Random Acts of Dumbassness Revisited

Did you see it? Look to your left. How about now? Not that, silly. I'm talking about my Studio Thirty Plus 2011 Boomerang Award for Best Mommy Blog! Yay me! I want to extend my heartfelt thanks to each and every one of you who voted for me. I don't care if you weren't actually familiar with my blog at the time, but only voted because you liked the name A Bitch Called Mom. A vote is a vote. Besides, I did the same thing with the categories where I didn't recognize any of the blogs. This confirms my suspicions that I am the best thing since butter pecan ice cream. I knew it.

In case you missed it, here it is again.

Isn't she purty?

I think is says something that the Best Mommy Blog title went to a blog that bitches about motherhood (and countless other things).  I think women are grateful that I am not ashamed that, while I adore my children, motherhood can be a bitch. A big, sexy bitch at that.

While I was dicking around otherwise occupied this week, I also received this award from Chief a.k.a. Dad over at Unsound Reasoning. I usually don't bother with all that a.k.a. crap, but apparently, some of you were uncomfortable calling him Dad, so he changed his moniker for his loyal readers. You're lucky it was him and not me because if my blog name was Pussy Willow and my readers had a problem calling me 'Pussy', then that would just be your fucking problem, wouldn't it? Don't worry, Chief, you'll always be my daddy Dad to me. ;)


Hannah at Erratic Questions About a Simple Life gave me this one

The Stylish Blogger Award. This is the third time I've received this award and I just have one question: how do you people know I'm stylish? Most of you have only seen the one picture of me, and in that pic I just so happen to be dressed up (it was my 20th high school reunion. More on that at a later date). I really don't care, award whore that I am, I was just wondering.

Thank you, lady and gentleman, for your kind words and blog love. I eat this shit up like king crab legs and melted butter. It's fucking orgasmic. It's also apparent to me that every time I ignore you guys for a few days, you shower me with awards to gain my attention. So to keep our dysfunctional relationship going, I shall continue to abuse you.

A few months back, I attempted to create a regular weekly series called Random Acts of Dumbassness. In this series, I would comb the internet for stupidity, and there is stupidity a-fucking-plenty on there, post my faves, and have my readers vote on the best one, dubbed Dumbass of the Week. That series never had a chance to get to get off the ground because the following week, my friend was killed over a parking space. I plunged into an abyss of sadness and anger for awhile, and by the time I emerged, I'd forgotten all about it.

Well, it's back! I couldn't just let all that stupidity go un-bitched about. I don't think it will be a weekly occurrence, but I will pull it out and dust it off for you occasionally. I meant that in the dirtiest way possible.

Click this link to see our first contestant, Ass to Mouth Disease. Sue me, okay. I couldn't figure out how to embed the picture into this post, so I just provided a link. What? The website wouldn't let me copy and paste, which is pretty much all I know how to do. How stupid or stoned do you have to be to brush your teeth with Preparation H? When his mouth starts to smell like itchy, burning ass, I'm sure he'll learn his lesson and read the label next time, ten shots of tequila or not.

Our second contestant is Cancer Head:

God didn't make crack heads for our amusement, people.

This has got to be one of those things where they pay homeless people to do stupid shit and then post it on the net. I'll bet he's got one up his ass, too. Why the hell not? It's no worse than this.

Next, we have Boy-Stuffed Shark:

I wonder what's eating little Timmy?

Sadly, this was the last time Timmy was ever seen alive. Let's bow our heads in a moment of silence and pray that the rest of his siblings don't make the mistake of taunting a hungry shark. Seriously, he couldn't be sending a bigger dinner invitation to the shark if he jumped into the shark's mouth himself. BTW, that would have been his next trick...had he survived.

And finally our last contestant and my personal fave, Gangster Church:

That little window of text on the pic? I didn't do that. You know I'm tech challenged.

If you're not a member of this church, you ain't shit. And not only are you not shit, they won't hesitate to do a drive by on your punk ass or straight jack you for your papers if they catch yo ass in the streets. I want to know who's idea this was. And I want to know who approved of it. And I want to know who sold the shirts at the church bazaar. And I want to know how many of said members thought it was a good idea to not only buy one, but also wear it proudly outside the four walls of their bedrooms. I guess it's true that sheep will follow you anywhere you lead them. Can you imagine what one of their Sunday services looks like? I can see it now...a 400 pound bouncer at the door to keep out the riffraff,  he doesn't speak a word, but if you get out of hand, he slowly opens his blazer to reveal the Glock that's strapped to his waist. Video ho attire and colorful weaves are the norm. Instead of playing hymns as they pass the collection plate, they play songs like Get Money by Junior Mafia. The ushers crip walk down the aisle and little old ladies throw their hands in the air and praise the Lord like they just don't care as the choir sings  In Da Club by 50 Cent. After all, God is in da club, right? The pastor comes out looking like an unholy cross between Dolemite and the pope. He is lavished with praise and amens as he informs the congregation that the deacons will be pimp-slapping all the non-tithers. 

Sorry for rambling on that one. I'm just trying to wrap my head around a church that openly condones stupidity in the name of God.

Cast your votes in the comments below. If you don't cast a vote for Dumbass of the Week, you ain't shit! 

Public Service Announcement: Laptops

The following is a Public Service Announcement about laptop usage.

WARNING: Laptop usage may be hazardous to your health. Recent studies have shown that prolonged usage of a laptop while resting on a bed may cause a condition known as Lard Ass Disease Laptop Edition. LADLE has been associated with serious ailments such as severe muffin top-itis,

Make mine a double.

 cottage cheese thigh-opathy,

You can get a whole tub of this stuff at Sam's Club.

 inflammation of the bat wings,


 and multiple chin syndrome.

Apparently, there's a website that just gives people double chins. I wonder if they take donations?

 These conditions, while not fatal, may cause:
1. confusion over why your jeans don't fit
2. intense fear of swimsuit shopping
3. continuous chair breakage
4. the wearing of long pants and sleeves in the summertime
5. repeated embarrassing questions from small children such as, "Mommy, why is that lady so fat?" and "She's not going to sit on me, is she?" and worst of all "When is Mrs. Claus supposed to fly back to the North Pole?"

Please be aware of the dangers of LADLE. It is a progressive disease. It sneaks up on you when you least expect it. One minute you're blogging away at 150 pounds, and the next you're blogging away at 170 pounds with a donut stick hanging from your mouth like a cigarette. Children are losing their parents at an alarming rate to LADLE. They're finding that their parents no longer want to play Dance, Dance Revolution on Wii. No one is playing catch in the back yard with their sons. Little girls are forced to have tea parties alone. Teenagers are cyber bullying and having sex right under their parents' noses and it's all going unnoticed.

Please. If you can't do it for yourself, do it for the children.


That is all.

Has anyone else been diagnosed with this disease? Just me? Damn.

Anyway, now that the whole world knows that my New Year's Resolutions are right on target, I want to thank two of my awesome friends for bestowing upon me the LOL Award.



Somehow, Jumble Mash, and The Tame One got the idea that I occasionally make people laugh. I don't know about all that, but I am tremendously grateful for their kind words and the amazing award. Thank you, ladies! These ladies have been known to make me laugh my ass off, which, as I told Tame, is a good thing because I've got plenty of ass to spare. I usually blow off choose not to do the award conditions just because the friends who award me have most, if not all, the same friends I have in the blog world. I try not to make you read the same post over here that you've already read at about ten other blogs because I want you to keep coming back. That's not to say I'm ungrateful. To the contrary, I am still amazed that there are people in this world who not only enjoy reading my bullshit, but also think it's award-worthy. Please don't stop showering me with awards. I love them. I love you. But I don't want people to skip past my post because they think they're going to read the same old thing. Not that I do that to anyone...

So even though I will not be telling you seven things you don't already know about me (let's face it, if you read this blog long enough, you will know every freaking thing there is to know), I will pass this award on to seven other blogs that I find hilarious.

So here they are, listed in the order that they appear on my blog roll (if you've already received this award, suck it up. You're getting it again and you're gonna be fucking happy about it):

A Vapid Blonde
Absolutely Narcissism
Can U Relate?
Dribble.....
Jumble Mash
Make Daddy a Sammich
Rants from the Hormonally Challenged
Simple Dude in a Complex World
stupid stuff i see and hear
Suldog
the bitchy waiter
The Ranter's Box
This and That (As I Bounce Thru Life)
Thoughts of an Oxymoron
Unsound Reasoning

What? I like funny. Also, I don't follow rules because I'm bad ass like that.

If you want to list seven things about yourself, and link the award back to me, and pass it on to seven people, and notify them on their blogs, go right ahead. If you don't, you have my permission to simply enjoy the fact that I find you so incredibly, gut-bustingly funny, that I thought you deserved to be recognized.

Or you could send me fifty bucks.

Whatever.

And the Nomination Goes to...

I know I promised to tell you the story of why I don't go to the dollar store on Friday mornings, and I will, but not now. I did something today that I hope each of you will also do and that's nominate your favorite blogs for the 2011 Annual Weblog Awards at this website.



Okay, that's an Oscar. Same thing. Here are my nominations:

Best Australian or New Zealand Weblog:
1. Dribble..... (Not yet because I haven't gotten her permission. Her blog is anonymous, so I didn't want to nominate her if she wasn't comfortable with it. But as soon as I get the okay, the nom is hers).
2. ~Core Blimey~

Best Parenting Weblog:
1. Absolutely Narcissism
2. Thoughts of an Oxymoron

Best Topical Weblog:
The Well-Fed Spirit

Most Humorous Weblog:
1. Simple Dude in a Complex World
2. stupid stuff i see and hear
3. Visions unto myself

Best Writing in a Weblog:
1. The Long Journey to the Middle
2. The Well-Fed Spirit
3. This and That (As I Bounce Thru Life)

The Best Kept Secret Weblog:
1. A Bitch Called Mom
2. Can U Relate?
3. The Ranter's Box

Best New Weblog (started in 2010):
1. Jumble Mash
2. Rants from the Hormonally Challenged
3. Unsound Reasoning

Lifetime Achievement:
Micael Chadwick

Weblog of the Year:
1. The Bitchy Waiter
2. The Ranter's Box
3. The Long Journey to the Middle
4. The Well-Fed Spirit

All of the people that write these blogs deserve an award. Some people have no idea the time, effort, and research that goes into a well-planned, informative, and entertaining blog. If you have not yet had the pleasure of reading any of the blogs mentioned above, stop what you're doing and get your ass over there. I tried to include as many of my favorite blogs as possible, but if I missed you, please don't take it personally. Sometimes the decision has to be made to select the best of the best and that's what I did. I'm not just blowing smoke up your ass, either. I don't follow blogs that I don't find interesting, entertaining and/or non-offensive. A blog has to "do something" for me in order for me to follow it.

If you're over 30, you can also go to Studio Thirty Plus where they are also doling out blog awards. No babies allowed, so if you're 18-29 years old, in the prime of your life, with no sagging skin whatsoever, you're not invited.

Stay tuned for my Dollar General story. It involves anger, guns, laundry detergent, and a decision that saved my life.

Award Whore

It's been five days since my last post and in that time, I've won two blog awards. You mean I don't even have to do a damn thing to win an award? Nice. I didn't actually win them per se. My awesome blog friends have given them to me because they think I'm hot shit. I guess that's tantamount to entering a beauty contest where your mom is one of the judges. That's fine by me. It's about time I had an unfair advantage over something.

The first award was from the source of my second guest post on a blog. Semi True Torystellar from Can U Relate granted me the Tanned Hide Blog Award

Because some crap should not be put up with. I love it! And if you get to spank an ass in the process, all the better. Somebody was checking out my blog when they created this award. This blog is the birthplace of inspiration for many. You're welcome.

The second one is from a newcomer to A Bitch Called Mom, Kara over at Visions Unto Myself.

This is, by far, my favorite because it involves cupcakes that I didn't have to bake myself. Now that's somebody who thought to herself, 'what does this bitch really need in her life?' The answer is both simple and straightforward, although my husband still can't manage to figure it out. Say it with me, moms....LESS WORK. Or better...PERSONAL CHEF. Or best of all...GORGEOUS MAN BEARING CAKE.

Thank you, thank you, thank you ladies for believing that I am award-worthy. Just in case you're wondering what the hell you were thinking giving an award to a bitch like me, let me ease your minds by saying you had no choice. You might want to pay better attention to the subliminal messages strategically placed on my page from now on. I won't say you're gullible or anything like that, but...

Speaking of cake...

Is it just me or does food taste like crap when you're PMSing? Every damn thing I put in my mouth (minds out of the gutter please) tastes like metal right now. It's gotten so bad that I've taken to eating on paper plates with plastic utensils and consuming all beverages from plastic bottles or cups. Is this some freaky pregnancy spin-off?

When I was pregnant with my daughter, I couldn't eat sugar. To answer your question before you get a chance to think about asking it, no. Neither my doctor nor my nurse midwife instructed me to stay away from sugar to preserve the health of my baby. They didn't say I was damn near diabetic or anything drastic like that. I couldn't eat sugar because every time I tried to eat something sweet, my mouth would be flooded with the taste of metal. Needless to say, it was disgusting. I mean I couldn't eat anything even remotely sweet. Not cake, not pie, not cookies, not corn flakes sprinkled with sugar. Nothing. The thought of having sugar anywhere near me made me nauseous.

As a result of my sugar drought, I only gained 10 pounds during my whole pregnancy and five of those pounds belonged to the baby. And I was a sweet person. I don't think I yelled at my husband or oldest son (the oldest daughter wasn't adopted yet and the youngest son was still a baby) for the entire 37 weeks. I also didn't curse out: cashiers, trash guys (more on them in an upcoming post), my father-in-law (whom I curse out at least twice a week), or Verizon tech support, not that they would understand me anyway. If you think that statement is racist, it's because you don't know our history. I actually had a conversation with one guy that went like this:

Guy Who Lives In India: Verizon Tech Support, how may I help you?
Me: Hello. I can't connect to the internet.
GWLII: I'm so sorry to hear that, Ma'am. I can help you take care of this problem. Garble, garble, crunch, crunch?
Me: I'm sorry. I didn't understand you. Can you say that again?
GWLII: I'm sorry, ma'am. I didn't understand you. Will you repeat that?
Me: I didn't understand what you said.
GWLII: Please repeat that, ma'am.
Me: If I can't understand you and you can't understand me, how are you going to help me with my computer?
GWLII: I'm sorry, ma'am. Can you repeat that?

Dial tone......

I'm not going to start bitching about outsourcing, but if you must outsource, can you hire the people who speak the language of those they're meant to help? I'm just saying. If Indian companies were outsourcing to America, do you think they'd hire my non-Hindi speaking ass? I understand that some people read another language better than they speak it. I can read Spanish way better than I can speak Spanish, but still I'm not getting a job taking donations for Telemundo.

I digress. Oh, I was saying what an absolute pleasure I was to be around during my last pregnancy due to a lack of sugar.

Hold the phone! I think I just figured out this whole bitch thing.

No, wait. I lost it.



Oh, yeah, I guess I'm supposed to take off my hooker heels and put on my pimp hat, so here goes. I entrust the Tanned Hide Award to the following blogs:

Crazy Ramblings of a Tired Mom
stupid stuff i see and hear
The Journey

Neither of them put up with much bullshit.

And the warm and fuzzy cupcake award goes to:

Secret Pleasures (these are cupcakes of a whole 'nother kind)...

A Funny Thing Happened on My Way To the Porcelain Throne

Veggies chopped? Check. Cheese shredded? Check. Bundt and cupcakes baked? Potatoes peeled? Turkey thawed? Check, check, and check? Why are you thawing your turkey so early, Mrs. Hyde? Three words: it's not mine. Not only do I have to prepare a Thanksgiving feast for my own household, including cakes and pies and make not one, but two banana puddings for my mother-in-law, but I also have to roast a turkey, bake stuffing (well, technically it's dressing since I'm not putting it inside the turkey), and make a Strawberry Shortcake for my sister. My baby sister claims she can't cook, so every year I make extra stuffing, cakes and sometimes pies for her household as well. I'm pretty sure it's a rouse because her kids don't starve the rest of the year. Mysteriously around Thanksgiving, though, she can't seem to remember what that big white thing in the kitchen is for. I love her anyway. Who cares if my eyes are bloodshot and I have the worst migraine I've had in months?

Speaking of turkey, it's time to fulfill the conditions of the Shiny Turkey Award I received from Jumble Mash. To review, I need to tell a story of food, cooking/baking, intoxication, and/or the holidays. If I had a story that encompassed all those subjects, that would be freakin' awesome. But I don't. I have an assload of falling down drunk stories (about myself and others) and I will tell you one of those right now.

About three years ago (or maybe more. Who knows? I've killed many brain cells in that time), my husband took me out to celebrate my birthday. He'd asked a few of our (read: his) friends to join us in the celebration. Keep in mind that I had just recently gotten my 'drinking legs' as I like to say. The night was set for excitement and fun. First, we went out to one of those hibachi style restaurants where they grill the food in front of you. Having known that we were going out to eat, I hadn't eaten much that day. Wish I had remembered that before I ordered a Zombie. And then another.

Some other woman at a different table was also celebrating her birthday, so when they started singing that lame ass song to her, I chimed in. Really. Loudly. And before you ask, no, I didn't know the words. I clapped, I waved somebody's cigarette lighter in the air. The brain cells that remembered her name are dead now, so let's just call her Becky. At first Becky was laughing along and cheering me on. Apparently, she'd had a zombie without having first eaten, too. Then you could tell she was a little annoyed because I wouldn't shut the hell up. I knew she was annoyed. I didn't give a fuck. Once hubby managed to settle me down, I told him he just had a stick up his ass because his best friend (also celebrating with us) had fucked more women at our table than he had. That went over well, needless to say. I didn't give a fuck.

Then we went to the Policeman's Lounge, where cops can go and morph into alcoholics for next to nothing. I consumed even more drinks and got into an argument with a cop. Hey! Not my fault; he was a prick. He was hitting on my friend, who has the equivalent of two black girl asses, and she wasn't interested. Being the awesome friend that I was, I told him to back the fuck off my woman before I kicked his ass. At first he found it amusing, but of course I took it too far. I proceeded to tell him that my girlfriend didn't want him because he had a little dick. But not only did he have a small pecker, but that it was so small that my dick was bigger than his. He didn't particularly like that, so he argued with me until my big black husband rolled up behind him after which he promptly shut the fuck up. And I called him a punk bitch as he walked away. We had to leave the policeman's lounge.

You think this story is over, don't you? Wrong. After we got kicked out of the lounge left the lounge willingly, dutiful hubby wanted to make sure everyone got home safely. I was looking a little green around the gills by then, so he dropped me off at home and followed our friends home. He carried me up the stairs and I told him I needed to use the bathroom and I was perfectly capable of going by myself. He made sure I made it to the toilet and asked me if I was okay.

"I'm fine," I assured him. "Make sure our friends get home." He left me in the bathroom. About 30 minutes later, I awaken to a knock on the bathroom door.

"Are you okay?"

"I said I'm fine. Go take them home so you can hurry back."

"Sweetie, I've already gone and come back. Are you still on the toilet?"

Yes, I was asleep on the toilet. I say he came back 30 minutes later, but for all I know, it was three hours. He could have sexed one bitch six ways from Sunday or six bitches one way from Sunday and I would have been none the wiser. I opened my mouth to answer him and out came everything I'd ever eaten in my life. Good thing the bathtub is right next to the toilet. I was sick for three days after that.

That's my story of intoxication and holidays, if you count my birthday as one.

Note: While all of this did happen, it did not occur on the same night. I have condensed three stories for your enjoyment. You're welcome.

Honestly?

I am very honored to have received a blog award, for honesty no less, from Semi True Torystellar at Can U Relate? Here it is:



Ain't it grand? If I'm to be completely honest, and of course I have to be now, this is the fourth award I've received from the awesome people who dare to read my chaotic ramblings. Sometimes those awards come with conditions and I almost always flake out on those obligations. What can I say? I'm a fucking rebel. This doesn't mean I'm ungrateful; far from it. It amazes me that there exists in this world people who want to hear what I have to say.  I am deeply humbled by your loyal readership (all of you) and I will do my best to stay as bitchy and vocal as I possibly can. Hug, hug, kiss, kiss. You know the drill.

In the interest of honesty and going totally balls-to-the-wall, I will honor the conditions of this award. I have to list ten honest things about myself. This is going to be hard 'cause I don't want to just list any old thing. People have to read this crap, so I at least want it to be interesting.

Hmmm. Ten whole things? How about five? Okay, okay.

1. I hardly ever answer my cell phone or return phone calls. I'm sorry, but I have way too much shit to do to be on the phone all day. Send me a text or an email. I will return a text. I might return an email.
2. I don't watch the news. Being inundated with up-to-the-minute negativity isn't exactly my idea of a good time.
3. Here are some of the jobs I've had: barmaid, daycare provider, phone sex operator, substitute teacher. My work history is but a small indication of the good vs. evil battle I fight on a daily basis.
4. I have a 26-year-old sister whom I've never met. Papa was a rolling stone. He rolled his ass to Virginia for awhile, met a woman, fathered a child, died and didn't leave any information on how to find her. Oprah won't help me and apparently, baby sis hasn't heard of social networking. So, if anyone knows a Jessica Brown in or around the Richmond area, give a holler. How many Jessica Browns can there be in Richmond?
5. I can spot a big dick from a mile away. Oh, now you're awake. I didn't just do that for shock value, it's actually true. I have a penchant for sniffing out the heavily schlonged. It's the gift that keeps on giving.
6. I've been trying to complete this post for two hours, so I'm going to stop now and come back in ten years when I think of more things.
7. My mother has been a drug addict for over 30 years. If you can't say anything else about her, you can say that she is consistent. When she decides to do something, she sticks to that shit like glue. She sold me to a man when I was eight years old. That's all I have to say about that (imagine I'm Forrest Gump).
8. My favorite color is purple. Yeah, I know that's lame, but #7 is a tough act to follow. Okay, I'll give you a real one. I hate crying. If you make me cry, be sure to sleep with one eye open for the rest of your life.
9. I have a girl crush on Portia de Rossi. I like that she's a little bit insane just like me. With my muffin top, four kids, and empty bank account, I'm sure I could give Ellen and her millions a run for their money.
10. I shot the sheriff, but I did not shoot the deputy. Give me a break, I tried, didn't I?

It's not a requirement to pimp out blogs, but I'm going to do it anyway. These blogs don't get as much recognition as they should, so please visit and follow them if you like what you see.

Rants from the Hormonally Challenged Love her and I'm sure you will, too!
The Well-Fed Spirit This bitch is AWEsome!
Simple Dude in a Complex World He doesn't follow this blog, but don't hold that against him.
Jumble Mash Makes you feel all warm and fuzzy.

All right, so, that's it. I know I cheated a little bit, but when you're a control freak like me, you have a hard time being vulnerable. Some of my fellow award recipients were worried about losing followers if they posted true, honest-to-goodness things about themselves. I'm not. If you don't love me for the bitch I am, then fuck you and I'm happy to be rid of you.

But if I come back on here in the morning and all of you are gone, oh, I will stalk you.