A profanity laced blog

Moms Who Drink And Swear™

Welcome F*&kers!


I am.
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No free lunch.
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Before you ask.
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BJs, Ballpunches and Mayonnaise: A Love Story

I rarely mention my husband, Eric, in my blog posts, and the stuff about him in my book (although not censored or filtered in any way) was minimal. I respect his preference for privacy. I rarely even post stuff about him on my personal Facebook page. My profile picture is of us together, however Mark Zuckerburg’s face is photo shopped onto Eric’s body. He hates having his picture taken, so even though he’s handsome and delicious, I avoid splattering his face all over the social media.


However, when I do write about him or post a picture of him, I go big or I don’t even fucking bother.


In my book I wrote about how he smacked his wang against my head and made it talk to me. It said, “I’m cold. Can I warm up in your vagina?”

Yes, that happened. No, it didn’t turn me on. Well, maybe a little bit, because he’s just very funny and really clever, and there is nobody’s penis I would rather warm up in my vagina than his, so yeah, there was some level of zing in my girl thing as a result of that deviant and hilarious incident.

I cannot say that the book I am writing now includes minimal Eric stuff, because it’s a completely different sort of book from my first, and quite frankly, Eric IS my life. He’s been IN my life since I was 21 years old, so how can a collection of essays not include him?

That’s right, they can’t.

When Jen, the blogger from People I Want to Punch in the Throat asked me to contribute an essay for an anthology called, I Just Want To Be Alone, the sequel to the best selling anthology, I Just Want to Pee Alone, I, of course, said yes. The essay I wrote is called BJs, Ball Punches and Mayonnaise.


Some people think that blogs and books about marriage and family are becoming old and tired, but how can stories about people become old and tired? Now, I agree that that on occasion, the delivery of what might have been a side splittingly funny incident can be terribly lame and that sometimes a story either lacks originality or isn’t interesting enough to share.

THAT happens. A LOT.

I mean good fucking Christ, how many family blogs are there now? Sixty-two million give or take a few hundred thousand? But you know, these blogs and books exist because this is LIFE and people want to talk about LIFE.

We find mates and we live and love and sometimes we make other humans together. Living a life is a sad, funny, exciting, disgusting, painful, interesting, boring, difficult, bizarre, terrifying and natural thing. Life happens and we don’t live this life in isolation. Sharing experiences is one of the most natural and most enjoyable things about living life!

If you live your life in isolation, then I feel sad for you, because you will never have the chance to have someone whap you upside the head with their dick and ask you to make it all snuggly warm.

Sucks to be you, Sucker!

For the rest of you, I highly recommend buying the book, I Just Want To Be Alone, and of course MY fucking book, and to keep on reading whatever other books and blogs you want to read about marriage and family, because no matter how much we sometimes wish otherwise, our families ARE our lives and it’s nice to know we aren’t alone sometimes, even if sometimes we just want to BE alone.

Essays from People I Want to Punch in the Throat, Baby Sideburns, Bad Parenting Moments and MORE!

Essays from People I Want to Punch in the Throat, Baby Sideburns, Bad Parenting Moments and MORE!

Buy MY book by clicking HERE. Seriously, I don’t know why everyone in the world isn’t buying it, because it’s so good.

Also, enjoy my latest post on my ChicagoNow blog about Why I wasn’t in Playboy Magazine by clicking HERE.


Pre-order I Just Want to Be Alone by clicking HERE.

I am a therapist, but I am not your therapist

It’s true. I am a clinical psychotherapist. I am licensed by the Illinois Department of Professional Regulation as a Licensed Clinical Professional Counselor. You can look it up. There is nothing that makes me happier than seeing a person get the help they need to live the life they deserve. In the past, I have loved doing face to face clinical psychotherapy with clients of all ages. I am not currently seeing clients, although my license is active and in good standing.

There is relief and support for suffer with these mental health issues, but sometimes, it’s hard to know where to start finding that relief and support. I aim to provide that starting point for you with my writing by being a reliable resource where you can find support and information that can get your on the road to wellness. However, although I am a licensed therapist, I am not your therapist.

Every single day I receive email and/or messages and requests from friends and strangers alike, asking me for advice – specific advice about mental health issues.

If you email me with specific questions about your child, your spouse, yourself or a friend or family member, I cannot give you professional advice or specific answers to your questions, as you are not technically my client and this would be unprofessional and unethical.

I told you to trust me, because I am a professional, right? So trust me when I tell you that the only advice I can give you is to seek professional help if you think you need it. If you think you have a problem, you probably do. If you or someone you know is in serious trouble – suicidal, being abused – I strongly suggest that you run, don’t walk to the nearest emergency room to be evaluated.

When friends and family members often ask me specific questions and this puts me in a difficult position. I can talk to them as a friend of family member and tell them what I would do in a certain situation, or express my opinion (when asked) about a subject, but I cannot give specific advice or act in a clinical professional manner in these situations.


I can, however, help people navigate the sometimes complex and confusing world of mental health by pointing them in the direction they need to go by connecting them with resources – I AM HAPPY TO DO JUST THAT WHENEVER I CAN! I wish I could do more, but that would complicate the relationship and make me professionally liable if anything were to happen. Relationships are hard enough as it is without that shit, right?

Last thing with regard to me being a professional – I am a mandated reporter. You can click the word to better understand what that means. There are certain things that, if I become aware of via our conversation or a message, email or otherwise from you, I am legally obligated and responsible to report to the proper authorities, and I will do so. My ethics demand it.


Coming soon – a subscription only monthly newsletter chock full of useful tips, advice and resources for managing mental illness.

Here are some of my blogs about mental health issues

This is not a blog about alcoholism, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t an alcoholic.

Three things you need to know and understand about mental illness

Is marijuana less dangerous than alcohol?

Alcohol vs. Marijuana Part II: Electric Boogaloo

Personality Disorders: 101

Five things you need to know about how f*cking complex mental illness can be

Psychotropic drug talk up in here, Motherf*ckers!

Coping with Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder with help from Dr. Seuss

Dance like no one is watching even if you feel like horse shit!

Can’t stop or won’t stop: Is Miley Cyrus mentally ill?

Blurred Lines: Setting and Maintaining Boundaries

Depression: Sh*t everyone should know

Find my not-your therapist-self on Facebook, Twitter and Pinterest.

Buy my offensive and hilarious book that is not about mental health HERE.

And don’t miss a post. Subscribe by email to my blog. Upper widget there on the right hand side near the top. Yeah, that’s it. Oh, yeah. Oh, baby right there. Thaaaaaaat’s it. Feels goooooood.

Is my kid a genius or a creep?

Traffic has been hell lately, so I’ve allowed my daughter to fart around on my cell phone during long rides. Usually, my phone is off limits because it’s fucking mine and I don’t want it all fucked up. Both of my kids have their own stuff to wreck, am I right? Of course I am.

Anyhoo…everyone thinks their kid is cute and funny and smart, but really not everybody’s kid is cute, funny or smart. Some kids are just…I don’t know, creepy. Like any parent, I have zero ability to be objective when it comes to my kids, because they are fucking mine and I don’t like to think they might possibly be all fucked up. There’s just so much potential for me to wreck them, am I right? Of course I am.

So, yesterday, when traffic was being a motherfucker and my daughter asked to play with my phone, I allowed it, because she also had her goddamn recorder in the car and I couldn’t bear the thought of hearing her play Hot Crossed Buns five hundred times while I was trying to navigate rush hour traffic on some very slippery roads.

And so she created this.

I would name him Tony. Get it? Toe-ny?

I would name him Tony. Get it? Toe-ny?

It’s a picture of my son’s ingrown toenail – before the doctor sliced the shit out of it – photoshopped into an app called Toca Boca Hair something or other.

What. The. Fuck?

I don’t know if she’s full on creepy or an artistic genius. It’s like not knowing if your kid is a cute and funny imp or a filthy, creepy urchin, you know? I mean, she’s my daughter for fuck sakes! I just don’t know.

Me: So does this magnificent creature have a name?

Cate: You are kidding right? It’s a picture of Zach’s rotten toe in a hair thingie, Mom.

Me: Well, you personified it using an app, so I don’t think it’s out of the ordinary to ask if it has a name.

Cate: Naming an ingrown toenail with hair would be too creepy.

Me: I suppose you are right. Very creepy. But creating something using a picture of the ingrown toenail is not?

Cate: Duh.

Cate: Hey, do you have any pictures of butt-cracks in your phone album or do I need to Google one to make something else?

Me: You don’t think that would be too creepy?

Cate: It’s not like I’m naming it.

  • Creepy doesn’t even begin to describe it.
  • Aren’t you a therapist? You should know the answer to this question, Nikki.
  • Can I get back to you on this? I’m helping my own brilliant kid make a sculpture out of his poop.
  • Genius. The kid is a goddamn genius.

So… how was your day?

I eat MY pudding before I eat my meat because I can.

I eat MY pudding before I eat my meat because I can.

Yesterday my day ended with a bang. BANG! It was like this….

Cate: Can we get the whole “how was your day talk” done? I’m, like, tired.

Me: Like, okay. Just tell me the good, bad and the weird.

Cate: The good was eating rock candy. The bad was when you made me stop eating rock candy. The weird was at lunch detention.

Me: You had a lunch detention?

Cate: Yeah, I didn’t put my name on my homework. Again.

Me: So what was weird about lunch detention?

Cate: This kid, John, asked me to play the game “would you rather.” So I said yes and then he asked me if I’d rather have lunch detention or eat unicorn poop and I told him that I’d rather have lunch detention.

Me: But unicorns poop marshmallows! You love marshmallows!

Cate: I don’t care if unicorns pooped rock candy, I’m not eating anything that comes out of a butt.

Me: You have a point.

Cate: My whole life is… like… depressive because of grown ups.

Me: Is “the man” keeping you down?

Cate: The man, the woman, you know… because you are all stressed out because of paying bills and getting fat, so you take it out on us. Are we done with “how was your day” talking now?

Me: Indeed we are…

Do you have a one-two-humparoo sex life?

Animals are so beautiful and fascinating. I’m especially fond of baboons.

One of the things that I love most about watching a nature show about baboons is seeing the one- two- hump-a-roo mating style. I know that sounds freaky, hearing that I enjoy baboon fooking, but I envy non-human monkey mammal’s simple sex lives. I really do. Their lives in general are so uncomplicated. They just bang each other right quick and go about the business of picking nits out of each other’s fur or foraging for berries, finding places to sleep and whatnot. I mean, aside from the whole alpha male gets first crack at the babe with the pinkest, puffiest ass, their relationships are cut and dry.

It would be hecka-sweet to be a baboon IF I didn’t give a shit about emotional intimacy, because look at the ass I could have.


Puffy baboon ass goodness!

Puffy baboon ass goodness!

I’ve been married for 20 years. Nothing about my relationship with my husband is cut and dry or one-two-humparoo anymore. Well, occasionally the sex is one-two-humparoo. We are in that phase of life where our sex life takes a backseat to everything else. I often miss the days when our relationship was easy and uncomplicated, when we were like young baboons – sans the bugs – energetic, focused and immersed in a fresh, new, passionate, romantic love.

Sex, in general, for animals and human beings, is a simple thing. Everybody does the same stuff for the most part – one-two-humparoo! Unfortunately, sometimes our humanness sucks the simple out of it, because human relationships are complicated and we are capable of more than the one-two-humparoo. At the start of a relationship, it’s simple hot baboon like fooking, but the evolution of a human relationship is inevitable and shit gets real. Real life issues make their way into the bedroom and this is the turning point in all human relationships. So much of the time, humans are nowhere near reaching our full potential in the bedroom.

You’d think our humanness would make the transition from sex to intimacy easy, but actually it’s just the opposite. Baboons may just be fooking, but at least they always know where they stand with each other, and really, they don’t want more than the basic act. It’s just not that way with humans. We do want more!

So how do we get that more?

What can humans do to enjoy the simple pleasure of sex combined with the kind of complex intimacy that makes sex more than a one-two-baboon in the jungle humparoo?

It’s actually quite simple, even if you are in a complex relationship where intimacy is waning due to complex human issues. It seems complicated, because unlike baboons, humans have to do so much more than fook and groom and forage, but at the end of the day, we still have very basic needs that demand our attention – hunger, sleep, and sex! We get distracted by our jobs, cars, homes, kids, lawns that need mowing, dogs that need walking and bathrooms that need cleaning. These things won’t change yet neither will our cravings for intimacy and variety in our sex lives. Why does sex take a backseat to everything else?

Because we don’t prioritize it, and unlike the need for sex and the act itself, the reasons for this ARE complex.

In order to get our sex and intimacy needs met, we must engage in the kind of behavior that separates human beings from the animals. What human things are lacking in your human relationship prevent you from prioritizing this basic human need? Intimacy is so much more than regular one-two-humparoo. No matter how complex the issues might be, sometimes something as simple as lack of effort, boredom, not knowing where to start are huge barriers to getting back on track.

Bedroom Chemist can help.

Look at this sexy face! And she has presents! Oooooo like sexy Christmas!

Look at this sexy face! And she has presents! Oooooo like sexy Christmas!

Bedroom Chemist helps you prioritize the simple tasks required to create an atmosphere that encourages connectedness, variety and physical closeness. It’s okay to need help doing this, because while the acts of fooking and fooling around are quite simple, achieving real human physical and emotional intimacy isn’t. There is no shame in admitting that you need a little support and guidance to get there, or get back there.

They have a great fucking blog, too! Bedroom Buzz, bitches! It’s realistic and relatable, not some Cosmopolitan Sex and the City baboon brain bullshit about heat minus love. Ain’t no mommy got time for that shit, right? We are capable of so much more and we deserve more.

The health benefits of true intimacy are beyond what nutrition and medication and simple, empty, scheduled schtupping provide. It’s true that baboons have it good, but humans have the potential to have it even better if we choose to. Yes, it would be easier to be a monkey, but since that’s not an option, I’m giving you a viable and interesting option to help you get what you want and need. Let the Bedroom Chemists give you the inspiration, hope and support you need to get past the one-two-baboon humparoo.

You won’t be sorry. Tell them Nikki sent you. Code MWDAS.

Yes, tell them!

Yes, tell them!

Check out the Bedroom Chemist website and blog HERE.

Follow Bedroom Chemist on Facebook, Twitter and Pinterest

Shop talk:

Experience romance, seduction & irresistible delight this Valentine’s Day with Bedroom Chemist! Their kits are overflowing with products, tips and games that are perfect for couples seeking pleasure and intimacy. Use the code MWAS and receive 10% off your first kit!

Make sure to read the Bedroom Buzz Blog.

Make sure to read the Bedroom Buzz Blog.

Follow Moms Who Drink And Swear on Facebook and Twitter. 

PAID ENDORSEMENT DISCLOSURE: In order for me to support my blogging activities, I may receive monetary compensation or other types of remuneration for my endorsement, recommendation, testimonial and/or link to any products or services from this blog.

The 24 hour rule

Clutter makes me anxious.

When I happen to visit a particularly cluttered place (or watch an episode of Hoarders), I get an overwhelming urge to clean and purge. Fuck knick knacks too. Fuck unnecessary junk that needs dusting and has no sentimental value. I’m not against decorating or finding pretty stuff to make a room look fancy, but I am against the idea of having stuff just to have stuff. Fuck random stuff.


I have a rule about buying stuff. If I need stuff, like a new coffee maker, or some fat pants, I’ll buy that stuff without feeling guilty, because coffee and fat pants are necessary. However, if I want something, not need, but want, I invoke my wait 24 hours to buy it rule. You might be thinking that is risky, because what if I come back in 24 hours and the stuff I want is gone, won’t I regret not buying the stuff?

No. It’s like loving something and setting it free and having it come back to you. If me having stuff is meant to be, it will happen.

For example, I really want this Dragon backpack. I want it so bad I can almost taste the fire I know the dragon will breathe when I trick it out right good. Goddammit it’s so fucking amazing, but I’m not buying it. I just can’t justify the expense right now, but even if I could, I really don’t need a dragon backpack at this particular time in my life. I just want it.


When I saw it for the first time, I thanked myself for having the 24 hour rule, because I don’t think I would have been able to stop myself from buying these underwear at the same time, and that would be such a waste, because underwear are junk prisons and I hate them, so I might as well have just started wiping my butt with the cash if I was going to toss it away on uterus awesome and Pickachu panties.



I want.



Sleep on that shit, sister, I tell myself! Wait a day, because you know that expression about what a difference a day makes? Well, it does. A day makes a difference in my bank account. The 24 hour rule has served me well. I highly recommend it, unless you like having a lot of stuff, and in that case, I understand if you are all – Fuck you, Nikki, I do what I want!

I hear you. Do what you want!

Another reason I’m careful about buying stuff is that worry that someday when I croak, my kids are going to go through my stuff and wonder what stuff they should keep, and that bothers me, because I don’t want them to keep any stuff they don’t want, and gods know they wouldn’t want my old undies or the dragon backpack, because if I did have that backpack, I’d wear that fire breathing mofo OUT, so by the time my kids got their hands on it, it wouldn’t be backpacky anymore and nobody wants their mom’s old panties.

But I have decided to start buying and keeping some magazines every year, because my mom did and I have gotten so much enjoyment from looking through them!


Oh that Alan Alda was so sensitive. And I was able to enjoy this ah-may-zing old ad.


Honestly, I hate cigarettes, but I’d buy the hot pants anyway and I’d wear the shit out of them with my dragon backpack, if I had a dragon backpack. The good news is that my birthday is coming up, so I’ll be getting some guilt free new stuff, hopefully that dragon backpack will be among the stuff, and I won’t have to agonize over buying it, because someone else will be buying it for me, so when I die and my kids go through my stuff, they won’t be angry at me for not keeping it in good condition, because it’s fucking MINE.

That’s really my goal, you know, to make sure that when I’m gone, people will be sad and miss me for me, and not just be happy because they get my stuff, aside from the magazines, which I am buying and saving, even though I don’t need them. I’m even breaking the 24 hour rule in this case. Who knows? Maybe someday they will get a kick out of THIS crazy ass shit!


P.S. I wear a medium if you want to buy this for me. 17 shopping days until my birthday.


This is why I’m broke

Find me on Facebook, Twitter and Pinterest.

Buy my book HERE.

Moms Who Drink And Swear’s Ode to the Internet

How much time did my non-job Internet time suck from my life this week? Welp…as always, way too much, and also not enough. Oh you silly Internet, how I do love you! I love the ‘net so much, in fact, that I’m adding a new something here on MWDAS -

A weekly Ode to the glorious variety of Internet magnificence!

And so, without further ado, my very first, obviously irregular and grateful ode to my busy brain’s true love – this week’s Internet trash and treasures (links to the loves and loathes in red)!

Oh hear ye crybaby bloggers suckling at the Facebook teat

Shut your whiny man-gob and get off MY internets

The web angels sing and weep of this meaty glory

Laugh, little McKookaburra – Laugh!

And let this menace suck your time into cupcakes.

Random Niclovin’ -

Book – Disalmanac: A Book of Fact-Like Facts by Scott Bateman. Two very big thumbs up from my book snob teenager and myself.

Sponsor – Kitchenbug. Online recipe box. See my box online. So many pictures of my box. Oh yeah!

Blog – The Camel Life All about books holyshitIloveherlist.

Email – Dawn took the time to send me this picture. I like Dawn very much. She didn’t ask for a free lunch.

This is for Kirk Cameron, because he's an ass scratcher with fart breath.

This is for Kirk Cameron, because he’s an ass scratcher with fart breath.

Meme -

Yes, my preciousessesssss! So fifthy!

Yes, my preciousessesssss! So fifthy!

Until next week…adieu and fuck you.

Find me on Facebook, Twitter and Pinterest.

Buy my book HERE.

PAID ENDORSEMENT DISCLOSURE: In order for me to support my blogging activities, I may receive monetary compensation or other types of remuneration for my endorsement, recommendation, testimonial and/or link to any products or services from this blog.

Kitchenbug: My New Motherf*cking Buddy

This blog is not about how I have bugs in my kitchen that are my buddies, because that would be fucking gross. This post is about my new buddy, Kitchenbug. Next month, I will be 44 years old. I believe that 44 years is a more than adequate amount of time to know what I like and what I do not like.

I do not like cooking.

I do not like baking.

I do like buddies. I like eating, too, and so does my freeloading family. So, despite the fact that I do not like cooking and baking, I do both. And don’t tell me that I don’t have to do these things; that I could just order out and buy pre-made food, or eat everything raw, or blah..blah…blah…

Shut. The. Fuck. Up!

You think I haven’t either tried or considered every goddamn option?

I love my family and want to provide healthy and delicious food for them. I also think that cooking and baking are really important life skills. When I cook and bake with my kids, I feel good that they are learning something valuable, something useful, you know?

I am a very visual person, so the Internet has been such a great resource for me as I keep my promise to be your Motherfucking Buddy, your teammate in making healthier choices for 2014. I promised to do that, remember? Kitchenbug is my new buddy and it should be your buddy too.

I’m using a new online resource called Kitchenbug to help me meet this goal. It’s the shit for people who need help not only with cooking, but also with organization. And unlike Pinterest, where you get distracted by pictures like this

Yes, my preciousessesssss! So fifthy!

Yes, my preciousessesssss! So fifthy!

Kitchenbug is all food, all the time. Kaplowy! I’m working on creating my online recipe box right now. I can’t believe I’m doing this, because I never dreamed I’d be asking people to look at my box at all, let alone looking at my box online, but I’m asking. Please check out my box.

Kitchenbug shoptalk – ready?

“Kitchenbug is an online recipe box that can analyze any recipe on the Internet and deliver nutritional information in real time. The company has been featured in TechCrunch, GeekTime, JPost and the Washington Street Journal. To find out more, visit Kitchenbug’s website.

With Heart Healthy Month coming up in February, Kitchenbug wants your help in rounding up the most extravagantly sinful recipes on the Internet and throwing them into Food Jail. If you find the leader of this criminal gang, we’ll give you your rightful bounty of a $649 Kitchenaid Series 7 Quart Mixer.

Kitchenbug is an online recipe box that also has the ability to instantly analyze any recipe on the Internet by using a bookmarklet. Within seconds, you’ll know the calorie and nutritional information of the recipe. Whether you want to eat better or just love to cook, this tool turns a chore into a simple point and click process. With Kitchenbug you can organize all your recipes into boxes, follow other users’ recipes, adjust recipes from U.S to Metric and search your recipes with search terms like low fat, cholesterol and heart healthy.”

So, in conclusion, if you are my Motherfucking Buddy, like you said you, do these things:

Enter the Kitchenbug contest HERE
Check out my Kitchenbug box HERE
Follow Kitchenbug on Facebook HERE

You wanna win this. You know you do.

You wanna win this. You know you do.

Doowit. Enter the contest. Show some love for this rad sponsor of #MWDAS.

Follow Moms Who Drink And Swear on Facebook and Twitter. 

PAID ENDORSEMENT DISCLOSURE: In order for me to support my blogging activities, I may receive monetary compensation or other types of remuneration for my endorsement, recommendation, testimonial and/or link to any products or services from this blog.

This is why I exaggerate

Yesterday I cleaned out our spice cabinet.

Does anyone need dried cilantro? We have 57 fucking bottles of that shit so, come and get it! Some of it was purchased in the old millennium, so take it at your own risk. I tossed out a couple of Mrs. Dash containers from 2007 and a cinnamon from 1998. The cinnamon was a goddamn brick!

I found enough spice bricks to build Little Pig #3 a big fucking house.

I threw out spices that I think we’ve had since we lived in our first apartment – in 1994. I can’t be sure, because they labels were all schmutzed and faded and there was no way to identify the date on them, but I know they are older than my daughter, and she’ll be ten in a few months. I tossed 20 containers of spices in various stages of decay.

How the hell did we manage to have a gazillion bottles of various spices in our spice cabinet? No fucking clue. I’m as enthusiastic about cooking as I am about having a squirrel crawl up my ass to store his nuts for the winter. So I asked my husband, Eric, who is the cook around here, what the fuck was up with all the spices.

Me: Why the ever loving shit do we have 57 bottles of dried cilantro?

Eric: Stop exaggerating.

Me: Fine. Why do we have 56 bottles of dried cilantro?

Eric: Because I use it when I cook.

Me: Jaysus, I KNOW you use it when you cook! I want to know why we have so much of it!

Eric: You can never have too much dried cilantro.

Me: Yes you can. Yes you can have too much dried cilantro! 57 bottles?

Eric: Stop exaggerating.

Me: I’ll stop exaggerating if you stop buying dried fucking cilantro!

What kids can learn from Justin Bieber and doodles that can’t be undid

Last night, my kids initiated an intense conversation about peer pressure and making good choices while we were eating orange chicken and curly noodles. Both of them insisted that they have too much confidence and smarts to succumb to peer pressure. They also claimed that they would never be so stupid as to try something or do something dangerous or illegal just because someone told them to, or to impress anyone.


I didn’t want to burst their bubbles, but I had to. I’ll tell you why, too, but first I want to talk about the Biebs.

This morning, the details of Justin Bieber’s arrest were smattered all over the news and social media. Nobody was surprised. I’m sure some people were relieved, namely his parents, but the kid has been on a downhill spiral for some time now. Personally, I can’t believe it took this long for him to get nabbed by the po-po, because Bieb and his posse document their dumb-shittery on Twitter and Instagram on the daily.

(On a side note, this morning, I wondered if anyone cashed in on a “Bieber hits bottom bet,” created by a bookmaker, giving die-hard gamblers a chance to predict when the kid would finally crash and burn. You can bet on anything these days, you know? And for the record, I have a guess as to who I think will be the next celebrity that’s going to be “winning” with his/her “Tiger Blood” fueled insanity.)

Despite the fact that the Biebs is a rich and famous entertainer, his story is one that can be used to demonstrate how easy it can be do make bad choices when the people around you are encouraging it, even if you are a confident, intelligent person with decent values and a decent upbringing. None of us really know how we will act or react to a situation until we are in it, and that’s just the truth, because good people do bad things all the time.

Sure, we can guess, based on our value system and previous experience with something similar, but there are no guarantees. The best any of us can do is hope that we will, during stressful times when faced with difficult choices, have the strength, self-control and confidence to be the person we believe ourselves to be.

If this Bieber doodle happened yesterday, I would have worked it into the bursting of my kid’s bubble. I’ll file it away for another time though, because it’s really a great example of a cautionary tale. Anyway, my specific bubble bursting went like this…

“Don’t be cocky, Grasshoppers. Even the strongest people have weak moments. You are only human, and you will make mistakes. You will make horrible mistakes and wonder how smart people like yourselves, could have made such bad decisions. Your dear old mom and dad did, and if you ask any grown up if they did too, they will answer in the affirmative. Thinking you will be any different just sets you up for disappointment.

“Your strong moral values, self- confidence and intelligence are great traits, and they will help you in many difficult situations, but there are no guarantees. Figuring out who you are isn’t an event. It’s a lifelong process, and part of finding your identity is finding out who you are when you are faced with adversity. There is a huge difference between being confident and delusional.

“You will fuck up, and that’s okay!”

And then I told them that no matter what, their father and I would love and support them, that although we think they are capable, smart and wonderful human beings, we don’t think they are perfect, and they shouldn’t expect themselves to be perfect. We are expecting some shenanigans and tomfoolery.

I also said that just because we expect them to make bad choices and screw up, they will still have to deal with consequences, both at home and wherever they choose to screw up, because that’s the way life works. Hopefully no one will be hurt, or gods forbid, killed as a result of my kid’s screw ups, because the worst consequences are sometimes the residual feelings of guilt and shame that are an inevitable result of making doodles that can’t be undid. Life ain’t no etch a sketch.

Oh yeah, some doodles just can’t be undid, Home-skillets!

Life ain't no etch a sketch!

Life ain’t no etch a sketch!

I don’t want my kids to screw up, but I assume they will. Everyone does. Was my bubble bursting necessary? I think so. You might disagree, and that’s okay. We’ve all got our own way of fucking up our kids, and I choose to fuck them up by giving them regular doses of reality and brutal honesty.

That being said, I hope the Biebs gets the help he needs, because he’s obviously on a drug, and that drug is called Justin Bieber.

The drug keeps making his pants fall down! It’s causing him to spend all his hard earned money on strange hats, strippers, whores and eggs. Allegedly. The drug also seems to have other strange and dangerous physical side effects – it makes him spray his urine in strange places and bang skanks who like to take pictures of him sleeping. Not allegedly. It’s so weird, because the Bieb always says he’s high on Jesus.