The irony of ass

I got some new jeans last night and it’s like tiny little fairies are constantly waving magic wands above my ass while sprinkling baby-got-back glitter in my wake.

Seriously people, unicorns and rainbows are shooting out of my butt. These jeans are that magical.

My new dark boot cut jeans are bomb-diggety

These jeans are so amazingly fucktastic that I feel the need to strut around the office sharing my ass with the poor humble people who do not have a pair of jeans such as I do. I honestly don’t know how they get through the day wearing their sad jeans and khakis. I feel I must uplift them with the sight of my butt in these jeans.

Unforch, I am also wearing a pair of boots that make farty sounds while I walk.


How to not be a creative genius

In my head I’m this amazing artist. I often fantasize that people will see me and think, “wow, look at her, she is clearly a creative genius!” They will recognize my design brilliance while I am browsing in Home Depot. And experience gut clenching bouts of envy when they see me shopping for art supplies at Michaels.

In my head, I’m like this girl:

How fucking rad is she, in her cowboy boots and tattoos? She is clearly cool and doesn’t need to take shit from anyone. Sure, she might only eat every other day and probably smokes which I do think is totally gross. But to recap: totally awesome coolness.

In reality, here’s what I really look like when I paint:

Es un disastre!

Everything turns into some shade of diarrhea brown and I end up smushing all the paint together. That is, when I even get around to the actual painting.

I promised myself I would paint today. And here’s how it’s going so far…

8:30 am – wake up

9:00 am – search the house for batteries for my daughter’s remote control car

9:30 am – clean out the drawers in son’s room so he can put away his clean clothes

10:00 am –  clean up dog poo

10:30 am – answer 1000 questions from daughter

11:00 am – think about painting

11:30 am – write blog about what a sucky artist I really am

So you see, not so much. All show and no glow. And talk and no walk. All something and no…. well you get the picture. I’m tired of fucking rhyming. It’s hard to be creative when there’s so many other stupid things that have to get done. And everyone is watching. The kids are watching me write this blog. (What’d you just write? What did you say?) They watch me prep my materials and then suddenly it’s all about them again. (I want to paint. What do I get to paint? Mommy help me paint!) Selfish little buggers the children are. Like they need to be fed and entertained or something.


Hmm, I think the fish tank needs cleaning.

Crawl back up inside

Dear Lovely-extended-holiday-weekend,

I would like to take a baseball bat to your nuts right now. Too much family closeness makes me yearn for a nice school/work day. Baaaahhhh!

Is it bed time yet?

No. Instead of shipping the kids off to bed pretending that really, seriously, it is a school day tomorrow we are watching this awful 1996 movie called The Phantom which has Billy Zane in a really silly looking purple spandex costume trying to make us believe he is a good guy. And we all KNOW Billy Zane is a bad guy. Forever. We are being tortured by the movie because my youngest has panicky breathy attacky things when we watch scary movies and while Iron Man is ooohhh sooo scary, apparently Billy Zane in a purple spandex jumpsuit is sweet like grape flavored baby Tylenol.

Sheer torture.


The purple Zanester wouldn’t be half so bad if I didn’t feel totally smothered right now. I swear sometimes I feel like the neediness is never-ending. My baby girl just wants to just crawl back up inside. And I gotta say it makes me crazy. She is an endless black hole of neediness. I’m sure that saying this out loud makes me a shitty mom. Must have space.

Save me Billy Zane.