Just Shoot Me....please!

I'm being murdered slowly today by my kids. No, really. They are
"LOUDing" me to death. I woke up today with an ass-kicking head
ache and four tylenols, food, 4 cups of coffee, water and a healthy
poop have done nothing to make it go away. The kids seem to talk
in higher pitched, louder voices, crank the tv up higher and find
any and all irritating noise makers to play with near me. My ears
are hyper-sensitive and the barbells are clanking, the wolf-whistling
rythmnless rap artist-wannabe is attempting to rhyme, the whining
9 yr old is tattling non-stop, Randa belching the alphabet to Q in
a volume and vibrato only matched by Barney, the drunk on the
Simpsons. Hamo is kinda quiet actually because he's too tired to be
loud after getting up at 6:30 and going to school and immediately to
private tutoring, coming home for a sandwich and then off to the
Nubian center for a math tutoring session. Of course, he's working
other aspects of "headache-dom" by telling me line by line the last
episode of Spongebob Squarepants or whatever other insipid cartoon
he just watched. I'm wondering if a harpoon to the temple would be
the way to go. It seems so much more merciful than having Aiman
"chop" his oreo cookies into the milk with his spoon to make "mud"
while my eyeballs begin to bleed and my brains start to leak out of
my ears and nostrils.
Come on, Time. Fly! Wudya??? Bedtime must come soon for my
very survival depends on it!

How Do YOU Spell Relief?

Well, it has been some time since I put anything on here. I guess
I've been really busy, lately...what with the new weight bench and
free weights to protect the kids from (read: protect from the kids.)
And then with the internet service provider collecting our monthly
fee (pre-paid, I might add) and then promptly switching the cable off,
I've had very little time to be on here. Oh, and what's with this green
font, you ask? Well, I'll tell you. I'm quite gassy....and I am feeling a
little on the green side.
Yeah, ewwww gross! Well, there's no reason to pretend here. I come
from a long line of farters. I'll omit their names to protect the (not-so)
innocent. BUT I inherited the fart-gene, baby....from BOTH sides of
the family. Now I've not yet inherited the gaseous genetic trait where
I race to the bathroom with lower cheeks pinched tightly leaving a "pop-
pop-pop-pop" sound trail behind me. (Our family has actually named
this trait after one of the family elders, however, since I'm attempting to
protect the family fart tree, I guess I'll have to omit that too.)
Anyway, we've got 'em all in our family: the loud, the louder, the machine
gun, the "oh, hell, who stepped on the dog", the not-so smelly, the smelly,
the s.b.d. and the "WHAT crawled up your ass and died". ANY type of
fart ever known to man can be claimed by anyone (or several) in my family.
My brother recently chewed me out on facebook for discussing his "rancid
ass" on the internet. Hmmmmmm. Truth be told, HE brought it up when he
reminded me of a fart he "dropped in my ear" during a trip we took together
to Arizona. My husband has been known to hear my bom-booferous,
window shakers from over two window unit air-conditioners (with about 8
spoons shoved inside each....THAT is another story that I'll call Why My
Kids and Spoons Caused Me to Declare Bankruptcy), a ceiling fan, a
snoring congested 1 year old and the movie DIE HARD cranked up on the
tv. I lied in my room laughing for 15 minutes after my own fart only to finally
think, "He must not have heard me. Maybe it wasn't as loud as I thought."
Only to have him poke his head in the bedroom door about 30 seconds later
and ask, "Are you okay? Did the roof fall on you?" DAMN. How embarrassing.
Well...THAT was nothing.
TODAY I was peeling potatoes for dinner and the washing machine was
making it's usual jet engine noises in the spin cycle and I had a CD playing
in the kitchen. I looked around to make sure my husband wasn't around (kids
are fair game...I'll fart around them just to get even for them walking in on me
in the bathroom or only peeing on MY side of the bed!) and I let 'er rip.
Well, I don't know what a ripped spleen or ruptured small intestine actually
feel like but I imagined it today. OH MY WORD! I doubled over and cried
against the sink it hurt my abdomen so bad. I must have shrieked without
realizing it because Hamo and my husband came running in thinking that I must
have cut myself. Then through the tears I started laughing. My husband asked
what happened and I told him he didn't want to know. He looked puzzled. So
somewhat embarrassed I told him, "I farted so hard I hurt my intestines."
He just rolled his eyes and muttered something in Arabic about "giving him
strength."
At least my son felt for me. He hugged me and said, "I'm sorry your farts are
so strong they fight back." Little snot. He snickered as he walked out. Laugh
if they must. But I may be the first person in history to ever end up in traction
due to bad gas!

I Quit

I quit. I resign. I'm outta here.

That is correctamundo, Fonzie. I have had just about enough of this.
I don't want to be mother, wife or any other friggin' thing anymore.
I just wanna go back to being a selfish, working slob who pays her rent
and car note and works the fulltime job for pension/insurance reasons
and a parttime job in the evening a few days a week for spending money
and play softball and go to movies and buy new shoes when I flipping
feel like it. No more being stuck 24/7 in the house helping ungrateful
brats with homework, sewing buttons on shirts, vacuuming the rugs just
so that they can walk around the house behind me eating breadsticks and
talking with their mouths open leaving no evidence of any housework to
be found. No more slaving over the hot stove making a completely delicious
and nutritious balanced meals just to have an 8 year old wearing a plastic
SCREAM mask announce to me, "I don't like carrots or zucchini and I also
won't eat noodles anymore! Make me a cheese and tomato sandwich."
Or to have the autistic 12 yr old scream, "THAT's DISGUSTING!"
No more dealing with helpful husband who brings home a complete weight
bench to our 3 bedroom, 1 bath APARTMENT with already too much CRAP
in it, including a broken washing machine in the corner of the dining room
that usually houses the two HUGE captains chairs that don't fit in the living
room and the extra coffee table whereas the dining room table is crammed
into the boys' bedroom with the only in-tact chair left after they wiggled,
wobbled and leaned on the other 5 until they smashed into toothpicks........
where was I? Oh, right...the "helpful husband".....then puts together said
weight bench, shows the 5 kids ages 8-13 how to use it and then says to me
while pulling on his jacket and running out the door to visit his sister across
town, "Keep the kids off of this thing, will you? It's dangerous for them to use
it on their own." Ya think?????????????!
Do I LOOK like I have nothing better to do? I mean, YES, I could benefit from
using a weight bench and I could get into shape and lose this extra 50 lbs I've
been lugging around off and on for the last 10 years. BUT...couldn't we look
at maybe getting a bigger house first? Or putting up a couple of the kids for
adoption??? WHY get it now? You KNOW they'll only break the damn thing
before I get to use it once. *sigh*
I need a job where I'm appreciated and this one just ain't it. At least not here
on Earth. Of course, it's not here where I truly want to be appreciated is it?
In the Quran, Heaven lays at the feet of the mothers. I guess God appreciates
how difficult our job really is....so maybe I'll stick it out afterall. I don't really
need to have a new dress every month or to get my nails done or to actually get
a vacation far away from the in-laws. I'll be rewarded one day...if not by my
kids here then definitely by God on Judgement Day. I pray He's merciful to me.

Monika-Inspired Blog....

GROUP EFFORT TIME:

Due to Monika's pointing out the great one-liners that came out of the
movie Dodgeball (with Vince Vaughn, Ben Stiller, & Chuck Norris,)
I've decided to make this entire thing about great one-liners from movies.
Just throw out a one-liner and underneath it what movie it came from.

I'll start:
"Is it necessary to drink my own urine? NO! But it's sterile and I like the
way it tastes."
- Dodgeball

"If you can dodge traffic, you can dodge a ball!"
- Dodgeball

(Well, this one is actually a two-liner:)
One-armed vampire: "We're immortal, Buffy! We can do anything!"
Buffy: "Oh, yeah? Clap!"
- Buffy the Vampire Slayer

.....go ahead....it's your turn now.....I'll check back over the next few days.

X vs. the evil Morph-Snake

So, this is Hamo's latest comic effort on the Paint program. And since my
stupid extra 40MB of memory AND the damn CD-drive are not being
recognized by my retarded computer, I decided to upload it here for safe
keeping and delete it out of my hard drive before it crashes due to too
many files. Hamo said that this guy, X, is about to fight the evil Morph-
Snake, who can transform into any monster he desires, and lives in a
cave on the edge of a volcano. (That's a volcano on the bottom right and
NOT a pizza, Hamo said.) X is the only warrior that can beat the Morph-
Snake and his ninja minions.
Don't forget to send us your comments on his artwork/story idea.

I Swear He Did It to Himself! and Other Truths CPS Won't Believe

How soon is too soon to explain what a hickey is to your kids?
I'm guessing 8 is a little young, right? I used the term "painless
bruise" instead. I'm hoping that's acceptable for a while. What
am I talking about? Well, I'll tell you.
Last night just after dinner, Ismail came into the kitchen and
told me that I NEED to come look at Aiman's chin. Since I was
up to my armpits in dirty dishes and an argument with Hamo, I
opted to ask for a verbal description instead. He said, "It's got
a big red thing on it." HUH? What big red thing?
I blew it off as leftover meatsauce from pasta. Aiman has been
known to actually lick his dish clean if it's something he likes.
Oddly enough, it didn't really register with me that he doesn't
actually LIKE pasta or meatsauce. He only tolerates it because
I use green peppers in the sauce and to him this means "Fart
Power!"
So about an hour later Ismail came back to me and said, "Mom,
the red thing on Aiman's chin is getting WORSE!" So, I called
him into the kitchen, thinking it was just a red grease stain. He
walked in, looked up at me and said, "Ma'am?" and HOLY
SUCTION CUPS, BATMAN! He had this gigantic hickey covering
his ENTIRE chin.
I had to rule out bruising first, as a precaution. So I asked if Hamo
had pinched his face (he's known for this.) Aiman looked embar-
rassed and said, "No. I did it with my cup by sucking it up with my
mouth for a really long long time."
Once we determined that it didn't hurt and it was a "painless bruise"
(Hickey), I just put a little Hemoclar ointment on it (for hematomas)
and sent him on his way with a warning not to do it again.
*Sigh. I don't really beat my kids. It just looks like I do.

Steven Seagal...Hot Martial Artist? Or Fat Dude Caught in a Neverending Mid-Life Crisis?

I saw an ad for yet ANOTHER Steven Seagal movie on the Action channel
on satellite tv last night. YAWN. I've questioned the popularity of this guy
among men (I know ZERO chicks that dig this clown) and I couldn't figure
out why he's still making movies after all these years. I mean, sure, back in
1990 he was okay in Hard to Kill but then came Out for Justice and then Under Siege. I realized back then that aside from a name change and maybe
a little scenery and verbage, Steven Seagal is making the same movie over and over and over. Why even name the characters? Why not some new movie ideas without naming the players? Here are some suggestions:
Island Icer
Fat dude with ponytail and one raised eyebrow in a leather jacket kicks the
crap out of nameless villain with uzi and hawaiian print shirt fetish on a
Carribean island vacation resort.

Nut Cracking Nightshift
Fat dude with ponytail and one raised eyebrow in a night guardsman's uniform
beats the snot out of some would-be burglars in all black catsuits at a Planter's
Peanut Warehouse somewhere in Georgia.

and maybe a love story:

Guarding Gilda
Fat dude with ponytail and one raised eyebrow in a brown pinstriped suit, hired
as bodyguard to Gilda Glockensphincter, world renowned porn star, uses various
kitchen utensils to completely thrash 4 eastern-European attempted

kidnappers who somehow end up in the studio cafeteria while looking to score

some "easy ransom money" in Cleveland.

None of these film ideas cannot possibly be as lame as some of the crap he's

already starred in AND produced AND directed AND written.........oh, yeah!

He's his own biggest fan....check out his filmography on IMDB ( http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000219/ ) ! .....THAT explains so much
to the women of the world as to why our men can watch this aging talentless
hack. HE promotes himself. I wonder if he's his own agent, too? THAT would
certainly save 15% of all pay, wouldn't it?

Steve, for crying out loud, cut that damn ponytail off, retire and move to Florida.
Everyone else your age has.