Bipolar Halloween

The morning started with a cheerful little Punk, excited to be awake and starting a fresh new day! Because it is HALLOWEEN and she knows that means she gets to have enough sugar to make her dear sweet fragile mother want to choke the ever lovin' shit out of her before sending her to her room for the rest of her childhood because for the love of all that is decent and serene will you just sit still and shut up for 5 seconds please!

Breakfast of champions was a healthy dose of sugary goodness in the form of Dunkin Donut Munchkins completely dipped and covered in the tiniest sprinkles humanly possible which are all over the house for some ungodly reason and I think that old Fat Cranky Bastard bought them for the express purpose to hop her up on sugar and let her make a mess so he would have a legitimate reason to bitch all morning about it because he just vacuumed the floor last night dammit and can't you control her and sure I can let's just give her a little more sugar so that is even more possible...yeah, right.

Following breakfast was the adornment of the costume. The beautiful Cinderella dress complete with magic light up wand and beaded crown to make her look like the best damn princess in the whole wide world. The dress had been drooled over for weeks. The indecision to either be a mermaid or a princess discussed with a very patient mommy on a daily basis. The time had come for her shining moment of a definite pick of "I want to be a princess!" I gathered the materials, let her brush her sprinkle ridden face and hands off all over the floor, and proceeded to try and get her dressed only to have her throw the biggest conniption fit and tantrum that she has ever thrown, complete with carpet angels, more snot than any child should be allowed to produce by nature and crying and downright bitching that she couldn't possibly wear this dress because it was too, and I am quoting the 5 year old here, "DAMN ITCHY!!!" and get it off right this instant before I get even more upset and do something you might regret like oh let's see how we can make mommy's life that much better by PUKING all over daddy who is trying to console her and therefore causing the FCB to sympathy gag and puke right back at her. Joy. Rapture. Could my day get any fucking better.

Being the good mom and house cleaner that I am I managed to get everything wiped up and corrected all the while listening to the ranting of a seriously deranged princess who was just not pleased at the itchiness of the costume she had to wear. I placated her with promises of zoo adventures and Dumbo rides and pizza parties with her friends and all the candy she could eat that night when she went out trick or treating. I lovingly and thoughtfully threatened her within an inch of her ass that if she did not stop the insane blubbering and whining I was going to rip the dress off her and throw it in the trash and she would never in this lifetime ride a Dumbo nor eat any sugary substance again. She obviously didn't take me seriously because she continued with the drama parade all the way out to the car since we missed the bus and of course this was all in her evil plans to make sure I attended school with her so she could continue to exhibit my stellar parenting skills/threats in front of the rest of creation.

We got on our way to school, and since I was a last minute addition to the field trip that was planned today for the elementary school kids to walk over to the middle school to go trick or treating I had grabbed what my daughter lovingly refers to as my "pookie" hat (spooky) which is a witch hat that is bedecked with shiny rainbow colored spider webs. BooYah! I was already wearing a black dress, so add a hat and you have instant costume! I was enjoying a morning drive while I was half asleep and dead assed tired from being at the hospital all night with my sister and of course having to get up before the ass-crack of dawn in order to beat traffic so I could be home by 7AM to experience the joys of dressing my out of control maniacal daughter, when out of the back seat I hear that the screaming is down to a whimper and I am starting to breathe a sigh of relief only to be interrupted by the GPS-NavSystem herself that proclaimed loudly and with much malcontent that I was going the wrong way to go to the zoo or the Dumbo ride and that this was the way to school and NO I DON'T WANNA GO TO SCHOOL YOU TURN AROUND THIS VERY INSTANT MOMMY BECAUSE I AM NOT GOING TO SCHOOL OH NO NO NO dribble dribble tears whine snot snot more snot pout.

We got to school where my daughter who is usually the first to unbuckle was sitting slumped over in her seat and refusing to not only unbuckle but get out of the car no matter what I offered her now because she knows it was a ruse and I am just a liar and full of shit and she was too smart to be tricked again. I grabbed all the school items we would be needing that day and told her that I was just going in to see all the other princesses and costumes and to see what the only boy in her class (who all the girls are in love with) was wearing and did she want to come and check it out with me and I was met with a pout and an "I don't wanna and you are mean and I don't wanna," as I pried her fighting kicking and screaming little body out of the minivan and dragged her little princess butt across the parking lot where I had to get help and it took two full sized adults to drag the ultimate hell no we won't go protester down the hall to her classroom.

The school looked great as usual for a holiday and was all done up in the Halloween decorations and all the little kiddies looked so cute in all their costumes and my little princess proceeded to continue her tantrum into hour two with even more snot and 20 minutes of complaining to anyone that would listen that she was itchy and needed to get naked and how mean we all were for not helping her to rid herself of the horror that is a Halloween costume. She even tried to convince her teacher (who used to be a nurse) that she had a broken toe, foot, leg, arm, head, body, and needed a doctor, STAT. The teacher asked me if that was normal. I paused in my attempt to wash down a bottle a Valium with a bottle of vodka and nodded at her. (Not really......well, maybe....part of that statement is true. You guess which.)

Once distracted with toys and friends she forgot all about the dress and life got back to normal. Everyone lined up to walk down the street to proceed with the candy collecting. At this point, my daughter had pulled a Sybil, and was completely cooperative and calm. Trick or treating went off without a hitch and the day proceeded as smoothly as it possibly could until it came time to take off the ITCHY dress to which my daughter threw another tantrum because she wanted to keep it on because..."I look too beautiful in it, Mommy!"

Thus concludes the early portion of the bipolar Halloween. After feeding them all pizza and some sugar, the teachers tried to put everyone down for a nap and at that point I made a beeline for the door because I didn't want to be held liable for any wrong doing and was exhausted to the point that any more drama would have sent me to the funny farm. (Crazy? I was crazy once! They sent me to Sunny Hill....inside joke, those who know will get it...) I gathered the itchy dress and my purse and steeled my heart against the tormented cry that came from my daughter when she realized that I was leaving and with the sacred princess dress. She was wailing, "Mommy, please don't leave me!" I am not sure if it was the lack of sleep or the stress of the day but I started crying as I walked down the hall towards the parking lot. Hearing my baby so upset at the thought that I was abandoning her to nap amongst her friends then to wake and play for the remaining 3 hours of the day was tormenting. I wanted so badly to hug her and take her with me, but at that point....I need the 3 hours of "mommy time" to nap and collect my sanity.

She came home hopped up on sugar and has been dipping into the candy bowl already and it is only 4pm. This should make for an interesting evening. I am off to decorate now. I must just keep chanting to myself...

I love Halloween!! no I don't! Yes I do! no I don't! Yes I do! no I don't! Yes I do..........

Edit: I keep having to pick sprinkles out from between my toes. I wonder if this is a collaboration between the Punk and the FCB to secretly and slowly drive me to drink.

2nd Edit: We went out trick or treating tonight. She put on the dress willingly and with enthusiasm. We went down two streets in our three street subdivision. It was chilly and it drizzled the whole time. I was miserable. She was in heaven. We got to the end of the street and turned around and managed to sync up with a little boy in a dinosaur costume. She then wanted to be a dinosaur. I told her next year she could be. We went to one more house. An old lady answered the door. My daughter stepped into her house and proclaimed loudly, "Wow! What a cool house!! It's so pretty! I wanna live here, OK Mommy?"

I apologized to the old lady as she was quickly shuffling out my daughter out of her house. My daughter then proclaimed that once again she wanted to be a dinosaur. I told her again, next year. She then stated in a matter of fact way as she climbed into her little red wagon, "OK then, I'm done trickertreatin and we can go home now."

She might as well have cracked a whip and said, "Home, Jeeves." I was too tired to argue.

Quick post and back to the hospital...

I became an aunt again for the fifth time today. I will post details later after I get permission. It was a girl. I have a whole post about what my sister chooses to name her offspring.

I scored 5 pairs of Crocs today. They just opened an outlet store 20 miles from my home. If you don't know already, I worship at the Church of Crocs. I am believer. I convert people. I walked into the outlet store and had the biggest shoegasm of my life. Also more on that later. I will try to update everyone on all the goings ons. Right now I volunteered to stay with my sister in the hospital tonight to make sure she was comfortable after having the baby. Plus I get to spend some time with her and the new baby.

Oh, and I got the minivan back today. It's still doing the the things I took it in there for. ARGH!

You know Murphy? He's my bud.

Oh what a day! What a fucked up, fantastic, awful, glorious day! It all started with blog fodder from the Punk and continued into one long drawn out post that practically wrote itself. I actually kind wished it had written itself, cuz typing it all out? It's a bitch.

So today was picture day at Punk's school and I usually volunteer for it because...$35 credit for volunteering, yo! Which comes in handy since those damn pictures packages are like fifty fucking bucks, dammit. I was trying to figure out what to do with her hair since her cute little short cut has grown out enough that it isn't as cute any more and I was wanting the 'Haley Mills-Parent Trap' do and was getting the 'I just stole Bozo The Clown's look' do. So I took a squirt bottle and tried to wet her hair down so I could comb it back and hope for the best or at least a 'I'm trying too hard for a Princess Di' do. I sprayed her and got an immediate..."Hey! That's cold, Mommy! I don't like this! Don't touch me! Go away! You're mean!"

I was all apologetic to her and was going to resign myself to having her wear her Cinderella crown for the picture to detract from her out of control hair, then I realized I couldn't be a bad mom by sending my daughter out into the coldness that is Florida right now with a wet head. So I drag her into the bathroom kicking and screaming trying to convince her that she will look great and the hair dryer is nice and warm and PLEASE ALREADY THE BUS IS OUTSIDE! So we went into the bathroom and I was able to not only blow dry her hair in like less than a minute (it's thin) but I got rewarded with a little toss of her hair and a "How do I look, Mommy? Am I fabulous?"

I assured her that she was indeed absolutely beautiful and fabulous and I loved her look. She then took the blow dryer from me and asked me to turn so she could use it on me. I asked her how I looked and she replied, "You are the most beautifullist in the whole wide land, Mommy!"

Right on!

So I load her up on the bus, fully intending on going to the very same place, but she just does better in the morning at school when I am not around. I putz around the house a little and finish making a pair of earrings I was working on since last night. Glad I did, cause not only did I get a lot of compliments today, but I passed out like 8 business cards. Woot! Business! Maybe. Anyway...this is what they looked like....

So I get ready to head out and I climb into quasi-new mini van and turn the key and "wah-wah-wah I don't want to start for you on this unusually cold Florida morning so you can suck my carburetor if you don't like it!" Damn. Double Damn. Let's try that again. "wah wah wah...vroom. OK, you win, but I am going to act funky all 2 miles down the road, plus that high pitched whine that you have been hearing since you bought me? Gonna make that noise louder for ya just to show you who's the boss in this relationship. So there."

Because this is the normal imaginary conversation that I have with my car. Usually. Sometimes. OK, well this is the first imaginary conversation that I have had, but hey! My Mom thinks I's special. And my kid. Um...eh-hem...moving on.

So I will spare you the semi-boring details of getting started with the volunteering for the picture day and skip right to the hunky, gorgeous, totally hot photographer. Mmmmm. Mancake. Yummy. I am all helping and stuff and when we hit a lag between classes he started chatting me up about my Pink Floyd shirt that I was wearing. (Cause, that's my goal and all...to get men by luring them in with Pink Floyd shirts. Do it all the time since I own like 4 different shirts and never fail to get a compliment. The boobs that make the decorations really stand out help. So maybe it has nothing to do with Pink Floyd and everything to do with tatas. Whatever. I stick with what works.) As we are talking he asks my name and I tell him. I ask his and he tells me...Tony. Tony Figs. I laugh because I thought he was kidding. I told him that sounded like a mob name. He laughed and said he gets that all the time. To make things even better? He is a New York Italian/Puerto Rican. Tall, dark and handsome with an accent. Hello Jello knees!

So we hit it off. Really off. Out of this world off. OK...so not really, but we had a great chat. (While I was mentally doing shameful things to him in my imagination.)

I had to sing to gets the kids to smile at one point, and the whole "audience" of kids, teachers, helpers and volunteers thought I was terrific. Got lots of compliments on my voice. Blush. Tony gave me a high 5. Bigger (bliss) blush. I remembered all the words to the Little Einstein's theme song. I SO ROCK!

So Tony and I continue to chat while he packs up his equipment (his photo stuff in case any of you have dirty minds like me) and we get to know a little about each other. I give him my number. While he lives in Orlando, and I live in Jacksonville, I fully plan on visiting Orlando often in the near future with my Disney season pass to escape the torturous hell that is the FCB working from home, now. So maybe, hopefully...in a magical land far, far away...there will be a hot, sweaty, much needed...ahem...hook-up. Hey, a girl can always dream right? "A dream is a wish....your loins make...."

OK. Back to the Murphiness that was my day. So I go out to the mini van after I am done and the fucker wouldn't start. Wouldn't even turn over. So I pulled out the manual and tried to troubleshoot. No luck. No start. Damn. Double damn. Triple damn. Fuck. Then I had to call the FCB to come give me a jump. But does he do that? Nope. He brings tools to take the battery out so we can take it to Pep Boys and have the battery tested and charged. Pep Boys guy said? Not the battery. Well fuck a duck. Can this day get any better? So we managed to get the battery back to the van and the van over to Honda. Because of course it started right up with the "nothing's wrong with your battery, it is probably the alternator" battery back in it. I swear we could have saved an hour and a half by just giving me a jump. Live. Learn. Moving on.

The coolest part about that hour and a half though? All those faculty members that were shooting me dirty looks for flirting with the photo guy, were probably tongue wagging all afternoon about me conveniently not being around while my van was in the parking lot. They were probably imagining that I was doing what I imagined what I was doing with Tony in the back of some car or nearby hotel. Hehehehehehe. I love to stir the pot. Those uppity bitches can kiss my ass. Anyway.

So once at the dealership, I pulled into the bay and got out and stood there. Waiting. And waiting. Finally, a service tech came up to me and asked me if I could be helped in a sarcastic and disdainful way after eyeing the van up and down with my choice of decorations. I wanted to tell him to suck my dick, but unfortunately I forgot it at home and therefore was subjected to the "Little lady" attitude that most men working at a dealership here in the south must genetically possess in order to completely belittle anything without a penis that walks through the door. I proceeded to tell him all the problems that were going on. I made sure to mention at least 25 3 times that the high pitched whine that had been going on since I bought the thing was getting even louder and more annoying. He started writing and stopped listening to me at that point, even though I was still trying to describe the problems.

I then made the mistake of telling him that the van was under warranty and asked if it would be covered. He looked at me like I was a stupid cow and said, "You have over 89,000 miles on this van...there is no more warranty."

I assured him there was and I had purchased and paid good money for a full warranty on the sucker and he once again looked at me like I had eight heads that were all speaking Chinese. Fucker.

I hate that these guys act like I know nothing, nor can I ever comprehend anything that has to do with a vehicle simply because I lack a brain between my legs. HA! Not only do I have a brain between my legs, it is smart enough to have crawled up inside me to get out of the cold! Sexist Bastard.

Once the computer was checked and I slightly improved my believability by dropping the name of the finance guy that sold me the extended warranty, Tiny the Tech said that he would call when they knew something. I came home and checked my paper work as well as called the warranty company to confirm my coverage. (My brain's bigger that yours is, Tiny. FCB said I need to pack the biggest dick I own in my purse so that the next time I go to the dealership I can just whip that bad boy out so I will be taken more seriously. Bwahaahahahaha!) As of this afternoon, Tiny Tech called to say that the battery was fine (duh) but they were going to try cold starting it tomorrow morning as well as further investigation into the whining noise.

If they keep my car longer than tomorrow? So going to get a courtesy vehicle. Maybe I can try out a Fit. So that was my day. The good, the hot hunky good, the bad, the worse, and the asshole. All in a day's adventure for me. Like I said before, at least the day was a rolling buffet of blog fodder. We'll see what tomorrow brings. Oh, and Murphy? So totally my main man. Cause everything that could, did.

I needed that laugh.

Stumbled on this blog today and while I have vowed to stay the hell out of the "political" shit slinging fest, I just had to give the Sarah Palin baby name generator a try.

As Missle Blunt Palin, I am giddy giggly happy to be appointed the "Stoned, Secretary of Defence."

Be skeerrrd, people...very skeerrrd. (hehehehehehehe...why do I have the munchies?)




If you check it out and haven't passed out from laughing at the comments, come on back and tell me what your name would be. This should be fun!

Penises should not be allowed to drive.

I'll leave it to you to mentally picture how they even held the pencil to do the written portion of the driving test.

Just because I drive a mini-van, does not mean I WANT to drive the speed limit everywhere I go and I have your upmost safety in the forefront of my mind. I have good insurance and airbags. Get the fuck out of the way!

If you are unable to see over the steering wheel any longer because age has shrunk you to the size of a smurf with a stunted growth problem....get the fuck off the road!

If your brain and your inability to stop wasting every one else's oxygen prevent you from screaming the correct homophobic slur at me while driving next to me? Get a life, get a therapist...get the fuck off the planet!

But above all, you twatwaffle, educate yourself on the fact that I lack the equipment to be a fag. Being a female, I would be called a lesbo, a dyke, or your wildest, wet dream that will never happen. But I am not a fag.

(Actually...I would classify myself as tri-sexual...but that is another post or possibly a whole 'nother blog all together. Anyway...)

I shall explain the reasoning for this assbiscuit's decision to hate all over me this afternoon. (Other than the fact that he just needs to be thrown back into the gene pool that spawned him and drowned.) You see...I like color. Lots of color. Rainbow anything just simply rocks. Thus my mini-van is bedecked in lots of rainbow colored accessories. While I realize that my choice of decoration is also the color scheme of Gay/Lesbian/Bi-sexual/Trans-sexual/Trans-gendered/sorry if I left anything out....it doesn't mean I am automatically a carpet munching, card carrying member of the Gay Nation. Not that there is anything wrong with that.

But above all, people should know a person, personally, before judging. Shouting homophobic slurs then trying to "scare me straight" by running me over with your obviously overly endorsing Republican Jeep Cherokee (there was hardly an uncovered inch on the back of that car) is just as narrow-minded, stupid and lame as you are.

This is what my mini-van is decorated with.

There is also a rainbow lei hanging from the rear view, but blogger is having some sort of bitchy-fit right now and it won't let me upload the picture. So I'll have to try to add it later. Edit: It's later and there is the picture. Yay!

As far as the whole judging thing goes? Get to know a person before you get all judgy all over them. One of my best friends is a married, devout Catholic. Another one is an Atheist lesbian. The third best friend is a unique creature that hops from one religion to another faster than the Easter Bunny on speed. She is married, but has "played for the other team." We are friends because we don't judge....or at least not to each other's faces.

So the lesson to be learned from today's post? If you have issues (or in the fucktard's case above, whole damn subscriptions) don't get on the road and try to express them through your penile driving skills. If you can't see over the steering wheel, Mrs. Daisy, it's time to get a driver or start riding the bus. And finally, if the posted speed limit sign is 45 mph, please don't block me in next to a trucker and set your cruise control to 40 mph while driving in front of me. It REALLY PISSES ME OFF!

Finally, the best part of the whole outing today was when I sped past a state trooper doing 80-85 mph in a posted 65 zone and the trooper flashed on his lights and pulled out to chase down....
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the dumbass who slowed down and got pulled over because the trooper could actually catch him...BWAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!

Sucker.

Cakes and Kids and Two-Headed Giraffes

So this past weekend started out with a trip to the zoo. My daughter adores the zoo, and loves it even more if her Moose goes with her.

No not that Moose...this Moose.

So we spent a few hours at the zoo on Saturday and a good time was had by all...even the two-headed giraffe. I was so tired by the time I got home that I wasn't even going to attempt to start baking for the party on Monday.So on Sunday I started the baking. Oh the baking! I had a castle cake to make and a Cinderella cake to make and cupcakes to make for the Punk to take to school. Not that I am an overachiever or anything. Just an overcommiter. Plus...I had to live up to the awesomeness that was the cake last year....

So I started with the baking after sleeping in late on Sunday. And I baked, and I baked......and I baked. I was trying to get it all done before going to my niece's birthday party. She is turning 3 this coming Sunday. My sister is due with her 5th child on Saturday. The second child is having a birthday on Nov. 5th. What does this all mean other than my sister has a lot of children? It also means she gets laid on her birthday every year and never fails to get pregnant. But I digress.

This is the progression of cake baking that transpired on Sunday. It started with the castle cake and half the cupcakes.

I didn't take pictures of the cupcakes because, let's be honest, everyone has either baked those puppies or decorated them and I didn't do anything special because they were all going to be devoured by sugar starved preschoolers, anyway. So I managed to get that up there and the Cinderella cake baked. The story on the Cinderella cake was when I asked the Punk what kind of cake she wanted for her birthday, she informed me that she wanted a chocolate happy face cake, a chocolate Cinderella cake and a castle cake. I planned on just making the castle cake until I found the "now discontinued in stores" Cinderella cake pan in the clearance section at the craft store. $12.99 marked down to $3.69. BOO-YAH! While I may be the clearance queen, I am also over ambitious and a poor judge of time management. So I took a break from the Cinderella and castle cakes to go to the niece's party. I can't show pics because I don't have permission, but I can show you the almost done bun in the oven.

So after the party was over, I came home to decorate some cakes. I got the cupcakes and the castle done before I realized it was 3am and I was about to fall out. Here's the finished castle.

I fully planned on getting up the next day and decorating the Cinderella cake, the house, and wrapping all the Punk's presents. The party was at 4:30pm. I ended up putting the gifts in bags and I quickly put up about half of the decorations. Eh. She's 5. She won't remember that the entire room was supposed to be hosed down with silly string like I promised. I'm not even going to show pictures of the undecorated disaster of a Cinderella cake. Thank goodness it tasted OK with just a slapped on layer of frosting. She got a great haul of presents, and was thrilled to the point of ecstatic at being able to blow out the candles. There was a paper princess decoration on the table that almost got in the way of the flaming candles, but we managed to avoid disaster. When she got home from school and saw all the decorations, her first reaction was to tear the castle and the Cinderella off the wall all the while complaining, "What the name is going on here? It's not the same! Someone hurt my house! It's not the same! Ooh...balloons!"
Here are some pictures from the party. She hasn't let go of that card since the party. She just keeps opening it and singing along to "A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes."



There is a picture of the centerpiece we almost set on fire, a picture of me with a flaming cake and a picture of Punk after she blew out the candles. So that's about it. Lots of sugar and kids and energy (not mine) and princesses. She had a great time. She was so happy with all the Cinderella stuff she got. She has come such a long way. I can't believe my baby is 5 years old already. Since Tysgirl asked, I am going to post a few pictures of Punk's miraculous beginnings.



She was only 1lb. 5oz. She was 11 3/4" long. I was only 23 weeks along when I had her. She was born dead. I died during delivery. We are both survivors.

Not bad for a couple of dead girls.

Today was my baby's birthday. She is 5. We had a great party, lots of sugar, and friends and relatives all came over to help celebrate. (Thanks for helping out, Feisty!)

I have many pictures of my cake exploits for this year, as well as some other blogbits (blog+tidbits) for y'all. Right now though, I am dead assed tired with some raging chest pain, so I am going to call it a night and I promise to get all bloggy tomorrow.

Oh, and to explain the title? I died giving birth to my daughter. She was born dead. But we're feeling much better now.

On the plus side...my very pregnant sister didn't squatplop a baby onto my leather couch even though she is 2 centimeters dilated today. (Due Saturday) I made her promise that my daughter could have this day all to her self.

OK, I'm off to go lapse into a sugar coma, now. More to come tomorrow!