I Don’t Like Kids

It’s not a lie. I wish I was lying, but nope…100% true. It’s not babies so much as it is the over 5 set. Especially the really whiney ones, and the know-it-alls. Ohh, speaking of know-it-alls,  the other day, for Father’s Day we went to a roller hockey rink to play hockey with my dad, brother, this chick, and some other friends (Note: I did NOT play hockey and neither did Berlyn). 

This little girl found her way to our rink and decided to play with us. Without asking, just started to play. And she wasn’t even nice. I’d be all sorts of down with some kid that wanted to play who was nice, but no. Not nice. Actually, she was kind of an asshole. 

Here’s the conversation we had on the bench, as she was putting her skates on:

Her: Oh, your baby is cute. And she has a Juicy sweatshirt on. I have a Juicy sweatshirt too, except mine’s at home 

Me: cool. 

Her: Yeah. Oh! and MY dad plays hockey too. He’s better than your dad. I bet if they played together your dad would fall a lot, and my dad would win.

Me: That’s probably true, although it doesn’t change the fact that your dad can suck it. 

Her: What?

Me: Oh, nothing. (To Berlyn) Look! An airplane! It’s a really old airplane. How cool is that Berlyn?

(I think there was an air show near by, we were in the Inland Empire, and they love their air shows out there, almost as much as they love NASCAR and Coors Light.)

Her: Oh, that’s cool. I know someone who has  an airplane like that

Me: Really? You actually know someone that has an airplane like that?

Her: Yeah. Oh, your daughter’s eating rasins. Those are good, I have like 56 of those boxes at home. 

Me: Neat. 

True story. That was the exact conversation we had. See? Asshole right? And what am I supposed to say to a kid like that? I got nothing. I just have to nod, and feel really sorry for the people that will encounter her for the rest of her life. Because we all know that she’ll grow up and be just like this: 

 

So when I say I don’t like kids, I’m referring to the assholes. Not your kids, I love each and everyone of your kids. Except the shitty ones.

San Frickin’ Fran

I was gone for a week! I’m so sorry I left you for so long, but I’m back now and ready to fill your brains with sugary sweet nonsense. 

While I was gone, I was in San Francisco. 

I had so much fun, in fact, that I might just have to pack up my ceramic roosters and bowling trophies and move up there. 

Here’s some stuff we did:

We drank coffee at the Blue Bottle Cafe

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We found a cute orange chair on Mint Street

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We shopped at the Ferry Building

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We found the best view in the city

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We were glad to be going down the stairs

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We ate cupcakes

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We did NOT eat at the Squat and Gobble, because…let’s be honest, the name does not evoke classy cuisine. And I’m all about the class. 

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Rhea kissed an electrical box in the Castro, and may or may not have contracted a communicable disease. 

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We had ice cream at Bi-Rite 

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It was amazing

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I had some girl-time with Rhea

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and we bought a house!!

Only kidding.

I don’t get out much.

 

Vacations are expensive, Berlyn makes going places harder to plan, and I have that pesky fear of flying. So, the remedy is to sit on my couch and watch the travel channel. I pretend I’m in the South of France in a countryside pasture watching the cows graze while I’m wearing a kicky beret and eating a giant piece of French-cow cheese. It’s all very romantic, and it’s been working fine for the past few months. But now I’m getting restless, and I need to go somewhere where the couch isn’t stained with anal juice and salty cracker finger prints. 

And so we’re off on our Second Annual San Francisco trip with our amazing friends the Mattsons. 

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It’s no French Countryside, but I’ll take it. 

Last year I focused on shopping and all things fancy and beautiful. We would spend most of our afternoons window shopping and while that was all well and good, I think this time I want to our sole focus on all things FOOD. 

 

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And while I won’t be doing much of this…

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I’ll make up for it by doing plenty of this.

So do you have any good food sugestions for San Francisco? Oh please don’t hold out on me, I’m a pregnant woman who needs to EAT!!

My dog has a stinky hole.

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She periodically releases her anal glands and the fish oil smell mixed with butt permeates every crevice of my home.

Oh, you don’t know what anal glands are? Let me explain,they’re these internal sacs on either side of her rectum that collect poo juice right before she lays a stinky dump. It’s the stuff that helps dogs identify each other. And apparently they release when they are stressed, or overly excited, or in my dog’s case, while taking a non-stressful, and non-exciting nap.

She most recently ‘released’ on my couch.

On MY couch. In the corner where I find myself most often while watching So You Think You Can Dance, while eating raspberry jelly chocolate sticks from Trader Joe’s.

Only I can’t get comfortable in my spot, and eat my raspberry jelly sticks, and watch my favorite dancing show anymore because my bichon decided to dribble her poo sauce all over MY SPOT!

I threw the spray nozzle of the Febreze across the room and just poured the whole bottle all over my couch.

Still smells.

Only now, it smells like a field of dandelions covered in dog poop.

Then I vacuumed.

Still smells.

I sprayed with stain remover and steam cleaned the cushions.

I steam cleaned my couch cushions, people!!

Still smells.

I removed the cushion covers and threw them into the washing machine.

Still smells.

I think there’s only one thing left to do.

Vacuum, steam clean, and Febreze my dog’s asshole.

My New Neighbors

For about 6 months the home that shares a wall with us was vacant. And before it was vacant, there was this very quiet hispanic family that lived there. I think it was a family of five, and I’m pretty sure they walked around with carne asada in their mouths all the time, because seriously, not a peep. Oh, and there was this crazy uncle that lived there and he worked at the Marriott down the road, and he loved my pug, and one day I saw his very long pinky nail, it was painted light blue…with sparkles. I don’t know if that meant he was gay or a druggie, or both. But after that I started to wink at him. It was my saucy way of communicating, ‘I know about your blue nail,’ but then he got the wrong idea and he asked me out on a date. But I said no, because I’m not into guys with a blue sparkle nail who work at the Marriott, and then they moved. I think I made them move. 

But anyway this nice enough couple with their year old baby girl just moved in. And I was all, YEA! Another chance to work on my winking, so it is not to be misconstrued as a sexual innuendo. Plus maybe I’ll be besties with the wife, and we’ll do the things that stay at home moms do, like swap casserole recipes, and talk about how awesome Berlyn is. 

And just as I was imagining what color we’d paint our toenails at our tandem pedicure appointment, the BANGING started. And it went on for two weeks straight. OH, but they were nice enough to save their construction efforts for weekends and after work. So 10:30 at night I’d hear the nail gun shooting holes into their walls, and the air compressor for their paint gun thing, and their shitty Creed CD that they played over and over and over, and I think I’m just jealous because they scraped the cottage cheese off their ceilings, and my cottage cheese still hangs, taunting me with its dangly cobwebs and sallow color.   

So now they blew it. I’m not going to be besties with the wife next door, because she likes Creed, and has no common deciency, and how could I be friends with someone like that? Sure, I’ll be cordial, perhaps copy a few pages out of Emily Post, and stick it in her mailbox The part where it’s not polite to do construction if you have an ajoing wall without first bringing your neighbors some delicious cake with sprinkle frosting, or offer to scrape their celings too. 

I wish my hispanic neighbors with the carne asada would move back in, I might even over look the blue sparkle nail.

The Pickle

 

I used to like pickles when I was little. Except I only liked dill, especially the ones that came in a sack of pickle juice that you could get at the fair. Pickles and I were buds, we laughed at the same parts in movies, we danced together, and we even held hands when no one else was watching. But then one night I dreamt that a mammoth-sized pickle chased me in to a department store dressing room and made me try on all sorts of things, like a pair of coolots, and a silver track suit, and a bra, and then, as you could imagine, the pickle felt me up. I smacked it around a little bit to show it who’s boss, but then the pickle stuck me in a sack with pickle juice, and  carried me around the store with its fat, green pickle hands clutching me tight. Once we got outside I noticed the pickle was wearing a bonnet and lace-trimmed boots, although it was hard to tell if the boots were lace trimmed, because everything looked green and distorted because, hello, I was being held hostage in a stinky pickle bag. 

Then the pickle, wearing the bonnet and the speculated lace-trimmed boots took a giant bite out of me, and I died. 

After that horrifying dream, I’ve never looked at the pickle the same way. I have no respect for it, and when I see it cowering in my sandwich, between my cheese and meat, I pick it out carefully, using only my fingernails, and toss it against the wall, and curse the day that the pickle was born.

A List of Crappy Things that I Don’t Like

But to make it a bit more fascinating I thought I’d write the post while standing on my head. Because since you can’t see me, that doesn’t really make it fascinating for anyone except myself and my dog, who is currently licking my nostrils. SO, to make it fascinating for you too, I’ve decided to write about each thing separately in the days to come. Oh, wow. It’s kinda like I’m giving you a giant mound of cotton candy for us to share while we ride the Ferris wheel together, huh?

On with the crap:

  • Pickles
  • Hangnails
  • The color cream
  • Squid
  • Kids
  • Dust
  • When other people cough or breathe loud
  • Fruit Stripe Gum
  • Pickles
  • My New Neighbors

Are there some things you don’t like?