Friends with benefits …. and friends with wisdom …..



{The blogger topic for day 10: is The best advice I ever received/ heard …. I may well be behind a day or so….}

Throughout this year I have been blessed to know that I have friends who stand by me.

Offer me support, allow me to sleep on their couch, and who keep me focused on the things that are good, and ways to keep me happy.  Sometimes they just supply good wine, and a ear to listen, and that is often enough to make everything all better.

Divorce, no matter how well it is managed, is still a pretty kak process to go through.

No matter how much the two of you try to appear adult, and to deal with each other in a respectful manner, you can’t help feeling that your life is in a state of free fall.  You are trying to desperately grab onto tufts of grass as you slide down the slipper cliff face into who knows what.

I have tried my utmost to be upbeat, and brave and not lose my sense of humour.  I tell everyone I am fine, and I seem to be coping.  Some days I am a bit side swiped and I struggle to get my head around where things have brought me, and I am petrified of what the future offers.

I do try my utmost not to wallow in my pity, shame, sadness and embarrassment.  I am embarrassed that I could not make this relationship work.  That I failed, and that my failure is so public.

I know in time I will have a different outlook.   I do feel a fair degree of shame, embarrassment and a sense of failure that I could not make this relationship work, and retain Kennith as my partner.

He divorced me, this was not a mutual decision, so I have been divorced from.  I know it is just semantics, but it does not soften the fact that I was rejected.  I was left.

Possibly for something better, possibly for nothing, possibly for the possibility of something better.  Or what ever else.

It still hurts.   It goes right to the core of my psyche, that I am not good enough.

Back to my good friends — I have had friends who have remained in my corner, who have let me vent, who have offered me their couches to sleep on, and who have sent me messages of support, given me hugs, and just been there for me.

No judgement.  Allowing me to speak, offering guidance and support and not insisting I take their advise.

The one piece of advise I think of on a regular basis  was given to me by Karen and it rings true for most things:  “If everyone could put their shit in a brown paper bag, and throw it up in the air, everyone would rather catch their own shit, than have to catch someone else’s.”

I am ad-libbing there, but the gist is that your shit is your shit.

It is easier than having to deal with anyone else’s shit.  And when you really sit down with someone you realise that they have far more in quantity and in complicated-shit than you could ever imagine.  So rather hold onto your shit bag, and keep it as your own — everyone else’s shit is going to smell worse, and probably make you gag.

That piece of advise, or that sentiment has sat with me for some time.

I often want to pull on a hessian bag and push charcoal through my hair and weep at the state of my life, but I think of the bags of shit and I am thankful that my shit is actually not that bad in comparison to others.

In no way am I minimizing my pain, or my experience, but I am owning my shit.  At least my shit is familiar.


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I am also a fan of the old adage: “don’t shit where you eat!!”  Wise words those.






Er, no that’s not right …

I have come across two really strange images today, that have made me count body parts – and then question fashion choices.

I think it is very cool to stay on the cusp of fashion, but there must be a point when you look at yourself in the mirror as you are exiting the house and go: “Hey, that’s not right!”

And personally I do not judge mothers who drop their kids off at pre-school/day care in their jammies.

I figure if you have the luxury of getting back in to bed, or no time what so ever to change, popping out in your jammies in an emergency is a-okay with me.



I am sure that both these ladies are very nice people.  I am not suggesting otherwise.

I am however suggesting that maybe on this day, they made a difficult fashion decision, and came out with the incorrect answer.

But they get to try again tomorrow.  Please gd let them try again tomorrow!

Customer service epic fail ….. stoopid cow!

After a particularly disastrous time playing Standard Bank on-line banking.

I called the help line, which it appeared was having an opposite day.

The only option left to me was to go in to Standard Bank.

Explain that I have been using internet banking for about 10 years.  Have used the same account number, user name and password all this time, and now it did not work.  Could they fix what clearly I did not break.

I got particularly alarmed when red uppercase letters appeared on my screen telling me to go to my nearest branch.

Going in to a branch of my bank, often feels more painful than when I visit Vera who gives me my monthly brazilian wax.  With Vera at least I get a cup of tea, a chat and the benefit of feeling baby smooth.

With my bank, the sensation to my the hair being ripped from my outer labia is probably a good indicator of how it goes.  I get irritated, it is never ending, and I pray it will be over soon.

Partly because there are signs and posters everywhere of happy people who are getting serviced by their bank. I have never been serviced.  By my bank.  Like that.  And have never been that happy.  At my bank.

I am thinking it is either a different bank. Or I am at the wrong branch.

I stand in the queue at the Help/Information desk, and I explain my problem.

I am already feeling irritated, and the queue wait is doing nothing to soothe my mood.  Banks, how about serving coffee, tea, little sticky donuts?  Anything.  Instead we stand there and wait — and the anger in the group is palpable.

The bank assistant decides that this will be made all better by changing my account number.

Please bear in mind I have used this number since before I had children.

I am quite fond of the account number and I able to remember it more easily than I am able to remember my children’s names.   I never call my bank account by another bank account’s name. For instance.

I have long since learnt not to argue logic with people at the bank.  Or at home affairs or at any place that serves you pizza in a bucket.  It really is a futile exercise in things that are futile.  I tend to stand there, smile, nod and just say “okay” in that way that everyone does when you feel their soul dying.

I duly stand and the lady – let’s call her Ursula, her name escapes me right now –  is typing in reams of information.

I think “shit balls this is taking long” but then Ursula smiles and says that she has to move all my beneficiaries over, and that is just under 100 records.

Same bank, same account, same internet banking I have been using for a decade.  I really do not argue.

I stand some more.  Again, why question why she is changing account details that have always worked.  What ever makes her happy.  What ever makes me get out of here.

If she wants to call me Doreen, I will actually agree at this juncture.  Just what ever I can do to get the fuck out of here.  I really think Dante was describing a bank in his little short story way back then.

I can see Ursula is nearly at the end of what ever it is that she is doing, because now she is printing something which no doubt I have to sign three times with a black pen.

Ursula looks at me and smiles.

I smile back.

What else am I meant to do?  She has direct immediate access to my financial records!

She goes: “Do you know what you are expecting?”

I look at her.

The little hamster in my head tries to make a connection to what is coming out of her mouth, her relationship to me, and what she is doing.

Then I remember that I actually do not have a head coming out of my vaginal passage AT THE FUCKING BANK!!

She is not exactly a candidate for a gastric bypass operation, but she could be on a short list – should I ask her when her gastric bypass surgery is booked for?  Or maybe that they have done a super job on fixing her hair lip, I can barely see a scar!!

No, because that would an inappropriate comment to anyone I did not know. ESPECIALLY FROM A CUSTOMER SERVICES PERSON AT A FUCKING BANK!

I am being asked if I am pregnant by the biggest girl at the help desk counter.  Irony much?

In retrospect I could think of a dozen things that I should have said.

Instead I opted for the rather pedestrian: “Fuck you, I am not pregnant.  Thank you fucking much for suggesting so, as now it is clear I cannot pop next door to eat a Sausage Egg McMuffin – which I have been craving for the last 45 minutes as I stood in this STUPID FUCKING QUEUE.  Not only have you fucking made me feel body conscious and I will never wear this shirt and fucking scarf combination again, but you have now totally fucked my decision to pop next door for breakfast!  How stupid are you to make this fatal customer error 101?  Has the last +25 years on this planet taught you nothing??  Can you get Steve (or what ever his name is) on from FNB – I need to talk to him about moving my account!”

Well that is what I said in the car.  To my self.  After I left the bank.


Because Karma is my friend.  I get home and my internet banking is still not working.  Phone the call centre, and guess what?  Had to go back to the bank.  Well done Standard Bank.  No one said.  Ever!

The one with the guy in the rear view mirror ….

Driving home with kids this afternoon.

I am at a busy intersection,so one of those moments where you are sort of hanging mid-way across the road waiting for a gap.  Busy intersection, so my eyes are everywhere.

I keep checking my rear view mirror, as cars are waiting behind me, and I just want to keep an eye on anyone who might try to jump passed me or someone come  speeding up and does not realise that this traffic line is not moving.

I glance in the rear view mirror and there is a guy sitting in the car behind me – driver, not the passenger.  I glance in my rear view mirror, do my left-right-left-right check and then rear view glance.

I notice the guy pushes his little finger pretty far into his nose — so I think, wow, okay, more than likely he is going to come out with something.


I glance my left-right-left-right and back in to my rear view mirror, just at the point where he removes his finger, and now clearly has something lodged on his pinkie finger, so I think “Hmmm, I wonder what he is going to do with that…”

{I am stuck in traffic, and no one is going anywhere, so I really have tons of time for useless musings..}

I glance back into my rear view mirror at the EXACT TIME that he decides the best spot for  THAT  is in his mouth.  I gagged, but being me, I took a second glance, and it seems he was making sure he had it all off his nail as well.

I suddenly felt an unnerving and rather desperate feeling to get the hell out of  there and just be ANYWHERE where this guy was not in my rear view mirror

(blue toyota, guy was probably around 24 – 28 years old, with sandy blonde hair – not a three-year old child you understand, but someone who could order and pay for drive through if he was feeling peckish).

I do my glance left-right-left-right to find a gap, then glance in my rear view mirror, only to find he is doing the entire NOSE-PINKIE-MOUTH routine AGAIN!

At just about that point I decided that the only option left to me was to accelerate, make a gap where there was no gap, so that I could remove him out of my rear view mirror.

Four hours later and I am still feeling a bit traumatized.



You are the adult … buckle up your child …. you dumb ass!

I get so annoyed when I am driving and I see kids who are not bucdles up — I get angry, like roll down your window and scream like a mad woman when I see kids jauntily bouncing around on seats and the parent blissfully driving along.

I do the morning school drop off and the afternoon school pick up – and easily more than 70% of the cars I see with children have the children driving seat-belt free.

I see the lack of putting a seat belt on yourself and your child as an indicator of IQ – or the lack of it in a certain area.

I do look at the person, then I look at the car they are driving and try to figure out where it all went wrong.  I figure that they did not walk into the 7-eleven and put cash down and pick a car.

Odds are they had to fill out some forms and go through a basic purchasing process to get the car.  It requires a bit of mental athleticism, and some dexterity with a pen and maybe a sheet of paper.

I am not suggesting that people who drive cars are gifted.

I am suggesting that if you have gone through the process of purchasing a car, and learning how to drive, your IQ should cover the basic two digit cut off point. You may even be pushing the range of “average” or “normal” somewhere between 85 and 115.

The question that I ask is.  If you are of average intelligence, clearly able to drive, and possibly able to negotiate the many pitfalls of car purchasing, why can you not figure out that when your car is being propelled forward at 65km an hour and you have a child toddling around say by him or her self or even better with you sitting in the front or back seat holding said baby – when said car comes to an abrupt stop that said child will continue to travel at 65km an hour until said child hits something that will impede it’s travelling speed?

For instance, a windscreen – which they will go through – usually with the big melon that sits above their shoulders.  The windscreen might not stop them. It will definitely assist in slowing them down, until they hit the tar of the road and their skull makes that shattering sound.

It really is not a difficult concept to understand.  Why do parents/adults not insist on buckling up their children?

What could be the reason for not doing it?  9 months seems an awfully long time to gestate a child just so you can vault it through a windscreen at an incredible speed!  Or am I misunderstanding the appeal of this no buckling up thing?

Is there a benefit of spending time at Red Cross Children’s Hospital watching them hook your child up to a ventilator whilst another doctor tries to piece together bits of your offsprings skull and grey matte,r in some crazy 10 000 piece puzzle with no box cover to act as a guide?

Is there a benefit of standing explaining to the now permanently traumatized paramedic that you did not see that car, as it jumped out in front of you, and that your child was standing between the car seats, but now has his head bashed open on the pavement?

What would your reason be when you could have avoided it with something that is sold mandatory with all cars?

I am totally open to hearing both sides of this argument.

So far I have not had one person stand up and go: “You know I personally do not believe in buckling up my child, I think it is a waste of time, and I think that the risk of my child’s brains being bashed out are so miniscule that this is all a conspiracy theory put together by those freaks over at PG Glass!”

If you are that parent, please let me know – maybe your argument is something I have not considered.

Meanwhile, I am quite a fan of Buckle Me Up on Facebook – love this page.

Besides the sage advise this page dishes out, my personal favourite is the name-and-shame photographs people post of drivers who allow kids to drive unbuckled in their cars.  Epic Parenting Fails!!

Here are some images from their site – maybe you know one of these peeps, or you are one of these peeps featured here ….

Lindy Crous – August 29 – Saw this car with a child standing on the back seat at the busy Fairtrees and De Bron Intersection at 4pm today.

2 August ar 17h00 on Bosmansdam road… 2 kids jumping around the back seat …..(there was a universal comment regarding the Jesus Saves sticker, but I think putting your child at this level of risk then expecting Jesus to save your child smacks of a bit of cheek in my opinion)

Taken in Sea Point on the 26th March… in Sea Point

14 March 2012 – Taken on modderdam road yesterday 17:20. Three children in the car.. all unbuckled.. thank you Marthie Kemp for posting …{is that a child between a buckle up safely tag x 2 on the back of this car ….. sigh}

Buckle up people, really you are the adult- there is no excuse for a child in the car you are driving not to be  buckled up! If you child does not like to be buckled up and screams, just say fk it, and buckle him/her up anyway.

How do you get something back once it is on the Internet?

{Apologise this turned in to a bit of a rant.  I did not realise I was this annoyed/angry/disappointed until I started putting some thoughts down… not parent or child related in any way I am afraid.}

I have been listening to Cape Talk through all the discussion about “The Spear” – and for some reason, and it may just be poor timing on my part, when ever I am in the car listening and there is a person from the “ruling party” talking about this artwork and what they think should be done with it – they always sound a bit, well demented and unhinged – and seem unable to present an opinion without somehow making it a racial issue or a flash back to Apartheid.

{But I may have only heard a few interviews, and maybe there were more sensible ones that I did not hear … maybe.}

Earlier today I heard a sound bite from an interview and this woman was explaining {I am using this word generously, what I actually want to say is she was ranting like a demented lunatic} that the painting should not go to “this some German people” and that this is “all like apartheid…”

I have no idea how this painting has turned in to the lunatic asylum that it has turned into.  I am really not wanting to get into a huge political debate and stand and defend or demonise a piece of canvas.  Really I do not, I am just having a wee vent here in my corner of the blogosphere.

I have been known to vote for the ANC, so  I am not violently opposed to them.  This is not about which political party I support.

The part I am unclear on in this entire frucus, is if the painting is sold, and no longer on display, and is going to be taken out of the country, and is defaced and you are no longer allowed to see what was considered “pornographic” then what is the fuss about?  It’s art.  Not everyone agrees it is great.  Not everyone is meant to like it.  But someone bought it.  It is no longer owned locally, or on display.

It is done, and over, but people are still foaming at the mouth.

Is the president now “that guy” who we cannot poke fun at or make political or social comments about – either in print, media or art?  Has he become that reverred a fellow?

Can the “ruling party” really stop someone portraying the president in an unsavoury manner?

In that case, maybe he should stop acting in an unsavoury manner …. I don’t see anyone depicting Mandela or even Julius with his member exposed.  I wonder why not?

So why does JZ get to have his trouser snake on display in such a manner??  Something about the shoe and fitting I suppose.

The part that I am REALLY  confused about, is the furor around removing this image from the Goodman Gallery’s website.  Okay so they do that, so what!  Then what?

Anyone who has google will be able to access this image – and 1.8 million similar ones – so why exactly is pressure being applied to the Gallery?  And clearly the message is, art is fine as long it does not taint our honoured leaders,a nd offend the “ruling party.”  (I am getting a Zimbabwe feel about this entire thing ….)

I personally did not think it was an offensive piece of art.  I have seen other images that offended me more.  I have seen Axe deodorant commercials that offend me more.

Jacob has been portrayed as this poor innocent soul who has had his reputation tarnished.  Whose wives and children are horrified as they have been exposed to his member, in public.

Caution me if I am incorrect, but JZ does not exactly strike me as a guy who is not a bit shall we say liberal with disrobing before concubines and daughters of his friends.

I must say, when he was on trial for rape, I sort of lost a bit of respect for him.

When he got off on that trial, which really was a bit “justice blind” and he had the entire AIDS/Shower fiasco, well I sort of lost a bit more respect.

When it was clear he slept with someone who it appears he “took advantage of” well then I lost a bit more  respect for him.

When Julius made his infamous statement about a raped woman not having breakfast and waiting on taxi fare, and the president’s camp remaining quiet and not immediately slapping Julius silly … well then I lost a bit of respect for him.

When he impregnated his friend’s daughter, well that sort of made me lose a bit more respect for him.

When he married for the umpteenth time, when our country really needs a different kind of role model, I lost a bit more respect for him.

When it turned out the woman he was marrying had an 11-year-old child from him, meaning he had cheated on his then wife(s), to impregnate her sort of made me lose a bit of respect for him.  All of this while he was explaining the concept of plural marriages and how it is good for families and I assume does not make husbands step out of their marriage, he was clearly shopping around a bit.

I really am not sure how many bits of respect I have left for him at the moment.

{Please bear in mind that I tend to think the “best” of people until they absolutely fk it up …. really up until that point I reserve judgement.  I believed Hansie was innocent until, well, it was impossible to believe it any more.  I stood up for him.  I even felt bad for Joost and his underpants debacle, and thought, well he must be innocent, because he says he is ……}

I do tend to take the high road and believe innocence, but wow Jacob has made it a bit difficult for me.

This painting barely pipped on my radar, until there was so much screaming, hair pulling and shirt wrenching, that I could not “not” pay attention to it.

The painting did little in the way of make me think “less” of our president, but definitely made me think “less” of the party he represents who used intimidation and other means to ensure this painting was pulled and that City Press issue an apology (of sorts.)  I can’t imagine that this was done without his consent or knowledge …..

Do I think a in a painting is offensive?

Well that would depend on the comment the painting was making.

Does anyone else get a bit of a George Orwell feeling here in reference to the “Animal Farm” and how the pigs who have taken control of the farm, are doing the same things that the farmer used to do before??

I assume everyone got the Lenin reference … not exactly subtle ….. if not then here it is, just in case you had not made the connection.  Considering the “history” of Lenin one would think that JZ would be a bit more offended by that reference, but it appears not.

My original point, which I appear to have got a bit side-tracked from is how is the “ruling party” going to remove all 1 million 8 hundred thousand images that are on the web?

Does fighting with the Goodman Gallery to take it off their site really matter at this point?  I mean really?

In closing …. the fact that the “ruling party” has seen fit to spend more money and time on this ridiculous “spear painting” cause whilst they have seen it fit to NOT to fund and expend the same amount of energy on ensuring that  the Sarah Baartman Centre  {which supports abused women and children} remains open, as it serves an especially needy sector of our community.

The Centre was forced to announce it had insufficient funding and was due for closure.  Eventually there was public support and it has a lifeline to continue doing good work. The government in the interim is a bit busy seeing to one

A centre like this is under threat of closure.  Only 45% of school children receive text books.  Every minute 6 600 child p.orn.ogra.phic images are downloaded in this country.  There are police stations without police vans or police officers qualified to drive them.  There are 9 year old girls at school, pregnant.

But instead of dealing with some of these issues, our mighty leaders and policy makers, and unions, are expending time and energy, on whether there is an acrylic p.e.nis on a canvas.  Sold.  On it’s way to Germany.

Well that disappoints me more than 1000 picture of the president with his p.eni.s exposed.

Epic fail …. there is just so much wrong ….

There is so much wrong with this tattoo, that I think it is hard to really find the right place to start.

After about the third take you realise what it is — and then realise you thought it was something else.

But then you realise “shit that is such a bad tattoo …” and even with your really innocent mind, you still saw it, and now it is burnt into your eyeballs, and then you blink a few times and hope that maybe if you squinted your eyes it will look like an innocent baby finger tenderly grasping it’s mommy’s finger …. but then you realise that it doesn’t.

Holy crapsticks, it is just so very bad, and suddenly those horrendous tramp stamp tattoos don’t look so bad.

Saturday morning adventures …. and mishaps

Saturday mornings with kids are filled with soft lighting, pillow fights, children presented breakfast to their parents as they wake up from a good sleep, everyone happy, shiny and just happy to be alive.

Well that is what the print media or ad campaigns will have us believe <<the image above is in no way an indication of how my family looks when it greets the big bad world in the mornings>>

The reality in my house bears a stark contrast to this rather “fantastic” image I have always held on to.

This morning Kennith left early for a cycle.  I think he was up at about 5 or 6 – it did not really matter as Isabelle had woken up at 3am and thrown up in her bed, so we brought her to ours.  She continued to do a few more hurls.  We then tried to turn the light off curl up and get a few hours more sleep.

Cuddling sleeping children is always a bit wholesome.  Cuddling sleeping children and sleeping deeply do not always go hand in hand.

So not much in the way of sleep between 3 and 5 or 6.  Georgia then woke up and came to get into the bed.  We attempted to lie there and few more minutes.  I put on CBeebies and thought I could squeeze another hour of me lying there and them watching television.

Ah, the fantasies that we all make ourselves believe.

But that fantasy came to a screeching halt when Isabelle threw up all over the bed, her doggie and herself.  Isabelle then screamed hysterically as she wanted to cuddle her dog to make her feel better, but that was tricky as doggy was covered in globules of vomit.

She screamed as a pulled all the bed linen off, and tried to put her doggie in the washing machine.

In the end I had to run a little dog bath in the basin, and hand wash her dog as if it was alive (keeping its head about water, talking to it, soothing it..) all while Isabelle stood next to me crying with snot running onto her top lip.

I thought I would finish it off by cleaning up the dog poo – it appears my dog has a runny tummy …. again!

Nothing says runny tummy and you really are having a crap morning, than the moment that you try to pick up dog shit and it flicks itself up and lands on your upper arm.  Then you start to dry heave. Your child starts to cry because they want you to come and get their doggy off the line as it is hung up by its ears and she wants it now, and then you heave some more as you realise the shit might have flicked in to your hair.

I do love Saturday mornings – thank fk there is only one Saturday a week, I may not be able to deal with more than that.

Everyone needs a friend named Dave ….

I have this friend Dave, I like to think of him as Captain Dave!

You know how in the hero cartoon, the key character always manages to be in the same place as where the bank robbery takes place, or the aliens arrive?  Dave is like that.  Action/fatalities/crime/car accidents attract and attach themselves to Dave, in a measure that I can’t even begin to hint at.

So Dave tells me this story yesterday:

So we drove back from Knysna to Cape Town via Oudtshoorn, and about 40km from Oudtshoorn we came across a miracle, right after it happened. The man you see below was really able to ‘Dodge the bullet.”

The driver was proceeding from George towards Oudtshoorn and a KUDU suddenly sprang from the bush (afterwards we were able to find its tracks and the actual launch spot) and jumped right before the car. It was killed on impact.

<<these images may disturb sensitive viewers, especially if you have an issue with faeces, and kudus inside Toyotas….>>


Not only did it hit his car, it smashed the windscreen, tore a section of the roof away and flew right through the car, blowing open the rear hatch.

The driver ducked instinctively as it happened and was able to avoid most of the carnage. He also held tightly onto the steering wheel, suffering only slight injury to his one hand and a whack to the face from the airbag.

When he lifted his head he was on the gravel on the ‘wrong side of the road’ where he was able to stop the car without losing control.

The KUDU went right through the windscreen, leaving an awful mess on the way. The impact blew the hatchback as the KUDU left through the back of the car…

Fortunately there were no other passengers or they would be covered…

The KUDU left some of his lunch in the boot … and also his large colon …..

KUDU escape route ….

 very lucky man, who probably will not look at KUDU biltong again in the same light ….

The morale of this story:

1.  I could drive down a thousand roads, and I would never see this shit, David will always see this sort of thing.

2.  A KUDU is not to be trifled with.

3.  Seat belts do not save your life, it would seem eye-ducking co-ordination is all the rage this season.

4.  If he did not have a hatch back where would that KUDU go?

5.  I liked the idea that this guy was prepared for all emergencies, but the Booster Cable in his boot helped him not at all.

Incredible – he could have glanced away from the road to change the channel, adjust the air-conditioner and it would have been a totally different story.

Epic Fail Chirp —- American Idols

I am watching American Idols.  Girl walks on stage – she is giraffe tall, but absolute stunning.  She is 15 years old.  Clown sized feet, giraffe tall, but spectacularly beautiful.

Conversation goes on, turns out her father played/plays for the Cardinals, and then she goes and gets her dad, her mom, her sisters, her friends, and the entire crowd are standing in the audition area.

She is in the center, belts out her song, lovely voice, she is cool and moves around with confidence that far exceeds her years.

Everyone says “Yes.”

Steve Tyler goes <<or something in this vein>> “It is hot, humid and happening in here, just like your daughter!!”

Screeeeeeecchhhhhhhhhh …. halt moment!

The girl is 15.  It’s her father standing there.  Steve Tyler is everyone’s future ex-husband.

I do like Steven Tyler as much as the next girl,but if I 64 year old man made a rather “come hither” chirp about my 15 year old child and I was proficient with a baseball bat, I may well walk over and smack him against the side of the head.

Total fail chirp.  Well, I thought at any rate.

Epic Fail … Parenting # 3

At least the baby is getting a bath.  Baby is being monitored whilst in the bath – mom can watch every move in the mirror.  She can, I am trying to show that it is not as bad as it seems.

Mom is wearing a hat to keep her modesty in tact.

More importantly, how freaking big is that toilet roll?  I mean seriously what the hell do they get up to in their bathroom? I am feeling a bit toilet roll inadequate after seeing this.

And who knew you could bedazzle a white belt, and still make it look stylish …. who knew?

Epic Fail … Parenting # 2

Not much more you can say regarding this image …..  except I hope she got a great new status update picture for Facebook …. and a newer phone …. and maybe some family planning …. and maybe her son found a friend who has a really nice mom who has him over in the afternoons ….. so mom can do what ever it is that mom is doing by the hour …..

Epic Fail … Parenting # 1

I am not sure why I like Epic Fail images, I just do.

I also like “planking images” so sometimes there really is no rhyme or reason to the stuff that makes me smie or any semblance of taste ……. but I thought I would drop some around here every now and then.

These are images I have seen and phrasing that makes me snort or just grimace ……