It totally went bad for me yesterday. I’d been feeling all weepy and snark-less for the past two days – generally stressed. When I’m stressed, bad things happen. Things like shape-shifting, gigantic hail balls falling, Mercury hightailing it the hell out of retrograde, my therapist instructing his secretary to send me directly to voicemail, eating as if I’m going to be slaughtered for my valuable blubber and I forget a lot of shit.

You’ve probably guessed that there’s also a hormonal thing going on at the same time, and well, that’s just dangerous. So, we mix it all together like a poisonous cake batter, and what do we end up with? Bad. Very very bad.

Really? This is All the Kid’s Fault

The kid got up and wanted breakfast…as she tends to do. We had no milk nor did we have her particular breakfast of champions: Toaster Strudels. The strawberry and cream cheese ones. Okay. Not a crisis yet. Eggs will do. And I totally get points for feeding her. Um, for feeding her protein in the morning. She doesn’t want eggs…..again. So, I don’t get dramatic or anything. I just make sure she’s aware that she must eat or she won’t have any brain power when she gets to school, she’ll fail third grade, her friends will all move up, she won’t get into college, she’ll end up being a “sandwich artist” somewhere, and never move out, and then I’ll never find a man. She assures me she will get breakfast in school and that she doesn’t see what’s so bad about being an artist. Fine. I proceed to the bag of chocolate covered pretzels and morning can of Coke Zero.  Read more...

….then I wouldn’t be trying to decipher colors like “Jovial” and “Inner Child”…..WTF? These colors give absolutely no indication of well, what the hell color they are. “Jovial????” For a person like me, who doesn’t know from jovial, that could be black or a really dismal gray. That is my jovial. Who is Sherwin-Williams to decide what color my jovial is?? I don’t go around trying to decipher their jovial.

Then we have “Inner Child.” Exactly what color is this, Sherwin? Seriously. Is your “inner child” a white child, a black child, a Kardashian?? How does Sherwin-Williams do that? See into my very soul to the color of my duodenum inner child?? They should totally market THAT ability….screw paint.

If SW Had Any Balls At All AND They Take My Suggestions

They’d rename their paint colors so that people can actually figure out what they are. What’s wrong with the direct approach? I’m a huge fan of it. It may not make you any friends, but there’s no ambiguity. I like that.

So, if I worked for Sherwin-Williams, thereby ensuring they have some balls, the paint color names would be changed as so:

Blood Spatter Red
Brain Matter Gray
Hypothermia Blue
Squished Caterpillar Green
Suicide Black
Don’t Eat the Snow Yellow
Fresh Bruise Purple
Shit Brown
Spaghetti’s Return Trip (Orange)  Read more...

And sometimes it’s not. Every now and then dubiousMa turns to the people for inspiration. This post is a result of that practice. (Not really. It totally came unsolicited, and I was tempted to claim the idea as my own, to be honest) I got the idea for this post from a Twitter friend who goes by @The_Real_Bont. Ain’t Twitter great? I don’t know who he is, as is usually the case with Twitter, but we @reply each other occasionally, and it’s all good. (If you don’t use Twitter and therefore don’t really know what I’m talking about with the @’s and all that…um, why? Twitter is the shiznit). So I figured I’d give my Twitter friend the credit for this post idea because I’m not an asshole like that.

Anyway, I happened to tweet the other night about guys who don’t do a breath check before sticking their tongues down your throat and how disgusting I thought it all was, and how it really should be a written rule…..in a manual, on your forehead, wherever. @The_Real_Bont replied that perhaps I should make it a written rule. Great idea dubious @The_Real_Bont !

Some Things Should Just be Common Sense

This is where we break it down. The fact is guys, as a species, are just dumb. All the time. Sometimes. The simplest tasks and most basic theories seem to be just beyond their grasp. Oh sure, the whole “Hey, I’m a guy,” thing does apply in, sadly, many circumstances, but then….then you have the short bus riders.  Read more...

Today’s post is first in what may become a series of guest posts. It’s by Devin Stanford a cousin-in-law loyal reader who is a stranger to me, I swear. Anyway, Devin’s a funny guy with a lot of questionable activity going on around him….

Whatever life altering-decisions the wife and I have made, the one that resulted in us living next door to the 80’s has to be our stupidest most questionable one yet. Don’t get me wrong, I could totally rock the acid washed jeans, and the Guns and Roses concert T-shirt, but with the local climate favoring such stores as Old Navy, Abercrombie, and Mecca Macy’s, where does one still find black acid washed jeans?

I Wonder How Big His Girlfriend’s Hair Is….

Actually, our neighbor seems to have an endless supply of black acid washed jeans, given his current schedule of wear (um, everyday). The jeans get paired with a black tank top, the new millenium’s version of a mullet, and his most prized accessory – a red Trans Am – the official car of an entire fuggedaboutit ethnicity. Can we agree that there’s a good chance the jeans are Z. Cavaricci?

I myself am a child of the 80’s. I’m not afraid to admit that preset number six on my satellite radio is “Totally 80’s.” I’ve been known, on occasion, when I’m all alone in my car to “Take These Broken Wings…..,” but then I always find my way back home…you know, to this decade. While brain-jarring “Welcome to the Jungle” blasts from his clock radio speakers, I have to wonder: How does Axl my neighbor keep his time portal open?  Read more...

Has dubiousMa got a treat for you today! We’ve managed to talk the one and only (at least the only one I know) The Naked Redhead into writing a post for our humble little blog. Red (we’re tight like that) is actually very similar to dubious except the bitch is skinnier and younger she has what appears to be natural red hair, no children and is white. We’re practically twins! And before you ask (and I know you were salivating wondering, Red’s blog has nothing to do with porn. If it’s porn you’re looking for shoot me an email you’ve come to the wrong place buddy!

The Naked Redhead writes about dating and relationships for, appropriately, thenakedredhead.com. She has been featured on super cool blogs, and had been wondering when the hell DubiousMa was going to ask her to write something. When she’s not spewing drivel about love, she practices a hobby in bat-showing, which is somewhat like cat-showing, but with leathery-winged harbingers of death. She lives in Columbus, Ohio, but wishes she didn’t.

Why My Uterus is Off Limits

I’ve never really had a desire to have children.

Well, no, strike that, there are times when I’m like, “Ohhhh, that baby is CUTE!” and I imagine myself living with this cute baby like he or she is some kind of accessory, like a kickin’ pair of heels or a nice purse. But then I realize that babies are not accessories, no matter what Hollywood tells us, and I’m like, “meh” to babies again.  Read more...

In yesterday’s post, I was telling you how dubiousMa has an aversion to grass and dryer lint. I also alluded to dubiousMa’s personal Anti-Christ mother, who, as it turns out is responsible for the grass aversion. I had forgotten about this picture, but looking at it now, it’s easy to see where the whole grass aversion stems from. As dubiousMa’s sister, Kris, pointed out yesterday, in a comment to the above-mentioned post:

EO loves to tell the story about how you were terrified of grass as a baby…and how she would use it as a babysitter because she knew you wouldn’t move.

(E.O., which stands for Evil One, is how the dubious sisters refer to their mother.) I’m afraid to ask about the whole dryer lint thing. What if there’s a picture??

P.S. I think the witch’s costume is a hint of things to come….