The driver of tomorrow is not thinking Green...

The driver of tomorrow is not thinking Green...
He's thinking Classic. (click on photo)


Facebook Share

May 11, 2015

Parenting Hell Snarkasm

For those of us who love our children but some days, really want to tell it like it is. I stumbled across this while working in paralegal homework hell, and it was the respite my weary needed. Laughter ensued, as I remembered the moments parenting has caused me to reach for the Vodka bottle, the moments I share with my brother discussing the simple fact our children can't seem to JUST TURN IT IN, and think - perhaps I need to wave the white flag more.

Well, I apologize for the language but sometimes, you just gotta'. Enjoy - *cheers*



Yesterday was a glorious day. Apparently, my two boys stayed up late the night before and conspired for the both of them to go bat shit crazy at school “just for fun” on the same fucking day.

Here is the summary of yesterday.

10:00- My cell phone rings and I see that it is my ten year old’s school. Now, he is not a trouble maker, so I was expecting the nurse on the phone saying he was sick, or some automated bullshit message that our school district sends out (Good morning parents, this year’s Santa Parade is on Tuesday… blah, blah, blah), but no- it is my son. He states that he is calling because he has signed his behavior card three times today and has to call to tell me. What did he do? Good question. I asked the same thing. His first offense was not bringing his homework to school. When he was told to sign his card for that, he muttered “Oh Joy!” to the teacher (second offense) and then when he was asked if he has signed his card by his teacher for both offenses he snapped back at her with a charming “Absolutely- why would I NOT sign my card twice so I can get in trouble?”, which equaled his third offense for being a smart ass towards his teacher.


I tell the little punk that he better apologize to his teacher for being a smart ass and have a better day. He states that he will and hangs up.

12:00- I see my cell phone ringing from my ten year old’s school again. This time I am on alert and answer the phone with a weary “Hello?”. It is my son again. No, he is not calling to tell me that he turned his day around and that he won student of the year. He decided that he didn’t want to face the consequences of signing his card three times and go to “silent lunch”, so he just skipped it instead. His reason? I always go to silent lunch and I am sick of it. My response? You are a freaking liar because if you always has silent lunch, your teacher would have called me about what an incredible asshole you are at school. He admitted that he just didn’t want to face the punishment and skipped it and starts crying because I tell him he is in deep shit when he gets home. I hang up and grab some aspirin from the break room.

12:40- My cell phone rings. This time, it is my 14 year old’s math teacher on the phone. I know he is not calling to tell me what a delight my child is, so I sit down and brace myself for what is to come. Apparently, my genius is not turning in his homework. His is acing all of his tests, quizzes, etc., but can not seem to be bothered with turning in homework. Here is the kicker. He has his homework done, he just can’t seem to gather enough energy to take it out of his backpack and hand it to his freaking teacher, so he has several zeros for this and he is in danger of failing this six weeks. I couldn’t be more proud…

At this point, I am wishing I had some vodka. We decide that my 14 year old will go to school early next week to catch up on his work and to prepare for his semester exam. I apologize to the teacher for having to teach my 14 year old wolverine and tell him how much I appreciate the call and his willingness to help the situation. I know that when I get home and tell my 14 year old that he has to go to school early next week he is going to be pissed, which gives me a smile and the will to carry on for the rest of the workday.

2:00- My cell phone rings from my 10 year old’s school. I honestly scream out loud “You have got to be fucking kidding me!’ I answer the phone with “What the hell did you do now?” and my ten year old explains that he is sitting out at recess and wanted me to know because he didn’t want to get in more trouble. I told him that of course he was sitting out at recess and that if he thinks that this phone call is going to make up for his shit he pulled earlier, he was sadly mistaken. I hung up the phone and told my boss that we need to start keeping some vodka in the office for emergencies.

4:00- My cell phone rings from my 14 year old’s school. Apparently progress reports were handed out last week and my son has not brought it back signed. That is not a shocker, because I never even saw a progress report for the little fucker. I thank the teacher for the phone call and tell her that it will be signed and brought to school tomorrow. I call my 14 year old and ask him to get his progress report ready for me to see and sign when I get home. His response? “What progress report? ” At this point I was close to snapping, but I was at work and couldn’t look crazier than I already am. He tells me that he never got any progress report (BULLSHIT!) and doesn’t know what I am talking about (BULLSHIT!). I tell him to get on the computer, go to the school’s website and print it out so I can sign it. He sighs and hangs up. I call him back I tell him not to ever sigh and hang up on me again, and then, being the good parent that I am, hang up on him.

4:30- My boss tells me that I need to leave early to go to the liquor store and beat the crap out of my kids. I thank him and get the hell out of the office.

5:00- I get the progress report from my son, sign it and then tell him the news that he has to go to school early next week because of his math homework. His reaction makes me happy because, as I noted earlier, he wouldn’t be pleased with this.

5:15- I tell HSF that I can not take anymore today. That the boys have won and I am waving the white flag. I don’t care at this point if both of them want to drop out of school and wander the streets because today, they have beaten me. HSF smiles and hands me a letter that came in the mail. It is from my 14 year old’s school and once again, I know it is not a letter from the principal asking if they could have some of my son’s DNA because he is such an amazing student and they want to clone him for generations to see such a fine example of a human being. I tell HSF to read it, as I have gone blind with rage. He does, yells for our son to come down from his room and informs both of us that he has been tardy 11 times this semester and has been assigned to “Friday School” to make up the time. My son’s response? “Cool”. I honestly do not know what happened after that- I think I might have had a rage blackout. HSF told me that he saw the look in my eyes, took our son out of the room and dealt with him while I apparently went crazy in our bedroom.

The boys are grounded until they are 55 and HSF stated that I would see the humor in this once I get some vodka in me this weekend. I hope so. Until then, if anyone wants two boys for Christmas, just let me know. I will pay YOU to take them.

I am also thinking of taking donations to send the 14 year old to military school….

Happy Friday,


Mar 18, 2015

The Crab Pot

We sat in the aluminum fishing boat, the sun beating down on our bare shoulders, the sound of the water lapping around the oars as the boat rocked gently from side to side. My brown hair pulled up into a ponytail allowed wisps to tickle my cheeks and neck, as the wind skirted across the lake. Mt. Hood stood tall and bright in the background, beetles knickered at each other in the distance and the smell of fresh pine trees permeated the air. My ex-husband rowed the boat with ease, as the muscles of his arms flexed with each stroke and his construction man hands gripped the handles of the oars. This sounds like the beginning of a romance novel. Alas, no.

“Let me row,” I said. It was over a decade since we’d become a couple and we had spent many days in this boat on the water. We began in Southern Oregon on the wild Rogue River, with him rowing and guiding, while I would smile, relax and read a good book, waiting for the next prime fishing spot. In 1991, we moved to Gresham, Oregon, just East of Portland and set out discovering the glorious fishing aspects of the Clackamas River. On this particular day we were camping in our favorite spot on Timothy Lake, located in the mountains, just southwest of Mt. Hood.

The husband raised an eyebrow. “Really,” I said, “I want to row. This is perfect!” It wasn’t the first time I would have rowed the boat. He had shown me how to navigate it on the river and since I was the product of a family of girls who could shoot, hunt and fish, I was proud to learn the ropes of trailering the boat and water navigation. The large lake was calm, the boat traffic light, with only a few other fisherman around us. This would be a piece of cake compared to navigating a river’s current.

He shrugged his tanned shoulders, smiling slightly – I thought, proud that the wife could row his boat. He muttered, “Okay,” and we began to gingerly switch places. He moved to the back of the boat, eased into the cushioned boat seat, opened a beer and I re-centered myself in the mid-boat, aloft the seat box. I gripped the oars, allowing my hand to slide down against the thick rope wrapped around the wood.

The husband said something, gave me some direction, to which I offered a snarky wife remark and rolled my eyes. He knew this was not my first rodeo. I set off, moving the boat through the water gently, feeling the oars, centering my weight, and testing the strength of the waters resistance. I played with navigation, reversing the direction of the boat, spinning us around – raising my eyebrow back at him. I could move the boat anywhere I wanted, as easy as I could navigate an automobile backwards or parallel park – I had never been directionally challenged.

I don’t know at what point I decided I needed to show off. Perhaps it was the heat of the day frying the frontal lobe of my brain where logic resides. I had started moving the boat through the water at a nice clip. Feeling the muscles in my shoulders strain, my forearms bulge (as much as an un-muscular young gal’s forearm can bulge) and my hands tremble as they gripped the oars. I remember wanting to see just how fast I could get this boat moving on my own. The husband begrudgingly gave a positive nod.

As a runner - er, jogger – er, runner – often the perfect powerful song will slide through my playlist and my spirit soars. My legs react and I feel as if I’ve surely hit that 6 minute mile. When in reality, I probably look like Dane Cook’s comedic rendition of a pedestrian fake running across the crosswalk in front of your car (look it up, it’s hilarious). I feel like the hare, my mind is the hare, but physically, I’m still the tortoise.

I imagine on that day this sort of scenario is probably what was actually happening with the boat. I had propelled us fast enough to create more of a breeze against our skin, to push my ponytail around my neck, but to the bystanders, we probably looked as if the anchor was down and a mad woman was at the helm.

I looked across the water, smiling, feeling strong and able. The oars were powerful, glided through the water with little splash – it was so damn easy. I wanted to make the husband proud. I looked around and spied a few other boats fairly close to us. I thought they were watching. I was in the moment.

BAM! Suddenly I couldn’t see anything but the blueness of the sky, not a cloud in what felt like tunnel vision. The sides of the boat no longer extended alongside me, but upwards towards the blue. I could no longer see the husband, as he was now blocked by the seat box, where I was no longer sitting. And my legs were extended straight up into the air.

At first humiliation hit me but I instantly squelched it with a big gut bomb of laughter. I opened my mouth and let out a big guffaw, shoved my head and shoulders up with my elbows and looked squarely at the husband. He had one arm bent across his mid section, while the other elbow rested on that forearm, his hand clutching the sides of his mouth, while he shook his head side to side and chuckled. I looked around at the other boats, and realized what they saw.

One second there sat an insane rowing woman and suddenly, this rower caught a crab and flipped right over. The passenger was left staring calmly at an empty seat, flanked by two upright legs.

This vision sent me into fits of laughter and the sound pealed across the lake towards the shore. I returned to my prone position, staring at the sky, feeling quite stupid, and a little mortified. I realized I couldn’t hide there forever so I swung my legs over and push myself upright in the boat. All the while, the husband sat there quietly with a sly smirk on his face.

There are only a few human traits that I really despise and arrogance is at the top of the list. I find it an ugly trait and regardless of how talented an individual is, their talent shines brighter when filtered through a humble demeanor. There is no doubt that I was overflowing with arrogance that day, without a shred of humbleness even searing my aura. Who knows, perhaps if I’d been successful, I may have become an annoying arrogant son-of-a-bitch. Thankfully, the great character checker in the sky knocked that chip right off my ass, and restored the rightful balance of humility to the universe.


Free Blog Counter