Dysfunctional traditions are still traditions.

January 3, 2013 Written by One Classy Motha

I was cleaning out my inbox when I came across this email to my Aunt from a couple years ago. Here’s an excerpt:

Hi there and Happy New Years! I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday season! I wanted to thank you both for your kind words about Collin and Ana’s pics.

We all had a great Christmas with one exception (which is the same exception every year)…Mr. Bojangles. Here’s the problem, every Christmas Brian buys his mother expensive Godiva Truffles and every Christmas Eve the dog finds and eats all 18 of them. Every. Damn. Christmas.

The scene that plays out is always the same:

1. Brian yells at the dog for being so stupid.
2. He pulls out the Godiva receipt and calculates how much money Bo just cost him.
3. He utters the phrases,  “Just who do you think you are?”  “I’m calling the SPCA to come get you!” and my favorite…

“I brought you into this world and I can take you out!”

*which is ridiculous because, while he does appear to have my blue eyes and Brian’s dark hair, he is not biologically ours.

As he’s going through his tirade and grimacing like he’s taking a painful crap, I’m setting up my cleaning products. And while everyone is peacefully sleeping on Christmas Eve I’m cussing and cleaning up, what can only be described in both smell and color as hot cocoa vomit. I call it….hot “Bo”coa. I swear to god it smells exactly like hot chocolate which makes me feel so confused and conflicted. One minute I want to puke and the next I’m looking for marshmallows.

I have to admit that over the years I have become resigned to this and have even begun to consider it another cherished family tradition.

I go on to write about our kids, parents, blah, blah blah. The point is this…

After reading this it occurred to me that we didn’t buy truffles this year, hence no hot “bo”coa.  Though he did have diarrhea, so there’s always that. I know I should be ecstatic that he didn’t vomit, but it sorta saddened me that another holiday tradition has disappeared.

I worry about the loss of other traditions like, my holiday zit, Christmas parties where I make an ass out of myself, and losing my credit cards at least twice while shopping. These are the unwelcome traditions of our family but they are expected, dealt with, and then laughed about. No matter how dysfunctional, when they’re gone something seems amiss.

P.S. Don’t worry, the zit is still making an appearance.

P.P.S. I also realized that our dog requires more maintenance and bodily fluid clean up than our children.

What dysfunctional tradition does your family have?

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We have a Beaver Baby giveaway winner!!!

January 1, 2013 Written by One Classy Motha

Happy New Year!  I hope everyone had a fun and safe New Years Eve!  We went to my BFF’s house and had an awesome time! Thanks Joanne & Anthony!

She made it to midnight!

So around 4pm today, after my headache went away, I got down to business…randomly selecting the winner of a personalized Beaver Baby created by yours truly!

She’s ready to push!…I see the head!…Aww, it’s a boy!

Read about the origins of Beaver Baby: A vagucational tool here.

I thought to myself, “Sugar Ass, what’s the best way to select the winner?” (positive self talk is always important). And then it hit me, I’ll do it the same way I make all my life decisions…with Elefun!

If you don’t already own an Elefun, I suggest you rush right out and buy one.  No longer waste sleep, time, or money wrestling over decisions like: What kind of car should I buy?, Where should we go for vacation?, Who should be my insurance beneficiary?.  Simply let fate and Hasbro make the call.

All you need to do is:

1. Empty all the butterflies out of the elephant’s stomach.

2. Fill him with possible life choices, each one written on a tiny piece of paper.      *make sure to use a Sharpie so your tears won’t smudge the writing.

3. Put his head back on and flip on the switch (uses 4 C batteries, not included- bastards).

4. Hold out your net and wait for the answer to just fall from the sky, literally.

5. Cry and cry and cry, because you can’t make decisions without a plastic elephant.

And that is how I selected the 2013 Beaver Baby winner.

Just so you know that this contest was on the up & up and not fixed, I video taped it.  (if you’re the conspiracy theory type, you and I both know that I could’ve written the same name on all the papers. I didn’t, so just shut up about it and learn to trust in humanity again.)

Roll the tape!

AND THE WINNER IS…

 

 

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Slothlike, and I’m ok with that.

December 31, 2012 Written by One Classy Motha

You know what I’ve done over the last 48 hours? Nothing. I have been a sloth of the most disgusting proportion. On top of that, I’ve lived in pajamas the whole time, alternating between cotton and fleece depending on my body temperature.

I’ve even lost track of the days. I swear, next year I’m going to ask for those “Days of the Week” underwear so when this happens again (because it will), I can pull my pants down and read my own ass.

There was, however, one day this weekend that I briefly changed into my yoga pants. I can’t tell you what day that was, I only know it as “the day it snowed”.

I remember it like it was yesterday (it could’ve been). I really didn’t want to go outside but Ana was so excited to see the snow. She begged and begged and begged me, and Brian guilted and guilted and guilted me. So I peeled off my fleece pj’s, the ones with the tiny martini glasses all over them, and put on my yoga pants, the ones with the hole in the crotch. They were handy, whatever.

I was not prepared for snow so I hadn’t yet purchased the kids new snow boots. Instead, I located the NEVER used boots from last year.

Yes, let me bitch one more time about the Lands End boots I bought for the kids last Christmas, the winter it never ever ever snowed enough for the kids to wear them! ugh.

Anyhow, I shoved Ana’s feet into snow boots that were one size too small. I thought for sure she would start crying (since she bitches when the seams of her socks are off-center) but she was all like “No, it’s good. Let’s go!” I think she would have been fine with Chinese foot binding if it meant she could go out in the snow.

Not long after being outside, Collin and Brian joined us for a good old fashioned snowball fight. Snowball fights can be great fun unless your adversary was once a baseball pitcher. Watching someone wind up to strike your ass with shocking accuracy can make you piss your pants…which provides only 30 seconds of warmth.

Shit, this one’s gonna hurt!

Brian was relentless. At one point, I grabbed Ana and used her as a human shield, gambling that her own father wouldn’t hit her…that hard. Yes, I’m ashamed.

But the worse snowball offender was Ana herself. She had been making snowballs behind a grouping of trees, an area known for dog pooping. Yes, her snowballs were laced with turds. The irony is, while she was pelting us with crap, the dogs were taking turns peeing on her snowman. Well, Mr. Bojangles was – Buddy (our 3-legged dog) kept tipping over and missing.

We played until it got dark and my urine soaked yoga pants had formed icicles. The moment we walked in the door, I was back in my pjs. Hello, old friend. I’ve missed you.

I would like to take a moment to mention that I showered today…because of Brian. He was heading to the grocery store, and just before going into the garage he looked back over his shoulder at me and said “Are you going to get cleaned up today?” I thought it was a rhetorical question until I saw a tear roll down his cheek…and so, for him, I showered. And then I put my pajamas right back on, bitches!

And that’s where I’ve been ever since.

Shh…be vewy vewy quiet, I’m hunting my dignity.

*NOTE: Collin just asked me what I was doing.

Me: “I’m writing a blog post.”

Collin:”How?”

Me: “What do you mean ‘how’?”

Collin:”You haven’t done anything. What could you be writing about?”

Me:”I’m writing about not doing anything.”

Collin: “Oh.” *shrugs and walks away*

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Christmas Dinner and Ovulation Conversation.

December 27, 2012 Written by One Classy Motha

I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday! Our classy family sure did!  Here are a couple highlights:

Christmas Eve

My dad made his awesome deep fried Cajun turkey and brought it to our house for dinner, nom nom nom!  After eating, instead of singing Christmas carols in front of a roaring fire, we gathered around the glow of the computer and discussed our joint pains while submitting my mom’s application for social security benefits- because getting old sucks.

Christmas Day

My in-laws are wonderful people that tolerate, and hopefully find humor in my quirky personality. I guess I’m sorta like watching a monkey throw poop, funny as long as you’re not the target.

Anyway, we went over to their house for dinner, along with Brian’s brothers and their families.  I really tried my best, but it only took 1 cosmo for me to instigate a not-so-classy conversation.

What started as a debate about whether or not hot sauce needed to be refrigerated evolved into a conversation about why raising chickens in our spare bedroom for the purpose of egg production might be a bad idea.  How does that happen you ask?

Brother-in-law: Hot sauce doesn’t need to be refrigerated. You know, eggs don’t need to be refrigerated either.

Me: Yes, I heard that. We eat about 6 eggs per day and spend a ton on them each week. How much does a chicken cost?  I think I’ll buy a chicken.

Brother-in-law: Did you know you can order them online from all over the world? There are websites that show pictures of various chickens, organized by breed and characteristics.

Brian: Like a mail-order-bride, but for chickens?

Me: Would I have to specify if I was a breast or leg man?

Father-in-law:  I’m sure your HOA doesn’t allow poultry. I’d be shocked if they did.

Me: Maybe if I said she was a pet? I could get her a collar with the name tag “Clucky” and walk her around the block…on a leash.

Someone (?): Nah, you’d have to hide her.

Me: Well, we do have a spare bedroom.  It’s currently Brian’s office but he could relocate or share the space.

Brother-in-law: Chicken feed is pretty expensive & according to your egg consumption, you’d need at least 6 chickens.

Sister-in-law: Chickens are dirty and crap a lot.

Me: And I already hate cleaning the litter box.  Hmmm, maybe I’ll just keep buying my eggs from Costco.

Brother-in-law: Yeah, I think that’s your best option.

Me: But what do you guys think about a duck? We never use our jacuzzi tub.

We then went on to compare chicken eggs to human ovulation.  And I might have informed everyone that my cramps & bitchiness would be unbearable if I had to lay a huge egg each month.

Before you judge: I’m sure this is a common dinner topic for the Perdue family.

After dinner the desserts were brought out.  I noticed no one was touching these…

and that’s because everyone suspected they were dog treats, you know, based on the dog bone shape and all.  My mother-in-law swore that they were sugar cookies. I’m guessing we made her regret using that cutter (which I’m sure was sold as part of a “Make Your Own Dog Treat” kit).  So in order to be both helpful and to diminish all confusion, I took the liberty of  breaking and reshaping each one…

I’m like the Edward Scissorhands of cookies.

But still, no one ate them. Puzzling.

__________________________________________________________

This post is dedicated to my imagined chicken “Clucky” and to what could have been.  Dreamers keep on dreaming…unless it involves cleaning up a lot of shit.

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