homemade costumes and life's other failures

Homemade Costumes and Life's Other Failures

I'll just say it. It stinks being friends with such talented, domestic ladies. So, once a year, my ego goes down the drain because I can't produce a decent Halloween costume for my son. I refuse to buy the store bought ones because they're paper thin and look cheap, so I insist on making my own. In December, my 6 year old tells me he wants to be Mario (from Mario Brothers) for Halloween. I thought, 'what a perfectly precious and totally original idea'. That is, until I find out that half his class is being Mario. So, I begged and bribed him to change his mind, but his mind was made up. He was to be Mario.

I first began my search at Halloween U.S.A. Amid their 9,000 costumes, there was no Mario to be found. So, my next stop was to Target or Walmart to try and find blue sweats with a matching shirt. I would simply cut off the sleeves & collar and voila...he'd have overalls. Well, because I refuse to allow my boys to wear "sweatsuits" I failed to realize that they don't make those anymore (rightfully so). So, the salesperson says, "you'd be better off just making the costume". I was intrigued. Make it you say? Like with an actual sewing machine? Hmm. Go on, I'm listening. So, she starts by telling me to grab a pattern for a basic pajama bottom. Whoa, whoa, slow down there, you're talking all crazy, I say. Talk to me like I'm a 4 year old, I tell her. So, bless her heart, she walks me through step by step and assures me there's nothing in the world easier than sewing pajama bottoms. I felt confident. That was weeks ago and I placed all the material, patterns and whatnots up in my hall closet and each time I opened that closet, there it was. Starring at me.

I finally tackled it yesterday and whipped it out in less than an hour. I was so proud of myself. I called my son over to try it on. I should have known it was going to be a disaster when I had to roll his pant leg on like they were nylons. The "overalls" were so tight on this poor child, he could barely walk. My husband calls from the other room, "did you leave enough room for him to wear jeans underneath---it's going to be cold, you know". Right. The boy moved one inch and the shoulder strap ripped. Don't move, I tell him. So, he's shuffling around our kitchen, he's walking like a mermaid, he can't move his arms and my husband is shaking his head in disgust. "He can't wear that to school" he tells me. I offer, "well, it's not a wedding dress, it's just a Halloween costume for heaven's sake". I rolled the costume off of his tiny, little body, where it is still hanging up in my hall closet. I'm considering home schooling at this point, as to avoid my poor baby having to parade around his elementary school in that horrendous excuse for a costume. Next year he's being a ghost.

ashes and options

You know, it's really very sad and sick, but I seem to be enjoying my mother so much more since her passing than I did when she was alive. Not to say that I prefer her gone, I am just enjoying her more, that's all. I'd been grieving her loss for so long, but now I think of her like an old friend with whom I'd lost touch. You tend to remember all the good times and forgot why you lost touch in the first place. Exactly like that.

With that said, I think enough time has passed and I've let go of the bitterness that surrounded our relationship and the feelings of abandonment that accompanied her death. I completely embrace her for who and what she was. I only wish I'd done that while she were still alive. You live and you learn. I find her old quirky habits hilarious now, whereas before they drove me to drink. As previously mentioned in blog entitled, "Helen's Homecoming", you'll know that I now have possession of her ashes. So, in theory she is here with me. Watching...always watching.

I came across an ad on the world wide web. This particular company claims to produce a certified, high-quality diamond created from the carbon of your loved one as a memorial to their unique life. My first thought was, "WELL, I'LL BE DAMNED...I'VE FOUND A USE FOR HER"! The comment may have been cold, but my intents were purely driven by love. I mean, really, what am I supposed to do with this box of pulverized bone? Wouldn't a diamond be more useful and let's face it, prettier?

But then, I thought about it. You know I can get to thinking. The cynic in me came out and, well, how do we know this diamond was magically created by mom's ashes? What, are you going to argue with the jeweler? "No, definitely no...mom's eyes were much greener than this"! And furthermore, what do you say when a jealous friend comments on your fancy, new gem? "Oh, this old thing? Thanks. I was created from grandpa's ashes. No, really, it was. IT WAS! WHAAAT"??? Come on. We all know darn right and well the jeweler takes the cremains, flushes it down the toilet and then sells you a marked up diamond. I just hate when my intelligence is insulted.

And it's often insulted. Like coupons & ads. Jason falls for it every time! "Les, Quiznos is offering $5 subs, OR 2/$10. What a bargain"! I heard a commercial for a pizza deal on T.V. last night. The commercial stated 3 pizzas with 3 toppings for $7 /each. This didn't make any sense to me. I am certainly not a pizza connoisseur, nor do I pay particular attention to "pizza deals", but I was busying myself in the kitchen (wow, that's odd) and I overheard this commercial in the background. Something about it stuck in my craw. Ok, so 3 pizza's for $7/each. How about 4 pizzas? $7/each. 5? $7/each. Here's what I'll do, because I can tell you know your pizza, I'll give you 10 pizzas for $7/each. Well, you'd be stupid to pass up a deal like that! Give me a break! All day with this nonsense. You know they're targeting drunk men when they run deals like that. No woman would ever fall for that. We all know salesmen think us gals are soooo stupid, but when it comes to the green but, bitches be crazy. *Messing with my money is like messing with my emotions, and you know this! My money, fool--*nachos!

*The infamous line from movie "Friday", which Jason and I reference weekly.
*Ebonics form of "not yours"

tots & poisonous dots

A revised Saturday Night Live skit

Do you remember that SNL from the 80's in which Jane Curtin plays a talk show host who interviews the owner of a toy company and they're looking at hot new toys for the Christmas season? The toy store owner (whom I believe is played by Bill Murray) proudly displays his ever-popular "Bag of Rusty Nails" which promises hours of fun and entertainment. Or the box filled with shards of glass and finally, the teddy bear with real razor blades for paws. It was a classic.

Unbeknown to me, I'd become a spokesperson for an incredibly dangerous toy. You may recall Aqua Dots. They swept the nation for most of 2007. My children went ape shit over them so, I figured they'd be perfect gifts for the 8,000 birthday parties my boys got invited to. They were relatively inexpensive. They kept my children contained & entertained and lastly they encouraged creativity. Eureka! I've found it. The perfect gift. For months, I was receiving phone calls and notes, telling me how much Suzy and Scotty were enjoying their Aqua Dots. I took full credit for my stellar gift giving. It was like a little pat on my back.

Until. Until my husband called me one morning and asked if our kids still played with Aqua Dots. I looked over at my son who was intensely working on his aqua dots masterpiece. I inquired about my husband's sudden interest in our aqua dots. He made a few comments about my being totally unconnected to the real world (the one that exists outside my kitchen) and while I was wondering when the last time I watched the news or read a paper, he tells me that all over Newsweek, CNN and every radio station were reports of GHB being found in Aqua Dots. For those of you who didn't experiment in college, GHB is a fancy acronym for the date-rape drug. Apparently children were swallowing the aqua dots (which bore an uncanny resemblance for little candy juju bees) and were winding up in a coma or worse, dead. I grabbed the beloved aqua dots away from my child and threw them in the garbage. It was shortly after that that the phone calls started.

Caller 1: Yeah. Leslie. Can you please give me a call. I am watching the Today show and there is something going on with these Aqua Dots, can you just let me know where you bought them?

Caller 2: Leslie, I can only assume that Ben plans to date rape Annie. What the hell is up with these aqua dots?

Caller 3: Well, it's official. The Chinese have it out for us. Call me....that is, if you're not too busy whipping up a Chlorophyll IV kit for Riley's birthday party next week.

WTF???? I imagine a dozen or so China men sitting around a board room table. "Let's see....hmmmm, what on earth can we use to make these little beads stick together? Oh, I've got it....that chemical that American teenagers use to get frigid girls in bed"!!!

It goes without saying, we've been invited to less parties this year. A shame too, because I've got the most darling plastic bag, just waiting to be given to a special birthday boy or girl. Everyone knows what fun a plastic bag can be. There's no telling where the fun will end when a child gets his hands on a plastic bag. I may have gone too far just then. It happens.

Donkeys & Elephants

Who's sick of all the political mumbo jumbo? It's shoved down my throat every time I log onto my computer, each time I turn on the T.V. and it's in every newspaper & magazine that I've read. It's maddening. It's boring and most of all, it's excessive.



OK, it's the end of Oct. I'm fairly certain we know who we're going to vote for. Like any debate is going to sway us one way or the other. Unless one of the candidates comes forward and announces that he likes to participate in live donkey shows, I'm quite confident each presidential candidate has said his piece. (and yes, it's piece, not peace, like I thought it was up until a few months ago when I was corrected--so HA, don't go thinking you're smarter than me).



With that said, let's talk about the lawn signs. People, I'm taking a huge risk in saying this, but, it's tacky. It is. Why are you so insistent upon making your vote known? Just because you post a McCain sign in your yard, do you really think that will influence your neighbors to actually vote for McCain? "Hey, honey...you know, the Cline's are voting for McCain. I think we should do the same. Alrighty, than it's settled". How narrow minded is that. By pushing your beliefs onto others, you're really just letting everyone know where you stand. But, here's the thing. No one cares. All it does is create tension because no matter which way you vote, you're bound to piss someone off. Keep it to yourself. To me, it's like posting religious signs in your yard. "METHODIST'S LIVE HERE" or "WE BREAK FOR BAPTISTS". It's simply not necessary. It's no one's business but your own.


I'll even take this a step further. Stealing the opposing candidates signs. Really? Really, you're that much against the running mate that you'll waste energy and commit vandalism in spite of him? "I know...if I steal this sign, my neighbors won't be reminded that there's another running mate and our guy will WIN"!!! That's so... childish.

Lastly, my first grader came home from school yesterday and said, "Mom, my class wants the other guy to win and so I do too". Seriously? First graders are talking about it... er, more like regurgitating what their parents have been discussing. It's sick. And we wonder why our country is full of arrogant, racist, narrow minded, ignorant fools.

A new low

A New Low

Riddle me this. Exactly why did I spend 40K on a college education? What did I get out of it besides bitchin' memories and a thread bare liver?

My first grader came home with math homework and I was sitting at the kitchen table going over it with him. How many pennies make a nickel? Easy enough. Draw the hands on the clock so they read 1 o'clock. Got it! What appears on the back of a penny? (silence, rapid blinking)

I stare the bronze coin and decide that my son should know the answer. What do you think the answer is, sweetie? "I think it's George Washington's house", my son tells me. I considered it, but wasn't convinced, so I call my husband at work.

I always know when there's people in his office because he talks to me in his "professional" voice. As in, "Yes, yes, I concur. I trust you'll make the right decision for us. Let's revisit this at a later date. Me: Jason, do you want a fucking pizza for dinner or don't you?

Anyway, there's obviously peeps in his office because he's talking to me like that. I said, "hi, I know you're busy, but what's on the other side of the penny"? His answer waivers and so he asks his 25 year old assistant. The assistant says "the Lincoln Memorial, duh". I told him that that's what I thought, but I just wanted to be sure. Jason puts me on speaker phone and says, "but we arrived at the correct answer first, so we win" I channeled my inner 10 year old and told him (and whoever else was in his office), "ooooooh you're soooooo smaaaaart......how did I get so lucky to have married such an Einstein.....you got me, you win. Now the score is 300 million to 2". That shut him up. You've got to knock him off his pedestal from time to time.

So, fast forward and I'm at bunco later that night. For those of you who don't follow this blog, bunco is my monthly girls' outing in which we roll dice and drink. But, not so much roll dice. I like to call it 'drunko'. Anywhoot, I'm at bunco and I'm telling some other first grade mommy friends about my penny debacle that afternoon. They all just starred at me. "All the answers are all written at the top of the page", they tell me. Wow. Now I really feel like a dumb ass.

If I'm having trouble with first grade homework, I can't even imagine what the subsequent years are going to bring. As if my self esteem weren't shaky enough.

You know you're a desperate housewife when.....

You know you're a desperate housewife when.....you think Anthony Wiggle is hot. Not to mention Captain Feather Sword. Sure, he has one eye patched and the other looks like it's got a goiter behind it, but aside from the pink & purple feathers, there lies a real man. What, with the omnipresent 5 o'clock shadow, a body that won't quit, oh yeah.

And while I'm critiquing the Wiggles, I'll just come out and say it. What the f. is wrong with Greg's mouth? I've tried to imitate it and I can't. It's as if a string has been tied to the left side of his bottom lip and is being pulled downward. Like a stroke victim, if you will.

Also Johnny from Johnny and the Sprites? Yes, he lives in a tree house. And yes, his only friends are furry, little, muppets. And yes, I realize he's as gay as the day is long, but I can't help but to see him in a different light when he's singing about "feelings". I'll give ya a feeling, Johnny!