Lazy Douche Enablers: Jamie, Blonde Mom Blog

Lazy Douche Enablers write posts for me every other Tuesday. That way, I can be a much better… you guessed it: Lazy Douche. Today’s Enabler is Jamie, of Blonde Mom Blog.

In Which I Reveal My Unbridled Hatred For Dora

My youngest daughter is 4 and still drinks the sickeningly sweet Dora Kool Aid served up with a side of oddly shaped football head and the incapacity to speak without yelling.

We’ve acquired a motley crew of Dora dolls that talk (thank God for hard to find batteries that mysteriously “die” and cannot be replaced) plus a talking Dora cash register. Thankfully we do have one doodle pad Dora theme toy that is blissfully silent. The Dora dolls, however, have those creepy eyes half-rolled back into their heads while they wait to be recharged in the corner of my daughter’s room perched on, what else, a Dora chair. I’m not sure what’s worse…hearing Wishing Fairy Dora sing over and over again or seeing her passed out like a nightmarish Latina Bride of Chucky doll ready to kill me with “Where Are We Going…TO HELL…mwaa haa haa haa.”

Seriously. The dolls are nightmare inducing. It’s enough for me to grab them one by one, shake them, and scream, “Dora, Shut The Fuck Up!!!!”

I guess I’ve watched one too many episodes of Dora where I find myself secretly rooting for her and Boots, the dumb as a box of taco shells monkey, because I know it will come out, “Dora, Shut The Fuck Up… Por Favor!!!”

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Jamie has been writing about the more humorous, and messier, moments of life in the dog hair/estrogen filled vortex she calls home at BlondeMomBlog since 2005, but has never used the real F word on her blog. Muchas gracias, Lotus.

Lazy Douche Enablers: Dawn, Alex Year Two

Lazy Douche Enablers write posts for me every other Tuesday. That way, I can be a much better… you guessed it: Lazy Douche. Today’s Enabler is Dawn, of Alex Year Two and Room 704

My little secret…

Men – you need to leave. This is not a post you want to read. Go the place that is else . . . come back tomorrow . . .

I was at work one day and the conversation turned to orgasms.

As they do.

I shared a story that I will share with you here.

Scout and I were laying in bed talking about orgasms. Or my non orgasm during sex, as it were. He says, “Well. I . . . I’ve never had someone …. um …. not . . . before . . .”

I opened my mouth to reply . . .

I took a deep breath . . .

“Well, they, um, were liars, fucking liars, sluts clearly very in touch with their own bodies and and very comfortable with themselves . . .”

I didn’t have the heart to tell them that there were a bunch of fakers in there.

The three of us laughed and laughed. Not at my sweet husband, but at all y’all out there who think a woman has never faked it with you.

Hey dudes, I told you to leave. You didn’t listen. This is what you get.

The next day – one of the girls came to work and immediately grabbed me . . .

She shared a story that I will share with you here.

“So I told my husband about our lunch conversation yesterday . . . he didn’t understand why we laughed . . . he said, “but no one has ever faked it with me before . . . ”

(To this day, hubs still believes in the 100% orgasm rate before me. I like to think of it as a gift from me to his masculinity.)

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When she’s not laughing about fake orgasms, Dawn authors a website about her son and other life topics, Alex Year Two. And if you want to see where Dawn, er, gets real, visit her latest project, Room 704. It’s creating quite a “buzz.” And by this Friday, I’ve heard that a visit there will help you stop being a fakester, too. *ohsnort*

thepenismightier

The red phone rings.

You do know the red phone, right? It’s the one that all of us A-List rock star bloggers have that automatically connects us with each other.

“This is Avitable.”

“Hi, it’s Lotus.”

“What’s today’s password?”

“Heather sticks her tongue in men’s assholes.”

“Correct. So, what’s up?”

“I need a guest post.”

“I knew you’d call in that favor sometime. I guess I owe you for getting rid of that dead hooker for me.”

“Too bad for you that you didn’t know anyone else with lots of lyme and a chainsaw.”

“True, true. Are there any parameters to this guest post? Restrictions? Demands?”

“Just no full frontal nudity. Everything else is okay with me.”

“Okay, I’ll get right on it.”

“Damn straight you will. *click*”

************

I’ve racked my brain. How do I, of all people, appeal to an audience that reads a blog like this one? She used to have a picture of a fucking pacifier in the header and has a kid and talks about being a mom and baby poop and pregnancy and topics like that. This is all emotional shit here – how can a childless man even understand or empathize? I hear stuff like “You don’t have kids, so you wouldn’t understand” or “You’re just a man, you wouldn’t understand” all of the time. And it’s probably true. I don’t understand babies or the love of them. I don’t understand why people continue to procreate. I don’t understand why children aren’t locked up until they’re 10.

But I’m still a sensitive, emotional guy. I use Aveda moisturizing face wash and I love the Gilmore Girls. I can talk on the phone for hours and think most men have a short circuit in their brains. I notice when my wife gets her hair cut or wears a new outfit. So I know I have it in me to convince you, dear reader of Sarcastic Mom, that I am one of you.

Then it hit me. Last year, to show solidarity for all of the women who wrote letters to their bodies as part of that BlogHer initiative, I wrote my own. What better way to show my sensitive side, to fit in with the Sarcastic Mom readers, than to repost it here?

Dear Body,

I love you.

I knew that a steady diet of cheeseburgers, french fries, pizza, and butter would make you into an object of desire and affection.

I love that you can displace all of the water in a pool with one cannonball.
I love that your pants would feed a largish village in Africa.
I love that I get to use a mirror to see my penis and feet, since that lets me just gaze at myself.

Your breasts started out firm, but after having many Baby Ruths, they have become a bit saggy, but that’s okay. I’d never be able to lick my own nipples otherwise.

Your stomach, pregnant with many, many food babies, has expanded, but that’s okay. It’s a good place to sit a book or balance a tray.

Your thighs, once glistening pillars of steel, now brush together, but that’s okay. If I get trapped out in the wilderness, I can just wear corduroy and walk around to start a small fire.

Your penis, a mighty warrior of slightly above average size, has now hidden itself among your girth, but that’s okay. The smaller size makes it easier for smaller hands, say that of a high school aged girl.

Your butt, once shapely and taut, has become completely flat, but that’s okay. Now I can drop my pants easily without worrying about snags.

Your hair still covers every inch of you, except on the top of your head, but that’s okay. I enjoy being able to explore fashion trends with different types of hats.

Being the size of six normal people just means that you are six times as awesome! Being able to ride in solace in an elevator because you meet the weight limit alone is gratifying. Bringing your own titanium chair to restaurants allows you to protect the environment, and buying four seats on an airplane before you board gives you the comfort that none of those other passengers will ever experience.

Body, you’ll never understand how important I feel when the people at the Burger King drive-through know me by name. And that’s all thanks to you. And having the city of Altamonte Springs offer me my own roving zip code – that just warmed the cockles of my heart. When cars move out of the way as I cross the street because they don’t want to hit the large zoo animal who has clearly escaped, I always nod my head and secretly thank you. For I truly am special.

I love you, Body.

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When Avitable’s not busy smearing his asscrack across other people’s websites, he welcomes you to his with the flick of his bird. If you, too, believe that “tact is for pussies,” you’ll be kicking yourself in your own mightypenis if you don’t head over. *snicker*

Of Junk, and Boxes

I need a little break from my sorrow.  You do, too.

Time for a favorite amusement of mine around this time of the year. 
I think I might just post this Every.Single.Year.

Perfect gifting solution for today’s economy, right?

You’ve got less than a week now, fellahs.  So buy that box and get out yer scissors.

Officially a Tennesseean? Yee-haw!

(As opposed to “Yippee-Ki-Ay“, which is what I said when I was officially a Texan.)

In case you were wondering what I did to celebrate my birthday yesterday, I’ll give you a hint…

It starts with a “D” and ends with a “V.” There’s an “M” in the middle.

No, I didn’t Dance Most Vigorously. Nor did I Distribute Mono Viciously. I didn’t even Demonstrate Musical Vibrators. (What the?)

I did that other DMV thing.

That’s right, I renewed my license. Why did I do such a foul thing on my special day of days? Well, refer to #1 on yesterday’s list.

Yes, this was the ULTIMATE in Lazy Douchiness. I let my license run ALL THE WAY to its expiration date – and it was still a TX license, so go ahead and throw those rotten tomatoes. Or just call me a dildo, whatever.

Yeah, we moved to TN from TX in May of 2006. So, uh… um… yeah. Still had my TX driver’s license because why?

LAZAY DOOSHAY.

A couple of hours at the DMV never hurt anyone, right? *insert moan*

What really killed me was the poor young woman in line a few people ahead of me – she stood there for at least an hour with an infant. Who, by the way, never cried once, even though he was awake the whole time… what manner of witchcraft is THAT? Oh yeah, some people have CALM babies. But I digress. When she got to the counter there was something wrong with the proof of insurance she brought or something. Basically, she got turned away.

HOLY SHITKNOCKERS. I think I might have cried.  And cursed a little.

After waiting in line long enough for the rest of my pubes to turn grey (did I ever mention that’s started happening?) things went easily enough for me. At the picture taking, I asked if they could airbrush out my zits (depressing fact – I am a HIGHLY acne-prone pregnant person). Unfortunately, the woman said no, but she indicated that they didn’t show up in the photo… and she was right.

Insane, really, considering that this is what they really looked like as recently as yesterday (and pretty much exactly what they still look like)…

…but I’m not arguing.

Now if they could just erase my side-saddles, you know, for real.

Then I might just Disco-boogie Most Victoriously.

If ‘Funny Photo Friday!’ and ‘Haiku Friday’ mated…

Long-time readers will
recall seeing this before
for Wordless Wednesday.

But I think it fits
under the category
of “funny photo.”

It makes me think of
his “Scatastrophes” and his
many “Pee-ascos.”

I don’t think you can
be a parent and not have
some of those stories!

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Remember to check out today’s Funny Photo Friday! and link in with your post!

*Insert Expletive(s)*

Serious technical difficulties here right now.

My (apparently piece of crap) Dell Inspiron 531 – less than a year old – crapped out on me midday Sunday. I was just starting an e-mail reply when the whole system just promptly shut down.

It didn’t say, “Psssst, I’m feelin’ tired, yo… I can has restings?” or anything before it kicked me in the nuts.

Just WHAM. BAM. THANK YOU, MA’AM, rolled over and went to sleep. I was sitting here, in the wet spot, listening to it snore before I even felt anything.

You get the drift.

I’ve tried everything to revive it.

FIrst I pretended that nothing out of the ordinary had happened. I pushed the power button, and as it booted up, I went for a pee break. Nonchalantly, I walked back into the room, input my password, and waited as my desktop picture popped up. Then I clicked the button to open FireFox. WHAM. BAM. F’YOU, MA’AM.

(POWER OFF)

Then I tried saying lots of colorful curse words.

Pushed the power button. Computer started… got as far as the first screen that says, “DELL” and then it clicked off again. (Crap, it’s not even trying to penetrate anymore, DAMNIT.)

Then I tried staring at it in disbelief for several moments, putting my hand over my face, and getting really, really nervous.

Power button. Dell screen. Black Pit of Despair.

Next up, I tried walking out of the room, holding my hand over my mouth so that I would not scream, because Braden was napping in the next room. This was followed quickly by my incredible restraint from a) banging my head against the wall in the hallway repeatedly or b) flinging myself out the second story window onto the sidewalk below.

(Really, is life worth living without access to The Internet? This is my heroin, people. And someone just ripped the needle out of my arm!)

Returning to the room, I tried the technique known as, “Lay Hands On Computer Tower, Quietly Breathing, Then Push The Power Button and BEG GOD TO MAKE IT WORK – PLEASE, OH PLEASE, GOD JUST MAKE IT WORK, PLEEEAAAAASSSSSEEE?????”

God was not hip to fixing my computer.

Next, I actually thought about the “Drop-Kick That Sonofabitch” Method, but thankfully, my better judgment won out. I wasn’t wearing shoes, anyway.

I waited. Tried.

Actually got into Setup by holding F2 at one point.

Unfortunately, the computer was just taunting me. I swear I actually heard it say, “Psych, bitch!” right before it shut down that time.

Now it doesn’t even make it to the DELL screen. It just whispers, “sucks to be you” and winds down immediately.

All of this is to say that my computer is dead to me. Likely, I am going to have to take it somewhere in the coming days and pay out large sums of money that we’re trying to save (for things like student loan payments, medical bill payments, and the downpayment on a freakin’ house) to have it looked at/fixed. (I can only PRAY that it’s even possible for it to be fixed.)

Of course, I’ll have to lug it in somewhere while simultaneously carrying Braden and then try to explain to Unemotional Tech Nerds what happened (as they look at me with the look that says they think I probably don’t even know how to spell my own name). All the while Braden will be running wildly around someone’s business, screaming like a feral monkey, and I will be running after him trying to apply the duct tape with no success.

And I’m not even going to go in depth into the fact that every photo and video I’ve taken since October 2007 is on that hard-drive, and if it’s corrupted, I lose them all. Tons of other documents, too, of course. But the things that capture my kid in time sting me the most.

*stifling cry*

*stifling maddening banshee scream of despair and psychological breakdown*

Right now I’ve got a very old computer hooked up so I can get some things done. Unfortunately, it’s not very trustworthy (I can has lock-ups and crashes, too?) and it could also die at any moment.

I’ll keep posting as I can. Hang in there with me, folks. I’ll try to hang onto the fringe of The Internet that I have my little fingers hooked onto right now. My feet are dangling!

PS:
Dear Tech Nerds: I love you, please do not be mad at me. You are Super Awesome Handsome and Sexy-Hot Tech Nerds and I will love you forever and ever if you fix my computer. All those silly words up there mean nothing. I am just a flighty tart who was tapping out random things on my computer! You are wonderful and amazing, and I will totally touch your no-no spot if you want me to. Just PLEASE OH PLEASE, FIX MY COMPIE?

Sincerely,
Slave To Your Computer Knowledge Having Awesomaciousness

Totally triumphant. Or something.

You know what you should do if you’re trying really hard to lose weight?

You should work out regularly.  You should drink lots of water.  You should sleep at least 7 hours a night. (Don’t laugh, damnit, that’s the guideline!) *ahem*  You should eat meals that are balanced, high in lean protein and fiber.  You should eat several small meals a day rather than a few large ones.  Snacks are good.  Try to balance good carbs with protein for better digestion and fat burning!  Make sure you take a multi-vitamin, calcium and vitamin D.  Make sure you get enough Omega-3 and Omega-6 Fatty Acids in your diet.  You may even want to take a supplement.  You should not eat after the evening has worn on into the night.  No late eating!  This is a big one!  Seriously! Don’t eat late!  Go to sleep and get up and have breakfast.

And totally, if you have a hard time with this, just drink water when you want to eat.  Keep reminding yourself mentally why you are doing this! Say it out loud if you have to!  It will make you feel better, look better, and be more healthy!  It will make your body work better, and last longer!  You CAN be successful and if you just kick your will power into high gear you CAN make it all the way through a very long night when you really really really really really really want to eat something late by keeping on telling yourself, “NO, NO, YOU CAN DO THIS! DON’T EAT ANYTHING!”

And when 1am hits and you have been successful at not eating anything all night long you can feel totally triumphant and know that you are doing something great for your mind and body!

So great, in fact, that you should celebrate by eating some ice cream.

BECAUSE YOU’RE A TOTAL TURDBAG.  GAH!!!

PS: It was only a few spoons, at least.

PPS: But it was so damn good, dude.  Mmmm.

PPPS: And I had no right being awake at 1am, either, by the way.