Snakes, Tattoos and Boob Grabbing; 30 Days of Amazing Randomness

I know I have started out a lot of posts this year with "I've been MIA lately..." but I'm here today to show y'all why I've been MIA.

Through random pictures found on my phone.

This should be fun; I hope you all enjoy it half as much as I did, finding the pics on my phone.

These are all dated within the last 30 days. I could have gone back a little further, but when you get the randomness I have in just 30 days, you go with that. I posted them oldest to newest, so the first picture is from May 1st, the last picture from last night, May 28th.

Damn. My life.

Enjoy!!

In the last month of my life:

I have locked doors in the car and prayed while my friend tried to deal with a snake that crossed our path. Effing snake. I hate snakes.

I have gotten tattooed. Yes, this is the face I make when I get tattooed. 

Sexy, isn't it?

Background session #1 on my half sleeve is done. Now we just have to do the inside of my arm... 

FML...

WTF Wednesday: If a Child Cries Out for Help, Does Anyone Hear Her?

Today's WTF Wednesday post is about something that has definitely been the biggest WTF moment I've had in a while. I've already been through the anger phase, confusion phase, and crying phase, and am currently in the I Did the Right Thing phase.

I just got back from an impromptu meeting with the guidance counselor at The Girl's middle school.

The Girl is fine, so don't worry.

Last night, The Girl received a picture text from kid in her class. Now, The Girl was 4th generation receiver of this picture, meaning the original sender had sent the picture to someone, who sent the picture to someone, who sent the picture to The Girl. The picture was of a leg covered in scratch marks. The original sender claimed she was cutting herself and it felt good.

The original sender is around 12 years old. Sixth grade. That's it.

I was shocked. I looked at the picture, but was unable to determine for myself whether this was a picture of a cutter's leg, or a kid with scratches and possibly a feisty cat or dog on their hands.

Either way, it didn't matter. Whether the scratches were self-inflicted or not, this child sent out a picture to people, claiming the marks as her handiwork.

And please remember that this girl didn't send the picture to my daughter; she sent it to someone, who forwarded it to someone who forwarded it to my daughter. I honestly have no idea how many people saw this picture (which causes me to hang my head later on- you'll see), or will see this picture.

I asked The Girl to forward the picture to me, and with hesitancy, she did. When she asked what I was

Old Inklings or New Inklings- What Do You Think?

I have roughly 15 minutes before I have to wake Hubby up for the day and immerse myself in the most recent "Game of Thrones" episode, so I wanted to take a few minutes to word vomit for you all (and myself- I process things so much better when I word vomit).

I've been struggling with Inklings lately. The fact that I used to post 3-4 times a week, and since the new year I post maybe 1-2 posts a week, should show that. Back in March I wrote about how the more I found parts of myself (yes, just laying around the floor, stuck up under the bed, with how that sounds- oh, look, there's my pride stuffed in my sock drawer; hey, my creative process has been in the bathroom cabinet this whole time...), the more I distanced myself from the computer, which is still partially the case. Then, there are the other factors thrown in as to why I haven't been a good Mom to Inklings lately.

Inklings used to be my life. I woke up every morning, made my cup of coffee (or pot of coffee- whatever) and wrote. I had 5,437 ideas in my head that had to come out- rant about this, vent about that, assert my opinion on that craziness, show people a different side of that nonsense. Whatever didn't quite fit on Inklings would make its way onto one of the several other sites I wrote for. Then, after I wrote my daily musings, I headed to my kitchen island, where I stood up, paced back and forth, and wrote my book (yes, weird creative process there). Before I knew it, the kids were coming home from school, and not only was I still in my pajamas, smelling like a pig in mud, but all I had consumed that day was my morning cup (pot) of coffee.

I loved writing for Inklings. The more I wrote, the more people found me, and I loved that.

Then my book launched, and my brain fried. Everytime I sat down to write, I had a major case of the

WTF Wednesday: The "Cool" Mom

Tonight was The Girl's last orchestra concert for the year. She's in the Cadet Orchestra, which consists of all 6th graders, and there's a glee club and then the Concert Orchestra, which consists of 7th and 8th graders. We stay and watch all of the performances, even though the Cadet Orchestra plays first.

As I was sitting there, watching the cafeteria fill with parents, I noticed one of the 7th grade glee club members had changed her look from the last concert... in the form of having dyed her hair lavender.

My first reaction was, "What mother lets her 13 year old dye their hair purple?" (Please spare me the comments of how judgmental I was being- that thought would cross anyone's mind if they say a kid under high school age with permanently dyed crazy colored hair.) I watched the purple-haired minor walk across the room, curious to see if her mom was there.

Emma Stone looked
hella cool with lavender hair.

She was. And it caused an inward spiraling in me that I never saw coming...

The mom was around my age, covered in tattoos (complete with some small stars on her face), long bright green finger nails, tattoos on her fingers, and wearing a Star Wars hoodie.

Most people in society would glance at her, covered in her tattoos, see her daughter with the bright lavender hair, and crinkle their nose and huff in disgust, muttering, "That's what's wrong with the world today."

Me? I suddenly began to question my Cool Mom status.

I'm known as Tatted Mom. I pride myself on individuality, on my bright red hair, on my colorfully tattooed

The Girl Broke the Mold

A couple of months ago, I posted about the crazy things happening on my daughter's middle school bus in the mornings. Many of you asked for updates of what happened after my talk with the transportation department, and months later, I finally have one... sort of.

As far as the shenanigans on the bus, they've continued, and multiplied. Two girls got caught smoking on the bus (really? If you want to be a sneaky juvenile who smokes, you do it on the way to the bus stop in the morning, not on the damn bus...), and while there appears to be no more porn-watching, the kids on the bus find other ways to be asshats.

Oh, and the transportation department never followed up with me on that subject, by the way. They put a new monitor on the bus for all of 2 days, and that was it.

So where's the part of the update that requires an entire blog post?

Pic Courtesy

My daughter, The Girl, and what happened to her with this whole bus situation.

Hubby's phone rang last week- a call from the transportation department. He figured it was a follow up to my call months ago, and they just pulled his number off of our file, so he returned the call, as I was out grocery shopping.

It was the head of the transportation department, telling Hubby that a write up had been done by the bus driver on The Girl- a write up that they had never seen before, and he had to personally call the parents and deliver the news.

Hubby started to hit the roof. He said he couldn't figure out what in the hell The Girl had done to have the head of transportation personally call us. He said his heart rate sped up and his blood started to boil. (The Girl was grocery shopping with me.)

The transportation guy read the write up to Hubby:

"She always follows the rules and cooperates with the driver since the first day of this school year. I hope that more and more students on the bus will learn from her and make the students' transportation more efficient and much safer."

As Hubby sat speechless, the transportation guy went on to say that good write-ups on kids are extremely rare, so when one comes through, he makes a point to personally call the parents and inform them of their