A Side of Rice

Hopefully Humorous (and sometimes R-rated) Musings About Life


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Missing Inaction

Yes, I know dear readers (both of you!). It has been awhile since I last posted. In my defense, the universe recently conspired to make my life crazier than normal, with the trifecta of:

  • spilling my FULL cup of coffee all over my brand new laptop, resulting in me having to send it away to be fixed by the Geek Squad. Luckily, I had purchased the I’m such a dumbass, so I need the extra ‘in-case-I-do-anything-stupid’ insurance, and the complete repair was free. During the time I was laptopless, I had to share the other laptop with my boys, which meant eyerolls, huffs, sighs, and mutterings when I needed to use the laptop. Because this meant my boys’ viewing time of Vines showing farting, falling, bones breaking, sports silliness, bad lip synching, Elaine Benis-style dancing, and other nonsense aimed at those with a mental maturity no greater than Beavis and Butthead was limited by my need to look up what bat shit crazy advice “every woman” Gwenyth Paltrow was sharing with us common folk.
  • at work, we had a big — I mean BIG — launch to contend with in April. So many moving parts and pieces, endless meetings, longer-than-usual workdays, work on weekends, communication plans, backup plans, backup backup plans, war rooms, conference calls – you name it, we were doing it. And it turned out to be a success. Yay team.
  • the Spring sports season has started for my kids. We have one that plays baseball (both travel and rec teams) and one that plays lacrosse. That means for the past month and a half, there have been practices Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, possibly Friday if any of those previously mentioned days get rained out, and Saturdays. Recently, we’ve moved into actual games, so that means there are lacrosse practices Monday and Wednesday, with games on Saturday (occasionally double headers). There are also rec baseball games during the week (Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday this week alone for rec), and games on Saturday (sometimes double headers), and travel baseball game double headers on Sunday. Does your head hurt as much as mine yet?

So it’s not any mystery that:

  • our dinner options tend to come with the “would you like fries with that?” inquiry.
  • the recurring complaint is “I don’t have any clean socks and underwear — does anyone ever do the laundry around here?”
  • which leads to the recurring rebuttal “if you don’t like the frequency with which we do the laundry around here, tough shit feel free to grab a basket of your smelly, teen-funkified clothing and start the washer yourself.”
  • at least once a week, someone forgets to bring at least one of the following to a game: a folding chair, snacks, cleats, Fireball, water, Gatorade, a blanket, sunblock, chapstick, batting gloves, Patrón, the camera, sunglasses, or a helmet.

So, thanks for your patience readers. And know that if I go missing, it certainly isn’t from inaction.

This one's a winner


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This Is Still a Winning Bracket

I’m resurrecting this blog post from 2014. It’s awesome because:

  • it isn’t dependent year-after-year on who the hell was selected,
  • nobody gives a crap about anybody’s Cinderella story,
  • so what if the best team just got their asses handed to them by the underdog, and
  • I do not have to suffer through Dick Vitale calling the game

This bracket is winner. Every. Damn. Year.

Originally posted March 17, 2014

With all the hoopla surrounding March Madness, I decided to create a bracket that I could really get jazzed about. And it’s a total winner. Bitches.

This one's a winner

Who’s in?

It's hard to see in this picture, but here my husband is giving our son the "people's eyebrow".


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Mark My Words

So, Marshawn Lynch decided he was going to trademark the phrase “I’m just here so I won’t get fined.” I had decided that in response to this, I was going to trademark the phrase “That athlete’s an egotistical ass.”

My first thought was, I’m going be so rich! And now, nothing was going to stand in the way of my champagne Patrón wishes and caviar spinach dip dreams.

I decided to do some research, to make sure my potentially trademarked phrase would still be available. I took a look at some of the phrases that (airquote) famous (end airquote) people have trademarked.

Here’s a small sampling of what’s trademarked, and I think my checking account is pretty safe. For the most part.

That’s Hot® : owned by Paris Hilton, however it only applies to descriptions of alcohol and clothing. I’ve never used that phrase to describe alcohol or clothing. However, I may have said it repeatedly while 1) watching Magic Mike, 2) watching my husband fold laundry , and/or 3) yelling at my kids when they were younger about why they shouldn’t touch the stove.

Let’s Get Ready to Rumble®: owned by Vince McMahon of WWE fame. As of 2009, he had made $400 million off this trademark. In 2015, he’s worth $1.2 billion. I don’t recall ever saying that, because I was never a Jet or a Shark.

Tebowing®: owned by Tim Tebow. Since I don’t get down on one knee to pray/clean/look for shit under the couches/pick up dirty laundry/scrub the baseboards/look for my other earring that fell behind the nightstand, I should be ok on this one also.

Jeah®: owned by Ryan Lotche (rhymes with douche?). Here he attempts to explain Jeah®:

The fuck? Lay off the weed, dude. I’m not giving this douche any money…even if I do accidentally slur the word after too many Patrón margaritas.

Three-peat®: owned by Pat Riley when in 1993 he thought he was going to — but failed to — win a third world championship with the LA Lakers. I wonder if this phrase could ever be used in my house, e.g., “If mom made dinner three nights in a row, we’d all die from the surprise of a Three-peat®.” I may end up owing some a bit a shit ton of money to Mr. Riley.

I die®: owned by Rachel Zoe. See above; would apply if child and/or husband spoke in the singular person. This one may also end up with me writing royalty checks to Rachel, who obviously won’t use the money for something as amazing as spinach dip.

Bam®: owned by Emeril Lagasse, American chef. I think you need to cook dinner in order to say this. Definitely will owe no money for this (see Rachel Zoe and Pat Riley above).

They are who we thought they were® : owned Dennis Green, former head coach of Arizona Cardinals. Said during a 2006 press conference following a game vs the Bears. Pretty sure no one in the Witness Protection Program lives in my neighborhood. Should be ok.

Fear the brow® and Raise the brow®: owned by Anthony Davis who said “I don’t want anyone to try to grow a unibrow because of me and then try to make money off of it.” No worries Mr. Davis. I’ve spent most of my adult life waxing the shit out of my unibrow because there is just no money in it. Trust me. My husband is able to raise one eyebrow, but — and I hate to break it to you — we have seen no financial windfall from this talent ability freakish abnormality.

It's hard to see in this picture, but here my husband is giving our son the "people's eyebrow".

It’s hard to see in this picture, but my husband is giving our son one raised eyebrow.

50 cent® : owned by rapper Curtis Jackson, who is also known as 50 cent. Err..50 cent®. If Curtis is smart, he’ll change his son’s name to $700K. And trademark it.

Blue Ivy Carter® : owned by Beyonce/BKG entertainment. No worries here. Rather than speaking the actual name, I will just say “So, another celebrity has named their child something unusual. That’s why my kids will never amount to anything star-worthy. Their names are too ‘plain white Rice'”.

Hmmm…Plain White Rice. As unusual names go, That’s Hot!

2015


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Welcome to the ‘Hood

Today, my oldest son turns 13. It’s not like we haven’t seen the signs of adolescence approaching…

  • “Look mom — pit hair!”
  • Moodiness (would Midol help with that?)
  • Growing faster than shoes and clothes and my paycheck can keep up with
  • An insatiable desire to stuff food in his mouth
  • The need for Clearasil
  • “Look mom — more hair. And not in my pit!”

Mom needs a margarita. STAT!

Even more delightful? The fact that his almost 12 year old younger brother is already embracing the sassiness that comes with teenagerhood, as evidenced by this exchange yesterday:

Nick: “Mom, can I have a brownie”

Me: “Didn’t you already have one this afternoon?”

Nick: (sheepishly) “Oh yeah…I must have forgot.”

Me: “Well, then, no. No more brownies.”

Nick: (after a slight pause) “So, you really aren’t interested in being Mom of the Year, huh?”

Me:

Me, after realizing this kid is just like me.

After admitting to myself my youngest is just like me.

So, as we get ready to head into the abyss of the years that comprise teenagerhood to the second power, I will keep these memories in mind:

And know that this is the fate for my husband and myself:

Oh yeah. We're in trouble.

Oh yeah. We’re in trouble.

Here’s to hoping the ‘hood doesn’t kick our ass.

You can't fix stupid.


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A Little Respect, Please

By now, most of us know the rant Kanye Kardashian burst out with after this year’s Grammy’s, with (no) respect to Beck for winning Album of the Year:

“I don’t even know what [Beck] said. I just know that, the Grammys, if they want real artists to keep coming back, they need to stop playing with us. We aren’t going to play with them no more. ‘Flawless.’ Beyoncé’s video. And Beck needs to respect artistry, he should have given his award to Beyoncé. At this point, we tired of it. What happens is, when you keep on diminishing art, and not respecting the craft, and smacking people in the face after they deliver monumental feats of music, you’re disrespectful to inspiration. We, as musicians, have to inspire people who go to work every day, and they listen to that Beyoncé album, and they feel like it takes them to a different place. And then they do this promotional event, and they’ll run the music over somebody’s speech, the artist, because they want commercial advertising. We aren’t playing with them anymore. And by the way, I got my wife, my daughter, and I got my clothing line, so I’m not going to do nothing that would put my daughter at risk, but I am here to fight for creativity. That’s why I didn’t say anything tonight, but you all knew what it meant when ‘Ye stepped on that stage.”  -From The Daily Beast

You can't fix stupid.

You can’t fix stupid.

By golly, Mr. Kardashian really let people know he was outraged. And Beyonce is amazing. Given everything going on in the world today, I am glad Kanye is focusing his ire and vitrol and things that really matter.

So I thought … at the Parent of the Year Awards, I wonder what it would feel like if I was a nominee and someone else won. And I realized I would be outraged also, because:

  • What do you mean most nominees make dinner more than 2 nights a week? And how come making the trip to pick up carry out doesn’t count?
  • Is it really “irresponsible parenting” if your 13 and 12 year old sons have seen the uncut versions of Wedding Crashers, The Hangover, Role Models, 22 Jump Street, and Old School? Because I would so be the winner of that category.
  • How is it possible that scrapbooking every milestone for your child is a measure of anything other than too much free time on your hands?
  • Teaching your kids sign language does too involve “the finger”.
  • Do your kids know all the words to Uptown Funk? Do you beam with pride when your boys croon like Usher ‘We want a lady on the street, but a freak in the bed…’?  Are your boys as internationally savvy as my munchkins, who can belt out lyrics like ‘In Brazil they’re freaky with big ol’ boobs’, better than Pitbull?
  • More importantly, do your boys cringe and complain when a Katy Perry song comes on the radio? (If you can’t answer yes to that one, you shouldn’t even be nominated).

So, I guess I do understand why Mr. Kardashian is so miffed. Of course, he’s trying real hard to be a decent human being about all that anger and frustration. I mean, we all believe this:

 “these voices were in my head” and “When I said that thing about respect artistry, I think it came off the wrong way, and that was a mis-wording on my part….

Hey Kanye. Respect this:

Word.

Word.

At least he cuddles Mocha in addition to humping her


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Ode to Our New Dog Jake

                                                                                      Ode to Our New Dog Jake                                                                                         (in the style of the nursery rhyme, “One, Two, Buckle My Shoe”)

One, two…he ate the other shoe

Jake thinks the shoes could use more salt

Jake thinks the shoes could use more salt

 Three, four….he’s destroyed the screen door

"Honey, we need to go to Lowe's"

“Honey, we need to go to Lowe’s”

Five, six…can’t you just chew on sticks?

Furniture: Expensive Sticks: Free

Furniture: Expensive
Sticks: Free

Seven, eight…let me get this straight

Image: Shutterstock

The fuck?

Nine, ten…he’ll get over this when?

Not. Soon. Enough.

Not. Soon. Enough.

Eleven, twelve…the clean laundry basket is not the place to delve

Socks must taste like chicken

Socks must taste like chicken

Thirteen, fourteen…humping Mocha is not a-courting

At least he cuddles Mocha in addition to humping her

At least he cuddles Mocha in addition to humping her

Fifteen, sixteen…stop counter surfing in the kitchen

Jake! Would you please let Alex eat his cereal in peace.

Jake! Would you please let Alex eat his cereal in peace.

Seventeen, eighteen… for you to drop something, I’m a-waiting

Jake! Stop trying to look so innocent...I know it was you who ate that stick of butter I had put on the counter.

Jake! Stop trying to look so innocent…I know it was you who ate that stick of butter I had put on the counter.

Nineteen, twenty…I know your food bowl is empty

Original version: source Wikipedia

One, two, Buckle my shoe;

Three, four, Open the door;

Five, six, Pick up sticks;

Seven, eight, Lay them straight:

Nine, ten, A big, fat hen;

Eleven, twelve, Dig and delve;

Thirteen, fourteen, Maids a-courting;

Fifteen, sixteen, Maids in the kitchen;

Seventeen, eighteen, Maids a-waiting

Nineteen, twenty, My plate’s empty.


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But I Did It First

Last week, the shy, retiring, conservative hot mess Miley Cyrus posted a photo of herself to Instagram. It sparked big controversy. Here’s my overall comment:

Yawn

Yawn

You see, much of what Miley thinks is bad ass, cool, controversial, and TMZ-worthy? Well, I did it first. But it was all before the age of social media, over-sharing, and post-Disney star implosions we have come to expect.

Need proof that I was first? Well, here you go haters.

Want to expand your sexy quotient by using hand gestures and tongue action?

The did-you-need-proof-that-I-have-a-tongue? photos:

Let’s show everyone how much we love our pets:

Then, there’s showing the world your tatas:

There’s the racy outfits:

How about sharing your signing talent?

So let’s get back to that controversial photo Miley recently shared with her 15+ million Instagram followers. Supposedly, it was a glimpse of her girly bits an upcoming photo essay in V magazine. Quick question – based on Miley’s photo, does V stand for Vagina?

When I did all this, there was no Disney to fall disgraced from. No Instagram to provide a permanent visual record of my transgressions. No TMZ to hound me mercilessly and report my slip ups to a celebrity-obsessed public.

Sometimes there are benefits to being first. Especially when you don’t get credit for it.

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