A Thoughtful Post About Farts

It has recently come to my attention that my entire blog is devoid of fart jokes.

I was surprised and disappointed. I didn't purposefully avoid the subject on moral grounds or tactfulness. I am no stranger to gross things.

I began a serious introspection as to why farts have never made an appearance here. I even went on a hike in my backyard to sort my feelings out.

After walking 14 feet I realized it is because I am deeply scarred emotionally by farts and farting.

I grew up with the 3 grossest brothers in the world.

My young life was filled with rancidity.
All 3 of them practiced the low art form of "butter-cupping".
Do you know what that freaking is?!?!?!
It's when you fart into your hand then release it under someone's nose.

Crop dusting was also routinely practiced.
Where you fart while walking, misting your stench on innocent people.

There was a lot of of the boys simply sitting on top of you and farting in your face or in your lap. Like an unwelcome birthday gift.

Farts were regularly lit on fire, my pet kitten was regularly buttercupped, and if you pissed one of the boys off, they would fart on your pillow and tell you the next morning.

One of my little sisters was dating this total douche bag named TY. They were both 18 years old and in the teenage stage of claiming they were Vegetarian, because that is the trendy thing to do these days.
Our whole family hated this car-less, jobless, college-less, smug little pipsqueak. TY loved telling people that he was going to be a professor of theoretical physics. He didn't really know what that meant, but it sounded good.

My sis and Professor Douche were over for a family dinner at my parents house. My mom had made beef stew, so they sat at the table eating nothing since they were vegetarian and too cool.
TY was a self satisfied little idiot the whole dinner while my family played along.

After TY bragged about not eating the beef stew because he's vegetarian, my little brother Matthew stood up to get more food.
He walked by TY and literally bent over and farted in TY's mouth.
Then Matthew said, "How do you like that beef stew?"
My family loved it.
TY never had dinner with them again.

I guess the moral of the story is if you don't like someone coming to dinner at your house, just fart in their mouth?


Clearly nothing is sacred in the Barlocker house.

Oh yeah, Matthew was like, 27 years old when he farted in that dude's mouth. 

And now you know why my blog isn't littered with fart jokes.
It's too painful.
I wonder if LDS Family Services runs any support groups for this. I could really use the help to overcome these painful memories.

P.S. The beef stew story totally counts as a fart joke.

Lying Can Be Fun!

I recently realized I am a dirty little liar.
I felt bad for a solid 8 seconds. Then I lied to myself and brushed the guilt aside.

I lie all the time.

Yesterday someone from my church asked if I could cook dinner for another family today.
I lied and said "yes!"
But honestly, I have NO intention of cooking anything. I fully plan on going to Costco and buying some pre-cooked food and passing it off as my own.

I recently lied to the dentist when he asked me if I flossed everyday. My mouth said "yes", but my gums said "no."


Lying has become a pretty useful tool in my daily life, see below!

Lies I tell myself:

1. Tomorrow I'm totally going to wake up early and exercise.
2. My bathroom habits are completely normal.
3. I'm for sure going to answer phone calls, text messages, and email in a timely manner.
4. These skinny jeans look amazing and I for sure don't have muffin top or sausage legs.
5. Laundry is fun!
6. I going to cook dinner tomorrow!
7. I will stop saying bad words in front of the kids.
8. I will also stop laughing when my kids repeat the bad words.
9. I am going to bed at an appropriate time and will not stay up reading like a rabid dog.
10. This is the LAST pimple I am ever going to pop.

Lies I tell my kids:

1. Sorry, They don't make replacement batteries for your extremely obnoxious toy.
2. The park is closed.
3. McDonald's is closed.
4. Everything is closed.
5. If you cry in a store the police will put you in jail. 
6. I'll cook you dinner tomorrow!
7. You forgot to bring your own money? I guess there's no way we can buy more legos :(
8. If you say the swear words I taught you at church, Jesus will cry.
9. You are my favorite offspring.
10. Daddy is just giving Mommy a massage.

Lies I tell my husband:

1. Of course I showered!
2. The kids FOR SURE did not watch too much TV today.
3.  I did not spend all day in my pajamas while you were out of town.
4. I'll still love you if you go bald.
5. I am wearing stretch pants and tennis shoes because I totally worked out today.
6. This dress is not new! I've had it forever!
7. Everything I buy at Sephora is an absolute necessity.
8. I LOVE when you spend your days off in your workshop! I don't need a break from the kids!
9. Of course it doesn't bug me when you snore!
10. Sorry, not tonight. I have a headache.



yep.

House Porn

Jared and I (and by that I mean, Jared only) remodeled both of our previous houses. It sucks major balls to live through months and months of remodeling mess, but it's cool to pick out exactly what you want and make your husband build it.

 Our Utah house is not a rotting heap of 1960's vomit, so I feel a little weird about living here. It sort of creeps me out that I have a working oven (not that I use it), a garage, and baseboards. 

Every time I flush a tampon down the toilet, I have an instant freak out until I remember that we don't have a septic tank.

I feel like I stole something since I moved into a decent house. Like I don't deserve it unless it's nasty and I pay my dues of living in filth, years of remodeling, and spending tons of money on materials.

But don't worry, I'll cope.... in a nice house...


While remodeling our Ohio house we found copious amounts of porn circa the 1960-70's, but this is not the type of house porn I'm referring too.
BTW, I knew it was was 1960-70's porn because pubes.

I'm talking about real estate porn. 
It doesn't make financial sense to remodel the Utah house, so I have to cheat on it and fuel my desires online.

I'm so ashamed that I wait until Husband goes to bed, then I sneak on the computer.

Sometimes I'm brazen enough to look at it right next to him.

If I want to mix things up, I explore different housing styles.

I could look at it all day. I need to stop.
It's controlling my life.

I wonder if LDS family services facilitates support groups for house porn addiction?

Kid Boogers

Boogers are playing a much larger part of my life than I ever expected.

Since moving to temperature-challenged Utah from sunny California, my boys have had more colds than I can count.
Boogers are running rampant in my house.

I never knew the human body was capable of such disgusting-ness.

Everytime he had a cold, Baby T-bag wakes up with snot crusted all over his little face.
He seems to enjoy it.


When I try to scrape it off, he cries, which leads me to believe he likes it all over himself. ew.

In the midst of a bad cold, I found this on Tyler's sheets one morning:

Bobby pin for size reference.
I cant handle it.

Lucky for me, Ryan doesn't eat his boogers. There is nothing worse than little kids eating their huge slimey boogers. I should know, I was totally one of those kids.

Sidenote: How come it you catch a kid eating thier snot in public, the look you right in the eye defiantly the whole time they are doing it?  

We taught Kid #1 to use Kleenexes.
He still hasn't grasped the concept that after you use the kleenex, you should throw it away. Instead, booger bandit leaves his nuggets on the tissue IN THE BOX.

Sometimes I wonder if I should teach him to eat them as it might be more sanitary.

Adult Acne Lesson Learned

I never had a zit until I turned 18 years old. It was like overnight I had become the "before" picture in those Proactive ads.

I looked like a slice of pepperoni pizza.

It sucked. It was embarrassing. I felt disgusting and had to wear loads of makeup.

I tried every acne product available. Proactive, Clinique, Murad, Bliss, Clearasil, etch. but nothing ever cleared it up.

To make my greasy face even worse, I developed an obsessive habit of popping all my pimples. I couldn't stop. I was addicted to squeezing crap out my face. I even had one of those magnifying mirrors so I could get all up in my zit's business.

Everyone who knew my dirty little secret (maybe not so secret considering evidence was on my FACE) got mad at me and told me to leave my face alone.

One of my favorite friends, Christie, who had beautiful tan skin all the time got especially pissed off since my effectiveness as a wing-woman suffering. She always told me to stop picking at my face.

My parents offered visits to the dermatologist, but I was too busy busting blackheads.

After I got married, Jared patrolled my mirror time. He told me to "leave my pretty face alone"

since that was the "only reason he married me". Either way, I still found a way to maintain my pimple farm.

Towards the last half my pregnancy with Titty Monkey, the cesspool on my face suddenly cleared.
Could it be?! Had I finally grown out of my adult acne?!?!!

I wasn't using special face products. I'm pretty sure I wasn't even showering every day.
So why did my zits disappear?

It was because I was too fat to reach the mirror. My belly prohibited me from bending close enough to the mirror and therefore I could not pop all the nastiness out my face.

Who knew that leaving your face alone would be so good for it? Oh yeah, everyone.

I kind of like not having pizza face so I stopped assaulting my face all the time.
Now, when I am bored or anxious, I just pop Jared's zits instead.

You don't have to email me, I know I'm disgusting.

 

Boob Flashing

Pee-Baby and I flew into Utah last week.
My mom picked us up at the airport.

When we pulled into the driveway, one of my cool sisters, Rachel, came to the door to meet us.
I decided to reward her with a ceremonial Barlocker-family sister-flashing.

That's how we roll. We don't hug, we expose ourselves.

I lifted up my shirt to offend her with my pregnant stomach and awesome pregnancy boobs.
Of course I made an angry face and did a cute tap-dance.

Then my Dad walked by.
Um....... I wanted to kill myself.
I have never put my boobs away faster.
I don't think he saw anything, or at least he pretended not too. Thank goodness.

My dad is usually not amused by my shenanigans.

I think from now on I will avoid flashing my sisters on the driveway.

Drool Mess and Cheese Ball

I am a pregnant mess, and now my pillow is too.

I woke up to this nastiness:

Yep..... Chocolate drool on my pillow layered with smears of pink lip-gloss.

The pink lip-gloss is pretty normal. The chocolate-flavored droll, however, is not.

It's now no longer a secret that I keep a huge stash of candy next to my bed that would make Willy Wonka jealous.


My lack of self control has led me to eat candy at regular intervals throughout the night. And judging by the mess on my pillow, I'm not too concerned about swallowing it before I fall back asleep.

The floor is littered with candy wrappers every morning.

Let's not even begin to discuss the fact that I bought a cheddar bacon cheese ball for myself last week.

 

And yes, I put it in a paper bowl because normal dishes aren't classy enough for cheese balls.

 

At Least Pee-Baby Is Happy

I was sitting in bed cursing pregnancy and baby #2/Mason/Jack/Bobert/Gus/Harold.
I have been throwing up everyday. I can't tell you how many good meals I've wasted lately.

For months I have based my decisions on what to eat by how good I think it will taste when I throw it up. Taco bell nacho cheese is surprisingly good on the way back up..... Prime rib with horseradish and a side salad? No.

You'd think that since I throw up a ton, I wouldn't have poop problems. But I do. I get unbelievably constipated.

I also found out I had to start going to a high-risk doctor because my last baby jacked up my cervix during childbirth. Great. I hate doctors in general, but especially crotch doctors.

I was exhausted and feeling sorry for myself. Being pregnant sucks on days when your a wussy. Pee-Baby was laying by me watching Netflix and holding his monster trucks.

I was literally in the middle of an internal tirade against my fetus for making 9 months of my life harder.
Baby Ryan dropped his toys, leaned over and hugged me. Then he looked up at me and said "Mommy, I'm happy!" in his squeaky 2 year old voice.

I don't know if he was commenting on his life in general or the fact that I gave him candy for breakfast and let him watch Monster Truck Madness.

Either way it was touching.

I felt like the most ungrateful person ever..... with a side of jerk and an a-hole on top.
(BTW, I should draw a picture of that when I'm bored.)

9 months of nasty bodily functions, exhaustion, and doctors visits are sooooooo worth it.

My Busy Crotch

I don't need anything else added to my criminal record, which is why I was glad I was not arrested at the park last week. I flashed a bunch of unsuspecting families my private parts.

This was the first time I didn't do it on purpose.

I thought I would be the "cool mom" who played on the jungle gym with her kid. I claimed up a ladder and heard a rip. Then I felt the warm sun on places it shouldn't shine.

Although the sun was pleasant I knew something was wrong.

Luckily I wear underwear on Tuesdays.

One of my favorite pairs of jeans had finally ripped. The knees were already destroyed so I guess the crotch was the next logical place.

I get really introspective and a little sad when I consider that I'm old enough to have clothes wear out on me. Especially when they wear out in the crotch. It's not like my crotch has been especially busy.


Amen.

Dirty Sanchez Returns

If you are not aware of my upper lip problem, you should read this post first.

Being pregnant has made my Dirty Sánchez especially aggressive, and it's always lurking around.

If I spend 30 seconds in the sun, I look like I have a full blown mustache.

It's especially awesome when I break out on my chin. I look like a dirty hipster with a 'stache and a zit goatee. I bet people assume I have liberal political beliefs.... ugh.

To combat my facial hair illusion, I have prayed a lot and taken the following steps:

I put on a mustache of sunscreen every time I go outside. I use one of those sticks of sunscreen so I can apply it perfectly to my Sánchez. I keep hoping that the rest of my face will get tan and magically blend into the darker Sánchez area.


Then I got an even greater idea - self tanner.


I have some of Lindsey Lohan's self tanner that Sephora used to sell. BTW, It's the best self tanner I've ever used. I bought a bunch because I knew Lindsey would screw it up eventually and I wanted an emergency stock pile.



I have been putting self tanner all over my face every couple of nights.

Step 1:

But the genius idea is that I take a Q-tip and wipe the tanner off my Sánchez area.

Step 2:

When I wake up, you can barely tell that I was an old Mexican man in my past life!


On especially bad days, I will also admit to generous usage of concealer and bronzer.


I really believed I was over creepy bodily changes once I finished puberty.....
Damn you pregnancy hormones.

10 Things: Guilty

In the past couple of weeks I have been guilty of the following:


1. I put three dirty dishes in the dishwasher, which was full of clean dishes..... then I restarted the dishwasher because I was too lazy to empty it and/or hand wash my 3 dishes.


2. Actively trying to make Fegalicious cry even though her brain doesn't function on an human adult level. I suspect that teasing her is similar to teasing a angry squirrel.

3. I waste approximately 8-10 butt-wipes every time I change Ryan's poo diapers. I am deathly scared of getting any of his logs on my hands.

4. I looked at a huge mess Ryan made and thought "Someone should really clean that". Then I went to the park instead.


5. I wrote things down on my To Do list even though I had already done them. I wanted to cross them out so I would feel more productive.


6. One day I slept in until 9:00am and let my hyperactive two year old run around the house with no supervision. When I got out of bed there were 6 tomatoes smashed on my couch, saturating my white pillows and ground into the carpet............ totally worth it.


7. I tempted fate by driving around on an empty fuel tank. I was too lazy to stop for gas.


8. I went on another binge reading kick. Who knew there were so many cool books about polygamy?

9. I was neglecting my sunscreen responsibilities and I noticed that my Dirty Sanchez is trying to reappear. Damn you sunny California.


10. I was on a bug-hunt with Cryin Ryan and couldn't find any insects. I was bored and hot so I just put a crumpled leaf in his jar and told him it was a spider. He was excited.

I am not very proud of this list.

Fancy-Pants Phone

I ruined my favorite phone ever.

I was driving and threw up into a paper bag, which then fell through the bottom of the bag all over my lap, which is where I had my phone.

Cheese and crackers may or may not have had something to do with it.

Let's not get into that though.



Instead, let's talk about how fancy I feel with a new phone.

I was very sad to have to upgrade.
I am way too cool to care about how lame I look when I busted out my flip-phone.

I like to keep things simple and figured a smartphone would only complicate my life more. Plus, my disgusting/favorite brother, Jake, keeps begging me to get a smartphone so he can send me pictures of his poo in HD.

Plus, I really don't want to become one of those people who is more concerned with their phone than with the life that surrounds them.

I got the iPhone 4 from Verizon. It was Free with a 2 year contract.

I didn't necessarily want an iPhone but it is psychologically impossible for me to pay for something when I can get it for free.

I barely know how to use it and I probably won't learn anytime soon. I am too busy bug-hunting with Cryin' Ryan.


I feel so fancy I might even wear deodorant tomorrow.

P.S. The second Jake realized I had an iphone, he sent me a pic of his turd. I literally threw up.
I hate that guy.

My Questionable Cheese Habit

I have been craving cheese and crackers lately.

In the past 6 days I have eaten over 65 individual packages of Handi-Snacks cheese and crackers.

Over 65 packages. 

Gross.

Last night I couldn't sleep so I sat in bed, read my book, and greedily wolfed down a bunch of Handi-Snacks.

This is not the first time (or the second.... or third).

I woke up to a huge mess on my nightstand:

Yep, I used my finger to scrape every last bit of chemically preserved cheese from the package.

I'm ashamed.

Not so ashamed that I won't do it again though.



I don't want to talk about this anymore.

P.S. If you are ever wondering if humans can survive on toosie rolls, cheese and crackers, and water - for days at a time - ............. they can.

Sweatpants @ Albertsons

B.C. (Before Child) I would spot frumpy looking women who looked like they got hit by a truck. These chics looked like they hated their lives and had simply gave up.

You know who I'm talking about.... girls with unkempt hair, bags under the eyes, wearing pajamas all the time and chasing their bratty kids around everywhere.

I would see these girls all the time. The bank, grocery stores, at college, church etc.
I SWORE I would never get to that sad, sad, point.

A few days ago at my favorite grocery store, Albertson's, I was picking out some grapes with Cryin Ryan.
I looked down and saw this:

 (Pay no attention to my disaster of a house)

I stood by the grapes for 10 min shaking my head in shame.
It wasn't even early in the morning. I was still in my sweats at 4:00pm.

I snuck around the store ninja-style so no one would see the mess I had become.
I devised a plan to pinch Rat-Baby really hard if I ran into anyone. Then all the attention would be on my screaming baby and simultaneously give me a great excuse to leave in a hurry.

Lucky for Ryan, the coast was clear.
I was checking out when on of the regular baggers came over to bag my grapes, milk and candy.
He said, "You look tired."

I wanted to say, "EFF YOU, bagboy."
But in my ugly induced shame I nodded and frumpishly walked to my car.

At least I had on semi-clean underwear. amen.

Hunger Games-aholic

I am obsessed with nonfiction and read  5-6 books a month.
The only fiction I have read in the past 8 years is by Kurt Vonnegut.

I stopped reading Young Adult fiction once I grew pubes.
Plus, I am WAY too cool to read all the trendy bestsellers like Twilight and Harry Potter.

When I bougth my Microsoft tablet, I came across a free copy of The Hunger Games. I was so stoked about the tablet and wanted to use it all the time and I love free stuff so I started reading it

I read all three books in 4 days. Then I watched the movie twice.
I am seriously about ready to pee my pants (again) out of excitement for the next movie to come out in November.

When Catching Fire is released, I am going to wait in line for 6 hours dressed as Katniss. 

I bet Jennifer Lawrence is a good kisser.

I hereby retract any negative statements I made about people who read Hunger Games. I will no longer make fun of Hunger Games fanatics, as I am now part of the club.

My name is Emily and I am a Hunger Games-aholic.



Turns out I'm not too cool for teenager books.

Post Labor Pictures to Help Christie Feel Better

One of my favorite friends just had her first baby.
Christie will probably be an awesome mom. Not as awesome as me, but awesome nonetheless.

She posted her birth story on HER BLOG.
She claims she looks bad in these pictures:

Yeah Christie, you are soooooo nasty. 

I can't believe I am going to post these pictures. I swore I never would, but I like Christie a lot. So in an effort to make her feel better about her hospital pics I will sacrifice mine.

Take a deep breath.

I am clearly pissed off in this pic. 

 Look how nasty Cryin Ryan looks. Sick. Let's not even mention how inappropriate I look.

This picture was taken while I was hemorrhaging, and about to be taken off to emergency surgery on my chotch.
Christie's baby looks angelic in her pictures. Ryan looked like a science experiment. 

Let's see if it looks better photoshopped:

Nope.

Afterwards I felt like I got hit by a semi truck. I don't know why Jared kept taking pictures..... oh wait, yes I do. 

 I was surprised my feet didn't get stretchmarks.

I hope you feel better Christie because I don't.


P.S. I don't need everyone's pity comments telling me I look fine. I know how gross I was, and I accept it. Have a nice day.