Popping Boobies, Sugar Daddies, and calling it like we see it!

The barf apocalypse didn’t hit!  Hubby was all worried that with me going away on my “teambuilding” event that the girls were going to explode like Linda Blair.    Since we have debunked that myth, poor hubby did get stuck shuttling them around, heating up my premade dinners, and having to do their hair for picture day.    

According to the girls, he did drop the “F” bomb on them a couple of times, something along the lines of, “I am not your FUCKING mother, I will not tolerate this SHIT.” 

All worries aside, home made it through three days with no ankle biters revolting.

I, on the other hand had issues.  (Shut up bitches)  I had “work” related issues with injuries:

I had to build a boat out of cardboard and paddle it in a nasty green lake.

I had to “team build” with a bunch of engineers who were very clicky.  (which, at the end, I have to say, ended up being kind of fun)

I fell.  In the shower.  I swirlied myself around the shower.  And then landed.  On my boob.  The noise was so deafening, I think that the others in my “bunkhouse” thought there was an earthquake in Oregon.  I did not cry.  I whimpered (quietly).  As I was twirling around the shower, I jacked up my knee (it looked like I had two kneecaps) and my boob was so hard and blue/green that I was a tad bit afraid.  I was afraid I might have gangrene and/or I popped something inside.  (After note:  Visit to the doctor only resulted in medal winner for fall, no permanent damage)

I flew a puddle jumper from Bend to Portland and almost died.  Hand to God - 

the little old Abeula next to me was clutching her rosary with many, many Madre De Dios’s later, we finally landed in Portland.

Where the airport had no air conditioning, and it was over 100.  Outside the airport.  Inside the terminal it was 150 degrees with 120% humidity and 1000% filled with funk.  Fail Portland, fail.

So this past week of working away at the soul sucking office, I have noticed a few trends that I would like to share with you all.

Regarding my spam mail – Why do I have 82 emails in less than 72 hours?

Apparently, I am full of moles (you CAN remove them easily, whew), I can mingle with the Christians (no booze, no swearing = no fun), I can look at photos of senior people (ack ack ack), I can blast my belly fat with cheap auto insurance, all this to go along with a psychology program.  If this isn’t my cup-o-tea, then I can look at a truck driving career, where I can use my AARP Membership (seriously you FUCKERS, I am not even 40 yet), eat delicious lobster while checking out the scooter store.  

If all else fails in my marriage I can always date those Millionaires in the Sugar Daddy Club.   82 shitty e-mails, thank goodness for delete all.

I honestly think the end of the world is coming - between these jackasses in the news killing people lately, to the POLICE shooting tourists in NYC, to the crazy drivers only concerned with themselves, and the general douchebaggery of the public - its APOCALYPSE ON BITCHES.

And in closing, I wanted to give a huge shout out to  Kelli  at Improperly Forward.  Her little some e-cards photo on facebook made my fucking day.  After calling my MIL on her bullshit comments (over due and LONG WARRANTED) There was a lot of angst on her end for being called on the carpet.   Kelli – you are my hero!

Beware the vagina apocalypse

GAAAAAAA…….it’s starting!

Vagina gate has officially entered our household.  

It was actually really appropriate that the first blog that I read this morning was Oh Noa’s blog (Vagina Pinata's) about throwing  a party when your daughter travels that mysterious road from being a cute little elementary school kid to one that is “swollen with evil, starts rotting, and the devil then takes them as a toxic vessel for his purpose”  

Otherwise known as the trip from girl to “womanhood”. 

AWW Baby

Last night, my 9 year old (almost 10) started screaming in the shower.  As I made a mad dash up the stairs screaming, “What’s wrong, what’s happening!!!”  I get to the door and hear this, “OMG 

(she actually says O-M-G) 

Mom, I have HAIR on my pee-pee!  I am thinking to myself, pffttt right….it’s just those soft downy baby hairs that most of them have all over their bodies.  You know, the cute stuff that makes them look all angelic and sweet and young.  No…it wasn’t.  It was a very sparse chemo kitty collection of wiry dark hair that has cropped up all over her crotch. 

I drew a picture of chemo kitty below for you all!

I am not ready for this, I am just not.  I am too young, I am too pretty, I am too afraid that they will cycle along with me and we will tip the balance of the universe with our axis of evil bitchiness.  

This will then catapult my younger daughter to rapidly enter the realm of “womanhood” and bring about the apocalypse with her menstrual anger.   I can barely contain myself, how the hell am I going to cope with the holy trifecta of gangsta vaginal anger?

What will selling cookies be like next year??

It’s bad enough that she has boobs.  Little baby booby lites that need trapping in a band aid bra, which I have to admit that I tell every family member just to cement her teenage angst against me.  

Oh, Auntie Lauren, did you see that Baby Girl has boobies now?  Aren’t they just so cute…quick baby, raise your arms so that everyone can see how cute your little boobies are!

Of course, I am exaggerating (kinda, sorta….umm…yeah)  and is it not bad enough that I have to remind them about personal odor and wiping.  But now, I have to instruct them on the use of tampons and the importance of cleaning the massive bloody mess that your crotch becomes during this time??  I can’t even get them to wipe their asses!

purchase by the case baby..by the case

I will need wine, fuck that shit, I will need ever clear to withstand this Def Con Monstration.  

And no, I will not be throwing a red tent party. 

Oh yeah, if you got any HABO (Help a Bitch Out) advice…..I wouldn’t turn you down.

SOB, SOB, SOB

Boobiful

Girls just wanna have……..boobies?

I have big boobs.  I have always had big boobs, and there are times in my life where they have been the bane of my existence and there are other times when they have been the most helpful things in my life.  Now, I am not talking about their shelf status, or the ability to use them to help put my lipstick on while I am holding drinks in my hands, rather I am talking about their ability to distract people so that they do what I want.

In all started in the summer between 5^th and 6^th grade.  You see that is when I got my period, and then in one summer it was like god stepped on the bike pump a little too long and overnight a C-cup appeared on my chest.  (Now they are more like D’s but I blame that on gravity, good food and wine).

I think that I was the first girl at my private school to even wear a “real” bra.  All of the other girls were wearing these sporty, razor back things and I had to go for the maidenform underwire industrial bra that helped keep my baby puppies strapped tight to my chest.

My first true experience with these suckers was when I was 15.  My grandparents took me to the Marines Memorial Hotel in San Francisco to go to dinner and see some musical.  My grandmother took me to Nordstrom’s and bought me this cute little skirt and this short jacket.  The jacket was this beautiful peach linen jacket that was cropped in a military fashion with a snazzy cross button in front.  HOLEEE Shit, I thought I was da bomb in this jacket.  And of course, my new boobies were encased in a tight white top under the jacket.

So after dinner and the show, my grandparents want to go and have a night cap in the bar of the hotel.  And who am I to say no…PPPFFFTTT…15 with new boobies and hormones raging….HELL YA. 

The place is packed, apparently a new Air Force Lieutenant group had just graduated and they were taking over the bar.  The only place left to sit was at the bar.  AT the BAR….Yeah.  So as we sit at the bar, my grandmother says, “Jana, take of your jacket sweetie”  Not thinking anything of it, I arch back and take off my jacket.  The entire row of guys at the bar stop and look at me as I am arching back, and one young brave Lieutenant says, “OH MY GOD”.  I think that I folded back into myself at this moment, I was so embarrassed.  The young man then looks at my grandfather and says, “Sir, I…I…can I buy your family a drink, sir”  My grandfather says, “Son, that is my granddaughter and the only thing that you will be looking at are my eyes at this bar.”  Of course, my grandparents thought this was hysterical after we left the bar.  As we get into the elevator, they totally made it more awkward with my Grandmother saying, “Well, little bean, it’s obviously that while you have your mother’s beauty, you were blessed with my rack.”  This does explain while my mother banned me from “borrowing” her bras, she always complained that I stretched them out.

Fast forward to my college graduation trip to Europe.    Who doesn’t want an all expense paid trip to Europe, where your Grandparents rent a house in Southern France and then take you on little “mini” trips to Paris, Monte Carlo, Italy and England.   Their idea of “roughing it” consisted of hotel rooms at the Hilton. 

So, of course, I did what any single, new college graduate would do……I spent 95.5% of my time on the beach at St. Maxime…..topless.

Did you know that you can burn your nipples?  Did you??  Did you??  Well, I did not.  Of course, my grandfather asks that I wait until he falls asleep before taking my top off, which isn’t too long because any time he sat down he fell asleep within 5 minutes.  So my grandmother would warn me…..”Little bean….he’s asleep….you can take your top off.”  Now, I know that many of you might be surprised by my grandparents but let’s just say….(1) they still made out in front of me (gack, ick, gross, but now that I am married….I can’t wait to do that in front of my grandkids) (2) When my grandparents lived in Hawaii, my grandmother faked a heart attack on the beach so that this cute lifeguard who kept walking by and checking me out, would finally come over.  I eventually got over the mortification and shagged him on the beach later that week. 

Apparently the sight of fresh college boobies naked does strange things to men of all ages.  One very, very, very wrinkly old man who only had his privates encased in a g-string nut sack cover wanted to buy me a drink.  Then a very burned white German man tried to talk to me….it was very hard to understand him over wincing at his burn.  A creepy old Saudi man tried to buy me from my grandparents.  And a very cute Scottish boy charmed his way over and managed to snag my “attention” .  Later when I was back in the States, he mailed me a picture he had taken of my boobies.  On the back of the photo…..he wrote “The Rockies”.  

I still have the photo….after I had my girls, I pull it out occasionally to confirm that my rack was once nice and high and that yes, I indeed had pretty little pink nipples.

And we arrive at the here and now………

The other day, my youngest daughter wanted to get in the shower with me, which is fine because it saves me time.  As we are in the shower, she pauses and we start this conversation:

Ankle Biter #2:  Mommy, sit down

Me:  Why

AB #2:  I want to talk to you

Me:  (Sigh) ok

AB#2:  Criss-cross apple sauce, Mommy (long suffering sigh)

Me:  Fine

AB#2:  I have two questions for you, (1) How did your boobs get sooooooooooooooooo big and (2) when am I going to get mine?

Me:  (Stunned that she actually broke it down and help up fingers to annotate between the #1 question and the #2 question)  Well, they grew that way on me and you will get yours in high school.

AB#2:  Well, Mommie, that is fine, but will mine be as low as yours? (In the meantime, she is trying to lift them up and I am smacking her hands off my boobs)

Me:  Get out of the shower.

But the other day, a sweet young 17 year old boy made me feel so much better.  At the checkout, he was helping me put a coupon into the “self-service” checkout machine.  The next thing I know, he is giving me like $30 worth of coupons and I was stunned.  I turned to him (and of course, who isn’t taller than me) to say thanks.

 I looked to make eye contact with him and say, “Hey, thanks, that was awesome!!.”  He looks down my top and says, “Yeah, no problem”

I will never, ever, ever, ever….take off this bra.