So you guys, I thought it would be funny to create adult Valentine Cards. No, no, no…get your head out of the gutter! Not “adult” that way, but funny, grown-up ones. Click on the link to my self-hosted blog to check them out and to get a good laugh! Which one is your favorite? 🙂 via Free Adult Valentine Cards to Exchange – Hot Mess Memoir
Come on over to today’s blog post to read about 9 of what I consider the worst gifts to give on Valentines Day. Gentlemen, don’t be giving any of these unless she specifically asked for them! 😉 via Hot Mess Memoir – A humorous, honest, hot mess approach to life!
What my son sees upon waking:
Adult version of Elf on the Shelf: Zipper has hit rock bottom. He can no longer afford the prescription drugs on his TSA salary that he buys from college students (ritalin, adderall, xanex). He looked over to see his keyboard cleaner and had amazing idea- high on ritalin. 2 hours later, he can’t feel his own face.
I have begun my plans for April Fools 2016. Every year I trick my boys….majorly. It’s gotten so bad that last year I found a purple post it note on my sons shelf that said “April Fools Day-don’t be fooled”. Last years trick involved barbies, Teen Beat magazine and the frozen song. I’ll post that a little later this week. If you promise not to commit me, I will let you in on the first round of brainstorming.
Code name: BAG LADY
I will hire a large, older lady from one of the many local theaters for April Fools between the hours of 2am and 7pm. I have taken the necessary precautions and confirmed the holiday is on a Friday and they are not off of school for some ridiculous reason.
I will welcome the boys into the house like normal but ask them to sit down on the sofa because I need to tell them something. I will first walk them through what it means to be generous and how we can find ways to help others, you know, blah, blah, blah. I will then tell them the story of how I was going through the drive through at Wendy’s when I saw a Birkenstock clad foot peeping from behind the trash compactor wall. I was concerned for this person’s safety so I went over to check on them only to find Maude. Yes, I’ve decided to call her Maude. Don’t know why, it just came to me.
I want her to only wear moo-moos. For extra credit she will have those creepy glasses that turn from regular glasses to sunglasses outside. She needs to be loud, bossy and not grandmotherly at all. She will also have an obsession with cats.
I will continue telling the boys (this will be the fork in the road of either I lose my shit to a fit of laughter or continue with a well rehearsed poker face) that there were 3 kittens, all white, meowing around Maude. One was licking her face while the other was eating a chicken nugget that laid lifelessly in Maude’s hand. Maude was either asleep or dead and I needed to find out.
I will let them know that Maude was recently evicted from the YWCA because of smuggling in Macklemore, Eminem and Yelawolf, aka, da’ kittens. She has nowhere to go for a week. Her daughter is working fast to make enough in tips to afford a bus ticket to Myrtle Beach.
“I know this is going to be somewhat cramped and you guys weren’t expecting this but I have offered Maude a roof over her head for 1 week. We have that air mattress and she will share a room with you guys. I figure we’ll put all of her things in one of your rooms and she can sleep in the other. I hear CPAP machines are pretty loud so whoever is her roommate, I will give you a set of earplugs. Maude is using your bathroom right now to take a bath but should be down any minute.”
This will be the que for Maude to make her grand entrance. It is imperative that she has one of her moo-moos on, creepy glasses and waddles (not walks) over. I need to find a way to photograph the look of disdain and fright on the boys’ faces when they meet Maude for the first time. They will be on guard since it is April Fools Day and wonder if this is yet another prank. Surely mom isn’t crazy enough to hire a very realistic actress to prank us. Because I’ve taught my children polite behavior, they will know better than to question Maude’s unfortunate circumstances or my act of good will.
At first I want Maude to be the sweet, polite guest allowing the boys to become comfortable with her. Once they are, then I want Maude to start barking orders and playing the “respect your elders” card at the same time. Various requests I would love for Maude to demand:
“Can you rub my foot? I have circulation issues.”
“Can you go upstairs and get my fanny pack?”
“Will you help me find my golden buckeye card? It should be in my purse.” Her purse will be a prop that is loaded with cookie crumbs, m & m’s, her pocketbook, a laminated A Cat Owners Prayer card and a back issue of Cat Fancy.
P and C’s rooms will be the straw that breaks the camel’s back. I have decided the air mattress will be set up in C’s room. The mattress will be neatly made, complete with one of those bedspreads from the 1940’s and topped with embroidered cat pillows. Maude will have already put out tomorrow’s change of clothing which will be moo-moo #2, skin colored, massive old lady underwear and a cross your heart double Z bra.
In P’s room we will stow the luggage and all the cat things. Perhaps I need to check on E-bay for paraphernalia. Maybe I can borrow a cat tree from a neighbor and put that in his room. Again, live cats are still on the bargaining table.
I will need to acquire an immense amount of cat paraphernalia over the next 2 months. The first thing that came to me were cat pillows for some reason. I will buy the following products and stock in the boy’s bathroom: Hemmorhoid Suppositories, TENA Serenity Overnight Pads, past copies of AARP and Gold Bond.
When not wearing her signature moo-moo, I will have a Hanes sweatshirt with the most obnoxious cat image one has ever seen. I will pair this monstrosity with turquoise, elastic waist sweatpants, 1 size too small.
We will sit down at 4 for a hearty meal of peas and spaghetti noodles.
“I told Maude that because she is our guest, she gets to decide what was for dinner for the next few nights. Tomorrow is liver and onions. Now I don’t know how to make liver and onions but Maude has promised to show me”, I’ll say as I smile at Maude and the boys look at me horrified. I know it’s considered a talent to be able to cry on demand as an actor. I hope belching and farting on demand is an option too because I want Maude to do both during dinner.
After dinner, I think I’ll ask Maude to launch into a story that is not only unbearably long, but one that makes you feel extremely uncomfortable regarding the topic. I’m down with Maude adlibbing or I can create a story for her to memorize. I want it to be very Nutty Proffessor-esque when the family was sitting around the table discussing the topic of relations. I’m kind of going back and forth between an infected wart on her big toe or freezing her elder cat, C-Diddy.
I would now like to open the space up now for BAG LADY brainstorming, ideas and comments.
I come down today from my 30 minute make believe nap to discover the boys attempting to rip into their new drones. My husband went up to take a cat nap of 3 hours so I knew I would be the drone queen for the afternoon.
P was already screwing something to something on his drone while C risked slitting his wrist while opening his box with a knife.
“Oh sweetie, let me do that.” I say lovingly as I grab the knife. I take each item out of the box anxiously looking for the directions since I know zilch about drones.
Of coarse P is the older son and has a 98 page manual written in English, Spanish and French detailing every possible scenario that could happen with the drone including when it falls into the hands of a zombie.
C being the youngest son has an adorable pamphlet that folds twice failing to label the sole diagram of the drone. After checking the box twice and the table laden with legos and candy, I came to the conclusion this drone was specifically created for a physic or a rocket scientist. The average Joe would need to return it to Best Buy for a Walkman.
I had read up on drones paying special attention to an article labeled “5 things you should know before you buy a drone.” Things I found particularly interesting is entry level drones fly for an average of 8 minutes but then require 60 minutes of charging. Yes, because that’s practical with children. Something else I learned is the first order of business is to learn just to hoover 4′ above the ground.
20 minutes later P was throwing on his coat to go in our backyard and test his new toy. I was curious so I stood at the backdoor and watched. P placed the drone on the patio table, looked over at me and mouthed while using his left hand a 5 second countdown.
I grinned encouragingly at him excited to see this new found technology. By now C had joined me. All of a sudden we heard 3 beeps through the glass and up went the drone about 20′ over the patio. Then like P’s hopes that the Beat box at Christmas was going to be a drone, it all came crashing down. Suddenly I see 4 parts slamming down then jetting onto the grass.
Completely shocked by this development I scream “SHIT!” despite C standing next to me. I never curse in front of my children. I go running out to inspect the damage.
“Oh my God, what happened?”
“Ohhh, I forgot to screw in the blade guards. My bad.”
I didn’t have it in me to scold. I was working on a few hours of sleep due to the holidays and I just wanted to go inside. Fortunately nothing was broken. I took it upon myself to screw in the blade guards so this wouldn’t happen a second time.
C was up next. I trusted he had studied his pamphlet to guess what to do. Since he was only 7 I walked out with him to assist him and to ensure he didn’t hurt himself with a random blade or something.
“O.k baby, remember, hoover just 4′, o.k?” I asked.
“Yup!” He said excited.
He placed his drone on the grass and stepped back 2′.
“Baby, step back a few more feet. I don’t need that thing ripping off your face or something.” He smiled at this.
Like an Einstein, he beautifully elevated the drone just 2′. Hey, 4′ can wait, 2′ is good. But this was not an acceptable height for C.
All of a sudden the drone began to elevate now just as high as our shed. 12′ maybe? Then suddenly this devil machine shot up into orbit becoming smaller and smaller for the eye to see.
I went ballistic. “C! C! Stop it, not that high. Oh my God!!!!”
I could not believe how high these things could fly. I felt like I was in some futuristic movie or something. Then as fast as it shot up it came crashing down landing on it’s side up against our neighbor’s fence. The blades were still rotating and it almost looked like it was shaving off tiny pieces of the fence.
C went to grab it but like a rabid animal I pushed him out of the way and said “No! Don’t touch it.” I didn’t know if the blades could slice your fingers off and I wasn’t going to find out.
Like picking up a horseshoe crab, I took the remote from his hand and used the antenna to pick up the drone by carefully sliding it under one of the blade shields.
As we began to walk back to the house I asked C, “C, how big is 4′?”
He must of thought this whole event was funny because with a grin he quickly elevated his hand just above him.
“That’s right. So why did you send it to orbit?”
“It wouldn’t stop.” He responded. I rolled my eyes and let out a big exhale.
So today it’s pouring and will do so all day. You can’t get these things wet and the boys are dying to try again. I don’t know if I have the patience to watch this debacle again in action. God give me the strength for the Drone Wars.
Be honest, when you hear drone you think warfare or small villages being blown up? At least this was the zeitgeist a few years ago. Apparently, now they are overpriced toys you purchase on Christmas Eve at Best Buy because one child has one extra present more than the other and “everything has to be fare”.
So, both boys were now within $17 of each other. I thought this was pretty good. Secretly I knew my oldest would loose his shit when the youngest opened the drone that he was not getting. He wasn’t getting a drone because he wanted Beats. He had Beats already but chose those sports ones on the basis of “Lebron wears them.” I was done, over it, finito.
As C opened the drone P put his hands over his mouth in sheer disbelief as he began to tear up. Not because he was so happy for his brother but because of sheer jealousy.
“P, open your gift!” I said trying to diffuse the situation. As I reached for the Beats I realized in that instant that the box was the exact same size as the drone. He began to smile a ‘oh, there’s my drone. Shhheewww, you scared me for a second mom.’
As P opened his gift he was a little happy about the Beats but quietly devastated. He asked for a drone on Thanksgiving as we were combing through the black Friday ads. I had intentions on getting him one. C had asked for one too. As time went on, I never heard another word about the the drone. In fact I heard more about the Beats then the drone so overall I thought we were good.
As we went through the presents P came to the realization he wasn’t getting a drone and was fighting back tears. I felt like a complete ass hole and quickly racked my brain for a remedy.
‘Speedway is open on Christmas. Maybe they have a drone?’ was my first thought. ‘Hospital gift shop?’ Popped into my head.
I thought about posting the following on Facebook:
We have an emergency. Does anyone want to sell me their drone for $150? Private message me asap. Thanks in advance!
I came to the conclusion I had to do what I always said I wouldn’t. I scooted over to him (we were on the floor in front of the tree) and whispered in his ear, “tomorrow morning, first thing we’ll go get you a drone. Ok?”
I couldn’t help it. I caved. But I caved because one of my greatest fears happened on Christmas, my child was disappointed. That is like someone stabbing your heart. I think I told him this selfishly for my own mentality. He shook his head in agreement and grinned a little.
So today, after P’s ridiculously early soccer game (I’m certain the person doing the soccer scheduling does NOT celebrate Christmas) I hauled ass to Toys R Us. I dreaded it but to my surprise it was virtually empty. Since I’m such a tough mom, I did tell P he would have to put the 2 items he wanted to return towards the purchase of the drone. Since 1 was a gift from his cousin and we didn’t have a receipt I managed to get a lofty 11.76 back with tax to put towards the drone.
Tonight or tomorrow I will post about our first flying session from a few hours ago. Let’s just say C heard mommy curse for the first time and P saw what an adult meltdown looks like in it’s raw form.
I’m starting to loose my shit about Christmas. I’m behind schedule. I still have to buy a drone (never thought I would say that) and 1-2 lego sets. I’ve numbered the boys presents and keeping a careful watch on the # of presents each have to open because Lord knows if one has just one more than the other then suddenly the mound of gifts sitting behind them were all for nothing.
I have a younger sister by 8 years. I love her very much and she is my best friend. That being said, she is always late and never responds to texts. She has a live in boyfriend and they have 2 dogs to which they call their “fur babies”….ahem. After 4 texts asking her for a few Christmas ideas, she decides to bestow the following manifesto:
Taking a page from a guy’s handbook on Christmas shopping, I opt for the wine glasses. They will be affordable and it’s cut and dry on what it is. Trendy jewelry to one person may be complete trash to another.
I go online to order the wine glasses and find they are $14.95…a piece! A piece! Are they made out of glass from the 14 century? My idea of getting her 6 has now dwindled to 4. Initially I declined the 10% off offer in exchange for not having another e-mail come to my inbox. Hastily I cleared my cache and went back on the homepage again to retrieve the promo code. $14.95 has now gone down to $13.46. She’s still only getting 4. I also select the pickup in store which obviously means I was either drunk or insane during this choice being it was just 5 days before Christmas.
Today it was pouring so I thought this was a great day to go to an outdoor mall to get my sister’s wine glasses, 4 days before Christmas. I was excited to find that based on the WAZE app (GPS), I could get there within 14 minutes from work. Sweet!
I pulled out my phone to glance at the directions as I pulled out of the parking lot.
‘Hmm, that’s funny,’ I thought. My GPS signal must not be working yet. WAZE has a lot of roads I’ve never heard of before. I was clearly expecting to hit the highway.
I know there are many GPS systems out there. If you have the opportunity to select the option AVOID GHETTOS, I would make that change right now. Here is how you know you are in the ghetto:
Yes, if there is an internet cafe with a Mad Maxx vehicle in the parking lot, your probably not on 5th Avenue, Manhattan. Just sayin’.
I eventually made it to Easton at approximately 11:40 confident I had beat the lunch rush. I did not. I played chicken with multiple cars in the Barnes and Noble parking inventing new curse words for the stay at home moms and senior citizens that took my parking spaces. After a 133 yr old couple got into their Lincoln (aka Titanic) and pulled out, I officially had a spot. I truly felt like the shit.
5 minutes later I was the next one in line at Crate and Barrel when a 27 year old sales associate approached me.
“Can I help you?” she asked in a snotty voice. Like I was a pledge at her sorority.
“Yeah, I had an internet order I placed yesterday. It’s for 4 wine glasses.”
Princess Ass Hole turned around and typed a few things in her computer then turned back to me with a complete 180 change in behavior.
“Ok, let me go grab that box for you” she said smiling sweetly. Apparently her 2 weeks of seasonal training paid off because she found my box.
As I walked back to my car I snickered a little thinking about how much I have changed and how much my sister would eventually. My sister felt $15 wine glasses were practical. I once did a double take at my son’s toddler stacking cups 5 years ago wondering if I could pour wine in them since the wine glasses were in the dishwasher. Unfortunately no, there was a tiny hole in the plastic. Duck tape? I settled on a measuring cup.
Last year one night I was becoming increasingly frustrated that my boys did not find my Elf on the Shelf efforts good enough.
“Why didn’t Zipper move last night?”
“Why does Zipper only stay in the living room?”
Jesus! This wasn’t what was supposed to happen, we were to move it to a stationary area and that was that. No props, no notes, no scavenger hunts.
Out of anger I staged the following scenes. Again, if you are offended please look away now. Also to note, I’ve never used drugs in my life and never intend to. Just thought the one scene was pretty ironic and what you get after about 3 glasses of Cabernet.
So tomorrow I will post images of what my sons see. I can assure you they have never seen any of these pics. Good night!
I have developed a severe aversion to the Elf on the Shelf. I wanted to know who I had to thank for this creepy looking character so I did a quick search in Wikipedia and apparently it was created by a mother/daughter duo who brought the 2nd daughter into the business because of her marketing know how. Overall, I’m annoyed by the 3 of you.
The whole concept would have been fine if it would have stopped there- hide the elf somwhere. It didn’t stop there. Some bored mother(s) (and I’m sure a few fathers) “got creative” and ruined it for EVERY OTHER parent that actually has a lot of things to do….like work. They began to “stage scenes” with the Elf. Suddenly just throwing the elf on the mantle each night or on a Christmas tree branch wasn’t good enough and a signal for children’s services to pay you a visit.
The boys would come home and make comments like “Simon’s elf, Skittles, wrote his name in skittles” or “Thomas’s elf was hiding in their backyard and they had to follow a treasure map to find their elf.”
“Oh yeah? Well Zipper isn’t exactly a very active elf,” was my only response.
As their comments kept coming, I became more and more frustrated with the EOTS. On one of those particular nights my only response was,
“Oh yeah? I bet Johnny’s mother doesn’t have a job does she?”
Sure enough he nodded his head.
“There you go…there you go” I said very content with the answer.
We didn’t even have this little train wreck growing up. In fact, we had nothing that even resembled it. It was basically, “Santa is all knowing. Santa knows every God damn move you make so you better not fuck up.”
When did Santa become a corporation? Hiring middle manager Elves who “reported” to the CEO? Truly this has to be the equivalent of taking production overseas. Now you farm out your responsibilities to Elves? How did that interview go?:
Santa: Please give me a time when you thought outside the box Skittles.
Elf: That is an excellent question Mr. Clause. I would have to say when I took a king size bag of skittles and spelled my name with it.
Santa: What return on this investment did you have?
Elf: The mother’s self confidence went up by 22%.
Santa: Not the children?
Elf: slapping his leg. Hell no! She just saw it on Pinterest one evening hoping it would outdo her frienemies.