Guest Blogger: A-Hole Awareness

As I mentioned last week, I am away working hard on my tan. I hope you will enjoy today’s blog post from Tara at You Know it Happens at Your House Too. Her snarkasm cracks me up.

At some point in our lives, we are all an asshole.  Don’t try to deny it and act like you aren’t because even the nicest of you have at one time or another had one of those fits of raging assholeyness.  Some suffer from momentary slips into the world of assholes while some have their own mailing address at 1 Asshole Way.  I can admit that I have had many a time in which my inner asshole has reared it’s very ugly head (this post may even be one of them), but fortunately I can acknowledge it, be one with my inner asshole, and reign it in when the need arises.  Unfortunately many suffer from such severe cases of asshole-itis that they are unable to even recognize the fact that they are in a perpetual state of being a raging asshole.  This is a very serious condition.  One that if left untreated can affect the lives of all that come in contact with those infected.
In effort raise asshole awareness, I present to you this list of some of the most common offenders.  The more you know, the more you too can prevent the spread of assholey behavior.

The I’mabetterparentthanyou-hole:  Usually found at places like the park, the pool, any place with a germ-infested play place.  This asshole will most likely be found with an arsenal of anti-bacterial wipes and hand sanitizer.  It may be difficult to control your mouth around this one due to their ridiculous requests for you to stop your children from using the slide until their child is outside the three feet safety circle at the bottom or to please not splash little Sally as they jump in the pool because she is still getting adjusted to the water temperature.  By all means be prepared for the apocalypse if you don’t follow little Johnny into the play place to supervise his every move.  There is a very good chance that you are constantly being judged by this one and you will witness an extreme amount of eye-rolls and unintelligible mumbling under their breath, especially if you take a more laid back approach to your parenting. No matter what you do, you are wrong in the eyes of this asshole.

The Doc-hole:  We parents know this one way too well.  You show up early for your kids’ appointment out of fear of being late because you know that if you are tardy even by a few minutes you will have to reschedule and pay a cancellation fee.  This guy though, works on HIS schedule.  Yours is insignificant.  They call you back into that six by six cell, I mean examination room, and you wait.  Two hours later you leave with a migraine and the dreaded “it’s a virus” diagnosis knowing damn well that you will return in a week’s time to repeat the entire process again because it was actually NOT a virus.  Warm up your credit card, here comes another co-pay.

The Jock-hole:  This kind of asshole thinks that they know all there is to know about sports.  Can often be found on the bleachers yelling instructions to the players or screaming at the refs because they aren’t qualified enough to actually be the coach.  This asshole is painfully unaware of the words coming out of his mouth as he belittles the players and irritates those around him.   Jock-holes usually believe that their offspring will be the next big thing in sports and will yell directions (most likely the wrong ones) at his little sprout.  Be sure to test your kids’ coaches for this terrible affliction as it has been known to run rampant amongst them as well.  There are many wonderful coaches out there, find them and never leave them or by all means take it upon yourself to be one.

The Lazy-hole: Can be found anywhere.  Is popular in the office, in volunteer groups, on the interwebs, and in your house.  These assholes are willing to take all the credit when awesome things happen but are not willing to get off their lazy ass to do any of the work needed to actually make it happen.  This person could be disguised as your boss, your co-worker, a fellow board member, or even your children.  They have no problem stealing your work and claiming it as their own. These types are hard to combat, but they don’t like the word NO.  Use it.  Frequently.

The Sancti-hole: This asshole doesn’t even realize how big of an asshole they really are.  They spend most of their time pretending to be perfect and angelic while in reality they secretly do all the things they preach against.  They are great at giving the appearance that they live that picture-perfect life, but behind closed doors they are miserable.  They spend a shit-ton of time on Facebook clogging up your news feed with posts full of useless information that they don’t even understand themselves.  This asshole is like a bad rash, they will go away for a while but when they return they will be even more irritating than before.

The Sarcasa-hole:  This one is dangerous.   Their sarcasm is so far advanced that they were able to be a major asshole and it took you a couple of hours to figure it out.  You have to watch out for these, they are very tricky.

The Ihopeyourotinhell-hole:  This one is the one I have no tolerance for.  They can often be found on the internet because they are too chicken-shit to show their faces in public.  They spend their days in their mother’s basement trolling the interwebs for ways to lash out at unsuspecting posters.  They usually make hurtful comments in an attempt to spread the herpes.  They use phrases like “I hope all you f!@#^%$ burn in hell” and “why don’t you just go kill yourself”.  Whatever you do, DO NOT ENGAGE this type of asshole.  You just can’t argue with this kind of stupid.

Mega-hole:  This is the beast of all assholes.  A culmination of all breeds.  The asshole of all assholes.   You must take extreme caution when dealing with one of these creatures as they are the Dark Side of the asshole world.  Before tackling one of these head on, be sure to brush up on your Jedi mind tricks because these assholes can turn you into one of their own faster than my kids can destroy my living room.

Armed with knowledge and desire, we can conquer and eradicate this terrible affliction.  Together, we can conquer assholey-ness. 

Tara of You Know it Happens at Your House Too is the mother of five young kids, wife to one hard working farmer. She is the sometimes hilarious, sometimes serious, usually sarcastic writer of the amazingly popular (in her own mind) blog You Know it Happens at Your House Too. In her free time she doesn’t really enjoy wiping butts and noses all while picking up Legos and Polly Pockets. If she ever had any free time she would go pee, then relax with a cheap glass (bottle) of wine and any movie starring Johnny Depp. She has completely forgotten what it is like to do anything alone. Tara lives in Kansas with her husband, Farmer Bob, and her five children. You can also find her ignoring the screams of her kids on Facebook and Twitter.

Lori

I Need a Vacation!

I awoke this morning and immediately thought, “Did I work out yesterday? Oh right, I just slept with my arms over my head last night.” 


Holy cow and hand me an ice pack, Batman. This getting old stuff is no joke, which brings me to my next point…

I’m not doing jack-squat next week. 

That’s right! I’m taking a holiday as the royals in Britain would say. (By the way, did you know that bitch was pregnant??)

However, just because I won’t be here to make you laugh doesn’t mean I don’t have activities lined up for you. And don’t think about going hog wild while I’m gone, either because you will be in the constant care of a sitter. 

Next week, Loripalooza will be visited by three guest bloggers. If you need a point of reference think Scrooge from A Christmas Carol, except these three visitors will be saying things you actually want to hear. Big difference. 

So get excited!!!!!

Lori

Moms Getaway Part 2: Three Women And A Mission

After arriving at our destination, the rest of the weekend went as smooth as clockwork. We lounged on the beach and by the pool. We shopped and ate amazing food. We watched TV in bed, and most importantly of all we laughed. We laughed a lot.

Nice culottes, Granny.
 Caliza at Alys Beach
George’s at Alys Beach

When Sunday rolled around we packed our things and prepared for our journey home. Loren Leigh and I were in the bathroom packing our toiletries when Mary Marshall walked in and informed us that there was a leak downstairs. We all rushed down there to find water coming through the ceiling. A pipe somewhere had burst and the water was finding its way out by pouring from a speaker.

Mary Marshall’s first responder skills were right on point because before she even alerted us,  she had scoured the cabinets for a bowl large enough to contain the leak, thereby sparing quite a bit of furniture from damage. I’m pretty sure she was a paramedic in her former life.  I made a quick call to my uncle for some guidance.

My mind flashed back to the Luke Wescott flood of 2011, and I knew that we needed to get the water out of the ceiling as quickly as possible to keep it from spreading. I could hear my uncle’s confidence in me wavering a bit, but I like to think that he reflected back to the Billie Jean King in me that just one week before had put together a fire pit all by herself. He said, “If you can’t get the speaker to pop out, then at least poke a hole in the ceiling with a screwdriver.”

A larger garbage can had replaced the bowl because the water began steadily dripping down from all around the speaker frame. Mary Marshall held the ladder steady while Loren Leigh handed me tools like a surgical assistant. Every time I pried the edge of the speaker down,  more water poured out.

“Why don’t you get down and let me try,” Loren Leigh offered. I was happy to oblige. Then, with her bear hands, (That’s not a typo. I’m fairly certain she was channeling a grizzly bear) she took hold of the speaker and slowly pulled it down with arms shaking like a weak armed Olympian doing a pull up. With that, the leak slowed to a drip and our crisis was over. I like to think of that whole experience as our team building exercise for the weekend.

Piece of cake!

Afterward, we did the only thing that seemed appropriate. So back to the outlet malls we went. A little retail therapy always slows my heart rate back to normal, much like a prescription- a really expensive prescription.

Eventually, it came time for Mary Marshall to say her goodbyes and head to the airport. However, about thirty minutes later she called to say that Loren Leigh had left her J. Crew shopping bag in her rental car. “No problem,” said Loren Leigh. “Just leave the bag at the rental car place and we will come and get it.” We were then reminded by the rental car agent that under no circumstances could an unattended package be left at the airport, AND if she checked the bag she would be charged extra. To make matters worse, there was absolutely no fitting it in her already full suitcase.

That’s when the rental car agent made a suggestion. It was half insane, half brilliant. So Mary Marshall boarded her plane wearing four additional sweaters, a pair of socks, and a bracelet purchased earlier by Loren Leigh. She really took one for the team that day, dressed as what could only have looked like a homeless person layered up for a good night’s rest in a city park.

The ride home for Loren Leigh and me was much less eventful considering that we had a car charger for our phones. Had the navigation system not instructed us to make four consecutive U-turns, and then circle through a trailer park scary enough to give Honey Boo Boo nightmares, we would have made it home in under five hours. Hey, there’s always next time.

Route that navigation system took us on.
We thought it was a driveway, too.
And, you gotta love the curtains.
Can I get a “Row Tide?”

Moms Getaway Part 1: Just Get Us There

We all love our kids, but there are times when we can do them, and ourselves a favor by getting the hell away from them. This past weekend my two friends and I did just that.

Once we arrived at our destination we had an amazing time. It was the getting there and the departure that allowed for a few snafus. The easiest way for me to sum this up for you is in a two-part timeline.

Friday morning 6:30- My friend Loren Leigh takes her husband, John Allen, to have an esophageal endoscopy.

At 9:00 AM they return home. Loren Leigh explains to her husband the results of the procedure for the second time. We tell him, “Glad you don’t have cancer,” put him in bed, and depart for the beach.

At 10:30 we are well on our way. Loren Leigh calls to check on John Allen. He has been asleep, but says that he is feeling fine. I hear Loren Leigh tell him the results of the procedure for the third time. I chuckle for a moment, and then realize that using the Verizon navigation on my phone has rapidly depleted the battery. We have no car chargers for our phones.

At 11:00 my phone runs out of battery. We switch over to using Loren Leigh’s phone for navigation. All is good. We are so ready to relax by the pool.

At noon her phone also runs out of battery. We have a momentary freak out until we realize that we can use the iPad for navigating. Now, I’ve been to and from Destin, FL a million times. Had we gone the way I’m used to going we would have had no problem, but our navigation systems had taken us on a “faster” route that had led us to a desolate Nowheresville.

At 12:05 I get an alert message on the iPad stating, “The data limit has been exceeded.” I select the options to add more data, but nothing happens, landing us totally and completely off the grid. To make matters worse, we were in the desolate area of a Florida highway where there was nothing but dirt roads leading to trailers. I lovingly refer to this barren wasteland as, “Sex offender valley.” Add to our navigational issues the fact that we aren’t able to get word to our other friend, Mary Marshall, who had flown in at 9:00 AM, that we may be later than predicted and/or murdered. As you can tell by now, everyone in this story has a double name except me. I will now be referring to myself as, “Just Lori.”

At 12:30 comes a sigh of relief as we approach a gas station. Loren Leigh whips the car into the parking lot and immediately starts digging through her luggage for her wall charger. Oh yes, we’re about to steal some electricity. I hook it up to an electrical outlet next to the propane tanks. She goes inside to start offering people cash for their car chargers. Suddenly, I hear my name. I put the dead phone to my ear and say, “Hello.” Then I look over and see Loren Leigh holding an iPhone charger. It’s shiny and new- still in the box.

We jump in the car and I begin savagely trying to get the box open, much like a raccoon with a trash bag. “Dang it,” I said. “I think we need scissors or a pocketknife to open it. I’ll be back.” There are lots of people to choose from, but I look for a stranger that is most likely to be carrying a pocketknife. “Excuse me sir,” I say to a man pumping gas. “I really need this and can’t seem to get it open.” I reflect back for a moment as he takes the box. I can’t help thinking that I’m a mere shell of the woman who put a fire pit together one week ago. I snap back to reality as I hear the man saying something. He reads something on the box and says, “Peel here,” as he gingerly peels the box apart with his bare hands. “What a show off,” I think to myself as he tells me to have a, “Blessed day.”

At 2:00 PM we arrive in Destin and meet up with Mary Marshall. Our arrival is later than predicted, but she doesn’t show one ounce of impatience or frustration. Perhaps she’s surprised that we didn’t die in sex offender valley. Finally, the three of us collapse into chairs by the pool- Loren Leigh, Mary Marshall, and Just Lori.

Disney World Welcomes Typhoid Maury

I’m not ready to laugh about it yet, but if I don’t post something on this blog soon it’ll turn into a ghost town.
We went to Disney World last week. Luke’s favorite ride must have been the one to Children’s Hospital because he rode it twice.
Our first stop to the ER was Tuesday morning at 4AM where they ruled out appendicitis, and misdiagnosed him with a stomach virus. “Thanks for nothing. Here’s a giant bucket of cash.”
After that there were a couple of days when he felt like going to the parks or swimming for a little bit, so we took advantage of it. We would go, stay a few hours, and then take him home to rest. Even though he had to be carried between rides, he enjoyed himself while he was on them.
Then, his cough got worse- a lot worse, with a temperature well over 103 degrees. We used his nebulizer, as we always do when he has asthma flare ups, but it didn’t help. Back to the emergency room we went. It had been four days since our last visit.
When I walked in carrying him, he was totally limp. A nurse came around the corner with a wheelchair. She was en route to retrieve another patient who was hobbling her way on crutches. She took one look at Luke, and immediately ushered us to the back, abandoning the other patient. “Sick babies come first,” she whispered as we walked down the hall.
This time there wasn’t a lot of messing around. He was given an hour-long breathing treatment, X-rays, and a lot of steroids. Afterward, his wheezing wasn’t completely relieved, but it was improved. Our main concern at that point was the fact that he couldn’t stop coughing. When I say he couldn’t stop coughing, I mean he literally could not even stop coughing long enough to blow his nose, let alone speak. His diagnosis was pneumonia, and bronchitis.
I hammered away at the resident until she agreed to give him a cough suppressant. She reluctantly agreed despite her argument that cough suppressants haven’t been proven to work. Her alternative suggestion was to have him sip warm tea. It was midnight. What a perfect time to run out for some hot tea. She also said Luke needed to be on Augmentin for ten days, and then wrote a prescription for five days worth. “Thanks, genius. Here’s another bucket of cash. Stay in school and learn how to count.”
I couldn’t help thinking how much worse things could’ve been if we had listened to the previous diagnosis and continued waiting out the supposed virus. I guess that’s where parental instinct and persistence comes in. 
Now that all of that is off my chest, here are some pictures of the fun times.

Lunch with Mickey at Animal Kingdom

Luke singing Karaoke to Billy Joel’s, Only the Good Die Young, and getting a lot of the words right.

Luke was driving when he fell completely asleep. Brantley had to navigate from the passenger seat. 
…and he slept for a while.
Rhinos at the Animal Kingdom Safari

Against All Odds: A Harrowing Tale of Vacation, Marriage, and Pancakes

I had a rough night with Luke last night, and as a result I didn’t get much sleep. Brantley and I are alternating sleeping in Luke’s bed with him while we’re on vacation, and he struggles through a little nightmare phase. If a million reasons just popped into your head on why this is a bad idea, just keep it to yourself because we each get a good night sleep every other night. All was well until 4:30 this morning when I started feeling a tap tap tapping on my shoulder.

“Hey Mom, it’s me, Wucas. I need a snack.”
“Go back to sleep,” I mustered through gritted teeth.
“But I’m so hawngry. It’s morning time.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Mom, you be kiddin’ me.”

This went on for quite some time before I finally turned on Tom and Jerry to pacify him before going back to sleep. I have no idea how much time passed, but some time later I heard Brantley’s thunderous footsteps coming down the hall. Luke greeted him sweetly with, “Good morning, Dad. Mom won’t wake up and it’s morning time.”

I could hear Brantley make his way toward me. I pulled the covers off of my head with my standard growl and hiss. (It’s imperative that I exert my dominance early on in the day, otherwise Brantley spends a whole day feeling drunk with power.)

“I brought you something,” he said.

There before me was a pancake and bacon breakfast with a cup of coffee. This was an especially sweet gesture considering Brantley version 2.0 doesn’t eat pancakes or drink coffee. He had done it all for me. I was almost speechless. All I could think to say was, “I’m sorry for cussing at you in my head.”

Now, I’m not one to jump to conclusions, and I certainly don’t want to jinx anything, but after eight years together I’m starting to think this marriage just may work.

My boys

With a new train and giant lollipop it’s obvious who is REALLY drunk with power.

Riding, Resting and Relaxation

I’m glad to be writing to you from sunny Destin, FL where the Wescott three are enjoying a little R&R. Luke has been living it up pretty hard which has required Brantley and I to check him a few times. One instance was over a comment he made to some pedestrians while we were driving the golf cart. Brantley poignantly explained to him why it wasn’t alright to say, “Get out of the way of my Jeep!”

This morning I wasn’t feeling like going for a run so I opted to ride a bike to the Baytowne Wharf and back to the house. Historically speaking, my bike riding skills are less than stellar, but I hung in there and completed my journey. The best part was when Brantley and Luke pulled up alongside me in the golf cart and Luke shouted, “Mom, you’re on a bike? You be kiddin’ me, right?” I would’ve responded with something snarky if I hadn’t been panting so hard. Afterwards, I collapsed into the jacuzzi and shouted for Brantley to, “Fix me a milkshake!”
I think that’s the first time I have pedaled anything since a spin class instructor politely asked me to leave her class because she thought I was going to faint. However, after today I may be changing my Christmas wish list from Segway to bike. (Although, I still really, really, really want a Segway. No pressure.)

Backstreet’s Back! Kind of…

Last week provided me with some much needed R&R, and time away from the mess that is our house. If you haven’t been following the blog, then allow me to summarize the last couple of weeks for you. My son, Luke (3 yrs. old), flooded the upstairs sink causing it to rain in the living room. Suffice it to say that after a lot of clean up, the house is livable, but not cozy.
Perfect time to take a vacation? You bet your buns it was. Some friends drove down to meet us in Florida mid-week, which allowed for catching up and reminiscing, both of which are very important. Luke really enjoyed playing in the ocean, and was moderately well behaved, except for the last two days, which we won’t discuss. In summary, a purr-fect week.
I don’t want your emails telling me that I’m holding the paddle incorrectly.  And, yes Luke is crying.
There was even some free entertainment in the way of the next-door neighbors. “Who,” might you ask, “were you lucky enough to be in such close quarters with?” None other than the once famed Backstreet Boy, Brian Littrel. Although to be quite honest, we should probably now call them Backstreet Men, but I digress.
Backstreet Boys. Brian Littrel is on far left. 

Mr. Littrel and his entourage vacationed harder than anyone I’ve ever seen. In fact, every morning I would clean up the beach after their late night vacationing. If I was smarter (which I’m not) I would’ve saved those empty beer cans, bottles of water, and Dixie cups to auction them off on EBay. I could have scored at least three or four dollars.
I nicknamed his wife, Tits Littrel, for reasons that I am too classy to discuss. Do you get where I’m going with this? Are you feeling me? She had some tig ol’ bitties, okay.
Well, it became quite apparent day after day that it was Mrs. Littrel’s job to drink heavily and be perky 24-7. In fact, one day while they were on the beach in front of God, families with children, and a couple of dolphins, she commenced giving Backstreet Boy a lap dance. Have you ever seen a dolphin throw up?  I have.
Later, she sauntered around in the waves and did a slow stripper walk while Backstreet Boy photographed. Like watching a train wreck in slow motion we could not turn away. Neither could their kid.
Enjoy the photo, but before you shake your head at me for snapping it, please understand that no one has ever wanted to be noticed and photographed more than these people, right down to their overtly ostentatious vehicle (a Hummer with a black and white toile pattern and purple writing).
This photo was taken right after his body guard wallowed in Luke’s sand pit. 

The Heck Out of Dodge

I’m not one to hang around a messy construction zone, especially when it’s in my house so Luke and I packed our bags and hit the road for a few days. In preparation for our road trip I needed to have the oil changed in my car, and the air pressure checked in the tires. Instead of going to my usual trusty mechanic I went to a different one, one that was near a restaurant so Luke and I could have lunch while we waited. Lunch came and went, and when we returned to the mechanic Luke decided he needed to go to the bathroom.
We walked into the “office” and were immediately hit in the face with the pungent odor of, well something pungent. It could have been the two dirty litter boxes, or maybe the fly-covered, open cans of cat food on the floor, but either way it was rank. I had a sinking feeling as I asked if they had a bathroom. The lady at the desk said, “Yes, let me see if it’s clean.” She then turned to right, leaned over, and said, “Yep, it’s clean.” I thought my eyes were deceiving me. There, in the very same room, was a toilet with a curtain in front of it. I thought I’d sooner die than let my kid use that bathroom, but the car wasn’t finished and Luke persisted. “Mom, I neeeeeed to go poopoo.”
For twelve long minutes I stood in that awful, stinky place while Luke made it worse. When he was finally finished we opted to sit in the hot car to wait out the rest of our service. As I helped Luke into the car I noticed his pants were wet. “Luke, did you peepee in your pants after all that sitting on the commode?”
He responded with, “No, Mom. I didn’t peepee. It’s just a little penis water.”
De. Liver. Me.