Look. I understand. You gotta poop when you gotta poop. Everyone does it and not everyone can time it just right so that they are doing it in the comfort of their own home. Hell, I’ve pooped in public restrooms before. Not very often, but it has happened. (Strange but true fact: It has only ever happened when I was shopping with my mother. Obviously my mother loves to shop with me.)

As I was saying, I understand. I will not hold it against you if you have to go poo in a public restroom.

But for the love of all that is holy, would you FLUSH THE DAMN TOILET?

Also, what is up with using the FIRST stall in the restroom? Every damn bathroom I walk into has a big ol’ turd sitting in the toilet of the first stall. EVERY ONE OF THEM.

I was at the movie theater last night and before the movie I went in one of the two women’s restrooms and the first stall had a poopie in it. After the movie I went in the OTHER women’s bathroom. The first stall? A big ol’ pile of poo in that one as well.

Seriously, people. When you go number two in public you should ALWAYS pick a middle stall so that you are less noticeable.

Oh, and it wouldn’t hurt to FLUSH.

Guys! I’m baaaaack! You missed me right? I totally missed you! Although, I have to admit, I had a BLAST reading all the guest posts! Guest posts are the most fun this blog has ever had.

A great big THANK YOU to all my posters! (Except for Leslie. She used to be my BBF, but not anymore because she totally got more comments on MY blog than I’VE ever gotten. She took guest posting too far. She is dead to me. DEAD.) (Everyone else? I still love you.)

And, now that I’m back, I don’t really know what to say. But, everyone loves a good "men are idiots" story, so lets start there shall we?

This morning Cleatus came home from work with a big hole in the back of his pants. His back pocket was torn off somehow and his boxers were clearly visible. Mighty sexy.

The following conversation took place:

Cleatus: Don’t wash these pants. They’re garbage.

Me: Ok. Put ‘em in the garbage.

Cleatus: Ok. Just don’t wash them.

Me: I won’t if you PUT THEM IN THE GARBAGE.

Cleatus: Ok. I just want to be sure you won’t wash them, because THEY. ARE. GARBAGE.

Me: I don’t normally dig through the garbage to find clothes to wash. (Insert eye roll and shake of head because I KNOW that those jeans will end up with the rest of the dirty clothes.)

Cleatus: OK! I WILL PUT THEM IN THE GARBAGE! (Insert thought about how unreasonable his wife is.)

Keep in mind that this conversation happened just minutes before he removed his pants to go to bed. Now, lets all take a moment to guess where those jeans are right now.

Fuckin’ men.

That concludes the "men are idiots" portion of this post. Now, on to more important business. First off, tomorrow I will have a burning question about bobby pins that must be answered. Be prepared. Second, I have to guest post on Wednesday at Shoo Fly, WHAT THE FUCK SHOULD I WRITE ABOUT? Heeeeeelp me! And third, do I use to many commas? Discuss.

I thought high school was tough. There was the popular crowd. The scummy crowd. The band geeks. The nerds. And then there was my crowd. The normal, everyday, not super popular, but not super unpopular crowd. I didn’t really have a crowd. I was just in the middle. And it was fine. I wasn’t ever made fun of, and I didn’t often make fun of other kids.

But, there is something about friendship that is just kinda hard when you are in high school. Its hard to stay best friends with someone who is flirting with your ex-boyfriend. Its hard to stay friends with someone who is dating someone you don’t like. It is hard to stay friends with someone who starts hanging with the dorks or the cool crowd or the stoners (unless you were me and then you will just leech onto those stoner friends and have a grand ol’ time).

Being a mom who has a friend that doesn’t have kids? That is even harder. Finding the time to actually hang out? Impossible. Calling each other to stay in touch? Not happenin’.  And then when you do find time to chat with your friend they don’t care all that much about your kids poop, and we all know how much moms like to talk about poop. What? That’s just me? Shuddup.

And now I am finding that being a mom who has a friend with children is even harder than all of the others. You have all that business of finding the time to get together or make a phone call. And then you have the play date between your kids. And that is where I have the biggest problem of all.

Parents are all so different. Some moms (and dads) are laid back. They don’t freak out when their kids fall down. They don’t panic if they get dirty. They don’t have a cow if they eat sugar. Other parents are overly strict and they don’t allow any television ever. Some kids have never tasted McDonald’s. And not just the little Ethiopian kids either.  Kids RIGHT HERE in AMERICA have never tasted MCDONALD’S. Sad, but true. These parents? They annoy me. But, I can totally deal with it. I might roll my eyes every now and again. But, we’ll still be friends.

Then there are the parents who allow their children to get away with everything. Their child hits mine and they say nothing. Their child swears constantly and they don’t tell him to stop. Their child makes a mess and they don’t ask him to help clean up. This is the type of parent that I can’t deal with.

One of my friends is one of those parents. I love her and I love hanging out with her. But, when her child is allowed to eat candy right before dinner, right after I’ve told Eeyore that he can’t have it? That’s not fun for me. When her child JUMPS on another kid and when that other kid tells on him and she says "Oh" as if she could care less? I want to JUMP on her and bash her head in. When she allows her young child to run free without supervision in places that I wouldn’t allow my older child to go? I want to shake her. And then? When I make my child behave and she looks at me and asks "how do you make him listen so well?" I want to tell her that I DISCIPLINE my children. NO MEANS NO. Say no and mean no. Follow through. Time outs. Less sugar. YOU are the boss, not the CHILD.  But, I know that she doesn’t actually want a lesson* in parenting from me. She wants me to say that she is a great mom and her kid is just fine. But its a lie, and I can’t say that. So I just smile and shrug.

What do you do in situations like this? Because I think that I’m just going to stop hanging out with this mom  and that makes me really sad.

*I am no expert mama, and I hope that didn’t come across that way. However, my kids do generally behave. Yes, they have off days. Today, at my parents house, I nearly had to tie Cindy-Lu down to change her clothes. But, you know what? For the most part, my kids ARE well-behaved. And I take credit for it. Because I’m the mom and I can. So there.

Also, I know some kids are just more hyperactive than mine. But, remember, I’m not complaining about the child. I’m complaining about the parent’s response to the child.

I dunno why I felt the need to defend myself after re-reading all that, but I did. So I did.

How did I, lover of all things starchy and cheesy, end up with a child who hates macaroni and cheese? Is this some kind of sick joke?

I’m not laughing.

So. I’m goin’ on this trip. To the beach. And, unless they’ve made some awesome new full body swimsuit that allows you to get a tan without actually exposing any skin, I need to lose some weight. Like 40 pounds. In one month. Ha. Hahahaha. I’d be happy with just 20 pounds, though. Can I do it? YES, I CAN! (Bob the Builder, la la la la)

I joined Weight Watchers. I get 25 points a day, which may sound like a lot (and may actually be a lot for all I know) but I am still hungry quite often. I need your help. Any hints or tips? I know Jessica likes to gnaw on cucumbers, but the thought of eating a cucumber makes me puke a little. What low point foods will keep me full for a long time? What are some good weight watchers snacks? (Their English Toffee ice cream bars? YUM.)

Oh,  and by hints, feel free to treat me like a moron. Cuz I need all the help I can get. It really would have been great if someone would have told me "don’t eat a pound of strawberries in one sitting just because their is only 1 point in 1 and 3/4 cups." But, they didn’t. And now I’m off to the loo. To go poo.