Grow a pair, Leslie!

I'm so wishy washy. It's the absolute least favorable attribute of mine. I'm so easily influenced, I could be the poster child for peer pressure in an after school special. Here's how I envision the script rolling:

Friend: Here, try some drugs, Leslie
Me: No thank you. I'm morally opposed to drugs.
Friend: Just try it.
Me: Ok. Don't mind if I do.

It's just that simple. No backbone. No spine. No chutzpah. This has been a problem of mine from childhood to present day. I'm not sure where or what it stems from. Clearly, if you've read even one blog entry, you'll note that I have no problem speaking my mind, so why the eagerness to follow someone else's lead? Good old fashioned insecurities, I guess. I let everyone else become my guide. For whatever reason, I question my own judgement and most often I'll substitute others' opinions for my own. My inner dialogue might sound like this, "well, obviously my opinion doesn't count so I'd better listen to this homeless person's". Apparently I think so little of myself that I'm constantly in search of others' affirmation and encouragement.

As a child, on through early adulthood, my sister was the gauge that I'd use to measure my own values. If she'd decided that 'red' was out, you can bet the next day, I'd be schlepping every red thing from my house and down to the curb. If she'd awaken one day, only to realize that poison ivy was the next big thing, better believe I'd be rolling in it by lunchtime. Gawd, I'm pathetic....just seeing this written annoys me. I annoy myself. Once I finally moved 2 hours away from her and our relationship dwindled down to nothing, only then was I able to shake the influential hold she had over me. I slowly began relying on my own judgement. Not to say that I don't slip back into it from time to time.

Motherhood is another facet of my life that leaves me questioning myself. When my kids were little, I always let someone else dictate when to introduce new things and when to taketh away. I was so afraid of someone saying, "can you believe Leslie still lets her kids fill-in-the-blank". Insecurity is a real bitch! When Gabe was 2, I still had him in a high chair because.....well, for no other reason than it was easier for me if he was contained while he ate. That is, until my friend, Kristi came over and mentioned that he was old enough to be sitting at the table with the rest of the family. Picture me hauling the high chair down to the basement at 1 AM. Because naturally, who better to assess my 2 yr old's needs than someone who has never seen him eat. Fast forward to the next day, Gabe is sitting in a booster chair at our kitchen table, flinging bananas on the floor, feeding our dog, crawling onto the table, crawling under the table, etc. Damn you, Kristi. Damn you, I say! But, that's so typical of me. I wish I was strong enough to say, "um, yeah..no".

This [said] flaw of mine could really come in handy, let's say, at a sleep over. "Leslie, you should totally steal your mom's vodka, shimmey down the fire escape, steal your mom's car, pick up our boyfriends and bring them back here. Oh---and by the way, you should cut your hair first. We hear mullets are making a big come back". Me: do you really think so? Oh, I was popular, alright. Have I ever mentioned that I was suspended for mooning a school bus during gym class? You think I came up with that brilliant idea on my own?

Even today, I have a very strong tendency to listen to everyone else's opinions instead of my own inner voice.

Me: This Christmas tree sweater is so ugly!
Friend: No, it looks great on you.
Me: You're right. I never thought of it like that. I love my Christmas tree sweater.

Note to reader: Now that this is out in the open, kindly refrain from talking me into bad haircuts or triple dog dares. God knows I'll do it. Well, that's not all together true. No one (and I mean no one) would ever be able to talk me into home schooling or scrap booking. Even I draw the line somewhere.

A born follower,
Leslie

Girl's Best Friend

Frankly, I'm tired of talking about my kids. They've hogged far too much time on my blog as it is. I mean, I know they're funny and all, but enough's enough. It just occurred to me that I've never mentioned my most prized possession. (this is the part where I'm supposed to say 'besides my kids, of course'). Luna is my 9 yr old Yellow Lab and I love her ever so, ever so much. I wouldn't go as far as to say that she's the best dog in the world. Or even the brightest dog (not being real bright seems to be a trend in our family....hmm). But, the love I have for her is borderline ridiculous.

Below are bullet points, which highlight just how much I love her:

• I will drag my kids out of my bed because they toss and turn and fidget while they sleep (like their father). While on the other hand, I'll hang off the side of the bed, sacrificing my own comfort to ensure Luna's .

• I won't yell at Luna when she eats the kids' toys. Sometimes I encourage it because I think she looks darling when she chews on a toy.

• I don't let my kids give Luna a treat---only me---because I want her to love me the best.

• Gabe doesn't get in trouble for hitting Ben but he gets put in the naughty chair and sometimes gets a spanking if he so much as sticks his tongue out at Luna.

• I feed Luna long before I feed the rest of the family.

• If she has an accident in the house, I worry that she's sick, instead of scolding her.

• If she does get in trouble, I immediately forgive her because she looks so pathetic with her ears back.

• If I've been gone for a while, I'll hug the kids and what not, but I'll make a big stink out of greeting Luna. My mother in law has actually pointed out that I might show favoritism toward Luna. (umm...might?)

• I dress Luna up and take pictures of her I have an entire photo album dedicated to Luna

• I used to stand outside with her, holding an umbrella above her, if it was raining. (I've since stopped this act of kindness, but the point it, that I used to)

• I think it's charming the way she cuts me off on the stairs. I feel like she's racing me down the steps and I always let her win. I'd probably trip the boys if they tried to cut me off like that.

• I'm considering having her stuffed after she's gone.

• If I could bottle her smell, I would.

• The soft fur behind her ears is the closest thing to Heaven that I'll probably ever come.

• One time, Jason was grilling steaks and she helped herself to one, right off the plate. She walked in front of us, laid down and ate it. She was like, "what"? And I was like, "nothing". I admired her chutzpah.

• I've sat on the floor to make room for her on the couch. Well, actually....that was only true with our old furniture. She's not allowed on the new furniture (but secretly, I pretend not to notice if I see her up there). I want her to be comfortable for Gad's sake.

• I'd consider cloning her.

• She's often who I'm most happy to see at the end of the day.

• When she smiles, I could just about melt.

• As I type this, her head is on my lap.

• I change her bandanna almost every day. She has her birthday bandanna, several Christmas, Halloween & Valentines ones. Right now she's wearing a Hawaiian one. She even has a Harley Davidson one for when she's feeling like a bad ass and a Rockford Rams one that she wears during football season. She's fancy.

• She likes to hump the heads of other dogs. If the other dog growls, I get mad at that dog for rejecting my dog.

• I don't like people who don't like my dog. I'm aware that she's not well behaved and that she's very in-your-face. She has this way of finding the only non-dog-lover in the group and then she just kinda leans on them and puts her head on their shoulder until they'll acknowledge her. It's precious. Most people think she's obnoxious. Yeah, well....she is my dog, after all.

• And lastly (well not lastly, but this particular bullet point presentation could go on for days) She definitely has OCD tendencies. She circles the kitchen table twice before she goes outside and other various oddities. I find them endearing.

I wonder if my up-bringing has anything to do with my unusual love for her. My mom used to put her dog's blanket in the dryer before he went to bed (so that it would be warm for him). Then she'd wrap him in it, rock him for a few minutes, pull down the shades and put him to bed in his crate. What a freak. My sister Sharon has the world's most hilarious Pug named, Denny. Or, 'Dennis' when he's in big trouble. He had an upper respiratory infection some time ago and he was put on some kind of medication. I'm not sure what was in those pills, but needless to say, the only way Sharon could get him to do anything, is if she'd bribe him, "denny, want your pills"???? That damn dog would stare at the kitchen counter, where she'd kept the meds, for hours....until Sharon would give him one. Yep. He's definitely one of ours.

Dogs rule!

the untitled blog

Ha!! I roped you in with my clever blog title. What I really wanted to name it was, " 8 Ways to a Happy Marriage". But, I worried that the lame title would deter readers from tuning in. I could hear you all groaning, "ohhh, she thinks she's an expert now, does she?" But, I'm telling you, this is fool proof. I have a few fancy maneuvers that will get you what you want and will keep your spouse happy.


I know what some of you are thinking, 'But Leslie, what if I'm not married??? ' Then, count your blessings that you don't have to put up with all this B.S.!!! Go out and do something nice for yourself and don't ask anyone's permission to do so!!!



Now then, moving on. For your convenience, I've composed a bullet point presentation.

• Upping the Ante: This first move has to do with getting yourself out of trouble. Let's say you took your husband's car out one night and accidentally rammed into a grocery cart going 30 miles an hour. Here's what you do. Walk in the door, all upset and remorseful. Feign tears. Muster up the strength to tell your husband what happened, but make it sound waaaay worse than it is. Like such, "Jason, I'm so sorry....it's going to probably cost hundreds and hundreds of dollars to repair it---I mean, the car is absolutely mangled, I'm surprised I could drive it home". He goes out to assess the damages and sees that it's just a nasty scratch. And voila!!! He's pleasantly surprised that it's not nearly as bad as you lead him to believe. Problem diffused. Then, as the icing on the cake, you say, "-sniff, sniff--I was sure you were going to kill me". Then you walk away and take a bow for your stellar performance. Works every time. And ladies, if you've ever read my blog, you know that I can get myself into some seriously disastrous situations. I've mastered this technique.

• Rubbing Compound: Go to a hardware store and buy yourself some rubbing compound. I'll just leave it at that.

• One-Two-Switcheroo: This one can also be referred to as "Upping the Ante" but instead of damage control, you're excusing an unauthorized purchase.

For example;

Husband: Leslie, are those new shoes....I thought I told you NO SHOPPING this weekend.

Me: I know, I'm so sorry, but they were on sale and I couldn't help it.

Husband: How ON-SALE were they?

Me: Um...like...$125.

Husband: $125....SERIOUSLY??

Me: ha ha, just kidding, they were only $25.

Husband: Oh, ok then.

Me: (smirk). I'm telling you gals, work this technique into your repertoire and you'll have a new wardrobe by Summer's end.

• Pay up: Now, I'm not proud of this one. But, it works. Pay up works like this; Each time you buy something new for yourself, you have to...ahem...pay for it. If you catch my drift. If I buy a new outfit or a new pair of shoes, Jason will often say, "rules are rules"....and I have to cough up the appropriate payment. But there's a clause. I have to be wearing the said article while paying for it. Another version to "Pay Up" is if you buy something particularly sexy and you tell him that you bought it for him to enjoy. This doesn't typically work if you bought yourself a cardigan sweater or a mu mu.

• Big, Strong Man: This one comes in handy when you present him with a honey-do list. Jason loathes when I write out a list of chores for him, so I've switched up my technique a little. Instead of saying, "can you fix this, paint that and build me this", I now say, "Honey, I tried to paint the hallway and you know how sloppy I am, I just can't get it to look as good as you do...will you show me how you do it?" He falls for it every time! Every. Damn. Time! Obviously, I have no intentions of being 'shown' how to paint. He'll lose his patience with me and he'll wind up doing the whole thing himself. It's win win. He feels like a big, strong man and I get my hallway painted, hassle free! I know some of you feminists are annoyed that I'm using the old, 'I'm just a meek girl" trick. To which I say, "yeah, so?" It works, doesn't it?

• Worth Your While: This one is so easy, it's a crime. When you're trying to talk your husband into anything....(a vacation, having your mother stay the summer with you, new carpet...) you simply put your hand on his thigh and say, "I'll make it worth your while". Easy sleazy! Yes ladies, men are just that simple.

• Stroke the Ego: This one works when your man gets pissed at all the money you spend on yourself (highlights, mani/pedi, botox, etc.) Let's say he notices a $200 bill from the salon. You simply bring on the tears and say, "Sorry, not all of us can be as naturally good looking as you...some of us have to work on it a little". Wait for it....wait for it..... situation diffused. His ego is pumped up, you look hot. (win win).

• Plant the Seed: This one works like a gem when you want your spouse to want you. Let's say he hasn't been paying much attention to you. Let's say you've been working out like crazy and he's hardly noticed. You know how when a 3 yr old has no interest in a toy until someone else wants to play with it? It's exactly like that. Here's how it works, it can be as simple as, "Oh my Gawd...this guy at the pool was totally checking me out today...his bulging muscles were grossing me out". And thus, the seed is planted. He's caught on that another man was checking out his wife ---but the trick is NOT to flaunt it, but to simply mention it, like an after thought. Like, "oh nothing....just another day, another man stalking me...oh the hassle". He'll suddenly look at you in a new light and if he were a dog, he'd want to pee on you---to mark his territory and all.

• Feed 'em and F#ck 'em: This concept is simple enough. Shouldn't warrant much of an explanation, I would think. Of course, if you're a bit slow in the head, then I'll elaborate. Keep your man fed. Keep your man satisfied. That's about it. If they're happy in those two departments, the rest should fall into place for you. They really are simple creatures. They require attention, stroking, food & love. That shouldn't be too hard. Tell 'em they're awesome every so often. Walk by and give 'em a hug every so often. Pat them on the back for a job well done, every so often. Is that so hard?

Follow these simple steps and I can all but guarantee you'll have (whatever it is you're after) in no time.

Take that Dr. Laura Schlessinger! Don't even get me started on that broad.

He's all mine.

I'm trying to help my little one get dressed yesterday. Just to pass the time, I sing him a song and try to engage him as well.

Me: One, Two, buckle my......

Gabe: Shoe!

Me: Good boy. Three, Four, shut the.....

Gabe: Door!

(now I know he's not the brightest crayon, but I'm somewhat impressed because I've never sung this song to him before)

Me: Five, Six, pick up......

Gabe: This shit!

God, I love that child.

My Successor

Successor....is that that right word for someone that is to take over for you, once you're gone? If so, than I'd like to discuss my impending successor.

By now, everyone knows that the longevity in my family BLOWS! We all pretty much drop dead in our mid 50's, early 60's. Considering what I had done to my body in my teens & 20's, I'd say I'm lucky to be alive at the ripe old age of 35. I've made futile attempts over the past 5 or so years to counter act any damage that I've done. But, really, it's like putting a band aid on a healed amputation. What's done is done. Liver=shot. Lungs=deflated. Heart=hardened.

So, with that said, the only natural (not to mention totally selfless) thing to do is to search for my successor. For my husband and children, mind you. I've blogged before about my morbid obsession with my death & my funeral. So, whoever my successor may be, she has to be an extension of me, so to speak. I don't expect her to skin my corpse in the back of a van and wear me like a skin-dress, but I do expect her to step into my shoes and live the life that I was intended to live. If that entails changing her name to Leslie and photoshopping herself into all of my photo albums, than so be it.

After (surprisingly) little deliberation, I've chosen my replacement. I've spent more time shopping for carpet than I did for my husband's next wife. But, she was under my nose the entire time! I've discussed it with Jason. He's cool with it. Plus, he thinks I've chosen a pretty cool chick for him. (does he have a boomin', late wife, or what?).

Look thru my archived blogs and find one from Summer '08 entitled, "God, Lindsey, I thought I killed Her". Jason's new wife is to be....(drum roll)....Lindsey's (linda's) daughter, Laura. Laura went to high school with Jason. She's almost like my cousin in the sense that our families are really close. Her mom is like a cool aunt (or a loving mother) to me and I've tried to finagle a way into their tight knit family for YEARS! This is perfect. I can live vicariously through my widowed (and devastated) husband.

Sure, it'll take some time for him to get over me. But, eventually he'll have needs & desires. At first, she'll just be there to fill the void in his life. Then, slowly but surely, she'll win him over. I'll always be the love of his life, but his grief will dissipate and he'll be open to taking another wife. He'll keep a life size portrait of me over their marital bed...out of respect, and all. Laura won't mind a bit. After all, she'd be lucky to be sleeping with him. I'm making a mental note (as I type) to write her a letter and warn her of his quirky habits, favorite recipes and shirt size. God help her if he doesn't get his apnea under control by the time she starts shacking up in my bed. I should also consider bringing her around my boys a bit more often. I want the transition from "Aunt Laura" to "Mommy Laura" to go as smoothly as possible. I only hope she's fertile. I had my tubes tied, cauterized, incinerated and thrown into a trash compactor right after Gabe was born. Laura might just be Jason's last chance to have a daughter. They'll totally name the baby, "Leslie". Except, she won't be nearly as pretty as my kids, bless her heart.

I've made a point in the past 6 mos. to introduce Laura to a lot of my girlfriends. As a matter of fact, Laura was featured in my HILARIOUS blog entitled, "Lafter" where she spent the night with a good friend and me and we prank called Jason all night. Anyway, the point is, my friends (the bitches) already think she's super cool. So, she's already a shoo in. If the bitches don't like Jason's new woman, the new woman is O-U-T, out. The bitches have my back. I'll haunt the bitches if they let Jason get with a skank!

As I'm composing this very blog, my husband is at a party which I'm supposed to be attending, except I am home with a flu-ish 7 yr old. I called him a minute ago and Laura got on the phone. Apparently she's in attendance as well. Hmm. I realized I looked like a stalker wife, so I quickly told Laura to go make nice with her future husband and I hung up. There's a pool at that party. She's probably in a bikini. As I was trying to "sell" Jason on the idea of marrying Laura, I kept driving home the fact that she makes a lot of money, has a killer body and loves to drink. In hindsight, that might have been what we call in the business, an 'over-sell'. Now, I'm not so sure I want him to marry a hot, rich party-girl. The comparison between she and I will be blinding. For, I do NOT make a lot of money (or any at all), I do not have a killer body (2 healthy boys conceived & delivered). I am not a party girl either!! I'm the girl that slams 3 drinks in an hour then pulls her magical disappearing act and puts herself to bed.

Ok. Wait. Back up. That bastard had better either stay single, or find himself a fat, hairy Greek woman who can cook like Rachel Ray. Ima 'bout to go bust Laura's ass. Step off Bitch-izzle. Jason's MINE! If I can't have the Mexican, ain't no one gonna have the Mexican.

But, she can however, deliver the eulogy at my funeral. Laura, I have it in a word document titled, "Leslie's Eulogy". xoxoxox Love ya like a sista, but cha can't have m' man!!!

~LB