Office Dynamics

My boss just walked into my office, handed me this and said, "Here this is for you." He chuckled and walked out to his meeting.

I'm surrounded by smart asses.

Is that a condom she has on her head?

JM2C or Just My Two Cents - For Those of Us That Speak In Full Sentences

When did this freaking become a blog about my dating life? How the hell did that happen? I blame it on you, and you....oh yeah and you had a part in it too.

Seriously, since the blogging world has become my go to when matters near and dear have me stumped I need your help.

You see, I suck at online dating.

There I said it. Hi I'm Dual Mom and I suck so badly at online dating. Is there a support group? Like suck dirty monkey balls I'm that bad.

Let me back up a moment and say a few things non boy related. My middle anklebiter turns 16 today. Why yes, I was 14 when I had him. Ok not really, fuck. While I'm glad my kids are growing up into semi well adjusted, non serial killer types, every birthday makes me nostalgic for the days when they were small and I didn't really like them that much.

And school starts in two weeks. What the hell? Yesterday, my daughter presented me with a list of all the "things" she needs before starting Junior High. Yeah, junior high, I know it made my fucking head spin too. So now I'm going to have to work the corner every night for the next two weeks just to get her half of the things on her "needs" list.

Ok onto the dating segment of the joke that is my life.

I joined an online dating site. I know, right?

Because I'm a smart ass my profile includes details regarding my internal debate over the whole cat lady/cougar scenario, the fact that acronyms drive me completely around the fucking bend (it's YOU not U people) and boys with beer bellies need not apply. Not that I have anything against beer bellies, some of the most wonderful guys I know have bellies, however, I'm in the shallow, vain I just want you to be pretty segment of my life and that's what I want. I make no apologies for it. I also state that if you can't start a sentence with a capital letter we probably won't have much in common.

Bitch, right? Mehhh

Anyfussybitch, for your reading pleasure I have saved some of the messages I've received to share with you. It's all about you people...it's all about you.

This one came from a 29 year old male who's profile included a picture of him drunkenly hanging off of two females (at least I think they were females), and his passtimes included (and I quote) "haning out wit freinds and drinking"

hi i no what a cougar is lolol but what do u mean by the cat lady thing. r u a cougar

I wanted to respond: c'mere till I chew your fucking head off and do the whole world a favor.

I get the whole millenial generations need to simplify everything to fit into 60 characters or less. But when someone explicity states that acronyms drive them crazy and capital letters are a must and yet they still send THAT type of message, there's bigger issues there than just a need for simplicity.

I've received multiple messages that said:

hi, wanna chat

About what, your lack of proper punctuation, or the fact that since you just sent me a message trying to get my attention and you used THREE FUCKING WORDS, chances are the chats going to be pretty onesided. And I'll want to stab my eyes out with a fork because you don't use capital letters or punctuation.

So here's where I need you to weigh in. Should I just get over myself and stop being so critical about the proper use of the english language, should I embrace the u r's and brb's and AWHFY and CWYL? Should I learn to live without question marks and proper punctuation?

One more thing, did you know there's a text acronym for oral sex? I know, I didn't really need to know either.

A Tale of Body Snatchers?

I think I know myself pretty well. I mean obviously there are days I like to delude myself into thinking I'm a calm, nice, rational person but really, it's bullshit. Even more so lately. I think I've been possessed by the spirit of some Lolita that's forcing me to hit on complete strangers in parking lots. I think I need an exorcism.

Hold onto your hats for this one people. Aren't you glad Dual Mom's single?

So yeah, I hit on a complete stranger in a parking lot. Ok, truthfully I didn't really hit on him. I commented on his bike (after checking out his ass as he was bent over said bike). I told him he had a nice ass bike. Totally innocent, right? He asked me if I "ride" (oh look- there goes my mind rolling into the gutter) and I explained that I leave the driving to those that know what they're doing but that I did enjoy riding shotgun.

He then said, and I quote, "I have an extra helmet, want to go for a drive?"

I don't shock easily. After I picked my fucking jaw up off the floor I sort of stuttered and may have actually spit on him in my efforts to get words to come out of my vocal chords. Oh  yeah, Dual Mom can impress the boys with her suave comebacks and spit. But really, what's a girl to do? It's 28 degrees, the sun is shining, the birds are singing, I've worked 42 hours in three days, I've been up since 4am and I'm single. I didn't even give myself a chance to talk myself out of it, I mean how completely fucking moronic is it to hop on the back of a bike with a total stranger? Yeah, he's cute, he's got a smokin ass, and he obviously appreciates the finer things in life (he is driving a Harley after all) but still....moronic with a capital M people.

So I locked my car, put on his helmet and what followed was probably one of the best evenings I've had in a very very long time. It was obvious that he was an experienced driver. Both ex hubby and ex boyfriend had bikes. I've spent my fair share of time on the back of a motorcyle. This guy knew what he was doing. So as we're driving across the bridge into town my sunglasses go flying off my face. He leans back and asks me if I want him to turn around and all I can do is laugh. I have my arms wrapped around this beautiful strange boy, I'm riding on the back of a Harley and I'm laughing with complete and utter abandon.

We drove and drove and drove. Fuck I think my hair was even blowing like you see in one of those corny commercials. Every few minutes he would turn his head slightly to ask if I was ok. He told me his name, I told him mine. He's chatting with me whenever we pull up to a light or stop sign, whenever we slow down for traffic. He asks if I'm scared (pffff scared? I hop on motorcyles all the time with strange men),  he tells me that he's been driving motorcycles all his life, he asks me what I do, he asks me if I'm single, (ha pretty sure if I wasn't I would be after my little escapade). All I can do is sit there dumbstruck, with this shit eating grin on my face. I'm staring at his hands as he operates the gears. He has a beautiful silver watch on his left wrist and his hair curls beneath the rim of his helmet. 

We laughed at the absolute insanity of what we were doing.

And you know what? As I sat on the back of that bike, with my arms wrapped around beautiful strange boy (did I mention how much I liked having my arms wrapped around beautiful strange boy), I felt free. I mean, I've heard people say how they "felt such a sense of freedom" but I never understood what it meant. At that very moment, I was free and I have no words for how glorious it felt.

When you have children as a teenager, you're freedom is cut very short before you have the knowledge and means to really enjoy it. Any mother out there knows how children have a sneaky way of infiltrating into our lives and souls. We live for our children. They are the very substance of our existance from the moment they are placed in our arms, and often well before that. This evening, I was just a woman. I was a woman on the back of a bike with a complete stranger and I have never felt more free.

He took me for nachoes and beer. Seriously. We ate nachoes and drank beer at an outdoor restaurant. I had two, he only had one. We laughed. My sides hurt from laughing. I told him I was recently single and had joined an online dating site (more on that later). He teased me that I wouldn't be able to keep them all straight, that I'd be mixing up names and vital statistics of all my paramours (his word). He suggested the proper thing to do was to get a white board and start a flow chart. I laughed until tears rolled down my face.

Then we walked around town because he said he wasn't taking me back on the bike until I walked off the beer. For an hour we walked, laughing some more. We stopped and he bought coffee and we walked more, talking as though we were the best of friends. We stopped and listened to an outdoor jazz concert. It was surreal. I wish I could describe how it felt, the craziness of it mixed with the sheer joy.

We exchanged contact info. I hope to hear from him again, but if I don't I have to tell you I won't regret a minute of it. He gave me one of the best evenings I've had in quite awhile...and yes, I include the evening spent with boy toy (more on that later too).

As he drops me at my car, he gets off the bike and unstraps my helmet all the while smiling at me (yeah, the shit eating grin was still on my face).

He hugged me before hopping back on his bike and riding into the sunset. A real, genuine hug.

I think someone should pinch me because I have to be dreaming, seriously.

Do's And Don'ts of Being A Houseguest

Consider this my PSA for the week. I swear to fuck my head is going to explode and brain matter is going to come spewing out of both my nose and ears. As you all know the famille is home (insert long, drawn out, hyena like scream). I've written before about my sister, and the time she came home and both she and her daughter had lice and she thought I was overreacting when I sprayed everything with 120% proof insecticide and washed the bedsheets twenty eleven times a day.

So do's and don'ts of being a proper houseguest.

Do

Pick up behind yourself, and your daughter. Yeah, the 11 year old's underwear on the kitchen floor? Pretty fucking sure it's going to get shoved down her throat.

Wash the dog shit (or what looks like it) off your feet before curling up on  your hostess's couch. Better yet, how 'bout washing your entire body? What a concept, I know.

Don't

Allow your child to walk around the house carrying your hostess's laptop by the screen. What sort of fucking neanderthal does that?

Wait until your hostess gets finished working a 14 hour day and then tell her you're too tired to make up the air matress for your daughter to sleep on. Oh and you probably shouldn't FUCKING STAND THERE AND WATCH as your hostess inflates the air matress, digs out the linens and makes up the bed. You know you're just asking for an elbow to the jugular bitch. You'll find yourself out in the woods with the rest of the damn wildlife.

Don't fucking sigh when your hostess tells you she gets up at 6:00am to get ready for work. It's just too fucking shitty pants for you if the noise of your hostess making 1420 pots of coffee so that she can stay awake to work another 14 hour day wakes YOU up in the morning. Proper etiquette does not entail you then lamenting about the fact that you want to sleep in especially considering you've been off on holidays all fucking summer.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuccccccccccccccckkkkkkkkkk where's my gun?

Oh and let's not even talk about that goddamn skinny arse brother of mine, who each and every year manages to have a blissful, sister- free summer. Bastard.

Feel free to send your questions regarding proper houseguest etiquette to losingmyfuckingmind@sisterhoodofthetravellingpants.com

Fawk You Friday

I'm playing along with the fabulicious Boobies today. Click above if you feel like joining in on the fun. Nothing is more fun than flipping the bird to those that piss you off, in my humble opinion.

• To whatever it was that caused a huge gaping hole in my tire. I fucking love getting up in the morning only to discover that my front tire is completely flat. Know what's even more fun? Having to tow your car to the dealership to the tune of $125 smackers. The cost of replacing the tire was just icing on the cake really.

• To the mosquitoes that seem to feel that my yard is the only place in the neighborhood adequate enough to set up housekeeping and multiply....fuck you. It's wonderful to sit in the livingroom watching my neighbors frolic on their deck in the evening, knowing that were I to step forth outside my house, I'd be carried away to neverland by you blood thirsty motherfuckers.

• To my well-meaning older sister, who sent me an email saying I sounded "stressed and sad". Really? I can't imagine why I would sound stressed or sad. After all I have your visit to look forward to, I'm broke, I'm working two fucking jobs and I'm still broke and you need mussels and won't share your prozac. You'll land here full of piss and vinegar wanting to jaunt off to do this and that thereby making me feel bad because I can't frolic with you because I can't seem to gain entrance into the same fairy tale universe where you reside. (Pity party for one, anyone? It's ugly, I know.)

• To the grass on my beautiful acre of property that won't stop fucking growing. Do you see the mosquitoes? Do you know how hard it is to cut you with the fuckers flying in my eyes and mouth? I look like I have a severe case of tourette syndrome with my head jerking everywhere and waving my hands ceaselessly in front of my face, all the while cursing FUCCCCCKKKK every two minutes.

• To the doctor at the walk-in clinic who told me my blood pressure was high and attributed my chest pains to stress, then proceeded to advise me to "reduce the stress in my life" and to folllow up with my family doctor. Oh sorry, I didn't mean to spit on you as I laughed hysterically in your face. That's some funny shit there doc...reduce the stress in my life. You've got a magic wand stuck up your ass that you can wave? You obviously read that little sheet on your clipboard with my stats very carefully, you know, the one that indicated I DON'T HAVE A FUCKING FAMILY DOCTOR ASSHAT.  Let's not talk about the fact that I pay almost 46% of my yearly income in taxes, a large part of which is supposed to go to health care so that we as Canadians have such frivolous things like family doctors.

• To my coffee maker. For dying on me this morning, leaving me to fall to the floor in an oscar worthy show of hysterical tears and blubbering mass of emotional despair. Why, oh why this morning of all mornings?

Is it a bad thing that I'm seriously considering drinking at 12:30 in the afternoon? Do I need an intervention? Have I asked that question before? Never mind, please don't answer.

No worries folks. This too shall pass, right? RIGHT? I have my health. Wait no, apparently I don't. I have three beautiful children. Ummm well no, they're really not that cute anymore and quite frankly full of attitude that is fugly. I have a wonderful job that I love that pays the bills, well no not .......ahhh fuck it.

I'll be back later with a list of all the sunshiny, glorious things. After a drink or two....

I Love My Family But Is It Really Necessary for You To Visit?

 Lice story here. I know you're all dying to read it.

Hey, can I come stay at your place for a few days? I shower, I swear.

Why? Why Do You Have to Be an Asshat?

Please be forewarned - I've had several (okay 5) crantinis and I'm mad as hell.

Break-ups aren't fun. I mean you never hear anyone say, "You know, just for shits and giggles I think I'll break up with my partner tomorrow". Unless of course you're a psychotic, narcissistic asshole and then all bets are off.

Though I have several narcissistic tendencies that scare the shit out of me when I dwell on them for too long, I'm not psychotic. I have the papers to prove it. My recent break up was the result of months of sleepless nights, agonizing conversations with myself and friends and alot of deep deep soul searching. It broke my heart to end the relationship. I hurt him. I don't like hurting people unless they deserve it.

Ex-boyfriend has been emailing me for the last week, hounding me to tell the kids about our breakup. He argued that they had a right to know. I argued that I was their mother, and as their mother I had final call as to when to tell my kids. The kids have not seen him in over 6 months. They have long ago stopped asking when they would see him again. Ex sent me an email today telling me that if I did not tell them, he would. He talks to Nora quite frequently on Facebook about farmville (don't ask...that's a whole other issue) and ipods.

This afternoon I'm in the kitchen and I hear Nora shout, "Mom...what the hell is going on?". Nora shouting is one thing, Nora saying hell means that something of an apacolyptic nature has happened. She comes out to the kitchen with the laptop and shows me Ex's facebook page. He has changed his status to "Single" and put "blank is now new and improved, 100% Dual Mom free".

Blink blink.

So I'm essentially forced to explain to Nora what has happened. You can only imagine how your's truly likes being forced to fucking do anything. Son of a bitch.

Wait it gets better.

My sister in law called me this evening - "Have you seen Ex's facebook?" I said that I had, that he's angry, hurt and lashing out. There was silence on the other end of phone. SIL said, "Wow, I can't believe you're being so diplomatic about this". Wait what? Long story short I check fb only to find that he's essentially had a full on conversation with my daughter about our relationship on FUCKING FACEBOOK for all the world to see.

So I fired off this in an email:
Do not speak with Nora about our relationship ever again please. I have no problem with the two of you discussing farmville or ipods but I will not have my personal life displayed for all the world to see on fucking facebook. I haven't been 14 in a long time and have no desire for this type of display. I thought you were alot more mature than this.

And I get this back:

So the point of your note is that you're pissed off that I did exactly what I said I was going to do. I was no secret that I was going to let my friends know on Friday. (So the only way he could let his friends know about our break up is via FB?) It was no secret that if your kids asked I would tell them the truth. (They would never ask about our relationship unless something provoked them to ask) I'm really not sure what the problem is here.(The problem, you limp dick fucking asshole cocksucker is that your using my children to hurt me) You had advanced warning and now you're embarrassed. To bad. What bugs you is not in any way or form my problem. Be angry at yourself.


So here's the thing. I'm not going to post anything disparaging about you online and I have not done so. (Ummm how is it not disparaging to have a conversation with my 12 year old daughter about our relationship online you stupid fucking bald bastard) That's as far as it goes. I do this for your kids. (You do nothing for my kids...you do this because you know the only way to hurt me is through my kids because I stopped caring about you a long fucking time ago) Not for you. At no time will I lie to your kids if they ask me questions about this.Feel free to send more email demands to see what weight they have with me.

Here's the thing, I get anger. I get that he's angry, I do. But this, this is just beyond anything I ever thought he'd be capable of. I did not want this breakup to end in our slinging names and insults. I'm obviously not going to respond, it's exactly what he wants. However, if he continues to use my daughter to get to me, he's going to wind up with his penis shoved down his throat, and not in a feel good way either. I will fucking hurt him like he's never been hurt before.

Bastard, you would think he'd know after 8 years not to fuck with me. Who's going to bail me out when I'm arrested for assault?

Share A Spoon Salad Style

You would never know it from my rapidly expanding midriff, but I love me a good salad. Pair it with a glass (or six) of a light white wine and you have yourself a perfect summer meal. So I'm playing along with Zgirl and posting not one, but two salad recipes. No need to thank me, I live to serve. Should you be inclined to want to play along also, just click the pic above and all the fabtabulousness of the one we know as Zgirl shall be revealed to you.

Ok enough bullshit, on with the salads.

First off we have a thai mango salad. If you are a lover of sweet and spicy than this is a dish for you.

Ingredients:

This recipe serves 6 people. Or if you're like me who loves thai food it serves 3.

• 1/3 cup chopped peanuts
• 2 unripe mangoes
• 1/3 c fresh cilantro
• 2 tbsp lime juice
• 4 tsp sugar
• 4 tsp fish sauce
• 1 tbsp vegetable oil
• 1/4 tsp chili sauce or hot pepper sauce
• 1 sweet red pepper, thinly sliced
• 1 cup thinly sliced red onion

Throw it all together and hope for the best.

Kidding

Toast your nuts in a skillet (that's what she said...sorry I couldn't resist) - about 6 minutes.

The mango part is important. Don't be getting all slipshod and buy ripe mango. You'll fuck the whole recipe up. The mangoes need to be UNRIPE people. Firm, not squishy. Got it? So peel the mango and then cut it into thin (I repeat thin) strips. If you know how to "score" a vegetable all the better. If you don't...well google it, it's complicated. If you don't want to google it just cut the damn thing in thin strips.

In a bowl, whisk together the coriander, lime juice, sugar, fish sauce, oil and chili sauce. Add mango, red pepper, and onion and toss it all together. Sprinkle with the nuts and ta da....a beautific salad that's so yummy it's almost orgasmic.

Special note: Though the recipe doesn't call for it, I often grab a handful of baby tomatoes, cut them in half and throw them in. Adds color and a nice taste. Another thing I add, (can you see that I don't like to follow recipes?) is red pepper flakes. Be careful though, a little goes a long way.

Of course I've made this look harder than it is. It's not hard. Cutting the mango is the most difficult part. Seriously, I've had people offer to pay me for this recipe after I've served it at drunken parties sophisticated gatherings.

On to recipe two.

Spinach Blueberry Salad

I have no measurements for this salad because it's one of those things I make that sort of happened by accident.

• 1 bag of baby spinach
• 1 pkg fresh blueberries
• a bunch of crumbled feta let's go with a cup
• a handful of chopped walnuts
• balsamic vinegar salad dressing

Throw it all together.

I'm serious this time.

You'll love it. And it's so easy. I'm all about the easy.

30-Something Single White Female

Holy fuck.

It dawned on me last night that THAT is exactly what I am. Sunday evening while sitting around drinking wine with my brother and his family (we were drinking the wine, the kids were having juice), he said to me, "Hey T, you could be a cougar now". After calling the paramedics to remove my fist from his face I pondered his statement for a bit.

I'm not one to shy away from a challenge, but hell it's been quite awhile since I have been single. I sure do hope being single is like riding a bike because me thinks I've forgotten how to do it (and yes..by it I think I may subconciously mean IT). Can I get a tutor?

So I googled cougar.

BIG mistake.

If I wasn't scared before, I am now.

As per urban dictionary, a cougar is defined as:

 An older woman who frequents clubs in order to score with a much younger man.  The cougar      can be anyone from an overly surgically altered wind tunnel victim, to an absolute sad and bloated old horn-meister, to a real hottie or milf. Cougars are gaining in popularity -- particularly the true hotties -- as young men find not only a sexual high, but many times a chick with her shit together.

A young man's drug of choice. Great.

Why am I even talking about this? Well, aside from the fact that I'm fucking retarded, it has been playing on my mind since my brother so delicately pointed it out to me. I've never gone for the younger guy. My husband was 4 years older than me. Recent Ex boyfriend was 5 years older than me, and we all know damn well how those relationships turned out. So I think when I'm ready (and honestly I think it's going to be a long time) I may have to change up my modus operandi.

The way I see it, I have several choices.

1. Remain single. Purchase several cats and become the crazy cat lady who is seen walking the neighborhood in her "house dress", wearing bright pink lipstick smeared all over her mouth -  while talking to herself. Many years later I will be found dead in my home with half my face eaten by said cats.
2. Hunt for some stud to fulfill my sexual requirements and throw him to the wayside when I've drained him of all life sustaining fluid (I'm obviously watching too many vampire shows).
3. Become a cougar. Find a boy 10 years younger than me (would that qualify me for cougar status, do I get a membership card?) that I can mold into the perfect companion. All the while having my friends laugh behind my back at what a stupid OLD fool I am.
4. Become a lesbian. Hey, I'm not ruling anything out at this point.
5. Wisen the fuck up and quit worrying about how my tits sag and are bound to get lost in my back fat the first time I have sex* and just go with the flow.

So grrrrrrrrrrrrr??? Somehow I can't see it......

*I can't take credit for the hilariaty of that statement - Betty White uttered those words on a tv show I was watching last night. It was as though she was speaking to me.

Three Minute Update

Ahemmmm.

What are you looking at? It's only been two weeks - ok dammit closer to three but seriously - do we need to be that specific? Did you even notice I was gone? Ok -  I know some of you have because I've been getting emails that say "Where the fuck are you?"

I'm here I'm here. You'll have to forgive me. I live on an island people. It's summer. Do I really need to explain myself? This time of year means endless days spent laying on the beach (I fucking refuse to heed the warnings of doctors and stay "inside" between the hours of 11:00am and 3pm to avoid the sun at peak strength.....yes I fully realize I'll be laughing out of my asshole when they have to cut my face off because I have skin cancer). It also means it's watermelon margarita season.

So what have I been up to aside from slothing around the beach and drinking too much tequila (let's not bother mentioning the fact that not two posts ago I swore never to touch the stuff again....thank you).

I'm being audited. These goddamn fucker assball shitholes (if you actually work for RC I'm not talking about you....obviously) can't seem to accept the fact that I've been seperated for 10 years without actually getting divorced and that my ex and I actually share custody of our children without having a million legal documents stating the fact. This is the THIRD time in 10 years I've been asked to provide proof that a) my children are actually my children (I'm considering taking pics of my fucking stretch marks and sending it along to them). b) that ex and I do actually reside in seperate residences

What makes this audit especially fun is that I can't find the kids birth certificates. I have tore the house apart and they are no where to be found. I'm thinking I must have tucked them away someplace "safe" when I moved two years ago. Obviously my  hiding spot was really damn safe. This means I have to get new birth cerfiticates to the tune of a gazzillion and one dollars.

I called time of death on my relationship. It was worse than leaving the father of my children.

Spending time with this little imp who is growing up much too quickly for my liking. The other two imps only require my presence when it's time to belly up to the trough or they need a drive somewhere. They don't deserve to have their pictures on my blog. Kidding, I love them all equally. Actually it has more to do with the fact that oldest child is working his arse off so it feels as though I haven't seen him in a dogs age and middle child never leaves his room so I sometimes forget that I actually have a middle child.

Working and fretting about paying bills. Aren't we all? Cursing the fates that I wasn't born into a disgustingly filthy rich family so that I would in turn be able to live the life of materialism I was meant for. This having to be a person of substance because I'm poor really sucks. I'd be so much better at being shallow and superficial.

There's other blah blah blah and yammer yammer yammer....it's mundane shit. I've been catching your posts here and there but be sure to tell me if I've missed anything really juicy. I like juicy shit.