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.

Celebrating 21 Years of Irreconcilable Differences

I realized I haven't posted once since January. Could it be that I've been in a constant state of MARITAL BLISS, lacking juicy conflict? Or could it be that we've RECONCILED OUR DIFFERENCES in our 21st year? Or that nothing truly outrageous has happened over the last few months?

Suffice to say that I've been entertaining other writing paramours besides this blog. I know I'm a two-timing cheater. But you can read my Mexican Food blog adventures about all the mediocre Mexican food I've eaten since moving to Dallas. It was picked up by Pegasus News, now owned by Dallas Morning News.

Back to this story. I've been on an extended 5 week road trip this summer with my teenaged son and rescue greyhound Tobo. My husband was all for this trip and encouraged us to go. He was going to use the time to catch up on some overdue biz trips.

After 10 days into my trip, he was officially miserable. Which was kind of cute--he missed me, needed me and wanted me home. Even if it was only for two things, which will remain unnamed.

A week before my return, I'm driving from my friend's beach house in Southold, Long Island to Philadelphia. I get the following phone call.

Hi Honey, What are you up to today?
I'M DRIVING TO PHILADELPHIA TO SEE OUR DAUGHTER. WHAT ARE YOU DOING?
I'm on my way to play my first of 3 soccer games. And I'm calling because I want you to sue my doctor if I have a heart attack and die today. 
WHY WOULD I SUE YOUR DOCTOR?
After I failed my stress test, he hasn't returned any of my three calls. 
DID YOU ACTUALLY SPEAK TO HIS OFFICE 3 TIMES AND REQUEST A FOLLOW-UP VISIT?
I spoke to a receptionist and then left messages with the answering service. 
I THINK YOU NEED TO CALL THEM DAILY UNTIL YOU GET A LIVE PERSON AND HANDLE IT. BACK TO SOCCER. ISN'T IT IN THE TRIPLE DIGITS THERE? WHY WOULD YOU PLAY 3 SOCCER GAMES IN 100+ DEGREE HEAT? AND HAVEN'T YOU BEEN SICK WITH A RESPIRATORY INFECTION?
Yes.
CALL ME RADICAL, BUT I'M THINKING THAT I PROBABLY DON'T HAVE A VERY GOOD CASE, IF YOU STROKE OUT AFTER PLAYING 3 SOCCER GAMES IN 100+ DEGREE HEAT. HOWEVER IF YOU WANT ME TO SUE HIM, YOU NEED TO TEXT ME HIS NAME AND NUMBER.
Dr. Coates


Here our differences surface. If I was sick and recently failed a stress test, I would not be playing soccer   for 6 hours in extreme heat. I'm thinking he's OUTOFHISFREAKINMIND.

In times like this, I find that humor is the best remedy. The rest of my ride is spent planning his multiple memorial services. I text him when I arrive in Philly and tell him that it would be convenient if he died while I was there, since it is a much more advantageous location for his friends and family. I asked him what he would like his obit to say.

His response: He died doing his 2nd favorite thing. 


At which point, my friends burst out laughing (thinking about his 1ST FAVORITE THING). My daughter who does not want to think about her parents doing that thing, prefers to think that his 1st favorite thing is drinking beer (which is right up there with soccer and the THINGTHATSHALLNOTBENAMED).

google image search for "heart attack"
the guy looks like he slammed his finger in a door
or has a bad case of constipation. NOT a pic of my hubby
who is totally hot

has anyone eaten at the heart attack grill? it's spokesperson died at age 29.
naughty nurses...really???

I happy to report that all of my planning for his multi-city memorial services has gone to waste. He lives! He did report that he saw a white orb, while playing soccer. That just might be a topic for a future blog.

Celebrating 20 Years of Irreconcilable Differences--Follow-up to Part 2

This is a follow-up to my June post about almost succumbing to the big D due to the respective G and P periods in my marriage. We've just entered a new phase--THE BIG J! Unlike G & P, I'm not tempted to get the big D. However it does reconfirm that as much as we celebrate our irreconcilable differences, our brains have about as much in common as a refrigerator and a drunkard. Both hold beer--but one much more efficiently than the other.

Keep in my mind that the narcissistic-ahole-midlifecrisis-smallwee-wee car has only been in our household for a mere 7 months. I have proudly limited my passenger excursions to a handful. The car has already been in the shop at least 5 times for various malfunctions. Most recently for blowing WHITE smoke, which I'm told is worse that BLACK smoke.

I know it KILLED my husband to admit to me that he made a MISTAKE in buying that moneypit-of-a-car. It needed $3K of repairs, so Hubby decided to trade it in. I suggested something reasonable like a Toyota Camry. Nice, not showy. Good maintenance. Holds its value.

He texted me while visiting CARMAX. What do you think about a Cadillac? Well, I think it's a redneck wanna-be-rich car. ABSOLUTELY NOT!

What about a Jaguar? Are you OUTOFYOURFREAKINMIND? Jaguars are the most pretentious, ostentatious cars out there. They scream RICH, SENIOR CITIZEN WITH LOW SELF WORTH WHO NEEDS A HOOD ORNAMENT TO MAKE THEM FEEL SPECIAL. Plus the maintenance is really high. No one can fix them and it always costs a minimum of $1K for each visit.

They fixed their maintenance problems 4 years ago. Besides it's TOO LATE. I already bought it. Good news--cheaper than the Caddie and no hood ornament. 


I admit that I'm not nearly as embarrassed to ride in it as the Boxer. It's much more comfortable, has heated seats and a back seat for the boy. (Dog is NOT allowed inside the car).

 Also it came with all of these free perks. I'm convinced they were designed to pacify all the angry wives after their husbands came home with new cars. My "goody" package includes either a free CHEMICAL PEEL a.k.a. burn off your face or a free MICRODERMABRASION a.k.a. sand off your face. (THIS JUST VALIDATED THE SENIOR CITIZEN DEMOGRAPHIC. NO ONE UNDER 50 WOULD DO THAT TO THEIR FACE) I am also entitled to free dinners, wine, airport valet service and a resort vacation at various establishments in the area. It's like when rich people get the free goody bags at fundraisers for all the stuff that they can already afford like trips to Europe and a Damien Hirst print; thus don't need freebies. I plan to use every single one! Should I go for the burn or sanding?

30 Days to a Better Husband

Sometimes I read articles that make me want to bash someone's head in. In fact, my daughter and her boyfriend gifted me with the perfect head-bashing rock for Christmas. It is inscribed with the following words "Gone To Yoga".

I suppose this post could be categorized with my series entitled Celebrating 20 Years of Irreconcilable Differences, since it is TECHNICALLY about marriage and specifically MY marriage.

This wasn't a recent article. A friend emailed it to me over the summer and I just now brought myself to read it. It was reposted online from a Redbook article entitled 30 Days to a Better Husband. Before all my male readers out there start groaning and ranting about another male bashing article, it was written by a MAN.

Just so you know, I resisted reading it, because I don't need a better husband. It took me 20 years to get used to the one I have and I'm keeping him for the time being. He doesn't beat me. He isn't a porn addict. He doesn't bring home scary STDs. He likes his teenage children--imagine that. AND MOST IMPORTANTLY--he puts up with my shenanigans. (which is no small feat). In case you think my standards are too low, just look at the statistics. My hubby is in the minority.

Before I go off on why the article annoyed me--I should say that I think the author might be an alien or really a woman in disguise. OR he is making so much dinero writing self-help articles that 1 million women read (as evidenced by the 1+ million fb "likes") subjecting himself to tortuous acts, just for writing material.

The guy decided he was going to "grow-up", since that was his wife's major accusation. How did he grow-up? He bought her flowers every day for a month. That sounds a bit suspicious to me. Like he was trying to make-up for some heinous act. How could the wife appreciate the flowers, when she had to be wondering who he boinked and/or  knocked up?

The guy also decided to get into shape, returning to his teenage wrestling work-outs. This does not sound grown-up to me. It sounds like someone who is reliving their glory days and is asking for a major HERNIA or torn hamstring. Maybe he shoulda added some Redbull in with those workouts, to really rev up the heart-attack-in-the-making.

The other annoying part was that his wife rewarded his antics with lots of sex. In fact, I'm sure men everywhere will think they can get GREAT sex for the price of a few daisies.

In fairness to the author, he does have a sense of humor. "And, by the way, organic sex doesn't feel that different from conventional or processed sex." And my favorite part--"First of all, you're too scruffy to wear clothes like that, and more importantly, if you go out in those pants, the neighbors will be able to tell that you're circumcised." Upon closer inspection, I discovered that she was terrifyingly correct. I immediately changed into a pair of baggy Levis. It felt good to be back in the '90s.  


I am happy to report that MY husband got rid of his leather pants YEARS ago. Ok, maybe not years, but last summer before we moved. We gifted them to my cousin who looked like a gay cowboy wearing them.

Googled Better Husbands and this image came up with an article called Macho Men Die Early

I am also happy to report that after writing this, I no longer feel like bashing anyone's head in. And I'm enjoying my flowerless house.

Only in Texas

This is a follow-up to previous posts on Things You Gotta Love About Texas and It Would ONLY Happen in Texas. Texas has its own brand of strange signage. Most recently there was a billboard which said
MAY THE PORK BE WITH YOU. 'nuff said about that. I don't plan on frequenting that pork establishment.

I often see gun stores advertising that they buy used firearms. Does this mean that they buy them after they've been used to kill someone/something? I mean why else would they be used exactly? Excuse me sir, I'd like to buy the gun that killed the 7 people in Walmart last week.  

this came up when i googled missing elderly alert

none of the dallas signs have posted rewards. maybe more
elderly would return if they got $$

My fav sign is the elderly amber alert. On all the highways, large LED screens notify drivers of missing old folks. Honey--grandma's gone missing, called the police! MISSING ELDERLY--1975 GREEN OLDSMOBILE PLATE #2OLD2DRIVE. Apparently this is a major epidemic, since I see different signs everyday. I would expect to see this in Florida, but not Dallas. I mean it's not a major hotbed of senior dating activity.