Cock Blocking and Other Parenting Duties

 You won't find cock blocking in Dr. Spock's parenting bible. Even the recently updated version omits any reference to this term. However it does appear in the urban dictionary and wikipedia, so it must be legit.

Ah,  the joys of parenting in the 21st century. I picked up the 15 yr-old teenage son at his girlfriend's the other day promptly at the time we agreed upon--5:30pm.

The moment we got outside, he goes off on me. "Mom, you are such a cock blocker!" I confess that I have no idea what that is, but it doesn't sound good. I imagine it is a position of authority in a cyber-fem-nazi army and that the pre-req is to be a man-hating ass-kicker. I don't really visualize myself in that role, but I'm trying to be more open to new possibilities.

"Mom, do you EVEN know what that is?" I confess to my ignorance. He says, "A cock blocker is someone who prevents someone else from 'getting' some. You picked me up right on time and blocked me." I admit I'm rather confused. The girlfriend's mom was there all day, wasn't she effectively cock blocking? After my initial shock and confusion over the kid's outrage, I realize that it is my duty to be the BEST DAMN COCK BLOCKER EVER IN THE HISTORY OF COCK BLOCKING.

At least until he turns 50 or aliens land in Plano.

In the meantime, I am searching for a good Cock Blocking manual, something a bit more sophisticated than Cock Blocking For Dummies.

For your entertainment, I am pasting the urban dictionary definition below. Notice the examples don't use mothers.

3. (Verb) to cockblock: basically, to interfere, by way of one's mere presence, with the attempt of one person to freak another

1. Jill "Jane, I really need you to come along tonight as my cockblocker so I don't do anything I would later regret. 
Jane "Sure" 
2. I made my move toward that hottie Jennifer with the thought of grinding with her. That cockblocker Alex cut in and got it first.

#scarred4life and selective hearing

My rant today is two-fold:  teenagers and shoddy construction. I'll start with teenagers. Actually I will focus on one particular teenager. The one who treats my house like a hotel, leaving trails of dirty clothes and dishes in his wake.  The one who grunts in the morning, since words seem to be beyond his communicative capability. The one who walks around bare chested in his underwear.

When he was younger, I thought he had a hearing disorder. In the mornings after the 372nd time I yelled for him to wake-up, I would clang pots and pans by his head with no response. I figured he must be either 100% deaf or dead, since any normal human being would have shown some sign of auditory reaction. I soon learned that he DID have a hearing disorder. It's called IGNOREYOURMOTHERUNTILSHEGOESF...NPOSTAL. I could lie and tell you that this condition is curable, but the doctors just don't know what to do.  One doctor told me that the cure for cancer was further along than this malady.

I've since learned that this condition is unpredictable. At times symptoms include complete unresponsiveness to auditory stimuli and other times, the patient shows extreme sensitivity to low auditory frequencies. A recent case in point...

The teenager was upstairs in his bedroom with the door closed, presumably texting or playing an IPad game. My husband and I were in our bedroom with the door closed, music playing, QUIETLY having grown-up time. All of a sudden, he screams down the stairs that he can hear us. Or rather he can hear me. There are two doors and a floor separating us. He has suddenly developed bionic HAWK ears and can hear through layers of plaster and wood.

I ask him how he knows that's what we were doing and he proceeds to mimick me. Then as if that were not bad enough, he TWEETS about his experience.
heard my parents having sex. kill me now #scarred4life

Dear Scarred4Life,
I have a few tips for you. Posting thoughts about your parents' sex life on twitter is not acceptable behavior. No one likes to imagine their parents having sex, but at least your parents still HAVE it. So get over yourself and buy some sound reducing head phones. Until you are old enough to use an alarm clock, don't sleep naked. Your mother doesn't want to see that. And wear clothes around the house. Repeat--your mother doesn't want to see that.
Sincerely,
#IlivetoembarrassU

And to whoever the contractor was that built my house--you should have to listen to your parents and children have sex for 372 straight hours. No interruptions. That might inspire some quality sound-proofing work.

Celebrating Almost 22 Years of Irreconcilable Difference

Probably most of you assumed that
A. I was dead.
B. Both hands were amputated, rendering me unable to type.
C. I contracted leprosy from handling too many dead animals and went to live in a leper colony where there's no internet.

Why else would I abandon my loyal readership for 8 months?

Besides being way too busy, I've been trying to cultivate grace and inner peace. Let's just say that  snarkiness doesn't really fit into that scenario. As my sister recently texted me-"So how's that going? How much grace have you actually cultivated?" As you can tell, snarkiness runs in my family.

Since we are fast approaching the 22nd anniversary of irreconcilable differences, I thought it would be ok to vent a bit and let some of my snarkiness escape. (All for the sake of my readers, of course.) Also in case you didn't know, snarkiness is combustible and if not released on a regular basis will react in a violent manner. (Think hydrogen bomb explosion.)

VENT #1--IF YOU ARE UNHAPPY ABOUT YOUR WEIGHT, DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT.
(BESIDES COMPLAINING. THAT DOES NOT COUNT.)

VENT #2--DON'T TELL ME HOW FAT YOU ARE EVERY MORNING AND EVENING, WHILE MAKING GROANING SOUNDS ON THE SCALE.

VENT #3--DON'T GRAB THE ROLL IN YOUR BELLY, SHAKE IT IN MY FACE, AND EXCLAIM HOW FAT YOU ARE. DESPITE POPULAR BELIEF, THAT IS NOT A TURN-ON.

VENT #4--WHEN I ASK YOU HOW YOUR SOCCER GAME WAS, DON'T COMPLAIN THAT IT SUCKED BECAUSE YOU ARE TOO FAT TO RUN.

VENT #5--DO NOT COMPLAIN ABOUT YOUR WEIGHT WHILE FINISHING OFF A SIX-PACK OR EATING THAT 2ND OR 3RD LATE NIGHT SNACK.

Some of you may be thinking that I'm harshing too much on my guy. But here's the deal.
YOU ARE NOT ENTITLED TO COMPLAIN UNLESS YOU ARE ACTIVELY TRYING TO REMEDY THE SITUATION. And really, he's not fat. He's still hot after 22 years of marriage. He doesn't look like he did when he was 20, but none of us do.

You don't hear me complaining about my weight EVER. Is that because I have the perfect body? NO. NOTEVENCLOSE.
It's just that I don't want to bore my husband and myself by incessant complaining about my belly or ass fat. I have plenty of other things to complain about.

Myth #1--Bellies grow on their own. 
This is not true. Bellies cannot grow outward without lots of hard work, which usually involves copious eating and drinking.

Myth #2--Sit-ups don't decrease belly fat.
How would you know this, if you've never done one?

What's the moral? Hell if I know.
I could blablablablab on and on about how we should grow old gracefully. But that's a crock. No one wants to do that. How about this? Eat right, do your sit-ups and cardio. Celebrate with wine and chocolate and resist the urge to grab a fistful of belly fat while you are belly-aching at your spouse.