Hemingway used to say he had a bullshit detector.

You know what I have? A bitch-mom detector.

No, I’m serious. Within 30 seconds I can tell if I’m next to one.

All she has to do is start talking.

Boom. MAYDAY MAYDAY!! RUN! NOW!

It happened recently at that harvest festival. Georgia, practicing her social butterfly act [and sadly lacking the bitch-mom detector I have so carefully honed] makes a beeline to the offspring of a woman who…well…let’s just say we probably wouldn’t evolve into BFFs.

So Georgie cruises up to this toddler and I notice she’s in one of those $700. hovering Euro spacecraft things. Whatever. That’s not a deal-breaker. I know some amazingly rad rich people. At least I think I do.

At any rate, ya can’t judge looks and money.

There are way better things to judge. We’ll get to that.

Admittedly, however, my Detector started quietly beeping when I observed that this woman was at a harvest festival at a FARM, in the DIRT, looking more put together than I do on my “fancy” days. Full make-up, perfect body, immaculate jeans with a perfectly ironed top, some token “country” item like unused, $400 leather boots… sipping a glass of chardonnay.

Her baby was equally immaculate.

Whatevs. I have an open mind. Open like a fucking parachute.

So she comes bounding up to me all peppy and shit, looking like something out of a BabyCenter ad, and I’m standing there with my ripped jeans and love handles,  questionable attitude and bad hair. Of course, I’m wearing flip flops, because duh. So my feet are black. I’m wearing no make-up.

A win, as usual.

My toddler is equally filthy. Her hair is insane and in her eyes (as always), speckled with various items found on the ground. She’s covered in dust and not wearing shoes. Having just consumed about 75 cherry tomatoes, she has actually managed to create mud on her cheeks and nose. When the mother says “hi” to me, I observe my offspring trying to feed her kid the rock she’s been carrying with her for the last 20 minutes.

I am sure this interaction is going to be a success.

Right.

As I’m fielding Georgia away from choking the toddler on a rock, the talking portion begins:

Her: “Oh, how old is your baby?”

Me: “just turned 2.”

Her: “Oh, wow. She’s so SMALL. I guess I forget how big my baby is!! She’s only 18 months and already wearing 3T clothing!”

And with my forced grin I realized that we were now entering what I like to call “The Female Version of ‘Who’s got the bigger penis?’”

It’s like a game show for mothers, only usually there’s only one contestant who wants to play.

I try to pull Georgia away, mumbling “yeah,” and something about finding my other kids.

She says “Oh! You have other kids here? Me too. I have an older one, but she and her friend are totally bored with all this art stuff. They go to a school where all they do is art, so they’re like ‘yeah, whatever, we do this every day.’”

And as she’s talking, I realize she’s doing bitch-speak: certain words are coming out of her mouth, but what she’s actually saying is something completely different. She’s saying “My kid goes to art school;” what she MEANS is “I’m rich and I need you to know it.”

I felt like saying “Yeah, wow. My kids think this is the best thing in the world, because they go to a public school with other poor people where they do worksheets and take standardized tests.”

But I didn’t, because that would require further involvement. I smiled and picked Georgia up, trying to book it the hell outta there before my bitch detector became audible. I said “have a good time, see you later.”

Mac saw the interaction and commented “You didn’t look like you were loving that.”

And I spent the rest of the day translating bitch-speak in my head.

Because I’m a weirdo.

But you guys have to feel me on this one…you know, those moments when mothers get all competitive, engaging in these weird, complex pissing matches, but ALL IN CODE. We do it, but we do it in bitch-speak. And this chick walks up to you all nonchalant, acting as if she’s sweet like honey, when really she’s interested in eating your young and using you as the pathetic backdrop to her own excellence.

It’s BITCH-SPEAK, and it’s REAL.

To illustrate, I made a chart. Please enjoy:

Bitch-Speak Translation Chart

And the best part is, we get so good at it, the bitch-speak translation, that we don’t even hear the actual words…our detector goes off and we’re OUTTA THERE.

As fast as we came.

And then, we call our friends, and translate together.

But don’t get me wrong. We’re all bitches too. We just don’t say it in code.

We say it outright, as it is. And then, we laugh like hell.

Cause we know who’s got the bigger penis.

AND WE LOVE IT.

[OMGI’mdyinglaughing. And you have to tell me about your translations. I can’t be the only one who does this.]

Time for another installment of “Fun with Google Search Terms,” when we give a little recognition to the whackos who click through to my blog (present company excluded of course).

Here are the best ones in the past couple months. For those of you who haven’t played before, the terms below are the Google searches people enter to eventually find my blog. Since they probably didn’t find what they were looking for on my blog (with some of these, GOD HELP US if they did), I’d like to take a moment to respond to them. You know, like guidance.

Because everybody seeks my guidance.

As you can imagine.

So here we go.

1. “do crackheads fingers turn black” – Yes. Though my friend, I believe that may be the least of their problems. (AGAIN with the crackheads. We always end up with the crackheads.)
2. “are playdates necessary?” – If you are asking questions like that, then my dear, in this case, you have come to the right place. Here’s the quick answer: only if the parents are cool.
3. “jessica simpson’s feet are weird” – Not as weird as the fact that you just Googled that.
4. “how to stop writing on bathroom stalls” – Well, I would start by not taking a pen in there with ya. Also, you could just not do it. You know, try and stuff and see how that goes. Maybe there’s a 12-step group for people who can’t stop defacing public property.
5. “a hoarding to propagate a daily glass of milk is every child’s right” – I have no idea what that means but I know it needs to be on this list.
6. “what the fuck is a water table?” – I don’t know you, but I like you.
7. “do i yell at my kids because I’m angry at them?” – No, you yell at them because you are delighted with them, which is always why people yell at one another. Also, please don’t have any more kids. You’re kind of an idiot.
8. “fuck yo barbaric yawp” – Alright I’m serious. We need to be friends. Who are you? You quoted Walt Whitman and used the word “fuck” in the same sentence. WE ARE SOUL MATES.
9. “can i buy my kids way into gifted and talented education” – Let’s sure hope so, because that would be so helpful to them. I mean they’d really learn a LOT by having you buy their way into GATE. [P.S. Does it scare anybody else that asshats like this are walking around the world like it’s nothin’, quite possibly producing children who exist near our children?]
10. “i realized i like to be naked” – You’re just realizing that now? What the hell were you doing in your twenties?
11. “fuck you mean fitted sheet” – I want to write something but I’m laughing too damn hard. Win.
12. “Saturday message from Jesus” – Does it change on Saturdays? [Also, can we take a moment to appreciate that somebody looking for Jesus’s message came to MY blog?]
13. “Bible quotes against Facebook” – Yo, Einstein, Facebook wasn’t around when the Bible was written. Now go back to scouring the Bible for passages you can manipulate into anti-homosexual propaganda.
14. “why is my dog mothering a sock?” – No idea, but I’d give pretty much anything to see how that’s going down
15. “neon fucking green shorts bitch” – You tell ’em.
16. “my parents are unenlightened” -Are you sure?

And now we can all feel confident knowing that this blog is still pulling some of the brightest bulbs in the shed, as well as the crack heads, who are always welcome.

P.S. Fuck yo barbaric yawp.

I’m using that.

I used to do this every week. And by “used to” I mean “for 3 months.”

It’s been so long I bet some of you have never even seen WTF? Wednesday, that special time when we contemplate and appreciate the verbal whack flowing from the mouths of babes. Or the brilliance. Mostly whack.

Let’s start with a cute one:

Rocket: “Mama, why do you have to go to school?”
Me: “So I can get a job someday.”
Rocket, looking very concerned and sincere: “But you already have a job. Your job is to homeschool Meeeeeee!”

Can we all just say it together…AWWWWWWW.

____

Ava: “I want to be a NASA engineer, a mom, a cook or a nurse. As a back-up plan, I’ll be the first woman president.”
Me: “That’s a solid back-up plan.”
Ava: “Well, by the time I’m big everything will be so messed up they’ll need somebody smart to fix it. To get elected, I’ll tell everybody what they want to hear, then I’ll do whatever I want once I’m president.”

Remind me not to vote for her if she’s ever running.

____

Ava: “Fourth grade is really a turning point. Kids are so much more mature. You know we say things like ‘not necessarily’ and appreciate lady Gaga and people don’t make farting noises as often.”

I don’t know, people. I just don’t know.

___________

Rocket, trying to coax Georgia to come over to him…”Georgia, come hhhheerrrree….I have something for youuuuuu…it’s right here…look, you can choke on it…!”

Oh come on you know I couldn’t make this shit up.

_________

Rocket, playing with Georgia: “You’re a cute 20 minutes!”

Me: “Rocket, what does that mean?”

Rocket: “She’s cute for 20 minutes. Then she’s annoying.”

Huh. That’s funny, that statement pretty much works for all kids, and most people.

_______

Rocket: “I’m more of a lollipop kind of guy.”

Me: “Rocket, what does that mean?” (Yes, I say that a lot.)

Rocket: “Exactly what I said. I’m more of a lollipop kind of guy.”

Me: “Right. I got that. But you’re more into lollipops than what?”

Rocket: “Everything.”

_________

Ava, as people drove by our house with super loud bass playing: “I bet Georgia has more teeth than those people.”

Me: “That’s not very nice. They could have a whole head of excellent teeth.”

Ava: “No, they spent all their money on that stereo and then couldn’t afford dental care.”

I have NO IDEA where she gets that inappropriate sense of humor.

______

Rocket: “Mama, could you please be less annoying?”

Me: “I don’t think so.”

Rocket: “Why don’t you just try to be less annoying one week at a time. That way you won’t get overwhelmed with the change.”

Gonna be honest, actually considered that suggestion seriously.

Happy WTF Wednesday!

The other day, while scowling at the absurdity of one of those feel-good chocolate hearts and roses Valentine’s ads, I placed my pointer finger against my face in the classic thinking posture and asked myself… “Hmmmm…what would an honest Valentine’s Day card say?”

And then, as this thought rolled around in my [acutely insane] brain, I realized that this is no simple question, but rather depends entirely on how long the couple has been together.

Because as you probably know…that shit CHANGES. (Relationships, that is. Men, not so much.)

So this small, profound monologue got me thinking about the fact that there are (in my opinion) three stages in a relationship/marriage, each of them obviously necessitating a different Valentine, were it to be honest and real and able to speak the truth of the insanity. Err, I mean “budding love story.”

Wow. Deep.

Anyhoo, I give you this. I ask that you please enjoy the clip art.

Stage 1

Years 0-2: The “I haven’t Been With You Long Enough to Realize How Much You Annoy Me” stage, comprised of long walks and hand-holding, starry-eyed dinners, cocktails, discussions, movie-watching, reasonable arguments, cuddling and pet names. Also, smug looks directed at women who are in Stages 2 and 3 with their men, and a distinct feeling of superiority, having obviously been deemed the first woman in history to not wonder if she could turn herself into a lesbian to avoid further intimacy with the male population. Also, women in this stage rest easy in the comfort and surety that they will never, ever want to pummel their little love kitten with a meat cleaver. Because he’s PERFECT. Duh.

A Stage 1 Valentine looks something like one of these:

And now…

Stage 2, Years 2-5: The “Holy Shit I had no Idea You Had These Sorts of Habits” Stage, also known as the “I Must Mold You Into Something More Like What I Had In Mind” Stage, characterized by a lot of discussions with girlfriends regarding the man’s deficiencies, as well as a decent amount of wonderment and awe as the female discovers The Male is not at all perfect (and may actually have some sort of disability, as evidenced by the fact that he can’t find stuff that’s 3 inches from his forehead and leaves hair in the bathroom sink after shaving). This stage also involves the surfacing of all other incomprehensible tendencies, causing the female to realize she’s going have to fix this character if they’re ever going to make it. And therefore, she begins to WORK, which of course results in long, long, long discussions, unreasonable bickering, maybe therapy but for sure tears, cajoling, threatening, flailing and general malaise, and, most likely, the arrival of an infant or two.

Honest Valentines at this stage may look like this:

And then, if the couple in question makes it past Stage 2, they enter Stage 3 (years 6 – ?), commonly known as the “Well Obviously You are not Going to Change and I’m Tired of Fighting so I’ve Accepted you and your Weirdness” Stage. (Yes, these stages have awkwardly long titles. Not particularly catchy, I know. Don’t blame me. I didn’t make it up.) Oh wait.

As you can see, this is something of a deal-breaker stage – since it’s pretty much Stage 3 or Stage Bye-Bye. Stage 3 is characterized by a lot of glaring but less complaining, fewer divorce threats and a surface-level acceptance of small, irritating habits (such as buying odd gadgets that will never ever be used EVER, or eating onions before bed). It also involves some strange compromises (“Honey, if you pick up your bath towel from the floor every day, I’ll start squeezing the toothpaste from the bottom.”) and subtle retaliation (as opposed to the long, long, long discussions in stage 2 (or therapy)). On the plus side, this Stage results in a weird peace and vague sense of serenity and, occasionally, some intense relief  regarding the fact that you didn’t throw in the towel when things got rough (and therefore, thank god, you don’t have to deal with these hoodlum children alone). Women in this stage feel a little like badass survivors of some great calamity, like a tsunami, or fire. “We almost didn’t make it, kids. We really had to work HARD to make this marriage work. Ah, but look at us now…”

And we feel a little victorious. And yeah, alright, I’ll say it: A little in love.

Enough of the sappy crap.

Real valentines in this stage may look something like this:

And with that, let me just say: Happy freaking Valentine’s Day, ladies.

xoxoxoxo

So every day as I look at my “stats” (why yes, I did feel important saying “stats”) I’m convinced the biggest whackjobs on the planet end up on my blog (present company excluded, of course). I mean the stuff they search for…and then they follow through to my blog…and then I get to see what search phrase brought them there.

Wait. Does that say something about the kind of crap I’m writing?

Nah, that can’t be it. Pure coincidence I’m sure.

Anyhoo, just like the last time I did this, I thought I’d help these people out a bit, by providing some input on their respective concerns.

So here we go. Best Google search terms in the last few months…

1. “fart experiment for kids” – Wow. A fart experiment for kids. Well, if you’re thinking of something involving fire and child gas, let me be the first to tell you, in no uncertain terms, THAT IS A BAD IDEA MY FRIEND. If you’d like a “fart experiment,” please try it on yourself first. No really, do. Right now.
2. “how to dress if you are a crunchy parent” – Well, I hate to break it to you, but if you’re Googling this, you are decidedly not a crunchy parent. But I’ll help you out anyway, just because I’m nice: wear organic bamboo pants and large leather shoes, fleece, and no make-up. If possible, incorporate hemp and a hand-knit beanie. Also a shirt involving Vegan lifestyles, cooperative gardening or homeless puppies. Be a little dirty, don’t shave your legs, let your hair get a tiny bit funky. Patchwork, bahtik, and odd colors are also a bonus. Smell like lentils and garlic. But mostly, go sit in a dark, quiet room and ask yourself why you’re trying so hard to fit in with a group of people who have based their entire lives on “not fitting in.” Hmmmmm.
3. “How to get poo off a onesie” – Wash it, homeslice. Wash it.
4. “How to come up with a title for my life” – I’m guessing “Tales of a Dumbass” since you think the internet is going to lend some insight on your personal life. Really dude, that’s just weird.
5. “Does insomnia feel like being high” – Yes.
6. “Shit, I hate my bed sheets” – Yeah, bad bed sheets can really fuck things up. May I suggest letting go and moving on and then, when you’ve recovered from the initial shock of this experience by commiserating with online strangers about their bed sheet quandaries, buying some new ones.
7. “Can my husband have me arrested?” – Well, just throwing out ideas here, but I THINK if you do something illegal, he can indeed have you arrested. Perhaps you should try it and find out. If you do, please come back to this here blog and tell me how it went.
8. “Great T.V. for unschooling” – May I suggest a broken one?
9. “Things that confuse me” – Not positive, but I BET you’re confused by quite a few things, such as this: the internet can’t tell you what confuses you because it isn’t you. You are you and the internet is not you. And if you search the internet for things that confuse “me” you are going to get a bunch of people explaining what confuses THEM, because they are not as confused as you.  Hopefully that helped.

Oh well, at least it’s better than the last one, wherein pretty much every search phrase involved crack or meth.

Clearly, I’m getting classier by the minute, as evidenced by our moving on to fart experiments.

Yessss.