A Few Things I'm Mildly Upset About

I was an angry teenager.
Just look at this picture of me when I was 15:

I was probably thinking about killing small animals and how dark I should dye my hair next.
Even my freckles were angry.

As an adult, I'm more mature. I'm classier.
Now I try to avoid confrontation by flipping people off when they aren't looking or writing trash about them in my diary.

Dear Diary,
My brother Jake is an A-hole. He never invites me over for dinner.
He makes me soooo mad!!!!
Well, I have to go now, my mom made dinner and is calling me!
<3,
emily



I rarely have the urge to punch people in the crotch anymore.

Don't worry though. I still get plenty angry about some things. It's just that these days I'm a lot more chill. Mostly I get mildly upset.


Here are some things that I'm mildly upset about lately:

• People who do not respect your personal space.

When I am waiting in a line I always stand back to give the person in front of me space because that is what considerate human beings do.
I was waiting in line yesterday at Cafe Rio and some lady behind me stayed so close to me that she practically molested me. My butt was very offended by the constant touching and caressing.
If you are a close stander, you and I can never be friends.

• The current eyebrow trend.

I can't deal with this.
It's weird and it bugs me.
Why would you fade your eyebrows into your skin? I already have a huge space there and I don't need to accentuate it.

BTW, the reason I know I have a large gap between my brows is because years ago I was arguing with a dude and he got mad and pointed it out. Then I couldn't stop laughing and we became friends. 

• Sparkle Jeans.

I want to understand them but I just can't.

• My addiction to stupid Lipsense.

I'm such a lipstick whore and already have 7843 other tubes of lip stuff.
Why do I need a bunch of this brand? Because it's awesome and stays on all day. It makes me happy in ways I can't explain.

But still.
wtf.
No one needs this much lipstick.
Except me, apparently.

I even sell this stuff. I need to settle down. 

• That I bought a slip'n'slide for the chillun' and forgot to let them play on it and now summer is over and they are whining at me.

• People who sneeze extra loud on purpose.

It scares everyone around them. Shut up loud sneezers, you are acting like fools.
I'm looking at you, Grandpa.

• When public places don't have baby changing tables available.

Do you know how hard it is to change a poop diaper while your kid is standing up?
Well, it's really hard and really gross. And sometimes it gets on the floor.

And if any gets on the floor, I will not clean it up, because I am a horrible person, but also to teach that facility a lesson.

• Trump v. Clinton

These two are the nominees? This is what we have to choose between? Is this real life?
I need to go into the woods for a while and sort my feelings out.




Let's take a moment of silence for all the stuff that pisses us off a little bit.

I feel so much better. 

Bath Bombs

Bath bombs.
Oh how I love them.

I don't even take baths often (or showers for that matter), I just love bath bombs because they smell like the Celestial Kingdom.
They make my whole house smell delicious. They are better than candles. I store them in my closet just so I can sniff them everyday.

I mostly let me kids use them.
Ryan and T-Bag love them and play in the bath longer when we use them.
Longer bath times = more time I can sit on the toilet and look at Pinterest. 


I'm obsessed with the bombs from that over-priced mall store, LUSH.
Don't worry though. We all know that there is no way my cheapness would allow dropping $6-$10 on a bath bomb.
OK. Just kidding. I totally spend that. Just don't tell my husband.

BUT,

I usually break the bath bombs into 4 pieces. They last us 5 baths since I save the cheeto dust left behind from when I chopped them.

Look who is winning now LUSH!

I also bought this MMMelting Marshmallow Moment Luxury Bath Oil.
So fancy!

This one isn't for the chillun'. It's only for me.

I'm saving it for fall/winter when I have lizard skin.
You know in your heart I'll be chopping it up so it lasts longer.

LUSH also has bubble bath bars that you stick in your tub and it fizzes out a bunch of heavenly bubbles. I am scared to try them since I don't want any other addictions in my life.

I bought some random ones at White Barn Candle/Bath and Body Works and they sucked balls. Real balls, not bath balls.
I will say the packaging is adorable. A mini egg carton? Yes please.  

 

Farm Fresh - Green Bubble Gorgeous

Aromatherapy Bath Bombs

These cost $25 for 6 of them. I got them home and realized they were so small especially next to LUSH's bombs. The blue LUSH bomb is obviously on the left.

The smells weren't that great, just normal and expected.
They left a TON of residue all over my tub.
I am lazy. I don't want to be scrubbing my tub more than once every few years.

These ones were a total rip off.


 I should probably learn how to make my own bath bombs. There are online recipes for LUSH-like bath stuff.
But I won't because: lazy.

Well, LUSH wins again.

It Feels Good To Be A Gangsta

I don't know what ya heard about me.

But just because I have 2 kids, good credit, a mom blog, and take showers semi-regularly doesn't mean I'm not gangsta.

Allow me to present the following argument.

• I got a speeding ticket a few months ago and I paid it late so I probably had a warrant out for my arrest for a solid 3 days.

• I yell at my kids in public like it ain't no thing.
• I drive a 2007 Honda CR-V and it's fresh to death.
• I love turning it up in da club. And by club, I mean the Preschool Sports Club at my local rec center. 
• I will straight up meet you at the flagpole after school and fight you.
• I have a bad attitude.
• Just look how I dressed up Ryan a few years ago:

• I sag my pants. Mostly because my white girl butt doesn't fill them out.
• I have an entourage that follows me everywhere. And their names are Ryan and Tyler.
• I party HARD. Like tomorrow I am going to a Star Wars birthday party, and the day after that I'm going to another b-day party that promises to have a bounce house. 
• I am working on a rap album.
• I have a ton of B*tch's phone numbers in my phone.
• I make inappropriate comments on Facebook when I'm bored.
• I own guns! Hidden in a locked safe so my children can't access them. We only take them out for target practice, but I could totally do a drive-by if I needed to protect my homies. 
• I have an appointment to get a face tattoo. 

• When my kids ask me if they can stay up later, I sometimes say yes. 

Clearly I'm a straight up thug.

I'd watch out for me if I were you. Word.

Gross Things at the Grocery Store

Once I was looking for soup at the grocery store and saw this:

Campbell's Golden Mushroom Soup.

Have you ever heard of a Golden Mushroom?
It sounds dirty and sexual. Like something you do in college and should probably have a pre-arranged safe word planned with your partner.
A cloudy brown broth with chunks of soft mystery items is not what I want in my mouth.


I also saw this disturbingly named candy:

 

A Reester Bunny?

I feel really uncomfortable about this.



I saved the most disturbing thing for last.
EVERY TIME we are in the produce section, T-Bag insists on getting out the shopping cart and finding the most phallic looking vegetable. Then he hits himself on the head with it and says, "Bonk."

I don't know why he does this.
We don't do this at our house. I know I may seem like the type of mom that bonks myself in the head with vegetables, but I'm telling the truth. We really don't do this. 

Blog Apologies

Hey. I really feel it's time to say thank you to everyone that reads my dumb, trashy blog. For realsies. Kind, thoughtful, and usually hilarious comments keep me laughing which is one of my favorite things in life.

I love stalking my readers and creepily enjoy each post. So thank you, thank you, thank you for the free entertainment.
Oh, and if you have a private blog, screw you. You better add my email to your list: emilybarlocker@yahoo.com because I don't like my blog-stalking hindered in any way.

Ok, so I read a lot of other peoples blogs and am confused at the amount of apologies bloggers present to their readers.

• I've been sooooo bad at blogging lately... SORRY!
• My life has been too busy to blog.... SORRY!
• I haven't blogged recently because I've been pinteresting and facebooking too much.... SORRY!
• I finally showered and got my life together so I couldn't post.... SORRY!
• My jail privileges were revoked so I couldn't blog for 12-16 months. SO SORRY! 

I never apologize for my inconsistent blogging.
Partly because I'm better than everyone but also because it's a freaking blog.
I'm inconsistent. So what.
You shouldn't apologize either.

So why do I even write this blog?

I write this blog because shocking and/or grossing people out is fun for me.
Once my kids are over the age of 30, I hope it will be an appallingly honest form of family history for them.

I love making people laugh.

That's why I draw, and that's why I write, and that's why I had kids.
 
The best compliment I can receive is someone telling me my adult acne is looking better or that my blog is funny.

Life is hard sometimes and laughing is as essential as breathing.

I like to think my trashy blog is contributing to the greater good.

If someone is having a bad day I hope they can read a post and feel better by throwing all their pity my way instead. I hope for the 3 minutes it takes to read one of my lazy posts, you are transported away from your troubles and experience the questionable world I live in.

That's also why I am so open about how messed up my view on the world is. Life is never perfect and honesty can be hilarious.

Some Researcher from USC contacted me about my blog.

He is doing some research on personal blogs about why people share their personal lives on the internet and to what extent.

I guess he wants to find correlations between basic demographics, political/religious views, whether you sit down to pee or not, and blogging.

Usually I would not participate in something like this because: lazy.

But my inner Sociologist got the biggest boner ever so I contacted the dude back and hooked him up with a lot of inappropriate information.

I hope the data I provided really skews the results.

Looks like my degree is really paying off when I can skew results for other people's graduate thesis work. At one point I answered that one of the primary things I write about is poo.
I don't know what's wrong with me.

Anyway, a picture to thank you:

Ew..... too creepy. SORRY!

1 Million Tacos

I've never played the lottery. I cant justify buying a ticket at the gas station when there is a bag of Reese's Pieces right next to the register for the same price.
In any situation, I always pick the Reese's Pieces.
Even after I gave birth to my children, if there happened to be one nurse handing me my newborn and another nurse handing me a family sized bag of Reese's Pieces, I would instinctively reach for the candy.

Then I'd probably try to breastfeed it. 

With all the Powerball hype a month ago, I was thinking about how cool it would be to win a big chunk of money.

I'm sure most people have thought about this.

Let's say, hypothetically, I won a million dollars.

Let's say I was not allowed to do anything responsible with it. No investing, no saving, no donations to charity.
In no particular order, here's what I'd do:


I would buy a huge white rapist van because those things are fun to drive.

Buy a human sized net to keep in the van.

When I go to Walmart and I would buy whatever food I wanted, even if it wasn't on sale..... especially if it wasn't on sale.


I would wait until my kids were older then take them on a trip around the world.
I would visit:
Everest base camp in Nepal
Sri Lanka
Morrocco
Auschwitz Concentration Camp
Amsterdam
Dresden
Petra
The Maldives
And all the other cool places I could think of including Tijuana, Mexico.

I would buy a bed so I could be a real adult. My Mattress on the floor reminds me of a college apartment. My mattress is one of the best things in my life and it deserves better than that.

I would buy a lifetime subscription to National Geographic.

I would buy a lifetime pass for Jared and I to Brighton Ski Resort and by "lifetime pass" I mean a buttload of marijuana since all the lifties can be easily bribed with a joint, which is cheaper than the actual ski pass since I am a shrewd, but diplomatic, negotiator.

I would build a padded room to store my children in. The pads would be high quality and plastic covered so I could hose the place down after any body fluid accidents. There would also be a drain in the middle.

I could think of a million other things to buy too, but let's be honest....

We all know I would totally end up spending all the money on 1 million tacos from taco bell.

Peach Hater

I am in the midst of an OCD crisis.
My backyard is covered with rotten, smashed peaches.
It's foul. 

The previous owners of our house thought it would be a great idea to plant two overzealous peach trees on our ledge.
But guess what... It wasn't a great idea.

I don't can food even though it's a sin here in Utah. I'm too disinterested in spending an entire day in the kitchen. And canned peaches at the store are only like $2.

My little family can't eat that many peaches, and neither can our neighbors, extended family, and random people on the street I give them to.

They are organic and rot faster. Plus I am not going to poison my family by letting them eat organic free-range peaches.

In California we had 3 mature avocado trees. I didn't mind them at all because Jared would eat 5 a day. And friends were more than happy to take extras off our hands.


We had so many peaches that a ton of them fell off the tree and all over our cement.
Ryan stomped on all of them, to make sure they were extra hard to clean up.

The ones he didn't destroy lured the neighborhood deer clan to our backyard.

I let the deer eat their hearts out.... until I realized they would spit the slimy peach pits out and they would stick to everything. I had to hack each pit off the cement with an ice pick.

My neighbors are probably a little concerned when they saw some chick in her ugly pajamas beating the ground with a weapon. I'm sure I had an angry serial killer-esque grin on my face. I bet they locked their doors that night.

These stupid peaches have been my enemy this summer. My life is so hard :(

I'm going to cut those entitled trees down, plant evergreens, and see how those peach trees like it.
I have never hated a fruit so bad in my life.

It's going be a while before I recover and learn to love again.

Sister Harassment

I'm the only person allowed to harass and threaten my family.
If anyone else does, I foam at the mouth, grow fangs, squeeze out chest hair, and drop actual testicles.
It's serious.

Even with my sis, Feg. I can be mean sometimes, but if anyone messed with her I would literally fight them. I'm talking hair in a bun, Vaseline on face, and a healthy dose of white trash rage.

I wouldn't even say sorry unless the judge made me.... but I wouldn't mean it. at. all.

I really hope nobody ever really hurts my family because I don't want to go to jail.
Unapologetic Mormon girls don't fare well in prison.


A few months ago my little sister Rachel showed me a whole bunch of text messages from her Ex-Boyfriend's idiot friend, whom I'll refer to as Kris Kerns since that's his name.


Kris was getting thug-style with his sassy texts. He called Rachel a slut, whore, and every other word regarding her proported prostituteness.

What an unoriginal idiot.

He also was a gentleman by telling Rachel how huge her ass was (sorry I swore Gayle!!!!!!!!), how fat she is and how ugly she is.

This is my Sis:

This is Kristopher Kerns:

Texts continued. He started threatening to fight her. A grown man trying to fight a girl.


Rachel showed me all the texts a few days later. I was pretty bored that day so I started frothing at the mouth.
I started texting him. He did not appreciate my refreshing wit.
Kris Kerns kept text-harrassing Rachel so I researched his Facebook profile and I drew him this:

(I covered up the bad word with green/sad face because this is a family blog and I am a lady. Also, if you don't think I'm a lady, look at how fancy I drew his name on the left. If you don't think that's ladylike you can leave this blog right now.)

He did not appreciate my artwork either :( so I sent it to a few of his friends and after a lot of funny texting, Kris stopped.
He has not contacted Rachel since.

I heard Kris got pretty mad about the picture and deleted all traces of it.
A few days later I received this:

LOL.


BTW, I would like to set one thing straight. Though I occasionally harass my family, I would NEVER, EVER call them Fagita Pita.

Nasty House: Rape Room

 

One of the best things about my house is that there is a ton of storage space.

Storage space is a scarce commodity in Southern California, especially in the older houses.

 

I hate clutter. I hate clutter more than I hate the moderate case of thrush baby #2 and I are passing back and forth lately.

 

I am barely able to act socially acceptable as it is, if my house is a mess, I might as well put my muzzle on and stay in my kennel.

So..... I clean obsessively. Sometimes a clean house is better than sex..... which is not an insult to my husband as much as it is an example of my excitement towards clean stuff. Sometimes, after I scrub the house down, I just want to cuddle and smoke a cigarette.

 

 

I rely on storage space to keep my house creepily neat.

I breath heavily and out of my mouth when I think about it.

I love storage.

 

What I don't love is when one of my storage spaces looks like a rape chamber.

 

One of the bedrooms in my basement has nice travertine floors, mirrored closet doors, ample sunlight, and a door that opens up to a cheery veranda surrounded by a tall awesome hedge

There is even a cute arched walk way cut through the hedge.





This seemingly innocuous room contains a door in the corner that leads to this:

a little dreary, but it is an old house, no big deal. But see that smaller doorway?

 

 

 



Welcome to the rape room.

 

 



 

 

 

It puts the lotion on it's skin.......

 

Creeeeeeeepy, right?

 

There are no lights in there. You have to crouch down to fit since rapists/kidnappers don't care if you can stand up all the way. Dirt floors to absorb blood and tears. And also so they can bury the bodies when they are done. 

What is that white crusty stuff on the wall? Why are there random ropes and wires hanging from the ceiling?

Maybe I should hang something on the stained walls to warm the place up.

 

Or maybe not.