Undomestic Diva

And then I got kicked off Twitter

My husband laughs, rightfully earning his nickname 'Candy Ass,' saying to me, "Ha! Even Twitter thinks you talk too much!"

Hardee har har. Idiot.

Meanwhile I'm fuming. It's Oscar night and the only reason to watch the Red Carpet coverage and the opening monologue is to critique all the celebrities outfits from the safety of my couch and the comfort of my sweatpants. (Hanes, thank you for asking. Socks also by Hanes. The bra in my bedroom drawer by Victoria Secret.)

But Twitter - the good ol' web version - has kicked me off its website telling me I've reached my 'status update limit.'

Until now I hadn't heard of such a thing [and it took quite a bit of searching on Twitter's website to find that they do now limit you because - get this - they've always believed in limits, hence the 140 characters... I CALL BULLSHIT you cheap ass server space limiting cheapskates] and I'm awfully suspicious considering my last few tweets were talking about that homewrecker Angelina Jolie and her desire to break up the non-marriage of Johnny Depp and his pretend wife. (True rumor. Swear.)

   

So apparently Twitter is not only not Team Aniston but perhaps privately funded or perhaps even adopted by Jolie herself. Mess with my girl Jenn, but fuck with my Twitter? I don't think so, bitch. I mean, WHEN IS SOMEONE GOING TO STOP THIS WOMAN?

Of course the wittiest epiphanies about everything Oscar occurred to me only after I met my so-called 'status update limit' and now the Twitter world will never know my true cleverness which really pisses me off and frankly has me wondering if I should call my attorney to see about suing over defamation of character or something. I'm damaged now. To the tune of probably a cool 5 million. At least.  

Also? Twitter, you suck. And really? The joke is on you, Twitter, if you think you can quiet me down. Just ask my husband who has had to listen to me rant about your bad form for HOURS now when I could have been tweeting. He also now hates you. 

How do you spell suck? S-W-I-N-E F-L-U

I was standing in the hallway of the pediatrician's office waiting for my sons to be weighed before their appointment with a new doctor in the practice when I saw our normal doctor, Dr. B, pass through in between patients. His schedule was full by the time I had called today, so I agreed to see the new doctor to figure out why two of my three guys had so suddenly come down with high fevers, dry coughs and become completely lethargic.

"Hey Dr. B," I stopped him. "Do I get my kids the H1N1 vaccine or just the regular flu shot this year? I can't decide - I've heard so many arguments for and against it."

"Normally, I wouldn't push the vaccines, but this year, I'd say get it if you can find it. We're having a really hard time getting a hold of either the shot or mist."

It was settled. I trust Dr. B. He, like me, raised three boys and will tell me what the American Academy of Pediatrics would recommend and what he, as a father, would personally do in any given situation and then let me decide.

*

I was expecting that strep throat may have reared its ugly head once again and wasn't the least bit surprised when the new doctor said she wanted to do a strep culture to check for it. But when she also suggested that my oldest might have the Swine Flu, my heart screeched to a halt.

Say wha? Swine flu?

Then the new doctor said she could test for it but wasn't going to because she "couldn't treat him for it if he had it anyway" because he wasn't considered an at-risk patient.

Um.

"Shouldn't I know whether he has it or not?" I asked. "Shouldn't his school know whether he has it?"

"We can do the test if you want but it's not a pleasant test..."

Oh, so now I'm the bad mother for putting my son through a possibly unnecessary test to see if he has the Swine Flu. THAT THEY WON'T TREAT.

I thought the whole scary/weird/unnerving thing about the Swine Flu was the fact it's KILLING children (and young adults) who are seemingly HEALTHY as opposed to the regular, seasonal flu that, in most cases, usually affects the elderly and unhealthy. But you won't treat my child?

He tested positive. Positive for H1N1. Positive for strep throat.

*LOUD SIGH* 

So I asked her, when do I worry then, since you won't treat him? He's had a temperature of 103 for four days now and it doesn't come down with Motrin and Tylenol in his system. When does he "qualify" for medication? Her answer baffled me: "Well, the CDC says not to medicate an otherwise healthy child with Tamiflu until he requires hospitalization." And that would be WHEN? "When he starts having difficulty breathing or can't hold liquids any longer."

!%$#@!*!?

I just don't get that. I don't think my son should have to require being hospitalized before being given medication. Why should it get to that point?

As much as I just want to karate chop, junk punch and rip out the beating heart of our healthcare system right now and feed it to the CEOs of major health insurance companies, I really need to just focus my energy on my boys right now.

Lucky for them. 

And also on notifying an elementary school and a holy rollin' preschool tomorrow without panicking the shit out of them... *winces*

THIS is why moms are anxiety-ridden

Disclaimer: I may not have been in the *best* mood when I wrote this. Carry on.

Dear CNN,

On behalf of mothers everywhere, I'd just like to say FUCK YOU. Like seriously? Now we need to re-think and over-think and second-guess another illness when it comes to our children? Because we don't already worry when they tug at their ears or eat less or feel a tad bit warm or cough at night or have trouble breathing through their noses or have weird green shit seeping out of the corner of their eye and what in the fuck? Is that a rash on their asses? But now, we click on CNN and see that OH. MY. GOD. could it be? Strep throat? Something our kids easily contract at school from other kids (and just as the school year begins, I might add. AWESOME TIMING, CNN!) that it killed the Austrian composer? 

But the *best* part of your OH MAH GAWD DID MOZART DIE OF STREP THROAT *headline* story (Is the war over? Have we reformed healthcare? Has the economy suddenly fixed itself? Did Kate Gosselin find herself a new hair stylist? WHY ARE WE WORRIED ABOUT THIS *RIGHT NOW?*) is that while you give it this cocktease of a headline, the story itself mentions that oh "but there are no accounts of Mozart having sore throat in his last weeks of life" and while many believe he may have had strep throat which led to Scarlet Fever which led to blah, blah, blah DEATH, "Theories abound. It's known that his entire body was so swollen he couldn't turn over in bed; some say jealous rivals poisoned him, while others suggest scarlet fever, tuberculosis, or lethal trichinosis from undercooked pork."

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Whoops. I'm sorry. That was rude.

I'm placing my money on the undercooked pork, personally. And honestly CNN? You totally missed the advertising mark by not going with "The Other White Meat Was Still Pink" headline and throwing up some George Foreman Grill ads on the side.

But that's just my theory.  

Rainbows and sunshine,
UD

P.S. Let's say strep throat did kill Mozart. Aaaaand...?

Dear Internet, We have a problem...

Oh Internet, help me PLEASE.

Candy Ass? Mr. Anal Retentive himself? Mr. All Business and No Fun? Mr. Serious. Mr. I Don't Think You're Nearly As Funny As You Do? He's gone off the deep-end.

I don't know if it's middle-age or sperm retention or just the fact that his laptop keeps his junk a little too warm for long periods of time, but he's regressed. If I liked that homewrecker Brad Pitt, I'd likely make a reference to that godforsaken movie I refused to go see where he ages in reverse here because really? This is what Candy Ass is doing...

Have you heard that song "I Love College" by Asher Roth? Both Candy Ass and I love it. The fact that I really like it is not surprising. The idea that Candy Ass didn't call it "total shit" is completely shocking because of its content... you know, with Candy Ass being Mr. Rule Follower and Mr. Straight And Narrow and whatnot.

(NSFW)

Anyway, he doesn't just like this song, he LOVES it to the point where he plays it every night after dinner as he does the dishes. And as he listens AND SINGS ALONG, he likes to tell me how he wishes he were still in college, drinking and partying all night long and then "getting up and doing it again." I roll my eyes so much they physically hurt because homeboy here? NEVER DRINKS. Doesn't even like alcohol. He's a permanent Designated Driver. His idea of a party is hanging out with peace and quiet. So the idea that Candy Ass is reveling in a past he's never actually lived both equally amuses and scares me.

But last night, Candy Ass reached a whole other level of [whistles] coo-coo while perusing a fly fishing retreat pamphlet (hello, nerdy), when he actually said to me, "If someone said to me right now, 'I just signed you up for this Mastering the Art of Dry Flies class,' I'd say I'm nice right now."

Just.

Like.

The.

Song.

And then? AND THEN?? He turned it to Eminem's new one "Crack A Bottle" and I damn near fainted.

Someone get me some smelling salt, a Corvette in Mid-Life Crisis Red (for him) and some Tylenol 'cause I can't handle this shit.

:::

P.S. Candy Ass just looked over my shoulder as I was about to hit "publish" and asked if I was "finally" posting a Weird Al tribute. Um, NO. Then he saw the nerdy Fly Fishing retreat pamphlet next to me (I wanted to get the title right in my post) and said "Oh! Are you signing me up?!" all excited. And now I'm thinking, oh fuck. Wait until he reads this.

Open letter to Tide

Dear Tide,

Your new fancy-schmancy Tide bottle with its Reebok-pump style detergent dispenser? Sucks balls. Instead of just setting the cap down on the washer and pouring the detergent into it with one hand, I now have to put the cap down, use one hand to tip the bottle and another hand to push that pain-in-the-ass of a button to get the detergent to s-l-o-w-l-y drip out. And as if that weren't irritating enough, in the WHAT THE HELL? category, I'd like to show you this:

Seriously. Seriously.

And don't even blame my supposedly-lacking laundering skills you may have previously read about. I have honestly gotten better at doing laundry. I've improved.I now use one of those clever little Downey balls. (It's like magic!) And I've even tried using the warm/cold setting on the washer when feeling adventurous.

But. You, dear Tide, have thrown me off-course with this asshole of a bottle you've come up with. It seemingly oozes detergent when it feels like it. It's all over the bottle, it's on my washer and it's on the shelf where I keep the Tide.

What up with that?

You should expect to hear from my husband, Candy Ass, soon. I am so upset by this slimey mess you've created that I've had to stop doing laundry altogether. It's like I've got Clean Breeze Scented Post Traumatic Stress Disorder or something. I'm a mess, but at least I smell good.

For now.

Please rectify this situation ASAP. I hear Gain is a helluva lot cheaper.

XOXO,
Megan

***

Anyone else had this problem?

The economy can kiss my ass

To clarify, Candy Ass is not cheating on me.

At least, I don't think he is... Hmm.

I was just having a psycho day yesterday, which every woman knows, is perfectly acceptable every now and then. I mean, I had just learned that the SIX! boxes of Girl Scout Cookies I had purchased only a couple hours earlier have been reduced in size "because of the economy."

You try and not get a little paranoid after such news.

I mean really, people. The economy has affected Girl Scout Cookies? While there's no doubt in my mind someone within the organization can bullshit their way to a lovely excuse as to why, yes indeed, the downtrodden economy does in fact affect the Girl Scout Cookies, I would like to call BULLSHIT anyway. There are many things that can legitimately be tied to the economy - layoffs, poor retail sales, foreclosures - but at a certain point, this fucking economy has also become the perfect excuse to downsize a tub of Dreyer's Ice Cream when nobody was looking.

And everyone knows that it's a recipe for disaster when a girl who is having a much needed psycho day reaches for the Rocky Road only to discover it's four servings short of a PMS cure. 

Tell me what you blame the economy for (seriously or jokingly) in the comments section of this post and you will be entered in a random drawing for a Starbucks Gold Card* ($25 value) which gives you 10 percent off all purchases among other great benefits like free WiFi in their stores.

Enter as many times as you want. Each separate comment = one entry. Contest ends Sunday at 9:00 PM Pacific Time.

*If you already have a Starbucks Gold Card, I can send a gift card instead.

Shit on a stick. Would you like some?

Warning: This post may contain foul language. Wait. Nope. It definitely contains foul language. And you know what? I.DON'T.CARE.

OK, so now that we've established that a) I'm in a foul mood and b) fuck off, let me just state the obvious: I'm not feeling toocheerful. Mkay? And to avoid biting off your head, I'll just rant for a few moments about things that are pissing me off. BECAUSE I FEEL LIKE IT. Thankyouverymuch.

• Um, why the hell has Skittles not gotten its shit together and started making bags of just the red ones? Everyone knows they're the best.
• Why isn't Target selling Wall-E stuff? My kids want Wall-E! Wall-E! Wall-E! [eye roll] for Christmas. Bitches.
• Our computer with a year's worth of photos (as in, I'm-a-photographer-year's-worth-of-photos) crashed. Blue screened. Just said "Tough titty, kitty" and went on it's way.
• My sister's recent surgery? Didn't work.
• I am not done with my holiday shopping but I'm out of ideas. I did Black Friday Shopping, I don't think I should have to shop again. EVER. I should be exempt.
• And shoppers this season? Rude mutha fuckas. YOU HEARD ME.
• I am having migraines daily and feel like slamming my head in the sliding glass door would feel better than Monday did. Or Tuesday. Or Wednesday.
• Palin. Good god people. We just chose a new president. WHY ARE WE TALKING INCESSANTLY ABOUT WHETHER OH-DONTCHA-KNOW PALIN WILL RUN IN 2012?! Breathe, political analysts, breathe!
• My son lost part of his finger and then just two days ago swallowed a little plastic airplane propeller. Major parenting FAIL does not even begin to cover it.
• Somebody needs to get those Full House twins a goddamn stylist, STAT! I'm no fashion icon, but christ, looking at them in photographs makes me teeth hurt.
• My nail polish is chipping. Really? I don't have time for this.
• I never made it to Starbucks yesterday. I KNOW.
• That "Viva! Viagra" commercial. Seriously, shoot me.
• Idiots on the roads, assholes in lines and dipshits at registers. You all suck.
• Bad days. I'm sooo over bad days.

I'm feeling better now.

Eh. Not really. I lied. Still feeling bitchy. But enough about me. What are you pissed about?

Dear Annoying Movie Goers Behind Me

Dear Annoying Movie Goers Behind Me,

Hey assholes - yeah you! The rude mutha fuckas sitting behind me at the movies last night? YOU SUCK. Try swapping slurpy sounding spit in some other dark place or at least have the courtesy to sit a few rows behind everyone else. I mean, shit, there were only six of us - total - in the whole goddamn theater and you had to sit directly behind me? Of course you did! Because you suck!

At first I tried to ignore you, 'cause I remember being all young and hot and bothered in a movie theater... waaaaay back when... once upon a time... but then I saw that neither of you were really that young (at all) and that you had actually lifted up the arm rests on the seats to create a makeshift bed ? of some sorts and I have to say, it was a little... distracting. The giggling and the rubbing? I COULD HEAR YOU ASSHOLES OVER THE MOVIE which, um, hello! says something. 

But when you answered your ringing cell phone mid-movie? I thought I was going to lose!my!shit! Because, seriously? Who the fuck does that? (Apparently you numbnuts are the reason for that idiotic "turn off your cell phone please" chant the theater does before the show begins.) And it's not like you were like "Hello? I'm at the movies, can't talk, gottagobyebyenow." No. Not you. You carried on a goddamn five minute conversation, and then, when you finally hung up, you felt the need to repeat and discuss the entire conversation with your other horny half.

I'd have rather had some pre-teen's M&Ms thrown at my head for an hour and a half.

And by the way, in case I haven't told you already, YOU SUCK.

Hugs & Kisses (wet, sloppy ones with lots of tongue & spit),

UD

:::

Candy Ass and I went to the movies last night to see my new ad (for my photography business... it plays over & over before the movie - like a trailer) which debuted last night. So we had free tickets and went and saw Burn After Reading. It's a dark comedy with quirky plot lines and if it weren't for the fact that Brad Pitt is in it, I'd say I loved it. But he is in it so I can only tell you it was decent.

[The New York Times should really hire me to do movie reviews.]

Anyway, I wanted to rip out my earrings (wasn't wearing any) and go toes (throwdown) with this annoying couple behind us. Instead, I behaved like an adult (goddamn it) and just chewed angrily on my $8 worth of Skittles. (I think I tasted too much of the rainbow, though... my stomach hurt afterward from all that sugar. See what stupid people do to me?!) 

I can't decal the purpose

Maybe some of you can help me out here, because I am totally confused about something. For the life of me, I can't understand why some people think it's a good idea or cute or some other lame excuse here to put stuffed animals and other paraphernalia on their car dashboards.

I was at my local Starbuck's yesterday, parking in my personal parking space (OK, so I don't have my own parking space there, but I totally should) and as I get out of my car, I notice the minivan next to me is one of those cars with a plethora of stuffed animals, including the obligatory beanie babies that were made small purposely to fit on dashboards apparently? covering the entire dashboard.

Why?

I mean, why? why? WHY?!

Does this lady have conversations with these faux-taxidermy animals? Do they keep her company? Does she consider them car decor? Does she also own a home with teddy bears as decorations and scary looking fabric dolls made to look like kids that look at you with fake beady googly eyes and give you nightmares?

And why don't these toys slide off the dash when she corners like she's on rails?* Or am I the only one who drives like that? My bad.

In my world, this is right up there with the weird fascination a whole demographic of women seem to have with pasting Tinkerbell decals on their back windshields. What's the deal with that microscopic fairy anyway?

Oh shit. I just offended one of you, didn't I?

Here in Southern California, there is no end to the Roxy brand [surf-themed clothing for women] decals on back windshields. What's completely ape-shit crazy is that normally people brand their cars to tell them apart (Toyota Sequoias in charcoal gray, white Suburbans and pewter Yukon XLs are a dime a dozen in these parts) and yet when everyone sticks the same goddamn tramp-stamp looking decal on their car, guess what? they all look the same - AGAIN.

For a while, those weird family-status-stick-people decals were hugely popular. You know, the ones that have a stick figure for the dad, the mom, the 2.5 kids, the dog, the cat and the reptile? Some people even went as far as to have the names of each family member below the stick figures. BECAUSE WE NEED TO KNOW THEIR NAMES?! I'm almost certain the pedophile driving behind you thanks you for this.

I can't tell you how happy I am to see that trend go. Or maybe you guessed that.

Although...

Only one time did I see one of these family stick figure decals on a car that I could appreciate. Unlike most of the ones I'd seen previously, this set was large-sized and centered in the back windshield, impossible to not notice.

(If you don't get it, I can't help you.)

Now that is a decal worth putting on your car. I want to find the person that owns that car and lick their face just to see what brilliance tastes like.

I know, I know... probably chicken. 

***

*Bonus points if you can name the movie that line is from...

What the f#@! Chuck?

Scroll down a little ways if you do not follow the UFC. I've brought with me some analogies.

:::

Candy Ass and I watch UFC, follow UFC, buy most of the pay-per-views. We're fans. But I'm the bigger fan and nothing gets me all riled up like a good match-up in the Octagon.

And yes, we're still talking UFC. No innuendo here.

Saturday night was a UFC PPV, the main event being between The Iceman Chuck Liddell and Rashad Who Cares What His Little Nickname Is Evans. Liddell, being the more experienced fighter was highly favored to win (because of his experience) over Evans whose record is actually pretty respectable (no losses).

I was rooting for Liddell, simply because Liddell is THE MAN. And I always root for him. But even if I wasn't a fan of Liddell's, I totally would have been rooting for him anyway, because his opponent, Evans, is a BUTTHOLE. He's younger, newer, good but has an ego larger than the octagon itself.

I'm not even gonna beat around the bush, Evans knocked Chuck the fuck out in an unbelievable, powerful punch that meant lights out for Liddell. And not just like, Ouch, that had to hurt, he seems dazed... No, knocked the fuck out cold, nobody's home, more doctors than normal rushing to his aid while - get this - Rashad Evans gestured at the camera like Oh, poor little Chuckie gotta boo-boo? What's a man to do? And making all these pointing motions and rolling his eyes and dancing around the ring... Yes, right around the dozen or so doctors that were still trying to revive Liddell.

[Side note: I get that the whole point of the sport is to knock someone the fuck out. But believe it or not, there actually is a high standard of ethics among most of the fighters who usually respect one another outside of the ring. Not the case here.]

So naturally, I started YELLING at the TV, because a) I was pissed and b) because I couldn't believe the audacity of Evans and c) now I wanted my goddamn money back 'cause that is NOT what I paid to see. I paid to see Liddell crucify the obnoxiously cocky Evans. I'm not going to lie, there was a lot of profanity being expelled from my mouth. I could've put a trucker to shame and I'm pretty sure I was making the neighbors uncomfortable. But I'm sorry, people, from the comfort and safety of my own couch, in my living room, three thousand miles from the Atlanta arena where the UFC was actually happening, I just knew I could kick Evans ass myself after his little showboating act.

A good ten profanity-laced minutes later, Candy Ass was like "Calm down." And I had to snap my neck back and forth and be like Oh no you din't just tell me to calm down. But he did. And after just a few more minutes of insults and yelling on my part at the still smug Evans on TV, Candy Ass said, "OK, now? you're just annoying."

Pfft.

So then I was like, NO. YOU'RE ANNOYING. 'Cause that was the only comeback I had at the moment. My brain was busy trying to figure out how to kick Evan's ass myself.

And now we're fighting. All because Chuck Liddell lost to Rashad Evans at UFC 88.

What the [email protected]#! Chuck? Thanks a lot.

P.S. Chuck - I'm just kidding. I still love you, Iceman.

:::

The Football Analogy version

Scroll down a little ways if you do not follow football. I've brought one more analogy for ya.

Here it goes: Say your favorite team is playing a team you not only hate, but a team that just sucks and without a doubt, Your Team is going to absolutely dominate them. Easy. Hardly worth putting on their jerseys. Simple.

But then, wtf? In some weird, unexpected stroke of luck, the Other Team wins at the last second. You're pissed. To make matters worse, one of Your Team's players got hurt in that same game-winning play that cost Your Team the win and the players on the Other Team are dancing around the hurt player - still on the field, surrounded by medics - pointing and laughing and acting like HA, HA, HA!

EXACTLY.

Then your wife comes in to see why you're yelling at the TV and tells you you're so ANNOYING. And to get your own damn beer.

Ya feel me now, dontcha?

:::

The (old) 90210 Analogy version

If you don't understand my grief after this, I can't help you and we have to break up.

Here it goes: Brenda and Kelly are fighting over Dylan. Everyone knows Kelly deserves Dylan. Brenda's a bitch. And you just know that Kelly will end up with Dylan, it's a no-brainer. But then, unexpectedly and unbelievably, Brenda manipulates Dylan into going for her and she's totally making out with Dylan while Kelly watches from a window. Brenda knows Kelly's watching and turns the randy on high just to burn Kelly all the more.

Tell me you're not going to be screaming at your TV.

So then you (Andrea of course) are upset and saying so and then stupid Steve (what purpose was his character on the show anyway?) rolls up in his early 90s corvette and tells you (Andrea) (innocent Andrea) that she's ANNOYING.

Uh-huh.

:::

It's been a rough weekend. How was yours?