Pet Peeves I'm Sorry I'm not Sorry About

My girls over at Hands On, Pants Off and Crystal Michelle's Mess are hosting a link-up today of "Sorry, not Sorry" Pet Peeves edition. 

 


1) These girls get me. 

2) A LOT of stuff gets on my nerves. 


I've been so busy lately, I've needed some blog inspiration so here goes. Buckle your seatbelts folks, because I have all the opinions. 

Sorry, not sorry but... especially specific to white girls, STOP WITH THE PATTERNED LEGGINGS! Ack! It is ugly. They are not cute. I don't wish to see your firm ass, tight ass, small ass, large ass, smooth ass or dimply ass. And tights that are painted on paired with an oversized shirt... stopitstopitnow. 

Sorry, not sorry but... the sound your make when you whistle is neither pretty or pleasing to the ears. When I hear it, I automatically assume you are a self-centered jackass that just likes to make noise so the planet knows you are still here. Shut. It. Down. 

 

Sorry, not sorry but... people who can't breath quietly make me want to show them how by pressing a pillow firmly over their face. You don't have exhale forcefully all at once. Take it easy! You are watching tv, not running a damned marathon! 

 

Sorry, not sorry but... be on time. You can only use you overslept or traffic was bad so many times before I'm going to tell you, "Wake the crap up 15 minutes earlier and the problem eliminates itself!" It is basic math, not rocket science. 

They do.

Sorry, not sorry but...  if you are a conservative and you actually think anything posted on "liberal logic" is remotely true, I'll personally mail you an, "I'm really stupid" sign. Please wear it while in public so we can immediately lower our expectations of you. Be conservative all you want, but try to be intelligent about it.

I mean for real...

Sorry, not sorry but... I don't understand you folks who love Law and Order: SVU. Someone please explain to me how women being murdered and raped is entertainment. Actually, don't. I'm not interested. 

 

Sorry, not sorry but...  on the same note, I don't understand folks who pay to watch scary movies. Maybe it is the cheap in me, but being scared sucks. Paying money sucks. Paying money to someone else to scare me is sucks to the ninth power. If I want to be scared, I'll just sit in a dark room and think a little bit. That way, I at least get to keep my money. 

 

Sorry, not sorry but... if it bothers you to come to a house that isn't clean, then just don't come. Don't give my house the side eye and look all uncomfortable. You don't seeing me doing that because I'm uncomfortable around tight-asses. Chill.  

Sorry, not sorry but... eating crab legs makes no damn sense. You go to a restaurant and pay twice as much as you  normally would so that you can crack the bones of dead animals and fish out this little slab of meat. Meanwhile, you break a sweat and give yourself carpal tunnel while making a ginormous pile of sea-spider-animal-carcus on your plate. It takes you twice as long to eat because of all the carnage that must ensue for you to get your meal eaten. Maybe it is just me, but I go out to eat for a break! Not to get my work out in for the day. They better cure cellulite, enlarge boobs, and come with a winning lottery ticket if I'm going to spend more money and work harder on my rest day. 

Sorry, not sorry but...  I really wish parents would stop showing their children Frozen. So much singing. So much singing in the Walmarts and the doctors offices and the pharmacies and the restaurants... I DON'T WANT TO BUILD A MOTHER PUPPY SNOWMAN. For the love of God, LET IT GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! 

AGHHHHHHHHH! 

Now that I feel better, what are you pet peeves?

Zappos Giveaway and Friday Funnies

I don't have much time to blog today but I did want to let you all know of a giveaway happening! The lovely Tia from Hands On, Pants Off is sponsoring a giveaway today for folks who follow her sponsors. Check it out and follow her because if you like me, you will love her. I'm pretty sure we were separated at birth because, to quote myself and her blog today, "Bitches get stuff done." 


Super Rad and Awesome Giveaway


And finally, here are some funnies for yas. These have been cracking me up lately.

I sent this to my girls that work for me so they know I get that I'm a dick sometimes.

This is something Sam would do to me.

This could also be me. I'm starting to wonder if I'm even a little bit charming.

 

One time, while giving a speech in Toastmasters, I just stuck my hands in my pockets. Hint: That is not how you handle the "what do I do with my hands" dilemma.

 

 

 

My 30th birthday is on June 11. I need this to happen.

A Sleeping 4 Year Old is a Drunken Adult

Sam is a HARD sleeper, guys. You may have to dance naked around a campfire and sacrifice the blood of a virgin to get him to go to sleep, but man, once he is asleep, it takes an act of Congress and the promise of world peace to wake the kid up. 

And this story is long but the end is worth it so hang in there.

He is four years old and still sleeps in a diaper.

Before you get all judgy, see explanation above. The kid sleeps HARD. And I have a pretty solid philosophy of not pushing potty training before he is ready. 

I wasn't even going to start him potty training until he started showing signs that he wanted to. Then the little shit turned 18 months old and decided he was 18 years old and ready to register for the draft. I wasn't ready but he was so we did it. The night time bed-wetting was the only thing left to do so I left it up to him. My thought process was that when he had a few nights of not wetting the diaper at night we would transition to underwear and all would be well. 

I was wrong. Here we are at 4 years old and he still isn't there. 

The other night, he had been in bed for a while and we were going through the process of getting him to stay in his MOTHER PUPPY BED (so much frustration). I went upstairs to talk to him and I smelled pee. 

Awww hell to the nawww.... 

Me: "Sam... did you pee in your diaper?"

Sam: queue the wailing hysterical sobs

Me: "Take your diaper off! If you are old enough to just choose to pee in your diaper because you are too lazy to get out of the bed then you can hold it or walk your grown self to the toilet." 

Sam: more wailing "OKKKAAAAAYYYYYYYYEEEEEEEE" 

The next morning there was a river o' urine in his bed. 

Oh joy. 

The next night I went ahead and put him in undies again and made him pee about every 30 minutes before bed. He woke up at 12:30 am screaming bloody murder and I just knew it was because he woke up wet and scared. 

When I got upstairs, he was certainly scared but not wet. So like any good mother would do when waking up to a screaming child, I made him go potty. 

And when he woke up the next morning, he was dry! 

SUCCESS!!

So the next night I knew the answer was to wake him up in the middle of the night to go pee. 

How I wish I would have had this experience on film.

Me: (shaking Sam lovingly) Sam baby. Wake up. It is time to potty.

Sam: (doesn't move)

Me: (shaking Sam lovingly) Sam baby. Its mommy. Wake up.

Sam: (doesn't move)

(repeat this about 8 more times)

Me: (pulls covers back and nudges a little less lovingly) Sam baby. Wake up and go potty.

Sam: (yanks covers over his head and ignores me)

Me: (pulls them back down and speaks sternly) Sam, honey. Get up and go potty. You can get right back in the bed.

Sam: (buries head in pillow)

Me: Get. Up. Sam. 

Sam: WHO AM I?!?!?!

Me: (stifling laughter) You are Sam and you need to go potty so you don't pee the bed. 

Sam: WHERE IS IT?!?!?!

Me: The toilet. In the bathroom. 

Sam: (doesn't move)

Me: (picks all 42lbs of dead weight Sam out of the bed and try to set him on the floor so he will walk. misjudged and dropped the four year old onto the floor instead)

Sam: (curls up in fetal position and proceeds to sleep on the floor)

Me: (picks him back up) Baby. Use your legs and walk to the bathroom. 

Sam: (walks to the bathroom and sees that the light is on and it is too bright. turns light off. cries because it is too dark.)

Me: (turns light back on)

Sam: (stares at the toilet and then turns around and walks back to the bed and goes back to sleep... does. not. potty.)

Me: Samuel Deyonne Turner... go back to the bathroom and pee pee so you can go back to bed. 

Sam: UGHGHGHGHGHGHHGH (goes back to bathroom and pees)

Then he turns to me with his puffy, sleep-deprived eyes and made full eye-contact with me and said, very plainly, "There." 

Then he got back in bed and went back to sleep. 

Lawdy, lawdy my work is cut out for me! He did wake up dry and we are on three nights in a row of waking up dry. I'm waking up cranky and tired but at least he makes it entertaining! 

Any tips on how to get his new habit to stick? 

Why Won't You Ever Let Me Be a Witch Doctor?

This is what my son asked me on the way home. 

Sam: Mom, why won't you ever let me be a witch doctor? 

Me: Say what? 

Sam: A WITCH DOCTOR!

Me: What about a witch doctor? 

Sam: You won't ever take me to the witch doctor!

Me: Why on earth would I do such a thing?!

Sam: walla walla bing bang! 

Me: What in the fresh hell are you talking about? 

Sam: The witch doctor! From the walla walla bing bang song! 

Me: (oblivious that there is any reference to a witch doctor in that song) Sam, there isn't a witch doctor in that song. 

Sam: Yes. There is. "I told the witch doctor I was in love with you." That one. 

Me: (stunned) I'll google it. 

And this is what I found... 



I have sung the chorus of this song over and over for Sam but never realized it was an actual song! We sat in the garage and watched it and laughed and sang. At the end he said, "See mom. I told you there was a witch doctor." 

I guess he was right... 

I'm a Strep Throat Sissy

All in all... I'm so glad last week is OVER! 

Between my son being all "fakey" and causing me to miss work and the plague of death and sadness I caught on Friday... This week at work is a much needed break from LIFE! 

The beginning of the week went like this... 

I was back at work Wednesday and Thursday, but Thursday morning I noticed my throat hurt a little bit. Nothing I can't power through though. 

By Thursday night at bedtime, I was thinking to myself, "Ruh roh. My throat puppy HURTS!" 

I woke up on Friday and my whole body hurt and I was certain that my throat was bleeding. 

And in true Rikki fashion, I was like, "I'll go to work and it'll be fine." 

Have you ever been wrong? It rarely happens to me but man when it does... 

queue laughter

So at 8:30 am I found myself sitting in my office chair, near tears, thinking, "WHY DOES EVERYTHING HURT SO BAD?!?!" And then I realized that sitting was taking too much effort so I rolled into the floor and laid in there for a while. 

Rikki... who suffered through two hours of post c-section surgery pain with no meds before completely losing her shit was lying in her office floor at 8:30 am near tears. 

Why yes I would like some cheese with my wine. 

I called my doctor who of course doesn't see patients on Fridays. I then went down to student health because I work on a college campus and can.

I got down there (walking on my feet that radiated pain up my legs with every step) and I had a 101 fever (meh... but explains a lot) and strep. 

I asked her if she was sure it wasn't Ebola or certain imminent death. She assured me it was simply strep and I needed to take it easy and stay away from people. 

Deal! 

I walked straight to my car and went to the pharmacy. I got my antibiotics and headed to Chickfila for an unsweetened tea and some french fries. 

But, Rikki... you don't eat french fries. Why would you do that? 

Because it was warm, salty and quick and I needed something on my stomach to take the meds. YOU DON'T KNOW ME! 

And lawd hep me it was good too. 

I got home and my hyperactive-must-be-on-a-permanent-trampoline dog just looked at me, got in bed beside me, and laid there. He never bothered me. 

And I slept for four hours straight. 

I kept a strict regiment of 

1) Sleep 
2) Eat a handful of peanut butter m&ms and take meds 
3) Change disc of Friends 
4) Repeat

On Saturday, my dad and step mom came down to watch Sam play tee ball. I was too sick to go. 

On Sunday, PUPPY MOTHER'S DAY, I did not get to go to church. I did not get to go out to eat. In fact, I'm fairly sure the only reason I left the house was to chase down my dog who had gotten across the street. 

Sam had informed me that the potted flower he brought me home from Susan's was done against his will, "Susan made me do it." Then he picked some weeds from the yard for me and threw a hissy when he realized they would die. 

I did get a pretty sweet heating pad that wraps around your neck and shoulders but I had a fever all weekend and couldn't use it. 

At the end of the day though, it isn't lost on me how blessed I am. Yes, Mother's Day is my favorite day of the year. And yes I was sure I had been smited by the Lord. 

But honestly, there are people out there every day wishing they could celebrate Mother's Day with a family of their own. I have that. And my husband did go fetch me some guacamole and peanut butter m&ms because that's what I wanted. 

So sick or not, it wasn't all that bad. But, I'd rather lick a hobo's neck than have strep ever again though. 

WTF Wednesday: The Gremlin Has a Death Wish

My son is an evil genius. This is not news. (And this post was supposed to be up yesterday but that's just how my day went.)

But due to recent events, this was a conversation I had with the hubs sperm donor (I will refer to nothing related to my hell-child demon spawn with love for the entirety of this post) earlier today.

Me: He tried that shit again at Susan's?

Sperm donor: God bless us if we can get this kid behind something that matters in life. Because if he decides he wants to be bad... we are screwed.

Me: He does look cute in orange.

But what did he do, Rikki? What could possibly be the problem? 

He's like a cute little Gremlin when it gets wet... 

He's all sweet and cuddly and, "Give me all your hugs and kisses." 

Then... when you are least expecting it... he goes for the kill. 

It started when he got sick and we let him sleep downstairs with us. 

He made all the right faces and said all the right things... and bless his sick little heart, he needs to be by his mommy when he is sick. 

Around this time is when I assume the angry hobo with bad breath moved in upstairs. 

Because ever since then he has BEGGED and PLEADED and MANIPULATED his way to sleeping downstairs. 

On Monday he had a small fever and complained of his ears hurting. This is probably legit because I definitely ignored these cries over the weekend (mom of the year, I know) (but also he manipulates to get what he wants and since he is a proven little terrorist, forgive me for not trusting him). 

I went to pick him up. On the way to pick him up I was informed his stomach was cramping and he was about to throw up. 

Gremlins are messy little shits. 

I got him home and he damn near turned cartwheels out of the car. 

That was my first clue he was playing me. 

My second clue was him begging me to jump on the trampoline and asking when he could get treats. 

We had a come to Jesus meeting where I calmly firmly explained that sick little boys eat applesauce and toast and do nothing fun but lay down.  

Gremlin: "Oh yeah." And then laid down. 

That night he begged to sleep downstairs. What if he threw up? He would need his mommy. 

And we took the bait. 

Tuesday morning he woke up and said, "I think we need to cancel today. My belly hurts." Then he started to cry. 

I was already dressed and ready for work. And I love my job. I don't take "mental health" days and I certainly don't fake sick days. Never have. 

And I knew he was playing me. But I also knew that if I was wrong, I'd feel like the giantest jackass in a red state and so I could take this opportunity to teach him a lesson. 

Life was so boring and bland to him by 11:30 am that I finally got him to admit he was lying to me. 

 
Anger seethed through my body like stiffed drug dealer on tax day. 

I chanted to myself, "Thou shalt not beat thy child. Thou shalt not beat thy child." 

And I vowed to make it the worst sick day he has ever experienced. 

"Lay down, Sam. You're too sick to play." 

"But I'm not sick." 

"Horseshit you aren't. I stayed home to take care of my sick son so lay your tootie down and rest." 

Gremlin: "Can I have a snack?" 

Me: Sick kids don't get snacks. Sick kids eat applesauce and toast. 

Gremlin: Can I sit with you momma? 

Me: No. I don't want to catch your sickness. 

Whatever I could, I used it. And he was not having any fun (as he told me multiple times). 

And then the little spawn of Satan did it... HE FAKED MORE STOMACH CRAMPS! 

He's lucky he didn't get a swirly. 

He acted so pitiful. He stuck his lip out. He asked to go sit by the toilet. 

Then he asked to sleep downstairs. 

WHISKEY TANGO FOXTROT!

At that point I just got mean. 

Me: You are lying. I don't like kids who lie. Get away from me with your lying face. 

Stuff like that. And he admitted to lying. Again. 

And then like the dumbass parents we are, we agreed to let him sleep downstairs one more night on agreeable terms. He could either: 

1) Sleep upstairs and get to have candy and cartoons the next day. 

or 

2) Sleep downstairs and not get candy and cartoons. Also, he had to sleep upstairs the next night with no fight. 

He chose option 2 (for non poker folks that means he called our mother puppy bluff). 

Shit. 

He woke up this morning and wanted a cartoon. 

Me: Nope. 

Gremlin: SCREAMING*CRYING*RABIDMONKEYANTICS

Me: Get away from me with that drama. 

(LOTS MORE DRAMA)

Gremlin: YOU HURT MY FEELINGS!

Me: I'm going to hurt more than your feelings if you don't knock it off. 

Gremlin: *throwsclothesaroundinafitofrage*

Sperm Donor: *stepsintosavesonslife* Sit your butt down on those stairs and knock it off. Next step is a spanking. 

*quieter drama*

Sperm donor leaves. Gremlin refuses hugs. 

Sperm donor drives away. 

Gremlin loses his God forsaken mind and attempts another fit (because he wanted an apple and not a banana). 

Momma lays the smack down. 

Gremlin cries all the way to Susan's. 

Gremlin eats banana. 

This is why Momma drinks. 

Thrifty Thursday: Booze, Food, and Shopping for Under $30

That's right. 


If you read my last post, you know this has been a bad week. I haven't shared everything with you all out of respect for my family, but it has basically been all bad here lately. 

Because the lady that watches Sam is an angel with wings spun from unicorn hair, she typically keeps Sam on Wednesday nights. 

Yes, she either loves me, Sam, or both of us so much that she keeps my child overnight once a week so we can have a night off and so she can have time with Sam. No need to tell me how lucky I am. I fully understand. 

 So last night, Justin wasn't feeling well and Gena wanted to go drink... so we did! 

And this, my friends, is how you have a night out on the town for under $30. 

Santo Coyote has $2 margaritas on Wednesday nights. 

YES! 

They also have the best queso in the tri-state area. 

EVEN YESSER! 

We had a large queso, split some fajitas, and had two margaritas each. $13 total. 

That is how you do it. 

We also got mega hit on my the super awkward waiter. He was nice, don't get me wrong, but lacked game. 

At the end when he was handing me back my credit card, he says, "So are you married?"

Me: "Yes."

Him: "I thought so. I mean I saw you ring but I didn't think that was your name." 

I love this part in the conversation (any conversation having to do with my name). Why do people find it so absurd that my name is Rikki? 

I mean, it is a dude's name. I get that. Lawd knows I do. But to go so far as to say that is my  husband's credit card?! Cheeza-louisa. 

I said, "Well I am married but this is really my name."

Him: "Your name is Rikki? Like your real name?"

Me: "Yes. And it is conversations like this why I tell strangers it is Betty." 

You can't mess up "Betty." Really, you can't. 

So he left after cutting his tip in half and Gena and I decided it was time to visit our mecca... GOODWILL! 

45 minutes and $15 later, I had a new pair of red heels, a long sleeve dress shirt, a red sport jacket, and a "very Rikki" polka dot blouse. 

Bitches get stuff done. On the cheap.