It's Halloween and the Assbags are Out!

My friend Joy from Evil Joy (who really is NOT all that Evil) messaged me this morning on the Book de Face telling me that she was reading an article about this chick who is giving out candy to deserving skinny children this Halloween, and letters to those children whom she deems as obese.

Yes, you did read that correctly. She is taking it upon herself to rid the world of obese children, one letter at a time.

Don't believe me? See the news report and hear it from her own mouth here. I'm flabbergasted. And you know I don't get flabbergasted over just anything. Now, don't get me wrong. I totally believe that her motives are pure. She sees a generation of obese kids being raised, she wants to do something about it. How about giving out APPLES instead of candy, you stupid assbag?? There's a novel idea!! Clementines? Raisins? Yes, you'd be considered 'that house' on Halloween, but your house is less likely to be egged if you hand out fruit than it will if you hand out letters to kids telling them that, in YOUR opinion, they are obese, and therefore, deserve to be singled out and put down. Trust me, if my kid ever received a letter stating that, in someone else's opinion, she was obese, the author of said letter would be receiving a visit from me, my attitude, and my size 8 boot up her ass.

I really do understand where she's coming from, but I think the way she's going about it is beyond ridiculous. I think back to my days as an overweight child. My self-esteem was already in the toilet, and it was bad enough that I heard from my bullying peers that my ass was too big, my stomach was fat, etc. But to be handed a letter from a grown woman telling me almost exactly the same thing is crushing. You're obese and don't deserve candy. Your parents aren't doing enough to raise you to be healthy. All in HER opinion. How is she going to make the determination? Is her front porch secretly a scale? Will she have a BMI chart inside her front door? Who is SHE to judge who should and should not receive candy on Halloween?

 I'm sorry, this bitch is just asking to have a crowd of angry parents come knocking on her door. In my opinion, she deserves what's no doubt going to be showing up on her front porch.

If she thinks this is such a big problem, then she should hand out healthy snacks to EVERYONE who comes to her door tomorrow night for trick or treat. Set the standard for EVERY child, not just those who she deems overweight or obese.

Tough Mudder, Part Two

Once again, I am a BAMF. (if you 're not sure what that means, think back to SHAFT). I, along with 5 other bad asses, ran the Tough Mudder Mid Atlantic 2013 held at what seemed like the highest point in West Virginia this past Saturday. The scenery was absolutely breathtaking and I probably would've enjoyed it much more if I wasn't bleeding, crampy, bruised, achy, tired and dying to finish this trek.

The few, the proud, the Fossils. Pre-dirt.

If you didn't know it, this wasn't my first time at this rodeo. I ran the Tough Mudder last August with an equally insane group of folks. We continued the Team Fossil tradition and made it to the finish with only one testicle being lost. (not mine, rest assured). Last year I face planted into the Dirty Ballerina, and luckily for me, we didn't have this obstacle this year. However, we DID have the Cage Crawl, which is a cold water filled muddy pit covered by fencing. You literally get into the dirty, cold pool and with your face about 6" from the fencing, you pull yourself through the mud/water without being able to see how far you've gone or how much farther you have to go. We had quite a delay here because one of the participants had her pinky impaled by the tip of the fencing as she was exiting. While we waited, our fearless photographer, West, captured this image of me.

Ew, I think I have some dirt under my nail! Wait, that's not dirt!

This picture just cracks me up. I know it's blurry but the look on my face (as I am completely covered in mud and probably cow-shit, among other things) is hilarious to me. I'm dirty, I'm smelly, I have mud caked into places NO woman should EVER have mud, and yet I'm picking something dirty off of my hand. I dunno, maybe it's just me. By this point in the race I was delirious from all the effing hills we had to climb.

We once again faced the Arctic Enema, only this year I was better prepared. This year I KNEW how shocked my body was going to be. It didn't make it any easier to get through, but it DID make it easier for my fake husband who was once again behind me. Last year, I froze, literally, in front of him. When I turned to express my shock to him, in slow motion I saw him mouth the word: "MOOOOOVVVEEE!!!!" This year, I moved without prompting from him. I swam under the board in the middle of the pool of ice water, and swam to the end. And bless you sweet baby Jesus there was a ladder at the end this year. Last year, Joseph had to literally catapult me out of the pool and thankfully my teammate Keith was there to save my life. This year I very easily (and pretty damned quickly) climbed out by myself.

We faced several of the same obstacles as last year, and some new obstacles that kicked our asses, just as climbing the hills did. There were giant  hills to climb, and once we scaled the hills, we had to descend them and do pushups. We ascended the next hill, ascended that one and had to do lunges. What the hell kind of sick, torturous mind comes UP with these things??  I should make my KIDS do these things when they miss the bus!

Or subject them to Electroshock Therapy, which is the last obstacle we faced before running up YET ANOTHER damned hill to get to the finish line. This is probably one of my favorite pics that West took, because we made it to the end, no one died, no one lost any limbs (other than that testicle one of us left back at the Berlin Wall) and we all just uttered a gutteral scream of relief.

Crazy shocked Fossils.

 At the finish line, sporting our Tough Mudder headbands (you get this instead of a medal. Go ahead, be jealous) and heading for the free beer, we once again leaned on one another as we did through the 11 miles of dirt, hills, hell, ice water and dirt.

Bring on the beer!

Below is probably, by far, my favorite group picture in the lot. This is what Tough Mudder is all about. You help your team, you help others, others help you. Here is a shot of the 6 of us. I'm in the middle struggling to get my fat ass up that damned hill, my teammates are above me and below me helping, as is another nameless Mudder there grabbing my hand, pulling me to the top of the hill.

Dear God, please get me up this damned hill.

This is what it's all about. And I've completed this thing twice. Next year, I'm going to volunteer. I may not get as dirty or as bruised, but I'll be able to help give to those other Mudders who have gotten me through the past two Tough Mudders I've run.

Things that make me shake my head.....

I can always count on Huffington Post's 'Weird News' page to make me say "Say what???" and this morning is no different. For those who invite potty humor to the dinner table, I give you the Magic Restroom Cafe. I shit you not (sorry, bad pun) this is a real restaurant in L.A. that has toilets for seats, toilet bowls for dishes and some really gross-out names for its signature dishes. My personal least favorite is the "Bloody Number Two".

Another story that made me pretty furious was the AOL story about the woman who was walking with her boyfriend near the Ala Wai Boat Harbor in Waikiki, HI when she heard the sounds of dogs (a LOT of dogs) barking from a car. She called 911 and opened an unlocked door to a Honda Fit (trust me, Matchbox cars look like Hummers compared to these little cars). Inside the Fit were 21 dogs. Let that sink in for a second. Picture a Matchbox car, now picture 21 dogs inside, now imagine all this in the Hawaiian tropical heat. Some of the Pomeranian-Poodle mixed dogs were crammed into crates and some were running around the car free. The story is that the owner of the Fit was the mother of the breeder of the dogs, and the mother took the dogs without permission. BOTH of these folks should be slapped upside the head with a bat. Absolutely disgusting.

If this doesn't make you say "What the what???" I don't know what will. Wine for Cats. That's right, I said Wine.........for your cat. I've got some bad news for my Dumbass. Momma doesn't share her wine. It's bad enough sometime she gets her disgusting cat hair IN my wine. Now from Japan, there's wine for your cat. I. Don't. Think. So.

Back off, kitty, that's MY Cabernet!!!
Photo courtesy: 123RF.com

And to finish up your Wednesday morning, this one made me smile. It's one for my friend Toby's site, Dumbass News.  He's always got great stories of really smart people, like this Einstein, who called the cops because he got stiffed on a drug deal. Seriously. Apparently he was selling prescription drugs for $1.25 each, not realizing that this was, in fact, illegal to sell prescription drugs, and when the buyer stiffed him, he called the police to report it. When they didn't show up right away, he called them three more times to see what was taking them so long. Apparently he was in a hurry to get locked in the pokey. I love stupid people.

Happy Birthday, 14!!

I want to wish a very Happy Birthday to my baby girl, 14. She is sweet, funny, smart, athletic and can do anything she puts her mind to. I love her MORE than wine and chocolate (today, anyway). She is, my 14:

Happy Birthday, babe. Love you!!

Tuesday Tirade.....GPS and Twin Oaks Restaurant

Hey Snarklings! Over the weekend 13 and I traveled with her volleyball team to a tournament in Clarksburg, WV. It was a nice drive over beautiful mountain roads with a fun group of parents and players, however, my GPS hates my guts and took me on a journey that I don't think Stephen King himself could've thought up. The hotel was off of I-79 on Tolley Road. Apparently there are 2 Tolley Roads in that area. My husband and I have a joke that when there is a 50-50 chance of getting something right, 90% of the time, I'll pick the wrong answer. In this case, my GPS was 50-50-90.  "Exit now, and make a left onto Joy Rd." it said.

"Are you sure?" I questioned, "Because that's not looking like much of a road."

"Trust me" said my GPS. I swear I could hear a faint snicker. I turned left onto Joy Rd. and almost immediately regretted that decision. It was a one lane dirt road and I drove about 50 feet when I was met with an SUV coming the opposite way. On a one lane dirt road. I pulled to the side to let him pass and almost went off the cliff.

"Drive 2 miles, then turn left onto Tolley Rd." my GPS instructed.

"Really? Because I've been on Joy Rd for 12 seconds and just almost died." I argued.

"Just dooooooo it." My GPS whispered. I did as I was told and traveled for 2 miles up a dark, twisty, scary road, taking my life in my hands, when at last I came upon Tolley Rd.  The clouds parted, the sky turned blue, angels sang as I turned left, as instructed, onto Tolley Rd.

"Drive .7 miles, end at Days Inn on right" said my GPS, as if he had led me to the promised land, after 40 years in the desert.  I drove .7 miles and then I heard banjos. No Days Inn, no promised land, only banjos. Dear God, the banjos.

Thankfully, a nice farmer got off his plow, put down his banjo and came to my rescue. Apparently, there are two Tolley Roads in that area and my GPS did the old 50-50-90 (bastard). The farmer gave me the proper directions and sent us on our way, safely, with no one asking me to squeal like a pig.

We arrived at the hotel (20 minutes later than everyone else, thanks GPS) and put our things in our room. The girls went to hit the volleyball around for a bit while the coach and parents decided on where to go for dinner. Our coach is from that area and she said someone had recommended we eat at the Twin Oaks Restaurant.  We had a rather large group, 17 in all, so she called ahead to make sure they had room.

The person who answered the phone could NOT have been anymore rude if he tried. When the coach said there were 17 of us, she was told we could not go there for dinner. 'We don't have room.' She asked if we could maybe go a bit later, perhaps they could put some tables together if given enough time, and the answer she received was "No, we don't want you here."

Photo courtesy: monkeyworlds.com

It's not like we were taking a group of  howler monkeys to eat, we had 8 girls and 9 parents, all over the age of 13, all pretty much potty trained, yet we were told in no uncertain terms. "We don't want you here." So I decided to do the right thing, and tell every one I know how wonderful I thought that was. Great decision on the part of the person who answered the phone.

The power of the internet is unbelievable. One bad review, one bad word can lead to more bad reviews, which leads to a drop in business. I'm not saying I hold the power to make or break a business, but I am snarky and bitchy and am not afraid of telling it like it is. So if you are ever in the area of Bridgeport or Clarksburg, WV and you're looking for an amazing meal, go to Oliverio's, the restaurant who was more than helpful in accommodating a group of 17 as soon as we called, and who provided outstanding service and incredible food to us. If you're looking for a shit hole with awful customer service and poor reviews, go to Twin Oaks. Tell 'em Snarky sent ya.

How to wake your kids up for school in the morning: The Reality

Getting those kids out of bed in the morning. It's a no-brainer, really. If you read this article, it's chock full of great tips and helpful hints for a gloriously happy morning in your household. Even the title screams positivity! Ten Positive Ways to Wake Your Kids Up for School! Your darling angels will wake up happy and smiling, which will, of course, start your day off in a magnificent way. What could possibly go wrong?

See?? Isn't that magnificent?? I'm happier already. In MY reality, that list of ways to rouse your amazing offspring doesn't tell the full story. Here, I'mma tell you the REAL truth, as I see it in Snarkworld. Now, y'all know I've had a bit of a rough go of it over the past few weeks 16 years. I've learned a little something over the course of those years when dealing with my girls in the morning. So here goes a sort of point/counter point to this article, as I see it. All opinions are my own and as you would expect, they are a bit on the snarky side. What else would they be?

1. Reticular Activating Formation. They say it's our internal alarm clock. I say Rectangular what? They say to open the blinds during the night to slowly let the light in. 16's bus comes at 7:03. The sun is barely up. May-hap I should call the school and ask them to start just a smidge later? So that my adorable little cuddle-bunnies can gradually awaken to the sun's natural glow? Can I just tell you that one evening a few weeks ago, I was sitting out back with Lisa (the Nazi running crack ho) on her patio enjoying a glass (or 4) of wine. One of her friends was with us and as we were chatting, the friend just happened to notice that a young woman was comfortable enough with her body that she was undressing with the blinds open. Yep, that would be MY comfortable young woman. 16 had decided to get changed with the lights on, blinds open for God and Lisa and all mankind to see. I've since nailed her blinds shut.

2. Sundowning. Otherwise know at Casa Snarkfest as 'beating my head against the wall over and over ad nauseam. Every night it's the same thing:
            9:00 give me your phone.
            9:30 finish the homework, you need to go to bed. No, you can't have your phone back to do your  homework. You can't find the answers to your homework on TwitStagramChatBook.
            10:00 come on, lights out.
            10:15 get out of your sister's room
            10:30 NOW you have to brush your teeth?
            10:45 GET OUT OF YOUR SISTER'S ROOM
            11:00 SERIOUSLY???
Repeat nightly.

3. This is one of my favorites: "Instead of yelling "GET UP",  try speaking softly to rouse them from their deep slumber. Rub their back to make them feel loved, cared for and appreciated. Ignore their grumpiness and show them love."  WHAT???? Who are these people and where did they get kids who respond to THAT??? I want that!!! I've rubbed their little backs, I've cooed to them like a momma pigeon, soothingly trying to rouse them from their slumber. And here's a bit of advice on that. It. Doesn't. Work. In. My. House. This goes sort of hand in hand with the next one:

4. Tickle them awake. Who can resist waking up to laughter? I'll tell you who: MY KIDS. I've come close to broken ribs (mine) broken wrists (mine) and bruised thighs (mine) from the loving reaction I receive from my slumbering angels when I try to tickle them awake. "STOP!" they grunt as they kick out a leg into my thigh or swing an arm at my wrist. They flail, they swing (and connect!) and they are most definitely NOT waking up to laughter.

5. "Sing to them. Waking up to a song is an expression of pure joy." HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA yeah, not in my house. 13 sleeps with a radio on. I could turn the volume up to 11 and scream the lyrics to "Enter Sandman" and she would lay there like a corspe. Because apparently, Sandman gives her an extra dose of slumber sand each night. Bastard.

6. Play music. See #5.

7. "Cook cinnamon rolls or some other aromatic food for breakfast." Have you NOT been paying attention?? I cannot get these girls out of bed with enough time for them to come downstairs long enough to EAT breakfast. On the first day of school, the dogs had a delish breakfast of Dog Chow and scrambled eggs. The dogs get up early EVERY morning for me. The kids? Not so much. I could take a hotplate and make them cinnamon French toast IN THEIR BEDS and they still wouldn't get up. I could coat them in vanilla and brown sugar, and they'd roll over and snore louder.

8. "Leave them alone. Bed is sanctuary, no one likes to be ripped from one's sanctuary. Give them a few minutes to collect their thoughts." Yes, if I want them to go right back to sleep after I make them cinnamon shit, rub their backs, sing to them and tickle them, I'll give them a few minutes to collect their thoughts. And in 30 seconds, I'll hear snoring again. "I'm not sleeping, I'm collecting my thoughts!" GET OUT OF BED NOW!!!!

9. Get treatment for hypersomnia. Whatever. They are teenagers, they aren't depressed, they aren't anxious. They just can't get their asses in bed at a decent time so that they could get their asses BACK out of bed at a decent time.

10. Set a plan for them to take responsibility and get themselves up. UGH. Whatever.

Look, I love my girls and I'm trying to raise them to be responsible, non-sociopathic, non-homicidal-maniac adults. There is very little drama in our lives. There are very few conflicts that we deal with on a day to day basis. I do consider myself tremendously lucky that I've got happy, healthy, well-adjusted daughters. In the great big scheme of things, the morning trials and tribulations at Casa Snarkfest will be a laughable memory in years to come. But for now, it's driving me to drink.