My Man is Better Than Your Man

It's been a while since I've posted and I know,  I know - you've missed me.   And I you.  But guess what? I've been busy, yo!  Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas and being the mother of a toddler can do that to a woman.  There are gatherings to attend, pictures to be taken and general craziness that ensues.  But I'm back and I'm in pensive mode.  With the holiday season pretty  much behind us and the new year looming, I've been ruminating on the things that mean the most to me and I've decided I need to give a shout out to the man that's made pretty much every great thing that's happened to me over the last two and a half years possible.  So sit down, buckle up and hang on.  I'm about to brag like a motherfucker about why my man kicks ass.  

Reason #1: He's Smart!

Ridiculously smart.  As in CERTIFIED MICROBIOLOGIST smart!  He's got brains practically falling out of his asshole.  And that's sexy as hell.  And yes, I realize how that visual looks.  

Reason #2:  He's Thoughtful!

He remembers anniversaries and what my favorite flowers are.   He listens when I speak.  He knows how to give gifts like I've never seen and they are ALWAYS appropriate.   I give you Exhibit A: 

He fucking GETS me. 

Reason #3:  He's Funny!

Sometimes it's intentional.  Sometimes it's not.   All of the time it's fucking hilarious.  Some of his more memorable gems:  

Me:  Nobody could survive that kind of jump. 

Him:  You could if you had an Adamantium asshole.  

(Watching X-Men Origins: Wolverine and Hugh Jackman has just jumped off of an insanely high waterfall)

Him:  I don't remember his name. Not Charles Barkley, but that other black guy that plays basketball.

Me: Ummmmmmmm........

(Trying to describe who a sports commentator is to me)

Me:  Justin Bieber has a new cologne out.  

Him:  I bet it smells like Jesus!! 

Reason #4:  He's a Great Father!

He adores our child.  And the feeling is totally mutual.  

 

Reason #5 (and I think this is the most important):  He Chose Me!

Who doesn't enjoy being loved????????  

Back off, bitches.  This one's mine. 

Because other people might find this conversation unsettling.

Have you ever found yourself laughing at something completely inappropriate and wishing you had someone who's sense of humor was as fucked up as yours that you could share said inappropriateness with?  No?  Well, fuck you.  I have such a friend. Her name is Jennie.  She is one of the only people in the world that I can have a conversation with like the one that follows and have it be classified as "normal" in our little worlds.    

The set up: I sent her (Jennie) a post from a blogger that we both really admire (hint:  it's The Bloggess (who, ironically, is also named Jenny).  You should read her stuff.  She's much funnier than I am.  In fact, skip my post altogether and go follow her.)  

It's exchanges like these that make me able to be at work for 8 hours a day and not go completely apeshit and try to burn my office building down. 

Me: Read this post of hers.  This particular one had me dying in my cubicle and people asking me if I was ok. 

Jennie:  She is such a good friend to us.

Me:  She really is.  She doesn't even know it, yet.  It'll be a glorious day when she can finally see us when we're not behind the telephoto lens.  We should probably tell her that the blue shirt makes her look fat*.   Or would that be too weird?

Jennie:  If your friends can’t be honest with you, who will?

Me:  That's right.  She must understand that we stalk, I mean observe, because we care.  Stalk is too harsh a verb.  

Jennie:  It’s only internet stalking so it doesn’t really count.  If we were in Texas on the other hand.

Me:  It's not like I want to put her in a hole in the ground and make her put lotion on herself. Although I just thought of a great idea for our first official group date.   Put the fucking lotion in the basket!

Jennie:  We can make skin clothes out of her that way. 

Me:  She just better not hurt my dog**. 

*The Bloggess is totally not fat.  She's made of rainbows.  And unicorns.  And I think a griffin.  Or is it a sphinx?  I'm waiting for the lab work to come back.  

**For those confused with the references, watch this.  And get your ass in the 21st century, Philistine. 

(P.S. Seriously, if you ever read this Jenny (The Bloggess), we mean you no harm.  We're just big fans with an extremely warped sense of humor.   You wouldn't happen to be willing to help me put my couch in a van, would you?)

!!UPDATE - The Conversation Continues!!:  The comments that followed this blog were just another shining example of the insanity that passes for regular conversation between Jennie and I that I had to add them to the body of the post.  Enjoy! 

Jennie:   Devon, you are dangerously close to blowing the cover on Operation Polyandry Sandwich.  You better hope she doesn't read this or else our mission might fail.  It was foolproof.  

Me:  Well MAYBE if you hadn't referred to the Operation and PRETENDED like we were talking about the band, this whole thing would still fly under the radar.  Who's stirring the turd now?!

Jennie:  Look who's calling the kettle stoned.  I'm not the one who brought up the van OR The Bloggess Skin Shoes.  

Me:  Who mentioned Skin Shoes?  That's right.  You did.  Your move.  

Jennie:  Okay, okay, okay.  I may have brought it up but NOT in a public forum.  That was all you babycakes.  And maybe I didn't specify "shoes" privately but knowing me the way you do, you knew "shoes" was implied.  

Me:  Touche. 

My next job description needs to include the words "cut a bitch".

At my current job, I have a lot of time on my hands.  And by a lot, I mean 7.5 hours out of my day.  Couple that with an almost insane desire to be rich and famous and drunk, throw in a friend who wishes the exact same thing, and guess what happens? 

Magic.  That's what happens.  

So, for those of us who dare to dream of the red carpets, rehab and getting paid to party, my friend and I give you The Socialite Pledge of Allegiance. In the name of Paris Hilton, amen.

Place your right hand over your Britney (socialite speak for your cheechaw - may you flash it whenever possible) and repeat after me:

 

 

I pledge allegiance to Perez and the United Hills of Hollywood. And to the nightclub, in
which I'll fall, one nation, under glitter, incoherently, with 3 snaps
and a wave to the papz.

Thank you Glitter God!!

But never too drunk to cut you.

Dictatorship never looked so adorable.

Meet your future world leader:   

 

Surprise!  I own you!

That smoochable little creature is my daughter, Piper.  Or as you will soon refer to her, Grand Master Cutie Pants.   From the moment she came into this world, she has captivated everyone around her and has convinced even the grumpiest of grumpuses to do her bidding.  

You, paparazzo, will pay  the price for your insolence.

Being a mother was never anything I envisioned for myself.  Now that I am one, it's something that I can't imagine NOT doing.  It's the most frustrating, the most stressful, but ultimately, the most rewarding experience I have ever had in my entire life.  The sleepless nights, the crying jags, the temper tantrums are all rendered pointless when she gives me just one smile.  

Even an evil smile will do.

So prepare for the future.  You will be seeing a lot more of this face in days to come. 

That's right.  Worship me. 

These are a few of my favorite things....that will earn you a swift kick in the 'nads and/or ovaries.

"Funner" - Use of this "word" makes me want to bleed from the ears and it takes all of my willpower not to strike you in the face with my righteous fist of proper vocabulary.   If you see me raising my hand after you use this, your best bet would be to duck.  But it probably won't help. 

"Supposably" - No, no, no, NO!  The word is, has and always will be "supposedly".  A certain love of my life uses this on a nearly constant basis and the only thing I can think of when he says it is "Thank Jebus he's pretty".

"Aweful" - Maybe you mean to say "full of awe", but chances are you don't.  It's "awful" and you shouldn't be allowed to leave your house if you don't know how to spell it correctly.

"LOL" - While you may be "laughing out loud" on occasion, excessive use of this abbreviation has more than a fair chance of causing me to never again engage with you in a text-based conversation and will force me to repeatedly bang my head against the nearest blunt object until I give myself a concussion.   Nobody laughs that much unless they're in a straight jacket and a padded room.  

Misspellings of any kind - In this day and age, with all of the gadgetry and hoo-ha available to the masses, ANY misspellings, grammar errors, punctuation mistakes, etc., should be non-existent.  Don't know how to spell a word?  That's what Google is for.  Unsure of how to construct a sentence?  There's about a million different programs available to you (for free even, you cheap bastard!) that will enable your written works to look as if they were heaved forth from the Bard's sanctified asshole itself.   The fact that there are thousands of emails/essays/blog posts/status updates that show otherwise proves that most are too stupid/lazy/douche-baggy to care.  These people should be rounded up and and put into camps where they're forced to repeat every English class in the history of forever until it's branded into their brains for good. 

That's my rant.  Class dismissed. 

FYI (a.k.a. Someone Has a Case of the Mondays)

So this morning at work, I may or may not have forwarded to my entire department (including the VP) an email conversation between my friend and I wherein she asked me what was worse - that she had a croissant that tasted like semen or that, once finding that her croissant tasted like man juice, she proceeded to finish the thing.  I also may or may not have included the response to that email wherein I called her a whore. 

The best part is that I may or may not have put FYI in the body of the forward.   As if to allegedly say  "Just so you know, my friend ate a jizz flavored bread product and I think she's a hooker for doing so.  Enjoy your day."  

Is it time to go home yet??  

You're Welcome

I'm here to talk to you about a very real danger. It could be lurking in your closet, under your bed, even in your bathtub. Through awareness and vigilance, we can stop this menace in its tracks.

That's right. I'm talking about monsters.

You may not have seen the monsters lurking in your home, but let me assure you, they are there. Let us discuss the top three types of monsters and what can be done to ensure that you and your loved ones do not become another statistic in the monster/human conflict.

• Type 1: Bathtub Monsters

These are the least scary (but still dangerous) member of the monster family. Usually some toys, water, and a little soap and shampoo will do the trick in transforming these terrifying creatures into something less appalling (i.e. your child). A regular ritual of cleansing will ensure that this particular type of scourge will never darken your door. However, if unattended, the bathtub monster will assault your senses with foul odors and wreak havoc on your carpets and furniture.

• Type 2: Under the Bed Monsters

This type of monster is a bit trickier than its cousin, the bathtub monster. Lurking under your bed, this rapscallion will take any opportunity to jump out and grab your feet when least expected (or use its mind powers to make you THINK that it will do this), causing sleeplessness, which in turn leads to increased carelessness, doltishness and other -ness's. Clever use of socks and never, EVER leaving your feet uncovered will help to neutralize this obnoxious offender.

• Type 3: Closet Monsters

The worst of all the monster species, this horrific creature waits patiently in your closet for you to fall asleep before eating you, bones and all. The ONLY way to avoid this monster is to make sure all closet and bathroom doors are closed TIGHTLY before closing your eyes. Due to the length of their claws and lack of opposable thumbs, the closet monster cannot turn door knobs (or play video games, but that's for another post). However, if doors are not shut tightly or left open, the clothes in the closet will begin to dance, thereby hypnotizing you to sleep and BAM! That will be the end of you.

Please help me spread the word about the monster scourge. Let us not lose anyone else to this terrible affliction. Thank you for letting me play. Goodnight. 


Monster Update 2011:  Great.  Now we have *this* to deal with.  Will the conflict never end?!!!!!!!