The ultimate kid's fun day is at hand---HALLOWEEN. It is when they can get dressed up in crazy or fancy or silly or scary costumes and go door-to-door scoring oodles of candy treats. It don't get no better than this when you are a kid. You wait till Mom and Dad (half-assed) go through your loot, sifting for needles or poison or an errant hit of Ecstasy that found its way into your Target plastic pumpkin. Once this is done, if you have cool parents, you eat candy till you want to puke. But usually you are so jacked up from all the sugar that you run in circles like a one-eyed pony after 5 venti Stabucks lattes.
Our neighborhood begins trick-or-treating at 4pm. I never recall heading out this early as a kid. I always started out on my candy quest when it was dark, with or without our parent chaperones. As a mom of younger kids, I now get it. It's light out, let's get this shit over with before we get snot-cicles hanging from our noses...or till the Captain Morgan and hot cider runs out from my "coffee" mug. Daddy takes the kids out for a block or two and Mommy hands out candy, then we switch. And don't even think of coming to my door without a costume. I will give you a steaming Pierre turd on toothpick if you think your Bears hoodie is festive enough. And that would be categorized as a TRICK.
One of my most memorable Halloweens to date happened about 3 years ago. Sophie was a unicorn and Isabella was a cheerleader that year. Glittery makeup and face paint were de rigeur. It was pretty chilly and as soon as the sun went down a faint drizzle began to sprinkle down on us. That made it freeze-yo-ass cold outside. We were getting weary from runny noses and frosty knuckles, though I was the one carrying 14 pounds of candy per pumpkin pail on each arm. I was OVER it. We decided to venture up the block a few more houses to say hi to our babysitter. About 10 houses up from ours, Sophie decided it was high time she had to go to the bathroom. And when a kid has to go, they have to go RIGHT NOW. I frantically looked around at the nearby homes. We were about 3 homes from our good friends' place so we decided to hit them up for a potty break. At the time their daughter was 2 so she wasn't really into the whole trick-or-treating experience. (Read: her parents were ready for all these dumb-ass older kids to stop ringing their doorbell so they could put her to bed.) We piped up and shouted "Trick-or-treat!!" as they opened the door with a smile. Their daughter was already in jammies and they were probably ready to turn the porch light off when the Ghahtani gang showed up. I mentioned in a hushed voice that Sophie really needed to use their potty if it wasn't too much trouble. "Not a problem," she assured me. Both kids blew past her, kicking their shoes off in the entryway as they entered their house. Nice touch, kids. Sophie hit the john and I waited. And waited. And waited. "Sophie, are you okay in there?" Then I smelled the nutty, rotten vegetable aroma wafting from beneath the door. I love it how she picks the most opportune moments in life to drop a steamer. By this point, Isabella is getting their daughter's toys out and making a big mess of dolls and tea sets in the living room. I am dying of embarrassment right now. Sophie beckons me to wipe her ass. It's a Triple-Wiper. I swear this child eats bamboo when I am not looking. For a child so skinny and bony, she is quite proficient in the waste depositing quotient, shall we say.. Now that Halloween Poopfest is done my kids are hungry, of course, and not for the candy in their pails. They both start whining and crying for a snack in my friends home. For the love of Christ do they have no shame?? Two bananas, some Goldfish crackers, and two fruit snacks later we are out of their house. I know we are now very high on their "Which Freak-Ass Neighbors Are We NOT Inviting to Our Dinner Party" list.
We wander next door to another familiar family's home. It is now raining pretty consistently and we are soggy. Sophie's unicorn horn is a limp sponge. We ring the doorbell with our "Trick-or-treat!" chant and can see the wife in the window. She has this dumb grin on her face and keeps looking out at us and then points over to the side of her porch.My daughters are standing there with three older boys, probably about 11 years-old or so. We notice a scarecrow-looking stuffed body on a chair with a bowl of candy in its crotch. Just as the kids go to grab a piece, of course, the jackass of all jackasses wakes up and screams at the kids as he lurches forward. My kids scream and begin to cry. A LOT. Fuck your candy offerings, you mother fucker. Could you not SEE out of your rubber mask that there were two little girls who, gee I don't know, are WAY TOO FUCKING YOUNG TO GET THEIR KICKS OUT OF A SCARY DEAD BODY COMING AT THEM IN THE FUCKING DARK!!!! Makeup streaming down faces, tears flowing rapidly, Halloween is officially DONE, thank you very much. I had planned on venturing further but Mr. Fucktard Scarypants had to ruin it for everyone. On a sidenote, this couple now has a two year-old daughter. Shall I re-enact the Carrie prom scene on my front porch for her? No because I have class.
Who knows what this Halloween will hold for us. I will not be leaving a bowl of delicious candy out for the posse of costume-less neighbor boys to hoard and toss the empty pail in my tree. These are the same kids who leave bags of dog shit on my neighbors porch, I suspect. And these will be the same kids who will someday earn their GED at 20 years-old and sit on the porch or their mom's house and scare the shit out of young kids. On second thought, maybe I WILL leave that bowl out and they can have at it with an array of Ex-Lax chocolate Snickers "surprises". We'll see who brags about that on the bus come Monday, dickwads. Happy Halloween!!!
Monday, October 27, 2008
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Well DUHHHHHHHH!!!
Thank you for coming out, Clay Aiken. I was really under the impression that you were a total muff muncher, looking for poon at every turn. Your husky masculinity made me swoon. All the obese women who followed you around and were "Clay-niacs" were blown away when you decided to reveal you like to smoke pickles. I am shocked, utterly shocked.
O.J. Simpson, karma's a bitch, ain't it? I am laughing my ass off at the news of your verdict. Did you really think your whole life you would be able to walk around, not play by the rules, golf the best courses, date younger white women, and scoff when people sneer in disgust at you? When you are that guilty and arrogant, you are bound to fuck up again. And guess what? YOU DID! Seriously, for some dumb-ass shit. Rotting in jail this time might technically for a different crime but we all know why God finally got your ass in the slammer. Fool. Maybe Drew Peterson will learn from your mistakes.
Lindsay Lohan is a lesbian! Wow, knock me over with a feather. Of course she has to pull that trick out of her hat. She has done EVERYTHING else. She has been a boozehound, a cokehead, an anorexic, Nicole Ritchie's BFF, a shitty actress, a redhead, a blonde, crazy, depressed, a HORRIBLE singer. Did I leave anything out? If you ask me she will pull an Anne Heche and de-dyke next year. Once she has ridden this tuna taco wave till people stop talking about her, she'll switch back to cock. Just you wait and see.
Some scientists have discovered that certain small animals, such as gerbils, turtles, snakes, guinea pigs, and hamsters are not recommended to have as pets for young children. They may carry certain diseases and since many of these animals tend to bite, kids are more prone to contract these diseases. I know what the real deal is here. These "scientists" are actually a bunch of moms who are sick of cleaning animal shit from giant cages. They figured the only way to get a valid reason to release Fluffy into the wild (and become the neighbor cat, Jinx's, mid-day snack) is to make it a scientific reason. Way to go moms, er, I mean SCIENTISTS. I have been looking for more reasons to boycott cleaning up several varieties of animal feces every day.
Martha Stewart has kindly informed me how to make a "pumpkin tableaux" this season. She has also given great ideas for table settings, elaborate handmade Halloween decorations, and vibrant fall foliage to fill my home. Oprah and her clan of columnists from her magazine tell me how to eat right, have more energy, be positive, get out of debt, reconnect with my husband, take a spiritual trip of a lifetime, and how to maximize my shitting capacity each morning with flax and bamboo toilet paper. Fuck these two arrogant, rich-as-shit, too much time on their hands bitches and their multitude of ideas, Here's a book from the library and a dollar for a plain old cup of coffee from Caribou. Sit on your pampered ass and chill the fuck out for 10 minutes. It is fine to be uncrafty, in debt, disorganized and constipated once in awhile.
Michigan is called "The Great Lakes State". I am officially renaming it to "The Great Lakes and A Whole Lotta' Big Fuckin' Hills State". No surprise here, I rode in Michigan this weekend on my bike. It was the "Colorburst" ride from Lowell, Michigan. You could opt for 17, 30, 62, or 100 miles. I decided with the hills I suspected might pepper this path that 62 would be sufficient. Riding 62 miles in Michigan is like riding 115 miles in flat-as-my-dad's-ass Illinois, the land of cornfields. I got to ride with my Uncle John and my friend, Robyn, who used to dance with me in the Grand Rapids Ballet Company. Here are some mental notes that ran through my head as the miles passed. Each "leg" of the ride was about 15 miles...
Leg #!: This scenery is AMAZING! The temperature is perfect. Look at the colors in the trees! What a blessing it is to have reconnected with an old friend and to share the passion of cycling with my uncle, too! Today is awesome!....
Leg #2: This is starting to suck a little bit. These hills are really a little challenging. Robyn and John are really fast even at the top of those hills! That's okay, I am only racing against myself. I can do this. But this is starting to hurt me...
Leg #3: I fucking hate this shit. Fuck me!!! My legs hurt so bad. Where the fuck are Robyn and John?! Well of course they smoked my slow ass and left me in the dust. I am fat and out-of-shape. I think I'm a bad mother, too. I yell and swear too much. And I don't think I'm that great of a ballet teacher. What if I fell over in this ditch here next to me..Would anyone see me go down? How long would it take before anyone noticed I was missing? I fucking hate this shit!! I am going to die. Great, now the fat people are passing me. I am a loser who fucking hates this. Fuck me...
Leg #4: I can do it....I can do it....Push those legs...Use those ass muscles...Ass..ass..ass...ass...Holy mother of God that is a big hill. Oh isn't that nice that Robyn and John have looped back 6 times apiece to make sure I am not dead. What a blessing they are in my life. I can do it. This--hill--is---really--fucking--hard--but---I--can--do--it!!!!.... I did it! Whooo hooo! Koombaya, mother fuckers! I didn't die! That was awesome. I AM a decent person. Just let's lay off on the hill bullshit for awhile... Am I allowed to take a day or two off now?
O.J. Simpson, karma's a bitch, ain't it? I am laughing my ass off at the news of your verdict. Did you really think your whole life you would be able to walk around, not play by the rules, golf the best courses, date younger white women, and scoff when people sneer in disgust at you? When you are that guilty and arrogant, you are bound to fuck up again. And guess what? YOU DID! Seriously, for some dumb-ass shit. Rotting in jail this time might technically for a different crime but we all know why God finally got your ass in the slammer. Fool. Maybe Drew Peterson will learn from your mistakes.
Lindsay Lohan is a lesbian! Wow, knock me over with a feather. Of course she has to pull that trick out of her hat. She has done EVERYTHING else. She has been a boozehound, a cokehead, an anorexic, Nicole Ritchie's BFF, a shitty actress, a redhead, a blonde, crazy, depressed, a HORRIBLE singer. Did I leave anything out? If you ask me she will pull an Anne Heche and de-dyke next year. Once she has ridden this tuna taco wave till people stop talking about her, she'll switch back to cock. Just you wait and see.
Some scientists have discovered that certain small animals, such as gerbils, turtles, snakes, guinea pigs, and hamsters are not recommended to have as pets for young children. They may carry certain diseases and since many of these animals tend to bite, kids are more prone to contract these diseases. I know what the real deal is here. These "scientists" are actually a bunch of moms who are sick of cleaning animal shit from giant cages. They figured the only way to get a valid reason to release Fluffy into the wild (and become the neighbor cat, Jinx's, mid-day snack) is to make it a scientific reason. Way to go moms, er, I mean SCIENTISTS. I have been looking for more reasons to boycott cleaning up several varieties of animal feces every day.
Martha Stewart has kindly informed me how to make a "pumpkin tableaux" this season. She has also given great ideas for table settings, elaborate handmade Halloween decorations, and vibrant fall foliage to fill my home. Oprah and her clan of columnists from her magazine tell me how to eat right, have more energy, be positive, get out of debt, reconnect with my husband, take a spiritual trip of a lifetime, and how to maximize my shitting capacity each morning with flax and bamboo toilet paper. Fuck these two arrogant, rich-as-shit, too much time on their hands bitches and their multitude of ideas, Here's a book from the library and a dollar for a plain old cup of coffee from Caribou. Sit on your pampered ass and chill the fuck out for 10 minutes. It is fine to be uncrafty, in debt, disorganized and constipated once in awhile.
Michigan is called "The Great Lakes State". I am officially renaming it to "The Great Lakes and A Whole Lotta' Big Fuckin' Hills State". No surprise here, I rode in Michigan this weekend on my bike. It was the "Colorburst" ride from Lowell, Michigan. You could opt for 17, 30, 62, or 100 miles. I decided with the hills I suspected might pepper this path that 62 would be sufficient. Riding 62 miles in Michigan is like riding 115 miles in flat-as-my-dad's-ass Illinois, the land of cornfields. I got to ride with my Uncle John and my friend, Robyn, who used to dance with me in the Grand Rapids Ballet Company. Here are some mental notes that ran through my head as the miles passed. Each "leg" of the ride was about 15 miles...
Leg #!: This scenery is AMAZING! The temperature is perfect. Look at the colors in the trees! What a blessing it is to have reconnected with an old friend and to share the passion of cycling with my uncle, too! Today is awesome!....
Leg #2: This is starting to suck a little bit. These hills are really a little challenging. Robyn and John are really fast even at the top of those hills! That's okay, I am only racing against myself. I can do this. But this is starting to hurt me...
Leg #3: I fucking hate this shit. Fuck me!!! My legs hurt so bad. Where the fuck are Robyn and John?! Well of course they smoked my slow ass and left me in the dust. I am fat and out-of-shape. I think I'm a bad mother, too. I yell and swear too much. And I don't think I'm that great of a ballet teacher. What if I fell over in this ditch here next to me..Would anyone see me go down? How long would it take before anyone noticed I was missing? I fucking hate this shit!! I am going to die. Great, now the fat people are passing me. I am a loser who fucking hates this. Fuck me...
Leg #4: I can do it....I can do it....Push those legs...Use those ass muscles...Ass..ass..ass...ass...Holy mother of God that is a big hill. Oh isn't that nice that Robyn and John have looped back 6 times apiece to make sure I am not dead. What a blessing they are in my life. I can do it. This--hill--is---really--fucking--hard--but---I--can--do--it!!!!.... I did it! Whooo hooo! Koombaya, mother fuckers! I didn't die! That was awesome. I AM a decent person. Just let's lay off on the hill bullshit for awhile... Am I allowed to take a day or two off now?
Sunday, October 5, 2008
God Punk'd Me
I decided it was finally time to return to church today. I have sort of taken some "time off" due to cycling outside, laziness, frustration with my church, kids' schedules, etc. Not hugely acceptable excuses but excuses, nonetheless. Sultan left for New Orleans and I got the three ladies of the house squeaky clean and sassy. Off to 10 o'clock mass.
After the 1st and 2nd reading mumbo jumbo I was pleasantly pleased with how well the kids were behaving. Then the priest stood up at the podium to begin his sermon. This is the part of mass where the gospel is explained and discussed at length, hopefully demystifying the archaic language in which the bible is written. Nope. Not today my friends. You know how some shit just comes to bite you in the ass? Like avoiding that student loan payment for 10 years? Or getting addicted to your son's Ritalin? My weeks and weeks of forgoing church all came to a reverent head this Sunday. Father "Life McPreacher" started to talk at great length about my FAVORITE family-appropriate subject, ABORTION. Well fuck me gently with a chainsaw. AGAIN?!!!!
I exclaimed, "Good LORD!" in a loud whisper as I craned my neck around to see if anyone else was equally annoyed. Not a one. It was like he was talking about the baby Jesus at midnight mass on Christmas Eve. The flock of followers was mesmerized by this rant. I ignored most of it as I tried to engage my kids in silly games and conversation so they wouldn't hear "tiny fetus" or "killing centers". That's right, I, a grown woman, was willingly trying to distract my kids from paying attention in church. Because God thought it was so damn funny to Punk my ass, Ashton Kutcher-style, on a Sunday. MAYBE I will go to church next weekend. I picked up the weekly bulletin so at least I can see if we will be watching the Bloody Dead Fetus Puppet Show Extravaganza or boarding a bus to hang out at a clinic and protest next week. I might skip that sermon if I see any red flags..
We left and came back an hour later because St. Francis of Assisi is a barrel of fun. We could get our pets blessed at church!! There is nothing more sweet and festive as lining up an array of dogs, cats, and guinea pigs in their carriers and harnesses to have Father sprinkle holy water on them and pray. Especially when they start fighting. Some crazy-ass dogs were snarling and going for each other's jugular veins as their leashes got tangled and owners frantically tried to tell each other, "Rascal NEVER acts this way in front of other dogs. I am so sorry! Do you think he'll need stitches?" Good holy times to be had by all. We brought Pierre who acted like he was at the damn circus for the first time, spazzing out and choking himself just so he could sniff any ass or crotch low enough to come in contact with his nose. Linny, our booty-licious guinea pig, was one of several rodents. Isabella started out holding her, wrapped in a mini fleece blankie. That is until Linny peed on her hand and she swiftly dropped her into the grass and wiped the guinea pig pee all over my jeans. Thank God this whole charade lasted only about 10 minutes. Then we were free to enjoy a shriveled hot dog lunch and pet the farm animals at the makeshift petting zoo set up in the parking lot. By this point it had begun to drizzle outside. Pierre had a face-off with an alpaca and a goat and was trying to sniff a duck's ass when he got shoved back into the Jeep. Two hot dog lunches, 5 raffle tickets, and one religious education director sighting later, we hit the road. The kids with farm animal saliva on their hands and God in their hearts and me, covered with guinea pig piss and a hankering to go buy some iron-on "Save the Fetus" logos from Joann Fabrics...
After the 1st and 2nd reading mumbo jumbo I was pleasantly pleased with how well the kids were behaving. Then the priest stood up at the podium to begin his sermon. This is the part of mass where the gospel is explained and discussed at length, hopefully demystifying the archaic language in which the bible is written. Nope. Not today my friends. You know how some shit just comes to bite you in the ass? Like avoiding that student loan payment for 10 years? Or getting addicted to your son's Ritalin? My weeks and weeks of forgoing church all came to a reverent head this Sunday. Father "Life McPreacher" started to talk at great length about my FAVORITE family-appropriate subject, ABORTION. Well fuck me gently with a chainsaw. AGAIN?!!!!
I exclaimed, "Good LORD!" in a loud whisper as I craned my neck around to see if anyone else was equally annoyed. Not a one. It was like he was talking about the baby Jesus at midnight mass on Christmas Eve. The flock of followers was mesmerized by this rant. I ignored most of it as I tried to engage my kids in silly games and conversation so they wouldn't hear "tiny fetus" or "killing centers". That's right, I, a grown woman, was willingly trying to distract my kids from paying attention in church. Because God thought it was so damn funny to Punk my ass, Ashton Kutcher-style, on a Sunday. MAYBE I will go to church next weekend. I picked up the weekly bulletin so at least I can see if we will be watching the Bloody Dead Fetus Puppet Show Extravaganza or boarding a bus to hang out at a clinic and protest next week. I might skip that sermon if I see any red flags..
We left and came back an hour later because St. Francis of Assisi is a barrel of fun. We could get our pets blessed at church!! There is nothing more sweet and festive as lining up an array of dogs, cats, and guinea pigs in their carriers and harnesses to have Father sprinkle holy water on them and pray. Especially when they start fighting. Some crazy-ass dogs were snarling and going for each other's jugular veins as their leashes got tangled and owners frantically tried to tell each other, "Rascal NEVER acts this way in front of other dogs. I am so sorry! Do you think he'll need stitches?" Good holy times to be had by all. We brought Pierre who acted like he was at the damn circus for the first time, spazzing out and choking himself just so he could sniff any ass or crotch low enough to come in contact with his nose. Linny, our booty-licious guinea pig, was one of several rodents. Isabella started out holding her, wrapped in a mini fleece blankie. That is until Linny peed on her hand and she swiftly dropped her into the grass and wiped the guinea pig pee all over my jeans. Thank God this whole charade lasted only about 10 minutes. Then we were free to enjoy a shriveled hot dog lunch and pet the farm animals at the makeshift petting zoo set up in the parking lot. By this point it had begun to drizzle outside. Pierre had a face-off with an alpaca and a goat and was trying to sniff a duck's ass when he got shoved back into the Jeep. Two hot dog lunches, 5 raffle tickets, and one religious education director sighting later, we hit the road. The kids with farm animal saliva on their hands and God in their hearts and me, covered with guinea pig piss and a hankering to go buy some iron-on "Save the Fetus" logos from Joann Fabrics...
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