The Gates of Hell Have a Padlock, and We Finally Have the Key!

Readers! I apologize for my absence, as I’ve recently been engaged in scandalous Polyblogamist behavior. I realize my posting on here has been increasingly sparse as of late, but I have tons of lame-ass excuses good reason for my absence.

Basically, I’ve been freelancing my ass off. That’s right: Like a seasoned whore, I’ve gone where the money is. What can I say? Freelancing = money, and money buys groceries, and I live with three members of the male species, one of which is 6’4’’ of pure muscle and has apparently sired two tiny versions of himself with similarly freakish metabolisms.

SO. Yes, I’ve been straying a bit from Between the Monkey Bars in order to make a little extra dough (in addition to the cookie dough the boys and I have been making and irresponsibly eating in bulk).

At the risk of sounding like a beggar in addition to a whore, I’m going to not-so-subtly drop some not-so-little hints that a few of these freelance gigs pay based on page views, so THE MORE YOU SHARE, THE MORE GHIRARDELLI CHOCOLATE MONEY I GET. So please continue sharing :)

In case you missed any of my recent writing gigs, you can find them conveniently listed below:

Scary Mommy: “An Open Response to The Working Mom From The SAHM”

Sammiches & Psych Meds: “23 Reasons My Kids Are My Best Friends”

The Mid: “A Mom’s Guide To Real-Life Gaming”

Mamalode: “When Preparation Fails”

As far as upcoming pieces, keep an eye out for some more Scary Mommy action, my In the Powder Room debut (a hilarious site I’m super pumped to contribute to), and another piece on The Mid.

Alright, enough of the petty housekeeping business. On to more exciting news….

WE ARE GETTING THE HELL OUT OF TEXAS!

Well, as those of you who are loyal readers know, you can’t really get the “hell” out of Texas. However, we are removing ourselves from its hellish borders.

You know what they say: You can’t take the hell outta Texas, but you can get the hell outta Texas.

Come September, we will be blissfully BACK IN INDIANA, just in time to see the leaves change colors, and for the boys to actually be able to go trick-or-treating without sweating through their costumes.

So, in celebration, I thought I’d do a little more bitching about the place Satan likes to summer when hell just ain’t meeting his standards for a blisteringly high enough heat index.

They say that everything’s bigger in Texas. ("They" clearly being idiots.) Well, I call bullshit. Everything is definitely NOT bigger in Texas.

I offer, as proof, the following list:

Ten Things That Are NOT Bigger In Texas

1. Popsicles. They shouldn’t even be able to call them popsicles here. They melt almost as quickly as my little boys’ hearts when they realize the frozen treats that I just gave them liquefied the moment they stepped outside. "Popsicles" should just be called juice here. Sticky juice. Sticky juice that stains everything it touches. Aw hell, let's just call them "messes."

2. Apples. Oh, how I miss apple picking: the pleasure of trekking through an orchard on a crisp autumn day, plucking a honeycrip from a low-hanging branch, and sinking my teeth into all of its juicy goodness.

There is no apple picking season here. Because there are no seasons here. And the apples at the grocery store tend to be tiny, hard, and gross. Unless you pay 50 bajillion dollars for the ones they have sent over from areas of the country that aren’t fruit-tree-killing infernos.

3. My boobs. I really hoped that the whole “everything’s bigger in Texas” thing might actually have some magical effect on my bra size. No such luck.

4. The range of our car’s temperature gauge. The first day we moved here (last August), we were driving around, trying to find a hotel for the night. The temperature reading on the dashboard of our van kept climbing: 98…99…100…101…and then it dropped down to 75.

Yup, that’s right: Texas, you bastard, you busted our car.

5. Trystan’s head. Okay, to be fair to Texas, I AM ACTUALLY GRATEFUL for this one. I don’t think my little bobblehead could withstand any more weight on his tiny toddler shoulders. As it is, we have to buy him adult-sized hats.

Trystan, age 2. 

Newsboy Cap, size 2. 

May God have mercy on the mother of his future children. 

And on her poor lady bits.

(Thank God he was born via C-Section.)

6. Spaces between vehicles on highways. Holy f***king traffic, Batman! Seriously. And most of the drivers here are total ass-hats who, apparently, have no working knowledge of how to operate a turn signal.

7. My tolerance for narrow-minded nincompoops. I don’t want to get too political here, but, for starters, there’s this.

8. A basic understanding of the cause-and-effect relationship. Again, don’t want to get too political, but a few months back, there was a biker shootout in Waco, during which nine people died. Sooo…then this happened. I mean, makes total sense, amirite?

9. Shoulders. (This is not referring to the boys’ actual shoulders, which have, coincidentally, gotten bigger since we've moved here, due to their oddly endearing love of pull-ups).

Beast Mode, yo!

I'm talking about the kinds of shoulders you're supposed to be able to pull-over onto while driving. I CAN’T TAKE THE BOYS RUNNING ON THE ROADS HERE. Unless I want to play (and lose) a real-life game of Frogger. There just isn’t room for a double stroller. ANYWHERE. At least not where we live.

10. Chocolate. This one doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, but if I’m promised “bigger” things in Texas, my Ghirardelli Midnight Reverie bar should be the size of my freaking face, dammit.

On the flipside, here is a list of Things That Actually ARE Bigger in Texas:

1. The sun. Yeah, I know this is scientifically impossible, but whatever. Galileo, Keplar, Newton, Neil deGrasse Tyson…they can all kiss my ass.

2. Fire ant mounds. Also, my boys’ affinity for “big piles of dirt,” and our need for Quantum Sting Soothe® Bug Bite Relief.

Oh Texas: Where kids have the pleasure of making mud pies 

that—when bitten into—bite back!

3. The trail of sweat I leave behind on a run. Seriously, The Trail of Tears ain’t got shit on me.

4. Lists of things that piss me off.

5. Our electric bill. Air conditioning all damn day, every day.

And, just to keep things in perspective, a list of Things For Which I Harbor A Bigger Hatred Than I Do For Texas:

1. Cockroaches.

giphy.com

And even if it's beyond our reach, we'll haunt you in your nightmares!

So, in conclusion, dear readers:

WE ARE GETTING THE HELL OUT OF HELL!