Come Here Snakey Snakey!

For the most part, I love animals. I have 2 boys and as such I have thrown the pet owner hat into the ring more times than I can count. Here is a list of animals I have owned over the past 22 years.
8 dogs.
Three died, one ran away (who can blame him) I lost one in the divorce, we put one down, and two still live. Barely.
3 cats.
I lost one in the divorce, and the other 2 died.
More fish than I can count, frogs, a black widow (for scientific purposes) a praying mantis, a scorpion, a bearded dragon, a hamster, and a parrot who hated everyone. I am not a stranger to creatures. I have systematically pared down our animal intake. I am the ONLY one who takes care of them despite pleas of ‘but mom, I’ll take care of it this time. I promise!’(LIAR!)
For years I have taken in the strays with only ONE rule. NO SNAKES! I have stood adamant. Firm. Unbending.

This is why BTM didn’t ask my permission when he and the boy went to the pet store and reappeared with a corn snake. I can not begin to tell you the level of affront I felt.
I told them it was not allowed in the house. I don’t care. Put the cage in the garage. No. I won’t feed it or water it. No. I won’t buy its food of tiny baby frozen mice. No. I won’t clean its cage. No I won’t hold it. No. I don’t care if it dies. And most of all, NO it’s never allowed in the house. EVER.



I don’t like snakes. The original snakes’ real name is SATAN. Check Genesis in the BIBLE. They don’t blink and they smell with their tongues. They are sneaky and hissy and they bite. They feel icky and a big enough snake can squeeze you to death, or kill you.

And we already have a snake. An insidious dangerous creature that hides in our back yard and his name is The Rattler. And it tried to kill my poor dog Eddie and it’s a miracle that he lived because the snake is bigger than him. See the photo.

“But mom! This is a corn snake! It’s so little and even if it bit me, I wouldn’t feel it because it’s teeth are so tiny! And it’s not poisonous!” And then the boy started to cry and said that he couldn’t believe that I didn’t CARE if the snake died. And then BTM said, “Now look what you have done. You have broken the boys heart.”
And I stood firm and the snake went to the garage. For a week. Because then there was a cold snap in California. So then I was all, ok, you can bring the snake into the house but it has to stay by the front door. And so now we have a giant snake tank sitting on a pony wall right when you walk in and it balances precariously there, and threatens to fall off whenever the door is slammed. Which in my house is all day everyday.
I know you are wondering why I have explained all this to you. Well. I will tell you why. Because on Friday night when we got home at midnight, after sitting in Riverside Carmageddon, the snake appeared to be missing. You heard me. It escaped. And the boy was sleeping, so I put him in bed, and BTM was in such a spin that it was almost worth it that the fucking snake had gotten loose. Almost. Cripes Almighty. I thought he was gonna cry.
So then we spent the next hour moving the couch and checking under shit with flashlights, and looking in the dogs’ mouths for any sign of snake. (One could only hope that Poor Eddie had his revenge.) And I was getting more and more pissed, and BTM was all how he was so pissed at the kids, and then he took out a frozen mouse and laid it on the floor and turned all the lights off and then went up to a loft with a flashlight and stood watch waiting for the snake to emerge. And I went to bed. And I dreamed of a giant snake biting me in the face.

And then every hour BTM got up and shined his flashlight downstairs. And then I heard this thumping, and then running, and I thought sure enough the snake had killed him. And then it got quiet. I didn’t go look, because as I have said before…I. DON’T. CARE.
And then BTM came to bed and said he got the snake and I didn’t have to worry anymore. Because now he is a snake hunter.
And now the snake is hiding from me, and won’t come out. Because it knows. I. DON’T. CARE. And I have time to wait my precious.

10 FACTS ABOUT BREAST CANCER

Today I am a 6 Year Survivor of Breast Cancer.
I have never lived in a dream world. My life has been such that I have never been allowed. Reality has had a way of snaking itself into my life from a really early age. It hasn't been all bad. The lessons I have learned are pretty phenomenal. As a result of my life experience, one of the greatest things I have taken from it is my incredibly twisted sense of humor, which I love about myself. I amuse myself to no end.

That being said, I try with all of my heart to give others that come to visit here a small window of escape from their own problems and lives. Just a few minutes of mindless humor from my point of view that may allow others not to take life so seriously. I am so very grateful to those who stop by to read my blog. It let's me know that there IS hope for all of us, and that you believe in me as I believe in you.

Today, however is slightly more serious. I don't know if what I say may save your life, or the life of someone else. Someone you love with all of your heart. These are facts about breast cancer. Please don't turn away. Please don't move from the page until you have read them. You can read the facts in private and quiet away your discomfort all by yourself. Know one has to know that you don't know. Or that you don't WANT to know. Just learn from MY experience.

FACT #1 You don't have to feel a lump to have breast cancer. I didn't. I had breast cancer inside of my milk ducts.
FACT #2 If you have a bruise on your breast that doesn't go away, get it checked. There is more than one kind of Breast Cancer.

FACT #3 A mammogram can save your life. Yes they are uncomfortable. Yes it's a big old drag to take time out of your day to have your tata's squished flat. And yes it can be embarrassing. So what? Are you really using that as an excuse? And if they want to biopsy, just do it. It may be nothing. Don't get dramatic. If you have cancer, you'll have plenty of time for that later.
FACT #4 Breast Cancer is not an old lady's disease. I was in my thirty's. If there is history in your family, book a mammogram at 35.
FACT #5 Your doctor may try to deter you from having a mammogram, stating that "there is no lump" or "you are too young" or "you have no family history" Yes. That happened to me, and if I hadn't insisted, I would be dead. You HAVE to take care of yourself. If you can't afford it, there are clinics that offer them for free. Call around. Don't be lazy.
FACT #6 80% of lumps are harmless. But 1 in 8 women will have breast cancer.
FACT #7 By the time there is a lump, it's way more serious if it's found to be cancer. That's why you have to go early. Get the fucking mammogram.
FACT #8 Cancer is scary. But if you have Breast Cancer, today is the best time in history to have it. If they find it early, your odds of surviving are really really high. And even if they don't find it early (as in my case) your odds are still really good. You do however have to follow through.

FACT #9 The treatment does suck. Sometimes, if caught early, a lump can be removed. Sometimes there is no lump and then you have to have surgery and chemotherapy, which is given through an IV. You will lose your hair, which is really hard, because women have an identity through their looks. The chemotherapy will absolutely be terrible, but it will most likely save your life. You will get through it. The doctors are trying to save your life, not let the treatment kill you. Also, just rock a wig, or or wear your head bald. Also, this picture is not me or my kid. I didn't take any of when I was bald. Sadly. Because I have a great head. This picture speaks volumes though.
FACT #10 If you get breast cancer, even if it is the earliest stages and your treatment is almost nonexistent, (one day surgery, no chemo, just radiation)your life will be forever changed. You will be part of a club that you didn't sign on for. You don't, however, have to be dramatic and wear your 'cancer card' on your sleeve. If your intent is to educate people then great. If you just want pity, well...

Look. Having a great set of boobies is great. Losing your life because you couldn't or wouldn't isn't. People love you. And you have to survive for them.

Surviving and then continuing to survive is a whole other story, and one I will most likely run during breast cancer awareness month. Which is in October.

Make me proud, sisters.

If I told you, I would have to kill you.

We all know those moms who, while in the middle of a conversation with someone else, will rush up to you and pull out their cameras and show you pictures of little Annie doing her first Big Potty ALL BY HERSELF! Um. Ok. I just wish they had this contraption when I was potty training my kids. See photo.

I am not one of those mothers that talks incessantly about her kids. Mostly because while I am great at parenting, I know I am not Supermom. I also don’t want to shed light on the fact that I can barely keep my own life in order, much less my kids. I’m a hot mess.

For instance; when Ike was packing his room to go away to the NAVY I gave him all the photos I took of him over the last 19 years. There was half a shoe box.
Also, one of my favorite lines as a mom is: ‘There are few joys in parenting. You will not rob me of even one. So put your shit on, and go sing your fucking ass off and smile while you do it, BECAUSE I EARNED THIS!’ At least in my head I say that. And for those of you who know me: shut up. I did not say that out loud. Ok. Maybe once during a temper tantrum.

So when I brag about my kids, it’s a big deal. This brings me to Ike. Here’s a little background.

IKE stands for I know everything. He's my 20 year old son, who lived at home until he joined the NAVY and they kicked his ASS. IKE has huge entitlement issues. He is good looking, very smart, and was in college studying some shit, but because of no jobs available ANYWHERE he realized he most likely won’t get hired, and so now he has some job in the NAVY that he never talks about because I don't have the clearance. Honorable, but for crying out loud, this kid couldn’t find his ass with both hands in a closet with the light on. He is also not a joiner. Which is weird because he joined the NAVY. This is a him before the NAVY.

Having said that, Ike called me a couple of days ago. He was busting he was so excited. Here’s the conversation:

Ike: I won a trophy!
Me: You did? For what?
Ike: I can’t tell you.
Me: Why not?
Ike: Because then I would have to kill you.
Me: What does the trophy look like? Can you send me a picture?
Ike: No. But it has a toilet on it.
Me: What does the toilet stand for? That you've been potty trained?
Ike: Mom. Please. I can’t tell you. Also, I get a plaque.
Me: Oh! Can I see that?
Ike: No. Also I get to be honored in a ceremony.
Me: I see. When is this ceremony?
Ike: Seriously mom? Do you even understand the meaning of top secret?

He’s such an ass.

So I searched for a photo of a toilet trophy but since I don't know what his supposed trophy looks like, I am going to guess.

And all I can think of is how proud he is with his toilet trophy that I can never see and how I've been robbed of one of my joys. I mean, I spent years in blood sweat and tears to have him become this super hero and now...Now all I get is "if I tell you I'll have to kill you."

Whatever NAVY. If I weren't so proud of him we would have a problem.

This is him after the NAVY made a man out of him. And it's the best I can do for you because I don't want to die. And yes. He is one of those guys that takes pics of himself in the mirror. He's 20. Enough said.

Warrior on Son. Thanks for having our backs.

Happy Birthday. To me.

If yesterdays Birthday is any indication of how my next year is going to be, I am totally fucked. BTM left at around 5:30 AM for work, and I woke up to a coffee pot that boiled over, and ants were crawling on my counter.
I spent most of the day not feeling well, and fatigue caused me to sleep most of the day. I have rheuma-fucking-toid arthritis and sometimes it takes me out.
When BTM got home from work, he gave me my gift. A pot of flowers. Because I need flowers. Not that I don’t love the flowers, but where the hell is the knife sharpener I asked for? .
That’s right. I want a knife sharpener.

My friend Lauren doesn’t think a knife sharpener in my house is a good idea.
I need one though. My knives are dull and loading them all up and taking them to the guy who does it is expensive and it takes a week to get them back and I would rather have a dull knife than no knife. So I want a damn knife sharpener. I don’t think that ‘s too much to ask.
I guess BTM knows better. Thus the flowers.

Also, BTM made plans with some guys to talk about some big community BBQ and he mistakenly made the meeting for the night of my birthday. When he told me I was very gracious. No big deal. I’m not a child…..we could go out for dinner the next night. So I lit the candles on the birthday cake I bought for myself, sang myself happy birthday, and blew the candles out.
The boy was outside playing with some friends and couldn’t be bothered. Forever Alone.

The day was a bust, but what happened later was the clincher.
It was about 11:30 at night. I barely heard the door open when I sensed someone standing over me. I woke up and saw a man, nostrils flaring, and breathing hard. I screamed. It was BTM, and he was furious.

The following conversation went like this:

BTM: Who did you tell about the thing that happened at The Bankers house?
Me: What?
BTM: WHO DID YOU TELL ABOUT THE THING? I told you not to tell anyone and you had to tell my mom and dad, and they texted me about it AND GAVE ME THE LECTURE.

At this point, I should tell you that a couple of days ago, we were at a friends house (who I call THE BANKER) for dinner, and the guys were in the office looking at something and something happened. And I can’t tell you all about it, because BTM asked me not to, but I really wish I could because it’s the best story ever. But lets just say I knew what happened BECAUSE I’M NOT AN IDIOT. And also it was so loud it took everything I had not to run for cover. Loud noises do that to me. Also, The Bankers wife and I are so used to their shenanigans that the house could blow up and it wouldn't phase us. There is never a dull moment with theses guys.

Later BTM told me what happened in detail. He did ask me not to tell anyone. I didn’t think anyone meant my family.

The angry conversation continued:

BTM: AND did you tell IKE? Because Ike either posted something on face book or texted The Banker and said some shit and now The Banker is pissed off at me, because he asked me not to say anything to anyone, but I told you because you’re my wife. And now I have to clean up your mess!!!!

I rolled over and went back to sleep.

And I didn’t think it was a big secret, because I WAS THERE AND I KNEW WHAT HAPPENED. And now my PTSD is out of control and so is my Tourettes.

Anyway, BTM is still not talking to me today and I suppose the birthday dinner that was supposed to happen tonight is off because I am being punished.

On the up side, I am much less fatigued today. Because there is nothing more energizing than someone thinking you screwed up and then having to walk on eggshells for the rest of the day.

Waterparks, Urine and Over-all Fail

I took the boy to the waterpark yesterday. The closest one to where I live is called Hurricane Harbor, AKA Urine Cane Harbor.

Going to Urine Cane Harbor and actually getting in the water takes a great deal of mind prep. I have to completely focus my mind on something other than the very real possibility of kids and old people who are most certainly peeing in the water.

Then there is the disturbing fact that I am actually in a bathing suit, which is a whole thing and another story. Because I was hoping my new bathing suit would make me look miraculously 20 POUNDS THINNER, but it doesn't. Sigh.

So I always put my focus on other people in these types of situations. Because that is the spiritual thing to do anyway.

Ok. We got there and found limited seating, which worked out after we were stealthy and found one chair that wasn't being used and moved it to our location, as well as moving some guys shoes that I am sure he was using to save seating but he was not smart enough to actually put them on the chair, but instead put them under the chair. And I say all is fair when Christmas shopping and getting seats by the pool.

We got set up like pros and then kicked back in those plastic beach chairs that leave lines on your butt, even when you put a towel down. Knowing that I would have lines on my ass didn't even phase me, because I knew that I already looked like a wet cow, and I had already taken the bold step of donning a bathing suit anyway. I'm not sweating the small stuff. Because I am brave.

And then, as I was getting ready to actually get up and walk towards the pool I saw this woman walk by. And she was a big girl. So what? I'm a big girl. Here's the thing thing. She wasn't young and she wasn't wearing a bathing suit. She was wearing a white t-shirt. And it was wet. And she had nipples the size of my palms.

Getting her sexy on at the kids waterpark. Right on. One mans fail is another ones gain.

So now I am STOKED, and I take this opportunity,(while everyone was staring at her) to slip into the pool.

And as I looked around I saw a plethora of FAIL. From too small suits to extreme sunburn, and everything else in between, I was soon totally relaxed and in full fun mode. Because it's not about me. Clearly.

SUPERMOM OF THE WEEK #1

This is an excerpt from Wikipedia.
"Super mom" does not exist. You can ask for it to be created, but consider checking the search results.

Dear Wikipedia:
You are wrong. I know at least 2 supermoms that exist.

I am wiped out. I just finished drinking a cup of crack coffee (see 2 cups of coffee and a bike) trying to muster up the energy to go pick up the boy from summer camp. I know that I probably won’t sleep now until midnight, but that’s the price I pay for the JOY of having kids.
The reason I looked up super mom in Wikipedia was because I in no way measure up to those women who can do it all and I was hoping that Wikipedia could tell me the secret. Nope.

One of them is my friend Alima. She has 4 children. 2 of them are twins. 3 of them are girls. She doesn’t sweat it. She wanted to have 4. I remember when she made the announcement that she was having one more and I looked at her out of the corner of my eye, and thought. “She’s fucking crazy.” What I said was: “Really? You want another one? Good for you.” (Crazy Bitch.)
And now she shares with me all the cute little anecdotes that they say, because kids say the cutest things. And she’s busy all the time. She is currently remodeling her house and keeping all of us apprised of new toilets that are on the market. In the meantime, she takes them to every event, every game, every gathering. She is on the PTA, volunteers for this thing and that, keeps lists, does something with other people dealing with their finances, she’s married, exercises (at least sometimes) One week she tells me that she is not doing one more thing, and the next week she is telling me about her new project. Cripes Almighty! Just listing everything she does here is making me yawn.

These kinds of moms impress me. I’ve decided to make a “SUPERMOM OF THE WEEK” Award, and this week it goes to Alima. (Clapping in the background)

I wish I could be more motivated, but I’ve done this mom thing once. My oldest son is 20, and I did the Disneyland and the fundraisers, and all the JOYS that parenting comes with. Now when my younger son brings home the fundraising packet from school to buy cookie dough-

I don’t ask friends and family if they want to buy any because I tapped them out already. Instead, I ask the boy what prize he wants for making the most money, he points to the biggest prize and then angrily I shake my head and say, I’m sorry honey, but this is the prize you are going to get. They are out of those giant prizes. I don’t even know why they put it on this flyer. I’m calling the school right now! Then I write a check for $25.00 and send it off so he can get the small prize. Sigh. Bad mom? Maybe not awful, but definitely not Super mom.

Mean Penis

It was 6:45 this morning. We were still sleeping and my phone buzzed. I rolled over and looked at the screen. Blocked caller. I never answer any calls from blocked callers, so I ignored it. Immediately, the caller called back. The following 3 minutes went like this:

BTM: Who is it?

Me: I don’t know. It’s a blocked call.

BTM: Well answer it! It could be about IKE. (Yes, maybe his eyes melted off from studying top secret stuff)

Me: Fine.
And so I answered.

Me: Hello?

And I couldn’t hear because someone was whispering.

Me: what?

BTM: Who is it?

Me: What?

BTM: Who is it?

Me: Shutup! I’m trying to hear! He’s whispering!

Me: Hello? I can’t hear you!

Blocked Caller: I want to show you my big penis.

Me: What? You want to show me your big penis? Hold on.

I handed the phone to BTM.

Me: It’s for you

BTM: Hello? (Because he is always polite) Do want to show me your big penis?

Me: giggling

I guess the guy hung up. And so then I went to Wikipedia and looked up big penis.

Apparently, a big penis is not uncommon for men and other primates, especially at certain times of the day, like the morning. And in comparison, men have bigger penises than gorillas. Results vary, because studies rely on self-measurement. (Of course) Wikipedia goes on to say that a mean penis, (yes I said mean) measures (5.1–5.9 in) in length. I would be mean too. So men with shorter penises must be furious!

In addition, there seems to be a correlation between foot size and penis size. So when blocked number calls me back, I’ll have to conduct my own study and ask him what size shoe he wears. of course, that might ruin his whole vibe.