You Can’t Make This Stuff Up

J* (my daughter): Milk? Milk?

Hubby:  You want milk???

Me: We don’t have any milk

Hubby: (rolls eyes)

Me: I told you we needed to go to the store!

Hubby: (turns and points at me): Make it so, number one…

Me: Uh… I’m the Captain up in this Bitch!

J* pipes up:  bitch! bitch!

Yes, this conversation just happened.

Our family...full of WIN!

Our family…full of WIN!

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Some Free Advice for Today’s Misguided Youth

It’s not other people’s responsibility to keep you entertained so you aren’t destructive; go smoke a bowl and clean up trash in the woods.  You won’t be bothering anyone, you’ll be doing something constructive, and you’ll still have fun.  Trust me.

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A Few One Liners About Social Media, To Sing You Off To Sweet Sleep

Just a few random thoughts that have been poking at my consciousness like splinters, presented in a passive-aggressive way for your entertainment…

All of your “selfies” look exactly the same.  Stop it.

Maybe it’s not your opinion that people object to; maybe it’s the combative and assholish way you present it that pisses them off.

That pic of you fresh from the gym/car dealership/proctologist/whatever– you know, the one where you’re staring into space, or looking sideways and making duck lips at the camera…it was very unique and illuminating.

You’re so vain…you probably think this post is about you.

This post is about you.

Dear close friend or family member, I have to be more understanding and try not to get my feelings hurt when I know you’ve been online, but you’ve ignored something I posted specifically for you; you must just have your hands full “sharing” all those played out memes and “inspirational” photos.

I love watching grown ass adults act like adolescents on a social media site, don’t you?

And speaking of “grown adults,” watching some of the older crowd navigate Facebook is like watching two monkeys try to fuck a football.

I’m just here for the Scrabble.

Saturday Morning First World Problems

Nothing to improve a Saturday morning like stepping in a steaming pile of cat puke.

This after virtually a whole night spent feeling like Donald Duck in one of those old Merry Melody cartoons.  You know, the one where Donald is trying in vain to sleep but one thing after another seems to confound his efforts?

My first mistake was eating a snack too late.  I’ve discovered, much to my dismay, that if I eat much later than 8:30 or nine at night, I will invariably wake in the middle of the night even hungrier.  It must kick-start my metabolism, kind of like a second wind for my appetite.  And in case you’re not a regular reader, I have a very low tolerance for being hungry.  It makes me cranky and miserable, especially when I’m trying to sleep.  So then I eat a little “mid-night” snack, which is really nothing more than me grabbing something as I make a small circuit from the bedroom, to the kitchen, to the bathroom to pee, and then back to the bedroom.  And since I usually wake up multiple times a night, catalyzing this routine usually results in several repetitions of this routine, as the more I eat in the middle of the night, the hungrier I am each time I wake up.  I’m usually okay if I can fall right back to sleep; I can take a sip or two of juice and be fine. I try to drink juice or milk or even water in place of eating, but sometimes that just aggravates my bladder and then I can’t sleep because I keep having to pee…  And then when I get up for good in the morning, I already have five hundred calories under my belt (pardon the pun) to try to work off for the day.

And then the damn cats– Methos, specifically.  He’s always doing irritating shit, like butting into the black out curtains and letting in light from the lamp outside my window.  He’s learned that he doesn’t have to run away unless I actually get out of the bed, so after like the fifth time he opened my blinds, I finally got up to lock him in the laundry room.  Chloe hears the door shut, knew she was next (cuz that’s where the litter boxes are), so she led me a merry chase around the coffee table trying to evade capture.

It sounds ridiculous even as I type it.

So, last night was spent in a semi-comatose swirl of eating, drinking, peeing, tossing, and turning.  All of J*’s stirrings made me anxious, as I dreaded her waking early and me having to get up and stay up.

Hubby had a headache this morning, but I managed to beg him into getting up with J* so I could at least get a couple hours of uninterrupted sleep.

So I get up around ten AM and, as I make my coffee in the kitchen…squish…

Arachnophobia: Is it any wonder “hate” is a synonym for “venom?”

I’m not generally one of those girly-girls that are afraid of bugs and spiders and snakes.  In fact, I used to trap and release the spiders in our house back in my home state.  Or if they were small ones up on the wall or something, I’d turn away and pretend I didn’t see them (make a break for it, little dude!)

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And we actually own a snake as a pet– in as much as anyone can own a snake– so creepy, slithery, crawling critters don’t really bother me.  The things that really “bug” me are the parasitic type things, the things that borrow into the skin, like ticks, and suck blood, like mosquitoes… and ticks.

But that kind a of changed when we moved to Kentucky a few springs ago.  The bugs out here just seem…heartier.  Bigger, more plentiful.  I was about five months pregnant when we first got out here, and I couldn’t seem to make it from the car to our rented house without picking up a tick.  Dear GOD, they were everywhere, even on the wooden porch!

And then summer rolled around and so did the spiders.  Not just one or two house or wolf spiders, but droves of brown recluse spiders!   I was finding five and six a day, just moseying across doorways or whatever.  One night I woke up in the middle of the night, still under the influence of Ambien, and groggily told hubby I felt something on me.  He promptly tried to shoo off a giant recluse crawling on my shoulder…and the spider promptly tried to crawl away down my back.  The only thing saving me from a total liquid meltdown was the fact that I was too drugged up on Ambien to freak out.

Then one day I grabbed a sundress off the top of my dresser and threw it on…only to throw it off again when I discovered a small spider chilling next to my boob.  I swear, a skanky pop star never dropped a dress so quick!  It was on the floor in a puddle of fabric in two seconds flat and hubby was looking at me in amused astonishment.  Luckily, brown recluses are generally non-aggressive, and supposedly go out of their way to avoid biting.

Anyway, it turned out our crawl space was filled with the things!  I was worried for myself, I was worried for the cats…and I’d had the baby by then.  We had Terminex come out, but I’ve never fully recovered from the emotional distress of the episode…

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As is evidenced by the way I yelled like a bitch, then had to get control of full body shivers and a major case of the “heebie jeebies” and beg hubby to come kill the interloper  when I came across a spider in the laundry basket today.  And then my hand “felt funny,” and I’m almost certain I’ll have a raging case of necrotizing fasciitis by bedtime tonight!

And yet I still feel bad killing spiders.  I actually don’t hate or fear all spiders… mostly just those damn recluses, because even in our current apartment, they always turn up with the change of the season…like bad pennies.

God, I hope not...

God, I hope not…

See you in hell, arachnid demon spawn!

ARQ’s Modern Solutions to Old Skool Problems

I’m feeling a little grouchy today.  Yes, more than usual.  The day is only half way over but my bullshit-o-meter is full up of toddler attitude and Facebook know-it-alls.  I think I need a nap.  But since that’s not an option at the moment, I’ll drink some old coffee, vape off my e-cig, and try to write something half-way humorous to pull me outta this little funk.

Thus, I give you…  some modern solutions (that are likely safer/more PC) to some old school problems.  No, I’m not talking about boring shit, like my e-cig.  I’m talking about real issues, here.

Like werewolves, for instance. People have been dealing with werewolf infestations since before you could say hypertrichosis.”  Traditionally, the solutions have been a little dangerous…and messy.  Wolfsbane?  Come on, wolves are carnivores!  Piercing the hands of the werewolf with nails?  How...Judeo-Christian.  There are apparently other less violent, lesser known ways of dealing with lycanthropes as well, such as one German method whereby a werewolf is cured by speaking it’s Christian name to it three times.  Well, that’s just a little bit religion-biased, I think.  Not to mention, I’m guessing it’s not so effective, or we might have heard about it more often.  My guess is the first few dudes to yell any name at a werewolf became Scooby snacks in pretty short order.  And as  to silver bullets, who’s rich enough to just have loads of silver lying around???

A much more humane and modern solution the problem would be the use of shock collars– nice, non-lethal, non-biased, non-costly werewolf control.  Simply snap the collar on the alleged shape-shifter while he’s in his human form (this part is very important!), and keep the control with you at all times.

Where else can we apply some more modern solutions to the problems that plagued our ancestors?  I’m glad you asked.  How about poltergeists?

Poltergeists  have traditionally been described as troublesome spirits who, unlike ghosts, haunt a particular person instead of a specific location. (wikipedia)

One theory behind poltergeist disturbances is that they are actually manifestations of emotional distress brought on by an (unwitting) human, most often a child or teenager, and often a female.  In the 1982 film Poltergeist, it is suggested that more than one spirit is responsible for the “haunting” of the Freelings’ home, and that there is one demon in particular who has targeted young Carol Ann in an attempt to gain control over the multitude.

I maintain that in either case, the solution is simple.  Give that little bitch some Lithium!  (I’m sorry, she’s the victim here, too, isn’t she?)  Well, either way, she’ll be too busy twitching in the corner to cause much trouble– the demon can’t use her for anything, and her emotions will be so blunted that any poltergeist “disturbances” will be a thing of the past (along with fine motor control…)

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One more freebie for the day… I might have to consider charging for the rest.  I can’t do everything for you people!  Let’s talk about demon possession.  Think The Omen.  Think Linda Blair in The Exorcist.  Now you could call a priest.  But then you’ll have to pick up the house, hide all the porn, and likely listen to a bunch of literal bible thumping for half the night.  Not to mention the dry-cleaning bill for all that pea-soup vomit, and the structural damage to your home.

The solution is actually so much simpler.  These kids are really nothing more than out-of-control, attention-seeking brats.  And what do we do with out-of-control, attention-seeking brats in America?  Why, we reward them with their own reality TV show or spot on a talk show!  They want attention; let’s give it to them!  They can duke it out with one another on Jerry Springer, or go to “demon” rehab at the Sober House!

And if that doesn’t work , you can always try the Lithium or the shock collar.

Today on Jerry Springer, kids who are inhabited by the devil!

Today on Jerry Springer, kids who are inhabited by the devil!

In Which I Bitch About the Duggars

Happened across this article on People about the Duggar family; apparently they’re considering adding to their already ginormous family of 19 by adopting.

While I think it’s lovely for a family to open their hearts and their homes to orphaned children, and while supposedly there is no question of the Duggars being loving parents, I can’t help but be a little annoyed.

I know, I know.  I’m generally a proponent of the mind your own fucking business theory and practice, I can’t help but wonder…

At what point are these people considered child hoarders?

What is this pathological need they feel to “collect” children ?

They say they have to make sure God wants them to adopt first.  Do they have a direct line to God? A toll free number maybe?  If so, I wish they’d share that shit with the rest of us.  We could maybe clear up some of these pesky questions about same-sex marriage and prayers in school…and meat on Fridays during Lent.

At least we don't live with the Duggars...

At least we don’t live with the Duggars…