Big Kahuna’s is 17!!!

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Me (to #16) – Where did you go?

< Elapsed time 12 minutes, current temperature 22 F. >

#16- I went for a walk.

Me- In other words, you took up smoking.

#16- Did not. Smell my hands.

He already KNOWS the routine.

If I detect an over abundance of cologne, sudden affinity for minty gum, new air freshener, windows rolled down in my car… I’m suspicious.

I’ve been randomly interrogating him since he was around 12.

My eldest two never did it, but THIS one’s my wild child.

I use advanced methods like smelling his fingers, nose, hair and clothing.

I wasn’t born yesterday.

Also, I used to sneak cigarettes myself… from my husband, so I’m experienced.

Anyway, he was clean which is good because he’s already doing time for something else.

The something else didn’t make the inter webs because it was a doozy. Don’t even bother asking.

If you read my blog, you know I refer to #16 as Big Kahunna’s and Jackass #16. Since today is his 17th birthday, he’ll now be known as #17.

He’s my wild child… my mini-me with testosterone.

Gasp.

To celebrate his big day I shall post a few links to his misadventures from the past year.

Big Kahuna’s Goes Driving

Make Way for the Jackass Mobile

Testosterone Behind the Wheel

 

Happy Birthday #17!!!

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Being Pecked to Death by a Teenaged Duck

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This is exactly what it sounds like to be pecked to death by a beak-less duck or a moody 13 year old with PMS…
Entire length of conversation- 4 minutes.
I kid you NOT.
“I’m starving. Will you make homemade mac & cheese, NOT the Kraft kind? Never mind, I just want Alfredo sauce. Do we have Alfredo sauce? Forget it. I found this tortellini stuff.”
[I walk to kitchen and put water on stove with her on… my heels]
“Also, I need to go to the craft store for cork board. I didn’t have enough and now I can’t hang up my collage. I told you it wasn’t gonna be enough when we were in the store… I tooooold you so.” * Huff*  “Plus, my colored pencils stink because soandso ruined them like she ruins ALL of my stuff, so I now need new ones and the good Prismacolor one’s are $12, so when can we go?”
[I’m walking into my OTHER daughters room in search of free replacement colored pencils that don’t suck]
Her [trailing behind me]- Oh! My! God! I just stepped in dog pee! I can’t believe you don’t even do anything when the dog pees in the house. It’s like you don’t even care!!
Note- Yes, I do to care. I yell at him and throw his cute little butt out on the porch.
What are her exact recommendations? Life in the crate without parole, execution by firing squad, the doggie guillotine?
I love that dumb little dog who just turned two and is still only approximately 75% ish potty trained.
I think my boys were something like FOUR when they finally got it, and that’s something like 28 years old in DOG years. Coincidently, the same age of my husband when we got married… never mind.
This guys waaaay ahead of his time.
Just leave him alone.
Also, he didn’t just tinkle on the carpet. He lifted his leg to a CLEAN basket of laundry and FIRED, so YES I do care.
I assure you, I’m not doing the happy cha-cha.

I’m being pecked to death by a beak-less duck or a teenager.

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Dear School- I Can’t Hear You!!!

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EEEEHHHHTT!!!  {{buzzer}}

Times up.
School’s over people.
Return to sender.
Notta my problem-o.
It’s not like I don’t care, but okay… I don’t care.
I’m over this school year. It’s done… fini… caput… It’s history, man.
Dear School,
Please don’t bother me with mundane details. If my kid failed a class, just cut the bullshit and send me the registration for summer school.
Thank you.
Ps- You may not realize this, but this happens to be a very PROUD year for me.
Why?
This is the first year since junior high that my spirited lad has NOT received a mandatory invite back to the school for summer detention.
There was the bra episode, the smoke bomb, the locker room escapade, water balloons, the yearbook graffiti… to name a few.
I’m rejoicing.
I can’t believe you school administrative people don’t give out bumper stickers for this amazing feat.
“My kid’s an HONOR student!” blah blah blah…
Well lah-tee-dah….
“My kid evaded summer detention this year!”
 
Check mate.
Let’s PAR-TAH!
Schooooooooooool’s out for summer!!!

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Hang on to your Butt- Teen Driver!!

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Dear People who make cars,

I have a very brilliant idea I’d like to submit for your approval.

You are welcome ahead of time.

It’s called…

The Taser Gas Pedal and it’s likely to be unanimously coveted by parents and insurance companies everywhere.

 If you haven’t already figured out the obvious, the gas pedal tasers the 16 year old boy or whomever may be drivings foot when he exceeds the speed limit.

I added “or whomever may be driving” to the above because some 50 year old men are still little boys in race cars.

Zroom zroom!

Damn right I said HE.

No mistake there.

An evil clown will also pop out of the visor and smack the overconfident driver upside-the-head if when he doesn’t come to a complete stop at a stop sign… or for pretty much any reason at all.

 

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There are many more innovative ideas where these gems came from.

I’m headed over to my LinkedIn profile right now to add…

Connoisseur of Creative Ideas that are Awesome.

 

Queen Bee Hierarchy

 

The Queen Bee’s

Once upon a time, there were three elementary school kingdoms.

ALL of the little girl bees in each of the kingdoms were friends. 

They played Barbies and went to each others sleepover parties.

Their troubles were few.

Then one day, the three separate kingdoms were forced to join together as one junior high hive.

There had always been THREE Queen Bee’s, but the new kingdom needed just ONE.

Also, the Queen would only need a handful of special attendants for her court.

Everyone’s social standing was now uncertain.

Insecurities were flying. The bees were nervous.

Why not just coexist as one happy hive?

Nope, the bees had a lot of nervous energy to channel, so they decided to fight to the death, to be chosen as one of the ELITE.

Stinging the other bees was a swift way to thin out the competition.

It was also an excellent outlet for their nervousness and insecurity.

With the almighty tool of Social Networking they could actually keep their mean-a-thon active 24/7 using Instagram, Twitter and Facebook.

Awesome.

Whoever posts the most pics or has the most interaction with the Queen Bee wins.

Easy peasy.

*Fall all over the Queen and do everything in your power to make sure nobody gets near her. Check.

*Block and snub the Queens former friends. Check.

*Make sure they’re not invited to any photo opportunities that will cost you Instagram points. Check.

It’s not a pretty competition.

The bees will be buzzing and stinging for four or more years.

It’s no longer about friendship and fun.

It’s all about social standing.

There is no happy ending here.

The bees will be well into their 20’s before they realize they were venomous little insects.

As a mother bee, I’m tempted to get out the fly swatter and a can of Raid.

I’m TAGGING every mother bee I know from my school district in this post, so that they may be mindful and watchful.

Clip your girls stingers when they leave the house.

Talk to them.

Have them read this.

Signed, The Orkin Mom

PS- Boys, are exempt from this post.

Boys are like fat lazy house flies.

You can find them rolling around in garbage and/or buzzing around your food.

Most importantly, they hardly ever bite.

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