Saturday, April 24, 2010

People Who Should Be Phased Out

Have you ever read Braindroppings by George Carlin? It’s a really funny book. Like, really funny. Anyway, there’s a section called “People Who Should be Phased Out” where Carlin lists people who, well, should be phased out. After yet another stressful week of wifing, mothering, and running errands while wifing and mothering, I have drawn inspiration from the late George Carlin and have compiled my own list of people who should be phased out:

♥ Any person who honks at the driver in front of him/her the second the stop light they are waiting on turns green.

♥ People who don’t use their turn signal until they are in the middle of their turn.

♥ David Archuleta fans.

♥ Random IGN fans who try to friend me on Facebook.

♥ Guys that have no facial hair other than a soul patch.

 Kill it!

♥ Restaurant workers who speak little to no english. (Because, you know… there’s a HUGE difference between honey mustard sauce and ketchup.)

♥ People who don’t hold doors open for pregnant women. Or any women, for that matter.

♥ Straight men who sashay.

People who wear jewelry that is much too big for their piercing(s).

Women who use small dogs as fashion accessories. It’s not cute. Stop it.

♥ Straight men who have no facial hair other than a soul patch… and sashay.

♥ Americans who pronounce croissant “Kru-sahn.” (If you watch Chopped, refer to the episode where they use rattlesnake meat as a secret ingredient.)

♥ Guys who sweat buckets for no apparent reason.

♥ People who write lists about people who should be phased out. 

Kill it with fire!!!

Thursday, April 22, 2010

Diaper Daze

Every parent will be faced with the challenge of finding the perfect diaper for their child. Something that is comfy, affordable, and soaks up ridiculous amounts of urine without exploding into that really hard to clean gel that comes screaming out of diapers that have been overly saturated.

I thought I had it made; I had been using Pampers Swaddlers and Cruisers for the last four years and they were awesome! They were seriously soft, and the mesh liner was the best thing since the advent of modern plumbing. I never had to worry about having separate diapers for day and night because these things absorbed even the most copious amounts of piss. Granted, there have been a couple of rare occasions where Munchkin’s bladder decided to do its best impression of Niagra Falls, but even then, the leaks that occurred weren’t disastrous by any means.

Unfortunately, things have changed, and the amazing diapers described above are now a thing of the past. Pampers Cruisers still exist, but now they are utilizing something called Dry Max and claiming to be “high performance” and “revolutionary.” They are anything but “high performance,” that’s for goddamn sure. When I first came across the new Cruisers, I seriously thought for a second that I had picked up a box that had somehow slipped through the cracks of quality assurance. The thing I pulled out that day was thin and coarse; it was like putting an odd smelling piece of tissue paper on my kid. (These things REEKED of some sort of chemical(s)!) To make matters worse, as soon as it got wet it sagged down to her knees (I’m not even joking here), it leaked, and it gave her a bad case of diaper rash. 

 Customer Action Shot!

A quick Google search let me know that I wasn’t the only one having these issues, and that other kids had it way worse – they were developing chemical burns! On their privates! Motherfucking CHEMICAL BURNS! From a diaper!!? What the fuck, Pampers?? Why are these diapers still being sold????

 Not my kid's privates, but pretty horrible nonetheless.

Anyway, now I have to find a suitable nighttime diaper for my Munchkin and my faith in Proctor and Gamble has been totally destroyed by their dodgy tactics (when they initially changed over to Dry Max there was no indication on the packaging that anything was different. NONE.) and their apparent lack of concern for the parents whose kids are getting blisters on their nether-regions. I called P&G and pwned the shit out of the customer service rep before getting a check for forty bucks... which is cool and all, but in the grand scheme of things, forty bucks isn’t much of a consolation prize at all. My kid leaked everywhere for days and developed a bad rash. And what about the other kids out there? The ones who are getting blistered and burned? Forty dollars is not going to make them feel better, that’s for damn sure!

Saturday, April 10, 2010

Mind Your Business... And Your Manners, Goddamnit.

One of the most aggravating things about having kids is that everyone and their uncle’s monkey wants to give you unsolicited advice on how to raise them. Especially if you are a young. Mothers, fathers, uncles, aunts… everyone has something to say about the diapers you use, the food you buy, the music in your car, your state of mind. Of course, it’s expected for friends and family to drop some unneeded commentary your way. It’s easier to let it slide. But then… then there are the more and more abundant cases of complete strangers offering their opinions. That’s when it becomes an entirely different ballgame.

Setting the tone...

Before I go on, let me provide you with a little bit of background info:

My husband and I have two girls – Midget (age 3 and a half) and Munchkin (age 17 months old as of this entry). Midget is in that phase where everything she does infuriating and everything she says is laced with a poor attitude that rivals that of even the most angst-ridden of teenagers. This is not because she is treated badly at home or school. She’s just three.

Munchkin is at the age where she is wandering around, getting into everything, and trying to emulate others – particularly her big sister. Her vocabulary isn’t exactly expansive at this point, so she is also trying to play around with the best ways to express herself and her emotions. This leads to much shrieking, and, more recently, hitting. To discourage her random acts of violence, I have found that the best approach is to swipe at her. You know, like an angry, declawed cat. Quick, abrupt, to the point. She knocks that shit off immediately when I do that.

 Kind of like this... just... without claws. And probably not as cute.

Which brings us to the supermarket.

It was the tail end of our trip, the cart was overflowing, and Munchkin was getting restless. My husband and I decided that it was time to GO. Naturally, it was then that we realized that we forgot something. So, being practical, Jeremy and I decided to split up. Him and Midget would go get the… bread, was it? Munchkin and I would proceed to the checkout lane. As I pushed the cart forward, Munchkin flipped her shit over something food-related. Can’ t remember what it was, but she hit me. Hard. So, me being me, I swiped at her, fingertips grazing the edge of her coat, and said very firmly, “We don’t do that!” And guess what? She immediately got ahold of her escalating temper and went back to being her usual jovial self.

I continued down my path, noticing that a woman at a checkout lane was glaring at me. Like, absolutely staring daggers at me. I looked directly at her as she stopped some random bloke and asked him if I was his wife. Obviously, he was like, “WTF? No.” So, since she couldn’t tell this random guy to put me in my place, she looked at me as I steered into the next line over and said, “You shouldn’t hit your kids!”

At that moment, so many different things ran through my mind. Like, who was this painted up cunt and what gave her the right to tell me what I should and shouldn’t do with my kids? Why did she feel the need to wear so much makeup? Why was it so poorly applied? Did she have kids? Did she know anyone with kids? Had she ever dealt with the stress that comes with being a stay-at-home mom? If I went over and punched her in the neck, would it really be such a bad thing?

Since I am such a classy broad, I just looked at her and said very bluntly, “No. You are not going to tell me how to raise MY kids.” I expected her to say something back, but she didn’t; she just left. But the damage had been done because now my Sunday afternoon was marred by the fact that this person who had no idea of what she had just seen decided to make an assumption about me and comment about it in front of a whole mess of folks.

The cashier pretended not to realize what was going on, even when I looked at him and chortled, “Goddamn, someone somewhere always has something to say, yeah??!” while the girl bagging my groceries shot venomous glances my way the entire time I was checking out. When Jeremy came back with our missing item, I immediately told him about bitch-face and he (in typical Jeremy fashion) told me not to worry about it. Easier said than done. I was on edge for the duration of our time out, half-expecting a police officer to show up and start interrogating me about every mark on both of my girls.

Obviously I made it home without any further incident, but I was in poor spirits. I mean, I didn’t even hit the baby! Shouldn’t that have been obvious from the lack of crying, tears, or marks on her? And let’s say, for shits and giggles, that I HAD hit one of my kids for acting a fool in the candy aisle? So what? If I need to smack one of my daughters upside the head for being a brat, then guess what? It’s going to happen, and no amount of snide comments and holier-than-thou attitudes from outsiders will change that. Plus, said outsiders should stay out of it anyway.  (Unless, there really is something foul going on. Like, if you see a grown man punch a kid. That’s when you should jump in.)

Not that I am endorsing child-abuse, mind you. But when I grew up, times were different. My dad had a belt, and would whip some ass if the situation called for it. (Though, he didn’t like to do it, and so he stopped using the belt altogether. My hiding it may have had something to do with his decision, too…) That’s just how it was. If you acted up, your parents were going to knock some sense into you, be it with a switch from a tree, a belt, or the fabled chancleta.  All of my friends experienced this phenomenon, and the ones who didn’t get ass-whoopings at least once a week for mouthing off or trying to shave the dog were the odd ones out. 

 These things will seriously fuck you up.

Oh! And if one of these indiscretions happened in public, no one would dare say a word!!  Amazing, right?

Okay, that’s it for my rant. I could go on about this shit for hours, man. HOURS!!