Fine, whatever the truth is I was buried in another project that I was on deadline for and I procrastinated on finishing it so I ended up in WordPress hell and just got sick of blogging and didn’t do my Fat Day post. I heaved my ass up on the scale and took the picture, I just didn’t write this piece and load up the pic. So sue me.

Also, for those of you who have not noticed, we are in the middle of converting our Wordfuck blog to renegademoms.com and that whole process bites ass. RM2 is turning into the Wordfuck Goddess and I have pretty much been her moral support during this process. She is a fuckin’ Rock Star Blog Betch and I love her.

Proof this bitch has been busy: no new toenail polish. No time so fuck off! xox

So here ya go peeps. 203.2

1 Fuckin’ POUND!

I really didn’t lose shit this week and I am kinda pissed. I recorded everything I ate and did everything I was supposed to do and this is it? Ya wanna know why? Because I am a water-retaining-PMSing-bloated-renegade bitch! I fully expect that when my period starts and I weigh-in next week I should lose at least 500 pounds. If not then you might wanna duck for cover before you read the next Fat Day Fun post. The bullets may fly!

~RM1

Apparently you DO need a degree! We're apparently denied admission so we went to FU.

Er, Godaddy sucks. Ass. Everyone says, “Use Godaddy, it’s great! And it’s cheap too.” So once again, you get what you pay for. Fuck you Godaddy and your retarded ass shit. Yeah, sometimes we’re retarded and lame but we’re not stoopid. Why the fuck does it have to be so hard to switch over from WordPress.com and how is it that supposedly normal, regular brained people can do it in five minutes? We’ve never felt so incompetent. (hi James)(and no Lisa, I’m not helping you, this is bullshit) 

If you feel like you don’t know what’s going on, join the club. This is how we’ve spent the last 48 hours, beating our heads against the Godaddy brick-dick. Now if the site were GoMommy, we’d just have to click a button and be done and be at the spa already. Since we’re your GoMommy, we’ll let you in on what’s going on here and not make you semi-figure it out on your own or scan the internet for clues or bug your IT friends in the middle of the night. 

We are growing up and converting. As soon as we figure this shit out, you’ll be able to go directly to RenegadeMoms.com and that’s fucking cool. (warning, still in stoopid mode) 
Fuck that .wordpress/yourmomsabitch/anybloghere/youfucktard.com shit. Now it’s just us, RenegadeMoms.com, so tell your friends. Bitch. 

Please bear with us as we stumble through this lame process. We’re sure to fuck it up.

GofuckyourselfDaddy.com

~ The Pissed Off Renegades

It looks like Andy got his wish.

Poor Green.  He has become the target of 6 year old girl love.  Last year he was the target of Kindergarten girl love and at one point he actually had a couple of girls fighting over him.  This year it has morphed from love to stalking and he is NOT pleased. Everyday this is what he says when I pick him up from school:

RM1: Hey Green, how was your day?

Green: Stupid! These girls won’t leave me alone and they keep trying to hold my hand! They say the LOVE me and they [the girls] want me to be their boyfriend! I mean I am a boy and I am their friend but the rest is just gross!

What annoys me the most is that he is not exaggerating.  I have been to his school and these little girls are not kidding around.  I had one little girl last week ask me if I was Green’s mom, when I said yes she informed me that she is going to be his girlfriend.  Excuse me? You are six.

I am not sure what the hell is going on but since when do First Graders have romantic relationships? Why do they even want to?  When I was six boys were gross, girls had cooties and we spent our days until about 5th Grade avoiding each other like the plague.  When I was a kid and we had to partner up, all the girls were partners and all the boys were partners and if there was one girl and one boy left over then they would be subject to recess humiliation.  That has been the way of the schoolyard for generations.  Now all of the sudden these girls are all fighting over who gets to be my kid’s partner so they can hold his hand? I don’t think so.

The newest Disney star!

So I cannot believe I am saying this and becoming one of those parents who blame shit on TV but here it goes: I blame those stupid Disney and Nickelodeon pre-teen angst crap TV and the idiot parents who let their 6 year old girls watch it.  I have seen some of these shows and all I can say is WTF?  First of all the girls are all half naked wearing more make-up than a San Francisco drag queen on a Saturday night. All they do on these shows is kiss, try to kiss, talk about kissing and fight over boyfriends. My beef with it is that actual teenagers don’t watch this shit; that is not their demographic.  It is 6-11 year old girls that it is marketed to and that is sickening.  

These girls now think that elementary school is all about having boyfriends and holding hands and kissing and fighting over boys and I wonder as a woman is this what we have reduced our girls to?  The feminist in me wants to run down to the Disney studios and slap them upside the head for teaching our girls to be whiney, insecure boy obsessed maniacs by the ripe old age of 6.  Is there some reason that it is now not cool to let your kid be a kid? Since when are we all fast tracking our kids into puberty?

So let me give the moms of little girls out there some unsolicited advice: keep your little girls being little girls as long as possible. Disconnect the cable and Netflix Little House on the Prairie for them. I have a teenage girl and I can tell you I would give anything to have her be a little girl again; she liked me then and she was nice. Trust me when I tell you that teenage girldom is nothing to rush towards, if I could skip it I would!  Truthfully Teenage Girldom is a living hell and I will be the first to say that there is nothing fun about it. 

Our kids are only kids for a little while and they  have the rest of their lives to be adults.  I look at my kids and I have only this small window of time with them while they are little and then it’s gone. I am in no hurry.  Princess is getting ready to fly out of my nest and the last thing I need is to have my little Green telling me about who is trying to be his girlfriend this week.  

So this morning I did his hair and I told him that his hair product was “girl repellent” and he told me to put extra in.  I love him.

~RM1

DIE ALREADY!

I hate this damn toy.  I really do.

 I think that people who give your kids annoying loud toys that never shut up are really people who hate you.  It is a some sort of passive aggressive revenge.  To be honest in my house I have a laundry list of annoying toys which, according to my theory, means that most of the people in my kids lives hate me. 

I despise this stupid Hummer car the most though.  I think of all the toys that require batteries this one is the most annoying and obnoxious. Additionally, it is the most energy efficient which is ironic since it is a Hummer; this son of a bitch will not DIE.   The batteries seem to last forever and worse yet they are under a plate that has a philips head screw in it and of course in this house the philip head screwdriver is somewhere with the tape, scissors and glue sticks.  It also does not have an OFF switch.  Whoever gave my kid this toy REALLY REALLY hates me.

Why have you forsaken me?

The feeling is mutual bitch.  

In fact if I could remember who gave us this device of torture I would return the fucking favor. Sadly, this is a toy that was given to Green once upon a time way back when and Wylde has since resurrected it.  Yes, the batteries still work and there is no Hummer death in sight. For three days now I have had to listen to annoying guitar music followed up with an engine revving and then “HUMMER H2 READY SET GO!!!” over and over and over and over….It has survived  the sandbox, rocks, juice and even the bathtub a few times.  It just won’t die.

There is no volume control and of course it is set to FULL BLAST and currently it is Wylde’s favorite damn toy.  He squeals with delight over it and lets it chase him and he chases it and I want to jump off the nearest bridge.  He also is super into buttons right now and presses the music, talk and engine buttons until it pushes me to the brink of insanity. 

So here is my quandary:  make it disappear and be a mean mom OR hope that someday the batteries in this bitch die (which they NEVER will!) and just suffer.

Or I could just run and bash either the Hummer or my head in with a rock.

~RM1

Once upon a time in Real Life there was a Renegade Mom, her name was RM1 and she was the stinkiest most worn down mom in the land.  She had lost her mind and had given birth twice in less than two years which resulted in showers becoming a luxury, regular meals a thing of the past and the word sleep to become part of an ancient language no longer spoken.  

Despite RM1′s mental challenges and the chaos that was called her life, she still managed to reside in Real Life.  The people of Real Life even decided that because she so embodied the spirit of Real Life she should be the Queen (okay fine she wasn’t…I made that part up).

Because she was crazy,  RM1 thought that if she used cloth diapers on her babies she would save some Real Life money and maybe earn some Real Life Environmental Good Karma.  It seemed like a win-win situation until that fateful day…the day when the pump went out in her Real Life used washing machine.

There she was this Renegade Mom, standing knee deep in shit, literally.  She had not washed the shitty diapers in three days and had just put them in the washing machine for their first wash cycle.  There they were rotating back and forth creating Shit Soup and RM1 was pleased. Suddenly there was a groan and then a moan and then a snap and then silence.  Silence that was so deafening all she could do was stare in disbelief.  The washer had broken while full of shit soup.  To make matters worse the checking account at Real Life Exchange was also deafeningly silent. 

FUCK.

There is a saying in Real Life that goes something like this: Shit Happens.  Literally. Furthermore, when Shit Happens you have only one choice: deal with it.  So for two weeks RM1 made the best of it.  She lugged heavy wet clothes back and forth from her mother’s house, the laundry mat and across the street.  She ended up having to empty the shitty washing machine by hand with a bucket (yum!) and wait not for a repair person but for the payday that could bring a new pump for Renegade Dad to install himself.  

The moral of this story is that in Real Life you learn to develop an appreciation for things that are luxuries. Things that most people in the world do not have and could really use.  When faced with shit you can make lemonade. 

The End.

Okay not really the end.  Thought you were gettin’ off this Pinch easy didn’t ya?  Not so fast there….

So Dooce’s fancy fuckin washer broke…Big Effen’ Deal.  She makes $40k a month sitting on her ass typing drama and somehow a broken washer warrants days of insane blog posts and Twitteritis? If you make that much money two things: 

1.) You don’t seriously have a washing machine “fund”

2.) You just go buy a new one and donate the one that sucks to someone who can fix it and write it off on your taxes.

I survived Dooce. Can I retire now?I mean yeah it's kind of annoying to get a lemon but you don't need to be a self-righteous bitch and use your fancy shmancy blog to try and take down Maytag and get a repair guy canned in a recession.

Dooce you make $40k a month, your washing machine cost you $1300 which is 3.25% of your monthly income and you really are going to make the situation THAT dramatic? So you had some onesies with some newborn poop on them?  I have poop on onesies every day times two and it really isn’t that big of a deal.  Like you, I have a laundry room and they go out there. Situation taken care of.  It isn’t like a pile of actual human shit is sitting there waiting to be eaten by your dog (oh wait that’s my house).

I also leak milk on my shirts every day and I am not sure what exactly is coming out of your boobs, but my milk-shirts don’t stink.  Okay wait let me clarify, they don’t stink like sour milk.  They do stink like sweaty, tired mom who hasn’t showered yet and can’t find the deodorant.  If your boobmilk really smells that bad you may want to look into that; it may be the Prozac. 

The fact is that Dooce, you do not live in Real Life.  You live in this little imaginary storybook world where every little bump in your diamond studded road is a major crisis.  You live your life as if it looms somewhere on the map between an ABC After-School Special and a Lifetime movie.  

The truth is that it was a fucking washing machine.  I will haul wet laundry to and from the laundry mat any day of the week and I am grateful to be able to do it.  I am happy to have the quarters and I am glad I am not scrubbing shit off of rags in a river.  If you want to get a good sense of what really doing laundry is like, cruise on over to Real Life land where there are no assistants and sometimes there is no plumbing.

We don’t feel sorry for you.  Your “rant” has fallen on deaf ears and if my ass could afford it, I would go buy a fucking Maytag and then call Maytag Corporate offices just to say “I bought this shit because Heather B. Armstrong is a spoiled bitch with a distorted sense of entitlement.”

Anyone got a match?

Then I would light a shitty diaper on fire, put it on your doorstep and doorbell ditch you.

~RM1

To give you an idea...

I’m standing there in one of those sexy shirts where it all hangs out (which I actually kept it as a consolation prize because I knew the Daddy-O would love it)(and truthfully, so did I) with my boob smashed flatter than I ever thought possible. The woman tech person, who I already hate because I swear she enjoyed tightening those clamps, goes behind her protective screen to push a button and before I can even wonder “why the plastic shield?”  I suddenly see smoke coming from the machine. I ask her if that was normal and instead of answering me, she freaks out and runs out the door calling for help. A full minute later, which is a lot longer than a regular minute when you’re trapped in a titty torture device, a janitor dude walks into the room. Untrained to use a modern medical mammogram machine (oh how I love alliteration!), I’m completely unable to free myself and am standing there half naked, trapped by a boob, in a machine that is on FIRE. And now a strange man is standing there staring at me in disbelief. I honestly don’t know who was more shocked, horrified or embarrassed, him or myself. 

The janitor- “Uhhhhh…”

Me- “Uhhhhh…”

The janitor- “Ummmm…”

Me- “Yeah…”

The janitor- “Sooooo…”

Me- “Ummmm…”

I wish I were a cartoonist and I could finish this story with pictures of the smoking machine.... Anyone?

THEN the nurse tech whatever bitch finally comes back to relieve me while the semi-recovered janitor stands staring at us with his mouth hanging open, and all I can think to do is smile and say “it must be my astounding breasts!” I think he peed his pants laughing. So I got dressed, got his number and left. 

Okay I didn’t get his number, but all of this really happened to me and that is why I haven’t had a mammogram since. 

The End

~RM2

Check it out right here: Confessions of a Renegade Mom Weight Loss Club Group (yep, that’s what it’s called. Silly, right?).

If you’re already a member, please join the group. If you’re not a member yet, check it out. It’s fun, free, very helpful and easy to use. And no, we’re not getting paid to do this. We do it because we love it and we believe in it. So there.

~RM2

I feel as though Wylde and Green are being cheated.  What if they end up being illiterate?  Has PBS even  thought about THAT?  Ok fine I’m being dramatic.  I will teach my kids to read.  The thing is Levar reads stories way better than I do. I don’t like to act them out and make funny voices.  I also don’t have short clips to show illustrating the subject at hand.  The truth is I am just not as entertaining at Levar Burton is.

How the hell does an educational show that won a Peabody award and SIX Emmy’s get canceled?  How is it that I have had to sit through countless PBS pledge drives only to have Reading Rainbow canceled? I am sorry but I can think of a TON of boring PBS shows that should have been tanked instead of RR. Why cancel a kid’s show? I could see if Levar had enough reading to all our brats and wanted to go do something else but that is not what happened.  They gave him and our kids the axe.  I guess the word on the street (or at least on Wikipedia Ave.) is that Levar will be doing some webisodes of a Reading Rainbowish kinda deal but for grown ups and I’m not so sure I really am that into that idea because it won’t involve me being able to shave my legs.  I am grateful for Netflix however.  Reading Rainbow will live forever via Netflix.  If you don’t have an account I suggest you run right on over there today and get one so your kid doesn’t end up illiterate and you don’t end up a hairy beast.

RIP Reading Rainbow.

~RM1

In keeping with our idea of offering you, our fabulous readers, cheap and easy meals for days when you’re too broke or too tired to cook, I’m sharing with you what I had for dinner last night. 

Its called a Bowl of Cereal. Try it sometime.

~RM2

Day One: He picked all the green beans in the garden, bagged them up in little sandwich bags and taped little $5.00 price tags he made onto each one. Then he stood in the front yard in my dress yelling, “Green beans for sale!” And he made a bunch of money that day.

Day Two: He took the rest of the green beans and shelled them before bagging and pricing and stood out in the front yard in fairy wings yelling, “Seeds for sale!” And he made a bunch of money that day.

Day Three: He took corn husks from the compost pile, soaked them in water, arranged them somehow and tied with various string, ribbon and rubber bands. Then he placed them in his wheel-less red wheelbarrow and stood in the front yard wearing my shoes and a nightgown yelling, “Decorations for sale!” And he made a bunch of money that day.

Day Four: Using recycled copy paper, scotch-tape and colored markers, he made random monthly calendar pages and stood in the front yard waving them around in my other shoes yelling, “Calendars for sale!” And he made a little bit of money that day. The neighbors are getting sick of him and as Green across the street told him, “We’re broke. We can’t buy anything right now.”

Day Five: After organizing his closet and dresser with his new school clothes, he had a pile of old clothes he didn’t want anymore. Instead of giving them to me to donate to the local thrift shop as usual, he put them on hangers and hung them on the fence in the front yard and in his brand new pink sparkly shirt yelled, “Boy clothes for sale!” Four days later, they’re still out there. 

Days Six, Seven, Eight, Nine and Ten: He counted and re-counted his money, much to the irritation of his Daddy-O. His mother, on the other hand, is VERY proud of him.

~RM2