Tag: funny

I Will Scare the Crap Out of Your Children For Only $2 Bucks an Hour.

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Welcome to “Babysitting 101” with Erin. We’ll start with what not to do (since, as with most things, that’s my strong suit).

When I was 12, I babysat a lot. We lived in a vacation town and what vacationing parents aren’t dying to get away from their children?

One dark and stormy night (or one warm June evening) I went to babysit for a very nice couple (at their vacation cabin in the woods) who had an 8-year-old girl and a 10-year-old boy…and they each had a friend with them. So, do the math…I’ll wait. Yes. That’s four kids. Now – it wasn’t the number of kids so much as the balance of power thing…cause I was only a couple of years older than the boys which didn’t instill me with a tremendous amount of authority.

The evening started out fine…we played with those toys that were big cats that turned into robots Transformer style? (Totally aside the point – but they were awesome.) An hour or so in, things started to unravel and my little monsters realized they did not actually have to listen to me. At all. This realization degraded into the lot of them running out the front door into the woods…forcing me to find a flashlight and pursue the little bastards. Once I finally wrangled them back into the house, I was at my wit’s end…and I was only 12…my wit wasn’t very long to begin with.

So I told them a little story. (*Note: I do not condone this – but it was wildly effective and slightly hilarious in retrospect.) Let me preface this by saying, I am quite the actress…especially when pushed to desperation. I told them that I was a werewolf and had (regrettably) eaten the last children I babysat for. I described it something like this:

Werewolf Babysitter

Now, I know what you’re thinking…no way they’d fall for it, right? You underestimate me, my friend. I cried…actually cried…while telling them the story about how I lost my temper and turned into a werewolf…and awoke in the aftermath, covered in adolescent blood with mutilated corpses in the house. Well, within 5 minutes, I had four exceptionally obedient children in bed, none of them speaking above a whisper. I still remember the boy asking, “how are you feeling now? Do you think you’ll turn?” And me answering, somberly, “no…I’m feeling much calmer. I think it’ll be okay.”

I did come clean to the mom when she was driving me home that night. She was surprised but more amused than angry. And they did ask me to babysit again (unfortunately, after assuring the children that I was not a lycanthrope so that card could only be played once). And so began my lifelong love of terrorizing children.

TBT, FBF, WBW, WTF.

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Okay. Think of this as an intervention. Stop the madness, people.

Remember when someone came up with “Throw Back Thursday?” And everyone thought, “How fun! I want to post old pictures, too!” And all the little soldiers fell in line and started posting old pictures every Thursday.

Now this shit is just getting out of hand. Now we have “Flashback Friday” and “Way Back Wednesday,” too. WE GET IT. You like posting old pictures of yourself! I don’t blame you. I was younger, skinnier and apparently having more fun in the past as well, but that doesn’t justify inventing stupid names for every day of the week! (Whoever started “Man Crush Monday,” “Woman Crush Wednesday” and “Selfie Sunday” deserve a public flogging. Also, we should bring back public floggings. And “Selfie Sunday?” Really? I have a 20-year-old daughter. EVERY day is “selfie” day. Which is why I nicknamed my daughter Vanity Smurf.)

Vanity Smurf

Here’s a thought. If you run across an old picture you are certain will delight the Facebook/Twitter/Instagram masses…post it! <GASP!> How can I possibly post an old picture if it isn’t a Wednesday, Thursday or Friday??? Figure it out, Rebel. Time to forge your own way in the world.

Welcome to “This Shit Has To Stop Thursday.”

Home Improvement Blows.

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So, we are trying to sell our house. This translates to “let’s do every little home improvement project we wanted to do for the last 10 years but were too lazy to do and continually procrastinated on so that we can turn around and sell our house and never enjoy all the freaking work we just put into it.” Or something like that. It also loosely translates to “the house was in fine shape until we put the damn thing on the market and now everything is falling apart.”

Case in point: paint. So, I may have sort of started painting half the house about eight years ago…and gotten bored part way through and stopped. And then I went to law school and did some other stuff that more legitimately justified my unfinished painting project for eight years running. Okay, so finish it, Stupid. Seems simple enough…but…I can’t remember the names of the paint colors from eight years ago and leftovers are nowhere to be found. So last weekend involved going to Kelly Moore and looking through 10-year-old paint swatches trying to remember if my dining room was Bohemian or Greystone. Because there are 87 goddamn shades of beige. SO fun. I finally remembered the dining room colors, but it wasn’t happening with the master bath so I just repainted that WHOLE thing back to its previous color. Yay!

Then, a few days ago, we awake at 6:30am to hear our daughter freaking out about ants. We go into her room and this is what we find:

Ant Problem

Okay. Well not exactly. Because my daughter is 15 and doesn’t really dress like that. Anyway, point being…we haven’t had a problem with ants in the house in YEARS. Put the son of a bitch on the market and voila – ants. So after 45 minutes with the vacuum and what became the “ant holocaust” – no more ants. You’re going to have to do better than that, House!

Then I’m in the service porch and I notice a missing piece of tile – a corner piece. Not chipped, not cracked, gone. My house is 27 years old! I’m going to go out on a limb and say I’m not gonna be able to find a piece of matching tile! Does ANYONE know what happened to it? Of course not. No idea. Noticed it missing…but didn’t think to mention it. This is a 4″ x 1″ piece of ceramic tile. I firmly believe that if you knocked it off, you would have heard it fall. But noooooo…it was the leprechauns, apparently. Then I counted to 10 so that I wouldn’t grab the good vodka from liquor cabinet and run away from home.

Oh – and for some insane reason, when my 15-year-old was little, we didn’t stop her from sticking stickers on her bedroom door. I can’t explain it. I guess it was cute for a while. Well, she’s added over the last 10 years to the tune of about 500 stickers. you really could barely see the door through them. Yes, it would have been easier to just buy and paint a new door, but I was feeling particularly cheap last weekend so me and my OCD spent 3 hours peeling stickers off her bedroom door. She helped. I would like to thank Hello Kitty for making stickers that come off in one piece and leave no tacky residue behind. I would like to tell Zoo Books to go straight to Hell because their stickers are made with some kind of satanic glue that only a significant amount of paint thinner could cope with.

Sigh. Anyway, this is all still a work in progress. I won’t go into the back-breaking day we spent weeding and covering half the yard in bark. Next weekend I get to go to Home Depot like I’m on some shitty scavenger hunt looking for a single piece of archaic tile. Labor Day – shmaber day. I’m going to be working on the fucking house.

And how many people have come to see our beautiful home that is now looking the best it has in a decade??? TWO. In three weeks. TWO showings. And this, Kids, is why mommy drinks.

The Fairy Tale Law Firm – Disinheritance Bites.

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the fairy tale law firm

Once upon a time, the king of WhyDidMyKidsTurnOutToBeSuchAssholes (I suck at subtlety) had grown old and ill. He spent his days in his chamber alone, save for his nursemaid and his regular visits from his faithful squire. He knew that his son, Prince ThoughtlessPrick spent his days cavorting through the villages, gambling and seducing young maidens, while his daughter, Princess WorseThanAKardashian pursued her own vain and selfish pastimes.

The king was exceedingly wealthy, possessing more gold than any other king, largely because he had each one of his prized hunting dogs entirely encased in 24 karat gold after their death. (But Erin, you can’t dip a dead dog in gold!! It won’t work! Really? We’re trying to poke logic holes in this story?? Okay, admittedly I only bring this up because I made the mistake of saying to my husband last night, while watching Sharknado 2, “please! How are the sharks still alive if they are out of the water? They can’t breathe!” To which Steve, of course, replied, “are you really trying to poke holes in the plot of Sharknado 2?” Touche, Steve.)

Where was I? Oh, right, dying dad, shithead kids.

Tired of his children’s neglect and disrespect, the king summoned his barrister.

“Lady Barrister, I wish to change my last will and testament. It is my wish that my children receive none of my wealth. Instead, I wish all of my golden dogs to go to my loyal squire, ActuallyGaveTwoShitsAboutMe.”

“My Lord, are you certain that is your wish?” the barrister asked.

“I am. Even as I lie here dying, they care only for themselves. I only see them when they deplete their finances and come merely to insist I give them more coin. They deserve nothing and are unwilling to make their own way in the world. ActuallyGaveTwoShitsAboutMe has been a devoted friend, never asking anything in return.”

Satisfied by the king’s conviction, the barrister amended his last will and testament.

The king passed away within the fortnight (which, I guess, is like two weeks).

Prince ThoughtlessPrick and Princess WorseThanAKardashian immediately went to the castle following their father’s funeral in search of the gold dead dogs but were told by the guards that they had been bequeathed to the squire and that they were to receive nothing.

Enraged, the prince and princess engaged their own barrister to protest the change to their father’s will. And this barrister was a real dick.

On their behalf, Barrister I’mACompleteMoronButDon’tKnowIt wrote to the king’s barrister, threatening to bring the matter before the magistrate, claiming that the king was clearly mad and feeble-minded and only changed his will through the squire’s evil enticement. (i.e. lacked competence to execute the modification to estate documents and the squire exerted undue influence sufficient to overpower the will of the testator by exploiting his close, personal relationship with the king. Such bullshit.)

The king’s barrister responded, informing Barrister I’mACompleteMoronButDon’tKnowIt that the king’s nursemaid, who saw him daily, would attest to his sound mind, as would the knights she asked to be present to witness the king’s execution of the amended will. And that the squire knew nothing of the king’s intent to alter his bequest and was not present when the amendment was created, which Barrister I’mACompleteMoronButDon’tKnowIt should know is needed because to prove undue influence you have to show more than a close personal relationship giving one person influence over another – you have to show that the influence was brought to bear on the actual testamentary act and that the influencer overpowered the free will of the testator, dick! (The king’s barrister of course worded it with dignified professionalism and didn’t call him a dick. In the letter.)

Alas, the king’s awful children and Barrister I’mACompleteMoronButDon’tKnowIt insisted on bringing the entire matter before a magistrate. After much testimony from all subjects in the kingdom having personal knowledge of the matter, the honorable magistrate ruled that the amendment was valid and that the asshole children were entitled to nothing because YOU SHOULD BE ABLE TO LEAVE YOUR SHIT TO WHOEVER YOU EFFING WANT WITHOUT DICKHEADS SAYING YOU WERE CRAZY AFTER YOU’RE DEAD IN AN EFFORT TO GET YOUR MONEY!! (Sorry. I’m done.)

Then the magistrate threw the prince and princess in jail for being greedy, money-grubbing, evil bastards and disbarred Barrister I’mACompleteMoronButDon’tKnowIt for being a moron (because this is my damn fairy tale and I say that’s how it ends).

THE END

The Fairy Tale Law Firm (or The Not Even Remotely True Stories of How I Spent My Day).

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the fairy tale law firm

So my dentist asked me yesterday to tell him about some cases I was working on…just whatever I could say without giving away too much. It was trickier than I thought because I’ve become so sickeningly cautious. My solution? I’m going to make shit up. Here is my very first installment of “The Fairy Tale Law Firm.” (Don’t steal that. Seriously. I’ll find you.)

Once upon a time, there was a glorious Kingdom called Can’tWeAllJustGetAlong. The beloved queen who ruled the land arose early one morning to the sound of birds singing. She went down to the courtyard and greeted her subjects. Then she climbed onto her gleaming white horse to go for a ride along the countryside. The drawbridge was lowered and the queen rode across it.

Once outside of the castle, the queen was approached by the king of the neighboring kingdom, We’reAllAssholes. The queen sighed. She dreaded interactions with the nasty little king, but she smiled kindly anyway.

“Queen EvenNicerThanJenniferAniston! Every time thouest lower thy drawbridge, it rests upon part of my kingdom! If thouest persist in opening thy drawbridge onto my land, I shall have my squires hack it to pieces!”

The queen was quite distraught and called for her barrister. “Lady Barrister, King MyMotherDidn’tHugMeEnough hast threatened to destroy our drawbridge, claiming that it lowers onto his kingdom. Why would he say such a thing?”

“Because he is a dick, Milady. But have no fear. We shall summon a squire who is wise in matters of land boundaries (and actually understands all that metes and bounds bullshit in property descriptions).”

The wise squire appeared and, after much investigation, reported to the queen that her drawbridge did not encroach on King MyMotherDidn’tHugMeEnough’s kingdom, but that his drawbridge actually lowered onto land within the boundary of Can’tWeAllJustGetAlong. (Karma’s a bitch, right?)

Queen EvenNicerThanJenniferAniston informed the king of the squire’s findings.

After much shouting, tantrum-throwing and name-calling, King MyMotherDidn’tHugMeEnough said, “it matters naught! My drawbridge has lowered onto that spot for 100 years! No one can make me move it!”

“But I would be within my rights to remove any portion which encroaches upon my kingdom, is that not true, Lady Barrister?”

“Aye, Milady.” (Note: this is a fairy tale. Generally all forms of self-help are discouraged by law enforcement and courts of law. Consult an attorney before cutting up your neighbor’s drawbridge.)

The queen then said to the king, “however, Milord, I have no intention of stooping to such measures and, if you and your subjects can try to stop being such assholes, I will consent to your drawbridge encroaching on our land.”
The king’s face turned red, he stomped his feet and said, “never! We’ll never stop being assholes!”

The queen sighed, smiled and said, “don’t piss me off or I’ll sue your ass.”

THE END

Confessions of a Daddy’s Girl.

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erin and dad-sonora

Hi. My name is Erin and I’m a Daddy’s Girl. Hi, Erin.

Seriously, though. Look at those pants. He must be cool if he was rocking those striped pants back in the ’70’s (I couldn’t really compete in that Little-House-on-the-Prairie dress they had me in).

Bottom line, that look of delight I’m giving him? The way I’m hanging on his arm? Little has changed in the last 35 years. I’m old enough to know now that no one is perfect, but he does a damn-fine job impersonating it so that I have trouble telling the difference.

My father gave me away twice. The first time is where he earned some of his super-hero status, cause, let’s be real, it was a shit-show. But, he did it anyway because I couldn’t be dissuaded (tragically – See item no. 1).  The second time around? Everyone knew I’d hit the lottery so, sorry Pop, no points for showing up on this day. (Note: there is no photographic evidence from said “shit show” because all photos were mysteriously burned and stuffed into a voodoo doll made into a certain person’s likeness. This pic is from my second wedding…the one that did not take place at The Little White Chapel on the Vegas strip and that was not widely regarded as “some of the stupidest shit you’ve ever pulled.”)

erin's wedding-down the isle

So, what is it that causes this daddy’s-girl-itis? Is it that he turned 70 last year and still races cars? Or that I can call him any time with a loaded question like, “so what should I do if the garage door is doing this?” or “why would the washing machine be making that sound?” and his response is, inevitably, “I’ll be over in 20 minutes”? Or that my favorite fatherly advice from him still is “if you wait until the last minute…it only takes a minute”? Or, is it caused by the fact that whenever I’ve succeeded at anything, throughout my entire life, he was never the least bit surprised? Hm. Probably all of the above.

And, to my mother, I say this: I get it. Rest assured, turnabout is fair play and I am now the mother to a 15-year-old daddy’s girl that gives even me a run for my money. And I am the proverbial chopped liver. I guess it’s my own fault, though. I’m married to the second-best man I’ve ever known and I can’t even blame the kid for worshipping her father. (No matter how annoying it is at times.)

So, to all the cape-wearers, enjoy your Father’s Day and enjoy your hero-worship. Don’t doubt that you’ve earned it in a thousand undefinable ways that will likely never be put into words.

Erin and Pop

Drinking With Mormons.

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Well, not “with” them, really.

So, I’m on a family vacation. With the whole damn family (she said, lovingly). Today is my parents’ 50th Wedding Anniversary so we loaded up the vehicles and drove from California to Canada…for fun and celebration. My brother and his wife (the “Mormons” above-referenced) are on this trip as well.

Steve and I drink a lot of wine anyway, but on vacation…yes, it’s daily. And we found some delightful local brews, as well. My brother and his wife and I are all very close (and brutally sarcastic and passive-aggressively judgmental). Long story short, when I’m evaluating whether or not beer is acceptable at 9:30 in the morning, I can see my brother’s eyes glaze over (in the aforementioned passive-aggressive judgment). So, out of respect for the Mormons, I waited until 11 am to drink my (delicious) 650 ml beer. Don’t tell me I’m not a team player.

So this has all been an important lesson in “perspective.” If, on vacation, you drink every day, but never get stupid-drunk, no problem. If you drink every day *with Mormon bystanders*, you might be an alcoholic. Hm. Well, I’m still convinced my problem is my audience and not my intake. Did I mention the beer was delicious? (#MoonUnderWaterBrewery)

A Message From the Tagline Fairy.

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Like the Tooth Fairy, but, instead, I’m creeping into your house whilst you sleep and stealing your taglines.

Half the time I click “Follow” just from reading the name of your blog or your tagline. (Says the girl with a blog named “Erin Lyon.” It’s genius! Copyright that shit!) But hopefully my tagline is mildly amusing (which is the phrase that may end up carved into my tombstone). Anyway – here’s my nickel’s worth of free advice: hook them with your name or your tagline. And, if at all possible, be as clever as these people.

The Yam: Eerily similar. Legally distinct.

They are a self-proclaimed rip-off of The Onion. As a lawyer, that made me laugh out loud. And then die a little inside when I gave it a moment of serious legal analysis.

Karen Carpenter Died For Your Sins: I guess I can always go through life sideways.

It was the name of the blog itself that got me on this one. Honestly. Who can find a blog called “Karen Carpenter Died For Your Sins” and not follow? Not this girl.

CupCaketheGreat: Non stick my ass.

Non stick my ass? I didn’t care what she had to say beyond that…I was in.

The Bloggess: Like Mother Teresa, Only Better.

And so began my love affair with Jenny Lawson.

Single Mama’s Guide to CTFD: Lessons in Learning to Let Go.

Hm, not sure you love it? CTFD stands for “calm the fuck down.” How ’bout now? That’s what I thought. Cause once I figured out her mystery acronym stood for calm the fuck down, I nearly sprained my finger hitting the ‘follow’ button. You know my sneaky infatuation with profanity.

Truth Shall Set You Free So Don’t Be a Crybaby: A dash of wit, A sprinkle of snark, A pinch of sarcastic humor all baked in at 450 degrees!

Sarcasm and cooking instructions?

Full-Frontal Nerdity: Adventures in Love and Storytelling.

Full-frontal nerdity. Digest that a moment. Cause it’s awesome. As is her profile pic which lives up to the name.

There are so many more, but I don’t remember all the blogs now that won a hard-earned chuckle from me (“hard-earned” my ass – I laugh at everything). Now, go forth and be funny, my friends.

It Puts the Lotion On Its Skin Or Else It Gets the Hose Again.

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Sucker. This post has nothing to do with The Silence of the Lambs. (Well, beyond the fact that that fantastic line popped into my head yesterday and the only way to purge it was apparently to use it for the title of a post.)

I read a lot of blogs. WordPress has replaced Facebook for me as my no. 1 time-sucker. I have this to report back: a lot of people a) apologize for not having posted in a while, and b) say not to worry that they’ll be away…because they promise to post while away.

This is a mystery to me. I feel more inclined to apologize when I do post. And I am going on vacation next week, and I probably will post while away…and I’m sorry for that as well.

Herein lies the mystery. It would never occur to me that anyone, anywhere would actually notice my absence. Here. Not at home (I’d like to think that if I didn’t show up at home for four or five days, my husband would get curious). But here? I write nothing of importance and I’m not even consistently funny. Spoiler alert: neither are you. (Except perhaps the handful of bloggers I listed here.) But, what do I know. Perhaps you do get love-letters from your followers pleading with you to grace them with your literary spoils. Maybe you do get chirped at from the baby birds wanting to be fed. Implausible, but okay.

Most of the time I feel a little whorish posting my links on Facebook in a shameless shameful attempt to get more people to read my crap. And I’m grateful when people give it the time of day. I never feel apologetic for not bombarding you with even more mediocre shit.

There is no actual reason for this post other than the fact that by the time I scanned across the third blogger within an hour with this mysterious sense of self-importance, my huge green rage monster emerged and wanted to write about it. Sometimes, if it wasn’t for being a bitch, I’d have no personality at all.

Inspiring, My Ass.

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Image

I’d like to thank Heather for the nomination that comes with a homework assignment. Just kidding. Sort of.

I don’t know how inspiring I actually am when the only uplifting thing I’ve written had to do with my goal of emulating my dogs’ blasé attitude. But, what the hell. I’ll play along. (And thanks for thinking of me, Heather 🙂 )

So, I know nothing about this, but apparently I’m supposed to give 7 facts about me:

  1. I’m 5′ 10″ but was never coordinated enough to play any tall-girl sports.
  2. Until I was about 19, I made everyone refer to my hair color as “strawberry blonde” because I refused to be called a redhead (now I embrace all my gingery splendor).
  3. Halloween is my favorite holiday. (Binge on horror movies AND dress up like a super hero? Yes, please.)
  4. The theme song for the TV show, “Angel,” is the ringtone on my phone.
  5. I played a hooker in a less-than-B movie about 16 years ago.
  6. My favorite book is A Tale of Two Cities (despite hating it in high school when we were forced to read it…thank God I re-read it as an adult).
  7. I have a useless, irrational phobia of mosquito hawks. (But they’re harmless! They eat mosquitos! No shit, Sherlock. They are also creepy and terrifying…and I’m pretty sure they can smell my fear.)

Okay – and part deux – I pass along the homework assignment nomination to bloggers I find inspiring. Problem is, as a general rule, I don’t follow “inspiring” bloggers…I follow funny ones. So here is my list of bloggers inspiring me to keep up my attempts at humor:

Truth Shall Set You Free So Don’t Be a Crybaby. Just the name is glorious. But her posts are, too.

Gone Catawampus. Really genuinely funny stuff. She even has a funny post about death. That is talent.

Sparklebumpsthebookwhore. She’s inappropriate and hilarious. The perfect combination.

Jonas Lee’s Imaginarium. Okay…he’s nicer than the rest of us and the closest I have to “inspiring” (mostly because he lets me call him “Avocado”).

Laughing Coyote Productions. Just found Deb a couple of days ago and was dazzled by this post where she explains the importance of lying in your biography. And somehow God passes her a note from the window of his truck on a busy thoroughfare. Delightful.

Idiot-prufs. Start with this post about a rejection from a children’s book publisher. It’s hilarious.

Underachiver’s Blog. No, I didn’t misspell it – that’s the way she’s got it. And this post is inspiring…when she says something does taste better than skinny feels…and that in her world Prince Charming likes a woman with a good backside.

Yes, I’m think I’m supposed to list more, but those are the ones that come to mind right now. I am always on the lookout for hilarious bloggers that make me LOL in inappropriate situations, though, so if you know of more, share!