Category Archives: random

On notice… FEET SHOTS.

I love Flickr. I mean, I love Flickr. I usually spend my early morning alone time– which lately has been at 5am because suddenly, my boys is all “5 in the morning is a great time to start your day!– browsing through my contacts photos and also the photos from the 365 Days group.
This morning, I realized something very profound while browsing through the photos.
Eye close up photos make me feel uncomfortable. I’m not talking about a close up of both eyes, I’m talking about a close up of ONE eye in which you can see all of the tiny red veins and moisture and that little red bump thingy in the corner of your eye. I do not like to see those things up close and personal like that. It doesn’t matter how beautiful the eye is, either. It just creeps me out.
Perhaps my issue with The Eyeball can be traced back to the time that I had to cut open a COWS EYE in 6th grade science class. I will never forget the feeling of that thing staring at me just as I was about to slice it open.
GAG.
Also, men who take close up pictures of their nipples? Please stop. I get all vomitty inside when I see that little erect Man Nipple surrounded by pube like hairs. To be honest, I feel slightly violated by close up Man Nipple photos.
But then, I have issues with nipples in general. Just saying the word makes me feel all dirty inside.

Obviously, Wanna Be Writer’s Block is still in full effect.

Years ago, I hired a personal trainer. (I hired him for 10 sessions, but only actually showed up to 3 because Oh.My.God. He wore Dove shorts! And had excessive body hair! He seriously grossed me out enough to not show up for 7 PREPAID sessions, because DUDE…Dove shorts.) In the 3 workouts that I managed to get through without puking, he taught me proper techniques for lifting weights and using the machines.
I have to admit that deep down, I feel superior because of my (very limited) knowledge of weight lifting technique, but the truth is, I really don’t know shit.
Last night, I was laying on the bench, doing some free weight chest presses, quite possibly feeling cocky whilst using my Proper Weight Technique, when all of a sudden, my left arm starting burning like a bitch. I thought it was strange that I hardly felt anything in my right arm, but justified it by saying “Well, I’m right handed, so my left arm is weaker!”
I noticed a woman walk by and look at me, because at that point, I could barely lift my left arm. My right arm was all up in the air waiting for the left one to get up there and join it. I was grunting and pushing myself through the lobsided pain, when I suddenly realized the problem.
I was using a 8 pounder on my left arm and a 5 pounder on my right. I was mortified because HAHA! I’m a jackass! But, instead of correcting the problem by getting the proper weights, I tried to play it off by switching the weights, as if to say “YEAH, I DID IT ON PURPOSE.”
I can’t help but worry a little bit about having uneven arms, like, one being bigger than the other. Like my boobs!

(PigHunter also recently pointed out to me that one of my eyes is smaller than the other, so I’m just one big, sexy hunk of uneven body parts! Too bad for you, I’m Taken, bitches.)
I need to look into taking up a sport because 2 days a week of Aerobic Dancing isn’t going to cut it and Freestyling it at the gym just isn’t working out the way that I had hoped it would. As much as I wanted to believe that it would grow on me and that one day I’d love it, maybe even master it, my unequally sore arms are further prove that it just isn’t “my thang” and I don’t think that it ever will be.

It’s like a soap opera! About hair! Only, not really anything like that at all!

So, um, The Haircut.
Or should I say The “Haircut”?
I’m pretty sure that The Do that I’m sporting qualifies as “Chickening out”.
Yes, I chickened out. But! I kinda blame my stylist because she was all “Long hair is SO hot right now. It hasn’t been this ‘in’ in years.”
That was all I needed to hear. I was all “Really? It’s in? Sweet! Just give me some funkay layers!”
Ummmm…
Before:
Pre-haircut / Post 3 baby boobs.
After:
almostacut3
So yeah, you can see that it’s been cut, and you can see that there are layers, but not so sure that they’re “funky” and also? Not quite sure what to do with it. It’s all thin and frizzy and AHHHHHHH.
almostacut2
(Is that a before cut picture or after cut picture? I do not know. I can not tell!)
almostacut4
Uh. The layers. Seriously, What do I do with them?
almostacut1
Oh! I know! Put them in pigtails! Which is SO TOTALLY DIFFERENT than what I was doing before I got it cut!
Yeah.
And also?
Shit.
And quite possibly?
Hate.

Don’t hate me because I draw pretty houses.

Do you know what I love?
Starbucks? KFC bisquits with honey? THE OFFICE?
No! I mean, yes, of course! But, also? I love that I can write a post in which I act all dramatic and SCARED about getting my hair cut (you’re getting A hair cut? WHICH ONE? Isn’t that hilarious? That’s a joke PigHunter loves to say EVERYTIME that I say I’m getting a haircut. Hardy Har Har.) and people actually become emotionally invested on the plight of my hair and check back to see if I’ve had it done and they cheer me on and tell me to “JUST DO EEEEEEEEET!”
God. I love that so much.
Do you know what I do NOT love?
California!
Specifically the area in California in which I live and must drive because OH MY GOD! THE MORNING TRAFFIC.
You see, the traffic is so horrific in this stupid ass wanna be city which is nothing more than track homes, starbucks and Target shopping centers, that I make my children take the bus to school. Because? The traffic is so bad and the drivers are such assholes, that halfway to the school, I’m calmly sticking my head out the window,lovingly asking “WTF, MAN, SERIOUSLY, W.T.F?” and secretly wishing I had a baseball bat in my car to um, smash peoples “windshields.”
This morning? The boys missed the bus and SWEET MOTHER OF BOBS. By the time we got to the 2nd signal, Ethan was all “You’re going to fight someone today, aren’t you mom?”
It’s frustrating because it shouldn’t be that big of a deal. Seriously, we live so close to both schools and their both in peaceful, residential neighborhoods.
Look! I painted a little (but totally precious) picture for you! (Try not to let my amazing paint skills distract you from the point, ok?)

x-our house
1-ethan’s school
2-andrew’s school
3-the van
How hard could that drive be? Right? Seriously, down the street to Andrew’s school, back up the street to Ethan’s school. (Even though Ethan’s is closer, Andrew has to go first, because his starts FIVE MINUTES EARLIER than Ethan’s. AH!) So easy!
But dudes. Everyone wants to live here! And it’s crowded and there’s a traffic light every 2 feet and everyone drives a Hummer and no one knows how to drive correctly, and everything thinks they are “entitled” to cut you off and AAAHHHHHH. KILL. PUNCH. SLICE.
I used to love living here. Beautiful beaches 45 minutes away. Majestic mountains, with skiing and lakes less than an hour away. Dodger Stadium, Angel stadium (BOO. ANGELS SUCK! But still!) LAKER GAMES! The Price is Right studios! Beautiful weather!
But now? Those things are harder to appreciate because of all of the CRAP that comes along with it.
Outrageous home prices (It’ll cost you $500,000 for a small, ugly, old house in this here shitty ‘hood), traffic, smog, POTHOLES!, traffic, DID I MENTION TRAFFIC? Because, traffic.
Were it not for the fact that all of my family lives here, I would move to a different state in a heartbeat.
But? I am a wimp who does not want to be without my family (and, who, more importantly, is most likely going to chicken out with the whole “cutting of the hair” thing) and so we will continue to live here and be frustrated with The Traffic and the unaffordable housing for the rest of our lives.
The things we do for the love of family. (And for the fear of not being able to make friends in a new state and of my children being the ONLY kids with a Mexican last name. Because, you know, that’s another plus of living in SoCal, The Mexicans. We live here.)

Sweet Kathy Lee Gifford, it’s just hair.

Letting go aint easy (also? DORK!)
I’ve become completely and totally attached to my long hair.
It’s long, thinned out, frizzy and I wear it up in a ponytail everyday. It’s unattractive and boring and yet? I can’t bring myself to cut it.
I made an appointment for Tuesday to chop it all off, or at least a great deal of it, but I can already feel myself wanting to puke at the thought of seeing all of the hair on the floor.
I think it’s giving me some strange sense of security. Like having all of this hair covers up the fact that I still have more weight to lose.
My brain. It tells me crazy things.
Time to let go?
I feel like it’s time to let it go and to do something pretty and fun with it, but I’m not sure if I’ll be strong enough to go through with it on Tuesday.
If I do, I’m pretty sure that I’m going with something like this…
Another hair cut
But the way I’m shaking just thinking about this whole “cutting thing” I’m pretty sure I’ll come back with “just a trim.” (a professional trim.)

How to Kill a Spider. By: Me


What can I say? I’m a genuis.
A genius who is terrified of spiders because did you know they can JUMP AT YOU?
(Also? A genuis who uses Aussie hairspray. Keep your judgements to yourself, it’s cheap and it smells like candy. What more could one ask for in a hairspray?)
I aint even TRYING to get jumped by spiders, so I strike first. And by “strike” obviously, I mean “douse with hairspray” and then “cover with a upside down candle until PigHunter gets home and picks it up for me because OH HELL NO I’M NOT TOUCHING IT.”
I can’t wait for him to come home and see what I’ve got for him today. I swear, everytime he gets home from work, it’s like it’s his birthday up in this house, because I always have something “special” waiting for him.
All men should be so lucky.
Seriously.

What “I’m FINE!” looks like

Pighunter made me cry last night. TWICE! Once because he was an ass, and once because he made me laugh so hard.

I was telling him about the depressing post that I wrote and how I used to write like that all of the time, but how I’m scared to publish posts like that now because people get annoyed and send me emails telling me to quit bitching and whining and appreciate the family that I have and so I write about farts and aerobic dancing instead because haha farts are funny and depression isn’t and how “I really need to to start writing light hearted posts about farts again.”
To which Pighunter responded with AND I QUOTE “Yeah, and you need to start going to the gym again too.”
To which I responded with “When was the last time you worked out… oh, um, let’s see, NEVER ONCE SINCE WE’VE BEEN MARRIED, so seriously, shut up! Don’t ever tell me that I need to go to the gym ever again! And you know what? I changed my mind, I hope you die first!”
To which he responded with “Sweetie! oh my God, you totally took it the wrong way. I was just trying to be helpful because you said you wrote about your weight and feeling bad and I know you feel so much better when you work out. I didn’t say that I think you’re fat, I was just trying to help you.”
Oh! I get it! Tough love! Kinda like the time Jay Mohr told me to “Lose the weight” and not to “make any excuses, not fucking one, just lose the weight.” And when I went off on him and was all “I AM NOT MAKING EXCUSES, I REALLY AM SICK AND SUCK IT.” He was all “I wasn’t trying to be a dick, I just know how happy you were when you lost the weight and I want you to be happy.”
(I do believe that was a drive by Name Dropping.)
I know that Pighunter was honestly just trying to help, but his choice of words came across as, I don’t know, asshole-ish? Like, “Get that fat ass to the gym, WOMAN.” You know?
He redeemed himself later by making me laugh so hard that I cried, even though he was totally making fun of me.
G-Unit was coloring on her little art easle and I was all “hey, can mommy color you a pretty picture?”
Now, you have to know that I truly SUCK at drawing. Honestly. I’m horrible. So, anytime I do color with the kids, I stick with the things that I am good at. And by “things” I mean “the dog” and “the flower” and um, even those aren’t very good. Especially “The Dog.”
So, after I had asked G-Unit if I could color her a picture, Tony shouted out “Let me guess! You’re going to draw the flower! OR THE DOG! HAHHAHAHAHHAHA”
Shit. He was right, I was totally going to draw the dog, but I couldn’t let him win, so I was all “NUHUH! I WAS GOING TO DRAW… THE MOUNTAINS! AND BIRDS! AND CLOUDS!”
He wouldn’t give it up. “Just admit it, you were going to draw the flower! Or the dog! hahahha!!”
I lost it. I seriously lost it. I layed on the ground and laughed until my stomach hurt because up until that point, I was completely unaware that he was onto my “Two Trick” art gig. OMG! He knew! And he had finally got the nerve up to call me out on it and mock me for it!
We laughed for what felt like an hour.
I know! It’s not really that funny to anyone but us because we are nerds!
AND YET!

The Dog!

The Flower!
And BONUS! The time I tried to paint my son a clown face!
Is that  a clown face or did your baby try to eat your lipstick?
I swear, I kinda hated him until he made fun of my non existent artistic skills. Then, it was just like that scene from Dumb and Dumber where Llyod rolls up on the scooter after he had that big fight with Harry and Harry was all “Just when I thought you couldn’t get any dumber, you go and do something like this… and totally redeem yourself!”
Laughter, even when directed at myself and my lameness, really is the best medicine.
P.S. I love you guys. Honestly and truly. Thank you for “being there” for me and for understanding.