Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Thanksgiving "Vacation" Recap

 So, my Papa says to me, he says "I want you to come to Thanksgiving at the Grand Hotel. I'm paying. You're going". And I says "hehhehehheheHEHEHHEHEHEHEHHEHEYIIIIPEEEEE!". We get there (there was a lot in between.....12 hour car ride, 3 children, one of which is an ADHD 5 year old with sensory issues. Not something I wanna relive on my blog or anywhere else ever again) and I'm dying I'm so tired (see previous parenthetical interlude). All I want to do is lay down on a bed of feathers. After a scavenger hunt to retrieve my room key from my Father we waddled to the room to enjoy a nice relaxing calm before the storm. We opened the door to see our beautiful room....our beautiful WHITE room. My face looked like this...

This is my "Oh, FUCK no!" face.

No joke. The beds could not have been whiter and all I could think about was how in the holy hell am I going to keep those god damn sheets clean!!! Not 5 minutes in and my third born has pen marks all up and down the bed spread. Next to come were chocolate hands followed by pizza faces. I'm sure housekeeping hated us. I know I would if I were them. SORRY, MR. MAN FROM JAMAICA WHO'S NAME I DON'T REMEMBER BUT WHO WAS SUPER DUPER NICE AND PATIENT WITH ME AND MY FREAKAZOIDS!!!!
Hives. I'm getting giant open sore hives just looking at this picture.


Jesus Christ, Kill Me Now
The thought of getting to stay in a 4 star hotel/spa on the bay sent me into joyful spasms of hyperness, you have NO idea! And then we get here and I realized "fucking hell, I totally forgot to leave my children at home". Goodbye relaxation, hello constant embarrassment. So, they're favorite thing to do to piss me off is run into people, especially as they are trying to come out a door. The door opens and SLAM my kids are bowling anyone in their path over with that unstoppable annoyingly arrogant kid force. Every single time I yell at them when they do this and yet they do it over and over. We were heading into our hotel and they did their little "We're oblivious to other people around us because we're jacked up on Dr. Pepper" routine to a group of elderly people carrying suit cases. So I bitched them out, of course, and I continued to bitch them out as we waited for the elevators. I then tried to make a pre-emptive strike against the same thing happening with the elevator (they also love to stand with their noses to the elevator and rush in when the doors open, scaring the shit out of the people on the elevator who are wanting to get off....it's great fun). Just as I finished my explanation of how we let off the people who are on the elevator before we get on, the doors opened and my third born exclaimed "HOLY SHIT DIAPERS, THAT ELEVATOR IS PACKED WIF PEOPLE!". Holy shit diapers?????? It's a miracle we weren't related to anyone on that elevator. I'm a little sad he didn't get that gem from me. I might have to use that one. Holy shit diapers. Wow.


Quit Playing With Your Balls 
(This title totally could have worked with a story about my boys but NOPE, it's not about them for once). People in the South take football hard core seriously. People who regularly stay at The Grand treat football like it's a religion made entirely of peanut butter fudge that's dipped in Reese's covered bacon (naturally the only kind of religion to which I would bow down). I actually like football. I've been actively trying to watch more but I must admit I don't watch it alone or anything. At this hotel there are TVs everywhere you turn around. They even have them outside! People gather around the big screens and lounge in huge Adirondack chairs that are meant to be gathered around beautiful fire pits. What's entertaining to watch are the Southern female football fans. The sounds that spontaneously erupt from their mouths when excited or dismayed during a football game are so melodically disturbing at first but after a while they become oddly soothing. Of course to reach a certain level of appreciation for their exuberance one must be heavily liquored up. It's funny that the men were not near as embarrassingly vocal with their cheer leading. Or maybe they were and I just didn't notice because I couldn't take my eyes and ears offa the train wreck lady fans. WOOOOOOOOOPIGSOOOOOOOOAYYYYYY!!!

Picture Summary Of The Swimming Experience

 Satisfied customer

 Pissed beyond belief customer....
No matter how hard I try I can't please everybody. Shit, I can barely please anybody half the time. Oh well. So your big brother won't swim with you. TOUGH SHIT! Play with your little brother who adores you more than his fucking precious art supplies, for Christ's sake! I got this look and immediately knew it was a no sale:/



Gingerbread House Making Contest
Here's what infuriates me most about parents: when the rules state "work must be done by a child" that is when it is time to let go of any dream you might have that the end product will look like something Leonardo Da Vinci would have created. The idea is to let the children CREATE. It's going to look stupid. That's a given. Accept that. So, while MY children were working their little fingers to the bone everyone else is doing it for their kids. My boys were like "Mom, ours looks horrible!!! They're house is gonna win because ours sucks!". Nice. 

Mine and Third Born's chalet included an open floor plan and gum drop vineyard.









Yeah, I know it looks like shit:/. Could be worse. It could literally contain shit! And so I give you......



First and Second Born's gingerbread outhouse!


There's a little peppermint moon on the door and everything. I could not have been prouder....nor could I have been LOUDER. "BOYS, THAT IS WONDERFUL WORK!!! LOOK THEY BUILT AN OUTHOUSE IN WHICH ALL THE GINGER PEOPLE CAN DEFECATE. ISN'T THAT CLEVER!!!". 

 Heheheheeeehehehehee. I love my little poop obsessed boys:D. 

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Happy Thanksgiving, My Bitches

The Fall Edition of killkillkill was several weeks ago. It took me forever to write about the first one so I thought it only fitting to do the same with the second.....fashionably late is apparently in;D. Since I lost the first explanation of killkillkill I decided I should go over the particulars once more.

killkillkill: Sorry, it doesn't mean we get together in the woods and sacrifice chickens. There might be the occasional two legged Daddy Long Leg sighting but I assure you they were like that upon arrival. The actual meaning is a lot deeper than that. It is the process by which each of us goes about dealing with.....bad shit that has happened. Eloquent, I know. It's moving the fuck on OR talking about it until it burns us from within OR drinking tequila (more burning within action) OR letting someone paint a picture of Tupac fucking a monkey on our toenails. It's all a part of the process and unique to each woman. Do what you need to do but for the love of macaroni and cheese, do it until it's all out so you can get the fuck on with your life. Mac n cheese is part of the process, by the way. Really REALLY good fucking mac n cheese. My stomach hurts just thinking about it, it's that good.

This year was diff-ernt. It was way more laid back. WAY less drunken gymnastic type behavior. Not so much of this....

                                                                                        And way more of this.... 
Oh wait. Yeah, I guess there was some.....


Jesus, that one scares even me. I blame this guy...



"I want to trust an animal that's offering me alcohol but...."

And what would a killkillkill weekend be without Lady Soup scorching our lady parts? Nothing, that's what.


 It's funny how I kinda don't get the whole "Calgon, take me away" thing. I think baths are boring. Ya get in and then what? Ya sit there thinking about how much you'd rather be eating Ben and Jerry's Peanut Brittle and watching The Walking Dead (see what I did???? Can I get some free ice cream and maybe a walk on part as a "walker"????)? Anyway, I don't like boring baths but Lady Soup is totally different. I liked it a lot in the Spring but lemme tell ya it rocked my sad little world in the Fall. That freezing night air and clear starry sky coupled with the "FUCK ME, THAT'S HOT" trough water creates quite the orgasmic experience. Can an orgasmic experience be spiritual? If it can then this was as close to God as I'm gonna get. The Church of Our Lady of  Hot Orgasm Water! Now THAT'S a church I'D attend every Sunday...or everyday. 

So I decided this was a totally appropriate day to post my latest killkillkill update on account of the giving thanks for shit tradition. Yes, I'm thankful for my boys. That's #1 and always will be. A "stranger danger" kind of close second would definitely be my wimminz (sorry, couldn't resist). I don't care how dorkus I sound when I proclaim I'D BE DEAD WITHOUT MY BITCHES! Probably not literally but might as well be literally. I think I speak for all my bitches when I say we are all lucky to have each other...us bitches, that is. MY BITCHES.

Well, My Bitches minus 1/4th Becki's face:/ 

Spring can't come fast enough. I'm hoping for a float trip and more great food. This time we had unbelievable tortilla soup, mac n cheese, cowgirl cookies, scones....I'm going to make something spectacularly decadent next time, something that will be so awesomely rich that it will make all the killkillkill ladies fall madly in love with me.
******************************************

Recap: Hiking/leisure walks, Hoar Frost investigating (we like impromtu science lessons on our girlgirlgirl weekend as long as they have something to do with hooker culture), Daddy Long Leg molesting (them molesting us, not the other way around), sunning ourselves on the rocks by the river, having our toenails painted by a pro;), blowing up an air mattress and then waking up with your ass on the god damn floor (that was just me, I think), napping (again, just me), music- NO BRANDI (much to my chagrin), morning mimosas!

T-Ho (AKA Honey Thighs) says: "Yay, Holly! But you missed some vital ingredients! The woodstove, the quiche, the creepy cabin, cinnamon rolls & bacon, the TEQUILA! Wait, you may have mentioned that. killkillkill sure does confuse people. "What are those nice ladies doing talking about killing everyone?" But it's not about that. We're all doing what we have to do to get by, and hoping to come out better because of it (or in spite of it). Killkillkill weekend is a break from surviving and working and planning and being on time and worrying. It's about doing what you want when you want to. It's about laughing your fool head off at something no one else would get. It's about crying that baby out until you can't cry no more. It's about eating the food those bitches cooked for you until you're stuffed. It's about looking at the stars on a clear cold night as steam rises all around you. It's about being where no one is asking anything of you but for you to be yourself. It's about talking for hours till you've taken the power away from whatever was bothering you. It's about realizing that no matter what you're going through, you are not alone. It's about being among people you love and trust like family. Because these bitches ARE my family (one of them literally). I love you guys. And that's what killkillkill means to me."....well said, T! 





                             Just look how relaxed and refreshed these happy little bitches are!


   

          

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

An Ode To Granny Panties

If you're a skinny bitch turn around and walk away. This is an inside joke kinda post for me and my flabby tummy bitches. I'll holler at you skinnies when I debut my post on.....skinny bitch shit....CHRIST, it's been so long since I considered myself a skinny bitch I no longer even remember what it is they BITCH about. Can I say "bitch" uno mas? BITCH.

There is nothing more infuriating than the flabby hang over tummy. I have a c-section tummy which is even lovelier than the garden variety vagina birth tummy. Swear to God, I'm a deflated Smurf. I have my good points. The mid region ain't one of them.

All fucking day long I'm bending over to deal with preschoolers. Each and every time I stand back up I must do the oh so embarrassing pantie tummy tuck hike. Gotta stick them thumbs on either side of the pantie, extend the pant waistline out and PLOOP plop the belly into place so that it's tucked "neatly" behind the band, thus containing its girth. So dainty and graceful. I like to pretend no one notices me doing it but how could they not.

After a long day of continuous pantie plopping I rush home so that I may change out of my work panties and into a nice LARGE pair of granny panties. I liken it to Mr. Rogers' sweater change. Although he prolly never had the belly plop issue....I don't think....nope, I don't WANNA think. Oh Jesus now I'm picturing him naked. Gross. Anyway, ANYWAY.....shake it off.....my point is I'm not ashamed to say I find great comfort in knowing that when I come home my great big granny panties are awaiting me. They never let me down. Full frontal coverage with absolutely no plooping plopping Smurf action.

Now talk to me again when (or if....I'm tired and I'd rather stick my hand in a swamp log than diet at the moment) I'm skinny enough to wear pretty panties. But ya know I'm pretty sure even then I'm gonna take refuge in my grannies. Shit, I might even switch to boxers here pretty soon. Oh, that sounds heavenly!

What's your granny pantie comfort item?