Butterflies & Flowers-It’s Not What You Think

Last week I was on the rag.

For those of you unfamiliar with that analogy, let me break it down for you: I was on my period, mother nature dropped her bombshell, my menses came to pass. Got it? Okay.

So I was on the rag and I walked into my bathroom and lo and behold, my eye balls landed on the little basket full of tampons and pads and shit that sits unobtrusively in the corner once a month.

And I got really pissed off.

Here’s why.

Whose brilliant fucking idea was it to put butterflies and flowers on feminine hygiene product packaging?

Let me be clear: pieces of my body are flowing out at a high rate of speed. I’m cramping so hard, at any given moment my ovaries are going to rip their way out of my body like a scene out of Alien.  I don’t wanna see no stinking flowers. (said like Al Pacino in Scarface)


I want to see a skull and crossbones with a bio hazard symbol.

I want to see a little note reminding me that I really do love my husband and not to smother him in his sleep.

I want to find a coupon good at any grocery store for a free bottle of wine AND a gallon of ice cream.

I want to unwrap a tampon and immediately hear the voices of a thousand tiny angels singing in perfect harmony that it’s almost over and then make it rain glitter in celebration of the fact.

I mean really, is all of that too much to ask??

Because I just. can’t. even. with the damn butterflies and flowers.


Short & Sweet

Twenty years ago I didn’t picture myself where I currently am in life.

Where exactly am I did you say??

I’ll tell you.

A thirty something mother of two who spends more time in pajamas than real clothes with no career to speak of that wraps up in a giant pink robe every night and drinks wine straight from the bottle while binge watching shit on her DVR when the kids go to bed.

The. End.

Consistently Pissy and Other Stories

It’s been way too long since I have blogged on here and now that I’m logged in, today isn’t looking up for blog writing either.

I’ve been stuck in some kind of rut. If you were to ask my husband, apparently I’m always angry. Well fuck that, no I’m not.

I really did want to write something witty and humorous for all of you, but then it was like, not today Satan.


Do any other stay at home moms or stay at home dads feel me when I say I sometimes  feel like my whole life has turned to mush? Like the only reason I exist is to be at the beck and call of other people? Do you ever have moments where maybe you’re washing dishes and you think, “fuck this plate. Fuck it and all of it’s plate friends.” Or is it just me?


Do your days run together? Like Saturdays and Mondays could actually pass for the same day?

Do you ever wonder if other people wonder about the things that you wonder about?

That’s a lot of wondering.

Do “I Don’t Know”, “It Wasn’t Me”, and “I Forgot” live in your house, too?  What about, “I’ll Do It Later”?

I sometimes think that when I die my headstone won’t have my date of birth/death engraved on it, or even my name. It will simply say the phrase I utter 742 times a day, “Wash your hands.”

Nobody listens to me.


“Nobody” also lives in my house.

Do you ever think about having wine for breakfast? I haven’t done it, but I think about it. Who would tell on me, the dog?? I did have champagne for lunch once.

Best. Day. Ever.

Do you ever look at your piles of dirty laundry and think how it would only take one match to end it all? And then remember that running around in your birthday suit would get you arrested so you put the fucking clothes in the washer AGAIN.

Am I alone in these thoughts? Surely I’m not the only parent out there whose crazy boils that close to the surface on occasion.

Share your crazy with me today. Wear it loud and proud! I’ve missed all of you.

And would you look at that, I actually did just write a blog.Oops 🙂

Drowning In My Soap Box Bubbles Part 2

I don’t have a whole lot of tolerance for door to door solicitors. I probably should have made this #1 on my previous soap box list.

After being the victim of magazine subscriptions for starving college students that just need to raise money for a trip to Italy, or that $40 bottle of miracle cleaner that miraculously didn’t  perform miracles once added to my household cleanser collection, or the two hour vacuum demo that no amount of vacuuming you do to my carpet or lamp shades or curtains is going to convince me to spend $2,000 on a fucking vacuum ( I could buy a cash car for that and hell no I didn’t buy the vacuum), the one thing that annoys me the most, is people that try to sell me on their religion.

Holy mothers nipples.


Those arguments are the reason I stuck a NO SOLICITING sign on my storm door.

Here’s the deal: Don’t tell me what you have to offer is not in total disregard of my no soliciting sign. Don’t tell me you’re not selling anything. Because you are.

You’re trying to sell me on a belief I don’t want to hear. And I have  heard it before and don’t agree with it, so leave.

Don’t argue with me on my own fucking property and try to recruit me for your mission. Now get back on your bicycle, fasten up your helmet, and peddle away.

Why? Why is it okay to harass people in the name of religion?

Would they be okay with me knocking on their front door at an ungodly hour on a Saturday morning for the sole purpose of shoving my agenda down their throat? Probably not.

So don’t do it to me.

Don’t be the asshole that thinks my no soliciting sign doesn’t apply to you.

Because it does.

I clean my own house.

We mow our own damn yard.

I married a mechanic; I don’t need your lube job.


My roof is good. My gutters are fine. I was raised in church, and I DON’T WANT TO HEAR IT.

Don’t get me wrong; I genuinely love people from all walks of life.

But it’s all about the approach.

If you approach me in a friendly, non-confrontational manner, I will  listen to what you have to say. I might even take your business card or flyer or religious tract.

But,  if I’m not interested, and I tell you “I’m not interested”, then go bother someone else, okay??

And don’t argue with me on my own damn porch. You won’t like my response.

Are you mad?



Bitch I might be

I’m thinking of changing up my no soliciting sign. I’m thinking of customizing it to say:

NO SOLICITING. Unless you have girl scout cookies or are offering free puppy cuddles. All others knock at your own risk.

Do solicitors bother you, or am I just an asshole??

Always end your day with laughter,

Olive Oyl Momma

So A Tampon & A Maxi Pad Walk Into A Bar…..

Today’s post is full of foul; don’t say I didn’t warn you.

I have Endometriosis. Yesterday, mother nature dropped her bomb and today I’m auctioning off my uterus to the lowest bidder. Hell, I’ll give the bitch away.

I wish I could adequately describe the pain in my lower back to those who don’t suffer from this shittastic monthly problem. Let’s just say me and my heating pad have an understanding even though he’s burned me a time or twenty.

Now let’s talk about the bloating that also accompanies the menses.

I. Look. Pregnant.

Early second trimester. It’s ridiculous. Fortunately, I have yet to be a victim of “oh you’re pregnant!” because it wouldn’t end well for the person that uttered those words. I would most likely throat punch them then follow it up with a Go Fuck Yourself.

And to top it all off I have a really bad attitude right now. This is the ONLY time of the month that I can say anything to anyone and have no regrets. None. Zero. Zilch.

I’m like a bad infomercial.

“Do you need to tell someone off but don’t know how?? Well here’s your chance folks. Call 1-900-oliveoylmomma and for the low rate of just .10 cents a minute she’ll gladly tell every rat bastard mother fucker that’s ever done you wrong or looked at you cross eyed where to go and exactly how to get there. Don’t delay, call today!”


Now, some of you may be thinking, “this crazy bitch needs a doctor!” Well I have one. And her answer was Prozac. Let me tell you what THAT did. It took the edge off. So my filter was slightly thicker, but I still told random strangers to eat shit and die.

Normally I’m a really, really nice person. I like to bake cookies and shit. And cuddle with puppies.

But not today. Tomorrow isn’t looking good for me either.

So there you have it. Once a month every month I’m an asshole.

Thanks for stopping by!

Olive Oyl Momma

P.S. Today I’m not laughing BUT, I would like to so please, tell me something funny. Anything. I’ll only ask nicely once and then you know what could happen…