A Nightmare for Modern Times

Woke up this morning, feeling panicky.

Nightmare.

Clowns?

Ghosts?

Monster under the bed?

Tsunami? (always a fave)

Bridge? (a classic for me)

Teeth falling out? (tell me I’m not the only one?)

HS and I’ve got to take a final in a class I’ve never been to and can’t find the classroom?

Nope.

I hear dripping and go to investigate…

Tub filled to overflowing…

In the tub…

Floating…

Obviously dead…

My iphone.

*SHRIEKS*

NNNNNOOOOOOOOOO!

 

World’s Lamest Blogger

I HAVE NOTHING TO WRITE ABOUT.

MOST BORING PERSON WHO HAS EVER LIVED!

Honestly.

Nothing. New. To. Say.

I’ve never been a “Mommy Blogger” because eeuuww. No thanks. Even if I wanted to relabel myself as such, I really couldn’t. Teenage stuff isn’t funny. Well, it is actually really funny but it’s so personal and they are actual people now so…. But, between us, there are some stories to tell! muahaha But alas…

Don’t want to be a “Wife Blogger.” Or, a “family life expert” kind of thing. Braggy bitches. Nope. That’s the kiss of death for the marriage.

Decided way back not to be a Twilight blogger, or a Fifty Shades blogger, for a variety of reasons. And I’m not going to do a book blog b/c, frankly, how many ways can I say “Wow, that was super smutty and I loved it!’?

Sigh.

I don’t know.

I guess I could tell you about Life with the Frug. Always a barrel of laughs.

Fine, I’ll do that.

Chatting with the Frug prior to leaving for my hair appt.

Frug: But you just got your hair done.

Me: THAT WAS A MONTH AGO!

F: It doesn’t need to be colored.

Me: DO YOU NOT SEE THIS GREY? *gesticulating wildly and yanking my hair*

F: No.

Me: *April Ludgate Dead-Eyed Stare whilst thinking “ARE YOU BLIND, MAN?“*

F: Well, don’t go too light. You’re starting to look like a creamsicle.

Me: *smites him*

Later…

Frug: Oh, okay, it’s not too blonde.

Me: Well, he did put in some blonde…

F: Those are highlights. *said with child-like ‘I know this one!’ voice*

Me: But they put some dark in too. Those are called “lowlights.” *speaking slowly and pedantically*

Me: He also uses another color to cover the grey roots.

F: *scrambling for some way to save money on this deal* Maybe you can cover the grey at home?

Me: *stares soullessly*

F: Well, in the summer, can’t you just spray the roots with Sun In, or vinegar, to burn off the grey?

Me: ______________________________________

So, yeah. That’s just a snippet of my Life with the Frug. I’ll be writing later after I’ve stocked up on Sun-In and vinegar, the newest way to cover grey roots.

Mother’s Day, Schmother’s Day.

Mother’s Day. Blah.

Mother’s Day, for years, is not about you, it’s about your mother. Doesn’t matter if you have children of your own. As long as your mom is alive, it’s about her.  Then you get married and it’s about his mother. It’s about all the old ladies. You think to yourself “Someday! Someday it will be about me!” Until that day, it’s suffering through long drives to bring flowers to the old ladies and “enjoying” brunch in a hotel ballroom with 300 strangers. lol Or spending double to send flowers since you aren’t organized enough to remember to order them early!

Well, we have managed to kill off all the old ladies in our family, every last one of them.  I guess it’s finally about me  It’s about me, me, me. And, surprisingly, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be! I don’t know if I want anything to be about me anymore. Look away! Let me sleep in. Let me sleep in peace. I shall do NO CHORES. I shall be responsible for no one and nothing. I will not feed the dog. I will not do laundry. I refuse to unload or reload the dishwasher. I will make meals for NO ONE. This day of selfish sloth is to be capped off with dinner out. Dinner cooked and served by someone else.

I know that some people have the tradition of the children bringing their mother breakfast in bed. I’ve never wanted that. Crumbs everywhere, spilled orange juice, plus all the damn noise in the kitchen with the children messing things up and burning your damn toast.  For years our tradition was that the Frug would take the kids out to McDonald’s and have their “big breakfast.”  I got to sleep in the peace and quiet of an empty home and wake up to a glorious fountain Diet Coke. McDonald’s fountain Diet Coke and its bubbly perfection. That is Mother’s Day.

Today I think I’m going to go take a long walk and think about my mom and all the old ladies who are gone. I miss all of them every day.

See? I’m not all bad!

I hope all the women in my life have a special day today.

Natural Look

Doesn’t everyone want that “natural look“?? I want that. No one wants an overly-done look on a daily basis. And I’ve always said I go from zero to tranny (#respect) in a minute. But now that I am so-very-fucking-old, my “natural look” would frighten small children. Think about it — gray hair, wrinkled and sagging and sun damaged skin…UGH…and my brows are graying and sparser…and I’ve noticed my lips have lost color…I’m being erased! aahhhh

Here’s the Goddess Amy Schumer and her no makeup song. lol

Girl You Don’t Need Makeup!

Long Wearing Makeup for Summer!

Nice list of products for summer. I like the sound of the L’Oreal Paris BB facial sunscreen! (drugstore brand = FRUGAL!) I have zero luck with waterproof/water-resistant eye liners so I’ll skip the Smashbox liner BUT I may have to try that Laura Mercier liner — it’s called “copper brown” and I love COPPER with my blue-green-gray eyes!

Allure.com’s Summer Makeup Must-Haves!

Amy Schumer – Goddess of Truths

Last summer, Ashlee tried to tell me about Amy Schumer. “OMG, you’ll love her!” Meh. Not interested. Until now. She. Is. Amazing. She’s doing these music videos/reg. videos that have me both howling and nodding my head “YES!”  Hard to pick a fave. I may blog about them separately.

Today’s Amy Schumer classic is “Last Fuckable Day“…a group of actresses/comedians are celebrating one’s “Last Fuckable Day” — the last time she is considered “fuckable” in Hollywood. Which is, of course, before 40 generally. And men stay fuckable forever. Even when they are old and grey and wrinkled everywhere. Ahem.  Think about it. George Clooney. Still fuckable at 53 (54 next week, old man!) and yet Madonna (MADONNA!) is gross and unfuckable at 56. She made out with Drake at a concert and he looked like he wanted to throw up. MADONNA IS UNFUCKABLE, people. I mean, who’s next? Is Courteney Cox unfuckable at 50? Jennifer Aniston at 46??

I’ve been thinking about this for a while now. As women, we age and get OLD. Men age and get “distinguished.” Why is that? We try so hard. We certainly try harder than they do. Jerks. We exercise and diet and use pills and potions and injections and surgery and still end up as gross old ladies. WHY WHY WHY? I turned 49 this year and I am definitely looking and feeling every single minute of 49. I read an interview with Candace Bergen. She is GORGEOUS, right? Classically beautiful woman. She said something like “where there used to be interest, there’s now politeness.” Politeness. Yes. I find that I’m getting so many more “ma’ams” than ever. And no man under the age of 60 even glances in my direction. Not that I need to be ogled but I really feel invisible. Just another older lady walking down the street. Avert your eyes.

Anyway.

Here’s Amy!

Last Fuckable Day.

Team Clean Butt

When you think about it, there is no other team. Clean butt. Always. It goes along with my other slogan: A Clean Colon is a Happy Colon. What? You don’t have little cute slogans about your ass and the joy it brings when it’s healthy and clean??

Why am I even bringing this up? Well, there’s apparently some “backlash” against butt wipes. You know, the moist (eek) wipes for your pooper. Like baby wipes, but for adults. I don’t remember when I started using them but it was a revelation. I had no idea just how clean my butt could be!

I’m now thinking of Pedro’s preschool teacher discussing potty training: “I tell the kids, get some toilet paper, reach back. and wipe. “Does it have poop on it? Yes? Then wipe again. Is there still poop there? Keep wiping.”  She was lamenting the fact that she had a Master’s degree and yet her whole day was spent on butt wiping instruction. Important stuf tho. Right??

Anyway.

This guy is writing about how the flushable wipes are messing up the sewage systems. Do. Not. Care.

This clown says dry toilet paper is all you need. Um, nope. Do yourself a favor and read the comments section. People are HILARIOUS.

Dear readers, go to the bathroom right now. Drop trou, and wipe your ass with a sheet of toilet paper. Really get in there.

Did it come back clean? Congratulations. Butt wipes may not be for you. Not so much? I suggest you start drinking heavily, rethink your entire life, and buy some fucking butt wipes.

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Seriously! The way I see it, there are only so many solutions to swamp ass.

  • Shower every time you take a shit
  • Use an inordinate amount of toilet paper, chafing your ass in the process and praying that the toilet doesn’t clog because you’ve been in there half an hour and your guests are starting to worry
  • Develop a daily regimen of opioid substances, be it Vicodin, pethidine, or Immodium (you fucking pussy), you’ll only have to poo once a week and the diamond-hard butt nuggets will pass with no residue and only the occasional minor bleeding.
  • Install a fucking bidet. Bidets are cool now. “Hey girl, wanna come back to my place and check out my new bidet?”
  • Use a fucking butt wipe.

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Wet wipes for life!

If you had dog shit on your arm would you used a dry paper towel to get it clean? Hell no you wouldn’t. Why would you do the same thing for you asshole? Wet wipe and clean that shit.

Other commenters mentioned something called the ‘Toto Toilet” from Japan. Had to ask the google.

Hold the phone, people. What have I stumbled upon?? Whilst browsing through all the Toto fancy $4K toilets, I saw the “Travel Washlet“… Behold:

So, hmm. Looks a bit um, douchey. Not sure if I’d want to carry that thing around. Good thing the butt wipes come in little packets to tuck in your purse.

A clean butt is a happy butt.  Your butt thanks you. Your undies thank you. Your partner thanks you. The world thanks you.

#TeamCleanButt

#TeamButtWipes

That is all.

 

While the Cat’s Away…

The Frug is away. He’s been away for over a week. The house? Don’t ask, don’t tell. My grooming? Well, my plan was to be Full Yeti for the time he was gone but then we’ve had some 60 degree days so I had to rethink that. And, sadly, I have showered. lol Been doing a workout routine that includes sauna time and that, my friends, requires a shower afterward.

What am I doing with all the free time? (“Free Time” that used to be taken up with mundane things like “making dinner” and “straightening up” and answering all sorts of questions from the Frug — “COW! Where’s the ___?“)

Let’s see…

Plundering the depths of Buzzfeed! I know whic Zoolander character I should be — HANSEL! (OMG ZOOLANDER 2 is coming!) Which Lost guy is your soulmate? BOONE! (WRONG! It’s Sawyer! Duh)  Marcia or Jan? MARCIA!

All the cute animal videos. All. Of. Them.

Pinterest. Dear God, Pinterest. I have boards filled with all kinds of vapid stuff. But, I’ve also found great new recipes! Coconut Chia Seed Pudding anyone? Anyone?

I’ve used makeup samples that were long buried. And last night’s “contouring” experiment was um…

I’ve done so many facial treatments. I’ve got such a youthful glow now. *snorts*

Napping? Oh yes. Fiona and I are becoming one, all nestled in the covers.

Oh, I read about a new product that has me fearscinated. It’s called Baby Foot. It’s a peel for your FEET and it’s supposed to be AMAZING. So, if you’re not faint of heart, click here for some delightful google image results for this peel. *cackles* Go on, click. You know you want to.

So yeah, I’ve been busy.

Not everyone has been enjoying this time. Otis is a black of heap of depression. He misses his daddy. Poor Pedro has had to ask, more than once, “Um, Mom? Are we ever having dinner?” Oops, sorry kid.

We had a couple of snow days last week too. People have asked how I was holding up…and honestly, when the kids are teenagers, snow days ROCK. Everyone sleeps in. There’s no “playing outside” aka cramming little bodies into snow gear (why won’t little fingers go smoothly into gloves and mitten??”…we all read, play video games, stare at our phones til our eyes bleed. Good clean American fun.

He’ll be back on Sat. I have a few days left to erase all signs of sloth. It may take just that long…

Wish me luck!

 

 

 

 

Thank You.

Thank You. There, see? I can say it.

Actually, I say thank you all the time.

Here’s your large Diet Coke!” “THANK YOU!”

“Would you like another prosecco?” “Why yes, thank you!”

“Cow, here’s an unlimited black AmEx! Go have fun!” “THANK YOU, FRUG!”

Hey, I love your boots!’

<awkward pause>

These? OMG, they are so old! I just found them in the back of my closet.”

“You look great tonight!

<awkward pause>

OMG, you’re joking, right? Look at these wrinkles? And my hair is all wrong!

Love that sweater!”

<awkward silence>

Got it at Target on clearance and it’s covered in cat hair and I’m hideous and LOOK AWAY!”

Compliments. Can you accept one?? Why is it so difficult?

Was with a group of friends last weekend and I was stumbling over the “Love your boots” thing and she said “Just say thank you.” And I just stared at her cluelessly. Just Say Thank You.

Huh.

Part of it feels rude. Like, if you say “thank you“, the conversation is over abruptly. “Love your boots” “Thank You” and then it’s *crickets* whereas, “Love your boots” and “I bought them 10 years ago” can lead to “Really? Where did you get them?” and “What brand is that?” etc.

And a compliment on your appearance?? Eep. It feels too much like agreement. “Love your hair!” “Thank you” –>> That’s right. My hair is stellar and I am gorgeous and I think I’m fabulous!  Can’t let that kind of self-esteem out, right?? It seems arrogant to me. Maybe it’s an American thing?

Technically, yes, just say thank you. I’m working on it. Accepting compliments without bring up myriad flaws still makes me feel queasy though.

Anyone else feel like that???

Terrible News

I. Am. Old.

Turned fortyfuckingNINE yesterday. I mean, there’s no way around the fact that that’s not young. How did this happen?? I swear I was a youthful and sassy 39 not that long ago.

Even worse, no amount of diet and exercise and grooming can hide the fact that I am not young anymore. As part of my bday celebration, I did a girls weekend in NYC. Much prep went into it. I waxed all the body parts and shaved those that I didn’t wax (*nods at finger knuckles and toe knuckles*) I planned (read: did the purchase/return cycle so much that the Frug’s head is going to spin around) outfits. I had fresh highlights, a haircut, I even tinted my brows!

Oh, and for my big Saturday night out, we had the Glam Squad come to do blowouts and makeup!

Result?

Middle aged soccer mom.

*sighs*

Actually, according to the sainted Ashlee, I looked like a “middle aged gym teacher“…which is much, much better, right?

*sighs*

I mean, if I can’t groom and retail my way to a youthful glow, WHAT AM I GOING TO DO?

Accept it?

No.

Hell no.

HHHHHEEEEELLLLLLLLPPPPPPP MMMMEEEEEE!