Sunshine Archives - That's Inappropriate

27May 2015

20 Tips To Becoming A Superhero To Your Spouse

It seems that there are superheroes everywhere you turn. New summer movies will be gracing the big screens any day now, and comic book television dramas are sure to be on the fall primetime lineup. I have sat through hours of Batman, Ironman, the Flash, Superman, Spiderman, and most recently Daredevil. I am at a loss to say the least. Don’t get me wrong, I like a good action flick as much as the next guy, but I just don’t get superheroes.

What is it about superheroes that make our husbands want to secretly be these men? Why do they dream about a meteor falling from the sky, causing intergalactic gel to ooze into the water system, thus giving them secret powers that they can use to fight crime???? I guess I am no fun. I don’t see the point in watching a movie or television series where people have magical powers. If you want me to watch a show with you, create a character that was hit by a bolt of lightning and woke up without her saggy tits, cellulite on her ass, and the absence of cross-continental baggage under her eyes. That show I will watch!

So men, let me tell you what will make you a Superhero to your significant other:

1. Scrub the toilet. The entire toilet, including the shit stains.

2. Wash the dishes….with soap.

3. Give the kids a bath….with soap.

4. Cook dinner, or get take-out. Either way she didn’t have to cook, so you win.

5. Take us shopping and smile the entire time. Don’t ask if the item is on sale.

6. Wake up at night with the kids….especially if someone pissed the bed. Don’t pretend you can’t hear them. The dead can hear them.

7. Hold your farts. If it is a dire emergency, pass gas next to the children, not your wife.

8. Don’t fart while in bed, and don’t even think about pulling the covers up over her head.

9. When we agree that a holiday or special occasion does not require gifts, get her one anyway. She wants a gift. She always wants a gift.

10. Snuggle up next to your wife while in bed and cuddle with no expectation of sex. Like legitimately no expectation of sex.

11. Don’t’ push your junk on her back and tell her you have a gift for her. It’s not really a gift. She has seen it before.

12. Vacuum, mop, wash the windows, repeat.

13. Ask her if she wants a mustache ride without expecting anything in return.

14. Get a babysitter without telling her and take her to dinner.

15. Wash the laundry, and put it away. Let me clarify, put it in the correct drawer. Don’t put your son’s underwear in your wife’s drawer.

16. Load the dishwasher, and then empty the dishwasher without being asked. I bet she drops to her knees later that evening.

17. Text her a sweet message during the day. Something like, “Babe, I can’t wait to get home and do a load of whites.”

18. Take the kids……ANYWHERE. For an extended period of time.

19. Bring her chocolate…….ANYTHING.

20. Bring her wine……..ANY KIND.

So as you can see, it is pretty simple to become a superhero. Your spouse will most definitely think that you can leap tall buildings in a single bound if you follow these 20 tips. They will call you the man of steel, or whatever ridiculous name you want them to scream while in the bedroom. These 20 tips are proven panty dropper’s, so get started today.

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18May 2015

5 Signs You Are a Flawed Friend

by Meredith Masony ⋅ 2 Comments

This past weekend I was sitting with friends, relaxing and enjoying a mid-day buzz. We were chatting about “Pet Peeves” our friends do that drive us crazy, and in the middle of the conversation I had an Oprah ” Ah-ha” moment. I am that flawed friend. I hadn’t always been that way, but I am at the point in my life where I can only retain so much information, and complete so many tasks on a daily basis. My flawed friendship status was never intentional, but the fact remains….. I am a flawed friend.

I had no idea how much I sucked until I took a look around my house and realized that I still have a ton of stuff that I “borrowed” and never returned. I am always asking for favors, and most of the time I am late to anything I am invited to. I sat searching my brain for redeeming qualities and found I was as empty as my Sangria glass. However, I do have a swimming pool and a liquor cabinet, So I have that going for me. At least my shallow friends will still visit, it is summer time.

The realization hit me like a ton of bricks. I was envisioning being inducted into the Friendship Hall of Shame in my mind. I could see friends from the past, present, and future all giving speeches as to why I was the absolute worst friend ever.

Now that I have accepted my flawed friend status, I have decided to help others by writing about it. You too may also be a terrible friend, and not realize it. So here are the top 5 reasons that I am a sucky friend. Check the list and see if you too will be inducted into the Friendship Hall of Shame.

1. Always Late: I am constantly late. I always blame my children for my tardiness, but most of the time it is my fault. I am a habitual offender of losing track of time. I will start a task and get distracted, start another task, and then realize I was supposed to be at Starbucks to meet someone 15 minutes ago. Sometimes I will set a reminder, only to forget what the reminder was for. Then I sit and ask my dog what I am late for. It’s an exhausting process.

2. Finders Keepers: I borrow things from friends all the time. I currently have a coffee grinder and Laptop that has been in my possession for about six months. I called my bestie to ask him if he needed the coffee grinder back and he laughed, “Oh Sweetie, I bought another one a few months ago.” I was so embarrassed. I had basically confiscated several household items from my friends and never took the time to shop for my own item, or return their item. What a Schmuck!

3. Forgetful: I try to write down, or schedule every aspect of my life. I can’t seem to remember important dates such as birthdays and anniversaries. I always miss my families and friend special days. I am not sure if it’s because I am not a big fans of holidays, or it’s simply because I have the emotional IQ of a rock. Either way, I never send cards, and I always end up looking like a complete Asshat. Once again, never intentional, but shameful just the same.

4. Non-Consoler: I am the WORST at consoling my friends. Any time they have an issue that brings them to tears, I turn straight to an awkward untimely joke. I become very uncomfortable with emotions and crying. I begin to sweat and make jokes about bodily functions or male genitalia. I am not even sure that I know how to properly hug someone. I never know if I am supposed to go in first, or wait and see. It is a nightmare.

5. Notorious Bad Movie Selector: I love to watch movies with friends. It seems that my movie choices aren’t as renowned as Siskel and Ebert review choices. I recently forced my friends into viewing the first two Sharknado movies. The summer of 2015 will be no different. I have full intentions of a viewing party for the third movie Sharknado 3; Oh Hell No, coming in July. I am really a bad friend if I am trying to share cinematic genius with them? The movies were brilliant!

So to all my friends, I apologize. Please know that I have deep feelings of like for you, and I would do anything for you. I would even give you the shirt off of my back, but most likely it was yours to begin with. Please accept me as I am, and I will do my best to uncomfortably sit with you in your time of need.

06May 2015

My Mother’s Day Wish

by Meredith Masony ⋅ Leave a Comment

I don’t want flowers.

Please don’t buy me a gift.

What do I want this year, several hours of quiet bliss.

Don’t knock on my door.

Don’t utter my name.

If a problem arises, call Daddy, he’s game.

I want to shower in silence.

I want to take a long nap.

I don’t want to see your fingers under the door while taking a crap.

Don’t tell me you’re hungry.

Don’t whimper or whine.

It’s Mother’s day rug rats, pass the wine while I dine.

The kitchen is closed.

No cooking today.

But I do want to binge watch episodes of Grey’s.

No cleaning or laundry.

No dishes will I do.

You crayon gobblers’ better think twice before throwing a coup.

I want to relax and read a book.

Eat a meal without sharing.

I’m sorry if this seems a bit uncaring.

Daddy, this goes for you too.

So tonight at bedtime…

I’ll take a pass on the screw.

I want to fall asleep untouched.

Please, no orifice invasion.

No groping or humping, I’m immune to persuasion.

Mommy needs a break.

But please don’t be sad.

The sperm donor’s here, you call him Dad.

28Apr 2015

An Open Letter to Taylor Swift

by Meredith Masony ⋅ 1 Comment

Let me begin by saying that I do in fact understand that I am a 34-year-old mother of 3. I am also a huge Taylor Swift fan. I have several friends who have given me grief for being such a “Swifty,” but I simply do not care. Here is my open letter to Taylor Swift, explaining why I am head over heels in love with her.

Dear Taylor Swift,

You are adorable. Sometimes I pretend to be your beautiful, fancy older sister who gets to jet set with you all over the globe. You are remarkable. I am in awe of your song writing talents and ability to engineer social media. You are undoubtedly a genius. I am impressed with your musical talents, but also your business and marketing skills. You have become a very accomplished individual at a very young age. Being a mother, I am grateful to you as an artist and competent role model. My children all adore your music and I am happy that they can listen to it. Your music videos are all safe for their eyes, and you have given back to the community that has supported you over and over again.

It seems like critics are always waiting for the other shoe to drop with you. They are waiting for you to “Lose it” or get photographed doing illegal or immoral things. To them I say, “Haters gonna hate,” to you I say, “Shake it Off.” You are a smart business woman, who I am thrilled to have my daughter look up to. You have found a way to make a huge impact while remaining grounded and sane. I applaud your efforts and I wish you the best. I know you will continue to succeed going quintuple platinum on your next three albums. I hope you are happy and find satisfaction with your craft.

I find your music infectious and I can never sit still when listening to your sick beats. I find myself mopping the floors to your energetic tunes. Your lyrics send a message of hope and inspiration, as well as power to know it is safe to be yourself. You have cornered the market on threenagers, teenagers, and thirty-somethings. I look forward to your 1989 tour, and I will see you in October.

Sincerely,

Crazy Mother of 3 Super Fan

P.S. My husband also loves you and uses the 1989 album as his workout mix 😉

Sunshine

www.thatsinappropriate.net

08Apr 2015

Help! My Kid Is A Goat.

by Meredith Masony ⋅ Leave a Comment

I am constantly amazed at the things my kids say and do, as well as how they act whether in public or at home. I was having coffee with some friends the other morning and as we sat at the kitchen table I felt as though I was surrounded by a herd of goats. The kids were loud, eating everything in sight, climbing on the couch, and downright obnoxious. It was like being trapped in a barn yard with no way to escape. I came to the startling realization that my kids are goats!

Baby goats are called kids: Seriously, how funny is that. Female goats are called “Nannies”, this is becoming a bit weird, so I guess I am the “nanny” and it is my job to watch all of the “kids.” Touche’ animal kingdom, touche’.
Browsing Animals: People often think that goats will eat anything. Goats are known as browsing animals because they will put just about anything in their mouths, as to identify if the object is edible. Does that sound familiar? Just last week I had to ask my 4 yr old to spit out a crayon, car, bottle top, shoe lace, and a toy truck. Hummmmmm. I am beginning to see a pattern here.
Curious and Intelligent Creatures: Goats are known to be one of the most intelligent of the barn yard brethren. They are resourceful creatures, much like my three “kids.” My youngest son sat behind the couch the other day waiting for his sister to get up from the table to use the restroom. As soon as she was out of sight, he ran to her plate, ate her remaining food and drank her drink. She returned to an empty plate and looked at me with a puzzled expression. Sneaky little goat.
Climbers: To look at a goat, one would not picture an animal that can climb high mountains, and even trees, but goats are fantastic climbers. A few months back I found my 6 yr old on top of the refrigerator. What on earth was she doing there, looking for confiscated items of course. I assumed that since they couldn’t reach the top of the fridge it was a safe place to hide said item, but I was wrong.
Escape Artists: Houdini’s in a herd, goats are known to be very difficult animals to pen. They have an uncanny ability to find weaknesses in fencing and then exploit that weakness and escape. My kids are also mini Houdini’s, they have the ability to instantly make my patience disappear. Every night I put them to bed and they are able to find their way into the kitchen 57 times for water, a hug, one last kiss, and eventually a flip-flop beating. There is no way to contain them, legally that is.
Screamers: Goats are known to be very loud animals. The noise they make has been equated to a child scream. My kids have no idea what an “inside voice” is, or why screaming is so bothersome. They will scream from sunrise to sunset, and I have had them all tested for hearing deficits.
Nagging Creatures: While doing serious research on this piece I read about a farmer who would crawl to the bathroom in the morning on his hands and knees, because if the goats saw him they would cry and nag him until he came out to see them. My kids try daily to nag me to death. “What time is dinner? Where are my shoes? Why do I have to clean my room? Are you going to get out of bed and feed us? Why do you want to run away?” Nag, nag, nag, all day long with the questions. Ignoring them has yet to work.

I had no idea that I would grow up to be the nanny goat. I am not a fan of barns, or barn yard animals, but I guess I will keep my herd and carry on. I will continue to Shepard the hell out of this job until my goats are all grown.

Sunshine

thatsinappropriate.net

25Feb 2015

Can Your Vagina Play The Flute?

by Meredith Masony ⋅ Leave a Comment

Are you friends with any couples on Facebook that feel it necessary to show the world how much they love each other? Constantly sending each other love letters for the world to read. Well, my husband and I are friends with THOSE people. Let’s call them Barbie and Ken. Barbie and Ken can make you feel inadequate about your relationship in a mere nanosecond.

We first met Barbie and Ken about 7 years ago. When I first encountered Barbie I was amazed and astonished by her tale. She was a single mother of three who met a man who fell desperately in love with her. They soon married and had two beautiful children of their own; increasing their family size to seven, yes I said SEVEN.

I slowly learned the details of their relationship and was dumbfounded. I asked one day, “What did you cook for dinner last night?” Her reply, “My husband made spaghetti.” I quickly questioned, “Ken cooks?” I proceeded to ask, “Has he always cooked?” Her reply, “Yes, he cooks, cleans, grocery shops, and drops the kids off in the mornings.” My mind was racing. What the hell was this woman saying? Her husband cooks meals, cleans toilets and showers, and handles the kids. How can this be happening? There are men on this planet that know what a toilet brush is for? There are men with brains in their heads that sit on their shoulders and not just in the crotch of their pants? No, it isn’t true. It can’t be.

Where did this man learn to buy more than beer and toilet paper from the grocery store? How can this be true? He must be a genetic mutation of sorts. My husband would sit in a pile of shit swarming with flies if I would allow it. What on earth could this woman possibly be doing to get her husband to do these things? My disbelief was unnerving, dare I say alarming.

She continued to captivate me with stories of the daily tasks that he performs. The final straw broke when she informed me that he coupon-ed! Holy hell, the man clips coupons! It was at that point that the light went on; as though I had been seeing only in black and white for my entire life. Barbie must be some type of sexual savant. Her vagina must be MAGICAL. Perhaps it plays the flute. Her vagina must beckon him like a siren, singing sweet musical notes that fascinate him and force him to coupon until his fingers bleed.

What other possible explanations could there be. Her vagina, I thought, must be like looking directly into the sun. Glowing and bursting until you can bear no more. When she lays in wait for him and slowly opens her thighs, does her vagina release a tractor beam pulling him in like the Star Ship Enterprise? Beaming him up into inter-galactic ecstasy?

I must know how she became the Pied Piper of Pudenda (AKA Private Parts). Did she take lessons? Was her mother a Madam? Was she secretly a stripper that worked her way through college? I sat there at a loss for words. I didn’t even know how to finish the conversation. I was enamored with Barbie.

I myself do all of the cooking, cleaning, and scrubbing of the shit stained toilets, I even mow the fucking lawn. I sat there sadly thinking the only thought I could. My vagina must be BROKEN. There are no musical notes making their way out of my barren hole. I am the opposite of a musician. I am the equivalent of the worst cast off in American Idol history. My poor husband has suffered through years of tone-deaf intercourse. This is obviously why my husband refuses to help out around the house. I have blamed him for years, when in reality it is my damaged, crippled Va-Jay Jay.

It is now my life’s goal to teach my vagina to play the magical flute. At some point I will rule over my husband and watch while he washes shit stained underware and scrubs burnt pots and pans. I will have my revenge. I will become a concert flautist! My vagina will reign supreme.

10Feb 2015

Welcome To Time Out

by Meredith Masony ⋅ Leave a Comment

“Welcome To Time Out”

Mom Version of Taylor Swifts “Welcome to New York”

I find that I sing this tune very frequently in my home. Please feel free to sing along while you send your sweet child to time-out.

Welcome to your room, Mom slams the door

Crying, flailing limbs, tears and so much more

Everybody listens as you scream and roar

Searching for a wooden spoon, Mom counts to four

And she says

Welcome to Time-Out

Its been waiting for you

Welcome to Time-Out

You’re stuck now child

Feel free to cry and stomp your feet, feet

Ten minutes more

Cuz I can’t stand your shreeeeeeek, shreeeeeek

Welcome to Time-Out

Its been waiting for you

Welcome to Time-Out

When you first threw your cup and bowl on the floor

Took your spoon and fork, ran and slammed the door

Everybody here knows you’ve been before

Because you want what you want

Boy oh boy bad choice and more

Welcome to Time-Out

Its been waiting for you

Welcome to Time-Out

You’re stuck now child

Feel free to cry and stomp your feet, feet

Ten minutes more

Cuz I can’t stand your shreeeeeeek, shreeeeeek

It doesn’t matter if you can carry a tune or not. Sing loud and proud!!

Sunshine

http://thatsinappropriate.net/

@thatsinapropro

06Feb 2015

What’s Your Mileage?

by Meredith Masony ⋅ Leave a Comment

I like my minivan. It is practical, safe, and drives like a dream. It fits the whole family very comfortably. I never thought I could be so content with a minivan. What’s my point? I know at some time in the near future, maybe 3-4 years, I will get rid of my van. It will hit 100,000 miles and I will trade it in for a newer version. So once again, what’s my point? Cars, homes, appliances, and people all have a shelf life. My minivan will get kicked to the curb when that odometer hits 6 digits. So the question at hand is, what is my odometer reading, and will I get traded in?

As a woman in her mid-thirties, with a body that has been destroyed by child-birth three times, I think about being traded in. I’m not blind. I can see the newer, shiny versions that travel the block. Perky breasts, tight asses, and hair that is free of boogers and spit up. I myself admire those versions, I remember being that version. I am also aware of the fact that each year, gravity is more and more vengeful and there isn’t much I can do about it.

With my minivan there is no guessing. I can see the odometer each day. There are no surprises. It is clear and precise. 60,342 miles have been accrued. How many miles have I accrued? If you judge it by the dark circles under my eyes, or the pains in my knees and back, my mileage is pretty substantial for a mid-thirties model. I do my best to exercise and eat well, but the three blood sucking vampires that I live with make it difficult to look like the twenty something model that is dent free with still inflated tires.

When I go to the dealership to trade in my minivan it will not be a shock. I will be ready for the trade. I will do research on my next vehicle; I will be able to prepare myself mentally. I guess my real fear is that since I can’t see my odometer reading, will I be shocked if I get traded in? Will I be blindsided and feel like those poor crash test dummies, all mangled and broken?

The thought of having to start the dating process all over again is daunting. I can’t imagine what it must be like to be single again. When you go car shopping, you can ask for an accident report or a Car Fax. I guess that’s what dating is like after marriage. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you. How many kids do you have? Any major accidents or surgeries I should know about? Do you have a good health insurance plan? How about your 401K? Is your Mother still alive?” Yikes!!! Check please.

So in the end, will the odometer reading determine if I get traded in, or will it only increase my value and cause me to become a classic? There is the possibility that my husband will love the vintage look and keep me around for the long haul. Men have odometer as well, so I guess I could consider a trade. It’s a good thing for him that I hate car shopping. I wonder what the Car Fax on a thirty something, bald father of three looks like? My guess is it’s a comparative value to a 60,324 mile Minivan Mom.

Sunshine

http://thatsinappropriate.net/

@thatsinapropro

30Jan 2015

#Mommitment

by Meredith Masony ⋅ 6 Comments

Taking care of other people as though your life depends on it….That is the commitment that we all make to our kids. Some moms make that commitment by being the crafty, hair did, stylish, got their shit together moms. Others rock the hell out of the yoga pants, snot covered t-shirts, crock pot meals, and consistent tardiness to dance class. Either way, we put our children first so that they can enjoy the things in life they dream about. We all do it out of an undying love; turned on like a light switch one day, that can never be flipped off. The fact that we as mothers would wish to judge and throw shame at one another makes me sad. We are all trying to do the same thing – raise humans.

My pledge is very simple. I vow to cast no “Mom” judgment. Moms are people, and people make decisions and choices. I may not agree with the choices or understand them, but I can still be kind, tolerant, loving, and gracious. I can listen when the days are long, and the laundry never ends. I can listen to rants and sympathize, because I was once in that exact same spot.

I pledge not to make snarky comments in my head when that crafty, Pinterest Mom brings in homemade cupcakes with hand-carved candy statues on top. I will try to just sit back and think about the time she took to make such a beautiful gesture for her child. I will write about my life and struggles so that you can know that we are all going through a very similar journey. I will try my best to make you laugh.

We are all trying to raise future teachers, lawyers, congressmen, small business owners, NBA stars, and (against all odds) astronauts. So, I will stand alongside you, I will not pick up a stone. Being a mom is hard enough; there is no need to endure a meteor shower.

Sunshine

http://thatsinappropriate.net/

@thatsinapropro

27Jan 2015

What Did You Say?

by Meredith Masony ⋅ Leave a Comment

whatdidyousay

Have you ever been out with friends and seen the “What did you say to me” head turn? It’s that moment when as a parent you heard exactly what the child said, but you can’t actually process that they said it. I have noticed that my children tend to say a lot of things and sometimes I am unsure of what the exact meaning is. Therefore, I have complied a list of terms and what they really mean. Please read below and save for your records in case you end up in the middle of a conversation with a crazy-ass child that seems to be babbling Yiddish.

Terms and their meanings:

I didn’t do it.: This means that the child did in fact do it, but they believe that you did not see them do it. They will defend their innocence to the death. You can show them streaming footage of the event in question and they will most likely still claim that they had no part in said activity. I myself have confronted my child with concrete evidence that they did in fact break a lamp, and yet she stood firm and tall, lying straight through her pearly white teeth.

Dad said I could.: This gem states that the child waited until “Dad” was on the couch napping to ask if they could get the glue, glitter, scissors, and yarn down from the craft bin to style the dogs hair. They obviously had permission from their father to complete the DIY project, so what is the actual problem? The dog seems satisfied and now you don’t have to take it to the groomers.

Why is your belly still fat?: Clear and to the point, this child is stating that you had that last baby over four years ago and it is time to get real and figure your shit out. On a side note, you have permission to slap the kid when they imply that you are pregnant when they damn well know you are not, however make sure it is your kid and not your kid’s friend.

You can’t make me!: This feisty child is challenging you to a duel of sorts. They are testing you to see if you will in fact, make them do whatever it is that you want them to do. They will wait you out, so be cautious and know your time restraints before going to battle. I have sat with my kid for over 2 hours at the dinner table over a few green beans, and I don’t have a DVR so I missed American Idol. Shit got real after that.

NO!: Silly, silly little one. This response is pretty specific. This child is asking, no dare I say demanding a series of spanking, time-outs, and other activities that follow when you tell your Mom no. My children are well aware of my specific sharp, head turn to the left. The daggers that shoot from my eyes like Indiana Jones zooming through the temple of doom. No good will ever come from this response. “No” is a four letter word in my house.

You’re the worst Mom ever!: This child is telling you the exact opposite. If you have gotten them this mad, your most likely the best Mom ever because you stood your ground. This is music to my ears! If they had done their homework and emptied the dishwasher, they could be playing video games right now instead of scooping dog shit up in the front yard.

I promise!: Never, ever, ever, ever, ever, believe this one. I have never once seen an actual promise take root in my house. Children are sneaky, shifty, lie-baggers, and they are not to be trusted. They will promise you something in one hand, and take a hot steamy crap in the other. Watch out and be vigilant. My favorite is, “If you read me one more story I will go to bed.” That child must think I was born yesterday. My children do not sleep, they are powered by pure evil. I’m pretty sure if they get a combined 20 minutes of sleep throughout the night, they can stay awake for an uninterrupted 7 days.

So I leave you with a simple yet detailed list of terms that you may come across as you are parenting your little love muffin. I wish you luck in all of your conversations with your children, so you are never left wondering, “What did you say?”

Sunshine

http://thatsinappropriate.net/

@thatsinapropro

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