I'm sure you all have a family that does this, or you know a family that does this. But, you all know the family that takes the same exact picture, year after year. Same people, same occasion, same pose...the only thing that changes is the date.
In my family, growing up, it was of the thanksgiving dinner. Not pictures of the people invited to the thanksgiving dinner, but the meal itself. It wasn't only Thanksgiving, sometimes it was Mother's Day or a Passover Seder. At any rate, we didn't have a particularly pleasant upbringing or much in the way of happiness, but my mother could put on a spread (hence, no pix of the family, just of the food). So, she'd iron the linen tablecloth. She'd polish the silver, she'd lay out the china gravy boats, the little silver s/p shakers and it's matching sugar bowl. She'd place fresh fruit into individual, crystal goblets. She would coordinate the olives/pickles/gardenia onto the Wedgewood relish plate. The meal would be glistening through the 3 beveled bay windows. On rare occasion, my dad would be in the picture, usually glaring at the camera, all three kids forcing smiles, or down right crying. Anyway, that's a day in the life of our family photo album.
Now, in Jason's family, it's a tad different. Not quite as dysfunctional, mind you, but equally as noteworthy. One particular set of grandparents is in their 90's, so suffice it to say, there's a lot of photos. Not fun, candid or particularly interesting photos. Just the same 8 or 12 people standing around and forcing smiles. Once in a while a second photo will be taken so that the photographer has the chance to be in the photo. But, other than that, the pictures rarely vary.
There's the infamous birthday photo. This involves the birthday boy or girl sitting at the table, in front of the birthday cake and cards are methodically placed in front of the guest of honor. The others gather around the said person and if they were feeling especially celebratory that day, perhaps they'll pull a bouquet of balloons into the shot. I'll reiterate. These people are in their 90's. They have 2 children, 7 grandchildren and 13 great-grandchildren. That's a lot of birthdays. And a lot of photos. The only way you can differentiate between the decades of the photos, is by the attire. Otherwise, everything remains the same. Grandma gets shorter and shorter in every picture. Her hair gets more and more pink. The kids eventually grow into their buck teeth. Bad perms tend to soften. But, all in all the situational pose remains the same.
Grandpa just celebrated his 95th birthday last week, in the hospital. We all went to see him, complete with balloons, cards, sweet treats, etc. The nurse was nice enough to take the time to take a picture. Try this on in your mind's eye. He was battling pneumonia, so we all had to wear masks. Grandpa was looking very small and frail in his hospital bed. We're all gathered over him wearing our necessary masks, the balloons were getting tangled in the IV's. My 7 yr old yells, "we don't even have to smile, we can just fake it". So true. No forced smiles this year. Meanwhile, the nurse begins to count off, "One.....Two..." Grandma stops her, "just a minute, hon, I just want to get his cards in the picture". Now, Grandma is as slow as snails and is perfectly content taking her dear sweet time knowing full right and well that the nurse has a busy schedule of which to attain. But, no, once again, Grandma methodically begins to place Grandpa's birthday cards all over his chest, practically suffocating him with them. Slowly spreading them out and trying to position them so they can be seen in the picture. My son says, "it's not like you'd even be able to read the cards in the picture". (God bless him). For the record, if we weren't at the hospital, we'd have been at the Bistro on 44th street, which Jason has dubbed, God's Waiting Room. And instead of spreading the cards all over poor Grandpa's chest, we'd have passed them around the table so everyone could read them. What's that all about? Oh, I see Aunt Dot sent a lavender card this year. And Cousin Rita sent a cartoon one....isn't it funny, the different tastes? And so it goes.... This is every year. It's all about the birthday cards.
I hope I'm never old. Old people and their habitual ways bother me. My dad passed away at 52 and my mother at 60, so the chances of growing old are slim to none and slim just left to get a mani/pedi.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Friday, March 27, 2009
Bunco By-Laws!!!!
Many readers also belong to a monthly bunco group. What up, my snake-eye-sistas! This has inspired me to write a handy manual. Kindly refer to this manual and reference it whenever possible. We shall call it, The Bunco By-Laws. Verrrrry official.
1. If you're scheduled to bring beer/wine, than for Gad's sake SHOW UP. Or at least send some beers along with your sub. Hell, I didn't join a bunco group for the chex mix, Ladies!
2. Go easy on the bell. No one likes the obnoxious bell ringer. Ding ding ding to get started. Ding ding ding to change tables. Ding ding ding to announce that you're the first to arrive at 21. (or 18, or whatever the hell you're trying to get to). I've been playing for 4 years and I still have no idea what number you're trying to get to. Anyway, settle down on the bell. It's just gloating.
3. Leave kid talk and/or school talk at the door. Unless your kid told his teacher to go f--k herself. In which case, tell us all about it.
4. What happens at bunco stays at bunco. Oh, how well-acquainted I am with the "morning afters". It starts with a phone call so that we girls can properly perform a post mortem on the night before. And it ends there. We don't discuss it further. We don't discuss it on facebook and we certainly DON'T TELL OUR HUSBANDS!!! I was at a party once when a friend's husband came up to me and referenced my brazilian. I was aghast. Which is when the what-happens-at-bunco-stays-at-bunco policy was first instated.
5. NO KIDS. I don't care if you are desperate for subs, you don't invite your children to play. Unless of course, they drink and swear. I don't like to censor myself when I drink. I wasn't born with that particular skill set. Usually what comes out of my mouth after my 2nd drink is barely suitable for ladies, let alone children. I can't be held accountable.
6. If there's a theme, then by God, adhere to it. Would it kill you to go to Good Will and spend $5 on an ugly hat or dress? It's all for fun, don't get your boy shorts in a wad over it. Lighten up. Don't even get me started on Easter Bonnet Bunco.
7. Don't force it. If we don't want to play, but we DO show up each month to drink and chat, then let it be. Don't force the game on us, just go with the flow! If we called a spade a spade and actually called what it is (a monthly drunken debacle) then no one would show up. So, let's all remain pure to our intentions, that is, to "play bunco". It's like playing along with an imaginitive child. You wouldn't say to your 3 year old, "Suzy, now you know damn right and well that your baby doll isn't real. Why, she's nothing more than latex and yarn. Look, I can rip her head off and she doesn't even feel it". No, you play along. Shhhh, just go to sleep crazy lady.
8. Feel free to create committees within bunco, for purely selfish reasons. For example, I created a fake "membership" committee and told people that if they didn't step it up, I'd be taking their membership to the "review board". Of course, there is no review board. I instill fear, which is the whole point. I still throw out the possibility of putting someone on probation, just for getting on my nerves. You can do this so that you can weed out the riff raff from your group. Or, keep the riff raff and weed out the boring members. Or, black ball everyone and simply keep the weed.
That's as far as I've gotten. I can't think of anymore Bunco contingencies. If you have any that you'd like to share, by all means, post a comment and pass it along!
In Bunco Love, Leslie
1. If you're scheduled to bring beer/wine, than for Gad's sake SHOW UP. Or at least send some beers along with your sub. Hell, I didn't join a bunco group for the chex mix, Ladies!
2. Go easy on the bell. No one likes the obnoxious bell ringer. Ding ding ding to get started. Ding ding ding to change tables. Ding ding ding to announce that you're the first to arrive at 21. (or 18, or whatever the hell you're trying to get to). I've been playing for 4 years and I still have no idea what number you're trying to get to. Anyway, settle down on the bell. It's just gloating.
3. Leave kid talk and/or school talk at the door. Unless your kid told his teacher to go f--k herself. In which case, tell us all about it.
4. What happens at bunco stays at bunco. Oh, how well-acquainted I am with the "morning afters". It starts with a phone call so that we girls can properly perform a post mortem on the night before. And it ends there. We don't discuss it further. We don't discuss it on facebook and we certainly DON'T TELL OUR HUSBANDS!!! I was at a party once when a friend's husband came up to me and referenced my brazilian. I was aghast. Which is when the what-happens-at-bunco-stays-at-bunco policy was first instated.
5. NO KIDS. I don't care if you are desperate for subs, you don't invite your children to play. Unless of course, they drink and swear. I don't like to censor myself when I drink. I wasn't born with that particular skill set. Usually what comes out of my mouth after my 2nd drink is barely suitable for ladies, let alone children. I can't be held accountable.
6. If there's a theme, then by God, adhere to it. Would it kill you to go to Good Will and spend $5 on an ugly hat or dress? It's all for fun, don't get your boy shorts in a wad over it. Lighten up. Don't even get me started on Easter Bonnet Bunco.
7. Don't force it. If we don't want to play, but we DO show up each month to drink and chat, then let it be. Don't force the game on us, just go with the flow! If we called a spade a spade and actually called what it is (a monthly drunken debacle) then no one would show up. So, let's all remain pure to our intentions, that is, to "play bunco". It's like playing along with an imaginitive child. You wouldn't say to your 3 year old, "Suzy, now you know damn right and well that your baby doll isn't real. Why, she's nothing more than latex and yarn. Look, I can rip her head off and she doesn't even feel it". No, you play along. Shhhh, just go to sleep crazy lady.
8. Feel free to create committees within bunco, for purely selfish reasons. For example, I created a fake "membership" committee and told people that if they didn't step it up, I'd be taking their membership to the "review board". Of course, there is no review board. I instill fear, which is the whole point. I still throw out the possibility of putting someone on probation, just for getting on my nerves. You can do this so that you can weed out the riff raff from your group. Or, keep the riff raff and weed out the boring members. Or, black ball everyone and simply keep the weed.
That's as far as I've gotten. I can't think of anymore Bunco contingencies. If you have any that you'd like to share, by all means, post a comment and pass it along!
In Bunco Love, Leslie
Friday, March 20, 2009
Leslie's most favorite expressions & come backs!
The following is a compilation of some of my most famous expressions & come backs.
As it pertains to sex after child birth:
It was like throwing a hot dog down a hallway.
As it pertains to people I don't care for:
My husband: Would it kill you to be nice to (insert name)
Me: Why risk it?
As it pertains to my husband suggesting I get a job
But, when would I watch tv?
As it pertains to my husband threatening to kick me out
What....And give alllll this up? (spreading my hands out and referencing the laundry & dishes)
As it pertains to being bored out of my mind at a party/wedding/baby shower
Frankly, I'm having the time of my life (to be said with an expressionless face)
As it pertains to someone thanking me for a kind gesture
It was the most I could do.
As it pertains my 4 years spent at Western Michigan University
I don't know. I can barely remember graduating.
As it pertains to gossiping
If you don't have anything nice to say, come sit next to me.
As it pertains to someone having buck teeth
She could eat corn on the cob through a fence, I'm telling you, she could.
Someone commenting/asking how long Jason and I have been married 10 years. We we've been happy for 6. (I say this, smile and walk away--it's a riot)
Someone mentioning how beautiful the bride is
I know, she's hardly even showing (again, I smile and walk away. I've gotten into a wee bit of trouble over this one)
As it pertains to receiving an atrocious gift
You shouldn't have. No really.
As it pertains to someone trying to impress me
Wow. That's fascinating. That is, unless I just confused fascinating with bored shitless.
As it pertains to someone asking my 3 year old what his name is
Don't ask him difficult questions, you're just confusing him. He's not bright.
As it pertains to someone announcing their pregnancy
Oh Gawwwd. (usually I'll wrinkle my nose in disgust) Why would you do THAT???
As it pertains to someone telling they're about to start planning a family
Run for your life. It's too late for me, but you can save yourself!!!
As it pertains to punishing my kids
Just you wait until your real father finds out about this.
As it pertains to the ubiquitous question of how many children I have
Three. One of each.
For when I ask my server if I can get the rest of my meal wrapped up or boxed. This is perfect for when I've eaten everything on the plate except for a piece of parsely. It kills. Everytime! But the trick is to say it in a very non-chalant way.
As it pertains to someone (I don't much care for) insisting we ' simply must get together sometime'.
Come on now, let's not get carried away.
As it pertains to my doctor asking me if I need a refill....on anything.
Don't be ridiculous. You know better.
Believe it or not, I actually get away with 99% of these smart ass comments.
As it pertains to sex after child birth:
It was like throwing a hot dog down a hallway.
As it pertains to people I don't care for:
My husband: Would it kill you to be nice to (insert name)
Me: Why risk it?
As it pertains to my husband suggesting I get a job
But, when would I watch tv?
As it pertains to my husband threatening to kick me out
What....And give alllll this up? (spreading my hands out and referencing the laundry & dishes)
As it pertains to being bored out of my mind at a party/wedding/baby shower
Frankly, I'm having the time of my life (to be said with an expressionless face)
As it pertains to someone thanking me for a kind gesture
It was the most I could do.
As it pertains my 4 years spent at Western Michigan University
I don't know. I can barely remember graduating.
As it pertains to gossiping
If you don't have anything nice to say, come sit next to me.
As it pertains to someone having buck teeth
She could eat corn on the cob through a fence, I'm telling you, she could.
Someone commenting/asking how long Jason and I have been married 10 years. We we've been happy for 6. (I say this, smile and walk away--it's a riot)
Someone mentioning how beautiful the bride is
I know, she's hardly even showing (again, I smile and walk away. I've gotten into a wee bit of trouble over this one)
As it pertains to receiving an atrocious gift
You shouldn't have. No really.
As it pertains to someone trying to impress me
Wow. That's fascinating. That is, unless I just confused fascinating with bored shitless.
As it pertains to someone asking my 3 year old what his name is
Don't ask him difficult questions, you're just confusing him. He's not bright.
As it pertains to someone announcing their pregnancy
Oh Gawwwd. (usually I'll wrinkle my nose in disgust) Why would you do THAT???
As it pertains to someone telling they're about to start planning a family
Run for your life. It's too late for me, but you can save yourself!!!
As it pertains to punishing my kids
Just you wait until your real father finds out about this.
As it pertains to the ubiquitous question of how many children I have
Three. One of each.
For when I ask my server if I can get the rest of my meal wrapped up or boxed. This is perfect for when I've eaten everything on the plate except for a piece of parsely. It kills. Everytime! But the trick is to say it in a very non-chalant way.
As it pertains to someone (I don't much care for) insisting we ' simply must get together sometime'.
Come on now, let's not get carried away.
As it pertains to my doctor asking me if I need a refill....on anything.
Don't be ridiculous. You know better.
As it pertains to my chiropractor telling me that my hips are uneven. Then, I guess I should change my name to Eileen, huh? (I have used this at least 25 times and surprisingly, it never elicits the laughter that I would expect--whatever, it's hilarious)
Believe it or not, I actually get away with 99% of these smart ass comments.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Leslie the Do-Gooder!!
You might be familiar with a now well-known woman in Arkansas who just gave birth to her 18th child. Michelle Duggar and her husband Jim-Bob (I know. Don't get me started) have a show on TLC called, 18 Children & Counting. It started out a few years back and was originally called 15 children and Counting, but....well, Michelle can't seem to keep her pants on....hence, the name change.
OK, I can get past the 18 children (although just watching them gives me a rash). I can get past their home schooling and simply ways (I can't really get past the home school, but let's just pretend for the sake of argument that I can). I can even look beyond the fact that they insist on naming their children "J" names; Josiah, Jeremiah, Jediah, Johanna, Jemima, etc. However, I draw the line at mom's wardrobe and overall appearance.
For all intents and purposes, all 18 of her children are gorgeous. Mathematically, you'd assume at least a handful would have gotten the ugly gene, but no, they are a surprisingly good-looking family. Especially the daughters! Their long permed hair and matching denim skirts, I can do without, but that's nothing that a quick trip to Target can't fix. (they don't have Neiman Marcus in Arkansas). I'm not knocking their child rearing tactics. I don't know if the Duggars medicate their children before taping, but they are 18 of the most articulate, polite, well mannered, well behaved, outgoing, kind & considerate group of individuals I've ever seen. They're obviously doing something right, in that regard.
But back to the lecture at hand. Michelle....oh, Michelle. Do you even own a mirror? Who told you that 4 foot long, frizzy mullet looked good? Bless your heart. In her defense, the woman has been pregnant for approximately 16 years. It's hard to put effort forth when you're pregnant and taking care of little ones, but for Christ's sake, you've got a mullet.
So, here's what I propose. Since this is a TLC show that we're talking about here, I see no reason why we can't ambush her with a sneak-attack make over? It can be What Not To Wear meets 18 Children and Counting. I'm putting together a petition to get Michelle Duggar a new look.
Step One: Cut the hair
That should do it. I'm confident the rest will fall into place after that. (oh...and she probably needs to have her vag reconstructed). Eventually, I'd like to tackle her clothes, but honestly, I've hardly noticed them because I've been so preoccupied with her hair. She's not an unattractive woman. Once you look past her ubiquitious belly, nude nylons & navy flats. I'm almost certain that she could even be lovely once introduced to cosmetics & hair product. We don't want her looking too good....I mean the poor woman has 18 kids as it is. If want to stand a fighting chance at this, Jim-Bob is gonna have to keep his mouse in his house for a while .
You heard it here first. I'm on an altruistic crusade to make over Michelle Duggar. Hop on the campaign trail with me! Who's in???
OK, I can get past the 18 children (although just watching them gives me a rash). I can get past their home schooling and simply ways (I can't really get past the home school, but let's just pretend for the sake of argument that I can). I can even look beyond the fact that they insist on naming their children "J" names; Josiah, Jeremiah, Jediah, Johanna, Jemima, etc. However, I draw the line at mom's wardrobe and overall appearance.
For all intents and purposes, all 18 of her children are gorgeous. Mathematically, you'd assume at least a handful would have gotten the ugly gene, but no, they are a surprisingly good-looking family. Especially the daughters! Their long permed hair and matching denim skirts, I can do without, but that's nothing that a quick trip to Target can't fix. (they don't have Neiman Marcus in Arkansas). I'm not knocking their child rearing tactics. I don't know if the Duggars medicate their children before taping, but they are 18 of the most articulate, polite, well mannered, well behaved, outgoing, kind & considerate group of individuals I've ever seen. They're obviously doing something right, in that regard.
But back to the lecture at hand. Michelle....oh, Michelle. Do you even own a mirror? Who told you that 4 foot long, frizzy mullet looked good? Bless your heart. In her defense, the woman has been pregnant for approximately 16 years. It's hard to put effort forth when you're pregnant and taking care of little ones, but for Christ's sake, you've got a mullet.
So, here's what I propose. Since this is a TLC show that we're talking about here, I see no reason why we can't ambush her with a sneak-attack make over? It can be What Not To Wear meets 18 Children and Counting. I'm putting together a petition to get Michelle Duggar a new look.
Step One: Cut the hair
That should do it. I'm confident the rest will fall into place after that. (oh...and she probably needs to have her vag reconstructed). Eventually, I'd like to tackle her clothes, but honestly, I've hardly noticed them because I've been so preoccupied with her hair. She's not an unattractive woman. Once you look past her ubiquitious belly, nude nylons & navy flats. I'm almost certain that she could even be lovely once introduced to cosmetics & hair product. We don't want her looking too good....I mean the poor woman has 18 kids as it is. If want to stand a fighting chance at this, Jim-Bob is gonna have to keep his mouse in his house for a while .
You heard it here first. I'm on an altruistic crusade to make over Michelle Duggar. Hop on the campaign trail with me! Who's in???
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
bring back the 50's.
During a recent visit to my family doctor, he and I discussed putting me on an anti-anxiety medication. "Me"? I asked (totally faking ignorance). People, I was born anxious. I've needed to be properly placed on an anti-anxiety medication since 1978.
Needless to say, I accepted. I was asking the all right questions, does it have side effects, will it cause me to drool, will my children be safe in my care, things like that. He absolutely assured me that if I took the prescribed dosage, it would be as safe as a kitten. Seeing as though I'm incredibly stingy with my pharmaceuticals, I didn't see as this would be a problem. I told him that I'd seen my fair share of Vh1's Celebrity rehab to know how it all goes down. I watch Intervention. I ain't fronting.
So as he (he, being Dr. Feelgood) and I calculate over my many prescriptions, I disclose to him that I just feel inadequate in handling my life. I admit that I really have no right to complain, I have a great life, I don't have to work, my kids are healthy. Then there's my husband---he's in charge of multi-million dollar structural projects all over Grand Rapids and I'm stressed??? He tells me something that really hit home with me. He said, "Listen, this isn't 1952---stay at home moms are not ladies of luxury anymore--you're a Rockford mom and you're expected to be perfect". I swear he said this to me, "Between the school functions and the friggin' play dates and constantly keeping up appearances, I don't know you all do it". Obviously, I love this man. He's such an advocate of women! He gets it!! Hip hip! He gets it, for the love of all things great and small, the man gets it!!!!!
So after I patted him on the ass and winked at him. I high tailed it out of his office to fill my new Rx. No wonder they call it 'mommy's little helper'. Ok, so a while later I got to thinking (and you all know how I can get to thinking) about what he'd said---about it not being 1952. While I was not born or raised in the 50's, I do happen to read a lot. Here's what I know about being a housewife in the 50's. The women & children usually looked perfect. The homes were always spic & span. The children were minded and when the husband came home from work, the children were spit shined and dinner was bubbling in the oven. How'd they manage? They didn't even have the modern conveniences that we do now. So, what gives? I'll tell you what. THEY GOT TANKED ALL DAY LONG!!!! Yes, yes, yes. They invited their little sewing/knitting/book club gossiping lady friends over, sent the kids down to the "rec room" and they got tore up from the floor up. Hammered! Why do you think they were so amorous when their husbands got home from work. "Hello darling, how was your day, here's a Manhattan, why don't you take a load off in this EZ chair while I juggle your balls for a while". Ahh, the good old days.
Needless to say, I accepted. I was asking the all right questions, does it have side effects, will it cause me to drool, will my children be safe in my care, things like that. He absolutely assured me that if I took the prescribed dosage, it would be as safe as a kitten. Seeing as though I'm incredibly stingy with my pharmaceuticals, I didn't see as this would be a problem. I told him that I'd seen my fair share of Vh1's Celebrity rehab to know how it all goes down. I watch Intervention. I ain't fronting.
So as he (he, being Dr. Feelgood) and I calculate over my many prescriptions, I disclose to him that I just feel inadequate in handling my life. I admit that I really have no right to complain, I have a great life, I don't have to work, my kids are healthy. Then there's my husband---he's in charge of multi-million dollar structural projects all over Grand Rapids and I'm stressed??? He tells me something that really hit home with me. He said, "Listen, this isn't 1952---stay at home moms are not ladies of luxury anymore--you're a Rockford mom and you're expected to be perfect". I swear he said this to me, "Between the school functions and the friggin' play dates and constantly keeping up appearances, I don't know you all do it". Obviously, I love this man. He's such an advocate of women! He gets it!! Hip hip! He gets it, for the love of all things great and small, the man gets it!!!!!
So after I patted him on the ass and winked at him. I high tailed it out of his office to fill my new Rx. No wonder they call it 'mommy's little helper'. Ok, so a while later I got to thinking (and you all know how I can get to thinking) about what he'd said---about it not being 1952. While I was not born or raised in the 50's, I do happen to read a lot. Here's what I know about being a housewife in the 50's. The women & children usually looked perfect. The homes were always spic & span. The children were minded and when the husband came home from work, the children were spit shined and dinner was bubbling in the oven. How'd they manage? They didn't even have the modern conveniences that we do now. So, what gives? I'll tell you what. THEY GOT TANKED ALL DAY LONG!!!! Yes, yes, yes. They invited their little sewing/knitting/book club gossiping lady friends over, sent the kids down to the "rec room" and they got tore up from the floor up. Hammered! Why do you think they were so amorous when their husbands got home from work. "Hello darling, how was your day, here's a Manhattan, why don't you take a load off in this EZ chair while I juggle your balls for a while". Ahh, the good old days.
We'd get damn near arrested if we got plowed in the presence of our children every day. Every other day, perhaps, but NOT every day. Plus, I don't know about you, but I'm a sloppy drinker. You can bet your ass I wouldn't be standing at the door with an ironed apron while the casserole bakes in the oven. No, if I were drinking all day, this is what my husband would come home to:
The boys would be choking each other within an inch of their lives, one of them would for sure be naked, the tv would be blaring, I'd be sitting on my front porch, wearing my ripped pajama bottoms and only half my hair would still be in the pony tail that I wore to bed the night before. I'd have phone tucked carelessly under my chin talking to God knows who, probably someone I drunk dialed and now I won't let my poor victim get off the phone and the children would be eating bugles & saltines out of the box for dinner. No, no, no---this won't do!
Not to mention, kids today are involved in soooo many activities, it would be downright foolish to hit the bottle all day long, then drive them to gymnastics or whatever. In the 50's, they didn't have such options as Spanish, Dance, Soccer, etc. etc. etc. It was school, cub scouts, home. Plus, those freaking kids walked everywhere. And they were happy to do so. Not our beastly children. We drive them all over hell's half acre, as to not tire their precious legs.
So, Dr. Feelgood is onto something. No, it certainly IS NOT 1952! I say, bring back the 50's! Let's get back to basics people! Wouldn't we be so much happier if our husbands left the office at 5:00 and came home to drunken, horny wives? The kids would be happier because mom wouldn't be busting their balls all day. The husbands would be happier because....who doesn't love a drunken, horny wife? And us gals would be happier too...because we'd be...well, wasted.
But, for now, we have to rely on Rx to smooth out the rough edges. Less calories, too, I guess. Ah well. Maybe it's for the best that I didn't turn out to be a 1950's housewife. On my drunkest, horniest day, I still can't envision me greeting my husband at the door with a Manhattan and a hand job. He can make his own damn drink.
~Happy to be a Rockford housewife in 2009!
Saturday, March 7, 2009
thank you!
Thank you, thank you, thank you, to all my new followers! I promise not to leave you hanging! I have had one heck of a week. I went on a bender last weekend and then my husband & children took off for 24 HOURS......so, you just KNOW I have tons to report!
However, I'm riddled with a wicked hangover. Will update soon.
ciao!
However, I'm riddled with a wicked hangover. Will update soon.
ciao!
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Grow up!!!!
I'm so immature, sometimes I can barely stand myself. Well, that's not true, I actually adore myself. I do...I crack myself up---but let's just call a spade a spade. I have the maturity level of a 13 year old boy.
So, I'm here with my 3 year old, watching quality television, that being Tom & Jerry. It's the one where Jerry has his french cousin visiting him. Together, they are on a quest to find Tom. The french mouse is whispering in his precious, little, french accent, "pooo-seee.... pooo-seee....pooo-see cat--where have you been". I'm dying. At 35 years old, I'm still howling at the pussy reference on a fricking cartoon. I'm not right.
Not to be confused with last night's ridiculousness. My (almost) 7 year old brings home little books every night from school. Each book is of an appropriate age level and the point is for the child to practice reading with an adult every night---any old adult will do. Last night's book title was, "The Hole in Harry's Pocket". The cover portrayed a small, black boy with his hands shoved way down in his pocket and Harry was giving us his best "O" face. Obviously, I was dying. My son sees the cover and God bless 'em, he says, "look, it's like Harry's saying, 'ohhhh, look, I found my wiener way down in my pants'". I love that child. In his defense, he was right. That's exactly what the caption should have read. I think the people who write these so-called reading books are sick.
Tina's special pearl
Tommy's hides his weasel
Mr. Johnson's big Johnson
Mr. Johnson likes to hang out at the park, sharing his big bag of candy
Kitt Kittredge gets a monthly visitor
For the love of God. I'm not the sick one, I didn't write the damn books! Throw a lemon in my general direction, I'll most likely suck on a wedge, then do a lemon drop shot. Dangle a dirty innuendo in my face, I'll dangle a filthy response back in yours.
Ta ta for now.
So, I'm here with my 3 year old, watching quality television, that being Tom & Jerry. It's the one where Jerry has his french cousin visiting him. Together, they are on a quest to find Tom. The french mouse is whispering in his precious, little, french accent, "pooo-seee.... pooo-seee....pooo-see cat--where have you been". I'm dying. At 35 years old, I'm still howling at the pussy reference on a fricking cartoon. I'm not right.
Not to be confused with last night's ridiculousness. My (almost) 7 year old brings home little books every night from school. Each book is of an appropriate age level and the point is for the child to practice reading with an adult every night---any old adult will do. Last night's book title was, "The Hole in Harry's Pocket". The cover portrayed a small, black boy with his hands shoved way down in his pocket and Harry was giving us his best "O" face. Obviously, I was dying. My son sees the cover and God bless 'em, he says, "look, it's like Harry's saying, 'ohhhh, look, I found my wiener way down in my pants'". I love that child. In his defense, he was right. That's exactly what the caption should have read. I think the people who write these so-called reading books are sick.
Tina's special pearl
Tommy's hides his weasel
Mr. Johnson's big Johnson
Mr. Johnson likes to hang out at the park, sharing his big bag of candy
Kitt Kittredge gets a monthly visitor
For the love of God. I'm not the sick one, I didn't write the damn books! Throw a lemon in my general direction, I'll most likely suck on a wedge, then do a lemon drop shot. Dangle a dirty innuendo in my face, I'll dangle a filthy response back in yours.
Ta ta for now.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
LAFTER
Can you honestly remember laughing about something until you either cried, peed your pants, or couldn't speak? Honestly?
One of those silly email questionnaires came my way again and the ubiquitous question of 'when was the last time you laughed' came up. Without thinking, I assumed it was that day. Later that evening, I got to thinking about it. You know how I can get to thinking.... I wondered about a time when I laughed so hard that I cried. I mean, I laugh everyday. Not all-out belly laugh, but an occasional chuckle here and there. But I'm talking about those ridiculous, bend over and hold on to your crotch spells of laughter. Since I'm not terribly easy to amuse, only a few instances came to mind. I'll share.
I have to digress a bit for you get the whole picture. Last Summer I had to have radio active iodine treatment done on my freaky over-active thyroid. The dr. said the only drawback was that I couldn't be around my kids for a few days. Come again? You know on the Grinch when his frown gets pulled into an evil grin? That's what I looked like. I called two of my gal pals and whipped up a li'l party in no time flat. I had the foresight to plan my "treatment" the same weekend as my husband's annual family reunion. Now, with that said, I've been going to these things for 14 years and if you've ever had the pleasure of meeting me, I'm sure I've angled the family reunion into our conversation somehow. It's such a spectacle that there aren't enough words to describe what it entails. Basically, an entire day (8 AM-5 PM) of sitting out in the sweltering heat. There are a lot of games, prayers, hymns, etc. I adore these people, I do. It's just not really my scene is all. I'm not much of an outdoorsy girl as it is. Add heat, dirt & church to the mix and I start to wilt. So, you can imagine my eagerness to plan the "treatment" during this beloved weekend.
Fast forward 6 hours. I'm drunk as a skunk with my two pals in my kitchen. I made them all wear our "Jesus is Love" t-shirts which were our party gifts from the past 14 years of family reunions. We thought it would be a wise decision to get out my husband's yearbook and then leave him messages about various classmates. For example: (mind you, I could barely get the words out without breaking out into a hyena-type laughter, so my messages were barely audible, but still....) "Hi, Jason? This is Leslie (I love how I have to clear up any confusion about his wife's voice). Yeah. I'm just at home..... Hanging out..... Laura, Sarah & I met some old friends of yours. We're just here with Mike Spicozza.....yeah...(screaming laughter in the background)....and Joe Van Wyk. We're just listening to music (I can barely catch my breath between each sentence). Yeah, we met them at the bar. So, they're all here with me now. Ok, bye" and this went on for about 2 hours. Me, leaving ridiculous messages like this one, each one included different & random names of classmates---none of which my husband would ever want sitting in his home while he's not there, mind you. OMG, we laughed so hard. It's one of those times that I look back on and literally laugh out loud every time I think of that night. Oh the fun...
Another time that I look back on and LOL (even though I absolutely HATE when people over-use LOL and/or 'chillaxin'---as it makes me want to put a fondue skewer in your eye). Sadly enough, it was at my mother's funeral. I know, that makes me really, really sick, doesn't it? Well, for some random reason, her neighbor gave the eulogy. My sisters, step dad and I are all sitting in the front row, listening to this synopsis of my mother's life. Since she lived in a retirement community in North Carolina and none of us had lived with her in over 10 years, we really weren't a part of her day to day life, so it was interesting hearing about this person we only knew as "mom". Her neighbor was a very articulate woman and spoke with such inflexion in her voice. She was entertaining. I almost forgot we were listening to a story about my mother...at her funeral. Anyway, she told a 20 minute story about my mother's hats. "That Helen, you know she had over a dozen hats..and no two were alike..." It was borderline fascinating. Then she started talking about how my mom could dance. "And ohhhhhh could Helen dance. She danced in the kitchennnnn, she danced in the garagggge, she danced at our senior daaaances....oh, she just loved to dance...and daaaaance....and daaaaance...." My sister and I were dying. Dying. It started with a smirk. Then I know exactly what's coming. I try to control my retarded smile (I mean, what kind of person smiles at her mother's funeral?) Then my shoulders start shaking uncontrollably while I try to stifle a laugh). Then I catch my sister's face and all hell breaks loose. Ahh, good times.
Then there was the time my sister and I were invited to attend my mother's friend's wedding. She got married for the first time in her 50's. We were already ill at ease attending this wedding that we knew my mother would have loved to have attended. But as we're walking into the church, we see that the "get away" car was a chevy cavalier. My sister looks at me and says, "I can't do this". So, we go in, take our seats, pray that it's not a full mass and wait patiently for the bride to appear. In front of us sits an older gentleman who has his arm placed along the back of the pew. On his left hand, he has a nub for an index finger. No nail, no knuckle, just a nub. Normally, that sort of thing wouldn't have bothered me. But, that it was right under my nose, waggling it's absurdity in my face, coupled with the fact that we'd had a few cocktails before the blessed event, just about sent me into a tizzy. We starred at that damn nub for the entire ceremony. I couldn't even tell you if the bride wore white. We were absolutely crying. Tears, rolling down our faces, shoulders shaking, digging our fingernails into our own legs, etc. Oh, we looked like quite a sight as we pranced through the receiving line. We got the hell out of there and skipped the reception. It was for the best.
Those are just a glimpse of some of the most hilarious moments in my past decade
One of those silly email questionnaires came my way again and the ubiquitous question of 'when was the last time you laughed' came up. Without thinking, I assumed it was that day. Later that evening, I got to thinking about it. You know how I can get to thinking.... I wondered about a time when I laughed so hard that I cried. I mean, I laugh everyday. Not all-out belly laugh, but an occasional chuckle here and there. But I'm talking about those ridiculous, bend over and hold on to your crotch spells of laughter. Since I'm not terribly easy to amuse, only a few instances came to mind. I'll share.
I have to digress a bit for you get the whole picture. Last Summer I had to have radio active iodine treatment done on my freaky over-active thyroid. The dr. said the only drawback was that I couldn't be around my kids for a few days. Come again? You know on the Grinch when his frown gets pulled into an evil grin? That's what I looked like. I called two of my gal pals and whipped up a li'l party in no time flat. I had the foresight to plan my "treatment" the same weekend as my husband's annual family reunion. Now, with that said, I've been going to these things for 14 years and if you've ever had the pleasure of meeting me, I'm sure I've angled the family reunion into our conversation somehow. It's such a spectacle that there aren't enough words to describe what it entails. Basically, an entire day (8 AM-5 PM) of sitting out in the sweltering heat. There are a lot of games, prayers, hymns, etc. I adore these people, I do. It's just not really my scene is all. I'm not much of an outdoorsy girl as it is. Add heat, dirt & church to the mix and I start to wilt. So, you can imagine my eagerness to plan the "treatment" during this beloved weekend.
Fast forward 6 hours. I'm drunk as a skunk with my two pals in my kitchen. I made them all wear our "Jesus is Love" t-shirts which were our party gifts from the past 14 years of family reunions. We thought it would be a wise decision to get out my husband's yearbook and then leave him messages about various classmates. For example: (mind you, I could barely get the words out without breaking out into a hyena-type laughter, so my messages were barely audible, but still....) "Hi, Jason? This is Leslie (I love how I have to clear up any confusion about his wife's voice). Yeah. I'm just at home..... Hanging out..... Laura, Sarah & I met some old friends of yours. We're just here with Mike Spicozza.....yeah...(screaming laughter in the background)....and Joe Van Wyk. We're just listening to music (I can barely catch my breath between each sentence). Yeah, we met them at the bar. So, they're all here with me now. Ok, bye" and this went on for about 2 hours. Me, leaving ridiculous messages like this one, each one included different & random names of classmates---none of which my husband would ever want sitting in his home while he's not there, mind you. OMG, we laughed so hard. It's one of those times that I look back on and literally laugh out loud every time I think of that night. Oh the fun...
Another time that I look back on and LOL (even though I absolutely HATE when people over-use LOL and/or 'chillaxin'---as it makes me want to put a fondue skewer in your eye). Sadly enough, it was at my mother's funeral. I know, that makes me really, really sick, doesn't it? Well, for some random reason, her neighbor gave the eulogy. My sisters, step dad and I are all sitting in the front row, listening to this synopsis of my mother's life. Since she lived in a retirement community in North Carolina and none of us had lived with her in over 10 years, we really weren't a part of her day to day life, so it was interesting hearing about this person we only knew as "mom". Her neighbor was a very articulate woman and spoke with such inflexion in her voice. She was entertaining. I almost forgot we were listening to a story about my mother...at her funeral. Anyway, she told a 20 minute story about my mother's hats. "That Helen, you know she had over a dozen hats..and no two were alike..." It was borderline fascinating. Then she started talking about how my mom could dance. "And ohhhhhh could Helen dance. She danced in the kitchennnnn, she danced in the garagggge, she danced at our senior daaaances....oh, she just loved to dance...and daaaaance....and daaaaance...." My sister and I were dying. Dying. It started with a smirk. Then I know exactly what's coming. I try to control my retarded smile (I mean, what kind of person smiles at her mother's funeral?) Then my shoulders start shaking uncontrollably while I try to stifle a laugh). Then I catch my sister's face and all hell breaks loose. Ahh, good times.
Then there was the time my sister and I were invited to attend my mother's friend's wedding. She got married for the first time in her 50's. We were already ill at ease attending this wedding that we knew my mother would have loved to have attended. But as we're walking into the church, we see that the "get away" car was a chevy cavalier. My sister looks at me and says, "I can't do this". So, we go in, take our seats, pray that it's not a full mass and wait patiently for the bride to appear. In front of us sits an older gentleman who has his arm placed along the back of the pew. On his left hand, he has a nub for an index finger. No nail, no knuckle, just a nub. Normally, that sort of thing wouldn't have bothered me. But, that it was right under my nose, waggling it's absurdity in my face, coupled with the fact that we'd had a few cocktails before the blessed event, just about sent me into a tizzy. We starred at that damn nub for the entire ceremony. I couldn't even tell you if the bride wore white. We were absolutely crying. Tears, rolling down our faces, shoulders shaking, digging our fingernails into our own legs, etc. Oh, we looked like quite a sight as we pranced through the receiving line. We got the hell out of there and skipped the reception. It was for the best.
Those are just a glimpse of some of the most hilarious moments in my past decade
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