Take Two Tuesday

I'm declaring today Take Two Tuesday (also known as I'm Really Fucking Busy Tuesday) where I pull an old snarky post out of the closet and play it again just for shits and giggles. With that... enjoy. In the meantime I'll be doing my job as well as the job of a coworker who is sipping margaritas and laying on the beach in Florida right now with his family. Well deserved of course, but I will be super gluing the shit out of everything on his desk while he's gone.

My Love Letter to Five Assholes

To the dude that I smile and wave on and allow to cut in front of me in evening rush hour traffic while I’m racing to pick up my daughter before daycare closes and they call child welfare on me for not being there on time and then charge me one dollar for every minute I’m late which is totally money I could be using to pay for sappy romantic comedy rentals to help me forget my own black abyss of loneliness I feel… when you don’t give me a fake little thank you wave back acknowledging the fact I could have let you sit there and die but didn’t, that I anointed you the chosen one and I let you go ahead of me, I end up wishing herpes on you. You’re a fucking asshole and you irritate me to no end. I put on a fake happy face and a fake happy wave to let you in so the least you could do is fake something back at me. How hard is it to fucking fake a nice friendly thank you wave? I’m sure your wife or girlfriend fakes some things so maybe you can get a lesson from her. I feel so cheap and used when you don’t wave back and it’s not like I even got a free dinner and a movie out of it. Asshole.


To the clerk at the convenience store that I just bought a pack of sugar free gum from who after I was done didn’t thank me for my purchase or tell me to have a nice day but instead I thanked for my purchase which pretty much means I thanked you for allowing me to shop in your rude shitty convenience store. You’re an asshole. Again I felt cheap and used. Thank your customers – even if they just buy a pack of gum and especially if they have a polite autopilot instinct to say thank you even if you don’t. Shit I was raised in the south. I tell the cat thank you for allowing me to pet it. I actually gave you money for something – tell me fucking thank you. This type of inhumane embarrassment and treatment is probably why people get pissed off and rob so many convenience stores. Just saying. Not that I would ever do that or wish that on you. I’m not that evil. Herpes though, I do wish herpes on you. Asshole.

To the man who sees me walking with my small daughter and lets the door shut right in my face and doesn’t hold it open as a common courtesy because I don’t know, maybe I don’t look like a 10 pound sports illustrated swimsuit model, or perhaps I forgot I was wearing my super top secret invisible super hero outfit, you’re an asshole. I mean I’m pretty fucking ninja but I’m not that ninja with a 4 year old hanging off me. Not only are you an asshole but I have a pretty good feeling you have a small penis and will probably burn in hell. I mean really, why else would you be so bitter and rude towards another person? Evidently common courtesy is directly related to penis size in men. I realize I am an independent, capable woman who does not need to be coddled or have a man do things for her but this is just rude. I hold doors open for people, hell some of them I know and don’t even like but I still don’t let doors slam in people’s faces. Oh, and I hope you get herpes. Asshole.   

To the host at my local chain eatery who each time I go there with my daughter asks “just the two of you?” please learn the power of the word “just”. You don’t realize it but you’re being an asshole. I don’t wish herpes on you because I don’t think you realize you’re being an asshole but you are. I do however wish diarrhea on you. And for you to run out of toilet paper. While at work. Right in the middle of your shift. On a really busy night. Oh shit, fine, I do wish herpes on you too. Asshole.

To the person who parked so close to my car that I needed a fucking can opener to get back in to it when I got back out to the parking lot. You’re a big old asshole too. Seriously, I can’t believe you don’t get out of your car, see how you parked and then knowingly decide fuck it, you don’t care. I had to suck my gut in so far to get in my car my head almost popped off the top of my pudgy little body. Plus, you made me feel really fucking fat and then I felt bad about myself and then I got depressed and then I wanted a fucking ice cream cone and then I wanted sprinkles on it because sprinkles are really fucking happy and I needed a cherry too to kill the pain because I eat my feelings. It's your fault I'm fat, not really, but it sounds good right now. Oh, and I hope both you and your fucking car get herpes. Asshole.

xoxo,
Single Mom Survives

P.S. Dear makers of whatever type of creams, jellies, foams, patches or pills one might take for herpes…. no need to thank me.

Single Mom's Celebrity Asshole Gift Recommendations

Dear Miley, Sorry for blabbing to the media about how I blame you, your show and your fame for ruining my marriage to your mommy. My bad. Here are some chocolate dipped wine bottles. When it comes to drinking and eating your feelings you can never start too young. Love, Daddy

Dear Charlie, Please accept these coke filled pixie stix as just a small token of my gratitude for completely distracting the media last week while I pleaded no contest to domestic battery. Thanks to your completely insane drug fueled breakdown nobody noticed my bullshit sentence! I mean really, 16 hours of community service at the children's charity run by my ex-wife? What a bunch of suckers. Thanks man. Best Wishes, Mel (PS.That's not candy in the Pixie Stix)

Dear Super Pet Expo, I had no idea that when I agreed to do appear at the Dulles Expo center this past weekend for the Collectors' Showcase of America show that you would be having your show in the same exhibit hall. I'm still a dick but that shit was totally not my bad. That is all, Michael Vick

Be Vewy Vewy Quiet

One of my favorite carnival games has always been Whack A Mole. There’s just something fun and cathartic about beating the shit out of cute little plastic moles. They pop up, they go down, they pop up and you beat the ever loving crap out of them as quickly as you can. Yeah, that game is fun.

Last week I was out in the backyard with Atticus. He did his usual rounds and then became fascinated with the back corner of our yard. I mean just obsessed with it like there was a secret forest of milk bones buried under the yard. He started scratching right at the fence and wouldn’t come in even. I stood there like an idiot trying to bribe him. Over and over, “Puppy want a cookie? Puppy want a cooke? A cookie? A F**KING COOKIE?!?!?!!!” I even used the annoying voice reserved for puppies and newborn babies. I ended up having to pick him and carry him in.  

The next morning I let Atticus out and he ran right over to the same corner. The farther out I walked in the yard I saw what he was going for. Just at the other side of my fence in my neighbor’s yard I spotted the mysterious “thing”.

What the what??? Clearly something is trying to tunnel its way to my home in a covert attempt to eat me. I had always suspected this would be the way I would go. I mean hello, have you seen the movie Tremors? This aggression will not be tolerated. 

 

This looks like something I may need a shotgun for. I'm not sure if I should shoot these things, gas 'em, bury 'em or buy 'em off. I mean what the hell makes tunnels and holes like that overnight? I had to find out. This is where Twitter, once again, shows its collective brilliance. I can seriously get the answer to every question known to man via Twitter, even when I don't like the answer, in less than two minutes. And before anyone gets all PETA on me  you are more than welcome to come rescue the creatures. With two cats and one puppy my arc is at capacity. 

 

Moles. Mother f**king moles! Once I found out moles were trying to kill me I had to Google that shit. I had no idea what a mole really looked like and I needed to be able to identify one if it came flying out of the ground towards my face. I was sad to see they look nothing like guacamole. Look at that thing, it's terrifying! It has enormous hands. You know what they say about hand size. I sure the hell don't want to see the other half of that little f**ker. That thing scares the shit out of me. Does even it even have eyes or just one big snout, giant teeth and terrifying hand claws? Moles. Who the f**k gets moles? So far wonder pup is keeping them at bay but in the meantime I'm plotting my counter attack. I so don't have time for this shit. If you don't hear from me in a week I've been eaten by the moles. 

The Dog Ate My Blog

A couple of months ago when I decided to start making conscious choices that would put me back in control of my own happiness (blah blah blah) I decided my first call to action was going to be a big doozie. There’s something that I’ve wanted for years but put off. I put it off because I was too busy with work, too busy with parenting a young child alone, too busy ignoring piles of laundry, too busy wasting time on Facebook and Twitter and catching up on TV and, well, you get the idea. It was also yet another thing that I wanted but as it turned out my ex-husband never did. It’s something that my daughter really wanted and has for as long as she could utter the word. It’s something I thought ahead to when I was shopping for the house I have now and it's the reason I picked it. Still I put it off even when I didn’t have anything stopping me but my own inexplicable hesitation to live the life I actually wanted instead of settling for the life I felt I was supposed to just surrender to.

When you wake up after a life changing event and realize the temporariness of your life and the time you have to live it, really live it, you kind of get motivated to get off your ass and stop delaying the happy things that you actually can control. Or so I thought.

How the mother Hell do I control this? 

Atticus

No really, how do I control him? In my quest for quasi domestic and familial perfection I have completely lost my mind. Wait, backspace, delete… My motherfuckin’ mind. When I said I was going to get off my ass I meant that metaphorically. Now I realize getting off your ass for something you really love and want means literally getting off of your ass, constantly. Holy shit I haven’t sat down in the three weeks this handsome little devil has been in our home. Actually make that four weeks because I spent a good week preparing for his homecoming. I should have spent that week sleeping. 

There is so much I look forward to with the newest member of our family. I look forward to long walks when the weather finally warms up and he’s had all of his shots (I’m an overprotective puppy mom) and I look forward to teaching him how to pick up cute single dads at the dog park do cool tricks but this puppy stage is making me up my caffeine intake by about 90%. I have come to the disturbing realization that caffeine may no longer affect me the way it is supposed to. Yes, I am convinced I've become immune to the magical powers of coffee. I’ve been getting up daily now at hours that no sober middle aged chick should ever see which means I'm out like a teething baby sucking on a whiskey pop by 9pm every night. For the record I never gave my baby a whiskey pop but I could use one for me right about now. Really, unless you’re drunk and still up from the night before or you’re eighty and living in Boca and trying to snag the first waffle at the waffle hut, no normal person should be awake at the hours I have been seeing now. Don’t get me wrong, I’m willing to do what it takes and I’m a responsible puppy owner, I’m in this for life, but holy balls I’m not even lying when I say I no longer miss my uterus. The first lesson that Atticus has taught me is that I love sleep. I mean I used to love sleep. 

Whoever said having a puppy is like having a baby is a complete dumbass that clearly never had a baby though, aside from the sleep deprivation of course. At eleven weeks my daughter sure as Hell wasn’t hauling ass, at speeds that make me question the amphetamine content of this high end puppy food, across the backyard because she didn’t want me to retrieve a hunk of mulch from her mouth. At eleven weeks she just laid there and looked all cute and shit. Actually, this time I mean that "shit" literally. I’m also fairly confident that, as sharp as my daughter is, I don’t recall my being able to teach her to sit and lay on command in exchange for five to twenty training treats so actually that one can go in the win column. I’m just saying that at eleven weeks of age, if I’m comparing my puppy to a baby, he’s a motherfuckin’ genius and nothing at all like a baby. My baby however never shit on my kitchen floor or peed on my Pergo and left it for me to step in barefoot and slip and fall on my ass in. Seriously, I’m going to purchase Marley and Me tomorrow just to feel better about my puppy. I also couldn't put my daughter in a kennel for a time out. I mean not legally. 

So the moral of the story is… Wait. What was I saying? I think I’m suffering from sleep deprivation. Damn, maybe it is in fact like having a baby. No really, what was I saying?

Oh yes, making the choice to get off your ass and get what you really want, despite the chaos and the upheaval and the removal of your comfort zone, is pretty much always a good choice. Though my days are now filled with more work, and occasionally I’ve questioned my sanity, I’m fairly certain I’ve made a step in a direction that can only be described as… Forward.

I already love this boy, even when he’s naughty, and I know in time he and I are going to grow to be the best of friends. For now my daughter thinks that he is her puppy but really he and I know the truth. He is just one of my delayed dreams finally realized, my next fresh start and my get-off-your-ass-and-get-on-with-living-the-life-you-choose reminder. As I look around now I see all that I have, not all that I want.

At eleven weeks I’d say he’s already one amazingly special therapy dog, and not just because he was coincidentally born on the anniversary of the day my divorce became final. Even if the time I'm spending with him right now has eaten my blog I've been busy living and learning how far I've come. Actually, learning that i love sleep was the second thing Atticus taught me. The first thing he taught me is that just because the journey is exhausting it does not mean it can't be exhausting from happiness and from having so much to love all of the time. That's the kind of exhausted I'm surrendering to, right after I clean up this pee and then sort and put away little girl and puppy toys… With a smile.