“All About That Bass” – MY version

So… if you don’t know who Meghan Trainor is by now, then I guess your kids are not “all about that bass” as much as mine are. Hell… ‘lil Peyton is so obsessed with the song that I have to sing it to her before naps, bouncing her in the air on each word “treble” as we walk to her room (Did I mention she doesn’t sleep in a closet any more?). It’s the only fail-safe way I can guarantee she won’t go screaming into the crib. So when you’re singing the song as much as I do, and you fashion yourself as the female Weird Al, naturally you can’t help but create your own version. Related to your kids, of course. And before you ask: Is this strictly for everyone’s entertainment value? Well…yes! But it is true I had a cleaning lady “fire” our house. (Oh the shame of it!) My current girl probably only keeps the job ’cause she has six slobs of her own in one of those Carol-meets-Mike-Brady-type families. So here goes that mess:

“All About That Mess”
copyright 2014

Because you know I’m all about that mess,
‘Bout that mess, no cleanin’
I’m all about that mess, ’bout that mess, no cleanin’
I’m all about that mess, ’bout that mess, no cleanin’
I’m all about that mess, ’bout that mess (mess…mess…mess)

Yeah it’s pretty clear, I have three kids at home
Enough toys to fill up the friggin’ Superdome
I’ve got a vac-cuum, but no social graces
All the cheap crap in all the wrong places.
I see those perfect ones cleaning up their shit
We know you beat them kids vaccuum mom
Come now, look at my pit
Ain’t no Susie-Q didn’t raise ’em right
Just a filthy slobby mommy
And my time ain’t worth their fight.

You know a housekeeper said that she could not clean up our house?
‘Cause if she did then each time she would feel the strong need to de-louse.
Too many Legos, hot wheels, grease-covered toys and stuffed dolls,
So, you germ-a-phobe white-glove-type mommies
Just move along.

Because you know I’m all about that mess,
‘Bout that mess, no cleanin’
I’m all about that mess, ’bout that mess, no cleanin’
I’m all about that mess, ’bout that mess, no cleanin’
I’m all about that mess, ’bout that mess  (Hey)

joe's apartmentI’m bringing Joe’s Apartment back
Singin’ roaches that have got the knack
Enough spilled Cheerios to make them fat,
I’m here to tell you when your kids are full of grime
A slimy roach has got the time.

You know a housekeeper said that she could not clean up our house?
‘Cause if she did then each time she would feel the strong need to de-louse
Too many Legos, hot wheels, grease-covered toys and stuffed dolls,
So, you germ-a-phobe white-glove-type mommies
Just move along…ooooooou!

Because you know I’m all about that mess,
‘Bout that mess, no cleanin’
I’m all about that mess, ’bout that mess, no cleanin’
I’m all about that mess, ’bout that mess, no cleanin’
I’m all about that mess, ’bout that mess (repeat 3xs)

hey hey yeah yeah ….oooooooou!

boy

“Cleaning the house while the kids are still growing is like shoveling the drive when the snow is still blowing.” – Famous quote by some mom who gets it.

 

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“My Bump”

Guess who’s back? Back again? Weird Amy’s back… Tell a friend. This post comes long overdue, and was inspired by another pregnant friend’s response when I told her I would need to bring my “baby bump” to her birthday party dinner. Of course, I must also give props to Will.i.am and my girl, Fergie: the BEP were quite the inspiration. So while we anxiously await the arrival of Baby P, check out some of the baby drama I’ve been going through:

MY BUMP [To the tune “My Humps” by the Black-Eyed Peas] fergie will.i.am
(c) 2013

What’s that makin’ your belly jump?
Belly jump inside that hump?
It’s my little baby’s rump,
Baby’s rump inside my bump.
My bump, my bump, my bump, my bump, my bump
My bump, my bump, my bump, my lovely baby bump (Check it out)

I took a “clear blue easy”‘
Cause I felt kinda queasy
It said that I was P G
Time fo’ another baby.
Belly bands and fat jeans,
Stretchy tops and stretch cream.
Fashion — I ain’t carin’
So my hubby’s shirts
Be wearin’.
He says I’m lookin’ sexy,
But I just wanna rest, please.
Piss myself when I sneeze,
Boobs are getting ob-scene.
Gettin’ fat and
Gettin’ mean
Start understandin’ something…

So fat, so fat, so fat, so fat
‘Dat my baby bump.
My bump, my bump, my bump.
My bump she’s got me…

She got me pukin'

She got me pukin’

She’s got me puking
(Oh) puking every friggin’ morning, and sometimes night.
She’s got me puking
(Oh) puking every friggin’ morning, warning: every morning.

So ‘dats what makin’ your belly jump?
Belly jump inside that hump?
You got it: It’s my baby’s rump,
Baby’s rump inside my bump.
What you gon’ do with all that bloat?
All that bloat inside ‘dat coat?
I ain’t gonna take no smokes,
Drink no wine, smoke no dope.
Cos of my bump (ha), my bump, my bump, my bump (what).
My bump, my bump, my bump (ha), my lovely baby bump (Check it out)

They say I’ve got that “glow,” bro,
Glad to have no flow, yo.
But hemorrhoids got to go, cause
I ain’t got no mo-jo.
Strangers touch my bump, bump.
Lookin’ at my hump, lump.
You can look but you can’t touch it,
If you touch it I’ma start some drama,
You don’t want no drama,
No, no drama, no, no, baby drama
Don’t want to hear your story,
Your P G’s too bor-ing,
I’m takin’ all the glory,
Me and my big bump.

My bump, my bump, my bump, my bump,
My bump, my bump, my bump, my bump, my bump, my bump.
My lovely baby bump (hump)
My lovely baby bump (hump)
My lovely baby bump (hump)
My gettin’ fatter bump (hump)
My baby got me,

baby bladder

She’s got me pissin’.
(Oh) Dancin’ on my bladder, bladder, it’s sucha crime.
She’s got me pissin’.
(Oh) Pissin’ every time I sneeze, every time, time.

How you goin’ to stop that jump?
Stop that jump inside that bump?
She gonna come out like a lump,
Screamin’, wailing, red-faced lump.
What you gon’ do with all that fat?
All that fat that really sucks?
I’ma gonna get a tummy tuck
Tummy tuck, tummy tuck.
What you gon’ do without your bump?
When that rump has left your hump?
I’ma get, get, get, get real drunk,
Stay up late ‘n pump and dump.
What you gon’ do wit baby girl?
Baby girl wit’ all that curl?
I’ma gonna treat her like a pearl
Like a pearl, pearl, like a pearl.

(U-huh, u-huh, u-huh, u-huh) [x4]

Comin' dis April

Comin’ dis April

Now she’s not kickin’.
(No) kickin’ on my belly, shakin’, like some belly, jelly.
Now I be spendin’.
(Oh) Spendin’ all my money on she, on she, all on she.

Part II: Fifty Shades of Grey… The SAHM Perspective

As promised, today I will attempt to enlighten you with a mom’s perspective of the characters in E.L. James infamous Fifty Shades trilogy. Supreme warning here: THIS ENTRY CONTAINS SPOILERS. Please do not read anymore if you haven’t read the books and don’t want me to spoil your thigh-squeezing experience.

Anastasia Steele (Miss Steele, Miss Grey, Ana, “Oh… Ana!,” You.Are.So.Sweet)
I don’t get it. As a mom, I am wondering is it possible there are still 22-year-old virgins out there? Really? Or did E.L. James just throw that in for added effect? Personally, I only have sons, so while I won’t need to display a rifle above our mantle or purchase a gun rack for our truck, I have other scare tactics in mind. Like pulling out my husband’s old medical books and showing the boys a picture catalog of sexually transmitted diseases. Before their first date. And to their first date. In the car. As I’m preparing to drop them off at some G-rated film. And stuffing condoms in their pocket just in case they sneak off to the NC-17 one and their date is wearing a short skirt. (This is, of course, assuming that Nate & Matt at some point learn enough table manners to score a date… any date.)

Thumbs up for Anastasia being college-educated. Thumbs down for Anastasia having no street smarts whatsoever. Thumbs up for Anastasia not being one of those annoying little teenagers we couldn’t stand in high school who dropped all their girlfriends like a hot potato the minute she got a boyfriend. Thumbs down for Anastasia befriending Katherine Kavanagh (Could this girl be any “blonder?”). Thumbs up for Anastasia’s manners and respect for her parents and authorities (“Hey mom…mom…mom… mommy… mum. Do this now! What do you mean: ‘What’s the magic word?’ I said ‘now.'”) Thumbs down for Anastasia lacking enough self-respect to play hard to get and say no to Mr. Grey. (It appears she can only open her mouth for other things.) Thumbs up for Anastasia working through college and finding a job upon graduation (as an English major, no less). Thumbs down  for Anastasia sleeping with the boss and not learning the basic mechanics of a calendar (My second grader is learning this… don’t they start with the Days of the Week in preschool?) so that she’s knocked up by the boss at twenty-two. I could go on and on…

Christian Grey (Mr. Grey, Sir, “Oh… Christian!,” My poor Fifty, The Dom)
Wow. I guess you might say he’s the total package, along with a personal shrink at his beck and call. I’d let the daughter I don’t have date him. (Assuming my daughter even listened to me at this point). Sexy. Hard-working. Making $100,000 an hour. (Come on… what 20-something makes that much dough besides, maybe, Mark Zuckerberg?) Total control freak. (Even Anastasia called that one the first time she met the man!)

As a mom, you gotta love a guy whose parents made him take piano. And who kept up his skills even after the lessons weren’t forced. (I think I pooped out by 5th grade. Can’t read a single note now. My poor mom and her hard-earned & spent $20/lesson, so that my current idea of playing the piano is “Chopsticks.”) Good ‘ole Grace & Carrick even got their oldest son into Boy Scouts! Boy Scouts, you ask? Why, of course! A boy scout’s motto it to “always be prepared” at every given moment (with one of those shiny, foil wrapped condoms that is miraculously always in Christian’s pocket). And how else did Christian learn how to tie all those ropes, ties and cable wires into such secure knots? Oh… wait a minute, the next character is that true explanation.

Elena Lincoln (Mrs. Robinson, Elena, the child molester, “bitch troll” – my personal favorite 😉  )
I found I related to this character the most, probably because she was the only person in the whole series close to my current age, and I suspect the average age of those reading the trilogy. And her means of ordering around her subs is oddly parallel to the way I nag my husband. Then again, she is a horny bitch troll with an abusive husband and too much free time on her hands. (She should have some kids of her own and watch her free time go down the bidet.) And she’s a bad stay-at-home type. C’mon lady: Play some country club tennis! Or get a job already! Stop lounging pool-side and slapping the 15-year-old lawn-boy! And what is going on here? I thought introverted 15-year-old boys spent all their time doing Playstation and D & D roll-play, not doing the grown neighbor? Sheesh… maybe I’m the naive one.

Jose Rodriguez (Jose, the photographer)
The tortured, misunderstood artist best-friend of Anastasia’s, put in the book solely to demonstrate that Anastasia had no hormones before Christian, and to make her poor Fifty jealous. In mom’s terms, it’s like Nate taking every single Hot Wheel away from his younger brother, failing to care or comprehend that he never even wanted to play with them until Matt did.

Katherine Kavanagh (Miss Kavanagh, Kate, the roommate)
She bugs me, but I can’t exactly put a finger on why. Maybe because she and Anastasia seem to have this white swan/ugly duckling-type relationship until Anastasia starts borrowing her clothes, falling into multimillionaire’s offices, doing the millionaire and using his former dom’s salon. It seemed very high school “Clueless”/”Mean Girls“-ish to me: Nerd Girl meets Beauty Queen. Beauty Queen takes on project and forbids Wal-Mart. Wal-Mart in sheep’s clothing trips over her Christian Louboutin’s into Hot Boy’s lap. Hot Boy wants to see Nerd Girl in Fifty Shades of nakedness. Beauty Queen pretends she’s not jealous and instead runs off with Hot Boy’s brother, who’s “f**ked all of Seattle” (I was kind of happy when that happened.)

Mia Grey (just Mia)
Speaking of teenagers, Mia is clearly “the teenager” of the Grey empire. Poor self-esteem, spoiled, whiny cling-on. If I were Jack Hyde, I’d be forced to return her without getting a single nickel. It’s exactly why I have no fear of my sons ever getting kidnapped: Within less than an hour the kidnapper would put them right back on my front porch, having had his ear talked off with “why” questions and “did you know that” trivia, and no more juice boxes and snacks left in kidnap-o-van, which the kids attempted to take possession of and drive but failed because it was nothing like Mario Cart Wii.

Jack Hyde (Jack, Anastasia’s boss, the villain, “it should’ve been me”)
I assume named for his ability to go from Jeckyll to Hyde in a nano-second. Here’s a classic example that I just experienced from Nate: “Mom you make the best dinner ever (pizza). I love you.” One nano-second later: “Can I have some ice cream now? (Me — ‘No.’)  I hate you, mom! You suck!” It’s all fine and well while they’re getting their own way (stupid, slutty assistants), but the crap hits the fan when someone says no to them, slaps them, or sleeps with the boss and gets them fired. The boss, of course, or the parent in my case, saw that coming a mile away…

… and last but certainly not least…

Jason Taylor (Taylor, the help, my unsung hero)
My inner goddess swoons when I think of Taylor, my fantasy “Yes ma’am (man).” Every dad wants to be Taylor: He’s a loving father with a wife and daughter, who never nag him, and whom he doesn’t have to live with because he’s required to live in his boss’s penthouse mansion. And he has to watch his boss’s girlfriend prance around in nothing but a T-shirt and panties. (His position is far more enviable than Mrs. Jones, who gets to clean up all the sex toys from the infamous red room, much like the day care worker with some bleach and toys that have been in god-knows-what orifice.) Every mom wants to marry a Taylor: Before Anastasia even realizes she’s thirsty, Taylor has issued his legendary “Yes ma’am” and brought her a glass with ice, bottled water, and a lemon. If there is no lemon in the fridge, he hops into his fancy, foreign automobile and is back before Anastasia becomes weak and parched. Actual husband: Hears his wife say “I’m thirsty” and responds with “You have two legs. Go get a drink.” If wife demands husband get missing lemons, husband storms off in domestic, 10-year-old Jeep (with no air conditioning) and never returns. Seriously, who wouldn’t love Taylor, the biggest sub of them all?

And now that I have graced you with my fine stay-at-home-mom analysis of E.L. James’ more popular characters, I must now offer a few verses of farewell to all my loyal “Weird Amy” fans out there who just loooove to read my made-up lyrics  to current Top 40 songs:

Condom Doesn’t Break (c) 2012
(Sung to the tune of “Give Your Heart a Break” by Demi Lovato)

The day I first met you
You told me, you’d never fall in love
But now that I do you
You know that, I’d make a crappy sub

Now here with zoom
Tied up, in your red room
Break out the clamps
When will you realize
Baby, I. am. your. champ.

Don’t wanna waste your sperm
Lord knows you can’t take a break
And that you’re really screwed up
From that Mrs. Robinson fake
There’s just virginity to give
And Jose knows I did wait, to awake
So let’s hope the condom doesn’t break, condom doesn’t break
Let’s hope the condom doesn’t break, condom doesn’t break
yeah, yeah…

Head to your closest Target

Laters, baby.

Last Friday Night

“Weird Amy” is back again. I think this time the rhyming inspiration came from taking Matt to see Dr. Seuss‘s The Lorax. Anyway, hope you enjoy my tribute to our Friday nights and Katy Perry:

Last Friday Night [To the tune “Last Friday Night” by Katy Perry]
(c) 2012

There’s two children in my bed
A pug sitting on my head
Legos all over the room
Toddler riding on a broom
I don’t smell just like a flower
Really need to have a shower
Underwear on the TV
Slightly reeking of stale pee

(pre-chorus)
Only saving grace
Dropping both kids off
for school
Oh yeah
In the summertime
I just drink my wine
and drool
Yeah

(chorus)
Last Friday night
Yeah we ate up the Pop Tarts
Made a contest from our farts
Think they bathed but I forgot
Last Friday night
Running naked through the halls
Drawing pictures on the walls
Almost lost them at the mall
Last Friday night
Tried to sell them to the zoo
Toilet’s clogged with icky poo
What’s a mom supposed to do
Last Friday night
CPS is on alert
Is that ketchup on my shirt, irt, yeah
This Friday night
Do it all… again
This Friday night
Do it all… again

Need a sitter for date night
Children putting up a fight
Parents won’t help anymore
So I kicked them out the door
Crunchy stuff is in their beds
One is sporting brand new dreads
Caught the sitter try to bale
That was such an epic fail

(pre-chorus)
Only saving grace
Dropping both kids off
for school
Oh yeah
In the summertime
I just drink my wine
and drool
Yeah

(chorus)
Last Friday night
Yeah we ate up the Pop Tarts
Made a contest from our farts
Think they bathed but I forgot
Last Friday night
Running naked through the halls
Drawing pictures on the walls
Almost lost them at the mall
Last Friday night
Tried to sell them to the zoo
Toilet’s clogged with icky poo
What’s a mom supposed to do
Last Friday night
CPS is on alert
Is that ketchup on my shirt, irt, no…
But Friday night
Do it all… again
This Friday night
Do it all… again

L.M.A.O.
L.M.A.O.
L.M.A.O.
L.M.A.O.
L.M.A.O.
L.M.A.O.
L.M.A.O.

Last Friday night
Yeah we ate up the Pop Tarts
Made a contest from our farts
Think they bathed but I forgot
Last Friday night
Running naked through the halls
Drawing pictures on the walls
Almost lost them at the mall
Last Friday night                                                                                              
Tried to sell them to the zoo
Toilet’s clogged with icky poo
What’s a mom supposed to do
Last Friday night
CPS is on alert
Is that ketchup on my shirt, irt, no…
But Friday night
Do it all… again