bleeding, swelling ,and most importantly, the pain. Right?

I hate you back, Maggot Toe!
I last all day in those shoes. My toe must look fabulous because I can’t feel it, or anything, on that side of my foot.When I got home my shoe popped right off and my toe wasted no time popping right back out to the right as if to mock me by forming a big “L” for loser. Then it swelled. Immediately. It looked like a giant white puffy maggot with a tiny little head where my toenail used to be until my toe swallowed it up. Ney, not a maggot, one of those giant white slugs you find hiding under the grass. Yeah, one of those. One year later and my hideously ugly Maggot Toe still hurts like a son of a bitch, is three times bigger than my other baby toe and still insists on remaining bent outward. They say you forget pain and healing just takes time but I vividly remember my attempt to amputate my toe, just as I remember every second of that hell wrapped up in a pretty ribbon and called the gift of giving birth and motherhood….
Part Two is here:

https://honeybadgerpress.wordpress.com/2011/08/10/maggot-toe-childbirth-part-doh/

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