Psychology. History. High School.

I should write a book. Seriously.

This Reverse Psychology Parenting thing R and I have going is working brilliantly.

Remember how I had Blink 182 going in the Odyssexy on the way to Bible School? Beebie was reading the liner notes on an upcoming song (which had not played yet, thankfully, and please note that I was NOT going to play it with the kids in the van) and she asked me what a cock was. It helps, at this point, to know that the song she was talking about is called Happy Holidays, You Bastard:

It's Christmas Eve and I've only wrapped two fuckin' presents
It's Christmas Eve and I've only wrapped two fuckin' presents
And I hate, hate, hate your guts,
I hate, hate, hate your guts,
And I'll never talk to you again,
unless your dad will suck me off
I'll never talk to you again
unless your mom will touch my cock
I'll never talk to you again
ejaculate into a sock
I'll never talk to you again,
I'll never talk to you again

It's Labor day and my grandpa just ate seven fuckin' hotdogs
It's Labor day and my grandpa just ate seven fuckin' hotdogs
and he shit shit shit his pants.
He's always fuckin' shittin' his pants
And I'll never talk to you again
unless your dad will suck me off
I'll never talk to you again
unless your mom will touch my cock
I'll never talk to you again
ejaculate into a sock
I'll never talk to you again,
I'll never talk to you again


Should I be relieved or alarmed that she didn't ask about the phrases "suck me off" or "ejaculate into a sock?" I'm sticking with relieved, for now.

It's a great song to listen to when you're feeling particularly angsty. Not as good as Methods of Mayhem, which I prefer for extended angst, but if you need a quick little release and you only have about a minute, go with Happy Holidays, You Bastard. Trust me, you'll feel better. An anti-angst "quickie", if you will. And now you have the words, so you can sing along.

Anyway, when I discreetly told Beebs that a cock was a wiener, she said, "Well, then, Mom - I don't think the next song is going to be very, um . . . appropriate."

Yeah, I let my kids listen to things they probably shouldn't, but I figure as long as they KNOW they probably shouldn't be watching it, it's probably all right. At least I've confirmed that she knows which words are bad. She certainly wouldn't know from hanging out with me. I use "shit" and "stuff" interchangably, usually.

Observe a few of our recent conversations. We've been talking about her upcoming birthday:

Me: Hey, Beeb, when you turn 16, I'll take ya to get your nipples pierced.

Beeb: Eeeeew! Gross!

R: Or you can get a tattoo if you want.

Beeb: No way!!


This one takes place almost nightly:

Me: Hey, Beeb, fetch me a beer. And don't go sneakin' any sips, either!

Beeb: Whatever! Like I'd even!

See? Works like a charm. We've already got her terrified of sex, too, thanks to the power of Naps. Hee hee!!!


Oh, hey - the beer thing reminds me of my new role at Chez Inlaw. Forgot to tell you guys what MIL said to me at lunch on FIL's Day. We had brats and hot dogs, and I'm a bit of a brat connoisseur, so I asked where the brats were from. They have a butcher shop they like and they've gotten great meats there in the past.

My favorite brats are the ones from G&W Meats; they're the ones they serve at Grant's Farm. G&W Meats is brilliant. They give you a beer when you come in - no shit, it could be 9am and they'll offer you a beer when you walk in the door - of course, it's a Busch Light in a can, but hey, when have I ever complained about free beer?

Anyway, I asked MIL about the brats because they were pretty good (and because I wanted to make polite conversation before FIL started talking about whatever he was going to talk about). She said they were the Johnsonville Beer Brats.

We figured you'd like 'em, Sarah...they have beer in them.

So apparently I've established myself as the lush of the family, and I'm really quite okay with it. I like it, in fact. I just hope it doesn't take away any of the magic when I show up drunk in a red sequinned dress at FIL's wake.


I need to wrap up Summer PSR for you. I must admit, I got far more fiendish amusement for my money than I expected to. Anakin vs. ObiWan on the cross thing was fucking hysterical (see the last post for a pic, if you missed it), and there were other funny things too, but nowhere NEAR no $360 worth of entertainment value. Tell ya what, though - you be the judge.

Here's the Church Nazi in her extremely intimidating frog green polyester pants.

See the yellowish hexagon-shape at the bottom of the pic? That's the A-B symbol on my Grant's Farm parking sticker.


Here's a necklace Tito made for me.


Is Pope Benedict aware that this parish is handing out rainbow crosses to children? Perhaps I'll wear it to the Pride Parade this weekend.

My favorite photo op was today at the Family Mass. I was in the back of the church, near the baptismal font, which is the circle on the floor in this picture.

And I did a double-take.


THE CHILD IS IN A SWIMSUIT.

Ok, she's like, not even 2, and she didn't actually get in the pool, but she sure looked like she was going to. Thank God the Nazi didn't see her.

The other funnies were stories that I don't have pictures of. Pie's teacher told him he should be a priest. R and I weren't sure exactly what to make of that. Apparently, the lesson was about how Jesus was a servant and he washed the disciples' feet, and my boy piped in, "Hey, didn't some lady wash Jesus' feet and dry them with her hair?"

Yeah. My kid whipped out Mary freakin Magdalene.

And the very next day, after the kids found the Odyssexy in my assigned parking spot, piled in, and waited for the Nazi to blow her whistle so that we can all get back to our Hedonistic lives in an orderly fashion, I asked the kids what they learned that day.

Tito said they watched Veggie Tales videos. I bit my tongue and seethed silently - I'm paying for that?

Pie said, "Well, today we played a game. We were the Israelite slaves, and the teachers were the mean Egyptians who made us do really hard work. And to get away from the Egyptians, we were supposed to say Hail Mary."

It took me a second to figure out why that was beyond weird.

I could totally the voice of Linda Richman saying, "Hail Mary? Who the hell is Mary? Never heard of her. I'll say a Hail Barbra instead, no big whoop. Talk amongst yourselves..."

Old Testament Jews doing Hail Mary? What the FUCK are they teaching my kid??

That doesn't even make any sense.
ON ANY FUCKING LEVEL.

R thought I was kidding. Like I could make that shit up? I told him if they're gonna mess up my kids' historical perspective timeline, I want my fuckin money back. I ain't playin'.

But the kids all got good report cards - YES, THEY GIVE REPORT CARDS. Oh, and inside the envelope, each child got what looked like a Patron Saint trading card. But, alas, no bubble gum. Sigh. Ran out of money, I guess.

Tito's report card said that he did wonderful on his prayers and that he was "fast." I kinda didn't know what that really meant.

It sounded like a non-pliment, the intentionally vauge compliment that's not really a compliment; it's just something to say when you're supposed to say something nice or nothing at all and you can't exactly say nothing - which totally reminded me of the time we were at Chez Inlaw and The Aldis glowingly told us all how Aldigirl's dance teacher had told them that "Some kids sing really well, and some kids dance really well, but nobody sings and dances quite like Aldigirl..." They apparently didn't see it as the non-pilment that we did. The teacher didn't necessarily include Aldigirl among those who sing and/or dance really well.

Tito's fast? What is he, a playah? He did tell me he was one of only two boys in his class. And Tito does like the ladies. Guess I can be proud of that.

Beebie "always had thoughtful comments to contribute to the class discussions." And she got a 94% on, get this - HER FINAL EXAM. Yeah.

And Pie "has a real zest for learning." Which we knew. Anyway, so we've met our obligation for the year, and now we can decide if we want to change churches. This is a huge ongoing conflict at Chez Karma, kids. Stay tuned.

In other news, last night I took the kids to see High School Musical at The Muny. We were literally 10 rows from the stage. Didn't even zoom in for this pic. I could have thrown a rock and hit Gabriella. And don't think I didn't want to.


The words Sugar Coma pretty much sum it up.

The best part of the evening, other than my total Rock Star parking spot, was when we were pulling into said Rock Star parking spot, Beebie started screaming in the back of the Odyssexy, "MOM!!! ANTI-STELLA!! ANTI-STELLA!!!!!!" And of course, I'm thinking, oh there's no WAY her preggo ass is here, it's 94 degrees out. I still remember being pregnant with Beebie in late June and not voluntarily leaving the air-conditioning for fuckin ANYTHING. Except ice cream.

But I will say publicly that Anti-Stella is a far stronger woman than I am, friends, because damned if it wasn't Anti-Stella's 7-months-along ass, along with her oldest boy, SuperDuperCooper, walking right in front of the Muny. Awesome.

So today, weather permitting, we're going to hang out with the Anti-Stellas for the parade that goes right in front of our old house. Beyond that, my only plans are to rub two rocks together and hope they'll both turn to gold. Why?

Turns out Tito's ear tubes weren't paid at Network Level, and they're sticking us with a bill for $2000. I intend to complain. I didn't even tell you the drama I went through with that place because I would just as soon forget it, but maybe I'll dump that shit on y'all too.

I can't believe I've only posted 3 times all month.


By the way, I added an extra pic to the last post.
Scroll down and enjoy.