Tag: humour

What a Deal!

Have you been looking to expand your family? No? Well, let’s say you want to expand your army of tiny people for garden gnomes or Civil War reenactment or world domination or whatever. I don’t know your life or hobbies. Look no further! I have just the thing for you.

I will grant you, she’s not mint condition. She’s been out of the box almost two years. She runs like a dream, though, if your dreams involve cheetahs on methamphetamines. Appearance is mostly good, aside from a few dings here and there (which will probably buff right out) and a haircut that took place over the course of a week and forty episodes of Bubble Guppies.

Aside: What the fuck is wrong with that show? Don’t give me that “guppies” bullshit. I know what a guppy looks like and I know what a mermaid looks like and I will not be hoodwinked just because mermaids are apparently copyrighted or no one at Nickelodeon could be bothered to Google basic marine life. Also, they have water balloons and campfires so are they or are they not underwater? I lie awake at night wondering about this.

Where was I?

Oh, right. Care and feeding. This is not at all difficult. Basically her favourite food is whatever you had the previous night and she fed to the dog. You might be fooled into thinking that her asking for a particular food means she will eat that food, but you really can just save yourself the time and squish it between your own fingers before throwing it in the trash. Of course this does not hold true for fresh fruits and berries. The more expensive and out of season, the faster they will disappear into her tiny gullet. “No matter,” you think. “We have an orchard in sunny California.” Well, I hope you also have a cat because now cat hair is her favourite food, unless of course it’s on tonight’s menu.

She comes with all her own clothes and toys and books, so you don’t need to worry about that. I hope you like Dr. Seuss, because you’ll be reading Green Eggs and Ham fifteen times a night! Hahahaha, I’m only kidding. I don’t give a shit if you like Dr. Seuss or not.

I am happy to say that she is super smart. You might think this means she is exceptionally trainable, but people think all sorts of wrongheaded things, don’t they? Anyway, she knows all about trapezoids and the alphabet so if that’s useful to you when you’re figuring out how to reset your phone’s language to English, have at it. If you can figure out the context of her whole monologue about birds and ghosts in her room, let me know because I am thisclose to posting a separate ad for an exorcist.

If you have some level of hearing loss or, failing that, are used to the piercing shrieks of birds of prey, this could be just the kid you’re looking for. Don’t contact me tonight, because she is currently a sleeping cherub surrounded by golden light and the laughs of fairies. Wait until her inevitable transformation into a demon ferret by lunchtime tomorrow.

Call me!

A Marriage as Told Through Text Messages

Is that set to record later?
It is! You want me to record it in HD? I know it has that guy you like
No, that’s okay
He’s cute but he’s not like high def cute

I’m watching Away From Her and it’s so sad and OH MY GOD JUST COME HOME
What’s that movie about?
Gordon Pinsent and Julie Christie have been married for over 40 years and he has to put her in a nursing home because of worsening dementia, and then she forgets him
WHY WOULD YOU WATCH THIS
IT’S REALLY GOOD THOUGH
THAT’S BASICALLY THE SAD DENOUEMENT OF BABAR
CLOSE YOUR EYES AND THAT’S WHAT IT IS
FUCK YOU DON’T BRING THAT FUCKING ELEPHANT INTO THIS

Someone at work wants your fudge recipe
My fudge recipe?!
My closely guarded fudge recipe?!
That’s an old family secret
You got that off the internet
Well
Someone’s family

I’ll call you later or tell you about it when you get home. It defies what I can do with this tiny keyboard
What’s the gist of it?
Damn, there’s no tire fire emoji
But imagine a tire fire

What did the pirate say on his 80th birthday?
I don’t want to do this with you today
“AYE MATEY!”
I want a divorce and I want it now

I love you 🙂 ❤
Did you know that Ace of Base started as a neo-Nazi band?
I love you too, also

I cannot believe that there have been this many incidents since April 3rd
We still have stuff in our fridge from April 3rd
That’s worrying
On both counts

DO YOU THINK I DON’T HEAR YOU LISTENING TO RICHARD MARX DOWN THERE
DO YOU KNOW HOW THAT HURTS ME
It wasn’t Richard Marx, I swear!
(It was Dan Hill)
Not better
In fact, worse
It beggars belief that I married someone with your taste in music
The honesty’s too much 😥

It finally happened
She pooped in the tub
It was like time slowed down, as though a car accident were about to happen
And suddenly it was over
I am not the same man you saw before you left for work
I have gazed into the abyss
And it has gazed back
new number who this

I have to head to a meeting but in case you needed to hear it today, I am very glad I met you
Are you? Still? That’s sweet 🙂 
Is this a lead-in to a “…but stop making those horrible dad jokes?”
No, actually
I’m hoping the shock collar is going to take care of the worst of it
The what?
Meeting’s starting! Love you!

Swear Jar

In recent years, I’ve given up a lot of things that are bad for me. Vodka is no longer part of this balanced breakfast. Cigarette smoke nauseates me. Flings with emotionally manipulative commitmentphobes would probably put a serious damper on my marriage. With the exception of watching the Spongebob trailer and wishing that it had come out at a time when I partook of the odd hallucinogenic substance, I’ve pretty much moved on from most of my truly bad habits.

The swearing? Not so much.

I can tone it down in small bursts if I really need to. No elderly person has never heard me say anything stronger than “Heavens to Betsy!” and I managed to refrain from using the F-word in my wedding ceremony even once. In daily life, however, the air around me is often as blue as the liquid they use in pad commercials. (I don’t know why they use blue, but make no mistake, if I started menstruating antifreeze, you can bet they’d hear the swearing for miles.)

You can probably guess that this presents a problem with my daughter. At almost four months old, her babbles haven’t produced anything like a word, but the threat looms large of one day receiving the call from daycare about my kid telling some other poor innocent tyke not to be such a fucking shitlord at circle time. Even if said tyke is being a fucking shitlord, I can’t have that. My late grandmother’s skeleton would spin so fast it would drill to the earth’s core and destroy us all.

I have to do better.

To do this, I have to recognize the situations that trigger me to be my very worst. Let me think.

cookingThis is not so bad. I can manage most basic dishes with only the barest of muttered threats. Keep the volume low, avoid pastry at all costs, and we’re golden.

injuryDepends highly on the injury. A paper cut barely rates a “shit” while a stubbed toe can push us into R-rated territory fast. Let’s give me the benefit of the doubt and go with a solid 2.5 with the possibility of up to 4. Extenuating circumstances, though, right? Even the most judgmental mommy group could probably give me a pass for things said when stepping on a Lego or Littlest Pet Shop. I managed childbirth without an epidural but I have my limits.

drivingThis is where we run into real trouble. I cannot stop driving places with my child, and neither can I stop yelling at all the stupid dicktrumpets on the road. Pulling up to my bumper and honking at me at a red light is likely to make me envision pulling your urethra out and garotting you with it. This town is full of men who are compensating for their easily bruised sense of masculinity with giant lifted Dodge Thundercock 8000 trucks that are wild and free and cannot be contained in a single lane or parking space. There has not been a day of my residence here where I haven’t used the phrase “entitled fuckshoe” or “shit-for-retinas assbaskets” in a parking lot. The fact that I’ve been driving for thirteen years and have somehow maintained a clean criminal record is nothing short of an actual miracle.

Better start preparing for the call from the school now. Fuck.

games-1“No, honey, Mommy doesn’t know how to play Crazy Eights.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, Mommy has a lifetime ban on playing Monopoly.”

“You go ahead and play Mario Kart with Daddy, pumpkin. Mommy got excommunicated from the Catholic church last time.”

Perfect. Well-adjusted childhood, here we co–

“Mama, look! Caillou is on!”

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

 

Madam, Your Baby is Drunk

When I was pregnant, I lost count of how many people told me how to prepare for childbirth. Some insisted that the only way was to have as little intervention as possible (“I tell you, anything other than an island yurt with a whale as your doula just feels unnatural.”). Others urged me to take advantage of all the advances of modern medicine (“Listen to me. LISTEN TO ME. You get all the drugs. Find out if your insurance covers crystal meth and if it doesn’t, text me with the code word ‘Heisenbirth’ and I’ll hook you up.”). On one memorable occasion, a cashier went into great detail about her daughter-in-law’s perineum splitting like a banana peel while I nodded and wondered what I had done to deserve this when all I wanted was to buy my Raisin Bran and vanish into thin air. But if there was one thing they all agreed on, it was that there was no way on earth to prepare for the early days of parenthood.

Honestly, I’ve found the reverse. Nothing on earth could have readied me for the sensation of wanting, needing, to shit out all my internal organs and eternal soul in one otherwordly groaning push, but if I had to prepare a scared pregnant woman on how to handle new motherhood, I know just what I’d say.

Have you ever been the person taking care of a really drunk friend? It’s kind of like that. Let me walk you through it.

“That’s such a cute outfit. Let me take a picture. Hang on, it’s blurry. Let me try again. Still blurry, hon. Stop moving around so much. Open your eyes. No, both eyes. You know what? This is fine. This is as good as it’s going to get.”

“Sweetheart, I don’t know why you’re crying. Everything’s okay. Listen, your favourite song is on! Come on, let’s dance! See, now don’t we feel better? Doesn’t Uptown Funk make everything better?”

“Okay, honey, we’re just going to take this bottle– you haven’t had enough? You seem like you’ve had enough. Alright, fine, but you’re going to– yep, there’s the puke. On my shirt. Thank you for that.”

“Where did your other shoe go? You were wearing two shoes five seconds ago and now it’s nowhere in sight. No. No, don’t cry. It’s okay. We’ll find it.”

“I have no idea what you’re laughing at but clearly you’re amused and not crying so we’re just gonna go with it.”

“You can’t sleep there. Yes, I know my shoulder is comfortable, but wouldn’t a bed be so much more comf– aaaaaand she’s out. And drooling.”

Now, imagine doing this while you feel as hungover as you have ever been in your life during the worst period you can imagine. Like Jose Cuervo skullfucked you and left you in the hotel from The Shining with the blood elevator.. Only you’re not hungover, you just haven’t slept in a week and you’ve been sewn together in places you didn’t realize you had while you’re sitting on a pad thicker than a futon mattress.

It’s like that. But it does get better.

Your drunk friend is a lot of fun.