I'm a Bigot...

I love riding motorcycles.  I mean LOVE.  One of the sexiest things about my hubby when we were dating is that he owned a motorcycle.  It was a 750 cc engine and it rode like crap until the day we gave it away, but man was he hotter than hell on that thing!  When I learned to ride my own bike a few years back, I never realized how awesome I was until the day I got my motorcycle endorsement on my license.  Just look at me:

I know it's only a 550 but man am I cool. I love riding when the alfalfa fields are being watered or cut...  The smell just drives me mad.  I love the wind in my face, how it feels to shift that bike, and most of all I love passing other riders and sticking my hand out and watching them hail me back.  It's a silent, "hey man, I'm cool and I know you know it because you're cool too for riding that bike!"  

I might be kick ass cool, but I'm a bigot.  Don't get excited because it's only targeted at one group of individuals.  These folks don't deserve to vote, breathe the same air as me, or be allowed to eat at Wendy's.  McDonald's all the way for these clowns!  Who is it?  Here's a hint...

That's right...  Scooter riders.  Are you for real man?  You're such a sissy you have to buy your ride with an automatic transmission?  Do your feet get tired on foot pegs so you need a floor to rest them on?  And how about the whole design of the common scooter?  Why don't you get a pedal bike with a banana seat and ape drape handlebars because anything's better than the ride you got dude!

I have gotten a little out of control about this issue and try to repent for my vehemence occasionally, but then I hear the whimpy purr of that stupid weak engine and I get all fired up about it again!  If I find out someone's a scooter rider I shun them.  I avert my gaze when they enter a room and utter derrogatory phrases under my breath.  It's appalling but I'm committed to the cause so it's pointless to let it go now.

If you're a scooter rider don't you dare try to justify your ridiculous behavior.  As a bigot I just won't listen, nor will you ever change my mind.  The only people on this planet who should legally be able to putt around on such a worthless machine are Italians.  This is because Italians are the only group who can make any lame-o behavior look awesome.  You think I kid?  What about the Speedo?  What about the mafia?  What about Eggplant Parmesan?

I'm calling you out scooter sissies (except Italian ones as outlined previously)!  Sell your stupid teal Vespa, grow a pair, and enjoy some real power between your legs for once.  And yes, that was a sexual reference; I'm a motorcycle rider and that's how we roll..

It's the Midwife Reality Show!

A&E has a show called The First 48.  It's all about how murders need to be solved within 48 hours or the likelihood anyone will pay for their crime begins to drop.  I sometimes think of my life in 48 hour intervals, but it's more because I'm not sure what will happen at my job during such a stretch of time and whether I will still be alive on the other side.  

Take this last Tuesday.  I started clinic at 9 am and had a full day seeing patients.  At five I ran over to the hospital to start a labor induction for a first timer.  These unfortunate women are called primips in my line of work.  Let me sum up my very unmidwifery feelings for almost all primips using a saying I am trying to patent...  "Any woman who has not had a baby before should not be allowed to have a baby..."  I know, Ghandi has nothing on me!

The reason primips can be tough is you never know how they will progress.  In this case, baby decided to come face first with the chin down and thus, vaginal delivery was not possible.  After spending  24 hours with her, this is how my day ended...

After the Cesarean, I was hoping to go home but found out I was going to do another labor.  So this is how I coped:

For any uncultured swine out there, I'm eating some Lorna Doones.  Sweet Lornas are the second best thing about hospitals.  The first is the warm blankets.  I vote we only use hospitals for sitting around in warm blanket burritos while crunching Lornas...Anyhoo...

I actually was happy to get the next labor so I could attend the birth of this lovely lady since I was lucky enough to do her first.  She was a primip once but acted more like a multip (lady who has already squeezed a baby out...)

Shortly after I started hanging out with this gal I found out I was getting a second labor.  Of course I let Jared know so he could plan his evening without me...

I know it sounds like I didn't want to help my next lady, but I was just tired and hadn't been home in a day and a half.  However, I had done a previous baby for her too and it was a privilege to catch her third.  I finished by midnight and actually slept in my own bed.  At seven this morning my Lily discovered me and said, "hoorah!  You're finally home!"  Here's our snuggle selfie:

It couldn't last because at 9:30 I got called out for another primip who was wonderful until I had to sew up the explosion her baby's head left in her vagina.  I rounded out my 48 with more Lornas and Diet Sunkist...

I know.  I'm disgusting.  I have no excuses.  None.  I guess what I'm trying to say is I don't understand why I don't have some 48 hour reality show.  I think my life is riveting and that I could really make a go at fame and fortune.  If you happen to own a cable channel, won't you think about hiring me?

Ur a Loser Mom!

I used to be cool.  Totally cool.  I still am to only the following two people: 

This is called a Bubba Sandwich.  Get it?  Cause Bubba is the meat between the two slices of bread represented by mommy and daddy?  I used to make Kayley, Hannah, Emma, and Lily sandwiches, but not much anymore because my other kids now think human sandwiches are lame.  Bubba always wants to be with me.  She Skyped me the other day when I was stuck at the hospital and begged me to take her to the local convenience store and buy her a pack of gum and hot coffee.  We don't even drink coffee for religious reasons but Bub would not be swayed.  She insisted on coffee and it had to be HOT!  Point is, she loves me and I can do no wrong.  My teenagers are a different story.  They are always trying to take a powder away from me lately and I see a lot of this:

I'm getting sick of looking at their backsides while they yell over their shoulder and call me a loser.  None of my ideas are interesting anymore.  All they want to do is sit around and Snapchat their stupid teenage friends and play idiotic games on their IPods!  A few summers back we took the kids on a boat ride across Jenny's lake.  The day was idyllic.  The temperature was perfect, the hike we took when we arrived was gorgeous.  Everything about the day was wonderful for me.  Hannah, my second child, whined ALL the way there, ALL the way across the lake, and ALL the way on the hike back to our van.  This is how all of us but Hannah felt on the trip:

I couldn't force Hannah to even get in this pic!  Here she is on the boat ride over the lake:

How can someone who is about to ride across a beautiful lake on a perfect day look so unhappy?  It looks like I asked her to suck her own toes, eat one of my boogers, or French kiss Dexter the three legged cat!  I warned her that I was planning on ice cream in Jackson Hole, WY to make up for the calories I burned on the hike.  I didn't want to lose any of my sexy curves (fine my fat rolls) and told her that if she made my life miserable during the day, I would make hers worse and she could ride back to Idaho Falls sans ice cream.  She insisted on whining, I insisted she skip the ice cream, and at least in my book, I thought I scored a mom win.  Kayley had other plans that day, but she totally would have been in on the conspiracy had she been there;  she just would have done it with a smile on her face.

Lately, the teenage brats give me the silent treatment and dirty looks to convey their displeasure with my outings.  This is because they have given up on normal communication in favor of passive aggressive manipulation.  Usually, this gets me riled up, but I got a special treat on a bike ride in the rain I forced Kayley to enjoy.  Check it out:

That's right, she flew a big fat bird!  News flash pre-adults!  I refuse to let your negativity sway me.  By golly you are my worthless kids and I am going to spend time with you no matter how uncomfortable you try to make it for me!  It has become a battle of wills now and I have exactly 2-3 years to convince you both just how awesome I am!  Now shut your pie holes, wipe that death stare off your faces, and climb in the van!  We're going to Mesa Falls!!!

Happy Father's Day Dad

This is my dad:

He used to be a spry young chicken with a sexy moustache and permed curly locks.  My mom once thought he was pretty hot in a carnal way, since he was one of the few men NOT strutting around in a sequined disco jumpsuit during the pointless 70's.  What a catch!  With the death of disco, he's slowly transformed into a grumpy grandpa that falls asleep if you stop talking to him for two minutes.  

Don't get me wrong, I idolize my dad.  Mostly I idolize his eccentricities because of the sheer delight they give me.  Like stupid Dexter, the three legged cat:

The way Dexter came to live with my parents is pretty hilarious in its own right, but how much my dad loves this guy is even more interesting.  You would think a three legged cat might need extra coddling, but he murders birds, runs REALLY fast when my baby wants to catch him, and even covers 30 percent of his waste in the litter box which astounds me given the physics of the whole thing.  My dad, however, is oblivious to Dexter's abilities.  He refuses to see him as "handicapable," but rather focuses on his perceived inadequacies.  He obsesses about Dexter getting hurt if you let him out of the house at the wrong time.  If Dexter whines at the door, outside of the predetermined safe time, dad lovingly coos, "no Dex, you can't go out."  I think my dad totally believes Dexter understands him, and often carries on one sided conversations with him.  Dexter just stands at the door on his three legs whining like a stupid cat.

Given that I am a jerk, and love to torture and emotionally manipulate anyone who gives me anything to work with, the Dexter situation has kept me in material for months now.  If you doubt my ability to bug people, check out what I did to my daughter when she told me she was going to register for driver's Ed:

I digress... I stopped by my folks' house after some long births a few weeks ago during a huge rain storm.  It was late, and dad was headed to bed.  He said, "don't let my kitty out when you go."  I told him that it was raining and Dexter would figure it out.  He continued to insist that he knew what was best for his furry buddy.  Unfortunately, my dad was not expressing himself well because I'm sure I heard, "I'm being a total weirdo about my freaky cat, so please bug me about it!"  As soon as he settled in I opened the door and yelled, "Holy crap Dad!  Dexter ran out before I could stop him!"  From upstairs a pathetic "nooooo" was emitted, followed by a stern reprimand of, "you better not have let my kitty out!"  It would be funny if he wasn't serious about it!  

He also believes the handicapable feline can't wash himself.  When did losing a leg mean your cat tongue stopped working?!  Dexter lets dad bathe him without a lot of fuss.  I'm sure he submits to the idiocy because he's worried he'll drown if he struggles with only three legs for stability.  Dad, however, thinks he likes it...  Because cats and water have been a positive association through the ages after all...Here's proof I'm not making this up, and yes, he has the wet dummy in a towel and even gave him some bath time kisses!

I could go on for millennia about the crazy stuff my dad does.  Like the cropdusting he orchestrates in stores to make my mom look bad, or the multiple public pant pooping debacles that have left us all in stitches for years.  I enjoy the names he calls his kids like "retard," "dink," and in my brother Jameson's case, "dick."  I love how he cannot leave anyone emotionally unmolested; especially his grandchildren.  Most of all, I love his generosity, his integrity, his work ethic, the way he treats my mother, and of course, his epic swearing problem.  I've known this guy for forty years and each year my life is more enriched by his delightful shenanigans.  So, in preparation for the upcoming weekend, I thought I'd get a jump on the festivities and be the first to wish him Happy Fathers Day.  I love you dad!  In fact, none of your other dick kids love you as much as I do!  And, Dad.... HOLY CRAP I JUST LET DEXTER OUT!!!!

What The?!

I live by a house that I am convinced is occupied by one or more of the following three types of individuals:

1. A Drug Dealer
2. A Pedophile
3. A Sociopath

I have jumped to these horrible conclusions based solely on the looks of the property.  Surely a normal human being who is not involved in trafficking of some sort would not maintain a home that has a sign out front that says "Smile!  You're on Camera!"  I also think an upstanding citizen would NOT have a giant tin picture of a sunset facing outward in their porch window along with an enormous vase of faded plastic flowers.  Lastly, a regular Joe would not have done the following with two giant tree stumps in the side lot of his yard:

I believe this is Abraham Lincoln.  Notice the carving on the face, the little branch of an arm holding the fake walking stick.  His pants are a creepy thin blanket.  I have no idea what the top hat is made from.  I ride by this spectacle often while biking and am at a loss every time I see it.  Why not just cut down the stumps and use them for mulch and/or firewood?  If you must make a creation, why not carve birds or woodland animals, or something that BELONGS in a tree?  Why Honest Abe?  I just don't get it.

Luckily for me, the Abe Lincoln house is not the only odd landmark in my neighborhood.  I actually reside near a meth house.  For the longest time, I thought Jared loved to sit on the couch in the front room and read by the window for the lovely sunshine.  WRONG!  He was sitting there to watch the meth house so he could report increased activity.  In his defense, he didn't tell me my neighbor was a meth addict because I like to bury my head in the sand about these things.  I got tired of meeting loads of folks in the local restaurants, gas stations, etc. only to have Jared list off their offenses, all the while outlining what a "dink" they were in jail.  I want to feel safe in my little town and so I asked him to stop pointing out these individuals to me.  Out of concern for me, he didn't discuss the meth house, but it would have explained what I saw outside a few months ago:

If I had known this guy was from the meth house, I probably would have considered this normal behavior.  Unfortunately, without knowledge of his background, I thought he was trying to impress me.  As such, I did not want to be outdone by this idiot, so I came up with this gem completely substance free:

I should have gone over to his house and knocked on the door to show him my artwork, but he probably would have been high and wouldn't have been able to appreciate me as he should.  Turns out, my hubby has booked several occupants of the drug house into jail.  Last time he saw the head honcho, he told the dude he'd keep an eye out for suspicious activity around his house.  The drug dude said, "thanks, I'd appreciate that."  This is why my hubby is going to heaven without me.  I would have snubbed the guy, found extra reasons to call the cops on him, and probably egged his house if I thought no one would catch me.  As it is, I find myself squinting my eyes as we pass him to peer suspiciously out of my peripheral vision without fully acknowledging his existence.  My husband's behavior?  Respectful, dignified, and kind.  He sickens me sometimes with how good he is.  I'd dump him if I could but he's just too delicious:

I know it looks like I enjoy my husband's company.  It's all a facade...  I'm only in it for the sex!

Can't I Have a Little Peace?

I live a blessed life.  Most of my enjoyment comes from laughing at the ridiculous things that happen to me, or the ridiculous things people do to me because they know I can take it.  Lately, I have been the victim of multiple acts of random vandalism.  The Mental Health Nurse Practitioner that works in my office has been defacing several of my priceless works of art.  The first was a gift a patient gave me, a lovely pic she took of a baby sleeping.  Nate wandered into my office one day and committed this crime with an Expo marker:

I actually caught him red handed but laughed and praised him for his artistry but chastised him for his stealth.  He did this months ago and I have left it ever since.  Given that I laughed and didn't bawl him out for his indiscretion, he found the guts to leave me this a few weeks ago:

That's right, he gave one of my ex-partners Karen some spectacles.  I dusted the picture recently and forgot it was an Expo marker, Karen was restored to her original glory, and I was reduced nearly to tears.  It was funny and now I'm sad it's gone.  Thankfully, I can count on Nate to come up with something else soon. 

Sometimes the acts of vandalism I endure are folks vandalizing themselves for my benefit.  Like this beauty I walked into this week: 

 

This is my hairdresser Erica who happened to be present at a birth I was attending.  I've had patients text me pics of their butts, the butts of their loved ones, and various other gems.  For those of you that don't have people that love and respect you enough to pester you with such behaviors, let me apologize for your loss.  I can't imagine how boring your life must be and it makes me sad that you have a lifetime of doldrums stretching out in an endless horizon in front of you.

Sometimes the vandalism gets extreme.  I found this example on my windshield when I went shopping yesterday.  It left streaks on either side of my windshield when I washed the evidence away with my wipers.  I am hoping it was just lotion but I can never be sure given the caliber of individual that would leave something like this:

I immediately assumed it was my brother Jeff who leaves cock art all over my office at work, at my house, on any random scrap of paper he can find really.  Jared wasn't so sure.  I looked around the parking lot for him anyway and when I didn't see him, I accused him in a text.  He of course laughed and said it was the most fantastic thing he had ever seen.  Then, he wanted to make sure I knew he was still the best dick artist I had ever met.  I tried to point out the exquisite detail in the rendering, but he refused to listen and began to threaten me if I didn't give him his dues.  Jared figured it must have been one of his buddies from the jail.  The jury is out.  I'm sort of hoping it was a random stranger that laid that beauty down.  That takes some real cajones (pun intended) to draw something like that if you have no idea who might climb in behind it. 

I like to believe that the reason I am blessed with so much fine art is that I not only have a trained eye to recognize it when I see it, but I like to spread my own beauty around this world.  I have unlimited examples of how I have blessed the lives of others, but I particularly enjoy sharing my gift with my daughter, Kayley.  Like in this jewel I sent to her.  I vandalized myself, then vandalized her snapchat with this one.  My mom and sister had to help me in and out of my artwork.  I wanted to know if Kayley's daddy would like this:

She was not impressed.  Oh well, everyone's a critic!