What happens at the cabin stays at the cabin…(pffttt, bitch, I’ve got a blog!!)

Hello peeps, sorry that I have been so blah blah lately.  I have been working, and working, and working, and working at the cabin, and getting my girls ready for the end of the school year and summer vacation plans, and working, and working, and working at home, and working.

Sense the general theme here?  However, that being said, I did take the time to take part in some serious shenanigans at our family cabin.  

Let’s just say that this involved around 10 bottles of wine, 3 + cases of beer, some rather large marshmallows and 8 adults (semi adult acting).  (Well, really only 1 adult didn’t participate, he stood aside shook his head and mocked us during our low points.  But we can always count on Papa to put the idea in our heads and let us take all of the fool credit. )

Typical View

Even better

It’s a bad sign when your Mommy has to bake the cabin “neighbors” a berry cobbler to “apologize” for all of the noise and shenanigans that your adult children made at the bonfire until 2:30 a.m.  (Well, we think it was 2:30 a.m., we are relying on my sister’s using her one good focusin’ eye to tell the time)

At least this time, no one threw a wine bottle full of gas on the bon fire, and no one fell in the bon fire, and I didn’t throw my flaming marshmallow on my sister’s lap (again), no one threw up, and no one fell over into their own stream of steaming pee while trying to squat.  (I know NOTHING about this ONE…..NOTHING)  

Give me your beer BITCH

And now I've wet my pants...again.

Pony rides anyone??  ANYONE??

No one tried to play mountain golf in the dead of night and got lost, and no one got kicked out of the mountain biker bar that is down the street, and praise the baby HeyZeus, no one wet their pants laughing.  The last one gets a little difficult when you get around my brother in law, because when he is on….HE IS ALWAYS ON.  That man hurts my abs and causes me to purchase poise pads as part of my “cabin” list.

View from Back Cabin

WOOT WOOT, New Bath-house!

The Dreaded BACK CABIN

This trip, we didn’t have any “bat” issues in the back cabin!  “Bat” issues you say…..well, let me tell you.  See, the back cabin is one of those old logging cabins that you can pick up and move anywhere.  It’s a very dark box with windows, and if you have ever been camping or in the woods, you know that it gets DARK DARK DARK up there.  

So, hubby and I are lying in bed in the back cabin, we have one ankle biter in the twin bed next to us and another ankle biter across the room in another twin bed.  Hubby and I have stumbled from the bon fire and are proceeding to saw some serious alcoleholie snores in the dark dark room.  Suddenly, Hubby leaps from a prone position to jumping around the bed like some crazed dog doing butt circles trying to catch his tail, all the while screaming madly.  This causes me to rise like an autobot Stepford Wife while belting out a massive scream that would rival ANY fucking horror flick you have EVER seen.  Finally, my own screams pierce my beer fog and I jump out of the bed and scream for my hubby to quit leaping around the bed like a meth-ed out lab.  My girlies are staring at us with a “What the fuck now look??” and I get everyone to take a breath.  We finally figure out that while lying on his side, my hubby’s arm has fallen asleep.  Said arm, while sound asleep has whacked him in the face, causing him to believe that a “bat” was trying to eat him.  He was attempting to “save” his girls and attack the bat (hence the bed butt circles and screaming) Once we established that the “bat” was really his own arm, I think I laughed so hard that even my poise pad had trouble keeping up with the flow. (Damn kids).  Thank the lordy above that this trip was “bat” free.

Outdoor Shower!!  WOOT WOOT

I did shower naked under the stars, and I did fall (as to be expected a couple of times) 

Scene of the Crime

MMM...velvet cake and WINE...WINE WINE

I DID try TRY TRY to kick ass in Sequence.  Usually, my team goes down in flames (I’m usually partnered with my Mom, who at this point in the evening is giving me the one eye).  This time I was partnered with my brother and my hubby was partnered with my brother in law.  Their team proceeded to hand us our asses on multiple occasions.  My brother (Lord, love him) plays the same as my Mom….I think next time I’m gonna have to call ho’s before bro’s and partner up with my Sis in Law or my Sister for the win.  Damn those boys and their big black bad ass chips.

I did agree to eat bear meat (NASTY), I did move a ton of gravel, I got dirty, and I absolutely had a FABULOUS time with the best family ever!

And a BIG BIG thank you to the BEST brother ever...who brought my own water so we could all drink me.

R….S……T….(aww fuck, I let life get in the way)

So, I suck, I know…but in my defense life shizzle got in the way.  

Friday, I spent the majority of my day at the San Francisco building department.  And I know that most of are going to say, “But it was a beautiful day in the City!!”  And I would say yes, with ONE BIG BUT….

It took me 3 GODDAMNHOURS to get 40 miles, I swear every major bridge that one can cross to get into San Francisco had major traffic accidents for Friday morning making me very late.  So instead of having the top off my car and being nice and toasty warm and feeling Friday free, I was sunburnt, angry and had a massive cramp from holding in pee the size of Niagara Falls.  

So after slugging my way into the City, I race towards the building department and proceed to hang out there for the next worst five hours of my life.  I spent these hours with the biggest twatbadger that I could have ever imagined.  Take one miserable county employee, embolden with the crankiness of 1000 grumpy old men and compress him into a tiny 30 something package.  

Now normally, I can handle these guys a couple of ways, either I usually use my charm and smile and try to be very friendly or I put on my intense face on, the one that tries to show that I am really listening intently to every word that you have to say because I feel that you are impotent (and yes, I meant to spell it that way)  Normally, this works…..but with this guy….he either 

(1) got laid badly, (2) needs to get laid, or (3) will require a jackhammer to remove the stick stuck so far up his ass that he could open his mouth to roast marshmallows nicely for you.  ARGH…I could of done bodily harm to him.

The fire guys….I love them, they were awesome as usual.

Then, my husband left me.  I know, you are shocked huh….well, he left me for a week to go to some conference in SLO (San Luis Obispo) that will make him all important and so that he can be official when he is on TV and shit.  And he left me…with a house full of bitches….for six days…..he will make homage to me when he returns!

So my “R” was going to be road relations, you know the kind of relations that can either get you in trouble or make the car ride nice and relaxing.  My experience with road relations has been the trouble sort.  See, on my way to Prom, my boyfriend at the time begged me to provide him with a little “road relaxation” and I did……much to the amusement of every trucker within CB radio distance that was able to view what was going up and down on I-80.  The CB traffic was so lit up that apparently the CHP wanted to get in on the action, so they pulled the car over.  Of course, by this time, I had myself all arranged and was trying to look very “innocent” in my prom dress.  But no, I was asked to get out….and I was taken to the Chippy’s car where I was asked what was going on, after a couple minutes of innocent denial, I spilled my 17 year old guts.  And I proceeded to get the best lecture ever, “Do you want me to call your parents and tell them that you died with a dick in your mouth???”  “Do you….do you…young lady???”  What the fuck am I supposed to say to counter that one, Officer Smarty Pants?  Yes??  My dad would be so proud??  Yeah, so poor hubby – due to my trauma – hand jobs is about all I will offer.

As for “S” and “T”…..I have combined them into a wonderful, fabulous drink that I had on Friday night!!  AGAIN!!  Salt and Tequila (Patron – of course)  See picture below…..

and I had TWO….and….and…and…I don’t remember much after that but Hubby and I did continue the party later, where I ended up accidently falling asleep in the bed in one of my “disappearing tricks” and he ended up in the hot tub alone.  Sorry Hubby!!

Also, I wanted to talk Texts….because I got the best text from my friend Nat the other day….Nat of…NATurally Inappropriate

Nat:  Men’s Underwear…Discuss

Me:  Marky Mark wore it best

Nat:  Boxers or briefs?

Me:  Boxers

Me:  Tight boxers

Nat:  Patterns?

Me:  No solids

Me:  Black

Me:  Not the cock but the boxers

Nat:  BAAHHHAHHHAHA

I meant to say…stupid auto correct…that I like black or dark color tight boxers only…NEVER white…and it kinda came out wrong.

BAAADDDD Doggie!

And finally, I am closing “T” today with a T-shirt that I am going to buy for my husband.  We had an incident not too long ago, with “smelly” things in the bathroom.  Since then, his key phrase has been that twatwaffles are never buttery.

When good twatwaffles go BAD

E is for Easy Peasy Lemon Squeezie

Easy Peasy Lemon Squeezie has to be one of my favorite sayings.  

One that I actually am able to share with my girls, anytime we say that something is easy…you have to say, “Oh, that is totally easy peasy lemon squeezie!”  

Of course, this is just my rated “P” for parent’s version of easy.  (Bitches, you thought I was going to say “P” for porn….yeah….get your mind out of the Skinamax gutter!  P-U-H-L-E-A-S-E) 

Seriously, who watches Busty Cops?  Or Busty Coeds vs. Lusty Cheerleaders and who can pass up the Teenie Weenie Bikini Squad?  Ummm…Errr…I don’t know how I know these titles, I, uh, I totally googled it…yeah…that is the ticket!

Like for instance, you could say that something is as easy as a $20 Ho.  Well, let’s say that you take on that ho with your Jackson, that seems easy, right?  Not so fast there (well, it probably was fast for $20)  You probably are going to spend a lot more money getting rid of all the medical gifts that you received during that transaction.  Not so easy now that you had to break into your penicillin bank.  

That’s right brain-e-ack, you just sit back and keep penichillin’ with your bad self.

Anyhoo, back to easy, did you ever notice that when something is easy, it really is never easy. 

Let’s take home projects for example.  You know, when you consider yourself a handyman (and for you punks, it’s not the Urban Dictionary Handyman – that’s eww)  And you tell your new wife to help you snap a chalk line (because, hell, that’s easy) and she picks up the chalk line and drops it back down on the ground.  You, of course, as the supportive male then patiently show her how to do it, RIIGGHHTT…because it’s EASY.  No, instead to this day, you snort and laugh every time you ask her to do some “easy” construction task.  “Honey, it’s so easy, it’s like snapping chalk lines…wait…..ha ha ha…let me show you.”

Or easy, like the time that you sent your wife down the caulk and paint aisle at Home Depot and told her to pick up a tube of caulk for the bathtub.  (ohmygod, just repeating this story makes me laugh) And you leave her in the caulk aisle, your juvenile minded wife, in the busy Home Depot caulk aisle.  And you’re wife is surrounded by caulk, not knowing which one to pick, and your response…it’s easy. 

 Yeah, I admit it….rows of caulk confuse me.  

So, there is your wife, lost in a sea of caulk, and you wander further down the aisle, which means that you totally deserve what happens next.  Easy task, huh, so your wife…grabs some caulk and starts reading.  The reading turns into snorting and the snorting turns into tears, and then your loud mouth wife bellows at you down the crowded caulk aisle, “Hey honey, HOOONNNEEEYYYYYYYYY, Did you know that you can’t put caulk in a butt joint??”  Easysauce you say, I’ll show you.

Or when you try to make your own furniture, and your beautiful very pregnant wife turns to you and says, “Fuck me, you have the measurements all wrong, this coffee table is for midgets now”  (Sidebar, I made $20 off that thing at a yard sale).  But is EASY.

Or the first time on your brand new boat.  So smart to take your 3 year old and newborn and crazy pyscho paranoid wife who just gave birth and is riding the wave of massive hormones out for an “EASY” ride on the water.  Yeah, EASY.    So easy that when you told her to drop out the anchor, you totally forgot to tell her to wait until you killed the engine so that the anchor rope wasn’t sucked up under the boat and into the jet engine. 

Don’t give me that look jackass, you said to throw out the anchor!  

Maybe, just maybe you should have been paying attention to all of the waterway landmarks so that we can figure how the hell we are going to get back.  That “EASY” day turned into 6 hours of boating back on one engine back to our boat dock.

Or the time that you said you would take it “EASY” on your sister and me when we were on the tube.  Did easy mean that you spun us around so fast that your sister skipped across the water like a drunken Barbie doll and tore her taint?  NO….that wasn’t EASY!  I had to wear a pad for like a week to get all the lake water out!

My new rule of thumb, if it’s EASY, something will go wrong (everything except for my hubby, because without him life wouldn't be so much fun!)

Short ASS

So, I feel like an old lady.  

Well, I should say that I feel like a very “experienced and WORLDLY” old lady.  Because I am sore, I can hardly get up, I shuffle when I walk and my butt hurts.

Treadmill, RIIIGHHTT

For the past week, Hubby and I have been challenging each other (and no, it hasn’t been for sexual acrobatics, this time) we have been challenging each other on the treadmill.  

If Hubby does 1.5 miles, then I have to do 1.5 miles, if Hubby does 2 miles, then WHATTHEFUCK….I have to do 2 miles or suffer the SHAME and TORTURE of having him best me.  

And there ain’t NO FUCKING way, I am going to back down….unless I die, collapse, crawl, or basically do my own stunts on the treadmill. 

*I SO ALMOST TOOK OUT THE DOGS YESTERDAY*

For this reason, I am now suffering.  And it’s my own fault.  Did I have to set the speed so high or the incline so steep??

  

No?  

But do I, just to have one up on the hubby….Ummm…Yes?

I would so fuck with my kids like this when I get old

So here I sit at my desk today, dreaming of the padded donut butt ring so that my poor abused rear could get some added support.  Not that my pads of butt fat are helping, but it hurts.  

And for whatever reason, raising my arms hurts, and walking up and down my office stairs hurts, and, and, and….I’m short.

Yes, I have just realized that I am short.  And for many, many years my 6’-2” brothers (yes, I am the fucking midget milkman’s kid) have “affectionately” called me “Willow”.

Fuck YOU J.R. for telling Steve this, and Fuck you Steve for handing me a stick

I usually take their good natured razzing because I have believed the lie perpetrated on my driver’s license which indicates that I am 5’-2”.  Not incredibly tall, but not entering the oompa loompa status either. 

Until the other day. 

That’s when hubby asked me, “Really, how tall are you?”  To which, I replied, “Fuck if I know, get the tape measure.”  WHATTHEHELL….What was I thinking?  As I am being measured by hubby, he says, “Stand up straighter”  Um Hello?  I have like the best fucking posture around.  My grandmother was an absolute NAZI when it came to posture and manners.  There was no slouching, no rolled shoulders, and on god’s green earth, would not standing at full height be allowed.  

My mom even sent me to “finishing school” where I had to learn about place settings, how to stand with one knee slightly bent and to walk with a full stack of books on my head while in high heels. 

As Hubby is shuffling the tape measure silently, I can feel the glee crackling the air behind me.  The anticipation of him telling me how short I actually am is killing him and he just can’t wait to get it out. 

“Holy Fuck Willow, you are barely 5 ½ feet and I was being generous!  Shit girl, you are SHORT…..and I mean like SHHOOOOORRRRRRRTTTTT.   When we get old together I am going to have to get you a stool so that when you stand next to me we can hold hands.   You do know that your daughter, who is 9, is 4’-9”.  It’s going to be funny watching you discipline the tall girls, it’s a good thing that you are so mean, ankle biter!  You will be like the cute little furry yapper dog running behind them.”

Hardee Har Har Jackass.  Hardee Har Har.

Heard that one before

THIS SO SUCKS

My brothers do this ALL the time

As a grown woman, I can still SWING ma feet

So tonight, I will be celebrating my last night of kiddie freedom!  The girls have been swept away by Grandpa and Grammie (respectively). 

My youngest is currently luxuriating in the warmth of Grammie’s affection.  She has conned Grammie into getting her high heels (at 6…Grammie), has had ice cream every day, spent the majority of yesterday shopping, is going to Zumba class, and will go to art class later with Grammie.  

While the oldest is basking in Grandpa’s affection, has been spoiled with her own special spa day, is getting Starbucks everyday (that’s right….keep her short), is swimming in Grandpa’s covered pool while it’s snowing, and will be going on a big fishing trip.

I will end my wonderful vacation by taking my shortie self to Hubby’s first softball game. 

Hopefully, someone will not try to steal me as long as I hold onto his hand.

Me & Hubby......

How my ass can keep your clothes hole free.....and drinking with the nanny

Apparently this is not my week, and it all started on Friday. 

I blame my husband. 

It all started so innocently, I got home a little early and was visiting with my girls and the nanny.  For the most part, I have tried to kind of keep my distance from our new nanny, and for those of you who know me this is a good thing.  I tend to get involved and it has NEVER turned out well.  I become very open and sharey, and want to be their “friends”, which never works out when you are paying someone to watch your kids.  The next thing you know, you are schlepping the kiddies around while your nanny gets a mani/pedi on your dime because “she” has had a rough day.   Or they start to dictate what they will and/or wont due now because we are BFF’s. 

So Nanny and I have been together for almost a year and I have done my best to “maintain” a good and positive working relationship.  That is…..until Friday.

So, I invite Nanny to have a glass of wine with me until Hubby gets home.   When hubby arrives, he’s like, hey let’s order pizza and I will pour you girls another glass of wine.  Which is all fine and dandy, until I can’t find the bottom on my glass.    You see, hubby has been banned by my mother from keeping her glass full, and now……I know why. 

  

I used to think that this was funny when he did it to my mom….like the time that she told all of us that we don’t know what “true” partying was, because BIOTCHES, She partied like a rock star before their were rock stars”.  Or the time that our friends who were sitting at the campfire were afraid to come into the cabin because she was calling us all bitches (we were kicking her ass in the game "sequence") but they didn’t know that.  Or the time that the dogs farted in the cabin (OMG, I had to crawl on the floor of the cabin to get to the door because it was so bad) and then when my brother finally opened the cabin door so that we could breathe sweet, sweet pure oxygen, my dad blamed the stink on my mom.  I don’t think that I have ever seen my mom jump up and down threatening my dad like a little kid to “TELL THEM THE TRUTH JIM, YOU KNOW IT WASN’T ME, YOU KNOW IT WASN’T ME…TEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLTHEM”.  If I wasn’t already on the floor, I would be there because I was laughing so hard.  You know, those laughs, where you think you are going to die because you cannot catch a breath.  I was like….THIS CLOSE…to passing out from laughter.

Now, it’s not fucking funny.  That sneak, he poured me the never ending glass AND he poured the nanny the never ending glass.  Then he suggested that we go out…..with the Nanny’s mom to the wine bar.  This was all kind of levels of wrong.    So here I am with my drunk ass self, my drunk ass nanny and her mom chaperoning us to the wine bar, where I proceed to cry, tell my nanny that I love her, tell her mom that she birfed  a wonderful nanny and sing Sweet Caroline to everyone in the bar.  Not my finest moment hubsters….not my finest moment.  At least I wasn't alone....nanny's car stayed at our house until Sunday evening.

And to top it off, when hubby is trying to tuck me in bed, I wake up at of my stupor and tell him, 

                                                            “I kissed your friend”     

             

WHAT THE FUCK???  I HAVE NEVER, EVER, EVER, EVER, EVER (except for Dave) KISSED HIS FRIENDS.  (Dave is hubby’s best friend and I have kissed him on the cheek and once on the mouth, all in front of hubby.  The mouth kiss was very awkward, because I was kissing hubby goodbye before they went golfing and then turned and gave a peck to Dave right on the lippers.  We both were like…EWWW) 

And so you ask, Jana, how does your hubby feel about this???   He is giddy…..and has done nothing short of tormenting me UNMERCIFULLY for this entire week.  I swear to the lord high above, if he changes the lyrics to that Katy Perry song again, I won’t be responsible for my actions.

To pile onto the madness…….I ate brussel spouts and had the worst gas, so I am chatting with my friend and tell her that my gas smells like mothballs ………………I think I am now a trending topic on twitter with my sweater saving ass.  Fuck you lady….fuck you! That Fucking Bitch Blogged about it.....and FACEBOOKED it

And to cap it all off, I ate something that I am allergic too, and now my lip has sputnik on it….and my supportive husband, he is now calling the lip sputnik “the gift from his friend”. 

I can’t wait for fuck you Friday…….its on bitches...its on.