I Heart My Little A-Holes (18 page)
Read I Heart My Little A-Holes Online
Authors: Karen Alpert
5. Here’s the kind of shit you get excited about when you live in the burbs. A house down the street is going on sale!!! I shit you not. The other day I was driving down the street and I saw a
For Sale
sign and I got all pumped up. Why? I have no F’ing idea. It’s like 23 houses away from ours and has no bearing on my life whatsoever. I’m like ooooh, maybe a young family will move in. Well, I have no clue who lives there right now and for all I know a young family already lives there. And then one day a few weeks later I’m driving and the sign is gone and a moving truck is there, and I’m like stalking the movers to see what kind of shit they’re hauling inside. Hmmm, that looks like an old lady table and I get all disappointed, but then I drive by an hour later and see a sandbox and I’m all excited again! And then they move in but I never meet them because they live 23 houses away. But that was exciting! Not.
6. Okay, here’s another stupid thing you get excited about living in the burbs. The mail arriving. I shit you not again. For two years now I’ve thought about WD40’ing my squeaky mailbox, but thank God I never get around to it because that squeak means MY MAIL IS HERE! What am I, an F’ing dog? I swear if I could bark and run around the living room I would. And for what? Bills and a bunch of catalogs I never look at like Oriental Trading (isn’t that politically incorrect? It sounds like we’re slave-trading Asians) and Everything Jewish (yes, that’s a real catalog, but I’ve never actually opened it so for all I know the pages are blank).
7. When I lived in the city and like 8 million neighbors could see in my window, for some reason I didn’t give a rat’s ass if they saw my ratty ass. But as soon as you live in a house with a ground floor, you can no longer walk around naked. Yeah, that’s right. I’m a nudist. Not really, but you know what sucks? When your kid is screaming for milk but you’re blow drying your hair naked because it’s too F’ing hot to put on a robe, and the only way you can get the milk in the kitchen is to either put something on and sweat and ruin your hair, or do what I do. I basically cover up as much as I can with my hands and run downstairs as fast as I can past the window turning my backside to it, which isn’t really a good option since it’s pretty much as bad as my front side, if not worse. And all the time I’m hoping and praying that Chip-Rich isn’t watching. Your driveway might be clean Chip-Rich, but your view is dirty dirty dirty.
8. Did you know that when you live in the burbs, you can choose to never go outside? Like here’s what I did today. Woke up and checked my temperature on my weather app. Drove my kid to school and they took her out of the car for me. Stopped at the drive thru bank and drive thru pharmacy on the way home (why the hell is that word spelled
thru
and not
through
?). Waited for the Peapod delivery that came right in the front door. Went to a play date at my friend’s, but she lives over six houses away so of course we drove. Seriously, NEVER WENT OUTSIDE. So the other day when my doctor suggested I start taking Vitamin D and I was surprised, she asked me if I get outside much. Uhhh yeahhh, every time I walk from the car into Tarjay. Duh.
Oh yeah, that reminds me. I forgot one thing I do love about the burbs. Living so close to TARJAY!!!!!!! (insert angels singing here) And thank God I have all that storage space in my house so I have somewhere to put all the shit I don’t need but I buy anyway there.
So I know when I see news stories about polygamists I’m supposed to think they’re all crazy and shit, but secretly I’m a little jealous and kind of want my own sister wives. I know that’s a little weird but:
1. I don’t think it would be such a bad thing to have the bed to myself a few nights a week. Hello covers all to myself, goodbye fart smells that singe my nose hairs.
2. It’d be nice to share the nagging with someone else around here. “Did you nag him about the toilet seat yet because I just nagged him about the trash?”
3. I’d be REQUIRED to wear full-coverage skirts and tops every day. Adios cankles and flabby arms.
4. “Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy!” Yo sister wife, I think our whiny rug rat is looking for you.
5. Hells yeahhhh, someone to dump my kids on while I go food shopping (translation: get my nails done).
6. I’d be expected to wear a ponytail every day! EXPECTED TO! Like I’m breaking a rule if I don’t wear one. Sign me up!
Holy crap, have you been to a restaurant where “kids eat free” on a Sunday night. WTH did I just step into? MAD chaos. Like it felt like we were eating spaghetti in an F’ing mosh pit. At one moment my childless sister looked around and I heard her mutter to herself, “This is not what I want in life.” No shit Sherlock. None of us ever wanted THIS. In fact, I think it should be mandatory that ALL teenagers go on a tour of this restaurant on a Sunday night. ’Cause there ain’t no better birth control on the market.
(No that whole title is not a typo)
So you know where I am right now? I’m sitting in the stupid Starbucks parking lot typing this. Yup, on the way home from dropping off numero uno at school, numero doso fell asleepo in the caro on the way homo (wait, that’s not right), and since he has music class at ten, I’m letting him nap while I sit in the parking lot stealing Wi-Fi from Starbucks. Yes, I’m that loser. But hey, my son gets in his nap so he isn’t a raging a-hole in music class. At least not because he’s tired. If he is, it’s because I forgot to give him a snack or change his diaper or accidentally zipped his skin up in his zipper or something.
But it’s kind of appropriate that I’m typing this from my car because today as I was leaving my kid’s school one of the other moms asked me a question.
OTHER MOM: So I’ve been meaning to ask you something. How do you like your minivan?
Hmm, how do I like my minivan?
ME: I
LOVE
it!
Errrrrrrrrrrr! In case you’re wondering, that’s the sound of tires coming to a screeching stop. WTF???!!! Did the L word seriously just leave my mouth?! And then it occurred to me, holy shit, I really do love my minivan. How depressing is that?!
So here goes. If I don’t slit my wrists before I get to the end of this, here are 7 reasons why I love my minivan:
1. Question: How may cup holders does a mom need? Answer: Infinity. Water bottles, sippy cups, coffee cups, old sippy cups with DIY cottage cheese, snack cups, drive-thru cups, Happy Meal toys, other shit, yada yada yada. There are like a million and a half things I put in the cup holders in my car. And my minivan has 12, count’m, TWELVE cup holders! THIRTEEN if you count the one in my kid’s car seat. Yup, a baker’s dozen in less than 100 cubic feet. Damn, now I’m craving a donut.
2. “Make it stop! Make it stoppppppp!” my kid used to yell from the backseat of my old car like her eyes were being fried by an F’ing laser. Well guess what kiddo. Despite how amazing you think I am, at least until you’re a teenager and think I’m the biggest loser (and not in a good Jillian Michaels kind of way), despite how all-powerful you think I am, I cannot turn off the sun. So unless you just want to keep driving east until we plunge into the freezing waters of Lake Michigan and die, the sun is going to shine in your window and in your eyes. So thank F’ing Buddha (since this car was made in Japan) my minivan comes with those totally awesome built-in shade thingies so the sun won’t burn her eyes out anymore.
3. There are many days I would like to steamroll my child flat but restrain myself, so hell if I’m gonna let someone else have the pleasure. Which is why probably my favorite feature EVER is the electric sliding doors. Alls I have to do is push a button and the doors open up like magic so she’s not running around the parking lot like a Tasmanian devil. Instead she’s in the car digging through the center console for my tic tacs so she can dump the entire contents into her mouth at once, except for that one little sucker that jams itself in the box sideways so you can’t get it out unless you whack the crap out of the box on your steering wheel.
4. I don’t know about you but after a long ass day I like to wind down with some good old-fashioned music, and since I NEVER get the car to myself anymore, the kids are always there to hear it. Two Live Crew. Eminem. Easy E. All the crap that Walmart won’t sell that helps me decompress. So you know what I’m thankful for? That little button I push on the minivan stereo that instantly turns off the music in the back seat. Sometimes when I’m feeling extra motivated I let the kids listen, but I push the button every time there’s a swear word. Hells yeah, I’m as powerful as the FCC! Take that Janet Jackson’s nipple!’
5. Do you know what’s awesome about having a third row of seats? That I can drive around other people’s rug rats too.
NOT
. I always wonder why in God’s name people literally buy an extra car seat to schlep around someone else’s child. Oh yes, please give me one more set of vocal cords that’ll make me want to chop my ears off while I’m driving. But you know what that third row of seats
is
good for? Ever since DSS told us we can’t prop Holden’s eyes open with toothpicks to keep him from falling asleep, one of us sits back there when we want to keep him awake on the way home. Because some kids are good with the transition to bed. And some kids suck balls.
6. OMG, did I seriously forget this one? The fact that I can get into the minivan myself while I’m strapping my kid into her car seat is AWESOME. Because when there’s a tornado outside and it’s like negative 100 degrees and the car seat straps are twisted like a thousand times, it’s oh so nice to be inside the vehicle.
7. This is how the saleslady explained how to fold up our stroller. “You just press this little button, go like this and presto it collapses and you can fit it in the palm of your hand.” And this is how I sound when I’m actually doing it. “Mother-fucker, goddamned piece of shit for a stroller that sucks ass.” And then I’m standing there in the parking lot with my stroller that won’t collapse or fit into a trunk. Until…voila, the third row of seats folds down in a jiffy and I can just roll that bad boy right in totally erect. Okay, do I hear someone laughing? Yes, I said the word erect. What are you in the third grade? Yeah me too, erect erect erect! Tee hee hee.
So there you go. A bunch of reasons why I love my minivan. Maybe I’ll buy a bumper sticker that says I love my minivan and then I’ll put it on my minivan. But only if it’s one of those magnetic ones because I wouldn’t want to mess up my minivan with a sticker. Because I love it.
You know you’ve been married a long time when:
1. Your maiden name starts to sound weird to you.
2. You can say words like vagina and clitoris to your husband without flinching.
3. You’re not mortified when he walks in on you waxing your mustache.
4. As you’re walking out of the room you accidentally crop-dust it with a series of audible toots and you don’t even pause.
5. You can donate his clothes you don’t like without asking. Not that I do that, honey.
6. You’ll openly admit when your hemorrhoid is flaring up.
7. You ask him to buy tampons for you and all he says is “Which kind?”
8. You’re a-okay with your thigh fat spreading out on the seat when you’re wearing a bathing suit and sitting next to him.
9. Your husband brings you to the toilet to show you how big his turd is. And then when you make a big one, you’re tempted to show him. You don’t, but the thought does cross your mind.
10. You’re not embarrassed when he walks in on you tipping your head back and squirting whipped cream directly into your mouth from the bottle.
11. You can say, “Not tonight honey, I’m not in the mood.”
12. You can say, “Not tonight honey, I have a yeast infection.”
13. You can say, “Not tonight honey, we already did it this month.”
14. You can tell him you have diarrhea.
15. You can pick up your phone, a book, and a magazine and walk into the bathroom and tell him you might be a while.
16. If you pop a zit and it won’t stop bleeding, you can put a little piece of tissue on it and walk around the house with it.
17. You’re no longer worried that when he lifts the blanket he’s going to be hit with your giant fart cloud.
18. When you shower with him, you can tell him to move over so you can blow a snot rocket.
19. You watch TV on different TV sets sometimes so you can each watch the shit you want to.
20. You stop swallowing.
Hey if you have to, go ahead and flush twice, honey. Don’t think of it as wasting water. Think of it as saving your wife’s eyeballs
So here’s the thing. We all have some part of our body that we’ve always wanted to change. I imagine even supermodels do. Granted it’s their brain, but it’s something (awww shit, I just offended all the supermodels reading this. All zero of them. I mean it’s not like supermodels can read. I’m kidding, I know they can but I say mean things because I’m jealous of them). Anyways, the body part I want to change is my thighs. I mean, really it’s that whole lower body region (zip code 60024), but if I had to pick just one specific part it’d be my thighs.
