Living with a drunk is fun (NOT)

I'm not drunk...

I\’m not drunk…

There are so many ways to list how living with a drunk is not fun. Notice I didn’t use the term alcoholic. There’s a definite difference between the two (I’ll save that for a different post). I don’t live with an alcoholic. I live with a drunk. And there are so many ways to list how it’s NOT fun.

Of course no two drunks are the same so your list may be quite different than mine. I will also be adding to this list on a regular basis, I’m sure. But as of this minute, here are my top reasons why living with a drunk is not fun.

  • You may have your headphones on so I can’t hear your depressing and sappy music, but I can hear YOU. Listening to you singing the depressing and sappy songs at the top of your lungs really sucks. You’re not that good of a singer under the best of circumstances. Now add the headphones and the crappy song selection and I’m ready to rip those headphones off your head and stuff them up your arse.This just in: You are NOT a rock and you are NOT an island, no matter how many times you sing the song; no matter how loud you sing the song. Some smart guy once said that no man is a fucking island.
  • I can hear you (not just the singing). You might think you are mumbling incoherently under your breath, but you are really talking in your “out loud” voice. Actually, you are  talking in your “at top volume” voice, and I can hear the snide remarks, the sarcasm, the stupid comments–all the bitchy things you think only the voices in your head can hear, well, I can hear them too. They are not endearing you to me.
  • Only dental patients, stroke victims, and people without tongues should slur their words as much as you do. Of course we wouldn’t notice if you’d just keep your mouth shut and be drunk in silence. But no, you have the wordy squirts, which is, just so you know, another giveaway that you’re DRUNK.
  • You’re turning me into an alcoholic too. Do you want to know how I try to cope with your bullshit? I drink. Gee, I wonder where I learned that from. Of course I would classify myself as an alcoholic, but we can get into that later. It really pisses me off that what used to be a nice glass of wine at the end of the day to relax has become a nice bottle of wine at the end of the day to cope.
  • I have two kids. They don’t have the same name. You profess to love each of them so is it really that difficult to call them by the correct name? It must be difficult when you’re drunk. Yes, the Young One does notice that you always call him by the Big One’s name when you’re drunk. I’m sure it won’t affect him in the long run.

There’s more, but right now I have to go stuff your headphones up your arse and find a way to keep you from slur-talk-singing to the boys. Who have different names.


10 signs you are a shopping addict

Shopping Diva

Shopping Diva

Hello. My name is __________ and I’m an addict. A shopping addict.

There are 10 telltale signs that your wife, girlfriend, mother and/or lover is a shopping addict. Want to know the signs? Here are 10 of them:

  1. You buy a $500 Dyson vacuum (only $400 after your 20% off coupon) and hide it in a back closet so your husband doesn’t see it. (And you can only vacuum when he’s not home.)
  2. You can justify buying the $500 Dyson vacuum, because it was only $400 after your 20% off coupon. (The Dyson, BTW, is worth EVERY penny!)
  3. You have $20 in your pocket, and can leave the dollar store with 25 things.
  4. You have a third bank account that only you know about.
  5. Only you are allowed to collect the mail.
  6. You’ve signed up for paperless statements for all of your credit cards. (And only you have the login information.)
  7. When confronted about how much something costs, you undercut the price by at least 15%, and then say “…and that’s before the sale price!”
  8. You go back to the store to exchange one item, and come home with three more things.
  9. You can’t go shopping with your kids anymore, because now they can talk. (And tell daddy what mommy REALLY bought.)
  10. The first three bookmarks in your browser are eBay, Overstock, and Amazon.

Anyone else out there guilty?

Because I’m a W-O-M-A-N

I find myself being very self-deprecating lately, when something in our household goes wrong. I can often be caught saying “Oh well. Guess I’m not getting that ‘Mother of the Year’ award.” or “Sorry honey. There goes my ‘Best Wife’ award.”  Seriously, though. Why do I do that? I was thinking it again earlier when The Goose talked about not having his lunch today. The school calendar has today and tomorrow as half days for parent/teacher conferences. Understood. The school calendar says NO LUNCH for these days. Understood. Oops, maybe not. The Goose informed me that a fellow kindergartener shared his lunch, and his teacher gave him a juice and some chips since he didn’t have a lunch. HUH?? The damn calendar said NO LUNCH. Which I took to mean that the students were released for a half day and lunch was my problem. That was obviously not the case. I guess NO LUNCH really means BRING ONE FROM HOME. Couldn’t they have just said that??

It’s times like this that I feel like an idiot and wonder why I’m so ineffective. today, I stopped myself, and thought of all the crap I did this weekend. Here’s a recrap:

  • 7 loads of laundry
  • cleaned the living room
  • cleaned the dining room
  • cleaned the kitchen
  • cleaned out the turtle tank
  • went grocery shopping for 3 boys, a dog, a cat, 2 birds and myself
  • sent my mom her birthday present
  • bought Halloween costumes for the boys
  • kept the family fed
  • did some online work

And that’s just two days.

This all has reminded me of those cheesy Enjoli ads from the 70s and 80s. Check it out:

Good stuff. I’m still not going to win any “Mother of the Year” awards, but I’m probably not going straight to hell, either. 🙂

SDA education, the pros and cons–part 1

Well, we’re a month into the school year and I’m having my first misgivings about The Goose attending an SDA school.

Background: my husband was “raised” SDA but does not actively practice (thank God–pun intended 😉 ). About half of his family does not only actively practice, they are very active members of both the church and the school (things like helping run the PTA, teaching Sabbath school, etc.). I do not practice SDA, I will never practice SDA, and am, in fact, not really a fan of any organized religion. To set the record straight, however, I DO BELIEVE IN GOD.

You’re getting ready to ask me why I’m sending my kid to an SDA school, and there’s 1 main reason: public education in America sucks! But I digress. That’s actually a different post.

Back to The Goose. He came home Friday from school, bubbling with questions and eager to tell me about his day. The conversation went something like this:

Goose: “Mommy, why if you don’t have food or something to drink you’ll die?”

Mommy: “Because you’re body needs food and drink. That’s what makes our bodies work.”

Goose: “Because that’s how God made us?”

Mommy: “Yep, that’s how God made us.” [I don’t discourage Christian teachings to an extent–remember, I do believe in God]

Goose: “But why would he make us die without food or something to drink” [the kid’s too smart for his own good]

Mommy: “Honey, why are you asking me about this? You’re not going to die. We have plenty of food and water.” [me, trying to change the subject]

Goose: “In chapel today, they showed us pictures on the TV, while a man on the stage with a microphone told us stories. One of the pictures was a little boy, and the man said he was dying because he didn’t have enough to eat and drink.”

Mommy: “Really. Are you sure that’s what the man said?” [Ok, what the hell are they trying to teach my son?]

Goose: “Uh-huh. He also showed us a picture of a person with no arms and he said Satan had cut them off.”

Mommy: “Interesting. Honey, Satan didn’t cut off anyone’s arms. I’m sure it was just a story. Why don’t you go in and start a movie…” […while I call the school and see what the f*** is up…]

After more discussion with his cousin who was in chapel as well, she did confirm the baby/dying pic, but couldn’t confirm, nor deny the Satan-cutting-off-limbs story. I guess I’ll be calling the teacher tomorrow. I don’t care what religion you are, it is never acceptable to show these types of pictures to children. Hell, it’s not always acceptable to show these pictures to adults.

To be continued…

The song should’ve been “I Don’t Like Saturdays”

What do the The Boomtown Rats know, anyway? While I suppose there are those who look forward to Saturday with as much glee as they look forward to Monday with dread, I’m the opposite. Saturdays, you see, mean that everyone is home. By everyone I mean 2 kids, 1 husband, 1 dog, 1 cat, 2 birds, 2 turtles, and a fish.

Don’t get me wrong. I always have high hopes for Saturday. It just never turns out quite like I had planned. Instead of being able to calmly drink my coffee and enjoy some sunshine and outdoor solitude, I end up with a screaming toddler who hates the word “No!” and a bored 5-year old who won’t stop bugging me about his damn GameCube (I swear I’m going to burn that thing!) Add to that a husband who has worked hard all week and wants to sit around all weekend watching sports and playing online poker (meaning either the house magically cleans itself up, or I do it), and Saturdays are a real treat for me.

Right now, I’m enjoying my 60 minutes of peace, quiet, and coffee since Meshegne took the boys to Sabbath school. No, I don’t go to Sabbath school with them. We’ll talk about that later. 🙂 I should be looking for his keys, the loss of which this morning caused much frustration and irritation. First I’m going to finish my blog duties, then I’ll go straighten up and see if I can find them. I have a 4:00 massage with a friend today (Happy Birthday to me! Thanks Meshegne!).

Maybe this Saturday can be salvaged…

(For those of you who don’t get The Boomtown Rats reference, they were a bad in the 80’s. The leader, Bob Geldof, was the organizer of the original Live Aid. One of their biggest hits was a song called “I Don’t Like Mondays“. For those of you who do know the song, don’t worry. I’m not ready for a shooting spree.)

Vodka, tequila, and beer, oh my

vodka, tequila, beer, cocktails, mixed drinks, etc.

Did I say I was going to take advantage of Mother’s last few days here? After just 1 night, I may have to hang up my drinking shoes. Sad, sad, sad.

Meshegne decided on Saturday that he wanted to go out. I jumped up and said “OK!” seeing as how he really never wants to go out anymore. He even took me to my favorite pub AND threw darts with me. That’s where the trouble began. Just to give you a little background, Meshegne is a true dart master. Back home, we both played in dart leagues. He played in the league that was one step away from GOD-like. I played in the league that was one step away from the gutter–oh wait, that’s bowling. You get the point. I didn’t suck, but I wasn’t nearly as good as Meshegne. I digress. We played darts. I played God-like. He did not. Much celebratory drinking ensued.

Helpful hint: don’t mix vodka cocktails for staying in, with celebratory shots of tequila when you’re out. Topped with bottles of beer. Never a good combination–especially at my age.

Needless to say, my “mother-of-the-year” nomination is close to being rescinded, seeing as how I spent most of Sunday curled up in a ball on the couch, yelling “Turn that damn thing down!” and “Where’s your father??!!”

I managed to watch about 2 minute of football, think about the laundry, wolf down a burger and a soda, and nap for 6 hours. I guess I’d better pull out the Geritol and Depends, seeing as how my birthday is pending and it appears I need to trade in my ID for an AARP card.