I Know, Guys…I Suck, But Tomorrow, I Might Suck AND Be Rich

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Yeah, yeah, yeah…I’ve been slacking with the writing, but I’m going to defend myself and say that I’ve been tied up with Christmas, getting back to work, and my ex-husband holding my children for ransom.  True story.

Anyhoo, one of you, and you know who you are, emailed me, asking if I’d secretly won the lottery and had taken off for parts unknown.  Another of you emailed asking if I was “Seriously dead or just sitting in an asylum and haven’t earned internet privileges, yet”.  I think we can all agree that the second option is far more likely.

Regardless…if any of the following things happen, you’ll know who won the Powerball.

  1. A huge animal rescue opens, called “Megan’s Big Bitches (and boy dogs, too)”.
  2. Sully gets to have his balls back.  Don’t ask how…it’s just going to happen.
  3. Underwires?  Now unbreakable.  You’re welcome.
  4. Tina Fey is on a lifetime retainer to do this, every time one of my children fails to follow a direction already given fifteen times.
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  5. My new legal name: “Thelonious McWhiskeydick”.
  6. An army of drones will follow Donald Trump to all public events, dropping piles of dildos on him.
  7. Unicorns become an actual fucking thing.
  8. Ryan is now at the helm of a privately owned newspaper, whose only purpose is to campaign for increased teacher salaries and talk about how sexually inadequate all my exes were.
  9. This blog starts delivering chocolate bars, Willy Wonka style.
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    Let’s be honest…this movie was an episode of Criminal Minds with chocolate.

    10. Oprah Winfrey names me one of her new favorite things.

I’d Like To Bet Five Dollars On ‘Carbon Emissions’ In The Third.

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As we were walking up to Turf Paradise, the local horse racing track…

Liam: “Every time we come here, there’s a plastic bag flying around the parking lot.”

My mother: “Maybe that’s a sign we should bet on a horse with ‘plastic’ or ‘bag’ in its name.”

Liam: “Or maybe it’s just a sign that people should start recycling, but okay.”

Now, I Want A Cupcake. Okay, I Wanted One Before Then, Too.

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Me: Urban Cookie has the new fall flavors out! You need to try the caramel apple, it’s AMAZING.

Ryan: Everything they make is amazing. They kick Sprinkles’ ass.

Me: Sprinkles is a stupid name, anyway. It’s a name for the world’s shittiest pony.

Ryan: I think my daughter had that My Little Pony.

Me: Was its Cutie Mark a dick?

Ryan: If it was, I’d buy twelve of them.

Me: As long as I get one of them.

Ryan: Fine. Thirteen.

Someone Hand Me A Cocktail And A Puppy

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Yes, guys…I have road rage.  In my defense, driving here sucks.

(Moving into the left lane to avoid a bus, only to find myself behind ANOTHER bus.)

Me: “Oh, my, God! How is there another bus! They only come every 30 minutes!  Wait, is there ANOTHER one up ahead? THREE FRIGGIN’ BUSES!  How are there three friggin’ buses inside of half a block!? I didn’t even know there were THREE buses in Phoenix, and now they’re all in my way! My God, how many buses are going to be on this friggin’ street right now!?”

Xavier: (whispering) “Three…”

Me: “Shut it, Xavier!”

Xavier: (giggling)

 

I’ve Never Been So Hot…And Not In A Good Way

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Yes this is real, and I took it.  Right before I burst into flames.

Yes this is real, and I took it. Right before I burst into flames.

So, the only thing worse than surviving a week-long, record breaking heatwave in Phoenix…is having your air conditioning die right in the middle of it.  Four days and three repairmen later…we’re finally back in our house.

Me: I’m no longer a vagrant!

Ryan: Yea!  Did you lower the thermostat to 72, just because you can?

Me: The house is finally down to 84, I’m trying not to push it too fast.

Ryan: I had a brand new unit go out once, and the house got up to 95.  The cats weren’t happy.

Me: I’m guessing because the fur?

Ryan: I tried to get them wet, but they didn’t like it.

Me: I’m gonna go ahead and let you reread that last sentence to yourself.

I Don’t Even Have A Penis, DMV. Fuck You Guys.

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Me: Soooo, I got my new plate.

Ryan: You get a good one?

Me: (Sends picture)

Ryan: Haaaaaa!  Can’t. Stop. Laughing.

Me: I am NOT keeping these.

Ryan: Are you sure?  It’ll make you incredibly popular when you park in the student parking lot.

Me: Jesus fucking Christ.

Ryan: Whatever prisoner printed those is currently laughing his ass off.

Me: Can we be clear that the prisoner in question is PROBABLY a former student of mine?

Ryan: Are you going to order vanity plates now?

Me: The irony is, that if I had tried to order this EXACT plate, the DMV would have rejected my request.

Ryan: What are you going to do?

Me: Ughhhhh…I refuse to spend $50 for vanity plates.

Ryan: Well, then…you only have one option.

Me: Which is?

Ryan: Take them to the DMV, wait in line for a few hours, and then explain to a bureaucrat how you don’t want to advertise that you get “BNRS469”.

Me: FML

Ryan: That would make a much better licence plate.

Welcome To Arizona! Come For The Weather, Stay For The Xenophobia!

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Okay, so for those of you who watch ANY news whatsoever, it should come as no shock that my beloved Arizona has gotten a reputation as being…shall we say…flamingly racist.  While I understand why it looks like we’re all a bunch of backwoods hillbilly cretins most of the time, I feel I must defend my state’s honor.

To begin, it is a fact that almost no one over the age of 30 is actually FROM Arizona, and we are almost entirely populated by transplants from colder states, who came here for the weather, and promptly started complaining because our golf courses were too close to Mexico.  You know how everyone has that ONE embarrassing racist uncle, who screams about immigrants and thinks that Obama was born in Kenya?  Well, that guy got sick of Wisconsin winters or shoveling snow in Michigan, and moved his ass to Phoenix.  So the problem isn’t actually Arizonans, per se…it’s that we have a HUGE population of older, conservative transplants, who unfortunately vote religiously, and who are magnetically attracted to the candidate wearing the fanciest tinfoil hat.

Now, recently, we’ve gotten some attention, AGAIN, for yet another idiot who has taken to leading armed (and I’m talking automatic weapons, here) protests against Muslims at local mosques while wearing (and selling, because we can’t miss a sales opportunity) t-shirts that say things that I won’t repeat, but involve expletives that aren’t, shall we say, neighborly.  Once again, we get bad press, but what the national news doesn’t mention, is that he JUST moved here from California, so once again we get credit for a village idiot who wandered off from another state.  I do not want to give this asshole any MORE attention by mentioning his name, but Ryan and I call him, ‘The Ritz’.

Shockingly, as it turns out, pissing off one of Earth’s largest religions has consequences.  First it means that you will get thoroughly spanked, on national TV, by both Anderson Cooper and Philip Mudd, a former senior official with the FBI and CIA. Secondly, it means your family will have to go into hiding until things cool down.

Well, as it turns out, this idiot lives down the street from Ryan’s sister, Susan, so her entire block was curiously populated with a lot of unmarked paneled vans and dark windowed American sedans.  Because we’re naturally fascinated by this insanity, we have Susan sending us daily updates.

**And, yes, this conversation took place BEFORE Donald Trump’s asinine remarks about McCain.

 

Ryan: She just texted. The Ritz’ wife came back!  SHE ACTUALLY CAME BACK!

Me: There is no way she did that of her own volition. He must be blackmailing her.  She must have killed a drifter or a United States Senator, or something.

Ryan: Has anyone actually seen John McCain lately?

Me: Real McCain?  Or amazingly lifelike, animatronic McCain?

Ryan: I’m pretty sure The Ritz is keeping that McCain in his garage.

Me: What’s he doing with it!?

Ryan: Well, you know how lonely he must have been when he was in hiding with his wife gone…robot McCain was his only comfort.

Me: I wonder what robot McCain’s O-Face looks like.

Ryan: …

Me: What?

Ryan: That’s the sound of me becoming impotent.

That Gentleman Has Seen His Last Trailer Park

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The following was texted to me by a friend who was driving through one of the most gang-infested areas of the city…you know…where I used to work.  🙂

Leslie: Oh, my, God!  I was just driving through Maryvale, and I saw a white guy on a bicycle, waving a Confederate flag, screaming about ‘Mexicans and n——s’.

Me: It’s the new alternative to pulling a gun on a cop.  I call that move, “Suicide by Redneck.”

Leslie: Gotta work better than all the meth he was smoking.

Me: Trust me, that hillbilly has drunk his last Big Gulp.  Right now, his carcass is already being eaten by a pack of stray pit bulls and one really badass chihuahua.

Leslie: I hope they don’t choke on all the bullets.

Pride, You Made Me Proud.

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A warning, if you came here for my usual nonsense, this isn’t the post for you, but please click here for a post about fucked up children’s literature, or this one about how I am incapable of returning gifts.

Anyhooo…

Three of my friends (also teachers), and I are sponsors in a community organization which supports LGBTQ youth and allies.  Due to the tireless work of one of my fellow sponsors, we were lucky enough to take our kids to march, this weekend, in the Phoenix Pride Parade.

After several hours of staging, just as we were about to launch down the parade route, one of our girls turned to me, shoulders down, eyes huge, and said, “Ms. M, I’m scared,” and my heart stopped for a second.  I knew why she was scared.  She was scared because this meant thousands of people looking at her…because she was standing in front of them, declaring her true self at the ripe old age of fifteen…and because she knew, somewhere, we’d likely meet opposition that she wouldn’t know how to handle.  I squeezed her shoulder and told her that it was going to be fun, and prayed like hell that I was right.

What happened, was that for the next thirty minutes, our kids met nothing but cheers, high-fives, and applause from thousands of strangers, who took a little time out of their Sunday to sit on a curb in downtown Phoenix, and send them the biggest overwhelming cloud of love and acceptance imaginable.  A cloud which wrapped around all of them, stronger than any armor man has ever wrought.  Long before our mile was up, our girl, once so scared, had her shoulders thrown back and her head held high, and she was the definition of Pride.  My heart…it was, and still is, so terribly full.

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And, yes, at the end of the route, there were protesters holding terrible signs and screaming hateful things. Wisely, the organizers placed the huge speaker system right next to them to drown them out with Lady Gaga, but by then, our kids were impervious, and the demonstration warranted nothing more than the roll of their keen adolescent eyes, and for that I am grateful.

Love will always be so much more powerful than hate, and self-acceptance is greater than fear.  You did me proud today, Phoenix…thank you from the bottom of my heart.

 

The Happiest Place On Earth Is Now Anywhere With Ibuprofen And Beer

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There is NO INTERPRETIVE DANCE allowed on Thunder Mountain Railroad.

There is NO INTERPRETIVE DANCE allowed on Thunder Mountain Railroad.

In case some of you thought I was dead somewhere (hoping, I daresay), I was merely on Spring Break with my family.  After fooling my kids into thinking they were going to Prescott, AZ with my mother, with the car packed, we revealed the truth…that we were taking them to Disneyland. As exciting as Prescott is, I’m sure you can imagine, they were thrilled at the change in plans.

Because I’m exhausted, have to work today (already!?), and everything hurts…I’ll just share a quick summary of Le Disney.

1. Nothing looks as smug as the faces of people passing you in the Fast Pass line.  Oh, yeah…well, I’ve got a pocket-full of California Screamin’ tickets set to ripen in a 10 minutes…then we’ll see who’s smug.

2. The Indiana Jones ride…has a posted height requirement…but should actually have a support bra requirement.  Seriously, it’s like Girls on Trampolines in there.  The happiest place on Earth?  The security office for that ride, watching the footage.

3. There’s a subtle line between making your children the center of your life, and teaching them that they’re the center of the known universe. Annnnd I saw that line crossed, on the daily.

4. I don’t care how many Mickey-shaped beignets you just ate…  Thou shall not joke about cocaine use at Disneyland.  Apparently, that joke doesn’t go over well in the Magic Kingdom.

5. I’m probably in the vacation photos of a million strangers, but only 4 of my own.  Yes, family from Indiana, that is me, and yes, that was my third churro…don’t fucking judge.

6. My daughter can spot a “famous Vine-r” from 50 paces away, but doesn’t know who Angie Harmon is, when she’s standing 10 feet away.  (She’s lovely by the way, and her daughters are insanely beautiful…shocker.)

7. On every ride this happened…

Cast member: “Have a great ride!”

Caolinn: “You, too!”

*facepalm*

8. You know those cameras, where they snap a picture of you, mid-ride?  After looking like a mental patient in 30 of them, this is what happens.

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Now, back to work.  Grumble, grumble.