My First Time

I can post a blog a day about my various firsts.  We all have those stories..memories of things we've done that we never did again...and memories of things that would come to define us and be part of our personality.

First kiss?  I think it was a cook at a restaurant where I worked.  First rose?  Some FUGLY ass looking Elder dude that knocked on my door and professed his love for me.  I mean, for real...I could do a whole other post about how this dude looked like Steve Buscemi got hit in the face with a sledgehammer...and that was on a good day.  I felt bad for him, but still...FUG.

First date?  Perkins on Westbourne..I had country fried steak because I don't do salads.  First slut moment?  Going to the Homecoming dance with one dude and making out with another by the end of the night.  We've all been there.

I think the first moment I want to write about is my first "side eye" moment.  I remember it vividly.  The look that would be my signature "fuck it" look.  The look that lets people know to just stop right there...it's over for you.  There are different types of side eye:

1) The "God you are boring me" side eye
2) The "Oh NO you Didn't" side eye
3) The "Bitch, Please, you ain't foolin no one" side eye
4) The "Good grief a part of my soul just died" side eye.

You might think that my first cynical look came in my teen years...especially since they occurred during the disenchanted "slacker" era of the 90s.  No..I was well seasoned by then.  My first side eye came at the tender age of five years old.

It was Christmas season.  I was in Kindergarten and all I wanted for Christmas was my very own Bo Duke action figure.  Them Dukes of Hazzard boys were HOT and even at five, I knew that you didn't have to be smart, as long as you looked good...and Bo Duke fit that bill.  I was so excited to go back to school after break and when we were allowed to bring in one small thing, I'd bring in Bo Duke.

I still believed in Santa at the time and knew he wouldn't let me down.  See..the year before I made a sacrifice and felt for sure that he would reward me this year.  The previous year, I had wanted a Barbie mannequin head that you can put real makeup on.  I asked my Mom for it and she said no because it was too messy. So, my sister told me NOT to ask Santa because if he brought it, Mom would be PISSED.  There was no way that I was going to have him bring me that mannequin head if I was going to get an ass whoopin....so I didn't ask him for it.   I thought that since I didn't get what I wanted last year, I'd get that beautiful blonde Duke Boy this year.

So, Christmas Morning...1982.  We are in our house on Vine St in Avondale.  (some people tried to play it off that our house was in St. Bernard, but I keeps it real...we were on the Avondale side of the line.) My older brother and sister were tearing through their gifts.  My older brother opened a small package...LUKE DUKE doll.  EXCITING!!! My older sister opened her gift... DAISY DUKE.  I remember her talking about her hair.  I go to open mine...for sure I got Bo.

Imagine my distain when I open my package and was staring a fucking BOSS HOGG doll.  Talk about the birth of a side eye.  I threw a look that I knew was the beginning of an era.  How the hell Santa gonna play me like that?  What in the hell was a five year old gonna do with a Boss Hogg doll?  Can't a bitch even get an Uncle Jesse or Rosco or something?  I gotta be stuck with Boss Hogg and his cheesy white suit?  That was a damn shame.  There was no way I was going to walk into Kindergarten and bring Boss Hogg.  I'd be laughed at more than the girl who had to have her picture retaken because hers came out with a huge snot bubble on her nose.  I was NOT going to be pitied more than snotgirl.

I don't remember anything else about that Christmas.  At first I thought, "Okay...I guess I can do something with it...maybe he can be Barbie's grandpa," but even that shit didn't work out.  He was smaller than Skipper and his suit freaked me out.

So, that was the year Santa got the inaugural "Oh no you DIDN'T" side eye.  I pretty much didn't count on him too much after that.  Fucker.

Just Personalize my 31 Bag with "Craft Bitch"

So, lately I've been keeping my hands busy by trying some crafts to pretty up the house.  I've also been repainting and redoing this crap hole.  I literally have not touched this house since we've moved in 10 years ago because I 1) didn't give a shit and 2) was more concerned with paying the mortgage than having a color scheme.

More on the whole repainting in another blog.  I'm here to share a little craft I did for the front door.

I saw different wreaths on Pinterest.  I thought, "Aw, that shit don't look too hard. I can slap some mess together to make our home look more welcoming...maybe make the neighbors kinda forget all the screaming from inside."

I took a few different ideas and kinda came up with my own spin on it.  I wanted it to be cheap and fast (like my friend, Heather).  I already had some yarn from making Natalie a blanket and I had a ton of shitty frames that I'm sure I got as Christmas gifts from people who thought "oh shit, I forgot to get the Applegates something for watching my kids 24 hours a day."  I headed to Craft Bitch Central to get the rest.

I head to Hobby Lobby for the rest of the supplies.  I get a wooden letter "A" and some scrapbook paper.  I figure I'd cover the wood letter in scrap paper out of laziness.   I grab a container of Mod Podge to do the job.  That shit is ridiculous.  It is nutella of the craft bitch world...as in you can put that mess on anything and it will do the job.  It's a sealer, glue, gloss...whatever.  I'm surprised bitches haven't been using it to seal their too small clothes on their asses.  I mean, it would take a lot, but I'm sure it can keep dat ass from creeping out of the jeans.  I also got some ribbon...which was a challenge in itself.  As I was looking for the right color, I was overhearing a conversation a lady was having on the phone.  Her daughter is apparently getting ready to have a baby and since she is a minor herself, the bills are coming to the mom (the lady talking on the phone).  The lady kept saying over and over, "Them hospital bitches are thristy as hell trying to take my money.  Monique grown having a baby, she can pay the bills...thirsty ass bitches."  I followed the lady around a little just to hear the conversation.  Thirsty bitches are a favorite subject of mine.

I finally get back on track and get my stuff and get home.  Hearing that lady's conversation was worth the trip by itself. So I get everything home and I'm all like "Yeah, I'm gonna make the fuck out of a wreath."  First thing is first....taking the glass out of the frame.  Seems easy enough....until I accidentally pop the glass out and drop it on the floor.  Now I have to clean that shit up before the cats walk all over it like dumbasses.  I can't believe I was on my way to being a tried and true craft bitch and I fuck it up before I can do the first step.  However, in true craft bitch style, I notice a shard of glass that looks like it would make an excellent shank and in my head, I started designing a chevron print handle to put on that shank that would look lovely under my pillow.  If I'm gonna shank a fucker in the gut, might as well have a stylish handle on it.  Then I thought, "Damn, I'm really going to be Martha Stewart...designing shanks and shit to use in prison."  

After that fantasy and clean up, I wrapped yarn around the frame.  It was rather soothing, as I was picturing myself wrapping yarn around the throats of people I can't stand. It was better than zoloft.

After that, I used the Mod Podge to put the scrap paper on the wooden letter A.  I fucked that up, too, because it kept getting air bubbles and I really was getting impatient.  So, our letter has air bubbles.  Deal with it.

After that, I had to figure out how to hang the letter inside the frame.  I hacked some shit together with yarn.  During that time, the fucking cat thought it would be funny to swat at me and try to take the yarn.  That cat was wrong and paid dearly by being locked in the basement until I was done.

So, the letter was designed and framed wrapped in yarn.  Now, to dress it up a bit.  I found some scrapbook embellishments that came in a kit that someone gave me years ago that matched and I used some ribbon to throw on it.  After it was all said and done, it looked like a cute little wreath that looks like a cute little old lady made.  I was rather proud of myself.

I hang the wreath up and go get the kids from school.  Immediately, Anna says, "Oh, does the A stand for Anna?"  Nope.  "Applegate?"  Nope.

Assholes.  It stands for Assholes and it's a warning to the people outside of what lives inside...hahahahaha!!!

The most obnoxious species I know...other parents.

Like most mothers today, I spend a good part of my time taking my kids to practices and cheering them on at their various sports and activities.  Basketball, softball, cheer, dance, volleyball, Destination Imagination, etc, etc.  I tell my kids they can only do ONE activity a season.  Partly because I don't believe in over scheduling my kids and partly because I'm extremely lazy and don't feel like running all over town after school.  I swear it's like a full time fucking job with shitty pay.  On the days when its canceled due to weather or when my kid is sick, I do a secret happy dance.  I'm not going to lie.  Id rather sit on the couch with them and hang out, lol.

If it's like a job, obviously the pay is seeing my kids learn team work and find things that they are good at and make them happy.  If it's like a job, the coach is like the boss telling you you have to come in early on a Saturday when you rather sleep.  If it's like a job, the other moms/dads are like the annoying co workers that you want to fucking cuss out and punch in the throat, but can't for fear of being fired.  The beginning of the season is like your first day of work.  Who will be there and who can you buddy up with to make the time at the ol' coal mine enjoyable?  

Yesterday, I spent 8 hours at a Destination Imagination tournament and an hour at a basketball tournament.  By the end of the day, I was so tired and I realized it was because that was a LONG time to hold back my tongue and rage.  Of course, there are some parents that you love to see there because it makes the time more enjoyable and they are genuinely cool...like when you go into work and see you are working with someone cool and you do the sigh of relief.  But more often than not, you are forced to sit next to the most obnoxious people on the face of the planet and the only thing that is stopping you from "keepsin it real" is the paycheck (your kids).  The eye rolls and the passive aggressive remarks run so rampant, you swear you are at a middle school slumber party.

Seriously, you think that bullying and self importance is only from the kids?  No.  Sport/Activity moms/dads are the kings and queens of this AND they throw more shade and attitude than any child on the court.  This lady at the DI competition was so nasty to us over what table we were sitting at that her own husband told her to knock it off.  Another lady at the basketball tourney was so obnoxious to the refs, that another parent APOLOGIZED to us and told us she was embarrassed she was on the same "team" as that mom.  It's like they are so self involved and everything has to be perfect for their kid, that they don't realize that they are making an ass of themselves and making things less perfect for their kid in the process.

Here's the deal, parents.  It's not that serious.  Yes, your kids practice and work hard. You don't want to see them slighted in the least.  Your kids learn and they try and they fail and they succeed.  Did you see the first two words of the previous sentence?  YOUR KIDS.  Not you, Boo.  Sorry, large jabba the hutt looking lady screaming at the team...I don't see your ass out there working hard...so I don't feel it's appropriate to come down on some kids who at least made the effort.  I also don't feel it's right to talk shit about the other team of kids who probably ran more laps in that one game than you have in your 30s.  No, you are not going to agree with every call the refs or judges make, but I really don't see you out there volunteering your time.  Part of team sports and activities is the kids learning humility and that sometimes things aren't fair.  It's how they deal with it that shows their character.  I think parents get so wrapped up in making this perfect pinterest life for kids that they don't realize they are fucking it up in the process by acting like self righteous bitches.

I know I have ranted about sports/activities in the past...but only if it's something that truly defeats the purpose of it.  Like when my oldest daughter was not being "taught" the sport and her own team played around her instead of with her.  The difference is that I didn't sit in the stands screaming and carrying on like a hillbilly.  I actually had a discussion with the coach who saw my concerns and did his best to fix it.  A DISCUSSION, not a screaming match.  A few years ago, I felt myself getting sucked into the very mentality I am ranting about today, but I realized it and took a step back.  I want to teach my kids to do their very best and to not let the team down..but I don't want to teach them that how they do at that one game or competition is going to define them.  I do cheer my team on when they play and get involved..but if you watch carefully, you will also see me cheering on the other team as well.  Good for all of them for putting themselves out there and trying.  

It's not just sporting events and activities, either.  I find it very hard to get along with a lot of parents in general sometimes, especially in the early years of my kids lives.  I had my first daughter around the time when internet message boards and parenting clubs were first coming about.  The amount of judging and hand slapping parents did from behind the keyboard was astounding.  Then, people were more bold and did it in person.  "Oh...you didn't breastfeed?  You do know that breastfeeding is the best and you really should ...blah blah blah." Bitch, I know how my titties work...it's not your business how I use them.  Then it got to the point where I really didn't say anything about anything...for fear of opening a can of worms.  "Oh, you really shouldn't let your kid eat pop tarts..do you know how much sugar...blah blah blah."  Um, ho, I was lazy and it was edible.  Fuck you.

Parents judge so much, it makes me sick.  They judge their kids, the coaches, other parents.  If people would just chill the fuck out and let the kids be kids and make mistakes and experience things, maybe kids wouldn't be such demanding assholes sometimes.  Let them experience failure.  Let them experience disappointment.  It's not your job as a parent to make everything cushy and right for them.  It's your job as a parent to show them real life...even if that means telling your kid to suck it up if a bad call was made in a basketball game.  Even if there is no place to sit at the Destination Imagination tournament.  Sit on the fucking floor.  It's Destination Imagination...imagine a fucking soft pillow bed to sit on, hahaha!

It might be a child's basketball competition or a child's academic competition on the surface, but we all know its a parenting competition at the core...who can have the most bragging rights about their little angel.  I remember at one cheer competition a few years ago, our team didn't place at all.  I remember saying out loud, "Oh, that's okay."  The looks of the parents around me could have killed me.  But I don't regret it.  It WAS okay.  They worked hard and looked great and the other teams made a ton of mistakes.  The judges just didn't feel it was 1st place material or that the other teams' mistakes were a big deal. OH well.  It's life...just like when you work your ass off and didn't get the raise or the promotion.  I'm sure you don't go stomping your feet and crying to your boss.  Nope, you just work harder and hope for the best the next time.

A healthy dose of competition is one thing...but a big dose of asshole fuckery is another.  You want to know why kids are how they are today?  Demanding 60000 K a year and a corner office right out of college or demanding a brand new car at 16 years old?  It's because parents are teaching them if you show your ass enough, you can get what you want.  Good job parents...good job.

At least when I was lazy, I didn't have to put cream between my boobs.

So some of you on Facebook know of my constant struggle with weight.  I have my ups and my downs...my back up agains... and my 'dayum girl, did you eat out Betty Crocker?' ups.  I'm not gonna lie.  I get lazy and if it isn't dipped in chocolate, it's not for me.

However, being the mother of 3 young girls and getting grown up to the point where I learned that my habits affect other people and could potentially have me moving in with Jesus (or whoever) earlier than I anticipated has me changing my ways.

We all do it.  New Years resolutions...getting on the band wagon.  Making promises and goals that are absolutely ridiculous.  I used to be the QUEEN of writing checks that I can't cash.  I did it all the time.

"I'm going to follow Weight Watchers every day and to Pilates every day until I am thin, firm, and look like I did in high school"

"I'm never touching chocolate again.  Only celery and nuts for me"

"If I stop eating after 8 pm, I'll look better than that bitch on tv."

Oh, I'd do those things.  Then when I messed up, Id quit.  If I couldn't look like I could be in a porno within a month or so, I wasn't going to keep torturing myself.

Last year, in July, the clouds cleared for me.  I put myself in such a horrible situation.  If I can't be like them hos on tv, then I'll just go the opposite way and revel in my rolls.  That wasn't good.  Being the jolly fat girl wasn't going to cut it if I was going to stick around to see my daughters get married, go to jail, or have their first melt down in therapy due to mommy issues.  Those are special moments I want to be around for.

However, Im doing it different.  I shed all irrational goals and focused on one thing:  just being fit enough to not get winded eating dinner.  Its a small goal, but a good one.  Another is to not choke on my own neck fat as I sleep.

The media and weight loss programs make is seem so easy.  If you do this and eat this, you will look like this.

Oh, it's that easy.  You will be tan, thin, look good in tight pants, and SMILE as you exit the gym.  You will only eat salads and cook shit like quinoa and feel satisfied.Well, fuck yeah, sign me up!!!

Um, bitch, no.  Here is how it really is to try to lose weight...it is these things that make people fall off the bandwagon:

• You will NOT smile after you work out.  You will not be cute.  You will stink and piss your pants and possibly shit your pants.  You will fart when you bend over and your side will feel like someone shot you.
• If you are lucky enough to get through that mess, you still will not smile as you exit the gym...because your titties and thighs will burn from the chafing.  Seriously, your skin is NOT meant to rub together like that.  When Clara Jean (God rest her soul) used to call me to bring "cream for betwix my titties" I used to cringe...she didn't even work out.  It was just that her shit rubbed together during daily activity.  Now Im moving on PURPOSE and the shit is likely to start a fire.  My lips to God's ears, tell Clara Jean "I feel ya on the chafing cream."
• You will NOT stop eating crap.  Trust me.  Even if you think you are being so good buying the Skinny Cow Chocolate bars, it won't matter since you will eat the whole box in one sitting.  I say this as I am wiping the chocolate from my mouth now after I worked out. Don't front, we all do it and we all know them skinny bitches eat this behind closed doors.
• You will not be hot and tan just because you got skinny.  Take a ride down State St sometime.  You will see plenty of skinny bitches around there.  Being skinny does not equal hot...it may equal meth.  You also will not magically be able to tan like the California sun kissed your shoulders.  If you a pale, white cracker, you will ALWAYS be a pale, white cracker.  I can't think of a single person who said "I lost 50 pounds and got caramel skin like Jennifer Lopez"  Bitch, please.
• You will not magically have smooth and silky hair that flows and cascades over your shoulders.  Look, if you have a rats nest that needs the help of a weed wacker every morning, having a few less rolls is NOT going to change that.
• You will pee and pee and pee.  We all know we don't just sit around and drink water all day.  That's what you do when you are on a "diet".  And the many trips to the bathroom, interrupting my facebook time, is a major pain in the ass.
• Just because you work out, doesn't mean you will have the shape of a prepubescent boy.  You will NOT get back to your high school shape.  Every person has this idea in their head that they will have this perfect figure.  Why would you WANT to look like you did in high school?  High Schoolers don't didn't have babies that changed them (well, except for those few girls who mysteriously left and never came back).  High schoolers don't have asses.  You know asses are awesome.  High schoolers can't swerve the hips like grown ass women do.  In fact, I know for sure that if I ever get into healthy shape, my ass will not look like the one above.  It will look more like this:

My ass will still be this big.  I will still have an ass as big as Coco's.  Only I will wear panties and not drip STDS all over the place.  But you get the point.  I know my body type and I know big ass is my destiny.

So, why am I doing this to myself?  If I am so "anti weight goal" and "stop trying to be like this girl", then why do you see me saying "35 down 35 to go" on FB or working out every week and wearing a FitBit?

Aside from making sure my health and life insurance premiums don't go up, I finally realized that I need to be healthy and fit for MY body...not some ho I see on tv.  I finally realized that it's stupid to give up on myself if I can't look like them bitches that are on guys' desktop backgrounds. I don't care if I am still a size 16 jeans.  If I can walk and run and not call 911, I'm good. If I just exercise a little and maybe eat an apple instead of a cookie, I'll be around longer to see which one of my girls gets onto a reality show first....or gets kicked off a reality show first.  I finally had the moment where I realized that no one cares about how my body looks except me.  Sure, I say I have 35 to go...that's the cut off to me being "obese" and having insurance issues.  All the weight loss sites tell me I need to really lose 60 more.  Well, fuck them.  I am moving more and eating better than 90% of the people I know.  I can be sexy in a size 16 and enjoying my life instead of fighting to be a size 12 and having the process take up my entire existence that the rest of my life passes me by.  I have my off days and I have my on days.  I may never lose another pound.  But at least I'm enjoying my life now...not waiting for when I achieve some unattainable goal.

I end this blog by saying this.  It's okay to pee your pants, its okay to cream up your titties.  As long as you are doing it for you and no one else or to be like anyone else.  Weight loss is hard and its nasty.  So don't focus on the weight...focus on waking up in the morning and being able to stay awake all day to see the beautiful life you created.

Also, Heather Dennis wants me to mention her name and say she is awesome.   If I don't, she will keep bugging me. She needs some of my fucking titty cream for her lips the way she keeps yapping.

With Yo Bitch Ass

There are so many quotes in literature and pop culture that make us pause and reflect.  Quotes that humble us or enlighten us. Quotes we put in our senior yearbook, scrawl across our diaries, repeat to ourselves during our dark times.  Quotes we offer our friends when they look for advice and quotes we drill into our kids heads to make them remember.  Everyone has one that touches them so deeply, if they weren't such a wuss, they'd have it tattooed on their back.  This is mine.

When I saw it, I knew I had found my motto and my guiding words for the rest of my life.  It is perfect. It says so little, yet has the potential to say so much.  The author who penned this left so much unsaid, yet spoke volumes to my soul.  Who was this bitch and what is with her ass?  What was the author trying to tell said bitch?  Who was with her ass or What was with her ass?

We can create a college course based on this quote alone.

Did the bitch ever see this message?  Did she take care of her ass?

Or was as the author talking to me?  Was he taunting me?  What have I done?  So many emotions run through my mind.  Maybe my bitch ass is the one in question.  MIND BLOWN.

I took this picture in 2008.  Brandon and I went to Findley Market to buy some produce.  This was what greeted us as we parked.  We came for the fresh tomatoes, we left with the words that I will carry with me the rest of my life.  It will be the words I say to my daughters on their wedding day and it will be the words I will sing to my grandbabies.  I keep hoping to find those words on my next birthday cake.  My birthday is in 2 weeks.  I'm crossing my fingers with my bitch ass.