GOP: The Men and their Skeletons

Politics is disgusting. I am appalled at the way people act regarding politics. In fact it's so disgusting and appalling that I absolutely must get my two cents in on the subject. The topic of politics is nearly as taboo as pornography and just like in porn, I think each GOP candidate has his very own special way of sucking.

Now, because I am entitled to my very own (and awesome) opinion, I am going to tell you why I can’t stand any of the GOP candidates. Brace yourself 'cause here we go:

Rick Santorum: is on freaking douche patrol. That man makes my skin crawl off my body and into a hole in the ground where it’s safe from like likes of him. This man really believes that we need more children to be born so that we have more people contributing to social security. He says that he and his wife have contributed seven children to society and might as well go as far as to say, "Chop-chop, Mother Lovers, time to pop some babies out." He likes to contradict that little gem by thinking that women shouldn’t raise children without a husband. Well guess what Douche McGee, some of us didn't keep our Aspirin tablet between our knees and got knocked up by another Douche Rocket who was to chicken shit to stick around.  How about this, Ass Wipe? Men shouldn't be allowed to be Tool Sheds and should accept responsibility for contributing the secret ingredient to making a baby in the first place and maybe there wouldn't be so many single Mommies. Ever think of that you chauvinistic dingle berry? And because he is the walking contradiction that he is, he's against birth control. Even if you are happily married but want to postpone having children and still get freaky-deaky, uh-uh, Rick Douchetorum says no-no. Gah, ok, I’m moving on because I could go on forever about this creep.

Newt Gingrich: I can't believe this man is even a candidate. Really, Conservatives? He is everything you are against morally-- a dirty, filthy scoundrel. He's a serial adulterer, a liar, and yet he's considered to be a religious, morally crusading republican and contender for presidential office? Yuck. Not to mention the fact that he's a giant five year old. He's especially fond of dinosaurs, big explosions, and the idea of making the Moon the 51st state ofAmerica. That's so ridiculous that it's almost adorable. I kind of want to take him to a playground and let him play pretend in the fake rocket ship. Can't we just let him pretend he's a candidate? He will be just as happy, I swear. You can't vote an adulterous five year old into office. You just can't.

Ron Paul: I could go for some of the things he promises in his platform, but I can’t go for his racist tendencies. He’s been quoted numerous times making profoundly racist remarks. This quote is especially ridiculous, “Given the inefficiencies of what DC laughingly calls the criminal justice system, I think we can safely assume that 95 percent of the black males in that city are semi-criminal or entirely criminal." When asked to clarify this statement, he said that these weren’t based on his figures, that it was just an assumption. Lovely, huh? To be honest, I think he’s probably just a loony old-timer complete with conspiracy theories and paranoid tendencies. But hey, if you like weed…he’s for legalizing it. It seems he wants to win favor with the KKK and the college kids. I’m a part of neither crowd.

Mitt Romney: I can’t respect anyone without any respect for animals. I feel bad for his dog, Seamus, who rode on the roof of the car for TWELVE HOURS on their way to Canada! He said the dog loved it, but his own Son contradicts that story by saying that at one point he saw a brown fluid running down the windshield indicating that the dog had been so scared that he took a runny dump! Did this make Mitt take the dog off of the roof and put him in the car with the rest of the family? No. He simply stopped at a car wash, rinsed the car and the cage, and put poor Seamus back in his cage strapped down with bungee cords to the roof of the car. Romney’s campaign wouldn’t comment, but Seamus allegedly ran away upon their arrival. That’s what the Romneys get, eh? (click here for source)

In conclusion, I just want to say that my absolute least favorite GOP candidate is (DUH) Rick Santorum and of course he’s the one that the Bible Belt just adores! I don’t understand. How am I so turned off by every single thing about him and millions of people are all honky-dory for the things he stands for? He wants to take away your privacy, people! He’s what I call BSC. Bat shit crazy! Now, please, PLEASE, stop watching Fox news and do some of your own research! 

Burn, Baby, Burn

This is what I plan on looking like while I work out.

  It has occurred to me that I can’t get back my pre-baby body by sitting on my behind. It seems, sigh, I must actually get off my ass in order to do something about my ass. Thus, I have begun a workout regimen via YouTube. I found an AWESOME channel. It’s called FitnessBlender. There are tons of videos to choose from. I have done the Brazilian buttocks workout and am really feeling (not seeing, yet) the effects.


  I really like the idea of being able to work out in the privacy of my own home. There is nothing more humiliating than going to the gym out of shape and having an audience. While I'm sure there isn't actually an audience because people are there to get there badunks from flab to fab as well, I still can't help but think all eyes are on me.  More importantly, I can cry from "the burn" without people pointing and laughing. Even MORE importantly, I can do these workouts in between Asher's naps. Nothing like a productive nap time!

  

  I decided to post about this because I feel like I need to be held accountable for my decision to get into shape. I am a habitual say-I’m-gonna kind of person. My follow through in the past has been for shit, but I feel like I’ve started a new chapter of my life. I had a baby. He killed my body (and my tailbone). I must get it back and better than it was before.

  You may be wondering what lit a fire under my (not as perky as it used to be) ass. Well, I went shopping for some jeans. This journey to find jeans to fit my in-between-sizes body nearly had me in tears because while I’m close to my pre-baby weight, my body is FAR from its original shape. That’s because I have lost muscle tone and replaced it with chunk (sounds nicer than fat). You can imagine the deflation of my pride. I felt like crap inside that stupid dressing room staring at myself in that evil mirror.

  After ten tries and probably three sizes, I couldn’t get a single pair over my ass. My ego’s chunky derriere had been kicked, and it was time for change, dammit.

  So, it begins. My road to a rockin’ Mom bod!

My Sweet Side...

Oh joy, ‘tis the season for lovey-dovey bullshit. Before your love drunk brains begin jumping to conclusions, no, I’m not bitter because I don’t have a Valentine. Truth is, I’ve never been a huge fan of Valentine’s Day. It’s silly. I don’t like flowers…they die. I don’t want chocolate…it goes to my ass. Diamonds? Well…OK. But only if it’s a modest carat or five.

I will take this XOXO obsessed holiday as an opportunity to thank the ones I love, though. Consider this my Valentine to all of you who have held my hand and had my back these past couple of years. I feel like the luckiest girl in the world. Prepare yourselves. I’m about to be real “deep.”

To my friends: YOU kept me afloat when I thought I was drowning. You accept me for exactly who I am (which is difficult, I admit), you laugh with me and cry with me, you give me confidence when I’m running low, and you make my heart swell with companionship when I feel alone. I’m eternally grateful to each one of you.

To my family: Thank you for seeing the big picture for me when I could not. Thank you for the confidence you instilled in me and the strength you gave me when I was weak. Thank you for ignoring my pride and being there to catch me anyway. Thank you for being there with me as I welcomed my Son into the world. Thank you for giving me the building blocks to becoming a good Mommy.

To my baby boy: Thank you for picking me to be your Mommy. I see the world in a completely different light with you in my life. You give me purpose. More importantly, you give me hope. I am a different and better person solely because of you. I will always be here when you open your eyes in the morning (and a zillion times throughout the night), My sweet boy.

Girl Fight!

  I don't know what to think about these crazy ass housewives. I can't figure out if I'm entertained or if I'm just staring at these women like I would a train wreck. They really are bat-shit crazy. My biggest issue, I think, is the reflection it has on teenage and young adult females. We put so much emphasis on being accepting of one another and not bullying. I think this is a huge step back in that fight.

  Shockingly, many of these women are mothers. I'm not necessarily saying that these women aren't good mothers, but let's look at the facts here! On each rendition of this show whether it's Atlanta, Beverly Hills, or otherwise these women are ripping each other to shreds! Young women are witnessing these ladies attack one another (verbally and physically), and we expect them not to do the same exact thing to each other? Wishful thinking. I look at these women with their piles of money and think, "Girl...stop pulling off Kim's fake ass wig and go to the mall. Buy some shit. You will be happier afterwards."

  These shows would not exist if it weren't for the foolish rivals these women create between one another. The show would simply be a bunch of women traipsing around with their platinum cards buying diamonds and shoes for themselves (and their dogs). 

  Gag me with a spoon, right? Blah.

 Who wants to watch women spend all of their husbands hard earned money on crap? Pfft. No one. But women with a Louis Vuitton thrown across one shoulder and the head of a frail blonde woman shoved under the arm pit the other-- that is quality entertainment. Hopefully my sarcasm was implied, but I'll clarify for good measure...I was being sarcastic.

  Do I watch the shows? Yea. I do. Every once in a while I catch myself fully committed to a marathon, and I can't peel my eyes away from the screen until the sit-down at the end of the season with the annoying man with the big-ass smile who loves every moment of the drama between these woman as much as the rest of the US, the only difference is, he gets paid to like it. I can't stand those episodes. I get anxiety with all the yelling and talking over each other. At least in the actual episodes you get a break from that when they do their one-on-one interviews. You get a chance to hear both sides in a calm, yet effective, manner. HA.

  So, what do you guys think about these Looney Tunes? For or against? I think I'm Switzerland...with a dash of tone-it-the-heck-down-on-the-name-calling-and-punch-throwing.

Time flies when you're getting no sleep.

I can't believe I'll have been a Momma for a month on Sunday. Time flies ridiculously fast when you have a newborn. 

The first week and a half went by so fast partly due to the hydrocodone fog I was in. The day after I ran out of my prescription was the day I realized how strenuous Motherhood was actually going to be. That pain killer has a way of making you...well...not give a rat's ass. I was in Mommy Heaven with that drug. I still am, I guess, just a less high, more exhausted version of it. 

You know, I keep going back to the day I had him. I literally remember every single moment of labor. Other Moms keep telling me that I wont remember it after a while. When exactly is "after awhile?"

I'm ready to forget now. I keep thinking about how I felt like I was being stared at by my Dad, Sister, and two Aunts while I writhed in pain. 

See, Asher was posterior right up until the moment I began pushing. That means his little over 7lb self was pushing into my tailbone with every single contraction. The pressure of which I could feel through the epidural -- rendering it pointless. I was preparing myself for a cruel, unusual death. 

Every word I overheard from other people in the room with me was enough to make me want to punch things but I couldn't cause I was all but paralyzed. I thought, in my irrational head, that they were talking about me. I thought that they thought I was being a baby. Which I wasn't, just so you know. I'm not even sure I shed one tear until I saw his little face...and then I shed like nine or ten before I was distracted by the two female doctors talking about my no-no-special place like it was no big deal that they were about to sew me up like a damaged teddy bear. I reminded them that I still had to find the person I was going to spend the rest of my life with, so they'd better do a good job. 

Inappropriate? Probably. I was on drugs. Still, though, they assured me that they would fix me up real nice like. I liked those ladies. 

Anyway, like I said, I'm ready to forget everything right up to the point I got to hold my baby for the first time. That moment, if you don't know already, is the single most amazing moment you will ever experience. I couldn't believe I had made a person. I couldn't fathom that a few cheap 3.2 beers and a bad decision with someone who should have remained "just a friend" could lead to something so...perfect. Inappropriate again? Sorry.

I can't wait to see what the next month will hold for Asher and me. I can't imagine life without him. It's like my life had no point before him. He makes everything make sense...which says a lot for me since I'm about as ADHD as a Chihuahua. 

Welcome!

I’m not sure why I’m calling this Sassy Mom Jeans. I have worn jeans once since I’ve had the baby three weeks ago. I didn’t wear them well, either. Will they ever fit correctly again?

Screw it.

That’s why God made the Yoga pant. Not for Yoga. Hell no. They are for new Moms who aren’t ready to make the soul-crushing effort to shove her ass into a pair of jeans that were once a size too big, but now have you grunting to zip and button.

“But I’m so lucky to be a Mommy,” I think. “Who cares if I’m squishy where I was never squishy before.”

I do. I freaking care. If my ass had a personality and a vocabulary, which I’m not all together sure it doesn’t, it would curse my name daily. “What have you done to me, You Dr. Pepper Lush!?” it would yell.

and I would cry.

It was worth it, though, because while I cringe at the pudding like substance that is my stomach, I literally beam sparkly-sparkles out of my eyeballs for my perfect little boy. That’s not a mother’s biased opinion, either. If there were ever a perfect child, it would be mine. Do not argue with me. I’m still violently hormonal.

Just kidding. I’ve always been violent.

So, this is it. This is my new blog. I haven’t written in more than a year, so bear with me as I sink back in to my smart-ass creativity. I hope you enjoy.

P.s. I typed the with one hand while breastfeeding. Mom Skills.