What the blog???

Geez, so many people get offended when you drop the f-bomb a few times in a blog. But isn't a blog by definition, an online journal and not just the money-making, job getting, freebie giving away thing it's become now? I am not the best writer, I know that for a fact. But I like to make people laugh and I was feeling a little anti-appliance and wrote the blog. I was trying to turn lemons into a lemonade martini. Because that's the way I was feeling. I won't apologize for it.
And like anything else, if you don't like what's on tv, radio, etc - don't watch, listen or read it. Too fucking bad if you don't like it. What I found really interesting was that my stats went WAY up on that blog. It almost took away the sting of what those two bone-heads wrote in to me. I'm not going to say or quote those two because I'm not going to give them an audience here. However, I feel I should point a few things just so we are clear -

1. Just because I use the word, 'fuck' or 'goddamn' doesn't make me an idiot or a writer who can't write. Never said I was a good/great writer. This is an online journal and I'm using it so you get to know me and my art. The most I hope for is that I spell shit correctly.

2. I like to make it a little interesting. I get tired of those boring blogs that are sanitized for human consumption. Who the hell cares?

3. I used the PMS angle because I am a woman and this is funny to me. If we can get something funny out of our periods besides cramps and tampons, I'm all for it. It's not vulgar (if it is to you, please read line 6)The next time you have a uterus, gentlemen, feel free to comment.


If you'd like to see more of Creepymama's artwork, please visit her and her sister, Olivia the Dollmaker at :
StagiWorks

Sexy Beast

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. If not, have more beer. Or some such bullshit my mother told me.

This week has been at a loss with all my appliances issues - I'm finally going to get chance to start all this tonight..I'll be working these next two weeks on the idea of beauty and how I can twist it to fit my creepy little paintings. I've been working on this one painting of mine - doing the research and this little lady popped in my head. She's not the main focus by any means, but it got me thinking of all the things we women do to be beautiful. 

Now, do witches add warts? Do Ogresses apply Eau De Stink? Do Vampires get their teeth sharpened?  

Do you go in to get your creepy weave tangled?  If you'd like to see more of Creepymama's artwork, please visit her and her sister, Olivia the Dollmaker at :

StagiWorks

Where is the goddamn Merlot?

I should have known something was up. My hairdryer blew out three weeks ago. Little did I know the heinous fuckery the universe had in store for me. My thoughtful husband then replaced it two weeks later. In the mean time, my friend Jodie, in all her coiffed-ness, said, "You're killing me." 
But I thought, eh, no big deal, it was just the hairdryer.
Oh, no, it wasn't just the hairdryer. All my appliances began to hate me. It was like they all decided to have a PMS day. The day I started using my new hair dryer, the garbage disposal took a turn for the worse. It started leaking and I swear I head it cry, "OMG! You expect me to crush this!! After all those things I've done for you, the leftover salad dregs, no, this is NOT HAPPENING!"
I got it Midol and a glass of Merlot.
"NO! I WILL NOT BE BOUGHT OFF! YOU LET THAT LITTLE CHEAP HARLOT DRY YOUR HAIR! WHY NOT ME? WHY???"
I was a little worried. But I'm from a family of do it yourselfers (mostly in the form of duct tape and hot glue) and I thought. 'Yeah, I can handle that.' I armed myself with my tools and the internet, intent on fixing our little problem. Two hours later, we still couldn't get the damn thing off the sink. I disabled the right side of the sink to the kids and decided to tackle it later. Turned out to be one week later, but I finally got to tackle it on Saturday morning, I started my laundry first and BOOM! The washer has a bitch fit. "FUCK YOU! BLANKETS? ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?!?!?! I'M BLOATED AND FAT AND YOU GIVE ME FUCKING BLANKETS! WHERE IS THE GODDAMN MERLOT?"
Water is all over. Three hours and three floods later, I realize the moisture sensor is bad. Okay, we can replace that. Easy! Oh yeah, maybe I can pick up the part tomorrow in San Jose when I go see my parents and drop off two of my four children to hang for a couple of days. They are an hour and half away, just enough distance and time for me to miss them without feeling guilty.
When I get  up the following morning, I discover my Tia Maria has arrived and the athlete's foot I'm fighting (thanks kids! ah, the joys of parenthood) is almost unbearable. As I'm driving, guess what? The car is in on it too! "BITCH, YOU THINK I'M JUST GONNA LET YOU DRIVE ME ALL OVER? DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU ARE DOING TO MY TREADS? I JUST GOT THESE BITCHES AND YOU'RE GIVING ME HOOKER HOOVES! HELL NO! GET ME A CHOCOLATE BAR NOW!"
By the time I chug to my parents' house, the kids are ready to flee the scene before some bad shit goes down. Except for Pottymouth, he's probably got a video camera and can't wait to post Mommy's meltdown on YouTube.
My mother took one look at me, saw the steam from my ears and I blurt out everything to her and she says, "We can fix that. No sweat. I think I have an extra garbage disposal. Are you going to the doctor? You should go for the foot thing."
Yeah, my parents are those parents. They are not hoarders exactly, more like an orphanage for Home Depot. Not in a bad way, they don't keep everything, some appliances go to good homes and a few are adopted by Brangelina (it must be genetic, I have an extra dryer in my garage).
My dad pops in and say, "No, I think I have a new garbage disposal still in the box. What foot thing?"
They even have an extra washer. Not that I need one and I decline, but I'm more concerned about my bitch tripping car. By the end of the day, my car is fixed, I'm driving home with two garbage disposals and some steaks, because I think, according to my dad, meat will also fix everything. My father gives me a hug and I'm grateful that he thinks meat will fix everything - I really didn't want to cook dinner.

If you'd like to see more of Creepymama's artwork, please visit her and her sister, Olivia the Dollmaker at :
StagiWorks

Where's the potty?!?

The time-honored rite of parenthood know as potty-training is upon us! I am heading towards potty-training my last child, it's been years, but teaching a little human how to use the facilities is no small feat. Beefy hasn't been too interested in going himself, but he seems to be investigating how my husband pees, how I pee, how his brothers pee, how to flush the toilet and even better, what can I flush down the toilet? He's even telling us when he's done the dirty deed, "POOP!!!!!" 

But has no interest in actually sitting on the can, that might take some time out from stealing crayons from Marc's craft desk. However, my sister is starting to teach my nephew the glories of the john and I just giggle, because this is her first round. I've been through three kids, the first is always the hardest. My oldest took awhile, but my second found the pee-glee of pissing on the tree in the backyard. It wasn't until I found a massive poop in the backyard (we had no dog) that I had to reign him in and explain the poop rules. The following is the text messages we've been having about it:

Violet: Potty training: 2 accidents so far, I think by the end of this the whole house will smell like pee.

Me: Rocky and E-man can compete to mark territory.

Violet: HAHAHA

Violet: Potty Training lesson I learned today: Take to potty right after dinner. Big poop and pee in his pants. I feel like a dummy for not thinking of this.

Me: Rookie! hahahahaa

Violet: LOL! I just spent 5 minutes pouring water on his wiener to get him to pee in the toilet. This is my life. 

Me: Please lock this message so u can remember it fondly. 

Violet: I will 

Me: The one thing I hated was when you had to cut them off of juice by a certain time of night. They always acted like they just got back from the Sahara.

Violet: LMAO!!! 

Me: Or the innocent face when you ask them, and they clearly smell like shit, "Did you wipe?"