If Mommy has a potty mouth, does Daddy have a pee-pee mouth? So when you kiss does it feel like going to the bathroom? Haha ok that's over the belt and below the line. Thanks for the Tinder advice, but it was my "friends" who black-faced me while I was passed out drunk!

Aaaaahhhh!!! You’re blackface guy?! Holy shit I feel like it’s Christmas. So you had the balls to use it as your Tinder profile. How has that worked out for you?

The Banana Hammock

Me to Target employee: “Do you know if y’all have any banana stands?”

Target employee to manager: “Do you know if we have any banana hammocks?”

Manager: <speaking very slowly> “I’m sorry. I don’t think we carry any of those.”

Me: <with a straight face> “Thank you.”

<walks away, hides behind shelf, laughs ass off while updating Facebook status>

March Madness… Lessons in Preschool Bracketology


I have always been a sports fan but am far from what you would call an “expert.” This is especially true for sports like college basketball, where there are a few hundred Division 1 teams that play a gajillion games each over a four month period. I follow my team(s) throughout the year… if they’re winning. I read up on big games and major upsets… the day after they are actually played. And by the end of the season, I know who the big threats are going to be in the tourney… because I make myself pay attention in crunch time.

So you can see that I am your average-to-below-average college basketball fan… I just don’t have the time or the will to give enough shits to sift through analysis of over 5,000 fucking Division 1 basketball games. And if you think it that way, there are just a handful of true “experts” out there… and the rest who claim to be experts are completely full of shit. But the morning after Selection Sunday (aka Better-Study-Up-Real-Quick-Monday), I have the same exact reaction as the experts, the “experts,” the average followers, and the bracketeers… Who the fuck is Wofford?! 

Grownup Bracketology

Given that I know nothing, and given that those who do still can’t predict what will happen in March (and <ahem> April), I have shamelessly employed the following methodology over the years to fill out my bracket:

  1. Did I attend that school? If yes —> they make it way farther than they deserve to go.
  2. Have I heard of that school? (looking at you, Wofford) If no —> they’re tossed immediately.
  3. Is the number beside their name closer to zero than the ones beside their opponent’s? If yes —> I’m no dummy.
  4. Did I happen to catch one of the games that they came back from behind to win/ crushed an opponent/ made national news because of a coach getting ejected? If yes —> I pat myself on the back for being super knowledgeable and advance them as far as I can logically let them go, given #1-3.
  5. Do I have positive associations with individuals who did attend that school or support that school’s sports teams? If yes —> they win out any matchups that don’t involve #1-4.
  6. Do I have enough upsets in the first round? If no —> go back to #2, dig up a couple of the schools out of the trashcan, and let them make it past the Round of 64.

And there you have it. You may be surprised to find out that I have never won a bracket challenge… no matter how big or small the pool has been. So I decided to change things up a bit this year and let my children do the picking… because it couldn’t possibly be any less scientific or effective than the approach I had used in the past.


When I say children, I mean little, teeny, tiny, itty, bitty preschoolers, both girls, ages two and four. Their knowledge of basketball is pretty much limited to acknowledgement of its existence as a sport and possible correct identification of it when seen on a television screen or at a park. How were they going to choose? Should they just point randomly at the bracket and advance the teams on the other end of their finger? Or flip a coin and call heads or tails until they decide that they actually want to play with coins instead? Or assign teams to each child and hold 67 thumb wars until we determine a winner? The possibilities were endless! 

In the end, I chose what should have been the obvious deciding factor all along: Mascots. Despite the fact that my oldest has a pretty irrational fear of mascots in person, I knew that her judgy self would have a blast choosing between pictures, and the youngest seems to have a blast no matter what. The 4-year-old would be responsible for choosing teams from the South and East regions, while the 2-year-old would do the same for the West and Midwest regions. I figured the winner of the Finals would be determined by some type of tickle fight or dance-off… because nothing says family values like pitting your small children against each other in a competition they could care less about when they would otherwise be singing Let It Go on repeat in perfect “harmony.”

Preschool Bracketology

Want to know if your team is making it to the Final Four? Just take a look at your mascot and see if he/she meets my daughters’ selection criteria.

1. Could your mascot be described as a cute bird? Sorry, St. Joe’s and North Carolina Central University, the answer for you is “no.” Everyone else is pretty much guaranteed to make it past the first round. Congrats to Creighton and Louisville, you guys made it to the Sweet Sixteen! And that adorable Jawhawk advanced to the Elite Eight. Maybe there is something to this after all…


2. Could your mascot be described as a super-creepy, non-animal with a stuffed human head? It doesn’t take a child psychologist to figure out that if your answer to this question is “yes,” then my children, without fail, chose the opposing mascot. I really just don’t get it. I mean, the Sun Devil looks pretty badass, but the rest of those guys just look like they rummaged through a costume box at their pedophile neighbor’s house. Seriously, Providence… WHAT THE FUCK?!!! 


3. Could your mascot be a character on Barney? Because even though I don’t let my kids near that filth, at least he’s not the Providence mascot. I personally think there’s something a little (way) off about Wichita State’s… is that wheat?, but kids have liked weirder things… Florida Gators and Wichita State Shockers for the National Championship title. I shit you not, the mascot method put two #1 seeds in the finals.


4. Are “rabid” or “mangy” common adjectives used to describe your mascot? If your answer is “yes,” then I hope you escaped your college years without too many lice incidents. Did the guy who invented Nix go to Weber State or something? BTW I just googled the history of the Weber State mascot, and apparently they used to keep a live wildcat at games until one broke lose and bit a cheerleader on the nose. I was joking at first, but rabies is a literal concern for you guys. And you’re going to get pounded by the Arizona Cat in the Hats in the first round. Pretty much sucks to be you.


5. Did my husband, myself, or a close relative attend the school of your mascot? If so, then ignore all the previous criteria… because it seems that no one is immune to falling in the trap of picking with one’s heart… including preschoolers. They’ve been trained to say “Hook ‘Em Horns” from the day they were born, and they proudly don the beautifully feminine orange and navy when their daddy gets to them first in the morning. But unlike adults who stupidly bet their team will make it all the way, children know better. As the rounds progress, they can sense when you get far too excited about their loyal choices and will drop that ingrained loyalty just to fuck with you. Virginia axed at Sixteen, Texas and Cincinnati axed at Eight. And since I’m pretty sure they have no clue that I attended GW as well, those creepy Colonials didn’t make it past the first round.


6. Does my dog, Duck, own a chew toy of the same name as your mascot to spite a good friend whose team beat up on one of our own at the same time we happened to be in Oregon to purchase such a toy? And do our daughters have an emotional attachment to your mascot because it bears a striking resemblance to their dog’s favorite toy? If the answer is yes, then congratulations, you’ve made it to the fucking Final Four.


WuShock vs. Albert Gator. Sister vs. Sister. It’s game day everyone! Follow their progress on Twitter @HelenDammit #preschoolbracketology.


And since ESPN is no fun and won’t let you have two winners, we went with the ol’ “Whoever Calls It Out First” method… meaning that the 4-year-old chose the winner and the score. She originally wanted it to be 89- 89 thousand million percent fifty five… but we talked her down to somewhere in the 60s or 70s. Calling it here: Florida Gators over Wichita State Shockers, 89-62.

ScreenHunter_60 Mar. 19 21.32

Similar Posts:

Tale as Old as Time…

“‘At that moment the spell was broken. In one magical instant, the Beast turned back into a prince, and the enchanted servants returned to their human forms. The castle came to life with rejoicing. There was no doubt that the loving couple would live happily ever after.’ The end.”

"Mom, that’s not the end."

"Oh, really? What happens after they live happily ever after?"

"They pee-pee on each other."

Who knew that Beauty and the Beast were into golden showers? Maybe because they’re French?

Dear Idina Menzel, Thank you.


When I gave a last-minute plea for you to let your voice crack just a little during your Oscars performance of Let It Go to make the rest of us feel better about ourselves, I had NO IDEA that you would go above and beyond!!! I mean, you didn’t look comfortable up there the entire time, it was rushed, and you nearly passed out at the same part I always do! It was super sweet of you, and I really appreciate it.

What I’m having a hard time understanding, though, is exactly how you were able to receive my note in such a short amount of time. I mean, I posted it to Facebook no more than an hour before you took stage. And looking back at my stats, I don’t see any from the Los Angeles area. They didn’t move the Oscars to the middle of nowhere this year, did they? My best guess is that you have friends or family in places like Irving, Texas, Stafford, Virginia, and Eureka!, Kansas… and that they must have called you while you were warming up and dictated the whole thing to you over the phone. Please give a sincere thank you to whomever did that for me… for all of us.

I suppose there are reasons other than solidarity that could have caused such a performance. Maybe you were taking this opportunity to scout out potential partners, since you recently announced that you and hubby Taye Diggs were going through a divorce. I mean, what better place to see all of Hollywood’s eligible A-listers than from the stage at the Oscars?! Brilliant strategy, I must say, but it really could have thrown you off your game. Take my advice, and keep live television performances and your dating life completely separate. That’s why God created Tinder… so you can browse a menu of potential mates from the privacy of your own home like the rest of America. And trust me, Taye Diggs is way hotter than any of the other she-males who were nominated for awards this year. Stick to your gut, girl!


Or maybe it was that Cate Blanchett was staring back at you from the front row, looking absolutely stunning in a dress that looked just like yours, only more beautiful. I know she has two Academy Awards and a super cute Aussie accent, but you have a Tony, so don’t let it get you down!


But I think most people would claim that it was John Travolta’s complete butchering of your name that got you off on the wrong foot. What the fuck did he call you? Adele Dazim? I’m really, really sorry he did that, but there’s no way you were influenced by this nutbag, right? I mean, did you see Face/Off? Or The Punisher? Or Battlefield Earth? No one in their right mind would listen to anything that came out of this man’s alien mouth, much less let it ruin their day.

Whatever the reason, I want to thank you again for your shitty performance on the Oscar stage. It really, really did make me feel better about myself and my inability to belt the high notes. If I can’t sing it, then no one can… including the person who originally recorded it. So watch out, Texas, because this mama’s about to let it go and not hold back anymore! You can ALL thank Idina Menzel for that.



Photo credits: Getty images

Dear Idina Menzel, I love you, but…



I grew up singing along to Disney songs such as Some Day My Prince Will Come, which Snow White sung in a pretty, yet squeaky and relatively unimpressive voice; Beauty and the Beast, sung by an aging (but always badass) Angela Lansbury; and Part of Your World, whose song pattern was all over the effing place but was still singable. We belted those tunes in our car, alone or with our friends, because we could sing along without doing permanent damage to our friends’ ear drums or our own egos.

And then we get to 2013’s Frozen, the songs of which are more along the lines of “Broadway musical” than “Disney princess.” Take Let It Go, for example. Your performance has been described as “powerhouse,” will “blow you away,” “anthemic,” and “show-stopping.” You know whose voice cannot be described by any of those words? Mine. I mean, I can hold my own… until you get to the bridge:

My power flurries through the air into the ground

My soul is spiraling in frozen fractals all around

And one thought crystallizes like an icy blast

I’m never going back, the past is in the past

And as you transition to the final chorus with the lyrics “let it go,” I simply can’t breathe anymore and just pass the fuck out. Keep in mind that I have two little girls who like to remind me, in the sweetest voices possible, that I “don’t need to sing because the song sings itself,” or “No, Mommy, no!” After attempting to sing along to the Frozen soundtrack in my car, I’m expecting that any day now they’ll resort to, “Mommy, shut the fuck up already!” 

And don’t get me started on For the First Time in Forever (Reprise). The part of Anna isn’t too bad, but as an icy older sister myself, I naturally end up singing along to Elsa. All the chord changes and yell-singing make it hard enough, but it’s the climb at the end, when you transition into your head voice and culminate in a fucking E5 as you belt out “Ahhhhh… I CAN’T!” that really gets me. You know what, Idina? NO ONE can!!!

So given that my kids keep shushing me, that I’m likely to pass out in the car whist driving them, and that I can’t even stand the sound of my own voice now, I have resorted to singing these songs exclusively in my head. And since we’ve seen the movie, own the soundtrack, and now have watched it on iTunes twice in one day, these songs never leave my head. And since the voice in my head still has a hard time with these ridiculous “sing-a-long” tunes, I have grown to hate that voice inside my head. So please, I ask you, for the health of me and my family, get the fuck out of my head.

Note that you’re about to sing it on the Oscars… seriously, in just a few minutes. If you happen to catch this post before then, would you mind doing us all a solid and just cracking your voice? I mean, just a little? Please? We would all feel much better about ourselves.



Where Is Heaven?

"Mom, where is heaven?"

"Um… well… heaven isn’t exactly a place. It’s more a state of being. Or something like that. Actually, it’s just somewhere in the sky. Go ask your father."

"Mom, where is hell then?"

"Oh that one’s easy. Hell is that narrow, cavernous space between the driver’s seat and the center console. That’s where hell is."

What Kind of Online Quiz Taker Are You?

Because what’s the harm in taking one more?






How to Score on Tinder with Your Profile Picture: Male Edition


Note: I feel the need to clarify that I’m not guaranteeing that you will actually score in real life. I cannot help you with your flirting and closing abilities. If you can’t think of anything better to say than, “Hey, what’s up?”, or you set off a girl’s rapedar, that’s on you. I can, however, get you right-swiped (which, let’s be honest, is really the most fun part of this game).

If you are a Tinderite, or if you read my first Tinder post, you know that it is your picture— not your hobbies or your employment status or your ability to differentiate between “good” and “well”— that gets you past the sudden death swiping round. You get one chance to make a good first impression, so DO NOT FUCK IT UP. You won’t believe how many guys, when asked, “What made you choose a picture of you with a stripper for a dating app?” respond with, “Duh, uh… I dunno… I guess it just chooses pictures from my Facebook page.” Well, what if your Facebook profile pic is of your Kindergarten class, like this genius? Whoopsies! So just give that swiping finger a rest for a few more minutes and follow these ten simple profile picture Dos and Dont’s to guaranteed Tinder success (and by guaranteed I mean in no way guaranteed).


This sounds like a no brainer, right? Well, not from what I’ve seen. I don’t care if she’s your sister, your cousin, your fuck buddy, or your wife… just don’t do it. Because all your potential match will be able to see is the inevitable bitch fight waiting to happen, and she will left-swipe you faster than that guy with three teeth wearing the Female Body Inspector t-shirt. 


Cat, tiger, puppy, rat, whatever. A baby is a baby is a baby, and women LOVE them. Seriously, the SPCA should do a fundraising event where a $10 donation gets you a picture with an adorable puppy for your online dating profile pic. OMG I’m going to single-handedly save all the homeless animals out there!!! Older dogs, while adorable, are less effective than puppies. They send the message, “This is my first and only true love. You will never quite match up.” And, let’s face it. It’s probably true.


[Image unavailable. You get the picture.]

Now I know that there are plenty of single guys with kids that are on Tinder looking for… whatever… just like everyone else. I’m not saying you should withhold this piece of information. Put it in your description and even include a picture of you and your children 3-4 deep. But on Tinder you get ONE SHOT at the right swipe, and a girl who is looking to casually date or hook up will see your adorable 2-year-old staring back at her and freak the fuck out, as words like “stepmom,” “ex wife,” and “I hate you,” circle through her head. And it will be a damn shame… because she’s probably hot. And if you’re posting a pic of you and a niece/nephew/friend’s kid to go for the “Look, I’m fatherly” angle, we will still wonder if it’s yours. Left. Swipe.



I don’t mean dress up as a fireman and take a picture. I mean be a hot, calendar-worthy, life-risking, badass firefighter… and 100% of your right swipes will turn into matches. If you are not a firefighter, at least be a cowboy (a real one) or a pilot (flight suit required) or some other profession where you save people’s lives. Remember that these only count if this profession is reflected in your profile picture. Otherwise, for all we know, you are a junior suit salesman at the Men’s Warehouse.


I would like to remind you that you are not a girl, and this is not a trip to the bathroom. You are a big boy, and this is a dating site, so man up and do this one solo. We all know that bros come before hos, but when you’re trying to pick up chicks, you may want to make it a little less obvious and nix the pics of you and your boys in coordinating Affliction t-shirts.



How many of you immediately thought of things like, “Doggy style,” “Watching Katy Perry bounce around in slow motion,” or “Peeing in the bushes because I can”? Got that out of your system? Good. A picture speaks 1,000 words… or in the world of Tinder, a few hundred characters. So let your potential match know what to expect from you and make her aware of the type of girl you are looking to attract. Does she need to be outdoorsy? Does she need to love wine? Does she need to be liberal? Does she need to know to calm the fuck down when you say you’re going hunting with your brother this weekend? These things are important to clarify up front. Just make sure you can see at least part of your face, lest you fall victim to the reflexive left-swipe.



Just. Don’t. I know I just said to lead with a picture doing something you love, and this will show that you love yourself more than anything, but just don’t do it. I mean, if you are trying to find someone who is attracted to a complete douche, then by all means, put it out there. But I am optimistic that a good chunk of you gym rats has something to offer beneath those vanity muscles, so lead with that. A rare exception would be if you are, in fact, an underwear model. You are allowed to put that out there, Marky Mark, and we will all thank you for it.


Unfortunately for us ladies, not everyone can look like George Clooney. We get it, and we have come to accept it. In fact, we know we’re not perfect, and we can get a little insecure and intimidated if you are. So if you don’t have a six-pack, a chiseled jawline, a full head of hair, or anything that could be remotely described as “attractive,” have no fear. Show us your sense of humor up front, and you’ll at least make it through the swiping round. And remember, when in doubt, you fucking love puppies.



Seriously? What the fuck is wrong with you?!!!

10. DO SAVE YOUR AWKWARD FAMILY PHOTOS FOR awkwardfamilyphotos.com.


I really didn’t want to sound like a complete asshole, but you’ve forced my hand here. I know you’re family-oriented, and these pictures of you looking like you’re making out with your mother, or subjecting your baby to lying in a straw-filled manger when Americans typically don’t have to do that, are probably really important to you. But I beg you to keep them off Tinder. This is for your own good. I mean, if you’re looking to be ridiculed and posted to awkwardfamilyphotos.com or a random person’s blog against your will, then more power to you. But if you’re a nice person who’s really looking to meet someone, then just save this shit for the mantle place. Please.


While this has nothing to do with your profile picture, just do yourself a quick favor and “unlike” Dexter from your Facebook page, would you? Because when I see that we have two things in common, and one of them is Dexter, I begin to have visions of myself swathed in plastic wrap… and not in a good way. While you’re at it, you may want to consider “liking” a few other things just to fill the space. Might I suggest things like Cuddling, John Hughes Films, Listening, and Puppies. Really, anything that doesn’t make a woman fear that your first date will take place in something called a “kill room” will suffice.


Similar Posts:

Confession. I Shopped at Walmart… Twice.


Earlier today, I found myself standing in the checkout line at Walmart for 30 fucking minutes, as one rude, argumentative, coupon-using, check-writing customer after another took an average of 10 minutes each to argue her (and it was always a her) way to a savings of approximately 53 cents (just a guestimate). Since I have an iPhone and a blatant inability to do absolutely nothing for half an hour, I posted a bitchy comment on Facebook and proceeded to banter with my true friends, who love me enough to keep me entertained in such times of crisis.


And while many people empathized, two people laughed (I’m assuming), and the rest rolled their eyes, the most frequent comment I received was something to the effect of, "It’s your own damn fault for going to Walmart in the first place." I’m still waiting for the follow up, "Do you hang out at Olive Garden, the DMV, public locker rooms, or any place else that could be confused for ‘living hell,’ as well?" Because that’s what my snarky ass would have said if I was on the other end of the conversation.

The answer, in short, is “No.” But if you’ve ever read anything I have written, you know that I am incapable of giving short answers. 

So here’s the deal. I am planning a My Little Pony birthday party for my two girls and roughly 5,000 of their friends… and this shit has gotten completely out of hand. My almost-4-year-old keeps coming up with bad ass ideas, and since I want to foster that creativity and encourage the concept of following through with one’s vision, I’m pretty much letting her run the show.

Many of you may be wondering, “Ummm… aren’t you the one who wrote a post about Pinterest and how people should just calm the fuck down when planning things like birthday parties for preschoolers?”

  1. Yes, Isaac Fucking Newton, that is correct.
  2. I haven’t used Pinterest once for this project. It’s all been in my head and on sticky notes. (Haha! Joke’s on me!)
  3. Her ideas are creative, yet reasonable… so I’ve found myself saying, “Sure, we can do that” to almost everything.

Long story short, there’s a lot of crap that I need to purchase. And when I say crap, I mean CRAP. “Theme-inspired” goodies, crafty shit, piñata fillers… you name it. And given that nothing is cheap these days, all of this crap really has to be bottom of the barrel.

Now, I’m no chemical engineer, but if I were to guess, 100% pure crap would be composed of things like BPA, high fructose corn syrup, and made-in-China labels. So I thought and I thought and I thought, and that 10-watt incandescent light bulb went off in my head… WALMART!!!

"Why not Target?” you ask. “It’s inexpensive and kills every other budget-friendly store when it comes to design, layout, and the mere fact that it is not Walmart.” Well, as those of you who have children already know, us moms live at Target. We go there at least once a week (no hyperbole for once), and I know it like the bottom of a wine glass. And because my kids are way smarter and more perceptive than myself, I need to mix it up from time-to-time to convince them that this errand is actually a fun, cold weather adventure… way better than an indoor playground, having a tea party, or building a fort.

And Target really isn’t bottom-of-the-barrel enough for my quest. For one thing, they are familiar with concepts such as “organic” and “BPA-free” and “non-toxic.” I mean, think of all that money Walmart is saving by not having to print all of these superfluous words on their signage!!!

So off to Walmart we went… and it proved to be the sweatshop labor Mecca that I had been so desperately seeking. The girls ran around chasing after large bouncy balls that they commandeered when I wasn’t looking, while I had the pleasure of deciding which piece of shit plastic toys 3-year-olds would prefer to be pelted with when some lucky parent was finally able to crack the Twilight Sparkle piñata with a baseball bat over their children’s heads. Over an hour of shopping later, I deemed the adventure a resounding success, both in terms of burning off some of that psycho toddler energy, as well as providing me (my kids) with everything I (they) needed to pull off “THE BEST PARTY EVER!!!” (<— 3-year-old words, not mine)

Upon returning home, I realized that I had may have gone a *tad* overboard with the party supplies. Unless Twilight Sparkle had a 50 pound capacity, there was no way in hell I would be able to stuff all this shit into her papier-mâchéd abdominal cavity. Uggghhhh… this is why poor people can’t afford to shop at Walmart. When you buy 20 things you absolutely don’t need at $2 a pop, you’re using the same bass-ackward logic as people who eat an entire 3,000 calorie Cheesecake Factory meal because “the starving kids in India” could somehow benefit from the leftover saturated fat-soaked carbfest on your plate. So I took a stand and decided to return the excess crap back to its rightful home…

Which brings us to today. Not wanting to spend another hour re-stocking products that had been launched off the shelves by flying bouncy balls, I decided to knock this trip out solo during “working hours,” while the girls were otherwise cared for. I added a couple other nonperishable food items to the list to further justify the trek into the underworld, and I set off on my journey. Needing to pick up my in-laws from the airport in an hour’s time, I made a valiant effort to ensure this was a quick, in-and-out trip. So how’d I do?

  • Returning unwanted items: 2 minutes (impressive)
  • Targeting and selecting over-processed rations: 8 minutes
  • Waiting in line to check out: 30. Fucking. Minutes.

So you see, dear friends, my hands were tied. I didn’t want to shop at Walmart, but sometimes you do what you gotta do when the occasion presents itself. I didn’t want to unleash my frustration with unsuspecting assholes on Facebook, but they really gave me no choice. I shopped at Walmart, I did it twice, and I completely regret it. Okay? Okay.

Similar Posts:

1 of 7
Load More Posts
Sorry, No More Posts