A couple weeks ago, some friends were in town from California (Yo, Colemans!). A bunch of us got together for dinner, drinks and, alcohol-induced, deep conversation. Because that’s what you do when you have had a few cocktails. You become the smartest, most profound person you know. You also become very self-confident and you start to think yourself to be very lovely, which, normally you do not necessarily believe. You know you have had far too many cocktails when you become a good dancer as dancing is not something you have ever excelled at. You blame your mom for this because she did not sign you up for dance class when you were a tot. Cocktails are seriously the world’s problem solver. I believe congress could make some great decisions if everybody just threw back a couple beforehand. Wars would be ended over a glass of ale, seriously.
Anyway, so my dear friends convinced me I need to blog again. So, I shall try it because once upon a time, liquor made me say I would. I like to keep my word. I also appreciate the kind words and positive reinforcement. Consider yourself warned-I’ll be back (insert Arnold’s voice here but only his voice before he become a philandering arse because now he’s just yucky).
Monday, September 26, 2011
Monday, May 16, 2011
Random Acts
We woke on Easter morning to discover the Mississippi River flowing through our basement. I joke. It wasn’t really the Mississippi. It was more like a murky, disease-infested creek. What a mess! It was Easter! Hath God no sympathy? No! No! He doesn’t! I believe he is punishing me for my lifetime of wrong-doing. I so should have been a nicer person. Karma: It’s a total bitch.
While I don’t fully believe God is punishing me, I am starting to question some things. First, this was totally my fault. I jinxed us. Things are going well (were), financially and life is good. I SHOULD NOT HAVE OPENED MY MOUTH. I should know better. If you speak of it, the shit will hit the fan. Literally.
Second, I realize and fully recognize there are way worse things than a flood in one’s basement. I am glad it was not worse. People are dying. There is disease, poverty, war and a million other horrible things happening in our world. I am thankful for all that I have. So, before you bethink me an awful person, let me just clarify that.
But, nobody wants to wake up to a flood, especially, on a holiday. We have a child! She had a basket to find! We made cinnamon buns from scratch the night before! We just had to bake them for 30 minutes and have a wonderful, sugar-filled morning breakfast which would pair fabulously with super-strong coffee. You want to know what those cinnamon buns tasted like post flood discovery? They tasted like bitter resentment. Screw you, house! Why do you have to do this to us now and ruin our holiday? Christ rose! You didn’t have to do this! At least not today!
I thought maybe the buns would make us feel better. False. We sat around, eating them, pondering what the hell we should do with the mess in our basement. We wanted to know what it was. We wondered what could have caused it. Bread said he suspected our water heater had given out. He mentioned, about a month ago, we needed a new one. This would have been awesome scenario as it would have been clean water. As I mentioned before, in our home, you can’t speak of something without making it fall apart. Last month, Bread said, “Oh! Our Lazy Susan is cracked. Be careful! I will have to fix it.” I shit you not, that night, as I was reading in bed at one in the morning there was a great crash from downstairs. I feared we were being burgled! No! It turns out Suze fell apart and our herbs, spices, oils and various other pounds of cooking miscellanea decided that was the time to fall. It scared the hell out of both of us. Bread was prancing about our home in just his underwear; it was something straight out of a sitcom.
Once he headed to the basement to handle the flood, it took Bread all of maybe five minutes to deduce it was not our water heater causing the flood. It was, in fact, a drain backup. Now, while there were no turds visible, there was really no way to deduce whether the stuff in our basement was clean or dirty water. My germophobia was on high-alert. Remove all shoes! Do not touch anything! Wash! Wash! Wash!
Eventually, the plumber showed up and declared it was, indeed, clean water. God bless Jesus! I could not handle actual human waste in my home anywhere outside of say, the toilet or perhaps my child’s pants. And, maybe sometimes Bread’s pants! But, I’m not in charge of that when it happens! Ha!
Okay, so the plumber told us it was clean water. Ground water is actually what he called it. We were able to carry on with our day. My mom came to pick up Bird earlier in the day so as she could still have a nice holiday. I went to pick her up while Bread began the clean up. The poor guy spent his entire Easter Sunday trying to clean up the disaster. He has been working 70 hour work weeks. This was his first full weekend off in probably a month. I felt bad. Did I mention how much my husband rocks?
After Bird was tucked in and coming off her chocolate- bunny- induced- sugar- high, I went to help Bread. I wasn’t too grossed out since the plumber informed us of the water being clean and all. And, why should my husband have to deal with that all on his own. Eventually, we called it a day, showered and went to bed hoping for a better day tomorrow. Meaning: the insurance people will be in and they can give us the okay to call folks to fix this.
We were deluded for believing the insurance people would help in any way, shape or form. After several phone calls, a meeting with an adjuster and lots of nasty words, we now know if they are not covering anything. I suppose this was just one of life’s lessons. We now have a new insurance provider, in case you were wondering about that.
We had to take matters into our own hands. We called a restoration company. They, in turn, informed us the water was not actually clean. It’s what they call “grey water.” This means, while it was not actually raw sewage, it was, by no means, clean because it has been in contact with actual raw sewage. Vomit. Barf. Oh, my God, why didn’t I wear a hazmat suit?
Upon reflecting on this, I gather when one’s occupation is a plumber, you probably see some nasty shit (pun intended). So, when you walk into someone’s home, it doesn’t smell and there are no actual floating logs, you probably do consider it clean. We, on the other hand, have a different standard. I am not, and never plan to be, used to this. I need to give kudos to all the plumbers out there. You rock and are, most certainly, underpaid. For the record, our plumber rocked. He was great and only charged us $250! It was Easter!
So, the restoration company recommended we replace the carpeting and pad in our basement. It did not take much arm twisting for this germ- obsessed person to agree to that. They said we could clean the carpet if we really wanted to. I do not. I have no sentimental attachment to this. Burn it. We ordered new carpet. Everything has been cleaned and sanitized. We will live. We decided that. We will try to make cinnamon buns again. Everything will be okay.
Bread declared over dinner last night that we’ve had our fair share of acts of God this year. He reminded me of the recent shit storms provided especially for me by my child. He said the Great Basement Flood of 2011 would obviously count as such. He seems to think that next it will be a locust invasion or, perhaps, bed bugs. Bed bugs! Are you crazy! You don’t talk about bed bugs! If we get bed bugs I’m moving out! Curse you! Did he not get the memo regarding our luck? We’re screwed.
While I don’t fully believe God is punishing me, I am starting to question some things. First, this was totally my fault. I jinxed us. Things are going well (were), financially and life is good. I SHOULD NOT HAVE OPENED MY MOUTH. I should know better. If you speak of it, the shit will hit the fan. Literally.
Second, I realize and fully recognize there are way worse things than a flood in one’s basement. I am glad it was not worse. People are dying. There is disease, poverty, war and a million other horrible things happening in our world. I am thankful for all that I have. So, before you bethink me an awful person, let me just clarify that.
But, nobody wants to wake up to a flood, especially, on a holiday. We have a child! She had a basket to find! We made cinnamon buns from scratch the night before! We just had to bake them for 30 minutes and have a wonderful, sugar-filled morning breakfast which would pair fabulously with super-strong coffee. You want to know what those cinnamon buns tasted like post flood discovery? They tasted like bitter resentment. Screw you, house! Why do you have to do this to us now and ruin our holiday? Christ rose! You didn’t have to do this! At least not today!
I thought maybe the buns would make us feel better. False. We sat around, eating them, pondering what the hell we should do with the mess in our basement. We wanted to know what it was. We wondered what could have caused it. Bread said he suspected our water heater had given out. He mentioned, about a month ago, we needed a new one. This would have been awesome scenario as it would have been clean water. As I mentioned before, in our home, you can’t speak of something without making it fall apart. Last month, Bread said, “Oh! Our Lazy Susan is cracked. Be careful! I will have to fix it.” I shit you not, that night, as I was reading in bed at one in the morning there was a great crash from downstairs. I feared we were being burgled! No! It turns out Suze fell apart and our herbs, spices, oils and various other pounds of cooking miscellanea decided that was the time to fall. It scared the hell out of both of us. Bread was prancing about our home in just his underwear; it was something straight out of a sitcom.
Once he headed to the basement to handle the flood, it took Bread all of maybe five minutes to deduce it was not our water heater causing the flood. It was, in fact, a drain backup. Now, while there were no turds visible, there was really no way to deduce whether the stuff in our basement was clean or dirty water. My germophobia was on high-alert. Remove all shoes! Do not touch anything! Wash! Wash! Wash!
Eventually, the plumber showed up and declared it was, indeed, clean water. God bless Jesus! I could not handle actual human waste in my home anywhere outside of say, the toilet or perhaps my child’s pants. And, maybe sometimes Bread’s pants! But, I’m not in charge of that when it happens! Ha!
Okay, so the plumber told us it was clean water. Ground water is actually what he called it. We were able to carry on with our day. My mom came to pick up Bird earlier in the day so as she could still have a nice holiday. I went to pick her up while Bread began the clean up. The poor guy spent his entire Easter Sunday trying to clean up the disaster. He has been working 70 hour work weeks. This was his first full weekend off in probably a month. I felt bad. Did I mention how much my husband rocks?
After Bird was tucked in and coming off her chocolate- bunny- induced- sugar- high, I went to help Bread. I wasn’t too grossed out since the plumber informed us of the water being clean and all. And, why should my husband have to deal with that all on his own. Eventually, we called it a day, showered and went to bed hoping for a better day tomorrow. Meaning: the insurance people will be in and they can give us the okay to call folks to fix this.
We were deluded for believing the insurance people would help in any way, shape or form. After several phone calls, a meeting with an adjuster and lots of nasty words, we now know if they are not covering anything. I suppose this was just one of life’s lessons. We now have a new insurance provider, in case you were wondering about that.
We had to take matters into our own hands. We called a restoration company. They, in turn, informed us the water was not actually clean. It’s what they call “grey water.” This means, while it was not actually raw sewage, it was, by no means, clean because it has been in contact with actual raw sewage. Vomit. Barf. Oh, my God, why didn’t I wear a hazmat suit?
Upon reflecting on this, I gather when one’s occupation is a plumber, you probably see some nasty shit (pun intended). So, when you walk into someone’s home, it doesn’t smell and there are no actual floating logs, you probably do consider it clean. We, on the other hand, have a different standard. I am not, and never plan to be, used to this. I need to give kudos to all the plumbers out there. You rock and are, most certainly, underpaid. For the record, our plumber rocked. He was great and only charged us $250! It was Easter!
So, the restoration company recommended we replace the carpeting and pad in our basement. It did not take much arm twisting for this germ- obsessed person to agree to that. They said we could clean the carpet if we really wanted to. I do not. I have no sentimental attachment to this. Burn it. We ordered new carpet. Everything has been cleaned and sanitized. We will live. We decided that. We will try to make cinnamon buns again. Everything will be okay.
Bread declared over dinner last night that we’ve had our fair share of acts of God this year. He reminded me of the recent shit storms provided especially for me by my child. He said the Great Basement Flood of 2011 would obviously count as such. He seems to think that next it will be a locust invasion or, perhaps, bed bugs. Bed bugs! Are you crazy! You don’t talk about bed bugs! If we get bed bugs I’m moving out! Curse you! Did he not get the memo regarding our luck? We’re screwed.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Shit Storm
My child has been potty trained for over a year now. We still remind her quite often to go because she has an occasional accident. But, she is a three-year-old wishing for independence, therefore, reminding her to go usually leads to a battle. I have been trying to give her more bathroom freedom because I do feel like she gets it. It’s all about the give and take, you know?
Lately, I am obsessed with Trader Joes. I tried it before on several occasions and did not really love it enough to make a special trip there weekly or even monthly. I already frequent three other grocery stores. I figured that was enough. Then, we received one of their fabulous sales papers and I decided I wanted to try it again. I am hooked. While I’m not Costco-obsessed with TJ’s, I am undoubtedly having a major love affair with them. They have so many great, healthy, inexpensive things! They did not pay me to say this. In fact, nobody is paying me to say anything. Weird. In fact, one might say, there are probably people who would pay me to shut up.
Last week, we were out of Sunflower Seed Butter. In our home, this is a crisis. I planned a trip with the tot. I consider it to be an outing because it involves parking in a parking garage and it is in the next town over. I don’t know why the parking garage complicates it. It just does. It also takes forever to get there. I checked it out and it’s only five miles but it feels like forever. Perhaps I need to seek an alternate route. Perhaps I need to find something else to obsess about.
Anyhow, we went. Bird loves it. She found one of those little carts for kids. She was happy as can be. We made it through the produce, coffee and cracker section. We were debating some raisin bagels. She started to do a little dance. I couldn’t tell if it was a potty dance or just a this-music-really-moves-me thing. I questioned if she needed to use the facilities. She said no. Oh! And here we go. This is the part where you figure out I am, indeed, about to write about my child and her frail, inexperienced bladder. I say, no, not her bladder this time, her bowels! I really pulled one over on you. It’s funny to me! So many things are funny to me about child rearing. So so so so so many things. Some people may disagree. These people may go as far as to say raising children is a very serious matter. I, on the other hand, think it’s funny. Yes, it is serious too but, my child will still be okay even if I write about her accidents on the internet. Believe me, there are a thousand different ways in which I am 100 percent certain I can screw up my kid. Besides, I need material so I can embarrass her in front of her prom date.
Essentially, about four seconds after she refuses my offer to take her to the bathroom, her entire face goes green and she says, “I need to go potty.” I tell myself not to panic, push my cart out of the way and grab her. She says, “I already went a little bit.” I tell her it’s no big deal and we search for the bathroom. Naturally, the bathrooms are located exactly behind where we were except, in my panic, I didn’t think to look behind me. So, I made my kid walk an entire lap around the store with a load of shit in her pants. And, that was just how she was walking-as if she had a load of shit in her pants. Her legs were about three feet apart.
We make it to the restroom. At this point, I deduce it’s more than a little bit. It’s a mass. Luckily she is wearing a skirt and leggings. After she informs me she doesn’t need to go on the potty, as she is done, I decide to try and clean her up. Because even if we can’t finish shopping, there is no way I am putting her in my brand new car with that going on. No way. I decide the best method is to remove her shoes and throw away the leggings and her underwear. You are welcome Trader Joes for that gift. There was a moment of sheer insanity where I actually considered putting these items in my purse. You know, just tossing them in. I’m very glad I reconsidered, as is the cashier. I use about a half a roll of the paper towel in the bathroom (not very green of me) to wipe her down. Next I use the Sani Hands I keep in my purse (no plastic bag for storing shitty underwear, however) to wipe her off. I suspect, by her shrieks, this may have burned a bit. I was desperate! I was trying to remain calm because, in the words of hamburger eating David Hasselhoff, “This thing is a mess.” Funny, my friends made fun of me at the casino because of the Sani Hands. Had they been present at TJ’s they would have had a much better appreciation for my thoughtfulness.
I deduct she is clean enough. I tell her we are not going to discuss this with anyone. I have visions of her telling people while we are at the store about our little predicament. We are not going to tell anyone that you are not wearing panties. She agrees. I hope she holds up her end of the deal. We finish shopping. I want my effing organic banana yogurt. That stuff is like crack. I am going to need crack after this experience. I drove here, I had a traumatic experience, I survived and I want my goods. We find one of our carts. The other one seems to have disappeared since we were in the bathroom for well over 20 minutes. I’m fine with that. I retrace my steps, hopefully grabbing whatever I had in the cart before and moving as quickly as I can. My child needs a bath and I am praying to God this does not happen again because there is obviously nothing to contain it. I swear to you, people were looking at us funny. I swear they knew. I am sweating profusely and I can’t wait to leave.
Alas, we are in the car. I am driving quickly. Bird is tucked neatly into her seat with her skirt wrapped around her. I can’t have any feces touching my vehicle. I am trying to contain it. I am traumatized. I am frazzled. Feces in public has that effect on me. I am not a calm person. I stop behind bus and a line of cars. The light changes about three times but we never move. Why is the man behind me honking? There is nothing I can do! I am waiting for the traffic in front of me to move! He continues to honk. Oh! Wait! This is actually a line of parked cars! I am a moron! I am frazzled! I roll down the window and yell to the man, “My child shit her pants in the grocery store! I’m spent!” I am kidding. I didn’t actually yell to him. I wanted to. But, in my defense, there was a bus! I thought we were waiting for the bus.
We arrive home. I ask her, as she’s disrobing for the bath, “What happened at Trader Joes?” She informs me, “We can’t talk about it.” Well, at least she kept up her end of the bargain. At least it’s over. That is, until the next day when she does the exact same thing at school and her teacher hands me her underwear wrapped in a plastic bag. I thought it was an art project! Wrong. When I asked her what happened at school she tells me, “I snarkled.” Oh! Is that what the kids are calling it these days?
Lately, I am obsessed with Trader Joes. I tried it before on several occasions and did not really love it enough to make a special trip there weekly or even monthly. I already frequent three other grocery stores. I figured that was enough. Then, we received one of their fabulous sales papers and I decided I wanted to try it again. I am hooked. While I’m not Costco-obsessed with TJ’s, I am undoubtedly having a major love affair with them. They have so many great, healthy, inexpensive things! They did not pay me to say this. In fact, nobody is paying me to say anything. Weird. In fact, one might say, there are probably people who would pay me to shut up.
Last week, we were out of Sunflower Seed Butter. In our home, this is a crisis. I planned a trip with the tot. I consider it to be an outing because it involves parking in a parking garage and it is in the next town over. I don’t know why the parking garage complicates it. It just does. It also takes forever to get there. I checked it out and it’s only five miles but it feels like forever. Perhaps I need to seek an alternate route. Perhaps I need to find something else to obsess about.
Anyhow, we went. Bird loves it. She found one of those little carts for kids. She was happy as can be. We made it through the produce, coffee and cracker section. We were debating some raisin bagels. She started to do a little dance. I couldn’t tell if it was a potty dance or just a this-music-really-moves-me thing. I questioned if she needed to use the facilities. She said no. Oh! And here we go. This is the part where you figure out I am, indeed, about to write about my child and her frail, inexperienced bladder. I say, no, not her bladder this time, her bowels! I really pulled one over on you. It’s funny to me! So many things are funny to me about child rearing. So so so so so many things. Some people may disagree. These people may go as far as to say raising children is a very serious matter. I, on the other hand, think it’s funny. Yes, it is serious too but, my child will still be okay even if I write about her accidents on the internet. Believe me, there are a thousand different ways in which I am 100 percent certain I can screw up my kid. Besides, I need material so I can embarrass her in front of her prom date.
Essentially, about four seconds after she refuses my offer to take her to the bathroom, her entire face goes green and she says, “I need to go potty.” I tell myself not to panic, push my cart out of the way and grab her. She says, “I already went a little bit.” I tell her it’s no big deal and we search for the bathroom. Naturally, the bathrooms are located exactly behind where we were except, in my panic, I didn’t think to look behind me. So, I made my kid walk an entire lap around the store with a load of shit in her pants. And, that was just how she was walking-as if she had a load of shit in her pants. Her legs were about three feet apart.
We make it to the restroom. At this point, I deduce it’s more than a little bit. It’s a mass. Luckily she is wearing a skirt and leggings. After she informs me she doesn’t need to go on the potty, as she is done, I decide to try and clean her up. Because even if we can’t finish shopping, there is no way I am putting her in my brand new car with that going on. No way. I decide the best method is to remove her shoes and throw away the leggings and her underwear. You are welcome Trader Joes for that gift. There was a moment of sheer insanity where I actually considered putting these items in my purse. You know, just tossing them in. I’m very glad I reconsidered, as is the cashier. I use about a half a roll of the paper towel in the bathroom (not very green of me) to wipe her down. Next I use the Sani Hands I keep in my purse (no plastic bag for storing shitty underwear, however) to wipe her off. I suspect, by her shrieks, this may have burned a bit. I was desperate! I was trying to remain calm because, in the words of hamburger eating David Hasselhoff, “This thing is a mess.” Funny, my friends made fun of me at the casino because of the Sani Hands. Had they been present at TJ’s they would have had a much better appreciation for my thoughtfulness.
I deduct she is clean enough. I tell her we are not going to discuss this with anyone. I have visions of her telling people while we are at the store about our little predicament. We are not going to tell anyone that you are not wearing panties. She agrees. I hope she holds up her end of the deal. We finish shopping. I want my effing organic banana yogurt. That stuff is like crack. I am going to need crack after this experience. I drove here, I had a traumatic experience, I survived and I want my goods. We find one of our carts. The other one seems to have disappeared since we were in the bathroom for well over 20 minutes. I’m fine with that. I retrace my steps, hopefully grabbing whatever I had in the cart before and moving as quickly as I can. My child needs a bath and I am praying to God this does not happen again because there is obviously nothing to contain it. I swear to you, people were looking at us funny. I swear they knew. I am sweating profusely and I can’t wait to leave.
Alas, we are in the car. I am driving quickly. Bird is tucked neatly into her seat with her skirt wrapped around her. I can’t have any feces touching my vehicle. I am trying to contain it. I am traumatized. I am frazzled. Feces in public has that effect on me. I am not a calm person. I stop behind bus and a line of cars. The light changes about three times but we never move. Why is the man behind me honking? There is nothing I can do! I am waiting for the traffic in front of me to move! He continues to honk. Oh! Wait! This is actually a line of parked cars! I am a moron! I am frazzled! I roll down the window and yell to the man, “My child shit her pants in the grocery store! I’m spent!” I am kidding. I didn’t actually yell to him. I wanted to. But, in my defense, there was a bus! I thought we were waiting for the bus.
We arrive home. I ask her, as she’s disrobing for the bath, “What happened at Trader Joes?” She informs me, “We can’t talk about it.” Well, at least she kept up her end of the bargain. At least it’s over. That is, until the next day when she does the exact same thing at school and her teacher hands me her underwear wrapped in a plastic bag. I thought it was an art project! Wrong. When I asked her what happened at school she tells me, “I snarkled.” Oh! Is that what the kids are calling it these days?
Monday, March 7, 2011
March Confessional
Bless me dear readers, for while I try to be a good person, sometimes I fail. I am only human (I mistakenly typed normal here and quickly deleted-we all know normal I am not). I am trying to fix the error of my ways but, frankly, that’s not an easy task. I am a disaster. I am a crazed, cooped up, mess of an individual sick-and-fucking-tired of being trapped in the M-F-ING house, watching the weather, and praying to the gods that it won’t bleeping snow again. Sons of Bitches! I’m on the brink! I’ve gone loopy and I have some confessions. I need to cleanse.
1. Sometimes Michael Buble comes on the radio and I don’t turn it off. I actually rock out like the millions of middle-aged women who keep people like him making music. I have not turned to Clay Aiken yet. Please shoot me if I do. Also, because I feel the need to clarify, nothing about Michael Buble gets my panties in a wad. You needed to know this.
2. I dislike Rachael Ray! I don’t like your magazine. I hate the word yummy! Nothing is Yum-O! Fuck-O! I don’t care about your husband’s band and there are only so many ways you can cook a freaking hamburger. I am glad you’re making shit-loads of cash. Somebody is buying into your EVOO and Garbage Bowl. That someone is not me. Suck it. Stop sending me mail. I DON’T WANT YOUR MAGAZINE.
3. I think it is okay to swear. They are only words. I try not to take God’s name in vain. I try. Religious deviant that I am. But, as for the rest? Fuckshitdamnasshole.
4. Fashion confuses me. I try. I think I do okay. I like plaid, large purses that don’t really resemble mom bags, boots, Converse sneakers, tank tops, simple jewelry, flip flops and Yoga pants. I don’t want to own a pair of $900 shoes that appear to be made of human hair. I put back the $25 Kitchen Aid Immersion Blender on Saturday. I am frugal. It was half-price and I still did not get it. Someone like me would never own shoes like that. I mean, but really, who would? Who buys these things?
5. I am obsessed with anti-aging products. I am so vain. I have an entire ritual. Different products for different purposes during different times of day! No Retinol products without sunscreen! You will scald your flesh! Take these things seriously! I’m trying to look like I’m twelve.
6. I mostly resist allowing my child to listen to actual children’s music. I am a selfish asshole. Most children’s music makes me want to cut myself. If she never hears it, she won’t know what she’s missing. I will shelter her! I dare you to show her the ways of Raffi. I will cut you. I will find out where you live. Michael Buble counts as “quality” music for the record. What sort of rotten music taste do you have?
7. Bread is rubbing my shoulders and reading this over them. I hope he never stops. It’s definitely keeping my creative juices flowing.
8. I am irritated by retail establishments and their need to support charitable organizations by asking me to give. These days, it seems as though every place I shop is asking me if I want to donate a dollar to this cause or that. I’m not heartless. I came in for loungewear. I can’t keep giving these dollars! They add up. I have causes I support! How do I know the dollar even goes there? Where is my receipt? Is it tax-deductible? I care about the children! I am concerned for the animals! The homeless need shelter! I just want to shop for my elastic-waist pants without the pressure of knowing how many mouths my dollar will feed! I can’t take the pressure! I feel guilty and then I do things like put the blender I’ve been coveting back.
9. I fear I may be taking my plaid obsession a wee bit too far. Is there such a thing as too much plaid? I already bought a plaid dress for summer!
10. I went back and got the blender.
11. I feel a sudden need to make soup. I need to make lots of soup requiring the use of my new immersion blender.
12. I am glad my husband isn’t cheap.
13. I am going to post this and, perhaps, take a nap. My job may not be glamorous but, it is flexible. My child is napping. My doctor told me when she was born I should sleep when the baby sleeps. I am 100 percent certain the same rule can be applied to sleeping when the toddler sleeps. I know it.
14. I needed one more thing because I don’t like odd numbers. I had to end on an even note.
15. I may have OCD.
16. I might! Shit!
1. Sometimes Michael Buble comes on the radio and I don’t turn it off. I actually rock out like the millions of middle-aged women who keep people like him making music. I have not turned to Clay Aiken yet. Please shoot me if I do. Also, because I feel the need to clarify, nothing about Michael Buble gets my panties in a wad. You needed to know this.
2. I dislike Rachael Ray! I don’t like your magazine. I hate the word yummy! Nothing is Yum-O! Fuck-O! I don’t care about your husband’s band and there are only so many ways you can cook a freaking hamburger. I am glad you’re making shit-loads of cash. Somebody is buying into your EVOO and Garbage Bowl. That someone is not me. Suck it. Stop sending me mail. I DON’T WANT YOUR MAGAZINE.
3. I think it is okay to swear. They are only words. I try not to take God’s name in vain. I try. Religious deviant that I am. But, as for the rest? Fuckshitdamnasshole.
4. Fashion confuses me. I try. I think I do okay. I like plaid, large purses that don’t really resemble mom bags, boots, Converse sneakers, tank tops, simple jewelry, flip flops and Yoga pants. I don’t want to own a pair of $900 shoes that appear to be made of human hair. I put back the $25 Kitchen Aid Immersion Blender on Saturday. I am frugal. It was half-price and I still did not get it. Someone like me would never own shoes like that. I mean, but really, who would? Who buys these things?
5. I am obsessed with anti-aging products. I am so vain. I have an entire ritual. Different products for different purposes during different times of day! No Retinol products without sunscreen! You will scald your flesh! Take these things seriously! I’m trying to look like I’m twelve.
6. I mostly resist allowing my child to listen to actual children’s music. I am a selfish asshole. Most children’s music makes me want to cut myself. If she never hears it, she won’t know what she’s missing. I will shelter her! I dare you to show her the ways of Raffi. I will cut you. I will find out where you live. Michael Buble counts as “quality” music for the record. What sort of rotten music taste do you have?
7. Bread is rubbing my shoulders and reading this over them. I hope he never stops. It’s definitely keeping my creative juices flowing.
8. I am irritated by retail establishments and their need to support charitable organizations by asking me to give. These days, it seems as though every place I shop is asking me if I want to donate a dollar to this cause or that. I’m not heartless. I came in for loungewear. I can’t keep giving these dollars! They add up. I have causes I support! How do I know the dollar even goes there? Where is my receipt? Is it tax-deductible? I care about the children! I am concerned for the animals! The homeless need shelter! I just want to shop for my elastic-waist pants without the pressure of knowing how many mouths my dollar will feed! I can’t take the pressure! I feel guilty and then I do things like put the blender I’ve been coveting back.
9. I fear I may be taking my plaid obsession a wee bit too far. Is there such a thing as too much plaid? I already bought a plaid dress for summer!
10. I went back and got the blender.
11. I feel a sudden need to make soup. I need to make lots of soup requiring the use of my new immersion blender.
12. I am glad my husband isn’t cheap.
13. I am going to post this and, perhaps, take a nap. My job may not be glamorous but, it is flexible. My child is napping. My doctor told me when she was born I should sleep when the baby sleeps. I am 100 percent certain the same rule can be applied to sleeping when the toddler sleeps. I know it.
14. I needed one more thing because I don’t like odd numbers. I had to end on an even note.
15. I may have OCD.
16. I might! Shit!
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Bad Habits
Over this long, cold, boring winter, I developed some bad habits. The biggest one is leaving the television on all day. I have to turn it on in the morning. I like to watch, or rather, listen to Good Morning America. By the way, have you noticed there are two types of people in this world-those who watch The Today Show and those who watch Good Morning America? I swear. You’ll notice it now. I am so profound. Ahem.
I turn the telly on first thing. I like to hear the local weather seventeen times in case I should need to bring an umbrella or ten or in case that changes and instead there is going to be a blizzard. You just never know and one can never be too prepared. Before, following breakfast, Bird would insist on watching Sesame Street. Once Elmo was over, the TV was off for the day. Now, because we’re busy doing whatever it is we do, I have gotten lax. Also, the days of Sesame Street are long over. Actually, she will watch until the last 20 minutes when Elmo comes on and then she’s over it. It’s as if she has finally noticed what an effing annoying creature he is. Praise the Lord and I didn’t even need to say anything! I feel the need to over-explain having the bleeping idiot box on all day least you should decide to judge me for being ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE. Anyway, I like it on for background noise. I suppose it makes me feel like there are others here, like I have coworkers or something. Actually, there is somebody else here but I will get to that another day.
So, Friday was a typical day in our lives with the exception of the guy from the furniture store coming over. You see, the bed I wrote about here-it’s defective! They are giving us a new one! Mother of God! I told him it was the damn mattress! There was a spring sticking out! It was under warranty. That shit never happens to us! We always get screwed. We had a window in which said mattress guy was supposed to come. Bird was busily playing with her babies so I decided to busy myself cleaning. That’s all I do is clean these days. Spring is near!
I’m going about my business when I happen into the living room where Bird has moved on to reading books. On the television is The Doctors. On the screen flashes the familiar parental guidance warning. Subject matter of the following program is blah blah blah. Parental discretion is advised. And, the show is back. They have Dr. Ruth on. WTF? I thought/figured she had to be dead! I remember back in the day when she was popular. The woman was old as dirt. Amazingly, she still looks exactly the same: ancient.
There they sit-the doctors and Dr. Ruth. By the way, who actually finds this program to be informative? These beautiful people who happen to be doctors talking about all sorts of controversial topics. Hmmm…Tangent. I prefer Ellen; she’s on at the same time. Have you noticed there are two types of people? There are those who watch Ellen and those who watch The Doctors. I’m just saying!
Alright, so I can deduce the subject matter is sex based on their guest. Sex. Imagine the people who will find this blog because I wrote sex. Now if I throw in sex with a Chinese midget we’ll really get some visitors! Sex and Depends! Hello! What? Not what you were looking for? Sorry to bother you with shit about my kid, my husband and my boring life! Unfriend! Unfollow! Er!
Dr. Ruth is on my television to talk about sex, I deduce. Maybe she’s going to show the kids how to put a condom on a banana. I have no idea what to expect but my interest is piqued. They show a homemade- looking segment with two beautiful people (of course they are beautiful because those are the type of people on this particular program-no ugly folks in this world). The woman says something to the effect of- we have been married for seven years and we’re bored. We want to bring fruit into our bedroom! Flash back to the doctors-the female says something about not putting the fruit in your vagina or your anus! Now, I have several initial thoughts. The first one-besides my three-year-old, your grandma probably just watched you on television asking about how to incorporate produce into your sex life. Because, we all know, grandmas have nothing better to do than watch television. Have you ever noticed the coincidences between grandmas and housewives? Weird. My second thought is something about the fact they’ve only been married seven years and they are already bored AND the best thing they can come up with is fruit? Really? My final thought-no fruit in the anus or the vagina? So that’s what I have been doing wrong. I’ve had this itch. Huh. Glad I left the TV on! Thank you beautiful people! It appears as though I'm not the only one picking up bad habits this winter.
I turn the telly on first thing. I like to hear the local weather seventeen times in case I should need to bring an umbrella or ten or in case that changes and instead there is going to be a blizzard. You just never know and one can never be too prepared. Before, following breakfast, Bird would insist on watching Sesame Street. Once Elmo was over, the TV was off for the day. Now, because we’re busy doing whatever it is we do, I have gotten lax. Also, the days of Sesame Street are long over. Actually, she will watch until the last 20 minutes when Elmo comes on and then she’s over it. It’s as if she has finally noticed what an effing annoying creature he is. Praise the Lord and I didn’t even need to say anything! I feel the need to over-explain having the bleeping idiot box on all day least you should decide to judge me for being ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE. Anyway, I like it on for background noise. I suppose it makes me feel like there are others here, like I have coworkers or something. Actually, there is somebody else here but I will get to that another day.
So, Friday was a typical day in our lives with the exception of the guy from the furniture store coming over. You see, the bed I wrote about here-it’s defective! They are giving us a new one! Mother of God! I told him it was the damn mattress! There was a spring sticking out! It was under warranty. That shit never happens to us! We always get screwed. We had a window in which said mattress guy was supposed to come. Bird was busily playing with her babies so I decided to busy myself cleaning. That’s all I do is clean these days. Spring is near!
I’m going about my business when I happen into the living room where Bird has moved on to reading books. On the television is The Doctors. On the screen flashes the familiar parental guidance warning. Subject matter of the following program is blah blah blah. Parental discretion is advised. And, the show is back. They have Dr. Ruth on. WTF? I thought/figured she had to be dead! I remember back in the day when she was popular. The woman was old as dirt. Amazingly, she still looks exactly the same: ancient.
There they sit-the doctors and Dr. Ruth. By the way, who actually finds this program to be informative? These beautiful people who happen to be doctors talking about all sorts of controversial topics. Hmmm…Tangent. I prefer Ellen; she’s on at the same time. Have you noticed there are two types of people? There are those who watch Ellen and those who watch The Doctors. I’m just saying!
Alright, so I can deduce the subject matter is sex based on their guest. Sex. Imagine the people who will find this blog because I wrote sex. Now if I throw in sex with a Chinese midget we’ll really get some visitors! Sex and Depends! Hello! What? Not what you were looking for? Sorry to bother you with shit about my kid, my husband and my boring life! Unfriend! Unfollow! Er!
Dr. Ruth is on my television to talk about sex, I deduce. Maybe she’s going to show the kids how to put a condom on a banana. I have no idea what to expect but my interest is piqued. They show a homemade- looking segment with two beautiful people (of course they are beautiful because those are the type of people on this particular program-no ugly folks in this world). The woman says something to the effect of- we have been married for seven years and we’re bored. We want to bring fruit into our bedroom! Flash back to the doctors-the female says something about not putting the fruit in your vagina or your anus! Now, I have several initial thoughts. The first one-besides my three-year-old, your grandma probably just watched you on television asking about how to incorporate produce into your sex life. Because, we all know, grandmas have nothing better to do than watch television. Have you ever noticed the coincidences between grandmas and housewives? Weird. My second thought is something about the fact they’ve only been married seven years and they are already bored AND the best thing they can come up with is fruit? Really? My final thought-no fruit in the anus or the vagina? So that’s what I have been doing wrong. I’ve had this itch. Huh. Glad I left the TV on! Thank you beautiful people! It appears as though I'm not the only one picking up bad habits this winter.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
WE ARE THOSE PEOPLE!
I love to make fun of myself. I love when other people make fun of me (in theory). I love to make fun of other people (this is especially fun when those we’re laughing about make me feel normal). Now that we’ve covered all that is poking fun, we can move on. No, but seriously, I love a good laugh. So, when Saturday night found us heading to Jackie and P’s house, I knew there would be lots of making fun of others and myself and getting made fun of to be had. Phew!
I should say we are blessed to have great friends. Life is short; my husband works a ton of hours and I’m not wasting time hanging out with folks whose company we don’t enjoy. There are six of us who get together on a regular basis-us, Jackie, P, Malbs and Matt. There are a few other couples who occasionally join us and they are also great (I feel the need to state this for the record-we love you guys). Anyway, the six of us always have a good time. We are on the same wavelength. I love this. These people are the best friends ever. We girls were friends first and then our men became friends so now it’s just great when we all get together (insert cheesy, happy Lifetime Television music here).
We take turns gathering at each other’s homes with the exception of Matt and Malbs because they currently reside with his parents, having just returned from their year-ish in California. Did I mention Malbs is a saint for living with her mother-in-law? That would never happen for most folks. Anyway, we take turns hosting. We get together early so the kids can play (Jackie and P have Annabel who will be two in June). It is glorious when they play because it is every parent’s dream play date. There is no fighting. Nobody is crying. They laugh and they play and it’s perfectly lovely. Alas, I feel as though I’ve done something right as a parent. My child plays well with others! Mostly.
After we put the children to bed (usually late-ish so as they can thoroughly exhaust themselves), we break out the booze and the games. We love board games! This is why we are all friend soul mates! Things is the best! Recently, we discovered Scribblish and, of course there is Catch Phrase and Cranium. Nobody paid me to say these are great games, by the way. I just want to share the joy with others. Occasionally we play cards, namely Euchre. It’s fun. This is where the fun-poking begins. We have all kinds of jokes and things we go at each other for. It’s great! Almost anything is fair game!
This past Saturday was much of the same. Jackie had this drink she wanted me to try. She Googled to find a drink recipe. It was blue and had a ton of alcohol in it. I couldn’t even tell you what all went in there. The name of the drink? Adios Mother Fucker. Yep. I had one. One! I had a bit of a buzz. I’m proud because I had enough sense to only have one. Otherwise, it would have become Comatose Mother Fucker.
The laughs were coming. We were in full make fun of people mode. We were playing Things. We always start with this one. This game requires writing. For some reason, whenever I have a pen, I feel the need to write on Bread. I don’t know why. It’s not a lot. I used to try and give him a tattoo. He told me he did not like that so now I just draw a line. It’s my way of saying, “I respect your wish not to be drawn on and this here line is a reminder of that.” You know, what any logical human-being would do. Well, this time I was absent mindedly doodling on the back of his neck. I didn’t really think about it; it began as me playing with his hair. The next thing I know, I was scribbling. Well, the man lost his shit. He yelled at me like I was a child! I was being childish but still! Stunned silence from everyone. Because, I mean, what do you say when a grown man is chastising a grown woman (technically, I am a grown woman) for drawing on him? This is messed up in so many ways. He even called me Jessica! He never does that. I knew I was screwed. I choked on my beer and spit on the rolls! I ruined the midnight snack!
Mostly there was a lot of awkward silence. I mean, the friends didn’t really know what to say and I don’t blame them-the dude lost his shit. I was pretty much okay with it because I knew we would get over it. I was mostly just surprised because he doesn’t usually do that. At least not in public! I kid, I kid. So anyway, we moved on and Bread was embarrassed but we’re all still friends. I was mostly embarrassed because we have people we make fun of for that shit. Now we were those people! Shit! More fuel for their fires! At least he didn’t beat me!
That brings us to last night. Bird was drawing with a pen at the table. This is her new favorite thing to do. I think it makes her feel like an adult. I was trying to show her how to write her name. We worked on that for a few minutes, she lost interest and moved on. I came by to check on her and she wrote on me! Drew a line right on my shirt! Time out! Time out! Where did she learn this? I look at Bread, who inquires as to what has happened. I explain she wrote on me. He gives me the dad eyebrow raise-head-tilt and says, “Well, I can’t imagine where she learned that from.” Shit. He should have given me a timeout. Dude, sorry I spit on your rolls. I hope we can still be friends.
I should say we are blessed to have great friends. Life is short; my husband works a ton of hours and I’m not wasting time hanging out with folks whose company we don’t enjoy. There are six of us who get together on a regular basis-us, Jackie, P, Malbs and Matt. There are a few other couples who occasionally join us and they are also great (I feel the need to state this for the record-we love you guys). Anyway, the six of us always have a good time. We are on the same wavelength. I love this. These people are the best friends ever. We girls were friends first and then our men became friends so now it’s just great when we all get together (insert cheesy, happy Lifetime Television music here).
We take turns gathering at each other’s homes with the exception of Matt and Malbs because they currently reside with his parents, having just returned from their year-ish in California. Did I mention Malbs is a saint for living with her mother-in-law? That would never happen for most folks. Anyway, we take turns hosting. We get together early so the kids can play (Jackie and P have Annabel who will be two in June). It is glorious when they play because it is every parent’s dream play date. There is no fighting. Nobody is crying. They laugh and they play and it’s perfectly lovely. Alas, I feel as though I’ve done something right as a parent. My child plays well with others! Mostly.
After we put the children to bed (usually late-ish so as they can thoroughly exhaust themselves), we break out the booze and the games. We love board games! This is why we are all friend soul mates! Things is the best! Recently, we discovered Scribblish and, of course there is Catch Phrase and Cranium. Nobody paid me to say these are great games, by the way. I just want to share the joy with others. Occasionally we play cards, namely Euchre. It’s fun. This is where the fun-poking begins. We have all kinds of jokes and things we go at each other for. It’s great! Almost anything is fair game!
This past Saturday was much of the same. Jackie had this drink she wanted me to try. She Googled to find a drink recipe. It was blue and had a ton of alcohol in it. I couldn’t even tell you what all went in there. The name of the drink? Adios Mother Fucker. Yep. I had one. One! I had a bit of a buzz. I’m proud because I had enough sense to only have one. Otherwise, it would have become Comatose Mother Fucker.
The laughs were coming. We were in full make fun of people mode. We were playing Things. We always start with this one. This game requires writing. For some reason, whenever I have a pen, I feel the need to write on Bread. I don’t know why. It’s not a lot. I used to try and give him a tattoo. He told me he did not like that so now I just draw a line. It’s my way of saying, “I respect your wish not to be drawn on and this here line is a reminder of that.” You know, what any logical human-being would do. Well, this time I was absent mindedly doodling on the back of his neck. I didn’t really think about it; it began as me playing with his hair. The next thing I know, I was scribbling. Well, the man lost his shit. He yelled at me like I was a child! I was being childish but still! Stunned silence from everyone. Because, I mean, what do you say when a grown man is chastising a grown woman (technically, I am a grown woman) for drawing on him? This is messed up in so many ways. He even called me Jessica! He never does that. I knew I was screwed. I choked on my beer and spit on the rolls! I ruined the midnight snack!
Mostly there was a lot of awkward silence. I mean, the friends didn’t really know what to say and I don’t blame them-the dude lost his shit. I was pretty much okay with it because I knew we would get over it. I was mostly just surprised because he doesn’t usually do that. At least not in public! I kid, I kid. So anyway, we moved on and Bread was embarrassed but we’re all still friends. I was mostly embarrassed because we have people we make fun of for that shit. Now we were those people! Shit! More fuel for their fires! At least he didn’t beat me!
That brings us to last night. Bird was drawing with a pen at the table. This is her new favorite thing to do. I think it makes her feel like an adult. I was trying to show her how to write her name. We worked on that for a few minutes, she lost interest and moved on. I came by to check on her and she wrote on me! Drew a line right on my shirt! Time out! Time out! Where did she learn this? I look at Bread, who inquires as to what has happened. I explain she wrote on me. He gives me the dad eyebrow raise-head-tilt and says, “Well, I can’t imagine where she learned that from.” Shit. He should have given me a timeout. Dude, sorry I spit on your rolls. I hope we can still be friends.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Regimented
Four score and some odd years ago, I probably had a dream. I’m thinking it had to do with being some sort of communications professional. Maybe that was when I wanted to be a veterinarian. There was a phase where nurse or teacher sounded good. I ended up with a degree in communications and an incredible urge to hide or, at least, start all over again and find something I enjoyed doing.
Enter motherhood. Enter the sudden urge to stay home, care for my child, cook, clean, do laundry, exercise and take care of myself. So I did that. I do that. Each and every day I cook (or heat something to feed the people who live here), clean and do laundry (I have a system so I rarely get behind). But, lately, I can’t seem to find or make time to exercise or take care of myself. Since just before Christmas I’ve been burnt out on exercise. I can’t find the motivation. I’m punishing myself in some way - I’m guilt-stricken because I won’t allow myself this daily energizer and stress relief. I can’t quite put my finger on why. Exercise is the world's best anti-depressant.
I needed a push. And, this is not because I want to achieve a smaller number on the scale. I need exercise to clear my mind and prepare for the day ahead. I need to do something, however small, for myself each day. This is what I need. I thrive best this way. So, I’m sick of this shit. I’m sick of the winter blahs. Honestly, it’s way too early in the year for that. I’m disgusted with how I feel having not really broken much of a sweat the past month or so. I have a plan-because I always have a plan. Perhaps my plans don’t always work but I do try.
Enter Jessie’s Boot Camp. I’ve had enough of this shit. I’m taking drastic measures. I suppose I was bored with my current regime (or lack thereof). So, I went to Target. I purchased some new workout clothes. I bought my first kettlebell and a new Yoga mat. I am also the owner of some new DVDs by Jillian Michaels and Bob Harper; they are two of my most favorite fitness people. Target is where every person should go when in a fitness rut. Great prices and awesome selection. Target did not even pay me to say that. They should! Anyway, I am excited. I’m dedicating one hour a day to the treadmill, weights, a video or whatever it is I feel like doing. No pressure, just some sort of activity. I must stop this nonsense so I can return to feeling like a normal person. I recognize normal is very subjective especially since I am referring to my crazy self.
Part of the problem is my child is rising very early. She gets up at 6:30 these days! WTF? What do I do with her all day? How can I entertain her? Anyway, I’m not rising at 5 am. I cannot do this. I will be puffy by 10 am! I need my beauty sleep. I’m also not great at nighttime workouts since that is my time with Bread and, usually, the telly after he goes to bed. So, I’ve decided it is okay to exercise with her. She can either sit and watch or participate. I could be teaching her far worse habits. Ha! Could and do! So, this is my plan. I am committed. Such excitement. I can’t wait to be so sore I cannot walk! Today is day five and I'm stiff! I love this feeling! I missed it! It’s been so long! I’m a sick individual! And, there’s nothing better than watching my cute tot do squats in her Disney princess underwear! Those are her “workout” clothes. She did NOT learn this from me, I swear. I encourage her to wear clothes at all costs! She refuses! I never wear only my princess underwear when I exercise...
Enter motherhood. Enter the sudden urge to stay home, care for my child, cook, clean, do laundry, exercise and take care of myself. So I did that. I do that. Each and every day I cook (or heat something to feed the people who live here), clean and do laundry (I have a system so I rarely get behind). But, lately, I can’t seem to find or make time to exercise or take care of myself. Since just before Christmas I’ve been burnt out on exercise. I can’t find the motivation. I’m punishing myself in some way - I’m guilt-stricken because I won’t allow myself this daily energizer and stress relief. I can’t quite put my finger on why. Exercise is the world's best anti-depressant.
I needed a push. And, this is not because I want to achieve a smaller number on the scale. I need exercise to clear my mind and prepare for the day ahead. I need to do something, however small, for myself each day. This is what I need. I thrive best this way. So, I’m sick of this shit. I’m sick of the winter blahs. Honestly, it’s way too early in the year for that. I’m disgusted with how I feel having not really broken much of a sweat the past month or so. I have a plan-because I always have a plan. Perhaps my plans don’t always work but I do try.
Enter Jessie’s Boot Camp. I’ve had enough of this shit. I’m taking drastic measures. I suppose I was bored with my current regime (or lack thereof). So, I went to Target. I purchased some new workout clothes. I bought my first kettlebell and a new Yoga mat. I am also the owner of some new DVDs by Jillian Michaels and Bob Harper; they are two of my most favorite fitness people. Target is where every person should go when in a fitness rut. Great prices and awesome selection. Target did not even pay me to say that. They should! Anyway, I am excited. I’m dedicating one hour a day to the treadmill, weights, a video or whatever it is I feel like doing. No pressure, just some sort of activity. I must stop this nonsense so I can return to feeling like a normal person. I recognize normal is very subjective especially since I am referring to my crazy self.
Part of the problem is my child is rising very early. She gets up at 6:30 these days! WTF? What do I do with her all day? How can I entertain her? Anyway, I’m not rising at 5 am. I cannot do this. I will be puffy by 10 am! I need my beauty sleep. I’m also not great at nighttime workouts since that is my time with Bread and, usually, the telly after he goes to bed. So, I’ve decided it is okay to exercise with her. She can either sit and watch or participate. I could be teaching her far worse habits. Ha! Could and do! So, this is my plan. I am committed. Such excitement. I can’t wait to be so sore I cannot walk! Today is day five and I'm stiff! I love this feeling! I missed it! It’s been so long! I’m a sick individual! And, there’s nothing better than watching my cute tot do squats in her Disney princess underwear! Those are her “workout” clothes. She did NOT learn this from me, I swear. I encourage her to wear clothes at all costs! She refuses! I never wear only my princess underwear when I exercise...
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