Silly Sundays - Help I've Fallen And I Can't Get Up

Happy Sunday evening everyone -

I don't now if the following tidbit could be considered "silly" or just fuktarded. You be the judge. Also, if you want to play along...stop over to The Blue Zoo and link up. Even if you don't want to play along, stop over anyway, you won't regret it!

We got DUMPED on here on the east coast on Friday. Thursday evening I went to bed we had NO snow. Friday I couldn't leave the house because the guy that blows out my driveway couldn't get down my road until late afternoon. I drive a car with 18" tires and there was no way in hell I was getting through that mess.

Saturday I fell. I never fall. I wear three inch heels through most of the winter and skip across icy sidewalks the way Julie Andrews skipped through the fields in the Sound of Music (minus the gaggle of kids following me). I do not fall. Saturday Nora and I were heading out to the mall, I had sneakers on (don't judge) for hell's sake. My foot hit the top step of the deck and I felt it slipping. It went something like this.

Oh (thhh thunk)
Shit (thhhh thunk)
Owww (thhh thunk)
Damn (thhh thunk)
It (thh thunk)

And then I landed in the snowbank. Unable to breath, convinced my back had snapped in a million pieces and I would just freeze to death in the snowbank.  My tailbone hit every damn step on the way down. Nora is standing on the deck almost in hysterics because she thought I was dead. I couldn't speak because all ability to breathe had been knocked the fuck out of me. I have a flat ass. Seriously, you could set a level on my ass and it would be totally straight. I have no padding there. You know those bones you have in each ass cheek. Yeah, they really hurt when  you bring 170 pounds down on top of them. Nora is kneeling behind me, "Mom are you ok, MOM???" trying to drag me up by my armpits. All I can do is nod. When I finally managed to pick myself up out of the snowbank Nora said to me, "Mom I'm so glad you're not 50". I asked her, "What does being 50 have to do with it hun?" She replies, "Well, if you were 50 a fall like that would totally kill you." I have 14 years left people, 14 years before a fall like that will take me out!!

Then I went to the gym today. I know, I'm beyond retarded. I never ever denied it. But please, feel free to tell me JUST how retarded I am.  I really thought I was ok. Really. Now...well I can't sit down (I'm standing at the kitchen counter right now). Standing kinda hurts too, now that I think about it. Laying down .....yeah that's not really an option either. It's probably just a really bad bruise, right?

I'm Amazed I'm Still Alive...Really.

Disclaimer: Dear readers, as you peruse through this post, please keep in mind that the Dual Mom you all know through this blog is not the same girl as depicted in this story. As a matter of fact, the woman I am today could not be more different from the teenage me. Thank the powers that be....

My poor mother. She had such great expectations when she found herself knocked up with her third child. I was supposed to be a boy.  I thank my lucky stars ultrasounds didn't exist back then (you know..back when dinosaurs roamed the earth) otherwise I'm sure she would have just flushed the embryo that would be me down the toilet. I was the third daughter. According to my mother I came out screaming the house down and was, in her words -  "this pink bundle covered in white down just like a little pig". Pig huh...some things never change obviously.

Anyfatpig....she used to tell me that when the nurse put me in her arms... my arms were flailing and I had my face scrunched up like I had just sucked on something sour (huh a look I still have to this day). Apparently when I opened my eyes my mother almost dropped me, for I had blue eyes. Both my siblings had been born with brown...almost black eyes, like my mother. My eyes were blue,clear, ice blue, just like my father's. My mother would often tell me when I was a teenager, and doing something I wasn't supposed to be doing, "I knew you would be a problem child the minute I saw those blue eyes". Yeah well, love you too Mum!

Problem child, me? Well I guess that would depend upon what your definition of problem is. If problem means getting picked up by the police when you're thirteen years old for being drunk and disorderly in a public place, well than yeah...I guess I could have been labelled as such. I swear my friends made me consume the half quart of Kelly's Wine I drank that night. They than proceeded to leave me passing out, in front of the youth centre we had been hanging out at. The person who owned the lawn which I was napping on called the cops. The cops apparently frown on young teenage girls sleeping on lawns. Who knew?

I think they probably also frown on teenage girls puking in the back of the squad car on the way to the police station...but I can't be 100% sure on that one. On the puke oh yeah...I did. Several times. I'm just not sure if they frowned on it. Because really, it's all just a blur. I remember the puking. I remember the cops discussing who was going to stay with me in the car while the other cop went in to call my mother. I don't remember giving them my number. Now that I think about it, I have no idea how they knew who to call. I was 13, it's not like I had a driver's license on me, or had ever been arrested before. Huh, I'll have to ask my sister. The cops were really nice, I remember that.

Mother's also frown on being called at 10:00 at night to come and pick up their teenage daughters at the police station. This I know for 100% certainty. My mother did not drive. So not only did she have to schlepp her ass down to the police station to pick up her 13 year old daughter, she had to phone one of her girlfriends to pick her up, so she could pick me up. My poor mother. Mother's also frown on being told, by said teenage girl, that she's going to hang out at a friend's house, when said problem child is actually getting drunk with her no good friends. I do remember my mother's fury. Holy fuck she was mad. I have never in all my life seen my mother that angry. She couldn't even look at me (or perhaps it was the puke all over my clothes that caused her disdain) when she came to pick me up. She took me home and almost threw me in my bedroom. Warned me that if I puked in the bed I was cleaning it up my damn self and that come the next morning, I would be a very very sorry girl indeed. My poor mother.

I wish I could go back in time. I would give myself an ass whooping that I would not soon forget. I was horrible. That part of your brain that says, "Perhaps this isn't such a great idea" did not exist when I was a teenager. I had no fear, no sense of decorum, no inhabition. I was game for anything. Stay out all night when you're 15 years old with your 21 year old boyfriend, who by the way, thought you were 18...check. Lie to your mother on a daily ...christ hourly...basis. Check. Fist fight with your younger brother until one of you bleeds. Check. Throw your older sister into the dresser because she wore your favorite top and ruined it. Check. Throw a party when your mother is working the night shift, get high on acid and decide to take the cat for a walk..in your nightgown..at midnight. Banner idea. Check. Fall down a flight of basement stairs (drunk), break your ankle, lie to the ER doc about how much alcohol you'd consumed, and THEN  phone your Mum the next morning to come to the hospital to sign papers so that you could have surgery on  your ankle...because it was broken in three places and required two plates and a shitload of screws to put it back together again. Mum thought my 17 year old juvenile deliquent ass was babysitting for the weekend. Check!

I swear, I did not grow up in a trailer park. My mother had all her teeth. We did not have multiple disassembled cars in our front yard. 

I get physically ill when I think that my daughter might be anything like I was. Physically ill. The big difference though between me and my mother. My mother kept giving me "chances". For some reason I was able to convince her EACH and EVERY time that it would be the last time I'd get in trouble. I think she was just so fucking tired of dealing with me that she didn't have the energy to fight with me. Also, keep in mind I grew up in the 80's. Parents were not the parents of today. I hitchiked to school, with my mother's blessing. Parents did not call their child 12 times an evening on their cell phones. We would head out the door, promising to be home by curfew, knowing full well half the time there was no chance in hell curfew would be made, and that's where our parents control would end. Oh she would ground me, she would kick my arse (literally), she would lock me in my room, she would take my allowance away. None of it had any type of lasting affect. With me as a mother, it would happen once, and only once and than I'd just break her legs so she couldn't walk. Kidding...kind of.

Do I regret doing this stuff? Honestly? I do and I don't. I regret putting my mother through that. I have no doubt the stress and worry of dealing with me took years off her life. She never gave up on me. She would have been totally within her right to throw my ass out of the house, but she didn't. She let me push, and push and push at the boundries, until the boundries were left in a cloud of dust. She loved me through it all.

But holy shit I had fun. The beach parties, the friends, the laughs. We were always laughing (and no it wasn't the acid...that only happened once). I have memories of camping trips with friends, sitting around the fire telling stories and laughing until we hurt. I fell in and out of love on a regular basis. It was during one of these parties that I met my best friend. Twenty two years later and we still have each other's back.  No one ever got hurt , ok yeah, the whole plate and pins in the ankle thing ...yeah ok you got me there. But it really did make me a stronger person. All of it.

Then on my 18th birthday I told my mother, over the phone (because I was so damned scared) that I was pregnant. That's a story for another day.

This Is Me...Were I A Cat

I couldn't resist really...this pic just spoke to me.

In all actuality, it's more like this....

I got nothing for ya.

Hey, tell me what you want to hear. I have tons of stories, from the time I puked in the back of a cop car when I was 13 to the time I had to tell my mother I was pregnant...on my 18th birthday. What's something you'd really like to know about yours truly? Because I'm just that fascinating, I know.

Getting In On The Action

I know it's almost Wednesday. However, Zgirl over at the Think Tank has come up with a fabfun new thingamabopperthingy for all you snarcastic bloggers. Thank you notes Tuesday with a twist. I couldn't let her grand unveiling pass by without participating. So even though I'm a day late, here's your chance to get in on the fun.

Dear Co-worker,

Thank you so much for the lovely sarcasm dripping from the words of your email . I really do love starting my morning with a cup of coffee and a bullshit email. While I realize you could be just having a really shitty day,and I appreciate a sarcastic snip as much as the next girl, can I recommend you proofread your emails before replying to an innocent inquiry made on my part? I have no problem dealing with a craptastic attitude when I deserve it, however, I've been known to slap a bitch when she gives me attitude that I don't deserve. You do understand that your budget has to go through my office before it's approved, right? Consider yourself warned.

Dear Sons of mine,

You have the next four days off of school. I'm so happy for you. This means, of course, that I'll need to buy double the groceries because when you roll out of bed at noon you'll be hungry. Sleeping is hard work, I know, my poor darlings. Stock up so you'll have lots of energy for playing those video games. By the way, when I come home from work that list of chores I left for each of you better be done. You know damn well I will not hesitate to kick you squarely in the arsehole. Thanking you in advance.

Dear High School,

No exams for general courses? Ingenious fucking plan. Way to challenge the students and teach them the value of hard work. And giving them the entire week off, brilliant. Really. It's no wonder you guys were put in charge of teaching and shaping the next generation. I feel so confident that my children are receiving a quality education. Thank you.

Dear scales,

I'm sorry I ripped your guts out. Really I am. But  you had it coming. Your lack of cooperation is nothing short of mind boggling . You really should sit down for a chat with Mr. Treadmill, he'll set you straight on how hard I've been working. You'll be back on the losing track next week, right? Thanksomuch

Dear Weather,

-24 last week which was typical east coast weather. +7 today. Should I get my summer clothes back out? Could you make up your damn mind please? It's cold, it's warm, it's cold, oh wait now I'll blow some 100km winds just for shits and giggles and rain like a mofo. The yo yo is getting old, fast. And these temperature fluctuations, oh they do just grand things with the dirt road I live on. Just be winter already and get it the fuck over with please? Thank you.

Dear CTV,
Airing the entire Season 5 of Lost one week before the start of Season 6? Really? Fuck you're killing me here. Like the wait hasn't been bad enough now I have to contend with you dangling these recaps in front of me. Just put me in a coma until next Tuesday, please? Thank you!

Ahhhh that feels better. The world would be such a dark, terrible place without sarcasm, non?

Week Three Weigh In

*Sigh*


As many of you know, I’ve lost weight before, quite a bit of weight, going from a size 14 down to a size 5. I know how to do this. I know what works and what doesn’t work for my body.

So the following synopsis was cut and pasted from myfitnesspal food and exercise diary.

DualMom completed her food and exercise diary for 01/24/2010 and was under her calorie goal
DualMom completed her food and exercise diary for 01/23/2010 and was under her calorie goal
DualMom completed her food and exercise diary for 01/21/2010 and was under her calorie goal
DualMom completed her food and exercise diary for 01/18/2010 and was under her calorie goal
DualMom completed her food and exercise diary for 01/17/2010 and was under her calorie goal

Ok, got that?

Here is the exercise I did last week.

Monday – 1hr cardio, 35 minutes weights
Tuesday – no exercise
Wednesday – 1 hr cardio
Thursday – 1 hr Yoga class, 1 hr cardio
Friday – no Exercise
Saturday – 1 hr 10 min cardio, 45 minutes stretching/weights
Sunday – 45 mins cardio

That’s a total of 4 hrs 45 minutes of cardio and 2 hrs 20 mins of yoga/weights. So tell me, how in the sweet flippin name of all that is holy, I gained a pound last week? I have not eaten a fucking cookie, a french fry, a burger; nothing that could be considered “cheating” has passed these lips. I can't even believe that I've become one of THOSE people. You know the ones I mean, the people that go on and on about how they can't lose weight no matter how hard they try and all the while you're thinking to yourself, "Yeah, removing the cheeseburger from your fat trap might be a start."

I did drink on Friday night but even with that the scale should not be reading what its reading. When the fitness pal says I’m under my calorie goal….it’s usually on average by about 500 calories. No, I’m not starving myself. I’m eating about 1200 – 1300 calories a day, but I’m burning close to 600 calories on the days I exercise. And yes I’m fucking drowning myself with 4563 million glasses of water a day.

I’m pissed. Pissed is an understatement.

As I sat trying to reassemble the pieces of my scale last evening, I thought of something. Could it be because I’m getting older? “They” (whoever the fuck they are) say that as you age, losing weight becomes increasingly difficult. Am I destined to remain fat because I’m getting older? You know what I say to that notion?

Suck my arse AGE! There’s no way in flying fucking hell that’s gonna happen I’ll tell you that right now.

Since I’m all about the scientific experiments, I need you to help me. I need to figure out if my increasing age is indeed playing a role in my fantastical failure increasing difficulty losing weight. Then I'll know that I just have to work my aging ass a little bit harder. So, I need you to tell me how old you are and how much weight you’ve lost so far. If you don’t want to post your age, email me at dualmomatgmail.com Please help a girl out. Otherwise I fear for my sanity, the lives of my children, and really just anyone who comes in contact with me today. The proper thing to do would be to post a warning around my neck:

"Fat, aging chick, sweating her arse off and not losing weight...proceed at your own risk"

I'll accumulate the data and post my findings. You know... the highly scientific, accurate results of my highly scientific experiment.

Where's A Confessional When You Need One?

I have a confession to make and if I were religious I’d so be down on my knees saying Hail Mary’s for all I was worth and dousing myself with holy water. I’m absolutely convinced I’ve been taken over by demons and an exorcism is the only answer.

I arose from my boudoir at 11:00am on Saturday morning. This is unheard of for me. Over the past several years I find it impossible to sleep in past 8:00am on the weekends. This could have been a direct result of the alcohol consumption from Friday night. No, this is not my confession.

On Sunday morning, I rolled out of bed at 9:30am. Again, not my confession.

I made it to the gym for 1hr 40min on Saturday and 1 hour on Sunday.

My house looks as though a complete and utter slob has moved in with me. There is a pile of laundry sitting in the basket in my kitchen and no matter how much I give it the evil stink eye, it refuses to fold itself. The floors are being cantankerous and refuse to scrub themselves. The glass tops on my coffee/end tables look as though I have two sets of quadruplets living in the house. My house is a mess. One would think an entire weekend sans kids would be a prime opportunity to get reacquainted with my scrub brush.

Instead. Instead. Instead I spent the weekend watching Real World (hangs head in shameful remorse). I have talked before about the fact that I do not have cable/satellite tv. There’s a reason for this. Yours truly has an obsessive personality. I can’t eat one potato chip, I can’t buy one pair of shoes, I can’t watch one hour of tv. No, instead I spend an entire weekend watching what has to be some of the worst television ever made. There are 23 seasons of this show. How is that possible? How is it possible that prior to this weekend I had no idea MTV gathered up young people and put them in a house together and urged them to be dramatic, and cheat on their boyfriends/girlfriends and sleep with each other. AND THIS IS ENTERTAINMENT. Worse yet, I watched it. My eyes were bleeding and my brain was pleading with me to just perform a full lobotomy and put it out of its misery. And yet I sat there watching.  I showered multiple times but couldn’t remove the feeling of stank ass dirtiness. Sometimes I really hate modern technology and the internet. Bless me father for I have sinned………

Apparently there are spin offs to this show where they bring back favorites from the various Real World seasons and pit them against each other in physical challenges? Please tell me this shit isn’t available to watch online too?

After posting about my Friday evening several of you have commented that we need to drink together. This is highly imperative, I believe, for all our personal growth. I’ve had a bit of an epiphany (you know where this is going). MTV needs to do a new reality series, about bloggers. That’s right. They need to gather up a shitload of us and put us up in a swanky house for a month and let us have at it. Hell, they could even gather up a bunch of us from LIB and we could do a whole Real World/Biggest Loser thing. You see, this way, we could spend a month together hanging out, blogging together and drinking from shoes. How fanfuckintabulous would that be? Entertainment at its FINEST people. I have visions of me and Zgirl battling it out on the treadmill while an entire nation watches, completely riveted of course. Instead of a confessional we could do blogs. I have the entire first season cast in my head. So MTV, if you’re reading this, have your people contact my people.

I know I’m supposed to do a weigh in today. I did weigh myself and have decided to refrain from posting about it until tomorrow. I’m afraid we need to have a chat.

We're Not Cougars....We Just Look That Way

I'm getting so damn old. 11:00pm on Friday night and I was D.O.N.E. I remember fondly the days of old when 11:00pm was when one would start applying their makeup for the evening rather than putting on their pajamas and looking forward to crawling into bed. So damn old.

I am sad to report there are no tales of shoe debauchery though we did manage to draw the attention of everyone in the bar (once again). Friday evening we were celebrating K’s 47th birthday. I am the youngest of the group and I like it that way. K is 47. B is 47 and G is 50. I love these women, like seriously love them. You could not find a different group of women if you tried. K is a millionaire. G is on her 3rd marriage and B lives in a bubble and still thinks the world is flat. Then there’s me. The baby of the group, the loudest of the group, and probably the least restricted of the group. By restricted I mean no husband, kids that aren’t with me every second week...I essentially live the life of a 30 something single woman for two weeks out of the month.

The evening started tamely enough. We met at our favorite watering hole and were delighted to find that our favourite waitress was working. By favourite I mean this girl (by girl I mean she’s 29, which we learned on Friday evening, which completely blew us away because we thought she was 20, bitch) comes to our table and sits down with us for 15 minutes to catch up on the happenings since the last time we were there. We LOVE her.

After about twenty minutes of chatting and drink ordering we hear a masculine voice say, “Of all the places to run into the fearsome four”. And it’s our director of programs. When I say director of programs, think Richard Gere. Yeah I know. If this man had any idea how we salivate over him and have wet dreams about him he would absolutely die. He has no idea just how sexy he is. So he would be B, G and K’s boss. Let’s call him Richard just for simplicity sake. I actually work for Richard’s boss so technically, in the hierarchy of work; I would be the only one that does not report to sexy Richard. Sexy Richard and K are good friends outside of work. They are both runners and run together on a regular basis. G and B have the whole “You’re our boss so therefore we have to act all professional and prim around you but behind your back wed love nothing more than to get busy with ya, if we were single, and you were single” thing going on. That is until they get a couple of glasses of wine under their belt. Then the fuck’s start flying and the stories start flowing and poor Richard was dying to stay with us for the evening but had a prior commitment with “the boys”.

A good part of the evening was spent discussing age. When I sit with these women I don’t feel 10 years younger than them. To me there is no difference in age amongst us. K then started spouting off that my boobs aren’t nearly as floppy as hers and I have no laugh lines or wrinkles in my forehead. So we decided to do an experiment of sorts. It was highly scientific let me tell you because we were all drunk by this point. So we started stopping random people walking by our table and asking them who they thought was the youngest person at the table. Yes, we are retarded, what was your first clue? The women we stopped were quick to answer. The guys we stopped hedged ALOT, there was no way in hell they were putting themselves in a situation of pissing off a table full of inebriated woman by answering incorrectly.

Out of the nine people we asked, 9 of them guessed I was the youngest. Yeaaaah for me! By the ninth person, I could tell the girls just wanted to stop this game and drop kick me out of the group. I get really ballsy creative when I’m drinking so on my next trip to the bar to buy a round, I spotted four guys sitting there chatting. They were in their late twenties or early thirties. So I approached them and this is what I said (I’m so fucking embarrassed and if I EVER run into these guys again I will die of shame).

Hi guys!! How are you this evening?

Guys – sort of lean their bodies away from me, raise their eyebrows and respond, “Good?”

Me: Listen, I’m wondering if you could do me a favour?

Guys – looking around for the closest exit

Me: I’m at a table over by the back window with three girlfriends...

Guys: Get a little more interested....

Me: We’ve been doing a bit of an experiment and I’m wondering if you can help me out.

Guys: Leaning in closer now...

Me: I’m wondering if  the four of you, one at a time, could casually stroll by our table and when one of us stops you and asks you which one of us you think is the youngest I want you to give the following answers.

I then proceed to designate one of the other girls to each of the guys. The girls all very different in looks so this was a bit of a no brainer.

And the guys are sitting there looking at me and they keep looking behind me and I can only wonder if they were looking for the man with the white coat to come and take me away, but they did it. As each guy approaches the table I would say to one of the girls, “Ok, let’s ask him” and one of the girls would stop him and ask him and on cue the guy would stand there, ponder a bit and give the proper response. To give credit where credit is due the guys played this to the hilt and the girls had no idea they were pawns in my little game.

The girls were shitting themselves with glee. So we sit laughing and talking and drinking some more and our waitress comes over to the table and puts down a bill in front of me. I looked at her quizzically and she says, “This is the bill for the round you bought the four guys up at the bar.”

Fuck me.

The table goes dead silent and K says to me, “T, you didn’t.........you didn’t PAY those guys to do that?” Then B starts laughing, she’s doubled over laughing. And G starts explaining to the waitress what we’ve been doing and what I had done and the waitress starts laughing. I start chuckling because damn it WAS really funny. So here we are in the middle of a crowded bar ....the waitress is holding onto the table laughing and the four of us are just splitting our sides laughing and EVERY single person within hearing distance of our laughter is turned around in their seats watching us, no doubt dying to be at our table because damn we looked like we were having fun.

Nothing like making a spectacle of yourself. I don’t know what it is about us but it never fails. An evening out with the fearsome four is just not complete until we’ve drawn the attention of the ENTIRE bar toward our table.

PS. The four guys then proceeded to buy us rounds before we finally called it a night and stumbled out to the cars of the waiting hubbins (theirs...not mine).

Fragment Friday's

I can't seem to gather my thoughts together to write an intelligent (I use the word intelligent in the loosest manner possible) post so you're getting fragments of my mind. Be afraid, be very afraid.

Fragment One
I went to yoga for the VERY first time in my life last night. I don't think the instructor had any idea this was my first class...I was full of  swan-like grace, amazing feats of balance, and muttered curse words emanating from the back of the room.  I was like a fucking elephant in a china shop people. I went for a half hour run afterward and have never in all my life felt so good running. My hips and joints felt as though they were fluid. I was completely floored by the difference the hour of yoga made in my body. Will be making that a regular part of my routine.

Fragment Two
I just found out a coworker had emergency surgery last night. The doctors told him before surgery it was to repair a small tear in his large intestine. Today he has no large intestine and will carry his feces around in a bag on the outside of his body for the rest of his life. He's 43 and a sommelier at our Culinary school. Double whammy, right? I hate the fact that life can change so suddenly. Fuck

Fragment Three
This week at work I have been asked to work on three different projects that are outside of my normal job duties. All three are challenging but will see me putting in long hours. No, there will be no more pay. I thrive on the challenge and than bitch and complain about the stress. I seem to do this to myself every January. I'm an oxymoron...or just a moron perhaps.

Fragment Four
We're having a birthday celebration this evening for one of the girls in our group. Those who have read about my tequila escapades knows what this means.

Fragment Five
The kids have been with their dad this week. One would think this would be an opportune time to get the house cleaned on Monday evening thereby enabling one to enjoy a clean house for the entire week, right? Yeahhhhhh notsomuch. I think I emptied the dishwasher on Tuesday and that was it. Now I have to clean this weekend only to have the kids come home on Monday and destroy the cleanliness. It makes no sense, do not try to understand it. It pisses me off that I do this all.the.time.

Fragment Six
Speaking of the Ex, I have been looking into filing a divorce. We've been apart for almost 10 years but never divorced. I just learned that he can sue me for child support because I make a bit more money than he does (probably over 15 grand more a year....okay more than a bit...but goddammit). This makes me want to kill every fucking policy maker in Canada. I left yes. However, in what type of a warped fucking reality would it be "fair" to make me pay him child support when he lives in a house given to him by his parents (a house that WE lived in when we were married, that I walked away from without asking for a penny), he pays no mortgage, he pays no utilities beside his phones, he pays no upkeep on the house. And his girlfriend has lived with him for almost 9 years. I live on my own, I pay a mortgage, utilities, house upkeep blah blah blah.  And the kicker of it all, it wouldn't be him that would sue for support, he would actually never do that (I don't think). If she (I so want to call her the c word...so very badly) had any idea of how much money I make......she would dance all the way to the court house to sue me for support on his behalf. And he would let her.

And you know something else, I believe in a 50/50 shared custody agreement, no man should have to pay child support either. Annnnnnd y'all are so going to kick my ass for saying that...

Fragment Seven
Thank fuck it's Friday.

And So It Begins

Maybe it’s the pants I’m wearing. Maybe it's the knee high boots. Perhaps it was because I was almost at a full run in a rush to get coffee and get to a meeting on time and that made me look all sporty like. Perchance the moon is in the first quarter and the stars are aligned just right. Whatever the reason, it has happened, I got my first random, spontaneous “You’re losing weight” today………..

And damn it feels so good.

That's What She Said

Thank you for your comments yesterday. Who would have thought that a virtual world could make someone feel so loved? It amazes and humbles me.

I got this in my email the other day:

My name is Jason and I’m part of the Promotions Team here at CSN Stores. We have been seeking out high quality websites and blogs, gauging interest in doing a giveaway with one of our sites.

A few things - if you're seeking out high quality websites and blogs, how the hell did you stumble upon mine? There's nothing high quality here Jason, we don't do quality here at Dual Mom's place. Granted I do manage to post most days, so I guess you could say high quantity, but quality, nahhh it's just rants and lots of cuss words and me trying to be funny. Sometimes I suceed, sometimes I fall on my face in a pile of shit. But hey, if you wanna give me free shit to give away to my fabulous readers, I'm game. Because my readers, now there's some high quality. And hey, if you want to give me free shit and have me publicly trash it because I am one hard bitch to please and I won't lie just because you're givin' me free shit  review it, ok, I'll play that game too.

And I've been getting a few anonymous comments lately.....like this one:

Genial dispatch and this post helped me alot in my college assignement. Thank you for your information.

What the hell is genial dispatch? Are you retarded Anonymous?

And this one:

Your blog keeps getting better and better! Your older articles are not as good as newer ones you have a lot more creativity and originality now keep it up!

What the fuck? Is this a compliment or a criticism? Are you saying my first posts are shit? How dare you!?! Jason just told me that my stuff was high quality. So there! Show yourself dammit so I can respond to this comment. Keep it up you say? Fuck you and the horse you rode in on - how's that for original and creative?

Then there's the dude (or dudette) that sends me Chinese messages. I think they're slyly trying to recruit me for an uber top secret arm of the Red Army, they realize I have incredible powers of persuasion and have decided I will be their glorious leader. "But you don't speak Chinese Dual Mom nor are you actually of Chinese descent and your a woman." Pssssshhhhh that's just semantics...I'm sure I can work around ALL of those hurdles. And when I'm leader of the Chinese Army....I'm making all of you Generals, or Lieutenants, or some such fabulous title that will give you all uber powers. I'm soooo having those messages translated.

Along with the comments that make me go "WTF" are some search terms. Take for instance -

drunk lips tingle - So do mine.

fuck teacher - Oh my....you naughty naughty boy (I'm assuming)...do you kiss your mother with that mouth?

cougars drinking with boys picture - I see a theme developing here and it's making me think I need to tone down the material on my blog. I'll have you know we do not drink with boys, and if we did we'd never allow actual evidence of it...jeesssh we're not stupid.

not even panties - Really? Good for you.

dad's 12 year old daughter is his domme - I didn't know what a domme was. So I googled it. At work. I expect to be fired any moment now. Thanks.

I would strongly suggest grounding your daughter until she's at least 18.

what do you do if your kid says huh all the time - If it's a teenager you're dealing with -  the word huh and eye rolling are their main forms of communication. Around the age of 14 they lose all ability to speak with their parents. Unless of course they're telling you how stupid you are. If you're desperate to communicate with your teen try texting. They're really good at that. You'll need a book of translations because they don't actually use words.

tequila out of a shoe - Who would ever do such a thing?!?! Really, have some class people.

Be good!