I had a Pinterest Wedding….

….and I totally survived. And kind of pulled it off!

Okay, first of all watch this…because I have writer’s block or more appropriately I have writer’s boulder. A boulder that is comprised of mtihril and adamantium. And this video, from those geniuses, Kristen and Jen at imomsohard, kind of takes up a little bit of space on the page and is a fairly accurate representation of my love-hate relationship with Pinterest.

This was supposed to be an embedded video but Facebook is busy eating a bunch of dicks and making my life difficult. In any case if you click on this link, you’ll get to where you need to go…just don’t forget to come back. XOXO

If you have been hanging around here for a while you may beware of the views that I have expressed in the past regarding Pinterest. They have been…unkind. Call me crazy (because why not? I pretty much am) but I don’t think you need to spend $800.00 on craft supplies and 72 man hours of labor to throw your 2 year-old a birthday party…THAT THEY WON’T EVEN REMEMBER! Are you really gonna go through those pictures with your child when they’re in their twenties and explain to them that you loved them so much that you spent three weeks, sleeping only 4 hours each night so that they could have a handmade, hand-dyed, locally sourced, free-range, artisanal unicorn pinata filled with homemade, certified organic, cruelty-free chocolate candies, individually wrapped in compostable rice paper of which you had to make 17 batches before you got the recipe to mold properly? Because if you are going to do that chances are your now twenty-three year-old child probably stopped talking to you 5 years ago and has already moved far, far away from you and may god have mercy on your soul.

But why Pinterest is awful is not why I’m here today, shockingly enough. I wanted to talk about why it’s kind of awesome and sometimes even a lifesaver! Last year, when my now Husband proposed, like many brides-to-be the first thing I did was make a Pinterest board, titled “Holy Crap! I’m Getting Married!!!” so that I might try to keep track of and catalog all the things about which people expected me to have an opinion. And I was expected to have an opinion about EVERYTHING including shit that I had no idea even existed or least of all mattered! People wanted to know dates, colors, theme and I’m like “theme?” I thought the theme of wedding was that it was a fucking wedding! It pretty much comes with its own built-in theme!

But no, people have Disney weddings and 1940s weddings, and superhero weddings and Dr. Who weddings and Star Wars weddings and Pokemon weddings (yes, two people who loved Pokemon enough to have a Pokemon themed wedding have actually found one another and are old enough to legally marry one another without thinking that it’s icky…that has happened, just ask the internet) and Legend of Zelda weddings, Steampunk weddings, Harry Potter weddings, even Walking Dead weddings. These are all things that adults choose to do with their life. I’m not saying I am too cool for fandoms, and little bits and pieces of our own fandoms did make cameo appearances at our wedding, but we chose to just stick with “wedding” as the general theme for the our wedding. And I am pretty sure we saved a ton of money by not having a Star Wars/Avengers/Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Indiana Jones themed wedding cake specially commissioned for the occasion.

As a matter of fact, thanks to Pinterest, we did not have a wedding cake at all, we had wedding Cannoli! And it was excellent, inexpensive and actually got eaten unlike most wedding cakes which are obscenely expensive and crafted largely to look good and don’t really taste that great. And that sort of sums up my feeling about wedding planning in general; I’m not about to do something just because that’s the way it’s always been done. I’m going to do something because it’s cheap, easy and seemingly practical because I am incredibly lazy and incredibly poor.

That being said I also found Pinterest very helpful because I did not have to remember anything or explain things to people. People would start asking me things like what I was going to do with my hair and usually my words would start to fail me, mostly due to the insanity creeping up on me because I was getting married in a matter of weeks but sometimes, admittedly, due to the fact that my mouth was full of Lucky Charms, and instead of having to respond to them with a coherent description using not-made-up vocabulary like a normal adult would have, I was able to just pull a picture up on my phone and shove it in their face. It worked like a motherfucking charm! And seriously, how does my spell check not have “motherfucking” in its dictionary by now? I swear to actual god!

I never thought I’d actually say this but, in this case, Pinterest was kind of a life saver. It was there when I needed cheap or free decorating ideas, inspiration for what to do with all those damn mason jars and white Christmas lights my Mom kept buying, and there when I needed to figure out what to do with my unimpressive hair whence it was given over to an actual professional stylist (who, by the way, worked miracles, that’s Christine at 1630 Hair Artisans in Renton and I am not just giving her a plug because she stood up with me, I’m doing it because she did an amazing job on my hair and my makeup and she deserves it, also she’s super nice, like a My Little Pony, but not Rainbow Dash…Christine is like Fluttershy). Because I had Pinterest to catalogue my thoughts, my thoughts seemed less like incoherent nonsense and just a little bit more like coherent sense which is what I need everyday….obviously you knew that if you made it this far into this post.

Someone should totally invent an app that makes me less crazy and totally capable of doing things like waking up to my first alarm , keeping the bathroom clean and the sink empty of dishes, folding the laundry, and not drinking too many margaritas and gorging myself on empanadas. I want my best people on this shit, right away!

This post was supposed to have a bunch of side-by-side photographic examples of all the Pinterest-y (I could literally not bring myself to use the word “Pinteresting”) ideas that were actually employed at my wedding but, let’s be honest, that’s something you might expect from someone who has a modicum of their shit together. And we all know, that ain’t me. Love you guys! Thanks for hanging out and wasting some time with me! XOXO

And just for shits and giggles, here are a couple pics from the wedding:

I am not sure how Josh ended up wearing two different hats and just so we’re clear, no one got around to taking a picture of the cannoli before it started to get eaten so in that picture it is in a state of actively being devoured. It was fucking delicious!

P.S. Also, I would like to formally request that people who have never played Scrabble in their life stop making cutesy wedding crafts out of Scrabble tiles, it’s insulting to the real nerds, it’s nerd-cultural appropriation and it needs to stop, thank you.

 

The Power of Positive Drinking*

*Originally Published as “I am an Achiever” which was a thinly veiled Big Lebowski reference

ACTUALLY I wrote this over a ago and it was first published on May 17th, 2015. I did, however, add some things to the list so there are a few new/updated bits! Enjoy!

I wrote this a few weeks ago and read it at the live reading we did at the beginning of the month, but even if you came to the reading there are some extra goodies at the end of the post. Thanks for reading and I love you guys!!!

I took my son to the park the other day and, granted it was a mild Sunday afternoon of which we do not get many in April in the great Pacific Northwest, I saw 5 pregnant women there…5!!! Oh wait, it gets even more interesting from a sociological and anthropological stand-point (said no one ever…except for maybe Oliver Sacks)! Of all the pregnant women every single one was there with their already existing child/children. And of all of the families at the park that day the pregnant moms were making up nearly half of the moms! Now, I am fully aware that it is rutting season and we are coming out of winter wherein the humans hunker down and procreate, mainly to stay warm and have an excuse to shave, but this just seemed excessive to me. As I watched the the gravid parade of moms waddling slowly from one end of the playground to the other chasing after their rapidly swelling broods, I realized that two of the five already had four children to their names!!!! That means each of those two women were currently gestating a fifth child!!!!

I can’t be the only one who becomes immediately suspicious of anyone who voluntarily has, just an unreasonable shit ton of kids, right (I say voluntarily because I am just assuming that since I saw these ladies at the park neither of them has been chained up in a basement being forcibly and repeatedly impregnated by their captors, but stranger things have happened, GO CLEVELAND)? I mean there are only a few reasons why anyone has that many kids; 1) to repopulate the planet with ready-made, home-schooled evangelical cult members 2) their religious beliefs prohibit the use of birth control (see also reason 1) and 3) sheer stupidity (see also reasons 1 and 2). All this reproduction just seemed excessive to me. I mean these ladies were clearly trying to compensate for something because they were totally overachieving in the baby-making department; they were reproductive overachievers!!!

In the face of all this extravagantly superfluous and even a little show-offy propagation of the human species I started to feel a little bit like a reproductive underachiever with my one measly kid. I will allow that I do have a pretty top notch baby (yes, I realize that he is four and no longer a baby but he will ALWAYS be my baby so shut up about it, okay!), with whom I am desperately in love. But every now and then, as I imagine all mothers do, I get sort of nostalgic for the days when he was a tiny little thing who smelled amazing and never ran away from me in the parking lot of Target. Then I quickly remember what it was like breastfeeding or staying up all night or cleaning feces off his neck and I am quickly ripped out of the land of newborn nostalgia and firmly back on earth where the worst of our problems consist of the DVR always missing the last two minutes of “The Very Hungry Caterpillar” no matter how many times I try to record it from Sprout.

Besides I may be a reproductive underachiever but there are plenty of things at which I totally overachieve! Here is a bulleted list of those things in no particular order:

  • examining my pores in the mirror for hours at a time (okay, half hours at a time, but still)
  • anxiety
  • turning anxiety into chin acne
  • binge watching “Daredevil” on Neflix (and can I just say I’m on episode 10 already and he still doesn’t have a goddamn costume! WTF)
  • oral (full stop) hygiene
  • finding spare change in the car seats while waiting in line at the drive-through for a Blizzard
  • eating an entire pound of grapes in one sitting
  • WINE!
  • sleeping in until 10 o’clock
  • eyeliner
  • plucking my chin hairs
  • angrily screaming “SUCK MY DICK!” at street harassers
  • makeup in general
  • thrift store shopping
  • cussing people out while driving
  • Simpson’s trivia
  • being continually blown away by the size of my son’s poop
  • Boggle
  • neuroses
  • remembering all the names of the characters from the “Transformers” cartoons
  • “Big Lebowski” quotes
  • moping
  • always having a corkscrew
  • laughing at my own jokes
  • stick shift (also not a dirty metaphor)
  • getting kicked in the tits while trying to put shoes on a shrieking four year old
  • scalloped potatoes (I seriously make awesome scalloped potatoes)
  • sarcasm
  • inevitably being that person in the crowded bar who is saying something embarrassing or wildly inappropriate when the music suddenly dies down
  • forgetting to put tampons in my purse
  • scheme hatchery
  • “forgetting” to pay for the items I put on the bottom of the cart (and this is just a karmic reach-around to which I am not looking forward)
  • whiskey
  • insomnia
  • always picking the line at the grocery store that will take the longest no matter how few people are in front of you.
  • reciting the plots of all the episodes of “Ultimate Spiderman” when called upon to explain what the fuck my son is talking about and why he is trying to lock you into some sort of mental combat wherein he is the “Grandmaster” and you are the “Collector” and you each have to pick a team of heroes or villains to battle for the fate of New York City,  and how you should ALWAYS pick Kraven the Hunter because Kraven the Hunter is tits, but I mean, c’mon people, this is day one shit.

I could go on, but I don’t want to toot my own horn. But you see, there are plenty of things I do well, in addition to making fabulous, if not a little free with the nudity, babies! These are the things I have to tell myself in order to sleep at night when wading through the long list of all my inadequacies…also, whiskey helps a lot with that too.

P.S. Yes, I am perfectly aware that there are people with tons of kids who are NOT actually religious fanatics….as I had to point out to a friend of mine who busted my balls the first time this was published. But if I never blew anything out of proportion, never made broad, sweeping generalizations, and avoided hyperbole and sarcasm at all times, this probably wouldn’t be a very fun blog to read, now would it? So you can refrain from emailing me to tell me about all the perfectly normal atheists you know who just happen to have 7 kids because I already know that this is a thing that happens in real life, thank you. XOXO

How I Didn’t Die at the Pool! Go Me!!!

I have been meaning to relink/republish some older posts that were deleted in the website reboot. I figure since I am too damn busy getting ready to get married in two weeks to actually write anything, now is the perfect time to repost some old shit that I have already written and pass it off as new…or not, since the jig is clearly up. Why can I not just keep my fat mouth shut? Anyhow, this was originally published on April, 6th 2015. I hope you enjoy it!

So it was a fairly normal Tuesday when I suddenly found myself childless and in my mother’s car on the way to the aquatic center to participate in something called River Run Boot camp. And that should have been the first red flag right there. As a chubby person whose laziness is depthless I should really know better than to willingly participate in anything labeled as a “boot camp” but I was so intoxicated by the idea of two whole childless hours that you probably could have gotten me to go along with anything at that point. You could be like, “Hey, Dacia! You wanna come with me to a  Hitler youth rally and then have our toenails pulled out and our feet dipped in lemon juice?” and I’d be like, “I don’t…..” and then you’d be all, “Someone will watch Bo for a couple hours so we can go.” At which point I would already be sitting in the car waiting for you and only wondering a little bit how, exactly, our toenails will be removed.

And that is how I came to be in the women’s locker room at the Snohomish Aquatic Center (or SAC if you’re into brevity and funny acronyms) stripping down in front a six-year-old autistic girl who was hiding in the corner to be away from the noise of the cacophonous hand dryers and her mother. I learned a long time ago that there is no point in being bashful in these situations and that if anyone didn’t want to see something they could just look away so I took to removing my clothing with casual efficiency. Then the mother started up a conversation and to my surprise I was not put off at all by making small talk with a complete stranger while removing my panties. “Is it spring break?” she asked me. “I have no idea.” I said. At which point I realized that Easter is this weekend and it probably is spring break…somewhere. I added quickly that my “little one” has spring break next week at which point I noticed a look of abject horror cross the older woman’s face. “He’s just in preschool, though.” I added with a nervous chuckle. This did nothing to temper her appalled expression. At which point I realized that she was asking me about spring break because she assumed I was either in high school or possibly college. There was some additional banter and then she and her daughter were off. I sort of wanted to yell after her, “I’m not a teenage mother! I had him when I was 30!” but I was admittedly pretty flattered at being mistaken for a teenager….especially while topless.

I am white girl. I know this seems pretty obvious but I am not just white, I am like a 10th degree Caucasian and whenever I have occasion to wear a bathing suit in public this fact does not go unnoticed. Inevitably I will catch someone staring at me like they are not sure if I am real or just an apparition at which point they have to look around at all the other people to see if they notice me too. Most people give up staring at me once they realize they are not hallucinating. I was relaying this fact to my mother as we entered the Jacuzzi. She laughed and then pointed out another pale girl across the pool and said, “I dunno, she’s pretty white.” I agreed as we both studied the young lady and she continued, “It is a different kind of white though, she’s less….”
“Transparent.” I offered. “YES!” she agreed excitedly, as I had intuited the exact word for which she was searching, and added something about her whiteness being “creamier” and “more opaque”. Now pay attention kids, my terrifying pallor will be a topic of conversation again.

My mom and I get out of the Jacuzzi and into the river run area which is basically a slow moving current going around in a figure 8, or at least the current seems slow, until you try to go against it, then it seems kind of like trying to wade through Nutella while wearing a lead jumpsuit. Needless to say, about 4 minutes and 38 seconds into the actual boot camp, my doughy ass is sweating like a whore in church and this is really an odd sensation. One is very rarely, if ever, aware of their sweat while actually submerged in water. I see that every time I pass the instructor whilst going through the figure 8 she looks at me with what appears to be barely concealed alarm and I know this is because I probably look like a beefsteak tomato that someone has put in the microwave. Which brings us back to my whiteness. As a 10th degree Caucasian who is nearly transparent, when I am experiencing exertion I get red; my chest, my cheeks, my forehead all turn crimson, same thing happens when I cry…which is really why I should try to do that in public less. About the third time I pass the instructor and notice the same look of concern on her face I almost scream “I am totally not having a stroke! I am just Norwegian!” Instead I just try to smile and look like I am having fun, which I actually am, but I think my attempt at conveying “I am totally having a good time and you should not worry” appeared more like “I am a sociopath that has no idea how to properly express human emotions…and also I might be pooping right now”.

In a shocking turn of events, I managed to last the whole hour of boot camp without dropping dead, much to the visible relief of our instructor. And after a brief post-boot-camp soak in the Jacuzzi it was back to the locker room, where upon catching a glimpse of my reflection in a mirror on the way to the showers, I had to admit to that I really could not blame the instructor for thinking I was going to die because I was, really, really red. But none of this is the best part!!! The best part is that while showering and getting ready to leave I found a kickass pair of Jack Skellington hairpins abandoned in the shower soap dish!!! Score!!!

Totally fucking worth nearly getting mistakenly carted away from the pool on a stretcher!

And, yes, I am fully aware that I should have turned the hairpins into the lost and found at the front desk but I feel as though it is a pretty well established fact that I am an asshole…so I didn’t do that.

Goodbye for now my dearies!

These ARE My Good Pants

OMGOMGOMG! I super hate people so much! But, if I’m being honest it’s my fault, not theirs. I should know better than to hang out in places where I will encounter the continually bewildering stupidity of humans. This is why I avoid comment sections on the the internet, Insane Clown Posse concerts, the post office or anywhere else that the rules are not universally known because no one has actually given enough of a shit to lay them out so that people can STOP looking so fucking stupid. But, sometimes you have to mail a package, sometimes you accidentally get black-out drunk and wake up in New Jersey with a bunch of Juggalos, and sometimes, not always, but sometimes you accidentally scroll too far down the page and your eyes land on the comment section of a blog you were reading….AND IT IS A GODDAMN TRAVESTY!

So, (drink) I was reading a post by brilliant blogger, Insane in the Mom Brain. I would totally bang her mind if that were a thing we could do outside of the Matrix. But it would kind of just be like I were masturbating because I am convinced we share a brain. Anyhoo, it was a post from a few years back about how it’s hard being a Mom (duh!) and sometimes it’s REALLY hard to wear pants (double duh! And how badly do I wish I had written that bit about the “low unicorn”?). When I was done reading the post and done changing my pants because I had peed them from laughing too hard (one of the many unfortunate side effects of motherhood) I scrolled down to see if there was a link to her bio and that’s when I saw them….the comments. They were just sitting there, looking all innocent but then (why, god, why?) I started to skim a few of them and for the most part they were all positive, sympathetic, and well-worded (which is highly unusual for the internet) but, of course, the one that stuck in my craw was one that said “You need to get organized and delegate” and then went on to suggest that Patti enslave her barely school-age children. Okay, it’s possible that I am exaggerating. But I do have a totally solid point to make, not only about this commenter but the ridiculous point he or she was trying to make which I will lay out in this bulleted list!

  • Read the room! This is obviously a humor blog! I would suspect that in many cases, on Patti’s blog, as well as my own, hyperbole is employed in order to get laughs. We are not idiots; we know that if we don’t want our kids in the bathroom we can just lock the door, unless we can’t because we had to take the locks off because our 4 year old kept locking himself in there and emptying the all the shampoo bottles into the toilet and then flushing it causing a gigantic tower of suds to rise out of the toilet like a fluffy, white fourth of July snake. But it’s a lot funnier to talk about how my son comes into the bathroom and says creepy things to me like “I want to watch you pee….but I am going to pretend your vagina is a penis” than to say “My son liked to follow me into the bathroom so I started to lock the door behind me and now he can’t do that anymore.” You see the difference?
  • No, not everyone can “get organized” (just like not everyone, namely you, commenter, can grasp the proper use of grammar and implementation of sentence structure)! I love it when people make it seem like everyone should be as equally capable in all things as everyone else. Telling someone like me, for instance, to “just get organized” would be tantamount to telling someone like Mozart to “just go rebuild that diesel engine”. Just because a person is an intelligent human who appears capable in many facets of life does not mean that they possess the talent or inclination towards any and ALL facets of life. I think telling some people to “just get organized” is just as feasible as walking up to another person and saying “just paint me a stunning landscape in watercolors” or “just make me some seared duck breast with a nice shallot and Gran Marnier sauce” or “just write me a symphony” or “just design me some software” or “just sew me a quilt” or “just knit me a sweater” but you get the idea. “Getting organized” is just not as easy for some as it is for others. In the meantime I will paint you a landscape and sear you a duck breast and design your new tattoo and sing you a song and and bake you delicious cookies but you can bet your ass my house will probably be a wreck while I do those things. Because while some things come very naturally to me, others do not.
  • “You have to delegate”. I understand that this person was assuming that Patti is married with a perfectly capable husband who can help out with things like laundry and fixing the locks on the bathroom door. But I am here to remind the commenter that not everyone has the luxury (I stand by that term) of living in a two-parent household. I am a single Mother. While I have a very eager and loving partner whom I adore and my son adores he is not the Father of my child. There are certain things, as a parent, you would just never ask of someone who is not the parent of your child and certainly things you would just never ask of any non-parent. That’s just basic human decency but we’re getting off track because I am aware that I am the outlier according to a person who assumes all households are made up of two equally involved and invested adults and no one ever decides that they just don’t want to be a parent anymore because heroin suddenly became MUCH more interesting than their 3 year old son….Oh shit! So that just slipped out….
  • “If your child is old enough to go to school they can do their own (and your) laundry.”
    BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Is this person for real? Do they even have kids? Have they ever met a kid? I totally get that back in the olden days as soon as a child could walk it was sent out to the barn to start milking the cows. I fully support this ideology and, trust me, if I had cattle I would be all over that shit. But it is an ideology and that is to say that it is not always based in or supported by facts or reality. Back in the olden days, when three year olds were milking cows, parents didn’t go to work. You think they dropped their kid off at Olden Days Prairie Daycare where their kids were taught how to churn butter and grind wheat and polish saddle leather? No, they were not. They grew up watching their parents do those things everyday because home WAS work. Nowadays we run back and forth, we commute, we have jobs away from our homes and our children and we are usually doing our laundry after those children are in bed, so chances are they have not watched us load the washing machine every day of their life since birth. I am all for kids helping out around the house. Shit, if mine doesn’t start learning how to vacuum sometime soon I am probably just gonna leave him on the neighbor’s doorstep in the middle of night and cross my fingers that he cannot find his way back home and/or is cute enough that they decide to keep him. At least until they realize he doesn’t do windows and then they will bring him back because they totally know it was me who left him there in the first place because even though I was wearing a hat their security cameras clearly caught someone on tape wearing a hot pink hoodie that read “I tried to be good but there were so many other options!” across the back, leaving a five year old on their doorstep and yes, I am aware of the felicitous nature of the hoodie’s slogan and how it relates to my deeds. Also, the previous statements were an example of comedic hyperbole. I don’t actually plan on abandoning my son on the neighbor’s doorstep, at least not today, while it’s still light out, but mark my words, little man, DON’T FUCKING TEST ME!
  • Not all kids who “go to school” are old enough to go to school. I have been taking my son to “school” in one form or another for nearly two years but he is still not old enough to go to kindergarten. Just because a mom says she’s “taking the kids to school” doesn’t necessarily mean that those children in question are old enough to shear sheep or do your taxes. I probably would not trust my own son with a pair of industrial grooming shears or my W-2 for at least another year or so.

It would be awesome if people thought before they opened their big, stupid, mouths but that’s sort of like asking the magic genie of the lamp to grant you more wishes; it just ain’t gonna happen no matter how hard rub or how many curses you scream at the genie. People are always going to presume that THEY know what is best for everyone else whether they know anything about their situation or not because people are basically assholes. Just remember, though, the next time you feel compelled to criticize someone on their sloppy appearance or suggest to someone that they “just get organized”, they might just punch you in the neck and tell you to go eat a dick in your goddamn Lulu Lemon yoga pants and you will, at that point, totally deserve it. XOXO

Also, I am just gonna leave this here for anyone who wants to tell me (or anyone for that matter) what kind of clothes I should wear or how my desk, living room, car, bank account, or bedroom should or could look if I “just get organized”!