I was chosen to be in a book!

Dining with Children.

Being a parent, you know that there are certain experiences that are more challenging to handle with children. Shopping. Errands. Peeing. Breathing...

But by far, the most horrible of the horrible experiences has to be going out to dinner with them.

You spent a ton of money and cross your fingers, praying not to have to fork out money to assuage the disgust of anyone having a table within earshot of screeching/reach of flying spaghetti/radius of diaper smell.

As the mom, you give away most of your food and then eat your cold meal in under 6 seconds. Usually between trips to the restroom, blocking the hand-offs of scalding objects and spoon feeding so many people that you feel like a clumsy version of that Indian Goddess chick with all the arms.

Going to a restaurant leaves you fraught with panic, completely mortified and promising yourself (and sometimes the manager) that you will never eat out again.

But last night was different. My children were well behaved. Angelic even.

We were seated next to this little old woman, who was by herself reading a book. Holden, our three year old and Cora, our four year old, sat on either side of me and Phoenix, who is six, sat next to daddy. They colored their menus quietly, as Jude and I glanced awkwardly at each other.

I actually remember saying, "They are being so good that I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing now..."

He shrugged.

What did I do at dinner before children? Should we be talking about something? Oh my God, I don't even know where I'm supposed to put my hands. On the table? In my lap? They're usually moving quickly and filled with children's items.

So, we started talking, ordered drinks calmly, no tantrums or anything. I even got to read the menu. Holden decided he wanted to snuggle with me and he put his head on my arm. I tussled his hair. Cora nuzzled in too. I was in the middle of a snuggle sandwich and I was eating it up. Phoenix ran over to give me a hug and a kiss and then went right back to her seat. They were the perfect children!

OMG! Have we finally gotten to a point where we can go to a restaurant and eat now?!?

I glanced up and I caught the old woman watching us out of the corner of my eye. She was smiling. And I got that swelling of pride, you know, that feeling when you're really killing it parenting-wise and someone actually catches you doing a good job for change. I was a good mom. This woman thought I was a good mom. And my kids are good kids. We've raised good kids. I felt unstoppable.

And Holden looked over at me. And I looked into his big, baby blues.

And I saw that look. That puckered-lip-half-burp look.

And I knew that all that cute shit was over.

I grabbed a napkin and prayed that it was gonna just be a little bit.

BBBBLLLLLEEEEEEEERRRRRRGGGGGGGGG.

I caught the first wave of chunky food with the napkin.

Ok, that wasn't so bad. Maybe nobody noti.....

BBBBBLLLLLLLEEEEEERRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG

It shot out like he was mid demon possession. Panicked, I put my hands under the stream, attempting to catch the vomit as it dripped through my fingers and onto my pants and boots. Apparently, you cannot catch vomit in your hands. Cue that "The More You Know" thingy.

BBBBBBBBBBBLLLLLLLLLLEEEEEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG

I had run out of napkins and was just watching him, defeated, as he vomited straight onto the table top, which then ran off onto the floor. The Denny's dining room grew silent as people watched in horror, choking back their own vomit and trying to prevent this from becoming a vomit waterfall.

The waiter ran over, probably wishing he had spit in our entrees, an insufficient number of napkins in tow. I tried, unsuccessfully to clean up the gallons of puke.

I swear, two bites = two gallons of puke somehow.

I looked up and the old woman averted her gaze.

Damn.

He had managed to pull off the long con. He ruined, not only the enjoyment of the adjoining tables' meals, but the collective appetite of the entire Denny's establishment. And then we took the parade route to the bathroom, him covered in vomit, and myself attempting to ignore the stares of disgust and whispers of disgruntled Denny's patrons.

Welp, back to "bad mom". And I smell like puke. And we can never go to Denny's again. Cross that one off the list.

Maybe we'll try again in ten years. Hopefully by then they'll remember that it's rude to puke at the dinner table. And if they do puke, I'll remember not to try to catch it.

Working from home. With kids.

So a little over a week ago, I fell off the face of the earth. I haven't tweeted, blog rolled, facebooked, emailed. I have completely neglected all of my e-sponsibilities.

I have been overwhelmed. Exhausted. Stressed to the max.

Because being the masochist I am, I took a job working from home. And I am losing my motherfucking mind.

Basically, working from home while you have little kids at home with you means that you try to ignore your kids for as long as you can get away with before your head (or theirs) explodes. If you are really bad at ignoring them, you get fired. If you are really good at ignoring them, they probably die. You know, because you can't watch Dora the Explorer without the ambience that the warm glow of a microwaved sibling provides.

One thing is for sure, my kids will not go down without a fight. They will be damned if I'm gonna work and they have decided that they are going to make it impossible. This is basically how it has gone.

So I'm figuring it out. Slowly.

But this is basically what it's like to work from home when you have children:

Working from home with kids is beastly. Because you feel like you are failing at parenting and failing at working all at the same time. At best, you strike a balance and are mediocre at both.

It's a little hellish.

So that's where I've been lately.

Valentine's Day: With and Without Money.

I hope every has a very Happy Valentine's Day! And some money...you know, to actually do something.

Pervy Spider

This morning, like every other morning, I sighed in the general direction of the alarm clock, grumpily rubbed my eyes, walked into the bathroom, disrobed and stumbled into the warm shower.

I had just begun to shampoo my hair when I noticed I wasn't alone.

Oh my God, spider!!!

Do I kill it?

It is pretty small, so maybe it's a baby.

I don't want to kill a baby.

My guilt riddled anthropomorphism made me feel attached to this "baby" spider and I decided I didn't have it in me to kill it.

So I left it alone. And continued my usual bathing ritual. Rinsed my hair. Soaped up all the nooks and crannies and rinsed them out.

I tried to forget it was there, but it was clearly watching me. Glaring. I glared at the spider, it glared back. We exchanged awkward, knowing glances.

And then I realized that I was naked. And it was glaring at me, naked.

I felt oddly self- conscious. Standing there, bare before the spider. It must have thought I was some sort of Lena Dunham-esque exhibitionist, baring my copious flesh every time I entered its shower habitat.

So there I stood, naked, anxiously glaring at a spider.

Was it judging me?

Had it seen my neighbors nude as well?

Did it rank us?

Baby or not, it had seen me nude and it had to go.

I turned off the water, dried myself off and stepped out. I grabbed a piece of toilet paper and turned around to seal the spider's fate.... But it was gone.


He just stayed to watch me shower.

And I felt violated. And really, really dirty.

But I can't shower again, because you know... the pervy spider....




Clearly, I can never shower again.

Ever have a bug fly up your nose?

Eating vomit.
Bones protuding from skin.
Maggots...doing anything.


Those are MAYBE the only things that are more disgusting than snorting a bug up your nose.

As soon as I opened the door this morning to take my 6 year old to school, it shot up there like a sniper.

I'm fairly convinced the bug mafia put a hit on me for all those spiders I mildly irritated over the years with all my grandstanding, shoe throwing and shrieking.

If you are a lucky bastard and have never experienced the sheer delight of having a bug fly up your nose, allow me to describe the horror.

You see, it flies in and presumably dies in all the snot and gooeyness. Meaning, now you have a dead bug carcass stuck in your sinus cavity. But let's be me for a moment and go with the more disgusting scenario and say that it doesn't die. You have a half dead bug who might have always wanted to have children, but was way too focused on their career and is now contemplating laying it's buggy offspring in your crazy, paranoid little head. Either way, it's vile. And that's only the beginning.

On to the more disgusting question of how it gets out. Well, you know how when you're sick you sometimes get that phlegm at the back of your throat that can't be blown out, but you instead have to snort down your throat and spit out? I'm gonna let that sink in a moment..... And welcome to hell.

Yes, you blow your nose like you're trying to expel brain matter, but no bug.

Fuck, it's too far in there. It's gonna have to go out the other way.

*Snort, dry heave, snort, dry heave, repeat*

Still not coming out. So now, you have to wait for your gooey, winged nemesis to slide down further into your throat until it's palatable. You can feel the lump of bug in the back of your throat and on the verge of puking, you try, fruitlessly, to just spit this fucker out.

*GULP*

And end up swallowing it.

So now, I have a bug in my stomach and I'm entirely convinced that in a few weeks, end of life babies are gonna come shooting out of my nostrils.

Grossest. Shit. Ever.

Mainstream bullying at it's finest.

Jesse Heiman

Bar Rafaeli

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o-3j4-4N3Ng

"Shocking."
"Disgusting."
"Funny."

These are words that were used to describe this Godaddy.com commercial, set to air on Sunday, during Superbowl XLVII.

I just want to say that while I'm not at all shocked or disgusted by the commercial itself, what I am shocked and disgusted at is the insinuation behind the commercial, as well as the reaction of both members of the public who were interviewed, and the hosts who commentated on Good Morning America this morning.

If you cannot watch the video in the link, the commercial portrays Danica Patrick introducing supermodel, Bar Rafaeli, Godaddy's "sexy side" to actor, Jesse Heiman, portraying "Walter, Godaddy's smart side." They look at each other and begin kissing.

"THE HORROR! SOMEONE BEAUTIFUL IS KISSING A 'NERD'!!!!"

*CRINGE* "OH THAT'S SOOOOOO DISGUSTING!!!"

"EWWWW..... HOW MUCH DID SHE GET PAID TO DO THAT?"


You know what, fuck you people. How do you think this guy feels? You know, other than the fact that he "got" to make out with Bar Rafaeli for 45 minutes. Maybe he's funny. Maybe he's a tiger in the sack. Maybe he would be the sweetest damn boyfriend you would ever have. Maybe he will be the greatest man that you have ever known.

But you're an asshole, right? So you would never date a "nerd"? It's disgusting? Really, is it disgusting?

You know what is disgusting? This attitude that "pretty" people are better than others. That nerds should be so lucky as to have one of them step down off of their pedestal for 45 minutes and pay them some attention.

And Bar Rafaeli is an asshole. Because when asked to comment on the commercial she said, "I have always wanted to go into a bar and find the one person who I was least likely to be attracted to.... Just the most unlikely person there and kiss them in front of everyone....Really just make his, um... week." You know the wheels were turning and she wanted to say "life", but she thought better of it.

Check in with us in twenty years, Bar. You know, when Jesse is a millionaire because he honed some sort of actual talent and your tits are saggy and you have nothing else going on, so no one likes you anymore.

Then you can do a second commercial and people can comment on how SHOCKING AND DISGUSTING it is for someone to make out with you. Let's see how smug you feel about it then. Count how many times you chuckle and toss your hair.

And for everyone on Good Morning America and those people on the street that they interviewed who were all to quick to label this guy "a nerd", thanks for leaving the real men to people who truly appreciate them. Enjoy your shallow, meaningless lives and eventual, multiple midlife crises.

Signed,
A wife to one special nerd and friend of nerds everywhere,
Amy Terror

What the hell is a Liebster Award?

Add the links you say? I just did like 35 panels of strips! Get to cuttin' and pastin' motherfucker!