Most People Couldn't Put Up With My Ridiculousness For 15 Minutes. But Some Weirdo Has Done It For 15 Years.

So Wednesday was my 15th wedding anniversary. Or, OUR 15th wedding anniversary. I can't hog all the glory cuz let's face it: The Hub deserves some mother-effin' accolades here. The dude has been married TO ME for 15 YEARS. And since I'm such a pain in the ass, I really consider our marriage years like dog years. Which means that he has put up with my shenanigans for 105 years. Which is how old this guy is:

Which is probably how The Hub feels deep down inside. And I'm sure he often prays for old-man deafness. And at times, squinted-up cataracty eyeballs. So he doesn't have to hear my weirdo bullshit. Or singing. Or see my "sexy" dances. Or oh-so-attractive pajamas which consist of either my mustache or karate man boxers and an old tank top.

A trip to Victoria's Secret would be wasted on me.

So 15 years ago this man actually married me. And as far as I know, nobody was holding a gun to his head. As crazy as it sounds, I'm pretty sure he married me of his own free will. Which kinda makes me think that just maybe he's not a smart as everyone thinks he is. Either that or my dad paid him off.

And don't tell me that the dude didn't know what he was in for. We had dated for 6 years and lived together for 1. Come on. Even if I wanted to fake him out I couldn't keep up a charade for 7 long years. My maximum attention span is about 5 minutes. And that's only if food, beer, tiny animals, drag queens, or Paul Rudd is involved. Otherwise it's more like 3. 

On our honeymoon in Kauai the poor man was trying to keep a Travel Journal. So one afternoon when he was in the bathroom I opened it up to see what he'd been writing and I noticed that he had been very, very detailed about every little thing that we had done. Right down to what food we'd eaten. So on the next empty line I wrote something along the lines of "At 3:15 PM I took a hellacious dump. Odor was about a 6 on a 1-10 scale. It felt amazing." And later that day when he picked it up to probably write about shell we had seen or a fallen leaf, he saw what I had written and he threw the journal away. 

Dude knew what he was getting into.

So in the spirit of this, OUR 15th Anniversary, I want to say "Thank You" to The Hub for sticking it out. And also for not stabbing me. Yet. And here is a re-run of a few conversations we had last year that really explain the dynamics of our relationship. Plus one previously un-published bonus conversation at the end.

I think you will all agree that although I am amazingly stupid, I was smart enough to marry a wonderfully patient and understanding man.

Sunny Friday. Windows down. Steve driving. Me in the passenger seat....

Me:  Mother frick! There's something on me! It's a bug! Help! Help! Get it offa me! Get it! Get it! GET IT!

Steve:  Calm down. (Swats at it)

Me:  What the hell? What did you do?

Steve:  I got it off of you.

Me:  You swatted it down. YOU SWATTED IT DOWN! You're supposed to grab and remove. GRAB AND REMOVE! You just sent it to another part of my body! Where is it? Oh my God...I feel something in my pit. THERE'S SOMETHING MOVING IN MY LEFT PIT! ALL YOU DID WAS RELOCATE IT TO MY ARMPIT! Do you see it? Do you see it?

Steve:  It's not in your armpit.

Me:  HOW DO YOU KNOW? YOU'RE NOT EVEN LOOKING! I CAN FEEL IT MOVING!! I THINK IT'S STUCK IN MY DEODORANT! I GOT A NEW BRAND OF DEODORANT AND IT'S FREAKIN' STICKY!!

Steve: (Rolls eyes. Slaps his right arm.)

Me:  What was that? Why'd you slap yourself?

Steve:  The bug was on me. (Pretends to throw something out of the window)

Me:  What was that? What'd you just do?

Steve: It was the bug.

Me:  What? You should have shown me the carcass. I HAVE TO SEE A CARCASS! You know that without a carcass I don't believe you even a little bit.

Steve:  What?

Me:  You faked that whole thing just to shut me up. YOU KNOW ME! You KNOW I always have to see a carcass as proof. There was no carcass. I'm SO on to you.

Steve:  (Silence..... Sigh.)

Sunday afternoon. Me sitting at table. Steve enters...

Steve: Have you seen that keychain that has a connector in the middle so you can take it apart and make it into 2 keychains?

Me: I don't think so. All the keychains are in the junk drawer. Did you look in there? I don't remember seeing one like that. When did you see it last?

Steve: Well, I got it when I lived in the mushroom apartments.

Me: Your apartment in college.

Steve: Yes.

Me: In 1989.

Steve: Yes.

Me: Well, I haven't seen it. It's probably wherever my Aqua net, neon headband collection and Poison tapes are. Have you looked there?

Monday. Evening. Driving home from PF Changs. Steve driving. Me in Passenger seat...

Me: Man, I wish I had a time machine so I could go back and not eat so much Changs.

Steve: (Silence)

Me: And then I'd go back and make out with young Elvis.

Steve: (Silence)

Me: And then probably go kill Hitler.

Steve: (Completely ignores me)

Me:  I'm so gonna build a freakin' time machine.

Compasses. An Explanation.

So one day I mentioned that I didn't really understand how compasses work. And I know, I know, I'm an idiot. Not for not knowing why compasses work. Cuz who the frick knows that besides (a) The people who make compasses, and (b) Nerds like Steve? I so should have known better. But as usual, I was just thinking out loud and I said it. So he's like "Well, think about it a bit. How do you think compasses work?" So I said "Fairies and Leprechauns. Duh." Then he said something about something being "ferrous" so I said "Bueller?" And he said "No" and then explained what ferrous meant. Which I of course don't remember. Probably cuz I was thinking about that scene in Ferris Bueller's Day Off where Ferris pretends to be Sloane's dad. And he's wearing the rain coat and hat and sunglasses. And when she goes out to the car he totally open-mouth kisses her, and Principal Rooney's like What. Just. Happened. And then The Hub said something about oil and water and "Polar molecules" or something And I said "Like the North and South Pole?" And he said something about magnetization and I said "Wait. Are Polar bears freakin' magnetized?" And he said "Well, it would depend on how many water molecules they have" And I said "So...it's totally possible? Like, if I captured a Polar Bear I could stick it on the fridge? It could hold Ethan's drawings up and try to kill us every time we tried to open the refrigerator? Which is THE BEST DIET EVER! I'm a mother-effing genius."

Happy Anniversary Bee! 

Footnote: Last weekend while cleaning out something in his garage, The Hub found the keychain he had misplaced when he was 19. Amazing.

Love Hurts. Even When It's Totally Pretend.

So I got this new Facebook friend/blog reader named Chris Defries, and he makes me laugh. A lot. And he has a friend named Kory Karman, who also friended me and I assume reads my blog, you know, cuz it's so damn enlightening and shit. But I'm not really sure cuz he never actually said so. But I should probably ask him that question cuz if I knew that he didn't read this stupid crap I could totally talk about him behind his back and everything. But since I am not sure if he reads it or not, I guess I'd better be careful. Cuz from what I can tell, he's just a little crazy. And yes, I know I'm crazy too. Don't start sending me emails or trying to stage an intervention or anything. I already know it. But I'm pretty sure that Kory's on a whole other level of crazy than me. As is Chris. But I kinda dig them both. And Chris and I decided that we will be each other's Plan B's. You know, in case our spouses disappear, or get murdered, or die in a freak accident involving planking or loose zoo animals. Something like that. And I know I didn't mention divorce or anything. Cuz Chris and me, we're both pretty awesome catches and I really can't see anyone leaving either one of us of their own free will. But if both of our spouses happen to have a horrible accident befall them, we've still got each other.

But anyway, Kory is pretty wizardy at Photo Shop. And I'm really jealous. But also pretty happy that I don't have those kinda skills. Cuz if I did I would be in front of this damn computer all effin' day just making insane pictures of everyone I know. So I'll just leave it to Kory, who made me this masterpiece:

Which I immediately posted as my Facebook profile picture, with a caption that read: "Wow. I haven't seen this in awhile. We actually broke up later that night after makin' mad mad love on his futon."

And you know what, you guys? A bunch of my FB friends believed me. I got emails and phone calls from people who were wondering why I had kept this relationship so secret. Really? And some of these people were people who actually know me know me. And I would think that even the ones who are my blog readers and don't actually know me personally would still know that I was kidding. When am I ever serious? Well??? So I was like, People...In what freakin' Universe would I NOT tell you all EVERY EFFIN' DETAIL about my realtionship with Paul, if indeed, there were a relationship? I mean, we definitely have a relationship in my Pattitopia World, but unfortunately, that world is not real. Even though it feels super-real when I'm there. But really? I would so tell you all EVERYTHING! I mean, come on! I tell you guys about my vaginal health and my poop schedule and you honestly think I'm not gonna tell you that I made sweet sweet love to Paul Rudd and he cried like a little bitch afterwards cuz he thought it was so beautiful? Of course I would tell you that. Hell, I'd probably even videotape it for you. Cuz that's how much I love you guys and want you to be happy.

Sooo...Results of Very Very Scientificy Paul Rudd Photo Experiment?  Lots of my FB friends are stupid. But I mean that in a good way. For reals. Cuz dudes, let's face it: I ain't no Einstein either.

So now you guys know that there is no way in hell I'll be keeping any secrets from you. Right? And I may not have actually had a real life real world relationship with Paul Rudd, but I have to admit to you guys that I do have a history with Mr. O'Mara. We used to spend our afternoons doing this:

But not a ton of afternoons. Obviously. Or I would have been much more physically fit. And tan. And maybe would have known to dress more appropriately for biking. Probably in one of those outfits with the shiny tight shorts and the crotch padding and the pointy helmet. And some kinda footwear besides the sandals or crocs or whatever the hell I'm sporting here. But anyway, it was magic for awhile. Then it just fizzled out. Mainly because he wouldn't buy me a mother effin' finger monkey and a teacup pig so I could finally fulfill my dream and start my tiny circus. Well, that and the fact that I caught him riding our bicycle built for two with another woman. Tandem bicycle cheating will ruin things every time.

I guess my phone will be ringing here soon....

This Post Pretty Much Sucks Cuz My Brain Is Being Melted By Allergies And A Stalker Cat

Holy balls, you guys. You know how I thought Ethan's cat was annoying? Well, she wasn't. She was pretty awesome. And I only say that cuz she is such a pain in the ass now that I can finally recognize how un-pain-in-the-assy she actually was back then. Back when I could actually write a blog without this kinda smothery stalker crap:

Like it's not annoying enough to try to write a blog when you have carpal tunnel and the inability to focus on any task for more than 2 minutes without getting distracted by something shiny, or a noise, or a smell, or a daydream about having your own finger monkey circus, or a daydream about getting a pedicure with Paul Rudd. Now I have to deal with this crap too?

So I'm pretty sure the reason that this cat has gotten like, a mazillion times more stalky and needy in the past week is cuz The Boy is out of school for the summer. And he now has nothing else to do all day but drive the cat and me insane. And since I will send him to his room and take money away from him if he annoys me too much, he usually chooses to annoy the cat instead. And if he annoys the cat, then she annoys me, and it's an endless cycle of shit that all culminates into my margarita and beer addiction. Which will most-likely end up making me get some kind of alcohol-related liver disease or weight gain or turn me into one of those loud-mouthed douchebags you always see at bars and/or sporting events. Wait. I think that one has already happened.

Thanks a lot, Ethan and stupid cat. Way to go turning me into an a-hole.

And since the cat is now sitting on my good hand, AND I have a cat allergy and have been out of my allergy meds for over a month due to the fact that I am too lazy and forgetful to re-fill the prescription,  and also because I sometimes just quit taking prescribed medications so I can see if I have cured whatever ailment I am taking them for, with my super brain power, it is a miracle that I can even write at all. And also, since I can barely see out of my left eye it should be noted that my brain power allergy curing did not work this time. But I'm still not giving up.

And I can't really blame The Boy for focusing so much energy on driving the cat insane. I had a cat of my own when I was his age. And I used to dress her up like Laura Ingalls and I would be Nellie and I'd make her act out scenes from my favorite Little House On The Prairie Laura/Nellie bad-ass altercation episodes. But I will say one thing, that cat never went whining to my mom. When she'd had enough of me she would just bite and scratch the holy crap outta me. And that, annoying cat, is the way it oughta be.

But on another subject...

The day I tripled my readership is the same day that I wrote the blog that pretty much revolved around poop. Which is kinda unfortunate for the-person-who-is-not-my-sister, cuz I wrote about her impending houseboat/poop problem. And now the-person-who-is-not-my-sister is probably not super-duper happy that that particular story has been read by thousands of people. But that is something that I cannot and will not accept any blame for. The Universe works in mysterious ways, you guys. And some of you have written to me wanting to know how that whole poop thing turned out. Which really shows me that you guys don't have a whole lot going on in your lives right now. Which is fine with me. Cuz that's why you're here reading this bullshit.

So anyway, the-person-who-is-not-my-sister drank some kind of hippie dippie poop tea before her trip to help clean things out. Then she had a 1 or 2 day road trip during which she did not poop. Then she was on the houseboat for 3 or 4 days during which time she took my advice and pushed out a few inconspicuous nuggets here and there. But nothing substantial like she woulda done if she'd just taken my Folgers poop-can advice. Then she had a road trip back home, during which she did not poop. So basically aside from a few sneaky nuggets, she did not poop for approximately 7 days. Which is not comfortable.  Especially when you need to be in a swimming suit and participating in water sports. I once went 7 days without pooping. This was when I was living in a college dorm, which is a really tough place to poop if your bowels have stage fright like mine do. But after 7 horrible days I finally decided to try a laxative. Which is also the same night I decided to share a whole bottle of tequila with my roommate. And although it works...this mixture, you guys, is not something I recommend.

So anyway, the-person-who-is-not-my-sister finally went poop after 7 days and she is now fine, but never wants to go through something like that ever again. And she thanks you all for being so invested in her poop situation. Yes, she's slightly creeped-out by your interest, but she thanks you nonetheless.

And the same week that I told you guys about that whole thing, I had to take a sample of The Boy's poop to the doctor's office. Which The Boy was super excited about. Cuz #1-he got to poop on a toilet covered with Saran Wrap. Which, if you ask me, should really be a use that is mentioned in the Saran Wrap commercials. And #2 (no pun intended)-I had to use plastic silverware to get just the right amount of poop into the poop carrying cup. Which The Boy thought was awesome. And #3-I had to keep the poop in the refrigerator overnight in a bag labeled "Ethan's Poop." And #4-The next day I had to drive to the doctor's office with the bag-o-poop in my passenger seat. Which The boy found hysterically funny. But I just hoped that I didn't get into a car accident or get pulled over by the cops with a bag-o-poop sitting next to me. Cuz that's just sort of an awkward situation to explain. Especially since I had the poop buckled in. And also cuz I named it George Jefferson, cuz he was small, brown, and sassy. And even though -if I got pulled over- my brain would tell me NOT to share that information with the police, I know enough about myself to know that I would have shared it all.

That Alice Cooper Song Only Rocks If You Actually Still GO To School

It's summer. School ended last week, as did any little teeny tiny bit of sanity that I had left. I only have one kid, you guys, but that one kid is really something. And we do have a cat. And when we got her last fall he actually said "I'm so happy! I finally have a sister!" (Although he did claim to have a sister named Moody who lived in the attic of our old house and stayed behind when we moved. But that's another story for another time.) Anyway, I kinda got the only child guilt thing when he said that. I admit it. But he really meant what he said because he annoys the shit outta her just like I imagine he would do to a real human sister. And when he annoys the shit out of her, which is about 14 1/2 out of the 15 hours of the day that his eyes are open, she hides between my legs and cries up at me just like I imagine a little sister would. The only thing that I think might be different is that if the cat were a human then maybe I could actually teach her to cover up her own freakin' poop. But I doubt it. Cuz let's face it people, I don't have the patience or attention span to teach anyone anything. Plus, it's not like I'd make my human child go poop in a litter box. Probably.

So you long-time readers know the drill: When The Boy is home I don't have much time to write. Even though I write these postings pretty damn fast, I do like to do them in one sitting. You know, without being interrupted 1 million times to look at whatever his "sister" is doing, or watch something on tv, or hear a joke he made up, or look at a giant poop he did, or look at a giant poop the cat did, or whatever. If I get interrupted, I can't start back up again. Basically my brain doesn't work like more regular, smarter brains. It short-circuits pretty easily. Especially when The Boy is around. His very presence makes about 90% of my brain cells go on the fritz. 

Today The Boy said "Mom, guess what?" and when I said "What?" he lifted his butt off the couch and farted at me. Then when I was drying my hair, he came in to tell me that there was a new McDonald's commercial on tv that was really inappropriate. Apparently Ronald told some kids to "Have a ball", and The Boy said "Balls are those things behind your wiener! He shouldn't tell kids to have those! That is disgusting!"  Then later he told me that he can't wait to be a grown up because he's gonna be so powerful and get to spend all day telling his kids to order their own food (something we make him do) and go to their rooms. Even though last week he told me that I shouldn't get my hopes up about having grandkids because then he'd have to do that thing we told him about that you have to do with your wife if you wanna have a baby and that thing is disgusting and there's no way he's EVER doing that. But if he does, his wife is working and he's just gonna stay home and play video games. Then he farted and said "That's how I live." 

Dear Future Mrs. Ethan Ford, I tried my best. Good luck.

And since the few brain cells I have left after a very wild teenage-hood are hibernating for the summer, I am doing things like driving around town with my gas door open and the gas cap off. Doing all my shopping with my pants zipper wide open. And I actually remembered to put my coffee cup under my Keurig this morning, but after it filled up I dumped the coffee in the sink. For no apparent reason. And today I came home from Target with this:

That's a dressing room tag, yo! But it's really much better than the time I accidentally stole 20 jars of baby food. Even though nowhere on the jars of baby food did it say "Property of Target stores: do not remove from premises." So I think if I had been caught I coulda really made a case for myself. And I bet Gloria Allred woulda been all over that shit. But now I might make this #2 into a necklace. It's already got a hole at the top. And when I go to Target from now on I'll wear it and I'll look like a total badass and they'll probably be so afraid of me they'll just give me stuff for free. Plus #2 is poop, so to my 13-year-old-boy mind that is hilarious. I'm obviously pretty geniusy.

But anyways, my point is that Imma try to write on here as much as I possibly can this summer, but don't start emailing me if it gets sporadic. It probably won't mean I'm dead. It'll just mean I'm hiding in a closet trying not to get farted on.

And for those of you who Tweet, I did it. I finally got on board. Some of you have bugged me for over a year and I have told you to eff off but I finally caved and I am now a Twitterer. Although a very, very, VERY Twittarded one. So if you follow me, hang in there. I'll try to get better. I am a person who likes to go off on tangents. I choose to think that that's what makes me so charming. That plus all the balls talk. But maybe some people will enjoy me more in 140 characters or less. Yeah, like there will EVER be less. But anyways, I am on there and my handle or whatever the tweeters call it is @pattimombrain (and I have a new link to it on my left side bar). And I assume that Twitter Patti will have a MUCH smaller following than Blogger Patti, and that's ok. It will be our special place where we can talk about all the other blog readers who are not following me. But without using as many descriptive expletives as I normally would, cuz I'll only have 140 characters or less.

And for any of you who are new readers, make sure you read about my O'Mara Revolution (here, and here) and get your ass in gear and join up already. NOW! Thanks!

Oh, and by the way, for any of you who haven't been dragged by your offspring to see Kung Fu Panda 2 yet, here is my review:

"I'd highly recommend getting yourself kung-fu'd in the nads or the ovaries by Jackie Chan rather than seeing this f@cktastrophie of a movie. It would be far less painful."

Between this and my Eat Pray Love review, I honestly don't know why I don't have a friggin' cash money paying JOB doing this already. What a waste of opinionated, foul-mouthed talent.

Man, I Love It When I Have A Project! (AKA O'Mara Mania)

Wow, you guys. You've really done me proud! I want to thank you all for going balls to the wall with me on this O'Mara Revolution. I can safely say that we have officially and overwhelmingly shown him the love. And you know what? He totally seems to appreciate it. But he is such a nice guy that for alls I know he may be pretending to dig it when he's really curled up in the fetal position scared shitless cuz (a) he thinks I'm a total wacko, and (b) his quiet little Facebook page is starting to get all funkified. Mostly from me, but some other weirdos are shaking things up too. I think he used to read all of the posts, but now he probably gets about a quarter of the way through a thread and needs to lay down and have a valium. Yep. That's hows I roll.

And I know I've said it before, but this guy is a really, really, really nice guy. This is what he posted yesterday:

And you know what, you guys? Imma give this man those freakin' lessons for freezies. Although I did tell him that it would be super awesome if he'd send me a koala bear. Ya know, since he's in Australia and everything. I think those dudes pretty much dangle from every tree down there, which makes for easy pickin'. At least that's how I imagine it. And also in my imagination, if a k-bear slips and falls, he'll safely land on one of the many unicorns who frolic under the k-bear trees, and the two of them will go ride a rainbow slide and nap together in a cotton candy cloud and call each other mate. But I digress....K-Bear or no K-Bear, I'd teach this man The Pidge for free any day, any time. 

So I was obviously big-ass surprised that he posted something so flippin' nice again. THEN someone told me that he tweeted this:

And while I am too techno-tarded to fully comprehend what a tweet is, or where it goes, or what it does, or who reads them, and why they're so short, etc...I super duper greatly appreciated this as well. Although it wouldn't have killed him to stick a "cute" in there somewhere. Just sayin'. (And I finally decided that I MIGHT start twittering or whatever, like some of you guys have been hounding me to do forever. But we'll see how it goes.) And Mr. O'Mara, I hope you don't mind that I've posted these quotes from you. I'm all done now. From here on out I'll try to refrain. And don't worry...everything we talk about it our private emails will stay private. Unless you get super-mega famous this fall and The Enquirer wants to pay me for them. I'm not interested in money, but if they'll give me a couple of Finger Monkeys or Teacup Pigs, I'll do whatever they want. 

I'm totally kidding about the private emails, you guys. Probably.

So after my last blog where I wrote what I like to think was a pretty fantastic synopsis of what (I think) this show is about, I thought to myself:  Hey-Cute, Talented, Hilarious Patti Ford....The so-called "advertisers" over there at FOX might need some help explaining the gist of such a high-concept show to the masses, i.e. ding-dongs like us. So I took time out of my super busy schedule that includes doing nothing, then eating, then Facebooking, then making fun of strangers, then doing nothing, then getting confused about something and/or distracted by something, then doing nothing, then beating up hobos, then eating again, to make this ad for the show. And I think it really explains a lot.

You're totally welcome, FOX. It was my mother-effin' pleasure.

So anyway, I want to thank you guys for doing what I told you to do. I am now trying to think of what else I could have you do now that I know you guys totally have my back. I love you all. Some more than others. But I love you all. And on that note...Even though I love you guys, stop sending me your lists of famous people you wanna make out with. No, I am not gonna use my sassy, spunky wit to get them to dry hump you. Not. Gonna. Happen. I just can't go around flashing my witty charm to every jack-hole with a SAG card. Then I'd basically be a whore. But with less herpes and more vaginal elasticity. Not everyone is as nice as Jason. I'm about a million percent sure. (But Paul Rudd, if you wanna call me to dispute that, feel free. I still wanna have you over sometime to watch John Hughes movies and paint each-others nails.)

So now for the winner of the O'Mara Revolution Contest. The "Life On Mars" DVD's go to Jesica Atkins Fox of Zionsville, Indiana. Congratulations Jesica. And yes, her name has one "s". And no, I am not a moron. Well, I am, but I DO know how to spell Jessica. Just FYI. So Je-one-s-ica, please email me using the link at the top of my blog so I can get your address and send you the DVD's. I promise I won't use that information to stalk you or anything like that. Probably.

And while I was making Mr. Omara's Revolution poster, I made this one for myself. And I think you all know how perfectly it suits me:

Not you guys. Just the jack-holes and douche-wagons. You guys ROCK!