I Really Want to Make a Kung Fu Fighting Reference In Here Somewhere

Guess who has the most awesome blog readers in the whole wide blogosphere?  I do, that's who.

You guys are really, extraordinarily good at making complete asses of yourselves.  Really, I am in awe.  And I have to give someone that (fast as) Lightening Online t-shirt for making the biggest faux pas (which I will always pronounce as Foe Pahs, thanks to my darling step-mother, who thinks that's really how you say it.  Maybe she should get the shirt.)

In true, blond, Pisces me fashion, I find myself unable to pick a winner, so I'm leaving it up to y'all to decide.  I have narrowed it down to 3 categories, with two entries in each:

In the Menstrual Disaster category:

Mutha, who was asked at the UHaul counter to show her receipt.  (I'll admit, this one's my favorite.)
I checked my pockets. Nothing. I went to my car and didn’t find it. Suddenly, I remember where I had put it. It was in my purse, which I had left on the counter. I ran into the store yelling, “I know where it is!” I reached into my purse, saw the pink paper, shouted, “Here it is!” and pulled it out with a flourish.

There, dangling onto the end of it, was a maxi pad, which had somehow gotten stuck to the corner of the receipt.

Ahem. It wasn’t fresh, I had wrapped it in TP, because the rest room didn’t have a trash can and you can’t flush those things.

Special K, who had the quintessential junior high slasher chick nightmare happen to her.
OK In the 6th grade I was the first girl to start her period. It was a horribly heavy non stop thing I finally had to get shots to stop it. They gave me some hospital ones, you know, the ones after you have a baby? Except I didn’t have a baby and I was 11 years old.

The boys in my class found them, stuck scotch tape on the backs of them just to stick them ON THE HALL WALL SPELLING MY FIRST NAME!!!!!!!!

In the Poop category:

DCUrbanDad, who is really lucky she married him later.
Had an unfortunate sharting accident in college whilst trying to impress the ladies in college.

Was actually heading to the library with my now wife for an all night exam cram session.

Had to let one out after a dinner of enchiladas. I thought it was going to be fairly benign but boy was I wrong.

Ended up going commando the rest of the evening and threw my boxers away in the men's room.

Secret Agent Mama, who shit in a ditch once. Seriously.  More noteworthy; On her honeymoon.

He pulled over with diligence. I scanned the backseat, spotted and picked up a random towel, opened the door, and in one huge leap I was down in the swamp ditch with my jean shorts around my ankles, relieving myself. I didn’t care that I could be attacked by a gator. I didn’t care that there could be any poisonous plants. I didn’t care that a snake might bite me. I just didn’t care about anything, other than pooping, at that very moment. I dumped, I wiped, and I left the nasty towel. I wiped my brow and my upper lip, both of which were sweat drenched. When I looked at Michael, once I got back into the car, I saw this look of sheer, utter amusement on his face.

“Shut! Up! And, I swear Michael, if you tell ANYONE about this, I will divorce you,” I quipped confidently.

Oh, he told everyone.  EVERYONE.  And as luck would have it, every woman in Secret Agent Mama's entire family has done this on their honeymoon.

In the Just Awesomely Stupid category:

Mrs F, who set out to walk with her newborn baby about a mile to a friends house.
When number one son was a few weeks old, I was running round to a friend’s house for coffee (also new mother). Remember those paranoias you used to have? About forgetting the baby? So, before I left the house I had a little mental checklist: Keys? Yep. Diaper bag? Yep? Baby? Got it. Looked in the hall mirror - Mascara? Wow yes.

Friend greeted me with snorts of laughter and “Think you forgot something?”. Ran through mental checklist….. nope, got everything.

Except clothes. Utterly naked from the waist down. Naturally, I had shoes on.

Matt's is really long, but I can't find a good way to edit it.  He's on a treadmill, at a crowded gym, watching the Waco, Texas stuff going down on the TV, when....
I jerked my attention back as my left foot ran off the left edge of the motorized belt. Immediately my right foot tried to correct from the rapid change in speed and my ankle rolled a bit. My entire body was lurched back and I panicked. Without thinking I grabbed ahold of the little handrail in front of me, but it was too late. I heard a collective gasp from the hundreds of people watching behind me as my body laid itself out, white knuckles gripping the bar, legs and feet outstretched behind me, dragging on the treadmill with toes pointed. My shoes made a deafening “BRAP BRAP BRAP BRAP” sound as they dragged on the treadmill, capturing the attention of the few people who were not watching at this point.

My body gave up and I let go. My chin slammed onto the belt and I was jettisoned back off the machine into a large rack of dumbells with a loud crash. My face flushed and my heart raced as people begin to laugh. In an attempt to salvage what was left of my dignity, I quickly and confidently scrambled to my feet and raced back to the treadmill, jumping onto it with gusto. The belt was still moving at the same speed that it had been when I had fallen off. I realized this a moment too late and begin leaning forward, flailing my arms wildly around in a large windmill pattern, trying to right myself. For some reason, my breath was coming out of me in loud grunts as I was doing this, like “UH, UH, UH, UH!” Another roar of laughter went up from the crowd. Eventually, I stabilized myself and continued to run, the eyes of a thousand laughing faces burning tiny holes into the back of my head.

And now it's up to you.  Vote for your favorite, and the blogger with the top votes on Friday morning needs to send me their address.  Which I will use for evil.  *wink*

(If you're reading this through a reader, I don't think you'll be able to see the awesome poll thingy. Click through to vote.)

No, Really. I'll Take a Cab. Thanks Anyway.

Um, dudes?  You people be nasty.  I knew I liked you.

Jill and I asked for gross car stories last week.  I expected rotten milk stories.  I expected spilled drink stories.  I figured someone somewhere would find a way to drag some poop into the whole thing.  What I got is not AT ALL what I expected.  What I got was 60 people who made me feel way better about myself.

The whole point of this blog is to make YOU feel better about YOURSELF as a parent, a spouse, a human.  Call us even, I guess.

There are so many really, truly horrifying entries to this thing that I have no idea where to start.  Every one of you needs not only a lifetime supply of Febreze but a maid service, one of those people that come to your house and organize it for you and a therapist.  Again, my kinda people.

Alas, there can only be one winner, because we only have one prize to give away, but before we get to that, let's cover the runners-up.

Our very scientific, educated judging system came down to how vividly we could still picture what you told us a week later.  Basically, the better nightmares we had, the better your chances were.

Anne's story of stalagtites in her car maybe didn't stink, but it's totally something I would do, and it cracked me the hell up.  Honorable mention, yo.
When I was a kid, we moved to the upper midwest. The first winter we were there, my mom left a six pack of Diet Coke in the passenger’s side seat of our car.

Not only did the fierce cold cause all six sodas to explode? But stalactites. Massive, frozen, hanging, cave-like cones of of diet cokecicles from the ceiling of the car. Like seriously scary six inch ones. We didn’t even know how to clean it up - the car was already in the garage.

Oh dear god in heaven, oh sweet little pink baby Jesus, Sara made me want to D.I.E.  Also honorable mention.
I found my cat in the car once. With his four-inch tapeworm buddy hanging out of his mouth.

See, my cat had been diagnosed with tapeworms, and we were treating him with tapeworm tabs. We’d been keeping him inside (even though he’s normally an outdoor cat) because the tabs can cause the cat to vomit up the tapeworm sometimes (if the tapeworm has migrated to the cat’s stomach, which hah! who lets their cat be wormy that long? NOT US, NO WAY), instead of passing it the other way, and we didn’t want him to choke without us around to help. Also, keeping him in just seemed like The Thing To Do. He didn’t like it, and one day he managed to get outside (after several days of frantic meowing, bolting whenever the door was opened, and clawing madly at the walls and carpet).

When we couldn’t find him in a couple of hours, we just figured he’d taken off to sulk in a tree for a while. Apparently, though, he’d jumped in our open car window and curled up for a “ha ha, I’m outside, bitches” nap. Aaaand… the tapeworm chose then to dislodge from my cat’s stomach. Not his intestines, where he would be all dead-ified and disollved, oh no. His stomach. Where the tapeworm was, um, not dead, and not dissolved. And then? My cat took a nap with the tapeworm mostly out but apparently, er, still attached, and the tapeworm died.

What did I find in mycar? I found a sleeping cat and a pile of cat vomit with a shriveling tapeworm on top. All great Neptune’s ocean will not wash those stains clean from my hands.

Ah, the poop stories.  MommyCosm's husband thought it would be heee-larious to throw a diaper in the back of a buddy's car.  I'd have KILLED him.   Jim left a whole potty chair, a FULL potty chair, in his car.  That's hot.  Simply Anonymom left a poopy pull-up in her car.  For a week.  Heather B's nephew left her a little brown present under her couch.  That's mah boy; HIDE THE EVIDENCE.  Zak tried really hard to recycle his cloth diapers and be a good dad, except that he left that $18 diaper in the back of his car for god knows how long.  That'll teach him.  Elizabeth had cat pee, which may actually be worse, I dunno, but I'm lumping her in here anyways.  And then I'm showing you a picture of us, all sloshed drunk.

That's just how I roll.

I don't give a rats ass if he is my brother, I'm giving Gnilleps 3rd place for his dead cat in the car story.  Not because the rats that got chopped up in Sandy Shoe's car's fan or Liz's dead bullfrog or Redneck Mommy's baked snake or the mice who died in Juice's and Melanie Dawson's heaters and just rotted there all summer weren't more gross, but the detail, lordy the details.
Well, it’s not food, in this country anyway. So I worked for the cable company and used my own van. (Read : Blue Bunny, really, kids always asking if I was selling ice cream) and one day I notice a cat jumped in my van and pee’d. Yeah, that sucked, middle of the summer it was terrible. One might believe this to be the end of the story, but oh no, it’s not.

So I get back in the van on Monday and goto work. I smelled Chinese food all the way to work, but thought nothing of it. (Hit Panda Express that day, cause something drove me to it) Then the next day, it smelled like bad Chinese food… man it smelled, but I am a guy and am impervious to rotting food I leave in the car for weeks on end, so I push on. By the end of the week I am DYING, even I can not take it.

So I start cleaning out the van to locate the smell… can’t find it. WTH?!?! So I go into the back and start looking and then I take the Gorilla Racks out cause I HAVE to fix this and there, trapped in between two of the legs is the cat… That’s all I got.

You had me at Panda Express, brother.

There are so many milk and chicken and pork and cheese and pasta stories, I'm A) going vegan now, thankyouverymuch and B) not even going to try to link to all of them.  But even though you all are forgetful as all get out, none of you accidentally made your child consume your rotten food.  Well, none of you except Ali.  Really, dude?  If I ever come over, I'll have water, thanks.

PS: FlickrLovr?  I JUST started liking salsa, like, this year.  And you RUINED IT for me.  Fuck you.

Adriane takes second place (and sister, you totally would have had 1st had you included one tiny little element to your story, which we'll get to in a minute.)  I loved this not just because it's totally horror-show disgusting, but because she had so much stuff piled in her car for so long that it masked what I can only imagine was the smell of pure death.  Kudos.  You can ride in my car ANYTIME.
For some reason, I thought it would be a good idea to unhook the baby’s seat so I could get at the real mess, the floorboard at the foot of her seat. (my theory is that since no one’s legs hang down there- there is more room for junk to accumulate). I sat down and started taking things out. Mismatched shoes, board books, happy meal toys; The deeper I dug, the worse it smelled. Moldy smell. Gagging moldy smell.

At the bottom of the pile was my old black hoodie that I keep in my car for chilly emergencies. Just looking at it, I knew what was inside. I flashed to a field trip I had chaperoned for my son’s class to the U-pick pumpkin farm in October. He was cold after the hayride. I went to the car to get my hoodie. He wore it for a little while.

Then he zipped up his small-ish (re: 3 lb or so) pumpkin in the hoodie to “make it easier” to carry. He put it in the back seat, zipped it up, tied the arms together and promptly forgot about it. So did I. Bad Mom. I know.

Now it is February. 5 months of putrefying pumpkin wrapped in what I am assuming to be an amazingly cryogenic scent sealing hoodie. I unzipped. I was attacked by a smack of mold funk smell, and the pumpkin IMPLODED. It literally went from a orb shape to a caved in gelatinous goo puddle.

What would have pushed you over the edge, the Pièce de résistance?  MAGGOTS.  You say maggots, I die a little inside.  Lattemommy has the best maggot story ever told in the history of maggot-story telling, but I'll leave that up to her.  Maybe someday, if we get her drunk enough.  StPaulSlim, however, DID share her maggot story.  The best part of the story, shockingly enough, isn't the maggot infested cheeseburger, it's what they did about it.
We found it several 100 degree days later, promptly lysol-ed the hell out of the van and drove it straight to the dealer for a trade in. When the used car manager inquired about the smell, I told him than the girls’ grandfather had died in the car and we needed to trade it in because the trauma made it impossible for the kids to ever ride in it again. He took pity on me and gave me $500 over book for the trade.

You're going to HELL, dude, and I want to have the locker Right. Next. To. You.

But nothing, nothing, could touch the 1st place winner in this little contest.  Dear god, I think you have actually traumatized me, Kris B.  I know we asked for details, but YIKES, yo.  I am scarred for life.
Umm… stray dog vomit. Piles of it. In the loopy carpet found on the back of my folded down car back seat. After said stray dog has apparently eaten a Jed Clampett sized bowl of cheap cat food and . . . are those Ramen noodles? Oh shit. Unless Dr. Frankenstein has used his talents to animate pasta, those are. . . TAPEWORMS!!! OMFG, the mass of orange, slime covered goo was positively seething with live, and dead, intestinal parasites. Ever smelled partially digested, warm, cat food turned to dog puke full of worms on a hot day? No? Well, if you own a cat (and you feed that cat an unnamed brand of cheap dry cat food) soak about 4 cups of that food in just enough water to make it look like ploppy cow poo. Then dump the mess back into the bag, close the bag securely and let it ferment for a few hours.

Go ahead, I’ll wait.

Take your fermented cat food, in it’s closed bag, and microwave it on high for a minute or so. Got it? Okay, now, open the bag just enough to toss in some old cooked ramen noodles and some of that slimey, gooey, jelly looking stuff you get when you refrigerate chicken that’s been cooked a certain way. Give the bag a little shake to distribute the contents. Now, stick your nose in the bag. Smell that? The actual pile in the back of my car smelled worse than that. Let’s move on. Go toss your bag full of foulness onto a piece of loopy carpet (the kind you have at the office should do nicely). Make sure to spread it around. Now here’s a pair of old underwear (don’t ask) and McDonald’s napkins to clean it all up. Oh and make sure you don’t touch any of it because the feel is even worse than the look and smell. Trust me on this one.

But our little experiment isn’t over yet! Now, to truly understand the horror, miss a pile between the car seats. Find it only after it’s been percolating in a closed car that’s spent 2 days parked in the Oklahoma summer sun and high humidity. The good news is the worms were at least dead by then.

Um, hold me?

Thanks to everyone who bared their souls and stepped into our little confessional. My ego really needed this boost. *wink*

My Car Has Crabs

The other day I made an off-handed reference to my car and the fact that it smelled a bit off, like, "vomit with really smelly feet" or something. Well, after a little digging, I am happy to report that I found the source of the odor.

One Dead Crab.

That's right, I had a dead crab in the back of my car. Factually, I had one full dead crab, one separate crab leg, and a few assorted crab parts on the side. You see, we spent a day at the beach last week, and the boys found all these totally rad crab parts that they just HAD to show their friends at home, and then 2of3 hit the motherload: One whole, entire, completely awesome dead crab. About the size of his palm.

I believe the exact agreement we struck went something like this: "You can show them to your friends and then they go straight into the outside trash." Two days later, we remembered that conversation.

So, I wrote that little post, and then Jill over at Charming & Delightful and I got into an email pissing match exchange over who had found the most gross stuff in the back of their car. And then we realized that hey, maybe we aren't the only two total suck ass overwhelmed and outnumbered mothers in the world. And THEN we decided to have a little contest.

That's right, we would like to know what the nastiest, most disgusting, slimiest, stinkiest thing you've ever found in your car is. I have found a pear that, by the feel of it when I discovered it under the passenger seat of the car, seemed about 4 months expired. Minimum. Only because it felt like pureed brains.

And, yeah, my car has crabs. Top that.

The winner will receive salvation in the form of a gift pack from Febreze, because if I believe in anything in life, it's hiding the evidence.

All you have to do to enter is:

  • Leave a comment, on either my blog or Jill's, telling us ALL about it. We want to know the smell, the feel, the look. The more our stomachs turn, the better.

  • Post about it on your own site, and be sure to include a link back to Febreze in the post. Feel free to steal our copyright-infringing button that we totally stole from the internet and modified anyway.

  • If you like, turn it into a post at your own blog and just sign up on the handy little Mr Linky thing on either of our sites.

Entries will be accepted until Monday, August 18th. And good luck topping dead crabs, yo.

The Post in Which I Send You Elsewhere

A few weeks ago, my favorite blog-crush, NukeDad, wrote a post about his father's death on, you guessed it, Father's Day. Which then prompted me to blather on about something or the other. And that should have ended it, but it didn't. You see, I just keep thinking about that post, and how beautiful and dang-gum touching it was, and even though I knew NukeDad was all kinds of awesome and funny, I was almost down-right shocked at how perfectly he pulled off heart-wrenching. And so I, naturally, nominated him for Petroville and Suburban Turmoil's June Perfect Post. He's actually the first person I've nominated, and I couldn't be more happy about that.

A few more weeks ago, Jeremy at Discovering Dad.net asked me to come up with a question to ask a bunch of guys I don't really know. But it had to be a sincere, marriage-based question. I thought and thought and thought and in the end, there was only one thing I wanted an answer to. I am totally embarrassed to say click here, but I'm saying it. Click here. And please don't think less of me. It was an honest question.

It appears that Kelley at MagnetoBoldToo! (it's a font, kids) is the winner of the contest that Hubs has asked me to never mention again. So I won't, but she won, and now I get her ADDRESS. I love contests, man,