Mommy Dearest I Am Not

 I can't even begin where I want to begin because the ADD is kicking in so hardcore right now.  I suppose that working overtime every week since April will do that to a person.  Add to that buying a house, moving, a promotion, stepkids, marriage, and just plain life in general.  Somewhere in there I managed to finish 2 semesters of grad school and maintain a 4.0 GPA.  But believe it or not, no matter how much I bitch, I really am an overachiever.  I like having an uber clean house.  I enjoy being organized beyond belief.  I like routine. I take that back.  I LOVE organization and routine.  Even though our new home has several rooms that require work, I clean them and decorate them like that was my sole purpose--to have a dining room that looks like a throwback circa 1890 funeral parlor complete with lace window treatments and French doors and a ceramic tile floor in the kitchen that resembles the Emerald City. Nightly I sit in the dining room while partaking in foodstuffs and I complain about the hideousness that is the dining room.  It's awful. You'd have thought an 80-year-old woman lived there with her casket and calla lilies just chilling waiting for someone to die.  I don't know what the fuck the previous owners were thinking except that they weren't thinking.  I cannot readily imagine ANYONE walking into Lowe's or Home Depot and saying, "Yes, I'd like to decorate this amazing dining room with beveled glass windows, French doors, and all natural cherry wood so that it looks like a room to lay my dead out."  Said no one EVER.  Just saying.

Also, let me just say that even though I bitch about aforementioned dining room/funeral home IT IS MINE therefore, I may bitch.  Digressing...

So hubby and I buy this house and give the 2 younger kids a bedroom and Oldest gets the basement.  The middle bedroom belongs to the children with the INSANE baby mama...naturally we eliminate the TV and provide said monsters with bunk beds and bedding that really displays their likes.  OR what they would like but will never have as hubby and I don't believe that 6 year olds need to devote their life to gaming and 13 year olds have no business being glued to a seat and not being active.

In essence I feel like a prisoner in our home when the kids are here.  I don't think I was cut out to be a mom or a stepmom for that matter.  I never had a biological clock, I never wanted to be a mom. I like my privacy. I like doing things my way. I don't like when things are messed up and out of control.  And I dislike the fact that all three kids are socially retarded and unable to function in normal society.

Keep in mind the oldest has a different baby mama than the younger two and he is also the most normal when it comes to human interaction.  He just doesn't take care of himself.  AT ALL.  I asked him if he was getting ready to start perching like a parrot on the back of the couch because I noticed his toenails were the length of talons.  Literally.  They were beyond pedicure material.  They were in need of a dremmel and a very large pumice stone.  His fingernails were the same way.  And his teeth.  When I heard the boy upstairs brushing his teeth for all of 15 seconds (yep, I counted) I realized THIS is why his mouth reminds me of Nosferatu.  So, I had has dad holler up to him that he needed to brush for two whole minutes and to include the gum line. And to think this kid has a girlfriend that kisses him.  Yuck!  Oh, and let me count the ways in which I love the fact that when he showers he leaves his hair all over the fucking place and doesn't bother to clean up any of it, thus leaving what appears to be a dismembered black squirrel on the floor, in the shower, and in the sink.  Asking him to clean it up gets me nowhere no matter how much I impress on the fact that this is what normal, responsible people do and that he needs to respect our home and our rules.  One major thing is about to occur--the boy will be 18 next month and we no longer are required to have him at our home for weeks at a time in the summer.  He will have a job next summer.  And he will work that job.  He won't even be graduated by next summer because he chose dumbfuckery over his grades, thus allowing him to repeat 6th grade as well as most of his freshman credits.  I have already discussed with his dad that next summer he will not treat this home like a halfway house to be used for his gaming needs.  Not happening.

So the other two children did not grace us with their presence since their mother is insane and a complete waste of human life.  This is a woman who is raising her children to be agoraphobics and to be afraid of everything she says to be afraid of along with the fact that everything she says is right even though it's not, it's completely convoluted and fucked.  Daughter is 13 and spends 10 hours a day in a 700 square foot apartment babysitting for her 6 year old brother.  She has put on about 20 pounds and had the audacity to blame it on how much she eats while she is at our house.  I wasted no time putting a kabosh to that one.  "one, we haven't seen you since school got out because of the move and two we pretty much have to force you to eat when you are here so don't even use us as an excuse for the fact that you are sitting at your mom's house doing nothing but putting food in your face.  Uh uh. Don't even TRY."  Insert priceless look of disbelief here.  This girl is a massive drama queen who essentially gets involved in everyone else's business and makes up stories about anything just to get attention.  Hence, Child Services has been called on us TWICE this year.  I feel bad for the fact that this girl is going to end up on "16 and Pregnant" because she is so damn naive and has no clue about ANYTHING outside of facebook and funny animal videos on YouTube.  And she tried to tell me "People think I act like I'm fifteen."  "On what planet?" I asked.  "Because believe me, none of your actions have been anywhere near what a fifteen year old would act like and just because your mother shuts you up in that apartment all day with your brother doesn't make you mature. It makes you miss out on your childhood."  Insert dramatic crocodile tears here.  This is a child who has been through bullying (which hubby and I quickly responded to by going to the school and taking action) which eventually came out that it wasn't bullying, that she exaggerated, and she hates going outside and doesn't want to come to our house because she doesn't like our rules.  Sorry, but I will not contribute to her obesity and laziness.  And by the way, cell phones are a PRIVILEGE not a RIGHT, therefore you will obey our rules as far as calling your mom every five minutes to report to her about what ISN'T going on at our house.  Just saying.

Now the last child, the six year old.  Good God.  Where does one begin with insanity that is this child?  Never have I met a mother more in denial about her child being fucked up.  This kid is clearly not normal.  He locks animals in closets.  He doesn't know how to play with toys.  He has no imagination.  He destroys things just because.  He purposely poops and pees his pants, bed, and on the floor.  He is emotionally inappropriate.  He makes himself puke.  He punches himself in the face.  He does everything you tell him not to do.  He has been diagnosed with ADHD and anxiety and has been on medication since the age of FOUR.    This child has been the topic of MANY discussions with his psycho mother--she can't handle him, she doesn't know what to do with him, blah blah blah.  Funny, when he does that shit at our house (which is rarely) he is put in time out, made to clean up his messes, and has privileges taken away from him.  This is something that is very lacking at her home, hence the fact that he is a banshee when with his mother.  She tries to blame the reason for his acting out at school on the fact that he doesn't want to come to our house.  Half the time she doesn't send his medication with him to our home but yet the one time she does, he didn't get it at 7:30 am on the nose so she called CPS on us.  REALLY?  And let me tell you, I gave the CPS lady a piece of my mind.

I just went back and re-read all of this and thought, "Holy hell. This shit is crayyyyy."  Yes, yes it is.  Add to the fact that hubby and I both work, I go to grad school, and we just moved 6 weeks ago.  So, yeah, this shit is crayyyy. Very crayyyy. It's giving me a headache.

Ranting and Reproducing

When I tell the children to go outside and play, I do NOT mean go outside and sit on your ass and check your cell phone.  First, you are too fucking young to have a smartphone, let alone a Facebook.  Second, your brother is SIX MOTHER FUCKING YEARS OLD and does not by any means require a cell phone either.  Third, it's JUNE. It's WARM.  It's BEAUTIFUL outside.  And guess what? We are FIVE FUCKING HOUSES away from a playground.  Fourth, you are still kids and therefore you still play.

What gets me is the fact that Baby Mama Numero Dos maintains that the kids LOOOOOOOOOVE to be outside.  Um, really? Is this a figment of your imagination? Because let me tell you, we have to almost resort to physical contact to get these ingrates out the door.  Why, you ask? Well, let's see here.  Stepdaughter is sooooo like, IDK, caught up in like seventh grade drama to the nth power and will wither and die without her electronics and I am convinced the youngest stepson is just mentally incapable of doing anything other than sitting in front of a television and playing video games.  

When I was their age, you couldn't get me INSIDE.  God, the days of riding bikes, roller skating, playing board games, hide and seek, and making up our own stupid games was the best.  Those activities defined my childhood until I was a teenager.  Even now, I am not against going outside and riding a bike. And I still love board games.  Kids these days....I will never understand it. When they look back on their childhood, all they will see is a wasted youth.  Unless, of course, it involves spending money on them. 

I will not bribe my stepkids.  It's bad enough that Baby Mama Numero Dos has brought her ingrates up on the concept of "Tax Time" and that it's ok to blow that earned income credit EVERY YEAR by buying overpriced items but still staying in some shitty ass apartment. Then she has the audacity to ask us why we are moving.  Um, HELLO?!?! We live in the fucking GHETTO.  Oh, and through hard work and dedication we have managed to better our living situation.  That way YOUR ingrates have a place to safely play OUTSIDE and I do not have to fear my house being shot up.  Not to mention your drama queen of a daughter will not even stay here for an hour by herself.  So, we have goals that we have met and you are still stuck in your little box of hell that you whine and  complain about and stuff full of shit like the people on that show "Hoarders."  Good for you.  I am ever so glad that you feel your life is superior to mine. 

Fuck me running backwards with a chainsaw.  

So, then there's the issue of the oldest stepson, the one from Baby Mama Number One.  Dear God. Please help me.  He is almost 18 years old and he's fucked.  For one thing, he will only be a junior this coming school year.  If he even passed, because I don't know because he lies.  Oh, and he's stolen his mother's and her boyfriend's credit cards.  And he is dirty.  And he is dating some homely broad who has bipolar disorder who doesn't take her meds regularly.  They are both EMO kids.  I think their idea of a date is sitting in a dark basement listening to Bullet For My Valentine and cutting themselves.  Did I mention he destroyed my microwave? Yeah, he decided to warm up something in there and it burned and he left it for me to clean up...the next day.  

He's a special one.
I wish I could say that I love my stepchildren but I really don't.  I like them and all but in reality I am on a countdown to the day they all turn 18 and I don't have to feel like I'm somewhat responsible for them.  They are all fucked up, on meds, and have absolutely no clue about life, responsibility, privileges, and did I mention LIFE? I'm sorry, but things just don't get handed to you.  They are earned.  And you treat your property like gold because that's how you become RESPONSIBLE.  Just because you are 12 doesn't mean you get a laptop, new clothes, a boyfriend, a smartphone, and everything else you may want.  How about you get clothes because they are needed and everything else stays on hold?  There's a concept.  

How about instead of living off my expensive orange juice you go get a job and buy your own? And throw in a microwave too since mine just happened to get fucked up by some ass teen who is lazy and won't lift a finger except to play the XBox. 

I don't think that I would be able to have the kids full time.  I love my freedom.  I don't like my world being shaken up when they are here.  I am antsy.  I feel like a prisoner in my own house.  Ugh. And all I really wanted to bitch about was them not knowing how to go outside and play. 

Innard Affliction

Ass raptor (n): predecessor to the ass ferret.  A creature that occasionally attempts to make a home deep in the bowels of a random person causing explosive excrement and the sonorous growl of a wildebeest.  


I have been privy to this affliction.  


Meh.


It is most unpleasant, causing my innards to feel as though they are being twisted and pulled inside of me by some unseen being.  Then the real fun happens.  Ass, meet toilet.  Toilet, ass.  


And no ass raptor would be complete without a visit from a fever.  Unfortunately more cowbell is not the right prescription for it.  


I may as well get cozy in my bathroom.  Gonna be a looooooong night.

Gobble Gobble, Assholes...My Turkey Is Better Than Yours!

Reflecting on this past week, it is no wonder I am utterly fucking exhausted.  It's been too busy, too hectic, too retarded.  And here I am, dwelling on it.  While sort of watching some stupid show on STYLE Network with a chick who is a "hair fairy."  O.M.G.  WTF is a hair fairy? And why do I have this fucktasticness playing in the background attempting to lure me into its retarded, perky, trendy abyss?  IDK.  I really IDK.  But I digress.  


Anyhoo.


I had my very first Thanksgiving dinner, hosted by hubby and myself at our ghetto fab home.  With our newly-painted penis-wall.  That's right. I have a penis-wall. AKA, Cabbage Patch Ass, AKA, Foreskin Delight, AKA, accent wall that was accidental due to the fact we ran out of paint.  Up close it resembles flesh a la phallus.  Far away it adds a warmth to the surrounding ivory walls and crimson drapes.  Oh, and did I mention wall art? Can I just state that Bed, Bath, and Beyond is like THE mecca of decorating needs?  For reals.  For fucking reals, yo!  The treasures and troves that are held within the walls of aforementioned store are absolutely astounding and sometimes truly asstastic.  


So, wall art, dong flesh, and organized bookshelf aside, Thanksgiving was a HUGE ASS SUCCESS.  I owe so much to my bestie.  She is a mutha fucking goddess.  So much of the dinner's success is because of her.  I think I finally grew into wifedom because of her and her amazing time management and multitasking.  She is now officially my wife.  It's like a bromance.  But not.  


On the big day, I am happy to report, there was not an ounce of drama.  Sooooooo much different than what I had experienced with my own relatives.  The key to my success was not having my own relations over.  They wouldn't show up anyway because they think I live in the ghetto and they are just too good to travel the literal fucking mile to our house.  Let me just state that our home is really clean and homey.  It's not like we are hoarders or have roaches or rats or trash laying all over the place with shit stains in the toilet.  Nope. Not even remotely close.  I'd say our house is pretty damn clean and organized and really cozy.  I mean, here I am, curled up on the couch with my kitties on this dreary day, and all I feel is COZY.  I look around at the warm walls, neutral furniture, soft lighting...it's HOME.  Now, if I get up and walk out to the front porch, it's a little different.  More like upper-lower class meets lower-middle class meets Old South End neighborhood.  Translation: it's an old neighborhood with that Ellis Island feel and it spans multiple generations.  Plainly put, it's a damn melting pot with people in their 80s down to their diapers.  We make the best of what we have.  Sure, the houses look a little run down, but the lawns are kept, the insides are nice, and the trash is picked up.  


We happen to have the biggest house on the block at nearly 1600 square feet, four bedrooms, one huge ass bathroom, and storage space galore.  I have a foyer, for fucks sake.  And natural woodwork.  Granted, the basement is uber creepy, but you can't have everything.  So, yeah, my family is too good for my comfy home.  They're all fucks anyway.  These are the assholes who talk shit about everyone behind their back and pick on people they don't deem worthy of their comfort, as in, hubby.  Hence, a huge falling out, virtually no contact since July, and no dinner invite for the fucktards.   Enter my in-laws.  Who are amazing.  Whom I love very much.  And my wife and other husband and other stepchildren.  And my own stepchildren.  It was kind of a hodgepodge and unconventional but it worked.  


After reliving the day, why am I suddenly teary-eyed and somewhat missing my own relatives? Oh, because they are fucks and have that guilty effect on people.  And I'm over it.  I guess you'll have that when you have your first holiday without people you usually celebrate with, get beat down by, and who have absolutely no faith in your success...yet they are the failures at life but can't grasp it so they try to make everyone else feel bad about themselves.  But I stopped the cycle.  I stood up to those cockblows and because of that I'm a stronger person.  I know that Christmas will be a mess.  I had no contact whatsoever with my parents; only my uncle texted me.  I am utterly convinced I mean nothing to them and for that reason, among others, they are dead to me.  The people who were supposed to teach me and help me through life were epic fails.  The people I never expected were the ones who became a true family and helped me climb the ladder to success.  God bless those bitches and rednecks and overall fantastical peeps who put up with the drama of my relatives, my bitching, my whining...without them I'd be an epic fail.


My turkey was moist with huge breasts.  Gobble gobble, fucksticks.  

I Need a Wah-mbuger and Some French Cries...

And I also need some cheese with my wine.  Meh.  Yep. I'm fucking whining.  Wah wah fucking wah.  While I'm thinking about it, I'd just like to say that five years old is too young to mess with my $200 digital camera.  Excuse me.  What the fuck.  I don't feel like potentially having something that I worked for dropped or messed up by a child who does not take care of his belongings.  The joys of stepchildren.  And the fact that the father (my hubby) chooses to ask me when the youngest will be old enough to use the digital camera.  REALLY? Because apparently in 11 days when he turns 6 then that will be old enough? I'm thinking not.  I'm thinking not in the next 9 years.  His 12 year old sister can't even take care of a laptop nor her own digital camera.  So therefore I do not believe that 12 is even an appropriate age for such electronics.  Unless of course there was an ounce of caring and that the value of such property was known.

Digressing.

I feel like shit.

Worked a ten hour day with a migraine/sinus headache from hell and got to deal with retarded people.  Story of my life.  I'm a tard magnet.  Any kind of tard.  Retard. Fucktard. Gaytard. Hootard. Asstard. Pusstard.  What the fuck ever tard.  You get the point.  Tards beware when I work...you will be drawn to me like the force.

What the fuck is my kitten doing? Hey, fuck! Quit drooling on my squishy blanket.  Quit gnawing on it.  None of that shit is allowed.  I weaned you from a bottle and now you wanna tear my shit up then do something totally cute like paw pressing? Fuck you cat.  Don't forget.  In Egypt they used to mummify their felines.  Don't think you are exempt.

Peace out, Girl Scout!

Thoughts....

As I sit here with Baby Kitty bathing on my arm, I realize that I have a zoo in my home and I am, in fact, the crazy cat lady.  I have 4 of these fucks.  


T.C.--an original name, stands for "The Cat" since we decided "Punkin" was gay...even though my then-4-year-old named him.  A.K.A. Big Ginger. He's 6...or 7...and weighs about 14 bills...a big orange tabby with a loud ass meow who has a tendency to hack up hairballs on our bed.


Lucy--my baby girl gray and black tabby.  She's my hugger. And she only meows when she sees a bug in the house.  A fan of the head butt and is often caught doing something stupid but she tries to cover it up.  She is just over a year. A.K.A.  Pretty, Baby Girl, Cuddlebug, Purrburger.


Smokey--we really call him Fat but he's registered with the vet as Smokey.  He is a month younger than Lucy but is 2.5 times the size.  All black with a few stray white hairs.  He can't meow.  At. All. He sucks his paw when he gets petted.  And he is a klutz.  I have watched him fail many a jump.  A.K.A. Ass, Big Guy.


Harley--our newest addition.  He's 4 months old and we had to bottle feed him for a month.  We got him when he was 4 weeks old and now he's a fuck.  A cute little fuck.  That's hubby's buddy.  He has torn up my drapes, scraped paint off the wall, eaten my Jimmy Johns, and he LOVES cheese popcorn.  Really? What kind of kitten did we adopt? A.K.A. Baby Kitty, Fuck, Asscat, Asshole, Purrburger.  


Did I mention I have aluminum foil and cling wrap in several areas of the house because two of these asscats like to, on occasion, leave kitty surprises for me and hubby.  Therefore, I have an obsession with cleaning the cat box and making sure the house smells nice.  Which are not good things for a person with OCD to be obsessed about as my entire house will smell like a combination of Yankee Candle, Scentsy, and Glade.  Olfactory overload.  But not in a gross old lady sort of way.  Just kinda like you wanna eat whatever is burning.  


Anyhoo....I had a totally different vision for where this blog was originally going but since I am ADD I completely forgot and had a squirrel moment. Watch the movie "Up!" if you don't get it.  You will laugh your muthafuckin ass off.  Same with "Rio" and "Rango."  I have kids so I have an excuse to watch these movies without seeming like a sexual predator.  Let me tell you, they are fabulous shows.  More fabulous than the old Disney flicks that I still love to watch now and again.  In fact, if Walt Disney were alive, he'd shoot himself, come back to life, then shoot himself again if he knew what animated feature length films had turned into.  


Digressing again...next blog may be about what I originally intended to talk about if I can remember what it was that I wanted to talk about.  


Can I just throw in that people suck? 


Ok. Peace out, girl scouts....till next time...

Harnessing My Amish Chi

And it sucks ASS.


i'm a loser. totally got cable shut off...thus, no tv, no internet, nothing...MEH!


so hubby and I have been reading. and moping. and complaining. and just generally being bored. yeah.  thank god for free wifi at this hell hole bar we are sitting at right now.  


unfortunately me writing this means he is not using the computer to do his job.  which likely means no money tonight. which more than likely means a trip to coinstar is in the works for tomorrow.   


i have a bachelor's degree and a decent job and he makes decent money yet we are so fucking broke we should be in a full on body cast.  fuck. me. running. backwards. blindfolded. with scissors.