Saturday, May 14, 2011

Movin' on

Bloggerocalpyse of 2011.  We'll all remember where we were when we realized we couldn't post our snarky remarks about the weather or Aston Kutcher's new job.  MOst of us were on Twitter--bitchin about how we couldn't get on blogger.

Anywhoozits, I've been eyein Word Press for a while now.  I have two blogs, and to use them on blogger, i have to have two different accounts, two logins, yada yada yada.  WP let's me manage both from one place, so it makes sense.  That and i finally decided to pay for a domain name.  So, from now on i'll be posting over at:

I may link back to this blog from time to time, but won't be making any new posts from here.  Been nice knowin' ya Blogger.  It's not you.  It's me.  I think we'll do better if we just said goodbye here.  And if someone slashes my tires--don't think i won't know it was you.

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Hater Humpday

This week's edition of Hater Humpday is brought to you by the Ralph's parking lot in Studio City (just south of Hell, exit 86B off the 101 freeway).

I hate:

1) People who can't put their fuckin' cart away - or at least OUT of the way.  Leaving it in the ONLY parking spot available exceeds the maximum level of douche ever recorded by Massingil.

2)  Whatever the hell they used last year to pave that flat, black portal to Hades that makes every car - regardless of MPH - sound like they're auditioning for Fast & Furious Six: Seriously, What's So Important?.  No, my car does NOT have NOS, and no, tramps do not display themselves on the hood of my  fairly staid hybrid SUV.  The only thing dirty going on in this car is the level of crumbiness happening in the backseat in the vicinity of someone's carseat/cookie throne.

3.  People who can't (or won't) bring themselves to notice STOP SIGNS.  Or frankly, SIGNS.

4.  Stopping your car right behind mine, when my back-up lights are CLEARLY ON, so that you can shoot the breeze with your homey.  Here's an idea:  buy your crack/heroin/oxy down by the liquor store like everyone else. By the way: nice shoes, Snoop Doggie Trevor. Yellow was a brave choice.

5.  Self-righteous women in luxury SUVs that have to pull into the parking space you are standing in, having just put your child in his car seat, forcing you to hustle through the never-easy-when-rushed critter buckling. With all due haste, you jump into your seat and slam the door closed before you become part of a Lexus bumper, only to soon discover that this egomaniacal ΓΌber-twat has parked so badly--because she just HAD to get into Starbucks before they ran out of coffee, smugness, or both--that you need a team of air traffic controllers to guide you out of this squeeze - and THESE controllers actually need to be awake FOR ONCE.  Have a splendid evening, Ayn Rand wannabe.  I hope that works out for you.  And by works out, i mean your anal warts get worse.  Asshat.

*Now for those of you looking for the "Hater Humpday" button, it's coming--don't get yer knickers in a twist.  I just need to find an image I a) love and b) will still love a month from now.  That and I've had shit to do.  Like spending an eternity trying to exit a G-d-forsaken parking lot (hat tip to Charon).

Monday, May 9, 2011

Blog Gems #15

Time for another Blog Gem!

THis gem post is supposed to be a piece that inspired or helped people.  I got a lot of response from this one--publicly and privately.  So, while it ain't that old, here's one that seemed to hit a nerve...

and here's a link to the linky if you wanna read some other fantastic posts--or post one of your own!

Sunday, May 8, 2011

Mother's Day

What does it mean, man?  what does it mean?

Right now it's @730 am and i am up while the boys are asleep.  Mother's day gift #1.   I TRY to sleep in, but it never works anymore.  Too many mornings of getting up early.  Not that this is my reason today.  No.  The dog cried to be let out.  Apparently he didn't get the memo.  He's now asleep too.

So while they are all in slumberland i get a few moments to myself. Like many moms of youngins, i don't get to feel that too often.  Especially since SOMEONE is refusing naps a few times a week now.  Don't you wanna just shake them and tell them how precious a nap is?  That when you're older it's frowned upon to lay down in the middle of the work day and sleep?  Youth is wasted on the young.

But, hermit that i am, i appreciate my alone time--beholden to no-one.  maybe because i was single for so long (and horrible at relationships).  Its moments like this when i can fantasize about not washing the dishes, laying around all day reading trash, and drinking until i do something stupid.  wait.  That looks like today's to-do list...

So Happy Mother's Day to all mommies out there.  And to my own as well, who learned to leave me alone at an early age so that i could hermit myself away and carefully craft and hone my snark.  (or were you just looking for a minute to yourself as well?  Gotcha! teehee!)  Love you!

all right.  I'd better go spike my coffee before one of these boys gets up and starts making Mother's Day plans...

Thursday, May 5, 2011


I've never been afraid of paperwork.  I've got a mom who does it for a living, with great aplomb and efficiency i might add, and I can fill out forms like a pro--in fact where's my corporate sponsorship? 3M?  HP?  I could use a new iPad people...  Hell, an idea of a good time for me is to create more paperwork (sorta) by creating various spreadsheets to examine spending, budget habits, feeding schedules, vacation plans--you name it, i've prolly got a spreadsheet to cover it.

So why then am i so LOATHE to fill out every friggin piece of paperwork given to me by the school, regional center, ABA clinic, etc?

Perhaps it's because i am answering the SAME GODDAMN QUESTION EVERY TIME!  Efficiency people!

(it should be noted that this piece was written shortly after filling out the Vineland II--for those of you familiar, an evaluation that can take 30 min to over an hour to complete--and that's if you're doing it solo and your kid's under 5)

I get it.  I do.  None of these agencies are actually capable of talking to one another. And that "permanent record" we were threatened with as teens doesn't really exist, so the same questions have to be answered OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND...

So in case the powers that be are actually reading this, let's just settle some of these answers once and for all:

I had a normal pregnancy.  No hiccups, no issues, no diabetes.  Just swollen ankles and a bad attitude.  And he was born naturally--well, as naturally as a pitocin drip and the world's best Epidural can be.  And the only complication with his birth is that the wonderful, sweet, gentle and supportive nurses who were on staff all night and day while i labored were replaced with Beverly--the meanest, no nonsense, would have rather been somewhere else rather than do her job, uncommunicative BIOTCHNIT that i have ever come across.  So no--I did not grow a tail or develop ESP or eat sand.

I guess however, I was a horrible mother and did not write down every little drool and dribble my little larvae made (hell, i never finished his scrapbook!) --and as other things have happened since, the answer is no, I do NOT remember the exact month when he sat up, rolled over or crawled.  Walking--i remember.  Talking, definitely.  Two word phrases--got it--because those things caused concern as they happened a little later than usual.  But can't we just set up some kind of box  or chart with these questions that states:  he did this shit at the "normal time" so that i didn't go running to the doctor with questions, or spend umpteen hours on the internet looking at development charts.  Let's just call it "option A"--and then development issues that were of concern--you mark down.  How hard is this?

Or better yet--here's an idea--why not create some sort of spreadsheet or record that you give a parent--where all the questions area answered in one place (obviously only up to the age appropriate) that they can fill out and make copies of and carry around like that damn vaccination card i keep losing?  Then, whenever you get set up in a new agency, you hand over this report--lets call it the EFRH (Everything's Fucking Right Here) and your time isn't wasted and you don't end up with a hand cramp. Or my favorite--eye strain from having to squeeze an answer into a tiny tiny space meant only for leprechauns and elves  or prissy mommies with immaculate handwriting to fill out.

So, in lieu of an appropriate solution, imma just bring a crayon to the next meeting and write "YES" on everything and see where that gets me.  A green crayon.

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

Hater Humpday

so i ve' noticed a few bloggers having their special days where they post special stuff--pictures, or the like--on the same day each week.  And i thought--what kind of thing would i want to post weekly?

ANd then i was watching Tosh and a hate video came on and i realized--i LOVE to hate.  If hating could be a career, i might be in upper management.  Not CEO quality, mind, but there's a corner office with my name on it.

SO i hereby dedicate all Wednesdays to hating.  I shall endeavor to list five things i hate, with or without possible explanations.  I suppose some things will be naturally understood.

Hater Humpday #1


1.  People who do NOT look around and just make a left across your lane of traffic because their need for a Fat Burger is more important than the body of their car or mine.  Or better yet--the people who KNOW you're there, STILL do it, and then give a little wave without lookin' at ya as if you understood by royal decree that you must stop so that they could turn.  I hope you choke on your french fries and that the guy behind the counter spit in your shake.  douchebag.

2.  chainsaws. It's brush clearing season.

3.   crinkly wrappers at the movies.  You'd think by now SOMEONE would create some sort of silent cloth or box for all the confectionary goodies you shouldn't be eating in the first place.  I mean, yeah--they turned their phones off, and quit talking about their latest bikini wax, but that plastic wrap on a box of redvines will cancel out any explosion on screen--and the makers know it.

4.  People who simply CANNOT accept that Obama may have actually done something right, and can't give a brother credit, but will give credit to that asshat who was there before him--the same asshat they refuse to blame for the economic crisis, but are quite content to place that at Obama's doorstep.  Yeah, i'm talkin to you Sarah Palin.  Yes, our troops deserve all accolades, as does their COMMANDER IN CHIEF.  Assenheimers.

5.  The godawful amount of paperwork required to do ANYTHING in this state.  I may have an entire blog post about this later--but if i have to answer how old my kid was when he crawled, or whether or not I smoked crack or  was abducted by aliens while i was pregnant, i might just jump across a desk and hurt someone.

That's all for today.  Join us next week when i take on LA hipsters and people who hate on the homeless.

Saturday, April 30, 2011


Like any boy, my son like all things vehicular.  Trains, cars, airplanes, trolleys, bicycles, hell--he'd prolly like rollerskates if he saw some.

And like many boys with Autism, he's got a few "stims" (a repetitive movement hypothesized to stimulate one or more senses).  One stim he's had since I can remember is peripheral gazing.  Basically--he brings things up to the corner of his eye and watches them go by right in his periphery.    Usually, those things are vehicular.

And lately, he's added sound effects.

Because, like other kids on the Autism Spectrum, he loves him some you-tube videos of trains. And most of those videos have sound.  And that sound, besides the "clack clack" (which he also scripts) sounds like the title of this blog.  ZZZEEEEYYOOOOWWWMMMM!

So, whether he is playing with his train tracks in his room, a car out in here in the livingroom, a straw that has suddenly become a rocket at a restaurant, or his favorite 99 cent store train in the car, his gazing now has a soundtrack.  Sometimes, a very LOUD soundtrack.

Better, I guess, than scripting the sound of ice clinking in mommy's glass...