Category: WTF?

Ladies, why is it so hard to move past high school? Why do we continue to gossip, even about people we really and truly like?

Listen, things happen and things will continue happening throughout our entire lives. People will disappoint us, they’ll upset us. It’s not going to stop.  And it’s not their fault.

Okay, sometimes it is. But it’s not always their fault.

And, guess what? You’re going to disappoint and upset other people. You’re going to do it the entire time you’re alive. And it won’t always be your fault.

So, what’s the point in bitching about someone behind her back because she disappointed you?  Unless she’s an asshole, she didn’t mean to disappoint you. And if she is an asshole and did mean it, you don’t want her in your life anyway.  Let it go. The more you talk about it, the more power you’re giving the asshole.

So, here’s my plea: STAAAHP!

Just stop. Before you say something about a person who isn’t there, think about how you’d feel if you overheard someone saying it about you. If that makes you feel bad, don’t fucking say it. Just keep your mouth shut.

Don’t bring someone else into drama she doesn’t belong in. If you have a problem with someone, it’s your problem with her, not mine. I’m a Libra. I crave harmony and balance and this shit is not harmonious. I don’t like it. Don’t drag me into it.

I’m very busy raising two little girls who I am trying to encourage to be good people. To be good women. To be good friends. I am teaching them by example. When you bring your drama to my house? You make that very hard.

In addition to all of this… you know those stereotypes about women being catty and manipulative? Well, guess what, bitch. They’re talking about you.  This is why women have such a hard time trusting each other. This is why people say that they’d rather be friends with boys, because there’s less drama. Preach it.

Save the drama for your mama, folks. And, really, after a certain age, she doesn’t give a shit about your drama, either.


Okay, people. I hate this year already.

So far, in 2015:

The Drama Queen lost a filling. That was a $180 fix.

I broke out in hives IN A VERY DELICATE AREA for no reason whatsoever. That was a $35 copay plus some for a medicated cream.

I broke my mother fucking toe. No, seriously. I get up every morning and buddy tape it to the on next to it. I’m starting to get some movement back in it.

What? How did I break my toe? Tripping over my kids’ shit in the living room, OF COURSE.

I smacked my head into an open cabinet door and thought I was going to die. But I didn’t. Clearly. I’m typing.

Mr. Sasha developed a staph infection. No, really. A staph infection. Out of nowhere.

A friend’s husband died of a heart attack at the ripe old age of thirty fucking nine. Thirty nine. You’re not supposed to die at thirty nine. You’re supposed to spend the entire year dreading entering your forties. But not to the point that you don’t actually make it to your forties.

My mother-in-law’s sister died of natural causes.

Mr. Sasha fell off a ladder yesterday and split his head open. Ah, whatever, he’s tough. Didn’t even need stitches. I forgot to ask if he’s going to get paid for the time he spent at the hospital getting CT scanned and such.

In addition to that, Miss Poopie Pants and I are looking for a play therapist to help us both stop feeling like we’re going to kill each other at any moment. We’re also looking for a good karate school, so, you know, if she DOES decide to kill me, she totally can. But also, you know, burning off energy, gaining discipline, etc. etc. yadda, yadda.

Oh, AND! My car died! And then Mr. Sasha’s truck died! Like, within a week of each other. So, yay! We have two new car payments!

In addition to all this, I’m in the middle of redoing the attic to be a play room for the Sashlettes, and my house is otherwise in a shambles. In fact, it’s never actually been this messy, I don’t think. And my house is very rarely clean.

Well, I go on tears, where I work myself to exhaustion and get every single thing put away, and keep up with everything, often for weeks at a time. But the very first time anything throws my very carefully laid schedule off, the whole house gets shot to shit.

So, I’ve got plenty of things to choose from to bitch about. But I’ve done enough of that. This is mostly a post to set up some future posts. For example, the scintillating discussion about why chewy cough drops should be banned from existence.

HINT: that one has to do with the Drama Queen’s filling.

Or, how about the official pros versus cons list of minivans.

There will, no doubt, be the scintillating series reviewing every single karate school in New Jersey. If you’re not looking for a karate school in New Jersey, oh well. Read it anyway.

And another riveting group of articles about play therapy. Or perhaps a few about the best way to use duct tape to fasten children to a wall.

It was a joke. Don’t call CPS.

So, stay tuned, minions. Writing shall commence forthwith. WTF does “forthwith” mean?

Drama Queen: “Mommy, I’m halfway through this book and I don’t know anything about it.”


Me: (Totally distracted by Zuma on FaceBook) “Oh? Well, maybe he wants you to read it again.”


DQ: “What?! What does that even mean?”


Me: “Wait, what? What are you asking me?”


DQ: “Are we even having the same conversation?”


Me: “Apparently not.”


DQ: “Oh. Em. Gee.”


Me (to Mr. Sasha): “Did she just say ‘Oh Em Gee?'”


DQ: “Yes! I did!”


Miss Poopie Pants: “G doesn’t even come after O! Everyone knows H comes after O!”


…. can’t… breathe….laughing…too….hard…..

Mr. Sasha’s best friend is relationship challenged. That’s a nice way to say he’s a fucking moron.  (That last sentence is proof that I’m not nice.)


Right, so… I’ve know this dude, let’s call him JerkFace, for 15 years or so. I have stood by in horror through one doomed relationship after another in that time. In the beginning, I tried really hard to like these women.


His first girlfriend was a psychotic bitch. I’m not making that up. I’m pretty sure she’s since been committed to an inpatient facility.


Next came The Whore. Not making that one up either. She hit on everything, including Mr. Sasha. She slept with more of JerkFace’s friends than she slept with him.  She sent naked pictures of herself to my brother-in-law (who’s a nice guy, but, like, ew), while my sister-in-law was eight and a half months pregnant.  She’s the one I hate the most. Not because of hitting on my husband and brother-in-law, but because before The Whore, JerkFace wasn’t a JerkFace. She changed him.  Luckily, she lives several states away. Because if I saw her now, I might run her over with my massive SUV.


Then there were a bunch of one night stands and brief relationships that I barely knew, so whatevs.


Next came a long, long, long relationship with The Gold Digger. He moved in with her and her daughter and I bet his income was a real nice boon for them. When she finished school and got a job, she kicked him out. I wish I were kidding about that one.


So, then he met this chick online who I really liked. We got along okay, she likes my kids, and she’s a champion drinker. Woohoo!  These are my people!


He dumped her.


Now he’s dating someone he knew from three thousand years ago.  I’ve met her. In fact, she’s been to my house. I don’t know if I like her or not.  It’s not because I haven’t yet formed an opinion. It’s because she barely spoke to me. She was here for hours, and spent the entire time playing with my kids.


I don’t mean they came to her and said “Will you play with me?”  No, she actively sought them out and engaged them in various fun activities. She even spent the majority of the time we were eating, talking with them. She got Miss Poopie Pants to come inside for a clean pull up with no fuss. She got Drama Queen to try a little bit of everything on her plate with no drama.


In short, she was a better mom than me. To my kids.


We might be at war now.


Either that, or I’ve got a SA-WEET babysitter.


Anyway, I bring this up because she is coming over with JerkFace tomorrow and I’ll be interested to see if she spends any adult time or if she just plays with Barbies all night.


My prediction for this relationship? Oh who the fuck knows. I give up trying to figure out JerkFace’s love life. I really thought he’d hit it last time, but bah.


Truth? I love JerkFace to death and all I want is for him to be happy, and if this weird woman-child makes him happy, then woohoo.


In the meantime, I think I’ll take advantage of the time she’s here tomorrow to do my nails and get blindingly drunk.

Friday Round-up

Here I am, on another Friday, trying to remember all the awesome (HA!) stuff that happened this week.  I need a drink.


Oh! That’s something! I’m SOBER!  This, because I’m on a diet. A super-fucking-strict diet that disallows alcohol. For, like, three freaking WEEKS!  The good news is, I’m down five-ish pounds, with something between 10 and 15 to go. I am considering putting a black sheet over the shelves behind my bar, though. Because, yeah.


Miss Poopie Pants sang “Cannibal” by Ke$ha for my brother at his birthday party in front of all his friends. And his inlaws. We are such an awesome family.


Breaking news: The Drama Queen hates broccoli.  I knew that already.  I made it anyway.


Mr. Sasha has had a cold this week. The darling man soldiered through it, continuing to work his 12 hour days and even braving a wing joint with us for my father’s birthday last night. It was loud and he was achy and I just knew he was having an awful time. But, he said he’s feeling much better today and he’s even loading the dishwasher, so I bet he’s not lying.


Well, there you go, an update on every member of my family except you.  So, tell me about your week.

Wow, what a sucktastic summer.  Not all of it sucked, but enough of it sucked that it’s going down as one of the top three times of my life I never want to experience again. The other two are my senior year in high school and my twelve year long “awkward phase.”


So, what sucked so hard about it? Do you really wanna know?  Oh, okay, okay, I’ll rehash it all just for your amusement. You better be amused. I’ll probably be psychologically scarred after this.


1. My husband worked too much.  He has to work a lot, or we can’t eat out every night. Well, you know, there’s also gymnastics and dance and aside from that stuff, these kids seem to need clothes and stuff. Not to mention I had to get fancy shoes for my anniversary.  And he paid for a family vacation AND a parentcation to Vegas this summer. So, woohoo. I’m not bitching about the money. I’m bitching about being ALONE. I, apparently, need more friends. Aside from my dog and my kids and the people that live in my computer.  Speaking of the people who live in my computer….


2. I miss my friends. Well, they’re not gone, there was no tragic interstate accident that claimed them, but our relationships have shifted. It started in the late spring time and kept going till, well, now. The ickiness that was going on with me being alone with these munchkins all day every day, and just feeling lonely in general, started eeking into my everyday conversations. I totally see what I did. I made the entire universe into my very own personal pity party, and you know, I don’t blame them a BIT for pulling away from my toxic vortex of doom. But, I swear, I’m better now.


Huh. You know what? Seeing this typed out as two measly bullet points makes me realize that it maybe wasn’t as bad as it seemed at the time. I felt like I was drowning for majority of the summer, but looking back, I  just really needed to put my big girl panties on and get the fuck over it already. And, really, it was probably good for me that most of my friends pulled back from my swirling mist of sucking yuck, because it forced me to deal with my shit.  And I desperately needed to deal with my shit.


So I guess you can say that is what I was doing all summer, learning how to deal with my shit and then performing thusly.  Now, as the entire world dies around me (it’s autumn, I’m morbid.), I need to work on fixing the stuff I let slide all summer. Like those precious friendships and my blog and my Twitter account.


So,  moving right along, I thought about this blog out of the blue the other day. And then a friend asked me if I wrote on it anymore and I said “no” but how fucking weird that she asked me about it the same day I was thinking about it. And then two, not one, but TWO of my minions on the Twitter sent me messages that basically came down to “Where the fuck are you? Come back or face our wrath.”


Here I am. Because the wrath of those two? Do Not Want.

These shoes were my anniversary present from my wonderful, hardworking husband.

You know, Friday is actually not my favorite day of the week. When you work at home, and have two ankle biters, and your husband works 7 day shifts, pretty much all your days are about the same, thus rendering one not much better than any of the others.


Of course, Friday does have #wineparty, so…woohoo!


So, let’s see, what happened this week that’s worth reporting on?


1. Miss Poopie Pants (who is THREE, people) is fascinated with zombies. I originally blamed my brother who is also fairly fascinated with zombies, and who, as a somewhat grown man, should know better than to talk about them with my baby. That was totally shot down when my Mommy-dearest reminded me of the Spongebob episode where eating bad Crabby Patties turns everyone into zombies and Spongebob holes himself up inside the Crabby Patty, afraid that the zombies will eat his brains.


Now, the question is, do I encourage this zombie love and have the coolest toddler on the block, or do I try to squash it, like my Mommy-dearest did with my love of singing?


Yeah, I totally agree. I think we need a Fulci Film Festival this weekend. (Google him, nub.)


2. In other MPP news, the child sat on my lap, squeezed the air out of my slim frame and said “I love you, SASHA” the other night. I said, “What did you call me?” and she replied, with an eyeroll, “Your NAME.”  (She’s THREE, people. I’m pretty sure I mentioned that.)  I laughed a little and said, “Yeah, but you call me Mommy, right?’


May lightening strike my Mommy-dearest if I’m lying (No, not me. Just in case. Don’t mind calling the wrath of God on her, but not me, minions), MPP looked up at me, narrowed her eyes like she was considering something carefully, shook her head, smiled and informed me, “I think I’m about done with calling you Mommy.”


I’ve been Sasha ever since. Just making sure this doesn’t go unnoticed… SHE IS THREE, MINIONS!


3. The government might shut down today, but in so much bigger, HUGER news… PIA got voted off American Idol last night!  I don’t watch that show, and I don’t know who Pia is, but EVERYONE is talking about it. So it must be SUPER important, right?


4. In an effort to encourage spring, I cleaned off my usual dark, dark, DARK (it matches my lipstick, folks) nailpolish and painted my nails a blinding pink, chosen by Drama Queen.  While she’s at school today, I’m totally painting black tips on these bad boys.


5. I read about a job at a newspaper a few towns over from me that piqued my interest.  It’s a job proofreading and editing obituaries.  It’s full time and it pays $700 a week.  That can’t be right, right? I mean, REALLY?  HOW MANY PEOPLE DIE IN THAT TOWN?!  I’m almost willing to be that the newspaper in question needs someone to proofread their craigslist postings as well.


6. I’m having a liquid lunch today.  That’s because I’m shoe shopping with my minion, Pebbles, from Boldly Mocking, and I think that it’s illegal to NOT have a martini when you hang with her. Of course, she’s three hours behind me, so does that means she’s going to be having a liquid breakfast? Oh my, she is way too hardcore for me.


7. In addition to my normal deadlines that I have over the weekend, I will also be doing all the work necessary to review THIS at some point this weekend. If I stop being mad at Mr. S for working all weekend, and FISHING when he’s not working. *insert petulant pout here*


The review will not be posted here, minions, but will be posted over at Kit’s site, Blogging Dangerously, so if you aren’t already subscribed to her over there (and why are you not? She is amazingly awesomely amazing. Almost as world-rocking as I am.), head over right now and subscribe so you don’t miss it.  Although, I doubt you could miss it, since I am so excited to guest blog over there, I’ll probably take an ad out in the NYTimes post it all over Twitter. And here, too. Just in case.


I’m fairly certain that’s all I have for you today. I reserve the right to post again when I think of other stuff, though. 😉

It’s been a good week over here in the Sasha house. Here are the reasons why, in no particular order.
  • The laundry is (almost) done. Like, the only dirty clothes in the house are those that are currently on our asses.
  • I got paid by TWO clients this week, one of whom I usually have to chase down and beat with a stick to get my money.
  • Rebecca Black is not my daughter. This makes me really, really happy, because her whiney voice would seriously make me stab myself in the ears with knitting needles. Unfortunately, Drama Queen thinks Miss Black is the greatest thing since Justin Beaver, and so…. someone hide my knitting needles.
  • My sister in anonymous blogging over at Blogging Dangerously held a little contest a couple of weeks ago that I WON!  That means I’m gonna get one of THESE!  Holy SHIT! I never win anything! But when I do win something, it’s a fucking doozy, ain’t it? Stay tuned for my review of my prize on Kit’s blog. I am the winningest winner since Charlie Sheen.
  • Miss Poopie Pants pooped in the potty yesterday. I wanted to throw a party, but Mr. Sasha thought it was a little preemptive. Turns out he was right, as she’s had three poosplosions right out the sides of her pull ups, since then.
  • I treated myself to Bordeaux cookies today. I’ve eaten almost the entire package. Yay me!
  • I scored the AWESOMEST pair of Fuck Me Shoes EVER at Kohl’s!  I’m thinking I need to find a mini skirt to pair them with. My legs are gonna look like they go up to my neck.

    The F-Me Shoes in question. Hawt, no?
    Happy Friday, ladies and gents. Catch me at #wineparty tonight (I hope. If I don’t put the new shoes to good use, that is 😉 )

    You know what I hate? Making my fucking bed.


    Now, understand, I LOVE my bed. I have a king sized tempurpedic with 600 thread count percale sheets.


    Okay, no, I’m a liar. It is a king sized tempurpedic. But it’s got sheets from Walmart. After springing for a king sized tempurpedic, I couldn’t really afford good sheets for it, too.


    Regardless, I love my bed; I’d spend all day there if I could. Okay, truth, sometimes I do spend all day in it. Only getting up to bring Drama Queen to school and pee occasionally. Working at home rocks.


    What I hate about my bed is that, because it is king sized, there is only one possible place I can stick it in my bedroom. Only one spot it fits. That spot is in a corner, against two walls.


    So when it comes time to make it, I have to crab crawl all around, sticking blankets and pillows where they belong.  I also have to JAB my poor hand down between the mattress and the wall to shove the blanket down on my side of the bed. I have broken nails this way, people.


    And none of this would be a huge deal, if it weren’t for my dog.  See, I spend a good twenty minutes every morning making the effing bed, and the dog spends four seconds throwing the pillows everywhere so he can burrow under the blanket.


    No, I’m not fucking kidding. And no, you’re not getting a cute picture of a cute doggie all bundled up under his blankie.  Because the next time he does it, I’m not taking a picture, I’m snapping his neck.

    Notice the ball that is not moving, and the adult feet walking out on the ball return to retrieve it?