Blackened Catfish

I still think of you as Gabriel.

Gabriel Kristiansen, right?

Your pictures burn bright in my mind.

Bald, glasses, a smug smile.

Now I wonder who the FUCK I was even looking at.

Did that stranger know you had stolen their face and renamed them?

Did you buy them off, like you did me?

That face, sending me gifts from a P.O. Box in Del Mar.

Anonymity was crucial. A phone call finally explained why.

The airport sealed the deal.


seven years is a lot to steal.

No psychological experiment should have lasted that long.

The funding alone…

And yet, I keep addresses…

faxed copies of contracts I signed,

a receipt for two silver rings

One of which was tossed outside a moving car window on Galloway Street.

I pray that ring has never brought happiness to the finder.

I was all in. Then nauseous, trying to run faster than the truth.

Shamed, My love wasted.

Your mission accomplished.

Certainly I Want to Hear About Your Parenting Skills, Because I’m Standing Next To You.

So, I took the boys to “play group” yesterday. Is that one word or two words? I don’t fucking know. Anyway, taking them to play group is not my favorite thing in the world but it’s different and there’s a goddamn craft to do that’s far more creative than anything I can dream up (I could check on Pinterest but fuck Pinterest), and it eats up time. THIS IS KEY FOR A STAY-AT-HOME MOM.

I’ve been to this group numerous times and none of the other moms like me much. I know this because they never talk to me and they always talk to each other. One of them is even someone I went to high school with. AND SHE IGNORES ME. (She wasn’t even cool back then so get the fuck over yourself) Well, YESTERDAY WAS THE EXCEPTION. A pale, pinched woman (who really looked like she needed a joint) decided to be my friend! Can’t you just tell when someone is just DYING to impart their “wisdom” on literally anyone who will listen?

I heard her theories on the Power Rangers being Satan’s servants, how her kids NEVER EAT SUGAR (WTF is wrong with a world where a kid NEVER GETS SUGAR…EVERYTHING IS WRONG WITH A WORLD LIKE THAT!), how her husband lost his job, blah blah blah. Then she told me she liked public school because it exposed her kids to “different kinds of people and cultures”…you “know what I mean.” Yeah, I think the lady with the full tattoo sleeves and nose ring has some idea of WHAT YOU MEAN. Jesus Christ, I cannot stand other mothers. I CANNOT STAND THEM. The ones I could stand I’ll never meet because they’re too busy not telling me how amazing they are.

So we took the kids to see the Easter Bunny and literally everyone in front of us came with kids having major anxiety attacks over this man dressed in a very soft fur suit. These people were all like, “Oh this happened last year too…” OKAY, SO MAYBE DON’T TAKE YOUR KIDS AGAIN? Am I the only parent who thinks, “Oh, well my kid screamed over that last year so maybe buying a new outfit and getting the picture taken for Grandma isn’t such a big deal this time.” I think so. The boys are four, and it was all pretty magical to them. They couldn’t figure out what the fuck the kids were screaming about. As Clark put it, “It’s not like a shot at the doctor or someone hit them in the head to be mean.”

In other news, since I last wrote, Justin had somewhat of an emergency knee operation, we got Influenza B (that’s on top of the A we had back in December), we had that nasty stomach flu bug, and I think we have ants already. In the bathroom. WTF?

Oh it’s just all such an “adventure!”

My Year in Review, Which I Kept Writing as “The Rear in Yeview…”


If you’re wondering where I’ve been, I have a very short answer for you: LIVING. If I got paid shitloads of money to write this blog, I’d be sharing my HILARIOUS adventures with you all the time but I don’t get anything for this, so sorry….. You know how it goes with 3.5 year old twin boys.


People randomly find this thing and write the weirdest comments in response. I assume they’re drug-inspired. I hope so, anyway. Someone deserves some freaking weed in this world.

Anyway, I’ve spent the past 1.5 weeks sick as shit with Influenza A. Now I’ve got a sinus infection. It’s been a great Christmas. Being a parent to sick children while simultaneously feeling like you’re going to die is just the most uplifting character-building experience I’ve had all year. I haven’t been this sick in my first 35 years. I don’t need to repeat it again for another 35. AND, if I’m 70 when I get this sick again, I’ll probably die, so that’s something to think about…

So, here’s the condensed version of my year:

I hate life less. I’m not so angry. My kids are more fun. I still hate your kids, unless your kids are my nieces and nephews. Then I like them just fine.

I ate Halloween candy for the first time in 12 years. NOT being anorexic is a nice experience. Not always easy but nice. I’ve pretended NOT to be anorexic many times in my life. This time it feels more legitimate. I know this because I’m not just pretending to eat food. I am actually eating it. CRAZY

Clark was in the hospital for a week with pneumonia in May. It was awful. I hate hospitals. I hate God for letting little kids get that sick. Actually, I’ve discovered I hate God for many reasons. I AM a believer. But as far as liking God, I’ve got a ways to go.Still…progress.

I’m going to see Neil Diamond with my hubs and my dad in April. The last time I took my dad to a “big city” concert was to see The Police. That was with a different husband. Hopefully, we can replace that memory with the sweet sounds of I’m A Believer.

I saw The Lumineers…was that this year or last? I don’t remember.

I ran a few more marathons, my knees are all fucked up with arthritis, we’ll see what I can do this year but certainly, IT WILL INVOLVE RUNNING LONG DISTANCES AT SOME POINT.

I drink a lot of Coor’s Light these days. Maker’s Mark, as well. Fuck wine.

Until next year…CHEERS…

Keep Your Sick Cussing Kids At Home. I’m Over It. AND YOU.

So after having various illnesses pass back and forth between the four members of our household for the past two months, we’ve finally been feeling “well enough” for like two weeks. Because we love being healthy, we logically take ourselves to the Eau Claire Children’s Museum over the weekend. A place where everyone else will CERTAINLY only bring their healthy, well-adjusted children to. RIGHT? RIGHT?


I yelled at three different groups of children over the course of two hours. Two knocked down the towers we were building in the giant foam Tinker Toy area, and the others blew past us up the stairs and shouted behind them, “WATCH OUT.” I, of course, yelled back, “Watch out yourselves and slow down, it’s rude.” I might have also suggested they were brats but I refuse to put that in quotations. I yelled at the other kids too, and right in front of their parents. I don’t give a cuss. And you know what? I knew the moms were scared of me, because of the tattoos, so I totally used it to my advantage. It’s like, “What. You want to mess with this?”

Then there were tons of miserably sick children there, sneezing over everything and coughing, repeatedly, with their mouths open. WHAT KIND OF PARENT THINKS IT’S A GREAT IDEA TO DRAG YOUR SICK KIDS ANYWHERE. I don’t get it. You know how many times I’ve opted to leave the kids at home versus toting them around to some family function with their illness in tow? It’s for the kids. It’s for everyone else. Have I made some enemies with choices like this? CERTAINLY.

My point being; What the frick is wrong with parents? They’re either selfishly toting their kids around to stuff with major illness because DAMMIT, WE ARE GOING TO THIS EVENT WHETHER YOU’RE DYING OR NOT AND ALSO WE DON’T CARE IF YOU WE YOUR KIDS SICK. Or they’re bringing their healthy kids with the worst personalities in the world to things and making me boil to the point of wanting to punch the whole lot.

My kids play well with others. I apparently don’t. SO WATCH OUT.

Is There a Dead Magician in the Neighborhood?

So, last October I was just ready to head out for a run when my mom noticed something odd from our living room window. There, standing on its very handsome hind legs, was a bunny. Not just any garden-variety brown bunny. A BLACK AND WHITE gentleman bunny. The kind a magician pulls out of a hat. IN OUR PARKING LOT. Clearly, something was wrong with this picture. Black and white gentlemen bunnies don’t belong in neighborhoods with hawks and eagles and feral cats. And mean people who apparently THROW AWAY PERFECTLY GOOD BUNNIES.

Naturally, I obsessed about this bunny all day. During my run, I puzzled how I might rescue the bunny. I returned home and saw the bunny hopping around in the brush near my car. Eventually, I put out a bunch of baby carrots (I know these aren’t real carrots but it was ALL I HAD), a laundry basket, and a towel. In my dream world, I envisioned this bunny hopping perfectly into the laundry basket, snuggling in, and asking me to PUHLEASE get him some jelly beans.

It didn’t quite happen that way.

He eventually ate a few of my carrots but refused to get near that overturned laundry basket. I can’t imagine why a caged basket wasn’t appealing to him.

Eventually, I contacted my friend Candice. I fancy her kind of an animal whisperer. She managed to get the bunny into a tupperware container. I know that sounds terrible but it was rather large. Just as she carried it up the stairs and we almost let the boys touch it, she noticed that it was kind of filled with bugs. Of all kinds. Time to close the box. Sorry, bunny. (The boys named him Oscar, by the way)

Oscar went to the humane society and that was the end of our exciting adventures. OR SO I THOUGHT.

Last night, I pull into our parking spot and what should I spy hopping around in that same patch of brush? A BLACK AND WHITE GENTLEMAN BUNNY. WHAT THE CUSS is going on here. Either the same bunny ran away from the humane society/his adopted home (but who are we kidding…it was the humane society), OR, this is another bunny that doesn’t belong in the “wilderness” that is Chippewa Falls. I’m thinking that a dead magician could be rotting somewhere with a box filled with bunnies that periodically hop out and scavenge for food.

I wasn’t going to mention this but when I saw the bunny last night, I shouted, “WHO ARE YOU. WHY ARE YOU HERE.” And he stopped to look at me. I also made some noises I thought might be bunny-like. Don’t judge me.

Either way, I am obsessed with staring out the window today and it has to stop. WHO ARE YOU BUNNY.

Kidoodle. TV makes me happy. And they want to give you free stuff too!

Full disclosure, my friends:

“I participated in a Blog Blast program on behalf of Mom Central Consulting for Kidoodle.TV. I received a promotional item and a free trial as a thank you for participating.”

I started a free trial of Kidoodle. TV a few months ago because I love my kids and I love getting work done around the house. Guess what? Those two things are not always synonymous with each other. Love this platform because it’s built for kids, not just aimed at them, Kidoodle.TV is designed specifically for the use and navigation by kids (ages 12 and under). I can filter what they watch and they can easily figure out how to work the controls (even a nearly 3 year-old set of twins can do it!). My boys love nearly EVERY show deemed appropriate for their age-range.

You can try Kidoodle.TV for FREE and enter by December 31, 2013 to win 1 of 10 tablets or 1 of 10 Kidoodle.TV year-long subscriptions! Just visit their website for your trial and sweepstakes entry. Check them out on Twitter and Facebook because you’re cool like that.


Have you created your adorable Christmas cards yet?

Full disclosure, my friends:

“I participated in a campaign on behalf of Mom Central Consulting (#MC) for Cardstore. I received a promotional item as a thank you for participating.”

Before the kidlets came along, I simply sent out the Christmas cards I bought on clearance from the year before. So my styles might’ve been slightly behind, but really, does that matter in the world of Christmas cards? Now that the boys are here, it’s like some kind of unspoken rule I simply MUST SEND OUT FANTASTIC CHRISTMAS CARDS FEATURING MOSTLY THEM. And of course, now that I have kids, I have zero time for this task. Just when I thought I’d have to tape old photos to pieces of cardstock, came to my rescue. They’ll print, address and send cards out for you. If they would also design my cards, that’d be great, but I’ll take what I can get. If order today (Cyber Monday!!), you get $.99 flat cards. Log on and make your holiday card today:




Oh, we’re having all kinds of fun lately.

Well, let’s see here. I nearly blew out my knee about 3.5 weeks ago, I had a concussion a few weeks prior to that, and the arthritis in my neck has been flaring up since May. So, this has been just a banner effing year for Jodie in the health department. Am I getting old or something? If that’s the case, would I currently be writing a song called, “Distracted By My Sweatpants?”


Anyway, the boys are in full-fledged toddler-dom and the moments of adorable behavior (like Jack telling me a shopping list included “no underwear” and Clark informing me of his intentions to push Santa Claus off the roof….yes I find that adorable because he said he wouldn’t do it if Clarice was there…from “Rudolph”) are sprinkled between long stretches of annoying OCD behavior. WHAT THE FRICK IS UP WITH THIS CRAP. There’s a growing list of things the boys want “lined up” in front of their beds before they fall asleep.

When they fall asleep.


If the line gets crooked, it’s a problem. If the line is missing something, bigger problem. If the line is forgotten, well holy shit, you’d better get your ass in there and fix it. They don’t poop until they’re in their beds, making it necessary for me to return to their bedrooms once they’re laying down. It’s all so very clever, isn’t it? BECAUSE I KEEP DOING IT.

Our bedtime routine kinda sucks and I know that. When the boys were smaller, I was alone a lot with them at bedtime, and well, you just do whatever the hell you can do with tiny twin boys that are screaming their heads off for the same shit at the same time. So, now we’re probably suffering a little with prolonged bedtime resistances, etc. It’s like having Custer’s Last Stand on a nightly basis. If they had bayonets, I’d be dead 378 times already.

I don’t want any suggestions because I don’t. In some ways, that’s just how kids are. They’re small adults. Big adults are big shitheads. So small adults are small shitheads. And having two shitheads in the same bedroom is like one big slumber party. EVERY.GD.NIGHT.

In other news, I have two separate Christmas cards I’m sending this year. One that is far less obnoxious than the other. So, we’ll see how you all rate.

I want to smash your smart phone.

So I’m waiting for my physical therapist the other day at the clinic, and a nurse comes out to call in another patient/victim. She says his name, he says, “that’s me” without even looking up, then continues to fuck around on his smart phone for THREE MORE MINUTES. YES I COUNTED. She eventually goes back to the room, and leaves him out there alone. He was completely unaffected by this all.

THEN, I’m driving home from this same appointment, when I pass a dad walking with his two small children. They’re running everywhere, trying to get his attention, and what’s he doing? STARING DOWN AT HIS SMART PHONE WHILE HE’S ALSO PUSHING A STROLLER WITH A BABY ALONG WITH TWO OTHER SMALL KIDS.

How adorable! What a proactive dad!

Anyway, I want to smash your smart phone.

I know you think you need it but you don’t. Don’t tell me you need it because I don’t believe you. At some point, I realize I might have to cave and get a cell phone again but no…I will not. I WILL KEEP THIS LANDLINE UNTIL I DIE. I should clarify here…the hubs and I do have a Tracfone that I use maybe once a month, and never for emergencies. My mom gave it to us and she pays for the minutes so in my brain, this means my involvement in this whole process is limited. I’m assuming if I’m in a bad situation, either someone else will have a cell phone or I’ll just die. It happens.

In related news, I occasionally get emails (REMEMBER THOSE?) from people who tell me how much they miss seeing new pictures of the boys on Facebook. Well, guess what? Even if I were on Facebook, new pictures of my kids wouldn’t be. Maybe I’m paranoid and overly protective, but I don’t need pictures of my kids floating around the internet. Back in the day, I would’ve been super pissed to walk into the center of my town, and see a billboard up with a giant, shitty picture of myself. However, we’re all cool with tagged pictures of ourselves, and our kids, floating around Facebook, etc. Of course, things shared on Facebook just stay on Facebook, right?

Yeah. Whatever.

In less pissy news, I’ve been running the shit out of myself, gearing up for a full marathon next month. I think it’s my 13th one, and I’ll ignore the unlucky implications of that number. If you’re wondering…yes, training with 2.5 year old twin boys is just a blast.

Big Rigs. Construction Trucks. Fire Trucks. WHAT COULD GO WRONG.

Well, the hubs and I fancied ourselves quite the AWESOME PARENTS yesterday. At least we fancied ourselves such en route to what we considered to be the EVENT OF THE CENTURY for little boys. The Eau Claire Big Rig Truck Show was happening yesterday and I was certain the twins would love it. I was determined to make this an awesome afternoon filled with photo opportunities, enthusiastic admiration for huge, shiny trucks, and perhaps even a few small purchases from a cheap (BUT QUALITY!) vendor selling trucks and truck…stuff.

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh…what bullshit. Within five minutes of rolling into the truck show, the boys were on perma-whine mode. “NO GO IN FIRE TRUCK.” “HORNS TOO LOUD.” “NO TOUCH THE TIRES.” Then they refused to go in the free-stuff tent until they saw the display of semi-trailers for sale. THE ONES THAT STARTED AT $45. Tearing them away from the diecast display that could easily bankrupt us was a real good time. As were the tense moments near the bouncy tents. NO, WE ARE NOT PAYING $5 SO YOU CAN GO INSIDE AND NOT PLAY ON TOYS THAT ARE TOO BIG FOR YOU. The sun beating down on us felt great as we slugged our way towards the exit, the screams for chocolate milk ringing in my ears (YOU DRANK IT ALL ON THE WAY HERE, FOR THE LAST TIME).

It was a GD disaster. The boys hate crowds. They hate loud noises. They’re like me…in miniature form. Why would this be a good time? I just WANTED IT so bad. You know what I mean? I was forcing a good time on people who were most likely not going to have a good time, no matter what. I was forcing some kind of lasting memory. Kinda like the time we took the boys to the pumpkin patch when they were 5 months old. ALSO NOT A GOOD TIME. Blame it on overly-enthusiastic parenting.

Now I realize the twins would’ve had more fun touching ONE big rig parked in a random parking lot. With no people around, no loud music, and a chocolate milk river flowing nearby for miles and miles.

In related news, the twins are really, really into Mickey Mouse. They have a thing for Minnie…and why not? So, I bought this shirt and I’m wearing it today for the first time. I’m the most popular girl in the house right now (and the only one but forget that). This is what I do for my children. Let’s just pretend that Miley Cyrus wasn’t just photographed also wearing a Mickey Mouse shirt as part of her super-hipster lifestyle.