Actual artist rendering of DimWhit on grocery day. Drawn to scale.
You see, yesterday was go-to-the-grocery-store day. Of all the items that appear the “Shit You Gotta Do When You’re A Grown-Up” list, grocery shopping is my uncontested least favorite. Human beings are at their most annoying when they’re in the produce section, the parking always sucks, without fail I am destined to pick the wrong check-out aisle and by the time I make it home, most of the crap I bought has escaped their bags and tumbled into the most difficult to reach spots in my car.
I think all the agitation unleashes my inner Lou Ferrigno. Because by the time I arrive home, I am so irritable and so completely over it that I am able to do this:
It’s an incredible feat of strength and efficiency that I have yet to duplicate in any other activity. Period.
Take for example, unloading the dishwasher looks more like this:
It’s too heavy!
And today’s chore is laundry.
Laundry is so easy! I get to sit on my ass for a majority of the process, making it by far my most favorite domestic task. But hand to God, as I look at that laundry basket with ergonomic, no-slip-grip handles, faced with the knowledge that I have GOT to get it up the stairs, I can almost literally feel my muscles (the very muscles that carried 268 lbs. of grocery bags in one trip just yesterday) retreat into my body.
Seriously, I get all Benjamin Buttony.
One day this week, I already know that I’m going to have to carry out a load of trash. Jesus-take-the-wheel, it will not be one of my finer moments. I typically kick this task off with approximately 30-45 minutes of this:
Put your head between your knees, you DimWhit!
When that doesn’t work and I’m finally faced with the ugly truth that the garbage didn’t magically disappear and if I procrastinate any further my friends are going to bust me and turn me into the the producers of “Hoarders”, I saddle up and do what any proper part-time She-Hulk would do.
Until next time, friends. I’m off to go refill the toilet paper.
As you all know, I use my Friday Fold-Up segment to catch y’all up with what you may have missed throughout the week. Additionally, it allows me the opportunity to reflect. Upon my self-examination this week, it occurred to me I haven’t been the best.
I started my Monday off with a long, impassioned rant where I basically skewered the creators of a kid’s toy. I’m trying to give myself a pass on this one, since everyone has the right to be a little grumpy on Mondays, and since that “Good morning, red bird” singing asshat named Nabi had it coming. (In my opinion, of course)
In my post about being a She-Hulk, I essentially confessed my crippling lack of motivation, in particular when applied to all things domestic. Case and point: I wrote that post on Tuesday. I told you that Tuesday was laundry day. I’m writing this post on Friday and I am STILL DOING LAUNDRY. What a bad, bad DimWhit.
I deflected my blogger responsibility to bestow my husband a nickname for use on this site. Instead of saddling that horse all by myself, I forced you guys to pony up some options. Although that wasn’t very nice of me, you all came through and offered up a ton of great suggestions! THANK YOU!
However, since this is apparently my week to be a total douchebag, I have opted to ignore all of your amazing feedback and eventually decided to refer to my hubby with a nickname of my own creation. I’M SORRY. Before you feel completely disregarded, I was only able to think of it thanks to the back and forth discussions we had in the comment section of that post, so technically you are my muses and the source of my creativity. Feel better now?
(By the way, extra props to my new friend, Aussa Lorens, who I credit for getting me onto a new train of thought. Not surprising she’s motivational though, when you consider she is a self-proclaimed HACKER. NINJA. HOOKER. SPY. You rock, lady!)
My final example of why I’m a total jerk this week is the fact that I’m using this last example as a means to torture my Mom a little. This is clearly not something a nice person would do. Though, if you haven’t seen this yet, it is definitely worth the watch.
So, there you have it friends. This week, I sucked. Tune in next week when I try to be a better human being.
Oh, and I almost forgot. My husband will no longer suffer the blogging nickname “hubby”. Henceforth, he shall be referred to as “Red”.
The short explanation: Red conjures up thoughts of romance. Red alludes to his fiery spirit. Red is a nod to his beautiful ginger mane. And finally, because he kind of reminds me of this guy from “That 70’s Show”.
Husband: I really like your blog, baby. You’re doing a good job.
Me: Aww. Thanks honey!
Husband: I do have a small complaint though.
Me: [blank stare] Really?
Husband: Yeah. When you refer to me in posts, you call me things like “hubby” or “the hubs”.
Husband: Don’t you think I should have a cooler, more macho nickname?
The conversation went on like this for a while, with him tossing out a plethora of nicknames that better described his persona and overall manliness. And he was right. The man I married shouldn’t be flippantly referred to as “hubs”. It’s not right, not for him.
But what was my nubile blogging booty to do? As an occasional post peruser, I knew that many women used the initials “DH” when mentioning their men. It took me a while, but I realized later that it was a commonly accepted acronym for “Dear Husband”. (At least I think that’s correct.) But, I don’t care for that term of (lacking) endearment any more than I do “hubby”.
The challenge, of course, is to create a nick that suits my man, but is also obvious to my super kickass readers.
One of my favorite writers, Jenny Lawson of The Bloggess, simply refers to her husband by his first name. But since my preference is to avoid using the real names of my post subjects, that’s out.
Ree Drummond, the infamous Pioneer Woman, gave her husband the moniker “Marlboro Man”. Now, that’s more like it. It’s clear who she is referring to, it suits her site’s theme and it doesn’t hurt that it conjures up images of that Stetson and tight jeans wearing rugged guy sporting a lasso and a mean 5 o’clock shadow.
I’ve been thinking about this for a bit, and this is where I need your help.
To help-you-help-me, here’s a bit about the man/the legend:
He’s a proud native of Northern Kentucky, and he is adamant that God resides in the Bluegrass State.
He served in the US Army for 22 years, and retired as a 1SG.
Bourbon is his mistress.
He believes he should have been born a cowboy. And he acts accordingly.
He’s a long, lean, red-headed machine.
He’s smart, sassy, sweet, generous and professionally, he’s got one of those big deal business titles.
And finally, he’s loads of other awesome things, but ain’t nobody got time for that! (He is on my about page, if you do actually got time for that.)
Right now, I have two diametrically different ideas. I’ll quickly explain both, and what I need from you is your unfiltered opinion and/or your other original ideas. You can do that for me, right?
Idea 1 ) GH
His actual, real-life initials are GH.
It’s similar to DH, so most people should get it.
Because he’s a great husband. Plus genius, generous, gallant, gregarious, goofy, grand, gorgeous, genuine, gracious, and a guardian.
Idea 2 ) John Wayne
He quotes The Duke semi-regularly.
As mentioned above, he should have been born a cowboy.
The two honestly, have a lot in common.
He would like it.
I suppose he could also be dubbed 1st Sergeant or Mister or Jack Daniels, if you please. But since I just cannot decide, I’m enlisting you wonderful people in my quest. Please use the comment section of this post to cast your vote for one of my DimWhitted ideas, or probably better yet, offer up your own original suggestions.
Which is why, for the life of me, I can’t understand why I seem to be the only one disturbed by this:
Relax. I am not a judgmental prude and I am not gearing up to lecture parents on how televisions make terrible babysitters or the theory that video games and computers are systematically rotting our children. Look, I grew up in the 80’s. Also, I was an only child. Lord knows I had hours of fun with this guy:
Looking back, Teddy has a total creep factor.
And this fellow taught me a ton:
But when the creators of Nabi found it perfectly natural to use the tagline, “It’s not just a tablet. It’s a friend.”, I believe a very clear line was crossed. Because it isn’t natural. And the fact they they haven’t been called to task for it, at least not that I’ve seen and certainly not on mainstream media, is absolutely what bothers me the most. And before you fire up the hate mail, I’m not trashing the actual product. I looked it over and think it’s incredible. My beef is with the vomit-inducing slogan and the fact that I feel utterly alone in my dry-heaving.
Maybe, I’d feel more support if they would go ahead and release this model:
She’s not just a tablet, she’s your Mom!
Or possibly this version would do the trick:
He’s not just a tablet, he’s your Dad!
Wait, this one will usher the masses my direction:
Now including the “My First Crush” app, free for download.
You may believe I’m over-reacting. And as a self-labeled occasional DimWhit, I quite possibly am. But for the love of all things flesh and blood, in an impressive “but-wait-there’s-more” moment, Nabi advertises this:
Grows with us? Maybe my friend Nabi will call in sick for work for me one day!
Say what? Moral compass: there’s an app for that?!? I understand fully that it is just a wholesome feature. I think it’s great that when parents are trying to instill values like responsibility, their child’s electronic gadget supports those lessons. I really do. But, isn’t it our job as their collective caretakers to teach our youth the difference between right and wrong? Doesn’t just a little part of you cringe at this tactic of marketing? If one were to buy into all the Nabi camp were trying to sell, you’d be forced to surmise that this one product will not only educate your kids, provide them hours of fun via gaming, entertainment via videos, but also aid in teaching them how to be a good person. That’s right folks, life lessons are included!
Oh, and Nabi will also be their friend.
(Mom and Dad, you’re so two-thousand-and-late. )
If you’ve read my about page, I have fully disclosed that I am not a parent and that this is not a Mommy blog. However, as a former child and member of the human race, I still feel aptly qualified to speak to this.
Now, you may be saying,
Hey DimWhit! You’re an 80’s baby. What about My Buddy and Kid Sister..and that Teddy Ruxpin creep you mentioned earlier? It’s the same thing, so maybe you should calm down.
I have since, unfriended him
But here’s what I’m saying. I didn’t sit staring at Buddy in the face for hours on end. I had to use my imagination to interact with him. And the people at Hasbro weren’t making claims to my Mom that the plastic faced boy would teach me life lessons or be an all-in-one replacement for my gal pal Rachel who lived down the street.
And that’s the metaphorical line I feel the marketing gurus behind Nabi crossed. And I kinda think they’re jerks for it. And no, they’re not the first or only to do this, but maybe it would okay if they were the last.
Kids, Nabi is not really your friend, and he really is just a tablet. Trust me on this one. It may be an awesome toy, filled with fun games and educational learning experiences, but it is no substitute for that snot-nosed comrade that sits next to you on the bus. Nabi will not bury you neck deep in the sandbox. It will not chase you relentlessly around the playground. And, Nabi will not help you build a fort out of sofa cushions and blankets. (Please tell me kids still do this)
Also, when you’re my age, though you may look back on your childhood and have fond recollections of the toys you loved way back when, that time you made it to the next level on the Dora the Explorer game won’t even make your top ten list of memories.
I invested several kid hours into He-Man and She-Ra. I tenderly cared for my baby dolls, and I got better at spelling thanks to a few video games. And although I look back at all of it with blissful nostalgia, none of it holds a candle to that time I scraped my toe on a sprinkler while my friend Danny and I were leaping through it on a hot summer day.
Because Mario was a game, he was not my friend. And because one of my favorite childhood memories was not that one time I beat my best score on Tetris.
I’m feeling a tad guilty because during last week’s Friday Fold-Up, I promised to acquaint you all with my ding-dongy, doggy daughter – DimDog – sometime throughout the week. I never got around to it, but in my defense, I was hoping she would do something interesting enough to be post-worthy.
But she didn’t.
In any case, now is probably as good of time as any for DimDog to make her blog debut. Without further ado, here are a few key facts and a bit of her bio:
DimDog is a boxer; a flashy brindle girl boasting 4 white socks and tiger stripes on her coat.
Her favorite activities include licking human feet and sunbathing in the nude.
Her birthday is November 2nd. She’s 2 1/2 years young.
For her breed, she’s a lil’ squirt; currently topping out around 50 lbs, when she’s supposed to be closer to 70 or 80.
She’s crude and disgusting and bluntly, not very lady-like whatsoever.
Also, she has the ability to be remarkably beautiful. Take for example, this photo:
See what I mean?!? But truthfully, she looks more like this 90% of the time:
For the Friday Fold-Up portion of this week’s post:
My blogging idol, the infamous Jenny Lawson of The Bloggess, read and freaking responded to one of my posts, in which I shared a technology tip for Mac users. She also followed me on Twitter. And in related news, I hyperventilated.
I was sporting the Taylor-Trademarked, OMG-I-Can’t-Believe-This-Is-Happening face.
Speaking of Twitter, this week I officially launched my campaign for world domination by infiltrating the social media realm. That’s right folks, the DimWhit is now on Facebook and Twitter and waiting for you and 1 million of your closest friends to assist in growing my cult.
I could still use your recommendations for the funniest females in the blogging world, because you seriously let me down. I’m not angry. I’m just trying to prove a point here, dammit. You can help me out here.
Additionally, since y’all never fail to surprise me, my least favorite post from the week attracted the most comments, likes and shares – so much so that I’m not going to bother linking it in today’s Fold-Up. Instead, I’m going to link this one, because I like it more and because it makes me giggle on the inside.
And finally, the inevitable happened this week: I got busted by my Mama and virtually grounded for my sometimes “colorful” language. This is from the lady that at one point banned me from saying something sucks because to her, sucks was a swear word. Isn’t that some bullshit? However, this is also the lady that has read the entire 50 Shades of Grey trilogy…and I’m pretty sure that’s worse.
I admit it. Being in your 30’s sometimes means you’re only partially “hip”.
Which is why for months, when friends posted Facebook statuses with the hashtag #TBT (at least I know what a hashtag is), I thought it meant “Truth Be Told”. When that acronym started making less and less sense, I finally sought the guidance of a much younger cooler pal, who informed me it actually stood for “Throw Back Thursday”.
Well, kiss my vintage, that makes much more sense!
However, I still think I’m doing it wrong. For the most part, it seems as though people take TBT as an opportunity to post a nostalgic picture. And many of those photos are quite sweet.
But at least on this particular Throw Back Thursday, here was my weird-ass train of thought:
Hmm. I’m feeling a little chuckle deficient today. Wait! I know what never fails to get me giggling. That Taylor Swift song parody with the goat in it! Yup, that’ll do swell.
Considering that video was released well over a year ago, posting it alone should count for a TBT contribution, right? But oh no no, my brain didn’t stop there. Where did it wander to next?
Hey, remember that time in 2004, when that one dude who was running for President lost his shit during an impassioned albeit off the damn rails speech, and let loose a manic scream and it was kinda hilarious?
And then I started imagining what Taylor’s song would sound like when replacing the goat cries with Howard Dean’s lunatic screech.
And if I had adequate computer skills, you know I’d mesh those videos together so you could see what I mean. And that would be my TBT contribution. And, that’s why I think I’m doing Throw Back Thursday wrong.
Maybe I actually should just post a nice nostalgic picture instead, like the rest of the good boys and girls do.
Yesterday, one of my favorite bloggers, Jenny Lawson of The Bloggess, came a tad unglued when feeling taunted by the ‘control’ button on her keyboard. What is that key for anyway??? She must have been on my mind, since I just happened to write about her yesterday in this post. I like to think it’s because we’re soul sisters, therefore granting me some kind of sixth sense that allows me to hear her cries of frustration carry over the vast, complex interwebs.
I understand, girl! I’ve had this MacBook going on 4 years now, and that damned button has yet to reveal its true purpose.
I wanted to reach out to her. To tell her…I GET IT! And to also let her know…there’s a better way to look at it! With one simple little trick, Jenny’s irritation can be magically turned into inspiration, and the rest of you Appleonians can use it too!
Just SHIFT your thinking!
The trick is simple, requiring only 3 easy steps!
1. Look at your keyboard.
2. Next, look at the image below and read the text aloud.
3. Now, look back at your keyboard.
Can you see it now? Our Macs provide us DAILY AFFIRMATIONS! It’s as if every time I find myself hesitating to click ‘publish’ on my most recent dumbass brilliant post, Steve Jobs himself stands peering over my left shoulder shouting words of encouragement.
You can do it, Whit!
You should do it, Whit!
The people need to see this, Whit!
You’re in FN CONTROL OF SPACE, Whit!!!
Gee, thanks Steve. And now that you (and hopefully Jenny) are aware of this MacBook-related best kept secret, you too can begin to harness the power of positive thinking your keyboard is desperately trying to bestow. Feels nice, eh?
And if you didn’t know that, just ask your nearest dude. Go ahead, I’ll wait.
Lest I forget how unfunny us women-folk are, I was recently reminded of this simple fact a few weeks ago. The hubs and I had two of our dearest friends over, a married couple whom we love like family, to enjoy our deck, the sunshine and a few margaritas. Things were going swimmingly, as per usual, until the topic turned to comedians and our male friend very matter-of-factly stated:
Women just aren’t that funny.
There’s not one female comic I would pay money to see. I mean, they just aren’t that good.
And there it was. The comment I have heard so many times before, lesser minds would think there were truth to it. But there isn’t, friends. Which is why, after I managed to hoist my chin from the table and blink myself back into consciousness, I immediately began forming my well-rehearsed rebuttal to spew in his direction.
Let’s do this!
I locked my eyes on him. I was ready, was he? He better be, considering I had heard this shitty statement so many times that my list of hilarious-ladies-you-can’t-deny had grown longer and was well practiced. But before I could begin my argument which usually started with, “For the love of Christ, what about Carol Burnett?”, I stopped myself.
What did you say?
Why? Because I was exhausted. Attempting to turn a Doubting Thomas into a believer one person at a time is hard work. Nope, this time I would just agree with him. Aggressively agree with him.
You’re exactly right! I said.
Silly women, thinking they’re so funny! I agreed.
Screw those mediocre, mammary gland sporting lady jokesters. Posers! I proclaimed.
Since I assumed his funny bone had been fractured at a young age in some terrible accident, I felt confident the sarcasm soaked comments might escape him. And they did. And I felt better. And I giggled a little on the inside. But only a little, because chicks aren’t that funny!
7 out of 10 Doctors state that an increase in testosterone positively impacts a female’s humor glands. Source: American Journal Of Shit That’s Not True.
So to commemorate this oh so factual statement that us ladies are lacking in the humor department, this will be the first in a regular series on my blog entitled: You’re right fellas – women aren’t funny. For each entry, I’ll submit some support for this argument, by offering up a lady or ladies that possess the audacity to consider themselves funny, as proof that you dudes are right!
And since I’m new to blogging and therefore blogging is on my mind pretty much constantly, Exhibit A will center around some of the most anti-hilarious, skirt-wearing, beholders of boobies in the post publishing world.
I submit to you as evidence:
1. Allie Brosh of Hyperbole and a Half. This Brosh bitch isn’t funny at all. Don’t read anything she’s written. Least of all this.
2. Jenny Lawson, The Bloggess. I’ve read all her stuff. Couldn’t crack a smile. See? Cholera is no laughing matter!
My faith in mankind may have just been restored, you guys!
We have a pretty patriotic household, and we’re proud of it. My husband’s service in the US Army means that, like many of you, we feel a certain amount of reverence on holidays like Memorial Day. We are acutely aware of it’s true meaning, and although we’ll enjoy a few too many adult beverages and fire up the grill like most people will, we’re also sure to be humbled by the profound respect we feel towards those who sacrificed everything. It’s a pretty big deal.
But today as the hubs and I sat watching our normal morning news programs, I started getting just a little irritated when I began noticing a slight deficiency in quality Memorial Day segments, and a longer-than-it-should-have-been story on Kim and Kanye’s landmark nuptials.
Photo courtesy People Magazine. Shitty comment bubbles courtesy dimwhit.
No, I’m not bitter.
Yes, I love celebrating love.
No, I don’t think every news story today HAS to be patriotic in nature.
But, yes…I do get a tad nauseated by what the media sometimes chooses to emphasize, and when it comes to repeated eye rolling at the sight of most reality “stars”, I stand guilty as charged.
My annoyance prompted a quick look to see exactly what was trending for today’s searches. I mean, our morning programs seemed to believe more people were interested in Kimye (gag me already with the cute couple names) than they were in our veterans. Could it be true?!? I held my breath as I hit return on my keyboard. But to my relief, THIS is what I saw:
Thank you America. Thank you. The West/Kardashian brood didn’t even make the top 5! And while they may be in complete panic mode, my faith has been momentarily restored.
My blog is typically where I like to share my often crass sense of humor. But for today’s post, I’m trading in my snark for sincerity. In honor of this very special holiday weekend, I’m choosing to take a moment to pay tribute to the soldier who loves me. (And if you indulge me this, you will be rewarded below with some of the cutest pictures you ever did see.)
Memorial Day gives Americans the opportunity to show our appreciation to the men and women who payed the ultimate price protecting our freedom. It’s the day where we come together as a community of people to say thank you, and more importantly, we remember.
But as the wife of a retired 1SG of the US Army, it is also a day where I feel profound thanks that MY soldier survived. He was in combat, and he came home. And because he came home, I got the chance to meet him, love him and share a wonderful life with him. Memorial Day reminds me how lucky I am.
I am loved by a soldier, and for that will be eternally grateful.
To celebrate him, and to celebrate this Memorial Day weekend, I’m sharing with you some photos I took from last Father’s Day. Me and the hubs traveled to Wisconsin last year to spend time with family, and while there, we created a mini bootcamp for the tikes in our troop. And they LOVED it.
Sidenote: These are not my kiddos. I cannot take any credit for their immense cuteness. I just photographed them. Enjoy.
^Rookie catching flack.^
^Learning field navigation.^
^Checking gig lines.^
^Decidedly less scary.^
^Notice in the background, one of our soldiers attempting to go AWOL.^
Pro-Tip: When attempting to go AWOL, one can escape much faster if their pants are not around their ankles.
^The obstacle course included “live fire”.^
Be Army strong, and have a great holiday. I’ll be busy loving my soldier this weekend.