Top 10 Reasons to Pee in the Kitchen Sink

Hey, people! Sorry I've been away for this blog for awhile now. Here's a top 10 list I wrote awhile ago to give a friend a laugh. Whaddaya want? It's a humor blog.

10. Your wife's been in the bathroom with the plumber for two hours.

9. Something to do while you make toast.

8. You want a really quick divorce and you don't care if she gets the house.

7. You can make sure you turned the oven off at the same time.

6. What better way to get rid of that stubborn soap ring.

5. No TV in the bathroom.

4. Who says you can't pee where you have sex.

3. A watched pot never boils.

2. The dishwasher is broken.

1. You can't get yelled at for not flushing a sink.

What? I've been busy.

I referred to this fabulous blog as a stepchild recently so I thought it was about time I picked it up from school on time and packed it a lunch with soda like all of the other kids.

I've been really busy with my business and my other blog and related activities. Oh yeah, and my family. Them. Trophy Husband, kids one two and three, or as I like to call them Lasagne, fettuccine, linguine and angel hair have all kept me hopping this summer. The dog doesn't have a pasta name. He's a dog. He can get a pasta name when he makes his own breakfast.

Since the pastas are going back to school and my life has been non-stop-funny, I'll be updating this blog again on a regular basis, so keep your pants on, "I'll be back" with all the things I learned over the Summer.

Ode to Bunny Baby Daddy

I.... killed the wabbit. 

And I still feel guilty. Especially now, the day before Easter.

With that Oh-so-Cute Cadbury Clucking Bunny all over TV. 

Then again, who eats those disgusting creme eggs, anyway? If ever there was a more foul candy invented...

but I digress.

It happened one beautiful sunny day last summer on a mountain country road as I was with my girls in upstate New York, singing along with the radio, heading to the lake for a swim, la dee da dee da.

BOOM.

One large bunny. Cute. Brown. Furry. Meets one small performance tire. One big ole bump as my car ran over it. He ran out in front. Maybe he had had a bad day. Who knows?

"What was THAT, Mom?" 

I looked back in the rear view mirror.

"Oh.... ohhhhh. Nothing?" Denial was my friend. 

Oh, Yeah. He was gone. Gone, Bunny, Gone. Extremely gone. Mr. Bill gone. 

Thus my hashtag #Sueannethebunnyslayer was born on Twitter. 

I may not be able to do a thing with vampires. But, by golly, don't put me in front of a bunny.

Sigh.

Happy Easter. 

Sorry, Baby Daddy Bunny. 

Top 10 Reasons Not to be a Jerk.

1. It takes less energy to be nice. I'm a lazy b&%ch. When I'm feeling really lazy, I become even nicer. Naps are overrated. I'd rather be nice.

2. I wouldn't want to outjerk (insert name of philandering politician here)  Nobody should. Nobody could. But it might make for a fun reality show watching people try. Hmm. I guess that would be on after 10:00. 

3. I actually like people too much. Oooo. What a concept. Must be a genetic defect. Yawn. 

4. If I'm a jerk now, it'll be no fun when I'm 80. I'd be all jerked out. Old people are supposed to be jerks. And women who don't eat enough. I eat. Every day. Sometimes more than once a day.

5. I don't want my kids to grow up to be jerks. They outnumber me. 

6. I have a sneaking suspicion waiters spit in the food of jerks. I eat enough of my own saliva every day. 

7. Jerks hate themselves. I love myself. Wouldn't YOU? Blink. 

8. When you're a jerk on the internet, it gets sent out to millions of people. Then those people tweet, buzz, facebook, stumbleupon, and digg and myspace all of the waiters in your town and tell them to spit in your food. But I'm dwelling on saliva. 

9. Being a jerk is not economical. It causes wrinkles. You'll notice I don't have too many, and I'm olllld, dammit. This saves money on La Mer. Do you know how much La Mer costs now? It's ridiculous. At least nobody spits in it. 

10. Being a jerk interferes with creativity. It can be very hard to think up new words to every single top ten song and crack up your kids if you're a jerk. Hard to make the lady in the post office smile. Impossible to bring people up who are feeling down. Difficult to make a difference in people's lives every day. A challenge to experience and give love. Arduous trying to help a friend out of sadness. And really hard to get a good table at a restaurant. Sans Spit.

Guitar Boy Rocks On

Guitar Boy finally passed Algebra.

My darling boy just turned 16. I know...16!  Yes, I was a child bride. In some states you CAN get married at 11. Shut up. Anyway, for a present I got a call from his Geometry teacher to tell me the good news. After three tries, he finally passed Algebra. I'm so glad that lip gloss comes off iPhones easily. 

He took the course as a freshman all last year. We even paid big bucks for a tutor. Did he pass? No. "Don't worry", the guidance counselor said. "Guitar Boy is Bright". "I know", I said. "Everybody passes summer school Algebra", she said. "What if he doesn't" I asked. "Don't worry" She replied. He failed. So he took night school. Got home around 8:00 three nights a week for two months. His other work did suffer a little bit. Now we have to work on THAT. 

He just barely passed, but I will be smiling for a week. Maybe more. Julia Roberts smile. Big Fucking smile. 

True, Guitar Boy is obsessed with his guitar and would much rather play heavy metal than study or do homework. The great thing is that he loves it and he happens to be really good at it. When I tell people this they kinda tilt their heads to one side and smile. Some make comments about him not being able to make a living. "But no", I say, he's REALLY good. His teacher said he had nothing left to teach him by the time he was 14. His band came in second among some stiff competition in his first time at Battle of the Bands when he was a freshman. He plays the occasional gig. He writes, composes, records and plays his own music. He's gifted.

He even has groupies. So far they are behaving. And it's fun to hear them say with a big smile "You're Guitar Boy's MOTHER??" And see them bat their eyelashes. 

Is sucking at Algebra a genetic trait? Because I'm quite sure I never got better than a C, and I did really well in my other classes. Can we just isolate the "Algebra Suck Gene" and just let those of us who can't do it stick with basic math? I've certainly never used it it my life. And it's hard to lie to his face and tell him it's important when I know it's not. 

I love that my boy is creative like his mother. You never expect when you give birth to a boy that he could be so much like you, but Guitar Boy is. I was always encouraged to do the things I was best at, and they have all been in creative fields. Let's face it, accountants, doctors and lawyers don't make good art directors, writers, painters and jewelry designers. And I won't enforce a double standard on him. So many parents think it's fine if their girls are creative and choose creative careers, but for some reason they expect their boys to slave away at something they can't stand doing for a living. 

So, Rock on, Guitar Boy. I love you. 

It's None of My Boobness

I'm tired of women using their boobs to draw attention to themselves. I recently unfollowed two women whom I followed peacefully on Twitter without incident until they decided they needed to change their avatars to boob shots. Just boobs. Boobs in a tight shirt. No face. Juuuust the boobs.

What is THAAAT? I DMed one of my BFFs. Who needs attention that much? It's not like they're hookers. I don't follow hookers. It's exasperating. I think she told me "I know, I saw that- just unfollow the whores". So I did. 

Oh, and before you think this is some flat-chested non-boober going on a jealous rant, think again. I'm stacked. Always have been, always will be. Lots of women are, sometimes over-stacked. In fact, I'm writing a post for my new style blog www.doesthislookgoodonme.wordpress.com which will probably be entitled "What About My Boobs?" because I got some input about a recent post. Women need advice on how to dress around their boobs and work the jewelry with them. I'm on it. And I have no problem with this. I'm sure it can be done tastefully.

But unless you're a plastic surgeon? Give us all a break? If you're not for sale? Have a little class and self-respect. Put away the boobs. I already know what they look like. And I don't need four. 

Addendum: "What about my Boobs?" post is now live at  http://doesthislookgoodonme.wordpress.com/