So the plan for the weekend was to paint the kitchen and the lavette and my friend Rachel told me that nobody says “lavette” anymore and so my first question is what do you call it? A powder room?  A half-bath? The room where you pee and then wash your hands?


And of course, we don’t just paint shit in this house.  It’s more like “since I have my paintbrush out, I should replace the toilet and the sink and the faucet and get all new everything” because we’re not really big fans of keeping things simple around here.  In fact, if there’s a way to make things harder and more complicated, that’s  pretty much what we do.

And so we went to the toilet store.

And Mister is kind of a big fan of the toilet.  As a matter of fact, he’s working on a coffee table or a bathroom reading book or whatever that has all pictures of toilets and men’s rooms in it.  It’s very important to him, the toilet.  And so he SAT ON THE TOILETS IN THE STORE TO TRY THEM OUT.

I was sort of mortified by this.


I get mortified by things!

Why is that so hard for you to believe?

And then he had Girlfriend do it too, and Homeslice and I just sort of stood there, agog.  We didn’t know what to do and so I yelled at Mister to stop sitting on toilets in the toilet store and I said something like “why don’t you just pull your pants down, too!?! You’re not supposed to test them out in the store!”  and then some woman who had spent the past 10 minutes selecting just the right towel rack from a shelf full of IDENTICAL towel racks shouted in her Rhode Island accent “YES YOU AH! YES YOU AH! IT’S VERY IMPAWDINT!  I spent six months of my life making sure people got the right toilet!”


I have questions.

1) Why did she shout at me?

b) Why would anyone spend 6 months of her life fitting people for toilets?

4) Would you sit on toilets in the store?

f) Do I have poop issues or is it weird to sit on toilets in the store?  I mean, Home Depot keeps them way up high.  I imagine that’s to keep people from using them.

10) Right?

Bad news, you guys.

Mister hacked the Wii and now we have every game imaginable, and the Wii is plugged into a very large TV in front of a very comfortable couch in the basement next to a fridge full of beer and a bar. All we’re missing is a microwave to heat up nacho cheese sauce and it’s every man’s fantasyland.

I go to bed alone.

I wake up alone.

I find myself shouting things down the basement stairs like “DO YOU KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS????” And I hear things shouted back at me like “YOU’RE NOT MY MOTHER!”

And then yesterday I came downstairs in the morning to find that while I was at work the night before, Mister had a little Wii party in the basement and didn’t so much as lift a dish to put it in the dishwasher, and the house was in chaos, and Girlfriend had apparently eaten Fruity Snacks (all natural of course but it’s still not really fruit despite what Mister thinks) for dinner and Homeslice probably ate her socks because I still can’t find them.  And in Girlfriend’s room, I found Hello Kitty wearing a pair of Homeslice’s pants with a hole cut into the back so her tail could come out

I kind of knew something was up when I came home that night because he was all nice to me.  And I was like “why are you being so nice to me?” and he was like “I can’t be nice to my wife?  I love you!” And I’m all “what did you do?”  And he’s all “NOTHING! I SWEAR! JEEZUS!!!”


I went BULLSHIT when I found the evidence.

And so I put the Wiimotes in my purse and brought them to work with me.

Yes I did.

And you know what you guys?  I came home to the gentle hum of the dishwasher running and Girlfriend’s room all picked up and the books and all the toys put away and the children happy and bathed and pajama-ed and nobody had a hole in the back of their pants.

There was no discussion as to the whereabouts of the Wiimotes because he knew.

The End.

PS: Girlfriend is an amazing liar.  I’m totally bringing her with me next time I tried to return used/worn things to Macy’s.  You should have seen her innocent little face when she told me that the pants were like that when she found them and that maybe Homeslice cut that hole herself.  She actually almost convinced me before I came to my senses and had to call bullshit on her.  Don’t get me wrong, Queefs.  Homeslice is pretty smart.  She says “hi” and “Alice” and “mama” and she can wave bye-bye at people and she almost does the “SO BIG ” thing, but as far as I know, she cannot use scissors.  I mean seriously, she just figured out how mirrors work.

Mister and I watched American Idol last night. I don’t like American Idol. It’s boring. I know a lot of you guys are all about it, and I’m sorry but I just don’t care. I only like it when they’re doing the auditions because it’s just like freaks on parade and it makes me feel superior.

Victoria Beckham looks like a bobble head, yes? And I loved how she was trying really, really hard to be nice. That was cute.

Generally, I don’t like what’s on TV. Most of it’s total shit and I can’t even get into it. I do, however, enjoy what’s on tonight. I like that show about that family with the the gay guys and the hot Latina woman married to Al Bundy. What’s it called? I have no idea. Something Family…? And then there’s that other one with Patricia Heaton. I don’t know what that one’s called either. And then the one about the Cougar with Courtney Cox. She’s perfect for that show.

But I don’t even know what channel those shows are on or even if it’s really tonight or tomorrow. Do they still make Ugly Betty? Because I like her. When’s that on?

That’s how far I have my head up my ass.

I know, I know.

I need to take my television viewing more seriously. I need to take a lot of things more seriously. Oh, and I like Ghost Whisperer, too. That’s a good show. I love how when she’s translating what the dead people are saying to the living, she totally makes up her own shit. Why don’t the dead people ever get frustrated with her and go all “bitch, that’s not what I said at all!”

This post is making me go night-nights too, I think.

Sorry. Homeslice decided to be A Baby Who is AWAKE ALL NIGHT last night.  And right now she’s being A Baby Who is Trying to Eat My Arm.

Lucky for you, it’s a Toy With Me day today and you don’t have to stay here and watch me drool on myself anymore because I Have Invented the World’s Best Sex Toy.

PS: Speaking of Lucky and drool, I want this purse so bad it makes me hurt inside that we have to buy a new downstairs toilet instead.

The purse is prettier.  I’m considering trying to trick the people at Lucky Brand Jeans into giving me one.  Any ideas for a plan on how I can do that are welcome below.  My current plan to email them and be all “Hey! look over THERE!” and then somehow hack into the website and steal the purse probably won’t work.  I’m not that great with the computer.  Email still mystifies me sometimes.

It has recently come to my attention that the wife of a friend of ours has a rather dreadful drinking problem.  It’s so bad, in fact, that she has been bringing a water bottle full of wine out shopping with her, like to the Super Stop & Shop’s and to Target. 



But my reaction upon hearing this news was not shock or horror (that came after hearing that she’s taking her kids with her when she does this. I mean, what a buzz kill kids are, right? Ew!) but AWE.

Just, AWE.

My first thought was “AWESOME!  WHY DIDN’T I THINK OF THAT?” because how fun is that?  As if Target wasn’t already the best time you can have, like, ever?  Think of Target with a BUZZ.

Holy hell.

I dare say Mister would have to kick my ass after a shopping trip like that because as it is, I have almost zero self control when I walk in there. The last half of that last sentence will make Mister *so happy.* Seriously though, something happens to my brain and my pupils blow out and I’m like, “must. buy. Target.” And so I walk through the store randomly tossing things into the cart, especially if it has a little orange sticker on it, and when I get home, I’m so oblivious to what I bought that it’s exactly like opening Christmas and I’m all “oooooo, LOOK! We got…SOAP!” And then I flip it over to check to see how many calories the soap has in it because there is something very, very wrong with me.

But I digress…

Now imagine the above situation mixed with a lovely Sauvignon Blanc.

glug, glug, glug…Ahhhhhh…See?


The woman is an innovator and quite frankly, a personal hero at this point.

And if I went to Target with a little buzzypoo, there would no longer be any need to like, use the inconveniently located dressing room to try on one of those $8 long sleeved cotton scoop neck tee shirts (which I AM NOT BUYING ANYMORE!) because fuck it. Just try that shit on right there. Nobody’s looking.


Hungry? Open those fucking Harvest Cheddar Sun Chips up right now and dig right in, my friend.

It’s not stealing until you’ve passed a cash register. That’s an insider tip for you right there.

Need a little pick me up after all that relaxing wine? Grab some coffee from the food section and go test out a coffee pot. They keep the filters right next to the coffee pots, just FYI. It’s like they’re practically BEGGING you to do this. And nobody will even say shit to you because they’ll be so freaked out they won’t know what to say. Maybe you could even set up a little stand at the end of the aisle and sell a few cups to the other Target shoppers. You know, for wine money.

The possibilities are endless here, really, and I could go on but you know, just think about all of those things you’ve ever wanted to do at Target, but were too inhibited to pull off.

It’s a whole new world now.

Everything is possible.

Of course, you’ll probably get kicked out while wearing thongs on your head in the panty section, or loudly trying on jock straps, tossing them over your shoulder and shouting “dammit! Still too small!” but so what. You’ll just have to keep going to different stores and that’s okay because there’s lots of Targets.

I am the Hottest Mommy Blogger for the second year in a row.

Because yes.

And it looks like the Dumb Whorewives of Douchebag County, who are not hot and not mommies got kicked off for cheating their asses off.  Who knew there was actually a scrap, a shred, a modicum of legitimacy to The Blogger’s Choice Awards?

I certainly didn’t.  Voter driven contests are a disaster.

But I’m happy I won because for the past seven months, I’ve been sitting here at 6:00 am with baby vomit on my pajamas, fighting to keep my sense of humor (sometimes failing miserably) when really all I want to do is sit here and rant at the Internet because being a mommy is fucking hard, and it sucks at least 80% of the time on good days.  On bad days, it sucks 100%  of the time.

And I’m also happy because my friend, Aunty Becky over at Mommy Wants Vodka, came in second.  Yay for Aunt Becky! If you don’t read her blog, you really should.

Perhaps the best thing though is that we both beat Doosh and that’s a victory for EVERYONE if you ask me.

Except for those Cheating Whorewives.  They can suck it.  HARD.  I’d rather have seen Doosh win.  Probably.

Anyway, I’m not doing the naked thing again this year.

Here.  Have a picture of my ass.  That’s good enough, right?


That’s the least dressed I’ve been in any picture in the past year.  Deal with it.

Hottest Mommy Blogger 2009 out.

PS: Mister won second place for Best Photography blog, and Stoogie is Hottest Celebrity Blogger, and Dingo won The Blogitzer (I don’t know what that is, but it sounds Very Impressive) That’s right, people.  You’re barking with the big dogs.