Boobs In Exchange For Technical Support. Please Help!

OK, I'm reaching out to my "tech" readers on a problem I still have when clicking on some of my favorite blogs.

For example, Mental Poo. Same thing with Swirl Girl.

Here's the title on the error page I get:

Error on page: "googleads.g.doubleclick.net..............................................." And then below this I usually get "Error 403" or "Error 400".

So, my assumption is that something in my own computer settings is blocking access to these sites, and I'm wondering if it has something to do with google ads????? If I access these sites from other computers, I can get through with no problems.

I've cleaned my cache and cookies under Internet Options.

Can ANYONE out there suggest something else??? I am in serious need of some mental poo.

I'll even post a picture of my boobs if someone can help me fix this issue.

Just kidding honey!

How does Obama's speech get me thinking about shower curtains and baby oil?

So after a full day of cleaning kid puke and watching hours and hours and hours and hours, oh - sorry - and hours of Nickelodeon cartoons I finally got the kids to sleep and realized a stranger of a man sitting on the exact couch I had secretly planned to curl up on in order to temporarily die.

Holy shit, I forgot I actually have a husband. These days, I am past the point of sanity and have entered a world of chaos infested with puke bacteria that just won't die. I would totally suck as a full-time stay at home mom. God bless all of you that do this on a regular basis. I had a 30 minute conversation with my mom asking her how in God's name could people not only stay home, but institute home schooling as well. Are they insane? Are they serious? Or am I literally just a ruthless selfish bitch of a mother craving coital activity with my manly husband more than once a week?

[Did you like that world coital? I LOVE that word. It reminds me of how my mom might refer to "sex" if she could ever talk out loud about such a subject.]

So, I'm trying to get back to the point of this dreadful post [please people, my kid is home sick yet again today and I just yelled at her that if she's sick but not puking chunks than she's well enough to sit on the damn couch alone because Mommy has a lot of important shit to do like attempting lame blog posts and googling tips on how not to insult lame ass interviewers as I obviously did last week]...

As I snuggled into that hot thing of a man on the infamous "death" couch I was talking about, we prepared ourselves to watch Obama. This is how in sync we are, which is scary. At about 9:28, about 10-15 minutes into Obama's actual speech, Mark's spoken words were literally the exact thoughts going through my mind:

"That fucking line underneath the word "TO" keeps disappearing every so often. It's driving me CRAZY."

silence.

Holy shit. I couldn't even say anything, because I swear I was thinking the EXACT same thing.

Never mind this recession that has cut our household income by like 6+ digits, and never mind Obama's plan to create new jobs, implement tax cuts or improve education in this country for our kids... the monitor's caption of the President's speech was all we could pay attention to. For those of you who were probably listening to what Obama was actually saying, here's what I'm referring to:

The light cuts into it a bit, but the word "to" had an underline, which after careful monitoring and timing by counting "One Mississippi, two Mississippi..." [a minimum of 3-4 times to ensure accuracy], would disappear every 10 seconds. Suddenly it would flash back on the screen and cause the two of us to initiate the counting once again. A simple validation that the two of us are total lame asses. Especially because we thought it was funnier than shit.

So that's where my ability to self entertain is these days. I feel trapped in a house where all I can do is continue to spray Lysol in the hopes that I dare not pick up this bug to ruin the upcoming weekend where all kids retreat to their other parents homes. 48+ hours of total peace. Whoo Hoo baby. Remember that shower curtain and baby oil?

That's all I'm sayin'.

The Four Words a Mom Hates To Hear

I feel guilty for my recent absence. While I have several posts brewing in draft mode, I haven't been successful in google results to add that "perfect photo" for a few of them which to me, seems to tie things all together.

Today would be different she thought to herself. She created a list of to-do things and was ready to tackle the day. And then it happened.

6:21 am: The bedroom door bursts open, as she attempts to pry open one eyelid...


and then, she hears those four fucking words every mom dreads hearing from a child...

"MOM. I'M. GONNA. PUKE."

So here begins her day, with this being all I got for a post. A lousy excuse as to why I hope to be here bright and cheery tomorrow.

A new day.

Cheers.

Why my husband and I are 'almost' brilliant and at the same time still exhausted.

This past week was pure exhausting. And while I'm not so sure that the kids' mid-winter school break set me off to the point of running to my local Target to apply as an hourly cashier, whatever one might consider to be one level away from that pretty much says how I "just barely" managed.

After 7 days at home with four munchkins [intertwined with a surprise interview mid-week, which basically put me over the edge] my husband and I pulled out that infamous can of Whoop-Ass 101 that we've been practicing with. This is something we save for dyer emergencies, and if asked about early on Saturday morning, my response would have been that we are "absolute genius".

I decided to take some time away from blogging, while my husband and I kicked our feet back and watched TV while snacking on chocolates and wine as the rest of the gang proceeded to execute Whoop-Ass 101 drills.

Take a look:

OK. So I lied.

While these are actual photos of our real children, I would like to notify any parent taking Whoop-Ass 101 drills into consideration that THIS IS NOT RELAXING.

And it does not give you any free time. It only triples the time that normal cleaning would take you alone, and is filled with turn-taking, arguments about who gets to mop, clean windows and vacuum while all that really results are streaked windows, dirty paper towels being dropped throughout your entire house and moldings covered in blue and red window paint from being inappropriately doused with too much water.

So while I would like to blog more creatively today, I can't because I will be spending the entire day cleaning up Whoop-Ass.

Shit.

How NOT Working Can Kill You

Trip to Howes Caverns... $122

Babysitter to make last minute job interview today... $45

Gas to fill tank... $37

Passing out from exhaustion after putting kids to bed... Priceless.

Promise to be back at commenting real soon!

Who are you people and where is my family?

So, it's February break here in New York State which basically means to hell with parents who usually have other things going on in their lives, as most do any other week of the year. Fortunately as a new "unemployed" victim of only 2 weeks now, I have the wonderful opportunity to be locked up with four "can't-do-anything-on-my-own-but-tattletale" kids this week. Hoo - fucking - Rah.

Oh, and did I mention my gorgeous and entertaining husband

is home til 2:30 each day to help out?

See, here is basically what my morning consisted of:

My Husband, In Character...

And if you didn't notice, that's supposed to be a character sticking out his tongue with a scarf around its neck... don't you see the black eyes and nose? Do you get it now? No???

So then of course: Like Father, Like Son

And God forbid my youngest doesn't jump right in... here ya go:

Yeah, they are on the top stair mocking an entire play

upside down. This went on for almost an hour.

I repeat: Send. Help. Now. P.L.E.A.S.E.

PS...just got a call tonight around 5:30 to drive an hour and a half tomorrow for a 4pm interview - just after we promised the kids to take them on a tour of Howes caverns located an hour and a half in the OPPOSITE direction of my interview destination. Driving, hiking, driving, suit on, driving, interviewing, driving.

Shit. My life sucks. Royally.

A Message From Your Local Broadcasting System

******************************

We would like to take this time to interrupt our normal blogging station to report a massive disturbance on this sites regular publication...

******************************

School's out for a week,

and we have been infested by FOUR 2-legged boogers,

ages 5 -9.

Please.

Send.

Help.

NOW.

Best Pirate Joke and Why I love my Husband

This is in honor of my husband. And this is why I love him.

For the past week, he's proudly been telling a new joke he heard on the TV series "My Name is Earl". He laughs harder each time he tells it, which makes it impossible not to roll your eyes and keep a straight face.

This weekend, we were wandering through Home Goods and my husband disappeared. When I turned around to call his name, this is what I saw:

Here's his joke:

A pirate walks into a bar with a ship's wheel sticking out of the fly of his pants.

Bartender says, "Hey Man, you have a ship's wheel sticking out of your pants."

Pirate Replies [cue pirate accent here for full effect]: "Arrrrrrrgh , I know. It's driving me nuts."

PS... he's laughing as I read this to him...... Men.

Love you baby. xo

Stoned Kid After Dentist - YOU MUST WATCH THIS!

Since I haven't figured out how the hell to attach a you-tube video,

I'm attaching the below link for your viewing pleasure.

If you have kids or know anyone that does, you have got to watch this.

It's absolutely hysterical. I seriously never laughed so hard.

Stoned kid after visiting dentist.

Happy Friday.

Click HERE

Now go join in on the fun over at Candid Carrie's Friday Foto Fiesta.

Room Parent Etiquette and Why I Want to Kill You

Dear Mother of K.P. in my daughter's 1st Grade Class,

I obviously know you have emotional issues as you refuse to call me back after leaving a message around us working better together on future parties. I realize for many it is difficult to have an adult conversation. Some parents are incapable of this and choose to ignore and retreat to their own little world, and obviously you fall into this class. Therefore, I will send you this letter, hoping that somehow it reaches you, so we can nip this in the bud once and for fucking all.

My thoughts [aside from wanting to kill you] :

1. Usually when one parent tells another not-so-excited-but-felt-guilty-because-absolutely-no-one-else-volunteered room parent that she wants "NOTHING TO DO WITH CALLING OTHER PARENTS BUT IS HAPPY TO SEND IN PARTY ITEMS" means exactly just that. And usually, when a teacher calls that not-so-excited room parent at the beginning of the year to thank her for volunteering while emphasizing that K.P.'s mom doesn't wish to be "in charge" of organizing events but is willing to help send items in, once again, to normal people it simply means just that.

2. I should have known something was not right when I called you the first time asking if you had any ideas on how you would prefer we work together on these parties and all you could answer was "I REFUSE TO EVER SEND CHEESE AND CRACKERS IN BECAUSE I DID THAT LAST YEAR AND ALL THE KIDS HATED IT." [For future reference, probably not worth allowing a bunch of smelly, germ-infested 6 year olds get the best of you, k?]

3. You did not want to be communicated to by e-mail with the rest of us, so I have attempted to call you prior to each and every party. Why the fuck is it that you make up your own party rules and send in pretty much 100% of list items to the teacher a month ahead of time without calling the other three moms to simply communicate this?

K.P.'s Mom

4. Do you realize that we could literally give a rats ass if you'd like to be Supermom Room Parent this year as we actually work and have more important things to do like shop and blog about how people like you bug the fucking shit out of us? Believe it or not, we could care less about baking homemade cookies, buying lame ass items for goodie bags which will just be thrown out later, and aren't really into undermining other class moms who simply just want to help make a teacher's life a tad bit easier. Knock your fucking socks off bitch, but god forbid, just tell us so we're not wasting our precious time e-mailing, coordinating and purchasing shit that's no longer needed because you have made the decision to do everything on your own through "notes" only to the teacher.

5. Did you know that being a room parent usually means "helping" a teacher's life become just a tad bit easier? Reducing work load? Minimizing responsibility so she can concentrate on more important things? Cooperating and coordinating among other parents? Do you know what synergistic effects are? Do you know that room parents who attend parties but stand directly next to only their child the entire time without making contact with anyone else are fucking also called "dead-beat room parents"? Why don't you help pour some fucking juice, or help with hand sanitizer or actually pretend to care by listening and chatting with the regular 7 or 8 kids who gravitate to any adults pant legs each and every party craving even the slightest amount of attention because they obviously don't get it at home?

6. I have ruled out physical handicap on your part. I actually thought you might be deaf. Especially after you hung up on me after calling you about the Christmas party simply to let you know that since the teacher e-mailed me to say you had already sent in 6 of the needed items, the other 3 of us would be taking care of what was left. Why did that piss you off? Seriously? Why couldn't you just say "Great, no problem. Thanks Sue."

7. Your false act of naivety around room parenting experience was blown when you got into that argument with the cafeteria worker at Thanksgiving Feast over your harvest themed confetti you so much wanted to sprinkle all over the table "since the kids absolutely loved it last year". Seriously, do you really think the kids would give a rats ass if there was "harvest" themed confetti on the fucking table when the main conversation that day was around which kid got to help scoop the runny mashed potatoes to their classmates? And the way that cafeteria worker looked at you and stood her ground only goes to show that you did NOT stay to sweep after last year's feast and instead left their school cafeteria floor to be infested with confetti for months to follow.

So now that I feel just a little better, I am not looking forward to helping with my own kid's party this Friday because you can not be an adult and deal with this issue. I am sorry to say that I have had it up to here with getting e-mails from the teacher telling me what K.P.'s mom sent in, and how K.P.'s mom wants to bake the same cookies I so responsibly and proudly already ordered from Sam's Club, and how K.P.'s mom is wondering this or is wondering fucking that. Are you kidding me? Grow up bitch. Get a fucking job so that you can concentrate on something else other than annoying the shit out of your poor little kids' teachers. Or simply take charge for the rest of the year, and leave me out of it, or tell me what to send in. But do not play these games with me. You will fucking regret it. B'YOTCH.

Cheers,

S.N.'s Mom

COITUS INTERRUPTOUS: Why NOT to let a gypsy into your home.

Dear Eldest Daughter of Just 9:

I feel compelled to write this letter to you. I am torn between sadness and empathy for you and outright selfishness at this time. I realize a parent's job is to comfort and console their child at times of fear, and I also realize our job is to act as a "teacher". However, Mom fucked up and while I offered an apology and tried to use what happened last night as a teaching lesson for all of us, there is no reason you needed to wake up 17 times and cry that you were petrified that the "gypsies" would come back. Especially in the midst of the heated sex session that was just under way in your mom and step-dad's locked bedroom.

Yes, mommy has always taught you "Never Talk To Strangers", and even more importantly, "NEVER Let A Stranger Into Your Home". However in the midst of all the chaos in the house which was filled with almost a million people at the time, including your step dad the police officer and several other big, burly men including your Uncle "H", Mommy fell for the Gypsy's pitch. Can you give your mom a fucking break please and get over it? Believe me, I couldn't help to notice how as I opened the front door you questionably clung to my shirt sleeve in curiosity and nervousness, but how could Mommy not listen to a genuine lady's new business premier and miss this one time special for a free carpet cleaning in the room of my choice at 7:30 at night? I mean, ALL the neighbors are doing it, right? Didn't you SEE that list of handwritten names and phone numbers she flashed in front of me for a split millionth of a second? Jeese.



And no, Mommy should NOT have allowed her to "peek" at the fibrous content of that particular carpet while the other strange man accompanying her stood still and silent on the front porch with hands in pockets. How was I supposed to know she would push herself into our home, sit down on the TV room couch and act as if she was my long-lost cousin? And while I sensed your blood pressure reach its maximum level as my stern voice became an outright yell to this stranger that she 'needed to get out of our house immediately and that I was absolutely not comfortable with all of this', I'm still not so sure it was traumatizing enough to cause you to cry all night in fear that the gypsy and her sidekick would return and rob us blind. I mean, come on. Who the hell is that gullible?

And I can't imagine that knowing your step-dad is a police officer and watching him "transform" into his work role at that same very split second he heard me call out to him in the loudest "get your ass down here now because we're about to be assaulted by a gypsy stranger" voice from the front hall would cause you any alarm. And then, to worry about your Uncle who proceeded to follow them outside while turning back and saying "lock the door" could be in any way unsettling to you. My dear child, please understand that you are 9 years old and you should be more concerned that our Wii drum set has a broken wire like the rest of the clan instead of drumming up violent images of what might happen in the midst of darkness while most are sleeping or having passionate hot sex while the gypsies are creeping down our streets in order to execute their crime of choice. P-a-L-E-A-S-E.

So while I would like to once again offer a sincere apology for not setting such a good example to you, I would also like to say that if you don't fucking sleep through the night this evening I will tie you to your bunk and do a bunch of other things I can't even think of at this moment because I am so tired. So there. And now, I'm off to knock the socks off that step-dad of yours, as he was so rudely deprived last night, which in our eyes is Simply.Not.Acceptable.



Love,
Mommy
xo

You Never Know Who Reads Your Blog...and that's half the fun of it!

BREAKING NEWS!

FOUR SEASONS CUSHION SERIES NOW DISCONTINUED!

We apologize to our customers, but due to unforeseen circumstances, we will no longer be able to offer this photo special.

Do you remember the recent post entitled "My Husband, The Artiste",

and his photo project of the infamous

"Cushion over the ex-wife's front porch"?

Well after only 2 weeks of publicly posting this information, the cushion has mysteriously been removed after almost 6 months of public display. We are disheartened and apologize sincerely to those expressing interest.

Thanks to all who expressed their true patronage and support.


And always remember, you never know who reads your blog.

Hello YELLOW. What color should your blog be?

This is a fun, very short 5 question quiz that tells you what YOUR blog color should be. Thanks Stacie for sharing.

[I probably wouldn't have posted mine if it wasn't so appealing but hey, what the hell. This is MY blog, right?!]

Here's what MY results said:



Your Blog Should Be Yellow.

You're a cheerful, upbeat blogger who tends to make everyone laugh [only because you can throw the "F" bomb out more naturally than Ludacris on a street corner in downtown LA at 3am].


You are a great storyteller, and the first to post the latest funny link [as long as it's NOT a topic you'd see posted on the normal mommy blogger networking sites and it totally humilates yourself or another member of your immediate family].


You're also friendly and welcoming to everyone who comments on your blog [Except that one girl from SITS that bashed you on your admittedly open post about how you were a blog snob. Don't fret, no one's perfect.]


What Color Should YOUR Blog Be?


Check it out.

Interviewing...Damn it I got me another one

Well, thanks to all of you offering advice and good wishes last week as I mentioned I had a big interview on Wednesday. And while I made it the hour drive to get to the hotel conference room about 35 minutes prior to appointment time, I had woken up that morning accompanied by a 102 degree fever and horrid migraine headache that I thought would be the end of me for sure. Looking back now, I think it was the perfect "natural nerve reducer" and allowed me to talk at normal speed and not produce nervous armpit bullet sweat stains like I normally would in such a situation.


So after being asked the infamous "Why our Company?" question and the even more obvious "What should we pick YOU for this position?", I was told that I would be invited back for the next step in "the process". My god, sometimes I just wonder who created all these "processes" to begin with, and more so, why is it that I am finding myself being a part of any of this bullshit anyway? And then rational thinking kicks in, and I realize that if I'd like to choose between eating lettuce and pasta for the next 12 months vs. steak and pork loin, the answer is pretty damn obvious.


So, I've covered company research, and will obviously continue to do so. I've worked for days preparing a "Performance Portfolio" and presented each interviewer with their own copy as I walked them through page by page, highlighting achievements and successes. I rattled off questions regarding company pipeline, regional challenges, brand vs. generic, payer potential and reimbursement challenges. I clarified their needs in a sales person before closing the sale.


So now that research and preparedness have luckily paid off in round 1, I'm wondering what tricks I can possibly resort to for round 2? Fifty percent of the candidates are internal, fifty percent external. I sent my thank you e-mail and got a nice response that I'd be hearing back shortly on our next meeting. Any thoughts on what to do next?

Do I bring in a presentation screaming:

Or does it seem more appropriate to focus on my presence, such as adorning an item like:

Anyone got me some creative suggestions on what I could possibly do to "wow 'em" again?

This girls is determined to eat steak again within the next 6 weeks!

My kids kill me...

So even though I'm usually ranting and cussing about how my kids absolutely drive me crazy at times, there are quite a number of things they do that make me melt inside.

This is one of 'em.

Most days I am welcomed by homemade art drawings on the girls' easels in their bedrooms. The priceless thing about this one is that the particular easel in question had been "locked and secured" in MY bedroom this past week as a "consequence" for unruly behavior...

And this is what I found when I walked into MY ROOM the other night to change before dinner:

Did you see the whole "I Love Mom" thing?

I love that shit.

Love you too baby doll, [but you still don't get your easel back].

Now, go ahead and join the fun at CandidCarrie's Photo Phriday!

Happy Birthday, Peanut!

In tribute to my newly "9" year old Peanut:

Happy Birthday Samantha.

I love you.

Mommy

xxoo

If you'll pardon my absence...

First off, for those of you that were kind enough to stop by yesterday, I'd like to happily announce that my husband received a clean bill of health at his doctor's visit.

I think he's even a little disappointed...must be all the extra attention [and sex] he's been getting lately...

ANYWAY... Please pardon my absence over the next 24 hours... I promise to catch up on comments and posts soon, but this gal has a major interview tomorrow and I'm heading to my local Victoria's Secret for one of those extra special push-up padded bras I've been holding off on.

Do you think this will work?????

If you have any other suggestions, please pass them my way.

What do Kidney Stones or Cysts have in common with Italian Bread?

Thank God my adorable husband has a doctor's appointment this afternoon to find out some test results he was sent for about a week ago. He was in for just a regular checkup in order to get a heartburn prescription refilled and lord have mercy, pissed in a cup and it tested a little "not so normal". They sent him home with some blood work, and some diagnostic testings of his bladder and kidneys.

Now let me preface, of course I'm hoping all is fine. It is, I'm sure. He's been training quite hard these days and I basically think that's all it is. You would have thought he was diagnosed that day with cancer. I love him to death. But let the drama begin...

Because he was so worried, I called the hospital immediately to schedule the tests needed [and explained to the woman on the other end of the phone how my husband has already picked the shirt he would wear for his first chemotherapy session]. Thankfully, she had a man of her own and got my hint [and by the way, he really DID pick out a shirt for just that purpose - I swear] and put him in immediately the following morning.

So the next day, we went for the test, ran some errands and then went for lunch at one of our favorite Italian restaurants. In the few seconds it took me to rummage through my purse for something, I looked up to my husband's homemade prop of what he actually saw on the ultrasound monitor earlier that morning:

For those of you who might be fooled that this picture simply looks like a piece of Italian Bread with a piece of meatball shoved in its middle, I would like to note that it's ACTUALLY the big black spot on my husband's KIDNEY he witnessed earlier that morning. [Technician defined it as simple cyst, totally normal, very common, no worries.]

In desperation to calm this man down and avoid any future restaurant scenes with food sculpting, I called my Mom who is a nurse. After explaining everything, [and after a couple of man jabs and outright laughter on the other end of the phone] she told me to relay one thing to make him feel better:

"You can live with only one kidney, honey. Does that make you feel any better?"

If you could have seen the look on my adorable husband's face, it was just priceless. That's why we love our men so much. Really.

Love you baby...xo