Wednesday, February 1, 2012

Sometimes I Realize How Awesome I Am

I think it's pretty obvious to everyone that my kids are totally fucked up. And it's my fault.

I mean, of COURSE it's MY fault. Blaker gets some of the blame since he parents pretty much exactly the same way I do, but since he goes off to work approximately 172 hours a week and I'm the main caregiver in the family, I feel that I should get the main kudos for their crazy. And they are, in fact, crazy as all hell. If you read my blog, you should be well aware of that by now.

Take, for instance, my daughter.

Bellamy is a very special child. That is my very nice way of saying that she's fucked up beyond imagination, which is pretty impressive since she's all of eight-and-a-half. The problem started when B and I accidentally procreated in the first damn place-- I'm a damn genius, he's smarter than I am (albeit much less creative)-- OF COURSE WE WERE GOING TO CREATE A CREATIVE GENIUS WHO USES HER POWERS FOR EVIL. OF COURSE WE WERE. THERE WAS NO OTHER GODDAMN OPTION. And that's exactly what Bellamy is: an evil genius.

Now let me explain what I mean when I say "Evil Genius." Bellamy is smart as a whip. She's also slack as all hell. She's one of the sweetest little people I've ever met, but she's also one of the most manipulative. She looks like an angel, and she can make you believe anything when she smiles and lets her eyes tear up a little. I would not want to compete against her on "Survivor," because she would lie to me about an alliance, while forming an alliance with my enemies, while making an alliance only with herself, then win some immunities, flirt with some boy so he would forage for all her meals, which she would then stockpile before voting his ass off and taking over the island. She would most likely then have Jeff Probst killed and take his job, all while smiling and looking super cute and fashionable. She's dangerous like that. B and I have learned to watch her carefully, because you NEVER know what the hell is going on in that little brain of hers. YOU NEVER FUCKING KNOW SO WATCH YOUR GODDAMN BACK.

This is what I like most about her. Crazy+manipulative+unstable=AWESOME (and entertaining)

A story:

Last Sunday morning, we were your typical Normal Rockwell family. B and I were sitting on the sofa drinking coffee, wearing our pajamas, talking about how Sundays suck ass and how happy we'd be if we could just give the kids away to the fucking gypsies and move to Fiji, where he would open a surf shop and I could finally devote myself full-time to my plans for world domination. The dogs were lazing around in our laps. Sutt was pretending that Storm Troopers were invading Hogwart's Castle and Harry Potter was "shooting spells to kill them." (I love how that kid can mix shit up, yo.) Bellamy was playing with her Barbies. Seems innocent enough, no?

A few minutes later, Sutt became very angry. Apparently, one of Bellamy's Barbies had stormed Hogwart's, killed Harry Potter, and taken out the Storm Troopers, all in one fell swoop.

Let's talk about this Barbie.

Barbie was wearing a blue and purple cheerleading uniform-- skirt and shell top. Instead of sneakers, however, she had on thigh high black boots (taken from Witch Barbie-- whom, when I asked Bellamy where SHE was, I was told had been "thrown away, after I took off her super cool boots"). In one Barbie hand, was a tiny plastic hairdryer. In the other Barbie hand, was a tiny pink plastic cup. Hmmmmm.

The following dialogue is as close to verbatim as I can remember, which is pretty damn close, because, as I have already told you, I am a fucking genius and I have a near perfect memory.

Blaker: "Belly, why is Barbie at Hogwart's with a hairdryer and a pink cup?"

Bellamy: "She's taking over."

Blaker: "With a hairdryer and a pink cup?"

Bellamy: (exasperated) "DADDY, that's not a HAIRDRYER. It's a GUN. And the cup is a BEER. She's MOMMY BARBIE."

Slutty outfit. Thigh high boots. Gun. Beer. Kicking ass.

Let's mull this shit over, bitches.

Mommy Barbie rules. I love my kid.