I spent last weekend in Denver, watching one of my very best friends in the whole world get married. I had every intention of using my weekend back home, snuggly tucked away in a downtown hotel room, to work on my book or to catch up on sleep or to take a series of what were to be the longest showers in the history of bathing – because I could, that’s why – but I made it downtown, tripped and fell into this:

Amy and Aimee and Jeremy and Jim and Bugfrog (wisely not pictured) and me and the bottle makes three tonight. Or something like that. And then I ended up with my old friends from the bar I worked at in Denver, with whom I totally intended to have deep, meaningful conversations about life and love and the proper amount of ammunition to carry on one’s person at any given time, but all I walked away from that night with was a headache, puke breath and this:

I think that’s a photo of a lime dipped in sugar, which means I was A) with David at Whiskey Bar and B) excessively drunk and C) had a raging case of the hiccups. Do I remember why I took a picture of a lime dipped in sugar?

What is a Rhetorical Question for $300, Alex.

A few hours of sleep and one bottle of Aleve later, I watched my kids godfather get married.

After the wedding, my other best friend and I intended to have a glorious, albeit last minute date night, complete with bottles of wine and cushy hotel beds and late night tv and general girly giggliness, not like that, pervs, but we ran into ALL my blog-fathers at a Rocky Mountain Blogger Bash Fest.

Jed got a fabulous camera pic of my tits sweet face Combs smiled because he realized that Texas has changed me from a left-wing tree hugging hippy into a gun-toting, oil-guzzling libertarian. And there was much rejoicing. And by rejoicing, I mean ‘welcoming me to the dark side’. And by welcoming, I mean getting hit on by Zombyboy and Vodkapundit.

And then I overslept, again, and didn’t have time to get the family gifts on my way home which is fine if I’m in, like, Kansas or something but not even close to okay if I am in the land of their birth, so I did the cheesy airport gift-shop run for the boys and the cheesier airport-at-home gift shop run for my daughter, who can’t read but thinks Texas is a great name for a new stuffed monkey, and when I handed out the gifts as they piled on top of me in my doorway at home, my husband came up behind all of us, put his hand on my shoulder, and sweetly whispered, “Welcome home, honey.” I looked up at him and, with a little wink, said, “You’ll get your present later.” He smiled, and we turned to our children. What I’d hoped to be a subtle, sultry moment between my husband and I turned into our oldest son sneering at us and saying, “GROSS, guys”, and storming off in a cloud of unmitigated tweenaged disgust.

I think my kid is on to us.

Deja Vu: A few too many years ago, I took off for a long weekend in Brooklyn, just because I wanted to.  My friend had lent me a book, a murder mystery that I’d never heard of it before, and since I tend to read the same books a million times over, it took me a while to start it.  I got going pretty hardcore while I was on the plane, and that book is arguably one of my favorite books in print today.  Except it’s out of print.  And I lent my copy to another friend because she had to read it and I haven’t seen her since.  So I can order it used from Amazon for $0.99 and get a copy that someone used as a toilet booster seat or I can order a copy for $8 bazillion but I still have to order it from Amazon and friends, the truth is that I’m kind of scared of the internet.

A few days ago I took off for a long weekend in Los Angeles, for less fun reasons, and my favorite blogger in the world had sent me a book not too long before.  It was a murder mystery called Flipping Out and I’d never heard of it before and since it’s been a few too many years since I’ve read a new book in it’s entirety, it took me a while to start it.  I got going pretty hardcore while I was on the plane, and that book is arguably one of my favorite books in print today.  Except it’s not in print just yet.  So you can wait until it hits the shelves to try it out, or you can ask me to send you an autographed copy once it’s released and I might just do that.

In case you’d rather not just take my word for it, it’s kind of like 10 Little Indians meets Trading Spaces meets The Shield.  It’s about fishing, cougars, house flippers, romance novelists, murder, greed, and the pièce de résistance?  One of the main characters is introduced in the book as being a recovering Jehovah’s Witness.  Which I sort of have a thing for.  It’s about being a writer, about conflicts of interest, it’s unpredictable and even I, who totally knew who Keyser Söze was 30 minutes into that movie, could not figure the mystery out.  Oh, and the world’s leading authority on all things awesome says that Marshall Karp is a totally rad guy who sends other people’s kids Easter baskets, so he’s got that going for him.  Which is nice.  And I like those mini Reese’s in mine, for the record.

The apple falling not so far from the tree: When I was a little girl, under 6 little, I used to go into my father’s room when he was at work and put one of his dirty shirts on.  I’d then put one of his cowboy hats on and I’d dab my little arms with his Old Spice.  Because I loved the smell of that man, and I missed it when he was gone.  Or I was a cross-dresser.  Either way.

When I was comforting my son last night, who was bawling his little eyes out for having made *gasp* a mistake on his math homework, my daughter snuck into my bathroom and rubbed her daddy’s Old Spice deodorant all over her eyes.  Because I left her for four days and all of a sudden, she loves the smell of her daddy and misses it when he’s gone.  Or she’s just not terribly bright yet.  Either way.

The number three and why it can bite me: In four days time, my friends crashed their car, I had my passport stolen by a senile woman who didn’t look a thing like me so she couldnt’ have used it anyway, and I had to call poison control within 5 hours of being home with my kids.  We’ll blame this on bad things happening in threes and not my totally suckitude, shall we?

Decent hand jobs making me all loose lipped: While I was stranded in LA, waiting for Fury’s birthday party to start, realizing that I was about to meet d’Wife looking like a professional hobo, I stopped into the closest salon and asked them to for the love of god and all that’s holy make my hair look like anything but *this*.  I smelled like I won’t tell you, my arms hurt from dragging my luggage all over the city and I’d just cried enough tears to flood miniature caucus races.  Out of the back walked a veryveryvery hot girl named Natalie and she did things to my head that no one’s ever done before.  I almost proposed marriage to her but instead, I ended up telling her the name of this blog.  Which may not be a big deal to you, but it’s a big deal to me because she’s the first person I’ve ever just randomly told about it.  EVER.  And now I’m kind of afraid.  So hi, Natalie.  If you’re reading this, don’t say I didn’t warn you.  It’s worse than I let on.

Passing the buck and dropping the ball: The lovely Palinode was kind enough to cover my American Idol shift this week and he totally out-did me, but I think my husband failed in every way to tape Lost for me.  So I lost my passport to get back at him.  Suck on that, bitch.

Offered without much comment. Because really, there’s no excuse.

I’m not entirely sure antibiotics will clear that up. And speaking of sick…

Yes, we make our sick three year old build our furniture. Don’t worry; it gets worse.

That would be a direct quote taken from Ms. Bob the Builder earlier that same day.

See all of Sarcastic Mom’s Terrible Parents Weekly Winners here.  And more color glossies to be used as evidence against us at my Flickr page.

This week, man.  I tell yah.

• Matt @ RedSparks totally won that t-shirt.  And he’s having a sale in his preemie/baby store.  Just sayin’.



• We babysat yesterday.  In fact, we’re babysitting every Thursday for the next 6 weeks.  Which isn’t helping my uterus’ rampage on the ol’ brain.  Turns out, my kid has some jealousy issues and I’m pretty sure that ifin’s we decided to go for four (shoot me for even thinking about it) that she’s eat that new baby while we slept.
• The Donor came home this week from his Napa, golf, martini vacation conference for work.  He lost his 8 billion dollar cell phone, and was gone over our 10th anniversary, and I made him suffer for these crimes by forcing him to get an iPhone.  I’m the worst wife ever, I know; I don’t know how he goes on.
• And he was missed.  She sat right there for 2 hours the day he got home.



• Speaking of worst somethings ever, after careful thought and serious negotiation, it was decided that I am a horrible daughter in law, and my mother in law is indeed staying with us, and I somehow ended up begging her to do it.  Yes, she’s that good.
• Not only am I impossible to deal with, I am irrationally cruel to her grandsons.  I mean, I made them almost touch each other today.



• But I let 1of3 keep that god-awful haircut, and do I get any credit for that? Hell to the no.  (It was cute for exactly 31 hours, and then it grew 1/5 of an inch, and now he looks like a, well, a Jonas Brother or something. *shudder*)



• The baby, my last baby, the one who was supposed to be ittle wittle forever, starts motherfucking preschool on Tuesday.
• The 8 year old told me he needed Clearasil, and then showed me the corner of his tiny, cute, little baby nose, and he does need Clearasil.
• I have 6 days to get this house spotless before the mother in law gets here, and I’m hiring cleaners for the first time in my whole life.  Just like haircuts, cookies and blowjobs; some things should just be left to the pros.
• The Republican party has blow any chance, at all, of me ever ever ever voting for them, for, like, the rest of my life.  I registered to vote as a ex-pat this week, and I registered as a Democrat.  My fence-walking days are over.
• Best. Song. Ever.  (Worst video ever, but still.)

This week in I Sure Fooled Them: The terribly funny and hysterically witty husband and wife team at Are We There Yet? have asked little ol’ me to join them on their podcast this evening. Apparently, they think I’m insiteful or funny or somethin’. I’ll show them. 10pm Eastern. You can call in here, I think. Or read it here. Be there or be watching Lost on TiVo.

This week in Shameless Plugs: StarkRavingDads is really fun, and we really like doing it, and we’re running out of questions. The floor is open to moms. Pay us a visit, would ya? We try to post every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Help a sista out.

This week in A Trip Down Amnesia Lane: Ever heard of x365? You write something once a day about people you’ve met. I’m doing a photo/haiku study. It’s wickedly awesome, and I am participating at my Cre8Buzz Blog.

This week in Is It September Yet?: If that wasn’t the best, most fucking up, least informative yet most informative Lost the world has ever known, I don’t know what is. Screw summer; I need answers, dammit. (I’ve got it DVR’d if you need a copy.)

This week in Well, THAT paid off nicely: The hell that is Little League is still going strong (2 weeks left, yo) but 1of3′s team won the Rookie Championship this weekend. By 10-1 in the final game. I don’t think I have ever been so proud.

This week in Still Not Sure it Was Worth It: The sunburn I got while watching my kid crush the competition? The good news is, I no longer look exactly like a tomato. The bad news? I now look like a tomato with leprosy. Peeling sucks.

This week in See? TOLD YOU SO: There’s all this hubub about BPA leaching into baby bottles, and yes, I am as concerned as the next mom, but I’m not, really. Even though Canada is recalling Avent bottles, even though that dreaded Cancer word is getting thrown about, I never got my panties in a ruffle. I’ve had kids for 10 years, yo. I’ve been through my share of Doomsday Fads. First it was the Nasty Chemicals in Johnson’s Shampoo. Then it was Soy Formula Destroying Sperm Counts. Then it was Anti-Bacterial Everything (and don’t even get me started on THAT bullshit.) This struck me as one of them. Turns out, that BPA that evil, naughty Zeut Avent has been shoving down our precious kids’ throats has been present for a LONG time in, well, a shitton of other stuff. Click the chart to enlarge. Your chicken noodle soup is doing a lot more damage than your bottles. Tomato sauce? THE ANTI-CHRIST. Read the CTV article here. And then draw your own conclusions.

This week in gas: My toddler has learned a fun new trick. The Fake Burp. Ah, the joys of having older brothers. I have a video, but it really didn’t turn out. Trust me, it’s the funniest shit you’d ever see. Arrrrrrrrgh! Eh-sscuse Me!

This week in ridiculous wastes of money: We bought a new couch this week, which should arrive sometime today. After a few years of 5 people and one 3 seater couch, we bit the bullet and got a sectional. It’s leather. And CREAM. I give it 10 minutes before the kids completely ruin it.

This week in Missing: Reward for Information Leading to the Safe Return Of: This week, I also bought a dress. A sundress. A hot pink sundress. And I really LIKE it. Who are you and what have you done with Mr Lady?

This week in straight up brain poison: Richard Marx songs have been stuck in my head all week. I blame NukeDad, who started my whole chain of crappy 80′s music obsessing with this little nugget. Again, click to enlarge. And spit coffee all over your monitor.