The Story of How I Smeared Lipstick on Another Man’s Collared Shirt or How I Celebrated Valentine’s Day With A Dozen Dudes

I left my kids and husband at home and celebrated the Day of Love with bright cherry lipstick. The guy was taller than me so my lipstick didn’t stain his collar but it did stain his shirt as my pout landed on his shoulder. I went out on Valentine’s Day without my family and I had a great time hanging all over other men.

All dozens of them, all in one night, every Saturday so Valentine’s Day 2015 was no exception since I have been doing this regularly. Thankfully, GH and I don’t really buy in to the Valentine Schmalentime mess so off I went to leave lipstick marks on everyone instead of my husband. He got his night with me the evening before so I’ve met my Shitty Wife duty.

I’ve got my week jam-packed full ‘o strange dudes: Sunday, Monday, Tuesday and, of course, Saturday. I have restricted my addiction to a few nights this week but I could do it 7 days a week, 52 weeks a year. If I wanted and was up for it, I’d go every night and rotate a few dozen partners to dance with within my local social dance community.

Hope he gets the lipstick mark out.

Read my other post on strange men.

Happy Valemtimes!


Who or what did you/didn’t do on Valentine’s Day?


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Date Night Idea: Pamper Partying

Being away from family really means that my husband and I can’t get up and go do something on a whim. I would have to run background checks, call references or worse, pay someone to watch my kids. Thankfully, GH’s parents are in town from North Carolina for a Seattle vacation and we got to do a date night. Our last night out was in March and I over stressed, over worried and we overspent. Not this time, no sirree.

The best date night highlight was GH’s thoughtful idea from our kid-free days in college. The original time we did it was when I brought him in to my favorite spot and the gals loved how he came and gave zero fucks. One shotgun wedding and two kids later, GH decided date night would be a throwback for a couple pedicure. Major sex points there, amirite? He was there for the calf massage and I was there to soften my mom hooves. This wasn’t even the best part of the night. We really dug into our former and current selves for the rest of the night because the best date nights are both fun and functional.

Pedicures done, we just stepped outside in our freshly de-scaled heels to see what we would do next. Nothing planned, nothing reserved, just spontaneous togetherness and shit. An important thing that I should mention is the unofficially agreed upon requirement that all date nights will, now and forever and always, involve alcohol. We try, we really do but parenthood and aging has caught up to us. It was so adult of us to be one-and-done after one drink. Each. E A C H! We were practically falling out our bar stools laughing while people watching after a margarita for me and an IPA for him. Who am I and who removed my binge drinking card?

Our current adulting roles then took us to run important domestic errands at Target afterward. You ever been to Target 1) drunk 2) without kids? It’s a world I had never imagined could exist in my lowly life. This magic has inspired me to unofficially hereby decree that all future Target trips require alcohol, period. Kids there or not. The -Noys will clear out the Dollar Spot cuz Mama won’t give a fuuuuuuuuu.

unique date night idea

Date Night: Couple Pedicure

What did you do on your last


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Small Town Girl Probs: You Know Nothing About Breakup Etiquette, Jon Snow

How to not break up in a small town by @LaotianComotion
If I do not count my current husband, I have only had two ex-boyfriends with the official label. Like, boyfriend-girlfriend, Facebook-status official, and only three times have I been somewhat committed in such a relationship. Are exes and daters (I hate the word ‘lover’) mutually exclusive? In addition, these other ones were added to the body count but never a status-changer. No, I will not share my number. No, you do not get to make assumptions about me. No, you are not better than me because your body count is one and your husband is a lousy lay. This is just a little story about a small-town girl living in a prudey world and about the likelihood of running into an ex is more likely than anybody leaving the safe comforts of home.

I like to call my hometown Podunk-Bourg(eoisie), where it’s not small enough to have that old-timey flair nor is it large enough to be metro or cool at all. It’s a place where people think they are hotter shit than they really are is what I’m trying to say. A particular ex loved to always remind me for my sake, “Can’t turn a ho into a housewife.” A hometown full of exes, daters, flings, or whatever they’re called and I avoid visiting it like the STD pool the tri-town area that it is. Seriously, what do we call these people? Whatever you call them, I could not get away from them anytime I visited my folks. You especially don’t want to run into them after an awkward split-up: Shitty Wife was a Shitty Girlfriend too. No more awkward than Jon Snow’s reaction in Season 4, Episode 9 with Ygritte. You know you fucked up, right, Jon Snuh.

You know nothing about break-up etiquette, Jon Snow @LaotianComotion

My last official breakup with an Official Boyfriend was so unfriendly because GH became the man he is to me now. I left OB while we were trying to patch things up yet Gym Hottie did get his moniker for no reason at all. Get this: they have the same name and that just blew OB’s gasket and it was an unfriendly departure. Breakup meaning it was a lot of drunk calls to apologize and those apologies were never heard. One drunk run-in at a hometown bar and two years later, he somehow found out I was married and sent me a congratulatory text message and I was shocked. Why reach out now, you bastard? Why bring your petty small mind back into my life as I was 8 months pregnant? It took a good three years later to forget how awful a person that was. How a small baby  was the answer to change all of it. A now mundane, quiet life finally let me forget all about how shitty a partner I “was” when I look at my family, my husband, and my two kids. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still a crazy ass ex-girlfriend and will stalk your ass on social media. Can’t turn a stalker into a housewife maybe.

What is proper break-up etiquette anyway?


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Working With A Photographubby


GH’s masterpiece: unfiltered, unaltered withe exception of watermark

There is an unspoken rule of thumb when girlfriends take each others’ pictures: make sure the other one looks good. Us girls know how important it is to look good in the photos because it will go through the Delete-or-Keep Process regardless. I also will not post any unflattering photos of my friends either. Never have, never will. So, now that I do not have the access to like-minded girlfriends anymore, my default photog is my husband.

I thought the model was supposed to be the diva. Why is it that you’d think that asking GH to take some shots of me is like asking him to give up Starbucks for eternity and forever. Complete with an eye roll and an under-the-breath huff, he’s all “one and done.” Don’t he know I gotta get at least 20 snaps before even getting the Female Stamp of Approval? This request is obviously 19 times too demanding. GH has finally warmed up to the fact that I am insisting to be in front of the camera from now on. He just really has no choice but to hop along on the happy wife, happy life train of thought. I’m grateful I have someone who’s passed kindergarten to take these photos I want but I just can’t help but be a little annoyed. It’s an iPhone, sure, but he did such a nice job at the home birth. Come the fuck on.

My photography rules are simple:

1) Make sure I look good.

2) Nobody likes a blurry pic.

3) Make sure I look really good.

4) Don’t make me feel bad for wanting pics taken of me.

5) Make sure I look really damn good.

Is it the photographer or the equipment that’s at fault?


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When Your Husband Wants You To Go To The Arms Of Other Men

the other man
Eyes studying and a stranger’s hand touching mine, I was pulled to him just like the many men before him. Only thing holding my body up was the stiff of my arms and hand walled by a set of arms and hand but never are they my husband’s. My husband knows this makes me satisfied in my life, therefore marriage, and actually drove me to be with these other men.

There are rules, however: respect space (boundaries), be courteous (always ask), and have fun (of course). My space grows void as other couples pair off and courtesy is always, “May I?” I have never turned down an offer in five years and we begin the connection go-round once more: eyes, hands, wall. We are coupled for just a song’s play and we go our separate ways after dancing a little dance. Rounding out dance etiquette, he returns me to my place when we first locked eyes and our time is done until we meet again. Social partner dancing is a funny thing: you either hate it, love it, or kinda love it just enough for some nightclub confidence. Partner dancing without your husband is even funnier because you hate the fact you are alone or realize this dance partner wants to “partner.” (More on this later) My actual real-life partner has my back while another man’s touching mine and it works for us.

GH has found that my sole solace has nothing to do with him. He forces me to go out even after I elaborate on the dirty dishes or feign another yawning excuse. He tells me to not even ask but to just do this one thing for just me. With this full support finally in place after co-parent resentment of three years, I now find it a bit exhilarating to sneak away from domestication and responsibility for this time away from my man, my kids, my work, my home and be me. The me before I was buried in routine, unfolded laundry, and kids and this me is a lot more enjoyable to be around after these dance floor rendezvous. I get to be free and me and all these other men are just there for the ride and dance.

Date Night Mama Trauma

Unlike toiling away in the rice fields in Laos, I was away from my infant for fun. Lao mothers are a part of the manual labor force in the family. Me? I left my baby and went to go drink and grind on my husband at a kid-free wedding. My original RSVP was “No” for exclusively breastfeeding and a “Hell No” as I’d have to find actual hygienic clothes to wear. Alas, GH convinced me of this golden opportunity for a date night and I still hesitantly checked “Yes.” Peaceful Parenting Prep went into action: I pumped breastmilk for three different types of bottles, a sippy cup, and an Ergo baby carrier lesson plan geared to my modern-struck parents. Nothing still prepared for a date night gone to shit.

date night from hell

Planning on being on the road for only four hours, four turned into six. Lanoy only stopped crying when the car was stopped and she was out of the car seat. No boob, no pacifier, just out of the car seat and in my lap. A million hours later, we arrived at my parents’ as the kids would be staying with my family, including my siblings. I couldn’t pee, eat, walk, get up, or get ready without Lanoy wailing like I’m walking to the snack cupboard and forever out of her little life.

Finally, with a fighting nap baby strapped on my back, I prepare my face with makeup and quickly heat damage my hair before she decides to rip it out. I hold her all day as much as I capably can and nurse her right before we are about to drive off. She wails as I remove her death grip on my dress and just turn and walk away. GH and I “enjoyed” our time out but I wanted to go. I wanted to be with my baby because she needed me. We arrived home and finally her crying bout ended after four hours. She cried the entire time we were at the wedding. She also cried the entire car trip, there and back. Let’s also add in the in-between crying when I needed to go to the bathroom so I estimate it was 14 hours of crying the entire weekend. 14 hours of traumatic absence. 14 hours of an angry soft spot. 14 hours mommy guilt. “Never. Again,” I vow.

How did your first baby-free outing go?

You can find me tweeting my hatred for pants on twitter, filtering the shit outta mom lyfe on Instagram, pinning food I’ll never make on Pinterest, and being a SEO creep on Google+

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How To Win A Practical Woman’s Heart

the real way to a woman's heart

I briefly pawed at them and then awkwardly stuffed the otherwise beautiful bouquet of flowers on the floorboard of my new boyfriend’s car. Poor guy thought I would like flowers but instead was in a car (and subsequent 3-year relationship) with a girl, who hates flowers. My current man knows me more than to pass off a vase of flowers as love for me. Gym Hottie knows the practical way to my heart and it doesn’t involve cut flower food.

Flowers Flowers die. They cost money and they eventually die. What kinda warped idea of love you tryin’ to sell me with flowers? From there, I’m also to preserve it. Flowers are kinda like puppies and puppies are, like, the worst thing to have. I have two little humans taunting me for sustenance so please don’t add flowers to that list.

Gifts I tell you what: turn around in the opposite direction of the flower shop and go down the candy aisle. Something, anything from this aisle will make me excited and not hate you for wasting it on (eventually) dead flowers. You really can’t go wrong with Rolos. To be clear, anything dark chocolate because that shit’s healthy. You know we’re always on a diet.

Dinner Nothing gets me all hot and bothered like not having to bother with a hot stove. GH surprised me to delivery pizza the other night so dinner was taken care of for once. It wasn’t Olive Garden fancy but it was dinner nonetheless. After that dinner rescue, he just seriously earned himself a “dessert” coupon, ifyouknowwhatimean.

Alone time Sometimes you don’t want to be chased or interrogated about your feelings or what the kids did to piss you off. Alone time means actually being alone without a child crying at your feet or that 5-minute bathroom venture. GH let me take a nap right before he surprised me with that ultra fancy pizza dinner while he stayed up with the no-nap toddler and cranky baby. I woke up refreshed, dinner, and didn’t want to choke anyone. We all win.

Sweet-nothings Complimenting a lady-gal goes a long way. Specific and genuine compliments are nice. I kinda like nice. Other times, I just wanna be told how good my ass looks in the second-day yoga pants I’m wearing. Tell me my hair looks good even with all the baby drool and toddler peanut butter offerings. GH is quite up to par with this and he makes me feel very special. My ass. I mean, my ass feels special.

If you have gotten this far then you really should seek alternate advice for relationships because I am the shitty wife. I’m practically immune to the romantic comedy idea of love and courtship. I was never sold on diamonds or boxed candy (except anything caramel/chocolate combo). If it doesn’t feed or energize me, I’m just not that into it.

Honorable mentions:
– Don’t forget her birthday. EVER.
– Don’t gift anything exercise- or-beauty-related. EVER.
– Don’t ask about her hygiene or lack thereof.
– Realize not all women are the same.

How did your partner win your heart?

You can find me tweeting my hatred for pants on twitter, filtering the shit outta mom lyfe on Instagram, pinning food I’ll never make on Pinterest, and being a SEO creep on Google+

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4 Painful Ways To Celebrate A Wedding Anniversary


If GH were Lao.

I couldn’t wait to feel the hot wash over my routine’s aches and day’s pain. By the time I cleaned the bathtub (boo) during my solo shower (yayyy) and toweled off the important body parts, the baby was up. It’s really like any other late night/early morning for me except today’s a day that I figured the universe should’ve provided me a little of a break once a year. Today’s my wedding anniversary and, today of all days, it’s just been a literal pain.

1) Pain in my neck No, I’m not talking about GH here (yet). Lanoy slept in the sidecar crib and I fed her from the bed. The side car mattress is lower than our pillowtop so I had to get in this funky side-stroke position with my arm pressed up against my ear and dangling my nipple near her mouth. It was just a mess. My body is rigid and my insurance is lacking so no chiropractor suggestions please.

4 ways my wedding anniversary can just eff off | The Laotian Commotion

Das me.

2) Pain in my boob Somehow, some way I not only managed to twist my neck in the middle of the night, I also caused my breast milk to get clogged. A plugged milk duct is painful and annoying at best. Hot massaging is minor relief but any wrong toddler roundhouse and you buckle onto the floor, rocking back and forth cupping your precioussssss boob.

3) Pain in my ass If you thought GH was gonna get away scot-free in this angry post, you obviously haven’t been following along. The man forgot my birthday. The man, you guessed it, also forgot our wedding anniversary. How do I know? Beside the “oh, I never would’ve thought of it until you said it” blip, he also coordinated obligated hospitality with his hometown buddy’s visit and short stay with us during our wedding anniversary.

4) Pain in my side Thanks to points 1, 2, and 3 I was up until 3 am deep cleaning the apartment while my darling, supportive family snooze. Other than my day of my glorious presence into your mortal world, I am supposed to not do anything on this day. I’m supposed to sit in my fuzzy robe while someone else takes the kids to the store, to the playground, and give them baths and wipe their asses. I’m tir—- zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Happy anniversary to me!

How was your anniversary better than mine?

You can find me tweeting my hatred for pants on twitter, filtering the shit outta my kids’ mugs on Instagram, pinning food I’ll never make on Pinterest, and being a SEO creep on Google+

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Can Married Moms Still Be Featured On “Missed Connections?”

Back in my mingling days, I’d always wish I meet the man of the semester through Craigslist’s missed connection ads. Like, he’d describe how my dark hair was glowing in the university courtyard or how he saw me slow-motion laughing while volunteering at the park with kindergartners. Shit like that happens but never to me. I creeped Missed Conmections times I can count on one hand just to see how everyone else was loving from afar then went ahead and decided to marry the guy that knocked me up. A married mom can still look from afar, no?

So, I met a man. I was in the backseat of the car the whole time though. This man and I didn’t say much to each other either. I was also with my two kids and that man was adjacent to our parking spot and he, so I think, couldn’t see me see him. He was so good-looking, I had to take a picture of him.

I already had phone camera in hand as many moms stuck in the backseat with kids do. So, to make it less creepy I made sure that any and all witnesses knew I was back there with kids and not just some unbathed lady talking to empty buckets. I made over-expressive faces and jerked my head to give the baby kisses in her car seat all the while side-holding my open camera and snapping a pic. See what I “did” there? The looks of it was me obviously front-facing myself loving on my child, who really does exist, if anyone was to ever question why my phone was pointed toward the windshield.


There are always good-looking guys I see when I’m out haggard with the kids. Just this last grocery trip, there was a Ralph Lauren-esque model in expensive mall jeans at Safeway. He was gorgeous and here I am with my defunct ponytail that started high but ended sloppy and low because elastic is the devil. Then there was the gym guy, who was warming up on the treadmill and the mirrors told me my cotton top leaked boob milk from the baby’s feed in the gym nursery. The universe then throws in the irreverent drive-by and notice the hottie next car over only when I’m squinting through my glasses sliding down my greasy nose too. Again, haggard.

Why am I checking out guys? Why do we do anything that brightens up our day? Hot men brighten up my day. My husband is hot but he’s my husband and beside the point. I try not to melt into a pile of oogly eyes since I’m usually all eyes on the speedy toddler through slip-slidey eyeglasses.

Who have you checked out lately?

How Much That Nudie Pic Actually Cost Me In My Marriage

The sequence of events after sending out a nudie picture to your husband is pretty predictable. I will spare you the deets of such generosity from my wife spontaneity but it starts the same: send pic, husband receives it, both wiggle eyebrows, vow to hump at next sighting. The following will then be one or both forget about it and sexy time happens at most random irrelevant time, if at all. Feeling struck with a bit of constructive criticism, I took the liberty of texting my husband at work to see if my blog post titled “3 Mistakes To Make To Not Get Laid By Your Wife” offended him in any way and if it did, I would gladly remove it even after the lively discussion here and on Instagram. Surprisingly he had yet to read it so my premature half-apology piqued his interest. I waited for that iMessage bubble pending his response but already knew how he would react. After all he’s my husband and it was just as I expected.

cooter cash

We don’t play.

How have you bartered sex with your partner? Have your own version of Cooter Ca$h?

You can find me tweeting my hatred for pants on twitter, filtering the shit outta my kids’ mugs on Instagram, pinning food I’ll never make on Pinterest, and being a SEO creep on Google+

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