How To React To Things On The Internet

Some of you may be brand new to this newfangled internet fad that's been sweeping the nations. I don't have a wagon, but I welcome you. 

And since I've been at this for a while (Internet years are like dog years except each year is actually equivalent to 4,729 years. Not 7. And your boobs sag way faster here.), I figured I'd give all you noobs a quick and handy guide on how to react to the things you find on the internet.

1. The Whoa


Finally. A Solution.

After browsing the internet endlessly for a solution to my everyday wardrobe dilemma I've finally found it. There's no excuse for me not to change out of my sweatpants now, knowing that I don't have to choose between shorts or a skirt. 

Suck on THAT, skorts of the 90s! 

Finally. A Solution. via @HaHasforHooHas

{photo source}

Totally screams summer BBQ, right?

How NOT to Use Instagram

How Not to Use Instagram via @hahasforhoohas

Once upon a time, there was a blogger princess who had hemorrhoids.

Her hemorrhoids grew and grew, then grew some more, and finally she decided that she needed to see them so that she could assess whether a doctor’s visit was appropriate. So she bent over and bent over, and tried to bend over again. But try as she might, she was unable to see her hemorrhoids in the mirror.

Teaching Technology to Our Parents - a Labor of Love

Let’s first start by saying that I don’t have the best track record when teaching my parents technology. It starts off alright, but after several minutes of questions I don’t really understand because of how deeply they don’t understand, things start to get tense. Successful, intelligent people don’t like to feel dumb over a stupid device, especially by their children, and I learned that lesson the hard way.

It all started during the AOL dial-up days, when I signed into my AOL account while away my freshman year at college. Before the horrific screeching sounds of logging on ended, Mom was already calling me on my very large (but stylish, thank you) cell phone.

“I can’t sign in to our AOL because it says you’re in it. I really don’t like you taking up our landline while you’re at college, Anna.” 

“Uh, first off - considering you’re on your landline and I’m in Lincoln, I think it’s safe to say I’m not.”

Bad move. Sarcasm + Parents + Embarrassing Feelings = BIG TROUBLE. I got an earful, so much so I had to block it from my memory.

Things didn’t get much better over the years as technology started to take off like the Road Runner, leaving my parents in it’s dusty, lonely trail.

“Just drag it on to your desktop” wasn’t sufficient instruction, but many times it was all the instruction I had.

“Double click it” was met with “Nothing is happening. Oh here we go - oh wait, nope, it’s gone.”

“Is it in your documents folder?” is met with, “What documents folder?”

That Time My Husband Was Pregnant & Had Herpes

They say to never trust a man in a kitchen. Or at least I think they said that up until the turn of the century or something like that. I'm not entirely sure. History was never my strong suit.

I learned not to trust my husband in the kitchen and WebMD in the same night...

#HOOMANITY = You + HooHas + Cards Against Humanity + Fanfreakingtastic

HooHas Against Humanity via @hahasforhoohas


Another Birthday, Another Batch of Brain Fart

My birthday was this week, and things are sagging—my body AND brain. 

You’d think our brains would improve since they get fuller with time. Not so. Time has sabotaged my ability to clearly communicate without fumbling for the names of my children and/or everyday objects. 

“Bren... Chri....MICHAEL!! Pick up that (pointing) uh... um... AARGH... soccer ball or I will steal your uh... (pointing) your... phone and tweet, “Just finished Say Yes to the Dress. #RandyROCKS.” 

Beets Do Not Always Mean Vegetable: A French Vocabulary Lesson

Living in France for over three years, I am still constantly learning new things. There seems to be a never-ending supply of experiences where I truly make a complete ass out of myself, as I attempt to absorb the French culture and master their difficult language. As time has passed, I admit that speaking has become close to second nature but I can’t say that this has always been the case. I’ll never forget my first Christmas in France. While I had a decent grasp of the language, I could hardly pride myself on being a fluent speaker. To give you an idea, I’d say that I had the skills of a five year old - maybe six, depending on whom you asked. That Christmas, I had been invited to my boyfriend’s family’s home to celebrate the grand European tradition of Christmas Eve. Neither my boyfriend nor his family spoke English, so with my weak French skills, I did my very best to communicate with some intelligence. I shudder to think what I really sounded like.

The Room That Smelled Like A Butt: A Mystery

The other day I tweeted that my son's room smelled like butt. I began looking for the source that day.

Friends suggested looking in the hamper. Nothing unsavory there.

I looked under all the stuffed animals on the floor. No rotting food being hoarded away.

I had a peek under his bed. Not a trace of nastiness...

A Failed Cover Up

I grew up with only sisters and that was cool. Especially when we all hit puberty and it was time to have The Talk about that special time of the month when we'd be "riding the crimson wave" or "Aunt Flo was coming to visit". 

Can we all agree that what we have nicknamed our periods is way more obnoxious than just saying we're on our period?

I remember thinking to myself that there was no way, ever, in the entire world, that I was going to have a child of the female persuasion because of the whole, completely mortified, thing about what I was supposed to do with that crotch cork. I was also very good at biology and anatomy and how it's completely not up to you to decide the gender of your baby, no matter how embarrassed you are as a pre-teen girl learning about tampons. 

I guess it's mind over matter because...

Expectation vs. Reality: 5 Ambitious Summer Breakdowns

What you think it'll be like to wake up late every morning:


What it's really like when the kids still wake up at 6am:


Cussing At The Kids

I can't cuss.

Like for reals-ies.

I tried in college, and sounded like an idiot

Cussing At The Kids via @hahasforhoohas

I really can't stand cursing in general...

Acceptance Speech for Sports Mom of the Year

Ladies and Gentlemen, coaches, trainers, orthopedists, x-ray technicians, the guys who created the Maps app on my phone, and my therapist, Kendall Jackson: I humbly thank you for this honor. 

Thank you for acknowledging my efforts to keep this soccer team at an elite level. Having our eight-year-old girls play against thirteen-year-olds is the best way to prevail in this wonderful sport, as long as they don’t give in to namby-pamby excuses like “strained” hamstrings and torn ACL’s and such. Remember excuses are like sweaty shin guards—everybody’s got ‘em and they all stink. 

I’ve always encouraged Coach Nigel to enter us in tournaments...

3-Day Weekend Almost Over: The 4 Stages to Acceptance

Stage One: Denial


source: gif-reactions

source: reactiongifs

Have Rotten Fruit. Will Travel.

Take my advice. If your washing machine breaks down pre-spin cycle and you're forced to scoop out your sopping-wet clothes and schlep a basket of them along with your kid to your mother's house to finish the load, thus creating a dirty swamp odor in your trunk liner from the wet laundry that has soaked into it, RESIST ALL URGE to mask the horrific smell with an Orange Creme-scented car deodorizer.

The Moth Hunter

I am programmed to loathe bugs entirely. The flying kind, even more so. The flying wannabe, beautiful butterfly kind, the most.

We entertained friends for dinner last night and when 9pm rolled around and every. last. one. of us was shoving toothpicks into our eyelids, because, “When the hell did we get sooooooo oooooooold?!”, it was time to bid our guests a sweet farewell.

Dead bolt, undone. Door, unlocked. Hugs, distributed. Knucks, pounded. Then, right then, it happened…

The Mother Hunter via @hahasforhoohas

What appeared to be something Bastian Balthazar Bux would be clinging to for dear life in 1984...

It Wasn't Me

This post was originally published on Tales from Murphyland.

It happened again today.

It’s like one of those recurring dreams except that it happens when I am awake and I have to suffer grave embarrassment. You know the story, you enter a public restroom and it is immediately obvious that someone has been there before you and left a smelly deposit only to disappear into the ether unidentified.

It was after lunch at school when I decided to hit the bathroom so I could start the afternoon...

Top 5 Things Mothers REALLY Do Better Than Fathers

The other day we read a post on Babble.com titled Top 10 Things Mothers Do Better Than Fathers.  

Bungee Cord Underwear: A Cautionary Tale

People say high school is the place where you make your best friends, and your best memories. For me, high school was just one embarrassing moment after another, and an experience I looked forward to ending (little did I know the embarrassment doesn't really end with high school, that was only the beginning of my long career of humiliation).

My high school has a program for students interested in pursuing technical careers, the Science and Technology Academy. Those enrolled take special courses for the four years of high school (instead of the typical home economics, or geography, etc.) such as drafting, engineering, robotics, and material science. For me and the inner nerd that secretly guides all my choices in life (the same inner nerd who thought learning calligraphy to imitate the Lord of the Rings' elvish language was cool, and who owns at least four Star Wars shirts) had one thought: No more P.E.? Build my own robot? Yes, please.

Because the program was technical in nature, it drew a male dominated group of students. And by male dominated, I mean I was the only girl, out of about 25 students. For four years. Which was fine with me, especially because I had finally found friends with whom I could hold more than a 30 second conversation about Star Trek, and how terrible DS9 is compared to TOS and TNG. So life was pretty great, until some "girl issues" arose. For example, once I got a bloody nose in the middle of class, and one the guys yelled (not kidding, YELLED) "She has her period!" Really? Out my nose? Maybe he needed to take a health or anatomy class, instead of engineering. However, my high school career went relatively smoothly. Until the inevitable public humiliation occurred.

Bungee Cord Underwear: A Cautionary Tale via @hahasforhoohas


Your Dating Profile Has Been Viewed 2861 Times

This was an email I recently received from one of the forty five online dating sites I subscribe to: “Your dating profile has been viewed 2861 times.” Seriously now, this was supposed to make me feel good??? Knowing that out of 2861 men who looked at my profile, only two found me reasonably attractive enough to “wink”? Knowing that I was an obvious disappointment to the other 2859 viewers? It’s no wonder that my confidence is at an all time low.