i say 'god damn'!

I have been trying for days to crank out another post but I'm lucky if I find enough time to breathe! Between catching up on laundry, doing things around the house, around town and chauffeuring my son to and from baseball practices for the two different teams he's on, it's been a busy week to say the least.

My son has a baseball tournament in town this week and weekend. Last night was the first game in the tournament and my son's team kicked the visiting team's ass. One thing I'd like to know is what nudnick decided that white baseball pants would be great for young kids to go sliding around in Georgia red clay dirt?! I'm usually very good about getting stains out in general but my son's pants were permanently stained since the first time he wore them. Last night, I had to use nearly an entire freakin' container of Spray 'N Wash on his pants. Miraculously, all but the original stains came out and as I know I will be the envy of all the other baseball moms, one of you better nominate me for fucking sainthood!

In other news...

...Schwartz is a love machine.

Schwartz was back at Camp Green Dog while we were away on vacation and met another dog who kept him on his toes. Literally. Apparently Schwartz was very...uh...social with her. Like every other minute. Luckily, he no longer has the equipment to complete the task or there would probably be little Schwartzies on the way!

It also seems that he made best friends with the entire staff. They were lovin' on him and pimping out his digs so much, he didn't want to leave when I showed up to get him! He even made their website, they loved him so much! Did you see him? Hint: he's the one with the goonie expression on his face and the misspelled name.

Alright...it's back to doing laundry for me! No, seriously.

i've had it

Someone in Hollywood needs to be bitch slapped in a seriously violent way.

First it was the remake of When a Stranger Calls. Then The Fog, Rob Zombie's version of Halloween and Black Christmas. There are a Friday the 13th and A Nightmare on Elm Street remakes in the works. Now I just saw a TV advertisement for Prom Night.

WTF is with these Hollytards?! Don't they have an original thought left in their puny little heads?!

If they even try to remake Happy Birthday to Me or The Exorcist, I'm going out there and kicking some ass.

OMG! I just read that Attack of the Killer Tomatoes is going to be remade too! Uch, can you imagine? Someday our kids are going to watch remakes of the Saw movies! Oh the horror! *wink*

inbetween

...laundry and unpacking. Yeefuckinghaw, I'm home! Hmm...I wonder if Dorothy Gale said that to herself when she found herself back in Kansas again?! *wink*

Well, let's just put it this way...for those who've been visiting my blog for awhile, you pretty much know how this story goes...a hypochondriac mother, an overpowering father and an older sibling that I just don't like.

Although the kids were kept very busy and had loads of fun, the trip for me was 'the usual'. How can I better explain it than that?! I think the one lesson I learned, which I pretty much already knew, was how much I dislike my sister.

I won't bother talking about the trip and I won't go on and on about her as it's just the SSDD with her. However this time, something she said made me realize how disappointed that the one sibling I have is someone I just cannot stand. Not as a sister, a friend or anyone.

Here's how the shit went down...

First, in order to tell a complete story, I have to just say that I and my kids are very fortunate as my parents are financially secure enough that they can afford to pay for my kids' education. If they couldn't, my kids would go to a shit school and get a shit education as the public school system here sucks something fierce.

So yesterday morning, my mother and sister are reviewing my son's second session report card, they viewed that he got a B in one course and my sister said "That's just awful.". It was at that precise moment that Ms. Ivy League college and near-straight A student took a permanent spot at the top of my shit list.

I've known for some time now that my sister is a judgmental cuntbag, but someone please tell me when a B became a 'just awful' grade?

Sitting there tsk-tsking over a B and repeating several times how it was 'just awful', I told her in a tone of voice that I assure you she will never forget, that a B was not a bad grade and that she better not say that to my son. Ever.

Lemme' tell you something about the school my kids go to...my kids both learned greater than, less than and equal to in the 1st grade. Now I don't know about any of you, but I know for a fact, that I didn't learn that in the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, etc. grades. I don't know when I learned it but it wasn't in elementary school, that's for sure. My son, who is in the 5th grade, is learning things that I didn't learn 'til I was a freshman in high school. Oral reports? The first one that I can recall having was in the 8th grade. My son has already given at least five oral reports this year that I can recall off the top of my head. They pile on the work at my kids' school. Each year, the graduating class has a few Harvards, Yales and Princetons in the books. This school is an A-#1 college preparatory school all the way.

All I can say, is that I wish I could go back in time and watch my sister struggle to do the work they give these kids. Then I'd like to throw in her face how awful it was when she brought home a B. Then I'd string her up by the tips of her earlobes in a dark room the size of a closet and leave her there. Forever. Unfortunately, aside from surviving, she'd emerge having never learned her lesson.

Saying that I'm ecstatic to be home would be an understatement! Cleaning up, putting clothes away and doing laundry are heaven compared to some of the horseshit that I had to endure!

I'll be making my rounds to all your blogs within the next few days. I hope everyone is doing well and staying out of trouble!

as the shit turns

*heavy sigh*

Schwartz is making his rounds. I couldn't get him to poop outside once yesterday. Why? Because he has taken a liking to my son's room now.

Bucket of fuck.

My son's room is now covered in a simple solution that does shit to deter my dog from taking hairy dumps around his room and baking soda to remove the odor. Oh yeah, and Lysol too. How could I possibly forget the 'Early Morning Breeze' scented Lysol?! And after Schwartz is taken to camp today*, I will most probably clean the room again and add Febreeze to the wonderful mixture. Not that that will do a damn bit of good because I did that in the family room and oh wow, huge surprise, Schwartz took another shit on the same spot as he's been doing.

I've decided that I'm spending the money to get Pergo in my family room to match the wood floor I have in the front living room and hallway. If I were made of money, I'd get real wood but I'm not so I won't! The only reason I haven't done it sooner is because I have a cathedral ceiling in that room which causes the room to get cold in the winter. The carpet absorbs some of that cold and with just a concrete floor underneath, it can get pretty c-c-cold. BUT, my carpet is destroyed. It is old and grungy. There are permanent stains that even my steam cleaner can no longer remove. The house is over ten years old. It's time to make a change. And I've grown to hate carpet. Immensely.

* So it's back to Camp Green Dog for Schwartz today as the kids and I are headed out tomorrow on yet another spring break journey to see the family in a warmer climate. This is where I usually threaten Fab that I know where he lives and will come hunt him down. But I never do. I have to remind myself that Fab is a scary man who would probably retaliate in scary ways. So I will just keep threatening and I'm sure he will continue to masturbate excessively to my threats.

Depending on what there is to do today, I may or may not get a chance to respond to your comments. If not, I wish y'all a wonderful weekend and week and I will be back next Friday. Sloppy bitchin' kisses to everyone, yo!

simple my ass

The very first day I had Schwartz home, he pooped in our family room. I hadn't yet learned the time frame between his eating a meal, digesting it and needing to relieve himself. Needless to say, I learned quickly.

Since then, there have been quite a few times that I have missed taking him outside by mere moments...I step out into the hallway and the overwhelming odor of digested processed lamb chunks takes over my senses. And always in the same fucking spot. Rrrrrr.

I use a solution called Simple Solution because it's, well, simple to use and it claims to remove the odor forever. Then the label reads that if the odor is still there after use and still causing the animal to sniff out the soiled spot, then that means not enough solution has been used to correct the problem.

I have two words for the Simple Solution people...FUCK and YOU. I have used so much of their damn solution on said spots, that not only has it saturated my carpet, but probably the pad underneath, the concrete foundation underneath that, the roots of the trees close to my house and before long, I wouldn't be surprised if I find four giant masked turtles named Leonardo, Raphael, Michelangelo and Donatello appear on my doorstep from all the Simple Solution carpet chemicals they've sucked down.

I'm tempted to write these shitheads a letter. It would go something like this...

Dear Simple Solution Fuckers:

I regret to inform you, that after years of religiously using your product to clean up cat vomit, I have decided to take my business elsewhere in hopes of finding another product to clean up my cat's vomit and my dog's big-ass steamy shits. Not only are my carpets permanently stained from my cat's vomit, which your product claims to remove all stains completely, but now our new dog keeps shitting in the same spot on our family room carpet which I keep mistakenly cleaning up with your product that, once again, claims to remove all stains and odors completely. If I were at your office right now, I'd shove one of your gallon-sized containers up your asses because I think your product has a better chance of cleansing your colons completely than cleaning my carpets completely.

If anyone out there in the blogosphere has any more suggestions to offer me as far as dog shit stain removal goes, I'm sitting on the edge of my seat waiting for your advice.

i'm seeing red - okay, a nice shade of crimson would be more accurate

Please forgive me but there's a rant on the horizon.

I'm a liar. It's already here.

My son lives for baseball. His goal is to someday play for the Boston Red Sox and truthfully, he's good enough now that I think one day he will live his dream.

But...

Oh yeah, here it fucking comes....

I feel like I was lied to by his coach and I'm pretty steamed about it.

My son was on the travel team when he was playing roller hockey. He left a year ago and since then, the team and the building they practiced in is no more. Paula Deen of The Food Network fame has bought the building to use as a warehouse which has nothing to do with anything except I like to name-drop every so often. Heh.

Traveling was a total pain in the ass. Actually, I lucked out. In the two years that he was on the travel team, I only took him to two events and one was local. It was the drive to Raleigh, North Carolina that was a complete PITA. And I ain't talkin' sandwiches.

Now, against my better judgment, he's on the traveling baseball team. My son was never supposed to be on the team, he was only asked to practice with them. And then one day, huge surprise, one of the kids on the team was permanently suspended because of bad sportsman-like conduct and there was my son waiting in the wings.

The personal who shall not be mentioned and I had a discussion about it and even though I wasn't thrilled with the idea of it all, this was something my son wanted to do and anyone who has kids knows you do whatever you can for your kids. Someone hand me a tire iron so I can whack myself over the head with it.

I've enjoyed taking him to and from practices and he's really having a wonderful experience with it. I went to the tournament last weekend and while I didn't especially care about having to hang out there all fucking day long, I thoroughly enjoyed watching the kids and meeting the other parents. Well, except for the schmuck coaching his son from the sidelines.

However, there are certain things surfacing now that have left me to do a little too much thinking and over-thinking things is never wise for me.

Ya' see, I feel like I was lied to. Before the coach asked me if our son could join the team and before the other child was suspended, he asked if my son could be a substitute and on the spot I asked him what traveling entailed. What I was told and what is happening now, are two different things.

Then there are the games which are not games at all but all-day or all-weekend which I didn't know until last weekend that that's all these kids do, is play in tournaments. I'd never heard of such a thing! When someone mentions the word "game" to me, I envision two teams of same-aged children playing one afternoon not ten teams duking it out for a freakin' trophy. What is with men and their trophies anyway?! Do they all need a trophy to reassure themselves of their manhood?! It's called a 'game' because it's supposed to be fun. Does my son really need another POS trophy on his shelf?!

So I sent the personal who shall not be mentioned a message this morning about that and the fact that my son has a test this coming week, that I didn't realize he wouldn't be playing all day and didn't make him take his test material with him to study during off-times of the day so he's out two days of studying. It went unacknowledged. I also asked him that if at all possible, to bring the kids home early tonight because my son had some studying to do. He called me just a little while ago to tell me that, of course, our son's team won and he won't be home early because he's headed into the championship. Oh yay! Another trophy I have to find space for.

Speaking of which, did I tell you that my son is now demanding new shelving in his room to accommodate all his new trophies he'll be receiving?! It doesn't matter that I feed and clothe my children, keep a roof over their head, a zoofull of pets to keep them company, now my 10-year old son is making demands of me. No, we can't have shelving in our bonus room because he, his sister and his friends play up there and they might destroy his precious trophies, so I have to call in a fucking handyman to build shelving in a room that has no space for additional shelving.

I think the only way for me to calm down at this point would for me to shoot up some heroin. Good thing I don't like needles.

The person who shall not be mentioned just told me that he wasn't lied to about what was what with regards to the travel team. So what's his point, you ask? I don't know, I guess he seems to think that just because he wasn't lied to, I wasn't either. Did he tell me that the weekend games were really tournaments? Nope but he knew that little tidbit of information before going into this. Was he told that most of the games would be played during the week after school and not on the weekends? No, but I was. Oh but I'm sure that when he passes the word along to his friend, the coach, that I'm pissed off that he'll misinterpret everything I said to make it sound like I'm some bitch (which is pretty much the case regardless) and I'm also sure that sometime this week, I'll get some nasty call from the coach as well.

Oh the fucking joys of life. Ppppfffft.

let's rewind

I wrote this a few days ago, but things have been so busy this week and I still haven't gotten everything I wanted done. Anyway...

A few years ago, I met a gal on that dating site and became friends with her (italicized for all those who immediately thought I'd switch teams and had gone the way of the gay.). Some time passed and that gal mentioned on her blog that she was strapped for cash so I generously offered to loan her some money. At first she declined, then she accepted and let's just say I stopped holding my breath a long time ago that I would ever see my money returned to me.

There are too many details to go into here, just know that she really wasn't the person that I thought she was. She really pulled a fast one on me, I will forever consider her and call her a thief and if I had the time, patience and she hadn't filed for bankruptcy about a year ago, I would still be going after her, legally-speaking.

So every once in awhile, I go to her blog to see what crazed mental instability bullshit she's spewing and it's rather amusing, actually! You see, before filing for bankruptcy, she filed for disability and convinced a court that her bipolar disorder was so advanced, it left her incapable to work. Then she moved 3,000 miles away and oh, looky looky, she blogged one day about her working! Can you say "nice to cheat the government"?! Since you just made such a miraculous recovery, where's my money, bitch?!

I went to her blog the other day, and she's finally getting remarried to someone who would put up with her. So she's talking about how she's just gotten Liposuction on her mid-section so that she can make sure she fits into her Vera Wang dress.

*blank stare*

I did a little research... most plastic surgery procedures are considered cosmetic and therefore, not often covered by insurance unless what's being corrected poses a health risk. Unless your gut has sagged to the point where it has crept between your legs, found it's way to your anus and magically adhered itself to the lining of your rectum in which you will start shitting out of your belly button and the only way to correct this medical anomaly is by Liposuction, Liposuction is always considered a cosmetic procedure and starts at $4,000. Now I'm sure you can find a doctor to perform such a procedure for less...if he has a rusty operating table in the middle of a desolate Mexican village and doesn't use anesthesia.

And that Vera Wang bridal gown? Most of Vera Wang's dresses range from $2,000-$7,000. But that has nothing to do with her bridal collection which starts at $6,000 and can go all the way up to $12,000 or even more. Oh sure you can find a Vera Wang cooker cutter-gown for a couple hundred bucks at any of your discount bridal shops and if you're really lucky, some poor gal who was left hanging at the altar is probably selling her Vera Wang on eBay for dirt cheap. My only suggestion there, sweetheart, is to make sure that fat ass of yours you forgot to have 'suctioned can still wedge into that form-fitting gown, although I'd still laugh at you even if it did. *smirk*

I wonder...will you be having a side order of those over-priced Manolo Blahnik bridal shoes to go with that hefty portion of horseshit?!


Side note: I realize that my description of this gal's bipolar condition was unflattering and it does not reflect my awareness and sensitivity to everyone with such a condition. In a nutshell, if you try to use what can be a very serious condition to mask every stupid thing you've ever done in your life, I will call you on it...as I've done in this post. Just because you may suffer from this disorder doesn't entitle you to act like a smelly vagina face whenever you damn well please. Just sayin'...

other children's parents

I've come to the conclusion that some parents should be slapped hard and often.

My son's baseball team had their first tournament of the season yesterday. It was a two-game elimination with ten teams playing. My son's team is one of the better teams so they only lost one game during the entire day. They started playing at 12pm and didn't finish 'til 9:30pm as they were in the championship game.

In the last game, the coach replaced the catcher as their usual catcher was dealing with growth plate issues. No really. Anyway, this replacement catcher's father was sitting right next to me and didn't stop talking. Let me rephrase that...he didn't stop harassing and instructing his child from the bleachers the entire. fucking. time. I came this close to telling him to shut his fucking piehole. Frankly, I think his son would have appreciated it as his son kept giving him these looks like "Hey dad, I love you but shut the fuck up!". I mean shit, can't some parents understand that there's an actual coach for that?!

Ya' know what's worse than a father coaching his son from the bleachers? A father coaching his son from the bleachers with the worst fucking southern accent you've ever heard.

Then (you know with me there's always a 'then'), there was this high school-aged girl who took it upon herself to play music inbetween plays. Sorta' like an amateur version of a pro-baseball game. She had burned a CD and each child on the team had a corresponding song. My son's team's name is the Dirt Dawgs. If I had heard "Who Let the Dogs Out" one more fucking time, she very well may be recovering in the hospital right now from having her boom box removed from her ass.

Overall, it was a fun experience and I'll look forward to doing it again! Next time, I'll know better where to sit - away from the redneck and the wannabe-DJ.

In other news...today, we picked up Schwartz from camp. He seemed happy to see us but I'm afraid the poor thing might be permanently lame. He's getting around okay but he's still favoring that one leg. I thought by now the anti-inflammatory he was put on last Thursday would have eased his discomfort some, but he's still hobbling around. I'm going out tomorrow to buy him some joint supplement and those of you who mentioned it as a suggestion, I would certainly welcome what kind(s) you use along with how much and how often to give him. I'm pretty sure I can't kill a dog with joint supplement, it would just be nice to know these things!

Happy March, y'all!