Quite Possibly, I Am the Best Wife Ever.

First of all, the day started with me trying to give two of the three cats in our household medication.

The third one is meds free. Probably not for long, though. That’s how we roll.

And, just bear with me, this does actually pertain to the wife thing.

Anyhow, one cat in the household (Steve) is a darling fluffy fat furball of deliciousness, and he just sits on me as I put the pill in his pink mouth. Like, he sits STILL, and then he just swallows it. And purrs. Because, did I mention, Steve is JUST THE MOST ADORABLE LUMP OF FURRY GOODNESS?

Seriously. He swallows the pill. No problems. We get in; we get out. Over and done in seconds. Then, he gets up and offers to help with the laundry. (Not really, but I know, I KNOW, if he had opposable thumbs, he would.)

Perhaps all this lead-up would give you a bit of foreshadowing for how the second cat deals with medication?

Second cat: Hi! I’m all furry and purring and rubbing up against you! Cuteness is here!

Me: It’s time for your pill, Second Cat.

Second Cat: I SHALL SMITE THEE WITH A THOUSAND CLAWS.

Me: I’m ready for that. This time I have a towel.

Second Cat: THAT’S NO PROBLEM JUST LET ME GO GET MY CHAINSAW. AND SOME DYNAMITE. MAYBE ALSO A NUCLEAR DEVICE. THIS IS SO ON.

Me: I think perhaps you are over-dramatizing the whole situation, Second Cat. You could, you know, just take the pill and we’d be over this in seconds. Like, oh I don’t know… your buddy-

Second Cat: Don’t do it.

Me: Like your buddy, STEVE? The preshus?

Steve: Dude. Every time you compare me to one of the other animals, or children, in this house, you break their spirit. You know I’ve set some impossible standards here.

Ok, I promise I’m going to get to the wife thing. The issue here is that I have now been treated poorly by a cat, and my feelings are hurt. THEN, when the husband came downstairs, this happened:

Husband: Hi honey! What’s with the bandaids?

Me: DON’T SPEAK TO ME EVER AGAIN.

It’s possible I too was over-dramatizing. Forty million tiny slices from a tiny ninja cat will do that to you.

A lot of times, when you are Mom-ming, you should be able to shake it off. Like, all of it. Shake off the furry disasters, the endless laundry, the fact that no matter what I cook for dinner it always ends up being one color.

My friends, I am not much of a shake it off kinda girl.

So, perhaps, just maybe …  as I was preparing the mashed potatoes for dinner, I overheard Blonde’s commentary on his dislike of such a dish:

“Ugh,” Blonde said,  “I don’t LIKE mashted potatoes. They’re kinda tasteless. And squishy.”

And then, maybe… just maybe I said:

“Huh. That’s exactly how I feel about your father. Kinda tasteless. And squishy.”

I know. Tbe ninja snark is strong with this one.

After copious apologies and kisses on the husband, I then decided to add this to the menu for dinner:IMG_7185.jpg

Note the strategic coffee cup placement. Foreshadowing.

We had BLT’s with fresh tomatoes from my mom’s garden:

IMG_7186.jpg

Along with squishy and tasteless mashed potatoes. And at the table was seated a husband who forgives me on a daily basis. Also present were two kids who ate a lot of bacon, after delicately removing any trace of the T or the L, and bread. And the heavens smiled.

Because carbs and bacon will solve all the world’s problems.

Problems like:

  1. Snarkitude
  2. Mashed potatoes (Also, add cheese. Oh my goodness.)
  3. North Korea
  4. Mullet haircuts
  5. Reality television
  6. The deep sucking void that is, basically, 2017

So we end this little tale happily.

My cats are medicated.

We’ve had our fill of pork products.

And I am, most surely:IMG_7185.png

 

 

 

 

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S = Snark Attack!

tiger_shark_2012_by_feeves-d5b9lyhSo… last Sunday my women’s Sunday school class wanted me to make a Pact with them.  I love Pacts.  They keep it real.  And they add a degree of suspense to my day that otherwise would be, you know, laundry and Connect Four.  Pacts are all Survivor-y and Hunger Games-ish.  I like to dial-up my inner Katniss.  So I was all, I’m IN!  The odds are ever in my favor!  And I look so CUTE in a side hair braid anyhow!Katniss-Everdeen-the-hunger-games-fan-club-30601998-530-725

But. I digress.

Here’s the Pact:  We would not say anything negative TO or ABOUT our husbands for an entire week.

I’m already trying to test the fine print on this one.

It’s just…  he’s cute.  And as far as easy prey goes?  He’s a baby turtle buffet.  I love, LOVE teasing the man.  Just adore it.  It is the wind beneath my wings, the Snark attack.  It gives me such great joy.  I KNOW Jesus would understand.  I mean, really, He SAYS we are to choose joy, right? That’s in the bible somewhere*.  Right?  And Snark is my love language.

Sigh. Perhaps I have gone on enough about levels of Snark of which I am capable.   It makes me sound… callous and uncaring.

Nah, I got more.

photo (2)

In this picture my husband is clearly indicating his love and devotion and patience. And, that he might qualify as a hipster.

I was thinking about how we operate, we Snarkalots.  We circle in.  We do a lot of side eye-ing.  We wait for it…  and then, BAM!  We find fresh meat.

Generally speaking, Snark attacks work best in packs.  (A pack of Snarks is called a Snack, by the way.)   Snarking alone?  Possible, but not as…  satisfying.

For those of you gentle souls who are on the baby turtle side of life, the following is a helpful tool for keeping the Snarks at bay.  With Snarks, sometimes the best bet is simply:  Don’t go in the water.  Stay away.

The hubs is really good at this.  He simply smiles, and wanders off whenever the Snark fin appears.  He then settles down on his beach (couch) with lots of sports, ESPN, and some chips, and in all his affable detachment he just doesn’t even let me BITE.  Maddening.  But smart.  Snark repellant.

Momsie’s Dictionary of Snark Terminology:

There’s a Snark in the water:  The ominous Snark music is cued, and one should start heading for dry ground.

Bull snark:  The snark is recognized as being very very full of poop. Note:  This does not deter the Snark.  Of course.

Snarknado:  When other Snarks join in, and it’s a frenzy of Snarkism.     It’s more fun this way.  See also:  Marital Discord.

Snark Tank:  An attempt at Snark that just… fails.  As in, hits bottom.  Sinks.  Goes belly up.  Note:  This does not deter the Snark.  Of course.  A Snark’s gotta keep moving.

Snark Week:  Generally this week is fueled and fed by crazy hormones.  It is best not to speak of this week.  It’s too graphic.

Great White Snark:  Snark’s first appearance at the pool.  Other snark mommies show up. It’s paleness all around.  See also:  Pool Snark.

Pool Snark: a special breed of Snark that wears the “Mom suit,”  lots of SPF 50, and downtime.  Snark usually increases exponentially at the pool due to heat and glare. It’s easier to Snark behind gigantic, dark sunglasses.

Killer snark:  You know when you really are SPOT on with some snark and it just is sooooo perfect?  The zinger?  The APEX of snark?  Note:  Can have harmful side effects on marital relations.  See Jumping the Snark.  and Marital Discord.  Again.

Basking snark:  Summer Snark is finding her tan.  Also: A Killer Snark just surfaced and Snark Momsie is basking in the glow.

Jumping the Snark:  Snarking has gone too far.  The end is near.  Your relationship with your husband (main Snark recipient) has decided to cancel your show.

CLAWS:  70’s blockbuster about a snark with a particularly evil set of claws.  And yes, I know we’re mixing metaphors here but stay with me.CBM001_i_can_has_cheezburger_magnet_madison_park_group_funny_lol_sarcasm_sarkasm_just_another_service_i_offer_cat_kitteh__57961.1336510338.1200.1200

And finally…

“We’re gonna need a bigger gloat”:  The Snark has become so full of herself that she uses movie quotes to savor the moment.  See Basking Snark.  And also:  Marital Counseling .

 

After all this, there is really only one final term that any good Snark needs to know:

Remorsa:  Uh, this one kinda speaks for itself.

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Sorry sorry sorry… I love youuuuuuuuu.

*The Momsie Bible maybe…  the Newly Organized and Paraphrased Edition ( or  the NOPE ) is my go-to bible for highly doctored, often massively inaccurate mutations of verses so I can prove a point or make my life easier.

Oh my friends.  Try to tame your inner Snark.  Or your husband will eventually start acting like this guy:

Jaws-2

Cranky.

Of course, I have to leave you with this:

You’re welcome.

Things I am Just Not Grateful for:

SNARK ATTACK FOLLOWING.  HEAVY SNARKITTUDE.  There’s a SNARK IN THE WATER.  BE WARNED:

NaBloPoMo:  Not for the faint of heart.

NaBloPoMo: Not for the faint of heart.

I know it’s November, and this month we are all about gratitude.

But.   Todays opposite day? So I’m going to post?  This?

Top Ten Things For Which I am Not Grateful:

1.  People who are up talkers? At the end of all their sentences? They don’t really have an idea at all, really? What they’re talking about?

2.  Overuse of the !.  People,  I’m an English teacher. Yes, I chose to do it.  Listen to me:  use more than one of those suckers in an academic paper about something erudite and literary and crud, and you end up sounding like you’re name is *Brittani!  And you’re so pumped!  Because you’re trying out for your 7th grade cheer leading squad! (Double bonus if you use a heart to dot your !  And yes, it has happened.)

3.  There’s a Wocket in My Pocket.  That book creeps me out.

4.  Know what other book really creeps me out?  I’ll Love You, FOREVER.  Wow. Forever? Enough to crawl in your son’s window at night when he’s in his thirties?  Lady! Get a life!  This is American Horror Story stuff!  Please!  (Ok, see rule 2.)

Screenshot 2013-11-22 20.43.55

LOCK THE WINDOW .                                      shaungroves.com

5. People who say, “Do as I say; not as I do.”  (Yep, see rule 4.)

6.  “Irregardless.”  IT’S NOT A WORD. YOU KEEP WANTING IT TO BE, BUT IT’S JUST NOT.

7.  Close-talkers.  There are too many walls around to deal with you people.

thetoughissues.tumblr.com

thetoughissues.tumblr.com

8.  “I myself.”  What other “I” are you talking about?  It’s troubling.

9.  Socks that you bought at Dillards for like a lotta amount of dollars, and they keep slipping down over your heel.  It’s un-American.

10.  And speaking of un-American: any toy from Dollar General.  It’s gonna last about 24 minutes.

Bonus:  Bra straps.  I hate them.  I realize that gravity exists and all, and we need ’em.  And there really is no super comfy strapless option out there me.  Strapless is all about, well, prom night or Victoria Secret bouncy fleshyness.  Not momsies who are tired and just don’t like to deal with the added hassle.  It is possible I need to stop buying my bras at Dollar General. (All right, all RIGHT! See rule 10.)

Oh YEA!  And another thing!  The Victoria Secret commercials?  It’s Christmas?  So of course they gotta start airing them all the time?  Right?   Baby Jesus… and diamond encrusted bra straps.  Sigh.

Image 11-22-13 at 9.00 PM

REALLY?

Oh, and people who start lists and then just end up rambling and whining endlessly.

The end.

*If your name is Brittani, I apologize.  You took one for the team today.  Well done, chin up, and keep telling people it’s with an “i” not a “y.”  Carri on soldier.

Go here to read a very accurate review of this nutball book.  Shaun gets the creepy.

I promise – I’ll be grateful again.  Just not today.  I feel much better.

deargrumpycat.com

deargrumpycat.com

K: Killing me Softly with Barney

Purple.  I sense a theme here.

Purple. I sense a theme here.

I detest Barney.

I know.  Please.  I didn’t use the “H” word, but I would have.  However, that word elicits a strong lecture from any parental figure in our house, and I just can’t stomach my husband having to give me a time out at the tiny thinking chair.

Actually, Barney’s whole concept is not so bad.  I mean, he teaches a lot of great things on his show (this admission does tell you, then, that I have succumbed to afternoon public television viewing.  Yes.  I detest the purple dinosaur but he does visit occasionally.  Barney comes on after Thomas the Train, ya’ll.  I can’t lunge for the remote fast enough.  The music starts tinkling away,  and there are  wee Red and Blonde all glazed over with purple love.  I succumb.   Cheap shot, Barney.)

Where was I? Oh yea. He is very educational and stuff.  And yep, he deals with how to talk and be kind and crud like that.  I’m down with that, I guess.

It’s his stupid voice.

Screen Shot 2013-10-24 at 8.11.25 AM

Strumming your pain with my weird pinchey fake fingers… singing your rather pathetic life with my words… comicvine.com

Again.  The lecture is forthcoming. I said the “S” word.  I’ll just park it here on the thinking chair and hope it doesn’t break.

I’m a wee bit grumpy.  Wanna know why?  It’s 10:22 pm, and I can’t get Barney’s abominable SONG out of my head.  You know it, but let me remind you, so we can all be in this together.  SING IT  LOUD AND PROUD YA’LL:

I love you…

You love me…

WE’RE A FRICKITY FRACKING SOMETHING…

It will be what I hear when close my eyes, and it’ll be there in the morning, like a sick dose of Groundhog Dinosaur Day.  I can’t get it out of my HEAD.

In short, Barney is driving me crazy.   And it’s not a long drive ya’ll.  (Ba dum DUM.  I know, thank you.  I’ll be here all blog).

Some of you might think I might be overdramatizing all of this.  It’s possible.  I have been accused of making things a bit bigger than they need to be.  Once.  My husband never did it again.  And great honk, Barney is bigger than he needs to be.  I see him and I just want to bully him around on the playground.  He is my white whale.  I don’t even understand all this venom and insensitivity to a loving purple dinosaur who jiggles a lot when he jumps in the air and seems to like it that way. I just have sort of a visceral reaction to that song – like when I walk past the cat box.  I’m sure there’s some deep seated reason in there somewhere…  but I don’t care.  Just call me Ahab and let’s harpoon us something big and purple.

It’s not in the cards, Barney, for me to ever really warm to  your attempts to put your stubby dinosaur hands over your mouth as Coyly Creepy Barney, or when you respond to every saccharin and highly scripted (and extremely blank) statement of every single kid on the show with an astounding amount of patience and squeaky giggles.   Every TIME.  I don’t BUY it, Barney.  Snap at one of ’em!  Just once!  They are all so grinny and HAPPY all the time!  It’s not natural!   I dare you, you styrofoam Jolly Elf of evil.  And even Caillou has a better voice than you!

Unknown

I am weird and high pitched.    
                     gfbrobot.com

Ooooo.  Went for the jugular on that one.

Caillou.  Don’t even get me started.

Nah.  I’m started.

Balding Caillou of Canada.  With the voice that can be heard down in the states (or at least all the dogs in the southern states can, it’s just that high pitched). With his strange lispiness and no hair.  And please don’t email me and tell me Caillou is in recovery from some horrible ailment – there has never been any Very Special Episode of Caillou that explains the lack of hair!  And I would know!  Because WE HAVE CAILLOU ON NETFLIX AND IT IS YET ANOTHER FAVORITE OF MY HORRIBLE CHILDREN.  Tasteless minions.  (My children,  not Caillou.  Although Caillou is pretty tasteless in his clothing choices.  Really, lispy one?  Only primary colors?  Every day?)

I really would like to state for the record that I am not anti television.  Ohhhh no, sweet mommies. TV ROCKS.  It stupifies and quiets and leave lots of time for momsie to write and do other important things.  I do a lot of important things!  Like write!  And clean and put laundry in and take laundry out!  Things are on point over here.  TV is my little helper.   But whyyyy can’t my children go for a show that doesn’t get stuck in my brain like a popcorn kernel in your back molar?

Why not something catchy like Word Girl?  Word Girl almost has a delicious sort of 70’s Patti Labelle, Lady Marmalade vibe going on.  And yes, I do understand that a song about Creole love for nightly hire might not be the best model for my children (they can’t even use the “S” word or “hate” their peas) but heck, it gets a GROOVE on.

wordgirl_lg

pbskids.org

Word Girl, anyone?  Anyone?

Ok, so where was I?  Oh, yea.  Barney.  I still have him, circling my brain like a last bit of pasta in the sink, waiting for the disposal.  Just circling along, in his gluey blandness.  Peh.  Take your song and put it where the sun don’t shine.

You’re welcome.  Get some sleep.

This post was brought to you by:  Herman Melville

He is currently spinning in his grave.