humor

Yes, I Kiss My Children With This Mouth

11/07/2015 by Evelyn Aucoin 2 Comments

I am known among my circle of friends for a lot of things. My off-kilter sense of humor. My dramatic storytelling. My ridiculous addiction of saving lost animals. But, perhaps my most infamous trait is my potty mouth. There are merchant marines who have asked me to “clean it up a little”. I thought I had tempered my language for naughty words as I became a mom; however, a couple of situations with my children proved otherwise.

When my oldest son was four years old, he was in a great Montessori school. The headmistress at this preschool did not mess around. To say she lacked any evidence of a sense of humor is putting it politely. She was not unkind to the children, but she had zero tolerance for any monkey business.

So, as I sit at my very open desk at UBS Warburg Energy, my co-workers hear me say “Oh Sh!t” as I see the school number appear on my caller ID. They then perk their ears for my side of the phone call from the Take-No-Crap-Montessori- Headmistress:

“Yes, this is Evelyn.” “He said what?” “Oh my God.” “Um, yes, I will come to the school now.”

My co-workers do not have to solicit an explanation.

“My son had a friend grab a toy away from him. So my child, and in loud voice with perfect enunciation, looked at the playmate, and said ‘F%^& You.’ I do not know if I am horrified or slightly impressed that he used it in proper context.”

Not to be left out, my youngest had his moment in the cussing spotlight. Several years later, we took the boys to a Texas A&M football game. My youngest was four years old (I sense a trend). This child has understood football since he was two. As an infant, if you turned the TV channel off of a football game, he would cry until you returned the channel to the game.

My kids had their handheld game devices to help keep them occupied. The Aggies were playing Colorado, and the game had been very close – trading the lead over and over.

At the end of the fourth quarter, A&M was ahead, but in the last seconds Colorado tied the game – so we were headed for overtime. We are surrounded by old Ags, and there was audible disgust that we did not hold the lead. As the stadium sounds quieted around us, my youngest, in coke bottle glasses, adding to his appearance as an innocent child, glances up from his Gameboy, and at full volume declares:

“Colorado scored! Son of a b*tch.”

Everyone in our immediate area busted out in laugher. My husband shot me the “I wonder where he heard that” look, just to cover his butt.

So, me and my mouth have managed to leave quite a trail of stories. And as “offended” as some people will pretend to be, they often request I tell these stories over and over. What can I say? Love me, love my mouth.

Parking Lot Personality Test

08/13/2015 by Evelyn Aucoin Leave a Comment

I have a very unique gift. I can tell a lot about a personality by the way a person parks. Three shining examples of my unique gift come to mind, that I will share here to illustrate my point.

One busy Saturday, I was in the grocery store parking lot when a sedan rushed into one of the parking spots marked by a sign with a big, pink Stork sign that says “Reserved for Expectant Mothers”.

Out of the car jumped a man, who from his appearance, seems to be, in fact, 8 months pregnant. Perhaps with twins.

Personality assessment: Selfish Prick*.

(*Note: this personality type will never been seen on a Myers-Briggs assessment. I believe this is a gap in current personality assessment science, hence I will follow my instinct, and challenge the status quo.)

Spoiler Alert: A beer gut does not equal a pregnant belly

Perfect timing was on my side, as he left the store right in front of me as I completed my shopping and schlepped past him to my parking spot for the non-knocked up. He popped open his trunk and loaded 3 cases of (cheap, nasty) beer from his cart. My inner (sarcastic) spiritual guide prompted my comment, “Oh my goodness! Boy or girl?” as I demurely tucked my chin to one side, with a sweet southern smile, and looked at his expanding, yet assumingly uterus-free, mid-section. He looked at me, wide-eyed, and slightly confused.

Bless his little, selfish heart.

Obviously, he was going to give birth to a keg, given the contents of his shopping cart. I could only hope, for his sake, it was just a pony keg, or his “parts” would never be the same. But then again, it also may be sweet justice from the hand of the universe, and who am I to interfere?

My expression, in split seconds transformed to resting bitch mode, and I slowly turned my head and gaze to the giant pink stork sign, and then rotated my death stare back to him. One eyebrow cocked, smile replaced by a straight, tensed lip line. Now he was really scared. And I threw down the classic, inner valley girl equivalent of calling someone a thoughtless moron.

“Really?” And with that quip, I flipped my blond ponytail and continued to my car.

The second parking episode was more insightful and less dramatic. I arrived at daycare right before 5pm one day to pick up my darlings. As I carefully turned into the parking lot, a Lexus screeched into the lot, through the drive clearly marked “exit only,” and parked diagonally in the Handicapped reserved spaces – taking up both designated as such. A tall, uppity woman, jumps out of the car, curtly speaks into her cell phone saying “I will have to call you back,” and struts into the school. I hurry, disappointed I lack any snacks to enjoy while I watch this drama that is certain to unfold.

Personality assessment: **Uppity, self-absorbed, slight narcissistic, being-her-husband-would-be hell, she devil*.**

(*Note: Same gap in current personality science. Raise your hand if you do NOT know someone who falls into this category. Anyone? Bueller?)

She has been summoned by the center’s Director, who is waiting for her. This woman’s son is being sent home because of his behavior. What happened, you ask? HE REFUSED TO FOLLOW THE RULES. Shocking! Where on earth could he have developed this sense that rules do not apply to him? Truly a mystery? Not so much.

We have a saying here in the South, “The nut doesn’t fall far from the tree.” This tree was a self-absorbed, rule breaking when she felt like it, hot mess. Good luck, Momma – he is five now. Based on this, she might as well start hoarding away some money for a probation fund instead of a college savings account.

My last example is profound. Here is how a teenage boy I know parked in his driveway:

Notice, he backed in, inches away from both the tree and the back fence. I happen to know that car has no back up camera, nor sensors to help guide you. What does this tell me? Simple.

Personality Assessment: Self-preserving and thoughtful*.

(*Note: It is a maternal characteristic in this case.)

He was trying to avoid having his mother back straight into his large vehicle with her tiny car with sensors. You see, over the years, she had run over so many soccer balls, tree branches, and the like, that a little crunching sound as she backed up never fazed her. She just kept going.

Recently, that resulted in her scratching the crap out of her BMW, and duly scratching the front of his car. She is not selfish, just distracted.

And she was born blonde.

And she writes this blog.

Poor kid, he barely had a chance.

Colossal Emergency “Need to Pee” Parenting Fail

07/26/2015 by Evelyn Aucoin Leave a Comment

All the recent talk about cars due to the accident drama has reminded our family of another infamous car moment.

We live outside of Houston, Texas and as dedicated Former Students, we had season tickets to Texas A&M Football for about nine years. We made this quality family time – or at least always attempted to make it such. One night will forever go down in our family lore.

One night we were making the 77 mile trek home (yes, exactly 77 miles – when you are exhausted and trying to get home you know exactly how far it is). It was probably 8 or 9 pm. Our boys were about 13 and 11 at the time. Both dozed off in the car on the way home.

18 Miles to Go….and he has to GO

About 18 miles from home, in the middle of NOWHERE, Texas, the 13 year old wakes up in a panic.

Tween: “Mom, I gotta PEE”

Me: “We are nearly home – just hold it”

Tween: “I can’t! I gotta go really bad!!”

In my husband’s family, there are a plethora of stories concerning long distance car trips, in a Dodge van, that involved urination in soda cans, McDonald’s cups and even a dog dish. So my husband hands back an empty Ozarka water bottle and tells him to just use this.

A water bottle makes a lousy substitute for a bathroom.

Famous last words.

So I hear my son struggling down his shorts behind my head, hear the sound of liquid hitting plastic briefly and then..

Tween: “OH NO!”

I turn my head to the left as I see a high pressure stream of pee hit my husband in the back of the head, witness it flying into the windshield, hitting the navigation system, radio, a/c controls, and feel it sweep across the back of my leather seat.

Me: “Omg, STOP!”

Tween: ” I CAN’T!”

She shower of urine continues flying all over the inside of the Lexus SUV, while his younger brother, who is strategically out of the line of fire, is laughing hysterically. You know you are an optimist, when you initial thought after it ceases is that you are so glad he didn’t have to poop.

Febreeze is not going to cut it

Once we get home it is clear – we may have to burn the car. There is pee EVERYWHERE – all over the seats, carpet, ceiling, into air vents, etc.

And which parent drives this car to work everyday? That would be me. My husband’s words of advice? “Good Luck with this cluster” as he goes into the house to take a very long shower.

So I did what any other rational mom would do. I cleaned up the driver’s seat and immediate area. Monday morning, I drove straight to a very elite car wash in an area of town far from where I live. I arranged for the super detail cleaning with seats and carpet cleaning – the works! I explained, “My precious children spilled and sprayed lemonade all over the car! So it is going to be very sticky! I am so glad I found your service – I will be sure to tell all my friends about you.”

Best $180 I ever spent. Of course, the real kismet is that I kept this car for many years, and that tween drove it to high school for two years. He never did take a date in it. I wonder why?

Have Toenail, Will Travel

07/09/2015 by Evelyn Aucoin 3 Comments

So thanks to my recent fender bender I have been driving my precious children’s vehicle for the last several week. Have you ever had the joy of riding in a car that is basically a driving recreation room for two teenage boys?

My youngest drives it to and from school and activities, and with my eldest spawn home for the summer, they are sharing a vehicle (I know, rough life). So the first day I get in the car, put all my “stuff” in it – purse, briefcase, yoga bag, lunch – I generally need more accessories than Barbie everywhere I go. I get settled into the driver’s seat, and 5′ 3″ me has to adjust everything since I managed to produce giant children.

Everything is dusty, empty soda bottles, wrappers (gum, not condoms) and then I spot something odd:

A ripped off piece of toenail. Dear God. Really? Can you tell from the picture that it is nestled gently in the scope of the dashboard near a vent? It is directly across from the passenger’s seat.

I have handled a lot of really disgusting situations as a mom: baby bed full of smeared poop, dead guinea pigs, blood spurting everywhere from a head wound, pneumonia phlegm – the list could go on for pages. But – I. AM. NOT. CLEANING. THIS. UP.

Kids learn by example? Not always. Have you ever known ANYONE who pulled off toe nail edges in the car and left then on the dashboard?

So I drive the car for the next week (my precious BMW is still in the shop as I write this), and as happens with city driving, periodically my yoga bag slides all over the back seat, or my open purse takes a dive to the floorboard and spills crap everywhere, or the cell phone slides off the passenger seat into the completely unreachable farthest crevice of the auto. But, the toenail? STILL there a week later. Did they superglue the damn thing to dash? Why is it still in place?

I do notice after one particular hot day, parked in an open lot under the Texas sun, it did appear to “arch” a little more into a curled position.

Ten days into driving the testosterone-fueled Toyota – still there. Fourteen days – my toe nail co-pilot is still reporting for duty.

Then, I make a critical error. I should know better. I ask a friend to lunch, and out of habit of southern politeness, I say I will pick her up. Minutes later, I realize what I have done. I have just asked a friend to get in the car, with the toe nail RIGHT in front of her seat. Sh*t.

So with a momma’s sigh, I get a rag, I go to the car, and whisk the mighty toenail to its demise on the driveway. With my luck, it will puncture a tire.

Fender Bender Etiquette Tips

06/26/2015 by Evelyn Aucoin 2 Comments

I once heard that you learn from everybody; sometimes you learn what to do and sometimes you learn what not to do. In the light of this advice, I would like to share what not to do in the case of a fender bender. I estimate in 30 years of driving, I have logged over 400,000 miles. The majority of these miles commuting from the suburbs into Houston. When your butt is in the car that much, eventually you’re going to run into somebody, or they are going to run into you. Therefore, I consider myself a semi-expert on how to act after a fender bender since I have a handful of relevant experiences. I will use my recent situation to share my top tips.

Earlier this month, in evening rush-hour, I had another joyous occasion to exercise my expertise. I won’t bore you with the details. Simply put: a person’s front bumper made a rude introduction to my rear bumper in the middle of a busy intersection. Because were in the middle of this intersection, we pulled over onto a side street as to avoid creating a complete standstill on a busy road.

Tip 1: Don’t jack up everyone else because you have an “oopsy”. If you can steer it, clear it.

We exit our cars, and examine the minor damage to the vehicles. The woman driver and her male passenger ask me for my insurance information. They say, “You need to show us proof of insurance NOW!” Picture the scene: Me, dressed from my professional job, and they have smacked their car into my pristine BMW convertible. DId I really give off the vibe of an uninsured motorist?

Tip 2: Don’t be a butthole. Really. No one needs this kind of crap, no pun intended.

I say calmly, “Of course, please get your information and we will exchange.” They start yelling at me, “We don’t have to give you anything! We had the right of way! This is your fault little girl!” (In my forever 17-year-old brain: Little girl? Dang, that Nerium night cream must be working. Should I ask her how old she thinks I am? No that would be narcissistic. Wait – just had car wreck, focus Evelyn..)

Tip 3: Unless you are a cop and your passenger a judge, we are not going doing a trial here.

So, the guy (note: did not use the word gentleman, since it does not apply) tells me he’s going to call the police “on me”. Realizing I will be the only rational one in this situation, I look at him and say “It’s 6 PM in Houston, Texas during weeknight rush hour. We’ve already moved the cars from the site of the accident. No one is hurt, and all we DO have is two dinged up bumpers. Exactly how many hours do you want to spend with me this evening?”

Tip 4: Don’t bother cops with this type of bullcrap. Please. They have real criminals to deal with and if being a jerk was a crime, we would need to quadruple the size of the judicial system.

He continues to act belligerent with me. He wants me to immediately admit this is all my fault. I explain that in these situations, you exchange information and the insurance companies figure it out. That is, in fact, what insurance companies do.

I remain calm while the guy is now whipping his cell phone around, taking a pictures: their bumper, the empty intersection aka “the scene of the crime”, etc. As he is frantically taking pictures, I reason if he points his phone at me, I am going to inquire if it has “wide-view” or “panoramic” settings, turn around and moon him and all of creation with my ample, pristine, white southern butt.

Finally the driver tells me her name, but still doesn’t want to show me her ID. Really? Even people in witness protection have a fake ID they can flash. So, I hand her my ID and insurance card, and I offer to get her my business card, because it will be easier since it has my name and number. My business cards clearly have my title under my name: Partner. 99% of people who see my business card with no context assume I am an attorney, not an over-glorified accounting business consultant. Amazing how quickly her asshat passenger shut-up when he saw my title. (Note: They never asked nor mentioned anything about me being an attorney. I never implied it. I just gave them my card and let their I.Q.’s do the rest.)

Tip 5: Always leverage your assets to your advantage. In this case, the advantage was the passenger finally SHUT UP.

So once she has copied everything down, I think she even momentarily considered swabbing for my DNA, but reconsidered. Ready to get in my jacked-up car and go anywhere far away from them, I say “I’m sorry this has happened. It is an inconvenience but thank God no one is hurt.”

Tip 6 Someone has to decide to be the adult in the situation. Note there is very little traffic on the high road.

The driver then leans over and HUGS ME. Um, you were screaming at me five minutes ago, WTF? I am sure the look on my face was one of confusion. I am waiting for the cameras and the announcement that I am being punked.

Tip 7: Don’t hug the stranger you just yelled at. It could be easily confused with assault if they want to get you back for your crazy behavior.

The next day, I give my taped statement to the adjuster. Let’s just say, if it wasn’t bound by confidentiality, it would be on YouTube, because even he cited it as one of the most “articulately colorful” ones he has heard in a while.

To give you a taste, I asked during the taping, “I know I cannot cuss, but Dickweed is just a proper noun, right?”

EVELYN AUCOIN

humor

Yes, I Kiss My Children With This Mouth

Parking Lot Personality Test