Shh! There Are Bears

My five year old, Shylee, and I were walking out to the car this morning, having an argument.  To be honest, she started it.  Then...she finished it.

Shylee:  Oh man, Momma.  You are pretty!

Me:  Thanks honey.  Have I told you that you’re my favorite?

Shylee:  I thought so.  You’re so lucky that you look like me.

Me:  What?

Shylee:  That’s why you’re pretty.  You look just like me.

Me:  Whoa, whoa, sister.  I had this face way before you came along.  You look like me.

Shylee:  Yeah okay.

Me:  Not, yeah okay.  You look like me not the other way around!

(I apparently talked about this too much for her.)

Shylee:  Shhhhh!!!!

Me:  Did you just shh me?!  Seriously kid?

Shylee:  Yep, there are bears out here.  Better be quiet.  It would stink if they ate you.  I can’t reach the gas so I need you to drive me to school.

 

Whatever.  She said I was pretty.

 

 

Why My Husband Works Nights

There are two things you need to know.  One, my husband Brian works nights, so even on the weekends he’s usually awake when I’m sleeping.  Two, the neighbors who live below us are so loud!  At least once a week they are so loud that they wake up the baby.  Usually they keep their nosiness to late evening hours...usually. 

About a week ago at three o’clock in the morning I heard buzzing and couldn’t figure out where it was coming from.  Then that’s all I heard.  WAN WAN WAN WAN.  Holy hell.  So I stuffed my pillow over my head.  WAN WAN WAN WAN WAN WAN WAN.  If I wasn’t in bed alone I would have shook someone until the buzzing stopped.  This may be one of the reasons Brian works nights. 

I thought maybe it was my phone that was vibrating.  So I climbed out of bed and grabbed my phone.  I still heard that ridiculous vibrating.  Not my phone.  It was so loud, echoing around in my early morning brain that I thought it must be an old phone or iPod going off under my bed. 

I climbed under my bed and searched all around.  WAN WAN WAN WAN WAN I couldn’t find the source of the vibrating!!!!  And no, for the record, nothing inappropriate was vibrating if that’s where your brain went, as mine did while I typed this out.

I put my ear down to the floor.  It was definitely coming from the people who live below me.  I was just about to get out from under the bed when I got an alert on my phone saying someone just sent me a life on Candy Crush!  So naturally I opened it up and started playing.  About that time the buzzing below me stopped. 

That’s when Brian walked in to find me laying under the bed with my ear on the floor playing Candy Crush at three o’clock in the morning. 

Brian - What...are you doing?

Me - Playing Candy Crush. 

Brian - Uh huh, okay well good luck then. 

Brian backed out slowly and closed the door behind himself.  Yep, this might be why Brian works nights. 

Monkeys are Assholes

Monkeys. Love them or hate them, people have been keeping them as pets for a really long time. I used to work at a petting zoo when I was in high school, where part of my job included hanging out with a monkey named Squeaks. I really liked him. I mean, he never went outside and fell asleep against the door locking my inside like the George the Galapagos Tortoise did. That guy was a dick.

 

It was good between Squeaks and I until that one day. We were walking around feeding the guinea pigs when it happened. He shit all down my back, patted me on the head and jumped off. I was pissed! I mean if you have the balls to shit on someone, you have to stick around.

 
From that day on, I haven't liked monkeys.

 
Look at this guy, he just looks like an asshole. He would definitely shit on someone.  That is definitely a communistic hat he’s wearing.

 

 

This is Alf.  Meaning, if you’re going to have a monkey, you can’t have a cat.  Or ya know, company.

 

I think I have seen this guy in the movie Up.  

 

Is this guy wearing dentures? 

 

Oh, and the biggest reason I won’t have a pet monkey.  They are drunks!  It’s embarrassing! 

 

 

Abbott Sells Costello a Computer

People tell me all the time that I'm funny, and I just think; you should come to a family reunion. I by far am not the funniest person in my family...I'm just the one that knows how to use a computer...kidding! Except for my Uncle Roger. He only talked to me on the computer for a good two years through forwarding me funny (and completely inappropriate for work) emails. The kind that are really funny, but you really have no idea who actually wrote them because they have circled the globe 18 times, have saved the lives of two African children, 4 whales, and confused the people who shop at Wal-Mart. My cousin Ky, is also one of those really funny people. He wrote this Abbott and Costello skit and I loved it, so I just had to share! Enjoy and if you see this in a forward in the coming months, know that my cousin Ky wrote it and my Uncle Roger probably sent it to you.

If Bud Abbott and Lou Costello were alive today, their infamous sketch, 'Who's on First?' might have turned out something like this: COSTELLO CALLS TO BUY A COMPUTER FROM ABBOTT

 

ABBOTT: Super Duper computer store. Can I help you?

 

COSTELLO: Thanks I'm setting up an office in my den and I'm thinking about buying a computer.

 

ABBOTT: Mac?

 

COSTELLO: No, the name's Lou.

 

ABBOTT: Your computer?

 

COSTELLO: I don't own a computer. I want to buy one.

 

ABBOTT: Mac?

 

COSTELLO: I told you, my name's Lou.

 

ABBOTT: What about Windows?

 

COSTELLO: Why? Will it get stuffy in here?

 

ABBOTT: Do you want a computer with Windows?

 

COSTELLO: I don't know. What will I see when I look at the windows?

 

ABBOTT: Wallpaper.

 

COSTELLO: Never mind the windows. I need a computer and software.

 

ABBOTT: Software for Windows?

 

COSTELLO: No. On the computer! I need something I can use to write proposals, track expenses and run my business. What do you have?

 

ABBOTT: Office.

 

COSTELLO: Yeah, for my office. Can you recommend anything?

 

ABBOTT: I just did.

 

COSTELLO: You just did what?

 

ABBOTT: Recommend something.

 

COSTELLO: You recommended something?

 

ABBOTT: Yes.

 

COSTELLO: For my office?

 

ABBOTT: Yes.

 

COSTELLO: OK, what did you recommend for my office?

 

ABBOTT: Office.

 

COSTELLO: Yes, for my office!

 

ABBOTT: I recommend Office with Windows.

 

COSTELLO: I already have an office with windows! OK, let's just say I'm sitting at my computer and I want to type a proposal. What do I need?

 

ABBOTT: Word.

 

COSTELLO: What word?

 

ABBOTT: Word in Office.

 

COSTELLO: The only word in office is office.

 

ABBOTT: The Word in Office for Windows.

 

COSTELLO: Which word in office for windows?

 

ABBOTT: The Word you get when you click the blue 'W'.

 

COSTELLO: I'm going to click your blue 'W' if you don't start with some straight answers. What about financial bookkeeping? Do you have anything I can track my money with?

 

ABBOTT: Money.

 

COSTELLO: That's right. What do you have?

 

ABBOTT: Money.

 

COSTELLO: I need money to track my money?

 

ABBOTT: It comes bundled with your computer.

 

COSTELLO: What's bundled with my computer?

 

ABBOTT: Money.

 

COSTELLO: Money comes with my computer?

 

ABBOTT: Yes. At no extra charge.

 

COSTELLO: I get a bundle of money with my computer? How much?

 

ABBOTT: One copy.

 

COSTELLO: Isn't it illegal to copy money?

 

ABBOTT: Microsoft gave us a license to copy Money.

 

COSTELLO: They can give you a license to copy money?

 

ABBOTT: Why not? THEY OWN IT!

 

(A few days later)

 

ABBOTT: Super Duper computer store. Can I help you?

 COSTELLO: How do I turn my computer off? ABBOTT: Click on 'START'

Cookie Cookie Poo Pants

Last night we loaded up the girls, and drove to watch the awesome Roller Girls of the Apocalypse bout.  We got to the top of the bleachers so we could see the whole ring.  It was awesome.  Brian said, “I think I would really like this if I knew what was going on.”  I gave him half answers because every time I would start to explain it, I would end with, “Oh man, did you see that?”

Brian said, “I still have no idea what is happening.”

Right after he said that I readjusted my hold on my one-year-old daughter Kaydance.  Hmm.  Something felt off.  I turned her around and saw the last thing any parent wants to see.  Her pants seemed to be spewing something brown, sticky and squishy.  It was all over my arm, her pants, her jacket and now my shirt. 

Me - Holy shit!

Shylee - What’s going on?

Brian - Time to go!

I took off running with Kaydance down the bleachers, past Wonder Woman (she was there) and ran out the emergency door.  I didn’t really care at that point if the alarm was going to ring because being covered in poop in my mind is an emergency.  I ran out the door, down the stairs and down the street back to our car.  Brian and Shylee came running behind us. 

I was yelling, “Unlock the car! Unlock the car!” as I was running down the street.  Kaydance just looked confused, like “What is going on here?  Did I miss something?”

We got to the car and I said, “Brian, hold her while I get the diaper bag open.”

He said, “Haha NO!” 

So I said, “Okay well then pull her shoes off while I hold her up.”  I held her under her armpits while Brian tried to get her shoes off.  Of course she was wearing little high top chucks that have to be untied to come off. 

As we were in a semi-state of WTF, a nice little German couple walked by and Shylee said,
“She just pooped herself.  Everyone poops.  It’s no big deal.”  I wouldn’t have cared as much if she would have been pointing to Kaydance and not me.

We got her shoes off, and then I yanked her pants off...yep in the parking lot.  I have a Mini Cooper convertible.  It’s not big enough to do this kind of special procedure in.  After I yanked her pants off, something seemed strange.  I looked in her diaper.  No poop.  How is that possible?

Me - Brian?  Look in Kaydance’s car seat. 

Brian - (Like he’s dying) Oh god!  Oh god!  It’s everywhere.  You touch it!

Me - Why do I bring you?  I don’t think its poop.  Could it be something else?

Brian - Hey there’s a bunch of cookies beside the car seat.

Turns out the girls had stolen a bag of chocolate chip cookies out of the grocery bag last time we were coming home from the store and had stored the cookies in the back seat.  Kaydance had sat on them on the way to the roller derby bout, and they had all melted and been smooshed against her bottom.  For the record, smooshed and melted chocolate chip cookies smeared on a baby’s butt highly resembles poo.  This also explains Kaydance’s confusion. 

We cleaned out the car seat and decided that since she didn’t have a change of pants in the car we should go home.  It was an awesome 15 minutes of the bout we got to watch.  Next time we’re getting a babysitter!  This experience has also ruined chocolate chip cookies for me.

Things Got Out of Control Last Night

I walked out of my bedroom this morning and the hallway looked like we had been robbed, except nothing was missing and the front door was still locked.  WTF?  I was home alone last night with the girls who are one and five.  I’m pretty sure the one year old had nothing to do with it since when she is up in the middle of the night, she assumes everyone else should be up too.

Me - Shylee?  Honey?  Do you know what happened to the hallway?

I walked towards her room and noticed that some expert ninja robber had also attacked her room.

Shylee - Oh, good morning.  (So nonchalant, and so Shylee.)

Me - What happened out here?

Shylee - (Still unaffected by the fact that our house is in shambles.)  Oh yeah, sorry.  Things got a little out of control last night?

Me - What happened last night?

Shylee - Ya know, we had a party and things just got carried away.  These kinds of things happen all the time.

Me - We?  You had a party with someone?

Shylee - Yeah, just me and the bears.  No biggie.

Me - The bears?  Like your teddy bears?

Shylee - Yeah, they are a riot.

Shylee proceeded to the bathroom and closed the door behind herself. 

What just happened?

Domestic Goddess PTSD

Tonight Shylee was taking her plate to the trash to dump the food left on her plate.  Eating everything on your plate is way over-rated, and even I am aware of my cooking skills, or lack of.  It wouldn’t be fair to her, or the lucky kids in Africa.  As she was taking it to the trash she dropped her plate smashing it into a thousand pieces.  I was across the kitchen and covered my eyes (for good reason).  When I looked out of behind my hands I saw Brian frozen in a Heisman pose holding Shylee up in his hand that wasn’t deflecting glass (or a football).

I cleaned up the mess while Mr. Heisman and Shylee supervised.   They’re really good at it.  While I was sweeping, it got me thinking about why I closed my eyes and hid behind my hands, my PTSD.  Last time Shylee smashed a plate, pieces flew everywhere, and I got a piece in my eye.  It was just a micro fragment, but it sounds much tougher if you leave that part out.  I’m fairly certain I developed dish PTSD.  As a safety measure, I decided it’s best I don’t do dishes.  Or laundry for that matter.  Just to be safe.

It got me thinking about my dish PTSD and if I ever had to discuss it with someone else with PTSD, you know like a WW2 Vet.

Me - I think I have PTSD.

Actual Hero - Yeah, me too.  I’ve seen some shit.

Me - Yeah?  I couldn’t see shit!

Actual Hero - Wow, what happened.

Me - I don’t want to talk about it (for embarrassment reasons).

Yep, that’s how my brain works.  I hear a dish break and I close my eyes and imagine myself talking to dead people.

Does the Carpet Match My Drapes?

I have considered just hanging out with other redheads because then there would be no "fire crotch" jokes, no stepchildren refrences, no friends with wimpy little tempers, and I could have an afternoon without explaining the whole soul thing.  But without my ginger-less friends, life would be boring.  First of all because if I only hung out with redheads, I would have like four friends; one being my mom and another being my daughter.  But the main reason I keep you blondes and brunettes around is because you are fucking awesome.  My friend Danelle sent me a link to a post called, "The 18 Most Offensive Things People Say To Redheads".  You can read it here.

 

And in other news of awesome redheads...

I could have told you that buddy.

 

Wutchagonnado? Not a damn thing!

March Mustache Madness

Sorry Riotters, I have been unbelievably busy lately.  Two kids, a husband that works nights, a full time job, and a pathetic addiction to The Walking Dead and Candy Crush have sucked up every free minute I had.  So since I was so busy, I thought I would create a new blog.  Yep that’s how my mind works.  The new blog is still being developed, but check it out here.  No matter how busy I am, My Ginger Riott is very important to me. 

I don’t usually blast my upsetting life events out there, but today I just can’t hold it in anymore.  Today is March first.  That means today is the first day of the much hated (by me) Mustache March.  Guys spend the whole month growing caterpillars on their faces.  Lovely. 

Last year Brian won Best Overall Mustache at work during the March Madness (the one you don’t have to have talent to participate in).  Does he have a thick glorious mustache you ask?  No.  His mustache grows in blonde, except for that two inches just under his nose so from any distance further than three feet he looks like a fucking blonde Hitler.  Oh, did I mention we live in Germany?!  Claudia, the secretary who works with Brian is German.  Every time she would walk past his door she would just glare at him and snap her two fingers under her nose as she toed past.  Lovely, Brian.

It’s not just me that hates Mustache March.  The majority of women who are married to men who participate in Mustache March hate it too.  This is the month of sleeping on the couch (it’s like camping!), kisses on the cheek instead of the lips, and a month of mean mugging to the back of said mustache wearers head.  Some women retaliate by not shaving their legs.  I did this once, when I was young, and very very retarded.  Not only do I have to deal with Mr. Prickle Lips, I can’t cross my legs or put lotion on.  Heaven forbid my legs touch on accident.  The moment those babies come in contact, my body reacts like a spider just crawled up my leg, which also looks like a stroke/seizure hybrid.  

Sure mustaches look great from a distance.  Who doesn’t make steamy eyes at Tom Seleck (Magnum PI age)?  But the only reason women like his mustache is because there is no real chance of ever making out with him.  One, because he hasn’t been a hunk in about 20 years, and two he has security for such tests.  No one likes being stabbed in the face, and that’s exactly what you get when you kiss a mustache man.  A thousand little prickles in the face for one kiss. 

Guy at work today:  Real men have mustaches.

Me:  Debatable. I say real men shave that shit off.

Guy at work today:  What about Chuck Norris?

Me:  That’s different.

Guy at work today:  What?  Why is he different?

Me:  Because it’s fucking Chuck Norris.  He is like the poster child for gingers, and when you kiss Chuck Norris, you would expect to get stabbed in the face.  Chuck Norris will stab you in the face with his face.  He’s Chuck Norris.  That face stab will also make you instantly pregnant.  That’s just what happens when you kiss Chuck Norris.

For the rest of the men out there, unless you walk your big blue ox to the woods where you chop wood all day, please get rid of your face hedgehog.  Only 30 more days to go.  I’d really love to stay and write more, but I mustache.