It’s summer. School ended last week, as did any little teeny tiny bit of sanity that I had left. I only have one kid, you guys, but that one kid is really something. And we do have a cat. And when we got her last fall he actually said “I’m so happy! I finally have a sister!” (Although he did claim to have a sister named Moody who lived in the attic of our old house and stayed behind when we moved. But that’s another story for another time.) Anyway, I kinda got the only child guilt thing when he said that. I admit it. But he really meant what he said because he annoys the shit outta her just like I imagine he would do to a real human sister. And when he annoys the shit out of her, which is about 14 1/2 out of the 15 hours of the day that his eyes are open, she hides between my legs and cries up at me just like I imagine a little sister would. The only thing that I think might be different is that if the cat were a human then maybe I could actually teach her to cover up her own freakin’ poop. But I doubt it. Cuz let’s face it people, I don’t have the patience or attention span to teach anyone anything. Plus, it’s not like I’d make my human child go poop in a litter box. Probably.
So you long-time readers know the drill: When The Boy is home I don’t have much time to write. Even though I write these postings pretty damn fast, I do like to do them in one sitting. You know, without being interrupted 1 million times to look at whatever his “sister” is doing, or watch something on tv, or hear a joke he made up, or look at a giant poop he did, or look at a giant poop the cat did, or whatever. If I get interrupted, I can’t start back up again. Basically my brain doesn’t work like more regular, smarter brains. It short-circuits pretty easily. Especially when The Boy is around. His very presence makes about 90% of my brain cells go on the fritz.
Today The Boy said “Mom, guess what?” and when I said “What?” he lifted his butt off the couch and farted at me. Then when I was drying my hair, he came in to tell me that there was a new McDonald’s commercial on tv that was really inappropriate. Apparently Ronald told some kids to “Have a ball”, and The Boy said “Balls are those things behind your wiener! He shouldn’t tell kids to have those! That is disgusting!” Then later he told me that he can’t wait to be a grown up because he’s gonna be so powerful and get to spend all day telling his kids to order their own food (something we make him do) and go to their rooms. Even though last week he told me that I shouldn’t get my hopes up about having grandkids because then he’d have to do that thing we told him about that you have to do with your wife if you wanna have a baby and that thing is disgusting and there’s no way he’s EVER doing that. But if he does, his wife is working and he’s just gonna stay home and play video games. Then he farted and said “That’s how I live.”
Dear Future Mrs. Ethan Ford, I tried my best. Good luck.
And since the few brain cells I have left after a very wild teenage-hood are hibernating for the summer, I am doing things like driving around town with my gas door open and the gas cap off. Doing all my shopping with my pants zipper wide open. And I actually remembered to put my coffee cup under my Keurig this morning, but after it filled up I dumped the coffee in the sink. For no apparent reason. And today I came home from Target with this:
That’s a dressing room tag, yo! But it’s really much better than the time I accidentally stole 20 jars of baby food. Even though nowhere on the jars of baby food did it say “Property of Target stores: do not remove from premises.” So I think if I had been caught I coulda really made a case for myself. And I bet Gloria Allred woulda been all over that shit. But now I might make this #2 into a necklace. It’s already got a hole at the top. And when I go to Target from now on I’ll wear it and I’ll look like a total badass and they’ll probably be so afraid of me they’ll just give me stuff for free. Plus #2 is poop, so to my 13-year-old-boy mind that is hilarious. I’m obviously pretty geniusy.
But anyways, my point is that Imma try to write on here as much as I possibly can this summer, but don’t start emailing me if it gets sporadic. It probably won’t mean I’m dead. It’ll just mean I’m hiding in a closet trying not to get farted on.
And for those of you who Tweet, I did it. I finally got on board. Some of you have bugged me for over a year and I have told you to eff off but I finally caved and I am now a Twitterer. Although a very, very, VERY Twittarded one. So if you follow me, hang in there. I’ll try to get better. I am a person who likes to go off on tangents. I choose to think that that’s what makes me so charming. That plus all the balls talk. But maybe some people will enjoy me more in 140 characters or less. Yeah, like there will EVER be less. But anyways, I am on there and my handle or whatever the tweeters call it is @pattimombrain (and I have a new link to it on my left side bar). And I assume that Twitter Patti will have a MUCH smaller following than Blogger Patti, and that’s ok. It will be our special place where we can talk about all the other blog readers who are not following me. But without using as many descriptive expletives as I normally would, cuz I’ll only have 140 characters or less.
And for any of you who are new readers, make sure you read about my O’Mara Revolution (here
, and here
) and get your ass in gear and join up already. NOW
Oh, and by the way, for any of you who haven’t been dragged by your offspring to see Kung Fu Panda 2 yet, here is my review:
“I’d highly recommend getting yourself kung-fu’d in the nads or the ovaries by Jackie Chan rather than seeing this f@cktastrophie of a movie. It would be far less painful.”
Between this and my Eat Pray Love
review, I honestly don’t know why I don’t have a friggin’ cash money paying JOB doing this already. What a waste of opinionated, foul-mouthed talent.