Friday Flip Offs! It's time

That's Right, Kids.

Friday Flip Offs are back.

I think my last one was in April, the day that my husband was laid off. Because of the fucking French. Anyway - lots has been going on and I think it's time to share the angst! Let out all of your frustration and Flip Shit Off on Friday so that you can enjoy your weekend.

Let's Do It!

(I even have a button!)
<br /><center><a href="http://mommakiss.blogspot.com"><img src="http://i957.photobucket.com/albums/ae54/mommakiss/2010badgefridayflipoff2.png" /></a></center><br />


First, I'd like to give a huge middle finger salute to my sister. Who once again has proven what a cuntbagtwatwaffle she truly is. I recently spent 10 days with her daughter, and though I wasn't fishing for dirt, at all, I learned that her mother (CBTWSister) is trying to manipulate this kid for money. Out of the utmost respect for my niece, who is one of the most genuine, smart, kind, gorgeous people I know, I won't go further. Other than to say that karma's a bitch, CBTWSister. You'll get yours one day. It's sad, truly sad, but you will.

Second Flip Off? Adult Acne. I admit I'm an old bitch. I'm 36 . And it's not raging cystic acne, no, but still. I get those underground pimples. Typically right in the corner of my nose or near my hair line [fucking summer heat].

Exhibit A:



Yah. Right there. The size of Russia. Can you see it from your house? [don't mind my hair, I had just gone for a walk and was all schweaty].

While we're at it? I'd also like to say Fuck You to aging skin. Dayum, I finally got serious about sunscreen last year - but can't get rid of those sun spots on my cheeks. Fuckers.

Exhibit B:



To my fucked up pinky toes. I double finger flip you off. I am walking and walking to prep for the Susan G. Komen 3 Day Walk. [DONATE HERE!!! you knew I'd get that in there, right?] My legs are ready. Even my chub rub, thanks to Body Glide, which I intend to own stock in, the shit's so awesome. Anyway, my pinky toes, they just curl right under their neighbor toes and get crushed. So I use moleskin, blister bandaids and even dry fit toe socks. Yes, click that, it's a picture of said socks and it's fun. I will NOT let sore feet stop me from walking 60 miles in 3 days. I won't. If they need to be cut off, so be it, I'll finish this walk because, together with my teammate Poppy, we've raised over $6,500. InFuckingCredible, right??? We are. And my toes better not fucking let me down.

Finally, Flip off to money worries.

Truly. This one is focused on my momma, though - she recently moved from MT to WI - which was good for her - but hasn't found a job yet and social security isn't covering her monthly expenses. Can I be honest, Kids? She is the very reason I said yes to help promote Juice In the City. Not only are they a kick ass company of moms helping moms, but any money I'm making on sponsored posts? All for my Momma. It's the least I can do. So while I'm saying Fuck Off to money worries, I'm saying THANK YOU for putting up with me pimpin' deals for Juice.


this linky code should work - let's pray, eh?

Things that Don't suck

And now, a list...

Things that Don't Suck:

62 degrees in January
Massage therapy
A not having an allergic reaction to Taxol
Friends who take your kids for an hour so you can see straight
Brothers belly laughing with, and AT, each other
Meatloaf
A being negative for her genetic testing [she's NOT a carrier of the gene]
Crave Cupcakes. For breakfast
Moms who are finally able to go back to work after almost a year after surgical procedures
Cards about poop that make me literally laugh out loud
Neurosurgeons.
Donations supporting me for the Susan G. Komen 3 Day Walk
The word Fuck
Friends who understand you, love you and don't judge you. Even when you've been preoccupied and not necessarily in touch
4,000 square foot homes for $350k. Or less
Flexible, understanding bosses
The motherfucking Green Bay Packers

I have a Uniform Problem

Oh, you know the uniform, right?

The one you’ll find me in whenever I’m NOT in work clothes or jammies?

The Velour Tracksuit.

a.k.a. The Hip Mom Uniform.




[that's not me, obvs, but isn’t she pretty?]

'Tis true, I’ve become one with my Uniform. Weekends, I’ll choose it over a pair of jeans.

Unless I’m going out, natch. Gotta bust a move in heels and my bootay huggin’ hipster jeans, right? Otherwise? The Uniform.

I have Uniforms in black, dark gray, brown, deep purple and green.

I know. Green. I have a lil story about the green…

Last year, I mean, the 2009 Christmas “last year,” I absolutely needed a new Uniform for a visit with my co-Uniform enjoyer BoBo. I chose Kelly green. You know, like for Christmas! I never ever intended to wear the pants and hoodie together, I swear. But I liked the color and the hoodie would be perfect w/ the black bottoms – the green bottoms perfect with a long sleeve top for lounging by the fire.

And for a year, this separation worked.

But.

This past Christmas, I was extra festive. Feeling the spirit! On Vacation! Having mimosas at 10am!

In the green Uniform. Both pieces. Together.

I looked like a friggin elf, and not in the pixie-cute-tiny way. Nope. In the “damn, she’s awfully GREEN and what the fuck GREEN” way.

Now now, don't worry about lil ole me. I don’t need an intervention. I’ve already retired the Green Uniform. Some lovely Goodwill shopper will be able to lounge in Kelly Green Comfort any day now…

I’ll pray for them.

I could SO be a soccer mom

I have been grinning like a kid on Christmas morning since posting on Friday. New visitors, amazing comments, great feedback - makes for a happy MommaKiss, I'll tell you that much.

A big fat Thank You for the comments, except that one douchebag. You know who you are [and I love you anyway].

Weekend sorta flew by. Guess that happens to a lot of us.

I have a lil story to tell and decided to use it for a friend's writing prompt, so here goes.

My BigKiss is 5. I didn't really deal with that very well, but we had a great summer, a shaky start to kindergarten and now he's immersed in his first organized sport.

Soccer.

Yes. Soccer.

Now, listen, I'm not really the kind to schedule the hell out of my kid's free time, not to mention, MY weekend time, but I digress. My friggin husband signed him up and said "By the way, Saturday at 9 is his first game and you're on for snacks. GiddyUp." Asshat.

Thing is, it's turned out to be pretty good all around. He started the Saturday after his first week in Kindergarten. A girl from his recess period and a kid from his daycare are on his team and 2 other kids in his class are on other teams. He actually goes after the ball and is pretty quick, so there's that. I was a bit worried he'd be the little wuss on the sidelines and we'd have to push him on to the field, but nope - he was all excited and likes playing.

We're usually up early on Saturdays, so our new routine is to go get bagels and an XL coffee for me then join the other townies at the soccer field.

I guess I could lie and say I'm his biggest cheerleader, but I'm not. I look over once in a while and say "go blue" or some shit, but mostly I sit in my chair and people watch. If people watching were an olympic sport, I'd be quite a medal contender.

Things I've learned in the 2 weeks we've been there?

I'm NOT a soccer mom.

Well, if the definition included hangover breath being masked by coffee breath + hat & pigtails + bomber shades + yoga pants + flip flops + NOT a minivan, well then yah - I'm a soccer mom. Some of the others I'm seeing? High waisted khakis with granny undie panty lines? "Mom" haircuts? Crocs and SOCKS?! Problems all around, people.

Not to mention this sight:

He's our age. That's One Helluva Combover!

So he's "that dad" who's on the sidelines yelling during every exchange "Nice steal, Johnny!" "Great goal, Johnny!" "PASS IT TO JOHNNY!" Does he realize these kids are only 5? That there are no goalies or out of bounds? Or that maybe if Johnny wasn't such a fucking show off, the other kids would pass once in a while. Total Asshat.

Oh, Also? Mr. Kiss took that picture, just for me. He may have redeemed himself from the sleuth-soccer-sign up asshattery.

I can't wait to go back next week ;)


~~~~~~~
trying word up this week:

I must vent.

I love my husband. Pretty much the reason I'm still married, right? Some say “what’s love got to do with it,” but what the hell, it works for me.

That said.

I have to vent. Nag. Whatever. If I don’t do it here, I’ll go bananas on him and, well, that’s not good for anyone.

My list of complaints:

The DVR. Or "your obsession with the list of shows recorded." We have 3 DVR boxes in the house. Living room, Manland and The Bedroom. The Living room is full of my trash t.v. and kid's shows. Manland is Mr. Kiss' (a.k.a. sports & porn). The Bedroom, well, it's a mix. Movies, The Family Guy (barf) and 20/20, 48 hours, Dateline...haphazard. Well, here’s the thing, Husband-o-mine, if it's on The List, then someone recorded it. Obviously. So why do you keep asking me if I still want it or can you delete it? Did I record it? Why haven't I watched last week's Intervention yet? There's plenty of space and just fucking move on.

Oblivion. Are men born with this “oblivion” chromosome? Can someone 'splain this to me? So at home, we have our lists. For the most part, he mows the lawn, cleans the pool and takes out the trash. I do the laundry [fucking hate laundry], the dishes and grocery shopping. But we vary from the lists once in a while. We both work, shit still needs to get done. I've mowed the lawn and he's gone to the grocery store. But the oblivion of "when" something needs to be done? i.e. cleaning the FUCKING TOILET WHEN IT'S CLEARLY GROWING THINGS? Or forgetting to vacuum when I'll be away, even though I've put the Dyson at the bottom of the steps. For 2 days. Or emptying the trash and not putting a bag back in and then I go and toss my coffee grounds in the trash and hear “splat” and realize much too late that I just made a big fucking mess because there’s no fucking bag.

My car. He got it for me. For ME. But JaysusChristo, if there's a matchbox or reusable bag or napkin on the front seat, what's the big deal. My car is clean. It's not smelling like an 8th grade boy's locker room. There are not spilled sippy cups of milk hanging around under seats. I don't leave "trash" in the car for more than a day. So when you get in and Huff and Sigh and Grab shit up, it pisses me off. Just deal with a napkin here & there, asshole.

Huffing and Sighing. Soooo passive aggressive and that, coupled with “you’ll be fine” make me want to stab you. With a blunt object.

“Forgetting” to change a diaper. No one in their right mind wants to change a diaper full of shit. But, in case you didn’t realize, we’re raising a little human here and yah, he’s going to shit on the pot one day [perfect example: our 4 year old. No more diapers. He takes man dumps on the pot. A lot actually.] So when you smell the shit just change the diaper. Don’t make him stew in it for hours and when I walk in say “Oh really? I didn’t realize he had shit running down his legs. Oh well, I’m going to the gym. Not It!” Yeah. Hahahahahaha. Calling “not it” on this one doesn’t count. Your kid now has diaper rash because you were lazy.

WHEW. I feel much better. And – now that I’ve worked out these issues on the internets, I won’t have to be a bitch at home.

Maybe.