addendum to stupid thing's I've said.

I see London, I see France

I can't believe I actually forgot this one. It's a doozy. Add this to my long list of STUPID things I've said. Last year, my neighbor and her daughter were going to London for an educational vaca of sorts. It was to be a bonding experience for the two.

So, it's the weekend before they're to leave and mother & daughter are out on a bike ride. They stop by my driveway because I'm outside doing yard work. Mother reminds me that they're leaving for London in a few days. So, I don't have much to say on the issue and often when I'm at a loss for words, I just babble incoherently. I say the first thing that comes to mind. "Do you speak French"? Mother & Daughter look at each other, then back at me. "No". So, I say, "Oh well. Have fun"!! I walk up my driveway into the garage where my husband is standing. He puts his arm around my shoulder and says to me, "You ARE aware they speak English in London, right"? NOoooooooooooooooo!!! I avoided her for the rest of the Summer. Even now when I see that particular neighbor, I'll often play possum and just go limp, as to avoid the possibility of that being brought up in conversation. Oh, the humiliation!!!

Occupations I'd have considered if it weren't for these pesky kids.

Occupations I'd have considered if it weren't for these pesky kids.

1. A Psychic--the benefits of my being psychic are exponential. For starters, I could find lost items. Also, I could save money on caller id and GPS. Not to mention how popular I'd be. Peeps would be lining up to be my friend. The obvious downside of being psychic is their wardrobe. It's too bohemian and wizard-freaky for me. I could be an urban psychic. Yes, an Urban Psychic.

2. A Private Investigator. I don't like to toot my own horn (even though I do) but I'd make a killer P.I. Anyone who's got the 411 on police lingo knows that detectives are also referred to as, "Dicks". That alone would be worth the ugly uniforms and sexual harassment. When I was a wee lass, I wanted so badly to be Jodi Foster in Silence of the Lambs. I actually had aspirations to join the FBI. --Apparently, they're selective about who they bring onto the force and whatnot. What, with my spotty past and all, I decided let that dream go up in smoke. But, nevertheless, I think I'd put Nancy Drew to shame with my super sleuthiness.

3. A bartender in a really cool club. How fun would that be? Literally getting paid to Par-Tay. Men would be fawning all over me, screaming my name, throwing money at me, dying for my attention. It would be like being a stripper, minus all the whorish stuff.

4. Paris Hilton. So that we're clear, she gets paid--a lot of money-- to show up to clubs, drinks, shakes her ass a little, makes out with random people and then goes home. Yep, where do I apply? I have a ton of experience in all of these capacities...I should be a shoo in.

5. Food critic. I don't really think this warrants an explanation.

6. Brangelina's nanny. Just 'cause.

7. Pharmacist. Mary, Joseph and all the Saints. Imagine the accessibility. I'd sleep so happily and peacefully at night, in my little white coat, on a pillow filled with pills. Blue ones, yellow ones, white ones, uppers, downers, anti-anxiety, anti-depressants.... I'd feel like a kid in a candy store. I wonder how strict they are on "ethics" in pharmacist schools.

That's it. I really have no other aspirations. I wasn't much of a go-getter to begin with. I'm proud of myself for even getting up this morning.

the preppy criminal

This is a short, but true, little story. Despite my past blog entitled, "Leslieisms or Lies", all of my stories are true.

On my way to the YMCA yesterday morning, I noticed a group of people on the side of the road, picking up trash. They all donned their fancy, mesh orange vests. I could only assume they were sentenced to community service...why else would they be wearing orange vests on the side of the road, while willingly collecting trash? For Heaven's sake.

So I'm watching them while sitting at a stop light and I notice one woman who stood out a bit from the rest. For one thing, she was older, perhaps in her 50's. She was very attractive, her hair was perfectly coiffed, her capris were pressed and the collar on her white tennis shirt was turned up. I think she may have even been wearing earrings. Here's the thing. As God as my witness, the woman tied her orange vest around her shoulders. I literally laughed out loud. Who did she think she was? Of course, being in the booming business of blogging, I immediately thought of a million captions for this poor woman, who was just going about her day.

* I'm much better than everyone here. Look, I have my collar up.

* There! This looks much nicer, don't you think so, officer?

* No one will suspect I'm a hardened criminal. Look at me, I have my collar up for pete's sake!

*If Martha can fashion a cashmere sweater set out of an orange jumpsuit, then By God, I can too!

*Shhhh, I'm creating the illusion that I'm doing this out of the goodness of my heart, not because the judge sentenced me to 60 hours of community service for bribing a police officer with oral sex.

*You can take me land but you can't take me freeeeedom!

*You can take the girl out of Greenwich Village but you can't take Greenwich out of the girl.

* Does my orange mesh vest go with this trash poker?

* I might be picking up trash, but damned if I'm going to dress like it!

Every one of these thoughts ran through my head before the light turned green. I had to race home immediately to write it all down. I should totally work for David Letterman. See, it just goes to show you that there's humor everywhere you look. Even at a stop light. :-)

chicka chicka bow bow

I live in a neighborhood with approximately 1100 homes. For the most part, my "circle of friends" live right here in the neighborhood. Often I go for bike rides or long walks during the day, like when my kids are at school or what have you. I can't help but ride by a lot of my friends homes, it's not like I'm stalking them for Pete's sake. But, how immature am I that EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. I see both the husband's and wife's car in the driveway at the same time, I say to myself, "chicka chicka bow bow". How gay. What, am I 12? Not to mention that a lot of my girlfriend's husbands have home offices, so why my mind immediately goes to sordid thoughts is beyond me. GROW UP!!!!! Like everyone is having nooners day in, day out.... right! Not likely. I also do the chicka chicka bow bow thing when I'm on the phone with a girlfriend during the day and her husband comes home unexpectedly, "--Oh, Mark just got home"....and then, me "Ohhhhhh....chicka chicka bow bow, someone-came-home-for-a-nooner", I'll sing. I've said it once, I'll say it again. I embarrass myself. I'm not sure how I have any friends, I can barely stand myself. Well, that's not entirely true. Sometimes I totally crack myself up.

Helepillar

If you haven't read my story "Gang Wars", stop reading this blog, go back and read it. This blog is a sequel to Gang Wars.





Now then, this tale picks up where Gang Wars left off (which is pretty much what a sequel does). You may remember a tiny little caterpillar riding into my home on my Cable Guy's boot. Well, that was 10 days ago and that stinking thing is still here. I left it in a small Tupperware container and I give him water and a fresh leaf every day.





At first it was cute. Mom catches a caterpillar. Mom shows her boys the caterpillar. Boys couldn't possibly be less interested. Mom grows resentful of the caterpillar and it's neediness. Oldest story in the book.




After 10 days, I'm all, "LEAVE ALREADY...YOU HAVEN'T HAD A LID ON YOUR BOWL FOR TEN DAYS....IT'S NOT THAT HARD TO FIGURE OUT...YOU HAVE 300 FEET, MOVE IT"!




But no. The caterpillar remains. It has the longest hair I have ever seen on a caterpillar. It's like a fraggle rock muppet. It's got this crazy, long, wispy hair. So, the first 5 days, it didn't move. It ate like a champ, but it never moved. I decided it was depressed. My sister's theory was that it's hair was too long to walk. I like that theory all right, but because it's MY caterpillar, chances are, it's depressed. Mental illness runs in the family, after all. So, it doesn't move. It just sits and eats all day long. Then it hit me. It's my mother. She's come back in the form of a caterpillar. She always told us that when she died, she'd come back as a butterfly so she could fly around and look over us. There are even butterflies on her box (ashes..get your mind out of the gutter). So, all of these clues are all leading me to believe that it's Helen. She's come to look after me. That's why she won't leave. It's as obvious as the nose on my face. (If you've seen my face, you'd know how blatantly obvious it is)




So, I went to show my youngest the caterpillar one day, you know, to introduce him to his Grammy. And it was gone. GONE! I was somewhat devastated, but if I knew Helen like I think I did, it was most likely on it's way to Walmart. Now, everyone knows the chances of finding a caterpillar on the way to Walmart is nearly impossible, so I accepted his departure and embraced his freedom.




When my older son got home from school that day, I showed him the empty bowl and explained that our caterpillar was gone. Well, who was sitting back on his leaf, but the caterpillar. It was a miracle, if ever I've seen one. It found it's way back home, all by itself, it did. He knew where his bread got buttered. Who's your mommy? Well, technically, he was actually my mommy, but since I was taking care of it, I would be the mommy. It's funny how you switch roles once your parents grow old. Or die. The child becomes the parent and so forth.

Once I came to realize that caterpillar was here to stay and is as much a part of this family as anyone, I've grown to like the little guy. I like to watch him walk the perimeter of his bowl. Bless his heart, he's dumber than a box of rocks, he just walks around and around and around the lip of the bowl, never once attempting to step one foot (or 300 feet) outside of his comfort zone. I've made quite a home for him. He'd be crazy to leave. At first his constant needs bothered me. The cleaning of the bowl, the agonizing, the pulling of the leaves every morning, the fresh water...Oy. But really, having one extra "thing" to take care of isn't such a big deal. I already do everything for everyone all day long, so what's a little more? (that's the Jewish mother (martyr) in me)




I think mom/caterpillar really likes it here. As you know, my mother's remains are here with me. If you don't know this, please read blog entitled, "Helen's Homecoming". Her ashes may be up on my built-in bookshelves, but her soul is right here on my kitchen counter. She's really thinking outside the "box" these days. Good thing too, because she was getting to be a real "square". OMG, I am cracking myself up right now.





So, ta-ta for now. Mom/Caterpillar and I are going homecoming dress shopping.


xo

Gang Wars

First, let me first start by telling you that I'm living among the gang world. Not Bloods or Crips, mind you see. No, these gangs go by the street names, "Cable" & "Satellite". They're a vicious bunch.

It all started when we left Charter (our local cable company) a few years back because my husband thought it would be cool to have a satellite dish. Well, as a result we had to get "jumped" out of our contract, but nevertheless, we made the switch, knives and all. Not 2 weeks into having the satellite, problems occurred. We figured it was a fluke, had it repaired, and so forth. Then another repair. Then another repair. Then another repair. We started realizing that each time the wind blew (literally) it blew our satellite out of whack. And that ain't whack, yo. So finally another tech comes to visit and he asks me if I ever see Charter vans around here. Well, there ARE 1100 homes in this neighborhood, don't you think it's a little arrogant to assume everyone has Dish? So, I tell him that yes, from time to time I'll notice a Charter vehicle or two. He nods his head all knowingly and he decides he can trust me, so he lets me in on a little secret.

Allegedly, Charter has been known to "cut" the satellite lines, as, you know, a prank. "Yeah, they don't much like us, those Charter guys", he tells me. "Started a few years ago, when we moved our offices over near their headquarters. Even now, I'll wave to them if I pass them on the road (it would only be ethical, after all), but now ( he shakes his head for effect) , they won't even wave back". I'm staring at this guy like I'm waiting for his story to continue, but I guess that's the end. So, I say, "...they. don't. wave . back?" Nope, he sighs all dramatically. Whatever. I shoo him off to fix our satellite, I can't be bothered with such ugliness. Then, I got to imagining. You know how I like to imagine things. So, I'm envisioning Charter vs. Dish in my front yard, except they're all circling around my big Oak tree, bouncing and snapping their fingers...."when you're a Jet, you're a Jet..." I had a chuckle over that, my imagery.

So, fast forward 2 long years and we have successfully made the switch back to Charter because, well, Charter is dope, yo, what with the Charter on Demand and whatnot. So I had a window between 8 A.M. and Noon. Coke bottle glasses with red hair shows up at 12:30. He drove me nuts the moment he arrived. First of all he was late, so after noon, I assumed he wasn't coming and I went about my day. My 3 yr old peed his pants, I went upstairs to find him new undies & shorts, in the meantime, he's downstairs naked from the waist down, the doorbell rings, he, of course, answers the door (naked) even though I don't allow my kids to answer the door. None the less, my 85 lb Lab bursts through the door, my son is telling him to come in, but the guy doesn't want to considering he's naked. And 3. So, I hear all the ruckus and I come running down the stairs. To my horror, I find my naked son in the foyer and an empty beer bottle on the floor by his feet.

Now, I swear to you this is true. My older son was performing a magic trick of sorts the night before for Aunt Sarah and it required a bottle and a ring. He asked if he could borrow a beer bottle, I told him to rinse one out from the recycle bin and he could use it. It seemed innocuous enough. When he put away the magic kit, he put the beer bottle away with it. So that's where that came from. But I digress.

So, coke bottle glasses with red hair is staring at the naked child, the beer bottle and me. Not to mention my house was tore apart. It's not easy keeping it tidy when you're confined to your home with a 3 yr old from 8-12. I was mortified. I was fairly certain he was using his Nextel to phone in a report to CPS. Well, long story short, he was here for over 5 hours and exactly nothing got done. He asked me question after question about "burying lines" and "tapping into wires" and all this jibberish. I didn't know why he was asking MY advice, seeing as though I hired HIM. He was a real putz, this guy. After 5 hours I was slumped on the couch with my chin in my hand asking him how to use this intricate, fancy new system and he tells me, I swear to you this is true, "I don't really know, this is only the 2nd one I've ever installed".

But that's not where this story ends. It ends with a hairy little caterpillar that came into my home and into my heart that day. He must have gotten a ride in on Coke bottle's boot, bless his heart. I will continue on with my trials and tribulations with this caterpillar in a subsequent blog. For, my hands are cramping.

Oprah's Picks (although, not so much Oprah's)

Because my opinion counts and all; I'd like to draft a list of my top 3 picks


Leslie's 3 favorite songs


1. Time by Pink Floyd

2. Into the Mystic by Van Morrison

3. Erotic City by Prince (I ALWAYS request this song at weddings and then shortly afterward, I'm usually asked to leave).

(a close 4th, 5th & 6th would obviously be, Night Moves by Bob Seger, Southern Cross by CSNY and OPP by Naughty by Nature) Naturally.





Leslie's 3 favorite holidays


1. Thanksgiving. I love Turkey day because it represents all the cozy things that Christmas means to me, except the ridiculous gift-giving and hustle & bustle.


2. Memorial Day. Ahhhh, the start of Summer. The promise of a long drunken weekend that typically revolves around water, boats, sun & fun.


3. My Birthday. Call me ego-centric, but it's true, it's my most favorite day of the year. It's the one day that it's truly all about me (and not just in my imagination, like all the other days).



Leslie's 3 favorite possessions (friends & family excluded)


1. My dog, Luna
2. A book mark that my sister gave me. A long fish wire with fancy beads at either end.
3. my new Antik Denim jean


(close 4th would be my vacuum, ohhhh, I love her so)





Leslie's 3 favorite ways to spend spare time


1. reading a good book in Jason's hammock

2. go to a movie

3. Shopping downtown Rockford





Leslie's 3 favorite must-see t.v. shows


1. The Office
2. Californication
3. Intervention (I'm preparing for my own inevitable intervention....it's bound to happen sooner or later)





Leslie's 3 favorite places to be


1. Barnes & Noble
2. The Rossi's House (see blog entitled "My God Lindsey, I thought I killed her)
3. Home (queer, I know, but I'm a home-body, for shiz)





Leslie's 3 favorite ways to spend a perfect day


1. Shopping/mani/pedi

2. Going for a boat ride with Jason & the boys

3. Having a bunch of friends over after the kids go to bed. (bonfire)





Leslie's 3 favorite things to wear


1. Nothing. (They didn't call me the "drafty dreamer" in college for nothing)

2. Velour yoga pants & long sleeve t.

3. A. tube top & white pants (tube tops rock it 'old school' because they are super sexy PLUS you can let it all hang out underneath...bonus)



Leslie's 3 favorite stress relievers


1. Pain killers
2. Alcohol
3. Mowing the lawn




Leslie's 3 favorite cocktails



1. Beer (reminiscent of sipping warm, almost empty MGD cans that were left by my dad and his friends)

2. Grey Goose & 7 up with a splash of cranberry juice (I'm fancy that way)

3. Bloody Mary. (Specifically, Peper Stoli, Clamato Juice or V8, A1 sauce, celery salt, pepper, Worcestershire Sauce, 1 pickle, 1 stalk of celery, 2 green olives with pimento) It's like a salad...but with charisma! Perfect for when you haven't had dinner, nor are you interested in eating solid foods. It's the epitome of killing two birds with one stone.



Leslie's 3 favorite baby names (of which my husband shattered my dreams and nixed everyone of them)

Boy

1. Brock

2. Brooks

3. Tate

Girl

1. Grier

2. ....You know, come to think of it, we've never gotten this far because I never really wanted a daughter.

3.



Leslie's 3 favorite "desert island" items
1. my sunglasses (because you never know when the paparazzi will be following you)
2. headbands or ponytail holders (because the last thing you want is hair in your face)
3. chapstick or lip gloss (because you never know when you'll need glossy lips)

....And lastly, Leslie's 3 favorite daydreams
1. Calling all my friends after we've won the lotto and telling them all they never have to work again

2. Being a bestselling author with a tour bus and book signing appearances and fans and expensive shoes.

3. Being old, living on the lake, having beach parties with our old friends. The boys come home from college to visit us and their friends think we're cool parents and try to take our beer. We catch them and tell them to buy their own damn beer. They laugh and we end up giving them our beer because after all, they're our children and what kind of parents would we be if we didn't give beer to our children. Then they bring girlfriends home and we sabotage their relationships because no one is good enough for our boys. Then it all comes full circle when our sons marry the daughters of our closest friends after years of trying to set them up and we officially become family. Except tension ensues during holidays because we bicker over who's house the children will visit first. Or, in this case, who's house they'll visit last because everyone knows whoever gets visited first ends up getting hosed because the guests will inevitably leave early to get to the final destination. The second tier stop is always the best. Everyone who's anyone knows that.

Leslieisms.....or as my husband calls them, "lies"

I'm compiling a list of my more infamous "leslieisms" ....or as my husband calls them, "lies". By nature I'm really not a liar. I'm neither deceitful nor wiley--I swear. It's comforting to know that I'm actually a terrible liar. But from time to time I find myself in a pickle and I have to try and weasel my way out. As pathetic as some of the stories may be, I still give futile attempts at recovery. Some even work!



I'll start with earlier lies...er, Leslieisms and work my way up to adulthood.



Teen Years:

Had a huge bash at my house. My parents were in NY for the weekend. I told a few people, they told a few people and so on and so forth. It's the oldest story in the book. Next thing I know, I was face down on my family room floor being awoken by the police. Quite a hostess I was, even then. The police asked where my parents were, I told them Meijers. On my fridge was a very large note that read, "LES, HERE'S THE NUMBER WHERE WE'LL BE STAYING IN NYC. STAY OUT OF TROUBLE!!". So, those tricky cops put two and two together and figured out that I wasn't being so truthful. Fast forward to Sunday night, when the 'rents arrived home. There I sat, looking so pitiful on my couch (the house had never been so clean). I cried and cried about how all the senior girls spread rumors about a party and they just showed up and being a meek little sophomore, what was I supposed to do? In fact, I'd even considered calling the police myself, because wasn't it you who told me to always call the police if I were in trouble? It was awful, I'm so glad you're home. Boy, did I learn my lesson. Well, they reluctantly bought it. I did the obligatory time, one month's grounding and then all was to be forgiven. That is, until I got my film developed. Like a donkey, I made a collage of all my party photos and placed it on the back of my bedroom door. I figured, why the heck would she ever be in my room with the door closed? Well, that logic lasted for about, oh, um, 14 hours. Pictures of me doing keg stands and beer bongs cluttered my door. Images of virginal me sitting (laying) on every guy's lap trying to weasel my way into a picture. There was actually a photo of me, standing at the "bar" playing bartender in my mother's apron with one of her Virginia Slims hanging out of my mouth. I must have thought that was the epitome of sophistication! Needless to say, my month's grounding was elevated to hard time, where I remained grounded for the rest of my Sophomore year. I was mad at myself, really.

Another dandy was when I snuck out of the house to (what else) drink beer with my pals. When I got home, I hid the rest of the beer under my chimney. You may recall that beer was somewhat hard to come by as a teen, so when there was leftovers, we hoarded it. I made such a ruckus that my 75 year old step father came out to ask what was up. I slurred, "shhhhhhh, it's mom's mother's day present, I'm hiding it". He gave me the okie-doke sign and winked at me, like he was down with the hi jinx and whatnot. Flash forward 3 weeks and of course, the only mother's day present for my mother was a drunken 16 year old passed out in her bed with her clothes on backwards and leaves in her hair.



During my aforementioned grounding, I missed a few key holidays, but darned if I was going to miss New Year's Eve '89. I told my mother that I was babysitting. My friend picked me up in his '85 Camero and he was wearing a blue helmet on his head. He always wore that helmet when he drove, I still don't know why, but, heck if it didn't crack me up every time I saw him. Anyway, I went to a party of a girl that was in our class. Her parents were extremely wealthy but we couldn't stand her. We only went because her parents were gone. I may or may not have ashed in her permed & frosted hair a few times and when she'd turn around, I'd just smile wildly and wave at her. It was a fine friendship, really. I even got ballsy (which 38 beers will tend to do) and I called my parents to wish them a Happy New Year!!! More like, "hic.....Appy Hue Near, mom. Shooooot no, they're not home yet....it'll prolly be anudder few hours...what, oh, all dat noises....Dick Clark's Rockin' Nuyeers, a'course....bye"!!! Got away with it, hook, line and sinker. Cue to Leslie, rubbing my knuckles on my chest after huffing on them.



Tried to leave a different house party in order to make curfew. The hostess had a circular driveway and I was blocked in by about 400 cars. There was a rock garden in the middle of the circle, which normally would be an obstacle, but not for me, why I just drove right over it. The next day, my 75 year old step father screams, "Jesus Cheeerist, Les, what the hell did you hit?" Hm? What's that, a dent, you say? You know, come to think of it, there were a lot of plow trucks out last night, I wonder if one of them hit me. So, he and my mother took my car to the police station the next day, filed a report and allegedly the police told them that the damage was in fact, consistent with that of a plow truck. Cue to Leslie taking a bow.



College Years



Every TIME, I mean EVERY TIME I got drunk, I told people that my boyfriend beat me. I realize now that domestic abuse is no laughing matter, but it was big fun back in the early 90's. I loved the attention, but really I just wanted to break up with him and frankly, I was sick of my friends liking him better than me.



Out ran the cops on WMU's campus in my Ford Tempo. Finally pulled over and told the police that he was scaring me, that's why I wouldn't stop.



Got a speeding ticket after doing the walk of shame. Make that the drive of shame. I fought the ticket and told the judge that I was speeding because there was a bee in my car and I was highly allergic to bees. Never mind that the ticket was issued in February, but by the time my court date was set, it was June. Bada Boom Bada Bing, ta-ta ticket!



Because college was such a blur and I really don't even recall graduating, these are really all of the lies, er..Leslieisms that stick out in my mind. Now, onto adulthood.



Present day

I've used the old, "I'm going to be late, I got stuck behind a funeral procession....ugh, you know how that can be" at least a million times. It's a dandy!



I know this one sounds plain ridiculous, but it's true. I told my employer that I couldn't go to work because my cat ate a poisonous bug and I had to keep an eye on him. (True lie, honest)!



I told a different employer that I sprained my ankle. Then, I rented crutches from Walgreens to cover my tracks. I'm too sneaky for m'self!

I signed a contract with a martial arts gym. After weeks and weeks of hellish kick boxing, I had to get out of it. I plotted and schemed, but nothing was going to get Master Kim to let me out of the contract. Finally, I had a friend in Chicago write me up a fake lease on fake letter head with a fake offer letter from a fake company. I'm now realizing that for all that trouble, I, myself could have drafted up all of these fake documents. It seemed more authentic to have an out of town friend do it, though. The post mark, you see....always check the city's postmark. I'd make a hella criminal, don't you think? Master Kim finally let me off, but I think he simply grew tired of my pestering. Had I put as much energy and effort into kick boxing as I did to getting out of kickboxing, I'd be a bad ass by now.

I told everyone at my sister's 2nd wedding (where I didn't know a soul) that she was approximately 14 years older than she really was. Actually, that's not altogether true. Sometimes I reduced her age by 14 years too, it just depended on who I was talking to. But, I was very consistent with a 14 year difference. Considering she had small children at the time, it made the story ever-so interesting. I loved watching the look on her new in-laws faces as they tried to process this new information. I said other things that night too, like, "pssst, I don't think the bride is showing yet, do you? She looks marvelous, even in her condition"... and things like that. Some of the other stories from that night escape me, but the point is, I'm a HOOT when I'm taken to a fancy schmancy affair where I don't know anyone. Like at my step father's 65th birthday party when I snuck wine coolers, then told his guests that I was his bastard child. A HOOT, I tell you. When attempting this stunt, it's best to walk away right after the whammie. It leaves the listener confused. Best not to stick around and answer questions.



Lies I've told my children

These are actual lies and not "Leslieisms". There's a big difference.

1. They were made from love. (or drunken make-up sex...whichever)
2. Black holes will appear on their tongues if they lie.
3. They can't drink beer because it's too spicy (I also tell them this with regard to anything that I don't want to share with them, oreos, etc..)
4. I'll come back upstairs in 5 minutes. Just close your eyes and wait for me.
5. Oops, did I accidentally skip a page?
6. That there's jewelry in my mother's box (uh, no, that'd be Grammy's ashes).
7. Skateboards aren't allowed until you're 10. It's the law.
8. If you don't eat healthy food, I'll have to call Dr. Macedo and he'll have to give you a vitamin shot.
9. Daddy and I went alllllll the way to Las Vegas, just to get you this pokemon card. Aren't we the bestest parents ever? Of course we didn't buy it at the gas station downtown, silly!
10. We're not fighting, we're just talking about a movie we saw last night (I use the movie line for any conversation my son overhears that he shouldn't overhear).

~TRULY yours,
Leslie

lamenting

Allow me to lament today. I'm in of those moods. A plethora of things are bothering me and I really ought to get them off my m' chest while they're fresh on m' mind.

Just got word that Lauren Conrad is writing a book. Really? Lauren Conrad? As in the spoiled brat who debuted her stardom on Mtv's Laguna Beach and then went onto the Hills to chronicle her life as a fashion intern? Fascinating! She can't land a man. She baby talks and I'm so tired of her life being plastered on every magazine cover. Lauren Conrad reads a newspaper! LC likes lettuce wraps! Tonight on "E!" ....Lauren Conrad takes us inside her closet! It's nauseating. And now she's writing a book. What would it entail? Chapter one: My favorite color. Chapter two: What I like for breakfast. Chapter three: Who's felt me up. I don't have the strawnth. Do something important for pity's sake, that is, besides biting the tip of your tongue while flirting with boys. I think I just vomited in my mouth just thinking about it.

Something else that bothers me is the C-word. Well, not so much the C-word, but the taboo behind the C-word. I mean, who decided that this was the worst word in the world? You can call a woman a bitch, slut, whore, worthless, etc. but the C-word..... (gasp)? It's just a word. Who cares? Sometimes I think it fits the bill, perfectly. There are a few times I've wanted to utter that word, but didn't have the *chutzpah. Take last night, for example. A woman that I'd just met, confirmed my son's name and then in the very same breath, literally dogged it. Her son shares the same name as mine, except her's goes by the formal name and mine goes by the nickname. She vehemently told me that if anyone called her son the name that I have been calling mine since he entered the world, she would grab that person by the throat and unleash on them. Really? I mean, don't get me wrong. It's not like I've never woke up in the morning and winced at a stupid comment I've made. (see: blog entitled "Stupid Things I've Said"). But, don't mess with my kids. That's off limits. C-U-Next-Tuesday!

*chutzpah--Yiddish expression for nerve

There. I feel better now. I'm sure something else will have me *kvetching by mid-morning. Ta ta for now.

*kvetch--Yiddish expression for complain, which is what Jews do best.

The Minneapolis post mortem

Adam, our "driver" and me. Taking this photo of us resulted in him running a stop sign and nearly killed us.

I just got back from a weekend in Minneapolis. It was filled with debauchery from the moment we arrived until moments before we left.

I'll recap. It was my brother in law's SURPRISE 50th birthday, but the only real surprise was that my beautiful sister is married to, in fact, a 50 yr old. All joking aside, he's most lovely. He and my sister (the one who initially started this blog with me and then bailed) are quite the party people. It's why I love them so.

The weekend began with seeing a well-worth-the-money Ron White show. We were center stage and in the 6th row. Oh. Yes. We. Were. He's a filthy, dirty pig, who swills scotch and smokes cigars like it's his job. Oh. Wait. It IS his JOB!!!! The man has literally become a ka-trillionaire simply for simply being rude and sarcastic while he drinks & smokes. Where's the justice???? I wouldn't go as far as to say he's good looking, but ladies, you can't help but to get a little smitten when he's talking about pulling your hair while doing you from behind. He's a gentleman, that way. Yada yada yada, the show was over, my husband and I gambled as much money at the casino as we possibly could in one evening and then we called it a night.

The following night was the big par-tay. 300 of their closest friends were invited to this shin dig, and a shin dig it was! My see-ster rented some yacht (the Excelsior or some bullshit) to tool us around Lake Minnetonka all while dancing, dining and drinking. Mostly drinking as I can't recall putting anything into my mouth besides a funnel of booze. I know most of their friends..... a fun crowd indeed! See-ster's girlfriends are legendary and I love them like my own. They've taken me on as an honorary member of their tribe....I'm their Michigan affiliate. I'm like the baby sister they've always had but never wanted. So, with all that said, here are my favorite highlights of the weekend (at least from what I can remember).

Night #1. (Ron White @ the Casino)

• I saw a woman hold a fork with just her ring finger and thumb. Starred at her like she was a zoo animal, asked if I could take a picture with her because I was so intrigued by her eating habits.

• Was convinced I saw Ron White at the bar and basically assaulted him until I realized it was just a heavy woman with a bad dye job, wearing men's clothing.
  
  

• Sat in front of a woman wearing a crown & sash that read "Miss Feline Rescue". She stood on a chair waving at no one in particular and I couldn't stop starring at her. Often I get fixated on people and it becomes borderline psychotic.
  

• Lost miserably at black jack and told the dealer that I hated his fucking guts. Almost got kicked out.

• Heard through the grapevine that Ron White was gambling after the show. I set out on an obnoxious quest to find him. I'll admit, I get a little star struck. No matter where I went in the casino, the crowd would tell me, "Ohhhh, you JUST missed him". I think they were fucking with me. You know how the crowd can get.... By the end of the night, I was like a rabid dog, pacing back and forth trying to find him. I wonder what I would have done, had I actually located him. What? Make him sign my boob?....most likely I'd have stuttered like a freak and then crept away.

On the way home, the four of us discussed at length, who in Hollywood prefers anal sex. We all agreed that Oprah and Steadman FOR SURE and also Oprah and Gayle. Oprah's down with it.

Night #2 (surprise party on the boat)

• After nearly slipping about 40 times that day because I can't lie and I can't keep a secret worth a damn, lest when I'm drunk, which I typically am, I practically pushed my bro in law onto the boat just to get the frigging surprise over with. I was tired of it being all about him.
• I found my newly come-out-of-the-closet lesbian couple and immediately told the dark haired one that she looked just like Lois Lane. Really? That's all I could come with? Lois Lane? Ummm....1978 called...
  
  

• Later I offered up my uterus to the lesbian couple, should they ever want children. Apparently it didn't occur to me that it was the penis they needed, not the uterus. Gawd, I'm stupid when I drink.
  
  
• I smooshed my 12 year old nephew's head into my boobs, just for kicks.
  
  
  
• I pretended to be Julie from the Love Boat while greeting people at the door.
  
  
• I told people that my husband was Isaac from the Love Boat (he is neither black nor a bartender).

• I walked around with my black satin pants unzipped for most of the night, unbeknownst to me.
  
  
• When I realized the lesbian's didn't really need me, I offered up my husband's dick. Cut out the middle man, so to speak. Always one to help out a friend, I am.
  
• Peed on myself in the teeny-tiny bathroom.
• When the lesbians told me they wanted to adopt a Guatemalan baby I shrieked, "WHAT IN THE WORLD WOULD YOU WANT ONE OF THOSE FOR......"???? and then calmly walked away.
• Told my brother in law's oldest & dearest friend that he looked like a game show host. And then I proceeded to call him Wink Martindale all night. As in, "Hey Winkie, get over here, you crazy kook"!!!!! I thought I was hilarious. Wink...not so much.

• Took the captain's hat off his head and then shimmeyed in front of him.
  
  
• Called "shot-gun" in the town car on the way home, just so I could sit up front with the hot driver. Evidently, he ran a stop sign because I had my head in his lap, trying to take a picture of the two of us together (see attached photo). Nevermind my husband was in the back seat.
  

That about wraps up my weekend. A good time was had by all. I don't think we'll be welcomed back to the Twin Cities anytime soon!

adventures with koko

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