Are You Fucking Kidding Me?!?

For M, on chemo Friday  ♥

So much for a vacation, right? Thank you all for telling me how much you still want me to blog. Either you’re really, really bored or you like it here. I figure its a tossup.

Today’s “Are You Fucking Kidding Me?!?” post is inspired by toys. Yes, toys. At heart I’m just an awkward juvenile with braces and scabbed knees.

I was looking online to get some ideas of what to get 6-inch for his first birthday next month. I came across this:

Are you fucking kidding me? An automated rickshaw? Wow. Nothing says love like buying your kid a toy that will pull their lazy asses around the house because walking is sooooooooooo last season.On the plus side it would free up alot of time for me to not have teach 6-inch how to walk. I also guess it is better than spending $1000 on a stroller or allowing my kids to play horsey with the family pet (Bob the betta fish). Added bonus? I don’t have to take Footlong to school anymore nor do I have to pick him up. I also don’t have to tip the rickshaw dude.

I have also decided not to waste time teaching 6-inch about potty training. I’m going to implement an independent study program for him utilizing these:

Are you fucking kidding me? A plush urine droplet and cuddly (literal) piece of shit? Fucking hell. I was turned off by the names and  tried to find potty toys named Urinate & Defecate, but I guess they were sold out.

My Maw-Maw and Paw-Paw gave me a play kitchen for my third birthday. I loved that kitchen. I remember having some play foods, like plastic fruits and generic cardboard boxes that said “noodles” or “crackers.”  And play food today?

Are you fucking kidding me? Toy sushi? Look at this thing! Chopsticks, wasabi, ginger, a soy sauce bowl, and all kinds of little sushi rolls (yuck). Seriously? What is next? The kids Benihana grilling playset with grill, knives, spatula, squirt bottles of oil and “Japanese Coca-Cola,” and toy shrimp, rice, eggs, veggies, steak, and scallops? The kids toy food truck with Korean tacos and venison sliders?

I had a friend in kindergarten that loved to play house. She had a pretend vacuum and a plastic broom. Today?

You can buy the Kiddy Cleaning Trolley! Are you fucking kidding me? What? They don’t have toy motel rooms you can buy to go with it? Personally this toy kind of creeps me out. I’m not sure why. But hey…’s only $34.99.

And lastly, here is a gem that was (at one time) sold in the toy department of Tesco, the largest chain-store in Britain:

The kids Peekaboo stripper pole! Are you fucking kidding me? Some pervert actually invented and marketed a stripper pole (with garter, toy money, and DVD of dance moves!) to little girls?? Wow. Nothing says creepy than someone giving their kid this gift and saying, “You’re in second grade now, honey. It’s time to you learn to unleash your inner sex kitten!” *shudder*


I need a vacation from shit ’round these parts. I’m sick of all this juvenile he-said-she-said crap. I’ll be back online when I’m back online. Love y’all  🙂


A Delayed Introduction…….

Time to clear the air here on my blog, and let me just preface this by saying that I don’t give a flying fuck what you think about me, my family, this blog, my comments on MWOP, etc. I am a grown woman who is finally comfortable in her own skin.


Hello there  ☺  My name is Carmen Jackson. *shaking hands*  I am 33 years old, and I live in Tucson, Arizona. I have two wonderful parents, Mom and Dad, a handsome little brother, Butthead, and, as you know, my own little family consisting of J, Footlong, and 6-inch. I am a former RN turned stay-at-home-mom. I am a recovering drug addict and have been clean for over 2 years. I have battled depression and anxiety most of my adult life. I see a psychiatrist and take two anti-depressants (Wellbutrin and Zoloft for those of you who might be curious), a mood stabilizer (gabapentin…..because I refuse to take benzodiazepines due to their addictive qualities), and a very low dose of Seroquel for sleep because some nights I just can’t turn off my brain. I also take Alive! vitamins, Vitamin D-3, an iron supplement, and Benadryl too in case you were wondering.

I have no secrets. I do not lie. I have publicly (on this blog, on FB, and in person with friends/family) owned up to my shortcomings, namely my 6-9 month battle with narcotic addiction. It’s a part of who I am. My addiction is also a matter of public record. Do I care that someone posted details of my addiction on another blog? No, not really. It, like I said, is a matter of public record, and I owned up to all of it.

I will say this, though. I never used drugs before or during my shift. I worked in a busy, fast-paced ER. I gave everything I had to my patients. I used after a shift when I was at home. When confronted by management I confessed all. It was my rock-bottom. I had battled with depression and increasing professional burnout for about 5 years leading up to using drugs. I spent most of my life taking care of other people, and I gave and gave until I had nothing else left to give. No one took care of me, and I just couldn’t cope. Was it a good idea? Fuck no. Did I know it was wrong? Duh.

I voluntarily went to intensive outpatient rehab and started seeing a psychiatrist. I had been on anti-depressants for years, but no doctor had ever had me on a regimen of more than one drug at a time. My psychiatrist, a caring woman who specialized in treating women, told me that the rate of substance abuse among nurses (alcohol, drugs, or both) was approximately 18%. It it easy for the majority of you who have never worked as a nurse to point your anonymous little fingers and tear me a new asshole for my mistakes, but you just don’t get it. You never will. You have no idea the things we as nurses in certain areas have to deal with. You have no idea what we see and hear. You have no idea what images are seered into our brains. You have no idea how we are treated. You can think of nursing as being like one of those softly backlit Johnsons & Johnsons commercials where they celebrate nurses and everyone is all smiley. Nursing is nothing like the picture painted for the masses. What I did was wrong, but until you have struggled with depression or addiction (both of which run in my family, by the way) you’ll never understand. It’s easy to look down your nose at someone like me, isn’t it? Whatever. If you feel justified doing it or it makes you feel better about yourself then go ahead. I don’t give a rat’s ass.

This is also a matter of public record, but I didn’t see it posted at the other blog. How convenient! I was not “stripped” of my nursing license. No one took it away from me. As a first-time offender with a spotless record for 10 years I was offered a chance to complete the rehab program the state nursing board has. (See? If your profession’s state board has to have a rehab program in place….that should tell you this is a widespread problem.) The program is 3 years long and consists of outpatient rehab, nursing-specific rehab meetings, attendance of NA or AA meetings, and weekly random drug tests. I could have kept my license and still worked. I chose not to. My psychiatrist and rehab counselor helped me to recognize and admit that nursing just wasn’t healthy for me anymore. The stress, burnout, and drugs were evidence of that. I turned down the nursing board. I VOLUNTARILY surrendered my license. No one took it. There was no hearing before the board. I owned up to what I did, and I politely told them that I was better off leaving the profession. I can renew my license next summer and get back into the profession if I want, but I don’t. I am perfectly happy, content, fulfilled, and grateful to have the life I have now as a homemaker, wife, and mother. I don’t care what you think. This is my life and what works for me.

Unlike Jennifer McKinney (I saw the comparisons!) I have never lied about who I am. It is less than desirable, but, hey, it is what it is. I most certainly will not draw any lines between me and Jennifer and say that I’m better or worse than she is. We are all equal. We all fuck up. Some people cheat on their spouses. Some people shoplift. Some people have other addictions, like sex or gambling. In my opinion, Jennifer lying about stuff that is a matter of public record is just wrong and makes her look like a jackass. It would be akin to me, regarding my nursing record, saying, “Oh, no, you misunderstood. I was stealing drugs for other people. It wasn’t me. You say my drug test was positive? Someone must have spiked my Diet Coke. Why are you picking on me?” I have no respect for her anymore. I followed her blog faithfully since the days of Stellan in utero. I was heavily emotionally invested in that baby. And to see Jennifer now lie under oath, sign federal documents full of false information, underreport her income by $100,000 a year, place blame on others, and tell hopeful people that the supplements she sells cure migraines and anxiety, just pisses me off; I’m entitled to feel this way just like you’re entitled to feel whatever you feel about me.

So, there you have it. Point your fingers all you like, and sling your anonymous barbs if you want. I don’t care. If you like me then great. If you don’t then piss off and go read another blog. Regardless, though…….have a nice day  ☺

just some blurbs

I decided to take a few days off of blogging because I could. Things have been going smashingly this summer. Today me and the kids went to the Costco ’round these parts. Lots of fun and samples were ours, and I made sure to write the kids name, SSN, birthday, my mother’s maiden name, and blood type on their person with my turquoise Sharpie. Footlong made an astute observation when I purchased a metric ton of edamamme as he looked at me and said, “Those are soybeans, right?” “Right!” I told my blessed firstborn with a grin as he burst into song and began singing, “Beans beans the magical fruit! The more you eat the more rectal wind you excrete!” I wish I could say 6-inch was as clever. But, alas, whilst he is beautiful, he is not clever. At all. Seriously. Whilst Footlong was joyously singing about beans and colonic emissions 6-inch crammed four of his fingers in his mouth and proceeded to slobber everywhere. I told him this behavior was unacceptable. I could not find a wooden spoon with which to punish his bum, so I walked over to the housewares section and grabbed a Brita pitcher to spank him with. He then looked at me confusion written over his sweetly innocent countenance and giggled and urinated in his diaper simultaneously.

Once we were home and the groceries were put away forthwith I proceeded to make a healthy dinner. You didn’t know we eat healthy? We do! All the time! We put nothing but the most healthy, natural morsels in our tummies. Everyone knows that me and the kids have been imbibing raw egg-chia-cilantro-lard smoothies for breakfast. Raw eggs are ever so much more healthy than the FDA tells you they are. Since I am also a nutritionist (and doctor, teacher, accountant, journalist, attorney, and fashion designer) I decided that………….we would now eat our chicken raw too! Chicken sashimi was ours tonight topped with some good fats (melted peanut butter) fresh herbs (chives and flat leaf parsley) and imported pink Himalayan finishing salt. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. I don’t cuss, except for when I do, but if I did cuss, which I will, I’d say it was fucking delicious. We must have worked excessively hard today because after eating our raw chicken dinner we were all met with diarrhea and spasms of the abdomen.

Footlong composed a lovely opera the other day and then built me a new dishwasher out of a bottle of shampoo, 3 packs of Garbage Pail Kids, a twist-tie, a 12 pack of mulberry scented votives, and a compass. He is my pride and joy that one. 6-inch defecated himself and made a mess. I had bought him the new designer Speedo thong diapers and they don’t work. At all. Period.

Things are going well with Prince Snort and me as we spend much quality time snuggling and watching our new 84″ plasma media viewing screen. He looked earnestly into my eyes with his eyes and his eyes said, “I love you!” “That’s great, now rub my back and feet,” replied my eyes. Buoys me a great deal he does.

Speaking of a great deal, click here to get on board with these wonderful new life changing, game changing, miracle, healthy, fragrant, potent, tingly, granola, Christian, awesomely financially lucrative products I am so in love with! Ask me how you can earn them for free and get a round-trip airline ticket to boot. Send me an e-mail and don’t forget the fucking dot or the at symbol thingy. I may or may not get back to you soon. If you don’t hear from me it’s because you fucked it up on your end. Ahem.

Good or bad news may be coming soon. I’m not sure which. It may be good. I’m hoping it’s good. But it may not be. There’s a chance it could be bad. Real bad. But I’m hopeful. So hopeful. I believe. And I’m strong. So strong. That’s all that matters.

This is a badly written piece of sarcastic fiction. We eat our chicken cooked and our eggs scrambled. 6-inch does not wear baby thongs. I don’t write on my offspring with markers, nor do I spank their bums with wooden spoons or water filtration systems.

The Photoshop Bandit (aka Jennifer McKinney) Strikes Again!

It’s not very often I do two blog posts in one day, but this just pisses me off. Jennifer Howe Sauls McKinney (aka disgraced mommy blogger “MckMama”) posted a photo yesterday of her svelte self in size 11/12 jeans. *snicker*

Her legs don’t touch. All the way up to her crotch her legs don’t touch. I find that hard to believe for someone who weighs just under 180 lbs and is in a size 12. Secondly, and this is my opinion, I believe she has photoshopped the picture. Why do I think that? The floor appears messed up.

This is the photo she posted; I have rotated it 180 degrees:

Edited to add:  Great catch by Melinda at MWOP:  the side of her right sandal is missing!

 Below is the same photo that I uploaded into Paint. It is really simple. This is how you should look at the picture below:  Start at the bottom of the photo. Notice that I have used blue lines to trace the outline of individual floor planks. Notice at the bottom that the planks are in perfect straight lines. Now, work your way up. I started making the straight lines along the right edge of the photo because that is where the plank lines were darkest and easiest to mark. If you follow the lines from right to left you will see that the planks are no longer straight where she is standing.

The planks below her are straight, yet the planks where her body are quickly deviate from a straight line. Again, start on the right edge and notice how quickly the planks deviate from a straight line as you move left. Several readers have also commented in regards to how the wooden floor looks “warped” and “wavy” between her feet. Several people have mentioned that this could be distortion from a wide-angle lens. Jennifer said the photo was taken with her cell phone. I don’t know.

Shameful, Jennifer. I pity she sheeple that referred to you as MckHotCakes or some such nonsense. Anything to make a buck and make yourself look better, right?

Everything You Never Wanted To Know: Volume 2

I can’t stand to use shower gel or shampoo that smells fruity. My goal is to get clean not to smell like fruit salad.

I floss my teeth constantly.

There are certain foods I didn’t get to try until I was an adult because my mother never, ever bought them. These include:  fresh blueberries/cherries/raspberries, cheeses from the nice part of the grocery store, kale, lettuces other than iceberg, dijon mustard, sparkling water, quinoa, veal, artichokes, lamb, spinach, and real butter.

KFC grosses me out.

I can’t sleep without a white noise machine.

I love bad thunderstorms, hurricanes, and rain.

I love sleeping with the window upen when it’s cold and rainy so I can hear the sounds, smell the rain smells, and be all warm and snuggly under the covers.

I am hot natured.

2 different friends tried to teach me how to drive a stick, and I still can’t do it.

My first car was a red Toyota Corolla. I got it when it had 50,000 miles and gave it up when it had about 240,000 miles.

I love Korean food.

I use humor as a coping mechanism.

I look horrible in yellow and orange.

I look great in green.

I have extremely dry, itchy, sensitive skin.

I can spend hours on Google Earth.

I miss the smell of freshly mowed grass.

I love eating with chopsticks.

I can’t stand for things to be in my ears.

That said, I wear traditional ear phones with my iPod instead of ear buds.

I love spicy food.

I love watching “Phineas and Ferb” and “Fairly Odd Parents” with Footlong.

I hate cilantro so much that I joined the website

I can’t stand having long hair. Hair between my chin and shoulders works best for me.

I have brown eyes.

I have (mostly) dark brown hair.

I am 5’5” and wear a size 9 shoe.

I like strong coffee. My mom doesn’t, and when she makes it I feel like I’m drinking coffee-scented water.

I cannot live without back rubs.

As I type this 6-inch is on the floor next to me playing with a clothes hanger. Yeah, I sold his toys for money. That’s just how I roll.

If I had to choose between being rich or being happy I would choose to be happy.

I have had three marriage proposals in my life, and all of them were in bed in non-sexual situations. J proposed after we had just woken up from a nap at a B&B back home.

People with no common sense irritate the piss out of me.

The people that think “Fifty Shades of Gray” is shocking need to read Sade’s “120 Days of Sodom” and then come talk to me. I read that book with my jaw on my chest the whole time.That is also the only book to ever make me gag. Awful, awful stuff.

I hate cake frosting and whipped cream.

I am always worried that people are judging me straightaway because of my size.

Growing up I was a member of the academic team that won the state championship, and I was also on TV several times to participate in quiz bowl tournaments. I even had my own commercial senior year for being chosen “Student of the Week” by a local TV station.

You know I really love you when I give you a nickname.