Um, I’m gonna be honest here.

Seldom do my weekend plans include anything but sweatpants and chinese food.

The highlight is usually Sundays, when I get productive, and I’m all, ok, I am totally going to shower and shave something today.

Whether I actually do it or not is regardless.  The point is, the initiative was there…buried under those yummy, hard chow mein noodles that you never think you want, but then you end up eating the whole bag.

But, last Thursday, I had a plan:  Piss the day away until midnight, when I would then glitter up and go see New Moon.

But then, I had a 10pm radio interview.

Ok fine, my devotion to the undead will be just as evident if I go Friday morning.

Except, come Friday morning?  I was the undead.  My head was pounding, my ears were all echo-y, my eyes were watering, and my nose was completely plugged up.  Both nostrils.  HOW IS THAT EVEN ALLOWED!?

I would have totally still gone to the movie, except that I was coughing up a storm, and when I cough, I pee a little (a lot).  And, I could’ve totally just worn a pad or one of Gigi’s diapers, but that would be bulky, and for Edward, I wear the skinny jeans.

Fine, universe, way to be a douche bag.

New plan:  Saturday, after the Buckeyes win, after my hot wing and tacos nap, I was going to see New Moon.  I don’t even care if my pants don’t zip (updated: they don’t).

***Alright, here is the part of the post where I zip away to something seemingly irrelevant at this time, but then totally makes sense at the end.  My life is a Quentin Tarentino movie.

My two year old likes to empty things.  Cups.  Tubes of toothpaste.  Pitchers of red kool aid.

He’s a dumper.

He spills stuff everywhere, and there is a lot of cussing involved.***

So, it’s Saturday night, and I am getting ready for the movie.

A real movie, that’s not animated, and I don’t have to share my popcorn or my drink, or threaten anybody to shut the fuck up because, OMG, this movie cost $10 a person, I don’t care how bad you have to poop, just sit in it.

My dad came over to watch the kids, and I was in the bathroom, dry shaving my armpits with baby lotion and a dull razor, when I heard a loud thud, which shockingly, did not make me react in absolutely any fashion.

That’s how awesome of a mom I am, folks.

So then, my dad is all, ooouuuccchhhh, and I am like, OMG, is my dad having a heart attack?  Am I never meant to see this fucking movie?

So I ran in my bedroom where the boys were playing with empty shot gun shells, and my dad is on the ground.

He slipped on something and hit the back of his head on my night stand.

Now, I could draw this out with italicized dialogue, or I could just come out with it.

My son emptied an entire bottle of KY Yours & Mine lube on the ground.

My dad slipped in it.

OMG, I almost killed my dad because I don’t know how to put away $24 sex jelly.

I told him it was pee.

My dad was like, it’s pretty thick to be pee, and I was like, oh, we eat a lot of carbs, and I left the room.

I find if you present people with really stupid explanations for things, and then walk away from them, they have no choice but to stop questioning you about it like the fucking gestapo.

So then, I went to the theater, and I had to wait in a super long, cattle like line, to even get into the movie.  Which made me thankful I got the bigger popcorn.  For sustenance.

Besides my mom, and this creepy guy in a wheelchair with a young boy on his lap, I was the oldest person there, and the teenage girls behind me were horrible.

“Gay.”  “Retarded.”  “Fag.”

Who thinks using these words is ok?

So, I spent my time giving them the stink eye and questioning the authenticity of their Walmart knock off Uggs.

But then, a boy walked by in skinny jeans, and they flat out called him a “queer” and “fag,” out loud, as he walked by.

First of all, I thought all boys wore skinny jeans now a days, isn’t it a Jonas Brothers thing?  Are they not in anymore?  What about the Real Worlders on the MTV, don’t they wear them?

Second, that did it, because now I had to yell at her.

So I was like, who do you think you are that makes you think you can speak to someone that way, and even if he is gay, he’ll still probably have more boyfriends than you.

And then, my mom made me leave the line, because I was about to call her ugly, and my mom said you can’t talk like that to teenage girls because they will cut themselves.

I am pretty sure I scared her so bad she started her period.

I hate that I was holding the large popcorn when I yelled at her, because now when she retells it, I’ll be the crazy lady with mom hair that was eating a gigantic popcorn like some kind of cow.


I need to plan this shit out better next time, and make my mom hold the popcorn.


Oh, and Team Edward.

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