Anne Nahm

Eff a muthereffing A effer ** – Those cute little baby sheep that were birthed in the pasture next to our house a few months ago? If I could have seen into the future and what those four legged vermin would bring to my happy home? I would have personally attempted to shovel each fuzzy little lamb back from whence he or she came.

Anyone who’s lived next to livestock probably knows what happens when you double the animals per square foot. For those of you fortunate enough to not know? Hello big, black, nasty-ass flies. Everywhere. It is like an Alfred Hitchcock movie.

And despite me being on the very edge of sanity because FLIES! ALL THE EFF EVERYWHERE! Not one other person in this house seems capable of shutting an outside door.  Even though they are uber capable of opening the very same door to run in and out willy-nilly every two minutes.

I swear if my husband or children leave the door open one more time?

I am going to make them lick the flyswatter.

A wee bit Mommy Dearest, Anne? Well then. You come here and sit while three of those nasty buggers circle around your tea cup or crawl around on the top of your head. Endlessly. When you are trying to concentrate on important shit like reading blogs but instead you just keep having to twitch to get them the eff off of you. I need a new curse word to express my state of complete irritation. There is not enough antibacterial soap in the world to make me feel clean again. I am so tweaked out that if my own hair brushes against me or the black spot on my retina breezes by? I twitch and slap myself.

Also? You are here for the birth of my newest phobia re: The Flyswatter. It is such a completely disgusting household item. I mean, you are basically smacking everything in your house with dead fly guts. Dude. The outside of the fly is gross enough. Do not touch my shit with the insides of fly.

Given this obstacle, the traditional method of fly killing is pretty much useless to me. Just five minutes ago I was screaming and slicing the air around me with the flyswatter all crazy ninja style, trying to beat them out of the air mid flight so as not to touch anything. Yet despite my valiant efforts, two seconds ago, a fly landed on my finger. There was much compulsive hand washing to be had.

I would shoot all those effing sheep in revenge, but the thought of how many flies that would bring on makes me kind of scream with my mouth closed and my eyes rolling in the back of my head.

** Rough translation for those of you not lobotomized by child rearing: Fuck a mother fucking ass fucker.

When I die, I know I’m going to Heaven. Because I’ve already been a bridesmaid.

Word.

PS? You can see how tall my youngest daughter is in this picture by the booger stain she gifted me with right on my thighs there. Yay! Hopefully it will be immortalized in all the pictures.

Try this: Next time you are at Burger King, pick up a 1% lowfat milk (product name: Hershey’s Lowfat Milk). The one I bought looked like this:

And check out the ingredients. My ingredients looked like this:

Hmmm… Pretty much milk, right?

Then taste it. And let me know what you taste. I mean, besides 1% low fat milk.

***

When I took a sip of the lowfat milk I bought for my daughter, I thought it had a distinct sweet-vanilla taste.

I was kind of baffled because I did not see those ingredients listed. But every time I tasted it, I could not get away from the fact that it really tasted like milk… With a sweetener and vanilla.

Anybody else taste it? I’m very curious to know, because as I don’t know any scientist types who could break down the chemical ingredients in a test sample of milk, I’m relying on your taste buds.

***

Annnndddd just for giggles, what do you think about a product that has ingredients in it not listed on the label? What if it is a product marketed to young children? And a bunch of parents who are trying to cut calories/use healthier options than soda for small kids and whoops! They are really just giving their kids a sugary-flavored drink after all.

I was asked to bring the following things to the wedding this weekend

1. This dress in exactly that color shown:

(redacted)

2. Shoes that match:

(redacted)

3. Minus that model’s nice tan and instead put in some freckledy Irish skin in there

(artist’s recreation of what that will look like):

(redacted)

4. Mascara, pink lipstick and purple eye shadow

5. Any lingering post traumatic stress from living through ’80′s fashion the first time.

And I’m gonna love it.

Because she’s Middle, that’s why.

ETA: Through a miscommunication on the phone two days ago, Middle came up with the new word, “shabbulous” which is the love child of ‘shabby’ and ‘fabulous’. I have yet to use it in a sentence as most things are only one or the other. I guess inability to even produce an example sentence for you makes it a pretty shabbulous word, huh?

PSS:  I’m thinking of using the toast, “sisters we will always be; two nuts from the family tree.”  Honestly, do you think she will eviscerate me where I stand if I say this?  You got something better?  Let’s hear it!

I just went to a three year old’s birthday party. Guess what a three year old chooses for decorations?

Dora plates, Dora napkins, Dora table cloth, Dora balloons.** It was like living in some weird kaleidoscope where a thousand Dora faces flutter in the breeze. Then, the birthday girl’s Dad brought out a pinata shaped like Dora the Explorer.

And so commenced a very strange lesson in human behavior.

To the delighted squeals of small children, the dad proceeded to string Dora up from a tree. Then they took turns beating her with a wiffle ball bat***. Then they all grabbed the strings from her ass and pulled them until stuff fell out of her intestines. After eating from The Dora, they crammed their little fists into her body cavity in search of further prizes. Then a sweet little girl with pigtails asked if she could take the desiccated body home with her.

Moments later, a fight broke out over who got to eat The Head Of Dora off the Dora themed cake. Dora’s disembodied head was crammed whole into the face of a satisfied looking child, using her own two fists to shovel Dora’s head whole into her own. Despite her mother’s horrified objections to at least use a fork.

I tell you, we are like one societal law away from celebrity cannibalism. Witness the future subscribers to US magazine.

Inside my own body beats the inquisitive heart of a social experimentalist. So I was kind of tempted to rip off Dora Piñata’s giant sticker face, put it on my own, and allow myself to be chased around the park by tiny screaming children. Kind of like that scene in Indiana Jones when he’s being chased by the natives. Fun, right?

Although I wasn’t entirely sure my own children wouldn’t scalp the Dora face right of my own if I happened to be unlucky enough to fall and not escape their clutches.

And Because I am Not At All Like Those Children With Their Bizarre Celebrity Interest:

The husband and I went on Date Night later and saw The Bourne Ultimatum. I’m not really the kind of girl who has to see every movie Matt Damon is in, but I always find myself pleasantly surprised to be going to a movie and whoops! There’s my good buddy Matt. Bringing sexy back. ****

Can I just tell you that I was living one town over from Somerville in the years right before Good Will Hunting came out?***** Matt Damon’s and my own path could have crossed any number of times during those years: Out partying or possibly grocery shopping in Porter Square. Hell, in my mind, that pretty much gives me proprietary knowledge of the guy.

.

That’s right. I said it. I have delusional thinking. But it doesn’t stop me from really liking to watch his movies. Since he’s practically an ex-boyfriend. Don’t cry into your thousand dollar goose down pillow, Matt. It would have never worked between us.

And since we’re on such close terms, I think it will totally be OK with Matt if I put these up for you:

Somewhere out there, I bet Matt’s really glad he doesn’t have an effigy made in piñata form, because who the hell knows what I’d do to it.

And keep doing to it.

**Girl likes Dora, right? Too bad the Dora Mega Blocks gift I got her two weeks ago is stuffed up in a closet, waiting six months to see if it gets recalled.

.
*** Can’t say that part without also muttering under my breath, “…So I’m on the run, the cops got my gun, and right about now it’s time to have some fun.” In my head, I want to think my husband thinks I’m secretly pretty cool for keeping in real despite being thirty-two and having two kids and attending a birthday party sadly devoid of booze. From the occasional look on his face, though, I suspect he feels he’s the unlucky guardian of some babbling half-wit.

.
**** Umm, same problem as the one above except, “them other boys don’t know how to act…” With the additional problem that song just cracks me up for Justin Timberlake’s perfect lack of sexiness.

.
***** Jeez, can you tell yet I’ve had too much coffee with the scattered references and divergent thought process? Somerville is in Massachusetts, near Boston, and where Matt Damon is from.  Which I swear doesn’t make me a stalker, I just heard it once and it stuck in my head because, hello?  I’ve briefly lived there!