I'm thinking I don't like Neighbors

I have since moved again, but this was an old post I liked.


We moved into what I would thought was a great little neighborhood.  I have decided neighborhoods breed contempt.  After living in the middle of nowhere and enjoying being loud as I wanted when I wanted, letting my kids run around naked while they were being potty trained and playing pool with my friends after midnight ... gasp ... I realize that with all the added benefits of being in a city with more than 10,000 people in it there are a few setbacks that make moving to the Love Canal more appealing than a condo in Dubai.

I have decided people with no sense of humor piss me off.  I just want to punch them in their frowny faces.  Which is not funny, but does make me laugh.  My kids decide that it's spring break and by god boredom is going to force them to participate in a lot of nonsense, but ding dong ditching is funny and I'd rather they do that then spray paint the side of the elementary school.

They are taping themselves recreating a gag they saw on youtube with an invisible rope that they pretend to put across the road and screw with the people trying to enter our neighborhood.  Then they roll on the grass laughing their asses off high fiving each other about how clever they are. I LOVE it.

So...  for the most part people are laughing, commenting "old joke boys" and one lady that was strolling with her head phones on actually jumped over the invisible rope and kept walking. Classic.  These people know that they are living in a neighborhood where 11 and 12 year old boys are playing harmless pranks instead of snorting heroin and screwing the babysitter.  And if you don't think that's happening I suggest you get your dumb ass up from your desk on your lunch hour and check on the kids you left at home.  That being said don't start whining to me about having a career doesn't make you a bad parent.  Right, but if you think your little angels are not getting into trouble when you're gone you are fooling yourself all the way to the abortion clinic.

Back to moron's with no sense of humor.  We live in the greatest country on the planet, medical technology is on a path to keep us alive well into our 200th birthdays and Hitler and Stallin are in hell now fighting over who's gonna make Osama Bin Laden their bitch.  There's a lot to be happy about.  So pull that sideways dorito out of your ass and lighten up Frances. Since when is egging your high school rival's car not funny anymore?  Everything's a trade off people, so would you like your house robbed or toilet papered?

Pranks are funny and I suggest you lighten up because I'd hate to have to set a bag of dog shit on fire on your front porch.

Okay.  The dog shit prank is a bit much.  Who Does That?!

Well ... F#*! Me Running

So here's the 411.  I don't exercise.  I don't.  Not ever.  I don't make fun of folks who do, nor do I envy their discipline.  It's just not my bag man.

 I don't do yoga.  I don't do aerobics.  I don't swim, unless it's to get over to a float and I certainly do NOT under any circumstances run.  Running is for emergencies. And it better be a huge fucking emergency or I will rationalize all the way over to pick up your severed finger and stroll back in the house to get it on ice while I look for my keys.

There was one time ... long, ago, when I ran.  Very, very fast as a matter of fact, but I served  my debt to society and I am living a corruption free life now and I don't feel like I need to explain myself to any of you derelicts.  I do remember that time when I ran and frankly it was kind of like a near death experience.  I ran completely out of air, fell to my knees and saw a white light.  Now, that could have been the after effects of being tased with an X26, but I digress.

My 13 year old son has been introduced to the "joys of running" at school and on a four hour drive home from Columbia I listened to how much he wanted to start running for "fun" and how he wanted me to commit to running a 5K with him.  After I stopped laughing ... I tried to explain to him that I do not run anywhere.  Not to the mailbox or even after an ice cream truck and that I am old and feeble and participating in such a high risk sport may actually kill me. He was not impressed.  "Well, you won the Presidential Physical Fitness Award back when it was hard to win, so you can run."  I said, "Who told you that horse shit"?  "Grandma".

So now I am training to run a 5K in November.  What a bunch of BULLSHIT!  The first night I got a reprieve, rained like hell, thunder, lightening ... Saweeet!  Last night, not so lucky.  I spent most of my day on the phone with the local weather man threatening to shove bamboo shoots up his fingernails if he could not give me the forecast I was looking for.  The rest of the time was spent bitching at my sister to help me find the nearest Quapaw tribe to perform a rainmaking ritual.  "Mom?  Why are you wearing feathers and turquoise"?  "To invoke wind and .... oh, never mind.  Just get your fucking running shoes on".

So I did the first "workout".  I get home and text my sister.  The convo went like this.

"Well, I did it.  Now for a celebratory cigarette".
"Sweet.  Did you get a runners high"?
"What's that"?
"I don't know".
"Exactly".

I ran/walked for 1.27 miles at 3.56 miles per hour.  I know right?  I was flyin'.  His Dad is running with him tomorrow. Who Does That?!

I Have a Teenager

So, this morning I let my new teenager sleep in and drove him to school on his birthday.  As we approached the school, pulling through the line of cars he looks at me and says, " When we stop, I am going to get out of this car and if you say anything, Scream anything, roll the window down and SING ANYTHING, I swear to god, I'm going to hit you."  I laughed so hard I peed my pants.  It finally happened.  He totally gets me and I love it.  On top of that ... IT'S ON!  People have commented I have no idea what I'm in for, yeah .... well,  he has no fucking idea what HE'S in for.

Growing up with my dad was an experiment in mortification. He was constantly scaring us half to death and embarrassing us in front of everyone.  I don't think I've ever told him, but they are some of my fondest memories.  He would jump out from behind something and scream or quietly stalk you until he got close enough to give you the finger zinger in the rib cage while you were concentrating on homework or doing dishes.   One of his favs ... go outside your open window at night with a load of giggling girlfriends in your room, appear there with a flashlight under his chin, making a face only a mother could love and waiting until one of us saw him and screamed.  One Halloween he dressed up as Quasimodo and ran around on our roof, jumping down and chasing everyone out of the yard.  No one came to our house again.

He would also say completely embarrassing things in front of my friends, of course, all in the name of his "good fun".  Had a boyfriend pick me up for a first date once and as we are leaving he says, "Hey Kim, make sure your mom get's that doctor's appointment so you can get that "thing" checked out and get on some birth control."  Oh my fucking god!  I thought I would crawl under the kitchen table and die. Another time after a friend and I dated a couple of very nice boys who happened to be African American, we were hitting the drive through at the McDonald's for ice cream and as we get up to order he says, "Sorry girls, only vanilla ice cream here, no chocolate." WTF?  Really Dad?  He amused himself for days with that one.

Needless to say, I learned from the best.  And now Bratton will learn as well.  He's already had a taste of what I'm capable of.  One day he was being an ass on the way to school for no reason and as we pulled up I started singing Charlie Chaplin's Smile incredibly loud, right in front of the group of girls waiting for him as he got out.  I did a whole verse before he gave me the finger.

I have nothing negative to say in regards to torturing your children by embarrassing them or scaring the ever lovin' shit out of them.  It's our right as parents and human beings and I say don't apologize for it make it part of your parenting agenda. Who Does That?!

Vampires...WTF?

Is it creepy that I think all those vampire kids are hot?  I am aware that calling any vampire hot is in and of itself creepy, but when did being a vampire become sexy?  Not just the guys, but the girls too. I know it wasn't always that way.  I mean ... Bela-Lugosi? Johnathan Frid? Grandpa Munster? These guys couldn't be sexy if they had as much plastic surgery as Heidi Montag and bathed in Bradley Cooper's saliva.  Who, by the way, IS the sexiest man alive according to People magazine. How is that possible?  He's not even a fucking vampire.  That's BULLSHIT.

Until now, the closest they came to hot vampires was David Bowie in The Hunger.  The Lost Boys?  Fuck the Lost Boys, that was not a movie about vampires.  That was a movie introducing Jason Patrick to the general public because something that gorgeous should, without question, be offered for public consumption and not asked to walk and speak and act.  I mean, only if he wants to.  The only way to accomplish that was, yes, a vampire movie.  He was able to glide in and out of rooms, or fly if he wants, smoking hot, breathing heavy, slightly ... and I mean slightly sweating and staring deep into the camera and straight into some peri-menopausal, somewhat out of shape, newly bitter divorce', who is also slightly sweating.

And this phenomenon looks like it has entered a point of no return because it has spilled into these kids personal lives and our blood thirsty public has become more delusional than Charles Manson wearing an extra Fentanyl patch.  Who would not want to BE a hot vampire DATING a hot vampire, I don't care how old you are, but they are chasing these two ... uhhhhhh .... Robin Peterson and Christian Stewart around like a pack of wild she wolves.  And this vampire slut had her picture taken hugging her older and married director friend, fuck buddy and everyone is shocked.  Don't you dumb asses watch Cheaters?  This happens ALL the fucking time.  But don't get your cape in a wad ... I'm sure he's a vampire too.

I have seen these folks who think it's really progressive to have their teeth shaped and crowned to mimic what a real vampire's fangs would look like.  Ummmm ... how do you explain that one to your grandchildren? Not a good idea moron. Just ask Avril Lavigne.  Who Does That?!

Moving

So this is our 11th move in 13 years.  Yes, you did hear that right.  My mom once referred to me as a gypsy.  Who can argue with that?  Not too many people, but I can argue with a brick wall so here goes.

Moving is an adventure that takes a lot of skill.  It is not for the faint at heart.  It requires a lot of patience and a shear determination to not give a flying shit if any of your valuables get destroyed, because it will happen.  I can name everything that has been broken during each move.  The year, day, time, why and where we were moving and how it happened.  Not that I give a shit because I don't, but if I did, I could tell you that nothing and I mean nothing, is worth more than what money can replace.

I know people say shit like, "My house burned to the ground and I don't care about the furniture it's the things you can't replace."  Boo fucking hoo.  I know this, when we moved here they valued and insured our CRAP at $90,000.  NINETY THOUSAND DOLLARS!  If I could have caught up with the guy driving I would have torched that 18 wheeler at the first truck stop.  See, we have everything on facebook and instagram, I don't need those pictures or that birth certificate.  I can order mine and anyone else's I want, up online before you can say "How would you like that? Twenties or Hundreds." I can assure you, if the shit I have been toting around for the last 13 years is worth $90,000 I can cry it up all the way to Ethan Allen to get the shit I really like.

That being said I'm pretty certain the last group of pseudo moving geniuses were smoking crack when they packed us.  Got up here and start unpacking boxes.  Everything is labeled "wine glasses".  Now I concede that I have dabbled in substance abuse, but I am quite sure that I do not have 18 boxes of something to consume wine out of.  "What's in that box? Well, it says wine glasses.  Oh, it's books.  How about that one?  Wine glasses. Oh it's my $30,000 coin collection."  Then in the sea of wine glass boxes a loner ... and it's labeled "shoes".  Great I have been looking for shoes.  Open it up.  3 shoes in it.  Not even two pair, but three individual shoes.  Are you fucking kidding me?  And yes, the rest  ... FUCKING WINE GLASSES.

Now, one thing I do recommend is make sure you take the batteries out of everything yourself because if it has batteries they WILL find it.  Under the sink in the bathroom or in the night stand, yes they will remove the batteries from your sex toys and call every packer in the house to come see. True story.  Who Does That?!

Fix You

Coldplay .... now that's a movement I can get behind.  The song Fix You I always thought was referring to someone fixing someone elses problems.  But here's the deal folks .... you need to double your dosage, accept your fucked up and learn that there is a good kinda crazy and then there's the bad.

We all see the news.  The real bad asses, the sickos.  We're not talking about them.  But most of the people on the planet are unstable at best (or at least the one's I've been fortunate enough to know) and as everyones throwing around the he said, she said we forget that right there in the middle of it all is our own egos pursing, perpetrating and demanding that the madness remain while we whine and moan that "we just want to be happy."

Well, I'm going to let you in on a little secret ... fly on over the coocoos nest and have a seat next to me on the therapy couch ... its good.  And I mean really good.  Acceptance of ones self is liberating, loaded with accolades and better than any drugs I've ever taken.  I've written about drama before and yeah there are days that down covers, chocolate, scotch on the rocks (the good scotch) and lifetime movies are in order, but enjoy the drama.  The kind you create and also the kind you are lucky enough to stumble upon.  Then run .... run like the place is on fire.

When you get far enough away bathe in the fact that you just experienced something real, that you learned something valuable and hopefully all you got was just your eyebrows burned off.  Bad experiences have so much more to get out of them.  And mostly, after the tears anyway, some very mother fucking funny shit to talk about.  The old term, "were gonna laugh about this later" ...  you will, hard and loud.  Again hopefully with all limbs still intact.

I have been complaining and whining about my life for so long now when I hear myself speak  I'm getting on my own fucking nerves.  Shut the hell up and move on to your next embarrassing moment.  Cause it's coming.  Suck it up, put your big girl pants on and realize ... ummmm ... yeah, the law of attraction is real and you are bringing this ridiculous shit into your own life.

Unless of course it's your family coming and they're hell bent on living out there fantasy of being on the X-Factor when they really have no talent and you have to sit there and lie that it is really cool to be the fastest guy to shotgun a beer while getting tazed.  Who Does That?!

Miss me?

So as I thought my number would grow, it seems only a little over a thousand people like my blog.


I am thinking I need a life coach to make my dream of being a slightly interesting, foul mouthed, occassionaly funny and super hot blog author come true.


So after continuing my investigation I have found that I am in desperate need of a life coach.  You will not believe what these people can do!  They can help you make your dreams come true.


I contacted one of these lifeblood mentors of zest and vitality and asked them if they could make my dream come true and they said "Here's how powerful we are.  As your Life Coach, we'll help you discover what's really most important to you in your life."  I said, "Damn you're good.  I already know what's important to me."  "Then we'll help you design a plan to achieve those things. We'll work with you to eliminate any obstacles or blocks that stand in your way.  We'll partner with you all the way to success.  Then we'll celebrate with you!"

I said, "That's great. What do I need to do?"   "Well, Kim, what are your dreams and we'll get started."  I said, "I want to be a center in the NBA."  Total silence.  Now, considering that I am a 5'3", white woman with limited athletic ability you might think I am setting my goals a bit unrealistically, but according to their website, no dream can go unaccomplished.   So ... everyone in unison ...  start yelling.  "Live, Live, Live I say."

What a load of crap.  I want to coach these people to jump straight off the nearest cliff.  Where do these assholes get off?  


I had a life coach tell me once that my time would be better spent ant farming or masturbating than writing on this blog.  I'm wondering if he's right!  Who Does That?!