John Stamos for President 2016

I Stand With Stamos, and I’ll tell you why…

As you may or may not know, I hate politics. I hate politicians, because for me (and I’m only speaking for myself so please don’t get offended) a few bad apples CAN spoil the whole bunch. Many of our leaders have left a sour taste in my mouth and they are supposed to represent us. I find myself thinking, I agree with this issue from the left and with that issue from the right, but they all hate each other so there will never be a happy medium. Thick-skulled knuckleheads will never understand the meaning of the word, moderation. Maybe meet in the middle? I make my kids compromise, when our government will not. WTF? Really?

Furthermore, I would like to say that I find myself not even being able to watch the news. This channel is too far right and that other channel is too far left, so do I turn it off? Fuck no! I pay for cable with hard earned dollars and cents and shouldn’t feel like I have to click it off just because there are too many ding-a-lings on T.V. So when I’m wondering about the world and what’s going on with it, I don’t watch the news. I don’t look to some anchor (with the exception of Ron Burgundy) for the answers to my problems. I’ll tell you what I do. I turn on Full House. Uncle Jesse always has all the answers and that my friends is why I would like to personally nominate John Stamos for President 2016!

Let me expand on this notion. I think you may be surprised that you agree. Everytime the Full House gang had a problem, from boyfriends, to drinking, to teddy bears, Uncle Jesse would sit them down in a calm and firm manner. Soft music would fill the room and he would look into their eyes with that delicious and and sinful smolder. He would know exactly what to say and how to deliver it with a passion that can be felt all over your body. Not to mention, he would always find a way to bring compromise. He would usually end the disputes with a hug and a kiss. Picture this:

What should the government do about healthcare?

Soft music, sweet words, kiss from John Stamos. Hell Yes.

What about illegal immigration?

John Stamos gets out his guitar sings a gentle lullaby and kisses you goodnight. Oh God Please!

Let’s get serious about the debt ceiling. What can we do to fix social security?

John Stamos stands at a podium and licks his lips while we watch his beautiful skin, hair, and eyes glisten in the lighting. Then, a kiss. Fuck yeah baby!

Think about it, this guy can make yogurt sexy. He played a smoking hot doctor on ER flawlessly. He’s rocked the hottest mullet in history. He is without limits. He gets better with age. There is NOTHING wrong with this man. With all of these politicians yapping like dogs at each other and nothing getting done, it’s time to take a stand. I stand with John Stamos, even though I’d rather sit on his face. I have absolutely no idea what his political beliefs are, and quite frankly, I don’t care. He’s a tasty chunk of man meat and I want it in my life. Lead me John.  Tell me what to do. Make laws and then enforce them.

Look at it this way, we are all going to get screwed by the government anyway, wouldn’t you rather get screwed by John Stamos? I would. I’m going to go make some campaign signs now, with poster boards and my Sharpie collection. I haven’t yet informed John about this, but I’m sure being the absolute perfect person that he is, he’ll proudly represent us from the front or from the back, or which ever way we like it. Please join my campaign by spreading the word. You can make a difference. I’m still working out a few kinks, but if he will return my calls, we can get the ball rolling here. We’ve got two years to get this campaign ready, every minute counts. He simply needs to accept my nomination and upon his win for presidency, I will proudly serve in his cabinet, or in his shower.

Thank you for your support.

Stand With Stamos 2016!


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A Sucker for Reality…Bravo

I rarely, get to watch television, but when I do, I make a point to watch adult shows. No no no…not porn. I am a sucker for reality shows. That being said, when I do get the chance to watch, I get totally sucked in, especially to Bravo.

For example, last night I turned the T.V. on after the kids went to sleep and it just so happened to be tuned to Shahs of Sunset. As I watched these (for some reason) famous people with professional hair and makeup trotting around L.A. drinking and partying at clubs, making water out of diamonds, and throwing parties for their dogs, I thought…I want to be Persian and move to California! I want to get my nails done, and have big hair, and I definitely need to get Botox!

I remember watching the Real Housewives of New Jersey not long ago and seeing all of the big fancy houses and fancy clothes. After ten minutes, I thought…I want to be Italian and tell people to “go scratch” and drive a Land Rover, and live in New Jersey, and drink wine all the time! I want to wear heels and spout off non-English words right in mid-English sentences that no one else can understand! What a life! They are so cool!

I caught a moment of Vanderpump Rules and thought…I should move out to Hollywood and wait tables, until I make it big in the industry! I have no acting skills and I’m five foot tall, so my only chance in Hollywood may be to play a child extra in a movie, but still…I waited tables in college! I should totally go out to a swanky little restaurant run by a British millionaire, and date guys who don’t wear shirts. This must be a totally glamorous and wonderful life!

 The most amazing thing though happens after the episodes end. It’s when I’m snuggled up with my Diet Coke, wearing my cozy sweatpants and my hair is up in a ponytail. I get back to real life and think to myself…I get to wake up to these sweet babies, I’m not going to be hungover in the morning, like these people drinking all night on these shows. My feet aren’t going to hurt from wearing heels, and my mini-van has automatic doors. A Land Rover just wouldn’t work with the carpool. Things are just as they should be. This is reality. I’ll still watch it for entertainment purposes as it’s a good escape, but I’m not going to try and learn a foreign language or become a Real Housewife just yet. Besides…I’m actually a “real” housewife…so there! Oh Bravo, how I love you, you take me away and put me right back at home all at the same time. But most of all I love you because when I’m watching you, I’m not watching that Dog With an EFFING Blog!








Little Monster



It’s the one in the middle. That adorable little monster. That’s who this is about. The one in the diaper with the sweet little brown curls.

I have come to the conclusion that I will never get anything done for at least the next thee years. I am not being dramatic. I am being realistic. Dishes…screw ’em. Laundry…toss it out when it stinks and buy new clothes online. Cooking…Pizza Hut and any place that will deliver. I was room mom/holiday party planner for both my older children’s classes…I had to have someone come and put up my own Christmas tree, because I couldn’t do it. I’m officially about to become a hoarder, because I have no time to clean up or take out the trash. I wonder if I could collect disability? All of these things come down to one reason and one reason only…my TODDLER!

 Please bear in mind that I have yet to birth an “easy” child. All three of mine have been tough. My first two boys were seventeen months apart and were chronic ear infection babies and very active toddlers. Extremely active. Active enough that I had to have “special conferences” at 4 hour a week preschool which I enrolled them in to get socialized and let’s be honest, to have a few minutes to catch up on laundry. These two would have been easier to raise in the woods of Alaska with no heat or electricity than this third one I had four years later. I think he was born with a turbo button that I have not yet figured how to change the settings on.

 Don’t get me wrong. He is so cute that its sickening. He is trying to potty-train at twenty months and is extremely smart, cuddly, and beautiful. He is my joy and I love him so much that I sometimes cry while watching him sleep because the love I have for this boy is overwhelming. Sometimes, I cry tears of joy when he’s asleep just because I’m so happy that he’s finally fucking asleep. Without him, I would be incomplete. He is my force, my soft spot, my beautiful child. He’s also going to turn me into a raging alcoholic.

 Hell bent on making it to the emergency room, and usually armed with a sucker punch, he takes up every waking and non-waking moment of my day. How can something so precious be so destructive? And anyone who wants to give me the “parenting style” bullshit can take a walk. He was born this way. The minute I looked into his eyes, I knew he was Rowdy. That’s his name. Yes, that’s on his birth certificate. I call ’em like I see ’em.

 So if you see me on the street or in a store and I am naked, drunk, and unshowered, (which could be an interesting sight) please don’t judge. There is a reason for it, and I will have a driver…I’m going to give up driving too. Just no time to renew my license. I’m going to continue to love him and enjoy every moment of his childhood, despite the stress and the fact that he needs a straightjacket.

 I must go now as I am pretending to be upstairs “using the restroom”…I may give that up too and just get a catheter.

 Have a great weekend everyone! I will too, with my little maniacs, and my husband that actually thinks I would waste my time “using the restroom”…sucker!



My Therapy

After spending close to 50 grand on a business degree to be a stay-at-home mom, I’ve decided to allow myself to break one item out of rage every time my student loan payment comes due. Nothing big, but just some nonsensical item that could be thrown out anyway and is of no use to anyone. This last month, it happened to be a watergun that I found in the basement that had grown mildew and should have been rinsed out, but was neglected and was now probably hazardous to the health of the household anyway. Being as though we have the flu, it seemed appropriate. I didn’t have the strength to break it, so I just slammed it on the counter and tossed it in the trash. I can’t explain how this type of therapy works but it does. Strange. I know.

That being said, I am working hard on the sequel to The Unbalancing Act which is also very strangely therapeutic. I don’t know why. I am not an English major. I never took writing classes. I don’t use proper form or even know the literary jargon.

A “good writer” may describe how they feel about a cold winter’s day somewhat like so:

“The chill of winter had set in and I could feel the frost igniting my bones. With the fall of dusk contributing to the brisk night air, I embraced mother nature’s gift of seasonal change with a twinge of bitterness toward the bleak arctic winds.”

My style is much more like this:

“I have snot running down my nose and my nipples are so hard that if anyone were to bump in to me, they would get sliced and need stitches in two places. I can’t feel my balls, so it’s a good thing I don’t have any. Winter can suck it!”

I am not a “writer” per say, but I am a person who writes. I think there is a difference. However, I must say…it is  therapeutic and it works for me. It certainly saves me money on a psychiatrist. Maybe soon, I can even quit breaking things once a month when Sallie Mae comes knocking. I sure hope so, because I’d like to punch that bitch in her stupid face.