who's got my back?

Now, this is still in negotiations, but there is a vague possibility that Jason will be outsourcing a new wife from overseas. Or importing her from Mexico. Either way.





Evidently, I'm on thin ice. He made some remark about my being a 'money pit'. I said, "ohhhhh yeaaaaah. I'm soooo expensive to keep....poor Jason.....being ran into the poor house because his wife is sooooooo frivolous". Then, I suggested he go ahead and trade me in for a newer, more efficient and economical model.



'Go right ahead', I threatened. He wavered and waffled over the idea, alright. I reminded him that sure, at the end of the month, there might be a few more dollars in the bank, but what good would that do him when he'd obviously be crying in his beer every night? She wouldn't be as cool as me, I'll tell you that much. You think some mail-order bride would allow him to play poker every Friday night and "jam" on his guitar in the basement every night? You think new wife would put up with his maddening habit of insisting the toilet paper be put on the holder backwards? Hay-ell no, she'd throw his ass out--FO SHOW!



You know... she'd probably make him see foreign films with him, or worse....chick flicks. She would probably think the Olive Garden was fine dining and would make him take her there. Yeah, ya know what I did this weekend? I offered to see "Notorious" (story of rapper Biggie Smalls) with him and I even ate at a Mexican Restaurant with him, knowing full right and well that I hate Mexican food. I'm that kind of wife. I'm so low maintenance it's ridiculous.



You want to sit in front of the tv and not talk? I'm cool with that! Turns out, I'm not a big fan of chit chat. You just want to go to sleep after whoopie and not cuddle---sweeeeet---good night! You want to forego dinner and just have snacks while we watch the Office? I'm your girl! I hate shopping at the mall (I'd rather save myself the time and just order everything online), it takes me 30 minutes to get ready, I love sleep, I love music, I love beer, I have a raunchy sense of humor, I'm not morally opposed to illegal substances, I tell dick jokes, I'm a man with a uterus is really what it boils down to, and he's really going to complain about my foiled highlights and my excessive fondness for black shirts with ruffles, of which I have dozens.



So this, I assure him. She won't be liked by the neighbors. She won't be liked by our friends. She won't be accepted at Bunco. She'll surely receive a chilly welcome at the family reunion. Face it, you're better off keeping me. In the long run, it might cost you, but I'm priceless.



I ask you, who's got my back? If Jason shows up to euchre, the corner bar, Christmas, a bar-b-que, etc., with a new bride, please tell me you won't like her better than me. Remind him of how good my chili is and how I actually enjoy mowing the lawn, won't you? I'm a keeper, I tell you. One weekend with one-legged Svetlana and he'll be begging for me to come home.



Wanna be rich? Shoulda married a hippie who sews her own clothes and grows her own food. Want a fun life with many laughs, a (mostly) clean house, a drinking buddy, a fashion consultant, a personal shopper, a goofy pal? Stick with me! I always tell Jason, "you make the living and I'll make the living worthwhile".

wetsy betsy

So, I've been hitting the gym lately. More than usual. I don't know why---partially because the weather sucks and there's nothing else to do. Partially because I needed to. Partially because it's an opportunity for me to be away from my 3 year old for 60-90 consecutive minutes.

So, I peeked in the studio one day and witnessed a cardio kickboxing class. It looked like a blast and I made a mental note to get the schedule and then try to work this class into my exercise repertoire. Now, I fancy myself to be quite athletic. I am a tough cookie, plus I used to kickbox back when I lived in the Detroit area. I was pretty good at it too! I figured the class to be kickboxing with some aerobics mixed in. The latter part scerred me. Although I consider myself to be somewhat athletic, I am not however, coordinated. I've been known to leave every step aerobics class and regular aerobics class that I've ever attended. I can't do it, I tell you. But, kickboxing? Now kickboxing, I can do!

I had begged a friend/work out buddy to do the class with me. Now, she actually had the foresight not to join me. She knew her limitations and thus, skipped out. Which is what I should have done. Instead, I showed up to class like I owned the place. Hopping from one foot to the other...tipping my head from side to side, like I'm about to get into a fight or something. The class continues to fill. And fill. And fill. Now, I'm squashed right smack in the middle of the class with no room for error because I've got skinny bitches to my left & right. All of a sudden an 85 lb blur of blond & boobs comes barreling into the room, cranks the sound system and starts screaming for us to do all these crazy moves. I felt like an I Love Lucy episode. Lucy, showing up to the Copacabana with a large head dress on, trying to fit in with all the other dancers. That was me. The instructor never paused, not even for a second. She was either jumping, kicking, punching or shuffling, the entire time. It was a 45 minute class and we were only 90 seconds into it. I was dying. Keep in mind, I work out. Fairly often. You'd have thought I was an 800 lb asthma patient, the way I was dragging myself around the studio. I felt like the Elephant Man. "I am not an animal, I am a HUMAN BEING". Everyone else knew what they were doing. They were KEE-YAHing and shuffling in time with the music. I looked like a Clydesdale. By the time I'd figure out what the hell the instructor was doing, she'd already be onto the next move. Daaahhhrr!!

The final straw came when we had to do this fancy li'l kick where you hop on one foot and then kick with the other. If any of you read an earlier blog of mine titled, "other benefits of child birth" you'll know that when I get on a trampoline, I totally pee my pants. Yes, well, apparently the same is true when I drink a pot of coffee, hop on one foot and then kick with the other. Totally peed on myself. God bless me for trying, I couldn't do it anymore. I gave it my all....and then I peed. So, I snuck out (backwards) with my tail between my legs, horrified to see a group of 60 year old women toward the back of the room. That felt like a kick in the crotch in and of itself. So, I go into the bathroom and once my heart rate started to come down a tad, I started dry heaving. Dry heaving. OK, I am SO NOT A THROWER UPPER!!! Maybe a few times during a pregnancy and once on my 21st birthday, but that's about it. Dry heaving in the bathroom at the Y. after a Kickboxing class.

So, 2 minutes later, I'm in my car. It's 15 minutes after the start of the class. I call my friend. This is the message I left her. "Hi Melissa. It's 9:45. You might recall that I was going to attend the 9:30 cardio kickboxing class. Yeah. About that. Um. I peed my pants and then almost threw up. So, in hindsight, perhaps it's best that you didn't join me today---guess I should go home and do my kegel exercises now, what with my incontinence and all.... BYE".

Toodle. Ooo.

again...my son manages to horrify me

I firmly believe that my son was placed on earth and into my arms for the sole purpose of humiliating me. I'm referring to my older son, Ben. And here's the weird thing of it all...he's my good boy. For others, he is so well behaved, a rule follower, a type A personality, a typical first-born-pleaser. So, why does he turn my golden, brown locks grey?

I take pride in how my children dress, I do. I'm not ashamed of that either. I make effort to make sure their clothes are clean, pressed and well put together. (exceptions are made on gym day and during school breaks). An example of how my son tortures me is when I show up to school to help out in the classroom and his nose is crusted with boogers, his sweater is hanging off of his arms, his laces are untied and the tongues of his shoes are loosely dangling from the tops of his shoes. I was furious. This is not how I sent him to school. I wouldn't even talk to him until he went and cleaned his nose.

Another example is how each day, I make a beautiful lunch for my precious child. A sandwich, a fruit, a snack, a yogurt or pudding, and maybe a small piece of candy if I'm feeling extra nice that morning. So, I'm out in the hall reading with his classmates and I know that the rest of the class is having snack time. This is where the students can get a snack out of their lunch box and if they don't have a snack, they lay out their paper towel and that's a signal to the rest of the class that he/she doesn't have a snack that day and the students then take pity on this poor child whose mother doesn't love him/her and they share their snacks with this unfortunate child. It's my son's turn to read with me, so he comes out in the hall and greets me with a hug. I asked him what he chose out of his lunch box that day to have as his snack. "Nuthin. I just put out my napkin and all the other kids give me their snacks". My face drops, my smile disappears, my eyes narrow in on him. He turned and made a bee-line for the door. According to his teacher, this is a regular habit of his. Now, everyone thinks I'm the grubby mom that doesn't pack a snack. Like I need this aggrevation.

Lastly, (well, not lastly because God knows he horrifies me each and every day but for all intents and purposes...lastly) A while back, my son was paired up with a 5th grade "buddy" and they were assigned to interview each other. Oh, I saw the Q&A, alright. My son's answers went something like this:

What's your favorite color: black and blue (you know, like bruises)
What's your favorite smell: smoke (he meant chimney or bonfire smoke, but still....what would you assume he meant?)
What's your favorite song: Welcome to the Jungle by GNR and Gold Digger by Kanye West. (choice tunes for a 6 yr old, wouldn't you agree?)

I was half expecting him to talk about his turn on's & turn off's or his favorite martini garnishes. Really? I was like, "Do you want mommy to go to jail"?

....not to be confused with the time he told our pediatrician that he drinks pop "ALL THE TIME" (btw, I NEVER let him drink pop). And also not to be confused with the time he told his entire preschool class how to make a peanut butter & jelly sandwich by telling them they "don't even think about making a mess" and "you should probably pray before you eat, even though my mom never does". Nice!

If given the opportunity that child would throw me under a bus--not even a question! He never passes up a chance to prove me wrong or embarrass me. Those who know him probably wouldn't believe any of this. Oh no, they think he's such a sweet, smiley, charming, child. Let me tell you, he's part little boy, part pure evil and he's mine, all mine. Through and through, he is my son. The other one (the dumb one) belongs to his father. Ben is mine.

Bunco Changes

Many of my loyal readers are aware of my monthly bunco (drunko) group. It's my li'l drunken retreat where 12 or 20 of my neighbors get together, eat, drink, laugh, catch up and technically we're supposed to play bunco but that rarely happens.

Along with the changing economy, we felt that after 3 strong years, bunco needed to change as well. As the song goes, 'when it's time to change, you've got to rearrange, who you are and what you want to be'. We're not resistant to change. Oh. No. We're. Not. With new challenges in her life, our former bunco chairperson stepped down and handed her official bunco reigns over to a fellow member. Why she chose a bafoon like her, I'll never know. I think I'd have done a hella tight job managing bunco, but that's just me. So, begrudgingly, I accept my new chairperson with open arms and gritted teeth. I immediately contacted her and told her of my new and brilliant ideas of which kept me awake for the past 3 years. I felt that it would be beneficial to start each bunco with the National Anthem. I also felt that a monthly newsletter would be helpful, to keep us in each other's loop and whatnot. I thought it would be super fly if we dimmed the lights and blared The Eye of the Tiger by Survivor after each round, to amp us up for the next round. All of my ideas were (of course) dismissed and truth be told, I think she was jealous of my mad bunco skillz. I wasn't at all surprised to show up to the first bunco after she took over to find no table snacks (I guess she was too busy planning her lame bunco to bring the one thing she was committed to bring). I'll admit, I got a little smug about it. I subtly pointed out her oversight, but I made my point known.

But that's not all. No, my bitterness runs deeper than a few missing table munchies. In our group, girls come and girls go. You know what they say, 'if you can't run with the big dogs, stay on the porch'. But, no worries, we always have a waiting list and we'll replace you so fast your head will spin. Everyone who's anyone wishes they were in the Bella Vista Bunco group, but only few can hang. I just realized that the name of my neighborhood sounds a bit like a trailer park. Now, I ask you...would a trailer park host such well thought out bunco parties? No, they'd probably just decide to meet at lot # 14 for a fist full of white bread and a hunk of Velveeta and call it a party. But I digress.

So, another girl decided to not renew her membership this year after her 4th baby....whatever...I showed up to bunco in labor, but hey, that's just me... So, naturally we needed to find a 12th, which is never a problem because I can easily be bribed. An email goes out, bada boom, bada bang, Kristie is our newest member. What? No vote? No discussion? Who does this new chairperson think she is? Yes, Kristie has been a faithful sub since day one and she shows up uninvited every month, but--- really? She's technically not even in Bella Vista, she's in the neighboring subdivision for crying out loud. I'm not sure we want her corrupting our group. Plus, who knows if she's got what it takes. But, for the sake of keeping peace, I let it go.

It's Kristie's first night and the chairperson's first night after her induction (you know, the one where she forgot the table munchies). So, for all intents and purposes, it's a big night for everyone. When our newest member arrived, we all turned off the lights, locked the door and hid from her. It was 19 degrees outside...hee hee. "Gotta pay your dues" we all chanted from inside the house. Finally, after her baby toe turned black, we let her in. The room was dark. We made a circle around her and held hands. Someone lit a candle and we passed it from one girl to another. During this ceremony, we made Kristie take all of her clothes off. We all took turns asking her trivial questions about ourselves and our families (to see if she'd been paying attention all these years). For every wrong answer we'd spray her with the hose from the kitchen sink. I really got her good when I asked her my son's social security number. Finally, we'd had our fun with Kristie and frankly, all the attention being put on her was getting on my nerves. We let her get dressed but then locked her in a closet and insisted this is always what we do to the new girl. She must have let herself out sometime after we'd all gone home because I swear I saw her driving her kids to school today. Oh well, all in good fun. Snaps to a great new year!

In Bunco Love,
Leslie

An interview with me!

We get these pointless emails where you have to answer 20 questions about yourself. I like reading other people's answers because it might inform me of something that I never had the courage to ask. Like, "oh, it says here that Holly is wearing white socks and jeans....see, I wondered what she wore while sitting at the computer. Mystery solved"! I'm going to make up my own list of questions...because I want the world to know such trivial things about myself. It's just all so terribly fascinating!

What diseases & disorders do you currently have:
Hyper & Hypo Thyroidism (depending on how often I remember to take my meds).
Adult Attention Deficit Disorder (can't walk from here to there without remembering why I'm walking there, I blurt out inappropriate comments at inappropriate times and other fun symptoms).
Anxiety (an unexpected visit from a family member will send me into a full blown attack, as will a lost sock)
Depression (I'd explain, but why bother? No one cares anyway)
Fibromyalsia (this is self diagnosed, mind you)
I don't know what you call this one, but I swear I get sick each and every time I travel. My husband thinks it's psychosomatic, but he's just trying out his big syllable words.
Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (my entire world could be crumbling around me and I wouldn't do one single thing about it, until I found my "to-do" list).

Do you dust and then vacuum or vacuum and then dust:
Wow (Leslie), that's an interesting question! Well, up until a few years ago, I always dusted then vacuumed, but I've learned that vacuuming just musters up more dust and so I've reversed my order. p.s. I also dust with baby wipes. How fancy am I, I. Ask. You?

What brand of laundry detergent do you use:
I was a loyal purchaser of Tide w/ bleach alternative, then I switched to Gain because it smelled better. Now, I just go around smelling my friends' clothes, ask them what they use and then switch to that. I just realized that what I just typed might be the most pathetic statement I've ever written.

If you could invent any gadget, what would it be:
A 'pause' button for the children. I could press pause, go grocery shopping, come back, put the groceries away, make myself a nice lunch, call a friend or two, give myself a manicure, read a book, take a nap, unpause the children. Voila!

If you could look like any celebrity, who would it be:
Victoria Beckham, hands down.

If your husband allowed you one night "off" from the marriage, who would you pursue:
Aaron Eckhart (pant, pant). Either that, or I'd opt for a night out with Chelsea Handler, Wanda Sykes and Kathy Griffin .

Would you mind sharing with us, your work out regime:
Oh sure. I mix up cardio & toning. For example one day I might run laps at the gym and then do some work on the yoga ball afterward. Maybe do some side planks, just for kicks. Then, the next day why, I could get all crazy and do an entire Legs, Gluts & Abs class. I'm silly that way. Truth be told, I enjoy the gym because it's only time I get to watch tv uninterrupted. I've been known to stay on the elliptical machine for and hour & a 1/2 while watching back to back Maury. I had to know who the baby daddy was.

OK, Leslie, our time is just about up. Let me leave you with this final question. Is there anything you would like your loyal readers to know?
Yes, if you're reading this and you aren't already listed as a 'follower to this blog', for GAD'S sake, register yourself!
(fake laughter)....ok, Leslie, thanks again for your time.
Sure, Leslie. The pleasure was all mine.

crazy me!

I get very involved with being me. It's just so .... exhausting and complicated. There are so many idiosyncrasies that make me the habitual, obsessive, neurotic and negative creature that I am. While a funeral could send me into a laughing fit, the most insignificant occurrence will reduce me to tears. I don't get it. Here are more example of things that even I don't get about myself.

Small things. I don't get this at all, but I have a strong penchant for small (miniature) things. Keep your phallic jokes to yourself. Doll houses, miniature play houses, complete with kitchens and tiny cafe curtains will make me foam at the mouth. Travel size toiletries....oh, I could spend hours looking at them, holding them. As 1953 as this sounds, I could lose myself in an old classic dollhouse, with doll furniture and teeny rugs and itsy bitsy cans in the cupboards. Oh, don't EVEN get me started on Recreational Vehicles. Anyone who knows me for more than 10 minutes, knows that I'm cuckoo about RV's. I'll go to the shows, I'll browse each and every RV. I'll imagine where my belongings would fit into each teeny tiny space. I'd give it all up to live in an RV, I swear. The swivel captains chairs and the make-shift dining room table alone are enough to put me into cardiac arrest. That's all I'll say about this issue.

Shamu. Killer whale, Orka, whatever you want to call it....but immediately upon her big entrance, I'll start bawling so fast, your head will spin. I don't know why there's a direct correlation between the mammal and my tear ducts. This, I cannot explain. I've also been known to cry when my 6 year old hammers out Metallica's 'One' on Guitar Heroes too. Don't judge.

Planning my own funeral. This has been going on for years. The obsession with my own death. I'm willing to bet that experts would call this narcissistic. Maybe. But, it IS my funeral. Why shouldn't it be all about me? I've got the venue, the music, the caterer, the photo slide show, my outfit, my eulogies and my head stone all perfectly detailed in this big ol' head of mine. I've only just begun telling my husband some of these details...what, with being 35 and all. It could be touch and go for sometime yet. Can't be too prepared, I always say.

There are a few things in life that simply embarrass me. Take driving for example. Not how I do it, but the act itself. Whenever I pull up next to someone in my car, like if I'm meeting them or something, I feel incredibly masculine. And masculinity makes me very, very uncomfortable. I drive a typical SUV. But, in my head, it may as well be an 18 wheeler. That's what I feel like when I'm driving in other people's presence. Isn't that silly?

When I was younger, I wouldn't eat in public. True that. Lunch in the school cafeteria was my most dreaded part of the day. Standing there, either waiting for food, or sitting at a table eating out of a bag made me so anxious that I simply never ate. I'd go visit my boyfriend at his college and I'd go for several days....wouldn't eat a morsel the entire time. Yeah, I was a real hoot by the 2nd day. I didn't have an eating disorder, or anything like that, I just felt that eating should be done in private. To this day, I still refuse to eat at a buffet. It still mortifies me to stand somewhere, shoveling food onto my plate.

My knees go weak whenever someone talks about their....(cycle). I am horrified for them. Trust me, I have A LOT of girlfriends and it comes up way too often. I'll just look away and ignore them....anything just shy of putting my fingers in my ears and humming. Believe me, I was this close to banning my husband at the birth of his children. I was disgusted at myself...and it was MY BABY! Girly parts embarrass me. I told you....complicated and exhausting!

On that, HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!!!