Dude, Caller ID, that's all I'm saying.

My nephew just graduated from Bible college. And so we went over there to exchange large sums of money for a large plate of cheese casserole. Sounds like a fair deal, right?

And my nephew is the quintessential perfect christian kid, god bless him, and now (poor dear) he is trying desperately to figure out what he has been called to do.

"Okay, wait a minute." I said. "What does it mean called to do? And does it involve a telephone, or a cell phone, or both?

And he's like, "You're so silly Auntie, you sure are funny."

"Yeah, but I really am curious, what does it mean to be called? Who is calling you? Is it Jesus? Or God? Or both? Oh Balls! Tell me they don't put you on speaker phone? I HATE speaker phone."

Because it seems like there's an awful lot of people being "called" for things around here on planet earth. Could this be the same God calling everyone? Or, are there a couple of prank callers who pretend that they're God but then they give you some message like, "Go hairless. Totally. Hairless. And it will serve ye well." Beep! Because you know any decent God impersonation has to be done slowly and deeply and it will inevitably reach the end of the allotted recording time. And my prankster god theory would help explain the recent trend in deliberately hairless men and rise in the cost of wax.

So I'm listening to my nephew talk and he's really concerned about this phone call situation. And whether or not he should return gods call.

And I'm like, "just call him back, don't be such a puss. Say, I really appreciate the call. But I'm happy with my current situation and I'm probably gonna have to pass for right now. But, thanks? And...we'll be in touch?"

Then he looked at me, "You really don't get this do you?"

"Get what? If he's gonna get all pissy about it just tell him you'll call him when you're ready to talk. Yeesh, I hope he doesn't get all 'psycho' on you. And hello? That's the beauty of caller I.D. You don't have to talk to anyone." And then I shoved another pile full of peanuts into my mouth. "Just don't sweat it so much. You're home from college! Get laid! Drink beer! Read a few good books!"

"Dude, you are so my favorite Aunt."

Most compelling clip of the day.

Fossils are hot.

My husband had a conversation with a friend last night and while you enjoy the following dialogue please keep in mind that during this exchange I banished myself to the bedroom. Because God (a descriptive I have learned to live with) forbid I jeopardize the possibility of my husbands weekly beer ritual. Besides, no one wants to watch a thirty-two year old woman motion repeatedly to her crotch and ass every time you say something she doesn’t like. No one. And the rolling of the eyes has to stop too. But the worst is after you give me that third glass of wine I warned you about. Because then you are hit with the trifecta of my immaturity: the eye rolling, the ass slapping, and the faux jerk-off simulation. This is obviously no way of conducting myself in front of a creationist as it neither demonstrates my ability to tolerate adversity or my ability to reason.


Friend: My point is still and always will be, show me the fossils! There should be billions of them not just enough to fill a shoebox. As far as transitional fossils are concerned since natural selection happens so slowly, we should be able to piece together concrete evidence within the fossil bed from point a-z. Also we should be able to see a number of animals that are in this process right now.

Husband: We only have enough transitional fossils to fill a shoebox? That's outrageous! If we find a fossil that is in transition, creationist will either say that it was micro evolution, or if it's different enough, they will say it's a completely different species that God made. Can you see the game? What evidence could one ever provide that would make them doubt their faith? The answer is none. There is nothing that anyone can show that would cause a true believer to doubt. Because by definition, a true believer "believes" when all evidence is to the contrary. So, even if there was the evidence you ask for, which is impossible, it really wouldn't matter to a true believer anyway.

So enamored with my husband's lucid dialectic in defense of my immature passion, that by the time our bible-thumper friend left I immediately ripped off all his clothes, “Yeah baby, let's transition."

Prickly little bitch

This is Sophie.

About a month ago she chased a bird (or a squirrel) into a cactus. We live in the desert so the succulents are abundant.
My son came running frantically up to the sliding glass door, “Mom! Mom! AMUR-GIN-C!”
And there was my husband walking up the trail with my little pincushion of a puppy.

The vet said: I have never seen this many thorns in one dog before.
My brain said: Shut yo’ ass!
My mouth said: Okay then, well, can you please help her, like, now?

The vet said: I will see what we can do.
My brain said: That’s right nipplefuck! You best see what you can do. Fucking Immediately!
My mouth said: Thank you. I appreciate your help. Do you still take Visa?


She had those vile thorns in her tongue and even in her gums.
It hurt just to hold her, never mind look at her.

She is okay now.

The End.

Talking sheet to mom

Me: So, what’s new?

Mom: Not much Dolling. (which sounds like Door-ling because she’s from Brooklyn).

Me: What are you up to?

Mom: Today was laundry day. And I like to hang my sheets outside so they have that fresh wind smell.

Me: Fresh. Wind. Smell?

Mom: Yes Doll. I like things blown really good until they smell like a nice wind.

Me: You like things blown really good until they smell like a nice wind?

Mom: Are you breaking my balls?

Me: No, just breaking the wind in all that sheet you like to blow.

Mom: I don’t get it.

I'll take a medium.

I swear.

Like any respectable mother, I spend most of my free time reading other mom blogs. One of things I try to take note of are the commonalities among us. And while the differences at times can be as trivial as they are abundant, one observation remains constant. What the fuck is with all the cursing?

You can go to most any other mom blog and get your daily dose of the shits, fucks, and asses any one could ever hope for and so much more. While I’m far too big a fan to raise an eyebrow, it still strikes me as something worth noting. For generations men have been able to kick up their heels and guiltlessly let the expletives fly. However, for a woman to curse (nevermind a mom) it was considered verboten. After all, what kind of a mother would have such a foul tongue?

The primary reason that it remains more offensive for us moms to curse is that we are more likely to be in the presence of small children and small children, so it is believed, are highly impressionable. But before we get on our soapboxes about the link between feminism and free speech perhaps we should consider the evidence for why it has remained taboo for women (and especially mothers) to use profanity.

One of the arguments for why profanity remains taboo is that society suffers when things like casual sex and violence become more common within a culture. And it can be shown that acceptance of new modes of common language serve as a barometer for societal trends. For instance, if saying the word fuck as in, “what the fuck?” falls from the lips as easily as saying, “excuse me?” is this a sign that the act is becoming more casual too? Is our abundant use of expletives in our daily lives a symptom of a disintegrating civilization or one of the causes? And are we as moms adding to the social degradation of our offspring by making profanity less of a taboo? Some would say YES.

For me, freedom of speech is the hallmark of our society. I would do nothing to infringe upon anyone’s right of expression. But being such an advocate of free speech may make it harder for me to use the argument on my kids, you shouldn’t talk like that, when clearly I talk like that. And while talk is cheap there does appear to be some correlation between a potty mouth and a potty attitude.

I’m not going to deny the fact that I curse in front of my children, it happens. No job is more intense and hence more frustrating than parenting. And cursing having its primordial roots has always been a natural way of expressing oneself when one is put through intense situations. This is why I am not the slightest bit surprised by the amount of cursing that moms do--not at all actually.

Even though I am typically a proponent of lifting any irrational taboo, I cannot help but wonder if this rock is worth turning over. Will there come a day when I regret being so open, so liberal, and so free with my patterns of speech around my kids? Am I ready for my children to use their right to free speech as passionately as I use mine? And if the answer is no, then isn’t that hypocritical?

Wouldn’t I have to be somewhat of a lunatic (or an assiduous follower of the bible) if I thought it was “okay” for the rules to change based on the perceived threat of my authority? I will, as they say, “practice what I preach.” But, I’d be lying if I said I did not wonder about the consequences. And since I have never been one to blindly obey authority and definitely not someone who uses silly sugary substitutes for expletive phrases (sorry but “Oh Sugar!” is NOT the same as “Oh Shit!”) the idea that my kids are not going to hear authentic, organic, preservative-free profanity in my house is highly improbable.

Just the other night after I asked my son to give me his blanket and he said without hesitation, “But then I’m gonna freeze my ass off.” Despite the fact that we were both hysterical after the exchange, me because of the shock, him because of my reaction, I walked away thinking, is this going to be as funny when he’s fifteen?