My name is Julie and I have rants in my pants. But don’t freak out because they’re not contagious. I’m just saying that because “Rants in My Pants” is the name of this new blog. When I was little, I had (figurative) ants in my pants and they made me wiggly. And that made all my teachers yell at me and that’s why I hated elementary school. Now that I’m big, the ants are in my brain. Maybe they’re more like bees, because my brain is always buzzing and making weird noises. So I write a blog to help make the bees and the ants be quiet so I can concentrate on Words with Friends.
I thought I would take this opportunity (first post here at Babble Voices! Woo hoo!) to introduce myself and also to answer some questions. These are questions that have been submitted in advance by the bees and ants. Let’s get started.
How the hell did you even get this gig? Not to offend you or anything, but Babble Voices is for specials and you’re a regular.
I KNOW. I have no idea how I got here. Maybe it’s some sort of outreach program or they felt sorry for me. I don’t really care, I like it here. It could all go “Carrie-at-the-prom” on me at any moment but I’m willing to take that chance.
I thought your name was Lydia. What the hell?
Lydia is my name at Rants from Mommyland, which is the blog that I write. When I first started writing it, I didn’t want to use my real name because that was too scary. But here I am three years later, completely out of the blog closet and humiliating myself on the internet at fairly regular intervals. I still write as Lydia though because it just seemed too weird to stop doing that. It’s much less weird to use both names interchangeably. That’s totally normal.
What happened to Kate? Wait. Who the hell is Kate?
Kate is my very, very good friend who used to write Rants from Mommyland with me. But then she got a real job last year and found that she couldn’t do both. Now she provides me with blog fodder by encouraging me to “be myself” which generally leads to situations where I do something stupid and/or inappropriate. She is still lurking around Mommyland and generally only comes out when we do a project that helps other people.
Are you hungry?
Tell them about your family.
That’s not even a question. It’s a statement but I’ll still answer it. I have a husband that I’ve been married to for 15 years. We call him Cap’n Coupon. The Cap’n and I have three kids: eldest daughter (age 9), medium-sized boy (age 7), and small girl who may be part Hobbit (age 3.5). We also have a young Labrador who is either taking it to 11 in the manner of Nigel Tufnel, or asleep. He eats tampons from the trashcan but I still love him. Then there’s my cat. He’s 15 and a total dick and a surprise biter but I ADORE HIM.
Don’t you have a real job?
Yes, I do. I teach college. Specifically, I teach Public Health. I love my students and I love Public Health with nerd-like fervor. Also I’m used to pretty much working for free (see prior experience as blogger, stay at home mom) so this gig as a part-time college professor is working out great.
Do you want to get some coffee?
YES. I’m so tired. ((Scampers off to get coffee, comes back, spills some on shirt))
What are you going to write about here, anyway?
I’m going to write rants about what it’s really like being a mom. Rants are defined as being outbursts of an angry sort. But I’m not going to write many angry rants because I spend a lot of time trying to not be angry. Last night, for example the hour between finishing dinner and my children going to bed was so ridiculous and awful that I pretty much wanted to yell the whole time. The effort it took to not yell was so draining and difficult that it should have been a calorie burning activity. The amount of discipline required to use a calm voice and kind words in that situation was akin to that hot yoga thing that all my skinny friends do that sounds like effing torture.
Here’s what I wanted to yell about: a short person shooting me in the ass with a Nerf gun when I was bent over the dishwasher. And someone else who is small putting toothpaste in her hair on purpose. And another one singing that Flo Rida song “Whistle” when it will give her father a myocardial infarction if he hears it. And of course I got to say the following about 400 times: “Why are you out of bed? Please go back to bed.” Rinse and repeat those last two sentences until you want to cry The Tears of Impotent Fury and drink directly from the spigot of the wine box.
But I didn’t yell at anyone. So high fives and ass slaps all around, right? That’s the stuff I’m going to write about.
Are you sure it’s a good idea to put this stuff on the internet?
I’m pretty sure it’s not. But it quiets the bees, so…