I Never Got to Be a Slutty Nurse for Halloween

When I was a brand-new just-emerged-from-the-womb human, something horrible happened: my father went crazy. My father grew up in an all boys’ boarding school, then joined the military, then got married and fathered two sons. I threw a glorious wrench in his all-male upbringing and quite frankly, he wasn’t really sure what to do with me other than threaten anyone who came within five hundred yards.

I had a pretty sheltered childhood, obviously. There were no miniskirts, the no makeup ’til sixteen rule, and no 80s big hair, I’m sad to say. But I never really felt the pinch except at Halloween time.

From the beginning, I just kind of dressed like my brothers. I was a baby, what did I know? Eventually it became obvious to people in the community that I was actually a girl, so I got to masquerade as cute things like Holly Hobbie or Laura Ingalls or an Amish person. Eventually, though, I got tall enough to fight the Amish costumes, so my dad tried desperately to steer me towards anything that would create a full-body coverup costume.

He would work for weeks in his garage making me a robot costume that had working lights and beepy noises. One year I was a dragon, complete with hood and face mask, only the face mask breathed fire when my dad would hit the button on my wrist and flick a Zippo in front of the mouth part. No Mythbusters-style tactic was too over the top if it meant I would not be dressed as a slutty nurse that year.

The problem is, they don’t make costumes for slutty Holly Hobby or slutty Laura Ingalls or slutty Amish, although I bet I could make some money off an Amish dress with tear away Velcro tabs. I could market any of those outfits to strip clubs that are situated awfully close to farming communities.

Eventually I outgrew Halloween, and my dad breathed a sigh of relief. And as an adult I often dress up for trick-or-treating, but it’s usually a themed costume to match the kids; the sexiest costume I ever got to wear was when my daughter went as Hermione Granger and her sister went as the person Hermione turned into a frog…I got to be the crazy lady, Bellatrix. Nothing says sexy like teasing your hair and blacking out some of your teeth.

I haven’t really given any thought to a costume for this year, but for “slutty” to be the adjective in front of it I’m going to need to lose a few pounds, which is perfect: this year, slutty exercise fanatic, next year, the world.

Lorca’s Week In Review (Sports Edition)

Well, that settles it. My offspring were slow runners in the family’s first-ever attempt at organized cross country running, my college football team barely got through in OVERTIME in a game that should never have made it to overtime, and I’m pretty sure people still think ping pong is an Olympic sport. I give up.

I rounded out the week by breaking a computer that I didn’t think was even more breakable, finishing the writing of my latest book (woohoo!), and drinking celebratory wine that was imported all the way from Birmingham for the occasion. Fortunately, I remembered to dye my hair BEFORE the wine this time.

I still found time to Pin funny stuff, and here’s the proof. This video is probably the funniest thing I’ve seen in years, even if I am going to burn in hell for laughing at it.

And no, angry commenters, it’s not a funny video because he’s scared or because he’s overweight, it’s funny because his aunt’s the only person in his life willing to say to the kid, “Get your butt up on that ride! NOW!”

I reviewed another grown-up-like book for my day job, and it was another one of those books that pulls you in from the very beginning. Cascade was worth every penny and every minute.

In unrelated news, I figured out today that it is almost October, which means two things: Halloween and NaBloWriMo. Only one of those things is sexy, and I’ll let you use your imagination to figure out which one it is. Have a great week!

Sometimes You Have to Kiss a Few Frogs

Once upon a time, there was a gorgeous blogger who was just so eff-ing tired. She happened to be a princess. No, wait, a queen. Yeah, she’s a queen. A really good-looking one, one whose boobs were still perky and whose gray roots didn’t show all the time. She was awesome.

Her life was pretty tough. She had these two beautiful princess kids who were slow and untalented, but they usually sat there looking pretty and saying really nice things, so nobody minded that much.

One day, a real bitch came along and cast a spell on the queen and her whole castle. Everybody in the castle became really good at extracurricular activities. It got so bad, that at one point one of the little princesses actually had cross country practice, band practice, piano lesson, and baton lesson ALL IN THE SAME DAY.

The queen became tired. She wished she could be a frog so nobody made her drive them anywhere because it’s illegal for frogs to drive a car in forty-three states. And because she was the best queen who ever lived, her wish got granted. The End.

Don’t panic. I wasn’t really turned into a frog. That’s the frog head I made for my daughter’s Halloween costume last year during the entire month of October when I should have been sleeping, but instead realized that just laying there for four hours a night really wasn’t all that productive and was kind of self-indulgent. It still fits.

This Is The Proudest Day Of My Life

Isn't she adorable? I want to punch her a little bit.

I have a stunningly fantastic child. Actually, I have two of them, but this post is just about one of them. Oh stop it, nobody’s gonna be damaged by this. They’re not allowed to read my blog and not just because I have a potty mouth.

Stunningly Fantastic Child the First has a few flaws that as a proud mother I overlook on a daily basis, not the least of which is her inability to protect herself from junior high school bullying by being as weird as possible. For example, every year she opts to dress as a literary character for Halloween, and as an English teacher I should be pressing a hand to my heart while beaming. But she picks characters no one has EVER heard of then gets upset when no one knows what her costume is supposed to be.

Last year, we worked it out so she could be Hermione Granger, and she actually looked shockingly like the character. No one got it wrong except a drunk man who gave out rolls of Scotch tape he’d stolen from work, so he doesn’t count. However, when she dragged the costume out of the storage closet to wear it to the mall when the next movie came out, I had to put my foot down. She was upset with me, and I still don’t think she understood why I would not let her do that to herself. How do you lovingly tell an innocent child that she has a future of girl-on-girl hate crimes and cutting ahead of her if her fifth grade friends see her in the food court dressed as a girl wizard?

So this morning, when I reminded her that she needed to straighten up her bedroom before her sleepover tonight, she said words to me that I will treasure until my dying day: “Can I put my wizard chess set in your office? I don’t want Amy to see it.” A great weight had been lifted from my weary shoulders…my child was probably going to live through high school.

I do have to say to the kind and intelligent readers of this blog who would like to suggest that I should foster her sense of independence and relish in her quirkiness, “Have you been to a cluster-fuck that is a public high school lately?”

Forget the 80s movies where the jocks and cheerleaders walk past the nerds’ table and fling a French fry or two, those days are long gone. Now it’s cyberbullying and Facebook posts that go out to thousands of “friends” instantaneously. It’s sexting, where a picture gets snapped in the girls’ locker room and it’s sent out to hundreds of cell phones amongst the student body before the victim even has her shirt buttoned. Stuffing the science club president in his own locker? Amateur hour. Try any screenshot from the popular video game, Bully: Scholarship Edition.

No, with the teensiest sense of shame that I’ve been able to instill in my child, I’ve just increased her chances of living to become an adult. There will be plenty of time to play Harry Potter dress-up as she’s trying to prevent her own child from wearing his Power Rangers costume in public.