Tuesday, February 28, 2012

And Now I Turn to You Wonderful People.

Most of you know that I have been drooling over the thought of paying my bills AND having a little left over for savings going to BlogHer in August. It is in New York City. I've never been to New York, and the only town I've visited that ended in "City" started with "Iowa" or "Kansas". Me thinks it is time to branch out and kick up my cowgirl boot heels (even if I couldn't buy those $500 ones because I was too busy spending money on new curtains for my yacht) in New York. PLUS! I would get to personally hang with Noa, Elizabeth, Jen and Misty.... and probably some other people that I am forgetting to mention because I am full on in my winter fog now and am basically drooling on myself! Winter is so awesome! No, it isn't! But I digress.

Can you IMAGINE what kind of posts could come from the five of us, and maybe more Funny Bitches, tearing up New York City? I can, and they will be brilliant. I see it going down as a live action "Bridesmaids". I want to play Melissa McCarthy's role and say things like "Can you feel the steam from my undercarriage?" while waving my hand in front of my lady garden. Yep, it must happen and be documented. I will need a video camera....

Oh, and of course I want to absorb all the worldly knowledge of BlogHer so that I can better serve my loyal readers with my new found knowledge of grammar.... and punctuation. !!!!!!?!?!?

So, my reason for talking about this is because Jen keeps telling me to allow my loving and generous readers to fund the trip by asking for donations. Although I have actually walked by something that I desire to own (usually expensive boots or a vehicle from the last decade) and proclaimed "I need a sponsor!", I am seriously uncomfortable taking something from people and giving them nothing in return, because, as everyone knows, I'm a giver~ which is why I give you all of this enormous wisdom that pours out of my brain, not unlike uncontrollable diarrhea, on a bi-weekly basis.

So, here is my pathetic stay-at-home-and-work-all-the-time-but-make-no-money-mom plea:
I opened a Zazzle store where I will be selling CornFedGirl products. My store is called "CornFedGirl". All proceeds will go towards one of the following options: BlogHer, Boots and maybe ponies. In that order.

So far I made this for the ladies:

You can purchase it for yourself and your loved ones by clicking on this link to my Zazzle Shop:


Not wanting to leave out anyone, I made this on a men's shirt:

Click here and buy as many as you can!

I will also be selling mugs and cards. Something will feature the violently green leisure suit. I promise. Give me time.

Here is one example of a mug that I am selling:

I can also provide the same mug with symbols in place of the FUCK part. You know, for those of you who love this but also taught your children to read.

Because I am nothing if not overzealous , I have also reopened my Independent Mary Kay business. If you have a burning desire to call me "your dealer", I will gladly provide you and your entire family with the excellent skin care and make up that I have been using since my inspiring and not at all humiliating teen years.

My freshman yearbook picture.
I think it is pretty obvious that I am the Awesomesauce.

Currently, with the help of 25 years of using Mary Kay, a lot less hairspray and the use of copious amounts of white light, I look like THIS:

Not one wrinkle in sight! Haha!

To look like me, simply shop at www.marykay.com/jkokjohn or email me at jkokjohn@marykay.com with your order and payment information. Right now I am accepting checks, cash, and credit cards. I will most likely also honor $500 cowboy boots and airplane tickets to NYC in August. All proceeds will go to BlogHer, Boots, Ponies and Groceries. In that order.

I would like to say thank you to all of you who personally support any and all of my independent business opportunities! God Bless all of you and your babies, too.

Peace, Love and Unicorns,
The Corn Fed Girl
CEO of my own destiny click here
* excuse me, I think I made myself vomit a little*

Monday, February 27, 2012

Enough of this honesty business already.

Brock is always very generous with compliments, particularly regarding two things: my ass and my cooking. Now, I realize that the man is probably full of manure, but I don't care. I like compliments, they keep my head above water and make me feel appreciated. Also, when a person (me) stays home and does all of the meal planning, shopping, meal prep, meal serving and the majority of the meal clean up.... three times a day for people with food intolerance.... and two of those people being under the age of four.... 'creativity' goes out the window and 'survival mode' comes into play. So the acknowledgment of my cooking efforts and the random declarations of "DELICIOUS!" and the bullshit of "You should open a restaurant!" keep me going. True story.

As of late, the meal planning and cooking has really become a laborious chore for me. I am so desperate for help that I have taken to asking Thing 1 what he wants for dinner. He is quite a decisive four year old and usually comes up with something.... and then I make that. And then he eats it. Winning. I have learned that I can't ask Brock because he will either say "I don't know, I'm not hungry right now" or "How about that Chicken pot pie that you used to make?" to which I will respond, "I'm not hungry either, but I still have to think about dinner" or "I don't know if you remember, but the kids and I are wheat and dairy free, so it's a no on the pot pie topped filled with cream and topped with crescent rolls." And we are back to square one and I feel stabby to boot.

About two weeks ago I asked Brock, "Are you a little tired of what I have been cooking? I've been feeling really uninspired lately."

Brock just looked at me in silence.

I said, "I won't get mad. Be honest."

He said, "well.... yes. I'm a little bored." And then he started talking again about food that I can no longer make because it gives the children and I major rashes and hives all over our bodies. And that is fun, I assure you. Then he thoughtfully suggested that maybe we try eating those foods again and I drifted off in my head to a place where Chuck Norris and I took turns roundhouse kicking him in the head.

I'm not going to lie, I was pissed. I didn't want to be, because I asked him to be honest, but I didn't like his answer. Also, I could barely contain hissing "FINE! Then make your own fucking food!" I didn't say it, but it was loaded, cocked and ready to fire from my mouth.

That last sentence should bring me some awesome google search results.

Anyway, I never said anything about it, instead I choose the 'put a lid on it and let it fester' route. What happened was that I passive aggressively, not-so-mysteriously failed to make any real food for about a week. The first night, I sat in the kitchen and said, "Whoops. I didn't get a chance to cook." The second night I said, "I guess that YOU could make some spaghetti?" and so on and so forth.

Finally, I took the adult road and forced myself to have a conversation with him about it. I said, "If you want to eat hot meals again, you are going to have to lie to me. Go back to telling me that you love everything I cook. That seemed to be working okay for all of us."

Brock nodded sagely, like he knew exactly what I was talking about.

Then I brightly asked, "How did you like the egg bake that I made for ______ {our vegetarian friend}?"
He casually shrugged and said, "Eh, it was okay. I've had better."


I guess he didn't hear me. I'm sure I'll speak about it with grace and dignity the next time we converse regarding my cooking....... if I ever cook again.

Now, who wants turkey sandwiches and carrot sticks for dinner?

Wednesday, February 22, 2012

This is How I Roll

My birthday was absolutely jam packed with delights. There was a spa involved. And child free shopping. And my husband not only did four loads of laundry (and remade the beds), but also a myriad of other things (which included both cooking AND cleaning up dinner). I want to tell you all the details of that, but I am saving it for another day (with a present for all of you- because I'm a giver!).

Today, I want to talk about two specific things:

1.)After an intense round of what I am sure was well- received coaching, instructing and pep talking from me, my friend gave birth to a perfect baby boy ON MY BIRTHDAY. She was within an hour of midnight, but she prevailed!!!

I am seriously thrilled to meet the little man and I would love it if all of you would send his mommy some healing thoughts, as the birth could have gone better.

2.) Part of my birthday celebration involved sipping some iced tea and eating cucumber finger sandwiches with a friend. You see, we are both subtle and gentile ladies from Iowa, which is why we get along so well. Our shy, quiet mannerisms are.... hold up, I can't even write this bullshit.

We swilled some wine while talking loudly about inappropriate things in a public place. Things like "NINE kids? Doesn't that bitch know how a condom works?" (disclaimer: I'm not judging all people with lots of kids, only people who personally offend me or my friends). By the way, our wine was comped because I am shameless with random proclamations of "It's MY BIRTHDAY today!"  Then we stomped around Old Town Ft. Collins and explored it's plethora of adorable boutiques. We may have harassed the sales people, but only in a fun way. Like when I was looking at pendants and the sales lady showed me her pendant that said "Hope" and I asked if she had any with bad words. She looked confused and my friend said "Like, Bitch!" and I said "YES! I would totally buy that one!"

I bought an owl instead. I like owls.

One store in particular, Kansas City Kitty, enticed me with a very cute dress, which I was forced to try on and model. Even though the top of the dress was ill-fitting on my bony chested frame, I decided to satisfy the hollering from the other side of the door to show off the garment.  So, in spite of being painfully shy and hating attention, I sheepishly modeled the gown. 

Yes, I am still wearing my jeans, because that's how I roll.

Right as I stepped out of the dressing room, a dude walked by, in that despondent way that dudes do when their womenfolk force them to enter trendy little downtown boutiques, and I'm sure he couldn't help but look in our direction, as we were kind of LOUD.

In that exact moment he looked at me, I was standing perfectly still and looking at my friend's awesome cat eyed sunglasses (which I am sporting in the above photo), and the dress fell off of my left shoulder, thus exposing my entire left boob. I was wearing a bra. But still. It was an exposed boob- in front of a dude. And I really was not drunk. I yanked the dress back into place and he immediately stammered for a second then said, "I was only looking at your face" and I said "Of course you were". And then we looked at each other for a moment too long and an uncomfortable silence followed. Suddenly the poor, perhaps partially now-blinded man practically sprinted out of the store.

I, on the other hand only turned 675 shades of red.
If you have never seen an albino blush, I highly recommend it, as it is a sight to behold.

I'm still sweaty and a bit splotchy 24 hours later.

But I bought these earrings there, which did not expose my boob, so it all worked out.

Another year older and that much closer to perfection.
Stop laughing.
But seriously, LOVEBIRDS... and roses. Precious.

And then I returned home, where my husband prepared enough grilled meat for approximately 40 large men, and we ate cake.

This is how we eat cake in these parts.

Peace, Love and full coverage bras,

Monday, February 20, 2012

Happiness, Shame and Relief: AKA. My Weekend.

My weekend was a (fairly standard for me) mixture of emotions, ranging from: excitement to disappointment,  joy to heartfelt empathy, and shame to relief.

To start, we had some friends up on Friday night and we prettied ourselves up for a night on the town. I buffed my entire body with the homemade pumpkin sugar scrub that Sarah thoughtfully made for me at Christmas until I my pasty white/borderline mint green skin glowed like it was radioactive. Then I thoughtfully called her and begged her to do my hair. I was putting in some effort, yo. We traveled to the swanky basement jazz bar that we recently discovered in Old Town. Immediately upon arrival, the guys dropped my girlfriends and I near the entrance and we were cat-called not once, but twice within the 100 yards that we walked to the unmarked door. (I'm pretty sure the dudes were checking out the 20 some year old HOT ladies that I was with, but for now, let me live in my fantasy bubble.)

The music, the people and the conversation was lively. The lights were low, as to mask any of our physical flaws and the our smiles sparkled in the flickering candlelight. The bartender there makes hands down the best martinis that I have ever tasted, so the drinks were enjoyed by all in a mostly responsible fashion. All of the stars were perfectly aligned. Then, after my second (bottomless) martini, I was introduced to a man*.

He strongly resembled a famous person in both face and hair, but mostly the hair....this person, to be precise:

Seriously.... the hair. Why?

But, since I felt that calling my new friend Mr. Lovett was too obvious and obvious just isn't my style (yeah right), I chose the classic 80's route and went with smoothly referring to him as this:

....because I'm a asshat and I drank my filter away somewhere during the second martini.

Did I mention that I had just met this man?

Somehow, after I so suavely publicly mocked his hairstyle, the conversation progressed to the next natural stage, which was me giving him a fist bump.  He seemed to be a willing participant. But that is not all, no... when we disengaged out fists, I made mine into a bird (like a seagull, perhaps?) and made it fly away while making some sort of loud bird squawking noises.

Naturally, everyone, including myself, laughed, but I immediately felt that familiar feeling of shame wash over me. I weakly apologized to him. I'm still not sure if I was saying "I'm sorry for my unladylike behavior", or "I'm sorry about your hair". I think I expected Flock O' Gulls to leave, but he hovered over us instead. Then, because he apparently likes to hang around women that act like dicks, Flock of Seagulls guy joined us for dancing and I could no longer look him in the eyes; the eyes that were so near the ridiculous grey curly long in the front, short in the back hair. Seriously dude, What? The? Fuck?

Then some other stuff happened that was totally exciting but I'm not telling because my parents don't need to, nor do they want to know that much about me. Then, I was severely disappointed when, after returning home and going to bed at 2am, that my precious Things decided that the wake up call for Saturday was 6am sharp. Did I mention that I didn't sleep well, either? Gah.

Later that same day, I got some rare Mommy/Son time with Thing 1. We went to a birthday party. At the Mall. In the indoor play area. If that environment doesn't send a parent running simultaneously for the Xanax and antibacterial cleansing gel, I don't know what does. Did I mention that I had only 4 hours of very broken sleep and perhaps the weensiest little hangover? Then I got some more Mommy/Son time yesterday with Thing 1 when I drove him down to the Denver Zoo to meet up with my childhood bestie, her husband and their son. It was great. Cold, but great. We did intercept a potentially sticky situation (pardon my choice of words) when looking at the bighorn sheep. The ram found a ewe beguiling and was 'getting into position' when I had to use the point and yell technique..... "Hey guys! Look at the COUGAR!" It was a real cougar, not some woman that resembled me on Friday night.

And finally, after a weekend of Brock working (BOTH DAYS), the RELIEF came. I was cleaning up the kitchen as he was tucking the Things into bed and a small measuring cup fell down the drain.
The drain the contains the garbage disposal.
And I took a deep breath and stuck my hand all the way into the flesh eating, bone crunching trap, and I retrieved the cup AND TO MY RELIEF the disposal did not suddenly turn itself on and devour my hand.

How was your weekend?

*Any similarities to actual people are purely intentional.

Friday, February 17, 2012


Who wants to be a winner this fine Friday???
Not all of you are winners today. Only one of you is truly a winner.
Does it sound like I am telling the rest of you that you are losers?
Whoops. Sorry about that....

If someone was here to sweep, mop, unload the dishwasher, fold and put away the laundry, feed the Things the 18 requested times a day that they demand, and prepare a breakfast menu (complete with a trip to the grocery store) for my guests that will be staying the night, I would have time to write something thoughtful and funny. Since there is not enough time for me to do that and shower (I've yet to do that today, and in fact, went to preschool both times in yoga pants and no makeup- I hope that I didn't burn any nostrils or retinas), I will just come right out and announce the randomly selected winner of this month's giveaway- this sweet Old Navy chambray dress......

the giveaway item

This dress will now have a home with my gal TINA and her awesome, already purchased accessories. I was thrilled to discover that Tina was the winner, as she was one of my first readers and commenters, and any of us that blog know how much it means to have someone leave a positive comment on your posts. Hello? Is anyone out there?????

CONGRATULATIONS TINA!!!! I will expect pictures of you in your new frock (because nothing is REALLY ever FREE).

Tina has a blog of her own called I'm Prepared For All Emergencies But Totally Unprepared For Everyday Life which makes me think that not only is she awesomesauce, but also a good person to know when faced with the Zombie Apocalypse. So go and give Tina some love (or tell her how jealous you are that you didn't win and she did)

Tina- Please contact me with your size and shipping information so that Freda can send this off to you ASAP!


Happy Friday to all of you, whether you are winners or losers,

Thursday, February 16, 2012

The importance of time away from jail... I mean, the house.

I have been going out and having people over a lot lately. In the past two weeks, I have been out of the house in the evening at least 30% of the time. I'm not sure how this came about, but I am going to think of it as some sort of divine intervention, especially since Thing 2 has taken to going boneless, screaming and throwing himself on the ground. Most of the time this is accompanied by him purposely slamming his head into the floor. He does this at home, outside in the mud, outside in snow drifts, outside on the ice patch by Brock's truck, while I am attempting to buckle him into his car seat, in the halls at preschool, on sidewalks anywhere, in parking lots and basically where ever the hell he pleases. He has also run away from me twice in two days; once into the street outside of our house, and the other into the parking lot at preschool. It is magical. I'm hoping that this behavior is only caused by teething and the approaching age of two, because if this is just his personality, I am probably going to have to sell him (but only to a good home, of course...)  On top of that, I've been getting a play-by-play tattle taling of everything that goes on that is distasteful to Thing 1. "Mom! Thing 2 is touching my toys! Mom! Thing 2 is drinking my juice! Mom! Thing2isdoingsomethingthatIdon'tlikeandIamgoingtotalkaboutitendlessly!!!!" Neat.

I watched the weather forecast on the news today and saw that the chances of my head exploding are 80%.

Fortunately, I had book club last week and this week Brock took me out for Valentine's Day on Monday night. I needed to run an errand, which happened to be in a super wealthy gated community, before dinner so we had some 'romantic alone time' in the truck. Romantic alone time with us always leads to delightful conversations.

Brock, looking out the window at the McMansion that someone called home, "These kinds of neighborhoods make me uncomfortable."

Me, "Really? Not me. In fact, I always thought that I belonged in a neighborhood like this."

Brock, "Well let me just pull over and you can get out."

I laughed. Then we drove along in silent awe of the monstrous residences. I was thinking about how hard it is to keep our tiny 1,400 square foot house cleaned and organized. My ceilings are only 8 feet high, yet I still can always find a cobweb in a corner somewhere. How on earth does one clean a 24 foot ceiling? (I know- a maid- a really tall one with go-go-gadget arms)

This feels completely natural to me....

We passed yet another giant house with a for sale sign in the yard and the dinky, underwhelming Home Depot special mailbox on a skinny post stood out like a sore thumb. People lit their trees with spotlights in this neighborhood.... they built fences out of stone..... if they could have lawn jockeys and still have friends, they would. I said, "You would think they could get a nicer mailbox."

Brock yelled, "YEAH! Our mailbox is bigger!"

Our mailbox is indeed bigger. It also is rusted, has holes in it, and dangles precariously by what appears to be one nail from an old telephone post with a shit ton of holes drilled in it (i.e. a home for wasps). It's really nice.

So our date continued to a Mexican restaurant, where we gazed lovingly at one another through margarita reddened eyes and talked about other people. Then we wound up at the center of the Universe, also known as SuperTarget, to buy Mickey Mouse water bottles for the kids Valentine's gifts (they then drank WATER all day the next day instead of eating CANDY. I'm a GENIUS! And yes, they spilled a lot of it onto the carpet). We also picked up some pathetic strawberries and an 800 pound bag of frozen hashbrowns for our Valentine's party brinner. Cuz that's how we roll. Don't be jealous.

Valentine's PJ Party: my single friends came over and we ate bacon (and other
stuff) then watched Napolean Dynamite.
I like how numb Brock looks in the picture. I think when I said "PJ Party with the girls",
he was hoping for teddies, not flannels..... poor disillusioned man.

Then last night, I practically RAN out of the house (neither child napped and it was an all out shrieking fest here) because my girlfriend took me to see The Vow as a pre-birthday gift. I learned two things last night: 1.) Channing Tatum is hot. And 2.) Channing Tatum is hot.

This weekend we will be venturing out again! With adults! In a public setting! With adults! I'm going to wear pretty shoes and drink things that taste like adultness! I'm so thrilled that I'll bet I can almost make it through the day without snarling.

No I can't. It isn't even 9 am and I have already snarled at least 10 times. Does anyone have any duct tape? I'll need to wrap it around my head so that it doesn't blow apart.


What do you do to get through that stupid time of year, otherwise known as winter (plus teething)?

Wednesday, February 15, 2012

It's time for A GIVEAWAY!!!!

Here is where I admit to you all that I dropped the ball. You see, I had every intention of doing this giveaway for Valentine's Day, mostly because I know about 50% of the people out there not only dread Valentine's Day, they actually hate it with the fiery heat of 1,000 suns. I wanted to bring everyone some potential joy surrounding VD.... But I was busy napping and talking on the phone teaching underprivileged children how to read and cleaning up the environment. (That would be my children and my environment, someone got jelly into the rug. Again.)

So, in lieu of a Valentine's Day giveaway, I am doing this giveaway in honor of my upcoming birthday. I hope you are all as excited as I am, as I selected a versatile and flattering item. This is an article of clothing which, upon wearing, could not only fool people into thinking you have class by your pulled together look, but also, you could be seriously bloated, PMSing, gassy and eat copious amounts of cake and no one would be able to tell. Plus, both Sarah (big boobs) and I (tiny boobs) tried it on and it flattered both of our figures. Winning!


This month of February, 2012, the Old Navy sponsored giveaway item is....... this fabulous dress:

the giveaway item

My gal Freda from the Old Navy in Grand Junction, Colorado, is generously sponsoring this beautifully draped, chambray dress. It hits right above the knee, has a built in liner and charming embroidered detailing at the neck. It sports a sexy t-back with a two-button closure. Both Sarah and I thought that it both looked and felt more expensive than the $39.94 price tag. I am truly excited about this dress and will most likely end up buying one for myself.

I put together a couple of looks for you, featuring this versatile dress as the centerpiece.
*Every item featured in the following sets (with the exception of people, the tights and props) can be found at either http://oldnavy.gap.com/ or your local Old Navy.

 Close your eyes and picture yourself walking in sand on a warm beach, with the sound of waves lapping at your feet. You are being admired by a group of heavily muscled, slightly sweaty, shirtless rugby players because your blue dress makes you look smoking hot.

Look 1: aka Rugby players love me and I can't blame them.
Giveaway- Look 3

Now imagine that you are strolling through your local Art District, enjoying the free wine and finger food that the galleries host once a month. You look so fabulous that people keep asking you if you are a French Fashion Model. You shove a cookie in your mouth, pucker your lips and say, "Oui".

Look 2: aka Hell Yes. I'm a Klassy Bitch. Where's the free cheese?

Giveaway- Look 2
Now imagine that you are spending the day taking in the sights of... let's say San Francisco, because I will be there soon, doing just that..... You find a cozy spot for coffee and chocolate, followed by some time spent browsing books (alone, without children whining "I'm hungry!" or you yelling "Don't touch that!!!!"), and then a romantic walk by the water. It is so peaceful, that by the end of the day, you are sitting in warm solitude and actually finishing your thoughts, for the first time in a long time.

Look 3: aka Wow, so this is what I used to be like. I like me.

Blog Giveaway
I know that you are all salivating over this lovely garment and even you three dudes that read this blog want it for your significant other or your teenage daughter. So here is what you can do to WIN:

1.) Leave a comment here (or on my facebook page).

2.) Like Freda's Grand Junction Old Navy page (and make sure to leave me a comment telling me about it.) My links were problematic so type in "Grand Junction Old Navy" into your fb search.

3.) Like my facebook page (again, let me know!). Click on my fb icon on the right side of screen.

4.) Share this post through facebook, Twitter, email or your own blog (and make sure to comment and let me know!)

That's right folks, you can enter FOUR times!

Best of Luck! I will choose the winner Friday, February 17th.

Peace, Love and Fashion,

Monday, February 13, 2012

A conversation with two of my personalities on this Valentine's Day Eve.

In case you are living under a rock: Tomorrow is Valentine's Day.

In all honesty, this is a holiday that I never cared about. Instead, I took a skeptical approach and mocked it for the 'false' importance. You know, because I'm sweet and sentimental like that.

I would often be heard saying things like: "It's a Hallmark holiday and sappy cards make bile rise in my throat." or  "Hearts are trite, I sure as hell don't want some shitass piece of jewelry with a heart on it." or "OMG, I'm a grown woman, DO NOT gift me a bear holding a pillow that says "you're beary sweet"." or "Please don't write me a poem. I hate love poems." (I actually just said that the other night and my friend responded, "That's because you are basically a dude.")

Then I met my husband and he softened my ever-so-slightly crusty exterior by presenting me with a lovely, understated pair of diamond stud earrings on our first Valentine's Day. Ever since then I have been a little less pissy and a little more...um.... accepting of the holiday. Have I mentioned before that I like shiny things?

This is were I start a bipolar conversation with myself. Jaded, coolcat, angry Johi is in red. The softened lump of dough that is left of me is in purple.

Hearts still annoy me.  I reject them because I think of them as something a sixth grade girl would doodle in her Trapper Keeper.

Yet today, I sit here wearing a pair of red heart earrings that I purchased for myself just the other day for $6. They were made locally by a jewelry maker, I found them in a vintage shop. They are the prettiest shade of red glass and are a slightly elongated shape. Also, I'm wearing a charm bracelet with a giant heart on it, which I adore because it was given to me by my childhood bestie. It is funky and sassy, just like her.

Fuck the stuffed trinkets and overpriced cards. Don't even get me started on the cards!

But wait.... isn't Hallmark an American company that employs thousands of people? Yes. In fact, it is based in the heartland of America- right in my husband's hometown of Kansas City. It also employs people around the world with offices in England, Australia and Hong Kong. Hallmark also has 2,800 independently owned US retail stores, not to mention a channel on American television. So, maybe the fact that a holiday that started with a saint and burgeoned into something somewhat commercial, thus supporting thousands, maybe millions of people's jobs, isn't such a bad thing.

But still, don't get a grown-up woman a stuffed animal. It's just wrong and worthy of heaving over a public toilet. Save those cute little suckers for the children, so that they can turn them into weapons when in a battle with their siblings.

But the worst is the 'sweetheart specials' for dinner- you know what I mean. The same food that you could make at home for $20 will cost you $250 (with babysitter) at your local eatery. What a sham! Profit hungry a-holes!

But then again, don't we want to see a boost in the economy? And aren't those people merely local business owners trying to get by, just like the rest of us?

But it just seems like so much of Valentine's Day is based on some sort of expectation that we are projecting onto someone, or that they are projecting onto us! BULLSHIT! That takes the fun out of everything! I hate having my expectations crushed (besides, that is what my birthday is for!), and I hate disappointing people. It's a lose-lose holiday.

That is true. But what if we WANTED to do something sweet for people that we care about? Then it is.... well.... kind of fun. Especially when we focus on the giving part, and not the receiving. This is reminding me vaguely of another holiday that many people honor.

Then I had kids.
And as much work as those little turds are (and they are A LOT of work), pretty much all of the holidays have been really sweet. It is all something to look forward to... to make decorations.... to send out cards to people we love and let them know that we are thinking of them. And none of it feels like an obligation, it just feels nice. And I'm nothing if not nice. (Stop choking. You'll be fine.)

I know. I don't know what is happening to me either. Maybe it was the diamond earrings.... but I honestly think it happened somewhere between meeting someone who didn't impose expectations on to me, birthing two little dudes, making 22 lovebug Valentine's cards for Thing 1's Preschool party and decorating the windows with the Things and a couple of packages of sticky jelly hearts.  I take pleasure in saying "I love you- you are the most special people in my world" to my guys, sending my single friends some special packages and buying some thoughtful gifts for Brock (this year it is The Hunger Games Trilogy, Napoleon Dynamite on DVD and pj pants on sale for $5- because he and I have the taste of a couple of Middle Schoolers). I have lost my crustiness towards the holiday that celebrates caring about people other than yourself. I seriously don't even want anything (especially a stuffed animal). Besides, I totally bought myself a set of my own pj bottoms- and yes, they match Brock's. So gag away. We'll be eating heart shaped strawberry pancakes with our kids and a couple of my single gal pals, and we will probably be doing it in matching elastic-waisted pajama bottoms. Cuz I'm gangsta like that.

Next.... the matching square dancing outfits.

Besides if this is what it feels like to be a giant dork, than I don't want to be anything else.

And if anyone wants to join us for brinner on the evening of Valentine's Day- please stop by. We are having bacon and we would love to share our salted, cured fat with you. Wear your pajamas.

Peace, Love and VD,

Oh, and here is a song for you. It has a banjo in it. Yay! I'll post the lyrics below. xxoo

Mumord and Sons- Sign No More

Serve God, love me and mend
This is not the end
Lived unbruised, we are friends
I'm sorry

Sigh no more, no more
One foot in sea and one on shore
My heart was never pure
You know me

But man is a giddy thing
Oh man is a giddy thing
Love it will not betray you
Dismay or enslave you, it will set you free
Be more like the man you were made to be

There is a design, an alignment, a cry
Of my heart to see,
The beauty of love as it was made to be    

Friday, February 10, 2012

I recently spent a very small amount of time at a gym

There is a website called "Living Social" that hosts deals for the area. Last fall I found a health club membership for two people for a mere $24. It was for the super nice (read: super expensive) health club that is also the closest one to our house. I purchased the deal, and then Brock and I waited until the right time to use it- which happened to be January, and not because of any 'resolutions', but because that was after nice fall weather, after the holidays, and during the endless stretch of horrible time known as "when Sarah was gone".

Our membership is almost up. Brock has used it a lot- and other than that weird hot tub rash that developed, he loves it there. I fully support anything that has to do with my husband potentially looking like Hugh Jackman. "Hey honey, I'll hold your towel...."

My third husband. He just doesn't know it yet.

I have gone a grand total of THREE times, yet I work out about 5 days a week.... let's retrace my steps:

Time 1: Yoga with Old People.

I hear it helps with the Bursitis.....

That wasn't the official title of the class but it should have been. I almost kept pace with the 70 year old dude behind me, because I'm that awesome.
The thing is, the class wasn't heated. Now, I don't need, nor do I desire to be in a 100+ degree room, but I like it warm enough (90ish) that I am flexible and sweat out the toxins. My underused muscles may have been trembling from the exertion of holding my own body weight, but not a pore was secreting, and dammit! I need some secretion to feel like I got a work out!

Time 2: Miss Priss doesn't want to mess up her makeup.

I'm sure she's a perfectly lovely person, but in
no way do I want to see her at my gym.

You know when you go to the gym and you are in the middle of your workout, drenched in sweat, your face is red and your chest is blotchy and you spy that girly girl all dressed in pink, with perfect hair and makeup, barely moving on the treadmill? You kind of want to punch her in her cute little unsweaty throat and then you look around and you notice that all of the men at the gym are looking at her too, but with much less disdain and much more...um... not disdain?

I loathe that girl. If you are at the gym to work out, THEN WORK OUT. If you want to get all cute to attract the opposite sex, GO TO THE BAR AND GET HAMMERED WITH THE REST OF US. Well, in an unfortunate turn of events, I accidentally was that girl.

It was a Sunday and we were headed home from church, and the gym is on our way home. So we pulled in and decided to take advantage of their childcare for the Things.

(Warning Flag number 1: It smelled bad in there. Really bad. Like stale goldfish, dirty socks, air that had been trapped indoors for too long and poo; not unlike the smell of public transit.)

I was in my full church regalia: my hair was fixed as close to perfect as my hair gets and my face was made up just the way I learned at all of those Mary Kay parties of my youth. Then I changed into my gym clothes (I happened to have stuffed my Ms. Wag the Dad 2012 tank into the bag that day) and mosied on up to the cardio area, where the overuse of fluorescent lights gave me a post traumatic stress disorder-like flashback to all of those unfortunate occasions where I have shopped at Wal-Mart under their harsh and often flickering fluorescent lighting. So I responded in a way that is very natural to me when faced with an undesirable lighting situation: I held me head high, avoided nudity and full length mirrors, and I did my best not to black out.

My pathetic workout included my hanging onto the treadmill the entire time, with the focus on "Please keep yourself upright and don't go flying backwards off this thing..." Engage in cardio for 20 minutes? Sort of. Break a sweat? Nope. No one could tell that I was going to faint from the stupid lights though, so I just looked liked some prissy bitch who apparently won a pageant and put full make-up on her head to go to the gym and fake a work out. I surprised that I wasn't assaulted by a group of angry, sweaty women.

The valuable part of the session was that I was on the machine in front of my husband and I am fairly confident that he was using my ass as a focal point or for something to chase (it was either mine or the dude next to me, so I was feeling pretty confident that it was indeed mine in his focus.)

Next we hit the circuit weights, which was lit less abhorrently, but it did contain the token meat head that was lifting as much weight and humanly possibly and screaming, grunting and apparently birthing a child without the aid of drugs, whilst doing it. It was magical.

Then Brock and I met at the hot tub. Mind you, I still had a face full of church makeup. I also was wearing my swimsuit that I found after writing my swimsuit post. It is all padding here and spanx there and actually fools the eye into making me look pretty decent. Never mind that once it is wet, it is like removing a women's size 2 wetsuit from a hairy man the size of Chris Farley. I seriously think part of the slimming effect is that it removes your actual skin when you remove it from your body. Somehow, I arrived before Brock and a nice man moved over to let me sit next to him. He started the small talk, "I'll let you have this jet. It is the best one in here...." I said "Thank you. I need a strong jet.... Oh, it is great. It feels like a bunch of tiny people are kicking me in the back."
Once I'm comfortable, he then moved on to bait his prey, you can't blame him as I looked like I was there to be hit on by lonely men in the hottub, "So how long  how you been working out here?"
I said, "Let's see.... this is my second time."
He said, "Where did you work out before?"
I responded with, "Nowhere. I just naturally look this great."

Thank God Brock walked up at the moment, because I was clearly taking the conversation downhill.

Time 3: Did I unknowingly walk into an arcade?

I don't even own a Wii Fit because I fear the
severity of shame and defeat that it would
inflict upon me.... in the privacy of my own home.

The kids were plopped back in the daycare that smells like the toilet of an airplane and I walked a little more confidently up to the cardio center. I headed towards the windows, thinking that being seated on a the stationary bike by the natural light might help with the dizziness. I got on the bike and it was confusing me by forcing me to enter codes and shit. Once I sort of figured that part out, the screen popped up but to my dismay, was not playing a rerun of Desperate Housewives as I had hoped for, but instead it was a video game screen where you choose your course. Okaaaayyyy, so I picked a course by the ocean, because that seemed soothing, and all of a sudden I was pushed into a mothereffing race where I had to steer my bike so that I didn't careen over a cliff. Look people, if I wanted the added stress of potentially crashing, I would have ridden a real bicycle OUTSIDE in traffic. But I'll be damned if I'm a quitter, so I finished the course and in doing so, raised my stress level about four notches.

Time 4: There was no time 4 because in a surprising turn of events, my children both ended up sick and then, naturally, I contracted it as well. It is still a mystery to me where ever they picked it up.....

So my membership is almost over and I have concluded that I work out just fine at home, on my own treadmill under the incandescent lighting, near the window that opens, with my DVRed episodes of Castle and Modern Family and the children playing in the adjacent room.

No gym for me. Not at this juncture.

Peace, Love and Unicorns,
Johi, Your Miss Wag the Dad 2012 *queen wave*

Wednesday, February 8, 2012

My Birthday List, with plenty of time for you to shop.

I know that you have been walking around all day, thinking "I feel like I am forgetting something important". Let me assure you that it has nothing to do with your taxes, the coffee pot or your underwear, and everything to do with the fact that my Birthday is coming up. On February 21st I will be turning.... let's say 28..... for the 9th time.

Because I am a giver, I put together this handy list of things that I would gladly accept in celebration of what I like to call: The Glorious Day That Johi Was Born

*music plays- not unlike angels singing*

1. A shopping spree at the store of my choice. Preferably one of those where you run around and fill up your cart with as many items as you can in a designated time frame. I'll wear a ponytail and my old track shoes.... this bitch is quick, I possess sneaky elbowing techniques and I work great under pressure.

2. A vehicle that fits not only my children and their car seats, but also more than two adult humans. After the 3 hours that my sister spent jammed between two car seats with her knees up to her chin in the backseat of my 13 year old extended cab truck, I think that she would aggressively agree that I want this for unselfish reasons. Plus I want to go places with people (my friend Sarah and her two kids) ALL IN THE SAME VEHICLE, because, while gas is expensive, driving down the interstate to go to the Denver Zoo ALONE with two screaming children in the car is detrimental to not only my health, but the safety of everyone else on the highway. Two moms united and carrying duct tape has a much stronger impact than one mom, who is also occupied with navigating traffic while going 75 mph.

3. World Peace. Naturally.

4. Let's face it. I probably need a miniature donkey.

5. These $500 cowboy boots.
They are imperative to my health.

6. A three day spa/yoga retreat somewhere warm an sunny with two of my best gal pals. The retreat must serve alcohol and be staffed by mutes who look like Hugh Jackman. This too is imperative to my health.

7. A video camera and a ticket to BlogHer in August so that I can meet Noa, Jen and Elizabeth face to face..... and they can all tell me how much more fabulous I am in person. (It's not true, but I know that they would do that for me.)

8. A copy of The Bloggess' book and/or something sparkly.

9. A publisher of my very own (and an idea of what the hell to write my book about because I am currently reading Tina Fey's Bossypants and she stole all of my material. I've been telling people that my hair is yellow for at least 12 years now.)

10. A free night of babysitting so that Brock can take me out to dinner and we can gaze lovingly into each other's eyes over the perfectly cooked filet mignon on my plate and wonder when the fuck we lost the ability to come up with something to talk about that doesn't involve poop, gas, children, bad TV or paying bills.

So, there you have it! I may not be cheap, but I am totally easy.

Love to all of you. Especially those of you who love me back.


Saturday, February 4, 2012

Whoops. I must have dialed 1986.

She knows this is coming. I warned her.

I called my mom today and her message said "....you have reached my travel phone......" and then instructed me to do something... I don't know what because I hung up before her message was over. You see, my mom (I love you Mom!) is famous for having The World's Longest Phone Messages. I'm serious. By the time she is done instructing the annoying party who is trying to reach her the caller what to do after the beep, I have normally forgotten why I called.

So I hung up and said out loud, "What the fuck is a travel phone?"

My mind immediately conjured up some images.

Does it come in its own bag?

Is it roughly the size of Lady Gaga's shoe?

Can you call God on it? Does he have his own travel phone?

"Why hello! Yes, you ARE my favorite human.
Don't worry about that rash, it will go away in time."

I was then transported to a Burgundy Chevrolet Cutlass Supreme,were I sat looking at the fuzzy dice, the sweet wine colored seats and matching dashboard.

I was listening to a cassette of my favorite band Starship and started singing along to the song Sara. I loved that song so hard. (I had a dog named Sarah and I sang it to her)

Dude, that is a sweet ride.
Does it come with a travel phone?

Then the travel phone rings. It's my boyfriend. He wants to know if he should perm his mullet. I say, "Dude, that would look so rad! You should totally do it!"

.......Or maybe it is the early 70's and I'm a secret agent. I have gotten into my car with my 190 proof liquor so that I can return home to get blitzed on one martini. Then my travel phone rings and it is my friend and part time lover, Secret Agent 007, in need of some service.

"Why yes, I can be there in 14 minutes, I just need
to buy a new pair of pantyhose. Mine have a runner.
What?  No, I'm not wearing a dickie today. This is a
real turtleneck.....
No, I'm not wearing my GoGo boots, but I can be...."

Or maybe it is actually a phone that travels independently, complete with it's own wheels.

Steering gets a bit tricky without a windshield to see through....

Or maybe it is ....


travel phone

Knowing my folks, I'm going with the last option.

Hope you are all having a great weekend. Don't forget your travel phones if you leave the house.


Thursday, February 2, 2012

Single texting, with subtext.

Post nasal drip, clammy feverish conditions and a raging headache does not make me feel funny. Or like cleaning the house. Or like showering. So in my mental absence, environmental filth and physical stench, I bring you a guest post about texting. It is lovingly ripped from the real life texting experiences of my 'bunny fluffing liberal', single, snarky, fabulous friend Erin (aka the Chelsea Handler one). She recently quit smoking and we will be partying this weekend in celebration (I hear there is some kind of sports thingy that we might be watching as well), complete with a 'tranny Barbie' cake made by my other fabulous friend Erin (aka the Leah Remini one: right wing, NRA loving, hysterical, Jersey girl). I will be chugging NyQuil like Lindsey Lohan with a bottle of tequila at an open bar and hoarding all the tissue in the house (not in my bra this time) until that celebratory moment.

Why does it feel like my eyeballs are sweating?????
I know that you are wondering why a Tranny Barbie cake?, and one can only answer with: WHY NOT A TRANNY BARBIE CAKE?

Jersey Erin is making it and I can't fucking WAIT to see it. Jersey Erin is the cupcake master. And all of her decorations are edible (made from fondant).
Texting Erin's cake will be roughly modeled after this cake, which Jersey Erin crafted for a little girl's birthday party. The theme was 'Beach Barbie', and she brilliantly masterminded it, complete with edible 'sand', but then she had to go and point out the resemblance to a certain Arquette. Then neither of us could stop laughing about it.

Cupcake Cake: Beach Barbie splashing in the water.... post surgery.

I want the slice with Barbie's implants!

Alexis Arquette: transgender member of the human race.

I've got nothing here.
Except "I would have guessed her lips were fake"
It goes to show what I know.

Uncanny, I say!
So enough about tranny cake (I'll be sure to post pictures) and on with the lesson in texting.

*for the sake of your keyboard, set the drink down.*

She titled it:

Why I don't date much

Man whore: So what is going ?!
What this actually means: It's Wed night.... I'm sending out texts so I can get laid this weekend

Me: What's going on with you;)
What this actually means: none of your fucking business.. tell me something that interests me

Man whore: Not a whole lot. Couple new dates but nothing to great! How r u doing?! Hows work?
 What this actually means: No one will sleep with me.

Me: Good for u. Glad u r keeping match in business. Work is good.
What this actually means: I don't care.

Man whore: I do what I can?!
What this actually means: Yes I'm a manwhore

Me: ohh i'm sure u do.. lol
What this actually means: you are a douchebag

Man whore: I try! lol Big plans for wknd?
What this actually means: So should I continue wasting my time texting you to set up a date for this weekend?

Me: A few.. movies, maybe a hike sat depending on weather, superbowl party etc. I'm sure u have a weekend packed full of man whoring

What this actually means: I'm doing all these things with friends.. but I don't really care what the match.com king thinks because I'd prefer what is in my nightstand with batteries to a date with him.

Man whore: Come on now! Thats how we met.
What this actually means: Whoa.. back up did you just call me whore?

Me: you're hilarious....
What this actually means: I'm giving you chance to back out of that

Man whore: Why is that?!
What this actually means: Nope I'm an asshole

Me:I don't know.. I guess u really aren't
What this actually means: you're an asshole and not getting laid this weekend

Peace, Love and Subtexting with Man Whores,
Erin and Johi