پاکستان میں Mostbet com ویب سائٹ ملاحظہ کریں، اور آپ یقینی طور پر کھیلوں پر شرط لگانے یا آن لائن کیسینو میں کھیلنے کے لیے یہاں واپس آنا چاہیں گے۔ کھیلوں کے شائقین کو ایونٹس کے ایک بڑے انتخاب، مختلف پروموشنز اور بونسز، مفت بیٹس، مفت گھماؤ اور زیادہ مشکلات تک رسائی حاصل ہے۔ اور کھیل کو مزید آسان بنانے کے لیے، ہم نے ایک موبائل ایپلیکیشن تیار کی ہے جسے آپ آسانی سے اپنے فون پر انسٹال کر سکتے ہیں۔

The Worst Way To Meet Your Neighbors

August 21, 2015 Written by One Classy Motha

The Worst Way To Meet Your Neighbors

 

 

I kept meaning to meet our new neighbors, like REALLY meet them. You know, have a conversation, maybe invite them over for wine, show them around the area, etc. Something other than the casual wave in passing.  Unfortunately, months went by and the opportunity never presented itself-  meaning either my house was a mess or I wasn’t wearing a bra (both of these things have admittedly held me back from a deep and rich social life).  However, Ana has struck up an almost obsessive friendship with their 8 year old daughter, Emily.  They flutter back and forth between our homes, going from one make-believe game to the next. I can only hope little Emily lacks the critical eye of a child accustomed to fine housekeeping.

Well guess what?  I finally met them last Sunday. Let me set the stage for this beauty of a meeting.

 

 

FRIDAY

A few neighborhood parents & their teens were hosting a weekend fundraising sleepover camp at our clubhouse, sleepover optional. Ana was super excited, so she and I stayed home while Brian and Collin went to the beach. Truth be told, I was the most excited. Ana in camp all weekend, husband and child#1 at the beach. In the days leading up, visions of me slowly walking the aisles of Marshalls while sipping a Starbucks Mocha Latte became all I could think about.

5PM, we arrived at camp. I was almost giddy.

 

Ana: I’m not staying here. Let’s go home.

 

I’m not gonna lie, at that moment everything in my world went black.

Reaching out into the darkness, patting the head of the little girl who had just crushed my solace seeking soul, “There there, let’s not be rash.  You LOVE everyone here. There’s your babysitter, there’s your friend, everyone’s doing crafts, and they’ll probably order pizza later. And if they don’t I’ll buy out the Dominos down the street and have one delivered to you every hour. How’s that sound?”

Ana: I’m scared. I don’t want to stay here, I want to go home.

Me: You need to be brave and give it a chance. Trust me, you’ll have so much fun! It would be a shame to miss it. What if we leave tonight but try again in the morning?

Ana: I’m not coming back.

Concerned parents were now gathered around. I smiled and said, “Excuse me while I give her some loving words of encouragement.”

Kneeling down, I pulled her pissed off face close to mine and whispered sweetly:
“I swear on Bunny (holding her lovie tightly by the neck) you WILL go to camp or YOU WILL spend the entire weekend in your room. So it’s THIS or staring at your bedroom walls for the next 48 hours.”

Standing up and smiling. “So what do ya think? Feel ready to give it a try?”

She gave it a try, and I went home and listened to the silence until 9PM when it was time to pick her up.

 

 

SATURDAY

Saturday morning was a thing of beauty! She was thrilled to go to camp, and even said she might stay overnight. I wasn’t holding my breath, but the thought was intoxicating.

After dropping her off, I did my first workout in months, PLYO FIT EXTREME, then I kept the momentum going by cleaning out the foyer closet.  It took 4 hours to clean that damn closet. 4 hours, people. foooouuuurrrr hours! It’s not even a big closet (4×4) but it does have some serious height of which I have taken full advantage.  Trust me, shit was all stacked up Jenga style. Looking through coat pockets for receipts, I was able to date the bottom layer of crap back to 2005. I even came across a baby tooth…or cat tooth…or broken Tic Tac, I can’t be sure. I just threw it in a memory box and kept moving.

After gathering a very large donation pile, I put everything in the car and headed to my first stop, Marshalls!

As I stepped out of the car, and my legs collapsed like snapped rubber bands, I thought of an important tip:

If you haven’t exercised  in months, a workout with the word EXTREME in it might not be the DVD for you. Especially if it’s in all caps.

Holy Crap! It’s like my muscles needed those last 4 hours to really digest what I had done to them, and then they were all like “OH HELL NO! WE’RE SHUTTING THIS SHIT DOWN.” And I was all “No, no, please. We’re done exercising! I just need you to get me to the clearance shoe section and back!”

Bless them, they did. Barely.

I spent the rest of the afternoon sitting on the couch watching my legs lock up.

Around 6 PM I received a text from our sitter:

Ana says she wants to stay overnight at camp with me.

 

I couldn’t believe it, I had the whole evening to myself!

Most of it was spent trying to get up the stairs.

Once I was upstairs, it seemed kinda quiet, like really quiet. Then I realized what it was, Ana’s little crackhead hamsters weren’t on their squeaky wheel. So I checked on them.

D.E.A.D.

Both of them! How the hell…why…both?  I sat there examining the scene like a forensic detective. One was inside their little house, while the other laid in the doorway. A domestic dispute? Did Sparkles say he was running out for a pack of cigarettes, but Pinky knew he had no intentions of coming back?

I was beyond upset. Not because they were dead, everyone knew I despised them, but because they died mysteriously while home alone with me.

Know any good lawyers?

I put them in a Ziplock bag with a tiny murder/suicide note and stuck them in the garage. Then I stayed up all night rehearsing the ‘circle of life’ speech I’d have to give Ana in the morning.

 

 

SUNDAY

I cried as I came down the stairs that morning. No, not because of the hamsters, but because every muscle from my neck down was screaming. Five hundred dollars and 12 years later, my Lamaze breathing techniques finally came in handy.

After picking Ana up from camp, I army crawled into the kitchen and delivered the terrible news. I expected sobs and screams asking the universe to grant her “just one more day with them”. Instead, her reaction was what I’d call underwhelming. Some brief ‘sad eyes’ and then “Can I go play with Emily?”

“Sure. I guess we can bury them later?” And off she went.

Around noon Ana walked in from the garage.

 

Me: Where’s your friend?

Ana: Oh, she’ll be right back. She just went to show her dad my hamsters.

Me: YOUR DEAD HAMSTERS!?!? NOOOOOO!

 

I shuffled as fast as I could into the foyer. Through the windows on either side of our door, I saw Emily skipping across our lawn, smile on her face, Ziploc bag full of dead hamsters in her hand, murder/suicide note visible.

“EMILY! COME BACK, COME BAAAAACK!” I screamed through double-pane glass.

She couldn’t hear me and my knees wouldn’t bend beyond a 30 degree angle. So I did the only thing I could do, I put on my bra and waited.

Not surprisingly, it only took 10 minutes before I was meeting our new neighbors.

The dad appeared in my garage and started casually sweeping his eyes around the room, no doubt looking for more dead animals in baggies. The mom stayed a little farther back.

 

Me: Hi! I’m soooo sorry Ana sent your daughter home with dead hamsters.

Him: Oh, um, don’t…um…don’t worry about it.

Me: It’s just that we haven’t had a chance to bury them yet and she thought they were interesting. She thought maybe you’d find them interesting. I explained to her that we don’t send our friends home with dead animals. I think she gets it now.

Him: Well, they…um… looked peaceful?

Me: Ha. Yeah. Oh, and that murder/suicide note? Just a joke.

Him: Ha…so how did they both die at the same time?

Me: Heyyy, could I offer you both some wine? Or maybe show you around the area?

 

And now my goal is to convince these people that we’re actually a very normal suburban family. And I think I can do it too….until the day they Google “felt pajamas” and it auto corrects it to “felt vaginas” which will then lead them to this blog.

 

 

__________________________________________

You guys HAVE to check out my newest sponsor, Hey Duckee!  They have the MOST ADORABLE things at the MOST AFFORDABLE prices!!!

Whether you are searching for the latest fashions and trends in clothing and accessories, cool gadgets, fun décor or helpful learning tools for your ducklings, Hey Duckee has it all! Your little hatchlings will be the envy of all the other ducks in the nest!

HeyDuckee_200x200_3

5 Comments Filed Under: The Weekend in Crappy Pics, Uncategorized Tagged With: , , , , ,

Snow Day Melt Down…take me to my happy place.

February 7, 2014 Written by One Classy Motha

snowday meltdown

My brain: Write something funny, Kim. Go on. Spew something totally inappropriate, watch your husband cringe, then chuckle it up at your family’s expense.

My soul: I can’t today. I just can’t.

My brain: Sure you can. Here, let me help you: Remember that guy in the waiting room at the Ears, Nose, & Throat doctor?

My soul: Which one?

My brain: Which one!? How ’bout the one with the goddamn aquarium fish stuck in his ears?

My soul: Yeah, that was pretty funny…

My brain: What’s wrong with you?

My soul: Snow day # 5, that’s what wrong. The cold, the isolation, the children, the children, the children. Lord knows, I love my kids, but every time I’m on the verge of almost stringing together a somewhat coherent sentence…”Mommmmm! Wipe my butt!” “Mommmm! I DIDN’T WANT YOU TO CUT MY NUGGETS THAT WAY!” “MOMMMM! MOMMMM! MOMMMM! Whatcha doing?”

I’m fried. I’m throwing in the towel, regrouping, and hoping that next week brings sunshine and 9am-3pm school days.

My brain: Fine. At least do a lame-ass repost.

My soul: Good idea. I think I’ll re-post about my happy place…

 

 

An Excerpt from my Unwritten & unpublished book: Things I Should Be Grateful For, But Dammit I’m Not

 

I do want to go, I just don’t want to go with him…with them.

He parks the car next to the entrance, and for a moment my thoughts are lost in the familiar soothing rhythm of the automatic doors- open, close, open, close, open, close. I want to say “take me home”, but it’s the promise of what lies behind those doors that keeps me quiet. My hands begin to shake and my heart starts racing, and just like that, I am powerless to leave.

I look at my husband and nod. It’s a nod that says “yes, I want this and we will enjoy it together”. With that, he smiles and we all get out of the car in slow unison. Hand in hand and void of ceremony, the whole family enters my private sanctuary, a sanctuary that has now been horribly violated by their presence. And somewhere in my soul a voice is screaming, “This is my heaven! You should not be here…this is MY MARSHALLS!”

marshalls_logo

source: www.marshallsonline.com

“Come forth, my child, and save.”

I now realize this trip was a mistake. There’s no joy in lazily shopping for fabulous bargains with your husband and children. None at all. I must find a way to shop undercover to avoid hearing Collin and Brian bitch about how long I’m taking, or schlepping Ana to the bathroom 5 times.

As soon as we cross the threshold, I thankfully realize my subconscious has a plan B. Damn right subconscious! You rock!

As if directed by angels, I quickly point to the left and shout “Look! Cowboy Cheerleaders are giving away Barbie dolls and Xbox games!” I go right.

I devise Operation Labia, so called because the term is both feminine and covers a place equally important to me.

Without a doubt, the first area I must visit is the Home Goods section. There are very few hiding places here, the aisle are streamlined and all the furniture lies in the center, not unlike the Cornucopia in The Hunger Games. Once my family realizes I lied to them, this is where they will come to seek me out and kill my joy.

As I’m looking at mirrors for our dining room, I suddenly see 50 reflections of Brian sitting in an armchair that’s on clearance for $149. It’s a startling sight, and thankfully he doesn’t see me. He’s too busy acting like The Godfather, barking orders and sending the children out on short missions to search for me.

I duck and watch the scene unfold from the safety of the bath towels. While Brian is a brilliant strategist, I believe he’s foolishly putting too much faith in Ana’s ability to stay on task, as witnessed by her unsupervised handling of China plates and licking of coffee mugs. This is his problem, I remind myself.

I quickly move on, knowing I must stay one step ahead of them. And so I make a mad dash for the shoes. Suddenly I hear Collin’s voice yelling,” I see her! I see her!”

I switch gears and loop around down the toy aisle. I begin knocking Dora dolls and Star Wars Legos off the shelves in my wake. Ha ha ha! You’ll lose your little minions here, Brian!

Once back at the shoes, I take my time knowing the children will not and cannot be persuaded to leave the toy section. It is here, among the discounted Uggs, BOC, Bandolino, and Michael Kors shoes that I feel most at peace.

I’m meditating among the seasonal boots when I hear them coming. As I peek up from zipping a Bare Trap faux fur suede boot (with cool buckles on the side), I see them heading my way in a reverse triangular formation. Brian is in the back sending the kids (who are clutching toys. A bribe tactic no doubt) down various aisles. I hear shouts of “negative” “all clear” and “no, Pooperbutt”. I start to wonder if Brian has military training.

They are getting closer.

With one boot on and the other tucked under my arm, I begin a modified army crawl towards the Ladie’s Knits.

Arriving at my destination, I insert myself into the clothes rack and begin shopping from the inside. I can’t help but to feel safe and happy as I am nestled by soft sweaters, and my cheeks tickled by their discounted sale tags. I know it’s time to leave when I hear myself humming “I’m a Little Tea Pot”. I fear I’m cracking.

I grab 3 sweaters and drape them over my head to use as camouflage on the way to the dressing room.

Tucked in the back dressing room, I begin to try on sweater #1. It’s not really my color but the shape looks like it could be super flattering. I have it poised over my head when, in an eerie sing song voice, I hear “mommmeyyy, oh mommmeyyy”. Shit!

I quickly jump onto the tiny stool that all dressing rooms have. Yes, I’m convinced that this is the stool’s sole purpose and I send the designer a telepathic “thank you”.

I hear her coming down the dressing room corridor, looking under the doors for the familiar cracked heels and deformed baby toes of her mother. Grateful for all of the squat exercises I’ve been doing lately, I remain quietly perched on the stool. My quads are burning but they are strong.

In the mirror’s reflection, I see her hair dragging on the floor as she peers underneath my door. I. DON”T. MOVE.

“Oooh, Pooper Stinkybutt”

When I don’t respond to the crude nickname she has given me, she gets up and moves on to the next door. I have escaped detection! I am dizzy from the adrenaline and my own cleverness. And then…as if in slow motion, a lone Lego piece tumbles from my purse…it bounces, once…twice…three times, and settles at her feet. I hold my breath…

Sorry, you’ll have to buy the book to see how it ends.

8 Comments Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: , ,

I pulled a parenting move that made me sad.

January 21, 2013 Written by One Classy Motha

Let’s play a game, it’s called “What’s happening here?”

No Shirt, No Shoes, No Service

Ugh. Every morning we’re late for preschool because Ana either won’t get dressed or she repeatedly takes off the clothes that I just convinced her to wear. Dressing and redressing her multiple times, every single morning, is EXHAUSTING.

At my wit’s end, I told her that if she wasn’t dressed when we had to leave, she’d have to finish getting dressed at school. She pretty much told me to stick it up my ass, so I decided to let her experience the consequences of that decision.

When we arrived at preschool (sans shirt and shoes), I removed her coat and dressed her in the corner of the classroom. I could tell she was embarrassed and I suddenly felt really shitty about the whole “following through” tactic- but DAMN, I can’t keep being her bitch.

After she was dressed, we talked and we hugged. I then proceeded to stand outside of her classroom for the next 15 minutes to make sure she wasn’t traumatized. I felt like crap. I mean, I know that whole point was for her to be affected by the situation, but Dr. Phil never said it would be so heart wrenching. Damn you Dr. Phil. *shaking my fist*

Needing to cheer up and needing a boost of dopamine, I headed to my dealer…Marshalls. (read about my love for Marshalls here)

Now here’s where I give you some common sense (except if you’re me) advice: if you feel fat, bloated, and sad, DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT try on Spandex workout clothes- it will only compound your sadness. Stick with shoe or lamp shopping.

After returning the clothes to the dressing room lady, I headed over to the home decor department. I wandered around until I came across an aisle that had ottomans. I’d been looking for one for a while now and I saw two possibilities on the shelf. I grabbed the first one, set it on the ground, put my ass on it…and fell in! WTF?! right?

Turns out it was one of those storage ottomans where the lid sits on top, only this lid wasn’t lined up properly so it flipped off, and now I was stuck inside with my legs in the air. FYI- there’s no graceful way to extract yourself from a storage ottoman.

After getting out, I took the other ottoman down, (making sure it didn’t have a misaligned lid) sat on it, and proceeded to cry. While my mind was sad, I couldn’t help but to notice that my ass was pretty damn comfy. So when I was done crying, I took it to the counter and bought it.

The ottoman now sits in my kitchen, still damp from all the tears. I can’t decide if I like it or if it was an emotional purchase, so I’m going to keep the tags on for a few months.

Oh, and I forgot to mention that I accidentally stole an umbrella from Marshall’s. It was under the ottoman in the cart and I forgot to pay for it. But you’ll be happy to know that I took it back in (even though it was raining and I could’ve really used an umbrella).

*Don’t steal kids because it’s wrong (but mostly because karma’s a huge bitch).

When I picked Ana up she was upbeat and seemed to have forgotten the whole thing. We even played soccer together in the gymnasium for about 1/2 hour before heading home (a guilty conscience always makes me a more attentive parent). And guess what? She was dressed for school on Friday with almost no problem. So I guess this had a happy ending. But I still feel ucky.

P.S. I got my period later that day- that might explain all the crying.

10 Comments Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: ,

An excerpt from my unwritten and unpublished book “Thanks But No Thanks – Things I should be grateful for but, damn it, I’m not”

October 4, 2012 Written by One Classy Motha

I do want to go, I just don’t want to go with him…with them.

He parks the car next to the entrance, and for a moment my thoughts are lost in the familiar, soothing rhythm of the automatic doors- open, close, open, close, open, close. I want to say “take me home”, but it’s the promise of what I might find behind those doors that keeps me quiet. My hands begin to shake and my heart starts racing. And just like that, I am powerless to leave.

I look at my husband and nod. It’s a nod that says “yes, I want this and we will enjoy it together”. And with that, he smiles and we all get out of the car in slow unison. Hand in hand and void of ceremony, the whole family enters my private sanctuary, a sanctuary that has now been horribly violated by their presence. And somewhere in my soul a voice is screaming,

“This is my heaven! You should not be here…this is MY MARSHALLS!”

I now realize this trip was a mistake. There’s no joy in lazily shopping for fabulous bargains with your husband and children. None at all. I must find a way to shop undercover to avoid hearing Collin and Brian bitch about how long I’m taking, or schlepping Ana to the bathroom 5 times.

As soon as we cross the threshold I thankfully realize my subconscious has a plan B. Damn right subconscious! You rock!

As if directed by angels, I quickly point to the left and shout “Look! Cowboy Cheerleaders are giving away Barbie dolls and Xbox games!” And I go right.

I devise Operation Labia, called so because the term is both feminine and covers a place equally valuable to me.

Without a doubt, the first area I must visit is the Home Goods section. There are very few hiding places here because the aisle are streamlined and all the furniture lies in the center. And not unlike the Cornucopia in The Hunger Games, once they realize I lied to them, this is where they will go to seek out and then kill my joy.

As I’m looking at mirrors for our dining room, I suddenly see 50 reflections of Brian sitting in armchair that’s on clearance. It’s a startling sight, and thankfully he doesn’t see me. He’s too busy acting like The Godfather, barking orders and sending the children out on short missions to search for me.

I duck and watch the scene unfold from the safety of the bath towels. While Brian is a brilliant strategist, I believe he’s foolishly putting too much faith in Ana’s ability to stay on task, as witnessed by her unsupervised handling of China plates and licking of coffee mugs. This is his problem, I remind myself.

I quickly move on, knowing I must stay one step ahead of them. And so I make a mad dash for the shoes. Suddenly I hear Collin’s voice yelling,” I see her! I see her!”

I switch gears and loop around down the toy aisle. I begin knocking Dora dolls and Star Wars Legos off the shelves in my wake. Ha ha ha! You’ll loose your little minions here, Brian!

Once back at the shoes, I take my time knowing the children will not and can not be persuaded to leave the toy section. It is here, among the discounted Uggs, BOC, Bandolino, and Michael Kors shoes that I feel most at peace.

I’m meditating among the seasonal boots when I hear them coming. As I peek up from zipping a Bare Trap faux fur suede boot (with cool buckles on the side), I see them heading my way in a reverse triangular formation. Brian is in the back sending the kids (who are clutching toys. A bribe tactic no doubt) down various aisles. I hear shouts of “nope” “all clear” and “no, Pooperbutt”. I start to wonder if Brian has military training.

They are getting closer.

With one boot on and the other tucked under my arm, I begin a modified army crawl towards the Ladie’s Knits.

Arriving at my destination, I insert myself into the clothes rack and begin shopping from inside. I can’t help but to feel safe and happy as I am nestled by soft sweaters, and my cheeks tickled by their discounted sale tags. I know it’s time to leave when I hear myself humming “I’m a Little Tea Pot”. I fear I’m cracking.

I grab 3 sweaters and drape them over my head to use as camouflage on the way to the dressing room.

Tucked in the back dressing room, I begin to try on sweater #1. It’s not really my color but the shape looks like it will be super flattering. I have it poised over my head when, in an eerie sing song voice, I hear “mommmeyyy, oh mommmeyyy”. Shit!

I quickly jump onto that tiny stool that all dressing rooms have. Yes, I’m convinced that this is the stool’s real purpose and I send the designer a telepathic “thank you”.

I hear her coming down the dressing room corridor and I can feel her looking under the doors for the familiar cracked heels and deformed baby toes of her mother. But I remain perched on the stool, grateful for all of the squat exercises I’ve been doing lately. My quads are burning but they are strong.

I hold very still as I hear her approaching. In the mirror’s reflection I can see her hair dragging on the floor as she peers underneath my door. I don’t move.

“Oooh, Pooper Stinkybutt”

When I don’t respond to the crude nickname she has given me, she gets up and moves on to the next door. I have escaped detection! I am dizzy from the adrenaline and my own cleverness. And then…a lone Lego piece tumbles from my purse, as if in slow motion it bounces, once…twice…three times, then settles at her feet. I hold my breath…

Sorry, you’ll have to buy the book to see how it ends.

Leave a Comment Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: , ,
Follow

Get every new post on this blog delivered to your Inbox.

Join other followers: